The Turbulence of Dreaming

Nobody Likes a Bully

2007-09-09T19:48:00.000-04:00

This was found in Roger Federer's locker:

Maybe that explains why he can often be seen doing this:

Forget performance-enhancing substances. The USTA needs to start investigating secret identities...

Roger Federer, who will most likely finish his career with more Grand Slam victories than any other player in tennis history (for those unfamiliar with tennis, there are four Grand Slam tournaments: the U.S. Open, the Championships at Wimbledon, the French Open and the Australian Open) and will have earned the undisputed right to call himself the greatest player ever to pick up a tennis racket, beat Novak Djokovic (currently ranked #3 in the world behind Federer and Rafael Nadal) today in straight sets to take the U.S. Open title. As of today, the Swiss star holds twelve Grand Slam titles and trails only Pete Sampras, who retired with fourteen. The guy is 26 years old and rarely gets a hangnail. Unless he loses a limb or three, he's pretty much got it sewn up.

I don't like him.

Don't get me wrong. I respect his almost balletic playing, his mix of power and control, his sublime touch around the net, his uncanny ability to find openings in the court and in his opponents' games and the way he seems to flip some internal switch at will to pull himself out of all sorts of tricky situations and vulnerable positions... and yet I don't like him.

For me, watching a Federer match is a descent into frustration. I can't imagine what it must be like to play against him, to know that more than likely, even if you play your absolute best tennis (think Agassi in Key Biscayne 2005 or even Roddick this past Wednesday), you are probably going to lose. It must make you want to eat your own face. Or your racket. Or direct your next serve at Federer's groin (he'd prob'ly return it for a winner anyway...). There have been exceptions (Nadal has bested him almost every time they've met on clay, Novak Djokovic won last month in Montreal), but they have been few as of late.

Djokovic defeats Federer in Montreal this August

Federer victorious today

Consider this: Djokovic matched Federer game for game in the first two sets today, bringing each to a deciding tiebreaker. Roddick did the same on Wednesday.

Then, Federer showed up.

It's as if the guy can play in third gear for the entirety of a set, coasting and knowing that at whatever point he chooses, such as a tiebreaker, he can shift into fifth, step on the gas and step on the other guy's neck. Here's what SI.com had to say in part about the Roddick match. Feel free to substitute Djokovic's name for Roddick's:

"To Andy Roddick's credit, he played nearly flawlessly against Roger Federer, serving brilliantly, returning well, too, and giving tennis' top player a tough time. To Roddick's dismay, it all added up to yet another loss."

[not sure how many degrees of separation this is, but Gabby (m'wife) teaches at Roddick's alma mater, Boca Prep International]

Andre Agassi was guest commentator at the Open for Federer's Wednesday night match against Roddick. His was by far the best and most insightful sports commentary I've ever heard by anyone discussing any sport, period. The man is truly a genius and should be listened to when he speaks. The days of the "Image Is Everything" attitude have given way to a deeper substance than anyone might have suspected he had back when Ivan Lendl dismissed him as being merely "a haircut and a forehand". Agassi spoke of Pete Sampras's ability to play an "average set", then play brilliantly for "30 seconds" and beat you. He could've just as easily been talking about Federer.

better enjoy it while it lasts, rock star...

the elder statesman

Pistol Pete

I won't get into the things about Federer's personality that irk me. I won't mention that I find him arrogant, pompous and condescending. I won't go so far as to post a few of his quotes here:

"It's just unreal, I'm shocked myself. I've played good matches here, but never really almost destroyed somebody."

"This is probably my most dominant grand slam victory and it's already my 10th in such a short period of time. I amazed myself."

"No, I'm not (disappointed). There's no reason to be because I'm on an incredible run. You always expect a loss once in a while. So when it happens, why be disappointed if I win over 90% of my matches."

"I have a great record against anybody right now, so it doesn't really matter who I play in the final. I'll be in there as the big favorite. But I play my best in the finals, in the important matches. That's why I'm number one. There's no secret...I'm not overconfident, but very confident."

I'll forego mentioning that the same seems to extend to his entourage-of-one, longtime girlfriend Mirka Vavrinec. I'll stop short of reporting that I saw her looking at her fookin' watch in the middle of the second set, as if she had somewhere else to be. I guess it looked like Djokovic might interfere with their dinner reservations if he actually managed to win a set. God forbid she have to sit a half-hour longer to watch Roger collect his $2.4 million check, the most ever for a tennis player at a single tournament.

(S)Mirka enjoying the crucifixion of yet another Federer victim

She don't pull on Superman's cape. She rides on his coattails.

The way it looks, it's sure to be a loooooong ride.

Roger Federer, to borrow a phrase from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, is cunning, baffling, powerful... and quite possibly the best tennis player who ever lived. Most of the players he faces are powerless over him.

I don't like him... and yet I'm compelled to watch his matches. Dammit. Stoopid amazing tennis player...

Oh, and by the way, the above picture of Federer diving? That's en route to his upset victory over defending champion Pete Sampras (you know, the guy who's neck he's breathing down for all-time best status) at Wimbledon in 2001. Call it shades of things to come...

I Got the Blues, the Reds and the Pinks

2007-08-31T11:34:00.000-04:00

I've gotta resurrect the once-popular Song O' the Morn today so I can pimp the performer I saw last night. Before I do, I need to say that if you live in this area or in an area where this guy performs, please do yerself a favor and GO SEE HIM. I've now seen him three times, and have come away awestruck each time. If I need to, I'll rent a bus to bring my friends out to one of his shows. I'm not kidding. He's great! As I'm sure you know, I tend to be fairly critical (an oxymoron?), so when I rave, it's usually with good reason. And when I rant... well, let's just say my ranting gets raves. So, here goes:

Song O' the Morn

8/31/07 - The Devil Went Down To Georgia - Ben Prestage - live solo acoustic performance

This song, arguably the most popular Charlie Daniels Band song ever, was given a solo acoustic fingerpicking workout last night at the Bamboo Room (just prior to playing the song, Prestage said, "OK, let's see if I can do this...") and by the time he was through, I'm fairly sure a few roof tiles had been blown across South J Street. He deftly played the main licks, motifs and solos at breakneck speed - as it should be - and cleverly reworked the lyrics as follows (the last lines are a hoot):

The devil went down to Florida, he was lookin' for a soul to steal

He was in a bind 'cos he was way behind, and he was willin' to make a deal

Saw this young man pickin' on a git-tar, and Lord he was pickin' it hot

The devil jumped up on a Cypress stump, said "Boy, lemme tell you what,

Bet'choo didn't know it, but I'm a git-tar picker too

And if you care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you

You pick a pretty good git-tar, boy, but give the devil his due-

I bet a git-tar of gold against your soul, 'cos I think I'm better'n you"

The boy said, "My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin,

But I'll take your bet, and you're gonna regret 'cos I'm the best there's ever been!"

Johnny, you'd better play the helllll outta your guitar,

'Cos hell's broke loose in Florida and the devil deals the cards

If you win, you get this shiny git-tar made of gold,

And if you lose, the devil gets yer soul.......

[impressive solo]

The devil opened up his case and said "I'll start this show"

And fired flew from his fingertips as he tuned his git-tar low

When the devil started fingerpickin', in his pants Johnny pissed,

And the devil shouted like old [someone-someone(?)] when he played like this:

[extremely impressive solo]

Johnny said, "Hell devil, well that's real good, ol' son

I'm gonna pick this little ditty here, but I think you've already won"

Fire on the mountain, etc....

Well, Johnny bowed his head 'cos he knew that he'd been beat

And he laid his wretched soul on the ground by the devil's feet

Never in his life had Johnny felt soooooo belittled;

No one told 'im the devil's better on the git-tar than he is on the fiddle!

Fire on the mountain, etc......

[impressive outro solo]

OK, so you may be saying, "Who with the what now?"

Some months ago (as I'm sure I mentioned here), Danielle hipped me to this blues guitarist (well, one-man-band, actually. Yeah, it sounded kinda hokey to me at first, too, but that was just the time-honored character defect of "contempt prior to investigation" tripping me up once more) that she'd seen at a music festival someplace. She strongly suggested I see him if he came around, and I took her advice. It didn't hurt that I'd heard a bit of a live performance on 91.3 WLRN's Folk and Acoustic Show (as useless and culturally out-of-touch as I generally find the host, Michael Stock, every now and then he turns me on to someone who really grabs me... in the good way), so I saw him at an arts festival in Deerfield Beach, which I think I've already discussed here.

The point is this:

The guy ROCKS! He's a monster fingerpicker with fantastic phrasing and timing, seamlessly intertwining bass, lead and rhythm lines, a great musical sense of humor, the ability to shift gears and tempos on guitar as well as drums (he plays a kick drum, snare and high-hat with his feet, removing his cowboy boots last night prior to playing) to drive the song and park it, is personable with the audience (when he asks, "How y'all feelin' tonight?", he really seems to be concerned that we're enjoying ourselves. I always like a bit of codependency on the part of a performer. That way I know they're invested in my enjoyment. If I'm lukewarm in my response to a "how y'all doin'?", maybe giving a weak golf-clap, I wanna see a pained look of despair on his/her face. I wanna know that their self-esteem lives and dies on whether they make me feel good. I want them to bleed for me. Real blood, not metaphorical blood. It's enough already with I-would-die-for-you rhetoric. No one who's ever told me that has actually done it. Where's the follow-through? Next time someone tells me that, they'd better be prepared to go through with it - just once, I'm not heartless - so I'll know how much they love me. It'd really help the relationship grow...) and peppers his setlist with old obscure blues, classic blues and groovy originals.

Really, I can't say enough about Ben Prestage. For my local friends, he told me he'll be at the Bamboo Room in Lake Worth the last Thursday of each month for "the next few months". These shows are free and start at 9pm (don't do what I did and listen to the guy who works the door who might tell you the show's starting at 9:30-9:45, so you end up walking around Lake Ave. and getting to the show 15 minutes late. He apologized...), so there's no good reason not to go (unless, like me, you'll be in DC at the end of September to see Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello) (I love parentheses!). Ben will also be at City Limits in Delray on Thursday, 9/13 at 8pm (tour dates can be found on his myspace page - see the first link) (No, I really love parentheses!!!) (Really!).

OK, enough about him. Now, on to me.

No gig this weekend for borderLine, as Gabby is binding me with duct tape, shoving me in the trunk of the car and kidnapping me to Miami for some sort of belated birthday weekend getaway thingy. Should be fun!

Yay: I've given our demo CD to Walter, the GM at Dada in Delray. He sounded interested in booking a new band, so let's see what he thinks once he's heard the demo.

Boo: I have yet to see even ONE point of this year's US Open. Usually by this stage of a major tournament, Gabby's become a tennis widow and I've filled yet another VHS tape with what I hope will someday be classic matches (I have literally hundreds of tapes filled with music videos, tennis matches, old Simpsons episodes, other comedy... I guess I'm storing it all up for those days when I'll be bedridden and need something - thousands of hours of something - to occupy my time). I just haven't found/made the time to sit and watch any of the Open yet...

Oh, crap... I owe you guys the next Yosemite installment, don't I? Jeez, nothing like keeping the momentum alive, huh? OK, next week. Promise! Go 'head and dust off the edges of yer seats...

Happy Whatever-Holiday-Hallmark-Says-It-Is-This-Time weekend, kids! Go into labor, or whatever you're supposed to do to celebrate. Stay away from barbeques, if you can. Somewhere, an animal will thank you.

Sunday Bloody Good Sunday

2007-08-19T23:27:00.000-04:00

Slept in a bit today after playing at Gizzi's last night and then hanging around Koffeeokee with friends until they rolled up the sidewalk and called it a night. We had a better-than-average gig turnout as a result of my new shameless band-pimping-via-email and friends telling friends to come and see us do our thang. Also, I've put us on this website. Not sure what compelled me to do so, but it was fun creating the page. Carlos is busily mastering three tracks we've recorded for a demo CD, and once we have that we can shop it around locally to find some more gigs, and the music can be uploaded to the afore-mentioned site. I guess the logical next frontier will be MySpace. Everybody's doin' it... pickin' it and chewin' it... thinkin' that it's candy, but it's snot.

[ok, the tracks are mastered and two of 'em are available for listening/download on the site]

Casey surprised me by singing harmonies here and there in the verses during The Weight last night. She was so good, I nearly stopped mid-song to tell her. She's very cool...

So, back to today.

I drove to South Miami to spend the afternoon with my good buddy Jeff who was once my vet, then a member of borderLine and has become a trusted and valued friend. He gave me this for a ridiculously low price:

the pic's from google; I'll take some photos of my actual amp ASAP

Jeff's such a nice guy that he wanted to give it to me gratis, but I'm insisting on paying him for it. Hopefully, he'll wear me down and I'll lose my resolve on that issue.

