My friend, Steve Epstein, is part of an art show called “Art at Bay” at the tip of Staten Island from March 5th to 28th this month. They had an opening reception last night. It was the first time I’d ever been further than Richmond Ave, but I’d heard about Bay Ave. and it’s views of the Statue of Liberty and the city. It didn’t disappoint.
Staten Island to me was always a really scary place. In my imagination, I always pictured the underground activities that take place on an island which refuse is known to go. Pictures of mobsters prance through my head and a pistol in a pear tree. All kidding aside, the dense nature of the island and not having any kind of GPS system, nor any map- left me to think about ending up in a sleazy neighborhood and having my ass handed to me on a plate.
The worst thing about Staten Island are the traffic grids- there aren’t any. Roads take crazy hairpin turns, the same names can be found in multiple places- (Richmond Ave, Port Richmond, Richmond Blvd, etc, etc, etc.), and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many traffic lights condensed into one place, pot holes everywhere. Now, if your alone with a print out from Mapquest you’re trying to read as you drive, it could be a downright nightmare. The obstacles come up fast and furious; car choked streets, double parked cars, traffic lights, pot holes, jay walkers, all the while trying to navigate a maze of directions. My printout when I crossed the Goethals Bridge went as follows:
1) Take Exit 12 Todt Hill Rd/Slosson Ave - .01mi
2) Turn slight left on to Lortel Ave - 0.0 mi
3)Turn Left on to Slosson Ave -.2 mi
4)Turn Rt. on to Victory Blvd - 2.9 mi - HURRAY! I have time to read!
5)Turn Lft on Bay Street - .3 mi
6)Turn SHARP LEFT onto Nick LaPorte Pl - 0.0 mi
7) Turn Left on to Stuyvesant Pl - 0.0 mi
8) Stuvesant Pl becomes Bay Street - 0.0 mi
9) 70 Bay St on Right - 0.0 mi
Oh, I forgot to add the Staten Island attitude which basically says. “If you don’t know where you’re going, you’re going to slow, or you’re looking at me funny, you don’t belong on Staten Island and I can attempt to get you out by HONKING at you!”
Regardless, of how difficult the drive was- if you knew the roads, the people and the surroundings, it’d be relatively simply. My New York plates provide a LITTLE ease. It’s practically opposite the Staten Island Ferry which would be really convenient for you NYC dwellers. I believe the train is close also. Take public transport- save the planet and yourselves!
I felt compelled to visit my friend Steve Epstein because of my love for his work, but also the name of the exhibit: “Emotional Rescue”. It’s a favorite song of mine by the Rolling Stones, something when I read the lyrics, I designated it as an internet name- ERescue. It was perhaps a sign from the cosmos telling me it was a place I needed to go.
He has two long time friends- Neil Besignano and Michele Guttenberg- who he’s talked about before. I’d seen their paintings at his place and was always impressed with the work. I was fortunate to arrive before the crowds when I could take time to walk around chit-chat and enjoy. The space is great and the artists- fabulous. One of the paintings Michele had done was a couple I’d seen photographed for a small publication called “The Sun”- one of the most INCREDIBLE magazines for compassionate people EVER. In my mind, that said a LOT to me. Subject matter always said a lot to me about a person. Neil’s patterns and subject matter, attracted me a great deal. There was one of crumpled yellow tarps which was absolutely STUNNING. I kept going back to it again and again. I believe it was my favorite of the show. There were one’s of beach trash with a focus on crumpled containers- empty bottles, dead fish, and stones. An entire painting of cigarette butts, worn tires. I think he has a new fan.
I own a few of Steve’s paintings. He did my portrait; the best portrayal of me, ever done. If you look at “my photos” in our Funk Thunder folder, you’ll find a portrait of Joe & I, done by Steve. He does more than just portraits, but contemporary abstract work- FASCINATING stuff. He works in radiology in a hospital, and is often pulled into the emergency for situations. How he does it, I don’t know, but the impact appears in his paint. I feel he’s a painter who NEEDS to paint. Steve had a featured painting in Lurzer’s Archive Special of the “200 Best Illustrators Worldwide” 2007-08. A tremendous achievement, but as most artists is tied up in every day wage earning.
Getting out and doing things is the catalyst of creativity. Nike said it best in their advertisements- “Just do it”. The more you explore, the more it comes to you- the purpose, the meaning, the inner salvation you need to cope with all the nastiness which surrounds us. It may take a maze of city streets, but there’s peace at the end of the journey. Good day all.
I forget how important the Rolling Stones have been in my life.
I’ve always been a huge fan of music, but there were a few bands I connected with radically in my early years. Van Halen was the first in high school, David Lee Roth left and it sort of fell to the wayside. Led Zeppelin was next in the early years of college. The Song Remains the Same became this mystical trait I buried deep inside my psyche. For years, I always dreamed of a reunion between the remaining members- and still I do. The last cataclysmic band was the Stones, who I STILL love, and have never really left.
Many bands out there today don’t have longevity. They group together make that big hit and after a few years fizzle out. No one REALLY attempts to keep together… they go off on their own, make their own thing and make money independently. Of the truly GREAT bands I can only think of U2, but the Stones- they’ve been there from the beginning.
I haven’t listened to them for years. The man I met on Best Bar Wednesday- Steve One- was a dancer. It prompted me to think of the great song by the Rolling Stones - “If I was a Dancer”. I found some clips on youtube this morning and currently I’m listening to “Where the boys all go”- not the songs everyone knows, but the vault stuff. There are sooooo many songs they’ve put out through the decades, it’s easy to get lost in it.
When I first became a fan of the Stones, I lived in London. I stayed with 3 other creative students- a writer, a painter, and a theater major in a small flat. I lived in a tiny room- enough to fit a bed and have a fold down table from the wall. There was about 2 feet from the end of the bed to the wall and maybe about 4 feet from the side to the wall. It was heated by a small nichrome heater mounted high on the wall, I could pull a cord to heat the room. The water heater to the flat was about half the size of a regular propane tank used to heat a BBQ grill. We used to drizzle water out for one hour into a bath in order to splash it over us- all the while heating 3 pots of water on the stove to expedite the process. There was no shower.
On cold nights I’d huddle down under my blanket, put on Beggars Banquet or Goats Head Soup. Songs like “No Expectations” and “Winter” became immediate hits in Steve’s jukebox of life.
The connections we make with music often refer to a particular time in our lives- a memory. It could be good, it could be bad, but if you open yourself up to it years after the occurrence, it could open the floodgates as if it was yesterday.
The Rolling Stones are the catalyst to these long lost memories. A place to revisit. So Steve One- if you read this- thank you. There is a purpose for every person we meet- even if it’s a chance meeting at a bar. The wheels spin from one person to another and for every inspiration there is spark. You were this spark.
All the best!
