In our progression of modern day American society, we’ve learned there is no rest; something taken for granted. We work and work and work, and have one of the smallest average vacation times in the world per work hours. It seems the global marketplace follows us. In keeping with the times, and keeping pace with American society, many other countries have cut vacation times for the demands of staying current. We as US citizens often don’t comprehend other cultures, perhaps because of our sheer size, and we walk into other countries expecting our demands to be yielded to. It’s pretty arrogant of us, and pretty sad also.
When I worked for an Italian company some years ago, I fell into culture shock when in the first week the Vice President of the American division (a small personable company) invited everyone into his office for a “meeting”. Of course, being a new guy, I was expecting this to be some kind of “where we are in business” kinda show. When all the attendees arrived in his office after 5pm, he directs the head of advertising to grab a case of wine and some vodka, then proceeds to ask me- “Steve, how’s your family and how was your first week with us?”
On my guard, I was simple and concise. He continues to ask about the family and social questions away from work. Being attuned to American society where drinking in the office is a no-no, I was reluctant to have any. He says, “go on, have a drink- it’s ok.” We proceed to talk amongst ourselves, drinks in hand, all conversation about everything BUT work. It was great.
A simple example of this kind of culture clash happened to me constantly at work. I tried to find a balance between the cultures and did a lot of balancing. A typical conversation I’d have in August went something like this:
“Hi, this is Steve, can I help you?”
“Hey Steve, the order I place three weeks ago with the factory, I need it yesterday (take in mind orders took from 4-6 weeks when placed with the factory)”
“Sorry Joe, no can do- Italy is closed.”
“What? What the hell do you mean Italy is closed! I need my order NOW!”
“Well, maybe you think I got a magic wand. You should know by now, the entire country takes a break in August to vacation and spend with family. They’re workin with a skeleton crew. Guess you’re stuck.”
“I should cancel my order, I can’t believe this!”
“Joe, you’ve only been a customer 3 years and every year, don’t I tell you the same? Ever heard of planning? We give you some of the finest product on the market. These guys are artisans. Would you sacrifice your quality for time, or be able to guarantee the product?”
“Well,” he says, “call me back when they open”
“Great, talk to ya then.” I say.
Imagine that- a whole month in which most major businesses go on vacation… when I found out their maturnity program was 6 months for a mother to be…. WOW. I’m not sayin every company is like this, but it’d be nice to find this kind of company here in the USA.
My first week was indeed culture shock, but in retrospect, it gave me a great appreciation of Italian culture. It’s not ALL about business, but family, friends, and mental well-being; something which continues to creep away in the business of our country. Nowadays, you have little allegiance if any to companies. It’s customery to toss them to the side, as it is they toss you. What may have formed a solid career path has been flipped to a man vs work thing. With this lack of loyalty, it filters down into relationships with people around you. How many of you out there hang out with your neighbors?
I had plenty of other points to make when I originally wrote this, but it all came to a halt when my computer crapped out on me, and deleted the entire 1 1/2 pages I’d written. I was able to recover the first few paragraphs, but what do ya do? I was so pissed, I left this thing till today to try and retype the stuff. Yes it’s Tues.
I’m going to be on here sporatically in the next 6 weeks due to a move. When I’m relocated all will come back full force, most likely Fall. Gotta enjoy some of the summer, get the lay of the land. I’ll be back… (in my best Arnold voice)
Good morning all! I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted a blog, but the world has been spinning a thousand miles an hour in Robertsland with no little sign of relief. Some of you might know I’m in flux with a change of scenery. This cowboy’s gonna be movin soon to hopefully a better place with a little more space. A place to give me GREAT inspiration, and to elevate the creative moments to a new high: Change in my eyes is good. BUT, when it takes place it’s absolutely necessary to get a balance of the correct environment… it’s kinda like planting a garden. To till the soil, you must pick a place with good soil- something in which your first bulbs lay important roots and over time grow stronger and stronger. In a few years, the blossoms of what you lay, multiply and gather more wildlife, both insects, and birds and attract people who simply must know how it’s done.
I’ve spent months searching out the new territory, and with the Spring, my scope has narrowed to a township close to the “Future epicenter of creativity-
There hasn’t been a decision yet on exactly where this new home will be, but in the next few months hopefully something will nail us down.
Our own home has a contract and continues to move along. Although it’s a stressful time, I still try and manage to be creative. On May 3rd. I’ll be jamming with the guys at our favorite studio. It’ll be the first time since February we’ve been able to do this. Time is flying, and even when we did get together originally, I could only coordinate functions once every 3-4 months due to the heavy demands of each member. Nowadays, we schedule studio time to blow off steam which we all need to do. A little primal screaming, guitar cookin, bass sizzling, drum bangin has ALWAYS been good for the soul, and positive for musical creation. Just yesterday I read a poem in a funeral home (death in the family… another upsetting day, but at age 96- a good life) titled “I am Music” by Allen Inman. It was a beautiful piece and to find it in a Funeral Home, left me very touched. I must share it with you:
“I AM music, most an
I AM music, most ancient of the arts.
I am more than ancient:
I am eternal.
Even before life commenced upon this earth,
I was here - in the winds and the waves.
When the first trees and flowers and grasses appeared,
I was among them.
And when humanity came,
I at once became the most delicate, most subtle,
and most powerful medium for the expression of their emotions.
When they were little better than beasts,
I influenced them for their good.
In all ages I have inspired humanity with hope,
kindled their love,
given a voice to their joys,
cheered them on to valorous deeds,
and soothed them in times of despair.
I have played a great part in the drama of Life,
whose end and purpose
is the complete perfection of humanity’s nature.
Through my influence
human nature has been uplifted,
sweetened and refined.
A long line of the brightest minds
have devoted themselves to the perfection of instruments
through which they may utilize my powers
and enjoy my charms.
I have myriads of voices and instruments.
I am in the hearts of all peoples and on their tongues,
in all lands and among all cultures:
the ignorant and unlettered know me,
not less than the rich and learned.
For I speak to all peoples,
in a language that all understand.
Even the deaf hear me,
if they but listen to the voices of their own souls.
I am the food of love.
I have taught humanity gentleness and peace:
and I have led them onward to heroic deeds.
I comfort the lonely,
and I harmonize the discord of crowds.
I am a necessary luxury to all.
I AM music.”
- Allen Inman
All of you talented people who read this, take it and never forget our peace is found not only in religion, but in music.
