Food and Family

Bottle for baby nephew.
He prefers that you stand during the process.
Is this the first bottle I've ever fed a baby?
It fucking feels like it.

I'll never know for certain if I have
some sort of weird Mom/food complex
because my old lady cooks so well.
I bet I would if she didn't.

In the fridge is our big glass jar of Mom's chili
next to her niece's can of Hormel inside a plastic bag.
I offered the chili
without telling her niece to throw away the Hormel
and never buy it again.
Which is a big step for me.

Little League and Mother's Day

Do you remember when my mom coached my brother's little league team? It was awesome.

I remember the other coaches gave her hell about being a lady coach, even though our story takes place in 1996.

I asked Mom if she could remember any memorable insults hurled her way during the course of volunteering to coach baseball for ten year olds in a small town.  Her response:

• " I'm not going against a woman" ( first game of the season as a head coach)

• " you are the most unreasonable coach I've ever met" ( wanted to call a game due to darkness)

• " Are you trying to ruin the game" ( suggested separating the league into farm / minors / majors and making farm and minors non competitive)

• " think about what you are doing to the game" ( suggested using safe balls for 5-7 year olds)

• "Why are you buying the team ice cream, you lost? That's the problem with you"

These are the ones that stuck with me.
Two reasons it was all worth it:
Years later I was approached by a young woman who was on one of our teams. She said that she had the best time playing for me because none of the men coaches ever let her out of right field. She felt I was fair.
A young man said that his folks were getting divorced the year he played for me and that it helped him to get through a difficult time.
That's all I got.
------

Thanks Mom that's more than enough. 

CDC: Trump Sickness Update

My father backed off his Trump support. I emailed the CDC to let them know that while Trump Sickness is airborne and highly contagious it apparently can subside on it's own over time.  Dad hasn't formally apologized to the family for voting republican in the primary and we will probably let him slide because his fatherly record otherwise is essentially immaculate over the past three decades.

Donald Trump Swallows Ted Cruz Whole

Ted Cruz died tonight. Politically speaking. I enjoyed watching him die. He spoke of Republican things like Russia and China and Fireworks on the Fourth of July and his mother praying and God.

God only backs Winners and Ted knows it. The crowd cried out, "NO!" when he announced he was suspending his campaign but his smug smile remained perfectly crooked.

2016: The Year of the Fear Coma

Arguing with an old friend I realized that my logic was useless as he was in the midst of a full blown Fear Coma.  A few days later, I noticed the same problem in my own father.  I felt partially responsible.  Had I not seen the warning signs?

Tell-Tale Signs of a Fear Coma

1) Are you convinced other humans covet your possessions?

2) Do you feel your homestead is at risk to foreign invaders?

3) Do you use terms like "shooting from the hip" and "telling it like it is"?

4) Do you tell people the government should be run like a business?

5) Have you posted or emailed a link to the wikipedia page with a list of Islamic Terrorists?

It may not be too late.  With professional assistance, you may be able to truly understand the insignificance of your existence so that you may once again thrive within our society.

These remedies are tried and true and vary in strength depending on the severity of your condition.

The Dr. Thompson:

-2 quarts wild turkey
-typewriter
-Allman Brothers "Mountain Jam"

The Thoreau:

-pen & paper
-the forest
-2 years, 2 months, 2 days

The Full Nelson:

-guitars & songs
-joints
-sixty years

New Trump City

     In the beginning I figured Trump's motivation was an extra sentence on his obituary.  Instead of reading "hotel owner" the opening line to the summary of his life would now read, "hotel owner and presidential candidate."  He was following a model for rich boys created by Ross Perot in the 1990s.  I certainly did not take him seriously.  Trump was simply a pre-season fluff piece.

     I cannot imagine the surprise and joy Trump felt when the Republicans lined up Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio.  He must have thought Holy Shit, these guys can take me all the way to the big dance.

     Trump won Massachusetts.  My mother cried when my father told her he had voted for Trump.  I found aunts, cousins, in-laws and co-workers had followed suit.  When asked to defend their support of this megalomaniac they babble incoherently about "giving away the store" and "shooting from the hip".

     Trump is a "successful businessman" who has never publicly released his tax returns.  Trump wants to divide our country.  The leaders of the world will not respect Trump.  The leaders of our fifth grade orchestra do not respect Donald Trump.

New House Sounds

Steam radiators.
The tea is ready,
all over the house.

I had a nightmare.
Paper bag crinkling,
A mouse was inside.

Refrigerator
burps against the wall.
Investigation.

Old toilets jangled
intermittently.
Apologetic
plumber made it stop.
On the house. For now.

Mice

     Tessio was pacing as Wilhelm approached.  He smiled at his brother, his best friend, and said, “Something smells delicious.”
     Tessio was furious.  “Delicious?  Are you insane?  Are you trying to tell me you do not smell the cat?  How did you sleep all day?”
     Wilhelm smiled and responded, “That was a lot of questions.  I will begin by responding to the one about sleep.  A healthy mouse needs ten hours of sleep every day, at least.  This could by why you are so tense, dear brother.  Perhaps you are not getting a full ten hours.”
     Tessio sighed.  “It’s over.  We should have left a month ago.  Karl said there is a box next to him across the street…”
     Wilhelm cut him off, laughing aloud.  “Karl.  A box.  You are joking.  You are telling jokes.  This is Manhattan and there are eight mice in a pathetic bar listening to jokes and it’s you telling them.”
     Tessio began to weep.  “I’m so hungry.  I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to live with Karl.  I don’t want to move all my things again.  I’m setup here.  I like it here.  I know you smell that cat.”
     Wilhem replied seriously, “Brother, I smell food, for the first time in a month.  I know you smell the peanut butter.  Stay with me one more night.  Work one more job with me, like when we were kids."

     Wilhelm cried out, “Brother, I am nearly finished.  Brother, do not lose hope.”
     Tessio replied sternly, “Do not do it Wil.  You will bleed out.”
“I will not bleed out.  I will get help.  I will find Karl.  Or Mom and Dad.”  Wilhelm was pushing with all his might, trying to tear his own leg from his body.  His leg was already dead and stuck, pressed to the ground in a tray of glue.  His dear brother Tessio lay across the room from him, in a similar tray, his entire body glued in a trap.
     Tessio spoke quietly, “Mom and Dad have eighty seven babies.  They forgot about us years ago.  You were a good brother Wilhelm.  We were a good team.”  

Brush

We were relaxing after a long week.  I reached to scratch the back of my head.  My fingers flowed freely through my long brown hair until I reached a spot about six inches above my neck.  I touched a fuzzy clump of hair the size of a silver dollar.  It was flat and tangled in a dreadlocked knot.  As my fingers explored I discovered that this main hair clump branched into tributaries and veins of tangled mess.  I asked my wife for help.

"Everyone girl learns this lesson when she is seven." she said laughing and brushing violently through the tangles.  "I have a pixie cut in my second grade picture because my mom followed through with her threats.  When is the last time you brushed your hair?"

I have not brushed my hair in the two or three years that I have been letting it grow out.  I certainly will now, maybe daily.  It was an embarrassing and slightly painful experience to need my wife to brush the tangles from my hair.  At least she enjoyed it.  Uncle Mike had mentioned to her just yesterday that he uses a Detangling spray on his hair, before he brushes it.

