AC/DC "Jailbreak"

Here's how it went:  I would slip silently through the halls, doing my best to remain invisible.  I'd appear in her doorway, looking for sanctuary.  She would grab a loose piece of paper, from somewhere within her reach.  It might be from a roll.  It might be newsprint.  It might be a corner ripped off some instructions.  In pencil, she'd quickly scrawl an unintelligible line and say, "Come right back."

I'd present the piece of paper.  Which again, could be a tiny corner, or a sheet the size of a full newspaper.  Either way, her signature was only took up two inches of real estate.

"What is this?" the Study Hall teacher would ask.

"Mrs. Laganas says I can come to the Art Room for Study Hall."

"Can't she use a permission slip like everyone else?" the Study Hall teacher would ask, rhetorically.

This piece of paper didn't just grant me access to the Art Room.  Equally importantly, it granted me freedom from Study Hall.

Depending on who the Study Hall teacher was, Study Hall at my school was either a detention-like 45 minutes held in complete silence, or, perhaps worse, it was a kind of unrestricted social time, where the goal was to just basically keep the kids corralled for the period.  The latter was actually harder for me, as a teen, because I was horribly uncomfortable in all but the most familiar social situations.  I was fine among my few best friends.  But having to make conversation with anyone beyond that was an excruciating experience during my teenage years (which, if you've only known me as an adult who's profession is public speaking, you must find hilariously ironic).

So any opportunity to avoid social scrutiny, was welcome.

And Mrs. Laganas was welcoming.

If you had a free period, and she liked you well enough (ie. she knew that you weren't going to show that permission slip to your Study Hall teacher, then go to McDonalds), she'd let you come hang out in the Art Room.

So I went there at every free opportunity, found a corner to work in, and put my head into a drawing.  If Mrs. Laganas had a big class in session, she'd let me hide in the supply closet and do my work.

Sometimes, she'd have projects/assignments for me.  Perspective.  Figure drawing.  Oil painting.

But most of the time, I was on my own, drawing.

"You have an eye," she used to say.

I could draw.  Actually, I could illustrate.  I had this natural ability to look at a photograph or picture, and draw it exactly.

I wasn't all that imaginative.  I didn't paint from my mind.  I didn't even really draw from real life.

I drew album covers.  And Rolling Stone magazine pictures.  And Sports Illustrated photos.  Athletes and Rock Stars and Models and such.

For 45 minutes my head would be down near the table, my eyes darting back and forth between the photo and the white piece of paper.  And when the period ended, I'd pop my work back in the magazine, and head off to the next class.

At home that night, I'd be back in the Art Room---this time, my bedroom---head back in the picture, AC/DC on the boombox (which was, ridiculously, set at the absolute lowest setting possible so as not to alert anyone that I was still awake at this late hour, drawing when I should be in bed).

I'd be in a world where I drew the lines and I didn't have to say a word to anyone.

It was a sanctuary and a coping mechanism that got me though the long awkward stretch of youth.


Postscript:  How cool is it that I married an Art Teacher?  And that my house is about to become an Art Room?  My friend Mike Palmer (with minimal help from me) spent last weekend renovating our garage, to make a studio space, and my wife is offering day camps for kids and evening classes for adults, right out of The Art Shed (the site is live, but not finished . . .).


Hear the song on Youtube.

The Old 97s "White Port"

You may or may not know that I met my wife because she won an mvyradio T-shirt Design Contest.

How excited was she to find out that one of her new favorite bands, The Old 97s, were having a t-shirt design contest?

The design had to be based on any one of the tunes from the band's most recent album, "The Grand Theatre, Volume 2."

And now she is a finalist.

If she wins, she gets backstage passes to meet the band at an upcoming show.

So may I invited you to go to The Old 97s' Facebook page, make sure you "Like" the band, and the "Like" her drawing, shown on the right.

It's for the song "White Port," which is written from the perspective of a rail-riding hobo, who loves his freedom and his beverage of choice.

Now, to be honest with you, I have mixed feelings about her

winning this one, as she is quite smitten with the handsome and charming lead singer, Rhett Miller.

I mean, she already has a track record of falling for guys who judge t-shirt artwork!

I suppose that my saving grace could be that she chose "White Port," one of the few songs on the record written by bass player Murray Hammond.

Anyway, wish us luck! And if you "Like" The Old 97s, be sure to check out their hilarious photo gallery.


Hear a live version of the song on Youtube.

Hear the album version on Spotify (but you have to be signed up to Spotify).

The Replacements "Kiss Me On The Bus"

The last thing I said to my wife before leaving the house yesterday morning was, “If you have a chance, read my post blog today . . .”

The morning has been the usual level of brain-scrambling chaos, getting the kids dressed and fed and ready for the day, shoveling the heavy wet snow from the driveway, attempting to empty the dishwasher, wrangle the scattered dirty laundry, scoop up errant Legos, and get out of the house and off to work on time. Or at least, not late.

We’re a long way away from those carefree days when we first met, and first started dating. Life has moved fast in 7 years.

In 2004, we met.

In 2005, we got married.

In 2006, we bought a house.

In 2007, we had our first child.

And life has only accelerated from there.

So to honor our 7 years, and recall how it all started, I thought I’d write the story of how we met, leading up to our first kiss.

When I sat down to write, I titled the post “The Replacements ‘Kiss Me On The Bus.’”

