Random Thoughts

2 Years Burnin' Down the Road

2009-11-28T20:42:00.004-05:00

I can't believe it's been two years since I suspended this blogging effort.

That's a bunch of Springsteen concerts, a few hundred thousand words of writing, and some spectacular memories with The Saint and the kids.

I'll share them soon. I promise.

Adam

My, How Time Flies

2008-11-30T11:40:00.002-05:00

Has it really been a year?

I suppose it has, though I can't believe it.

We're all fine. Hope you are, too.

See you in another year.

Adam

Taking My Leave

2007-11-25T16:32:00.000-05:00

I'll be taking a long break from blogging, so this will be the last post you'll read here for a while. I've been doing this, more or less regularly, since the first week of December, 2005. It's been more fun than I'd like to admit, but I must stop.

I'm beginning an exciting new job tomorrow (I've never named clients or employers here--past, current or future-- and I'm not about to start). I will say that I'm thrilled to have this great opportunity, which allows me to return to what I've done for most of my career. I want to hit the ground running, and as much as I've enjoyed this ongoing conversation with you (have I mentioned how much fun this has been?), I need to make sure I'm devoting my energies to my new position.

This blog will stay up, but I won't be adding to it regularly, if ever again. If there are new posts, they'll be very sporadic. I'll still be around, but I won't be checking in as much. I won't be commenting on your blogs, either.

If I have publishing news, I'll e-mail you.

In the meantime, if you'd like to reach me, feel free to e-mail me here.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've enjoyed these discussions as much as I have.

Adam

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T11:04:00.001-05:00

We're in Fly Creek with family and friends today. Beautiful weather, great smells from the kitchen, and everyone's healthy.

On the menu: Turkey with both traditional and cornbread and sausage stuffing. My mother has two birds, so I made cornbread and sausage stuffing to go into one.

My mother's famous oysters will disappear within minutes, as they do every year. The Saint has produced a low-fat version of her favorite green bean casserole.

There are too many other things to mention. My mother is hosting 31 people at her house this year, so she's transformed her garage into a banquet hall.

Tomorrow night, we have cocktails with my cousins and then dinner with Captain Ed Novak and a bunch of other friends. We head back to Boston on Saturday because Oldest Son makes his CYO basketball debut.

I am thankful for more than the usual this year. I hope you all have a great Thanksgiving, too.

Adam

Magic on Causeway Street

2007-11-19T07:28:00.000-05:00

There were a bunch of great vignettes last evening. The Boston Globe's review is here. Click here for the Boston Herald's take.

Bob Coles of Double Take magazine, author of Bruce Springsteen's America and beneficiary of two legendary fundraising concerts at the Somerville Theater, got the dedication for "Jungleland," which remains the highlight of the night. I wrote on an early post here that Clarence's sax solo on "Jungleland" at Fenway Park was otherworldly. Last night's was better than that one.

Some guy proposed to his girlfriend. She got a kiss from Bruce, then "I'll Work for your Love" and "Tunnel of Love," which featured an absolutely blistering guitar solo from Nils Lofgren. "Reason to Believe" and "She's The One" were both better than Hartford (and they were great in Hartford).

Somebody in our area (top row, against the wall, behind the stage; we literally touched the ceiling, several times) had seconds on broccoli and thirds on beans for dinner, if you get my (potent) drift. That experience was actually far worse than the seats. I thought the Saint was going to pass out at one point. Remember the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles? Okay, now enclose it, put yourself slightly above it, and recall from your high school physics class that warm air rises.

Back to sweeter topics.

Here's the setlist from Backstreets:

Radio Nowhere
No Surrender
Lonesome Day
Gypsy Biker
Magic
Reason to Believe
Jackson Cage
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
The Promised Land
I'll Work For Your Love
Tunnel of Love
Working on the Highway
Devil's Arcade
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
* * *
Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Jungleland
Born to Run
Dancing in the Dark
American Land

It's always a great night when I hear "No Surrender" and "Jungleland" on my iPod, so I'll chalk it up to something beyond spectacular that I got to hear them live. Such a spectacular night, with such spectacular company (excepting the Boston Beaneater), that I almost don't mind that I do not possess a ticket for this evening.

Adam

An Easy Dozen

2007-11-18T23:45:00.000-05:00

A lot of superlatives tonight (spending pre-show time with The Saint, friends Doug and Tim, and Chris Phillips from Backstreets were highlights in and of themselves).

For my twelfth Springsteen show (the Saint's fifth, Doug's twelfth, Tim's first), I must confess I was a little worried. Nosebleed seats, behind the stage, against the wall, last row. I must remember that with Springsteen shows, the worst seat in the arena is still better than the best seat on the street.

So how did Bruce cure my bad seat blues? One word: Jungleland.

More later.

Adam

It's Not Even Thanksgiving Yet

2007-11-15T17:17:00.000-05:00

My friend Seth Gitell has a hilarious post on his blog about how Christmas music is arriving earlier and earlier every year. He also takes a nice shot at Lowe's for selling "Holiday Trees" instead of Christmas Trees, his premise being that people out buying those trees are shopping for Christmas trees anyway.

I agree that we're playing Christmas music way too early. Cases in point:

I just put up a Veterans' Day post. Why? Because it was just Veterans' Day.
Bruce and the band are playing their last pre-Thanksgiving concerts right now: Tonight in Albany, then Sunday and Monday here in Boston.
Thanksgiving (my favorite holiday) is next week. Christmas shopping season doesn't officially begin until the day after Thanksgiving.
One of my favorite Boston radio stations becomes my least favorite every December, when it switches to an all-Christmas format. Guess what? They switched to all-Christmas a few days ago.

I'm not a Scrooge. I love giving gifts to the Saint and the kids, and to our friends. I love receiving them, too. I love the "spirit of Christmas" most of all. Of course I don't mind hearing Bruce singing "Merry Christmas, Baby" or playing his version of "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town." Come to think of it, I also love it when Adam Sandler sings "Happy Hanukkah." But whether Christmas is a season or a single day, six weeks is a bit much.

Six weeks. That's... Lent... which is about giving up, not giving.

Thanks for the timely post on an untimely subject, Seth. And in case I forget next year, have an easy fast (which you can break with another trip to the Midwest Grill).

Adam

Saluting Our Veterans

2007-11-11T14:50:00.000-05:00

As a lifelong civilian, I'll probably never fully appreciate Veterans' Day, though I do know it's not supposed to be about long weekends and war movie marathons, but about thanking those who served.

I hung out yesterday with (almost-) Captain Ed Novak and his family. Ed spent a long time showing me what he calls his "vacation pictures." These were movies and photos of his tour of duty in Iraq, for which he volunteered (to spare a fellow officer with some serious family medical issues a long time away from his family). The pictures were unbelievably moving: inspiring, heart-wrenching, and in some cases, hilarious.

I also got to read some of Ed's notes. If he doesn't write a book from them, I will.

Now that he's home and safe, I can laugh with Ed about his tour. But I also recall, from the not so distant past, the dread I would often feel after an e-mail exchange.

Spending the day with the Saint, the kids, and Ed and his family was a perfect way to remember what Veterans' Day is supposed to be. On the way back to our house, we drove through Ed's new hometown and saw all the flags he'd hung for Veterans' Day. Somehow, we'd missed them on our first trip through town (probably because we were trying not to get lost).

Thanks for the reminders, Ed, and thanks for your service. Let's do this again next year, when I'll be happy to arrive early and help you hang the flags.

Adam

Toasting a Legend

2007-11-10T13:07:00.000-05:00

Let's raise a glass to the late, great Norman Mailer. Perhaps, since it's Mailer we're celebrating, we should raise ten or twelve glasses each, but not all of us have his stamina or prowess with potables.

Mailer's Pulitzer Prize winner, The Executioner's Song, about the killer Gary Gilmore, remains one of my favorites, a battering ram of an expedition into the darkness of one human mind. I last read the novel in the 90s. Some passages still frighten me so much that I haven't read the book since (particularly his descriptions of Gilmore's cremation). It's a testament to Mailer's skill that I'm terrified to go there again.

The Saint, the kids and I will be visiting Captain Ed Novak (and his family) today, who, when last we mentioned him, was Lieutenant Ed Novak. We will undoubtedly raise a glass or two (but not ten), perhaps even to Mailer. We're long overdue for glass-raising.

Testing the Parents

2007-10-27T18:10:00.000-05:00

The Saint says I must tell you this story, and we all know that when the Saint tells me to do something, I do it. (And she's helping me tell it right now.)

So, Middle Child (he who loves quantum physics and existential philosophy) had a math test the other day. He gets (needlessly) all stressed out about these things.

He came home yesterday and said, "Wanna know what I got on my math test?"

Of course we said yes.

"Well, first of all, we had to correct our mistakes on the test. And so all the other kids corrected theirs, but I didn't. Wanna know why?" (*head cocked to the side and dimples aglow*)

He didn't let us answer.

"Because I got 100."

And then he cackled wildly. We laughed, too.

Speaking of Middle Child, he and the Saint went to the Haunted House at church last night. Middle Child had a blast, even though he was scared to death and wouldn't let go of the Saint. Daughter went to the same Haunted House earlier in the evening, except that her version was lights on. She forgot about the "fun" part, buried her face in the Saint's shoulder, and screamed.

I think she'll be recovered in time to trick or treat as a princess (Middle Child is Dracula). My only hope about Halloween: That the World Series is over by then. I promised the kids I'd take them out, but I don't want to miss a single pitch.

Adam

In No Particular Order...

2007-10-23T20:48:00.000-05:00

Proof that the internet connects people: A high school classmate of mine Googled the late, great Nick Alicino. He found this blog, e-mailed me, and announced that he lives about an hour away. I think that's one of my favorite things about this blog. I hear from old friends, other writers, and fellow Springsteen fans, sometimes on a daily basis.
A manuscript you'll never read begins: "A little baby monster got lost in the woods. Daddy, I'm too scared to finish this story." Aren't daughters wonderful?
Another Daughter vignette: Daughter has a "new" easel. Drawing is one of her favorite things. On Sunday, she said to the Saint, "Mommy, can I have some paper? Oh, never mind, I found some." An hour later, I said to the Saint, "Has anyone seen the top two pages of my manuscript?" Yes, you know where this is going. I found the pages on Daughter's easel, covered in beautiful pictures of princesses.
That manuscript, by the way, is finally (really, truly this time) on its way to New York.

Adam

And It's Finished

2007-10-19T23:34:00.000-05:00

The manuscript (all ten copies) goes back to my agents on Monday.

More when I have news.

Adam

Please Stand By

2007-10-17T18:09:00.000-05:00

We are NOT experiencing technical difficulties. We are not dead. We are busy. All of us.

The Saint is busy teaching and parenting. Oldest Son is busy studying and hanging out with his friends. Middle Child is busy studying and studying and teaching quantum physics and studying. Daughter is busy changing her clothes for the seventeenth time today, every day.

I am busy parenting and proofing this manuscript. It's the tedious stage, because I'm not trying to create new scenes; I'm not trying to edit it; I'm just trying to make sure it reads well and that I haven't made any mistakes. In other words, even though the sooner I finish, the sooner we submit, it's tough, bleary-eyed, my-head-shall-soon-explode tedium.

So that's why you haven't heard from me lately. You will hear from me soon, if I survive this last read-through.

Adam

News of the Day

2007-10-06T10:40:00.000-05:00

For all those who've tried thousands of times to score tickets to Springsteen shows, only to (over)pay "ticket brokers" later, today's New York Times has a must-read article.

I had many of the same experiences in my recent attempts to purchase tickets for Hartford and Boston, so the story struck home. In fact, had it not been for the extraordinary generosity of friends during the National Holiday, I wouldn't have landed tickets at all. Yes, I realize that I am very lucky to have such friends.

In other news, Oldest Son and Middle Child are on their way to Washington and Northern Virginia with their grandparents. Daughter and The Saint are having Girls' Night this evening. Though I possess a Y Chromosome, I'm also invited.

Before that, we're heading North to see my uncle, my aunt and my rock star grandmother. A year ago this same weekend, we were all together in San Diego for my cousin Matt's wedding. You might have read about that experience somewhere.

Finally, yesterday my agents asked me to send them ten copies of my manuscript and bio. For those of you who have yet to consume your Saturday morning coffee, that means that they've signed off on the manuscript, all systems are go, and we'll be submitting very, very soon.

Adam

Another Page Turns

2007-10-04T18:10:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure where the past year has gone, but Oldest Son turned 14 this morning. The punchline in the card we got him says, "Thanks for being a son your parents can brag about."

I think that covers it.

The kid is growing up way too quickly. For years, people have said, "Pretty soon he'll be driving." Guess what? "Pretty soon" is only two years from now. We already know that The Saint will be teaching him the rules of the road.

Here's Oldest Son, in a nutshell: Straight As and murder in the low post. Plus a killer sense of humor and a raffish charm.

So, let me repeat: Thanks for being a son we can brag about.

Love you,
Dad

It's Cool Again

2007-10-03T15:31:00.000-05:00

When I got home this morning, there was a comment on my blog from my still-unmet Norwegian friend. Over on his own blog, he'd written, in his discussion of the new album, that "The biggest surprise as a dedicated fan for the past 20 years is that all of a sudden, for the first time since I was 12, it’s cool to be a Bruce fan."

I can remember high school, when Nick Alicino, Kevin Guilfoile and I were the only Springsteen fans in the building, if not the entire Village of Cooperstown. Now, we're everywhere, and that's a good thing.

So yeah, it's cool to be a Bruce fan (not that I've known anything different since 1984). I'm just glad to have so much company.

Having worked most of my professional life on a variety of Democratic campaigns, I'm struck by how many Democratic operatives are rabid Springsteen fans. I rode to Hartford with four other Democratic operatives last night. Two, I'd known for years; the other two, I met for the first time just before we left Boston. If you were total the aggregate number of Springsteen shows we've attended, it approaches 100.

As I wrote earlier today, the concert was spectacular. We all agreed on that. Here's the review from the Hartford Courant. This one is from the Boston Globe. Finally, here's a take from the Boston Herald.

Backstreets has the setlist, which I've pasted here:

Setlist:
Radio Nowhere
The Ties That Bind
Lonesome Day
Gypsy Biker
Magic
Reason to Believe
Night
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
The Promised Land
Town Called Heartbreak
Darkness on the Edge of Town
Darlington County
Devil's Arcade
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
* * *
Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Thundercrack
Born to Run
Waitin' on a Sunny Day
American Land

As I wrote this morning, the "Reason to Believe", "Night", and "She's the One" trifecta was absolutely stunning. All the new songs were great, and of the classics, "Born to Run" and "Badlands" brought down the house. There was nothing from the first two albums in the Springsteen catalog, but nobody seemed to mind, because the resulting show was heavy with cuts from "Darkness" and "Born to Run".

The overwhelming consensus is that as great as last night was, this tour can only get better. That, too, is a good thing. See you in Boston.

Adam

Opening Night in Hartford

2007-10-03T02:05:00.000-05:00

Fabulous romp down E Street. Every song the band played from the new album sounds better live than on the studio version (yes, we had the studio version playing loudly in the car).

The highlight of the night for me was a fabulous trifecta: A roadhouse-y, Delta Blues version of "Reason to Believe," right into "Night," then immediately into "She's the One."

Might be the best triple play I've ever heard at a Springsteen show.

More details tomorrow... er... later today. But for now, it's 2 a.m., I'm home safe, and I can't wait to see Bruce and the band in Boston.

Adam

Hot off the Presses

2007-09-28T17:33:00.000-05:00

For those who need a Springsteen fix, there's a great piece in today's New York Times.

You can also see his whole Today Show concert on the show's website.

That is all.

Adam

Maybe It Should Be An International Holiday

2007-09-23T09:34:00.000-05:00

I checked the Big Brother software on my blog this morning and found hits from five different countries, and none from the United States. Every visitor was searching under some variation of "Springsteen Birthday."

I'm glad I'm not the only one who treats September 23 as a National Holiday. I've made friends around the country and around the world simply because we're Springsteen fans.

Last year on the National Holiday, we interviewed Chris Phillips of Backstreets Magazine, and a few thousand of you showed up to party. I had to buy more beer.

This year, we're very, very low key, maybe because it's a Sunday, or perhaps because we're all getting ready for the new tour. But we still have beer and good music. Feel free to stop in and join the party.

Perhaps I'll see some of you in Hartford next week. One of my friends gave me a fabulous Bruce's Birthday gift this year: a ticket to the opening night of the tour.

Adam

That Time of Year Again

2007-09-18T07:38:00.000-05:00

Ahh, September. We're less than a week away from the National Holiday known as Bruce Springsteen's Birthday.

Remember this post? I had fun. Chris Phillips from Backstreets had fun. Many of you had fun.

This year, the National Holiday falls on a Sunday, so it may be slightly more subdued. But maybe not.

Tickets for the Boston stop on the Magic tour go on sale on Saturday morning, so here's hoping I score some nice Bruce's Birthday presents for the Saint, some friends and me.

Adam

Remembering

2007-09-11T16:37:00.000-05:00

While we remember Sept. 11, 2001, I'd like to point you toward two particularly good tributes. Seth Gitell's is here. Dave Guarino's is here. For those of you who follow the Boston media, Dave also has a particularly poignant appreciation of the late, great Paul Sullivan.

