Brad Marley's Blog

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #30

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

The year is 2009.

This morning I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, pondering life, while my daughter played a doot - do - doo on the empty coin rolls she found when she was ransacking our office. 

In a little less than four months, we will welcome a new baby girl into our hectic lives and, to be honest, we don't know if our tiny house is big enough for the four of us, but we don't have a choice, do we?  I think my daughter is going to be shocked with a baby actually comes out of her mommy's belly, like we have been telling her all along.

Is this what you're supposed to do in your thirties?  Do we suddenly become worriers, fretting over everything, far removed from the laid-back lifestyle of our twenties?

Or is age, like Aaliyah crooned, nothing but a number?

I certainly don't feel different than I did last night as I thought about how to end this self-imposed project, and there were no new gray hairs that sprouted overnight.

Maybe turning 30 isn't all it's cracked up to be; perhaps I won't really feel the need to reflect until I'm 40.

At any rate, I'm not going to let it affect me.  At the very least, it gave me a reason to blog for 30 days in a row.

Anyway, I'm more concerned with seeing if the Detroit Tigers can sweep the Chicago White Sox tonight at Comerica Park, which is where I'll spend the end of the first day of a new decade, if I can remember how to get there.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #29

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

In 2008 I became a real public relations professional.

But, Brad, does that mean you were a fake public relations professional up to that point?

No, not really, but I got my first experience of life on the road. 

Over the span of four weeks, I visited Dallas, Orange County and Washington, D.C. to support events on behalf of a client.  I felt like a musician on tour, albeit with no groupies, drugs, binge drinking or trashed hotel suites (unless you count the bowl half-eaten room service oatmeal I left behind in Dallas).

Coupled with a separate trip to Denver a few months earlier, my newly created frequent flier accounts were bulking up.

But the best part was seeing different parts of the country.

If had a few minutes to spare, I was able to sneak away and take in some sites, the highlight being Dealey Plaza in Dallas.  That was a surreal experience.

All in all, in 2008, I traveled farther West than I have ever been in my life, surpassing Denver, which had been the Westernmost point until November. 

Yes, it was work-related, but that didn't make it any less exciting for a PR professional who, until that point, considered a client visit in Ann Arbor exotic.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #28b

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

Suffice it to say, nothing else in 2007 comes close to matching the life-changing event that was the birth of our daughter.

I don't care what anybody says - if you've never been a parent, there is no way to appreciate how great of a change you and your significant other have to endure when you come home from the hospital with an 8-pound human being who is completely and totally dependent upon you for everything.

Let me repeat: everything.

Friends - what are those?

Sleep - what was that?

Free time - isn't that what we fill with sleep?

Needless to say, it was a transition.

But then you start to do things that you never thought you were capable of.

You give a squirmy newborn a bath on the kitchen counter and she doesn't drown.  Okay.

You go to work on three hours of sleep...and survive.  Alright.

You don't recoil when they projectile vomit curdled milk out of their mouth and nose all over your bed comforter.  Nope.  Still gross.

Okay, so you start to handle most things.  And as the days pass, things start to get a little easier. 

Before you know it, they're walking and talking and that the moment when you walk in the front door after work, and hear the pitter-patter of feet running your way, is the highlight of your day.

Suddenly, everything that is important in your world is right in front of you, showing you their new shoes that they're wearing on the wrong feet.

And you never, ever want them to grow up.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #28a

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

My friends and I spent a large portion of the summer of 2006 at Comerica Park in Detroit.

Something strange and foreign started happening in April of that year, and remained in place until October: the Detroit Tigers were winning.  Actually, they didn't stop winning they lost to the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series.

But let's focus on the positive.

There was a building sense, as the season broke out of the cold spring, trudged along through the sweltering summer and reached its apex as the leaves started to change color, that 2006 was different.

It didn't matter if we were down by ten runs going into the bottom of the ninth; there was never a sense that we were out of the game until the final strike.