It occurred to me in the middle of the night that I should keep my “History and Stories of the Best Bars of New York” like a 1930’s sticker ridden suit case. If you can picture that golden time where ship travel was more frequent and large hard trunks appeared more regularly, you might be able to comprehend the idea of this new piece of art. It was during those days, people would decorate their trunks with stickers of places they’d been- Istanbul, Rome, London, etc.
I have a book with no stickers, but receipts, a match book, a metal MET badge, and signatures. To me, this journey is about people more than anything else. If I’m lucky enough to meet some famous people- so be it- their signatures will be next to those of bartenders, patrons, whoever I might strike a conversation with. We’re really all the same in other words- feeling people, with emotions, problems and memories. We have different trips, experiences, and even though we have fleeting moments we have memories- talismans.
In grouping these little trinkets- like a receipt for the Metropolitan Museum of Art I don’t remember getting-together- it’ll form a journey much like one of those enormous trunks that used to travel the world over. In my corner of the world, excitement is every step of the journey.
The next bar for March 10th is Bridge Cafe-279 Water Street. Hope to see ya!
On rare occasions I have the opportunity to have an outstanding day. Yesterday, was one.
I boarded my train, wrote, switched at the junction (the earlier train was late which allowed me a wait of literally 2 minutes), arrived in Penn and every subway from there was like clockwork. I made one switch from the E to the 6 effortlessly, with a transition smooth as silk. I had no wait; an absolute rarity.
I read about Benelmans Bar and saw it opened at noon. I arrived a little after 11:00 am in the area. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was about 6 blocks down from the subway station, the Carlyle Hotel only one. The choice was logical- I’d pop in the Hotel, look and if the bar was open this early- start early and have a day at the museum.
I stepped through the gold revolving door of the Carlyle into the reception area. There were two large abstract paintings to the left and a corridor filled with various artwork, including what looked like two large seventeenth century works. In front of me was the main dining room. I poked about, especially down the “art hall” until I found a maid. I asked her the location of the bar and she pointed through a part of the dining area. I walked through into this beautifully nestled, dimly lit bar at the back.
The moment I stepped through the archway I felt the aura of the place. The walls were painted by Ludwig Bemelman, the creator of the children’s book Madeline. It’s the only public display you’ll find his paintings. He did them in exchange for room & board. There’s a magnificent grand piano in the center of the room, a highly shined black piece of artwork which the room revolved around. The bar is to the right. It was quiet; I hadn’t planned to be there earlier than noon.
There were two men to the left of the piano with camera lighting. They looked like creative types who were in the middle of some kind of shoot. I don’t like to disturb others and I had hoped I wouldn’t be a bother. Many well known personalities visit such a bar, and I simply wanted to be a fly on the wall.
I had taken off my hat and made myself comfortable at the bar. I could hear the mens voices, but nothing I could understand. It was a mysterious little alcove where they sat, dim, but lit by that powerful camera light.
I can be the quiet type, but I was in good spirits today. I asked if I might be a bother if I sat peacefully at the bar, and we struck up a conversation immediately. Can you believe the only two men in the bar besides myself were named Steve?? I found it comical from the start.
They were there to work on a documentary of some type. I hadn’t probed about the content of the film, it wasn’t my place, but I told them what I was there to do. They were as interested as I. They wanted to interview me, and touch a little on what my mission was. I was humbled. They hooked the microphone up and we began a small interview under the intense light which lit our corner.
If you put three creative people in a dimly lit room with something interesting to talk about, you never know where it may lead. The words may come as natural as a simple conversation; streams of innovative magic that can only be captured once and disappear as quickly as they appear. I look for these moments where I can learn more about others and indeed myself. I found there was a deeper meaning to this little trip I planned, I was a student and also a teacher.
I could certainly look up to these men. They are involved in the creative fields- Steve One- the interviewer- used to dance long ago- well known in fact, he’d been a painter for the past 20 years, a producer and holds other interesting titles. Steve two was the technical type. He knew the shots, the sounds, like any great director. He was a family man with a beautiful wife and kids. They’d both came by car and were highly concerned about not being ticketed- the fear of every New Yorker!
The star of the bar if you ask me was our bartender- Tommy. I don’t think I’ve ever met a bartender I liked more. In fact, his very personality could have been a carbon copy of a main character in my book “the Fleamarketeer”. He was the PERFECT Henry.
Tommy had arrived late, which was uncharacteristic of him. He was always timely, pants pressed, bottles opened and a whole host of activity done by the time the bar REALLY opened. He was concerned about the light and its effect on other patrons who might not enter. After 11:30 he asked them to shut it down.
Tommy had been bar-tended at Benelmans for FIFTY years! He mistakingly thought I was part of the filmaker’s crew. When I told him I was just a patron, he was really upset. “I’m NEVER late and the one day I am, I have three people in the bar.” He was an Irishman with a wealth of knowledge. In one simple phrase he defined it all: “You can’t film me, I’m just a bartender.” The man who everyone knows, a humble man.
He’d lost his wife not long ago, and the job became more of a saving grace than anything. It kept him busy during the day and his mind from home. I found he lived close to me and commuted in. Everyone knew Tommy and took care of him, much like he took care of us.
Our conversation went a little like this:
S- “What kind of drink should I get? I want an old type of drink, something common in the fifties maybe.”
T- “You tell me what you want and I’ll make it. I’m a beer man myself.”
S- “So am I, but I want something which will be fitting of such a place. What do most people drink here?”
T- “Martinis”
S- “Than that’s what I’ll have.”
Tommy poured me a Stoli Vodka Martini- a BIG one. The left over went in a small container which sat next to the drink in some crushed ice. He brought some water, which he told me is usual with such a drink.
It was cold and good- strong to say the least. I told him I may go to the museum or just sit with him all day. He said if you have more than two of those drinks, I’ll need to have someone carry you out. I laughed- so be it….
We had a delightful conversation. I’d found out more about him and the place. I was very comfortable there, like it was a second home. Time started to fly. I asked for a second martini, but couldn’t leave until I finished it. A doctor came in who Tommy knew. He wore a neck brace and had mentioned about an invention which occurred to him as the result of the comfortable neck ring.
Things were going sketchy…. the second martini was kicking my ass. I kept repeating the phrase in my head- “If you have more than two, someone will have to carry you out.” Fifty years of bar-tending… he should know.
At some point I must have realized what time it was. I’m sure I must have paid Tommy well, but I don’t remember. I found a receipt in my pocket which said Metropolitan Museum of Art. I can’t remember a single painting. I sat down to ask about tickets to a special event later in the month, but no matter how hard I looked- the words weren’t there. The two older women looked at me in question. I must have sat there for two minutes before I uttered a word. I think it was “never mind”. The cab drive was a fractured puzzle. I think if I took the subway I’d still be there.
