2011: The Venn Diagram

This was meant to be a year-in-review type post,

but 2011 is, and forever shall be, The-Year-We-Were-Married.

It should be disclaimed that we are three days shy of the Kardashian Mark,

and I therefore have little jurisdiction on the subject,

but in my quest for Knowledge & Understanding the question was posed to many married couples,

What is the secret to your success?

and I find myself compelled to dispel the most common answer: Never go to bed angry.

I flipped this one around & My Old Lady wholeheartedly agreed: Never have a fight when tired.

I also get queasy at the notion of 'two people becoming one'

A better analogy is that of two circles becoming a Venn Diagram. Although our circles are now joined, there are parts of My Old Lady's circle that have nothing to do with me and never will. I must revere that part of the circle with the same respect as the portion we now share.

Seems pretty basic, right?

A final idea, one I've received from many angles, is the "watch out Buddy things are good Now, but they are going to Change..." and their voices trail off into the whimper that comes only from years of harsh compromise...

but again, this sentiment seems painfully obvious.

We have both acknowledged that our lives will change, which is exactly why we have faith in each other as co-pilots for the rest the journey.

Landladies Against Illiteracy: Volume 2

The second batch of books from our good friend and ex-landlady were amazing.

My old lady read James Baldwin's "Giovanni's Room" and Ernest Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises" but that was a while back and I can't quite recall exactly what she thought of them.

I read David Sedaris' "Barrel Fever" and instantly became a fan of his, backdated to 1994. Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" contains some of the most scary & horrible passages I've ever read. It was awesome.

Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World" was thought provoking, but I feel an urge to disclaim it as "overly sci-fi", especially for an underly sci-fi guy such as myself.

I couldn't stomach Jonathan Swift's "Gulliver's Travels", I literally gave up on the 3rd paragraph. However, I've witnessed the television miniseries starring Ted Danson, and have faith that no stones were left unturned in that interpretation.

I very much enjoyed Gabriel Garcia Marquez' "Chronicle of a Death Foretold" and am quite sure in my opinion that (Spoiler Alert) Santiago did NOT bang Angela.

I am currently reading Hermann Hesse's "Siddhartha" and upon completion will gather these books and return them.

Recipe: Brocs Obama

There are few foods in this beautiful world more wretched than plain, boiled broccoli.

My solution is to cut a fresh head down into small florets,
mix them around in a capful of vegetable oil,
add a chopped up clove of garlic,
garnish with salt & pepper whatever else you dig

and throw in the oven for a while.
twenty minutes or so, somewhere around 350 degrees.

I know the art of preparing food involves more science than I give it credit for, but this dish is really hard to mess up, which is why I lean on it often, generally alongside grilled meats.

Finally, I might cover her with a blend of mozzarella & parmesan towards the last 5 minutes in the oven, if I'm feeling cheesy...

What is the Meaning of all this noise, anyways?

Epic Hello, the sophomore release from Bandit Kings, was recently reviewed by The Noise, a music magazine that has been taking the pulse of Boston for decades. T-Max, the founder, editor, and mastermind of The Noise reviewed it himself, which made us blush. He said, of my contribution to the album,

“Find” is a melodic standout that I swore was titled “On a Friday.”

T, good sir, I honestly believe you can & should title the song as you best see fit. I personally love coming up with my own names for things. It's a very Human trait. I truly appreciate your listening, thinking and writing about the song.

My friend Steve thought the very same song was about the Bayou, and is translating the lyrics to French, which is very flattering, in a strange way.

*****

The party favors at our wedding were CDs of original music. Our young niece & nephew learned one of our songs and performed it with soulful precision, which caused so much joy to flood into my heart & soul that my chest literally ached. Their folks asked me what the song was about.

but the best story about that particular song isn't what the song is about...

The interesting point is that I wrote the chords, first verse & chorus, didn't "feel" it, eventually burying it in a folder, in a drawer. My sweet Old Lady stumbled across the lead sheet, composed lyrics for a second & third verse, didn't "feel" them, and buried it back into the same folder, in the same drawer. Months later I stumbled across what I expected to be an incomplete song but was actually a very complete and lovely Song.

So there are already Three different moments involved in the creation of the song. The moment we recorded the demo version was also equally important, as was the wedding day where they received and listened to the CD.

And all five of those moments are independent of when young Samantha decided to transcribe the song and teach it to her family.

I like the idea that 10 people can look at a painting or sculpture, some physical artwork, and take away 10 different meanings, 10 different reasons or stories of what that art is about, or why it even exists. I want my music to be the same. It doesn't matter what I was thinking when I wrote the song, more important is the feelings, thoughts, stories it creates in your head at the moment you listen to it.

At least that's what I told them, to deflect the fact that song is about substance abuse. Or was when I wrote it. I'm now enjoying the idea that the meaning has become bigger than that, and will not likely ever mean that again.

When we perform this song now, I don't think of a rainy festival & stinky hippies, I think about sweet children, singing at the piano.

Giving Thanks

It is far too easy to be thankful on Thanksgiving.

Surrounded by my big loud family.

We do turkey of course, but we're also pretty Italian so there's ravioli, lasagna, sauce & meatballs, the works. Soups galore.

First the soups, then the pasta, then the bird.

And then, death by dessert. A parade of pies. Sweet gluttony washed down, from start to finish, with rivers of booze.

Tossing around the football beforehand. The raw, crisp air burning your lungs. And watching football afterwards. The gravitational pull from the full belly stretching eyelids shut.

It's too easy to be Thankful for all that.

It's equally important to be thankful en route to work on a snowy Tuesday morning in mid-February.

OccuPocalypse

11-7-11

I've danced around the topic of the Occupy movement. Flirted with it.

I didn't want to get hot and heavy. I have the Fear. I don't like to wear my politics on my sleeve, because I'm not well versed in the basic theories or history of politics, economics, government...

However, I do know for certain that I do NOT support the Occupy movement.

Although I do not agree with our government, practically Ever, I maintain that I can create my own business and thrive on my own and pay taxes and help society, without being a pawn in their machine.

I want to someday sell my company to an even bigger company and keep ALL THE MONEY from that transaction, or write a hit song and make LOTS OF MONEY AND KEEP IT ALL and that the Occupy movement somehow represents a group that doesn't want me to do that. And because my personal beliefs don't infringe on theirs, because theirs seem to want to infringe on mine, this situation has created a justification, an almost 'need' for my disapproving rants.

I also understad that I don't know. What Occupy is "really" about.

I figured a back-and-forth discussion with a strong member of the opposition may just create some enlightenment, ideally on both sides.

The most intelligent supporter of the Occupy movement, within my circle, is Inge Berge. Inge is a gentleman, and a scholar, very vocal in support of the Occupy movement. I also know he's visited Dewey Square, which was important for me, within the context of this experiment.

I posed him this question:

What do they want? Whatever it is, in my opinion, they could better serve their own cause in many ways.* How is standing around going to help anything?

*Better Than Occupying:

-organizing bigger profile events (instead of a constant stream of nothing)

-backing a political candidate and volunteering for an election campaign (even the fucking tea partiers could manage this)

-blog, create literature/advertisements to get your word out (instead of The Message swirling around in an infected pool of itself)

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

11-11-11

Joe,

...I will let this link speak for some chunk of my opinions on this subject for now, as they are in fact almost exactly congruent:

Declaration of the Occupation of New York City
As we gather together in solidarity to express a feeling of mass injustice, we must not lose sight of what brought us together. We write so that all people who feel wronged by the corporate forces of the world can know that we are your allies.

As one people, united, we acknowledge the reality: that the future of the human race requires the cooperation of its members; that our system must protect our rights, and upon corruption of that system, it is up to the individuals to protect their own rights, and those of their neighbors; that a democratic government derives its just power from the people, but corporations do not seek consent to extract wealth from the people and the Earth; and that no true democracy is attainable when the process is determined by economic power. We come to you at a time when corporations, which place profit over people, self-interest over justice, and oppression over equality, run our governments. We have peaceably assembled here, as is our right, to let these facts be known.

They have taken our houses through an illegal foreclosure process, despite not having the original mortgage.

They have taken bailouts from taxpayers with impunity, and continue to give Executives exorbitant bonuses.

They have perpetuated inequality and discrimination in the workplace based on age, the color of one’s skin, sex, gender identity and sexual orientation.

They have poisoned the food supply through negligence, and undermined the farming system through monopolization.

They have profited off of the torture, confinement, and cruel treatment of countless nonhuman animals, and actively hide these practices.

