New Year's Greeting - 2017

New Years Eve.

We mark time, 2016 flips to 2017.

A snippet of advice from years back:

Be yourself. Push yourself.
Speed it up. Slow it down.
Surround yourself with good friends. Bask in your family.

New layers and learnings:

Love yourself. Be more open than closed. Don't be too hard on yourself. Learning to be yourself is a lifetime journey. Be patient. #NotWeakJustHuman

Don't waste time.

Surround yourself with those from different places, of different colors, religions, ethnicities. Our diversity is our richness. And also seek out and find those that think and dream like you. Band together to make this world what we want it to be. #RadicalHope #WeRageForLove

Seek those large moments and successes. Build big things. But love the small ones. There is success and happiness and love in the rote everyday.

The icons and heroes of our shared cultural fabric and of loved ones that we lost and mourn this year live on through us. (Think Lion King and Jedi apparitions). Through the art we create, the values we live, and the way we move in the world.

Well. That's enough of that! Wishing all my loved ones, my friends and family a happy and sweet New Year.

"From sweetness comes forth strength."

July - What I'm Watching, Listening To, and Thinking About

Fatboy Slim Video with incredible juggler, which I came across is this fabulous article, Dropped. Amazing video of a man dancing in 100 places: The virtuoso genius of Ed Sheeran: The comedic stylings of Louis CK: The incomparable Neil Gaiman, on the importance of ideas:

Begin The Begin

This is a short fiction piece that I read on February 27th at The Story Slam by Studio B:

Begin the Begin

"As he glanced downward, she caught a glimpse of the dull flecks of loneliness he'd been hiding. He had such sad eyes."

The mysterious "she" was a woman that Cole had noticed a few months ago.  He had stopped by the fountain at Lincoln Center. It was just before 7 PM.  Lincoln Center at dusk was a favorite people-watching spot of his. Cole sat with his back pressed against the outer lip of the fountain and his arms around his knees.  He was wearing a grey windbreaker and a pair of jeans.  Couples bubbled and buzzed all around him.

Except for this one woman he had noticed. She was standing alone on the opposite side of the fountain. She was pretty in a pixie-kind of way, with short blond hair, wearing jeans and a white tee. She had Canon SLR camera on a strap around her neck, and her eyes slowly tracked the scene before her. He noticed that her eyes were different colors, one green and one brown. Cole was looking right at her as she snapped a picture of him sitting against the fountain, checked it in the viewfinder, and then looked back up at him with an amused half-smile.

Cole reached his hands to the ground and rolled forward and popped to his feet. He hadn't thought about it, but he realized he was walking over to the pixie photographer. He would later learn her name was Ella.

The summer sun began its descent and the edges of the sky were a soft burnt orange.  The crowd retreated to the air conditioning and classical music.  She was still looking at him, directly at him.  And she was standing, watching, waiting.  Her right hip was slightly shifted to the side.

Her confidence, real or imagined, was off-putting, and as Cole approached her, he realized he had no idea what he was going to say.

* * *

It was a chilly Sunday in September, and Ella was sipping on a hot tea.

They had slipped easily and comfortably into this . . . togetherness.  It felt good.

Back at her apartment that afternoon, he rubbed her naked back.

He drew small circles on her skin with his finger, and she closed her eyes. He was gentle. He kissed her neck. He rested his head in the curve of her back.

* * * 

It's 4:30 AM. Winter. He is standing on the sidewalk, looking at her building. Three months, he thinks. It has been over three months since he had last been here.

He hesitates at the base of the stairs.  Like the first time he saw her, he thinks, at Lincoln Center. He doesn't know what he is going to say. He walks up the stairs and rings the bell.

The door opens, and she's there. Ella cocks her head to the side and opens her mouth to speak but doesn't. She had woken up a few minutes ago, like she knew he was coming. This - and not his arrival - made her feel uneasy, confused. Getting over her surprise, she looks up at him and into his eyes, trying to get a read on him.

 Cole looks away. Then back at her. "Sorry to come by so early," he says. "I mean - I know – it’s been a while." He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down, now unsure of himself.

She smiles sweetly and - in a familiar gesture - sweeps her hair from her eyes, "No. I - ... Just come in. It's good to see you.  Really. It's good."

She puts up water for tea. They sit on the floor next to each other, with their backs against the couch and the other three sides surrounded by hundreds of  black-and-white photos she had taken last evening.

"These are really good," he says quietly.

"Thank you. Nice of you to say."

They are tentative. Slow.  It feels like they are wrapped in gauze; the space between them where there should be nothing is stuffed with a barrier layer of cotton. It's uncomfortable, but it also has a calming effect. They feel their way through.

Two cups of cold tea sit next to them on the floor.

