A Green Light

Shizzle My Nizzle

2006-07-17T14:20:00.000-07:00

"See the irony is what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit and it's over."

I do not purport to be an expert on international affairs, however, I do purport to be an informed citizen that is interested in the daily events around the world.

At approximately 9:00 AM this morning the media (an incredibly broad and inclusive term without any real substance) got its collective panties in a bunch over Mr. Bush's use of a naughty word in describing his feelings about the Israeli-Hezbollah conflict in Lebanon (see panty bunch-inducing words above).

The media is having a collective gasp and giggle at Mr. Bush, while men and women are dying in a political bloodletting.

Generally, I am not a supporter of Mr. Bush's policies. For instance, I feel that his recent threatened veto of a bill that would relax his 2001 ban on certain types of stem cell research is irresponsible and hypocritical. However, in order to come to my opinion, I had to do some heavy lifting. Specifically, I had to (i) identify the moving parts of the issue, (ii) recognize the competing interests at play, (iii) reconcile the interests with my own belief system and (iv) come to a rational conclusion based on my beliefs.

By focusing on Mr. Bush's potty mouth and not the analyzing policy contained therein, the media isn't doing its job.

While paging through a weighty menu at Nobu (a trendy L.A. hotspot) Paris Hilton, remarked that "reading is hard." Paris, I couldn't agree more. And, quite frankly, the media isn't making it any easier.

As long as, sound bites blare out subtleties and talking heads blindly broker opinions to their constituents, reading about issues and forming educated opinions will continue to be hard work.

What are Paris and I to do? On a scale of least to most likely, we could (i) sift through the sound bites and blather to painstakingly piece together our informed opinion (ii) simply pick our favorite talking head and adopt their opinion only to regurgitate the slop when asked during drinks and diner parties or (iii) go shopping.

Isn't this how Rome fell? With indifference and not a bang. Seriously, this is the type of stuff that really worries me.

C.R.E.A.M.

2006-07-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

Among other things, I am an attorney.

This statement means different things to different people.

My Mom loves the fact that she can tell her friends that her son is an attorney (like those people on TV).

My Dad is proud that I have been able to achieve a certain level of prestige in a profession that he holds in great esteem.

Annie, also an attorney, thinks about her job with the philosophy that "work is hard and not fun, otherwise they wouldn't call it work, they would call it play." She sounds scary doesn't she (just kidding honey).

My own take on the profession varies from day to day, if not, from hour to hour. This is one thing that Annie and I do not fundamentally agree on. In other words, I can't spend 80% of my life doing something that is not making me happy.

But there is the rub. What makes me happy?

This seems easy to answer: talking/laughing with friends, learning, sharing ideas and stories, Bam chicka Bam Boow, playing Nintendo, eating fat free Cool whip (I dig it the most).

Given this (dare I say eclectic) smattering of interests how do I (i) support myself, (ii) support a family and myself, and (iii) convince my hypothetical children to love me enough so that they will not push my wheelchair into the Allegheny River after I poop (22) myself after a meal of strained beats and carrots.

In respect to concerns (i) and (ii) I have had some different ideas, however, concern (iii) seems hopeless (on the bright side, I do love beats, so I guess I have that going for me).

After I graduated college with a bachelors of science in biology I had dreams of becoming a writer in the vein of F. Scott Fitzgerald or Vladimir Nabokov. Not knowing the incredible discipline, inner strength, wide breadth of life experience and sheer creativity it takes to succeed in writing (note, its funny that I put "writers" on the same pedestal Big Fred reserves for "lawyers"), I failed miserably. Note, this is different from being an incredible failure in that my so-called writing career ended with a whimper and not a bang.

This failure combined with exposure to some interesting aspects of law conspired to lure me into law school.

While at law school, I became interested in technology law, intellectual property and more importantly the individuals who create and profit from it.

It is important to note that I am not a techie (however, I am a dork, as if you didn't know). I do not care about the technology, per se; I care about the people who hope to change the world with it. I want to connect these would-be world-shakers with open minds and deep pockets.

Getting nerds money – how is that for an ideal job description.

In certain respects, I am on a path to that end. But I have continually doubted if I have the temperament, dedication and focus to ultimately put myself in this position.

