Come Home Daddy, Come Home

By the time I get to the end of a work day I'm usually pretty cooked. I usually don't stumble until the very end of the day, the last half hour or so. I think most of it comes from the emotional let down that reaching the end of the day means. All day long I've got my guard up, my adrenalin going, and my defenses ready for whatever onslaught they might face, but at the very end of the day the cracks in my armor appear to even the casual observer, and I fade. By the time I get home I've usually found myself a headache, or I realize that I haven't eaten all day. When I walk in the door I'm ready for a quiet chance to regroup and build myself back up for the evening, the problem is I never get that chance. Most parents don't, I imagine. The difference, I guess, is the emotional nature of my day, and the absolute lack of any opportunity to take care of myself all day...no breaks, no lunch, no time to breathe before the next situation finds me. I don't notice how exhausted I am, or even feel the stress and strain of all those stories until I punch the clock on my way out, then it all kind of floods over the wall that I've built for myself all day long. By the time I get home I'm useless.

Then a little girl runs to the back door to greet me, and there are hugs, and there are kisses, and often enough there is a tug at my hand to come play. So we color, or play with her animals or just chase each other around, and I forget that my head hurts, and that I'm tired, and that I haven't eaten all day. I remember quickly enough, but for a few minutes, sometimes more, I don't feel much at all except thankful that my life is perfect while others are not. I don't need holidays to tell me that. There's a smiling littl girl who reminds me every tired, troublesome day.

I think I'll keep her forever, if that's okay with you.

Leaves, leaves, and more leaves...

We were raking leaves when Suisham kicked the overtime winner in the Steelers game, so we missed it. Shaun is from our hometown and the only NFL football player our school, and county has ever produced, so everyone is pretty proud. The Steelers are also my Uncle Lumpy's favorite team and so I like to watch, if only for decent ammunition to use against him. No matter, while all of that fun stuff was going on we were raking, bagging, and burning leaves.

Zedder was a helping machine, that is, until she decided that she'd rather go to the park and play. I would have gladly done the same if given the option. She's a smart kid. Raking leaves sucks the mustard.

Now we're back in the house enjoying the Eagles and Bears..Zoey is playing with her dinosaurs and Daddy is enjoying the Champagne of Beers while Mom is brewing up some serious chicken soup. Life on the lake, or what we've got left of it, is pretty good.

Happy Sunday...A Gift To You, From Us

Open this sucker up full screen and enjoy. The Kuroshio Sea is the 2nd largest aquarium tank in the world. It's located at the Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium in Okinawa, Japan. It's the world's second largest aquarium, behind the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta.

Sounds like we're going to Atlanta.

Happy Sunday folks.

I see skies of blue...

Don't be surprised if we one day just up and move to Byron Bay, Australia...especially after visiting this blog. It's dreamy pics and super friendly posts made waking up a pleasure. I want a community like that. I think that's why we slip off to San Clemente so frequently. It feels a little like that, although I'm sure Australians do it about ten times better.

It's that strong sense of community and individuality that we're seeking. You know, that balance. Hawaii felt like that...Wednesday nights at the Zoo concerts with Waikiki locals, First Fridays in Chinatown...Sundays at the beach with family...but then everyone was unique...everyone was as individual as you could imagine...artists, musicians, surfers, freaks, families...that's the stuff that makes us grin.

If anyone is stucj for a Christmas gift for us...an Australian work visa would be nice.

Pity The Child Named Cookie...

It's 10:30pm and someone is still awake. First June tried to put Zo down to sleep. That didn't work. She started calling for Daddy and so I tried to get Zoey to sleep, but that didn't work either. She's WIDE awake and so any thoughts of simply leaving her alone to sleep are ridiculous. When I went to her room she was playing with her stuffed animals and wasn't too concerned with the fact that it was pitch black in her room. She's got the eyesight of a mole, I think.

I wasn't with her long when she wanted to sing, so we sang. We sang "Wonderful World," by Louis Armstrong. Well, I sang and she did her best, which was just about the cutest thing ever. Then she proceeded to tell me how she was going to "have a baby when she gets older." She's going to buy one...it will be in her tummy, she said. She will name it Cookies, which is probably the worst baby name ever. I felt comfortable with her logic that she needed to wait until she was older, but then it struck me that she's only 22 months old and so pretty much everything is older for Zed. So I suggested that she wait until after she's done college, to which she happily agreed. "Okay, Daddy," she said. After that we talked about how stinky Debu's poop was.

Quick Question...

How'd I end up with a daughter that's this absolutely (unbiased) beautiful? Every day I look at her I can't believe the little wonder that slipped out of our gene pool to dry off in the sunshine of our immeasureable love...and that love is so intense she best be applying some serious SPF. Sometimes I can't even look at her without my eyes filling with pride. This parenting thing is a fairly emotional vacation from the sefishness that was our jobs just a few years ago. Wow, boundless affection is tiring.

All that said, and I still have no answer to the burning question of how this little bouncing bundle of cute ever fell from the disaster that is my genetics. My guess is June...this beautiful being is all June's doing.

Been there...haven't done that...

Since when did I give a crap about tools, or anything technical, or working with my hands in any way, shape, or form, that didn't involve a writing instrument? The answer is I dunno. What I do know is that I don't make $#!% and hardly ever have. I'm part of the greater masses that this world now educates and sets loose on the world who doesn't contribute a single tangible thing to the planet. I make nothing. I talk a lot. I listen a lot. I help...but I don't create.

That bothers me. It does. I don't want to consume valuable oxygen and yet produce nothing. I'd like to make something, someday.

When I was a small boy I'd float my brother part of my allowance if he did my barn chores, and I kept the rest. I suppose in some ways I was a subcontractor for my parents. All I know is that I did none of the work and got half the money. In high school shop class I paid the class motorhead, Clint, to finish my half complete project. I did half the work and got all of the grade (a better one than Clint I might add). Then gradually, and without even paying so much as a scrap of attention, I slipped into a world of information, not cuts and calouses. It was seemless and as natural and organic as a sunrise.

Sure I worked hard at times in my life. I roofed houses. I cut lumber and hammered nails. I sweat it out on desperate afternoon shifts in the auto plant to help pay for college. I did all that stuff, but the only things I've ever really made with my bare hands are limited to artistic endeavors and words, words, words. That's it.
I feel a little less than whole. I feel a little less than the father that I am. Zoey should have a father who can make something, who can fix something, who can help her when things require manly Daddy type helping. I want to be able to do that.