"I miss you, Ella."

"I miss you too. But." Her last word hung out there . . .

"But?"

"But it wasn't working. Remember? You weren't happy. We weren't happy."

It was hard for Cole to remember. But he did. It was true. He hadn't been happy.

"I know," he said, "But..."  He reached his hand over her shoulder and rested it on the nape of her neck. Reflexively, his thumb moved up and down the length of her neck. It soothed him.

"Cole, I'm really confused. It's nice to see you, but I'm not sure why you're here."

They sit quietly. They move next to each other, so their legs touch. It’s easy and familiar. She reaches over and drapes a knit afghan over both of them.  His fingers graze against the back of her neck and against the back of her head.

They sleep.

* * *

Moving from night to morning (or in this case from early morning to the waking-up part of morning) often bends time. It compresses and elongates like an accordion. You wake up mere seconds after falling asleep only to glance at the clock and find out that seven hours have passed.  Or, like today, you fall asleep at 3:45 AM, and rise at 5:50 AM, feeling restored, like you've been asleep for days.  Ella's eyes open, green and brown.  The memory of his hand on her feels like his touch.

A small smile.  A big stretch.  And she sits up.

She knows that Cole must have been watching her sleep, but she doesn't see him.

As she presses her hands against the floor to get up, she brushes against a photo.  One of hers, but one she hasn't seen before.

It's black and white, like the rest of them.  But this one is of Cole.  He is sitting on her floor, surrounded by her photos, watching her sleep.  His eyes are calm, but sad.  Because he is with her, but he is also alone.

Ella begins to cry.

She knows that she is alone.

He's not there.

And he never was.

February Collection of Articles, Writings, Thoughts and Music

A collection of what's moving me this month. 

___

What I'm Working On

Here at The Good Men Project Sports, we closed out the NFL season with our Super Bowl coverage, our #KissLikeaDad Movement, and our general sharing of pictures of affectionate men. Here's me kissing my younger brother, Dave:

 

At The Good Men Project Sports we've now shifted our coverage from football to basketball. This has given me the chance to riff on pop culture and the NBA with my co-Editor Wai Sallas, do a history of the slam dunk contest, and a wrap-up piece on NBA All-Star weekend's Slam Dunk Contest and Three Point Shootout (as well as #SNL40, the Saturday Night Live anniversary special!). Baseball is up next. Our Why We Run series is also hitting it's stride with so many terrific writers opening up and sharing their unbelievably raw and authentic stories. A few of my early favorites are Daniel Romo's and Whit Honea's.

Outside of The Good Men Project, I just auditioned for Listen to Your Mother, a show that celebrates motherhood. As you may have guessed, I am not a mother. But I do have one. Here is my audition piece. (I did not make it, but I'm proud of my piece)

♦◊♦

Who I'm Reading

Last week, I got to see authors Neil Gaiman and Daniel Handler (of Lemony Snicket fame) at The Brooklyn Academy of Music, where they riffed off each other, took questions, and discussed their writing.

It was a wonderful night. Equal parts humor and poignancy:

Handlers Son: "I'm scared every day" 

Handler: "Like, are you very scared?" 

Son: "No. Not very. But every day." 

Handler: (I think he just described the human condition. All of history. For everyone). "Me too. I'm sorry." 

                       - Daniel Handler

Gaiman shared Don Marquis' line about poetry writing: "It's like flinging rose petals over the edge of the Grand Canyon & listening for the BOOM."

I have been continuing to read Gaiman, adding Coraline to a list of completed books that includes StarDust, American Gods, The Graveyard Book, and the best book I've read this year, The Ocean at the End of the Lane. My love of Gaiman is epic. One of my favorite pieces that I re-read last week is Gaiman's wondrous poem, Instructions, a collection of life advice gleaned from fairy tales:

"Remember your name. Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found. Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn. Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story." 

Next up, Jose Saramago's posthumously published Skylight, David Mitchell's Bone Clocks, and Murakami's Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage. I've heard mixed reviews of the latest Murakami, but I also heard this quote from it, so I'm in:

"Our lives are like a complex musical score. Filled with all sorts of cryptic writing, sixteenth and thirty-second notes and other strange signs. It's next to impossible to correctly interpret these, and even if you could, and could then transpose them into the correct sounds, there's no guarantee that people would correctly understand, or appreciate, the meaning therein."

♦◊♦

What I'm Listening To

Jonah Smith's Big Umbrella, a folksy, strumsy, harmonizing love song:

"My baby loves me like a big umbrella  She’s got me covered in any kind of weather  Always quick with a silver lining  She reminds me that the sun is shining . . . somewhere" 

Love it so much, I'm at the early stages of working on it myself on the guitar. Very early.

