Ba - Boom!

It was so much more fun when Donald was in the house, wasn’t it?  Oh.......the wrenching of hands..the exploding of heads......the gnashing of teeth. I used to love to toss in the occasional grenade, sit back and enjoy the mayhem. That’s the weird, sadistic, black comedy side of me. Blame National Lampoon, Mad Magazine, SNL (when it was funny) Cheech and Chong, Far Side, Family Guy etc.

I used to depend on FB for my daily 10 minutes of political fix. Now I don’t know what I’m supposed to believe. Are the latest Fauci rants liberal or conservative? I can’t tell. But I hope he’s got a PR guy. Book...TV movie. It’s comin’. The Sunday morning shows are still fairly entertaining but...oh....for a 2018 Sun morning. The indignation! I’m down to the first 15 mins of the five o’ clock CBS news. New York, of course. Tells me all I really need to know. The rest is opinions and fluff. Nothing wrong with that. Remember the Seinfeld where Jerry’s girlfriend broke up with him because she caught his act and thought it was “just so much fluff?” He says,”You can’t go by a Mon nite crowd.”

I long for a time gone by when you could say stuff. Everyone’s scared sh$&#less to give an “honest” opinion. Watching the contortions as commentators and politicians struggle for the ”correct” words and phrases is somewhat entertainng.....but......I need more. We need someone to add thought balloons. Get on It you creative types. C’mon man, let’s put the fun back in funky!

Geeez....this was just gonna be a quick comment. At least I got to put off changing my strings for another day. Goin’ fishin’. Hope no fish bother me. Peace....

An addendum: (an hour later) In 1972 as I was picking up some credits at Middlesex County college waiting to get drafted. (picked up the credits..never got drafted), I “worked” on the college magazine called Flux. Small staff. We did just about nothing but had a cool office to kill time between classes. An interesting group of characters would drop in and out. The first time I met “big” Steve Worowski was at the Flux office. He was hangin’ out....workin’ the room. I walked in. He handed me a National Lampoon. It was open to a page with a picture of a grinning Dwight Eisenhower and the caption, “Hi! I’m still dead!” Man, did we laugh! He had a great laugh.

Many, many years later we played together in a band called The Movers. He was a blues man. Had some great music discussions with that guy interrupted only by gasping for air laughs. His minutiae knowledge would leave me in the dust. He could make me laugh and piss me off at the same time. That’s a gift. The last time I saw Steve he was in a coma at a hospital in Hackettstown. I left a copy of National Lampoon on his bed and said adios.......

Seems like only yesterday.......

    

  Happy 50th birthday to NPR! Uh...Oh.  I think I just got scrolling whiplash from my conservative friends. Fear not, brothers and sisters, I'm one of you. Oh no...whiplash to the left of me. Fear not comrades, I'm one of you, too. But....how can that be? We have met the enemy and it is....us. Who woulda thought? More on that later.

     NPR, National Public Radio, turns 50 tomorrow, May 3rd, 2021. C'mon man. Hangin' in for fifty years in anything deserves some kind of recognition, grudging or otherwise. For almost thirty years, till a pandemic layoff, I was a limo driver in and around the tri state area. Radio was my constant companion, a necessity for traffic reports and for a world connection. From Terry Gross to Mark Levin,  from Boomer to Howard, and to the wild west of Sirius radio, we would kill time at the tunnels and bridges together. Sirius has changed the landscape, but to everyone's amazement, terrestrial radio's continued to hang in. Pundits be damned! AM radio was still my first go-to to check the status of the planet, know which construction sites to avoid and, if the President was coming to town, where and when we could expect to encounter FROZEN ZONES! Also to see just how well we all fared overnight. Some days better than others. I remember the Sept day when I jumped on rt 78 west after a dropoff at Newark Airport. A cloud over lower Manhattan was filling my rear view mirror. Radio on, and I was off for the next week We all were. As a kid Rambling with Gambling would wake me up with "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile." Smile?! What're you nuts?! I gotta spend the rest of the day with the Sisters of (no) Mercy! I don't like to use the word hate but I really came to dislike that song. And what is a kit bag, anyway?

     But Happy birthday NPR. I loved spending a chunk of my Fri afternoon with Ira Flaytow on Science Fri. Terry Gross does wonderful in depth interviews on Fresh Air and the Tiny Desk Concerts were like sparkling gems that would magically appear just when I needed them. Ok. NPR has an obvious left leaning bent to everything they do. But you know that going in and they do let the other guys in now and then, listening without demeaning, for the most part. Ahhh....Conversation. Remember conversation?  That doesn't mean I'm not open to some clever sarcasm. I am. Sometimes...many times..... I learn something, even if I do keep a grain of salt in close proximity. NPR hosts....well...all hosts... usually get in the last parting shot, even if the guest is long gone. That's the perk of being the host and controlling the faders. Fifty years, man. I was never a U2 fan but there's something to be said for longevity, for maintaining an audience, for just showing up. I'm becoming a U2 fan. Fifty years of public radio with support only from underwriters and you and me. Yes, I've written the occasional check. I drove NPR midday newscaster Lakshmi Singh once. The conversation went, Me: "Good morning Ms Singh. Your flight's on time." Lakshmi: "Thank you. Put on NPR please." She seemed slightly impressed when I said, "Philly or New York?" End of conversation. 

     The AM side of radio, decidedly conservative, unless there's two hosts, is more frantic... hurried. "We're up against a hard break." We're comin' to the top of the hour! Hurry! Hurry. Must sell the next weight loss plan. They have to. And sometimes frantic is good, too. I was getting a little weary of the "K- A - R - S, Cars for Kids" theme song but I always liked singing harmony and desecrating the words.  I enjoy a lot of the AM hosts. I enjoy a lot of the FM hosts. If you're going for more in depth, Sirius is the way to go. But it'll cost ya. Sometimes Gross will really get my Irish up. (Is that offensive? Get over it!) Sometimes Sean will make me want to reach through the radio and.....    You know what I do then? I change the station. Or turn off the radio. Sometimes quiet is nice. I don't write a letter or boycott a product. You can. I'm a grown up. I can take it. 

     Political correctness was just funny. The new "cancel culture" is sad. I'm not afraid to hear anything or let anyone have a forum. "Oh..so you LIKE Hitler!" Um....no...I don't like Hitler. Not even a little. The shutting down of alternative views on college campuses is...... weird. That used to be the bastion of free speech. Now alternative views are shouted down or disinvited. I saw this first hand when a filmmaker, whom I'd just dropped off at a NY college theater, jumped back in my car and said, "Get me back to civilization." He didn't even make it to the stage. A lot of comedians will no longer perform on college campuses. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "They've lost they're ability to laugh at things that are uncomfortable." I think I'm paraphrasing. I always found "uncomfortable" to be where the best comedy lives!  Some years back when things were just starting to get weird I was taking night courses at Rutgers and received my one and only college A. I disagreed with the professor on everything but on tests and papers regurgitated back to him everything he wanted to hear. After a full day of work I didn't have the energy for debate. I would even add a postscript thanking him for his insights and for opening my eyes to different social issues of which I was blindingly unaware. I'd get a lot of "Good job!" and "Great points!" I gotta admit feeling a little sleazy but....my only college A! My neighbor across the aisle, to her credit, would always take the contrarian side, on tests, papers and class discussions. Her efforts would come back covered with "Wrong!!" or "Read Tuesday's Times editorial on this!" Etc.  She wound up with a final C. Undeserved. She wasn't too happy with my strategy but occasionally we'd go to Tumulty's pub for the post class beer, anyway. 

