So, let’s see. Love of reading since childhood, with particular love first for Greek mythology and later for fantasy in general. Lack of interest in sports and athleticism, with the exception of playing soccer for a few years. Instead, violinist in orchestra. Social problems as a child, caused mainly by speech impediments but exacerbated by being sensitive to taunting and thus being an easy target. Preference for corduroys and trousers, a general preppiness in fashion, over jeans and casual clothes. Glasses. Boy Scout. And finally, enthusiastic fan of Dungeons & Dragons. All of that can be summed up in one simple word: GEEK.
By the time I was in junior high school, I had started to embrace the idea of being weird, of being different from most of the other kids. It still wasn’t until college that I started identifying myself as a geek though, mainly because it took those several years for that term to evolve into its current meaning. At the time it was still just an insulting word more or less interchangeable with dork and nerd. “Nerd” started to break out first, thanks to the film Revenge of the Nerds, but it was strongly associated with math, science, and their ultimate combination computer science. I was pretty good at math, liked science, and was very interested in computers, but not to the extent that I associated myself with the term nerd.
In elementary school, they had specific classes for “gifted” students in three of the years, but otherwise there was no real division of students by academic level. I also don’t recall much social distinction going on among the students. Sure, there were the kids who were good at sports, the brainy kids, and the weirdos that tended to be picked on, but we weren’t really dividing ourselves up into cliques, just groups of friends. By junior high though, we grasped the idea that there were jocks and preppies and punks and other such social groupings. Fortunately, my junior high had around 350 students, and the high school had around 3,000 among the three grades. That meant it was easy for the various social circles to ignore each other. Also, starting in junior high, all the kids were divided up into classes by academic level: kids in different levels might occasionally mix in gym class or at lunch, but for the most part they could keep to themselves. Although I continued to have some trouble through eighth grade with some kids who were still in some of my classes, overall that problem gradually went away as more and more I was among kids like myself, the brainy college-bound ones. I also finally learned to ignore the jerks who were in my classes, so they mostly stopped picking on me.
In any case, I don’t recall ever feeling picked on as a kid for being a geek per se; it was always a direct, personal thing, being picked on for my own specific attributes (mostly, being a sensitive kid with a temper and a speech impediment) rather than for being identified as part of some general group of people. Perhaps that’s why I so readily identified myself as a geek once that term started being used distinct from nerd; it fits who I am, and I see nothing wrong with it.
What is the difference between geek and nerd (and dork, for that matter)? I like to say that geeks and nerds are the kinds of people who care enough to argue about whether there is a distinction between the two terms, what the distinction is, and which word applies to them. In her comic strip Cat and Girl, Dorothy Gambrell offers up the idea in “Oxford English Cat and Girl” that both are obsessed with knowledge but nerds focus that toward practical ends such as work or technology while geeks simply indulge their obsession by specializing in particular narrow topics of interest (and dorks, according to her, “have nothing in common with them except basic social ineptitude”). I tend to think of geeks as interested in arts and culture, while nerds are interested in science and technology and to some extent business and politics as well.
Like most geeks, I have a few specialties: I’m definitely a music geek and a gamer geek, and I’m something of a Mac nerd as well. Of course, I’m also an English nerd, which is why I’m an editor. However, I think my primary geek specialty is actually general knowledge: I know a lot of little details about many many topics of general interest and knowledge, and can pull up random or obscure trivia as needed. This should come as no surprise about someone who read the encyclopedia multiple times as a kid, and now thinks that Wikipedia is one of the best things ever. I guess that might make me a “geek’s geek”, being conversant with many topics typically considered geeky.
I thought I’d have more focus with this topic and finish with some kind of statement about being a geek. But I’m not thinking of any kind of grand conclusion tying all this together. Just yup, I’m a geek, and have been since an early age when we didn’t even have a name for that state of nature.
By the time I was in junior high school, I had started to embrace the idea of being weird, of being different from most of the other kids. It still wasn’t until college that I started identifying myself as a geek though, mainly because it took those several years for that term to evolve into its current meaning. At the time it was still just an insulting word more or less interchangeable with dork and nerd. “Nerd” started to break out first, thanks to the film Revenge of the Nerds, but it was strongly associated with math, science, and their ultimate combination computer science. I was pretty good at math, liked science, and was very interested in computers, but not to the extent that I associated myself with the term nerd.
In elementary school, they had specific classes for “gifted” students in three of the years, but otherwise there was no real division of students by academic level. I also don’t recall much social distinction going on among the students. Sure, there were the kids who were good at sports, the brainy kids, and the weirdos that tended to be picked on, but we weren’t really dividing ourselves up into cliques, just groups of friends. By junior high though, we grasped the idea that there were jocks and preppies and punks and other such social groupings. Fortunately, my junior high had around 350 students, and the high school had around 3,000 among the three grades. That meant it was easy for the various social circles to ignore each other. Also, starting in junior high, all the kids were divided up into classes by academic level: kids in different levels might occasionally mix in gym class or at lunch, but for the most part they could keep to themselves. Although I continued to have some trouble through eighth grade with some kids who were still in some of my classes, overall that problem gradually went away as more and more I was among kids like myself, the brainy college-bound ones. I also finally learned to ignore the jerks who were in my classes, so they mostly stopped picking on me.
In any case, I don’t recall ever feeling picked on as a kid for being a geek per se; it was always a direct, personal thing, being picked on for my own specific attributes (mostly, being a sensitive kid with a temper and a speech impediment) rather than for being identified as part of some general group of people. Perhaps that’s why I so readily identified myself as a geek once that term started being used distinct from nerd; it fits who I am, and I see nothing wrong with it.
What is the difference between geek and nerd (and dork, for that matter)? I like to say that geeks and nerds are the kinds of people who care enough to argue about whether there is a distinction between the two terms, what the distinction is, and which word applies to them. In her comic strip Cat and Girl, Dorothy Gambrell offers up the idea in “Oxford English Cat and Girl” that both are obsessed with knowledge but nerds focus that toward practical ends such as work or technology while geeks simply indulge their obsession by specializing in particular narrow topics of interest (and dorks, according to her, “have nothing in common with them except basic social ineptitude”). I tend to think of geeks as interested in arts and culture, while nerds are interested in science and technology and to some extent business and politics as well.
Like most geeks, I have a few specialties: I’m definitely a music geek and a gamer geek, and I’m something of a Mac nerd as well. Of course, I’m also an English nerd, which is why I’m an editor. However, I think my primary geek specialty is actually general knowledge: I know a lot of little details about many many topics of general interest and knowledge, and can pull up random or obscure trivia as needed. This should come as no surprise about someone who read the encyclopedia multiple times as a kid, and now thinks that Wikipedia is one of the best things ever. I guess that might make me a “geek’s geek”, being conversant with many topics typically considered geeky.
I thought I’d have more focus with this topic and finish with some kind of statement about being a geek. But I’m not thinking of any kind of grand conclusion tying all this together. Just yup, I’m a geek, and have been since an early age when we didn’t even have a name for that state of nature.
