Corona Silver Lining #1

Back on Friday, six days ago, as the world began to collapse...

Walking home from the mechanic (steering shaft) it began to rain.

In the crosswalk of the state highway a woman pulled her car to the side of the onramp and offered me a ride.

I politely declined as the entire walk was less than a mile and home was around the corner.

A nice woman offers a ride in her to a stranger in the rain during a global pandemic.

M Train by Patti Smith

I asked Patti Smith
to shut up
about all that Nothing.
She replied
If you let me finish.

Dennis found the book at his favorite thrift store
and bought it for Brian.
Brian said I own this book it's Magic
you should read it.
Dennis said OK
and gave it to me.

I fought her for seventy pages or so
then the NYC Water Dept. was a junkie
looking for a mainline
and she spoke to statues
and they replied
and I realized she was Sad
and I let her tell me her story
and I loved it

Summer '19

Groundhog attack.

This year's excuses:

-I don't really like chard
-The broccoli was dead anyways

Strawberry boom.  A week in June where every morning you get a big cup, then a week where every morning you get Two big cups, and then the berries are Gone. The big plant shoots out little baby plants and I gave each one a little handful of compost to grow up in. A way to ensure boominess next year but also a way to say Thank You, Strawberry Patch.

Planted five new blackberry plants for next year.

Built new tomato box (help from TGun).

Baby Levon loves being outside. Rub one of the herbs on your fingers and stick in front of his nose and watch all his senses light up.

The Pointed End of Patience

The garden teaches patience. 

We wait patiently for strawberries.

When they ripen the time is for Action.  No excuses.

If you miss a morning harvest: bugs, rot, rodents.

The berries are gone.

2019 Garden 1

Asparagus - the bed in the alley already booming
                    second year, don't eat too many
                    the big bed not yet
                    but laid fresh Black Earth compost
                    third year no holds barred
Basil - seedling from Cedar Rock Gardens needs a week indoors before planting
Blackberries - single mound with 3-4 canes
                       one real nice one
                        probably needs pruning 
Broccoli - planted 4 seedlings from Cedar Rock
Cannabis - three germinated seeds have sprouted, strain TBD
                  many more seeds in water germinating (hopefully)
Carrots - from seed in the planter by the walkway
               in the bed by the driveway
               and in barrels in the big asparagus bed
               orange and purple
Chamomile - infested the big asparagus bed terribly
                      ripped it up and gave to friends
                      kept coming
                      ripped it up and transplanted to the alley
                      and they took real nice over winter
Chives - before us the big asparagus bed was infested by chives
              many chive plants uprooted
               felt like a murderer and left a single clump
              an homage a thank you to what was once 
               now they boom more than anything but
               we never really eat them
               maybe chopped up on fish once or twice
Garlic- hey look three garlic scapes from last year in the raised bed
Kale - planted two seedlings from Cedar Rock
Mint - stringy lookin' roots so I covered em in compost
Onion - hey look four onions from last year in the alley
Peas - planted in the raised bed
Pepper - bell pepper seeds germinating
Radish - seeds planted in the raised bed
Sage - last year's plant has new buds
Spinach - sowed many rows of seed in the raised bed
Strawberry - transplanted patch looking good in new spot closer to the Cherry Tree
Swiss Chard - planted two seedlings
---
Apple Tree - looks awesome maybe too awesome and needs prune?
Cherry Tree - good looking buds so far
                       need to research how to maximize fruit production
---
Hosta - showing signs of life (year 3!)
Lillies - two varieties of transplants
             one from mom
             one from trudy next door
             can't keep them straight
             one was Japanese right?
Pansy - in the hanging basket above the strawberry patch
             and the triple clay pot my brother's family got us
Parade Roses - after successful winter indoors
                        which produced a winter rose
                        white with red speckles
                        looking like real shite in the front garden 
Rhododendron - three cuttings from a students mom last fall
                           bloomin
                           heard they get big need to keep an eye on these
Snapdragon - already complimented from a stranger/neighbor/passerby
                      line of four (Cedar Rock) facing the street in the front garden
                      learned they were edible

man and cub

we walk in a circle on the second floor
to stop him from crying
past the piano and the wurlitzer
we watch the washer and dryer
outside the coo of a mourning dove
inside the coo of a man cub
his back warm against my belly
seated on my right arm
left arm across his belly
all hands and feet
Time an anchor
slowly dragging the bottom
pulled by an unstoppable force
moving at unfathomable speed
which is also Time

why put yourself through the dark cold winter?

is summer sun sweeter

because of winter snow 

or is that just something we say

she is metric

her cervix is dilated one centimeter
she is metric

Vocab Check

Cannabis is a genus of flowering plants.

