Organ Grinders, Dancing Monkeys and the McGee Fee

By Bob Cardoza:

My son Joe has asked me to share a recent holiday rant, which he now refers to as “The McGee Fee”, with his blog readers and being still overcome with holiday joy, I am happy to do so.

First, I must give credit to our singer/songwriter friend Inge Berge for introducing us to his Dancing Monkey theory. Isn’t that, after all, really what the public wants from its performing musicians when at the local pub for an evening of song and dance? Dancing monkeys doing the same old song and dance over and over again, week after week? The songs we all know and love?

Dancing monkeys date back to the 1800’s and performed on the streets with organ grinders, who hand cranked their instruments to produce music. The monkey would collect money from the crowd in a tin cup. If you wanted to hear another song, you put money in the tin cup. If you wanted the monkey to dance faster, you put more money in the cup. If you wanted the monkey to dance as fast as he could, you put all your money in the cup.

Today, few musicians understand the value of the tin cup the way the 19th century organ grinders did. In the age of free music downloads, the tin cup is more important than ever. Either the monkey or the organ grinder should answer all song and dance requests with a shaking of the tin cup, real or imaginary. If someone wants to hear a particular song, they should put even more money in the cup. To hear a song that the grinder is noted for, let’s use “Bobby McGee” for example, making the monkey dance as fast as he can, then they should put all their money in the cup.

Given the current economic gloom, the sad state of pub musician wages and the very few times Janis Joplin had to actually sing the song live herself, I think the “Bobby McGee Fee” should be $100 per performance. To sing this song for any less would be doing the dancing monkeys of the 1800’s a huge disservice. For almost a hundred years, they danced the streets until finally being banned for violent attacks on people who wouldn’t put money in their cups.

Reduction

History has a way of throwing the whole year into the pot,

blasting it on high heat,

the water evaporates and the weak parts cook down

until all that is left is potent sauce.

For example,

2011 is The Year We Got Married.

2003 is The Year I Graduated High School.

2004 is The Year the Sox broke The Curse.

I'm sure that your sauces are different.

I was thinking about how 2012 is going to boil down

but it's fuzzy because I'm staring at it too close

as we move on there will be a point where we'll be able to see it

crystal clear (20/20 hindsight)

and we'll reflect at that point,

before it fades off into the distance

from there all we can do is take a sample of the sauce

throw it in a jar and label it 2012.

Fiction1

She leaned into the room where her two boys were planted in front of the television, clutching the controllers and hammering on buttons.  She had waited until she heard the gloomy group of notes that signified the death of their digital character.

"Hey guys, you said you would come with me when your lives were up."

"Mom can we have one more game please?" asked John her oldest boy

"One game" she replied. Noticing Tommy her youngest boys mouth beginning to open into a scream she interjected, "EACH. ONE. Game. EACH. Then meet me in the car"

"Thanks Mom" said John "THANKS MOM" yelled Tommy.

 -----

She felt the vibrating phone in her hand and was staring directly at the screen but not answering the call, the buzzing stopped and the Missed Call number blinked from four to five. 

"No cell phone while driving Mom" she heard from the back seat, and before she could answer "Put on your seatbelt MOM" and she realized that she was losing grip on the facade she was trying to create.

"I'm sorry sweetie" she gently offered with a half turned glance, keeping her eyes on the road, but before she could even grab the seatbelt her pocket began vibrating again. Before she could press the IGNORE key young Tommy shouted "DADS ON THE PHONE" and John pressed the CONNECT button from the integrated system in the backseat. She had forgotten to turn off the damn bluetooth. She felt as though she was wearing sneakers on a frozen pond as the deep voice came through the many speakers throughout the car.

"Hello?" 

"HI DAD" both boys yelled in unison. 

"Jesus... John? Are you ok, is Tommy with you?" 

"I'm good Dad and so is Tommy and so is Mom and we're in the car going to the beach" 

"THE BEACH" the younger boy repeated with an excited scream. 

"Clara.  Take me off speaker phone." 

"It's ok Phil we're talking as a family right now" she replied calmly

"I tried so hard to get there.  We had so little time once the news came. The highways all jammed..." his voice trailed off. 

"It's ok Phil we've talked about this" 

"We were wrong. It's crazy. Just come to me instead" he offered. He sounded frightened. 

She felt a kick on her seat.  "Mom usually the traffic is on this road when we go to the beach but look today it's all on the other side we must be sooooo lucky"

"Where's everybody going MOM" the youngest boy shouted. 

"Goodbye Phil" she said aloud, but she had hung up long before. 

-----------------------

30 minutes back they had passed the POINT OF NO RETURN sign her nephews metal band had used as an album cover. For a while now she could see the nuclear power plant itself. There was smoke billowing not just from the top but from the edges. Dark smoke. The kids only noticed the dunes as she pulled into a parking space and turned off the motor.  

"THE BEACH!" they shouted. "LETS GO" the older boy began to reach for the door but she grabbed his arm. "John can you recite a poem for your brother and I first" she asked gently. 

"Peanut Butter Sandwhich by Shel Silverstein?" he asked holding back a mischievous smile. 

"No. Anything but that. Which one is your favorite right now?" 

"Fire and Ice by Robert Frost."

"What. Really? No. Did you learn that in class?"

"No Mom that's not a poem for kids. Dad taught me." 

She sighed. "And it's your favorite right now." 

"Yes. You asked me to pick my favorite." 

The black smoke was getting thicker from around the circular dome. She and her friends had always referred to it as the Boob of Death but being correct did not ease her apprehension as the destruction approached. She wondered if their bodies would incinerate or melt and she was praying to Saint Mary that it wouldn't hurt. John began to speak in the back. Slowly and calmly, with a big smile. 

"Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice."

"I don't like this one" Tommy whined.

"From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire."

"I said I DONT LIKE THIS ONE" Tommy shouted

John looked directly at his brother and spoke a little louder "But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of HATE" 

"STOP IT JOHNNY. MOM make him STOP" 

"Let him finish Tommy he's doing great" she whispered to herself in a quivering voice, her eyes tearing up as they witnessed the plant in front of her explode, a mushroom cloud rising...

"To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice" 

The State of the Bandit Kings

We have received many questions about the future of this band.

(Which is great. It feels nice that You care.)

We tried to discuss it,

but collectively and individually the five members of this band are trying to live in a very day-to-day, Zen, in-the-moment way...

so when we tried to discuss it we all just sort of laughed.

What's going to happen next year? 

I personally find that to be a really deep, hilarious and unanswerable question.

BUT...

we love you
and as mentioned above,
we care that you care.

So the gang nominated me to blog about the situation.

*****

with a little (LOT) help from our friends fundraising, our third full length album of original music is ready for release.

Dan King was the driving force to capture the music, transforming his apartment into a studio and balancing his roles as primary songwriter, engineer, guitarist, arranger, producer... The Man Behind the Curtain, if you will.