They have continuously sought to strip employees of the right to negotiate for better pay and safer working conditions.

They have held students hostage with tens of thousands of dollars of debt on education, which is itself a human right.

They have consistently outsourced labor and used that outsourcing as leverage to cut workers’ healthcare and pay.

They have influenced the courts to achieve the same rights as people, with none of the culpability or responsibility.

They have spent millions of dollars on legal teams that look for ways to get them out of contracts in regards to health insurance.

They have sold our privacy as a commodity.

They have used the military and police force to prevent freedom of the press.

They have deliberately declined to recall faulty products endangering lives in pursuit of profit.

They determine economic policy, despite the catastrophic failures their policies have produced and continue to produce.

They have donated large sums of money to politicians supposed to be regulating them.

They continue to block alternate forms of energy to keep us dependent on oil.

They continue to block generic forms of medicine that could save people’s lives in order to protect investments that have already turned a substantive profit.

They have purposely covered up oil spills, accidents, faulty bookkeeping, and inactive ingredients in pursuit of profit.

They purposefully keep people misinformed and fearful through their control of the media.

They have accepted private contracts to murder prisoners even when presented with serious doubts about their guilt.

They have perpetuated colonialism at home and abroad.

They have participated in the torture and murder of innocent civilians overseas.

They continue to create weapons of mass destruction in order to receive government contracts.*

To the people of the world,

We, the New York City General Assembly occupying Wall Street in Liberty Square, urge you to assert your power.

Exercise your right to peaceably assemble; occupy public space; create a process to address the problems we face, and generate solutions accessible to everyone.

To all communities that take action and form groups in the spirit of direct democracy, we offer support, documentation, and all of the resources at our disposal.

Join us and make your voices heard!

*These grievances are not all-inclusive.

I can pretty much guarantee you that the Occupy movement has absolutely no stake in you not having a successful business. Quite the opposite, I would assert.

More later,

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

11-13-11

Mr. Berge,

My problem with that Statement is that it spent about 80% of the time identifying the problem and 0% of the time identifying solutions.

I'm saying the solution is to Work and they're saying the solution is to Assemble.

That's the crux of the dilemma, right?

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

11-14-11

Mr. Cardoza,

If you agree that some of the problems stated in the video, or in Mr. Taibbi's piece, or in many of the other countless writings stemming from the OWS movement, are in fact real, I cannot see how you can reach the conclusion that the solution is as easy as "work." If only it were that simple, I strongly doubt we'd be seeing any movement at all. People would just be working.

First of all: for countless Americans, no work is available. Your answer to them is "work?" That makes no sense whatsoever! It is estimated that for every available job, there are 4 people who need one. That math just ain't gonna work...

Further:

Median prices of goods and services have increased steadily for over THIRTY years, while median wages have remained stagnant. Again, with all due respect, your solution is "work?" As in: Never mind that most people get less and less in return for their work, with no turnaround in sight, never mind that you now need two, maybe three jobs to pay for the same stuff you could pay for in the seventies with just one job, never mind that many people simply CANNOT pay their rent, food, health care and other basic needs on the wages they, yes, WORK hard for? All the same, your answer to these folks is "I know it ain't working for you, but just keep doing all the same?" Peculiar.

-Our political system is corrupt and our lawmakers are bought by corporate interests. Solution: "Work." Say what?

-Our natural resources are soon to be depleted. Go to work!

-The dollar for which you work is becoming weaker and weaker, more and more inflated, not to say metaphysical at this point, consisting of little more than digits in computers, backed by no real value beyond debt. Solution: get to work and make some dollars, you bum. Strange!

-Our civil rights have dwindled and we are becoming a police state. Solution: Work.

I could go on and on. I think assembling and discussing the underlying problems of why "work" is no longer a feasible nor satisfactory solution is exactly the right thing to do, instead of pretending that everything is a-ok and just "going to work." We used to have systems in place (political, economical, social) which ensured to a reasonable degree that "going to work" was all you needed to do to make a life, but those systems have rotted from within and are no longer operational. "Work" won't do anymore. You're thinking of the fifties.

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

11-14-11

Mr. Berge,

We're still identifying the problems, not the solutions.

The solution is recycling. Being efficient with energy. Using homeopathic remedies for as long as possible and not clogging up the hospitals and doctors offices.

Costs have risen, sure. However luxuries like cell phones, wireless internet and cable television have all somehow found themselves in the 'Necessity' column when the figures are being tallied.

Spread knowledge. Which coorporations offer good benefits? Which don't? Which coorporations abuse animals and hire cheap labor for unfair wages? All this shit is common knowledge by now. Don't support those companies if you feel strongly about it. Spread that knowledge so others don't support them either. I'm so sick of vegans in leather sandals standing around doing nothing.

I agree the dollar is losing value because of corrupt, inept politicians. Stop voting for them. Inform yourself. Vote! Volunteer. Help the right people get elected. Stop fucking standing around.

There are jobs out there. Americans won't do them.

Our natural resources are being depleted. Share a good book, like Daniel Quinn's "Ishmael", with someone you know will read it and pass it on. Use public transportation as much as possible. Inform yourself on how to assist positive change on an invidual, local, regional, national, and global level.

Police budgets are voted on by towns and cities. Go to town meetings. Make them explain themselves. Find out who the Boss is (commissioner, Mayor, city council). Write letters to these people, newspapers and blogs. Spread knowledge and information. I'm not talking about pithy posters and signs.

Yes, things are Bad. This is bad. That is bad. The 70's were Good but it's not the 70's anymore and that's Bad.

I think in the 70's that Rich people were Rich and Poor people were Poor and Rich people hired fancy doctors and got good healthcare and the poor people got sick and died.

and that sucks but visiting the mayan ruins it seemed like it was the same way back then too.

so what I am going to do? I'm going to go to WORK doing what I love so that I'm not a slave to some coorporation and along the way I'll pay my taxes and donate to charity when I can and try to support myself and my family and be Happy Every Day because we only have a finite number of minutes to be Here and all we can do is spread knowledge and information with the rest of the world

and standing around dewey square isn't accomplishing that. it's wasting minutes. like any good Party (which is all it is) once it goes on too long, people get hurt

it's already losing credibility and "talkability" and once the cameras leave, so will the selfish hippies

The Television Method of Practice

I never expected to enjoy teaching, but I do.

Practice is a drag. I used to hate playing music by myself. I didn't understand why we practice:

To make it easier to play.

However, deep philosophy is generally not the best way to connect with young students.

I also try to explain that as little as 5 minutes every day is FAR MORE BENEFICIAL than 5 hours of cramming before our weekly lesson.

I pondered a realistic recommendation that would not strike fear into the hearts of students, and that parents would help to implement...

THE TELEVISON METHOD OF PRACTICE

I figure the average 30 minute television program runs for about 6-7 minutes, then goes to commerical for 3-4.

Once your program begins that break, hit the Mute button, and grab your guitar/bass/keyboard/practice pad & drum sticks.

If you can have your instrument with you during your designated "television time" in the evening, you will find yourself making music for at least 10 minutes a day.

You might even forget to unmute when your show comes back on.

Honeymoon Thoughts: Part 2

Belize seems two thousand miles away today.

I did well during our week of vacation, a solid job of Blocking.

Blocking out thoughts of bills, work, the ever growing Shitlist...

anything that wasn't related to Happiness, Love, Sunshine or Rum. Total Immersion in Joy.

It's unrealistic, and probably counter-productive in any situation BUT a honeymoon, but I did a great job nonetheless...

until I saw the radar of the predicted snowstorm, the greenblue blanket of death hypothetically covering New England.

Of course, we had already dodged a Hurricane. My cynicism then created a nearly Positive edge: maybe we were once again victims of the Hype Machine.

"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." Bob Dylan said that, or something similar.

"If you worry the storm is going to hit you, then it will. If you don't worry, she'll blow right past ya mon!" A rasta named 'K' said something very similar to that, on the beach in San Pedro.

-Our flight was not cancelled. We flew from Atlanta, right into the storm in Boston. It was the first flight I'd ever been on where the flight attendent announced in a hurried manner, "If there are any medical personnel on the flight, please alert yourself to the crew, Immediately". That was scary. I'm not sure what happened, but I think someone puked is all.

-My wife explained that on nearly all of the European flights she'd been on, the passengers applauded upon the landing of the aircraft. Considering the circumstances, flying into a snowstorm while a passenger is having a minor medical emergency, upon landing we took it upon ourselves to begin the Slow Clap, and we're glad to report the rest of the plane joined in on an outstanding ovation, one the pilot had well earned.

