Get Free--Major Lazer

Best track I've heard since Disparate Youth--Santigold. Might as well get that one up here too:


Oh yeah, they're both from Philly as I am. Pretty good music summer, 2012.

Dad, Son, and His First Day of High School

Yesterday, my son went to high school.  While not racked with emotion, the thought train in my head barreled down the tracks all day.  I was at once proud and apprehensive for many things that could themselves be fodder for this space.

The beaming smile, crisp white shirt, and simple dark tie portray his happy pride and robust enthusiasm at the embarking moment.  But I couldn't help worry.  And as mentioned before on this blog, I am home to worry.

But I did not worry about context.  The school may be in downtown Seattle, but I have always wanted my son to believe he's an urban kid.  He's cool with that.  Nor do I worry about the environment.  This school teaches a crisp and coherent code of ethics embraced by every boy who attends.  The students refer to elements of that code as supporting a "brotherhood" amongst the boys there.

That brotherhood is what leads the majority of new students there, athlete or not, to turn out for the football team.  Playing Frosh football gives the boys an opportunity to bond as a class before the school year even begins.  For that matter, between football practices and band practices held the two weeks before school started, this first day almost seemed a mere formality!

No, my apprehension is more basic than that.  This boy has great aspirations for academics and athletics and he's taking quite a load.  He has three honors classes (language arts, algebra 2, and world history).  He opted for Japanese, the most difficult of the foreign language courses offered (IMHO). He's drumming in the band which meets during the dreaded "Zero" Period, an hour before school starts.  He turned out for football and somehow, he's apparently good at it.  And his travel baseball commitments ramp up the weekend after Labor Day.  It's a schedule that would break down even an apex, alpha personality.  Perhaps it's fortunate that this kid's just a happy-go-lucky little pinball, capable of going with the flow, absorbing the blows, and still winning on the judges cards.

Despite the worry, I believe that although this school is known for its competitive sports programs (and thus competitive student body), it's also known for the support shown these boys once admitted.  The few teachers we met so far are well-aware that these kids put themselves to huge demands through their team, music, and other commitments.  And the teachers are reticent to leave anyone behind (apologies for the errant educational reference).

So although I spent every minute yesterday thinking about my boy, tracking his schedule as I traversed mine, I was also very excited for him and only hope that if he needs my help for anything, he will ask. That could be he subject of another column itself since despite my competencies, I have not yet proven to be a patient mentor to him.  But I am so happy to keep trying.  Go Irish!

What Am I Going to Do About My F@cking Left Knee, Part 2

In contrast to the incident in 1983, I suffered the injury to my right knee playing a "C" side match playing for the Seattle Rugby Club in Portland, Oregon in 1997.  While I can still tap the emotional pain I felt sitting on the sideline waiting for an endorphin wash to take away the physical pain, the injury has had no legacy physical effect.  I still curse the cockiness that led me to ask-in for the last match of the day, after already had a magnificent run with the Second XV, and 40 minutes in the First XV match that day.  120 minutes is a lot of rugby.  200 is nuts.  But, I was playing the best rugby of my 30's, and was as fit as I'd been since joining the Seattle club.

So I still regret wanting an extra run that day. The only reason I was playing with the 3rd XV was to gain some extra work for the national club championships in Hartford that Spring. I could easily have done extra training on any of the six other days of the week besides Saturday.

The experience of my first injury and the degradation I suffered from 1983 to 1991 lead me to seek medical care for the right knee immediately.  I was diagnosed and under the knife for right knee ACL autograft within a few months of the injury. It hasn't bothered me since.

Which brings us to the present. Earlier in August, I celebrated my 50th birthday. I was lucky to have the company of friends and plenty to drink. My friends include a couple who are both physicians and a brother-in-law who recently replaced his hip. These three, lubricated by interest in the constant knee pain I suffer (and more than a few really good drinks) formed a critical mass of opinion that stirred me to consider total knee replacement in my left leg.

I've been considering total knee replacement for almost five years now, consulting the same surgeon that repaired my right ACL. Five years ago, having already treated me for over a decade, and therefore knowing me quite well, my surgeon suggested I was not "ready" for knee replacement. The conventional wisdom as recently as five years ago was to identify total joint candidates and put their surgery off until as late in life as possible so as to avoid the need to ever re-treat the replacement. Joint prosthetics were thought to "wear out" over time and needed to last the rest of patients' lives. Furthermore, my doctor looked me straight in the eye and said he knew that if he replaced my knee then, I would look on this new-found, pain-free existence and an opportunity to extend my athletic career.