Somehow I boarded the right train to Secacaus, but had to wait 20 minutes for the connection to the Pascack Line- a much slower train which ran infrequently. I rested my eyes for what seemed to be a second, and found I’d missed the train! It was one of those moments you don’t actually believe you fell asleep. HOW, is beyond me- I MUST have heard the train, I was RIGHT next to the track! However, I couldn’t deny the lost time.
I called my friend Jefferson Thomas who is an avid fan of great bartenders, especially the VERY experienced type- the old guys, who have plenty to tell. I had a few words with him, and did everything to stay conscious…..”more than two of those drinks, and I’ll need someone to carry you out….”
I slept on the train and came to in time to exit. I arrived home after a good walk and realized I was in this “crippled state” until 9pm! Hell, if I hadn’t written on the train yesterday when I was sober, you wouldn’t have had a thing until today!
I had plenty of water, took a cherry pill and Vitamin C for the gout and a few aspirin for good measure.
Now THAT’S a bartender………
This morning I read about this wonderful bar at the Carlyle Hotel- Bemelmans Bar- that dates back to the fine period of Art Deco- 1930. It’s reminiscent of the period, and serves cocktails only an experienced bartender of 50 years could serve. It got me thinking.
Here we are in the second decade of a new millennia. Politics has put a cage on every day society, so much so we’ve decided to create a phrase- “politically correct”. God forbid you can an African American a black man, or a Native American an Indian. If you don’t take the time to look at the fat content on a can of Liverwurst or corn-beef hash, lightening will strike you down.
We’ve all decided to speak and tip toe around everything society has to offer because we as a whole have become sensitive. “You can’t say that! I’ll sue you!” people say. It’s the first line of defense- no more fists, just legal paperwork. Its the capitalization of American society. Why if you measured the amount of money made from frivolous lawsuits, I presume we could pay this gargantuan deficit we’ve crawled into. Frankly, I’m tired of it.
I enjoy a few drinks, getting drunk, I enjoy a laugh more than anything else, and I suppose when the intoxication comes I can put aside those problematic every day occurrences. It’s not that I’m always intoxicating myself, but under the influence of even a few beers, I can focus on the ever more important human activity of laughing, listening, and not speeding along at 100 mph- forgetting how I’ve come this far. All to often, in this crazy tri-state area we’re speeding through time like a black jack dealer spitting cards to his next client.
I enjoy doing things that are bad for me. I enjoy juicy fat full burgers, heavy cholesterol steaks, and food that dribbles out of my mouth and down my beard. One day my body will stop me I’m sure, but until then I can live with a smile on my face. George Burns smoked cigars until he was one hundred.
We once had a trip to the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Vermont. At the end of the tour, you can purchase a bowl of ice cream- ALL kinds of flavors. I remember my daughter, who must have been three, eating this chocolate delight- painted all over her face as if she’d stuck her entire mouth into a pile of the cold stuff. An old woman came to us and pointed at my girl and said, “It always looks so much better when they eat it.” I’ll never forget that moment- think about it. The joy and delight is not only in the self- absorption of the moment, but the on lookers realizing, “if only that could be me.”
One night years ago, I went to a Cajun bar called “The Old Bay” in New Brunswick, NJ. I tossed back a few drinks with my good friend Brian over some fine conversation. I planned on taking the last train home from the town which was about 1:30-2am. There was NO WAY I could leave without a trip to a small, but incredible, winger joint called Cluck U- one of the landmark college late night visits. I purchased probably a dozen mild wingers. The meat was layered in this drippy, gooey, red sauce. It was lathered on and the scent grabbed me by the ears. My mouth watered as I waited for the train, until I could stand it no longer.
I walked to the end of the platform, where it was quiet- like some child punished for something he didn’t know what he did. I ripped into those fleshy wings with the delight of a child. The sauce was not only all over my fingers, but my lips, my cheeks, and between my teeth- it was GLORIOUS.
Wouldn’t you know it, a fellow writer and professor approached me cautiously, “Steve, what are you doing here?” Fortunately, being one of the creative type who made his second home at our local bookstore- the Raconteur- he was understanding, not shocked in the least- by my display of a Cro-Magnon man making love to his food.
I suppose this exercise revolves around the joy of a visit to a foreign place; meeting new people, having a laugh, a conversation, learning something new- being myself.
Some journeys we need to reawaken our senses, bring excitement back; for me; the icing could never be thicker.
A very simple quote and very to the point:
“It is beneficial to be aware that you will die.”
I used to think that the reminder was always the most important aspect of life. When you’re in the position or indeed reminded of the frailties of life, you tend to live with more appreciation of those simple things around you.
I almost died in 1998 of something called “Parrot Fever”. I’d been around cemetaries for as long as I can remember, even lived next to one for 11 years. I’d never been spooked by them, but found inside a peace I couldn’t really convey. When you see the headstones and the engravings, sometimes porcelain plates, you start to think about what life truly is. What you want to make out of it.
We never know how much time we have, and for that reason when a reminder comes, at least for me, it boosts me into this fast paced creative mode. It comes in spurts and is influenced by everything in my surroundings, my environment. It’s always with death in mind.
Years ago I met a woman who had died, and came back. Woke up in a body bag in the morgue. She had a NDE- a near death experience- and was told in those moments she wasn’t alive that it would be her mission to live and tell of her experience. She wrote a book.
It turns out many people who have these near death experiences, have similarities between each other, one being- their not fearful of death.
I seem to recall when I was a young sickly child waking up in an oxygen tent in the hospital. I may have been 5 or 6, but I’d experienced something I couldn’t describe. I want to say the only thing I did was try and draw it.
I could never confirm its existance, because it was so long ago. My parents are old-fashioned and would never allow me to try and find out more on account of my “funny” background- funny in this case, spooky. Besides, I was only VERY young, and now, I have more years than I care to choose behind me. I wondered whether I’d actually experienced anything, or it was put there by some imaginary trait- point was, I had many traits of the NDE type.
In retrospect, death is simply part of life. We lose family, we lose friends, and eventually, we will lose ourselves. It’s important to enjoy life, to live it and experience different aspects of it. Don’t close yourself in, but get out. The unknown will either be half empty or half full. Try and fill it up; don’t spill any, and when you’re thirsty, get some water.
“It is beneficial to be aware that you will die.” Because you will learn how to live….
Not much need for the Good Humor man today and his favorite selection of ice cream. If you have a little imagination, a little dirt and some food dye, you can become your own ice cream vendor. Only thing is you’ll have to watch those pebbles on the teeth- I think I’d rather pay for the stuff than eat one of the kids…
When I was a child my good humored grandmother visited from England. She was your typical Liverpudlian- DAMN fine entertainer and ALWAYS pulling gags. She used to roll her own cigarettes, so one day my brother (he was 2 years younger than I) asked if we could roll her a cigarette. She said- ABSOLUTELY.
We disappeared into the basement…..