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:KEXP 90.3 FM
In fifth grade one of my friends told me about a new game he had called Dungeons & Dragons. He let me borrow the rulebook and bring it home to read. I thought it sounded wicked cool: a game with rules to let you pretend to be a fantasy hero, like something out of Tolkien? Awesome! I don’t know why, though, but we never actually played the game.
In seventh grade, I learned that one of my new friends played D&D, and he invited me over to play a game. I was hooked. Although we only played that one time, and although I didn’t yet have my own copy of the rules, I started drawing my own maps of dungeons and fantasy realms to have adventures in. By eighth grade, I had bought my own copy of the “red box” Dungeons & Dragons Basic Rules set and got to work creating an adventure for my friends to play.
My first “complete” dungeon adventure was called the “Temple of the Moon Dagger”. It’s still buried in one of the game boxes over on my bookshelf. I tried running the game for some of my friends and my younger sister, but it quickly turned out to be a flop. For example, the first floor of the dungeon had almost nothing of actual interest in it, because it was supposed to be the easy, safe area. So we spent a lot of real time going through the motions of pretending to explore an area that ended up having nothing exciting or worthwhile about it. For an adventure game, that part wasn’t very adventurous. The Moon Dagger itself was meant to be a cool magical weapon… but cool magical weapons don’t just get found by anyone, they only go to the worthy hero, so I made it highly improbable anyone would be able to claim it, and not surprisingly, they weren’t—which was also no fun for anyone. Still, we somehow had some fun hanging out and bashing around this thing, and I wasn’t too discouraged to keep trying.
One of the reasons D&D hooked me was because it was like a LEGO set for my imagination. It had all the basic building blocks for sword-and-sorcery heroic fantasy, and I could put them together however I liked to imagine my own world of wizardry and wonder. I spent countless hours filling up sheets of graph paper with maps and notebooks with scribbled ideas about what the world should be like. The idea was that I would invent a setting for the adventures and then design the adventure scenarios to play. However, as I grew older and read more fantasy fiction, my ideas for the world were constantly changing, and so it was a never-ending project.
Occasionally my friends and I would get together and actually play the game, but I was hampered a bit by the combination of my own creativity, perfectionism, and procrastination: I was always dreaming up new ideas and never quite getting anything finished to my satisfaction, so I never felt any of my adventures were ready for play. Because I was the one who was most interested in creating and running these adventure games, that meant none of us ended up playing very much. Of course, as we all progressed to high school, all of our lives got much busier and we had less time to get together and play D&D in any event.
We actually started playing more often once we graduated from high school, for a couple reasons. The first reason was that I discovered a new game and setting called Talislanta, which was designed to be very unlike the now stereotypical quasi-Tolkienesque pseudo-medieval fantasy setting of D&D. Talislanta had great, distinctive artwork by P.D. Breeding-Black, which is what first caught my eye, and its weird setting was fascinating to me. I became strongly interested in playing adventures in that setting just as it was, which meant I didn’t have to spend endless time imagining my own fantasy world, I could just focus on designing adventures to play. My friends were also intrigued enough, and eager enough to just play a game, to agree to switch to Talislanta. The second reason we played more often was that, although we were all heading off to different colleges and thus were apart more often, when we did get together during vacations we had a strong urge to take advantage of the opportunity to play these games.
Eventually though, we finished with college, moved even further apart, and meeting for games became an event that happened only every couple years at best. A couple of my friends stayed more or less in the same area, and sometimes we would try to play, but I developed an embarrassing paralysis: my ideas for epic adventures became more ambitious than my understanding of how to make that happen—not aided by my procrastination and inability to focus on getting the basic details of a simple adventure down—and so I would end up freezing, as with stage fright, unable to get the ideas in my head into the game and thus unable to run the game. Gradually, I transitioned to being just a player, letting someone else take on the task of inventing an adventure and running the game.
Moving to Seattle reinvigorated my gaming activity. I had a new group of friends to play these games with, new games to try out, and most importantly new ideas to consider about how these kinds of games worked and how to make them fun. For several years I gamed more regularly than I ever had before, and enjoyed it a lot more. In the past year or so I’ve mostly taken a break from gaming, as I’ve been caught up in other problems and other activities, but I haven’t given up on it, and I haven’t lost the occasional flashes of inspiration: just last night I spontaneously thought of a new setting that could work with D&D, or maybe needs its own system. I’ll see whether anything comes of it…
In seventh grade, I learned that one of my new friends played D&D, and he invited me over to play a game. I was hooked. Although we only played that one time, and although I didn’t yet have my own copy of the rules, I started drawing my own maps of dungeons and fantasy realms to have adventures in. By eighth grade, I had bought my own copy of the “red box” Dungeons & Dragons Basic Rules set and got to work creating an adventure for my friends to play.
My first “complete” dungeon adventure was called the “Temple of the Moon Dagger”. It’s still buried in one of the game boxes over on my bookshelf. I tried running the game for some of my friends and my younger sister, but it quickly turned out to be a flop. For example, the first floor of the dungeon had almost nothing of actual interest in it, because it was supposed to be the easy, safe area. So we spent a lot of real time going through the motions of pretending to explore an area that ended up having nothing exciting or worthwhile about it. For an adventure game, that part wasn’t very adventurous. The Moon Dagger itself was meant to be a cool magical weapon… but cool magical weapons don’t just get found by anyone, they only go to the worthy hero, so I made it highly improbable anyone would be able to claim it, and not surprisingly, they weren’t—which was also no fun for anyone. Still, we somehow had some fun hanging out and bashing around this thing, and I wasn’t too discouraged to keep trying.
One of the reasons D&D hooked me was because it was like a LEGO set for my imagination. It had all the basic building blocks for sword-and-sorcery heroic fantasy, and I could put them together however I liked to imagine my own world of wizardry and wonder. I spent countless hours filling up sheets of graph paper with maps and notebooks with scribbled ideas about what the world should be like. The idea was that I would invent a setting for the adventures and then design the adventure scenarios to play. However, as I grew older and read more fantasy fiction, my ideas for the world were constantly changing, and so it was a never-ending project.
Occasionally my friends and I would get together and actually play the game, but I was hampered a bit by the combination of my own creativity, perfectionism, and procrastination: I was always dreaming up new ideas and never quite getting anything finished to my satisfaction, so I never felt any of my adventures were ready for play. Because I was the one who was most interested in creating and running these adventure games, that meant none of us ended up playing very much. Of course, as we all progressed to high school, all of our lives got much busier and we had less time to get together and play D&D in any event.
We actually started playing more often once we graduated from high school, for a couple reasons. The first reason was that I discovered a new game and setting called Talislanta, which was designed to be very unlike the now stereotypical quasi-Tolkienesque pseudo-medieval fantasy setting of D&D. Talislanta had great, distinctive artwork by P.D. Breeding-Black, which is what first caught my eye, and its weird setting was fascinating to me. I became strongly interested in playing adventures in that setting just as it was, which meant I didn’t have to spend endless time imagining my own fantasy world, I could just focus on designing adventures to play. My friends were also intrigued enough, and eager enough to just play a game, to agree to switch to Talislanta. The second reason we played more often was that, although we were all heading off to different colleges and thus were apart more often, when we did get together during vacations we had a strong urge to take advantage of the opportunity to play these games.
