End of the year... eh

Well, part of the reason I haven't posted on here for over a week is that I fired up another blog, all about Kerry Beagles. Gotta find Max's family. Another reason is that we slept most of the holiday weekend--as far as I was concerned, Christmas was basically just a long weekend, and that was just fine with me. No family drama, no obligations, no running around. Just sleep till noon, eat the wife's delicious stroganoff and cheesecake (not at the same time), play some Playstation, cuddle the dogs, and then back to bed! Finally got to see Elf and The 40-Year-Old Virgin on DVD (cute and hilarious, respectively).

But I'm pooped too. All that extra sleep over the weekend didn't help. We were out last night at the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert in Boston, and even though we left early and were home by 11:00, I didn't get to sleep till 12:30, which is just too damn late when I have to wake up at 6:30. So I spent all day trying to stay awake, and even though working out felt good, it didn't give me much of an energy boost. So I'll pass out early tonight since the god damn Daily Show is still on break.

It's been a tough year. There have been good moments, but Max's death overshadowed everything for us. It's just still so hard not having him with us. But we got to have Lady come join our family, and all the others are really flourishing and enjoying their home with us. And we did lots of great stuff to the house, which is really gratifying. I got to see my three favorite bands ever live in concert (U2, Foo Fighters and Oasis), which was totally amazing and reignited my love and appreciation of music and really made me realize that I love seeing good bands perform live. We had a really great trip to San Francisco in May. And I played golf over two dozen times, way more than any year before, and I'm starting to get good at it and am totally addicted now.

I'm looking forward to 2006. First of all, it's actually possible for me to finish all the big projects we have planned for the house. And my big surprise gift for the wife was tickets to see Luciano Pavarotti in concert outside London in July, so we're finally going to get to take our big trip to the UK. We're actually going to split a week between London and Dublin, since not visiting Ireland while we're that close would be just wrong. So I'll get to actually visit the Guinness brewery, which is hard to comprehend. And I plan to play golf every possible weekend once things thaw.

I'm suddenly bored by my own post. I need something to piss me off. Somebody in the government better do something soon, or this blog has the potential to really start to suck.

Zogs

As much as I might like to continue some noble, high-minded train of thought here (following my last post), I had to put up this picture of the dogs from Saturday. Poor little Lady (the beagle) had to go to the vet again that afternoon, and we found out she'd hurt her back (probably slipped on the ice) and that's why she'd been so out of it lately. So Karen our vet gave her a steroid shot and some painkillers, and by the time we got home, she was pooped. The other two (Lucy and Trixie) had been pining away for a couple hours for us, so when we got them all situated on the bed so we could go out shopping, Lady just sort of tipped over and landed on Lucy, who seemed surprisingly willing to let her butt be used as a pillow for the moment. Lady and Lucy occasionally still bare teeth at each other, mainly when they step on each other, so it's nice to see them all cuddle up together.

But I mean really, could she be any cuter? I mean, she's just the sweetest little thing. And once again, like the last time she got sick, she's got us actually WISHING she would start barking again. Sure enough, a couple days after she starts, we'll be asking "This is what we were wishing for?", but right now, I'd love her to feel good enough to start arf-ing again.

Speaking of the ice (look back a paragraph), the fucking permafrost here has yet to completely go away. I'm fairly certain that we have been covered in some degree of snow/ice since Thanksgiving. I can't confirm this, which is making me really annoyed (I hate when I find something you CAN'T do on the web), but I know it snowed Thanksgiving morning, and I don't really recall it melting much after that, and then we had that ridiculous amount of snow like a week later, and then some more the weekend I went to see U2, and it's been fucking cold as hell since then, so it's never really melted. In fact, the last time, it froze so hard overnight that my driveway still has icy speed bumps that I cannot get rid of. And then we had that freakish ice/sleet storm last Friday. I think that's the ice Lady slipped on--our whole back driveway is still iced over. I mean, it's just ridiculous! What's the point of global warming if we're going to have MORE snow than ever? I guess this is the point where I really become an adult, where I stop wishing it would snow and finally start grumbling about it. I remember always thinking we never had enough snow when I was a kid. I mean, I would have KILLED for that blizzard from last year to happen when I was young enough to build forts and have fun with it. But now it's just a major pain in the ass. And it doesn't make picking up the dogs' poo any easier, which is why we haven't done it in 3 weeks or so. But that's the great thing about being property owners--it's my damn yard. :)

