An Introduction and a Meeting are in order

I'd like to introduce you to Jack Yatchenko. I can't wait to meet him.

Jack was born on Wednesday, May 24th to my sister Anne and her husband Artour. He's a good lookin' fella, yes? Well, he's wearing a pink beanie, but he still looks sharp. Six pounds, 15 ounces of ladies-look-out sharp.

We talked on the phone shortly after he was born. I said 'Hi Jack!' and he said 'ahhhhhhhh!'. I couldn't really understand what he was saying, because he's so young and can't speak English, but it sounded a little bit like Donna Summer. Not that he was singing, really -- it's just that he had that passion in his voice just like Donna did in "She Works Hard For the Money".

He's already a Steelers fan, I bet. I just know he's gonna love Hines Ward as much as I do. And I know he's only a scant few years from loving macaroni and cheese, just like me. It seems like we have a lot in future-common.

I have no idea who he looks like yet. My mom says he looks like 'us'. My dad thinks that by 'us' she means 'the human race'. I think he looks like a slightly red, toothless version of Ben Kingsley. But maybe all babies look like Ben Kingsley.

Anyway, what do I know? I'm just his uncle that lives in New York, looking for a way to spout off pride until I get to see him in person. And I guess I just want to say welcome to Jack. Jack McCluskey Yatchenko. My nephew.

I can't remember wanting to meet/introduce someone more.

Pick a Game-winner

A couple of weeks ago, I had a friend tell me that she saw a woman with blue fingernails picking her nose on the subway. This struck me as odd. I can't imagine that someone who -- a) takes the time to paint her fingernails, and b) seeks out the blue fingernail polish among all of the shades of red and pink -- would also be someone that would pick her nose on public train. It seems incongruous: why spend all that time making your nails look pretty if you're just going to shove 'em up your nose?

In the subway, you are in a metal container with people from all over the city: a sardine in the can of everyday life. I always try to look around at people, while of course giving the impression that I am staring into space. If I get caught looking, sometimes I just close my eyes and pretend that I was sleeping. If they don’t believe that I am, at least I can't see their disdain.

Sometimes things can get a little uncomfortable, like the time I didn't hold on to the overhead railing and fell backward onto the lap of a man that was reading a paper. The whole thing happened in slow motion for me: arms flailing and trying to grip, like a cat falling off a couch, until I ran into him. It really looked like one of those Santa scenes at the mall, I guessed, but he wasn't jolly. He growled and scowled behind his sunglasses as I offered my apologies. Honestly, I think I may have ruined his day.

But then there was the time I was sitting next to a college-age kid on the 6 train going downtown. As can sometimes happen, a man came around asking for a handout. I am hit-or-miss when it comes to this situation - sometimes I give, but more often I don't. I think of all of the valid reasons why it's okay that I don't give him money -- that he'll use it for booze/drugs, that I work for my money so why shouldn't he -- and often this rationalization roll call gets me through the awkward stage of refusal.

This kid was just sitting in his non-descript sweatshirt and jeans, looking tired and frowning. As the man came up to me, I said that I was sorry but that I didn't have anything for him. He moved on. This kid, still frowning, reached into his pocket and pulled out a five. This was more than he wanted to give. He reached in again, and rooted around through change and papers, but found nothing. So, he gave the guy his only five.

The benefactor got off at the next stop, and was followed out the door by the guy who had received the five dollar bill. As this man walked out the door, he pumped his fist like he had just hit the game-winning shot.

The kid didn't seem any happier after giving his gift. And the guy may well have used it for booze. Seeing it happen, though, I knew it didn't matter. It made my day better, made the game-winner's week -- and I'm pretty sure the karma wheel's going to land on Jackpot for that kid somewhere along the line.

The subway is an interesting place to start and finish your day. You just need to remember to hold on, observe while pretending not to, and otherwise keep your nose clean. So to speak.

It's important to take what people say in the context of your own situation.

While I have worked in the business world, I've often heard people say "Under-promise and Over-deliver".

It makes sense for me, but I don't think it would have made sense for a medieval executioner. See? Context.

In the Eyes of Another

The book I am reading right now deals with brains. More specifically, it seeks to illuminate the neuroscience of everyday life – of how the things we think and feel result from the workings of different parts of the brain.

One of the things covered in the book is our innate ability as humans to “read minds”. This isn’t mind-reading in the traditional sense; it alludes to our ability to understand what a person is thinking and feeling simply by looking at their eyes. Without even knowing how we do it, we can look into another’s eyes and know that they are feeling sad, or angry or regretful. It’s pretty remarkable if you think about it: we are wired to understand what others are thinking – it’s part of our evolutionary survival equipment.

