So, the last 25 years in just over 2 single spaced pages.

Right, how to begin? This little stroll down memory lane is brought to you by what is in all probability a doomed experiment in “social networking”. More a comment about me than society at large. SO before I get off on some tangent, let's wander back to when all of the Clash, and the Cars were still alive, Styx wasn't a county fair band, and you still carried 25 cents to make a phone call in case something happened. That wonderful world of 1985...

Graduated Bay Village High School, dead center of my class.

Went to Geneva College, failed my first semester classes (except English and Bible... oh whatever). Did take an aptitude test that showed parallels to Advertising Exec, or Psychologist... had I ONLY paid closer attention. Architectural engineer is not on that list. See note about first semester classes.

Off to Ohio University, studied, occasionally. Got a BGS (Bachelor of General Studies or “I didn't have to take a language to get this degree” degree) and then right into the OU Telecommunications School for an MA in Communications, Screen-writing. I dust it regularly and still have not paid it off. I offered to return it but they were not amused.

Oh! Shit, right between those two degrees went and got married (08/25/90) to Cathy Hight. Still married much to both of our occasional bemusement and more frequent relief.

She got a degree in Physical Therapy and a job in Salem Oregon (where she has worked since). We packed the van and headed west the day she graduated in '91. 90 F and 90% humidity, I have NOT looked back.

I wrote some, tried to sell some, wrote more than I sold which isn't a big feat. See note about student loans. Short stint at Sears Automotive as the “Sorry, your car's not ready yet” guy just when they got creamed by the scandal of pressuring people to buy questionably necessary repairs. Then moved to a local coffee house/cafe. Worked the morning shift with a guy named Dale. We had fun. I don't drink coffee.

May 20th 1993 Erin Terese Kosboth born! May 22nd 1993 I change my first diaper, ever... I start drinking coffee and in August 1993 'retire' to become a Stay-at-Home Dad. (Just noticed that SaH D is phonetically “sad”... ooo, had I ONLY paid attention.)

June 8th 1995 Nathaniel Levant Kosboth born. I have that diaper thing down PAT... for girl babies anyhow.

July 4th weekend 1996 we move into a real house! Tiny tiny tiny, but bigger than the apartment. And I get a golden retriever, named Blossom. She was one year old and really, the name fit.

Loads of fun. Start working at the local psychiatric crisis center in April 1999. Diagnosed with Severe Clinical Depression August 1999, later ADD tagged on. Actually, it was a HUGE relief. “Wow, it's not just me being a complete jerk” or something close enough to that. Bounced around in PCC for a few years until in 2004 I got accepted to George Fox University's MA of Counseling program. I had found I kinda liked helping people and to have people reveal their stories to me was often very humbling. And I'd been told I'm good at it.

Moved to our current house that same summer on July 4th. Will never use Uhaul ever again. Rented us a truck they KNEW had bad glow plugs that killed to engine... grrrr.

April 2008 I finally graduate and begin the arduous task of getting paid to do something.

Refer back to the line way earlier about Ad Exec and Psychologist... I now have 2 MA's, one in an advertising related field (really trust me on that, lots of research on audience demographics n'crap) and the other in a psychology related field... I have GOT to learn to pay more attention.

Oh, September 7th 2001, bought my first motorcycle. Have broken a collar bone and ridden thousands of trouble free miles since. I try not to focus on the 30 feet I got wrong, but still carry the surgical plate and screws used to brace my collar bone (then removed later, obviously) around in the tail of my bike as a totem (a 'walk-away').

My daughter is about to get her driving permit and my son is nearly in high school, which in a scarily symmetric way is about where this tale began.

The rest is detail. Questions? Yes, in the back there...

Grinding sound v.2

Quick note, the Honda Accord was built in Ohio where we happened to live at the time. So, it's not as if US workers can't build well. I suspect people would rather build an amazingly well crafted piece of machinery than a ho hum piece of poo if given the chance.

I mean, I'd rather work on a Ferrari than an Opal any day. I'd rather OWN a Ferrari and pay some one to do the work right but that'd take winning more than $7.oo in the PowerBall now won't it?

What's that Grinding Sound?

OK, my mom sent me this old Calvin and Hobbes cartoon

as a corollary to the auto industry internal think… kinda funny and kinda right.