◊◊◊

The xx's Intro, an electronic masterpiece that I could listen to forever. To me, it has undertones of The Cure, but is a chameleon of a song. It's happy. It's melancholy. It's hopeful. It's grand.



(And here is the 10 hour long version!) I may be late to the party with this group, but not terribly embarrassingly late. They were featured in the New Yorker last month, in an article entitled Shy and Mighty, which describes the band as "appealingly shy" brits and their music as "a collection of muted love laments written mostly in their childhood bedrooms."

◊◊◊

I know I'm late to the game on Birdy, a 19 year old Brit singer/songwriter who burst on the scene after winning a UK talent competition at the age of 12. Her breakthrough hit, a cover of Bon Iver's Skinny Love is simply gorgeous. She released it when she was 14:

♦◊♦

Cracking Me Up

The things I happen to read and watch this month that are making me laugh include:

(1) The New Yorker's fabulous The Eight Serious Relationships of Hercules:

And it came to pass that Hercules took a step back and did a little soul-searching, and in time he realized that he had been using his relationships as a crutch to compensate for his lack of self-worth. So, resolving to be single for a while, Hercules got to know Hercules, and he did not date, and he did not play wine pong—although he did remain open to certain fixups, provided that the girl was “normal” and objectively attractive.

(2) McSweeney's Internet Tendency's take on mansplaining, Mansplaining Mansplaining: A Man Explains Mansplaining.

(3) Lemony Snicket:

“A man of my acquaintance once wrote a poem called "The Road Less Traveled", describing a journey he took through the woods along a path most travelers never used. The poet found that the road less traveled was peaceful but quite lonely, and he was probably a bit nervous as he went along, because if anything happened on the road less traveled, the other travelers would be on the road more frequently traveled and so couldn't hear him as he cried for help. Sure enough, that poet is dead.” 

(4) Classic Louis CK:

(5) Classic SNL

_____

Listen To Your Mother: Audition Piece

My Mom's 'Theories of Everything'

I am (obviously) not a mother.  But I do have one.

This is for her:

Every time I was sick as a child, my mom said that if she could take it away – take it on herself instead of me – she would. I think at times she did.

My mom is a lawyer. When I was 2 years old, she had a child care issue and had to bring me to Court. She set me in the jury box, where I could watch, and a kindly judge asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “A police man,” like him, I said, pointing to the bailiff. It was not the answer he expected. Ironically, I became a lawyer anyway.

When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me that I had to try things three times, and if I didn’t like it after the third time, I didn’t have to do it. Because that’s what Kasdan’s do. It’s a pretty neat trick, actually. Because I can’t remember ever stopping doing anything after the third time.

I have strong memories of my mom cheering for me at my basketball games in middle school. Back then, I was a truly terrible basketball player. Each game, I could count on several turnovers, an unhappy coach, and extremely loud chants of GO KASDAN from my mom in the stands. It was embarrassing. I also loved it. I also ended up playing varsity basketball in high school.

My mom consistently gets movie titles just ever-so-slightly wrong enough to be funny. Every time. ‘The Theory of Everything’ becomes ‘The Theories of Everything.’ There is just one theory, Mom. That’s the point.  Or “Blade Running,” instead of ‘Blade Runner.’ It’s not a PSA for holding scissors the right way. It’s a dystopian battle for our future.

Anyway. When I was 11 years old, I transferred from a small private school to public school.  It was difficult. I had no friends. We threw a movie night and invited everyone, and to get kids there we rented the scary space thriller, Alien. (My Mom called it ‘’Aliens’). Only problem: I’m terrified of scary movies. It was quite the dilemma. My mom watched the movie the night before, noted all the scary parts, and then –as I watched among my classmates – would call me to help in the kitchen or with an errand right before every scary part. Every one.

In high school, my mom read every book that I read – at the same time I was reading it. A Separate Peace. Catch 22. The Catcher in the Rye. Lord of the Flies. Melville. Shakespeare.  My books would disappear at bedtime and reappear the next day. She must have stayed up so late re-reading those books, after long days at work. So we could talk about them. So when I struggled with my book report, she could lend a helping hand.

When I was 16 years old, I went to Italy with my mom. It was a business trip. A real estate closing in a remote town in the countryside. We would be traveling back with a suitcase full of cash. I was the muscle, the hired help. Or so I was told. We rode mopeds in Rome. And in the countryside, in Brindisi, we met her clients. They spoke no English. She taught me that you could connect with someone, even if you can’t speak to them or understand their language. We ate fresh figs off their trees.

My mom is a serial sharer of interesting things. She cuts out articles from newspapers, circles the interesting parts in pen, jots my name or my brother’s or sister’s and then sends them to us. As my Facebook friends may tell you, I seem to have inherited this “an unshared life is not worth living” attitude. Things you read or write simply taste better when shared.