Here's the thing. I can do it. I surprise myself on a regular basis with the basic skills and logic that it takes to be that dude. The problem is, as it might very well be with anything in my life, I don't have much of a blueprint to follow. Any competent and calloused version of me is going to come almost directly out of my own imagination and ambition. Sure, there are people to ask, but it's almost too late for that. I don't want to be that guy. I'd much rather do whatever it takes to learn on my own and put that education to use, and see where I end up.

I want to fix up the house that I eventually live in.

I want to fix up an old motorcycle and recklessly ride the bugger until it croaks, and then fix it and do it again.

I want someone to marvel at something that I've made and think, "Brian made this?"

I want to do all that stuff and probably a bit more. I have tools, at least the humble beginnins of a collection of said tools. I have creativity...in abundance. I have occasional ambition. I just need a push, I think, and what's more, a more tangible reason to be pushed. Seeking competence isn't a good enough reason. It's like dieting to lose a little weight for no particular reason.

I think the new year will demand a few things from this fella. I need to pay attention to some stuff that is probably long overdue...like earning a blister or two, and surprising a few people. I want to make something, and since it might very well be the very first something I've ever really made, it better be something good.

Hmmmm...a strange and wonderous thing to ponder. In the meantime, leave me a alone and let me think about this Tom Foolery. Sorry, I just wanted to use the word Tom Foolery. I don't really talk like that.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

The Zedder is starting to kinda sorta get this Christmas stuff. She knows who Santa is, and just last night she had to get a gander in at our neighbors Christmas lights before she slipped off to bed. I believe the actual conversation went something like this...

"I want to see the lights."

"Okay, come here and I'll lift you up to the window."

"Whoa. I like those Christmas lights Daddy. I like that tree. Goodnight tree. Bring me lots of presents."

So, like I said, kinda sorta. She's not entirely sure how it all works. We still need to root through the basics, I guess. Yep Zed, there's a tree, and yep, it'll be all sparkling and bright. Yes, there's going to be presents around that tree, and most of them are for Zed, but we gotta get it in her head that the tree isn't the great benefactor in all of this. Santa clause isn't just a parenthesis in the Christmas equation. I suppose it all needs a little more work. For now I'm just happy that she's not sticking post-it notes all through the Sears Wish Book like her cousin Reece.

Happy Thanksgiving...approx. one mile west of us

We grew up in the shadow of Detroit, with only a river to separate us from friends and family that called another country home. So we eat turkey, and watch the Lions lose, and shop like fools from this day forward etc...I wish it were a bigger deal on this side of that river, but we'll take what we can get.

So with a little blonde girl all bathed and ready for the usual stories and then bed... and with every amazing American friend of ours stuffed full of food and quite possibly sick of their extended family already, we'd like to wish them all the most sincere and affectionate Thanksgiving ever.

We love you, even if you don't have universal health care, or as many Winter Olympic Gold Medals as we do...you're still cool...we still appreciate your awesomeness. It's not like we're all that perfect...have you ever watched the Grey Cup? Familiar with the work of Loverboy? We're not so hot either...we worked all day today, and will again tomorrow. Of course, we do have the Boxing Day holiday, and we're not at war. I guess we did give the world Justin Bieber though, didn't we? Yeah, sorry about that.

Happy Thanksgiving (and birthday too Simon Bergquist).

Couldn't stop smiling if I tried...

How's this for no grey, and nothing but hope? Michigan - Ohio State game 1995

In case you live on Mars, it's Ohio State week around here and that means that I'm a combination wreck and bustling ball of inexhaustible energy...and, of course, I can't stop smiling, regardless of the year's trials and tribulations. It's partly this week that has me wondering how I could ever live anywhere else...any further than an hour's drive to Michigan Stadium.

I'm giddy. Tonight I'm kinda sorta giggly. I don't know why exactly. I mean, it's more than just Saturday's football game. Maybe because the U.S. Thanksgiving is this week, and ever since I was young that was something worth flipping for...or maybe it's because the Tigers have reportedly signed Victor Martinez...or it could be that Parenthood is on tonight and that show always makes me feel good...and my family has a pre-Christmas gathering this weekend up north, which is exciting beyond normal levels of excitement. Of course, it could be the Grateful Dead tunes drifting from my speakers, or it could be the kiss festival that I had with Zoey tonight before bed...it may be the Chritmas presents that are starting to trickle in via my two year old tradition of online shopping. All things considered, I think it might be the fact that my visit to the chiropractor after work has me headache free for the first time in weeks, but I wouldn't bet against the Scarlet Begonias and Jerry Garcia.

I'd also venture to say that hearing Zoey try to tackle the word, magnificent tonight might have pushed me over the edge.

She just ain't that little anymore...

It seems like every time I look this little girl is taller, is more grown up, and I'm equally in awe and desperate to slow all this down. Everyone tells you that it goes by fast, but this seems like it's messing with the space time continuum. It just doesn't make any sense that in just over two months Zoey will be two years old.



It really does seem like yesterday that we brought her home, or that we bundled her up and drove to Kansas City, or jumped on an airplane headed for the middle of the Pacific Ocean...She just started walking about a year ago, and now she runs around the house, doing laps and diving headfirst into our legs...It wasn't all that long ago that she couldn't say anything and just today she asked me to scratch her back 'cause she had an itch. I can't imagine not having this blog to remember so much.

California Dreamin'...

Dirty Gold - California Sunrise from Panaframe ▲ on Vimeo.

Miss summer already? I do.

One of the things I have been vibing on this fall has been pure unadulterated nostalgia. It’s possible that it’s due to the gratuitous amounts of epic sh!t that went down over the past couple of summers -- Waikiki, Brooklyn -- which of course was backed both times by a soundtrack of dreamy sun-drenched and foamy music. Why can't it be August forever?

The worst part of this winter is going to be the awful absence of that little beach girl we have living here. THe beach will still be there, sure, just buried under six feet of ice.

Fall asleep tonight good friends with this sweet tune bouncing around the inside of your head. You can thank me later.

Hail to the Victors Valiant

If you ever loved a place as much as some of us love Michigan then read this and if it doesn't resonate then you should feel awful that you are dead inside, or just unlucky. Saturdays might be killing us these days but there was a time when they were magic, and that time will come again. It hurts so bad now, because it felt so good then.