Eventually though, we finished with college, moved even further apart, and meeting for games became an event that happened only every couple years at best. A couple of my friends stayed more or less in the same area, and sometimes we would try to play, but I developed an embarrassing paralysis: my ideas for epic adventures became more ambitious than my understanding of how to make that happen—not aided by my procrastination and inability to focus on getting the basic details of a simple adventure down—and so I would end up freezing, as with stage fright, unable to get the ideas in my head into the game and thus unable to run the game. Gradually, I transitioned to being just a player, letting someone else take on the task of inventing an adventure and running the game.
Moving to Seattle reinvigorated my gaming activity. I had a new group of friends to play these games with, new games to try out, and most importantly new ideas to consider about how these kinds of games worked and how to make them fun. For several years I gamed more regularly than I ever had before, and enjoyed it a lot more. In the past year or so I’ve mostly taken a break from gaming, as I’ve been caught up in other problems and other activities, but I haven’t given up on it, and I haven’t lost the occasional flashes of inspiration: just last night I spontaneously thought of a new setting that could work with D&D, or maybe needs its own system. I’ll see whether anything comes of it…
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:KEXP 90.3 FM
Getting dressed this morning, I remembered a funny quirk of my youth: for six years or so, I refused to wear jeans. When I was little, I wore Toughskins jeans a lot. I remember at one point I had Toughskins in red and in green as well as typical blue jeans. However, at some point toward the end of elementary school, I decided I didn’t like jeans anymore. I think part of the reason was that my mom would buy corduroys and trousers for me to wear to school, and as I got new ones the old ones would become playtime clothes. Another part was that as I got older, I was spending less time getting dirty when I was outside playing, and more time just riding my bike or hanging out talking with friends, so I no longer needed to change into playtime clothes; I could just get dressed in the morning for school and stay dressed that way for the rest of the day. A third part is that I may have started associating jeans with the “bad” kids. This is patently ridiculous, of course, since most kids wore jeans. However, once I started junior high, I definitely did associate denim jackets with the older and tougher kids, and so I did not like those jackets.
In any case, by the time I could start buying my own clothes, I was set against jeans. I don’t recall indicating to my mom that I didn’t want jeans, but I know I wasn’t given any as Christmas or birthday presents, either. This led to me wearing a lot of tan trousers and navy or brown corduroys. It also contributed to my overall dorkish appearance, though I never really thought about it at the time. Actually it’s kind of odd, I don’t recall feeling self-conscious about my dress style most of the time. Maybe on occasion I’d feel I looked awkward, but for the most part I don’t recall really giving it much thought; I had decent clothes that fit me and matched, so I was okay.
Toward the end of high school, my feelings about pants shifted again. I became sick of wearing tan trousers and decided they were at best bland, if not horribly ugly. Meanwhile, I had started working at a department store, which had a dress code. So now I had to wear trousers at least for work, and I switched over to shades of grey, navy, and black. To this day, I still dislike tan or khaki trousers and will not buy or wear them. I’m not strongly opposed to green trousers, in dark shades, but I’ve never seen any I really wanted to buy, either.
However, at that time I also realized that hey, jeans weren’t just blue, they also came in black, and for whatever reason I decided that black jeans were cool. So I bought my first pair of jeans since childhood, and started wearing black jeans when I was going out on Friday nights. Once I’d switched to black jeans, it was easy to get back into blue jeans as well, and so during college jeans became my everyday wear while pleated trousers were work wear.
As the years went on I liked the trousers less and less. Because I had to wear them for work, especially once I entered the professional world, I felt they looked too dressy for casual wear and I didn’t like the way I looked wearing them. (This was due in part to feeling I had to wear button-down shirts with trousers, and not caring for those either, particularly because I now associated those with having to wear a tie, which I have always strongly disliked.) I moved toward wearing only black trousers at work; I would still buy grey ones for variety but inevitably find myself dissatisfied with them, feeling the shade of grey was ugly. Then I moved to Seattle and started working in the software industry, where the dress code is still much more casual than the East Coast professional setting, and suddenly it was almost inappropriate to wear trousers to work. Trousers were promptly relegated to dress-up occasions, and I’ve worn jeans most of the time ever since.
Over the past few years I’ve had cross-impulses regarding jeans and my general fashion: I’ve felt more like dressing up nicely, “dressing like an adult,” but this has meant being more interested in upscale pricey jeans that I could get away with wearing to semi-formal occasions, rather than being interested in nice trousers again. I haven’t had much money to put toward improving my wardrobe—nor have I had much interest in rummaging through vintage/used clothing stores—but I do feel a pull toward changing my style some, indeed having more of a defined style instead of just the standard American jeans-and-a-t-shirt look, and hopefully I’ll be able to play with that in the near future.
In any case, by the time I could start buying my own clothes, I was set against jeans. I don’t recall indicating to my mom that I didn’t want jeans, but I know I wasn’t given any as Christmas or birthday presents, either. This led to me wearing a lot of tan trousers and navy or brown corduroys. It also contributed to my overall dorkish appearance, though I never really thought about it at the time. Actually it’s kind of odd, I don’t recall feeling self-conscious about my dress style most of the time. Maybe on occasion I’d feel I looked awkward, but for the most part I don’t recall really giving it much thought; I had decent clothes that fit me and matched, so I was okay.
Toward the end of high school, my feelings about pants shifted again. I became sick of wearing tan trousers and decided they were at best bland, if not horribly ugly. Meanwhile, I had started working at a department store, which had a dress code. So now I had to wear trousers at least for work, and I switched over to shades of grey, navy, and black. To this day, I still dislike tan or khaki trousers and will not buy or wear them. I’m not strongly opposed to green trousers, in dark shades, but I’ve never seen any I really wanted to buy, either.
However, at that time I also realized that hey, jeans weren’t just blue, they also came in black, and for whatever reason I decided that black jeans were cool. So I bought my first pair of jeans since childhood, and started wearing black jeans when I was going out on Friday nights. Once I’d switched to black jeans, it was easy to get back into blue jeans as well, and so during college jeans became my everyday wear while pleated trousers were work wear.
As the years went on I liked the trousers less and less. Because I had to wear them for work, especially once I entered the professional world, I felt they looked too dressy for casual wear and I didn’t like the way I looked wearing them. (This was due in part to feeling I had to wear button-down shirts with trousers, and not caring for those either, particularly because I now associated those with having to wear a tie, which I have always strongly disliked.) I moved toward wearing only black trousers at work; I would still buy grey ones for variety but inevitably find myself dissatisfied with them, feeling the shade of grey was ugly. Then I moved to Seattle and started working in the software industry, where the dress code is still much more casual than the East Coast professional setting, and suddenly it was almost inappropriate to wear trousers to work. Trousers were promptly relegated to dress-up occasions, and I’ve worn jeans most of the time ever since.
