SOMEONE ELSE.

Ever see something that needs doing and think, "Eh, someone else will do it?"

Like an overturned garbage can - "Someone else will pick it up." Or an empty roll of toilet paper - "Someone else will replace it." I know I've certainly left a lot for 'someone else' to take care of.

Maybe that's part of what's wrong with the world today: a lack of accountability. It's easier to walk away from something - tell yourself that it will somehow remedy itself.

But what if that 'someone else' never comes along to do it?

This morning I was out running and made a painfully disturbing discovery. About a 1/2 mile away from returning home, I came upon a tiny kitten that must have been hit by a car, lying dead near the sidewalk. Having had many cats in my lifetime, and having lost more than a few to cars, this really hit me hard. I got home and showered, but the image of the kitten stayed in my head.

Several hours later in the day, I was driving home from being out and about and passed by the same spot. The kitten was still there. My initial reaction was, "Someone else will take care of it," and I continued home.

But then I started thinking about the kitten's owner. What if it was a little boy like Bean and he was the one who found his kitten lying there? That's something he'd never forget. Or what if it belonged to an elderly woman? Maybe her only source of companionship, and she was left to discover it as she teetered out to get the mail?

I'll never forget the heartbreak I experienced as a kid when Louie, my favorite cat of all time, got hit in front of our house. He didn't die right away, and we found him and had to have him put down. That pain did something to me from which I've never quite recovered.

Then there were our other cats - Baby, Bear, Maggie, Pumpkin - that got out and just never came home. And while part of me is pretty sure they met similar fates as Louie, it's somehow more comforting NOT to have that closure. Maybe it gives me the hope that they just found a place to live that served better food than I did.

More than likely, 'someone else' had picked up those other cats from the side of the road. For the same reasons I needed to go and take care of that kitten. And so I did.

Because today it was my turn to be 'someone else.'

BEAN WISDOM.

I had a little visitor come have breakfast with me yesterday.



His Mom dropped him off Sunday afternoon. When I got back from Philly, I took him to the playground by the lake. He's becoming a real boy (that sounded very Pinnochio). He runs around and climbs like a rabid monkey. When we got back home, I had to give his stank ass a bath.

Yesterday, Mom and I took him up to her friend's house in Bumblefuck, PA. Her friend's daughter was visiting from CA with her 3 year-old little boy and Mom wanted the two grandkids to play.

Funny. At first all they would do was hide behind grown-ups' legs. Then one pulled out his toy horses and the other his Matchbox cars and - POOF! - half an hour later they're the best of friends.

Why can't life be as simple now as when we're 3? When the simple act of waking up in the morning is an amazing experience? Just thrilled by the potential of what each new day can bring?

Bean's learning so much every day. New words and phrases. New concepts of how things work in this great, big world. Being a role model for a nephew like him is both a responsibility and an honor. I want so much for him to grow up to be a good man.

And in the process of teaching, it seems I'm the one learning so much more from him.

1 + 1 = 1
MATH IS GOOD.

BIPED, I.

This morning I ran the twelve miles
of tomorrow's long run - today.
'Cause tomorrow I'll be in a car, en route,
and figured there's simply no way

To run such a distance, to cover such ground -
along roads that were both flat and hilly,
then sit for some hours in a car getting stiff
while I travel with HIM down to Philly.



HIS old college pal is tying the knot,
it's an elegant black-tie affair.
So HE'll wear HIS tux, and I'll wear a dress
(Hell, I may even shampoo my hair!)

Today's run was good, the weather was better -
the humidity's dropped quite a bit.
At the end of the run, I felt nice and strong.
Could it be I'm becoming more fit?

I'm psyched for tomorrow - our first formal soiree,
and some of HIS friends I will meet.
It'll be nice to dance, but lots I must drink
so I don't feel the pain in my feet.

SUMMER VACATION = INTROSPECTION OVERLOAD.

My daily quote today says:

"The one predominant duty is to find one's work and do it."
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
(1860-1935)

Okay. What if you've found your work and you do it, but you're not sure it's the work you're supposed to be doing? What if you're just doing it 'cause they hired you, they pay you, and you don't hate it?

Sometimes I wonder how I even wound up teaching Music. I remember being in high school, and when the time came to figure out what I should go to college for, I kind of stopped and thought, "Well hell -- what do I like doing?" And at the time, I was a pretty big Band geek, so I guess I figured, "Maybe I'll just be a Band geek for a living?"