And one warm evening that summer, we got to experience first-hand the magic of '06.

The Tigers were playing the Cleveland Indians, who had brought up phenom Fausto Carmona to close games for them.

Going into the ninth, we were losing, but the tying run was on base when ex-Tiger, Pudge Rodriguez stepped to the plate.

You have to understand that by this point in the season, the fans were starting to believe that anything was possible.  Not having seen a winning baseball team in close to twenty years, we didn't totally understand how to act, we just new it was so much better than cheering for the team to not break the all-time loss record.

On that night, they delivered again.

My memory is a bit foggy as to when it happened, but when Carmona delivered the pitch and Rodriguez made contact?  You knew it was gone.

Poor Carmona.  He brought his hands up to his head and crumpled to the mound as if he'd been shot and 40,000 people were cheering his assassination.

I went ballistic.

If you had shown up with no idea of what was happening, you would have thought the Tigers won the whole thing (again, we''re not going to get into that.)

We walked out of the park sharing high-fives with complete strangers.  It was, literally, the highlight of my summer.

***

I was in Mexico on my honeymoon when Magglio Ordonez sent the Tigers to the World Series via a homerun, so I was forced to watch a tape-delayed feed in Spanish.  I imagine I didn't experience the same level of excitement that my friends back home experienced, but celebrating in a hotel room on the Caribbean Sea had to do.

If I wanted to, I think I could have chosen 30 sports moments that have defined my life thus far, but I didn't want to bore you even more. 

But when it came down to choosing an event from 2006, this was at the top of the list.

(Okay, it was a close second.  Getting married was at the top, but this was more exciting.) 

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #27

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

The beginning of the year 2005 on the traditional Gregorian calendar did not portend great things for the rest of the year.

I hated my job, lived with my parents and was dangerously close to going broke.

Now, I know what you're thinking: Dude, sweet, I wish I still lived with my parents.  Free food, free rent, no chores...

Stop.  There is nothing sweet about living with your parents when you're a 26-year old.

My brother, who moved back in with my folks between graduating from college and finding a job, shared a tale with me about the morning when he was in the shower, and my Dad, minus his glasses, poked his head inside the shower and started making kissy faces at my brother.  He thought it was my Mom. 

I don't care that that's one of the funniest stories ever.  It's not cool living at home past a certain age, and that is case in point #1.

Then, one night, I was rifling through some old job-hunting stuff in the basement when I came across a cover letter I had sent in 2000 to a brand-new PR firm in the area. On a whim, I decided it wouldn't be the worst idea ever to send another cover letter and resume, but this time, with some more experience under my belt, that letter turned into an interview, which turned into another interview, which turned into another interview, which turned into yet another interview, until that 8 x 11 piece of white computer paper with some words and salutations turned into...a job.

When I walked out of the office after being offered the job, I did one of those extended fist pumps that Eric La Salle used to do during the opening credits of ER back in its heyday.

Talk about cheesy.

But to say I was thrilled would've been an understatement.  I was going from a job as a contract worker to a full time position where they took taxes out of my check, allowed for paid time off and - gasp! - provided health care.

It was unbelievable.

I was sort of in a holding pattern in terms of my living situation and relationship, but getting that job allowed me to move forward and start building a life.

If I was forced to choose the top five moments of my life, I don't know if this would make the list, but only because it happened with so little fanfare that it sort of flies under the radar.

However, in terms of future ramifications, it could not have been more huge.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #26

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

 

Photo courtesy of BAMCAT

In 2004, three friends and I drove from Michigan to Florida for what would essentially become the last hurrah before that ugly word "responsibility" became all too prominent in our lives.

That's not to say we were irresponsible and crazy, but the four of us were young enough that careers and relationships had not yet reached the forefront of our lives, so we figured we'd make the trip while we still could.

We left early one evening and drove straight down, stopping only in Kentucky and Georgia for food and to catch our breath.  Twenty two hours later, we were in Florida.

