If Parting Could Be Painless

Didn't realize on Thursday, saying good night to someone who'd called on the phone that I was saying goodbye. Had an email from a mutual acquaintance yesterday afternoon and am just starting to grasp the sensation I'm experiencing is the hole in my heart. I've become fond of saying as an excuse masquerading as a reason (since I'm not especially demonstrative (enough for some folks) when displaying feelings) that "I'd miss you more if I knew you better." This sudden departure is a case in point.

I've worked for maybe a half dozen years with J., speaking on the phone perhaps twice a week and sometimes more often, not always about whatever project in which we were engaged but as a sort of safe harbor, someone I could bounce an idea off of and not be thought criminally crazy or worse. I hope I served that same purpose for him as well. All we were missing were the fishbowls. It's Lent, he'd have enjoyed that line.

I was told his death was from natural causes. As opposed to unnatural, I guess. This is why I'm accused of being snarky when all I'm looking for is clarity. I hate when we use language to mask meaning. Something that should be transparent instead is rendered translucent which is almost, but not quite, the same thing and it's the difference and the distinction between the promise and the performance that so often causes me to get lost and left behind.

It feels like the same world this morning that it was yesterday. It isn't, of course, and not only because I know of at least one less person who is in it. That knowledge doesn't change the shade of the sky or the shape of the clouds. It will not speed up or slow down the coming of Spring-a season J. didn't especially like (a winter guy for reasons I never asked) and maybe that absence of 'this is what I know to be true' is really the hardest part.

The realization that while I'd like to think I knew this person, or any of the other people with whom I interact on a daily basis, in the end I have to concede that I didn't and now never shall. I'm not alone-each of us is surrounded by people just like ourselves. We have all the time in the world to get to know one another until all our days rush together in a fullness we cannot believe or otherwise achieve. We are born and die alone and everything in between is lived near, but rarely with one another.

-bill kenny

The Red Sox Roller Coaster

Being a Yankees fan in New England is a bit more of a trial than it should be even if the New England part of the geography is Connecticut which is about evenly split between fans of Red Sox Nation and The Evil Empire (with LR, a/k/a Subway, as our token Mets fan).

The Red Sox lost the first six games of the season and I actually became afraid the Fenway braintrust might give Terry Francona the heave-ho which would be very sad as he's a great manager and is really good with a team whose fans are often (way more than) slightly neurotic.

That danger has passed for now as the Bosox opened a home series against the Bronx Bombers yesterday afternoon and won, 9 to 6, not only allowing the Red Sox to record their first victory of the season, but, seemingly, to also clinch a berth in the World Series. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but only a little bit and that mindset is as rational as the whole 'the sky is falling! What's the matter with the Red Sox' doom and gloom noises that had been rumbling across the Bay State and environs all week.

In light of how my guy, Phil Hughes, got smacked like a pinata at a two-for-one Whackamole garage sale in Escondido, it's almost churlish of me to note the Sox' starting pitcher, John Lester, didn't pitch a whole lot better or even a lot longer than Silly Phil. And considering how many times the two clubs will meet this season (hint: they play the other three teams in the division, Toronto, Tampa Bay and Baltimore a total of 6 point two games*) and how often in history one or the other has captured the division, usually at the other's expense, the last weekend of the season, I'm not sure there's any compelling reason for the victory parade that was launched on Van Ness Street.

One swallow does not a spring, or a porn star, make and the same is true for one victory as the first week of the 2011 season comes to an end. On the other hand, if it gives the fans of The Olde Town Team something to cheer about, more power to them. It's only fair as the Sox players will be busy during the week of the ALCS, arranging tee times as they have so often in recent years as other guys from another city gear up to try to collect what their fans see as their birthright, a World Series ring. Just ask a Cubs fan how often the World Series opens on Palm Sunday.

-bill kenny

(*the Surgeon General has determined this statement exceeds your MDA for hyperbole)

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

Two more disparate bed-fellows were conjoined headline twins this week as subjects rather than as precipitaters (and other words that end in bater) and I thought it would be poor manners to not note the change in the dynamic though the cosmetic remains. For those who worship at the altar of the snap judgment, who genuflect before the Tabernacle of the Arched Eyebrow and Stentorian Snort and who truly believe if you voice an opinion loudly enough and often enough the Baby Jesus, among others, turns it into fact, you have my sympathy as Glenn Beck and the Fair and Balanced Folks at Fox part ways.