Lights

Saturday night.  The show was over and the amps were back in our cars.  The bartenders closed out the cash register and the band got paid.  I fired up my truck and headed home.

The first thing I saw is that instead of a taxi at the taxi stand there is an SUV that I can tell is an unmarked police officer.  Immediately the lights of the SUV turn on and pulls out behind me.

I'm not drunk but I drank drinks earlier, when it was Early.  Now that it's Late, if the officer is bored and wants to fuck with me, I am in a vulnerable position.  I'm trying to remember how the laws work.  What's the difference between taking a breathalyzer and not taking one?

All those horrible thoughts took one second.  During the first half of second number two I determined that my lights are NOT ON and I turned them on.

The cop followed me for half a mile before deciding that I am more dumb than drunk and not worth the time.  At some point I check my rear view and the SUV is not there any more.

Was he ever there at all?

Yes.  Yes he was.

I know because I received these texts from Dennis:

1:43am

You sir, are a lucky duck.
One more second, and you
would've seen the blues in
yer rear view!
I prayed for you

I'm assuming you made it home?
....without the blues in the rear view?

I was a moment away from
calling you to yell
LIGHTS!!!

Fall

Adults are not supposed to fall down.

Children fall down.  I remember falling down quite often and always hopping back up.  Head wounds required stitching on two or three separate occasions but I find this to be an acceptable number for the couple decades it took me to learn how to be a human.

Last night I was walking from the gig to my car.  I was not drunk.  My mind was preoccupied with a million thoughts, all sped up on adrenaline from playing rock and roll for the past three hours.  I was getting close to my car and thinking about my questionable parking job and thinking about what I would do if I have been towed and thinking about which band might have played at The Pig that night and thinking about stopping for broccoli bites on the drive home and then I was down.

The main culprit was my own lack of focus but I might argue the pedestrian walkways of Salem, Massachusetts are not exactly level.  The corners of giant slabs of concrete jut out into the path like a miniature mountain range.  My worn out chuck taylors must have clipped an edge and down I went.

Sharp pains ran through my wrist and elbow.  I quickly pulled myself up from the ground, checking to see if any of my parts had broken.  Fortunately, they had not.  From the down the street someone yelled, "Hey buddy, are you alright?" and my heart swelled with the warm joy that only comes from the unsolicited assistance from a stranger, but I was too embarrassed to reply.  I quickly turned and walked away.

This morning I noticed a scrape on my palm as big as two grains of rice next to each other and I put some ointment on it and thought about broken wrists and shattered elbows and the healthcare system and self-employment and the resilience of the human body and how we take our youth for granted.

2016

If I were a gambler I would be willing to gamble that 2016 will prove itself to be "the year we bought a house."

At this point in the process I feel as though I have accidentally waded up to my knees into the infancy of adulthood.

2015

In the year 2015 we went places.

Woodstock, NY for my birthday.

on tour with Mr. Fox we started in Brooklyn, NY.
Raleigh, NC.
Asheville, NC.
Nashville, TN.
Clarksville, TN.
Kentucky
Virginia.
Maryland.

For her birthday we hit Montreal.

Just last week Wilkins drove four hours each way up to the Carrabasset Valley of Maine.  The mountains are beautiful there.

Dear Jen

Dear Jen,

  I wish I did not say hello last night and just let you walk past like a ghost.

  I wish I had said these things to you last night.

  No I don't.  That would have ruined my evening.

  At one point your boyfriend shook my hand and apologetically stated, "She's drunk."  I find solace and comfort in that, then and now.

  To be honest, your boyfriend, as cool as he was, could kick my ass with ease at any given moment, which is the truest reason I held my tongue.

  You don't like my beard.  You were repetitive and loud about it.  I shrugged it off last night.  There are many things about your appearance I'm not into.  I don't feel the need to tell you about them.  I still don't.

  More important was your notion that I don't play punk music.  Again, you were loud and repetitive about it.  The clearest contradiction is that you had said moments earlier that we had not seen each other in years.  You have no idea what type of music I play.

  That's it.  I was drunk.  You were drunk.  You were mean.  You're mean.

-Joe

Mr. Fox on Tour

Intro: What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?

  Brian King and Nathan Cohen have performed as the band What Time Is It, Mr. Fox for years.  There have been many mutations of the band in those years.  I had seen Brian perform solo and I have seen the band with drums and backup singers, cellists and aerialists.  Brian's compositions, Nathan's virtuosic playing, and their accompanying circus always captured my attention.
  Renee and I met Brian through his brother Dan and Bandit Kings.  Renee and Brian had worked together with Dan in the 80s cover band Safety. I worked as Nathan's teaching assistant in the elementary school strings program the past two school years.  Brian and I had played as a duo.  Brian, Nathan and I had played as a trio.  We had played together as a seven piece group but never this particular quartet.  We did not rehearse before we left for the tour.
  I am not sure whose idea this tour was.  I think Nathan was supposed to pick up baby things from a family member in Memphis, but nothing like that ever happened, and good thing too because there was not the smallest amount of space to spare in the truck.  Time and Space are slippery beings, but Nathan and his wife Eileen are having a baby and that somehow relates to a band touring.

One: Brooklyn

  The drive from Gloucester to Brooklyn was two hundred fifty miles.  I was driving and Renee was my co-pilot.  Nathan and Brian were in the back of my Ford Escape with a teetering wall of instruments and bags between them.  The drive took five hours.  We had no trouble finding parking right around the corner from the gig.  My worries about the truck were a recurring theme throughout the tour.  I have made five payments out of seventy-two on this truck, but for some reason volunteered the vehicle for the tour.
     Our host Richard was a handsome man with a handsome brownstone that he graciously opened to twenty-five friends and fans of the band who were essentially strangers to him. The band performed a set of six songs, Renee & I played two of our originals as a duo, and then the band did another eight songs. The crowd sat attentively in rows of chairs and couches. The band responded with energy. The crowd sang along. Everything felt good, the real good you can't fake that you see in someone's eyes when they tell you about it.  After the set I was on the back porch overlooking the back yard and the neighbors back yard and erasing my assumption that you didn’t have a backyard in Brooklyn.  I bummed a cigarette from a stranger named Mikala in a black wig who said, "I hope you don't mind Virginia Slim 120s."  I did not.  Strangers were being friendly and tour was off to a great start.  Strangers were also a recurring theme throughout the tour.
  A treacherous drive to Raleigh, North Carolina lay ahead so we opted to tackle it head on.  We left Brooklyn around midnight and arrived in Washington, D.C. at 530 a.m.  Along the way I composed three haiku:

Thirty eight miles
to Baltimore. And then some.
Three sixteen a.m.

Exit 12 Greektown
Our arms press together.
He sweats thru my shirt.

Morning birds sing.
We did not see the sun rise
but it was close.

Eulogy: 2001 Escape

I'm trying to eulogize my truck.  I keep coming up with more negative memories than positive ones.  

The truck got terrible gas mileage.  She had dents and scratches and did not look slick.  Her unquenchable desire for constant repair is the closest thing to perpetual motion that the field of science has ever witnessed.

