"Hey, beats the alternative..."

I had a birthday last week.....my fifty fourth to be exact. Hey man, it just happened. No hoopla. Did my radio show in the morning. Went to work....came home. A friend took me out to dinner a few days before. Got a couple of wishes the day of. I'm not good at mentioning my birthday. I don't like a fuss...... I think. But you know that feeling you get...... that by the end of the day if your birthday hasn't really "happened" you get a little depressed? I've been lucky. I've had all kinds of birthdays. A couple of surprise parties...three .....and one I even helped plan. Not my idea. The other two I suspected strongly. Had a heart stopper one time. When I moved from Plainfield to Piscataway in eighth grade my pal Jimmy Lyons (no relation) threw me a humdinger. Not birthday related but still a tongue swallower. It almost didn't come off 'cause he was having a heck of a time getting me to his house. But he pulled it off. Alright Jimmy.

This last one I had a solo gig the day after. It was at a cabin in the woods of Hunterdon County that an organization called The Arc turns into a coffeehouse once every few months. It's a wonderful room for a bash. Nice wood floor....cool stage...great acoustics. Reminiscent of any "sock hop" you ever went to. (Did I just write....sock hop?) They bus the crowd in so it's empty ten minutes before showtime, then packed for two hours, then empty ten minutes after showtime. I liken it to a Fellini movie. Nice crowd and the Arc folks are great. I was sitting there about an hour before....no one around....a lot of creaking and wind and cold. A wave of depression settled over me like a fur coat. And that's not me. But this time I wore the coat for awhile.... and then the buses pulled up, the music rolled, packed up, hung a little with the Arc folks and left feeling....satisfied. My father and I used to have this birthday ritual. I'd bust on him for getting old and he'd say, " Hey, beats the alternative." Amen. I've come to terms with"the alternative." I never bought into the whole punishment, burn in hell thing. You're telling me, (I'm talking to all my old Catholic school teachers now) that if I missed church on Sunday I'm gonna burn in hell for eternity? ETERNITY!!!! That's a long time! And this from a God who loves us. Could you imagine...... But I love watching a good Sunday preacher. Not because I buy into it, I just enjoy the snake oil salesman part. A good chunk of the message resonates. It's just the messenger I'm not too sure of. How 'bout Jimmy Swaggart? Now that's entertainment. He brought his message with a sountrack. What a great band...and all Peavey equipment. He's a cousin to Jerry Lee Lewis and Mickey Gilley. Unfortunately he had a little trouble in a hotel room somewhere down south but hey.... we're only human. That's the problem with too much finger pointing. Eventually it points back. There's a guy out there that I kinda like named Joel Osteen. He wrote a book, "Your Best Life Now." He's a Sunday preacher who doesn't bible thump a whole lot and just has a positive message. Give a little. Be good to your friends, neighbors, kids.....and stay positive. I'll buy that. Now don't disappoint me down the road, Joel. "Fame....I'm gonna live forever........."

But you know what's even better than celebrating your birthday? Celebrating the birthday of someone you really care about with that someone. Getting the right gift....the right restaurant....hotel....B&B......HAAAAA-AAAAAAY!!!!!! Nothin' better.

Y' know, I like being fifty four. Everything about it. I like "now." I like current music, my current job, women my own age, where I live, friends my own age. Hopefully all of these things will move to the next level...SOON!!! Reflection is good....necessary. But you don't want to be Patty Duke in "Valley of the Dolls" wandering around a bar trying to convince people that you used to be somebody. Of course, first you have to be somebody so that won't be a concern for most of us.

I got together with a couple of old friends over the weekend. We played some old songs, laughed about old times, drank some old....er...cold beer, ate, belched.....all the stuff guys do when they're on their own. Man, I'm glad I went..... almost didn't. There's nothing better than being around people you have a history with. You can't get away with anything.

Birthdays. Ain't they a kick in the butt? "Talkin 'bout my generation", "When I'm sixty four", "Don't trust anyone over thirty"..... HA!! "One for my baby...and one more for the road." Friends....family. ....dogs....cats. "In my life....I've loved you all."

That's Right......I'm Bad

Attitude. You can have attitude without confidence, but confidence begets attitude. How 'bout that? "Young man, you'd better change your attitude"...... "Boy, that chick's got an attitude".......Mr T.... BA..... Bad attitude. I learned early on that attitude can make or break you.

I went to St Mary's Grammar School, Plainfield NJ, in the late fifties and early sixties. Plainfield, like the rest of the country, was feeling the beginnings of social unrest. Here was my plight. From about third grade on I used to walk home from school.....about a mile or so. The problem was that students from Hubbard Junior HS and Plainfield HS were walking in the opposite direction..and they didn't seem to like me too much. Maybe it was the uniform, but everyday it was something. Spit on, robbed, punched or just harassed. I got pretty good at smelling trouble and knowing escape routes. Did you ever see the Seinfeld where George discovers that if he walks around looking angry and agitated all day no one bothers him. It works!! If trouble was coming my way I'd kind of look down...not away.....and mumble to myself. If anybody said anything I'd give them my Elvis sneer and a look that said, "Hey, I got no time for you, pal!", pick up the pace a little and keep an eye out for a convenient escape route. I'd be dealing with this every day so I was used to it, but about half the time a friend or two would be with me and they'd be a little nervous. If a "situation" was developing they'd say, "Teddy, do the Rin Tin Tin story." I don't remember the story now but I'd start talking and gesturing and they'd all be listening intently, apparantly oblivious to anything else and we'd usually skate. Attitude.

It got to the point where I'd abandoned the escape routes, except in dire circumstances, and instead used guile, cunning, chutzpah and, of course, attitude. I found that a bloody lip is preferable to that feeling you get in your stomach when you cut and run. But a good escape from a no win situation can also bring a bit of satisfaction...discretion being the better part of valor. I remember so clearly a snowball throwing incident. This was after I'd moved to Piscataway and my cohorts and I had just unloaded and were getting ready to fly. For some reason I didn't run. I stood my ground on the frozen outfield of the Knollwood School baseball field and watched my friends take off, their frozen breath in the air spelling the words, "Move it, jackass." I wasn't coming this time. Don't know why. The first pursuer flew by me and here came his pal right behind him. I wasn't looking for a fight. When you're fourteen and the competition is seventeen or eighteen you try to avoid that. I was simply gonna adopt a certain attitude and explain to the gentleman that we merely....WHAM!!!!! Y' know, Daffy Duck was right. You really do see stars. The next thing I knew my buddies were standing over me laughing hysterically. They'd escaped and I had a fat lip. But I didn't have that feeling in my stomach

You've heard the term "adrenaline rush." D'ja ever feel it? It is so cool. There are bushes and fences I've leapt in the back yards of Plainfield and Piscataway that I never could have cleared without the big A. I've outrun guys on the football field who should have caught me but for the surge. It's like your body goes into fifth gear....like an angel is giving you a gentle push and lift. It's really very spititual. As adults we usually don't get a chance to experience a good adrenaline rush. Or if we do, once again it's in dire circumstances. Clear! Clear!

