#ReflectingPool

Reflections on life through the lens of music. Here's the running playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/12134494335/playlist/0Ty7GDlm0rqLg88gQxdIac

[reflectingpool]

You Never Step In The Same River Twice

I referenced in the last post that rivers deserved their own focal post. And they do. So here it is.

What I love about rivers is fully encapsulated in the title to this post. The river itself is a relative constant- a touchpoint for a region, an artery that anchors a community. However, the water that comprises that river is always flowing, always moving, always changing. The river is but an avenue, a path for each drop’s journey toward another opportunity for change. That’s what I love about it.

I had a conversation with my mom about this post earlier today where we ranked our favorite bodies of water. (I know- we’re the biggest nerds.) We’re in agreement that the ocean is our favorite- she because of the rolling waves that receive your worries and take them out to sea, and me because I could seriously stay out and surf for days if I wouldn’t get all pruny.

But right after that for me- the 1b to the ocean’s 1a- is the river. Partially because of accessibility: in this region of Virginia, one is but a short drive to a resting place right alongside that babbling brook. But predominantly it’s because rivers are such a constant, and yet always in flux, and always in service of the larger watershed. For comparison’s sake, lakes are my least favorite, because it’s just one big vat of the water that’s always been there. (An oversimplification, but you get the gist.)

So, because I went pretty deep on some of those lessons from the river in a previous post on another blog, let’s just move to the music.

Here are my top 5 songs about and/or featuring rivers:

River, Joni Mitchell. Such a sad and beautiful song. And the callback to Jingle Bells makes it a perfect song for the right nows of every year: I wish I had a river I could skate away on.

Take Me To The River, Al Green and/or Talking Heads. Though after doing some research, I think I prefer the Syl Johnson version. And if you’ve been sleeping on Syl Johnson all this time, change that right now. (Seriously. Is It Because I’m Black is one of the all-time great songs of all time.)

The River, Bruce Springsteen. The singer and his ever-present Mary go down to the river to “live in the moment” as high schoolers, a moment that dictates years of inevitable next steps that spring from that day. And it was the featured tune as High Fidelity’s Rob Gordon started to heal, so there’s that. #ThanksBoss

Pyramid Song, Radiohead. I wrote extensively about this song already. Of this group of songs, it’s easily my favorite to cover. Life as a river with all our pasts and futures together on a little rowboat. And there’s nothing to fear. And nothing to doubt.

Down To The River To Pray, Alison Krauss (and so many others). After pairing this with the visual of the traveling baptismals featured in Coen Brothers’ O Brother Where Art Thou, how can it not be a favorite?

Honorable Mention: Cry Me A River, Justin Timberlake. JT is srsly in the handful of my favorite creatives, and this song marked the inflection point on that journey. #somethingtothinkabout

Less Honorable Mention: Because I can’t pass up the #dadjokekindofirony opportunity of sharing a song that features Rivers Cuomo, I asked my Weezer-aficionado sister & BIL what would be the Riversiest song in the band’s vast catalog. While she went with My Name Is Jonas and he elected for Dope Nose (both of which are quite valid), for the purpose of this list I’ll go with Only In Dreams.

So what did I miss? Share your fav songs in the comments, add them to the playlist, and by all means keep stepping into that river.

[reflectingpool]

Writing My Way Out

So it's been a while since posting here in the #ReflectingPool. Between the deep dive into the content of the last post, a gradual ramping up of field work associated with my professional life, and the challenge of climbing some metaphorical mountains in my personal life, I'd found myself in the depths of a creative abyss.

Thankfully, I've decided to take Nas’ advice. It's time to pick up a pen like Hamilton, and write my way out. Either that, or follow Unk’s advice and walk it out. #youknowiwalkitout

This afternoon, I made a visit to some walking trails managed by Fluvanna County Parks & Rec Department that lead down to a favorite view of the Rivanna. The peace of running water across boulders calms my mind like few others can- so much so that I shared the experience via Periscope in case anyone else wanted to jump into the reflecting pool with me.

More on that later- rivers deserve a post of their own. Today's post is more about the journey to that spot.

Walk It Out

Since the last time I'd made the pilgrimage, Parks & Rec has added a fitness element to a portion of the Eastern Trailhead. Upwards of 20 guided exercises connect the path into a cardio circuit made to get the heart rate flowing. While I wasn't dressed to engage in all of the activities, I took on a few, and I'm pretty sure I've found a core new addition to my morning routine. #rise #shine #walkitout

Walking has become a big part of an overall approach to fitness over the past few years. I was initially inspired to do so by the write-up for Achiever, one of my top five strengths identified through the StrengthsFinder assessment.

This description resonates with me every time I read it:

Your Achiever theme helps explain your drive. Achiever describes a constant need for achievement. You feel as if every day starts at zero. By the end of the day you must achieve something tangible in order to feel good about yourself. And by "every day" you mean every single day -- workdays, weekends, vacations. No matter how much you may feel you deserve a day of rest, if the day passes without some form of achievement, no matter how small, you will feel dissatisfied. You have an internal fire burning inside you. It pushes you to do more, to achieve more…

It is the jolt you can always count on to get you started on new tasks, new challenges. It is the power supply that causes you to set the pace and define the levels of productivity for your work group. It is the theme that keeps you moving.

In order to capitalize on that mental model, years ago I decided to start carrying a pedometer and tracking my steps. It was a perfect fit, as it too starts every day off at zero. After about a year of scribbling numbers and graphs into a composition book, I graduated to a Nike Fuelband, and now sport a Fitbit Charge HR. I'm not huge on working out in and of itself, though I'll do what I can to walk it out.

Today brought to mind a couple favorite songs for exercise. If you're looking for a a few new additions to your playlist, these work for me:

Trap It Out (Walk It Out Remix) throws Unk’s crunk classic through the trap music filter. As hot as the original beat is, this remix gets it.

Stretch 2-3-4 by WatchTheDuck f/Pharrell is made for moving. You might've heard it on a commercial for Propel electrolyte-infused water.

Busy Earnin’ by Jungle inspired the title on a previous post remembering my friend Mat Kenney. Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon over a horn-heavy beat? #yesplease

Stronger by Kanye West- does it get better than that Daft Punk mash-up? (Well, maybe just by rocking the original, but that's debatable.)

The Power Is On by The Go! Team moves the spirit. It may make you try to find more of a team sport, but it'll definitely make you get on your feet. (Speaking of which, Junior Senior’s Move Your Feet is pretty hot, too.)

Honorable Mention: Me And Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard (A True Story) by !!!

All of those songs have now been added to the end of the #ReflectingPool Spotify playlist if you want easy access to them. Here's to staying moving, #alwaysforward.

[reflectingpool]

Round And Round, Round We Go

I woke up at 3:30am today determined to publish a piece on my professional blog entitled #GSD- Getting Shtuff Done. It's an article that I've ironically been wanting to publish for weeks now, and have not done so partially because spending time in the #ReflectingPool has been so rewarding. The thing is, the content for the article is already written- it's a matter of spending 30 minutes editing for voice and formatting for presentation before it’s ready to publish.

Every once in a while, there comes a moment where the news in the world just levels me, and it decides to make what I have planned for the day feel so small in comparison. This morning at 3:30am was one of those moments.

Hard Times Ain’t Easy

While I saw several other just as informative tweets in my media stream, this one from @charlie_simpson was ultimately the one that jarred me to write:

I don't want black men shot at traffic stops. I don't want cops shot by snipers. I don't want kids shot at school. I don't want any of this.

I have heard a lot about school shootings over the past months (and years, frankly), and seen their effects given my line of work as an educator. I had also heard about the stories of #PhilandoCastile in Minneapolis and #AltonSterling in Baton Rouge earlier this week. Sadly, like so many other Americans I had become desensitized to it all. A numbness that only repeated examples of such trauma can cause.

News of these two men’s tragedies brought an interesting mix of songs to mind:

Curtis Mayfield’s (Don't Worry) If There's Hell Below, We’re All Gonna Go: “Hurry- people running from their worries while the judge and the juries dictate the law that's partly flawed. Cat calling, love balling, fussing and cussing. Top billing now is killing- for peace, no one is willing. Kind of make you get that feeling.”

Shock G’s line in 2Pac’s I Get Around: “Just another black man caught up in the mix, trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents.”

Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals’ Call It What It Is (Murder): “They shot him in the back- now it's a crime to be black. So don't act surprised when it gets vandalized.”

I had not heard the story until this morning of the police and protesters shot in Dallas during a peach march, as it had gone on last night as I slept. Awakening to hear of these deaths is saddening to say the least. Though for me it’s saddening in a bit different way than that which lies on the surface.

I recall a quote from Game of Thrones that immediately sums up what makes it so saddening from my perspective: “Violence is a disease, and one does not cure it by spreading it to more people.”

The more I think about it, the less I fully agree with that quote- though I'm grateful that hearing it caused me to think.

I do not see violence as a disease, but rather more like a symptom of a disease, like a fever or a sore throat. The actual (or in this case metaphorical) disease- the underlying virus that causes the symptom of violence- is fear.

There Goes The Fear Again

It was fear the police caught from the community that led policemen to note and respond to behavior they deem suspicious, like these cases involving a broken taillight or someone purportedly threatening another community member with violence.

It was the fear the men caught from the police that led these two men to behave in an overly cautious (though perhaps defensive and therefore by definition antagonistic) manner when being questioned by said police, as they were unsurprisingly wary of what might happen as a result of their discussion.

