THIS IS TODAY, FREDDIE, AND WE ARE CHAMPIONS.

I have a clear memory of the first Queen song I ever heard. It was - and I'm foggy on which one - either Bicycle Race (thanks John at Cheddar Records, late '80s) or One Vision (thanks Iron Eagle soundtrack, probably purchased at Cheddar Records).

The children have recently discovered the glorious octavic brilliance of Freddie Mercury, and I have tried to embrace that feeling of newness; of trying to imagine I have not, in fact, heard Another One Bites the Dust, or Under Pressure, or We Will Rock You, or I Want to Break Free one hundred billion times (that number is, honestly, an exaggeration by at least half). The point is - and this is a key point in why the idea of childhood is so important throughout your entire life - is that there's always something exuberant to find joy and newness in; consciously searching out fresh lenses and ways of appreciating old things in a new light, in a childlike way, is such a great way to enjoy so many things, from music to relationships to films to ideas, that have become commonplace due to saturation...but it doesn't mean they can't be enjoyed again. In a different way, with a little deliberate effort.

I never thought I would be able to hear the one-two punch of We Will Rock You-seguing into We Are the Champions again without feeling resignation and soul-weariness, after experiencing it over and over and over and over...

But now...looks like I'm entering a fresh Queen era in my life, due to the childrens' enthusiastic repeat playing. So, embracing it. Looks like they will be this year's summer soundtrack for history. Double disc Greatest Hits, then we'll work back to the lesser-known album tracks where there's still a few underplayed jewels hanging out. Rock and roll, today, Freddie. We are the champions, and it's a good day to sing really loud. We have been rocked. Now let's rock.

And your first Queen listening was _______?

Queen
Bicycle Race
Jazz
1978

BIRTHDAY #38: ME.

Threw some paint in the wagon. 
A speaker and
some snacks.
Herbie Hancock,
real cool in the autumn breeze on the old roadside;
found a caterpillar, named him Callie.
Happy born day to me.

Christmas song rehearsal on front porch, Run D.M.C.-influenced.

Their new thing is to invite someone to watch them do something - swing, draw, build a castle, etc. - and then try to extort payment:

"Come watch us do this...oh, by the way, you need to pay us a dollar now."

Brilliant. Oh, and go ahead and stick a fiver in my PayPal account if you just glanced at this picture.

BIRTHDAY #38: 1976 "Get Up Offa That Thing."
I learned to love music early on. Probably in the womb, but honestly I don't remember, so don't spend any more dollars on those Baby Bach records. My dad sang and hummed and ate M&Ms while he was driving, so I learned to associate three good things together: music + food + travel. My mom made me learn music stuff and learn about old composers, and take some lessons on the piano. Thank you, (Kathie Huffman!). I have a vivid memory of waiting for one of my sibling's lessons and listening to Judas Priest on my headphones, but that's another story. The person I really credit with my entrance to rock and roll is Brant Reed, who loaned me the soundtracks to Batman and Ghostbusters II on cassette. From there, the floodgates were open, especially with Brant's early assistance getting me mix tapes with the Cars, Tom Petty Poison, and other pre-grunge luminaries. A hop and two skips to Weird Al, Def Leppard, Alannah Myles, and the Beastie Boys from there. Off to the races.
Thanks for the music, world. I started today with Mr. Beethoven's Violin Concerto, Opus 16, and then segued to Mr. James Brown's Get Up Offa That Thing (1976).

Mazel tov, all 

BIRTHDAY #38: 1977 "Lust for Life"
My brother Joshua, five years younger, used to climb tall trees when he was a little boy, and he was much too young to be climbing tall trees, and he would climb these tall trees anyway and frequently fall from four or five hundred feet up, but he learned an incredible lesson from his climbing and falling experiences. Know what that was?
I'm not sure, but definitely ask him. I know he probably learned something valuable, and he also did what he NEEDED to do when he was a young boy, and he followed the call of the wild and the murmur of his heart and the whispering of the tall trees and HE JUST DID IT. The trees were there, and like Hillary and Norgay he climbed them BECAUSE they were there and he NEEDED to do it and thank goodness he survived.
He had a lust for life; for daring life and for loving life, and - oh my goodness...I just realised this fits in perfectly with one of my top songs from 1977: from everybody's fave perpetually-shirtless rocker Iggy Pop and his classic anthem - yep - Lust for Life.
Attack life, people, but gently and respectfully too, kind of like confidently driving the speed limit in the left hand lane for miles at a stretch. Sometimes you gotta just ignore the honking horns and keep cruising. Unless you're the Passenger and you see a tall tree to climb. Then you gotta pull over and climb it.
Peace, universe. Save forests, climb tall trees, and happy birthday to me.
Iggy Pop
Lust for Life

1977

#38: 1978 "Bicycle Race."
I've been working on an invention that is basically a bicycle, but it only has one wheel, so it's more aerodynamic and stuff. Also, I was talking to my daughter a couple days ago and we were bonding over something (bikes?) and I said to her:
You guys are so fun. You and your brother just help make our lives so great. Your mom and I are just the seventh luckiest parents in the world.
I nodded kindly, and gave her a really strong look of affirmation. She processed for a minute, and looked up.
Well...who are the luckiest parents then?
I shrugged:
I don't know. I'm just guessing there's at least seven parents in the world with better children.
She started shaking her head, and then tried to start talking but couldn't finish because she was laughing so hard. Finally, she got through her sentence.
DADDY! That is so MEAN!
I was laughing too. 
I know! 
I said.
I know!
We kept on laughing, and she was laughing, and I was laughing. I just love being around people I can banter with, regardless of age. People who laugh hard. People you can share moments with.
Some songs are like that too: shared moments of humanity that make you start singing along or humming or tapping your foot and you feel the earth's joy start to shoot up all around you. Like Queen's Bicycle Race from 1978, with its crazy tempo changes and exhilarating line. 
I woulda been two.