Over the past few years I’ve had cross-impulses regarding jeans and my general fashion: I’ve felt more like dressing up nicely, “dressing like an adult,” but this has meant being more interested in upscale pricey jeans that I could get away with wearing to semi-formal occasions, rather than being interested in nice trousers again. I haven’t had much money to put toward improving my wardrobe—nor have I had much interest in rummaging through vintage/used clothing stores—but I do feel a pull toward changing my style some, indeed having more of a defined style instead of just the standard American jeans-and-a-t-shirt look, and hopefully I’ll be able to play with that in the near future.
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:KEXP 90.3 FM
Some time probably around the age of 11 is when I started being a paper carrier, occasionally substituting for the older neighborhood kid who delivered our paper. My best friend Andy got a regular weekday paper route before I did, and most afternoons I’d join him and ride along as he did his route. Occasionally I’d substitute for him as well.
One day when I was out riding bikes with him—I believe it was actually while he was doing his route—we were stopped by a couple guys in a car who said they were looking for kids who were interested in delivering a Sunday paper, the Lowell Sun. I didn’t yet have a route of my own, so I jumped at the chance and gave him my name and phone number. When I got home and excitedly told my mom, she was horrified, as you might imagine, since there was no knowing for sure who this guy was or whether he was legitimate, which hadn’t occurred to me. He might’ve had some kind of paperwork with him about the paper, I forget, but even if he did it was still sketchy, and it’s surprising now to think that that paper worked that way. In any case, he did turn out to be a legitimate representative for the Sun, and so I started working a Sunday route, my first regular paying job of any kind.
I did the Lowell Sun paper route for a year or two, I forget exactly how long. Because it was an out-of-town paper, it was less in demand than the local one, which meant my route was rather spread out and stretched quite a ways from my home. It wasn’t too bad most of the time but it was a problem in the winter when there was snow and I couldn’t ride my bike, and would have to carry all the heavy papers with me while walking the route.
Eventually, our own daily paper carrier decided to quit, and he asked me if I wanted to take over his route, which I did. So I quit the Lowell Sun route and started delivering the local, daily Nashua Telegraph instead. The Telegraph was still an evening paper at that point, which meant I could deliver the papers after school. At some point during my time as a carrier, the Telegraph also started running a Sunday edition, so I was delivering all week after all. I believe I started during seventh grade, probably in 1983, but I’d have to check. It was a better route for me, right in my neighborhood, and most of my customers already knew me; plus, as a daily paper, the subscription price was higher which meant I earned more money. My grandfather generously paid for my first computer, an Apple IIc, which I got before the start of ninth grade, but my paper route earnings let me buy a printer to go with it.
In the summer before tenth grade, my manager had good news for me: the paper was starting, or reviving, a “Carrier of the Month” program, and I had been chosen from among the carriers nominated by their managers to be the first Carrier of the Month. This involved a full-page spread about the program, with a very large photo of me, on the back page of one section of the paper… which was published just days before tenth grade started. At the time, ninth graders still went to the junior high schools, and tenth grade was when students started attending the high school. So my first day at high school involved being recognized by many strange kids for being, reportedly, the best paper carrier in the city. I felt it was a rather dorky way to begin high school, but fortunately no one hassled me about it.
I continued with the paper route for another couple years. In the summer after junior year, I had to leave home for some event. I can’t remember what it was now, it might have been the last camping trip I went on with the Scouts, or a family vacation. In any case, I had to get a substitute carrier, which I think I was finding difficult as my usual substitute wasn’t available, and my mom declared it was time I gave up the route and got a “real” job. Certainly the paper route was no longer providing adequate income, and I was somewhat tired of it, and so I did quit. It was pretty good while it lasted, though: it got me outside in the fresh air on a daily basis, riding my bicycle and carrying heavy papers, thus providing exercise as well as a modest income.
One day when I was out riding bikes with him—I believe it was actually while he was doing his route—we were stopped by a couple guys in a car who said they were looking for kids who were interested in delivering a Sunday paper, the Lowell Sun. I didn’t yet have a route of my own, so I jumped at the chance and gave him my name and phone number. When I got home and excitedly told my mom, she was horrified, as you might imagine, since there was no knowing for sure who this guy was or whether he was legitimate, which hadn’t occurred to me. He might’ve had some kind of paperwork with him about the paper, I forget, but even if he did it was still sketchy, and it’s surprising now to think that that paper worked that way. In any case, he did turn out to be a legitimate representative for the Sun, and so I started working a Sunday route, my first regular paying job of any kind.
I did the Lowell Sun paper route for a year or two, I forget exactly how long. Because it was an out-of-town paper, it was less in demand than the local one, which meant my route was rather spread out and stretched quite a ways from my home. It wasn’t too bad most of the time but it was a problem in the winter when there was snow and I couldn’t ride my bike, and would have to carry all the heavy papers with me while walking the route.
Eventually, our own daily paper carrier decided to quit, and he asked me if I wanted to take over his route, which I did. So I quit the Lowell Sun route and started delivering the local, daily Nashua Telegraph instead. The Telegraph was still an evening paper at that point, which meant I could deliver the papers after school. At some point during my time as a carrier, the Telegraph also started running a Sunday edition, so I was delivering all week after all. I believe I started during seventh grade, probably in 1983, but I’d have to check. It was a better route for me, right in my neighborhood, and most of my customers already knew me; plus, as a daily paper, the subscription price was higher which meant I earned more money. My grandfather generously paid for my first computer, an Apple IIc, which I got before the start of ninth grade, but my paper route earnings let me buy a printer to go with it.
In the summer before tenth grade, my manager had good news for me: the paper was starting, or reviving, a “Carrier of the Month” program, and I had been chosen from among the carriers nominated by their managers to be the first Carrier of the Month. This involved a full-page spread about the program, with a very large photo of me, on the back page of one section of the paper… which was published just days before tenth grade started. At the time, ninth graders still went to the junior high schools, and tenth grade was when students started attending the high school. So my first day at high school involved being recognized by many strange kids for being, reportedly, the best paper carrier in the city. I felt it was a rather dorky way to begin high school, but fortunately no one hassled me about it.
I continued with the paper route for another couple years. In the summer after junior year, I had to leave home for some event. I can’t remember what it was now, it might have been the last camping trip I went on with the Scouts, or a family vacation. In any case, I had to get a substitute carrier, which I think I was finding difficult as my usual substitute wasn’t available, and my mom declared it was time I gave up the route and got a “real” job. Certainly the paper route was no longer providing adequate income, and I was somewhat tired of it, and so I did quit. It was pretty good while it lasted, though: it got me outside in the fresh air on a daily basis, riding my bicycle and carrying heavy papers, thus providing exercise as well as a modest income.
- Location:Caffe Ladro, 452 N 36th St, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:barista mix
The third organized activity I joined during elementary school was Cub Scouts. Again, I think of this as something I started in third grade, but it may have actually been second grade, I don’t recall for sure. (Apparently in my mind everything started in third grade. Maybe that’s because second grade was kind of lousy and my teacher very unsympathetic, whereas third grade was great and my teacher was very cool.) Once again, my best friend Andy joined Cub Scouts too, as did several of my other friends, but in this case the packs were definitely grouped by neighborhoods and we were in different dens, though we still were in the same overall local pack, based in our elementary school.