Here is the real question, do I have the desire to push myself through all of the crap (for lack of a better word) that it would take to do what it is that I (think) will make me happy?

On the flip side, what if no job can ever make me happy? (This seems to be a reasonable enough statement.) What if Annie is right and the most that I can expect is a modicum of fulfillment in the work week and squeeze the rest out of weeknights and weekends?

Like most of my (entirely over dramatic and torturously overblown and predictable) questions, I think the answer lies somewhere in the middle.

Maybe it is unrealistic for me to expect that any one relationship (professional, personal, family, etc.) will be enough to satisfy me.

Maybe I need to realize that there will be ups and downs in anything I do.

Maybe I just need more Bam chicka Bam Boow.

Maybe I need to stop using this "Question – Answer – Maybe" format in my posts before I start to sound like every column written by Carrie in every episode of Sex and the City.

Maybe I am a whiner. Strike that. I am a whiner.

Of Grandfathers and Supermen

2006-07-11T16:52:00.000-07:00

Among my few talents in life is to beat myself up to the point that I can barely think, act or react to the world around me. In many ways I consider myself the anti-K-Fed. Whereas Kevin Federline projects an undeserved sense of accomplishment, I project illogical self loathing.

It is one thing to hate yourself for good reason, but I haven't murdered raped or pillaged anyone or anything. In fact, even by my own admittedly ridiculous standards, I am doing quite well. I am in Love (note the capitalization is for the real deal love I find myself in) and I'm not starving or homeless.

So why do I feel like an utter failure?

Note, in future posts I will certainly not be so introspective/egocenteric. In other words, if you are expecting for me to lighten up within the next few paragraphs, visit some other blog. Today is for me to let out the rambling wreck that used to be my self esteem.

My favorite comic book character of all time is Superman (A.K.A. The Man of Steel). I find this to be quite telling. Unlike other comic heroes, Superman's only flaw was external (i.e. weakness caused by exposure to fragments of his extraterrestrial home world – popularly known as kryptonite). Other than this one thing, he was perfect in every way. Even Clark Kent, Superman's critic on humanity was perfect. Although he disappointed Lois on occasion given his frequent absence from the moment (man… if she only really knew), he always came through in the clutch.

I am no Superman. While most children become aware of this fact the first time they don a blanket cape and jump off of their couch, suffice it to say that some people learn quicker than others.

Unlike Superman, I am full of faults: (i) questionable oral hygiene, (ii) generally unfocused, (iii) undisciplined, (iv) slow at most common tasks, (v) questionable work ethic.

For most folks who have heroes, comic or otherwise, they come to a point in their lives were they realize that these heroes are not the perfect figures they had once thought them to be. For instance, Michael Jordan was a gambling addict, Ernest Hemmingway was a drunk, etc. For me it is a little different, Superman is always Superman.

And more importantly, my grandfather (my real hero – come on, you didn't really think this was all about a comic strip did you) is still perfect. He was a shoe shine boy. He went off to war in Europe at the age of eighteen. When he returned he married my grandmother and started his own business, an auto garage. While working six nights a week at the garage he and my grandmother raised and educated five children through college. All the while he never cursed or wished a ill will on any man. He only raises his voice to sing his love songs to my grandmother when he changes from his work clothes (now his gardening clothes) to his house clothes. He is quick with a smile and a hug. Simply put, he is the most amazing man in the world.

For all who have lamented that there are no real heroes, this is the counterpoint. If your hero is real and you simply cannot measure up, how do you go on? In other words, is the idea that "nobody's perfect" essential for people to keep it together?

What if there where plenty of people like my grandfather -- Genuine, pure hearted men and women who were essentially perfect? How would we reconcile our faults, flaws, imperfections?

Would we celebrate and emulate their lives only to be disappointed in our doomed efforts, or would we try to tear them down – like crabs in a barrel - in an effort to make ourselves feel better?

Although I suspect the latter, I do not have answers. Answers are not the point. I think its just important to ask the questions.

Maybe I should be more forgiving of myself and my flaws. Maybe I should not worry about living up to a man who would never cast a disapproving glance at me. Maybe I should concentrate on being my best self instead of living in comic books and tall tales.