Uncle Jim had her on his lift in the beginning.  I remember he shook his head sadly because I had not brought her to his garage within the limits of the lemon laws.  I had bought my ticket and was forced to take the ride.  Blown bulbs, snapped cables and leaky seals. She demanded constant attention and I obeyed.

Uncle Dennis offered consistent assistance and hours of research before every job I asked of him.  Justin drove down from Haverhill to help on multiple occasions.  Uncle Joe fashioned a running board out of the discarded ladder from an old boat.  My cousin Pistol Pete at the parts store was on speed dial for automotive advice.

My grandfather looked under the hood and made me promise not to tell Gram that he had been working.  My grandfather's buddy John got up on the ladder to check the seals while the truck was on the lift.  While up on the ladder and clutching my leaky transmission John argued with my grandfather in a way that was gentle and displayed respect.

Their honest conclusion was to run away.  To make her someone else's problem. 

I drove the 2001 Ford Escape to death.  She was leaking transmission fluid when I traded her in.  Maybe I should have traded her in sooner.  Maybe I should have never bought her at all.  She never repaid my unity and friendship.  She barely held up her end of the deal.

I cling to the silver lining that she was a catalyst to spend time with a large circle of family and friends.  In her absence I can honor those relationships and spend time with the aforementioned wonderful people under circumstances more enjoyable than car repair. 

A Portrait of Bernard Francis Law

A portrait of Cardinal Law hung above the entrance of the chapel at Bishop Fenwick High School. By the year 2003, Cardinal Law's presence at the core of a sexual abuse scandal in the Catholic church had been well documented. Cardinal Law covered up the actions of child molesters, knowingly moving them to different parishes. I believed that to be worse than the pedophiles themselves. Cardinal Law's portrait hung above the entrance of the most sacred place in our school. 

I started a petition to have the portrait removed.  The members of the senior class that I spoke with were essentially unanimous in proclaiming, "Fuck off, Joe.  I've worked my ass off for three and a half years.  I've got applications out to ten colleges.  The ABSOLUTE LAST PLACE I want my name right now is on your bullshit anti-establishment petition." 

One of my only regrets in life thus far is not stealing that portrait.  The chapel was in a far off wing of the school and I found myself with ample opportunities.  I am not sure why I did not steal it.  I wish I had.   

Statements

The curly bedsheet

never folds up right.

---

I like to be clean.

I can scrub a plate.

---

I eat with my eyes.

You know I like you

sunny sides up and

don't turn em over.

---

No salt or pepper

on Mother's table.

---

I like the taste of

poison over rocks.

---

Being deaf someday

is part of the job.

----

No one cares about 

my darkest secrets.

Servings Per Container

     I like to keep a definition of the word 'addiction' handy.  The one I prefer to use is "displaying symptoms of tolerance or withdrawal".  By this definition, I currently find myself addicted to Ben & Jerry's brand of ice cream, specifically their Chubby Hubby variety.  I can be downright moody without an ice cream treat after dinner.

     The Nutritional Facts on this product state that there are four servings in one container of Chubby Hubby.  To that, I proclaim "Bullshit!"  I try not to be cynical, but find it hard to believe that a man with such temperance, patience, and restraint could possibly exist.  When I meet the man who can return to the same pint FOUR times, I will kiss his feet and demand to know his secrets. 

     The closest I have come is a three serving technique employed by my brother.  To make this work you must skimp on the second serving.  The first serving always arrives with lust and passion, it is impossible to deny those urges.  If you attack the second serving with the fervor of the first, you will inadvertently decimate the third.  If you can go easy on the second serving, the third will be glorious.  Of course there is no stopping once you perceive the bottom to be close by.  The third serving will inevitably be the last.  But, if you can go easy on the second serving, the third will be glorious.  

     So we tack Ice Cream to the ever evolving list of Vices & Addictions.  If we're lucky we have a game plan to keep things balanced.  We allow our minds to be open to change.  At least the potential to change. 

When Good People Make Bad Art

What do you do when good people make bad art?

An important facet of this question is whether your opinion is requested or not.  If the Artist is asking for your opinion there is a responsibility to be honest.  If you find yourself offering your opinion there is a responsibility to be kind.

The artist owns some responsibility as well.  Another important facet is the forum.  An artist should expect that a published or public work to be critiqued by everyone who participates.  

Your critical analysis and observations hold weight.  An artist who asks your opinion of a private work is in a fragile place.  Be nice.  Is bad art better than no art at all? 

Is a negative review better than no dialogue at all?  

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COPE WITH BAD ART?

Honest, constructive criticism?  

Passive silence?  

Positivity and other outright lies?

How do people cope with my bad art?  

I hope they lie to me.

Monkey Boy

Monkey Boy stood up
on the rubber seat
grabbed two fistfuls of chain
and pulled himself up
on to his throne.
The swingset frame.
A solid metal beam
with chipped red paint.
He slowly dragged
a pointed finger
from left to right
proclaiming,
"I'm taller than everyone here"
and then he climbed down.

Cats, Rats, and Traps

I got the news that Addison had died a horrible death.  Addison was my guitar students neighbors cat, my absolute favorite amongst many guitar students neighbors cats.  A different neighbor had left out rat poison.  I was sad when I got the news that Addison had died a horrible death.

-----

The Highlight of Summer 2014 is our vegetable garden.  The process of growing vegetables is amazingly fun.  When animals began eating bits we decided it was for certain the cute bunnies who were here first and that there was enough vegetables to share.  When my old lady saw a small scurrying something we decided we did not feel the same way about rats as we do about rabbits.

------

I had a six dollar plastic trap all baited and set and ready to go when she mentioned the idea of Rocky, the neighbors cat, Bubba, the landlords dog, a baby bunny or neighborhood child stepping on it.  Up on the shelf it went. 

------

The next morning I was watering and saw a beautiful baby cucumber but when I turned it over in my hand it had horrifying bite marks on it.  Rat teeth.  I am not a bite mark expert but I am short tempered so I went back to the shelf and retrieved my trap.  I placed it right next to the hole and set it when I realized it had no bait.  Internal laziness prevailed. My placement of the trap was so perfect that the lack of bait would not be a factor.

-----

The lack of bait was a major factor.  I did not catch anything for two days as the vegetable carnage continued.  I tried to gently pop a fresh piece of banana into the bait section, which set off the trap, rendering it useless.  I brought it inside and threw it away.

-----

This is the not the end of the story.

Campaign Ceiling

Obama 440M

Romney 283M 

723M spent on the two major Presidential Campaigns in 2012.   

Imagine if we capped campaign spending at 50M per party.  I arrived at this figure allotting one million dollars for each of the fifty states, leaving our country a theoretical surplus of 625M.  Real money.  

Really theoretical money.

The real money was squandered on a process that divides our nation into two groups trying out-squabble each other.

Is it too much to ask that we act as a super-breed of compassionate humans who transcend party politics, race & gender while treating others as we wish to be treated?