Adam

Department of Self-Promotion

2007-09-10T21:30:00.000-05:00

My fabulous agents work very quickly. I sent them my edited manuscript earlier today. The agency sent out its regular newsletter this afternoon.

You can read about my novel in the third entry under "UP AND COMING FOR SUBMISSION".

Which means... well...

We're about to submit.

Batting practice is over. I'm in the game.

So if I seem both giddy and stressed out over the next few weeks, now you know why.

Adam

It's on the Way

2007-09-10T19:35:00.000-05:00

My manuscript is officially on its way back to my agents.

I will now enjoy time with the Saint and the kids.

Adam

Truly Random

2007-09-06T23:27:00.000-05:00

1. The Saint and the boys are back in school. Daughter is back in daycare. Everything seems to be going smoothly, though nobody is sleeping as much as we were a few days ago.

2. I saw the video for Radio Nowhere. I'm now all stressed out that I might not get concert tickets.

3. My manuscript will be winging its way to New York, via the ether, within days, probably within hours.

4. Go over and visit the Great and Gifted Jamie Ford. While you're there, congratulate him on his nifty, well-earned, six-figure publishing deal.

Adam

Still in Single Digits (Barely)

2007-09-03T08:27:00.000-05:00

Honestly, I can't believe it's been a year since I wrote this post. Today, Middle Child turned nine. He's in third grade. He's brilliant. He's... He's... nine? Did I just say nine? How did that happen?

How did a little blond cherub with big cheeks and a penchant for donuts and ice cream turn into... a tall, brown-haired linebacker with a penchant for donuts and ice cream?

Last year, he celebrated his birthday with one of his best buddies, a boy with the same birthday. We all went to a water park, then for dinner at Middle Child's favorite restaurant.

Adding to my preternatural feeling of deja vu, this year, he and his best buddy, along with The Saint and best buddy's mom, went to the same water park. Tonight, we're hitting the Outback again, where I'm sure we'll eat the same stuff we normally eat (though I suppose I won't, since I've sworn off both ice cream and soda, and I've dropped nearly a stone as a result).

I suppose I should have known this day was coming. I can read a calendar. I've had the day marked.

Topping it off, I was forewarned. Middle Child starts school earlier than the rest of the family; this year, he wanted to have his birthday party while he was still on Summer Vacation. So we hosted the sleepover a few weeks ago, on a rainy, muggy, buggy night. This was a camping out theme: flashlights in the goody bags, s'mores, and a birthday cake that looked just like a campfire (The Saint worked her magic). We also set up Lt. Ed Novak's tent... in the middle of the living room. Four kids stayed up until 2 a.m. and then thankfully, slept in... until 6 a.m.

No sleepovers tonight. Though four of us will be getting up at 6 anyway (The Saint starts school tomorrow; Daughter goes to daycare; Middle Child, as I may have mentioned, is already back in school; and I deliver him to the bus and Daughter to daycare). Oldest Son, of course, doesn't start school until Thursday, so he gets a two-day reprieve.

So in most ways, nothing has changed. Middle Child has put another year on his clock, which is shocking to me only because the time has flown so quickly.

In the last year, Middle Child has earned straight As in school (again), started three or four rock bands with his buddy with the same birthday, played center on his basketball team (he's a head taller than any other kid on the court), turned into a natural first baseman, and torn up the league with his bat (at the plate, he looks like Carl Yastrzemski, virtually identical stance, and since Fall Ball has started, he's pulling the ball on almost every pitch).

How has he stayed the same? He still loves ice cream, donuts, his brother, his sister, The Saint and me (usually in that order, though sometimes Oldest Son is farther down the list). He still possesses an (even more) outrageous sense of humor. He still enjoys mooning people.

To this, I add that it's only been a year, so I haven't changed much either. Today is Middle Child's day, and I remind myself, as I do every day, how lucky I am to be his dad.

Happy Birthday, Buddy. I love you.

Dad

The First Single

2007-08-31T08:54:00.000-05:00

Not that I want to, but I can't stop playing the first cut from the new Springsteen album. "Radio Nowhere" is a flat-out adrenaline rush.

Like any great Bruce song, I hear a bunch of different musical influences in there (REM and even a bit of Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) the Reaper", for starters), and still I conclude, with its nearly perfect lyrics and its references to cars, radio, and highways, that only Bruce could have written it.

The song is an instant classic. Just a lyrical stunner. Vintage Bruce paired with a raw, almost distorted rock and roll sound.

My first thought was that this is a full-blown seventies rocker... but listen to the distortion. It's wrapped up in a little 90s grunge, no?

As if you'll need any more proof that this is a spectacular Springsteen song, on par with anything in his canon, I offer you my three most favorite lines:

" I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues"

You tell me... if you saw those three lines on paper... could anyone else have written them? I suppose we'd forgive you if you shouted, "Bono!" But honestly, if you read those lyrics, you'd say, "Bono or Bruce." Right away, without even needing Option C.

To top it off, there's a reference to "Mystery Train." And, in the exact spot where you'd expect it, Clarence has a short, driving sax solo that punches the afterburners and sends the song hurtling into the stratosphere.

I downloaded the song free from iTunes. It's been my sole soundtrack since Tuesday, and here's the thing, I just can't help myself. As soon as it ends, I play it again.

I find myself wondering aloud what the late, great Nick Alicino would have thought of this one.

Adam

Fourth and Goal

2007-08-29T23:11:00.000-05:00

I just finished the fourth draft of my novel. I need to do one quick read-through to make sure everything is coherent, and then the book goes to my agent.

I was afraid I wouldn't have the luxury of one final read, but the timing worked for me because my agent has asked me to e-mail the manuscript instead of my usual snail-mail. With the long weekend, that buys me several more days. Plenty of time to rip through the leaner, meaner version.

More later.

Adam

Magic in the Night!

2007-08-28T10:34:00.000-05:00

I've been waiting for this announcement since Fenway Park in 2003. And now it's official. Backstreets is reporting, through an exclusive interview with the man himself, that Bruce Springsteen starts a 31-night tour on Oct. 2 in Hartford, the same day that Magic is officially released. And yes, Thank you, God, it's an E Street tour!

For those of you more or less in my neck of the woods, in addition to opening night in Hartford, they hit Albany on November 15 and Boston on November 18. For my Norwegian friends, there's an Oslo date in December.

Let the ticket scrum commence. I now return to my regularly scheduled manuscript edits.

Adam

Proving Motive

2007-08-27T00:39:00.000-05:00

I'm most of the way done with this latest draft. I'm thrilled with the edits. As usual, my agents suggested some very good fixes, and the book is better for it.

One of their suggested edits involved the motive for the central murder in this mystery. They were right: the original motive sucked. And now, finding a new motive is my last plot clot. I'll get this thing back to them by the end of this week, I think. The only problem is that I would have liked to have mailed it back last week.

I'll have more on this later. Hopefully, I'll be able to report to you at the end of this week that the manuscript is once again on its way to New York.

In the meantime, Oldest Son has returned from the Cape, Middle Child has already begun third grade, and Daughter still believes she's in charge of the household. She's certainly in charge of we who possess Y Chromosomes. The Saint has figured out Daughter.

The Saint, by the way, is still a rock star. She's preparing for another year, taking on an honors-level class in addition to all her other stuff. She's not terribly wild that I post about her here, but blogging about her is a lot more fun than blogging about my novel. Don't you agree?

Now that I've made that disclosure, let me mention that my college roommate, the first person not named Nick Alicino with whom I really discussed writing, married a woman (I also knew her in college) who grew up about four blocks from where I live now. We finally visited the other day. We'd spoken and e-mailed quite a bit, but we hadn't actually seen each other since Oldest Son's baptism, almost fourteen years ago. Of course, seeing each other again (the brief description, for each of us: significantly less on top, slightly more in the middle), we felt like fourteen seconds had elapsed instead of fourteen years. Nice having friends like that, right?

Finally, you might see a few vicarious travelogues here in the coming weeks. Seems my parents have decided to visit Italy. Best Man and Godfather has gone to Vegas. And Cousin Matt is in Merry Olde England.

I had a motive in writing all this, but I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, well. Back to my edits.

Adam

Pure Magic

2007-08-16T18:13:00.000-05:00

Once these edits are done, I'll be looking for Springsteen tickets.

According to this story from Backstreets, backed up by a nice, official press release, Bruce and the E Street Band are set to release Magic on October 2. Can a tour be far behind?

I haven't seen Bruce in concert since the end of 2005, and I haven't walked down E Street since September of 2003, so I'll be pulling out all the stops to see every show I can hit.

I now return to my regularly scheduled manuscript revisions. To keep my edits consistent with the theme of this novel, I've been listening to country music while I edit. Not that I needed an excuse, but now playing on my iPod: Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in that September, 2003 concert at Fenway Park.

Adam

Video From A Troubadour

2007-08-07T07:26:00.000-05:00

So, y'all know that my two favorite writers in the English language are not novelists, but rock stars. I may be stretching it a bit to call Kris Kristofferson, Army veteran, helicopter pilot, Rhodes Scholar and country legend, a rock star, but check out this video. The link is on Kristofferson's website, but apparently, it appears courtesy of Neil Young's website.

It's painful, like a great folk song or an Irish ballad, and poetic, like the best literary fiction, but unfortunately, it's all too true. It's the best music video I've seen since Johnny Cash did "Hurt".

"Hurt" goes onto the list as my favorite video of all time.

Adam

Finally, A Party

2007-08-03T23:08:00.000-05:00

This Summer has flown by. I mean, it's August 3. Middle Child starts school in less than three weeks. It seems like The Saint has just finished school herself. That graduate course on Shakespeare went more than halfway into July. The Saint earned an A, but I'm sure you've already guessed that.

I'm too tired for a transitional paragraph.

It's 98 degrees outside and our air conditioner is overworked. Tomorrow, we need to install the backup. It used to be in Daughter's room, but water leaked from it through our bathroom ceiling. We think it'll fit nicely in the den.

Again, fatigue prevents a proper transition. That whole thing about the air conditioner, it's relevant because:

Summer cookout season is finally in full swing. We have this group of five couples who all had kids in Middle Child's kindergarten class. Then those same five kids all played baseball together for two seasons. Two years ago, we started having Saturday cookouts, rotating among all the houses. Pretty soon, it was a good-natured competition, every host trying to wow the guests.

This is our third Summer, and we're still rolling along. We all started late this Summer. The Saint had that course, and the kids went away for Grandchildren's Week, and then we had to retrain them. In the middle of this, the Saint and I decided to put in a new bathroom. Have I mentioned that we only have one bathroom? We have very forgiving neighbors, and we also went to the gym at some very strange hours. But now we can show off a new room. Yeah, it's the bathroom, but it's still new.

So now that we have a new bathroom, we're hosting a Summer cookout.

I just made my Velvet Hammer Peach Sangria. It has wine, cognac, peach schnapps, triple sec, fruit juice, fresh peaches and berries. Drink it over ice on a hot day and it tastes like a spritzer, or maybe fruit punch, hence the velvet hammer appellation.

Best Man and Godfather may find this blasphemous, but I used white wine this time, not red. I sacrificed the richness of a red for the lightness of a white. The temperature is supposed to keep climbing tomorrow, and with the heat index, we'll be well into triple digits. The white stuff will taste better.

On the menu as well: jambalaya. I learned the recipe from a dear friend in college who grew up in New Orleans. I served as his sous chef on several batches of collegiate jambalaya. I also traveled to New Orleans with him, twice (and twice more on my own), sampling various delicacies. This version has ham, chicken, andouille sausage, two kinds of smoked sausage, and shrimp. Sometimes I add crawfish and smoked oysters.

There's a little cayenne pepper, and the andouille sausage is spicy, but other than that, I haven't turned up the heat. It's not really kid food, but I don't want those with bland palates (yeah, you know who you are) to have to recalibrate them. As a bonus, if any of the kids do decide to try it, it's free of all allergens. No nuts, no dairy, no eggs.

I've spent the last few hours chopping cured animal products, cubing fowl and peeling crustaceans. When I thought the worst was over, I minced the two largest onions I have ever seen (together, they were bigger than Rhode Island) and then hacked my hands to pieces when I was supposed to be dicing bell peppers (one green, one red, one yellow and one orange because I wanted all the pretty colors). My hands hurt so much I almost yearned for the bad old days of lawn mowing, but Oldest Son took care of that this evening.

Yes, we'll also have traditional cookout fare like hot dogs, burgers and steak tips. But it's our first party in a while, and I was feeling ambitious. I am exhausted. I'd like to edit a few chapters of my novel, but that new bathroom I mentioned? It needs cleaning.

We have a few neighbors joining us, too. I know he's in Montana, but I'm hoping that the Great and Gifted Jamie Ford drops in, with news. Check the comment section on my last post if you're wondering what news I mean.

I also got a new speaker system for my iPod for my birthday, which means there will be tunes. Thankfully, my Manuscript-Necessitated Bruce Exile is solidly in the rear-view mirror. I believe my Fenway bootleg will be getting a workout tomorrow afternoon.

Come on by. We'll have plenty of beer, food and sangria. Don't say I never warned you about the velvet hammer.

Adam

More Feedback

2007-07-28T11:12:00.000-05:00

I meant to mention this earlier, but the Great and Gifted Jamie Ford, who read an earlier portion of my novel before it was finished, has read the whole thing.

Jamie is as great an editor as he is gifted a writer.

His comments mirrored my agent's in many ways. Which surprised me not a bit, since his comments on the first selection also mirrored my agent's in many ways. What surprised me is that he was as enthusiastic at the end as he had been at the beginning.

Jamie is always insightful. That's also no surprise to those of us in the blogosphere who know him and correspond with him. And I may have mentioned that his short story, "I Am Chinese", is the best short story I've read in many, many years. Nobody will be shocked when Jamie sells his novel (based on that short story), right? I didn't think so.

For me, the bottom line: Now that two readers I really trust have weighed in, I know I'm on the right track. And for those of you who want a really great read, go to Jamie's website and track down his short story. It's fabulous.

Adam

The Next Draft Commences

2007-07-21T01:26:00.000-05:00

Call off the search party.

I am alive. I am working on Draft 4.

More details when I have time.

Adam

A Few Loose Ends

2007-07-12T18:31:00.000-05:00

So my agent e-mailed me this morning. She loves the manuscript.

That said, yes, I have a few changes to make. I've had most of today to contemplate those changes, and they're relatively painless. Taken as a whole, they tighten the manuscript and make my protagonist into more of a badass.

We're shooting to move this in September, so I'll be back in edit mode for the next few weeks. The bottom line is that these are changes I'm more than willing to make, and they're pretty minor.

Today is a good day.

In the meantime, the Saint's Summer Shakespeare Odyssey is almost over. She's in the midst of a 25-page research paper on Falstaff. The other day, frustrated, she asked me when I'd last written anything based on research. She didn't like my answer: That 405 page manuscript I'm about to slice into again. I don't think my reply contributed toward our marital bliss.

Grandchildren's Week is over. The kids are back. We've commenced retraining them.

Finally, my cousin Matt and his wife Jeni are in from San Diego this weekend, so if you haven't heard from me by Tuesday or so, send out a search party.

Adam

Summer Reading

2007-07-05T19:04:00.000-05:00

The Saint and I went for a ride yesterday, just the two of us. The kids are away for Grandchildren's Week, so the Saint and I went out for lunch.

The Saint is working on a massive paper for her summer class, so we ended up going on a book binge at BN. She bought a bunch of stuff by and about the dude from Avon. I bought Barry Eisler's latest paperback release, The Last Assassin (sorry, Barry-- I have all your others in paperback, so I bought TLA in paperback, too).

I also bought J.A. Konrath's Dirty Martini in hardcover (I have Joe's first three in hardcover, and we have the same agents). The Saint and I sipped coffee and read books in Starbuck's for a couple of hours. I was almost halfway through Konrath's book when we left. I finished it last night. Good thing I read all the way to the last page. I'm in the acknowledgments along with a few other people whose names you'll recognize if you read this blog (Thanks, Joe).

Konrath's latest is a great read. Laugh out loud humor with just the right amount of violence.

I'm cruising through Barry Eisler's book now. Can't get enough of Barry's protagonist, John Rain.

Next up, I'm about to re-read To Kill A Mockingbird. Because it's fun to read one of the greatest books ever written, just for the Hell of it, and I learn something new every time I crack it open.

Adam

The Next Step in the Process

2007-06-28T18:08:00.000-05:00

That manuscript I've been editing?

It's on its way to New York right now. I cut almost 15,000 words between Draft 1 and Draft 3. It's a lot tighter, with more punch in the plot.

Hopefully, my agents will love it as much as they loved the preview they saw several months ago. I'll share their feedback when I have it.

Now that baseball is over and the manuscript is on its way to the big city, the Saint and I are about to make a quick trip to Cooperstown. Oldest Son, Middle Child and Daughter are spending Grandchildren's Week with... (follow me, here...) their Grandparents.

On our agenda, quality time with: Lt. Ed Novak, his wife and children; the Great Jim Atwell and his wife, Anne; my Grandmother the rock star; my parental types and various members of my extended family; and other friends and family who are dear to us (you don't generally read about them on this blog).

