IRISHMAN FOR HIRE

“I wanna run through the rain/dance on a cloud/Steal a kiss and then laugh out loud/Feel those butterflies in my soul/Catch butterflies one by one/Sprinkler underneath the sun/All those things from the days gone by/ I wanna wake up and start living life” is the powerfully poignant theme that is the driving message of Lee-Ellen’s debut album Falling Up. As a teacher, wife and mother of two, Lee-Ellen never thought she would be choosing this moment in her life “to wake up and start living life.” And although Lee-Ellen has had to face her fair share of adversity throughout the years, she has found the strength to persevere and overcome the obstacles that have stood in her way.

Lee-Ellen went public with her debut album Falling Up at her CD release party over the weekend. As I listened to the album over the past week, I became engrossed in the imagery of her lyrics as they flowed effortlessly from her heart. And unlike so many freshman records that seem to be thrown together as a smorgasbord of musical eclecticism, Falling Up is cohesively woven together like a melodic kaleidoscope that invited me to share in the beauty of the emotions that Lee-Ellen hauntingly invokes.

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“Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t it true that when a new President is elected, the First lady designs a new rug for the Oval office?” I asked Seth.

“I don’t know…” Walt replied.

“… I haven’t heard anything like that,” interjected Seth. “I know there was a big deal made about Laura Bush decorating a new rug a few years ago but I am not aware of there being any type of tradition regarding the rug.”

“It’s true,” came a voice from behind us. “Whenever a new President is elected, the First lady designs the rug for the Oval office. This rug is actually the rug designed by Laura Bush because Ms. Obama has not completed hers yet.”

As we turned around to see who was answering the question, we were staring right into the face of the Secret Service Agent stationed in this section of the West Wing. He was physically menacing. He was six feet six inches tall and was chiseled from head to toe. As he was talking to us, I couldn’t help but think that this guy could break me in half with his pinkie finger.

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“I want my two dollars,” I said mockingly in reference to the paper boy in the movie Better Off Dead as Andy and I stood up from the blackjack table. I had been winning for the better part of the afternoon and as I walked through the casino, I was excited about having won ninety-eight dollars. But I wanted more. I wanted triple digits. There was something magical about winning a hundred dollars that I knew would make for a better story.

We walked around the casino for a while and monitored some of the games that were being played. When Andy sat down at another table to play a few more hands, I couldn’t resist the temptation to add to my winnings. I sat down across from him and was pretty confident as I placed my first bet. Within minutes, I lost forty-eight dollars in successive hands. My luck had run out. So I stood up from the table and walked out of the casino with fifty dollars.

Logic dictates that I am supposed to want those two dollars when I gamble. It is part of the allure. It is scintillating. It’s electric! String a couple of good hands together and walk away with a fistful of dollars. Guess wrong and walk away empty handed.

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It all started in a little field in Goldston, North Carolina on Columbus Day weekend in 2008. It had been a tough year and our family needed a weekend away to reenergize. It was a fun weekend of swimming, relaxation and a lot of kid friendly activities. And on the first day of our trip, we attended the Goldston Old Fashion Day.

As Stephanie and I sat there in a field off of West Goldbar Avenue and watched our children playing in the bounce house, our conversation turned serious for a moment. “I met you when your Mom was a little older than I am now, Steph,” I said as I watched my kids having a good time with some of the local children. “If she only knew she had seventeen years left to live, do you think she would have spent more time accomplishing all of the things that she dreamed about doing?”

“Everyone would,” Stephanie replied, “but no one knows what tomorrow is going to bring.”

Sage advice from my deeply grounded wife and there was a lot of wisdom in her statement for me to ponder. A few months later, I spent the day living out one of my dreams in Disney World. It had been years since I had had the itch to take the stage but in one afternoon, I was reacquainted with my old passion to perform. And as the day was ending, I was still on cloud nine. Unable to fall asleep, I walked around our hotel grounds and took in the sights and sounds of a brisk Florida evening and thought for a moment, “What if?”

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When my son was born, my parents gave my wife a little silver cup that I used to use when I was a toddler. The cup is beat up. It is dented. And depending on who is describing the condition of the chalice, the goblet looks like a feisty, opinionated and spirited child made his feelings known to the world by banging it on anything and everything he could find.

My wife loves the fact that my parents gave her the cup because it speaks volumes about the deep rooted convictions I hold. To her it proves that I have always had an opinion about everything and well, whether people like it or not, I am more than willing to make my opinions known. I disagree with her assessment but whenever I want to argue my case, she has proof to the contrary.

“Look,” she says holding up the little silver cup with a glint of glee in her voice, “the evidence speaks for itself!”

