Step one

It’s funny how things in life unfold. Things that seem inconsequential at the time, can sometimes become grand later on. Everything is an opportunity; like forked branches on a tree, we make a decision to do one thing and it takes us down a particular path, we make a decision to do another and it takes us down a different one. Not making decisions has the same effect, but I prefer to exercise my freedom of choice and leave the jellyfishing to others.

A couple of months ago my friend L sent me an invitation to join Facebook, and though at the time I didn’t think much of it and simply joined because she’d invited me to, somewhere in the back of my mind I think I anticipated its potential. The truth is, I’ve always found social networking sites interesting– hell, I’m down with anything that can facilitate communication and bring people together — but for some reason I never felt compelled to join myself. But since you never know where seemingly inconsequential choices will take you, it’s good to be open to anything.

Step Two

For the uninitiated, social networking sites basically function on a couple of different levels and Facebook is no exception. First, you have individuals interacting with each other through personal pages which represent who they are and what they’re all about — their education, occupation, photos, musical tastes, etc.. And second, you have something called “groups” which is pretty much as it sounds — a place where special interests can establish communities and distribute information.

Shortly after joining Facebook, I joined the “Life Rolls On” group (you’ve probably seen their link under the “Life Aquatic” section to the left) and began receiving updates and information from them and their underwritten program “They Will Surf Again”.

Having caught my attention several years ago when I read about one of their events in Newport Beach, “They Will Surf Again”, an organization that works to get disabled people surfing, sparked my imagination from the get go. Unfortunately for me, I live in Northern California and with my schedule (and ass), participation was never very realistic.

Nevertheless, sometime around the end of June an announcement was posted on Facebook that “They Will Surf Again” would be holding one of their events in LA, and even though I knew it wasn’t something I’d be able to make — our Film Festival was that same weekend — it still pricked up my ears and got me thinking about the possibilities.

I knew I’d be heading down to Southern California in August or September anyway to pick up some stuff I had in storage, so I thought why not check and see if there’d be an event happening while I was in the area. Sure enough, there was, and the rest — as they say — is history.

Step three

And there you have it; because of a decision to click “join” on a popular social networking site, this coming Saturday I’ll be putting on a wetsuit and surfing again for the first time since my injury over 20 years ago.

Am I stoked? Ha! What do you think?

Sometime the pieces just all fall together.

Oh, and because I love you so much here’s a heads up to a great deal on Amazon’s MP3 site: Bon Iver’s debut album, For Emma, Forever Ago. It’s easily one of the best indie rock albums of the last year and a $2.99 there’s really no excuse not to experiment and give it a go. I think the deal ends at 12 a.m. Pacific Time, but I’m not sure. Whatever the price, it’s a shimmering, moving album. Get it. Aloha.

So, yeah, my dog has officially gone deaf, but unlike people when they suddenly acquire such a disability, she doesn’t seem to mind (or more to the point, doesn’t seem to notice). She used to hear, now she doesn’t — it’s as simple as that. Dog Zen. But the truth is, I think it’s actually worked out quite well for her. For starters, the word “no” has disappeared from her life (not to mention any command of any sort) and she now lives in a world — in her mind at least — where everything is “yes”:

“Yes, I know I don’t usually have Thai food, but I think I’ll eat that green curry right off your plate”.

“Yes, I know I usually go in the same direction as you, but I think I’ll wander off over here into the bushes and see if I can find some poop to sniff”.

“Yes, I know I’m usually silent while you eat, but I think I’ll continue to bark at you until you give me some”.

“Yes, I know I’m usually not fond of the vacuum, but I think I’ll continue to lie here in the middle of the hall now that the dog eating setting no longer works”.

And so on.

Truthfully it’s rather endearing — she’s like a big puppy — and really, timing wise, if it was going to happen, now is probably the best time. At 14, for a service dog, she’s really passed the point of retirement (no, that’s not a euphemism), but since she doesn’t do anything physical (i.e. pull a wheelchair), and she’s in great shape, she’s been able to keep working. In fact, hearing loss aside, when we put her vest on, all aforementioned anarchistic behavior disappears and she’s ready to go to work. She may not able to pick stuff up for me anymore — she can’t hear things fall or take instructions — but she can still open and close my front door, and that’s a huge assistance to me.

