EIGHT WORDS TO DESCRIBE OUR EIGHT-YEAR OLD

I asked him, on the eve of his eighth birthday, to describe himself in three words

He said:

“Weird. Adventurous. And...hyper sometimes and not hyper sometimes.”

I would say, amongst many things that stand out, descriptors I would use include:

Tender-hearted

Inquisitive 

Deep thinker 

Adventurous 

Hilarious 

Challenging 

Wondering wanderer

Kind

I love our long-haired lad so much. So not afraid to be himself and to face every day as an opportunity to hurl himself into learning or practicing or playing or discovering something that grabs his intense focus. Amazing human. Learned much from you, kid. Keep teaching us. 

MY MOM, A DAY, A DISHWASHER.

Today is my mom's birthday. She is 65. I have never known her to lie about her age or pretend to be anything other than the age she is, and that is inspiring.

I did not see her today. I saw her yesterday. And here is why.

Yesterday was Monday. The day before that was Sunday. Previous to Sunday, it was Saturday, or as we call it, Shabbat.

But it begins back in September of 2017, which is when the remainder of the year was full of promise. Children returned to formal education, the hope of autumn's death was sunny and crisp, and I had mapped out a handful of house projects to finish before winter came.

I was hopeful. Pragmatic and hopeful. A tenuous balance, but a doable one.

Then the floods came. Literally. Due to a sequence (or series) of sad (or unfortunate) happenstances (or events), a flood had literally come. Slowly. Slowly from a leaking aquarium tank. Slowly enough that it should have been caught, and for that, I take full responsibility in pointing the finger at my wife  for not picking up on it. Anyway, this slow flood took out two floors in two rooms - a bathroom and a bedroom. So plans and priorities started changing.

And then it felt like floods of the more metaphoric variety came, slowly and surely, and began erasing the hope that had been there. A slow descent into many things going...differently.

In this case, differently is a word I am using as an example of a euphemism.

Nobody died, we kept our health and friends and each other and made many fine memories and moments, but the hope of improving, one step at a time, parts of our lives that had seemed doable a short time before seemed to be disappearing into the mud.

And then more water after Christmas. A leaking dishwasher refusing to drain. To YouTube I went for tutorials and help from strangers. And from my father-in-law, who loaned me a couple T25 bits and a few hours of a Saturday night for some moral support and company as I laboriously walked through potential problems, removing one piece at a time, cleaning filters, hoses, and lines. Finally got it back together. Felt good. Ran a load. Looking good. Then headed down to work. Non-house work; work I actually get paid for and need to do. To bed at 7.30am. A new day dawns.

And a flooded dishwasher awaits. A flood that has wiped out a portion of the kitchen floor. Soaked, sopping, drenched. Yank the whole appliance out.

Discouragement. Total discouragement. Do I deserve to feel this? No. So many people who live in far worse circumstances and deal with far greater challenges and difficulties.

But this is also our reality; the reality of anyone and everyone who is trying to survive and care for their loved ones. The reality that there are those who have it better, and those who have it worse, and you can recognize and acknowledge and still be discouraged.

I was discouraged. Overwhelmed. One step forward, five steps back. Tired, physically and emotionally. Too discouraged to even complain or talk about it.

My parents came up Saturday night to hang out and watch Schitt's Creek with us. We didn't actually plan that, but it worked out that way, and was fun.

My parents pulled me aside, which I guess they can do occasionally, as they are still my parents, and informed me that:

A) we are getting you a dishwasher
and
B) we are sticking around to help you put it in.

I argued. Not fake argue, as in no, no, let me get my wallet out... but real argue. We'll be fine. I'll get the dishwasher going, it's not the top priority right now, etc.

They listened with bemused expressions and said:

We are getting you a dishwasher. 

I don't know what all they've done for other people. I don't know what all they've done for my siblings. I don't know all they've done for many others. I just know what they've done for me, and it's a lot.

It's one reason why I can never vote for, support, or respect the current President. I understand what it means to be gifted something. To be given something I don't deserve and didn't work for.

I understand what it means to benefit from being lucky. From being given something; something that many people don't have the expectation of receiving. A lot of preachers like to talk about the whole God and grace example, and that's great. That's the big example.

But this is my personal example. I have benefitted my whole life from things I don't deserve. I have tried to live with integrity and kindness, as many people do, but I have not done anything extraordinary to deserve special treatment or to be the recipient of the type of generosity I have experienced over the course of my life.

And here I was again, on the receiving end.

I said yes, and they won.

They headed out to pick one up - our children in tow - and returned hours later. My mom's birthday is today, so they had taken a couple days off work to enjoy...

...to enjoy a relaxing Monday helping install a dishwasher. My dad brought his magical bottomless toolbar of tools that fix anything, and what he didn't have he was able to dig up in our magical bottomless garage of stuff, and together he and I got it in.

As I lay with head cranked under the kitchen sink, catching a glimpse of the rest of our home from this painful vantage point, I thought back ten years to all the times my dad, or my mom, or often both, have helped us.

