Father's Day

I'm having the kind of night that used to be so commonplace, but now rarely happens. Just hanging out at home alone and listening to some music at a pretty decent volume. I'm spending some time with a few albums that have been on the back burner for far too long. I like to be immersed in my music and the only way to do that is to play it as loud as possible given the circumstances and time. Saturday night is usually a good time. Oh sure I could put headphones on and listen as loudly as I want for as long as I want, but it's not the same. Nowhere near the same, mostly because it doesn't sound as good and, more importantly, I can't belt out the lyrics while pretending to be able to sing well.

I started out with half a Frank Black album, followed it with the entirety of Living Colour's Times Up album, one Megadeth tune, a few Melvins songs and for the past hour and a half Natalie Merchant solo stuff. Her music, lyrics and voice are incomparable in my humble estimation. Bigly under appreciated.

Anyway, that's not the point of this blog. It's Father's Day!

Oddly enough, I had an actual conversation around the water cooler at work on Friday with my friends Andy and Marianne. Father's Day came up and I told both of them that my Dad and I were going to go fishing on the river to celebrate, which seemed pretty plausible as far as I was concerned, but my story fell apart when I was asked which river we would be fishing on. Having no decent response, I finally blurted out that it was all a lie and that my Dad has been dead for like 30 years. Andy laughed and said his Dad had been dead for just as long and walked away. Marianne just looked at me and shook her head in some odd state of disbelief.

It's only been 28 years if my math is correct.

So I won't be fishing with him, but I'll give you a small story that has been seared into my brain for too many years. My parents separated in 1980, so we all moved out to Batavia, sans father. At some point, I was able to go spend every other weekend with him in Chicago. I can't recall if this particular weekend was around my birthday or Christmas or perhaps neither, but my Dad drove my brother Dan, and I think our neighbor Andy and myself to Toys 'R Us where my Dad was going to buy me a present. After much careful deliberation, I finally decided on a Lego set that was some sort of rocket launch pad. This wasn't the crazy intricate Lego sets that they have nowadays, but as a kid way back then, it seemed like it was.

Once we got home, I got right to work putting that Lego set together, with a bit of help from Andy and Dan. I do not remember how long it took to complete but at some point it was finished and that rocket was ready for launch.  I vaguely recall what the final project looked like...the flat base was about ten inches square and just filled with that Lego circle pattern, the rocket was probably about seven inches tall and made up of circular Lego pieces. Don't remember what else was on there, but I assume some building as well as a launch station. That would be kind of lame if it was just a square flat board with one rocket sticking out of it, but whatever...that's neither here nor there.

This weekend must have been pretty early on in my visits to Chicago as my Father was still living on the first floor and not in the basement. Almost all of my weekend visits that I can remember were in the basement, as the top two floors of the building were rented out to tenants. Anyway, back to the story.

Day turns to night and my bed for the weekend was the couch in the living room. This may seem odd to you that I only had a couch to sleep on, but I was used to it, as that's the exact same sleeping option I had out in Batavia. The couch faced all the windows in the living room and the street light poured in  illuminating the room and the Lego set I was so happy to have and so proud to have completed.

That night my bedtime did not coincide with my Father's bedtime. Much like my night tonight, he decided to play some albums at a pretty loud volume for a quite some time. I don't recall exactly what he was listening to, but odds are pretty good that it was Elvis Presley. Needless to say, that night he wasn't exactly in the best of moods, which isn't really all that surprising since it probably hadn't been too long since his wife had left him and taken all six of their children with her. I can see that being difficult to endure for just about everyone, but perhaps even a bit more difficult for someone who had been dealt with the fun curse of being manic depressive. My father was not a happy man and it wasn't difficult for me to realize it that night while he was pacing back and forth throughout the apartment listening to music which should have been providing him pleasure, but clearly wasn't. Knowing what I know now about relationships, I would imagine the music was just sparking memories which were best forgotten, but clearly not enough time had passed for that to happen.

At a few different points while I was trying to fall asleep my Dad's pacing brought him into the living room and during those times I just closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Guess I knew that in whatever state he was in it wasn't a good one and it was probably best if he just assumed I was fast asleep. Of course I was just a kid so I'd quickly sneak a peak every now and again and if he had his back turned I'd just silently watch his actions. Though I couldn't understand the pain he was feeling at that age, it was all too easy to recognize the sadness and anger consuming him that night.

I don't know how long it was that this pacing was going on, but at some point I watched as he walked into the living room, passed by the couch and continued towards the far end of the room. With the street light streaming in on my Dad, I watched  as he quickly raised his right arm and then violently brought it down in a sweeping motion which completely destroyed that Lego set I had built a few hours earlier.  I can't recall exactly what went through my head at that time, but I know it was some feeling of devastation. It was one thing for him to be upset and angry at life that night, but it was a completely different feeling having him destroy the present he had bought me earlier that day. I'm not sure how to describe what I felt, as it was a new emotion I don't think I had ever known before.

