Fall Barbershop Convention, Part III: Sunday - the wrap-up...

Wake up, shower (I had to call the front desk to ask them how to get the damned thing to work), pack up, and check out. "Big Dave", our bass, and I hit the local diner for breakfast and have a nice convo about women, family, quartets and such, then hit the road.

My best friend and Lead, Lou, had reserved the hotel room for us on his card. I mistakenly got the impression that he was going to pay for the room and I'd pay him back. Whoops. He aparently had no intention of this, as he's in pretty dire financial straits himself, and "Big Dave" is recovering from a long bout of unemployment and had to owe me his share, so I had to put the whole damned thing on my credit card. $200 I hadn't planned on. As if justifying these convention trips wasn't hard enough...

Friday night when Lou and I were at the hotel bar, he ordered a sandwich. It took so long, he decided to get it 'to go', then eventually got fed up and started to walk out. As he was leaving, the waitress caught up with him, handed it to him with appologies, and he walked of with it in a frustrated huff. They eneded up billing MY tab for it.

I left a message for Lou on Sunday, letting him know about the error, figuring he'd owe me the $4 in a beer sometime. He proceeded to call the hotel and complain. Not only was the manager EXREMELY appologetic, but he comped 1/2 of his AND my hotel bill for the weekend! As bad as Lou's luck can be at times, other times he could step in a pile of shit and come out with gold-plated loafers (see my entry for last Fall's convention for another example). So, once again Lou's convention fortune rubs off on me a bit and I spend half as much on the weekend as I had planned! Maybe I should use the savings to bribe the judges a bit next contest....

Anyway, I get home, nap a bit as Sonya and her brother work on their costumes, and we wait for the kids to get back from the grandparents' place. They arrive and we hang with my father-in-law a bit, having a fun, relaxing evening.

I'll say it again: "Best...Convention...EVER!"

Coming up next: Backlog of Blogs (Backblogged?)...

Fall Barbershop Convention, Part II: Saturday - the FUN part…

I got a bit more sleep on Saturday morning this year than previous years. Usually my chorus tries to go on first, but this year we were 3^rd from last in our performance order. I'm roused about 9:45 by my roommate and hit the shower. I spent about 10 minutes trying to figure out how to get the damned thing to switch from faucet to shower to no avail, so I take a bath. I hate baths – especially in hard water. It's hard enough to feel like you've rinsed thoroughly in a shower with hard water, but in a tub – forget it.

I de-slime myself from the bath, get my tux and stage makeup on (I hate having to wear stage makeup), and hit the lobby. I head to the Subway for a bite to eat and decide on just a Sprite and a yogurt, then head down to warm-ups.

My voice is still weak and sketchy around the full-voice/falsetto break, so I go back and grab my bottle of voice spray and start guzzling the stuff like it was beer at a frat party. Warm-ups, pictures, and the traditional "hurry up and wait" follow. Eventually we hit the stage and do a great job - one of our finest performances, from what I can tell. I know we won't win, but we nevertheless did a great performance. I hang around for a while in the lobby talking with dad, then head to my room to change. Dad, Ian (who will be going to International in Nashville with the new district reps, Mountaintown Chorus) and I hit the Peninsula for lunch.. We're eventually joined by Lou and his girlfriend Linda and have a great time just hanging out, talking and eating. After lunch, I decide to try and grab a quick power nap to let my voice rest and be ready for the quartet to hit the hospitality rooms after the quartet finals. On the way up to my room, I'm joined in the elevator by several kilt-clad folk with bagpipes. Hmm….?

I wake up just in time for the quartet finals show and head to the lobby. As the elevator descends, the sounds of pipes and drums grow louder. The door opens and the lobby is FLOODED with the sound of a pipe and drum corps playing on the second floor balcony of the lobby. Apparently there was a wedding in the hotel that they were hired for. Trouble was, they were loud as hell in that echoey lobby and right outside the hall the finals were in. Now, I'm all up for pipe and drum music, but when it gets in the way of barbershop – look out. Thankfully, they stopped right before the quartets hit the stage.