It was the fear the police caught from these men that led these officers to escalate the situation through their actions, and ultimately raise their arms toward these men, fire on them, and kill them.

It was the fear these men caught from the police that widened their eyes as bullets rained down on them from the officers’ guns.

It was the fear that communities caught from these men that led to mass protests, not only in the cities of Minneapolis and Baton Rouge but also other high-density areas like the march in Dallas. 

I don’t I know what drove every community member in attendance at the march in Dallas to be there. I have no doubt that many there were driven by a desire to show and feel compassion for the families of these two young men and all of the others affected by these recent tragedies.

At the same time, I have no doubt that many in attendance also came out of fear. Fear that it could have just as easily happened to them.

And either way, it was fear that police caught from the community that led them to show up and protect the interests of the peace. The concept of protection implies they had a fear of potential danger that might result from the assembly of the people, no matter how peaceful its intention.

It was fear that this shooter caught from policemen that led to what he imagined to be retaliation against policemen in the form of gunfire. These officers ultimately had nothing in common with the police in Minneapolis and Baton Rouge aside from the basics of the badges on their chests.

It was fear that everyone in attendance caught from this shooter that quickened their strides as they sought cover from the hailstorm of bullets peppering the area from the shooter’s gun.

It’s the results of that fear caught by the media that get spread back into the community, which then perpetuates the underlying fear that began the cycle in the first place.

It’s the community’s fear that the police catch.

It's all of this fear that resides within each of us and gets fed back to us. Ultimately, this fear gets perpetuated over and over again each time we decide to act from our own self-interests instead of acknowledging, listening to, and learning from the perspectives of others.  

It Takes Every Kind Of People

I live a privileged life. It's privileged in many ways, probably the biggest of which is that I am usually able to put the equivalent of blinders up to most of what's happening out in #thegreatbigworld. 

Here’s why I do so: With 7 billion people on the planet right at this instant, and another 100 billion who have lived before, even a conservatively average estimated age of 20 years’ life experience per person means there are 2 trillion years’ worth of life experiences out there to be heard about. That's 17,520,000,000,000,000 hours’ worth of perspectives to learn from. This article shares what 14 trillion of something looks like- imagine 1,000 times that, and now we’re talking about the number of human life-hours there have been on this earth.

What’s more: roughly 10% of the total hours’ worth of human life of all time is here on Earth right now. All ready to be shared directly by their primary sources. Right now.

Let that sink in.

The scope of that realization is why more recently I find myself keeping my blinders on to the news most of the time. Spending my hours listening to someone else's third-party account of some other people’s #farfaraway life experiences is a telephone game I do not wish to entangle myself in. Focusing on those stories also keeps me from engaging in the more local opportunities to affect change in the same related arena. So I keep my blinders on and move forward.

I am ultimately grateful for that privilege in many ways- it means that when tragedy strikes (no matter how big or how small), I have the ability to continue to strive toward making a difference on the issues and challenges that are within my localized control. From a sciency perspective, the violence is a dependent variable. It's an effect- not a cause. I try to pour my energy into affecting change in the causes of this violence, knowing that if it has already happened there is little I can do to affect change in that effect.

Knowing and believing in the ways in which we’re all one big team, when I grant myself the grace to ignore some of the issues occurring well outside my locus of control, I am able to focus in on the tasks at hand that I believe are making a difference, albeit on a small scale. Tending to partnerships with educators and young people both in my local area and across the country. Stepping up to do the heavy lifting of leadership work with our local animal shelter. Offering to come to the aid of local community members who #neednotwant someone's assistance. These are the minutes that turn to hours that fill my days. (Seriously, doing these things and writing about them are pretty much all I ever seem to spend any time doing.)

None of this is meant as some #humblebrag, nor is it in order to seek validation from others, to defend my position, or really to make any of this about me. Like every other post on every other blog, this account is but one perspective. I wish to share it such that others may learn from the way I see the world, and also so that their perspectives may help to mold and shape my thinking in the future.

I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing

So what do I take away from all of this? Why write this today?

Here's why: I think all of us need to give ourselves permission to accomplish what we have been put here to do, and not feel guilted or shamed into changing that agenda in order to meet someone else's insecurities that feed their desires for control. As I heard one person say earlier this week, we need to refuse to be stuck behind other people’s foolishness any longer. And this label of foolishness applies not only to those perpetrators of the crimes, but also all of those who shame others via social media and contribute to the same fear, self-loathing, and foolishness that they say they're trying to protest.

I share my perspective so that those who read it can hear that not all of those absent from the figurative or literal protest lines are doing so out of self-interest, cowardice, or worse yet agreement with the “other” side.

I for one am absent from those lines because I'm busy. Busy helping to form other lines. Busy doing what I can do in my locus of control to impact the #biglittleworld in my backyard. Busy helping to stop fear, hate, and ignorance from driving so much of how we interact with each other. And ultimately busy trying to cure those viral diseases with the only antidotes that have ever seemed to work: to listen, to learn, to love.

Just because you don’t see me on your picket lines doesn’t mean I’m not out there making a difference in service of the same cause. And I invite anyone who wants to join me to do so. I may not see you wherever you are either, but I guarantee I will see the effects in their impact on all those around us.

[reflectingpool]

Blue Skies, Bouncy Springs

The baristas at Cuppa Joe’s are on my team.

I frequent our town’s local coffee shop relatively regularly these days- not only because they sell the legal stimulant that is coffee in all of its forms, but also because it's a great beachy environment that reminds me of the Outer Banks whenever I enter.

One morning, the barista there had on a #rockingraphictee- all of those who know my propensity for cool t-shirts would know I'd have to let her know how awesome I thought it was. #soidid #becauseitwasrockin

Her response? “Thanks! It was only 3 dollars- I got it at Old Navy. I would say it works on the #starvingbaristasalary, but I got it before I started here.”

It was at that moment that my ideasthesia kicked in. The last time I had heard someone talk about Old Navy t-shirts, I was in Houston driving between schools for work. It was then that Adventure Of A Lifetime, the 1st single on Coldplay’s new album, debuted. After playing it, the radio DJ said that he #nothinged the song. While he didn't particularly care for it, he didn't dislike it either. He said it sounded like something you'd hear while folding shirts in Old Navy.

I've never been able to get that visual out of my head, which is partially why I put it in others’ heads whenever possible. She said she had never heard the song, but would listen when she got the chance.

#fastforward exactly one week later- I'm getting coffee, and my barista friend is there again. She had since listened to the song, and very much agreed with the sentiment of doing some folding at Old Navy. In fact, she mentioned that she actually played it while folding some laundry over the week! #toofunny

#fastfoward to today- I'm getting coffee, and my #OldNavyColdplay friend is there again. We exchanged pleasantries about how busy it was in the store this morning, I ran my card on account of having no cash on hand, and she gave me a pink PaperMate Inkjoy pen with which to sign.

Those that know me very well know that I have a thing about pens and how they write. When I find good ones that flow well and also have colors that pop off the page, I make a note of them in order to add a few to my own collection.

This was a brand I #wantednotneeded to have. I made a note of the pen’s distinguishing features, and planned to walk next door to get a pack at CVS right then and there.

While putting cream in my coffee, I overheard my #OldNavyColdplay friend asked the next customer, “What color would you like?” I thought it an odd question for someone's coffee order, though kept prepping my own at the nearby station.

I then heard her ask again, “What color would you like?” and looked up to see. What is this person ordering such that color is so important?

That's when I saw her looking to me, asking “What color pen would you like?” I laughed, explained my confusion, and noted that I could make due with anything if she was willing to share.

She dropped a pink pen on the counter and insisted I take it, regardless of how much I insisted that I was literally on my way to get a pack of my own.

It's true what they say on The Lego Movie. Everything is awesome. Everything is cool when you're part of a team. From now on, whenever I use that pen (or even that brand), I'll have a moment flash to mind of folding clothes to the sounds of Coldplay’s finest (or at least their newest).

[reflectingpool]

Lucky If We’re Speaking On A Holiday

I have recently been making a concerted effort to seek out music sources that help to define and / or reinforce my moods. I notice that I've forgotten to pay attention to music over the years, and given that it's played such an integral part in my life, I've been looking to rekindle that connection.

My Spotify account is full of playlists that I have created to pair and partner with all sorts of occasions.

Some are instrument-specific: 88 Keys collects groups of favorite instrumental piano numbers for the times I'd like to be more reflective, while Oh The Horns pulls in warm brass when I'm looking to wake up.

Others help me “get my head in the game” so to speak, like Hoop Dreams as a basketball warm-up mix and Surf Wax America focused on #tenhanging.

Some remind me of specific people- collaborative playlists with friends, the #UncleTonyMusic list I've shared with my nieces- while others are place-specific, like all the ones I've started for the different cities I visit as I travel for work.

Managing these playlists has resurrected the college radio DJ / record store mixtape maker in me. It's been a nice practice to get back into.

One playlist called #ITookAWalk started quite literally as a random assortment of songs I heard while I put another playlist on shuffle during a walk. It has since bloomed into a “noticing” playlist, the Dadaist collection of songs I hear while out in the world- on the radio, in the mall, in restaurants. I like the fact that it forces me to notice my surroundings, and also that it helps to trigger my aforementioned ideasthesia when I listen to it. For example, when Ellie Goulding’s Burn comes on, I remember standing in the paper products section of WalMart looking for the best deal on toilet paper.

For whatever reason, I find that comforting.

