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Monday, February 14, 2011

Grammys revisited, and other nonsense...

I was able to watch most of music's biggest night and came away mildly impressed.  There is an excitement in music I have not felt for some time.  Arcade fire, who I think is a bit overrated/overplayed make a strong statement winning record of the year.  I really enjoyed Mumford and Sons and Avett brothers sharing the stage and playing background for a haggard, yet essential Bob Dylan.  Mick Jagger is a fucking machine.  His energy and stage presence should be studied for years.  He really looked like he could perform for another thirty years.  The awards themselves are comical.  I do like that Pat Monihan from Train thanked Howard Stern.  As a devoted Stern fan I know how much that will mean to him.  I thought Lady Gaga did a fine, if not understated job with her new single.  It was funny, before the show we watched her on 60 Minutes.  She was describing her childhood and schooling and in particular how she was bullied/misunderstood.  N looked up and said "Well screw them!!!  You are a rich, rockstar now."

I was floored.  So intuitive at age 8.  I said that is exactly right.  So, when you feel bullied or misunderstood remember you can be the one laughing on tv some day.  She always hates 60 Minutes.  Much the same way I used to I suppose.  I remember lying on my parents floor watching it with my family.  I knew, quite soon, Monday awaited me, and school.  She has that same feeling for sure.  "Can't we watch anything else????" she often whines.

But last night, for at least one segment, she was mesmerized.  And I must admit I was not looking away either.  Good that Anderson Cooper got the assignment.  She must have felt as comfortable with him as she does with all her queen dancers.  I have basketball shorts with more fabric than all the clothes she wore in her segment combined.

Nothing else from the show blew me away, but for the most part it was solid.  I drift off when the Country folks play.  I am sure Miranda Lambert is a nice wholesome gal; but I really could give a fuck.

Keith Urban bugs me a bit. But not as much as Nicole Kidman and her frozen face.  And John Mayer's white coat was an odd choice.  I was surprised too that they allowed Arcade Fire to do 2 songs to end the show.  The album is terrific and they are a force these days for sure...  but 2 songs???  They aren't the Beatles.

As bedtime approached T told me she did not have to read this blog if it made me feel uncomfortable.  She made mention that I might be censoring myself.

I thought about it for a minute and respectfully disagreed.  These past few days I have written the first thing that has come to mind.  I think it troubles her that I am not lamenting every moment from the past 6 months or so.  Perhaps, in her mind, I should not be doing Grammy updates and railing against the decay of customer service.  Those are such trivial things as it relates to the damage I have inflicted on our marriage, on our trust, on our overall mental and physical health.

Yes and no.  If I cannot be inspired and able to write about what it is that crawls into my brain, what do I have?  If this is the outlet that gets me healthy, makes me a better person, who am I harming?

I could go back to August and our family vacation.  There, as I was with friends and children enjoying a wonderful week in North Carolina, I am told there were hundreds of calls and texts made to women other than my wife.  Do I want to revisit that?  Do I want to go over and over again as if to tear open the band aid covering a gaping, freshly made wound?

Not bloody likely.  And that is a source of contention for sure.  No one, not wife, not therapist, not anyone, wants me to move forward.  They say, you MUST find out why this was done.  Why were you intent on hurting her so much???

Not intent.  Not conscious.  Not aware.  Not anything.  Living, with flaws, like all of us.  T has told me she fucked her affair several years ago because, and only because, she wanted a house and more business.  Ok, great.  Thanks for clearing that up.  Makes pragmatic sense and you tell me you had to be fall down drunk so I am cool with it.

Not quite.  It was more than that and I know it.  She never thought I was going to bring in money (legitimate) and figured he will not care.  Where is he going anyway???

She resented me.  She was depressed.  She had many, many reasons.  And I get it.   Yes, maybe I moved on too quickly and swept too much under the rug.  But what, if anything, was playing the motives over and over again going to accomplish?  We are here, today.  Older, with more responsibility we move forward.

I get the whole "Must examine history as to not repeat it" philosophy.  But it is far more than that.  History is now.   As I write this I am already examining the next moment.  How is N doing in school today?  How can I get together a marketing plan for the business?  How do I market this blog?  Who will I draft for N's softball team Wednesday?  What is for dinner?  Does Valentine's Day have to be today????

Big, looming questions that challenge my every minute.

Then I think, why did I dream of Larry Holmes last night?  Where does the Easton Assassin fit into my sub-conscious?

Will we be going to bed each night with our cell phones next to us?  Me, making sure I can delete anything that might be misconstrued.  Her, getting constant support from friends reassuring her that I am indeed a giant asshole.

Minute to minute.  Day to day.  Like Holmes, I am still standing.  Punch-drunk and naive for sure...  but not about to quit.

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