Tonight I’m absolutely exhausted. I worked on cleaning my garage knowing tomorrow it’s one year since my move to New York. From 9am till 10pm, the work stopped little.. the kids finished school, we did a ice cream soda night at the local library and here I am. It’s 11:45 and I’m compelled to write. Many times I’ve found this is the best time to write.. while fighting sleep, but really there’s so much to say.
I found out tonight through my neighbor Michael Jackson died. It was only after I lugged 4 bags of trash, and one container of recycling to the curb. I had NO idea of the happenings due to the intense rational of getting my work done, but was in entire shock after the news. Yes, he was young- only 50 and although in the past 10 years my enjoyment in his backwards walkin character waned, you have to face facts- he is one talented mother fucker. ALWAYS respected his creative side and his ability to pump out hit after hit. Growing up listening to him (in retrospect) has been a gem.
When I moved before attending my seventh grade, I knew little about music. Back then it was the whole Disco VS Rock thing and my sixth grade was in a school which had a make up of 50-60% black. I grew up with all the black comedies: “Good Times”, “What’s Happenin”, “Fat Albert”, “The Jeffersons” and many others. I got familiar with many groups of the disco era on account of my older sisters who were avid listeners. I grew attached to the music of the Jackson Five. Well, when I moved into a middle class white area I attended a school with a make up of probably 5-10% black kids.
I remember being in the boys locker room and a friend of mine- Les- asks me (as the new kid) what I listened to. Well, I said the Jackson Five…… WRONG thing to say….. He says, “are you kiddin me?”, he proceeds to yell across the boys locker room, “Hey- can you believe Steve likes the Jackson Five???” Everyone laughed…. and I shriveled up embarrased as hell. It was then I took note of music, and learned about rock groups at the time. Next time he approached me, I told him I liked Styx and it slid by. NO humilation. Kids are cruel… but so adults can be too.
I remember in an interview with Alice Cooper- ROCK God and dark guy- that during his time in the 70’s he’d do a show decked in dark mascara and horror makeup, but when he reached the limo after, with of course the dark tinted windows- alone- he’d request the chauffer to turn on disco…. ALICE COOPER listened to disco!! In the dark secrets that make Alice Cooper- he understood there is a quality to music which allows you to appreciate TALENTED performers, regardless of the TYPE of music. It wouldn’t surprize me if he listened to Michael Jackson because as weird as the guy was, he was MEGA talent.
In the late 1980’s I had the opportunity to see Michael Jackson or Prince. I was torn between the two. One played Madison Square Garden in NYC and the other Brendan Byrne Arena in the Meadowlands in New Jersey. My choice was to see the Purple one over the King of Pop. It was a fantastic show from what I remembered, but I somehow felt jipped I didn’t go to see Jackson. It was when he reunited with his brothers as the Jacksons. I was in a phase of denial it was a show to see- a reincarnation of the Jackson Five all grown. We all regret something and to me, I’m sorry I never got to see the gloved one. Yes, his music was powerful. Before the hits of Thriller, there were so many- Off the Wall. Rollerskating to “Want to be starting something”, “Don’t Stop till you Get Enough”, and “Rock with You”. Even as late as his hit “Scream” with Janet… guy was a super talent.
Often there is a place where super creative people go and in their spin towards the greatness- creativity and exploration take them to an area, others can’t comprehend. At least the majority of “normal” people can’t understand how they can get so twisted up. I’ll never claim to know what twists and turns this soul took to get there, but no matter how you cut it- guy dies a Fuckin superstar.
I must admit, the shock was a denial. I mean the guy was soooo fuckin young. HAD his problems, but with those problems his therapy through music was probably going to give the world another dimension to the man. Some people NEED to produce and because he’d been denied a childhood, I’m sure much of his output was done as the need to actually DO it. Many artists NEED to do their creative work as the result of something lacking in their own psyche.
Anyways, today is a sad day. I liked Michael Jackson and his music for I can honestly say decades. Before all the SHIT came up. So where ever you may rest Michael- we appreciate the times. Rest in Peace.
Well, it’s June 24th and I’ll be DAMNED if I know what’s happened to time. Seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days and where does it end? Yes it’s finite- life is finite and to make the most of it, one must realize all things end up there. I like to think I make the most of those seconds, hours, days capturing life as it passes. I do my best to seize opportunity and when it comes to scheduling- I again, attempt to put things in perspective. Everyone has commitments to one thing or another and in order to make your own important ones, planning is essential. “Wingin it” as ya get older rarely works when it comes to personal projects and other people. Anyways, I’ve been putting off this blog, like any thing which you know you have to do, but find yourself waiting for the inspiration. Often that comes when you’re doing the activity you do. Take our last session for example.
A few weeks back I joined forces with Mighty JV for some recording sessions. I went in determined to do a few funk tunes- in fact, I had a whole vision of what was to be done. In prior sessions, things got carried away with drinkin and bullshitting that what could have been done really didn’t wasn’t brought together. When the drive hits you, take it! This time, I pressured myself by waiting through the day into early evening and purposely getting caught in rush hour traffic to heighten my sense of pressure. We group for one evening between commitments. It took 3 hours to get there, but we went right into work, charged. As it happens we started to toy with a hard rock riff, and with our love of that music- “Spindle” was formed. An INCREDIBLE rock tune which lyrically, I couldn’t be happier with and a rock guitar solo which could BLOW YA outta the water. In retrospect, I’ve started to toy with forming a rock CD. We certainly have enough tunes and good ones- we may burn to new side project- but that’s another story. We put together a few tunes for a movie called “Meteorite for the Mantlepiece”- to be placed in it’s score. The director was thrilled with the surprize, because we’ve been so busy ourselves, we haven’t had much time to work on it. Hopefully (fingers crossed), that will complete the score and we can move into our own motion forward.
JV has his hands full with the Electro Faustus. A machine which generates sound and accents a bands capacity to compose music. It’s really an interesting device and has similar tones to a theremin. You can see the Electro Faustus on myspace in our top ten friends. As for me, I’ve done a little poetry but have been aching to get back to the novel writing. Since my writer seminar, I’ve had little time to work on the re-edit of my past manuscript or my new book which I haven’t been able to contribute to for some time. It’s a frustrating thing. Having kids complicates matters when it comes to time and they are finishing school this week. The summer I can only get small projects done, as most of you with kids understand. I have arranged for a rehearsal with the guys for the end of July to rock the studio. We haven’t gotten together since May 2008!
Recently, I met a phenominal sculptor named Najim Chechen who lives in upstate New York. A talented guy with fabulous vision. We met for coffee and discussed numerous ideas including the formation of “art oriented” towns. These are basically, towns which start off as poor neighborhoods but with the influx of various artists, change through way of vision. Artists always start the movements which bring change. Outside thinkers, intellectuals and believers can make things work- its how all towns turn around. There are several in this area, which could be turned around over the next 5-10 years in really fantastic ways. He wants to create a society of sculptors who motivate each other, who can teach and bring a unity. We all need that sort of thing and as I mentioned above- there’s a need for planning when it comes to this.
The Hudson Valley is celebrating the 400 anniversary of Henry Hudson’s exploration of the Hudson. I understand they built a replica ship for the occasion which is docked in Albany. There are activities going on here which I need to look into. Exploration is the cornerstone to any creative event. Just this past week I got to explore a tiny section of Albany thanks to musician Jefferson Thomas. Originally, an Albanyan- he opened for the Outlaws at an open festival. I did a little work for him with video cameras. The show was phenominal and they were right ON, despite the poor weather and the change in the line up (he was to open for the Marshall Tucker Band who had to cancel last minute for personal reasons). There will be some footage which will come out of that, maybe even reach youtube. I’ll keep you updated.
I must say I think we’ve changed positions with Seattle, cause the rain just can’t seem to get the HELL outta here. Last I heard we were up to 8 inches for this month and that was probably a week ago, while Seattle has been dry as a bone. We are expecting sun for the weekend, but I may have just jinxed us, so keep your fingers crossed. One things for sure, the green is everywhere!
