The padres split the cost of it with me. It's pretty...and it's twice the size/power of the little Fender midget thing I've had for a few years. Keep checking the blog, and I'll post my eviction notice.
Thanks, mom and dad! And all you guitar people, (OK...pretty much just you, Grant), come over and let's make some noise!
Showing posts with label Pam Legaspi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pam Legaspi. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
A Couple Weeks Ago
A couple of weeks ago, I posted my college entry essay, verbatim. It was about family and the wisdom and guidance that my parents have given me. It cited a specific example, and you can read the whole thing if you'd like, but the takeaway was that when I was in 3rd grade, my parents hit me with a lesson in priorities and proper behavior that has resonated more than any others and will stick with me for the rest of my life. I mentioned the scorekeeper, but the focus was primarily the coach...aka the guy who benched me.
This one's about the scorekeeper.
I use this blog (and facebook and twitter) to whine and moan and generally just bloviate about anything and everything. You all have a right (and are encouraged, really) to leave me comments to weight in or tell me to shut up and stop my complaining or any of a number of things you may want to sound off about. I love the dialog.
No one has as much room to tell me to shut up as the scorekeeper.
One word that never appears in my college essay is "strength." My parents taught it to me, but were so covert about it that I never really recognized it...until a few years ago when the scorekeeper and i nearly lost the coach. Then it became crystal clear.
In early September '05 (my first year out of school), I had gone back to spend a night with one of my college buddies and some of his friends from his apartment building. It was a prototype evening of college shenanigans and I woke up to a phone call from mom. She then proceeded to tell me that my father had a massive heart attack the night before, and they were at the hospital in Hollywood because that's the venue with the great cardiac team, apparently.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor, scrambled to say goodbye to everyone and violated a couple traffic laws to get there, I was greeted by my dad hanging out in his bed drinking some water and my mom hanging out talking to him like we were at home in the living room or something. Outwardly...not fazed. Pretty amazing. It put me at considerable ease and really eliminated any sense of immediate panic I had going in.
So they scheduled pops for surgery for later in the week. Mom worked out a deal with the office where she could work part of her day remotely, so she could spend as much time with dad as possible.
When he went into surgery, she was there, and she told me to just go to work and not worry about it.
While he was in surgery, she waited in the waiting room.
When I called after work, she told me not to worry and to just go home. (I ignored her...I always did have selective hearing.)
When the surgery went past the estimated time, she was glad that I'd ignored her, but if I hadn't, she would have hung in there.
When the doctor came to talk to her once he was out of surgery, she listened to every word and calmly asked questions.
When he was in the hospital for a couple months after surgery in constant danger of taking a turn for the worst, she was right there all day during visiting hours.
When things started to get a little better, the stoicism turned into a smile.
And when it was time for him to come home, it was like a party.
Since then, through good days and tough ones, she's shown the same kind of selflessness no matter what's been going on around her. Going in early, staying late, working through lunch...whatever she needs to do to finish her paid job as a CPA to get home to her unpaid job as a wife and primary care physician, she does with a faith-driven grace that I don't believe can be replicated.
This is why it didn't surprise me a whole lot that when she called me a few hours ago to tell me that her father (from whom I get my personality...I'm convinced, anyway) had been diagnosed with cancer that is believed to be terminal, she spit out the facts like a doctor without a hint of weakness in her voice.
My grandpa has always been the active type, quick with jokes and stories and all about fixing (and "fixing") things. He's as strong-willed and stubborn as they come, the larger than life personality and the commanding presence that you would expect out of a former Navy guy and head of a household with five kids, but with a heart of gold. Even in the face of the worst news someone could possibly get from a doctor, he wore it to stay strong for his family.
I guess we all know where the scorekeeper gets that from.
Please say a prayer and keep good thoughts for the Power family. As tough as we are, we could really use it, and it's much appreciated. God bless.
Photo credits to my cousin Crissy and her blog and my cousin Courtney and her Facebook page.
This one's about the scorekeeper.
I use this blog (and facebook and twitter) to whine and moan and generally just bloviate about anything and everything. You all have a right (and are encouraged, really) to leave me comments to weight in or tell me to shut up and stop my complaining or any of a number of things you may want to sound off about. I love the dialog.
No one has as much room to tell me to shut up as the scorekeeper.