I enter the performance hall, looking around for my dad, when I hear a familiar riff whistled. My dad always used the same 5-note riff to whistle for my sister and I whenever it was time to come home. He can whistle pretty loud, so we could be called from blocks away. Funny – I'm 33 years old, and after all this time I still reflexively turn my head like a puppy when I hear that riff. We found each other in milliseconds and I join him to watch the show.

There were several quartets we should have beaten and several more that rightfully trounced the hell out of us. C'est la vie. It was a great show and I had a lot of fun whispering critiques back and fourth with my dad. We only get to see each other maybe once a year, and it was great to have him all to myself and bond with him in the medium we have most in common. We trade stories and barbershop related anecdotes – mine from the new school and his from the "old days". Once the scores are announced, rather than plan on driving the 2 ½ hours out and then back again to Detroit to see the rest of the family, he decided to head back to the hotel in Paw-Paw and call it a weekend. I record a quick video message from him for the kids on my camera, exchange big hugs, and we say our goodbyes. I am so grateful to have been able to do this with my dad there. Not only for support for my contests, but just to hang out and talk, and bond a bit. You're never too old to bond with your dad.

The quartet gathers in my room and Beamer has notes on some shtick and lyric changes to "Whiffenpoof" to poke a bit of fun at ourselves and our chorus's somewhat disappointing placement. Great, funny stuff, too! It was well received by our chapter, especially, as well as the couple other rooms we did the song at. We started at our own Detroit-Oakland chapter's room, and as is becoming tradition with me dragging my ukulele everywhere I go, they demanded a song on the uke before I left. I started into Rawhide, assuming I was starting a sing along. After the first verse, everyone seemed to forget the lyrics, so it died rather quickly from there.

We did the tour, hitting most of the chapter hospitality rooms before the "big" quartets were done with their evals and assessments. We heard some great quartets, got lots of free food and bottled water, but I held off on the beer until after we were nearly done singing. The last room we hit had one of my favorite quartets, Party of 4, waiting in the wings for us to finish. I love these guys. They're all around my age, former district champs, and have a fantastic sound, blend, and rapport with the audience, and are just great guys. Plus, they're one of the quartets to hang in the lobby until the wee hours, singing songs and tags with anyone with the stamina to stay up that late.

They sat and listened to us do our couple of songs, and being the last room of the night for us, I really wanted to do my arrangement of "Rainbow Connection". My voice was nearing the end for a good sound in a quartet environment, but I really wanted these guys to hear it. Beamer introduces the song as my arrangement (which I'm always reluctant to do – I do have a smidgeon of humility, on occasion), and we do a good job of it.

After we were done and bid goodnight to each other, I went to the lobby where Wally, Party of 4's bass, catches up with me and compliments me on the arrangement. He then asks me how much I'd want for it!

"YOU want to do MY arrangement?!"

Being the first time I have EVER been asked for an arrangement, I was a bit dumbfounded. I give him the heads up that I don't have copyright on it, so they perform it at their own risk. After giving the stipulation that they always mention my name when they perform it and never do it when they're sharing a venue with my quartet, I suggest a kind of "beer royalty". They should just buy me beer whenever they see me.

As if that weren't compliment enough, he asks me if I do much arranging because he has a few songs he'd like me to arrange for them.

ME?! Arrange for a district champ quartet?! Holy Pukin' Pitch Pipes, Batman!

Whether it happens or not, I'm on cloud nine from the compliment for the rest of the night (hell, I STILL am). I wander the lobby for the next 2 hours singing tags and songs, with the occasional foray to the hospitality rooms to snag a beer. After the events of this weekend and a few beers, I didn't even care that Mike, the bass from Moxxy and fixture of the late-night tagging, had us doing the "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" tag a bazillion times. I was just reveling in the high from the whole convention experience.