     On my Thursday morning radio show ....PLUG!...WDVR FM 6am- 9.... I  play music and observe... ala, Jean Shepherd....life. I couldn't hope to shine his shoes but I give it a shot. He was the best. Christmas story!? C'mon!! Jean's elaborate, windings tales coming out of my parents radio from the next room would accompany me to that peaceful world of sleep. They really kept that radio obscenely loud. Kind of like I do now. So no time for politics on my airwaves unless it's a quick stick in the eye. A non partisan stick in the eye. Or as James Carville says, "Pawatisan." How he and Mary Matlin made it work all those years is one of life's great mysteries. Ya know, I really am a live and let live, love your neighbor, kind of guy but I can't pass up a good jab. It's the Mad Magazine, SNL (when it was funny), Far Side part of me. It's a conundrum. My cross to bear. I have to keep my mouth shut. A lot. And listening can be a wonderful thing. 

     I think I've mentioned this somewhere before but this kind of sums up life in America today and may bear repeating. One Thursday morning, post Trump/Hilary election,  I received a call from a woman who said she could no longer listen to my show as I was obviously in the tank....yeah... she said "in the tank"....for Hilary. Ok. See ya, yadda yadda, no hard feelings. I was a little disturbed. Until......two weeks later.....two weeks!....... I got a call from a guy who said he could no longer listen to my show as I was obviously a shill...yeah.... "shill".... for Donald Trump. Well. now I could play that next Critters song (Don Ciccone was my fill in guitar teacher. Look him up) with a clear conscience. Cigars all around. My work here was done. I pissed off both sides. By saying practically nothing! I fear the days of arguments on the Senate floor leading to Happy Hour truces are over. Pick your side and stick with it. Don't give an inch. Even if you spot some possible merit to an opposing argument. One misstep and your next moniker will be Persona non Grata. 

      Listen. No one's got the ultimate answer; the myriad religions, political parties, talking heads or you...or me. They all think they do. And, at times, we probably think we do, too. I guess confidence, even misdirected confidence, is good. I believe we'll find out, somewhere, sometime. Surprise! In the meantime be kind, be willing to listen to the other side, be able to give and take a jab and if you don't like what you're hearing.....change the station, channel, dialogue. Or, if you must, write a letter, boycott, protest. I don't have the time or frankly, interest, for that.  But you can! We're still able to do that.  But maybe.... you better hurry. Better yet, go play catch with your dog. He's always glad to see you.

 Happy birthday NPR!   Peace....... 

"There is a season......."

      I think I've mentioned this before, the old adage about why we humans evolved with two ears and one mouth. Prehistoric cave dwellers would hear the threat that's coming to eat them, then yell "Look out!" to their neighbor. Listening could save a life. Listening, real listening, seems to have faded. The recent election and Facebook posts pretty well confirm that. People no longer want to hear your opinion, even if they ask. They want to hear their opinion coming out of your mouth. I can't take credit for that bit of wisdom. And these days one can always find a source to back up their opinion. From then on, it's fact. I think I've said this before. It sounds familiar. 

    I'm turning sixty nine this month. My grandfather died when he was sixty nine. That's the first death I can really remember. I was eight. I remember the sweet smell of the funeral home and my grandmother's uncontrolled sobs. I remember the post funeral get together at our home in Plainfield, NJ and, for the first time, seeing my mother cry. It was a sudden death. Grandpa said he felt a lump in his chest and was going to lay down. He asked my grandmother to call the doctor. His last words were, "Someone could die without a doctor." Gram went in to check on him and he was gone. Not a bad way to go, I guess. 

    I read a statistic that said one hundred and fifty thousand people die on the planet each day. Three hundred thousand are born every day, give or take. Turn, Turn, Turn. I guess when I was younger my parents and grandparents contemporaries dying just didn't impact me much. They were old. They're supposed to die. Right? But now it's getting closer and closer to home. People that have been around most or all of my life are checking out. Some older...some younger. Most recently, Hammerin'  Hank Aaron, the home run king and two of TV's finest, Cloris Leachman and "Screech." And, in the last few years, some best friends. On the flip side, there's been some new additions to the family. The circle of life. We're given that segment of time in life where we can really shine if we choose to. Some segments, like athletics, are shorter than others. "The saddest words of voice or pen, are those that say, what might have been." On the other hand, thinking you've given something you're best shot, whatever the outcome, is as good as it gets. 

   In my book, Beyond The Red Barn, I recount a life after life experience that I may....or may not, have had. An article that I read on the internet (so it must be true), says it's been established that the brain lives on for an extended period after the body is clinically dead. So are all these NDE's merely dreams, hallucinations, the brain's way of giving us a grand send off? I choose to think not. They seem very real to the recipients. But they did come back. They didn't really, finally die. I, probably like you, have wondered, where were we for the billions and billions of millenia before we were born?  Maybe we're just not supposed to remember? Where will we be millenia from now after our sun dies out and our solar system and finally, our universe,  follows suit? Lots of theories out there. Pick yer' poison.

   The pandemic's given me plenty of time to think, to meditate, on these grand questions. But also the smaller questions. Why would anyone hire the Three Stooges to rewire their home? C'mon, man. They've gotta see that one comin'. I try to shut down every day for awhile; shut the TV off, shut the radio off and just think. Or not. Just stare. You'll eventually wind up thinking, anyway. Listen to the silence, the Universe...God.  In addition to lockdown, we've been snowed in for the last two days. And it's still coming down.  I've also been laid off since last March. Seems no one needs a limo these days. And gigs have been few and far between. But I've been, for a lazy bag o' bones, fairly productive. I've finished and published the aforementioned book, learned a bunch of new songs, finally finished a painting I dreamed  twenty years ago (and I can't paint...see above...), enrolled and unenrolled in a program to finish my college degree (someday), and have almost learned to juggle. My fellow radio DJ's and I have been doing our shows remotely from home so there's another skill, with help, that we've picked up. 

   I had a physical about six months ago and mentioned that I'm just not feeling well. The doc said he's hearing a lot of that lately. Symptoms of house arrest. You mean I really do need contact with other people? But I thought I really didn't like people. I miss seeing dogs. But I never thought I'd miss interacting with people. I guess I was wrong. I've never had a problem admitting I'm wrong. I'm wrong a lot. I have another physical at the end of this month. And except for some worsening arthritis and a detached bone in my foot, I ain't doing so bad. Hey man, I'm gonna be sixty nine! I will have to mention the increasing pandemic blues to the doc. He'll probably say "Join the club." But I must admit, I can see the light, still a ways off, at the end of the tunnel. Just a feeling. And not a bad one. As Joe Walsh says," Life's been good to me, so far." I still have a few things on my bucket list. Gonna have to heal that foot before I can go surfing in Hawaii. Tourist waves of course. Ahh...... Birthdays.....getting older. As my father used to say," Beats the alternative." We'll see, Pop!      Peace.

"I'm ready for my close up.....Wait...no...back up....back up!"

     Celebrity. What an odd concept. Particularly for the person on the receiving end. I guess it's just something that's always been there. The Neanderthals in one cave probably heard about a Neanderthal a few caves down who could ignite a fire quicker than anyone, hunt down food at the drop of a hat and.….oh yeah....was pretty popular with the ladies. And he somehow made a substance that allowed him to paint on walls. An artist. (swoon) If any of the boys had a problem with that he'd be glad to chat about it anytime, anywhere. Celebrity. What were the chances of the average American meeting George Washington, Ben Franklin or Thomas Jefferson....or even knowing what they looked like? Slight. Politicians working for US was the concept back then. Senators and Congressmen would leave their farms for a week or a month to serve the new democracy, come up with and vote on new bills, hash it all out and then return home. Can you say term limits?  What happened?