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There is a moment just before I fall asleep when I conjure up the most powerful prose I can ever imagine. Exquisite paragraphs that paint a powerful picture that would make Picasso proud and yet, these sentences have never graced the printed page. They exist at the moment my conscious and subconscious mind intersect and tantalize me with influential images and expressions that I am unable to replicate when I arise to write them down.

I have heard a lot about “living in the moment” on television, radio and in the newspapers lately and I am thoroughly perplexed at the vacuous meaning of the statement “to live in the moment.” I took a breath. That was a moment. I took another breath. There was another moment. And so on and so on. I live in the moment every minute of every day. And even if I try to escape the moment, I am living the escapism which is in fact a moment unto itself.

I believe what these gurus are trying to tell me is “that I must understand the importance of the quintessential moments of my life.” And that is a statement I completely agree with. Of course, that isn’t a sentence one can easily sell in a ten second sound bite. It isn’t flashy. It doesn’t have pizzazz and it isn’t chic. But worst of all, it is filled with big words that make being in touch with my life sound boring and dreadfully tedious. So I guess I am left with being told “to live in the moment.”

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A few days ago, I woke up early in the morning with a pounding headache because I had slept in the wrong position again. It was too early to start my day, so I trudged down the stairs to the medicine cabinet, took some ibuprofen, stumbled half asleep back to my bedroom and climbed sleepily into my warm bed. I laid there for a while trying to find any comfortable position that might ease the pain. But eventually, I gave up and lumbered downstairs as the aroma of warm coffee being brewed wafted throughout the entire house.

As I stood in the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, Stephanie looked at me, smirked and said, “You look like we did when we first had kids?”

“How’s that?” I asked as I stood there half awake, hair standing straight up and my head cocked to the side in an attempt to find a neck position that would stop the jackhammer in my brain.

“Like you haven’t had sleep for days,” she replied

“Great,” I said as I went into the living room and sat on the couch. “I look like a zombie. Thanks.”

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Happy New Year!!! Happy New Decade!!! (although, not technically. But for me, it counts!) I wish you all the best for a healthy, happy and prosperous 2010!!!

Today is also the second anniversary of Irishman For Hire!! And with all of your support, Irishman For Hire has become a bigger success than I ever could have imagined. To those who have been following Irishman For Hire from day one and to all of my new friends, thank you so much. It has been an absolute joy to share these articles with you and more importantly, your kind feedback and emails of support have touched me in such a positive way. I am humbled and blessed. Thank You!!

Irishman For Hire had a great year in 2009! I had four readers on January 1, 2008. And not too many more over the first couple of weeks. Luckily for me, I went into a bank one day and was shown the truth about banks and fees and I wrote my article FEE MADNESS and Irishman For Hire exploded. Thousands of readers have visited Irishman For Hire ever since that article was posted and I am honored that you have spent another the year with me as I have shared my personal perceptions of the world with you. Thank you!!!

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We circled the block a few times trying to find a parking space. The wind whipped through the New York City buildings and a light snow fell as my nerves started to get the best of me. Could I do this? What if we got caught? Was this really how I wanted to spend my Christmas Eve? And if I found the answers I was looking for; what if I didn’t like what I had found?

A car pulled out from a parking space up in front of me. My heart was pounding through the outer wall of my chest as I waited for the vehicle to drive away. Then I parked my car in the space that had been vacated.

Stephanie got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk waiting for me. I sat there for a moment as I contemplated my options for the last time. Then I took the key out of the ignition, took a deep breath, got out of the car and joined Stephanie on the sidewalk.

“Ready?” she asked.

The wind tore across our faces like the prickly fingers of the Wicked Witch of the West, warning us against going any further. The gray, drab, dreary day was a perfect backdrop against the frozen city and as we both shivered from the cold, I looked deep into her eyes and said, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

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Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear roars of jubilation, celebrations, singing and cheering?! Do you hear the frustration, the heartbreak, the disappointment and the angry outbursts?! Have you heard it lately? Well if you have, you are not alone; ‘Tis the season for the fantasy football playoffs! The time of the year that is filled with the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat!”

Depending on the rules of the fantasy football league, the playoffs either started last Sunday or they kick off this weekend. It is the point in the season when an entire year of research, preparation and super fandom come down to one week, one match up and ultimately, one do or die situation. Win the game and continue towards a championship! Lose the game and end another year of one’s life dedicated to building the perfect fantasy football franchise.

I have been a New York Giants fan all of my life. I joined my first fantasy football league in 1987 and from that first season, I have been hooked on this extremely addictive game. But it wasn’t until the mid 1990s that fantasy football really started to grab the enthusiasm of the American public. And when ESPN created an entire gaming division around fantasy sports, fantasy football exploded onto the scene as the premier attraction for men, women and children of all ages!

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