I’m terribly behind in the submission of a few chapters to a literary agent I met at a conference a few weeks ago. All the pressure seems to reside in the search for being a home owner and not one who’s homeless at this point. I’ll jam it out this week, but between looking at homes over an hour away, having children with multiple commitments, attending the inevitable, and keeping my nose to the grindstone, I’ll try and get back on track with the blog. Thanks for your patience and keeping with me. Enjoy this GORGEOUS Spring weather.. It’s always good for the heart.
I like the fact when I get together with Mighty JV (master musical genius and guitar god), we mess around with different beats and rhythms. Sometimes we come across something which makes me stand up and start to dance. The song “Charo” was the result of one of our music sessions.
It was never a perfected song, it was strictly improvisation. Something fun to play, something for a good laugh. I can only remember it was after a few drinks, and we were loosened up. The rhythm came on and I was like “OH! Keep that thing spinning…” As it played I remember one of those Latin clubs where people do Merengue or Cha Cha came to mind, all in time with those perfect beats. What I see in my mind translates to what I improvise, and given that source of information, I thought of Charo who I was lucky enough to meet when I was eighteen at an airport lounge.
I don’t think anyone DOESN’T know Charo. I mean she was such a prominant player in the seventies, and I must add, she is a PHENOMINAL classical guitarist! She is everything she’s cracked up to be, from the short period I got to meet her. Now, if you picture an 18 year old (top of the testosterone charts) meeting Charo (mini skirt, and very revealing clevage line) back in the day… well, I can only say it was one of those INCREDIBLE moments. The outfit itself turned heads, and as I looked across the lounge, how could ya miss her?
She came to sit almost next to my family. As much as I wanted to meet her, I was shy and intimidated. I was nudged by my father (which I think he actually needed the excuse to go say hello, and made me the “excuse”) to go and meet her. It came down to a call for her flight, which was a private plane to Atlantic City. When she stood up, my father said, “this is your last chance”. So I ran over and basically fumbled over everything I wanted to say.
She was incredibly nice. Introduced us to her family (because after I’d made the initial fool of myself, all the men in my family came running over….) then she made me sit beside her for a picture. Can you imagine? She got my younger brother and said, “here, you sit next to me on the other side”. She put her arms around us, and when we posed for the picture- she yelled out “Chuchee Chuchee Koo!!!!”. MAN….. I never smiled so much in my life. If you threw a stone at my face it would have cracked and fell to the floor.
I think the whole airport lounge turned around to see us. Anyways, I still have that picture with her autograph. Moments like that ya live for….
Case and point, Charo in my mind means absolute enjoyability. When this groove came up, even though I believe she’s Spanish, I say Latin because of the groove. It’s not PC, nor is it correct, but when you’re spilling out words to fit a beat and improvising “poetry”- after a few drinks…. hell, ANYTHING can come up!
When you listen to this, understand, this is recorded right from the moment of laying down lyrics with NO clue of what I was going to say. I think it’s quite funny, and hopefully you will too. Feel free to dance, cause the music will get your ass movin. I apologize for being off key in certain parts, but those of you who are perfectly aware of laying down music and lyrics understand it’s a process from the creation to the perfection and THIS was a pure creation. It was never perfected obviously, but I feel like having a little fun today, so if you feel you want to have a little fun….
Go to www.myspace.com/funkthunder for a listen.
Steve
I picked up my favorite book this morning to find out what wierd and obscure stories happened in history today. I discovered the last victim of beheading took place in 1747 in England- one Lord Lovat and a mad search for a “new verb” took place in 1890 for something described as “progression by electric power”. We know the present word as “motor”, but some of the other terms as the result of an ad in the London Times were: to mote, to vril, to electriate, to volt, to bijle, to lect, to edison, to electrofer, and to propelect. I don’t know I kinda like to “propelect”. Sounds almost vulgar…. “I’m gonna go into the car and propelect”….. funny stuff…..
On this day my favorite architect died, Frank Lloyd Wright in 1959. This day in 1926 the famed Hugh Hefner was born. I don’t know, maybe we should have a Hugh Hefner day- a holiday which is celebrated with a joyful parade of gorgeous naked women strutting down the street. How many men are with me?? Ladies?? (Yea, right….)
Some how the other day, my story of the clay cow came into conversation. It’s really comical to look back on, but at the time it was pretty serious. My brother was hurt, but nothing serious…
We had a friend who’s father had a licence to get gunpowder. This friend, Joe, used to put some in a jar, bring it over and we’d get a kick making little piles, throwing matches in and watching it… yea, we’d be blinded by a big red dot, which would magically appear in front of you for a minutes afterwards… it was like giving a child a box.
Growing up in my household we often went to the local fleamarket and I always had a facination with old pottery. It was the archeologist in me. One day, I’d found a small South American Cow which was all decorated, and appeared like something done a thousand years ago. I’d bought it cheaply and tucked it away.
One of our early experiments involved both gunpowder and my South American Clay Cow. Our friend came over one night with some gunpowder. It must have been about 9:30-10pm. We had always played with firecrackers and if I remember correctly we’d gotten a mat of firecrackers from which we’d pulled a long fuse. We thought it’d be interesting to put some gunpowder in a container and see what would happen. We’d progressed from gun powder piles to more elaborate experiments, you see. Well the fact I had this interesting ARTIFACT, which was a container probably about 4 inches long with a small hole on the top and shaped like a cow… could be interesting…..
Joe poured gun powder in through this small hole which must have measured about 1/2 inch at the opening. The open area inside the cow was probably 3 inches. We had no worries, because even though we didn’t know what would happen, we had this long fuse. It must have measured 5-6″.
We moved in between the neighbor’s home and our own. Placed the cow in the grass and got prepared to lite the fuse.
It was kind of windy that night. I can’t remember who started to light the fuse, but it went out, AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN…. damn thing kept getting smaller and smaller, until it was about a 1/2 inch to one inch. By this time, me and Joe thought it was two small, but we couldn’t find anything to replace it, or how we could ignite the gunpowder. My younger brother- the balsy one- said, I’ll lite it. At first we were like ”no, no” it’s too small. “We don’t know what it’s gonna do.” After him being so adament, that he COULD do it, and he WOULD do it. We stepped back and said, “Ok, but it’s gonna be close - you better be on the run.”…. “No, problem…” he replies.
Joe and I took our cautious distance and watched my brother right on top of this cow trying to ignite the fuse in the wind. Now, if you picture a see-saw which is perfectly level with the ground and you add one heavy boy on one side without counter balancing what its going to happen???? The boy is gonna hit the ground, right? Oh yea…same theory.
Take a short fuse, a slight breeze and an ignited strip … the whole fuse went STRAIGHT up and dropped in it’s entirety into the Cow. We didn’t know what we created was essentially a bomb. That cow, blew into a million smithereens with the loudness of an M-80. It was SO LOUD both Joe and I flew into a panic about waking the entire neighborhood! We ran in circles freaking out what to do. A few moments later we see my brother limping away, moaning in pain. “Jesus, we said!”