Out of everything we did while on that vacation, the highlight, at least for me, was deep sea fishing in the Gulf of Mexico for red snapper.

I'd ask my buddies what they thought about the experience, but they were too busy puking over the side of the boat. 

Little did I know that the charters sink things, like old basketball hoops, at a certain depth, which provides shade for the fish to hang out.  Then the captains bring their clients out to fish in that general area.  I'd say it was like shooting fish in a barrel, but that would be cliche.

The shark that jumped out of the water and ripped a snapper off of my lure? There are no cliches to for that.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #25

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

 

Picture courtesy of FromTheNorth

I like Dave Matthews Band. 

I have seen them live eleven times and, in a week's time, I'll make it an even dozen when my wife and I see them at DTE Energy Music Theatre.

At one point, my casual enjoyment threatened to morph into downright obsession, but I'm happy to say that my cravings are under control and I can now go long periods of time without listening to their music. 

(Side story: On the way home from a golf trip Up North last week, my cousin, who brought along his iPod for the ride, apologized that there were only a handful of Dave Matthews Band songs in his playlist.  Obviously, I have a reputation.  For the record, I do like other bands.)

But there was a point where one of their CDs would stay in perpetual rotation in my car stereo. If you were riding shotgun and tried to turn it off, well, I couldn't promise you would still be in possession of all five of your fingers. Something clicked in my brain when I began listening to their music, and I did everything in my power to devour anything and everything they produced.

I will now pause while you silently mock me.

*Bad elevator music*

Done? Good.  Let's proceed.

Out of every album they've released, my favorite is the Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds show at Luther College.  I've listened to it so many times that the album has been scratched and sliced, practically beyond repair.  In addition to the actual playing of music at the "Dave & Tim" shows, Matthews likes to share zany stories with the audience, which means the concert time usually exceeds three hours.  On this double CD, it's no exception.  If you have a spare $22 lying around, spend it on this album.  If you don't like it, I'll refund your money.* 

Thus, seeing the duo live is on my bucket list, but it can prove difficult since, unlike the full band, they do not tour every year.  In fact, it's closer to every three years, and the tours are small, usually playing to intimate crowds closer to 5,000 than 50,000.  It's rare that a mega-star routinely plays for small crowds, but Matthews is that rare mega-star.

Anyway, one morning in 2003, my friend called while I was driving home from a bachelor party and said the spare ticket to their show at Rose Arena on Central Michigan University's campus was mine, if I wanted it.

I said "no, thanks."

I was dating a girl at the time who was a huge fan of the band, and, in my infinite wisdom, I didn't think it would be right to see them without her.

If there's any piece of advice I want you to take away from this blog post, it's that you shouldn't alter your plans -- especially potential once-in-a-lifetime plans -- for members of the opposite sex, unless you're married.

Needless to say, I regret the decision to this day, however, my friend did call me when they played one of my favorite songs, so that's gotta count for something, right?

Yeah.  I didn't think so, either.

*Psyche.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #24

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

There isn't much to say about the year 2002. 

A few months in, I resigned myself to the fact that I'd be hard-pressed to find a job anytime soon, so I decided to take full advantage of waiting tables at a country club.

Free golf.

Free food.

Free drinks after work (if you could determine where the members were going when the 19th hole closed. "Oh, hey!  We had no idea you guys would be here!)

I lived the life of a waiter for a solid year.

For one reason or another, my friends and I spent a large part of that year at a karaoke bar trying to out-sing each other.  It got pretty intense.  (If you've never had the opportunity to sing "Bust A Move" in front of a whooping crowd with a drunk woman singing back-up, I suggest you do it.)  Now you couldn't pay me to get up and sing in front of a group of people.  But back then?  Give me the mike.

I found some old stuff I wrote on the 'Net while that year was happening, and it appears I was an angry person.  I bitched a lot about waiting tables and not being able to find a job, but it appears that I learned some things about myself, as well. 