The etymology of "marijuana" dates back to the 1930s when it was popularized by the first Narc.

Let's keep the science terms and drop the fear slang. 

2018 Garden Post #3

Nathan had two tips for strawberries.  The first was to lay a bed of a straw on the ground so they do not rot.  Hence the name.  The second was a net.  The net will protect you from rodents he said, but you might catch a bird.  He specifically said bird.

I was holding the garden hose and came around the side of the house to the Alley Garden where the strawberry beds are.  Tangled in the plastic netting was a mourning dove.  She was alive.  I ran inside to get a pair of scissors.

That netting is awful shit.  Along the way I needed both hands to untangle her head and I put the scissors at my side and THE SCISSORS GOT TANGLED IN THE NETS and I lost my cool untangling them and she started flapping again and flapped herself into more trouble.

Eventually the scissors came free and I cut the bird free.  She had a netting shaped rectangle on her shoulder the perimeter of which was marked with a thin red line of blood.  After I freed her she sat motionless in the strawberry patch.

I went back to the business of watering the gardens but my soul was burdened and I returned to the alley to check on her.  She was just sitting there in the sun.

I went inside and found my phone and called the animal whoevers but they did not answer.  I went back to the alley and she was still just sitting there in the sun.  I nudged her gently with the handle of the scissors, I wanted her to climb on for a short ride to the shade.  At that point she flew away like nothing had happened but I've been sad about it for days.

Off Book

Off book.
Off phone.
Learn your lyrics. Know the words.
Telling the story is better than reading the story.
Try not to be a fraud, a hack, a clown
degrading the sacred stage.

that said,
these are the words I forgot on Monday
(verse 2 of Candy)
the ghost of Sandman haunts with irony:

Candy says she wonders why we try
I couldn't think of what to say
I had no ready reply 

2018 Garden Post #2

Last year two questions loomed over the garden all summer and autumn,

"Are my neighbors aware of my giant (legal) marijuana plants?"

and

"Why don't they steal them?"

---

I was gifted marijuana seeds around the holidays by a violinist who wishes to remain anonymous.  In late February the Sun emerged and I planted two dozen seeds in my kitchen window.  13 or 14 sprouted.  Then the New England March hit.  I don't use fancy lights or any legitimate Science so they all died and I felt like a simpleton butcher who had tried to play God and failed.

Last week I was giving a tour of the garden and telling that very story when I was approached by a neighbor who wishes to remain anonymous.  He told me that he was aware of my plants last summer.  "I grow indoors" he said a little condescendingly but then he told me that he has Too Many Seedlings and offered me two as a gift.  They have names (Northern Lights and AK48) and they are feminized.  Why would he need to steal my outdoor weed when he has a surplus of superior indoor weed?

---

TOP BOX:  garlic on right and left.  peas in the back.  brocs kale brocs kale brocs.  spinach seedlings in each corner and the entire bed filled with spinach seeds which are starting to pop.

hostas coming back strong.

HILL BOX one: northern lights
HILL BOX two: ak48
HILL BOX three: essentially mirrors TOP BOX with the bed of spinach seed and outer ring of brocs kale brocs kale brocs and also brussel sprouts and cauliflower

NEW CARROT BEDS:  starting to sprout but they blend in too well with and we keep stepping on them

CARROT BUCKETS:  starting to sprout

ZEN GARDEN:  asparagus is booming we are harvesting for the month of may and then letting it go according to Nourse Farms guidebook I've counted 20 spears the difference from the grocery store asparagus is not describable using digital english words

APPLE TREE:  not dead.  need to split on the espalier which is terrifying must call Stevens

CHERRY TREE:  beautiful white flowers

MAGNOLIA TREE: beautiful purple flowers one of my students dad called it a Tulip Tree please never say that again kind sir