After about an hour's worth of attempts to hit the elevators and go to bed, each time being thwarted by another tag or song I wanted to sing, I finally hit the room about 3:30am. I write a quick blog and collapse on the bed with a huge smile on my face.

I'll say it again, "Best…convention…ever!!"

Coming up next: Fall Barbershop Convention, Part III: Sunday - the Wrap-up…

Fall Barbershop Convention, Part I: Friday…

What a weekend!! Full of excitement, surprises, and a minor, semi-disappointment or two. As usual, my blog of the weekend will be a few entries as I recall the details day-by-day. If you get bored with it and don't want to read the whole damned saga, no worries. These recounts of my barbershopping escapades are generally for my own edification and posterity anyway...

Having blogged about barbershop conventions several times so far, I'll spare you the explanations of the terminology and practices I've covered before. If you need some explanation, check my blogs from previous Octobers & Aprils.

Here we go…

Friday is always a busy day getting packed and gathered: making sure I have all of my costume pieces, stage makeup, toiletries, etc. This year was a bit different, though, as I was planning on getting there extra early because my quartet was competing for the first time. Usually I arrive late Friday night, just after the quartet prelims are finishing up, so I can be ready for my chorus's performance in the morning.

My sister Valerie and wife Sonya were making vests for my quartet to wear on stage and they took it down to the wire. Valerie, being the go-to gal all of her friends call on when they need costumes and dresses, was kind of bogged down with obligations to a laundry list of friends. Sonya, meanwhile, was trying to get the kids' costumes assembled while trying to make time to get her own elaborate costume together. I dropped Liam at school and went to Valerie's house to put the buttons on the other guys' vests – a mundane, yet important detail she didn't have time to get to. She set up her machine so I could do it fairly quickly and easily…once I figured the damned gizmo-laden thing out, that is.

After finishing those, I went home to find Sonya finishing up my vest and the bow ties. I run to JoAnne's Fabrics for the last couple sundries and Sonya finishes the final touches. They all looked fabulous. Now I just had to pray they'd fit, as we didn't have time for a proper fitting for the guys. The pattern only went up to XL and 3 of us are somewhat beyond that (to say the least), so Valerie used her expertise to guestimate the sizes when cutting the fabric, based solely on my vague descriptions.

I gather the last of my things and pile them into the car to head to my bass's house, only about ½ hour later than planned. Sonya bid me an unusually friendly farewell as I got behind the wheel. It's often a bit of a chore to get out for convention, involving justified grumbling and eventual grudging complacency from Sonya as I desert her and the kids for the weekend. Not so this time, and I was a bit suspicious. I later found out why (don't worry, it was a good thing).

I hop in the car and head to Big Dave's house in Livonia to carpool with him to the convention in Kalamazoo. I get there and find he's tied up on hold on the phone with some bureaucratic mess he had to straighten out. He gets things settled (sorta) and we hit the road in his comfy minivan, with me behind the wheel.

We made remarkable time and check in at the K-zoo Raddison. After checking in and unloading our stuff in our room, I head to the registration desk and peruse the "Barbershop Shop", selling things like music ties, Society ware, pitch pipes and such. My voice is worrying me a bit, so I grab a bottle of voice spray for my cough-worn throat. We then all head to the lobby to meet up with the rest of the quartet for an early dinner before getting suited up and ready for the contest. As the Daves and I wait for Lou, our lead, to get settled in, I glance across the lobby and see someone who remarkably resembles my dad. My first thought dismisses the resemblance, but as I looked closer, I couldn't believe my eyes – my dad had driven clear from KANSAS to see me compete in my first quartet contest! I shout across the lobby and run and give him a HUGE hug! He was hoping to surprise me after the contest, but got the reaction he was hoping for, nonetheless. Sonya had apparently been aware of this planed trip for 3 weekd and managed to keep it a secret. She has, by far, a stronger wil than I.