One of my favorite expressions is "pick your battles." This just means make sure it's worth it. Do you really want to argue with the grocer over how he's bagging? Or with your girlfriend 'cause she's ten minutes late? Maybe you do. You could be arguing with everybody all day. C'mon! And most times you can avoid a situation with...attitude. Y'know who had attitude? Superman. Not George Reeve, the TV Superman, or, as far as I could tell, the comic book

Superman..... but the Saturday morning cartoon Superman. My father and I would watch George Reeve and be amazed that all he did was put on a business suit and a pair of glasses and everyone was fooled. But the cartoon Superman lowered his voice, adopted a swagger, did the little hair thing and look out bad guys. Apparantly the radio Superman's whole persona was attitude. Makes sense.

I have a profound respect for men like Martin Luther King, Gandhi.....Jesus.. They knew they were in for a whuppin' but faced it without raising a hand. Passive resistance. The biggest man with the biggest club can't beat that. I don't think I would have had the nerve to walk with a group of demonstrators down a Selma street in the sixties. That takes a certain breed. People with foresight, a ton of guts, a feeling of "right" and, of course, attitude. The people with the hoses....the clubs...the dogs....knew they couldn't fight that attitude for long. If you've never seen the movie "Braveheart", rent it. Everyone has fear. Some just cover it better than others.

I've sat in with a lot of different bands or played by myself over the years in situations where I knew I wasn't

as prepared as I should have been but attitude's always pulled me through. Show no fear! (this works with angry dogs, too) I used to say faking it, but that's not really it. It has to be in there somewhere or you wouldn't have put yourself in that situation to start with. You take a deep breath, chug on through and when it's over, whatever the result, you won't have that feeling in your stomach. Everyone's got hurdles to clear, some larger than others. But they're usually not insurmountable, nor as high as they look. Attitude. Anybody here......seen my old friend Martin?

If you LOOK like you know what you're doin'......

A few years back two pals and I had a band called The Firecreek Band. Not a great band, but mobile, huge repertoire, and an easygoing familiarity that kept egos in check and brawls to a minimum. We were together darn near twenty years, on and off. Side projects would split us up for awhile but sooner or later the call to action would come. Lots of interesting times with those boys. We played a lot! My friend Tom, whom I met while I was playing with the aforementioned Freewheelin, checked out in '98. Way too young. He used to come see the band....yadda, yadda......Firecreek was hatched.

But this isn't about Tom, or Firecreek, but about confidence. In the early eighties we were lucky enough to get a two month gig in Bermuda. Ever been to Bermuda? Perfect. Expensive.....but perfect. We were playing at a place called The Robin Hood Pub. John Lennon used to hang out there while he was living in Bermuda working on Double Fantasy. The title comes from a flower in the Bermuda Botanical Gardens. Many a break time we'd sit in the "John Lennon " booth and.....contemplate. The movie "The Deep" was filmed there. The manager of the pub got a gig working as a gofer on the set.....and picking up Jacqueline Bissett every morning. I wish I could tell you more about that. Nick Nolte would get snockered and sit on the front steps of The Robin Hood and cry. Yeah......good times! My point........ah....confidence.

Right around the time we were playing there the Men At Work song "Down Under" came out and was huge. A guy who would hang out at the Pub soon started bartending there and we got pretty close with him.....a real likeable sort. We'd be messing around with "Down Under" and Grant would kind of be singing along and we finally convinced him to get up and sing it on stage with us. Hell, everybody else was! The first time he snuck up and hung around the back of the stage with his back to the audience...barely audible. But he got a great response 'cause everyone loved him. We were playing six nights a week and the Grant thing would happen almost every night. It would start with one or two people doing the "Grant Chant" and soon the place would be rockin' and we'd have no choice but to kick it in. The Robin Hood was more of a locals place but the cruise ships would dock two blocks away and baby give me a roomful of happy tourists egged on by happier Bermudians to make the night move. Grant was a phenom. Enter....confidence.

Grant would let the first couple of half hearted "Grant Chants" go over his head and just keep serving. When the chant hit its stride at some point, an unspoken thing would happen between us and Grant. We knew it was time and "um..dada...um da....um dada." But Grant.....MAH MAN!!!!!!!! First he'd put on his shades. Then he'd walk...no....strut to the stage......slowly......., snatch the mike off the stand and command the front of the stage as the crowd would go wild! Some comments to the room, maybe an intro of the band and.... Elvis meet Sinatra meet David Lee Roth meet....Grant. So what happened? Feedback. Large, spontaneous, sincere feedback. I have a picture of this scene and I taped our last night there so now I have proof and you know what? It ain't all that great....but you really had to be there. 'Cause there...it was great. We encouraged him, the crowd encouraged him....the other bartenders weren't that crazy about it, but they rolled, and Grant became one with his confidence and did it, man.....and did it well!

It's amazing what a pat on the back, some positive reinforcement (sure...a little alcohol may have been involved), and confidence can do for a guy. You think you can.....you can! Most of the time, anyway. The lesson? Encourage!!!!! I don't know where I heard it, but I have, taped to my kitchen cabinet, the words, "The greatest risk is taking no risk at all." It's kind of become my mantra in the last few years. You know that feeling you get when you should have tried something..... and you didn't. Not for me, man. You rock, Grant!!!! Now pass me that vegemite sandwich.

Highway To Hell....er...heck

Music has been such a huge part of my life, from neighborhood shows, ala The Little Rascals, to a stint with the St. Mary's Boys Choir, to bands, bands, bands. My first "professional" band was with a with a group called The Wichita Straw Band, which quickly evolved into Freewhweelin'. That was when I dropped the guitar and started playing the bass.

It's amazing how little incidents.......a left here....a right there.....go out.....stay home.........can put such a spin on your life. The year was 1972. The place was Highway Music, East Brunswick, NJ.......closing time. Rock, Mike and I spent a lot of time that summer playing guitars, surfing, throwin' and going to keg parties......and enjoying everything that went along with that scene. Everybody and their sister played guitar but soon it came down to the three of us. We were actually working up set lists and considering giving this a shot. Flash to Highway Music. I'll be forever grateful to the sales guy for staying open a little later that night and letting us grab and play. Mike and Rock pulled a couple of guitars off the wall and for some reason.... I grabbed a bass. We plugged in, started playing Johnny B. Goode and I can't explain the ease and the comfort level I felt. You have to be able to recognize a good epiphany when it happens. They're rare. This one kicked me in the teeth. On the way home I was having a hard time explaining what had happened. I was dry mouthed, kind of stunned...remember your first kiss?........ yeah, like that. The next day I bought a Fender bass and about a month later a Fender Bassman amplifier . We got our old drummer from junior high school (I refer you to the "what's in a name" post) and stumbled through a few gigs. And you know what? Girls still liked musicians....even bad ones. YAAAAAYYY!!!!!!