I thought of the mini-birthday holiday my mom sacrificed the lion's share of in order to help her son get a dishwasher in. I thought of the dollars they sunk into a dishwasher for us. Her birthday week.

Her insistence that this is how she wanted to spend her time.

My to-do list is still long. But sometimes, sometimes...getting that one thing that seems to be a catalyst for discouragement off that list is just what's needed for that little shot of inspiration/adrenaline/hope. Whatever it might be called. It made facing those other items a little more doable.

And what did I do to deserve it?

I am a child. A child of them.

I'll go straight on the nose for a rare minute: I can't help making the bigger parallel, as many of those pastor-people do, to the whole undeserving nature of grace and how it relates to God. How little we deserve, yet how much we can be given.

I'll also go straight political for a sec: when I look at my life and the onslaught of grace, of kindness, of generosity that I have been given, time and time again for no reason other than being born into and being surrounded by people who have exhibited those traits to me, then I think:

I will support leaders and politicians who aren't afraid to recognize and acknowledge those two ideas: grace and luck. The mandate to help each other out and not pretend like we've done so much on our own. What a slap in the face it would be for me to pretend like the successes I've had have come solely - or even primarily - because of my own work ethic and choices.

The great leaders and mentors recognize that we are here to help, to serve, and graciously, gracefully, build hope and build others up.

My parents have exhibited that so many times, and we have a working dishwasher again.

Birthdays. Thank you, mom, for the birthday present. Happy 65. The gifts you have given the world make it a better place every day.

And with our new dishwasher, a cleaner place too.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Twenty-five years ago today, a very special young man entered our family’s life, and he has been inimitable and unmistakeable ever since. Happy quarter century, Jeremy Long, may the road ahead be a mix of valleys and mountains, thunderstorms and rainbows, freeways and logging roads.

Photo: Lee Long

41 THOUGHTS ON 41 (IT'S MY BIRTHDAY).

I am 41 today. Here is what I know, off the top of my head, to the extent it’s helpful. Happy birthday to you all.

1. Listen to The Walkmen at least four times a year. They released seven albums. At least six of them are well worth repeated listenings.

2. What does every home need, besides love and loud music? Very little, aside from rope swings, functioning toilets, and door knobs.

3. Could I have had a successful career in the NFL, especially considering the fact that I did not play in college? I don’t know. Maybe not, but probably so.

4. Could I have had a successful four years playing Division 1 college football, especially considering the fact that I did not play in high school? I don’t know. Maybe not, but probably so.

5. There are three times in my life I almost drowned, not counting the times in a swimming pool. I didn’t though. I love the water. I was never a lifeguard. In another life, I would either be a hip hop artist or in the Coast Guard. I like this life a lot too.

6. Movie franchises I secretly love, part I: Resident Evil.

7. If you are the son of a dentist, don’t rebel in college by not flossing. How dumb can you get?

8. Are Apple products overhyped and overpriced? I’m not going to argue with you about it. Good design is good design, but do what works for you. And on the topic, read David Byrne’s Bicycle Diaries.

9. Public libraries, NPR, and Malcolm Gladwell generally have my undying love, as long as I’m alive.

10. Have I mastered unicycling, juggling, or the accordion? No, not yet. But I’ve dabbled in at least one of them (am practicing on a two-wheeled unicycle) and fully expect to Miyagi myself to maestro status in all three disciplines over the upcoming four decades.

11. I will not give out a bunch of advice, although I have forty-one years saved up when you’re ready, but let me advise that one of the best things you can do for yourself is to start drinking 32 ounces of hot lemon water every morning. Seriously.

12. Is Donald Trump the least competent President of all time? I honestly don’t know. Of the last ninety years? Definitely.

13. Movie franchises I secretly love, part II: Underworld

14. I don’t really ever listen to metal, besides Soulfly, Judas Priest, Deafheaven, Killer Be Killed, Deftones, Halford, System of a Down, and Run the Jewels. My wife is so awesome and works hard sometimes to appreciate them too. Sometimes the effort is what’s important.

15. I love Avril Lavigne’s rendition of O Holy Night.

16. Classical music five mornings a week serves a body and mind well. Three can’t miss delicious options to blast at 6:15am. Haydn’s Symphony in G minor, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in C minor , Vivaldi’s Concerto in E-major (Summer - and the whole seasons suite), Rachmaninov’s Prelude in C-Sharp Minor. Yum. Loud.

17. Cursive and coding should both be taught in every school.

18. I think childhood is necessary at most ages.

19. I am moderately interested in Augmented Reality, as opposed to fairly disinterested in  Virtual Reality. In this respect, I fancy I might be considered normal.

20. One Sunday in grad school, I started watching the BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice with my wife. One of the best six-hour viewing experiences I’ve ever had. Also, time to watch Stephen King’s The Stand again.

21. Books you should read: Sophie’s World, anything by Malcolm Gladwell, the newspapers that print news and refuse to bow to bullies in power.

