More Will Be Revealed

Friends and Regrets

2008-11-20T21:11:00.000-08:00

From left: Richard George, me, Ted Nasser, 1987, around the time we graduated from high school.

These were two of my three best friends at Chatham Township High School, along with Brett Bunker. There are many memories, most good and a few bad. Ted and I are still in touch and I would say we are still friends. He's one of those friends you can not talk to for months and months, and then when you do pick up the thread of friendship, it's like you never missed a beat. It's so easy with him.

Rich and I didn't talk for months and months at one point back in the day, although I can't really remember when or why. It was foreshadowing, I suppose, because Rich and I have not talked since about 1995. I last saw him when he stopped in Silver Spring, MD, on his way from New Orleans to New Jersey. He was doing the bohemian thing in New Orleans: putting out a street literary zine under the name "Science" while working at restaurants on the side to make ends meet. We'd had a crazy time together at Mardi Gras in 1994 (?), and then after the 1995 visit...again, not sure what happened. Right around the time I moved to Portland, he sent me a copy of his zine and the Zane Grey book "Taggart"...typical Rich. He's the one who introduced me to Jim Carroll, The Clash, Apocalypse Now, Richard Wright...he always had a counter-culture bent to him, even as he planned to go to law school.

I have occasionally tried to track him down, even going so far as to e-mail his old New Orleans roommate in the past few months. But nothing. I regret how things ended with us, even if I can't put my finger on the specifics of it. There's just a general unease about, like there was no closure. I miss him as a friend because he always challenged me in some way...he was just different enough and comfortable in that, while I have always felt conformist, to some degree. (A woman I work with blasted me for wearing khakis the other day..."you are better than that" she said, after a few martinis...but I'm not sure I am. I think maybe I am the khaki guy, but I've always cared so damn much about what other people think, that I can't always be sure what's me and what's me being what other would think is cool or acceptable).

Rich brought out good things in me. I hope he is well, and happy, and it would be nice to cross paths with him again someday.

#39

2008-11-19T21:57:00.000-08:00

My 39th birthday has just about come and gone. It was a nice day, generally low key and not a huge deal made of the birthday, and that's fine. What's 39, besides the final step before the 40s arrive? There was the good news at the doctor's office...June 15 here we come...and that was exciting. And Lindsay made me a card at school, and sang to me in the shower this morning. What a sweetie. Nicola was loving and generous, as usual. So low key, yes, but I will definitely take many more birthdays like this: time with loved ones, hearing birthday wishes from friends and family.

More celebration tomorrow with Ella, and more cake! I better get to the gym in the morning.

Back in the Saddle

2008-10-20T22:25:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking for a while about resurrecting this blog as a more literal translation of its name. "More will be revealed" by showing stuff that is part of my past and/or present, and talking about it, and by doing that...well, you get the idea. At least it will get me writing.

Exhibit A:
The gentleman above is Mr. Pickwick. He is some sort of collectible figurine, part of a small collection my step-step-grandmother started giving me about 15 years ago, maybe more. I don't know why she thought a guy in his early 20s would want a collection of ceramic heads, but that's what I got each Christmas for a while. Mr. Pickwick was the last remaining one I could account for; the fisherman, the Bedouin and the 1 or 2 others I can't recall and are long gone.

But Mr. Pickwick survived a long and arduous journey, from Silver Spring, MD, to Washington, DC, to New Jersey and then back here to me in California. At some point, he wound up in the glove compartment of my other grandmother's old Ford Tempo, which I had acquired from her with crazy low mileage in around 1995. I stopped driving it for a while, and a chipmunk or something set up a nest in the hood insulation. Or so my sister told me, when she took the car off my hands (with Mr. Pickwick still hiding in the glovebox). Kathy held on to him for a while, even as she changed cars. She would move her stuff to a new car, and Mr. Pickwick would go along.

Eventually, she probably started asking herself why this odd item was still in her car. And so she sent it back to me, years later. And Mr. Pickwick has rested on my dresser for a while...but now his time is over, and he is off to the great landfill in the sky.

Farewell, Mr. Pickwick. Your bizarre journey is symbolic of my own: ups and downs and multiple relocations, with intended long-term relationships being cut short, then new homes and connections being found.

Hmm...given the symbolism I'm going for, perhaps I should have held on to him...

And now this

2006-08-08T14:00:00.000-07:00

Two-plus months since I posted, and this is what I have to contribute:

Today, Bailey the dog ate a hole in a pair of baby pajamas. What she was after -- <> -- was the baby poop in said pajamas, courtesy of an overnight diaper blowout.

Think I'll be taking a hiatus from being ANYWHERE near that dog's mouth.

History in the neighborhood

2006-05-31T08:05:00.000-07:00

I had known that Dontrelle Willis and Jimmy Rollins both grew up and played high school baseball at Encinal in Alameda. Today I read in the paper that the baseball field 2 blocks down the street, where my dog sometimes roams and my kids sometimes toddle/run, also saw the likes of Joe Morgan, Frank Robinson, Billy Martin and Curt Flood. I guess Alameda High School has its own legacy!

Best wishes today to Nicola, who is offering her Attracting Love workshop -- it's the start of something big, I would bet, and I certainly can attest to her powers of attracting and nurturing love.

We just returned from a getaway weekend to Volcano, Calif., population 102. The restorative and relaxing St. George Inn was a hit (I commend to you the Garden Cottage and the Whiskey Flat Saloon), as was the Karmere Winery. Man, that Empress Daisy zinfandel is delightful!

Does talking about wine make me a Californian now? Not sure how I feel about that.

31derful

2006-05-17T09:50:00.000-07:00

It's the Baskin-Robbins birthday for my sweet sensational wife -- and the ice cream motif is fitting. Because ice cream is a simple pleasure, and it is the simple, little things that make me love this woman so much.

Her enthusiasm for Dairy Queen (if there was only one close by!)
The peaceful look on her face when she falls asleep on the couch in the first 20 minutes of a movie
How cute she is in a baseball hat
She and Ella (age 6) both got the Kelly Clarkson CD for Christmas
Her belief in me
Famous family recipe: mac & cheese, tuna fish and peas (all mixed together)
Her belief in true love and not settling for anything less
The fondness for trashy gossip magazines
Watching her ride her new bike with Lindsay in the back
Her natural, "easeful" way of being a mom
Her creation of the word "easeful" -- which may or may not be a word, but it makes sense
Grocery shopping together
That first weekend in Astoria
A weakness for law enforcement charity solicitations by phone
The dazzling blue of her eyes...now passed along to Lindsay
How our hands fit together just so

Happy birthday, Nicola. There's only one reason for our love that really matters...and look in my eyes, and you'll see it.

I sense a tumbleweed

2006-05-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

I've read that thousands of new blogs are created each day. How may are uncreated...how many die slowly, like this one, due to disinterest or lack of inspiration and motivation? Unknown, but if my own experience is at all relevant, you just slowly stop remembering that you have a blog that you once strived to update and maintain. I don't know if a resurrection is in the works. MWBR will likely languish on the vine for a while longer until a decision is made.

In the meantime, some recent cuteness:

There are more than two ways to tie a shoe

2006-04-13T10:59:00.000-07:00

http://www.fieggen.com/shoelace/knots.htm

Amazing what you can find on the Internet (those BoingBoing folks turn up some interesting shit).

NO, really -- this year is worse

2006-04-12T10:35:00.000-07:00

All anyone here can talk about is the rain, the goddamn unrelenting rain. 35 of the past 43 days we've had rain, and people just aren't used to it. Commuting in it sucks, you can't get your kids or your dog outside, nobody likes to carry/remember their umbrella. And if you live in the "my view is beautiful but my hillside is oozing" sections of the hilly Bay area, it's even more serious than all that.

So much talk about the weather, it almost helps me forget the local obsession with the 10o-year anniversary of the 1906 earthquake. I'm reading "A Crack in the Edge of the World" and therefore doing my part to obsess, and that's all I'm going to do. The newspaper series, the radio segments, the TV shows -- it's enough!! Thinking about the poor destroyed city of 100 years ago only makes us around here wonder how we'll do when the next big one hits. I do not need these thoughts as I zip along on a train underneath the bay in what they call the "transbay tube"...which does not sound nearly strong enough to beat an earthquake. Oh, and I live on an island, so help will be even more slow in coming perhaps. Happy thoughts for soggy days!

On the soggy, here is Steinbeck's view of it and the short memories we all have regarding weather (even among those who don't have farms to fret about anymore):

I have spoken of the rich years when the rainfall was plentiful. But there were dry years too, and they put a terror on the valley. The water came in a thirty-year cycle. There would be five or six wet and wonderful years when there might be nineteen to twenty-five inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then would come six or seven pretty good years of twelve to sixteen inches of rain. And then the dry years would come, and sometimes there would be only seven or eight inches of rain. The land dried up and the grasses headed out miserably a few inches high and great bare scabby places appeared in the valley. The live oaks got a crusty look and the sage-brush was gray. The land cracked and the springs dried up and the cattle listlessly nibbled dry twigs. Then the farmers and the ranchers would be filled with disgust for the Salinas Valley. The cows would grow thin and sometimes starve to death. People would have to haul water in barrels to their farms just for drinking. Some families would sell out for nearly nothing and move away. And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.

What I'm not writing

2006-04-05T14:35:00.000-07:00

I think a lot about blogging, which is not surprisingly a lot easier than actually blogging. I applaud those who have gotten into a regular pattern/habit of blogging -- I can't seem to get into that kind of groove myself. What is this supposed to be about? Me? Why am I doing this? Is there some interesting hook...and by interesting, I mean something that will keep me interested as much as my "readers" (ha!).

In the spirit of the above lament, here is a list of things I've thought about blogging:

A book review of To Hate Like This... -- which I ordered and devoured before the NY Times even got around to reviewing it (to my mom's amazement). This is a book deeper than basketball, and the father-son exploration was particularly resonant with me. To some degree, what basketball was to the author and his father, baseball has served the same role with me and my dad. I understand my father better through baseball -- like the fact that he used to ride his bike to spring training games in Sarasota in the 1950s.
My daily ride on the F Line -- the worst piece of mass transit in the western world, I think. The vicarious thrill of riding on classic streetcars does not overcome the ridiculous schedule, the overcrowding, the surly drivers, etc. But it does make for good people watching! There's one guy who HAS to be a serial killer, he is so spooky looking with his headphones and his air bass playing.
Health care. Who is writing about health care in a compelling way? The system is broken, a joke, a travesty. Costs are going up, choices are going down, physicians worry too much (but out of necessity?)about reimbursement, patients are nearly powerless, etc. This one could get me "dooced" if I take it too far.
Movie review: "Grizzly Man" -- or maybe I should leave those to Eric.
Lindsay's hearing/speech development. Is everything really OK?
10 years since I left D.C....a recap? a look back? why do I still feel connected to that place -- it goes beyond geography. I feel connected to that period in my life, still.

That's all I can think of. Well, it counts as a post...but who's counting? I'm off to D.C. for a business trip in the morning...10 years almost to the day of when I left (as I mention above). If I ever make it out of the hotel, I might try to walk around the corner and see my old office on F St.

The first of many

2006-03-31T22:22:00.000-08:00

Lindsay Campbell Taggart's independent stroll through life began in earnest today, with two unassisted, teetering, Frankenstein-like but still adorable steps between me and her mother.

You know, as a parent, that big milestones like this are going to happen. And with walking, you often know it "could be any day," based on the amount of pain in your back from leaning over to support a 29-inch being by the fingertips. But then, right before your eyes, it happens. Your little girl flops one foot down and then another and, with no support, makes her way from your wife to you. You pause, not certain that you just saw what you saw, and then you celebrate. And then you spend many minutes trying to get her to repeat it...but this gal doesn't like to act on cue.

Today, March 31, 2006 -- Lindsay walked.
Earlier practice session seen below.

What's goin' down

2006-03-29T14:22:00.000-08:00

It's hard to keep up with all the new developments in Lindsay's life. Here in the 13th month, it appears she's just ready to do a whole bunch of new things, and Nicola recites a daily list of what I've missed while I'm at work. A sampling (some of which I did witness):

Walking a lot, but not quite on her own. Tuesday, the Bean moved from walking with two hands of adults to one hand. Any day now, she's stroll off, unaided.
Some sign language, like for milk and banana.
Nicola swears she said "thank you" yesterday.
Identifying things in books, like pointing to an apple if you say "which is one is the apple?"
Copying actions -- like picking up a doll and rocking it in her arms, then putting the baby on her shoulder and patting it gently...just like we do with her! Lindsay did this with me Monday in the playroom, picking up a little doll over and over again as I said "rock the baby." Damn, that was cute at its cutest, let me tell ya.

What a great age -- full of wonder and discovery and milestones. I say this now, and I know I said it over and over again with Ella as she grew up. Heck, I say it now about her at the age of six. Each age, or stage, reveals a bit more of the mysteries hidden inside your kids -- their personality, sense of humor, likes and dislikes, how they laugh, what makes them proud, how they make friends, introvert or extrovert, etc. The layers peel away as the months pile up, and next thing you know, you find yourself explaining to your 6-year-old why you just confessed (while making a joke to adult dinner companions) to drinking as a freshman in college when you weren't of legal age (that was some corner Ella backed me into!). God help me in about eight years!

Lindsay loves to swing, and hates getting off the swing. That's one of her new things too -- expressing intentional disagreement with the path chosen by one of her parents.

The girl is growing

2006-03-21T20:51:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted any photos in a while. Here goes:

I can't make sense of how this page gets formatted, but the pictures include:

1) Lindsay making friends during breakfast on the morning of her birthday (Feb. 24)
2) Giggles on the changing table, also on her birthday
3) Photo with Mommy
4) Showing off her new teeth (and smile)

Commence smooching

2006-03-21T15:51:00.000-08:00

Dook gets enough praise in the media...we don't need decent reporters heaping more on that is factually unjustified. I read something on ESPN.com that prompted me to fly this e-mail off to Deadspin:

------------------------------

I usually like Andy Katz, but this is just lazy:
http://sports.espn.go.com/ncb/ncaatourney06/columns/story?columnist=katz_andy&id=2378395

He falls all over himself to praise Dook for nine straight Sweet 16 trips, and says:

"John Wooden's seven straight NCAA titles (10 total) at UCLA might be the hardest college basketball record to break.
Don't be surprised, though, if Mike Krzyzewski's nine straight Sweet 16 appearances at Duke ends up being just as difficult to approach."

Um, that record is approached and passed, pal. North Carolina went to something like 13 straight Sweet Sixteens, with the run ending in 1994 with a second-round loss to Boston College at the Cap Center outside of D.C. A while ago, but still. He references John Wooden -- I can reference 1994. At least I think that's the case...I am a UNC grad and I was at that 1994 game as a stringer for the Durham Morning-Herald.

But perhaps time has faded my memory, or the source of my degree has warped it.

I feel better. Thanks.
Bill Taggart
(wftpdx occasional commenter on deadspin)

14:59 and counting down

2006-03-20T09:18:00.000-08:00

I'm back from my Florida (hey, that's Paul Anka at the Sarasota Ritz-Carlton!) and Salt Lake City (Adam Morrison is even more greasy in person -- walking through my hotel lobby -- than on TV!) trips.

Thanks to my pal Thad, we are minor celebrities in Albany: see this newspaper article. What it doesn't include yet is the follow-up: T-shirts arrived, in a $130 box of joy (thanks, overnight shipping). But they were NOT the ones we requested.

And this was just one of the many "gut punches" or kicks in the business that we were subjected to over the weekend. SLC was not a kind hostess...she was downright nasty, in fact, although perhaps we over personified the city and its nefarious plans for us. But that's what got us through -- joking about SLC puppet-stringing us with dark moments in basement restaurant bathrooms, messengers of doom lurking outside cab windows giving us the "evil eye," a hate rally that proclaimed "Death to Babylon," people in arena seats who have no sense of personal space and unfortunate body odors, warm beer...oh, I could go on and on.

We survived...and we of course doth protest too much about our poor suffering during our guys' weekend away.

I'm a Lesbian Stud with Bisexual Tendencies

2006-03-09T08:18:00.000-08:00

Got your attention, didn't I? Where else but on NPR in the San Francisco area can you hear the above line in a radio commentary? I learned something about the vernacular and the relationship "rules" of the LGBT community -- all from a high school senior. There are wide swaths of America where this girl would not have the courage to admit to herself that she was a "lesbian stud with bisexual tendencies," let alone go on the radio to announce this. Fascinating, and bless this open-minded corner of America.

Off to Florida tomorrow for work -- Sarasota area. I may be able to catch a Pirates spring training game in Bradenton on Sunday...if Carolina is not playing in the ACC Tournament finals. Oh, and spending time with my parents, who are snowbirding it in Siesta Key for two weeks at the same time I'm in the area.

Anyway, blogging hiatus time again.

Ella update: got a "big girl" bike for her birthday, but I haven't seen her ride it yet (it's at her Mom's). Lindsay update: was in the 10th percentile for weight but around 75th percentile for height and head size at her 1 year check up. That's our little supermodel! Or Q-Tip, perhaps? She's shown little interest in walking yet, which is fine. She's had enough to deal with lately -- another ear infection and pink eye. Hooray for day care!

I'll post a new photo soon. Until next week...

What I look at

2006-03-06T08:23:00.000-08:00

Never again shall I live-blog a UNC-Dook game, for that is clearly the reason the Heels lost a few weeks back. How else to explain Saturday night's inexplicable upset at Dook on senior night? There I was, not blogging -- just watching the game with Ella and trying to explain to a six-year-old what "superstitious" means when I ask her to please sit on the same couch cushion where she was sitting when Carolina was playing its best. "I know it doesn't make sense that I somehow believe where we sit will make a difference in that game happening on TV, but I do, and that's why superstitions are irrational." "What does irrational mean?" And back we go to the dictionary, where I attempt to take Webster's words and translate them into kindergarten.

Ella was such a good sport, watching the game with Daddy. Carolina has moved into one of the three teams she likes, along with the Warriors and Cal. But she's still not fully brainwashed -- I suggested that she might go to UNC and she said maybe she should go somewhere that neither of her parents went so nobody got upset. A dozen years away, and she's already worried about her parents' feelings -- such a sensitive soul, that Ella.

Anyway, I've been less than inspired in this space recently. In that vein, I'll share what sites and blogs I regularly peruse, if you care:

http://www.xtcian.com/: Ian Williams' blog
http://tarheel22.livejournal.com/: Eric Gribbin's blog
http://html.wral.com/sh/blogger/wralglenn.html: Dave Glenn on ACC sports
http://obscurestore.typepad.com/: Romenesko's obscure store
http://www.poynter.org/column.asp?id=45: Romenesko
http://www.boingboing.net/
http://espn.go.com/
http://trueinsights.blogspot.com/: Nicola's blog
http://www.deadspin.com/: blog on sports
http://www.beyondchron.org/news/: what's really happening in the bay area
http://www.realityblurred.com/realitytv/
http://www.tvgasm.com
http://www.wonkette.com/ (and some of the rest of the Gawker empire)

I'm sure I'm missing some. I suppose I could just send you the link to my del.icio.us page, but that's not quite updated. I'm still getting used to the idea of putting all my favorites there. Web 2.0 hasn't quite overtaken my world.

And I do still get lots done...but why not enjoy the rich informational offerings of the Internet?

Overkill

2006-02-28T08:30:00.000-08:00

I find it strange that the following topic is being presented at the PTA meeting at Ella's elementary school:

Thanks to Eric Abrams who has offered to give parents and older kids apresentation on getting ready for college on Thursday, March 16. Eric worksfor Stanford on their admissions team and we are very fortunate to have thisopportunity to hear him speak.

Um, my daughter turned six yesterday. I'm not quite ready to discuss college, OK? Great and all, but in an elementary school? How about tell me first how I'm ever going to be able to afford college for her...a state school even, let alone Stanford.

First, I'm going to tackle getting the training wheels off her bike. Maybe THEN we can think about college.

Big Days

2006-02-27T08:16:00.000-08:00

Feb. 24, 2005, at 11:17 a.m. -- Lindsay Campbell Taggart arrived into the world.

Feb. 27, 2000, at 8:14 p.m. -- Ella Rose Taggart arrived into the world.

Makes for a busy time of year for her parents! Happy birthday to both my special little ladies.

Random does it again

2006-02-23T15:27:00.000-08:00

Another shitstorm day at work -- details are unimportant...as is, apparently, any semblance of strategic direction for this organization. Oh well.

