No More “Should’s”

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Our son Ethan, who turns 16 in a little more than a week, uses the word “should” constantly and it drives me batty. It most often revolves around food. I’m usually the one who makes dinner. So let’s say I grill hamburgers. The second we all sit down at the table, Ethan will take a bite, look across the table at me and say “You know, Dad; the next time we should have turkey burgers.” If it’s spaghetti we’re having, he’ll look at me and say we should have lasagna. You get the picture.

Now, of course, Ethan means no harm by it. He’s always looking around the corner for what’s next – a trait I admire and appreciate. But I also want him to enjoy the moment for the moment, focus on what’s in front of him. And I always tell Ethan some variation of the same thing in response; that by the time he uses the word “should” with me it’s already too late – the food has already been prepared. Better to make the case for turkey burgers or lasagna when I’m writing the grocery list or when he’s at the store with me. Neither of which of course he ever does. Instead of doing what he can to change a result, he instead questions it, considers what should have been.

You probably saw this coming but I can’t help but juxtapose Ethan’s “should” cases, with the fast-approaching election. Inwardly, I’m already starting to hear the “should’s” in the instance that former Vice President Biden loses. Should have spent more time in Florida, and not Georgia. Should have been campaigning more throughout the process, instead of hiding in Delaware waiting for President Trump to screw up yet again. Should. Should. Should.

Now, as some context, I have this almost Jekyll and Hyde way of looking at politics. And this year, for all the drama associated with the election, is no different. On one hand I’m focused on this election as someone who despises President Trump and wants nothing more than to see him defeated; it’s nothing short of a yearning. On the other I’m a decades-long political junkie that is so curious how all this is going to play out.

Each day, I check multiple sources; most likely the same ones as you. Politico. The New York Times. 538. Twitter. And each day, I get more and more anxious with talk of “blue mirages,” then “red mirages.” Which side is voting now; which side will vote on Election Day. What the polls in Texas tell us.

And of course, the ever-present looming ghost of 2016 casts its dark shadow over all of this chatter, not to mention the 2000 Florida recount. Did we learn anything at all? Or are we doomed to just repeat the same mistakes over and over again?

But at some point very soon, all this will become a series of “should’s.” And we’ll all be like Ethan sitting at a table with hamburger but perhaps wishing it was a turkey burger. Thinking of what we should have done instead of what we did.

Please don’t make that happen. If you haven’t voted already, please make sure you do. Same for if you were planning on volunteering or making those phone calls. This election is way too important for “should’s.”

Image credit: Marketplace.org

Mr. October

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m surprised it took me this long. Usually, this far into October, I’d be regularly listening to my go-to Halloween music – Alice Cooper, the Swedish band Ghost, Danish metal vocalist King Diamond and Danzig, a band fronted by singer and songwriter Glenn Danzig. But up until the other day, I’ve been on a Jazz fusion kick, listening to Chick Corea, 60’s era Miles Davis and John McLaughlin.

Not to blame everything on COVID-19 and the upcoming election but my guess is that things have been so dark lately, why should I bother with deliberately dark music? But traditions are traditions and outside of picking through our kids’ Trick or Treat loot to find the Almond Joys no one wants, I look forward to my “Halloween” listening. Yet this year I find myself solely focused on Danzig.

The thing is, out of the bands I mentioned at the start of this post, Danzig is the one I listen to the least. I’ve enjoyed and appreciated Alice Cooper ever since I saw him perform on The Muppet Show as a kid. Ghost is one of my favorite new (to me) bands and I’ve seen them in concert three times, back when we could do things like that. King Diamond I listen to about once a quarter. Yet for some reason I only listen to Danzig during the month of October.

If you’re not into Metal music, chances are you have no idea who Glenn Danzig is but, if you’re of a certain age, you might be familiar with the song “Mother,” which received airplay/video rotation during the early 1990’s. But he’s actually been around since the late 1970’s, having formed the band Misfits. So the next time you see a privileged-looking teen walking around with a cool-looking Misfits t-shirt, you have Glenn Danzig to thank.

I first discovered Glenn Danzig back in October 2014, somewhat by accident. At the time I was reading an extensive collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories and Danzig, himself an avid reader and Horror fan, features all types of macabre references in his music. I convinced myself the timing was fortutious.

From the little I’ve gathered, it seems as though Glenn Danzig is somewhat of a misfit himself. He comes across as this kind of Gothic muscle head, almost like a less cultured Henry Rollins. Supposedly he embraces conspiracy theories and by all appearances takes himself way too seriously.