Huddled Masses, Yearning to Breathe Free

Just saw a meme that showed little kids in one frame and gang-bangers in another. Under the children it said "what the left wants you to think is coming across the border," while under the other frame it says "what's coming across with them." And now I can't un-see that freaking dumb ass image, and again I've lost even more faith in humanity. The internet sure can be terrible sometimes. Have a heart, y'all. Peace.

My friend Chris posted that this morning.  

The immigration crisis saddens me, then again, I may have expected the Rich, Racist, People-in-Charge to be afraid of homeless children.  

What surprises me is to have noticed the Fear coming from all directions: young and old, men and women, the overheard conversations of strangers and interactions with my own family and friends.  A former guitar student publicly states, 

Obama does not know how to run a country. I'm all for saving the children but this is not the way to do this. My reason stays the same. If you add more poverty to poverty, it's going to continue to poverty. The economy in America cannot support the ILLEGAL children coming through and they will end up where they were to start with and will also make the children already here suffer because OBAMA does not know how to resolve an issue in a better way. Do you want your children struggling to get into college? Finding a job? I would guess no. These children are going to take futuristic jobs away from our children who are already here. Why hurt your child's future? Send these illegal children back and help them other ways!

I understand that a large of faction of Americans are not concerned with my friend Chris' faith in humanity, nor my personal sadness, nor the tears in the eyes of a sad, hungry Hispanic child.  Some people only care about Money.

However, I see this crisis as POTENTIAL FOR JOB CREATION.  Construction workers for housing our new Americans.  Teachers to educate them.  Medical personnel.  A brand new branch of the IRS to install a process of paying fair taxes.  Public and private sector security personell. 

This could be better than Roosevelt's New Deal.  Are you out of work?  Buried in Debt?  Need a fresh start?  Come to Detroit!  The Government, Good Ole Uncle Sam, will PAY YOU to teach English, to build houses, to work in a hospital, school, or factory.  

The first location that came to mind was Detroit.  I'm quite certain it has been abandoned for years. After this quick jive, including job creation in five different fields, I'm wondering how to make this work in my home state of Massachusetts.

If you do not dig my Hispanic-American colony idea, that's fine, we're just brainstorming.  It's better than being hateful. 

The Lemonade Stand

"I'm not getting out of the car.  Children are disgusting.  Look at their hands."

I was driving, noticed the group of children and their lemonade stand, so I had pulled over, when my wife made that remark.

"Fine" I replied, and shut the door.

"Which one of you is in charge here?" I asked the group.

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

I don't have kids, but I imagine the value in the lemonade stand is two-fold:

1) The children are compelled by their young Greed to sit outside for hours.  You are free from their presence for nearly an entire afternoon and don't even have to pay a babysitter.

2) You get to teach the children how their own Greed will inevitably destroy them.

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

Let's imagine our theoretical child excitedly rushes inside to display $9 dollars after an honest afternoon in the front yard with the lemonade stand.  The lips begin to quiver as you quickly take the first $3, for the government.  "Don't even ask about taxation", you tell them, "you're too young to understand, and always will be."

The next $6 dollars are split in half. Let's make the theoretical partner a sibling instead of a neighbor, to increase the tension.

Before our theoretical child can even begin to wonder how $9 has become $3, our theoretical parent starts hurling more costs.  The cost of renting the space for the stand.  The cost of the lemonade, water filter, and plastic cups.  You take your child's last $3 dollars, but it is not enough.

Attempted Moongazing

There was a cloudy halfmoon illuminating our path from Hampton Beach back to Maine, and I remembered there has forever been a telescope leaning in the corner of the bedroom at her parent's house.  I decided tonight was the night to use the telescope.

First, we ate leftover ribs and drank beers by the campfire.  I dragged the telescope down to the lawn but the Moon was not in sight.  I tried to locate a star in the lense but quickly determined the task too difficult, finding a mental remedy to my failure by convincing myself I wanted the Moon alone.

I tried to rally a team to join me on my mission to the moon, but we had missed a long day of partying and potential recruits were tired.  My wife's brother Danny agreed to join me because he is the nicest guy in the world and always willing to join a potential adventure.  By the time we left the house my wife, her sister, and Dan's wife had come along.

Josc theorized that we should go to the end of the road, to the other road, and at that first clearing not too far, where people fish, there would be the Moon.  It was not a long walk.  When we reached the clearing and the Moon was still not in sight we eventually realized that the Moon rises and sets just like the Sun and that we had missed our opportunity for moongazing.

On the walk back I was thinking that Time may be a manmade construct but it sure does make something like moongazing more convenient and if we had quickly researched the day's Moon times with a smartphone it would have saved us all this trouble, and how boring that would have been.

Stages of Hair Grief 2: Inevitabilities

Today June is threatening to become July
and some day in The Future my hair will not grow dark brown
and some day after that it will not grow at all
and today I think about Never cutting it again, ever,
like an animal.
Deep down I know this idea is a little dramatic.

The Ethics of Flashing

Are you a flasher?

I flashed a stranger, just yesterday!

Whenever I see a police cruiser hiding cheekily in the bushes, I will alert oncoming motorists for miles thereafter.

A quick flash of the highbeams and my truck is now a Beacon of Hope, that another civilian will not have to endure the sting of a speeding ticket, or the accompanying charade.

As I flashed yesterday, some sniffling fearful loser inside of my own mind whined,

"...but speeding is bad!  You could be helping a CRIMINAL right now.  You might have prevented the cop from preventing that criminal from hurting someone.  Probably a baby."

----------

The reason I flash people is THE GAME.  It's not about Public Safety.  Don't ever let them convince you it is.

Imagine if the police had a consistent presence at the places where driving slowly is most important.  There are places like that.  You don't speed there, nor do I.

Yet we still have THE GAME where the cops hide their cars in hiding spots and turn off their lights and probably rub their hands together and chuckle to themselves about how awesome their spot is and how they are totally going to catch someone speeding.

The cops WANT to catch you speeding.  Statistics show it is their most effective way to attain an erection.

That is why I flash and always will.

Memorial Day

As a veteran of the Vietnam War, I'm tired of hearing politicians patronizing me and my comrades for our "sacrifice". Peace will not come until young men and women are not encouraged, rewarded and honored by politicians and parents to kill people. - Shep Abbott

Memorial Day is about remembering those folks who have made the ultimate sacrifice,

as long as they played for OUR TEAM.

Remembering American solidiers is ok.

Remembering Nazis: not ok.

I wonder what year is the cutoff for remembering German solidiers.  I believe they have been noble since the 80's or so (?)

I love my country and appreciate the fact I have not been forced to kill anyone.  That makes me very happy.  Every day.

Top 6 Unrelated Celebrity Non Siblings: Part 2

6) Matt Damon & Johnny Damon

5) Jon Hamm & Mia Hamm

4) George Bush & Kate Bush

3) Joe Jackson & Michael Jackson

2) Michael J. Fox & Vivica A. Fox

1) Tom Cruise & Penelope Cruz

I Believe in the Radio

I believe in the radio.
(the cd player is broken)

This morning I flipped around and the Shins came on.
I blasted the knob as loud as she could go
and sang along as loud as I could go.

It was not even eight o' clock yet.
Later, we theorized that
this same effect would not have occurred
if I had pre-selected the very same song on a cd.

