Somewhere between the Brazos & Bosque

Life's not fair and neither is death

2012-08-19T15:54:00.002-07:00

A high school classmate died today. And at my age, that's an unusual thing. It's not that our Class of '88 has been immune to death. No, it's actually seen more than its fair share it would seem, at least in our first couple decades of life. I can list several whom we've lost before we were 25: Marcus, Theron, Art, Angie, Ron, Kevin, Wesley, Dane, Leslie. There were vehicular accidents, cystic fibrosis, suicide, and more I'm sure. What's unsettling about this one is that it's the first I know of since we've entered the Facebook era. When we were still in school or freshly graduated, we all had ties to the community where we grew up so we at usually got word rapidly in that small town way of news traveling fast. In the intervening years, many of us ended up further from home, fewer connections to the hometown and when someone passed, the ripples of that stone hitting the water didn't seem to travel as far. And so it has seemed relatively calm on the death front for several years. Enter the Facebook era. I certainly enjoy it because you can keep up with what's going on with your classmates whom you otherwise would only hear about at 10-year intervals if you were lucky. It also brings the sobering news of things like personal tragedies, illnesses and death. One classmate earlier this year I learned had undergone heart bypass surgery. That he was my age was unsettling in its own right. What was more shocking was that from photos I'd seen, there was no way he was less healthy than me. Sure, there was a classmate who had been battling cancer for about three years. But it was cervical cancer and she had survived the initial onset pretty successfully. So between my not having a cervix and her relative success to date, it did not affect me like the bypass did. It was disheartening to learn that Amy, the classmate fighting cancer, had experienced another wave of the cancer. She reported it matter-of-factly as she'd have to go for CT scans and all manner of testing. Her close friends, whom she'd known since grade school, had coined a phrase for her battle. It was Kick Cancer's Ass! KCA for short. And Amy did just that. She did everything she could. I had classes with Amy. We didn't run in the same circles. She was part of a big group of girls who had grown up in our town, played in the band, went to church and, bluntly, they never had any more time for me than I had for them. I was a guy who wanted to be everything heavy metal in life and they certainly did not. Amy and her friends were just normal, straight up people who went about their lives. We just were different kind of people with some similar circumstances as to where we lived and went to school. That said, I can't remember Amy being anything other than just a decent person. She carried herself the way I would hope anyone would want their daughter to live - with a smile and surrounded by friends. I know many of those friends and all of them just adored Amy. They would likely sign up and say give me the cancer if they knew it would mean she would be rid of it. That's how close they kept for decades. I have but one friend like that. In the years since I've been Facebook friends with Amy, I've noticed how non-plussed she always seems in her posts about her illness. She was always very positive, determined and simply treating the cancer as a phase that would one day pass. And it did today. She finally shed the body with cancer and went to a place where she'll never feel pain again. And that's a beautiful thing. I can only think of her husband and two daughters who will have to wait to see her again and the pain they must feel. What was most shocking for me was how abrupt the end came for Amy - at least to those of us who only got updates via Facebook. Only a couple weeks ago she was having a drainage tube removed from her lungs and in her own words said she felt like she had "finally turned a corner." The circumstances of her passing I'm neither privy to, nor do I need them. All I can say is that in some ways, it can be a blessing to not have a prolonged struggle that goes on for months or years. An uncle of mine who died of cancer told me shortly after he stopped the experimental treatment he had been getting that he would rather his children know the man they saw die than some shell of who he had been. Amy, as I knew here, lived her life as much as she could and showed her two daughters that fighting doesn't have to be pitiful. She was dutiful in how she took her treatments, dealt with the pain and other effects, and never lost her identity. I know her friends certainly held her up for prayer and that the love she received was never, ever taken for granted. I wasn't close to Amy and never would suggest we were - but I can tell you I prayed for her recovery and kept her in my thoughts frequently. Because I was so impressed with how she faced the challenge and because I knew there was absolutely no way she ever deserved it. No one really ever does. I wear a Livestrong bracelet every day because cancer has affected many people in my life, including Amy. It could have been me, my wife, my sister or my mother. But it wasn't. Yet that didn't let me simply think, that's so sad, and then go along with my life. I wrote to Amy and told her that I truly admired her. I still do. These kinds of things will probably begin to happen more frequently with my peers now that we're getting older and entering new phases in our lives. It will never be easy, nor will it be welcome. We can only face like Amy did - with grace and dignity.

Things work themselves out

2012-01-05T19:41:00.000-08:00

What a difference a couple days make. Well, that and realizing not to eat before working out.

Completed my second workout tonight and the result was so much better than the first. On that regretable night, I had arrived at the gym to find a packed parking lot and the city's most popular radio station doing a live remote. Never mind, I thought, pulling back onto the street and heading home.

I decided I'd go back later when the post-work crowd had subsided. So I went home and enjoyed a nice dinner with the family of leftover chili. I only had one bowl.

That was enough.

I drove back into town and overcame the apprehension and walked myself into that Gold's Gym Express. I went into the locker room and removed my jacket, put on my iPod and walked decisively out into the large open room full of evvery kind of workout apparatus imaginable. I knew I needed to do some cardio. Yet the bikes were positioned in front of the treadmills which were in front of the ellipticals. So rather than become the evening's entertainment, I headed straight for the back row and clambered up onto an elliptical.

Now this wasn't my first muscle machine rodeo. I know what an elliptical is capable of doing to even people who are in shape, much less morbidly obese people like me. But I was going to take it easy.

I tried to turn it on using a Quick Start button but that didn't take. So I hit start and was then cross-examined with a series of questions that included weight, age, gender and probably middle name. One question it asked was how long I wanted to do it. Five minutes seemed pitifully short - so I typed it in. Finally it told me to start.

Immediately, there wasn't as much resistance as I expected. And I don't recall past ellipticals making you feel like you're moon walking. But this one did and eventually I got the rythym and started walking away. It had little poles on the sides like ski poles and a second place to hold on in the middle front. A couple minutes in, I went to grab the middle ones and the machine flashes an alert that I needed to hold the sensors for my heart rate to be measured. Of course there's no normative data, so it gives me a number that really is nothing more than a number to me. Seems kinda high, but isn't that what exercise is all about?

This thing eventually gets harder. But I try not to let up and look like some guy who hasn't been in a gym in over eight years or more. Then it really surprises me and scares the hell out of me. It says my heart rate is too high! That's not exactly the message a person who lives in fear of a heart attack wants to see the first time he tries getting some exercise. I slow down as much as I can.

The rate slowly falls and I try to keep it just under the warning threshold. I though five minutes would never get there.

When I got done, I worked my way around to some machines to work my upper body. I always preferred to do upper body any way. None of the machines was particularly hard - I just tried to get enough reps in to make it matter. But i was winded and continually looking for a drink of water. Hit the water fountain two or three times between machines. Just wasn't catching my stride. I eventually decided - OK, that's enough.

Went into the locker room and immediately sat on the bench to catch my breath and sort of cool off. I immediately became nauseous. It took everything I had to not throw up. Was hot, uncomfortable and almost dizzy. A stranger who came in noticed me looking odd and said, Hey man, you OK?

Told him I wasn't feeling well and just needed to take it easy for a little while. He said, "yeah, you've got to be careful. You're not going to lose it all on first night."

"Yeah," I replied, with what little courtest laughter I could muster, wishing he'd just leave. And he actually did fairly soon.

I must have sat there for 10 or 15 minutes and finally felt good enough to stand. I gathered my stuff and headed for my truck. Called the wife and told her I overdid it.

My second night was tonight. I didn't eat before I went. I did the bicycle instead of the elliptical. And I did even more upper body, and just a little lower body work. I left feeling pretty good. Reminded me of college when I lifted fairly regularly and enjoyed it.

Maybe this will work out after all. What have I got to lose but a hundred pounds or so?

