Gracie

We lost Gracie Friday, Dec. 8, nearly 14 years to the day after she entered our lives.

She was a Christmas gift from Courtney, just a few months after I graduated college and moved to Charlotte. She was 1 or 2. The shelter called her Hannah, but she didn’t answer that so we changed her name to Gracie.

The first full day I had her, she ran away and I chased her around the neighborhood for hours, scared out of my mind she would run to one of the many busy roads around my apartment complex. The first time I left her at home while I went to work, she completely destroyed my bathroom. The first few nights, I’m not sure she slept. Every time I woke up, I found her at the door staring at me, unsure about this new human who brought her home but didn’t seem to have a clue what he was doing.

But I won her over, eventually.

Gracie had been with me essentially my entire adult life. For a few years, it was just me and her in a small apartment. She was there as I started my career, while I tried to make a long-distance relationship work (spoiler: it worked out great) and figured out how to be an adult (still working on that).

She was there when Courtney moved back to Charlotte – with a cat, no less. Neither of us were happy about that at first.

Gracie was there when we got married and moved into our first house. We built a fence so she had room to run sprints. She “treed” a raccoon on top of the shed one time, the only true hunting instincts I ever saw out of the treeing walker coonhound. Normally she was sweet, timid, wary of men, terrified of loud noises and scared of any animal that showed the least amount of dominance, regardless of size or type.

She also escaped that backyard – twice. The first time, she was gone two nights and Courtney and I were in a panic. Thanks to some incredible neighbors, we found her just a few streets away, scared and confused and happy to see us. She’d been spooked by fireworks and apparently got disoriented as she ran away.

The second time, she was gone one night. I found her the next morning as I was going to hang up signs, casually walking down the street by our house. I called her name, she looked over and – if a dog could shrug – shrugged as if to say, “Yeah, sure, I guess I’ll come home now. I’ve had my fun.”

She figured out how to escape her crate and her harness. She never figured out how to walk calmly on a leash.

Gracie was there when we bought our first house, and she was there six years later when we undertook a year-long renovation project that temporarily took away her backyard, where she loved exploring and lounging in the sun.

She was there when we had Eleanor. And Amelia. She was immediately protective of them, and exceedingly patient with them as they aggressively showed her love. She loved them – especially when they had snacks. They loved their Gracie Girl.

She was there for all of it. Gracie was with me through the most eventful years of my life. And I miss her so much.

The magic of your old iTunes library

A few weeks ago, my wife and I were looking for a specific Iron & Wine song. Actually, we were looking for a live recording of a specific Iron & Wine song. Actually, we were looking for a specific live recording of a specific Iron & Wine song.

And we couldn’t find it. Definitely not on Spotify, and not even in the depths of YouTube shaky phone recordings. We found other studio and live recordings of the specific song, but not the one we wanted. This one was different. It was special. It was beautiful. And none of the other versions quite captured the magic.

It was as if it didn’t exist. But it did. We both remembered it, and even college friends we texted remembered it.

And this is when I realized something: As amazing as it is to have a vast library of music in my pocket at all times thanks to Spotify, there’s a magic to the curated music libraries we built in the Before Times that it can never match.

I obsessed over my iTunes library in college. There were no “Unknown Aritst” listings in my library. Every file was meticulously categorized, named and organized. Even the ones that were possibly/maybe collected in a not-quite-above-board way, I went into each file and added the necessary metadata. (Oh, to have that kind of free time again.)

I curated playlists for parties. I thoughtfully burned CDs for friends. (In the peak of my college hubris, I burned one called “If Jesus Had a Stereo” and gave it to my new girlfriend at the time — and she still married me. I recently found that CD, and it’s a wild ride through 19 songs.)

When Spotify came along, I forgot all about that iTunes library. I thought I had everything I needed right there in the app. Any song that I had on my iPod classic I could find on streaming. Or so I thought. Until I went looking for that specific live recording of that specific Iron & Wine song.

That’s when I realized the magic of those locally stored libraries. Of having music that you own, that’s yours. Music that Spotify or a record label can’t take away. (There’s one song on “If Jesus Had a Stereo” that just doesn’t exist on Spotify, even though the band who created it has a verified page on there. I guess they just decided this album — which I loved — didn’t need to be on streaming.)

Sure, I still have my CD collection and a rack of vinyl, but those pale in comparison to the gigabytes of music I had on my iTunes library.

The computer I had right out of college doesn’t work anymore. The kids use it as a toy. And the hard drive I used to back up my music died years ago. My iPod Classic was stolen out of my car as well. So I thought this music was gone forever.

But earlier this week, in a last-ditch effort to find that specific live recording of that specific Iron & Wine song, I pulled out my wife’s old external hard drive. I dug through layer after layer of folders, realized I had, at some point, backed up my iTunes library on her drive … and there it was. The specific live recording of the specific Iron & Wine song, exactly as we remembered it. And it was beautiful.