Out I go at lunch to get some perspective and soak up the San Francicsco sunshine. Nano comes through like a champ, with a sublime string of musical randomness:

Smiths: There is a Light that Never Goes Out
Guster: Barrel of a Gun
Morrissey: Alma Matters
Rage Against the Machine: Wake Up
Salt-N-Pepa: Shoop
Ultra Violence: Metal Urbain
Me First & The Gimme Gimmes: Seasons in the Sun (punk cover)
Beastie Boys: Unite

What a blissful distraction on this bench just a few hundred feet from the SF Bay. Well played, nano, well played.

Blizzard

2006-02-22T15:00:00.000-08:00

Work's a bitch, home life is hectic...I'm running around like such a maniac that I missed the snow flurries. Snow in the SF Bay area...and I missed it. Crap.

But on the positive side, here is part of what had me distracted -- birthday celebrations! Ella turns 6 on Monday and Lindsay will be 1 on Friday. And the wild rumpus has commenced.

Psycho T to the rescue

2006-02-16T08:43:00.000-08:00

All hail Tyler Hansbrough, freshman phenom at UNC. 40 points in a big comeback win over GT last night, which I missed due to the arrival of my parents. Oh well -- important thing is, a big step toward an NCAA berth! And it is the final stamp of "I'm here and I'm a stud" by Psycho T (his nickname, apparently)...and legions of Tar Heel fans are now nervous about his possible early departure to the NBA. Stay, Psycho T, stay! Help is on the way!

I've got something to post later, about our "night out" in San Francisco last week. But that will have to wait, as work beckons.

Bye bye Monkey

2006-02-15T08:16:00.000-08:00

I cruised over to CBS at 10 p .m. last night to watch one of my new favorite shows, "Love Monkey". It's not on, so I figure it's Olympics related.

Unfortunately, no. "Love Monkey" is on hiatus, meaning it is dead. It was a bit contrived, but I liked the music angle, I liked the writing, and I'm both a Tom Cavanagh and a Jason Priestley (90210 was never the same after he left!) fan. Explain to me how "Life with Jim" is still on the air, and something like "Love Monkey" gets kneecapped after three episodes.

One other random note: I'm not too familiar with parochial schools, having been either a-religious or a Jewish hanger-on (see Taggart, Ella) for the past 10 to 20 years. Still, I found it amusing that in this day and age -- where your average BET video or beer billboard or myspace profile walks a fine line between poor taste and downright porn -- a local Catholic high school would be setting the clock back 50 years in mandating how students should behave at dances.

Exhibit 1:

Crap. I can't get the bitmap file to upload. Well, this isn't as interesting, but here's what it says.

Face to Face...with Space

FOLLOW THESE RULES AT XXX/XXX DANCES

NO bending over and touching the ground
NO straddling
NO back to front or front to back
NO sandwiching (3s, 4s or 5s)
NO freaking/grinding

Somewhere, Kevin Bacon is excited: "Yes! 'Footloose' is still relevant even in 2006!"

Maybe it is exactly because of today's increased exposure of young people to sexuality that schools are doing this? Maybe I'm sounding like an old goddamn fart right about now?

Travel curmudgeon

2006-02-13T15:09:00.000-08:00

(With apologies to Frank Deford...)

I suppose I don't have much to complain about, considering thousands of people were stranded at airports yesterday due to the snowstorm in the Northeast. Well, they can complain on their own blogs.

Me -- I spent 13 hours in planes and in airports and 7 hours in a hotel...all for a 2.5 hour meeting at a Hyatt at DFW. Now that was a good use of my time. Some trenchant observations of my fellow travelers (fueled by tiredness and now a very frustrating day at work), observed in Oakland/Denver/Dallas:

Hey, rednecks traveling in a six pack: asking if there are SIX UPGRADES available to first class on flight that is overbooked. Um, fuck no.
Hey, lady who sat next to me and who clearly never flies: "What do you have?" to the flight attendant with the drink cart -- is that for real? This isn't a restaurant with an extensive wine list. Although, to my surprise, this particular jet carried Mountain Dew. Didn't see that coming.
Hey, parents of that 8-year-old two rows ahead -- what's his deal? He's having a shrieking tantrum, sucking his thumb and hugging a blanket.
Hey, hipster dude in the Red Carpet Club at the Denver airport: we are not in your living room. Please remove your hand from inside the waistband of your pants.
Hey, clueless Dad behind me: your kids are screaming. Why can I hear this and you apparently don't care? And please, once we land, use your Inside Voice on your cell phone. It's a piece of electronic communications equipment, not a manual megaphone.
Hey, Mr. Frequent Traveler: ah, the security line pat-down joke. That's classic! Keep them coming -- did you get a kiss goodnight? did the security person buy you dinner? are you going steady and didn't know it? was the cavity search surprisingly gentle? (I've made some of these jokes myself, and I hereby apologize to all bystanders who heard me. I'm so sorry, especially if you were as crotchety as me.)
Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Outdoorsy Types in the gate area: must you remove your shoes? Is it now too much to ask to have people keep their shoes on in public?

I got through this minor travel ordeal with the help of Patton Oswalt and David Cross on my nano. Thanks fellas -- I'm sure I'm the object of wrath on someone else's blog, because I was laughing to myself so hard at times.

Ah, winter in San Francisco

2006-02-10T15:30:00.000-08:00

70+ degrees pretty much all week around the San Francisco Bay, and beautiful warm sunshine is just what the doctah ordered.

I was feeling so good yesterday afternoon on my commute home, I had a "Love Monkey" moment. Not familiar with this feeling? Well, it is a new reference...just this past Tuesday, there was a riff on one of my favorite new TV shows (the aforementioned "Monkey") about confidence. The gist was that there are those days/moments when everything seems to be clicking, going your way, when your hat is on just right and your walk is smooth and your smile is broad. When the guy in the newsstand gets influenced by your cool.

Strolling down Market Street around 5 p.m. yesterday, I was feelin' all that. The weather was impeccable, I was in one of the world's great cities, I had The Roots "The Seed" playing on the nano (damn, that's an addictive tune), I was on my way home to see my beautiful wife and awesome daughters. The universe's tumblers just clicked into place, and I got One of Those Feelings. How wonderful those moments are, and how grateful I was for it, and for the elements that contributed to it.

If I haven't already lost you -- anyone else know what I mean by this looney description?

Looking forward to this afternoon too -- Nicola and Lindsay are on there way in, and we are going to stroll down Columbus Ave. through North Beach, maybe grab a bite to eat. We don't take enough advantage of our location, and it feels good to be a bit more "cosmopolitan" (if I can stretch the meaning of that word a bit).

Happy weekend to all.

Is that (fill in the blank)?

2006-02-09T11:09:00.000-08:00

Last night on Law & Order, was that Ali Farahnakian from UNC? I think so.

I've had other "hey, I know that guy" moments as well. There's John Bland, who I think I most recently saw as a realtor in an episode of The Office. And as the desk clerk in Bandits -- that's right. That was a Saturday afternoon TBS special encounter, I think.

The weirdest one was Jack Archey, who lived next door to me in Connor Dorm at Carolina and was called "Doc" for his obsession with Looney Tunes. He won a bunch of cash on Jeopardy and has tried to use his winnings to launch an acting/comedy career. I saw him on an insurance ad, completely out of the blue one day: "And we'll bus our own tables!" was his big line.

Well, good for them.

The morning after

2006-02-08T08:30:00.000-08:00

A good night's sleep (thanks Lindsay -- nice to see you recovered from that tummy thing!) did NOT do wonders for my anti-Dook disposition.

Follow-up to last night's near-final comment on JJ Redick's three-point shot hand gesture -- it looked to me like it's The Shocker (careful -- adult content to follow). Not a very family-friendly gesture, but I'm sure nothing will be said about it because to highlight such a perverse things would be to 1) bring more attention to it; and 2) bring potential dishonor to the Goddamn High and Mighty Dook Blue Devils and JJ Redick Who Can Do No Wrong in the Eyes of Most Media People.

(Update, 11:20 a.m.: some validation: http://www.deadspin.com/sports/college-basketball/jj-redick-has-one-in-the-stink-153506.php)

I guess I'm looking for something to focus on -- even as trivial as a hand gesture -- to take my mind off the roller-coaster ride that ended in disappointment.

Why do we Tar Heel fans make so much of this rivalry? Why do we tie up so much emotion and energy? I think having passion in your life is a good thing, in the right doses. It's acceptable to get excited if "your team" wins and to follow their ups and downs with interest and to purchase a few items of clothing to show your loyalties. Tattoos -- not my style. Passion is good -- it keeps us connected with life and interested in what's happening outside our own heads and cubicles. If you care that a 6-5, 325-lb high school kid who is good at pushing other kids around a football field is signing with Clemson, fine by me. Now, if you take that passion and direct it with malice toward others, that's where I draw the line. Me railing about JJ Redick's push-offs that don't get called and his sly randy hand gestures is basically harmless. Me cursing at and verbally abusing Dook fans just because they are Dook fans -- I've gone too far.

Same goes for the cartoon situation in Europe, no? Can't Muslims passionately protect the sacred image of Mohammed without resorting to violence?

From the Shocker to Mohammed in one post. Strange.

Good vs. Evil, 2006: Round 1 (second half)

2006-02-07T18:55:00.000-08:00

I'm breaking this into two pieces. Second half upcoming.

In the interest of disclosure, I knew a guy who played at Dook. Andy Berndt, who I played basketball with in high school, walked on at Dook his senior year and was on one of the teams that won a national title -- maybe 1990? I can't recall exactly. Anyway, nice guy, even if he was playing for Evil. Andy -- no offense, and thanks for the hospitality when I first moved to PDX.

Here we go. Oops -- Heels turn it over right off the bat.
Paulus airballs a 3. That was fugly -- maybe he ain't the future Redick.

Dook pushes it to 9 on back to back buckets by Redick. 4 turnovers for Tar Heels already. Roy calls a timeout cause he doesn't like what he sees. And neither do I!!

Impressive alley-oop dunk and then a 3 by McRoberts -- lead balloons to 14. Oy. Heels can't get anything going on offense.

UNC gets burned again on the double team of Williams -- Dook swings the ball to Dockery for a 3. Lead is 17. 6 turnovers for UNC on six second half possessions. Then finally a score after Roy pulls practically the whole team.

Bullshit goaltending call -- no way that was going to get up to the rim. And on the replay, they show that Sanders never even touched the ball!

Um, and who is this? Copeland is in, and I have no idea who this guy is. Mike Copeland? Freshman? Bench warmer? McRoberts goes out with four fouls, which is good. And this guy Copeland has a Shaq-like touch at the line.

Bench guys are still in -- they've cut the lead to 54-43 with about 14 minutes left. Roy is making a point here...but how long can he wait? Here they come to the scorer's table. Redick gets goddamn bailed out as he flails around.

8-0 run for the Heels -- improbable. And oh my god -- i just screamed bullshit outloud as Redick draws the most ridiculous charge i've ever seen. Noel dishes the ball and three steps later hits Redick, who flops like a pussy and gets the call.
Offensive rebounds by the handful for the Heels, who can't finish but are staying active.

Redick misfires again, Heels secondary break results in a foul on Williams as Hansbrough goes up for a dunk! It is getting very tense here, and I'm wondering if I should have worn this Carolina T-shirt. I also wore it when I saw the first game of the 2004-05 season, when Santa Clara upset UNC in Oakland.

TV timeout. Heels within 7, going to the line.

Terry charges with UNC having a chance to close to 3. Redick from about 27 feet, hits the 3. Then makes a steal and a layup. Lead back to 10. I hate Redick and all he stands for...but he's a gamer. And a little cheap ass who flops and gets every advantage he can.

Lead is now 6 after Ginyard makes a tip and then a steal and dunk. They just can't get over the hump -- too many turnovers. 8 minutes to go. Dook's bench has yet to score.

Terry for 3 on the secondary break!! Lead is 3 and Dook calls timeout as the Dome blows up. I'm so jealous that Ian is there! What is Redick shooting? He seems to be struggling a bit. Dook turn it over and we get the TV timeout at 7 minutes and change.

I'm so not gellin'
cause Redick is a felon
who has an ugly melon
and i wish he'd just go to hell..'n.
(inspired by Dr Scholls)

Redick is 9 of 18. UNC has 21 turnovers. Terry ties it on a three at 7:07! Isn't a blowout easier sometimes, even if it's a loss?

Noel for 3, gives them a 1 point lead at 64-63. Is this where I make the obligatory "that's no wine and cheese crowd, Sam Cassell" comment? Rebounding lead of something like 40-20 for Carolina -- time after time underneath they are getting second and third chances.

Quentin Thomas has redeemed himself. He is really running the team well right now. Miller's two FTs make it 68-64 with 5:34 to go. A 52-35 deficit really got turned around! 33-12 run!

Redick a huge 3 from the side. 2 pt game, 4:12 to go.

Miller on Redick, can he stay with him? No -- cheap foul call as Redick drives. Tie pending, 2 pt lead as we go under 4 minutes and Redick will be on the line. Jeez, I'm starting to write like Mike Patrick talks.

Gag me. Redick first said he wanted to go to Dook when he saw Laettner hit his miracle against Kentucky. Barf.

Another putback by Hansbrough. 43-22 rebounding edge for UNC. Redick dishes for a 3 by Dockery, 1 pt Dook lead!

Miller 2 FTs, Heels by 1. Ginyard in to play defense, Miller out. Good move by Roy...except a tick-tack foul call puts Williams on the line. Dook up 1, 2:30 to go. OK, I lied -- I'm GLAD I'm not at the game. I'd be a mess. I am a mess!

Fuck. Williams block, followed by a Redick 3. Followed by Dick Vitale performing TV fellatio on Redick. Dook by 4, under two minutes. Hansbrough battles inside, now shooting 2 FTs.

Montross shown on the sideline, doing radio work. Good omen? Nope -- missed FT. Missed another, and then a foul. Not time for that yet! Lead at 6, 1:34 to go. I don't care if the future is bright...yes, the class next year is amazing...but I still want to win today.

I'm writing in the first person, like I'm playing. How pathetic. Redick buries a 3, now has 35 points. I wish they'd call the pushoff...or someone would smack him in the face with a stadium cup as he runs down the court grinning.
I can't go on. 5 pt lead with 45 seconds left. It's almost worse to come back from 17, take the 4 pt lead, and then have the Dookies look like they might overcome. That's painful.

Lead is down to 3 thanks to a stupid play by Dockery. Now Redick throws it away. Dickie V. name drops Sam Cassell -- a bit late, Dick!

Holy shit. 33.1 seconds left, Frasor hits a runner in the lane. It's 84-83!! TO for the Heels. Last one for UNC.

Dook can try to run the clock down, but I see UNC fouling? Paulus gets trapped...yikes! Dook's final timeout. Wow -- what a great fight the Heels have put up. Now I'm writing like Dick Vitale talks.

AAAHHH! Redick turned it over but Dook grabs it in the scramble. Paulus at the line, hits 1. Hits 2. 3 pt lead. heels set up -- ugh. that is fucking horrible -- green drives baseline (??) and puts up a crappy 2 pt shot. Rebound Dook, game just about over.

Dook 87-83. Heels fight but they can't get the good possession at the end.

Did anyone notice that Redick is making the Shocker hand symbol as he hits threes? Isn't that a bit vulgar for someone so lionized in the media. I'll post the link when I find it for what the Shocker is.

Live blogging isn't too fun when your team loses.

Good vs. Evil, 2006: Round 1

2006-02-07T17:55:00.000-08:00

I'm all set up for blogging tonight's North Carolina - Dook game. The laptop is in front of the TV, the 5o-foot CAT-5 cable is strung across the house to keep me online, and I'm ready to act like I'm...a real blogger? A sportswriter-has-been turned wanna-be? Eww.

Predictions: UNC 82, Dook 77

Game time approacheth. From here on out, I'll do minimal editing and little typo checking, etc.

5:59 p.m. -- Kentucky loses another one, which doesn't help the Heels RPI very much. That non-conference schedule doesn't look so good when both Wildcats (Kentucky and Arizona) are having off years.

It would be easier to focus on witty observations about the upcoming game if Lindsay Bean would stop screaming in the nursery. TIME FOR BED, LITTLE SWEETIE!!

6:05 p.m.: highlights of previous games, the usual suspects: Capel from half-court, Stackhouse's dunk, even Robert Brickey?? god, forgot about him. The crowd is getting fired up with House of Pain's Jump Around -- old school, baby. Reminds me of DC circa 1994.

6:07 p.m. Tip goes out of bounds, Dook ball. First TO! And then Terry for 3 off a screen! Dickie V calls him perhaps the most improved player in America. Up, OK. And then another TO as Paulus travels. Nice start.

6:09 p.m. Lots of early-game jitters. Many turnovers -- Paulus with 3 right off the bat. Redick flops to try to get a foul but no deal -- he does make the shot. And Vitale typically goes nuts. Replay: jeez, what a wussy effort by Redick. First of many shots of coach k working the officials for some more bogus calls. When will we first see darling Mickey?

Quentin Thomas in already. Interesting. Fast-paced game, but sloppy.

First timeout, the under 16 minute. Dook 9, UNC 5. Heels look a bit rattled, but Dook is struggling too. Redick just got Miller up in the air and jumps into him for the foul call -- typical. And Dickie V starts defending the Devils and the complaints about them going to the foul line so much. Well, there is a giant discrepancy, Dick!

6:15 p.m. Wide shot of the Dean Dome. It is a wonderful venue...but I've covered college hoops at both UNC and Dook, and Cameron Indoor Stadium is a crazy, special place to watch a game. Even when the students are spilling spittle and coke down your back in press row.

Bad turnover leads to Redick layup. And then another turnover -- 5 so far. One of UNC's major problems this year. Fortunately, Redick misses a wide open 3. Jackie Manuel, looking very studious in spectacles, is shown in the crowd. I guess the Turkish basketball season hasn't started yet (sorry).

Terry with a dunk off a broken play, and then a charge on Nelson -- 2 fouls on him. 13-7 Evil is ahead.

Terry looks the most composed so far, I'd say. He makes a nice drive and draws a foul on Paulus.

Why does Lee Melchionni suck so bad this year? And all this crap about how good Dook is -- they only play 7 guys; where is the depth brought by superior recruiting?

6:20 p.m. 17-11, 12:20 to go. Not settled down yet.

Second TV timeout. Same score. I didn't always hate Dook; heck, I even visited there and considered applying when I was in high school. I was from NJ -- it was part of the state charter, I think. I ended up getting into Carolina, and being there really hones your hatred of the school in Durham. I think it peaked for me my junior year, when I was in charge of the annual spoof issue of the Dook "Comical" -- we ended up writing some very tasteless stuff about Christian Laettner and Quin "Queen" Snyder and there close friendship, if you get my drift. No? Well, it involved references to vaseline and such. Not a very proud moment for me, but it was in the heat of the moment, and during the recklessness of youth.

Dook goes up 10. Ugh. Felton and May are in the stands, and it would be nice if they were on the floor instead.

Dickie V. compliments Shelden Williams on his versatility in the low post...right after the Vulcan misses a baby hook. Huh?

6:27 p.m. Byron Sanders through a back door pass for a layup! Maybe it is our night!

Redick resting as Dook is up 9.

Williams lumbers downcourt after a steal and fumbles it out of bounds; no call, and espn shows Chris Collins laughing on the bench. Oh, poor babies.
Paulus is eating up QT. Fuck -- stay in front of the ball. And then he missed a layup!! And then forces a jumper on a 3-on-2. Get him out!!

Next TV time out. Dook up 8...and Wes Miller just picked up his second foul on a total bullshit call where Redick pushed off. Make up time!!

Dook clearly has a pipeline into the Annoying White Guys Factory -- Ferry, Laettner, Hurly, Wojo, Chris Collins, Redick, Paulus, Melchionni, Snyder. Who am I missing? Where do they find these guys?

Dickie V. apologizes for the crappy officials who got suspended over the FSU game. Spare me. It was a judgement call, yes...and they blew it.

Hansbrough is channeling Eric Montross -- he's fired up and fighting inside. A blood trickle down his face and it would be perfect. Heels within 4.

19 turnovers already between the teams.

6:38 p.m. Woo!! Miller 3 after a huge block on the defensive end -- Heels cut it to 1 and the place goes nuts. Timeout Dook.
I'm still writing this like I'm on deadline -- very choppy, no? No thought or insight to it. Oh well.
On the positive side, it's kinda distracting, so I'm less stressed.

Redick misses back to back 3, then Frasor rushes a 3 of his own. No rhythm to this game at all.