An odd ode to a non-musician

2012-01-04T19:06:00.000-08:00

It's one thing to be an odd person and another thing completely to be an odd person and realize it.

I fall in the latter category and cannot apologize. I can only state that I was just made this way.

This oddness manifests itself in many ways. My interest in music is one. And it's not the types of music that make me odd. I listen to '80s metal and rock, classic country and modern Texas/Americana music. Those are all popular enough. What's weird is how important music is to me.

I've not played an instrument since the flutaphone in the 4th grade. I remember being jealous of my classmates who got to participate in a program that I presume was like Suzuki strings and they got to learn to play the violin. The rest of us just plodded along on our white-and-red flutaphones playing "Hot Cross Buns" over and over.

That was my one and only experience playing music. Missed the window for band after switching schools. For the rest of my life, I've been a consumer of music. And what a consumer I have been.

Somewhere in the bowels of this blog is a list of concerts I can remember attending. And that didn't include in the last four years, when my number of Texas/Americana shows has skyrocketed. Granted, it's been a few different artists at a lot of shows (Bruce Robison, Kelly Willis, Slaid Cleaves, Lost Immigrants have all seen my face multiple times).

I have a lot of music (enough to fill a 60GB iPod) and don't mind buying it. I've actually bought music after getting it free online. I attend concerts and buy merch.

Two minor asides on these topics: 1) one of my friends is befuddled that I would go see someone more than once. He can't understand why after I've seen the artist live would I want to go see them again. For me, every show is unique. They typically play a different mix of songs, the sound is different, the musical arrangement's sometimes different, the venue is different. Can't fully explain it and so I won't. 2) Buying merch is part of the fun of going to a show, but when you're looking for ultra-fat-man sized T-shirts, you can pretty much write it off. There's nothing worse than convincing yourself that 2X will fit and getting home to find out it will fit a 2X teenaged girl.

Music in so many ways affects me. In high school, I used to know a lot of song lyrics. I could come up with a lyric for almost any situation. I once considered trying to find a way to turn that into a career (like choosing songs for specific scenes in movies) but I probably wisely let that dream fly away.

Still, there are songs that I can listen to over and over and over. And I still can't fully explain that. Other people seem less obsessed with music than me. Many simply don't even think about it. So why am I so odd?

Maybe it's because I have such an appreciation for what goes into a good song. Good writing is so important. Most people don't know this but as a writer, I cannot make myself read fiction any more. Somewhere along the line I stopped and haven't been able to go back. And I pretty much think to myself, well anyone can make up fiction. I *could* do it. I just don't. And so I stick to non-fiction. As a journalism major, I have a super-appreciation for the ability to tell the real story.

Yet it is obvious to me as it probably is to readers of this post that songs are typically fictional. And you know what? That doesn't bother me. I think because I see songwriting as another echelon. Whereas anyone can make up a story, a songwriter (usually) has to make it catchy and most importantly, set it to a melody. And then we're back to my lack of musical talent.

I have no musical talent and only the greatest envy of those who do have it. They can make it seem so easy. I'm one of those people who sings along and play air guitar and drums during the same song, shifting between guitar licks and drum paradiddles with no regard for continuity or accuracy.

In the meantime, I have been writing about music. I write feature stories about musicians for a non-profit music series that brings Texas singer-songwriters (and some who don't fit that mold from time to time) to a city I used to live in. And it's very rewarding for me in many ways. I feel like I can actually do what I do best within an industry I love but would never attempt to make money in. Because that's when it stops being fun.

This allows me to hold my own among creative people whom I admire and no one else tells me how to do it. It's pure freedom that I revel in.

And while no one else really gets that part of me aside from my wife, who shares at least a little of my fanaticism, that's OK. I'm just odd like that.

A non-story of too little too late

2012-01-04T18:54:00.000-08:00

So maybe I do believe in writer's block. Or maybe it should be writer's too-lazy-to-go-to-the-trouble, which is kinda what mine's been like. Two years since I wrote here. But a friend's solicitation of blogs to read yielded mine in a private exchange and prompted me to think that I really ought to get back to writing in my blog.

In the last two years, there've been numerous times I've *almost* written something. If Facebook had tolerated longer posts or made its Notes more visible, I might have done it. But I didn't.

I tend to think about writing a lot. I would like to write about that, I often think to myself, usually at a time when I didn't have the time. Then, at times when I do have the time, none of that inspiration is within arm's reach.

One topic I considered today, while waiting for a callback from a utility company, was about how companies that send technicians to your home or even the onese who offer 'customer' service via telephone seldom really care about your time. The preface is that we simply should be available when they are available. My uncle John has some great stories on this topic related to his numerous encounters with the Cuddyback trail camera customer service department.

So I'll mark this spot as the day I got back to writing, and then cop out and not really do anything but freewrite on the subject of getting back to writing. Maybe tomorrow, maybe later tonight, or maybe in 2014....

Kids

2009-01-28T20:18:00.001-08:00

As a writer, I find that I seldom have 'writer's block.' Rather, I tend to encounter subjects that sometimes leave me unable to write about them because I simply cannot do them justice in print.

One such topic that has vexed me is the notion of what joy kids can be. There are some truly incredible moments as a parent that are indescribable. And as a person who's made a living writing, that's a damned humbling experience.

My kids remind me of innocence, promise and the world in front of you. I remember thinking that at times as a kid, I stood out by being smart, different and funny. When my own son starts doing that, it makes me warm and gives me chills. My daughter on the other hand is just such a delightful spirit. She's warm, expressive and brighter than even her brother was. That scares the heck out of me.

One day I hope to really convey those moments when life causes you to pause and really soak in the moment. Until then, I can only say that kids are worth every darn hassle and worry they cause us in life.

Simple pleasures

2008-11-01T22:18:00.000-07:00

Got a two-for-one treat last November when I attended the Austin Family Music Festival with the family (how apropos). Two, yes two, new Bruce Robison CDs.

The first one I expected to get -- "The New World" which had been out about a month or so. I was busy the week it first came out and managed to not get it because apparently the one copy available in Waco was bought early. Multiple trips to multiple music outlets only gave me resolve to eventually find it somewhere in person without having to order it on the Internet. I eventually got it in Austin.

Having heard the new songs previewed on Bruce's website before the release, I wasn't as excited about this one. Based on initial listens, there was only one song I was sure I liked. So there was no rush for either the one song or the mystery of newness that had already been given away.

In this case, first impressions were wrong. There are several songs I'm now very fond of - they just took a few listens to realize it.

The second CD -- and the purchase that was most satisfying -- was a greatest hits compilation called "His Greatest" which basically includes the songs that basically made him professionally successful and paid a lot of bills. The ones most people who haven't heard of Bruce would have heard of... Wrapped, Desperately, Traveling Soldier, and that one that probably was his biggest ... Angry All the Time.

What makes "His Greatest" very special is that the songs are recorded fresh for this CD -- and the arrangments are mostly new. Gives them all at least a slightly different sound than either Bruce's own previous recordings of these songs or those of other artists. The result is way different.

Bruce described them in a brief conversation I had with him after his Austin show that day as having "more of a live sound" and that's certainly true. One of the most noticeable differences here than on his own original recordings is that his own vocals are quite natural. In some ways, it's much more honest, like seeing him live. On the other hand, it sometimes contrasts greatly with the album versions of the same songs and makes you long for the Bruce you hear there.

Maybe it's his aging voice or, more likely, just an indifference to the notion that he's supposed to be a singer when songwriting is really what comes first. But where the vocals may disappoint some, what I'm stricken by are some of the lavish acoustic intros on songs like "My Brother and Me" and "Rayne, Louisiana" that make you think this is a musician's delight. Other songs just feel like jam sessions.

I read that "His Greatest" isn't technically supposed to release until after the first of the year. All the more special it seems for this fan who finally got to see Bruce after a several month hiatus due to personal schedules and budget.

Returning to "The New World" -- I've got to say that it really has gotten better with each listen.