     The chasm between us and them... celebrities... seems to have shrunk. During the pandemic of 2020 celebrities are coming to us from their living rooms, dining rooms and kitchens.  Hey look! Tom Hanks has a dishwasher….just like me! Well, of course he does. He's a human being....just like me. He's got, what I might call, a deserved notoriety; a string of cool movies sometimes paralleling our own lives, a long successful marriage and a likeability and self deprecating manner that makes it seem like he's as surprised as anyone that he's one of the chosen. The nice guy celebrity goes a long way with us. The "Let them eat cake - don't bother me" attitude....not so much. But do they owe us anything? You might say, well, that's the life they've chosen. Deal with your big house and swelled bank account. Waaaaaa! I've seen interviews where an actor will say they love the art and skill of acting and were not at all prepared for the celebrity aspect. Waaaaaa…. again? Navigating the ins and out of fame calls for a different skill set. How many times in a day does Tom Hanks get stopped by a fan who just wants to say hello or have a three minute conversation about what Private Ryan or Bosom buddies meant to them? Seinfeld's "Mr Peterman" says he gets stopped at least a hundred time a day. He says Jerry told him that his life was going to change the day after his first appearance aired. It did. And the irony is that "Mr Peterman," Tom Hanks etc may be very nice to the first one hundred people but by one hundred and one maybe they're a little wiped and not quite as giving as we'd like. The nerve. And that's the story Mr/Ms 101 will be telling about said celeb for the rest of their life. Fair? Life's not fair. 

     So there's the person that's in it for the art and the person that's in it for what the art will bring. I remember as a kid reading a Sports Illustrated quote from Dick Stuart, professional baseball player. I'm paraphrasing but this is pretty close. "I crave fame. I want to walk down the street and have people say, Jesus, there goes Dick Stuart!" I still remember it so I guess it impressed me. He had a 264 batting average and helped the Pirates upset the Yankees in the 1960 World Series. He probably got his share of recognition. I hope he enjoyed it.

     I was a full time musician throughout the seventies and into the eighties. I'm still at it part time. I've had a Thursday morning radio show for almost thirty years. Between successful band gigs and radio events, I've had and enjoyed the occasional" big fish in a small pond" thing. Anyone who's ever played at a CYO dance or wedding or local dive has had the "big fish in a small pond" thing. I've given about ten or fifteen autographs in my life always reminding the recipient, "Remember, someday this'll be worth nothing." I've had people slapping me on the back as I made my way to the crowded bar never having to pay for a drink or tried to have three or four conversations at a radio event with fans of my radio show. It's nice. It's familiar. I've appreciated it, enjoyed it and haven't had a negative experience yet. But when the event's over....it's over. That small, small taste of celebrity is nice. It feels good. Man, that all sounds very pretentious and I don't mean it to be. The point is I got into music because I loved it and it seemed like a cool way to make a living. I picked up a radio show because it was fun and led to music gigs. The saying goes,"Do what you love and you'll never have to work a day in your life." Paraphrasing.

     I was a full time limo driver till the pandemic "temporarily" retired me. Limo life led to a crossing of the paths with a number of celebs. The reality is.... they're us. We're them. They have two eyes, a nose and a mouth and they're own set of challenges. Everyone I've met has been very nice in that practiced kind of way. I met SNL's Joe Piscopo at JFK some years ago. Actually I noticed his gorgeous wife first then spotted him. In this situation I'll usually give a "How ya  doin'" and keep moving. I don't really have anything to say to them and they certainly don't have anything to say to me. As I was walking by the Piscopos I just gave a quick wave. Joe put his bag down, put his hand out and with a big grin said, "Nice to see ya," He seemed like it was really nice to see me. I've gotten to know him on a professional basis over the years and he is one of the nice guys. And it seems he never met a benefit he didn't like. He says he has a hard time saying no. I've seen Bruce Springsteen out at the bars two or three times over the years. He gives off an approachable vibe. People come up, chat for a minute, maybe offer to buy him a drink and move on. He's the boss. I've seen videos of Paul McCartney walking the streets and meeting fans. He always seems cordial, signs autographs, gives a snippet of a conversation and continually suggests, "C'mon love, let's keep walking." He knows what happens when he stops walking. He seems to be a guy who enjoys being Paul and the celebrity that comes with it. I know a British guy who was on the Wings sound crew. He said Paul loved being in a band and never seemed happier than when he was playing old rockers during sound checks. I think meeting Paul would create a "homina homina" moment for me. He was/is such a large part of my life. 

     Then there's guys like Elvis, Michael Jackson or Prince who hunker down, stay away from the public and rent out the amusement park or movie theater for them and their pals. Nothing wrong with that. And it is a dangerous world with people who are up to no good.  I met Julian Lennon on the streets of NYC one morning. I'd heard he was on one of the morning shows and I was a few blocks away. I pulled up just as he was coming out. I gave him a few minutes and as he was getting ready to get into a car I strolled up stuck my hand out and said, "Nice to meet you Julian. Love the new cd." He shook my hand and said, "Thanks mate. Thanks." I thought I noticed a bit of a start and thought maybe he's not one you should walk up to and surprise. I forgot. But he was a very pleasant bloke and I never did hear the new cd.

     Then there's the undeserved notoriety. I guess the Kardashians are the poster family for that. The rip on them is that they're famous for being famous. Well, they've had a very successful reality TV run, made inroads in all facets of fashion and if you look a little deeper have shown a philanthropic side that doesn't get much press. Should we blame them for being famous and probably being more than a little out of touch with reality. But that IS their reality. And they're in touch with that. Then there's the Jersey Shore crew, assorted housewives from around the country, various talent shows, hookup shows and contestant type reality shows ala Big Brother or Survivor. Financial rewards can sometime follow. I've heard people say, "I've been rich and I've been poor. Rich is better." Maybe. But money can't buy happiness. Have you heard that one? Fame, if that's what someone's after, is a lot more accessible now. Something usually has to be brought to the table, a talent of some kind, but not always. Sometimes the idea seems to be to simply embarrass.  If they feel that's worth it for a payday, go ahead.  And what does that say about the viewer. I'm not above a good dose of reality TV. Loved Ozzy! Loved Bonaduce!  But a lot of it does leave me shaking my head.

     Back in the heyday of Hollywood and the studios the chance of approaching John Wayne or Marilyn Monroe was unthinkable. I can't imagine Clark Gable speaking to us from his kitchen with the dishwasher running in the background. Did they have dishwashers in the thirties or forties? Now with the advent of Facebook, Instagram (not sure what that is) and youtube everyone has the capability of becoming a celebrity in any number of ways. Some involve the cuteness of kids or animals, a talent of some kind, sustained injuries or entertaining rants. I've been known to get caught up in any number of youtube loops. If you liked THAT....you're really gonna like THIS. No apologies.  So where does that leave us? I think it was back in the fog of the sixties when someone said or wrote, "In the future everyone will have their fifteen minutes of fame." Paraphrasing Andy Warhol? Truman Capote. Maybe it will come to the point where everyone is famous for a minute but then the effort will be to strive for anonymity. There are those who have no use for the grid and wander off. That's become a lot harder to do and though I'm not a big believer in "the end is near,"  the pandemic of 2020 does give one pause. And if it's anonymity you're looking  for just put your mask on. And KEEP it on.  In the words of the late, great James Dean (celebrity) "The life you save could be mine." He died shortly after in a car crash. Stay safe. Watch out for each other.    Peace.

