Friday, April 27, 2007

O Brother...

There are few events in life that make one feel older. That make one realize things aren't the way they were or the way they've been. For many, and for me, one of those events is a birthday, which I had this week. Another is the announcement that a sibling is getting married. Also, that happened to me this week.

My brother is getting married. For those of you that know my brother, I'll give you a moment to get over the shock that: 1) Steve Guest is going to have a wife and 2) That feeling that you're older than you thought.

I'm excited about this. And why shouldn't I be, he's my little brother. We shared a room growing up. Later, shared two attic rooms, even removing the door into mine so we could share the experience. We watched tv shows we weren't allowed to watch together. We rigged cable into my room. My friends were his friends and vice-a-versa. We even look extremely similar. Now, we'll both be married to amazing women.

Of course, I realize how much my brother and I are not alike anymore. No longer sharing rooms or cities or states together. We're barely in the same time zone. But all this is a very good thing. I would not want my brother to be me. Or to be like me. Or to want to be like me. It's nice to dress up in similar outfits with the same sneakers in 4th grade. Not cool at 27.

I still see him with glasses. Sporting an afro. Wearing the same shirt for the 34th consecutive day (Will that shirt be worn at the wedding... we'll see). Eating Peanut Butter and Fluff sandwiches. Despising Green Beans. Dunking with authority on a 5-foot rim. Punching me in the face because I made fun of him. I see him how I have always seen him. Not crying at a funeral. Not graduating from the Coast Guard. Not going off to Iraq. Not in love with a girl. Not engaged. Not getting married. Not as a man, as my little brother.

But I am old.

I am looking forward to "best manning" this thing. If you were at my wedding, you can rest assure that all efforts to repay the embarrassment I incurred will be repayed. Ten-fold. That little punk... I'm still bitter. But happy. Very. Very. Very. Happy.

Congratulations Steve. I love you.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

On Turning Another Year Older

I'm 27 today. Another year older. As wise beyond my years as I am, there are still several things I am unable to do:

1. Grow facial hair.
2. Dunk a basketball.
3. Sing.
4. Retire.
5. Run a 5-minute mile.
6. Drive a golf ball 300 yards.
7. Read Summa Theologica.
8. Use tools to build something.
9. Fly a plane.
10. Did I mention grow facial hair? Of all the things, that's my most embarrassing failure.

Sure there are things I am able to do. Like be a dad. Be a husband. Be a friend. Be a writer. Be an athlete. Be a fan. Be a believer. Be a comedian. Be a director. Be blessed. Be stupid. Be sensitive. Be witty. Be dumb as a box of rocks. Be observant.

At 27 I know I'm young. But I'm another year older. Being able to say I'm still young isn't going to last too much longer.

Happy Birthday to me.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Because They Can't All Be Exciting...

Not everyday is "ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatum". So I'm blogging what has been a very mundane, banal and rather commonplace set of affairs I will remember as April 21, 2007.

3:15am: Wake up and get ready for work.

3:25am: Can't decide what shirt to wear. Definitely wearing the jeans with the sewn hole in the seat and my new Asics. Maybe a brown shirt. I go with the brown shirt.

3:40am: Stop off for some Mini-Muffins, Frappucino and Orange Juice. I've stopped drinking straight coffee that early in the morning. Doesn't tend to bode well later on.

3:45am - 12:00pm: Work.

4:15am: Finish a 10-minute recap of a dramatic Red Sox game. I hate the Yankees. I also scare my co-workers who are half-awake. They're not used to having somebody yell and scream this early in the morning.

12:10pm: Decide to stop for lunch at Subway. 2nd time in three days now. 3rd time this week. Get the Spicy Italian. Tip: Don't buy into this whole Toasted Sub nonsense. First off, Quizno's has been doing it for a decade. Secondly, it merges all the meat and cheese flavors together. It's like drinking wine in same glass as chocolate milk.

12:30pm: Get home and decide to straighten up the place. The Mrs. has been gone less than 36 hours and the apartments a mess. She's the greatest, I'm telling you. Me. Not so much.

12:45pm: Turn on Flyboys with James Franco. Watching it on my computer cause they took the T.V. to fix that high-pitched squeal that's annoying everyone in a two block radius.

1:55pm: Realtor calls. Yesterday our offer on the home was rejected. Not only that, but the seller of said home wanted to move into a bigger home but hadn't applied for financing despite having the home on the market for 4+ months. They were rejected and were going to have to take the home off the market. Today, they got the financing, but were asking list price without closing costs. A contingency because of financing. Um. Thanks for playing but no thanks. Back to square one and we begin to look for homes again.