STRAWBERRIES:  seem green and boomy but hazy memory of the bar and Jane telling me they should be flowering by now must call Jane to confirm

BLACKBERRIES:  need to trim dead canes but at least 3 or 4 canes are booming

side garden also has a Brussel Sprout and a Cauliflower seedling and last year's mint is just starting to join the party

aunt cris gave us more asparagus crowns so the Alley Garden officially has extended past the house into the backyard

sage and thyme are back from last year (how inspiring!) and the arugula is down.  I keep asking my Old Lady if we can plant the basil, cilantro, rosemary and sage seedlings from Leigh and she keeps reminding me No.

the blueberries are dead.  i can admit it.  I need to pull and compost.

the Compost looks good.  If I can turn every day until tomato time we should be able to plant those maters in a big muddy bed of homemade compost.

Stone Garden is 0.11 acres.  If you are reading this I hope you are inspired to grow a lot of food in a tiny place.

How To Be Happy: Part 11 (Bread)

Make bread.
Humans have made bread

for ten thousand years.

Yeast flour water sugar salt. 

Mix knead wait bake. 

2018 Garden Post #1

It is raining.

The carrot seeds have been planted. Older seeds in the new patches at the end of the driveway where they are most susceptible to hungry critters. Prized purple seeds in protective buckets hidden up in the Zen Garden.

Chamomile spread like a bastard.  I left last year's plant and a large volunteer right next to it.  I moved the largest of the remaining volunteers to the Alley Garden and potted the smallest volunteers as gifts for family and friends.

The beds are filled with Black Earth compost.  Top Bed has garlic growing on both the left and right sides.  I cannot remember if we started it last Fall or this Spring but it's been there a minute.

Someone gifted us a small pot of Parade Roses that I am going to put in front of the Magnolia.  The Cherry tree is bursting with buds but the jury is out wether the Apple seedling survived the winter or not.

The thyme has a dirty brown hat from the winter but I snuck a peek underneath and she's green.  She just needs a trim.  The sage looks tired after the long cold. 

I brought the rosemary inside for the winter but it died of neglect.  We left it inside the window further still to this very day and we break off sprigs when we make chicken soup.

How To Be Happy: Part 10 (Connect)

Use your computer
connect to a human
you otherwise could not connect to
without a computer.
Hello, old friend.

How To Be Happy: Part 9 (Reading)

Read a book
or an article
or an essay.
Infinity words.

How To Be Happy: Part 8 (Birds)

Look outside.
You might see a bird.
Listen.
You might hear her sing.

Easter

The bread is rising.  She is singing at the church job.

There is Potential while bread is rising.  Patience sucks so slice her open down the middle and stuff with chores and records and coffee and try not to poke the wound for a while.

I used the Kitchen Aid my grandfather gave me.  This is the first Easter without Gramps and Mom is particularly sad.

Yesterday I took down three sections of fence and stacked it to burn at parties.  I never liked the fence.  The yard is open and beautiful now and the fences weren't fooling anyone.  We don't own little dogs.

It's Easter Sunday and I'm trying to copy your writing style.  I wear it like a hat that doesn't fit and I know it doesn't fit but when I look in the mirror I like what I see.

Mikhail Kalashnikov

Question from Mikhail Kalashnikov to Russian Orthodox Church 2014:

"I keep having the same unsolved question: if my rifle claimed people's lives, then can it be that I... a Christian and an Orthodox believer, was to blame for their deaths?"
Response from Patriarch Kirill:

"the church has a well-defined position when the weapon is defense of the Motherland, the Church supports its creators and the military, which use it."

She Sleeps

She sleeps better than I do.
I wake up to drink water.  I wake up to pee.  She sleeps.

The cat comes in.
Lies down.  Gets up.  Walks around.
I pet the cat.  He is not still.  I fight the cat.  It's his fault.  Eject him from the room.
She sleeps.

I grab Amanda's poetry book and Amanda's book about asking
and make coffee.  She sleeps.

I read the news and the sports and another poem and another chapter.
Plows scrape the street.
Today is a free day for sleeping and I'm making a list.
She sleeps.

How To Be Happy: Part 7 (Trash)

Take out the trash.
Goodbye, trash.

How To Be Happy: Part 6 (Create)

Create art!
I do not know
the definition of art
perhaps You can create that.