-I would recommend that Everyone should snorkel along a Barrier Reef before death. Put it on your bucket list. There is no abovewater purple that can challenge the brilliance of the underwater purple we witnessed.

-The Mayan Ruins made me feel comfortable in my ascersion that "class warfare/inequity" has been going on for quite some time.

-Anthony chartered us safely from Logan to Danvers. He had spent the afternoon at our cousin's 5th birthday.

He had received a hint: that young children are most enthralled by the Number of their birthday. Of course, the only card with a 5 on it was meticulously branded by Disney, sang a song from the most recent movie, and was the most expensive card in the lot. Being the gentlemen he is, Anthony bore this additional expense, despite having already purchased a little pink harmonica and a snow tube ("because it was snowing out when I went shopping" he later explained)

Of course the card was her favorite present. Early odds indicate the snow tube may still get some play. I am Maddy's piano teacher, and I certainly plan on working the harmonica into the lessons.

888

According to minimal internet research, Mr. Robert Owen, by 1817, had developed the idea of the eight hour work day, and the accompanying completion of that idea: eight hours sleep and eight hours "for what we will".

Social reform, utopian socialism, and the rest of Owen's politics aside, I'm beginning to think of this as a Fair way to live each day.

My new venture occassionally calls for a weekend lesson, and often calls for a weekend gig. The seven day workweek is not ideal nor desirable, but it certainly seems less daunting within the 888 plan.

Honeymoon Thoughts: Part 1

It may seem crazy to be blogging from Belize, but there are a couple hours to kill before dinner...

and more importantly we are scheduled to visit Mayan ruins tomorrow, which we expect to be a colonoscopy for the Soul,

we wanted to get these initial thoughts out before they evaporate into Spirituality...

THE BRIDE:

- Rina was confused and debating whether or not she should visit La Isla Bonita. As a precaution the staff advised against kayaking out to the reef. Instead we took "Coastal Express" into San Pedro to eat some local food, bought a very reasonably priced bottle of Caribbean Rum, and met up with some local Rastas who hooked us up with some good music.

- We drank that rum like champions and saved a lot of money sitting on the front porch of our bungalow and naming each creature we saw after a deceased Family member. Uncle Leo the lizard and Memere the land crab to name a few. They must be here with us - it is way too nice.

- Still roaming around like the indecisive queen she is, Rina continued to frighten the staff and they began the mass exodus to the Banana Beach Hotel on the southern side of Ambergis Caye.

- Rina never came. Instead she left us with sunny skies and more time to enjoy the nice weather.

- We met some good friends.

- And were able to find a local market to purchase more rum.

- Upon returning to the island we kayaked 1/2 mile from our Bungalow to the reef and swam with the fishes. It's a bummer they don't let you swim in the Aquarium - there were too many fishes and not enough names for them. We thank God for that.

THE GROOM

-My father drove us to the airport at 4a without so much as a grumble or whine. I hope to capture and maintain his generous spirit throughout my days...

-We took a little plane from Belize City to San Pedro. It was beautiful, and I reckon, as smooth a ride as little planes can ride, but I had an overwhelming feeling that if we crashed and died on our honeymoon, then our "Wedding Mixtape" party favor would go triple platinum, which was a little frustrating...

-While drinking heavily and conversing more heavily, I came to the conclusion that reincarnation makes more sense to me than Heaven, because I imagine God to be rather efficient...

-We wanted to taste local vices. We started with a pack of "Colonial" cigarettes and the next pack we purchased was called "Independence" which felt like tangible Progress...

100th Post

Why?

One initial reason for this blog was that I was leaving the 9-5 life sentence, Fully Embracing the life of an Artist, and wanted to document & celebrate that with something tangible.

Another reason was that it would be a record. Years from now I won't have to wonder what I was thinking as a pesky 25 year old, I'll know...

Creating a forum to leave my thoughts, allowing The World to ingest my bullshit at it's leisure...

Experimenting with the idea that free flowing jive can spark other art, hopefully Music...

What?

I had no Plan for this blog. No expectations. Some of the topics covered over the first hundred posts, in no particular order:

Acquaintances
Animals
Artificial Intelligence
Assassination
Basketball
Blogging
Books
Calendars
Campaigning
Cars
Cats
Cinema
Collecting
Composing
Concerts
Costumes
Criticism
Domestic Politics
Dreams
DUI
Email
Euthanasia
Fiction
Friends
Ghost Stories
Healthcare
Hippies
Humanity
Imbibing
Innovation
Interactions
International Politics
Jobs
Love
Marriage
Moon
Music
Names
Neighbors
Nonfiction
Opinions
Perception
Philosophy
Physics
Poems
Positivity
Profanity
Professors
Proposal
Recipes
Recording
Reflections
Regionalism
Religion
Snow Removal
Social Media
Songs
Statistics
Storage
Strangers
Technology
Television
Time
Weddings

What Now?

The story continues. Horrible ideas run through my head and end up here, hopefully first passing through filters of decency. Nothing is truly honest, but I'm trying to be. That was a lie.

The Multiple Worlds of Life via Halloween

I found an old Halloween picture, my brother & I are dressed as Sheikhs for Halloween.

It was an interesting reminder of how different the world we are born into is from the world we live in.

If I was a passerby, on Halloween 2011, of a young child in a Sheikh costume, I would likely assume his parents were Racist. My gut is telling me this is NOT an acceptable costume in post-911 America.

That said, my parents are very much NOT racist. In Mom's words:

I am not really sure why you wanted to be a sheik. Perhaps we just saw a disney movie that represented them? I do know that you liked to wear daddy's raybans and that might have had more to do with the costume than anything else. Not to mention we were poor and had to utilize what we had on hand, sunglasses and old curtains... The best part was the way you described yourself. "i'm the sheik of bellaweek" instead of the Sheik of Arabic...so cute.

Time: On Your Side?

Protesters upset me.

Standing around with their cheeky signs. Where do they get off having so much free time?

If I had two hours to kill, I wouldn't stand around. Holding a sign.

I've read lots of signs, held by lots of Losers, throughout my life. None of them ever altered my position, outlook, or philosophy.

Books do that. Conversations do that.

I hereby openly mock anyone who has wasted their time protesting anything. By standing around and holding a sign.

If you really feel strongly about a cause, any cause whatsoever, and you have concluded that standing around holding a sign is the best way to help that cause, I would argue that you need to do more research.

Make good use of your Time. It's fleeting, and finite.

And if you don't, I will steal it from you, and use it to make music, to sleep, or to have a quiet dinner date with my soulmate. I wish I had time for these things.

Breathalyzed

I'm on the road. All day, every day. Making money in bars.

Driving home.

Moderation is another post for another day.

but Lately it seems that DUI victims are all around me.

I've come to the conclusion that if The Man really didn't want us to drink and drive then there would be a Zero Tolerance policy.

This nonsense of Blood Alcohol Concentration seems completely arbitrary to me. What .08 means to me and you are totally different. Plus, you can cross state lines (arbitrary boundaries) and now you're cool up to .09 - or maybe you're already busted because the new number is .06 or less...

You drank, you drove. It's either OK to do that, or not OK. Right?

If new cars can come equipped with fancy GPS machines, state of the art speakers and iPod integration, I would think that a simple breathalyzer next to the steering wheel would be Easy.

Give a quick blow. The machine would say,

You're Good to Go

or

Take It Slow, Brother

or

Chill out for an hour before you drive

or

Take A Cab, Man... Please.

Levels of Cat Consciousness

I consider Ernie my step-cat, but I love him as if he were my own.

I know he knows Where to poop. We've had to move the litter box out of necessity. Ernie finds it. Ernie does not poop anywhere else but the litter box.

Ernie was watching me clean the box today. He usually watches.

What I'm trying to Ask is,

Does he understand why? (I feel he must)
Does he appreciate it? (I like to think so)

on the other hand,

Does he enter a full litter box and think,

"Ugh... this is Disgusting. These are unfit conditions for a regal creature such as myself. I really do wish they would clean this place up, and Soon..."

The Festival Express: Part 3

We gracefully accepted our free plane tickets and went to the festival in Florida, just four months deep down the newfound path of our relationship. Years later we would both acknowledge realizing the risky Test we were taking.