After hanging with Jeff and his critters, amp safely in trunk, I headed back north to Hollywood to see if my friend Bill Burns was playing his Sunday gig at Universe Cafe. Seems he had the day off, so I stood around and watched TV as Roger Federer beat up on James Blake to win yet another tennis tournament. All the players say that Federer is a really nice guy and a humble champion, but that's never been how he comes across to me. He seems incredibly arrogant, and unfortunately has the talent to back up his assertions of tennis greatness. In post-match interviews, he generally says something along the lines of "I played magnificently" and "I made some incredible shots" and crap like that. Most other players are at least somewhat self-effacing ("I got some lucky breaks") and tend to compliment the opponent, but not good ol' Rog. I think the first time I've heard him actually take the time to climb down off his pedestal and acknowledge the guy across the net was after this year's Wimbledon final, when Rafael Nadal ("Vamos, Rafa!!!") took him to five sets and very nearly took the match.

After losing to Novak Djokovic ("Who?", you ask. "Currently #3 in the world" is your answer) in Montreal, Federer dismissed it as an "insignificant loss". Of course, Djokovic had beaten Andy Roddick a coupla days before and world #2 Nadal just the day before, so I'd say it was pretty significant to Djokovic. In fact, it was the first time anyone had beaten Nadal and Federer in the same tournament since they became #'s 1 and 2 in the world, whenever that was. I think it may have been the Eisenhower Administration. The way I see it, Djokovic deserves his moment in the sun. Roger's got a deep enough tan by now. Metaphorically, he's the George Hamilton of tennis.

Federer's taken to wearing a white sportjacket and white pants to his Wimbledon matches. The only thing missing is a top hat. I didn't dress that nicely to go to the prom. I'm just waiting for him to start playing matches wearing a Superman outfit and cape.

But I digress... chronically.

With Bill Burns nowhere in sight and money still in the meter, I stopped into Trader John's Book & Record Exchange, a place where I recall Mike and I hanging around many, many moons ago. Gabby and I were also there once years back. I picked up a copy of Peter Singer's book Animal Liberation, which I've read about but never read. I referenced it a few posts back on the author's birthday. I also picked up a vinyl copy of Bruce Springsteen's The Wild, The Innocent & the E Street Shuffle. I'll add it to my collection of albums I can eventually play on the turntable I have yet to buy (my b'day is Friday *cough, cough*). I also had a nice conversation with a 6o-ish British woman shopping in the store. She was astounded that a person my age would even be looking at vinyl (I had a copy of a Dionne Warwick/Bacharach-David LP in my hand at the time. Tasty...), so we talked about music and pop culture. She wants to come see the band, which should cure her of any affinity for music that she currently has.

From there, my next stop was Sublime in Ft. Lauderdale, where I treated myself to a yummy vegan feast and read some more of Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything. Bryson's one of my fave authors who can, and often does, send me into gales of laughter with his dry-as-kindling wit. ASHoNE isn't really meant to be funny per se, but it certainly has its moments when it's not being informative. If you've not read anything by him, I'd suggest A Walk In the Woods or I'm A Stranger Here Myself or The Lost Continent for starters. Actually, screw that. Everything he writes is worth reading.

Here's an excerpt from the opening page of The Lost Continent:

I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to.

When you come from Des Moines you either accept the fact without question and settle down with a local girl named Bobbi and get a job at the Firestone factory and live there forever and ever, or you spend your adolescence moaning at length about what a dump it is and how you can't wait to get out, and then you settle down with a local girl named Bobbi and get a job at the Firestone factory and live there forever and ever.

Hardly anyone ever leaves. This is because Des Moines is the most powerful hypnotic known to man. Outside town there is a big sign that says, WELCOME TO DES MOINES. THIS IS WHAT DEATH IS LIKE. There isn't really. I just made that up. But the place does get a grip on you. People who have nothing to do with Des Moines drive in off the interstate, looking for gas or hamburgers, and stay forever. There's a New Jersey couple up the street from my parents' house whom you see wandering around from time to time looking faintly puzzled but strangely serene. Everybody in Des Moines is strangely serene.

I don't yet have his memoir, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. Have I mentioned my birthday is Friday? *clears throat*

Last stop of the evening before coming home: Barnes & Noble, which for some reason I insist on calling Barney Snowball. I took it easy and just bought the current issue of Uncut...

On the way home (aren't you glad I'm including nearly every minute of my day here? Careful... falling off the edge of your seat can be dangerous), I was listening to the Night Train jazz program on 91.3 WLRN, the local public radio station/NPR affiliate. Ted Grossman was playing some scorching swing by legendary trombonist Jack Teagarden recorded live at Club Hangover in 1954. I noticed the 30-ish guy in the next lane was rockin' out in his car, drumming on the dashboard and doing the "car dance"... in perfect rhythm with what I was listening to. Suspecting he might be enjoying the same song as I (Muskrat Ramble. Wanna hear it? Go here and put the cursor over the music symbol next to the track), I turned my radio down so I could hear his and found that he was also listening to WLRN. I motioned to him that we were listening to the same thing, and he rolled down his window and said, "NPR?" I said, "Yeah, these guys are unbelievable!" We continued driving up Oakland Park Blvd. and then both got on 95. We passed each other a coupla times and gave each other the thumbs-up while grooving on the rest of the Teagarden set. It was kinda like car-flirting, only it was about music and I don't think either of us are gay. Ok, well prob'ly not him anyway. Or me.

Just as Shirley (my new bookstore friend) was impressed with my vinyl proclivities, I was impressed that two guys in their 30s, with CD players/satellite radio/MP3s/DVDs/M-O-U-S-Es available, would choose instead to listen to public radio and groove on music that came out at least a decade before they were born...

And now I'm home. The laundry's done, and so am I.

Woke Up, Fell Out Of Bed, Hiked Until I Was Half-Dead

2007-08-05T19:02:00.000-04:00

[This post was begun on 8/5 and is becoming waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long, so here's what there is so far and the rest will be up shortly]

Hey, has anyone else noticed it's freakin' HOT?!??!???! JAY-sus!

Gabs and I went with the Vullos (and Kristi's mom - not a Vullo but an incredible simulation) last evening to see the Fab Four at the Kravis Center. It was better than I'd expected and we all had a good time. As Mike commented, these guys did their homework. They did a great job musically and with the onstage banter, and
(d)E(a)d Sullivan was quite entertaining during what would've been the intermission. As "Paul" said, he's very clean, that little old man.

borderLine had the night off, what with me at the Fab show and Casey in Delaware, but we will be playing again at Koffeeokee on Saturday 8/11 starting at 9pm. Be there or... be somewhere else?

The wife and I went to K-Mart (Where America Goes To Get Out Of The Trailer Park For A Couple Of Hours. While there, Gabs picked up a Gazillion-Pack of FlavorIces, her new summer staple. I swear, if she could find a way, she'd shoot this stuff into her veins, ice be damned!) this afternoon and then to Sweet Tomatoes for an early din. Good thing we went early, too, 'cos we no sooner sat down than every elderly person from within a six state radius descended on the place like a horde of gray-haired locusts. We huddled protectively over our plates like two kids in a Dickensian orphanage. I was ready to take a piece out of somebody's walker if I had to. I had a butterknife and was not afraid to use it, believe you me.

So, being at K-Mart and the SweeTomatoes brought me to a Yosemite state of mind, seeing as I did 60-80% of my hike outfitting at the K and the Tomato had pesto pasta on the buffet tonight, which Joe ate practically each night we were in the Park. Thus..........

The Yosemite Chronicles continue! *APPLAUSE*

Day 4: God Give Me Strength -

Wednesday June 13 - Joe and I woke up around 6am to prep for our assault on Half Dome.

Ugh. That sounds so violent.

Wednesday June 13 - 6am - Waking from a restful slumber, Joe and I began those few tasks that would allow us to peacefully meander the 16-or-so miles to and from that most magnificent of mountains, Half Dome, standing majestically some 4000 feet above the Yosemite Valley floor.

Ahhh, much better.

I decided to forgo showering (after all, what's the point? It'd pretty much be a waste of water. After all, I was about to WALK 16 miles up and down a mountain...) and instead lathered liberal amounts of sunblock and bug juice atop the previous day's grime-covered layer of the same. I believe in using the strongest sunblock I can find, especially since each step taken on this hike would take me one step closer to the surface of the sun. The one I use, Banana Boat's Baby Magic Sunblock (hey, if people trust this crap on their babies, that's all the recommendation I need), boasts an SPF of 50 and contains titanium dioxide. Basically, once this stuff is on, I have roughly the same sun protection Darth Vader had while on the Death Star, minus the cloak and mask. Although, since it goes on thick and white, I tend to more closely resemble a stormtrooper. My bug repellent-of-choice is an herbal concoction called Green Ban that I picked up one year in the Yosemite Mountain Shop. It does not contain DEET, which I believe eats your brain while chasing away insects. There's a trade-off I'm just not willing to make. Green Ban is supposedly "tested in the Australian rainforest" - which I didn't even know existed, but it sure sounds impressive - so on my skin it went.

I ate a couple of protein bars from my Vegan Survival Kit, made sure my pack had everything I'd need: more bars, sun n' bug stuff, bottled water, hat, gloves, ID in the unfortunate event that my body needed to be identified, digital voice recorder, trekking pole, and extra socks. One of the greatest hiking tips I've ever gotten - thanks, Wayne!!! - and continually pass along is to bring fresh socks and change them mid-hike. It's like putting on new feet. I went down to Curry Pavilion to fill my faux CamelBak (thanks, K-Mart, for saving me $30!) with H2O and to drop in a CamelBak Elixir electrolyte tablet. At this point, Joe was right behind me and we headed to catch the first shuttle of the day, the 7:00am to Happy Isles, the Half Dome trailhead. Joe realized he'd forgotten something and went back to base camp, and I caught the bus and started off without him, as I wasn't sure how long he'd be and I didn't want to risk not having enough time to complete the hike. I figgered, Joe's a big boy (he sure snores like one), and I was NOT to be denied.

[just had to take a short time-out to perform goldfish CPR, a skill I was not previously aware I possessed. Our li'l fishy has been acting strangely as of late, swimming upside-down and sideways, appearing listless and dull in color. Our guess is that he may be/may have been suffering oxygen deprivation from the water we haven't been very good about changing lately. He kinda looks like he's got some neurological impairments/brain damage/is retarded. Bad parents, we. A few minutes ago, I looked in on him and he wasn't breathing, or gilling, or whatever it is they do that denotes aliveness. Those things around his face that usually move weren't moving. I called a code blue ("Honey, I think he's gone..."), Gabby called the trauma team (ran out to get some bottled water) and I got the crash cart (opened the top of the bowl and reached in). I moved him around, talked to him, rubbed his sides and did everything I could think of short of actually performing mouth-to-fish on the little guy. Somehow, despite his best efforts to "move on to a better place" or "go to the light" or "die already", I managed to keep him alive till Gab returned. We moved him to ICU (put him in a bowl of CLEAN water) and Gab changed the water in his bowl. Once in the smaller bowl, he perked up considerably, prob'ly from the sheer terror of being manhandled and all. Hey, whatever works. The other option is in the bathroom and we shall not speak its name. *raises eyebrow*

I'm happy to report that Fishy is now in his own bowl and swimming comfortably, sometimes upright, sometimes not. Hell, even if he is brain damaged, at least he's become very entertaining to watch!]

I rode the bus to Happy Isles with the others who'd gotten up for an early start and stretched in the shade of the bus stop. Prior to a hike, I do the same stretching routine I use prior to tennis matches, which takes about 10-15 minutes and incorporates some faux-yoga movements. As I've said for a few years now, yoga is my next frontier. For now, I'm busy perfecting the "Sitting On My Ass & Talking About It" pose...

Having brought my digital voice recorder (DVR)/portable brain along, I have a fairly-detailed record of this hike.

7:30am - I took my first steps on the trail to Half Dome. This is the same trail the Boys and I hiked two days before which would take me again past Vernal and Nevada Falls. I should say that I opted not to bring my camera along on this hike, as I wanted to travel as weightlessly as possible. As much as I had wanted to make this trek for years and years and had visualized it over and over again, in my mind there still lived a nagging fear that I would not be able to do it, that it would be beyond my physical limits, that I would fail. Leaving pounds of camera equipment behind seemed like a good idea, a way to remove one more possible obstacle from my journey's path. Since I don't trust my digital camera to do what my film SLR can do, I didn't bring it either. Except for the teeny camera in my voice recorder, I was camera-less.

7:55am - I made the following entry in the DVR: "Standing at the footbridge, watching the sun come up over Vernal Falls... I don't know how my life could get better than this". It wasn't a sunrise per se, but to see the sun ease up over this beautiful waterfall was magnificent.

8:24am - DVR entry: [sounding winded but exhilarated] "Less than an hour, and I'm at the top of Vernal Falls..." In hindsight, my only regret is that I treated this hike in some ways as if it were a business trip, something requiring that I just put my head down, put one foot in front of the other and plow through. To this end, I prob'ly coulda packed my gear in a briefcase as opposed to a daypack.

