Sometimes the Answer is Right In Front of You

One of my seventh graders with an inquiring mind ("Inquiring minds want to know!") today asked me what my theme song is. My first reaction was...yep, you guessed it, fear. So much of the music I enjoy is either on the inappropriate-for-seventh-graders side, or too-obscure-for-them-to-care side, or the over-their-heads-side (hey, three sides: that's a triangle!) that I struggled for a while. The answer I gave was unsatisfactory, and only led to more questioning. I should have known better. I made the mistake of telling them it wasn't really appropriate. Well didn't their twisted little minds start churning: "Is it 'Bad Touch'?" "NO! Does your mother even know you guys listen to that?", I asked, blushing. "Heh, heh, heh!", they evilly chuckle, answering that question. When they asked me the question, my original response was far more benign. I thought "Satan is My Motor", by CAKE. But it's really not that. I like to think of myself as evil sometimes, but it's an act I have a hard time pulling off. I'm much more mischievous than evil.

My other immediate thought was "Pirate", by Too Much Joy:

I've got a beard/I've got a gold hoop in my ear
It's time to rape and pillage/and break the windows in this village
Everyone thinks he's crazy (everyone is right)
Everyone should sleep WITH EVERYONE TONIGHT, Who-o-oah!
I'm just sittin' here, waitin' for a tra-a-ain (ooh, ooh)
Tomorrow I'll be waitin' here again (ah-ha)
Well, the pirate in me/is lo-o-ost
Somewhere at sea
Oooooh, ba da da-da da
Somewhere at sea
Oooooh, ba da da-da da

Now TMJ is my official band, the band of which I feel I must be a long lost member. I am still planning a Too Much Joy blog in the not too distant future (I think it might be called "Ode to Joy") and there are numerous TMJ songs that could make my list, but "Pirate" is a little too, IDK, immature for me at this advanced stage of my life. That was me at 22, which is exactly what I love about TMJ. They are me at different times of my life. More in the "Ode to Joy" post to come.

Then I started to think like a major league closer: Papelbon with "Shipping Up to Boston", Trevor Hoffman's "Hell's Bells", Eric Gagne's "What Have You Done for Me Lately" (not really). If I were a major league closer, my entry music would have to be Kenny Rogers' "Long Arm of the Law" just for the irony. All these closers try to be so tough with their personal music. Imagine a guy coming in to a well timed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips". The batter would be laughing so hard he couldn't even see the ball. Kind of like all those pitchers with the picture of Jason Giambi in a gold lame tiger print thong indelibly etched in their psyche--how could you possibly pitch to him? (For those of you who missed it, Giambi recently revealed that is the finery he wears when he needs to break out of a slump. Even more disturbingly, he also reported that numerous teammates have worn the thing to break out of slumps. I have a bunch of punchlines I can't even bring myself to type.)

Really, the question plagued me for quite some time; even up until I began to write this entry. Then it dawned on me: three months ago when I started this blog, I think I had it all right: "There's Always Someone Cooler Than You", by Ben Folds. It's on my lastfm.com playlist to the right:

Smile
Like you've got nothing to prove
No matter what you might do
There's always someone out there cooler than you

Think about it and get back to me if you can find anything you think is more appropriate, because I just can't. And feel free to send me your thoughts on your own theme songs. It's been kind of a fun exercise.

Power of Ten

Okay, I'll play.

Ten years ago I was a new dad, toting our little butterball around, watching Blues Clues and Sesame Street, sleeping very little, and amazed at the growth rate of the human mind.

Ten months ago it was July, sweet July. We visited Rach's brother in Chicago for a couple of days. We love to travel, which is not going to work so well with these high fuel prices.

Ten weeks ago I, too, was celebrating the end of Rach's cheering season and looking forward to the coming track season. She joined us as the second assistant track coach this year, and as far as I know, neither one of us has wanted to kill the other one yet.

Ten days ago was a Friday, May 9th. I still had a student teacher then, but it was a Free Form Friday so I was teaching. Free Form is when my students get to work on projects of their own choice--anything as long as it can be fit under the umbrella of science. Some of the most fun we have is figuring out how to make a kid's love for skateboarding into a science project. It's really pretty easy. Though having a student teacher was great, I missed teaching my kids and I was unwilling to give up my Free Form Fridays.

Ten hours ago it was 11 am and I was finishing up my lesson right before lunch. We've been discussing comets in preparation for our trip to the Challenger Learning Center coming up this Friday. It's always a great experience, with kids doing more than they thought they were capable of doing, under the watchful eye of some very dedicated and passionate educators. It's a trip we will keep making as long as the money is there, even though it is a stressful lead-up.