Odd thing is I was JUST not ten minutes before driving my car pondering some related stuff. I drive a 1988 Honda Accord, that’s not a typo for the year. It has 10k shy of 200k on the odo. We also have a 1999 Ford Windstar with about 90k on it. Full disclosure: I got the Accord from my parents who bought it new so I have done much of the damage done to it myself (aside from lodging birds in the grill while in Florida and having it sit in a P&W parking lot for a day… not sure I’ve done much other than abude the tranny and engine), the Ford we bought used in… uh, 2003?-ish, and I have a 2004 Honda CBR1000rr motorcycle which might explain the lowish mileage but I don’t rise the bike THAT much.

THE POINT!!... what was it? Right, I drive a 20 year old car. I, by which I mean my wife, Cathy and I, have never bought a new car. New bikes yes, motorized and human powered, but no new cars. I’m 41. How un-American can you get? I have had the Honda’s head gasket replaced, the front right half shaft and the clutch replaced, and there is a leak in some window seal somewhere that has let water inside causing condensation to accumulate on the interior and then transmogrifying into a unique stink. It’s 20 years old… stuff wears out. But I love the car.

The Windstar… yeah, thus begins the litany: power steering pump failed sending ribbons of steel into the rest of the steering, Anti-lock brake sensor lights up randomly (no apparent fault in the actual braking), engine light ditto, automatic locks don’t quite work as advertised, cup holders in the front dash retracted never to be extracted, cup holders mounted to middle row of seats dismounted themselves (although given the gargantuan amount in a fast food cup they may have just killed themselves for fear of another litre of sugar water being crammed into them), an oddly loud front right axel (I’m betting a wheel bearing has gone) and finally… the paint. Paint is not covered by warranties. Did you know that? At least not Ford warranties anyhow. Wonder why?

Is it cuz their paint DOESN’T STICK??? I’ve seen loads of Windstars circa 1998-2002 with the peeling paint syndrome. To which Ford says, “Weather and other circumstances may lead to results which we cannot account for…” or… Bite me, sucka!

Fords I do not love.

Perhaps the make more/sell more cars paradigm is the problem with the industry. The yard stick is all wrong. Currently the value of the company is based on revenue from selling more cars. To sell more cars there needs to be a demand for more cars. Ok, I build an excellent car and that customer won’t be back for a decade since the car is fine. I build a shit car and… Yugo anyone? So… I’ll build a mediocre car, pass it off as “Quality is Job 1” and Joe Consumer will be back to buy himself a spiffy F150 with side step rails, the jacked up suspension and off-road options (though he lives in suburbia) in just a few years because we told him we’ve improved the cars we make…

Unhunh.

The Ford Model T got 33 miles to the gallon in later versions and until Prohibition could run on ethanol… hunh. 100 years ago…

What’s my point? Ms. Daimler-Benz didn’t have gas station on every corner whilst she tooled around Bavaria. There were more unpaved roads than paved in the US until the mid-60’s. The economy of building shareholder value instead of building a good business has apparently tanked, hard.

My point? Listen closely enough and you can hear the paradigm shifting without a clutch.

Meloncholy music and Me

Allotta alliteration...

Right, music. Seems to be a (wait for it) theme (HA!) of late. Point? Point is none of my music is comfy. (None might be stretching it but tough.) It all evokes some... flavor is the best I can describe it. I've read and studied about synesthesia and this ain't it. Maybe. What it is for me is the whole friggin emotional package the tones, words, and memories plus my current state of mind (which lemme tell ya is dicey) all adds up to.

Case in point: James Taylor's Greatest Hits. I cannot listen to that album. I can listen to the songs, but not the album. WAY too loaded with associations to a uh, rough time in my life. The Cars Heartbeat City... given to me for my 17th birthday by a semi-girlfriend. My best friend's sister whom I was encouraged by their family to take to a couple dances... "But, Eric, your parents know me..." He shrugged. We went. That album evokes my basement bedroom, the smells, the emotions, the images of moving from CT back to Ohio in between my junior and senior years in painfully vivid detail. Lunacy. That was 24 years ago... twenty four. Almost 25. The only thing in my world aside from family that's been around nearly that long is the '88 Honda Accord I managed to wrangle from my parents.

Yet it can crush me.

ELO, Kuiama...
Elvis Costello, Almost Blue and loads of others
Billy Joel... Glass Houses, The Stranger... big mojo
Madness
Dire Straits
David Bowie... holy cow, hugely powerful

Anyhow, I could just list my iTunes library, but that's 8874 songs, 543 artists (I think that's off, maybe that counts albums).

I hate being so easily affected by external influences. Some days it's much touchier than others. Today being an extremely sketchy. Probably a result of stress from a couple of job interviews, neither of which I've heard back from. One I WANT (working in the ER), the other not so much (working with troubled kids and their families. Loads of paperwork and crap). Actually not at all, but I will take it if offered and since I don't want it odds are it'll be offered.