So I went down a rabbit hole. How can I make sure I can always access those very specific songs that don’t exist anywhere else?

Now I’m creating a Plex server and figuring out how to get an always-on computer hooked into my router so I can stream that specific live recording of that specific Iron & Wine song whenever I want.

If I ever get it successfully set up, won’t you please remember me … happily.

First Time Dad

Before I became a dad I had a lot of questions. So did Andrew Au. And he decided to do something about it.

In each episode of the “First Time Dad” web series, Andrew picks the brain of a fellow dad, learning all he can before the birth of his son.

He invited me on to talk about social media and why my wife and I decided not to post photos of our daughter. Watch the video below.

It’s refreshing to see dads talking about dad stuff. Watch the rest of the series here.

Bonus cut!

Walter Franklin Inscoe Jr.

My grandfather, Walter Franklin Inscoe Jr. (PawPaw to me), died on July 4 of this year. He’ll be laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery this week, just a few days after Veterans Day.

I couldn’t think of two better days to celebrate the life of PawPaw, who retired as a Chief Master Sergeant in the Air Force after serving in World War II, Korea and Vietnam, and was the most patriotic man I’ve ever known.

He lived an incredible life. I could fill a book with all of the adventures he had in his 91 years. I went on a road trip across the country with him and my sister when I was in college. (You can read about those adventures here.) He bowled (well) and played cornhole (really well) right through his 90th birthday. It seemed like nothing could stop PawPaw, right up until a brain tumor did.

I think about him all the time, and I miss him terribly.

I was honored to speak at his memorial service in Wilson, North Carolina. Below is a draft of the eulogy I delivered. I did my best to capture how much he meant to his family and friends. I hope I did him proud.

PawPaw, my grandfather, lived 91 years full of joy, love and adventure. When I was trying to figure out what to say about him today, I thought about what stories I’d tell my daughter, his great granddaughter, Eleanor, when she gets older.

I’ll tell her how he lied about his age to join the Navy at 15 years old, and served his country for 30 years, during World War II, Korea and Vietnam. I’ll tell her about the Bronze Star and numerous other awards be won.

I’ll also tell her how he won his first car, a 1937 Chevy, in a game of blackjack. He always had a thing for cars. Later in life, he had a habit of taking his beloved Cadillac in for an oil change or some minor repair and coming back with a brand new Cadillac. I long ago lost count of how many Cadillacs he owned.

I’ll tell her that he only made it through seventh grade but he was one of the smartest men I ever met. Pick a subject and he could talk intelligently about it. Sports, politics, history – you name it. You had to be careful, though, because he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. He didn’t mince words. If he didn’t like something, he told you. But it was always out of love.

And when he set his mind on something, he was determined to do it. I was going to visit him while he was in the hospital in Chapel Hill and my dad called and told me to meet him in the waiting room, not PawPaw’s room. I walked in and there was PawPaw, in his gown, sitting in the waiting room eating breakfast.

He was tired of being in his room, so he got up, grabbed his little IV cart and walked out, didn’t care what anyone had to say about it. The doctors and nurses had to come to him.

I’ll tell her about how when I was little I loved NASCAR so PawPaw painted a race car track on a big piece of plywood so I could race my little die cast cars around it, one by one.

I’ll tell her about the road trip my sister, Madison, and I took with PawPaw in 2008, the summer after MawMaw died. We spent a month driving across the country, down to Texas, all the way up California, and through Montana and South Dakota. We took a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon, saw Mount Rushmore and walked all over Chicago and Seattle. But we also saw the places he used to live, met old friends and learned about his life. It was such a special trip, and I’ll treasure those memories forever.

Oh, and he won $100 at a casino in Las Vegas, so clearly those blackjack skills never went away.

I’ll tell her how he was still bowling and working out at the Y and playing cornhole just about every day at 90 years old. And he was good at cornhole, too. He’d beat me bad every time we played, and he let me know it.

More than anything, though, I’ll tell her how much he cared about his friends and his family, and how much they cared about him. Soon after he got sick, he told me he was surprised by how many people were calling him, checking up on him and bringing him food. But I wasn’t. He has touched so many lives. As one of his friends told me just last night, he’s one in a million.

I feel lucky that he was my grandfather. And I think everyone who met him feels lucky to be a part of his life in some way.

I’m so, so glad he got to meet his great granddaughter, and I can’t wait to tell her all of these stories about him.

One last thing: About four years ago, I gave PawPaw a little book for Christmas. It basically asks a lot of questions about his life, and he answered them and gave it back to me. One of the questions asked about his favorite holiday. He wrote, “July 4 was always special to me.” Well now it’s even more special, because it’s the day he got to go up to heaven and meet our Lord.