I remember the day I became a fan. I saw a poster of all those shimmering winged helmets on the wall in my friend Jamie's bedroom. I would stare at it every time I slept over at Jamie's house. That was when I was a boy. Then, as a young man, I stood five feet away from Tshimanga Biakabutuka on the Michigan sideline while he was single handedly dismantling Ohio State. All these years later still pinch myself that I was that close to something that magical. I'll never forget staring up at that scoreboard and then sprinting out onto that field and through that tunnel. I reached up and touched the hands of all the other fans who weren't so lucky as to be working for something they loved and have a field pass dangling from their neck. My heart nearly exploded, and I'll surely have wrinkles someday in those places where my smile bent my face wide. I've never felt the same brand of joy since.

The sun will shine in Ann Arbor again, this I know because that's where I learned that it rises and sets, at least, for some of us.

Sundays with Mark Sanchez...

Sunday started at Starbucks, then it found a book store, then the Jets game, and then a Jets win. That Sunday really knows how to do it up right, which is good 'cause I'm losing faith in Saturdays.

This was never an NFL house...never, until Zoey arrived and transformed us all into easy Sunday people. Friday nights are for whatever we can scrounge together...Saturdays are for adventures...but Sundays, those quiet and relaxed Sundays are made for doing nothing. That illusive nothing has more often than not included NFL football since Zoey came to stay.

We decided on draft day one year and a half ago that whoever drafted Mark Sanchez was going to be our team as we entered into these Sundays spent together. It was an experiment of sorts. We would have no connection to the team other than Sanchez, but then those New York Jets started getting good...and then our old friend Braylon Edwards ended up a Jet...and then they got really exciting to go along with the really good, and now Sundays are just about the most fun of every week. We quietly go about our business, we drink coffee, we eat breakfast and devour lunch, and we watch football. We play and nap and don't aspire to much more than being together. It's pretty laid back, until the Jets win, and then it gets stupid. Zoey dances, Dad jumps for joy, and Mom laughs at us both. What do you do on Sunday? We've become our own version of church except without all the guilt and singing. Well, some singing. Mostly Twinkle Twinkle Little Star which doesn't really have anything to do with the New York Jets but we sing it anyway 'cause it's fun, and because Zoey usually butchers it. She sure isn't Israel Kamakawiwoʻole but she tries.

Almost Eight Minutes of Awesome...

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything except awesome, and shouldn't that be the way we live every bit of our lives? In case you were wondering the answer is yes.

I think we need to go to Scotland soon.

Zedder in the News...

A quick, random conversation with a friend on the telephone yesterday brought to our attention the fact that Zoey made our hometown newspaper. We had gone home to visit family for Halloween and despite only Trick or Treating at Grandad and Baachan's, Grandma's, and Uncle B and Aunt Header's, with just a few houses in between, Zoey managed to attract some attention.

I dunno who saw her, or how that stupid idea of ours ever impressed anyone, but we laughed our heads off when we finally tracked the paper down.

Ridiculous, and hilarious at the same time. It was a pretty realistic looking makeup job to send it all over the top. Wait 'til next year. We're planning on using Halloween and our daughter to illustrate our deplorable immaturity for as long as we possibly can.

The Secret to Recovering a Saturday...

I started writing this eloquent story about our newfound affection for truth and honesty, with ourselves, with other people, etc...not because we've been lying for decades, but because we're never as honest with ourselves as we think we are, so it makes sense that we aren't as honest with others as we might be either. I woke up early and was typing another story, a different beast, if you will, about the power of truth and honesty and openness in the work I do, how there should be a stronger attachment to those ideals for everyone who is struggling, whether it be with sexuality, addiction, mental health, etc...it's only our shame, guilt and secrecy that gives any of these negative perspectives any power. The day we no longer are concerned with a person's past vs. their present or future is the day I don't have a job. I'm looking forward to being unemployed. I digress. The more personal version of the story involved bailing ona day that seemed at first to be promising...loads of sunshine and decent temps...a football game in Ann Arbor...catching up with some old friends...enjoying ourselves being Brian and June rather than Brian and June and a buttload of responsibilties...It was going to be a great day, but it wasn't.

It wasn't restful, not from the start, not when you have a toddler-free home and no chance to sleep in. Then certainly not when there's no less than a one hour wait at the border and the only other option takes you almost as far out of your way but at least you'd be moving, not sitting in a car stranded high on a bridge as the clock ticked down to kick-off. You couldn't say that the day was going our way when we arrived at the stadium at the end of the first quarter (and in my mind there's very little on the planet more frustrating than arriving to sporting events late) and had to negotiate for our seats, or when the score was 24-0 Wisconsin at the half and our embattled coach was booed off the field. At least it was warm...for awhile, but by the time the Michigan Marching Band finished their dumbfounding rendition of Brittany Spears, "Opps, I Did It Again," and they actually did do it again, the wind had crept up and we were full-on in the shade and it was getting cold in our particular corner of the universe. The day showed a spark of cooperation when for Michigan scored twice in two minutes to suggest that hope was indeed, still present amongst 112,000 silent people, but then Wisconsin reminded us all that it had no intention of letting us off of the hook after 15 years of misery visiting Michigan Stadium. When the Badgers had scored 48, and we could no longer feel our feet or hands, we left.

When we left our house this morning we were very much looking forward to seeing some friends, and easing through a fun day, but by 3pm we hadn't had that much fun at all...getting to A2 took three hours...the game would consume less precious time than we had invested just getting there...and we hadn't felt any of the warmth we'd expected to bask in just being together. So in our age old practice of battening down the hatches and going at things alone to get the best experience out of less than stellar ingredients, we shut out the rest of the world and took a run at it alone. It always works.

We shed our previous plans to meet up with friends...we shot back to the car and went looking for food, since we hadn't eaten yet that day...no, not all day...I don't know how that happened. We came up with the semi-brilliant idea that we could stop at IKEA and grab Zoey a much needed nightlight, and maybe a few other fun, cheap Christmas gifts, and then we could ease our way back to what surely would be an awful experience getting back to Canada. Suddenly we had smiles on our faces...just us...and suddenly we were laughing a lot more...just us...and suddenly we were back home with our daughter after a long, long day of losing. We felt bad that we didn't see our friends on our second trip to Ann Arbor without doing so, but we know how to find them and our sturdy affection seems to be firmly intact regardless of Saturday rendezvous' or not. And we felt as though we probably burned through a Saturday that could have been spent doing something that was much less of an effort, but as we woke on a sunny Sunday morning we felt pretty damn good that we were honest enough with ourselves to know what we wanted out of the day once it was halfway over, and what we needed to do to salvage it and keep us grinning into the early November darkness.