Final TO. Dook 28, UNC 25.

I'm not a total jackass -- I did just check on Lindsay, and she is sleeping peacefully.

Does having a laptop actually on your lap create fertility problems?

Another three by Dockery. Not expecting that guy to beat us. The Heels are hanging tough...will it be enough? Do they have enough scoring to stay in it?

Another nice look by Sanders -- holy shit! He's a point forward! We are not utilizing him correctly!! ha

7:52 p.m. Dook by 5, at the foul line. Under a minute left. Dickie V. steps on his soap box, delivering coach K's bullshit about why they get to the line so much. A shocking development!

5 seconds left, Dook inbounds after Redick fucks up a drive. Need a stop! Great defense, leaves coach K shaking his rat head in dismay with one of those "I can't believe this is being called fairly" smiles. Dook up 40-35 at the break.

More later...no really

2006-02-07T09:04:00.000-08:00

I was going to write something snide about a coworker of mine who is batshit crazy obsessed with her animals. 1 dog and 5 cats, and an unhealthy obsession with them to the point of 1) traveling cross-country for a work event and turning around and flying back 24 hours later so they aren't left "alone" (housesitter) too long, and 2) hiring a professional photographer to take pictures of them (I just heard her on the phone gushing over how "moving" the images on his Web site are, etc.). I could go on.

Wait, I did just write something snide. Oh well, there goes that high road!

Zen moment: Do The Next Right Thing. Which would be...of course...live-blogging the UNC-Dook game tonight. I used to cover college and pro basketball for a semi-living, so this will be a trip down nostalgia lane. However, I suppose I'll have to get a bit more creative than "42 10' J LS" (back in the day, this was code for "Scott Williams hitting a 10-foot jumper from the left side"). Hey, I was writing for UPI -- wire service style calls for the hero lead (example: "Rick Fox scored 25 points and King Rice added 14 points and 10 assists as the North Carolina Tar Heels handled Clemson 84-68 Thursday night in Chapel Hill") and just the facts.

So, more later, around 6 p.m. Pacific -- if my DSL line will reach into the living room.

Release the hype

2006-02-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

Our young, enthusiastic Tar Heels take on the evil Dookies tomorrow night...and I'm just learning about this UNC-Dook rivalry book now? How did I miss it? Oh wait -- not released yet. Whew. Am I not a true Carolina fan if I say that I'm going to hope my local library gets a copy?

Excerpted on SI.com for your pleasure.

Looks good, and now that I read the reviews, I recall reading some other stuff by Blythe on his hatred of Dook. But I can't remember specifics.

[Update, one day later -- my good friend and former DTH colleague Dave Glenn has also made note of Blythe's book, and turns out he is featured in the book in some small way. If it has Dave Glenn's stamp of approval, that speaks volumes for me.]

More later.

Another interesting thing: the spread of the word truthiness. It means "wishing to be true, rather than facts." Okay.

It's not true that a housing deed will appear in my hands tomorrow, or that my debts will disappear, or that the Tar Heels will absolutely smoke Dook. But there's much truthiness in those statements!

Culinary milestones

2006-02-03T13:37:00.000-08:00

As Lindsay approaches birthday #1 and her teeth slowly emerge (only four choppers, but she's working on it!), we've had a few food-related firsts this week:

#1: Spoon to mouth

Yogurt and apple sauce from bowl to mouth, self delivered!

#2: eating an almond butter and jelly sandwich, just like a "big kid" (photo to be added later; I have not uploaded it yet and I'm feeling lazy)

The week's culinary lowlights include multiple throwings-up by our little Bean, who seems to be fighting a stomach virus. She -- and we -- slept right through one on Tuesday night; I think her crib resembled the Exorcist in the morning, if Linda Blair had consumed black beans and corn. Wednesday evening she really got going, and she has been not herself ever since. Mixed feelings -- she was never a cuddly, fall-asleep-on-your-shoulder kind of baby, so it's sort of nice that her sick little self now dozes with Mommy or Daddy. But it is so hard to see them sick. Aww!

Photos of better days: Lindsay and Miss Ella at the park a few weeks back (the girls start sharing a room this weekend!).

Kick

2006-02-01T14:06:00.000-08:00

An e-mail exchange I had with pal Eric today regarding James Frey (read from the bottom up). That guy is like a train wreck to me right now...I can't turn away, I just gape in wonder at the carnage.

----------------
From: Eric J. Gribbin
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2006 1:50 PM
To: Bill Taggart
Subject: ### as i knew would happen...

james frey is a giant whopper of an oxymoron. i wonder what he does all day? does he stay inside his house staring out the window and then write journal entries about all of the hair-raising, self-destructive things he did(n't do) all day?

-------------------------
From: Bill Taggart
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2006 1:45 PM
To: Eric J. Gribbin
Subject: RE: ### as i knew would happen...

Check this out:
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/news/archive/2006/02/01/entertainment/e111801S07.DTL&type=books

My favorite quote:

"A Million Little Pieces" is "a subjective truth, altered by the mind of a recovering drug addict and alcoholic. Ultimately, it's a story, and one I could not have written without having lived the life I've lived."
What the f*** is subjective truth? Isn't that a giant whopper of an oxymoron?

---------------------------
From: Eric J. Gribbin
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2006 1:42 PM
To: Bill Taggart
Subject: RE: ### as i knew would happen...Importance: Low

i'd feel bad for him if he wasn't such an unapologetic a-hole.

i think he got his name right. other than that, it's hard to say.

i keep waiting to find out that he's never actually taken a drink or drug in his life.

------------------------
From: Bill Taggart
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2006 1:38 PM
To: Eric J. Gribbin
Subject: RE: ### as i knew would happen...

I almost feel bad for that guy now...almost. What IS true that he wrote about?

----------------------
From: Eric J. Gribbin
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2006 1:30 PM
To: Bill Taggart
Subject: ### as i knew would happen...Importance: Low

http://movies.yahoo.com/mv/news/eo/20060201/113882094000.html

Dodging bullets

2006-02-01T10:44:00.000-08:00

I didn't watch the State of the Union speech -- I can barely stand hearing Bush's voice for 10 second on the radio, let alone watch him grimace and smirk and act smug for more than an hour on TV.

I do know that my garage experiments to create a human-animal hybrid (a cat + a toddler = a self-cleaning rugrat) are now screwed. How did this ever get on the president's radar, dammit!

Mainly, I'm irked that this adminstration is only getting a fraction of the heat it deserves for totally fucking up our budget, our international reputation, our environment, our civil liberties, etc. Where are the special counsels, the Capitol Hill hearings, the outrage?

I can't say it better than this (lifted from the Washington Post):

Tim Grieve lets loose in Salon: "Again and again Tuesday night, the president said words aimed at obscuring hard truths and hiding the harsh reality that his administration has visited upon the American people. Bush talked about the importance of education for young people, ignoring the fact that his administration proposed the first cut in overall federal education spending in a decade. He talked of fiscal restraint and the need to be a good 'steward' of taxpayers' money, ignoring the fact that government spending has exploded on his watch and that he hasn't once exercised his veto to stop it. He talked of the need to wean the nation from its 'addiction' to foreign oil, ignoring the fact that that addiction had deepened as his administration resisted strict fuel-economy standards, proposed cuts in alternative energy programs and dismissed conservation as little more than 'a sign of personal virtue.'
"Bush said that all elected officials must 'never forget, never dismiss and never betray' their pledge to be 'worthy of public responsibility,' neglecting to mention that his administration lied to the American public about the Valerie Plame case and is stonewalling both Congress and the press on the Jack Abramoff scandal."

Parrot sighting

2006-01-31T12:31:00.000-08:00

Waiting for the streetcar today, loud bird squawks trickled into my brain through my earphones. That, and the people gazing upward next to me, made me look up myself. And that's where I saw two wild parrots perched on top of a street light. San Francisco, semi-famously, has a flock of wild parrots. I knew of this, and yet still, it was strange to see such a sight.

I don't have much to write about today, but this lyric from Death Cab for Cutie's Marching Bands of Manhattan is ringing in my head (I can't find the lyrics exactly...apologies if I get it slightly wrong):

Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound
And while you debate half empty and half full
It slowly rises...your love is going to drown

I think this happens in relationships...well, I think it's happened in mine. You don't pay attention to the slow leak...the little things...and next thing you know, your love drowns. Thank goodness I'm with someone now where we don't ignore the little things....

Happy anniversary

2006-01-26T22:16:00.000-08:00

One year since I started writing in this blog. Time to reflect back...or not. We're heading off to Oregon this weekend for a memorial service, and our cab arrives at 6:15 a.m. tomorrow morning. So, off to bed we go. Early for us, kind of, but not as early as Lindsay has been going to bed this week -- 5 or 5:30 p.m.! No joke. We're trying to adjust to the daycare schedule and she's just wiped when she comes home.

Anyway, the only thing new to report is that I'm considering training for a marathon. Anyone who has done this care to weigh in?

Back Sunday...and let's all pull for the Tar Heels this weekend, who need a bit of help. And another thing...James Frey got his on Oprah today, or so I heard. I almost feel bad for the guy now. And another thing...I'm really digging the new show Love Monkey. Could be the man-crush I have on Tom Cavanaugh (spelling? I should know how to spell his name if I have a man crush on him, I suppose), but I also think it's funny, interesting, has good music, etc.

Sisterhood

2006-01-19T09:11:00.000-08:00

Big milestone last night for our Lindsay: she "said" her sister's name! OK, it didn't come out as Ella exactly -- more like "A-ya" or "ya-ya" but it was close enough. And she was clearly saying it in reference to Ella -- I would point at a picture of Ella and say "Who's this?" or "Ella" and Lindsay would say "A-ya".

If you don't have kids, you might not appreciate the significance of this event. But for us...well, it brought tears to our eyes. Our Little Bean is growing up! She's said "Da-da" and "uh-oh" and "ma-ma" (or "na-na"?)...maybe even a variation of doggie. But saying her sister's name, well, that was just pretty damn cool. And it gave me a bit of relief as well, I think. With Lindsay's hearing issues, I sometimes worry about how she's progressing with her verbal skills. Yes, 11 months old and I am already stressed about her achievement...but legitimately, no?

It was a nice thing to tell Ella too -- she struggles at times with the Big Sister role, made more complicated by the fact that she only spends a couple of weekends a month with us. She loves Lindsay -- I know this. But Ella is used to being the only kid, and the normal adjustment issues apply.

Well, milestone noted. Obligatory cute photo provided (thanks Mom for the hand-knit sweater!).

Woody Allen's not that far off

2006-01-18T08:41:00.000-08:00

My friend Eric posted a review recently of Woody Allen's Match Point, and in it he scolded the filmmaker for relying on the plot convention of people running into each other randomly in the Big City.

Well, it does happen, I think. At least to me, but in strange ways. For example: last week I noticed this guy on the streetcar -- very distinct facial features, is all I'll say in a kind way. I just took note of him, OK? Anyway...over the weekend we were at a local Ikea along with a jillion other people seeking furniture with unpronounceable names they could assemble themselves. And in this huge S.F. metropolis, in a giant warehouse of a store, with 25 checkout lines to choose from...we end up right behind this very same guy. I know it was him. And I saw him on the streetcar again this morning.

What are the odds? Must be long...but Woody Allen isn't completely off base, perhaps. Although I never seem to randomly bump into acquaintances, just strangers I recognize. Does that make sense?

What in the world?

2006-01-16T20:48:00.000-08:00

Two possible signs of the apocalypse: my father, within 6 weeks, got an iPod and went to see the Rolling Stones. This is a man who I associate, musically, with Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons and Mama Cass (don't ask). Weird. Could it be a belated midlife crisis...63 years old with a 5 year old and a 2 year old? Nah....

Never did like award shows, never will. Too much of the cringe factor: what horrible forced jokey dialogue will they read off cue cards? how painful will the faux spontaneous acceptance speech be? And now to add to the pain, they feature like eight hours of red carpet coverage: who made your dress? are you excited/nervous/anxious? is that all your own hair? how did you get your cleavage to stay like that? when's the last time you ate an actual meal, miss skin and bones? Ugh. My need to avoid confrontation extends to potentially painful situations where someone might embarrass themselves (in my mind): comedy clubs, award shows, figure skating, local newscasts. I just can't take it.

Enjoyed my day off today. Back to work tomorrow...but tomorrow is more significant because it is the first day Lindsay is going to daycare! Big step for us all -- Lindsay heading out three days a week to daycare, providing Nicola with time for herself and her business pursuits. A much-needed change, I think; one I maybe can't fully appreciate, since I'm The Man and I went back to work two weeks after Lindsay arrived. It's just different for moms...not all that profound a statement, but certainly one that I've grown to appreciate more.

Final note: speedy recovery to my uncle Tom Taggart, who recently suffered a minor stroke at age 55. Sounds like he's doing ok, but still...scary.

Vicariousness

2006-01-13T14:29:00.000-08:00

(offline for a few days as our laptop was nursed back to semihealth)

The James Frey affair continues to play out in the news media and online. I don't have much more to say about his "memoir" and his need to exaggerate his misdeeds, but all this speculation and investigation has made me think about why I liked his book in the first place.

I'm an onlooker, a literary rubbernecker. I have long enjoyed the memoir genre that features seedy people doing reckless and seedy things -- narcotic-fueled "nonfiction" if you will. Jim Carroll, Bukowski, William S. Burroughs, Augusten Burroughs, Jerry Stahl (Permanent Midnight). I'm sure there's others I've read, but they escape me. Eddie Little's Another Day in Paradise -- fiction, but some prurient interest drew me to that too.

Is it vicarious thrills I'm seeking? Is it a curiousity about how low humans can go? A reaction to my own relatively tame existence? I mean, I've had some experiences, and I've dabbled, and I may even have been excessive in my consumption for a period of time (say, 1992 to 1995). But I never went hardcore -- like losing a job, or getting arrested, or heck, even tried any hardcore narcotics.

James Frey, you poseur. How can I count on getting goosed by the thrill of dangerous living by others, when so much of it is bullshit! I feel robbed! Not really...this guy and many others should feel wronged and pissed off. They did the real down and dirty work of getting through the harrowing ride of addiction, while how can we even know if Frey's victory is real, if the stuff that led him there is a house of cards?

Even energy on this dude, right? But isn't it interesting, the times we live in? Who knows what embellishments Jim Carroll or William Burroughs got away with -- there was no Smoking Gun around to pursue the "truth" through open records and investigative reporting. Did they get away with anything? I don't know -- I suppose memoirists are entitled to some literary license...as long as they cop to it upfront.

Have a good weekend all.

Life 1, me 0

2006-01-10T08:21:00.000-08:00

Lindsay's cold/teething is more -- it's an ear infection. Which is a concern, given her microtia. I stayed home yesterday to help out, and her febrile wailings did much to disrupt our day. Which led to a funky, almost relaxed evening that should have been perfect for blogging...except our laptop slowed to an ooze after we installed some new stuff. Result: no post!

I've got a mountain of work ahead today, so I'll keep this brief and simply note what's happening in my media life these days:

Reading: Rats, by Robert Sullivan. It caught my eye at a bookstore in Berkeley. So far, pretty interesting. I just finished A Million Little Pieces...like millions of others, apparently, and no, I'm not surprised that James Frey might be a grade A bullshitter. Still a good read, but the intertwining of fact and fiction is not all that relevatory...I guess unless you've sworn up and down it's all true, as he as. His books, those of Augusten Burroughs, even David Sedaris -- don't we all tacitly acknowledge there must be some embellishment in order to make these work as narrative or humor or allegory? Doesn't mean I don't enjoy them, but I don't consider them gospel.

Listening: nano with various, but latest is Bloc Party, "Silent Alarm". I'm a musical tweener -- trying to keep up with new bands, but finding it hard to stay interested. U2, Beastie Boys, Barenaked Ladies, Green Day, Dillon Fence (shout out to Chapel Hill!)...all mixed up with Bloc Party, Franz Ferdinand and Death Cab for Cutie. Similar to me and lots of other 30-somethings?

Magazines: we had Newsweek, Business 2.0 and Money coming in free for a while...now the subscription notices (nee pleadings) are flooding the mailbox. Which to renew? I hardly have time to read my Sports Illustrated each week (won't give that up).

Watching: Scrubs is back on -- sweet. Missed it last week due to our prolonged drive back from Oregon, but I'll be there tonight.

Off we go

2006-01-08T20:23:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here loading music on my new nano -- a surprise Xmas gift from Nicola. Oh joy of joys! I was hoping for an iPod, but I was sure it wouldn't come. But it did it did! Even better, the PC slot card that upgrades our laptop to USB 2.0 worked -- this option failed for me before -- so I've been enjoying nano-hood for the past couple of weeks. Through the sleepless nights in Oregon when my cold/cough kicked in...and now on my commute. I'm one of the white-headphone-cord mob now -- linked with every third or fourth person you see on the streets of San Francisco. They are nearly ubiquitous here...and I'm ok with that. I'm also over my bitterness: I was swearing that iPods had jumped the shark when my 63-year-old father got one for his birthday last month. This a guy who can barely use e-mail. But it was just jealousy. I'm all better now.

So, here begins my sincere effort to devote regular attention to my writing/expressing via this blog. There will be some nights that are tough and some that are easy -- like tonight, when Lindsay's early bedtime (she's either sick and/or dealing with the pain/phlegm/issues related to her two top front teeth coming in) and an early dinner (6:30) led to an abundance of free time, or so it seems. I'm sure there are a million things to do around the house as we still dig out from our long roadtrip.

It was a good weekend, although Ella has been more of a challenge lately. Is it just a stage, something normal for a nearly 6-year-old? Is it older sibling stuff? Is it divorced kid stuff? A fun melange of all three and more? Whatever it is, she's pushing the boundaries more and more, and we have struggled a bit to deal with the subtle shifts in our sweet kid. Ella remains, by and large, a sweet, well-behaved, bright, delightful little girl...I think it's her near perfect (? -- Daddy's subjective memory) track record that now has us flummoxed by the changes. Her on-a-dime shifts into pouty mode grow tiresome, as does her apparent need to get her way. Gee, Bill, that's not like normal or anything for young kids, is it? I suppose I shouldn't be too concerned...just another stage, right? Life is about change and transition.

A few photo highlights of our trip to Oregon, below. Rainy weather up -- downpours all the way. Nice visits with family and friends. And then snow and rain on the way down. Highlight: spending the day with my close pal Thad on his 40th birthday, and getting our first solo when the grandparents babysat Lindsay (too bad both Nicola and I were both sick!).

Timber

2006-01-06T09:35:00.000-08:00

This morning I saw the Pier 39 Christmas tree getting stripped of its branches as the workers prepared to take it down. I swear I made note of this tree going up back around Thanksgiving, but I can't find the post anywhere. Hmm. Oh well. The long holiday season is now officially over I guess...or was it over for me when I saw candy Valentine's hearts on sale in a Portland grocery store on New Year's Eve?

I'm not sure how to approach this other notable thing that happened during my commute yesterday, so I'll just say it. I saw a man die. Right there, inside the BART car I was waiting to board, was a man lying on the floor with first regular people and then paramedics doing CPR. People were milling around and kind of watching and not watching at the same time. I hopped the first train out of the city I could (on the opposite track) and later heard from a BART station agent that the man died. There was no mention of the situation in today's Chronicle...I guess it's not noteworthy if the train delays were only 30 minutes or so.

One woman was heroically going at the CPR for several minutes, and when the paramedics arrived, she just kind of wandered off. She got on the same BART car I did leaving San Francisco, and I really wanted to offer her some validation -- like, "Hey, I saw what you did. Are you OK?" But she was 10 feet away from me in a car packed with people, and I couldn't make it happen. Good for her, though, and for the other good samaritans who tried to help.

A very surreal situation.

Not so fresh

2006-01-04T22:43:00.000-08:00

I intended to start a new blogging effort in 2006: post 5 nights a week, be regular about it, etc. and so forth and so on. Well, 13 hours on the road back from Oregon on Tuesday -- in the wettest, most disgusting weather, even snow...including putting chains on the tires not once but twice -- has me just too pooped to pontificate. So the fresh start starts when it starts.

Happy new year to all. Hope the holidays were enjoyable, fun filled and interesting.

Does this suit make me look fat?

2005-12-24T22:14:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve, and the little ones are asleep. We just enjoyed a fun but hectic dinner over at Maureen and Nelson's around the corner, and now it's time to play a bit of Santa. The cookies, milk and carrots are set out for St. Nick and his steeds, the stockings are ready to be stuffed, the pile of presents obscenely spills out from under the tree. Let's hope Ella's sensitive brain doesn't overload tomorrow!