22. I am not always a good example, but I am trying to get better at humbleness and humility. I want to at least be better than our children at it. I’m tired of children getting better than me at stuff. Should be illegal. I’d like to be really good at something again. Something I can really hang my hat on.

23. If I could bring back an archaic tradition, it would be that of men wearing cool hats. Not to make a statement, just because that’s what you did. At least that’s the impression I get from watching old Jimmy Stewart films, which, by the way, you should re-watch Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I don’t think James Stewart, Henry Fonda, or Johnny Cash would make it into the current Administration’s Cabinet.

24. I write in pen. But when I write in pencil, I don’t erase.

25. Am I Banksy? You’d like to know for sure, one way or another, wouldn’t you? But that’s not something I’m prepared to address on my 41st birthday.

26. I would still very much like to dig a hole someday to another country, or at least to a neighbor’s house. And I love love love so much Arcade Fire’s 2003 Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels). Goosebumps.

27. Keep your chainsaw blade sharp.

28. If possible, try to become friends with someone who owns large machinery, in the event you ever need it, or if there’s an apocalyptic event in which a Prius wouldn’t cut it. And season 7 of The Walking Dead is in a world of its own. #negan

29. I go through stages of drawing a lot, and then not. I’m going to draw more in my 40s.

30. I honestly don’t understand why anyone would use Pandora over Spotify. Also, I have two turntables and a typewriter to fix. How did people fix stuff before YouTube?

31. Quitting is an underrated skill, virtue, and talent that gets a bad rap. There’s a time to persevere, and there’s a time to quit, regardless of what Kevin Costner might have to say in Tin Cup. Speaking of Mr. Costner, as far as I’m concerned, he has appeared in exactly one horrible film in his entire career.

32. I like the gritty aesthetic of chalkboards, but whiteboards are so much easier to work with.

33. I’m less and less interested in re-watching and re-reading films or books I’ve already experienced. The same is not true for music, which is why I love music. See: The Walkmen.

34. How do you know who to trust? I can’t tell you who to trust. But look at their history and their pattern of truth telling. Or not. Do I trust President Trump with anything? No. He has a pattern of not only lying but doing so without apology, without retraction, without remorse, and perhaps most disturbingly, weaponizing false information that serves his agenda, and after a half-year+ on the job, I am convinced that the number one agenda he serves is that of himself. Not serve his country. Serve himself. Full stop. Does the New York Times ever lie? Perhaps and possibly; more accurately they sometimes make mistakes. And generally own up to them, for whatever ethical, legal, or pragmatic motivations. They don’t double down on a lie because it would be ridiculous to. Institutions and people such as the Washington Post, Senator John McCain, Bob Woodward, and Malcolm Gladwell have earned my respect because of PATTERNS of truth telling, serving the public good, asking questions, and doggedly searching for answers to the complicated ones.

35. I don’t know if I’ll ever be a famous musician. First, I need to be a musician. The rest will follow.

36. Would I follow my six siblings into battle? Of course! It would be much more dangerous at the front.

37. People say I walk fast. I don’t know. I just walk.

38. I love teaching. I would love to teach again. I think if you want to become a multimillionaire that the teaching profession is not the swiftest path to getting there.

39. It’s definitely a good idea to sleep the proper amount. Smart people have said that, and studies back that idea up. Definitely going to put some thought into that idea.

40. I’d really like either a boat or a plane by the time I’m 50, preferably whichever one works better on water.

41. I am happy for the many varied and nuanced friendships I have. That includes the virtual ones.

Thank you. And I accept your well wishes for the upcoming weeks. Use today well. Be kind, be curious, and balance your life between standing tall for what is right and kneeling in humble strength and support for what must change.

Happy birthday, everyone. I’m sharing it with you.

Hey Becca, it's your birthday!

Are we out of liquid aminos? Oh, and it's your birthday.

___

Was it odd watching the 20-year old barista flirt with my wife? No, adorable more than anything. Plus, it’s her birthday and they were bantering well. Also, he added sprinkles to her drink. Thanks for still coming home with me, Countess Becca. You bring me great joy. And sorry, kid. Great taste though. And good coffee.

#presh #I❤️us #sizzling38

DEAR DAD, AND ALSO POISON.

Dad.

I am not going to wish you happy birthday publicly this year.

If I do next year though, then I would probably say something about being grateful for your lack of horribleness and general sense of awesomeness, and I will try to remember to say something about knowing in my heart that you're funny, but who knows if you will be a year from now. Your sense of humor may be completely evaporated at that point. I hope not.

I will try to not forget to remember next year to tell you that. And we will listen to both The Beach Boys and Beastie Boys for old time's sake. But that's next year. For today, today is just another day.

Happy day. Glad you're my dad.

- Joseph Long

___

What are YOUR children's hobbies?

I have an idea for a venomous suit.
he said from the backseat.
Is it okay if I borrow some poison?

Well,
I said.
I'm intrigued.

It will be a very venomous and dangerous suit.
he said.
And I'll mix poisonous stuff, for example poison oak, with like...one centimeter of water.

It sounds dangerous.
I said.
Prohibitively dangerous.