So basically she’s in semiretirement, which is really another way of saying she still has all the perks and privileges of a service dog — being able to go everywhere I go; restaurants, theatre, concerts, movies, airplanes, what have you — but almost none of the responsibility. It’s a hard knock life, to be sure, and I suppose a hearing monkey or something might make the Club Med like transition a little easier, but since monkeys hardly seem trustworthy, we’re just going to have to go with what we’ve got.

All this said, what’s been most difficult is not being able to talk to her anymore. And I’m not talking about commands. The command thing is working itself out — she’s smart, and she’s already starting to learn hand signals (especially when food is on the line). No, what I’m referring to are the expressions of love and encouragement I give her with my voice when I’m stuck in bed and I’m unable to reach out and pet her, or when we’re out on the street and she’s doing a good job and I want to let her know. This is what I miss, and I wonder if she finds it odd that she no longer hears my voice.

Yesterday was one of those days that wanted to kick my butt. Even still, I was determined to push. Come hell or high water, I was going to get out onto the track. But the pain I was feeling in my neck and right shoulder was so intense it was making me dizzy. I took four extra strength Advil, but it didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. Or if it did — and here’s a scary thought — what would’ve I felt like without it? On that pain scale chart they use in hospitals now, with the happy face man on the left and the frowning man on the right, I was way over in frowning face territory.

What’s odd, is this is happening more and more and I’m not sure what’s going on. Is it nerve damage? Tendon damage? I don’t know. I’ve had some sensation loss below my level of injury over the last couple of years, but nothing of this nature this high up. Could it be related? Again, I don’t know. Either way, it looks like a doctor visit is in my future. And if you know me, that’s a mighty big deal. I don’t like doctors — not personally — but I’ll only visit them when I absolutely must — when I’m right up against the edge and there aren’t any other options. This frowny face pain is pretty damn close to that point.

But back to hell or high water. Generally, when I get out onto the track, after that first lap things seem to loosen up and if I’m having any pain, that too subsides. But it was hot — very hot for Berkeley — 90 plus degrees hot — and that can be good and bad* for my workout routine. On the one hand, the heat loosens my arms up, getting rid of any stiffness I might have, but on the other — if one isn’t careful — high temperatures can be dangerous. The problem is, quadriplegics don’t sweat below the level of their injury and more often than not, above it as well. Without perspiration to cool us down, our core body temperatures can rise very quickly, and in extreme cases be lethal. Fortunately for me, I live in Berkeley and we get the kind of temperatures I’m talking about maybe three or four times a year. That works out great, because it means I can pretty much workout whenever I want. Still, when it’s hot like it’s been, I understand my limitations. I may have a Tiger Woods streak in me when it comes to working through the pain, but I’m not an idiot. I’m pretty confident I know when to say when.

That said, this particular push had me right up against that edge I was referring to above. The pain in my neck and shoulder didn’t subside after that first lap, and the heat kept me questioning how much further I could push it before the law of diminishing returns began.

A mile was my limit on this day, but it was a very well earned mile. The pain, which was difficult to deal with was, in the end, the very thing that drove me on. The pride I felt in overcoming this obstacle is money in the bank. In the big picture, it’s a rather small accomplishment compared to some, but combined with many like it, it’s the foundation for which success is built upon.

So, yeah, rest assured, once this busy weekend is behind me, I’m calling a doctor.

* For lack of a better way to put it, I used the words “good” and “bad”. But as they pertain to judgement, I’m really trying to leave those words out of my vocabulary. Life has shown me that labeling something “good” or “bad” — judging it as so — is not wise. What’s “good” or “bad” today, may not be so tomorrow.