One word that never appears in my college essay is "strength." My parents taught it to me, but were so covert about it that I never really recognized it...until a few years ago when the scorekeeper and i nearly lost the coach. Then it became crystal clear.
In early September '05 (my first year out of school), I had gone back to spend a night with one of my college buddies and some of his friends from his apartment building. It was a prototype evening of college shenanigans and I woke up to a phone call from mom. She then proceeded to tell me that my father had a massive heart attack the night before, and they were at the hospital in Hollywood because that's the venue with the great cardiac team, apparently.
After I picked my jaw up off the floor, scrambled to say goodbye to everyone and violated a couple traffic laws to get there, I was greeted by my dad hanging out in his bed drinking some water and my mom hanging out talking to him like we were at home in the living room or something. Outwardly...not fazed. Pretty amazing. It put me at considerable ease and really eliminated any sense of immediate panic I had going in.
So they scheduled pops for surgery for later in the week. Mom worked out a deal with the office where she could work part of her day remotely, so she could spend as much time with dad as possible.
When he went into surgery, she was there, and she told me to just go to work and not worry about it.
While he was in surgery, she waited in the waiting room.
When I called after work, she told me not to worry and to just go home. (I ignored her...I always did have selective hearing.)
When the surgery went past the estimated time, she was glad that I'd ignored her, but if I hadn't, she would have hung in there.
When the doctor came to talk to her once he was out of surgery, she listened to every word and calmly asked questions.
When he was in the hospital for a couple months after surgery in constant danger of taking a turn for the worst, she was right there all day during visiting hours.
When things started to get a little better, the stoicism turned into a smile.
And when it was time for him to come home, it was like a party.
Since then, through good days and tough ones, she's shown the same kind of selflessness no matter what's been going on around her. Going in early, staying late, working through lunch...whatever she needs to do to finish her paid job as a CPA to get home to her unpaid job as a wife and primary care physician, she does with a faith-driven grace that I don't believe can be replicated.
This is why it didn't surprise me a whole lot that when she called me a few hours ago to tell me that her father (from whom I get my personality...I'm convinced, anyway) had been diagnosed with cancer that is believed to be terminal, she spit out the facts like a doctor without a hint of weakness in her voice.
My grandpa has always been the active type, quick with jokes and stories and all about fixing (and "fixing") things. He's as strong-willed and stubborn as they come, the larger than life personality and the commanding presence that you would expect out of a former Navy guy and head of a household with five kids, but with a heart of gold. Even in the face of the worst news someone could possibly get from a doctor, he wore it to stay strong for his family.
I guess we all know where the scorekeeper gets that from.
Please say a prayer and keep good thoughts for the Power family. As tough as we are, we could really use it, and it's much appreciated. God bless.
Photo credits to my cousin Crissy and her blog and my cousin Courtney and her Facebook page.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Viva Las Vegas
So as you my loyal readers know, Toph and I went to Vegas with mom and dad this past weekend. Mom and dad were headed to see a show that is related to one they saw on their recent Hawaiian cruise, so they offered to take us to Vegas, split the hotel cost and let us do whatever the hell we wanted when we got there.
Mom, dad and I rolled out of Burbank at 8, picked Toph up at 9, and we were on the way. Our first stop, was a common one on the way to Vegas. I unilaterally made the decision that it was time for tall boys.
Next stop was Primm, where mom went to feed the slots a bit while Toph and I wandered off to the smoke shop and met the first of what would turn out to be many fascinating people on this trip. We sought out some cigars, since those are Toph and my newest thing for kickback time. The smoke shop owner was a total cougar, but had this weird and disorienting speech pattern that was part the crazy chick from Misery and part Lurch. Pretty sure this chick had smoked everything possible and some things that others wouldn't think were possible. We got our cigars and got out as quickly as possible. Back to the bar at the casino for a pair of silver bullets and then back onto the road.
Just when we thought we were headed downhill to Vegas, wefell victim benefitted from one of those giant road signs in hell Jean. $1 beer, $1 hot dogs. The good people of Nevada benefited from some more of my mom's money on the slot machines, and Toph and I benefited from multiple $1 hot dogs and multiple $1 Blue Moons. Yes...it was dollar drafts and they had freaking Blue Moon. Amazing!