2:00pm: Discuss my decision with the wife. We're kismet. She begins to brag about how nice it is in Florida. Yeah. It's 68 and cloudless here, so, uh, not so much. One of those slight breezes is blowing too as I talk on the phone outside. But I'd give it all away to be with her right now in Antarctica.

2:10pm: Go back to the movie which is terrible at this point and it's still got an hour left.

2:40pm: Interrupted again. For some reason I stop the movie instead of letting it play. It's the Mrs. She wants to discuss some things she's found for my sisters for their birthdays. I assure her what she wants to get them is ugly. She laughs.

3:00pm: Movie is finally over. Gosh, what a terrible movie.

3:05pm: Decide to go get my haircut. I get out to the car and realize I've forgotten my wallet so I have to walk 50 yards back to the apartment.

3:20pm: Get my haircut. Same haircut I've had for 15 years. The guy in front of me pays but forgets to use his $4 coupon. He gives it to me. Making my haircut now a whopping $7.50. Remember that movie. You know, the one with Helen Hunt and Kevin Spacey. I've never been one to adopt a movie's philosophy but now is as good as a time as any. The hairdresser gets a $4 tip. Suppose the Pay It Forward thing to do would've been the $4 plus my normal tip. It was a stupid movie anyway.

3:30pm: Decide to blog about my day.

3:32pm: Begin blogging about my day.

3:55pm: Successfully execute my plan. Kill about 30 minutes before the Red Sox-Yankees game. I'll be listening to it on MLB Gameday audio since I don't have a television right now.

Predicting the future:

4:00pm - 7:00pm: The Red Sox. A cup of coffee. A book. A slight breeze. A cloudless sky. An itchy neck. A bowl of cereal. A few streams of sunlight. My afternoon passing quietly and majestically a hot air balloon over the countryside.

7:30pm: A goodnight phone call from the Mrs. The one who has my love. The one whom I miss. Sleep well, I'll tell her. "I love you."

7:45pm: Fall asleep under the fading sunlight of April 21, 2007.

Friday, April 20, 2007

It's Not An Excuse...But...

I know it's been almost a week. I've been busy. The Mrs. and I made an offer on a house last night. A charming 4 BR/2BTH Cape Cod in the Grove City (commonly referred to around these parts as Grove-Tucky) area of Columbus (on the southwest side). Obviously we like the house. There's not much more to say about it. Here's to hoping we get it; I fear it may turn into a bidding war as we are up against another buyer.

The Kid is growing at an above average rate. Over 10lbs and 22 inches as of yesterday. He's also got a "social smile" at one one month. He smiles when he hears his Mother and my voice. And I can also make him laugh. At this point, honestly, that may be my greatest accomplishment in life. He's also made his first trip on a plane. To Florida with his Mom to visit his Aunt and Uncle. And was he ever ready to go.

Also, if there's anyone looking for a good book, I recommend the latest Oprah selection and, as it stands, also the latest Pulitzer Prize winner for Fiction: The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Not the most difficult or thought-provoking novel. But it reads quick and the writing's superb. A cross between Children of Men and A Steinbeck novel.

Finally, tonight it all begins. Red Sox. Yankees. Fenway. Here's what I had to say at this time last year. It's Baseball's opening line. Baseball's First Words. Baseball's epitaph.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Here's To You, Mr. Robinson

There are times when I am proud to be an athlete. Proud to have stepped foot on the field of competition. Proud to have fought hard in victory, and harder in defeat. There are times when moments transcend sports. Transcend the hardwood, the hash marks, the blue lines, the fairways, the foul lines. They are few. Perhaps a handful at best. Today the greatest of them is remembered and honored.

There are three things I cherish most about baseball. Running a dead sprint to center field to take my position while the other team bats. Reading the batter a split second before he connects. And Jackie Robinson.

At ballparks all around Major League Baseball today you will see tributes.

"Look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes."

You will see his number. You may even want to take a moment and read his story. His struggle. How good he was in spite of it. The passion he played with. The love for a game that did not love him back.

"Stroll around The Grounds until you feel at home."

One man representing so much. Carrying so much on his shoulders, but fitting it all in his glove.

"And here's to you, Mr. Robinson,
Baseball loves you more than you will know.
God bless you, please Mr. Robinson.
Heaven holds a place for those who play."

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Ah, The Power Of...

The media. It's unflinching, unyielding, relentless ability to make a story appear much larger than it actually is. Without regard for the merits of a story, it's "newsworthiness", the media "reports the news".

It was an unsatisfying irony that on the day the Imus controversy peaked, the Duke Lacrosse players were cleared of all wrongdoing. Both examples of a media mainstream completely overflowing its banks. A simple perusal of the Duke investigation, a once-over of the evidence, should have resulted in a braking on the story which rose to national prominence. And now that the evidence has cleared them, who are the victims?