Dan has decided that his personal journey is calling him West
and that he will depart early 2013.

The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated

Only this precise combination of five people make the Bandit Kings. We've managed gigs with subs throughout the years, fine gentlemen and talented craftsmen. Most played the parts well, some even mustered true vigor & passion, and although we thank them genuinely we cannot ask them to 'play the part of Dan' going forward.  We love them too much for who they are.

Three albums of original music will live on digitally, coming to life on demand with a click of your mouse.

We hope that you'll continue to listen and share our music with people who like music.

The door for live performances, in The Future, is wide open.  We've literally done hundreds in the past couple years.  We hope you caught a few and had fun.  We certainly did.

New Years Eve at The Rhumbline is going to be a Finale of sorts to this phase and also a CD RELEASE show so there's life & death, the whole package and I've convinced myself to wear a suit by writing this also the BFs will be there drinking and probably playing and there is a very high potential for all this energy to explode at the stroke of midnight.

The Man on the Keys

The fog had set in on the dark road that winds Topsfield into Beverly

lights were spinning 360 at the small airport and they were distracting my driving

so I quickly began gulping the hot coffee in my right hand, clutching the wheel with my left

(Captain Joe taught us that in a pinch you should always hit the gas, not the brake, but that's a story for another day...)

I had been thinking about "Man on the Keys"

a song on the night's setlist

I'd always imagined the song to be about a pianist

but it turns out that the WIFE of the man on the keys was a nurse

the first nurse who told Gary he likely had MS

she could tell, because she herself had MS

her husband didn't believe her so he left her (and their children)

and moved to the Florida Keys

likely the most heart wrenching tale I've ever played in G major

Personal Revolution and The Christmas Tree: An Essay From My Old Lady

My old lady had an awesome idea about Christmas Trees

so I asked her to write it out for the blog,

as the idea is too good to paraphrase.

**********

Christmas Trees: Live, and let... Live? A genial idea! 

I recently had a lovely trip with my mom and sisters up to North Conway, NH where I purchased a small box of incense made from pine in one of those great country stores.  I had to buy it.  I crave that smell, especially this time of year.  

My sister asked me if Joe and I were going to put up a tree for Christmas.  I told her that we have a fiber optic plastic tree from Aunt Dolly that we might put up, but that a real tree was probably not in the cards for 2012.  Is it December 5th already?  No, actually it's December 6th... what? 

She looked disappointed, explaining that Joe and I are married now and really should think about getting a real tree.  I was confused at first.  What does being married have to do with getting a once-living Christmas tree as opposed to a man-made tree?  I began thinking about Christmas Trees and where I stand on the whole subject.  

There is something about the real tree that I love; taking the time to find it, figuring out the best way to get it in the house (always a challenge), waiting for the branches to unfurl, dressing it up, and basking in that amazing nostalgic pine smell with your loved ones throughout the holiday season.  I totally get it.  In fact, I miss it.  

I was a lucky kid.  My parents always bought a real Christmas tree.  Sometimes we went to the tree farm in Newbury and cut it down.  Whether pre-cut, or not, choosing a tree was a process to say the least.  No bent trunks, or holes in the branches allowed.  It was important (especially to my Dad) that the tree was near perfect and we would all work to find the best tree on the lot (rooted, or cut).  I looked forward to this event every year.  

My favorite Christmas Tree memory is probably lying on the living room floor with my head under the branches looking up at the lights... psychedelic.  I would lay there for a long time feeling peaceful.  

Although one could conceivably achieve that feeling with a man-made tree, the aspects of my memory I find most comforting can only be reached with real pine; running my fingers over the delicate branches, feeling those little needles, some breaking off into my hands, leaving that fresh, real-pine smell on my fingers.  That bit of nature in the house during the winter just feels good.

Back to the pine incense, I've been trying to recreate these feelings without having to buy a real tree and I can honestly say that it is not working.  I want a real tree in my house for Christmas.  I just can't shake it (pun intended).  

However, as I get older I find myself becoming increasingly more weary of such practices and others.  I've recently limited the amount of meat and animal products I consume, I found my grandmother's cloth napkins to use in lieu of paper ones, I will not kill a spider, and I don't even know if I can go fishing with my dad anymore.  I am becoming a hippie, naturally (another bad pun) and I'm fully embracing it.  

Along with these changes, I am realizing that I just cannot bring myself to cut down a beautiful, thriving, teenage pine tree.  "It's not ready to die, it's just a baby!"  ::hugs tree::

At this point I need to clarify:  I am not discouraging these practices as I support purchasing real Christmas Trees as well as consuming meat and dairy products, fishing, hunting etc.  I also think that it's great when people support their local tree-farm businesses.  I want them to prosper as well!  

I'm just having a lot of trouble with the idea of purchasing a real Christmas Tree, myself.  I personally need my Christmas Tree to live and continue living after Christmas.

My idea for a solution is this:  I want to purchase a living baby tree (from a local florist) and bring it in the house for the month of December, in it's pot.  I want to give it a makeover every December, make it pretty with lights, ornaments and all.  At the end of December, I want to bring it back outside where it can continue living and growing into the beautiful adult tree it can be, reaching it's full potential.  We can upgrade it's pot as it grows and get new baby trees when the adult trees are ready to live in the forest.   

I think I will do it...next year. It's already December 6th! 

Worth noting potential hurdles:

-I can't even lift my own piano hard-case and I'm thinking this potted Christmas tree will get heavy.  Sorry Joe... 

-I kill every plant I try to grow. 

Still! I am optimistic that this idea will work. 

For those who are not big babies and prefer cutting down their own Christmas tree, or purchasing a pre-cut tree, there are so many ways to re purpose your pine after the holiday season.  Tree recycling organizations will use them for many helpful, environmentally friendly things.

We always burned ours in the campfire in a blaze of glory.  Another great memory. 

Merry Christmas. 

Love, 

Joe's Old Lady

Two Tony Texts also Pizza Factory Fashion Consultation

psychedelic text messages
from brother Anthony:

**********

They wouldn't hire you anyway... Hair can't be covering ears and sideburns can't extend past bottom of earlobe... Written notice required to grow a mustache or beard (will draft the letter soon)

10:02 pm 12/2/12

**********

To whom it may concern: I am writing to formally announce my intentions to grow a mustache.  Please be advised, that like a butterfly, my mustache must pass through several phases to reach its full potential.  Thank you, from the bottom of my upper lip.

Tepid Regards,
Mustachio Cardoza

10:05 pm 12/2/12

***********

My hair is undeniably ridiculous at the moment: uncut in over a year.

it has been a long year, this hair has witnessed crazy things.

I recently considered having it cut by a professional
but at the exact moment of that consideration/acceptance
I was picking up a pizza
and the old grandma type behind the counter says
"your hair! its-a-beautiful"
and that was that.