Favorite song was originally "She Don't Care" -- a great heartbreak song that I'd heard Bruce sing on several occasions. Apparently Garth Brooks recorded the song and placed it in obscurity on one of his boxed sets available only at Wal-Mart. Yet, trying to determine which set that was without buying them was nearly impossible as the sets at my Wal-Mart didn't include song lists on the outer covers. It's a catchy, banjo-laced song. I've come to love the banjo.

"The New World" is said to be a mix of American music styles. OK. I'll leave that to the music people. As an uneducated fan, it's quite different from some of Bruce's previous work. But the songwriting remains an obvious strength.

My favorite is "California '85" which has some of the most clever lines I've heard in a while. A particularly rich verse includes "It's not the fall that breaks your heart so it won't mend; but it's the quick stop at the end."

The gender-crossing "Bad Girl Blues," which we had the treat of hearing prior to the album's release earlier this year is an excellent song, though the slow, bluesy pace requires patience. Conjures the spirit of a smoky lounge and Bruce's knack for writing in the female voice is so good it's bad (weak pun intended).

"Larosse" has gotten a lot of buzz from other listeners who've written about it on the web. It's well done, but just not a song that I will skip over others to hear. Nice subtext as a man tries to sell his trusty horse after many hard years together.

"Only" brings the banjo back in and harkens to some of Jerry Reed's hits with a story unfolding in a song. An ode to the singer's newest "only one" -- it's infectious. Then again, another song perhaps about the same girl is "The New One" which is a little different style. Little more traditional Bruce style of future country pop hit. Catchy lyrics and hooks throughout - this one could be a George Strait song in the future.

Last of the songs I'm really fond of is "Hanging on Hopeless" which has a very desolate feel, like the subject matter, accentuated with a nice hang-dog steel guitar and acoustic guitar.

Other songs include the opening "The Hammer" a stomp, I've read, and decent enough. Sounds kinda like "Sanford & Son" theme song mixed with a dash of southern funk. It's smooth but Bruce's vocals don't mesh with this one like perhaps another singer might.

"Echo" got a lot of discussion because Bruce noted in interviews how he was intrigued that both Buddy Holly and Bob Dylan had girlfriends by that name. It's nice and has very lavish accomaniment throughout. He imagines what a girl named Echo might be like.

"Twistin" is my least favorite on the album. Harkens back to the 50s era when "The Twist" was popular. Just seems a little hackneyed in the approach and the name is a little too derivative. The style is fun, almost rockabilly, but more miss than hit to me.

All that said, "The New World" is rock solid. "His Greatest" is an incredible collection and worth it just for the new arrangements. One of his better designed album covers, too, with some excellent photography. Quite a contrast to the whimsical cover of "New World" which puts a cartoon illustration of Bruce's head amidst several cartoon Earths. Like Bruce, never figure him to take the safe route.

Taking the Me out of Remember

2008-07-31T21:15:00.000-07:00

Reunion complete. Though the word reunion, in some ways, is a bit strong. It suggests we were together once. And, if there's a lesson I brought home from my 'reunion' it's that I'm not really sure we were ever really together.

Did we all graduate? Well, most of us did. 151 supposedly, based on our class size in 1988. Yet, that's about the only thing that we were all really united on. Not football, not band, not church; nothing.

In the months leading up to my reunion, I started to build up an aversion to going. When pressed by my lovely bride as to why I was pensive about the event, I finally stumbled upon what had been sticking in my craw for some time. I loved my school and hated it at the same time. Moreover, the hate usually won out and I realized I was carrying a big ole chip on my shoulder against LHS.

The reasoning... well, there were several. Boiled down, I think they'd basically fall into two areas: social marginalization and the perception that I'd been passively screwed by the system.

Social marginalization boils down to this: Lindale was never a very welcoming community to me. Cordial, kinda, but not really welcoming. Not outright hateful, either. Just not embracing. It hurt to read some people write in advance of the reunion about the arrival of certain people in a certain year and how all the girls noticed. Funny, I arrived the same year and found that the exact opposite happened. No one really noticed. After high school, I had exactly one good friend I kept in touch with. So going back and seeing all these people was nice. But once it got past "where you live, what do you do, any spouse/kids?" questions, I didn't really know what to say.

That whole subject could be an entire post; hell, an entire blog. Everyone feels socially awkward, except of course the most socially adept. And they were 'popular' -- friends to everyone. I was less a social butterfly and more a social floater who could at least interface with each group but never fit in with any of them. Just the way it was. So going back is odd, because I didn't have a 'group' like so many others seemed to. And that was a little depressing.

Getting wronged by the system was much less a big deal, except for the resentment it's caused in 20 years' time. A couple minor jilts that I've seethed on for years comprise this me vs. them attitude that admittedly is about as 'so what' as one might imagine. One had to do with finding out just before graduation that a class I'd taken in 10th grade had been labeled as remedial. I signed up for it, an office duplicating practices class, because it fit my career of journalism and writing to learn how to use printing presses, etc. I didn't know it was considered remedial and no one bothered to tell me that. As a reward, I got docked 10 points off my gpa for each semester because it was remedial. That little nugget didn't get shared until I asked why my GPA calculation didn't seem to jive. Seems I'd have been much higher than 15th in my class had I not been robbed of 20 points the gross score.

The second systematic wrong was more an act of being disregarded by the system. I visited my high school several years ago - it was actually moved to a new building. But banners hung in the lobby recognizing state-level achievements. There were people and groups who placed at state. I placed 5th in editorial writing at state competition. No banner. They didn't do anything for 5th place the year I graduated -- only 1st thru 3rd. Yet, there were other examples on the wall for people who'd placed 5th or lower as I recall. Add to this the fact that while any kid who played in the band all four years got a letter jacket, I got neither the letter nor the jacket for going to state. They did give me a short little story in the yearbook with a photo. Guess that was my reward.

But with a lot of brooding about these admittedly penny-anny wrongs, I was getting nowhere. It didn't do me any good and I never felt better for having spent the energy being miffed. Why should I care? It wasn't like someone was out to get me and did these things to me.

And then it hit me.

That's what I took home from my reunion. Everyone there was on a different path. Sure, some were much closer together than others. But especially looking at where everyone is today, there's been such diffusion from the original point of departure. We were all unique individuals despite our attempts to prove otherwise via hair, clothes, music or whatever.

I went home from that reunion with a lot of regret. Not for anything done at the reunion, but rather for being so damned self-absorbed in high school (and for about 20 years that followed) to the point that I missed out on getting to know so many other people better. The best friend I have is great -- he's been a better friend to me than I could ever be to anyone. Yet, seeing everyone again, this time without the social stigmas that high school put on almost everyone, was refreshing. I wanted to sit down with everyone and have an hour-long conversation to find out about THEM, what they've done, and how they've managed to survive. But I basically didn't. Because I just didn't know where to begin.

I'm really a joker. It's a coping mechanism. Deep down, I'm very introverted. The sarcasm and funny business is there to mask my discomfort. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. But maybe, in five years, if we have another reunion, I'll get a do-over. I can walk in without the baggage, shake some hands, hug some necks and pick up wherever we need to in order to get to know each other. Maybe they'll be a little more welcoming this time around.

Putting the I in Reunion

2008-05-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

There's a lot to be said about high school reunions. Unfortunately, little has NOT been said before.

So for once, I'll be brief.

I'm going to my 20th reunion. Don't know what will happen. Not sure whom I'll see. Not sure what I'll say. Deep down, I'll still resent the hell out of a lot of people and, at the same time, wish I could go right back to being in the 12th grade again if only for a few days.

Life's complicated and so am I.

Back to the beginning

2008-02-25T19:35:00.001-08:00

My latest Bruce Robison purchase is the oldest I could find. It's his first CD, a now somewhat rare independently produced album that was Bruce's first commercial album.

