We all have a place where we go to in order to do some heavy thinking. The Drifters (or James Taylor, depending on your tastes) sing about the roof as a popular 'think tank' of sorts.
For me, all I have to do is go to Facebook.
Every once in a while, I read a post from a friend that's rather thought-provoking. Not a 'facebook friend', but a real live one I've known since seventh grade.
She stated in said post that she has become increasingly emotional through the years when it comes to parting ways with a dear friend after a visit back to Pennsylvania or when a friend from here makes their way to her home in western Indiana. She blames it on age, hormones, or maybe even the years since her father's passing.
Friendships...easy to make. Very difficult to maintain.
This woman is my hero. For being more than 450 miles from where we grew up, she's managed to stay in touch with her 'BFF's', even in the days where we didn't have social media.
Years before we even dreamed such a thing would exist.
She picked up the phone. She got out the paper and pen.
Men suck at this. On behalf of my gender, I do apologize.
In the media, the public is led to believe that women perceive guys as spending too much time with their friends. I personally don't know of any guy who hangs with their friends on a regular basis.
Most of the ones I know don't for a number of reasons...for which none of us will admit, up to now.
We assume our friends understand.
We worry ourselves with not being there for our spouse or children.
The 'honey-do' list doesn't get done by itself.
We prioritize family over friendships.
We think we don't have the time.
More than that, we don't think we're allowed to have that time.
Life gets in the way, we often say.
Because what happens if?
What if we miss a critical moment in our son or daughter's lives? Will we be one day served with divorce papers at work because we're not allowing time for our spouse?
I think about these things a great deal...but I also think about times I could have been there for a friend but wasn't.
During Kevin's near-miss with melanoma. Randy's divorce. Cary's advanced age. The passing of Ted's mother. The passing of Kelly's father. Greg's separation from his son. A promised fishing trip with Ben I still have yet to make good on.
Why didn't I pick up the phone and call? Or visit? Why do I allow social media or email do the work for me?
I wish I knew the answer.
To all my friends, I say this.
I may not always stay in touch.
I may not always drop what I'm doing to be there for you.
I may know you need me, but don't act upon it.
I may not always think of you.
I don't deserve your friendship.
I will always suck at this, despite my best efforts.
But know this much.
I don't forget my true friends.
Ever.
NOTE: Ken's Korner will go on hiatus for the summer until Sunday, September 21st.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Shedding Season
Ah, the honey-do list.
The never-ending list of summertime chores that compete with the desire for family summertime outings, and more often than not, winning out in the end.
Sometimes I envy those who embrace the condo lifestyle. Let it be someone else's problem.
But for now, I digress.
My wife and I bought our current home in the spring of 2009, shortly before the birth of our daughter. Going in, we knew that there were going to be some things that would require some adaptation on our part.
One was the garage. Built in 1966, at a time when the closest the American family would get to an SUV would be an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser, there was limited space between the floor and ceiling of the garage.
This would limit our vehicle choices in the future. My Dodge Dakota barely cleared the door jamb, and Margie's Jeep had to get used to life outside.
No worries. Jeeps are built for the outdoors, right?
When you're my wife, that gets very old very quick.
So where Margie's Jeep would normally stay, the garden tractor took up residency.
Then earlier this year, Margie decided it was time to trade the Wrangler Unlimited in for something else.
The Honda CRV she took ownership of fit nicely in the garage. So guess where the tractor went?
Backyard and under a tarp.
Then one day, Margie asked me if I wanted to see a shed she was interested in buying in order to store the tractor. I liked it, but decided we needed something larger to store it...it's a vintage 1975 commercial-duty Gravely, and is way bigger and heavier than your average purchase from Home Depot.
While these places are more than happy to sell these things to you, they're not always willing to do the prep work needed for it, especially after you learn that there's more to it than you ever imagined.
First was getting the site level. No you can't just set it on bare earth. Or lay down plywood without building an elaborate frame around it. And it all has to support more than half a ton.
Enter patio stones and construction sand. Lots of raking and shoveling. Endless leveling.
Finally, it did get done. After one do-over.
That happened after my best friend and I got it put together, only to find that it was grossly "un-level".
I spent my Father's Day correcting it. Now all that's left is some finishing touches.
Yesterday was my make-up day for Father's Day. We spent it at "Wine Time" at Penn's Colony.
And today I'm paying for it...make-up day for everything I didn't do yesterday.
Grass cutting, shed finishing, boat cleaning, laundry folding, and probably other things I haven't thought of yet.
When does it end?
Someone with the answer, please let me know. I haven't yet a clue.
NEXT WEEK: Up on the Roof
The never-ending list of summertime chores that compete with the desire for family summertime outings, and more often than not, winning out in the end.
Sometimes I envy those who embrace the condo lifestyle. Let it be someone else's problem.
But for now, I digress.
My wife and I bought our current home in the spring of 2009, shortly before the birth of our daughter. Going in, we knew that there were going to be some things that would require some adaptation on our part.
One was the garage. Built in 1966, at a time when the closest the American family would get to an SUV would be an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser, there was limited space between the floor and ceiling of the garage.
This would limit our vehicle choices in the future. My Dodge Dakota barely cleared the door jamb, and Margie's Jeep had to get used to life outside.
No worries. Jeeps are built for the outdoors, right?
When you're my wife, that gets very old very quick.
So where Margie's Jeep would normally stay, the garden tractor took up residency.
Then earlier this year, Margie decided it was time to trade the Wrangler Unlimited in for something else.
The Honda CRV she took ownership of fit nicely in the garage. So guess where the tractor went?
Backyard and under a tarp.
Then one day, Margie asked me if I wanted to see a shed she was interested in buying in order to store the tractor. I liked it, but decided we needed something larger to store it...it's a vintage 1975 commercial-duty Gravely, and is way bigger and heavier than your average purchase from Home Depot.
While these places are more than happy to sell these things to you, they're not always willing to do the prep work needed for it, especially after you learn that there's more to it than you ever imagined.
First was getting the site level. No you can't just set it on bare earth. Or lay down plywood without building an elaborate frame around it. And it all has to support more than half a ton.
Enter patio stones and construction sand. Lots of raking and shoveling. Endless leveling.
Finally, it did get done. After one do-over.
That happened after my best friend and I got it put together, only to find that it was grossly "un-level".
I spent my Father's Day correcting it. Now all that's left is some finishing touches.
Yesterday was my make-up day for Father's Day. We spent it at "Wine Time" at Penn's Colony.
And today I'm paying for it...make-up day for everything I didn't do yesterday.
Grass cutting, shed finishing, boat cleaning, laundry folding, and probably other things I haven't thought of yet.
When does it end?
Someone with the answer, please let me know. I haven't yet a clue.
NEXT WEEK: Up on the Roof
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Day of Dad-votion
I read a news report earlier this week on how much money is spent on Mother's Day as opposed to Father's Day.
There's quite a difference, you know.
More money is being spent on Mom than Dad on their special day.
That appears to be surprising to everyone.
Except us.
We don't expect much.
Mother's Day is one thing. Mom does so much for us. Even if she works full-time, Mom still remains the go-to gal for just about anything. She can make virtually any meal with virtually nothing in the cupboard, heal injuries that would rival Harvard Med School's top doctors, balance the checkbook with the prowess of IBM's chief controller, and still have bountiful energy left over.
She's the first one out of bed, and the last one in it.
The only time we go to Dad, it seems, is when we need something fixed. Duct tape, a crescent wrench and WD-40 can fix just about anything.
But all that's OK.
We don't expect a fuss made over us for Father's Day. Nor a whole lot of money spent, if any at all.
An ideal gift I could receive for Father's Day would be a day of having to do nothing other than breathe.
I would give my eye teeth for a day where I could just spend a single carefree day on the boat, and enjoy a nice meal with my family...preferably a nice steak grilled out and a bottle of wine.
I'll get half of what I want today...the dinner and wine.
The boat will have to wait another day as I try and complete a shed project in a race against the elements, as we're expecting rain tomorrow.
So I'll spend my 'nothing' day next week. My wife and daughter have gotten me tickets to the Penn's Colony Wine Festival next week as part of my Father's Day gift.
Plus a license plate frame for my pickup as I've disowned the dealership that's last serviced it and took it upon themselves to 'adopt' it, complete with a license plate frame advertising their own dealership.
What Margie and Savannah may not know is they've already given me the best gift ever.
Themselves.
That alone is priceless.
NEXT WEEK: Shed Shreds
There's quite a difference, you know.
More money is being spent on Mom than Dad on their special day.
That appears to be surprising to everyone.
Except us.
We don't expect much.
Mother's Day is one thing. Mom does so much for us. Even if she works full-time, Mom still remains the go-to gal for just about anything. She can make virtually any meal with virtually nothing in the cupboard, heal injuries that would rival Harvard Med School's top doctors, balance the checkbook with the prowess of IBM's chief controller, and still have bountiful energy left over.
She's the first one out of bed, and the last one in it.
The only time we go to Dad, it seems, is when we need something fixed. Duct tape, a crescent wrench and WD-40 can fix just about anything.
But all that's OK.
We don't expect a fuss made over us for Father's Day. Nor a whole lot of money spent, if any at all.
An ideal gift I could receive for Father's Day would be a day of having to do nothing other than breathe.
I would give my eye teeth for a day where I could just spend a single carefree day on the boat, and enjoy a nice meal with my family...preferably a nice steak grilled out and a bottle of wine.
I'll get half of what I want today...the dinner and wine.
The boat will have to wait another day as I try and complete a shed project in a race against the elements, as we're expecting rain tomorrow.
So I'll spend my 'nothing' day next week. My wife and daughter have gotten me tickets to the Penn's Colony Wine Festival next week as part of my Father's Day gift.
Plus a license plate frame for my pickup as I've disowned the dealership that's last serviced it and took it upon themselves to 'adopt' it, complete with a license plate frame advertising their own dealership.
What Margie and Savannah may not know is they've already given me the best gift ever.