There’s plenty of more things to go over, but that will come in more blogs shortly. For now I just had to “get my feet wet”. Hope you’re all well, and doing fine… Keep listenin and readin. Thanks!
Steve
I had such an amazing moment only 10 minutes ago, it’s made my day.
I woke this morning after an uneventful night. Early, as usual to get the kids off to school. Unfortunately, the weather is that miserable kind; the kind which makes you want to get back under the covers and sleep. Well, since I had nothing immediate on my agenda, it was one of those rare moments I said- WHY NOT.
I slept away most of the morning till 10:45. When I woke I looked out and it was drab, wet, and overcast. The greenary outside was as bright as Ireland.
I thought nothing would taste better than a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee (it’s what I like to start my day with). I hoped in the car and drove over to the local store. When I entered there was a man at the counter twisting up what looked like 3 boxes of Dunkin Donuts in two large plastic bags. The women behind the counter were laughing and smiling- unlike their normal disposition of donut clerks.
It bustled back there. Their was an unusual amount of people- perhaps 5 when you normally see only 2. The first thing from that man’s mouth when he saw me was a “God Bless ya man”. He turned away to continue his conversation with the server. I said, “Thanks, man. You look like you have a pretty big load there.” He says, “gotta take care of my kids.” I presumed he was a teacher or worked with the church. He had that broad contageous smile, which had already seemed to spread through the workers behind the counter.
After I ordered my coffee, the woman says to me, “will there be anything else?”. I replied, “No.” The man looks to me and says, “I got that for ya.” and begins to hand over cash to the woman. I said in protest, “No, no, that’s all right. I got it.” He looks at me again and says, “no really, I got it. Thank Jesus.” He gave me that contageous smile. “In fact, let me get the people behind you too.” I was flabbergasted.
Well, I held out my hand and shook his as I gracefully accepted my free coffee. Put a tip in the cup and smiled. I had the urge to say, “Pay it forward” and I thought about the movie. I kept my mouth shut and smiled- let it light my insides.
I got in my car and watched as he carried the donuts into his van. It was an older blue one, with a good dent in the side and a few rust spots around it. Once again, I smiled and waved in thanks. He never stopped smiling.
Today’s lesson is one which I wish would happen more. Its a beautiful moment which transcends our human boundaries, buries fear and unites people. Its something which happens out of the blue, unpredicted and brings about all things good. The simple act of giving in any one moment can give infinately in more ways than one. I type this to you and hope maybe one of you will act out with some gesture to bring happiness to another- even if it’s a contageous smile. That’s the Key to a beautiful Friday and I’ve been blessed to step into it. May your day be as good as mine, and may you all have a PHENOMINAL weekend!
Usually these times of walking are reflection times; Observance times. It’s amazing what one year will do to a small town.
I’m reading the Grapes of Wrath which was done in the late 1930’s. It really paints a portrait of the Depression era. Farmers who had no choice but to move, barely have enough money to get food, let alone live in one place. When one works in a particular line of work, they tend to observe everything about that material elsewhere in their daily lives. If you worked for a tile company, there’s no doubt you’d notice the marble corridors on a vacation, or the abundance of latex flooring at the local restaurant. This same type of connection relates to other things we do or see, movies or books, blah blah blah.
On my vacation I was hoping to see fields of cotton, like I’d imagined in this book. It was too early. But in my former small town, I noticed the changes when it came to businesses going belly up. The economy has been poor which we’ve all noticed, but in a small town, run by local business and not massive chains, you see storefront after storefront vacant. Others have signs “under new Management” and there’s a “shake out” of sorts. A favorite coffee store of mine, Luccas went out of business, even though it’d been there since the time I moved in some 12 years ago.
I knew changes were evident. I observed the greyed cross which held a sign “campers” and pointed with an arrow. At this same log cabin and encampment in the 1920’s Tuberculousus kids were kept. It was a healthy day camp in the 90’s and was very quiet now with a sign for a spagetti dinner held by the Kiwanis. Around the corner from there lived a sculptor who did local wood indians out of tree trunks. He’d owned a highly decorated house with one cut tree made into an indian that faced his garage. Prior to now, it had always been brightly painted. The paint was peeling and it too, had aged. The weeds were overgrown and construction on hold.
I spun by my old home for a look. It’s the first time since I’d left that I ventured back. I’m not one glorify the past, but move forward. When I pulled by the front, my neighbor across the street Lucille was out sweeping her step. Her and her boyfriend John (both well into their 80’s) were always great people- John always throwing me plenty of wisecracks. When I pulled up I said something like, “Hey, what the hell ya doin?” She turned to me mystified. She squinted to see who I was, but didn’t recognize me. I said, “Remember me?”. She replied “No.” It had only been a year.
I said, “I lived in that house across the street, the yellow one.” She looked again and I could see the spark light- “Steve?” “Yesssssss, Steve. That’s me. How are you?”
“Not good,” she said. “I just got out of the hospital with my asthma. I have a heart problem that developed.”
I looked around and it seemed very lonely. John’s truck wasn’t there. “How’s John?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not good. He doesn’t live here anymore. His daughter took him to South Amboy. He’s been incoherent. I still stop by a couple times a week, but I’m not supposed to be out. I’m not one to be inside. I’ll go crazy. I miss him.”
“Yes, you must keep active,” I said. She had a terminal sadness to her expression. “I miss you and the kids. It’s not the same here any more.”
I gave an understanding shake of the head, “I know. We miss you too.”
“Would you like to come in for some tea or cookies?” She and John were always entertained when I came by to sit on her porch and look at my house. Back then I’d share a Budwiser with John and Ceil would bring out cheese. Always sharp witted the cracks never stopped flying. It was sad when we left, I could see an emptiness in John- always resistant to change.
I responded, “can’t today, I have some things to do before I need to get back. Kids will be out for summer soon and I’ll drop by with them. They’re much more entertaining then me- I’m a dud.” And as I looked to her face, I realized it was much the same as the last time I saw my Aunt Elsie- not really knowing how to say goodbye, not wanting to and not sure if we’d see each other again.
Change takes place, its inevidible. You can’t revisit the past and expect things to ever be the same. They’re not. Evolution takes place on all levels. You can be nostalgic, you can embrace it as a prior stepping stone, but all long walks lead somewhere. We’re built by experience, we’re molded from friendships, we’re rounded by the environment around us. Memory is important and where one starts to fault, it needs to be revisited, if only for a few precious moments. There in lies the hope.
When I drove off, I listened to the Blues on the radio. It was time to go.
Airborne
I’d stepped across the dune for a closer look at the ocean’s rage. From the windows of our beachside home, we watched wave after wave pummel the shore. The storm had built for three days and my vacation had been limited to board games and reading. Surrounded by a family of twenty-five members wasn’t bad, but I always grew claustrophobic after days of interaction.
They already knew I was “mad” because I’d do strange things; walk miles into the unknown, wear flesh revealing pants, disappear then reappear with some outlandish story- they’d grown used to it. A walk across the wood planks which bridged the beach, led to synonymous head waves and a “you’re crazy” comment.
The best way to feel alive is to be challenged by the elements. I’d seen it every week on the Deadliest Catch, experienced it when I’d been near penniless in London, heard it from the mouth of a Korean War Veteran over an interview on broadband radio. The test was always there, buried deep inside every individual- be it the death of a close friend or, for some, to wake and face a sunny day. Every day we’re pushed and today my psyche said to breach the sands of Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina- in a storm.
I wasn’t alone. When I stepped across the threshold of the Atlantic dune, the beach was barren with the exception of a lone surfer. The man stood six foot, was approximately 250 lbs, dressed head to toe in a black wet suit and was doing his damnedest to catch the freedom wave every surfer looks for. I stood and watched his determination, drive after drive washed back like mouthwash swirled violently in the mouth of a giant. Even an enormous sunfish, a school of blowfish, and an eyeless skate washed ashore dead: Every wave, an earthquake; every whitecap, uncountable.