Yesterday could have more closely resembled a sprint instead of running hurdles, and it would have played out very differently, but it didn't, and we've learned after all these years that we're much happier cutting our losses and regrouping as a team...just us...Team Zed. We moved away together and tackled our new life alone...we found ourselves engaged in San Francisco alone...we said "I do" at City Hall in NYC alone...we ran away to Hawaii and Brooklyn alone...we've tackled a metric tonne of things alone in this world and it always leaves us smiling. Maybe our parents made us too independent. Maybe we enjoy the simplicity of doing things unfettered by others. Maybe we find ourselves in more situations than we should where we might enjoy ourselves better doing something different. Maybe we just suck? All we really know is that we love a lot of the people in our lives but none as much as each other and the surest salvation for us both is solitude with the other. It never fails. It's the one place where truth lives.

When we left Michigan Stadium yesterday I said to June, "You know, I don't enjoy doing this as much as I used to." She smiled, not shocked, not judgmental, just understanding.

"Then I guess we'll do other things, " she said, and shrugged.

"Okay," I answered. No explanation needed. Then we made fun of some people, and each other, and laughed our way through a few hours alone together. Then it became a pretty great day, despite falling away from other plans. I kinda like hanging out with my wife and not worrying about anyone else. If we're being totally honest, she's my favorite and I really don't need a whole lot more than her company. Sound all sappy and lame? Probably, but I don't care much. She's my favorite and aside from getting us lost on a semi-regular basis she's better than all the sunshine, stadiums, friends, and food on the planet. I'll ditch just about any plans for the chance to soak her up. I'm honest enough with myself to know that.

The Best Nickname I've Ever Heard...

Today I was talking to a kid who was telling me about his buddy who keeps gettin' kicked out of every place he stays. He's mostly a couch surfer and he's got just about the best nickname I've ever heard.

They call him Suitcase.

How awesome is that?

Love, Love, Love It

Over the past few years I've grown a serious intervention worthy affection for Tegan and Sara. The Canadian duo from Calgary consume at least 10 of my iPod's 25 Most Played songs, at least. I love their relationship with each other. I love their approach to their careers. I love the music, the back and forth between them, the sincerity, the fun they find in each other and what they do.

Why post this? Why not?

Tegan and Sara make me feel good pretty much all the time. Maybe it's the twin thing too? I dunno. All I know is that way in which they describe the illusive and difficult to define twin experience in this video with CBC's Q, is so familiar it feels like my brother and I said it.

I could watch these girls all night long.

An affectionate adios...

Zo and Barb hanging out at the reception desk...January 2010

Today is Barb's last day at the front desk where I work. Zo would very likely visit if she could, but sadly, she's gone visiting at her Baachan's. Barb has been nothing but amazing to us and we love her very much. We're going to miss her and all of her funny stories, like the time when the widowed Walter Gretzky put the kind of moves that only a Gretzky could on her. That's some funny stuff.

Good luck with everything Barb...we'll come visit. Just let us know when Ron's not around :)

Friday Fun avec links and bad behaviour...

It's 5:30 am on Friday morning and I'm wide awake. Not exactly one of my fave things but I sure do like to live link....

This looks like the third or fourth best bit of fun since sleepovers were invented.

I want one.

Someday this will be my friend Anne's house...and I will visit her often, and take things without asking.

I wanna be friends with these people.

I've decided that my undercover name is Bobby Awesome and I am from Harlem...yeah, wrap your head around that uncomfortably inquisitive stranger I meet at a party. Bobby lives herebut if he ever loses everything he'll live here, in this rock bottom palace. Yeah, I'm pretty interesting, well, Bobby is.

This is my newest, most frustrating sentiment.

I just found myself with a spontaneous crush on the look on this girl's face...oddly crushing less on the girl and way more on that goober awesome look she's got. I bet she's a nice girl who really digs that dude but has never told him. That's what I bet.

I'm giving myself permission to say out loud that I hate Feist...I do...and I know that you don't, and that's why we can't be friends anymore. Sorry. Probably my loss.

You Can't Always Get What You Want...and Sometimes You Can

Check out Mick's killer style from this photo pinched directly from The Lost Rolling Stones Photographs book. I love it...can't get enough of it actually. Striped rugby shirt...loafers...and those aren't pants, those are slacks. Amazing! Scott Weiland never looked that awesome.

I don't know why I posted that, other than the fact that it makes me feels good. You know what else makes me feel good? Tegan and Sara...Nanami Cowdroy...UCLA's powder blue and gold...late night coffee and peanut butter sandwiches...how nice my co-worker Nikki is...my friend Joe's awful mustache...Jake Long...my baseball design coffee mug...thinking about tattoos I'll never get...how wispy Zoey's blonde hair is right now...the library...the NY Rangers new third jersey...Van Morrison, Live in San Francisco...starting over from scratch...believing in who you are and what you do...the way that leather smells...how my Uncle Larry can make me laugh out loud...fitted baseball caps...how Zoey touches my computer screen expecting it to work like June's iPhone...quiet times...the idea of bright, sincere, kind people...the plaid flannel shirt I bought in Carlsbad, Ca...Rainbow sandals...baseball talk in November...Derek Fisher...using bean bag chairs for footstools...the illustrations in kids books...how my friend Randy is excited to stick is head into my office to talk for just a minute...hope...Jiminy Cricket...the squeak of basketball sneakers on hardwood...the memory of shaking hands with Kareem Abdul Jabbar (the thought of which can make my eyes water and give me goosebumps)...

This morning I promised Zoey that we'd go to the library when I got tonight and so we did...I was more than a little distracted, but keeping my promise to her regardless of how my day fell apart and how I felt lifted me up pretty high. It made me wonder how anyone ever finds any kind of comfort in disappointing someone? Especially their own child. All Zoey knows of my day today is that I told her that we would hang out together at one of our favorite places, and we did. Today I was Zoey's Kareem Abdul Jabbar and there's not much that feels better than that...maybe nothing.