For those wearing happy hats about this and breaking out into song and dance, I can remember it wasn't that long ago that your Lord of the Trolls, Sir Keith of Olbermann and Fort Lee, NJ, was handed his hat (sadly, it never seemed big enough to cover his mouth) by his employer and (yet) the band played on. Might I suggest for all of you and all of your 'I hate that Network' ugliness, what goes around comes around. Time to change direction of the circles, perhaps.

Meanwhile, the President of the United States (have you seen how much he has aged-how much ALL of them age?) has decided he'd like another bite of the apple, though why anyone would seek the office when the mirror tells you the toll it's taking, is beyond me. It is very possible this time tomorrow much of the federal government of our country will be idle as the funding to drive expires at one minute before midnight tonight. For him and others, what's a few more grey hairs among friends, especially if they're not friends.

Depending on where you get your news (sorry GB and KO, you must be present to win!) the impasse in developing a federal budget (this fiscal year started 1 October of last year, if you're keeping track; that's right, five months and eight days ago) has become, with my apologies to a very astute Potomac pundit, Mike Causey, a situation with two guys in a room full of gasoline arguing over who has the most matches.

And you're telling me there's a better than even money chance we can have a repeat of this trauma and drama, if the political stasis remains, for the final year of this President's first term, and the second of the two years of this House of Representatives and then we can do this all over again for two or four more years? Lather, rinse, repeat. And viewer numbers escalate as program ratings continue to climb, kaching!

And the media wonders why so many of us regard it with suspicion and distrust-just look at the stories for this past week, it strains our brains and just, when we start to believe our eyes and ears and heart, they practice first us to deceive as we slowly drift apart. The Carpenter said nothing but "Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf--I've had to ask you twice."

-bill kenny

Beyond the Butterfly Effect

The Butterfly Effect is a figure of speech borrowed from meteorologists used by social scientists to describe an essential element of the chaos theory, "sensitive dependence on initial conditions." Fancy words for the simple idea that everything is everything (else).

Originally announced to coincide with the ninth anniversary of the murders of 9/11, but really for reasons that had everything to do with the Reverend Terry Jones' pathetic sense of inadequacy and almost pathological need for attention, and absolutely nothing to with the Lord's work, there were promises/threats of Koran burnings by the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville, Florida.

A flurry of headlines, satellite up link trucks scattered all across the church's parking lot delivering updates like hot pizza to a semi-somnambulant nation, concerns about wholesale reprisals as responses voiced by national leaders who were infuriated at the malevolent stupidity of such a grandstanding gesture and finally, at almost the last moment, the Righteous Rev dialed the rhetoric back to eleven, but only for a time, it turned out.

Proving that those who claim to follow Jesus can be at least as hateful and stupid as those who believe they are followers of Mohammad, Terry torched a Koran and half a world away, people who wanted nothing more than to help humans living in the fourteenth century get closer to the world of today were murdered in a violently extreme reaction by a mob who saw disrespect of their religion.

I'm impressed that in what I think of as a sixth or seventh-world nation (in terms of infrastructure and living standards) such as Afghanistan, word of the burning could have spread as quickly as it has, but there are numerous reports that the Dove World Outreach Center actually carried the desecration live on the internet which certainly helped spread and speed the ferocity of the protests.

It's discouraging to see the haste with which we take every tool we invent and turn it into a weapon against one another. Perhaps we beat plowshares into swords only because we can't figure out to kill one another with the damn plowshares. Hatred, TJ, begets hatred and a world view that dictates an eye for eye leaves us all blind and unable to see the beauty which surrounds us. If there's a God in the sky, looking down, what can he think of what we've done to the world that He created.

-bill kenny

We're born again, there's new grass on the field

I grew up and have grown old as a fan of the New York Yankees. Some of that was an accident of geography, living in Central New Jersey when your baseball choices were the Phillies of Philadelphia or the Bronx Bombers, but a lot of it was deliberate because when you wanted to see stars you went to Yankee Stadium.

A week into this year's season (that will stretch into November) and all any of us who follow major league baseball can agree upon is the odds of going 162 and zero are close to zip.

Despite being a (rabid) fan of Yankees Pinstripes, I confess to a growing fondness for another kind of stripes, those of the Connecticut Tigers, the Single-A New York-Penn League affiliate of the Detroit Tigers, who call Norwich's Dodd Stadium, home.

