Remembering Frank McCourt

I am saddened today by the news that author Frank McCourt passed away. I read his first Memoir, Angela's Ashes, not long after it came out and it immediately became my favorite book. It was one of those rare reads that reaches you so deeply that you feel like you have grown as a person. The kind you finish in a day or two and immediately begin to buy copies for everyone you know. I am sure that some of you reading this blog have read the book upon my recommendation, or perhaps on your own accord. At any rate, I hope it reaches you the same way it has reached me.

I know some people did not enjoy the book as much as I because they found it depressing. The situation is most certainly heartbreaking - being raised in Ireland in such poverty, siblings starving and even dying in the bed next to him. What I found so inspirational about the memoir was Mr. McCourt's ability to shed light to his story by bringing humor through his innocent perspective as a child who knew no other life. There is nothing in my lifetime that could ever compare to what he endured in his childhood. If he can keep that in perspective and share his experience in such a moving memoir, I have no excuses to let anything hold me back. That is the inspiration his words bring to me. He was a wonderful storyteller and through it all he kept his sense of humor. Or perhaps that is how he developed one.

In 2006, Frank McCourt came to Iowa City through the University of Iowa Lecture Series. I attended his lecture about his years teaching and he was an inspiration as always. Afterward, some friends and I went to a local bar and before I had finished my first drink, I saw Frank McCourt walk in the door. Of course, I did what anyone does when they run into someone they idolize, I told everyone who would listen, "That's Frank McCourt! You guys, Frank McCourt is here! Oh my God I don't know what to do, Frank McCourt is sitting across the room from me." Then I remembered to breathe.

Normally I hate being in these situations because I do not want to invade anyone's privacy. As much as I want to let someone know how much I appreciate them and how much of a fan I am, I do not want to interrupt anyone's free time to gush incoherently about how great they are. I think fame would be a curse. I can't imagine not being able to go about my normal life without being interrupted and having to act interested in what people have to say when really you just want to eat a sandwich. That would be difficult, but I really did want to meet him.

Luckily, icebreakers are much easier when the person is Irish. How do you let an Irishman know you appreciate him? You buy him a drink! I asked the waitress to bring is next drink on me. When she brought it over she pointed me out and we did a "cheers" across the bar. I'm sure I blushed from head to toe, but I was honored to buy the man a drink.

Later (after his meal) when I was getting up, Mr. McCourt waved me over to his table. He was sitting with a couple of people on the UI Lecture Committee and a young man who worked for his publisher and was traveling with him. I sat down and talked to them a bit and Frank McCourt was every bit as charming as I expected he would be. He ended up leaving shortly after but the rest of us stayed and had a few more drinks together.

I exchanged emails with the guy who worked for the publisher but it has been a long time. When I heard the news today, I found the email address and explained that I had met them in Iowa City. I expressed my condolences and asked that he let Mr. McCourt's family and loved ones know how much he was appreciated by so many of us. Frank McCourt truly was a national treasure.

I was not sure if I would get a response or if the email address was still current. To my surprise, he responded right away and told me he remembered the night. After a few email exchanges back and forth, he confessed what Frank McCourt whispered after he waved me over to the table. The following is from his email...

But I distinctly remember when the waitress came by and said that there was a lady that wanted to buy him a drink. And his response was, "Tell her I accept." When the waitress came back with the drink he suggested we invite you to come by the table. As you were approaching - he could see you, and I couldn't... he said you were my type.

I'll never forget him saying that he thought you were my type, and that since he was happily married, he'd happily be my 75 year old Irish, bestselling author and Pulitzer Prize winning wingman! And whatever happened in Iowa City, stayed in Iowa City.

This morning I was sad when I heard of his death, and today I have had a good laugh to know that when I met this man I have so much respect for, he was acting like a frat boy. (How many senior citizens know what a wingman is?!?!) The man truly was someone who comes along only once in a lifetime. There will never be another Frank McCourt, and I know at least one person who will have a hell of a time finding another 75 year old Irish, bestselling author and Pulitzer Prize winning wingman.

May he rest in peace. He's always been an inspiration to me, but I could not adore Frank McCourt any more than I do at this very moment.

