Do the right thing? I can barely tie my shoes!

Have you noticed that people are now starting their sentences with the word "So"....followed by a thoughtful pause? "Dr. Jones, what's big pharma's response to the latest criticism regarding the increase in the cost of prescriptions to senior citizens?" (Dr. Jones) "So,...we feel... yadda yadda....."  Or "Senator, How will the new tax plan affect the constituency in your home state of Minnesota?"  (Senator) So.....given the current state of the national tax rate vs yadda...and.....yadda." At first it sounded kinda cool. Now....not so much. There's a little bit of a cringe factor every time I hear it. It comes across as a stall tactic. Like "That's a great question, Bob." Does he/she really think Bob just came up with a great question?

    I remember when I came home from college for Christmas break circa 1970. I was talking music with one of my best pals. He said, "Yeah...I just can't get into Crosby, Stills and Nash." It sounded foreign and a little pretentious. But soon I was referring to the things I couldn't "get into." And then it's in the lexicon and one day you overhear your parents saying it. I can "get into" hip phrases, like the above, "now, not so much"..... but the stalling "so"....not....so much?

   So.....I've been doing a radio show every Thursday morning for the last twenty four years. Post current election I've had a few interesting experiences. A gentleman called me about two weeks after Donald Trump ascended the presidency. He said he'd been a fan of the show but could no longer listen as I was obviously a Trump supporter. Now...I play music, relate some goofy tales and might make a political comment once every.....well....I don't remember, and then, usually just as a chuckle. As a reference, my voting record has been Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama, McCain...and...I'll leave it there. I ain't that political! At first I laughed till I realized he was serious. I told him I appreciated his listenership and support and directed him up the dial to another show he may enjoy. A week later. A WEEK! I got a call from a woman who informed me she could no longer listen to my show as I was obviously a Hilary supporter. I thanked her for her listenership and support and directed her to a station up the dial that she may enjoy. I just don't have the energy to argue about this stuff. No one's gonna change any one's mind! People now immediately believe any sound byte that supports their side. And there's enough information out there to support any argument from any angle on any given day. I tell my friends on the left the same thing I told my friends on the right eight years ago. Relax. It'll be fine. Live your life. You'll get another chance.

    I never did get this "wanting the president to fail" thing. With Obama or Trump. That just gave/gives me a creepy feeling. Maybe this'll turn out ok. Maybe it won't. That's why we have elections. Hey man, I'm just plodding through life trying to pay my bills every month. If I get to play some music every now and then, sit out back in the sunshine with my dog or just hang out with Linda and enjoy laughing at this nutty world while binge watching Netflix........ well....that's good enough.  And who the hell has time to go to  protests, marches, etc. Again, that paying the rent thing. If you feel you must...I applaud you. I went to a couple Vietnam war protests back in the day but if I'm gonna be honest....it was to meet girls. Also, I had a low lottery number and thought there was a good chance Uncle Sam would be sending me on an all expense paid trip to Southeast Asia sometime that year. It never happened. I've always regretted that. Not at the time ...... but more recently. I have this feeling I let somebody down. This country's been pretty good to me. And I've been lax in the effort department. How 'bout a do over?  Now that I know how it works, I'm ready.

    Remember the movie, "Do the right thing?" I never saw it. But I've become a proponent of the concept. A drummer friend of mine bought some maracas which turned out to be crap and broke fairly quickly. He brought them back to the store. The sales guy said, "Waddaya want me to do?" My disgruntled pal said, "I just want you to do the right thing." The sales guy swapped them out for a better pair at no extra charge. Do the right thing. That stuck with me. I've since made a better effort to do the right thing. To TRY to do the right thing. I fail...often. But less and less. And the more conscious you are of doing the right thing the more that feeling in your belly will remind you when you're not. I was about to list a bunch of what might be the right things you can do but you already know them. And it's mainly little things. As you're throwing something in the trash and you notice more trash a few feet away chuck that in, too. As Ed Norton said, "The small details, Ralph." (I'm RICH! Nawtin, get the bag!) No one under fifty will get that.

     On the aforementioned radio station I've had the opportunity to train a number of people. It's diversified programming and the question always comes up, What should I play? What's a popular format?" The answer's always the same. It has to be. Play what you like....what you know.... and let your audience find you. 'Cause whatever you play someone's gonna think you're a Hilary supporter and that other guy's gonna think you're a Trump supporter. Someone's gonna hate the Stones and someone's gonna love the Stones. I'd get a call every once in a while from a guy who'd open with, "Turn that crap off!" Well, I'd tell him how much I missed him and, of course, would proceed to turn that crap up! I do miss that guy. He was so.....disgruntled. Gotta respect that.
And there you have it. Some Brain (K)nots for a Sunday afternoon. Agree....disagree. Doesn't matter. Cuz...my water bill's due. AGAIN!
Good luck.        Peace.

A "Rock" Of Ages

"There is a path, no simple highway
 Between the dawn and the dark of night
 And if you go, no one may follow
 That path is for your steps alone."

Freewheelin 1975

   This is a verse from the Robert Hunter/Jerry Garcia tune "Ripple." I've heard this song broken out at different poignant life moments. Funerals, weddings, graduations, openings, closings etc. My best buddy, band mate, road co pilot...Rock.....passed away in a Connecticut hospice yesterday. Liver complications and post cancer problems were the main culprits. From all accounts he faded away peacefully in his sleep. It's been a tough road. As his friend/brother I can say he brought it on himself. He seemed like he was working towards this end. If his liver was a cartoon it'd have a big wide mouth on it screaming STOP!!! And so it goes......

  I met Rock when I moved from Plainfield, NJ to Piscataway, NJ. in 1966. Age thirteen. I was already in a Plainfield band but distance dictated a new road. My neighbor, Ronnie, got a set of drums and put me on to a guitar player who lived down the road. Rock. I remember sitting in Rock's bedroom watching him play some surf instrumentals. This was a far cry from the British Invasion stuff I'd been playing. He had a Stratocaster copy and didn't miss a note. I was impressed. We grabbed Mike to play bass and George, a local lady killer to sing and front and The Plague was born. We settled into a cross between The Beach Boys and The Yardbirds winning an audition for our first gig at mine and Ron's junior HS, Conackamack, conveniently located around the corner from our houses. Ronnie and I were standing outside the school that Friday afternoon when Rock finally appeared over the hill frantically pushing a wheelbarrow containing our PA/guitar system, a Univox amp Rock's mother bought that supported two guitars and two mics. Decked out in high roll and Beatle boots, as we were, he was a sight to behold.

  Band battles, local parties and dances followed but the plague came to a close as high school began. Rock disappeared into a girlfriend and only made sporadic appearances. Once he appeared at my house on a Saturday afternoon to borrow my English Leather Lime. Remember that stuff?  I told him he could have some but the bottle had to stay as I needed it also. He wasn't happy with that. After a visit to the bathroom he left in kind of a huff. I had a brief suspicion and went up to check my English Leather and there was the box right where it should be. That night I was heading out and went for the lime. The box was weirdly light because the BOTTLE WAS GONE!!!!! In that moment I may have been capable of murder. But by the time I saw Rock again I was calmed down and had come to appreciate the slick move. Bravo. Rock was an only child and  we'd run into him at the weirdest times; movies, baseball games, and he'd usually be alone. I didn't really get that till later on when he mentioned how he envied us all having siblings and got used to doing things alone. He was always a popular guy but was just as comfortable alone as he was in a crowd. I guess.

  He was always surprising me. Like when he played Romeo in a High School production, English accent and all. In later years he could always bring the house down with the "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks" monologue. He also became a defensive end for the Immaculata HS football team. He wasn't big but he was quick. One of my proudest moments was during a neighborhood football game when I outran Rock for a touchdown. I guess I was really on and he was a little off. He said, "Ya got me on that one." First and last time. But I remember it like it was yesterday.  