We all head out to find a place to eat - my quartet, one wife, one girlfriend, and my dad. After a wonderful meal and a drink or two at a (slightly overpriced) British pub & grille, we head to our rooms to get the stage makeup, tuxes, new vests (which fit perfectly) and our signature Hi-top Chucks (each in matching color to our vests). We get to the warm-up room a bit early, put on the bow ties and sing a couple of tunes to warm up. My dad is standing in the corner listening to us critique ourselves and beaming with pride. Meanwhile, I'm squirting that voice spray like it was crack in hopes my voice would hold out through the contest.

After a bit of confusion about where we were supposed to be and when, we hit the contest stage. Lou's voice showed signs of nerves, forcing his tone a bit, but projecting well. Mine held out well enough, but lacked my usual power and sparkle. But hey, I was just grateful I was able to get the notes out at all! Dave Beamer rang his bari part with his usual admirable precision. Dave "Big Dave" Conrad went a tad sharp a time or two and could have used a bit more volume at times, but was nonetheless, spectacular.

We placed 12 out of 17 overall and 10^th of the district competition quartets of 14. Not a bad place for first-time quartet. Once we got the score sheets, we found that we just missed making the finals show as mic testers by a mere 13 points (or 1.1 points for those of you used to a 1-100 point scale). Regardless, we made a good impression and got a lot of great compliments from friends and strangers alike. It helped that we were easily identifiable by out bright colored shoes.

From there we went to judging evaluations ('critique' for you band/drum corps geeks out there). We got 45 minutes of some GREAT advice and coaching from some very knowledgeable people in the activity, and have some good ideas for boosting our score the next time we compete.

I grab the DVD of our performance, reconnect with my quartet, and we go to our evaluation & assessment sessions for some advice from the judges. Beamer's wife comes along and takes some notes as we get some great coaching. The first comment out of EVERY judge's mouth as we enter their hotel rooms is, "LOVE the shoes!" I get a bit of a smile out of that, as the coodinating colored Hi-top Chucks were my idea. The only critique about the shoes we received was that it sets up a comedic air and we really didn't do much comedy. We planned to, but didn't have time to rehearse it. Oh well, noted for next contest.

After that, we head to my room to debrief. We watch the DVD of our performance, cringing every once in a while at a chord or two, becoming our own worst critics. Given what I heard, I was beginning to be a bit surprised we placed as well as we did. Not BAD, but not our best - every minor flub festering in my mind like a splinter. Beamer's wife runs down her notes from the judges and we discuss them as a quartet. She's a helluva quartet secretary, and got almost every word every judge said!

After that Lou and I hit the hotel bar with Ian (a buddy from the Mt. Pleasant Mountaintown Chorus). We had a beer and a bite before calling it a day. We had a LONG day ahead, between chorus contest, quartet finals (as spectators, unfortunately), and the highlight of the evening, the afterglow and hospitality rooms!

My quartet met our goals: we went out there, didn't suck, and didn't come in last.
YAY US!!!

Coming up next: Fall Barbershop Convention, Part II: Saturday - the FUN part…

Barbershop Convention - Drunken Blog...

Okay, my first drunken blog, so it's likely to be repleat with typos, profanity and poor grammar. Forgive me.

It's 3:20 am and I'm just now getting to bed from a LONG weekend barbershoping at the pioneer district convention. I'll expound on this later with more details, but for a quick recap (in bullet form)...

* Quartet just missed making "Mic Testers" on the night show by 13 points (1.1%) - a very narrow margin easily overcome by a few minor adherences to things we already knew. Shit - but oh well. Not bad for a first time out.

* Chorus place 5th - worst in the entire time I've been with them. We didn't do worse, the rest of the choruses got better. Shit. No addendums.

* hitting the hospitality rooms is fun as hell. They loved my arrangement and our singing.

* the absolute best part is singing tags in the lobby till 3:15am. Moxxy and Party of 4 are da shizzle.