The Saint is off studying Falstaff right now. She's in a concrete building with no air conditioning and no screens in the windows. She has to choose between heat with bugs or heat without bugs. If it were up to me (it isn't), I'd choose to cut class.

It's 94 degrees at 6 in the evening, and we're inside increasing the size of our carbon footprint. Apologies to my environmentalist friends, but when the mercury shatters 90, we start using freon. If it's any consolation, the computer is running on battery power, I'm using a wireless connection right now, and all the electric stuff except the fans and the air conditioner is in the upright and locked... er... "off" position.

But about that manuscript. Have I mentioned that I mailed it today?

I thought so.

Adam

Blazing Through the Third Draft

2007-06-18T21:05:00.000-05:00

I ended up cutting more than 10,000 words between my first draft and my second. I'm now roaring through draft 3. If I stay on my current pace (Middle Child's baseball season is over, so to my regret, I'm no longer coaching two games per week), I'll finish sometime next week.

That draft goes in the mail to New York.

In other news, Oldest Son and my tenured Saint finished school today. Daughter cuts back to one day per week of day care. Middle Child finishes school on Friday.

The Saint is taking not one, but two (and possibly three) courses this Summer. Though she's done teaching, she'll still be a student until at least the middle of July.

Wish her luck.

Adam

Summer Approaches

2007-06-08T19:45:00.000-05:00

I'm 85% finished with draft 2 of this novel. I'll likely finish it this weekend. Draft 3 will go even faster than draft 2. My agent should have the manuscript on her desk sometime early next month. That means that if she likes it, draft four should be ready at the end of August.

In other news, Middle Child's baseball team proves to be a wonderful experience for him and for me. The other two coaches have already asked me to coach with them next year. Saying yes was a no-brainer. We have yet to win a game this season, but nearly everyone will return next Spring. The same thing happened with last year's last place team, which is running away with the league this year.

My tenured Saint finishes school in a little over a week. Oldest Son finishes when the Saint does. Middle Child finishes at the end of that week. Daughter will stop day care for the Summer.

Somewhere along the line, the Saint called the guy who painted our house last Summer. Turns out, his brother in law does bathrooms, so we'll be leaving town for a week or so while he renovates ours. I think that's a perfect excuse to leave town for a few days.

And thinking of travel is more than enough motivation to get back to the manuscript.

Adam

Nothing Philosophical Tonight

2007-05-30T22:45:00.000-05:00

I got a little sidetracked recently, but I'm flying through the edits again. Still celebrating the Saint's magnificent achievement.

She started an eight-week class last night. I'm actually not sure what it is, but it's for English teachers and it sounds fun. She's reading Machiavelli right now.

Baseball season with Middle Child and his friends: a stunning success. I'm not talking about victories and defeats. We drafted a great bunch of kids. They've got character and talent, and they have fun together. We have another game tomorrow night, under the lights.

In the meantime, I have a manuscript to edit.

Adam

This One is for The Saint

2007-05-24T21:45:00.000-05:00

So... you all know the Saint is a Rock Star. Now she's a tenured Rock Star.

Her department chair recommended tenure on Tuesday. Her principal concurred yesterday.

The Saint... the best teacher I know... the best mother on the planet... my best friend... an unadulterated hottie... has tenure.

To use a Broganism: "I'm with her."

She earned it. She deserves it. She rocks.

She refuses to celebrate.

So do me a favor. Post here. Let her know what you think. Put up comments. Tell her to sing from the rooftops. Let her know she rocks.

Three cheers for the Saint. Make it four. Go for five, and don't stop there.

In the meantime, I'll say it again: The Saint is a Rock Star. And I am the luckiest man alive.

Encore, encore, encore, encore, encore.

Adam

Halfway Through Draft 2

2007-05-20T19:55:00.000-05:00

I'm rolling through the edits. The Saint, however, has caused a delightful dilemma. Yesterday she returned from a mini-shopping spree with the new Lee Child, in hardcover.

So I'm now curled up with Jack Reacher. Coincidentally, I'm also halfway done with Bad Luck and Trouble. Life is good.

Adam

Taking a Breather

2007-05-12T16:53:00.000-05:00

As I finish the edits to this book, I'll be posting sporadically at best.

Check back in once in a while. Updates will continue at some point.

Adam

While I'm Editing...

2007-05-04T06:32:00.000-05:00

Go over and congratulate the Great and Gifted Jamie Ford. He had an agent offer him representation yesterday. I suspect other agents will call him as well.

Having experienced this myself, I know just how wild a feeling it is. Those are frozen in time moments.

As in:

Jane Dystel called me at 8:42 on a Friday evening in January of 2004, after I'd had a few e-mail exchanges and a conversation with her partner, Miriam Goderich. The Saint was a little over a week away from giving birth to Daughter. I'd just gotten off the phone with my mother. Sarcastically, I'd told Mom, "I have to hang up now. My exclusive with my dream agency ends in a little over three hours. Somebody might call."

Not fifteen seconds later, Jane phoned. After "We love your book and we want to represent you," nothing else in the conversation mattered.

Jane told me to take the weekend to decide. I accepted on the spot. I'd already done all my research. As a writer, it was the second best decision I ever made. The best? Marrying the Saint. But you knew that already.

Back to Jamie for a second: He's also a hell of an editor. He read an early draft of my current manuscript and his editorial comments were nearly identical to Miriam's. So go visit his blog and let him know that he might be surprised, but we aren't. He earned it.

Adam

The Famous Final Scene

2007-04-25T22:10:00.000-05:00

I finished the first draft five minutes ago. 116,382 words.

Draft two begins on the weekend. I expect to deliver draft 3 to my agents in about six weeks.

I am exhausted. I am thrilled. I am behind schedule again.

Adam

Baseball Season

2007-04-24T20:00:00.000-05:00

Last year, I coached Oldest Son's baseball team. I had as much fun as the kids did. This year, I was beyond thrilled when Middle Child asked me to coach his team. I'm working with two great guys who really know how to coach. As coaches, we're lucky to have great kids, with great parents, always involved, always willing to help during practices. Since we already knew some of the parents, Daughter and the Saint have fun, too.

Baseball and spring go so well together. Our opening day parade and first game are Saturday. I think my mother will be around to see those, too.

In other news, the Saint's new computer is here. It's not a Mac, so I don't have computer envy. But I'll admit it's pretty sweet. Maybe now she'll write that book she's always wanted to write.
Seth Gitell and I had a great discussion about politics over lunch today. Made me think that Seth's about to break out a best-seller. He's close. As a journalist and a former press secretary, with a law degree to boot, he has one of the sharpest political minds in the country. If a campaign doesn't snap him up, he'll write a definitive book about this election cycle.

And my book... I'm three scenes away from the end. I could finish tomorrow. Perhaps Thursday. But soon. Very, very soon.

I'm not even stressed about it. It's baseball season. Hope springs eternal.

Adam

Into the Final Turn

2007-04-17T23:45:00.000-05:00

I've had an incredibly productive few days with this manuscript. Another chapter and a half and I'll be done with this draft. The stats, for those of you keeping score at home: 405 pages and 111,000 words. Those will increase, briefly, and then decrease, when the real work-- editing-- begins.

For now... at long last, I think I'll finish draft one this weekend.

I'm trying to stay in my protagonist's head, so I've avoided (for the most part, successfully) listening to Bruce, if failing to play his music can be called a success (I don't think it can). As I've said elsewhere on this blog, this protag is more country than rock and roll. I've been playing Johnny Cash's prison albums a lot lately. When that hasn't worked, Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings have hit the scene.

When draft one is over, I'm cranking up perhaps the most exquisite Bruce album I own, my bootleg of his second night at Fenway Park in 2003. After that: Nebraska.

It's time. In fact, it's overdue.

Adam

The Saint Wins a Raffle

2007-04-15T18:28:00.000-05:00

The Saint went out to a dinner-fundraiser with her friends the other night. I stayed home with Oldest Son, Middle Child and Daughter. We had a blast. They wore me out. I crashed at 9:30.

At 10:30, the Saint runs into the bedroom, shouting, "Adam!"

I ignore her.

She yells my name again.

Again, I ignore her.

When she says my name a third time, I realize that I'm not getting back to sleep until I acknowledge her.

"Hmm?" I mumble.

"We had a raffle at the fundraiser."

"That's nice."

I knew this already. Have I mentioned that earlier in the evening, she'd liberated the last $20 from my wallet? She spent it on raffle tickets.

"I won!"

"Great. That's lovely." The last time I won a raffle, I brought home bubble bath. Mine was free. I hope the Saint didn't pay all $20 for hers.

"It was $800 worth of stuff!" Visions of pedicures danced through my head. Chocolates, flowers, gift certificates for soaps, shampoos, more bubble bath, all kinds of feminine stuff that bores me... I was rapidly drifting back to sleep.

"We got a night at the Hyatt!

"And I get to drive one of these for a weekend!"

I'm happily dreaming again by this point, although I've always wanted to own a Navigator, which is funny, because I drive about 10 miles per week.

"And we get dinner here!" I snapped joyously awake, sure I heard Beethoven's Ninth playing in the background.

Have I mentioned how cool it is that the Saint entered the raffle? All this for only $20?

She won the anniversary package. Aside from the obligatory chocolates and cookies, yes, there was a facial. There was also a nice bottle of champagne, two glasses, dinner at a sushi place, and a bunch of other great stuff.

I just ordered her birthday present as well, a little late, but I think she'll like it. She picked it out, after all.

And this evening, she's out with her friends again. I think this is a good start to her vacation week.

In the meantime, I need to write. But I won't. Before I began this post, I dialed for dinner. I need to get the door. It's Domino's.

Adam

Brian McGrory's Latest Novel

2007-04-11T20:05:00.000-05:00

I admit it: Dave Guarino beat me on this one, too.

A couple of weeks ago, Dave put up a post about Boston Globe metro columnist Brian McGrory. Before his stint as a columnist, McGrory broke stories in the Globe's Washington Bureau. Political consultants who do PR pitch Washington reporters and metro columnists quite a bit. Brian and I have spoken more than a few times over the past decade.

I linked to Brian's website when I started this blog because he's also a published novelist. When I was working on my first novel, he and I had lunch a few times. He was tremendously helpful. He also recommended me to his agent. I ended up signing elsewhere, but that's another story.

Brian's first three books are on my shelf, well-thumbed and inscribed by the author. You should read them. You should also read his fourth (here's where Guarino beat me).

I read Guarino's blog one day on my lunch break. He mentioned McGrory's latest book. Before lunch was over, I hiked to Borders and purchased it. I was going to call it an impulse buy, but impulse implies that I might have actually thought about my purchase. I didn't think. Not that it mattered.

Strangled features McGrory's protagonist, Jack Flynn. It's a great take on the Boston Strangler killings from the 1960s, with a modern twist. It's also a splendid look at Boston itself: our city, its politics, its history.

McGrory has been compared to another of my favorite writers, Nelson DeMille. That's an accurate comparison.

McGrory's writing was terrific, the plot sizzled, and I laughed out loud. It's not easy to accomplish all three of those things in one novel. I blew through the book in two days. I couldn't help it. If you like a good thriller, or if you want to learn more about Boston or the news business, go grab one of his books. Better yet, grab all four.

Adam

Slow, Steady Progress

2007-04-09T23:15:00.000-05:00

Daughter caught a cold a couple of weeks ago. She thoughtfully passed it to me. I'm just getting over it. That cold (the bad news) and coaching Middle Child's baseball team (the good news) have precluded blogging.

The update: We're all well, and the novel is moving quickly toward its conclusion. We're within days of the finish line.

In other news, Oldest Son has graduated from basketball to street hockey and the Saint is grading senior theses. I think she's ready to hurl them across the room.

I learned to duck last year, so I'll survive.

Adam

Good News and Bad News

2007-04-02T23:53:00.000-05:00

I have a new hard drive on my computer. I have my novel. I have internet access.

But I'm still having multiple problems with my computer. I fixed the problem I had with Firefox (I had a little help). Problem 2: Now that the hard drive works, the CD ROM drive has died.

Again, however, I have access to my book, and I'm writing. Trying to see the silver lining, if only so I don't throw this computer through the window.

I haven't made much progress tonight, because I'm spending a ton of time resetting everything, and every time I think I've got a problem solved, I realize I've left something on the old hard drive that I need right now.

Still, a little progress is a good thing.

Adam

Experiencing Technical Difficulties

2007-04-02T06:37:00.000-05:00

This blog will be out of commission for a while. I'm not sure how long. My Mac hard drive died last Tuesday and I'm confined to an ancient Windows-based dinosaur.

Yes, I backed up my novel and my family photos. Everything else from the Mac is in limbo at the moment.

I should be back online in a few days.

Adam

A Disturbing Story About Guns

2007-03-27T17:23:00.000-05:00

By now, you all know that I'm a bluer than blue blue-stater who happens to have grown up in a redder than red enclave where hunting, fishing, and other forms of family bonding are very, very common.

I've argued before on this blog that our attitudes on guns have much more to do with geography than they do with ideology. Simply put: In rural areas, guns have different connotations than they do in urban areas.

I understand this. I even accept it.

But I'm very disturbed by this story in today's Washington Post. (The New York Times weighs in here.) Disturbed is not strong enough a word, actually. Horrified is more appropriate.

Here are the facts, as they've arrived:

1. Senator Jim Webb handed what may or may not be his pistol to a top aide as he arrived at the airport for a flight to New Orleans;
2. Senator Webb has a permit to carry a concealed weapon (he showed it pretty often on the campaign trail);
3. The aide put the pistol in a briefcase;
4. The briefcase and a few others got shuffled, and may have been shuffled among multiple vehicles;
5. The aide brought the briefcase into a Senate office building;
6. The mandatory X-Ray at security revealed what may or may not have been the Senator's loaded pistol in the briefcase, but it was definitely a loaded pistol.

Now, let's take it a couple of steps further. The spokeswoman for the Capitol Police Department, a Sergeant, said on the record that the aide was fully cooperative and that she didn't think the aide was out to harm anybody.

Nobody in Webb's office is saying whether or not the gun is Webb's, but the early news reports said it was Webb's gun. People seem to be in complete agreement that the gun did not belong to the aide, and the aide did not realize the gun was in the briefcase.

Webb's office called the incident a mistake, which is exactly what it is.

For this, the aide is charged with a felony and spent a night in jail because he wasn't licensed to carry the gun or the ammunition (and the gun was loaded, which is against Senate rules, apparently). Even though he had no idea he was even carrying the gun, which seems to belong to his boss, who is licensed to carry the gun.

I should note: Both Webb and his aide are Marine combat veterans. Webb is a marksman who used to teach marksmanship. His aide is a Desert Storm veteran.

In my time as a political operative, have I ever carried a bag for a candidate without knowing what was inside? Of course.

Have I ever mistakenly picked up the wrong bag? Of course.

I've even carried the wrong bag through a security checkpoint at a government building. I've left the wrong bag in the wrong car at the wrong time, and I've committed every variation of the same mistake.

Like I said, that's what this is: A mistake. Not even a stupid mistake. A very common mistake made every day by harried assistants and operatives trying to keep their bosses on schedule, on message and on friendly terms with constituents and reporters.

It's a mistake. It's a mistake I need not modify with another adjective.

Let's remember that the Capitol Police Sergeant who spoke about the case said the aide was cooperative and not out to harm anyone.

This may even have been a laughing matter, if, say, the aide had brought the wrong lunch to the office, or the wrong newspaper. And if he'd brought one of those two things, everyone would be calling this a mistake.

But a felony charge? Are they serious? That's not a mistake. That's an obscenity.

Adam

Norway Defends Bruce

2007-03-23T21:42:00.000-05:00

First, Kelly Malloy let me know that Simon Cowell claims to have sold more records than Bruce. Simon, obviously, has been sipping from Paula's glass before his interviews. I didn't blog about it because it was so patently ridiculous that I'd be kicking Simon while he was down. That's bad sportsmanship, though Simon disagrees.

Now comes the Norseman. My dear Norwegian friend--we've never actually met in person, but we're Bruce fans, so that'll happen someday-- has posted a scathing indictment of Bruce fans who complain about Bruce.

He's posted in English, so you need not know Norwegian. He absolutely tees off. Poetry, all of it.

Can I just say, for the record, that I agree with every word (except for the minor knock on the Saint's favorite band)? I guess I just said it.

You want to know how big a Bruce fan this guy is? He's been to seven concerts. I've been to ten, in three states. My friend waits for Bruce to fly to Norway. I believe Bruce visits Norway a little less frequently than he visits Boston.

Enough said.

Adam

Rounding Third, Heading for Home

2007-03-21T23:08:00.000-05:00

I just crashed through the 100,000-word barrier on this novel. Better yet, I can see the end. I know what's happening in nearly every paragraph of the last few chapters, even though I haven't typed them.

I've been keeping notes about the ending, working things through my head, for over a year. It's natural that I'd have the ending nailed down, even if it isn't yet on the hard drive.

I'd like to talk about the 2008 presidential election. I'd like to blog about politics here in Massachusetts. I'd like to tell you a funny story about the Saint or the kids... and sprinkle in about a dozen allusions to Springsteen lyrics.

Instead, tonight you get John Fogerty in the title. And just me: Relieved.