Don't worry,
he said quickly.
I'll wear gloves when I'm mixing any of the toxic ingredients.

Well,
I said.
You make a good case for danger.

MY WIFE AND WILLIAM WALLACE.

Oh no, are you gonna make it?
she murmured,

and bent over, in the downpour as we enjoyed a wet walk, to retrieve a baby worm in the middle of the road.

There you go,
she said, as she gently moved him* to safety in the bushes.

This precious baby worm will likely be eaten by an aggressive and starving baby bird soon, but its death will mean something greater, as opposed to ignominiously getting run over by a truck.

A few more hours of life and the opportunity to die a hero's death later in the day. Because of one person. One woman. My wife.

Our children are so lucky to be raised by this human. Countess Becca, I still like you very much most of the time and am honored to be alongside to document your greatness. I don't know if you're the best, because I haven't met everyone in the world, but you're definitely pretty good. Thanks for being you. The world is brighter and certainly much more fun in the areas you inhabit.



*her?


___


Dear Mom,

Thank you for passing along your love of people, stories, music, and adventure to me and all your children. You make the universe glow brighter every single day. Love ya!

Joseph.


___


Dear Vicki,

Thanks for being a wonderful mom, mama-i-l, grandma, killa cook and baker, and fun human being, love ya lots V!

Joseph.


___


Dear Jeffrey,

So many of my favourite people to celebrate today...yes sir, you are in good company, and so are they. You're a gem, Jeffrey, hope today's been dandy all the way around and that at least a sliver of it got saved for some super special JT birthday singsonging and such. Incidentally, it just struck me that we have known each other for nineteen years now. Whoa. Thanks for being you and I demand you continue doing so for many years to come. All the best, Jeffrey, happy birthday!

Guiseppe.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM.

Mom. So proud you are yourself, and how you have helped so many others become comfortable and confident being themselves. You are a bridge-builder, a lightning strike, a shelter in the storms; a furious mixture of raw strength and true humility bound with love for others and a willingness to stand up for all who need standing up for. A model.

So proud you are Mom to me and six, and friend to so many others you have invited into (y)our world. I hate it when people call you a saint. Saints are dead. And they're on pedestals. You are human, very much alive, and and humble enough to own up to your mistakes and let those fuel your empathy for connecting with countless others as we stumble and bumble through life. Your modeling of inclusive Christianity; open door, bringing people LITERALLY many times off the streets into your home, is the example I want to try and follow. A welcoming and kind refuge. Thanks for that.

Tell your husband hi. He's a decent chap too.

Sincerely,

Joseph Long
(one of your sons - the one married to Becca)

Oh yeah, happy birthday, by the way

BIRTHDAY : Jonny and a beard.

Hey Jonny.

It really hurt me last week, when someone commented on how your beard was bigger than mine. I guess that's what happens when you get older: a lot more pain and learning how to deal with hurtful comments. And truth is, it's true. Your beard is bigger.

I want to run from it, but the fact remains that it is. I gotta be able to look in the mirror and say "hey, we're getting older, and now another brother has a better beard than you." It's just so hard to hear those words from other people, and to hear the whisperings even when they think you're too old to be able to hear them. Well, I can hear, quite well actually, as I've been watching Daredevil and doing a lot of ear exercising exercises.

One advantage of being Daredevil is that he doesn't have to look in the mirror and realise his younger brother has a cooler beard than him. He doesn't have to look in the mirror at all. He also doesn't have a brother, which is sad, because I do, and I am glad. And in spite of the great resentment I have stored up over your healthy facial hair, I have to say that you are one of my favourites. I have also not shaved since that uncalled for remark from the anonymous person (your identity is safe, Zechariah Runkle).

In spite of the overwhelming angst I feel today, I can still say with mostly truthfulness-ish : "happy" birthday, and the one thing that I've wanted to tell you for years is tha












___

WHO AM I?

Daddy,
one informed me.
Sometimes when you're not looking, I take sips of your coffee.

Yeah!
the other one chimed in untruthfully.

It's really really good,
she continued.
It's addicting. I think I'm addicted.

Sometimes I feel like the dad equivalent of Derek Zoolander.

____

BIRTHDAYS: My Dad.

Dad.

There are so many moments I could choose as a microcosmic explanation of what I think is so great about you, but my current favourite is this: you are the only person in history I know who is torn over which movie to watch on his birthday:

Deadpool or
The Notebook.

And the truth is,
I know that you would truly immerse yourself and thoroughly appreciate either.

My great regrat for today is that I am not there sitting next to you with a bottle of RB watching an impossibly romantic love story with you. Or, we could also do The Notebook.

You are awesomeish. Glad you're my dad. Enjoy the rest.

Sincerely,

Joseph Long (one of your sons)

HARRISON FORD.

Do you know,
he asked me.
what you should do for your 40th birthday?

It sounds like you have an idea.

I said.

Yeah,
he said.
I think that you should pierce your ears and start wearing Mama's earrings. That would be really cool.

