Parenthetically Yours

Favorite Things Friday

It's been a few weeks since the previous FTF and I've come across some great things in that time...but I won't bore you with all the mindless details. Let me, however, let you know about one of my LEAST favorite things these days: Aer Lingus. What is that, you say? Sounds like some airborne fungus doesn't it? Well, it sort of is. Aer Lingus (or Air Fungus to the Brits) is an Ireland-based airline that lost six (SIX!) of our guitars last week while we were in Europe. Not only did they lose them, but they did nothing to find them. Thankfully a kind employee at British Airways did some legwork for us at London Heathrow airport and found them in Aer Lingus' possession with no destination tags anywhere to be found on them. So...a big YAY to British Airways and a big BOO to Aer Lingus.

Now, on to the favorites.

PORTLAND BREW's Ethiopian High Priest Blend - My favorite coffee. Yeah, I know I talk about coffee quite a bit from time to time here. But, this is the mack daddy, the smoothest, the ultimate cup o' joe. Portland Brew is my favorite coffee joint in Nashville (but we desperately need one in Franklin!). In fact, if you look up and to the left at the photo under the ABOUT section of this blog, that picture was taken at PB of one of their more masterful latte creations. They do coffee/espresso right and the Ethiopian High Priest is a blend of African, South American, and Indonesian beans that is smooth as silk, and dark as an African night. It's also their best seller. I'm sipping some at this very moment.

The PALM PRE - Yeah, yeah. I know. The new iPhones are out. I love 'em and I want one. But it just doesn't make sense for me to get one for several reasons. I got the next best thing. And you know what? I LOVE it! The only thing it's lacking compared to the iPhone is Apple's App Store. The Pre only has a few dozen apps available at the moment, but there are hundreds in the pipeline. The Pre is sleek, fast, small, and is incredibly intuitive when it comes to syncing with your calendar, iTunes, mail, etc. Believe it or not, there are a few things it does better than the iPhone. First, it's with Sprint, not AT&T. Second, it has a real keyboard, not a sketchy at best software-based keyboard. Third, it's smaller. Fourth, your $7/month insurance covers it. Fifth, no need for a separate, proprietary phone plan for it. My $94/month (unlimited everything) is all I need. Sixth, you can leave multiple programs open and switch between them...while on a phone call. Plus it has all the other goodies: GPS, WiFi, full web browsing, universal search, cut/paste, multi-touch screen, etc. Phones are NOT just phones anymore.

PROGUITARSHOP.COM - I'm not really expecting many of you to care about this, but whenever I'm looking for a new piece of guitar equipment, this is my first stop. They have a YouTube channel with over 400 video demos of guitars, amps, and effects. The videos are bare-bones simple but do an amazing job showing the products without falling into hyperbole or over-promotion (which is what I'm doing here). If you're looking for gear, begin your search here. Here's one of their videos demonstrating my favorite new pedal, the Electro-Harmonix Micro POG. (that's a birthday hint)

That's all this week. It feels good to be back. Now...y'all come back.

(rw)

Favorite Things Friday - MONO CASE!

I'm not usually one for blatant promotion. Oh, wait. I totally am. That's what Favorite Things Friday is all about. 

From time to time I like to mention a cool piece of gear that I've run across...like this week. For those of you who aren't musicians, don't tune out. I'm sure there's a musician lurking around your family or friends...and don't they have a birthday coming up? 

This week, I'm all about MONO CASE. If any of you have ever travelled with a guitar in a gig bag, then you understand why I get so nervous when I fly. I have literally $1,000s of dollars invested in my guitars so that's reason enough to get skittish. Now, put those expensive guitars in a case that has no hard edges and no bracing to protect the neck. It's not that big of a deal, as long as I have control over my bag. Back in the day, I could check up to three things, but now I have to simplify and carry-on as much as possible. Even then, half the time I have to hand my darlings over to a a burly bag handler who would like nothing more than to set them gently under a 500 lb steamer trunk. It's enough to make me want to take up a cheaper profession. And Kung Fu.

About two months ago, my buddy Barry Graul showed up on tour with his new Mono Case. It looked like something out of Star Trek and I knew instantly I needed one, but one that carried two guitars. He said the company was working on a new double gig bag and it would be out soon. Well...SOON is here!

Gorgeous! 

Even if you're not a musician, you have to appreciate the design. It just looks awesome and say, "I do this for a living." Is that a little smug? Maybe.

The best feature, however, to me is definitely the neck brace. Now, I won't have to be scared to check it. As long as the neck isn't moving around, I can hand the case to the burly baggage beast with confidence.

Like I said earlier, you don't have to be a musician to love the cases. In fact, they have a pretty awesome line of messenger bags/cases if you travel with a laptop, headphones, books, etc. It will definitely make you stand out in the coffee shop or airport. And let's be honest, isn't it kinda cool to be the guy/gal with the coolest looking bag? Is that just me?