Themselves.
That alone is priceless.
NEXT WEEK: Shed Shreds
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Sunshine and Summertime
Those of you country music fans who are fans of Faith Hill know the song well.
"We've got classic colas, and ice cold Coronas, and big pool parties in the back yard..."
A rather romantic picture of the summer season.
For some of us, especially in the northeast, where we've endured probably the most severe winter in modern recorded history, it means playing catch-up for what we weren't able to do outside.
Trimming hedges. Getting summer furniture out of storage. Planting veggies. You know what the routine is.
Yesterday, I got started on building a vinyl shed in our backyard. I recruited my best friend by bribing him with pizza and a case of beer to assist me in this two-person job. We got the structure itself put up, but it now needs some finishing touches.
Like leveling. You know, little stuff.
Then there's other projects looming that need my attention.
The door jambs above the garage door need painted. The roof leak above the upstairs bathroom will finally get attention towards the end of the month, after getting an estimate from a handyman. More boat work. A landscaping project towards the back of the house.
So much work. So little time.
But it's often said you have to make time.
That I will do one week from today.
I told my wife the only thing I want to do on Father's Day weekend is NOTHING.
As in, nothing around the house.
I don't want to worry about mowing grass, or whatever's bound to break next, cleaning the basement, sweeping the garage or all the other ever-ready answers men have to answer their wives' queries as to how they're going to spend the Saturday.
I still have to decide how we're going to spend those days, but that's the only definitive answer I can give for right now.
It may involve wine, a picnic, or even a trip on the boat.
Whatever it is, it has to be non-work-related, and it has to be with my family.
It's the way it should be.
Perhaps one of these days, I'll do a better job of making time for them.
NEXT WEEK: The Mom and Dads
"We've got classic colas, and ice cold Coronas, and big pool parties in the back yard..."
A rather romantic picture of the summer season.
For some of us, especially in the northeast, where we've endured probably the most severe winter in modern recorded history, it means playing catch-up for what we weren't able to do outside.
Trimming hedges. Getting summer furniture out of storage. Planting veggies. You know what the routine is.
Yesterday, I got started on building a vinyl shed in our backyard. I recruited my best friend by bribing him with pizza and a case of beer to assist me in this two-person job. We got the structure itself put up, but it now needs some finishing touches.
Like leveling. You know, little stuff.
Then there's other projects looming that need my attention.
The door jambs above the garage door need painted. The roof leak above the upstairs bathroom will finally get attention towards the end of the month, after getting an estimate from a handyman. More boat work. A landscaping project towards the back of the house.
So much work. So little time.
But it's often said you have to make time.
That I will do one week from today.
I told my wife the only thing I want to do on Father's Day weekend is NOTHING.
As in, nothing around the house.
I don't want to worry about mowing grass, or whatever's bound to break next, cleaning the basement, sweeping the garage or all the other ever-ready answers men have to answer their wives' queries as to how they're going to spend the Saturday.
I still have to decide how we're going to spend those days, but that's the only definitive answer I can give for right now.
It may involve wine, a picnic, or even a trip on the boat.
Whatever it is, it has to be non-work-related, and it has to be with my family.
It's the way it should be.
Perhaps one of these days, I'll do a better job of making time for them.
NEXT WEEK: The Mom and Dads
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Luck o' The Puck
I'm not a sports guy. Most of you who know me personally know this. Yet I married into a family of sports nuts. What makes this especially surprising is that only in recent years, I've learned that I have a lot of family connections to professional sports.
My cousin is married to the executive vice-president of football operations for the Cleveland Browns (be nice, Steeler fans!) after wrapping up a 29-year tenure with the Miami Dolphins in a similar capacity.
Another cousin, my godfather, married the daughter of Detroit Red Wings left defenseman and Hockey Hall of Famer Bill Gadsby. I only learned of that relationship at my godfather's funeral in 1997, when Gordie Howe showed up to pay his respects.
Another cousin played center for the then-New York Titans, after playing the same position for Rutgers University. He would then build the Young & Rubicam advertising agency into one of the industry's leaders...opening hundreds of branch offices throughout the world, including Russia.
Despite my hockey connection, I only learned of the 'office politics' that surround professional hockey, in light of the recent dismissal of Pittsburgh Penguins General Manager Ray Shero and ownership's decision to retain head coach Dan Bylsma.
I was surprised to learn that the general manager selects players from the draft, with the head coach playing a minimal role, if any, in the final roster selection. He more or less says 'here' and presents the players the coach will work with in hopes of delivering a Stanley Cup Championship.
There is such a thing as a player that is not 'coachable', and that's where the office politics come into play. When Scotty Bowman came to the Pittsburgh Penguins not long after the death of "Badger Bob" Johnston, he was told by then-GM Craig Patrick which players were 'hands-off', and one of said players turned around and after becoming an owner-partner, fired him more than a decade later.
You see where I'm going with this.
Bowman's response was to promptly resign, pack his bags and leave for Detroit, but not before taking a few key Pittsburgh players with him. He proved his worth quickly when he brought back-to-back Stanley Cup Championships for the Red Wings.
While some blame Bylsma, the ultimate responsibility lies with the general manager and the players he hand-picked. Shero had to go. Bylsma did manage to bring one Stanley Cup Championship to the team, and in my opinion, does deserve a second chance under the new general manager.
But Bylsma needs to know this...he will be skating on very thin ice.
Pun intended.
One season.
He might want to minimalize any clutter he has in his office, in the meantime.
NEXT WEEK: Sunshine and Summertime
My cousin is married to the executive vice-president of football operations for the Cleveland Browns (be nice, Steeler fans!) after wrapping up a 29-year tenure with the Miami Dolphins in a similar capacity.
Another cousin, my godfather, married the daughter of Detroit Red Wings left defenseman and Hockey Hall of Famer Bill Gadsby. I only learned of that relationship at my godfather's funeral in 1997, when Gordie Howe showed up to pay his respects.
Another cousin played center for the then-New York Titans, after playing the same position for Rutgers University. He would then build the Young & Rubicam advertising agency into one of the industry's leaders...opening hundreds of branch offices throughout the world, including Russia.
Despite my hockey connection, I only learned of the 'office politics' that surround professional hockey, in light of the recent dismissal of Pittsburgh Penguins General Manager Ray Shero and ownership's decision to retain head coach Dan Bylsma.
I was surprised to learn that the general manager selects players from the draft, with the head coach playing a minimal role, if any, in the final roster selection. He more or less says 'here' and presents the players the coach will work with in hopes of delivering a Stanley Cup Championship.
There is such a thing as a player that is not 'coachable', and that's where the office politics come into play. When Scotty Bowman came to the Pittsburgh Penguins not long after the death of "Badger Bob" Johnston, he was told by then-GM Craig Patrick which players were 'hands-off', and one of said players turned around and after becoming an owner-partner, fired him more than a decade later.
You see where I'm going with this.
Bowman's response was to promptly resign, pack his bags and leave for Detroit, but not before taking a few key Pittsburgh players with him. He proved his worth quickly when he brought back-to-back Stanley Cup Championships for the Red Wings.
While some blame Bylsma, the ultimate responsibility lies with the general manager and the players he hand-picked. Shero had to go. Bylsma did manage to bring one Stanley Cup Championship to the team, and in my opinion, does deserve a second chance under the new general manager.
But Bylsma needs to know this...he will be skating on very thin ice.
Pun intended.
One season.
He might want to minimalize any clutter he has in his office, in the meantime.
NEXT WEEK: Sunshine and Summertime
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Sounds of Sunday
In my post-radio retirement, the closest I come to the business anymore these days is staying in touch with my cronies still in it or those who also have thrown in the towel and bask in 'life after radio'.
Plus, I serve as the sound coordinator at my local church. Usually I'm introduced to visitors from elders or deacons as 'Ken is in charge of our sound each Sunday.'
Sounds simple enough, right?
If I were to describe me in that capacity, my job would be to worry excessively, obsess over every minute detail and be afraid to leave town on the weekends, thinking of the major meltdown that would only happen in my absence.
Yeah, that's what I do.
While some may think I simply make sure the volumes are at a reasonable level for our pastor, liturgists and musicians, I only wish it was that simple.
I have to make sure all wireless microphones are in full working order, and fix them if necessary. Make sure our wired mics are working likewise. Upon taking the job, I spent about a month with Weller, my trusty soldering gun, to repair broken solder joints in microphone cables. That was also the time I discovered that I no longer could see these small joints with my natural vision.
So I have reading glasses now.
There's also unexplained 60 Hz 'hums' that suddenly arise in our audio chain and I have to not only find the source of them, but find a way to get rid of them. It's times like these that make me wish I paid more attention to broadcast engineers surrounding me for so many years.
I did learn this though...ground loop isolator speaker cables can be your best friend. Good luck in finding any that are reasonably priced, though.
Yes, I do have to prepare and adhere to an annual budget, too.
Despite my obsessiveness, I am comforted in knowing that those who trust the church sound system in my charge appreciate the job I do for them.
And I return the favor by keeping them in the loop on what I'm doing to address any problems that crop up. That their concerns aren't just being heard, but acted upon.
And every once in a while, I hear things like this:
"You're a gift to the church."
That makes it all worthwhile.
NEXT WEEK: Hockey Talk
Plus, I serve as the sound coordinator at my local church. Usually I'm introduced to visitors from elders or deacons as 'Ken is in charge of our sound each Sunday.'
Sounds simple enough, right?
If I were to describe me in that capacity, my job would be to worry excessively, obsess over every minute detail and be afraid to leave town on the weekends, thinking of the major meltdown that would only happen in my absence.
Yeah, that's what I do.
While some may think I simply make sure the volumes are at a reasonable level for our pastor, liturgists and musicians, I only wish it was that simple.
I have to make sure all wireless microphones are in full working order, and fix them if necessary. Make sure our wired mics are working likewise. Upon taking the job, I spent about a month with Weller, my trusty soldering gun, to repair broken solder joints in microphone cables. That was also the time I discovered that I no longer could see these small joints with my natural vision.
