GFMism: Why We Go to Mass on Sundays

My dad is a genius. A saw his father one month out of the year till he was 20, asked to go to the bathroom at school when he was 6 so he could wander around the playground, moved out of the country at 22, bootstrapped his way through raising five kids with my mom, surrounded himself with people who were "better" and "smarter" than he was because he knew it was best for him kind of genius.

Of course, he's also a knows which buttons to push to drive you absolutely batshit up a wall crazy kind of genius... but I digress...

Throughout my 30 or so odd years on this planet, my dad has gifted me many nuggets of wisdom, sage words of advice, sly bits of info, tips of the trade that are meant to make life... bearable. GFMisms I'm going to call them. My dad is GFM. Glorificador Fernandez Montemayor. GFMisms has a nice ring to it.

This is the first of many GFMisms I'm going to impart to the world through this sometimes entertaining, oftentimes rambling, alltimes digital blog. The smirk on my face right now contains only a small bit of the excitement, enthusiasm, and pride I will have in doing so.

I was raised Catholic. My mom was raised Catholic in the Philippines, my dad was raised... some denomination of Christianity that I don't really recall... so by default my family was Catholic. Went to Catholic grade schools. Catholic high schools (2 of my sisters went to an all girl school, and I attended a Jesuit Prep School [even as I type and proofread that sentence, it sounds much more glamorous, elitist, pretentious than it actually was]).

We went to Mass on Sundays.

Like a lot of other kids who are raised Catholic (raised in any religion, really), the mandatory customs and traditions of Catholicism weren't necessarily what we looked forward to every week, month, season, year. Giving up things for Lent wasn't at the top of anyone's "Favorite Things to Do" list. Nor was Ash Wednesday, yearly confessions, prayer groups... you get the idea (I did like going to Soup Wednesdays at Dolan Hall and Fish Fridays at the O'Callaghan Center during Lent, but that's just because I got to play with other kids).

Mass on Sundays was no different. Yes, we had to go. No, it wasn't particularly enjoyable.

Did I mention my dad is a genius? Because he is, as evidenced by his explanation for why we need to go to Mass on Sundays.

Not because it's the Lord's Day. Not because it's a sin if we don't. We go to Mass on Sundays...

... to slow down.

Because our lives are always moving so fast, endlessly fast, never a moment to enjoy it fast, drive for an hour in traffic on the 60 then the 10 then exit Vermont and head north to Venice where you make a left to make it to school by 8:10 so you won't get detention fast, 9 to 5 and collect that paycheck so you can pay the bills fast, wake the baby and get him dressed before feeding him breakfast so you can rush him to the car and drop him off at Kindercare fast, rush to the A or C or E and get off on 42nd and 8th so you can put your name in at the Newsies lottery and get those $30 tickets fast... It's really, really, really, unfortunately, forgettably, regrettably... fast.

But Mass on Sundays helps you slow down. It's 2 hours of ritual. Stand, sit, stand, sit, stand, sit, stand, kneel, stand, kneel, walk, kneel, sit, stand (and, yes, that's an accurate recap of an actual Mass). Say hi to your friends afterwards, how was your week, how are the kids, what have you got going on...

You slow down. And hopefully reflect on how your life is going. And throw in some thankful for how great you've got it. And possibly some this is what I've got to work on.

Slow. Down.

And I don't think that it has to be Mass or it has to be Sunday or it has to be Catholic or it has to be anything but your own... and we could all use some time in our lives to slow down.

Did I mention my dad is a genius?

Playing the Lottery

... is like going to the beach, picking up a grain of sand, and hoping that your grain of sand is the one that gets picked.

One of my dad's mentors told him that. You were a wise, wise man, Chat.

I played the lottery tonight. Along with millions of other people. The jackpot was $640 million, which is a mind-blowing, outrageous, unthinkably obnoxious amount of money. $640 million doesn't just change your life. It changes the course of your entire bloodline. Every single branch on your family tree is affected for generations to come. And from what? Hard work? Blood, sweat, tears, effort, and the will to get ahead? Nope... You picked a grain of sand and got lucky.

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Another wise man (or woman) said that. I don't know who, but they knew what they were talking about. Just take a look at this article from the Huffington Post. Suffering "social ostracization, destitution, suicide and other tragic outcomes..."? I'll stick to working for a paycheck...

Of course, I didn't win, so maybe this is all just sour grapes...

Like a Moth to a Flame

I remember the first time I realistically and actually and wholeheartedly and emotionally felt drawn to start or join a band.

June 8, 2001. Chain Reaction in Anaheim. I was at a bonfire in Laguna Beach with my UCI hallmates from Cumbre, and a couple friends mentioned they were going to see Ozma. I was first introduced to Ozma earlier that year when I saw them open up for Weezer down in La Jolla.

So, I hopped in the car with my friends, and we took a super circuitous route to get to Anaheim from Laguna Beach. 73 North to the 55 North to the 91 West to the 57 South to the 5 North. We were outside of the venue about 45 minutes after we left Laguna. When I think about it, it’s kinda weird the things you remember… (like freeways taken to a concert…)

We didn’t have tickets and there was no one walking into the venue so we assumed it was sold out. Then one of my friends walked up to the ticket box and asked and yes there were tickets would you like one, um, yes, yes, we would, thank you. Enter venue. Smelly, sweaty, sticky, superb. It was the first “real” show I had ever been to. Pushing through the crowd to get to the stage. Elbows in the back. Shoulders to the chin. Soaking shirts rubbing against raw skin. And I fell in love with it, with the whole experience, with the sights and the sounds and the sounds and the sounds and the smells and the sounds and the feeling of a sweat soaked shirt making you shiver in the breeze but mostly with the sounds...