  Fast forward to our early 20s. Rock reappeared as a single man as guitars were broken out and the Plague was reborn. His mom, Fran, again sprung for a PA system and practice space in their basement.  Lots of beer, homemade wine via Rock's dad, Harry, different aromatic substances and music, music, music. The Plague was now The Wichita Straw Band and eventually Freewheelin'. Rock and I survived a road trip to Denver in his MG Midget and a VW trip to Tucson with two other pals. He got a VW Camper and gigs were on. Some personnel changes as guys took different paths and Freewheelin' had a pretty good run on the 70's NJ club scene. We opened up for Blackfoot, a raucous Native American band at The Final Exam, where we were warned to not be too good and don't play over our time. These guys were scary. But at the end of the night they invited us onto their bus for a helluva party into the wee hours.  We opened up for Sauce at the Strand Theater in Plainfield; the same theater where Rock and I had double dated when we were fourteen. Full circle.  Lots of miles, gigs, Grateful Dead concerts, recording, chasing women.....sometimes catching them.....sometimes running from them..... and eventually sharing a band house in the hills of Hunterdon County.

  I was proud  to be asked to be Rock's best man but he soon felt the call to leave music and join the real world. He was a born salesman and eventually owned his own company. Just as we all figured he would. My father used to say, "That guy could sell ice to an Eskimo." He was Eddie Haskell....but likeable......without the nasty Haskelly stuff. A sincerity shone through. He had a beautiful daughter Christine, from his first marriage and two boys, Tim and Adam, from his second. He'd also been doing some gigs with Adam who sounds just like him. I visited him in a Hartford hospital on Thanksgiving Day and  got to see him enjoying his new granddaughter. I had a little alone time with him and got to tell him I loved him. He responded in kind, I gave him a kiss on the cheek and left. I think those long business lunches and road time contributed to the problems I mentioned earlier....and yesterday he said good bye. His wife Donna has been through it. A real trouper and a wonderful partner.

  So many stories left out. The sit down lawn mower. Playing and joining in bar brawls. Being invited to practice on his first wife's family's property and how that turned out. Not good. Bad dates. Good dates. Hitch hiking adventures. Chases in the snow from irate drivers who's just been pelted with snowballs. Cuttin' out on the check. (not proud of that) Cuttin' out on each other. An infamous Piscataway tradition. Break downs at 3 o' clock in the morning on a winter highway.

  Rock had a good heart. He was always cool. Even after I dropped his Gibson SG and the neck snapped he wouldn't let me pay to have it fixed. As he'd always say, "Hey...shit happens."  We didn't talk as much as his career rolled but I still would get that occasional message or text that would start with, "Remember that time".....Remember that guy"....."Who was the guitar player that night"....."Who did that song".... and on and on. And when he was in the neighborhood on a sales visit there was always time for a long lunch at a favorite haunt. Man, did we laugh! I asked him to be an usher at my wedding during one of those lunches. (my  brother got the best man spot) In his Rock way he said, "Yeah, I guess I can suit up one more time."

  He was a pretty good rhythm guitar player, a good singer, a very good banjo player and an excellent front man. "Don't forget folks, the more you drink, the better we sound." "This is an old Chinese song we'd like to do called tun ing." Just a couple classics. But most importantly, he was my brother....my friend.  There's a hole in my life, my....our.... hearts, that will eventually be filled by lots of good memories. But for now....just a hole. In the words of the late great Jimi Hendrix, a quote that Rock, and I, liked to summon up every now and then, "If I don't see you in this life, I'll see you in the next. And don't be late."         Peace..........

 

National Hotel 2004

 

Still here....somehow.......

  I just turned 64. I swear I never thought I'd make it this far. When I think back to some of my "antics"....well.......I'm thankful I'm here. I'm a slow learner. I'm just starting to get it. Well, maybe around 50 I started to get it. I'm a Pisces. I'm a dreamer. If I could get paid for dreaming I'd have a mansion on the hill. The thing is.....I never wanted a mansion on a hill.

   We've all seen the posts regarding the "dangers" we survived as kids. Some real. Some....not so dangerous. Kids rolling around in the back of a station wagon with no seat belts is ....fun?.....dangerous? Walking to school by yourself? No bike helmets? Etc and so on. You decide. There was a big drainpipe we used to walk through in Greenbrook Park in Plainfield, NJ. Went on for hundreds of yards. I later found out that gas was released through that pipe in regular intervals. Cheated death again. Falls through the ice, exploring new and old deserted buildings, cutting through cemeteries, flying down hills across roads on bikes with no brakes, On and on.

   In my job I meet lots of parents. The job seems to be....keep the kids occupied at all time! Early school starts, sports, sports, sports and hours of homework seem to be the norm. College tours are starting in sophomore year. I decided I wanted to go to The University of Texas at El Paso in my senior year. I applied, got accepted, secured a $1,000.00 loan (this covered tuition, books and dorm...with a meal plan), my mom co signed and I was off. Never went to see the school. Mom bought me a suitcase for HS graduation and gave me a ride to Newark Airport in September. See ya at Christmas!

   I was....am.... lucky. As a kid I feel like I had it all. Good home life. Family dinners every day around 5:30. Friends. Baseball. Lots of freedom. Adventures. Plenty of alone time. (That Pisces/dreamer thing), TV, choir, altar boy, and later...uh oh.....musician.  My popularity increased. Maybe the intense competition was there, but if it was....it went right over my head. I know this is sacrilege but I never minded coming in second. And it made coming in first that much sweeter. Competition, from what I observe, has reached an intensity that I, and my pals never experienced. Again. Better? Worse? I guess it depends on the singular experience. But the world has become more intense, more competitive.

   Stupidity also entered the picture later on. Driving to the gig with four guys in a VW camper with no seat belts, loaded with equipment, beer and bags of weed.....probably not a good idea. Ditto for the ride home. The danger factor just never crossed our mind. Really. Or hitch hiking from El Paso to Hollywood. Hitch hiking  was the mode of travel in the 60's and 70's.  But again....survived. Most of us. Some dangers we bring on. Others are just out there. And that's life on planet earth. As long as lessons are learned along the way...and there's still room for Bugs Bunny and the Three Stooges........I'm cool with it.

  

New Years Eve......AGAIN!?!?

    What a beautiful day. Sun streaming in....surrounded by guitars and drums, Molly, with a full belly and beggin' for a walk, Linda roamin' around lookin' gorgeous gettin' ready for work....... and I'm off. Yeah....life is good. I said to myself, "Lyons...this is a good time to blog. But I'm gonna skip the blogosphere and post this right to Facebook. Read....don't read. It's only therapy, man. And it may take awhile.
 Some years back I was training at a Princeton commercial AM radio station. They said they wanted to hire me 'cause they liked my WDVR show. I thought...."Cool." But between having to play the songs with the blue dot and the songs with the red dot, traffic, weather, news, commercials for the Priceton Record Exchange (love that place) promos etc......I didn't have time to have any .....fun. So the GM came in and the conversation, to the best of my recollection, went something like this. (Him) "Lyons, How ya doin?" (Me) Well, ok but, feeling a little bit....um.... restricted. Not a lot of time to vamp. (Him) "Waddaya mean. Right here between "Horse With No Name" and "Goings on in the area" you have 45 secs to go nuts!" (Me) "C'mon man, it takes me 45 secs to clear my throat." That was my last day of training.
   I was watching the news earlier and they had a lot of year end wrap ups. One of them was women in sports. The first female pitcher to win a Little League World Series game. She had a 70 MPH fastball!! On the boardwalk, on my best day, I could hit, maybe 55? And the youngest female golfer to qualify for the professional tour. 11 yrs old. (I think).
   I've known some extraordinary women. I'm living with one. The last few years have been a challenge for Linda. Spur of the moment trips to Pittsburgh, at all hours of the day or night, to take, pick up, or just be with her daughter in the hospital. Carrie's there as we speak. Linda just got back yesterday. (Thanks for your support and inquiries. No definite news yet on organ rejection) How many nights have I held her just wishing I could make it all better. I couldn't. Or waking up in the middle of the night to hear her crying in the bathroom. She didn't want to wake me up. My hero.
   My mom went through numerous amputations before she finally died after a long battle with a rare circulatory disease. She worked, took care of a disabled husband, a mother with Alzheimers and always had the door open for a musician son for extended stays when needed. She also bought me my first acoustic guitar..... and my first electric guitar and amp. And sprung for $5/week guitar lessons. She was kind of curious when the whole women's lib thing started. She was already living it. My hero.
   My mom died on New years day and my father died on New Years Eve. About ten years apart. So this time of year is always a little "weird" for me. Most New Years Eve's I have a gig. Tonight I don't. But I'll get to spend some time with one of my heros.
   I've been listening to a lot of Joel Osteen lately. He doesn't drive religion down your throat but is more inspirational, upbeat, positive. Delusional, some may say. I dig it. His main message is .....and I quote the great Bobby McFerrin......"Don't worry, be happy." Give your problems to....dare I say it....God. Or whomever/whatever you believe in. Things will work out just the way they're supposed to work out. A good number of your worries you have no control over, anyway. Try it. Try it for an hour. DON'T WORRY! It's not easy. But man, it feels good.
  Deviating like a drunk at a New Years Eve party......... Linda and I were talking about how rough cavemen/women had it. Especially before fire. (We have some strange conversations) Can you imagine?!?! Another one of those news bits from earlier. Cold, sick, hungry....for life! Toothaches, unhealed broken bones, no iTunes! Do we have challenges? Yeah. But it ain't so bad. I watched a Neflix movie the other night about the universe....how big it is...how small we are...
   So...to all my Facebook friends, regular friends, family, co workers, WDVR listeners (I'll be on tomorrow, 6 AM) have a wonderful happy safe New Years Eve. Don't drink and drive. Pet a dog, rub a cat (as Stymie said,"There's only one way to rub a cat. I found that out."), climb a tree, roll in the grass, smell a baby, dance your ass off and.....be patient. Don't sweat the small stuff. It's all small stuff. Peace
yadda. I love those things. We're here for a blip. A blip of a blip. We go by so fast a blip says, "Whoa, what the hell was that?" So what's with all the self importance. I'm gonna look at myself in the mirror and say, "SHUT UP!" That's better. (History of the Eagles is also a pretty good watch).