Worth noting that I'm unwilling to "trim"
it's all or nothing
not as extreme as a buzz
but the directions will be "short as you can go with scissors"
when the time comes

Mice

"The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse" is one of Aesop's fables,

one that has stuck with me since childhood.

The "moral of the story" is an important facet to a fable,

for this particular tale we're supposed to surmise that security is preferable to opulence,

but that isn't important here.

for me this tale finds itself in the swamps of self-discovery,

mainly:

am I a city mouse, or a country mouse?

*****

on a fiscal level I'm trying to be a musician, I should be in The City, end of story...

*****

unfortunately I have no respect for the fiscal level

the feeling I get when I see an animal carries more weight.  my whole aura perks and I transform back into a child.

(oh. my. God. it's a Rabbit/Hawk/Horse/Cow/Fox/Turkey LOOK! shhhh...do you see him?)

or the way my neck muscles relax by simply gazing out at the ocean.

natural. inclinations.

for now the remedy has been the Coast:

busy summers fill up with Tourists and we rock out for them

the winters empty, leaving a residue of weird artists and grizzled locals.

this may all be moot.  maybe the answer is to keep moving.  there is a lot to see.

Dr. Smith, Sports Gambling and Memory

I told the doctor throughout this ordeal I have lost faith in Medicine.

His response was to confide he needs treatment for skin cancer on his head

but his primary care physician neglected to send a referral to the surgeon...

This did not quell my skepticism, but I appreciated his effort.

*****

Earlier in the same visit we were making pleasantries,

the Thanksgiving holiday led to discussions of football,

and a comment from me about the Patriots covering the spread...

this led the Doctor into a long tangent about an Oakland Raiders playoff game from 1975

and how he lost $50 to his buddy, even though his bet seemed a sure win considering the circumstances...

(circumstances he laid out for me IN DETAIL, but I will spare you those...)

In Summation: the details of a 40 year old memory remain crystal clear because of a $50 bet.

This seems important. 

Landladies Against Illiteracy: Volume 3

I have a mini-stack to return to Jane.  There may (must) have been others before these.

"A Confederacy of Dunces" by John Kennedy Toole was funny, like an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm sent magically to us from Louisiana in the 1960's... yet the author's biography and the story of his story may be even better than the story itself.

Erik Larson's epic nonfiction "The Devil in the White City" seamlessly intertwines two incredible stories from Chicago in the 1890's... grabbing me from start to finish, so much so that I temporarily denounced Fiction...

bringing us to Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" which I became annoyed with at first but felt compelled to finish.  I learned that the Frankenstein is the name of the doctor, not the monster, who is only referred to as monster or wretched fiend.  I feel that as a society we should correct this mistake.  Spread the word:

Frankenstein was the doctor and his name was Victor.

A List Books For Every Human

Josceline mentioned desiring a good book

so I compiled a list for Josceline

which was Fun

so I decided to make another list

for Any Other Interested Human

which means that

I feel these books contain a Message

that is both Positive & Universal

(each changed the way I think about Things

which seems important)

Good Books For Humans (in no particular order)

The Last Lecture - Randy Pausch
Siddhartha - Herman Hesse
The Glass Castle - Jeannette Walls
Ishmael - Daniel Quinn

Mixed Emotions About Goals

My concert review (10/15/12) has been published

!!!

(?)

in THE NOISE (November 2012)

which is exciting,

on an I-set-and-hit-this-goal level,

but contradicts my Critique of Criticism (9/7/11)

(who am I to write, publicly, about other artists?)

I likely botched the drummer's name:

my misinformation now cemented in unforgiving ink

being distributed throughout the region

Then again,

I got published!

Thank You

etiquette (noun) 1. conventional requirements as to social behavior; proprieties of conduct as established in any class or community or for any occasion.

Wedding etiquette says that newlyweds have one year to send out Thank You notes.

Our one year is Up, and the task remains Incomplete.

Which is a bummer, but I've eventually come to terms with it.

We are very Thankful to everyone who attended our gig. It was perfect.

We had lots of help. LOTS.

We received amazing gifts that allowed the first step down this path to be a strong one.

Thanks! 

Concert Review

ASSEMBLY OF DUST / DIRIGO / THE BOOM BOOMS

Paradise Rock Club, Boston MA. 10/12/12

We arrive late and have missed The Boom Booms.  This is a damn shame because we had listened to their music online beforehand and we dig it.

Dirigo is onstage and I instantly recognize Russ Lawton behind the drums. Russ’ rhythms create a solid foundation with bassist Erik Glockler. Dancing upon this foundation are guitarists Luke Patchen Montgomery and Steve Jones. Although they alternate, Dirigo is at their best with Erik singing lead, the guitarists harmonizing and performing intricate riffs, seemingly with ease.

Assembly of Dust hit us hard, opening with “Filter” from their debut album, smoothly sailing into “Samuel Aging” likely my favorite of frontman Reid Genauer’s epics. Bassist John Leccese sings tight harmony throughout the night while locked into a danceable groove with drummer Andrew Herrick. The crowd dances hard for well over an hour. Other first set highlights include “Songs We Sing” “Revelry” “Honeycreeper” and Erik Glockler returning to the stage to join AoD for The Beatles “Dear Prudence” to close the set.

The second set opens with “Arc of the Sun” from their latest release Some Assembly Required and continues with as much energy, the crowd loudly singing along to the choruses of “Telling Sue”. Guitarist Adam Terrell takes off on “Speculator”. Adam is always a delight to witness, balancing an obvious technical prowess and control of his instrument with a delicate touch for melody he shares with the rest of AoD.

Jason Cohen, on loan from Ryan Montbleau Band for the evening, sits poised behind his keyboard smiling throughout the set, laying down full rich sounds and stepping up when called upon to solo wildly. Reid cordially invites Ryan Montbleau himself to lead AoD for "Forty Five Degrees". Assembly ends a long night with “Roads” and days later I find myself humming the chorus.  Reid and AoD have won me over. Again. Once A-gain.

Pilonidal Blog Stats & Resummary

I broke up with my surgeon.  I liked her, too.

It had to be done!  in fact was Overdue.

I had broken my own Baseball Philosophy in the process,

(3 strikes and yer out)

but am fortunate enough to have a wife, mom, aunt, grandfather...

who cared enough to bring it up. repeatedly.

---------

you cannot throw a band aid on this every morning. that is NOT ok.

----------

medically, back to square one, if you can believe it

(plus bills aka debt of 2k for the hospital and 2k for the surgeon)

research was done in the beginning:
percentage of recurrence was on the table from day 1.

feelings now are thus:

we've thrown the Gold Plan at it,

threw a Hail Mary right on first down

due fucking diligence

cold truth is that it failed

"that's why they call it Practicing medicine" - Mom said

I fantasized about saying this with snark to the surgeon,
but never mustered the courage.