Mike left and went to grad school, as did Ronnie, our drummer. We ran into Lew, a wonderful fiddler. Then Joe, another high school bud, joined us on guitar....a few starts and stutters...... and Freewheelin' was hatched. We played as a semi electric four piece for awhile until one night at a place called The Gypsy in Long Valley, NJ we recognized our future drummer.....Panama Ed......and had a pretty good run for a few years. We were lucky...old friends, liked the same kind of music, and the country rock scene was rollickin' in NJ at the time. We drove to gigs together, ate together, lived together. (It's amazing how quickly crabs can spread though a house) and still play together, in one form or another, every now and then. We'd always stick a few originals in the sets and some label interest developed. But the business end was not our strong suit. Agents would talk to us about tightening up the stage act or dressing better.....the music was fine....but.....we'd always glaze over at that point. Over the years we've thought we probably blew a golden opportunity. But the truth is...better bands than us have come and gone and always will. No regrets.

Freewheelin's last gig was at The Red Fox Inn in New Brunswick, NJ. I thought.... ok.... I got this out of my system, now it's back to school and reality. Well, wouldn't you know. During the night a woman comes up to me, tells me she's a singer in a band and they need....you guessed it.....a bass player. That was twenty five plus years ago and it's never stopped. You see, you can't swing a dead cat without hittin' a guitar player....no offense.....but, I've discovered over the years, bass players are at a premium. Why I reached for a bass on the wall at Highway Music that summer night I'll never know. The road that's followed has not been........ prosperous. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Merry Christmas........Everyone

I played at my first Christmas party of the year yesterday. It's just not Christmas without a Christmas party gig. This one's always a little different. A friend of mine, whom I've played with many a time, has a guitar playing brother who works for a local company. There's a couple of drummers from the same company so once a year a band is formed........loose....fun.....unpredictable. I never know what song is gonna be called out. I can't remember the last time I played Ozzy's "Paranoid"......oh ....that's right.....NEVER. Till yesterday. It's a kick playing with guys who don't play out all the time. Lots of enthusiasm. And because it's their company, lots of enthusiasm back. This is our fourth?....fifth?....year with this group so the cast of characters has become familiar. We know who's gonna grab the mike and start singing as things get.....cheerful, who'll be wearing the Santa hat, who will be on the floor....who will be on the table. Fun group.

This time of year cuts both ways for me. I have wonderful childhood memories of the Christmas season. I also lost both my parents on New Years Eve. So it's one of those smile...and reflect...at the same time kind of things. The commercialism that has become Christmas is repulsive on so many levels. And all the radio talk about using the term Christmas, not using the term, to set up or not to set up displays ........c'mon. The celebration of the solstice (to my mind, the beginning of summer....if you really stretch it) goes back to some pagan ritual, anyway. Look, I don't know what Jesus "was." But he seemed like a guy with an innocent message. Love your neighbor, turn the other cheek, do unto others, etc. Not bad. And not so easy. Eight years at St. Mary's Grammar School knocked most of the Catholic out of me. (I could never buy into the hell thing) But is is called CHRISTmas, so why not give him his due?

People have too much time on their hands. Who has time to make and circulate petitions, march with signs, call talk radio shows and be on hold for an hour? I'm just trying to pay my rent, get through life and finish (start) my Christmas shopping. I did go to a couple of demonstrations in college but to be honest, it was to meet girls. And in college, you're supposed to have time on your hands.

If you haven't seen A Christmas Story, (and why not?), it'll be running for twenty four hours starting Christmas Eve. WATCH IT !!!!!! It's got it all....Red Ryder BB guns, tongues stuck to flagpoles, Christmas dinners gone bad.....a story from a more innocent time. Of course, there's always A Very Brady Christmas. Am I the only one who had the hots for Florence Henderson? She was no June Cleavage...er....Cleaver.....but still. There's A Christmas Carol (Alistair Sim version), The Grinch, The Chipmunks, A Wonderful Life, The Breaking Bonaduce Christmas Special. That last one doesn't actually exist....but it should.

Take a few minutes, if you think of it, to stroll around ouside that day. Before company comes, or before you take off to Grandma's. There's a feeling in the air. You can smell it....sense it....wrap it around you like your favorite old coat. It's...... peace. Enjoy it.

Cold as a........

Man, the first snowfall of the season and I'm already pining for summer. It's just that the older I get......the less I like the cold. Again my grandmother was right. When I was a kid I could stay out all day in the cold. Now I'm actually warming up my car.....and not for the car. One time I fell through the ice in Greenbrook Park. My pal Billy slid down the slope yelling at me to grab his leg. Well, it was only about two and a half feet of water but I appreciated the sentiment. After a two mile walk home I was about as cold as I'd ever been in my life. Remember the Twilight Zone....or was it Outer Limits....where the astronaut came back to earth and could never get warm? The coffee was never hot enough, the shower was ....well...you get it. That's the way I was. My grandmother....remember her?.....made me some hot chocolate that I sucked down in a flash and I couldn't get the bath hot enough. Submitted for your approval.
I got over it. But I've discovered something in the last few years. If you're dressed for it, the cold ain't half bad. I was alway one to just grab a jacket and roll. I guess it was a childhood of dealing with galoshes and hoods and trying to fit everything into those St. Mary's closets and they'd never dry and..... on and on. I do a lot of walking these days. Ya know what the secret is to staying warm? Layers. Lots of 'em. And walking fast. I won't set any records for time spent in the cold but an hour, hour and a half I can do. A blue sky and sun don't hurt. And after...man...it feels good!!
I spend a fair amount of time in NYC and I've never understood the homeless situation there. Sad, sure....but how about getting on a bus or thumbing a ride (check out an earlier blog) to Miami. New York is cold, man!!!! There is nothing colder than downtown where the buildings create these wind tunnels that darn near blow you off your feet. Try a ferry ride. That'll snap you to.