Top 6 Unrelated Celebrity Non Siblings

6) Martin Freeman and Morgan Freeman.

5) Will Ferrell and Colin Farrell.

4) Ryan Stiles and Julia Stiles.

3) Bradley Cooper and Alice Cooper.

2) Dean McDermott and Dylan McDermott.

1) Mariah Carey and Jim Carey.

Advertising, Baseball, Insurance and the Elderly

Cross Insurance is the official insurance broker of the 2014 Boston Red Sox,

their advertisements on the radio broadcast of games are unavoidable.

At one point the narrator says,

"...and my ninety seven year old father drives himself to the office every morning, and works a full day."

which hits me, on a couple of levels.

Personally, Alzheimer's disease has a history of ravaging the brains of my family, so I find the idea of a competent ninety seven year old man downright inspiring.

Despite the heartwarming connection, from a business perspective... I have qualms.

This ad makes me think about a 97 year old man driving.  Is the narrator ok with this?  It's his dad, after all.  That is a tough place for a family to be.  I do not imagine I could ever ask my father to give up his license. A sad, horrible theoretical situation I could have lived without, and I ultimately blame Cross Insurance for having to ponder it at all.

I understand the argument that perhaps all this uneasy shit is supposed to fear monger me into buying insurance.  Maybe the 97 year old man is not real, nothing more than a gimmick.

And if he is Real, although I've admitted he's probably a wonderful and inspirational man, I frankly do not want him working on my claim.  This idea does not instill confidence in your business.

Deodor:can't2: Solution

My cousin Lauren read Deodor:can't part 1
and kindly offered a small tub of homemade deodorant,
complete with a recipe so I can make future batches on my own.

(Lauren attributes the recipe to the website CrunchyBetty.com)

I have been using the stuff for over a month,
and I love it.
A little dab will do ya,
and in terms of full disclosure,
it is yet to be determined,
how it stacks up against the summer heat.

Betty & Lauren's Homemade Deodorant*
*to be replaced with catchy name later

5 tbsp coconut oil

3 tbsp almond oil (can infuse with chamomile or calendula if you want I don't because I'm lazy)

1/4 cup + 2 tbsp baking soda

1/4 cup + 2 tbsp arrowroot powder (baking aisle -bob's red mill. Or health food store)

Essential oil- 20 or so drops (lavender, rosemary, tea tree oil all have antibacterial properties. I use what I have on hand and like.)  

More disclosure,

I'm assuming we just mix those things up.

Our little container has lasted us Months,

but I will keep you posted,

when I try to make the stuff.

A Nice Walk With the Dog in the Springtime

A snow storm threatens tomorrow

that is part of the reason I knew better but
took the old dog for a walk anyways

another reason is the look she gave me

a daring glance paired with an energized shake

the kind that had been missing this winter

this winter had been slow and sleepy

bones creaking through the snow banks

I convinced myself a little fresh air would be good for us both

We were a quarter mile down the road

in front of the cable company 

repairing cables

and a cop directing traffic

when the dog started to shit

which is to be expected from a dog

but this particular shit 

was not pick-up-able

at the very least it was 

borderline

arguable 

but not in my case

because I have a cop watching this all go down

with a daring glance

almost hoping I will walk away

but I do not 

I brought a bag 

and under his watchful eye 

I do my best to clean up the shit

on the walk home I explain to the dog 

that I will never take her for a walk 

ever. again. 

this is the fourth time we have had this conversation 

Selfie!

while you were taking a picture of yourself
a pig flew above you
in front of a beautiful sunrise and sunset
with colors beyond description

as you pursed your lips into a duck mask
your true beauty was bound, gagged
and kidnapped into a white van
with one thousand others
that look just like you

when you posted your selfie
the art of the self-portrait died a little
(a lot)
the ghosts of one thousand dead painters & sculptors
tsk-tsking in shame from Eternity

The Meaning of Life (Draft 3)

to me The Meaning of Life is not
a single thing
to me, so far, it is a List
of Things That Seem Important:

-Self-Discovery / Acceptance
-Charity
-Awareness of Mortality
-Perception vs. Reality
-Karma / Connectedness 
-Fluidity / Change
-Environment / Earth / Universe
-Family
-The Creator / Why Are We Here ?
-Thumbs
-What Happens When We Die ?

28 Laps

I hope I've learned during these twenty eight laps around the Sun.

It started with my parents and still does.  I've never doubted their Love for a single second of my Life, and I realize this is an important facet of my existence.

My brother has challenged me constantly.  I'm lucky for that.

I never thought my old lady existed:  a kindred spirit to co-pilot the ethos.  A feeling so wonderful that I occasionally question if I deserve it.

I don't deserve any of this.  I've had twenty eight years free from any legitimate suffering.  I understand it's not sustainable and I try to use this temporary peace to prepare myself to travel the rest of the journey with dignity and patience.

I hope that God reads this post and she smiles and offers me another twenty eight laps.

things I think I know about Love

The opposite of Love is not Hate it is Apathy

Love should hire a lawyer
and sue Hollywood for defamation of character
Love is less powerful than Time but not by much
Love is puke and shit and bloody pieces of gauze
Love does not consider well laid plans
Love may not recognize you back someday
John Lennon said
Love is all you need
but he doesn't know me
sometimes I think I need more
but I do not
Jerry Seinfeld said
"You don't do what's right
You do what makes the other person feel good...
and the first step to that is lying"
Love is a web of lies
Love yourself first

Love tries to stay awake until you get home
You create your own definition of Love
which is nice until you realize so does everyone else
Unconditional Love is beautiful when you witness it happening
Love is for Everyone
Love is fleeting and cheers
to everyone lucky enough to enjoy some time with it
Love is not nearly as fun in hindsight
I hate to admit that chocolate and flowers are both quite lovely
and midwinter seems as nice a time as any to love Love
commerce be damned
this morning it seemed important to document 

things I think I know about Love

Classic Rock Radio Programming

On a long drive home after a raucous gig
I called The NightRocker to make a request
The man on the other end seemed genuinely disappointed
which helped, a little
"Aw man, we don't have any Big Star in the library"
I should have said something snarky, like
"You should check it out, I'll mail you some"
instead I froze and stammered out a request for Toys In the Attic
------
my go to station has recently changed their playist by adding
Soundgarden 101, Basic Pearl Jam, and Too Much Guns & Roses
this time My Michelle, the laziest of their originals
better than their lazy covers
if only an iPod were in the budget
if only my CD player weren't broken
during the self-loathing the harmonies of Sweet Emotion had begun
and I got even more frustrated
had I not requested the specific song, not the hit from that album?
-------
my Dad had taught me to play Name That Tune on this station
naming the band got you bonus points, the album even more so
-------
Back in the Saddle.
by the time Dude Looks Like A Lady comes on
I leave it on, as penance for even trying
-------
if I drive in silence I hear phantom pains from my car
and freak out!
--------
I believe in a kamikaze spin around the radio dial
there have times that aural gold has been struck in this fashion
I will spare you the deepest thoughts that followed
about planets and molecules
and fast forward to when Toys In The Attic came on
when everything clicked and buzzed in tandem
and the music drove me home

Rainbow Color Coating

I park in the auxiliary gravel lot and along the path into the school there has been a pile

some sort of rainbow colored candy

one day we noticed that months have passed

yet the candy remains untouched

the World and Nature herself rejecting free food

he told me that growing up his mother would throw every piece of stale food outside for the birds and animals

and that this same phenomenon occurred with Fruit Loops

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

I've noticed that some of the most powerful forces at work on this journey of Life have been Love, Hunger, Time (in that order)

Can I Use Your W.C. Please?

a fringe benefit of the new pad
within walking distance on nice days
The Gloucester Writers Center. In their words,

The Gloucester Writers Center is a place for working writers in a working town. We are devoted to the exploration, development and celebration of our diverse voices through dialogue and the artistic process.