On Amazon.com, there are a couple places selling this disc for about $75. I got this one for about $11 on eBay with shipping. Deal!

The CD contains several songs that appeared on his later work: "Travelling Soldier," "Red Letter Day," a song his wife Kelly put on an album "Not Forgotten You" and the life-changing "Angry All the Time." Each of these are less produced than the later versions, but add a whole new dimension to how I listen to the songs. On "Red Letter Day," for example, there's a sax where I've never heard a sax. "Angry All the Time" has some different guitar work (bridge, maybe? I don't know nothing 'bout makin no music..)

But even better are the songs I hadn't previously heard.

Some gems. "Torn and Tangled" is probably my favorite, the title's slick and the slow, bluesy tempo is groovy. "Take It All Out on You" is another faster tempo ditty that has nice hooks and, oddly, was co-written with his wife's ex-husband. Kelly recorded it when she was working for MCA, and in a concert, she joked that it makes her a legitimate country singer to be performing a song written by her husband and ex. "House of Man" has a traditional feel and features some great guitar, maybe dobro work. For a song about the real meaning of life, it's simple but rich.

If you come across this one, snatch it up.

Bruce Robison delivers Valentine

2008-02-17T17:46:00.000-08:00

For at least a couple years, I've been haranguing musician Bruce Robison to play the song "Valentine" from his Country Sunshine album. It's a personal favorite that is one of the few of his songs I have not heard him play.

In December, my wife and I traveled to Waxahachie, Texas for a Holiday Show that Bruce and wife, Kelly Willis, did as part of a mini-tour centered around their Christmas album, "Happy Holidays." That whole experience deserves its own entry, but in absence of such, let's just say it was a fantastic experience in that it was a very small, old theater and that we went home with some unique Bruce, Kelly, and even Lunchmeat stories. Having now seen Bruce probably at least a dozen times, it had been our favorite show ever -- until Saturday night.

We decided to travel to the Central Texas getaway town of Wimberley for a short Valentine's trip because we learned he'd be playing a small place called the Cypress Creek Cafe. After buying tickets in advance, we learned it was billed as a small "intimate" show, guaranteed to sell out and a rare solo acoustic performance by Bruce. Well, alright, we thought because that's how we'd been hooked by the star, seeing him perform at the inaugural Kenneth Threadgill Concert Series performance in Greenville, Texas. Bruce opened for Guy Clark and performed on the large auditorium stage with himself, his guitar and a spotlight. Gotta say we were more impressed with Bruce than we were Guy.

So when special occasions come around, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, we look for excuses to see Bruce. If Kelly's with him, that's a bonus. She's a star in her own right -- some would say maybe more recognizable -- but he's probably had more measurable success in writing at least four number one country songs performed by other people. The secret is that every one of them he recorded first, and, are better than the Nashvillians.

So as we made it to Wimberley and prepared for the evening, I even discussed with my bride the distinctions of being a groupie and a stalker. A groupie, I noted, doesn't show up at your house. The fact that I know the neighborhood where Bruce and Kelly live, she said, makes me borderline stalker and suggested the Robisons may elect to get a restraining order. At least I'm not cruising by their house, hoping to see them. I go to the shows, I told her. Just because news stories about them mention where they live, that's not my fault. I just find it interesting.

So not less than an hour after this conversation, we're sitting in a booth at the Cypress Creek Cafe finishing our dinner and this trio of guys sits down at a table right next to us. There, almost within arm's reach, is Bruce and two other guys.

Despite the accusation of being a stalker, I left him alone. I didn't shriek, "Bruce! How ya doing?" and I didn't even stare at him. I let him order his dinner and have his conversation, figuring I'd have a chance to see him after his show anyway.

Now when we saw him in Waxahachie, I'd joked with him at a meet-and-greet after the show that one of these days he was going to start recognizing me. He asked me my name and said, "Next time I see you, I'll remember." I told him, but didn't count on it.

So perhaps my giving him his privacy at dinner was also my way of avoiding what I figured would happen. I'd say hi; he'd give me a warm "Hi, how ya doing?" and resume his conversation, not remembering this fat, graying male fan was somehow one of his infrequent groupies. I must state that while I use the term groupie here, I in no way imaginable intend that to be sexually related. I'm just talking about the level of fanaticism.

So we wandered our way into the back of the place where the concert would occur. It was basically a small bar, not unlike that found in a small hotel, but with a small stage and dance floor as large as some medium-sized kitchen in a modest house. The dance floor had about six tables with chairs around them. Our seats were literally at the bar. We had two stools reserved for us, described by the guy who showed everyone to their seats as, the best in the house. Well, almost.

They were up higher than the others because the bar area was elevated about six inches. The better part was that we didn't have to depend on the one or two barmaids to bring us beer when they made it around to us...we could reorder as soon as we finished our drinks. That in itself trumped sitting at the edge of the stage looking up at Bruce as he played. The difference was no more than probably 25 feet.

He didn't play solo. He brought the two guys he dined with: a bass player (the accomplished George Reiff) and drummer (whose name I can't remember) with a snare and cymbal. Minimalist, I suppose. His acoustic guitar plugged right into the sound system, so everyone could hear well. A drummer whom Bruce said had been the session guy on many of his songs did sit in for a couple songs at the end of the evening.

The first set was great. Then came a break. I used that as an opportunity to hit the restroom. On my way back, I saw Bruce near the bar. I decided it seemed kosher enough to give him the name test. "Hey Bruce...." I said and asked if he remembered my name. He said he did and, in that awkward way that indicated he probably didn't, I let him off the hook, telling him my name and reminding him of our conversation in Waxahachie. I then quickly asked, "Any chance of hearing 'Valentine' tonight seeing as how it was just a few days past Valentine's Day. He immediately responded "Yeah, I just practiced that this week" and said he didn't know how good it would be but he'd definitely try to play it. I'd gotten a vague answer in the past that he'd try, or see, when I'd asked at other shows. I even tried getting the request in through intermediaries like his sound man, publicist, etc., but never heard the song played live. But this time, there was something different. He didn't hedge.

So only a few songs into the next set, he introduces a song that he hasn't played in a long time, but that a guy named Lance has requested at show after show, and he's going to give it a try. He then played an incredible acoustic version of the song, which has some difficult transitions, and while even I with no musical training know that it wasn't without some minor lumps, it was everything I could have hoped for. It's a powerful song, with some lyrical devices I really dig, that hammer home the difficulty of parenting and living in an ever-challenging world.

While many in the crowd obviously weren't familiar with the song, I sensed as it went on that they really could appreciate its touching lyrics and even humor at times. He followed quickly with another personal song "My Brother and Me" which is much more widely known and which because of some similarities in our heritage ("you know how them Germans can be") was a perfect way to follow Valentine.

For the rest of the crowd, what made the night special was the guest appearance of Texas legend Ray Wylie Hubbard, who lives in Wimberley and spelled Bruce by performing a couple songs ("Snake Farm" and "Mississippi Flush") for an enthralled audience. That was like a cherry on top of an already made-just-for-me Valentine's treat.

Needless to say, we went home agreeing this was our new favorite Bruce show. They just get better and better every time.

In the vicinity of death experiences

2007-10-16T19:22:00.001-07:00

So a news story caught my attention today because it mentioned a deadly occurrence on a desert highway in California. Such distant troubles usually don't muster my attention, but the mention of a specific location -- Antelope Valley -- caused a double take that had me hitting rewind on the DVR.

Sure enough, a sandstorm caused a series of accidents on a highway near Lancaster, Calif., killing two people and injuring scores. Different way to die, yes, but not why I was interested. Actually, I had driven that stretch of road just a few months ago.

I was on my way to Edwards Air Force Base to see a special airplane. I made the trip at least twice during my visit and marveled at the hot, dry Mojave as I cruised comfortably in my rental car. At that time, a fire raged on a far mountain that had been on the local news. It was known as the "white fire" because of it's smoke but it was the bastard fire even at the time because a series of wildfires in Palm Springs were getting national attention. I took a picture nonetheless, from the same highway where the crash today occurred, only I was not caught in a sandstorm that limited visibility to the point of zero.