I don’t remember a lot about Cub Scouts. I know we had regular meetings at one of the other kids’ houses, whose mom was our den mother, and I know I didn’t always get along with that kid but overall it was okay. I know we had activities as we worked our way through the Cub Scout badges, but don’t really remember much about them. I made a couple cars for the pinewood derby, with a fair amount of help from my dad. I wanted to have cool ones but never put that much thought, and didn’t really want to put a lot of work, into the design, so I was always a little disappointed in what I’d done when I saw some of the other cars. I also remember participating in a chuckwagon derby, which involved a few of us pulling a wooden wagon around some kind of park—I think it might’ve been on the high school campus, I forget—and trying to solve challenges at different stations.
One summer I also went to day camp for Cub Scouts; I believe it was a one-week program but that I went two weeks in a row, maybe it simply was a two-week program. I had to take a bus up to Manchester to Camp Carpenter, which seemed pretty far away. My impression is that I didn’t really know anyone else, although I believe in fact a few other kids from my troop also went, just none of my real close friends. The activities I most remember are shooting BB guns and participating in the “space derby”, which involved making a wooden rocket/spaceship model that flies along a wire and is powered by a twisted rubber band driving a propellor. The other thing I remember is getting caught up with a bunch of older kids, probably regular Boy Scouts, playing some kind of game of tag or football or something. There was an older girl there, who must’ve been a counselor, and a couple of the other older kids (who, again, may also have been counselors) had taken her shirt and tossed it in a barrel. Thinking this was just fun and games, I taunted her that I knew where her shirt was, and she chased me; but when she caught me, she held me down and shook me, demanding to know where it was, so I told her and she angrily stalked off to retrieve it. At the time I was hurt, I felt she was mean to me and I hadn’t done anything; now I wonder how they could’ve taken her shirt in the first place, it’s so wildly inappropriate even for ostensibly fun roughhousing.
I liked earning badges and rewards, but lost some interest as I got older. I know I earned my Bobcat and Wolf badges, but don’t remember if I earned the Bear badge; I know that I did not earn the Arrow of Light, which is the highest badge for Cub Scouts. At my final pack meeting at the end of fifth grade, as a bunch of my friends participated in the Arrow of Light ceremony and symbolically crossed over to being Boy Scouts, I could not participate in the ceremony, I just joined the group as one of the kids who would be moving on. And I did go on to join the Scout troop with my friends… but that’s another topic.
I don’t remember a lot about Cub Scouts. I know we had regular meetings at one of the other kids’ houses, whose mom was our den mother, and I know I didn’t always get along with that kid but overall it was okay. I know we had activities as we worked our way through the Cub Scout badges, but don’t really remember much about them. I made a couple cars for the pinewood derby, with a fair amount of help from my dad. I wanted to have cool ones but never put that much thought, and didn’t really want to put a lot of work, into the design, so I was always a little disappointed in what I’d done when I saw some of the other cars. I also remember participating in a chuckwagon derby, which involved a few of us pulling a wooden wagon around some kind of park—I think it might’ve been on the high school campus, I forget—and trying to solve challenges at different stations.
One summer I also went to day camp for Cub Scouts; I believe it was a one-week program but that I went two weeks in a row, maybe it simply was a two-week program. I had to take a bus up to Manchester to Camp Carpenter, which seemed pretty far away. My impression is that I didn’t really know anyone else, although I believe in fact a few other kids from my troop also went, just none of my real close friends. The activities I most remember are shooting BB guns and participating in the “space derby”, which involved making a wooden rocket/spaceship model that flies along a wire and is powered by a twisted rubber band driving a propellor. The other thing I remember is getting caught up with a bunch of older kids, probably regular Boy Scouts, playing some kind of game of tag or football or something. There was an older girl there, who must’ve been a counselor, and a couple of the other older kids (who, again, may also have been counselors) had taken her shirt and tossed it in a barrel. Thinking this was just fun and games, I taunted her that I knew where her shirt was, and she chased me; but when she caught me, she held me down and shook me, demanding to know where it was, so I told her and she angrily stalked off to retrieve it. At the time I was hurt, I felt she was mean to me and I hadn’t done anything; now I wonder how they could’ve taken her shirt in the first place, it’s so wildly inappropriate even for ostensibly fun roughhousing.
I liked earning badges and rewards, but lost some interest as I got older. I know I earned my Bobcat and Wolf badges, but don’t remember if I earned the Bear badge; I know that I did not earn the Arrow of Light, which is the highest badge for Cub Scouts. At my final pack meeting at the end of fifth grade, as a bunch of my friends participated in the Arrow of Light ceremony and symbolically crossed over to being Boy Scouts, I could not participate in the ceremony, I just joined the group as one of the kids who would be moving on. And I did go on to join the Scout troop with my friends… but that’s another topic.
- Location:Top Pot Doughnuts, 2124 5th Avenue, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:barista mix
Like most kids I enjoyed running around, riding my bicycle, playing kickball, and some other outdoor activities, but I was never much interested in organized sports, with one exception. When at the start of third grade my best friend, Andy, told me he had signed up to play soccer, through the YMCA league, I decided that I wanted to do that too. Andy was already signed up to Little League baseball, which I had no interest in, so I’m not sure why soccer was different; I think part of it was because baseball involved tricky coordination such as hitting and catching, whereas soccer was just running and kicking, which I knew I could do.
I think my parents were surprised at my sudden interest in soccer, and unlike with violin lessons, I was the one pushing for this activity. Still, they let me sign up, and I was able to join the same team as Andy—I don’t recall whether the teams were organized by neighborhoods or whether we were able to be on the same team for some other reason.
At the first practice, we had to choose a name for our team. The movie The Warriors was coming out soon; we’d seen the commercials and knew it was a cool thing, so there were many loud cries for “the Warriors!” to be our team name. The adults seemed to think that wasn’t a good idea, and we were eventually overruled and named the Bobcats instead. I believe our team shirt colors that year were brown with yellow stripes.
I may actually have the time frame wrong here. As I recall, I started playing soccer in third grade, which was fall 1978; The Warriors came out in February 1979, so that would mean we’d been seeing commercials months in advance. The alternative is that I started playing in fourth grade, fall 1979, but that seems like a long time after the film came out for us to still be excited to name our team after the film. I’m a little bothered that I can’t remember for sure which year I started; now that I’m puzzling over it, fourth grade sounds more likely.
I learned to eat oranges because of playing soccer. I’d always loved orange juice, but didn’t like pulp. However, there was always a supply of orange slices at the games to keep us going, but no water or other drinks. I reasoned that I didn’t really have to eat the pulpy part, I could just suck the juice out of the slices, and so I started eating oranges.
Earlier, I mentioned playing kickball: I started out playing it with my neighborhood friends, and it was the activity of choice during elementary school. The only thing that brought the daily kickball games to a halt was when one of the stronger kids would kick the ball onto the roof. I was never particularly good at kickball either, and about half the time I’d go play games of pretend with my friends instead. By fifth grade though, I’d developed a decent ability to pitch, and a couple of my friends, who I thought were both way better kickball players (and thus, cooler) than I was, encouraged me by saying I was pretty good and made a point of including me on their team; I still appreciate that kindness. However, one day during fifth grade or maybe early in sixth grade, our physical education teacher railed at our class for always playing kickball instead of a real sport like soccer. Our class collectively shrugged and switched to playing soccer at recess.