All I can remember him saying is “I CAN’T HEAR A THING!” … “Geoff, geoff… you alright?” “I CAN’T HEAR A THING…”Shit,” I said to Joe. Let’s get him to the garage.”
We turned on the light in the garage and found little clay bits embedded in his face. He was bleeding and he couldn’t hear. Hummmmm, what to do, what to do…
By this time, it occurred to me my parents were probably awakened by the sound, and we needed to get him rushed into the house to clean him up. We all ran inside and I hear my father’s heavy footsteps hitting the stairs. “Get him into the bathroom. Stay quiet and I’ll do the talkin.” I remember my father half dressed getting to the kitchen. The conversation went something like this:
“What the hell was that!”
“Oh you heard that?” I said.
“Of course I bloody well heard that- it sounded like a gun. Who’s got a gun!”
Calmly I looked at him, “It’s nothing Dad. We had some firecrackers. We threw them down the sewer and you heard the echo.”
“I’m telling you that was a gun! I should call the police.”
“No, no, no, I’m TELLIN ya, it was the firecrackers. We don’t want ta get in trouble.”
“Do you know what the hell you’re doing?! You’re wakin up the entire neighborhood with those god damn firecrackers of yours! You get rid of them NOW! I don’t care what ya do with them, just get rid of them, AND I don’t wanta hear a a thing! You’ll be severely punished if I hear ANYTHING else. Understand me!!!!!”
“Yes, Dad.” I said, then kinda bowed my head.
“Good. I’m going to bed. You scared your God Damn mother to death!”
“Sorry, Dad.”
Upon which he went back up stairs to go to calm my mother and go to sleep. I waited till I heard his door shut, then went to the bathroom. I opened the door and my brother was there with a blood filled towel.
“You ok?” I ask. I think he shook his head -No.
Joe tells me he can’t hear. Most of the shrapnel was removed from his face with the exception of one piece of clay which I helped get out. I came to the conclusion it would be best to head in for the night, my brother could sleep off the ear breaking sound and it’d be all better the following day. I’d care for him like any big brother would.
As far as the following day goes, everything became sketchy. I scooted him off with some small bandaids over the larger knicks in his face and neck. I made sure I kept my Mum occupied as he slipped by and out the door. He still couldn’t hear much the following day, but as time continued, his hearing came back. He had that ringing sound for a good week in his ears, worse than any concert you could have seen, but it healed.
We were really lucky. This I knew, and I don’t think we ever asked Joe to bring over gunpowder again. One accident to many! There is a curiosity in children as well as in adults. The moral to this story is: it is possible to entertain some curiosities, but ONLY in safe environments. Becareful all. You don’t want pie in your face, or in this case- a South American Clay cow!
Remind me about the Clay Cow, and I’ll tell ya a funny story when I have more time. It’s already 12:40 and my time is squeezed.
I got to playing around with some words spontaneously yesterday morning. Basically, it’s about how we define ourselves. Many times people make themselves according to how the public believes you should be portrayed. They fall into this “conformity” which makes them one of a majority and would rather be one of a group and not an isolated minority. Everyone wants to be someone else. I never really understood this, afterall, our uniqueness is what sets us apart from each other. Let’s face it, we’re all different, no if and or buts. So for today- here are my doodles. Philosophers please - put on your thinking caps and return to your corner.
Why is it we fathom, where we fit is confined by what others think?
Isn’t it ironic those rythmes of where our path is, we sink.
Never was a painter, never learned to draw
Never was a writer, perameters of grammer are a bore.
Never was a poet, knowledge will never be mine
Never was a musician, though what I seek I find.
Never understood why others want to make you them
Cross-cultural differences of who they think I am.
Know one thing, which will always get their goat
There’s no one here but me, so you’ll have to sit and gloat.
Maybe I should title it “Just me”. Have a great day all.
I saw a blip on TV this morning regarding the feats of US Air Force Captain Joseph Kittinger. Evidently, he’s been recognized for his attributions to the space program in the early 1960’s. It was this program which made me look into him and his feat.
On the show, they talked about his skydive from space- an incredible 19 miles, almost hitting the speed of sound. It was funny, the interviewer said, to him, how could you see? His response was something like, “I knew it was there, it had to be there.” There was dense cloud cover below his helium balloon and from that height there was blackness. I remember him saying, “I did more praying at that moment, then ever before.” Can you imagine?????????
I find it impossible to try and grasp that. I think of the mythical scenario where two brother’s make wings from feathers, and as they neared the sun. The glue which held the wings together melted and they fell to earth. I have the picture of it in my mind, etched into stone, but I recall little of the tale. I’m a visual guy, remember visuals more than anything, more than words.
In 1960, he achieved this feat. He freefalled for - 4 minutes and 36 seconds- EGAD! Tell me that guy didn’t have BALLS! At 102,800 ft. the temperature measured 36 degrees below Farenheit. His top speed was 614 mph, a rate 4.5 times the average skydiver, due to the lack of air. As you approach earth, air is thicker and it slows your body down. Here’s a quote:
Nineteen miles high, he stepped out and began to fall. ” No wind whistles or billows my clothing. I have absolutely no sensation of the increasing speed with which I fall. [The clouds] rushed up so chillingly that I had to remind myself they were vapor and not solid.” - Once again I recall the famous quote by Mark Twain I engraved on my ring: Courage- resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.
The event was documented in National Geographic. To this day, no one has broken the record. I mean, do you think you’d like to jump into oblivion for recreation? and you thought YOU had a bad job… .
“Yea, your mission today is to take a helium balloon to the edge of space and jump. We need to get the velocity of how fast a human’s body can go before it disintergrates. We believe you can do it- just don’t forget to pull the rip cord. Oh yea, and those clouds, they’re not ground- just trust us.” The absurdity…..
Kudos to Captain Kittinger. You’ve proved to me, in order to have ball crushing courage you must be a little insane.
Here’s a further article of THE MAN….. http://www.wonderquest.com/skydiving-ostrich.htm , just LOOK at the picture… whoa MAMMA!
I always have plenty to say, but sometimes I must say, I lack the time to. So for today, I’ll give you some philosophical food:
Are you an observer, or a cynic?
Amazing what a good night sleep can do for your persona. All the activities for the past week must have taken a toll on my body (which of course, isn’t as young as it once was). By last night, my brain had signaled the rest of it’s cells, “uh guys…. you’re in a forced shut down.” It was the first time in months I’d hit the bed earlier than 11pm. I knew I’d been sleep deprived, but when I woke this morning, I had a new view on life. SLEEP.