Yesterday, I was doing some noticing on #siriusxmu, the Sirius FM station dedicated to indie rock in all of its forms. Earlier in the day, I heard @juliacunningham rocking us with last week’s Download 15, followed by @brooklynvegan’s blogger radio show that closed out with Times New Viking. Many of these tracks were new to me, so the noticing playlist has come in handy for future listening.

At 3pm EDT, I lucked into hearing the beginning of @jennylsq’s #xmuoldschool. The premise of the show is one I've referenced frequently as of late. Did you realize that Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm is now 15 years old? When I was growing up, my dad listened to what was considered the “classic rock” station. Most of the songs we sang along to on that station in the mid-eighties were half that old! And yet to my ears, Helicopter sounds as fresh as it did when it was first released. That's the premise of the show- revisiting “old school” indie rock that all of us hipsters haven't realized is #oldpeoplemusic to #kidsthesedays.

To my surprise and delight, #xmuoldschool’s post-Independence Day has been to follow this most American of holidays with a most American of indie rock genres: emo.

I was nearing the destination of my drive when the show started, and Jenny started naming off all of the bands that would be featured. Sunny Day Real Estate. The Promise Ring. Saves The Day. Every time I come close to forgetting how much I heart emo, post-hardcore, and all of its ilk, a moment like this comes around and smacks me in the face for it. #justwhenithoughtiwasout #theypullmebackin

And then the fateful words, just as I pulled up to the left turn that would finish my drive:

“We’re going to get things started with a song befitting the end of the holiday. From the Get-Up Kids’ 1999 release, this is Holiday.”

As soon as the squealing guitar and staccato snare called the song to order, I turned off my signal, cranked the radio, and stepped on the gas, screaming away in harmony with this favorite of songs I'd long since forgotten. Here are some of the lyrics, in case you're not familiar:

What became of everyone I used to know? Where did our respectable convictions go? Words don't match the story that your actions show. What do I know?

I'm sure you can't help but remembering- I thought you'd be the one not to forget. Remembering's not helping you yet.

Say goodnight, mean goodbye. I know you think my life would stop when you're away. Maybe I can see you on the holidays. You're worlds away. I've never forgotten all our yesterdays, but I'm lucky if we're speaking on the holidays.

I still remember where I was when I first heard this song- standing in the old galley-style Plan 9 space in Albemarle Square, listening to Stephanie’s album pick for the day. (For reference, she preferred Four Minute Mile, but played the more accessible major-label debut to placate all of us who didn’t know any better.)

I'll now remember this moment every time the song pops up on #ITookAWalk, and I will smile from ear to ear.

[reflectingpool]

Too Busy Earning

Surfing made me think of Mat Kenney. Mat is one of my favorite people in the world, and I unfortunately didn't realize that kinship until after he stopped being on it. 

I first met Mat through a mutual friend that he was dating at the time. What I learned about him was that he was a really good guy- so much younger than his years in some ways, and wise beyond his years in others. Though his years were far fewer than mine in number, I got the feeling even after I just meeting him that he had squeezed a lot more of life into his years than I into mine. That feeling was reinforced every time I talked with him. Not in a way that made me feel inferior, but rather in a way that inspired me to live that much more life. One of my favorite Mat stories: He was the leader of a team in a Charlottesville Men's Basketball League one year, and once the season got started many of his teammates were not able to honor the commitment that they made to playing on the team each week. (I remember the frustration well from spearheading a team in a local curling league, though #anotherstory #anothertime.) Knowing that I once had a little game, he asked me if I would join them when available, to which I responded #ohhellyes. My first week joining the team pitted us against a local corporate team, one of whose members was the ex-husband of the aforementioned mutual friend that Mat was dating. #sotheresthat #justalittleawkward A great man once said that you could learn a lot about a person by how he or she plays basketball. I would say that man was me (#becauseisaidit), though the first great man I remember hearing say it independent of me was my father-in-law, and the second years later was President Obama. Playing on Mat's team that day, I learned the following:

A) Mat was a competitor to the extreme. He wanted not only to win, but to do so handily. Like MJ and Kobe, there was a fire that burned in him that kept pushing him to be the best. While I think this was always in his nature, the rivalry with the ex probably didn’t hurt matters in that regard.

2) Mat knew the game. He was so much fun to be on the court with, because he had this perfect mix of what I've learned now is Klay Thompson’s jumpshot, Steph Curry’s handles, Larry Legend’s court vision, and James Harden’s willingness to give up his body. Paired with a Kobe-like drive to #winatallcosts, Mat was a good guy to have on your side.

D) Mat was a leader, born and bred. It had been a while since I'd been on the court competitively, and I was more than a little nervous that my butterfingers or lack of timing on lay ups would lose us the game. Mat had faith in me- he saw my strengths, he noticed what I was trying to do, and gave me the belief in myself that I could succeed. And because he believed that I would succeed, so did I, and so I did.

I think of Mat while surfing partially because for several years we traveled together with two other couples to enjoy beach vacations in nearby Corolla. During one of those trips, I remember talking with him about his dream vacation, which was just to get into the water as soon as the day started, and pretty much not leave it until the day ended. I also think of Mat because he was an adventurer- not only a surfer but also a cliffdiver, base jumper, skydiver. He became a professional daredevil, moving out to Santa Cruz, California to be with others who shared his zeal for life. I read recently that Mat has since passed away doing what he loved. The news obviously hit me hard- even just typing those words these many months later waters my eyes. There are a couple of different notes that come to mind as I share that post- three other piano strings struck by the mallets as I press the key that represents Mat's passing:

Bruce Springsteen’s Atlantic City. Everything dies, honey- that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. I think Mat lives on through me every time I step into the liquid. Every time I try to master something new to me. Every time I push past my fear as I move into the unknown.

Klay Thompson's 2016 3-Point Contest win, and the accompanying music. What's wrong with being confident? Too busy earning. These are the two songs that will go through my head as I remember Mat’s approach to life, and vice versa.

The Weather Outside Is Weather. There is too much out in the world to spend all of one's time inside of one's own head trying to understand it. I must not forget that before I try to learn from it, I need to live it

Thanks, Mat- while you may be gone, you are not forgotten.

[reflectingpool]

The Weather Outside Is Weather

This past week on a vacation to the Outer Banks, I found out that I am a surfer. It's not what I expected to find out, and I found out nonetheless.

I have long used metaphors of riding waves and surfing what life brings in personal and professional settings. Like so many other instances, when I note similarities between ways of thinking in one context with ways of thinking in another, I feel the need to explore them further. After an afternoon spent riding waves on a boogie board, I started to realize that there might be something to trying out surfing in physical space.

Below are some life lessons learned from the experience of that realization, paired with a collection of my favorite scenes featuring Paul Rudd as surf instructor Kunu from Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

Also, to borrow a sentiment from Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius, this post is not about surfing.

Oh man, you know- they won't change that flyer. That was my mainland name- my Hawaiian name is Kunu!

Once I realized that I might be a surfer, I noticed the next day that Kitty Hawk Sports had a half-dozen boards available for rental. Curious, I walked into the store and asked the clerk how he would recommend a mainlander like me learn to surf.

Mark pointed me toward Jason, his teammate and an experienced surfer in his own right. While finishing the crust of his pizza lunch, Jason walked me through the uncomplicated process of signing up for lessons. Handing me a flyer, he empowered me to make the call once I figured out whether or not surfing lessons were in my future.

After mulling it over, I made the call that afternoon to sign up for lessons for the next morning. Suddenly, I had three new team members- those two clerks from the store, as well as the customer service representative (from Cherry Hill, New Jersey, I might add) who helped me secure the reservation.

That evening, I went back to thank those two new team members and ran into another surfer I had met earlier that day. I shared with him my plan for a lesson spurred on by my boogie-boarding experience, to which he and his friend chuckled. He assured me that after surfing, I would never pick up a boogie board again.

Given that I'd only picked up a boogie board for the first time two days prior, such a loss was worrisome to me, though I was intrigued enough to find out if it was true.

[Kunu] means Chuck. I plugged it into a database. There's a thing you can go on on the Internet, you just type in your name, and it just says it.

As it turns out, my Hawaiian name is Bane Kai. I have resisted the urge to find out what it means, because, to follow Kunu’s lead, to me #BaneKaiMeansTony.

Okay, when we're out there I want you to ignore your instincts. I'm gonna be your instincts. Kunu will be your instincts.

This is the beginning to one of my favorite scenes in this favorite of movies. The feedback cycle that Kunu offers Peter as he learns to surf has long been a go-to clip to share with coaches and teachers who are looking to provide clear feedback to those they help to learn a new skill.

Before beginning my own lesson, I had used an analogy between surfing (what I had never done) and snowboarding (which I had done before). In my head, I had already begun to learn how to surf by thinking of it as “carving into liquid snow” (an analogy about many have made endless fun of me).

What I learned on the water: that association was not helpful. #notevenalittlebit #notevenatall

I learned that I needed to let my instructor be my instincts such that I could unlearn all I had tried to teach myself. Thankfully, I had three great instructors, each of which was very different in their approach and style.

Don't do anything. Don't try to surf. Don't do it! The less you do, the more you do. Let's see you pop up. Pop up!

While we were on the beach practicing our pop-ups, instructor Max used the analogy that catching a wave is like catching a train- that one needs to match its speed before you'd ever be able to catch it.

Max’s approach on the water: to get you lined up into a wave and then give a slight push such that you have to paddle in order to match the speed of the wave. He made catching the wave and popping up into two separate experiences.

That's not it at all. Do less. Get down and try less. Do it again. Pop up.

While helpful in the long term, it's safe to say that Max’s approach wasn't as helpful to me in the initial stages of my #tenhanging. I got very used to the taste of salt water after those first few rounds.