So I have reading glasses now.
There's also unexplained 60 Hz 'hums' that suddenly arise in our audio chain and I have to not only find the source of them, but find a way to get rid of them. It's times like these that make me wish I paid more attention to broadcast engineers surrounding me for so many years.
I did learn this though...ground loop isolator speaker cables can be your best friend. Good luck in finding any that are reasonably priced, though.
Yes, I do have to prepare and adhere to an annual budget, too.
Despite my obsessiveness, I am comforted in knowing that those who trust the church sound system in my charge appreciate the job I do for them.
And I return the favor by keeping them in the loop on what I'm doing to address any problems that crop up. That their concerns aren't just being heard, but acted upon.
And every once in a while, I hear things like this:
"You're a gift to the church."
That makes it all worthwhile.
NEXT WEEK: Hockey Talk
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Second Helping
I usually try to not use this column as a platform for self-promotion, but I hope you'll indulge me this week.
Ah, whom am I kidding? I was in an ego-driven business for 26 years, and it's probably become one of my defining characteristics.
In the spring of 2011, I officially became a mainstream published author, when "Chicken Soup for the Soul" published my first contribution, "I'm Pregnant" in their "New Moms" edition. The story chronicles a new mother's journey through the eyes of her husband. Namely, Margie and me.
Prior to this, I had several broadcasting trade articles published under my on-air sobriquet, "Ken Hawk", sharing my ideas with other radio decision-makers on how to make their stations better.
Just recently, I announced my second contribution to "CSS". This one is called "Love Lives Here," which will appear on page 155 of the "Home Sweet Home" edition due to hit bookstores later this month.
The first story was a very big honor. This second one is even bigger.
For years, I've written about murders, robberies, car accidents, and local politics on a daily basis as a means to earn a living. This is all part of radio people 're-inventing' themselves to continue to try and fit into a medium that continues to evolve and change over time. Nonetheless, the needs of broadcasters changes over time as revenues shrink and staffing levels need to be adjusted accordingly.
Sometimes, radio people simply 'age out' of a profession geared more towards younger unmarried people without families. The demands of radio are not family-friendly, and radio families either learn to deal with it to the best of their ability, or they succumb.
I'm proud to say I've chosen my family over my past career. I've found that I have more to write about because of my wife and daughter. There's also my extended family.
Today I write more about what I want to, rather than what I have to. I find I don't have to dig as deep to write a good story that inspires others. Other broadcasters have also inspired me to write the memoir that hopefully I'll have completed in this lifetime.
Whether that goal is reached is unimportant, because I'm in no hurry.
I'll spend this valuable time watching my daughter grow.
And celebrating on this Mother's Day today, the woman who brought her into this world.
Thank you Margie, for giving me this precious gift.
And for everything else.
NEXT WEEK: Sound Off
Ah, whom am I kidding? I was in an ego-driven business for 26 years, and it's probably become one of my defining characteristics.
In the spring of 2011, I officially became a mainstream published author, when "Chicken Soup for the Soul" published my first contribution, "I'm Pregnant" in their "New Moms" edition. The story chronicles a new mother's journey through the eyes of her husband. Namely, Margie and me.
Prior to this, I had several broadcasting trade articles published under my on-air sobriquet, "Ken Hawk", sharing my ideas with other radio decision-makers on how to make their stations better.
Just recently, I announced my second contribution to "CSS". This one is called "Love Lives Here," which will appear on page 155 of the "Home Sweet Home" edition due to hit bookstores later this month.
The first story was a very big honor. This second one is even bigger.
For years, I've written about murders, robberies, car accidents, and local politics on a daily basis as a means to earn a living. This is all part of radio people 're-inventing' themselves to continue to try and fit into a medium that continues to evolve and change over time. Nonetheless, the needs of broadcasters changes over time as revenues shrink and staffing levels need to be adjusted accordingly.
Sometimes, radio people simply 'age out' of a profession geared more towards younger unmarried people without families. The demands of radio are not family-friendly, and radio families either learn to deal with it to the best of their ability, or they succumb.
I'm proud to say I've chosen my family over my past career. I've found that I have more to write about because of my wife and daughter. There's also my extended family.
Today I write more about what I want to, rather than what I have to. I find I don't have to dig as deep to write a good story that inspires others. Other broadcasters have also inspired me to write the memoir that hopefully I'll have completed in this lifetime.
Whether that goal is reached is unimportant, because I'm in no hurry.
I'll spend this valuable time watching my daughter grow.
And celebrating on this Mother's Day today, the woman who brought her into this world.
Thank you Margie, for giving me this precious gift.
And for everything else.
NEXT WEEK: Sound Off
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Police Story
Good cop, bad cop. "F*** da police". Police brutality. Rodney King. "The Boyz in Blue".
They're in the news, but often their perps are the ones who get the media attention. Those who are in the news are often so because they've been charged with using excessive force.
I didn't think much of this until my daughter said "bad policeman" one day. After my jaw hit the floor, I gathered it up and asked her to repeat herself.
Yep, that's what she said.
Having heard this from someone not even five years old worries me.
There's always been bad cops. But I've always tried to teach my daughter that police officers help people. Even the bad ones usually start out with good intentions.
My dad became a part-time police officer with the Allegheny Township Police Department in Westmoreland County in the spring of 1979. Definitely not because of the paycheck, but rather what he was witnessing firsthand...young people succumbing to a growing drug problem in the Alle-Kiski Valley which could impact others coming of age.
He graduated from the Kiski II Regional Police Academy, sanctioned by the Crime Study Center of Indiana University of Pennsylvania. Greg Adams (whose killer, Donald Eugene Webb, has never been apprehended) was his instructor, and Leonard Miller (one of the victims in the infamous "Kill for Thrill" murder spree) graduated from the class ahead of his.
This will give an insight to this rather dark period of violence happening in our own backyards.
I made it a priority to prove to my daughter that policemen are the good guys.
I showed her a picture of her then 34-year-old grandpa in uniform, whom she immediately recognized, his badge, and he gave her the department's "Officer Bob" coloring book.
"Officer Bob" was a product of Collinsville, Illinois-based Scott Publications, which distributed the book for kids in neighborhood departments, paid for my local merchant advertisements on the back cover.
Then one day "bad policeman" was replaced with this:
"I want to be a policeman when I grow up."
My cousin Steven today is an officer with the Allegheny Township Police Department, thus making him a second-generation cop. I could only be too proud to see my daughter be part of the next generation of fine lawmen and women.
Many of my friends uphold the law in squad cars, uniforms, and courtrooms. And our armed forces uphold the law of the land...we call it the Constitution.
You know who you are, there's too many of you to mention.
Thank you.
NEXT WEEK: Soup's on!
They're in the news, but often their perps are the ones who get the media attention. Those who are in the news are often so because they've been charged with using excessive force.
I didn't think much of this until my daughter said "bad policeman" one day. After my jaw hit the floor, I gathered it up and asked her to repeat herself.
Yep, that's what she said.
Having heard this from someone not even five years old worries me.
There's always been bad cops. But I've always tried to teach my daughter that police officers help people. Even the bad ones usually start out with good intentions.
My dad became a part-time police officer with the Allegheny Township Police Department in Westmoreland County in the spring of 1979. Definitely not because of the paycheck, but rather what he was witnessing firsthand...young people succumbing to a growing drug problem in the Alle-Kiski Valley which could impact others coming of age.
He graduated from the Kiski II Regional Police Academy, sanctioned by the Crime Study Center of Indiana University of Pennsylvania. Greg Adams (whose killer, Donald Eugene Webb, has never been apprehended) was his instructor, and Leonard Miller (one of the victims in the infamous "Kill for Thrill" murder spree) graduated from the class ahead of his.
This will give an insight to this rather dark period of violence happening in our own backyards.
I made it a priority to prove to my daughter that policemen are the good guys.
I showed her a picture of her then 34-year-old grandpa in uniform, whom she immediately recognized, his badge, and he gave her the department's "Officer Bob" coloring book.
"Officer Bob" was a product of Collinsville, Illinois-based Scott Publications, which distributed the book for kids in neighborhood departments, paid for my local merchant advertisements on the back cover.
Then one day "bad policeman" was replaced with this:
"I want to be a policeman when I grow up."
My cousin Steven today is an officer with the Allegheny Township Police Department, thus making him a second-generation cop. I could only be too proud to see my daughter be part of the next generation of fine lawmen and women.
Many of my friends uphold the law in squad cars, uniforms, and courtrooms. And our armed forces uphold the law of the land...we call it the Constitution.
You know who you are, there's too many of you to mention.
Thank you.
NEXT WEEK: Soup's on!
Sunday, April 27, 2014
A Fish Story
Though trout season in Pennsylvania has been in full swing for the past couple weeks now, I wasn't among the first-day anglers seen flocking to the streams on Saturday, April 12th.
I used to go on the first day. But after awhile, you get tired of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with others trying to catch their limit, usually ending with 'throwbacks'.
I've been fishing since I was six years old. In recent years, my best friend and I have been setting aside a weekend or two to go out and set aside the doldrums of daily life for the sake of getting back to basics.
This is really what it's all about...especially to those who ask "wouldn't it be easier to go out to Long John Silver's if you want fish?"
It's so much more than catching the meal of the day, if you're a survivalist.
Babe Winkelman, the Minnesota-based professional fisherman who still hosts his weekly how-to TV program, taught conservation in addition to his pattern approach to fishing that brings in the big ones.
His approach, once found successful, could make one dangerous to the fishing population, he claimed. Therefore, he called upon anglers to release smaller fish to allow them time to grow and spawn, and to keep only a select few to eat.
For me, it's about the beauty and splendor of the outdoors. The tranquility of the streams over well-worn rocks that will still remain long after you and I are gone. The rustle of a gentle breeze through the forest. Wading into cold knee-deep water (in your waders, of course) to be "one" with your potential catch. Knowing you're not alone in the world, as you intrude upon space where wildlife sleeps.