I told my neighbor this morning I’m a man of excess. When I set my mind to something, it gets done. I revolve in cycles, from one to the next. If I decide to do a CD- BAM, it’s full speed ahead. Last year, two CD’s to completion, to iTunes, and forward. If I decide to do a novel- BAM, it returns! A few years ago, I’d set my sights on a couple of children’s books (something for my kids when they were little). My friends in South Africa helped me with those (2 books fully illustrated by them) and even though I’d had more children book ideas along those lines (a series), I put them down to concentrate on other manuscripts, websites, music, art promotion, blah- blah- blah. Each one, again taken to excess- down right obsessive if ya ask me.
Writing is something I NEED to do, AND enjoy doing. It’s a kind of therapy for me. If I work on an intense novel and dwell in the darkness for awhile, I balance it out with something a little more fun like the children’s books or music. I hang out, drink, and spin some tunes, creation for creation purposes. It’s all connected- creativity & balance. No matter where you place it, it’s bound to show up in the strangest places. Here’s a funny thing.
I went to a writer’s conference this past weekend (for those of you who DON’T read this regularly). I knew the famous C.F. Martin Guitar factory was closeby (due to a flyer I kept from last year). On the back of this small flyer it had a map, which when I was near, I decided to follow, as best I could. I got there, with a few minor adjustments to my route. I was fortunate it was Friday, because the manufacturer only gives tours during the week. I took one.
It was ABSOLUTELY amazing! The work which goes into those guitars was unbelievable. Eric Clapton is one of their clients and really supports the company. It was established in 1833.
I learned about woods used, how the sound emminates, and the precision the instuments are made with. At the end of the tour, they had a wall of musicians who had specially limited guitars. Anyone who was someone in the music industry plays ‘em- and the guitar is AMERICAN made. We were lucky enough to go into the cutting room, where they take the blocks of wood and cut them into the appropriate parts. I LOVE the smell of cut wood, and to be in the room where it was done was itself- magnificent. They say nothing is more inspirational then smell.
I’d come across an article a few months ago which was on the design of a new instrument. Something VERY interesting, and VERY modern. I forwarded to my friend who designs his own. Well, the combination of reading, scent, and ideas- brought something to me which I will talk to him about. The design of an entirely different instrument…. SO, we’ll see where that goes. Inspiration is the mother of creation, correct?
My point is, if you have a foundation in something, or something interests you- look into it. Never limit yourself to one thing, because everything you do in life provides you with the knowledge to grow. Where you take it, or it takes you, you may never know- BUT, there may come a day where a small spark will cross your path. If you have the kindling (knowledge), then your fire will burn hot. To keep the flames lit, and yourself warm, you’ll need to resupply it over and over again. NEVER let it go out, because you can’t relight burnt wood. You always need a source of flame.
If you’re searching for the flame, get out and experience nature, explore your dreams, do different things- get out of your comfort zone- and before you know it- it’ll be there. Who knows- SLEEP could be a good start.
The past three days have been a WHIRLWIND! It started on Friday and continued into Saturday with an unbelievable writer’s conference in PA. Despite staying up tooooooo late, and having a tooooooooo much to drink, I found some INCREDIBLE company: Writer’s, Literary Agents, a lovely Editor, a soldier on leave from Iraq who needs to go back for another 15 months (GOD BLESS him!), and a nurse who worked for 2 weeks in Hydrobad, India. It’s amazing the information you obtain, when you know how to talk. I even discovered a murder took place 2 weeks prior in the hotel parking lot!
Last night, I went into New York to visit my friend D.V., a very influential painter, who’s been a friend for a long time. We went to a party in Grammercy Park, which was in a beautiful European home. The setting was like a medievel chateau transplanted from Austria. It had a wonderful balcony, from which you could spot white marble gargoyles on the adjacent building. The artwork and PARTICULARLY the frames were phenominal! The company was even better. The drinks flowed freely, and the food- magnificent. My eight to nine pm expected home arrival was pushed to midnight, which made my morning wake up call miserable. Nonetheless, I have plenty to do now, so off to work I go.
Stay well and I’ll catch up soon.
NOW- for the plug… check this out! Julie Walton Shaver (contemporary photographer SUPREME) put together the most incredible video for me, based on a photoshoot we did in Atlantic Highlands and Sandy Hook, NJ. It’s set to a song by Funk Thunder called “Visions”. I don’t think it get’s better than this!
http://www.juliewaltonshaver.com/steve-roberts-writer/
PLEASE NOTE: This blog was typed a few days ago, but because of problems with posting blogs I had to wait till today. Also note it was done after a few…. as you can probably tell.
Everyone has different smell attachments and when you think of urine… I’m sure you’ll have a million…. at least some of you will. Now, you may ask me, “Steve, WHY the hell are you thinking of urine smells…” Good question….
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I went to a bar tonight and what more can I say? It was a bar whose toilets smelled of piss. Not one of those pretty little hockey puck deodorizer places, but the stand up urinal where, the drunks splash urine not just in the urinal but all around it…. Sounds gross, believe me I KNOW… but some places are like that- like it or not.
I always associate the smell of urine with those seedy little bars you go to when you’re a young man/woman; the ones that serve cheap liquor and beer and you hang out and listen to area bands. For me, the memories I have are with places like < ?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />
Now that I’ve gotten older I no longer hang out at those places- been there, done that- HOWEVER I still go to places which generate good music. When it comes to good music sometimes they go hand in hand. As it happens, that’s NOT the case here. I just needed to get out, but we all know the memory name game… what’s that smell? Ah yea… that’s a memory. Something which was seared into your soul through smell, maybe vision, maybe something more, BUT for tonight I gotta confess it’s the smell of piss…
Music and Lyrics is a comedy which is so eighties, you can’t resist. It starts with a song by the fictional music group “Pop” titled “Pop goes my Heart”. A song which would have found it’s hayday planted in the mid-eighties when synthesizers ruled as the instrument of choice. The song and the video, which stars Hugh Grant is HILARIOUS! Problem is once you hear the song, you’re likely to be humming and singing its main stanza…. it’ll EAT AWAY at your brain… TRUST ME!
When you see Hugh Grant playing this eighties pop star, you’ll laugh, cause it’s retro Wham, or a dozen other pop groups. Drew Barrymore stars as the lyricist who brings the 80’s “hasbin” back to today’s music. It’s a realistic and touching piece about people who tend to never let go of the past. They live without the progression life normally takes, and everything becomes about re-living it.