Nope, too slow. Do less. Pop up.

Zach on the other hand offered a little more direction. He always gave a big first push though well in advance of the arrival of the wave. Some paddling was still required prior to popping up, though not as much as with Max.

You're doing too much, do less. Pop down. Pop up now. Stop. Get down, get down there. Remember, don't do anything. Nothing.

Transitioning to Zach’s approach from Max’s was tricky. I was doing way too much paddling and not enough living in the wave. I needed to do less paddling, and more popping up.

Well, you've gotta do more than that, because you're just laying- right now it looks like you're boogie boarding. Just do it. Feel it. POP UP!

I spent most of my time on the water with Ralph. As a fellow educator with experience in AVID, he took great care to identify a #Goldilocks wave, and also to provide the initial push so as to match the wave’s speed. All I would have to do with Ralph was pop right up.

Yeah! That wasn't quite it, but we’re gonna figure it out out there.

Ralph was big on prepping for success, and also on providing clear feedback on what he saw me do as I tried to pop up. He seemed to recognize that every wave I tried to catch was an opportunity for me to learn a small part of the larger skill, and gave actionable points on what he saw such that I could make sense of what I was experiencing.

Let's go surfin’, c’mon. Everybody's learning how, c’mon. The weather outside is weather!

This line was going around and around in my head while out in the water, which is ironic in its own right. 

As a former and forever physics teacher, I noticed that I was living in my head while out in the water. Where most saw waves and wind, I saw oscillating surface waves. Balancing and counterbalancing forces. Vectors as far as the mind’s eye could see.

What I needed to remind myself: The weather outside is weather. My environment was telling me what I needed to hear, and I did not need to analyze it. I needed to live in it if I wanted to be successful in this venture.

I quit wearing a watch when I moved out here. My cell phone has a clock on it, so I don't really need it.

Out on the water, time went on for days. I knew we had but 90 minutes for our lesson, and I noticed myself worrying about when that last wave would come upon us.

Of course, all of my time pieces were back in the car, and I had no real way of knowing how long I still had in this experience aside from my instructors’ direction. I learned to trust that they would tell me when it was time to come into shore, and until then I had the grace to live in that moment. It was an exhilarating if not offputting realization.

I don't really believe in age or numbers, you know- I don't...I mean, if you had to put a number on it, I guess I'd be...forty...four?

I am no longer anywhere near as young as I feel, and my body had no trouble reminding me. I came to realize that my body did not do what I expected it to do, because frankly I'm no longer as spry as I once was. (And I was never really all that spry to begin with, #sotheresthat.)

Even now, days later, my ribs are still sore from pulling myself up on that board. It's a soreness I look back on fondly, and a soreness all the same.

You need to get back on that board is what you need to do.

I was not as successful at riding waves as I had hoped, at least not at first. However, I was nowhere near as bad at it as I had expected to be, either.

With each wave I rode, I learned something new about how to ride the next one. Partnered with the feedback of my instructors, the models of my peers, and the endless supply of waves, I kept getting back on that board.

You've gotta just pull yourself up by your wetsuit, get back on that board- hey, look, man, if you were attacked by a shark, are you going to give up surfing?

While in the moment of that lesson, I was out further in the ocean than I ever remember being. Normally, such an untethered connection would make me nervous. Concerned for all that lies beneath the surface and beyond the horizon. 

And yet on this day, I had no fear. Maybe it was because of the safety I felt in being a part of this troupe of learners. Maybe it was the naïveté of an overarching feeling of, “This is a sanctioned lesson- what could happen badly?” Either way, even if I had been attacked by a great white, I don't think anything could have kept me from jumping back on that board.

Peter: I want to stand up on a wave before I leave.

Kunu: I don't think you're ready yet, man.

Peter: I’M READY TO RIDE GIANTS, KUNU.

Kunu: I think you're ready.

I was determined to get up on a wave. I was ready to ride giants. And in some ways, I was successful. By the end of the lesson, the closest I got to riding a wave was on one knee, cruising along at the speed of the current below me.

In the end, I was not yet ready to trust my body and the board enough to pop all the way up. That said, the experience taught me that I could do it. That I am in fact a surfer.

I am forever grateful to my new teammates at Outer Banks Surf School, Kitty Hawk Kites, and Sam Sykes Media for the opportunity to learn about myself through this experience, and look forward to the next chance I get to step back into that liquid.

The seasoned surfer I met was right: I'll never touch a boogie board again.

PS As I often do, I made a collaborative playlist on Spotify to get me into the groove of this experience. You are invited to add your favorite reminders of surfing an endless supply of waves.

PPS For posterity’s sake, I guess I should record the actual lessons I learned:

Lay flat on the board, and touch the tips of your toes to the tip of the board in order to get centered and balanced.

Paddle your way past all the breakers, and look for a sand bar that carries a breaking wave a decent number of yards toward the shore.

Wait for a good wave- be patient.

When it's time to catch the wave, get to paddling. Catch it like you're catching a train- match its speed as it approaches.

Once you're in the wave, just pop up. Push your body up with your hands beneath your shoulders, swing your legs up under you, and get a wide and low center of gravity.

Seriously. Push the board to pop up. Trust your body, trust the board, live in the now.

[reflectingpool]

Tongue-Tied And Dizzy

I was astonished this morning by the opening lyrics to Fleet Foxes’ Helplessness Blues, and now feel the need to tell others about it. While I’ve listened to the song many times before, I only paid attention to it for the first time this morning. Here’s the lyric:

I was raised up believing I was somehow unique, like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see.

And now, after some thinking, I’d say I’d rather be a functioning cog in some great machinery, serving something beyond me.

How incredible is that image? The shift in time implied in the lyric is nothing short of brilliant, though it also causes me to employ #thepowerofAND:

Can you imagine the image of some great machinery with billions of snowflake-shaped cogs spinning in concert interdependent with each other, each of which plays a part in making the machine work?

How incredible is that? Are you not astonished? If not, #youhavenotbeenpayingattention

I’ve been inspired recently by a poem written by Mary Oliver:

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

I think these are my new favorite go-to norms for groups working together. It feels as if everything is there, all in 7 richly packed words.

Taking that Pay attention norm to heart, I listened to the song a few more times. Here is the next lyric that spoke to me:

If I know only one thing, it's that everything that I see of the world outside is so inconceivable often I barely can speak. I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself. What good is it to sing helplessness blues? Why should I wait for anyone else?

It’s as if Fleet Foxes read the same poem I did.

This realization reminded me of another I had many years ago, born out of frustration with understanding my role within an organization’s central office. To clear my head, I took a walk through the woods. I walked until I forgot why I was frustrated, and that’s when the words popped up:

What I seek in order to be successful in this role: To know whether I am expected to be a designer of the machine or a cog inside of it.

What I now realize is that I was missing the most important thing: #thepowerofAND. I was expected to be both a designer of the machine and a cog inside of it. I was expected both to be the unique snowflake that I am, and to put that uniqueness to use as a cog within the machine such that it changed the way that the machine functioned.

To the benefit of reflection and the gift of time.

[reflectingpool]

My Mind Holds The Key

There's another thing I have learned about Ladybug during her 6+ years at our house. It's something that we found out about her within her first few weeks at the house. She needs to feel secure, and at the same time cannot stand being confined.

Full disclosure: This is a long post, one with several movements. Sort of Godspeed You! style in its composition. I’m confident that you’ll enjoy it, though feel free to bookmark it for a time when you have the time.

Here Comes The Story Of The Hurricane

I remember it like it was yesterday, the moment I unlocked and walked through the front door to bring to close the first time we left Ladybug in the house for any significant period of time without anyone other than her doggie brother to comfort her. Melissa had left the house around 3pm to attend an evening college class while I was coming home from work around 5pm. Two hours alone- it's a good opportunity for scaffolding, right? Wrong.

The. House. Was. A. Disaster.

It looked like a tornado hit our living space. Hurricane Ladybug. The front door jamb had claw and teeth marks carved into it where she had tried to chew her way out. The sliding screen to the deck? Shredded to bits, with the carcass of the door frame still intact, hanging limply, swinging lifelessly from its track.

Walking down the hallway into the office / study, the desktop placemat had been pulled from its home. Pens and papers strewn about the floor. A laptop computer midway into its slow descent from its perch atop the desk. The bamboo shades ripped crookedly, making a guillotine blade shape overtop of the window that it looks as if she had tried to smash her way through. In the guest room, a ceramic bowl holding a collection of guitar accessories had found its way off of its associated nightstand spot, while several other tchotchkes rest between the sea of picks shattered in a mosaic pattern on the floor.

And though the news was rather sad, I just had to laugh. And take some pictures. Metatag: As soon as I find those pictures I will share them here. #staytuned

We obviously decided not to do that again.

We had wanted to avoid crate training, as in our human minds we thought leaving her confined was unnecessary and even perhaps a bit cruel. Plus, the worst that our first dog had done was climb on top of a coffee table and howl after we left the room, so we weren't interested in changing his routine. (More on that story later.)

What we did not realize: Ladybug craved the comfort of a space to call her own if and when we were not there. A space to reassure her that everything was safe. That everything would be okay.

We have come to learn that Ladybug  is our pack mother. The one who when she first enters the house makes the rounds to ensure she knows where everyone is. The one that will not leave for a walk if we don't all go together. The one who panics at the disco if she hears crying puppies on a TV show on Animal Planet and runs confusedly into the room behind the TV screen trying to find entry into TV Land to save that litter.