Two weeks till Christmas. That means the winter solstice, doesn't it....the shortest day of the year? Which means that the next day, the days start getting longer. And theoretically, warmer. Then, one day you get that first whiff of....dead skunk....no...no ......spring!!!! You know that smell. An immediate flashback happens. Apple trees, baseball, beaches, sunburn, mosquito bites, poison Ivy. But, I digress. I find myself in a bit of a quandry. I want to rush the winter along, but with it goes..... my life. As my grandmother...remember her?........ said, the older you get the quicker the years go by. Ok...I get it. So rather than curse the cold, I'll put on some longjohns. C'moooonnnnnn......solstice.

"The Times, They Are a' Changin"

Thanksgiving week....2005. In the words of the late, great Mickey Mantle, " If I'd known I was gonna live this long I would've taken better care of myself", or something like that. Moved out of Lucy's, back to my apartment, got laid off, got re-hired, solo gig this weekend, dj gig in two weeks, house on the market, have to find new digs, and if that's not enough....I'm in charge of bringing the shrimp for Thanksgiving!!!!!!! Actually, that's the bright spot. Thanksgiving to me has always been one of those kick back, fun holidays. I've hosted a couple of times, with mega help...and it's still fun. Not a whole lot of hoopla or commercialism or things you have to do, at least as a guest. Show up on time, bring something, watch football games you care nothing about and....EAT!!!!!!!

I'm lucky. My radio show always falls on Thanksgiving. (For you surfers that's www.wdvrfm.org Thurs 6am - 9.) This means I get to play Alice's Restaurant, of course, and pontificate on the meaning of the day. Which is what? Hey, it's called Thanksgiving!!!!!!! C'mon even the most cynical, depressed of you out there must have something to be thankful about. I've had a challenging eight or nine months, but life is still pretty good. Good friends, family, eat regularly, sleep soundly and get to write and record music. I don't get a salary for that but.......hmmmmmmm. Did you ever hear the expression "living in the moment?" It's not easy. We're always thinking about the next thing. If this or that happens everything will be wonderful. That's probably never gonna happen. I look around my apartment and see all the music and recording equipment I have and I can finally say, alright, that's it. But then it's..... now I have to get better transportation to lug it around. What's wrong with us.?!?! Try the in the moment thing. I was walking down a wonderful NJ trail the other day. The sun was shining, the leaves were changing, and I had to force myselt to be there.........not into next week. No, it's not easy. Moments come and go quickly.

Thanksgiving 2005. Am I thankful? You bet. I've made it this far and it's up to me...and only me....to make the rest as good as it can be. That thing about what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger works. Yeah, I've had some roadblocks lately. Not as many as a single mom living on the street in India, or New Orleans, or NYC. Our own obstacles are important to us...and they should be. But stepping back and taking a look around can do a person a world of good. Ah....perspective. My mom had a circulatory disease that went on for ten years and resulted in both of her legs being amputated before it finally killed her. What's my cross to bear? I have high blood pressure. WAAAAAAHHH!!!!

Find something to be thakful for this Thanksgivng, this week, this year. It's there....somewhere.

This Land Is Your Land

A few years back I took a much needed sabbatical. Great word.....sabbatical. Could mean anything. This was a two month solo cross country trip. One of the best times I've ever had. Kind of a "Travels With Charlie" meets "Easy Rider" thing. Left NJ just before Halloween, stopped in my old college town of El Paso, Texas, visited some relatives in Phoenix, Arizona for a few weeks...... up and down the California coast...... back to AZ by way of Vegas........ met my future ex wife there for a trip to the Grand Canyon...she flew home and I drove back to Jersey...... with a stop in PA to visit the future ex in laws. Not nearly enough space in blogdom to relate all the adventures. But this trip had a kind of spirituality to it........as if my "guardian angel" came along for the ride. For instance, on the trip from Phoenix to San Diego ( Death Valley is aptly named) my brakes were wearing out. Finally made it to the coast and screeched into one of those seaside motels. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a sign proclaiming "Brake World." Actually it proclaimed "Dlrow ekarB", but some pads and fluid and I was on my way the next afternoon.

I wound up in San Francisco and toyed with the idea of continuing up to Alaska but the line had to be drawn somewhere. Just last year did a ride from Eureka to San Fran following a twenty six mile marathon with a friend through the redwoods. (Another story for another day.) Did the Haight Ashbury/Grateful Dead run, but a stop I had to make on the way back down the coast was the Ken Kesey/Merry Pranksters house in La Honda. I refer you to "The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test." It was just a few miles off the beaten path and damned if rainbows weren't comin' out the windows. Did a tour of the Hearst Castle in San Simeon......that guy had way too much cash.......rode an earthquake in Morro Beach, talked life with a couple of hookers in Vegas (didn't partake), saw "The Flamingos" at a small bar in The Sands, and back to Arizona for a while. I think I'll have to save the Grand Canyon with the future ex wife for another day. That was a mystical trip. She just got remarried last weekend and I still consider her one of my best friends.

A cool sidebar to the trip home was a stop at Meteor Crater in AZ. D'ja ever hear of this place? Way off the beaten path. And a big hole to boot. You have to walk through the Meteor Crater gift shop to get to the main attraction. But well worth the trip. A little bit of the moon right here on earth. And....they tell me....it could happen again.

Sabbaticals? I recommend them. And roaming around this country isn't a bad way to kill a few days, a week, month. It's a big place and everyone, at some time, should see it. As Woody said,"This land was made for you and me.'

It's Like Ridin' A Bike

As mentioned in a blog gone by, I learned to ride a two wheeler at age three...or there abouts. Anybody I could grab to give me a push, I would. I have a distinct memory of my brother pushing me up Monroe Ave in Plainfield, and I guess I was getting cocky, 'cause when I turned to look back he was a block away waving at me. Of course, I immediately fell. But I was resilient and determined and ride I did....like the very wind !!!! I had lots of adventures on bikes. I hadn't thought of some of my bikes until this very moment. What a flashback. We used to play this hide and seek type game.... in teams..... and on bikes..... called Ring O Lerio. One team would get about twenty minutes take off time and then the chase was on. The way you knocked one of them out of the game was to smack their tire with your tire....in mid chase. A dicey proposition. Riding the hills in Greenbrook Park was exciting.....especially Suicide Hill. You had to actually cross a road in mid hill with no time to look for anything. If my mother only knew. A new guy moved into the neighborhood and on his first trip down the "hill" we forgot to tell him about the huge root on one of the bends. Maybe the hardest I ever saw anyone go down on a two wheeler. Got a lot of mileage out of that story.