I think I made a small error in following the next segment of the trail that leads up to and past Nevada Fall, as I should have been hiking with the fall to my right (as I remember doing in years past). After hiking for some distance with Nevada on my left, I realized I'd taken a wrong turn but knew that this trail would eventually wind back to the fall and that I'd get where I intended to go anyway. after all, I've found that even our wrong turns take us to where we're supposed to be... It seemed a waste of time and energy to backhike, so I continued on. The result was that I had the trail mostly to myself for about an hour, and the solitude was wonderful. I listened to nature's early-morning symphony of birdcalls and waterfalls, and added to it the crunch of my boots on the trail...

Oh, and I talked to myself. Incessantly. I find that I'm good company, and that I can be very encouraging. Giving myself encouraging self-talk helped me to dispel a lot of the fear that had somehow ended up on the hike with me ("You'll never make it, y'know... Much too tough of a hike... You're gonna fail... You can always turn back... This just isn't your year, kid..."), despite my having insisted that it stay at the cabin. I guess it jumped into my pack when I wasn't looking, and it weighed me down until I realized I was carrying it and made a conscious decision to let it go. So I did... and I picked it up again... so I let it go again... and picked it up again... and let it go again... and again.

[Sad news: despite a valiant effort lasting a couple of days, I must report that Fishy has gone on to the Big Ocean (via the toilet). I performed more lifesaving manuevers yesterday evening but it seems that Fishy had come to, in Stephen King parlance, the clearing at the end of the path. Gabby and I gathered around the toilet (can two people "gather", or is this verb reserved for three or more?), said a few words, pushed the small silver handle and bade Fishy a fond farewell. He/she was a good fish, kept to him/herself, never said much, never made trouble. We'll all miss him/her, especially Ginger who enjoyed pawing at him/her from outside the bowl...]

9:23am - DVR entry: "At the top of Nevada Fall... feelin' good!" I'd been to this spot before, but everything from this point forward would be uncharted territory for me. I stopped to use the outhouse above Nevada Fall and, when I came out to rejoin the trail, found that I had just been passed by a mule train carrying supplies. Holy 1800's, Batman! I muttered a few choice obscenities as I realized that passing these animals and the person leading them was not gonna be easy, and I was not at all thrilled to be breathing in the trail dust they were kicking up. Plus, they move slowly. Plus, they poop. A lot. And big. Like mules. Like several mules. At once.

I made my way slowly along the trail and was relieved that the mule train stopped to take a break and let me pass. Soon, I came across a Park Service crew who were busily doing trail maintenance work and I marveled at the idea that they had to hike all the way up here with heavy gear (picks, shovels, rakes, etc.), work for 8 hours and hike back down again. I thanked several of them (they were kinda spread out) for doing this work and said to one of 'em, "And I thought God was the one who took care of these trails..."

When I came to Little Yosemite Valley, which comes suddenly after a kind of monotonous uphill section (90% of this hike is uphill, and the other 10% is mostly uphill), I was taken in by its simple beauty. No one had ever told me about this stretch of the hike, the Merced River running though it, the beautiful trees and meadows, the views of Half Dome from behind, the variety of secluded places to go pee.

Merced River - Little Yosemite Valley (not my photo - thanks, Google!)

Another Googled pic of LYV

Googled again! Rear view of Half Dome (Half Ass?)

I stopped by the river to dip my hat in and cool off, then continued on through this relatively flat area. I tend to hike at a fairly quick pace (or so I'm told), and here's how one might get an idea of my average hiking speed (assuming one gives a crap): a Beatles song was playing in my head and I found myself hiking to the beat of "I'm Only Sleeping" and singing it aloud, presuming that bears are not Beatles fans.

I hiked on in 4/4 time...

More to follow...

And We Unpacked Our Adjectives

2007-07-24T11:28:00.000-04:00

Here's today's poetic offering from the Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor from publicradio.org. I get a daily email from this site and generally find some interesting information about writers and musicians, plus some occasionally great poetry:

Poem: "Becoming" by Jim Harrison, from Saving Daylight. © Copper Canyon Press, 2006.

Becoming

Nowhere is it the same place as yesterday.
None of us is the same person as yesterday.
We finally die from the exhaustion of becoming.
This downward cellular jubilance is shared by the wind, bugs, birds, bears and rivers, and perhaps the black holes in galactic space where our souls will all be gathered in an invisible thimble of antimatter.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Yes, trees wear out as the wattles under my chin grow, the wrinkled hands that tried to strangle a wife beater in New York City in 1957.
We whirl with the earth, catching our breath as someone else, our soft brains ill-trained except to watch ourselves disappear into the distance.
Still, we love to make music of this puzzle.

Next:

Know what I'm really tired of? What makes my eyes roll (and not in the good way)? What makes me wanna bite my own face sometimes? No? Well, allow me to tell ya:

When I call someone and they don't answer, do I really need to be subjected to a menu of options longer than the novel-length menu at the Cheesecake Factory? Seriously, by the time I finish hearing the dizzying array of possibilities available to me - leave a message, have the person paged, send a fax, rent an airplane towing a message banner, send up a flare, triangulate the coordinates via GPS and drop a note tied to a rock, have a series of electric shocks administered to their armpits - I've forgotten who I was trying to reach in the first place. And as for the purpose of my call, well that's now anybody's guess. So if you don't get a message from me, you'll know why. Blame the technology you've chosen as a means of "connectedness".

Also, I don't need to be instructed to leave my message "after the tone". I've worked that out. My IQ is above-average at least. I've yet to begin leaving a message while the automated voice, or the voice of the intended call recipient, is still saying its piece. That's would just be plain rude. Everyone knows that.

Further, I don't need permission, or a reminder, to "hang up" when I'm "finished recording" my message, if at this point I even leave one (and technically, I'm not recording anything. The system is). Are there people out there who, not given such information, would stay on the phone a few hours perplexed as to what to do next with their lives? Oddly, I can easily imagine there are. Maybe we do need this after all, if for no other reason than to keep our country's productivity up.

Now, by popular demand, it's time to take you back to Yosemite for...

Day Three: He Was A Hairy Bear... He Was A Scary Bear!

Tuesday June 12 - After taking the boys up the Mist Trail and exhausting them on Monday, Ralph and Joe requested that Tuesday be a "light day" (insert obligatory feminine hygiene joke here). I figgered this was a good idea so we could save our legs for Half Dome or, as Joe repeatedly referred to it, Half-a-Dome. He sounded like the storekeeper from the old Abbott and Costello show... I decided to take them on a leisurely stroll to Mirror Lake with intentions of going off-trail a bit to Hidden Falls, a spot that's a park employee favorite but remains little-known to tourists. For some reason, employees seem to go to Hidden Falls for the express purpose of taking naps. I'm not sure what that's all about, other than that I recall it being kinda difficult at times while working in the Valley to find much serenity during the day in all the usual places.

Ralph on the trail

Me on the trail

We got our directions to Hidden Falls from our buddy Morgan at the front desk and set off a'strollin'. Hidden Falls turns out to be very aptly named, 'cos Ralph and I couldn't find it. We were, however, able to find every starving mosquito--or rather, they found us--for a fifty mile radius. This made stopping to eat lunch kind of annoying: bite, chew, swat; bite, chew, swat; screw it, run. Joe left us midway through the hike/stroll/meander to keep an appointment with a massage therapist, as he was feeling residual achiness from the day before. The Mirror Lake loop was less leisurely than we'd hoped for, but worth doing and certainly one of the least strenuous options available.

Mirror Lake

On the return end of the loop, I was hiking ahead of Ralph and heard a rustling sound in the woods ahead and to my right. Suddenly, a deer leapt out onto the trail and began trotting toward me. My first thought was, "Cool! A deer, and so close!!!" As I watched him approach, my next thought was, "Uh... antlers. Maybe not so cool..." My mind sorted through my Yosemite files and pulled up the information that the only animal-related human fatality in the park, to my knowledge, was caused by a deer. It seems a child had been feeding potato chips to a buck (feeding the wildlife in Yosemite is a big no-no, and for very good reasons) and they got into a bit of a struggle over who was gonna keep the bag. Sadly, and I'm sure inadvertently, the deer fatally gored the child. With this story flashing in my mind, I moved aside as much as I could to let the deer pass, all the while cooing niceties at him such as "Ooooh... pretty deer. Aren't you a pretty deer? Or is that 'handsome'? Ummm... you're a pretty, handsome deer..." He passed me close enough that I could have touched him, but I kept a respectful distance. I saw that Ralph was standing uptrail, ironically, like a deer in the headlights, so I calmly suggested he move to the side to let the buck pass, which he did.

Different buck, but you get the i-deer

I figgered that was my wildlife interaction for the day... but I was wrong. Not five minutes later, I heard another sound of something moving through the underbrush and, as I came around a boulder and looked to my right, I saw a brown furry ass running away into the woods (when I told Gabby the story, she asked, "Did you think it was a shaggy hiker?" She funny!!!). I ducked back behind the rock for a sec, peeked back around and was face-to-face with a California Black Bear (yeah, they're really brown, but that's what they call 'em anyway). He was prob'ly 50 or so feet away, and I'm glad 'cos I wouldn't want to be much closer to one of these guys. This fella was easily 250-300 lbs (or more. Who knows? I didn't have time to size him up on my Watch Out, There's A Big Ass Bear On The Trail chart), so the further away, the better. We looked in each other's eyes for a few seconds and I moved back behind the rock in the hopes that, like a two-year-old child, he'd think that since he could no longer see me, I'd ceased to exist. Good plan, Keith.

When you get to Yosemite Valley, they take great pains in trying to make you Bear Aware. Here's some of the tips you might hear, read or see on video:

If you encounter a bear:
Bears sometimes bluff their way out of threatening situations by charging and then veering off at the last second. If this happens, do your best not to scream or run. The bear will probably retreat as soon as she has made her point (this is her territory) and scared you senseless.
Never approach a bear. Give it plenty of room to pass by. Most black bears try to avoid confrontation when given a chance.
Do not run from a bear. Running away from a black bear may stimulate its instinct to chase. You cannot outrun a bear. Instead:
Stand and face the animal.
Make eye contact without staring.
Talk softly in a monotone and back away slowly.
If you have small children with you, pick them up so that they do not run or panic.
If there is more than one person, stand together to present a more intimidating figure, but do not surround the bear.
Give the bear room so that it can avoid you.

That's all well and good, but here's what happens in REAL LIFE when you (ok, I) encounter a bear:

Your hands go numb.
Your legs shake.
You run your ass off in a direction opposite the bear, find your friend uptrail and babble semi-coherently, "Bear! Bear on the trail! There'sabearthere'sabearthere'sabear. Bearbearbearbear!" And do a lot of pointing. And nearly soil yourself.

I know that conventional wisdom suggests that a human cannot outrun a bear, but here's where I beg to differ. Had the bear given chase, I guarantee that I would have been the first person in recorded history to fly unaided and would have easily avoided being mauled/eaten/bear-raped. I think my strategy for any further bear encounters will be the following, since this is almost what happened anyway:

I will immediately shit my pants.
I will reach into my pants, quickly gather my own shit and throw it at the bear in the hopes of either a) repelling him in disgust or b) giving him something distractingly interesting to focus on whilst I make good my escape. I'm vegan, after all, so there's plenty of nuts, seeds, berries and other bear-attractive goodies in my, uh, scat (I'm not sure whether this works to my advantage or against it. Just how keen is a bear's sense of smell again...?)

I believe this plan will work, and that it will be included in future Bear Awareness literature. When you see it, remember me!

Having had all the stimulation we could stand, Ralph and I headed back to base camp and then over to Yosemite Lodge "food court" for din-din. While waiting in line for my plate of pasta with vegan marinara, I overheard the women ahead of me discussing the Half Dome hike, so I asked if they'd done it and for their impressions of the hike. [Now over the years, I'd heard or read dozens of people's stories of hiking Half Dome but as my chance to do this hike drew closer, I wanted to hear some more. Particularly, I was interested in how people thought the hike to the top of Upper Yosemite Falls (rated "strenuous") compared to Half Dome (rated "very strenuous"). I'd hiked the Upper Yosemite Falls trail in 2000 and it was by far the greatest test of physical endurance I'd ever put myself through. After 4 hours and 2000+ feet of elevation gain in the middle of a hot August afternoon, my body threatened to contact an attorney and sue me for abuse. But I made it, and I made it back down.]

The women in the pasta line told me what it was like going up the Half Dome trail - nothing I hadn't heard before - but when I asked, "And coming down?", one of 'em said, "Don't ask!" and they all turned to look at a smallish woman in their group. I looked at the quizzically and the stared-at woman disclosed that a few years back, she'd been on the 45-50 degree vertical cable descent from the top of Half Dome when a freak hailstorm hit. She slipped on the slick granite, lost her grip on the cables, fell/slid a scary distance and injured herself quite severely. As she recounted the story, I quickly realized that I had read online here about her accident shortly after it had happened, as it appeared in a Yosemite group in which I'm active. In fact, I'd even sent my wishes for a speedy recovery to this woman, Brigid.