I don't care if I don't catch anything, truth be told. But it's nice to know you can...when you can freely leave your briefcase at home and pick up the tackle box, heading to the nearest trout stream.
And sadly, this is a part of our culture that the next generation is losing sight of.
Neo-conservationalists, animal rights activists and vegans preach the cruelty of fishing and convince others to abandon the practice entirely.
Living off the land is nothing new. It dates back to Biblical times. Are we so much in this world that we've forgotten what it's like to survive on our own?
As it's often said, "give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach him to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime."
This is why I'm an advocate of the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts of America, our military personnel, and the concept of hunting and fishing.
Maybe we don't have to struggle to survive now. But if push came to shove, we know we could do it, with these skills.
My daughter often asks me if I can take her fishing with me one of these days.
I tell her someday. And I mean it.
But for right now, I'm content with her playing with her dolls, picking flowers, and coloring in her books. Fishing does require a considerable amount of silence, patience and attention, and those attributes are not something a soon-to-be five-year-old has at this stage of the game.
She has the rest of her life to decide if she wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps.
And I'll be ready.
NEXT WEEK: Officer Bob
I used to go on the first day. But after awhile, you get tired of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with others trying to catch their limit, usually ending with 'throwbacks'.
I've been fishing since I was six years old. In recent years, my best friend and I have been setting aside a weekend or two to go out and set aside the doldrums of daily life for the sake of getting back to basics.
This is really what it's all about...especially to those who ask "wouldn't it be easier to go out to Long John Silver's if you want fish?"
It's so much more than catching the meal of the day, if you're a survivalist.
Babe Winkelman, the Minnesota-based professional fisherman who still hosts his weekly how-to TV program, taught conservation in addition to his pattern approach to fishing that brings in the big ones.
His approach, once found successful, could make one dangerous to the fishing population, he claimed. Therefore, he called upon anglers to release smaller fish to allow them time to grow and spawn, and to keep only a select few to eat.
For me, it's about the beauty and splendor of the outdoors. The tranquility of the streams over well-worn rocks that will still remain long after you and I are gone. The rustle of a gentle breeze through the forest. Wading into cold knee-deep water (in your waders, of course) to be "one" with your potential catch. Knowing you're not alone in the world, as you intrude upon space where wildlife sleeps.
I don't care if I don't catch anything, truth be told. But it's nice to know you can...when you can freely leave your briefcase at home and pick up the tackle box, heading to the nearest trout stream.
And sadly, this is a part of our culture that the next generation is losing sight of.
Neo-conservationalists, animal rights activists and vegans preach the cruelty of fishing and convince others to abandon the practice entirely.
Living off the land is nothing new. It dates back to Biblical times. Are we so much in this world that we've forgotten what it's like to survive on our own?
As it's often said, "give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach him to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime."
This is why I'm an advocate of the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts of America, our military personnel, and the concept of hunting and fishing.
Maybe we don't have to struggle to survive now. But if push came to shove, we know we could do it, with these skills.
My daughter often asks me if I can take her fishing with me one of these days.
I tell her someday. And I mean it.
But for right now, I'm content with her playing with her dolls, picking flowers, and coloring in her books. Fishing does require a considerable amount of silence, patience and attention, and those attributes are not something a soon-to-be five-year-old has at this stage of the game.
She has the rest of her life to decide if she wants to follow in her daddy's footsteps.
And I'll be ready.
NEXT WEEK: Officer Bob
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Resurrection Shuffle
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaccccccck....
Well, another Lenten season has come and gone with today being Easter Sunday. Again, I stuck to my intent of giving up social media for what I call the "Full 40". That is, giving up Facebook and LinkedIn for the full 40 days, rather than relying on the Sunday dispensation day where I could indulge.
I chose that because growing up, either we didn't have dispensation or the knowledge of it was kept from me all this time. The sacrifice, to me, is much more effective (painful) if you go the full 40.
Pope Francis, you picked a good one. This one stung.
Big time.
My twelve-year-old nephew Alex said to me one day "didn't you do that last year?"
This kid's memory astounds me.
I did do it last year. But I took advantage of the Sunday Lenten Loophole. This time I was determined not to. As most athletic coaches will tell you, it doesn't do any good unless it hurts.
And this one stung like a bee. Not the yellow jacket kind, either. The kind from the fat bumblebee where you have to take a butterknife to scrape out the stinger and hope you weren't allergic to the venom.
Ow.
It's had it's advantages, though. I've learned to like fish on Fridays. Not that I had any problem with it to begin with, but my wife has been willing to prepare fish dishes for dinner or allow me to take her and our daughter out to places that feature fish on the menu.
It just can't be a fast-food joint is all. No problem on my end.
A lot has also happened in that 40 days. I've had another "Chicken Soup for the Soul" story accepted for publication in May, and am working on a memoir about the time I've spent in radio.
The latter came from the suggestion of co-workers and colleagues of mine since leaving the business, who have told me that I should write about the stories I tell about the business from time to time. After realizing that few people have heard them, I've decided that's not such a bad idea. Especially after my fellow 'retirees' have done the same thing and have had success of it.
I've also reconnected with some colleagues who did not know of my departure from radio and couldn't understand why. After telling them that I've left the business voluntarily and why, they seem to understand.
And to my surprise, I've found that some others also want to leave it, but aren't sure of what the next step is.
The next step for me was to lean on my family. The rest kind of fell into place.
George Osmond, better known as "Father Osmond" to fans of his pop band brood from the 1970's, often gave his boys a pep talk before they went onstage.
"Faith, family, career...in that order."
This is where I pause and say "I got nothin'".
NEXT WEEK: A Fish Story
Well, another Lenten season has come and gone with today being Easter Sunday. Again, I stuck to my intent of giving up social media for what I call the "Full 40". That is, giving up Facebook and LinkedIn for the full 40 days, rather than relying on the Sunday dispensation day where I could indulge.
I chose that because growing up, either we didn't have dispensation or the knowledge of it was kept from me all this time. The sacrifice, to me, is much more effective (painful) if you go the full 40.
Pope Francis, you picked a good one. This one stung.
Big time.
My twelve-year-old nephew Alex said to me one day "didn't you do that last year?"
This kid's memory astounds me.
I did do it last year. But I took advantage of the Sunday Lenten Loophole. This time I was determined not to. As most athletic coaches will tell you, it doesn't do any good unless it hurts.
And this one stung like a bee. Not the yellow jacket kind, either. The kind from the fat bumblebee where you have to take a butterknife to scrape out the stinger and hope you weren't allergic to the venom.
Ow.
It's had it's advantages, though. I've learned to like fish on Fridays. Not that I had any problem with it to begin with, but my wife has been willing to prepare fish dishes for dinner or allow me to take her and our daughter out to places that feature fish on the menu.
It just can't be a fast-food joint is all. No problem on my end.
A lot has also happened in that 40 days. I've had another "Chicken Soup for the Soul" story accepted for publication in May, and am working on a memoir about the time I've spent in radio.
The latter came from the suggestion of co-workers and colleagues of mine since leaving the business, who have told me that I should write about the stories I tell about the business from time to time. After realizing that few people have heard them, I've decided that's not such a bad idea. Especially after my fellow 'retirees' have done the same thing and have had success of it.
I've also reconnected with some colleagues who did not know of my departure from radio and couldn't understand why. After telling them that I've left the business voluntarily and why, they seem to understand.
And to my surprise, I've found that some others also want to leave it, but aren't sure of what the next step is.
The next step for me was to lean on my family. The rest kind of fell into place.
George Osmond, better known as "Father Osmond" to fans of his pop band brood from the 1970's, often gave his boys a pep talk before they went onstage.
"Faith, family, career...in that order."
This is where I pause and say "I got nothin'".
NEXT WEEK: A Fish Story
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Give it Up!
As promised, the Lenten season will soon be upon us. That means that Catholics and Christians from other denominations will discipline their will by abstaining from a favorite activity for 40 days and learning to like fish each Friday.
The latter is not a problem. I do like seafood, and few things taste better than salmon grilled outdoors, but with the weather we've been having, it would only thaw out just to refreeze moments later once it hit the outside air.
Guess I'll have to settle for Long John Silver's. Arthur Treacher's just isn't what it used to be anymore...with its few remaining franchise holders flying blind in the wind. That my friends, is no fish story by any means.
But I digress.
My Catholic friends and I will kick some ash this Wednesday, thus kicking off the Lenten season. I am proud to say that I pretty much stuck to my vow of giving up social media last year. However, I did backslide, but only because I was seeking a new job and had to keep an eye on new prospects that may contact me through those channels.
That now is no longer a concern, and I can freely abstain this year, and I pledge to do it for the Full 40. No Sunday dispensation or any other loophole. It will be tough, but I think I can get 'er done.
No Facebook or LinkedIn. You already know I don't 'tweet'.
Or blog.
That's right. Once again, this column will go on hiatus for the next several weeks.
It'll give me time to refresh, regroup, and re-evaluate how I want this column to continue its progression, if I decide to continue it.
I do want to continue it. Who am I kidding?
I will also reflect fondly on how I will use the time that I'm not spending checking on the statuses of others, 'checking in' or otherwise stretching my aging iPhone 4 to its limits.
By the way, does "Words With Friends" count?
See you Easter Sunday.
NEXT COLUMN: Sunday, April 20, 2014
The latter is not a problem. I do like seafood, and few things taste better than salmon grilled outdoors, but with the weather we've been having, it would only thaw out just to refreeze moments later once it hit the outside air.
Guess I'll have to settle for Long John Silver's. Arthur Treacher's just isn't what it used to be anymore...with its few remaining franchise holders flying blind in the wind. That my friends, is no fish story by any means.
But I digress.
My Catholic friends and I will kick some ash this Wednesday, thus kicking off the Lenten season. I am proud to say that I pretty much stuck to my vow of giving up social media last year. However, I did backslide, but only because I was seeking a new job and had to keep an eye on new prospects that may contact me through those channels.