PS After the aforementioned incident, we also stopped leaving Animal Planet on the TV for them when we left the house. #lessonslearned

We realized that we needed to cast our human worries aside and focus on the very real worries of our little Bug. #hencethecrate

That day we went to buy our first (and only) doggie crate. We wanted one big enough to allow her to move around, while small enough to feel secure. Eventually we settled on one that felt #justGoldilocks. And after some practice and rehearsal, we had the perfect opportunity to test it out: The Boss was in town.

Born To Run

My wife being the #JerseyFresh girl that she is, Bruce Springsteen resides on his post as #KingOfAllMusic. (Interestingly enough, that would make Jon Bon Jovi the Fresh Prince of New Jersey.) His deity-like status means that every time his touring band of E-Street players comes to town, we must make a pilgrimage and pay our respects. Well, that and sing along at the top of our lungs to Born To Run. #trampslikeus

I'm a bit of a convert myself, having only been introduced to the #BornInTheUSA troubadour as a child and later reacquainted with his works in movies like Jerry Maguire and High Fidelity. In the Klosterman-inspired battle between Billy Joel and The Boss, my college-aged parents chose the #uncoolbutgreat Piano Man, a decision that channeled its way to my ears decades later. #singusthesongtonight

On this night, it was Jersey’s finest who would sing us the songs. We ventured out to do so with trepidation, in constant worry that our little Bug was back home resting miserably in her cage. Of course, those concerns melted away once 10th Avenue Freeze Out’s chant began. It wasn't until our drive home that the fear crept back in: Had she been okay all alone in the crate?

Fast forward 30 minutes, to the moment we unlocked and walked into the front door. Ladybug greeted us excitedly, ready for a treat and a walk.

What's more strange: the door to the crate was still locked. #nojoke #notmakingitup #weadoptedhoundini

With mouths agape and heads tilted in a puzzled state, we stood in silence trying to process #whathadhappened. All we can reason is that she squeezed her way through some small opening in the enclosure, and somehow emerged without any broken bones to show for it.

Thankfully, the house was still intact, #sogrowth. Though obviously we couldn't do that again, either. However, the results of this little test gave us an idea.

The next day, we moved the crate into its own space in an oddly shaped corner of our bedroom that we had never been able to figure out what to do with. And left the door wide open. Whenever we left the house, we walked the dogs to that space, gave them a “goodbye treat,” and walked out the door.

The magic medicine worked.

The crate itself is now a permanent fixture in the bedroom, and the door has been pried off and thrown away. The crate is our dogs’ go-to place whenever they're scared (like during a thunderstorm, an earthquake, or a smoke alarm triggered by an overcooked dinner). As opposed to feeling like some sort of cage in which they are trapped, the space now feels like a place of security since the door has been removed. At least that's what I infer when I try to see #whatthedogsaw.

Open The Door

There have been several recent references in pop culture to similar predicaments as of late that bring have brought this memory to mind. #minorspoilersabound

On Marvel’s Daredevil, a young Matt Murdock is mentored by a blind man named Stick who teaches him the following mind-body connection:

“The mind controls the body, the body controls our enemies, our enemies control jack shit by the time we're done with them.” #hesaidthesword

A recent episode of Preacher finds Jesse Custer with a chain shackled around his ankle, placed there by a mystery woman that we know shares a past from the protagonist’s previous life. The preacher’s demand: “Let. Me. Go.”

Her response? “You can walk right out that door. Whenever. You. Want.”

TV minutes later, we learn along with Custer that the other end of that chain rests untethered under the bed.

On Here’s Not Here, a favorite episode of The Walking Dead that depicts Zen-minded Morgan’s origin story, we reconnect with the husband, father, friend, and fan favorite we met on episode 1 who has since grown feral by the trials of the zombie apocalypse. He is captured, imprisoned, and eventually brought back from the brink by a kind soul named Eastman who crosses paths with him one day in the woods.

For weeks, a savage and trapped Morgan tries to #shawshank his way from his jail cell. Eastman counsels Morgan that he is free to leave whenever he is ready, bringing him food and providing shelter until that moment when the trapped indicates that he is ready to be free. After hours of chiseling in secret, Morgan starts to listen to Coach Eastman’s words- that all he has to do is walk right out the door.

With a clear mind and full heart, Morgan finally puts the pieces together that he can't lose. He pushes the cell’s gate, and #thedooropens. Turns out the door has been unlocked the whole time.

Later on, we find out that Morgan finds comfort in that unlocked cell. Even after he learns of the lack of lock, he stays in the comfort of that cage. What's more, after he finally emerges from #hisownprison and realizes that he can rest his head anywhere he wants, he opts to return to that cell each night. Fast-forward to his new home in Alexandria- the first thing Morgan does to make that town his home is build a cell.

It seems like Ladybug needed the same safe space. A place to know that she was secure while also having the freedom to move as she pleased. We should all be so lucky as to live a Ladybug kind of life. #feelinglucky #feelinggood

Interesting postscript to that story- it was a Bruce Springsteen concert that had peeled us away from our first dog for the first time as well. For that evening, we hired one of Melissa’s trusted students to spend time with our little guy. The results? They had a super-chill night hanging out on the Downtown Mall, the student refused payment for such a relaxing evening, and we had found our eventual doggiesitter for our wedding weekend several months later. #anotherstory #anothertime #hestillgotpaid #wesnuckitinhisbag

PPS This post’s title is in reference to an Arcade Fire song that I just love to cover. During the explosive bridge, a buddy of mine would always bang out the drum parts on the tables of whatever venue I was playing it acoustically. What an incredible song- the spaghetti western inspired video pops to mind every time I hear it. And now, so does Ladybug.

[reflectingpool]

Who Runs The World

In celebration of Father’s Day, this post has been going through my head for a while now. So here goes:

I'm often asked if I have any kids, which I tend to answer in one of two equally truthful ways:

I have no kids of my own directly, though all of those I help to educate in some way feel like at least a small part of my larger family. In my classroom, I taught as many as 1,000 kids. In my old district, I served upwards of 18,000. Now? Probably pushing a quarter million. #edunerdybuttrue #ihaveabigfamily

No babies in our house, though my wife and I do raise furkids. We currently have two little ones that we love deeply.

Now #dontgetittwisted - I am not one of those guys that thinks that pets are people. The analogy is a sore topic for many a person-parent, as often they tend to get all #whatevs at even the intimation that raising animals is anything like raising children.

To that sentiment, I offer the following Wooderson-inspired quote: At least your kids keep getting older- ours always stay the same age.

Over time, your children grow. They start to take on additional responsibility. They have amazing fascinations about the world, and if you’re lucky they share those fascinations with you. They learn and develop, and by the grace of God they eventually join the conversation at the grown-up table.

Ours bark. They look pretty much the same for their whole lives, save for the greying of the fur and the whitening around the face. They are continuously dependent on us for everything they may need. And while they may grow out, ours never really grow up.

(Side note: This strand of thought has me considering a recent conversation and post by a colleague about wants versus needs- I think we as humans may only have wants and not needs because we have the ability to take actions to fulfill those needs. I wonder if the same is true for animals? #foodforthought)

Again, this is not me #hating, or trying to #subtweet that somehow my life is harder than anyone else’s, etc. Far from it. I do not believe that life is some sort of competition to be won or lost by those who have it better or worse. This is merely me offering perspective to those for whom it might be helpful.

One of those furkids that I've been blessed to be able to learn about over these past few years is our little Ladybug. She runs this mutha. She is the queen of this castle. I would say it’s because we did such a good job training her, and that might be true. At the same time, I think she trained us, as I cannot remember a time when she didn’t rise and fall in the exact same routine:

Sometime around 5:30am- Time for breakfast

Sometime before 8am- Time to walk

Before anyone leaves- Time for a goodbye treat

Before 11am- Time to lay on the couch

Between 11am-4pm- Time to follow the sun, moving like clockwork from sunbeam to toasty sunbeam

Et Cetera

Et Cetera

Sometime around 9pm- Time to lay on the chair she calls a bed

Ad Infinitum

In the same way, she's very rule-oriented. She seems to have a very clear sense of what's right and what's wrong, and she keeps herself and all of the rest of us on the straight and narrow by reminding us of her colorblind impressions. Her “man bark” will call anyone to task.

One thing I've also noticed about Ladybug: she is terrified of thunderstorms, and has a really strange way of dealing with it. The other night around 1:30am, she started whimpering and pawing at the bedroom door, wanting to get out and inspect the sound of an incoming storm. I let her out of the room and subsequently out of the house, at which time she started to pace back and forth through the yard until she could comfortably #walkitout relative to the threat of the rumble.

If dogs could be diagnosed with OCD, I think she would be a textbook case.

Speaking of which, it’s 5:46am, and she's pawing at the door now. Which means it's time for breakfast for her, time for coffee for us mere mortals, and time to get this party started.

[reflectingpool]

Give Me A Flammable Life

I just returned from Chicago for work, the location highlighted on the first episode of the Foo Fighters’ HBO documentary series Sonic Highways. I remember the day I saw that episode very well- it was the same night I found out I was going to be a double-uncle. #twinkies

I talked with my sister for a long time that night. Longer than we’d talked in years- about stuff that wasn’t pop-culture related, anyway. Our way of interacting has long been described as #gettingallBorashy by my wife and brother-in-law. She and I get all excited and #talkinmoviequotes, and the two of them get all #JimfromTheOffice.