But that’s also part of his appeal. While those other artists I mentioned – Alice Cooper, Ghost and King Diamond, openly embrace the theatrical element of their craft, Glenn Danzig seems genuinely bought into the whole notion of darkness and alienation just for the sake of it. And that’s good enough for me.

I know, I know. This year has been plenty dark already. But if you want to listen to a uniquely different kind of vocalist (picture Jim Morrison meets Elvis) backed by a truly kick-ass band, giving Glenn Danzig’s namesake band a try. Because he has a different answer to the question posed by the Nigel Tufnel, the fictional Spinal Tap guitarist – “How much more black could this be?” Plenty, Glenn Danzig proves.

Glenn Danzig Image credit: The Quietus

When Preparation Met Opportunity

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Our daughter Sasha had her Bat Mitzvah this Saturday. It was supposed to be June 6, held at our Temple, in front of family and friends. Instead, it was held in our house via Zoom, with the Rabbis and all our guests participating remotely. As you can imagine, my wife Wendy and I are beyond proud of Sasha and please forgive my bias but she performed pretty much flawlessly.

Sasha had to go through several iterations of preparation. She was just getting toward the intense phase of her practicing back in March when the COVID-19 pandemic first began surging in the United States. Sasha found herself in this odd state of limbo as she was uncertain about what ultimately would happen with her Bat Mitzvah. Then, when we cancelled the original June date, Sasha largely put the big event out of her head. Only to refocus on it all over again starting this past summer.

Sasha is a perfectionist and during the past several weeks had been rehearsing both her Torah portions and speech multiple times a day, to the point where I became familiar with them myself. According to Sasha, she wasn’t so much nervous; just nervous about being nervous. And she understood the only way to really calm her nerves was to know the material inside out, to imagine every possible scenario where things could go astray. So that on the day of her Bat Mitzvah, all she needed to do is stand up and execute. Which is exactly what she did.

I can’t help but look back at what Sasha accomplished and wonder if we collectively, can use the same approach to defeat President Trump next Tuesday. Like Sasha, I believe we’re ready. We just need to execute, as in get out and vote. Every last one of us.

Trust me, I get that so much can happen between now and November 3. This, after all, has been the year of unseen circumstances. But I know that on November 4 we don’t want to be talking about how “Trump just got lucky.” Because there’s no such thing as luck. The way I see it, the harder you work the luckier you get. Or, as Sasha proved on Saturday, luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.

We’re prepared. We have the information. We have the results in terms of the state our country is in and the President’s actions and inactions. We have our opportunity to either vote early or vote in person, depending on where you live.

Now let’s make it happen.

Image credit: Everett

A Case for Virtuosity

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Our daughter Sasha is having her Bat Mitzvah tomorrow. It’s technically a Zoom Mitzvah, not exactly the one she anticipated. But, as she does with everything else, Sasha has been pushing through, persevering. She’s been practicing relentlessly; in fact, chanting her prayers right now as I write this post.

Sasha is a true perfectionist and, as her father, it’s often difficult to watch. On one hand, it’s an incredibly admirable trait. But on the other, I’ll find myself feeling her frustration by proxy. I want to tell her to stop beating herself up, to stop being so hard on herself. To, as they say, stop letting the perfect be the enemy of the good. Yet I’ve been around long enough to know when something is ingrained in a person’s character. And Sasha’s striving for perfection is a key part of who she is.

I’ve always been one of these everything-happens-for-a-reason types and lately I’ve been on a Jazz kick, especially music from the 1960’s and early 1970s. I’ve been listening to Miles Davis and a band, Mahavishu Orchestra, which was associated with the “jazz fusion” movement. Mahavishu Orhestra was founded and led by the English guitarist John McLaughlin who played with Davis and many consider an Eddie Van Halen of the jazz world.

Some of McLaughlin’s playing with Mahavishu Orchestra sounds a bit dated by today’s standards’ some of it is needlessly complex. But there’s no doubt that it’s all excellent, marked by technical proficiency and chops. John McLaughlin is a virtuoso in the traditional sense of the word. His music might not always be catchy; it would be hard to hum along to it. But you would never doubt its high quality or appreciate the work that went into creating it.

Which brings me back to Sasha, who just minutes ago, stopped practicing, deciding she was ready. And she is – no doubt about it. But I know Sasha. She’ll practice again before she goes to sleep and tomorrow morning when she wakes up, for good measure. Because virtuosos – perfectionists, like John McLaughlin and our daughter Sasha, don’t really care if you know they’re excellent. They need to know it; deep down in their soul.