So then, it came time to carry our buzz on to our destination: Vegas. We got to the hotel, kicked back for a bit and then went to dinner with the folks at Famous Dave's...afterwe got lost an impromptu tour of Las Vegas. After grabbing a 12-pack (of Blue Moon), we headed back to the hotel. Mom and dad got ready for their show. Toph and I got ready to catch the shuttle to the strip. After a brief pregame session, we hit the shuttle and rolled to the strip. Nothing too notable except talking to a gentleman who was from Atlanta and didn't believe Toph and I were brothers. His bad.
The shuttle dropped us off at the Tropicana, and I said goodbye to my friend Brett from Atlanta and Toph and I began our journey. I figured Margaritaville was the most logical place to start a night of drunken shenanigans--except I didn't realize that it was essentially on the opposite end of the strip. So, we stopped by a Corona vendor and got a little something to tide us over until we got there. You'd think that since it was Vegas and it's effing hot, they might have something to circulate the air in bars there? Not the case, as even at the top bar, there was no airflow, so we took our beers to go and went back down the strip.
After wandering for a while, a handful of "Haaaaaaave you met Gabe?" calls, offering an assist to some young ladies trying to all three cram into a picture and catching the water show at the Bellagio, we rolled into Diablos, where we would post up for the rest of the night. We grabbed a couple empty seats at the bar and then went into observation mode.
Across the bar from us were a blonde and a brunette surrounded by guys. Five of them were talking to the blonde. One was talking to the brunette, who had a very clear "seen it all, done it all, not interested" look on her face that I could see plainly across the bar. The one guy in her ear was not deterred. She went to the phone. Not deterred. She poured herself a drink. Not deterred. Because of the setup, Toph and I were looking straight at this and seeing it all.
It was only a matter of time before this girl looked up and I made eye contact with her, glancing from her to him and then back to her with a quizzical look of, "Really? That guy?" She rolls her eyes, shrugs and then laughs and goes back to the phone. The guy stops for a second because she laughed but then gets right back in her ear after she's on the phone. This time when she looks up and I see her, I give a disapproving head shake. She returns with the sad face. I glanced back in his direction, looked back at her and resumed shaking my head.
Now she's intrigued and we proceed to have a 20 minute "conversation" via facial expressions, breaking down everything within our line of sight. Finally the guy figures it out and bails. She grabs her blonde companion, smiles at me and they make a break for it. I had just rained out some guy's game without saying a word. Win.
Once my brunette friend across the bar had left, Toph and I decided to relocate closer to the dance floor. We'd noticed a tall, striking blond (with a very prominent franchise tag) at the bar earlier, and we spotted her again on the dance floor but this time in a large group of girls. She was very clearly the mother hen of the group trying to organize everyone for a picture, so I offered to take it for her so everyone--including her--could crowd around the girl in the tiara and sash and be in it. This, of course, worked perfectly, and Toph and I spent the rest of our outing with the bachelorette party...of girls who were in town from Minnesota.
After a couple drunk calls, the shuttle back to the hotel finally gets there (greatly improving my night, apparently, right Grant?), and we decide it's time to hit the room for a couple more beers to smuggle into the 24-hour bowling alley in our hotel. Once we smuggle our beers past the security guard (who was awesome and had to know we had them but didn't care), we get our lane, get the beers out and realize that we don't have my keys (which contain the bottle opener).
I nominated myself to go back and get them but was unable to find the elevators in my drunken stupor. As I wandered around the casino (all ends of which look EXACTLY the same), I called Toph from my dying phone and told him to keep bowling. Apparently he did and was legit. I finally found the elevators, grabbed a couple more beers and took them down. We crushed all beer involved and split the first two games. Apparently I won the third one. I don't really remember, but Toph was unhappy. We then went out to the casino to smoke our cigars and hit the slots, where I nearly passed out...and lost my hat. Time to stumble up to the room and crash.
Checkout time was noon, so my parents woke us up about 11:45 and we put our stuff together and left. It was only now that I realized I'd lost my hat. Toph and I hit Jack in the Box for some breakfast while mom fed the slots some more. It was puke and rally time, but I can assure you all, J in the B breakfast had never tasted so good. We rolled back to the casino, backtracked our steps and found my hat. And just like that, it was time to go home. Vegas, baby. What a town.
Mom, dad and I rolled out of Burbank at 8, picked Toph up at 9, and we were on the way. Our first stop, was a common one on the way to Vegas. I unilaterally made the decision that it was time for tall boys.
