A Little Ironic

I found myself watching a football game last night that I had very little interest in, that had absolutely no influence on the won/loss record of my favorite team. I knew it was probably a waste of my time to watch. I also knew that judging from my level of comfort, it was going to be very difficult to get up and turn off the TV. A tremendous amount of effort was going to have to be expended, and it was just easier to lay there and watch, rather than do what I know needed to be done. After a good half hour of waffling, I got up, turned it off, and began to read a book.

I’m not an anti-TV guy. I have shows I like to watch, and sporting events that I need to see to keep up with the teams I root for. I just think I tend to—like many other people—devote too much time to looking at a babbling screen when I could be doing something more important, such as:

spending time with my family
exercising
writing content for this blog

But, Yankee games tend to take three hours minimum, and then there is my couch. It acts too much like an old, comfortable friend to leave it.

I know the mindless watching of television is not going to get me where I want to be, blogging or otherwise. This blog itself would be much further along if I could just pull myself off that couch from looking at one screen, and getting in front of the computer screen. In some ways, I find all that ironic. It’s funny that a guy who pledges old school values would go from one screen to another, write on-line, and publish in a medium where I may be read by other people who I might have very little in common with.

Aside from that, the old school is definitely where I’m from. I don’t “tweet”, I don’t have any plans to, and if I spend five to ten minutes a day on Facebook, that’s a lot. I’m more likely to make a call from a land line than a cell phone, and I’ve sent three text messages in my entire life. But I still think its amazing that I can write something, see it on my very own (sort of) website, and receive comments on that text. The blog is my new school communication tool of choice.

And, in staying with the ironic theme, this blog will be a spot where people can learn more about me—especially those who I have a “non-electronic” relationship with. My thoughts make more sense and are better organized when they are written down—and I can always edit the things I was going to say that won’t make sense to anyone.

I barely remember anything about the football game I watched last night. But I do know it will be easy to recall the process of writing this, and connecting with the readers who will be interested in what I have to say. As I’m writing this now with a pen and yellow legal pad—so low tech—I’m finding it easy to ignore the television screen in the background. Will that be the case in the future? I know to get something done, all one has to think is just do it. Might be a cliche’, but its as simple as that. But can I do it, and make it happen continuosly?

Now I wonder…what channel are the Yankees on tonight?

Play at the Plate

Among my favorite images of the very brief summers here in the northeast is a baseball in flight, it’s seams rotating against the mid-afternoon sky. That sky is almost a deep, indigo blue, and at times you can see the moon. Barely visible, like a lunar “fog,” but still there. From the proper angle, the ping of an aluminum baseball bat is followed by that ball cutting through dense, humid air, flying past the moon, giving the illusion of a little league rocket ship to the stars.

It is quite a visual, easy to get wrapped up in, easy to momentarily forget the origin of the flying ball: the boy, who has hit the ball, now running toward a makeshift first base. The ball, still in its rotational glory, starts its descent, as the boy makes it easily to first, taking a wide turn at the base.

Landing in the grass, the ball rolls through the thick green blades, slowing to a stop along the fence line of our backyard. By the time I sprint to the fence to pick it up, the boy – with legs churning, navy blue batting helmet wobbling on his head – has rounded second base, headed for third.

I know if I bobble the ball, I have no shot. He will score the run.

I pick up the ball cleanly, and plant my left foot in the grass to start running. His foot touches third base, and he knows he is only a few feet away from another sure score. My speed picks up. I race through the yard, ball in hand. He starts to giggle because he knows I’m close. Only a few feet away.

I stretch out my arm with the ball to apply the tag. Laughter gets louder. He races inches past me, but he has not touched home plate. There is no umpire. Arm at full extension, I reach the ball out….

The best things in life are free. The best memories you make are sometimes the smallest.

There is nothing more important than your family and friends, the people you love.

Summer of Discontent

One of the first articles to be published on this site, way back in 2009, “Summer of Discontent” holds relevance now. There is a general malaise and discontentment surrounding our society still, exacerbated by the prevalence of the 24 hour news cycle, the twin vampires of social media and phone addiction, and never ending political firestorms. Oh, and an economy that has somewhat mirrored 2009. I thought a revisit was due – hope you enjoy the update!

The warm weather of this summer has arrived late this year, extending itself well into September. The swirling rain and clouds of the past several months reflected an American economy still sputtering along, and a majority of people feel disconnected, and not at all happy with the direction of the current “wind of change.”

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While some of us took to the lakes and oceans, for vacations and summer barbecues, others were searching for employment, a ray of job seeking hope, some quick cash to keep the collection agents at bay. Those that are still left employed are taking their cuts, having their lifestyle altered beyond recognition.