There's a relevance in life that revolves around the experiential. I'm sure there's an actual psychological term for it -- I'm just not a pyschologist. But what I mean is the awareness we have of places we've been and things we've done. For example, when you buy a new car, you suddenly see a lot more cars like that on the road. It's not that they weren't there - but you didn't pay attention to them until you had experienced one. Same for places. If you read USA Today, you might notice the state-by-state index of brief stories, usually one from each state. I find myself only reading about the states I've lived in, and then if I'm traveling, the state I happen to be in.

So it's all relevant I suppose. My father, who drove trucks all around the lower 48 and parts of Canada, taught me a lesson about the relevance of matters in the news. When the national news was full of headlines about a major calamity in a far-away state, be it wildfires, flooding, blizzard, the reality of it was usually much more localized than the news coverage would have you believe. I might mention seeing that California was having outrageous wildfires and he'd describe how they were really fairly remote from most of the population and while it was destroying hundreds of thousands of acres, what the news failed to mention was that there wasn't much on those acres to speak of.

I later experienced some of that myself as I'd notice how reports of snowfall in Texas would get overblown on the national news or a flood in one area might make life difficult for part of a city, but the rest of town carried on like nothing ever happened.

So when I heard about the California accident, I thought, wow, that's kinda weird. I've been on that highway, in that location, and can only imagine how it must have been to not be able to see in front of you.

But even weirder, a story about today's event mentioned another crash just a few weeks ago where a major pileup occurred in a tunnel. This story mentioned how the previous crash was southwest of where this one occurred and wasn't that far.

I remembered hearing and seeing that story, which was about a tunnel specifically for truck traffic had a major pileup that claimed several lives. I had heard it was on the major artery between LA and San Francisco and then thought that must have been north of where I'd been. Or so I thought.

Today's story made me go back and look. The other accident actually occurred near an intersection of highways that was on my route back to the airport in Burbank. Spooky got spookier.

Made me stop for a minute and think how privileged we are to wander this Earth haphazardly at times and escape unharmed. We take that for granted so often.

My best friend had a near-death experience last year. I remember his attitude shortly after that - it was almost a carpe diem. He decided to go out and buy the truck he'd been wanting because, well, he never knew what might happen to him tomorrow. Reminded me further of a sermon I heard in high school from my favorite pastor who explained that the Epicurian motto of "Eat, Drink and Be Merry" was rooted in the Bible verse that also ended with "For Tomorrow You Shall Die."

I, too, bought a truck recently. But it didn't have anything to do with these accidents, my trip to California, or any other sense of doom. I did think of my friend when I finally succombed to the new car fever that had lingered for months. But perhaps I just had my experiences out of order. Not quite a near-death experience. More a vicinity-of-death experience.

Lately, I've had some very challenging things make life tough. But I've had just as many very precious experiences with my children in between the stresses of life. That's what it's about I suppose. To bury those little things that happen in the course of a day within my memory will someday return in a flash of relevance.

That, I conclude, is what this is really all about: the little inconsequential joys of life that, when you die, will have made it all worth it.

The Boy in the Bubble Had it Made

2007-06-22T17:31:00.000-07:00

I ran across this on the Internet. He puts into words many of my own thoughts about parenting that I wanted to share.

Bursting the cocoon

Despite our most basic parental instincts, we can't shelter children forever, says E. KYLE STEINHAUSER

12:00 AM CDT on Friday, June 22, 2007

The flat-screen television hanging on the wall illuminated the small room. The room was dark, save the faint black-and-white images. I held my wife's hand in mine and gripped my 3-year-old daughter as she sat on my lap. Staring back from the television at us was the newest member of our family – a boy or girl set to arrive in less than three months.

As I sat in the doctor's office contemplating the 3D image of my unborn child, my thoughts turned to Joseph Bosch. Twenty-two years ago he and his wife, Lynn, must have been excited anticipating the birth of their daughter, Meaghan. I thought of Greg Smith, who 19 years ago with his wife, Missey, welcomed the news they were expecting a baby girl, Kelsey.

Nothing prepares you for the amazement of making "eye contact" with your child in the womb. The bliss of the present was balanced by the terror of the future. As I stared at my unborn baby, I kept thinking of the photos of Meaghan Bosch and Kelsey Smith that seemed omnipresent in the newspaper and on the Internet. Who could imagine the ultimate fates of Meaghan and of Kelsey when those innocent, candid photographs were taken?

Meaghan, an SMU student whose life lacked no material need or want, was found dead in Waco after a drug overdose. Kelsey was taken from an Overland Park, Kan., Target and found dead several days later in a nearby suburb. The morose endings to these young lives illustrate the way parents suffer not only their own risks in life, but also the risks that confront their children.

On occasion I find myself virtually paralyzed with fear that one of my children, despite all of my provisions or precautions, will find the wrong path or become the victim on a heinous crime. Add to that the myriad lives taken too early by disease or automobile accident, and parenthood seems almost unbearable.

My genetic code is stitched with a legacy of high-strung worrywarts. I do my best to remember that at the end of the day there is nothing really we can do but strive to be great parents and to trust our children to be responsible and to be careful. Children grow into adults and must populate an adult world, which is full of poor decisions and terrible twists of fate. No amount of material prosperity or parental supervision can provide an impermeable cocoon.

I am no expert, but I have learned a few things watching others rear their children. First, give your children your time and then your money. How hackneyed, but how ignored. Life gets its meaning from relationships – with God and with one another – not from riches. Too many parents still define success based on loot, not on love. Cherish each moment with your child as if it is your last.

Second, gently loosen the reins. Overprotective parents can damage children almost as much as uncaring ones. In college, the wildest kids were those with the strictest parents. My fears aside, I must let my daughter go on a date – and possibly to prom. We live in a fallen world, and as such terrible things happen to us and our loved ones, no matter how hard we fight.

Finally, parents are not friends. As tempting – and pointless – as it may be to be the "cool" parent, kids have plenty of friends, but only two parents. They need parents. Sometimes that means being "uncool," like telling a teenage daughter that her bikini is too itsy-bitsy or her skirt is too short. Teenagers must be reminded that they have fewer "rights" than they imagine.

I can only image the pain felt by Mr. Bosch and Mr. Smith last Sunday on Father's Day. Nothing in the world prepares one for losing a child. Nothing prepares a father for losing his little girl.

My wife recently convinced me that between work and school, I spend too little time with my little girl. No longer. I want to enjoy every second holding her before she is too big or I am too uncool – because she always will be my little girl.

E. Kyle Steinhauser of Frisco is a technology marketing manager at a publishing company and a Voices of Collin County volunteer columnist. His e-mail address is ekyles@gmail.com.

Late additions on good news, too

2007-06-14T20:36:00.000-07:00

Bruce Robison released an EP titled "It Came From San Antonio"

"Somewhere..." readers know that Bruce is atop the heap of my CD player these past several years and so the emergence of new work is always reason for cheer.

This one didn't disappoint, other than it's EP status, which of course means it is only about 2/3 to half of a regular album in length. Observations on this new work, song by song:

"It Came from San Antonio" -- a groovy little tune intended to harken the psuedo-British invasion (think The Monkees). While it has a catchy hook and is a little change of pace for Bruce, I wouldn't have made it the title track. I'm not keen on the organ or the ambient juke joint sound. It's an odd take on an odder niche and the "everyone join in on the chorus" feel doesn't suit Bruce's vocals. But it's certainly a decent song and worth the listen. Just not my top choice.

"When It Rains" -- my favorite song on the EP lyrically. Nice wanderlust song with great tinge of heartbreak. Love the simplicity of the arrangement, acoustic intro and wonderful strings, especially as they first come in on the song. Bruce has a way of storytelling when he's really on that makes me want to sing along. Great example of why I call Bruce the Master of Melancholy.