Wha?

     I first saw The Doughboys in 1965. I was finishing a Friday night rehearsal with the Plainfield, NJ St. Mary’s Boys Choir and was making my way up from the basement when I heard The Yardbirds “For Your Love” coming out of the gym/assembly hall. WHAT??? I’d spent the last seven years in that school with the Sisters of (no) Mercy and that sound just didn’t jive! The five guys onstage were called the Ascots and their guitar player, my paperboy, Mike Farina…. had been downstairs singing with the choir an hour earlier. The bass player, Mike Caruso, was a neighborhood guy I was friendly with and the drummer, Richie Heyman, and I, did a couple seasons with the Braves in the Plainfield Little League. The lead singer, Myke Scavone, had been the drummer for the Apollos who I remembered from the Plainfield Fourth of July parade about a year earlier. And their other guitar player, Willy Kirchofer I’d seen playing guitar on his porch one afternoon a few months earlier. I tried to wrangle him into my band but he said he was already in a band. Yeah….sure. These guys were all about two years older than my crew and when you’re twelve and they’re fourteen that’s a serious gap. I’d been hearing music coming from Mike Farina’s house just on the other side of my back yard. That was, finally, The Ascots.
     Plainfield, NJ, like the rest of Main St. America, was in the throes of a 60’s/British Invasion/Carnaby St/folk/rock/political/pre flower power/head shop/ music revolution. In 1966 I moved from Plainfield to Piscataway but continued my weekly trips to the Queen City to play music with my pals, take a guitar lesson at Gregory’s Music and walk the streets of downtown Plainfield; usually, hopefully, ending up in the balcony of The Strand Theater with my girlfriend, not watching a James Bond flick. The band, girlfriend, Gregory’s and Plainfield in general faded out as Piscataway, new girlfriend, new band and new guitar teacher faded in. There was a whole Wonder years, coming of age thing happening. 
  The Ascots hit their stride a few years later when they donned WW One army uniforms, changed their name to The Doughboys and won Zacherley’s Disc – o -Teen battle of the bands. Zacherley was a cool Dracula type tv host who would play horror movies and occasionally interrupt the movie to deliver words of wisdom from his coffin. He’d then close the top and the movie would resume. Too hip. The prize for winning the band battle was a stint as the house band at The Café Wha? in NY’s Greenwich Village. Between St Mary’s and The Café Wha? I’d seen the Doughboys a few times at NJ Hullabaloos and scattered HS dances. Mike Farina had left and they were gigging as a four piece covering artists like Hendrix and Cream before anyone else. They also played snippets of commercials, old tv shows, cartoons etc on the wall behind them. That’s entertainment, man. They cut a record that could be found on most central NJ jukeboxes and were opening up for some name bands but soon after the run at Café Wha The Doughboys called it quits.
   Myke Scavone went on to front Ram Jam (Black Betty), Mike Caruso became a session player and spent some time playing with Jimi Hendrix. Richie Heyman, after playing, with Link Wray and Brian Wilson started a solo singer/songwriter career as Richard X. Heyman. In 2000 the Doughboy’s reformed for a “one time gig” at Richie’s birthday party. It felt, and sounded good and the Doughboys continued to roll. They kept it up covering a good chunk of the East Coast and releasing three cds along the way, in addition to a DVD documentary, “Rock n’ Raw.” After Willie Kirchofer’s sudden passing in 2005, Gar Francis, of Sticky Fingers fame, took over lead/rhythm guitar duties. Their latest cd, Shakin’ Our Souls features performances from Mark Lindsay (Paul Revere & The Raiders) and Genya Ravan (Ten Wheel Drive.) One of their earlier originals, Black Sheep, was dubbed one of the “coolest songs in the world” by Little Steven Van Zandt on his Sirius Underground Garage radio show. Little Steven nominated more Doughboy’s tunes including a very cool cover of The Moody Blues’ “Tuesday Afternoon.” The Doughboys song list is still a blend of sixties covers and originals delivered with the same high intensity enthusiasm I saw on that St. Mary’s stage almost fifty years ago. Take a look at their version of Route 66 on youtube live from The Stone Pony and you’ll get an idea. Wow! I guess Rock and Roll IS here to stay.

"To be...or not to be..." Or maybe just kinda be.

   I recently celebrated twenty years as the Thurs morning guy on NJ's WDVR FM. WDVR's a public radio station and the amount of freedom the djs are given is insane. I remember as the Star Spangled banner was playing to open up my first morning on air, I had this overwhelming urge to run....run like the wind..and don't look back. I didn't. Run, that is. Showtime for me is 6am. My first morning I wanted to get there around 5. I've since cured myself of that silly habit. That first day I had my entire show arranged in order in a "cat caddy", for lack of a better name. You know, those cardboard carry alls where the top closes and forms two handles. I had albums, cds, cassettes and bits of info arranged in order of their appearance. I was prepped, man.
    So it was about 4:30 AM as I stood on the top step of my second floor apartment preparing to step into this adventure. I took a deep breath, reached down, picked up my box o' entertainment and before I could say," Look out world....", felt the sickening departure of handles from box. There I stood with cardboard handles in my hand as my first radio show tumbled down into the darkness; Beatles careening over Little Feat, over Stones, over Johnny Cash as tape mixed with viny mixed with plastic in a cacophony (I think this word actually fits here) of bouncing, cracking and ripping sounds mixed with the cries of young children abruptly awakened from a sound, peaceful sleep on the other side of the wall. Seemed like it went on forever as I stood there clutching handles to nowhere and watched my three hour show spread out down the stairs coming to rest in a heap by the door. The box was pretty well unrecognizable. The baseball cliche of "stunned disbelief" came to mind. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry and probably did both as I scooped everything up and threw it in the back seat of my car. Some squashed in the remnants of the "kitty caddy" and and some remaining, as I found out later, in the bushes. Ah....show biz.
    In the following years I've taken to showing up about ten minutes before showtime, grabbing some music from my crate, which remains at the station, or a few select tunes from the library and let this dictate the path of the show. Somehow, it seems, the universe goes to work and a path is discovered. "Seat of the pants" is kind of the way I go through life. So far, so good. I have an unsettling feeling it could get a little treacherous towards the end. But something's been guiding me all the way through. Giving me just what I need. No more...no less. So I hope it/they stick around for the fun part. Weird. What's gotten me going down this road today? (Don't you hate when people ask, then answer, their own questions?)
   Well, after twenty years I'm considering giving up my radio show. I really can't say why except it's starting to feel like time. I've had this feeling before and something's always happened to make me want to stick around. This time, I don't know. I'm sure the door would remain open to come back at some point but I wonder how it would really feel. I've gotten a lot of gigs, met a lot of artists, made a lot of new friends, reconnected with a lot of old friends, learned about different kinds if music, told a lot of stories....some true, and apparently impacted folks at different times in different ways. That's a lot of good feelings. Karma? I rarely miss a show, stay pretty true to what I want to do while I'm there and honor as many requests as I can. I've brought in seven or eight grants over the years, done some radio related band gigs gratis and been involved in fundraising events. Not nearly as much as a lot of other folks, but given life's time constraints, my conscience is clear.
   Thanks for listening to me talk to myself. As always....very therapeutic. And that big sigh just escaped my lips. You know, the one that lets you know you've hit on an indisputable truth, like it or not. Dang, where's my magic eight ball when I need it? Peace.