We witnessed mindblowing music. The weather was great. Most importantly, we cohabitated peacefully. For 4 days, in a tent, hundreds of miles from home, surrounded by tens of thousands of smelly hippies. If our relationship could sustain such intense conditions, we assumed we were Good to Go.

2009 was another Vibes, this time in Connecticut. Lovely.

But at this point we're gigging like hounds and feeling that we can hang with some of the acts gracing the smaller stages. We vow not to return to a festival unless it is as a paid member of a performing band.

The gigs churned through 2010. I was a strong believer in "Tom Stein's Theory of the Finite Number of Well Paying Summer Gigs" and so I didn't go to concerts. Or festivals. Or hang with friends. Just gigged like a hound.

Not a good decision. Life is a balance, and those hangs with friends are just as Finite as well paying gigs. Learned that one the hard way.

This past Summer of 2011 found me on the upright, subbing for two gigs with a bluegrass band I have admired and tried to get with for a couple years. One of the two gigs was a Festival.

We were welcomed by a topless young lady, the word STAFF written across her tits in body paint. People danced while we played, smiling and laughing with a twisted twinkle in their eye.

A man stood backstage during our set, holding a large turkey bag full of gas that he was intermittently inhaling. He offered me some, midsong, and I politely declined. He offered the mandolin player some, but the mandolin player was confused. He didn't see the bag. He thought the man was just saying Hello, Great Job, etc... so he nodded in recognition. Yes, Thank You.

The bagman starts coming right as us now, still midsong, and as he extends the bag out, Mandolin realizes his mistake and his face turns white. No, No and he's furiously shaking his head, somewhat intrigued but mostly frightened by the mysterious contents of the bag. Bagman did not take offense, just nodded as to say Alright, Your Loss, and carefully assumed his position backstage watching the band, sucking from the bag.

A Critique of Criticism

I first encountered "literary criticism" in high school. It turned my stomach then, and still does.

Who is "Dr. Suchandsuch" and why does he think he knows so much about 'Billy Budd'? I read the same book he did. Our opinions and interpretations of the book have equal merit, in my opinion.

Music Reviewers might be worse. If they had Actual talent, they could make their own music, using their special Powers of critique & revision, thus creating Perfect Songs. Gold Record after Gold Record.

Instead, they analyze (sometimes) and spend energy creating pithy Hate (always), feeding this spew to our car-crash society: necks turned, eyes wide, mouths agape...

This feels like a bitter response to a Negative Review of my own music, but I've yet to be that fortunate. My music hasn't gotten Any reviews yet, from Anyone. Hate is not the opposite of Love, Apathy is...

I hope Everyone that hears my music feels compelled to critique it.

"If you can't say something Nice, don't say nothing at all" - Thumper

The Festival Express: Part 2

2008. Mom works for a non-profit at this time. They are having a schwanky fundraiser, so the P.A. system is volunteered, world music streamed via the laptop. Throw me in a monkey suit and you nearly have yourself a real D.J.

My old lady, bless her heart, volunteers to come with. En route, I tell her of a music festival in Florida that has three of her favorite bands on the same bill: Medeski Martin & Wood, Les Claypool, and of Montreal. We're both amped, but even talking through the logistics is a disaster. We humbly conclude that we can afford the festival, but not the transportation. It would have been financially irresponsible. Bummed, we enter the gig...

The non-profit is an off shoot of another non-profit. The first one gets big ugly pharmaceutical companies to donate medicine to third world countries. One problem they encountered, was that if they could offer medicine to a specific child, the cost of getting to and from the hospital and the lack of the day's wages were catastrophic to the family. The second non-profit was setup for people to sponsor these families with Cash, so they could afford to take advantage of the medicine and treatments from the first company.

The whole thing was confusing & saddening. We realized a sponsorship was $240 yearly. $20 per month. It was an easy decision to pick up a sponsorship.

At the end of the fundraiser they put all the new accounts into a big hat for a raffle.

"The winners of our first raffle item, 2 free airline tickets anywhere in the United States, is..."

Twitter

I tweet.

I like to say I use it mainly for "Business" but this isn't Exactly True and I'm not going to lie anymore.

I might keep lying. But I will have, at least, also published this Doctrine of Truth.

When I email songs, links & thoughts to friends & family, to be ultimately Ignored, it can sting...

but if I tweet the same thing, and get ignored by the whole world at once, it feels less Personal.

and it gets dually noted by the Internet Stenographer. It's a free record of my thoughts.

There have been, at least, Two other incidents that justify my usage:

1) The day it was announced Osama bin Laden had been killed. We were watching the TV, every station was running a banner that read "Important Announcement from the President in 10 Minutes" but none gave details. I flipped in vain for 10 minutes, then remembered Twitter, and found out the Actual news in 10 seconds.

2) Amanda was writing a hate poem about J.D. Drew. She wanted it to be Factual, so she had printed out statistics and articles, one of which was from the offseason he signed with the Red Sox. It was about the precautions he was taking to stay healthy for this new contract. Hyperbolic chambers and the same nutrition drinks Russian cosmonauts drink. Hilariously ironic things like that. I knew that I followed the article's author on Twitter, so I tweeted about reading it and hyperlinked him. Now it's 1230a and I'm in a bar getting a message from a journalist that reads:

"That was the last time I used the words "Russian Cosmonaut" in an article..."

The Festival Express: Part 1

I had one of those childhood sicknesses... chicken pox, maybe tonsil removal...

I was couchbound and miserable.

and Dad brought home a movie for me:

WOODSTOCK.

And that was That...

*****

Flash forward to 2002:

Nick & Jay went to see Phil Lesh in the woods of New York. But it wasn't any regular concert. It was a FESTIVAL. You camped next to your car and bands played for THREE DAYS, and wonderful, weird, crazy things happened. I bought a super advanced ticket for the next Summer.

Gathering of the Vibes 03 was my first festival. James Brown. Allman Brothers. Jorma Kaukonen. Everything about my first festival was Big. At this festival I realized that "One" by U2 is a song about Love.

We had to go back in 04. Smaller bands, way less people, which was Fine by Me. At this festival I learned the importance of the Tarp.

Dan & Beth came with me in 06 and although they claimed to have Fun, I think certain parts of the weekend shook them to the Core, which may have been the plan all along... At this festival I met a young peach farmer from Georgia who had with him the best peaches I've ever tasted.

*****

coming soon:

Part 2: 08 Langerado solidifies a Relationship... a Song emerges from a Rainstorm, a Vow emerges from the Rubble of Frustration, and the Topless Omen of Glad Tidings in 2011

99th Post Spectacular

My young blog is nearing the 100th post.

I anticipate that post, and have heavily pondered how to approach it.

Reflect on what I've reflected on. and Why. Where to go from here. and Why.

but then I got a feeling of unrest. That my 99th post would be shortchanged in this process.

Moreso, that 99th posts are shortchanged every day, all over the world... bloggers hastily throwing together rushed garbage, their mind somewhere else, Legitimately Preparing for their 100th post...

Cooperative Dreaming

Generally, Midweek is a chaotic blur in which my old lady & I have completely opposite schedules.

We get 15 minutes in the morning when I'm half asleep before she goes to work, and we get 15 minutes in the middle of the night after my gig, when she's half asleep.

72 hours fly by, at the speed of Gonzo, rendering us half strangers...

I'm not well versed in the Science behind Dreams,

but I had a theory: that if we both focused really hard on having the same dream then we would be able to tandem dream

and thus be able to hang out a bit more midweek.

It hasn't worked. Yet.

Theoretical Rules of Cooperative Dreaming:

1) Mutually agreed setting
2) Lots of focus
3) Have to be sleeping in the same bed

I just added that last rule. It seems logical, almost Easier that way. Once we get it to work we can start experimenting with Distance.

Wedding Band

There are incredible amounts of money to be made playing in a Wedding Band.

It's part of the COLD BLOODED MONEYGRAB of THE WEDDING FACTORY mentioned in the last post.

I want no part of it.

Wedding Planners are horrible people, in my experience. And they run the show. Along with the Bride. It's her show. And the Bride's Dad because he's paying for the WHOLE DAMN THING. It's his show too. You work for ALL these people.

I don't blame the Wedding Planner. If they botch Any facet of their responsibilities, it lands on them squarely & heavily. If they ace the whole event, they are quickly forgotten and likely underappreciated.

They are likely to take all this out on the DJ or band because they are Higher on the Wedding Power Chart than the entertainment.