This picture of Max is from his last day. I didn't intend to post it, but it happened to be in the folder from Diana's phone where I copied the others from, and when I saw it, I teared up (again). It's been over four months since we lost him, and while I do remember him every day, I don't stop and THINK about him as much as I used to, but when I do, the emotion is still right there. And seeing him in pictures really makes it hard, especially seeing those pictures from right at the end. He almost looks happy in this picture, but he was really uncomfortable and scared. His face is really distorted from the swelling, so he almost doesn't look like himself. I don't think at the moment (this was while we were in the waiting room) I really knew what was coming--I knew he was in bad shape, but I was still hoping Karen might have an idea that would buy us more time with him. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything she could do--not more than 30 minutes after this picture was taken, he was gone, lying there on the floor with Diana and I hugging him and crying like we've never cried before.

As painful as that day was, and as hard as it is to think about those moments, I'm glad I have that picture and the others from that day. It reminds me of how we were with him right till the end. What always killed me about losing my first dog McBarker was that I wasn't there. After 10 years of being his best friend, I was 3000 miles away when he needed me most, when he was hurt and scared, and it's haunted me to this day that I wasn't there. I wish Max could have had an easier time of it, and I don't relish what we went through, but I am glad I was with him and that we fought to give him those extra 4 months he got after the diabetes diagnosis, because I know he was happy more often than not. And whenever someone says they couldn't have been there in the room with him at that last moment, I just think how grateful I am that I was, how while it was the most painful thing I've ever experienced, it's also the most gratifying to know that I gave him comfort and love right up till his last breath. The pain I felt as his head slumped to the floor was worth it, because we were there holding him, telling him we loved him, giving him the support he deserved. God, just typing this last paragraph has made me teary and given me a headache.

I really didn't intend to turn this post into a downer. But that picture had an effect. And besides, with the Daily Show in reruns for TWO WEEKS, I'm going to be pretty grumpy anyway. On the brighter side, have I mentioned how liberating it is to decide I really don't give a shit about Christmas this year? I mean, I'm still listening to music and bought some presents, but I feel like I lifted a weight off my shoulders by acknowledging that I really don't care about CHRISTmas, but rather the winter holiday season as a whole, and even that's lost a lot of its luster over the years. So all in all, I feel pretty free to just relax and laugh at the people who see this month as STRESSFUL. Really. It's funny.

Shame

I hate to say this, but there have been numerous times over the years when I've been ashamed to be an American, white, male, privileged, whatever. I'd prefer to not be ashamed of the people I come from, but I suppose that it means I have a conscience. Tonight we finally watched "Hotel Rwanda" (we'd had it from Netflix for like 3 or 4 weeks, but just hadn't felt "in the mood" to watch it, finally decided to just do it tonight). It's not even over yet, and yet I already feel sick to my stomach. I knew the basics of the story before seeing it, but as any good movie does, it's made me feel it in a way none of us would unless we had been there. And there's a big point--none of us were.

I was pretty ignorant of this crisis back when it happened. I sort of followed the news, I'd heard about it, but like most people, I couldn't even comprehend it. As I spent my time getting drunk and having fun, people a half a world away were chopping each other to pieces. Because of some arbitrary distinction between people (incidentally, created by white folks) who were really family. Because people who have nothing will fight over the little they have, and because there's always some asshole who's willing to stir the fire and stoke the hatred and violence that always seems to be lurking too close beneath the surface of people.

Even now at the end of the movie, I only have a cursory understanding of what happened. But what I do understand is that we who could have helped did not. Americans, Europeans, we decided that it would be too difficult to do anything to stop this madness. The government (governments I guess, not just us) didn't want another Mogadishu, Americans dragged through the streets, and so we let a million people die. The UN was there with their blue helmets on (I sure hope they weren't like Nick Nolte, although he was okay), but apparently peacekeeping doesn't involve actually DOING anything with force. I'm sure they saved a lot of lives by helping people move from place to place, but it wasn't enough was it.

