Two Years

It's hard to believe it's been two years to the day since Tim died. In that time, my friends and family have moved to and fro, became parents for the first time, got married, changed careers. We had a big election. And hist daughter Audrey just turned three (!!) -- she's such a great, happy, beautiful kid, getting really tall, too.

I was saddened by the fact that Tim wasn't here to be a part of it all. But in a way, he was. I know, like most of you who end up reading this, carry him in your heart and think of him at least once a day. I know I do. Little things bring up memories of him. Watching people fish from their boats on Lake Washington reminds me of fishing with Tim, both of us sitting in an eight foot bucket, catching no fish and getting sunburned. Going through my stack of old college textbooks (I just moved recently) and seeing my Psych 101 book flashes me back to taking that course with Tim and the subsequent finals cram; the associations we made with certain terms were pretty ridiculous. Songs on the radio with "lalala" in the lyrics morphs into the sound he used to do for Audrey to make her laugh. Looking at a fish tank reminds me of Tim's fave line from "A Fish Called Wanda": Aaaaaassssshoooooooole!!!! I dug up some plants he gave me (a month or so before he died), and moved them to my new place. Including the pathetic snowball bush lacking in branches. They're priceless to me, and I water them religiously.

Last year, the first anniversary of his death, was tough. For a long time, it was hard for me to picture him as a healthy young guy. The image of him as a gravely ill person burned in me for a long time. I guess as I watched his health gradually fail, I didn't really notice how bad it was. After he died, I was looking at some pictures of him in the last months of his life, and it had shocked me. Anyway, I don't care to relive that right now, but it stayed with me for a long time.

I think it's starting to get better, now. I wanted to wake up this morning at 5am and walk around Green Lake with Lisa, hoping to catch the sun rise, just as it had done as Tim passed two years ago. But exhaustion and weather foiled that. I rolled over and woke Lisa at 6:30. It was raining. We just laid there for a bit, not speaking. My eyes were closed, but I had a grin on my face. She asked what I was thinking. I told her I could picture Tim, sometimes clearly, sometimes faded. But I could see him the way I used to: healthy, smiling, happy. I had a collage of old photos in my head, all of Tim. In his truck. Sitting on a rock. Being held aloft by buddies at his wedding. My favorite wasn't from any actual photo. It was kind of movie-like. It was dark, with a bright light in the center, Tim standing in the middle of the glow. He was there, standing on a soccer field, wearing some team's jersey. The ball under his left foot. I could hear a crowd cheering. And right before I fell asleep again, the image panned to his face, with the spotlight shining on it. He was smiling.

I could only hope that's what Heaven is like.

On The Cusp

Death Cab For Cutie is at that crossroads where promising, would-be great bands come to when it's their time to make themselves known to the wider world. They have a new record coming out soon, their first for a major label, and the buzz is that it's a really good one. If it beats anything they've put out before (especially their last two, "The Photo Album" and "Transatlanticism" -- which, for me, is in the running for Top Album of The Decade), I'll be amazed. Because of the awesome feat it will take to do that, not because I don't think they're capable.

What will their foray into the mainstream do for them? The major label will give them all the exposure in the world: Top 40 radio overplay, MTV. Will they conquer the world like Coldplay, but lose their indie street cred and that special homegrown edginess that makes them special? Will their songs become themes for TV shows? Just might, considering their guest appearance on "The OC", and "Such Great Heights" (by frontman Ben Gibbard's other project, The Postal Service) is played everywhere. I wish Death Cab well, but...

Anyway, whatever happens, at least the music won't suck. Quite the opposite. Check out the new single, "Soul Meets Body" here.

Lisa and I are headed to New York in a few weeks to watch them play in Central Park. There will be plenty of cool things to report. Stay tuned.

Now Playing:
Happy, from Brandi Carlile, by Brandi Carlile

Mr. Sonic Waves GoodBye

I feel like I'm beating a dead horse. But I can't help it. For some reason, I'm grouchy and this is a favorite rant of mine.

Anyway, Sonics coach Nate McMillan got hired by another team. And here's the commentary. And this is the local reaction.