A friend of mine had a paper route in my next town and I'd go along sometimes riding on the handlebars. He'd go screaming down this hill and make the turn just missing the far curb. We'd both be screaming the whole way. Manly screams, of course. Two on a bike took a little practice. The handlebars, the crossbar or the rear fender were your choices. Or one on the seat and one standing and pedalling. My least favorite way. Another friend of mine had a bike with no seat and no brakes. Ouch !!! These were the days when bikes had individualities about them. Before the "English Racer" or"ten speed." But man, I could still fly pretty good on mine. One day I was cruisin' down Rivercrest Dr and here he comes...this big old nasty German Shepherd ripping across the lawn after me. Well I wan't too concerned. I knew he was tied up.... but....what?......not today!!!!!! He was off the lawn, into the street and the chase was on. Adrenaline's a wonderful thing, isn't it? He was gaining till he was about four or five feet behind me, then it was an endurance contest. Neck and neck for about a block, then he started slipping away. Feets don't slip now. Made it.

I used to have an apartment in Somerville, NJ right over a drug store at the corner of Main and Bridge Sts. Not exceptionally interesting, except on Memorial Day. The Kugler Memorial Day bike race.....or whatever it was called ...would happen. One of the biggest races in the country, right through town, and I was on the main corner!!!!!! Man, I was popular that weekend. Now that's ridin'.......and crashin'. Nothin' like the sound of a hundred and fifty bikes going by you at thirty mph. 40?...50?....I don't know. But fast.

I have a mountain/all terrain bike now, mainly for cruising the trails of Hunterdon County for nothing more than fun and exercise. The flatter the terrain, the better. Every now and then, though, I'll get off the beaten path and be a kid again for awhile. I love that feeling when you finally jump off and your legs feel like rubber. You manage the cool dismount and then almost collapse. Ahhh, well. When you're a kid your bike is like...well....it's like a guy's horse was in the old west. Your best friend. Your mode of transport. Your ticket to adventure, romance, "here to there." You could tell a lot about a person by the kind of bike they rode. The generics of the bike of today, I fear, have taken that away. Climbing aboard one is so familiar to everyone it's got its own signature. "It's like ridin a bike!!!!" Well.... I don't know, man........nothin's quite like ridin' a bike.

All You Need Is Love

Where would movies, songs, books, art, etc be without the theme of love? Where would we as human beings be without love, or the promise of it? It'd be a sad, much less interesting life, wouldn't it? I had two girlfriends in kindergarten. They didn't know they were my girlfriends but that hardly mattered. I'll leave out their last names but Susan was the bombshell and Kathy was the cute, but really cool one. I learned an important lesson that year. Cool, sweet, nice, sincere, funny will win out over hotness in the long run. Goodbye Susan.

My first real girlfriend happened in the eighth grade. And wouldn't you know she lived in the same neighborhood from where I'd just moved? Dang!!!!! I met her on my first gig. I was thirteen and playing guitar with "The Esquires" at my friend's basement bash. How we were gonna get through the night on three songs was a mystery but it didn't matter. The guitar worked!!! I would commute from Piscataway to Plainfield by bike a couple of days a week.......about an hour and a half ride...and live for Sats. Guitar lesson in the morning, wandering around downtown Plainfield, then meeting Debbie for some serious movie time. The Strand Theater had a great balcony in 1966. I saw Goldfinger four or five times and still can't tell you why that woman (Ursula Andress?) had to get painted to death. Getting home was always an adventure. My mom would drop me off at the lesson and then I was on my own. My ties were slowly moving from Plainfield to Piscataway. And meeting Debbie was only locking me back in.

Turns out....get this....she was also a guitar player.....and could smoke me on my best day!!! But she had a secret. She was already in a cool band with gigs and, for the time, great equipment.

I never could figure out why she didn't tell me. Maybe it was the tail end of that women shouldn't be as talented as men thing. Weird. We'd do most of our communicating by phone during the week and I should have known something was up when I played "Day Tripper" for her and she played it back to me smoother, faster and....right. I realized later when we'd play together, she'd play down to my level.....to not embarass me?....I don't know. She never did come clean. I had to find out from her mother!!!! When I walked past her bedroom and saw this great amplifier she said it was her cousin's and looked really nervous explaining it...and.....I BELIEVED HER!!!!

Debbie and I eventually went our separate ways and I settled into new friends, bands, school and...... new girlfriends. There is nothing like the feeling of a new infatuation......learning all about someone...the way your heart does a flip when you see them coming. Anything beyond that is gravy. No wonder songs, poems , operas, paintings have been dedicated to this nutty emotion. Love. It's as good as it gets, man. Countries have been lost, wars have been fought, murders have been committed..... Mick Jagger, Mother Theresa and Leonardo DaVinci have been brought into this world.....because of it. My kindergarten pals taught me to look beyond the facade and into the person. Not easy, being a human male, and I've fallen into the trap more than once. But sooner or later the cream always rises to the surface.

I will always believe in the fabulous institution of love......from "All You Need Is Love" to " Love Stinks." I've never cried.....or laughed....so hard because of it. I've embraced it, cursed it, celebrated it, regretted it....and searched for it. Once again I have to quote the poets of my generation. "And in the end....the love you take...is equal to the love....you make." Well said, lads.

"Hmmmmmmm"

I used to play frisbee in the hall of my college dorm. If you could get the disc to fly all the way down without hitting the walls it would make an audible hum. You could feel it. Perfection. Ever have any days like that? I hope so. I was playing some neighborhood football when I was about sixteen and having one of those days. I was catching everything, tackling everybody, intercepting, running, scoring...... I even made one of those on the run over the shoulder catches and outran my buddy who I could never keep up with on my best day. I was a football machine. Same time frame, different sport. This was a local baseball game. I was a lefty playing shortstop and it was like I had glue in my glove and thunder in my bat. I hit a home run that seemed to have gotten caught in the jet stream. Man, it just kept on going. Some years later I had a gig on Christmas Eve at a Jersey bar that had kind of become our second home. The guy who I outran in that magical football game was playing rhythm guitar. This was a cool honky tonk called The Pittstown Inn, in Pittstown, NJ. I live a stone's throw from the inn now and though it's been "upscaled" since 1976, I can still hear the music when I go in there. We always rocked this place, but this was one of those nights. Lots of friends we hadn't seen in awhile...just jammed to the rafters. We couldn't get off the stage at break time........nowhere to go!!!! Everything we played just flowed. Vocals, music, atmosphere. It was a frisbee humming down the hall.

The wonderful thing about these experiences is that they come out of nowhere......unexpected........from the ether. Out of all the hundreds of gigs, baseball games, football games , why were these to be the ones that went down ? And were they really that special or just seem that way in the romance of retrospect? I had other good games, good gigs. But during those particular times I remember an overwhelming feeling of confidence.....invlnerability.