Jazz guitarist John McLaughlin in a recent photo. Image credit: Mark Sheldon

The Limitations of Savoring

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Well, it’s happening. Our local meteorologist was practically beside herself with glee last night as she described the two-to-five inches of snow that we’re supposedly going to receive later today. It was grey, cold and wet throughout the weekend, giving us a preview for what will come.

This December will mark 24 years since I moved to Minneapolis and even as I write that sentence I almost can’t believe it. That’s quite a few Minnesota winters under my belt. You’d think I’d be used to them by now. And I am. But that doesn’t make them any more brutal, or disappointing when they’re upon us.

The thing is, I tried so hard to savior all the weather we’ve been experiencing for the past several preceding weeks, which, for the most part, has been dry and beautiful. When I’d walk our dog Astro, either by myself or with my wife, Wendy. When I’d go on runs. When I’d pick up our daughter Sasha at soccer practice or take our son Ethan to swimming. I’d try to hold on to these little moments where everything felt so right – store away for when I needed them. But now that I need them, those memories seem so vague, distant. Almost like they never really happened.

Now, I don’t want to sound like a complete downer. If there’s one thing I learned about Minnesota winters, it’s all about what you make of them. There will be plenty of times ahead when I’ll see, as corny as it might sound, freshly fallen snow, or the light glistening a certain way, or our family enjoying a movie together on a Sunday afternoon because it’s too cold to go outside. And, just like I did several weeks ago, I’ll try to savior the moment, store it away for another time, only to have a hard time calling it up again.

You know, I never really consider myself one of those “Carpe diem!,” live-in-the-moment types. I think of myself more as a steady-as-she-goes, let’s-pace-ourselves kind of person. And I have no intention of changing my ways this late in game.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t change my thinking. So later on today, when I’m shoveling our driveway, I’ll use the opportunity to listen to some good music or a podcast. Remind myself of the exercise I’m getting, the fresh air I’m receiving. Enjoy the moment for what it is; nothing more or less. And remember that it too, will pass. It always does.

Image credit: Bring Me The News

On the Cusp

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in New England but I embrace all the romanticized, somewhat cliched imagery associated with the season. Changing leaves; the brisk air; apples. And just this overall comforting, insular feeling that I always get around this time of year.

Actually, I should say “usually” get around this time of the year. Because this year (huge understatement) feels different.

Now, I’ve had plenty of nice moments during the past several weeks. Running around Lake Harriett in Minneapolis each Sunday morning. The daily walks my wife Wendy and I take with our dog Astro. Watching television shows as a family and laughing along at the absurdity of Keeping Up with the Kardashians (don’t judge). Overall, I’m incredibly blessed in countless ways and I try never to lose sight of that, especially given what so many people are facing. Yet I can’t shake this gloomy, anxious feeling that seems to permeate everything. The year is winding down. The Presidential election is less than three weeks away. Right now I feel like we’re on the cusp of deliverance or bitter disappointment and I’m trying to process it.

Literally, at this particular moment, I feel encouraged, politically. Long lines for early voting. Democrats flush with cash. Republicans reeling and pointing fingers. President Trump even more unhinged than usual (and that’s saying something.)

But we’ve also seen this movie before. When a scandal or a gaffe or G-d knows what else will upend the race. And President Trump will again come roaring back.

Our daughter Sasha recently asked me what would happen if President Trump is re-elected and I told her that, as icky and sad as things might seem in the aftermath, life would go on. She and her brother Ethan would go to school; Wendy and I would go to work and the dog would get fed. And of course I have to acknowledge that the same holds true if President Trump is defeated. Yet I’m confident I’d be taking those aforementioned actions with a newfound sense of hope and affirmation. That we as a country recognized we deserve better of our leaders and frankly, ourselves. And that we acted accordingly.

If you’re reading this post, regardless of your politics, my only hope is that you vote. Because we can’t stay on the cusp forever. Our collective actions will ultimately speak volumes. As they always have a way of doing.

People waiting to vote earlier this week in Austin, Tex. Image credit: Tamir Talifa, The New York Times

Embracing Embouchure

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Like I imagine many of you reading this post, I spend quite a bit of time at home. It’s where I live and work and given current circumstances, my wife, Wendy and I, dog Astro and two teenage children – Ethan 16, and Sasha, 13 all are under the same roof for most of the day, every day. As such, you get used to certain movements and sounds; the rhythm of the house, so to speak. Which is why it was such a treat recently when I was downstairs working and heard the sound of a trumpet permeating throughout the house. It was Ethan, practicing.