The Reluctant Barber

The way I feel about going to get a haircut is the way most people feel about going to the dentist. I know I have to do it on a regular basis but there's always some level of pain involved. My hair is naturally thick and curly and no one knows how to deal with it, including me. So once or twice a year - when it's too long and I can't take it anymore - I go in and someone new tells me what would look great on me. Then they proceed to tell me unconvincingly why this is going to be the perfect haircut. I have gone to expensive salons and spent a small fortune and I've gone to cosmetology schools and spent $7.00. Doesn't matter where I go, I always end up with shorter hair that is no more manageable. I've had some really really bad haircuts (perhaps some of you remember them as well.) But I've never walked out of a salon and said, "Awesome! I love my hair!" It's generally not bad, not great, but much better than the mop I walked in with.

The time has come once again when I couldn't deal with the length anymore so I walked into Supercuts to get it taken care of tonight. It's my natural inclination to turn around and run away from a haircut, but it wasn't until after I was settled in the chair that I realized... there were some logical indicators that would lead a person to turn around. The first of which being the fact that everyone in there was bald. Two guys - one with male pattern baldness, the other had a shaved head - were sitting waiting, my barber had a shaved head, and another barber was giving a kid a mohawk. A guy in sunglasses came out from the back room and asked me, "You ready?" and invited me into the chair. I was curious why the guys were waiting while I got right in, and apparently that kept me too preoccupied to question why the guy about to cut my hair was wearing sunglasses. I'm not talking about fashionable lenses or the tinted kind that change in different lighting. I'm talking dark - block out all the light - Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder sunglasses. I decided he wasn't blind b/c he saw me standing there. But it was a little suspicious that even in his license photo he was wearing sunglasses. There were a few times he looked real close at my hair before he cut it; maybe squinted a little bit. But what the hell, even a blind person couldn't cut my hair worse than some in the past. The months when everyone called me Lyle Lovett were very difficult. But it always grows back.

When I was sitting in the chair, he looked over it closely - and I mean that literally. He said, "Now you just want this trimmed, right?" I said, no I'm tired of it. Do whatever you want with it. He said, "I don't want to cut it. I'll trim it but I don't want to cut it. You have great hair." I wasn't that cool with a trim and he wasn't that cool with cutting it short so we proceeded to negotiate for about five minutes. "No, if you leave it long you can do this... and this... and do you know how much money people pay for hair like this? And you want to cut it off?" He wanted to cut a half inch, I wanted several inches so we compromised and now it's a little longer than shoulder length. Is this normal? I kinda' don't think it is but I have never had normal hair and nothing feels normal about a haircut anyway. I hate haircuts.

So, Blair (that's what his business card says - no first or last name, just Blair) told me exactly how he would give me the perfect haircut. I have to give the guy credit, he took a lot of time to work with my hair. He seemed to really enjoy his job. It was great to watch him work because he conducted himself like he was creating a work of art. He was very careful and was adamant that I had to keep my hair long. He showed me many different things I could do with it. "Don't ever pull it back like this. If you're gonna pull it back, do it up like this instead. See the difference?" The whole time he was cutting it he was making comments like, "You are going to like this. You're going to be dangerous! People will be coming back here and saying, 'Blair, I want you to make me look like her' and you're gonna have to tell them, 'no you can't look as good as me.'" This went on for quite some time with various colorful expressions of how awesome my hair was going to be and when I come back for another haircut I'll either have twenty boyfriends or an engagement ring. Maybe both. Who knows what sort of trouble this haircut will get me into in the imagination of Blair the Barber and his magic scissors.

In the end, I think it was a pretty decent haircut but I never really know until the next day. He put a lot of time and effort and I am comforted by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself. I don't think he was blind, but I can't help but wonder about the glasses. I believe he may have had some sort of visual impairment. He definitely was hilarious. All in all, I paid about $30 to have a decent haircut and listen to a man compliment me and tell me about how hot I'm going to look. You just can't pay enough for that kind of service.

I'm Drenched. Life is Good!

