Oh, Suzanne(a)

Big shout-out today to my friend Suzanne Palmieri, a debut author from New Haven who scored not one but TWO two-book deals last week. (And yes, for those of you mathematically challenged, that equals four books.) Here are the announcements from Publisher's Marketplace:

• Suzanne Palmieri's THE WITCH OF LITTLE ITALY, in which a troubled senior at Yale returns to her estranged, magical family in the Bronx and unlocks secrets dating back to WWII, as well as her mysterious, lost memories, to Vicki Lame at St. Martin's, in a nice deal, in a two-book deal, for publication in April 2013, by Anne Bohner at Pen & Ink Literary (World English).

• Suzanne Hayes and Loretta Nyhan's I'LL BE SEEING YOU, a story of unexpected friendship told through letters shared between two American women on the home front during World War II, to Erika Imranyi at Mira, in a two-book deal, by Anne Bohner at Pen & Ink Literary and Joanna Volpe at Nancy Coffey Literary & Media Representation.

I was introduced to Suzanne a few years ago by a mutual friend who knew we were both writing novels and trying to get them published. Suzanne is not only a better writer than me, but she's also faster and more persistent. In the time it took me to draft two novels, I think she had churned out six or seven or eight... which is why I'm not surprised she's sitting on that pair of two-books deals.

Suzanne has been a great critic and an inspirational friend, and she stands as living proof that plenty of amateurs blessed with vivid imaginations can, will and do make it in this business. Do yourself a favor and check her out... because pretty soon you're going to own one of her books: http://suzannepalmieri.com/

What if...?

My wife and I took this picture of our five kids last weekend on a visit to the University of Connecticut:

Over the last twenty years, UConn has become one of the top public universities in the country, not to mention the "College Basketball Capitol of the World". I hold two degrees from this fine institution, I was the editor of the campus newspaper, and I was front-and-center that magical Monday night in 1999 when Coach Calhoun hoisted his/our first-ever NCAA Championship trophy in Tropicana Field... but more than anything else, UConn is where I met my wife.

We have known each other for 14 years, have been married for 11, and have five wonderful children - and when I look at this picture, I can't help think of the improbable things that had to have happened in order to bring us to this point in our lives. Yes, it sounds kinda Doc-Brown-Back-to-the-Future-ish, but think about it: at some point in October of 1997, I'm sure I stumbled drunk past this very statue, sorting through the dozens and dozens of girls' phone numbers that were voluntarily thrown at me at that night's array of parties... yet 14 years later there we were taking this picture. The time in between was and is filled with countless "what ifs".

What if she aced freshman chemistry and remained a nursing major instead of switching to journalism?

What if I didn't wander over to the campus newspaper looking for a job my freshman year?

What if her dumbass high school sweetheart hadn't broken up with her over the summer?

What if Billy had in fact beeped the horn of his car, demanding we leave that silly party before I had a chance to talk to her?

What if she said no?

What if she got sick of me?

What if she didn't have a genetic predisposition to release more than one egg per month?

What if we decided to stop after two?

What if we decided to stop after three?

The picture of my kids reminds me of that picture of Marty McFly and his siblings - the one that starts to fade bit by bit as he changes history, as he alters the "what ifs". But since I don't have a time-traveling DeLorean, the only conclusion I can draw is that life is some ironic mixture of free-will, divine intervention, and good old-fashioned luck.

I could drive myself crazy thinking about all the things that could have gone differently, that could have gone wrong... but in the end, I am where I am.

And for that, I'm eternally grateful.

Ode to Autumn

In an effort to offset the unnerving reality that its 150-degrees outside on September 26, I have compiled an exhaustive list of all the things I love about fall...

Cornstalks
Hayrides
The cool, crisp air
Political lawnsigns
Vermont
New York City
Central Park (how you tore your dress... what a mess... I confess...)
Its dark again by five o'clock
High school football
Corn mazes
Orchards
New England foliage
Real maple syrup
New TV shows
Apples
Apple crisp
Apple cider
Apple cider donuts
Apple pie
(Hell, even Apple Jacks)
Drinking a pint of Blue Moon at a rustic old pub
Playoff baseball
The World Series
The inevitable Yankees Victory Parade!
Tractor-pulls
The plethora of traditional New England fairs
Driving around the reservoir
Pumpkins
Pumpkin pie
Pumpkin seeds
Pumpkin beer
Barry Manilow's "Weekend in New England" (please don't judge me)
Our wedding anniversary
My birthday
Election Day
UConn Dairy Bar ice cream
Falling leaves blowing in the wind
Breaking out my winter jackets
Kettle corn
Watching my kids dress-up for Halloween
The smell of pot roast when I come from work
Lighting my fireplace for the first time in months
Wearing jeans
Cloudy skies
And of course: Thanksgiving.

(insert audible sigh)... I feel much better.

September 11, 2001

It may sound corny, cliché and wholly unoriginal, but September 11, 2001 started out just like any other day.

I rolled out of bed. I took a shower. I got dressed for work.