Gah... lost my train of thought. I'll be back.

Journals... blogs for the pen and paper set

Yeah, I was never very good at keeping a journal, even for classes where they were required. Some of my very best creative writing occurred on the pages of a daily journals for college credit.

Ok, new rules; I will insert random comments as I see fit, but italicized. Liiiiike... currently playing: Delta Spirit, cool folk/rock/alt rock band. The daughter and I have that connection, music. We are avid consumers of music, explorers of aural and tonal landscapes. (Ooo, THAT sounded pretencious.) The point being I love that she will share her discoveries with me and also plows through my collection of CDs. She has Billy Joel on her Myspace page... what 15yr old has Bill on their Myspace? I catch her listening to him from time to time. And she'll pop past songs like they were Sham-wow commercials ("cuz we can't do this all day"... really? It's your job so I think you CAN do it all day) on the DVR, so I assume if a song is playing it is actually being listened to.

Writing... I have a degree in that arcane and time honored/worn (can't decide which) art, but it languishes in the dust accumulated over 17 years... Good god, crashing wave of existential angst there... (Surf! Muther F#%@er! SURF!)

My kids are old enough to not need my attention as much as they used to (previous excuse for not writing, see JK Rowling for how valid it might not be) so while the job search continues, perhaps I oughta really try to exer/orcise that craft a bit.

Oh... and we have a new cat, Oslo.
He's a slinky cat, quite a goofy guy who seems innocent compared to the pumpkin shaped and colored grand ol'dame of the house (our other cat, Kiki) who makes something of a rukus when he ventures too near. Too near being a vague and changable distance. Laying in front of my monitor is one of his favorite things. Next to sitting infront of it. (Yes, not a pic of him sitting in front of the screen... I know.)

Cute little guy.

My Shrink Laughs at Me

I'm too smart for my own good I've heard it said often and from varied sources. It occurred to me today though I'm not sure what that means. Under it lays an assumption of fundamental dumbness if while one has intelligence one is unable to adequately wield (I before E... can't remember THAT) it without causing grievous harm to one's self. Kinda dumb.

Oh, and to contradict my sister (MidLifeMama - A Change of Life) I AM a therapist. I'm just not getting paid to do it. An important distinction cuz otherwise I just wasted the last 4 years in grad school if I didn't get a piece of paper with snazzy printing on it. My second snazzy piece of paper with Master of Arts in (fill in the blank). Might actually use this one. This one is a Master of Arts in Counseling. Oooh aaah... "Yes, it is your parents fault, but it's time to get over it and grow up. That'll be $70.oo." Yeah that about sums up what I learned. Except I learned how to drag it out and say it in nicer ways.

Non-sequiter: Headphones, Bose TriportIE are ok, but disappointing for a C note. While Platronics makes a geeked out over ear (around ear and comfy to boot) antennae looking set with a boom mic for $70 that have astonishing clarity for the price. When pundits speak of instrument definition and seperation, I thought my hearing had taken a few too many hits. Then I stuck these on my noggin and wow... very nice. Lindsey Buckinham is a crazy talented guitarist. Too bad he was stuck in Fleetwood Mac.

Where was I? Smartness... yeah.

In high school my best friend, Jim, and I were not the class clowns. We wrote for them. We were to one's who got other people in trouble while looking decidedly innocent in our front row seats with popcorn and libretto handy. ("I think Act 1 went rather well...") I hated school. High school anyhow. What a deplorable waste of time. (Big words are used to show my brain is brainy thus lending creedence to my opinion.) It probably didn't help to have undiagnosed ADD. That's a safe bet. Got diagnosed at 35 after scraping the thick accretion of depression and self loathing aside to find the root cause.

Root causes. I like those. The behind the scenes stuff that really drives us, motivates us, often without our conscious awareness. My shrink laughs at me. He shakes his head and waits for me to do his work for him. It's only fair since I don't let him sink back into the "therapy platititudes". I know them. Use them even. So he's got to stay on his toes. I have to say, the guy is really smart too. Probably the only reason I bother talking to him rather than just getting my monthly dosing of better living through chemistry.

Maybe Oregon isn't the best climate for a sufferer of depression. Summer (July - Sept) fantastic. though there are always 2 or 3 weeks of ludicrously hot. 105+ isw not unusual. But at the same time, effectively 0 humidity. Nyah, East Coast. Oct, and May/June are messy as the seasons fight it out to see who's gonna get to inflict themselves upon the hapless populace. Nov - Apr are dreary. Bleak like the moors of Western England are bleak. Bleak like how the rest of the world sees our current Town Idjit in Chief. Bleak.