Snow cancelled our weekly meeting today
I decided to post my favorites
from the last three months, what an idea!
it inevitably depressed my soul
being happy with two sad limericks
from the last three months of material

------------
There once was a boy named Joe
He did not know where to go
He followed the sound
But when it was found
He found that he still did not know
------------
There once was a violin
I can't find where to begin
Plucked on the strings
But all that it brings
Is a feeling that I'll never win

Deodor:can't

I do not remember how old I was
when I started to smell bad
probably twelve or thirteen
since then I've rocked the OLD SPICE
classic style, original scent

and for over a decade I never considered the ingredients
or my lymph nodes

(according to wikipedia)

Lymph node is an oval-shaped organ of the lymphatic system, distributed widely throughout the body including the armpit and stomach... as filters or traps for foreign particles and are important in the proper functioning of the immune system...

the ingredients on my current stick include:

Alcohol Denat.
Propylene Glycol
Water
Sodium Stearate
Fragrance
Triclosan
Tetrasodium Edta
Yellow 10
Green 5

I don't know what most of those chemicals are
(what does Denat. stand for?)
why would I rub and smear them into my lymph nodes
every day

The Man Who Invented Food Pills

I got a call from the city.  Dan the Mailman had landed me an early birthday present, an interview, and was rambling furiously. 

"The Doctor, he's got to be in his seventies, maybe eighties, and he's been delivering the mail for years, the past eight years I've worked there at least" he sputtered, virtually out of breath in his enthusiasm.  I told him I was skeptical. 

"That's nothing.  I haven't even gotten to the good part.  The Doctor is perfectly healthy and yet he hasn't eaten food in years.  The Doctor is the man who invented Food Pills." 

--------

It was a long drive from the coast to the city and I had questions.  Flaws in the story.  I am cynical on most days.  When I arrived Dan was ready to answer the first question on my mind, before I even asked it.

"You're wondering how come The News isn't all over this.  The Doctor will probably tell us his story today because he doesn't know you're going to write about it.  Don't mention your blog.  Don't mention anything.  Try not to talk at all."

I told Dan that I get it and thanked him again for setting up the meet.   

"I told the Doctor you are giving up a failed career at music and applying for a steady job at the post office."

"Why?"

"Because details are important in a good lie"  

---------

"Stomach problems.  I couldn't eat hardly anything anyways"

The Doctor's explanation as to Why he didn't want to eat food anymore actually made more sense than I expected it to.  My questions had all nearly been answered so I tried to bait him.  "I love to cook.  It's cathartic.  You don't like to cook, Doctor?"

"My wife & I used to cook the most delicious meals together, nearly every night.  After she died, it just wasn't...." his voice trailed off.  I felt like an ass for asking for him that.

"Then I found Science" the Doctor said smiling.  His eyes lifted and brightened.  "We all know what you need: protein, vitamin C, calcium... I don't want to bore you with lists.  My compounds are laid out in detail in my journals.  The brass tax of it all is that I don't eat anything but my food pills anymore, since about the time your friend Dan started on.  He didn't believe me then, and I don't think he does now." 

Dan smiled.  "I'm gaining interest.  Tell him the best part." 

"The best part is that my stomach problems are gone..." the Doctor began to answer, but Dan interrupted him, "Don't hold back now Doc" 

"Shit.  I haven't the need to defecate anymore.  In years.  My pills are perfectly designed that my body absorbs the exact amounts of each element.  For years the formulas have been adjusted, to maintain this wonderful and unexpected side effect."

I was puzzled.  "You haven't eaten any food, or taken a shit, in years?" 

"That's right."  His answer was calm and seemed genuine.  "Your next question about mass marketing Food Pills is unnecessary because I have no interest in the work it would take to custom tailor the pills for each individual client.  In fact, I've grown bored of the subject altogether, but I am willing to assume my vintage Martin guitar will pique your interest?" 

The Doctor again, was correct.

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

On the ride home Dan broke a long silence, "I won't be as extreme about it as the Doctor is.  We can still go out for dinner on weekends with the girls, or whatever.  On occasion."

Sammy's Law

Sammy is a funky drummer and wonderful human who got himself into some trouble and then out of it and then past it, thankfully never losing any funkiness along the way.  Sam recently offered me this nugget of advice,

"Do not break more than one law at a time" 

Cell Phone Poems

Dec 14, 2013

Thought about quitting those mean cigarettes
As my ashes fell whiter than the snow
Piling up faster than my regrets
Nowhere to go but up, nowhere to go

Wondered which was purer the ash or snow
That got me on the great Robert Frost
His dark cold words always make me glow
Though I don't doubt the true meaning is lost

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

Dec 28, 2013

Pregnant bartender loves this disco band
Dancefloor grandma swaying, can't hardly stand
Found myself drinking beers with the band wives
Tonight is the highlight of their bland lives

2014

Twenty Thirteen, instead of looking back
lets gaze ahead to paths with uncut tracks
May the next year bring us the things years bring
happiness and joy, pain and suffering
if you promise to keep the hungry fed
if you resolve to eat less white bread
maybe you will vow not to change at all
maybe this year I will finally grow tall

Humbug

I dug into the word 'humbug' 

and recommend you do as well

abridged version: English slang from the 1750's  

the word Humbug refers to a person or item that tricks, deceives, talks, or behaves in a way that is deceptive, dishonest, false, or insincere, often a hoax or in jest

2013 Translation: Bullshit!

Which I found fitting as
Christmas is pissing me off this year

We're going to purchase a baby potted pine, decorate it for the season, nurture it during the winter, and plant it in the Spring.  

I see a house decked to the gills in lights and think about electricity
flashing colors that dim the stars

Christmas is making fudge with my mom,
drinking heavily with my grandfather, father & brother
heard my uncle is flying in this year  

Eulogy For An Imperial Stormtrooper

Thank you all for coming.  Some members of the mainstream media might characterize Steve as a "bad guy" because of his affiliation with the Galactic Empire, but your very presence proves them wrong. 

There are many ways to describe Steve: a son loyal to his mother, a husband forever faithful to his wife, a loving father of two young children, and one of the best damn Stormtroopers the Empire has ever seen. 

We were in high school, just kids really, when Steve was first promoted and received his uniform.  Not many high school seniors would have the courage to wear it as proudly as he did, white helmet and all.

Steve used to brag that his laser gun skills were the best in the galaxy.  He was offered promotions and management opportunities, but he would chuckle that he didn't want to sit behind a desk.  