Our Connecticut Tigers are about ten weeks away from their home opener against the defending champions of the NY-Penn League, the Tri-City Valley Cats (a farm club of the Houston Astros). The first pitch is at 7:05 Monday night, June 20th. And you can believe it's a coincidence of the calendar that the first day of summer is the next day, if you'd like and I promise to not suggest one of us is confusing cause and effect.

Yeah, I know the weather's been brisk around here with barely a hint of Spring so the idea of baseball in June sounds far away, but the Tigers' home opener will be here before we know it. I was up at Dodd Stadium a couple of weeks ago with a few hundred other hearty souls on a sunny but chilly afternoon when Sacred Heart University's Pioneers beat the UConn Huskies.

The field, despite the awful winter, was in good shape and it was a lot of fun every half inning or so to move around and try out different seats and check out the sight lines all over the facility. I'm a bit prejudiced, but I don't think there's a bad seat in the house.

Dodd Stadium is a decade and half old but has held its age well. There's something about watching enthusiastic beginners who are just starting their journey to the Major Leagues. The young men on the playing surface are keenly aware the odds are stacked against their getting to the big leagues, but they put in the hours in the batting cages, on the infield ground ball drills, perfecting a sacrifice bunt and understanding who the cut-off man is with runners on first and second with less than two out. Because you never know if you're gonna be that guy.

Watching baseball on television isn't anywhere near the same experience as being in the stands and the atmosphere at a minor league game is far more fun than you'll feel at Fenway or Camden Yards. Don't get me wrong, the players leg out infield grounders just as hard at Dodd Stadium, but I suspect there aren't as many chicken dance contests at Citi Field.

Baseball is still America's game and the mental math and the game of manager's strategy within the game on the field is what turns casual followers into fanatics and brings all of us of all ages to the stands game after game year after year.

As for the players themselves, their energy, engagement and enthusiasm sometimes more than make-up for a lack of on-field skills, but only sometimes. That's why baseball has a farm system where you learn as you go and as you grow. And maybe someday, with enough hard work combined with natural abilities (and some luck), you're on the parent club's opening day roster and memories of Dodd Stadium start to dim, but not for those of us who cheer you on against the Staten Island Yankees, Lowell Spinners or the Jamestown Jammers among others.

This summer head for Dodd Stadium to check out the hometown team, the Connecticut Tigers. Their seventy-four game season may not be that long but the memories can last a lifetime.

-bill kenny

It Depends on the Fish

She was standing at the counter when I entered and I stood the appropriate ATM distance away from her, just far enough away to NOT be mistaken for Todd but not in the next area code either. Good thing, too, because I would've missed this exchange had I been half a step farther away.

After placing her breakfast order by number with a surly sales associate, the woman added, 'and I don't want any mushrooms on the sandwich.' The associate seemed to barely blink as she responded 'the sammiches don't come wif mushrooms' (offered in a 'so there, beyotch' tone of triumph). 'I don't care,' countered the woman, 'I still don't want any.'

The counter person started to say something and the woman put up her right hand and offered with both malice and menace 'you need to shut up and bring me breakfast. And no mushrooms.'

That seemed to take the fight right out of the Employee of the Month and a moment later, it was my turn. 'I'd like what the lady had,' I offered brightly since in short bursts I can be absolutely charming (time's up) 'except I want something different, but no mushrooms.' There was the briefest of moments when it looked as if there might be something less than lovin' it, coming across the counter and then suddenly there wasn't.

What I was living through was Colonel Scheisskopf's announcement that the Sunday parade had been cancelled, though no one had ever held a parade on Sunday or any other day. Confused? Good, that means we're all in the right place and in the same device. I offer this today of all days because while life imitates art, sometimes they're one and the same.

Today, fifty years ago, Joseph Heller's Catch-22 was first published. Happy Birthday. An early review in the New Yorker offered "it doesn't seem to have been written; instead, it gives the impression of having been shouted onto paper." I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way. I own at least three copies published on different continents (though all are in English to include one that is illegal to sell in the United States, it says).

I've been known to give people the book as a gift (I do not like the movie at all, sorry, Mike Nichols) and can quote chapters from memory, down to the punctuation, at the slightest provocation so consider yourself warned.

"It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him." I'm hard-pressed to come up with a greater opening line in any published work (okay, except maybe this one), though you won't find it in this online version of Heller's novel which is why you have to go purchase the book.