---------------

what now?

something more than the daily band aid
something less than more surgery
something In Between

Uncle Joe

my mother has been well behaved,

in terms of not peer pressuring us to procreate,

at least for this first year of marriage.
at least not to our face.

we appreciate that. 

my brother and his lovely girlfriend are expecting a child,

(there's a sonograph on the fridge)

my initial reaction was purely selfish:

this will buy us even more time

*also worth noting is that mom's vague status message about becoming a Noni netted at least two people who assumed it was us

Top Ten

We tried to name the Ten Commandments.

Over a long car ride.

for Fun.

It's hard to argue on the side of Murder or Theft,

however I got hung up
that the first couple "rules" are seemingly just to keep the Company in line:

-Exclusive Membership
-Mandatory Meetings

to me it feels cold

the same as Apple plugs only working on Apple computers

and the idea that as a lifelong Red Sox fan
you should NOT appreciate the career of Derek Jeter

negative energy.
I do not support negative energy.

Shitlisting

I carry around a Shitlist

a physical piece of paper in my pocket

to directly view goals

short and long term
musical, financial, social

to be reminded and not forget

to prioritize

and oh
that black marker blotting out a completed task
feels so good

also noticed sometimes Time takes care of the uncrossable

The Meaning of Life (draft 1)

- Self-Acceptance
- Charity
- Karma
- Awareness of Mortality
- Existence of a Creator
- The Universe
- The Earth
- Perception v Reality
- Thumbs
- Family

-------------------------------------

it's just a List (right now)

(Editor's Note: a List adapted from a Jan 2012 jive entitled "Spoiler Alert")

in no particular order (?)

I hope to someday tie it all up

(the way Life does)

into what?

an Essay (boring)
a lecture (moreso)
a rant (self-indulgent)

into a Conversation with other Humans?  (ideally)

---------------------------------

Post Script: no one knows for sure and maybe that should be on the list too

Alicia and the Pajama Party

Alicia is my mom's sister's daughter. My cousin. She's always had a contagiously positive energy.

Alicia is a teacher and fierce competitor and recently started a blog to write about these inspirational things.

And being a jerk, I came across a passage that bothered me.  So I emailed her about it.

-----
J:

"I feel we try to uphold this image that society expects of us. This image is all over the television, magazines, and the web. The image is of a sexy, skinny, pretty, “perfect” woman."

Alicia - I dig your blog.  One article in particular ("Who Says") has resonated, as many of our mutual friends have "shared" it already,

however I disagree with your premise that Society expects anything of us.

Society is a vague villain and easy to blame.  We are the ONLY ones to blame, we do it to ourselves!

I assume you agree (?) as you (the quote above) continued to say,

"We start comparing ourselves to her. We compare ourselves to something that is unrealistic."

-------------
A:

First, thanks for reading my blog! I'm glad you liked it. I want to clarify the fact that I am not blaming anyone or anything. I do think that there are a number of pressures that are put on us at a young age though. Teenage girls feel an overwhelming pressure to be skinny, pretty and perfect. Maybe it goes back to the toys we played with as kids. Do you remember us girls playing with barbies and you guys playing with GI Joes?

Think about the pressures of society that you have fallen victim to? Have you ever wore your pajamas to a gig? Or, are you guys dressing how society expects you to dress? What about the people that come to watch you play? Are they all in pajamas, or are they dressed up? We'd all stay in our pajamas because that's the most comfortable, but we don't. Wouldn't we get some strange looks if we did? 

So, I think we have all subcome to the pressures of society at some level. For me and most females, we compared ourselves to the image that is on the television and all over the magazines. It's human nature. As we grow, I don't think we let those expectations get to us as much. We come to a point where we know and love ourself.  We come to a point where we accept who we are. However, it's tough not to fall victim to those pressures when you haven't accepted yourself and you don't know who you are quite yet.

-----------------------

J:

-Of course I remember the action figures and although they were bearing my namesake, I never feared GI Joe. His bulging plastic muscles and cold blank stare may have challenged my personal fitness goals and patriotism, but I never let it bother me too long.

-I can honestly say we have never worn pajamas to a gig.  We dress how society expects us to dress.  The people at are gigs are also NOT wearing pajamas.

"me and most females" is a loathsome line, both a broad generalization and a generalization about broads...the Battle of Self-Acceptance knows no gender biases, in my opinion.

I do agree with your point that Self-Acceptance is very important to the Meaning of Life, which I hope to address in my next post (stay tuned!)

Your email made me imagine a group of people who were so completely comfortable with themselves that they wore pajamas all the time. Why not? Our campaign would demonstrate a large range of people who are already living it, you yourself could represent Teachers, myself the working Musician, we would recruit doctors, lawyers, policemen, nurses, life insurance salesmen 

to run a campaign of humans working for the greater good, in sweatpants.

This revolution would catch on relatively quickly I imagine, and when we ultimately challenge the Left & Right we will distinguish ourselves with an obvious moniker:

The Pajama Party

Downgrade: Part 2 (Weakness and Deception)

In regards to the last post, I called T-Mobile's Customer Service...

Worth Noting: my brother T-Gun infamously hassles this department (by now on a daily basis purely for Sport) and has reaped years of countless rewards from soft shelled workers who quickly crumble to his ludicrous demands when unable to cope with his incessant wingeing...

so I tried the T-Gun Technique and tried being angry and even though I have been a loyal T-Mobile customer for Far Too Long and am due for a Full Discount, I shamefully found myself about to pay $110 to downgrade (from Blackberry Curve to a Samsung Galaxy)

and the only reason I didn't was because I was driving along Old Route 1 in Topsfield, and the T-Mobile service crapped out and dropped the call, ironically canceling the transaction

Meanwhile, back on The Internet, I found a new battery for my Smart Phone. $4 with $2 shipping. So there's that.

Also, I found a section of the T-Mobile website where I can use my upgrade to downgrade to a Samsung t139 for FREE

which the C.S. rep failed to mention.

So a new battery, the hope of a $6 cure, travels to me as I type, likely in some part of America that I haven't yet witnessed...

and I don't want to take T-Mobile's offer of the dumb phone with the lower case t because it requires a two year extension and the thought of signing another contract with them turns my stomach

Thanks for Nothing, T-Mobile

Downgrade

I do not want a smart phone anymore.

I want an ignorant phone,

a simpleton,

and wish I had the gumption to ditch the cellular phone entirely.

Admittedly, there is challenge in conveying Why,

which I can only accomplish through a hodgepodge of bullet points:

-Looking into a crowd and seeing large numbers of humans (young and old alike) staring aimlessly into their hands

-To resist a growing temptation to multi-task whilst driving

-To value silence, isolation, meditation, introspection

*WRITER'S NOTE: as if on cue from God herself, my cell phone just buzzed while I was in the middle of typing that sentence, which was coming to me on the fly, in an improvisational and jazzy way that I was enjoying, and is now dead.