Okay...maybe this apartment in Seattle, but nothing else. Okay, maybe this too but that's definitely it.

Soothing the Savage Beast...

Tonight I was upset...I was off balance, staggered by a few punches and reeling pretty good and then Zoey snuggled up onto my lap and we watched old Disney clips on YouTube. She smiled a lot and soon enough I started smiling and then it struck me just how fortunate I am.

Then for added emphasis I got to thinking about Louis and Toby and my friends in LA and I got a little more perspective. Sure, it's cold outside, and sure today's $3000 financial hit hurt, and yeah, Brooklyn at Christmas is probably now impossible, but it's warm inside, and we've got books and blankets, and we've got, as the video suggested, the Bare Necessities...we've got that in spades.

Life's pretty good...even if I don't have any money left in my bank account...even if I don't know if I have a job six months from now...even if we don't know where we're living six months from now...even though there are a lot of questions without answers. We've got each other and each other is pretty awesome.

A Little Girl and Her Cat...

We're ready to give Debu up for adoption. He's been awful lately. Maybe it's jealousy. Maybe he's just getting old and crotchety. Whatever his problem is he's being a jerk about 60% of the time. The problem is Zoey loves him sooooooooo much. She's the governor writing a reprieve for this feline inmate. It's a good thing he's got her on his side or he'd be wintering in a stranger's barn...which is strictly a hollow threat because we could never destroy her like that.

Debu...get your act together or there will not be a contract extension. You'd better have Scott Boras for an agent if you hope to get through 2011 without your career as our pet looking an awful lot like Dontrelle Willis' as a ball player. Right now we'd take a minor league arm and three buckets of Double Bubble in exchange for the purring and panting former all star.

T Rex obsession...

Zoey's newest most favorite thing ever...

Rubber dinosaurs.

I told her that I thought that was stupid, and so she told me to, "get stuffed," to which I responded, "maybe I will smarty/poopy pants," after which she swore a lot and I sent her to her room without any stegosauruses. Not so tough with your little plastic T-Rex, huh?

Actually, none of that happened, but she does love the probably toxic dollar store Made in China little rubber dinosaurs that I scooped up for her the other day. I mean, SHE LOVES THEM...it's weird. What is it with kids and dinosaurs? She doesn't know anything about them at all and she's still stoked to play with them. I don't get it.

This little girl is hilarious. She woke up this morning with her T Rex firmly in her groggy grasp and smiling.

"Daddy, I slept with my T Rex."

"Yes, you did, I said, "Did he snore?"

"No, Daddy snored."

She's way cuter when she's sleeping.

Just so you know...

This blog "is simply an effort to use words in such a way that they will tell as much as I want to and can make them tell of a thing which happened and which, of course, you have no other way of knowing. It is in some degree worth your knowing what you can of not because you have any interest in me but simply as the small part it is of human experience in general. It is one way of telling the truth: the only possible way of telling the kind of truth I am here most interested to tell." James Agee said tha and although I wholeheartedly agree with him I don't really know what the hell he's talking about.

All I really know is that the LA Kings are just about the best team in hockey...and I'm pretty sure I just got adopted by a young funster straight outta "tha projects" yesterday because he was desperately looking to adopt himself a big brother no matter what and I guess I talked the best game about basketball and how parents can suck that he'd ever heard...I have less money than I think I have...my daughter thinks I'm a gift bearing hilarity machine but she won't come to me when she's hurt...I have new flannel lined pants...I want more books even though I haven't read all of the others...Sometimes I draw too much, sometimes not enough...I can't eat enough popcorn lately...Zoey is infatuated with dinosaurs ever since her first trip to the library, now she plays with them alongside her Strawberry Shortcake Happy Meal toys...I always get up later than I intended...I've decided that indifference is a masterful skill...I like reading blogs...my daughter will someday rip my guts out...my wife is just as tired as I am...I get giggly and ridiculously happy and fist pumping excited at the most completely random and unexplained times of the day (like last night at 10pm???)...I'm excited for Christmas...I have no excuse for owning so many sports jerseys...one beer just about does it for me these days...going to bed early just never seems to be a realistic option...and I seem to be getting more and more rebellious the older I get.

All that AND this blog and this daughter and this wife and life make me smile.

A lot.

What we're listening to...

Buy this record...

Listen to this band...

Repeat after me... Detroit is the music capitol of the universe...

Second Christmas...

If luck holds we'll be back in Brooklyn post-Christmas...from about the 26th or 27th until January 7th or 8th...and we're drowning in the excitement. We're going to have a second Christmas in our old apartment, and my head might explode at the very thought of it. We're going to have a tree. There's going to be stockings. We're going to have Christmas dinner. We're going to forget whatever happened just a few short days earlier and do it all over again, only with the cars and pedestrians of Clinton Street slipping past the snowy front steps. We're going to skate in the park, and we're going to waste money up on Fifth Ave. We're going to hang out with Mel and Jeff. We're going to track down Betsy and fam. We're going to do our best to keep Zoey from licking every hand rail on the F Train.

My friend Mia, moved from Honolulu to Brooklyn back in September and she's been patiently waiting to etch more artwork into my skin...all Brian designed and then Graffamified. I'm as giggly as a stupid little kid. So now I've got just six or so short weeks to come up with some work that I want Mia to make amazing. With a little more luck I'll be able to drag some company there with me. So far the rough artwork looks a little like this...just for starters. It's a little something that will fit on the back of my right arm, linking in with the branches of the cherry tree that Mia inked on me almost two years ago. It will be nothing bold and bewildering, but something that adds some finishing flare to what already makes me smile a lot, and I'm excited that it will be Mia doing the work...super excited.

Merry Second Christmas to me! What are you doing on December 29th? I'm chillin' with Kris Kringle over in Carroll Gardens, that's what I'm doin'.

We'll buy simple, little gifts in the city. We'll take someone's apartment sized Christmas tree off of their hands. We'll buy wine, and drink wine. We'll watch college football bowl games on television. We'll wander around the city, and explore more of Brooklyn now that we're a whole lot more familiar with it. We'll do something for New Years. We'll sneak off to MSG to see Georgetown and St. John's. We'll host a few friends. We'll re-charge before we wander back into the last six months of living on the beach and waiting for our lives to change...again.

Oh..hurry Christmas, hurry fast...