The beautiful thing about life is that it’s completely unpredictable. It’s fluid and can’t be expected to hold any course. If you forget this, you’ll either be pleasantly surprised or thoroughly frustrated. Plans, while useful to make, will always drive this point home.

This weekend I had every intention to sail with BAADS, but — like the previous four weeks — life had other ideas. As I’ve mentioned before, my goal was to be sailing solo by early summer, but as I look at the next three weekends I’m not sure that’s going to happen. Of course, if I stretch the definition of early summer into mid-summer, then I may still achieve this objective. Sometimes it’s just a matter of reframing the definition.

What kept me off the water this weekend was something important. An attendant of mine had a schedule change with his other job and needed to give me notice. Unfortunately this notice was very short (four days), which meant I needed to find a replacement immediately. Under normal circumstances I’d like to have at least a couple of weeks notice so that I can place an ad on craigslist, set up interviews and then hire someone without feeling rushed. This amount of time allows me to space the interviews in such a way that I’m still able to do everything else in my life — work, work out, sail, rest my ass — and be confident that I’ve had enough time to find the right person.

For myself — as a quadriplegic — my attendant care is the single most important element in me being able to live independently. Everything in my life stems from this and it can’t be overstated. Finding the right person isn’t so much about finding somebody who can physically do the job (though, that’s certainly part of it), it’s about finding somebody who I’ll enjoy being around and will be a dynamic addition to my life. Rarely do I look at a resume or call references, I go with my instincts and — not wanting to sound too new agey — the vibe I get. It’s a unique relationship, intimate and rich, and a great many of these people become — and are — dear and longtime friends.

So while on the one hand it’s a drag to replace a friend and great attendant, and to rearrange my life to accommodate a succession of interviews, it’s a great opportunity to meet somebody new and to add yet another dimension to my world.

I didn’t get to sail this week, but ultimately I’m sure that’ll take care of itself. The trip — or any sailing I do — depends greatly on the dedicated assistance of my amazing attendants — in preparation, support and direct participation. Their commitment to all aspects of my life — from the seemingly insignificant to the grand — is forever heartwarming. Knowing that — even as folks come and go — is a powerful thing. I’ll gladly move anything around in service of its success.

Even the timeliness of this blog.

So how does one know when summer actually arrives?

Well, I suppose you could look at the calendar and go with the whole June 21st summer equinox thing. It’s not very romantic, but it’s certainly accurate and official. Or I suppose you could make the observation that the days are getting longer and — depending on where you live — warmer. The qualification of that last bit being, here in Berkeley/San Francisco, at least, summer doesn’t always guarantee warmer (hence that dubious Mark Twain quote: “the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”). Or you could note that baseball season has begun and you suddenly have an irrational itch for eternally long sporting events. Or you might find yourself spending increasing amounts of time in front of the Otter Pop section of the frozen food aisle, mesmerized by the bright colors and — depending on your age — awash in warm, fuzzy nostalgic feelings for the sugary goodness of Alexander the Grape, Sir Isaac Lime and Strawberry Short Kook.

All these are prognosticators, to be sure, and won’t let you down with their accuracy, but for me it all begins with the music. Summer music. When I was a kid, it was the crackly tones of “pop goes the weasel” pied-pipering their way out of an ice cream truck, lulling my suburban friends and I into such somnambulistic states that our allowance money was easily handed over for half melted ice cream sandwiches, cinnamon toothpicks and astro pops. Later it was the outdoor music festivals and early Sunday morning lines at ticket master for shows at the Irvine Meadows amphitheater. And while neither of these particular portends have completely disappeared — I still go all Pavlovian when I hear “pop goes the weasel” — I now gauge the arrival of summer by the sickly sweet sounds of Hong Kong pop songs.