He turned momentarily to see me, then back.
It’s easy to get lost when you step away from technology. Nowadays, people can’t live without it: Televisions have internet and screens made of plasma; Ipods have music, video, and recording; Cell phones have alarms and even global positioning. It’s become a world defined by electronic gadgetry. It’s no wonder the United States suffers from an obesity problem. When I crossed that barrier between the million dollar four story mansion we’d rented and the dune which blocked any sight of it, you could feel the irony of being so close, yet so far. Here- it was me the observer and him the fighter, getting back to the basics: man versus nature.
When I first saw his hands wave, I casually waved back. His ankle cord had been pulled loose from his surfboard and the white water had pulled it inland. A wave crashed over his head.
On these shores three centuries ago, pirates proliferated. Blackbeard was killed by Lieutenant Robert Maynard and the famous female pirates Anne Bonny and Mary Read roamed. Back then, it was a lawless nation. New to the Europeans and home to thousands of Native American Indian tribes, who’d walked these shores generations over. Shipwrecks by the dozen lay off the banks and these weather conditions were perfect for the recovery of gold doubloons with the aid of a metal detector. The detector was technology and so was the cell phone I’d left back on my bedroom dresser.
I watched him disappear momentarily and pop up like some balloon held down by a child below the water surface. I stood up. He waved more frantically. His board came ashore.
I remembered the magnet on the refrigerator in the game room. Rip Currents- Break the grip of the Rip: If caught 1) don’t fight the current 2) Swim out of the current, then to shore 3) If you can’t escape, float or tread water 4)If you need help, call or WAVE for assistance. Was he waving to me? Was he caught in the grip? No, couldn’t be. He knows better.
When I first saw his head and its battle against the ocean it was the size of a dime, now it was the size of a pea. His waves had died down and I reserved my glance to broken shells at my feet. When I looked back up, he was gone.
I felt for the cell I normally carry and dismissed it. I walked the battered sands, kicked at small rounded stones, listened the gulls – “caw, caw, caw”, and watched the salt as it built layers on my reading glasses. I looked North, then South, and saw nothing but open coast. I looked to the ocean and saw nothing but white caps and salt water.
I’ve been called a blind optimist. In the shadows of reality, there’s a solution to every problem, a way out of every poor moment, a denial of every point of contention: A will out of every way. Danger is faced every day, every time we step out of the door to work, every time we cross the street, every time we shake the hand of a stranger. On the Deadliest Catch, if you fall in the Bering Sea without a life jacket, you’re dead in five minutes. First, your body stops blood to the extremities. It saves the internal organs by rendering the arms and legs useless. Without help, the soul ceases to exist. The water off the Outerbanks must be fifty degrees.
In the battle against nature, one must be resourceful: even the strong die.
I bought a sculpture from a small store in Florida that imported goods from Bali, Indonesia six months after the devastating tsunami killed over 120,000 people there. The statue is a bald muscle ridden man like the kind you’d find in any Gold’s Gym or body building facility which, like the white water of the Atlantic, fill the East Coast. He sits in an Indian style position, bent over. Every muscle defined with strength, every vein popped, every tendon shaped to perfection, yet his face is buried. His head held by the strength of his hands like a block of granite that’s been unearthed for the first time. I imagined an artist, an observer, who saw the subject at this time; hollow and defeated. The sculptor captured his fleeting spirit and created a masterpiece in the face of adversity.
I came to realize that no matter how strong your physical strength and how you shape yourself physically, you’re not immune to shots at the human spirit. It’s your ability to be resilient and overcome, despite the odds. The statue sits by my computer.
I looked to the ocean, and saw nothing. I continued to walk.
The salt and sand pelted my skin. The force of the waves eroded the beach line. A man of war jellyfish lay upside down in my path- its stinging tentacles all held tightly beneath its soft circular exterior. Close enough to the water to be recaptured and released. I thought I might watch for a few minutes, but instead found myself and my sand filled shoes walking into the rain, not sure of my destination.
I followed a break in the dunes; one which led to a road- a man made, tar soaked entity between two enormous buildings; a channel that led to an even bigger road- a highway. I made a right down this highway and was confronted by a sign- Orville and Wilbur Wright Memorial. I looked to the Monument on the hill erected in the 1930’s- a distant reminder of achievement, and historical reference. I crossed the field to the museum, attended a lecture and learned that when Wilbur curled a piece of cardboard back and forth in conversation, he had a moment of inspiration. He realized if the wings of his plane could imitate the cardboard, it could flow with a crosswind- the plane was born. I went out back and noted the distances marked by large headstone like markers of each flight taken on December 17th, 1903. The first being Orville, the second Wilbur, the third Orville, the fourth Wilbur and realized the nature of competition drives achievement, in this case, sibling rivalry at its best.
I looked for the ocean, and it wasn’t there.
I climbed the memorial which was the highest point at Kitty Hawk; A place where you could see everything around you. I walked around it. The sides were engraved: In commemoration of the conquest of air by The Brothers Wilbur & Orville Wright conceived by genius achieved by dauntless resolution and unconquerable faith. On the nearby airstrip, a plane took off.
I saw the house we stayed in and the ocean rages behind. It was far off in the distance.
Even though I’d seen that surfer come ashore safely with his board hours earlier, I’d learned enough to know, without a “what if” scenario and a venture into the imagination, a story ceases to be a story and an existence fades away.
Occasionally, things occur to me which most people will dub coinsidence. I prefer to consider them a higher calling. Over the past week I suppose I’ve had several of them which guide me back to my unfinished novel on soul. Frustrated as I may be, because of several more important priorities on my plate, I notice them, jot them down, and set them in my memory for later use. I know I SHOULD really start to use them- but can’t, and know this. Every creative will agree, when you have “the itch” you can’t scratch, it’ll pester you endlessly, so you temporarily hide it beneath a distaction until you’re finally able to put your claws into and scratch the HELL out of it.
I purchased Monster in a Box this week, the monologue by the late Spaulding Gray. For those of you who have never seen this, it’s pure genius. He was a wonderfully creative man given constant distractions as he worked on his novel which he dubbed- “The Monster in the Box”- an eighteen hundred page book. As it goes, and I think most of you who do this sort of thing agree, he found the eternal frustration of trying to finish it with various important priorities which came before such as acting, travelling, enjoying life in its various forms, idea creation and such. All of these were good in ways because they worked themselves into his book- they were processed and developed which in turn led to character development and movement of the plot- all when he said he had “nothing” to write.
What’s incredible about the movie is it’s just him telling stories in front of a table with a glass of water, a manuscript, a microphone, his expressions and his hands. The movement of the camera, the music and the drama created with this simple method of story telling is unmatched anywhere and you’ll be rivited from the start (I believe it’s an hour and a half, which feels about 20 minutes).
I suppose I could put this on the list of things which made up my “calling” back to my own novel. Enter number 2- a trip to the bar Olives in Nyack which brought me a conversation with someone who was studying International relations. Ok, you ask, what could that mean? I don’t know… but I do know… the person had lived in Cannes, France for 2 years and was fluent in French. Cannes is important in my manuscript and I’m constantly driven back there for the reason of water. Not only did we speak of France, but we spoke of Bulgaria and a possible visit there for study. It’s true I have a friend in Plovdiv, Bulgaria and have done for over 20 years. She started as a penpal (back when writing came by letters and not internet) and we still stay in touch by ways of internet. I’ve never met her, and have told her year after year, I’m coming in the near future. She teases me constantly- don’t ask me where the time goes…..
Back to the person at the bar: the conversation touched on different aspects of international relations, which has always facinated me. I’ve been fortunate to have visited some very interesting places which I mentioned to her like the Balkan Mountains in Bulgaria (incidently, the penpal I got sent me her first letter after I’d been in her town less than one year earlier!) and Istanbul. I come to find she’s studying Polish and what significance that has I have yet to learn. All the talk brought be back to earlier years and travels is the bottom line, and with that comes the memories and sources from which I write.
