Striking Gold

Last Friday I spent the most I've ever spent at Costco.

And that's saying something.

We use Costco for everything.

Apples to EZ chairs.

And everything in the middle.

About a month ago I walked into the megastore to get a photo printed.

$3.20 later, I had that picture.

That’s only the beginning of this story.

While I was in the photo department I noticed a sign.

It had a picture of one of those old 8-mm tin cans.

And it said that they can transfer the films from those cans to DVD.

For $17.95.

Per can.

My eyes opened up.

Almost nine years ago I inherited a bunch of those cans.

I know it’s almost nine years because that’s when my dad died.

And shortly thereafter, his wife and I went over to his storage unit.

To make us cry even more.

Well crying wasn’t the plan, just the result.

But while we were there we went through a bunch of his “junk”.

Junk that I still treasure.

Pictures.

Books.

Magazines.

And some old family films.

42 of them.

Unedited.

Of course.

And for the next almost nine years they sat in my garage.

In a storage bin.

Waiting to be transfered over to a format that I could actually watch.

Enter Costco.

The store that has everything.

Well just last week I got a call from a lady there that the DVDs were ready to be picked up.

One credit card swipe later, those DVDs were mine.

I spent this past weekend watching those DVDs.

All of them.

And what I saw absolutely blew me away.

It all started with me.

Doesn’t it always.

Tons of footage of me as a baby.

At my first birthday party.

Running around in diapers.

Running around without diapers.

When I should have had diapers on.

My fourth birthday party.

A talent show in elementary school.

Family vacations.

To Mexico.

And Hawaii.

And Lion Country Safari.

My mom and my dad.

Smiling.

Together.

My brother.

As a teenager.

My cousin Lary.

Looking exactly like his son Ryan.

And that’s just the beginning.

In all there was more than eight hours of footage.

HOURS! of footage.

My seven-year old daughter and I spent several hours on Saturday night watching this footage.

And it was pretty amazing how much she looks just like me.

Poor kid.

There was no audio on any of the footage.

Which really cut down on the production value.

And really confused her.

So I opened up iTunes.

Clicked on The Beatles.

And hit play.

It was incredible how well EVERY Beatles song mixed together with grainy film footage from 40+ years ago.

“In My Life”.

“Revolution”.

“All My Loving”.

Even “Julia” sounded like it was meant to be there.

And I don’t even know anyone named Julia.

There’s probably not a whole lot of monetary value for all this footage.

(Until Sir Bacon hits it big of course.)

But to me it’s worth a buzillion bucks.

Which is far less than what I paid at Costco.

But the more I watched the video, the more I noticed some amazing things that didn’t include me.

(If you can believe that.)

How about home video of Mickey Mantle.

And Roberto Clemente.

When they were alive.

And playing.

The 1960 Kentucky Derby.

Nixon’s Inauguration.

Unfortunately that one was WAY out of focus.

Game footage from Super Bowl II.

And V.

And VII.

My parents taking a helicopter tour of New York City.

And seeing shots of the World Trade Center.

Being built.

That had to be in the early 70’s.

Every now and again I stumble across an old picture and I feel like I won the lottery.

This.

This is like winning the SuperMegaPowerUltra Lottery.

My dad left me nine years ago.

And he left me with more memories that I can count.

And I can count real high.

But to see this footage.

After all these years.

It made me cry.

Crying wasn’t the plan.

Just the result.

Who Are You?

The first thing I do every morning when I get up is check my iPhone.

Check for new emails.

Check for new text messages.

And check to see who has been reading my blog.

Yes, you are allowed to mumble “you pathetic soul”.

But the truth shall set me free.

The addiction to follow who is following me started about a year ago.

That’s when I added this software to my website called sitemeter.

No, this is not a commercial, but I do love their product.

Basically sitemeter lets me check how many people are reading my blog at any given time.

And how long they’ve been reading.

And what site referred them to me.

And in many cases where they are from.

Don’t worry, I have no idea exactly who you are.

But often times there is an IP address listed so I can tell what part of the world you are from.

Now if you are worried about Sir Bacon being aware of who you are.

Or where you are.

Or what you are.

Don’t be.

Not only am I a nice person, but I’m not that bright.

But you should definitely be aware that this software (and probably hundreds like it) is out there.

And who knows what smart people can do with that info.

Did you see the story the other day about the iPhone?

My beloved iPhone.

Well apparently she doesn’t trust me anymore.

Apparently she’s hired a private investigator to follow me.

Apparently she’s been recording my exact whereabouts.

For the past 10 months.

She must think I live at the grocery store.

Or the post office.

But the story is true.

I read it at wired.com.

They mentioned something about an unencrypted something or other.

And a consolidated.db.

Whatever that is.

But the point here is simple.

Big brother is watching.

And if you don’t like it... too bad.

I guess in this case, I’m sorta like your dumb little brother.

Because I am definitely watching.