The neighborhood is still humming as cars and pedestrians hit Alameda's Holiday Lane, around the corner from us. We have a few tasteful lights up, but nothing like the pink flamingoes and inflatable Xmas favorites lined up along Thompson Ave. We just get the spillover traffic, which is plenty.

One present opened per person, as tradition dictates. A random service found for the traditional "Silent Night" with open flames -- now that's Christmas to me. And Hanukkah starts tomorrow too -- let's not forget that!

Away with me. Bailey's pig ear ain't getting into that stocking by itself! Happy and enjoyable and peaceful and safe holidays to all.

Be proud

2005-12-21T22:20:00.000-08:00

[RANT]

My Tar Heel loyalties play no small part in this...but is it just me, or do fans (particularly college ones) find any excuse to storm the court/field and celebrate a victory? UNC lost to USC tonight, and it wasn't even close. The Tar Heels looked every bit the young, inexperienced team they are, and the loss was nothing to be ashamed of. It was a good win for Tim Floyd in his first year with the Trojans...but enough of an upset for the fans to storm the court? Um, USC fans, your guys just beat a team AT HOME that starts three freshman and lost its top seven scorers from last year...a team that almost lost to Guilford or somebody about a month ago. So, spare me your victory dance. Now I know, in part, why the rest of the Pac-10 is so bugged by you....

Picture of Bailey posted below, finally.

Quiet the critic (that is me)

2005-12-20T11:17:00.000-08:00

I think I need to learn some relaxation techniques for occasions like this morning, when my BART train stopped in the trans-bay (translation: under the Bay) tunnel for 15 long minutes...as the billions of gallons of water and tons of earth around us exerted incredible forces on the tunnel. As a public transit rider...heck, as a person living around here...you take some of these things for granted -- the structural integrity of a tunnel or a bridge and the faith it will perservere against the forces of nature...including the unavoidable Big One (earthquake).

So, learn relaxation techniques to slow my brain and heart and sweat rate as I ponder what it would be like to get crushed under the Bay in a train.

Another intention (not resolution) for the New Year: be less critical of myself and others. Nicola sent the following along, and it's been food for my thought:

Life is the coexistence of all opposite values. Joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain, up and down, hot and cold, here and there, light and darkness, birth and death....All experience is by contrast, and one would be meaningless without the other. When there is a quiet reconciliation, an acceptance in our awareness of this lively coexistence of all opposite values, then automatically we become more and more non-judgmental. The victor and the vanquished are seen as two poles of the same being. Nonjudgment leads to quietening of the internal dialogue, and this opens once again the doorway to creativity.

As Nicola says, this is a bit "woo woo" -- or I would call it New Age-y pabulum, but I do think there is something there. Can I accept the premise that things are neither one thing or another -- they just are? I don't know...but I do want to be more accepting of myself and others. I am very self critical, for example, about this blog -- it's not topical enough, it's not funny enough, it's not interesting enough, who cares what I think about streetcars, who cares what Lindsay did last week. So I talk myself into not writing, when I should just be writing to write, to enjoy the process of finding my voice and finding my own comfort and satisfaction with keeping a blog that is largely for personal consumption and archiving anyway.

More pondering to come.

Have I mentioned Bailey?

2005-12-20T08:14:00.000-08:00

I was going to write this morning about...what was it? The lady I saw plucking her eyebrows on the BART train yesterday (only topped in grossness by the fingernail clipping I've seen on the train)? Our dreadful slog through Toys R Us on Sunday evening, searching for THE gift for Ella (soon to be 6)? The sad fate of Arrested Development (another strong showing last night), or the unappreciated genius 0f Scrubs (we've just about finished watching the first season DVDs)?

Whatever. I'm moved to write briefly of Bailey, our beloved but often overlooked dog. My acquaintance Ian wrote about his dog today, and many commenters added their perspectives on caring for pets as they age and decline. I've got to go home and give my old girl (10 1/2) some attention tonight...and not the kind of attention that I gave her on Saturday night, when I yelled over and over "What the fuck is your problem?" at her after she tore the kitchen garbage apart and spread trash across several rooms. Our fault for leaving the trash out, but come on!

Anyway, it's sad that I have barely even mentioned Bailey here. She's such a sweet dog and well behaved most of the time -- if it wasn't for the antics, would she get attention at all? Gee, wonder if there's something in that? Dur.

I've had Bailey off and on since she was a puppy. We bought her off a farm in 1995 in Great Falls, Va., outside of D.C. (unsure of our need for our dog...we hesitated...and we fell victim to the "oh, take her home overnight and see what you think" ploy...HOOKED!). And she lived the first three years of her life in and around the Washington area with me and my three roommates and then a succession of their new places, after I moved to Oregon. Come fall 1998, my now-ex-wife and I decided to bring Bailey out to Portland. Just weeks after she arrived, we took her down to the Oregon Coast and she ran around in the surf and had a blast...and blew the ACL in one of her back legs. Surgery followed by a cast followed by rehab (carrying her up and down stairs) and then just about good as new. Three years later...back at the coast...and another ACL tear, this time when her pal Duke (150 pounds of Great Dane/Lab mix) played a bit rough. (Rest in peace to dear, sweet, neurotic Duke, who died last weekend.)

Bailey went in for her second surgery on Sept. 11, 2001 -- I was in the car taking her to the vet when I first heard the news out of NYC. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to the description of the second tower going down.

Four-plus years later, here we are: Bailey is now a California dog, with clean teeth (finally sprung for that) and a lot of energy and pretty good manners and a shortage of attention. With two kids and jobs and housework and what-have-you...she's just a ways down the priority list. Sad but true. I take her for granted, but just the thought of her being around moves me close to tears...I need to reconcile that a bit, don't I?

I'll post some pictures later...right after I give Bailey some love and take her for a walk.

Taggart Show

2005-12-15T22:54:00.000-08:00

Ever have those surreal moments where you can't quite believe where you are or the thought of how you got to point X, today, right now, is kind of mind boggling...if not unbelievable?

Had one of those last night, riding up Nob Hill on the back platform of a cable car, watching Alcatraz shrink in the distance, trying to remember when I'd done this before and under what circumstances. Hey, didn't my ex-wife's friend live right on this line, near this corner? Hey I rode the cable car back to downtown when I was here for work in 1999 -- yeah, Nicola was with me. This restaurant...this block...wait, my old Chatham pal Nikki used to live on this street. I crashed at her place once...we celebrated birthdays? God, that's fuzzy. But it must be around here -- she used to complain about the bells from Grace Cathedral, and that's right over there.

Sometimes it's like life is on a loop...on the Truman Show (on TV tonight), the woman on the red bike came around the block every 10 minutes. In real life, it's a bit more irregular...and yet I do find myself crossing my own path...weeks, months, years later...and boy, how the circumstances have changed. Once a tourist, a business traveler, a visitor -- now a worker in the city, a commuter, a local.

It was a fun little ride last night, even if they now gouge you for $5. Ridiculous. And I hopped off and strolled down a steep hill, the Transamerica Pyramid looming down the hill like a giant Christmas tree topped by a full moon, lightly shrouded in fog. I'm not feeling the poetic vibe tonight, as you can tell. But at least I'm writing...and that feels good.

My little closing thought to the universe tonight: bring some peace of mind and some rest and some good health to my dear Nicola, who is dragging a bit physically, emotionally and spiritually right now. She's the emotional engine of our little world -- she makes us go, most often for the good (happy, dynamic, challenging, honest) but sometimes for the not so good. There's a bit of fog settled over our house too, and I'm doing my best to burn it off. She shouldn't have to carry all the burden...but she does bear the brunt...she's the creamy filling in the Twinkie, the tootsie roll in the tootsie pop -- she's what makes us good, underneath it all.

Last night's concert was a nice outing -- reminiscent of our pre-parental days. Wonder if it made her miss our...freedom?

We've got busy times ahead -- let us find the enjoyment in the holiday hustle, and let us find the quiet moments in between the chaos to enjoy the season and each other and our two beautiful girls.

Naked

2005-12-15T08:22:00.000-08:00

Ennui? Holiday lull? How can I explain two weeks without posting other than to blame the season. Actually, it probably has nothing to do with it -- pointing the finger at Xmas/Hanukkah (we do both) is unfair. I'm just not inspired to write right now...that's the whole of my excuse, lame as it is.

More to come later. Just wanted people to know that I'm still alive and still OK, family is good, work is work, Tar Heels are improving, the Billy Goats (my fantasy football team) went down in flames this year so now I'll have more time to surf porn instead of injury wires.

Bright spot of the week: going to the Barenaked Ladies concert last night at the very intimate Nob Hill Masonic Center. Those guys really seem to enjoy putting on a show...and if it's fake, I don't want to know. I don't care to hear the backstory (if there is one) of how they don't actually get along and one slept with the other's girlfriend and another accused another of hogging the spotlight blah blah blah. I'm going to let it be what it was: a highly entertaining, funny, engaging, well-performed show, sprinkled with holiday tunes.

Another note: check out the opening act -- The Leevees. A very engaging little set they put on. I suppose it helps that I'm raising a Jewish daughter, which makes me familiar with the trappings around Hanukkah and Judaism in general. I've got to look into the Zambonis next....

Back to grind. Millions of healthy eyeballs to preserve.

Subconscious adjustments

2005-12-01T20:28:00.000-08:00

It poured today in the San Francisco area -- steady, drenching rain whipped sideways by blustery gusts of wind, particularly down near the wharf, where my office is. As I stood outside the office trying to hail a cab to go to a business meeting, I was grumbling as my shoes and pant legs got wet and my big golf-style umbrella nearly turned me into Mary Poppins, drifting off diagonally upward into the sky.

Less than three years ago, such weather would have been no big deal. I lived in Portland, see, where rain is as much a part of the lifestyle as...daylight and nighttime. For about nine months of the year, it rains and/or is gray and gloomy. People always ask about the weather in the Pacific Northwest, and it is a drag. Around May, when you really want steady sun and spring conditions, but it continues to be dreary, you get a bit antsy. Still, you adjust. You get used to it, I swear. You have some type of waterproof jacket with a hood, you have waterproof shoes, and you walk around without an umbrella most of the time, and it's fine.

How do you adjust? I don't know, you just do. It's like asking how your body adjusts to the savage sleeplessness of your baby's first three (six? nine? fortunately for us, it was about five) months on earth. I can't tell you how Nicola got up every two hours to nurse and still managed to get through a day without brushing her coffee and drinking her teeth. Subconciously and I suppose physiologically, your body and mind shift into another gear and you just...live, and make it through. You look back and think, "Man, I was exhausted, but what I really remember was that time Lindsay giggled when I made a funny face." You adjust on the fly, and then your brain doesn't let you remember how much it really sucked. The brain can't recreate a realistic feeling of pain, or of exhaustion, I guess.

So, I don't know the point of all this, other than an insignificant observation. I love the mostly sunny and mild weather in Alameda, and I wonder about moving back to Portland and the rain. I talk of missing snow, but I start bitching about the cold when it dips to 45 degrees. Could I really handle the weather extremes again, the ones that seemed like no big deal in New Jersey as a kid? Yeah, I could, 'cause you do. You adjust.

Not that we're going anywhere....Even the thought of leaving Ella sparks an anxious pounding of my heart, and then she drops stuff like this: "Oh Lindsay, you're so lucky your parents aren't divorced," she says to her 9-month-old sister tonight. GULP. I'm proud of her for expressing her emotions...even if they send stabs of guilt and worry right through me. We did our best to talk to her about what she's feeling, but I'm open to suggestions, if anyone's harboring some.

Nine! Ah Ah Ah!

2005-11-29T22:06:00.000-08:00

Read the post title in the voice of the Count from Sesame Street and it makes more sense.

Anyway, so much for regular blogging. I blame the holidays and the stubborn cold I've been battling for about a week now. Sleep deprivation is a bitch when it comes to blogging at 10 p.m. (yes, I'm old).

Lindsay turned nine months old last Thurday, on Thanksgiving, and she's celebrated the occasion with some major accomplishments...well, major if you are nine months old. Herewith, the top nine pertinent facts and/or milestones and/or remembrances I'd like to put down to commemorate this occasion:

My favorite thing she does now, right off the bat: as she nurses before bedtime, we have this heart-warming little ritual where Nicola says "Where's Daddy?" and Lindsay stops nursing and looks over at me, standing by the door. She smiles a knee-buckling smile and then waves goodbye to me! Sometimes I get the "fingers folding to palm wave" and sometimes the "full arm gyration wave"...but these are waves -- intentional waves -- people, I'm telling you. I love this moment, right before she goes to sleep.
She has learned how to wave, perfecting it in the last two weeks or so.
She plays peek-a-boo now, working both ends of this classic. Just in the past few days, she'll take a blanket, a hat, a drumstick, whatever's handy...and she puts it up in front of her face as you say "Where's Lindsay?" She drops it, and you say "There she is!" and everyone cheers. Methinks she has us well trained.
Speed crawling army style.
Regular crawling -- first distinct movements (in the pure sense) seen on Thanksiving.
Pulling herself up on furniture, legs, arms, whatever.
Ate her first meat: fittingly, turkey on Thanksgiving.
Vitals at nine months: 16 lb 6 oz (20th %), 50th % in height and 75th % in head. That's how we grow them in the Taggart family...big fat pumpkin headed. Not skinny usually -- that must be the Ries genes.
Turns pages in books, after she peeks around the corner to see what's coming.

I could go on and on, really. Lindsay is just a delightful, drooling bundle of cuteness and giggles and happiness and discovery. It was a joy to watch her play with her grandparents over the holiday weekend and to see how she charms them as much she's got us wrapped up.

I'm done making promises here about what I will and won't do. My intentions are good...is that enough?

Rewind that back

2005-11-22T15:17:00.000-08:00

I used to make this clever observation that high school and college were backwards in terms of the order in life. The logic was that high school is more like a job -- you arrive early, stay at the same place all day with mostly the same people, doing slight variations of the same thing. Very scheduled, very routine. Then you go to college, and you have incredible freedom, random schedules (for example, my senior year I had my first class at 3:oo p.m. on several days), very little structure, etc. This is NOT like a job...so wouldn't it make more sense to have the more job-like experience (high school) lead into a job, instead of the college thing in between?

Still some validity to this observation...but last night, I reconsidered this. College prepares you for work exactly because of the freedom you are granted -- to manage this freedom without 1) failing out; 2) getting arrested; 3) drinking yourself silly; or 4) a combination of these things is (by one measure) a successful journey through college. High school is still about obligations and close monitoring, while college is not. And neither is work, in most cases. My boss isn't watching me every second...otherwise she'd know I'm taking a break here to write a few lines in my blog. She trusts me to complete my job and its tasks (which I do) without her having to watch my every move, and this is how I treat people I supervise. So, college does get you ready to be on your own, so to speak, out in the big, bad world. No, this isn't some grand epiphany on the scale of "Einhorn's a man!"...but I thought it was interesting.

And it's interesting to see how people -- even 10 years out of college -- deal with this freedom. The guy one cube over is not exactly setting the world on fire in terms of his career, and today (with his boss out and our department boss leaving early) he was at his desk for all of about two hours, I'd guess, and he left at 3:10 -- the minute he could get away with it. I don't want to be a jerk about it...I'd hate to be that guy who rats out his coworkers -- but it's a bit ridiculous. I think he's getting away with a bit much, and it bugs me, because I'm working pretty hard here to do the right thing. Oh well -- the only person's behavior I can control is my own, right? Wow, I'm full of dull cliched observations today.

I'll likely be taking the next few days off on the old blog. We've got family in town for the holiday weekend. Maybe I'll post some pictures. Anyway, happy turkey day to all.

An even 3 dozen

2005-11-20T22:20:00.000-08:00

Heartfelt thank yous to my incredible bride and to my two beautiful daughters for making my birthday weekend very special. Once, the nerf football was the symbol of the perfect birthday -- the pristine foam in one or two shades, the soft squeezability before it got soggy or hard. It was what everyone gave you when you were eight, and that was cool. Now, I settle for a donut for breakfast, pizza and cold beer for dinner. Maybe later on we'll get the Speisekammer meal I'm cravnig...but even that won't top the love and smiles and giggles from my family. And Dec. 14, Barenaked Ladies here we come!

Below: candle blowing and zoo visiting

I didn't choose these people...but I guess they are OK

2005-11-16T19:59:00.000-08:00

NJ recap: off we went with Ella and Lindsay for a 5-day dash (2 in the air, 3 on the ground) to Chatham and other scenic northern NJ suburbs. I won't bore you with the details of the trip. If you made it past yesterday's graphic description of Lindsay's phlegmy state, then you deserve a break.

The time with my mom and step-dad was great -- they are fun to be around, interesting to talk to, and fantastic grandparents. And I totally dig my sister and her husband and my adorable little niece. Surprisingly, the time with my dad and his extended family was actually OK. My dad seemed more relaxed than I've seen him in a long time, even though 1) he is now playing Mr. Mom at nearly 63 years old to my 4- and 1-year-old "brothers" -- Zach and Andrew; 2) we were "burying" his father that weekend; 3) he was off his home turf; and 4) he hosted 15 people (including 5 kids under the age of 6) in his hotel "suite" on Saturday night.

The service at a Westfield, NJ, cemetery -- home to the Taggart family plot, apparently (great grandpa and grandma, now grandfather, assorted grand aunts and who knows) -- was short and sweet and, well, appropriate. I was glad that my uncle, who bore the brunt of my grandfather's decline in recent years, was honest in mentioning the terrible toll that alcohol took on Campbell's life and his relationships. My dad's side of the family is all too familiar with struggles with the bottle, and Tom made pointed reference to the awareness we Taggarts all must have of this lurking menace in our genes. Is that over the top? I don't know -- I think it's in there somewhere, and I think Tom and I (if I may self-identify) are the first two Taggart men in quite a while to avoid this unfortunate family trait. Tom has taken it on more...formally, as he doesn't drink anymore and attends AA. Hope that's not a secret! I...well, I think about the boasting I've done of my drinking exploits, and I think of the tendency I still can show to binge when the opportunity presents itself, and maybe I'm not totally clear of the legacy. I'd like to think I am -- in an average week, I might have one or two drinks, total. That to me is not a problem...and I can look back and see when it was problematic and had all the chance in the world to blossom into a full-blown problem. Am I rationalizing? Maybe -- and yet I still know that alcohol will not control me, and I am doing my best to make good choices in all aspects of my life so as to lead the Taggart name in a better direction.

Sweet jesus -- step down off the pulpit! I didn't mean for this post to be so...about me. Back to the weekend -- Tom spoke a wonderful piece, as did my dad and aunt. Tom read the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, which says in part "For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned...." That really resonated with me, as I stood a few feet away from my own father, whom I have never really pardoned for his mistakes, his failings, his weaknesses. And we were burying his father, with whom my dad had (I think) some of the same issues. Vicious cycle, this paternal bullshit.

I saw my two cousins (19 and 17 I think) for the first time in about four years, and they've turned into really cool kids. I enjoyed talking to them. My aunt was her usual sweet but superficial self -- you can never quite get past the surface with her. She's like her mother -- always acting as if everything is OK even as tragedy and sadness batter the foundation.

I don't know when we'll all be together again, and that's OK. My family has never really been big on large gatherings. The behavior was exemplary -- funny how a graveside discourse on alcoholism will keep the drinking to a minimum throughout the weekend. Let's hope that sets the tone for future family events.

End of the trip photo, below.

She stood! And everything changed.

2005-11-15T19:28:00.000-08:00

So yesterday. The posting thing -- didn't quite work out, as Lindsay had a triple cocktail of cold, teething and general baby fussiness. She was awake for all of, oh, 10 minutes after I got home, but Nicola and I spent the rest of the evening clearing the decks in the house, having dinner, doing the dishes, taking out the garbage and the rest of the Cleaver house chores. Lindsay awoke repeatedly throughout the night, leaving us both tired and, in Nicola's case, already behind the 8-ball and facing another long day of tending to our Little Bean the Big Huge Snotty Red-Eyed Mess.

I came home early to help out, and to do some quick work on the crib. See, this is the day that Lindsay decided to learn how to pull herself to a standing position in the crib. Dripping snot and tears, there she teetered at the crib rail...and Nicola could no longer safely leave her in there to work out her wake-ups and little issues. Daddy to the rescue, johnny on the spot with an allen wrench! I lowered the crib mattress two notches, and we put Lindsay to bed at the ripe hour of 5:30 p.m. And now, barely two hours later, she's already woken up and shown us that she can still pull herself to a standing position. If you haven't been in these shoes, you can't understand the incredible change in circumstances and perspective. But look -- our kid can now stand up! And she got there under her own steam! And she is steamed all right -- mad that she feels like crap and getting a hot moist blast from the vaporizer next to her crib.