I took the Metro home tonight and when I got to the top of the escalator, I ran into a crowd of people standing around. Some of them were reading a newspaper or looking around nervously, but most of them were just... standing. They were waiting for the rain to stop.

It was raining pretty heavily, but it's warm outside and 8:00 at night. It's not like these were people on their way to a business meeting or anything. Cleveland Park is not known for its Tuesday nightlife, it is very probable that wherever these people were headed they would be in for the night. I'm making assumptions, but no kidding - there were like 15 people just standing there waiting for the rain to stop so they can go on with their lives. Fifteen umbrellaless soles gathered under the shelter of the Metro entrance - reading a newspaper, checking their watch, all contemplating a big decision. It's raining. What to do?

I can understand not wanting to get rained upon. When my naturally curly hair gets wet I look like Lamont from Sanford & Son. I'm sure this unusually large crowd of people had their own reasons for not wanting to go out in the rain. But to just stand there and wait until it lets up? There was no lightning, no thunder, no wind or severe weather indications. Just heavy drops of rain. I'm really really perplexed at the number of people standing there putting their lives on hold because of rain.

While the huddled masses waited around, I looked up to the sky and challenged the rain to do its worst. I splashed through puddles and let the cool rain drench my entire body and it felt good to be reminded me why I refuse to grow up. At what point in life do people give up the fascination and excitement over the little things? When you're a kid, the only reason you can't go play in the rain is because your parents won't let you. I'm not suggesting adults should go back to splashing mud puddles and having snowball fights every day. It certainly wasn't on my schedule tonight to splash through the rain and walk drenched into my cold, air-conditioned apartment but when life hands you lemons, play in the rain!

I'm baffled by the number of people held at bay by the rain. Grown-ups are boring. The world would be a better place if everyone took the time to play in the rain again. Rake the leaves up into a pile in the yard and them jump in! Take off your shoes and run through the grass until your toenails turn green! Remember what it's like to be a kid! So what if you have to wash your own clothes and wipe your own nose now? Just because you have a mortgage and a career doesn't mean you can't appreciate the little things in life.

Don't Stop Til you Get Enough

I started off my morning today as I do most - hitting the snooze button repeatedly with the TV blaring. Unlike most days, the channel was tuned to music videos rather than morning news. I woke up today to the now-ubiquitous sounds of Michael Jackson's greatest hits. This morning, MTV2 ran several hours of Michael Jackson videos, beginning with the Jackson Five performing ABC on American Bandstand in the seventies. Two things struck me immediately as I watched this performance. First, it's remarkable to see Dick Clark - whose appearance showed few signs of aging for thirty years - standing next to Michael Jackson - who became unrecognizable as the young vocalist standing next to the Bandstand host. By all indications, Jackson may have become a different species while Clark appeared to be sleeping in a cryogenic chamber. It's entirely possible that there may have been a supernatural force at work. Something like The Picture of Dorian Gray, but with Dick Clark putting a curse on the pre-pubescent Michael Jackson and stealing his soul to secure his own eternal youth. It may sound outlandish, but the visual evidence supports this possibility.

Other than considering Dick Clark's gypsy curse to seal Michael Jackson's destiny and ward off crows feet for a few years, the other striking element in watching this tribute was the same fascination I have had since Jackson's death. It has been so long since I have associated the name Michael Jackson with his music. Sadly, as much time as I spent listening to the King of Pop as a kid and trying to imitate his dance moves, his talent has been completely eclipsed by his bizarre behavior, lifestyle and appearance. With the shocking news of his passing, I have heard very little from media sources about anything other than rave reviews of his immense talent. In recent years, descriptions of "Wacko Jacko" have included words like "pedophile," "freak," "Criminal," and "rapist." After his death, they have been replaced with the descriptives "genius," "innovator," and "Ground-breaking talent." No one has mentioned Bubbles the Chimp or the Elephant Man's bones lately, but all news sources instead highlight the sequined glove as they count of the number of gold records and Grammys Jackson earned.

Whether speaking of his talent or his outlandish behavior, there is plenty to elaborate on either argument. The man had an abundance of both.

