100%

“Lactic acid” Monday’s are here again. The day after the game, when every muscle and tendon is screaming for relief. Every step is taken with trepidation. My brittle bones are snapping at me.

Soccer can be a punishing game. At least the brand I like to play, which is all out, leave it on the field, full throttle kind of play. I’m a worker, a digger, and a scrapper. The game didn’t come easy to me when I was a youngin. I was always the 12th man, never a starter. I didn’t have electrifying skill, blazing speed, intimidating size. I was pretty average all around, relegated to a role player.

But I did have heart and, in later years, I developed a brain for the game. But, to this day, I work, I run, I stick my leg in there.

My friends were the superstars, the goal scorers, the MVPs. I received an award or two, but never the kind you want to get. I can’t tell you how many honorable mentions (read: not good enough for a real award) I was graced with. A ridiculous number, actually.

As a senior in high school I was awarded with something called the 100% award. What the crap is a 100% award? I can hear my coach saying,”well, he was here for 4 years, and guy sure worked hard. Gotta give him somethin’.”

That used to burn me up, being overlooked. But that’s not why I played as a kid, or why I play now. I’ve fallen in love with the work. I’m approaching 37 now, and still giving it 100%.

Most of that happens off the field.

Giraffes Are Imaginary

Finally we have weather worth noting. It only took until late April to get there. After months of winter hardship, enduring the early spring monsoons, the sun mercifully presented its magnificence this weekend. The M-trio took full advantage. Our translucent skin soaking in every ultraviolet.

2 soccer games, a trip to the zoo, yardwork, decktime, and an extended jaunt to the local playground. We paid our winter dues and we cashed in this weekend with an outdoors binge.

The trip to the zoo was a highlight. I have to admit that I have mixed feelings about zoos in general. I’m not a fan of animal caging, but then again, we’d never see a live tiger otherwise. Unless, of course, we safaried somewhere dangerous and mysterious.

I imagine cage-life isn’t a terrible deal; no hunting or gathering, someone cleans up, fresh water’s aplenty. And there's also the vague hope that an over-zealous tourist will fall in with you. Other than that, life’s gotta be pretty boring.

It certainly doesn’t compare to prowling the rainforests, jungles or deserts. I'm sure there's no sensation like felling an antelope with a swipe of a paw, or bathing in a lonely watering hole, or scaring off a live giraffe.

Which reminds me why I wanted to write. I asked Cam what her favorite animal was. And she rattled off a bunch. The monkeys, the tigers, the giraffe, the prarie dogs.

Hang on, the giraffe? You saw a giraffe?

Yeah.

Funny, I never saw one.

Cakeland

Sometimes you have it. Sometimes you don’t. For the past few days, I’ve been enjoying a healthy dose of self doubt. I’m certain you experience it the same way I do. The flashes of anxiety and the unrelenting questioning. Conversation becomes measured, over-calcuated, wooden. Going the safe route, the default state, retreading old ideas.

Afraid of what stupidity may come out of my mouth, I retreat. What will my words reveal? I feel as if everyone is peering into my soul, rousing the dormant fraud.

It’s crippling, really. And it washes over you and affects your every move, every word you choose, every action you take. There is no freedom in self doubt.

When I’m enjoying something, I’m not thinking. I’m in the moment, letting it wash over me. It’s feels easy.

Right now, I’m muddling through. Getting past the hard parts hoping to find the good bits. That’s Cakeland friends. It’s a place, a state of mind, another dimension. Cakeland is where impossible is possible. There are no negative prefixes, it’s all positive. I’m gonna find me a slice o that cake this weekend.

Yum.

Upward

Suited up today. Gotta big date. My partner is the chairman for a nonprofit called Career Gear. They help adults who have made a bad choice work their way back into society. They give criminals a second chance; a way to dig themselves outta the hole they dug. Career Gear gives them a suit and job interview skills so they can present themselves respectably, and earn an honest buck. It’s a great idea.

Lange is the big shot of the org. And it’s a great gig for him. Perfect, actually. He’s always been a natty man. Always dressed to the nines (whatever that means)—exemplifying the successful, the made man. If you wanna win the role, you gotta play the part.