How To Be Happy: Part 5 (Vinyl)

Spin a record, baby.
I cannot believe
I put bananas before music.

How To Be Happy: Part 4 (Walks)

Walk around your world.
Smile at the people you see.
When you get tired of your world
walk home!

How To Be Happy: Part 3 (Bananas)

Peel a banana
from the top
or bottom. 
Eat a banana.
Sweet fruit.

How To Be Happy: Part 2 (Happiness)

Let go of happiness
so that happiness may return to you
on it's own
like a cat.

How To Be Happy: Part 1 (The Sun)

Watch
the sun
rise
or set
today.

Peter and the Wolf

I have somehow acquired two vinyl copies of Prokofiev's "Peter and the Wolf" as narrated by Captain Kangaroo. I get to give one away to a willing recipient of my choosing. This brings me great joy.

Yankees Suck

The New York Yankees suck.
They have always sucked.
They used to suck for not sucking.
It actually sucks when the Yankees actually suck.
It sucks less when the Yankees suck less.
I suck for actually digging it when the Yankees actually suck.
It sucks that no baseball has yet compared to 2004.
My college roommate was from New York
and he sucked because he loved the Yankees and knew his shit
and resented the sucky Sox fans who don't know their shit.
I met this sucky mirror image of myself on the battlefield in 2004
and in the end the lesson learned was not that either team sucked more or less
but that we had witnessed so amazing a battle that all baseball would suck thereafter.

Ward 1 Marijuana Meeting

Now that My Old Lady and I are proud homeowners I have been hounding her about attending a Ward Meeting. Lucky for me our first opportunity was a meeting about Recreational Marijuana. I emailed the following thoughts to my Ward rep. after the meeting.

1. We support a Moratorium until the CCC and state level guidelines are established.
2. We trust in the City Council and Zoning Board to establish city guidelines and expectations during said Moratorium so that they may be swiftly implimented when the State is prepared.  
3. The current Public Health campaign on edible marijuana is borderline fear-mongering and essentially moot because of 21+ statute and our trust in the Zoning Board and City Council to issue permits to reputable licensed establishments.
4. The police force has to evolve and upgrade to cope with legal recreational marijuana wether or not the city proceeds with retail dispensaries.
5. We have faith in our police force's outstanding reputation in the control of 20 local liquor licenses and therefore we trust in their ability to add four marijuana licenses. 
6. We very much do want to be the premiere North Shore destination for any booming industry. 
7. As a homeowner in Gloucester it would cause me pain to drive to Revere or Lynn or Salem and give them the 3% local tax associated with the product.

Old Keys

There is a recurring nightmare where I am a solider sitting at a campfire with a cast iron round ball mold and a pile of old keys. My job is to take the old keys and put them into the mold and hold them over the fire until they melt and form the rounded ball shape of a bullet. There are many keys and many bullets and the fire burns hot.

Watched Pot

I asked the internet,
"How long does boiled water take to cool down?"
I was making pickles.
The answer was,
"Fuck you."

Sunday Morning Elvis Presley

My dad
made us
listen.
Elvis
radio
every
Sunday
on the
ride to
church.

A Sad Letter

how cathartic
compose a letter
never send it
in fact, destroy it

Cherry Tree Emotions

I bought a cherry tree for My Old Lady last year and planted it in a lousy spot. Steve helped me move the cherry tree from the middle of the garden up to the front where she has gotten much more sunlight. Steve said not to expect any fruit this year because she would be in shock. Weeks later while inspecting a lower branch for insects I found a single cherry hidden by big leaves. The cherry was green so I left it for weeks until it was pink and I left it for days and this morning I decided my single cherry was "ready" for me and I went to take a peek.  The cherry is gone.  I hope the animal that ate it choked to death on the pit. This morning I feel sadness and anger about a single cherry, which in turn makes me feel possessive and un-zen and immature.

Under the Influence

“I’m falling asleep. I’m stopping for cigarettes,” I told her as though I was a doctor giving a prescription. 

“You’re just drunk.” She said in a way that stung. 



“You asked me to drive.” 

“I’m drunk too.” She giggled. The sound relaxed my shoulders. 