Ethan is a passable trumpet player; I played the instrument myself when I was still in elementary school and he’s far better than I ever was. Yet Ethan doesn’t really enjoy the instrument; views it more as a check-the-box curricular necessity. And his practice methods reflect this; he only plays when he has to. But on the particular morning where I noticed Ethan’s trumpet, I thought he sounded pretty good. A smile came to my face as I remembered a certain word – “embouchure.”

I first came upon the word a couple of years back when I heard the musician Kurt Vile interviewed on the WTF podcast hosted by comedian Marc Maron. Vile was talking about how he needed to build up his embouchure. When Maron asked him what the word meant, Vile started cracking up, claiming he didn’t know but it had something to do with Miles Davis. And that was pretty much all it took to make me realize that “embouchure” was a cool word, regardless of what it meant.

If you’ve read my blog before, you know I write about music quite a bit but I think of my knowledge level as deep rather than wide. I believe I’m knowledgeable about rock music, especially from the 1970’s and 80’s. My knowledge level of most other genres, however, is fairly spotty, outside of Jazz, where I know enough to be dangerous. But I’ve always respected Miles Davis as a musician and most importantly, an artist. Whatever Davis created, it was fresh and innovative, critics be damned. Not wanting to be trapped or limited, Davis experimented and always took musical and creative risks. Plus, whether it was pressed suits and skinny ties during his early years or the outlandish stage outfits of his “electric” period, Miles Davis personified cool.

Ultimately, curiosity got the best of me and I Googled “embouchure,” which refers to the use of the lips, facial muscles, tongue and teeth in playing a wind instrument. On the surface, kind of anticlimactic. Like, what did you expect, right?

But like many words and definitions, so much has to do with how we perceive them and something about “embouchure” resonated with me, especially now. I took embouchure to mean finding our game faces, no matter what’s going on around us; getting our groove and technique down pat. And overcoming whatever obstacles – physical, societal, emotional – that come our way.

In Minneapolis, where I live, the weather is starting to turn. I’m wondering what the next few weeks are going to bring and how we’ll collectively adapt. So much seems out of my control. All the more reason to steal a page from the Miles Davis playbook. Persevere. Innovative. Create, no matter what. Keep your game face on. In other words, embrace and ultimately, maintain embouchure.

Image credit: Getty Images

The Judge of That

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m the kind of person who gets frustrated at myself when I can’t commit fully to something and I was feeling a bit of that frustration yesterday as I was about to serve as a judge for our son Ethan’s high school debate tournament. The whole process to me appeared quite convoluted, with an alien terminology, not to mention all the A/V details of judging virtually. I felt anxious, stressed, pressed for time and regretful for agreeing to do it.

But my concerns dissipated as soon as the debate started. True, I’m sure I came off like a complete dweeb with my pre-debate “This is my first time; you’re my guinea pigs; please just bear with me” banter. But the students – two each on the Affirmative and Negative sides of “Was the United States justified in its use of the atomic bomb against Japan?” question, were there to debate. And debate they did.

I ultimately judged three separate rounds, each lasting about an hour, and I can’t begin to tell you how impressed I was with all the students’ performances. As context, each team had to debate different viewpoints throughout the tournament. Their intense preparation was evident throughout the whole day as both sides cited a multitude of sources while making their respective cases.

Yet beyond the preparation what stood out to me is the respect and appreciation each team showed their competition. Apologizing when they went even a few seconds beyond their allotted time. Asking to repeat a question or statement when they didn’t understand it. And perhaps most importantly, recognizing that you can be passionate and persuasive about an ideal or principle without being nasty or delving into personal attacks.

You probably saw this coming but I of course help couldn’t help thinking of the recent debates held during this year’s Presidential campaign. Now, I’m a political junkie and, apparently, a glutton for punishment, having subjected myself to the first debate between President Trump and former Vice President Biden and last week’s debate featuring Vice President Pence and Sen. Harris. Suffice it to say I don’t believe anyone really “won” but of course, the big losers were all of us – the American people.

If you’re reading this post then, like me you’re old enough to know that it wasn’t always like this. And by “this,” I’m referring to the lack of civility that’s seemed to permeate our culture. We can’t agree to disagree to anymore. We chastise and demean. And then “unfriend” for good measure.