My mom has an other-worldly ability to get other people to help her in life. She kills them with kindness and then says things like “thanks so much for helping me” before the person has offered help. It’s like a Jedi Mind Trick. But actually it’s not. She connects to people – quickly and easily and on a human level.

My mom still buys me things. Socks. She loves socks. You lose a lot of heat through your feet. Tooth brushes. Also important. And of course, foot powders and creams.

My mom sends me text messages. Every day. And to my brother too. And my sister. Short ones. Long ones. Simple I’m thinking of you ones: “Pleasant dreams and good thoughts. Love.” That right there is a connection – a touch.

After a visit and when my Dad isn’t watching – my mom presses a $20 dollar bill into my hands. Or gives me a Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts gift card. I do work, and I have my own ATM card. But that’s not the point. It’s just generosity. And – like every other thing my mother has done for me and continues to do for me - it shows me – all of us actually - how to move in this world.

Now I’m 40 years old. I’m armed with a lifetime supply of socks, toothbrushes and moisturizing creams. There is something profound in that trinity that I’m still working to uncover. I still don’t choose to watch scary movies.  And I email the articles I read and write to my own kids – Jacob is 13 and Lauren is 10 –  throughout the day when I’m at work.


So you see, it all worked its way into me. And I’m the father I am to my kids because of the mother my mom was – and is – to me.

#WhereHashtagsComeToDie

Jacob: Hashtags aren't in anymore.
Me: Oh. What's in?
Jacob: Nothing.

‪#‎ConvoswithTheKid‬

Our Toast to Jacob. On His Bar Mitzvah

Hello and welcome to all of our family and friends that are here to celebrate Jacob today.

This is the part of the speech where we talk about how long we know some of you, the distances that you traveled from to be here with us today, and how special and important you are to us and to Jacob.

• We are incredibly lucky to be surrounded by four generations of the most warm and loving family that there is.
• Many of you have known us since we were children, younger than Jacob is today. Look what we did!
• We are joined by friends of Jacob’s from his early childhood; friends he doesn’t even remember playing with back then.
• We have people that traveled from all corners of the country, including friends that we met when we lived in Japan.

We’re still in a bit of awe and denial that our baby boy is 13 years old.

But after the stellar job that he did today leading services, reading from the Torah, and sharing his words and insights with us, we can say that the mix of awe and denial has morphed into pure awe and joy.

As parents, it is said that we have two obligations that constantly tug in opposite directions: (1) to guide, change, socialize, and instruct our children; (2) to celebrate them without question.

Today is without a doubt a day of boundless celebration of Jacob.

Our “number one son,” Jacob is the ultimate family man. What he spoke about today in his D’var Torah, that is 100% Jacob in a nutshell.  Jacob has always put family first, and has the most genuine and sincere love of family. It’s a defining quality of which we are very proud.

Jacob is also a child whisperer; he is amazing around children. His true colors shine with absolute softness and sweetness. Ever since the day Lauren was born, he was the most loving sweet proud big brother. And I’ve never seen a kid so proud and enamored of his little cousins. He has even taken friends home after school to play with them.  He also has consistently shown himself to be incredibly responsible when given the chance.

These qualities all make him an extraordinary man.

Jacob is also our Yankees/Giants/Knicks side-kick, Mike’s fantasy football co-GM, a baseball player, soccer player, ultimate Frisbee player, and tennis player. On the field, he may not be the fastest player out there, but he consistently makes intelligent decisions and executes them; he passes, he shares and he is good teammate.

All qualities we admire.

Sure, he can be a bit stubborn, um . . . on occasion.  But we have heard from many of you that this stubbornness will serve him well in life as he grows.  We’re going to hold you to that!

My good buddy - he Tweeted me once! - and author Neil Gaiman wrote that “The fundamental, most comical tragedy of parenthood: that if you do your job properly, if you, as a parent, raise your children well, they won’t need you anymore. If you do it properly, they go away and they have lives and they have families and they have futures.”  It's bittersweet. But more sweet. We’re certainly feeling that today!

Let’s all raise our glasses.

So Jacob, our son:

We offer you a blessing for you to continue to grow as a person and as a member of the world and of the Jewish community.

We love you.

We are proud of you.

We are confident in the man you are becoming.

We are blessed to be along for the ride. And we will always – always – be there with you and for you.

L’chaim!

Jacob's Bar Mitzvah

Life is lived every day. But marked with moments big and small.