It's shameful that we did nothing, just as it's shameful that we did nothing in the Sudan, and how many other places where people have had no protection against madness like this. And I feel ashamed that for all the times I've watched things like this and cried and raged and ranted, I've done nothing. I sit here in comfort and write my silly little blog, but I've done nothing. There are people who devote their lives to helping others in these situations, who give something, and all I've given is empathy and outrage.


Here's a man who did something. Paul Rusesabagina (the main character of the movie) saved over 1200 people in the midst of all this. He put his own life on the line to save his family and his neighbors. It's easy to say 1200 vs a million, not a big dent, but then I realized, every life is saved one at a time. The millions of children who die in poverty and hunger, every one of them is worth saving. When you start to add people up into sums, blocks of people, percentage of populations, you take away their individual value. The 2100+ American soldiers who have been sacrificed for this criminal war in Iraq deserve to remain individual people whose loss hurts their family and friends and community. The million Rwandans and six millions Jews and thousands of Iraqis, all of them were individual people whose presence in this world was extinguished because of hatred, and to think of them as simply part of a sum makes it easy to dismiss their loss. When you stop and think about each person who could be saved, that's when you would be inspired to do something.

I have no faith in the idea that the "West" will do anything to stop these kinds of things. We cited Rwanda as we talked about Sudan, and we still did next to nothing. We hide behind negotiations and agreements, and wait till it's safe to step in and do something. I'm sorry, I wish I could believe that things will change, but I just don't think they will. Even if we were rid of that criminally retarded moral reprobate in the White House, we as a people won't ever choose to take a risk in order to save people that we don't think are as good as us.

I was really planning to post an adorable picture of the dogs tonight and blog about them. But I suppose it's a bit of irony that I had to choose between my own little comfortable life and something that seems overwhelmingly bigger. I'll save that for tomorrow, when I've conveniently forgotten about this whole Rwanda thing and can go back to pretending like nothing like that ever happens.

A Bandwagon Jumper Am I

I just read an article in last week's Sports Illustrated by Steve Rushin about jumping on the bandwagon. I've never had a very high opinion of sports fans who jump onto teams after they've started winning, but I'm less harsh on other bandwagon jumpers--bands, movies, TV shows, all those are things that I think are okay to jump on late in the game. I hate hipsters who only think something is cool while there are like 3 people who know about it, and as soon as something becomes widely liked, it's no longer cool.

Any way, long roundabout way of saying I am jumping on the Festivus bandwagon this year. In case you don't know, Festivus is an alternative holiday celebration most well known from its appearance on a 1997 episode of Seinfeld. Although I'm sure the writers never intended to create a cultural phenomenon, there's something to the basic concept--Festivus is a response to being disgusted by the commercialization and greed of Gift-mas (generously called Christmas). I've found myself this year finally reaching a point where I've just had it with the status quo of the "Christmas season", and I'm choosing to do something about it.

Let's get something straight. I used to love Christmas. We were never a religious family, and although my mom always had a manger scene under the tree, it was not a religious holiday for us in any way. It was about our own little traditions, and about gift-giving. But the traditions were really the more important thing for me. I think especially after losing my dad, I found a great deal of comfort in knowing that every year, there was structure and ritual to be found in putting up our decorations, listening to the music, watching the movies, all the little things that made it feel like Christmas. Well, as things do, it changed when I left home. I found it hard to maintain the same feelings being in California in shorts in December, but flying home for Christmas break became a comforting thing in itself--I still love being in airports at the holidays, because it creates that sensation of coming home to something known and comfortable. But then even that faded away, as I began spending Christmases in California. After we got married, Diana and I talked about what our shared traditions would be, and we came to realize that Christmas itself (especially CHRISTmas vs. Xmas) meant very little to either of us. Our cats managed to make a Christmas tree an impossibility, and in recent years, we've started to see decorating as pretty just a lot of bother. I think that if we do have kids, and they want to celebrate Christmas, we'll do whatever they want. But for just us, eh, who cares? And since we've pretty much divorced ourselves from all family except my mom, we're free of obligations to celebrate in ways we wouldn't choose.

Now because my wife loves presents, we've maintained the gift-giving aspect. I love buying and giving gifts to her, although I should do it more often and randomly, rather that just on certain days. So this year, having purchased several things for her early, I decided that I didn't feel like waiting and gave her a couple of presents last week. I went online and found a bunch of days in December that we can celebrate instead of Christmas as an excuse to give presents (Indiana's Statehood Day, Frank Sinatra's Birthday, Festivus, etc).

