The Two Joes

All the reconnection I've been doing has made me a little nostalgic for some musicians I knew. Joe Bilotti and Joey Howell. We all went to the same highschool, though Mr. Howell was a grade or two above.

These are two of the nicest guys you'll ever meet and I'll be damned if you don't always find them with a smile on their faces.

As musicians, they were two of the best I've ever seen. Mr. Bilotti I believe studied music at my alma matter, Montclair State in NJ, while I believe Mr. Howell attended The Berklee College of Music in Boston.

Back when I was single in my twenties, these two played together in a band (of which I don't recall the name)...but they were just amazing together.

I only recently found out Mr. Bilotti was playing in Soft Parade and that made me try to hunt down what became of Mr. Howell, who is currently playing in a band called Parrot Beach. If you ever get the chance to see these bands with these two playing, go; you'll see true musicianship.

I maybe off on some of my info here, so anyone that knows, please feel free to correct me.

A Book You Have To Read

The Nurture Assumption by Judith Rich Harris

At the end, agree or not, this, above any book I've ever read, I recommend. You simply have got to read this. Even if you don't have children, it's great insight into yourself and your peers.

When I first read it, it was like finally discovering the sociological/psychological/biological version of Einstein's Unified Theory. All I had studied and read in both fields finally came together and the discrepancies explained.

I would love for anyone that reads this blog, if anyone does, to read this book, come back and comment and let me know your thoughts.

John Updike Has Past

At 76.

On Writing

I maybe a book snob but I can appreciate the ability to write well. My old friend Pete once told me (or at least this is what I remember him telling me) of a journalism or some other writing class he was taking in college one year.

I don't recall if this was the first day of class, but the classroom was on the ground floor and apparently the professor entered class through a window. Then he proceeded to discuss some bumper stickers he'd seen and engaged the whole class in this discussion. Finally, some uptight person asked what bumper stickers had to do with the class they were in. Of course, the professor said "everything" because bumper stickers had to say so much with so little...concise writing at its best.

Now, Pete's story might really be an Urban Myth but....

I think good comic books are the same. You've got limited space for narrative and dialogue so you need to be as concise and effective as possible.

I recently came across a film making blog where the writer is taking his comic and converting it to a script. His comic did much with just pictures but he made effective use of the limited space of his text. Comparing his comic to his script is interesting to see what goes into the process. And he's open to feedback....

I'm Such A Damn Hypocrite

I don't know how your family was growing up but (and I think I've already established that mine was probably not real normal) at our dinner table, after our parents left and the four of us remained to finish eating (because we dragged our heels on eating the things we hated: beets, liver, turnips, etc...) we would entertain ourselves and break out into laughing fits.

Sorry for the Henry James-like sentence (though mine is slightly shorter).

Anyway, from the living room, as they watched the evening news, my parents would yell at us to stop what we were doing, knock it off, quit laughing, etc...and we just couldn't stop or fathom why we were getting in trouble for...laughing. What could possibly be wrong with laughing? How could that be wrong? I mean, my parents were just freaks.

Fast forward thirty-some-odd years, and yes, you know where this is going. I'm sitting at the dinner table with my two kids and their acting like complete damn idiots. And there I go telling them to stop, knock it off, quit and all that stuff my parents said to me.

With my kids looking at me like there's something wrong with me, what could I do but, with serious face, rip a fart, get up and walk out of the kitchen, leaving them laughing and unable to breathe.

As the Father of a Teenage Daughter...

...I hate teenage boys.

Dreams, pt 2

I had some rather interesting dreams last night. As in my previous post, it's usually hard to recall them as they fade so quickly. However, the last dream of the night was rather vivid and I can recall it even as I write this.

But this isn't what I'm writing about. Based on a recent post on depression, I started thinking back on my old dreams. While I can recall the dreams in my old journal, I can't recall any from my late twenties or my thirties; again, water out to sea.

I wonder if my dreams would have been different had I diagnosed my depression earlier in life and had been taking medication. Would they be different in any way? How does depression affect the subconscious? How does medication?

An interesting question.

A Little Sumpin Sumpin on Cigars

I enjoy a cigar every so often. My old friend Mike in Chicago has good taste in cigars and whenever we're together he's kind enough to offer me a very nice cigar.