I pulled into the gas station and made a note that I was parked at pump four because the attendants always get angry with me when I forget.  This particular attendant had stocky shoulders and a square shaped head that I assumed he shaved himself.  He looked down on me literally and figuratively, but did not look me in the eyes as he took my twenty-dollar bill.



“Pack of yellows. Change for twenty, pump four.” I was a doctor again.



“Yeah.” He said in a way that stung.



I was filling the gas tank, but my mind was focused, listening intently to the lyrics of a bad pop song blaring over the cheap outdoor speakers.  If I could remember the progression of bad clichés the conversation might carry us all the way home through the sleepy night.  The last fifty cents worth of gas came out particularly slow and I wanted to ask her about that too, but when I opened the driver side door the passenger seat was empty.

I moved my car away from the gasoline pumps into a parking space around back so I could smoke while I waited for her.  My mind started racing before I even finished unwrapping the plastic. I never have to wait for her. I went back inside and the attendant was looking at naked women in a magazine. He did not look up as I approached him.



“My wife, I think she is using your restroom. Where are they? I’ll probably wait right near them because I moved my car you know and yeah she’d probably see where I’m at now but just to avoid confusion you know…” I rambled until he finally acknowledged me. 

“We don’t have a bathroom.”



I stood silent for a long moment. “I’m looking for my wife,” I said.



“Me too,” he replied without looking up.

“I mean, I was here with my wife.  And she’s not in the car now.  I think she’s using your bathroom.”



“You came in here alone, man. Pack of yellows, change for twenty on four.  And I already fucking told you we don’t have a bathroom.”



“Do you have a security camera on the premises?” I asked him in the serious tone that a doctor might use. 



“No, but you need to get the fuck out of here before I call the cops. You’re drunk.”


I was drunk.  It was the middle of the night.  The cops were the last people I wanted to talk to right now but my wife was missing.  I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette.

Student Recitals 2017

The air was charged with youthful energy.  A young performer cried before the show, two nights in a row.  On Sunday a girl sang 99 Red Balloons and I choked back genuine emotion by twiddling the knobs of the mixing board and focusing on deliberate breaths.  Yesterday the entire room sang along with the choruses of "Hallelujah" and I held back genuine emotion by singing along.  Our students conquered their fears and one played with unexpected grace after dozens of frustrating lessons this past year.  I have a great job.

I tried to be slick and jive the parents hard so they come back next year. I went off on a tangent about how Music is a language, obviously, and the kids learn some math by proxy and about rhyme and about history and perseverance and patience and how to read and how to write and how to listen and even all that is just a shell and the real gem on the inside is this deeper Mystery about vibrations in the air affecting our emotions.

Mint

Last year I planted mint in the front of the Side Garden.  The idea for this location was that passerby Looksie Lou's would not likely be inclined to grab a handful of mint on their way up Fair Street.  This year I am not afraid of Grabby Gus', I actually enjoy the idea that a struggling comrade from my neighborhood may be sustained by one of my tomatoes.

Last month Steve helped me move the cherry tree to the very front of the Side Garden.  The idea for this location is that it is far sunnier than where she was last year.  We decimated the mint bed in the process.  After a few weeks we found a baby volunteer mint plant at the base of the cherry tree and moved it to the very back of the Side Garden.

This morning I was weeding the Snapdragon Lavender in a completely different spot, the corner of the Front Garden.  I noticed another baby volunteer mint plant.  I moved it to the very back of the Side Garden with the other, which by now has begun to grow and spread.  Free mint makes me happy.

Last year's harvest was meager considering the drought.  Four little plants yielded a small jar of dried mint.  The mint tea we made was aromatic and soothing and we cherished it and stretched it to make it last and made big mint plans for this year.

Spring

This spring

Dirt turns me on

and Rain makes me happy.

This spring

I am old. 

March Detox Thoughts 2

Detoxish cleanse not going well.  Realized March 1st was Ash Wednesday.  I am down with hipster diet detox cleanse thing but I am not cool with subconscious or unconscious Catholicism gurgling from the depths of my psyche.  I almost accidentally did Lent.  We caught it early and no one was hurt.

March Detox Thoughts

This month I had the bright idea to cut way back on everything.  Specifically strict about cigarettes & booze.  Less strict about weed, caffeine, gluten, sugar and dairy but they were all on the table.  Or off the table.