Since Lange is the heavy, the ML partners get to sit at the “important” table. I’ll be breaking bread with some biggies (Lange rattled off a few names, most I hadn’t heard of). One name piqued my interest: former mayor of NYC, David Dinkins is supposed to slurp a little soup with us. This is the guy Rudy G, America’s Mayor, succeeded. I hope he shows.

I know nothing about this cat, beyond what I’ve heard about him through the media, which isn’t always a fair way to get your information. I’m not sure what we’ll talk about. But it’s fun just knowing that I’ll be able to have a conversation with a guy that ran the dirtiest, nastiest, most beautiful, most hideous, most racist, most evolved, most diverse, most tolerant, richest and poorest city on the planet.

A city of great polarity. Big and small. A snarled mess of asphalt and concrete. In the middle of it, a massive granite island sprouts the world’s tallest buildings. They point heavenward, defying the pull of the planet reaching, stretching, fingering the sky. An inspiration for the world. A beacon of freedom and democracy.

And this guy ran it. He lead the charge. He rallied the troops, organized the fronts, divvied the cash, assigned the jobs. He was the grand poohbah of the grand poohbahbiest of cities. Respect.

Update:
He didn't show. Bummer.

Talk About the Weather

And the sunless skies brought forth a relentless rain, sometimes in sweeping torrents. Mother Nature’s weeping.

They call this unwelcome disturbance a nor’easter up here because the winds come from the northeast shoving the clouds and rain toward land.

Nor’easters are nasty beasters. Never heard of em until I moved here from the south. In Florida we get violent thunderstorms that crack and boom with lightning displays that send shots of adrenalin through your heart. They pass as quickly as they come. If southern storms are full of range n anger, nor-easters are miserable and depressed; days and days of uncontrollable sobbing.

Yesterday, Cam and I watched the water level rise in the backyard. The creek that runs behind it was overflowing and inching closer and closer to our little home. Our well groomed weatherman said we received 6 ½” of rain in one day. That’s 2 inches more than what’s expected for the entire month of April (our soggiest month).

Our basement held up remarkably well. We did get some water through the walls, which pooled in a couple of areas, but nothing a few towels couldn’t handle. Not like our neighbor who got 4 inches of standing water.

Someone always has it worse, my friends. Like Kris, for example, who was stranded in Manhattan for hours because the tracks were underwater in the Bronx. I buzzed past the exact area of trouble this morning on the way into Manhattan. The tracks run parallel to the Bronx River Parkway about 50 yards away. The Parkway is still under a few feet of water, roped off so no cars could pass. That means the train tracks must be a few feet higher because we coasted right past. Or hydroplaned through it.

Bad Ice Cream

Two weeks back, I led a group brainstorm where we worked on names for a new product. There were 6 of us in a small room. I don’t do many group brainstorms, but I do know what it’s like to be invited to them. They can be a bit intimidating because you feel the pressure to produce great ideas on the fly which can do a real number on the nerves.

On top of that, naming is a tough slog. We literally come up with hundreds of options in hopes that we produce two or three killers. And those good ones are then thoroughly checked to ensure that nobody else is using them, or the word doesn’t mean “foreskin” in Thai.

If either case is true, it’s back to the beginning.

With all of this emotional baggage in the room, I felt it would be a good idea to do an ice-breaking warm up for the group to get them in the mood, the spirit of creating. And give everyone permission to fail. Failing is an integral part of creating, and should be celebrated instead of criticized.

Brainstorms aren’t necessarily about getting to the product (though it’s nice when it happens). Brainstorms are about getting in the right space to create—losing inhibitions, dropping defenses, playing fearlessly. All the good ideas live there.

I wanted everybody to take 5 minutes to create terrible ice cream flavors. The absolute most disgusting, unappetizing flavors you can think of, and then name them a la “Rocky Road” or “Cherry Garcia.” Here are a few of my favorites:

Cat Puke Swirl
NYC Summertime Pavement Mocha
Ben and Jerry’s Scrotum
Pralines and Placenta
Rocky Toad
Cambodian Cherry Crotch with Marshmallows
Blisters and Cream
Mint Chocolate Pubes
Bum Foot Fudge