Perhaps this will sound terrible, but I can't help but wonder what would have happened had Michael Jackson died ten years ago. There is something profane about this love-fest the country is having after the death of Michael Jackson. Clearly, the guy has always had issues but the train wreck that is Michael Jackson has reached a whole new level in recent years. I understand that the Jackson family had a closet full of skeletons but coming of age as a celebrity in the 70s and 80s is nothing compared to today's reality-TV obsessed culture. America loves crazy people and the media loves to exploit celebrities. I make no assumptions about the accusations against MJ. I don't know if he's a child molester or not, but all molestation charges aside, the guy had issues. I can't imagine why anyone would leave their child unsupervised with this guy even before his name became a punchline for jokes about little boys.

If the current media coverage is any indication, Michael Jackson's legacy as a talented musician will supersede his reputation as a child molester and general all-around weirdo. His music and his talent have been praised non-stop since the news of his death and his albums are selling quicker than they can stock the shelves. As fascinating as this person is - in his abundance of talent as well as his disturbing behavior, the thing that disturbs me the most is the media. I suppose it's too easy to simply blame the media, the problem is more deeply embedded within our popular culture. I should not be surprised by the praise and adoration being heaped on someone who is more commonly recognized for his bizarre and allegedly criminal behavior and personal life. It's what we do in this country. At some point in the last 15 to 20 years, watching mental illness and instability under the microscope of celebrity media and paparazzi has become a form of entertainment. Americans can't seem to get enough of watching celebrities whose lives are more screwed up as our own. At the same time, we're not total heathens. We know better than to speak ill of the dead. That's rude.

I should be so much more excited about the Stanley Cup

Tonight is game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals and the end of NHL hockey until the fall. I love hockey, but trying to choose between the Detroit Red Wings and the Pittsburgh Penguins is like trying to decide if I'd rather be poked in the eye with a sharp stick or poked in the eye with a fork. Either way is painful and makes me cringe.

I haven't written about hockey since the Capitals were eliminated from the playoffs. After the Caps were out, that left Detroit against the Chicago Blackhawks and Pittsburgh against the Carolina Hurricanes. The only outcome I would have celebrated in the conference finals would have been if Chicago beat the Wings and then beat the Penguins. Knowing that would never happen, hockey became a lot less interesting after the Caps and Bruins were out of the Eastern conference finals.

So that leads me to decide who to cheer for tonight. It has always been my policy to cheer for whoever plays against the Red Wings, but I can't bring myself to cheer for Team Crosby. Penguins? Red Wings? Fork? Sharp stick? Life is full of tough choices. This year I am pulling for Detroit. I never thought the day would come that I would cheer for the Red Wings, but I am doing it for political reasons. Detroit is in bad shape. The entire state of Michigan has suffered from the downturn of the auto industry and unemployment levels are far above the rest of the country. Foreclosure rates are on the rise and the people of Detroit need a reason to celebrate in the streets tonight.

I hope I never have to say this again for the rest of my life, but GO WINGS!!

Memorial Day, Observed

When you see the Wall for the first time, you are awe-struck by the visual simplicity of a memorial for something so complex as the Vietnam War. It is simply a wall etched with names, chronologically, of those who were killed or missing and unaccounted for in the Vietnam War. The size of the wall and the overwhelming number of names has a profound effect. Most people my age have learned about the Vietnam War through history classes or from watching action-packed Hollywood films. Some of us may have heard accounts from those who were there, the experiences they went through; or even from those who did not serve, but have stories about others who did. Anyone with an elementary education in American history knows of the Vietnam War, the protests, the political unrest, and the shameful way our country neglected the returning service members.

Like most historical events, one can never fully comprehend without having lived through the event and seeing it with their own eyes. Could you effectively describe the events of September 11, 2001? I was in Iowa on 9/11, far from New York City, the Pentagon, or Pennsylvania; yet I will never forget the day. I sat in front of my television all day with friends and loved ones, trying to grasp the reality of what we were watching. It was a surreal experience from halfway across the country. When I hear stories of those who lived through it, I feel the emotional connection between the events I watched fearfully on television, and the experience of those who saw it firsthand. Everyone remembers where they were on 9/11. But, in ten years, will you be able to explain to an 18 –year old, exactly what happened in this country? If you were in NYC or if you were in Iowa, or if you were in Oregon, I don’t believe there is a way to make someone who has no emotional perspective truly understand what happened on that day.