Walk the walk...

I feel guilty doing the things that I love to do. It sounds ridiculous but it's true. I have a daughter and a wife to pay attention to, and more than ever before, I seem to be ignoring myself. So when I come home desperate for a quiet hour, or when I want to just draw, or write, or find new music to fall in love with or to fall asleep to, I feel absolutely obligated to be involved. Of course, there are times that I am not as involved as I'd like to be...sometimes the day dictates a kind of selfishness that I can't explain. I never want to be that guy who believes that his day is any worse or any more stressful than anyone else's day, but I'm also attentive enough to know that my days typically leave lingering burdens. When I get home I feel the ever increasing stress and strain of having to be a good husband and a good father. I feel badly when I take a moment or two for myself, and then I stumbled upon this rarified notion.

I think about what it might take to help Zoey grow up into the kind of girl that I hope she turns out to be -- creative, curious, intelligent, confident -- and I think that obviously there's an enormous "nature" ingredient to who we ultimately become, but like most parents, we try to supplement it with a decent dose of "nurture," while at the same time bracing ourselves for the fact that despite all our efforts, Zoey could still end up a shallow, spoiled rotten, irresponsible, selfish brat of a young woman.

Our version of "nurture" includes things like reading as much as we can, diligent attention to manners, speaking to her as if she were older than what she is, and very conscious decisions early on to allow Zoey some independence and unfettered decision making...what we often overlook is the formative impact on our children of what we're doing ourselves...how we spend our free time when we're around them.

This is what I believe. Be yourself. Read, listen to music, draw, paint, play...laugh out loud and smile a lot...be nice to people, and love one another a lot, overtly and as very often as you can manage. Zoey will see all of that. Zoey will learn from all of that. She will find open books in every room, and music playing incessantly. She will find Daddy's scribbles on every piece of scrap paper and spilling out of sketchbooks throughout the house. When she needs to borrow paint, she'll borrow Daddy's paint. I want to show her that all of those things are as nutritional as food and drink. I want her to intimately understand the living that it takes to make up a life. It takes vibrancy and passion and curiosity. It takes good sketches and bad sketches, and half finished books, mix tapes and cluttered book shelves. It takes old movies and new music and endless interests to grow into something as illuminated as I'd like her to be.

And so I've began to write this on the top of each page in my notebook...

Walk the walk.

What no one ever mentions in their unsolicited advice on how to parent is that Zoey won't remember that her mother signed her up for class after class of enriching activity, or that her Dad lead an endless carpool circuit from one stimulating and creative activity to yet another one. Rather what would seem to (at least partially) form her as a creative being will be what she "witnesses" her mother and father doing (or rather how they are living) -- their love of art and books and music…of traveling and exploring...of experiencing...of football tailgates in the Fall, and running circles around stadium concourses while the squeak of sneakers and the squawk of whistles echoes through the crowded halls. She'll find inspiration in how her parents love each other so openly and who they surround themselves with. She'll learn what things are important by watching what things are important to us. She'll most certainly be paying attention to what path we're walking, and she'll be eager to follow in our footsteps.

I feel selfish when I do things simply because I love to do them. If I have a few moments of down time, I feel guilty…like I need to be playing with building blocks with Zoey, or drawing pictures with her, or taking her for a walk, or you know…helping June make her into a "super-kid". It doesn't need to be that demanding, or that complicated. Zoey mimics June and I incessantly. If we're reading, she reads. If we're cooking, she wants to cook, if I am drawing, she wants to draw. If we're listening to music, she wants to listen to music. It's incredible (and scary) how much our actions influence what she wants to spend her time doing...and I know this incredible phenomenon might not last very long, that we have a sort of finite period to imprint our habits and pastimes onto her beautiful little fast-forming psyche.

Now I see the world differently. I'm working hard to walk to walk, and I don't feel that guilty anymore when I spend an hour reading, or when I spend time sketching, or designing this blog, or putting together the books I've been making for Zed since she was tiny. I don't feel badly watching the Tigers game or listening to music because those are the things that I love, and more importantly, those are the things that Zoey sees that I love. We work so hard to find opportunities for our children to develop and grow, and in doing so we somehow lose the responsibility or the awareness of helping them along ourselves. Right now Zoey thinks that I'm the greatest artist on the planet. Sure, she likes Oliver Jeffers plenty, but she never sees him with a pencil in his hand, and he's never laying on his stomach on the kitchen linoleum coloring doodles with her...Daddy is. If Zoey grows up to value a piece of paper and a pencil it won't be because of Oliver Jeffers, no sir, it will be because of me.

Walk the walk, I tell myself. Someone's watching.

We call her smart, but you can call her whatever...

Zed's watching the football game on the television, jumping up and down and yelling, "Go Michigan!!" Strangely, it's the Auburn - Georgia game, and even more oddly, she hasn't watched a Michigan football game since the MSU disappointment back in early October. Before that she may have watched the Notre Dame game, but that's about it. We've listened to every other game, except Iowa, on the radio. So, kinda sorta strange that she chooses this random moment to cheer for Michigan. She's kind of indiscriminate too because it doesn't seem to matter who has the ball, Auburn or Georgia. She's just happy to be here cheering for someone.

She's even got pants full of poop if my nose isn't fooling me...what a fan.

Hope and humility inspired by hubris...

There's someone who sits not twenty feet from my oft empty office, a relatively recent visitor to my well guarded perimeter, who annoys the hair folicles out of everyone. I can't believe the way in which this individual speaks to people. Nearly everything that falls from their face is condescending and fairly thoughtless. They're the kind of person who cuts you off mid-sentence to say, "I know, I know...," and it turns me inside out. This person speaks down to people and if you ever saw them you'd be awed by that strange phenomenon. They are something of a work in progress if you can envision some pretty shoddy worksmanship.

Their sand paper mannerisms and the way that they treat people got me to thinking about the absolute importance of how we say what we say. I believe deeply in the power of sincerity, and that enthusiasm is the stuff that dreams are made of, but it's difficult to teach those traits. You're either more often than not exactly that very person, or your more often than not nowhere near that sort of person. If you don't have the genuine chops it takes to be liked, to be good at what you do, and to have a little character, then so be it. There's not much we're going to do about that, and little more that we'll waste any time discussing. However, if you've got the goods to win over hearts and minds, then you probably get the drift of this diatribe and are nodding your head as you read. Some people you'd want to find yourself stuck on a desert island with, and some people you'd hope kept drifting in the endless ebb and flow of wide open ocean.