We were like two mad scientists creating the Frankenstein Monster Cigarette… it contained small dead bugs, dust, dirt, and practically anything awful, hideous and wretched. Problem was we didn’t know how to roll the stuff AND we had so much of it that it barely rolled. I must have been 8 or 9. I thought we were so smart…..
Well, I can remember coming up to my Grandmother and handing her this crooked part-tobacco, part-alien smoking apparatus. She looked and smiled, entertained by the fact we were using our creativity. She HAD to light it to smoke- even if it killed her. I remember her lighting the end, as much as my brother and I tried to contain our laughter, we couldn’t. She took a drag and coughed like hell, exaggerating every body shaking jolt. We fell to the floor laughing. As you can see, it was memorable. Like the time my brother slammed a roll of caps hit with a sledgehammer and caught my pajama pants on fire…..good times.
Today, I did little ice cream making. I just shoveled. It’s become the bane of my existence. I may have to be the mad scientist tomorrow and create an ice cream store with stools. There’s plenty of snow to play with- plenty of fun to be had and now that the work is done… it’s play time. Get out an enjoy all- this sort of thing makes GOOD times….
First- it’s snowing like HELL here. We’re in the middle of a blizzard. I was supposed to see the English Beat & Fishbone tonight, but the show was cancelled due to the weather. Not only was the show important getting together with my buddy Brian- a good friend since the 80’s. We took an adventure out to Bellevue, OH years ago and even visited the Rock & Roll hall of fame. It was with him I penned the first “song” I’d ever written- “Smooth Shoes” and that was after our visit to the Museum with fresh inspiration from Keith Moon’s Blue Platform shoes.
After work closed early today, I started to venture down towards Asbury Park. Only got as far as Clifton, NJ before I found out the show was cancelled. I went back home to push around some VERY HEAVY snow.
I just saw Modigliani- a movie that starred Andy Garcia. Now, I’m a fan on the artist’s work and thought logically the movie would be a biography on the man’s life. It was FICTIONALIZED….. well, nothing could piss me off more. It was “loosely” based on the man’s life, but when one uses those words- loosely- it could mean absolutely anything. I wouldn’t know what was real and what was fake, so I spent 2 hours following a movie on which I seemed to learn nothing. A story whose attempt to show others how painters of the time could react with each other… no thanks. Thumbs down on my end.
Now, back to the 21 Club…..
When you sit to the side of a bar and observe the interaction of people, you really get an understanding of how the world works. I listened to the waiters, who all seemed to appear MUCH older speak to clientele by their surnames. Evidently a Mr. Gil was there.. a famous attorney who I simply nodded as if I knew who he was. What I find facinating is the people who interact with those kind of people. I was told by Miko that he’d worked at another restaurant many years ago and witnessed Salvador Dali do three paintings for the owner. They were given to the man and he could only imagine what they ran for nowadays. One was of Don Quixote- a favorite character of mine.
I love to talk to bartenders, especially the older kind- the ones who have been around awhile. They’re so full of interesting knowledge, facts and stories. Miko told me of the ‘21′ wine cellar which housed bottles by Frank Sinatra, Clinton and other famous personalities. He told me the party I passed in this cozy little room full of red leather furniture, a fireplace and old mahogany tables (imagine an old smoking room)was going to the cellar to indulge in some wine.
I wanted to get up and walk around, but felt a little intimidated and it’s my nature not to disturb others, especially in this environment. There were probably 10 OLD plaques which were recessed into the far wall- the area where Richard Nixon used to sit. Each one had script which was probably done in the 30’s with sharp and witty sayings. I could only view in the distance.
Evidently, business was not what it used to be. They, as well as others, were hit hard by the economy. He told me 12 years ago the place used to be 20 deep at the bar, but has quieted substantially- a benefit to yours truly. I thought it interesting how an outsider like myself might be viewed by the others around me. After all, I wasn’t dressed in your typical black suit and white starched shirt, but had a 1970’s red jacket lined with black velvet , velvet pants and a velvet lined shirt- jacket required. In a place like that I always feel everyone is measuring up everyone. Maybe it’s my paranoia, but I had to try a 21 burger to see what made it different than your average $15 burger- it was twice that….. it’s in the sauce… it’s ALWAYS in the sauce. Oh, and the dirty martinis- they were EXCELLENT and packed a punch. I felt so good afterwards, I had to go back to the Tim Burton exhibit. Under the influence of alcohol, perhaps I’d have a different take on things. One things for sure- I felt a need to learn how to draw after seeing that!
The Tim Burton exhibit was phenomenal. It was the perfect exhibit for the budding artist, showing the foundations of the film maker and his need to be different, especially as a teen. They had memorabilia from all of his movies and over 500 sketches. He’s quite an artist in addition to his film making talent. There are so many things I could say about it, but I think I’ll just have to tell you to GO there. If you visit the MOMA website, I’m sure you could purchase a book which will detail some of it. I purchased one and a pack of cards for those nights I have NOTHING to do…. they may just sit there for the next 10 years the way life is shaping up.
I finished with a long walk from the museum back to Penn Station, some 22 blocks. I was slowed by a brewery called The Heartland Brewery- an old watering hole when I worked in the city. They make the best damn stout in the world called Farmer Jon’s Oatmeal Stout. Brian told me to try Chickhouse Porter- or something like that, but the message was a little late. I’d tried a “Not Tonight Honey Porter” the replacement of that I’d imagined and Red Rooster Ale. By this time, I was quite full, but I started an interesting conversation with a woman a few stools down from me. She’d had this antique box sitting on the bar, which I found VERY interesting. She used it like a handbag, but it was a camera bag- she was a photographer. It’s interesting when you get out during the day- the creatives tend to find themselves at bars…or coffee houses it was my hope that this kind of thing would happen.
I was decorated with a VERY high compliment- that I reminded her of Elvis Costello. The hat, the jacket.. the aura I suppose. I don’t think I could have ended on a better note in the city.
So now it begins…. the second bar on the agenda is called “Bemelmans Bar” at the Carlyle Hotel - 35 East 76th Street. That will be this Wednesday March 3rd. probably between noon & 2pm. The time seems good and maybe we can find something interesting to talk about- a story or two. Anyone who wants to follow, fine by me. You’ll need to check to see if there’s a dress code- 21 club had one. I’ll be the one with the book and I’d love ya to sign it- that’s gonna be my thing. A creative day time bar crawl.. nothing sloppy, just GOOD company and conversation. Hope to see ya next Wednesday!
Train Ride:
It’s with great pleasure I write this blog today. It’s been a week since I’ve anticipated my visit and only today has it come to fruition.
There’s something to be said about excitement- trekking into the unknown, and starting a new adventure. It may be nothing more than nonsense to your average man or woman, but to a creative… it’s far more. It’s the stimulus; the smells, the sites, the feels, the tastes; it’s full utilization of all of the senses.
For me, that only takes place with a clear and focused mind. All the trivialities of every day tasks and labors thrown to the side and an unbridled intense relationship with one’s self- blossoms.