Unfortunately, that is the same disconnect I have with the Vietnam War. The facts I have learned over the course of my life, the people I have talked to about their experience, be it in the service or just growing up and knowing that their neighbor left and never came home – as much empathy and respect as I feel, I know that I will never truly understand what it meant to have lived through that time. I think that is the case for most people my age. We know the facts, but will never understand. That is why the Wall is such a moving experience.

Of all the facts that have influenced my understanding of the Vietnam War, nothing I ever learned in a textbook, saw in a movie or even heard from a Vet that had the same effect as seeing those 58,261 names etched into nearly 250 feet of the Wall. It is the first time I understood the impact and devastation of what happened in Vietnam.

250 feet of wall… 70 inscribed panels, each with up to 137 lines of names. Each of those names represents a member of the U.S. military lost in battle. 58,261 service members never to be seen again by their parents, husbands, wives, children, neighbors, friends, relatives… who now have a name on a wall to remember their loved one, and to remind the rest of us of our country’s history.

I’m sure everyone who visits the wall has their own unique experience and understanding of the memorial. For me, it has not been any one individual, but the magnitude of seeing all of those names as the list goes on and on. Having no personal connection to any one person memorialized on the Wall, it is the overall structure and the collection of so many names that makes it so breathtaking. Many people come to the Wall to visit a loved one and see their name, perhaps leaving behind a card or flower to show that the person is still in their heart. For me, it is the list of names as a whole that I have always found so moving.

Until yesterday

On Memorial Day that list of names comes to life. On any given day you may find a card or a flower lain in front of the panels. On Memorial Day, I saw more than a daunting list of names with some cards and flowers. I saw letters written by friends and family, mementos left by those who served alongside the men and women fated to earn their name on the wall. A pack of Marlboro Reds, a picture of a the American flag drawn in crayon by a youngster, the words “Miss you, Daddy!” on a photo of a man holding a baby – and the realization that the infant in the photo is probably now older than me but still feeling the loss of her father.

On the last Monday in May, we take a day out of our regular work schedules in remembrance of the men and woman who paid the ultimate price for our freedom. I have always had the utmost respect for those who wear the Uniform of the U.S. Armed Forces. The time I spent in D.C. over Memorial Day weekend has deepened my respect, not only for those who have served, but the families they leave behind.

Round Two: Washington Ovechkins vs. Pittsburgh Crosbys

Tonight I am all worked up about the Stanley Cup playoffs. Round one was the Washington Ovechkins vs. the New York Averys, now it’s the Crosbys vs. the Ovechkins in round two. Or that is what a casual observer may think.

If you are a casual observer or have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s the superstar super scoop.

Sean Avery is a punk who plays for the New York Rangers. He started the season as a punk for the Dallas Stars but after making inappropriate comments that embarrassed the management and the entire NHL, he was suspended from the league, released by the Stars and banished to the minor league. A desperate Rangers team picked him up right about the same time they fired their coach and replaced him with John Tortorella. During the first round of the playoffs with the Rangers, the only thing the commentators could talk about was the loose cannon Avery.

Sidney Crosby is a girly hockey sensation who plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins. He was the number one overall draft pick for them in 2005 and he’s their team captain and resident douchebag. He has been an NHL darling before he was even eligible for the draft, all eyes have been on him. The problem with him is that he knows all eyes are on him & uses a dramatic flair to try and draw penalties from his opponents. He such a superstar that his linemates often serve as his entourage when trouble starts. I have seen him fight and it is not pretty. There are some areas of the anatomy where you just don’t hit another man, no matter the circumstances. I have seen Sidney Crosby break the guy code on this one. I could go on but you get the idea. I am not a fan.

