The Year In Photos, 2009
What a year. From The Inauguration to The Oscars to my tenth New York City Marathon, no previous loop around the sun has been more jam-packed with mind-blowing moments.
I played the Iowa State Fair, contributed a song to The Nadas "Crystalline" compilation, and helped raise four grand (and counting) for 826NYC with "A Holiday Benefit, Vol. 3."
I spent a week on Bray's Island, one on Grand Cayman, and another in Nantucket. I took in The Brickyard 400 (and many Foster's oil cans), celebrated Abadfest 2: Electric Boogaloo, and narrowly ...
Mazel Tov!
Way back in 2000, my then-boss foisted an interview on me with a recent college graduate named Jonathan.
"Trust me," he said. "This guy's cover letter was so over the top, you're gonna' love him."
I won't front; I was dubious. But sure enough, the kid had moxie. So we hired him. In his first month, he asked Britney Spears to spit out her gum, and suggested Godsmack's Sully Erna to take off his baseball cap. He's had me over to Passover Seder twice, shot and directed my music videos, and been a terrific friend.
In 2004, I ...
The Wild Rumpus
For me, Maurice Sendak's "Where The Wild Things Are" is mixed up with the wild rumpus of my parent's divorce.
I don't remember when Sendak's creatures first appeared in my life; his fifteen-page book was always present.
I do remember wandering the wide, book-strewn aisles of the Oak Park Mall's Kracht & Brentano's with my family (when we were one), pawing at books like "Scruffy" and "Tales Of A Fourth Grade Nothing." And I remember spotting a Wild Thing there, high on an off-white, corrugated-steel shelf. And I remember that I ...
Pretty Good Shape (For The Shape I’m In)
The Abads are a force to be reckoned with.
Example. Last Saturday night, The Abads celebrated Chris' 31st birthday with a roucous night of Cranium (yes, the board game). I showed up from VMA rehearsals well after one o'clock. The shenanigans didn't wrap until just before five.
The next morning, Chris send an email to the assembled: "Thanks for the birthday hang; a mellow night with close friends was just what the doctor ordered."
Another example? Last year's Abadfest put me in Lenox Hill Hospital.
Still, Abbi and I loaded ...
Cadre Of Awesomeness
After ushering in my thirty-seventh year alone on a strange Angelino couch, I wasn't about to let it happen again with thirty-eight.
Accordingly, Abbi and I kicked off my Birthday Week (what the heck, right?) last night with drinks, dinner, and a dozen dear family and friends. The criteria was simple: no one from work (sorry guys), and no one with whom I would feel stuck in conversation.
It was a cadre of awesomeness populated by friends who've known me since college, pals who picked me up on the Interwebs, and an adorable newborn ...
Iowa State Fair (Summer 2009)
August 17th, 2009
What’s Left Behind To Shoulder Grows Weightless
Sometimes, tragedy brings good things in its wake.
On Saturday afternoon, drummer Ryan's Vaughn's girlfriend Kasey's family vehicle was struck by a drunk driver on South Carolina Interstate 26. Kasey's father was killed. Her little sister, Allie, was thrown from the vehicle. Her mother, niece and friend sustained minor injuries. The Williams were on their way home to Tennessee after a family vacation in Hilton Head. The drunk driver was later found hours later hiding in some local woods a few dozen feet from the stolen and battered ...
The 2009 Brickyard 400 (Or, Speedway Nights: The Ballad Of Jimmie Johnson)
First rule of Nascar is you don't talk about Nascar.
It's not that facts, statistics, cultural judgments, stereotypes or general biographical data aren't valuable. They are.
Of course (like you), I knew nothing of Nascar until last year's Brickyard 400. This (now seasonal) confab was born of a conversation at my bachelor party and the desire to a) in Indianapolis (a city, sorry dad, with few other event-oriented justifications for visitation) and b) spend more time with dudes.
Before last year, I couldn't fathom why someone would sit ...
Panic At Funland
There is no panic for a seventeen-year-old like the panic incurred by hoisting and spinning a dozen toddlers eight feet in the air, then leaving them there for so long that they began to cry for their parents and attempt to leap from their seats.
That seventeen-year-old was me twenty years ago this month.
I was mere moments into my first day at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware's famed family amusement park, Funland. I'd been issued my official uniform (white and green t-shirt for the week, red polo shirt for the weekends), instructed that all ...
Strong Island
When I went there, anyway, ninety percent of Syracuse University students were from New Jersey, New York City ("The City," as they presumptuously called it), or Long Island.
Now, by 1989, I'd been to New York City to see a few Broadway plays, which -- coming from suburban Philadelphia -- meant I'd at least been through New Jersey, but I didn't know a thing about Long Island (which didn't prohibit me from making out with a black-haired, red-nailed, gum-popping beauty on my first night at college, but that's a different story for a ...
