I’ve been pretty quiet the last couple of weeks. That’s because I’ve been in Miami helping out my brother Chuck and his wife, following his recent surgery for cancer. It’s been a rocky recovery; he was in the hospital for a week longer than expected. Now he’s home, recuperating, with the additional help of Tntn (pictured) and Tntn’s brother Jahnghan. I hope he’ll be well enough for me to go home in a few days.
I‘ve been getting a lot of work done, anyway—working on the final editing of Reefs, with feedback from my editor. (More on that in a forthcoming post.)
Here’s a picture of Chuck, a month ago, receiving the American Psychological Association’s Distinguished Scientific Contribution Award.
We saw the B52s, Culture Club, and the Thompson Twins live in concert at the Wang Center in Boston last Friday night. (It was an early birthday gift from Lexi and Connor, who went with us.) It was great! Especially if you didn’t need to make out any of the song lyrics, or use your ears for anything for the rest of the night! Here, reproduced with surprising fidelity by my LG phone, is a brief (fair-use for review purposes only!) clip of the B52s climaxing their set with the song I introduced Lexi to, back when she was little…
Crank that up way past 11 on the biggest speakers you’ve got, and you’ll have a pretty accurate reproduction of the sound.
Between sets, I caught a candid of a couple of hardly-aging boomers checking out the action.
The final set was by headliner Boy George and Culture Club, and they were good, too—except their set featured laser-bright spotlights at the back of the stage, aimed straight into the retinas of the audience. So it was best if you weren’t planning to use your night vision for the rest of the weekend. Culture Club withheld the song we most wanted to hear until the third and final encore. Here, then, is a brief clip of Karma Chameleon, in High Fidelity…
I’m a little surprised to hear that the sound is actually clearer in these videos than it was going into my ears in the theater, past the foam earplugs that Lexi ran out and got us all. I think my ears just went into total overload from the jetwash blast of sound. Seriously, I wonder why the sound engineers think we’ll enjoy the music more if it’s too loud to hear. I think there’s a market out there for noise-reduction headgear that lets the sound through undistorted, but at a lower volume. My Bose ANR earbuds (which I didn’t think to bring) probably would have melted.
All that said, we had a great time reliving our youth with some actual youths!
I just got to be Father of the Bride as our daughter Lexi married Connor! Allysen and I could not be happier. I walked Alexandra down the aisle to the lush strains of “Princess Leia’s Theme” from Star Wars, by John Williams—played on the piano by Lexi’s friend Jon. At the end of the beautiful Anglican service, they strode out to the main Star Wars anthem*, with Jon on piano and her lifelong friend Brian on trumpet. In the middle, we had some excellent hymns, coincidentally including my personal favorite, All Creatures of Our God and King, by a composer who I feel would have understood science fiction if it had been around in his time.
These pix came from various friends; we still look forward to the official ones. More to come soon. This is Lexi and Connor at the altar, Lexi’s sister Jayce looking on as Maid of Honor.
A snapshot of the father-daughter dance:
And the weary but happy parents catch a dance for themselves, at the very end of the celebration:
*Those familiar with Allysen and my wedding, not quite thirty-two years ago, might remember that our recessional music was the Star Wars theme, from the soundtrack recording. It’s great to see my daughter carrying the banner.
My bro has done it again. Charles S. Carver by name, and professor/research psychologist by trade, he’s earned another major award in his field—the American Psychological Association’s “Distinguished Scientific Contribution Award.” This award honors psychologists who have made prominent theoretical or empirical contributions to basic research in psychology. It’s regarded as one of the highest awards in the science of psychology.
That’s my brother Chuck they’re talking about. The guy who once ran around the Brown University football field in a mascot bear suit. (I subbed for him once, and got my head stolen for my troubles.) The guy who made it to the Ohio state finals in high school wrestling. The guy who’s been waging war against cancer for a year and a half, and holding his own.
The award also honors his colleague Michael Scheier at Carnegie Mellon University, who has worked with Chuck for over 45 years in the areas of personality, social, health, and motivational psychology. You can read more about it here.
They’ll be recognized at the APA convention this coming August.
The countdown seems to be speeding up as we race toward the day when our daughter Lexi ties the knot with a very fine gentleman named Connor. (Did I mention that our daughter is getting married? She is!) The date is June 23, and it’s coming fast. Lexi and Connor seem to have matters well under control (unlike her parents, who basically were setting their hair on fire before their own wedding, centuries ago), but I’m not sure the same can be said of the father of the bride. I still have to buy a new suit (What? I have to wear a suit?), and I have to learn enough dance steps to carry off my role at the reception. There are probably other things, too, but that’s enough right there to give me brain freeze.
All that said, we couldn’t be happier for her, and for Connor. Woo-hoo!
Allysen’s mom came home from the rehab center not quite a week ago (following a broken hip), which caught us off guard due to poor communication from the rehab center. We did not expect The System to spit her out quite that soon. It’s been an absolute maelstrom of activity, finding out what we need to know about equipping the apartment, acquiring the equipment, setting up 24-hour care, learning a million things we never needed or wanted to know before. Early on, Allysen hired a care manager, without whose help I don’t think we would have survived the transition. But we’re getting there. Here’s a picture of her with Allysen and Jayce.
Meanwhile, Captain Jack smolders about being confined to a single room at a time, and wearing the Healing Hat, a.k.a. Helmet of Courage. (We do not call it [Cone of Shame] in this house!) Drugs are wonderful, when they work. But other times, the border collie spirit sneers at sedatives. Drugs? We don’t need no steenking drugs!
Moonlight has had to learn some navigational tricks, getting around the newly barricaded apartment. She’s almost twenty, and she can’t really vault over child gates anymore. Here she is, checking out the Bridge to the Future that I built for her at one checkpoint.
Here’s a picture of my daughter Lexi and her friend Connor trying out our new timpani (kettle drums) during our Fourth of July cookout. New timpani? In the back yard? Does this require a little explanation?
Last Sunday, Allysen was scanning our town email list, and she came across an unusual item: Things being discarded during clean-out of old school building, including this, that, and two kettle drums. “Do we want kettle drums?” she asked me. “Why not?” I said, and we hopped into the trusty Ranger to go take a look. Sure enough, two old but serviceable-looking copper kettle drums were beside the dumpster. Soon thereafter, they were in our back yard.
I played snare and bass drum (and clarinet) in my high school marching band, but I haven’t played any kind of drum since then. Maybe it’s not too late! These didn’t come with any sticks or mallets, so I popped into our neighborhood drum store. The owner, having worked with the schools, knew all about these drums. He said they were good ones (if in need of some repair to the base of one), and he made a call to confirm for me that they had indeed been put out for anyone to take. He was sold out of mallets, unfortunately, but the local guitar store had some that would do for now.
And so, for the Fourth of July, I called upon our guests to hum the melody of the theme to 2001, while I expertly (?) played the prominent timpani part: Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom. Maybe a new career for me?
Next challenge: See if we can fit them through the door into the basement!