Next stop was Primm, where mom went to feed the slots a bit while Toph and I wandered off to the smoke shop and met the first of what would turn out to be many fascinating people on this trip. We sought out some cigars, since those are Toph and my newest thing for kickback time. The smoke shop owner was a total cougar, but had this weird and disorienting speech pattern that was part the crazy chick from Misery and part Lurch. Pretty sure this chick had smoked everything possible and some things that others wouldn't think were possible. We got our cigars and got out as quickly as possible. Back to the bar at the casino for a pair of silver bullets and then back onto the road.
Just when we thought we were headed downhill to Vegas, we
So then, it came time to carry our buzz on to our destination: Vegas. We got to the hotel, kicked back for a bit and then went to dinner with the folks at Famous Dave's...after
The shuttle dropped us off at the Tropicana, and I said goodbye to my friend Brett from Atlanta and Toph and I began our journey. I figured Margaritaville was the most logical place to start a night of drunken shenanigans--except I didn't realize that it was essentially on the opposite end of the strip. So, we stopped by a Corona vendor and got a little something to tide us over until we got there. You'd think that since it was Vegas and it's effing hot, they might have something to circulate the air in bars there? Not the case, as even at the top bar, there was no airflow, so we took our beers to go and went back down the strip.
After wandering for a while, a handful of "Haaaaaaave you met Gabe?" calls, offering an assist to some young ladies trying to all three cram into a picture and catching the water show at the Bellagio, we rolled into Diablos, where we would post up for the rest of the night. We grabbed a couple empty seats at the bar and then went into observation mode.
Across the bar from us were a blonde and a brunette surrounded by guys. Five of them were talking to the blonde. One was talking to the brunette, who had a very clear "seen it all, done it all, not interested" look on her face that I could see plainly across the bar. The one guy in her ear was not deterred. She went to the phone. Not deterred. She poured herself a drink. Not deterred. Because of the setup, Toph and I were looking straight at this and seeing it all.
It was only a matter of time before this girl looked up and I made eye contact with her, glancing from her to him and then back to her with a quizzical look of, "Really? That guy?" She rolls her eyes, shrugs and then laughs and goes back to the phone. The guy stops for a second because she laughed but then gets right back in her ear after she's on the phone. This time when she looks up and I see her, I give a disapproving head shake. She returns with the sad face. I glanced back in his direction, looked back at her and resumed shaking my head.
Now she's intrigued and we proceed to have a 20 minute "conversation" via facial expressions, breaking down everything within our line of sight. Finally the guy figures it out and bails. She grabs her blonde companion, smiles at me and they make a break for it. I had just rained out some guy's game without saying a word. Win.
Once my brunette friend across the bar had left, Toph and I decided to relocate closer to the dance floor. We'd noticed a tall, striking blond (with a very prominent franchise tag) at the bar earlier, and we spotted her again on the dance floor but this time in a large group of girls. She was very clearly the mother hen of the group trying to organize everyone for a picture, so I offered to take it for her so everyone--including her--could crowd around the girl in the tiara and sash and be in it. This, of course, worked perfectly, and Toph and I spent the rest of our outing with the bachelorette party...of girls who were in town from Minnesota.
After a couple drunk calls, the shuttle back to the hotel finally gets there (greatly improving my night, apparently, right Grant?), and we decide it's time to hit the room for a couple more beers to smuggle into the 24-hour bowling alley in our hotel. Once we smuggle our beers past the security guard (who was awesome and had to know we had them but didn't care), we get our lane, get the beers out and realize that we don't have my keys (which contain the bottle opener).
I nominated myself to go back and get them but was unable to find the elevators in my drunken stupor. As I wandered around the casino (all ends of which look EXACTLY the same), I called Toph from my dying phone and told him to keep bowling. Apparently he did and was legit. I finally found the elevators, grabbed a couple more beers and took them down. We crushed all beer involved and split the first two games. Apparently I won the third one. I don't really remember, but Toph was unhappy. We then went out to the casino to smoke our cigars and hit the slots, where I nearly passed out...and lost my hat. Time to stumble up to the room and crash.
Checkout time was noon, so my parents woke us up about 11:45 and we put our stuff together and left. It was only now that I realized I'd lost my hat. Toph and I hit Jack in the Box for some breakfast while mom fed the slots some more. It was puke and rally time, but I can assure you all, J in the B breakfast had never tasted so good. We rolled back to the casino, backtracked our steps and found my hat. And just like that, it was time to go home. Vegas, baby. What a town.
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