Bruce has experienced the medical turnaround that he needed. Somebody’s been praying out there, and you know who you are! His wife, mother, and sister have been at his side, with so many others close to him in spirit. Today’s news is so much better than it’s been since Monday. Although I’m sure it was nothing compared to Dana’s ordeal, yesterday was a rather exhausting day for me emotionally, and not made any better by someone who called to ask about Bruce, and then, when the subject turned to my nephew Josh’s situation, launched into a scathing denunciation of the President of the United States and his Iraq policy. Even if I’d had the inclination or energy to disagree (which I certainly did not), what could I possibly have said to affect an opinion impervious to what others have already stated so ably in support of winning the war… others more influential than me, such as John McCain or Joe Lieberman; or more intellectually gifted than me, such as Jonah Goldberg or Christopher Hitchens; or more deeply thoughtful than me, such as Tom Friedman or Ben Stein? And for cryin’ out loud, it just wasn’t a decent time to kick-start that old debate.
Archive for the ‘Angst’ Category
Political passion trumps good manners once again
Wednesday, March 23rd, 2005
My razza-ma-taz miasma
Sunday, March 20th, 2005The past 36 hours have been exhilarating, frustrating, profound, hectic, gratifying, aggravating, sublime, surreal… A trip to Indianapolis to be there for my stepson Bruce, hospitalized with the potential loss of his transplanted kidney, and at the same time provide support for his wife Pam, and at the same time take my grandson Marty to the “INDY 2005” Toy Soldier Show (one of our annual highlights of quality time together, sharing our passion for vintage plastic figures), and at the same time deal with all the monumentally exasperating aspects of a healthcare system run amok, stripped of all idealistic illusions as a result of far too many behind-the-scenes absurdities and ugly exposures of egoism… and at the center of it all, my calm, sweet mate… strong, loving, and wise.
How Wednesdays ought to be
Wednesday, March 16th, 2005It’s been a good day so far. Long-awaited check in the mail. Successful client presentation. And welcome confirmation that someone reads this log… and appreciates the quiet tragedy of hat loss.
It was just a hat
Monday, March 14th, 2005Today it looks like I must admit to myself that I probably lost my favorite hat, a white Polo cap with an American flag on the front. Nothing unusual, but I wore it with pride, especially after 9-11-01. That was the hat I took with me to run the Chicago Marathon, and when the going got rough a spectator shouted, “All right, Flag Man!”
It was on my head when I completed my day-long “50-on-50th” milestone event.
It was just a hat. Right?
Various & Sundry, part nine
Thursday, March 10th, 2005— There’s nothing like a good ol’ ranting, stream-of-consciousness letter to the editor. I can’t even manage to achieve that in my own private journal or semi-private blog, and yet there will always be these bold, opinionated souls who’ll fire both barrels in the local newspaper for full public display.
— Why do some things have to get so complicated? I’m starting to become very sensitive to the chlorine at the Wellness Center pool, just when I’ve gotten into a beneficial groove with my swimming. This morning I did 80 lengths in a little over an hour and never felt so strong in the water, physically or aerobic-wise. We’ve decided to switch our membership to the new fitness club at Centre, partly to find a lower chlorine level, and that should take effect next month. Meanwhile, I had someone tell me that their natatorium is having trouble with its chlorine regulator.
— We finally got the pro bono brochure for the Band Festival out the door for printing. It’s alarming how long some of these freebie jobs take. Wouldn’t you think we’d know how much time something like this would require when we volunteer our services to the community? Oh well, it should be a nice piece.
Smile when you say that
Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005I like teeth. Teeth are good. Everybody needs teeth.
That’s right. A wake-up-and-smell-the-mouthwash moment at the dentist this morning. Flashing back to what Brendan said last year about his Dad—
05.24.2004 — 22:47 hrs (This is pretty gross.)
I like floss. Floss is good. Everybody needs floss.
Various & Sundry, part seven
Tuesday, February 22nd, 2005— Surprising as it might seem, I never read H.S. Thompson. Maybe it was because I had a back-stabbing co-worker in the 70s who carried on a lot about how great a writer Thompson was. Either that or I just couldn’t get past all the Ralph Steadman, which has been a bit of a mystery, since Steadman’s work was mildly influential for me at a certain point in my development as an illustrator (even though I found something fundamentally revolting about his style).
— Brendan’s new Idiotcam archive is positively super-dooper! Now I have only two major goals left in my life: building a home in the Knobs and making it into the exalted Plastic Mullet Series.
— Something about Mombo’s tribute has really sparked some childhood memories. For some reason I got to thinking about one of the most brattish (perhaps the most brattish) thing I ever did as a child. I was pretty young, so my recollection is rather hazy. I don’t think it was my birthday, so it must have taken place at Christmas. I do remember that I’d been agitating for the only toy I desperately wanted—a firetruck. My parents must have been anticipating the delight that would certainly result from their big surprise. Or maybe it was my Uncle Don who was behind it.
There it was! A bright red steel pedal-car-style fire engine complete with little wood ladders and a silver bell!
I threw a fit. Weeping dramatically, I let it be known that I was totally disappointed. How could somebody have gotten it so utterly wrong? That’s not what I wanted. What I wanted was a little firetruck that I could take out to the sand pile and play with! It was a bitter tragedy. No, it was the end of the world!