That now is no longer a concern, and I can freely abstain this year, and I pledge to do it for the Full 40. No Sunday dispensation or any other loophole. It will be tough, but I think I can get 'er done.
No Facebook or LinkedIn. You already know I don't 'tweet'.
Or blog.
That's right. Once again, this column will go on hiatus for the next several weeks.
It'll give me time to refresh, regroup, and re-evaluate how I want this column to continue its progression, if I decide to continue it.
I do want to continue it. Who am I kidding?
I will also reflect fondly on how I will use the time that I'm not spending checking on the statuses of others, 'checking in' or otherwise stretching my aging iPhone 4 to its limits.
By the way, does "Words With Friends" count?
See you Easter Sunday.
NEXT COLUMN: Sunday, April 20, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
White Noise
You may have noticed that I didn't put a subject line at the end of last week's column.
As you may have already guessed, there is a method to my madness.
It has to be madness. I can think of no other reason.
But consider it. A white background.
White can mean so many things.
Silence. Or noise.
The beauty of the abstract.
Cleanliness.
Now consider purple.
What does one think of with the color purple?
I just gave you a hint, if you're of my generation.
That movie with Whoopi Goldberg.
Then there's that rock/funk star who uses it as a lyric for songs like "1999" and "Purple Rain". Oh yeah, and there's a movie by that same title.
The dinosaur on PBS that everyone hates.
Next week it becomes symbolic of sacrifice in the Christian world.
In the Catholic church, it's just about all the priest wears for the next 40 days beginning on Ash Wednesday.
By the way, it's on Wednesday, March 5th.
It still gives me time.
Time to decide just what it is that I feel I can give up for the next 40 days.
Over the years, I've given up soda, candy, pizza, and other niceties that drove me crazy until Easter Sunday.
Last year it was social media. That almost drove me bonkers.
Then just a few years ago I learned of Sunday dispensation.
This allows a Catholic to indulge in their Lenten sacrifice weekly.
Now where was THAT when I was growing up??
That 40-day rule was strictly enforced in my house, when I didn't think I could make it for another day, when Mom urged me to stay the course.
Weaknesses be damned.
And if I wavered, my soul would be too.
I was an altar boy from 1980 to 1988 at my local church. The fear of God was something we all took very seriously. Nonetheless, we learned to do our 'bad boy' things with the understanding we'd be in the confessional the following week, and could knock out the penance in using our time efficiently.
It was usually a rosary.
I still haven't decided yet just what I'm going to give up. But I intend to stay the course for the Full 40. Being in the advertising business for most of my life, I've learned that branding is highly effective in successfully marketing a product.
And I think the church knows it too.
I'll let you know what I've come up with.
NEXT WEEK: The Full 40
As you may have already guessed, there is a method to my madness.
It has to be madness. I can think of no other reason.
But consider it. A white background.
White can mean so many things.
Silence. Or noise.
The beauty of the abstract.
Cleanliness.
Now consider purple.
What does one think of with the color purple?
I just gave you a hint, if you're of my generation.
That movie with Whoopi Goldberg.
Then there's that rock/funk star who uses it as a lyric for songs like "1999" and "Purple Rain". Oh yeah, and there's a movie by that same title.
The dinosaur on PBS that everyone hates.
Next week it becomes symbolic of sacrifice in the Christian world.
In the Catholic church, it's just about all the priest wears for the next 40 days beginning on Ash Wednesday.
By the way, it's on Wednesday, March 5th.
It still gives me time.
Time to decide just what it is that I feel I can give up for the next 40 days.
Over the years, I've given up soda, candy, pizza, and other niceties that drove me crazy until Easter Sunday.
Last year it was social media. That almost drove me bonkers.
Then just a few years ago I learned of Sunday dispensation.
This allows a Catholic to indulge in their Lenten sacrifice weekly.
Now where was THAT when I was growing up??
That 40-day rule was strictly enforced in my house, when I didn't think I could make it for another day, when Mom urged me to stay the course.
Weaknesses be damned.
And if I wavered, my soul would be too.
I was an altar boy from 1980 to 1988 at my local church. The fear of God was something we all took very seriously. Nonetheless, we learned to do our 'bad boy' things with the understanding we'd be in the confessional the following week, and could knock out the penance in using our time efficiently.
It was usually a rosary.
I still haven't decided yet just what I'm going to give up. But I intend to stay the course for the Full 40. Being in the advertising business for most of my life, I've learned that branding is highly effective in successfully marketing a product.
And I think the church knows it too.
I'll let you know what I've come up with.
NEXT WEEK: The Full 40
Sunday, February 16, 2014
If I Were A Carpenter...Part II
She was an average American kid with middle-America values, growing up with others in the fabled baby-boom generation in the 60's. She was the daughter of a printing pressman and a homemaker from New Haven, Connecticut. The younger sister of a talented musical prodigy.
Karen Anne Carpenter was more or less dragged along for the ride when Harold Carpenter made the decision to move his family to southern California, having had enough of New England's freezing winters and a desire to further his son's yet-to-begin music career.
Yes, they'd only just begun.
Though Harold had a move on his mind as early as 1955, it would not be until eight years later that he activated his decision and moved his family to Downey, California...an L.A. suburb close enough to afford Richard opportunities to develop his career, yet far enough away from the hedonistic superficiality often associated with the City of Angels, even then.
In 1964, Karen finally developed a feel for music when she took up the drums, after the flute and accordion had gone nowhere. Richard by this time, was slowly making a name for himself and eventually, Karen began to tag along.
They eventually evolved into Spectrum, and the Richard Carpenter Trio. Then finally, a demo tape made by a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, found its way to Herb Alpert's desk at A&M Records.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
But what if?
Woulda, shoulda, coulda.
What if Harold and Agnes Carpenter decided to stay in New Haven? What would their children become?
Richard likely would have still found a career in music. Either as a teacher, or making the relatively short drive to New York City for more. After all, there was the famed "Brill Building", which gave birth to the talents of the likes of Gerry Goffin, Carole King, Neil Sedaka, and other gifted songwriters.
One thing I've learned about New York City, is that it's far more real and much more accepting of outsiders than its cross-coastal sister. Just about anyone can blend in. Fad dieting and obsession with physical appearance doesn't seem to be the mainstay. At least not as much as L.A.
And Karen was very much 'one of the guys', if you were to ask anyone around her growing up. She loved sports, eating junk food and sweets, but could still be the girly-girl if need be.
She was very much the quintessential All-American girl. Unfortunately, the Midwest Farmers' Daughters all undergo a morph of some type once landing on the West Coast. She was certainly no exception.
Thin was in. She had all but mastered the techniques of the expert anorexic, when it came to willingly deprive her body of the food it needed to fuel itself. She felt this was the sacrifice she needed to make if she was to be at the center of attention onstage...and sadly enough, offstage.
What if the all-American girl stayed in New Haven?
Maybe the Carpenters could still have been a possibility. They do have recording studios in New York City too, ya know.
I would have seen her as settling down, having two or three kids, and relishing the thought of being a stay-at-home mom. Desperate for children, she abhorred the thought of having a child in her line of work and then turning them over to a nanny. She saw her short-lived marriage to real estate developer Tom Burris as a springboard to that future. However, those closest to her were less optimistic.
To Richard, the marriage "didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of working."
"Because We Are in Love", penned by brother Richard and longtime songwriting partner John Burris, seemed to be an answer to those asking "Why, Karen?"
Karen herself wavered in going through with the ceremony, because her knight in shining armor turned out to be a pig in a poorly disguised blanket, revealing just days prior to their nuptials that he had undergone a vasectomy some time ago. It was also discovered that the real estate tycoon, hiding behind expensive homes and cars, was barely able to keep his head above water, and burned through his new wife's fortune very quickly in failed real estate ventures.
Trying to survive in a 'thin-is-in' culture. An emotionally detached and domineering mother who openly favored her talented older brother. Pressure to fight stage fright as she was now the front of their act. A flim-flam man of a husband. An aborted solo album that cost her (and her brother) almost half a million dollars to produce, charged against future Carpenters album sales royalties.
It was life in the fast lane to a girl clearly more comfortable with the scenic route.
We will never know what your family has gone through since your passing. We have been blessed with the legacy you left behind. The same legacy that rock and roll visionaries later took notice of and saw the contributions you made to pop music. So much so that a compilation CD of covers by modern rock bands was subsequently released in 1994, and your solo album finally became released two years later, as you originally approved it. It was truly a masterpiece way ahead of its time.
Thank you.
What more needs to be said?
NEXT WEEK:
Karen Anne Carpenter was more or less dragged along for the ride when Harold Carpenter made the decision to move his family to southern California, having had enough of New England's freezing winters and a desire to further his son's yet-to-begin music career.
Yes, they'd only just begun.
Though Harold had a move on his mind as early as 1955, it would not be until eight years later that he activated his decision and moved his family to Downey, California...an L.A. suburb close enough to afford Richard opportunities to develop his career, yet far enough away from the hedonistic superficiality often associated with the City of Angels, even then.
In 1964, Karen finally developed a feel for music when she took up the drums, after the flute and accordion had gone nowhere. Richard by this time, was slowly making a name for himself and eventually, Karen began to tag along.
They eventually evolved into Spectrum, and the Richard Carpenter Trio. Then finally, a demo tape made by a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, found its way to Herb Alpert's desk at A&M Records.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
But what if?
Woulda, shoulda, coulda.
What if Harold and Agnes Carpenter decided to stay in New Haven? What would their children become?
Richard likely would have still found a career in music. Either as a teacher, or making the relatively short drive to New York City for more. After all, there was the famed "Brill Building", which gave birth to the talents of the likes of Gerry Goffin, Carole King, Neil Sedaka, and other gifted songwriters.
One thing I've learned about New York City, is that it's far more real and much more accepting of outsiders than its cross-coastal sister. Just about anyone can blend in. Fad dieting and obsession with physical appearance doesn't seem to be the mainstay. At least not as much as L.A.