"Lifeline" -- what "When It Rains" does lyrically, "Lifeline" does musically. Probably the best overall song on the album and just fantastic hook. The kind that you find yourself humming or singing to yourself later in the day. Some nice Dobro work, I believe on this one.

"My Baby Now" -- another change of pace for Bruce in some regards; this seems a song that some piano-playing crooner will be singing soon. Not a bad song, but the pace and wistfulness slow the disc down. I see this being sung by Keith Urban to a sold our arena, not exactly Bruce.

"Anywhere But Here" -- picks pace up a little bit, especially right after "My Baby" but this one isn't an immediate grabber like some of his similar songs from previous works ("Tonight" from "Country Sunshine" for example). Bruce does everything well - this just doesn't stand out as significantly different nor does it have a major hook. Interesting that the last 2 minutes of this 5 minute song are all instrumental resulting in a musical fade that has nice musicianship, but drag on a little.

"What Makes You Say" -- Nice harmony on a song about marital dischord. Just a slow pace that makes it difficult to stay with it, at least when doing something like driving. Acoustic guitar and fiddle keep this one on the good list, too. The deliberate pacing on this requires a specific atmosphere for listening.

"23A" -- Interesting song about a song by a great songwriter. Nice feel, but not a pop-song. This is another one that doesn't fit a particular niche and that seems to be what Bruce, and at least this EP, are up to these days. It's a nice song.

CONCLUSION: Having had many weeks to listen over and over, my conclusion is that this is an EP because it's a collection of bits and pieces he had laying around the studio. It's not my favorite CD of his, but like so much of his work, particular songs grow on me and may someday be in heavy rotation on my future second iPod. It's certainly worth the price even if one only listens to their 2 or 3 or 4 favorites. Looking forward to hearing several of these live in August.

Catch up time

2007-06-11T17:39:00.000-07:00

Some assorted comments about recent and not-as-recent events:

Last episode of Sopranos. Went out fairly tame for such a usually edgy show. Tony found the Americana that he was always chasing. And Paulie, my favorite character, got spooked by a cat. I loved that little touch, probably because I don't like cats any more than he does.

World's full of assholes, part 1: Some asshole stole my iPod out of my car. And to answer the question that apparently everyone who hears that news asks, no, the car wasn't locked. But it was in my driveway, on my property. Props to my new second-house down the street neighbor who noted aptly, as I usually do when I'm answering that question, that having a locked car would probably mean I'd be paying for a window or lock, too. As Paulie Walnuts would say on the Sopranos about the iPod thief...cocksucka!

World's full of assholes, part 2: So it wasn't enough they stole my iPod and who knows what else from others, we had more crime in my neighborhood. At least 1/3 or more of the 125 homes in my subdivision have small stone statues on top of their mailboxes. Our mailboxes are mostly large brick structures that envelope the mailbox and there's an unspoken tradition of people putting animal statues on top of their mailboxes. We had a lion to represent my college alma mater and my wife's high school. So a week after the iPod incident, my wife notices one morning that someone swiped all but one or two of these things from the entire neighborhood. Now I make midnight checks with the lights off of what's happening on our street. Let me catch some prick stealing from my home.

That's enough cheer for one post. Maybe next time, there will be happier thoughts.

Lest we forget

2007-04-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since something has hacked me off to the point that I felt compelled to blog about it. That time has arrived.

First, the story:

Soldier: Honor troops like Va. Tech dead
By ALISA TANG
Associated Press Writer
Mon Apr 23

KABUL, Afghanistan - An Army sergeant complained in a rare opinion article that the U.S. flag flew at half-staff last week at the largest U.S. base in Afghanistan for those killed at Virginia Tech but the same honor is not given to fallen U.S. troops here and in Iraq.

In the article issued Monday by the public affairs office at Bagram military base north of Kabul, Sgt. Jim Wilt lamented that his comrades' deaths have become a mere blip on the TV screen, lacking the "shock factor" to be honored by the Stars and Stripes as the deaths at Virginia Tech were.

"I find it ironic that the flags were flown at half-staff for the young men and women who were killed at VT, yet it is never lowered for the death of a U.S. service member," Wilt wrote.

He noted that Bagram obeyed President Bush's order last week that all U.S. flags at federal locations be flown at half-staff through April 22 to honor 32 people killed at Virginia Tech by a 23-year-old student gunman who then killed himself.

"I think it is sad that we do not raise the bases' flag to half-staff when a member of our own task force dies," Wilt said.

According to the Defense Department, 315 U.S. service members have died in and around Afghanistan since the U.S.-led offensive that toppled the Taliban regime in late 2001, 198 of them in combat.

NATO's International Security Assistance Force said that the flags of all its troop-contributing nations are flown at half-staff for about 72 hours after the service member's death "as a mark of respect when there is an ISAF fatality."

Sgt. 1st Class Dean Welch, who works with Wilt at the U.S.-led coalition public affairs office, said the essay is a "soldier's commentary, not the view of the coalition and not the view of the U.S. forces."

Welch added that such outspoken opinion pieces are rare.

Wilt suggested that flags should fly at half-staff on the base where the fallen service member was working and in the states where they hail from. He said some states do this, but not all of them.

He wrote that the death of a U.S. service member is just as violent as those at the university last week, but it lacks the "shock factor of the Virginia massacre."

"It is a daily occurrence these days to see X number of U.S. troops killed in Iraq or Afghanistan scrolling across the ticker at the bottom of the TV screen. People have come to expect casualty counts in the nightly news; they don't expect to see 32 students killed," he wrote.

"If the flags on our (operating bases) were lowered for just one day after the death of a service member, it would show the people who knew the person that society cared, the American people care."

This has nothing to do with your view of the war as just or unjust. This soldier simply doesn't know his civics from a Japanese car.

The United States DOES honor its war dead by lowering the flags for its fallen soldiers. That's what MEMORIAL DAY is all about. That is an annual holiday specifically intended for that purpose. Otherwise, during war times like now, we'd never see the flag at full-staff. Some may argue for that, but that's a whole other argument than claiming we don't honor our fallen. Imagine turning it around and having someone suggest that this year on Memorial Day, we include a special minute at every ceremony to remember the VTech victims. No, I don't think so.

I had this very conversation at work last week when our employer sent out an email that this was happening to honor the Virginia Tech victims. Someone made the same observation about not honoring our war dead and grumbled that it seemed wrong.

What's wrong is our reactive and uneducated masses crying "foul" when they don't even realize we DO lower our flags for our war dead - just on a specific weekend every year. There are ceremonies all over the nation. These remember those killed in all our battles, even the ones that aren't as divisive as this one.

Serendipity happens

2007-02-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

Sometimes things just happen. Or maybe God intervenes in the universe to finally give you a little dewdrop of joy to help you remember why it is you want to be good and go to heaven. Whatever the cause - the result is good.

In my case, it happened months ago. (So I'm a little lax on the blogging. Sue me.) As avid readers might know (both of you), I am a fan of "This American Life," a public radio show out of WBEZ in Chicago that is just under an hour-long radio program featuring an amalgam of radio feature stories that usually have a common theme. I like it so much I shill for it on my links section on the right side of this blog - the link reads "Now hear this." Check it out.

I discovered TAL when I had XM radio. It played every day, often re-runs from the show's deep catalog that goes back to 1995. I went looking for it on the internet once I got an iPod wondering how I might get my hands on old episodes without having to catch them every day at 5 p.m. on XM because it never failed I got in late. Turned out that TAL had a deal with an online book-content broker-type company called audible.com where all its online content was located for purchase. While it was bad enough Audible.com wanted me to subscribe to download TAL in mp3 format, the worse part was I could not figure out the basics of Audible.com's pricing or delivery method.