There's no place like.....home?

     We moved into our new digs on Feb 1st. Get this. It's an over 55 community for the "active adult." C'mon man. I still laugh at farts. But, like it or not....believe it or not....I just turned 61. I enjoy getting older. I don't enjoy some of the aches and pains but what're ya gonna do? It's just that everyone here is....old.  But I have to admit. I'm diggin' it. I've never lived in a place like this. I've always live in "country funk" kind of places. Our last place was an old grist mill on a river across from a winery and Alpaca farm. Floods, stink bugs, bats, loss of power....but....cool. This place is new construction, town house type, clubhouse across the street, "activities" and....nice people. And, I guess, my people. Linda was a good sport dealing with life on the river for a few years so I owed her one. And I'm now a believer.
     Home is indeed where the heart is. I don't think I've ever been unhappy anywhere. At least, not because of the surroundings. I've lived in band houses, dorm rooms, room mates, no room mates and it all comes down to....me. I've heard people who've "made it" tell stories of how the happiest time of their life was when they were living in a three floor walkup in Brooklyn eating baloney sandwiches. Was it really? Or was it just that rose colored glasses thing? Does it matter?
     And it is about the journey. Right? I've mentioned this before...somewhere. But twenty, twenty five, thirty years ago....living in Piscataway....I'd wished/dreamed for certain things. I look around and they're....here. Mostly. Weird. When I pray, it's not for riches or celebrity or.....any of that. Just a small step up in a few areas and being able to recognize the opportunities that'll take me there.  I think that's half the battle. Not to say, "Go away! I'm busy!" when opportunity knocks.
     I still have this crazy feeling that the best is yet to come. Why? I don't know! But I don't know how people live without that feeling. That "Is that all there is?" thing must be depressing. If I ever get there I'll let you know. One thing I do know. You can't always get what you want. Buy if you try some time...you just might find....you get what you need. Thanks Mick.     Peace.

What....me worry.......

    So the Yankees didn't make it this year. That's it! I'm done! They're dead to me!!.....until next year. Ahhhh spring. New beginnings. Awakening aromas from the nearby Alpaca farm. And ......opening day. Everyone's a winner. Everyone's batting 1,000. We just have to get through a World Series I don't really care about, Halloween, a presidential election, Thanksgiving, Christmas, snowstorms, Easter and then,,,,opening day. Man, that sounds like a long way off.

    My grandmother used to tell me time goes by quicker as you get older. Who woulda thought she was right!? I can imagine that spring's right around the corner. And it's not even November yet!

    Life on the river's been good. Lots of music at the Winery across the street and lot of gigs. I've been doing some interesting gigs with The High Bridge All Stars. Rotating cast, of course. And 've been playing with my old pals Stolen Hearts now and then. And it looks like I'll be doing some solo gigs soon. Not my favorite thing but I gotsta woik.

    Playing my bass has become so easy. Maybe....... relaxed is a better word. I've been working with some online lessons and it feels good to practice again. New ideas....... new techniques. I wish I had taken the whole music thing seriously when I was younger. But when you're twenty, and it's the 60's/70's, girls, beer and ....other things....aren't necessarily a priority..... but go hand in hand with giggin' 5 or 6 nights a week. The music, gigs...friends...have always been good. Even if I didn't realize it sometimes.

    Had a cool getaway a couple of weeks ago to the Outer Banks in north Carolina. Some old pals and lot of playin' and singin'. What's life without playin' and singin? You have to let that little kid inside you out every now and then. I saw that one of my Facebook friends had a picture of her sitting in a tree. You go, girl! On my radio show I always encourage people to climb a tree, kiss a dog, roll in the grass...... and stick your face right in it. I bet the smell of "ground" will give you a great flashback. I was walking around Round Valley Reservoir a couple years ago and couldn't resist climbing one of those great evergreens. It's like natures ladder. I got a good way up when a friendly couple decided to stop under the tree and express their fondness for each other. Before things went too far they moved on and I came down.

    I seemed to have missed the grow up gene. I can't explain it but it's too late now, I guess. Uh oh...The Three Stooges are on. ....Peace.

What.....you don't believe me...?

I'm was sitting in a bar the other day and the weirdest thing happened. A gorilla walked in and took a seat a few stools down. Now I thought this was kinda strange, but ok. So the bartender, Jimmy, walked over and asked him what he'd have. To our amazement he said," I'll have a Bud light....bottle." This was gettin' interesting. As Jimmy was getting the beer the gorilla put a ten dollar bill on the bar, looked up at the TV and just as Mariano was coming in for the Bronx Bombers, he looked over at me and said, "How the Yanks doin'?" I stammered, "Uh, They're up one run." Jimmy delivered his beer, picked up the ten spot, gave me a wink and returned with fifty cents change for our simian friend. I could see what Jimmy was pulling but just kept watching the game. A few minutes later the gorilla said,"Let's do it again" and pulled out another sawbuck.

Jimmy did his bartender thing, delivered the Bud, picked up the ten and with another wink towards me returned with fifty cents change. Another half inning went by, the gorilla got Jimmy's attention, pointed to his beer, pulled out another ten dollars and placed it on the bar. As Jimmy put the beer down he said, Ya know.....we don't get many gorillas in here." To which the gorilla replied," At $9.50 a pop......I'm not surprised." True story.

"If my words did glow......."

"Well the first days are the hardest days. Don't you worry anymore. 'Cause when life looks like easy street there is danger at your door. Think this through with me. Let me know your mind. Wo - o, what I want to know, is are you kind."

These are the opening lines from "Uncle Johns Band," a Grateful Dead tune written by Jerry Garcia and Robert Hunter. Jerry certainly seemed like a kind soul. The Dead had/have an aura of kindness swirling about them. Bob Weir can get a little contentious at times but I think that weird macrobiotic diet of his has a lot to do with it. The guy's hungry. Somebody give him a cheeseburger! Are you kind? Am I kind? How important is kindness? It's only everything. I just had my sixtieth birthday and this idea of being kind that's dashed in and out of my consciousness for most of my adult life has finally taken root. Maybe reality TV and CNN's nightly visions of man's inhumanity to man has guided some synaptic pathways to zig instead of zag towards an area of enlightenment. I definitely......feel more.

When I was a kid I was always the guy who went back to the guy we were just pickin' on and tried to convince him we were just messin' with him and then hang out for a while. A conscience is a vile thing. I never wanted to really hurt anyone. I don't know if I put out that vibe or if it was really there. I had a reputaion for being tough but never got into fights; for being smart but was, on a good day, a solid C student; for being athletic but was mediocre at best. It depended on what group I was hanging with and who was the recipient of the vibe. I easily wound my way through the jocks, the freaks, the geeks etc. The geeks were good for tutoring when needed, the jocks were always good for some football, baseball or....protection if needed. The freaks were a lot of fun on the weekend. And I like to think I brought a little something to the party. It was always weird when I'd be out with one group and run into another group. I was a musician all through junior high school and high school and different groups would converge at my gigs on the weekend. At break time I'd have a little Carter/Begin/Sadat thing going. Detante was alive and well at Friendship Hall. One of my chess club pals actually started dating one of my cheerleader pals! To their credit they didn't give a hoot about public opinion and had a pretty good high school run. I can't really say I thought much about it at the time. It all just seemed natural.

