One Week Ago ...

Last Friday was my dad's retirement party, during which 200 people I haven't seen all together at once in probably 30 years all descended on me at once (and of course, on my sister and my dad).




Here is the speech I gave, because I realize I need to write more, and this is the only thing I've written recently:





I have processed that my dad is retiring, but I’m still not 100% convinced that he will actually go through with it. The thought of him being able to stop teaching – even when forced – is actually kind of laughable.



My dad has been teaching my sister and I for well over 30 years now. Being that my parents were both teachers, both of them always pushed us to be curious about the world, explore it and learn …whenever we did anything. As a result of this, certainly, almost nothing in my life has ever been without meaning or an opportunity to learn something valuable – not only when I lived in their house with them, but also as I’ve gone out into the world. However, don’t think this has always been an inspired and inspiring process. Having a dad this dedicated to teaching – who makes sure others always (and I mean always) learn something – can be fairly …to put it kindly, “challenging.”



If you lived in my house growing up, there was no such thing as a simple question or a simple answer. You had to learn how to get answers to your questions yourself, often with detailed demonstrations and lots of additional questions. I definitely blame my work ethic and the ridiculously long emails I now send to my friends and the people I work with on this. He created teaching opportunities everywhere he went. If we wanted pizza delivered for dinner, we had to have the experience of ordering it ourselves (and put up with some gentle yet persistent coaching while we were on the phone). If you wanted to learn how to use his new computer, you could expect a fair amount of hovering and for him to provide you almost frustratingly detailed instructions about how to press the power button. I also still remember spending hours (or what felt like hours) packing the car for family vacations or when we went away to college each year. If things didn’t fit in right, or if the rest of us were not as delighted by the process of learning how to put together the delicate puzzle of suitcases, etc. as he was, he had no problem totally unpacking everything and doing it again. He was always on a quest to find a better, but more importantly, more enjoyable way to do everything.



Because he wants everyone around him to be well informed yet always inquisitive, whenever you talk to him, you can expect to see things in ways you never saw them before. Just last night, my sister and I were going to use the car to run an errand, and the detail with which he explained the apparently “special” and sensitive process of putting the key in the ignition, adjusting the mirrors, turning on the lights, adjusting the seat (and thousands of other minute car-related details) almost made us question if we’d been driving cars the wrong way for the past 20 years.



I always knew my dad was a teacher, through and through, it wasn’t weird at all having him as a teacher at HF. First of all, thankfully, all his students have always liked him, so I never had to apologize for him. I’m not implying he didn’t occasionally do “embarrassing dad things,” usually involving intricate puns, on class trips, at concerts or in the classroom. I went on three orchestra tours with him. And even when my entire family of four was present (when my sister and I were chaperones on the Spain trip and my mom also went along), he never made it feel like an awkward family trip with 80 other people along for the ride. For the most part, he was pretty well-behaved at school and fair to a fault. And even his quirks only encouraged people to celebrate their own quirks more.



Yes, you’ll be able to get him out of the physical HF building (and probably not even have to use excessive force), but likely all of us will have to continue to deal with his habit of teaching.



So, here’s to my dad. I question that you are really retiring, but congratulations anyway!

Whoops, I Didn't Again

That would be, updating. I had a pretty rough week workwise last week (and "rough" is a good thing, because it means I am actually getting work again), and I am just now coming back into some sort of light of inspiration. After J. critiqued one of my humorous essays last night (which made its way onto this blog last year), I have been feeling like I need to return to writing some sassy movie reviews and warming up my chops again to write something big. I could just go in and hack away at novels, but I think I need to be realistic and at least warm up my muscle on some reading and lighter writing first.

We'll see.

In other news, things are sort of frustrating me right now. I'm trying to exercise some extreme-sport patience. 

lyrics

It's funny how sometimes what you thought were simple, throwaway lyrics when you were writing them become some of the ones that stick with you. My favorite verse/chorus combo of my latest song "Make Up Your Mind." (And I didn't even realize I was writing these for someone really, really specific until I revisited this particular section of the song on Monday night in rehearsal):

You keep me bedside

Guilty midnight reading

Waiting for the landslide

Of unbound feeling

When love speaks deep between your sheets

I’m already far away and fast asleep

(I'm incredibly glad he's back.)

(I'm also glad my songwriting abilities are starting to return. Oh, sweet, cliched love inspiration.)

Xanadu

I hadn't even seen the video for this song, and my first thought when this song (which I hadn't heard in a while) came up on Spotify was that someone needs to tell Goldfrapp that Xanadu wasn't really very cute (at best, it was laughable and drinking-game worthy):



If you have nothing new to say about the '80s, you probably shouldn't say it at all.

before a full week passes ...

I want to commit something to the page.

I've been losing motivation lately in all areas of life, save the area in which I discuss sit-coms from the '80s and actors who appeared in Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes.And of course, this soul paralysis always occurs when I need to get by act together the most and make some money.

I'm pretty tired of writing about the struggles of writing and inspiration. And you'd think this frustration would be enough to motivate me to do everything in my power to change what is lacking.

regrettably ...

While I make zero place in my life for regret or dwelling on what I perceive as the "good old days" (meaning, all unique experiences past, which were probably not as unique and magnificent in reality as I remember), there are some moments when I stop to think about all the things I will never again experience, and it is fairly depressing.

There are better things ahead (or at least that's what we all have to hope to continue on any semblance of an enjoyable path), but waxing philosophical on the previous thought is at the very least humbling.

make up your mind

The Title of this entry is also the title of the new song I just wrote. And funnily enough, while the song was really about an old situation that came back into my life briefly recently, upon seeing another old "situation" that I used to song-write about all the time (and who was the inspiration for Mister Badger in the first place) posting on Facebook about yet another career change ("No, really -- this time I've discovered my true calling. I am not meant to do [insert whatever I am currently doing for work here]."), I realized people who can't make up their minds -- about ANYTHING -- are a recurring theme in my life.

That's about it. It wasn't an epiphany, but it brought back all the frustration. Honestly, at least the people I've known who are floundering non-grown-ups have committed to being floundering non-grown-ups. I can somehow respect that a lot more. And, I never question what I'm getting.