And Karen was very much 'one of the guys', if you were to ask anyone around her growing up. She loved sports, eating junk food and sweets, but could still be the girly-girl if need be.
She was very much the quintessential All-American girl. Unfortunately, the Midwest Farmers' Daughters all undergo a morph of some type once landing on the West Coast. She was certainly no exception.
Thin was in. She had all but mastered the techniques of the expert anorexic, when it came to willingly deprive her body of the food it needed to fuel itself. She felt this was the sacrifice she needed to make if she was to be at the center of attention onstage...and sadly enough, offstage.
What if the all-American girl stayed in New Haven?
Maybe the Carpenters could still have been a possibility. They do have recording studios in New York City too, ya know.
I would have seen her as settling down, having two or three kids, and relishing the thought of being a stay-at-home mom. Desperate for children, she abhorred the thought of having a child in her line of work and then turning them over to a nanny. She saw her short-lived marriage to real estate developer Tom Burris as a springboard to that future. However, those closest to her were less optimistic.
To Richard, the marriage "didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of working."
"Because We Are in Love", penned by brother Richard and longtime songwriting partner John Burris, seemed to be an answer to those asking "Why, Karen?"
Karen herself wavered in going through with the ceremony, because her knight in shining armor turned out to be a pig in a poorly disguised blanket, revealing just days prior to their nuptials that he had undergone a vasectomy some time ago. It was also discovered that the real estate tycoon, hiding behind expensive homes and cars, was barely able to keep his head above water, and burned through his new wife's fortune very quickly in failed real estate ventures.
Trying to survive in a 'thin-is-in' culture. An emotionally detached and domineering mother who openly favored her talented older brother. Pressure to fight stage fright as she was now the front of their act. A flim-flam man of a husband. An aborted solo album that cost her (and her brother) almost half a million dollars to produce, charged against future Carpenters album sales royalties.
It was life in the fast lane to a girl clearly more comfortable with the scenic route.
We will never know what your family has gone through since your passing. We have been blessed with the legacy you left behind. The same legacy that rock and roll visionaries later took notice of and saw the contributions you made to pop music. So much so that a compilation CD of covers by modern rock bands was subsequently released in 1994, and your solo album finally became released two years later, as you originally approved it. It was truly a masterpiece way ahead of its time.
Thank you.
What more needs to be said?
NEXT WEEK:
Sunday, February 9, 2014
If I Were A Carpenter...Part I
They were praised and ridiculed. They were hip yet square. They were simple yet complex. In short, they were everything you could find in any other popular music act at that time.
In their case, it was all a matter of presentation.
This past week marked the 31st anniversary of the passing of Karen Anne Carpenter. At 32, she succumbed to complications arising from anorexia nervosa, which few people had heard of until the news of her death spread worldwide.
I was 13 when it happened on February 4, 1983.
I was returning home from the Super Dollar grocery store with my father, who was nursing a back injury after tripping over a telephone line cord at work that day. We had the radio on and heard "Close to You" broadcast over 3WS, then an adult contemporary formatted station before switching to oldies in 1988. The DJ came on the air and back-announced the record, played "in memory of Karen Carpenter...Karen died this morning at the age of 32."
My dad and I looked at each other with widened eyes. We were both distraught.
We came home and asked my mother if she saw anything on the news. Her jaw dropped and she gasped. The story was obviously still developing.
My parents were Top 40 radio people. What they listened to, I listened to as well. Therefore, I had grown fond of acts like Fleetwood Mac, the Bee Gees, the Eagles, Chicago, America, James Taylor, Jim Croce, Harry Chapin and Carly Simon.
And yes, the Carpenters. We had the 8-track of their Greatest Hits album, "The Singles 1969-73" released in 1974. Plus some of their other albums.
I found myself listening to more of their music, and gaining a new appreciation for it during my teen years. I was spending allowance money on 45's and albums bearing their name.
For Christmas of 1985, I asked for and received "Yesterday Once More", which was a VHS montage of film and videotape performances they had made of their hit songs back in the days that predated not just MTV, but cable television as we know it. Such films were usually produced by record labels to sell product to record store buyers and influence concert bookings.
I had brought the tape in for a classmate to borrow at high school one day, as she was a fan. Others seeing me with it asked what it was. Then they asked if they too could borrow it for the night.
All told, the tape ended up in probably a couple dozen VCRs in the first three months I had it.
And oddly enough, some students who asked me to borrow it looked as if they'd rather be caught dead listening to a Lawrence Welk Christmas album before anything from the Carpenters.
Students watched it with their parents. Teachers watched it with their families, explaining who Karen Carpenter was and what she and her brother Richard brought to the world.
Some even cried, seeing the New Haven, Connecticut native zigzag between 110 and 80 pounds throughout her professional career, and the montage of family photos at the final video on the tape set to "Close to You".
Until recently, I had no luck in finding this presentation on DVD. It recently resurfaced as "Carpenters Gold", the same identical product repackaged under a different name.
And next paycheck, it will find its way into my DVD library.
NEXT WEEK: Part II
In their case, it was all a matter of presentation.
This past week marked the 31st anniversary of the passing of Karen Anne Carpenter. At 32, she succumbed to complications arising from anorexia nervosa, which few people had heard of until the news of her death spread worldwide.
I was 13 when it happened on February 4, 1983.
I was returning home from the Super Dollar grocery store with my father, who was nursing a back injury after tripping over a telephone line cord at work that day. We had the radio on and heard "Close to You" broadcast over 3WS, then an adult contemporary formatted station before switching to oldies in 1988. The DJ came on the air and back-announced the record, played "in memory of Karen Carpenter...Karen died this morning at the age of 32."
My dad and I looked at each other with widened eyes. We were both distraught.
We came home and asked my mother if she saw anything on the news. Her jaw dropped and she gasped. The story was obviously still developing.
My parents were Top 40 radio people. What they listened to, I listened to as well. Therefore, I had grown fond of acts like Fleetwood Mac, the Bee Gees, the Eagles, Chicago, America, James Taylor, Jim Croce, Harry Chapin and Carly Simon.
And yes, the Carpenters. We had the 8-track of their Greatest Hits album, "The Singles 1969-73" released in 1974. Plus some of their other albums.
I found myself listening to more of their music, and gaining a new appreciation for it during my teen years. I was spending allowance money on 45's and albums bearing their name.
For Christmas of 1985, I asked for and received "Yesterday Once More", which was a VHS montage of film and videotape performances they had made of their hit songs back in the days that predated not just MTV, but cable television as we know it. Such films were usually produced by record labels to sell product to record store buyers and influence concert bookings.
I had brought the tape in for a classmate to borrow at high school one day, as she was a fan. Others seeing me with it asked what it was. Then they asked if they too could borrow it for the night.
All told, the tape ended up in probably a couple dozen VCRs in the first three months I had it.
And oddly enough, some students who asked me to borrow it looked as if they'd rather be caught dead listening to a Lawrence Welk Christmas album before anything from the Carpenters.
Students watched it with their parents. Teachers watched it with their families, explaining who Karen Carpenter was and what she and her brother Richard brought to the world.
Some even cried, seeing the New Haven, Connecticut native zigzag between 110 and 80 pounds throughout her professional career, and the montage of family photos at the final video on the tape set to "Close to You".
Until recently, I had no luck in finding this presentation on DVD. It recently resurfaced as "Carpenters Gold", the same identical product repackaged under a different name.
And next paycheck, it will find its way into my DVD library.
NEXT WEEK: Part II
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Weather Whoas
Who in my home base of western Pennsylvania is sick and tired of this weather?
Frigid temperatures since the week after New Year's. Then milder. Then frigid again. The volume of snow ebbs and flows.
Back in the late 70's, when my younger brother and I enjoyed playing outside in this stuff, it was at least a foot deep, and the thermometer usually hovered between the lower to upper 20s. You usually didn't see grass between New Year's Eve and the second week of March.
Today marks the annual event where people congregate to the their radios and TVs to hear the prediction given by a groundhog in a small town in northwest Pennsylvania. Six more weeks of winter, or an early spring?
In a world of Doppler 4,000,000, state-of-the-art weather systems from dozens of satellites orbiting the earth, we turn to a woodchuck one day out of the year for his prediction.
Having been professionally connected to Punxsutawney for five years as a broadcaster, I've learned many things about this little town of about 5,500 residents, including its most famous one.
Speaking ill of the groundhog in ANY way will get you run out of town on a rail. I'm not even close to kidding on that one.
Just about every businessman in town is involved in the Groundhog Club (caretakers of Punxsutawney Phil) Inner Circle. They know secrets they will take to their graves...and have.
It's one of the friendliest towns I've ever had the pleasure of working in.
Danny Rubin (who wrote the screenplay to "Groundhog Day" starring Bill Murray and Andie McDowell) is very accessible and a great interview.
The town's population swells to approximately 20,000 on the day of the prediction. In some cases, retail businesses in town earn enough revenue to sustain them until next year. Or at least until the summer groundhog festival. Didn't know there was one of those now, did you?
Local media are the daily newspaper and radio stations...and they work well with each other, albeit on an often shaky truce. You won't see that in many other towns.
The school district has no metal detectors or internal drug problems of any kind. You can send your kids to a school where they know they're going to be safe.
Punxsutawney Phil's predictions have NEVER been wrong. Just ask any of the townsfolk.
The residents of Punxsutawney have mixed feelings of Groundhog Day. Some welcome it with open arms, while others stay behind locked doors until February 3rd.
Phil receives frequent veterinary care. Even if he nips one of his handlers, they're in the clear.
To this day, I miss the town and interacting with its people.
However, I look forward to the visits.
One of which I hope to share with my daughter this year.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, Phil says...drum roll, please...
Six more weeks of this stuff.
NEXT WEEK: If She Weren't A Carpenter
Frigid temperatures since the week after New Year's. Then milder. Then frigid again. The volume of snow ebbs and flows.