What we agreed our theme for 2006 would be is to only do things that we really WANT to do. No more obligations, no more pretending or playing along, no more compromising our preferences for cultural or societal norms or for anybody else. Now that sounds sort of selfish, but I don't really care. Who's bending over backwards to accomodate us? Who's making sacrifices and compromises for us? Maybe my mom, who's always willing to come dogsit for us. But other than that, I don't see people making any sort of effort on our behalf. So we're going to create our own happiness. And step one for now is to chuck this Christmas thing.

What really pushed me over the edge today was several people in a row (one in a shop, a couple on the radio) talking about shopping and how they weren't done and how they had SO much to do. And everywhere you turn, people just talk about what a hassle Christmas shopping is and how they're sick of it. I know I'm not the first one to point this out, but that hardly seems like the point of Christmas. So everybody feels obligated to buy gifts and waste money that none of us really can afford to spend just because... why again? Because Jesus said so? Hardly. Because other people are buying YOU a gift? Partly. Because it's just what you do? EXACTLY! Well, fuck that. That's stupid. I mean, just. plain. stupid. I want no part of that. I want to actively RAIL against it. I'm going to make a point of telling every person who asks me about shopping how I feel about it. I'm done playing along. I'm done being a sheep.

Here's something scary--I actually find myself partly agreeing with Bill O'Reilly and his idiotic rant on Christmas. He's still a total douchebag, but the whole neutering of CHRIST-mas and homogenization of the holidays into one bland shopping spree is ridiculous. Saying "Merry Christmas" to someone is not offensive. Christmas is a Christian holiday, regardless of its origins.

I'm not a Christian. I believe there was a man named Jesus Christ who lived about 2000 years ago and had some cool ideas that he preached to people. Sort of the Eddie Izzard concept. Personally, I don't think he was the son of God or anything mystical or special beyond a charismatic man with a good message. And he definitely was not born on December 25th. But for pretty obvious reasons, Christian leaders in the 4th century co-opted existing Roman and Druidic festivals and used them to help convert/subvert the "pagans" into being Christians. The traditions currently celebrated are an inextricable amalgam of Christian, "pagan" and created things. The important point is that it means something different to everyone. And that's just fine. People should feel free to celebrate the holiday(s) in whatever way they see fit, regardless of whether it's accurate or not. That's freedom of religion, or speech, or whatever.

So I don't have a problem with Christmas as a religious holiday, and I don't have a problem with Xmas/Giftmas as a secular holiday, no more than I have a problem with Ramadan, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or any other holiday one might celebrate. I just have come to realize that I don't really care. The day of December 25th is basically just a Sunday to me this year. A day to be home with my family and enjoy a relaxing day by the fire. That's all. I'm not going to pretend I give a rat's ass about any other part of it.

Yes, I bought presents for my wife and my mom and my little nephew, but that'll be it. Along with my coworkers, we bought gifts for a family in need as we do every year, to be given anonymously. That felt good, knowing we were going to make two little girls who have had a rough time happy for at least one day. Way better than buying something from someone's list just because you're supposed to.

I must say, I feel great having made this self-declaration. It's liberating. I'll listen to Christmas music for the next few weeks, I'll still watch "A Christmas Story", "Christmas Vacation" and "Trading Places" like I do every year. I'll do what makes me happy, and what makes Diana happy. Like my lighted moose in the front yard. He makes me happy.

Speaking of bandwagons, we've jumped on the Dane Cook bandwagon. I'd heard about him but hadn't checked him out till SNL last week, and he made us laugh so hard. We listened to his CDs while sitting in holiday traffic yesterday, and ended up laughing so hard we cried. He's just a funny son of a B, so check it out.