I report to you, oh Beautiful Reader, with pure journalistic integrity, that the very buzz which raped my prose

was an email from Spin Magazine, containing a link to an article entitled,

 "MTV VMAs' 15 Biggest Mistakes"

 and that proves my point more than my wordy words ever could have.

A Doe and Two Fawns

Last week we saw three white tailed deer in downtown Ipswich at dusk.

I was driving but took a hand off the wheel to point as two fawns crossed Route 133 into the Ipswich Police Department's parking lot, where a doe was waiting...

I was alone yesterday afternoon and saw the same combination in Rowley, a doe with two fawns, crossing Route 1A into a backyard.

Both times I was awestruck just watching them run and both times I cursed the pavement, houses, buildings and roads they battled.

The feeling only lasted a moment, but it was very Real

although, I'm not "against" deer hunting or deer hunters.

I've never eaten venison but I would likely try it if you offered.

Hourly Job Contest

The older brother of a childhood acquaintance

recently sent me a digital message,

via a social networking platform,

in regards to a contest,

(I'm assuming a contest run by a company he works for).

The general idea is that

people with full time "hourly jobs" (as they described it)

send in their videos

displaying the music talents

they can never truly fulfill

being too busy

at their pointless jobs.

I responded along the lines of,

"Hey Pal, thanks for thinking of me for this,

but I already follow my dream full time

and do NOT have a shitty job

and am therefore disqualified from this particular contest"

which felt really good,

but the whole episode made me feel really bad,

in a "The Matrix" sort of way

Reverse Chronology

The format of this blog has always slightly bothered me,

but is now becoming an unsolvable mystery.

The current setup shows the most recent post,

and you can scroll down and read older posts.

but,

I like to think I've gotten better at writing

since beginning this experiment,

therefore,

the posts would get progressively worse

as the reader continues reading,

and I do not want that,

either.

Three Months

"Oh, Joe..." the Junior Varsity doctor exclaimed,

drawing out the "oh" sound in both words,

seriously but quietly, in an awestruck way,

her voice cooing like she was talking to a kitten

and not examining stitches,

inches from my arse.

"It's healed" she said.

"I don't need to see you for three months."

Bond. Savings Bond.

My grandmother gave me a savings bond when I was a kid. I get $25 in 1993, so that'll be good.

This quote from Adam Sandler's Wedding Singer is particularly funny because the film is set in 1985.

During my recent medical malady I have not scraped Financial Rock Bottom,

in fact, ON THE WHOLE, things have gone Pretty Alright,

However, I have dipped into uncharted waters: the Savings Bonds that had accumulated from the generous foresight of my grandparents and great aunt.

Great Aunt Peg has Alzheimer's and is here but already gone. You can read about her in the April 2012 post entitled "Buckeyes" and future posts will surely discuss Aunt Peg, as soon as my future self begins to handle wrapping my future brain around her condition.

My dad's parents are dead.

As I cash these bonds, as they pull my arse from fiscal fires, I feel a spiritual bond with Papa, Grandma and Aunt Peg, and I say legitimate prayers of Thanks, because I do not have an opportunity to tell them to their face.

That said, my mom's parents are very much alive. They gave many bonds as well. I could call them right now and say thank you, but I don't think they would be happy to hear the news that my bonds are being cashed and spent.

I think it would be a cause for concern.

This portion of my current story will be omitted when I next visit Gram & Gramps.

The Olympics Are Racist

We were watching gymnastics. Women's vault. Final.

and the announcer said something along the lines of,

"This young lady is from Romania, so she MUST be considered a favorite for GOLD..."

I quickly mused to my Old Lady, "That's pretty racist."

The moral/point of this less-than-half-serious story is:

2012 London Olympics have left me not with an overwhelming American pride,

rather an overwhelming inspiration from humans everywhere. Human Americans just as much as the humans from parts of the world that I never knew existed.

and also that Countries are arbitrary boundaries, invisible lines

and that we transcend that. Humans.* Being competitive. Playing epic games.

Every country seems pretty darn cool. In a bunch of ways.
and every country is probably fucked up. In ways I'll never even fully grasp.

It's hokey, but we're all in this Together, no matter how you slice it.

*I get the same feeling from season 2 of Falling Skies

Steve Miller, SportsCenter and Santa Claus

My first concert was Steve Miller Band

they had wireless mics, wireless guitars and no amps on stage

my Dad & I agreed the stage was a little "too" clean

it seemed the possibility of a Milli Villi was very real...

This summer Steve has received a lot of radio airplay

from the Boston classic rock radio station

because they're (probably) sponsoring the Boston hit on his tour this year.

An easy realization, right?

But it made me feel sour.

Like realizing Sportscenter highlights have less to do

with the most relevant sports news of the day,

than the sports news of the day that ESPN has sponsored.

Sometimes realizations are a drag.

Gram's Pool

2012 is the first summer I haven't swam,

after swimming every summer ever.

no lakes, no oceans, no pools allowed.

my Swimming Memories begin at Gram's pool.

lingering memories in my brain from Gram's pool include:

-a gate that needed to be shut, the incessant hollering when it inevitably wasn't

-a top secret mission to steal Bonnie Raitt cassettes (undetected) from my aunt's open car

-a McDonald's "scratch ticket" promotion for the Dick Tracy movie, a WINNER that my cousin had not yet redeemed, the family passing it around for inspection, that daring VOID IF REMOVED section, the burning curiosity, the horrific wailing when she discovered what I'd done...

Dabbling In Parallel Realities with Joe Walsh

Joe Walsh

was interviewed by Chuck Klosterman

and although Joe began discussing the evolution of sound recording,

from his analog heydays to today's digital world,

within this specific conversation he made a broader point:

that we (humans) cannot exist in both the "Computer World" and the "Real World" at the same time.

Sure, that sounds like something our grandparents would say...

but Easy examples to solidify this theory are 1) your annoying friend who is perpetually buried in his phone while you try to converse

and 2) the dead guy who killed himself and innocent others while texting and driving

I recommend you (the reader) heed Mr. Walsh's psychedelic social observations,

or at least think about it for a minute.

Deep Cuts

Here's hoping today's procedure was the last

it was Nothing compared to the first

(outpatient vs Full Blown Surgery)

I found it to be odd that the gig went down in a room called Medical Daycare,

Another oddity was how casually the surgeon and assistant surgeon were discussing their luncheon options,

I'm lying three feet from them, very much prepped for surgery.

One look at me in that manner and I wouldn't eat for days,

if you know what I'm sayin'

Stages of Hair Grief

1) FAMILY & CLOSE FRIENDS

 tell you to cut your hair, perhaps "jokingly"

2) STRANGERS MISTAKE YOU FOR A WOMAN

 old people or busy waitresses

3) STRANGERS DEMAND YOU CUT YOUR HAIR

 in my experience I've noticed this third step to generally be shouted from a distance, not a face-to-face confrontation (like steps one & two).