Nicola called this the toughest day in a long time, and I don't blame her. The helpless feeling of the parent of a sick child is no fun. All you want to do is make it better, in a simple Hallmark-card kind of way, and that's just about the only thing you can't do. So you wipe the snot -- usually on a shirt sleeve or back of the hand -- and you sing the lullabys and you hope that it doesn't take too long before your little darling is back to her normal happy, smiling, blossoming-before-your-eyes self.

Tomorrow -- that would be a good time for that, OK?

Update added 11/16: photographic evidence (and please don't notice the droopy drawers -- she's sick, after all)

Let's begin again

2005-11-13T21:23:00.000-08:00

I don't know who I'm writing for. I know I have a few people who read this sporadically...but do they really care or are they really entertained by my anecdotes about Ella's phone stuff or Lindsay's milestones or recollections of my experiences? I guess the answer is...I'm going to keep writing this for me, whether or not they ("you"?) are entertained. I'll write what inspires me and what moves me; I'll document things for future reference; I'll make an observation or two just to keep my own brain sharp. I find myself noticing things and thinking, "I should write about that" and then...I rarely do. But I should...this is for me...and anyone else who stumbles in, don't take it the wrong way that I'm saying "this is for me." It's a mechanism to make this exercise less about obligation and more about inspiration.

Today's topics: two random things. Tomorrow: N.J. weekend recap.

Last Thursday, Nov. 10, was the 14th anniversary of an epic day spent with my friend Gene Larson. I'm trying to get past boasting about my drunken exploits...I'm nearly 36, and the line between proudly discussing how much I partied and quietly wondering why in the hell I did such things is starting to shift a bit. But still, this is worth remembering, if only for how it helped cement what has become of the most important friendships in my life. Anyway, for UNC readers of this, you'll appreciate this day: Carolina football game with Jim Beam-laced stadium cups; then to Troll's, where we ran into some old friends of mine; then back down to the Dean Dome for an exhibition game (?), and we drank more there (and students don't really do that); then to Franklin St. again for dinner at The Rat, where I knew some of the managers and waiters (used to date a girl who bartended and hostessed there); then to Swenson's, where Gene worked, for some sundaes; and then finally back to Troll's...or was it Henderson Street? Or Bub's? I can't remember. We had a blast, and we even called Gene's Dad, Sgt. Major Morris Larson of the United States Marine Corps, to honor the Corps' birthday (Nov. 10 -- this is the only reason I can remember the USMC birthday). Here we are, 14 years later, still best pals, still bleedin' the Carolina Blue, still sticking by each other through thick and thin...and the occasional "over served" evening. Ah, now there's a story!
Am I completely nuts, or is the Christmas thing starting way TOO DAMN EARLY this year...even more so than normal. I ran across "The Grinch" on TV tonight. Hello, people! It is Nov. 13, and TBS or whoever is running "The Grinch"? I will go right off my rocker if I see Heat Miser or Rudolph in the next few days. I think part of my issue is the California Christmas -- I still can't get used to the weather. 68 degrees today and sunny, up to 80 later this week, they say. I miss the crisp fall of New England, the chance of snow, my stepfather guessing how cold it is by the curl of the rhododendron leaves. I even miss Portland's winter a bit. On July 15, I saw my breath in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park, and yesterday I wore shorts outside. Go figure.

Phone home

2005-11-10T22:42:00.000-08:00

We got back Monday and I'm just now finding the time to write. I guess that 14 hours of flying with two young ones temporarily put my brain into spasm. I'll write more about the weekend later, but for now, three interesting, semi-connected gems from Ella...all phone related.

We buy Lindsay one of those classic Fisher Price phones, with the red plastic receiver and the dial that "brrrr-rings" as you turn it. Same old toy, except the cord is crazy short now, probably for liability reasons. Ella had one when she was litte, but upon seeing it a few weeks ago...she wants to know how to dial it. This kid has never seen a phone without push buttons. Any muscle tone I had in my right arm during high school was from dialing a dial phone...or maybe other things I don't want to discuss in case my mom is reading. But I digress...I couldn't believe Ella was unfamiliar with this type of phone.
At the airport last Thursday, Ella observes "look at all those phones over there." I say, "yeah, you don't see pay phones much anymore" and she says "what's a pay phone?" Again, something so obviously generational -- nobody uses payphones anymore because they have their own personal cell phones and they don't need to dig up 10 cents (now 25? 50?) to make a call on a phone they hope isn't covered with snot or another mystery fluid on some street corner.
I call Ella tonight and she explains her distraction by saying with great nonchalance: "I'm checking my messages." I say "you mean on the old [inactivated] cell phone that your mom gave you [that Ella carries in her "purse"? how many messages do you have?" "96" she replies. "But I forgot to check them yesterday." So my 5-year-old daughter has 96 make-believe messages -- "mostly from friends" -- on an old cell phone AND she's just sure it's partly because she forget to check those make-believe messages yesterday. I mean, pretend voice mails do pile up, you know!

Off to bed. I'm staggering through work this week -- too old to handle the jet lag anymore. And then my pal Dave was in town -- shout out to Dave "Lychee" Mello from Jamaica Plains, Mass. Thanks for stopping by!

Happy Vets Day to all.

Ella, Lindsay and cousin Cece, below.

And this is what happens to a pumpkin when you leave it outside for a week and it rains a lot.

It all adds up to anxiety

2005-11-02T22:10:00.000-08:00

Baby with second tooth coming in + Baby nearly ready to crawl + Baby with a bad case of the wrigglies + 5-year-old who needs some entertaining - tired, anxious parents x 6 hours in a plane x lap child status for the aforementioned baby = ???

1) An enjoyable family outing across the country, full of eye-opening surprises
2) Hundreds of disgruntled fellow passengers, who've had their fill of us
3) Some of both of the above

I'd settle for #3, because that at least involves some good parts.

Well, anyway, we're off to NJ in the morning for my grandfather's memorial service. We'll get to see extended family, including my two little "brothers" -- ages 4 and nearly 2. Yes, Ella has two uncles who are younger than her, but no, surprisingly enough, my father and his fourth wife don't live in either Arkansas or Mississippi. It's a long story.

We have packed way too much for a five-day trip that really only includes three full days on the ground...but it's hard to pare down when you are traveling family style. Baby clothes are small...it's the rest of Lindsay's crap that takes up so much blessed room! We've got monitors, and birdie-music-crib things, and backpack carriers, and stroller, and car seat, and toys, and so on. Ella is a more experienced traveler -- she arrived from her mother's with a packed backpack and a purse that includes a wallet (old credit cards inside), an old cell phone, mints, gum, writing implements and an actual real $20 bill. Still, her entertainment needs take up some space too.

I'll let you know how it went once we return next week. Until then...only 7.5 weeks of shopping time until Christmas!

And so it begins

2005-11-01T09:17:00.000-08:00

On my way to work this morning, I saw the official Giant Christmas Tree of Pier 39, San Francisco's Cheesiest Tourist Destination, lying on it side in a tractor trailer. Preparations to erect said tree appeared to be in full swing. At least they waited until November...but I don't think I'm quite ready for Christmas stuff yet. Can't we get past Thanksgiving first?

Halloween in our neighborhood was quite a scene. We took Lindsay out for a walk to check out decorations and see some friends. We live half a block from Alameda's version of Christmas Tree Lane...um, oops, PC police say Holiday Lane. They go crazy over Christmas...more on that at the appropriate time. More and more, they also go all out for Halloween: scary dudes in costumes, smoke machines, lights, movies projecting on sheets in front windows, a "hanged" man swinging from a tree in his front yard via some kind of harness and handing out candy, etc. And somehow word has gotten out about this scene here and in other parts of Alameda, because carloads of kids are brought in from Oakland and the surrounding area.

We kept the house dark this year due to a small baby and an antsy dog, but in past years we've easily run out of candy after an hour or so. Around the corner, I witnessed lines of kids 1o or 20 deep waiting to get candy from doorways. There's no tradition to it -- you know, the knock at the door or doorbell, and you open the door and small kids in cute/scary costumes say "Trick or Treat" in unison. No, this spectacle was more assembly line, adult hands repetitively dipping into 20 lb bowls of candy and dropping the goodies into outstretched bags. It's a business transaction. Bah humbug.

But my kids are still cute! I'll post a picture of Ella once I track one down.

Update! Got the photo. Quality is mediocre...but damn, what an awesome Cinderella she made. Makes me proud...and also sad that I missed it. One of the challenges of being the non-custodial parent.

Happy Halloween!

2005-10-31T08:14:00.000-08:00

I've not been so good about posting lately. I pledge to do better in November -- 4 posts a week, no excuses. Except maybe when I'm in NJ next weekend. Oh well.

Today's topic: worst/weirdest Halloween costume. I can't remember too many bad ones of my own -- perhaps my sister can weigh in here? But I do remember in 1978 or so I was Mork from Ork -- complete with a Robin Williams-esque mask and a red vinyl jump suit that ripped at the crotch and down the leg about four houses into our neighborhood outing. It was pretty much shredded by the end of the night. I also wore a blue puffy down jacket over my sweet costume for much of the night, as this was Arvada, Colo., and a bit chilly.

Other nominees: Evil Bob's Big Boy (1994?) -- with red plaid overalls, swirly hair cowlick in the front (natural!), goatee and sunglasses. I later donned a Buckwheat afro wig, which really made the deal. Oh wait, and I was Slash from Guns n' Roses one year, and my friend Cathy was Axl. Wow, the memories are really coming back!

So, my reader(s) -- what's your worst/weirdest? Submit comments as desired.

Here's Lindsay, with the opening entry in her costume list: Pumpkin.

Quick updates

2005-10-26T14:57:00.000-07:00

We are meeting an old friend from Portland for dinner tonight, so I don't think I'll get a chance to blog. So, some quick updates on Lindsay:

First tooth made its appearance around Oct. 13 -- I'm pretty sure I felt it poking through that day, right before I left for Chicago. She's got a nice jack-o-lantern kind of thing going on, with one tooth poking up from the bottom.
No crawling yet, but she's a speed merchant with the army crawl -- all arms, skittering across the floor in search of something to drool/suck on. We had lots of fun with this over the weekend, moving toys around and watching her slide across the hardwood floor in pursuit. Attach a dust cloth and spray some pledge and then we'll really be in business.
We swear she has said "Hi" at least twice. No, really.
She's still just about as happy and smile-y as you could ever wish for. What an adorable little bundle of warm fuzziness. See below.

(song you don't want stuck in your head)

2005-10-25T14:29:00.000-07:00

I've had some unusual "small world" things happen to me...some of which I documented here, I think. Where's that link? Hmm, can't find it. Maybe I didn't write about that.

Anyway, here's the latest: Nicola and I took Lindsay for a stroll around the block last night, and we ended up talking to two neighbors around the corner. One says that I look familiar, and eventually we figured out that we knew each other back in high school, when I went to Chatham Township HS and she went to Chatham Boro High School. She even dated a good friend of mine from back then. I'm giving the short version to spare you the boring details, but I was quite amazed to have found out that I'm living around the corner from someone I knew 18 years ago and probably haven't seen since. Spooky.

And we're not talking a booming metropolis when we speak of Chatham -- population about 17,500 between the two little towns, according to the 2000 census. The schools were separate back then but have since merged; I assume much of the Township vs. Boro rivalry is now lost.

What a truly wonderful place to grow up, and I believed that long before Money magazine weighed in on the issue. We moved there when I was in sixth grade -- not too late to find a way to fit into what was a pretty cliquish school environment. What made it so good...interesting thought. It wasn't the diversity: one person of color in my class, and the Jews all fled to private school. In this WASPy town, Catholics counted as diversity, I think, which should have made my Unitarian, Democratic family stand out more than we did. This is a town, too, that fought the inclusion of "affordable" housing in the condo development down by the river. So not the most tolerant place, really. But those are the reflections of an outsider, peering back into a cozy suburban town with age and experience providing perspective.

Back then, I was nearly ignorant of the town's shortcomings, such as they are. What made Chatham home to me was -- no surprise -- my friends. I can count at least a dozen people who I considered good friends in high school, and we continued our closeness for years after graduation. We visited each other at college and in our first apartments, we traveled en masse to each other's weddings (Boston, Kansas, Georgia, New Jersey, San Francisco, Arizona, etc.), we saw each other at home over the holidays. The bonds have weakened among the larger group in recent years, as we've moved farther apart and added kids and made new friends. But I still hold all of them in a special place in my heart: they were there -- sharing experiences and making mistakes and growing up -- during the most formative years of my life. I saw one old friend just last week -- he and I have been "best friends" since sixth grade. Yes, we're not as close as we used to be...some of that is the natural march of time and distance, and some is due to circumstances in our lives that have strained our connection. Still, thank god for him, and his family, who helped me stay sane in high school and beyond. It's the little things, like driving around Chatham's 9 square miles on a random Friday night in 1987, listening to Level 42 or the Fat Boys or the Cult, that I hope will keep us friends forever.

Now hear this

2005-10-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Chicago and cruising through a slow day at work. This place really mellows out after our big annual meeting -- we all gear up to make 26,000 doctors happy for five days, and then we crash.

I returned yesterday to a beautiful, smiling Nicola and a beaming Lindsay, who giggled most of the way through our wait for my suitcase. Such a joy to return home...and to good news about her ear (there's more background in previous posts, if you feel like searching). Nicola summarized it well in an e-mail, which I'll post below. And then I'll get back into regular posts, um, maybe tomorrow.

-------------------------
I apologize for sending this in “mass” form, but I thought it would be easier to do it this way since there are a number of friends/family for whom we have promised to keep updated with Lindsay’s latest “lucky ear” news.

Lindsay had her first behavioral testing hearing evaluation at the Children’s Hospital this morning. Things went really well and Lindsay did great. If you are interested, I’ll have to explain the whole “behavioral testing” process next time we talk; it’s very interesting but too complicated to type out right now. Basically what I found out today is that there is a good chance that Lindsay’s eardrums and nerve endings are functioning in both ears, but that the limited hearing in the left ear is due to the shape of the ear and the small opening/ear canal. They won’t know this for sure until they can do some specific testing on her when she is older. Her right ear continues to be functioning well with normal hearing. Her left ear did respond to music today (which makes me ecstatic). So, the original diagnosis of “at least a moderate hearing loss” is probably still correct. However, it’s more likely “just” (it’s all relative, right?) a moderate hearing loss as opposed to “at least”. That’s not exactly what they said, but that’s what they indicated and confirms my gut feeling. Lindsay will continue to go in for hearing evaluations every 6 months or so until she is a couple of years old and then it will go down to once a year.

We feel so blessed that Lindsay is such a happy, healthy and active little girl. We appreciate everyone’s concern, support and positive thoughts as we’ve gone through the uncertainty of Lindsay’s condition these first eight months of her life. As those of you who have seen her lately can attest, her hearing loss has not negatively impacted her joy, curiosity, smiles, laughter, activity or vocalization! J

Nicola

P.S. And Lindsay says, “ah goo” (which translates to, “Hi”).

Shuffling off to Chicago

2005-10-12T08:24:00.000-07:00

I'm leaving tomorrow for a week in Chicago, site of our (American Academy of Ophthalmology) big annual meeting. 25,000-plus eye doctors and related types in one place -- let the good times roll!

So, I'll leave my reader(s) with some random thoughts. Discuss amongst yourselves.

I have failed to document an important milestone for Lindsay: babbling. On Sept. 30, her random coos and gurgles turned into slightly less-random sounds with consonants and vowels combined: "da-da-da-da" (not what I wish it was) and "yoy-yoy-yoy-yoy" etc. Incredibly cute to listen to and we still chuckle at it, even when she's doing it in the middle of the night.
I heard part of a "Fresh Air" interview last night with Jason Christopher Hartley, who has just come out with a book based on his "just another soldier" blog. Sounds like a fascinating read...and it made me think of January 1991 when we first invaded Iraq. I was a senior in college and The Independent, the weekly paper I'd interned for, asked me to write a first-person piece on the campus reaction. The draft seemed like a possibility at the time, considering it was the country's first "war" since Vietnam. I don't recall the details of what I wrote, other than me saying that I personally would go if drafted. At the time I was wearing my grandfather's hefty paratrooper ring in his memory, and to suggest that I would not serve my country seemed...disloyal? To him, not my country. Anyway, it probably wasn't what my editor (the wonderful Gillian Floren, who 10 years later I ran into on the streets of Portland) was looking for exactly, but she ran it, to her credit.
Last Friday was a cool day at the office, as they opened up the roof for us to watch the Blue Angels practicing along the SF waterfront. Impressive, and it made me actually consider going to an airshow, something that has never intrigued me before. I sense a military theme here...hmm.
"My Name is Earl" was strong again last night -- it's probably my favorite new show of the season. Great line about paper mache: "She'd found a way to make newspapers even more boring."
Speaking of TV: I hope "Arrested Development" hangs on. Where else can you laugh out loud to dialogue like: "Eww. I think I'm going to run it through the dishwasher again -- on pots and pans." It's sad to say that this show is likely to die and Jim Belushi still has a sitcom.
Final TV thought: I finally watched the season finale of "Rescue Me" (thanks to KT and Pete for sending the DVD). A gripping, grim episode that left most every character reeling and beaten down. Same complaint as earlier -- a bit predictable (I saw the "hooker" scam coming, as a lot of people probably did) -- but still fine (if gloomy) TV.
The wounds of friendships lost are slow to heal. The details are for another time, or perhaps not at all. But I am still puzzled by the actions of a particular person who stopped speaking to me after nearly 20 years of friendship. I know there were some rough moments during the aftermath of my divorce, and perhaps I was a bit self-absorbed as I licked my emotional wounds and figured out what the hell was going with my life. But how about cutting me a little slack for that? I'd like to think I'd do the same for you if the tables were turned. I suppose I should use this as a wake-up call: make the effort with people who are important to you, and don't take anything or anyone for granted. Sometimes, the little gestures do matter.

Off to Chicago. Back at ya next week.

Please shine down on me

2005-10-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

I'm too worn out to write much tonight, after a long day at work and a draining verbal battle with my ex over the holiday schedule with Ella. We worked it out, but man, it sucked getting there.

So, happy Lindsay pictures is all I've got in me.

I'll take mine with applesauce

2005-10-05T20:46:00.000-07:00

You are all my witnesses:

Should I arrive at a point where I am terminally ill with less than six months to live, and I'm of sound mind, I would like my "death-hastening" medications served in applesauce, all crushed up.

Now, my right to take such control over my own demise may be abrogated in the very near future by the U.S. Supreme Court, which is debating the validity of a legal challenge to Oregon's death with dignity law. I hope I'm wrong in thinking that the conservatives' hypocritical attack on personal choices (see Schiavo, Terri) will somehow be blunted by a populace suddenly awakened to the fact that it has been sold a complete bill-of-goods by the GOP. Anti-tax-and-spenders have become the biggest spenders since LBJ, and they love states' rights until those rights cross some arbitrary moral line in the sand. And this popular "what the hell?" will turn into a common-sense revolution, with one outcome being that my personal freedom to control how my final, possibly agonizing days on this earth go down will have been protected.

I know the Oregon law well. I voted for it a couple of times, and I worked for a health policy journal during the second election that hosted a debate on the topic. I don't arrive at this opinion lightly, and I can't promise you I won't turn chickenshit if I'm presented the opportunity. I may cling to every last painful breath. But if I can make that choice -- to fight and avail myself of every medical hail mary -- why can't I also decide to accept the inevitably of the end and manage those months/weeks/days as I see fit? Who is that hurting, if I have the love and support of my family (as I assume I will)?

So, applesauce. And not the chunky kind, and not the all-natural kind. I like it straight and sweet.

Nothing runs like a Deere

2005-10-05T13:36:00.000-07:00

I walked across the street today at lunchtime to the old Del Monte factory, which is now a combo hotel and shopping establishment called the Cannery. OK, it was a cannery long before it was The Cannery; the building was once the largest peach cannery in the world. Now, the whole area reeks of tourism, which is a drawback, but I appreciate the effort to save a cool old building, and the hotel is nice.

I am perplexed, however, by the arrival of a John Deere store in the Cannery. I just don't see that San Francisco tourists are going to be motivated to buy a 1/32 scale tractor or a branded piece of John Deere clothing. I heard a store worker say the other retails outlets for JD are in Tennessee and South Carolina, and of course there's the mothership in Moline, Ill.