Right before I left NJ, a really sweet cigar bar opened in my home town. Of course, I never got to fully take advantage of it and right after that cigars became much more mainstream and popular.

Usually, here alone, I can only afford the occasional box of Swisher Sweets...easy to smoke but not the greatest of taste.

Recently, I had the privilege of obtaining several hand rolled Dominican cigars from a guy from Tampa whilst in Orlando. Very nice smokes.

So, now my brother-in-laws have a little sumpin sumpin to smoke after the Shreveport Mardi Gras next month.

Depression

There is much written on depression these days. Millions of Americans are on some sort of anti-depressant...rightfully or not. Depression in others is easier to determine than in oneself. After all, how do you separate what you've known all your life to be normal when in fact it isn't?

Schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder are more obvious in people, but moderate to severe on-going depression is hard to discern. Often we just think someone is having a bad time of it or are in "a mood" not realizing that, in fact, it could be a clinical problem. In ourselves we just tend to think being "down" is normal when we perceive that life isn't going the way we want.

This is what happened to me. First, it took me to move away from everything in order to see differences. Then it took marital problems to make me realize I had a problem. Another realization is that I suffered, unbeknownst until now, from anxiety instilled in me by the way our father treated us.

Long story short, I got myself on Cymbalta and that has had a huge affect on my life. Anxiety: gone. The ups and downs of good/bad feelings: gone. I feel more even keeled and overall good about myself. I'm not one for regrets but sometimes I can't help wondering if my past would have turned out different if I'd diagnosed this issue many years ago.

Number one reason for no regrets: my family. I couldn't possibly look at my wife and kids and regret anything because it's always possible I wouldn't have them. And in the end, water under the bridge is water out to sea. Only the here/now matters and the decisions I make.

But, of course, this isn't the biggest problem. No, that belongs to seeing one of my kids suffer a similar issue. Both my wife and I suffer from some form of depression and are now on medication. We both have family histories that include bi-polar and schizophrenia, so should we really expect our children to go unscathed?

My son was born 5 weeks early and one of his lungs collapsed. Until now I thought the worst thing in my life was walking into the NICU and seeing a tube sticking out the side of his chest knowing they cut into him and shoved the tube with no anesthetic. That was hard to swallow. But seeing him suffer now is worse.

At first we just thought he had a bad attitude or our parenting was inadequate. Once we decided to do something about it, that made all the difference because you never want your kids to suffer the same things you did. So, we got him on medication, after making sure we did all due diligence to ensure that was necessary...we didn't just walk in and have him medicated. No one wants to medicate their kids, so we chose a very well respected and conservative child psychologist (to the tune of paying cash as he isn't on the insurance plan--and it ain't cheap, let me tell you).

For six months things were greatly improved, but then seemed to slide back. After meeting with the doc we upped his dosage and that had a temporary improved effect, which quickly turned negative. So, we bumped him back down and are currently waiting to meet with the doc again. Hopefully, this may simply amount to changing the type of medication as it hurts to watch your child knowing something just isn't right and knowing he's not happy.

No Doubt Left

For those who weren't sure...we are two different people.....

http://gallery.me.com/paespo1#100091

for more photos of vacation

Interjection

I don't know if anyone actually reads this blog. I have had only one comment to any of my entries (from the formerly known as Becky Scango--whom I remember and recall that I liked her--good people).

But the lack of a new post is due to the fact that I am down in Orlando. Disney World to be exact. Our annual National Sales Meeting is being held here this week, so I'm a bit busy working-yes, working. Though I've taken the opportunity to have my family fly down at the end of the week and join me so we can have our first ever Disney World family vacation.

I know I owe a posting on depression--hopefully I'll get to that next week. We'll see; as my old friend Pete has recently sent me a long email response to mine updating me on his life, so I may take some time and respond to that instead...again, we'll see.

Meds

An old, recently reconnected friend has a post on his blog about how a nurse was surprised when asked what medications he was on and he said none. Pete is a runner so is probably in fairly good shape in his middle age of 44.

I turn 44 very soon. Between the ages of 39 and 41 my cholesterol fluctuated up and down based, a little on diet, but mostly on my various attempts to start and maintain an exercise regiment.