This is, no doubt, the cause of some of the discontent which is now starting to run rampant through our country.

But not all. Many Americans had trouble with the word content long before our consumer based economy started falling all over itself. In the race to be a rat and the attempt to win the contest of bigger house/more stuff, that house of cards is collapsing.

Even if they weren’t part of this illustrious race, Joe and Jane Average Homeowner are still being unnerved by the events around them. The discontent dominos.

With overexposure to television and internet, we don’t seem to learn much, or know much beyond who is the favored contestant on the latest installment of Big Brother or that fascinating Top Ten list of American Idol finalists.

No, the information we absorb doesn’t serve us well at all, shielding us from the very fact that we still have it pretty good, while others around the globe really don’t.

We lament the fact the neighbor has a new car, while a kid dies in Africa from lack of medical care, and his parents (if he has any) are powerless to do anything about it.

(2023 update: New poverty estimates by the World Bank suggest that the number of extremely poor people has fallen from 1.9 billion in 1990 to about 736 million in 2015.)

We envy our friend’s gleaming granite countertops in a gourmet kitchen, as a family that used to own their own home sets up their new residence in a cardboard box on the street…right here in America.

That’s right, the have nots live right in your neighborhood.

(Not so good news ’23 update: Newly released data shows, in 2022, 12.4% of Americans lived in poverty, up from 7.8% in 2021)

I’m no stranger to the occasional feeling of discontentment. We’re are Americans, after all, and entitled to the good things in life, myself included, right? But lately I’ve been reading myself some history, and learning a little bit of what my grandparents may have gone through coming to this country.

Want to feel good about things happening now? Read about the trials of European immigrants coming through Ellis Island.

Their adventures started in the homeland, being scammed by their fellow countrymen before boarding their ship. Then their transatlantic “cruise” consisted of inhumane travel conditions in steerage, crowded together by the hundreds, with the smell of urine in the air, and the only method of cleaning themselves being saltwater.

Arriving at Ellis Island, they were allowed to stay if they were seen to be disease free, and able to answer inspectors’ questions. Some that were deported died by drowning, trying to swim to the New Jersey shore to save themselves from the trip back to their home country.

Poverty and deplorable working conditions awaited most immigrants in America. They built railroads, worked in mines, and worked the high steel of skyscrapers so much that a historian once wrote “the greatest metropolis in the world rose from the sweat and misery of Italian labor.” When I see or read anything like this, I have to ask myself what role the word “discontent” should play in my life.

Here in modern America, we really do have the best of everything, and most of us don’t want for much. If you aren’t convinced this is true in your case, you have the power to change whatever you want.

To start changing, take a ride in what probably is your nice late model year car. Pick up your latte or cappuccino. Go to your massive bookstore in the mall. Sit down in that comfortable leather chair and read yourself some history – the history of your ancestors, and their season of discontent.

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On Writing, With a Comeback Twist

I was a writer.

In middle school and high school, I developed a love for writing that has never really faded. Always liking to do it, never being sure I was good at it, but it qualified as a passionate topic for me when I was a younger man.

But as a cousin once so eloquently stated about your shifting priorities, “Life gets in the way”. And the writing portion of my life was soon put on the shelf for, mainly: work.

For those who will read this who don’t know me, I was brought up in a pre-dominately Italian American household, the grandson of immigrants who came to America from the southern part of Italy and Sicily. They struggled in their new home and culture, like many others, working in blue collar factories doing what my grandmother used to call piece work.

With some help, they became what we now call entrepreneurs, succeeding in the demanding world of the restaurant business. For the next four decades, that business was the family identity. Within that framework, when my school days were done, it also became my identity.

I worked the long days and nights like the rest of my family, having fun, making money, building a business…but finding no time for that love of writing. Working with my family members was very rewarding, but after many years of doing it, I had to make a break, and find my own way.

With now having a young family of my own, the restaurant morphed into something that was taking me away from them, stealing all my time. In order to spend that time with my wife and daughter, I had to abandon ship.

But I look back on that time now as something I would never change, a very memorable part of my life. Working with my grandparents and parents taught me many things, some of which I’m anxious to explore further in this blog. Their values, work ethic, and that slice of Italian Americana should invoke fresh material every time I choose to put on my creative hat.

I hope to offer something of value to at least one person reading this blog, giving you glimpses into subjects that I love—stories of impactful people and their inspiration, personal development from a fresh perspective, my take on current events, sports, and trying to retain old school values in a modern world that spins far too fast for my taste.

Glad you’re reading. Please comment, because without readers and their feedback, this is just an exercise in narcissism. And who needs one more blog in this crowded internet just being read by its author?