I was already messing around with some buddies, playing guitar, writing songs, but now the vision was crystallized into a vision. Get up on that stage and make other people sweaty through the power of your music and your energy and your presence...


God, what a great night...

Rhythm

There's a rhythm to New York City. And, no, I'm not talking about the Barry Manilow song...

I mean that there's a cadence to how the people walk the streets, how the subway comes and goes through each station, how the rickshas and horse drawn carriages travel through Central Park, how the Broadway patrons flood out into the streets after each show, how the taxi cabs weave in and out of traffic, how the street vendors call out to you and move on to the next passerby once you've snubbed them, how the locals acknowledge you as a tourist because you're out of rhythm...

And, yes. Tourists are out of rhythm... not just in Times Square or SoHo or Central Park. Tourists everywhere are out of rhythm. Tourists at Disneyland. At the beach. In Hollywood. And it's a beautiful thing because being out of rhythm is being out of your comfort zone and the only way you can truly grow is to be outside of your comfort zone.

That's the beauty of traveling. You learn so much (if you're actually paying attention) when you travel. You step outside your bubble, you expose yourself to different customs and traditions and rhythms of life, and you can't help but become a different version of yourself through this exposure.

I wish I could travel more. And benefit from experiencing life beyond my own apartment, neighborhood, town, city, county, state, country... Because I want to learn and I want to be shaped by those experiences.

Thank you for a beautiful first anniversary trip, New York City. I hope I see you again very soon...

Tired in the morning...

... and wide awake at night.

Why is the grass always greener? Why do opposites attract? Why are you tired when work needs to get done and energetic when there's nothing to do?

More NYC shenanigans today. Great brunch at Barrio Chino with Emily and Nate. We missed out on two lotteries (Newsies and Book of Mormon), but it was nice to be able to come back to the hotel and rest after dinner. And what a dinner! The View at the Marquis Marriott. Rotating restaurant!! Gnocchi, rib eye, potatoes, cheesecake... awesome. And filling. And I needed the walk to the subway station afterwards...

Tomorrow: sleeping in, Central Park lunch, MoMA, and Newsies. New York is beautiful...

Oh, yeah. Another iPhone post. And I need to keep doing push ups. And do I really want room service...?

Yes, I said I never would, but...

... I'm updating from my iPhone again.

So, sue me. I'm in New York, and I'm one of the seventy-three people age 30 or younger in America without a laptop. So, I'm updating from my iPhone.

Wow, I'm in New York. For my first anniversary. With the love of my life. And it's been a really amazing trip so far. Our first in over 4 years, which is all at once amazing and unbelievable and depressing and completely exhilarating!

Red eye flight was quick but uncomfy. Always woke up with a sore neck; could never get in a good sleeping position; slept for over 3/4 of the flight, but didn't really get any rest.

Landed at 5:40am. Took a cab to 60 Thompson, our swanky hotel in SoHo. This place is rad and hipster-y and totally way too cool for Rachel and I. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to enjoy the hell out of this amazingly comfortable king bed with its feathery pillows and sleep inducing sheets...

Slept in a bit, then woke up and hustled down to the Seaport TKTS. Navigating the subway system is like trying to learn a new language. I wish SoCal had a subway system, but it's way too spread out. It is very liberating to walk and take trains everywhere though. I'd probably be way more healthy, too. We decided to get Jesus Christ Superstar tickets even though it's still in previews.

Train back to SoHo. Picked up pizza and garlic knots for lunch and took it back to our room. Greasy, but serviceable. Watched TV and rested till we walked to Dylan Prime for dinner. It's a steakhouse in TriBeCa, and Rachel and I ate there 5 years ago, but it feels like it could have happened months ago...

Oh yeah. Collateral is a bomb movie, and Jamie Foxx is really good. What happened to that guy?

Train to JCS. Amazing show. Really liked Jesus and Judas killed it even though he was an understudy. I loved seeing how proud of Judas the rest of the cast was during bows. They were all congratulating him, and you got the feeling that he was a great young actor that paid his dues and was finally getting his big chance. And he did so well, you couldn't help but be happy for him.

Long day planned tomorrow. Newsies lottery, brunch with Emily and Nate, a matinee?, a night show?, dinner at the View rotating restaurant in Times Square, drinks with a good friend of Rachel's that she hasn't seen in years. Long day, can't wait!!

Leaving on a jet plane...

... and I know exactly when I'll be back again.

Leave for NYC with Rachel tomorrow night. I like that phrase "leave for...". It makes us sound like we're going to Oregon Trail it across the country and face the perils of the open wilderness and dodge herds of bison and escape the clutches of dysentery... Can you believe I've never actually played Oregon Trail?

I love New York. I love Rachel and I in New York. Times Square. The Subway (and subsequently, getting lost on the subway...). Broadway shows. Amazing restaurants. Such a different pace from California. People move with purpose, which is interpreted as "people are rude." No, bro. They just know what they need to do and would rather not have your tourist ass in the way...

It's our one year anniversary on March 27th, next Tuesday. It doesn't feel like a year. It feels longer. It feels shorter. It hasn't been perfect, but it has been amazing, and I am the luckiest man in the world (cue cheesy music and doves being released and running towards each other on the beach...)

Time to sleep. Then... NYC tomorrow night!!!