Music itself was never a huge 'passion' for me like it is for some. It was just something I enjoyed, mainly because of the people who were involved.

But that was it. I went to college and majored in Music, and met people like me. Then in grad school, I met even bigger and better Band geeks. And before I knew it, I was a Music teacher.

Don't get me wrong - it's a great job. I'm lucky to be in an awesome district with great colleagues. But I can't help wondering: what if I'd set off in a completely different direction back in high school? Where would I be? Would I be happier? More fulfilled?

I often wonder how different people end up where they do in their lives. Like, how come I didn't opt to become a real estate agent or a veterinarian? How is it that my one brother became an architect, and the other sells water softeners?

I guess a lot has to do with where and/or what you're born into. And I suppose your role models play an important part. I could definitely say that my strongest role models as a kid were my teachers.

I dunno. I sometimes feel like the world is so very huge, and the options are endless. And I think about all the places I want to go and the things I want to try, and it's just overwhelming to think of everything I could do, if I choose to.

But I don't.

Instead, I sit and blog. Or I put on my sneakers and run. Or I pick up a book and read. And then, before I know it, another day has come to an end. But have I truly done my duty?

FUCKING HEELYS.


Right.

As if kids running aimlessly through the mall were not annoying enough.

No.

Let's put wheels in their shoes.

Brilliant.

THE SHORTS.



I have this pair of shorts. I got them about 6 years ago as a hand-me-down from an old roommate.

Every year, The Shorts are resurrected from the bowels of my closet. And every year, I wonder if it might be The Shorts' last summer.

The Shorts have many holes in them and have been repaired many, many times by my creative Mom.

I think The Shorts scare people, but I don't care. My sister-in-law is repulsed by The Shorts, so I make sure to wear them whenever I know I will see her.

The Shorts have been everywhere with me. From Jersey up to Maine. From the Rockies in Colorado, to Arizona and California. From Italy to Switzerland, France to England, to the peaks of the Austrian Alps and back over to Germany. They've hiked, climbed mountains, dug rocks from gardens, suffered through middle school Field Days, and relaxed on many a couch.

The Shorts represent something that I can't quite put into words.

But I love The Shorts.

KARMIC POSTAL EXPERIENCE.

This morning Mom had the rummage bug. Being that it's 100+ degrees outside with 200% humidity, there's not much else to do except wander around the centrally air-conditioned house. She's looking to get a new wall of sliding glass doors and fancy windows installed in the dining room. In order for this to happen however, the mountains of boxes and crap must be removed from the existing wall.

Most of the stuff was my aunt's. We cleaned out her apartment after she died (the apartment which I now occupy) and threw out lots of stuff. And saved even more than we threw out. Among the saved stuff were five boxes of vinyls that we didn't know where to put, but also couldn't bring ourselves to throw out. I suggested the basement. It's a veritable graveyard of stuff we don't know what to do with.

I decided to brave the heat for a little while and do some errands. After the dry cleaners and the bank, I headed to the post office to buy stamps. Apparently the rest of New Jersey decided to go to the same post office at the same time. I thought, "Screw this - I'm not waiting behind 50 people to buy stamps. I've got better things to do."

Sadly, I realized I had absolutely nothing better to do, so I may as well just stand there. Besides, it's air-conditioned in the post office, and you can do some top-notch people-watching. I like to imagine what these random people's lives are like - careers, family lives.

The guy ahead of me, for instance, was totally an eBay dealer. He had three crates of records and CDs, wrapped in brown paper, waiting to be mailed. Judging by his Skynyrd t-shirt and scruffy appearance, it was probably his one source of income, which afforded him a comfortable residency in his parents' basement. (Yeah yeah - glass houses...)

Behind me was an ancient little man who kept asking everyone who came in if it was "Hot enough for ya?" He told me he was finally getting around to mailing in his tax forms. "But don't worry, I got an extension." Whew!

Then there was a woman a few people ahead of me who had one of those Oozinator water guns - the package of which she was voraciously tearing apart. She looked like a five year-old on Christmas morning, ripping the cardboard off in pieces, and feverishly yanking at the plastic ties which held it in place. I looked around and noticed that most of the people in line were watching her, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing.

"You know, those things kind of twist off," eBay Guy offered.
"Yeah. I'm trying to get this open so I can mail it," Oozinator replied.
"She's gonna mail it like that?" asked Ancient Taxes.
"No idea," I replied.
"Ya know, if you're mailing that you should probably leave it in the box," eBay Guy suggested.
"Hey - do you happen to collect records too?" I asked eBay Guy. What the hell - as long as we were all friends now.
"Yeah. Is this lady retarded or what?"
"Clearly. So I have like five boxes of records to get rid of. Do you want them?"
"Yeah sure."