I got about halfway through, and remembered, Hey, it wasn’t “Kiss Me On The Bus” that she sang to win my heart. It was “Waitress In The Sky.”

I guess, because I was thinking about our first kiss, and because time and chaos have fuzzed out some of the details, I’d gotten confused.

After the post was published, I wondered if she’d have the chance to read it. The day can be quite full with two little kids running around. Finding 10 minutes to read a blog post doesn’t always happen. In fact, I wondered if she even realized the date, and that it was the Anniversary of our meeting. We don’t usually celebrate it. We’re more likely to acknowledge our wedding Anniversary, which is in August.

I got home at 6:30, and everyone was on the verge.

The kids had had a fun, active day. An afternoon play-date turned into dinner at our house, as my wife prepared pasta for 5 kids ages 4 and under.

The guests had left, and our worn out, strung out kids were ready for a quick wind down, and bed. And my wife was ready to sit on the Lazyboy and watch American Idol.

Everyone was corralled into the kids’ room. Tabitha got the baby into pajamas, as I rolled a ball back and forth across the floor with my daughter.

Having a moment of toddler inspiration, she grabbed her Little People toy bus, and started knocking the ball to me, with it. I suggested that she put the ball in the bus, and roll the bus to me.

Tabitha started singing, “Kiss Me, On The Bus.”

“What made you sing that song?” I asked, a bemused smile on my face.

“Uh, because you were playing with the bus?” she responded, looking at me like I was weird for asking an obvious question. Clearly, she hadn't read the post yet, or realized the date.

We did our synchronized-swimming-parenting routine, trading the kids back and forth as teeth were brushed, bottles were warmed, pajamas buttoned up, toys cleared from the floor, books picked out, and babies tucked in.

It’s a beautiful thing, to parent together.

When they were finally asleep, we moved to the living room.

“Will you make me an egg and toast?” she asked.

There are many, many things that my wife does well. But she says I make a fried egg better than she does. It’s a small point of pride for me, and I love that I can serve her a perfect little breakfast for dinner on the Lazyboy.

“While I’m doing that, read my post.”

“Oh yeah! Okay.”

I made a perfect plate of food and brought it to the living room, just as she was finishing. I hoped that she was enjoying the read, and not feeling bad that she hadn’t remembered our Anniversary.

“That was awesome. It was beautiful. Thank you.”

We kissed.

“Is it really today?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“The 27th? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, isn’t it?”

“Well, our wedding Anniversary was on the 27th. August 27th. But we met on the 24th.”

“Uh, we did, didn’t we . . .”

Time and chaos have fuzzed out some of the details, I’d gotten confused.

That being said, be it the 24th or the 27th, "Kiss Me On The Bus" or "Waitress In The Sky," the heart was there.

Even if the brain is not.

The Replacements "Waitress In The Sky"

How I Met My Wife, Part 1:

"You definitely don't know that song. No way. You're B.S.ing me."

"I do. You want me to sing it?"

There was no way she knew that song. No way. Then again, it had been a pretty remarkable afternoon already.

Rewind 4 hours:

I was standing at the mvyradio T-shirt table. It was the safest place to be, as the crowd poured in to the mvyradio Big Chili Contest.

The station holds this event every year. Ostensibly, it is an event to taste different Chili recipes. But in reality, it's just a good excuse to get rip-roaring drunk on a Saturday morning/afternoon in the middle of winter.

People come from off-Island in droves, to blow off some steam, dance up a storm and maybe, if the mood strikes them, vote for their favorite chili.

I was standing at the mvyradio T-shirt table when the crowd parted and a small whirlwind of girls popped forth.

"I'm here to see my T-shirt."

As a side contest to the Best Chili categories, we also have a T-shirt design contest. Artists near and far would send us their interpretations of the event, and a few days beforehand, we'd get the winning design printed up on a handful of shirts.

Standing in front of me, wearing sunglasses in her hair (on a cold cloudy winter day), was this year's winning designer, a woman with the improbable name of Tabitha Agneta.

She and her friends chatted with me for a few minutes, and then disappeared into the crowd.

An hour or so later, I found myself on the far, far side of the venue, tasting some chili, when I bumped into her again.

We talked more, about family and hometowns and jobs. Nothing earth-shattering, but there was a spark. We parted again.

An hour or so later, there she was at the bar. This time we talked baseball. The Red Sox. Nomar (this was the winter before he was traded).

I disappeared one last time, to get on stage and to participate in the Chili Award ceremonies.

And that's really the last time I ever left her.

When I found her (after the Horses Ass-shaped Chili Trophies were handed out), we talked about music, and she mentioned Jeff Buckley, who's album "Grace" is practically like going to church for me.

She asked me about my favorite band, and I said that she'd probably never heard of them.

"I know The Replacements," she claimed. Which seemed like B.S.

The only people I knew who liked The Replacements were guys who'd grown from awkward teen boys, to now be awkward young men. Good looking girls never knew who The Replacements were.

"No you don't," I said. "Name one of their songs."

"'Waitress In The Sky.' Do you want me to sing it?"

Hell yeah I did.

She sang it. She knew it. And I know on paper that sounds like a pretty tenuous thread to hang a relationship on. But if you were there, you would have known, too.

We left the mvyradio Big Chili Contest together, and even though she physically left the Island at the end of the weekend, from that point on, we've always been together, forever---spiritually, emotionally, psychically.

Starting 7 years ago today.

Happy Anniversary, my lovely wife!