My wife and I were still technically newlyweds; no morning chaos, no children screaming for pancakes or Pop Tarts. She left for work before I did, which was typical given that she was financially supporting us (a truth I forget all too often these days). I had just finished grad school and was working as a lowly intern for the next town over. Though the pay wasn’t great, my commute was minuscule, thus giving me plenty of time to eat my cereal and read my morning paper.

The Yanks had just swept a three-game series from the Red Sox.

New York City Mayor Rudolph Giuliani’s approval rating had hit a new low.

The Musketeers (a movie I can’t recall for the life of me) won the weekend box office.

It was my best friend’s birthday.

Driving to work, there was some news about a plane hitting the World Trade Center, but it was more of a curiosity than a matter of national security; something briefly mentioned between the local traffic and the previous night’s sports scores. So I parked my car in the Town Hall lot, I grabbed my leather man-purse-thing and I shut my car door… and as if triggered by some divine intervention, I looked up.

The sky over tiny little Plainville, Connecticut was beautiful.

A beautiful, clear blue. Not a single cloud; not even the faintest hint of lifted fog or stale airplane exhaust. It was like an animated cartoon, or one of those drawings my kids did in Kindergarten: just a light blue mass and a perfect yellow sun.

Admittedly, I’m not one to notice things like that. I’m too concrete. I have a hard time seeing the natural beauty in the things I take for granted like the sun and the stars and the trees and the birds chirping. But in that moment, as I stood there in the parking lot, holding my leather work bag, ready for another day on the job, I actually said to myself: wow – what a beautiful day.

Minutes later I was upstairs in our conference room watching smoke bellow from one of the two World Trade Center towers. Anchors and experts were speculating on the air about what had happened: maybe the pilot fell asleep, or there was a tragic mechanical malfunction or something wrong with the air traffic controller.

Then, on live TV, we watched as a second plane emerged from the right side of the screen and hit the second tower.

In an instant, it didn’t matter how many games the Yanks had won or how many millions of dollars some silly movie took in on Saturday night. In an instant, I forgot that it was my best friend’s birthday or that The West Wing was supposed to sweep the upcoming Emmy’s. In an instant, I didn’t care that I had to cut the lawn or pay the electric bill or buy more peanut M&M’s for the office.

In an instant, my perfect blue sky was tarnished forever.

Someday one of my kids is going to ask me about 9/11 - about what happened and where I was and who I was with and what I saw. They’ll ask the same way I asked my parents about the Kennedy Assassination, the same way they asked their parents about Pearl Harbor.

And when they do I’ll tell them: “it started out just like any other day.”

High School

For years I had a recurring dream where I was frantically walking the halls of my high school, trying to find my guidance counselor. There was a class – usually Spanish – that I barely attended but forgot to withdraw from; and the merciless teacher insisted on giving me an F. Unless I weaseled my way out of it, I wouldn’t graduate.

The dream itself wasn’t rooted in any literal truth (since I managed to graduate high school just fine, thank you), nor was it all that uncommon. According to a psychologist I know, lots of people have “high school dreams” or “college dreams”, and they tend to represent some general sense of unfinished business and/or a need to still accomplish something. Over time, they usually stop recurring... which mine did a few years ago when I finally realized that high school, for all its glory, both was and is a cruel joke.

Don’t get me wrong: I liked my high school. I learned some stuff, I made some friends, and – save the street gang executive who got shot and killed on the front steps in broad daylight – I don’t think there’s anywhere else I would have rather gone. But society tends to make the whole high school experience thing a much bigger deal than it is.

The expectations.

The pressure.

The societal norms you have to live up to.

I remember walking around the hallways (in real life, not the dream) with an innate sense that what I was doing and what was happening both to and around me would have an unequivocally permanent impact upon my entire being for the rest of my natural life.

As it turns out, I was wrong. A confessed dork back in high school (a truth my wife would unquestionably extend to present day as well), I was ranked slightly higher than the pocket protector/chess club nerds, yet far far below the realm of popular jocks. Nearly twenty years later, though, neither the academic nor the social stratification matters… and as a parent, that more than anything else is what I’m trying to figure out:

• How do I teach my kids to work hard but not perseverate?
• How do I tell them that what can seem like a big deal at the moment is really, truly nothing?
• And how do I get them to see that this whole grand theory of “high school” is just one of many many many phases of life?

Thankfully, I’ve still got six full years to figure it out.

Don Corleone Heads to The Office

Over the years I have realized that people who go around quoting the Godfather fall into one of two categories: 1) the ninety percent of the population that only knows “leave the gun, take the cannoli,” or 2) the obsessive-compulsive elites who have managed to integrate even the most obscure Godfather quotes into their daily vernacular much to the annoyance of their spouses, co-workers and friends.