So I gave him the address while Oozinator bought a new box so she could overnight the gun to her 14 year-old daughter at camp.

And an hour later, eBay Guy and his wife showed up in their SUV to pick up my aunt's records. The wife was a booking agent for bands, the husband made profits off of the albums and stuff from the groups. Eh, so I was a little off. They live about half a mile from me, and the wife actually knew a lot of the people on my street. She chatted with Mom while we carted out the records, and we all lived happily ever after.

Huh.

IT'S ALL GOOD.

BORN WITHOUT THE "MOMMY GENE".

Alright Breeders, I know you love your kids and all. But there is not and never will be a reason for this:



Please explain what parent, in their right mind, would actually indulge the child that asks, "Mommy, can I have a trampoline?" I would think that ranks right up there with, "Mommy, I want a pony" - or "Daddy, I want a goose that lays golden eggs for Easter."

Maybe Veruca Salt lives here?

I can't figure how a trampoline is a wise investment. One like this goes for about $900. How much jumping can a kid actually do before they get bored? I figure ten minutes, tops. Maybe more if they have a friend over. Then what? It sits there and gets moldy from rainwater and green from pollen. Do you really need to OWN one?

And for God's sake, why - if you're dumb enough to buy a trampoline - would you put it in YOUR FRONT YARD?!

I dunno, I just don't think I could ever love something enough to justify such a bizarre act.

* The best part of this photo (aside from the obvious) is that it is of a house down the street from me. And prior to the current bouncy residents, my best friend from childhood lived there. Her Dad was a raging prick, who was also highly anal retentive about his house and yard. My friend spent most of her afterschool hours picking up twigs from the grass while he shellacked the rocks in the garden. As soon as she turned 18, she moved to Arizona to get far away from the man. Shortly thereafter, he sold the house. I would love to see his reaction to the new lawn ornament.

WEIRD.

I started going to a chiropractor a couple months back when I had this bad feeling in my lower back, and my left leg started to go numb. Turns out it's sciatica caused by this weird degeneration in one of my vertebrae. I believe my Doc's exact words while showing me my x-rays were: "It's like this vertebrae here is somehow 30 years older than the rest of you."

Great.

So anyway, I started going three times a week. Each time, he puts a moist-heat pack on my back and turns on the traction for 15 minutes, then he adjusts me. After about a month, this became twice a week, and now just once. He's also a sports physician and nutritionist. I like him -- trust him, even.

Today was my regular appointment, and when he came in and asked how I was, I told him I have a cold. He asked me if I'd ever gotten a 'sinus adjustment'. I said, "No. Is it like an 'attitude adjustment'? Cause I've been told I could use one of those."

I also like him because he laughs at my lame jokes.

So he puts on a rubber glove and starts pressing on my jaw, inside my mouth. He explains that he's opening up some of the bones around my sinuses, allowing them to drain better. It hurts like a motherfucker. After that, he starts sticking his fingers in my ears, I guess doing similar sinus opening?

When he's done, I sit up and I can breathe! And the feeling like my head is in a fishtank is totally gone. I am astonished.

"Is it possible that this draining worked so fast that I can feel it so soon, or is this psychosomatic?" I ask.

"It's extremely possible - you should feel very open now. In fact, carry tissues with you today cause there might be additional drainage."

Mmmm... drainage.

I think there's definitely something to this holistic medicine. I am such a hypocrite, though. I claim to be this big anti-drug-needer, but at the first sign of pain or discomfort, I am popping open a bottle of something. Advil Liqui-gels have become my fifth basic food group. Maybe this very strange day will help me become less dependent upon chemicals?

LAZY. HAZY, SNEEZY DAYS OF SUMMER.

Who the hell else gets a cold in the middle of July? I felt it Sunday night: the scratchy, itchy throat. And sure enough, yesterday I woke up with the snot. And it got progressively worse throughout the day. Every four hours, I took a different type of decongestant, hoping one would work. I took a Benadryl before going to bed.

Benadryl's effects on me have changed over the years. As a young kid, I had terrible allergies and was sick with bronchitis at least once a month. I blame that on the fact that both my parents were smokers. Or on my tonsils. Or both. 'Cause eventually they both quit smoking and, at age 21, I finally had my tonsils removed after a hideous bout with mono.