C'mon...gimme yer best shot!

     These are weird days, March - April 2020. Did I just state the obviously obvious? Can I get a collective "Duh?"  I remember the Cuban Missile Crisis and shortly thereafter the Kennedy assassination. Also weird times. Through the lens of a child, beyond weird and right into frightening. But we survived. As an adult the Vietnam war coming into my living room every night was strange but surreal. It was in a place far away and we seemed safe. We survived. Though we all had friends who didn't. 9/11 came a little closer. As I was leaving Newark Airport that clear crisp morning the smoke from the towers appeared in my rear view mirror. We survived. Though we all had friends who didn't.  

    But the "Covid - 19." Wow. In a month's time life on planet Earth has taken a backflip. Wait a minute. You mean we're not so smart and technologically advanced that these things can no longer happen? We're actually....not in charge? Well shut my mouth. I remember hearing there was some kind of odd contagion moving through China and then...bam.....Times Square is a ghost town, people are dying and I'm....we're.... homebound. As of now, Apr 17th, 2020, we're hearing the virus is flattening and like a weak flashlight the end of the tunnel is slowly starting to illuminate. That doesn't help the homeless in mass graves. Or the bodies in cooler trucks. Or the people who may or may not get off ventilators. And it doesn't mean you or I or the front liners are in the clear. I've been to the food store three or four times in the last month. Am I a carrier? Are you? Time will tell. But we've adapted amazingly well to the new normal and everything that implies. And again...we'll survive. The dinosaurs didn't. The cockroaches did.

    On a personal note life has been coming at me rapid fire for the last couple of months. I started collecting Social Security (What?!?!), unemployment insurance (thanks Corona), and in mid March lost my brother John. He was in Hospice and faded away to a morphine drip. There was always three of us and now there are two. A personal loss like the death of a parent, sibling or friend takes some adjustment. I had my first dream about Johnny a few nights ago. No big revelation but he was happy and healthy. I've already had that slap in the face when I went to call him and realized he wouldn't be picking up. Ouch.  I believe at this moment he's doing better than ever. I really do.

   I...you....we....Earth.... have survived countless challenges; more, I'm sure, than we're even aware. This one's a kick in the teeth. We'll get braces. Maybe we were getting a little too complacent, too comfortable. I've heard the words "comfort zone" thrown around a lot lately. We ain't in it now. And maybe we'll never get back there. It'll be interesting to see how the virus of 2020 is remembered. Or what normal will be a year from now; what our new realities and priorities will be.  Politicians and pundits will politicize it. The medical and scientific communities will learn from it. The economy will slowly return. And life will go on. But I think from here on out we may be looking over our shoulders, just to see if anything's back there. And at some point....there will be. But...ya know what? We'll survive......and come out stronger. And anyone who tries to steal my rose colored glasses is walkin' on the fightin' side of me.   Peace.    

We Hold These Truths.......

    Happy Fourth of July, 2018!!! This 4th finds the country as divided as I've ever seen it. I've read about the division/rancor of times past......pre Revolutionary War, Civil War, the ugliness of earlier elections etc. In MY life....this is as bad as it gets. Unfortunate. I've always believed  in supporting the president, whoever he or she may be. Not a popular concept. When my guy loses it's akin to when the Yankees lose the World Series. A quick "dang," a deep breath and....back to life.  "We'll get 'em next time."

Imagine....just imagine.....if we all sucked up the loss and got behind Bush, Clinton, Obama and...dare I say it...Trump.....without constantly throwing tacks under their tires. Maybe their ideas would fall flat. Maybe not. This does not mean throw out the nature of checks and balances. Always keep an eye on the man behind the curtain. But enough with the distraction! Clinton/Lewinski, Bush/National Guard, Obama/Birth Certificate, Trump/Da Russians. C'mon man. We all know each side gets angry when their guy loses and wants their side in at any cost....but can we just move on? This American experiment is going pretty well so far. Not perfectly...but pretty well. Here's what I told my anti Obama friends back then and what I tell my anti Trump friends now. Relax....breathe......there's another election around the corner. Live your life, love your family, climb a tree, pet a dog.... then....pet another dog.

    A large part of our problem as I see it is there's no serious dialogue. There's talk of dialogue but we're not really listening. I like the old adage about why we have two ears and one mouth. You get it. I'm sure you've been in a situation where you're making what you consider to be a valid point but you can see the other person not really absorbing what you're saying and just itching...ITCHING to start talking again. At this point I should confess I'm a moderate. WHAT!!!!????  You mean you try to see both sides of an issue and make a semi intelligent  decision based on....facts?! Or your personal core beliefs combined with facts?! Yeah. I try. Truth is a tough thing to find these days. I admit I can't find it. Lots of gray out there. And that's usually where the truth... or truth parts resides.

    Try this social experiment sometime. Sit down with one of your liberal friends and one of your conservative friends (assuming you may have one of each) and moderate a conversation. Your job? Shut up. The rules are one person speaks until his/her point is made....with NO interruption. The other person takes a beat or two, considers...CONSIDERS.... what was said and responds. And you can't start with, "Yeah, well what about.....?"  Respond to the point. I submit you can't do it. Maybe for a minute or two but then it will ultimately deteriorate into sound bytes.

    Politics is a dirty business. I've met politicians on a local level and politicians on a national level. No matter what their aspirations are going in, they ALWAYS wind up selling a little bit of their soul to a compromise. In their defense they have to.... if they're eyeing a higher office.  I saw this early on at a local level and it was an eye opener. So the cynic/realist in me assumes that Assemblymen, Congressmen, Senators and....higher ......probably have/had somewhat good intentions but not much soul left. And that, kids...is just the way it is. If you've watched the Sunday morning news shows you can see how everyone is scared "s.....less" to answer a question. Deflect!!!! The media scrutiny doesn't help. The slightest faux paux will follow them for the rest of their career. If they're liberal Fox will spin/edit it and if they're conservative CNN will spin/edit it. No debate here. Truth. Sorry if you're offended. Um....not really. You can substitute CNN and Fox for left and right media outlets. They ALL do it  to different degrees. I enjoy going back and forth watching the anchors contortions to make the headline fit their "truth."

    Having said all this I gotta admit I'm enjoying the Trumpster and his antics. I like a lot of what he's done and raise my eyebrow at other things. But I'm mostly enjoying the feigned outrage on the left. (In fairness, I also enjoyed the feigned outrage on the right during the Obama administration.) I'm a National Lampoon, Mad Magazine, Family Guy, SNL (when it was funny) kind of guy; warped, edgy sense of humor. I still laugh at ethnic jokes....even when they're directed at me. Irish. I wouldn't dare tell one. I'd have to move....change my name...! Just about nothing offends me. I mean really offends me. Not the knee jerk automatic offense we see daily. Poor baby. When did our skins become see through?   I saw a FB post this morning where a young lady was ranting that everyone should speak Americanish...all the time. The Canadians....The British. Everyone!!! Cuz this is the language of the future!!!!!  In my job I meet many millennials.  Bright group but many are....confused. I was chatting with a young man a few weeks ago who was earnestly trying to convince me that the French had won the Civil War. I like to play along in these conversations for the entertainment value. Just for fun I said I thought the Civil War was fought mainly on American soil. He said,"Sure, 'cuz after the War of 1812 President Hamilton freed the slaves  moving the war over here before it went back to France."👀  He was so proud I just had to say,"O man, I forgot that. It's been awhile. Thanks." And there we are.