 (which is nice)

Italian Air Conditioning

"...in the end they were convinced of the merits of the Roman strategy against heat, which consists of closing houses during the lethargy of August in order to keep out the burning air from the street, and then opening them up completely to the night breezes..."  

from "Love In the Time of Cholera"
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

my Old Lady came across this passage recently.
It reminded her of my parents house in Georgetown.

I don't remember having Air Conditioning machines during the Summer,
until the end of the high school years,
maybe...
She reckons it was about the same in her parents' house.

What you did instead
was exactly what Marquez said
keep the doors & windows shut,
the blinds drawn.

It works.
but to think our ethnic slur
might actually have "merits" and history
is baffling
although I like the ring of "Roman strategy"

We have a unit in the apartment now,
but only use it under extreme circumstances
as we both prefer a cool breeze through an open window.

Much is made of technology and my generation
in a "My Generation Was the Last to ________" sort of way,
and I've been thinking about air conditioning lately...

Social Cat

By Joe Cardoza & Marc Pinansky

He's a real social cat

Knows just where the party's at

Been looking so hard to find it

See him sleep the day away

Arise at dusk he wakes with grace     

Been looking so hard to find it

Don't run away
just stay

Don't run again
we'll be your friend

Without a word he gets his way

Every seats a throne, it's his holiday

The shadows, his friends, will hide him

As dawn arrives he takes his leave

All returns to stone and sleep

I've been lookin so hard to find it

He's a real social cat

Knows just where the party's at       

When it's over he fades to black

With the grace of a social cat

Fencing

I was disturbed by loud bangs that could have come from the kitchen, but soon discovered it was the backyard, the neighborhood kids...

We call them the "Rowley Bike Gang" and they've aged since we've been here.  Obviously.  But this fact still feels important.

The bangs were each guy taking a turn going halfway across the BBQ restaurant's parking lot on their bike or skateboard and slamming themselves at low speed into our rickety fence.

I watched them.  It wasn't malicious destruction of property, they all just seemed to dig the way the old fence would absorb their mild shock and spit them back out with a loud thwumpy crash.

As I stood there one of the kids noticed me and called out to the group "hey, it's The Guy..." and they scampered away...

which is probably what I intended all along,

but at the price of becoming The Guy...?

I'm not sure I was ready for that.

Thoughts From the Last Two Weeks

Who are all these people collecting annuities and long term payments?  They are a sought after bunch.

*****

Are you really going to THE MOVIES this summer?  Instead, I recommend you give me $20, and I will kick you swiftly in the junk.

You really want to see another Men in Black?  another Snow White?  another Spider Man? another Batman? another Bourne?  Mark Wahlberg and an animated teddy bear that regurgitates jokes from Family Guy?  Abe Lincoln killing vampires?  Adam Sandler?

Who are all these people supporting Hollywood's lazy garbage?

*****

I've never going to get anywhere but here, if I continue to stay around here.

*****

Cigarettes are for weak-minded people.  Not smoking cigarettes is for uptight prudes who will eventually die someday without dignity, but like to believe otherwise.

*****

You can't post shit on the Internet with one breath and expect Privacy with the next.

*****

People who vote along party lines are pathetic.  The World is not black or white, red or blue.  It's not that fucking simple.  Maybe to you.

*****

Don't argue against knowledge.  You're not better because you're unschooled or self-taught.  You are cooler though.

*****

I'm not this angry.  I just want to get back to work.  I just want to sit down, for a while.

Brothers & Cysters: Part 4 - Off the Deep End

Yesterday I went off the deep end:

posted a video of myself on a social network.

Which means it's on The Internet.

Which means it's Everywhere, Forever.

The video is low quality,

in that I'm unshaven & topless

with dirty hair and dirtier shorts
(which ultimately continue to conceal my drainage ball)

banging rhythmically on my belly with my hands.

In hindsight, it's the sort of thing that makes me want to Quit the Internet entirely, forever

(I won't)

I chilled out and input five months worth of lesson & gig data into an organized spreadsheet
and I feel much better now I'll watch a documentary about a guy trying to beat the World Record on the Donkey Kong arcade game.

I keep telling myself it was just a Minor Surgery and not a Major Surgery and that I'm lucky and need to stop bitching.

Brothers & Cysters: Part 3 - Fear & Healing & Thoughts From the Edge

My attempt at a beard failed.

***

What a depressing open.
Mulligan: Surgery went well and so has the first week of recovery.
Things are looking Up.

***

I remember the plastic surgeon telling me that they found more "tracks" than they expected, thus the whole gig was on a scale much larger than expected.

To me, that's a pretty good reason to get a refund for the expensive CT scan that was so strongly recommended during this process...

But,

That would probably mean I'd have to sue somebody, which I don't want to do.  I'd need to get my paperwork together and my facts straight, and what a hassle that would be!

I'd also need to get the plastic surgeon's thoughts on the record, and that seems impossible.  Since the gig I've only been able to talk to the Junior Varsity "assistants" and secretaries and note-takers.  The Big Doc is long gone baby.

***

I enjoyed James Baldwin's "If Beale Street Could Talk" and David Sedaris' "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim"

I did not rewatch The Wire but enjoyed the first four episodes of Lena Dunham's "GIRLS"

***

There are some Ideas and also some Big Plans

but neither will help me heal faster

only Rest & Relaxation will do that

but Rest & Relaxation makes me crazy

***

 My wife & mom & dad & brother really stepped up to the plate

 grandparents, aunts & uncles and friends & even students and parents sending nice wishes, texts, chocolate...

 which makes it that much harder to be cranky

 when I'm the luckiest man in the world

Brothers & Cysters: Part 2 - Rehab & Storage

Michael is in jail.

He was my Dad's buddy and drummer for many years.  He has recently experienced dark times.

Michael was paying monthly for a storage trailer. When that was no longer financially feasible, Dad and a few other friends volunteered to help.

Michael's possessions are now in my parents' garage and on the front lawn.  Sorted into the few important possessions worth storing, a bunch of stuff for his children to claim, a bunch of things that are FREE for whoever wants them, even more things ravaged by time and suited for nothing but the dumpster.

Dad emerged the garage today with a piece of paper and a smile. "This is the best thing I've found yet" he proclaims.  It's a flyer for a gig the band did back in the 70's, a sketch of a guitarist, the headstock of his axe says GIBSON but it transforms into a tennis racquet down the bottom.

All this Stuff, all these Things, and my Dad gravitates towards a flyer. A piece of paper. A memory. Dad admires it.

I'm just like my Dad.