I don’t know how much longer it was before the replacement arrived, or what mixed emotions my tantrum must have triggered, but the Tonka fire engine eventually appeared, and it was a beauty. It even had a red hydrant that connected to the garden hose to supply a realistic fire-fighting stream. I have no recall as to what my reaction was. I hope I was appropriately grateful, but I may have just accepted it as merely just and overdue.
Both toys are long gone. Did the pedal car end up at the home of a cousin? Whatever became of the little fire engine? Either toy would be a valuable collector’s item today…
Everything almost works
Saturday, February 19th, 2005The Bluegrass Pike Gang was back at it again this morning. The sky is
now light when we start running. John H asked me how my spinning class
with Susan L was going and I told him it was getting a bit easier. Donna
A smiled and added that it all depended on how far you turned the knob on the stationary bike. “I just do what she tells me to do,” was my reply. John looked at me and
said, “Sounds like marriage.”
I maintained my pace over eight miles, but I could tell that I’d missed
my recent lap swims, thanks to the stubborn computer problems we’ve been
having. I’ve been convinced I should adopt a new motto: “Technology
sucks.” But then I realized that what actually sucks is our propensity
to become so dependent on technology that we’re thrust to the edge of
panic when it breaks down. And that’s where Bob Dixon’s more dignified
and appropriate motto applies: “Everything almost works.”
Yes, I got desperate enough to call Bob. He did his best to calm me down
and get me back on a problem-solving track. Together we uncovered enough
information to re-establish a functional Macintosh, but the true source
of the temporary limbo state is still unknown and I’m back to the
difficulties that bogged us down in the studio all week. At the end of
our last conversation before bedtime (for a night’s rest that almost
didn’t happen), he shared another computing maxim having to do with troubleshooting, “Everything you learned by solving the current problem
you’ll never use again.” Perhaps so. But I took away at least one
valuable thing from the experience. Being able to rely on family is a
genuine blessing, and my Uncle Bob always has and always will be a fine
and helpful man.
We are out of champagne and I’m stuck my dear
Saturday, February 12th, 2005While running at sunrise this morning I fell into the comfortable pace of two banker friends and they were surprisingly talkative, providing me a 45-minute crash course in basic banking. I actually did learn a lot, but it worries me just a bit that they figured I needed to know it.
5th leading cause of death in USA
Tuesday, February 8th, 2005The number of hospital patients who die each year from medical errors is equivalent to a jumbo jet crashing every day. Not surprisingly, Americans are worried. I’ll take my chances with a jumbo jet.
One of those Friday afternoons
Friday, January 28th, 2005I’ve come to learn that there are certain individuals holding jobs in the respectable business world who should never be allowed to come within 100 yards of anything created by a conscientious graphic designer. To say that these people don’t “get it” would be kind. Very kind. “Yes, madam, I understand your e-mail is down, but it would not be acceptable quality for publication if you photocopied their logo off a cocktail napkin and sent it by FAX…”
Various & Sundry, part one
Friday, January 21st, 2005— I’ve gotten a week into this experiment and have yet to properly thank Brendan, my undaunted sponsor and kind host. So far so good. I managed to solve most of the anomalies I was experiencing by updating the firmware on our Netgear firewall/router. Although I began my first private journal in 1971 and have maintained regular entries for the past 20 years or so, this online record of thoughts is a new and stimulating venture. In time I’ll gain a better sense of how its public nature affects the tone and quality of my postings.
— Last weekend our family gathered at Kelley Ridge for a mighty demonstration of Clan-Power to achieve as much physical transformation as possible. Uncle James mused that it was the kind of event that could inspire Clan legend. With the bitter wind knifing through us as we split and stacked firewood at the edge of the ridge, Seth replied, “You won’t ever hear me talking about this day.”
— There hasn’t been much of a downside to my accepting an invitation to join the Rotary Club ten years ago, but I am beginning to notice something. One of the serious drawbacks to building relationships of affection with a bunch of great old guys pushing 80 is to witness their failing health. What have I gotten myself into?
— As true as it is that there’s no greater love than to lay down one’s life for another, I want Josh to accomplish in Iraq what he was trained to do and then safely return to his family. That is my simple prayer. I’m not precisely sure what he was trained to do, but I know that living and working each day in harm’s way is a given. I’m reminded of the closing line in The Bridges at Toko-Ri, “Where do we get such men?” The answer to that question is the same with every generation, and, as far as I’m concerned, no poet has described this vital breed more eloquently than Katharine Lee Bates when she wrote, “Oh beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife, who more than self their country loved and mercy more than life!”
Critical mass
Wednesday, January 19th, 2005Everything is entering the studio meat grinder at once: a Chamber of Commerce Website, a new visual campaign for the Great American Brass Band Festival, major volunteer projects for the Salvation Army and Rotary Club, plus several other jobs that have spilled over from 2004.
This is when I call in my crack team of talented design assistants and issue a few soft-spoken but well-chosen directives, delegating on the fly, sending them fully motivated to do battle with every deadline… One minor problem, though. Last time I looked I didn’t have any assistants.
Deep sigh
Tuesday, January 18th, 2005Today’s Anacrusis story made me think of seeing Ben Shahn’s work for the first time as a callow teenager, when I took the Famous Artists School’s home-study Course for Talented Young People and discovered the concept of creating artwork in service to the advancement of social justice. The whole idea seemed so phlegmatically self-evident at the time.