For good or for bad, I live four floors above the back entrance to the “Great China” restaurant here in Berkeley. Architecturally, it doesn’t look anything like your normal Chinese eatery, it’s more of a small Victorian house sandwiched between the massive brick California Theatre on the one side, an apartment construction site on the other and my complex to the back. A worn wooden staircase lines the side of the restaurant just outside the kitchen door and rises up to a level of no consequence or purpose (think the Winchester House and you’ll probably get my meaning). There’s a door at the top of the stairs — half as narrow as a normal door — but as far as I can tell it’s never used. Basically it seems these stairs serve two functions only; a place to store crates of green onions and the raw dough for dumplings and a place where the staff of middle-aged Chinese women sit sleepy eyed in the morning listening to pop music on a boombox while they wait for their bosses to arrive to let them in.

In the wintertime, I barely notice this life at all — my double pane window sadly blocks out all the sound below. The drowsy, singsongy conversations of these women and the cheap radio are no match for my modern glass. Come the end of spring, however, when the weather starts to warm up and I open my windows 24/7, the Cantopop once again rises from below, swirls into my room and like the swallows returning home to San Juan Capistrano signals the change of the season.

Summertime.

Aside from it being International Worker’s Day and a day where some folks may want to dance around a Maypole (our European brethren mostly), it’s also my dog Shadow’s birthday. She’s 14 years old today; getting up there by golden retriever standards, not so much by tortoises’.

She’s in great shape and as bighearted and goofy as ever. She’s less fond of rock ‘n roll and hip-hop shows, but still retains an enthusiastic interest in catered events and Mexican restaurants with mariachis and cascading bowls of chips. Her hearing has diminished some (selectively and otherwise), but her bark is as efficient as ever. Tennis balls still hold a significant place in her heart, but her nose to the ground and knowing every other dog’s business seems much more a priority now. And while I’d hoped her ever evolving dog breath might’ve reached a critical mass by this point, I’ll gladly endure its further evolution in exchange for many more years together.

It’s only fitting Shadow’s birthday is on May 1st — the day of the worker and the day of the May Queen — given she’s both, it’s the only one that would do.

Those who know Shadow, know this about her — she is a lover beyond words and a wondrous spirit. Every day she’s in my life is another day to be thankful for. May the years continue to be kind.

The biscuits flow tonight!

The weather report called for clear skies, but as we drove over Donner Pass the light snow flurries made us question that forecast. Generally, I’d say I’m an 80 degrees and sunny type of guy, but this unexpected bit of weather had me singing a different tune entirely and I couldn’t shut up about how cool it was. It had been since my accident since I’d seen snow — let alone been in it — and so my enthusiasm for this particular meteorological phenomenon was justifiably heightened.

By the time we reached the motel at the base of Alpine Meadows it had gone from light flurries to a legitimate snowfall and my giddiness increased with each snowflake that stuck in my hair.

Later, I tried to explain to T that this mis-forecasted weather anomaly was part of a larger package of good fortunes that seem to follow me around like a metaphysical UPS truck, but I’m not so sure she bought it. Either way, we both agreed this auspicious beginning was going to make for some mighty fine spring skiing.

Inspire it then Google it

In a simultaneous burst of inspiration during a conversation T and I had a few months ago, the idea for this ski trip was born. Why it took so long to realize skiing was something I could do is an absolute mystery, but since I don’t believe in dwelling on lost time I’ve got no problem letting that go.

I wasn’t sure how it would work with my level of injury, but since I’m pretty proficient with Google I figured if it could be done and had been documented I’d find out about it. And if not, well, then like the Hawaiian outrigger my friend K and I adapted, we’d figure something out.

In Alpine Meadows (four hours from Berkeley near Tahoe), I found an adaptive ski program run by the organization Disabled Sports USA Far West, which for $66 would give me a lesson on a bi-ski and what I was yet to discover, an epiphany of profound proportions (there was no charge for the epiphany). All I needed to do was make a reservation, book a motel room, coordinate with T and break out the ski advent calendar to begin counting down the days.

The man is the foot

Like fitting ski boots correctly into bindings, getting the perfect fit in a bi-ski is a critical part of the process. Metaphorically speaking; I’m the foot and the bi-ski is the boot, the bindings and the ski. Since I’m a rather tall guy — not freakishly so, but NBA point guard tall — experience has shown me fitting into gliders, outriggers, sailboats and even wheelchairs can be a challenging proposition. The bi-ski was no different.