I hope that we can fill Zoey with sincerity. I hope that we can stuff her full of genuine ideas and emotions. I beg the vast and indifferent universe that we might help her find grace and character and breathe in and out the sweet air of integrity. I hope, I hope, I hope. I hope that we can help her find the kind of voice that doesn't alienate or disrespect, or distance herself from anyone else. I'm wishful, with all fingers and toes crossed, that Zoey has a heart the size of the atmosphere and a mind of the same boundless breadth. I hope that she measures her capacity to move or inspire with deference, and pays equal attention to her ability to disturb and distress. I hope that she finds the balance in her life between student and teacher, and between mortal and god.

That all sounds so dramatic but I believe it to be abundantly true. If there is a God of any sort I am certain that such a thing lives inside each and every one of us. Sitting here and listening to someone so subconsciously diminish the intelligence, value, experience, and intention of others leaves me nothing short of desperate that we help Zoey find her best self, and not some propped up version of that. Our best selves only inspire others, not deaden them to their own value.

Every second that I listen to this person talk I find more focus to be someone worth listening to, or better still, someone worth talking to.

Friday links...like sausage but better...well, maybe better

Today I am clueless, and zombie-esque, despite the sunshine. It's payday and Friday and blah be blah...I should be jumping for joy, instead I'm mostly jumping through hoops and feeling as though I might be on fire. I'm not on fire am I? Whew, good.

Some Friday fun pour tu...

Best idea ever.

Mel...Jeff...we're TOTALLY doing this at Christmas! I can’t wait. I can NOT WAIT to do this.

Don't have time to read? Then this just might be the best idea ever, not that other one.

I really, really want to see this movie. It's a beautiful documentary about a 250-year-old farmhouse in Japan that was restored by an American journalist and his adopted Japanese son. Read more about it right here.

All I want for Christmas...

Watch this and think about things a little differently than you did before.

Flip on over to this dude's site, and then flip through his portfolio, especially the wide open gallery, and sit in awe at the life you don't have, but he does.

I don't know who this dude is either, but he's somethin' smart.

Section 103B, Row 2, Seat 1

It's all about me...

Tonight Daddy ranked high on Zed's list of cool people worth wasting her valuable time on...and it felt better than April sunshine. I had to sit beside her at dinner...She needed to sit with me while we read...Daddy was required to lay in bed with her while she fell asleep...and then was paged again later when she woke up, a little cold and eager for some warm milk...and then it was Daddy who she wanted to sing songs with, and rub noses with, and feel his face while identifying his features in Japanese, in the dark...

Yup...tonight was Daddy's night, and when those night's roll around all I can think about is how few of them I get before she's all grown up, or before I'm gone, and it breaks my heart in half.

"G'night Daddy. Go to bed. I love you. Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning. One hug...and a kiss. G'night Daddy. Okay, you go to bed too. I love you."

The happiest heartbreaking awesomeness known to man, and she's sleeping soundly in the other room, not fifteen feet away.

Going, Going, Gone...

She's got my heart, that's for sure...and as easily as she can fill it she can break it in pieces.

I come home from work and she flies across the house to meet me. She squeals and smiles and I melt. Then she frustrate me at the dinner table...then she wins me back on the living room floor, pencils in hand, and paper spread out across the hardwood. She pulls me in even closer at bath time when Daddy gets to wash her hair and clean between her toes, and then again at bedtime when the story books come out. Mom typically puts her bed, and Mom does any number of those amazing things on any other given night...usually a lot of them. Sometimes I'm not worth the letters it takes to spell Dad, and other times I'd venture to say I'm as good as any on the planet. The only thing I know for sure is how desperately I love this laughing little girl.

Red...It's the new black

It was supposed to be some simple after work fun with watercolors, but it ended up a full on paint festival on one of our last large canvasses. Zedder couldn't have been more cooperative once the good paint came out. We stashed the watercolors and busted out the squeeze tubes of dollar store tempura paint...BAM...instant awesome.



Zo has a serious affinity for art so far in her brief experience as an individual with preferences and affections. Drawing and coloring are a part of her everyday existence, and every once in awhile she gets to roll around on a canvas. Messy...sure. Fun...yup.

A new day...a new perspective.

Today I'm indulging myself in beautiful things...yeah, that's right, you heard a dude say that. I've been getting floored with ugly things of late...dark, heinous philosophical things, and it's time for some whimsey...I'm bringing home flowers...I'm doodling in my little pocket sketchbook all day long...I'm listening to lots of music...my lunch will be something I have to sit down with to eat...I'm willing the sky to be blue and the sun to be shining. Yup, today will be about soaking myself in beautiful things.

There's enough ugly to go around the world thirty-seven times over, and I'm growing weary of it. I think it's about time that I managed it differently. I want my days to find some charm...I'd like it if I could manage some myself, through all sorts of scenarios...I'd like surround myself with things that remind me that Zoey sees the world a lot differently that the rest of us do. It shouldn't take her to remind me of that.

Where does a guy start? I dunno...I'll try a hot shower, one that I linger over, and then maybe a relaxed wind up into the day...some good coffee...a long, thoughtful drive with the sun on my shoulders and my favorite sunglasses on the planet resting gently on my nose...those same sunglasses I wrestled from the very depths of my guilt and better judgement in Hawaii but since the salesperson spoke only Japanese I pretended that it was okay to spend $100 on shading the sun from my eyes. I will allow myself to enjoy the confidence I've earned, both in myself and from others. I won't question that. I'll do everything that I'm supposed to do and then more, because I can, because I'm better than any lesser effort. I'll discover new music, and I'll play the same song over and over no less then fifty times. I'll find someone to talk to who doesn't necessarily do such a thing very often, and yes, I'll buy flowers.

Today is going to feel like the soundtrack to Amelie...and that's cool whether you're a dude or not. You know what? I might even buy pencils.

Holding winter off with lingering hope, flowers and sunshine...

The sun was out today...all day, and it was warm, well, warmer, and I stumbled through a difficult day with the hypnotizing warmth of the sun on my shoulders and face. I need the sun. I seriously think I have a recurring case of seasonal affective disorder. I crave sunshine. I get desperate for it when it's gone. I function at about half-happy when I'm not staring up into a bright sky. It's something I worry about. I'm Canadian, where does one get all the sunshine that they need to not end up mental?