When I woke, I was at peace. I knew what to wear, where to go, but in an earth shattering moment I realized the location and it’s proximity to the Museum of Modern Art- one BLOCK away! I’d wanted to get to the museum since the opening of the master film maker, Tim Burton’s retrospective. It was to give layman like me an intimate look into his creative endeavors from his teen years through today- a clue into the very inspirations that brought his fame, fortune, and absolute brilliance.
Museums are a phenomenal source of inspiration. Modern Art not only allows the brain to contemplate our existence, but also the world which surrounds us. It brings another level of thinking, one reserved for the “not quite on” personalities- those who minimize themselves regarding the influence on generations of creatives and fosters an environment where people grow. For this reason, way past my own adolescent physical growth, I must go.
“Best Bar Wednesdays” Blog series will be for the next 20 weeks. It will cover (and give me an excuse) to get to 20 bars as written in “The History & Stories of the Best Bars of New York” - the brainchild of Jef Klein. The first bar was the legendary ‘21′ Club on 52nd. Street. Lunch- this will be a DAYTIME event- is served from noon till 2:30pm. My train arrives 11am and the museum will be open when I arrive. Nothing but good can come from such a venture, so I’ll leave my senses from here in ON.
Time: 11:10am- Subway: As I sit quietly on the ride to 53rd St. a loud noise and clanging change emanates from the end of the car. A blind man with a cane is speaking in tongues (nothing I can understand) and rising and dropping a Tupperware container with a little change in it. He looks haggard and slides his cane from left to right walking through the middle of the car. Even when he is directly in front of me, I can’t understand what he says- he’s mechanized. Much like the train we ride. He’s become so automated that the feeling was lost in some kind of action of repetition. I’ve seen it before in other circumstances, where people become almost numb- “zombified” if you will- to those around them. They know they have a need, but because the city tends to eat and spit people like that out, they go into this state of self protection, become robots. The smell is like diesel and I wonder if he’s powered the same way.
Time: Noon- 4:30pm- Fuzzy
Time: 5pm- Recollections: I’ve read, spoken, listened, walked, and watched. It’s amazing when I attempt to coordinate my hand with my thoughts. It’s like one of Tim Burton’s Alien creations.
The ‘21′ Club is an amazing place. Everyone seemed to know each other. You’re greeted with a smile and asked for help. The workers treat you like Royalty and in such places I feel very small. I’m never comfortable in those kind of establishments, but to be at the end of the bar and observing.. well, that’s what I do best. It helps when you have a bartender who really makes you feel at home. Despite being a new comer, he made me feel at ease.
His name was Miko and he was from Croatia. He goes home once a year to visit; it’s a gorgeous place. Being the son of a world traveller I’ve heard of such places on the Mediterranean sea, but his description and accent simply added romance to the place. He told me he was “new” there and was only there for 18 years….. I think that sums it up entirely.
He told me I should have arrived earlier and he would have shown me some of the place. He pointed to the dividers which separated 3 buildings. He told me the section I sat in was at the back of the bar. I’d read people who sat there were either on the upcoming or the down going. Those at the far side where those who they always want noticed- presidents, actors: Humphrey Bogart had his personal table in the center and proposed to Lauren Bacall there. Funny enough the one in back of me was Donald Trumps. Perhaps he likes the privacy.
The ceiling is filled with numerous souvenirs. I saw an elephant tusk which was taken from the Congo in 1956- bagged by someone famous. What struck me was the amount of transportation vehicles, even Katarina Vitt had her ice skates signed and hung from the ceiling. It actually made me think back to the movie- the Aviator and the personalities of those jet setters during the 1970’s. How they were viewed like movie stars. I thought of my Dad.
There are plenty of things we do in life who make us who we are. We can’t all follow some one else’s dreams of success and how we view success will always be shaped on those early years.
I’m lucky to have the opportunity to indulge and write. I’ve been a failure and I’ve seen success. The best thing I can tell someone is to believe in yourself and support yourself with those who think you have something to offer. Not everyone can stand on their own two feet and it’s important to have the support to get up and walk, when you feel you can’t.
Two dirty martinis and I felt I could have used a little support… but enough for now. I understand we could expect a foot of snow and I’m supposed to see the English Beat & Fishbone. We’ll see. I’ll continue tomorrow. Good evening all.
Morning all. I’m glad to get into this week even if it’s a Monday.
Last week was pretty horrible. Nothing much got done, and my brain felt like a basketball that needed a good bounce. I’ve been stuck in one place and I’m dying to get out in any kind of respect. It’s going to be a miserable rainy week, so you may see me a little more here, but I may just need to put on the “wellies” and fight the water. The most creative ideas often fall like rain… sometimes even in it.
The one good thing from last week was spending time with my son making a snow sculpture. I used to do this when the kids were much smaller, but since our move to New York, I haven’t dedicated much time to it. It always gave me great pleasure making these large snow sculptures, especially since it would fascinate my neighbors and make me look “odd”. It never really mattered much to me. It was the execution of idea to reality.
The best was a giant tank, with a pvc barrel and wood tracks. It was great to have the kids stand on it for pictures. It took a day. Saturdays took only a few hours, not too elaborate and what started out as a lion started to look more like a seated dog. (If you picture the Sphinx, with a dogs head- then you got the snow sculpture). I built it out near the street on account the last head (an Easter Island head) built back in December made the neighbors dog freak out. He barked at the thing till it disappeared. The one I did this time was not visible through the fence.
I named it Snaggletooth on account of one or two of it’s sharp canines falling straight out it’s mouth.
I thought it might be fun to get more elaborate as the snow comes on. I have a friend who I recently found out was a graffiti artist and I thought it might be cool to work a 3-D graffiti sculpture on the side yard with color dyes. I think it’d be quite poetic as the weather turns, and it disappears, much like the scrubbing of paint from a building.
All of this stuff comes is the result of a particular mind set. It takes days to get motivated and actually DO it. I can only hope the snow is packable on that day, and that I’m free from other commitments.
When it comes to snow, the joy must be seized, because too soon it disappears. Next time instead of thinking of the burdens it provides like poor driving, visibility problems or shoveling, try and think of what it is you could provide for your neighbor- perhaps a couple of strange looks, OR maybe even a smile.
Have a great week all.
So here I am at 11:44am with a Scotch next to me. I had thought about having it after noon (like it would have mattered) but decided it’s noon somewhere.
I intended on taking the 9:37am train into NYC today to visit the first bar on my “Best Bar Wednesdays”- the ‘21′ club. I was dressed, all ready to meet the day, mentally prepared. Just as I was leaving, and I mean literally, a call comes through. The ID was a local number. I thought I should let the answering machine pick up, after all I was catching the train…. no call is that important - EXCEPT a call from the school nurse.