Or… maybe I should learn to leap buildings in a single bound.

A (totally inadequate and incomplete) Introduction

2006-07-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

By way of brief and inadequate introduction, the major characters in my life are as follows (in alphabetical order):

Annie - Annie is my best friend and the love of my life. She is the best person I have ever met and will likely ever meet. She is fun with a warm soul and a forgiving heart. You may think that a lot of this is idealized puppy love rubbish. If you do, then you have never met her and probably would not understand her if you did (your loss). Annie is my sunshine, my oxygen and my life. We will be married this fall.

CJC – To describe my college friends as brothers is cliché; but if the cliché fits… Also, CJC has very thin eyebrows and waddles.

G$ - The best description of G$ every given was that he is a Cleveland version of Vince Vaughn. On a related note, my trip to Las Vegas for my bachelor party is nearly one month away. This will certainly be source material for discussion and comment (or not).

Jake - Jake is my brother from another mother. He has been working feverishly for the better part of ten years to keep me on the right side of the crazy train (with mixed success).

Juliet – A wondrous, lovely and wild creature currently inhabiting Pensyltucky. Word of the street is that she just digs that freshly churned butter (who knew).

K-Dawg – K-Dawg is one of the few people who matches my enthusiasm for all things sports. It is really amazing (and/or disturbing) the amount of intellectual capital I spend on children's games and the industry that they have become.

Mom (A.K.A The Penguin) and Dad (A.K.A. Big Fred) - My parents are a huge part of my life. For better and worse they have enabled me to become the man (wowza Peter Pan you certainly had a hard time typing that last word) you read before you.

RJ - The aforementioned RJ is my biggest inspiration for this blog. We met in law school but only became close friends after a near death experience en route to the outer banks of North Carolina. (Note, the near death experience I am referring to happened as a result of my decision to use my four wheel drive to maneuver over a grassy knoll and a cement median in pursuit of a Wendy's Drive Thru. As you will surely discover I have a touch of the old melodrama).

DISCLAIMER: Not all of my friends and family could possibly be mentioned and artfully described above. If you have not been introduced, please do not feel slighted. I just compared Juilet to a freaking mountain lion. This is not high art.

It's Not Easy Being Green

2006-07-10T12:58:00.000-07:00

My name is Christopher.

My good friend RJ (author of www.whatididforaklondikebar.blogspot.com) has encouraged me to start a blog of my very own.

After many failed half-hearted attempts, I thought it was time for me to push all of my chips to the center of the table. I have dealt a serious blow to The Wedding Nails (coming soon to a blog post near you...) contemplating bumbling onto the blogosphere.

Quite frankly, fear of sounding contrived and unoriginal coupled with my omnipresent self-doubt paralyzed my first fledgling attempts at leading a meaningful exchange of ideas (or at the very least a serial rant and rave about the daily goings on of a colorful circle of friends and family in the city of Pittsburgh).

I have deliberated about the content, tenor, attitude, design and most importantly (at least in my somewhat delusional world view) the name of this blog.

I wanted my blog to be more than a hodge podge of semi-coherent ramblings of daily events and gossip. I wanted to explore the large universal truths of life.

But then I came to what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity. Life is semi-coherent ramblings and funny little stories. Life is incomplete endings. Life is the chord unresolved. The beauty in life is the search for the universal truth in the muck of gossip and repetition.

This is why I chose the name "A Green Light."

F. Scott Fitzgerald is my favorite author. In his novel The Great Gatsby, Jay Gatsby longs for a green light at the end of the dock owned by Daisy, the woman (or idea of a woman) that he loves. Smarter people than I have opined as to what the green light represented to Jay. I like to think it represented his hope to live in an ideal world. A world with everything in its proper place.

However, to me, the green light represents something a little different. To me, it represents the sadness of being absent from the moment. I think the green light is a cautionary tale. Love your life every minute and do not lose yourself to a perfect world that does not exist. Love the detail. Love the gritty gossip. Love the imperfection. Love life.

Also, I thought it was a pretty catchy.

I just hope my reader(s) enjoy my blather as much as I will enjoy writing it.

- Christopher