Like many of you, I grew up poor. I also grew up jealous. Every kid on the street had a better basketball than mine, a newer football, or a more expensive horn. While inside I was stirring in a pool of green, on the outside I was mocking them. Here I was with my cheap, dented trombone sitting first chair to three others below me that had shiny new instruments with expensive attachments.
I developed a chip on my shoulder early in life when it came to expensive things. I used to laugh at those that were using ALTA A1 level tennis rackets while their game was clearly C3. They had money but no game. Same thing happened as a cyclist. Here I was on my first $1,200 bike riding much better than the guy with an $8,000 custom bike. I didn’t understand why people spent so much money on tools that had features that didn’t matter at their skill level. Continue Reading…
I can only recall two things from third grade. The first is that my teacher really needed to invest in a better deodorant. The other was spending time facing the corner for being a little too sassy. Mrs. Thomas had said, “Words mean something” to which I abruptly replied, “Of course they mean something, isn’t that why they were invented?” All that was missing from my corner encounter was the dunce cap.
I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions. If you are like most, you are not either. Yet, on January 1st, 
Here I am, once again, the day before Christmas wondering how I seemed to have missed the month of December. Where did that month that seemed to go on forever as a kid go? Why does it seem to get shorter every year? Is it just me?
Stephen Colbert cracks me up. His quick witted satire combined with an ability to keep a straight face is pure genius. My favorite moment was when he conducted the first American interview in 33 years of mega-rockers Rush. Perched majestically on high-top counter stools facing Colbert were my rock and roll idols Neil Peart, Alex Lifeson, and Geddy Lee. Colbert asks a few great questions, then hits him with this piece of art:
“Joey, pull my finger,” my uncle urged me. I’m not quite sure when that flatulence generating joke began, but it is so classic that it must’ve started about the time that man had a finger and an ability to fart. For me it was my seventh Thanksgiving, when my uncle uttered those four magic words. It was then I knew that I had to find a way to escape the kids’ table and make it to the nirvanic world known as The Table – where Jimmy and the adults ate and pulled each others’ fingers.
The other day I was thinking about the whole premise of The Stranded Starfish – the idea that even though there may be a thousand stranded starfish on a beach, throwing back one may not change the beach landscape but it makes a big difference in the life of that one starfish. This is a great story if that creature is as small as a starfish. What if there were a thousand whales on that beach?