Brothers & Cysters: Part 1 - PreOp

Worth Noting: I hate when people rattle off details about their personal medical ailments. It's awkward, uncomfortable, and usually disgusting. I'm not a doctor, I cannot help you, except to recommend that you do not waste your breath.

I have a medical ailment. I'm going to write about it because two weeks recovery while self-employed means two weeks without income, and I'm starting to get The Fear...

THE FACTS:

I thought I had broken my tailbone.  My sweet old lady diagnosed it as a Pilonidal Cyst. My primary care physician agreed. The surgeon agreed but wanted a CAT scan. After the scan we agreed to bring in a plastic surgeon.

You can wikipedia "Pilonidal Cyst" on your own.

Instead, I would recommend "Z-Plasty" which is how they're going to fix me up and is way more fascinating than the ailment itself.

I won't be able to sit for 2 weeks. Life will happen strictly standing up or lying down.
I plan to read books and will likely review them here.
I will rewatch The Wire.
I will get back to work as fast as possible.
I was warned that smoking cigarettes will impede my recovery so they are OUT but that's good
and finally this is my best opportunity in years to experiment with beard growth...

I will Survive.

Many people tried to dissuade the following of my dream with the CATASTROPHY ARGUMENT:

"But what if something DRASTIC happens, like a crazy medical emergency"

I don't know if The Dream can survive this. It feels like I will, against all odds. I like the sound of that.

Stay tuned. Or don't. You must surely have more pressing issues.

Premature Overreaction

I shouldn't worry about the students who chose NOT to perform

because the students that DID are real the story

and they rocked it.

Proud Parents were a nice touch. They were all over the place, which felt Good

but a child's face when he first discovers how a distortion pedal works

well, I had never seen that up close before.

it was Beautiful & Inspiring

& Reassuring & Motivating

all at the same time.

Scared?

I'm producing a Recital for my students.  Last year we had quite a fun time.

As this year's event approaches, some students are dropping out, "Overwhelmed" with fear and anxiety.

What a load of shit!

The issue is that I'm not going to force anyone to participate. This isn't Russia.

That said, I can still be disappointed, especially with my high school aged students.

Nervousness & Anxiety are a part of Life.

If you back away from everything that makes you Nervous, that makes you Worry, that makes you Scared...

and you only do Easy, Comfortable things...

well that sounds like a Boring & miserable way to live,

in my opinion.

Hey Buddy, How's Married Life?

This question bothers me. So does it's newfound place in my life. All sorts of people ask all the time. 

My old lady and I have cohabited for close to five years. Our marriage ceremony six months ago did not change that.

My old lady and I have been monogamous since our relationship began, if that's what you're asking, you pervert.

My old lady and I respect each other and try our best to communicate our differences, to understand each other's perspective when communication gets lost...

a church ceremony & party thereafter has not changed that, either. 

Living with and loving another human that loves you back is an amazing experience, one that should be available to any two humans. I'm disgusted by the news from North Carolina today...

and remain bothered by people who assume my life magically conformed into some template because of a ceremony and a party. 

Marriage is simply a Public Acknowledgement of what already exists, and it's going to exist with or without that acknowledgement. 

Buckeyes

Aunt Peg is my grandfather's sister.  She has dementia or Alzheimer's...

so I was going to reflect on Townshend-ian sentiments  ("I hope I die before I get old" etc...)

however, my last two posts are regarding 1) the bad "isms" plaguing my generation

and 2) politics

thus, I've decided to keep this one light.

I like my fried eggs over-easy.

Mom would cut a circle out of a piece of italian bread and fry the egg in the hole.  She called it a Buckeye.  Mom learned the technique from Aunt Peg.

Buckeyes from Mom were always perfect.

I'm the chef now, and the finished product is generally over cooked,

or occasionally under cooked.

and each ruined breakfast makes me think about Mom and Aunt Peg

and how special their souls must be

to make perfect buckeyes every time.

Wooly Bully

I've been surrounded by bullying lately.  News reports, magazine articles, even a full blown documentary now playing at your local theatre...

I'm not "Pro-Bully" or anything like that.  However, I am certainly not Pro: Anti-Bully, either...

I always thought the bullied kids ultimately ended up with fancy jobs, lots of money, hot wives... and the "Bullies" trudged to work every day, digging ditches in hard hats and uniforms, spending their meager pay on lottery tickets, cigarettes and cheap beer, right?

The film is arguing that bullied kids are actually killing themselves, which is sad.

Director Lee Hirsch said, in an interview with a news website:

"I felt that the hardest part of being bullied was communicating," Hirsch said. "And getting help. I couldn’t enroll people’s support. People would say things like 'get over it,' even my own father and mother. They weren't with me. That was a big part of my wanting to make the film. It's cathartic on a daily basis." 

I'm too cynical to think a movie is going to change the world, which is sad.

My grandparents generation always seemed to have an excuse for being racist, sexist, homophobic... that's just "how it was back then" or whatever...

Alot of this same bad shit carried right on through my parents generation, even though these people were supposed to have existed after the barriers had been broken.  The bad shit was just finding different ways to exist obscurely instead of overtly.

I'm not sure what my generation's excuse will be.  I was hoping we'd be more informed and more tolerant and the stories about racism and sexism and kids killing themselves would stop.

I'm not going to try and save the world.  I save the world by being kind to the people in my world and hoping they do the same to everyone else. Ignoring the voice that tells me they won't.

40 Years of Fear and Loathing On the Campaign Trail

I was 8 years old, sleeping over Aunt Cris' house. Aunt Cris was one fun aunt, and still is. She said I could do whatever I wanted. I asked her to turn on the television and switch it to the Presidential Debate.

I never desired to be President and still don't. The Government is for people with bad intentions disguised as good intentions, which might be worse than plain old bad intentions. The left and the right are the same. So what was the attraction, then and now?

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson had an answer for me: Gambling.

"Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72" is a masterpiece that chronicles George McGovern's campaign from nothing, to nearly challenging Richard Nixon, and back to ultimate failure... The book isn't just the story of a campaign. It's a legitmate look at politics from the inside. Some of these guys still exist in Washington today, FORTY YEARS LATER, and yet if you read the book, this fact isn't shocking at all.

The point I'm trying to drive at is that Thompson is gambling throughout the entire book. On primaries. On percentages. On Vice Presidents and on runners up. The gambling possiblities of an Election are only limited by one's imagination.

 President Barack Obama won the 2008 election 365 electoral votes to 173.

(Statistics needed HERE to show what a flogging that is)

Only three Incumbent Presidents have been defeated in recent history (since world war 2): Ford, Carter and Bush1. Bush2 only barely survived joining this group.

What does this all mean? I don't know exactly, but I wish I had Republican friends, because I would call them up and place bets on the 2012 election, for any amount they desire.

This doesn't mean I will vote for Obama, nor does it mean I "want" him to win. I could care less. But that's another story, for another day...