Steve died in the line of duty, probably the way he would have chosen. His family and friends, we will always remember him as a hero. 

Ten Year Reunion

"Remember when is the lowest form of conversation"

That quote from Tony Soprano is quite visceral and a little too harsh.  

but here I am, Ten years removed from high school
which I'm finding to be quite visceral and a little too harsh

I grew up in Georgetown 

and went to high school 18 miles down the road 

at a catholic joint called Bishop Fenwick

You know what... 

the backstory does not matter

this is about Now

Nostalgia will not pay my rent!

I'm working the Saturday after Thanksgiving

with a hot band 

a job I'd like to keep for a while

therefore I cannot attend the reunion

$22 per person is a little steep anyways! 

I offered to help plan something cool months ago 

the result was a royal cluster:

-people with jobs want to get dangerously drunk on a weekend evening

-people with children want to picnic on a weekday morning or early afternoon

I might get cheap thrills gawking at the ghosts of christmas past

but I'd rather rock out.  

if you knew me in high school this should not be a surprise.

How to Grow A Beard2: Grow Up, Please

there have been unsolicited genuine compliments about the beard
which seems necessary to growth
akin to watering a new plant

growing Down alright
I wish she would grow Up

there are chunks on each cheek
more or less symmetric

I can imagine them Filled In
with beard

it has been one month into the Journey
I'm going to hang until Thanksgiving
as a mandatory minimum
for the ration of beardrelatedshittalk from my extended family will surely

"put hair on your chest and fire in your belly"

as King Henry once said
hopefully in this instance
the hair in question
will grow on my face

The Nightly Grind

My father's morning alarm has gone off at 5a for as long as I can remember

*flashback*

We were young, but old enough to pick up on his pattern

that as he transitioned from the couch to bed for the night

he would first stop in the kitchen
and grind the coffee beans for the morning.

We were young but old enough to determine this to be a sign of Weakness

and we would heckle from the living room,

"Uh oh, Dad's grinding the beans"

"Bedtime for Dad"

"Feeling sleepy Dad?"

"Goodnight Dad"

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

last week I started a new gig
helping to teach strings at Rockport Elementary School
it's not 5a but it's an early start nonetheless

and as I prepared for my first morning I blasted the coffee grinder

and instantly felt horrible
my beautiful old lady sleeping peacefully down the hall

that evening before bed I was grinding the beans for the next morning
and damned The Circle for spinning round and round

Capo2: Got A Good Reason For Taking the Easy Way Out

"If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools"

Recap:

Capos weren't sitting well with me.
I decided to write about it
and ask The World
to help expand my mind.

The World chimed in with interesting points of view.
I conceded some outdated ideas
and rearranged my thoughts:

-Capos are cool if you understand how it works
-Capos are cool if you're injured
-I maintain that capos are NOT cool if you're being lazy
(because I have Faith that You can play barre chords)

I was feeling good about the experiment as a whole
until a second wave of militant capo users arrived
name calling and putting words in my mouth:

"are you against open tunings too?"

"Capos won't hold you back, speaking in absolutes and being close minded will"

"it's a hobby, not a pissing contest"

"why would you make a vocalist jump through hoops because of...your dad's hickish dismissal"

"what's lame is basically saying that they're not worthy to play music or express themselves through music"

"You don't have to be technically amazing to play, or enjoy playing, or to have your music appreciated by others"


I didn't feel Elitist or Close-Minded.  still don't.
just the opposite in fact
(although I admit the fact they perceived this is my fault and not theirs)

I simply want to empower lazy beginners to get over the hump
where most fledging guitarists quit
or slap on a capo
the plastic dam that forever closes the waters of musical knowledge

I hope they take the Time to read my finished posts
and truly understand the point of this exercise
but they're capo users,
so they probably won't, right?

Anti-Capo Manifesto

My father didn't have very many strict or steadfast Rules.

-Only A's and B's on report cards.
-No drugs in the house.
-Bassists should not use a pick.
-Guitarists should not use a capo.

I asked him to expound on the capo for the blog:

As a guitar student in the late 1960’s, I had to have one. Most of the folk rock artists that I liked were using them...I figured out quickly that the pretty boy folk rock guys only knew three or four chords and used the capo to fake their way thru any key. Instead of learning all the chords, they could get by with a few. I listened to their “different voicing” and “tonal qualities” points of view. It seemed like cheating to me. 

Now, when I see a guitarist using a capo
the first thought that comes to mind is,

"This cat can't hack it"

and I know that Life is not so extreme
direct from plastic to negative judgmental emotions
there must be something I'm missing

so I asked the Great White Noise
and the Pro-Capo crowd responded
some of which were clear, concise
and counterargument worthy

"For one of meager natural skill and even less talent, I can use all the help I can get"

Counterargument: Doc, when you're practicing with a capo on you're not practicing the guitar you're practicing the guitar-with-a-capo-on

"Capos are more for the benefit of vocalists than guitarists.  Bring out the best in your front person by any means necessary."

Counterargument: If you give a front person a fish they will eat for a day...

"as long as it's thought of as a style choice, just like drop tunings, it changes the sound of the instrument"

Counterargument: None!

In summation, capo users beware
I am judging you
and I may feel compelled to question you on:

1) how your capo achieves a tone/sound/style that cannot be achieved by a capoless instrument

2) if you can accurately convey what Key Signature a capoless instrument may accompany you

"Capos are for fascists and Jimmy Buffet"

"The Predictable Circle" or "Rest In Peace, Aunt Peg"

in my car, waiting for The Captain to be arraigned

when the radio threw out some interesting stats

regarding the opposing team's pitcher under a certain circumstance:

4 days rest, after throwing 115+ pitches the previous outing

the numbers were not good, so I texted them to my brother, an avid gambler.

next, mom called that my great aunt had passed away.

then, I remembered my brother and his wife were learning the gender of their baby this morning.

and a fist was shaken at Life
for being so predictable
(the whole "circle" thing)

i texted my brother that the smart money was on a baby girl.
now.
that the situation had changed.

later, The Captain did not get arraigned
but did get Another Date
for later.

later than that, my brother texted that I should have laid real money on both of my hunches.

Zero Tolerance for Zero Tolerance Policies

Here are the alleged facts of the story of 17 year old Erin Cox:

-Drunk friend calls Erin for a ride home from a party

-Erin (sober) drives to party to find police already there

-She is not arrested but told she will be "summoned to court"

-School officials cite Erin to be in violation of the Zero Tolerance policy regarding alcohol

-Erin is suspended from the volleyball team


I wonder why the police would officially summon her

I wonder how the story ended up in the national news

I applaud the young lady for getting her story out there

I applaud the school for sticking by their policy (whether I agree with it our not) and not giving in to the social pressure of the story being out there


Zero Tolerance Policies are ridiculous because no two situations are exactly the same

and you, beautiful Reader, will want to remember when dealing with these two specific entities:

North Andover Police: NO DESIGNATED DRIVERS ALLOWED
North Andover High School: NO DESIGNATED DRIVERS ALLOWED

Banana Bread: revised

Mom's Banana Bread Recipe

(revised by Chef Joe
for reasons that are not political nor related to ethics)

2 and 1/2 cups wheat flour
1 cup brown sugar
3 and 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons vegetable oil
1/3 cup almond milk
1 egg
2 bananas

mix together

bake at 350 for 65-70 min

How to Grow A Beard

Step 1: Don't Shave

I understand the process will eventually command more nuance than this...