* free beer and food is the 2nd best part of the weekend.

* Paula - you made the weekend the absolute BEST convention I have ever been too! Thank you! It was great to know I had family there to support me in my first quartet contest!

Details, photos, and video later.

Best...convention...ever.

Penultimate honors…

One of the many blogs I peruse had a topic of "10 things to do before I die". I figured this was a great topic, but as I started to think about it, one of the items on my list got me stuck, contemplative, and irritated.

I have always wanted to be a champion at something or part of a championship group; a personal or collective effort to be the best at any given talent, task, or genre. I have always been considered or become involved in groups that are considered good – even very good – but as of yet, every competitive endeavor I have undertaken has fallen just shy of being the "best" by whatever powers that be are making the decisions.

I'm very competitive. Not fiercely or unhealthily so, but I thrive on the motivation competition inspires in myself and others. Being pitted with and against one's peers toward achievement of a goal is by far the best way to get one of one's ass. Of course the rules of good sportsmanship and proper perspective apply, but competition is a fantastic motivator.

All through high school, I was 2^nd chair trombonist in the band. Even when I tied the first chair at auditions, the director chose not to upset the status quo. Second fiddle (trombone) became my standard. I did manage the lead in my high school musical my senior year, but that was largely due to my already knowing "The Music Man" backwards and forwards and 3 years of some serious brown-nosing of the director.

My high school marching band came in 3^rd place at state finals my senior year. Better than we had placed in about a decade, as I understand, and MUCH better than any of us had expected, thanks largely to an unexpected stand-still prelims competition due to weather. It was a thrill to make it to finals at all, and was recognition of the musical talent in our group and progress we had made, but not first place.

My drum corps, the year I joined, came in 2^nd at Drum Corps International finals in Division II. We lost by one tenth of a point out of a possible 100 – the smallest increment one could lose by, at the time. The kicker there was that we lost in field percussion to a corps that didn't even march a drumline – only pit percussion. Yes, you're going to have a cleaner sound when you have ONE person playing snare, but c'mon! In '92 we did manage to take the Drum Corps Midwest Championship, but faltered a bit by International. Minor gratification, but still no medal or championship ring. The patch on my jacket was nice, though.

My barbershop chorus has placed 2^nd at every district representative contest I have participated in with them (except the last one where we took 3^rd), usually losing to the Macomb chorus by a slim, yet significant, margin. My chorus has won the district championship a time or two when eligible, but that was only when Macomb wasn't eligible to compete (a chorus can only win once every 3 years).

Granted, being the international representatives for the Pioneer District is rather like being the valedictorian of the "special class", as our district is looked on as the red-headed step-child of the Barbershop Harmony Society these days. Aside from the Vagabonds, Center Stage, and Power Play quartets, we haven't turned out a champion anything in decades. Even our district rep chorus has consistently placed in the mid 20's in international competition. We have never made it to international, and our prospects aren't good this year, either. Still, it would be nice to go.

Even when I'm not performing with a group, they do well, but not excellent. The marching bands and drum corps I have worked with always come up shy of a first place. All of the groups I have worked with improve from their previous years in whatever capacity I am assisting, improving their scores above what they have done before. I haven't joined up with any groups that have a history of winning in recent years and it's gratifying to watch them improve and gain momentum, but they never manage to go "all the way" while I'm there.

I've taken a little selfish solace in the fact that the band that cut me from the staff this year for "budgetary reasons" has fallen to dead last in the rankings this year. I feel horrible for the kids – especially the seniors – but (perhaps unrealistically) feel I had something to do with their previous success, moderate though it may have been. A circumstantial fact I hope isn't lost on the director when compiling the staff for next year.

I appreciate the moderate respect I get from being "good" at whatever it is I try to do. The sincere compliments and thanks I get from spectators, band parents, what-have-you do not go unnoticed or unacknowledged. Still, it would be nice to be considered more than just "very competent" or "quite good" at SOMETHING once in a while. To be considered "the best" or "top notch" at something would not only be boost to my self-esteem, it might get me a bit more work in areas like teaching, coaching, performing, etc.