In comes the last “grabber” which pulls me straight into “I GOTTA WRITE” mode and makes an internal source say… YESSSSSSS…. this is the calling.
Last night, I went to a dinner at church. It was a mandatory thing for my kids and as most people who know me, know, I’m not particularly religious. I prefer to be more spiritually aware and although I’m a non practicing Methodist, I do believe we’re all here to serve our time in doing good stuff for others and doing so will bring you a source of wealth after death. It’s what I choose to believe.
I’ve been dubbed an ”old soul”, and I like to think that somewhere in time, my existance was served before. I enjoy history and could never make sense of those deja-vu moments of time and recognition, but I digress…
Parents were led to a gym where a woman told us of several instances from the bible. She’d spent some 30-40 minutes telling us of Bread and water, the basic necessity of life. In her teachings she covered ”Salt of the Earth” which I’d come to know as one of my favorite Rolling Stones tunes about the goodness of hard working people. Salt being so valuable in the days of Jesus that they’d pay wages with it. Wood was rare in desert regions so salt became a commodity of living. They’d mix it with dung to have fires which would burn complete for bakers of bread. She mentioned the story of Jesus coming into contact with a woman who was trying to save her daughter from death after he’d already saved thousands of Jews. Tired and reluctant to talk the woman, he was finally confronted by her. He insulted her with a remark about dogs which she returned with something like “Even dogs eat crumbs that hungry children drop from hungry mouths”. It was so striking to him, he agreed to see the woman’s child and in turn saved thousands of non-jews. Thus him being the savior to all.
This universal concept gets me. I believe in wholality (not sure if this is a legitamate word or how it’s spelled- I think you get the point). One good thing spins the wheels of other good things, and so on. I’m big into symbolisms and soul. My research for the unfinished book has led me down religious roads and as always I keep my mind open (without judgement). I believe in unguided reasons for doing this book and allow things like this to make their impressions and create ideas. It’s like the woman said last night- WE are all bound by time and space; traditions continue to exist as we memorialize historical references- which serve as “cyclical movements- like the face of a watch” (that’s mine).
My son had come back from his little workshop (while the adults listened to our stories from the bible) with gifts he’d made for the family. Each one was a symbolic fish (HOLY CRAP… it’s just occuring to me now about something I already wrote concerning a fish and it’s symbolism in the book… WOW) made from metal on a piece of yarn. Sandscrit of some symbols were on one side and a saying for Lent was on the other. I’m wearing it now, so I quote to you what’s written on the other side- “Lent- One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Matt. 4:4
Thus a return to the novel must be inevidable until it’s complete. Like this blog, it comes back to a calling: One drive is satisfied, another drive continues. A temporary fix, distracts one to cover that itch, until the claws of life are able to find it and move forward. I’ve come to believe this book is why I’ve been granted my time here, been saved from death and continue to live. Every now and then, I just need something to remind me and last night was a fantastic reminder.
Thanks for listening all. Trust your gut and it’ll guide you without sight.
Last week was a whirlwind. Between my work in preparation for a Pitch Seminar and ArtExpo at the Jacob Javits in Manhattan- it was creatively good. I’m still processing it, and probably will be for weeks. I get a little obsessive, which I don’t consider to be a bad thing, but it keeps me hounding myself to dig deeper into my psyche and pull out the visual necessities and experiences to move forward. Without things like the ArtExpo, I might be at a creative standstill. One result of the show was a fantastic poem which came to me at 4am, the result of a woman’s stare I titled “Nameless”. It’s something I think everyone can relate to, and something I may post in the near future. Either way, these things are a ride on the streamline of motion.
There are so many things to say about the ArtExpo. I’ve been to it in years past, and this year was the first I’d actually seen it not entirely filled. It’s a sign of the poor economy, and I felt for the people there. I’d like to hear some positive things about it, but the crowds I’d seen in the past weren’t there this time around. Of course, there were still incredibly talented artists, and to me- that’s inspiration in itself. They come from all over and converge on the city for this one time a year.
There were 5 artists I particularly liked and by far the one whose work attracted me the most was Christopher Amend a WI artist. It’s hard for me to describe the work so I’ll just direct you to his site at www.chrisamend.com . I purchased a small print which I absolutely adore called “The Doubter”. It’s an artist thing really- faced with all the self doubts in which you question whether what you’re doing is actually getting you anywhere. The visual is sometimes how I feel, and as I could tell by his artwork- I’m not alone. As artists we often go through the great ups and downs of life, questioning our abilities and trusting our art to guide us out. “The Doubter” to me is the downside to an otherwise optimistic outlook. Next time I’m hitting the skids, I’ll find my peace looking at it, knowing it’s just a phase and realizing so many others out there get it. Thanks Chris!
A few years ago I’d met a hustler outside the Guggenheim named Michael Albert. A slick salesman who turned me on to his collage artwork through an interesting conversation and a poster he’d given me of a Beatles song- “I am the Walrus”. Essentially, I’d forgotten about the meeting until I found him in a self-titled booth at ArtExpo. A pop art view of the world through words of cut fonts, colors and sizes. Only through a careful study and conversation did I recall our contact years earlier. Just as I’d seen him then, he’d offered me a poster. Turns out he’d done a book, and being a writer and supporter of the arts I had to get one. I think he has an immense amount of potential and I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Mr. Albert! I hope he had a fantastic show- this being his first. Let me tell you once again- he could HUSTLE!
I was very excited when I came in contact with a “To be opened” gallery in Manhattan called the “Not Fade Away Gallery”. It’s inauguration is this Weds. Basically, it’s going to be a photographic gallery with unseen photographs from the 1964 tours of the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. The exhibition is titled “The British are Coming! The Beatles & Rolling Stones 1964-66- The Photography of Bob Bonis- A World Premier”- www.notfadeawaygallery.com
Bob Bonis was the tour manager of the Stones for this time period and when they returned to England they recommended Bob to the Beatles. He was a low key guy and brought into their lives like a good friend. He was allowed to see the intimate views of these guys as well as many future performers such as Joplin, Hendrix, and others from the Monterrey Pop Festival. Bonis passed in 1991 and his over 3000 photographs and slides were inherited by his son, who is the part owner of the gallery. Let me tell you- from what I saw, Bonis was a talented MoFo and some photographs I saw were PURE POETRY. The show runs from March 4th through April 14th. If you get the chance to visit the gallery it’s 901 Broadway, 2nd Floor- Manhattan. It’ll be worth your while.
Three other talented artists I must mention on account of their brilliance are Jonathan Levy- A Brooklyn Native, Emilie Fournier- from Quebec, and Sergey Cherep- originally from Russia and now residing in GA. Their art is gorgeous and they themselves are beautiful people both inside and out- take it from a poet. Their sites are here:
Jonathan Levy- www.styleofnature.com
Emilie Fournier- www.emiliefournier.com
Sergey Cherep- www.sergeycherep.com
On Saturday, Mighty Joe Vella and yours truly went to Radio City Music Hall for the sold out show of David Byrne performing the music of David Byrne and Brian Eno. If you read my blog, you’ve already discovered some clips from the show. Bryne is one brilliant musician in addition to his artistic talents in all arenas, but to compliment him with probably one of THE most talented producers and musicians of Brian Eno, can leave nothing but a smile on your face. Their new CD is so interesting in it’s use of samples with beats that were compiled as earlier as 20 years ago, it stands alone. The song “Strange Overtones” explains it all and making something old, new again is a cyclical thing whose potential is maximized in these guys hands.
Radio City is such a magnficient place to see anyone. The acoustics and the art which was founded in the earlier 1900’s bases itself on the art deco period. I hadn’t been there since I was a kid and as a kid, I had no appreciation of it’s walls. My third eye basked in the beauty and again, continues to process it. Byrne greeted us with his white hair and white outfit along with all his fellow performers in white. As I snapped a few photos, he came out looking like a silhoette, which I thought could be entirely on purpose because the guy thinks on another level. My favorite moments being the songs Crosseyed & Painless and The Great Curve.