In grade school one time a weird thing happened. We had one of those magazine drives. According to how many dollars you sold, your name went into a hat and the winnning name drawn got a stuffed animal. No big deal except...I won....and I knew I was going to win. My name was in there eleven times which was on the low to middle end of the scale. I was in the process of closing the classroom windows with one of those huge rods. Remember those? As the teacher was pulling the name....my name...I handed off the rod and started walking up to claim my prize. A couple of seconds later my name was read and I was already there. Pretty cool. Confidence, man.

These kinds of things happened maybe a dozen times in my life. You're in a class that you know you're gonna nail. You meet this woman that you know is really gonna dig you, even if she's way out of your league. You're gonna snag the ball, hit the note, win the prize. Sometimes the stars are just right. Somebody saying this moment....this night....is for you. Grab it, appreciate it.......remember it. I appreciate and remember these moments more and more. But they're different now. I was sitting out back the other day and a humming bird flew by and stopped right in front of my face. I felt like I should know....realize something about this , but after a few seconds it hummed off. A frisbee with wings. Fast wings. As I get older things take on a significance, a spirituality that I wouldn't have thought about years ago. I like it....... appreciate it. If only I could remember it.

Let The Sun Shine

Labor Day has come and gone. I really had a good couple of end of summer weeks. A few good gigs, a dinner blast with the family, some shore time with my sister and her family......some shore time with Lucy and her family. Righteous. Summer's still here, though. September and October are great summer months.....usually. I hasten to say, however ........I can smell fall/winter. You know that first change of season whiff you get? It's invigorating post winter but a little foreboding pre winter. Or is it just me. I'm becoming less and less of a winter person. I can still have a good time rolling around in the snow, it's just thad I'd rather roll around on a beach. Or take a walk in the woods. I took a bike ride last weekend down a wonderful path here in Hunterdon County, NJ. The weather's been stellar!!!!! I was drawn to park the bike and sit by the river more than once. I found a great spot where you can sit almost below the river; reach out and scoop up handfuls of water. Where the heck was everybody? Don't they know there's water here?!?! The attraction for a Pisces is mind bending.....healing........spiritual......FUN.

I've really had a chance for some thinking, meditating, writing, squirrel watching, duck feeding... lately. We.....I need that. I've been writing songs and working on a cd. I don't really care what happens in the end, I'm diggin' the process. Is life picking up steam, or is it me? I've had a nutty job for the last six months and stopping to smell the roses is mandatory. It should be for everyone. My grandmother used to tell me how things "quickened" as you get older. I didn't quite get it then. I do now. We're here for such a blink. It's amazing that Einstein, Edison, The Beatles, Jefferson could do as much as they did. It seems like it takes me so dang long to catch on.....but I don't realize it until after I catch on. I swear if I could get paid for dreaming, I'd be making loans to Chase Manhattan. Maybe that's what this go 'round is for. To look around, get the lay of the land, and be ready to spring into action next time. One can only hope.

The National Past Time (A Day In The Life)

How many times have you heard about, talked about or read about somebody's first trip to the ballpark? Remember Billy Crystal in "City Slickers? " That was MY trip to Yankee Stadium!!! I was ten years old in 1962 and I remember my father coming home from work and pulling the tickets out of his brown leather bomber jacket. A lot better than a Snickers. You coulda knocked me over. Man, I held those things, turned them over and over, tried to figure out the seating.......whew!!.

"The Day" was one adventure after another. The bus ride from Plainfield, NJ to the Port Authority in NY, to the Horn and Hardart automat for lunch..... to the subway ride (on two different trains) up to the Bronx. Each of these is a story in itself. But....the Bronx. When the D train came up over that rise....well Holy Cow! There it was; huge, majestic......crowded. "The House That Ruth Built." Somehow my father seemed to know where to go. We passed the vendors and the small brass band, squeezed through the turnstiles and......we were in!!! We could hear the muffled roar of the fans as balls sailed through the air during batting practice. The inside of the stadium was a mass of humanity and sounds as we followed the huge circlular trail in search of our gate. And now here it is...... you've heard it a dozen times before. As we passed each gate and I got brief glimpses onto the field, something looked.......odd. Oh my God. Yankee Stadium was in COLOR. I mean gorgeous green, rich deep brown, white bases and lines., and, of course, pinstripes. After our small black and white tv, This was almost too much to take in. And that's a feeling modern kids will never know. It was a flippin' jaw dropper.

We got to our seats and let the barrage of peanuts, programs, hot dogs, soda, pennants etc begin. I know my dad was on a budget, but I don't remember wanting for anything. The smell of cigar smoke wove through the stands and to this day reminds me of a Bronx day in 1962. I don't really remember where our seats were but they were close enough to see faces. Yogi, Mickey, Roger, Moose, Bobby Richardson, Tom Thresh. ........they were all there. And so was Jimmy Piersall. Remember him......"Fear Strikes Out?" That was a bonus. He even did us the honor of geting into a bench clearing brawl that started with some fans in the right field stands harassing Jimmy and finally jumping onto the field.....much to their ultimate dismay. I can still see so clearly the black infield dirt flying off Yankee cleats as they met the Cleveland Indians in right field. Wasn't much of a rumble. Baseballs players are notorious for their non brawls. But the image was indelibly imprinted on my ten year old brain. I don't remember who won the game....or the brawl, but Johnny Blanchard smacked two out of the park, and Jim Bouton was throwing pure smoke. Man, it had it all!!

The trip home was anti-climatic, but my neighborhood status soared. I'd made it. The first one. I felt like George from "Of Mice And Men" as he related the rabbits story to Lenny. The boys.....and girls..... never tired of hearing about "the trip." I didn't even have to embellish all that much. I'm not a parent, but I can appreciate the impact we have on creating kid's memories. You have to recognize the moment. A backyard catch, a fishing trip, a new guitar chord, a walk in the woods. They're all potential life changers. I could tell you a story about each one of these. And ......I probably will.

"If I Could Get Down To The Sea Again......"

I went tubing down the Delaware last weekend. Lucy's had this yen to get on the water and being a Pisces it doesn't take much to get me on board. There's a place right across the river in PA that does all the work for you. Thirty minutes away, five bucks for parking, twenty bucks for the tubes, walk the cattle lines, a fifteen minute bus ride and into the river, baby!! We opted for the four hour cruise and it is nothin' but maxin' and relaxin'.
What is it about water that's so....familiar. Is it the old back to the womb thing? As a kid I was always the first guy in the water and the last to get out. My mom used to have a tough time getting me out of the bathtub!! Remember the way your fingers would get all white and wrinkled? That's the way they looked last weekend in the river. What is that, anyway? Around age seventeen I took up surfing. I was never any good at it but it was another excuse to spend hours in the water. Sitting on a surfboard out in the ocean at sunrise or sunset is ......primitive........a little bit dangerous and.....bonding. The ocean is a cure all for many ills. A friend of mine would get all kinds of skin maladys from the standard poison ivy, oak, etc....to stuff we would just call jungle rot. Nothing too serious. He'd always say,"If I could just get into mother ocean." I've adopted that saying over the years and it still holds up. I learned early on that the salt water of the Jersey shore was great for hangovers, zits, rashes of all kinds and attitude. Getting on to the beach, that first charge into the water, jumping over the first few waves, then making the perfect dive under a wave and coming up on the other side......well.....there's a certain art to it that only comes with years of practice. Don't get me started on the ins and outs of body surfing.....getting your face jammed into the sand......mouthfuls of salt water.......crashing into strange knees. Man, that's good. (Sprinklers, Slip n' slides, water balloons........remember them?)