I've hurt people in my life. Unintentionally. That's something that can wear you down. An early life lesson is this. It's a lot easier to get over being hurt than to get over hurting. I can still bring up a memory of a girl I broke up with in ninth grade and feel an unpleasant pang. But then I think of a girl who broke my heart when I was twenty and.....nothing! It's all about forgiveness; for yourself ....and others. Is it easy? No. Necessary? Hell to the yes!!

Kindness. It's how you carry yourself and react to situations. Is it better to ignore the drunk who's requested Freebird for the tenth time at the top of his lungs and is hitting on your girlfriend the whole night? Taking him outside may give you some momentary pleasure. But it's not like the movies. These situations can also involve police and hospitals. Bad karma. That doesn't mean there aren't times. There are. Then it's back to the wall and no holds barred mother &#*#%^!! But it's so much more pleasant to let someone think they won......when you know the truth.

The older I get (Did I mention I just turned sixty?) the easier it is to smile and walk away. Good karma. Did you ever see "My Name Is Earl?" It's about a guy who's done some bad things, has an epiphany, makes a list of all the people he's wronged and spends his life trying to bring his own karma back into alignment. Karma almost becomes a character. Hijinks ensue, lessons are learned and I'm not sure how it turned out 'cause I only see the occasional rerun. It's worth a quick You Tube watch.

You've heard,"Why do bad things happen to good people?" On the other hand why do good things happen to bad people? I have to believe it all shakes out in the end. Where the end is............?

Kindness. One little bit of it from us can make such a difference to some one else. The Grateful Dead have always let fans record their shows. They even had/have a special area set up near the soundboard just for the taping community. "Mics in the air....gentlemen start your recorders!" Thanks Jerry. You'll know your opportunity when it presents itself. You don't have to be Mother Teresa. I'm sure even mother Teresa had days when it was tough to be Mother Teresa; when she'd yell at someone,"Hey ....go do it yourself slacker.......what am I....Mother Teresa?!?! Oh............um......yeah......my bad."

Our world is so contained. The office. The highway. The supermarket. The home. Friends. Relatives. Wives. Husbands. Kids. Here's your assignment. Try to let a random act of kindness sneak into each day this week. Man, it'll make you feel good. Just keep it to yourself and enjoy the glow. I'll bet..............Hey....what the.... Some idiot's trying to snatch my parking space. "GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE YOU *#%$^& &^*# *#$% #$^*#*^!!!!!!!!!!!......" Uh....gotta go. Peace.

Hey, Mister Spaceman....

I'm gettin' itchy to meet a galactic neighbor. The time feels right. Don't ask me why. The question of extraterrestrial life comes up fairly regularly in my conversations; I guess because I probably instigate it. The last two or three times it's come up I was met with the response, "I don't think there's anyone out there." That's amazing to me...because I'm so convinced they ARE out there. Maybe it's all those Saturday afternoons watching pods turn into people or trips to a Forbidden Planet or even laughing at Plan 9 From Outer Space. Hey, even an eight year old kid can see they changed Bela Lugosi's mid flick. And now it's day....whoops....now it's night..uh oh.... day again. Or maybe it's the late night radio shows I've been running into. Ninety percent of that conversation I don't buy into. I can't say they're wrong. I always say, and will continue to say, ANY THING'S possible. I just....don't buy into most of it. I'm not even sure we've ever been observed or visited. I'm just sure they're out there. All those great Sci fi movies, as cool as they were, always left me a little cold. I mean, I wanted them to land in my back yard.

Then the question comes up, "Well, why haven't they visited us?" The simple answer is I don't know. No one does. But I have a couple of theories. One is distance. Earth like planets have been discovered a few stars away from us. Ten.....fifteen years ago the big question was,"Are there any other planets out there?" Now we know there are. Many. That doesn't mean there's any kind of life out there....but it doesn't mean there isn't, either. But to get to the closest one, traveling at or near the speed of light, is a generational trip. And that's just tooling around in our own cosmic neighborhood. And the ability to reach anything close to the speed of light is a long way off. Talk to Einstein. So barring the invention of warp drives or wormhole shortcuts or inter dimensional pathways, it may simply be a matter of leapfrogging our way across the galaxy; a colony here, move on, a colony there, move on, etc. And once we get done with the two hundred billion stars in our galaxy, we can move on to the two hundred billion stars in each of the two hundred billion other galaxies. That' a lot of planets, man. And take these numbers with a grain of salt. Give or take a few billion either way.

My other theory is maybe they've been watching and observing for a long time but have no desire to interact. Could it be we're.....boring? Maybe it's that Star Trek prime directive thing where they can't interfere with a species' natural evolution. Or they're just sizing us up; sittin' back and watching.....seeing if we're gonna make the cut. Maybe whoever's in charge of this whole eternal universe thing set it up so we CAN'T reach each other. He's given us the tools to cruise around our own cosmic block but no further. As if to say, "Look around, have fun, but tend to your own garden." You can almost see the girl's camp across the lake...but not quite. Curiosity, the latest Mars rover, took off this morning. It's exciting stuff. But TOO SLOW!!! Can someone please invent impulse power NOW?!

I love watching Nova or tales about the evolution of the universe on the History Channel but the frustrating thing is it always turns out the same. Maybe they're there. Maybe they're not. It's like watching the guys chasing the ghosts. Just show me video of a ghost standing there, wouldja. Not something in the dark at the end of the room for a second and a half that's probably a reflection or a shadow. I guess they can hear it saying "Get Out," but all I hear is static. And I've got a wild imagination. I definitely heard John say,"I buried Paul" at the end of Strawberry Fields. When I was fifteen that was a head turner; till I found out he meant Paul was buried in the mix of the album. Dang, skunked again. So we seem to think they're out there..... but....... the old back and forth.

That doesn't stop me from going out at night and throwing out an open invitation to the universe. So far, no response. I don't think anything landed in Roswell, I don't think there's been any alien abductions ...or autopsies. I don't think the government knows anymore than anyone else. And if they do....quit worrying about the panic in the streets scenario. We can handle it. I think.

This quote has been attributed to a few different folks, Isaac Asimov among them. I like it. "The universe is not only stranger than we imagine, it's stranger than we can imagine." Put that in your phaser and fire it. Peace.

Then...and then...and now.....