I'm looking forward to the play at the plate. If all goes well, I get to drop my shoulder and plow right through the catcher, like Pete Rose did to Ray Fosse the summer I was born.

Adam

A Whole Week Without Blogging

2007-03-18T17:31:00.000-05:00

The funny part is that I tried to blog much of last week. But my home internet connection went down four times between Sunday and now.

We haven't even been here since Friday. So, four outages in internet service between Sunday and Friday. You didn't need to visit this blog: You could hear me, even in Norway and the Netherlands.

Friday, we drove to Fly Creek. My Mother turned... a big number... in January. My Dad turned... a big number +10 in February. They had their big party Friday night.

The Saint, the kids and I drove from Boston to be there.

The catch, you ask?

It's pretty much due West from Boston to Fly Creek, roughly 250 miles. The last big snowstorm of this winter hit at 11:30 Friday morning. It came from the South and moved due North along a 300 mile front. For those who don't like snow, math or geography, I'll translate:

We got in the car at 11:40 Friday morning. It was snowing. All the way to Fly Creek, it was a blizzard. In the Berkshires, it was a whiteout. What normally takes four to four and a half hours took nearly six, with no stops. One major interstate had one lane open.

We took the Jeep and we had it in four-wheel drive the whole way. Not good for our gas consumption, but great for our sanity. The Saint drove, by the way. Another boost for our mental stability.

(In comparison, today on the way back, the whole trip was just over four hours, including a stop for lunch.)

My parents' party was typical of one of theirs: Started early, went late, and every guest had a blast. My rock-star grandmother danced a hole in the floor. I caught up with a bunch of folks.

Yesterday was more of the same, but much mellower. First time I've ever hoisted a stout in Cooperstown on St. Patrick's Day, believe it or not. To the friends I perhaps should have phoned but didn't: I'll catch you next time. This was a drive-by.

Daughter's day care provider is on vacation, so Daughter, the Princess, gets a week with Mimi and Grampie, who will treat her like a Queen. We miss her already, but at least nobody will be calling me a fart head this week.

I brought my computer and planned to write yesterday. I haven't written since Thursday, so I'm behind schedule again. But I don't care.

This afternoon, when we got back, we had 4-6 inches of snow in the driveway. Mother Nature had thoughtfully baked and re-frozen the snow into an icy crust in the meantime, so what would have taken an hour for me to shovel on Friday took Oldest Son, Middle Child, the Saint and me two hours to hack to pieces today. It's not even really finished. We simply declared victory and went inside. My mother sent us home with lasagna and other delicacies. Those are cooking now.

We are all sore. But we are home. And I have 2,000 words to write this evening.

In the meantime, if you're a rock and roll fan, go check out Dave Guarino's blog. He threw up a post last week to which I'd meant to alert you, while my ISP was AWOL. Click here for a direct link to Dave's homage to The Joshua Tree's twentieth anniversary.

My favorite U2 song, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", is on that masterpiece. It's also the album that hooked the Saint on U2.

Be sure to check the comments, too. They're piling up, and they're also worth reading. I'm not talking about my comment, which was, basically, "Nice job, Dude," which translates, loosely, to "I wish I'd thought of that." Dave's wife Heidi was particularly prescient. Her description of Dave at a U2 concert is nearly word for word how I'd describe the Saint at the same venue (and how the Saint would describe me at a Springsteen show).

Back to writing.

Adam

Hiding and Seeking

2007-03-11T19:06:00.000-05:00

Daughter and Middle Child conspired against their father the other night.

Hide and Seek is Daughter's favorite game in the world. She's still getting a feel for it. For instance, if she hides and I ask, "Where are you?" she pops up and shouts, "Right here!"

She's also been known to choose the same hiding spot ten or twelve times in a row. I'm often finding creative ways to prolong my search.

She enjoys finding as well, but sometimes gets bored if she has to search for more than 30 seconds.

The other night, I hid. Daughter asked, "Daddy, where are you?"

No answer. So she asked again and got the same response.

Enter Middle Child. He said to Daughter, "Make Dad laugh."

So Daughter started shouting, "Daddy, you're a fart head!"

I laughed so hard that I fell out from behind the file cabinet.

And now, every time we play, Daddy is a fart head.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Adam

Diapers and Other Hazards of Parenthood

2007-03-09T07:28:00.000-05:00

So, y'all know my friend Dave Guarino by now. He has a daily, must-read blog for political junkies, rock and roll fans, and, well, anybody who wants to see the seamy underbelly where press and politics intersect. Dave and I had lost touch for a while. I left politics just as he left the Herald to become a press secretary.

We've gotten reacquainted now that he and I are both blogging (in Dave's case, again).

Dave's wife Heidi also blogs about the travails of working mothers. She's invited other working mothers to offer up guest posts.

Dave and Heidi were lamenting their oldest son's lack of potty training progress. Perhaps because the Saint and I have potty trained three kids, or more likely because I got shit all over my hands working in politics for ten years, I offered up some unsolicited advice.

Today, the Working Mom's Blog has a guest post from a Working Dad.

Go on over and say hi to Heidi. You'll end up hooked.

Adam

30 Chapters Down

2007-03-06T22:05:00.000-05:00

Now that I've reiterated that the Saint is a hottie, here's a quick update on the novel. When last we discussed it, I was holding steady at 85,000 words. (It was actually 83, 271, but who's counting?)

I wrote all weekend. I wrote last night. I wrote tonight. I'm now sitting atop 92,000 words.

You know that rush you get when you're reading a good book, nearing the end, and tying up loose ends? I'm there. The only difference is that I'm putting the words onto the page instead of reading them. This is more fun, because instead of guessing how the story will conclude, I already know.

Not done yet, but if I stay on this pace, I'll finish by the end of March.

On another note, remember that bolognese I mentioned two posts ago? It's exquisite. Stop by. I have leftovers.

Adam

Courting Controversy

2007-03-03T11:55:00.000-05:00

Over on The Outfit, there's a spirited discussion about Political Correctness. Most of you know by now exactly how I feel about that topic.

I'd never deliberately offend anyone, but I'm a writer. I need to be able to choose from all the words in the English language. On the flip side, I'll take the consequences and apologize if I do offend somebody.

I'm particularly appalled at the way colleges and universities censor their students for, basically, not being liberal enough. I thought colleges and universities were supposed to encourage debate, not stifle it.

I'm a good old-fashioned unreconstructed New Deal Liberal Democrat. I also have a rather colorful vocabulary. Everyone who has ever met me has known all of this within 15 seconds. I'm more liberal than many of those so-called liberal professors running around censoring students. As a bonus, I've actually, you know, worked in politics, where none of us are the least bit PC (even the liberals). My point: If I opened my mouth, I'd probably be fired by any college that would hire me in the first place.

That college and university political correctness is seeping over into other communities, particularly the writing community. I've seen it rear its head several times recently.

Back to The Outfit for a minute. They're a bunch of Chicago writers. My high school buddy Kevin Guilfoile is one of the bloggers. Joe Konrath first pointed me in their direction. Seems that Marcus Sakey, writing about one of his author friends, called her a hottie.

That got a couple of feminists up in arms, which sparked a spirited debate on the blog. Apparently, when a male author labels his female author friend a hottie, that's an insult to all women. The female author friend in question, by the way, wrote that Sakey had made her day.

I'm not saying I'd ever comment on another woman's appearance, though what Sakey did was blatantly, obviously, humorous, innocent, and fun, and any rational reader could only interpret his comments that way. Plus, the target of his comment loved it.

But... Might I state something obvious, just for the record? The Saint is a hottie. A funny, smart, sizzling, smoking, gorgeous knockout of a hottie. And I tell her that every day.

I must be a pig.

Enough said.

Adam

Letting the Manuscript Simmer

2007-03-01T21:50:00.000-05:00

Writing, like cooking, depends on patience. Let's say you're making a stew or a pot of Bolognese. To get the flavors right, you have to cook everything the right way: Low heat for a long time, so you blend the flavors without cooking anything too quickly, or burning everything.

You don't want anything to taste like you just threw it in at the last second, or worse, that you threw it in at the last second to cover something that didn't work very well. Everything needs to be part of the whole, but it needs its own place. Everything in the sauce should be something a gourmand can identify with a taste, yet it should also be necessary.

So in addition to patience, you need faith in your ingredients.

Conceptually, a manuscript is the same as a good pasta sauce. (Yeah, I know. In my Dad's family, and in M.G. Tarquini's, they call it gravy. I still call it sauce. Good sauce is a work of art. Good gravy is what Yankees throw on their meat and potatoes to disguise the taste.)

I've had one last major plot dilemma kicking around in my head since... well, since before I even started writing the book. Tonight, becaue I waited for things to sort themselves out in my head, because I put them on the back burner and let them simmer, because I believed in my characters and the paths they've taken: I have it. That one last element I need to be airtight, so no reader will scream, "Yeah, right!" and never read another word of mine.

Tonight, I vacuum sealed that last sticking point. It's a small victory, such as whether to use cognac or red wine (answer: cognac, always, because it makes a richer and earthier sauce) but crucial to the plot.

I think I'll celebrate by making a huge pot of Bolognese this weekend.

Adam

This Just In...

2007-02-27T22:40:00.000-05:00

Pete Townshend has a blog.

How cool is that?

Thanks to Dave Guarino for the link.

Adam

100 Random Thoughts

2007-02-27T20:45:00.000-05:00

This is the 100th post on Random Thoughts (we lost a few when we switched to beta, so this could really be 125, but I'm going by the official count). To celebrate this dubious occasion, here are 100...umm... Random Thoughts.

Add your own Random Thoughts in the comments section.

1. The Saint rocks.
2. I used to be a political consultant. I like a good fight. But the latest stuff in Washington is ridiculous. Iowa, New Hampshire, South Carolina and Nevada are almost a year away. The general election is ten months after that.
3. This is my favorite post on the blog.
4. This one was the most depressing, by far, but I'm glad I wrote it.
5. Every day, I read ten newspapers, plus Backstreets (old political habits die hard).
6. I also read these blogs, daily, as part of my news-gathering effort: Dan Kennedy, Seth Gitell and Dave Guarino. If you like politics, you'll like these blogs, too.
7. Working parents should visit Guarino's wife Heidi's blog. Don't let the title fool you. It's not just for working moms.
8. Because of this blog, I have at least twenty friends I haven't met yet, including folks in Norway and the Netherlands.
9. This is my favorite vacation spot.
10. As of right now, I'm 85,000 words into my new novel.
11. The best trip the Saint and I ever took with the kids was to Gettysburg and Hershey, last summer.
12. Of all the places I haven't visited in the United States, I most want to see Austin, Texas.
13. My kids are smarter than I am. Only my daughter knows this. She is three.
14. My last pilgrimage to the Stone Pony was over Memorial Day Weekend in 2004.
15. My parents are crazier than I am. I find this inspirational.
16. Contrary to popular belief, my favorite President was a Republican. You don't need the link if you notice that this is number 16 on my list.
17. I found five errors in the Wikipedia entry to which I linked above. That was on my first read-through.
18. I'm trying not to watch American Idol this year. So far, I'm succeeding.
19. The Saint also loves to write, and she's really good at it. She should start blogging.
20. If the History Channel didn't exist, I wouldn't watch TV most months.
21. I went to college here. I loved it.
22. I met both the Saint and Best Man and Godfather (aka Evil Republican Lobbyist) there.
23. I went to law school here. I hated it.
24. I've purchased exclusively Macintosh computers.
25. J.A. Konrath and I have the same literary agents.
26. I thought it would be easier to come up with 100 Random Thoughts.
27. I burned dinner tonight. Nobody complained. The lesson: Always use a good barbecue sauce when you're cooking pork chops.
28. This blog post pretty much wrote itself.
29. It's easier to give up ice cream for Lent if there is chocolate pudding in the house.
30. I believe gay marriage should be legal in every state, not just mine. I see this as a civil rights issue. Read the Equal Protection clause of the 14th Amendment and get back to me.
31. The day after I met the Saint, I called my mother and told her I'd met the woman I was going to marry. Two and a half years later, I did.
32. I've now lived in Massachusetts almost as long as I lived in Cooperstown and Fly Creek.
33. My favorite guilty snack food is my Uncle Bob's homemade venison jerky.
34. Lt. Ed Novak spent a tour of duty at Abu Gharaib.
35. He claims he was safe the whole time he was there, but it's still better having him back here.
36. Contrary to what Dick Cheney might think, I can write number 35 and still be a patriot.
37. My Norwegian friend put up a blog post in English because I can't read Norwegian. It's a great post, and if his others are as good, I think I need to learn Norwegian.
38. This is not the nectar of the Gods, but it's close.
39. My cousin Matt in San Diego had the craziest wedding I've attended in a long time. Again, crazy is a good word. You can read the sanitized version here.
40. My writing heroes are rock stars: Bruce Springsteen, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash.
41. My age when I saw my first concert: Almost 6 (Kristofferson at Saratoga).
42. Number of Springsteen shows I've attended: 10.
43. Number of additional times I've had Springsteen tickets in my hands and had to bag the concert: 7.
44. Number of Springsteen concerts I attended before the streak in number 43 began: 0.
45. Number of Springsteen swings through Boston I've missed since the streak in number 43 ended: 1.
46. Number of times I've seen Kristofferson in concert: 2. Both times, I went with my mother.
47. Years between those concerts (Don't look, Mom!): 30.
48. Number of Supreme Court Justices my mother knows: 1.
49. Number of jurisdictions where I am licensed to practice law: 2.
50. My three favorite novels: All the King's Men; To Kill a Mockingbird; and A Lesson Before Dying.
51. Number of Nick Alicino's former students with literary agents: (at least) 3.
52. Number with books available in a bookstore near you: 2 (here and here).
53. Both the authors in number 52 are high school classmates of mine.
54. Number of songs on my iPod: 694.
55. Number of Springsteen songs: Over 200.
56. My favorite piece of music ever: Beethoven's Ninth. Yes, you read that right.
57. The number of channels and nothin' on.
58. The Brogans are my most inspirational friends.
59. My four favorite movies: The Godfather (count the first two as one film; ignore the third); Casablanca; The Right Stuff; and Breaker Morant.
60. The one thing I hate most in the world: Driving. Owning a Jeep Cherokee helps, though.
61. Number of household jobs Middle Child can do before he gets bored: Nobody knows. He has yet to reach his limit. We once sent him outside and asked him to put away some toys in the garage. He did that. Then he rearranged the entire garage. He was six at the time. The job took him two hours. Then he asked for another one.
62. The Saint teaches high school English. Have I mentioned that she rocks?
63. Her little finger, on a string: Where Daughter stores her father.
64. 13, going on 20: Oldest Son's age.
65. The best summer drink I've ever mixed: peach sangria. The Saint agrees.
66. The Saint and I finally saw a U2 concert a year ago (to put this in perspective, Bono is the Saint's Bruce). Number of times the Saint shouted "I love you, Bono!": I lost count. All I can say in my own defense is that it takes a strong man to stand by smiling while his wife professes her love for Bono (a hundred times or so).
67. Writer's Block does not exist. It's a figment of a frazzled imagination. Write through it.
68. If writing through it doesn't help, try bourbon.
69. I've been lucky. I've run my own business and I've loved most of the places where I worked for other people. But this is still the best job I've ever had.
70. The best "Lent-friendly food" in the world has to be shrimp scampi pizza. With extra garlic.
71. Speaking of food, the Saint will tell you that I have a great "food memory." When she and I go out to a special restaurant (which, honestly, is any one we can hit without the kids), I tend to remember every detail of the meal--mine and hers-- forever. I used to think this was normal.
72. Middle Child is totally fascinated by Mozart. He wants to form a rock band. He already has a notebook full of songs he's written. Some of these songs are good. He knows none of Mozart's music, but he's enthralled by Mozart the musician.
73. Why don't we worship teachers the way we worship athletes and rock stars?
74. I'm hearing and reading that Martin Scorsese is thinking of a sequel to The Departed. With whom? The only characters left are the ones played by Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg.
75. I miss Ben & Jerry's Holy Cannoli ice cream. That was my favorite ice cream flavor, ever.
76. I also miss Diet Vanilla Coke.
77. I've forgotten what life was like before ESPN. Baseball Tonight might be the best show ever created.
78. My favorite Chris Berman nicknames: Donovan "Mellow Yellow-Sunshine Superman" Osborne and Dante Bichette Happens.
79. I've seen baseball games at Fenway Park, Yankee Stadium, (Oriole Park at) Camden Yards and Memorial Stadium. I've seen Wrigley Field, US Cellular Field, Petco Park, Shea Stadium, Tiger Stadium, Veterans' Stadium, Pro-Player Stadium, Turner Field, Olympic Stadium and Kauffman Stadium.
80. I have seen the football stadiums in most of the cities in number 79, but my only NFL game was a pre-season matchup between the Patriots and the Redskins in 2001.
81. I've been to more college hockey and basketball games than NHL or NBA games (even though the last college hockey and basketball games I attended happened while I was in college).
82. Since 1980, I have attended 92 Red Sox games. The Red Sox won 90 of those games. Yes, I realize I should purchase season tickets, but I can't afford them.
83. My father's mother was born in County Waterford. My mother's mother is predominantly Irish. I have never been to Ireland.
84. The Saint and I, in choosing the middle names of our kids, named each of them after one of our grandparents.
85. Even though he is a Republican, Dennis Miller is my favorite comedian, but not my favorite Republican (BMAG and my Uncle Bob share that "honor").
86. The number of years between the last two Red Sox World Series Championships. The Sox can go another 86 years between championships; all that matters is that I saw one in my lifetime. Yankee fans do not understand this. They can't even fathom it. I pity them.
87. Standing around and talking about being a writer is much easier than being a writer.
88. My parents are retired teachers. To them, retirement means selling real estate, running a catering business, and taking trips everywhere.
89. I agree with Bill Simmons (and his father, who said,) Dennis Johnson "was the best guard on the best team I ever watched in my entire life." DJ was the Celtics' starting point guard the last time basketball was relevant to me. And the Hall of Fame voters did him an injustice by not inducting him while he was alive to see it. If Larry Bird said DJ was the best teammate he ever had, then DJ deserves a slot in Springfield.
90. I've been working on this post since last Wednesday (the annual stomach virus scythed its way through the family over the past few days). Sometimes life gets in the way.
91. It was nice that Martin Scorsese finally won an Oscar. It's too bad the show dragged on for four hours. Yet another reason why a DVR is a necessity.
92. I still have eight more Random Thoughts to go? What the hell was I thinking?
93. Somebody found this blog today while searching for "bracciole." Another found it searching for "scrapple." One of these foods I love; the other I refuse to try.
94. I've finally started working on my taxes. Good thing I have an accountant to do the real work. I used to do it myself. I'd rather pay somebody else. My accountant has been giving me a great rate for years.
95. As of tonight, I've officially been called out on a blog. Well, sort of. But I'm the Adam H. who gave his friend Kris a ration...
96. Now that The West Wing and NYPD Blue have gone away, I confess that I watch Grey's Anatomy with the Saint.
97. If I keep watching Oldest Son play basketball, I'll like it again. The kid owns the low post.
98. I budgeted 90 minutes for this post. I think we're in the bonus round by now.
99. Why are you still reading this? It's not that interesting any more.
100. And I'm done. Have I mentioned that the Saint rocks? I'll say it again.