Click on MONO CASE to see everything I'm talking about. Tell 'em Randy sent ya.

(rw)

Big Picture from the window seat

It’s easy to get caught up in my own superficial issues and personal drama. I mean, it’s happening to me, right? So how am I not supposed to get caught up in it? I can be like a fish in a net, fighting a losing battle. But the drama isn’t the net. The net is me. I get caught up in me. All it is is self-centeredness. If you put you at the center of everything, then everything becomes about you. Even other’s issues or struggles become about how they’re affecting you. It’s a common problem that we have because we’re human beings.

I’ve always heard that the best way to get over yourself is to serve someone else. Whether it’s a spouse, a friend, a relative, a homeless guy…whatever. Just go do something for someone other than yourself. It really does work, at least for a little while. Definitely worth the time.

Me? I take a flight.

My dad worked for Texas International Airlines (which became Continental Airlines) when I was growing up so I was flying at an early age. I loved the window seat then, and I love the window seat now. Sure, it makes it difficult getting up if I need a restroom break, but the pros outweigh the cons. See, I’m kind of a Big Picture person. Ask Katie about this, who is a details person. I may not remember word for word the conversation, but I have a general idea about what we were talking about. It can be annoying, to say the least. Again, ask Katie about this.  Here’s an example:

Did you hear so-and-so is having a baby?

No way! When did they find out?

Uhm…

Well, do they know what they’re having?

I, uh…

When are they due?

I think they, uh…(I’m still thinking about the first question)

Randy! Did you ask them anything?

They, uh…she’s, um, having a baby…? I think?

So, being a Big Picture person, it always serves me well to take a flight. I remember taking a flight at some point in high school (who knows when or why I was flying? Remember, Big Picture.) and having an epiphany-type moment. As the cars and houses became smaller and smaller immediately after takeoff, I remember having a sudden realization that inside every single car, and inside every single house were actual people dealing with life that day. There was hurt, joy, apathy, success, distress, boredom, genius, secrets, and on and on. This overwhelmed me and it’s all I could think about for hours.

Since then, I can’t get in a plane without thinking about it and it spills over into everyday life when I’m in traffic or standing on a stage looking at hundreds of faces staring back at me. I’m constantly reminded of that Big Picture epiphany I had in that window seat all those years ago. We’re ALL going through it. Fill in the blank. Everybody hurts. Or laughs. It’s overwhelming, but hopefully it makes me a little more understanding. A pinch more compassionate.

Now, don’t get me wrong. More than I’d like to admit, I’m a thoughtless, self-consumed cliché of a jerk. But every so often, the revelation will unfold and remind me that I’m not actually the center of the universe.

(rw)

Crazy Plane

Far be it from me to complain about someone’s kids, because I know that children are fundamentally flawed. Or, to use a clinical term, friggin’ crazy. Equally so, it’s rare that you would ever hear me complaining about someone’s parenting skills because I know that parents are fundamentally exhausted and confused. They’re just trying to find a little logic and reason behind why little Calvin thought that hammering nails into the coffee table was not only a good idea, but that his mommy and daddy would be rejoicing in the hallways at both his artistic achievement and his superior command of his still-developing motor skills.

All that to say, it takes a lot for me to really question a person’s parenting skills.

Monday night I was on a plane with a lady whose skills I questioned. Even as I write these words, I don’t think I can adequately describe what I saw and heard.  

It all started out with a little guy (maybe 2) freaking out because he wanted to sit on his big brother’s lap next to me. That’s normal—little bro wanting to hang with big bro. Well, big bro (maybe 7) kept staring out the window, obviously wishing little bro would just be quiet. This, of course, made it worse for little brother and he started doing something beyond crying. He was out of control wailing. Mom could do nothing to settle him, so instead she took the victim route and started to explain to him why he wasn’t allowed to sit with her brother—the TSA regulations, the airline rules, etc. This was done at such a volume it was obvious she was letting everyone on the airplane know it’s not my fault! I would love to let him sit with his brother, but the airline won’t let him! Sure, these behaviors are manifestations of a total lack of boundaries and discipline in our home, but it’s someone else’s fault! I kind of doubt the little brother understood anything she was saying because the wailing became puking. Yep. He cried so hard that he threw up. Three times. Then the mom started explaining how he does this any time he doesn’t get his way and how he threw up 5 times on their previous flight. She loudly explained that this is just an attention behavior that he does daily. I couldn’t tell if she was a hippie or a child psychologist. Or an alien from the planet MyKidNeedsToBeSpanked. Of course, she was telling this to no one in particular. In a darkly comic turn, the seven year old next to me then began explaining to me all the various things that could happen to make our plane crash and how if part of the propeller came off (we were on a small commuter plane) it could fly inside the plane and kill people. All of this was happening at the same time as the aroma of fresh vomit began filling the tiny fuselage.