Seeing Byrne with a tutu for Burning down the House at the encore wasn’t really surprizing but did get a laugh out of us. Being at the top level center and front, the dances rocked us (I mean the entire 4th level) vertically by probably a GOOD 6 inch margin. There was no way I could focus my camera still and since the edge was only up to my hips, it got a little scary cause the fall was a good 30-40 feet. I did some ”voodoo” dancing (I prefer to let in the music and have it jolt me around) and sat back down for fear of falling. Only one other time can I recall the feeling and that was seeing the Stones on the Steel Wheels tour at Shea stadium, when Midnight Rambler came on. Being at the height of Shea and watching the guard rail literally move 6 inches up and down based on the weight of people dancing… yea, collapse felt ENTIRELY possible!
So now we’re into a new week- a processing time- and hopefully, some of the words and visual perspectives I send out there will be soaked up and used to your own benefit. Never let the doors of creativity close- eat up, enjoy, and go to the bathroom (via your hands, or voices or doing what you do.. not the toilet all!) Have a productive day!
Wealth is all on how you take it
Materials are nice to have,
But are lived without.
What can you make by miracle
Or even sense of doubt?
Rich are those who see and visit
Even if by phone.
Love comes by not taking of one’s self
By giving what is your own.
By words, by experiences, by touch,
By listening, by standing and being tough;
By being there, outside physical means,
By holding hands with those who can’t read.
In good times when all you think is there
In bad times when you wither with despair
We’re all rich outside skin and bones
If you let in the light, the light will take you home.
Culture is a level
Outside the neighborhood
If you choose to stay inside
Do you think you really should?
Abound in experience
Close it in your heart
The garden it grows every day
Sometimes more than not.
Perhaps it’s a day to remind us
how we face the facts
feelings can’t describe
its in the way you act
Those who never understand
what these words will mean
poor are those who never learn
to be a human being.
Last night, I had a small conversation with a Californian Poet via the internet. We talked philosophy, which often gets me into another realm of thought. She used the word “Meat” to symbolize certain women as- sexual objects. To me this provoked some really deep thoughts which evolved into the poetry piece you see before you. I feel from first reading, this may be one of my better pieces. Thank you Enedina.
The Butcher and the Chef< ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Once classified by other women
as a whore,
She waits:
For anyone.
The butcher is first on the cutting block.
With every blow by his instrument,
Another sinew is sliced,
Till in the end there are only tears.
The cleaver:
In the grip of a masculine hand
coldly carves random flesh,
for consumption.
A fatty piece,
Turned hard,
Remains soft at the loin,
Sweet and juicy.
Initial proceedings,
Perfect to the butcher’s eye:
cleaned and prepared
feelings avoided: satisfaction
Meat is simply sustenance
to a hungry palate,
Nourishment.
Stales.
A chef’s fingers,
Vision intrigue.
A delectable treat,
Some thing so sensitive: a woman
Passion clears the mind.
Delicious, the mentor infuses,
Creation on to waiting flesh;
A separation of love and hate.
With each sway,
With each move,
A delicacy blooms,
Every tear stripped away.
Till in the end,
There remains a dish,
So succulent,
Only a fool could tell:
It’s not love.
Today, I’d like to remember an anonymous person- an old man- who once made contact with me at a crossroad.
I’d just turned in my two week notice to my job in Manhattan after a slew of incidents which included the cut of benefits from a merger, the cut of salary, the re-evaluation of life as dictated by the events of 9-11, and the constant sickness of my new born son. I’d worked since I was twelve and being of a type-A personality, continued to pursue greater existance through work. I’d finalized the last day, which was coinsidentily made for March 15- the Ides of March. The freefall I took extended out to my walk along 6th Ave. I contemplated a whole range of scenarios which would fill my empty head on that walk….
Out of no where a poorly dressed old man comes up in front of me and throws a fist to my midsection, stopping only inches from it. I’d looked up. His face full of grey overgrown whiskers and his wrinkles deep formed a smile. He passed. I looked back at him, and he never looked back.
Being of sound mind (or at least I thought so) I came to see this as a gesture of good fortune. Something about being punched in the gut and smiling, knowing what the future was to hold, knowing what I was feeling…. perhaps this old man was my guardian angel. Giving me the sign, that all the pressures and all the turbulance of one life, work themselves out. It was a strange incident, indeed.
Fortunately, I have creative friends and at the bar, after said incident- I expressed to them how I saw this as a “sign”. Everything I was doing, was meant to be the way it is. It was a crossroad AND I did the right thing, however I saw it leading me into the darkness of what I knew not.
That was seven years ago, and even though it’s passed as if it was yesterday, I remember that old man who brought me an unexpected treasure of memory. For it’s him I look back at, and feel strong enough to say, for whatever reason being, my path as yet defined- was right.
It was the simple gesture of standing in my way- the obstacle, throwing the hypothetical fist- the pain- to an all too indecisive action. The reason as yet undefined, finds itself, when only looking back in retrospect to those crossroads and signs along the way.
As a sidenote, my quick typing misspelled signs as sings. Isn’t that funny? Now, all I need is a new word like ”Gritinw” as writing.
I stood on the bank of the
The rat traps were covered by snow. One had to wonder if a rat would actually be happy to find refuge in one of those large plastic containers from this frozen ground; much like wrinkled toes which curled to conserve heat beneath the skin of a shoe. The dead straw blades which pierced the polished white bone, were as far as you could see; like an Eastern version of tumbleweed frozen by damp drafts of water that caught them instantaneously mooring them to their foundation. Still, the shit stains on the benches remained. After all the storms and snow, they lingered- sore on the eyes.
Behind the park and the nearby historic houses was a mountain. It was one of the many which seemed to present obstacles in winter weather. It’s lining a large mass of trees filled the land. The leaves had long gone and they stood like the sparse grey hair on an old man’s head. It wasn’t difficult to see the natural contours of land over the town, because the river had ground deep into the bedrock from it’s beginnings at the Falls to it’s emersion into the Atlantic Ocean, walls of stone in spots up and down the river. When you think only four hundred years ago, Henry Hudson saw the same stone markers you realize how mortal we are.
To the Right, stood the
To the left stood a contemporary building complex, similar to one common in tropical regions. It was a surreal image which stood like a two dimensional model against the blue of clear sky. It’s geometric patterns were obviously a mathematical trigger to which early settlers could not construct. Given the homes against the landscape of the river, the new “settlement” felt out of place in Nyack. True, all towns and cities merge to embrace both old and new; in this moment of loneliness it seemed wrong, yet right.
There are times when nature is supposed to bring back well-being, cure deep seeded ills within a body, ills one can’t put their finger on, ones which can only be diagnosed by a local psychologist. Thoreau had
At Bryant Park in
Today, in the cold of a swollen ice filled river, there’s peace. Today is the inauguration of Barack Obama, our new president, with which there’s hope. Here I find the bridge, between old and new- here it is…. direct from the park.
For Christmas I received a wonderful poster from my parents. It was a variety of quotes on life. I’ve had difficulty with hanging it on the back of my office door, because it keeps falling off. Nevertheless, I do read from it.
I wanted to send a quote out there which I really like. It’s by the poet Henry David Thoreau, one of my favorites. I don’t think it could be any less than perfect.
“However mean your life is, meet it and live it: do not shun it and call it hard names. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Things do not change, we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.”
It’s all a state of mind people. What we have in our minds, is what we die with- make them good, make them enjoyable, and when the pain becomes to much to bear, sleep close to them because in the end, they’ll see you through. SVR
Have yourselves a great day.
I’ve come to age some bread… stuff is FANTASTIC when it’s fresh, but it ages quickly. This past weekend I went out and bought it- FRESH. It included olive loaf and sundried tomato bread because of company we had staying over. Since then this bread as become hard as a rock.