But I digress. It's been a long time since that moment in a hotel room in Houston when I was being the big brother my sister needed me to be. She's had all sorts of new experiences since then (did I mention the twins?) and so have I. I do hope that I can keep being the big brother that she deserves, and just as importantly keep being the awesomely cool uncle for my nieces.

Seriously- Uncle Jesse has nothing on me. Well, aside from his freakishly good looks, ripping musical talent, and spot-on comedic timing. But other than that? Not one thing.

And now a real aside- #srsly how is John Stamos even more attractive today than he was 20 years ago? #comeon #howrude #havemercy

I never found out if my sister watched any of Foo Fighters’ Sonic Highways. (Meta-moment: except for when she read the draft of this post and talked about the episodes she had seen. For dramatic effect, I leave the previous sentence unchanged.) If she hasn't yet seen it (#seeabove), she needs to do so ASAP- and frankly, so do you. The way that the story about life is told through music, only to come full circle with a composition written from the documentary’s source material, serves as further evidence that Dave Grohl is officially my doppelgänger. Or I his.

Seriously. Check out my pic from Facebook’s doppelgänger week- is the likeness not uncanny? (Note: I still contend that Windi’s is the spottest-on.)

He just needs to get him some glasses. Or maybe I need to grow my hair back out.

Nope, definitely him and the glasses.

[reflectingpool]

My Suitcase And Guitar In Hand

After doing some reflection on the #Team aspect of my being, I found there were two homes very near and dear to my heart for which I did not have a #teamtshirt. The places where I frequented open mic.

Something I love about open mics- they are places where people from all walks of life are united by a common love of music and performance. As a “professional traveler” (as one hotel’s customer service representative described us), open mics are also a welcome reprieve from the isolation of the road. What I have found: when I walk into an open mic for the first time, I know no one. By the time I leave, everyone knows my name, and I have a #fastfamily after having spoken to several other players about their own music. All because I put myself out there and played a few songs. #smallpricetopay

Out on the road, I have several favorite open mic haunts in the towns I visit, and strategies for finding new ones in local papers and online forums. Back at home, however, there are two I would consider home. Sadly enough, neither still exists in its previous incarnation.

It’s Not Food - It’s Family

Dogwood Restaurant’s tagline is perfect: It's Not Just Food, It's Family. I remember when the restaurant first started selling those t-shirts, as my friends and I made some goofy jokes involving soylent green when we saw the motto during Wednesday night open mics. Now that the shirt is no longer available for sale to us non-employees, my heart is honestly a little sad.

Go ahead and make fun of me for saying that just now- it's doesn’t make it any less true.

Most Wednesdays when I was in town, I would attend the local open mic at the Dogwood. Run by Eric Hendrickson, the small group of us regulars would come with songs in tow ready to play between 9pm-11pm. Practice time has eluded me over the past several years, so time on the open mic stage tended to be the only time I picked up an instrument.

The open mic nights themselves were always a welcome respite from the week. This space is one of the few where I did not pressure myself to talk education. Where I did not try to manage service work. Where I allowed myself the grace just to be. To hang out for a few hours and talk music, movies, and life with the Hendrickson clan.

The night of the #LastDogwoodOpenMic, I was on the road. While by all accounts it seems like there was a good time had by all, I knew I wanted a snapshot to capture that memory. And ideally a t-shirt.

Last week, I went by and enlisted a new team member who was willing to take a pic of her Dogwood t-shirt for my collage. (As a public disclaimer, we made sure she handled the camera so #noawkwardmoments.) All was initially good- except that the word family was the one missing in the wrinkle of her shirt. Since it was kind of the most important word of the seven in the tagline, I asked if we could try again. Thankfully, she helped me track down a spare shirt that I was able to use to take my pic. #score

While Dogwood no longer offers a Wednesday night open mic night, they have begun a Saturday night songwriter series, in which I may end up participating one day soon with fellow #OpenMicAllStars Eric Hendrickson and Danny McCarthy. #MoreOnThatSoon #StayTuned #HashtagEverything

Bring Your Friends And Family For Fun

Getting a #teamtshirt for the other open mic was a bit trickier. Baja Bean was home to a regular Monday night open mic on the UVA corner for the better part of 20 years. I spent as many as 6 of those years regularly attending the weekly events, playing and learning alongside a community of musicians.

Baja Bean was a space of #fastfamily. I befriended the aforementioned Travis Elliott at that open mic, as well as other local musicians Robin Wynn, Mark Goldstein, Christian Breeden, Josh Mayo, Schuyler Fisk, and of course hosts Gretchen Kasler, Tanya Kay, Lisa Roberson, and Charles Davis. For a time from 2000-2002, this circle of musicians became a family- one that each week everyone would look to reconnect with and share their latest song.

One of the bands I played with in college only ended up playing out once in our lifetimes, and it was at that open mic. Otherwise we did all of our practicing at the now defunct Pudhouse. #nomorepudhouse #sadface

Another small group of us formed a collective of sorts. Spearheaded by Mark Goldstein and inspired by bands like Broken Social Scene, each of us practiced and played on each other's music in order to push each other while bringing out the underlying missing elements of our songs. We were never solo artists, because we always had each other.

It wasn't just the famous players who were part of that #fastfamily. The crowd always consisted of both the regular and the transient. One of those “summer players” went by the name Five Speed, and engaged in antics like bringing a 4-track recording that he miked up and sang along with. Jordan Reiter on the other hand was one of those compulsive regulars- his unique brand of sing-alongs like original Blood On The Snow and cover of They Might Be Giants’ Birdhouse In Your Soul prompted Robin to write Jordan’s Song, which has long been one of my favorites that she has put to disc. Some lyrics:

Hey, boy- your boat is leaking, and we can see you bailing furiously. Hey, man- we’ll shout as loud as we can, “You can stand! Funny man, you can stand.”

There were regular patrons who became part of that #fastfamily as well. Hunter was one of my favorites- a film buff who was always ready to talk Star Wars, George Lucas, or James Dean. I remember one night I gave him a ride home from the event, and shared with him that I was a little nervous for my first Open House night for my classroom the next evening. He told me to wait downstairs as he went up to his apartment, after which time he emerged holding what he described as a “power tie” that would help boost my confidence. I thanked him and told him I would return it the next week, to which he responded, “Keep it. If you’re going to teach, you’re going to need all of the good energy you can get.” It’s still one of my favorite ties in my collection. (#FunFact- Hunter worked at a local hotel at the same time as one of my favorite former students, and no doubt has served in a similar mentorship capacity for him as well. #SmallWorld)

The employees of the Bean joined in on the action, too. Jackie was the regular bartender who would sing an acapella version of a rather raunchy little tune originally penned by Mary Prankster within which many an f-bomb was dropped (#earmuffs, Grandma). Ben also worked the bar relatively regularly on Mondays, and given that he also worked next door at The Corner’s Plan 9 he knew all about good music and media. I miss that guy. Bill always had a smile and a laugh for you as you walked into the space, Stacey kept things light and moving, and Jenn made everyone feel at home. And while I never saw him play there, Brandon Collins of BC fame was always a welcome addition to the collective. There was a contagious energy within those four walls that kept bringing us back week after week, largely supplied by the great people that worked there.

Like every contagion, eventually life and time proved to be the antidote that cured us of the open mic disease. While attempts were made by Eric Hendrickson to resurrect the community several years ago, the growing corner market started to become more and more challenging in which to compete, and the Baja Bean on the corner eventually elected to close its doors.

Hence the challenge in getting a #TeamBajaBean t-shirt.

Last week, I remembered that there still was a Baja Bean in the Cville area- after growing to Richmond and Waynesboro, there is also a location on 29 North near the airport. Since I was already on my way to said airport for a flight to Chicago, why not lunch? #allthingsgo

Not only did I get that t-shirt- I got an awesome lunch version of my old staple (the big burrito) as well as a great conversation with the owner, Ron. He and I connected around those good ol’ days, while also catching each other up on what's been up in life since those days of yore.

In my search, I also had a new team member join me- the waitress on staff for the day. She helped me pick out the right color and fabric for my team FSPCA t-shirt, and would have fit in perfectly with that Corner crew.

I’m Gonna Make This Place Your Home

I say that I’m cured of my case of the open mics, but that’s not true, as it never really leaves your blood. That recent trip to Chicago found me attending an early bird open mic in Libertyville along with a colleague. Sure enough, while we knew no one once we walked in the doors, by the time we left an hour later we knew everyone, and everyone knew us. Apparently I had made someone’s day, as every song I played was one that he needed to hear. (PS For reference, the setlist: Seasons (Waiting On You), How I Became The Prince, Pitselah, Such Great Heights / Float On.)

About a year ago, I created this Open Mic Charlottesville Facebook group to try and connect people together in our area around this common pastime. So far like every community, it’s an 80-20 type group. Some of those 20% doing 80% of the connecting are definitely worth the visit: Brady Earnhart, who runs the twice-monthly Uncovered at Escafe, and Patty Asuncion, who bounces from space to space around the Cville area, bringing quite the crowd with her as she goes. If such a group of interest to you, please join. Jump in and say hello to everyone. No doubt that these families would be quick to welcome you into the fold.

[reflectingpool]

What Friends Are For

Full disclosure: David Brookings and I have been at least acquaintances for the better part of 20 years. After the #PublishAndPraise of There’s A Kind Of Hush that connected him to Travis Elliott and the three other people referenced in the post, David and I reconnected for the first time in a long time, where I saw that he had a new album released out into the ether. I wondered what might happen if I ran his band’s new material through the labyrinth between my two ears to see what popped out of my mouth- what would I see and hear as I listened to these new songs? It’s been about 13 years since my last review for 9x- a concert review of ( ) era Sigur Ros. Hope this one helps bring a few new listeners to David’s team.