Back in the late 70's, when my younger brother and I enjoyed playing outside in this stuff, it was at least a foot deep, and the thermometer usually hovered between the lower to upper 20s. You usually didn't see grass between New Year's Eve and the second week of March.
Today marks the annual event where people congregate to the their radios and TVs to hear the prediction given by a groundhog in a small town in northwest Pennsylvania. Six more weeks of winter, or an early spring?
In a world of Doppler 4,000,000, state-of-the-art weather systems from dozens of satellites orbiting the earth, we turn to a woodchuck one day out of the year for his prediction.
Having been professionally connected to Punxsutawney for five years as a broadcaster, I've learned many things about this little town of about 5,500 residents, including its most famous one.
Speaking ill of the groundhog in ANY way will get you run out of town on a rail. I'm not even close to kidding on that one.
Just about every businessman in town is involved in the Groundhog Club (caretakers of Punxsutawney Phil) Inner Circle. They know secrets they will take to their graves...and have.
It's one of the friendliest towns I've ever had the pleasure of working in.
Danny Rubin (who wrote the screenplay to "Groundhog Day" starring Bill Murray and Andie McDowell) is very accessible and a great interview.
The town's population swells to approximately 20,000 on the day of the prediction. In some cases, retail businesses in town earn enough revenue to sustain them until next year. Or at least until the summer groundhog festival. Didn't know there was one of those now, did you?
Local media are the daily newspaper and radio stations...and they work well with each other, albeit on an often shaky truce. You won't see that in many other towns.
The school district has no metal detectors or internal drug problems of any kind. You can send your kids to a school where they know they're going to be safe.
Punxsutawney Phil's predictions have NEVER been wrong. Just ask any of the townsfolk.
The residents of Punxsutawney have mixed feelings of Groundhog Day. Some welcome it with open arms, while others stay behind locked doors until February 3rd.
Phil receives frequent veterinary care. Even if he nips one of his handlers, they're in the clear.
To this day, I miss the town and interacting with its people.
However, I look forward to the visits.
One of which I hope to share with my daughter this year.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, Phil says...drum roll, please...
Six more weeks of this stuff.
NEXT WEEK: If She Weren't A Carpenter
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Rage Against the Machine
No, I won't be talking about the 90's Alternative rock band, but rather the political climate and the growing anger surrounding it.
A couple weeks ago, I posted a story where a college professor conducted an experiment upon his own students, who were convinced that socialism was good for society. He used the concept of need-based distribution and gave better students a lower grade while under-performers a higher grade. I found it amusing and posted it.
Because what professor hasn't drawn the ire of a student? How many of you have taken a class to find it was nothing at all what you imagined, then not doing as well as you would have hoped for because of it?
An English II class I took in college turned out to be more closely related to a World Cultures class with the focus on China. For our term paper, we had to pick a select topic about China and then write about it. I had to write on the three religions closely associated with China prior to Communist control. This was an English class?
But unfortunately, this is part of the college dynamic. The things you learn that one says aren't taught in school...at least directly. You learn that life isn't always fair, and you quite often need to play by someone else's rules if you intend to stay in the game.
And right or wrong, I feel the present generation and the one before it has been coddled too much.
The article I posted quickly drew the anger, if not unbridled rage, of a former colleague who self-identifies as a liberal Democrat who is quick to speak up about President Obama and every facet of his administration should anyone disrespect it in any way. So he let fly.
"It makes it hard to take anything you say politically seriously,"
Political?
I don't use my column nor my social media walls as platforms for politics. At least I try not to. Yet some people use every avenue they can to push a political agenda.
I am a registered Republican, but I have supported much of President Obama's policies. I supported his decision to not pull troops out of the Middle East and finish what President Bush started. I supported the economic bailout as well, because without it, the end result would have made the Great Depression look like a gumball machine robbery.
I also know Democrats who became strong Bush supporters after September 11, 2001. I vote my conscience, not a political party.
If you want my political stand on anything, you can always ask me directly. And most recently, I've been asked of my stand on the Affordable Health Care Act, or "Obamacare". This was the end result of what I had posted.
I don't support it in its current form. That's my opinion, based on facts, and we all know that facts can be interpreted in all kinds of ways. This is what keeps lawyers busy...and rich.
One person's opinion...mine. You don't like it, get over it.
Get mad at me. Defriend me on Facebook. That's my stand. It won't be swayed.
That said, have a good day.
NEXT WEEK: Columnist's Choice
A couple weeks ago, I posted a story where a college professor conducted an experiment upon his own students, who were convinced that socialism was good for society. He used the concept of need-based distribution and gave better students a lower grade while under-performers a higher grade. I found it amusing and posted it.
Because what professor hasn't drawn the ire of a student? How many of you have taken a class to find it was nothing at all what you imagined, then not doing as well as you would have hoped for because of it?
An English II class I took in college turned out to be more closely related to a World Cultures class with the focus on China. For our term paper, we had to pick a select topic about China and then write about it. I had to write on the three religions closely associated with China prior to Communist control. This was an English class?
But unfortunately, this is part of the college dynamic. The things you learn that one says aren't taught in school...at least directly. You learn that life isn't always fair, and you quite often need to play by someone else's rules if you intend to stay in the game.
And right or wrong, I feel the present generation and the one before it has been coddled too much.
The article I posted quickly drew the anger, if not unbridled rage, of a former colleague who self-identifies as a liberal Democrat who is quick to speak up about President Obama and every facet of his administration should anyone disrespect it in any way. So he let fly.
"It makes it hard to take anything you say politically seriously,"
Political?
I don't use my column nor my social media walls as platforms for politics. At least I try not to. Yet some people use every avenue they can to push a political agenda.
I am a registered Republican, but I have supported much of President Obama's policies. I supported his decision to not pull troops out of the Middle East and finish what President Bush started. I supported the economic bailout as well, because without it, the end result would have made the Great Depression look like a gumball machine robbery.
I also know Democrats who became strong Bush supporters after September 11, 2001. I vote my conscience, not a political party.
If you want my political stand on anything, you can always ask me directly. And most recently, I've been asked of my stand on the Affordable Health Care Act, or "Obamacare". This was the end result of what I had posted.
I don't support it in its current form. That's my opinion, based on facts, and we all know that facts can be interpreted in all kinds of ways. This is what keeps lawyers busy...and rich.
One person's opinion...mine. You don't like it, get over it.
Get mad at me. Defriend me on Facebook. That's my stand. It won't be swayed.
That said, have a good day.
NEXT WEEK: Columnist's Choice
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Picture This
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
I disagree.
They're worth at the very minimum, a thousand sentences. The only problem is, there's just not enough words in the English language to say enough about that picture.
Especially when it's of your child.
Very few things can capture your heart and mind like a well-taken photograph of your young son or daughter.
Just before Christmas, my brother-in-law and his wife surprised my wife and I with a framed photo of our daughter, who will be five this coming July.
The photo was taken during an overnight stay that our Savannah had with Christian and Melissa's son and daughter. They took one of her alone, then another one with her and her cousins, Alex and Mia.
We had no idea that this was being done. They bought her a new black dress and styled her hair to perfection. The end result in the frame was nothing short of priceless.
The little girl's image that stared back at me gave me a glimpse into the future.
Margie and I want nothing but the best for our child, the same as any parent. They say it's what's inside that counts, but the outward appeal is definitely an added bonus.
Could my little girl be brains and beauty?
One can only hope so.
As excited as I am to see the end result of what she will ultimately grow up to be, I find myself reluctant to let her do so.
While I do want her to grow up to be smart and successful, it also means letting her make her own mistakes. Making her own decisions. In short, allowing her to be open to the cruel reality of what it's like to live in this world.
She will be lied to. She will be taken advantage of. She will have her heart broken at least once in her lifetime.
We fathers can only take them in our arms only so many times before a simple cuddle just doesn't do the job anymore...because the problems get far more complex as they grow.
But as I see that chubby-cheeked little face, now on a much larger canvas version of that same photo, I know she's going to be just fine.
That doesn't mean I'll ever stop worrying though.
After all, I am her father.
NEXT WEEK: Why so angry?
I disagree.
They're worth at the very minimum, a thousand sentences. The only problem is, there's just not enough words in the English language to say enough about that picture.
Especially when it's of your child.
Very few things can capture your heart and mind like a well-taken photograph of your young son or daughter.
Just before Christmas, my brother-in-law and his wife surprised my wife and I with a framed photo of our daughter, who will be five this coming July.
The photo was taken during an overnight stay that our Savannah had with Christian and Melissa's son and daughter. They took one of her alone, then another one with her and her cousins, Alex and Mia.
We had no idea that this was being done. They bought her a new black dress and styled her hair to perfection. The end result in the frame was nothing short of priceless.
The little girl's image that stared back at me gave me a glimpse into the future.
Margie and I want nothing but the best for our child, the same as any parent. They say it's what's inside that counts, but the outward appeal is definitely an added bonus.
Could my little girl be brains and beauty?
One can only hope so.
As excited as I am to see the end result of what she will ultimately grow up to be, I find myself reluctant to let her do so.
While I do want her to grow up to be smart and successful, it also means letting her make her own mistakes. Making her own decisions. In short, allowing her to be open to the cruel reality of what it's like to live in this world.
She will be lied to. She will be taken advantage of. She will have her heart broken at least once in her lifetime.
We fathers can only take them in our arms only so many times before a simple cuddle just doesn't do the job anymore...because the problems get far more complex as they grow.
But as I see that chubby-cheeked little face, now on a much larger canvas version of that same photo, I know she's going to be just fine.
That doesn't mean I'll ever stop worrying though.
After all, I am her father.
NEXT WEEK: Why so angry?
Sunday, January 12, 2014
"Fighting Words"
Most of you know I've spent most of my life in radio. So I'll have to ask your forgiveness as I indulge in the words of one of my many esteemed colleagues over the years.
Today it's the late Douglas Hoerth.
"Uncle Dougie" to those of us who knew him.