I was trying to be cool about the whole thing last night at the bar gig.  I ordered cola from Caroline. She replied, "Coke? What are you sick? You got a cold?"

After the band's raucous opening set I assumed it would be perfectly safe for a sweaty guy to order a cool water in a sweaty bar, to which John replied, "Water? What are you pregnant?" 

Chocolate Covered Potato Chips

We used to live near a fudge and chocolate shop. My favorite treat was chocolate covered potato chips. I used to pay five dollars for a small bag. The shop no longer offers chocolate covered potato chips but this morning (Valentine's Day) on the kitchen counter sat a gift wrapped bag from my old lady. She had made them from scratch in secret while I was at my bar gig. And we promised not to get each other any presents this year. I had hoped to write a song for her but I have not except one line "She knows everybody's sign" which is not a great line except that it is true.

Radio Dreams

We are recording a spot for The Radio today.

The Radio wants us, Renee & Joe, to do our Renee & Joe thing.

Not exactly. The season of Valentine's Day is here and they want us to discuss Love & Marriage and being in a band.

We are going to play "For My Love" from our first record and "Friends" from our second record.

Maybe one or two theoretical listeners will purchase the record digitally in exchange for some digital dollars. A fascinating process, theoretically, though not the end goal.

They ask us: What's it like being married and being in a band together?

My clever answer (never to be spoken aloud): Most musicians are trying to get laid after the gig

The deeper answer: We have no manager, no booking agent, no producers. Our band exists on the fringe of our lives, other bands, and a new home, and our students, all the shit. We love each other so we play our songs for each other and learn each other's songs and write songs together and play gigs together.

Another part of the answer is like those Billy-is-taller-Jeanie-but-shorter-than-Bob math problems from middle school:

-Being in a band is difficult and challenging.
-You have to push.
-You cannot push a marriage.
-Our marriage is more important than our band.

2017: Predictions

Predictions are the worst. I predicted 2016 would be centered around our new home. In fact, the majority of my posts in 2016 are about Trump. Rereading them chronologically is not a pleasant experience.

I am opting to not predict anything about 2017.

I want to improve my self, and our home, and positively effect my community.

I am frustrated with the state for gutting my weed laws. I am a bit nauseated at our country for lacking empathy and being racist and letting the old white mean rich guys win. I feel disappointed with the humans of Earth for being violent for lame reasons for thousands of years.

I still love the Universe though. Earth's moon is beautiful and way back in 150 A.D. Ptolemy gave us 48 classical constellations to memorize.

Precedent of America

My country now excludes people from certain religions and countries. Half the citizens do not mind. I do not feel safer.

Deer

The first deer was understandable. Two thirty in the morning just seems like a nice time to be a deer. Two enormous animals were blocking the path of my truck as I traveled sixty miles per hour northbound towards Gloucester.  One frustrating notion is the idea that I had traveled hundreds of miles through the woods of Maine and New Hampshire, nary a deer in sight, only encountering the beasts upon arriving back into the seaport.

The last mile of highway before the big bridge into the city is all hills.  I came over the asphalt crest, spotted the beasts and veered left with all my might. I felt and heard the impact. I did not want to stop. I did not stop. I did not look back. I made the last two miles home and turned off the truck and did not even look at the damage before going inside and going to bed.

I put in an insurance claim. Five hundred dollar deductible covered two thousand dollars worth of damage to the front bumper and passenger side door. There was deer hair stuck between the broken plastic.

---

The second deer was outrageous. Four in the afternoon is not a proper time for a deer to try and cross route 127. This tiny little bambi bastard was likely committing suicide. The body flung across as the street at about the twenty five miles per hour, flipped on it's side and was spinning in circles as though the pavement were made of ice.

I was in a row of traffic. I had been staring at the license plate of the car in front of me. We were traveling at twenty five miles per hour. I did not want to stop. I was filled with rage. At God and Deer and Cars and Insurance Companies and Plastic and They Way Things Used to Be and also The Way Things Are Now.

I was so pissed. I was at the stoplight and we were going to need groceries so I went to the grocery store and in the parking lot I noticed my license plate was fucked up so I bought some tape inside as well as dinner and taped my license plate back on in the grocery store parking lot before driving home.