Brigid showed me some of her scars (devastating) and told me of her lengthy hospital stay (months, if memory serves), physical rehab, learning to walk again, etc. Prior to the accident, she'd been a triathlete and had run something on the order of 20 marathons. I'm sure her physical conditioning is what allowed her to recuperate, recover and return to Yosemite the very next year (!) to make the same hike again (I found out on Wednesday that a woman fell on the cables on Tuesday, hit her head and died later the same day. Eerie...). We talked for quite a while and she took my email address and phone number, but I've yet to hear from her. I sincerely hope she stays in touch, as I felt I'd met a kindred spirit in Brigid. If not, I'll cherish the experience of our paths having crossed.

We all retired to our cabin, having had another full and satisfying Yosemite day.

Coming soon! Tune in for Installment 4: God Give Me Strength

Anniversary, Schmiversary - or - Five Long Years

2007-07-13T23:11:00.000-04:00

Saturday July 13, 2002 - a date which will live in infamy. Keith Berger and Gabrielle Freddie were suddenly and deliberately married...

It's been five long years (you know just what I'm talkin' about), and we've yet to kill each other. This is a good thing 'cos, so far as I know, murder is still illegal in the state of Florida. If I'm wrong about this, someone please let me know. No reason. Y'know, just because.

Being that Gabby and I have grown accustomed to living a certain lifestyle familiar to those who keep all their belongings in a shopping cart, we decided not to celebrate with some sort of fancy night on the town (ok, our meager bank accounts decided for us, but that's beside the point) but rather to spend a quiet evening at home watching our cat try to eat our bird. Meanwhile, the cat who was not trying to eat the bird nearly choked himself attempting to swallow a feather he'd found on the carpet. I'm thinking that eating the bird would not be a good idea for him or the bird, should the opportunity arise. Leave it to our cat to thwart nature...

Alright, who's ready for Installment #2 in my Yosemite saga? Hmm........ don't everyone raise your hands at once...

Please allow me to ask the musical question...

Day Two: Why Don't You Take A Frickin' Hike?!?

Monday June 11 - Ralph and Joe had requested a "warm-up" hike to prep us all for our planned assault on Half Dome (covering roughly 16-17 miles with an elevation gain of 4800-ish feet, the trek to Half Dome and back is considered by many to be the crown jewel of Yosemite Valley hikes... and one that I had never so much as attempted in my five previous visits) and to acclimate us to the altitude. We live at sea level and Yosemite Valley is at about 4000 feet, so our pansy Florida asses were huffing and puffing a bit in the mountain air.

I presented the boys with some options and we settled on a hike to Vernal Falls along the Mist Trail, so-called because the trail takes you so close to the Falls that you get fairly soaked from the mist. You also get to see one of the most breathtaking sights you'll ever see, Vernal Falls, dropping pristine white water 317 feet - roughly equvalent to a 31-story building - and you not only walk right past it but you can stand at the top and watch the water go over the edge. And, when the sun is right (which seems to be most of the time), you're pretty much assaulted by rainbows. In fact, there is one spot on the Trail (for anyone who's been/plans to go there, it's when you're standing just to the left/above the cave) where you might find yourself standing inside the rainbow. It's a magical feeling, and I made sure to point this effect out to a few fellow hikers on the trail who seemed awed by it. This hike is a personal fave of mine, one that I would gladly do every day for the rest of my life, given the chance.

Ahhh...

In hindsight, the Mist Trail might not have been the best choice for us, as Ralph's knee can be a bit dodgy and the result was a pronounced limp (pronounced: limp), but Joe and I made it up easily enough. He and I left Ralph to relax at the Emerald Pool just above the Falls and went up a bit higher, nearly to the base of Nevada Fall (594 feet high - that's about 60 stories for you city folk... or architects).

Nevada Fall

All the falls were running fairly high so we got our share of misting. Joe and I went off-trail on the steps to Vernal and scrambleslid out closer to the Falls. It felt like a hurricane - high winds and lots of water - only without the fear of death and dismemberment due to a flying-street-sign-turned-guillotine. As hot as it was midday, the water brought cooling relief (why does that sound like a Preparation-H advert?).

Big fall, little Joe

We all spent a bit of time out on a boulder downstream from Vernal that I've come to think of as my "safe place", y'know, the place you visualize when attending a guided meditation or when standing in line at the DMV for three hours behind a guy who smells like a Greek salad...

Joe in quiet repose, and certainly not smelling like a Greek salad

On the way up and down the Mist Trail, we found ourselves interacting from time to time with two European women living in Holland (Petra is Czech, Paula... not sure). Joe engaged Paula in a discussion of foreign films he'd seen (such a smoothie, that Joe!) while I just tried not to be the quintessential stupid American. On the way down, they called us from behind and took our picture with Vernal in the background. Petra gave me her card and said she'd email the pic to us. We had a short but interesting conversation about hiking, travel, politics (Petra's not a fan of Bush - thank God - but then, is anyone?) and the differences between Europeans and Americans. If they hadn't had to leave the park in a little while to continue their own American adventure, we might have all eaten dinner together.

Me, Joe & Paula above Vernal Falls - don't mock, it's a great hiking hat!

Joe, Ralph, me and Paula

Petra at Nevada Fall

Eventually, the boys and I hiked down and had din-din at the Mountain Room at Yosemite Lodge where Gabby and I had our rehearsal dinner in '02. Methinks it may have been too pricey for Joe (I'm pretty sure he ordered the most expensive item on the menu for some reason), but I had a great vegan dish: Grilled Portobello Cap with Vegan Polenta, quinoa and roasted veggies, and gazpacho for the appetizer. Sated and pleasantly exhausted from the day's hike, we caught the last shuttle back to Camp Curry and bid Yosemite goodnight...

Next installment:

Day Three: He Was A Hairy Bear... He Was A Scary Bear

Lord Have MRSA!

2007-07-06T10:43:00.000-04:00

****A call for help: my blog buddy Suki could use a bit of support after having a bit of a medical scare, so if you can, please pop over to her blog and send her some positive thoughts and energy!****

It was on this day in 1957 that this guy

met this guy

and the rest is history.

And from the Writer's Almanac:

It's the birthday of one of the most influential and controversial philosophers of the 20th century, Peter Singer (books by this author), born in Melbourne, Australia (1946). His book Animal Liberation (1975), which is generally credited with starting the animal rights movement, has sold more than a million copies and is estimated to have converted more people to vegetarianism than any other book ever written.

But Singer has said he is disappointed by the book's impact. He said, "When I wrote it, I really thought the book would change the world. I know it sounds a little grand now, but at the time the '60s still existed for us. It looked as if real changes were possible, and I let myself believe that this would be one of them. All you have to do is walk around the corner to McDonald's to see how successful I have been."

I've yet to read Singer's book, but I've always heard good things about it. My best reference source for nutrition info and the book that was basically my Bible when I transitioned to a vegan lifestyle is John Robbin's Diet For a New America. Heir to the Baskin-Robbins fortune, Robbins watched his family members suffer obesity and early deaths from their dairy consumption and put 2 and 2 together. What he came up with was 4, like most people, but more importantly he saw the link between the ingestion of animal products and preventable disease and death in humans.

In light of reports from Europe (shorter report here) that they're finding methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA, commonly called Mersa by its friends and family... just before it kills them), if there was ever a good time to go vegan, it would be now. I read in the Onion that the world death rate is holding steady at 100% so I know we all have to die eventually (except my Jehovah's Witness friends who plan to live forever in paradise on Earth. Hi Marty!!!), but it doesn't hafta go down like Stephen King's The Stand... I'm foregoing including a picture of what a MRSA-affected area looks like ('cos it's kinda gross and I don't wanna see it every time I come here), but if'n yer curious, go here. When you stop vomiting, you can make a choice as to whether to eat that next pork chop or burger.

If you need me, I'll be with Stu and Frannie on our way to visit Mother Abagail...

It's always something, and then it's nothing... and that, I guess, is life.

Red, White and Blues

2007-07-04T23:57:00.000-04:00

I awoke this morning and did what I do every 4th of July: I sprang out of bed and threw my hands in the air (and waved 'em like I just didn't care) in celebration of America's hard-fought independence from the stifling and oppressive imperialist monarchy of the hateful British Empire and that limey bastard, King George III!!! Feh!

That or I got up, showered and took a dump. Yup, I think it was the latter.

I don't like the 4th of July. I don't enjoy barbeques (what vegan does?) and fireworks do not excite me. In fact, I hate the idea of all those dogs and cats (and kids... let's not forget the kids) who are scared shootless by all that frickin' noise the entire week before, the night of and several days afterward as people continue to blow stuff up for fun. Nearly every year on and around the 4th, we housesit for friends and watch the sweetest dog in the world. Abby (the dog) is so freaked out by fireworks that it's all we can do to get her to go outside for 5 seconds to pee during the day, and we sometimes have to dose her with Benadryl to get her to stop trembling. Is all this noise really necessary? The rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air happened during a war. People were being killed. Do we really want/need to keep that memory alive? Grrr.....

I will never be mistaken for a patriot. Usually, the only time red, white and blue come together for me is when I wash my clothes (I stridentally refuse to racially segregate my laundry). I think the whole idea of patriotism is a farce (have I already ranted about this in here someplace?). In my opinion, the only people who have a right to go on and on about their Americanism and how much they love their country blahblahblah are those who actually chose to be here. If you're foreign-born and have become an American citizen by choice, I'm all for hearing about your love for this country. If you happened to have been born here (like me), please fold up your flag and shush. Really, it's enough already. My parents conceived me in Brooklyn, hung around for the next nine months and on August 24, 1968, whether I liked it or not, I became an American citizen. That's just what happened. I had no say in the matter.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love living here. I haven't been to any other countries (except Canada, but that doesn't count. Any country I can get to by going through a toll booth doesn't count. I need to cross an ocean or something to get that feeling of actually going somewhere. To me, Canada seems like reaaaaaaaaally far upstate New York) and I imagine most of 'em are nice, but I'd prob'ly choose to live in the U.S. anyway. However, I just don't have this feeling of patriotic connection, and I don't dig nationalism. I always remember what my freshman sociology professor said, that when you create an in-group, you automatically create an out-group. Our current government has done/is doing enough to isolate us from the rest of the world; I don't wanna add to it.

But to be hypocritical for a moment, even though I didn't choose to be born on this planet (or maybe I did?), I do consider myself a citizen of the Earth and I feel that borders only exist on maps. If we all took a moment to realize that what we really are is one big family living on one small planet, rather than hundreds of groups separated by imaginary lines and fear-based ideologies, we might actually achieve the peace that so many of us talk about wanting.

Oh, and one more thing. I live in a country where, if I choose to, I could own and operate a grotesque, obnoxious, hugely wasteful eyesore of an automobile named for a slang term for oral sex. Is it any wonder there are so many people around the world right now who just don't like us?

Happy EveryDay, fellow citizens of Earth!

Do You Have To Have A Beard To Be A Mountain Man?

2007-07-02T23:38:00.000-04:00

I'm finally taking a bit of time to recount some of my recent Yosemite adventure. I figger I'd better hop to it before I forget the whole thing ever happened...

Installment #1

Day One: Travel & Unravel

Ralph, Joe and I (pics to follow) awakened at our respective homes at ungodly hours in the neighborhood of four o'clock in the morning. I never realized there was a four o'clock in the morning. I knew about the four o'clock in the afternoon. This four o'clock was dark. Threw me all off. I took the sixty gazillion pounds of crap I'd packed into my two bags and one guitar case (note to self: next trip to Yosemite, pack much lighter. I didn't use 1/3 of what I brought, including six t-shirts that, when packed into my bag, magically gained ten pounds each. In the future, I might just pack some bricks and forego the t-shirts. At least bricks can be useful. You never know when you might wanna build a tiny wall. Really, awful unstrategic packing. I think I had less crap with me when I went and lived in the park for three months), dragged it all out to the car, kissed the Gabster and the kitties goodbye and headed down to our jumping-off point, Ralph & Ann's house in Pompano Beach. How their address qualifies to have "beach" in it is beyond me. They're so far west, they're about as close to the beach as they'd be if they lived in Wyoming. And if they did, I'm sure they'd be in Wyoming Beach. But I digress... as usual.

Joe and I parked our cars in Ralph's development (more about that later...) and we all headed off to Ft. Lauderdale Airport. I remember when it was a little bitty airport. Now it's all grown up and busy as hell with lines out the wazoo, whatever that is. It's kinda like Disney, except the only attractions are airplane rides. Joe made every effort to get himself arrested or at the very least detained by trying to bring bottles of unusual liquid, including his own laundry detergent, through security. They weren't having it and, in the end, neither was Joe. Detergent confiscated. The next time I saw the security guy, his colors were brighter and his whites were whiter.
Is this a double-message?

Passing time between flights. I lost.

So we flew... and we landed... and we flew... and we landed. If there's a direct flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Fresno, they take great pains to hide it. With our rental car rented ($132 for six days through Dollar-Rent-A-Car. Not too shabby, especially when split three ways), we got in out white Dodge Charger--giddy up!-- and drove non-stop to............ the Cheesecake Factory down the street from the airport. Hey, we were hungry. Those airplane snacks don't go very far these days.