Well..... here we are once again. Mid August. A remembrance of a little party that went on in Bethel Woods and was named for the nearby town of Woodstock, NY. Can it be forty two years?!? I didn't go to the show in 1969. I did go this weekend. At my age you have to grab your adventures wherever you find them. My band had a gig at a wedding "celebration" in a town about a half hour south of Bethel Woods....two and a half hours from my home in NJ. I had it in the back of my mind that I might stay in the area that night and visit the site the next day.
This was a good weekend. Had a good gig with the boys at a local pub Friday night. I left plenty of time to get to the Saturday gig 'cause I figured I'd probably find myself off the beaten path a few times. I did. But with the aid of some good samaritans I found myself back on track and in plenty of time for the gig. It was a good bash! So we're lined up in three cars to pull out afterwards. They went right. I called an audible and went left. Some locals had given me the info I needed to carry out my pilgrimage. I got a room about fifteen minutes up the road in Monticello. Woodstock....Bethel Woods was about fifteen minutes further north.
The next morning I ventured out and soon I was at .....WOODSTOCK...!!!!!!!...aka The Bethel Woods Music and Arts Center. A huge rock with the logo beckoned me to come in. (Cue CSNY..."By the time I got to........") There was a kid working at one of the parking lots waiting for the crowd for a show that night. I asked him who was playing and he said,"Nobody I know." Turns out it was Blood, Sweat and Tears, Tommy James and the Shondells and The Family Stone...minus Sly. Everybody I know. I wasn't sticking around anyway and just needed directions to the site. He seemed a little foggy on what I was looking for, even though it was only a quarter mile or so down the road.
At this point I have to say a nice job was done with the preservation of the concert site. The drive in from the main road was idyllic and empty. I got to the end of the road, a little past the Museum and on my right....there it was. No one around. I mean no one. And this was the anniversary weekend! I turned the corner and pulled in. Tiny little parking area. It was an overcast day and the surrounding countryside was geen, expansive and....smelled good. An arbor led the way in. I'm not sure but I think pixies were throwing flowers in front of me. I came out to a large rock with the Woodstock logo and a list of all the bands and a few words about the weekend. In front of me was Yasgur's farm. Just to the left was the footprint of the stage. The hill that had been filled with half a million people lo those many years ago went up and out and all around from there. Gardens and a few small seating areas and.....me and the ghosts. (the wind?) I've heard the complaint that "they" (the man?) won't let you on the site anymore. Well there's a fence preventing you from walking down to the stage. But even the fence is a tasty wooden Woodstocky type fence. And it's ALL the site, anyway. I climbed over the fence, walked in a ways and took a seat. Power to the people, man.
I sat there for about forty five minutes and a real sense of the spiritual wrapped itself around me. I felt like I was in church. But it was starting to get a little weird. As it should. Was it my imagination or was that The Who I was hearing? Whoa. That's definitely The Who. Turns out it was a sound check from one of the concert venues a few hundred yards away. Dang! A few "check...one...twos" confirmed it. (Stay away from the brown acid!) As I was leaving I had a nice conversation with a couple folks who snuck in while I was "praying." They were from my neck of the woods here in Jersey and said they come up every year. I asked them where all the hippies were. They said camping used to be allowed on the site (there's the man with his boot on the back of your neck, AGAIN!!) but had been moved to down the road where a friendly tavern owner allowed camping on his property.
I wasn't gonna stop at the museum. But I did. And I'm glad I did. After you wind your way through the Bethel Woods gift shop ($45 tie dyed tee shirt, anyone?) you wind up in the museum, which is really laid out well and very cool. One big theater and a few smaller screens, lots of lounging areas with big bean bag chairs,the magic bus, posters, memoribilia, interactive stations, and a recording booth where you can leave a remembrance of.... whatever. So there I am, forever in posterity in the little recording booth archive at the musem in the Bethel Woods Music and Arts Center. I was the only one in the Theater watching the Woodstock documentary (akin to Charlton Heston in The Omega Man. Google it.) and the only one sitting in the back of the Magic Bus for the tour. All in all, very tastefully done......and peaceful.
As I was pulling out of town there was the road with the strange name my jersey pals told me about. I pulled down the road and entered 1969. My brothers and sisters. All ages and sizes. Lots of gray. Lot of peace signs being thrown at me. Lots of music, campfires and hippies. And there it was. A taste of the "feeling." I headed home.
PS
I started my Woodstock adventure blog back in August and finished it today. Sept 11th. As I'm writing this, the tv's on in the background as the names of victims of that day are being read by family members. The reading's been going on for almost three hours.
That morning I had just dropped someone off at Newark airport for a flight he would never get on. As I was leaving the airport, heading west on Rt. 78, billowing smoke filled my rear view mirrors, just as Stuttering John busted into Howard Stern's studio to announce that a plane had crashed in to the World Trade Center. I knew I was done for the day, and probably the rest of the week.
I watched the images from my apartment in Pittstown, NJ. I got there just in time to see the first tower fall. The thought of the lives lost, and the manner in which they were lost, made me physically ill. My first thoughts weren't of who did it... or let's get the bastards... or did we bring this on ourselves.....etc. I thought of little girls whose fathers wouldn't be coming home. Of wives who'd be wondering where, exactly, their husbands were at that moment. Many never finding out. Brothers looking for sisters, nephews looking for uncles, workers looking for co workers. Cars parked at NJ commuter rail stations that wouldn't be picked up for weeks. Did I know anyone in there? I did. It was just hard to think of revenge in the wake of so many innocents gone. I get into downtown NY regularly and the fact that the Freedom Tower has taken ten years to get going is .....discouraging.
The last few days have been filled with documentaries and various news reports of Sept 11th. The images never fail to bring up the emotions of that day. I'm glad I'm not the guy who has to come up with any answers. I don't have any. Just an ache in my heart for our....their....your..... loss. Almost four hours. The reading of names continues. They're up to S. Peace.

Women....Cant' live with 'em.........

Women are smart, beautiful, good under pressure, smell good and make our life as men a lot easier. There. I said it. The secret's out. I've always gotten along well with women. They're easy to talk to and I've been told they have an easy time talking to me. I always take that as a compliment. I remember on a gig break at Lily Langtry's in Old Bridge, NJ (They had a full size stuffed bear in the lobby....Judge Roy Bean and all...) I was shooting the breeze with a nice lady. As I was getting up for the next set she said, "Hey, I've known you for ten minutes...told you how much I weigh...how much I make...after taxes.....what I paid for my house after a small inheritance....how much that was....where I live and where I work. You ought to be an interrogater. I didn't even know how much I was giving up." I'm paraphrasing, but that's close. She left and I never saw her again. Maybe she thought I had too much on her. But this scenario has happened to me many times over the years. I don't try. I'm just....curious.

So I guess I'm easy to talk to. That's nice. Of course, sometimes I'm not interested and that's where my meager acting skills come into play. But generally, I like listening. How many times have broken hearted girlfriends of pals of mine poured their hearts out to me so I can make it all better. I can't tell them the truth. But I always tried to soften the blow.

I like women. I've managed to stay friends with ex girlfriends and my ex wife. That says a lot about them. I don't mean to give the impression that's a long list. It's not. I'm flattered...and amazed that any woman would want to be associated and seen in public with me. In high school I had a lot of girl "friends." That came in handy when I had my eye on someone and could send a gender friendly pal in to lay the ground work. Can that backfire? Sure. But that's the fun of it. But then I'd have to be the middle man for them. Can that backfire? Sure. Feets do your stuff.

As long as I can remember women have been there. My mother was there at my birth. My grandparents lived next door to the first house I remember at 616 Monroe Ave, Plainfield NJ. My grandmother and I became fast friends and I could always depend on her for a couple of cookies or a soda. My grandfather taught me how to play checkers, cards, field ground balls and about the importance of being able to hit to all fields.

My parents bought their own home around 1958 - 9 and after her husband died my aunt shared the place with us. Another woman I could always drop in on for a snack or some TV.

How many King Kongs, Son Of Kongs, The Things, The Crawling Eyes (Hey....It's an eye!!!! Poke It!!!!) etc.....did poor old Aunt Catherine sit through. She seemed to enjoy it and didn't mind telling me when my time was up.

My grandfather died in '60 and my grandmother moved in. Some architectural changes and I had my three favorite women in the same house. Lots of escapes. No one ever knew where I was. They just assumed I was ok. And there was my sister to keep me honest. We all had many summer nights sitting on the screened in porch as they knocked back a couple beers and watched the neighborhood comings and goings as I tried to decipher the female language. I don't remember my brother or father spending much time out there. We all needed our escapes. I tape recorded some of those evenings but they've slipped into the ether.

Once The Beatles and music took over I had a perfect escape in my grandmother's bedroom. She had....a record player!!!!! And man did she get sick of Twist and Shout! Years later, when I'd be leaving for the gig she'd always say, "Now ....do you have your banjo?" I gave up trying to explain it was a bass and just said, "Yeah, thanks Gram."

My brother was eight years older and my father was either working or volunteering ....(escaping...?).....at the Plainfield Rescue Squad. So it was me and the ladies most of the time. I've always said that I think I'm half chick. All these....feelings......make them stop!!!!! I had the best of both worlds growing up. Lots of guys to play baseball with, make rafts, climb trees, get into fights, irritate girls and just generally barely escape death every day. There were also lots of girls in the neighborhood that we had no problem hangin' out with....to a point. " What?.....You wanna play football with us? I ....don't think so."

My mother, aunt and grandmother are no longer around. Many times I've wished I could go back to one of those summer nights on the porch in Plainfield and join in the conversation. They....we.... laughed a lot. They were very generous to my friends. Post baseball games there'd always be lemonade for everyone. My grandmother spent the better part of an afternoon making her famous "Yum Yum Cake" for one of my pals. We just hung around waiting. A crowd gathered and that cake didn't last too long. I haven't run into that cake since.