Fortunately, like a ski rental shop, the organization had a number of skis to choose from. Even still, we were hard-pressed to find one with enough back height to complement both my size and the fact that I’m a fairly high quad with no functioning trunk or back muscles to hold me upright.

In the end, it was simply a matter of sliding my hips forward so that I sat lower in the seat and then applying an elaborate five point harness system (with other strategically placed straps) to lock me down and keep me secure. A lot of things might happen on the slopes, but me coming free of the ski, wouldn’t be one of them.

Since we were essentially fitting me to the ski and not the other way around, the potential for pressure sores was a likely problem. This was a major concern of mine and something the crew, with their extensive experience working with disabled skiers, took seriously as well. Great care was taken to get me as comfortable as possible with as much padding as I might need around any area that could pose a problem.

That Said, if I got a pressure sore, I got a pressure sore — I was more than willing to put my body on the line to get out on the slopes. I was there to ski and nothing was going to stop that.

An hour later I had the right ski, the right position, the right straps, the right padding, the right helmet, the right goggles and a stoked enthusiasm that was ready to get me out on the snow.

Oh, hell yeah

One of the things that was difficult to get my head around when looking at images on the Internet was how the bi-ski would use the chairlift. As it turns out, it’s not very complicated. There’s a space between the skis and the seat and it’s simply a matter of a person on either side lifting the ski up onto the chair as it approaches and then riding it like everyone else — skis dangling, chatting things up with the person next to you.

But describing how I felt as I was pushed up to the chairlift for the first time is another matter; the sound of the slushy snow as it was displaced by skis, the creak of the chairlift as the cables rolled over the runners, the bright spring day, all of it triggered something deep within me — a kind of cell memory. And as I was lifted up onto the lift and we lurched forward and off the ground it felt as though all the years in between that moment and the time I broke my neck completely fell away. And this, my friends, was only the chairlift ride.

When we reached the top, I was ready to go. No question the lift was great and a moving trip down memory lane, but I was ready for some speed. Sitting at the top of the run, overlooking the valley and Lake Tahoe below, my instructor Len went over the mechanics of the bi-ski and what I’d be doing in relation to how much he’d be assisting.

Basically, the ski works like this; a bucket seat atop a mono shock system is mounted into a pair of parabolic skis, which, when the skier leans one way or the other, engages the edges and causes the ski to turn. A pair of smaller skis — approximately 12 inches — are mounted to the front of the bi-ski and function as outriggers to stabilize the ski and prevent it from tipping over. An assistant, by the means of two tethers attached to both sides of the ski, skis about 7 feet behind and can control both the turning and speed of the ski as the situation arises. As a piece of equipment it’s a marvel of ingenuity and as a sport, very much a team effort.

10 feet into the fall line of that first run I was ready to sell my soul to the bi-ski demons of the Sierras. The thing was incredibly responsive; even with my level disability and the limited movement I have, I was able to carve down the slope close to 60% unassisted. The experience was unreal — the speed of it took me right back to where I left off. Standing, sitting — what’s the difference? The sensations — the entirety of it — felt exactly the same.

Give credit where credit is due

Of course, I owe a great deal of thanks to my instructor Len and his assistant Rick who right from the beginning asked me, “would you like this to be Disneyland or a ski instruction?”

Sensing my jones for the more extreme end of things, they spent extra time working with me; taking me further up the mountain and allowing me to push things as far as I could on more intermediate runs. I learned a lot this first time out and by the end of the day my neck and shoulders were aching from all the leaning and turning.

Still, none of this would have been possible without the help of my beautiful friend T. Despite not being 100% herself, she was there for me 100% and I am indebted to that commitment. Sans television or music, with only our crazy selves to keep us company and entertained, she spent days with me in a motel room while my butt recovered from all the activities. I’ve not laughed so hard, for so many days straight, with so little sleep since… well, since… never.