Queen
Bicycle Race

1978

Happy week ahead, universe.

MOTHER'S DAY 2014

Sometimes when I was younger, I would worry that my mom might forget about me, or lose me, and that is why I developed an interest in creating systems and processes that solve recurring problems such as this, as illustrated here. The genius of my system has been validated in the decades since, as my mom has rarely forgotten about me, and has always gotten my back, although she's not strong enough anymore to carry me around anymore in a backpack, which is sad and makes me question her physical endurance. 

Mom, there are so many liars out there today that I don't want to compete with, so I'm going to avoid using the B-word and just say: thanks for not merely teaching your kids how to win at games other people have invented, but to create our own games, thus perpetually ensuring success. I still wish you would have taught me how to win at basketball though, because it would feel good to be the best basketball player in the world, and I'm not, so that's definitely an area where you could have done better. Aside from that, you have performed competently, with flashes of magnificence, and in many ways, you remind me of a really good mom, and actually you are. Thanks, and we've got your back too. HMD.

SAD VAN FAN.

Over the course of your lives,

(I told the children),

a lot of people are going to give you advice, and you'll hear about many different ways to do things. Sometimes, there's a bunch of good ways to do the same thing.

But sometimes, there's a single solution. And one of the most important things you can ever remember that is that there's only one way to rock.

So that above monologue was my preface to Van Halen. Slammed on the gas, zero to 30 in under 15 seconds, cranked the volume one past Spinal Tap, and we blasted down the autobahn. Or, as the authorities call it, Highway 14.

Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love, Why Can't This Be Love?, So This Is Love?, Love Walks In, When It's Love,

...etcetera

(Hey, they love to love. I love that.)

At the end of my madcap recap of their greatest hits, I looked in the rearview mirror, and I was still the only Van Halen fan.

We continued in silence, but the song in my heart was unstoppable and it skipped a couple beats. Might have even Jumped. We'll try again in a decade.

Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love
1978
Van Halen

Why Can't This Be Love?
1986
5150

So This Is Love?
1981
Fair Warning

Love Walks In
1986
5150

When It's Love
1988
OU812

QUEEN AND THE SIX DOLLAR BICYCLE SALE THAT WAS SOUND BUSINESS.

Once upon a time, my mom decided to have a garage sale. My dad hates garage sales, but that's another story. So I'll tell you the story about the garage sale we had when I was about eight.

We lived in Manzanita, close to the ocean, and we had this old bicycle. At that point I only had one brother or so and one sister, I think.

My mom said the three of us could split the revenue from the bicycle. If we sold it, then we could divide the money. Well, there was a new knife I wanted, so I was excited to make some extra money. As an entrepreneur in training, I decided that five dollars would be a good price to charge for a bicycle.

So we had the garage sale. I had a price tag on the bicycle for five dollars. This lady came around, looked at it, and said Oh…this is perfect! How much is it?

And I said: Five dollars.

She said: I'll take it.

I said Okay, and I helped carry the bike up to the money table. We got there, and all of a sudden, I realized something important: five dollars divided three ways was a very, very difficult amount to split correctly.

So I said "Would you mind paying six dollars for the bicycle?"

My mom was not very happy. "Joey! You can't change the price AFTER she's agreed to buy it!"

The lady was very nice, and respected my business logic. She said: Yes, I think I could pay six dollars.

I explained why I was forced to change the price, and she was empathetic, and paid the six dollars, and left as a happy customer with a new old bicycle.

I handed Josh and Leanna their one dollar each, and tucked my portion away into my secret savings hiding spot.

I think I have fonder memories of this story than everyone else involved. Don't know why. I am still proud of myself for the innovative business acumen I displayed. Kickstarter, here I come. Also, every time I think of this it makes me want to listen to Queen's "Bicycle Race," and I miss my old bike and wish I had it now so I could sell it again. This time, for six thousand dollars. And it makes me grateful for the bombastic theatrics of Queen, without whom there would be no Muse today.

****

Queen
Bicycle Race
Jazz
1978

Iku-men

Japan. Sweden. India. More and more countries are recognizing at a governmental and corporate level the importance of fathers being involved in their children's upbringing.

Neat little piece from several months ago on Reuters. (excerpt below)

:::

A relatively new, and so far small, group of prominent stay-home dads who put their career on hold to look after their children have been making headlines.

Japan’s so-called “Iku-men” – a play on the Japanese word for child-rearing, “iku-ji” – include the mayor of Tokyo’s Bunkyo ward...

:::


I have a small business and I have a small family. Frequently, the lines between the two are non-existent. Sometimes, my children need to come with me to class when I'm teaching, or accompany me on work-related outings. I smile, and do not apologize. 


My dad used to take me with him to dental school classes. I was two. Thanks Dad. Good example. I will try to be a good one too.


photograph: 1978