Have I digressed again? Of course. Benadryl... right.

I used to take a Benadryl and it would knock me on my ass for 8 hours. Then I'd wake up feeling hungover and dried out. But at least it stopped the allergy attacks. Now when I take it (or Nyquil - or anything else with the sleep drug in it) I fall asleep for like 2 hours, and then wake up in a state of manic hyperactivity.

So I was up for a good portion of last night, drinking Cup-A-Soup and reading yet another book from my new favorite author, Augusten Burroughs. I drifted in and out of sleep - got up around 7:30 and decided to go running. At least for the duration of a run, my head is clear and I can breathe. And it was so. And I feel a little better today than I did yesterday.

Bottom line: Don't live with smokers. Don't keep unnecessary bodily organs. Exercise regularly.

[Alright, that post just sucked. I'll do better next time.]

TOP 10 EVENTS OF THE WEEKEND

10. Watching "The Birdcage" for the 10,048th time.

9. Running 10.5 miles and not dying.

8. My 3 month-old nephew farting on my arm.

7. The fact that he then LAUGHED about it.

6. The realization that no matter how old (or young) you are: farts are funny.

5. Buffalo wings + 1/2 a bottle of wine + Rita's ice = well-rounded dinner.

4. Livia Soprano dying in the 3rd season of Netflix SopranoFest?!

3. HIS Dad harassing a gay waiter about squirrels.

2. The renewed appreciation for blue skies and life after attending someone's wake.

1. The naked, bald man... playing a fife.

"HEY... YOU GOTTA FREAKIN' PROBLEM?"



ALIAS: "Baby Bing" aka "Fat Cheeks"
STATUS: NJ Mob Boss
CHARGES: Labor racketeering and Enfamil drug ringleader.

THURSDAY MORNING.

Coming back home from my run this morning, I noticed there were an awful lot of cars at the neighbor's house, especially for 7:00 in the morning.

Billy (the neighbor) had been in the hospital for about a month. He'd gone in for some routine bloodwork and they found that he had cancer, but they couldn't find where. Turns out most of it was in his brain. He was also diabetic and had all kinds of complications from that. He quickly went downhill.

We'd all grown up together. Billy's three daughters Sandy, Jennifer and Becky; me and my two brothers; and the two kids in the house on the other side of ours. We'd spent countless summer days riding bikes, playing cards, kickball... Mostly just tormenting the shit out of each other - in good fun. A great crew of kids and a wonderful way to grow up. We've lost touch over the years, but I guess that's what happens in life.

Billy was the "guy" Dad. Always working in the yard - shirt off, beerbelly hanging out. He kept tabs on everyone. If he got your ear, you were in for at least 45 minutes worth of conversation. He kept up on my running, too. More than my own family. He'd be outside walking his beagle and always want to know how far I'd gone, which race I was training for. He'd tell me stories of when he was in the Army and liked to try and run faster than the black guys ("And I always beat them!")

This morning as I made my way back to the house, I saw Jennifer standing in the front yard, smoking a cigarette.

"My Dad died this morning."
"I'm so sorry..."
"Yeah - I was working. Didn't get to see him."
"..."
"Just sucks so much, ya know?"
"..."

I tried to remember what people said to me when my Dad died. The fact that I can't remember probably means it wasn't that important. What helped most was just being able to talk to someone - anyone - and have them listen.

I remember the day my Dad died and how we all just sat around in the livingroom, not knowing what to do or say. I guess that's what they're doing over there now. Alternating between tears and laughter. And an overall sense of numbness. Hard to put words to the feelings, just a shared sense of mystery, of shared grief.

It's been kind of gray and gloomy all day today. Except for a minute or so this morning when the sun burst through the sky, and seemed to flood my entire living space in radiance. A warmth. A sense of calm.

A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE.

The human mind has limitless potential. Think about all of the progress mankind has made over the past few thousand years. We can travel into space, cure deadly diseases, build babies from test tubes and clone sheep. The most complex supercomputer in the universe could not even come close to the human brain. Great thinkers - the Greek philosophers, Albert Einstein, Ben Franklin - have used their mindpower to change the world as we know it. And every day, another brilliant idea is born from a powerful mind.

My mind? It's too busy remembering the lyrics to a song I sang in 4th grade Music class called "Pop Bottle Hoedown":

'Turn to the rootbeer
Bow to the orange
Swing with a Pepsi
Promenade the cherry soda
'til it meets the bubbly Seven-Up
[bum bum bum]
Bubbly Seven-Up...'