I’ve been saving it for the birds. My grandmother in Liverpool used to feed the birds with left overs from every meal. During war time, food was very difficult to come by and every scrap wasn’t wasted. My father told me they’d get Catsup and make tomato soup from it. Although the war ended in 1945, they remained on food rations till 1950 or a little after that.
I presume as a kid, this is why I was forced to clean my plate. I once told my Dad I couldn’t eat string beans, and by God he wouldn’t accept it…. until I threw them up… he told me I was excused from eating them further.
I continue to try not to waste food by throwing it in the garbage. I remember when I worked in a restaurant as a teenager the dishwashers used to take the half eaten meats and left overs, put them in a pail and feed the racoons and opposums with it. It’s like the great saying goes, one man’s junk (or garbage) is another man’s treasure. Food is a treasure.
I was told French toast was something which emerged during WWII as the result of stale bread. The French would bathe stale bread in a solution of milk and egg to soften the bread, then they’d bake it. I’d imagine it must be like putting water into “space” food to revive something which seems impossible to eat. In India, curry was the result of trying to mask stale meat, which because of the heat- would age quickly.
I like to think we all make do with what we’re given, and in an ideal world food would be used without waste, but we all know that’s impossible. The thing is- bread is essential. How many of you have heard, “Better be good or you’ll be on a diet of bread and water!” Well…. maybe not THAT many of you, but it does occupy space inside and fills the hole.
I’m watching a series I received for Christmas titled, “The World at War”. It was a documentary on World War II which ran on BBC in the 1970’s. In the US I remember as a kid my parents watching it. I distinctly remember the introductory music for the program- very dramatic and powerful. I thought to myself about my parents trying to teach us what it was like in Liverpool during WWII as kids- of course speaking to my brother and myself as kids. We had no clue, and only mild interest.
As an adult, it’s engrossing. The series contains some 26 episodes, extensive research, and last night I watched the producer as he explained the details of making it. It tried to give an unobstructed view, from both sides with real film footage. I found out the British Imperial War Museum had something like 200,000 miles of film (or something outrageous like that) in it’s archives, much of which was never looked at. Anyways, it’s facinating AND important.
At the time they were doing this, they’d already realized many of the survivors were starting to die off. The main leaders like Churchill, Montgomery, Roosevelt had died, and they did their best to get people tied in with the leaderships. The producer even told of one of the researchers who was able to meet with a high ranking SS official to get his take on things in the Gestapo. It was an exhausting attempt to put to light the events, the hardships and the social ramifications of the War.
I regress…. this whole blog was about bread.
Those of you who know my background, have heard me talk about WWII before. It was an unavoidable subject because of my upbringing and it’s powerful effects on my parents, which directly corelates to the raising of family- the values.
I’ve always been lucky to have strong family ties. These remain even though we’re not a stone’s throw away from each other, when we’re together… we’re TOGETHER. We still remain in touch with a few aunts and uncles in Liverpool and will always be. You know, there’s nothing to escape the sense of humor. It’s humor that makes you survive under difficult circumstances- it “lightens” the load. Perhaps, the sharp Liverpudlian wit evolved out of constant bombings and despair. Either way, it lives pretty healthy in my family.
We’re expecting severe temperature drops in the next few days. I know Illinois and Minnesota have the worst in decades, I saw one trucker had a problem with his oil freezing. The tri-state area is only getting a taste of what they have. Do remember the essentials in life: a roof over the head, food on the plate- BREAD, and big cozy blankets made of goosefeathers- oh yea, and the sense of humor doesn’t hurt either. Be well all and if you’re cold find yourself something funny to read or watch- warmth comes in many ways….
I had the most facinating conversation at the breakfast table this morning with my son, and comedian, Shane. Although he’s only eight, he has this vivid imagination, and a damn fine sense of humor to boot (I’ll take claim for that one). He told me of a pretty detailed dream he had last night. I have no idea where it came from because I’d rather not disect it, and destroy the aspect that it was entirely his creation. For me, it made a wonderfully creative experience- like that of Willy Wonka. It went something like this:
S: Dad, I had a dream last night.
D: You did? Tell me about it.
S: There were two purple hippopotamus with parachutes on their backs.
D: (Thinkin, if this ain’t a grabber- NOTHING is) Oh, yea? Where were they?
S: One was in a hot air balloon. Only one could fit in each hot air balloon, but there were a whole bunch more up in the sky with yellow hippopotamuses, they had parachutes too. And there was a magic machine which created them.
D: What kind of machine?
S: It was kind of like a big box. All the yellow ones came from that, but it created more. It made a candy corn star.
D: Wowwwwww, I candy corn star huh?
S: (Getting excited now….) and when Brianna (his sister) touched the star, it made someone come out of nowhere with a whole giant bag of candy corn that they gave us. Each one didn’t look like candy corn though. It looked like those machines that pop out the candy.
D: Pez dispensers?
S: Yea, each one was candy corn but shaped like Pez machines. I was putting a whole bunch on a chair for Brianna. She was going to make a statue out of them.
D: On the chair?
S: No, just in front of it. The statue was going to look like her.
D: And you were helping her build it?
S: I was putting them on the chair for her to use, but you couldn’t mold them. But it still looked like her.
D: What did the magic machine look like?
S: It was blue and grey and looked like a pretty big box (about 3′ high by 4′ long). It was neat. Oh, and there was a large purple candy corn like a circle.
D: If it was purple, how did you know it was candy corn?
S: I just knew.
D: Were all the candy corns the color of candy corns?
S: Some were and some weren’t.
D: Back to the purple Hippo. You said one went on a hot air balloon, and the other stayed on the ground. What did he do?
S: Well….. he also went on a hot air balloon that the magic machine created, but later than the other. The yellow hippos were created a lot earlier then the purple ones.
D: and the magic machine made both the hippos and the hot air balloons?
S: Yea.
At this point, my mind started retreating on this new information and formulating these grand views of a color coated world laced with Willy Wonka like machines and painted candy roads.
When my daughter was five, I was hounded by her kindergarten teacher to come in and do a little writer workshop to help create a children’s book for a contest (she knew I created two). After months of this I finally conceded. When I went in to the class of about 15 five year olds, I thought I’d do a little brainstorming.. see what ideas they could come up with. Well, if you ever do this, and the kids are enthusiasic like my crowd, you’ll walk away BLOWN AWAY. These kids were ALL over me with ideas that were out of the stratosphere AND when they got excited they moved closer. I had like three kids climbing up my legs with their ideas! Their imaginations, without having being squeezed into modern adult thoughts, behaviors, or etiquites and speaking without judgement… BAM! I was so excited by their excitement, that when we finished, I called my friend Pietro who’s this magnificent sculptor and painter (at this time age 72) and offered to go to his place drive him up to the school and drive him back. He liked the idea and volunteered to do a sculptor workshop of making paper heads (he sculpts newspaper covered by tape and paints them). WELL, he got the same reaction with the kids… this class which included my daughter was so enthusastic, it impacted everyone involved. We both walked away with probably one of the greatest experiences an adult could have.
So… if ever you’re offered to hear a child’s dream. NEVER neglect the opportunity. They think on different levels than us, not twisted by adult thought and opinions- it’s pure. Entertain them and let them speak their mind- DON’T spoil it by putting in your two cents. You might be surprized what you hear, or enlightened by the colors of a child’s world.
If I ever had an inkling I’d be somewhere down the line writing about hangers, I probably would have hung myself.
It’s come down to those silly little things which make our clothes so proudly displayed in our closet and over years we’ve accumulated all kinds. From the plastic bought ones, to the heavy duty suit and pant holders, pant buckle types and by far the most and poorly made ones were those shiny metal shitty ones you always receive when you pick up the dry cleaning.
For years now I’ve found this uncontrolable mess with half hung shirts, to big for the hanger suits, uneven ties and basic unorganization. Perhaps O.C.D. can develop after living in the wreckless life of chaos. I think I’m starting to take on the characteristics of our favorite TV detective- Monk. Anyways, an opportunity rose this past week- one which REALLY excited me: Wood hangers.