Son,
I said.
You and I are in total agreement.

SISTERS, OUTLAWS, AND OTHER BANDITOS.

One of the most annoying things is being around people who lead well-balanced lives and make common-sense decisions and avoid things like coffee ice cream before bedtime. I try hard to keep my distance from them. Fortunately, one of my favourite people in the states of Washington, Oregon, and Finland is also off-kilter enough to recognize the importance of excess, particularly on a birthday weekend, and manages to casually merge primacy and gracefulness in the same frame (pictured). Wicked Brit wit, kind heart, freeflowing wildflower soul; my awesome sis-in-law(lessness). Happy 29th, or whatever. As Yoda often said: live long and prosper. Cheerio und bon anniversaire, @wandervogelsoul ____ #yodawisdom

A photo posted by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Apr 12, 2016 at 11:30pm PDT

GUEST POST: MY MOM ON MY BIRTHDAY.

Joseph, 39 years ago we lived across the street from where Joshie now lives. Cute white house that holds a million memories. I'd been working at the Lillie Rice Center for a year after graduation from WWC, while Daddy finished college and applied to dental school. 23 years old, we were, and planning the move to Loma Linda for him to begin school again. We could hardly wait for you to come. You arrived at 1:11 am, bottom first, and landed at the top of our hearts. Wide-eyed and wide awake, you remained so for most of the next 24 hours, contrary to what we'd learned in our natural childbirth classes. (You still function on far less sleep than most!) We were smitten. Took you home next day. Tucked you in crib we bought for $7.00 from an ad in the nickel paper and then painted yellow. That lasted about two minutes. You slept with us, mostly. Late nights and nursing. Cloth diapers with duckie pins, rubber pants, lullabies, baby swing, music and dance, story and song. No car seat, no baby monitor, no BOB nor bottles. Pretty simple life, though it seemed complicated at times. Toted you in front pack and soon, a blue back pack. Cuddled you to my heart, then and forever. We had who we wanted and dreamed of--YOU! Happy birthday! Forever and always, your Mama. xoxo

p.s. can't get my picture of "us" to download. Will try again soon. xoxo

1995-2000 (MY BIRTHDAY).

Today is a day; a day I arrived at once a while ago (my mom was there, ask her if it happened the way I don't remember).

Here are some words, most of them real, reminiscing an important six-year stretch of my life and the going-ons, 1995-2000, as these events were on my radar.

Love like a good human. Learn to build a robot. Breathe in, Peace out.
- Joseph

95 THE BENDS, STRETCH DAILY!
Celebrity attorney-ed OJ trial.
Cameras whir; system defile.
Biggest news my brain could recall
since '86 Challenger tragic skyfall.
Wondering what made one deed News and other deeds not.
Through news feed I skimmed; stories hot and ones of human rot.
USA Today swiped off vacated coffee table.
Filled with narratives wicked as Cain did Abel.
Oklahoma City bombing downtown; homegrown rage,
Rwanda and Packwood and Balkans and Million Man March of all age.
Latter an October event to which I unfortunately did not went.
But a sign of hope and love and possibility of making a dent.
The Chemical Brothers, Radiohead, and J. Buckley scored
and Pitt, Leonardo, J. Depp young and abhorred.
By chest-thumping dudes anyway.

96 IF YOU TOLERATE THIS OUR CHILDREN WILL BE NEXT, OR MAYBE NOT.
Mad cow a Denny Crane-ish fear;
Atlanta Olympics, Unabomber in cuffs, no more Chechnya riot gear
Clinton vs. Dole,
Russian FBI mole,
An education's the goal,
Bank account a big hole,
Baby sister born, Fugee love to my soul
Freeway a misnomer when collecting a toll
Classmates smoke a bowl.
Wheaties or oatmeal in my bowl, s'il vous plait
The Preachers of Manic Streets
screaming politics loud; antonym of sheeps' bleats,
fleets of foots I once was, now I swiftly read Keats.

97 OK, SLEEP THE CLOCK AROUND.
An unethical Newt in the House,
Monstrously quiet like a monstrously loud mouse.
A Tiger roars, Clinton a second term soars, Russian prez Boris signs cease-fire for us with force.
Or rather, Chechnya, duh,
Duh duh duh dum, Di dies
Sound of millions of cries;
Spy satellites in the sky for cash and commerce,
Remembering not so much the verse:
love your enemy
with hugs and non-venomy anemone-
like transparency and glasnost
no longer a thing from sea to coast.
Okay, computers now the evolution
of long-coming revolution.
Radio dead,
Head, ahead is the future with un-fired lead, steroidless bread, Grandaddy’s Humanoid Jed.