The plate is currently connected with bungee cords and they have held strong for a solid week now maybe more. There are plans to repair it. The little deer fucked up my headlight too. Lots of duct tape on that fucker at the moment. I'm too angry to put this through the insurance. I've accepted my new life as a deer killer and the associated costs of maintaining a truck that is properly equipped to really murder those deer real good.

Zaurak

My old lady bought me a telescope for Christmas.  Not just any telescope, Astronauts Without Borders Newtonian 130.  The directions explicitly stated, "Put this machine together during the daytime, with plenty of space" and I believe it even said, "sober" but I decided to try it out half-drunk, late at night, in our living room, immediately after opening the gift.

After I removed a spring loaded screw and was not able to reattach it I yelled angrily and stormed about until my Old Lady was upset as well.  Merry Christmas!

The next morning dear old Dad helped me reattach the screw.  Meanwhile, I had emailed Astronauts Without Borders (AWB henceforth) and received further instruction from the President of the company.  How cool is that. I was collimated and ready to shoot the moon.

Unfortunately, we are in the part of the moon cycle where she is the least visible, so we had to wish for a star.  My wife and I are essentially virgin astronomers, and we once again found ourselves half drunk, but this time the scope was working.  Using the lower powered, wider angled eyepiece we were able to focus in on clumps of stars.

Even without the scope by looking out the bedroom window we could see one star right in front of us, really outshining the others.  We used our cell phone app that maps the sky and determined it had the Bayer designation, aka lame star name, of Gamma Eridani, but was also traditionally known as a slick Arabic word for boat, Zaurak.

We were able to locate Zaurak using the high powered eyepiece.  On Zaurak's wikipedia page it says the red giant star is over 200 light years away from us.  What the fuck is a light year?

A light year is the distance light can travel (about 186,000 miles per second) in one year, or about six trillion miles.

Last night we looked at a star that is (six trillion multiplied by 200) miles away.  My old lady bought me a telescope for Christmas but what she really gave me was Light, Space, Time, the entire fucking Universe.

Weed Laws

Excerpt of a statement from MASS CANN/NORML:

The Massachusetts Senate and House voted yesterday to approve a bill delaying the opening of marijuana stores from January 2018 to July 2018 and also exempting marijuana cultivation from the definition of agriculture. This bill, S2524, not only flies in the face of the will of the voters who voted for the January 2018 deadline, it shows contempt for the legislature itself, having been passed, not after three readings to the full House and Senate, but in the course of less than an hour by just two senators and five representatives at a time when the full legislature is not in session.

Statement from Charlie Baker:

"The Baker-Polito Administration has been clear that it shares the Legislature’s desire to thoroughly prepare for launching an entirely new industry distributing a controlled substance," Baker spokesman Lizzy Guyton said in a statement. The administration is "committed to adhering to the will of the voters by implementing the new law as effectively and responsibly as possible."

If our Governor was actually "committed to adhering to the will of the voters" then he would have defended the specifications of the bill we fucking voted for.  This is what passes for democracy in Massachusetts.

Gig

at the gig tonight the drummer said he has been officially diagnosed with tinnitus.  the singer said this tuesday he predicts he will be officially diagnosed with diabetes.  This past week the guitarist came home to find a neighbor passed out drunk in the yard, covered in his own piss and shit.  They dragged him back into his apartment.  Two days later he was found dead.  Jeff wondered if he had called the police that day if his neighbor would still be alive.  I argued otherwise.

there was a man in a black fedora and a white suit jacket.  he had made 5 greeting cards, one for each member of the band.  Initially I took one with a maple leaf, a sticker of a sleigh filled with presents, a silver faerie, and an old santa claus.  Then Jeff displayed the remaining four and one had a real pretty girl on it so I traded mine back and took the one with the pretty girl.  She doesn't seem as pretty looking at her now.

2016: Good TV

(Editor's Note: the consumption of art is not an artistic endeavor. It's just consumption.)

-The Night Of (HBO)

8 episodes. Sets the new gold standard for Law & Order style cop lawyer murder shows.

-Stranger Things (Netflix)

8 episodes. Beautifully captures 1980's sci-fi vibe.

-The Get Down (Netflix)

6 episodes. Intriguing characters in South Bronx 1977 amidst the birth of hip hop.