Adam

That Annual Obligation

2007-02-19T16:00:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday. I haven't always given up anything for Lent. In fact, I only started a few years ago.

That first year, I gave up booze. It was a piece of cake.

So the next year, I gave up ice cream. Giving up cigarettes was easier.

Let me tell you about my family's ice cream history. On my mother's side, I think my grandparents ate a bowl of ice cream every night. They had a second freezer with eight or nine different varieties (and three or four deer worth of venison). My grandfather had several spoons stashed in that freezer. At least one was hidden in plain sight so my grandmother could stop looking for the others. She'd always "miss" one.

My parents made their own ice cream at one point (maybe they'll read this post from their balmy Nicaraguan vacation and take the hint when they get home). They cook light, eat light, stay fit, all that willpower crap. But they still have a freezer full of ice cream.

I'd be forty pounds lighter without my friends Ben and Jerry. So I'm kicking them to the curb for Lent. Which means that tonight, Ben and Jerry are visiting. Maybe tomorrow night, too.

Adam

The Saint Parties

2007-02-18T00:21:00.000-05:00

The Saint went out this evening with the women in our Gang of Ten.

That means:

Daughter got special bed time stories with Daddy (after her "Mommy's leaving!" meltdown)
Middle Child got to fall asleep on the couch with the big brother he (not so) secretly worships
Oldest Son regaled me with stories of his afternoon basketball game (which I witnessed firsthand; if this kid were any more modest, one would think he sat on the bench all game), and we got some good quality time after everyone else was asleep
Now that all the kids are in bed, my iPod is plugged into Oldest Son's stereo (I've played two Bruce concert bootlegs, then Nebraska, then Tunnel of Love, for those of you keeping score at home)
I've violated my "No Bruce while writing this book" rule
I don't care (Nebraska and Tunnel of Love, though perfect albums, aren't exactly uplifting)
I've cranked out 2,000 words
The Saint got a night out
I felt like I got one, too

A win-win for everyone. When can we do this again?

Adam

Winter in Boston: A Case Study

2007-02-16T22:15:00.000-05:00

Unless I'm on a beach with the Saint on my arm and a drink in my hand, I hate hot weather. I love winter. Every time the snow falls, the Saint or one of the kids snaps a picture of me wearing shorts and a t-shirt while I'm shoveling.

This year, I don't love winter so much.

We went through a December when the temperatures were above freezing almost every day. January was balmy. I think we hit 70 degrees once or twice.

So February should be great, right?

Single digit temperatures for days on end. Wednesday, the mercury finally climbed again, until it was just warm enough for snow. Which turned to sleet and freezing rain. Oldest Son and Middle Child shoveled. And shoveled. And shoveled. I came home from work and shoveled some more.

I scraped off all the snow and ice. Got right down to the blacktop on the driveway and sidewalk. Cleaned the van and the Jeep. Put down ten pounds of salt. Went to bed exhausted (after posting my St. Valentine's Day Ode to Bruce, drafted in the self-congratulatory warmth of a glass of cognac). I may even have extended my middle fingers at the sleet falling outside.

Yesterday morning, the ice on my sidewalk and driveway was three inches thick and the temperatures were in the single digits again. Not only was all that salt useless because the temperature had fallen so quickly, it was frozen under the ice. I don't have skates.

Normally the Saint and Oldest Son go off to school together. Yesterday, the Saint had to get Daughter and Middle Child to day care and the school bus, which is usually my responsibility. The sludge and ice had pooled around the van tires, then frozen solid. The van was literally frozen into the driveway.

The Jeep has four-wheel drive, but even that's no sure bet when the snow plows pile a three-foot drift across the driveway... and said drift freezes into a hard, slippery, immovable object. The Saint crashed down off the... ice thing... with such force that I thought the air bags had deployed. She got everybody where they needed to be, but was twenty-five minutes late for school.

I overcompensated for failing in my parental duties: On the way to work, I helped the neighbors dig out their car. Then six of us fought a sheet of ice for traction. The car went nowhere. Eventually, the wheels spun a giant rooster-tail of sludge at us like it was coming from a snow-blower.

Did you know that if ice shoots into the air at just the right angle, it can fall directly between your jacket and your shirt? I didn't know that either, until yesterday morning. After we backed away, of course, a quick tap on the gas put the car safely in the middle of the street. My neighbors and I were exchanging high-fives like drunks at a football game.

I earned a great reward for my good manners. During the seven-minute walk from my house to the bus stop, I fell eight times. The walk took twenty minutes.

This morning, we planned ahead. We left early. The Saint carried Daughter to the Jeep. I carried the Saint's school stuff. I'm grateful we hadn't switched loads, because I ended up on my back, under the Jeep, sprawled like a snow angel in a Springsteen shirt, but with less traction. The Saint's school stuff ended up all over the driveway. Oldest Son and Middle Child smirked until they couldn't hold it in any longer, then howled from the safety (and warmth) of the Jeep. Daughter sobbed because she thought I was dead.

The neighbors heard utterances from my mouth that they hadn't heard since yesterday. Daughter realized that dead men can't swear.

The thermometer hit 30 today. The van is still frozen in the driveway. Every muscle in my body is sore from shoveling or from trudging through ice banks. I've crashed to the ground so many times that my bruises have bruises.

I would like to go to Miami.

Adam

Blasphemy or Revelation?

2007-02-14T19:50:00.000-05:00

I confess: Maybe I've spent too much time with a shovel in my hands, standing ankle-deep in slush, bent over a thick crust of wet, sleety, icy sludge, while more of it pours down on me.

But today, that infamous holiday created by Hallmark? Now before you assume that I forgot to honor the Saint, I did not forget. Card and candy. No flowers. As a bonus, she gifted me with a card and a pint of Haagen-Dazs (the Saint did lose a few points for purchasing "light" ice cream, which is roughly equivalent to "light" cigarettes, yet not nearly as satisfying, but let us not tell her that I'm complaining). Thankfully, the Saint did not give me flowers either.

I mean, however, that this a holiday for the greeting card industry. The last really important thing that happened on Valentine's Day? Al Capone showed Bugs Moran who was boss.

Speaking of the Boss: Here's my point.

Instead of this commercial mid-winter holiday, an ode to the greeting card industry and a paean to Milton Hershey, why don't we skip it? Cross it right off the calendar. Valentine was a minor saint anyway; he doesn't compare to the Saint.

Let's just move everything to late summer. September 23, to be exact. Wouldn't Bruce's Birthday be a much worthier holiday?

What's better than late-summer rock and roll? (I know it's actually early fall, but work with me.) We could have nice, old-fashioned house parties, with beer and boom boxes (and maybe a little bourbon). We could gift each other with bootlegs of great concerts, various books by Bruce-friendly authors like Dave Marsh, and maybe, if we're lucky, catch Bruce and the E-Streeters on tour.

You know that I already celebrate September 23 as a National Holiday. Could it be much of a stretch to take this national? Have I told you how much I'm able to accomplish when I put my mind to things?

Right.

This could be fun. We might actually read meaningful lyrics on our holiday cards, but instead of sending the profits to Hallmark, Bruce could get royalties. I trust him with my money more than I trust large, multi-national corporations headquartered in Kansas City, don't you? (Yes, Kansas City is a great town; the barbecue is otherworldly and the Saint's mother is from there, but I digress.)

Exchanging an exquisite bootleg of "Jungleland" sounds a hell of a lot better than giving roses and chocolate, doesn't it? Plus it lasts longer, it's more enviro-friendly, and it might lead to dancing, so it's healthier, too.

I think I'm onto something. Then again, it could be the snow. Either way, September 23 falls on a Sunday this year, and I'm celebrating at my house. Feel free to join me.

Adam

Just About a Year Ago

2007-02-13T19:56:00.000-05:00

I thought I knew exactly which day I started writing this book. I actually think it was a year ago today.

But I have no blogumentary evidence. The closest I can come is this post. That'll have to do.

In the meantime: I thought I'd be done by now. Even though I'm not done, I love the book. In fact, I don't think the book would have taken the plot twists it's taken if I hadn't fallen behind.

Last summer's trip to the Sagamore was key. That got me into Albany mode and what was supposed to be a passing scene turned into a few vital chapters. I've always had a special, visceral, peculiar, wonderful fascination with that city.

All in all, it's been a great year. But I'm ready to close out this project. A few more weeks, a few thousand more words, and I'll be there.

Adam

Jump Shots and Home Runs

2007-02-10T12:05:00.000-05:00

Busy week this week. Friend Dave called Wednesday afternoon. He had four tickets to the Celtics game and wanted to bring Middle Child and me with his oldest. So, yeah, it was the Celtics game, and I haven't cared about the Celtics since 1988 or so. Not to mention that the Celts are in the middle of an epic losing streak.

But the nice parts:

Good friends
Good company
Shaq returned to the Heat

Oh, yeah: We were sitting in the Pepsi luxury suite. So there was great food and beer, and it was all free. I confess, I was craving Diet Cokes all night. Is that a blasphemous admission? Friend Dave's Pepsi sales rep was spectacular with the kids. They both came home with mini Celtics basketballs.

Yesterday, I had lunch with my old office mates from my consulting days. They just changed offices. They're now in the old Celtics suite. (Do you sense a theme here?) Celtics logos everywhere, even in the private shower in the bathroom.

This morning was the weekly basketball ritual: Middle Child played at 8 a.m. I usually hit those games (Friend Dave is a coach, and his oldest is on the team with Middle Child), but this morning, Middle Child asked the Saint to go, so Daughter and I got to hang out with Dora the Explorer. Oldest Son plays at 2, and I'm going to his game.

Meanwhile, the Saint is grocery shopping and we've got laundry going... Ahh, domestic bliss.

But baseball season is right around the corner. How do I know this? Because this morning we also signed up Middle Child for his third season of Little League. I coached Oldest Son's team last year with two other guys (I was doing it for Oldest Son, but it also ended up being the best gift I ever gave myself). Middle Child asked me to coach his team this year. That's a no-brainer.

Allow me to elaborate, because as great as baseball is, this is not all about baseball.

There's our group of five couples. We became friends because our kids all went to Kindergarten together (Middle Child's class). But the clincher was that in the Spring of 2005, all five of those interconnected kids ended up on the same baseball team, and three of the five dads were coaches. We started having cookouts every Saturday, after the game. That led to Saturday cookouts, post-season cookouts, and blowouts... pretty much on demand these days.

Yes, we know how cool that is. And now another season starts.

All of this as I'm crawling closer to the finish line on this novel. If this book were a rock and roll song, we'd be listening to the guitar solo between the third and fourth verses. Speaking of rock and roll, go see Dave Guarino's spirited defense of U2. Dave's rant drew a loud "Amen" from me.

It reminded me of the time a rival political operative dissed Bruce to my face. The results: Not pretty, but poetic in their brutality.

I may tell you about it some day, but not until the book is finished. Now, however, I have to go watch a basketball game. Oldest Son has inherited the Saint's talents in the low post. The results for the other team: Not pretty, but poetic in their brutality.

Adam

A Few Rock and Roll Notes

2007-02-05T21:56:00.000-05:00

Sorry I'm late getting to this. Things have been a little hectic in my little corner of paradise.

Last Tuesday, I trekked to Worcester with an old buddy from my prior life... you know, just a couple of political operatives playing rock fans. We met up with a state rep and three other political operatives. In Worcester. For Bob Seger.

Great dinner for six hacks at a divey place where the server couldn't seem to get anybody's order right, but the food was good. One sign we were no longer in our twenties: Six guys at the table. Two beers. Four Diet Cokes. Yeah, I confess. Mine was one of the Diet Cokes, and I think I was the youngest one in the bar.

The Seger concert was wild. First tour in 11 years, and Bob rocked. I stood more than I sat, knew every word, and only hit the men's room when he played a three-fer off the new album. Good thing it was a three-fer, because there were 200 guys ahead of me in line.

It wasn't a Springsteen show, but it was amazing. (You knew that was coming, so don't act surprised.) Seger's voice still sounds the same, thirty years after I first heard it. "Turn the Page" was a chill-inducer. "Night Moves" was cathartic. Seger played for two and a half hours, and then we drove home in a snow squall.

I was in bed by one, then dragged myself out in the morning to take Middle Child to the bus and Daughter to day care (Oldest Son goes to school with the Saint). Work was not easy on Wednesday, but I made it. And yes, I played Seger tunes on my iPod all the way into the office and all the way home.

Next time, I think I'll try it on the weekend. All right. Now you can all tell me I sound old. I might even agree.

Adam

Another Year Passes

2007-02-02T19:28:00.000-05:00

Has it really been a year since I wrote this post?

Wow. My daughter ran into the bedroom this morning, ecstatic to be three.

There aren't enough superlatives to describe her.

What I can't get over: It seems like we just brought her home, and it seems like she's been part of the family forever. (My forever, not her forever; she has been part of the family for her forever.)

Everything I wrote in last year's birthday post is more true today. In the last few months, my Pretty Girl has discovered princesses, dresses, purses and Chapstick.

Her hair is blonder (even after her first haircut) and her eyes are bluer. She remains too smart for her own good (and for mine). And she still has me wrapped around her little finger.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Amen to that.

Happy Birthday, Pretty Girl. Daddy adores you.

Since I'm in the Mood to Discuss Politics

2007-01-29T23:10:00.000-05:00

Or perhaps I should say: A good week gets better.

Brad Koplinski is a dear friend of mine. He was one of the first people I met on day one of law school, and we ended up as close friends.

We won the New England School of Law Jeopardy! Tournament right before we graduated. Brad had business in his birth state of Illinois, in Springfield to be exact, and made a mad dash from Springfield to O'Hare to fly back for the tourney. He entered the room 30 seconds before the judges were going to disqualify us, and then he and I systematically demolished the competition. It was such a blowout, in fact, that I was ringing another team's buzzer to boost the score for them. (Brad has also been on the actual Jeopardy! but I won't tell you how he fared. Perhaps if Alex Trebek had allowed him to have a partner, our student loan balances would be considerably lower than they are now.)

Brad, who tends to be more modest than I am, is also a writer. He took on an ambitious project in the late 90s, interviewing nearly every living person (at the time) who had mounted a presidential campaign. The result was Hats in the Ring, a really well-written, beautifully-researched book that came out about seven years ago. We had drinks one weekend in Boston when he came up to interview Mike Dukakis. His story of breakfast in Dukakis's kitchen is priceless. If my memory serves me correctly, he also scored a decent interview with John Schmitz, the right wing nutjob better known as Mary Kay LeTourneau's father, before Schmitz died.

Brad toiled in Washington for the Civil Rights Division at the Department of Justice, and with the Treasury Department. He also spent a bundle of time working on President Clinton's re-election. He was heavily involved in the 2000 campaign, and ran central Pennsylvania for John Kerry in 2004. He liked Harrisburg so much that he stayed there.

And now he's running for City Council.

I worked in politics for ten years, but I'm a campaign operative, not a candidate. Brad's my friend, and he's the real deal. Go check out his site. I'll be making a contribution shortly. And if he needs a weekend volunteer, it's not that long a drive. We just did Hershey and Gettysburg in July, so I even know the route.