I had a conversation yesterday about change. When you reach a certain age time slips and those who get caught up in it’s spiral tend less to conform to “the times”. They loose touch with today’s state of mind and become resistant to any type of HAPPENING other than the norm. They approach everything with cynicism, and will fight to remain the same, instead of adjusting themselves. It’s kind of sad if you ask me.
In an ever evolving world we must adapt to the times. If you can’t, you must find a way to position yourself- mix the old with the new. I for one am poorly adapted to the informational age. Fortunately, I have friends who are VERY on top of this. I adapt in certain ways, and I listen with open ears when I must- but I’m primarily an idea guy.
If I have a vision for something creative, I’ll enlist those who best know how to get it done. If they don’t know, or can’t help, then I’ll find a way to do it. Even if it takes me 10 steps longer than an intermediate or expert user. I’ve found at certain times, this is more useful, only for the case it may turn up something which wasn’t thought of, OR something which must be considered. No action was ever for nothing, knowledge being critical to every step in life we take.
There will be plenty of change in mine over the next 6 months. Most people would probably be leary, but I’m EXCITED… I’ve done my time at my home, and now, it’s time to progess… “move along little donkey, move along..” Besides, I NEVER thought I’d be so happy to get a dishwasher! YES, for the past 11 years I’ve done dishes by hand, dried on a drying rack, pots and all….. Nothing more humbling than doing dishes every day for 11 years! I’m ready to take a step up… and get a dishwasher! AND I hope that guy or gal has dishgloves……. (just kidding).
I used to say to myself I always wanted to be grounded. I drove a crap car, for the longest time, so when I drove it into risky areas, I didn’t need to worry about someone messin with it. The material on the roof started to fall in at the corners and I remember the windows being open and tearing what remained loose, till it practically formed a turbin on my head. It always had good insides (mechanically), but the outside was BLAH. Washing dishes was another grounding form, as well as “tilling the soil”. Nothing like a good dig to plant bulbs or a garden to keep your soul at bay.
Now, I’d like to move on to something a little nicer. I’ll find ways to ground myself again, maybe this time I can go paddling in a kayak, or swinging from a tree… I don’t know. One things for sure- I WON’T BE WASHING DISHES!!!!!
Stay grounded friends- it’s the BEST way to be.
I’ve never been a very religious person; however, it does make me feel good attending church on the important days- Easter and Christmas. Occasionally, I will attend outside those days, but BECAUSE I want to. I don’t feel I’ll be struck down should I not tend church weekly- it’s not my belief.
Today, I went to mass at the large cathedral in my town. My children are being brought up Catholic, so when I do tend church it tends to be in a Catholic church. I’m Protestant.
The priest was a very good natured man. He had a sense of humor, and opened up with a joke about the meaning of Easter and about “going to hell”. Since I can’t remember my foundations in my religion, I always felt uncomfortable when in church and people saying things like Hell, even though we talk about heaven and hell. His joke went something like this:
St. Peter is at heaven’s gate and three people stood before him. He asked the first, “What is the meaning of Easter?” The guy says it’s about coloring Easter eggs, and going to see the Easter bunny. St. Peter returns, “You go to hell!” (I said to myself WOW… the priest said to the mass- HELL). He turns to the second man and asks the same thing. The man looks at him and says, “Well, it’s gotta do with the bunny and how he brings children gifts and things.” St. Peter returns and says, “You go to hell!” – Looking at the third man, St. Peter says, “and how answer you my friend?” The third man, being wise enough to see what happened to the first two shapes up and says. “It’s when Christ was crucified and died on the cross for all of us. He was put in the cave and rose on the third day.” St. Peter very happy with his answer, told him very good my son. Do you have anything more you’d like to add? The third man brimming with confidence replies, and when he rose, he chased the rabbit to get an Easter egg…… St. Peter died of a heart attack. AND when St. Peter came back, he saw his shadow and returned into the cave for another 6 weeks…..
One of things he pointed out to us is about having a sense of humor. He mentioned how when he sees most of the people who attend the masses, only a few smile. So many faces are burdened with seriousness, or sadness and very few smile. He told everyone to “Lighten up”. I think it’s this densely populated area. Everyone is on each other’s doorstep and they protect themselves from a visual perspective by not letting other’s see the true “them”. I think outside of the tri-state area, people are friendlier and more at ease to get familiar with you- say hello.
When I lived in England years ago, I took a cycle tour of
They were just being friendly and wishing us luck. I for one couldn’t believe there were people like this! Even when we offered a group of guys our bicycle pump, who we DEFINITELY were convinced we’d never see again, (about 7 guys to us three and they were MUCH bigger) they returned with the pump and one big guy carrying his bike across his back. They found out we were from New York/New Jersey and then became our best friends, offering to show us around and telling us how many of their relatives live in the same area.
Getting back to the sense of humor- we really need to have this, despite the many things which affect us daily. It was his message to us, and I couldn’t agree with it more. As I stood in the packed mass at the back of the church I noticed during a verse in which parishioners sang, the light shining through the stained glass window directly in front of me to the top right. It happened to be shining through the white robe of Jesus.
I left today feeling very peaceful, which is how we should feel on days like today. So let me wish you all a VERY HAPPY EASTER.
It’s amazing when you stop to think of different observations we make and how they effect our lives. It’s difficult to explain the complexities behind WHAT we think changes us, or makes us move one way or the other.
I try and look at things from an outsider’s view (one other than my own) which is especially useful when I build characters and personalities in my novels. I can’t help but be affected by everything that’s built me from day one,but maybe I think more about it. The observations come up, and sometimes they inspire something wonderful.
I like to think there are reasons why I see what I do. I like to think there are observations which I interpret as “signs”. Some may consider them simply visions, but occasionally something moves me so much (given my own personal circumstances) I take it as a sign. Many times I don’t know WHY it has shown itself as a sign, and it just sinks in to my brain, is noted, and filed away. I don’t know if there is a context for all these “observations”, but often they overlap with work I happen to be doing. Either way, I think it plays into my work, OR my work sometimes comes before hand and the justification for the work is shown in the things seen after.
Case and Point: the music I put together last year with Funk Thunder came together EXTREMELY quickly. We put two CD’s together in a matter of a year (26 songs) and a bunch of other songs. Many things influenced the songs, and I still find things coming up which have strange connitations with the music. One song off our CD titled “E”, http://ax.phobos.apple.com.edgesuite.net/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?i=271323207&id=271323136&s=143441 is a song about Thomas Edison. I live in the area of Edison and was inspired by a biography which came into my hands and his contribution to today’s society. I was further inspired by the Edison Light Museum.