Ten minutes ago Jason Varitek hit an absolute bomb to right field. Approximately ten minutes ago I realized it was the sixth inning and there is still a "0" in the middle column of the Royals' box score. Dare I hope for Jon Lester?

Ten seconds ago Jon Lester struck out the last batter of the seventh inning, with still a "0" in the middle column of the Royals' box score. I love how baseball is such a superstitious sport.

Ten seconds from now the Red Sox will come to bat in the bottom of the seventh. They already lead 7-0, and I hope they don't hit too much more because it might ruin Lester's chance to add to history.

Ten minutes from now I might be on the edge of my seat, hoping for Lester to make history. He's been such a tease up until now, but he's beginning to show signs of living up to his potential.*

Ten hours from now I'll be getting up for another day of teaching, sipping my first cup of coffee (Jim's Organic French Roast bought online: $50/5 lbs. if you buy in bulk makes it the same price as Green Mountain...not cheap, but worth every penny).

Ten days from now will be the eve of the MVC track meet. Rach and I will be in charge of the team, while Donna is at the rehearsal dinner for her older son's wedding. I have no idea how our team will do, but I am pretty sure that my earlier forecasts of our boys being a top 3 team were wildly optimistic. Some of our more gifted newcomers didn't really pan out, and health issues have bitten us. Whatever happens, it will be a learning experience. I find track offers more opportunities for young athletes to find out about themselves and their capabilities than other sports.

Ten weeks from now will be July again: sweet July. The garden will be starting to provide the first zucchini, and the garlic will be harvested and drying. With luck there will be other farmers in the area willing to trade their wares for my garlic. It's fun to show up to the farmers' markets with my garlic and have other farmers salivate...it's really the only crop I've figured out how to do well.

Ten months from now, as SJ has so heartlessly reminded me, will be March again. We'll be in the throes of MEA testing, and nervously trying to figure out what will happen the next fall, when our school districts merge. I am not looking forward to this.

Ten years from now I will be fifty, and I hope I will look back on this night as the night I blogged during a night that turned out to be one of Jon Lester's career highlights.



*It is now a bit more than ten minutes later. Jon Lester completed his no-hitter, and I feel somehow like I was a part of it. Isn't that kind of pathetic?

&%$*ing Forty

One caveat: the language in the video I've linked in the title of this post is somewhat strong. When there are kids present, John sings it as "Truckin' Forty". It definitely loses something in translation.

I've been trying to rationalize why I haven't blogged since April 29th, coincidentally the day before my 40th birthday. There were all sorts of plans along the way: I was tempted to blog about the "Wizard of Oz" presentation put on by the middle school recently (working title: "Oh My"...);and on May 4th I was tempted to blog about my favorite band of all time, Too Much Joy (start with their Wikipedia page and if you aren't charmed by the tales of being sued by Bozo the Clown or arrested in Florida for performing 2Live Crew's "As Nasty as They Wanna Be" you have no sense of humor) because it was the first anniversary of their lone reunion concert. Yeah, it's a little bit of thin solace to grasp onto...

I was also considering writing a post composed entirely of run-on sentences, but then realized that happens EVERY time.

But it really has become apparent that I was just waiting until I was ready to blog about being forty. It's kind of funny, because I've never been that hung up on chronological age. Or at least I thought I wasn't. My sideburns started going gray about ten years ago, so that didn't exactly sneak up on me. I haven't had any inexplicable urge to purchase a hot sports car. This is as close to that as I've come, and my reasoning is that if I'm ever going to ride across country it would be best not to have a seat shaped like a 2x4 wedged into uncomfortable places.

I did, however, look in the mirror about a week before my birthday and notice some wrinkles I'd never noticed. There are a couple by the corners of my eyes, crow's feet, and a new one around my mouth. Happily, they all seem to be smile-related. That's always been my consolation about my wrinkles: they are in all the areas that come from smiling, so I figure things must be good.

These new wrinkles made me think about people who rely on their youth and vigor for their livelihoods: news came out at about the same time I was discovering the new lines on my face, of Scarlett Johansson, who lost a role to Emma Watson because, at the age of 23, she was "too old". There is something wrong with that. I am thankful for being in a professional position where forty is not "old", and it's not "green". It's an age that commands some respect, even when I might not have earned it, yet I'm not so old that I have to worry about buying Depends just yet.

There are still plenty of professional athletes older than I am (though it's becoming abundantly clear that many of them are extending their youths artificially). And if you listen to the song linked in the title of this post, you'll realize that 40 is a relatively young rock star. And then there's the line:
"I guess I'm f-ing forty, but I'm better off than some--
I might be f-ing forty, but you're f-ing forty-one!"

Anyone wanna start a band?