Alexander Ovechkin. What to say about the Great 8? He plays for my team and I’m afraid this is blasphemy around these parts, but I can’t help myself. I don’t like Ovechkin. He is also a superstar NHL darling but I will give him the credit that unlike Crosby, Ovie fights his own battles. Actually, I would say he is the opposite of Crosby in some ways. When someone messes with Crosby on the ice, the rest of his team comes to his rescue. On the Washington Capitals, when the other team messes with any of his teammates, Ovechkin will come to their rescue. I give him a lot of credit for that because when he is on the ice, all eyes are on him. Unlike Crosby, he appears to use his powers for good rather than evil (or whining, as the case may be.) Unfortunately, Ovechkin is like Crosby in that he is a product that the NHL is selling. People don’t come to watch the Washington Capitals play, they come to see Alex Ovechkin score an acrobatic goal and slam himself up against the glass. He is always at the top of the league stats. He scored 56 goals this season, more than any other player. This certainly makes him a standout, but he also had more shots on goal than anyone else in the league. With 528 shots on goal, that puts his shooting percentage at 10.6%, that makes him #155 in the NHL rankings. On his own team, he is behind Semin, Fleischmann, Green, Backstrom and Laich. 528 shots on goal is a hell of a lot of scoring attempts. The second highest number of shots on goal in the NHL was Eric Staal with 372. Ovechkin made 156 more attempts than the second highest player, and Staal played 3 more games than Ovechkin did. Ovie will take any opportunity he sees to score and don’t get me wrong, that is a good thing. You can’t score if you don’t shoot the puck. At the same time, it explains why he is such a phenomenon. Perhaps some of it is raw talent, but he works very hard, he’s an intense player and when you take that many shots on goal, you always end up with the amazing shots that miraculously cross the line. The lucky bounces, the strange angles and pushing the puck while he’s sliding on his face – they all end up on the highlight reels so that everyone can gush about what an amazing player he is. Having watched him all season, I am not as fascinated as everyone else seems to be. I have seen how hard he works for the empty net goals to pad his stats. I’ve seen him cherry pick when Backstrom and Semin set him up with perfect assists. I have also seen him steal a hat trick from Brooks Laich by taking an empty net goal in a 3-1 game against Toronto. Two of those three goals were Laich’s. That annoyed me greatly. Brooks Laich is one of my favorite players. He always gives 100% and is always a solid player. He and Nick Backstrom are two of the most consistently good players I have seen. We have a lot of talent on our team and some of the players who bring the most to the team are ignored next to the blinding glow of Ovechkin’s popularity. It’s not just those two either, we have an immense amount of talent on our team but if you are only listening to the commentators, game recaps and news stories you would think that Ovechkin was the only one who showed up to the game. Same goes for the Penguins and Crosby. How many casual hockey fans outside of Pittsburgh know who Evgeni Malkin is?

While I am not a fan of Ovechkin, I can not deny what he brings to my team. He is a great player and a popular player. The problem is not what he brings to my team, but what he takes away from it. 90% of the Capitals merchandise you see on the market has the number 8 or the name Ovechkin on it. The Verizon Center is packed with #8 jerseys and crowds shouting “MVP! MVP!” every time Ovechkin scores a goal. He is undeniably talented and no matter what team he was on, he would be an MVP nominee as he is this season – the same award he won last season. I am glad that the Capitals are selling out every game, and I am glad we have made it through the first round of the playoffs. I hope we go much further. But if we do, it will not be because Alexander Ovechkin singlehandedly played forward, defense and did some goaltending during the line changes. It will be because the Washington Capitals are a talented team with a brilliant coach who benched our dead-weight goalie before it was too late.

Give credit where credit is due, and as long as my team is in the playoffs, I will be cheering for the Capitals, not the Ovechkins. (And most certainly not the Mike Greens. Don’t even get me started on that!!!) It takes a solid team effort to win the Stanley Cup and if there is one standout player to take your team to the championship, it is never a forward, it is the goaltender. The Caps have an impressive new goalie but he doubled his NHL games played during the playoffs. We don’t yet know what he can do. On solid team efforts, I go with Boston Bruins and Detroit Red Wings for the Stanley Cup finals. When it comes down to goaltenders, I say Boston takes home the cup this year.

I hate to admit when I’m wrong, but I would love to see the Caps make me do it!

[Photo by Jason Cohn - Reuters]