Tag: connection

A.B.D.

Alcoholism, Marriage, Recovery By Matt Salis, MPS 4 Comments

A.B.D.

Audio version now available.

 

I subscribed my wife, Sheri, to a paid Spotify account for her birthday several years ago. To help you gauge how incredibly cheap I really am, I think a Spotify account is like $10 a month. Or maybe $15. Or maybe it was $10 back then, and now it’s $15. Anyway, the point is, $10 a month took thoughtful consideration for me. “That’s $120 a year, don’t you know. Why can’t you use the free version? Do you really need to be able to create playlists? Can’t you just sit by your boombox and press the cassette record button when the radio plays your favorite songs like the seasoned Gen-Xer you are?” Generosity just oozes from my thoughtful consideration.

 

This gift for Sheri allows for three logins using the same username and password. I immediately signed my phone into her account, and within a week, I found another of my devices I could use to occupy the third loggin. Happy birthday, Sheri. I’ll be commandeering 2/3rds of your cheap-ass gift.

 

Believe it or not, that’s not the end of the Spotify story.

(Un)Lone Bone

Uncategorized, Underlying Issues Series By Matt Salis, MPS 10 Comments

(Un)Lone Bone

Audio version now available.

 

Middle school is brutal. In all the states where I have lived, both growing up across the Midwest and East Coast, and as an adult in the Midwest and Mountain West, middle school is three grades: sixth, seventh, and eighth. Elementary school is kindergarten through fifth, and high school is ninth through twelfth. I am convinced that middle school is the shortest experience because neither the parents nor the students could survive more than three years being subjected to the cauldron of hormones, body odor, and curse words. The gymnasium during a middle school dance smells like the violent collision of B.O. and Axe Body Spray. If the only risks to unsupervised middle school dances are teen pregnancy and burning down the gym, it might be worth rolling the dice to spare the parent and teacher chaperones from the exposure trauma.

Bitch

Underlying Issues Series By Matt Salis, MPS 6 Comments

Bitch

Audio version now available.

 

“You a bitch!”

 

I answered a call from a restricted number after 10pm on Saturday, and I immediately wished I had not. It sounded like a young man, and my first thought was to applaud the gender fluidity of his insult. When I was a teen or a young adult, insulting another male was to call him a dick or a prick or an asshole. I would never have dreamed of calling another man a bitch. That open mindedness aside, I was concerned about the caller’s grammar. Maybe I am a bitch, but it’s definitely not correct that I a bitch.

Dance Like Everybody’s Watching

Alcoholism, Recovery, Self-Esteem By Matt Salis, MPS 8 Comments

Dance Like Everybody's Watching

Audio version now available.

 

Confidence comes from doing the things that require a little liquid courage without the liquid courage.

 

***

 

How do you know if you need a few drinks to talk to women when every time you are in a situation conducive to initiating a conversation with the opposite sex that situation carries with it an expectation of alcohol consumption? I don’t remember needing liquid courage when I was a drinker, but I also don’t remember socializing sober.

For the Love of Bubbles and Bacon

Curiosity, God By Matt Salis, MPS 8 Comments

For the Love of Bubbles and Bacon

I grew up in the Greek Orthodox tradition where the priests circulated through the pews puffing clouds of incense smoke at the parishioners. In some denominations, religious leaders sprinkle holy water indiscriminately on the attendees. On Easter Sunday, our minister walked slowly down the center aisle floating bubbles from her bubble wand over the heads of the people sitting near the middle of our packed church. Bubbles are not quite as intense or meaning-laden as smoke or water. I liked it. It felt springy and fun.

 

While blowing bubbles, she asked us to shout out things we like. “Easter!” yelled a kid from the back, surely still thinking about the bounty the bunny left him. “Family.” “Flowers.” “Music.” The people played along and gave her the kinds of answers she was looking for.

 

I was standing in the back corner of the church after moving some additional chairs into useful positions (as the husband of the children’s minister, I am voluntold into duty on big Sundays). Standing next to me was a young girl, maybe a third or fourth grader. I recognized her, but I couldn’t remember her name. I leaned down and asked her if she usually watches church from the back corner, alone and away from her family. She nodded her head in a way that convinced me that she was both OK, and also not receptive to further inquiry. When Reverend Sandi asked the congregation to shout out things they liked, the little girl said quietly, “Bacon.” Bacon indeed. Who doesn’t like bacon? Bacon is probably the single leading cause of vegetarian relapse. It was a shame she didn’t say it louder as I am sure her interjection would have brought many nods of approval. “Oh yes, bacon. Did I say family? I meant bacon.” Alas, I was the only one who learned of her passion for smoked pork belly. Easter is the holiday of passion, so I found it quite appropriate.

Hug, Act II

Underlying Issues Series By Matt Salis, MPS No Comments

Hugs, Act II

I like hugs. I am not very good at the bro dap half hug, half handshake thing. I always mess up the hand part. But I nail the hug. I have long since shed any stigmatized reluctance to hug other dudes. If I like you and I trust you, you will know it, because I will hug you. Big smile, verbal greeting at a volume too loud, arms open, comin’ in hot.

Red-Eye

Underlying Issues Series By Matt Salis, MPS 6 Comments

Red-Eye

* Underlying Issues Series

 

I forgot my earbuds, which was ironic since I spent 2 ½ hours on video calls on the day of departure about the dangers of the constant distractions of technology. We were taking the red-eye to Miami, so I needed to sleep rather than watch Insta reels anyway. My wife offered me lavender spray to put on my wrists to help me relax. We’ve been married 27 years, and she still loves me enough to waste her breath with that offer.

 

Our seats backed up to the bulkhead which cost us that glorious two inches of recline that might have facilitated sleep. I eventually emerged from my groggy, uncomfortable head bobbing and got pretty excited about watching a sunrise from 35k feet. After a cold-water sink splash and a Peet’s in the airport, the terror about losing a night of sleep gave way to something different with the plane from Miami over the shallow waters of the Caribbean in January. The transition was like whiplash without the neck brace.

 

I don’t know if what I felt was peacefulness, since I’m unfamiliar, so let’s use what feels like a watered-down descriptor like contentment. My feet were in the cool, off-white sand as I watched the Atlantic waves gently lap the shore. It was a few ambient degrees over 70 with a noticeable breeze, and the sun warmed my skin through a wispy cloud layer. I was keenly aware that any combination of a one-degree drop in temperature, a slightly stiffer wind, or a minor thickening of the clouds, and the glorious warmth would have turned uncomfortably chilly. I was on the razor’s edge of bliss, and the tenuousness of it all was not lost on me.