-Easy (Netflix) 

8 sexy half hour comedy drama vignettes.

-Love (Netflix)

10 episodes. Judd Apatow's name on the marquee but Paul Rust & Gillian Jacobs are legit.

-Better Things (FX) 

10 episodes. We loved Pamela Adlon on "Louie" equally love this show they made together.

-Atlanta (FX) 

10 episodes. Donald Glover's comedy-drama set in the Atlanta rap scene is unique. 

Ode to a Good Woman

A Good Woman
prepared a special dish just for me
sang a duet with me in the bar
thinks I am full of shit
and resents the entire notion
of a poem about a Good Woman

Missed One

I am surprised that Rape did not make the Ten Commandments.

Email From a Parent

Ok, great.  {Student} made up a little song, though he said he doesn’t want to show it to you.  See you tomorrow.

Thanksgiving 2016: Best Dish

Honorable Mention:  Alicia's Bacon Wrapped Dates

I had to retract my joke that perhaps Cousin Alicia was too cheap to buy scallops because these bacon wrapped dates were one of the best dishes all weekend.

Honorable Mention: Mom's Homemade Ravioli

Ravioli from scratch.  Enough said.

Honorable Mention: Jackie's Sweet Potato Mash

The brown sugar and almond topping was heavenly.  Recipe requested.

Winner: Cris' Ginger Sweet Potato

I didn't know Aunt Cris could cook.  Cris' thanksgiving tradition is trying to convince people she made my mom's ravioli.  She texted me the recipe for her ginger sweet potato yesterday.

"Slice potato 1/8 thin.  Stand up next to each other in an oiled pan.  Do not lay flat.  Melt stick of butter (Editor's Note: uf!  maybe my next post will be about butter) and brush between each slice. Bake 400 degrees covered tightly 40 min.  Mix 1/2 cup brown sugar, grate 2 tablespoons fresh ginger, 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon pepper and spread across the top of the potatoes.  Return to 400 for another 30 uncovered. (Editor's Note: Classic aunt ending next) Broil top if you want to make it crunchy at the end!  Keep a good eye on it burns quickly"

Wisdom, for a toke?

The night before Thanksgiving the band was playing at Katrina's bar.  Rather, it was before the gig, and we were in the back alley getting properly stoned.  He came around the corner with flowing white hair and a long white beard.  My people call him Evil Santa.  I didn't know his name but I know he wanted to smoke our weed.  He asked us, "Can I trade you a bit of wisdom for a toke?"

I actually thought that was a fair trade.  He took a hit off my little glass pipe and then he coughed one of those coughs that you have to earn after a lifetime of smoking.  A cough that makes the listener want to never smoke anything ever again.  And then he spoke to us,

"I was twenty years old and I was with a hooker.  She told me that you should never get too comfortable.  When things get too good, cut and run."

And we all had a good laugh.  And he started repeating the last sentence in fragments the way satisfied drunks do.  Cut and run.  Cut and run.  Cut and run.  Things too good?  Cut and run.

Jeffrey said, "Moses, that bit of wisdom was certainly NOT inspirational" and I was glad to know his name is Moses and I asked him if he followed the hooker's advice throughout his life.

"No if I had followed her advice I wouldn't have four fuckin kids and ex-wives and a car and a job and house in Lynn man I had it all and what have I got now man fuckin nothing that's what."

I asked him how do you know when to cut and run and he said, "Oh you know" and Jeffrey said, "I agree with Moses.  You know."

Personal Resolutions for Trumpamerica

I am still trying to wrap my head around President-Elect Donald Trump.

What part can I play in preventing his message of hate from taking hold of our country?

For now, I deactivated my social media pages. (See no evil). I hope to eat less processed foods (Eat no evil) and read more literature. I plan to write, record and release music. (Speaking evil is ok) To be a better music teacher.

Practice real hard on the bass and the guitar and the piano and the fiddle and the little uke also
Play just for fun the bass and the guitar and the piano and the fiddle and the little uke.

To spend Time with family.  Long lost mothers neglected brothers and cousins and nieces.

To smile at and say Hello to strangers.

I am not sure what to do.  At all.

I am going to start by putting on a record and changing the lightbulbs up the top of the stairs that have been out for two or three days now.

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.

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.