98 XO, DESERTERS. 
Euro coins made,
Four million slayed
in Second Congo War;
a war scale we swore would happen no more.
Clones banned,
Lewinsky’s name canned
Oval Office on sinking wet sand.
Rushdie’s fatwah removed,
but may want to stay off Iranian land.
Iraq nuke inspector get the boot,
Kate get Leonardo Titanic steamy in birthday suit
Nagano Winter gold,
Windows 98 sold
bad blood Kosovo
Big Blue beats Garry, new low.
Chilean Pinochet caught too,
extradited, charged, crimes never paid, judicial process a zoo.
Matthew Shepard’s life stolen, sad but true,
humanity’s soul, makes my heart blue.
Mercury, rev, rev, vroom,
sweep the sadness off the universe with a
giant justice broom,
and a bottomless wastebucket for the bigots and vermin to meet their doom.

99 PLAY, SURRENDER, MAN-MULE.
Gretzky says quits
Menacing Phantom with lightsabers Jar Jar and other odd bits
Musharraf coup d’état,
Mandela au revoir,
Boris says ta-ta.
Vlad the Impaler, Vlad the new leader
Putin in power, not what I call a super good-deeder.
Family Guy starts, SpongeBob begins,
College students plus Napster make more deadly sins.
AOL, dial-up jam-up,
Bill out of a jam, no Dow logjam;
hits ten K, bam! Merci, Ma’am,
I’m still no millionaire,
or thousandaire, just
lover of fresh air, messy hair, Icelandic maidens so fair.
WTO protesters Seattle,
WTF global financiers soulless prattle,
Enron megawatt Nevada re-rerouting sociopathic addle.
Balkans trying for peace,
Columbine shooters easy access to piece,
Yugoslavian treaties hard to long-term lease
when wars pit brother against brother and niece against niece;
not nice.
I am Moby, Melville’s descendant might boast,
a vegan techno-electro-punko geek who the Chemical Brothers might roast,
but a fine album of digital analog smashup, to that a thousand commercials did toast.

00 CHARTSENGRAFS.
Y2K deal, computer coding,
too many numbers loading?
Type of hype we like to gripe
Jobs pitches $30 OSX beta,
Yugoslav Milošević told bye-bye, see ya lata, hata.
Politics hot,
Al and George W. friends?
Sort of, but…not.
First female Prez of Finland
Hillary to Senate, plans with no end;
India at a thousand million,
AOL Time Warner cozy up for a hundred sixty-two billion.
Sydney Olympics in summer,
Elián González custody raid bummer,
Playstation 2 release,
Nintendo plays too with GameCube piece
Bombing of USS Cole,
collective hurt of country’s soul
G.W. selected
Later elected,
court trauma with Gore
Story often a bore
Fifty percent country sore
No liars, no more
International Space Station
first crew; dedicated to investigation
Universal elation,
or earthly happiness of most every nation.
Sophtware won’t save us,
numbers minus and plus
don’t trump;
digital technologies
hubristically rise and inevitably slump;
the abstractions of a good conversation top
the binary dimensions of a
one, zero, or two.
We are the real hero.
Until the robots.
Happy future, universe. I’m still around.

THE KEY IS TO KEEP IT SIMPLE-ISH.

As some of you have suspected, tomorrow is my birthday. Charlie Parker is serenading my afternoon, and my son has been working for the last hour on my present, which I am very excited about because he has been making some very cool things lately, and sometimes you can sell cool things for a bunch of money on eBay or Etsy. Fingers crossed. My little brother Joshua, who is two days older than me, although five years younger, had his day-before-birthday two days ago (his birthday was the next day), and he called me to let me know he was calling everyone in the family the day before so they could wish him a happy one and get it out of the way 24 hours early, so when I called him one day later (this was two days ago; the day after I first spoke to him) then I deliberately avoided wishing him a happy one, because I had already spoken to him the day previous (the day after his wife Sasha's birthday, who is also not incoincidentally my sister-in-law, and we spoke of the Pope and his wardrobe, which reminded me not in the least of my Uncle James because they wear different types of hats, and I actually did wish him a happy birthday on the phone, as his was five days before mine (which is tomorrow). The easy way for me to remember my wife Becca's birthday is that it is just under a quarter-month before mine, which I also generously share with my cousin, so if mine arrives and I neglected to wish her a happy one, then I know I can be 358 days early for the next one, but I usually remember because of this system I've developed. The tricky portion is that my cousin-in-law Viktoria's birthday is six days before mine, (and seven before my childhood friend Shaun's), but also exactly one month after a dear Facebook friend of mine whose name and how I know them I can't remember, so the combination of familio-social variables could get complicated, except that the easy way to keep things straight is to know that my niece's birthday will be exactly five days after the eve of my brother's birthday, and I can keep his wife's straight by remembering that she shares a birthday eve with our uncle (which is his actual birthday, not eve); which is exactly (minus one day) a week before my wife's uncle's second daughter's son, and if I reverse engineer that one than it helps me keep track of another friend whose middle name is the same as my first. I wish there was a simple app for important dates. Also, our anniversary is a factor, but it's on September 15 which is super easy to remember because it's exactly four months after my dad, Lee, was born.
Christmas is in three months.

Happy day, all.

BIRTHDAY #5.

May you be smart enough to use the current when it's taking you where you want.

And may you be strong enough to swim against it when it's not.