All kinds of things influenced the direction of the song (for more details check out www.myspace.com/funkthunder under BLOGS) but one of the things which we did was to receite philosophical quotes on the inside of the song via an original Edison wax cylinder from about 1910. I had zillions of quotes to choose from, but limited myself to only 8 quotes. They were from such personalities as Confuscius, Einstein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Berlioz, Goethe, Thoreau, and a couple of quotes by us also.
A couple of weeks ago in these blogs I entered a blip on Hector Berlioz, whose name keeps appearing time after time- it was his birthday. It leads me to believe I should research the life of the man. I hadn’t known ANYTHING about him prior to the construction of the song “E”. Today, I find Johann Wolfgang Van Goethe died in 1832.
I knew Goethe was a philosopher, but again, I knew little about him. I particularly liked the quote, “when ideas fail, words come in very handy” which finishes the quotes which I read. This morning I read the man knew 5 different languages by the time he was 8 years old. His final words on his death bed on March 22nd, 1832 were “Let the light enter”.
Now, this is an overlap for me. Many things have come to “light” lately and it’s function in my novel. It’s like trying to put a moth eaten cloth over a light bulb and stop the light from peering out. Many references are revealing themselves in stories of light in it’s many forms. It’s like the six degrees of Kevin Bacon. Everything connects itself in a matter of steps.
I’m not sure what will become. I think’ll be exciting, once I can sit down and really devote myself to it’s finish. Perhaps it’s why I was put here… perhaps I dream to much.. AND in the words of the great Louisa May Alcott, “My definition (of a philosopher) is a man up in a balloon, with his family and friends holding the ropes which confine him to earth and trying to haul him down.”
I don’t think I’ll EVER be hauled down ………
I think it was an old Seinfeld episode which spawned the phrase, “Ahhhhhhh Bach…..”. If I remember correctly, it was something Jerry told George whenever you’re in social circles and some one mentions Johann Sebastian Bach to respond with this phase and let them carry on. You simply nod yes to everything said there after. EVERYONE’S supposed to know a little bit about one of the world’s greatest composers who this day in 1685 was born.
Originally, when we put together our video for the song “Telefunken” (www.myspace.com/funkthunder) I was looking to unite music of the past with that of the new. When I listened to the main drive of our song (a harpsicord line) I thought of the 16th and 17th centuries and the musicians Bach & Beethoven. It was such a prominant instrument which was used to entertain the bourgeoisie and royalty.
The other prominant instrument in our song is a Theremin, which if you’re not familiar with is a electronic instument that emits a high or low pitch based on a hands proximity to an antenna. It’s common to hear the theremin in 1950’s sci-fi movies. My friend’s creation of the Theremin (which he built himself and housed in an old German Radio called a Telefunken) inspired the lyrics of the song.
In the conception of the video I wanted to start off with the picture of one of these composers, symbolizing the evolution of music and it’s connection to modern day music. It’s all about history. When you think of the things we base our existance on, there is always evolution. If you stood back to look at the Telefunken Thermin, it was a modern instrument housed in an old German radio from probably the 1930’s. NEW meets OLD. We obviously base much of our lives on history. In business, we always compare this year, to the past and always hope to gain at least a 3% increase on sales from the year before (in retail AT LEAST). In our personal lives it’s about the history with other people which are built over time. EVERYTHING is about history, which is why it’s invaluable to us today. In Shakespeare’s time, he used to base his characters on centuries before, yet used costumes and dress of HIS era. NEW meets OLD.
As it happens, I found a statue of Beethoven, in Central Park which became the first photograph in the series of Telefunken pictures. BUT Bach was thought of- Thank you Johann!
In history today the famous Hatfield-McCoy vendetta of West Virginia was ended when a son on one side fell in love with a daughter on the other side. They announced their engagement and a feud which lasted years went down in history- March 21st, 1891. Pocahantas died this day in 1617. She being the daughter of a Indian Chief who wanted to kill Captain John Smith saved him from certain death. She was seized as a hostage in 1612 and later married the colonist Mr. Rolfe who took her to England.
Plenty to say, just never enough time. Enjoy your day.
SIDENOTE: The “Ahhhhh Bach” phrase DIDN’T come from a Seinfeld episode, but a MASH episode in which Radar had a crush on a nurse, which he wanted to impress. Advice was given by Hawkeye. Sorry about that- this crazy mind mixes up things. Thanks T.
I must say today is March 20th. The past few months seem a blur to me, as I find this year passing faster than any prior.
When I was young I always thought when I’d reach a certain age, money would be plentiful and in shooting towards the goals we shoot for, I’d find I’d have plenty of time to enjoy it. What a falsehood, so naive was I to think money was without cost….
I must state (as a direct contradiction) I realized this a little later, as a kid. I had this strong belief that if you work hard and dedicate yourself to your profession, the money would come… it would always come. Hard work = recognition= money. It’s not always the case and one must fight to earn the recognition and thus the money, but at what sacrifice? Time.
They say (who THEY are, I’ve always wondered…) when you age, time becomes much shorter and whoever THEY are… THEY were right. Here we are in March already, and I don’t know HOW the hell we got here!
The second to last time I went into the studio with the guys (bandmates from MILC with the exception of the drummer, who played in) we were in short supply of time. At the end of our session, the bass player (who had arrived the night before on a trip from LA, or the Far East or somewhere exotic; made the time for the studio, and the same evening as the rehearsal was going out with his fiancé who he hadn’t seen in over a week) The train station was right there, and the owner had come in to take some pictures before we went. We had only about 10 minutes to catch the train- to which I was driving the bass player- but we were geared up to do something last minute for the pictures- something QUICK and FAST- IMPROVISATION at its best….
I looked to JV and sort of asked him- “Whadda ya got?”. He started to lay down this “BITCHIN” fast hardcore guitar line… the rhythm section kicked in with the pace and I started to improvise lyrics off the top of my brain about Time, cause we were so squeezed by it. I was in NYC mode, which is a minute to minute thing, as those who are familiar with
As I listen to it, I realize how ONE- JV was with his guitar, how the BASS player was ONE with his instrument, how the DRUMMER was ONE with her instrument, and how I was one with my voice and whatever forces were there to help me…. It’s a song which merges voices and becomes ONE: Pure adrenalin and pure creativity. It’s a beautiful thing when things come together like this.
Time is something to be appreciated; the fact of spending it with those true friends, and family and enjoying the rare moments of coming together as one. Never take for granted the others who are around you, and ALWAYS be grateful to stand in the shadows of greater beings. You my friends are my greater beings- thank you ALL! AND just for a little caption of the improvised lyrics (most of them… here ya go)
Time (a section of the lyrics)
It’s time to do this right
It’s time to do things right
It’s time to do this right
It’s time to get it right
Time is gone
Stand up
And face the truth
Time,
who has the time to be here
such a squeeze
gotta treat it right
isn’t it always the way
it has to be – squeezed
we are squeezed
Time
Who has the time
To listen- to do it
Make things right
Time
**Guitar solo***
Space- continuum
Time to watch us
For your next door neighbor
Everybody screams and shouts
Who’s got the time?