Backdated Respect

The first impression is the generally the strongest, but that does not make it correct. I was probably too young when I received my first impression of Joni Mitchell and I carried it with me for a long time, unfairly tied to horrible assumptions. When I learned about Jaco and came back to Joni I felt real sheepish, almost guilty, very quickly... The other example that comes to mind is getting a kick out of the Randy Newman skit on Family Guy. Although only "actually" being familiar with Short People (being a short guy myself) and the Toy Story theme song, I created a Wall of Conjecture around Randy Newman. I did not even realize I was preventing myself from truly discovering his music. The Lindberg Baby sang 'Louisiana 1927' at a gig a while back and I asked 'who wrote that nice number there' and he said 'Randy Newman' and my brain exploded and my eyes got wide and some even say my black grinch heart grew two sizes that day. I accepted Randy Newman into my heart and vowed to do right by him. Then, I tried to nod and play it cool so Pete couldn't tell I was in total shock.

piano feet

Abigail and I were having a piano lesson and she started playing with her feet, which were in socks.

I said, Abigail you shouldn't do that.

In hindsight, I don't think I had any good reasons for doing so, it just felt wrong.

And she replied, Willy & I played with our feet.

Generally, I do not dig namedropping, but she's too young to have been doing that intentionally.

and let me tell you a couple things about Willy Loco Alexander:

One is that when I watch him perform on the piano I generally end up mouth agape, questioning my existence and purpose in life. His playing is energetic and rhythmic and his body bends with the music like claymation and he absolutely wails on the keys and they sing for him in return and Two is that his resume makes the punk rocker inside of me tingle with delight and overflow with inspiration.

so I didn't really fight with Abby I simply tried to distract her on to the next topic like I do with most students and when I got home that night I practiced dominant scales with my feet and it felt weird & fun

Baseball Philosophy: Probability

My last post is garbage.

Just because Player A gets 333 hits

out of 1000 opportunities,

over two or three seasons,

does not mean there is a 33% chance he will get a hit right now.

one could argue there is Always a 50% chance

for every baseball player:

they will hit the ball, or they won't

Baseball Philosophy: SSS

My last post is garbage.

If I 'actually' acquired $50-55 of spare change per year, my ceramic containers of change would be overflowing.

And they are not.

My sample size of 76 days is only about 20% of a year, which seems in hindsight too small of a percentage to accurately 'predict' or 'forecast' a trend.

The idea of the Small Sample Size stuck with me from baseball:

That Player A hits a mammoth homerun on Opening Day does NOT Mean he will finish the season with 162 homeruns.

I often ask myself: Is this a large enough sample size to use for accurate predictions?

Change Is Good: Part 2

I destroyed my wagon on January 4th.

Mom gave me her Volkswagen Bug the very next day, maybe the SAME day, until I was able to get into another vehicle, on March 20th. Mom stepped up to the plate and saved my world.

There were 76 Days of transition. I left the star on pink ribbon hanging femininely from the rearview mirror, and listened to her Bonnie Raitt tapes, as penance.

Before we turned the Bug in for trade, I removed all my possessions, which included my spare change.

I've already reflected on spare change, you can find PART 1 somewhere in April of 2011...

I realized this morning that I had a bag of spare change, and an exact range.

Which is to say: I had a full blown Experiment on my hands, desparetely waiting to be calculated.

76 Days yielded:

$1.26 = pennies
$1.90 = nickles
$4.00 = dimes
$3.75 = quarters

$10.91 = total

Divided by 76 days =

14 or 15 cents per day

This experiment tells me that I generate 14 or 15 cents of "spare change" every day. Which is to say, if I can hang onto it, I should have an extra $50 or $55 bucks every year.

Season 2

I asked Dan the Postman which was more vital to a well-executed television show: characters or plot

He replied,

"why would we be interested what someone is doing if we are not first interested in the people themselves"

Season 1 of AMC's The Killing destroyed this theory, or so I had thought, and then completely cemented it.

I was interested in solving the mystery. That was the point. That was how AMC sold it.

But as the season progressed and some plot developed, the characters did not...

and we realized you couldn't actually 'solve' the mystery.

The season ended, critics lashed out, and the show's head honcho Veena Sud dropped this condescending remark on us,

"We never said you'll get closure at the end of season 1..."

That quote is wrong on so many levels (read Andy Greenwald's review of the episode for a perfect skewering of Sud and her show)

I don't want to watch season 2, but I'm stuck in a Seinfeldian dilemma:

I generally watch television on Sunday evenings. Season 2 of The Killing will be running on Sunday evenings. and I will watch it.

But hear this, Veena Sud:

I'm only watching it because it's On, for the Unintentional Comedy (of which there is much), and as fodder for procrastinatory blog posts about television.

Baseball Philosophy: Who Butters Your Bread?

Two things about Baseball:

1) My beloved Red Sox ended last year's season with historical failure.

Historical.

To make matters worse, they sent Terry Francona out the door wrapped up in a salacious slander campaign that ultimately tainted job interviews and prevented him from managing elsewhere this year. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and I wondered why I choose to support a crooked organization.

but Now we are far removed from September, time goes by and life happens and Winter happens and one day you look up and there are real live Baseball Players playing baseball down in Florida and your mind realizes the Winter is almost over, and considers the Promise & Potential and warmth of the coming year...

also the beautiful ghosts of games past:

2) like when my Dad and his buddy O.B. and a tiny snotty kid version of me are coming up into Fenway we pass a musician busking and Dad gives me a buck and I get amped being able to run up close and toss it in his case and he's singing the lyrics but squeezes a "thank you" awkwardly in there and then keeps singing and I think that sounds a little sloppy so I ask why he would stop singing just to say thank you and O.B. says

"Because he knows who butters his bread. Joey, you have to know who butters your bread."

I wasn't sure what that meant until years later.

Creation vs Evolution

The Internet says that the raging debate of 'Creation vs. Evolution' dates back to the 18th Century,

which seems Crazy, to me:

I think that God created Evolution.

Subway Violinist: Part 2 (Not Really)

As a Musician, I feel Priviledged when a Listener listens to my music.

The following idea is from Livingston Taylor. It is my interpretation of my recollection of a lecture from his Stage Performance Techniques class at Berklee College of Music somewhere back in the Fall of 2006:

We each live in our own reality. The Listener very much suspends their reality for the time spent listening to our music.

I think that as artists we need to respect the rights of the Consumer to consumer our art as they damn well please. Respect the fact they are consuming it at all.

As a listener, when "Bad" music is happening, I usually leave.

Therefore as an Artist, even if my audience is not Captive, I still try my best to respect the fact they are Present. Even if they are talking. Laughing. LOUDLY. Drunkenly. Whatever.

Don't get me wrong, my Ideal Audience is not loudly conversing amongst themselves.

However, I don't think they are captively listening either. I think they are Dancing.