    Ah....entertainment value. It can't be overrated. I remember at the first, possibly second debate  (don't let facts get in the way of a good point) when the question came up,"Is there anyone who will not back the Republican nominee?" No one raised their hand....except....you got it....Donald. Let the show begin!!! I met the Donald on a few occasions. Likable guy. But...they're ALL likable or they'd never get elected. At first I'd think, "Please, just keep quiet....stop tweeting......just improve the

economy and infrastructure." That's what he does. Now I say, "Let it rip...keep pissin' people off .......be the ultimate contrarian...tweet....tweet....tweet! (I don't tweet so I never see them.) Lack of class? I guess...but unfortunately there's a lack of class everywhere. And I say again.....entertaining.

    And so my fellow Americans, on this day, a day we celebrate the invention of the hot dog by the great Dr. Frank N. Furter which, coincidentally, the Hessians were muching on when Gen George S Patton crossed the Delaware into Minneapolis and surprised them that Thanksgiving morning, thus turning the tide of WW 1, remember the last words of the late great General George Custer who reportedly said...."What the....?"

     But seriously my brothers and sisters....I hate (and I hate the word hate) to see friends losing friends over this microsecond of cosmic history. C'mon man. Stop. It all shakes out. Maybe not here. But somewhere. I'm sure of it. And to those feeling disenfranchised..... I hope next time your guy wins. I promise I'll support them post win...or maybe even pre win. Then we can all watch the OTHER side's righteous indignation.

     Now stop....take a breath.....consider..... and wait five seconds before you say, "What a freakin'  douche bag!" Feel free to leave a comment....or not. But if you do....it better be in Americanish!  Or I'm really REALLY gonna be offended!  Happy 4th.      Peace.         

Just my imagination.......runnin' away with me!

     As a Greenwich Village poet once wrote/sang, "The times, they are a' changin'." True. Then again, the times are always a' changin'. Sometimes for the better...sometimes for the worse......depending on your POV. I'd argue that the times are a' better compared to say 12th century England. Medically, technologically....not much of an argument. These days a cold, an infected tooth etc are probably not gonna kill you. As a serf on a medieval fiefdom ya takes yer chances.

    Technology is a double edged sword. I enjoy blogging, youtube, facebook but don't tweet, use instagram or any other social media. That's not to say I may not in the future. As a musician I love my harmonizer, effects pedals, compact PA system and the ease of home recording. And instead of having to move a needle back and forth on a record or spin a cassette to a desired location I simply say, "Siri, get me the chords and lyrics to Don't Let The Sun Catch You Cryin'" and  twenty five choices pop up on my phone/computer including youtube guys willing to painstakingly walk me through every chord change and nuance. Yeah....I'll take that over back in the day. In an earlier blog I included a bit about a Twilight Zone scientist whom Rod Serling leads back to a simpler time, as per his wishes, only to be completely frustrated that he can't do much with the antiquated equipment of the era. Hijinks ensue and he and Buster Keaton are led back to the wonderfully technologically superior 50's.

    The downside I see is a loss of connection....humanity.....imagination. A few years back I was driving a couple of young girls to the airport. They were in the back seat on their phones. Lots of giggling and elbow jabbing and I could see that they were having a conversation via text. They were right next to each other!!! On the other hand, if they didn't want the old hippie in the front seat to overhear their conversation....well....it worked. I'm slowly getting sucked into the text world.  It does make it easier to not talk to people. Even easier than letting the answering machine take your messages. Remember that?

      I'm  popular with the kids in my family. I mean the really young ones They call me Ted and are not sure what my connection here is. But they know I'm always willing to roll on the floor, play hide and seek, climb a tree,  make a fort, crank up the music, eat ice cream right out of the carton and..... grandma seems to like me. And I guess that's enough.  I've never quite....grown up. It can be a problem. But one I embrace and refuse to apologize for. I have a theory. I think it's because I never had kids of my own. You have a life. You have kids. You start living their life. They become adults, move on and you get back to your life; looking back over that span of your kid's life to your old life as some kind of distant memory. Like a line with a chunk out of the middle. My line/life is uninterrupted.  Thus....the man/child. By proxy I've become a father and a grandfather. Not the same as the real thing but a lot of fun.

     But with all the devices kids have, alone time with their imagination seems to have taken a back seat. They'll certainly have the technical expertise to get through this life adventure but something will be....missing. I get, "I'm bored" a lot. When I reply," What....I'm here to entertain you? I'm your personal clown?," they don't even get the Goodfellas reference.( Sigh....)   When I suggest they read I get, "What....like a book?" (Sigh...again....) Here comes the when I was a kid thing. When I was a kid I could amuse myself for hours with a rubber ball and front steps. Or a basketball and a hoop. Or exploring the woods behind my house. Add a buddy and we could take these adventures to the next level Make a raft or a go cart, become soldiers in a WW 2 battle ala"Combat,"or just have a catch and create any number of baseball oriented scenarios. And it continues to this day! I've missed many a NJ Turnpike exit because I've been involved in a personal daydream. Playing bass with the Boss 'cause Gary Tallent got held up and can't make the show. Or shipwrecked on a desert island and the different modes of survival I must employ. Does anyone else do this or am I a complete freak. Rhetorical. 

     I had an imaginary friend. I don't mean a blotter induced 1970's  college dorm imaginary friend but a friend I could see and hear and interact with. I was 4, 5, 6 yrs old and could summon Soupy out of the large radio in the living room. Remember those? It was a piece of furniture about four feet tall with radio, short wave and a turntable. Soupy was a bear. He stood upright, had a tie and a pork pie hat and a wise/wiseguy way of talking; like he was a little too hip for the room. Apparently no one else could see him but now and then, at my insistence, an extra chair would be set up at the dinner table and indulgences would be made. To this day I'm not sure if Soupy was real or an undigested piece of potato. Angel? Long gone relative? ET?  One day he just stopped showing up. And I "forgot" how to get him to show up. And then I just....forgot. But lately, for some reason, Soupy's been on my mind. My past and present seem to be getting closer; like they're gonna meet at some point. Weird. Imaginary friends, I've learned, are normal. Whew!

     Calvin and Hobbes was a comic strip I could relate to on so many levels. Calvin was a precocious, sensitive, kind kid who had a stuffed tiger, Hobbes. Hobbes would come to life when no adults were around. He would participate in Calvin's adventures and, at the same time, be a kind of conscience. Calvin was me. And maybe....you. Like the time Calvin speed ate boxes of chocolate frosted sugar bombs cereal so he could send away for a propeller beanie that he was sure would allow him to fly around the neighborhood. Upon arrival and assembly the propeller promptly snapped. Hobbes walked Calvin through the disaster and repairs were made. Out to the backyard, beanie applied and Calvin was....was....walking. Because of course, beanie hats can't really make you fly. Much like the printing kit Kellogs sent me that did nothing more than get ink all over the place and pretty much fall apart. But I enjoyed the frosted flakes. 

   I've included below an article I ran into in cyberspace. I don't know the author or its origin. It's an adult Calvin on his deathbed and a last conversation he has with Hobbes. Be warned. If you're anything like me, you know, Pisces, watery, sentimental.....  have tissues at the ready. 