No matter how good you are at something, there will always be someone better. That's a simple fact, and I understand it. Still, it'd be nice to have someone call me that or refer to me as such to others once in a while.

It's not something I dwell on, but it creeps into my head now and again. I don't apply this to my quartet's upcoming contest, as I don't expect much by way of placement, anyway.

Maybe I'm just being a self-centered egomaniac

The Great Outdoors (Part II)…

Last weekend was another Cub Scout Campout for Liam. We made a deal that if he could behave for the month between campouts, he could go, and his behavior was absolutely exemplary. The week before the campout he didn't have a single instance of impropriety. No talking out of turn, homework done every day, no arguing with the teacher – nothing. For those of you that know Liam – or ANY precocious 7-year-old boy – you know that that's a helluva feat! I'm immensely proud of his behavior, both at school and at home lately, and was more than happy to pack up the gas-guzzler to head up to D-BAR-A Scout Ranch again with him.

We drove up about 7ish in the evening on Friday after packing some food, tent, clothes, etc., and arrived to the pitch-black campsite about 8pm. Given the rainy, cold weather that evening, I was a bit surprised to see so many hardy souls willing to brave the elements for the rather uneventful first evening. There were no real events planned, just setting up tents and hanging by the campfire, but it was nonetheless well-attended and a lot of fun.

After setting up the tent Sonya bought off a neighbor (with a little help from one of the other dads – again, it was pitch black and what the hell do I know from tents?!), we all gathered around the campfire and chatted while the kids played in the darkness. I strummed a few tunes on the ol' ukulele, and eventually, the kids started telling ghost stories. Most were tales along a similar vein, involving campers one-by-one investigating a suspicious noise and being taken out in gruesome fashion by what turned out to be a vampire, monster, or other such ghoul. The stories got more and more absurd as the body count rose and the monsters gained more ridiculous powers and hideous features, to the point where each new detail drew giggles of delight from their over-the-top nature.

I decided to regale them with the tale of the Jersey Devil that so scarred me back when I first went to a campout (see my previous blog, "The Great Outdoors…"). I stared out matter-of-factly enough, improvising a bit, then took the tone real low so they were hanging on my every word. When I got to the tension-riddled climax of the story, I shouted out "BOO!" and made them all jump about 2 feet off their seats. Mission accomplished. They laughed, I smiled. No therapy bills will ensue from the story, I'm sure.

From there, I told the old campfire story my dad used to drive me nuts with:

"It was a dark and story night. Three men were sitting by a campfire. One of the men said, 'George, tell us a story,' so George began… 'It was a dark and stormy night…'" Repeat ad nauseum. Took about 4 repetitions before the groans began.

Round about 10:30, the kids started heading to bed. Sleeping was a bit trickier. GETTING to sleep wasn't so hard, but it was a bit chillier than I had anticipated, being out in the boonies. I had planned on my sleeping bag being my mattress and using blankets for warmth, as I didn't want to bother with an air mattress. It got so cold, however, I had to climb inside it and lose half my cushion. My hips were rather sore the next morning.

The next morning before breakfast the kids explored now illuminated grounds while the dads made quick friends with the only guy who brought a coffee pot. Once the clouds parted a bit, the spectacular glory of Fall in Michigan was revealed and the forest came alive with color. I went nuts snapping pics that can be seen on my Flickr page, here: Paul's Flickr Page

From there, the rest of the day is best relayed by means of the video compilation I made and YouTubed (2 parts, as it was a bit over the 10 minute YouTube limit). Comprised of pictures and video of the weekend to the point where I left for work and Sonya took over my duties, it's a work in progress, but gives a good impression of the day. I'll flesh it out a bit more once I get some pics from the other parents.

I had a ton of fun, and once again, I can't wait to go camping with my boy.