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
Our daughter and her cousins wanted to pool their money together to buy her brother a fifty-cent birthday present. They came up a little short.

Fortunately, her overly-kindhearted aunt was on hand to chip in the remaining two quarters.

NEPHEW.

Jonny Long? ©2015

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.

BIRTHDAY #35 : COUNTESS BECCA

BECCA, PT. I.
One way that I easily remember my wife's birthday every year is that it is exactly one week before Linda Hamillton's (a.k.a. Sarah Connor from The Terminator). Also, her birthday is seven days before mine. Other cinematic heroines that remind me, in specific ways, of her: Amelie from Amelie, Ripley from Aliens, Jamie Lee Curtis from True Lies, Grace Kelly from everything, MacGyver, Frank from Old School, The Bride from Kill Bill, that one French girl from that other Tarantino film, George Michael from Arrested Development, Tina Fey in general, Elastigirl from the Incredibles...a little bit of all the best things in the universe.


Polyphonic Spree's Soldier Girl reminds me of her too.

She makes my head spin around.


Happy birthday, Girl.

____

The Polyphonic Spree
Soldier Girl
The Beginning Stages of...

2002

BECCA, PT. II.

When I was a guest teacher* in Southern California years ago, I was ganged up on by a gang of trying-hard-to-be-gangsters and the room went dark and madness erupted -

- but that is another story. The point is that being a parent with my wife has given her the opportunity to join a gang too. The gang that is our children, and that frequently gangs up on me. She has the opportunity to join that gang frequently and sometimes she does. But sometimes she doesn't, and she is on my side as we battle a seven- and four-year old duo of gangsters, and when she's on my side, it's more even, so I am appreciative for those times when we can gang up on the gang together. We have gone through the fire together - not literally, though I have badly burned my finger before - but rather the fire of parenting (I prefer the other term I coined: childrening, which puts the responsibility and blame where it should be), and it is generally more enjoyable to be on a team with someone who is on your team. Or gang. One example would be how our children inexplicably loathe Leonard Cohen. She could take their side, and curry favor, but she has stood steadfast next to me and blasted Who By Fire next to me as they groaned and grumbled and we laughed as the flames burned around us (that 'through fire' thing, not real fire, otherwise I would have called the firefighting gang). Leonard is such a masterful old poetic gangster, and I'm glad to not be married to him, but rather, to someone who is not like him, but likes him. Respect.

Happy birthday, OG Becca.

____

Leonard Cohen
Who By Fire
New Skin for the Old Ceremony
1974

*a more elegant term the district insisted on calling its substitute teachers




BECCA, PT. III.

Technically, most people don't think of me as a scientist, per se. But ever since my wife gave me one of her old white lab coats, I tend to think of myself as almost one. And in a sense, I am, because I am wearing a lab coat that almost fits, and I truly am interested in quantum mechanics, time travel, reading quotes by Albert Einstein, and watching Fringe. But in my heart, I know that technically I will never be offered a teaching position at MIT. And I think that maybe my wife is resigned to the fact that I'll never be a prize-winning scientist, but - and this is what I love about her - she has never discouraged me from wearing the old lab coat that doesn't fit me very well, because she knows it makes me happy to wear it, and that in a way, it does possibly bring her happiness to feel that she's married to a successful scientist working on the fringes of science, but then we both know at the end of the day I'm not actually a technical scientist: I'm just a mid-sized guy with good posture and poor eyesight who believes that science is real and that space travel is truly possible. She sees that glimmer of possibility in me, that underneath the ill fitting lab coat, there beats the heart of a scientist, if not the brain. And I know that everything is possible.


BECCA, PT. IV.

There's a few regrets I have in life, probably the biggest being that I didn't invest in Apple stock in the early '80s. To be fair, I was five or six years old, but still, no excuses. And sometimes there's partial regrets, like experiencing something really cool, but not having someone with you who you know would really enjoy it, like when I went to see Mercury Rev in L.A. a decade ago and it turned out to be one of my favourite shows ever, or going to see Alt-j last year, and it turned out to be fantastic, and I know Becca would have loved both, but she didn't go because of reasons that are vague to history (Studying? Work? Children?). But she wanted me to go, and she wanted me to have a good time, and she was happy for how much I enjoyed both. So I think what I learned from that is this: try not to ever miss out on anything really cool, and maybe just bring the children too. And also, try to be genuinely happy for other people when good things happen to them. Like she was for me. A good lesson. No more ragrets.

Happy b-day weekend, Countess.

____

Still get goosebumps over Mercury Rev's The Dark Is Rising.

Mercury Rev
The Dark Is Rising
All Is Dream

2001






BECCA, PT. V.