     PS My "granddaughter," Alyssa just asked me if I'd help her make an obstacle course.
 Let's rock!!

"Calvin? Calvin, sweetheart?"
In the darkness Calvin heard the sound of Susie, his wife of fifty-three years. Calvin struggled to open his eyes. God, he was so tired and it took so much strength. Slowly, light replaced the darkness, and soon vision followed. At the foot of his bed stood his wife. Calvin wet his dry lips and spoke hoarsely, "Did... did you.... find him?"
"Yes dear," Susie said smiling sadly, "He was in the attic."
Susie reached into her big purse and brought out a soft, old, orange tiger doll. Calvin could not help but laugh. It had been so long. Too long.
"I washed him for you," Susie said, her voice cracking a little as she laid the stuffed tiger next to her husband.
"Thank you, Susie." Calvin said.
A few moments passed as Calvin just laid on his hospital bed, his head turned to the side, staring at the old toy with nostalgia.
"Dear," Calvin said finally. "Would you mind leaving me alone with Hobbes for a while? I would like to catch up with him."
"All right," Susie said. "I'll get something to eat in the cafeteria. I'll be back soon."
Susie kissed her huband on the forehead and turned to leave. With sudden but gentle strength Calvin stopped her. Lovingly he pulled his wife in and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. "I love you," he said.
"And I love you," said Susie.
Susie turned and left. Calvin saw tears streaming from her face as she went out the door.
Calvin then turned to face his oldest and dearest friend. "Hello Hobbes. It's been a long time hasn't it old pal?"
Hobbes was no longer a stuffed doll but the big furry old tiger Calvin had always remembered. "It sure has, Calvin." said Hobbes.
"You... haven't changed a bit." Calvin smiled.
"You've changed a lot." Hobbes said sadly.
Calvin laughed, "Really? I haven't noticed at all."
There was a long pause. The sound of a clock ticking away the seconds rang throughout the sterile hospital room.
"So... you married Susie Derkins." Hobbes said, finally smiling. "I knew you always like her."
"Shut up!" Calvin said, his smile bigger than ever.
"Tell me everything I missed. I'd love to hear what you've been up to!" Hobbes said, excited.
And so Calvin told him everything. He told him about how he and Susie fell in love in high school and had married after graduating from college, about his three kids and four grandkids, how he turned Spaceman Spiff into one of the most popular sci-fi novels of the decade, and so on. After he told Hobbes all this there was another pregnant pause.
"You know... I visited you in the attic a bunch of times." Calvin said.
"I know."
"But I couldn't see you. All I saw was a stuffed animal." Calvin voice was breaking and tears of regret started welling up in his eyes.
"You grew up old buddy." said Hobbes.
Calvin broke down and sobbed, hugging his best friend. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I broke my promise! I promised I wouldn't grow up and that we'd be together forever!!"
Hobbes stroke the Calvin's hair, or what little was left of it. "But you didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"We were always together... in our dreams."
"We were?"
"We were."
"Hobbes?"
"Yeah, old buddy?"
"I'm so glad I got to see you like this... one last time..."
"Me too, Calvin. Me too."
"Sweetheart?" Susie voice came from outside the door.
"Yes dear?" Calvin replied.
"Can I come in?" Susie asked.
"Just a minute."
Calvin turned to face Hobbes one last time. "Goodbye Hobbes. Thanks... for everything..."
"No, thank you Calvin." Hobbes said.
Calvin turned back to the door and said, "You can come in now."
Susie came in and said, "Look who's come to visit you."
Calvin's children and grandchildren followed Susie into Calvin's room. The youngest grandchild ran past the rest of them and hugged Calvin in a hard, excited hug. "Grandpa!!" screamed the child in delight.
"Francis!" cried Calvin's daughter, "Be gentle with your grandfather."
Calvin's daughter turned to her dad. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Francis never seems to behave these days. He just runs around making a mess and coming up with strange stories."
Calvin laughed and said, "Well now! That sound just like me when I was his age."
Calvin and his family chatted some more until a nurse said, "Sorry, but visiting hours are almost up."
Calvin's beloved family said good bye and promised to visit tommorrow. As they turned to leave Calvin said, "Francis. Come here for a second."
Francis came over to his grandfather's side, "What is it Gramps?"
Calvin reached over to the stuffed tiger on his bedside and and held him out shakily to his grandson, who looked exactly as he did so many years ago. "This is Hobbes. He was my best friend when I was your age. I want you to have him."
"He's just a stuffed tiger." Francis said, eyebrows raised.
Calvin laughed, "Well, let me tell you a secret."
Francis leaned closer to Clavin. Calvin whispered, "If you catch him in a tiger trap using a tuna sandwich as bait he will turn into a real tiger."
Francis gasped in delighted awe. Calvin continued, "Not only that he will be your best friend forever."
"Wow! Thanks grandpa!" Francis said, hugging his grandpa tightly again.
"Francis! We need to go now!" Calvin's daughter called.
"Okay!" Francis shouted back.
"Take good care of him." Calvin said.
"I will." Francis said before running off after the rest of the family.
Calvin laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. The time to go was close. He could feel it in his soul. Calvin tried to remember a quote he read in a book once. It said something about death being the next great adventure or something like that. He eyelids grew heavy and his breathing slowed. As he went deeper into his final sleep he heard Hobbes, as if he was right next to him at his bedside. "I'll take care of him, Calvin..."
Calvin took his first step toward one more adventure and breathed his last with a grin on his face.

"Sounded like a ball......."

     I played in the Little League World Series. Well, not THE Little League World Series; the Plainfield, NJ Little League World Series. Year? 1962. I was on the Braves. Our side of town was the National League and the other side was the American League. We were pitted against the dreaded Indians. Plainfield had the minor league and major league according to age, ability etc. This was the minors and we were pumped. I wasn't sure why I was playing shortstop as a lefty. But mine was not to reason why. I was doing some pitching earlier in the year. Ya know that feeling when you're in the zone? When our coach was trying out pitchers I was throwing smokin' strikes with a little jump on them. I don't know where that came from. I started the first game and proceeded to hit the first two batters. Pals of mine. So much for the "zone." I could still bring the heat but never knew where the ball would wind up. I settled in as the occasional relief pitcher, first baseman and shortstop.

   The season wore on and we kept on winning. As a team we were in the "zone." And so...here we were. The "World" series! Our field on the corner of Rock and Myrtle Ave was pretty cool as these fields went. Outfield fence with advertisers. Dugouts. Bleachers. But the field on the other side of town....Seidler Field had....LIGHTS!!!!! WHAAAAATTTT!? And....infield grass! Now here was the rub. The managers were given the option to use players from the majors. We went with what got us there. The  other side didn't. I always thought our manager made the right decision. Even though the outcome was pretty well sealed. The first game was on our field at Rock and Myrtle. I was starting at shortstop and batting second. We took the field and I settled into self defense mode as these guys were hitting rockets to short and third. Caught some. Missed some. Never saw some. We didn't fare much better on offense. Bobby grounded out to second on the first pitch. I stepped in and suddenly it seemed like the distance between home and the pitcher's mound had shrunk. This was one big boy. But as our coach said, "He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like you." Really? That old nugget? Never saw the first pitch. The ump screamed, Striiiiiike!" I said, "Sounded like a ball." No reaction. He was throwing straight fastballs so I just dug in and swung. Cracked a line drive toward second that this guy with a two day growth reached up and grabbed. So that's how it was gonna be. We lost 22 - 0. We'd get 'em next time. Well....maybe not.