We had a couple of pretty good quarrys in our area. Quarry swimming was a little more dicey. Unknown terrain, cops....an occasional drowning. But a chance to jump off a cliff. Who can pass that up?!? One time a few friends and I took a two day canoe trip some years back. The first night we're out in the middle of nowhere. We pull over, climb up a way and set up camp. In the middle of the night the ground starts shaking ....we see a bright light coming at us....take us home Jesus!!!! Turns out we set up camp about twenty yards from a train track. But....we survived. Great sunburn that weekend, as with most of my adventures with water.
Lucy seems to have the same affinity for water as me but doesn't seem to realize it....or make a big deal out of it. Like it's just a natural thing. And it is. She gets in water and a....what.......calm?.......gentleness?..........acceptance comes over her. It's great!!!!! I was watching this show on PBS about birth, from conception to delivery. The shots of the baby inside the womb are amazing. Surviving in liquid......almost more fish than human for a long time. And sure as hell not wanting to leave. Explains a lot.
Some of our best movies are about water...and fish. Moby Dick, Jaws,The Old Man And The Sea, Poseiden Adventure, Titanic and on and on. It seems at one time the earth was one continent surrounded by water. I give you CONTINENTAL DRIFT. How 'bout Water World. Horrible movie, but at the same time.....comforting. I don't know. The Standells..."Dirty Water". .....one of the most recognizable guitar licks of all time.
The Jersey shore has cleaned up considerably in the last twenty five years. Mother ocean is nothing if not resilient. She gives us so much. I'm glad we can help out when she needs it.

Mea Culpa

So the Pope arrives at JFK, comes down the stairs of his private jet and walks up to his limo driver. He says to the guy,"Hey look, I never get a chance to drive anymore. Whaddaya say you let me take the wheel for the way back?" The driver's a litle taken aback and says,"Gee, Your Holiness, I don't know....I could really get in a lot of trouble here.......and it's been a while for you......I... don't think so." They go back and forth and the driver gives in. Sure enough they take off and the pope's a little heavy on the foot and not a great driver in general. Coming down the Van Wyck Expwy, they get the attention of one of New York's Finest. The cop approaches the car and notices who's driving. He excuses himself, goes back to his car and calls in to his Sergeant. He says, "Uh, Sarge, we got a situation here ......got a limo stopped on the Van Wyck........it's a VIP. Not sure what to do...... I don't want any incidents, if ya know what I mean." The Sarge says,"What, an actor, politician...?" "Bigger," says the cop. "Well, Elvis and Sinatra are dead .....how big is this guy,?" says the Sarge. "Look, the cops says, I don't know who it is, but the Pope's drivin !!!!!!!"

Ahhh, They Can't Hurt Ya'

This day started off a little differently. Almost checked out. Got your attention? It was a really nice morning. Got up around eight. Blue sky. Plenty of sun. A couple of hours to kill before work. I was all set to paint the deck.... at least the part Lucy left, and looking forward to the experience immensely. I used to paint for a living.....houses, garages, rooms, carports....decks. Painting's very therapeutic...soothing. It was also a good gig to combine with playing music at night. Good hours, plenty of sunshine, a day off when I needed it. So I was pumped. Did a few sections and was ready to move on to the bulk. Arranged some furniture and plants and was giving the deck a sweepdown....when it happened. Did I mention I'm allergic to bees?
I was doing a gig last Sunday with a country band I play with now and again. It was a company picnic in a grove behind a bar. As we're setting up this bee keeps hounding the drummer.......I mean... on him. So he's asking me for some help and I'm explaining as I'm snapping a towel at him that I really shouldn't be doing this.....allergic and all that. During the break I'm relating the story of when and how I discovered this peculiar allergy. But I digress.
I'm giving the deck a sweepdown and realize I'm taking a few stings here and this could be trouble. I jet into the house, out the back door and to my car to grab an Epi Pen that I hope is in there. This is a self injectable, whack yourself in the leg setup that's supposed to pull you through these episodes........adrenaline or something. I get back in the house and sit down on the couch.....starting to recognize the symptoms....hard to breathe........things getting...."slow". This is where it gets weird. I'm looking towards a part of the room where I have my recording equipment. Watching guard over the stuff is the Carole King album "Tapestry". I leave it leaning on the recorder in the hopes that some magic will jump from the grooves into the machine....an osmosis kind of thing. She's got a great new cd out, by the way. So as I'm bonding with Carole and forgetting about injecting.....everything stopped. I don't think we realize it but there's really no such thing as total silence. You........ I........ can hear (feel) our heart pumping, blood rushing through our veins, and that abstract kind of ear hum. I always thought that was the sound of the universe. When it stops, man it's quiet. And there I sat. A peace fell over the room. And then. I don't know. Did I pass out? Leave the planet? The next thing I felt...heard.... was a whack on the side of my head. Kinda like my football coach would give me. Not painful, just an attention grabber. A thud through my helmet. Or kind of like that jump you get when you start to doze off in a chair. Always embarassing if somebody sees you. Now I'm back, I grab the Epi Pen and jam it into my thigh. OUCH !!!!!!!! Within three seconds I have a headache to beat the freakin' band. And those sounds? They're baaaaaack !!!!!!
I don't move for about forty five minutes. The head stopped pounding, the vision cleared and a dull hangover type feeling sets in. I recognize this feeling. I had it the last time I cheated the bees out of their ultimate revenge. At that time the doc said I was lucky to still be here. Next time could be different. Location of the stings apparantly makse a difference. Both times in the feet.....long way from the heart. Got an additional one in the hand this time. Nasty little buggers. Ya know, I'll go out of my way to throw an ant out of the house...alive. But I've gotta admit, I enjoyed unleashing a load of Raid on the bastion of the bees.

A couple of hours later I was getting ready to walk to work and picked up the trusty Epi Pen. I couldn't help but notice what it said on the side.....exp Aug /2003. Oops.