We fell in love at a bakery, at least I did. She worked there; the early morning shift at the small town bakery. I studied at a table with an eyeline to the front counter. I thought I was going to study and get a free bagel once in a while, but then (like I said) I accidentally fell into love so sometimes things happen that you're unaware are happening until afterwards; at which point you have to go back and try to understand history and break things down, like economists do after market crashes retroactively to make themselves sound prescient. Unfortunately, this was pre-smartphone, pre-Instagram, pre-everyone flashing around cameras for no reason so I never usually thought in terms of capturing those early morning bakery rendezvouses. It just exists in our donut-foggy memories. I wish we had one picture of me with my head down studying in the corner, and her behind the counter surreptitiously checking me out. That's a moment I wish we had recorded. Also, I left her a $500* tip once. I've wondered what she did with that. She wore an apron and played good music: Ben Harper, Bob Dylan, Stevie Wonder. One day I finally said I Like You, but it took me 90 minutes to get through that three-word sentence; maybe it's a plus for me that I'll never have to wonder if that conversation is floating around in a digital cloud somewhere.

I love tracking history with technology and freezing moments for eternity**, but sometimes there's satisfaction in knowing that reality will never collide with our personal mythology & history and that I can keep all the great moments intact with my imagination, unencumbered by the brutality of frozen actuality.

Happy birthday, Barista Becca. I lost my 4.0***, but got some decent coffee and a bride. Wouldn't trade.

____

The Raveonettes
Remember
Chain Gang of Love
2003

*$10

**EMP issues aside

***technically, was already lost. Again though, I prefer the romanticized Faustian notion that I traded my GPA for love.

BIRTHDAY: MDL #7.

1.

Why are you staring at me like I'm the birthday girl?

she asked.

Because,

I said.

You ARE the birthday girl. Literally. It is your birthday.

I know.

she said.

But you're staring at me. Can we go to Powell's now since it's my birthday?

Could we possibly wait,

I asked,

until I've gotten dressed, and possibly until it actually opens?

Fine.

she said with resignation.

2.

Who did you guys FaceTime without my permission?

I said, storming into the bathroom to find our son on the toilet with iPad in his lap, chatting away while his techno-Svengali sister stood by with a satisfied smile.

Daddy!

he shrieked.

Please leave! We're having a conversation with Uncle Jonny, and it's like the best conversation ever!

His sister confirmed this assertion.

He tilted the screen my way, and yes, my brother's face filled the screen as he also confirmed this. I shook my head, crossed my fingers, and exited the best conversation ever, since I wasn't invited.

3a.

Okay dudes.

I said.

Let's grab some lunch.

But Daddy!

she pleaded.

Can we please go to the library first? It's the most important thing in the world to me.

I sighed, and headed to Don Pedro's for burritos.

3b.

Our son, who has shown total disgust and disinterest in ever watching any kind of sports, sat in our booth with eyes glued to the station broadcasting the World Cup match between Argentina and The Netherlands. In Spanish.

I'm going for the Orange team.

he announced in his little megaphone voice.

Orange is The Netherlands.

I said.

Yeah. I'm going for them.

He proceeded to provide a lively play-by-play that provided little* in the way of relevant information about the action, but did provide a certain clarity regarding his philosophies on a number of things, including optimal uniform colours, injuries that could potentially dismember an athlete, sports that involve kicking versus throwing, the quality of his bean and rice burrito, and the issue whether or not any of the players were evil. Nowhere in his discourse, however, was there any acknowledgment or discussion of the fact that the television commentary was in Spanish; a language he has not yet learned fluently.

Unless...his sister has been teaching him behind our backs...

4a.

Daddy,

she said.

I would rather have books than food.

Really?

I said.

Yes,

she said.

I wish we lived in a library.

4b.

How much would it cost to buy Powell's?

she asked. 

I wish we could live there. More than a hundred dollars?

Yes.

I said.

More than a hundred.

More than a thousand?

Yes.

I said.

More than a thousand.

More than a million?

Yes. 

I said.

More than a million. Maybe...50 million?**

Well.

she said.

Can you work harder so you can make fifty million dollars and then we can buy Powell's and live there?

Problem is,

I said.

I don't think it's for sale.

5. RECAP.

We made it to Powell's, where she whittled down her stack to...one, which she purchased herself and left with $1.01 in change, which is a small but not insignificant step toward $50 million.

Then we made it to the library, where I used my VIP pass to get us in for free, and we somehow exited with enough books to probably, should we sell them on eBay***, provide a big chunk of the 50 million $s.

But like I said, I don't know that Powell's is actually for sale. Cross your fingers for us.

____

UPDATE:

-Argentina, sadly, won.

-after she whittled down her book choices to ONE, her uncle (Jonny) picked up several of her precious alternates for her; a gift that was received with enthusiasm for three seconds and then headlong focus as she dived into them. 

____

*nothing

**off the top of my head - I have no idea. Anyone?

***which we would, of course, not do ever

BIRTHDAY WISHES.

Lee Long.

Happy birthdaY MDL "Claire". You're one of the funniest, most witty , smartest, sweetest people I know. I love you!

Sue Long.

Night night sweet daughter of yours and granddaughter of mine! I hope it was the perfect birthday, x's 7! I smiled every time I thought of her and am SO lucky to be her Gramma Susie. I look forward to hearing all about your Powell's Adventure, and the rest of the day. Hugs again, mixed with love! xoxo