West Sixth St. was a cool, everyone watched each others back kind of neighborhood. My father applied first aid to many, my mom chauffered and my grandmother cooked. My aunt was willing to chauffer but nobody'd get in the car with her. Except for me. I miss them. They weren't Jane Wyatt or June Cleaver.....but I miss them.

And so it goes. These days I'm lucky to be sharing life on the river with a beautiful, smart, caring woman whose four kids, I hope, appreciate her as much as I do. Hey guys! Let's tell them that every now and then. Peace.

ANOTHER year older?!?!

It's Christmas time in the city. Ring a freakin' ling. Christmas 2010.Well if this doesn't conjure up feelings....memories...dread....joy....church

...nuns....presents.

...girlfriends......snow....trees......you
get the idea. Seems like I was always doing Christmas/seasonal shows of one kind or another. First with the St Mary's Boys Choir....in four part harmony ....and later bars and/or party gigs with any number of bands. Ah...show biz.
A real sense of pressure builds up as the big day approaches, doesn't it?
Today is Christmas eve. The decorations are up. Shopping is done. Gifts
wrapped. Now....we wait. I've had some really special, fun Christmas Eves. A late night in Piscataway walking home from a friend's house in a still falling dead quiet snow. The only sound was the crunching of my steps. A visit from a buddy and his girlfriend and the eventual killing of a bottleof Amaretto. An after gig party in Bermuda with some new friends.......and a shaky moped ride home at 5 AM. Made it! A mid 70's Christmas eve gig at the Pittstown Inn......so crowded we had to sit on the stage at break time. Another gig with another band at a lodge in Hunter Mtn, NY. Snowmobiling through the woods and across a frozen lake. Man, I wish I'd have brought gloves. To this day the feeling hasn't quite come all the way back in one or two of my fingers. Or sitting at home with someone you love watching "A Christmas Carol" or "A Christmas Story." (You'll shoot your eye out!!) Feelings. Lots of 'em.
I remember one "eve" shopping for a Christmas tree with my mom and
watching her work the guy from fifty cents to a quarter. A quarter!!! The woman knew when to shop. We got the tree home. Soon my father(not the handiest of men) was standing on a ladder putting the final touches on the star as the ladder collapsed bringing down my father and an open can of paint.(I knew that was trouble) Then man met floor, breaking his arm. Ye -owch! Watching the dog lap up and then throw up the paint.....ahhhhhh.........."It's beginning to look a lot .....
Christmas day is just so unlike any other day. The streets are quiet. Even the birds and squirrels look different, as if they know......something. Anyone you run into gives you that Christmas day look. A look of
.........peace? I don't know. It's just different. I always try to get
outside by myself for a few minutes on Christmas day. Escape. Remember what the day is. Regardless of your beliefs.... it's someone's birthday. I just like to say Happy Birthday. Gotta problem with that? I love watching the look on someone's face when you know you nailed their present. Is it better....more fun.... to give than to receive? I don't know. But it's close. Then there's the post gifts/dinner/dessert letdown. It's palpable. The air goes out of the room. All that trouble....for this? Well......yeah. And we're gonna do it again next year. Starting a day or two earlier if things hold true to form.
As I mentioned somewhere else here in cyberspace, I lost my parents on NewYears eve...ten years apart. So in addition to all those other
feelings...there's that. But as I think back on fifty plus Christmas', I
always wind up smiling. I've been extremely lucky. Good friends...family. Most of the people I've been close to...."get it." (If you have to ask...maybe you don't?) The Jesus Christmas cartoon on SNL is a classic.You tube it. It'll make you smile. Merry Christmas. Peace.

Fuuurrrtherrrr....................

You can really tell you're getting old when you start seeing your past come around again. Case in point......band reunions. A lot of the old bands from the 60's and 70's have been reuniting ...successfully.... and it's pretty cool. I'm talking local Jersey bands. Kinderhook....The Doughboys...The Good Rats. Jersey had a great club scene in the 70's. A band could easily play seven nights a week if so inclined. My personal high was nine nights in a row including two afternoon gigs with a band called Sundown. Two guitars and a bass. A lean, mean, giggin' machine. Not a great band but not too bad. Lots of vocals. People love vocals. I love vocals. We used to overload the harmonies to get the girls out 'cause the boys would be right behind 'em. There's yer crowd. "Ooooh's" for bucks as we'd say. Crass?

Times, sensitivities, values have changed. For the better. My first full time band was Freewheelin'. Old pals who were in the right place at the right time playing the right kind of music. The mid seventies saw a big country rock boom on the Jersey scene, ala Flying Burrito Brothers, Poco, Grateful Dead, New Riders, etc. And we jumped on board. This was the stuff we were playing anyway and it appeared that the scene caught up to us. The drinking age was eighteen, liberality abounded and...... lots of gigs. But, and I've mentioned this in other blogs, I can't believe we survived. We did stupid things. We got around in a Volkswagen camper. Four guys, no seat belts, three in the front and one in the jump seat, jammed full of equipment, plenty of beer and other treats, working on harmonies all the way to the gig. Then we'd do it again at two o' clock in the morning......usually minus one or two guys. And, as trite as it sounds, everyone was doing it. Even if we got stopped by a cop he'd just give us a warning or confiscate the beer. Again, how did we survive? Well, we had my pal Rock at the wheel. He was Neal Cassady to our Merry Pranksters. (I refer you to Tom Wolfe's "The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test.") Unthinkable today....and rightly so. It really does make you think someone was watching. Freewheelin' was a good, rockin' crowd pleasin' dance band.....once on stage. It was the gettin' to the gig, startin' on time, makin' it back from breaks, publicity, dress, dealing with club owners thing that we could never quite get.

The aforementioned Kinderhook was the top of the line country rock band at the time and they kind of took us under their wing. They let us open for them a few times and would call us when they couldn't make a gig. Good dudes. We'd hang out at their house in Hackettstown, NJ, and eventually relocated to that area. Anyplace that would put us up for awhile and could sustain our marathon practice/party sessions was our home. Usually short lived. We would always overstay our welcome. Discretion and moderation were not in our vocabulary. Here's a classic example. We opened up for Kinderhook at a club called Casper's in East Brunswick, NJ. During the course of the night I was shootin' the breeze with Andy, their bass player. They'd just opened up for Poco in Central Park and it seemed like they were on their way. Even the guys in Poco were impressed. So Andy was telling me about the gig and the guys in Poco and how they're just like us and how they got invited to the after party........WHAT!!!!!! I said, "Whoa....what was that like?" Andy said,"Well, we decided not to go. We thought they were probably just being polite and we didn't really want to overstay our welcome....." And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Freewheelin' would have beaten Poco to the party, been the first ones in line at the buffet table sticking rolls and cheese in our pockets, ordering nothing but the top shelf booze, and probably been politely asked to leave at some point during the night. We weren't bad guys or malicious.... extremely friendly as a matter of fact. But we were young, caught up in the scene and most of the time...not in reality. Some friends didn't make it. We did.

I was talking to a bar owner at a gig a few weeks ago and he was feeling me out about getting the boys together for a gig. Believe it or not, everyone's still around. But I think it's one of those things that's better left...remembered. There's a couple other old bandmates from different bands that have contacted me about some reunion gigs. Some.....most.....better left un-reunioned. Everyone's doing it. We need a Woodstock for all the old fart Jersey bands! In the meantime, get out and see Kinderhood, The Doughboys, The Good Rats, Sam The Band, Cowtown, Frankie and the Bern and your particular old favorite. I'll bet they're around....in spirit, anyway. Peace.