One particular wedding planner spewed venom at my face for at least 10 consecutive minutes without blinking or stopping for a breath and I eventually realized she was just a Lizard so I rolled my eyes and said "Lady, I'm not getting paid... I'm volunteering for the Bride because she's my cousin and I love her, so I don't particulary care about any of that..."

Big Money. Long Drives. Early setups. Monkey suits. Drunken Uncles Making Requests. Wedding Planners.

If I'm uncomfortable,
and working for an Unpleasant Boss
than I'm not living the dream any more,
I'm certainly not Rocking nor Rolling,
so I'm back where I started...

and I might as well be selling Insurance or software that helps Office Managers determine the right stapler for their office...

Wedding vs. Marriage

We're getting married in three months.

Easiest decision I've ever made. She is my soul mate & best friend.

Neither of us expected the wedding to be a big deal. Just a big party. She plans far more complicated events for work, on a daily basis.

We got a great deal on a great venue and the best live band around. I thought we were done.

However there are many miles to go before we sleep. Churches and priests and organists and limos and centerpieces and gifts for the wedding party and all sorts of little frills we both consider Extra but that our Wedding Checklist insists is Mandatory.

A lot of it disgusts me. The Wedding Factory. The cold blooded money grab.

I REFUSE TO SPEND THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS ON FLOWERS.

Refuse. No. Absolutely not.

What the Wedding Factory doesn't know that I've witnessed two weddings (Pierce & Maria and Dan & Beth) and they were both very chill and beautiful. without the Factory.

and more importantly, no one died. At either wedding.

And if no one is going to die, then it's not worth getting stressed about.

I think some have mistaken my extra cucumber coolness as apathy, which could not be further from the truth. I simply refuse to be overwhelmed by one gig. The wedding is not more important than the marriage.

Find

"Find" is a song that I composed entirely. Music & lyrics.

I didn't write it specifically for the Bandit Kings, but that was soon realized. This is a Bandit Kings song.

We recently recorded the song for our second album, it has also firmly established itself in our live show. I'm proud.

Last night, Steve the Dancing Guy was singing along. It took a minute to sink in, but hit me like a ton of bricks.

I realize it does not not appear powerful on paper:

One guy singing.
In a bar.
In Gloucester, MA.
On a Monday night.

It seems like we are setting the stage for Insignificance, but that one guy completely flattered me, inspired me, blew my mind...

He asked how he could get a copy of the lyrics. "Best bet is to bring a pen next Monday, or wait for the new album..."

but that doesn't seem like a nice way to treat someone who just blew your mind, now does it?

FIND

This morning the bed was cold
I searched the house for ghosts
but I was alone

I pulled myself out of the drink
I ended up there last night
I think

Enough about me

I'll find you
On a Friday night
No matter where you are
I'll find you
On a Friday night
I'll hunt you like a dog

Through the walls comes a big bass drum
Pulsing some from neighbor punks next door
They never work they just rock all day
And smoke a lot for people who claim to be poor

Forget them anyways

Saturday we rage
Sleep away Sunday

I'll find you
On a Friday night
I'll search the seedy bars

In Sickness and In Health

I haven't had Health Insurance since April 2011.

April 2010 I experienced massive migraines.

*Worth noting here that up to that point I never believed people with "invisible" ailments. Migraines. Stomach aches. I used to laugh at the kids at Berklee who would show up to class with wrists in a cast, victims of Carpal Tunnel, from practicing too much. Those poor delusional bastards...

That was until last April. A week of powerful, debilitating migraines.

At that point I saw Doctors. Neurologists. They all gave me a clean bill of health, as well as dirty bills of Debt.

In the end, the Chiropractor did more Healing than all of those greasy pill-hawkers combined.

I was insured at the time, and yet the bills that came were also Debilitating. For non-diagnosis' and buck-passing. For nothing.

These bills piled up and I eventually paid them with my credit card, which means I'm still paying for them today.

AND I HAD HEALTH INSURANCE AT THE TIME.

I decided right then and there I didn't want to play anymore. Why should I have health insurance?

The general answer is thus: "In case something catastrophic happens..."

Sorry to be a Downer, but If something catastrophic happens, it's going to be Bad. Being rich or poor won't matter at that point.

I've tried again recently, to get insured. I make too much money for the Commonwealth Care. I cannot afford the Commonwealth Connector. Those are my two legal options.

*****

Paying for health insurance is akin to gambling that I will get sick.

In case you didn't know, "the secret" of life is that if you desire something to happen, it will. That's true.

The problem with health insurance, to me, is that it's almost Hoping to get sick. If not, your monthly fee is Wasted.

The whole thing makes me sick.

The Separation of Sport and State

This is about The Mitchell Report.

and the subsequent trials of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens.

Minimal research has led to some astonishing estimates of the "cost" to the "taxpayer"

20-60M for the Mitchell Report

6-10M each for Bonds & Clemens

I don't know how to confirm these numbers. They are a vile combination of hearsay and conjecture.

I can understand the perjury charge. Read the following aloud slowly and sternly, with instrumental patriotic music playing in the background:

NO ONE LIES TO THE GOVERNMENT AND GETS AWAY WITH IT!
TO LET HIM WALK SETS A HORRIBLE PRECEDENT!
PERJURY IS A SERIOUS CRIME!

Major League Baseball is a billion dollar industry. Which is a different debate, for another day.

Shit. I'm having trouble clarifying my argument. I'll use an extended analogy to further muddy the waters:

There is a chess match happening. On a ship. Between a deckhand, and the cook.

And the Captain of the boat is watching over the game intently, saying,

"No, no, no you filthy Cook you've been cheating for the past ten years and now you are tangled in a web of lies..."

My question is this:

Shouldn't the Captain be driving the boat? Who is steering the ship if the Captain is this concerned about a Game?

I Love Justin Smith

Decade.
Ten. Years.

It blew my mind when Dan told me.

Our band was Failing Gym. Dan, the lead singer, myself, and Justin Smith, the guitarist, were scheduled to meet in Dan's garage and write a song. Our first song. We didn't have any songs.

Justin Smith never showed up. It must have been, at least relatively commonplace, as we became mad enough to compose a number entitled "I Hate Justin Smith". The lyrics were mean spirited, but the chords & form were simple enough that we could all play it. And we did. At every show. It was our big closing number.

Justin Smith never gave a shit, and he shouldn't have, because it was a stupid song that we wrote in twenty seconds.

I realize (now) just how really awesome that was of Justin Smith, to not torpedo the gag. We never even had to explain ourselves, he was just down. He got it. He gets it.

He was (and remains) smart & funny, quick & dry. Stood up there with us rocking out, not bitter or angry, certainly not a jolly Louis Armstrong either, just being himself, in the moment...

Most high school kids are weak and would have been depressed and needed medication & counseling thereafter such an incident, but not Justin Smith. Justin Smith is a rock.

It's been ten years since our high school punk band. Gross.

The cover of the demo is the three gym teachers from the movie PORKYS but their heads have been replaced with Castro, Stalin & Hitler. I need to admit here (to cleanse my soul) that on the bottom of the inside cover reads, in big capital letters, RAPPERS ARE SHOT FOR A REASON and I feel like that was my idea, but I'm not sure Why? and I'm not proud of my sixteen year old self.

I question his motives. I shake my head & fist at him in Shame, and with the bitchiness of Hindsight.

I like to think that I've achieved higher levels of consciousness in ten years, and that we're past hate songs & condoning violence. But that shit was pretty fucking punk...

at the time.

to us.

Did The Jetsons invent Skype?

According to Wikipedia:

The Jetsons is a prime-time animated sitcom that was produced by Hanna-Barbera, originally airing from 1962–63... a half-hour family sitcom projecting contemporary American culture and lifestyle into another time period... a futuristic utopia in the year 2062...

I watched The Jetsons as a child. I remember George getting yelled at by his boss, Mr. Spacely, who was on a video screen. Amazing.

I also remember a video conference in Back to the Future 2, when a co-worker (portrayed by funk bassist Flea) dares an aging future version of Marty McFly into some digital mischief...

The Jetsons obviously came before Back to the Future 2.

But did The Jetsons really invent the idea of video conferencing? That doesn't sit well with me.

Minimal internet research has led me to this nugget:

The world's first public video telephone service was developed by Dr. Georg Schubert and opened by the German Reichspost in 1936... which quickly closed in 1940 due to the outbreak of WWII...

1936 beats 1962.

But, I don't like the word "public" in that quote. It bugs me. It tells me there was something first. Something Private.