In retrospect, maybe I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have.  I wish somebody would have told me to chill out and enjoy only being responsible for showing up to work on time and taking out the garbage.

It really wasn't that bad.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #23

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

I suppose it would be an exercise in futility to even try to remember anything else that stood out in the year 2001, so let's just go with the obvious.

It's pretty amazing, when you think about it, that you still can't go one day without hearing Wolf Blitzer or Bill O'Reilly mention about 9/11.  Makes you wonder what they would talk about if it never happened.

Like everybody else who lived through it, I will always remember where I was: sleeping.

I had been out late the night before watching Monday Night Football with some friends.  Looking back, it's such an eerie feeling to think how unprepared and oblivious we all were to what a group of men were planning to unleash upon the world the very next morning.

At around nine o'clock on said morning, the incessant vibrating of my cell phone woke me and, when I glanced at the caller ID, I saw that it was my cousin calling me at an especially early time.

As soon as I flipped open my phone, everything changed.

"Dude, turn on your TV. We're being bombed."

What?

I turned on the television just as ABC showed a replay of one of the planes hitting the towers.  Any lingering effects of the night before were gone.  While my cousin had been exaggerating, his description was not completely off.

As I watched the news anchors in complete disbelief and, for once, at a loss for words, my stomach started to churn and a sense of panic set in. I kept asking the same questions to myself that everybody else seemed to be asking: What was coming next? Would I be affected?

It was, literally, pandemonium.  I took a quick shower, hopped in my car, and drove around with no destination.  I had no idea what to do.

I think I finally hooked up with a friend and we went to Applebee's for lunch, but nobody was eating.

That night I drove to my girlfriend's house when her classes were let out, and I remember seeing abnormally long lines at the gas stations.  You have to remember we were still in speculation mode.  Nobody, not even the government, had an idea of how this could have possibly happened.  So a lot of people just assumed that we were going to war, which would lead to higher gas prices.  I guess those were the priorities.  It was, if I can think of the right word, bizarre.

***

A few days later I was talking to my Mom about the events of the past few days.  The morning of the attacks, Good Morning America had been interviewing Michael Jordan about his comeback when the planes hit, prompting the show to switch to breaking news.

She remembered thinking about the Michael Jordan interview, "This is the most important news of the day?" 

A few minutes later, she was wishing it was.

A Life in Thirty Posts - Post #22

For 30 days, I will be sharing random stories from each year of my life as the big three-oh looms. Consider it my way of coping.

I am pretty laid back when it comes to most things.

For instance, I will always take a pint of Blue Moon with some friends in a darkened booth at the back of a bar over a $7 Bud Light at a bass-thumping club where you have to scream to be heard.

I guess this is why in the irony of all ironies, I met my wife in 2000 at a bass-thumping club in Canada where you had to scream to be heard.

If it's possible to be even more ironic, I was 21, which meant I had no good reason to go, other than my two 20-year old friends who wanted me to go with them.  (In Canada, 19 is the legal drinking age.  Plus, it's not like I wanted to go to the bar alone.) 

Usually I would stay as far away from the dance floor as possible, preferring to watch from afar.

On that night, however, the music must have moved me, because I ended up on the dance floor dancing with the woman who would eventually become my wife.

Now, don't kid yourself - it wasn't one of those situations where the music muted as we gazed at each other from across the dance floor while everything slowed to a crawl and we floated toward each other on clouds and embraced. 

I was literally pushed into her.

We had danced at the beginning of the night, but when I saw another guy dancing with her at the end of the night, I figured that ship had sailed.  My friend had other ideas.

As we walked past them later that night, he pushed me into her, and we started dancing again.

Long story short, I got her phone number before we left, repeated it to myself over and over while we walked back to the car since none of us had a pen and called her a few days later to ask her out on a date.

Nine years later, we have a one-year old daughter with another little girl on the way.

Not bad for a night spent at a bass-thumping club.