Happy Birthday Little Brother

Dear Anthony,

Another year has passed and here it is your birthday once again. Even though you are not here to celebrate it with us, I just wanted to let you know we were all thinking about you on this special day. Mama is doing fine, her heart is on the mend after some troubles earlier this summer. Pop is well too. The prostate surgery last year appears to have licked his cancer. I am fine and so is my wife. I'm happy to say your two nieces and one nephew are also doing well. Not a bad year for us, all things considered. I just got back from Mama and Pop's, where we had a nice dinner. We were all there except for Michael, who is away at college, but we spoke with him by phone while we were together. Afterwards we had some cake and shared a few memories of you like we do each and every year.

I don't remember much on the day you were born, but I do remember the very first time I saw you the next day. I also remember when Mama brought you to our home later that day, cradled in her arms. My life changed pretty drastically that day. I went from being an only child, the center of attention, to an older brother, and one who now had to help Mama out around the house and share my bedroom with you. I wasn't exactly thrilled, but in time, I came around to enjoy that nice, secure feeling of having someone else sleep in the same room with me.

I sit here wondering how your life would have turned out if you had never contracted Leukemia in the winter of 1971, suffering for a full year and a half before leaving us. Today you would have been 47 years old. I wonder, would you have married? Would you have children? Where would you be living? What would you be doing? Would we be close? Would our families get along? Sometimes it frustrates me because I am only able to imagine and not know for sure. I wonder about these things often, but all I have is a bunch of photographs and memories, all of which are frozen in time and space.

I don't want you getting the idea that we are sad or depressed on this day. You know we were always a happy family when you were around, and we still are by and large. We may sit back and reflect quietly at times on this day, but it's all good. So little brother, wherever you may be, I just wanted to let you know that we haven't forgotten you. Happy Birthday.

Your big brother,

Phil

A Public Service Announcement for Men

We have a local pub in the neighborhood with good eats and great brews. On the nights when there is no band to entertain, the pub is host to Karaoke, a most amusing practice of taking a perfectly good song, stripping away the vocal track, and handing a microphone to a bar patron to sing it. There's nothing like watching a slightly inebriated volunteer who, after downing a few drinks, grabs hold of the microphone and attempts to belt out a song slightly out of key and give the audience an interesting interpretation of lyrics slurring out of his or her mouth. Notice I said watching. The listening is an entirely different experience. The neighborhood dogs are known to howl for miles around - and I'm not sure you want to know what they are saying.

But I digress (I know, I am easily distracted - sorry).

Gentlemen, listen up! If you should ever find yourself in a pub with Karaoke tempting you to show off your vocal instrument, it is rather important to make sure you heed the following advice. Take a careful look at the song list and make sure you strike off certain songs simply not designed to be sung by our gender. While Joan Jett can rock with the best of guys, and Heart's Annie and Nancy Wilson can kick ass with the uber macho, the reverse rarely works. Not sure why, and that's not the point of this important public service announcement!

There is no particular order here, but if you see ANY of these on your karaoke list, do yourselves a big favor and move on to another song...



Nope, this just won't work for you - trust me!



Now I don't care how toe-tapping and up-beat this tune is, there is no amount of alcohol that will pull you out of the fire once you shout out those initial words, "Let's go girls!" Yikes!

So... you may be thinking (not too sharply after four or five beers) that you could make a go of this one:



Well I'm here to tell you to put the mic down and back away slowly! I don't care if your friends said they would stand next to you as back-up singers, swaying and cooing "Ah, ooh!" in rhythm to the song. Remember, they are as drunk as you are!

I realize the above were some of the more obvious tunes to avoid, but there are others whose titles do not have an easily recognizable "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar" warning flag to you manly men. There are lots of treacherous songs on a Karaoke list that are manly Karaoke disasters waiting to happen. For example:



You really didn't think you could pull off that breathy post-orgasmic sigh like Diana Ross, did you? Sheesh! Besides, as a real man, you'd be snoring, not sighing after an orgasm. Save the hangover for the Jack Daniels you're throwing down for the night.

One last category that you should avoid on your list of bad Karaoke choices falls under the "I'm The MAN" genre:



Er... um... this might work for Right Said Fred, but it just doesn't have the same effect with you prancing around in jeans that fit snug 15 years ago, and sort of still do although at a much, much lower position with butt-crack showing and your belt buckle turned downward pointing in a south-south-east direction. Add to that the sight of those graying back hairs working their way through the holes in your 1986 NCAA tournament tee, and you have the recipe for a stampede to the exit doors. Please don't do it!

Well fellas, due to time constraints, this public service announcement must end here. Gentlemen, if you are still confused about selecting Karaoke songs, please feel free to message me. Always remember, choose wisely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greetings!

I don't want everyone (or at least the four or five folks who actually read my blog) thinking I'm really deep or profound all the time. I am easily amused observing trivial little ironies at some of the most mundane things; unfortunately at the expense of random folks forced to deal with me at those moments. Witness the following, an example of me in shallow, self-absorbed mode.

Those who know me know that I rarely set foot in a card store. I have what I thought was an endless supply of blank card stock - you know, the kind with an innocuous design on the outside and completely blank on the inside. I've used these for years to send personal handwritten notes to everyone I know for any and all occasions. Small problem - the endless supply ran out and my son's birthday is coming up next week, so I thought I'd drop in the local card store at lunch to pick up a birthday card. As soon as I arrive I am greeted by a really perky, friendly store associate. Her name is Meg and she asks me what am I looking for. I tell her I am looking for a birthday card. Simple question, simple answer.

