Rock On

We’ve become the Partridge Family. We don’t have the bus yet but we’ve got the band. Sort of. We’re virtual rock stars thanks to Nintendo Wii’s Rock Band.

If you’re not familiar with it, Rock Band is part karaoke and part video game. It comes with a faux drum set, a microphone, and a fake guitar. In other words you could be a Rock Band superstar and not be able to play a lick. Such is life in the wonderful world of video games: you have virtual skills but they don’t actually translate to anything tangible. Like playing the guitar or using a light saber. Which makes it frustrating for someone like me who enjoys hacking away on my actual Fender Stratocaster guitar but can’t push any of the right buttons on the pseudo one.

Ben received this as a birthday gift from his friends and family. When confronted with the choice between a larger party or a larger gift, he wisely and thankfully went for the latter. So for once we’re actually on the cutting edge of gaming technology — Rock Band for Wii literally just came out. Ben even had to wait two weeks after his birthday for it to arrive. It came yesterday and the boys have been rocking out ever since.

Last night while Bryna and I were downstairs we heard Zack’s cute little seven-year-old voice upstairs singing “Roxanne.” And we just burst out laughing. Their best song so far is The Clash’s “Should I stay or should I go.” And to see your two kids jamming to such an iconic punk classic is something to behold.

I’m considering giving up my day job and going on a virtual tour. I’m not sure how much it’ll pay but perhaps it’ll at least be enough to purchase a bus.

Take Me Out

Took the boys to see the Mets at Shea Stadium on Tuesday night. Ben’s third grade teacher, Mr. Wallick (a rabid Mets fan), set this up as an optional class trip during the last week of school. I hadn’t been to Shea for about 20 years – since I lived in Sunnyside Gardens, Queens as a teenager. That was when the Mets were both exciting and good. The Mets of Gary Carter, Keith Hernandez, Darryl Strawberry, and Dwight Gooden. Sure, half the team ended up on drugs and/or in jail. But there was some great baseball at Shea in the late 1980’s.

I was glad Ben and Zack got to catch a game at Shea before it’s razed at the end of the season. The hulking Citi Field rises like the Phoenix out of the ashes of a parking lot beyond center field. And while some will be sad to see Shea go – previous home of the Jets as well as the Mets and host to the Beatles and The Who – it’s one of the ugliest stadiums I’ve ever been to. When you sit in the nose bleed section, as we did the other night, you’re closer to the airplanes landing at LaGuardia than the action on the field. I’m still suffering from the lack of oxygen. Mix the thin air with an $8 beer and even the very flat Mets seem exciting. Actually we were seated in the “Family Section” (no alcohol allowed) so I didn’t even have this to help me through.

The Mets lost 11-0 to the hapless Seattle Mariners. Both teams had fired their respective managers the week before. The highlight of the night was watching both Jerry Manual and Carlos Beltran get tossed by the home plate ump for arguing balls and strikes. But still, it was a beautiful night, the boys can cross Shea Stadium off the list of ballparks they’ve been to, and I got to relive my high school days sitting in the cheap seats. It almost made up for the pain of trying to get everybody up for school the next day.

We Are the Champions

In a thrilling and shocking upset, the boys’ little league team won the World Series on Saturday night. Perhaps “World” Series is a misnomer – it’s not like they played the 7 and 8-year-olds from Cuba. But if your world revolves around coach-pitch baseball in Briarcliff Manor, as theirs does, then they are indeed champions of the world. I can’t wait to see their massive jewel-encrusted championship rings. Oh, wait only bishops get to wear those – what I like to refer to as “Episcopal Bling.”

But let me tell you, having the boys play in games that actually meant something was an emotional roller coaster. Due to a rainout the boys had to finish their second playoff game on Saturday morning. So it started with them down 4-2 in the second inning. Our thought was always that it was great they won one playoff game. We would have all been content. Especially since Squires was playing Orfino’s, the number two team in the league. All season long it was a foregone conclusion that they’d be playing Amalfi for the league championship. These two teams, thanks to the politics of the Briarcliff Little League, were stacked. The kids seemed older, taller, and able to crush the ball.

So it was no surprise when Squires entered the bottom of the last inning against Orfino’s down by three runs. It had been a great season and Ben and Zack both learned a lot and improved greatly. But then the rally started. One run, two runs, then the score was tied. With two outs and the bases loaded I turned to Bryna and asked if she had a stiff drink on her. She handed me Ben’s water bottle. The final batter hit a walk-off single and Squires was suddenly going to the World Series!