   Next stop...Seidler field. Under the lights! Man, did that feel cool throwing it around pregame under those lights. The first Indian batter...all six feet of him......drilled a line drive toward me. I leaped and it smacked into my glove. One away! That was pretty much the highlight for me. Their pitcher was good but not as good as the last guy. They only beat us 18 - 2. They won the third game and the Plainfield 1962 World Series was in the books. To our team's credit there was no bellyaching. We gave it our best shot and against all odds.....lost. I made some plays, committed some errors and got one hit.  Some of the parents weren't too happy with the way things went down. Mine were cool.  The awards dinner at Clinton School was a little awkward. We picked up our trophies and ate some rubber chicken. Standing on the stage with the Indians the size/age difference was obvious and their players seemed a little embarrassed. I went in thinking we were the ones who were going to be embarrassed but lo and behold we were standing "tall" and they seemed a little....slouchy. Even their coach. He who laughs last...right? Everyone in the room knew what was what. A life lesson? Dance with the one what brung ya? I don't think a situation like that could happen in the politically correct atmosphere of today; even playing field and all. If I remember correctly I think the Indians even got bigger trophies. I hung on to my trophy for many years but somewhere along the line it disappeared.

   There's something about that David vs Goliath thing that everyone has to face at one time or another. I moved to Piscataway in eighth grade and joined the wrestling team in ninth grade. I  had never wrestled and never even saw a wrestling mat until I walked into the wrestling room off the Conackamack junior HS gym. Up to this point I thought wrestling was the stuff from Washington we'd watch on Saturday nights. But I enjoyed it and got into great shape. Again....here's the rub. There's always a rub. I weighed 132 lbs. The 136 lb slot was filled. The 141 lb slot was filled. I'd be wrestling at 148 lbs. Ouch! I managed to not get pinned for the first few matches. On the bus rides back the coach would go through the matches. When it got to me he'd say, "Lyons, what can I say. You deserve the purple heart." I had no interest in a purple heart. I just wanted to  wrestle a guy my own weight and see how I could have done! A few matches down the road I had to wrestle the state champ from the year before. Lots of slaps on the back and well wishes during the day but we all knew the grim outcome. The very next week I had to wrestle the guy who had beaten the state champ a few weeks earlier. Dang. Pinned. Back to back weeks. So....where's my purple heart? Oh...so life's not fair? Everyone doesn't get a trophy.....? I can't blame the coach. He wanted to win as many matches as possible. I was the best guy left for that slot. I guess that says something. My teammates knew. And that's what really mattered.

   The Plainfield Little League World Series and Piscataway wrestling matches were challenging....but mostly fun. And nothing serious was going to happen. We lost a game. I lost a match. So what. People have bigger challenges; gone up against greater odds with real consequences. Cancer. Single moms. Single dads. Displaced families in the middle of war zones.  Challenges. My mom had a rare circulatory disease that eventually killed her. But not before taking both of her legs. Challenges.

   What sent me down this road?  I'm in Ocean City, MD this week and  doing a lot of reflecting. I enjoy reflecting. It reminds you where you've been and where you may or may not be going. I'm 65, have high blood pressure (under control) and still carrying around 20 - 25 extra lbs. But....I went paddle boarding, did lots of swimming, body surfing, rolling around with kids and

rode the most challenging ride on the OC boardwalk....."The Slingshot." I can also do a handstand, cartwheel, went skydiving recently and can still walk, run and ride a bike as far as I want. This isn't bragging. This is me saying thank you. For no apparent reason .... I'm healthy. I haven't done much to stay healthy but here I am. Some aches and pains but so what. Every morning I say a prayer to..... God? The universe? Whoever's listening. "Thank you for this day and for my continued health." I mentioned my mom. I had a friend/bandmate who died of colon cancer at 41. One of a handful of friends who've left the planet too early. We're all just hangin' on by our fingertips, man. Fragility of life. Many close calls....too many to mention but....still here....healthy....happy. The song goes, "I wish I knew now what I didn't know then." Well, I think I know now what I didn't know then. I mean....I could write a freakin' book! And so it goes.         Peace.........

(Get it?)

Friendly Monster

                         ( This is a story written by my pal Alyssa Sumner. She's eight yrs old.)

There was a monster .  In the forest he had a home. There were two little kid's and they made a deal  to go into the forest  . And if one of them screamed they lose  .It started to rain and fog up. They saw a big large black thing .They both  screamed  really loud and ran out of the forest .The monster tried  to tell them he was friendly but it did not work out very well  .The kid's  said," I think that was a monster ." So every night they would have bad dreams.  On Monday they went back in the same spot to tell the monster they were sorry .The monster came . They tried not to run. They both said," I am sorry" and the monster  said. " Okay do you want to be friends?". The kids said yes .So every night they would have good dreams about the monster. The next night after their parents went to sleep they went out in the forest . And they went to sleep  at the monster's wood house  "This is big, said the kids . And why do you think it is so big because he is big." He had an extra bedroom.

So in the morning before their  parents woke up they would go out during the day and play ball  . And same thing at night . The next day they found out that they were going on a vacation . So

very early in the morning they went to the monsters house to tell him that they were going .They came back on Wednesday and when they went home they threw their bags and went to the monsters house . But he was not there and they were only going for fourteen days. We thought he left with his family so they did not worry.  But now they were worried because  he was gone for  sixteen days. Even more days then they were!  Maybe he needs our help. We've been looking for him for two days now . Lets just wait. Maybe he stays with his family more then we do . It has been six days so we went looking for him. We found him. He was in a factory. They got him home and gave him food and lake water and he was okay. Now we went home and my parents hugged us and kissed us  because we were in the monsters house for 22 days .And we lived happy and loved. So did the monster.

So when  we went on  vacation together we told our mom and dad about the monster . They were scared just like us . But when we went we went on vacation they were fine,

                                                                   The End     

Oh....You got a problem with me?!

    " I got a lot of problems with you people!!!!!!" A quote from Frank Costanza as the airing of grievances was about to begin. The group was about to celebrate "a Festivus for the Restofus."  Feats of strength to follow. (It always comes back to Seinfeld)
     We seem to have a lot of problems with "you people" today. Pick your group. Hilary - Donald, black - white, immigrant - native, liberal - conservative, Yankees - Red Sox, Stones - Beatles, crunchy - smooth. Wars have been fought over such things. Have you read Gulliver's Travels? Worth your while. The cartoon (see left) is also very cool. But I just can't be that passionate all the time. I guess that gene bypassed me. I was fairly passionate about learning to play the guitar, bass, drums..... and the whole British Invasion music scene. I was more than fairly passionate about one or two bands that I was in, women I've been lucky enough to fall in love with and cool dogs/cats I've known. Cruelty to animals can certainly get my Irish up. (It's ok. I'm Irish)  But that Abbie Hoffman, Gloria Steinem, run for political office, save the whales kind of passion.......zoom!....over my head. I think the whales should be saved. I think women  deserve equal pay for equal effort and I applaud the men and women who've made the commitment to run for political office. It's expensive, invasive and just can't be much fun. I've met a number of