At 42, my blood pressure at work would rise and just wipe me out. All told, according to my doctor, this, along with the cholesterol, was a genetic problem. Now, this was hard to swallow. My father had a debilitating stroke 11 yrs earlier--but he smoked since a teenager, drank consistently (until the point of full blown alcoholism) and ate whatever he wanted to. So, I saw his problems as self induced and mine shouldn't be.

Today, I'm convinced I could at least control my cholesterol with some level of consistent exercise. Blood pressure, we'd have to see.

But the reason my friend's nurse was surprised is that so many men our age are on at least one if not both of these medicines. Good for Pete that he is not.

Then, last year, I worked my way onto Cymbalta and that has had a very large effect on my life, but that is for another post.

So, here I am, middle-aged and counting pills--but thanks to Cymbalta, no worries...

Daughters

My daughter is a pretty cool kid. She's wise beyond her 15 years. However, when it comes to some other life things (sex specifically) she leans more towards the 13/14 yr range than the 16/17 range. Thank God. So, I'm not complaining, however, nor am I naive enough to think that I may be completely wrong.

But why? Someone please tell me, why does a 15 yr old girl need to wear $40 Victoria Secret bras? It's like buying $80 shoes for your 1 year old.

Hanes. At Sears. Done.

And why, for the love of God, why do daughters insist on telling their fathers they need a bigger bra?

The Mid 80s

Literature

I'm not, generally, a snob. I can be arrogant but mostly it's a self-effacing kind of arrogance. I bust my own balls.

However, there are some exceptions:

1) Politics: I probably don't really care what you think, even though I do want to hear what you have to say; there's absolutely no chance you'll change my mind. I pretty much know what I believe and nothing in this area will sway me much.

2) Literature: I AM a complete literary snob. I don't read mass media (no Grisham, Peterson, etc...)--I consider that stuff complete crap. I only read what is considered "literature", those books we have to read in high school and stuff.

Yes, I did read Moby Dick (and yes, it was tedious) because it is considered a "classic" piece of literature--and it is. For those who know, no, I have yet to get into the "Russians".

But to give an idea, here are some of the writers I read:
Graham Greene
W. Somerset Maughm
Walker Percy
Graham Swift
Madison Smart Bell
Richard Russo
Kurt Vonnegut
Joseph Heller
Michael Ondaatje
John Fowles
Thomas Wolfe
Joseph Conrad
Philip Roth
Ted Mooney
Steve Erickson

Or take a look here, this summarizes the kind of stuff I'd read (uh, the Board's list not the Readers' list---I said I was a snob).

Oh, yeah...I also can NOT stand Budweiser or Coors....so I guess I'm a bit of a beer snob as well....

On Being a Smart Ass (And just a little note to my Southern bretheren)

My 9 yr old son can be quite the smart ass. Everyone in my family, but my mother, is a smart ass, so I guess we all received the smart ass gene from my father. Of course, there appears to be a plethora of smart asses in the Northeast. I worked with many over the years there. Perhaps smart ass-ism is more of a regional phenomenon, I'm not sure.

Yes, there are smart asses down here in the South as well, but not nearly in the large herds as up in the NE.

Now, let's segment smart ass-ism (this is the part for my Southern friends): there's Wise Ass-ism and Ball Busting.

Wise Ass: If I'm being a wise ass it's because I don't like someone or something.

Ball Busting: If I'm busting balls (or, not to be sexist--also known as "busting chops", "busting your hump", and some others) it's because I like someone.

The South (and Midwest) are known for being friendlier, but what I have noticed about the South in general (note: yes, I'm painting with a wide brush, this does not apply to everyone but overall I think it true) is that, while friendlier, they are also much more thin-skinned. It's generally harder for them to tell the difference between Wise Ass-ism and Ball Busting.

So, my Southern friends, here is the key: when we say something smart ass you can tell if it's Ball Busting if we're laughing. If we're not, we're being Wise Asses.

And to be perfectly clear on this, Busting Balls is an art form and requires, to do it well, great creativity. Thus, if we take the time and effort to "bust your balls", it's because we like you--we don't waste our energy or creative juices on people we don't like.