I just continued pretending to be asleep and when he finally left the room I buried my head in the couch and started to cry.

So there's my Father's Day story.

I guess we didn't exactly have what many might recognize as the typical kind of Dad portrayed on all those boob tube sitcoms, but I'm not sure anyone really has that kind of Father. What we had for way too short of a time was a very troubled person who had an extremely difficult time finding some semblance of happiness in life. I don't know what he thought of Fatherhood when it first happened and I'm not sure he was ready for that sort of responsibility, but I do believe he did the very best he could and I know that he loved all of us kids regardless of his ability to show it.

My father was honest, he was kind, he was quirky, and he made all of us laugh quite a bit.

You can all keep your own Fathers and whatever it is they brought to the table. I wouldn't trade mine for all the Lego sets in the world.

So here's the requisite Father's Day picture of me and my Dad. This is from 1980 and taken at my Grandma Buban's house on Christmas. The awesome REO Speedwagon album is a present for my sister Jennifer. My lips are stained red from drinking Hi-C and yes, those are sweet Dubble Bubble gum patches on my knees.

Happy Father's Day!

Quick Fortune

I bought some Chinese food a few weeks back and I received two fortune cookies for my effort. Personally I would have preferred at least one more, but I don't own the restaurant and I didn't specify that preference when I placed the order, so I really can't be choosy about how many fortune cookies they casually throw in the bag. Hours later, after consuming a good portion of that chinese food, I decided to eat one of the two cookies. I didn't just grab the first one I saw, I contemplated the decision and then finally carefully chose one of the cookies to eat and read. I always completely eat the cookie before I read the fortune. This is what the fortune had to tell me...

Let someone know how special they are to you. 

I posted a photo of it on Instagram, so I think I took care of letting whoever needed to know how special they were to me, know just how special they were to me through the magic of a slightly blurry photograph. Perhaps many people needed to know this, I have no idea. It's really neither here nor there at this point. You're all special to me in some sort of way that is unique to you and no one else. Well also unique to me I guess. I hope, maybe? Perhaps not. 

I opened up the other fortune cookie tonight. 

Let your hook be always cast. In the pool where you least expect it, will be fish. 

Interesting. 

I'm trying to remember the last time I was in a pool, but I'm drawing a blank. Anyway, there must have been a hell of a lot of fish in there, which is probably not all that sanitary or normal for most pools, but they must have been in there, otherwise this fortune is complete horseshit. 

And I can't believe that. 

Actually, I do remember the last time I was in a pool. It was last summer at some pool on the Northwest side of Chicago. I jumped off the high dive, which scared the crap out of me. I did it once and then decided that was good enough. Sometimes you have to take a chance and jump into the pool even though you have no interest in looking down to see what's below. I didn't want to look, but I did. I jumped anyway, mostly because I was next in line and would have looked like a complete pussy if I hung my head and walked backwards towards the ladder. But I wanted to jump, I just didn't want to look first.

I still don't want to look.

But I guess I have to. 

Decisions...Decisions...

I had a long, monotonous day at work today. Printing can be rather monotonous and routing can be even more monotonous sometimes. It's just the nature of the business. I do like my job. I like the people there. I like the culture. I like the work ethic of helping out wherever and whenever it's needed. I like the fact that salespeople and owners pitch in and help out when it's needed. And I'm not talking about giving advice or helping production for a half hour here and there. I'm talking about them spending a good portion of the day taping up boxes so the job gets out on time. I appreciate that sort of effort. It's nice to see it from just about everyone in the company, including myself. I've spent many days, when I don't have to print things on the press, taping up boxes, or applying easels to the back of a thousand pieces of foam-cor so that DeVry University and Minor League Baseball can get their message out to where they want it. And very rarely, so far, has it bothered me. Headphones, podcasts and music help out with that, but if everyone didn't help out, it wouldn't be nearly as easy to endure. It's often mindless, repetitive work, that would normally drive me mad, but it hasn't.

WIT! Whatever It Takes, as I was taught at an old company that certainly did not have this kind of pervasive work ethic. You can't force this sort of thing down the throats of your employees if you don't also back it up by doing it yourself. It's not a mantra at this company, it's how everyone goes about their business. If I need help with something and ask, I get the help I need. If someone needs help with something, I help them with it. Do I always show up with a smiley face, ready to do the best I can. Of course not, but it's a lot easier here than at just about every other job I've ever had.