So the boys had to play another game later that day. To make it special, the World Series was held at the Briarcliff Middle School field. So for the first time in their lives they played at a field with dugouts, a scoreboard, and fences. They even announced each player by name and played the National Anthem. Perhaps a bit much for these poor kids who were definitely feeling the pressure – the first inning was ugly before they calmed down and realized it was still just a baseball game.

But it was also intimidating to play a team that not only had beaten them 11-5 earlier in the year, but had won the World Series for the past five years. Amalfi is the “Evil Empire” of the Briarcliff Little League. Again, we talked about what a thrill and accomplishment it was just to get to the World Series. But then a funny thing happened – they realized they could play with this team. They even took the lead until it rapidly evaporated in the fifth inning. They went into the bottom of the sixth down by two runs. But the Squires magic came shining through again and they ended up winning the championship game 12-11. Bedlam ensued, pizza and ice pops were handed out, and joy reigned in Mudville. Amazing.

Next stop: Ben’s playing in the All Star Game on Saturday. I just hope they don’t think they’ll win the World Series every year.

Number 100

This is my 100th blog post.  To celebrate this momentous occasion I’m treating myself to a cup of coffee. Since this blog, like much of my life, is fueled by caffeine I thought it would be most appropriate.

I started “Clergy Family Confidential” in late November of 2007 with the caveat that if it became either a burden or no longer fun, I’d stop. So far so good. I’m having fun with it and my readership has reached five million hits per day. Okay that’s a slight exaggeration. It’s closer to ten million.

The best part about blogging is that if you don’t like someone’s blog you don’t have to read it. No one puts a virtual gun to anyone’s head. No one is compelled to read it and perhaps there are days when no one does. Fine. I’ll keep blogging and you can keep reading and commenting. Or not.

But to my loyal and even occasional readers, “thank you.” I’m glad we can share the journey together, even if it’s just a few moments a couple of times a week.

Something Fishy

Clem’s looking a bit green around the gills. Which isn’t too surprising considering his age. We got our goldfish Clementine (so named by Ben because I was eating one at the time) for 29 cents 5½ years ago. In goldfish years that would make him about as old as Noah was when he died — 950 year old according to Genesis 9:29.

Clem has outlived a number of companions and has been living the single lifestyle in our family room for over a year. His years of hard living have slowed him down a bit but he’s hanging in there. Bryna and I swore he was on his last fins a couple of months ago. We kept expecting to see him floating on top of his tank every morning when we came downstairs. But he just keeps going. He’s the bionic goldfish.

When the inevitable happens at least I’m well qualified to do a toilet-side burial. I’ve done several. It’s just a slight variation on the church’s liturgy for burial at sea. Actually Ben and Zack have decided that since Clem has been a member of our family for so long he’s worthy of a backyard burial. And it does seem somehow more dignified and appropriate. You wouldn’t flush your beloved cat down the toilet – even if it wouldn’t wreak havoc on your plumbing.

So when the time comes we have a plan. In the meantime Clem’s hanging on and observing all that goes on in the house as he’s done since just after Christmas 2002. Oh the stories he could tell.

Reading List

This is how current I am with my reading: I just finished “The DaVinci Code.” Five years after all the hullaballoo I’m ready to jump into the fray. Actually I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It was a great read, lots of action, a compelling drama, and it kept me interested.

As for all the controversy? Two words on the book’s cover would seem to take care of everything: “A Novel.”

So I’m all ready to discuss the latest literary controversy with you. You may just have to wait a few years. In the meantime maybe I’ll go out and see “The Passion of the Christ.”

Going Retro

Ben’s 9^th birthday was yesterday. Big day; last of the single digits. And, as has become common around here, the birthday celebration morphs into an extended multi-day celebration. I only remember ever having one birthday party. One birthday, one cake, one party. Similar to “One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism.” But different.

Now we have at least two parties: the Friends Party and the Family Party. The birthday becomes the birthweekend. I’m not really complaining because I love birthdays. At no other time do we celebrate a person simply for being that person. A birthday celebration doesn’t mark someone’s accomplishments or achievements. It’s all about commemorating a person for simply existing in this world as a child of God. And that’s something worth eating cake for.

Ben’s “friends” party was perfect – the weather was beautiful and the whole thing took place outside. This year, as we’ve done the last few years, Bryna and I have gone “retro” with our birthday party planning. Ben had seven friends over and we just let them play, run around, and enjoy one another. Birthdays for boys are not complicated – you don’t need a fancy rock climbing wall or laser tag or some other fill-in-the-blank-this-is-costing-me-$800 theme.

They played about an hour of wiffle ball (I was the designated pitcher), had cake, and then had a squirt gun fight. Two parents later called to say their kids told them it was the best party they’d ever been to. I think it stood out because children get so little unstructured time these days to simply be with one another. Parties are over-scheduled and kids have arranged “play dates.” Sometimes all they want to do is run amok and get sweaty. It’s not rocket science. Unless it rains.