Summertime....and the livin' WAS easy

Where'd the summer go?! I mean......where'd the summer go?!?! I remember when I was a kid, summer vacation seemed like it went on forever. Then, at some point, you realize it's basically two months and change. Depressing. But remember that feeling waking up on the first, second, third day of summer vacation and realizing...ohhh yeahhhh.....it's summertime, baby. West Sixth St in Plainfield, NJ was a cool place to spend summers. Middle class....I guess....lots of kids....different age ranges. I was kind of in the middle so depending on the days action I could float among the different groups. Monopoly or Stratego with Stanley on his porch. That could kill a half day. His mom didn't trust me as far as she could throw me but as long as we were in sight it was cool. Bike adventures to the local parks or card flipping tournaments with Mary Ann. She cleaned me out more than once. Or Baseball with the older guys. Developed some pretty good skills early on by hangin' with those guys. One day the guys were playing St. Stan's baseball team from down the road. They were actually an organized team......with uniforms! Remember when The Bowery Boys, aka The East Side Kids would play a local organized team and hijinks would ensue? Yeah.... like that. In that kind of scenario I may or may not get the call. But that day I did. St. Stan's had a pitcher who threw nothin' but heat. He was wild and already had facial hair. I got the call to lead off and man did he look huge. I can't remember his name now but even that was frightening. I stepped in and their catcher said, "Good luck." Pretty sporting, I'd say. I tried to say "Thanks, you too" but my mouth was so dry all I could do was nod and attempt a weak smile and a little bit of spit. I wondered where that annoying clicking was coming from and realized it was my knees banging together. Ah....a time to test my mettle. I actually heard the first pitch whiz by. Strike one! Sounded like a ball to me. On the second pitch I started to swing before he actually let the ball go and danged if I didn't pop it just over second base. I stood proudly on first base as the next three guys struck out. I owned Lurch for the rest of the game. Got two more hits and then he drilled me in the ribs on my last at bat. Accident? I think not. Didn't matter. I laughed all the way to first. Y'know how the pros always downplay their performance and insist it doesn't matter unless the team wins. Never bought that. I don't even remember if we won or lost, but my status shot skyward. It's amazing what confidence can do. It bolstered my little league game, helped in brawls with my sister and even Sr Anne Eucharia didn't seem as intimidating.

And that was the day that my place in the neighborhood changed. I was no longer going back and forth between the older and younger group as much but now had a fairly secure place with the older guys. They were even coming to the door to get me for this or that. Hide and seek, tag etc just didn't seem to do it anymore. But I did notice it was getting more and more interesting to also hang with that other group. Did I mention the girls? I was on W. Sixth St. from Kindergarten to the middle of eighth grade. A lot can happen in that span. I noticed when I was around eleven, twelve, thirteen I was coming up with excuses to be around the girls. And I could be pretty creative. They made me feel ....funny.

I started playing guitar around age twelve and then things really got weird. Nancy lived across the street. She died a few years ago and that gave me pause for reflection. She was always a little more artsy than the rest of the crew and would like to hang out when I was practicing and critique, suggest, sing along and just be Garfunkle to my Simon. She had a great ear. My guitar teacher taught me House of the Rising Sun in E minor. Who does House of the Rising Sun in E minor!!?! Nancy knew it was wrong right off the bat. What could I do? I wouldn't find out about transposing keys for a few years.

And then I moved to Piscataway. Time to navigate among groups once again. Somehow I could always do that. Hang with the Jocks, The Dweebs, the Intelligencia, the...uh...not so intelligencia and the neighborhood guys. All the time keeping my grades right in the meaty part of a solid respectable C. Math always hurt my GPA. I got a D in Geometry, went to summer school and got a......D. C'mon...who can concentrate in the summer!? Especially when the girls in my class were wearing summertime clothes and smelling so good....and....and....

Somehow I've made it to fifty eight and never had to prove why a parallelogram is a parallelogram to anyone. And don't get me started on the Rhombus. I think the message here is don't be afraid to roam among groups. It can be kind of off putting to some people when groups collide but so what!!

Man, I wish I could come up with a really interesting wrap up here but Linda's grandkids have been on the other computer watching "Fred" at an extreme volume and I hate to admit it but....uh....I'm kind of starting to dig it so........how 'bout those Yanks?

Peace.

"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale...."

I had the most inane, but fascinating discussion the other day. Given the chance, what super hero would you want to be? No, these discussions don't only happen at the Seinfeld coffee shop. It was two other guys and me and as it went on it actually got kind of heated. Guys take their super heroes very personally. But to me it's no contest. Superman can do it all. He just has to avoid Kryptonite in it's various forms. Not as easy as it sounds but worth the trade off. Another guy wanted to be Batman. What!?!? And get this. The other Mensa candidate wanted to be the Flash! They each had their arguments but why bother. Superman trumped them all. I was a DC comics fan and never did the Marvel thing so maybe I don't have all the facts, but they just have no game. Batman's clever, wily, strong, has a great car and hideaway..... and is rich. The flash is .......uh.....fast. Batman wouldn't stand a chance in the Octagon with Superman, and as far as speed....remember the one where Superman crossed the solar system in ten seconds and only lost time because he stopped to save a treed cat? Yes, he even has a super heart. And just use your imagination in regards to his X Ray vision. I could think of only one use for that when I was ten. Granted, I haven't read a Superman comic since around 1967 but unless things have radically changed, he's still my guy. And don't even try comparing the Bat Cave to the Fortress of Solitude.

In the course of blogging I've referenced the Man of Steel a few times. I've come to realize......once again...... it's a guy thing...... kinda like The Three Stooges. I'm sure you've gotten the old, "But why is he always hitting them?" Hey.....BECAUSE HE'S MOE!!!!!!! And forget trying to explain the letdown of a Shemp for a Curly.

I still have a picture of my father and me on the couch, sometime in the late fifties, early sixties staring at the TV. The caption reads "Interested in Superman." My brother got a camera around that time and by default became the historian of life on West Sixth Street. Captions and all. As a fan of Mad magazine he'd try to make them topical/irreverent/ cynical. There's another shot of my sister and me on her bed locked in combat. As usual, I'm on the bottom getting the worst of it as the caption reads "Typical."

My father's main complaint about Superman was he couldn't believe no one knew Clark Kent was Superman. Glasses and a suit? C'mon....I had to agree. But TV in the fifties and sixties demanded a suspension of belief. Why couldn't the professor just patch the hole on the Minnow? Why did the Howells bring a trunk full of clothes and packets of money? Why didn't Gilligan and Mary Ann ever.......or....did they? And remember the one where a camera and film washed up on the island? The castaways decide to make a movie recounting their shipwreck and hoped somebody would find it, put two and two together and come rescue them. Yeah....maybe. Or here's an idea. How about a movie where you stand there with a billboard that says "Help! We were shipwrecked on the Minnow a few years back. We think we're at (I'm sure the professor could come close to a longitude and latitude.) With us are the Thurston Howells (that's how they introduced well to do married couples in those days) and Ginger Grant, the movie star! Come rescue us!!!" Frustrating. But they had a half hour to fill.

The question is why do three guys in their fifties care about superheroes.... or Gilligan's Island...or The Three Stooges...Bewitched.....I dream of Jeannie. (Please.....just once can I see the belly button!!!!! ) Well, it impacted us. As did Combat.....The Rifleman...The New York Yankees and our neighbors, teachers and friends. That's what life is. A series of small meteors leaving their impacts. The St Mary's nuns left many an impact.

Life seems so much faster and more complicated for kids growing up today. They're preparing for college at nine years old. I meet and talk to parents every day and a lot of them are worn out by their kid's life schedule. Overload. But I guess everyone adapts. Most days, when I wasn't in school, my parents may or may not have known where I was till they saw me for lunch or dinner. Certain rules were laid down and I had to loosely roam within those parameters. They were too busy trying to make sure those meals were on the table and the mortgage was paid. Not that there weren't dangers out there. Plainfield, NJ was a volatile town in the sixties and the occasional black eye or bloody nose came with the territory. Is it better today? Worse? Kids standing next to each other texting rather than talking? It is what it is. A trite summation, but there you have it.

Be honest. Is this weird? I spend a lot of time on the road and get involved in these wild fantasies. I'm a Pisces and a dreamer. My teachers reminded me of that on more than one occasion. On a trip down the Garden State Parkway or The NJ Turnpike I can be captured by aliens or stranded on a desert island or asked to join a great blues band. The detail I go into is staggering....as I realize I'm fifteen miles past my intended exit. In my profile I wrote something like "I can't escape this feeling that something wonderful is going to happen." I still feel that every day. Really. Many wonderful things have already happened. I'm a very lucky guy. But I still think that.....hey....what's that bright light in my backyard? Uh oh...they're he-eeere.....?

Peace