I know you’re thinkin- WHAT kinda guy could get excited about hangers? I ask myself the same. My answer is a “Simple one”.
Yes, all… I am a simple guy. It doesn’t take a lot to excite me, but when a new year comes along I think to myself, how can I better my existance? Writing about hangers??? No, that’s not it. Having a closet full of hangers?? No, that’s not it, either. ORGANIZATION… that’s it. Grabbing a sturdy hanger from the closet on which to put a washed shirt. It’s really comedic if ya ask me. Never in my existance did it occur to me my life would come down to a simple hanger.
Ya see, there’s something about the wood smell. I went to the Martin Guitar factory last year and if you could smell the scent of these freshly sanded wood guitars… it would have made ya go ape. No, these don’t smell like wood, the scent has far gone beneath coats of polyurethane, BUT it does bring a kinda natural existance- a recyclable piece of material should I grow tired, or run out of money, I could burn them and be warmed by the bonfire of wood and metal (I certainly couldn’t burn a guitar!).
A large retail store has recently gone out of business like many others in this horrible economy. The store was packed with merchandise and as the company lowered it’s prices on their goods to sell them off, there became an overabundant supply of good strong hangers. I’d priced them before in regular stores like Bed, Bath and Beyond and ruled them out until I found these gorgeous sturdy commercial hangers were selling 5 for a dollar. They were all beautiful pine, some stained to a walnut flavor- the rich looking kind. Well, I couldn’t resist.
I bought a few at first, just to try them out. They were goooooooood. All the jackets hung perfectly and wouldn’t ya know they matched the hard wood floors (uh oh, more of that OCD thing happenin…..)
Well, since the store is in it’s last days, they have boxes and boxes of these things. I thought to myself- “Hey, self- we’re in a new place… what better time to get your shit together than in a new place, in a new year! You better go back and get more before someone thinks of doing the same!”
Yesterday afternoon, I bought about 60 hangers AND it’s wasn’t enough….. I did the hall closet first. The one everyone who comes over sees. DAMN, did it look good! Then I did the downstairs with the dark wood ones cause of the carpet… AGAIN, I impressed myself. All the sudden, I’m rippin out clothes throwin down hangers, redoing all the closets to make them perfect. Perhaps I’m getting “mentally challenged”, but any interior designer would have been impressed. Last night, I went back and bought 120.. oh, I’m ailing…..
There it was uniformity! All there. It was sooooo gorgeous, like a beautiful cactus flower emerging from it’s bud in a desert sky.
I’m an obsessive guy- I admit to this fully. When I’m dedicated to a project, and form my own pressure bubble I’m there entirely! All the sudden yesterday, years of unease came in a wave of purchasing coat hangers. I mean, it could have been like unearthing a treasure chest of jewels for me! I could picture myself tossing all shapes and color variations of wood coat hangers in the air and holding my arms over my head to keep from getting it bashed in. It was joyous, it was marvelous… BUT… I’m still not done. The obsession is pounding me as I write to you. I have 3 closets left… and 7 days. That’s when the store closes for good.
My concious speaking - Steve, what if one of those wholesalers realizes the opportunity they have at picking up these hangers for practically nothing… you’ll have nothing… you better get moving.. Damn you, concious!!! See you later all- gotta buy hangers!
For Christmas I received a beautiful book on Vincent Van Gogh. I started to read it and stopped to write this passage, an exerpt, from Letter 309 to Theo, his brother. He kept constant contact with his brother and his whole career could be summed up with these very discript letters. He believed there is a connection between painting and literature, so in doing, he wrote his brother constantly to whom his support was constantly given.
The extract of this letter can parallel the reasons I do what I do and it stopped me in my tracks, to capitalize on this moment of inspiration. It says it all, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has these feelings. Read it for yourselves and take it for what it is. We all have something to give.
“I not only began drawing relatively late, but in addition I may well not have so very many years of life ahead of me (…) As far as the time that remains for my work is concerned, I believe that without being premature I can assume that this body of mine will still keep going, despite everything , for a certain number of years yet- say, between six and ten. I feel all the more able to assume this since at present there is not yet a proper ‘despite everything’ in my life (…) I do not intend to spare myself or pay much heed to moods or problems- it is a matter of some indifference to me whether I have a longer or a shorter life, and in any case physical mollycoddling such as a doctor can accomplish up to a point is not to my taste.”
“So I am continuing in my life of ignorance, though there is one thing I do know: within a few years I must accomplish work of a certain order; I do not need to be in too much of a hurry, because no good comes of that- but I must go on working calmly and quietly, with as great a regularity and composure as possible, and as much to the point as possible; the world is my concern only insofar as I have a certain debt and obligation, so to speak- because I have been wandering about this world these thirty years (ok, for me a little longer…) - to leave a certain something in memory of me behind, drawings or paintings, out of gratitude- not made in order to gratify some fashion or other but to express an honest human feeling. That work, then, is my objective (…)”
I hadn’t planned on writing a blog this morning, until I advanced my travel calendar to today- the last day of the year. On December 31st, 2008 I read a quote by Leonardo Da Vinci- “Every now and then go away and have a little relaxation. To remain constantly at work will diminish your judgement.”
Well, it’s my first day off work for awhile. Through the Xmas season, which really got underway about the first to second week of December, I’ve had only two days off. It’s really repeled my desire to communicate with people. In such a small time, when you’re bombarded by people in both treatment of problems and salesmanship, one’s bound to resist and attempt -in a slow down -to simply talk. Lately, I’ve had no desire to deal with people. True, I started enthusiastically, as I always do. I love people, I love talk, but on a retail scale during the holidays- it truly becomes a job. When you twist personalities from every genre, every sex, every race into one crammed session of selling, it takes a point of decompression to regain yourself. A few days off is perfect.
Granted today, although off is not a “retreat” day.. you can’t actually get away from people on new years. I’m definately not an introvert and I do enjoy the company of people, friends, family- but lately- even I want to shut down the world to rest. I think I’m in need of the January “let down” to just recooperate.
There are two times I reevaluate myself and the beginning of the year is one of them. Nobody kicks my ass like my ego, which has been boiled down over the years to something inside a shrivelled little shell of a cranium. BUT every January and every August it’s like the grinches heart.. it grows into this big old monster who beats me relentlessly and attempts to move me to action. Usually, it’s pretty successful.. gets me planning at least. My problem is focus- always has been.
I call myself a professional juggler. I juggle numerous projects and although it some times takes me forever to complete one- I do it with style. I care for kids, I work a part-time job, I want to make a small screenplay into an art film, I have to work on music for a movie, I want to work on our third CD, I need to attend a pitch conference in New York, AND I MUST complete a re-edit of my manuscript which I will try in vain to sell this year (in addition to completing my current manuscript). Hmmmm, seems kinda a lot. Feels like I spin a lot of wheels, not really going anywhere… like I’m in neutral and gunning the gas.. makin lots of noise, but going no where.
Well, in the grand scheme of things, I feel all things lead somewhere and although I’m not sure exactly HOW I’m gonna get there. I’m confident the place will one day show itself and I’ll seize it. Being knocked down and dragged out, humbles you. I’m really ok with my position, even if it’s sort of floating from project to project. I sometimes wonder if this is what I was meant to do in life- be a project floater. Send out info over these invisible lines of communication, to set small fires on which heat will be built. Fires are built from sparks and should I be the flint to make the fire light, it’ll be so.
For this new year, I’ll continue to write and work my projects and be happy I’ve had the opportunity to share in this, as Louie Armstrong says “wonderful life”. Happy new year readers AND bless ya all.
What better way to wake up the day after Christmas, get Dunkin Donuts Coffee and watch a coffee special on National Geographic. Sure I have to be in work at noon and work till close, but I see nothing better than filling my “data base” with some newly acquired information attained to BS around the coffee machine. (NO we don’t have a coffee machine or even ready made cups- but I’d like to think in my imagination we do).