(and I hope to share this with you, dearest Reader)

in the past I have failed:  The Fear sinks in and the need to hide my face sinks in and a quick run home yields a fresh razor.  To erase the neglect...

but NOT THIS TIME!  I'm latching onto the "Red Sox playoff beard" fad, as to elude as much social judgement for as long as possible...

once the baseball runs it's course hopefully this baby beard will have sprouted little wings on my cheeks and blossomed into a lush bush of masculinity.

hopefully.

"Annual Physical Exam" or "Rest In Peace, Dr. Smith"

my faith in Medicine is at an all time low

but driving past Dr. Smith's office I noticed a large FOR SALE sign

and imagined the Doc 'moving on up'
perhaps to a bigger pad
(this one was cluttered to a point that scared my old lady)

Patty the receptionist answered the phone and I asked how the end of the week looked. mornings were preferable.

Patty's voice trembled, "I'm sorry but Dr. Smith passed away this June"

June.  months ago.

I remembered his concern over a spot of cancer on his forehead but when I mentioned this Patty quickly dismissed the notion, offering no details in return.  I remembered the details didn't matter anyways.

"Mistah Kurtz-he dead."

I thanked Patty for her years of dedicated work, she mentioned something about forms.  I answered enthusiastically knowing damn well I would not follow through.  I hung up.

then the darkest part of my brain spit out this gem:

"Well, he musn't have been a very good doctor after all"

which is still funny
but isn't true at all.

he was a good doctor, the only one who has ever made me feel comfortable.  I'm not in a rush to find another.

Aunt Courtney's Apple Tree

We pulled up to Courtney's house and parked under the tree

my old lady remarked that she could eat one of the fruit

although the pile under the tree was not appetizing

sure enough towards the top, they looked plump and inviting

-----

upon returning from the liquor store I parked under the tree

Brian said, "these apples are a pain in the ass"

-----

I was dressed for Alice's wedding, setting up the car for extra passengers

Casper hobbled down the driveway

he was old but told me that I looked like a businessman right off the bat, and won me over

he wanted the unwanted fruit from the tree, but wanted permission from the homeowner. I took down his information.

-----

back inside the homeowner had a hearty chuckle. She had met Casper and granted permission already.

Brian very literally tore up Casper's information that I had written down.

Casper had told them that those apples were in fact pears.

-----

the next morning we were hungover and my old lady went outside to have a pear for breakfast.  the rest of the group was not impressed but I was and took a bite.

the fruit was tolerable but needed something more.

-----

on the drive home my old lady said "If there was a pear tree in our yard we wouldn't ever buy fruit again"

we rapped for quite some time on pear jelly, pear pies, pear liquors, and other pear things I cannot now recall

Inheritance

I have inherited many wonderful things from my Mom

long flowing locks are up the top of the list
looking at the Danvers High 1975 yearbook one would give my Dad partial credit in this department
Scientists might chalk the mop up to my grandparents (and Science)
but anyone who has seen my mom & I standing next to each other knows where my hair comes from

better than the 'fro though,

is the magical effect that the 1975 album "Fleetwood Mac" has

once it reaches a certain volume

it creates a Zen like trance

by the time the A side is ready to be flipped the house is brighter and cleaner
fresh bedsheets that smell of lavender
clean dishes drying on the rack beside the sink

the need to play the record while cleaning
(the need to clean while the record plays)
feels genetic

Trashy Thoughts

it wasn't until moving to Gloucester that I became Aware of my trash

because the city's trash program is that they only collect bags the residents purchase

which seemed weird and communist, at first

something like five dollars per purple bag
which probably held the same 20-30 gallon your standard black trash bag holds

(Editor's Note: $2 for a 33 gallon bag)

we soon realize the city also has a recycling program

now all the items that qualify are staying out of the purple monster

instead, kicking into the recycling bin

we recently considered creating a compost pile and created a third bin for food trash

and I realized that on average:

a third of our trash can be recycled
and a third of our trash can be compost

Food Is Good

We took the "Salem Food Tours" this afternoon

*disclaimer for journalistic integrity* my old lady's brother's wife's sister runs it (well)

underlined are highly recommended restaurants,
also worth noting:

-Chef Tony at 62 taught us that ravioli is plural and raviolo is singular

-Comida gets the Terminator award (i'll be back)  

-Life Alive had an alarming combination of Meatlessness and Deliciousness

-locally sourced, all natural ingredients are oh-so-tasty

-Chef Mike at Brodie's Seaport made a perfectly seared scallop

and every that time happens an angel gets it's wings. 

Shep Abbott: Art & Space

One of the earliest musical performances my old lady & I had together was in Gloucester

(a lifetime ago)

Open Mic at ARTSPACE 

a lifetime later we ran into Shep and made the connection 

and now we jive whenever we cross paths.

I recently realized the weird street signs on the island were his

and that they were being stolen,

regularly...

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Hi Shep - I've been thinking about your signs and the people that steal them, and a comment that you made that "it's part of the process" and I'm wondering if you want to comment on that further (for my blog)? Thanks - Joe!

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Joe, thanks for your interest. I'm not sure what happens to the signs. It may be malicious destruction. It may be flattering theft. It may be "official" removal by Public Works. Whatever it is, I'm surprised no one contacts me since my email is always on the sign. I'm interested in "public art" because it seems to have a visceral, human impact. I once hung a giant 30' fishing net up high in swamp maples in Dogtown with the phrase "Dream of Love" knitted into it with brightly colored ribbons. It was very beautiful. When the afternoon sun hit it way up in the trees, it was like a giant spider's web with this simple message, Dream of Love which was a real dream I had once. Well, someone went to a great deal of trouble to climb up, rip it down and take it away. A man called me to say he thought it was a "cult". I don't know who it was. I put up a yellow street sign near the Willowrest restaurant not long ago. The sign read "Slow Geezers", kind of a joke on "Slow Children" signs and what with Boomers and all. Just a joke. I even wrote on the back of the sign, "Painted by a Geezer" because, as a matter of fact, I will be 70 on Saturday. Nevertheless, it was torn down, perhaps by an irate Geezer. I really like public art; I think it's great to put stuff in public that is completely unexpected and, hopefully, fun. I'm not interested in making any "political statement" or pissing anyone off. But, let's face it, life can get pretty, well, predictable these days. So, to me, I kind of see the outside, public world as a kind of "museum" where, instead of folks having to decide to come to see your work somewhere, well, it just suddenly shows up! And it's a total mystery as to how the Hell it got there and what the Hell it means and who the Hell would go to the trouble to do that? It just makes life a little less predictable, even if you don't like it and decide to rip it down. A lot of other people get a kick out of it before it disappears. And then, if people like it, it doesn't take a lot of effort to make another sign (although, to be honest, the signs are pretty well done). [You can reprint this if you like.]