Printing isn't the most exciting job in the world, but I think most jobs are like that. If you don't love what you do, it's going to pretty much be the same thing time and time again and over and over again and you're going to end up despising waking up for work at some point or another. Do I love printing? Not necessarily. Do I have to love it? Probably not. Do I appreciate how much work it is to create something for a client, regardless of the fact that almost no one knows a damn thing about printing, even though they encounter it constantly throughout every single day of their existence? I do. It's a means to an end at this point, but it's nice to work for a company that makes it much easier to enjoy the work. I put in 25 hours of overtime last week, which I haven't done in many, many years, if ever. It made for a nice paycheck and it was nice to pay off more of my debt (40% knocked off in the past four months by the end of June), but it wasn't all that awesome working Saturday and Sunday and then working three 12 hour shifts during the week. Waking up at 5:00 am is not something I can do easily. The bike ride to work was a lot faster without the traffic though. Funny thing is, I've only worked three weekend days in the five months I've been at this job, and they've all been spent running equipment that I wasn't hired to run. It's a good thing to learn new tasks.

So my decision is that I'm going to give my notice tomorrow.

I'm moving on.

I'm selling most of my possessions and I'm going to hop on the next freight car heading West. It's time for a bit of adventure. I'm in the process of cashing out my 401K. I'll pay off the rest of my debt and then I'm outta this place. I don't belong in Chicago anymore. It's lost it's luster. Or lustre, if you prefer that spelling. I know, I know, it's a completely different definition with that spelling, but it's a printing term, so I threw it in here for fun. This hasn't been an easy decision, but I gotta do what I gotta do. Armed with my ancient laptop and my camera and some clothes and my iPod, I'll be just fine. I'll make my own way into the distance and I'll be sure to let you all know about it from time to time. Change has never been easy for me, as you probably know from the past few months, but embracing change is what I need to do. Accepting it just doesn't cut it anymore. Take big leaps and risks...blah, blah, blah...you know the tune, but it's time. Leaving my friends and family and the most exciting, youthful Cubs team I've ever known isn't going to be easy. FYI, I've got some Cubs tickets for sale. I don't know where I'm going or where I'm going to end up, but I'll figure it out and I'll be more content with life along the way. This is long overdue.

I turned down a free My Morning Jacket ticket from one of my best friends in the whole wide world today. The show is tomorrow night. I've seen them numerous times and they are great live, but I need to get some things done back at the homestead. And now, my brother Dan just texted me about going to see the Pixies and Robert Plant tomorrow night. I'm contemplating it, as the Pixies are pretty fucking great and I haven't seen them in quite a while. And yes, I prefer the solo work of Frank Black to the Pixies, but that work is just an extension of what came before, and what came before was some of the most influential, original music to be created since Warrant released Cherry Pie back in the 80's. How can I pass this up?

Decisions...decisions....

I'm not quitting my job. I'm not moving. All of that was lies. I'm just trying to decide whether I should go to the Pixies show tomorrow night. Sorry I lied to you. Fortunately, all the stuff about work was true. I'll be back there tomorrow and hopefully I'll be there for quite a while. I can work on the things I need to do to be happy and still have this job at the same time. Just have to organize my time a bit more to make it all fit in. We all have the same amount of time each day, right? Spending it on the things we need to spend it on is the key. I'd like to say I lost that insight, but I'm not sure I ever had it in the first place. I'm trying to discover it now. I'm trying to put it into practice. I'm trying to appreciate each moment as it occurs or at least just take it for what it is with the realization that I'm the one that gives those moments whatever truth I want to give them. I'm the one who decides how to process everything that happens in this lifetime. I'm the only one who can flip the switch from negative to at least neutral and preferably positive.

So many decisions to make along the way as each moment appears.

Chicago...At Least a Small Portion of It.

I used to see this view whenever I walked out my bedroom door onto the back porch when I lived over there on Chicago Avenue. I actually had three doors in my bedroom, not counting the closet doors. This was the only door that led to the outside though, and the only door that led to this sort of view.

I didn't attempt to photograph the skyline all too often, but obviously I did that night. Took out my camera and tripod and made the effort to find something decent through the lens. You can be the judge of whether or not I was successful.

And yes, I've manipulated this photo a bit, well quite a bit, but that's what life is all about. Manipulating things until you get it to where you want it to be. Manipulating doesn't have such a great reputation, but when you manipulate things in order to grow as a person, the meaning changes to some extent and it's not such a bad thing....assuming you're not harming anyone else. And quite frankly, all I did was jack up the contrast a bit, sharpen it, and reduce the saturation to zero, so really that's not all that much manipulation. Believe me, I've seen much worse, and I'll probably be writing about it soon enough if I decide to write a blog about what I've seen on Instagram.

Anyway, first blog of June, 2015. I've been busy. There will be more, but I thought I'd start it off with an easy one.