Adam

Current Events

2007-01-27T16:45:00.000-05:00

It's been a good week. Two friends from my prior life are injecting wit and wisdom into cyberspace. Seth Gitell has a few great posts up on his blog in the past few days alone. Dave Guarino has rejoined the blogosphere and landed a new job (and kudos to you, my friend, for keeping the blog up).

I used to pitch Seth and Dave and take their calls when they were covering my clients, and now they've spent time in the crucible doing what I used to do (and what some would say I still do). Seth managed to climb out of the crucible, I should add, but Dave seems to like it in there. Never having been a reporter, my two cents is probably worth less than that, but: life inside the crucible is more fun. Those two blogs are already must-reads for anybody who likes Massachusetts politics. So be sure to stop in and see them often. Things are always interesting with New Hampshire only about 9 inches away.

I've been pretty adamant about not mentioning politics on this blog (this post is an exception to that general rule, but I couldn't resist when news broke that Sam Alito is a Springsteen fan). However, you'll never read the names of any of my former clients up here, because that's the call I made when I launched Random Thoughts. But with Seth and Dave showing such erudition... you might see me chime in on politics a little more. I also have to give them credit for frequently defending their former bosses on their blogs.

On a semi-related note, another friend who remains a reporter, Matt Apuzzo, is breaking all kinds of news for the Associated Press. In the past few days, he's provided stories on Bob Ney's sentencing, and some of the most cogent analysis I've ever read about the Scooter Libby fiasco. His latest, on Ari Fleischer's immunity deal, is here.

On a semi-unrelated note, Elizabeth Krecker is still blabbering on about the Suns. Basketball is no longer my cup of tea (and honestly, it hasn't been since Bird, McHale, Parish, DJ and Walton retired), unless I'm watching Oldest Son play it, and on the rare occasions I watch it on TV, it's to see my Celtics snatch defeat from the hands of victory. Hey, Elizabeth: When do we get to read a post about your black pickup truck?

I'm seeing Bob Seger on Tuesday night with another old friend from my past life. Seger's first tour in years, and even he admits it may be his last.

Finally, I'm happy to report that the end of the manuscript is in sight. No, I haven't hit 80,000 words yet, but I'm very close. I might even be done with the first draft by the end of February.

In a few minutes, the Saint and I are packing up 2 of the 3 kids and heading over to see Kelly Malloy and her hubs, along with our usual crew, one of whom just got back from perhaps my favorite place on Earth. I'm not sure what the Saint just cooked in the kitchen, but it smells delicious and I hope she's bringing it with her.

Adam

Another Great Addition to the Blogosphere

2007-01-24T18:30:00.000-05:00

Dave Guarino, former chief political reporter for the Boston Herald (and before that, a reporter at the Lowell Sun, where I first met him), left the Herald a couple of years ago to work as a flak.

Flak, of course, is a term of endearment, since I used to be one-- some would say I still am. Guarino proved to be as skilled a flak as he was a reporter. As a scribe, he was always smart, tough and fair; as a flak, he remembered what he'd learned as a reporter.

One more cool thing about Guarino: He's a Springsteen fan.

And now, he has a blog, full of great politico-journalistic insight. Go check it out... it's worth your time. Guarino's only been up for a few days, and already he has a wealth of terrific analysis.

Thanks to my friend Seth Gitell for, um, heralding Guarino's arrival in the blogosphere.

In more writing news, another friend, author J.A. Konrath, announced on his blog that he has another blog (sort of). Konrath launched The Anonymous Publishing Vent Club, where everything is, well, anonymous. J.A. reiterates that he's just hosting this, not providing the content, though we'll never know because it's anonymous, will we, Joe?

To my Catholic eyes, this is like confession. Without the penance, remorse, or human interaction with the priest. I think all of this is good. The vent club will not be good, but it will be good fun.

Adam

I Make my Way through this Darkness

2007-01-22T22:19:00.000-05:00

I blasted through my latest plot clot and I'm firmly out of the Horse Latitudes. I'll hit 75,000 words tomorrow night, and if I'm lucky, 80,000 by the weekend.

The characters have left Albany. Everyplace else in the book is somewhere I know well and have recently visited. So I think the research phase, at least for this draft, is closing, too.

I'm very happy because the end is now in sight. That last 40,000 words should roll off the keyboard very quickly.

The only downside is that I haven't been able to listen to much Springsteen lately (but I've quoted him in the title of this post, so now I feel better).

My protagonist needs outlaw country. Bruce at his best lets us hope. There's no promise that everything will work out in the end, but there's always that chance.

This story... has less hope. Lots of things in the protag's life are broken, and they're not getting fixed any time soon. He can hope for tomorrow at this point, but that's about it.

So, in the rotation: Johnny Cash's prison albums (Folsom and San Quentin), plus a lot of dark, dark Merle Haggard, and a liberal dose of Kristofferson's early stuff that he wrote while he was drinking... about lost love and dead people. When my protag is about to pick himself up off the floor, I switch to Waylon Jennings or Hank Williams Jr. or George Jones... and like one of Pavlov's dogs, my protag wallows in misery.

The plot is flying now, so that depressing country music is magic.

One final note. For those of you keeping score at home: Daughter and the Saint no longer have strep. But Oldest Son does.

Adam

Shh, Don't Tell Anybody

2007-01-18T20:47:00.000-05:00

But it's the Saint's birthday today.

If you do tell her Happy Birthday, keep me out of it.

Thanks.

Adam

Updates, or Lack Thereof

2007-01-16T21:55:00.000-05:00

I've been busy with work, busy at home, busy with this writing project (70,000 words and counting, with the Horse Latitudes in the rearview mirror).

Aside from that, you're well aware that the Saint is prone to strep. She's better now, and so is Daughter (who also caught it). We took the weekend to recover and recharge.

There was, however, one rather large casualty: The Albany research trip.

I need to reschedule. No big deal. There's a long weekend in February and another in April.

Albany's lovely that time of year.

Adam

Does This Look Harmful to You?

2007-01-07T08:48:00.000-05:00

Click here.

Does that little bacteria seem like it could bring down a Saint?

Right. Not possible, is it?

But the Saint has strep. Again. She's getting a throat culture right now. The doctor on call has already ordered up the antibiotics, which I'll pick up as soon as the Saint gets home. I've dipped all the toothbrushes in Listerine.

Scary, how well-oiled this machine is.

Oldest Son, the new teenager, is playing PS2 with Daughter. Get this: Middle Child didn't want to miss Mass two weeks in a row, so he called one of his friends and asked if he could go with his mother.

So now, we wait.

Adam

With Thanks

2007-01-03T20:09:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday to the late, great Nick Alicino... the guy who made me a writer and a Springsteen fan.

I'll meet you Further On Up the Road.

Adam

Limping into 2007

2007-01-03T00:18:00.000-05:00

I'm fine. The Saint is fine. The kids are fine. (Daughter got her first haircut this afternoon, and she's ecstatic, not fine.)

When I said, "limping," I meant literarily, to coin a new word.

Remember your high school history classes?

Okay, I mean: Pretend you remember your high school history classes. I majored in History and wallowed in inane details.

All that crap about European explorers sailing from Spain and Portugal to the New World? Any of that ring a bell? Ever read the translations of the explorers' journals? They all dreaded the Horse Latitudes. Near the Equator, where the winds died.

The. Ships. Would. Just. Drift.

Sailing without wind can be a bit arduous.

To lighten the ships, the explorers would push their horses overboard so less powerful breezes could fill the sails and propel the boats toward better winds.

I'm inching through the Horse Latitudes now. With this book. Hence: Literarily.

I mean, I should be crashing toward the climactic scene, but writing the damned thing is... The winds have died. I'm looking for a breeze.

It took me four and a half hours to hit my thousand-word quota this evening.

During my last writing session, I hit a thousand in 70 minutes.

I know the winds will come back soon. They always do. I'm not worried, but I'm not exactly moving. I'm looking forward to my upcoming Albany Research Adventure with the Saint (and with my brother, who may still be unaware that he's the tour guide).

On a totally unrelated note, Kelly Malloy has a couple of great posts, but they're not about writing. The first is about the stellar New Year's Eve party we celebrated with our friends the other night.

Here's the deal. There are ten of us: Five couples, each with a child roughly the age of my Middle Child. All these kids of roughly the same age were in Kindergarten together, then they all played on the same Little League Team (for two seasons). We've been hanging out for three years, going on four. We've never needed an excuse to party, but the built-in holidays are wild.

We spent New Year's Eve as part of that group. Five couples. Eleven kids (plus another half couple and two more kids making guest appearances, like Tom Berenger in the last season of Cheers).

Food everywhere. Toasted ravioli. Stuffed eggplant. Crab cakes (Further proof that God exists). Stuffed mushrooms. Taco dip (the Saint's). Swedish meatballs (mine). Shrimp. Champagne, beer, wine, great company, lots of football, about 38 crazy-ass conversations and at least as many vows of secrecy...

Best New Year's Eve ever. Yes, Christmas was also the Best Christmas Ever. So shoot me for repeating the phrase. Repeating it doesn't make it false. At around 11, we had dessert, a spectacular chocolate trifle-- not my mother's, but still spectacular, and a champagne toast.

We partied until midnight. Toasted some more. Hugs, kisses, blah, blah, blah. Then, like old, married people, we packed up the kids and drove home (every couple had a designated driver).

Here's the kicker. At Chez Hurtubise, we were all in bed by 12:20. The kids slept until 11:00. I only woke up once. (My cousin Matt, the recent groom, roused me with a text message at 2:29 a.m. to tell me he'd required some assistance leaving a restaurant the night before. How is this relevant, besides waking me from an entirely pleasant dream? The Saint and I provided the gift card to the San Diego version of said restaurant as a wedding present, and it's also where Joe Konrath and I chowed down after drinks with Jerry Healy in Boston.)

But I went back to sleep. And the kids didn't come downstairs until 11 a.m.

Do I have great kids or what?

Which leads me to Post Number Two from Kelly Malloy. Let me refresh your memories with this rant about my recent parental failure.

Then read Kelly's post carefully.

"D" is Middle Child. No, he DID NOT spill the beans. No, he DID NOT crap down the chimney and ruin Christmas for his friend.

I believe I hear a refrain: Do I have great kids or what?

Let's blame the Saint for that.

In the meantime, does anybody have a horse I can toss off a boat?

Adam

While the Plowmen are Digging

2006-12-28T23:56:00.000-05:00

Holy Cow, what a Christmas!

Best ever.

Before the Saint, the kids and I went to Connecticut to visit her parents, siblings and our new niece, we opened presents here.

I love the whole gift giving thing. We gave the kids a bunch of books, DVDs, music, toys, clothes, and games. A friend of mine had given us a DVD player for our car, so I did some last minute purchasing.

Santa gave the Saint a pearl necklace.

The Saint rocked my world: She gave me an iPod. I know, I know. I'm one of the last people on the face of the planet without one. But still.

Now that we're back from Connecticut, the Saint is in danger of becoming an iPod widow. Before we left, I put a bunch of Bruce stuff on it. While we were there, I added a little more. Since we've been home, I've gone through every CD in the house and lifted stuff (except I'm a little light on Zeppelin because I can't find disc 2 of my four disc set).

I loaded 98% of my Springsteen catalogue, including the entire Fenway concert and a good chunk of the Albany Devils & Dust show (friends have gifted me with bootlegs from time to time).

But the best part? I have 8 different versions of "All Along the Watchtower," and for the first time, they're all in iTunes, and they're all on the iPod. I have three Dylan versions, one from Hendrix, one from Neil Young, one from Indigo Girls, one from Dave Matthews and one from U2. They all kick ass (though Hendrix... I mean, come on, is there a better version?) and Neil Young's is particularly passionate (ain't the dude from Seattle, but it's good).

I'm still looking for a bootleg version of Bruce doing it on the Vote for Change tour in 2004. That's Nirvana.

Now I know why so many people are strapped when I go to the gym. I stuck the headphones in my ears on Christmas Day and I completely misplaced ninety minutes. I guess it shouldn't surprise me that I've spent the last way too many hours updating iTunes and popping everything onto my new toy. Tomorrow's workout is gonna fly by.

We've got a lot of rock, a heavy dose of country, with alternative, folk, blues and pop thrown in for flavor. And I'm about to load Leonard Bernstein's version of Beethoven's Ninth at the Berlin Wall.

I've represented the usual suspects very well:

I copied most Bruce albums in their entirety
Followed by about 50 Johnny Cash songs
Then most of my Kristofferson stuff (all the old stuff plus The Austin Sessions)
U2, REM, Waylon Jennings, John Mellencamp, Bob Seger, Clapton, Skynyrd...
I even threw in a little Billy Joel, Garth Brooks and one-hit wonder Dobie Gray.

You get the picture.

But I keep coming back to this: I now have all my versions of Watchtower in one place.

Hope your Christmas also rocked.

Adam

Over the Peak and Down the Other Side

2006-12-23T12:25:00.000-05:00

I crashed through the 60,000 word barrier on my manuscript the other night. So I'm officially halfway done. No, I'm not under any crazy illusions that I'll submit a 120,000 word novel. But I'd like to have room to cut some fat. Fat adds flavor, but only if you don't recognize it as fat.

A good novel is like a good sauce: You give yourself plenty of time to reduce it to its most important elements. It gets better as it gets smaller.

My agents will receive a manuscript of between 90,000 and 100,000 words, so my goal is to get as far past 100,000 words as possible with this draft. I want the luxury of being able to hack away at this story, rather than the panic I'll feel if I have to go back and inject scenes.

The feedback to date has been universally positive, and I think I'll be done with this sometime in February, a little slower than I'd have liked, but it's good to be able to see the finish line.

I'm off next week and who knows whether I'll be blogging. So if I don't see any of you before then, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy Writing.

Adam

Yule Tide Tsunami

2006-12-18T22:45:00.000-05:00

Well... Tough night to be a parent.

This evening, Middle Child FOUND OUT. He found out that thing about the fat guy with the white beard and black boots. That thing that no kid who loves Christmas likes to discover.

I don't know whether children read this blog, so I'm not elaborating. Adult readers: Draw your own bad conclusions about what Middle Child learned tonight.

He's eight, but we were hoping he'd enjoy the hefty bearded one in red for another season.

Worst part: He learned it from a six-year-old neighbor, who also spoiled it for two other kids, a four-year-old and his two-year-old brother.

As Best Man and Godfather would say: Once it happens, you can't put the shit back in the horse.

I've had rough nights as a parent. Believe it or not, this ranks among the most difficult.

Middle Child is smart. No, I mean, really, really, really smart, and not smart in the way that all parents think their kids are smart. I mean: Really smart. So he was bound to figure this out.

Once the first domino fell, the Tooth Fairy and a certain egg-hiding rabbit crashed to Earth as well. I keep telling myself that this is a good thing, and then I look at Middle Child's face, and he's distraught.

It's not a good thing.

But it's a rite of passage. One I wish he could have figured out in his own time. I'm not going to wring my hands and lament that he's lost his innocence (he hasn't). I am, after all, supposed to be realistic.

Except: I remember exactly where I was, (the night before Thanksgiving, with my Dad, coming home from family swim at the old gym in Cooperstown on the Hartwick-Index Road) when I learned it for myself. And I know exactly how I felt. I saw that identical expression on Middle Child's face, right before he cried.

This is the kid who moons strangers and tells sophisticated fart jokes, if fart jokes can be sophisticated (he'll show you that they can). This is the kid who, at two, beat up a couple of seven-year-olds because he didn't like how they were treating his (then-seven-year-old) brother. (Remembering his swan dive off the porch and into the fray makes me laugh out loud even as I write this.) This is the kid who has better timing than the best comedians, coupled with an inborn sense of right and wrong that would impress any jurist or Talmudic scholar.

He makes me laugh every day. He inspires me with his strength. And tonight, I let him down.

I know we all talk about how important it is to tell our kids the truth when they ask us serious questions.

Tonight, I should have lied.

Adam

Miracles, Minor and Otherwise

2006-12-11T19:36:00.000-05:00

Several months back, on the old version of blogger, I mentioned my friend Gib, his wife Abby, and their new baby, Ellie. Because of the wonders of Blogger beta, that post no longer exists, but you'll remember, it's the only time I've suggested a prayer on this blog.

Gib has been a friend for several years. (Abby is also a delight.) Gib and I worked together for almost three years in my prior incarnation as a political consultant. We've talked baseball, shared some meals and downed more than a few beers together (while Gib taught me more than I needed to know about herring, striped bass, scallops, cod, flounder, haddock, and other fish-type creatures).

Back in April, they had Ellie. She's beautiful. She had a couple of medical issues. Enough that Gib and Abby:

Sold their house in Connecticut
Abby quit her job
They moved to Boston
They lived at Children's Hospital for almost 8 months
They blogged about it (see The Short Gut News) so other parents who had kids with similar conditions would know they weren't alone....

Gib and Abby are two of the strongest people I know. Their blog, by the way, is up for an award--I've always been into rigging polls, so click here and throw a vote or two to The Short Gut News. I've stuffed the ballot box from two servers and I'm heading for a third.

Today, 8 months after her birth, Gib and Abby brought their little girl home.

I have a little girl (and two wonderful boys). I never imagined waiting 8 months to bring her home from the hospital. I cannot comprehend giving up my job, selling my house and moving to another state for the sake of my kids. I mean, I'd do it, but they did it. They never thought twice about it.