CharlotteFive: Why you won’t see photos of my baby all over social media

Read my latest piece about why I rarely (if ever) post photos of my daughter on social media in the Jan. 10 edition of CharlotteFive:

My daughter, Eleanor, just turned 5 months old a couple of weeks ago. You wouldn’t know it by looking at my Facebook, Twitter or Instagram accounts, though. Same if you looked at my wife’s accounts.

In her nearly half a year of life, exactly three photos of Eleanor have been posted on Facebook – one of just her hand the day she was born and two family photos, all posted by me. That’s it. And it’ll probably be a while before I post another one.

It’s not because I haven’t been taking any photos. Believe me, I have, and have the dwindling phone memory to prove it.

And it’s not because I don’t want to show her off. Man, do I want to show her off. She’s beautiful and observant and has the most amazing facial expressions and the most ridiculous hair that goes from blond to dark brown midway down the back of her head, like she decided to bleach the business half of her mullet.

Read the rest on CharlotteFive.com.

Twenty seventeen

Twenty seventeen was a dumpster fire of a year for many people for many reasons I’m not going to get into here. You know what I’m talking about: the avalanche of terrible, awful, no good things that made us all dread – or avoid – looking at the news each day.

That’s what will define 2017 for some. Not me. I’m choosing to remember the good moments and the joy, the positive changes.

This is what I will remember about 2017:

Walking my sister down the aisle and watching her marry a good man who cares deeply about her, and gaining a brother.

Showing up to a bar four hours early to watch basketball games with friends in March, then cheering/crying/hugging strangers when Luke hit the shot and a doing it again a few days later when the Tar Heels cut down the nets.

Celebrating my grandfather’s 90th birthday, marveling at the impact he has had on so many people, and hoping I can be even half as good a man as him.

Feeling the excitement (and fear) of starting a new job after eight years with the same company, the first company I worked for out of college. Change can be hard, but also good.

Getting the keys to our first house, and knowing this is the home our family will grow up in.

Hearing my baby girl cry (scream, really) at 10:07 p.m. July 29. Meeting Eleanor. Knowing that my life would never be the same; it would be better.

Some news …

By now you may have already heard, but I figured I should use this woefully under-utilized blog to make an official announcement: I have accepted a new job. My last day with CharlotteFive and the Charlotte Observer was Wednesday.

I got hired at the Observer eight years ago, just a few months after graduating from UNC Chapel Hill. I owe the people there a ton. I leave the Observer a better writer, journalist and person because of the guidance, kindness and wisdom of the amazing people I worked with there. They took a chance on me and gave me the opportunity to do so many great things. I’m proud of the work I did there and proud of the people who are still at the Observer, fighting the good fight.

The new job isn’t with a media organization. It feels weird to leave journalism, but I’m really excited about this new opportunity. It’s with a great company and I’m looking forward to being a part of that team.

I hope to keep writing, so don’t be surprised if you see my byline around. And I’ll definitely still be sharing my random thoughts on Twitter. If you want to get in touch, fire an email to coreyinscoe@gmail.com.

Thanks to everyone who has helped me along the way, to all the people who read and supported CharlotteFive, and to all the amazing people I had the chance to meet.

I’m taking a few days off to spend time with my family before diving into this new adventure Monday. In the meantime, here’s what I wrote for my final C5 newsletter intro:

I wrote my first CharlotteFive newsletter April 29, 2015. I talked about my love for “Pitch Perfect” and wrote a story about a cheesy 1980s Belk ad. I ended the newsletter with “Keep it real today.” Super creative.

Two and a half years later, this is the last C5 newsletter I will write. Don’t worry — CharlotteFive isn’t going anywhere. I’m the one leaving.

C5 gave me the opportunity to do so many amazing things and meet so many interesting people. I interviewed Cam Newton and watched Katie race the streetcar. I got to the bottom of that crazy sign in Uptown, and got made fun of by the lead singer of Third Eye Blind. And it was so much fun.

I want to thank you, the readers, for allowing me to be a part of your morning routine. It’s been thrilling to watch this community of smart, caring and thoughtful C5ers grow, and I’m excited to see that growth continue. I love how much y’all care about this city.

For the past few years I’ve gotten to work with the most incredible people. The C5 team is truly one-of-a-kind: Intelligent, funny, a little crazy and, most of all, immensely talented. They made it fun to come into the office every day and I can’t wait to see what amazing things they do next. I’m going to miss them so, so much. But it’s time for a new adventure.

If you want to keep reading my failed attempts at being funny and my neighborhood hot takes, you can find me on Twitter.

And I won’t be going far. I’ll still be in Charlotte, reading CharlotteFive every morning. So don’t be surprised if you see me at a brewery — baby and dog in tow.

Corey Inscoe

Writer. Podcast Maker. Creative Leader.

Category: Blog