So I said screw it, I'll have to settle for streaming their old shows from the TAL website directly, which I couldn't capture because I'm, well, usually honest and even more lazy than I am honest to use some kind of software to capture what was designed not to be captured.

Then, one day, the day I describe in my first paragraph above, I went to check on the TAL website just to see what might be posted recently. And then I found an interesting link. It reads "New podcast" and I do a double-take. Did I just read that correctly? What do they mean 'free?'

Sure enough - free podcast. They worked out a deal with Audible.com, I'd learn, to give that week's episode away free in podcast form (excuse the non-sequiter: Milhouse: "It's Alf, but in POG form!!!") Then, they archive to Audible.com and can be bought there or via iTunes for 95 cents.

That was a woo-hoo moment. But more odd, was that I happened upon this on the very first day they were available. I had not been to this site in months, and the day I drop by to browse, they're offering the podcast for free.

Fast forward to today - when I'm listening to this week's podcast in my car. There's a nice story about a man who tried to invent a time machine so he could go back and warn his dead father not to smoke so many cigarettes and take better care of himself so that he wouldn't die young. The man became a highly placed scientist and the story's poignancy came from an Einstein contemporary telling this man that his father would be proud of him for what he had done throughout his life to try to develop a time machine. It was a touching story.

And while I tend to reference my own deceased father on this blog rather frequently, that's not why the story spurred me to finally get to peckin' away on the keyboard tonight. Instead, it was my admiration of the story that really gave me some clarity on my own existence.

What is it that I really want to be and do in my seemingly fleeting life? I was trained as a journalist and abandoned the purity and filth of that life for the pay and filth of a corporate job. Did I sell out? Did I give up my dream? Have I accomplished anything?

That show, and the thoughts it provoked, suggest that I did not sell out. I did not give up my dream. Do I have days when I wish I was out chasing stories as the Texas Country Reporter, a freelance feature writer, or even a This American Life reporter? Sure. But I am content in the fact that I know that I have done something meaningful in my professional life.

One of my greatest works of writing was a newspaper column about a personal friend who died. It won me a national award among all newspapers owned by that publishing company. I later won awards on the corporate side for developing and implementing communications campaigns to motivate employees to meet or exceed particular goals. I did my own self-assessment today about the last year and after intially wondering how I'd justify a middle-of-the-road rating, realized that I had exceeded several of my goals more than I had initially thought. Honestly, I hadn't even looked at my goals since last spring and was worried I'd been so off track that even though I busted my ass all year, I wouldn't be able to show any accomplishment in the areas where I was measured. But, it turned out, I wasn't too far off the path.

So, if as they say, even a blind hog finds an acorn once in a while, I'm thankful for the serendipity.

Important Announcement

2006-07-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

It has been determined that nothing rhymes with "orange."

A blog epiphany

2006-07-05T17:11:00.000-07:00

I have reached a point of understanding in my bloggedness.

Defining blog, aside from the literal denotation of "abbreviation of 'web log,'" tends to meander in several directions. In this little endeavor of my own, I've wondered in type about the forms of blogging and what "it" is.

Here's my take: it's a personal web page.

Please pause here so the shrill cacophony of disagreement can envelope the earth as bloggers everywhere take up keyboard and web connection to counter my assertion.

Now allow me to explain how I got here.

In my professional life, I've attended professional association meetings on the topic of blogging. Corporate blogs are usually at the center of the discussion. And, like anything in this world, a virtual cottage industry has formed to jump all over the trend. There are companies willing to monitor your blog, host your blog, count the hits on your blog, pay you to advertise on your blog, and even promote or defend your blog when things get really interesting.

But the idea that finally struck me, and this is the epiphany my title describes, is that the true essence of blogging is simply the ability of an individual to easily post information and especially opinion, on the Internet. Corporate 'blogs' really aren't blogs. They are just more corporate web pages masquerading as blogs.

See, that's what makes blogs different. Read the ideas of Thomas Friedman in his much acclaimed book "The World Is Flat" and see what seeded some of this epiphany. He suggests that the ability of individuals to freely express ideas and connect has been one of the catalysts in flattening the world and ushering in a new era of life as we know it.

Used to be, if you wanted to have a web page, you at least had to know HTML and get some web space rented. In the last couple years, all that has gotten easier and cheaper. Anyone can create a blog now using free software and free storage space. All you gotta have is a connection and a way to type and click buttons. Once created, you can even post via cell phone.

And when you study what the hardcore bloggers, those who live and breathe this stuff, seem to defend about blogging, is the purely personal nature of it. Sure, it may be some a-hole from Jerkoria complaining about how he just got ripped off at some retail giant's store, but that's a personal experience and perspective on the world.

When you've got some executive from Boeing posting a 'blog' that in at least some way is promoting the Boeing brand, then he's not blogging - he's marketing.

Understand there are plenty of blogs out there that are trying to sell, promote something, etc., but I'd argue they're really just individuals or organizations taking advantage of the free-ness of blogging. If they weren't so cheap-assed, they'd actually buy space and pay someone to make a page to promote their agenda.

Blogging is interesting because it gives a personal perspective, even if it is uninteresting, uninformed or unbelievably stupid.

Blogs that purport to being a news organization, political organization, or sales front are just those things - not blogs.

So that's my take anyway. There's a whole other discussion beyond this about what that means, a la Friedman's assertions and the effect of blogging on journalism. I've written elsewhere on a variation of that topic before and because I don't feel like making the effort tonight, I'll simply preview it with a synopsis: Ride-along journalism lacks the editorial process.

More on this later.

You Can't Get There From Here

2006-05-02T20:10:00.000-07:00

I spent my birthday working at a special event for my job. Big celebration - for other people. But I then jetted off to NYC for a separate work event that would put me near my favorite hockey team (the New Jersey Devils) as they began the NHL playoffs.

I watched for more than a week as the playoff picture took until the final game of the season to finally take form and know what the actual game schedule would be for Round 1 of the playoffs. Good news - New Jersey won its division after winning like 10-straight games to end the season; bad news - they were playing the New York Rangers in the first round of the playoffs. While I hate the Rangers like any Devils fan should, I was more concerned that getting game tickets would be more difficult than if they played, say, Edmonton.

My trip to NYC would be only three days and my free nights would be even fewer. So I waited anxiously for the playoff schedule to be published. Then I found out that the only game while I was in town would be on a night when I was scheduled to work. Bummer. Even more of a bummer when I learned, two hours before the game, that the night event had been canceled and I was free to do what I wanted.

Except that I had not bought tickets, planned transportation from Manhattan to NJ, and hadn't brought appropriate game attire. I ended up watching from my hotel room as one of the Devils scored a hat trick and beat the Rangers.

I celebrated my birthday the next weekend by making a trip to Austin with the sole purpose of seeing Bruce Robison perform. We made it. And thanks to the hospitality of someone in the Robison organization, the show was very special for us. (see previous blog entry).

We arrived early and claimed some of the best seats in the house. Drank lots of Shiner Bock beer and bought our obligatory T-shirts. I even got to say hi to the singer-songwriter (aka author of Angry All the Time, Travelin Soldier and Desperately) and tell him how much I enjoyed a particular song.

As we drove home that next day, I listened to a song that Bruce wrote called "You Can't Get There From Here" and thought how funny that, in my worklife, I couldn't even find joy in the big city when it was right under my nose. Yet, come home to Texas and have a fantastic, laid back weekend full of relaxation and Bruce Robison. It was a great concert. He didn't play my favorite song, but he did consider it.

As Bruce wrote, "Of all the things that I can't touch, I've wanted them so much; why's it always got to be so hard?"

My sentiments exactly.

Overpromising and under-delivering

2006-04-07T22:17:00.000-07:00

Customer relationship marketing is a complex term for a simple idea: take care of your customers and they'll come back.

So you can imagine the level of piss-tivity for me when something that should have been oh-so-right turned oh-so-bad this week.