Southern Alberta it seems...hmmm, I'm not sure if I'd like that.

I'm gonna have to figure me something out. What's a desperate Canadian to do? I can't even bring myself to think about winter without getting depressed so I bought a LottoMax ticket and we're hoping for the best. I don't know what we'd do with 22 million dollars but sunshine would have a lot to do with it.

This little girl...

This little girl of ours has been delighting us for 21 months...she's almost two years old. She speaks in sentences that surprise and shock us. She likes to jump and she tries to take clothes off all by herself...sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. She goes to sleep all by herself now. She likes to watch Monsters vs. Aliens and scream when it frightens her. She rakes leaves. She can't eat enough meat these days, and she she uses a magic wand to turn things into oddities on random little girl whims...things like cats, and cheese, and little boys...She says that she's coloring inside the lines even when she isn't. She likes to feed her fish. She is infatuated with Alex the Lion from Madagascar, and just about her favorite toys on the planet are two little plastic Strawberry Shortcake figures from McDonalds Happy Meals. She still walks into walls. She runs in circles around the house and would almost rather do nothing more than be chased. She likes to wash dishes. She wears 3T pajamas and is just a few inches short of three feet tall. She wears pigtails pretty regularly these days, and she still torments the cat. She says please and thank you without being told. She can say Michigan but has trouble with DeWagner...she's close, but BeWanger isn't her last name.

This little girl is almost two years old...not for another three months, but it's coming fast. Where did two years go?

We're off to see the Wizard...

Zedder in her pre- bearded DUI Braylon Edwards jersey...

Zedder got her very first taste of The Wizard of Oz tonight...and she LOVED IT! Of course, we cut it short for bath time right around the time the wicked witch's castle comes into play. Yeah, nothing very good can come from introducing Zoey to Flying Monkeys...nothing.

Of course, she had to watch it in her Michigan football jersey, and with her brand new magic wand in hand...and no pants, of course, no pants. How do you watch The Wizard of Oz? Doesn't everyone watch it that way?


Awestruck watching The Wizard of Oz with no pants on.

It was just about the cutest thing since puppies were invented.

The day that Sparky died...

I'll remember this about the day that Sparky died...the sun was shining almost up until the moment I heard the news. My good friend, Coop, had left a message for me, and I felt that immediate flat sadness, like a bare palm to the cheek, the way that bad news often hits you. I quickly thought of my Grandmother, whom I only ever heard say more affectionate things about her husband than she did both Sparky and her favorite, Cito Gaston. I thought about my friend Adam, and my friend Aimee...the two biggest Tigers fans I know. I remembered Ernie, and losing him just a few short months ago, and the surprising sense of loss that followed. I remembered sitting in the sun high up in the bleachers watching Sparky's boys, 'cause they were always Sparky's boys, all those amazing summers growing up. There were times that my attention wandered so far as to leave me drifting across the centerline as I drove from one appointment to another. I thought about how I always wanted to attend one of Sparky's autograph sessions whenever he came back to Detroit but how I just never bothered to. It was Sparky. Sparky was going to live forever. Nope, no one does.

Then I thought about June's Uncle Art, who passed away unexpectedly this week, and a little bit of June's big heart fractured off. She loved her Uncle Art a lot more than she ever found the opportunity to say or share. Just last week June's father, Gerry, found himself hospitalized with an unexpected surgery and frightened everyone from Mihoko (the world's greatest downplayer of significant events) to June, and anyone else who knows how hesitant Gerry is to lay down before a doctor. June didn't say as much but I know that her head and heart were wandering through foreign feelings all weekend, a weekend in which I was away and half out of reach. She fell asleep on those nights laying next to those frightening feelings and not the insufferable warmth of her husband. Then just yesterday we learned of my Uncle Larry's near fatal brush with his own mortality after three of his heart's four valves decided that they were going to file a union grievance against the rest of his retired body. Why did they have to keep working when everyone else was on a long, hard earned vacation? I love my Uncle Larry like few other men in my life and so Sparky's quick exit from the landscape of my life reminded me how fast this planet spins. No doubt that my time on Bruno Street in Los Angeles framed my perspective on love and loss in a fairly synchronicitous (my story, my word) way, but it was Sparky and the shock of today's loss that pulled all of those other things into focus.

Life is short. Wear your heart smack dab in the middle of your sleeve, or prepare yourself to regret it later. I don't want to regret anything.

The way we will live...

I've always been pretty certain about the way in which I'd live when the day comes to finally settle into something fairly forever-ish...it's going to be unique...it's going to be fun...it's going to be ever changing...and it's probably going to be really hard to find.

I'll start with something like this amazing 1100 square foot awesomefest in Bridgeport Connecticut, and then as the family grows, we'll just morph it into better space.

Did I just say as the family grows? Of course I said that...is it currently growing...uhmmm, nope. Will it eventually grow? Uhh, yeah. I don't think either of us were very sure about the idea until just recently, and like any major decision in our lives, there wasn't much of a conversation, just a kind of easy agreement. When will be more realistically entertaining the idea of more people in our home? Maybe when we figure out where we're going to live in nine months. Of course, even all of this could change...we're kind of, what would you call it...flexible? Spontaneous? Indecisive? We like to call it open to whatever, but you call it anything you like. You don't have to live with us.

One Theory of Relativity...

This feels like a lifetime ago but every time I close my eyes it's right there. So, to hell with Einstein I think. That's relativity.

The VaGiants Win!!

We were watching Game #5 of the World Series tonight when strangely enough we decided that we were going to call the San Francisco Giants the VaGiants...maybe it was all that flipping between the game and the Women of SNL special on NBC? Either way, it's kind of ridiculous...but funny. We think that's why they won. It had nothing to do with Tim Lincecum. We called them the VaGiants and then they won.

Everyone in San Francisco can thank us later...and Zoey, you can just ignore this post someday.

Daddy's pretty happy, and believes with his most thumping of hearts that his super-ridiculous sporting luck is back, that the curse is lifted, and that he will never, ever go hungry again. All he wanted out of these MLB Playoffs were that the Giants won, that's it, and then they did.

Now tomorrow he will wear his VaGiants jersey to work and tell everyone who ever says anything to him about it to get stuffed. He will also stop referring to himself as Daddy.