I had agreed to do all the curvy mountain driving to and from the park and I'm glad I did, as Joe developed a bit of carsickness in the back seat and Ralph turned as white as our car a few times on those guardrail-less turns where, if ya sneeze, you're now headed over a thousand-foot cliff. Buh-bye. *waving* I'd done this drive before, so for me it was no sweat. The worst part was prob'ly the rental's utter lack of power on the uphill climbs... oh, and the downhills... um, and the flat portions... basically, any time it was in motion. As I commented to the guys, "Hmm, this car really has a lot of get-up-and-stay".

We winded (wound?) our way up the beautiful mountain road that is Route 41 and finally began to catch glimpses of Yosemite Valley. Coming through Wawona Tunnel toward Inspiration Point, I instructed Ralph and Joe to close their eyes for a minute. As we exited the tunnel, I said, "OK, open 'em!" and they had their first full view of Yosemite Valley:

I can never see this sight enough. I wish a photo could do it justice, but it can't. If you've never been to Yosemite, please do yourself a favor and, before you take your last breath on this planet, go.

Ralph taking it all in...

We stopped to stretch and rest our travel-weary legs, to take in the sudden expanse of beauty and, like everybody else, to photograph the hell out of it. Ralph cried, Joe walked off his carsickness and I trotted up into the woods for what seems to have become my traditional First Pee in Yosemite. I've been in some nice bathrooms and I've been in some (literal) shitholes, but for a place to urinate, you just can't beat this view. We'd have stayed longer, but we were eager to get down to the Valley and check in to our cabin in Curry Village.

We endured a looooooooong wait in the Curry Registration line, as the computers had been troublesome that day. As always in Yosemite, everybody talks with everybody and the moods are always high, so we struck up conversations with the people around us. The Valley seems to be a popular destination for, uh, women who enjoy the company of other women, and we soon realized we were flanked on all sides by lesbians. And just when I thought I couldn't love Yosemite any more than I already do! The line moved like a snake with a broken back, but we were finally checked in and sorted out by Morgan, a cool, funny kid who spends his off-days rock climbing (I ran into Morgan nearly each day we were there, even on his days off, and he was always helpful and accomodating. I sent a commendation about him to the feedback area of the park website). We dragged our tired asses and all our stuff to cabin #296 and went to catch the tail-end of dinner at the Curry Pavilion. It kinda sucked because of how late we got there, but we made do (then later, we made doo-doo). There are quite a number of vegan options available in the Valley for me to get my needs met, but I brought along my Vegan Emergency Survival Kit anyway (a selection of Clif Bars, ProBars and Greens Bars for protein).

Curry Dining Pavilion, a short walk from our cabin

It took awhile, but my roll-a-way bed finally arrived (by mutual agreement, Ralph and Joe each took one of the double beds in the cabin) and we all went to sleep. At this point, our day had been nearly 24 hours...

Our base of operations...

OK, so we're not very tidy...

Tune in next time for Installment #2: Why Don't You Take A Frickin' Hike?!?

Almost Forgot I Have A Blog

2007-06-20T10:58:00.000-04:00

It's been too long since I've put anything here. Bad blogger! Bad!!!

First things first:

When I called Gabby from Yosemite on the day she got her biopsy results, she answered the phone with one word: "Benign". Whew... Although she and I had maintained a positive attitude about the whole thing and made a conscious effort to not energize the possibility that she/we might receive some bad news, I could feel some weight lifted off my mind when she said that word.

Yosemite memories to follow very soon. Suffice to say that my vacation was spectacular with a capital S and a capital PECTACULAR... Until I tell the tale, just one pic:

Me atop Sentinel Dome at 8122 ft., mere feet from where I proposed to Gabby in 2000. Silly girl, she said yes. It's been all downhill from there... at least for the seven hours it took us to hike back down to the Valley. ;-)

And now, the triumphant return of Song O' The Morn!

6/27/07 - In The Light - Led Zeppelin
From the 1975 double album Physical Graffiti. This track reminds me of how rarely I hear accolades given to John Paul Jones for his role in the band. Aside from his bass playing (matching Jimmy Page note-for-note on so many classic Page-associated riffs. Black Dog, anyone?), his keyboard playing is always interesting, as on this track or when sounding like a flute on Hairway To Steven (or when sounding like "a" as in neighbor and weigh). Generally, JPJ played what the song required, staying in the background while Page, Plant and Bonham took the superstar roles. Some choose to stay in the shadows, but everybody needs the light...

While in Yosemite, I didn't record any Song O' The Morns (or are they Songs O' The Morn?), but I am aware that I found the Boston song Don't Look Back in my head on numerous occasions, prob'ly 'cos I made a point of trying to get up as close to dawn as possible nearly each day. It's not their best song, but the new day and dawn references are what my early-morning brain seized on. Really, it's such a positive song, which makes hearing it (in my head or otherwise) bittersweet considering Boston lead singer Brad Delp's shocking suicide earlier this year. We'll miss ya, Brad.

(any lyric errors, blame Google. I'm too tired/lazy to muster up the energy to proof it)

Don't look back

A new day is breakin'

It's been too long since I felt this way

I don't mind where I get taken

The road is callin'

Today is the day

I can see

It took so long just to realize

I'm much too strong

Now to compromise

Now I see what I am is holding me down

I'll turn it around

I finally see the dawn arrivin'

I see beyond the road I'm drivin'

Far away and left behind

It's a new horizon and I'm awakin' now

Oh I see myself in a brand new way

The sun is shinin'

The clouds are breakin'

I cant lose now, theres no game to play

I can tell

There's no more time left to criticize

I've seen what I could not recognize

Everthing in my life was leading me on

But I can be strong

I finally see the dawn arrivin'

I see beyond the road I'm drivin'

Far away and left behind

Briefly

2007-06-09T23:49:00.001-04:00

Spent today running around getting last-minute items for my trip and packing like a madman. I think I have everything. I think I have too much of everything. I'm prepared to downsize in Ralph's parking lot should the need arise. I've decided to bring a guitar along, as Yosemighty is a very guitar-friendly place and I'd hate to be caught without. I was gonna bring my old Sigma (the bastard stepchild of Martin Guitars), but one of the bridge pins gave up the ghost as I was taking off the horribly old strings and I don't have any extras laying around nor time to go and get one. So, I'm taking my Taylor. I'm sure all will go well, but if something were to happen (I've seen those old Samsonite ads. I'm fully aware that my baggage is handled by gorillas on crack), I'd be more upset if the Martin were to sustain damage.

Gig went well tonight. Thankfully, some people showed up (thanks especially to Glenn and Kelly for coming out!). My old friend and harmonica ace Billy "Hot Lips" Burns has returned from wherever it is that he's been hiding and sat in on Stormy Monday. Outstanding!

We'll be at Koffeeokee on 6/22. Bring a friend. Bring earplugs. Bring da noize.

OK, I'm off to bed for a few hours and then off to Yosemite! I'll be back... eventually. If yer lucky.

A Day In The Life

2007-06-07T00:41:00.000-04:00

Yesterday's Song O' The Morn took me back to what I consider to be the happiest day of my life, so I wanted to share it here...

6/6/07 - Stand By Your Man - Tammy Wynette

I'm not sure exactly how old I was (I'd have to say somewhere around ten) but one summer day, my Mom took me to Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village for the day. I sat and alternated between watching two sets of performers for hours. One was a Beatles cover band called The Leaves. I sat cross-legged on the ground, transfixed as they brought to life those songs I'd been listening to on the radio and my mom's turntable pretty much ever since I was born. I was amazed to be hearing those songs live and, for me on that day, these guys might as well have been the actual Beatles. This little Beatlemaniac (or in this case, Leavesmaniac) sat and listened and watched and clapped through each set they did, smiling as big as I've prob'ly ever smiled in my life throughout the afternoon.

So where do Tammy Wynette and her signature song enter into this idyllic childhood memory? Well, I'm glad you asked!

Between Leaves sets, another group of performers would set up and perform a puppet show using these really cool, life-sized, animal puppets/marionettes. The puppeteers were charismatic, funny and a hoot to watch. They used music for some parts of their show and one particular segment included a giant bird-looking thing with ridiculously big boobs (clearly referencing Dolly Parton) crooning "Stand By Your Man" and then inserting itself in a large cardboard box and ostensibly mailing itself to its man, choreographed to a Woody Guthrie song: "I'm a'gonna wrap myself in paper/I'm a'gonna dot myself with glue/Stick some stamps on top of my head/I'm a'gonna mail myself to you".

I can't recall a happier day in my childhood and, honestly, few days in my adulthood have been as purely joyful as that day was for me. I revisit that day often, picking up my mental crayons and coloring the images a bit deeper and a bit brighter each time, lest I begin to forget...

And to think that most days by noon I can't remember what I had for breakfast...

6/6/07 - Round Here - Counting Crows
Yes, I'm aware that this song was originally recorded by Adam Duritz's pre-CC band, the Himalayans, but the version I woke up to this morn was the one from August and Everything After (an album that, I regret to say, got one listen and then languished in my CD rack for about a year until I went back and realized just how great it was. I do this a lot. I'm sloooooow. Just ask Dave). Round Here is one of my fave songs and, as I'm sure I've mentioned, the one I used to usually close my solo acoustic gigs with (thanks for showing me the signature riff, Dave). There's a lot of space for extemporaneous improv in it, especially at the end. I think, of the songs I perform, it's Gab's favorite... aside from the ones I wrote for her.

Gabby's been doing great today, post-biopsy. She called me early in the day and said, "Well, it fell off" ("it" being her newly-pierced boob) and went on to tell me she'd put it in a jar with formaldehyde. I told her that ice woulda been a better bet if she'd had her eye on reattachment but that if she just wanted to keep it for some high schoolers to have for dissection ("Save a frog! Lop off a boob!"), formaldehyde was the way to go. Really, she says that it's just been kinda itchy. And that's why the lady is a champ.

Spent the evening at La Casa Vullo having din-din and watching comedy. First up: Eddie Izzard's Dress To Kill. Fookin' hilarious! I then introduced them to Mitch Hedberg as we watched Mitch's Comedy Central special from the Mitch Altogether CD/DVD. A fun time was had by all!

Half Dome, taken from the Panorama Trail just below Glacier Point, 1989. Four more days... In the background to the left of Half Dome is a peak called Cloud's Rest. Below is a pic of me doing a bit of death-defying bouldering on Cloud's Rest. Ah, the stupidity of youth...

To the left is the front edge of Half Dome... Not knowing how to climb back down from the rock I'd just scrambled up on, I chose to simply jump back down. Not the smartest move, but who at 19 years old isn't immortal, right? If a strong gust of south-blowing wind had come as I prepared my mountain goat-esque leap, I would've prob'ly fell a few thousand feet before coming to a very sudden, very messy stop.

It's nice to still be here.

Mammogram-A-Ding-Dong

2007-06-05T22:28:00.000-04:00

Gabs had her first-ever mammogram a few weeks ago and, as if the procedure weren't enough fun already, received notice a few days later by mail that the test results showed a couple of "abnormalities". Next came the ultrasound, then the consultation with the doc, then the order for a needle biopsy. Gabby's been uber-nervous about this, and I don't blame her. Needles suck. Needles that yank stuff out of yer body suck even worse.

Today was biopsy day, and I accompanied Gab to the medical office and held her hand through the invasive procedure. Well, most of the way through it anyway, right up to the point where I nearly vomited on her/fainted onto the floor.

Let's just say that Gabby made it through her ordeal like a champ (after, I half-expected her to say, "Screw it! Let's do the other boob while we're here!" Me? Not so much), after my several dozen reminders to take slow, deep breaths. The doc demanded that she not hyperventilate, as if insisting that one not hyperventilate is a good strategy for thwarting such an occurrence. So, we breathed together like some Lamaze couple. The doctor, a no-nonsense woman with a stellar reputation in the breast community (I like to think I have such a reputation, as well), performed two biopsies, one with a itty-bitty needle for the smaller of the two suspect areas. The second biopsy on the larger area was performed with an instrument resembling a small electric carving knife that was actually plugged into a large machine making intermittent vacuum-like noises. The doc's technique resembled what one might do with a small electric carving knife whilst attempting to remove a particularly tenacious turkey leg from the rest of the frame.

At this point, I felt my legs losing touch with the rest of my body and said weakly and prudently, "I'm feeling a bit lightheaded. I'm gonna go sit down..." I let go of Gabby's hand and quietly wished someone would take mine and lead me to the chair that looked to be a thousand miles away down a dark tunnel.

Sitting down, it was all I could do to keep from vomiting and/or fainting. I strategized as to which biowaste container would be best to yak into, realizing that running out of the room was not gonna be an option. You see, at this point, my legs had ceased all communication with the rest of my body, the room seemed to get several shades darker and my right ear took to ringing like a crack dealer's cell phone. I took some deep breaths (my cure for everything. "Lost yer job? Drove yer car into a canal? Deeeeeep breaths..."), only to find out later that this is usually a sure-fire way to achieve fainting rather than stave it off. A better bet woulda been the ol' head-between-the-knees move, but my thinker was not in top form at the time. My best strategy was to sink back in the chair and hope that it would contain me till the smelling salts arrived.