I was with friends last Friday night outside of Buddakan, which is a pretty fancy bar/restaurant here in New York. As we walked up to the door, we all noticed that one of the patrons outside waiting for a taxi (or limo) was Anthony Kiedis. For those that don’t know, he is the lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers--a world-famous band that has bent musical genres, and whose members have worn tube socks on their genitals.

At this point, I of course had a fleeting desire to offer up a throaty “Blood, Sugar, Baay-bay…” just to see if he would bounce back with “Sex Magik!!” -- but I would never give in to such an uncouth urge. I am not one to lionize, so I did what I always do when I see a celebrity. I pretend I don't see them. Then, like one of those paintings with the moving eyes from Scooby Doo, I look out of the corner of my eye at the last second as I am walking by them. Only this time, Kiedis was doing the exact same thing. Here we were, only feet away from one another, looking sideways at one another -- he in suspicion, me in feigned insouciance. As our eyes locked, though, I had a sense that he thought I was a stargazing moron, even though I totally am not. I didn’t know how I knew it. I just did.

Later in the weekend, I was walking on the very sunny side of the street on my way back home. About 100 yards down the sidewalk, an Asian-American toddler was standing, wearing the number 4 jersey of Green Bay Packer quarterback Brett Favre. She was outside of a hotel with her mother, I heard her yell something to me. It became louder as I approached. "Hi!!" "Hi!! Hi!!". She waved vigorously, as if a response from me would quell a pain in her that she had for years. I waved back and said "Hi!". She looked me in the eye, and then grabbed the front of her jersey and crumpled it in a cute, happy-little-girl-in-NFL-apparel kind of way. When our eyes met, I got the sense that she thought I was tall, that she liked ice cream, but that she wasn’t particularly fond of Brett Favre. Now this goes beyond just intuition, since it actually runs counter to logic. She was wearing his jersey, after all. But some part of me knew that she didn’t care at all about him, at least not in the way she cared about ice cream. All of this came to me in a split second, from underneath any conscious thoughts on the subject.

I wonder now about my mind-reading abilities, and whether they are beyond those of other humans. It’s possible I have a sixth sense – possible, but not likely. I think we all have the ability to see things others can’t. I just happen to be able to see inside the minds of rock icons and toddlers and see what’s buried there– things like coolness and contempt, misgivings and ice cream.

Three great poets and as many thoughts

The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.
--William Blake

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
--William Butler Yeats

I pity the fool.
--Mr. T

Tone, Temperament, and the Saving Graces of Hammertoe

The other night while on an uncrowded subway train, I saw a man get on and say something repeatedly to no one in particular. This isn't the first time I've experienced this -- there have been several times in the short period I've been here when strangers strike up a conversation with a ghost. But this one got my attention a little more than the others. Here's what he said:

"W--- All the white people look good tonight."

The dashes represent the remainder of a word I didn't quite make out in any of the repetitions of this statement. I will mention my weak theories of what that word might have been a little later.

My first reaction when the man said this was to immediately look anywhere on the train but at him. My shoes. My iPod screen. Any of the string of garish ads for elective medical treatments just above me on the wall of the train. Simply reading the statement this man made, you would think that I (as an exceedingly white person) would be flattered by it. A sincere "Thank you very much, that's kind of you, oh stop, what -- you mean this old thing? I just threw this on." kind of flattered. But here is where tone and temperament come in.

First, this man was yelling his compliment. Since there are different kinds of yelling, I will describe his as this -- Generally, people who yell like this either: a) are shackled to a gurney "for their own safety", b) are the leader of a cult, or c) have just witnessed a threshing accident and are running for help.

Second -- it wasn't WHAT he said, it was the WAY he said it. He was saying it like the white people were a fine, marbled, medium-rare steak. He drew out the word 'good' to make it 'goooooood'... the way you do at a dinner table to indicate something is better than normal good. His tone didn't convey admiration -- it betrayed voracity.

Now I don't mean to say that this man was thinking of eating me because I was Caucasian. I don't pretend to know this man, or what his intentions were. I am simply saying that he wasn't complimenting me. So, rather than offer a 'thank you', I fell back on survival instinct -- never look the agitated in the eye. I looked down, around, even up at the ads-- and pretended to be fascinated by the idea of "Inexpensive and Minimally Invasive Bunion or Hammertoe Surgery". As I thought about hammertoe and what it might be, the man's shouting became more distant. And soon, it was my stop and I got off the train. I glanced at my reflection in the window on the way out -- I looked OKAY, I guess, but definitely not GOOD. He was probably talking about the other white people.

As far as the initial 'W' word, I really don't have any viable theories. It may have been 'wow!' but I just don't think that's something this guy would say. I guess it could've been "What?" as if he was surprised by the fact that we looked so good. But really, it just sounded like "Whirrrrr." And I have no idea what that means.