Andy and I were on the same team for at least a couple years, maybe three, riding bikes together to practices. He was always more athletic than I was, and better at soccer. I have a vague idea that was how we ended up on different teams: I think he was put with a better tier of players. Still, although I wasn’t close friends with any of my other teammates—in fact a few of them were among the kids always picking on me at school—I continued to play soccer into the fall season during seventh grade. Then, for some reason, I missed the sign-up deadline for the spring season of soccer, and that was that. I didn’t mind though, because I wasn’t enjoying it very much anymore, and I was pretty clearly outclassed on the field by most of the other kids; in fact, I may be misremembering a bit and may have told my mom I didn’t want to sign up for the spring.
I still like soccer, though I haven’t played since then and don’t make any effort to watch matches or anything. Oddly, at one point in my dreams last night I met some people kicking soccer balls around; I intercepted one and kicked it back, and then started ducking as soccer balls kept arcing toward my head and I didn’t want to head-butt them. Obviously this entry was weighing heavily on my mind…
I think my parents were surprised at my sudden interest in soccer, and unlike with violin lessons, I was the one pushing for this activity. Still, they let me sign up, and I was able to join the same team as Andy—I don’t recall whether the teams were organized by neighborhoods or whether we were able to be on the same team for some other reason.
At the first practice, we had to choose a name for our team. The movie The Warriors was coming out soon; we’d seen the commercials and knew it was a cool thing, so there were many loud cries for “the Warriors!” to be our team name. The adults seemed to think that wasn’t a good idea, and we were eventually overruled and named the Bobcats instead. I believe our team shirt colors that year were brown with yellow stripes.
I may actually have the time frame wrong here. As I recall, I started playing soccer in third grade, which was fall 1978; The Warriors came out in February 1979, so that would mean we’d been seeing commercials months in advance. The alternative is that I started playing in fourth grade, fall 1979, but that seems like a long time after the film came out for us to still be excited to name our team after the film. I’m a little bothered that I can’t remember for sure which year I started; now that I’m puzzling over it, fourth grade sounds more likely.
I learned to eat oranges because of playing soccer. I’d always loved orange juice, but didn’t like pulp. However, there was always a supply of orange slices at the games to keep us going, but no water or other drinks. I reasoned that I didn’t really have to eat the pulpy part, I could just suck the juice out of the slices, and so I started eating oranges.
Earlier, I mentioned playing kickball: I started out playing it with my neighborhood friends, and it was the activity of choice during elementary school. The only thing that brought the daily kickball games to a halt was when one of the stronger kids would kick the ball onto the roof. I was never particularly good at kickball either, and about half the time I’d go play games of pretend with my friends instead. By fifth grade though, I’d developed a decent ability to pitch, and a couple of my friends, who I thought were both way better kickball players (and thus, cooler) than I was, encouraged me by saying I was pretty good and made a point of including me on their team; I still appreciate that kindness. However, one day during fifth grade or maybe early in sixth grade, our physical education teacher railed at our class for always playing kickball instead of a real sport like soccer. Our class collectively shrugged and switched to playing soccer at recess.
Andy and I were on the same team for at least a couple years, maybe three, riding bikes together to practices. He was always more athletic than I was, and better at soccer. I have a vague idea that was how we ended up on different teams: I think he was put with a better tier of players. Still, although I wasn’t close friends with any of my other teammates—in fact a few of them were among the kids always picking on me at school—I continued to play soccer into the fall season during seventh grade. Then, for some reason, I missed the sign-up deadline for the spring season of soccer, and that was that. I didn’t mind though, because I wasn’t enjoying it very much anymore, and I was pretty clearly outclassed on the field by most of the other kids; in fact, I may be misremembering a bit and may have told my mom I didn’t want to sign up for the spring.
I still like soccer, though I haven’t played since then and don’t make any effort to watch matches or anything. Oddly, at one point in my dreams last night I met some people kicking soccer balls around; I intercepted one and kicked it back, and then started ducking as soccer balls kept arcing toward my head and I didn’t want to head-butt them. Obviously this entry was weighing heavily on my mind…
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:KEXP 90.3 FM
One day in third grade a woman came to our class to tell us that she would be offering violin lessons to anyone interested, and she brought along one of her students to play a little demonstration. She had a sign-up form, but I wasn’t particularly interested so I didn’t sign up. However, when I went home I did tell my parents about the visitor, and they immediately asked “why didn’t you sign up?” “I want to play guitar!” was my response: eight years old was old enough to know that guitar was cool, and, partly inspired by the bass guitarist from the church’s folk group, partly inspired by listening to popular music in general, I liked to pretend that I could play guitar. My parents said no, that I should go back and tell my teacher I wanted to sign up for the violin lessons, and they said that if I learned violin now I could learn guitar later. Being eight, I thought of that as cause and effect—if I take violin lessons now, I will learn guitar later—and the idea of learning an instrument was still neat, so I agreed.
To this day, I don’t know what made my parents insist that I should sign up for violin lessons. As I said, I had enjoyed pretending to play guitar and was interested in music in general, but I don’t recall asking about taking guitar lessons before that point, or any other discussion with my parents about learning an instrument. I know that my older sister decided to learn piano around that time, although I don’t recall for sure who started learning an instrument first, her or me. Despite my initial indifference to signing up for lessons, I did think violin was cool for something of an odd reason: I was a fan of Thomas Jefferson, after seeing the musical 1776 and reading a children’s biography of him, and he played the violin. In any case, I still see this as a surprising development in my life, an unexpected path that appeared and I was sent down.
The violin teacher must have thought great, some kid being pushed into lessons he’s not interested in, but still she agreed to take me on. I think I started out renting a violin from a local music store, although maybe we bought it; in any case it was a cheap small violin. I remember that initially I was sharing lessons with another kid or two, although I forget exactly who that was. A couple of the students and I played a few basic songs for a school-wide talent show, which I think happened when I was in fourth grade; I remember happily asking for the microphone to announce the song titles, and then having a friend ask me afterward what I said because he couldn’t understand me. (In fairness, the titles were just the Italian names of the dances—”gavotte”, for instance—so the confusion may have had more to do with the unfamiliarity than my speech impediments.) I know I played around a lot when practicing at home, and occasionally I’d fuss about having to practice, but whenever my mom would suggest that maybe I should stop taking lessons in that case, I would grumble but keep practicing.
The key moment in my musical development came near the end of fifth grade, if I recall correctly. My teacher had judged that I’d made enough progress to start playing with the string ensemble. This was a group that included her students, some cello students and their teacher, and some other adult string players. We met after school in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium, I sat with the second violins, and we started working on some music. The most astonishing thing happened: suddenly I was inside the music. I could hear all four parts at once and understood how they fit together. I could listen for the cellos to play a bit and know that meant that my part was coming up. I could follow along in my sheet music and see where the first violins would play a particular line, or know when the violas were playing the same part that we seconds were. I remember going home and telling my mom excitedly all about this wonderful experience of hearing everything going on all at once and being part of making that happen.