Eventually, it all passed (as everything inevitably does), but not before m'wife--having just had her left breast stabbed repeatedly and still lying on the procedure table-thingy--giggled and asked me a few times how I was doing. Yeah, as usual, it's all about me.

She's a remarkable woman, my wife. Me, on the other hand? I'm just a guy who almost fainted from something that wasn't even happening to him. If there's a "weaker sex", it's certainly the one I'm a member of.

Moving on...

In five days, I'll be in my most favorite place on the planet, Yosemite National Park. I'm so excited I hardly know what to do with myself, so I'm gonna post a coupla pictures I took out there in 1989 and 2002.

Yosemite's most recognizable icon, Half Dome, touched by a cloud in the summer of 1989 when I worked in the park for the second time. At 8,836 ft., this granite dome stands at the east end of Yosemite Valley and poses one of the greatest challenges to hikers in the park. This year, I intend to meet that challenge and will stand on top of that hill by week's end.

Vernal Falls with Rainbow, 2002

This 317 ft. waterfall is one of my favorite spots to visit. One route to Half Dome takes you up to, around and past this magnificent fall via the Mist Trail (so-called because of the watery mist you're sprayed by en route). I recall the sign posted at the top of Vernal back in 1988 that read, "Do not go near the edge of the fall. If you slip and fall over, you will die", complete with an etching of a little red stick-figure, arms waving in the air, careening over the fall. A great bit of writing. No frills, straight to the point, unequivocal. Not "You may be injured" or "It's possible that..." Straight-up: You Will Die. Nice!

More Yosemite pics later. And I'm deferring the next Song O' The Morn till tomorrow (at least). I know, I know, you're on the edge of yer seat...

Several Puns Not Intended

2007-06-04T22:53:00.001-04:00

Recently, someone asked me, "So how's life treatin' ya?", to which I replied, "Great, as long as I stay out of its way". Life is rolling steadily forward, and I'm rolling with it. So far, so good...

The band played this past Saturday to a bit more than our usual handful at Gizzi's. They were most appreciative and we played pretty well. I know I felt very relaxed, as did Casey, and it seemed to come through in our performances. I find that most of the pressure I feel in these situations (really, in most situations) is self-generated. No one I play in front of tells me I need to do better or be better. I just hear it in my head. I guess when I can get out of my own way, life is smoother still.

We've (borderLine) been invited to play at a 4th of July picnic at Lake Ida Park in Delray. More on that (hey, who you callin' "moron"?) when I get the details. I believe it's a sober picnic sponsored (no pun intended) by Delray's Central House, a 12-Step clubhouse. This means there will be no alcohol or other drugs... with the notable exception of more tobacco than both the Carolinas produce in a year. Ah well, I s'pose if you're gonna give up an addiction or three, give up the ones that are killing you the quickest, no?

Oh, we'll be at Gizzi's again this Sat., 6/9. Come one, come all. I leave for Yosemite the next day, so all you groupies might as well stay home. Big Daddy's gonna need his beauty sleep that night...

Song O' The Morn update:

5/30 - Driver 8 - R.E.M.
5/31/07 - Fall On Me - R.E.M.
After Mike and Kristie reminded me of what a great band they are, I broke out Eponymous (sadly, the only R.E.M. album I own, but a good 'un) and put it in the car. You just gotta love those Peter Buck hooks! Simple, but immediately recognizable and memorable. I don't have any particular emotional attachment to R.E.M., but I do recall thinking that the MTV Unplugged version of Fall On Me was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard way back when. I think I have a VHS copy of it buried somewhere, but I'm not up for the archaeological dig it would require to find it right now. If anyone knows where I can find this or see it, please lemme know. I tried youtube, but no dice.

6/1/07 - I'm Only Sleeping - Les Beatles
I've always loved this song. The backing harmonies are especially beautiful, and the backward guitar intrigued me as a kid. In fact, as I think back, Yesterday and Today was the 1st Beatles album I actually bought by myself. I must've been around 12, and I think it may have cost me $4.00. All my other Beatles albums had been given to me by my mom's friends. Man, I can remember it, no pun intended, like it was yesterday. Riffling through the album racks, finally pulling this one up and checking to see if there was a Butcher Cover hiding beneath. Well, there wasn't, but there was the album inside and I played it about a thousand times over. I swear I can smell that record store as I write this. That, or I really need to wash my socks.

6/2/07 - Who Will Save Your Soul - Jewel
Say what you will about her, but Jewel is one of maybe three singers I've heard in my life whose voice has given me chills. Two are women I know personally, Holly Wilkie (a friend from high school with a voice as clear as glass. During rehearsal for a school performance, she sang "Ave Maria" and very nearly made me cry...) and Marnie Wagner (a friend I met in Florida and have in my life to this day. When we met, she told me, "Oh, I play guitar and sing" and I thought, "Yeah, ok, whatever". Later at her apartment she sang a song she'd written - Purple Sky? - and for the second time in my life, chills).

6/3/07 - I'm Ready - borderLine
Yup, I woke up hearing Casey sing this Wille Dixon song in my head. It was brought to the band by our former harp player, Robert. I'd never heard it before, but it's now in our set and Casey handles it very well. Just another I-IV-V blues, but it fills the time.

6/4/07 - Solid As A Rock - Ashford and Simpson
I told'ja this stuff was random... My mom and stepfather listened to lots of R&B (before those initials stood for what they stand for today: Really & Bad) during my teen years, Ashford and Simpson among the bunch. I never saw A&S perform, but Mom & Steve took me to see some great concerts over those years: Tina Turner, Stevie Wonder, Chicago (not R&B per se, but they did have a kick-ass horn section)...

One of my Song O' The Morn bands is coming to town. The Black Crowes will by at the Mizner Park Amphitheater on 8/25 (the day after my b'day). I've seen 'em before, most memorably at the now-defunct Sunrise Musical Theater, and would see 'em again. At this point, I'm on the fence about going. If anybody feels like making a b'day gift of a ticket, by all means do so!

I've Been Trying To Get In Touch With My Feminine Side, But She Won't Return My Calls

2007-05-31T23:41:00.000-04:00

An email exchange with Danielle earlier today inspired this:

Sometimes I wish I were dating again, for purely sociological reasons. It'd give me an opportunity to try out my Philosophy of Honesty in Dating, or Ph.D., if you will. It goes a bit like this:

Rather than wasting time with all that disingenous "I'd-like-to-take-you-out-to-dinner-and-a-movie" crapola, I'd like to try a more honest approach along the lines of, "Hi! I find you extremely attractive and would like to have sex with you. Repeatedly. As often as possible. Starting now." (of course, if your name is Maxwell Edison and it's Joan you're asking out to the pictures, it's not so much sex you're after as it is a chance to swing your silver hammer... and Happy 40th, Sgt. Pepper!)

You see, when you get right down to it, nobody really wants to take someone out and feed them or see a movie and hold a philosophical discussion afterward. That's just a means to an end. In truth, everybody just wants to get everybody else out of their clothes and into their bed. Or their car. Or somebody else's bed. Or car. Or the lawn. You get my point.

No other species has to go through all that we put ourselves through in the pursuit of sex. But then, no other species wears clothes (except William Wegman's poor Weimaraners. I can't wait til those pooches get tired of Wegman making them play dress-up and just maul the shit outta that guy... and, while we're at it, for Anne Geddes to have her ass kicked by a whole bunch of babies in bee costumes. They oughtta shove her ass into a giant flower pot and leave her there. In my perfect world, these two nutjobs would be in adjoining prison cells. Please, people. Leave children and animals alone).

So, perhaps clothing is the problem?

I remember my high school friend Larry Hansen (if I were to pony up the twenty bucks or whatever it is to become an all-access member of classmates.com rather than remaining at lurker-level, I could get in touch with Larry today. After reading what comes next, you'll wonder why I might ever consider doing that) saying once that "The only thing standing between us and sex with all these girls [gesturing toward a good portion of the student body - pun intended] is a little bit of cotton... oh, and permission". Wiser words were never spoken, especially not by any sixteen-year-old. It could've easily been a line spoken by Damone to Rat in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Instead, it was spoken by Larry to me in a tiny little school in a tiny little town in Upstart New York. Sadly, try as I might, all my high-school permission slips were denied... I'd have to wait till a few weeks after graduation to get past the cotton.

(I'm sure everyone wanted to know that)

So, do you think we could pull off such a sea change in this age-old, frustrating ritual? Could we pack up the games we play and just lay it all out there, putting our honest desires out in front and dispensing with the subterfuge? No more "Would you care to dance?" unless said dance is to be done naked and horizontal (or however you like. Freak). "Can I buy you a drink?" could become, "Listen, I have a few condoms..."

On the subject of alcohol, which I under no circumstances advocate the use of---remember, the root word in "intoxicated" is "TOXIC"--, the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous (the basic text of the 12-Step program that has helped save the lives of millions of people since its inception in 1935) refers to alcohol as a "social lubricant". I've always interpreted that to mean that it helps one's pants slide off more easily. Not sure if that's really what they meant, but I've seen it happen.

If you're single, tired of all that dating nonsense and interested in being a force for positive change in this world (oh, and "horny" would prob'ly be helpful, too), why not give it a shot? Sign up for Professor Berger's Ph.D. course today! Get out there, be honest with others about what you want and what you need, and see what results come your way!

(I'm reminded of what another friend from around my high school days once told me. Brian Finch, an impossibly good-looking guy my mom always referred to as "Stunning", once assured me that, "If you go up to ten women and tell them you wanna have sex with them, guaranteed, nine of 'em will slap you in the face. Ahhh, but the tenth one..." And then he smiled the smile that had removed many a cotton barrier, and would go on to remove many more. Brian's seen more ass than a rental car. For all I know, he was right.)

So I Had My Politics Tested...

2007-05-30T00:08:00.000-04:00

...and you can too, over at http://www.okcupid.com/politics. Thanks to Kristie for posting her results and piquing my curiosity. By the way, has anyone not yet seen Jojo's famous hula boogie?

My completely-unsurprising results:

You are a
Social Liberal
(76% permissive)

and an...
Economic Liberal
(8% permissive)

You are best described as a:

(8e/76s)

Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid
Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

I practically flew right off the charts into some as-yet-undefined area of liberalism, a place where trees hug you back and the heart spews blood volcanically.

When given the opportunity to create a new law, here was (were) my suggestion(s):

"48. And finally, if you could make up ONE new law and have it enforced FOREVER, by goons, what would your law be? Use your imagination, let your despotic instincts run free.

I would dictate that... people planning to have children need to take parenting courses ahead of time and, if they fail, must be sterilized or otherwise rendered so hideously ugly that no one would ever again consider breeding with them. Also, there needs to be a law dictating what you can and cannot name a child, 'cos this shit's really getting out of hand. Throw some letters back in the Scrabble bag and pick a few new ones before you name your kid Qwwaneshianyah. Please. He'll thanks you later and prob'ly not shoot you... at least not for that."

If you're reading this, considered yerself tagged. Now, go forth and quiz thyself.

Oh, and the latest Song O' The Morn entries:

5/28/07 - Breaking the Girl - Red Hot Chili Peppers
1991's Blood Sugar Sex Magik never gets old and has yet to start sounding dated. I would put it up against any album of its time-or since-for pure funkiness, groove, power and balls. Sandwiched between the funk/rap of If You Have To Ask and soulful grit of Funky Monks, BTG could have been lost with its simple, straightforward acoustic guitar and crooning vocal, but the placement is perfect. And after watching the behind-the-scenes video Funky Monks (which I should prob'ly return to Mike, considering he lent it to me roughly a hundred years ago), I can just picture Flea banging steel pipes to get those big sounds in the percussion breakdown mid-song. And to think that John Frusciante was, what, 19 or 20 at the time BSSM was recorded...? JAY-sus!

5/29/07 - Have A Cigar - Pink Floyd
It was a treat being amongst the capacity crowd to hear Roger Waters sing this one recently at the Whoever-Owns-It-This-Week Amphitheatre in West Palm Beach. That joint gets turned over more often than a hooker's mattress. I was impressed that Rog could hold that long bit in "traaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnn" (note: the vocals on the album track belong to Roy Harper. Shut up, Dave). Another treat was the fistfight that broke out between the two drunkards mere feet from the tiny piece of real estate Gabby and I had claimed like squatters on the lawn. This is the second fight I've seen at a show (coincidentally, both at the same venue), the first of which provided me with my Most Ironic Concert Moment Ever:

During James Taylor's singing of Shower the People (yes, that's "Shower the people you love with love / show them the way that you fee-eel"), two guys a few rows in front of us start throwing punches and pummeling the crap out of each other. They had to be broken apart by security personnel and escorted out. JT and band never stopped playing, as they were oblivious to this little slice of hippie-love-gone-sour. I said to the guy behind me, as I laughed my ass off, "A fight at a James Taylor show is like a hug at a hockey match!"

Sing it with me, kids: Shower the people in front of you with blows..........

2007-05-28T01:21:00.000-04:00

It's been a nice weekend so far, and Monday's looking good too.