An amazing story about some amazing people.

God Bless, Brogans. You earned it. By the way: Welcome home.

Adam

One Year Burnin' Down the Road

2006-12-06T20:16:00.000-05:00

A year ago today, I created this blog with my first post. It's been a great trip around the sun.

We've traveled quite a distance together.

Much has changed:

I've met a bunch of new friends through this blog
Bruce put out a new album
Kristofferson at 70 is still a rock star
We elected a Democratic Congress (and here in Massachusetts, a Democratic Governor for the first time since 1986)
I'm halfway through a new novel

I'm also grateful that everything important remains the same:

The Saint is still the Saint
My kids are still spectacular
The Saint is still the Saint
My friends remain my friends
The Saint is still the Saint
I have great agents
The Saint is still the Saint

You get the idea. Thanks to all of you for continuing to drop by. It's been a wild ride. Here's to another great year.

Adam

Since We're Talking About Location

2006-12-03T13:49:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about this for a while. I like to be a hands-on researcher, and I've always approached research (at least for my writing projects) as an exciting adventure, not a necessary chore.

But as the about-to-be-fired project managers on The Apprentice always say, I had help with this task.

As you are all oh so aware, I'm working on a novel set in, among other places, a small town in central New York, and in Washington, and in Albany. I've been to Washington enough times that I can remember the landmarks I need for the plot, and if I have trouble, I can always ask Best Man and Godfather (aka the Evil Republican Lobbyist who is evil because he is a lobbyist, not because he is a Republican-- in his party choice he is merely misguided). Anyway, when I need to get anywhere in Washington, BMAG can tell me where to go and how to get there, if I don't know already.

The central New York location... that's a little delicate, but then again, not so much. Delicate because I know the environment (and in my first novel, I based the fictional location on Cooperstown). My current project features another made-up town. It's not based on any real place. I don't have to nail the details because I created the place out of whole cloth.

On to Albany. A real place. Central to the plot of the novel. With real buildings I've lovingly described from my own memories, internet narratives and pictures, books, and Google maps.

What's missing? Right. Recent impressions. My own hands-on research. Last time I walked through downtown Albany, I hadn't begun outlining my current project. I had no idea Albany would even feature in the narrative, let alone play a central role in the plot. I was on my way to and from a Springsteen concert, with the Saint and two friends. I wasn't trying to map out the Capitol, the Cathedral, the Governor's Mansion, the Kenmore Hotel, the Hudson River, the Empire State Plaza. (My late grandfather, a construction foreman on that project, called it the South Mall until the day he died. In this context: "I built the South Mall." Well, he and a few thousand other people, but if you listened to him, he did it himself.)

So I've been thinking for months that I need to go to Albany simply to research my novel. In those months, I've driven through Albany four times on round trips from Boston to Cooperstown.

But I haven't

Seen the Capitol from the inside since 1982; from close-up (i.e, not from the highway) since 1986
Seen the (former) Kenmore Hotel in a way that I remembered (though on my 2005 trip, I stood directly across the street without realizing I was looking at the Kenmore Hotel)
Seen the Cathedral since my 1986 confirmation
Seen the Governor's Mansion, next door to the Cathedral, since 1982 (no, I didn't realize at my confirmation that the complex next door was where Mario Cuomo lived at the time)
Seen the Empire State Plaza since that same 1982 sixth grade trip where I toured the Capitol and saw the Governor's Mansion
Seen the Hudson from the water's edge, ever.

I must learn enough about each of those places that I can't ask my brother, who lives in Albany, to tour them for me. Instead, I've asked him to tour them with me. He'll see my invitation when he checks his e-mail.

The Great and Gifted Jamie Ford (unknowingly) set my plan in motion when he left Big Sky country to go "home" to Seattle, for research on his budding bestseller. He knew exactly what places he needed to see, but last time he'd seen them, he hadn't been thinking, "I need to know about these places for my book."

Ditto with me. Last time I was in Albany, I was thinking, "I never realized the Pepsi Arena is so close to the Capitol." I never even knew that the Kenmore Hotel is not only closer to the arena than the Capitol is, but it's also on the same street, more or less, across from the bar where the Saint, our friends and I partied the night away post-Bruce concert. The Governor's Mansion, the Hudson, the Empire State Plaza and the Cathedral are all within easy walking distance.

And I need to see all of them. I mentioned this to my Mother on Friday night (she happened to be in Albany wating for a flight to Jamaica).

She volunteered to watch the kids for a weekend if the Saint and I need to go to Albany (when the Saint drives, it's 2 and a half hours from Boston, but one and a half hours from Cooperstown, and as I've mentioned, every round trip requires us to go through Albany).

I moved quickly. Not as quickly as the our van does with the Saint's foot on the gas, but quickly enough for my purposes.

Mom doesn't know this yet, but I'm taking her up on her offer. The Saint and I are going to Albany for Martin Luther King Jr. weekend. I already booked the trip. My brother, who has an advanced degree in urban planning, will be accompanying us (as I've mentioned, he doesn't know this yet, either).

Since the Saint has a birthday right after the weekend, this also (bonus!) doubles as a getaway for her. We usually do the birthday escapes around my birthday because I change ages (unfortunately, never in reverse) during the summer. Yes, I'm sure the Saint would choose a place a little more romantic than Albany if the choice were up to her (but Albany is a pretty cool place even if it's not exactly romantic).

Alas, the choice was not the Saint's. I'll be enlisting friends to recommend great, romantic restaurants for a cold midwinter weekend. We'll have the other activities covered.

Adam

Distance, Real and Imagined

2006-12-01T20:40:00.000-05:00

The great Jim Atwell has struck again. His most recent column has another take on last weekend's festivities at my parents' place. Much more poetic than my own version, though I don't believe James linked my mother's cuisine to proof that God exists (though he did thank God for the food).

My Grandmother (the Rock Star) is among many to receive prominent billing in Jim's piece. The Saint and my Mother both get shout-outs as well.

Though I never did fully recharge the batteries, it was great to be home.

I'm noticing, more and more, that central New York, and the places I went when I grew up, have major roles in my fiction. Boston, where I live now with the Saint and the kids, is almost nonexistent. I had an earlier post about that.

Funny how the places from our past often have a greater impact on our lives than the places in our present. I'm not one of those nostalgic types who think the past was better than the present. I mean: I am a nostalgic type, but I still prefer the present and the future to the past. Every day with the Saint and the kids is better than the day before.

Yet the places from my past have helped shape who I am right now. I know this because the places from my past are so prominent in my current project (just as they were in my first project).

The places from my present: I don't even mention them. Does that mean they've had no impact? I doubt that.

Distance is the key. Living day to day, I'm in the middle of things. Everything is immediate.

But as I move away from the past, prior places and events crystallize for me. It's like they're easier to see in the rear view mirror than they are on the road ahead. Which, of course, is impossible.

It's all about the perspective, and I get a different perspective when I go home to Cooperstown.

The people in my life are an entirely different story. They've shaped me more than the places have. The Saint most of all (and truly, Thank God for that); but my kids; my friends; my Mom; my Dad; my Stepfather; my Grandmother the Rock Star; my Grandfather after whom I'm named; Nick Alicino; Bruce Springsteen; favorite aunts, uncles and cousins.

With the people in my life, there's no distance. Does that mean there's no perspective?

My Dad and my Grandfather are as much a part of my life now as they were when they were alive, if my memories count for anything. Every time I finish a chapter on my manuscript, among my first thoughts is What would Nick think? The Saint is my first thought of the morning, my last thought at night, and, truth be told, most of my thoughts in between. Ditto the kids.

I keep all those impressions close to me. I don't need distance so I can be objective about the people in my life. I don't even need to be objective.

Sometimes, logic isn't necessary.

Adam

Greetings from Fly Creek

2006-11-25T17:37:00.000-05:00

Hi, all...

We're here. The Saint, the boys and I arrived in Fly Creek Wednesday night (Daughter was already here). We'd planned to do run the Thanksgiving traffic gauntlet on Thursday morning, mostly because everybody else is on the road on Wednesday.

But the weather forecast all along the Mass. Pike for Thursday morning was terrible. We piled into the van and drove Wednesday night.

Thursday: Dinner at my Mother's house for 28. The great Jim Atwell sat on one side of me, the Saint sat on the other. Too much good food to list here, but my mother's oysters once again proved God exists.

Last night, post dinner, the Saint and I had drinks, venison jerky and wasabi pickles with Lt. Ed Novak, his wife, and another couple, up on a hill in an area that makes Fly Creek seem like Manhattan. Tonight, in a little over an hour, actually, the six of us are joining another couple for dinner in Cooperstown.

I've been meaning to work on the manuscript all weekend, but I only managed a hundred words today. We've been doing things with the kids instead. Today we took Daughter to see Santa.

At the end of this post from last Christmas, I mentioned that Daughter is terrified of Santa. My mother took Daughter to see Santa earlier in the week. Daughter shook hands with the Big Dude, but didn't sit in his lap. Today, even with another Big Dude there to protect her, she wouldn't sit, either. But I did snap a decent picture with my cell phone camera.

Tomorrow, we rejoin the rat race back to Boston. The batteries aren't recharged yet, but we're close.

Adam

Three More Must-Reads

2006-11-16T19:24:00.000-05:00

So, I'm over the 50,000 word barrier on the novel, and cruising. Actually, I had focus groups at work last night, so I'm dragging tonight. Plus, the Saint, Oldest Child (the newly-minted teenager) and Middle Child are out. I'm home with Daughter.

But that's not why I'm writing.

I mentioned my friend Seth Gitell in a recent post. Seth has three posts you need to read. One deals with food, but the two about politics are fabulous. Particularly the post about his relatives who served in the military. It's currently the third post down his blog.

Unfortunately, Anti-Semitism is alive and well in the United States. I won't talk about the abhorrence of the comment on Seth's blog. Seth more than defends himself.

I will say that I'm proud Seth is my friend. Take a look at that particular post. You'll see why.

Adam

The Saint Returneth

2006-11-12T19:47:00.002-05:00

The Saint is home. All is well. I didn't lose any of the kids.

Best Man and Godfather (a Republican well to the right of Attila the Hun) is giving me a hard time because I'm a former Democratic political consultant but I'm not gloating over our election results. I think he's having trouble with gracious winners.

I'm trying not to blog about politics up here because this is my writing blog. I'm trying to keep my writing career separate from the other work I do. Sorry, BMAG. This blog would be a lot more interesting if I unloaded once in a while. And I have. Once in a while.

But there's too much work to be done. I don't have time to gloat. Plus, the new House Speaker and new Senate Majority Leader said we shouldn't gloat. So I won't.

Right now, I'm just glad the Saint is home.

Adam

It's Hard to be a Saint in the City

2006-11-09T22:11:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow, the Saint heads to New York for a weekend with her sisters. Instead of Weekend at Bernie's, this is Weekend in Brooklyn.

The Saint's sister is with child, you see. Very, very much with child. But the Saint's brother in law has to go back to Seattle because his sister is getting married, and he's in the wedding, which of course was planned long ago, before this whole baby thing happened. How do those baby things happen, anyway?

So the Saint is taking Amtrak to Penn Station tomorrow. The Saint's other sister is taking Amtrak up from Washington. Hopefully they'll meet in the middle of Penn Station, find their pregnant sister in the mob, and spend a weekend doing whatever three married sisters do without their husbands.

The good news: I get an entire weekend with Oldest Child (the newly minted teenager), Middle Child and Daughter. I have everything planned, and I'm also ready to toss the plans out the window.

On the playlist: Bruce, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Hank Williams Jr., and Merle Haggard, with some Bob Seger thrown in. Not one song recorded after 1984 shall be heard at my house this weekend!

On the TV: Oldest Child has requested ample time for PS2. Middle Child has requested time to watch wrestling. Daughter has requested time for Hi-5.

I have requested football. But I'd rather hang with the kids, and when they're asleep, I'll write.

If the weather's crappy, they can watch what they want, and I'll referee. If it's nice outside, the park beckons.

I've promised the Saint that we won't order out for every meal (have I mentioned that my mother reads this blog?), but I need to be flexible. I have Sunday Dinner planned already, and I'm making that myself, so technically, I'll honor my promise even if we order out tomorrow and Saturday. Which is not a bad idea, now that I've hung it out there.

And my novel continues to... percolate. Or a better analogy: It's like bourbon in the barrel, absorbing the sugars from the oak, aging, mellowing... letting the story condense and come together.

This weekend will be strange. I'll miss the Saint, but I'll have a great time with the kids, and I'll be able to put a ton of words onto the hard drive.

Happy Weekend. It's almost upon us.

Adam

Citizen Soldiers

2006-11-07T17:50:00.000-05:00

I've known Seth Gitell for more than eight years. We met when I was representing politicians at a PR firm and Seth was a Washington-based political reporter for the Forward, a Jewish weekly in New York. Seth, who went to Harvard, then NYU Law School, came back to Boston to work with the Boston Phoenix as I was starting my own consulting business. One of the best political reporters in New England, he eventually crossed over to the dark side-- my side of the fence-- when he became press secretary for Boston Mayor Tom Menino.

Seth and I have been known to sit for long lunches together at some of the best spots in Boston. Over the years, we've become good friends.

Seth recently left the Mayor's Office to start writing again. He has a first-rate political mind and though he's a terrific reporter and writer, I'm a little sad that he's neutral again. It was a lot of fun to have him in our camp for three years.

Among Seth's current efforts, he's contributing to the New York Sun. This week's column on Ivy League-educated soldiers is spectacular. His political analysis and his writing skills are on full display here.

Pop over there and give it a read. It's well worth your time.

Adam

Violence in Fiction

2006-11-05T22:03:00.000-05:00

I wrote a particularly brutal scene this evening. I've cranked out some violent stuff in this manuscript, and a lot of the earlier scenes are gorier than this one.

This one was... well choreographed.

To make the passage believable, I had to map it in my head. Which meant I needed to rehearse it a little. I think it worked.

My goal for today's session was a thousand words. I wrote 2,000.

I'm still behind schedule, but I made up a chunk of time with that. Maybe I'll move it along with another violent scene.

I hope your writing is moving along, too.

Adam

I Forgot It's Halloween

2006-10-31T19:50:00.000-05:00

Not exactly.

Random Thought #1: I've been trying to write this post for an hour. Every time I type a word, somebody rings the bell. I took Middle Child out trick or treating. He secured a large haul and decided it was time to come home. Have I mentioned that he's very intelligent?

Daughter was a Princess. Let me rephrase: Daughter is always a Princess. But today she had a Princess costume.

Random Thought #2: In other news, we have the revolving door into the germ factory.

See if you can follow this:

After Columbus Day, Daughter got strep throat.
As Daughter got well, the Saint caught it.
The Saint got a really, really, really, really bad case. You've seen the last couple of posts about the... fortnight (first time I've ever used fortnight in conversation, written or oral)... the Saint and I've endured... The past fortnight has been rough because the Saint has been ill. The strep moved in and wouldn't leave. Three (count 'em: One, two, three) different rounds of antibiotics. And now we're on a fourth, but she's feeling better.
Just in time, Daughter has strep again.

Random Thought #3: I'm rapidly approaching 50,000 words on the new novel. I've written 5,000 words this week. I got a little sidetracked because one of my friends from high school is an accomplished novelist. She's also a book reviewer, and every time Nelson DeMille releases another, she gets a review copy, and then I get a review copy... And I can't put down DeMille's latest.

My new novel is fun. When I wrote my first, which is still on submission, I had no idea how to write a book. I just sat down and typed. I cranked out more than a quarter of a million words, then cut that to just over a hundred thousand.

With this one, my agents "suggested" an outline. Much easier. And I'm projecting a rough draft of about 115,000 words, so I can cut it to 100,000. But I wrote the first one faster. I blasted it out in huge chunks of 4-and-5,000 words at a pop. These days, I'm laboring to crank out a thousand. Is it that I have a third child? That I'm no longer running my own consulting business?

Not sure. Probably both. What I can say is that the writing is better, tighter, more focused. The story is more natural. And my agents love it. So I've learned something.

Random Thought #4: Joe Konrath is often blogging about the publishing business. I found a great article about the music business at Backstreets. It's from a magazine in Pittsburgh, and it's about Bruce, Inc. If you want to learn more about this business, read the article about how Bruce runs his business. It's an eye opener.

Random Thought #5: I need a Cooperstown/Fly Creek fix. And some venison jerky. And a large bourbon. And a conversation and a few beers with Lt. Ed Novak. And a conversation and a few beers with the great Jim Atwell.

Adam

Home from Iraq!

2006-10-24T18:48:00.000-05:00

Lt. Ed Novak's wife e-mailed earlier today: Ed's home! I have pictures to prove it.

Of course, I'm not one to take mere photos as proof. I called him. He's really home.

We talked. We're thrilled.

That week the Saint and I endured last week has entered week two, so Ed and I will talk again in a few days. In the meantime, Lieutenant, welcome home.

I believe I owe you some beer.

Adam

A Hopeless Romantic

2006-10-20T19:06:00.000-05:00

The Great and Gifted Jamie Ford is blogging about romance and its implications.

Here's what I can say about romance: Any guy fortunate enough to be in a great marriage is a romantic. Happily, I say this from experience.