This was all before we took off, mind you. 

(rw)

Creative Hibernation

It’s amazing how much I can care about something yet do literally nothing to actually care for it.

I love this blog. It’s a source of pride for me (the good kind) and I truly enjoy it. Then why have I not been able to get my fingers a-movin’ across the keyboard lately? Many theories abound, much like a conspiracy nut internet forum, but I’ve yet to nail down why I haven’t been able to come up with (what I believe to be) an original thought since mid-December. Maybe it’s the recession. Maybe it’s the temperature. Maybe it’s decaf.

Whatever it is, it shut me down. And shut me up. 

It seems to be letting up, though, and I’m feeling the juices beginning to trickle again—like the first unfrozen drops of water from an icicle hanging on the corner of a house that doesn’t get sunlight. Here comes the sun. It’s alright.

I think I’ve been sleeping a little better too. I’ve definitely been sleeping harder (more on that next week) and I’ve been waking up with that unmistakable crush of a heroin hangover. You know what I’m talking about, right? You don’t? Well…I don’t either. But honestly, how can I sleep ten hours, wake up, and not want to do anything else but sleep ten more hours? It had to be the jetlag.

Jetlag? Oh. Did I tell you I went to Hawaii last week? I didn’t? Here’s proof:

It was good, it was fun, it was tornadic. I think the wind blew a constant 40 mph the entire time we were there. Don’t get me wrong: it was amazing, refreshing, all that (and more). But don’t get the whole Randy-in-a-grass-skirt-on-a-surfboard image in your head. The waves were out of control and I usually only wore the grass skirt in my hotel room.

(rw)

Inspiration in row 14

Heroes seem so few and far between. At least that’s what I tend to believe. They’re not unlike comets—a rare event that happens from time to time stirring up a lot of attention then vanishing into air that’s thin and opaque.

I was on a flight recently and an elderly man and his 27 year-old grandson sat next to me. Typically I don’t talk on flights. One could even say I'm anti-social. I like my space and my time. I realize this is selfish, but it is what it is. The first thing the man did was take out a weathered leather day-timer and opened it up to September. He said to his grandson “In September ’01 I had a brain aneurism, in September ’06 I had colon surgery, and this September I took this trip. A lot of things have happened in September.” A few minutes later he leaned over and asked me, “Did you have a grandfather that fought in World War II?” From that statement I knew three things: 1) I liked this guy, 2) I wanted to get to know him, and 3) I could learn a lot from him. I put everything down and got ready to listen and learn.

Ken Shotts was born in 1927 and was part of the US occupation force in Yokohama, Japan when he was 18.  Are you kidding me? I was desperately trying to learn Winger songs when I was 18. He was keeping a watchful eye on the Imperial Army with a machine gun in his hand.

He and his grandson were returning from a trip to Washington D.C. where he was able to see the WWII memorial and was greeted by Sen. Bob Dole upon arriving. He told me great stories of people he met while stationed in Japan and how he went back there in 1963 for an evangelical crusade and visited some of the friends he had made in the 40s. Like me, he is a musician and was in a band while in the army playing standup bass. He's still active musically and has been leading singing at a retirement home for 36 years near his home outside Dallas. He told me that he’s used the same hymnal for all 36 years and has written down every song he’s sung and every person he’s met over all this time.

He told a great story about when he was working for Toshiba USA and was asked by one of the visiting Japanese managers to translate his message to a gathering of the US sales force. Knowing very little Japanese, he obliged and sat patiently as the foreign manager spoke briefly. When he finished, he nodded to Ken that he could translate. Ken had no idea what the man had said so he decided to make up his own speech on the spot. It was encouraging and uplifting to the gathered salesmen and everyone applauded as Ken sat down. Ken knew one of the visitors from Japan and asked him what the manager had actually said. Jibberish, he said. They had tried to pull one over on Ken, but he unknowingly turned the tables on them. My kind of guy!

There has been a slight curtain drawn over me since turning 40. I’ve had this gnawing sensation that the good half of my life is over and now I’m entering into the bad half. I know, that's an incredibly pessimistic (and not typical for me) attitude. Thank you Ken Shotts for showing me that life is not a series of halves or even quarters. There’s a flow and a stream to living and it's to be lived every day. You collect experiences along the way that hopefully decorate the journey.  They aren't there to stop the journey and set up camp. They are there for you to look at as you pass by, like strolling through an art gallery. There's beauty, sadness, truth, ugliness, craziness, warmth, light, and shadow. But you keep going, always reminding yourself that there is something new around the corner in the other room that will be worth retelling. Ken is 81, and is a gentleman whose mind is sharp as a scalpel and is still collecting stories to tell. 

I'm beginning to collect some stories myself.

(rw)