Hmm.

San Francisco
Tennessee
South Carolina
Moline

"One of these things is not like the other. Which one is it, do you know?"

All this being said, I'm already planning a Deere-themed shopping excursion for the young kids on my holiday shopping list. Tractors are cool when you're six.

Hark the sound

2005-10-03T21:52:00.000-07:00

Lindsay showed off her dad's colors this weekend.

First, sporting a snug Tar Heel onesy (courtesy of my wife) and Jordan brand sneakers (courtesy of my brother-in-law and his wife, a Jordan bigwig), size 1C:

And second, in a Red Sox sleeper (courtesy of our friends Jessica Mozeico and Scott Jordan [no relation!]), complete with little non-skid baseballs on the feet:

Lindsay must be good luck: the Tar Heel football team beat Utah (who scored about 63 points on the Heels last year) and the Red Sox took two of three from the Yankees and made the playoffs as the defending World Series champions (still nice to say that!).

I don't know if Lindsay will end up being a fan of either of these teams; progeny don't always follow their parents' lead when it comes to this kind of thing. My dad is a staunch fan of the franchise I detest now (the Yankees)...but when I was a kid, I was not so anti-Yankee and pro-Sox. I think I even had a Willie Randolph poster in my room. But anyway, I didn't get my allegiances from family mandate (my stepfather professes very little in the way of sports fan-dom, except to Lafayette in the epic Lafayette vs. Lehigh battles).

My history as a fan is primarily geographically based, which is I think how most arrive at their favorites. (See this article on ESPN for a lengthy discussion of this between Bill Simmons and pop-guru dude Chuck Klosterman.) I lived in Massachusetts from the time I was 8 months old until I was 7 -- the formative years, in my case, of developing sports loyalty.

Does anybody care? Or is just an excuse to namedrop former favorites of mine like Dwight Evans, Russ Francis, Gord Kluzak and Andre Tippett? When the family moved to Denver during the late 1970s "Orange Crush" era, I went for Randy Gradishar and Haven Moses (I waited in line at a department store with my friend Matt Schulte to get an autograph and photo with this handsomely afro'ed wide receiver).

I suppose some would say that sports, sports franchises and athletes are not worthy of such attention or devotion. I would disagree -- sports discussions are an integral part of our social fabric, just like politics or (recently) pop culture. It is safe conversational ground between men...even men like my father and I, who still talk about baseball or some other sport during almost all our phone conversations. I would venture a guess that one of his favorite memories involving me is the wager he won when his Yankees finished ahead of my Red Sox. I decorated an old mayonnaise jar and sent him the winnings in pennies. I put a lot of thought and effort into that payoff...but I was younger then, and less jaded about our relationship. Or something.

It's so cliche, but it's still true that sports in general -- and baseball in particular? -- can be the strongest bond between generations. I still cry at the last scene in Field of Dreams as Kevin Costner's character expresses the simple boyhood wish of most/all boys: "Dad, you wanna have a catch?"

I hope I will always say yes, when my kids ask me this question. It's not baseball now...it's Hello Kitty Uno or Go Fish or Balloon Lagoon...but it's still the same fundamental choice.

Mother Nature smiled

2005-09-29T15:48:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those "wow, look where we live" kind of days, when the sun is shining, the fog stays away and warm breezes blow through the Golden Gate. It was a day for a family ferry ride to meet Daddy at his office and have lunch just paces from the bay, on a sandy beach with dogs chasing sticks and hefty men sporting snug, metallic gold swimsuits. Ah, San Francisco -- where a beautiful Indian summer day invariably includes a homeless dude asking how much we'd sell the baby for.

A beach-side picnic of In-n-Out, a cool new hat purchased by Nicola, a happy smiling Lindsay, a stroll down the Embarcadero to our homebound ferry. What a quiet thrill to know you are where you are supposed to be in life and in love, and to share such a day with the people most important to you. A day to be savored now, and remembered later...gently pulled from memory and turned over and admired.

Donald Campbell Taggart Jr., 1918-2005

2005-09-27T22:21:00.000-07:00

My grandfather died early this morning, 87 years old, down in St Petersburg, Fla. He went quickly and I hope peacefully...not to mention probably 10 to 15 years later than I would have bet.

I have some fond memories and some that are sad and disheartening, but that melange represents who "Soup" was -- a man full of humor, contradictions, addictions, an offputting lack of tact and a long history of struggling with unknown personal demons. Well, that last part is my interpretation; I would like to think there is some explanation for his lifelong failure to overcome alcoholism...a disease run rampant in my family (I think we nipped it in the bud in my generation) that brought a lot of misery to his life and his family's life.

So, this is not your standard eulogy, obviously. Campbell was a polarizing figure, and the sadness I feel is more for my father's loss than my own. My sister basically wrote Soup off after he said some loutish things to her. My uncle (my father's half brother) had a real love/hate relationship with his father -- for example, he encouraged Campbell to move to Florida, and then often wouldn't return the elderly man's phone calls (that probably bordered on harrassment). My dad would go to Florida on vacation...and not even tell his own father he was in the state.

I last saw Campbell in 2002, when I was in Florida on business. I hardly recognized him when I walked into the room at the VA hospital. The visit before, in 1998 (I think), he was laid up in a nursing home with a broken ankle and begged me to smuggle in some booze. I refused, clinging to some moral high ground about not feeding this feeble man's addiction. Looking back...what would it have hurt? How many pleasures did he have in life at that point? Betty, his wife (my father's stepmother) died in 1986; Campbell made a close woman friend in Florida, only to have her die suddenly. He was lonely and physically and mentally deteriorating...the alcohol's cumulative effect finally coming home to roost.

Well, I come to not to bury Campbell, but to praise him. He loved Frank Sinatra and used to tap along to "New York, New York" with a pair of drumsticks. His beagle Chan was fun to be around as a kid; you'd say the word "walk" and he'd tear off around the house, literally -- doing laps around the outside perimeter and baying loudly. He and Betty (who was born in Alameda, where I now live) were good to Kathy and I as kids. I can't remember too many more specifics, and that's a shame. I asked him a bunch of questions about the family in 1998, and I don't even recall the answers.

He was my last biological grandparent -- my last close blood link to that generation of Taggart and Forbes, McLean and Cueman. Rest in peace, Campbell.

(P.S. My apologies for repeating some of the same stuff I wrote on 9/18. I knew it felt familiar, but sometimes you can't remember why it feels familiar.)

Catching up

2005-09-26T21:41:00.000-07:00

There's a lot I want to write about; I don't think I'll get to all of it today, so here is one observation and some updates.

I fully support breastfeeding as a natural, perfectly normal way for babies to be nourished during the first months of their lives. So spare me the angry LaLeche feedback if you don't like what I have to say -- I'm on your side! But come on -- would a little discretion hurt anybody? We were at the Oakland Zoo yesterday, and there, standing in front of the baboon enclosure, was a woman breastfeeding her...2-year-old? I'm not sure -- I only saw her from the back, but she was just standing there, at the rail next to other people, holding this pretty big kid sideways on her breast. To me, that was inappropriate...and then she switched sides for the kid and walked off, down the sidewalk toward the children's zoo area, STILL BREASTFEEDING. Please, ma'am, find a bench, take a seat and nurse your child in peace. Must you continue touring the zoo while engaging in this, some would say, intimate act? Hey, I don't mind seeing a breast or two, and breastfeeding is a beautiful, loving act. But there's no need for it to be an overtly public act, is there?
Lindsay update: she was off the pacifier for, oh, two days or so, until she was crazy overtired on Sunday and needed just that wee bit of help to get over the hump and into nappyland. We don't feel too hung up about it; we'll use it when we need it, and gradually wean off it if we can. You can remind me of this blase attitude in about two years if you see pictures posted here of Lindsay still sucking on a pacifier. Walking and sucking? See the previous bullet -- I got a problem with that.
Ella update: she bounced back well from her Thursday night funk. I kept her in good spirits on Friday morning, and we all dropped her at kindergarten. It was my first "goodbye" at the door, and -- gulp! -- I felt a pang in my heart as I watched my little girl march into Miss Rochester's glass, her backpack swinging to and fro. I can only imagine how emotional the first day was. Ella continued in a great mood all weekend -- very loving to Lindsay, happy, helpful, etc. I am so proud of her for first, expressing her difficult emotions, and second for, overall, dealing so well with so many changes -- new school, new before and aftercare programs, religious school on Tuesdays, now a dance class, etc. It's a lot, and she's really hanging in there.
Garage sale proceeds: more than $100, which we're sending off to various charities. I'll detail the albums I let go at some point. I was amazed at what people bought...and didn't buy.
My grandfather is in hospice care and it's just a matter of days now until the end. Not that I'd know any of this if I relied on my father for information. Once again, disappointed by not surprised.

I'll close with photos from the weekend. Oh yeah -- did I mention Lindsay is in pre-crawl mode?!? Just fasicinating watching her get used to using her body in different ways. Last Monday, we propped her on her hands and knees; today, Nicola reports finding Lindsay up on all fours on her own. Crap -- time to babyproof!

Growing pains

2005-09-22T21:27:00.000-07:00

"I just don't feel like I'm getting enough time with you."

With those teary words, Ella broke my heart tonight...and took another big step toward growing up.

It was an emotional evening at times, as Ella struggled with being sad and tried to express to us what she was feeling. To her credit -- she's only 5! -- she thoughtfully expressed herself several times, and the gist...not surprisingly...is that she's struggling with sharing our attention with her little sister. It is a totally normal reaction, and one that, as Phoenix said later on the phone, is good, because the reaction shows that Ella is processing and sharing the feelings, instead of hiding them away. (Yeah, I tried that for a few years after my parents' divorce, and all it got me was trouble.)

Even though I can appreciate the positive aspects of tonight's scenario, it kills me to see Ella sad, and her forthright statement of need...well, that was a weepy dagger to the heart. It dredges up my own guilt over the divorce, which resulted in me being with Ella less than one-quarter of each month. And I don't want resentment to build toward Lindsay, but the connection is unmistakable. Shortly after we got home, Ella, Lindsay and I were playing a blanket on the living room floor. I kissed Lindsay in her ribs, tickling her and eliciting a squeal of delight. Ella's demeanor flipped in an instant, and her sadness began almost right then.

Well, nobody ever said parenting would be easy, right? Kudos to Ella for expressing herself so well -- it only took me until, oh, about 25 until I could consistently be that emotionally honest with my parents. And it's still not consistent! Kudos as well to Nicola for her steadfast emotional support and leadership (I do think that's the right term -- she's the emotional leader of this family).

Photo at left: Ella and Phoenix, aka Grandma Bobo

Random note: Safe passage through Hurricane Rita to my good friend Gene and his family down in Houston. They bailed on an evacuation attempt after making it about four miles from their house in several hours of fighting traffic. They should be OK -- they are 90 miles inland, they've got some friends with them, extra water, beer, an extra propane tank for the grill and lots of cheap seafood (the local grocery store was unloading). Still, I hope that the almighty intelligent design out there has an eye out for them -- they've been through enough this year already.

DTNRT

2005-09-21T15:50:00.000-07:00

The philosophy I've tried to follow, just lately, is Do The Next Right Thing. I'm admittedly late at arriving to the Buddhist way of approaching life, and I haven't gone any deeper than this tidbit of wisdom. I ran across it on one of the blogs I read, I think Ian's, and it struck me in such a way that I've not been able to get it out of my head for the past few weeks.

I'm not sure I can follow this philosophical order all the time, but it seems like a good place to start.

It seems to me there are two ways to apply it: within the pure Buddhist construct of "do the next right thing, regardless of the past bullshit and baggage...in fact, ignore what's come before and don't worry about what comes next -- just do the next right thing" (a horribly rough attempt at synopsizing) -- OR the other way is a bit more selfish: "do the next right thing, within the context of everything that has led to this moment." Can you follow a Buddhist mantra selfishly? I don't know, but I think I'm trying.

The recent crap with my Dad (I promise, I'm almost done bitching for a day or two) is an example. I could call him and see how he's doing with my grandfather's illness...forgetting the mountain of evidence that tells me that no matter what I do to reach out to him or support him or build our relationship, he will be unable to hold up his end of it and I'll be disappointed. Or, I could take all that shit into consideration, and say to myself: "The next right thing to do for me is to just leave it alone and spare myself the disappointment, frustration and sadness that will inevitably come." Yeah, that feels right for now. Bygones still matter in this little dance I do with my father.

My friend Eric has come to a place where he's made a cleaner break with his dysfunctional, emotionally crippled father. I admire him for that and for how he's overcome parental influences that would have left lesser man sucking their thumb in a corner for a few decades. As you can tell by my recent posts, I'm still not completely disengaged from my father...I still want to have hope that he'll see the light.

Speaking of father influences and Buddhism, my father-in-law Tom was on a kick during their recent visit to attempt to view things as neither good nor bad -- they just are. A noble principle...but one that, again, comes out a bit twisted when I crank it through my brain and experiences and perspective.

Anyone else got a guiding philosophy you'd care to share?

DTNRT: share some happy family photos...these from our recent wine tasting/picnic excursion to Napa:

Random #2 (I think)

2005-09-20T15:46:00.000-07:00

A big controversy has erupted at The Daily Tar Heel, the nation's finest college newspaper (in my unbiased opinion). Details are here and here...I won't bore you with the rehashing. But I will back the young collegians putting their heart and souls and time (lots of time!) into the DTH (even the sloppy writing conservatives). I was once one of them, and I consider my time spent at the paper a highlight of my college years. I rose from a lowly business reporter documenting the arrival of a new "surf/beachwear" shop to managing editor and eventually a candidate for editor. Back then, the position of editor was a campuswide elected position, and I and my running mate Mary Jo Dunnington lost against a less-qualified but better-campaigning team. It was a crushing blow at the time that temporarily derailed my journalism plans, but in the long run, I guess I'd say it worked out. I mean, I believe that things happen for a reason, and as a result of me not being the editor of the DTH, I was able to take a job with UPI as a sportswriter, which lead to all sorts of cool stuff at the tender age of 21.

So anyway, my time at the DTH taught me more about being a journalist than any J-school class; journalism and writing are crafts that need to be practiced, and that's what six to eight hours a day at the DTH offices gave me: lots of practice! Not to mention several of my closest friends to this day: Louis Bissette and Dave Glenn. If any budding journalists read this: go work at your campus paper! Best training you can get!

Other random thoughts: condolences to my mom's cousin Clariss, whose husband Jack passed away on Saturday. Clariss and Jack and their daughters -- my second cousins, I think I've figured out -- are the closest thing we had to extended family in N.J. as I was growing up. Jack was a wonderful family man, and always was interesting to talk to. My Mom knew Jack since she was seven, when her family and the Rocks attended the same church in Paterson, N.J. (where my great-grandfather was mayor).

Not much news on my grandfather. I did talk to my Aunt Lynne last night for the first time in years...probably the first time since she ripped me a new one after my ex-wife and I separated. She basically called me a bad father and a bad person...and then less than two years later, she separated from her husband of 20+ years, with two kids in high school. Hmm. Methinks she transferred some of her issues on to me. But we've made the peace, and she's apologized for saying those horrible things to me (her words). She's heading to Florida this weekend to see Campbell and support my Uncle Tom, who is on the frontlines of caring for my grandfather. I wish my Dad would get over his shit and get down there too.

Perhaps something more observational and less personal next time?

Generations of paternal blundering

2005-09-18T22:42:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I verbally stomped my foot at my father and his juvenile communications skills. To follow up: the very day I posted -- Thursday -- he called, but it was 11 p.m. his time, which means he was up alone and the ice was tinkling in the glass, if you get my drift. No? He was borderline innebriated -- too much so to tackle the conversation I wanted to have. Once again: disappointing, but not surprising.

So we touch on the usual banalities and go over the usual excuses for why he hasn't called (he still claims to be flummoxed by the time change...which works in his favor, by the way, and I've only lived in the Pacific time zone for almost 10 years, so no wonder he's confused...). And toward the end, he says, "Well, I wanted to tell you that your grandfather is in the hospital and he may not make it very long." I would have thought this might have been a bit higher on the conversational list, say, before telling me how the weather's been. But no.

My grandfather has lived far longer than anyone anticipated, and far longer than an unrepentant alcoholic has a right to live, to be frank. I visited him once in a nursing home, about seven years ago, and he tried to get me to sneak a pint of booze into him. The last time I saw him was 2002, and he was at a VA hospital then and barely recognizable to me. I guess what I'm saying is I have very little emotion about the apparent immiment passing of my last blood-related grandparent, and that's sad. More sad: my own father's mixed emotions and bizarre relationship with his father. He's not planning to go down to Florida to see his father, who is likely on his deathbed, and one reason had something to do with resentment his half-brother and half-sister have or something. I asked how he was feeling, and he said "ambivalent." My sister said "Dad, I'm so sad for you," and my father said, "Have you gotten any rain lately?" The man is so emotionally locked down...hmm, and I say I have no emotion around my grandfather, and I complain (especially here) about my father quite a bit, and I could use the word "ambivalent" in some sense too. Well, the Taggart Men legacy is purring right along, isn't it?

Note to the universe: tell my Dad ('cause he ain't reading this, I hope) to go to Florida, to make peace with his father and his siblings and his past, and tell him to get the fuck over Father's Day, while you're at it. OK? Thanks, that would be great.

And now, a cute picture to lighten the mood:

Dinner table, 2030

2005-09-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

Nicola's parents Tom and Phoenix were in town over the weekend, and we had our usual series of engaging, thought-provoking discussions around the dinner table or in the living room. There are no conversational stones left unturned in this family -- politics, religion, parenting, sex, money, careers, friendship, divorce, in-laws and ex-in-laws, etc. It all gets covered. At one point, Tom looks at me at a time when sensitive father/mother/daughter/divorce topics were on the table, and says, "Can you imagine having this conversation with Ella sitting next to you?" And I think about it for a moment, and reply, "I can see how that would be awkward."

My real response is this: "YES PLEASE!" While no relationship, familial or otherwise, is perfect, the one shared between Nicola and her parents (all four) is something to admire for its honesty, respect, trust and openness. I admire her and them for it, and I aspire to it in some way as well. I had a great conversation with my Mom the other day -- the kind that felt like we were both mother and son AND friends. I don't want to replace one with the other, because I think that the parental aspect of the relationship is still important, yet so is the ability to transcend that and relate to each other as independent grown-ups.

Which is where my father comes in. I've ranted about him extensively here and lord knows he deserves it, but I think he's set a new low recently, and my recent weekend with the Ries family cemented it. The short version is that 1) he has talked to me maybe three times since his visit in late May; 2) I suspected he was mad because I didn't recognize Father's Day with sufficient munificence; 3) he confirmed as much...by telling my sister in her birthday card and on the phone that he was rewarding her with a nice present BECAUSE she is so good at giving Father's Day gifts (and presents to his two young sons). And he also mentions to her that, unlike her, I never give him Father's Day gifts.

What a fucking child. He must have known Kathy would tell me what he said, which she did. I immediately got both furious at how petty he is, and sad at how immature he is. With Nicola's help, I decided to take a constructive approach: instead of ripping off an angry, flammable e-mail, I called him with the intention of saying something to the effect of "I heard you are mad/upset with me. I'm sorry that my Father's Day efforts hurt your feelings. In the future, it would be great if heard this directly from you, so we can work on communicating our real feelings, and I can know what's bothering you. This is how I'd like things to go between us."

I made this call on Sunday, Sept. 3 -- leaving a short vague message...but assuming he knows that I know etc. It's now 12 days later, and he has yet to call back. Goddamn coward. How am I supposed to try to be constructive and improve our communications to an adult level when he's acting like he's 7?

Having a child makes you a father or a mother...but it does not make you a parent. Think about that, Dad.

So, here's my request for the dinner table, 2030, where Ella and Lindsay and whatever other family members sit: an honest, open conversation where no topics are too sensitive, where no one's feelings are trampled or ignored, where we all act like adults who care about each other, and where we feel safe in expressing ourselves because we know there is mutual respect and love. My pledge to Ella and Lindsay: I will do my damnedest to be a parent and a friend to you and to communicate with dignity and respect for myself and you, and I will not hold secret grudges, and I will not use your siblings to send messages about my secret grudges, and I will not shy away from always learning how to be a supportive and loving part of your lives.

And in the meantime...I'll keep trying to "do the next right thing" when it comes to my father, as fruitless as that seems. And I'll keep working on being real in my present relationships, because that's a gift to me and to the other parties in those relationships.