The Bell Has Tolled

My friend Carol died over the weekend. Things are in full swing for a "celebration" on Sunday, with a more private service for the family on Mon. I want to put together some kind of....tribute......remembrance..... for my radio show this week. These are always kind of touchy. You try to have a reverence without being too maudlin. I usually find what happens...... happens. You can't plan or fake sincerity...grief.......love. She was way too young.

"It Tolls For Thee"

A friend of mine is lying in bed dying of cancer. Carol's the wife of the keyboard player in my band. The band I'm leaving. Tom and I have played together on and off for about twenty five years. I actually knew Carol before Tom. She used to work at a convenience store in Piscataway, NJ in the 70's. I'd pop in from time to time and some casual flirting would ensue.

This is Carol's second go round with Cancer and it's really starting to piss me off. I saw her a couple of weeks ago and she was not doing well. A group of us shared some food, beverage and songs and Carol really seemed to be enjoying herself. About a year ago she came to a gig and at the end of the night I gave her a hug and told her we all loved her. She seemed so touched I almost felt guilty..........like I was saying hey, we all know...It'll be ok. We knew it wouldn't be ok and now she's in bed with a morphine drip waiting for the light. I've always been a good listener, and Carol was an enthusiastic communicator. I rarely saw her these days, but when I did I'd pull up next to her, ask her how she's been, what's going on...and sit back. She had such an innocent way about her.....beautiful eyes. .......the last of the hippie chicks. It's been a tough go for Tom and their two kids. I was talking to Tom today and pre-arrangements are under way. Some old friends and lots of music. I hope I can to bring something appropriate to the table.

I've lost a few friends in the last ten years or so. Always strange....reflective. I'm no spring chicken but 40's/50's seems too soon. I fear it less and less. I'd still like to make a bigger mark.....but......wouldn't we all. The over riding, all important, mamma jamma, kingfisher, hit you between the eyes message seems to be............. "Be good to each other." Brilliant, huh? Did anybody else ever say that?

The Name Game

Here's a limmerick I wrote in ninth grade English class:

With Ron on drums and Mike on bass

And me on rhythm guitar,

And George who sings while Rock plays lead

The Plague is going far.

The plague was my first Piscataway band. I moved from Plainfield, NJ to Piscataway, NJ in 1966. The Plainfield bands all had a hard musical edge.....Stones, Animals, Yardbirds etc. The Piscataway bands were more instrumental, lighter......Ventures, Jan and Dean, Surfaris. My job was clear.....conversion. We met somewhere in the middle. I always dug that name....The Plague. Our drummer's father volunteered to get us five hundred business cards. Oooooweeeee!!!! One day at practice the dad showed up with the package. And there they were....five hundred band cards with "The PlagueS" emblazoned on them. "No!!....the Plague....not Plagues." He didn't get it, but we went through them quick enough and he got it right the next time. The best of intentions.

I think a band name is important. In a word or two you should get an idea of what the band's about. By the time I was with the plague at the the ripe old age of thirteen, I'd already been through The Esquires, Bobby and the Bandals, Teddy and the Teabaggers and a few that didn't make it to the name stage. I was never in a band with a name that I could get %100 behind. Just too damn particular. Some later band names were Society's Child, The Best of General Milz, Wichita Straw, Freewheelin', Sundown, Firecreek, Whiskey Lane, Freight Line, Sidewinder, Walking Wounded, The Movers.....et al. One of my favorite names was my drummer buddy's band, The Split Worm Hibernation Day Band. Ahhhh,the 60's were a wonderful era for monickers. All these names convey the era or style of music/attitude......no? If they don't....they should. For the last year I've been doing a solo gig in addition to band stuff. It's weird seeing your name on a poster, marquee, in the paper........especially if you're not a look at me kind of guy. I used to hide under the table when "Happy Birthday" was directed at me. Frightening!!!!

But the playing's what it's all about. For fun or profit, being able to pick up a guitar and noodle is ..........spiritual.....contemplative........ fun. I also realized early on that girls pay a little more attention to the musicians. Why everybody doesn't do this is beyond me. Of course, then I'd be out of a job.

Daze Gone By

Remember in the late 60's/70's when hitchiking was a legitimate form of transportation? It made every trip a little more of an adventure. My buddies and I would do the one guy hitchin', three guys in the bushes routine. If we all got out there together we had a little temptations step that seemed to move things along......or at least raise a smile. In my college town of El Paso, Kelly and I turned it into a sport. We called it "Hitchin' For Chicks". Politically incorrect I know, but it was a different time. We'd actually turn down rides from anyone except, well.....chicks. One night we got to our favorite corner and there were four different groups of guys lined up to start thumbin'. Damn degenerates. Another era comes to an end.
Another pretty cool Texas hitch was Easter break.......EP to LA. The guy I was going with didn't have much hitchin' experience. I kept telling him what a grueling trip this could be....hours.....days crossing the desert. He didn't seem fazed. We got picked up in about five minutes by a guy going to LA. Really made me look bad. We were going to see his girlfriend in Hollywood. I was telling him...ok ...this is where it gets tough....living by our wits and guile. The girlfriend got us into a mansion in Laurel Canyon for a week. Skunked again. One day the three of us were hitchin' in downtown LA. A taxi driver stopped to pick us up. Even after we explained that we had no money he still insisted we get in. He was a Mexican gentleman and seemed like the happiest guy on the planet. He took us to a small restaurant somewhere in LA, where he was apparantly well known, ordered lunch, bottles of wine, cigars. yeah....CIGARS!!!!!!! We kept insisting we had no money. He finally looked at me, gestured around the room and asked me if I ever heard the phrase,"Mi casa, su casa". He didn't leave any money and none seemed to be expected. I've since used that phrase many times He finally took us where we had to go, dropped us off in our drunken stupor and didn't take a dime. Which was good....'cause we didn't have a dime. I like to consider myself pretty streetwise. That cab driver knocked some of the wise out of me. I sure wish I'd gotten his name. Now we were broke. Things were sure to get nasty. We got jobs as gardeners in our mansion for a couple days and flew back to EP first class. So much for a tough lesson.

Back in Jersey the hitchin' continued....to school, to work...for fun. After I had a car for a few years, I tried it again...but it wasn't the same. A bygone era. In this day and age hitch hiking's taken on a grim aura. People sometimes don't come back. I had a couple of dicey calls, but nothing too serious. And I'm sure my college pal has nothing but rosey memories of his experience. At least we got a ticket from a Texas state trooper...but even he was friendly!!! For some reason I can't really remember the rain or the cold.....the long wait between rides........sometimes not getting rides. Thank God for selective memory, and age. It's much more romantic this way.