And I think to myself these things expressed here:

“Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.” – Robert Frost


————————————————————————————




“Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.” – William Butler Yeats


————————————————————————————




“The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.” – Emily Dickinson


————————————————————————————

This is What I Said At My Uncle Jack's Funeral After He Passed Away on July 4, 2014

One of Jack’s favorite authors (and mine), Haruki Murakami, said “There are many things we only see clearly in retrospect.”  Luckily for us, the things we saw – and felt – together with Jack were clear the whole time. He had an authentic and deep relationship with each of us. The love was direct and present. The experiences of the relationship varied and delicious.

Jack has always been distinctly Jack.

My Uncle Jack was a unique person – rough and brusque but not at all. He worked hard to cultivate that curmudgeon character. But we know better. If he was teasing and poking and ‘stirring the pot,’ it meant he loved you. The harder time he gave you, the more you knew he loved you. And he loved us all a lot. 

Jack shared with me his love of literature. He showed me the power and elegance of a well-crafted sentence.

He called me Kasdan Major, which I loved. He would describe his feelings and actions as “avuncular” (Which I had to look up).

Jack brought a sense of humor that we hadn’t encountered before and it swept us away. Many of you probably know what I’m talking about – it steps right up to the edge of being wholly obnoxious but at the same time is completely endearing.  And its infectious.

He showed us how to taste life – how to live it – with travel, with music, with food, with drink, with music, with games and with friends.

He was an adventurer. He took me camping for the first time.  Taught me how to play poker.  (He valiantly tried to teach me Bridge, but it didn’t take.)  He introduced me to grappa, and port, and taught me how to appreciate wine.  The Vermont trips that he and Joyce planned became one of the central traditions of my life, as I grew from a 14 year old kid hoping to get to stay up late enough to watch the poker game to well, me, now.

He was a man who knew how to Love.  

He told us he loved us eloquently and often and beautifully.  He showed us, with the words he said and the words he wrote and by his smile and how his eyes would get wet with happiness and pride at family gatherings. Yes, we saw. Always with a love we could all feel.  And that will never go away.

I want to share a few things about that.

-----------------

As I mentioned above, and as many of you know, Jack and Joyce planned yearly trips to Vermont. Jack’s pub quizzes were a thing to behold.  Multimedia extravananzas of impossible to answer questions spanning all things, with music, video, and cheese/herb/alcohol tasting rounds. But because I couldn’t perform well at them, I apprenticed to be the next pub Quizmeister.  He shared it with me.  Now I do it, and I added rules to set the same tone he did.  (e.g., The Quizmeister is judge/jury/executioner on all challenges). I’ve dumbed it down and I can’t compete with the breadth of his quizzes, and every year I still send him my draft and he replies:  

"It looks lovely, but I'm missing the answers, and you know what I'm like without the answers … I like the 'executioner' part. That speaks well for your attitude. Anyway. I'll say Well Done! And wish you and the troops fun at the gaming table~"

-----------------

At family occasions – Passover at Jack and Joyces, Thanksgiving, birthdays, etc.  He always took the time to say … He always said how much it meant to him that we were his family, his eyes would get wet during family moments.  His joy at being with family was palpable.  And every time I would think – it’s we that are the lucky ones:

His note from last Thanksgiving/Jack’s birthday captures it well – its one part sweetness and sappiness and one part Jack, like many of his notes:

Hi Guys~

Yesterday was amazing. The food was scrumptious and the people -- family and friends alike -- were loving and kind and creative and all that people should be. However, the song and the book that you created for me exceeded anything that I thought could ever happen. Listening to you sing to me and reading the words you put on paper for me brought up tears and I was happy to shed them. You guys have been, are, and will be wonderful! I love you~

* * *

Now to the realities of life: The clothing you got for me (no more clothes, please! Write me a word or two; take me to the movies; give me a book; take me to dinner, but no more clothing!) doesn't fit! The jacket is 'L' and too small! The sweater is 'XXL' and too big. Lisa could wear the sweater and David the jacket -- or do I have that wrong? Get your money back and do something else with it! I'll still love you! 

And always will.

----------------

A note from a prior Thanksgiving/Birthday celebration was similar.  This time, Jack and Joyce couldn’t come out because Joyce was under the weather.

I wrote:

Happy Birthday Jack.  There will be another Apple Cake!!

We hope that Joyce is feeling better -- you made the only decision

that was to be made, and I would have done the same.  But we sure missed you guys!

Love,

Mike

On Thu, Nov 26, 2009 at 1:58 PM, jackaw@jorj.us <jackaw@jorj.us> wrote:

Not only is Joyce ill on Thanksgiving (and of lesser import (ahem) alo giornato del natividad del tio Giqacomo)), but now the grossest breach of all is about to be perpetrated: the consumption of the apple cake specifically designed with me in mind will be eaten by everyone else, but not me!? How can in-laws, nieces and nephews, guests and other persons be so blatantly devoid of feeling as to eat that which is not intended for them? I almost came without Joyce so as to lay claim to her portion, but she begged me not to leave her. What's a man to do?