God, who'd have thought I'D enjoy something as cliché and macho as camping with my son? What's next? Tossing the ol' pigskin around the yard?

I WON'T HAVE IT! MY SON WILL BE A BAND GEEK, NOT A JOCK, DAMNIT!

Saying goodbye…

I suck at goodbyes. I'm great at cheerful "see ya later"s, or even the occasional "catch ya on da flip". Goodbye – when I know it's forever – I just can't do.

I'm a pathetic sap. I'm not even 5 sentences into this damned blog and my eyes are tearing up already.

The decision has been made to stop my friend Jason Bradley's life support and let him pass on. Every test has shown that he has no higher brain function left – just heartbeat and breathing. Our Jason is gone.

I went to the hospital last night to say goodbye. I'm still fighting this damnable cold, so I coated my hands in germicide and put on the paper mask. Just as well. I didn't want anyone to see the look on my face. A couple of his good friends from Florida were there keeping vigil. I still have this glimmer of hope. Miracles do happen. I said something akin to, "I'm not giving up on you, but if you decide this is goodbye, so be it."

The mask didn't cover my eyes, though. It was soaked by the time I left.

After heading home, watching a movie with my kids and getting them to bed, I went in the backyard and Sonya and I started a fire in the fire bowl. I spent the better part of the next 4 hours there sharing a last beer with my friend, pouring a small amount into the fire between sips.

I had been trying to remember exactly when Jason and I had first met, assuming it was something involving my sister and Dondero's choir. Sonya reminded me last night that I had met him a year prior, during the highlight of my high school career, the Spring musical, The Music Man.

I was playing the lead, Harold Hill. The director had recruited several 7^th and 8^th graders to play the part of the boy's band. They would come in from time to time for run-throughs and some rehearsals. For the big finale, all of the kids needed instruments. Having met and talked with Jason a bit, I saw a lot of myself in him. He was a chubby extrovert with a chipper persona and goofy sense of humor. We just clicked, so I chose to sort of take him under my wing. I lent him my personal trombone for the final scene and made a big point of letting him know that he was the only one I trusted with it.

I don't know how I could have forgotten that, but somehow, it makes this loss all the harder for me. Jason was with me for one of my biggest triumphs at that point in my life, and helped make it that way by making me feel important and looked up to. That was Jay: always lifting people up, even when he's not really trying to. It was reflexive for him to make people smile.

Sonya and I talked about him for a while, remembering how he would light up a room. He wouldn't make a big entrance or draw attention to himself. You'd be at a party, surveying the scene, and notice him in a corner talking with some folks and smiling that shit-eatin' grin he'd usually have on his face. Suddenly you think, "Yea, NOW it's a party," and go join in the fun.

Talked with my good friend and designated "inner child" Paulie B. last night after he got home from hanging with some of Jason's family. He helped me put some things in perspective. An interesting switch, as lately that seems to have been my role for him. He and Sonya have been a rock for me through this. They may not know it, since I play my stronger emotions pretty close to the vest, but they've been keeping me pretty grounded.

This is hitting me on a lot of levels. Not just losing Jason, but contemplating the bigger issues of mortality, God, and eternity as well. I haven't been questioning my faith, exactly, but it's helped me to put it into better, more focused perspective.

In closing, there's a song that has been creeping into my head a lot lately. It's from The Muppets Take Manhattan and was used at Jim Henson's funeral. It pretty much sums everything up: sorrow, grief, and hope. Have tissues at the ready.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye, going away
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say
Touching a hand, wondering why
It's time for saying goodbye

Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye

Dont want to leave, but we both know
Sometimes it's better to go
Somehow I know we'll meet again
Not sure quite where, and I dont know just when
You're in my heart, so until then

Wanna smile, wanna cry
Saying goodbye

La la la la la la la la

It's time for saying goodbye...

Saying goodbye

Add to My Profile | More VideosGoodbye, Jason. Time to get this show on the road.