He was right of course. I was still running as much as the pain allowed, and playing moderately competitive mens league ice hockey. The knee pain, even more than the crappy ice time hours, lead me to leave the game within the year after that first consultation. My doctor said come back and talk to me when you're willing to adjust your lifestyle and here I'd made the first step; giving up hockey which was my first sport and one that I still dream I'm playing. A few months after I stopped playing hockey, I quit running and although I started swimming intensely, I managed to put on a few pounds after that. Despite the added weight, that's when my doctor started taking my questions about total joint replacement seriously.

To be continued.

What Am I Going to Do About My F@cking Left Knee

This blog is young enough for readers to head back to those early posts in which I attempted to qualify my fourth (or was it my fifth?) tentative venture back into fight sports training. I urge you to read those early posts in which I described the events in 1983 which ruined the anterior cruciate ligament in my left knee (and again in my right knee in 1997). In 1983, I was a sophomore in college playing rugby in Ohio.  In 1997, I was a serviceable and aggressive (if undersized) old-boy helping the Seattle Rugby Club qualify for the national club championships in Hartford, Connecticut.

Both times I left my heart, guts, and ACL out on the field. The injuries were physically painful, but the deeper hurt was emotional devastation from the expectation that each injury would profoundly change my life.

In 1983, an ACL tear was the end of the line for most athletes as the graft-repair surgeries that are now commonplace, were far from perfected. Furthermore, the conventional wisdom on recovery and rehabilitation was in the dark ages. So although I went (arthoscopically) under the knife to get the joint cleaned a bit, I resisted a complete reconstruction, accepted conservative treatment, and thereafter proceeded to do extensive damage in the joint while just trying to remain an active 20-something.

Eventually, in 1991, I sought ACL autograft reconstruction in San Diego, and got back into the business of smashing into people for fun. After a year or so of rehabilitation, newfound stability enabled me to surf, swim, run, and play rugby again (finally). Unfortunately, restored stability couldn't make up for the loss of the articular cartilage (so important to joint health) accrued during those eight "unstable" years. 20 years later, I consulted the orthopedic surgeon who fixed my right knee in 1997, and he called me a young but ready candidate for knee replacement.

That injury suffered in 1983 is one of the prominent watershed moments in my life. The injury and issues that resulted have done as much to influence my personality as any other external thing in my life. The results are mixed having given me both a faith in my physical self; that injuries are obstacles that can be overcome through personal intensity, hard work, and in some cases, a surgeon's knife. Unfortunately, I also believe that prolonged periods of limited ability (or disability when I'm really feeling sorry for myself), have contributed to a moodiness that is the bane of my existence. Frankly, I'd be really surprised if researchers haven't studied the connection between injury, disability, and mood.

To be continued.

Getting Old, Cool

First there was this:



From which came this:



To which I respond: I gotta be me...hit or miss...

“At 50, everyone has the face he deserves.”

“At 50, everyone has the face he deserves.”

George Orwell, Extracts From A Manuscript Notebook, from The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters Vol. 4. (1946-50).




George Orwell wrote that line in a letter to Albert Camus in response to Camus' assertion that "...at a certain age, every man is responsible for his own face."  It's a brilliant trifle reflecting the belief that how one lives should be reflected in his face.

This past weekend I celebrated my 50th birthday (exclusive of the original one) with my wife and son, and a small klatch of our friends and family.  I spent the morning of my birthday surfing by myself in excellent conditions on the western coast of Washington State.  Later in the day, we enjoyed grilled rib-eye steaks and spot prawns, with Dungeness Crab mac and cheese, a salad, and too much to drink.  The men toasted me with Maker's Mark and I smoked a Montecristo.  There was no need for dessert, except that Jacob gave me a nice hug and that put me over the moon.

Having spent six really happy days at the beach, I thought I'd capture my face to preserve the memory as our summer will wind down very quickly up here in the next few weeks.  I'm glad I did too, because this photo will continue to force me to ask whether indeed I earned this face.  I believe so.  Perhaps over the next 50 years, I can do a little better while I am at it.