I really can't get into the week The Saint and I just limped through, but when it comes to The Saint, the best words to describe how I feel about her come not from a writer, but from a baseball player.

The late, lamented Lou Gehrig said, "Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

With The Saint, the day is irrelevant. It's yesterday. It's today. It's tomorrow. It's the day after that. It's every day, forever: I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

If that makes me a romantic, I don't care. I'll learn to like the title.

Adam

Be Right Back

2006-10-18T17:58:00.000-05:00

Things are a little out of control here in Boston right now.

Just, you know, life.

See you in a few days.

Adam

A Wedding for the Ages

2006-10-09T13:51:00.000-05:00

The Saint and I have been home 4 hours, and already, this wedding is a legend.

My cousin Matt married his fiancee, Jeni, in San Diego on Saturday. Everything was perfect.

We almost had a ton of problems.

The airline called us a week before our departure and changed the flights. OK. No big deal. It's Delta. I fly them all the time. I have tons of miles.

Late departure from Boston. Still no problem: Flight time to JFK is a measly 31 minutes.

Late landing at JFK: Again, no problem. There was time.

On the ground at JFK, we waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Our connecting flight to San Diego was scheduled to depart at 7:20. We were still on the first plane at 7:11. Once we got off, it was a mad dash into the next terminal. Bobbing, weaving, leaping, bulldozing old ladies. Think OJ in the Hertz commercials before his great disgrace. I haven't run that fast since high school. I abandoned the Saint, not, you know, to abandon her, but so I could hold the plane if I got to the gate in time. Yes, this is remarkably similar to the "We had to destroy the village to save it" defense, or maybe it's just my severe jet lag.

7:18 and our departure gate is empty. Lights off, only one person home. I point out the window and say: "We. Need. To. Be. On. THAT. Plane." The Saint catches up (partly because I misread a sign for a gate and ended up in a food court. No, I didn't stop to buy anything.

The gate agent looks at us and I can see she's thinking we're screwed, but she grabs her keys and opens the door, then takes off down the longest jetway I've ever seen. Damned jetway just kept going and going and going, like we were running in some crazy-ass dream and every time we turned a corner, the tube was fifty yards longer.

She's waiting for us at the second corner. "You have to run, you know."

No. No idea. What the hell have we been doing for the last ten minutes, sipping bourbon in a bar?

More running. Much, much more running. We get to the plane. The door's still open, but the gate agent knocks anyway. Says, "Here's two more."

We're the last two. But there are four waiting for standby seats, and one in our seats. The Saint appears ready to go medieval on the squatter. Problem solved. The squatter slinks three rows back to her middle seat.

The Saint and I high five.

In the window seat in our aisle, a "helpful" passenger. She hears our story with amazement. The Saint and I look heroic. All is well. Then, from the window seat: "You're screwed on your luggage, you know. Those baggage handlers will never move as fast as you did."

I mumble something about wedding, fate, and my new black suit, but I'm also kicking myself because it's the first time I've ever traveled without a carry-on. The Saint carried on a bag full of papers she needed to correct. That suit bag I always use, the lightest of our luggage for this excursion? Yeah, I checked it.

The flight to San Diego is the least eventful part of the trip. Lands a half hour late, and at 11:30 local time, the Saint and I stand at the baggage carousel and wait until we're sure the last bag is off before we stumble five feet to the Lost/Delayed Baggage office and fill out our reports. The supervisor gives us toothpaste and a useless cab voucher. Our only solace is that Ms. Window Seat also has no baggage. Karma kicked her ass.

By the time we get to the hotel, it's after midnight on Friday morning. The rehearsal is in 11 hours. The Saint and I haven't eaten since lunch. We're wearing the clothes we put on 19 hours earlier, and we have no replacements. Not to worry. Delta Baggage Dude said our bags would be on the first flight from JFK in the morning. Arrival at 10:45; we'd have the bags by 11:30, as the rehearsal began. Called Matt. Explained. He said: "Wear jeans to the rehearsal."

No room service at 12:30 in the morning. So the Saint and I ordered out. Yes, we're crazy. This was nowhere near the craziest thing we'd do over the weekend. The Saint got a lovely pizza. I ate the worst barbecued ribs I've ever tasted. At 1:30 a.m.

Friday morning: I check in with my parents. They're heading for breakfast with the groom's parents, my aunt and uncle. The Saint and I attach ourselves to the breakfast party. Breakfast is spectacular. I had Eggs Benedict, but instead of Canadian Bacon, it comes with dungeness crab meat dusted with Old Bay. I neither remember nor care what anyone else ate.

My uncle announces that he has brought three bags of venison jerky for Matt. In my first devious thought of the day, I ask my uncle if Matt knows he's getting three bags.

The Saint and I recount our exploits. Laughter everywhere. Someone says, "You have your stuff now, right?" Well, no. Laughter stops.

Back at the hotel, we see the groom. We see the bride. We see people we don't ever remember meeting, along with people we know we've never met (they look like the bride). All are asking about our luggage. Our story seems to get funnier with each retelling.

We call the airline. Our baggage didn't make the first flight. Nobody seems to know where it is.

We go to the rehearsal. My 87-year-old grandmother arrives. Conversations stop. Grandchildren come running from all points of the compass. I know. I was talking to one cousin, an usher, brother of the groom. Gram arrived. We instantly ignored each other. More running. Mob scene. I think somebody asked for an autograph. My grandmother is a rock star. My uncle, father of the groom, is shoving his own kids out of the way to get in a hug. My mother would have trampled me to the turf if I hadn't seen her coming and thrown an elbow. (One must never let facts get in the way of a good legend.)

Rehearsal is fast. No, I mean really fast. Done in 5 minutes. That means, for the first time all weekend, we're ahead of schedule. (A side note: at least half the men are wearing jeans.)

The rehearsal lunch is in Old Town. Yes, my aunt and uncle know their guests. They realize that this needs to be a rehearsal lunch instead of a rehearsal dinner because if we try to wait until dinner, nobody will be able to walk (but my grandmother will still be a rock star).

This is a highly sensible decision. It's noon. We're in a bar in Old Town, waiting for the staff to set up the room. Have I mentioned that it was a bar? Margaritas magically appear in my hands. I think I'm supposed to hand one to the Saint. I drink both and order two more. The Saint gets one of those. I drink round three. Someone hands me a fourth. That goes down easier than my homemade sangria. We've been in the restaurant for 5 minutes. And I'm two drinks behind the guys in the wedding party.

I should mention here that if you don't count the parents of the bride and groom, I'm the oldest person in the bridal party. I'm certain Matt brought me into the deal for my maturity and gravitas. I'm sort of the groom's consigliere. (And Matt is my daughter's Godfather.)

So I did what any mature, deliberate, grave groom's consigliere would do: I ordered another round. Thankfully, someone summoned us to lunch. It was lovely. My cousin the usher handed me a bourbon. That was lovely, too.

Post-lunch, the rest of the bridal party decides to head back to the hotel and drink. Cousin-usher, his girlfriend, the Saint and I stay so Cousin-usher's girlfriend can examine every piece of Indian jewelry in San Diego.

Then we can't find the car. I say, "It's in front of the orange synagogue."

The Saint says, "No, it's up that hill." Cousin-usher takes my side. His girlfriend takes the Saint's.

Turns out, the car was up that hill, in front of the orange synagogue. Somehow, the Saint interprets this to mean that she is right and I am wrong, but I declare it a win-win situation and we go back to the hotel.

Another call to Delta. "Your bags are on the flight landing at 6:03 this evening. As far as we can tell." Care to guess what the key words to that exchange were? Right. Meanwhile, Delta Baggage Dudes are reassuring us that, do not despair, We Deliver 24 Hours a Day. I'm starting to wonder how that new black tie Matt bought me is going to look with a green polo shirt and jeans.

At 8 p.m., another call to Delta. Seems the bags didn't make that flight. At this point, homicide is not only possible, but likely. Matt calls my cell phone. Matt tells me not to worry. Matt tells me to wear jeans to the wedding. And then we hatch a plan to go shopping at 8 in the morning to buy another black suit, white shirt, and pair of black dress shoes (cap-toed Oxfords, for those who need to know).

Then Matt commands me to attend the party raging around the corner.

Our hotel is also a concert venue. There's a concert Friday night. One of the groomsmen has a suite overlooking the concert venue. He's filled the suite with beer, people and a bottle of Knob Creek.

The concert band sucks, by the way. Breezy, vapid crap that makes Air Supply or Toto sound like Heavy Metal.

During a lull in the proceedings, I reflect, again, that I am the consigliere. That Matt has chosen me to lend gravitas and wisdom to the proceedings. I then run out on the deck and scream, "Free Bird!"

Much laughter behind me in the suite. More laughter in front of me at the concert venue. I celebrate with bourbon.

Shortly thereafter, women in the suite think it's a great idea to take digital photos of the concert outside. Within 15 seconds, hotel security is knocking at the door, demanding that we move the party.

The suite renter of record, and his wife, argue in vain for the security dude to go away. I marshal all my gifts for (recovering) lawyerly persuasion, rhetoric and logic into an argument that still loses. Softened up the security guard, but still lost.

Then groomsman Luke (the only person in the entire resort with shoulders wider than mine) steps into the hall. A conversation of less than 15 seconds ensues. Luke returns victorious. We drain the Knob Creek.

I celebrate by returning to my room and learning that Delta still has no idea where my luggage is.

Back in the suite, Luke and I discuss how much we bench press. Turns out I bench more. Luke finds this humorous. The powers that be decide that it's time to take the party back into Old Town.

The Best Man and I convince Matt, who needed no convincing, that leaving the hotel in the middle of the night before his wedding would be among his most memorable decisions, even if it was hazy at the time. The consigliere and the Best Man get the job done. Matt stays.

As a consequence, I escort the rest of the wedding party (and many, many of Matt's fraternity brothers) to the shuttle bus. As we hit the parking lot, Luke decides it's a wonderful idea for me to prove my strength by carrying him across the pavement.

Problem #1: Luke forgets to tell me that he wants me to prove my strength by carrying him across the lot.

Problem #2: Even when drunk, Luke is stealthy.

Problem #3: Luke is built like a linebacker, with the vertical leap of a power forward.

Combine problems 1, 2, and 3. Mix violently. Luke and I ended up on our backs in the middle of the parking lot.

Undaunted, I carried him across the parking lot to the shuttle bus on attempt number 2. People on the shuttle bus tossed beers out the window to me as a reward. Luke celebrates by using the luggage racks inside the shuttle bus as monkey bars, all the way into Old Town.

I go back to my room (the Saint, blissfully ignorant of my terrific work riding herd on this unruly mob, has been asleep for hours). I call Delta. They have no idea where my bags are. The last flight into San Diego from Kennedy is scheduled to arrive in twenty minutes.

I begin to formulate plan B. But it's too late to go shopping, and all my cohorts are drunk.

At 3:30, I call Delta again. We're 8 hours from the wedding, I still have no suit, and the room phone is about to enter the next room. Through the wall.

The lovely Delta supervisor informs me that the bags are likely on the ground. That they're scheduled to be delivered to me at 8:00 a.m. That delivery to me by 8:00 a.m. really means I might see it sometime between noon and three because the bags go out to a warehouse first.

I also learn that the Delta Lost Baggage area opens at 9:30 (which makes the supervisor's explanation that my bags will be going to the warehouse at 8 an outright lie).

I do, however, learn that the airport opens at 5 a.m.

Plan C: Do it yourself.

At 4:30, the Saint and I go in search of a cash machine and a taxi. We find the cash machine. The promised taxi never materializes.

At 4:50, a new hero emerges. Remember that security guard who tried to break up the partying groomsmen on the night before the wedding? He drove the Saint and me to the airport, where we rolled up at exacty 5:00.

A sprint inside. A ticket agent. A supervisor.

And at 5:02 a.m. (cue Beethoven's Ninth, because even Bruce isn't gonna be triumphant enough): Our Bags. I have never in my life been so happy to see luggage.

By 5:15, we're back at the hotel. As we pull up, the Saint announces: "It's not easy being married to you."

I get my first real sleep of the weekend, and by 8:00, when we meet my parents for breakfast, the security guard and I have stolen a car and commandeered a luxury jet, flown to JFK ourselves, the Saint has distracted Baggage Dudes with her feminine wiles while I sneak Bond-like into a cargo hold.

At 8:30, when my parents aren't buying that paragraph, the phone rings. Matt: "Please tell me you have good news."

Yeah. Done.

"Meet us at 10. Be sure you're actually wearing the suit. We're doing beers and tequila shots from 10 to 10:30. Pictures at 10:40."

I am late for tequila shots and beer by five minutes. Because it seems that 30 people are wondering whether I have my suit. Even, seeing me wearing it, they need reassurance that yes, this is the suit from my luggage, not one I begged, borrowed, rented or stole.

Tequila shots never tasted so good. That was more because the Best Man actually purchased good tequila.

The pictures went off without a hitch. Again, we found ourselves ahead of schedule. We filled the schedule with more tequila and beer, while watching baseball playoffs at 11 in the morning (gotta love Pacific Time).

Somewhere in there, Luke informed us that he'd lost his wallet. He had no idea where, because he had no memory of leaving the hotel, being carried across the parking lot, or his gymnastics on the shuttle bus. I heard 8 different stories of my feats of strength, and each was better than the truth.

The wedding started three minutes ahead of schedule. Jeni was stunning in her wedding dress.

Matt tried not to cry when my mother gave a reading. The Saint was hot. All the bridesmaids were beautiful. All the groomsmen were upright. Turns out the bridesmaids had matched us drink for drink, but they were downing champagne.

The reception was a blur. I told the "We went to the airport and got our luggage ourselves" story 738 and a half times.

We went back to the hotel bar after the reception. My grandmother the rock star was more popular than ever.

The party at the hotel bar was of Viking proportions. All the other parties were warmups.

Highlights:

1. My uncle bought multiple rounds of tequila shots.
2. My cousin, the sister of the groom, bit me on the arm. We have no idea why. We laughed anyway.
3. The groom tried to buy a round of shots. After he paid for them, and after the bartender poured them, the bar manager ordered the bartender to pour the drinks down the drain. No refund.
4. Have I mentioned that the groom got tossed from the bar on his wedding night?
5. Luke, in a show of solidarity, got himself tossed soon after. Think of when an umpire ejects a star player, then the manager gets himself tossed protecting the star. That was Luke.

Brunch Sunday morning was low-key. Quiet. So was dinner. My uncle took the Saint, my rock star grandmother, her husband and me around San Diego.

Luke missed his flight but found his wallet.

Lots of goodbyes. But in two weeks, my aunt and uncle are hosting round two: the East Coast reception for those who couldn't go cross-country.

I won't wear my black suit for that, but I might stash it in the car in a carry-on, just in case.

And Matt and Jeni lived happily ever after.

Adam

And Now It's Official...

2006-10-04T20:22:00.000-05:00

The Saint and I have a teenager.

He doesn't look any different. Doesn't sound any different (though his vocabulary is increasing exponentially, and sometimes, it's of the four-letter variety). He has the same voice he did yesterday, though that'll change soon.

He's still the same wonderful kid I first held thirteen years ago. Smarter than ever. Wonderful big brother. Spectacular son. We're lucky.

And he's 13 today.

I keep wondering whether I'm old enough to be the parent of a teenager, and I realize I'm the same age my mother was when I turned 13. I'm a year older than my father would have been.

So, yeah. I guess I'm old enough to be the parent of a teenager. I'm lucky enough to be the father of this teenager.

On another note, The Saint and I are off to San Diego tomorrow. My cousin Matt is getting married. I'm a groomsman. That's funny. I haven't been in a wedding in 8 years. I bought my new black suit, and two plane tickets, and three nights in San Diego... worth every penny. My cousin Matt is my daughter's Godfather, and he's fabulous. I'm Catholic. Never been to a wedding anywhere except in a church... Well, I take that back. Two of The Saint's friends got married in interfaith (Catholic-Jewish) ceremonies, inside hotels.

Why do I mention this? Because Matt is getting married on the beach. In a black suit. Nearly identical to the black suit I'll be wearing.

To add to the general delirium, The Saint and I just had an anniversary (and have I mentioned that The Saint is a Saint?)... so the Happy Thoughts are piling up right now. Kind of hard to write a dark thriller when I'm all bubbly and gushing, but I'll manage.

I'll be offline for a few days. Happy long weekend, everybody.

Adam

Back to Writing

2006-09-29T22:34:00.000-05:00

Now that the National Holiday is over (that link is for those of you still clicking over from Backstreets for my interview with Chris Phillips), I'm back to work on my novel. As with past celebrations, the National Holiday motivated me this year, and I've been cranking out between 1,200 and 1,500 words per day for most of this week. I was at a big logjam, but (to mix my metaphors) I've busted the clot and the words are flowing freely again.

I've always looked to writers like Bruce Springsteen, Kris Kristofferson and Johnny Cash for inspiration. Their best songs are also terrific stories, told sparely.

That's good fiction writing in a nutshell. A great novel is not about how many words you take to tell the story. It's about how much story you can cram into as few words as possible. The late, great Nick Alicino taught me that years ago, but he used Springsteen songs to prove his point.

More on that some other time.

Adam