But I have no idea what I’m seeing.

I just like looking at the pictures.

I don’t want to read the book.

For example, as I’m writing this blog, there is somebody at sirbacon123.com from Nova Scotia.

(I hope that doesn’t give away too much.)

Well, this person found my blog through Google.

By searching “Abbey Road The Beatles”.

And somehow those four words connected them to my blog on the Fab Four.

From two months ago.

Really.

So all you have to do is search Abbey Road and The Beatles and Sir Bacon pops up?

I’m sure it’s a little more involved than just that.

But still.

I see a lot of the same people reading my blog.

I mean the same IP addresses.

And that feels great.

Thank you.

I love the idea that something I wrote made you come back more than once.

And I love getting emails that you connected with something I wrote.

Even if you didn’t like what I said.

But as much as I love the return customers -- and I really do.

It is oh so cool to see new visitors.

Including someone this morning from New York City.

(I hope I didn’t give away too much.)

Well this person found my blog by typing “unemployed crying tears” on Google.

97 blogs later.

They made my day.

Hopefully I made theirs too.

A few days ago someone read 89 blogs.

There was a 22.

A 33.

A 24.

And each time it makes me smile.

It still blows me away that you found me.

From Hong Kong and Italy and Alabama.

From France, Slovenia and Oklahoma.

And Hawaii and Utah and Brazil.

And I appreciate it.

Every time.

But I always wonder how you found me.

And who you are.

If you feel so inclined, leave a comment.

Or send me an email (sirbacon123.@yahoo.com).

Or tweet me.

Or do nothing.

The choice is yours.

No matter what... keep reading.

And THANK YOU!

Breakfast With The Beatles

My seven-year old daughter was sick yesterday.

So she stayed home from school.

Poor girl.

Lucky me.

I got to make her breakfast.

Something we call an Egg Surprise.

That’s when you cut a hole in a piece of bread.

Throw it in a pan.

Drop an egg inside the hole.

Egg white in this case.

And fry it up.

And when you bite the bread.

SURPRISE!

It tastes like an omelette.

Well kinda sorta.

After that we took a 90-minute nap together.

We read books together.

We laughed and sang together.

It was a perfect morning.

So perfect, that at one point, I just started mumbling the words to “I Feel Fine.”

By The Beatles.

It was the line, “I’m so glad, that she’s my little girl.”

That made her smile.

Which made me smile.

While my rendition of the song was pretty darn good, if I must say so myself.

It definitely wasn’t even better than the real thing.

So I went on youtube to show her what the song is really supposed to sound like.

I typed in... “I Feel Fine” and “The Beatles”.

And in half a second I found “about 4,180 results”.

About 4,180?

Either it is or it isn’t, right?

Anywhoo... we had more versions of that song than Microsoft has versions of Windows.

I had a live version from the classic Shea Stadium concert.

Another live one from Japan.

A piano cover.

A version by The Supremes.

A version without vocals.

And then with vocals.

A guitar lesson on how to play the song.

And about 4,174 others.

About.

God Bless youtube.

And God Bless The Beatles.

I certainly couldn’t stop there.

We listened to one of my all-time faves, Oh Darling.

Revolution.

Real Love.

And a handful of others.

Including “Here Comes The Sun.”

A song she recognized.

“Hey, that’s from The Bee Movie,” she said.

A movie released in 2007.

38 years after The Beatles released the original.

It was cool watching her play air guitar.

Better than I play the real guitar.

And air drums.

Not quite like Ringo.

One thing that was really neat about the youtube videos was all the old pictures of the Fab Four.

I got to tell her about Sgt. Pepper.

And Ed Sullivan.

And the album cover from Abbey Road.

Actually she knew that one.

“That picture is hanging in my teacher’s room.”

Cool teacher.

She wanted to know the four names of these lads.

So I told her.

And then quizzed her on who was who.

My version of home schooling.

She didn’t do so well.

I think the matching mop tops and ever-changing facial hair threw her off.

With all of the black and white photos, she asked if all four guys were still alive.

That’s when the conversation changed.

I explained that Paul and Ringo are still with us.

And that George died from smoking cigarettes.

Maybe not 100% accurate, but close enough for a seven-year old.

And another good home lesson.

Then came the story of John Lennon.

I shared the details with her.

Keeping it as simple as possible.

But she kept asking.

And I kept answering.

As simple as I could.

And in the same way it didn’t make sense to this 13-year old boy on December 8, 1980.

It didn’t make sense to his seven-year old daughter.

30 plus years later.

I was eventually able to change the subject.

By playing her some of John’s solo stuff.

Including a little ditty called “Beautiful Boy”.

A beautiful song John wrote for his son five-year old son Sean.

Within a few lines, my daughter started singing along.

It’s a simple song.

But very touching.

For the last verse, she changed the lyrics.

To Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful.... 

Beautiful Dad.

I’m so glad that she's my little girl.