politicians over the years and observed that their main job seems to be running for, obtaining and keeping political office and doing/saying whatever it takes to that end. A few have even discreetly admitted that to me.  Still, it's a commitment. And I've found that they're usually very likeable people one on one.
     In my job I meet a lot of "corporate types." At one point I was a corporate type ridin' the fast track. I realized  quickly that I didn't have the temperament, interest, desire.....passion...... for doing everything it took to climb the ladder. Thus, I've opted for a life of calm, music, the road, airports, hotels etc. Of course, it's a trade off. Peace vs financial security. Worth it?  I've recently turned sixty five. I'm not so sure. But as Don Corleone said, "This is the life we have chosen." And I'm ok with that. I have to be.
     But the corporate types I meet have a lot of problems with "you people." In this case you people are the kids coming out of college and into the work force. Millennials. I have the opportunity to have forty five minute conversations with this group and it can be.....eye opening. I've heard the word "entitled" bandied about. (I don't think I've ever written "bandied" before)  I met a young lady a while back who was fresh out of college and ready to start her career. She was interviewing with NJ pharmaceutical companies. I thought, "Well, that's a noble undertaking. Fighting cancer and other debilitating diseases right on the front lines." And thankfully great strides have been made. The cost of bringing a drug to market and the impact on the public.....you and me........ is another discussion. So I mentioned the nobility of her decision and she enlightened me with the salary range of each of her steps for the next thirty years. Enthusiastically! I said, "And you can actually change the world!" Her response? "I guess...." Her main gripe was that she had to show up every day at eight thirty to a corporate office location. She didn't think that was fair. She wanted to work from home.... ☹.  I replied, "The bastards!!!" She agreed.
     Now maybe she was the exception. Upper management doesn't seem to think so. I was in the student union at Barnard college, uptown Manhattan,  post 2017 presidential election. There was a board posting that therapy dogs would be made available to anyone who felt disenfranchised or otherwise traumatized by the results of said election. I wonder what the guys who survived the Normandy Beach landing or years in a Vietnamese prison camp would think of that. But I'm just an observer. I report. You decide.
     Which brings me to "vocal fry." You know about this? I think it started with the Kardashians. That low growl speech thing. Yes. I watched early Kardashians. Like all the reality shows it started out interesting then evolved into bad acting, ala The Osbournes and Breaking Bonaduce.  Danny and Ozzy......now THAT was entertainment. When Danny Bonaduce skateboards down that LA hill ignoring all traffic, stops at the liquor store, pours a pint of vodka into a half empty Hawaiian punch container and downs the whole thing in one gulp....well.......you can have your "Twelve Angry Men," but that's must watch TV. And don't get me started on Ozzy trying to figure out the remote or the garbage disposal. "Sharon!!!!!!!" The vocal fry on women is kinda sexy. On young guys? Creepy.  I was playing at a local restaurant last week and overheard a conversation among two girls and a guy. The guy had vocal fry. The girls didn't. Weird......and creepy.  
     I think we owe just a little bit of props to our grandparents and parents for getting through the depression and a couple of world wars. Waddaya think? Just a little? They were a tough, resilient group. Of course, they had no choice. And we as humans tend to rise to the occasion. I hope we still can.  I've had some  tough times. We all have. But I've never been really hungry, usually had a place to sleep (even if it was a beach or the back seat of a VW) and never had to dodge bullets. Well there was some shooting in my backyard in Plainfield, NJ in 1966 but I don't think that was directed at me. (Ma! I'm on board with that moving thing now!) I've also been hearing the word "Snowflake" lately. It's amusing how all the news shows gravitate to the same hip words at the same time. Me? I wouldn't call anyone a snowflake. But if I did and your feelings were hurt.....I know where you can get a therapy dog.          Peace.
    
    

That's life..........

  

I feel like I was born at a perfect time. Maybe everyone feels like that. I hope they do. I was just old enough to watch the formation of the sixties with the innocence of pre pubescent eyes. Music was everywhere. The Everly's morphed into Jan and Dean into Motown into Dylan into.......an explosion.

   I was fortunate enough to have been playing guitar for about four or five months before the Beatles turned everything upside down on that snowy February night. Now I was calling the shots. At least till everyone caught up; which they soon did. My guitar teacher was a folkie and The MTA and Walk right In and Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley had been ok but now when McCartney sang, "She was just seventeen. You know what I mean," I wanted to know what he meant!! I played at my first party when I'd just turned thirteen. We had three or four songs we could stumble through including an elongated version of Gloria. Just three chords and the truth, man. That was a big night. Playing onstage ...well...in a corner of my buddy's basement. And experiencing my first kiss. I want to shake the guy's....or girl's....hand who invented spin the bottle.  Life was becoming a lot more interesting.

   I played guitar in a number of bands through Junior HS and HS taking a sabbatical during my first year of college. I'm not sure why. When I started playing again there were a lot of really good guitar players around...and very few bass players. Hey Ma, look! I'm a bass player. I have to thanks the sales guy at Hi-Way Music in East Brunswick, NJ for staying open a little later that night and allowing Mike, Rock and me to make some noise. My first attempt at bass. It felt natural and easy. Within a week I had a Fender Music Man bass and a Fender Bassman amp. Our search for a bass player was over. Life is full of crossroads. It was end of summer and I'd been offered a job from a high school friend who was managing a company in my home town of Piscataway.  I hadn't finished signing up for school yet. And I had a fairly low draft lottery number. We were practicing a lot and we decided to go all in with the music thing. Ah....youth. A lot of unhappy parents.

   I didn't get drafted, didn't take the job and for about the next ten years played the NJ music scene. Again the timing was right . Urban Cowboy was happening and our music....country rock.... was the thing. That band  eventually wound down and I was ready to pack it in. On the night of our last gig, at The Red Fox inn in New Brunswick, NJ, I was approached by a woman who asked me if I'd like to join their band. And so it continued. Of course, bands come and go and I wound up playing everything from bluegrass to new wave to blues to wedding material and all that encompassed, with lousy bands, good band and great bands of all shapes and sizes including a few forays into musical theater. Leader Of The Pack was a hoot. I faked my way through that  one. I told the director I could read music. I couldn't. About halfway through the run he came up to me and said,  "You can't read music, can you." (um...no...I can't) "Well....just keep doing what you're doing. (ok).  Annie Golden, Ellie Greenwich and Darlene Love came to see the show on the last night.  It was so much easier being in the band in the show than being the actor in the show. I saw lots of throwing up . After our first half hearted attempt at stardom didn't pan out  I was never really interested in anything more than making a living playing music. I thank my parents for always having a room ready when called for. An early eighties two month gig in Bermuda finally led me back into the work force. But I never gave up part time music. Now I drive a limo by day, do a radio show one day a week and gig maybe two or three times a month. For the last few years as a solo player. Hello guitar. Where ya been?

   I have to tell you I wrote this entry mainly for....me.  Self serving? Yeah. I guess so. George Harrison sang, "You can't know where you're going if you don't know where you've been."  Just a little taking stock. Roads not taken. Opportunities missed. Or not. I'm trying to keep it all straight. I have this strange feeling that I can see the end. Not in a bleak maudlin way. But in a bright celebratory way.  We all want to feel as if we've made a difference. Left a mark in some small way. I know a number of couples who've met and gotten together at one of my gigs. A few wound up married!  I've gotten many calls over the years on my radio show about how a song I played or an anecdote I told stirred a memory or made a difference.  Is it curing cancer? No. But as Robert Redford said in The Sting after they'd conned the guy who killed they're friend out of half a million dollars, "It's not enough......but it's close." Sometimes close is all we have. I was doing a solo gig at a restaurant about a year ago. A young Asian couple was there for a couple sets. As they left they handed me a napkin. On it was written, "I loved the music. Thank you for giving us good time!!" Smiley face. It's framed in my music room. Is it enough? No........but it's close.     Peace.