Unfortunately for my spouse, co-workers and friends, I fall among the later. Fortunately for me, though, I work for a couple of guys who appreciate The Godfather as much as I do... which inspired my patented list of Godfather Quotes for Use in the Modern Workplace:

10. Your secretary complains about having to work on Columbus Day/Veteran’s Day/Arbor Day/et cetera… so you politely let her know: “That’s the price you pay for the life you choose.” (Michael to Vincent, Part III)

9.     The boss hires one of those leadership consultants to come in and give a seminar. When he asks for the definition of teamwork, you raise your hand and shout: “All of our ships must sail in the same direction.” (Don Lucchesi, Part III)

8.     You and a co-worker both sleep with the same girl on the same night. The resulting awkwardness leads to an all-out fist-fight at lunch. The boss calls you both into his office; and when you’ve finally worked out your differences, you embrace your co-worker and assure him: “I will not be the one to break the peace we have made here today.” (Vito to Tattaglia, Part I)

7.     You’re at a staff meeting, laying-out a rather ambitions agenda for the next quarter. A recalcitrant subordinate yells out “that’s impossible.” So you get very very quiet, then softly announce: “If history has taught us anything… it’s that you can kill anybody.” (Michael to Al Neri, Part II)

6.     The guy in the next cubicle over confides in you that he hates, hates, hates his boss. You put a hand on his shoulder and gently reassure him: “Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment.” (Michael to Vincent, Part III)

5.     Your boss starts raving about how great things are at the company. Sales are up, profits are up, shareholders are happy and everyone’s getting a big fat Christmas bonus… so you look at him and matter-of-factly state:  “Michael, we’re bigger than U.S. Steel.” (Hyman Roth, Part II)

4.     Your boss accuses you of stealing soap from the unisex bathroom. The company’s disciplinary panel hears your case and concludes that you, in fact, did not steal said soap from the unisex bathroom. Upon hearing this news, you spring to your feet and scream: “THIS COMMITTEE OWES AN APOLOGY!” (Tom Hagen, Part II)

3.     Your legal affairs office hires a new staff attorney to oversee ethics compliance. You introduce yourself, shake her hand and inform her: “I don’t need any more tough guys. I need. More. Lawyers.” (Michael to Vincent, Part III)

2.     An old friend and mentor who helped you get your first job many many years ago asks you do to a favor that you really don’t want to do. You look away and say, resignedly: “You know I’ll do anything for my Godfather.” (Johnny Fontaine, Part I)

1.     A back-stabbing, two-faced, double-crossing co-worker comes up to you after a meeting and asks how your sick aunt is doing. You look him straight in the eye and say: “We’re both a part of the same hypocrisy – but never think it applies to my family.” (Michael to Senator Geary, Part II)

I Want My MTV

August 1, 1981 – 12:01 a.m.

The countdown begins, the rocket launches; the little spacesuit cartoon guy plants his iconic flag on the moon as The Buggles (a one-hit wonder no one had ever heard of) took to the screen to sing about killing the radio star.

It was the start of MTV - a groundbreaking experiment that would redefine the futures of both music and television forever. But as history was being made, where exactly did I find myself?

In bed. Asleep. Probably hugging any variety of blankets, pillows or stuffed animals.

In my defense, I was only three; plus I’m fairly certain my parents didn’t have cable back then anyway. Nonetheless, it would have been nice to say I witnessed history, especially given how much of a role MTV played in the early part of my life, and the lives of just about everyone else in my generation.

Sure, “Video Killed The Radio Star” became the iconic front of early music videos (and also the answer to what is not the most over-used trivia question in the universe), but there were others that still to this day bring me back to being a kid, sitting on my couch watching the real MTV:

“You Might Think” by the Cars. (The water gushing out of Ric Ocasek’s fallen face is classic!)

Ray Parker, Jr. popping out from under the bed in “Ghostbusters”.

Anything by the Go-Gos. Anything by Scandal. Anything by Duran Duran.

Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”.

“Take On Me”!

The “Walk of Life” video with all of the sports clips.

Chevy Chase in “Call Me Al.”

“We Are the World” (again… and again… and again…).

And of course the granddaddy of them all: “Thriller”… because let’s face it: who among us was not obsessed with “Thriller”?

Over time, the music gradually gave way to general programming. I liked “Remote Control” and “Yo, MTV Raps”, and I even watched the first few seasons of the “Real World”; but (and you all know where this is going because you’ve heard it a thousand times) MTV really can’t call itself Music Television anymore. It’s all about money and reality shows and the style of in-your-face-sex-sells programming that prohibits me from allowing any of my children anywhere near MTV.

At least those of us who grew up with MTV still have a memory of it, though. At least we still smile every time we hear “867-5309” on the radio, thinking about the huge gap in the lead singer’s teeth… or laugh at the thought of the dancing midget every time we hear “Safety Dance”… or instantly think of Dexy’s Midnight Runners every time we see a pair of denim overalls.

Tune into MTV this very minute and you’ll assuredly encounter “True Life” or “16 and Pregnant”. The channel’s web page doesn’t even mention of today’s milestone anniversary. If you want to celebrate MTV’s 30^th, you’ll have to tune into XM Radio’s “80’s on 8”, which has all of the original MTV VJs (less the late great J.J. Jackson, of course) playing the original songs – in order - from MTV’s first day on the air.

Imagine that: thirty years later and XM Radio is killing the video star.