U2 Does Not Disappoint

Last night we got to see U2 in Boston, and it was worth all the waiting and anticipation. I had become aware of the fact that I had really built this up, not only in my own mind, but in selling it to Diana as the greatest thing ever, and there was the slightest possibility it might not measure up. But sure enough, they blew me away again.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I'd learned since the first show in October that the song they played right before coming on stage was "Wake Up" by the Arcade Fire, and it made an already powerful song totally evocative for me. So we were there in our seats (good seats in the balcony section, great view of the stage), waiting and waiting, and then the first chords of that song came on, and it seemed like half the arena began screaming, so they all knew what I knew. They opened with City of Blinding Lights, with the silver confetti coming down from the ceiling and the lights shimmering, and it was totally awesome.

The set list was about 75% the same as the show I saw before, which was totally fine. They were all good songs, and the ones they changed were good changes. I do wish they'd done Walk On instead of Stuck in a Moment, it's just stronger.

Now there's always something you can complain about, and for us, it was the drunk Irish dude standing in front of us. You could tell he was all business--he stood the entire show, starting out with a Bud in each hand, swaying ever so slowly and unpredictably. We were worried he'd topple right over, but he managed to stay standing, if not totally sober. But all in all, he was more amusing than anything. It seemed fitting to have a grey-haired, red-faced, drunken Irish guy at a U2 show in Boston. The only problem was, as you can see, his head was pretty much in the way if I sat down. So I stood. But I would have anyway.















One of the things I've really come to appreciate watching them live twice this year is how much fun they have playing together. They've been doing this for almost 30 years, and they still seem to love it. And they act and talk (in interviews, not to me) like guys who really are friends and coworkers and who love each other and drive each other crazy and sometimes want to kill each other. But all in all, they love what they're doing, and I even caught the little things like as they walked off stage after the last set, Edge put his hand on Bono's shoulder as they walked down the stairs. Not something staged or phony, but a real simple little gesture.

You can't help but be blown away by how good they are as musicians. Edge is one of the greatest guitarists ever, and to think that he writes most of the music is even more impressive. Larry is a fantastic drummer, and if you watch him through a whole song, it's just mesmerizing how he seems to be one with his sticks. And I always feel bad for Adam because he gets the least attention, but without him, they'd suck. Listen close for the bassline in a song like With or Without You and follow it through the whole song, and then try to imagine it without him playing like that. And it's easy to lose sight of how good a vocalist Bono is, since he's so much flash and charisma and politics, but there are songs where his voice just rips your heart out--Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, where he's singing to his father, or Miss Sarajevo where he sang Pavarotti's part, or that wail in With Or Without You (I can never hear that song and not get a shiver when he hits those notes).

I really do respect what Bono's done with his celebrity. Yes, he definitely can be big-mouthed and grandiose, and there were some years there where he was pretty full of himself, but all in all, I really admire him. The interview in Rolling Stone recently gave some really good insight into his thinking and how he sees his role in all this. And I mean, only an asshole could argue with the idea of eliminating poverty, saving people with AIDS, or helping to guarantee human rights for people who have been oppressed.

There was a group of people with a bunch of flags (I could identify about half) that he drew up on the stage, and I really believe that he's getting through to people and making them believe that we really might all be able to get along. Sure, those people were psyched to get up on stage, but I think they really meant to make a point, and I personally like to see it. Gives me hope, as opposed to listening to my government.

We were watching the INXS DVD "Live Baby Live" the other night, the big show they did at Wembley Stadium in 1991, and Andrew Farriss said something I found to be an excellent summary of what I felt at these two U2 shows. He said that when you see a band in a club, it's just about the music and watching the band, but when you go to an arena or a stadium, it's as much about the person next to you and the people around you. The feeling you get from the crowd and the shared experience is a powerful thing. And as much as I loved seeing the band perform and hearing these songs I love, what really moved me was seeing an arena of thousands singing in full voice with them, to see the entire floor of people bouncing in unison, to see thousands of fists pumping to the chorus. The band didn't quite end the show the same way this time, but the crowd was expecting it, singing the refrain to "40" over and over as they left the stage, and hearing that verse "How long to sing this song" echo through the arena as each instrument fell silent nearly brought me to tears the first time I heard it.I have to admit though, seeing the show the second time, I was a little prepared for the emotion of it. It was still powerful, but it didn't catch me off guard or take my breath away like the first time, knowing what was coming. But just when I thought they couldn't get me, during the second encore, they played "Bad", one of my all-time favorites (from "The Unforgettable Fire") and something they don't often play, and that song just punched me in the gut and made me FEEL IT again. That was what I went there for, and they did not disappoint.