We played our two gigs, Saturday night at Crossroads and Sunday afternoon at our friend Scottie's house. There was a crossover of attendees at both, and all the feedback was positive. People really seemed to dig us at both places, and I thought we sounded really good most of the time. Casey had spent the week in Maryland and, trooper that she is, came directly from the airport for the second half of the gig. She showed up, having spent the past seven hours in transit, and stepped right to the mike and brought the goods. A girl in the audience (Helen....... Helen Wheels) requested some Counting Crows, so we played Round Here (actually a song by the Himalayans...) with our friend Buda sharing the vocals. I used to close my acoustic gigs with this one, so it was nice to bring it out again. I think we'll add it to our set...

Sunday's gig was poolside and it was a sober event, so there were minimal drownings and maximums bikini-ings. We were joined for a few songs by an amazing violin player named Carl. The guy was outstanding, and we hope to play more with him and possibly his percussionist friend Benny, who also sat in. I don't mean to marginalize Benny's playing, but I wasn't really able to pay attention to what he was doing with all that was going on.

I was fairly exhausted by the end of the afternoon but stopped by Elwood's on the way home to see if Mike was playing. Unfortunately, he was not. It's prob'ly for the best, 'cos I needed to get some din-din and would have spent much more time there if Mikey had been around.

Monday will possibly hold a visit to Mom's late in the day.

Here's the latest Song O' The Morn playlist:

5/26/07 - Real Love - The Beatles

I remember the thrill of the Beatles' Anthology coming out, and hearing this song for the first time with the surviving Beatles on the track. It wasn't really the Beatles, but it was sorta the Beatles and it was the first time in a long time and that was good enough for me. I pulled out my copy of John Lennon - Free As A Bird - The Dakota Beatle Demos and sadly found that the people at Pegboy Records (whoever they are) made some crappy CDs. It's gone all foggy-looking and will no longer play. Too bad, 'cos there were some haunting recordings on there, many of which were recorded by John through a boom box sitting atop his piano. Very intimate stuff, as I recall.

5/27/07 - When The Levee Breaks - Led Zeppelin
Despie the allusions to Chicago, I can only think of New Orleans now when I hear this song (yeah, I know, me and everybody else). Plant is an under-rated harp player (and some may say an over-rated singer. Methinks I hear Dave...). Oh, and those are the brickheaviest drums I've ever heard.

Oh, I nearly forgot: I saw a woman wearing a Mitch Hedberg t-shirt this evening. I gotta get one or five.

Song O' The Morn Begins Now

2007-05-25T23:06:00.000-04:00

Finally, the weekend is here! Thank God, or whoever designed the standard Mon-Fri work week.

In the course of an online interchange with Mike, it occurred to me that, for as long as I can remember, I have awakened each day with a song running through my head. It's a different song each day, but so far as I can tell there is always one playing as I wake up. It's as if my subconscious mind drops a quarter into my inner jukebox and presses the Random button, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason as to what song I'll wake up to. I decided a few days ago to start keeping track of these songs each day and to begin daily-blogging my Song O' The Morn and maybe writing a few related thoughts. Exciting, I know. Please try to contain yourselves...

So far, this week's Song O' The Morn selections have been:

5/22/07--Thorn In My Pride - Black Crowes
This slow-burning bluesy groove is the 3rd track on the BC's 1992 offering, The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion, which I'd been thinking about adding to the CD case in my car only the day before. Great guitar tones and swirling organ lines held together with a lazily-percussive beat. Not a bad way to wake up.

5/23/07--Blue Collar Suicide - The Refreshments
The opening cut on 1996's Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy (I read that the name of the album came from a dream one of the band members had about appearing on Late Night with David Letterman. Apparently, in the dream, this is how Letterman intoduced their album) is a breathless romp through one man's dissatisfaction with his relationship with a girl who snores, can't cook and gives him a great excuse to take more pills than she could count. Fun!!! I initially gave this CD a listen after hearing "Banditos" (track 7, which references Jean-Luc Picard and gave us the line of the decade, "Everybody knows/that the world is full of stupid people") and it quickly became my favorite album for several months running.

5/24/07--Long Train Runnin' - The Doobie Brothers
I have no idea where this one came from or why it's even in there. I need to talk to the boys in charge of the jukebox and get 'em to changes some things up.

5/25/07--Hurricane - Bob Dylan
Bob's ode to the plight of Rubin "Hurricane" Carter. I was listening to this selection before bed, so it must still have been hanging around come morning. I still think Denzel Washington deserved the Best Actor award for his raging portrayal of Carter in 1999's The Hurricane.

Till the morning comes...

Burned Out From Exhaustion

2007-05-24T22:38:00.000-04:00

"The wind howls like a hammer
The night blows cold and rainy
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing"

Work has been nightmarishly hectic this week, beginning with my having to tell numerous people one at a time that our friend/coworker had died. I was also in the unenviable position of having to call her patients (Connie was a mental health counselor with an active caseload) and break the news to them, plus act as a sort of liaison between all of us and her family regarding memorial plans and so forth. Monday just felt surreal all around... I felt a bit more grounded on Tuesday, but then the normal busy-ness of work went into overdrive (plus we're shorthanded) and stayed that way throughout Wednesday. Today was better, more time to breathe. I'm grateful that I am surrounded at work by some seriously wonderful people, many of whom I think of as friends. We're like a communal family, and when one (or more) of us is out, the others just fall in and see to it that what needs doing gets done, no questions asked. Despite the stress I was feeling, I also laughed a lot. I'm glad there's a long weekend in the offing...

...and during that long weekend, borderLine will be playing back-to-back gigs on Saturday and Sunday. We're at the Crossroads Club 12-Step clubhouse (1700 Lake Ida Road, Delray Beach) once again on Saturday (I think we start at 5:30?), playing a benefit for the family of a fallen biker. I don't know his name, but the information I have is that, eerily, he was killed just up the street from me on the corner of Jeffrey and Federal. If it's the incident I think it was, I recall the street being blocked off for a number of hours and hearing the next day that there had been a fatality.

Sunday we're playing a private pool party in Boynton Beach in the afternoon. Talk about going from one extreme to the other...

I'm hoping that Gabby and I can go and spend some time with Mom on Monday.

It's been a bit of a trying week all around, but I know it'll even out and things will get better. They always do!

Oh, and happy 66th b'day to this guy:

Look out kid, it's somethin' you did...

Some Thoughts On Loss

2007-05-19T23:31:00.000-04:00

Well, I'd planned to write a bit about the concert I saw Friday night and my own gig this evening but, as I was leaving the gig, I received a message that a friend died suddenly earlier today.

Connie, a woman I've known for quite a few years now and have worked with for just as long, was visiting a sick friend in the hospital and apparently had a heart attack during the visit. Details are a bit sketchy at the moment, and I'm kinda shocky right now, but this seems to be the case. I called Ursula, my friend who'd left me the message, and heard myself say in disbelief the sort of thing that's so common at times like these, "I just spoke with her on Thursday...", as if that somehow negates the awful reality that this person is no longer here.

Life feels so impermanent sometimes, so fragile, so easily and irrevocably altered.

My first question after absorbing the information, being a pragmatist despite myself when faced with these situations, was, "Is anyone taking care of her dogs tonight?" I hope that when I go, someone will go to wherever I'm living at the time and take care of my babies. Of course, I plan to live to at least 125 so there's no rush...

When my aunt passed away in December of 1999, I began to wonder a bit about what happens after we die. I had for many years been of the mind that dead is dead, the Great Unconscious, and that any sort of afterlife was just kind of a fantasy to make it all seem ok. I still have no idea what happens after we die, as I've yet to have that experience. Anyone who says they "know" oughtta change that word to "believe", 'cos they couldn't possibly know. But when Aunt Kay died, this question came to mind: "When she exhaled her last breath and her essence left her body... where did it go? Where did she go?" So I don't have a belief in an afterlife per se (besides, I spent twentysomething years avoiding my life and have since been enjoying it, so being afterlife-focused does not interest me in the least), but here's what I thought then, and what I like to believe today:

Perhaps when we die, we simply become part of the bigger whole. Our last breath leaves our body--whoosh--and we disperse, riding the breeze to wherever it goes. Perhaps our bodies are simply vessels for the essence of us (our souls, maybe?), mine being known today as Keith Berger, and when that essence is no longer contained in the vessel, it reintegrates with everything else. When I think of this, I see the image of a glass of water being tossed into the ocean. Now, while the water is in the glass, it has a certain shape and volume. As it enters (or re-enters) the ocean, it no longer retains that shape. It just becomes that much more water in the ocean, each molecule riding the current that carries it, some going one direction, others taking divergent paths. If this is something like what happens, then I imagine that the consciousness I now have will cease to exist as I become part of a bigger consciousness, a universal consciousness, if such a thing exists. I will no longer be or understand myself as Keith Berger. I will have no sense of individual self, no sense of "I". "I" will simply be whatever "I" am, wherever "I" am, and that will be enough. I like this idea. I'd like for it to be the truth. Just like all good ideas of faith, this gives me comfort.

Much like my aunt, Connie loved the ocean and spent lots of time out on it, on personal time and with the Coast Guard. I guess that makes my metaphor somewhat apt...

(all photos taken in Montauk, NY, walking distance from Aunt Kay's house. She spent so much time there that my family calls "Kay's Beach")

Here's what I wrote in my journal on the plane ride home from Aunt Kay's funeral. The word "God" is in it a few times. If that bothers anyone, please take what you like (if anything) and leave the rest:

We can live our lives in avoidance of pain, unhealthily and vainly trying to stave off what is only natural and necessary, or we can accept these feelings as they come through the natural course of things, feeling, processing and continuing to live as we had been living prior to the painful experience. Life without pain is life incomplete, as would be life without joy. We have been endowed with an unlimited set of feelings/range of emotions to match life's limitless array of experiences. After all, it's all about BALANCE. God knows what He/She/It's doing; all things for a reason. Even if and when we find ourselves struggling to understand the "why's", we need only accept the "that's". Acceptance is a tool that keeps us from going crazy, or at least from returning to that place. Faith takes care of the "why's". Faith reminds us that God is in charge and that if we really needed to know, we'd know. And in our hearts, in the quiet place made not of words but of feelings, we know. We know.

I'm grateful today to have touched and been touched by all those I love and haved loved in this life so far. You know who you are. Thanks for reading, and thanks for being here.

It's Hard Out Here For A Vegan

2007-05-16T23:52:00.000-04:00

First, let me just pimp my band for a moment. borderLine will be playing at Gizzi's Coffee in Delray this Saturday from 6:30ish to 9whatever. The first five people through the door get a Free Appreciative Smile (a $20 value!) from me and the other band members, provided we're looking up at the time and see you come in. In the event that we fail to note your timely arrival, please feel free to come over and poke us each in the shoulder until we give you your Free Appreciative Smile (while supplies last!). After all, you deserve a Free Appreciative Smile (act now! Don't delay!)!

In other snooze:

Call me selfish (believe me, I've been called worse, less-accurate things), but is it wrong of me, being fully aware of South Florida's desperate need for precipitative moisture to fall from the sky (yeah, I coulda just said "rain" rather than making up a word and all, but I'm feeling verbose), to feel bitchy that a torrential downpour had to occur JUST AS Ralph and I began playing tennis last night? And why is it that South Florida, where sooooooooo many tennis players train and live, has NO indoor tennis facility, or at least none that I can find? We have a long rainy season and, like, 400 hurricanes each year, and there's nowhere to play tennis indoors when it rains? I'll say it here, in front of the world (or at least four of its representatives): if I win the lottery, I will build an indoor tennis court/facility around here someplace.

I noticed a sign in the window at the local Kentucky Fried Cruelty that said, "NEW FAMOUS BOWLS!" and wondered, "If they're new, how can they possibly be famous?" A bit presumptuous, no?

If you've got an open mind, a strong stomach and some compassion to spare, please go to http://www.kentuckyfriedcruelty.com/ and play the video narrated by Pamela Anderson. There's also a petition you might consider signing asking KFC to limit the abuses they put their chickens through. Maybe we really can make a difference. I know I'm tryin' like hell...

Weekend Update/Happy Mom's Day

2007-05-13T23:06:00.000-04:00

We played Friday at CoughieSmokie and had a fun time. Dare I say it, I think we sounded pretty good. Thanks to my friends (and one neighbor) for coming out and showing support. You know who you are...

...but if you don't, your names are Mike, Kristie, Ralph, Ann, Glenn, Kelly and, if I've forgotten to name-check anyone, I'm sorry. Now you'll just have to come out again.

Casey's dad, Mike, sat in (well, stood in, really) for the night playing a nice little Telecaster that looked as if it'd been put through its paces. He's hung out with the late Roy Buchanan and the late Danny Gatton--in fact, he mentioned the latter so many times in two hours that at one point I reached down, put my hand on the ground and said, "Here, you dropped, uh... Danny Gatton's name about a hundred times..."-- (I hope he's not affected by some sort of gypsy curse whereby he spends time with guitar players other than himself and they croak shortly thereafter. If so, I'm taking up the trombone tomorrow) and is no guitar slouch himself. Plus, he's half-responsible for having produced Casey, so you gotta love the guy by default.