Alas. Another cake given to infidels whilst the intendee is ministering to the needs of a weaker being. I smile as I write, but I am very serious when I send with this jocular piece of fluff my love and real affection for you all. You have filled a gap in my life that had no family prior to you. Now it saddens me when we are apart when we should be together. 

Thank you for all your good wishes and Joyce -- as each of you knows! -- wanted me out of her hair and in yours. It was almost like: 'You owe me this, Jack!' and my answering, 'It's my birthday! I get to choose!' Mark this down in your calendars. She was too weak to win the battle!

Much love to all youse guys!

jack

----------------

Jack.  

We love you.  

That uniquely Jack voice – we still hear it in our heads and we smile. And those memories we made together, they’re part of who we all are.

We are infinitely better and fuller and more alive people for knowing you – 

As you said in your note: “Now it saddens me when we are apart when we should be together.”  

Me too.

A Friend Shared This Poem With Me On My Fortieth Birthday

Men at Forty - by Donald Justice (b. 1925) (1967)


Men at forty
Learn to close softly ...
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.

At rest on a stair landing,
They feel it
Moving beneath them now like the deck of a ship,
Though the swell is gentle.

And deep in mirrors
They rediscover
The face of the boy as he practices trying
His father’s tie there in secret
And the face of that father,
Still warm with the mystery of lather.

They are more fathers than sons themselves now.
Something is filling them, something
That is like the twilight sound
Of the crickets, immense,
Filling the woods at the foot of the slope
Behind their mortgaged houses. 

Jacob's 'I Am From' Poem

I Am From

By Jacob Kasdan

I am from Summit Ave
I am from a nice house
I am from a big red tree
I am from a loving family; some alive and some remembered

I am from Shabbat dinner. Once a month
I am from the New York Yankees and Giants
I am from Mom and Dad
I am from November 24th
I am from almost becoming a Bar Mitzvah

I am from a house with red shutters
I am from baseball, basketball, tennis, frisbee, and soccer
I am from kindness, love, and respect
I am from Judaism

The Soundtrack of Life

A musical counterpart to the book lists that are traveling around Facebook.

The challenge is to list ten songs that come to mind that most clearly and powerfully evoke the memories of your youth (well, we're still in our youth, but even younger). For me, most of them will be high school, college, I'm guessing. And its impossible to limit it to ten.

Here are mine:

1. Jane Says, Janes Addiction
2. INXS, By My Side
3. Soul to Squeeze, Red Hot Chili Peppers,
4. Where is My Mind, The Pixies
5. Egg Man, The Beastie Boys,
6. Out of the Blue (and Into the Fire), The The
7. Who's Gonna Drive You Home, The Cars
8. Tomorrow Wendy, Concrete Blonde
9. American Pie, Don McLean
10. Country Feeback, REM

Honorable Mention Five Pack: (I'm cheating here . . . .)

1. Good Feeling, Violent Femmes
2. With or Without You, U2
3. Fast Car, Tracy Chapman
4. Just Can't Get Enough, Depeche Mode
5. Plainsong, The Cure
6. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, Paul Simon

Books of Impact

10 books that I have read that stayed with me.

Here are mine:

1. The Star Belly Sneetches (Dr. Seuss, short story).
2. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
3. Breakfast of Champions (Vonnegut)
4. White Noise (Dellillo)
5. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Madness (Pirsig)
6. Catch 22 (Heller)
7. Native Son (Wright)
8. Cloud Atlas (Mitchell)
9. Any Tom Robbins but esp. Skinny Legs and All and Jitterbug Perfume
10. Kafka on the Shore (Murakami)
*11. Ocean at the End of the Lane (Gaiman)

* Bonus selection. Too many more to list...

Lauren's Writing Prompt Story #1: An engineer … who has ... a super power … and a universal language

Lauren shared this awesome writing prompt generator that she uses for creative writing at school. The next evening, she sat on the couch at the computer and pounded this story out.

As I told her after I read it, there is no way I could put together a funny well-told story like this on the spot!

She beamed when I told her she was a far better writer than I, and then asked, as I was leaving:

"Daddy, is there an age you have to be in order to be a writer for The Good Men Project?"

No. No there is not.

 

* * *

The Story

[Prompt: An engineer … who has ... a super power … and a universal language]

 

Hi! I'm Ted, and I'm an engineer. Funny story: Um, when I first got the job I had to take a test to show that I knew how to fix things.

The first time I took the test, I got an "F" which means fail. But, at the time I thought it meant fantastic. So, the next day I went in and said, "Hi! I'm Ted the engineer!" They thought I got the job. So, I went along with it and well, look at me now. Now, I know that "F" means fail not fantastic but I have the job.