Thank you

School (or Glory Days)

High school is big down here in the south (high school football bigger than that). I think it is bigger in most areas of the country than in the Northeast, though I think I may not be a good one to judge that.

Was high school a big deal to you?

Perhaps I underestimate it's influence but here's how I see high school as I reflect back on it:
First, as my previous post states, my memory isn't all that and high school doesn't seem to enter my mind very much.
Second, my mind drifts back to elementary school and seems to me to have been a bigger influence on me than high school.
Third, college was more important to me than high school.

As for reunions, I'd certainly like to attend them more than I have, but being out of state limits my availability, however, lots of times, some of the people you want to see don't attend. And of your fellow classmates, those that you haven't continued friendships with into adulthood, we really don't know each other at all, do we?

But why does elementary school have such a pull on me? For a number of years in my thirties (perhaps the aging process?) I was even fixated on those years. So much so, that I thought about going back to my old school and obtaining a print that sits on the wall from when I was in second grade donated by a family of a classmate who died along with her parents in a plan crash that year. I did go back and visit the school to look at the print, though no one there knew anything about its history (which is why I thought of obtaining it, at least it had some meaning to me if not anyone currently or attending in the future).

Director Michael Apted (Thunderheart, The World is Not Enough and the forth coming third installment of the Narnia series) created the documentary Up series where he interviewed 14 seven year olds and has followed up with them every 7 years since 1964. "The premise of the film was taken from the Jesuit motto "Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man," which is based on a quotation by Francis Xavier."

Perhaps this is why I seem to get fixated on the elementary years. Perhaps these are really the years that forge who we are. And as previously mentioned, I can recall more from those years than from high school.

I went to Mount View Road Elementary School in Morris Plains, NJ (I lived in Cedar Knolls and based on location was able to walk to school) from 1970 to 1976. We buried a time capsule under a new tree planted in the parking lot--if I recall correctly, I was the second to last person to sign it, I think John C. was the last, but I could be wrong.

In second grade, Karen D. was my "girlfriend" (you know how that goes)--Paul D. would make fun of her and I'd chase him around in her gallant defense. I remember she moved after that year across town and attended a new school--I recall being crushed.

Paula S. would chase Steven S. through the swing sets trying to kiss him. I got my ass kicked by Jeff G. who was a couple of years older than me (I psuedo "dated" his sister Susie in 4th grade).

Mrs. Hamilton pulled my hair backstage during a play once for talking too loud, in second grade. Karen Jo W. moved to the area and during a talent show one year she sang "Over the Rainbow" in a most beautiful voice (she's one I'd like to see at a HS reunion). Frank S. and I played a clarinet duo that same talent show. Doug S. broke his leg one year and couldn't walk around the school during the Halloween parade. In third grade I had a huge crush on Patty W. who started school with her sister Lauren--the same year Vin P. started school and for some reason he and I didn't hit it off, I think I was jealous of him for some reason.

My good friends those years: Tommy H. (whose oldest brother died in a car crash years later-he was a great guy too), Rob D., Rob M, Kevin M., Frank S. (who died in a car crash during high school), Paul D, Paul L. and Pete C. (who were a year older), Denise T. who is my oldest, continuous friend (we've known each other since Kindergarten).

In those days, Mount View was also open during the summer-the true "summer school" which was strictly for recreation. We'd spend nearly every day playing softball, all of us along with Chris C., Billy C., Ed M., Rick L., Ted C., Greg D. and others. And we'd curse like sailors, F'in everything. It was marvelous. And we'd leave in the morning and come home at night without our parents wondering where we were or worrying if anything happened to us.

Yet, if I try, I can't really pull the same level memories of high school...those years seem so inconsequential, as if they never happened. (Though I do recall a bunch of us staring at Marisa C.'s ass-she was a grade below us-one day through the glass door and pointing this out the Mr. Shoe--and a fine ass it was.)

Even my dreams, on occasion, will pull in these elementary year friends and fellow students more than from the high school years.

So, while the media makes HS seem so important and my impression is that to the rest of the country HS is important, is it the same for us from the Northeast or is it just me who doesn't seem to think so?