Ode to a Coffee Card

Out of a coffee-induced burst of inspiration, I offer you the following poem. It’s dedicated to those cards you get at coffee shops where you buy ten cups and get the 11th free. Schlock or genius — you make the call.

Ode to a Coffee Card

By Father Tim

Through the sly smirk of a pierced lip it appears. A challenge offered; a gauntlet thrown.

A lone hole appears. Enthusiasm fades to hopelessness.

An eternity. An insurmountable peak.

From the depths of despair more light appears. A glimmer of hope.

Like a musical crescendo, it rises. Higher and higher toward the pinnacle.

The Card. It gives meaning to life. An aspiration. A reason to go on.  

The barista punches; a validation of creeping wholeness.

Doggedness prevails. The climactic moment bursts forth. Free coffee flows!

And then a return to emptiness. Blank card, blank slate, blank soul.

Vroom, Vroom

Well, I went out and got my motorcycle learner’s permit this week. I can’t believe I took this step and I don’t know if it will lead to my dream of getting a motor scooter. Bryna was so not amused – I didn’t tell her until after the fact.

All it took was a trip to Peekskill. Now there are only two reasons I ever have of going there; one pleasant, the other not so much. But I was able to combine the two for this venture. I hung out at the hip Peekskill Coffee Shop while I studied the motorcycle manual online. Then headed over to the DMV to take the test.

It totally brought me back to being in high school and taking the written test to get my driver’s license. It didn’t hurt that I was surrounded by nervous teenagers. Not sure if they viewed sitting next to a priest in his collar as a positive sign of God’s presence or a negative sign of God’s impending judgment. But my studying paid off and I aced the test (20 out of 20).

The permit’s good for one year. So I have 12 months to convince Bryna to let me go ahead and get my actual license. She’s scared that I’ll become the song lyric “Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.” She envisions me as the bug to a Cadillac Escalade’s windshield.

I may need to hire a professional lobbyist for this one.

Wasting Away?

Warm weather is Jimmy Buffett weather. I drove down to Coffee Labs this morning on my day off with the sun roof open and a Buffett CD blasting. Good stuff. It’s a little known fact that I’m a Parrothead.

That’s the name for hardcore Jimmy Buffet fans, those of us passionate about his music, his poetic lyrics, and his message of Caribbean escapism. Sure I take the whole thing with a grain of (margarita) salt. But why shouldn’t I fantasize about selling all my possessions, buying a seaplane, moving to Aruba, sipping “boat drinks,” and opening a B&B?

The best Buffett songs are actually the more obscure ones. Sure you can hear “Margaritaville” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” on your average lite FM station. But that’s not the Jimmy Buffett worth listening to. I’m talking about songs like “The Great Filling Station Holdup,” “Tin Cup Chalice,” “Ragtop Day,” and “The Pascagoula Run.” Those are the songs that inspire and speak to the vast variety of our human triumphs, tragedies, and foibles.

Is Buffett’s music contrary to the Christian faith? We’ll there’s certainly a sense of loose morals in song titles and lyrics:

Sex: “Why don’t we get drunk and screw” – written as a parody of more subtlely-phrased but no less obvious come hither songs; “Who’s the Blonde Stranger;”

Drugs: “only jazz musicians were smoking marijuana, yeah” – from “Pencil thin mustache;” “Ellis Dee” – not so thinly veiled reference to the hallucinogen.

Drinking: “Margaritaville,” “Boat Drinks,” “Grapefruit Juicyfruit” etc., etc.

But there’s also an abiding sense of joie de vivre and living in the moment that is balanced with a healthy dose of introspection (see “A Pirate Looks at 40,” “One Particular Harbor”, “Changes in Attitudes, Changes in Latitudes,” “Come Monday”). And I think there’s ultimately a sense of searching for meaning in this life; something to which every Christian can relate. We just happen to have the answer to this: love God, love neighbor.  

Jimmy Buffett is a recovering Roman Catholic – this comes through loud and clear. And I think his woundedness at the hands of his church experience is still open. He’s quick to point out the hypocrisy. “There’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning” he sings in “Fruitcakes.”

And check out the lyrics to his song “The Christian” from 2005. Here’s a sample: “You were right there when the plate was passed last Sunday; That’s the second time you’ve been to church all year; Could you really call yourself a Christian; If charity cost half as much as beer.” Wow. I wish I had the guts to preach that from the pulpit!

Dust off the blender, enjoy the warm weather, and let me know if you score an extra ticket to the next Buffett show!