That, I think, is when I truly fell in love with music. It’s certainly the experience that kept me playing the violin for years afterward, continuing with lessons right through high school and then joining the amateur orchestra she led—an evolution of that same string ensemble—after that. I don’t believe that my parents really knew or expected I would have such an experience or stay devoted to playing the violin so many years, but I’m glad that they did push me to learn.
To this day, I don’t know what made my parents insist that I should sign up for violin lessons. As I said, I had enjoyed pretending to play guitar and was interested in music in general, but I don’t recall asking about taking guitar lessons before that point, or any other discussion with my parents about learning an instrument. I know that my older sister decided to learn piano around that time, although I don’t recall for sure who started learning an instrument first, her or me. Despite my initial indifference to signing up for lessons, I did think violin was cool for something of an odd reason: I was a fan of Thomas Jefferson, after seeing the musical 1776 and reading a children’s biography of him, and he played the violin. In any case, I still see this as a surprising development in my life, an unexpected path that appeared and I was sent down.
The violin teacher must have thought great, some kid being pushed into lessons he’s not interested in, but still she agreed to take me on. I think I started out renting a violin from a local music store, although maybe we bought it; in any case it was a cheap small violin. I remember that initially I was sharing lessons with another kid or two, although I forget exactly who that was. A couple of the students and I played a few basic songs for a school-wide talent show, which I think happened when I was in fourth grade; I remember happily asking for the microphone to announce the song titles, and then having a friend ask me afterward what I said because he couldn’t understand me. (In fairness, the titles were just the Italian names of the dances—”gavotte”, for instance—so the confusion may have had more to do with the unfamiliarity than my speech impediments.) I know I played around a lot when practicing at home, and occasionally I’d fuss about having to practice, but whenever my mom would suggest that maybe I should stop taking lessons in that case, I would grumble but keep practicing.
The key moment in my musical development came near the end of fifth grade, if I recall correctly. My teacher had judged that I’d made enough progress to start playing with the string ensemble. This was a group that included her students, some cello students and their teacher, and some other adult string players. We met after school in the gym/cafeteria/auditorium, I sat with the second violins, and we started working on some music. The most astonishing thing happened: suddenly I was inside the music. I could hear all four parts at once and understood how they fit together. I could listen for the cellos to play a bit and know that meant that my part was coming up. I could follow along in my sheet music and see where the first violins would play a particular line, or know when the violas were playing the same part that we seconds were. I remember going home and telling my mom excitedly all about this wonderful experience of hearing everything going on all at once and being part of making that happen.
That, I think, is when I truly fell in love with music. It’s certainly the experience that kept me playing the violin for years afterward, continuing with lessons right through high school and then joining the amateur orchestra she led—an evolution of that same string ensemble—after that. I don’t believe that my parents really knew or expected I would have such an experience or stay devoted to playing the violin so many years, but I’m glad that they did push me to learn.
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:KEXP 90.3 FM
My parents are not particularly musical. My mom can sing well enough, but my dad cannot carry a tune, though he is fond of humming tunelessly. However, they are both fond of music, and it was a regular part of our lives. In the morning and in the car we listened to WBZ AM radio, which at the time played a mix of current pop music along with news reporting. They regularly watched Evening At Pops, a weekly broadcast of concerts by the Boston Pops Orchestra, and would also watch other musical variety shows such as The Lawrence Welk Show, Sonny & Cher, the Donny & Marie show, and Solid Gold. My siblings and I watched all these shows with our parents, and also picked up music from kids’ shows such as Looney Tunes cartoons and The Muppet Show.
My parents had combined their record collections, but I don’t recall ever hearing any of my dad’s records. Occasionally my mom would listen to records instead of watching TV; in particular this became regular practice during thunderstorms, after our house was struck by lightning—as I recall, the reasoning was that running the TV was something that would attract lightning, but there was definitely a factor of avoiding damage to the TV as well, which is why we also unplugged it. Favorite records included a collection of Scott Joplin tunes; Peter, Paul & Mary in Concert; a couple John Denver albums; Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris; and the original Australian cast recording of Godspell (I have no idea why my mom got this particular version). My mom also had a few other musicals such as Carousel, some Judy Collins, and some classical music. Later, my dad got the first two Hooked on Classics albums, and I believe we had Hooked on Jazz as well.
We also got our own records. The earliest ones I recall are miscellaneous 45s of the sort of music we were hearing on the radio: Linda Ronstadt, Dolly Parton, Billy Joel, Sean Cassidy, and other artists in the vein of adult contemporary, folk, and country. My older sister had Glass Houses by Billy Joel, the Grease soundtrack, and Foreigner IV. My younger sister had Abba: The Album, and the first two Muppet Show albums. I had a K-Tel collection called Disco ’77, which as I recall had only one song that was really disco (“Car Wash” by Rose Royce) and a mix of other hits such as “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney; a later K-Tel collection I had included “Smoking in the Boy’s Room” (the original version, years before Mötley Crüe covered it) and “Disco Duck”. After Star Wars came out, I had an album of some orchestra performing the themes to Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and 2001: A Space Odyssey. All of us had other records as well, these are just some of the ones that immediately come to mind.
Besides watching music programs on TV and listening to records, we also saw live music. I’ve already mentioned the folk-music Mass that we attended weekly. My parents would take us to free concerts in the park by the Nashua Symphony or other musical groups, and to kids’ performers such as Rosenshontz. We also went to see some musical theater, such as a production of 1776. And they liked to take us to parades, where we’d see marching bands. It always surprises me when I hear that other people did not grow up with this sort of exposure to music, that their parents never took them to see a pops orchestra playing a free concert or some other such event.
And yet, despite music having such a strong presence in our lives, I'm still somewhat surprised that we turned into a musical family. My older sister learned piano; my younger sister started on flute and has now centered her life around music, currently finishing up her doctoral thesis for music composition; by the time my younger brother came around, it was a foregone conclusion that he'd learn an instrument, which ended up being clarinet, and he also began his college studies as a music education major before deciding that wasn't the path he wanted after all. As for myself, I learned the violin... but that's my next topic.
My parents had combined their record collections, but I don’t recall ever hearing any of my dad’s records. Occasionally my mom would listen to records instead of watching TV; in particular this became regular practice during thunderstorms, after our house was struck by lightning—as I recall, the reasoning was that running the TV was something that would attract lightning, but there was definitely a factor of avoiding damage to the TV as well, which is why we also unplugged it. Favorite records included a collection of Scott Joplin tunes; Peter, Paul & Mary in Concert; a couple John Denver albums; Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris; and the original Australian cast recording of Godspell (I have no idea why my mom got this particular version). My mom also had a few other musicals such as Carousel, some Judy Collins, and some classical music. Later, my dad got the first two Hooked on Classics albums, and I believe we had Hooked on Jazz as well.