I'm going to try to beat 1936. To dig deeper into the history of video conferencing.

Whose idea was it? I want to know about that guy. I like Skype.

The Doctor (Part 2: An Approved Jam)

Flashback: our senior year of high school. The band and chorus went on a joint trip to NYC.

One night in the hotel. Jamming on an acoustic guitar, with my Future Wife.

It's late. We're not really supposed to be there. In the lobby of what we thought was a random floor.

Out of a nearby elevator comes a large flock of people. All teachers and chaperones. Busted. We expect to be scolded and sent to bed, but they stumble past.

A few minutes later, Dr. Stefanov and his wife come strolling peacefully past, holding hands. They smile and tell us it sounds Beautiful.

We can't believe it and now we're smiling too and keep playing, with the gusto that comes from unsolicited encouragement...

until a hotel guest comes right up to us all angrily with the whole Do You Know What Time It Is bit and WHAT IF I TOLD YOUR TEACHERS and we say,

"man... you just missed them, they requested Beatles songs..."

Recipe: Cheese Fried Cheese

I am not a chef.

But I am a cook. This seems like a fair place to being compiling recipes.

I thought to start with my most famous (read: infamous) recipe, Cheese Fried Cheese.

Each snack is prepared individually. The process is complex and labor intensive, frying more than one at a time risks jeopardizing the entire operation. Also, eating more than one at a time could endanger your heart.

Cheese Fried Cheese

Begin with a one pound block of fresh mozzerella cheese.

Cut off one medallion sized piece.

Melt one tablespoon of butter in a frying pan at medium heat.

Add the cheese medallion to the pan. You will want to flip at intervals of less than 30 seconds to prevent burning and oozing.

Continue this process until your mozzerella is golden brown. Remove from the pan and let cool on a bed of paper towels (which also removes excess grease).

Lightly sprinkle the finished piece with grated parmesan cheese, salt, or pepper, to taste.

The Doctor (Part 1: Squirrel Pie)

Dr. Ivan Stefanov was our high school music teacher.

His family belongs to a church near his hometown in New Hampshire.

At the annual Christmas Party, Ivan would entertain the parishioners with his amazing piano prowess. (Worth noting here that Ivan is an even more accomplished flutist...)

After a few years, Ivan realized he wanted to mingle and party with his friends, and offered my fiance & I the gig. She was a soloist in his top choirs during high school.

It was a great gig. The setup was easy, people were all very kind. We strummed gentle standards, rocked up Christmas carols, did our thing... and on top of being paid for this quick set, we were kindly invited to dinner.

Upon entering the food line, we realized this was a Wild Game Dinner. Which is to say, a pot luck of homemade dishes the parishioners cooked up using animals they had killed.

Squirrel Pie. Venison. I remember a steak-like bear meat dish with pasta. It was a little overwhelming, this massive array of delicious foreign meats, and my memory blurs, so I turn to my band mate, soulmate and Resident Food Critic for assistance:

"With Pleasure! But I am forgetting some things...

1. Squirrel Pie (I remember this being nutty - which makes sense)
2. Bear meat in a noodle casserole type dish (I remember bear meat tasting sweet and having an odd texture, would not do as well as a steak on it's own)

I also remember there being pheasant and venison, but I don't remember the dishes as well I think because I am more familiar with those meats. I had never had bear or squirrel before..."

The food was all delicious and at the time it didn't seem as weird as it does in Hindsight.

It was the Best Christmas Gig Ever.

The Importance of the Holster: Reflections on the Plaxico Burress Story

I love the Plaxico Burress story, it's America, to the teeth.

I'm not here to regurgitate. I'm here to analyze, reflect, and hopefully learn something.

If you need to familiarize yourself with the details of the story, do so now.

I think this story breaks up into three interesting chunks.

1: THE PROCESS

Against state law, the New York Presbyterian Hospital did not call the NYPD to report Burress' injury,

the NYPD saw it reported on television

which insulted and angered Them,

but more imporantly...

angered The Mayor

2: THE MAYOR

The Mayor said,

"The police only found out about this because of a story on television. The hospital didn't call and the Giants didn't call... The Giants should have picked up the phone right away as good corporate citizens. I don't care if there's a legal responsibility for them to do it... They are a team that is here in this region - I know they're in New Jersey but it's the New York Giants - and they have a responsibility as a team that depends on the public and wants to be a role model for the public... So the police certainly didn't have any knowledge in advance and once they found out about it they right away went after it."

In other words,

The Hospital doesn't have the right to pardon this ignorant man. Only I do. I'm the God Damn Mayor.

3: THE SIGNING BONUS

Plaxico had signed a five year, thirty five million dollar contract prior to the 2008 season, which included a one million dollar "signing bonus", which had been scheduled to be paid out on, what turned out to be, less than two weeks after the shooting.

The team withheld the payment, the Union filed a grievance. and Won.

Which led to this gem of a quote from Giants co-owner John Mara,

"To think that a player could carry a loaded gun into a nightclub, shoot himself and miss the rest of the season but get to keep his entire signing bonus illustrates one of the serious flaws in the current system"

Mr. Mara obviously doesn't understand the definition of a signing bonus.

*****

I don't think any man should spend 20 months in prison for accidently shooting himself.

However, the REAL question is,

Does "any man" deserve to spend time in prison for discharging an unregistered weapon within the confines of a crowded city nightclub?

Yep.

Quick & Uninspired internet research allows me to determine that Plaxico could have purchased a fancy leather holster for his Glock quite easily...

and for less than one hundred dollars.

Who Killed Dr. Kevorkian?

Thanatron. Mercitron.

I've always been fascinated by Dr. Kevorkian, his homemade death machines, and the gnarly topic of Euthanasia.

I can't fathom wishing to end my own life, but then again, I'm not terminally ill...

although Dr. Jack himself once said,

"What difference does it make if someone is terminal? We are all terminal."

I don't blame Jack's patients for wanting out. I don't blame Jack for trying to help.

This life is all I got, so I'm going to ride it out to the bitter end.

And enjoy the ride. The Ride is more important than the Destination.

Drinkin' Songs (Part 2)

Recent news events have triggered serious introspection on the jivefront, and thus two fresh posts await publication, entitled

"Who Killed Dr. Kevorkian?"

and

"The Importance of The Holster: Reflections on the Plaxico Burress Story"

However, in the wake of the most recent blurb about drinking songs, I received the following (posted below) from my father. Gun & Death jive will have to wait. Probably a good thing.

Two of Dad's original compositions resonate as a soundtrack throughout many childhood memories. One is a rolling country number called "West Side of Town" and the other is a straight up blues, the Drinkin' Man Blues. He still plays it live today, usually as a set-closer.

*****

Webster’s defines a drinking song as “a song on a convivial theme appropriate for a group engaged in social drinking”. With that in mind, I set out to write a song that any person, drinking alcohol in any form, in any bar, anywhere in the world, could relate to. I wanted them to relate to my song in a way that would make them want to get out of their seats, find a spot to dance and while raising their hands high above their heads, shout “drink, drink, drink”.

The working man’s bar in my neighborhood taught me the power of a good drinking song. It was a blue collar, country music joint at the bottom of State Hospital hill. At lunch, after first shift and then again after second shift let out, the place would fill up with men and women, young and old. They seemed to want to forget, as quickly as possible, what had just happened on their shifts at the mental hospital. They jammed the bar and put quarters into the jukebox and on Saturday nights they danced to a live country band.

Once or twice a night, a song would come on the jukebox that would make people sing along. Regardless of age, sex, nationality or occupation, they would sing along. For a few brief moments, all would be one. That, to me, was power. Songs like “Crazy” by Patsy Kline and Ray Price’s “For The Good Times” would come on and most people would stop conversations, snuff out their butts and sing along. Even the longhaired, underage kid at the end of the bar joined in on “Crazy”.

I figured my best shot at writing a song that people would sing while drinking was to write a song about drinking. I’ve been singing it for over 30 years and it has never failed to make them sing, dance and smile.

Drinking Man Blues

I went down to see my doctor
He said I was looking pale
He then wrote a prescription
For a cold case of golden ale

I’m a drinking man Drink, drink, drink

But I only drink for my health

Drinkin' Songs

That old quote about not trusting a man who doesn't drink is attributed (according to my own personal lazy & minimal internet research) to W.C. Fields, but I first heard it from either my Gramps, Dad, or Captain Ron, who all cited John Wayne as the source...

regardless, it's a great quote, and I don't think it's actually about drinking, rather, about being able to participate in a group.