While Doug was a jock who played music on the radio in the early days of his career, he came to reinvent himself years later as a popular talk show host in Pittsburgh on the former 1250 WTAE.
In a series of TV commercials, he and other hosts communicated how they felt talk radio should be for its average listener.
"You can make them happy, you can make them sad," Doug said. "Sometimes you can even make them think."
I have always viewed music in the same light, and some of those songs can be completely thought-provoking.
John Ondrasik, the one-man band known as "Five For Fighting" is a great example of this. While he's been derided by some critics as a "one-trick pony", I'd like to see anyone out there come remotely close to what he's accomplished as an artist.
While I like his music, I have a hard time listening to it, because it's that thought-provoking. At least it is to me, anyway.
"Superman" is told as a first-person narrative from the would-be thoughts of the Man of Steel that are never verbalized, that show the human side of the native Kryptonian.
"Even heroes have the right to dream," "a home I'll never see", "it's not easy to be me".
Would Superman ever get sick of defending Metropolis time and time again? Would he feel compelled to break Lex Luthor's neck with his bare hands to put an end to his evil ambitions once and for all? Just so he could get some peace and quiet?
Then there's another song..."The Riddle". I have an especially hard time with this one.
"There's a reason for the world...you and I". "We're all we've got on this bouncing ball".
From a religious perspective, if God created Man in his own image, are we behaving in a godly manner to our fellow creatures? Or from a secular perspective, are we respecting everyone's right to exist? Or do we see ourselves as more fit to live than others because they don't share our beliefs and values?
More importantly, what's the message we're passing along to the next generation through our own example? Are we teaching our children compassion, or 'kill or be killed'?
Pensions are disappearing. Health care is being treated as a luxury instead of a necessity. Companies prioritize profits over people and don't mince words about it. Virtue has become a liability rather than reward. We celebrate money over morality. We confuse need with want and fill our lives with possessions that we believe will make us happy for another day, until we tire of it and decide we want more. And more.
Don't get me started on those who worship 'scripted-reality' TV and talent shows, looking to be the next big star.
There are those who choose to get their news from "The Daily Show" or "Weekend Update", rather than CBS, ABC or NBC. By the way, if you ever want 'real' news, watch a BBC newscast. You'll learn of the world that exists out of the U.S. that our country seems to turn a blind eye to more and more with each passing day.
So why are we all here?
Well...here's a riddle for ya.
Find the answer.
There's a reason for the world.
You and I.
NEXT WEEK: Picture Perfect
Today it's the late Douglas Hoerth.
"Uncle Dougie" to those of us who knew him.
While Doug was a jock who played music on the radio in the early days of his career, he came to reinvent himself years later as a popular talk show host in Pittsburgh on the former 1250 WTAE.
In a series of TV commercials, he and other hosts communicated how they felt talk radio should be for its average listener.
"You can make them happy, you can make them sad," Doug said. "Sometimes you can even make them think."
I have always viewed music in the same light, and some of those songs can be completely thought-provoking.
John Ondrasik, the one-man band known as "Five For Fighting" is a great example of this. While he's been derided by some critics as a "one-trick pony", I'd like to see anyone out there come remotely close to what he's accomplished as an artist.
While I like his music, I have a hard time listening to it, because it's that thought-provoking. At least it is to me, anyway.
"Superman" is told as a first-person narrative from the would-be thoughts of the Man of Steel that are never verbalized, that show the human side of the native Kryptonian.
"Even heroes have the right to dream," "a home I'll never see", "it's not easy to be me".
Would Superman ever get sick of defending Metropolis time and time again? Would he feel compelled to break Lex Luthor's neck with his bare hands to put an end to his evil ambitions once and for all? Just so he could get some peace and quiet?
Then there's another song..."The Riddle". I have an especially hard time with this one.
"There's a reason for the world...you and I". "We're all we've got on this bouncing ball".
From a religious perspective, if God created Man in his own image, are we behaving in a godly manner to our fellow creatures? Or from a secular perspective, are we respecting everyone's right to exist? Or do we see ourselves as more fit to live than others because they don't share our beliefs and values?
More importantly, what's the message we're passing along to the next generation through our own example? Are we teaching our children compassion, or 'kill or be killed'?
Pensions are disappearing. Health care is being treated as a luxury instead of a necessity. Companies prioritize profits over people and don't mince words about it. Virtue has become a liability rather than reward. We celebrate money over morality. We confuse need with want and fill our lives with possessions that we believe will make us happy for another day, until we tire of it and decide we want more. And more.
Don't get me started on those who worship 'scripted-reality' TV and talent shows, looking to be the next big star.
There are those who choose to get their news from "The Daily Show" or "Weekend Update", rather than CBS, ABC or NBC. By the way, if you ever want 'real' news, watch a BBC newscast. You'll learn of the world that exists out of the U.S. that our country seems to turn a blind eye to more and more with each passing day.
So why are we all here?
Well...here's a riddle for ya.
Find the answer.
There's a reason for the world.
You and I.
NEXT WEEK: Picture Perfect
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Reflections and Resolutions
Well, here we go again. That time of year.
Some of you may feel that I need to make a resolution...not to stray away from my promised column each week. Valid argument, yes, but this time I have a good excuse.
My wife is forever calling me a "PC lover", "Windows lover", whatever have you, because while she's embraced her MacBook as the leading technology, I still cling to the archaic vintage 2004 laptop that I rescued from the curb when she adopted the MacBook.
Most recently, it exhibited signs of involuntary retirement, so to speak, enough to the point where my wife actually surprised me Christmas morning with a shiny new Dell Inspiron 15, courtesy of my corporate discount at work.
So I spent much of my time between Christmas and New Year's migrating files from the old HP to the new Dell. Not a speedy process by any means.
And, I no longer have an excuse to take an unannounced break from my weekly warblings that I will carry into 2014.
I look for 2014 to be a year of personal renewal, revival and reward.
Not much change than in previous years, all that matters is the outcome, and how I will accomplish those goals or deal with the adversity if things don't go according to plan.
And it's the latter that often happens, according to John Lennon.
"Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans".
As I look out of the window from my new laptop, I gaze upon the winter landscape, and the promise of sunshine in the coming months.
How will I make the most of those days? Or even the days now, however cold and dreary it may look outside?
I tend to think of this a lot more in my advancing years, as I pay more attention to those around me. I see friends and acquaintances fighting terminal illness, family members aging, colleagues trying to find ways to rebuild their lives after losing their jobs, and what used to be 'little ones' finally growing up and planning their futures after high school.
Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" comes to mind right now.
Have I truly "gone forth" spiritually, as Jacob Marley insisted Ebenezer Scrooge do during his time on Earth? Have I truly reached out to my fellow creatures?
And if not, why? Has life truly gotten in the way of it, or am I using it as an excuse to put it off until tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
My mind travels back to one February night back in the studio of 104.7 in Pittsburgh, almost 23 years ago when I was making my major market radio debut.
The cleaning staff was making its rounds to the different offices in the building, emptying the wastebaskets into the big can that would soon find its way to the dumpster on the side of the building.
"Where's Ed?" asked the African-American gentleman, likely in his mid to early 50's.
I relayed to him that "Ed" had passed away the week before, receiving the incredulous look in return.
"He wasn't too old...what did he die of?" he asked.
A heart attack is what took the broadcast legend's life at 56.
The man shook his head sadly, but managed a smile, nonetheless.
"Tomorrow's promised to no one," he said before turning around to move on to the next office.
I thought a lot about that. I still do.
I don't think I'll ever stop.
NEXT WEEK: A Reason for the World
Some of you may feel that I need to make a resolution...not to stray away from my promised column each week. Valid argument, yes, but this time I have a good excuse.
My wife is forever calling me a "PC lover", "Windows lover", whatever have you, because while she's embraced her MacBook as the leading technology, I still cling to the archaic vintage 2004 laptop that I rescued from the curb when she adopted the MacBook.
Most recently, it exhibited signs of involuntary retirement, so to speak, enough to the point where my wife actually surprised me Christmas morning with a shiny new Dell Inspiron 15, courtesy of my corporate discount at work.
So I spent much of my time between Christmas and New Year's migrating files from the old HP to the new Dell. Not a speedy process by any means.
And, I no longer have an excuse to take an unannounced break from my weekly warblings that I will carry into 2014.
I look for 2014 to be a year of personal renewal, revival and reward.
Not much change than in previous years, all that matters is the outcome, and how I will accomplish those goals or deal with the adversity if things don't go according to plan.
And it's the latter that often happens, according to John Lennon.
"Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans".
As I look out of the window from my new laptop, I gaze upon the winter landscape, and the promise of sunshine in the coming months.
How will I make the most of those days? Or even the days now, however cold and dreary it may look outside?
I tend to think of this a lot more in my advancing years, as I pay more attention to those around me. I see friends and acquaintances fighting terminal illness, family members aging, colleagues trying to find ways to rebuild their lives after losing their jobs, and what used to be 'little ones' finally growing up and planning their futures after high school.
Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" comes to mind right now.
Have I truly "gone forth" spiritually, as Jacob Marley insisted Ebenezer Scrooge do during his time on Earth? Have I truly reached out to my fellow creatures?
And if not, why? Has life truly gotten in the way of it, or am I using it as an excuse to put it off until tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
My mind travels back to one February night back in the studio of 104.7 in Pittsburgh, almost 23 years ago when I was making my major market radio debut.
The cleaning staff was making its rounds to the different offices in the building, emptying the wastebaskets into the big can that would soon find its way to the dumpster on the side of the building.
"Where's Ed?" asked the African-American gentleman, likely in his mid to early 50's.
I relayed to him that "Ed" had passed away the week before, receiving the incredulous look in return.
"He wasn't too old...what did he die of?" he asked.
A heart attack is what took the broadcast legend's life at 56.
The man shook his head sadly, but managed a smile, nonetheless.
"Tomorrow's promised to no one," he said before turning around to move on to the next office.
I thought a lot about that. I still do.
I don't think I'll ever stop.
NEXT WEEK: A Reason for the World
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