We also got our own records. The earliest ones I recall are miscellaneous 45s of the sort of music we were hearing on the radio: Linda Ronstadt, Dolly Parton, Billy Joel, Sean Cassidy, and other artists in the vein of adult contemporary, folk, and country. My older sister had Glass Houses by Billy Joel, the Grease soundtrack, and Foreigner IV. My younger sister had Abba: The Album, and the first two Muppet Show albums. I had a K-Tel collection called Disco ’77, which as I recall had only one song that was really disco (“Car Wash” by Rose Royce) and a mix of other hits such as “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney; a later K-Tel collection I had included “Smoking in the Boy’s Room” (the original version, years before Mötley Crüe covered it) and “Disco Duck”. After Star Wars came out, I had an album of some orchestra performing the themes to Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and 2001: A Space Odyssey. All of us had other records as well, these are just some of the ones that immediately come to mind.
Besides watching music programs on TV and listening to records, we also saw live music. I’ve already mentioned the folk-music Mass that we attended weekly. My parents would take us to free concerts in the park by the Nashua Symphony or other musical groups, and to kids’ performers such as Rosenshontz. We also went to see some musical theater, such as a production of 1776. And they liked to take us to parades, where we’d see marching bands. It always surprises me when I hear that other people did not grow up with this sort of exposure to music, that their parents never took them to see a pops orchestra playing a free concert or some other such event.
And yet, despite music having such a strong presence in our lives, I'm still somewhat surprised that we turned into a musical family. My older sister learned piano; my younger sister started on flute and has now centered her life around music, currently finishing up her doctoral thesis for music composition; by the time my younger brother came around, it was a foregone conclusion that he'd learn an instrument, which ended up being clarinet, and he also began his college studies as a music education major before deciding that wasn't the path he wanted after all. As for myself, I learned the violin... but that's my next topic.
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:accomplished
- Music:iTunes shuffle
Here's what the topic list currently looks like:
This post, of course, is not included in the list; I'll be writing and posting topic #7 shortly.
- Procrastination
- Cleft Palate
- Reading
- Speech and Sociability
- Franco-American
- Catholic Upbringing
- Musical Influences
- Violin
- Vision
- Soccer and Sports
- Boy Scouts
- Cowardly Lion
- Dungeons & Dragons
- Paper Route
- NHYO
- Brains
- Driving
- Retail
- College
- The Faire
- Rome
- Religiousness
- Night Owl
- Orchestra
- (Postal Worker / Data Entry?)
- Chung Moo!
- Zines
- Professional
- Boston (Dec 21)
- Concert-goer
- Seattle
- (Cat?) (Dec 25)
- Homeowner (Dec 26)
- Freelancing
- KEXP Volunteer
- 40 Years Old (Dec 31)
This post, of course, is not included in the list; I'll be writing and posting topic #7 shortly.
- Location:Queen Anne, Seattle, WA
- Mood:busy
- Music:KEXP 90.3 FM
Being of French-Canadian descent also means being raised Catholic. I grew up as a low-key Catholic. We went to Mass every Sunday, and generally made it to the other Holy Days of Obligation as well, but that was about the extent of it. I had my first confession in third grade, I believe, as part of catechism; however, my parents never went to confession and never suggested we should go. My earliest memory in connection with going to Mass is of deciding it was boring and wanting to stay home and watch cartoons or play with my toys; I remember kicking up a fuss about it more than once, and being pretty surly while at church. However, my church had a “folk Mass” with a group singing contemporary songs; they were actually pretty good, and that eventually caught my interest and made Mass bearable. My interest in playing guitar (which I never ended up learning) was spurred by seeing this group of musicians every week, although I realize now the one that really interested me was the electric bass—at the time they were all just guitars to me, but the bassist had the electric one while the other two were acoustic, and clearly the electric “guitar” was the cool one.
As I mentioned in topic #4, due to my need for speech therapy I did not go through the Catholic school system, while my older sister did through junior high and my younger did through elementary, so I didn’t have that sort of cultural acclimation either. We did all go to catechism (Sunday school) before Mass. Catechism was always pretty boring. It was also a little weird for me, as there were a couple kids I knew from my public elementary school but mostly it was kids I’d met in kindergarden who were still in the Catholic school system, and I felt disconnected from them. I got in a little trouble once as I looked in the desk I was sitting at, found a comic book of the movie Alien, and kept pulling it out to read it instead of paying attention. I also remember at least once dawdling so much on the way to the school, playing with the snowbanks on the side of the road, that my dad came by in the car (I can’t remember if he was specifically looking for me or just found me on his way to get doughnuts) and yelled at me.
For the older kids, catechism switched after fifth grade from Sunday mornings before Mass to Tuesday evenings. That, however, was also when I moved from the Cub Scout troop to Boy Scouts, and my local Boy Scout troop met on Tuesday evenings as well. My parents said I’d be going to catechism, I insisted no, I wanted to go to Boy Scouts, and that was it: they didn’t fight about it, I went to Boy Scouts. I had no further religious education until tenth or eleventh grade, when it was time to start preparing for confirmation; fortunately those classes were on a different night. My standout memory from confirmation classes is of going on an overnight retreat where, once again, I was with a bunch of kids I didn’t really know—there were two retreat nights, and all my high school friends were put in the other group on the other night—and I mostly stayed by myself. In due course I was confirmed, and I did feel good about it, it was something I felt I should do, but I didn’t actually have any greater interest in my faith and religion than before.
I’m pressed for time so I’m going to call that a full entry—it is over 600 words and nearly an hour of thinking and writing—and save my thoughts on being an adult and Catholic for another topic.
As I mentioned in topic #4, due to my need for speech therapy I did not go through the Catholic school system, while my older sister did through junior high and my younger did through elementary, so I didn’t have that sort of cultural acclimation either. We did all go to catechism (Sunday school) before Mass. Catechism was always pretty boring. It was also a little weird for me, as there were a couple kids I knew from my public elementary school but mostly it was kids I’d met in kindergarden who were still in the Catholic school system, and I felt disconnected from them. I got in a little trouble once as I looked in the desk I was sitting at, found a comic book of the movie Alien, and kept pulling it out to read it instead of paying attention. I also remember at least once dawdling so much on the way to the school, playing with the snowbanks on the side of the road, that my dad came by in the car (I can’t remember if he was specifically looking for me or just found me on his way to get doughnuts) and yelled at me.
For the older kids, catechism switched after fifth grade from Sunday mornings before Mass to Tuesday evenings. That, however, was also when I moved from the Cub Scout troop to Boy Scouts, and my local Boy Scout troop met on Tuesday evenings as well. My parents said I’d be going to catechism, I insisted no, I wanted to go to Boy Scouts, and that was it: they didn’t fight about it, I went to Boy Scouts. I had no further religious education until tenth or eleventh grade, when it was time to start preparing for confirmation; fortunately those classes were on a different night. My standout memory from confirmation classes is of going on an overnight retreat where, once again, I was with a bunch of kids I didn’t really know—there were two retreat nights, and all my high school friends were put in the other group on the other night—and I mostly stayed by myself. In due course I was confirmed, and I did feel good about it, it was something I felt I should do, but I didn’t actually have any greater interest in my faith and religion than before.
I’m pressed for time so I’m going to call that a full entry—it is over 600 words and nearly an hour of thinking and writing—and save my thoughts on being an adult and Catholic for another topic.
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