PS
All this reflecting and confessing makes me think of one other thing I'll throw in as a confession: during middle school (6th grade) thru HS, I always had, to one degree or another, a crush on Christine F.--to the point where I always thought it would be cool to make love to her in the grass on a warm summer day when it would do that really light warm misty shower even though the sky was really black.

TMI, I know...sorry....

Past, Present and Future (memory)

Some people live for tomorrow. Some live in the past. Some live here and now. This is mostly about memory but there are a few tie-ins around school that I'll write in another post.

I don't know how most people's memories work. There's a biological aspect to how our brains processes memories and, I think, where our tendency to "live" (past, present, future) comes from. Whether there is an inherent gene or if the brain synapses are formed this way due to the environment, I don't know, but this is beyond the scope of this entry.

I have found myself forever stuck in the present. My mind does not naturally plan or look into the future (though I have been guilty of procrastinating parts of my life under the guise that things will be "better tomorrow"). When my mind drifts back, it tends to go to the elementary years not the high school years (see future school entry).

When a memory enters my mind I can't seem to bring a visual of it only the idea of the memory. Even memories from several months ago fall victim to this "failure to load". The consequence of this is that past events seem like they never really happened. If we were to use the analogy of water under the bridge, my memory is the water which has swept out to sea and left me on the bridge seemingly gone for good. Which means days like when I got married, the birth of my son, all seem so vague and far away, as if they belong to someone else.

My memory is more like bytes on a hard drive than a file cabinet full of pictures and movies. As if I can only recall in text not images.

It's the difference between this:



And this:
"It's night, there's a big fountain with tall buildings in the background."

I would like to recall in images not in text but it appears my entire thought process only works in text. Which is odd because I don't dream in text, I dream in very vivid color images with Dolby Surround Sound. Of course, then it all just becomes text as I try to capture the images and feelings in a journal when I wake up.

All this makes Visualization very difficult.

On top of all this, I can't really seem to recall anything. I'm not forgetful, I don't have a "bad memory" (though, the older I get...). I mean, I know my son was born, I know I was there, I recall the incident but...My family will talk about things that happened when we were kids and I'll have no recollection, as if the memory has been wiped, or never happened. Or wasn't important enough to register, yet we all know that everything, even things we don't consciously notice, get filed in our brain. So, it's more like the bytes on the hard drive have become corrupt and cannot be accessed or the "ties", the "line" to the memory has been severed or withered and died.

It's all very odd and in the end leaves me with the here and now. But, of course, isn't that all we really have?

2008: Goodbye

Paul Newman, Roy Scheider, Arthur C. Clarke, Richard Widmark, Charlton Heston, Sydney Pollack, Bo Diddley, Jim McKay, Tim Russert, George Carlin, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Isaac Hayes, "Killer" Kowalski, Richard Wright, Brad Delp, Levi Stubbs, Studs Terkel, Bettie Page, Harold Pinter, Eartha Kitt, Delaney Bramlett, Danny Federici...and so many, many more....

A Life Philosophy

In the end, we are all just trying to figure out what our lives mean. From the kindest, gentlest soul to the shallowest person to the meanest son of a bitch; we're all just trying to make sense of life before we die.

There are many philosophies, psychologies and religions to go by--(the three fields being related). How to make sense and decide which to follow, which gives us our own peace of mind. Because in the end, it's all about peace of mind. Can I really be sure of anything outside of my belief in it?

I've spent a lot of time thinking about it--too much time, I'm sure. It's like a giant jigsaw puzzle, but you don't have all the pieces and you don't know what the picture is--you're trying to figure it out by seeing what pieces fit together. You find some pieces in psychology, some in religion, some in sociology, some in philosophy, some in sports, some in science, some in everyday life. You try to put them together; some fit, some don't and sometimes you find later that pieces you thought fit, don't really but you never get enough pieces to see the whole picture.

For some, it's easy: all your answers are in the Bible (or Koran or Talmud, etc...). For others, it's not.

And while I won't stop trying to put the pieces together, I've boiled it down to one simple outlook: I'll be dead.

I want this one simple truth to be my guiding light throughout the rest of my years but have not yet been able to fully live by it. A simple truth hard to implement.

I'm 44 years old, I'll die at some point during the next 44 years (most likely) and for a number of these years I'll be as helpless as when I was a kid. So, life, why...or why not?