As for Don Imus, he said a stupid thing. But he has a radio show where he can say stupid things. In context, it was, what I call, a Michael Rappaport: A white guy trying to be black. Inevitably, such attempts, never come across as such. But that's all it was. It was a stupid thing to say.

It was not national news. It did not merit the 24/7's ongoing, situation-room, 360 degree coverage. So why was it? Because the 24/7's say it was. And why would they? Because there was nothing else going on that day. Or, really, four days later. Aside, you know, from the daily killings in Iraq, Sudan and Iran. Yet this story takes precedent. This is what Americans need to be informed about. This, and Anna Nicole's baby's father.

Three stupid words, uttered Michael Rappaport style, launched the crusade of Barak and Oprah and Jesse and Al. AP articles appear on ESPN.com saying "Don Imus targeted the Rutgers basketball team -- a team that includes a valedictorian, future lawyer and several outstanding students". ESPN? Targeted? CNN, MSNBC, FOX News all parade the "victims" out for an hour long press conference. It occupies the above the fold top stories on every major news website in the country.

It's called Wagging the Dog. Or Dawg in this case. The 24/7's need something to generate viewers. So they pick up on something that journalism 101 tells them is not newsworthy. They run with it because it has some bite, arguably. Even though it happened four days previously. They create a media blitz. They make fancy graphics. Bring on experts. Throw up the words "Breaking News", even though, again, it had happened four days earlier. They pull sound bites of inflammatory guests, whether or not they're right in what they say, or justified (irony, anyone?). And they yell across tables and satellite feeds. My God do they yell.

And don't get me into why he was even fired A WEEK later. Media pressure anyone? Advertising money being pulled? (which gets into who determines content, advertisers or the company? Remember Quiz Show?) CBS clearly doesn't have a pair.

I work in news. I did anyway, for five years. I changed jobs recently because I could no longer tolerate this penchant for "running with a story" when the facts of the story don't call for it. I prided myself as not going ape over the death of Anna Nicole, even though some of my bosses wanted to call it breaking news. For not going crazy over Duke Lacrosse. For having some objectivity, some critical thinking skills to weigh the merits of a story. But I couldn't do it any longer.

"I don't have the power."

Pining For The Fjords

The Mrs. and I have been doing some house shopping. From Condos to Ranch Homes to Split Levels to Cape Cods. We've given just about everything in our price range a once over. It's interesting what you can learn about a person by going through their house. A process which includes opening refridgerators, closets, and cabinets.

We've found a house we like. Two of them actually. Houses that we'll hope to re-visit and perhaps make an offer on by the end of next week. All-in-all we visited almost 20 houses over the course of two days.

My favorite house was the one with a dead bird in it. It was a vacated condo in a housing community. In the corner of the empty living room was the bird. It's neck contorted. Probably from flying into the window it lay beneath. And it was most certainly dead.

Our realtor mentioned that we could negotiate the bird in our contract if we made an offer. If we didn't and the bird stayed, I imagined it would go something like the following.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Two Things I'll Never Forget

It's not often in one's daily life that before 9am you learn two things you will never forget. And I'm not being hyberolic(?). These two things will I carry with me as long as I live. Forever.

If you don't feel like learning anything new today; anything that, while not going to change your life, or make you smarter, or make you feel better about your life, is something nice to know, then stop reading right now. I'm about to blow your mind.

1. One of my co-workers has driven around the entire perimeter of Ohio. Seriously. 1,000+ miles. Country roads, highways, byways. Starting in Cincinnati. Ending in Cincinnati. Look at the state of Ohio. He outlined it in a car. He and two friends. Fascinating stuff.

2. There's apparently a place in Kentucky completely surrounded by Missouri and Tennessee and not Kentucky. It's called Kentucky Bend. Look for it on Google Maps. Tell me you wouldn't want to go there.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

On The Dawn Of That Day

There has been one thought, one saying that has resonated in my mind this Easter Sunday morning.

"On the third day the friends of Christ coming at daybreak to the place found the grave empty and the stone rolled away. In varying ways they realised the new wonder; but even they hardly realised that the world had died in the night. What they were looking at was the first day of a new creation, with a new heaven and a new earth; and in a semblance of the gardener God walked again in the garden, in the cool not of the evening but the dawn."
-G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man

I've always been amazed at how one breath could bring forth so much. In Genesis it brings forth creation. In John, it brings forth the new creation. And what word then could have said so much. Could have carried so much weight? There are several possibilities, words that seem to reveal a great depth behind them. Words Christ could have uttered in the garden that morning. For example, "Behold" and "Amen". But there are other options, more current: "Booyah" and "Yeehah".

