Hey, check it out, it’s my semi-annual “I Have A Blog” blog.
If you follow me on the Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram or Snapchat (when I figure out how to use it, why I’d use it, and why it exists), you know I’ve been, well, a bit angry since the election. (On Snapchat, you’d know for like a minute and then, *poof*, you wouldn’t! A little something there for the kids who know Snapchat.) And I feel like I need my own Luther. How angry should I be?
(1. Did you ever think a comedian would use the phrase “I got my eye on you, pussy grabber?” regarding the president, and you’d think, “Yeah, that sounds about right?” 2. If you did, did you think that president would have been Bill Clinton or Rutherford B. Hayes? Answers: 1. No; 2. Both answers are actually correct)
I think the answer is very angry. Although I am trying to handle anger, in general, better. With that in mind, here’s a quick update on life (note: I am aware things appear bleak, we are all likely going to die in some sort of hell scape of our president’s doing, as a white male of privilege, again, I am so sorry, I swear I didn’t vote for him, and don’t even know the other white males who did, and oh crap, maybe that’s the problem, so hey, I’m sorry for that too … )
Did I just get caught down another apology rabbit hole? Sorry. I’m back.
Since December 5, I’ve been working at InkHouse, a wonderful PR and marketing firm (note: I had to edit this sentence for clarity/simplicity ten times because of my giddiness) with operations in Waltham, Mass. and San Francisco. (If you’re interested, you can read my first post for the Inklings blog here).
Of the many things I’ve learned since joining InkHouse:
- I was right — I really missed working with people.
- This is the first time I started a job at a company with >10 people since 1996, and at 46, I am much worse with names than I was at 26.
- Damn, a lot of parents named their kids Caitlyn, Rebecca, and Hannah (and various spellings thereof) around 1980-1993.
Which brings me to this. (Author’s note: this portion is dedicated to the late “Dinner Bell” Mel Turpin.)
There was a time I used to know every NBA player in the league. This time was 30+ years ago.
I was thinking of this the other day when discussing the NBA with my sons, who love the league and due to the approximately 1,500 hours each month they spend playing NBA2K, know today’s players well. Here’s a typical conversation …
Me: Who was the number 1 pick last year? It was that Canadian guy, right?
7th grader: No, it was Ben Simmons, with the Sixers.
Me: But he’s Canadian, right?
7th grader: No. Australian. Jeez dad.
Me: Go to your room.
(The only NBA player I can recall from Australia is Andrew Gaze, who played a year at Seton Hall. That year was 1989).
In my mind, I have also merged the top draft picks from 2015-2012 (Karl-Anthony Towns, Andrew Wiggins and Anthony Bennett and Anthony Davis, respectively), into one player, although my sources tell me they are three distinct individuals. (Note to Commissioner Silver: if the NBA wants to market their stars, they need to ensure they have significantly different names.)
A few notes to close out:
- I volunteered yesterday at 826 Boston, a nonprofit youth writing and publishing organization that “empowers traditionally underserved students ages 6-18 to find their voices, tell their stories, and gain communication skills to succeed in school and in life.” It’s the local outshoot of this great organization, started by Dave Eggers in San Francisco. We worked with a group of fourth graders from Somerville’s Argenziano School. I was particularly in awe of our session leader, who did a masterful job of keeping a group of 20 10-year-olds, each with amazing ideas, focused and on point. “So you want a realistic down-to-earth show that’s completely off the wall and swarming with magic robots?”
- There is SO much great new music out in just the last two weeks. Japandroids, Cloud Nothings, Ty Segall (a modern-day Robert Pollard in his prolific output), a live album from Sleater-Kinney and a planned album from Father John Misty. Mercy!
- I was wondering if Sleater-Kinney updated the “I Want to Be Your Joey Ramone” lyrics in re: Thurston Moore, given that, well, Kim Gordon’s autobiography didn’t paint a particularly flattering picture of Mr. Moore. Well, S-K did, sort of … now they want to be your Joey Ramone, Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon.
I’d be happy being any of them, but right now, I’m happiest being me. (Note to people who know me: holy smokes, I just said that!)