I like to be responsible for myself alone sometimes, but I've found that sports, music, religion, and alcohol alike share the common thread of being intensified by the power of the Group... it's undebatable.

this mini-poem became a song from our first record. it's not about friendly, social drinking. it's about isolation, excess, and recklessness, and the word "wasting" is used deliberately.

on a lighter note, She tweaked the second line of the second verse to go "these throttles go to eleven", which stole my heart.

BOTTLED

pass me that bottle again
turn the throttle up to ten
always room for one more
stop when my face hits the floor

wasting away
wasting away on this lovely day

One Year Anniversary

My first post here was on May 20th, 2010.

Which means this blog is 1 year old today. What do you get a blog for it's birthday?

The most important significance of this anniversary is that I made The Leap around the same time as starting this blog.

No more 9 to 5 jobs. Building my business instead.

I dare not imply now whether the expriment has "worked" because we're far too early in the endeavor... however:

The fact that the experiment was initiated is a raging Success in itself.

Also worth nothing:

In the beginning, I hypothesized that forcing myself to consistently blog would help my songwriting.

Joe ages 0-25: composed 4 songs
Joe in past year: composed 15 songs

The quality of the songs doesn't even matter. I'm not hung up anymore. I can finish them now. I couldn't before.

I want to keep this up. I want to be prolific. I want to leave so many words and songs and pictures scattered around the Earth that I will live forever.

Backwards

I was working at Crosby's Marketplace at the time... we all were.

Don't be confused that the guitarist in this story is also named Joe.

Justin played drums. Justin & I played in a pop punk trio called Eager Beaver.

Justin & Joe worked in the deli together.

Eventually, the common interests of this social venn diagram were discovered, and gelled. We set up a jam at my parent's house.

I remember Joe having the first legit pedalboard setup that I'd ever seen. As he was plugging in wires, I asked what songs he wanted to play. I'll never forget his response. I had it backwards apparently. He replied,

"Don't worry about songs. Let the music play you."

We jammed for a couple hours. It was a lot of Fun.
Music is supposed to be Fun.

We didn't jam again after that. It's been close to ten years.

Joe came back around recently and I'm glad he emailed me, because I remembered Justin has Tuesdays off these days. We're jamming again today. Soon. So soon that I should stop typing and shower. Prioritize.

I'm looking forward to jamming this afternoon. I know better than to ask what song.

Don't Stop Believing

"I have no interest in explaining, defending, reinterpreting, or adding to what is there. No one was trying to be audacious, honest to God. We did what we thought we had to do. No one was trying to blow people's minds, or thinking, 'Wow, this'll piss them off.' People get the impression that you're trying to fuck with them and it's not true. You're trying to entertain them. [...] Anybody who wants to watch it, it's all there."

David Chase, September 2007

I watched The Sopranos as it originally aired on HBO. Not diligently, mostly due to college life, which could not afford premium cable.

Years later, my sweet lady bought the entire series on DVD and we watched it in order, as it was meant to be seen.

We're approaching the four year anniversary of the final Sopranos episode "Made In America" and the final scene is still debated today. I watched it live with my parents and brother. Everyone went apeshit when it ended. Debating and arguing.

I tried to do some research for this post, but I've always hated critical analysis. Who are you to tell me what any author, director, or songwriter was "really" thinking?

Good opinions do exist on this topic if you search, as well as some detailed shot-by-shot breakdowns of the final scene.

All I know is what I think I know:

Watching the entire series, for a second time, paints a pretty clear picture. Tony tells many different people, on many different occassions, that his line of work ends one of two ways, in jail, or dead.

I can dig Chase's open-ended approach, but only in hindsight. The quick cut to black angered me at first, because it seemed like an outdated Kaufmanesque gag.

But not this time. I saw it again this morning. The whole episode. I've gone back to the final scene many times in the past four years, but rarely the whole episode.

David Chase created a masterpiece in The Sopranos, an 86 hour journey into what makes us Human. The series ended the way we all know life ends - by reinforcing that we know nothing about what is Next. It's probably just a quick cut to black.

Ren

Cleaning out the cyber dust from my Gmail account I discovered this poem, which I estimate to have written in October of 2009, after witnessing the American Madmen, while working for Vampfangs.com, at King Richard's Faire.

That's a lot to process. Watching cats toss knives at each other. At a renessaince festival. While working for company that sells vampire fangs.

I'm glad this poem didn't fall through the cracks, even though it was simply a half-hearted attempt at poetry, long forgotten but eventually pulled with care from the musty corners of the interweb. And given a mild tweaking.

"Sideshow"

i don't know many things

but one thing I do know

i'm glad i'm not one

of the guys of the sideshow

bruised and beaten

always mistreated

lazy and drunk

and easily cheated

the sideshow men stand

in the hot sun on stages

as crowds point and stare

like animals in cages

throwing knives at each other

while the crowd hoots and hollers

the closer they land

the larger the dollars

at they end of the day

its all bloody & funny

do it again tomorrow

tonight drink up the money

Headshot

I can't celebrate Vengeance. I won't celebrate Death.

"You can celebrate anything you want..." - John Lennon

I won't believe that 4,000+ solidiers have died, over ten years, to see one man dead. That doesn't sit well with me.

I'd rather believe they died Protecting Our Nation, in the long run, in spite of the motives of powerful suits.

This particular Hit doesn't stir patriotism inside of the cockles of my heart. It stirs skepticism and disappointment in the bloodlust of the american public. It makes me think about gnarly terms like "mission creep"

But there is hope in the Maybes the situation has created:

If the troops come home,

if the gas prices come down,

if Donald Trump finally goes Away (at least from the Presidential race)

if Obama can use the second term he just secured to do Good

than I will be able to look at this Ten Year Assassination with a twinkle, when the time for reflection and hindsight is upon us.

Until then we continue to hope for the best.

Not For The Barber (Part Two: President Jives On the Campaign Trail)

I wonder what the Vegas line is on Donald Trump. I'd like to see what date is set as an Over/Under for him dropping out of the Presidential race.

That bastard is going to spend 500M to paste his filthy name and mugshot on every spot he can, all over America.

rephrase.

All of these bastards, at least the Final Two or Three, are going to spend, AT LEAST, 500M each on the upcoming election.

On what?

Bullshit. Total Bullshit.

Television ads that will run for 30 seconds (ad nauseum for months) and then disappear into space.

Wasted ink & paper on posters nailed into lawns. That will be thrown away. Wasted resources.

Staff to bog us down with emails and phone calls, wasting something more precious than money, our Time.

500M dollars.

If I had that sort of bread stuffed into my ceramic jar from the asian market, labeled FUN MONEY, I would run for President. And here's how:

The Non-Campaign.

Not a single flyer, poster, TV ad. No wasted resources or time.

I would hire 50 of the most honest, intelligent and qualified Humans, one for each state. I would then divide 500M by 50 states. That's the budget each State Czar gets.

Next, the citizens of each state apply for grants.

Hospitals. Schools. Charities. Struggling neighborhoods. Businesses. Firemen. Policemen. Public Works. I don't know. Anyone. Plead your case. Show me you're going to do Good for Humanity and it's yours.

The most needy, the most organized, the most prepared to do Good with the money, would get it.

I trust that the people affected by that money would respond in turn when the time came to punch a ballot.

In summation, instead of spending the money on myself, like you are about to witness candidates from both parties do over the next two years, I would spend the money on Americans. On America. I would literally purchase America's vote.

It's so simple, that I would be surprised no politician has ever tried it...

except I realize that every politician is a selfish, greedy, fear-mongering egomaniac, which is why I don't trust any of them, and never will.

The flaw in my plan is that I'm not qualified to be President of anything, except this blog.

However, no one died when I became President of this blog, and that's what I believe the history books will remember. That's the true legacy of my campaign and administration:

Leadership of Myself, through peace, reason, and humility.

Not For the Barber (Part One: Religion)

The celebration of the Easter holiday was this past weekend. I heard the joke about Zombie Jesus, many times. I saw flocks of poseurs in line for Sunday Mass.

Somewhere around the 18th Century the Germans brought with them to America the absurdity of the Easter Bunny... and that's all I'll say about that.

I was raised Roman Catholic. I'm not particularly "down" with organized religion anymore. But I have a history with it:

Alter Boy - i was an altar boy from age 8 to 14. I was never molested. I like to joke that I was too short or that my glasses were a turnoff, but that joke is in poor taste. Father Horgan and Father Collins were both intelligent and kind men. There's no denying it was a powerful experience to take part in a ceremony that was based in hundreds of years of history & tradition.