If I’m ever stuck in the Andes after a plane crash or a desert island somewhere in the South Pacific or a motel in the middle of the Sierras, I hope to God T is close by.

Epilogue

I’ve never been one to pine for winter’s end or the fade out of inclement weather, but as spring transitions into summer and the ski season ends I have a new attitude. Don’t get me wrong, summer is still my favorite season (I’m a quadriplegic after all), but after this last ski trip I don’t think I’m going to pine for summer’s end either. Bring on those winter storms… papa’s got a brand new bag.

I don’t know if it’s my aura, my enthusiasm, my attitude or my hair, but the question my friend got asked on two occasions — as she tried to track me down on the slopes — was; “so what was he before?  A snowboarder or a skier?”

It’s not an odd question, really. I get asked if I was a surfer or skater all the time, so it’s only appropriate when I’m in the mountains to be asked if I was a snowboarder or skier (the alpine equivalents). I find the question complementary.  Surfing, skating (skateboarding), skiing — these sports shaped me into who I am today and I like that.  It’s nice to know that whether I’m wearing a J. Crew sweater on the BART or sitting in a bi-ski, people recognize my colors.

Of course, such tribal feelings might be enhanced by the post-adrenaline, post-altitude, post-endorphin, post-Sierra-air-in-my-lungs rush I got from skiing for the first time since my injury, but as I always like to say, if you’re gonna claim your roots do it with a clearheaded sentimentality.

Next up: the fundamentals of my alpine adventure and how a bi-ski made me say, “oh, hell yeah”.

As I said a couple of posts ago, I don’t do the whole New Year’s resolution thing. What I do do — and this is where the whole 365 albums came in — is make a list of things I’d like to accomplish over the coming year and knock ‘em down one by one. This is not a static list. In fact, it’s best when it’s continually being added to. Think of it kind of like the jaws of a great white shark; a tooth disappears, another replaces it.

It’s not a list specific to my life; everything on it would be beneficial for all. Also, it’s a collaborative effort. Since the end of December I’ve been asking my friends and other folks what would be some good things to accomplish/do in 2008 to better one’s life. I didn’t include everything that was suggested — editorial privileges on my part — but I think it’s a good place to start.

1. Backup that computer, yo. This one I’m ready to knock down. I bought a hard drive the other day (after way too long) and I backed up everything that was important to me. If you care about what’s on your computer, back that stuff up. External hard drives are becoming very inexpensive. While doing this, you should also think about backing up your cell phone, PDA or whatever other digital gadget you store information on. Also, think about photocopying your Social Security card, birth certificate and credit cards. I’m not saying the robot wars are going to happen, but when they do (May 12, 2010) you better believe they’ll go after your personal information first.
2. Learn a new language. This requires discipline and it’s something you need to stick with every day, but if you do the rewards are massive. Being fortunate enough to be surrounded by a lot of Spanish speakers, my choice of language was an obvious one. I’ll be spending a minimum of an hour a day rolling my R’s.
3. Get a passport. I plan on leaving the country within the next 365 days, so for me this is a no-brainer. Even if I wasn’t, getting one would be suggesting that the possibility was real. I like that. If yours has expired, get it renewed. You can find more information about passports here: http://travel.state.gov/passport/
4. Do a spring cleaning. Go through your house, apartment, condo, studio, what have you, and decide what function you want each room to serve (if you have more than one) and then get rid of whatever doesn’t serve that function. For example, in my case, I have a metro rack in my kitchen that’s filled with pots and pans, books and old surfer magazines. I want my kitchen to function as a kitchen and so the books and surfer magazines must find a new home. Also, go through your clothing and give away anything that doesn’t fit or that you just don’t wear anymore. Somebody out there would love what you’re not using. In the end, this is all about simplification.
5. Set aside time to meditate or pray. 5 to 10 minutes a day is the minimum I’m setting for myself. If you’re an atheist, this isn’t about God, and if you aren’t, then, well, it can be. Try focusing on all you have to be thankful for.
6. Exercise. If you’ve been reading this site you know where I’m at on this subject. If you haven’t been doing anything then anything above that will do. Just do something. Try loosing the remote and get up to change the channels manually. If you have been exercising think about stepping things up a bit.
7. Check your credit report. Make sure there’s no fraud or mistakes. If you’re a US citizen you are entitled to a free one every year.
8. Plan a camping trip. It doesn’t have to be more than a weekend, but it’ll be well worth the effort. If you like warm weather and you’re in the Northern Hemisphere then you’ve got plenty of time to plan for a great summer outing. And if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere and you like warm weather, well, then you better get cracking. Time waits for no one.
9. Give someone you appreciate a gift just because. Sure, it can be your girlfriend, boyfriend, wife or husband, but I’m thinking more along the lines of a friend, coworker, secretary or mailman. You get the picture. Birthdays, Christmas and the major Hallmark holidays don’t count.
10. Try something new at least once a month. Type of food, music, route to work, experience, etc.. Myself; I’d like to hold a tarantula before the year is out.
11. Do something creative and artistic. Make a custom card for somebody’s birthday, make a mobile, create a T-shirt design, graffiti a subway train (if it’s your subway train), experiment with oil paints on a 20′ x 20′ canvas.
12. Seriously evaluate the footprint you’re leaving on this planet. Change your ways, little things do matter. You can start with replacing your old lightbulbs with those that are more energy-efficient. Simple.
13. Vote. Unless you’re a lobbyist with millions of dollars at your disposal don’t squander what little political power you have. If you’re a US citizen register if you haven’t already done so.
14. Floss.

