Thunderbolt

Dear September, I'm not quite sure how to put this, so I'm going to come right out and say it: You've outstayed your welcome. Look, I was excited as you were about you coming to town for a month. I mean, what's a year without a visit from old September, right? but, dude, you've really been a downer this year and I just can't take any more of your crap. Now September, I don't want you to get upset. I love you. I really do. What, with the change of colors in the leaves and the cooling weather (usually), you're one of my favorite months. And how can you go wrong with that three day weekend you gave me at the beginning of the month. Dude, that was great. Oh, and the weekend when it rained. Killer, my friend. But like I said, you've become too much. You've given me hellacious writer's block, you've caused turmoil in my family life, and you made me put on some weight. I didn't want to eat those Oreos, but I had no choice. You drove me to it...

At some point during a 1998 Sammy Hagar concert, between the beers and the whiskey, the hugs with my brother and the singing along to "Three Lock Box", I had an epiphany. I don't recall where I heard it said, but I was suddenly reminded that we might have more than one soul mate in this world. There are the soul mates that are our true loves. I am a blessed man to have found Julie and had my life completed in that way. Then there are those people who complete us as friends or brothers. I'm not sure why this thought came to me in the middle of the Universal Amphitheater or why, as I was screaming, "When eagles fly-iiii!" that I thought of Steve. But he stayed on my mind for the duration of the concert and the short drive home. After Budd had dropped me off outside our apartment, I kneeled in the bushes, puked, then stumbled my way up the stairs to Julie. I stank so bad from cigarette smoke, sweat and liquor that I didn't even consider sleeping in o...

A really pleasant weekend (it actually RAINED!) was capped off by the Indians winning the Central Division and earning a place in the playoffs. This may not seem like much to some of you. I mean, professional sports is just entertainment. But something about baseball in October is simply magical. After 162 games, a select group of men trot out onto chilly baseball diamonds where they have to warm their hands by blowing on them and some need to wear turtlenecks. Fans gather in the stands, chanting and cheering while wearing parkas, winter goats and several layers of gloves. The lights shine down and sparkle like jewels. Adults who have dreamed their whole lives of a championship fall to their knees and pray... or cry. They become young again. Some have their own children and hopefully, the joy and excitement these parents feel is passed down to their kids. I can't wait to watch the playoffs with Sophie and Jake. And if the Tribe makes it to the World Series, Sophie's ...

My wife is so tough and heroic that I often forget that she is also human and suffers like the rest of us. Yesterday she suffered a migraine that shut her down completely. It was so bad that she called me in tears to come home while she went to see a doctor. I can not recall the last time I have heard her in this much physical pain. In moments like these, I become panicked and rush around like a chicken with my head cut off. The two of us have a tendency to put off our own ailments and tough it out. Personally, I feel like we deal with enough medicine in our house that I hate being the patient. Of course, I hated being sick as a child. This most likely has something to do with my mother being a nurse and the horror stories she would tell of from the E.R. But, that, as they say, is a another story (for a different type of doctor). Coincidentally, I spent the morning at the doctor's myself, having some areas on my feet inspected. Turns out I have a condition called vitiligo....

It always amazes me when people I have never met face to face come out of the woodworks to wish me well. Last week I posted that I may be taking some downtime from the blog. Several of you wrote back telling me to take my time. This kindness can not go unnoticed. Thanks to all of you.

Driving into work this morning, I was learning new tricks with my MP3 player and somehow wound up on Badly Drawn Boy's "I Love NY" from the ABOUT A BOY soundtrack. It is a song that I've written about in the basement series (http://augustone.blogspot.com/2007/03/basement-songs-i-love-nye-by-badly.html) and it is also a song I avoid when it pops up on the player. The strange thing is, the past few times it has come on, I've let it play and no tears came to my eyes. I was not sad or happy. At one point, I thought I must have listened to the song too many times and it has worn out its value to me. Not the case this morning. Man, as soon as it began, I started to lose it. Perhaps it's because Jake was sick over the weekend with a cold. Or perhaps it is because I haven't shed a tear since, like, June, but I was having a hard time seeing the driveway as I pulled into the parking garage. These past couple of weeks have been very special for me with the kid...

I almost closed the theater this week. At one point I felt that there is nothing left I want to write about. But I feel like there are too many wonderful things that my children do that I still want to share those things with my friends and family. For now, the basement door is going to be closed. I know, I know, you're all devastated. Sorry. If you still want a free song, email me and I'll send something special each Friday. I suspect that I'll find inspiration in the coming weeks. I really want to try doing this regularly. I really like the whole blogging experience. Unfortunately, life trips you up and in this case, my knees are too scraped to bare my soul right now. So, then, how 'bout them Indians? Aloha

Julie and I were getting ready for work when her mother called from Cleveland. "Turn on the news" she said in a worried tone that immediately sent chills down my spine. There on the television, the two towers were in flames. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed. Julie rushed out of the bathroom. She was 7 months pregnant with Jacob. Somewhere in the living room, Sophie was probably watching the Wiggles. Mesmerized, traumatized, we sat and watched as firefighters and police officers attempted battled the flames while the rest of the country... the rest of the world... tried to make sense of it. What the HELL had happened? Word came in about the Pentagon. Then the crash in Pennsylvania. Finally, in horror, we saw the towers crumble into the earth taking the lives of more innocent people with them. Although I have seen the footage over and over again, I will never forget that moment of disbelief. This isn't real. How can this be happening? My boss called and told...

It wasn't my intent to last week off. The holiday weekend coupled with a short work week really placed some pressure on me at work. Still, I could have at least written something nonsensical in order to keep the masses (okay, 30 people) happy. By the end of the week, some really heavy shit came down and I just wasn't able to form a sentence. The last basement song entry was written before my brain cloud made itself visible. I can't promise anything this week other than some thoughts here and there. Distractions like watching a movie during lunch with my coworkers or taking in an Indians game are good for the soul. However, the moment I begin typing on the keyboard, I can feel myself opening up and I can't do that right now. Aloha

We had a custom in 76 Rodgers my first year at Bowling Green. That year I roomed with my cousin Dave and nearly each night we’d slap an LP on the JC Penny turntable I inherited from my brother, Budd, and let an album side play while we slept. The record player was an old 1970’s model with a return mechanism that kept an album side repeating continuously until you shut off the machine. Back then I was old school and had two crates full of crackling, well loved records. Cousin Dave began our unusual ritual, most likely after a night of Iron City beers and a couple Marco’s pizzas. Our first semester was pretty typical of the freshman experience. That initial taste of independence coupled with the recklessness and abandon of youth lead to many nights of laughter resulting from the stupid shit we’d do. Cousin Dave and I weren’t exactly bosom buddies when we decided to room together. A year older than me, I looked up to him, yes, but more like a second brother than a friend or a conf...

The wonders of technology allowed me to experience the remaining minutes of Bowling Green's upset victory over Minnesota last night while on the phone with my cousin Dave. It was 11:30 his time in Washington DC and the two of us were conversing via our cell phones while simultaneously viewing BG's final overtime drive through DirectTV. It wasn't so much the victory as it was just being on the phone with him, cheering on the Falcons at the same time. It felt like old times, laughing in disbelief as the BG coach decided to go for a 2 point conversion instead of the safe extra point. The risk paid off and Julie, Dave and I were jumping up and down, practically screaming. May not seem like much to anyone who isn't a sports fan, but it was a nice little moment. I haven't spoken to Dave in a couple of months. With the Springsteen album due, the Indians beginning to heat up and college football starting again, it felt like the right time to call him. Turns out I was right....