David Brookings And The Average Lookings

Please tell me I'm not the only one who has experienced this feeling. The feeling of wearing a 20+-year-old t-shirt. The t-shirt with the logo you can't even read anymore because it's so worn from years of wash and wear. The t-shirt that you have always thought of as being yours, though ultimately you're pretty sure you borrowed it from a friend in high school and never gave it back. The t-shirt crammed in the back of your chest of drawers that you can tell is the one you're looking for because of how it feels.

That's the feeling I get as I listen to David Brookings and the Average Lookings’ eponymous first album for the first time.

I first met David via a mutual connection with a good friend of mine’s then-girlfriend. Stories of his musical prodigy spread virally throughout my social network, years before #theFacebook was even a twinkle in Winklevi eyes. I heard accounts of living rooms entertained for hours by this jukebox of a troubadour who seemed to know every song written between 1950 and 1989 and was able to play it in an impeccably original style.

Fast-forward five years. David joined forces with my personal rock gods- left-of-center frontman Jason Horst and Percussion King David Landrum, two of the players of the then-defunct X-Ray Dudes- to form a band called The Sound. Filling out The Sound were stellar Bryan Stell to #slapdatbassmon and Matt “Mr. Longbody” Webb tickling those ivories. I had a baseball hat made at a kiosk in the local mall that proclaimed my #fanboy status to their new team, and tried to attend every show they put on in our local RVA scene. While I unfortunately missed this 10th anniversary reunion concert, I consider myself lucky to have seen several of those referenced last shows.

David and Jason's initial collaborations back in those days paralleled how the musical landscape may have been different if a young Paul McCartney had bumped into Brixton’s David Bowie instead of fellow Liverpudlian John Lennon. The kind of music that they might've made together- McCartney’s wistful longing and boyhood charm paired with Bowie’s moonage daydream in place of Lennon’s instant karma- may have held a candle to Brookings/Horst collaborations. While our musical paths later diverged in the woods, with me taking the road less traveled by, I'll one day tell others that the path that led me to that fork was paved with music made popular to me by people like David Brookings.

And that day, my friends, is today.

When I first met him, Brookings was more of a solo musician, whereas Horst I knew in the context of other bands he fronted. Jason’s voice would come through in complement and in service to the rest of the musicians on the team, while David’s voice very much tended to spring to the forefront of the self-produced initial recordings he put out into the world.

Brookings’ voice on this debut album really still puts him front and center as the prominent member of this group. Let's face it: when you name your band David Brookings and the Average Lookings (hey, it rhymes, and I just heard it- #thatsfunny (parentheticals inside of parentheticals make me laugh)), you'll tend to call attention to the frontman status. And unlike the album cover mash-up of Weezer’s blue album with Almost Famous’ Stillwater #teamtshirt, David’s front-and-center stance never relegates his newfound teammates into the “out of focus guys in the background” status on the recording. I can definitely hear the voices of all of the other musicians on this record, even though for my taste I’d love to hear their instruments a bit more prominently in the mix.

The strength of this record- aside from unsuprisingly tight songwriting that evokes mop-topped mid-’60s pop throughout- are its harmonies. David has always recorded ridiculously warm Beatlesque vocal tracks, making extensive use of double-tracking on melodies and choruses to fill out the sound. His approach to vocal tracking ultimately led me to use a similar double-tracking method in the production of Morgan Freemason’s Where I'm From.

And of course, the guitar solos are incendiary.

Track-By-Track Rundown

The album picked up for me right where David and I left off so many years ago. The opener recalls those early days of The Sound, hand-clapping ditty Time To Go keeps the energy high, and jaunty The Optimist walks the line between The Monkees’ Daydream Believer and Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline. I guess that makes the latter an homage worthy of Saving Silverman, a shout-out to all those songs that have been both written by Neil Diamond and performed by The Monkees. (For your reference, that includes I'm a Believer, A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You, Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow), and Love to Love.) If I remember correctly, I think I saw that movie at David’s apartment.

Listening further, I can tell that David is now officially a Californian, all from the lyrics to You’re Right, It Went So Wrong. When I heard, “Take the 10, the 405- no one here gets out alive,” I knew he had officially gone from the west end to the west coast. Everybody in California puts the in front of the major highway names- instead of calling it Interstate 95, I-95, or just plain 95 like we do here on the east coast, it's always, “Take the 5 to the 101 to the 405,” etc. I always thought that the Californians sketch on SNL was funny because of the overgrown accents- to Californians, it's funny because of the the.

Don't Stop To Doubt Yourself is the first song that reminds me of the David Brookings that I first met- the guy sitting in the living room that could not put his guitar down for long enough to have a regular conversation, because everything he saw and heard reminded him of the song he just had to play for all of us right at the moment. I think David is the live version equivalent of what I'm doing with the #soundcollage approach of bringing music into a professional learning space, and I'm realizing now I might've learned that skill from David. #thanksbuddy

Hearing this one reminds me of one of my most poignant David Brookings memories.  A couple of months into a new year back in the late ‘90s, David and I took a ride together to pick up a friend at Denny's. How and why (and even who) that friend was that ended up at Denny's, I have no recollection. What I do remember is on the drive, we were reminiscing about a #letscallit challenging exchange during a recent New Year's party involving a make-out session with a girl that I brought with me and mistakenly thought I was still dating. I remember on that evening David had been strumming American Girl in the big central room, while I was singing the harmonies to the chorus of that song from a dark corner of the dining area across the open space. That visual should give you a decent idea of the vibe of the evening. #happynewyear

I'm not sure what was more awkward- the 45-minute drive to take that girl back to her house after leaving the party, or the 2 minutes of silence David and I shared with each other in that car months later. To David’s credit, he was such a stand-up dude that he just broke the silence and apologized, having not even known she and I had ever even been an item. My response- it was water under the bridge. Especially since he had built that bridge out of his willingness to name that misunderstanding. #communicationrules

I think that Don't Stop To Doubt Yourself brings that moment to mind because it’s sad in the way that Beatles songs are sad- the ones that have a hint of optimism under the surface of it even when in and of themselves they feel so despondent. This song also marks the pivot point of the album, the space when the mood shifts from looking back in anger and sadness to looking forward with humility and hope.

Well, technically the pivot point of this album IMO is two-thirds of the way down with I’m In Love With Your Wife, the comedic centerpiece of this table where the focus shifts from David-as-narrator to something else. Written from the perspective of Eric Clapton in an open letter to George Harrison about who I'd assume to be Patti Boyd, this song is a break from the rest of the collection, a chuckle in the midst of a story of heartache.

This Is The Life reminds us that there are many others also bringing these ‘60s-inspired tunes into the 21st century. The bridge of the song recalls the Fleet Foxes breakdown moments, where you get this killer harmonies with minimal instrumentation that both channel and salute those mid-century vibes.

Only Now At The End mashes up Rubber Soul, The Bends, and Full Moon Fever, with a verse I imagine pairing with sped-up videos of the band chasing each other on tiny little tricycles. The minor ending of the verse shifts to a major chord at the chorus which is #soJonny, while the bridge runs down a dream into Tom Petty territory. It's got the energy of a dub reggae cover version of Whip It.

I am noticing that I do love the production value in the mix. While I would recommend a few slight adjustments, Brookings and bassist Isaac Fisher did an admirable job pulling all of these sounds together into a cohesive framework. If anything, the textures are so rich that I want to hear them all a bit more distinctly, and at points they get a little muddled. #smallpotatoes #inthegrandscheme Come Back Home opens at the close with Elliott Smith inspired orchestral swoons over an acoustic guitar. Given that it's the last song, the vibe it has going for it- with its subject matter, its aesthetic, and its pleading poignance- fits perfectly as a last track, I do kind of wish to have heard more these kind of songs interspersed across the record, though that may just be me and my propensity for #sadbastardmusic.

Since the last time David and I saw each other, so much has happened. He’s moved to Memphis, and then moved again to San Jose. He's met so many famous people at his job as a tour guide at Sun Studios that the scrapbook of selfies is overflowing. One of those celebrities was Steve Jobs- who then brought David onto Team Apple in San Jose. He has also since both started and completed a 209 Beatles songs in 209 days challenge- one of those time capsule moments that may recede from memory but will never not have happened.

And most importantly, he's found himself as a keystone in a family unit that looks as if it’s set up for the long haul. Those life experiences have impacted his writing voice in a very powerful way, though ultimately he's still the same Beatles super-fan I met 20 years ago. If you want to meet him for the first time, this album is as good an introduction as any.

[reflectingpool]

We’re On Each Other’s Team

I love team t-shirts. I love them so much, sometimes I just can’t stand myself. When I see a group sporting a particularly clever logo, I get the feeling of wanting to give them a fist bump salute, though it’s usually just a passing comment that says, “I see you, I see your shirt, and I think it’s awesome.”

Walking through an airport one afternoon, I noticed an incredible team t-shirt announcing to the world that its wearer was Wicked Smaht. It turns out the Good Will Hunting inspired logo on his shirt was the motto for his school’s academic decathlon team, of which he was a member. (Full disclosure: This story did not happen to me, but to a colleague of mine. It's just a joke, but you know...it’s #funnierinfirstperson.)

This one did happen to me: a fellow first-year when I first started teaching at my old high school elected to start and then coach the school’s pole vaulting team. The shirts she had made for the students: If you can read this, I must be pole vaulting. Of course, the text was upside down.