Bishop Fenwick - my parents then "sent me to the Nuns" as they like to say. But this was due to the atrocities of the Georgetown Public School System, not devout religious beliefs. I was in high school when allegations of abuse by priests began. We came to learn of a History of Abuse, ultimately covered up Bernard Francis Law.

A portrait of Bernie hung proudly above the entrance to our school's chapel - even throughout the scandal. By my senior year I had started a petition to get the portrait removed. The general response from my peers was,

"Man, I'm trying to graduate in 6 months, the LAST thing I need is for my name to be on your petition..."

And so I did not pursue it... I probably should have just stolen it myself after hours, and still regret not doing so.

I still grapple with religion today. I do not desire at all to be a member of ANY organized religion. Years of catholicism taught me that God is everywhere, and I can pray whenever I want. No middle men. No fees. Just me and God, talking it out.

These days, I actually don't feel that close to God. or Jesus.

I feel much closer to Ida, Aunt Nell & Uncle Joe, Grandma & Papa, Uncle Leo & Aunt Rose. I feel them all the time.

I find it hard to believe that God watches over us all. I find it much easier to believe that he sub-contracts the work out to his angels.

Boston on Film

I keep coming across films from the pantheon of Great Boston Movies.

What makes a Boston movie a Boston movie is quite subjective. I dare not lay out any specific criteria, for fear of inevitably breaking my own rules.

I believe a majority of people would agree on these six to start (ranked in the order of My Opinion at This Very Moment):

Good Will Hunting, Mystic River, Gone Baby Gone, The Departed, The Fighter, The Town

Two that I absolutely cannot leave off the list for personal reasons (in alphabetical order):

Boondock Saints, Celtic Pride

Minimal research this morning has yielded a final two, filed under New To Me, piquing my interest enough to peruse prices of used copies:

Monument Ave, The Verdict

***

Spring has sprung in Boston. Here's hoping that future posts are about jogging, beachgoers, the characteristics of a good walking stick...

and not being holed up inside.

Although I do love a good film, when the time is right.

Good Old Days

I don't believe in the Good Old Days. I think it's a depressing term that needs to be formally abolished. Erased from the collective mind of society and replaced with a positive outlook towards the Future.

Bruce Springsteen was way out of line with his 'Born To Run' hit "Glory Days"

They will NOT "pass you by in the wink of a young girl's eye", as he attempts to lead us into believing.

The Past offers us much, including lessons learned 'The Hard Way' and sweet memories to appreciate and cherish.

This does NOT mean that we have to forfeit our future.

Sorry Bruce, I'm going to side with Carolyn Leigh, via Frank Sinatra & Count Basie (under the direction of Quincy Jones):

The Best Is Yet to Come. You ain't seen nothing.

Dig

I was fortunate enough to study 'Blues Analysis' with Bruce Katz at Berklee. Mr. Katz is a monster & master of the piano and Hammond B3. Check him out if you haven't already.

One day, during said point in my life, I was killing time. On a computer. Very much like you are now.

I decided that instead of trolling the choppy waters of the internet in a vain attempt to discover brain-numbing Entertainment, I would instead research my new professor. See if he had a website, or any upcoming gigs I could check out.

Did he ever.

Alexis P. Suter and his band were performing a string of gigs at Levon Helm's Midnight Ramble. Bruce was on the keys.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I made my way to class.

I mentioned to Bruce, as casually as I could, how Levon Helm and the music of The Band had shaped me into the man I was today. Amazing enough, Mr. Katz cordially invited me to be a guest of his at a Ramble.

A few clicks, a bit of reading, and a conversation led to a life experience I will never forget.

What can you accomplish instead of wasting time?

Change Is Good

A vivid memory of childhood is at a neighbor's house in Georgetown. In their father's closet was a wooden basket filled with spare change. Every day after work he emptied his pockets into the basket.

In my mind, he would periodically exchange the baskets for large piles of money, with which he would arrange lavish vacations and parties for his family.

I'm not sure if that was true or not, but to this day I keep a pretty firm grasp of my spare change. The drive side door of my Volkswagen is known as the Penny Door.

I emptied it recently and my own containers, a brass genie lamp and a ceramic jar from the asian market, are both overflowing. I look forward to the lavish parties that will result from this change.

Back to the Future of Libya

Up until two weeks ago, the only thing I knew about Libya was that if you purchase plutonium from them, in exchange for making a bomb, you damn well better make the bomb, or they will find you.

God, I love "Back to the Future"

Today the situation in Libya is very real. Rebels are rebelling violently against Muammar Gaddafi. What remains of his supporters are killing the rebels.

Who are these rebels?

Wouldn't you like to know.

Somewhere lies a threat to America apparently, because our celebrity president authorized the soft-toss of over one hundred Tomahawk cruise missiles into Libya. Those missiles cost over a million dollars each.

One Hundred Millions Dollars worth of weaponry? I call that a War.

But Obama hasn't declared anything except for the Final Four in his bracket (which looks stellar by the way...)

We are assuming that when we assist in overthrowing Gaddafi that we are going to approve of the power that replaces him.

How many wars until America's bloodlust is satisfied? How many countries can we intervene in at once?

I don't know the exact statistics but it's near 700 army bases, near 250,000 soldiers, spread out all over the world. Pointing guns at people, in their homeland and hoping, even expecting they will thank us for it.

Neo-military-colonialism. Awesome!

Somebody cue Lee Greenwood, I feel a song coming on...

The Power of Negativity

I've been thinking about The Power of Positive Thinking, by Dr. Norman Vincent Peale.

I've never read it. But I know about it. We all know the basic premise, as well as what have unfortunately become throw-away quotes at this point:

"When life hands you lemons make lemonade"

"Tremendous things happens to the Believer"

"Joy increases as you give it and diminishes as you keep it for yourself"

"The trouble with most of us is that we'd rather be ruined by praise then saved by criticism"

I also like his idea that we are not important and that the world will go on without us. It's calming. It's a positive idea.

"As long as enthusiasm holds out, so will opportunity."

A wonderful idea. I'd like to combine this with the idea that "Luck is the combination of preparation and opportunity" which I first discovered in Randy Pausch's book "The Last Lecture"

In math terms,

if

Enthusiasm = Opportunity (Peale)

and

Preparation + Opportunity = Luck (Pausch)

then

Enthusiasm + Preparation = LUCK (Cardoza via Peale & Pausch and math)

All you need to be Lucky is to first be excited and prepared. That's not as easy as bitching into a public forum, but it's not that hard either. You can do it.

When Conan O'Brien left the Tonight Show he had every reason to be angry, and the Top Shelf of public forums to use. He ended with this:

"All I ask of you is one thing: please don't be cynical. I hate cynicism - it's my least favorite quality and it doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard, and you're kind, amazing things will happen."

Big Picture

Captain Ron is the father of a true Friend of mine. He has ties to motorcycle gangs with my uncle (Captain Joe) back in the 70's and was also the meanest king crab fisherman in Alaska for many years after that. He drives big rigs now.

When I was a kid and came to over to hang he would say, very matter-of-factly as I approached:

"Joe Joe was a man who thought he was a loner..."

A recent run-in with Captain Ron left me quite embarrassed. They were fixing his truck and we were catching up.

"Joe, what do you think about Libya?"

I knew the headlines and the skeleton of the story, but not enough to accurately comment on, or discuss it. I apologized that things were a little hectic on the home front these days, and that I'm a little backed up on World Affairs at the moment. He chuckled and let it slide.

But it stuck with me these few weeks. You can't just pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist, no matter how hectic bills and taxes get.

So I took to the People for unbiased news. I took to Wikipedia:

-Gaddhafi has been in charge since 1969.

-In 1979 he relinquished the title of "Prime Minister" for the more flashy "Brotherly Leader and Guide of the First of September Great Revolution of the Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya"

-Assassination. Nepotism. Terrorism. Etc...

The history books paint a pretty clear picture. This statistic sealed the deal for me:

"With the death of Omar Bongo of Gabon (June 8, 2009) he became the longest serving of all current non-royal national leaders..."

Anyone who follows sports realizes that streaks like that don't last long once you reach the top. They are more like a bulls eye on your back. Just ask Mr. Bongo.

Muammar Gaddafi, this Bud's for you. It was quite a run. One that I think Captain Ron would admire, in a certain way. I'll have to ask him.