Originally posted August 23rd, 2006
By Michael Konik
Instead of the customary suit and tie, imagine a hockey coach who wears skates and kneepads to NHL games. Imagine an NBA coach who wears baggy shorts and sleeveless shirts to the arena. Imagine an NFL coach pacing the sidelines in shoulderpads and a helmet.
The notion seems absurd. But that doesn’t stop managers of Major League Baseball teams from donning extra-large versions of their team’s uniform, replete with logo cap and knee socks. Never mind that most of these fellows are a few pounds above their former playing weight, or that many of them are approaching Social Security eligibility. They dress as though they’re ready to fill in at second base should the Dominican dude in his twenties chip a nail.
What’s weird about the coach’s garb is the lack of utility. Baseball managers ought to wear a safari jacket-photographer’s vest hybrid, something with lots of pockets, from which . . . → Read More: Curious Uniforms
Originally posted June 30th, 2006
By Michael Konik
My beautiful mother, Renice Konik, turns 65 today. She’s now officially a senior citizen.
I would suggest, however, that if you didn’t have access to her government-issued identification — or a Web page trumpeting the fact — you wouldn’t guess that this vibrant, vivacious lass is eligible for Social Security (and bargain matinees). My mom continues to teach elementary school, where, far from being considered “Old Lady Konik, the Dour Ogre,” she’s lauded as the most inventive and creative pedant in the building. Her classroom, which has as many animals in it as books and inspiring epigrams, radiates the spirit of curiosity, and her students can’t be bored no matter how hard they try. There’s just too much to do and process and question. Plus, the youngsters must take care not to let their guards down. Fair and balanced be damned: Mrs. Konik does her best to brainwash their susceptible . . . → Read More: Happy Birthday, Renice Konik
Mother’s are like dogs: Everybody thinks his is the best.
Unless we’re living in billions of parallel universes, everyone having the best mom (or dog) is impossible. So I would like to clear up any confusion surrounding this question and set the matter straight. It is I alone who have the best mom in the world.
Sorry. I’m just a lucky guy.
Now, I’m big-hearted enough to recognize the lovely and endearing qualities all the other mom’s out there possess, and I’m gladdened to know that countless sons and daughters enjoy something approaching the satisfaction I enjoy. Nothing in life matches a mother’s love and affection, her concern and care, her passion for her children. Maternal nurturing is one of the brightest forces in the known universe, and all of us fortunate enough to have a mother to guide us and protect us know the beauty and hopefulness of that . . . → Read More: My Mom
My father died some time ago. (It will be two years in August). I can’t hug him, or call him on the telephone, or walk with him. But I often feel he’s still with me, and not just in memory.
Every day I see photos of his handsome face in my office, and on the refrigerator, and in the dining room. Sometimes I say, “Hi, Daddy,” to the images, knowing they aren’t him but suspecting somehow that he hears me.
Nearly every day mail comes to the house addressed to him. More than 20 months after his death, the mailing list administrators at woodworking catalogues, automobile magazines, and life insurance sellers — a little late, guys! — continue to send my dad their pitches, as though brute persistence might change the irreversibility of his circumstances.
At least a few times a week I wear an article of clothing that was . . . → Read More: Daddy’s Still Here
Originally posted August 15th, 2005
By Michael Konik
When I was a child, once a year my family would conduct what my uncle, the Marxist, called “the great purge.” We would cull from our closets old clothes and other unwanted stuff, and make a giant charitable donation to Goodwill Industries, a local organization aiding the developmentally disabled. There was a sense of cleansing, of renewal as we stuffed worn jeans into plastic trash bags. Letting go of unneeded possessions instantly created new space, new possibilities, and soon thereafter these spaces would be claimed by fresh clothes, slightly larger than the old ones and more in tune with whatever the fashion key was at the moment.
I still try to execute a great purge once a year, though I’m finding as I grow older that the fewer clothes I have the happier I am with my closet. Where the concept of clearance-and-renewal is most compelling to me these days . . . → Read More: Gardening
Originally posted April 8th, 2004
By Michael Konik
A study published this month in Pediatrics magazine suggests that toddlers who watch TV risk attention problems, including difficulty concentrating, acting restless and impulsive, and being easily confused.
This discovery won’t come as news to my parents, who raised me on a strict diet of one hour of TV during the school week. At the time, of course, I resented the fascist restrictions on my youthful desires. While other kids at school were talking about The Fonz and Laverne and Shirley, I nodded dumbly and pretended I was in on the joke. And though I would beg Mom and Dad to let me vegetate in front of the glowing screen like most of my classmates, they were adamant that I would be better off reading a book, drawing a picture, or constructing an elaborate fantasy game with my brother.
In retrospect, I’m grateful for my parents’ Draconian TV regulations. I became a . . . → Read More: To Mom and Dad: Thanks!
We're really sorry about our most recent trading loss. People will say we require more oversight, and, in this case, maybe they're right. It shouldn't have happened, and we'll take steps to make sure it doesn't happen for a third time.
The $4,000 or so ($4,882) of your money that we failed to bring back from our annual company trip to Hollywood Park Racetrack and Casino will in... Read More-->
If you’re reading this essay on MichaelKonik.com, you know that this is a reliable place to find “me,” the me who shares his ideas with the world, whether or not any part of the world is interested. This is where I unilaterally invade my privacy, allowing strangers...
North Korea is launching rockets, Syria is slaughtering its citizens, and the Filipino community is organizing a massive get-out-the-vote campaign for a crucial election (not for something boring and unimportant like a public office but a cause that’s got folks passionately engaged: the American Idol finals). So...
Sometimes our chaotic, unknowable, seemingly random Universe arranges itself with perfect symmetry. In these moments of bracing clarity, authored by a Creator (in whatever guise or nomenclature you prefer) whose sense of irony is matched only by her/his/its sense of wicked humor, our innate foolishness and learned...
Poet Robert Pinsky. Pianist Laurence Hobgood. Text, music, and the moment -- what we hear on the new POEMJAZZ recording is two giant artists making something greater than the sum of its parts. While Pinsky recites his lovely words with his unlovely (but weirdly attractive) voice, Hobgood, the longtime arranger and accompanist [...]