As "poignant" and "riveting" as those kinds of stories are (y'know the kind I'm talking about: the dramatically lit/darkened mini documentaries with the too-serious narration and overwrought first/third person closups the networks show before the big event where such and such athlete overcomes such and such adversity to "work hard" to make it in the bigs. Too bad the protagonist becomes, or worse, makes a comeback as, another spoiled, overpaid "athlete". It only really sounds heart-felt during the Olympics, at least for the majority of athletes who have to work at their day job while training. And Lance Armstrong -- who overcomes near-death and sets up a worthy foundation that actually helps people -- may be one of the very few whose backstories actually sound honest), it's hard to feel sorry for anyone in pro sports. And for as much as I'm frustrated by fans who continue to bitch and complain about the state of pro sports -- and then go on accepting getting gouged for tickets, merchandise, etc (hell, even I tune in briefly to an odd game here or there, sometimes watch clips of SportsCenter, and buy a hat with a team logo), I think the media (sportswriters especially) are the worst offenders. Especially the ones who actually buy into the romanticized stories they foist onto the public. They're the ones who try to put the "human" face on the machine. Please, I feel like throwing up when I hear about the player who pissed away his fame and fortune because of drugs. Or a sympathetic light shed on Mike Tyson. Somehow a bad childhood admonishes him of rape and assault. I can't wait for the day when we get Bob Costas doing a rags to riches story of the next steroid-filled slugger who breaks Hank Aaron's home run record.

I respected and loved Nate as a player (the NBA he retired from is long gone). When I was younger, I followed pro basketball religiously, and knew everything about the teams. I remember when Nate was drafted out of NC State and his rookie season. And I remember the 1996 NBA Finals when they took on the Bulls. He was stellar on defense, poor at shooting, and couldn't jump a lick because of bad knees. He was a fan's player.

But now he gets as much sympathy from me as any of the players or owners. Sure, coaches get no real respect, because they're not the ones on the floor. They're not the ones who people pay to watch. The NBA and owners have taken all resemblance of control away from the coaches. Can't win? Blame the coach, not the "franchise" player not hustling up and down the court. The coach benches the star player who has discipline problems? Allow the player to blast that coach in the papers. The players laugh at the "fines" imposed. Pro basketball coaches are babysitters. They aren't relevant to the pro game. But that's their job. And they're well paid to do it -- especially the ones rehired over and over despite a long record of losing. They should accept the reality and enjoy it while they have a job (and then enjoy the golden parachute after they're unemployed). The Sonics didn't give him "respect"? What do you call giving him a chance to join that elite club of NBA head coaches? Now, I didn't do the research and find out if Nate actually uttered that sentiment, but the media sure played it up like he did, and even took up his "cause" as their own. And if he did, both he and the media, and pro sports fans/enablers should get some perspective. Take a look at the $18M he turned down. Damn, for that much money, I'd take that "lack of respect" and be happy to stay in a town that loves me, sit on the bench, put away the playbook, and watch Ray Allen play one-on-five every game. Which is what's going to happen anyway, considering the state of the NBA and the team he plays on. And please don't tell me that pro coaches actually care about the game. But I digress; I'm showing much more knowledge of the sport than my actual interest. Sure, I love basketball and I like fondly on its past. But I'm not pining away anymore. It's not worth it.

The sooner we accept that pro sports is a business first, the better off we'll be. Nate McMillan was at the end of his contract. The Sonics owed him nothing. They offered him another contract, and he declined. On the other side, Nate doesn't owe the Sonics anything either. He played. He coached. In return, he got paid. Fine, he was more than competent in relation to others in his line of work. Now he works for someone else who was willing to give him $12M more "respect" (I'm probably going to wear the double quotes off my keyboard before I end this post). That's business. No backstory here. Loyalty and heart went out the window a long time ago, so there's no need to pretend it's still exists in this business. Owners, players, and yes, even coaches (even the ones that are beloved), are out to make more than what they are truly worth. The fans will pick up the financial slack to compensate for whatever they pay Nate. At least it's somewhere other than here. Oh sure, Nate isn't exactly re-enacting A-Rod, but it really doesn't matter. One way or another, it's the fans who truly lose out, whether it's bemoaning the lack of loyalty, or paying extra at the ticket booth. We lap up all the "behind the scenes" stories of these wannabe legends and it makes us all that more interested to tune in or go to the ballpark in an effort to somehow take part in the stories to pass on to the next generation of suckers sports fans. It's effective marketing, a facade. It's time to move on. I did.

The Card Says Moops!

Watched Tim's favorite Seinfeld episode tonight. Love that Bubble Boy. :)