Attentive "Somewhere Between..." readers will know how excited I was for the new Bruce Robison CD to be released this week. Like many music fans, I went to the artists website for details and found a glamorous offer to "Pre-order" the CD. Not only that, but I'd also get a free Mp3 from the new album that could be downloaded immediately. Well, hell, who couldn't pass that up?

So I quickly tap out my credit card info into the online form and hit the send before there's a chance for the site to say, "Sorry, sold out."

The first omen came when the Mp3 download didn't work. Sigh. I submitted an email to the website to see why I got an error when I tried to download the song. I also was wondering if the term "pre-ordered" meant they would send immediately, or time it to arrive on the national release date, which for music is usually on a Tuesday.

I got an email back that AllAccessToday, the company that apparently administers the web commerce sales for Bruce Robison, was working the problem and I should be able to download the song very soon. And, by the way, pre-ordered means they'll ship it as soon as they get it which should be maybe a few days early, but I should receive no later than the day of release.

Fair enough, I figured.

Yeah.... until release day came and went with no CD arriving in my mailbox. I emailed the good folk who had previously emailed me. I had never bothered to email them again after the Mp3 wouldn't download on several attempts. Wrote that off as a casualty of hype and cruddy web development. The answer I got back was interesting.

"I am sorry you are dissatisfied. I would be happy to issue you a refund for your purchase."

Well, that would make a big difference, I replied, noting I had finally received the CD the day AFTER national release and looked forward to hearing the album. It was post-marked on the day of release so they couldn't use the excuse that the mail held it up. I asked what I'd need to do to get such a refund back - perhaps send the CD back - figuring they would probably just say "No, keep it. We just want you to be satisfied."

Ha. Here's their actual response: "If the cd has been opened, we cannot accept the return, nor issue a refund. If it is unopened, feel free to send it back to us for a refund."

What a bunch of, well, marketing dorks. They thought I would not open the CD and wait for them to email me (the back-and-forth was taking a day each way as I sent an email at night, they'd open and reply the next day, etc.) What kind of music fan who orders a brand new release would not open the CD as soon as they get it to hear how it sounded? Further, what was I going to do - pirate the CD. When they already had my name and number?

Here's the crux of my beef, and something I quickly listed for the company in a response email that for some reason hasn't been answered. I paid a premium price for the album to: 1) get it a day later than I could have going to the local record store, 2) pay additional shipping cost on top of that, and 3) not get the free MP3 download offered as an added lure.

Then when I voice dissatisfaction, they give me the Wal-Martian excuse that they can't accept an opened CD. Umm, they are an agent for the artist directly. They could easily repackage it - but even if they couldn't because of some legal industry red tape - it would be cheaper to eat the cost of one CD vs. what it's going to cost them in a damaged relationship between their client, Bruce Robison, and one of his fans, a person willing to spend disposable income on the man's music and merchandise and who is passionate about it that he tends to tell people about his experiences.

So if Bruce Robison, his PR agency, label or even AllAccessToday use any of the available blog monitoring services to look for references to his new album "Eleven Stories" - please know you're not being represented well by AllAccessToday. (They even misspelled the title of one of the songs on his website where the songs scroll when snippets play on the site.)

Customer relationship management means developing a perceived personalized brand experience with the consumer. Underpromise and overdeliver. AllAccessToday had the opportunity to make up for their own miscues... and blew it.

RIP Buck

2006-03-25T14:09:00.000-08:00

Just saw the news that Buck Owens died today. He was 76. One of my early musical influences - having co-hosted Hee Haw. That show was a Sunday evening staple in my house growing up in the '70s.

We lose yet another great.

What you think when you're standing in a place where life and death happens in Technicolor

2006-03-22T19:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I got a tour of a local hospital's catheterization lab where they save people's lives by performing heart procedures such as balloons in an artery, insertion of a stent, installing pacemakers and defibrillators. They call it a cath lab. It was especially difficult for me because my dad died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 50. He didn't make it to the hospital.

I've written about it before and will certainly write about it again. It affected my way-of-thinking more than almost anything in my life to date. The only others that compare are the births of my children and my marriage, though each of those tend to have more affect as time passes. With my dad's death, the affect was sudden and remains constant where the others continue to grow.

I do rue upon it more than I probably should. But it does give me some perspective. My world changed that day. There's plenty written and said about not becoming a prisoner of your past and similar notions. All of that is true. I can sit around and mope anytime. But that don't get me anywhere.

But I do try to gain energy from it ... OK, not the death itself, but from the spirit of my father. I find that comforting in many ways. When my son acknowledges his existance, having never known him, it's comforting. When I do something I know he would be proud of, it's rewarding. When I do something and despair for help, I think about what my father might have done in a similar situation.

I feel perverse in some ways for feeling lucky that my dad died at 50. I'll always remember my father as he was at 50 -- strong, wise, stoic, and funny. I'll not be tortured by nursing homes, ICU visits, and progressive loss of his memory and senses.

But I rationalize it with the fact that I traded that pain for a different one -- the pain from not having more time, not seeing my son with his grampa, not hearing more stories about his youth, not having him tell me he is proud of what I've accomplished with my life, not having his opinion of my next career move.

It truly is a tradeoff. So when I start to feel bad about feeling lucky he was gone so suddenly, I let it go. I get my share of sad at other times -- when people celebrate life milestones past 50, when my kids do something I'm proud of, when I need someone's ear to hear my woes, and especially, when I visit hospital cath labs.

What this world needs is....

2006-03-22T18:54:00.000-08:00

Time for families
Neighbors who know each other well enough to help one another
Companies that invest in their people
Kids who can read well
Companies that actually underpromise and overdeliver
Shoes that fit just right
People compelled to give something to their community beyond taxes
Tolerance for diverse opinion
Chimpanzees (the funniest of the monkey species)
Affordable technology
Justice
Simpsons episodes

and fewer:

Hypocrites
Capitalists
Selfish bastards
Suffering innocents
Excuses
Religionists
Unsolicited emails
Sham TV stations that are fronts for some ministry
New flavors of Coca Cola
School fundraisers where the school gets pennies on the dollar
Fire ants
Scams.

Memory test

2006-03-09T19:05:00.000-08:00

OK. More riches from the Next Blog> button.... Honest attribution goes to a guy named Lenin who runs the blog where I found this (http://new-perception.blogspot.com/). This reads like it was a chain-like email that gets forwarded all over. Maybe it is. The message still resonates.

The people who make a difference in your life
You don't actually have to take the quiz. Just read this straight through and you'll get the point. It is trying to make a nice point.

Here's the quiz:
1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.

2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.

3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America contest.

4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.

5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for bestactor/actresses.

6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners.

How did you do?
The facts are, none of us remember the headliners ofyesterday. These are no second-rate achievers. They are the best intheir fields. But the applause dies. Awards tarnish. Achievements areforgotten. Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners.

Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one:
1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.

2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.

3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.

4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.

5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.

6. Name half a dozen heroes whose stories have inspired you.

Easier? The lesson: The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the most credentials, the most money, or the most awards. They are the ones that care, that love and that affect you intheir own subtle way.

Defining poignant

2006-03-09T18:48:00.000-08:00

I ask my son what he wants to be when he grows up. He casually tells me he wants to be a "movie maker." A discussion ensues as to why. It's a nice discussion. Then, without asking, he tells me about a question his after-school 'teacher' asked the class that day.

She asked, "If you could wish for anything to happen, what would it be?"

"And what did you say?" I asked him.

"For my grampa to still be alive."

My dad died at the age of 50, three years before my son was born. He's only heard stories and seen pictures of him. So to hear -- with me nowhere around and absolutely no prompting -- that his one wish would be to meet his grampa, it tore me up inside. But through that sorrow, a tinge of happiness struck that I had been successful - I've kept his memory alive.

That's something I need on days, and in months, like these. Thank God for children.