And there you have it, our 2008 road map. If you have anything you’d like to add, please leave a comment. Like I said, it’s a list in perpetual motion and I like to keep those shark teeth stacked.

I am not by nature what you would call a “new year’s resolution” type of a guy. I’m more of a “check yourself on a regular basis and make adjustments on the fly” type of guy. Not that there’s anything wrong with making new year’s resolutions, I’ll applaud anything that inspires reflection and then, in turn, change. I just don’t make them myself.

That said, given that I write a blog, January is just about over and the fact that I embrace contradiction with a Leo Buscaglia-like bear hug, I thought I’d share with you a little project I’m going to take on over the next 365 days. While it may not be a resolution exactly, for the sake of this week’s musings it’s close enough.

My project: A-side

As a musician, semiretired DJ, music fan and an internationally renowned maker of mixed CDs, I consume a lot of music. Countless dollars (and perhaps a lucrative retirement package) have been spent amassing what can only be described as an impressive collection of vinyl, tapes, CDs and DVDs filled with the miraculous sounds of pop, jazz, rock, hip-hop, dub, reggae, electronica, latin, Afro-pop, ska, classical, R&B and just about every subgenre in between. It is, to be sure, a dizzying volume of music.

Which brings me to the point of my project: I intend to listen to a different album every day for the next 365 days. And I’m not talking about as background music either. I’m talking about sitting down (or laying down as the case may be) and truly engaging in the experience of listening to an album from start to finish. Focusing on that album only and nothing else.

My reasons for doing this are threefold (outside of the obvious fact that I just plain love music):

1. Because I’ve got a ton of music that rarely gets listened to and I think it should be.
2. As I’ve gotten older (sort of) and more distractions have entered my life my relationship with music has undergone changes, which upon reflection, need some attention. Don’t get me wrong I’m as stoked as ever when I hear something dynamic, it’s just the quality of my engagement needs to be retooled.
3. It’s a great opportunity to make new discoveries and to share them with all of you.

B-side

This one hasn’t quite been figured out yet, but aside from giving you a simple rundown of what I’ve listened to at the end of each month, I thought it might be interesting to create a mix of some of my favorite songs from each album (that’s at least 29),and either post it here or send out a hardcopy to those who might be interested and are very, very nice (you know, for the low cost of a CD and postage). Let me know what you think.