Kidding aside, it’s pretty grim out there and I know that deep cultural divisions are fueling this lack of civility. It’s also tempting, to embrace this narrative that somehow, things are broken; that no matter who prevails on Election Day (or G-d help us, the weeks and months that follow), we’re at this point of no turning back as a culture. That things will never return to the way they were before.

But during my brief but memorable time judging the debate yesterday, watching earnest, well-informed and dedicated young people truly engaged in a spirited discourse, I felt hopeful. It was a reminder that in the end we’re going to collectively persevere while holding on to our best virtues. As corny as it might sound, I truly believe deep down, I knew that all along. It’s just helpful having a reminder now and then.

Image credit: Getty Images

There Goes My Hero

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I suppose I wasn’t surprised when earlier today, I learned that Eddie Van Halen passed away at 65 after a long battle with cancer. Rumors about his poor health have been circulating for quite some time. Plus, it’s 2020. The news, nonetheless, still hurt. Because Eddie Van Halen was my first true hero.

I actually never had a chance to see Van Halen live.  They came to the Hartford Civic Center in March of 1984 and my parents ruled that I was too young to attend with my friends. As a postscript, a middle school buddy of mine who I’m reconnected with via social media, attended this concert and I’ve been able to experience it vicariously through him. But Eddie Van Halen played an outside role in my formative years.

This would have been back in 1983. I begged my parents for a guitar and lessons so they got me a big, clunky acoustic model. Except that wasn’t what I wanted. You see, I wanted to hold a customized “Frankenstrat” with a lit Marlboro in the fingerboard. I wanted to hold Valerie Bertinelli. But I learned pretty quickly that desire is one thing; ability and discipline is another.

Suffice it to say, my experience as a guitarist was short lived. I struggled through chord exercises. I pretended I could play “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” by The Clash. But I didn’t do what Eddie Van Halen and countless of his brethren did – dedicate my life to the instrument – not to a perceived notion of fame, but in actually mastering a craft.

At least I didn’t back then.

Eventually, I matured a bit and besides marrying a beautiful brunette, didn’t come close to emulating Eddie Van Halen in any shape or form. But he did teach me a valuable lesson – that creativity and innovation are marked by discipline and craftsmanship. Creating even when you’re not inspired and recognizing its work. Never resting on your laurels and always believing your best output is yet to come.

I should also note that although I eventually stopped wanting to be Eddie Van Halen, I never stopped listening to him. And I never will.

Eddie Van Halen, 1980 (Richard E. Aaron/Redferns)

Waxing Nostalgic

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Back in the fall of 2020 I was having one of those nights where I had enough. My brain and emotions were fried and I just needed to mindlessly unplug. And I didn’t exactly unplug, not in the literal sense, but in the figurative, when I went downstairs and watched two episodes of Cobra Kai, which is now available for streaming on Netflix, with the fourth season dropping tomorrow.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, Cobra Kai stars Ralph Macchio and William Kabka, both reprising their respective roles as Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence from the 1984 movie The Karate Kid. To summarize, it’s now present day and Daniel’s life, at least, on the surface, is picture perfect. Johnny’s is coming apart at the seams. Fate dictates a meeting between Daniel and Johnny – two former arch rivals. And then the real fun starts.

We had actually started watching Cobra Kai as family. I suggested the show given we were in between shows and several people in my sphere whose opinions I trusted recommended it. But neither of our teenage kids would have anything to do with it. “Oh, my G-d, Dad; it’s awful,” our daughter Sasha, then 13, explained. Our son Ethan, then 16, left the room after a few minutes of watching. Even my wife Wendy, who like me, grew up with The Karate Kid and its characters said “C’mon, Andy. You have to admit it’s pretty bad.”

OK, so here’s the thing about Cobra Kai. The acting is pretty brutal – somewhere between high school production and Soap Opera emoting. The plot lines are beyond contrived. Every character exchange and interaction is highly orchestrated with clunky foreshadowing; you see things coming from a mile away.

But to me, all that just makes Cobra Kai more awesome. Not to mention the incredible soundtrack, Johnny’s vintage Firebird and his stuck-in-the-80’s wardrobe. It’s cheesy nostalgia at its best. Which is exactly what I need right now.

I don’t know about you but I’m getting pretty sick of chaos, in whatever form. Our society. Our government. The way we treat each other. It just seems so overwhelming at times. And while I don’t advocate brushing it under the rug, I do need to take a break from it every now and then. Enter the make-believe, orderly idealized reprieve that Cobra Kai offers. Where the acting is bad, the soundtrack rocks and you know everything will get resolved in the end.

Image credit: YouTube