I know what you're thinking. What did the man who gave me the grade do when he found out I was working. After I "got the job" I went and had a talk with him. Turns out he was the manager. He asked me, "Why should I hire you to work for me." I said," Well, I have a secret that I haven't told anyone. I have a superpower. I can glow and make things glow. To be honest I don't know how to be an engineer, but you can teach me. If you don't, then I won't show you my superpower."

"All righty! I guess I can trust you," he replied.

Over the next years I learned a lot, showed the manager my power (he spread the news so I had to show everyone on the job), and eventually retired. I had fun on the job, but I started it at the age 39 and retired at the age 51. It was hard to leave all my friends from engineering, especially the manager because I had created a good bond with him.

 

Then, I went home and went to bed.

When I woke up I had a crazy idea. I would make up my own company.

What will my company be?

I will create new languages.

My business has been very successful. Here are some of my words from my newest created language called Aglefloosh - Oxeless, Dertre, and Wuelt, which means: I have to go to the bathroom so bye!

-End-

 

Bee-sts: A Story by Lauren and Michael Kasdan (Chapters 1-5 ... Exciting Conclusion To Come!!)

Bee-sts

By:       Lauren Sylvie Kasdan

            Michael Joshua Kasdan

Chapter 1: The Invasion of the Beasts

It was a rainy day in the Great Forest of The Bees.  The Bees didn’t like it one bit.  Some of them were trying to fly, but the water on their wings was weighing them down.  Some of them couldn’t even lift themselves off the ground.

From their hive, in the distance, they saw huge shadowy figures, and they were coming closer!  As they approached, The Bees saw that the figures were actually all sorts of large beasts, like Lions and Tigers and Bears.  But it looked as if they were floating in mid-air.  They got even closer.  Amazingly, these beasts had wings!  And they were huge!  They were like terrifying giants to the Bees.

Seeing these Beasts zooming into their land, the Bees, whose wings were working, began to flee out of the hive, leaving the Queen Bee in danger of being killed.  As a first, she was already running low on honey, and now this!  The Beasts soared in, quickly capturing the Queen and taking the hive with her. They then turned their attention to the other bees. Taking to the air, they began to track down, catch, and even kill many of the bees that were trying to escape.

In order to survive, the Bees flew in groups and then split off in many different directions, to try to distract the Beasts.  One group of 27 bees survived and they had a different strategy for survival.  The leader of this troop was a brave and courageous bee that was very determined.  His name was Derek, and it was he who came up with their survival strategy.

Derek was a teen bee, and he was a worker bee.  Derek was not only brave and determined, but he was also very handsome.  In fact, he was the most handsome bee of all, and a favorite of all the girl bees.  More importantly, he was smart and quick on his feet.  As per Derek’s orders, his group of bees flew upwards to the skies.

Chapter 2:  Through the Gates

High above, above the tallest tree in the Great Forest, there was a cloud.  Rumor had it; there was a castle on that cloud.  But no one knew if the legend was true.  The ancient stories told of an old bee, the eldest living bee in the world at age 200.  This bee was named Old Gray.  Derek had heard she was the wisest bee ever to live in the Great Forest.   

His plan was to find Old Gray and to ask her advice about what to do.  Derek led his group through the clouds.  They looked everywhere for Old Gray.  Soon they came upon her castle.  At first, they thought it was a cloud shaped like a castle.  But then they realized it was a real castle. A strange place for a bee to live, anyways.

First, they tried to push the front gates open.  They were locked.

Then, Derek saw a small hole in the door.  No bee of any size could fit inside. Derek looked under the welcome mat, and lo and behold there was a tiny key!  He flew up to the hole with the key in his mouth, and used it to unlock the gate.  They were inside!  There was a giant courtyard, and right in the middle of the courtyard there was a guard bee.  This bee was rather big and muscular.  The total opposite of Derek and his crew.

Derek stepped forward.  “It is important that we see Old Gray as soon as possible.  We have traveled very far.  And there is a great problem in our land.  We need her help!”

“No trespassing of any kind!” the guard bee said in his big, booming voice.

The bees backed up but Derek stood his ground.  “Did I mention that you’re rocking those boots”? Derek said.

“I like them too.  I don’t know if anyone likes them.  Maybe Old Gray likes them.  Do you think I should ask her?” replied the over sized bee.  While these very words came out of the guard bee’s mouth, Derek and his crew hurried by.  Being very agile and silent. 

Chapter 3:  Old Gray

Soon Derek and his group arrived at the castle of Old Gray.  As they flew in through a shattered window, Derek began to remember how he first learned about Old Gray and her castle.