What’s the time?
We watch the time
We watch the time
We watch the time
We watch the time
Time isn’t time, isn’t time isn’t time, isn’t time, isn’t time isn’t time
Time isn’t time, isn’t time isn’t time, time isn’t time, ohh ohh ohh ohh
I get XM radio in my truck and all of it’s infinite selections. Of the presets, I have one programmed comedy station. This morning on my way back from the bagel store, Redd Foxx comes on.
I’ve never really heard Redd Foxx do stand up, but I grew up with watching Sanford & Son, which some of you might remember was a HILARIOUS sitcom. Him always claiming he’s getting a heart attack and bustin on Lemont’s Aunt Ester; him the KING of the junkyard, with a taste for anything, junk strewn around the house and yard- kinda reminds me of our house….
I bust a gut this morning listening to him go on. One of the funnies he said went like this.
There’s this guy makin love in a parked car in a park. A policeman comes over to the car and shines his light into it and says-
“Hey, you can’t make love here, it’s a park. I gotta take you in.”
So all this stuff goes down and he gets to court. He’s in front of the judge and the judge says. “Don’t you know it’s illegal to make love in the open in a park?”
Guys says, “But Judge, the woman was my wife.”
Judge says , “case dismissed.”
The officer all upset by this goes over to the man and he says, “Listen, I’m sorry – I didn’t know that was your wife.”
Guy says, “I didn’t know either until you shined the light on her face….”
CLASSIC……..
One of the quotes I read yesterday was things typical of the Irish. I overlapped on some and one I recall which I DEFINITELY overlapped on was “The Irish don’t know how to make a long story short.” Those of you who know me personally know the amount of writing I do here is just a sample of all the words which free flow from my mouth. I could talk the ear off anyone.
I once talked an entire business flight 3 hours non-stop from NY to FL to a fellow manager who was afraid of flying. Absolutely TERRIFIED…. The flight wasn’t too turbulent – thank GOD, BUT I motored about EVERYTHING under the sun, to keep her mind off the fact we were 20,000 feet in the air. The fact she had a few cocktails helped, but I served as a prime distraction.
When we landed she said to me, “that wasn’t so bad.”
I didn’t speak for days……
Two odd facts today in history:
Many people are familiar with the Grateful Dead’s song “Casey Jones”. Today, I learned who Casey Jones was because of his death noted in my book. Turns out his real name was John Luther Jones and he piloted a brakeless locomotive engine in 1900 on its last run. Jones, in an effort to slow the train, remained at his post despite knowing his certain death. He tried to protect as many lives as possible.
In 978, King Edward of
Top of the evening to ya, my lads and lasses! As you most likely know I’m English, HOWEVER, I’m an Irishman at heart. When it comes to being English or Irish, it’s really the fact I’m an AMERICAN. This above all else, is my primary state of heart and will always be.
I do have the appearance of an Irishman, with a gingery beard and facial highlights. I’ve been mistaken as an Irishman, and most people who meet me think I’m Irish. This was the premise of a screenplay I wrote some years ago called the Celtic Cross; all because of a mistaken identity. As it happened, the influence of the screenplay was through a chance meeting at a pub late one night. I happened to be there having a few drinks and waiting on my girlfriend to show. This guy comes in EXHERBERANT on life… EXTREMELY happy and a total conversationalist. He started to talk to me and we shot the breeze for a little. Bought me a drink if I recall, and ANYONE who buys ya a drink, becomes your best friend. He asked me about my name and I remember him saying…. “Oh, Roberts- sounds like a good Irish name. I nodded my head not wanting to admit I was English (knowing the fragile relationship between the Irish and the English), then quickly changed the topic. He challenged me to darts and I said, “I dont’ know.. I’m no good at darts.”
After he prodded me for a little, I conceded and we started to shoot. Wouldn’t ya know it- I did REALLY WELL! He started to look at me, and said, “Are you conning me?” with this sort of aggressive stance. I finally convinced him I was just lucky. Then he said, I’ll let ya in on a little secret.”
OOOO Ohhhhhhhhh….
He tells me he just got outta jail last night. It was his first night free and here I was playin darts with an ex-con. He then proceeds to turn around and say, “look at this….”
He pulls up his shirt and wouldn’t ya know tattooed across the lower part of his back was SEIN FEIN….. OH SHIT!!!!!!
Let me reiterate the facts: 1) He’s an EX-CON, 2) He’s FLAG FLYIN IRISH, ENGLISH HATING EX-CON 3) HE’S SEIN FEIN and……………………………….. I’m ENGLISH!
Time to get the FUCK outta here………………
I held all the stuff inside, and finished out my Guiness. Told him I had to be on my way, and graciously left. It really wasn’t a big deal. Guy was VERY cool, despite all the facts stated above. I never had anything against the Irish as an Englishman. I always liked the Irish and given many Liverpudlians were from Ireland, could mean I have some in my background anyway! Tonight I’m just drinkin my Guiness and being happy, cause this is what it’s about.
In 1965 my parents landed in the port of New York from England on St. Patricks day! I always found it very comical, especially with the English/Irish thing, and my parents who were OFF THE BOAT from England landing in New York no less, on St. Patricks day where everyone is sporting green, drinking, and playing bagpipes. They must have felt quite uncomfortable at the time, but really it’s hilarious…. no one can tell the story better than my father. FUNNY stuff.
I sit here tonight on my third whiskey sour. I’m listening to one of my favorite ska bands, Mark Foggo and the Skacasters. They created a song back in the Eighties which I wanted to die skanking to. It was called “Hello”. It had this rapid spitfire horn section and with simple speed lyrics by Mark Foggo… ya couldn’t help but move your feet too….
I said to myself long ago, IF I’m gonna go out of this world with a little style, I’m gonna get ALL funked up with platforms and all and SKANK to this song- have a heart attack and keel over. THIS would be the ideal way for me to die.. YES. If you listen to the song and imagine the high paced dance of a skank when you get older, it’s not hard to imagine dropping dead of a heart attack. When I was in my early twenties, I don’t know how I kept up with songs like this… your body could keep pace with this OUTRAGEOUS fast pace… but as you age, your body can’t keep up with your mind… at least if you drop the ball and DON’T keep in shape.