I currently serve on the board of our local animal shelter, and one of the first changes we implemented when bringing the team together was to have Team FSPCA t-shirts printed. While intended specifically for staff, the shirts themselves were available for purchase to anyone who wanted to be a part of the team.

Why do I like team t-shirts so much? They are a unifying concept, a proclamation that emblazons on one's chest that this is my team, and I am committed to it and the people and purpose it represents.

And I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Having just worked with a group of design coaches in Austin, Texas, I found out that I have a new t-shirt friend who also finds the power in this association. She is such a team player, and a natural builder of the hive no matter where she goes. Her classroom branding was second to none that I have ever seen, and I have no doubt she’ll help to do the same for her new swarm of cross-pollinators. Getting a team t-shirt for this new crew will be an important step for her.

Sometimes the counter-example of disassociation can be just as powerful, as the NBA’s First Lady Ayesha Curry demonstrated when she threw back a free Cleveland Cavaliers shirt at Game 4 of this year’s NBA Finals. As it turns out, she gets it, too: it’s not just that there is strength in numbers- there is strength in t-shirts.

I travel to a lot of cities for work, as chronicled in this post on my professional blog. I try to find a new shirt in every city, the design of which should mirror how that city makes me feel once I tap into its soul. I do this so that I can be part of the team. So that I am no longer merely a visitor.

As I reflected on my own t-shirt collection, I realized that I am a member of so many teams. Here are just a few that are currently in circulation, with bins full stowed away in storage.

As tempting as it was to break open those storage bins, I took plenty of steps down memory lane just by taking these few shirts out of the closet, unfolding them, and snapping a pic. With every shirt that I unfurled, the feel of the fabric reminded me of those teams, and of my kinship to the people behind the logo. In fact, that sentence exemplifies my feelings on the topic: when I wear that shirt, the person behind the logo is me.

[reflectingpool]

What Comes After This Momentary Bliss

I'm not solely a visual and verbal processor, contrary to my previous belief. It turns out I’m a sensory one, in ways I am only just beginning to comprehend fully.

One new teammate named my way of seeing the world as synesthesia, a condition of some people’s brains such that the senses are all tied to each other. For synesthetes, a trigger in one sense causes an associated sensory trigger in another parallel sense. It reminds me of a piano configured to behave such that each time a key is pressed, multiple hammers under the hood press their way to the strings. This reconfiguration would cause each individual key to play a chord instead of a note. These are the folks that can quite literally taste the rainbow- when they see a color, it has a flavor.

As I read more, what I’ve seen about synesthesia doesn’t quite nail it for my personal processing. #closeandnocigar

Instead, I #squirreled over to another associated concept that resonated completely: ideasthesia. It’s defined on Wikipedia as “a phenomenon in which activations of concepts (inducers) evoke perception-like experiences (concurrents).” More on that later, though this example might help.

I see the pattern of Beach House’s album Bloom everywhere. Several coworkers of mine over the years have worn blouses, shirts, or dresses that immediately bring this album and this song in particular to mind because of the pattern that the dots make. When I see the pattern, I hear the song, and I am immediately transported to the first time I ever heard that song.

Where was I when I first heard Myth? In Barnes and Noble’s music section, of all places. As soon as it came on, I asked the attendant (i.e. #notarecordstoreguy) if he knew who sang the song in question. His response: #crickets #sorrybuddy #ijustworkhere My response: #unfortunate #comeon #whyamihereandnotplan9.

Thankfully, Shazam had since been invented, which helped me to place the artist, the song, and the associated album cover. I found its digital analog in CD form in the Pop/Rock B section, and both immediately and reluctantly picked it up, still reeling from the clerk’s #completelackofaficianadostatus. And that song. I listened to it on repeat until I finished the drive back home. #transcendentsong

These kinds of repeating patterns are fascinating to me. I often take these zoomed-in pics on repeating patterns I see in nature (in clouds, in trees, in the ways that grasses lay just so) and in homewares (pendant light covers, air vents, sidewalk surfaces- you name it). All with the hopes of crafting a texture that resembles an album cover much like the one from Bloom.

I keep these #wannabe album covers and textures on my Instagram feed as they are accumulated. As an aside, feel free to use one of those pics for your album cover, liner notes, or profile photo if you so desire. All I ask is that you “pay” for it by offering attribution. I look forward to one day associating this song, one of those photos, and one of you together as a chord.

Back to the lecture at hand. Coming to this realization about this way of being not surprisingly reminds me of something different altogether: one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies. #spoileralertsabound

In M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable, David (played by Bruce Willis) finally admits both to Elijah (Samuel L. Jackson) and himself that he just may be unbreakable. He asks this new mentor for advice on his next steps: “I’ve never been injured. What should I do?”

Elijah’s response has become a personal mantra that I carry with me to this day, and use with coaches often as they begin their journey into the role:

Go to where people are. You won’t have to be there very long. It’s all right to be afraid, because this part won’t be like a comic book. Real life doesn’t fit into little boxes that were drawn for it.

In continuing to understand myself and the gifts that have been bestowed upon me, I am beginning to understand why it is that I have always chosen to go where people are. I think I also now understand how I might continue to hone and sharpen those gifts in order to serve those people I find when I get there.

[reflectingpool]

There’s A Kind Of Hush

Facebook statuses abound as inspiration this week. In the latest breaking news, local musician Travis Elliott revealed that he had never heard Herman’s Hermits’ aforementioned masterpiece before. #theresakindofhush #afteracollectivegasp #sacrilege

Thankfully as of this post, he's not only heard the song, but has also learned to play it and has added it to his repertoire of #sadbastardmusic that he performs around the greater Charlottesville area and beyond. (And I use the term #sadbastardmusic with the utmost of endearment and respect- it's my favorite kind of music. I mean #comeon- have you seen the previous posts?)

I met Travis many many moons ago on the open mic circuit. He shared his love of Elliott Smith with me (hence the nom de plume), and I shared my Radiohead infatuation with him. Turns out that I would later teach two of his siblings, the two of whom just so happen to be two of my favorite people in the world.

It also turns out that we know a lot of the same people. He is very good friends with a whole crew of musical folks I grew up with back in Richmond. It was funny to see that on a later post where Travis crowdsourced some help on transcribing the bridge of Skeeter Davis’ I Can’t Stay Mad At You in exchange for a beer, one of those childhood friends piped in not minutes later. Jason Horst really will do anything for a beer.

But back to the matter at hand: Herman’s Hermits. Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth to have had parents with such eclectic taste in music. There was always something playing in our house- in the car, on the hi-fi, through the countless hours of videotape that my dad shot of us spending time together. Cassette tapes got dubbed over and over again with tunes they loved and wanted to share with us. Growing up Borash was an incredible musical education, one that I will forever cherish and hope to pay forward.

And of course, the crowdsourced postscript: Travis covering the song later that week. #priceless

[reflectingpool]

Fear Is Your Only God On The Radio, Turn It Off

Will Overman Band guitarist Danny McCarthy recently shared the above lyrics to Vietnow as a Facebook status to promote their upcoming live spot. Reading it reminded me of how much I like that song alongside the rest of Rage Against The Machine’s catalog. The band has so much raw energy, so much #flava in their sound, that it's hard not to get caught up in it whenever it comes on said radio. So long as you can get past the f-bombs.

Danny’s a great friend, and an even better guitarist. I appreciate his sense of humor - a dry wit that takes a certain palette to appreciate fully, but once you “get it” there are few things funnier.

Collaborating with him on musical projects in the past has been interesting to say the least. For us, it's much more like playing jazz than rock music, as our only practice time together consists of #doingitlive Bill O’Reilly style in front of an audience of people.

In all seriousness, my personal favs are when we would break out acoustic-electric covers of indie rock songs like Pixies’ Hey, Future Islands’ Seasons (Waiting On You), or Sigur Ros’ Popplagio (i.e. Untitled #8) at the open mic formerly held at our local “subrural” watering hole. We would bump fists in mutual appreciation after each of those transcendent tunes, though I don't think that anyone in attendance save for our friends knew what to make of us. Especially after having just played something as pretty as Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game, why wouldn't we just give the people what they want? #playsomeskynyrd #notsomeIcelandicpostrock

PS Even for that Chris Isaak song, we would sneak in a snippet of the xx’s Infinity, because #ifitfits #whynot.

But back to Danny’s status update. In the reply strand, I saw him get his typing hands slapped by his mother for using the f-word when quoting Zach de la Rocha’s lyrics, and I LOLed out loud. My personal rule: Never post anything on #theFacebook you wouldn’t want your grandmother to read (hence the choice edit to the title of this post).

That rule holds especially true for me - my grandmother has been out there on #thesocialnetwork for at least the past 8 years. And unlike the lady on the recent Esurance commercial, she actually knows how any of this works.

She’s a pretty hip lady, my grandma. She’s been singing in an acapella Sweet Adelines group as long as I’ve been alive, though she will soon be doing her final curtain call. She's always been more Moonlight Serenade then I Gotta Feeling, and I think the process itself saps a lot of energy out of her these days. I'm told that at her last show, you would not have been able to pick out the 83-year-old in the crowd of singers, and knowing her I believe it.

I do hope I’m able to be there to see her last concert with the group whenever that might be. At the very least, I’ll watch my language (while on Facebook or otherwise), as one never knows whose grandmother might be within earshot.

PS Here is an incredible video shot by an attendee of the Will Overman Band show that was being promoted by said radio spot, featuring Danny straight-up #bringingit while getting down and into the groove. #loveit