            Every day when Derek was young, he would go to the hi-brary (the library high in the sky).  One day, Derek discovered a secret room of ancient books of legends.  He was browsing the book stacks, and saw a dusty, giant, old book, entitled “The Forbidden Book.” 

Derek was fascinated, and he decided to take a look.  He reached for it.  On the back of the book, there was gum attached to a trigger that would open the door to a secret room.  As Derek pulled the book off the shelf, the room was revealed.  Derek was shocked, and walked in.

It looked as if no one had been in the room in hundreds of years.  It was filled with giant ancient books.  The biggest one was lying open in the center of the room. Derek turned the book to the front cover, and it said: “Old Gray: Told Through Her Words.”  He sat down and began to read.  That night, he read it from cover to cover.  He learned that Old Gray lived in a castle on a cloud and that she was the keeper of generations of wisdom.

Now he was about to meet her!

As he and his group, flew through the castle, they came to the main hall.  It was over a mile long and very wide too.  In fact, it would be the biggest castle ever known if anybody knew about it.  It seemed to go on forever.  At the end of the hall, was a small room with a single old bee sitting on a dusty couch. 

She looked up with kind eyes as they approached:

“I’ve been waiting for you, young man.”

Chapter 4:  The Plan

Derek was surprised, but he flew up to her anyways.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked.

“What I mean by this is,” she said in her old, creaky voice “I can read your mind.”

“No you can’t.”

“Just you wait.”

“Fine.  What am I thinking?” said Derek.

“You think Melanie Blackback is soooooo cute and you want to marry her.”

“Yep.  I really do think that.  Wow!  You really can read minds.  That’s cool,” replied Derek in his high-pitched voice, which was the total opposite of the voice of Old Gray.

“Surely, you didn’t come all this way so I could guess the bees that you fancy,” said Old Gray with a smile.  “Tell me what is going on below.”

At that, Derek told her of the invasion of the beasts, and all the terrible things that had happened, and how he and his team had escaped to seek her wisdom.  When he finished, he looked up, and softly asked, “So, can you help us?”

“I can,” she said, and then went on: “I believe that you should not fight the beasts, nor should you flee in fear.  You must figure out what they want and why they came.”

“But,” said Derek, “how will we get the beasts to calm down?  If we go back down there, they will kill us!”

Old Gray cocked her head and replied, “You must get their attention.  You must convince them to listen to you.”

“How will I do that?” asked Derek.

“You must be confident and strong.  If you believe in yourself and are not afraid, they will respect you.  If you convince them that you can help them, they will listen to you.”

Derek smiled and flexed his arms.  “I can do that.”

Old Gray shook her head.  “Not strong of body.  Strong of mind.”

Derek understood.  He went back to his group of bees, and explained what they would be doing.  They were very worried that they wouldn’t be able to convince the Beasts to listen to them, and they were flying towards a certain death at the hands of their enemies.

Derek listened patiently, like a good leader.  He then began to speak.  He stood before them and explained that he had got them this far: “Trust me.  Old Gray’s plan will work.  I know it!  If you won’t come with me, I will go alone.  If you are with me, come stand with me.”

One by one the bees flew to Derek’s side.  They were nervous but they trusted him.  When the entire group was ready, they left the clouds and flew downward towards their home.

Chapter 5: The Big Bee-Beast Meeting

As they came down from the clouds, Derek’s group was gripped with fear.  They looked all around frantically as they flew – hoping that the Beasts wouldn’t get them.  Luckily, they were able to land safely at the top of the tall tree.  There, Derek yelled with all his might:  “Beasts of the Land, I am Derek of the bees, and we need to talk about why you are attacking.”

The leader of the Beasts stepped forward and looked upwards.  To Derek’s surprise, the Beast leader was a mix of a lion, tiger and bear.  He had the body of a tiger, a head of a bear, and the tail of the lion.  Not only that, but he had huge wings that soon carried him to the top of the tall tree until he was eye-to-eye with Derek.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just kill you all?”

Derek was afraid, but steadied himself and answered: “We didn’t do anything to you.  We have lived peacefully all this time, and this is our land.  We do not understand why you came here.  If we know why you are here and why you are so angry, maybe we can figure out a solution together.”

The Beast leader lowered his head, and Derek saw tears forming in his eyes.  He started to speak, this time quietly:

“Well, we beasts for the past few months have been living with no food, barely any water.  It’s miserable.  Something to our land – everything dried up.  We couldn’t stay there anymore. And the thing is we need help.  We attacked because we need a new land to survive; we knew this was your land, and attacking seemed to be what we needed to do.”

“Why do you come here for help?”

“This is the land that is closest.  It is a good land.” 

. . . . MORE TO COME!