Meg then asks me, "What kind of birthday card are you looking for?"

"Huh? Um... how about one that says Happy Birthday?"

"They all say that. Well, actually some don't. What I meant is, who is the card for?"

"Oh. My son."

"Over here. Follow me."

Criminy! We walk past a gauntlet of hundreds upon hundreds of specialty cards designed to be sent by cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, in-laws, out-laws, current lovers, clandestine lovers, and prison cell-mates. Finally we arrive at the section labeled "Son" - right next to the Son-in-law section and just above the Juvenile Son section. I guess it's a rather slow day in the card store, because Meg is hanging around, watching me as I look over the cards. Or maybe she's just worried I'll run off with a bunch of birthday cards and sell them out of the trunk of my car. I hear the "To my Secretary/Mistress on her Birthday" is a real high demand item.

The very first card I grab says, "To Son on his Birthday." I can't help but notice Meg hovering over me while I'm smiling a bit, shaking my head with disbelief at the card.

"Is there something wrong?" she asks.

I can feel the devilish temptation to be snarky coming on. (Don't do it, you'll feel bad about it later. Must resist! Must not say something snarky. Must not... ... ... dammit!) I can't help myself.

"You know Meg, I'm pretty sure my son knows it's his birthday, and that's why we're sending him a card. He's in college you see. Yes, smart kid. And I am totally convinced he knows he's our son. Why, just last week he asked me for money - again. I'd say he's got the son thing down pat. So I'm not sure we need a card that tells him who he is and why we're sending it."

She offers a smile. "Nothing wrong with being crystal clear."

"I suppose so, but tell me, who is this on the cover of the card?"

"Oh, it's just a picture of a young man - fishing."

"But the young man in the picture is not my son. And my real son doesn't fish. Why would I send my son a card that says, 'To Son on his Birthday' with a picture of a strange young man doing something my son doesn't do?" Actually I'm starting to get confused myself.

She offers, "Well, if you don't want that card, we've got plenty more right here. What are you looking for?"

"How about one that says Happy Birthday?"

Meg is no longer smiling, and I feel a bit guilty about my snarkiness. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a smart-ass. Let me look through these and I'll try to find one on my own." I start to go through the assorted cards. Sheesh! What a collection!

• Son, we are so proud of you on your Birthday. (What, no one is proud on the other 364 days?)
  
• What is a Son? (Are you kidding me?)
• For a Special Son. (I feel sorry for all those regular sons.)
  

Finally! A card that just says Happy Birthday on the outside. I pick it up and open it to read what is written on the inside.
...
...
Gaaaaa!!!!

"Oh Meg?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have blank cards?"

"On the side wall."

Thankfully, I found a nice collection of blank card stock - you know, the kind with the innocuous design on the outside and completely blank on the inside. As I approach the register to pay, a very nice, perky store manager asks me if I'd like to buy some Halloween cards.

...
...

"Er... um... People send out cards for Halloween???"

I could see Meg out of the corner of my eye bolting for the back of the store. I guess it must have been time for her work break.

~~~~~~~~~

9/11 - In memory of a friend

I am sitting here today having my morning cup of coffee, much as I can imagine you were doing that fateful morning as you were getting ready for work. On a near-perfect, crisp, cool September morning, I would like to believe you kissed your lovely wife good bye; that you hugged your kids as you left for work, but the reality is, we sometimes fall into a routine and just take that kind of stuff for granted. I wonder, what were you thinking as you left your apartment for that subway ride to your office? Was it the gorgeous, cloudless blue sky, something from work, maybe something you just did with your family or friends the past weekend?

I remember working with you at another financial firm in mid-town back in the early 80's. You were a few years older and were always helpful, showing me the ropes, assisting me as I learned my job. You were finishing up law school and I remember you telling me how you wanted to pursue a career as a finance attorney instead of the one laid out before us in mid-town. You had your dream of working on Wall Street. By 1984, when I moved out of New York to pursue a new career opportunity and chase my own dreams elsewhere, you had already left the firm, chasing your dreams downtown on Wall Street. It would be poetic to say we were the best of friends, but in reality we were merely work acquaintances, sharing an occasional conversation or beer socially outside of work. We didn't keep track of each other over the years; you went your way and I mine.

Seventeen years later, I recall waking up September 11, 2001 to an incredibly crisp, cool, and cloudless day. The weather was beautiful, so I decided to extend my morning run for a while. By the time I returned home from the run, my children had all left for school and my wife for work. It seemed like an ordinary day. I showered and drove directly to meet some bankers at a development site we were looking to finance. I didn't get back to the office until about 9:30, where I was immediately told of a horrible crash. Everyone was huddled in the conference room where the TV was on. I watched in stunned silence as buildings that I so often have been in and out of for the many years I lived and worked in New York were on fire. This was too personal for me - I had been inside those very same corridors countless times! I was appalled and yet I couldn't look away. My gaze was fixed as I saw the unthinkable, watching the tower collapse in what seemed an eternity of time while my heart raced and ached at the same time. Feeling sick, I returned to my desk. All I could think about, all I could focus upon was who I might know and were they all OK. I frantically started calling my friends in New York; the lines were all busy. Busy, busy, busy. Every attempt busy. All day long busy. Nothing but that awful busy signal.

It took me three days to account for everyone I knew or worked with. Everyone made it except for you.

Rest in peace, Stephen.

I need to go hug my wife and and call my kids right now and tell them I love them before I leave for work.