A couple of years ago it was funny. I was with a friend of mine, who’s always attended concerts with me for AGES. I’d gotten tickets to see a band called Fishbone. Back in the Eighties, they were big- did some ska stuff before they entered a dark phase and later returned to the high paced ska. Anyways, I remember when I was a kid I once crowd surfed across a bunch of people at a Fishbone show and when I turned to my back, hands under me, I was dropped on my back from about 7-8 feet up on my back. I hit the ground and as soon as I landed I was lifted up and tossed to the side, which was customary at their shows. I could BARELY breath and I limped away in agony…..
Some 15 years later, a little wiser, I watched the people who entered the “pit”- many my age TIRE after a period of about 5-10 minutes… it was comical. All these guys who once jammed back and forth in a crazy pit, throwing fists and their bodies into each other were DYING after 5-10 minutes…. it was like each one had smoked a pack of cigarettes.
Mark Foggo recently sent me two of their newest CD’s which are PHENOMINAL! The first song is called “St. Valentines Day Massacre” and typical of OLD SCHOOL SKA. The entire CD is excellent ESPECIALLY if you like SKA. As I listened to it today, I was actually SO MOTIVATED by the music I went to the ONLY Doc Martin Store in NJ (THOSE of you who are not familiar with Doctor Martin Boots need to learn… they are only the most FANTASTIC boots and shoes on the planet!) , in Fair Haven… wouldn’t ya know it, it was CLOSED! Something about Doc Martins and Ska…… I wanted some Doc boots… but I guess it’ll need to wait. In the meantime as Mark Foggo says,
Come on you ska people, get on your skankin’feet, let’s move to rocksteady beat
Let’s go skankin’down ska-street
Ska Ska Ska Ska Ska Ska Ska Skaahaaa
Check it out Check it out Check it Check it out Check it out!
Ami ami ami ami ami ami ami amigo’s!
Check it out Check it out Check it Check it out Check it out!
I’m at the start of a ska extravaganza,
Get up and down on your knees and your hands yeah.
Checkit out and sing along Ska 4 x
I’m eatin Keilbasa, drinkin whisky, movin my rear in my seat… yea this would be a good way to go……see ya tomorrow.
I wasn’t going to write anything today originally. I planned on spending a good Saturday doing things around the garden. It’s been a beautiful day, and I’ve done that. I was lucky enough to be rewarded with a couple of home made beers from my neighbor for the help on moving an armoire, which was much to heavy for him to move alone.
I opened my trusty dusty book- “The Book of Day’s” to see what interesting things happened in history, and just for the sake of putting something on the blog, thought to myself , I’ll make a quick entry- something short. I opened up my book and realized it was the Ides of March. I gasped, MY GOD, it’s the anniversary of my last day working in New York City…..
First, I can’t believe it’s already been 6 years! It’s a blip in time for me: a strange time when I left the city. It was a lot of circumstances which converged on the day and a lot of lead up to my written notice. I’d gone through a hell of a merger. It was only a small company, but a good one.. one who cared about it’s people and their support. It merged at a turbulent time, where my second child was to be born. In June 2001, the merge took place. My son had been born in April of that same year, and I always felt in my negotiations with my new employer, that my son had been used as a bargaining chip… something to me which was inexcusable. Nonetheless, I started with the new company, and the new location. Not long after we’d relocated to Fifth Ave, 9-11 took place.
We all know what happened after that. People reevaluated their lives. Started to remember what was important in life and that life wasn’t all about work or money. I was one of those people.
I continued to work and dedicate my days to my new company. As Guliani said, “in order to beat the terrorists we must work” they want us to fear the return to New York, they want us to fear our travel, they want us to FEAR…. I’d be damned if I was gonna be crippled under the fear of those fuckers.
Months after that, my infant son started to get ill. He’d been in day care with my daughter. Watched from the time he was about 6 weeks old, and he got sick… ALL THE TIME. Couldn’t escape those sick days, the temperatures, and the illness. In day care when they’re young like this… it happens all the time. It came to a point where my wife and I had used up all of our sick days, and I think the last straw came when I was called on my cell from the emergency room. I was in Times Square looking for a valentine’s gift. I was told he had breathing problems and I needed to be there. It took me an hour and a half before I arrived.
Two of us at work, sickness galore and to me a job had to be sacrificed. Mine was the weakest of the two, with the recent merger and my cut salary (some 20-30%), payment of medical (which prior was paid completely), commuting expense, longer commute, lost benefits… etc. It got to a point where I told my wife- “IF Shane (my son) gets sick this next week- I’ll quit my job…..” AND the rest is history…. It just so happens the last day of my two week notice was the IDES OF MARCH! A sign- perhaps.
When I left the office the evening I gave notice, I walked down 6th Avenue, towards Penn Station. I must have looked distraught- afterall I’d worked since I was 13 (between part-time and full time jobs). I can’t remember if I was talking to myself or not, but out of NO WHERE this short old man, steps in front of me and throws a fist towards my gut. I jump back and look at him. His head was down, and his fist froze before it hit me… he looked up, stared directly in my eyes and smiled at me- then stood upright and walked on… I found it stange and when I continued to walk, another guy bangs into me- says nothing and continues. The person next to me looked at me, and I questioned them- “Is it me??”
Afterwards I questioned the old man’s action. The fact he’d “joked” with me in amidst my indecision. I took it as a sign which told me catagorically- Youre doing the right thing. I went into my watering hole and started to preach to the guys about my sign. My friend Donald thought I was high. A few days later I remember walking up 34th St. towards Herald Square and I SWEAR I saw this same guy, hanging at the top of the Herald Square Subway station, watching me as I passed. Maybe he was my guardian angel… I like to think he was.
I free fell for awhile, thinking to myself - WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING! I kept convincing myself , what I’m doing is in the best intrest of everyone… I started to take care of the familia at home. Learned to respect those who take care of children and appreciate the simple things.
Here I am- six years later- adjusted to life outside the mainstream. It’s not easy. I do miss the NYC way… the craziness… the city itself. But I’m lucky enough to be able to pursue my dream (at least for now) and write you today.
NOW, WHAT YOU”VE ALL BEEN LOOKING FOR:
Today in history- Attila the Hun known as “the scourge of God” was profaning divine things at a wedding when he suddenly developed a nose bleed and bled to death. A well known 15th century gourmet named Sir Theodore Mayerne who once said “Good wine is slow poison: I have drunk it all my lifetime and it has not killed me yet; but bad wine is sudden death.” Wouldn’t ya know it he DIED from having drunk bad wine in a tavern in London! It was Charles Dicken’s Last reading in 1870 and My Fair Lady’s first performance in 1956. Andrew Jackson, our 7th President was born, AND I’m tired of writing……
SVR