Christ could have taken the moment to be poetic. To be philosophical. To be theological. To utter a word that forever could not be spoken again. To retire a word, if you will.

Here was all of creation, waiting for the complete and full power of Christ to be revealed in the spoken word and Christ, forever the poet, forever the philosopher, forever the theologian, chose his word very carefully:

"Mary."

Christ chose to be personal.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Good Morning? Or Good Night?

Started my new job this week (more on that to come). And with it comes the possibility of being called into work early. Like today. At 3:30AM. No problem. Nothing a large cup of coffee and some donuts can't fix.

But it was an unusual morning at Tim Horton's. Maybe because I'm tired do I find this humorous. I pull up to the drive thru. I hear: "Please take a moment to look at the menu and I'll be right with you." Seems I've caught the lone worker at a bad time. I choose not to focus on those possibilities. But "please take a moment to look at the menu"? It's 3:30AM. It's 29 Degrees out. Is that the time of day you'd expect a person to need time to decide between a 12 seed bagel and the Wal-Mart version of the Mocha Frappacuino? You're the only coffee shop open this early. What else would I be getting? The worker was nice, though. She apologized for the wait and as she handed me my donut, suggested pleasantly that I have a "Good Morning, Sir." At what point during the night does it switch over to morning? I've got to tell you, at 3:30AM it still feels like the middle of the freaking night.

Another funny anecdote involving those in the service industry:

The wife was at Wal-Mart getting pictures. She asked the attendant at the photo desk if they were ready. He said they weren't. The Mrs. replied that the order was supposed to be filled today. He said they usually don't come in until 4pm.

Mrs.: "It's 10 of 4 now. Any chance they're here already?"
Attendant: "What time is it?"
Mrs.: "Uh, 10 of 4."
Attendant: "Shoot!"

At which point the gentlemen grabs a bag under the counter and takes off running towards the entrance, leaving my wife standing alone at the desk. She used the time to "Take a look at the menu."

Also, there was another incident with Isaac yesterday. I know he's already embarrassed by his old man here on the blog, but it was the first time he soaked me. Cleared the top of the tub and a direct hit all down the left side of my shirt. I handled it like a pro. But he timed the hit perfectly, waiting until I had turned to shut the water off. That's my boy.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

On Opening Day

Yesterday was the day I had looked forward to since last July. Not only because it was Opening Day, but because it was my first Opening Day with my son. Growing up we always celebrated Opening Day as a family. Either we got out of school early, or we raced home to see the game (one time I snuck head phones into a last period Communication class to listen to the game against the Twins. The game the Sox won on an Opening Day walk off grand slam). It was a holiday at our house. Complete with everything you'd find at the ballpark: hot dogs, soda, ice cream sandwiches, Italian sausages.

I've carried on that tradition since I moved out of the house. Yesterday: hot dogs, soda, mac & cheese (which I think they probably serve at stadiums now). I have every intention of keeping the tradition intact (unlike the naming of first sons and second sons in my family. Sorry Grandpa). Even the Mrs. was excited she'd be home in time to see the game when I told her the start time changed.

Baseball is a good thing.

Anyway, it wasn't a particularly good game. A 7-1 loss to the Royals. The Royals. Whatever. But even the youngest member of Red Sox Nation knows it's a long season, so there's no reason to get worked up.


Me, however, I'd be lying if I said this picture didn't get me a little worked up.

EDITORS NOTE: THIS IS HIS SECOND RED SOX OUTFIT OF THE DAY. THERE WAS AN INCIDENT WITH HIM AND HIS FIRST OUTFIT.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

On The Dignity Of Fools

Today has been April Fools' Day. There's an interesting history behind it if you have the time. Also, I enjoyed the Wikipedia lock on that information. I've not been much of an April Foolser myself, other than the saran wrap and Vaseline tricks on toilet seats and door knobs. One time, my parents thought they'd get us all and short-sheet our beds. It didn't work, and I still don't see how that's funny anyway.

In honor of today and yesterday's OSU win, our church secretly played a video of our pastor making a complete fool of himself during an OSU game. The entire service witnessed his dancing like a lunatic. Of course he tied it in to 2 Samuel, but the damage had been done, and it took a little while for the congregation to settle.

It got me thinking about foolishness. Is there an element of dignity in the foolish? Leads one to define dignity. Of course, there's the dignity that you can't take away from Whitney Houston. There's the dignity of Britney Spears. There's (supposedly) a dignity in winning at something and also at losing at something (I disagree with that. I'm from the Larry Bird school of thought). The dignity of the martyr. The dignity of the soldier. There's the dignity of King David.

In some sense of dignity, I suppose there's the element of doing something someone would consider foolish.

Today is also Palm Sunday.

There is another image of dignity I'm left with.




A dignity unto death.