Until I joined the US Air Force in the middle Seventies I thought Catch-22 was hilarious fiction-I discovered it was anything but and did so just in the nick of time. (I found this today and it suggests, based on its publication date, I was ahead of my time and that the Air Force Academy and every graduate owes me big time.) I can attribute the abbreviation of a career in the service of my country to Yossarian's Fish Dream (Chapter 27, Nurse Duckett; I didn't hate the whole movie, obviously). And considering the career I wasn't having, you are certainly welcome.

Could there be a more revelatory moment in life or art than the exchange between Yossarian and Clevinger that has 'no mushrooms' written all over it: "They're trying to kill me," Yossarian told him calmly. "No one's trying to kill you," Clevinger cried. "Then why are they shooting at me?" Yossarian asked. "They're shooting at everyone," Clevinger answered. "They're trying to kill everyone." "And what difference does that make?"

And in the end, the exchange that echoes across the years: "From now on, I'm thinking only of me." Major Danby replied indulgently with a superior smile: "But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way." "Then," said Yosaarian, "I'd be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?" Absolutely Yo-Yo, absolutely.

-bill kenny

Maybe a Week without Snow? (Norwich Meetings 4-9 April 2011)

This is shaping up to be one of those weeks in municipal government where he who hesitates is lunch, which explains that sprig of parsley I found in my shirt pocket. I still don't understand why someone thought liverwurst aftershave was a good idea before we visited the dog pound, but live and learn....

Tonight at seven thirty in City Hall's Council chambers, the agenda reflects one of the more important meetings of the City Council not just for this year but in recent memory. The City Manager will outline his proposed 2011-2012 municipal budget and let's face it, budget formulation is zero fun in the best of times and that's NOT where we are right now. But speaking of hopes for better things, also on the agenda is Council adoption of the plan for downtown revitalization we approved bond money for in November, so it looks talking the talk is over and walking the walk now starts.

Tuesday afternoon are a pair of meetings in the Integrated Day Charter School, IDCS, in Laurel Hill at the rehabbed old Thermos factory that are probably of value if you have children and/or are looking at schools and/or are interested in seeing how other than a public school system creates the needed educational room to grow for it students and teachers. The IDCS Governance Committee, followed by the Planning Committee, meets at five in their conference room. There's a reason why the school's waiting list is in excess of three hundred children-perhaps you should see for yourself.

And, since I'll never hear the end of this from Dennis if I don't mention it, Wednesday evening at seven in Room 335 of City Hall it's a regular meeting of the Republican Town Committee and if you were waiting for me to say something caustic, hope you have a good book because it'll be a long wait (a party with a person with no sense of Revolutionary War geography and a Congressional leader with a terrific tan needs me to make sport of it? I think not).

Thursday is chock a block with meetings, sort of. The sort of part is on account of the first one, listed on the City's calendar as the Downtown Neighborhood Revitalization Zone at 5:30 though the where is unclear and the deeper you dig the less clear it all gets. I think the schedule and location of meetings posted on the municipal website is actually from last year which is, in a way, a marked improvement over the archive of meeting minutes available. Perhaps the expiration dates of the members' appointments could be brought into the now while we're attempting to comply with the state's mandate on posting of meeting minutes more current than the draft minutes of the August 5th 2010 meeting. Seriously.

The Inlands Wetlands, Watercourses and Conservation Commission meets at seven in the basement conference room of the Planning Department at 23 Union Street. This must be their first session of the year as no minutes for 2011 meetings are available on the website. Yep, that's probably what happened.....

At 7:30 in Room 335 (sit up front or you will hear NOTHING) is the first installment of the municipal departmental hearings on the 2011-2012 budget with Planning and Neighborhood Services followed by Human Services, Corporation Counsel, the Mayor (on Economic Development) and concluding with the Finance Department and Treasurer each having twenty minutes (in theory) to make the case for their respective budget requests and to answer questions from the City Council (fyi, 'who's your daddy?' does not count as a question).

This Saturday's Meeting with the Mayor starts at 9 AM in the Taftville Volunteer Fire House at 134 Providence Street. Bring a squeak toy for the Dalmatian, and for the Mayor, whatever questions you have on where the city is heading and how we're going to get there. We need to start practicing singing in harmony, as tomorrow's just a song away.

-bill kenny