Too smart for my own good... what does that mean? Too introspective for my own good? Yeah, I'll cop to that. Too cynical for my own good? On occassion, but I can usually explain (A before I... too many weird rules, oh E before I there) why it makes sense to have my outlook. My sister noted she's a Myers/Briggs INFJ. I'm an ENTP... well, the I/E in that is pretty neutral since I score slightly one side or the other based on the day. Anyhow, according to www.knowyourtype.com ENTPs are spontaneous and adaptable. They find schedules and standard operating procedures confining and work around them whenever possible. They are remarkably insightful about the attitudes of others, and their enthusiasm and energy can mobilize people to support their vision. Yep... if we can figure out how to play nice with others on any given day. And in my own defense I am WAAAY better than I used to be at it. Mmmmm, Ritilan my favorite flavor. "This rational response to stressful situations brought to you by Monsterous Pharmacutical Conglomerate, Inc."

Enough.

Music suggestion: A Little Less Conversation [JXL Radio Edit Remix]. Go find it. If you like the feel, the groove of the Ocean's 11-13 movies... this is the aural equivalent of the best scenes.

Good grief this was random. Which is why my shrink laughs at me. I'm ok with it.

Hmmm, a blog... now I need to think of something to say...

Right, where to start? Kidney stones? Might be a bit early in the process for that. Overwhelming sense of doom as I note my life rushing past in a haze of pointless jobs and idiotic bosses? Maybe. Reflections on the political landscape and a sense of doom that has pervaded my life for about 8 years? Nah, a bit inflammatory for the first go.

Kidney stones it is! Yeah, they suck. Weird thing is last night one just shot out. Had some odd discomfort the past few days, but nothing like I've had before. The cool thing about kidney stones is you get morphine. The bad thing about kidney stones is you need morphine. This one was startlingly large considering the ones that have landed me in the local ER vomiting from the pain.

And yet, there is was. Time to wax philosophic. Please hold on whilst I shift gears while doing horrid things to the clutch.

Not sure how the connection was made in my brain. Odd things happen there. I found myself thinking about A) how different I felt and hadn't realized how crummy I had felt, and B) stepping back to wonder what else could be dislodged from my life that would result in a similar catharsis. In what ways do I feel crummy and not even realize it? More importantly, how to I resolve those things?

No clue. Really. Well, maybe some.

My kids are 15 and 13, girl, E, and boy, N. I find myself seeing them very differently than I suppose my father ever saw me. It would require more introspection than I believe he is capable of carrying out. Mostly because of fear. To wander out into your own internal landscape means being willing to See Things as They Are (as much as is possible at that moment in time given the mental state, one's understanding to start with and all that wonderfully Freudian/Jungian, Socratic/Platonic crap we carry around). Yeah, that ain't my father. He'll glance at the Pool of Self-discovery only to decide it's too cool out, he didn't bring trunks and ate too recently for a swim, turn his back and saunter back under the sheltering branches of His Perceptions.

What the hell am I talking about? This all worked so much better while I was in the shower this morning. I think so much more clearly there.

I find myself seeing my kids as My Legacy. Kind of an odd third person feel to that sentence, but it fits. I find part of myself looking around, observing and gnawing on motivations, possible futures, what does it all Mean and generally being far too Existential for my own good. It's also kind of a "duh, genius" thought.

Oh there it is!

What won't I see in their lives? One set of my grandparents have seen me get married and have kids. I'll probably see my own get married and see my grandkids, but will I see great-grandkids? Much less see them get to high school. (Not sure how much my grandparents are retaining at this point, but that's a different matter.)

I've been missing my little kids. I was a Stay-at-Home dad. I've been privileged to experience my children in a way few fathers do, sadly for them. The fathers not my kids. My son's voice is cracking. My daughter ought to be getting a bunch of looks from the boys. And I'm pissing kidney stones, seeing some gut where I've never ever had gut and wondering how to still be romantic in a marriage that's old enough to vote? (Do not deluge me with obvious responses, please. It takes 2 to make it really work. But that's another post.)

Mid-life crisis? Not really. More of the same, really. Just the stakes are bigger than at 20 years old. The navel gazing carries more weight now and more lint.

I guess I'm going to use this as a place to ruminate and chew on my thoughts. Maybe find an answer for myself. Maybe find out where the 20 year old has hidden himself.