Next post, I'll try to keep it light!

Rampart, we've got the vitals

2005-09-07T22:22:00.000-07:00

Lindsay met her nice new pediatrician yesterday, and here's how she measured up:

Weight: 14 lb, 12 oz (25th percentile)
Height: 26 1/2 inches (75th percentile)
Head: ?? (but it was 80th percentile)

This makes her the supermodel of babies: tall and skinny...but unfortunately, she's got the makings of a Taggart and our big fat pumpkin heads.

Lindsay did great with her shots and was given a clean bill of health overall. We'll know more about her ear next month, when she's scheduled for a hearing test.

Origin of the subject line: from one of my favorite TV shows of all time: Emergency! with Randolph Mantooth and Kevin Tighe. My sister and I loved that show and its semi-perilous adventures, plus all the folksy wisecracking with Chet, the portly fireman who couldn't cook. And that gritty Nurse Dixie, whose raspy voice belied a 2-pack-a-day habit for sure.

I haven't seen a rerun of this in a while, and it's probably a good thing. I don't think it would look too good now, much like Gilligan's Island, another one of our favorites. I will say that Gilligan and the castaways did teach me some excellent uses for coconuts and some rudimentary musical numbers, long before the Harlem Globetrotters appeared on their island.

Why did we think these and other shows were so great? Has TV gotten so much better AND I'm older, or just one of those?

Comments on chaos

2005-09-06T21:25:00.000-07:00

Let me be the last blogger to add my two cents to the New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina situation. I'll stay out of the politics, although Ian over at xtcian.com has some interesting thoughts that I think are on the money.

For me, the sadness is in the misery and destruction heaped upon some of the poorest people in the United States. I've seen the touristy/pretty side of New Orleans, and I've seen the gritty. On my first visit to New Orleans, in 1988 or 1989, I was attending an Associated College Press convention as part of The Daily Tar Heel contingent. One of my closest friends from high school, Rich George, was enrolled at Tulane, so I took a bus over to meet him. The bus was known as the "Frerette Jet" and went through some of the city's worst neighborhoods; you couldn't believe that the St. Charles Tavern on the streetcar line and these battered city blocks were in the same city.

I accompanied Rich to an anti-apartheid protest, and I ended up storming a Board of Trustees meeting with the crowd. "Take Tulane Green Out of South Africa!" we chanted...and soon thereafter, Tulane got with the divestiture movement.

Rich was my guide to New Orleans on several occasions, showing me the cool spots, the off-the-beaten-path watering holes like the Saturn Bar, exposing me to the Rebirth Brass Band and the New Orleans Blues Department. I checked out Mardi Gras one year, staying with Rich and his three apartment mates in a one-bedroom place with no shower (tub only!) and a persistent gas leak in the kitchen. We attended parades decked out in thrift store costumes, me wearing zip-up ankle-high black leather boots, ala Captain Kirk, that I borrowed from Rich's friend Bengt the glassblower. He introduced me to beignets at Cafe Du Monde at about 4 a.m., and I still go back there every time I'm in New Orleans (last October, at about 4 a.m., on my way back to my hotel to catch my flight home).

Thanks to Rich, I saw New Orleans as more than the French Quarter and Jackson Square -- I saw it as a college town, as an artists' town, as a musicians' town, as a place where a one-time lawyer wannabe could recreate himself as a zine publisher known as Science. Hey Science, where are you know? I never did thank you for that Zane Grey book "Taggart". No contact between us in almost 10 years.

Like most, anything I've done to contribute to the recovery is inadequate and small. My hat's off to the true heroes out there, quitting their jobs to volunteer for the Red Cross or organizing relief efforts. Except for Arabian horse administrators who don't know their FEMA from a horse's ass. (OK, just a bit of politics)

A month of memories

2005-08-31T20:16:00.000-07:00

Another summer gone, another school year begins. I'm 15 years removed from any academic pursuits of my own, but this stretch of the calendar still resurrects memories of school supplies, new corduroys, class schedules, locker combinations and brown bag lunches.

August has other memories for me too -- my sister has her birthday on the 25th, and last week we got to spend it with her during her Alameda visit with her husband and my 20-month-old neice. August was when me and my pals would squeeze in one last trip to Action Park in Vernon Valley, NJ -- home of the alpine slide and wicked concrete burns on your elbows.

On the sad side, August was when my favorite grandfather, Al Chenevert -- a larger than life war hero, boozer and story teller -- passed away in 1988, and when he was buried at Arlington National Cemetery (as I was on my way down to Chapel Hill to start my sophomore year of college). And August is when Denise, my stepmother of nearly 15 years, died...10 years ago, Aug. 17, 1995. This was the first year in the last decade that I didn't somehow mark the day, even if only during a quiet moment of reflection. This year, Aug. 17 slipped by, mixed in with the other pre-visitor days filled with cleaning and planning and whatever. Kathy and I noted the anniversary when she was here, and I think we both were surprised we missed it.

Denise's death blew up my Dad's family, in many ways. She was the emotional glue that kept my father, a notorious shitty communicator, linked to his siblings, his father and, in some ways, his kids. And she left so suddenly -- taken down by ovarian cancer with mere days notice. For me, it was hours notice -- my father called me at work and said (in one big rush): Denise has cancer; she had surgery today; it did not go well; she's in intensive care and may not survive. I left work in a haze, despite being on deadline, and a follow-up phone call a couple of hours later confirmed the worst: at age 50, Denise Dunn Taggart died, on a Thursday night, just three days after being diagnosed with cancer.

I have carried wounds for a long time about how both my Dad and Denise handled that final summer...she was so clearly ill, very ill, and yet she didn't go to the doctor for months. Denial? Fear? Tacit acceptance of her fate that she, somehow, subconciously knew? Got me. But it was one big goddamn mess, between the negligent handling of the situation before her death, the fucking horrible communication the week of her death (hey Dad -- how about a phone call letting us know she has cancer in the first place?) and the sickly aftermath (Dad enjoying the "limelight" a bit too much as the grieving husband).

Gee, still pissed, aren't I? I have never talked to my Dad about the turmoil I still feel when I think about that August and the weeks that followed. (Dad -- if you ever google me and find this, let me lay it out.) How I felt a great responsibility and honor to be by his side at first -- helping pick out the casket, being the one to go in and place personal items next to her embalmed body to spare him the anguish of seeing her, traveling to Indiana with him and the casket for the funeral, speaking at the memorial service. God, I sound like I'm bragging. The point is that I did all this for my Dad...and I know feel like a fucking fraud -- for what I said at the service, for admiring the stories of their "happiness" (gee, I thought, I must have missed that during our visits, which almost always involved fighting and slamming doors and loads of negative emotional baggage), for how he grieved, like he was on stage...acting like a grieving widower instead of feeling like one.

So many complicated emotions, so little desire to lay them out for scrutiny (well, any more than I already have).

Denise, your memory is not dead -- thank you for the many wonderful experiences you brought to our family, and for being a good friend to my sister and me when we needed a nonparental, safe place to turn.

Fortunately, life keeps dealing you opportunities to create new memories...ones that may take the place of, or at least, balance out the crappy ones. So August will also now mean the first time my sister and I got together with all of our kids and watched the cousins bond and form friendships, while the grownups kept the peace, savored Corona Light, played Yahtzee (naturally!) and all got to know each other a little better.

Tags -- you are a wonderful sister who deserves a post of your own, describing your many contributions to my life. But most simply, thanks for keeping me laughing, and for sticking up for me all those years. On the road of life, there we are together -- you carrying a stuffed chimp in diapers, me toting a black seal with an orange fish buttoned to its nose. And Barry Manilow singing in the background.

Ella Rose Steps Out

2005-08-29T22:20:00.000-07:00

Dear Ella,

How proud of you I am today, as you -- my little girl -- took a big step out into world and started kindergarten. I'm sorry I was not there to watch and cheer you on...I hope you know how much I wanted to be, but sometimes your mom and dad don't do things together like other moms and dads, as you know. But even if I wasn't there to wave goodbye to you and to marvel at the passing of another milestone in your life...I could just imagine you, marching into the classroom, your new backpack over your shoulders, your blond hair back in a braid, your blue eyes twinkling. I was thinking of you, and I couldn't wait to hear all about it.

I knew you would do great! Yes, sometimes you are shy, and sometimes anxious, and you are so sensitive at times, like when you worry about what's going to happen to people or whales or baby penguins in the movies. You are also smart, in tune with the needs of others, curious (like George!), quick to laugh, helpful and almost always good with your manners.

You expressed some nervousness about leaving your old school behind after three years, and leaving behind your close friends and your teachers who adored you so. That's OK -- that's understandable. Yet mixed with the nervousness was excitement about the new place and the new classmates and the unknown...and I'm so proud of you for how you handled this change and the many others that have come your way.

One of my favorite sounds is your pure laughter, and there's nothing quite like the feeling of your arms around my neck and your hand nestled in mine. Today, kindergarten...wow! Wasn't it just yesterday I was dozing with you on my chest, a puddle of baby drool spreading on my shirt? And before I know it, tomorrow will be another sign of you growing up. But you will always be my little girl...my Buttercup...my Kiddo. I'm not with you every day...and that kills me more than I can ever tell you...but I'm here for you always, and I love you.

Enjoy kindergarten! Life may never be so simple again. Learn all you can, have fun, make friends, and then tell me all about it.

Love,
Daddy
Ella at 2 and a half

Ella at 5 and a half, just before starting kindergarten

Strung out on electric blankets

2005-08-21T20:57:00.000-07:00

Another blur of post-less nights in the past week or so, as we spent each evening cleaning the house in anticipation of guests arriving. My sister, her husband and niece Cece came in yesterday for a week-long visit, and I'd say we're all still adjusting to the high levels of childlike energy coursing through the house. We've got Ella at five and a half, Cece at 20 months and Lindsay at 6 months...and four adults gamely trying to keep a grip on the situation.

It's been fun so far -- I think the adults are having a harder time than the kids! Well, more on that later this week, as things develop.

To the title of this post: I recently parted ways with two textile links to my past, and this is their story.

These are photos of my baseball blanket, which covered my bed for most of my youth. It was not particularly soft, and the red satiny piece at the end was fraying and torn, but I sure did love that thing. To prevent me from falling out, I would get tucked so tight into my bed under it that I could barely turn over. I don't know why I held on to it for so long -- at some point, my mom passed it over or I rescued it, and it's moved multiple times in a plastic bin, perhaps awaiting a nostalgic restoration? Alas, it's time had come, and now some non-profit that does curbside pick-ups of family detritus has it. Farewell, baseball blanket. And I think that guy was safe in that picture, even though the ump says out. I guess it was a force play...but how interesting is that for an illustration? (I never questioned the ump's call as a child.)

Also a casualty of our recent organizing/cleaning, nostalgia-be-damned binge was this lovely brown comforter, which I made by hand in 7th or 8th grade home ec class. More than 20 years old, and I don't remember actually using it as a blanket, except at my post-divorce furnished bachelor shithole apartment in Portland. And after 20 years, I discovered I'd left a pin in the batting (spelling?)...I suppose not surprising for a 12-year-old seamster (masc. of seamstress?). Interesting choice of fabrics -- purchased with my mother at a local fabric store. I got a bit more adventurous during a later home ec class (senior year of high school), when I and my friends made "jams" -- those colorful print shorts that were all the rage at the time. What is it about the smell in fabric stores, by the way? Is it the bolts of cloth that just naturally have that scent? I can almost conjure it up now. Whew.

If I see a homeless guy down the street in Oakland wearing one of these blankets, I wonder how that will feel? Better him than sitting useless in my garage, I guess.

Not even 9:30, and I'm off to bed. Big week ahead.

Superhighway

2005-08-15T22:02:00.000-07:00

At the risk of coming across as one who just tumbled off the proverbial turnip truck, I have something to share along the lines of "gosh, ain't it incredible the information at our fingertips today!"

I was talking to my Mom yesterday and marveling at the fact that Ella -- my daughter -- is about to start kindergarten. She said, "You probably remember kindergarten." I have vague recollections, but what struck me was remembering how I used to walk or ride my bike to elementary school at the age of 6 or 7. In my memory, it's a long ways...my Mom swore it was only half a mile or so.

How far was it, actually, I wondered? Voila -- http://www.sueandpaul.com/gmapPedometer/, a very cool tool for measuring walking distance. Some guy hacked the google maps feature and now I know that it was about three-quarters of a mile from my childhood home on Dean Road in Wayland, Mass., to Loker Elementary School.

(As big a change as the info we can all tap into is how society has changed -- I would never let my child, at 6 years old, walk that far to elementary school or anywhere pretty much. You just can't be that trusting anymore. I suppose child abductions and stuff like that happened back in 1975-76 too [I have cloudy memories of my sister and I encountering an ill-intentioned person -- man? boy? -- behind our school, but the specifics slip through my mental fingertips...am I imagining it?], but you just weren't as aware of it as a parent. Was life simpler/nicer, or were we more trusting, or both?)

Techno nerd part two: we finished watching "The Aviator" this past weekend (finally!), and it sparked my curiousity in Howard Hughes. I only knew bits and pieces...and voila: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Howard_Hughes. This info source blows the doors off the World Book, although I fondly recall many hours spent with that "reference book." One summer at my Dad's, with many long hours during the day when his wife was engrossed in soap operas (she carried a small TV in the car in 1977 so she didn't miss anything while out doing errands) and I don't know where he was, I would copy sports lists out of the encyclopedia: Heisman winners, World Series champs, Super Bowl victors, etc.

My other favorite pasttime during those visits (beyond idolizing my older step-brother John, who coincidentally attended the same private school that Howard Hughes briefly went to) was watching my Dad and his wife play cribbage at the kitchen bar/counter. Cocktails were consumed, cards were played, voices were raised. I had no idea what was going on either in the game or between those two...in retrospect, it was an incredibly destructive, antagonistic relationship that cost my dad a few years of his life and more than few dollars. And I have equal parts good -- the trips, the St. Pete estate wedding, etc. -- and bad -- the drunken driving, the drunken everything -- memories.

Whew. To lighten the mood a bit, here's a cute picture!

This is Ella after her appearance in "The Burning Fields" opera as part of her 2-week performing arts camp. She was awesome as a cherry tree, I can assure you. Watch out, Broadway -- you ain't heard a performance of the classic "Firewood song" until you've heard my girl sing it.

Speaking of that show, I attended (and gave Ella those flowers), and also attending were six members of my ex-wife's family (boyfriend, parents, brother, sister-in-law, nephew). It was my first encounter since the divorce with most of them...and I was completely invisible to them. No eye contact, no acknowledgement, even as we stood 5 feet away from each other. The alternative could have been open hostility, shouting, fisticuffs...an episode of Jerry Springer right there at Oakland's First Presbyterian. So ignorance -- while feeling weird -- is fine.

Listening to: "Bill & Dave's Excellent Mix" -- a CD compilation we made for Gene before our Houston visit. It's full of great music and memories -- and worth another post all its own.

First and first again

2005-08-09T13:33:00.000-07:00

I've been laying low for a week or so, awaiting the blogging muse. This is an easy habit to let go...I scrubbed the kitchen (including those grimy liner things under the stove burners) last night instead of blogging for goodness sake. I hope once I get back into a regular routine, both my readers will once again be bored silly by my senseless posts.

What to write about today would be...recent firsts for Lindsay, yeah that's it! I'll get back in the groove by going diary on you.

First number one: solid food! If you can count rice cereal and other such mush as solid. But anyway, Lindsay started on solids last week, after I got back from Houston. There is no way to describe in words what a baby's face looks like as she tastes something of a totally foreign texture for the first time, so without further ado:

That doesn't quite do it justice...but you get the idea, I think? Lindsay has taken to food well, particularly the implement.

It's another sign of how quickly she is changing and turning into a little person instead of a little needy blob. I know from Ella what's ahead and how much more entertaining and enchanting Lindsay will become, but what a fantastic age now! (Note: just about all parents will say "what a great age" about their kid at any time.) Developing and learning and changing in leaps each week, plus I get the incredible giddy/giggly reaction when I come home from work.

Lindsay is sleeping great too; we've had a few nights this week where she was down from 7:30 p.m. to after 6 a.m. the next morning, with no food required in the interim. Now that's what I call sleeping through the night! And a rested baby means a happy baby, which looks like:

Such a joyous creature! I must say, she lights up the room/house/ferry/grocery store/car/sidewalk with her grin, and I'll do just about anything to get a laugh. If I find a ticklish zone to nuzzle on her cheek that produces a giggle, I'll go back to that well again and again to the point of tiring us both out. Can't help it -- baby giggles are like meth for parents: addicting, making you act crazy...except it doesn't rot your teeth or drain your bank account.

Maybe I'll get back to more topical stuff in a couple of days. I've been thinking about writing about Israel and my trip to Jerusalem and the Dead Sea in 1999, with all the Israeli/Gaza stuff in the news. Or documenting the often-overlooked career of Dwight Evans, #24, Red Sox outfielder and occasional All Star who put up some good numbers and played an outstanding right field. The bloated statistics of the steroid era dwarfed his career batting stats, but it's guys like him who should be revisited. I was always Dwight Evans when I and my friends played home run derby or wiffle ball. Brett was Kevin McReynolds, Ted was Pedro Guerrero and Rich was Don Mattingly (or Rickey Henderson?). What a foursome we were, circa 1983 to 1987 and even a bit beyond that. Where are you now, Richard George, aka Science?

See, I can digress and write about something other than mushed bananas and sleep schedules!

And now I leave you with photos of all my ladies:

Texas state bird

2005-08-02T14:59:00.000-07:00

I made a joke while I was down in Houston that the Texas state bird was "The Bird" -- meaning the official "fuck you" gesture of a raised middle finger. Get it? Flip the bird...state bird...yeah, only moderately amusing, but in the midst of my sorrowful weekend trip, it passed for hilarious. And Texas is probably a place where this would be appropriate, right?

I have not blogged since I got back because, honestly, I have no idea how to express what I experienced down there, and I'm reluctant to even share the most minimal of details due to the private nature of what my best friend Gene and his wife Jimena are going through. At the same time, I've found it hard to write or think about much else in the past few days.

My weekend in Houston was one of the most profoundly sad, moving and surreal experiences of my life, and I feel like it will be with me forever. As I dance around this and express these feelings...well, I feel a bit like a fraud or a poseur or something...Gene and Jimena and their immediate family are the ones truly impacted. Who am I to moan and wail? I mean no disrespect to those involved -- I am only sharing the global impact on me, as someone who cares deeply about Gene and Jimena. And as a parent who knows what it is like to love a child.

My sincerest sympathies to the Larson/Mendoza family, and my admiration for their strength and courage during this unbelievably difficult time.

A couple of positive things I will take away from my Houston trip: appreciation for my friendships with Gene and Dave, who have stood by me through some bad times and who are just about the closest thing I have to brothers on the planet; and a reminder to count my blessings daily, because you just never know. I don't think I've ever been happier to see Nicola and Lindsay as I was on Monday morning at the Oakland airport.

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Texas comments:

Love that t-shirt at the airport: "Play hard, Work harder, Pray hardest". Yeah, that really works out. Maybe I was just in a cynical mood after experiencing the heartbreak of one of the most decent families around. Where's the power of prayer in that instance, pal?
Shop on the side of the road in The Woodlands, TX: GUITARS, GUNS, GOLD.
At the same time I was traveling to Houston, I was reading "Friday Night Lights" and being awestruck by the misplaced priorities and backward thinking in that armpit of a city known as Odessa. Fascinating read. Haven't seen the movie yet.
I am spoiled by Alameda's temperate weather. Or is it that Houston is unbearably hot and humid in late July?
My efforts to improve my golf game by reading about it produced a hideous round of 114 or so on Saturday morning. Other excuses: the punishing hangover I had combined with the 7:30 a.m. tee time and 3:30 a.m. bed time. But...I will remember that fabulous wedge from about 80 yards, that settled close to the hole after a nice bit of backspin. Complete luck, 'cause I can't claim any skill.

10 years later

2005-07-28T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have not lived in Washington, D.C., for nearly a decade -- I moved west in the spring of 1996 -- but I still somehow feel connected to that city. Could be that the fun I had, the close friendships I developed and the varied experiences I, um, experienced all combine to drape a rosy glow around all things DC for me...still, now, even after 10 years.