Countdown to Vertigo

Just about 48 hours from now, I'll be standing in the Boston Garden (technically the TD Banknorth Garden, but whatever), quivering with anticipation, waiting to hear "Wake Up" by Arcade Fire start playing over the speakers, because that's the signal that the greatest band in the history of rock is about to take the stage. Yes, I am a shameless, hopeless U2 fan, and I cannot wait to see them (again!). I caught the show in Boston back in October, and I have never experienced anything like it. I'd seen them live twice before--first time was on Zoo TV in 1993 in the Oakland Coliseum, second time was the opening show of the Pop Mart tour in 1997 in Las Vegas. Both were outdoor stadium shows, and as great as they were, the show overwhelmed the music a bit. Regrettably, I missed out on the Elevation tour (too poor at the time), but never again. When tickets went on sale for Vertigo, I promptly worked Ticketmaster to get seats for the October show, and when they added the December show 15 minutes later, I said fuck it, get another pair! So my buddy David and I went in October, sat behind the stage in the upper deck and were still blown away. This time, I'm taking the wife and we're sitting in the balcony right above where the Edge will be. David dropped a pretty penny to get floor tix for him and his girl, so we're all going up together. Did I mention I can't wait?

It's such an emotional experience, I have trouble explaining it. I hope Diana feels even part of what I did. First of all, they're an awesome band, they're great live, and they really are enjoying what they're doing. Second, their songs are moving and emotional to begin with, and being part of a crowd of thousands screaming every word along with them, it's hard to not be swept away. But what I realized last time was most affecting for me was that as I was singing every song with them, being carried away by the music, feeling a lump grow in my throat at times, I realized that their music has been a huge part of my life for almost 20 years. I really discovered them, like many did, when Joshua Tree came out, and I remember spending that summer of 1987 (I was 15) working my summer job at the junior high school changing locker combinations, listening to that tape over and over on my Walkman, front and back, over and over, till it wore out. I went and got all the previous tapes and started learning the wonders of their early stuff (although I still don't know Boy and October too well). When I went away to summer school, I wrote the lyrics to "Running to Stand Still" on my orange Converse All-Stars, along with my peaceful-anarchy symbol (hey, I was 15--that passed for deep). Over the years, I anticipated each new album eagerly (although I confess, I didn't get Zooropa at first). And I grew to respect Bono and what he stood up for, even while I chuckled at his pompousness and posturing. But that sense of continuity, that that music has followed me through so many different phases of my life, it was a little overwhelming. I guess that's why people love their old music, it reconnects them to a time and a place. And to have the same band do that over so many years is special to me.

I'm already feeling the letdown I'll feel after it's over, knowing I won't see them again for another few years. But I'm trying not to dwell on that, and just be ready to let the emotion wash over me Sunday night.

Who knew you could make AIDS jokes?

Certainly not me. Okay, at least not funny ones. But my man Jon Stewart pulled it off. (Incidentally, I think "my man Jon Stewart" may be one of the whitest phrases I could say.) He was in rare form tonight--made me laugh hard enough to make my chest hurt, or maybe that's just the pizza. When Jon (and the writers) are on top of their game, that first segment of the show is the best seven minutes you'll see on TV all week. When he's on a roll, and then that commercial comes, it's such a letdown. Tonight he managed to squeeze in a couple of funny jokes about World AIDS Day (I swear), a couple shots at W (ugh--the idiot had the nerve to talk about abstinence being a key strategy to combatting AIDS), and a wicked pointed shot at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. They showed the lucky kids who were displaced by Hurricane Katrina who got to help light the tree, and pointed out the fact that on top of the tree was a 5500-pound star covered in 25,000 Swarovski crystals. One can only guess how many of those kids could be fed, clothed and housed from the cost of that star.

So, since it's past my bedtime, the other thing I wanted to mention was how much I'm looking forward to receiving the bumper stickers we ordered last night. They're "Worst President Ever" stickers, with the "W" in Worst looking like the W in the campaign stickers. It's true, it's the perfect combination of comic-geek humor and a snarky shot at our dumbass president. I can't to see if my bosses (Republicans all) notice it and comment on it. I sort of enjoy being the hippie liberal in the office.