FUCK……
It’s just typical for me. Every time I want to do something for myself, I get slapped in the face and must face the responsibilities of being a father. Last Weds, it was snow and schools were cancelled. The Weds before my other half was out of town. What will it be for next Weds? I have no FUCKING clue- but something’s bound to come up.
Anger is a tough thing on days like today. When I’m mentally prepared to do something, start a project or do an interesting for MYSELF, something always gets in the way. It’s starting to make me cynical. There was blurb I’d read not long ago in a book titled, “The Art of the Personal Essay”. It was a passage by F. Scott Fitzgerald about getting older and how when he used to help others, he never seemed to get anywhere. It struck me at the time. He started to cut people off, not want to engage with conversation because he wasn’t interested. He was disenchanted. I could see how that could happen.
I’m not one to sit around and get fat. I’m a mover, a shaker- get up and go sorta guy. Being confined gets me messed up. Seeing people sit around makes me angry. I suppose in some ways it’s good, cause it works the mind a little, but I need my imagination to bridge the reality of confinement. I need to explore, need to feel and touch those inanimate objects with past histories, to find new passages through which to jump. It’s like Jimmy Fallon once said in a Mick Jagger skit, “Mick, it’s Stale.”
(I’m swirling the ice cubes in my drink…..I put it down)
It’ll be another week I put off my venture, so for that I apologize. At this point, I don’t give a damn if I have a Gout attack. I think it’s far easier dealing with physical pain than mental. Nevertheless, it’s a rut. Could be the weather, could be my state of mind-
(Phone rings- I answer and disappear a few minutes..)
Good news is my buddy, Brian called to get back to me regarding a show in Asbury Park, NJ. Many of you rock and rollers are probably familiar with the town that made Bruce Springsteen famous. The legendary Stone Pony is hosting a double bill of the English Beat along with Fishbone (a band my friend Brian & I have been seeing since the DAY). It’s very close to his place and it’s something I didn’t want to miss. The two together… well, that’s the bomb. It’s happenin next week and he wanted to pick up tickets. HALLELUJAH ! Good news!
Now, I take a deep breath and begin to repeat to myself, it’s not so bad… it’s not so bad…. boy, that Scotch really helps take the edge off….
Ever feel lazy all of the sudden?
Today is one of those days I feel I need to write, but truly have no time to. It’s been one of those weeks, I’ve neglected this, but hope to recover enough to keep you interested and coming back.
The snow this past Weds was horrendous. Any snow is horrible on account I need to shovel my drive. It’s not a problem, just time consuming and when you expect 12 inches plus, it’s a downright day of moving snow. It’s only then you realize what age does to the body and how the mind challenges our will to overcome physical pain. Really, I exaggerate here, I’m achy, but not a complainer. It’s just I need more rest now to compensate for the activity- rest isn’t so bad.
Yesterday, I spent a brain dead sort of day at home and went to work, forced to exercise what I felt I couldn’t. Artificial stimulants like coffee thus serve their purpose and today, I feel lazy once again. Work, and a busy weekend. Anyways…
I’m watching a fascinating show on Discovery this morning called something like Marvelous mysteries of the Smithsonian. It tells us of all the wonderful discoveries which await at the national museum- one I hate to say I’ve never been to. It’s a definite must, and one I’ll try and get to in the next few years- my problem being- I’d need a week to absorb it all.
Abraham Lincoln was born today and as I was contemplating what to blog- it went into his exhibit on the show. I’m not going to elaborate, but I’ve always found it interesting what comes up and when. Charles Darwin was also born today in 1809. Ethan Allen died- not the furniture designer- but the American Patriot.
The original Scottish sailor who was saved from a 5 year ordeal on an uninhabited island- Alexander Selkirk- was rescued in 1709. His story was the basis for the famous book Robinson Cruesoe. In 1924, George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” was played for the first time in New York. Lady Jane Grey- an English queen for 9 days was hung in 1554. Supposedly her ghost haunts the Tower of London and was last sighted in 1957.
There it is…. a blip of interest in a small unknown corner of New York called “Thunder world”. May the heavens of inspiration always be upon you.
We all go through those moments of adjustment. We have our highs, we have our lows and I feel often it takes something extraordinary to change the way we do things. It could be interaction with someone, or it could be an event. It’s the little things which we neglect.
You’ll notice the previous post I did today of people setting up “piano stairs” so more would take the stairs over the escalator. 66% more people took the stairs because it was fun.
I may be getting cynical with age, but I’ve become wiser also. Towards the end of last year we did a song (MILC) which was improvised (they all are with MILC). It was called, “The Music”. Basically, it’s a song about going through and seeing all the changes which happen in music over time. When you look at all the decades, the foundations from Big band, to the blues, to jazz, to rock & roll, to metal, to grunge…. it evolves each one being a stepping stone on to another. We process all of this beautiful music and in doing so, it builds us- becomes one with us- and all of the sudden, it comes out again in it’s own way. Innovation is glorious.
The first lines start “I’ve lived through grunge, watched the king of pop fall, seen the grooves of generations incinerate without call…” and ya know it’s all about the music. Listening to it, it’s pretty powerful. “Music is what it chooses to be, I have no feeling of adversity” There are so many lines, but the point is that the darkness has channeled into forms through which we hear. Funk Thunder seeks to add a little fun into the lives of those who listen. My wise old painter friend says, “you’re still a strange man, who enjoys dressing funny”.
We all enjoy a little comedy and I think it’s time we all lighten up. Spin the mood. There’s too much grief in the world today. We’re at war, our economy sucks, unemployment is skyrocketing, natural disasters are clobbering us…. hey, we all know the shitty side of life. Let’s give something to people…. a little light maybe. See the movie, “Pay it Forward”. Maybe people CAN make a change….
I watched Dirty Jobs last night on discovery. It’s a great show that shows how awful some jobs are, and the dirty things people have to do to make a living. I saw one with worm farmers in GA, who support themselves by getting worms out of the ground. They put a wood stake into the ground, hit it with a mallet and the vibration drives the creatures out of the ground for collection.
Last night, he was with a demolition crew who destroy buildings- most of it the old fashion way- mallets, sledgehammers and pulling things down. He said they couldn’t include some of the best bits in the episode due to editing. During the film, they walked down to the street and invited people after a long days work to take part in the demolition. He met a woman, who was vary harried. When they started talking, it turns out she’d had a horrible day and she was getting married that weekend- STRESSED to the max. So, they took her into the building to the “destruction floor”. He put a brick in her hand and said throw it where you like. She threw it throw a window- then giggled. He put another in her hand and she threw it at a wall. He continued to give her bricks which she’d throw at various places throughout the room- laughing with each throw.
He tied up the episode by stating,”we all have stress, but when you can smash stuff- it helps”. These gigantic workers who own and run the demolition company are the most laid back guys, because they can channel the anger positively. A very sensical guy.