Take for example this week -- I've been having an entertaining e-mail exchange with John Lavey, an old friend and newspaper colleague from the Northern Virginia Sun/Gazette days. I'm going to Houston tomorrow to visit Gene, a college friend with whom I shared many of my best times in Washington. And today I was drawn to an online item in the DC City Paper, a wonderful alternative weekly that doggedly attempts to keep the Post and the Moonie-owned Washington Times honest. I shouldn't really care what the City Paper says about the Post's prudish reporting on a gay-bashing Anacostia preacher, but I still do.

In reading this stuff, I ran across a mention of the 10-year anniversary of the Million Man March, and the memories came flooding back. In October 1995, I was working as the Washington bureau chief (fancy title, but I was basically a reporter) for two financial newsletters: Wall Street Letter (yawn) and Compliance Reporter (double yawn). My office was just a few blocks from the White House, the Mall, etc. (on F St., between 14th and 15th, across from the The Shops at National Place and the National Press Club). When the Million Man March occurred, I walked down to the Mall to check out the crowds, the speeches, the food vendors. I felt vaguely uncomfortable as a white guy in a dress shirt and tie, but that may have been more me than any vibe from the throng.

Wow, fascinating anecdote, huh? March happened, I saw it. I suppose the point is that, I am using this blog to document my past experiences before they are overwhelmed in my brain by the lyrics to Ralph's kid songs or ophthalmology's position on NIH reauthorization or whatever. Case in point: the aforementioned John Lavey swears that he never attended a David Copperfield show with me at the Warner or National Theater in DC. So if it wasn't him, which I think it was, than who was it? Because I know I went...although that's something I probably should forget.

So, in the interest of documenting (or am I just bragging?):

I covered a press conference in the Rose Garden and the Christmas tree lighting ceremony with the Clintons.
I had a Congressional press pass for a while.
I covered oral arguments before the Supreme Court (a Hawaii case?).
I carried around my National Press Club ID card in my wallet for a long time, for completely ego-related reasons. "Oh, what's this is in my wallet -- my Press Club card. I forgot that was in there. Yeah, I belonged blah blah blah." This scenario never happened, by the way.
Jay Dickey, a former Arkansas congressman, was nice but a gigantic idiot. I had lunch with him once in the House members' dining room.

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P.S. While I've managed to avoid too much crappy TV watching since Sunday...it's just kind of boring knocking around the domicile by myself. I miss Nicola and Lindsay! Reunion set for Monday at the Oakland airport. And check out the ladies in the pool -- love that Elmer Fudd hat!

Back with more next week, after my Houston trip.

Programmed

2005-07-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

As I talked to Nicola on the phone last night -- she and Lindsay are still in Oregon -- I heard the Magic Bean crying in the background. And I was almost moved to tears -- I think it was a distinctly biologically programmed reaction a parent has to hearing his or her offspring in distress. The emotions -- missing the adorable little puddle of drool after 4 days -- are genuine, don't get me wrong. But I think they do originate from some hard-wired impulse: baby cries, parent responds.

Even more amazing: how Nicola and I have fought this natural caregiving instinct over the past couple of weeks as we helped Lindsay figure out her sleep schedule. I guess a few days of quiet around the house made me miss even the wailing.

10 days away from the family -- not something I'd like to repeat again soon.

I went and worked on my golf swing last night in preparation for my trip to Houston. I play less than five times a year, which is probably one-tenth of the amount I should play to get any good. I am resolved to being less than mediocre...but "Golf for Dummies" beckoned at the library, so away I went. My grip was wrong, my alignment sucks, etc. and so forth. It's a long list of flaws, believe me. I tried to keep the mindset that I was experimenting: "Gee, what happens when I slow my swing down and accentuate the turn in my hips?" But that gets old when you are actually missing the ball during this experiment.

My game has been crappy but predictable: a god-awful slice, profound lapses in concentration during the short game, so-so putting and the occasional purely struck shot that brings me back for more. This is the golf game that produced both of these in the same round (at Myrtle Beach during a bachelor party): 1) a glancing blow off a course ranger's golf cart, as he was driving between fairways to investigate our group's slow play and hijinks; and 2) a gently slicing driver off the 18th tee that bounced into the clubhouse parking lot and landed in the backseat of a car (the door was fortunately open, the car surrounded by golfers packing up their gear).

Now -- my quest for improvement may lead me to be even worse than I was. Oh boy. Nothing like facing with dread a 5-hour round of golf in the July Houston heat.
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Rescue Me last night: another fine show, highlighting the characters' shortcomings and failings. There are no heroes or completely likable people in the show, which makes it more interesting to me...and at times painful to watch. I do find some of the foibles to be cliche...but I suppose that doesn't make them untrue. And I thought the "firebug" storyline was a bit predictable. Heck, there was a lot that was predictable about the episode, but I still enjoyed it. Beats just about anything else on TV...besides the train wreck that is "Sports Kids Moms & Dads." I've mildly kvetched before about my parents' lack of interest in my athletic career, but man, it could have been worse!

Self flagellation

2005-07-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

I had dinner tonight with my good friend Eric -- an enjoyable time, as usual. He and I have similar father issues/backgrounds, we've both been through divorces (well, he's an "almost"), and we think about things in a very similar way. I feel very fortunate that I randomly ran into him on Market Street in San Francisco one day last spring...more than a decade after we used to hang out in Chapel Hill as aimless post graduates.

As we battled through horrendous table service that crossed over from indifferent to inept (hey, we aren't all tourists here!), he and I got talking about how we are generally like ourselves these days, after periods of ongoing introspection. And I said..."Well, not today, because I spent the day beating myself up for watching hours of stupid TV last night and staying up too late and making myself tired all day" or something to that effect.

In the interest of self confession (and semi-public self flagellation), here's how I spent my precious Sunday night:

Watched most of "Varsity Blues" -- Friday Night Lights rip-off, Eric says. But damn, that James Van Der Beek is so horrible it's entertaining.
Watched some of Tom Cruise on "Inside the Actors Studio" -- what a smug, arrogant prick he came across as. Shocker.
Watched a good piece of "40 Days and 40 Nights" -- a movie with a few humorus moments, and a sad Griffin Dunne sighting
SportsCenter
Random crap
Finally dragged my ass into the bedroom, after cleaning up the kitchen (never leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight!)
Cut my fingernails and watched more TV
Ended up hooked on a "Law and Order" episode
THEN...ugh...started watching "Ready to Rumble" -- a train wreck of a wrestling movie (is that redundant?) with Oliver Platt of all people as a wrestling hero. Jesus, how humiliating it is to admit to this. One Scott Caan movie per lifetime is enough, but two in one night? But I'm glad to see that one of the stars of "Head of the Class" graduated to directing.

No, I don't feel better at all. But now I have something in writing to refer back to when I'm tempted to waste hours of my life being numbed by bad television. I will still indulge, but perhaps I can be a bit more selective..."Rescue Me" or the "Scrubs" first season DVD set I got for Father's Day...or an eagerly awaited Scott Caan tripleheader...someday!

Nicola, come home and save me from myself!

Referring to an earlier post, I've made outreach to some old friends...Theo, JL, you know who you are. Welcome, good to see you.

Final thought: me and the kids...right where I belong.

Ella's pearls

2005-07-24T22:27:00.000-07:00

Nicola and Lindsay left yesterday morning for a week in Philomath, Ore., visiting her parents. So it was just Ella and I for most of the weekend. We had a good time together, as we usually do. Two items of intellectual interest from this 5-year-old marvel:

At lunch on Saturday: "You know, the first bite of a hot dog is always the best bite." Goddamn, she is so right. Is there anything as pitch perfect as that first nosh of a hot dog at a ball game? So simple, yet so true.
As we were reading pre-bed books Saturday night, I was trying to hustle her along by saying "It's almost nine." It wasn't really...probably 20 to 9 by my watch, and her clock said 8:33 p.m. Ella glances at her clock, and is silent for a few minutes as I keep reading. "Daddy," she says, "What's 10 minus 3?" "Seven," I reply. And she says: "So it's actually 27 minutes until nine o'clock" !!!!!! I'm like, whoa, did you just do that math in your head, basically? She knew to subtract the three from the ten and then add it to the 20 other minutes before nine. Maybe I'm just being a proud papa, but I was amazed.

Of course, she is still just five. We went to see March of the Penguins today, and she sat in my lap for the second half because she was afraid for the baby penguins. She's so sensitive...the appearance of "predators" (new word for her) really was upsetting, I think. She's been known to bail on movies all together before, so sitting through the whole thing was progress. Fascinating movie, by the way. I'd love to see a documentary of how they filmed it.

A quiet and lonely week ahead (sniff!). Maybe I'll find some time to work on what passes for my golf game.

In a fog

2005-07-19T15:48:00.000-07:00

As the traditional San Francisco July weather presents itself -- foggy, windy, cool in the morning, with the burn-off by afternoon -- I find myself in a bit of a mental state that matches the external conditions. I attribute it to a couple of things, the biggest of which is the sad news recently received from mi hermano Gene. It's not my place to share what's going on down there in Houston, but "sad" is woefully inadequate to describe it. Tragic. Devastating. Courage-testing.

I'm headed off to Houston with my other best pal Dave on July 29 to provide Gene with whatever support we can. But in the meantime, I've found myself distracted...to the point of completely neglecting a mom/work balancing challenge that Nicola was struggling with right under my nose. My preoccupied state caused a few days of tension around the house, until we finally identified, confronted and talked it out last night. Our relationship has a low threshhold for discord, which is almost always a good thing. The big stuff gets handled, and the little stuff is dealt with and we move on. What a blessed change from previous relationships...and I'm sure I bear the brunt for at least half of the communication failures in my past. Hey, I learned early on to swallow feelings and express them through attention-grabbing misdeeds -- why would I stop doing that just because I'm a "grown-up?"

So anyway, Gene -- besos. Hang in there. And Nicola -- thanks for putting up with me as I struggled through the past few days.

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I am now going to COMPLETELY shift gears, at the risk of upsetting the gentle nature of this particular post.

But tonight, my favorite summer TV show -- "Rescue Me" -- is on. Denis Leary wuz robbed by the Emmys, by the way. Last week I was watching it, and the episode featured a lengthy discussion of the word...ahem..."twat." Yes, apparently they can say this on TV, and repeatedly. They can even say "twunt" -- an ill-formed combination of two misogynist slang words. Anyway, a later commercial break featured an extended ad for those electric scooters for the elderly and immobile. I think they are a Medicare scam, but the point is -- isn't there a massive disconnect between the viewing demographic and this ad buy? Can the same person possibly be amused by the edgy wordplay in "Rescue Me" AND be in the market for a scooter?

Curious, but perhaps only to me.

P.S. Welcome to all the people who googled the word "twat" and ended up here! Sorry to disappoint!

Random #1

2005-07-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

A couple of things I forgot to mention and/or follow up on yesterday:

Apparently I already posted that happy picture of Lindsay in an earlier post. I must really like it. So, here's new one, proudly showcasing her latest skill -- thumb sucking! Man, she's a wiz...glad she's moved beyond that pacifier now that we're like 20 weeks or so into her life. I mean, come on! The addictive behavior is so...8 weeks.

I forgot to mention that the other day I took the ferry (and bicycle) and on my way home, some ferry terminal employee was actually searching/squeezing people's backpacks and briefcases before we got on. Not sure if the Alameda Harbor Bay Ferry is high on the hit lists once we get to Orange, but the searching produced an uneasy mixture of unease and appreciation. "Oh good, they're taking extra precautions. Oh wait, what the hell does that mean?"
Ella finished her second session of swim lessons tonight, graduating with BOTH Tiny Tots II and Beginner I badges (buffing my nails on my shirt as a proud dad)! I don't know what those mean either, but I do know that she's progressed from a girl unwilling to get her face wet to one floating solo face down and holding her breath for 18 seconds. And much more -- the gambit of taking lessons with her best pal Grace really paid off in some friendly motivation and competition -- they both ending up doing really well. I'm so proud of my skinny, pale, cute-as-a-button 5-year-old!
Our first solo (non Ella) weekend in town since early June looms, and I'm looking forward to playing hockey, spending time with Nicola (dinner date tomorrow night!) and Lindsay and cruising around town in the new Taggart Family Toyota. Having 10 cupholders is NOT overrated, I tell you.
I'm feeling the need to connect with some old friends...so Brett, Louis, Ted, Gene, Dave Glenn, Nikki, Claudia, Pete...if you run across this blog, I'm thinking about you and hope you are doing well, and I'll be in touch soon. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the daily details and the breakneck pace we all keep...and so easy to forget to reach out to those who've been part of your life for so long. I hate to take people for granted, thus I will e-mail one of these people each day for the next however many days. That's a start.

Stow (Lake) away

2005-07-13T20:39:00.000-07:00

Today, in a nice break from the usual work routine of making the American Academy of Ophthalmology Web site the best darn Web site it can be, I participated in the Academy's annual outdoor volunteer day. About 25 of us sallied forth to Golden Gate Park, where we helped clean up around Stow Lake (links here and here). In my two+ years of living here, I've never made it to the park or this lake, which features a big hill in the middle with amazing (today: fog-shrouded) views of the city and paddleboats and other interesting stuff. The park is very cool -- I must get back there with Nicola to explore.

Despite the gray skies and cool weather (yes, I SAW MY BREATH ON JULY 13), I still managed to get sunburned on my neck, and I'm tired and sore from trimming, shoveling, raking, scooping, sweeping, etc. But I'm so glad I work somewhere that sanctions something like this -- a way to give back to the city and the community. I realize it's a small gesture...yet it felt good. I saw a heron (I think), and I learned that you can suck nectar out of a nasturtium (spelling?) flower bud, and I saw a shopping cart couple cooking their lunch (or boiling their socks?) at a barbecue pit.

The best part: getting to come home a bit early and see more of Lindsay than I've seen in a few days. She was in an extremely happy mood tonight and let rip with some of the most delightful laughs and giggles -- it's crazy what you'll do to keep a baby laughing, just to keep the mirth coming. It's contagious and addictive and...man, I can't even do it justice. The photo is from a few weeks ago, but it shows how happy Lindsay is (even though we're letting her cry a bit at night now -- hard, but she's sleeping better and longer).

Cute tidbit from Ella the other day: we were reading "Tacky the Penguin" (love the author and illustrator team) the other day, and the penguin hunters say some rhyme about selling penguins for a dollar and getting rich, rich, rich. Ella opines: "How are they going to get rich selling them for a dollar? They'd need to sell them for like a thousand bucks or somethin' !" (appropriate missing "g" included). It really struck me as so cute and funny -- Ella was riffing off the book to make a joke. Holy crap, she's growing up fast!

What's ours is ours

2005-07-11T21:00:00.000-07:00

Nicola and I have been talking lately about the concept of "ours" vs. "mine" and "yours" or "his" and "hers." As two people previously married, we both came to our life together with boxes and boxes full of the past, manifesting itself in the form of candlesticks, art, plants, furniture, books and every other type of knick-knack and gewgaw you can fathom.

Why do we have that black wrought iron candle thing on the book case? What's with this vase? Oh, one of us answers, I had that with "x" or "y" or "it was a gift." No, we don't really have these conversations, but metaphorically, it works -- we live in a house surrounded by his and hers, when it should be ours. We have "ours" too -- nice photos or what have you that represent our life together. But there's too much that's not us. It took about two years of living in Alameda for this nagging concept to rise to the surface, but rise it has...accompanied by a mounting need to rid our house of clutter and make things more simple. Boy, those two impulses go nicely together, don't they.

We've started small (the wrought iron candle thing is gone) and big (my fast-as-shit, 5-speed, V6 Jetta with leather interior, sunroof, etc., has been traded in for...gulp...a Toyota Sienna minivan). The car move makes so much sense -- we could barely fit both Ella and Lindsay in the back of the Jetta, which is the BIGGER of our two cars. And while I was sad to see the Jetta go -- it being a symbol of my freedom, in some way, after my marriage ended -- I'm also OK with the symbolism of the van: a true family vehicle that serves us in the life we have now.

"Us" is a family, with Lindsay approaching five months and Ella headed to kindergarten. And it's Nicola and I finding time to reconnect (babysitter this Friday!). And it's many more things that I won't belabor but that I'll simply say I love about where I find myself.

The picture included here represents one more thing I'll say I dig about my life: my in-laws. This is Phoenix, Nicola's stepmom, and she's great, as is Nicola's dad Tom. They've been so welcoming and supportive and loving to me, and now they are embracing Ella and Lindsay like the best grandparents you can ever imagine.

Not much is missing...except a few really close friends to share our lives with. We are making new friends here in the SF area, and there's definitely some potential for close, long-term friendships. But man, we left behind some wonderful friends in Portland, of which were were reminded during our recent trip there. If my pal Thad was close by, and all the zaniness and laughs and angst and comfort that goes with our friendship, I would truly be blessed. Same, I think, for Nicola with Molly and maybe some others...my others might be Gene, Dave Mello, Louis. Anyway, there's nothing like great friends with whom you feel totally at ease...where you are truly yourself without even trying. That is a gift that I've been lucky to experience and hope to again with somebody local (gee, stalker much?).

I make no promises about regular blogging from here on out. I'll do it when the mood strikes...and I'm sure I should have more to say about the bellwether event of buying a minivan, for example.

Tough love

2005-07-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

We're back from our 5-day trip to Oregon, where we saw old friends in Portland and spent the holiday weekend in Philomath, where my wife spent her formative years. This is a tiny town of 4200 outside Corvallis, and there ain't much to do there except hang out with family, eat hamburgers at Paul's, stroll around "downtown" Corvallis once or twice, etc. Fortunately, I enjoy the time with my in-laws, and my brother-in-law Erik was along for the ride, and he's always entertaining.

Anyway, Lindsay did great on the trip, for the most part. A few rough nights, which brings us to the title of tonight's entry: tough love. We've decided that Lindsay needs to learn to soothe herself to sleep -- she's become accustomed to us going in and putting her on her side and replacing the pacifier, and this is happening every hour or so. It's exhausting for us and for her, and we haven't been making any progress on getting entire nights of sleep (except when we break down and use the magical swing). The "cry it out" philosophy is controversial...and excruciating, like right know as I hear her wailing back in the nursery and Nicola and I fight our parental urges to go in and make it stop/make it better. It's agony listening to her cry! Why, then, are we doing this? Well, a few nights of struggle make for a better, more consistent sleeper, which = a better rested baby which = more rested parents and so on. We will all be happier. This worked for Ella at about the same age...but my memory fails on how long we had to endure the cries (45 minutes the first night? and then?) before she got with the plan. I hope Lindsay catches on soon...and I hope we are doing the right thing! She seems ready -- she can put herself to sleep first thing at night and for naps, so why not other times?

Please, little one, don't be so upset! And don't hate us for making tough decisions that are temporarily painful (? -- can babies remember pain? let's hope not, or I've got two little girls who will hatch schemes to hamstring me some day).

I'll write more tomorrow and try to get back to regular blogging. I've got a few ideas, more along the observational/philosophical line. Like, why is it that I keep thinking that the word "sanguine" means, or sounds like it means, calm and at peace? When it really means bloodthirsty? The fourth definition at m-w.com is confident or optimistic...which is sort of like at peace? I just keep wanting to use the word wrong -- today I was driving briskly over the Bay Bridge on my way to Children's Hospital for Lindsay's doctor's appointment (there's an anomaly on her skull we want checked out). I was fuming at the lack of cooperation of my fellow drivers -- they didn't, apparently, understand the urgency of my journey. But then I realized that I had plenty of time to get there, so I took a deep breath, and I thought, "I'm sanguine about this situation" or something along those lines. I meant "I'm at peace"...not "I'm bloodred." Although I could have meant "I'm cheerful" (another meaning).

Enough about that vocabulary navel gazing. Perhaps I'll stick to writing just about our little girl over and over. We'll see -- if the crying keeps up, I may have to write to assuage my guilt.

Not much to say

2005-06-29T22:49:00.000-07:00

It's been a hectic week at work and at home and I'm not feeling like I have much pithy or otherwise to say. So, I posted a bunch of new photos below instead. I'll try to give an update tomorrow night, on the eve of our weekend journey.

In the meantime, enjoy the Taggart family photos, featuring the smiling sisters of Ella and Lindsay.

2005-06-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

Unintentional, but nonetheless impressive, drool shot.

2005-06-29T22:44:00.001-07:00

Princess in the house.

2005-06-29T22:44:00.000-07:00

Sisters checking out the TV.

2005-06-29T22:42:00.001-07:00

We get a lot of these everyday. It sure makes the challenges of parenting a lot easier to take!

2005-06-29T22:42:00.000-07:00

Oh, that's why she's so happy at dinner! (and I realize I did these backwards)