Since I’m extremely limited in time, and for the sake of a shower needed, I’ll let you in on one interesting fact regarding Folger’s Coffee. Basically, Folgers was established in the early 1840’s when the gold rush hit
We still see Folgers on the coffee shelves in the supermarket 150 years later.
There’s much to say about coffee and it’s history, and the coffee houses which so inspire those in the creative fields, however, one needs time to be on his/her side to explore the wisdom of such knowledge. In that light, let me leave you with a quote from a poster my parents got me for Christmas titled “What is Life”:
“Be who you are
and say what you feel
because those who mind don’t matter
and those who matter don’t mind”- Dr. Seuss
I have a wonderful red velvet jacket which usually makes an appearance some time during the Christmas season, every year now for at least five years. It does come out on other attention getting times, but I can always count on it to bring a little festivity to the holidays. Well, today I wore it.
The funny thing about my velvet jacket is it ALWAYS gets attention. In some ways good, in some ways bad. For some reason people who are a little “off” are always attracted to bright colors like red. I have no problem with this whatsoever, in fact, I kind of welcome it except when I’m hard at work.
I’ve started to work a part-time job to fund some projects I have for the Spring, and Christmas season is always the crazy time, after all it’s retail. Retail, as most of you know- SUCKS. It maximizes your hours used for work dedication and minimizes any choice of money. I swore years ago, I’d never end up back there after I managed a store, but as a part timer nowadays- it’s the only option which allows me flexibility in my hours to find a delicate balance. Nights and holidays… yea, I gotta work ‘em.
The good thing about where I work is I dress up once again. I always enjoyed wearing good chic clothes, but found myself lazy when I simply wrote or spent the valuable time I used to write. I’m a man of basic necessity, I get needs covered and only when I need to “present” myself, will I find myself dressing up and being my “former self”. I do enjoy it, don’t get me wrong… dressing up in fine clothes is something I REALLY enjoy, but there are other things which find themselves in front of that luxury I must achieve. It’s like the old Rolling Stones song from Only Rock & Roll- “Luxury” goes. Needs first, wants later.
This morning I was a CRAB. I’ve been lacking sleep and working like crazy. I was initiated into the work place at the end of November and given little direction to sink or swim. I know the biz, with the exception of the computer system, which I was forced into learning with dynamic speed considering it’s Christmas. I’m fast to learn, and to now, I’ve been able to get by.
I’ve developed some confidence to show off some of the fancier clothes, which in the past I may have reserved to a few of my close friends or people I considered the “inside circle” (no it’s not S&M wear, but more chic and funky stuff) which was the reason behind me adorning myself in the red velvet today.
I tossed the idea back and forth and said to myself- “Ya know self, ya get one time a year to get away with wearin this and it’s now or next year…” Soooooo- I did it.
In retail you get ALL kinds of people; from the brilliant and beautiful, to the dumb and idiotic. If you had a magnet to weed out the who was who, I think a red jacket might be it. Red is a strong color and people tend to gravitate towards it. I haven’t decided which kind it attracts up to now, but today at one point it almost felt like the strange and odd. It started when an older man who I’d classify as a 1970’s funk burnout approached. He was with what appeared to be his son. Both had large afros, his being interstrewn with grey hair. When I spoke with the man, he seemed really distant, off in a daze….. indecisive and could barely speak audible words. Granted it is the holidays and I give him the benefit of the doubt. We went back and forth with talk, but I couldn’t get a direction on him and he seemed clueless of what he was looking forward. I offer advice and try and direct, but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I did take out something which was $650 and the guy’s body actually convulsed. Some things you just don’t need to be told, but sometimes you just can’t get away…..
I’m kind of attracted to the strange. It’s like a broken window you want to look through to detect what stone is inside. I enjoy this on days I have time, but NOT today. Today, you get ‘em in and get’em out…..
The VERY next customer was what I might classify as a “weiner”. EVERYTHING was “awwwwww or ughhhhhhhhh”.. “I don’t knowwwwwwwwwwww”, “I like it, but I don’t know…. she’s soooooo picky….. (Sure this ain’t you?!) Well, again the guy couldn’t pick a turtle outta a line up of people. I knew this terrible waste of time was because of my magic jacket. People want to talk, but again, NOT TODAY.
Everyone’s had the experience of being cornered into conversation they don’t want to be in… they’d rather avoid it at all costs, but try and be civil, kindly and polite. (At least this is what I’d imagine on my own instincts) BUT, once it begins they look for the escape, HOWEVER and whereever possible. I couldn’t seem to do it. Meanwhile people who need attention are giving you these looks which demand you, but you simply smile and nod in hope they understand. It doesn’t always work.
A few days ago a guy came over to me after a sale and asked for help. Fine, no problem- seemed like a nice guy. I get to the counter and a woman freaks out. “I was first! Why are you tending to him?!” she asks. He turns back (granted he’s about 6′3″ 300lbs and says “I went and got him, you didn’t”. It’s what I love about New Yorkers- simple and right out there. She was pissed, but he knew what he wanted, made a decision and BANG… it was there. With so many people around, you do your best to try and keep track and you can’t always meet the demands. I finished and was blindsided by another couple of guys who grabbed me- took me over to the same area with the same “bitch”. At this point, all her anger was directed at me.
I don’t take to kindly to people getting in my face. Being a former Customer Service Manager, I find it difficult to let the people blow their stack without putting them straight and easying the tensions. I excused myself to the guys and dealt with her. She was ok in the end, but she was still a bitch. I like chaos, but I know my place, and here I was just a cheaply paid marsupial.
Main point of this whole thing was 1) If you wear a red velvet jacket, be prepared to get attention from not just attractive people, but the crazy and insane. 2) When in a packed mall on Xmas eve, prepare to have fights on your hands- they’re gonna happen- and it’s unavoidable. 3) Keep your senses open and you’ll find a wealth of stories evolve from these experiences like those above AND 3) Avoid a retail career- it doesn’t pay.
Have yourselves a FANTASTIC Christmas all!!! Merry merry…. don’t be buggin…..
First, let me wish everyone out there a VERY Happy Thanksgiving! It’s a wonderful time to be around family and friends and nessle in for the holidays. Bring on the cold, stay warm- plenty of hot toddies, apple cider, hot chocolate and whatever “toasts your buns”. It’s a time to wander around in the adoration of nature and appreciate havin a roof over your head, food on the plate, and fire in the fireplace or heat in your heart.
Most years my parents hosted a party of family and friends on New Years Eve. Everyone would be invited about 9pm, used to enjoy each others company and catch up on lost time. Usually most people assembled in the dining room with the piano and play… sing… dance in front of a burning fire in the fireplace. Always this would be accompanied by plenty of drink. About 10 minutes to midnight all the men assembled outside and sing, ”To all Acquiantence”. Often there would be close to about 20 very loud guys shakin up the neighborhood with their voices. Their wives, or girlfriends would stay inside and assemble in a line from the front door.
Every man would bring in a log, a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread, symbolizing warmth, thirst and hunger. The point being each item was supposed to bring in wishes of warmth, plenty of food and drink for the new year.
The women would stay inside and assemble in a line from the front door. As host, my mother was usually the first. Each man would enter the door guided by my father and go down the line kissing the womens cheeks. When he came to his woman, he’d present her with the items and a big whopping kiss.
These parties founded such good memories. The music especially. My Uncle Clarence often took over the pianist position with another piano player, usually my Uncle Tony and play all evening. Perhaps it’s why music has come to mean so much to me, especially the piano, and history perserves memory.
This day in music history is probably the most significant to the progression of Electric Rock Guitar. Jimi Hendrix was born. His birth was the foundation for many rock guitarists including J.V. - Kid Sicily, fellow co-founder of Funk Thunder. Soooooo, if your raising your glasses and toasting today, remember to salute the rock God of guitar- Jimi Hendrix.
May you all be blessed with many beautiful memories, which you’ll recall today. Eat, drink and be merry! Happy Thanksgiving!