Today, I spent hours in the side yard breaking up old wood. Breaking it with my hands, my knees, and rocks making piles to burn up in my fire pit. I have no tools I wish to utilize. I use mathematics, angles and leverage, analyzing weak points and best determining the place to break it. Going through plenty of large limbs and branches and generally making a mess.
My son helped in doing this and he enjoys it as much as I. I told him how to do it, where he can find weak points and he loves it. The fact we can have a fire usually after is even more satisfying- cooking marshmallows over a fire…. what better is there in life?
Point being- as much as every muscle in my body aches right now, I’m SOOOOOOOOO MELLOWWWWWWWW. Dirty Jobs was right. Smashing stuff is a good thing, especially when you need to channel the poisons which fill the system.
Next time you’re mad- go out and break up wood WITH YOUR HANDS. Don’t take the easy way out cutting it with a chainsaw. It’ll exercise your brain and there’s nothing better than being a Cro-Magnon for a little and warming yourself by a fire. It’s primal.
Last night, I was reminded about how important it is to do things for others, especially when your down yourself. It provides one of the best feelings you can have - giving without want or need for anything back. When you put a smile on someone’s face or give them that warm fuzzy feeling inside- it’s enough to pay you back many times over.
In the Pixar film - Monsters, Inc we find those scary nightmarish monsters find more power in energy by making kids laugh rather than scream. Recently, I saw a study on the detection of heart attacks in women. As a preventative measure they said, a woman should get 15 minutes of laughter a day. It’s as good as physical exercise.
I don’t think there’s a doubt laughter is great for your state of mind. Even the dullest sourpuss could light a room if a laugh crossed his/her face. How many times have you gotten the giggles because someone near you was laughing hysterically, and you didn’t even know why you were laughing?
When I was in college I had the chance to go out to Los Angeles to visit some friends. I worked in a restaurant at the time as a kitchen waiter (food deliverer). One of the cooks- Doug- was this philosophical sorta guy- a dead head- and a basically a living cartoon. We used to hang out, BS over beers, talk philosophy and comedy as he pounded away pitcher after pitcher of beer in the 120 degree heat in the kitchen.
He knew I was going out to LA, so one day he says, “Steve, here’s a dollar. I want you to buy some homeless guy a cup of coffee on Sunset Blvd.” I told him, “I think that’s great, and I’m GONNA do it.”
The trip comes and I’m walkin down Sunset Blvd lookin at the assorted people. I spot this bearded guy who looked pretty destitute. He was tellin some story to others and laughing like crazy. I watched in the distance, noticed his shopping cart full of clothes and stuff and waited until the others left a few minutes later.
I go up to this guy and say “I want to give you a dollar for some coffee.”
He turns around and gives me this attitude, “I don’t want your dollar! Who the hell do ya think I am?!”
Being kindly and soft spoken, I say, “Look I just thought you could use a cup of coffee.”
And he starts with me. “You don’t know what I need! I don’t need your money. I don’t want your money, just leave me alone!”
Well, it was my turn for the attitude, “hey man, LOOK- I got this buddy in Jersey. He told me to give some guy down on his luck a buck to get a coffee. You look like ya needed it, but I’m not gonna argue over it. If ya want it, it’s yours- it’ll give ya a good cup of Joe. Jesus…..” I say and by this time he could see I was pissed.
He humbly bowed his head and turned back to me and says something like, “I’ll take your dollar. I’m sorry. I could use a cup of coffee. Thanks so much.”
It was all in the way he said it. I could see it in his eyes- the appreciation. When I walked away from that man, I was like the Grinch bringing back the presents to Whosville. It was an internal feeling I couldn’t describe.
When you give, you receive- no matter HOW you look at it. You know that dollar was symbolic for me in so many ways. It showed me how a proud man down on his luck survives. It exposed the truth below the surface. It showed me the essence of humanity.
All it took was a suggestion from my friend Doug, and me to carry it out. We all prospered from that moment. Me, Doug and that guy down on his luck- because we all smiled 2000 miles apart. It only cost one dollar. Now, THAT’s TRUE value.
Steve
We go through many different phases as we live. We have our highs and we have our lows. We fight to maintain control in sometimes an uncontrollable world.
I’ve learned that we must accept situations which can hurt and spin them to something more positive. I know for myself in such conditions, I bury myself in work; anything to distract me from that moment. It always pans out well, there will always be issues, however, as your conscious is DOING, your subconscious is learning. Invention and creation is the cure for an ailing mind. I think that famous quote goes “Need is the key to invention”
DOING is so important. Even when we DON’T know what we’re doing, we’re learning along the way. In doing so, we may come across something so fantastic, we’re flabbergasted and floored by the results.
We’re not any different- you and I.
Next time you feel under the weather, your inside and it’s bitter out, and all you want to do is curl up in a ball under a blanket, do the opposite. Sounds strange, but if you’ve ever seen that Seinfeld episode where George does the opposite of what he thinks- you’ll have as a good a laugh. Sometimes there’s just no sense in this world, and sometimes, it just takes an outside perspective.
I have a strange habit. During the middle of the night, my body has the need to turn over in some sort of strange and dramatic way. It leaps then flips over.
This morning I realized I’m not much better than a fish out of water during the night. In one moment as my body is still, the need to use all the strength in my neck, arch my body with the exception of my feet, and toss myself over is there. I’m sure most people just casually roll over, but this weird sensation to launch myself into the air comes at least once a night.
I haven’t been able to pin it down to nightmares, dreams, or anything in particular. Perhaps I was once a fish…. or a bird.
It’s good exercise, but it can be somewhat distracting for the woman lying next to me. For when this action takes place and my body bounces to the bed, it sends an earthquake like ripple deserving of a good thud.
For some reason I woke after this comfortable flip, with the thought- CRAP, I’m like a fish! It never occurred to me before today and I had to write you about it.
When I write I take different characters. I can be a gangster, an upper class snob, a low life street urchin, a high fluttin flapper, a horse, a tree, whatever it might be. It’s an actors job really, assuming the position of whoever you are, even if that’s an inanimate object. Being something you’re not, being able to blend into your surroundings as that form.
There’s a song by Keller Williams & String Cheese Incident called “Best Feeling”. It’s all about feeling great and taking your imagination to new heights be imagining yourself as other life forms. In it they put themselves in an environment symbolic of the life form they were imitating. For example- a bird in a tree, a fish in a pond, etc. It’s really a fantastic song to check out. So last night I was a fish, and even when I sleep my imagination is busy searching. For what, I couldn’t tell you- maybe the next story, perhaps this blog, perhaps another perspective into a universal thinking. One things for sure- every breath is as valuable as water is to gills.
Steve
Funk Thunder
Yes, this is the bionic Entry. A very short moment to type a blog due to extreme forces of time weighing in on this personality, and effecting him to do it at great speed. It’s not going to be much, but it’ll be interesting.