It also remembers that I sat next to Jeff Arnowitz, and that he had a squeaky voice and always wore the same blue & white striped shirt.

Yeah, it's a damn good thing all my billions of brain cells are being put to good use. Would sure be a shame to waste them curing cancer or some other trivial shit like that.

MAINELY BLISS.



Just spent the past few days up in Ogunquit, Maine. Was quite possibly the best vacation I've ever been on. The location itself was magnificent - the weather was perfect. We stayed at this picturesque B&B run by these two adorable gay guys. Naturally, their attention to detail was impeccable - everything was spot-on. But what truly made the trip for me was the company.

I tend to get antsy. Being OCD (never diagnosed, but I'm sure if I were, that would probably be the first disorder -- on a list of MANY) I do better with routine, or at least an agenda. But we went into the trip with no solid plans (aside for my burning need to fly a kite at some point).

And it was bliss.

Life should always be as easy as it is when I'm around HIM. With HIM, I never have that nagging urge that something else is going on - like I'm somehow missing out on something. That used to be huge for me. But with HIM, I can just... be. And it's good.

SAD, FAT CAT... BEHIND GLASS.

"I SEE DEAD PEOPLE."

My brother & his wife took Bean camping down the shore and they've left the new one (Pudge) with my Mom. Every now and then, I pop over and see what he's doing. I also have the job of keeping an eye on him when Mom needs to use the bathroom. I'm okay as long as he's

A) Sleeping - or

B) Content to just lay there and look at stuff.

Anything else (hungry, smelly or generally uncomfortable) and I am useless. He's only 3 months old, so basically there's not much else he does, aside from the above-mentioned activities. And while I can appreciate his cuteness, I really don't think I could handle having one of my own. I am SO not a breeder.

I was "keeping an eye on" Pudge this morning (he was doing B) and I noticed that he kept looking at something over my shoulder and smiling. As if he saw something - or someone - that I could not. And it gave me the warmest feeling cause I thought, "What if babies can see spirits of relatives who have passed?"

I imagined my Dad... my Aunt... or grandparents - just kind of popping in to smile down at him and make sure he's doing alright. "What do you see?" I'd ask. And he'd just smile.

Yeah, maybe he just has a lot of gas (I mean come on, he IS my nephew) - or maybe he's just trying out all his new little face muscles. But I'd like to think otherwise. That he's meeting all his angels, and that they'll be with him throughout his life.

AMERICANA.

How much do I love a good 4-day weekend? I'm sitting here rehashing the hundreds of potential blog entries, and figure I'd better narrow it down to a handful. Here they are - in no chronological order whatsoever..

- We took a drive out to Hershey Park on Monday. It was a billion degrees and there were two billion people in the park. AND there was a Def Leppard/Journey concert taking place at the Hershey Stadium that evening, so you can imagine what the majority of the park crowd looked like...

Amusement parks take on a different light when you're a "grown-up" (and believe me, I use that term very loosely). Waiting in line for 90 minutes to ride a 30-second roller coaster is harder to justify. But we did have a blast passing our critical judgment on just about every person standing in line. Perhaps the biggest amusement in the park is the people-watching.

- Yesterday we went over to my brother's house to take part in the family BBQ scene. While my nephews certainly rock harder than any other kids in the universe, spending time at their house - with crying, pooping kids and an annoying, chewing dog - is still the most effective form of birth control I can imagine. We left after the required amount of time, escaping back to HIS fortress of solitude, and to our pals Rita & the Sopranos.

- Among the high points of the weekend was our first major trip to the grocery store together ("Awww"). We're very different, HE and I, and I tried my very best to bite my tongue and not interfere with the way HE shops. I've realized that some people may not yet have accepted the fact that MY way of doing things is the ONLY way. We had fun nonetheless, knocking over a display of Swiss Knight cheese, and arguing over Little Debbie - the bitch you love to hate.

By far, the highlight of the shopping excursion was coming across this tasty little item in the canned meat section.

Libby's "Potted Meat Food Product" contains: mechanically separated chicken, partially defatted cooked pork fatty tissue, beef tripe, partially defatted cooked beef fatty tissue, vinegar, salt, spices, sugar, flavorings, sodium erythorbate, and sodium nitrite.

Potted Meat: The Breakfast of Champions. I'll end now, as I'm sure that's about all anyone can stomach in one sitting.