The weekend was busy. Finished up many songs in our attainment of finishing our 3rd CD. We knocked off, and finished 7 songs. We have enough to finish the CD, yet we need to do the artwork and I think ideally it should contain 2 more songs. Currently it has 12.
Also thought about the next CD which we’d like to release this year containing straight up rock and roll. We have probably 5 songs for that one, so we need to work on that. Have an idea for the artwork, it should be really coooooool.
Today in history Mary Shelly died in 1851. Had her vision of bring the dead back to life become reality, perhaps she should be the first. That’d be poetic. Maybe we could just recycle some of the bones… “Hey, would you believe my femur is Mary Shelly’s?” What an odd thought… famous bones for famous people…..
You know I’m a fan of Thomas Edison- today in history he erected the first motion picture studio at a cost of $637. If only we could have a day of pricing from 1893- THAT would jump start the economy! In 1682 East Jersey was sold to William Penn & Associates (sounds like an accounting firm). Don’t know how much, but I remember something about a wampum exchange… no, never mind that was Manhattan. I think I need to go shell collecting, absorb some cold beach breezes along with a little salt.
I leave for work in 5 minutes. I tie this up in 2, and have enough time to warm up the car. Imagine that New York Minute come to visit. Nothing like putting the pressure on! Hey all, have a GREAT day. Stay healthy, wealthy (if possible) and wise….
It’s January- we’re shut up with the cold, and yearning to get out. I like to explore different places, peruse areas of interest, attend functions, meet people and get away from the obsession of this computer once in a while.
Last night, I had the opportunity to go to a reading at the Orange County Arts Council in Chester, New York. The visit had come into doubt, due to the horrendous weather that morning. Accidents were abound, and when I drove my son to school, I found myself one of many parked on main street to walk up the blocked hill (a bus had stopped half way up unable to climb the steep hill and blocked the road; I saw a car behind it literally slide ALL the way down to the main street).
I was placed on some kind of list probably a year ago by a person- Melanie Gold- a theater teacher, poet and writer who sent a group email about this gathering. I spent time trying to piece together where and how I got on the list, but nailed it down to her- I’d met her at a poetry night in a small coffee house in Nanuet. Regardless, after a few email exchanges I decided to check it out.
After work, I stopped home and got an old poetry compilation titled “Hardship” I put together years ago. I was really unprepared and I hadn’t signed on in advance of doing a reading. I don’t like to commit myself to a new place, for me it’s all about the vibe and how the inspiration of people around me, make me want to share.
When I arrived I met the host and executive director Susan Linn, who not just read this very entertaining recipe by the painter Man Ray, but cooked the most INCREDIBLE enchiladas I’d had in some time! Usually, I’m not one to make a pig of myself, but I couldn’t resist the scrumptious food along with fresh guacamole & kalamata olives. There was wine and beer and as much I wanted to partake, I held off due to the horribly windy weather, the mountainous terrain, and the sense of open fields with only a few towns scattered between. The place was opposite a ski area known as Sugar Bush. For some silly reason all I could think of was Neil Young’s song, “Sugar Mountain”- which I think I’ll have to post after this…..
There must have been about 20-30 people there, the conversation was abundant, it was very open and positive. It’s places like this I like to spend my time. I’m usually quiet (at first). I listen perhaps more than I talk, if you can believe that. When you put a bunch of creatives in a room, and leave them there with wine and good food, I don’t think you get more fascinating conversation or ideas.
I shared three poems with a little monologue about each- “Woodwork” (listening to disintegrated dreams from drunks- on my robertswriter.com site), “Caulk on the Pavement” (a NYC observation of a body outline on a busy street) and “#456117A” (a poem on the absurdity of genetic diagnosis as it relates to health insurance- also on my site). The response was positive, which is always a good thing. Positive reinforcement can never be bad…..
The “conference” was tied up in about 2-2 1/2 hours. I was fortunate to meet some wonderful people. Two conversations I had towards the end of my stay revolved around a site called www.artsmap.com -a site which maps out different visual artist places in towns all over the world (those of you in the visual arts- painters, sculptors check it out) and a beautiful Eastern European hat (the kind which you see on many Russians in winter) purchased in Hungary by a beautiful woman named Suzanne. The conversation dove into the need to visit different cultures and places in the world and another website called www.artsinorange.org among other things. Without her assistance, I may have been lost in some remote snow blown area of the mountains (no GPS), but she kindly showed me how to hit the highway (LEAD me to the main road back home……)
Winter is the time of hibernation. It’s the time we lurk indoors, “hermitize” ourselves and wait for the coming of Spring. If you’re adventurous, and take the chance to meet some new personalities, you may find a flower’s bloom in even the coldest weather- such as I did last night. Thanks you Orange County Arts council.
Steve
PS- For the men out there, you might recognized Orange County from the Custom Motorcycle show “American Chopper” (Orange County Choppers). And NO Pauly Senior WASN’T there…… but a few years back I did meet a guy who was a dead ringer for Pauly- I’ll have to tell ya that another time….
When we try and find where we are in the world, we often look to history to show us- in all respects. Some conduct genealogy, some-situations of the past where one can relate to, businesses judge their current standing on past figures. It’s all in how we look back and how we correlate ourselves in the present and the future.
It never ceases to amaze me when the light comes on (the brain light) and we see new things that may have never crossed our paths. It could be that moment you sat down to watch a TV special, or picked up a book, it could be a simple stroll. For me, it always comes in a series of events, which conclude with a beautiful inspirational moment. This moment came a few weeks ago when I sat to watch a special on Pink Floyd aired on VH1. It was all about the making of Dark Side of the Moon.
We are putting together the music for our third CD and given our experimental natures, (and the fact I’d ALWAYS liked Pink Floyd) I thought it could only provide me brain food for our own music. We’re always influenced by others- all ages, all genres, all times and our present environment. I think if you think that you’re music is one of a kind, you’re lying to yourself (in some sort of selfish deceitful manner). For every song that’s ever been heard, been buried in your subconscious, consists as a foundation of your history and your desire to produce your own music in your own way. The more you listen, the better off your are, pulling and creating from these magical memories.
Last night, I received an email- a music track which immediately sparked in me the motivation to write… it shot that creative energy through the roof. It was “Beatlesck” utilizing his (the Mighty JV) creation the Electro-Faustus (a thermin like device). I’d had a song I put to the side probably a year ago waiting for an experimental track called “Backwards”. I won’t go into details, but it made me toy immediately with lyrics. Combined with thoughts of the late 1960’s and early 70’s. All I can say is it makes me REALLY EXCITED.
I execute much of my own pressures, but when I apply the clamps and tighten them, creativity oozes out everywhere.
This year I’ve applied the pressure gauge- 27 days into the new year and already I’ve completed a score and organized the songs for the next untitled CD, beside the artwork for the cover, the writings, the book, and the part-time job.
Next time you feel you’ve been cornered in a box and can’t move, make light of the situation and explore your imagination. Often it WILL set you free.