CoughieSmokie wants us there monthly, so look for us to play again... well, monthly. A huuuuuuuuuge thanks to Mikey-Mike for suggesting I buy a small industrial blowerthingy. My lungs thank you, my eyes thank you...

Yesterday was interesting. Gabby and I went to have lunch at the Tin Muffin Cafe on Palmetto Park Road, but I intrepidly managed to lock my keys in the car while it was running. There we stood, two hungry people sans cellphones, wondering what we were gonna do. I've recently cancelled my AAA membership and joined the eco-friendly Better World Club (which, in my estimation, is a classier organization. If you don't know who they are, click the link above and check 'em out. The more I read about AAA, the more I think they're environmentally-unfriendly bastards. And, if you switch and drop AAA, you get some of your $$ back) but have not yet received my cards and such. Gabby suggested calling the police, but I didn't wanna waste those kinds of resources on this situation, so I gave her money to get lunch and made my way up to Federal Hwy. and caught the bus home (I keep a spare housekey in my wallet). The #1 bus runs every 1/2-hr., so I had a bit of a wait in the heat.

En route to our apartment, I was entertained by the gentleman monologuist at the rear of the bus who was loudly regaling no one in particular (no one that I could see, anyway) about his love for the "Peter Frampton Comes Alive" album (who am I to correct such a small detail?) and how his literal interpretation of the lyric "this ain't no party/this ain't no disco" precludes him to this very day from setting foot in a disco (as for his stance on party attendance, I feel that another, longer bus trip might be needed to draw an accurate conclusion). I was unable to catch more of his ongoing storytelling due to the woman who sat down right next to me (there were approximately 25 empty seats available, so of course she chose to sit as close to ON me as possible. In fact, her bag, several times, was ON me). She made three cell calls in the five minutes I was aboard and, in one of the conversations (no, wait. Not "conversations". Those require letting other people speak), revealed gleefully that she will soon be buying some gold teeth... at the Swap Shop... for sixty dollars... and---now I'm only speculating here, she didn't actually say this---INSTALLING THEM IN HER MOUTH.

I was so enthralled by these two people and the possibility that there might be others along soon to rival them that I nearly decided to ride the bus all the way to Palm Beach Gardens just for the free entertainment. Instead I got off at my stop, got my spare car key, and went back to retrieve my wife and my car. I did finally get to have gazpacho and a yummy salad at the Tin Muffin while our server giggled at me for having locked myself out of my car. I tipped her extra-well, as I believe quality mockery should not go unrewarded.

Our evening was spent at our friend Robyn's daughter's bat mitzvah. Oy. The rabbi (what's the Yiddish phrase for "longwinded and boring"? Prob'ly "David Lifton") spoke for longer than it took to write the original Torah. And three copies. I told anyone who'd listen afterward that the only experience I've had that's lasted longer than that was my actual life. The deejay (what's the Yiddish phrase for "loud and annoying"? Prob'ly "David Lifton") went on hours longer than the rabbi, the only difference being volume and strobe lighting. I was hoping that the incessant flashing lights would induce some seizure activity in at least 3-5 guests, but alas, 'twas not to be. You can imagine my disappointment. Dinner was served at the usual, expected hour of 10:30pm... Who schedules these things? Did they fly the caterers in from California and forget to have them reset their watches? We ate, we made buh-byes and we got the hell outta there. My ears haven't rung like that since I saw the Who in '89. Or the Funkabilly Playboys last month. One of those. Mazel tov, Danielle.

Today we met Mom for brunch at Sublime in Ft. Lauderdale (recently featured here). The food was phenomenal (even my non-vegetarian mom and Gabby loved it) and it was great spending time with Mom.

Here's Mom making out with her pooch, Daisy. Daisy has an enormous head:

Mama and me. I'm in mandatory tux at my cousin Scott's wedding. That, or I'm secretly a waiter.

Mama on the right, Rita (Mom's friend for half-of-forever) on the left:

And to end the weekend, I went to Border's to use my 25%-off coupon... which really means that I spent 75% more than I would have had I not gotten a coupon and ever left the house in the first place. But I did get this:

Life is good. It certainly beats the alternative.

Further On Up the Road, Or Down Memorex Lane

2007-05-10T23:30:00.000-04:00

Ok, I have no idea why I have a picture of Matt Craig, or even really who he is, but since youse brought him up...

Confident. Secure. Steeeeeeeeenky.

I actually know what lick you're playing... and I still can't play it. Bastard.

Finding much more interest in what's on TV than what's on stage... Must've been Fire on the Mountain. Both chords. Six minutes minimum.
Spent the evening on Atlantic Ave. with Carlos and Casey, checking out my new pals the Sleepin' Dogz. I'd never been to Jazz on the Ave., and now I know why. Lots of competing noise, much of it unlistenable, interspersed with the passing boom and clatter of the odd freight train. Jeannie and Leo (the Dogz) played in front of SunTrust Bank and managed to sound really good despite the surrounding chaos. Jeannie's voice is rich and soulful, sexy and playful, the perfect complement to her dead-on rhythm guitar playing and clever, nuanced lyrics. Leo's guitar is right in the pocket, often doubling Jeannie strum-for-strum when not creating rhythmic fills, and his solos fit each song like the final piece in a puzzle. They smile a lot, trade knowing glances (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more) and radiate an arc of positive energy that can be felt for quite some distance. They have fun, and they make it fun for others. They made it fun for me, and I thank them for it.

Y'know what I've never understood and never will? Back-in parking. I ask people why they back-in park and they always say, "Oh, when you leave, it's easier and you get out faster". Who came up with this idea? Bank robbers?

Now I've watched these people go through their machinations to maneuver cars backward into spots clearly designed to be pulled into headfirst (lots of squirming in the driver's seat, wheels turning this way, no... that way, no... this way, then sometimes an entire automobile repositioning), and it appears to me that, when it comes to energy expenditure and time management, the whole thing is a wash. The time and effort one supposedly saves when leaving the spot is wasted when pulling into the spot in the first place. From where I'm standing, it's much easier to back out of a parking spot than to back into one. And if you're so worried about having to leave like Marty McFly in the DeLorean ("1.21 jigawatts!"), why dont'cha just try getting to the car thirty seconds sooner?

I think Florida's become one big campfire. It smells like Yosemite out there.

I Have Cool Friends

2007-05-10T00:58:00.000-04:00

As if we needed two more reasons to hate Dave...

Reason #1: he got this close to Paul Westerberg.

...and Reason #2: he got this close to Matthew Sweet.

Cheap Roosterhead Trick:

Mike's exact words upon meeting this man: "Rick Mothafuckin' Nielsen!":

My elbow feels better. I'm glad, 'cos I only have one more and it's way over on the other side of me. I had a massage at the chiro's office today and Diane worked on it for me. If anyone is looking for a really great massage therapist, look no further. I'd recommend Diane in a second. She's the got-table-will-travel type...

Mike will be proud to know that his restringing tutorial has paid off, as I was able to string the Strat with only a minimum of cursing, sweating and thoughts of genocide. I'm confident that next go'round will be even easier.

"Photographs, Ay", He Asked Him Knowingly

2007-05-08T23:42:00.000-04:00

Here's tonight's effort to embarrass myself and my friends.

Real friends woulda told me the moustache just wasn't working.

I miss Debbie.

Polaroid. Old skool, yo.
Those glasses are nearly as big as that guitar.

Is that a Santa hat you're wearing? No, it's Manic Panic Red! Nice Big Muff Pi ya got there...

Played a set-and-a-half of tennis tonight with Ralph. He took the first set 6-4 and I was on my way to taking set #2 until I swung for a forehand and somehow managed to hit myself directly in the elbow, racket frame vs. bone. Smack! It sounded exactly the way it sounds when the racket hits the ground. Owwwie! I walked it off, rubbed it, cursed loudly and protractedly and played one more point until I noticed that it was swelling scarily, kinda like when a cartoon cat gets a lump on the head from a mallet-wielding mouse. Except without the little scalp hairs poking out. I've been icing it on and off ever since which, lemme tell ya, was a neat trick to pull off while driving home from Pompano Beach on 95. The good news is I don't think I did any real damage besides giving my elbow a headache. Everything seems to move almost normally. I was kinda worried 'cos we're playing KoffeeSmokee on Friday and I was wondering how I might do that with my arm in a sling...

I'll be seeing my new pals Sleepin' Dogz on Thursday at 6pm when they play Jazz on the Avenue in Delray. It'll be nice to further that connection a bit. Hopefully, Carlos and/or Casey will be able to join me there.

Oh, I broke my glasses last night. Snapped 'em right in half. I guess titanium loses it's flexibility eventually. That oughtta set me back a nice chunk o' change... Thank God for contact lenses.

Tomorrow evening is string-changing, Yosemite-airline-ticket-buying and laundry-doing, in no particular order.

Sometimes I forget what a beautiful song George Harrison's Blow Away is: "All I got to do is to... to love you / All I got to be is, ah... be happy / All it's got to take is some warmth to make it / Blow away, blow away, blow away".

Days of Whine & Psychosis

2007-05-06T15:47:00.000-04:00

You want memories? I'll give ya memories!

Dave and Trevor harmonizing (which is to say, singing in two entirely different, unrelated keys) at the former Acapulco Grill in the old days with Toaster's Jammed:

Dave's original comment from back of pic: "Why is Mike laughing?". To keep from crying, no doubt:
Dave's original comment: "I'm 80 feet tall":

Me punching Dave in the stomach at our wedding rehearsal. Sadly, unlike Houdini, he managed to recover for the following day's travesty:

I stayed up waaaaaaaaaaay too late last night (says who?), so I'm having a lazy day today. I'm putting off changing guitar strings, but Mike has instructed/pep-talked me through dealing with the cockamamie vintage tuners on the Strat, which so far have proven to be a source of frustration and a general pain-in-the-ass (kind of like Dave, when I think about it). I'm thinking the reason Fender updated the tuners from these top-loaders to the string-through models is that Fender owners got tired of having to reassemble their guitars after throwing them into the wall at some point during every string change. I can see bags of mail arriving at the Fender home office saying things like, "Dear Fender, I have once again taken my Stratocaster by the neck and hurled it out a seven-story window while attempting to wrestle a set of strings onto the friggin' thing..."

I might even shower today.

Lookie What I Found...

2007-05-06T01:06:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday to this guy:

...from the guy on the left (we always were so trashy):
Jazz hands! That woman is insane:
(Scary as it is, I have alotta more. I think I might post one a day till they're done)

Happy EveryDay, Mikey-Mike! I hope the rest of Cinco De Miko was a blast, and thanks for letting me tag along wit' youse today. You're good people, and so are you.

Tonight's Gizzi's gig (remind me, why are we still there?!?) went well, despite a very small turnout. There may have been ten in the room at one point. Ahhhh, fuggit. At this point, I guess I'm doing it for the opportunity to play and create with others. If a few people show up and are appreciative (which they always are), then that's even better. Carlos recorded it, so I'm curious to see how it turns out. I feel that we played pretty well. I was feeling loose, which is always a good thing... unless it involves my bowels.

This Friday we play again at Koffeeokee, which is great 'cos there's a built-in audience. We don't have to beg family, friends and the odd homeless person to show up. I need to remember to buy a fan so that I can try to keep the clouds of cigarette/cigar smoke off the stage and out of my face. After the previous gig there, I wanted to burn my clothes and jump in after 'em.

I dig going through these old pictures. Lots of good memories attached to 'em, old friends, old faces and old places. Here's my good friend Marnie (and her dog Booger, if I'm not mistaken. I actually heard that dog say "I love you" once. Swear to God. I mean, it was all Scooby-Doo'd up, like "Riii ruv roo", but still...), one of three women on the planet to give me chills when she sings:

(we once recorded a demo tape under the name Phlegm & Mucus [Crazy Dave Lifton, producer] . I believe the title was Weekly World Blues)

I might go down to the Air & Sea Snore in the morning to hand out vegan literature with the people from Animal Rights Foundation of Florida (ARFF). Yes, for me this would be a fulfilling way to spend a few hours.

Oh, the Humanity...

2007-05-02T23:53:00.000-04:00

Saw this today:

Yeesh... and I thought it was tough growing up with the last name Berger...

At least my name only references food.

Speaking of food, I just sent an email to Phil at yosemitefun.com to inquire about how my vegan ass is gonna get his dietary needs met out in Yosemighty next month. Oh, and here are some great Yosemite shots from his site!

I've stood at the top of this... looked over the edge, even, at the 2425 ft. drop:

I.

Cannot.

Wait.

Digital Schmigital

2007-04-30T23:40:00.000-04:00

Proof that there is at least one other person in this town who believes in the power of love, and I ain't talkin' 'bout Huey Lewis.

Or Van Halen.

Nothing much to report here. The band is set to rehearse Thursday night and play on Saturday (Gizzi's, as far as I know). Come one, come all, 'cos we could use the support. Carlos plans to set us up to digitally record a few tracks at his place Thursday, as we'd like to put a demo CD together to help secure some other gigs. Let's just hope his ADD/ADHD/OCD/HDTV/M-O-U-S-E doesn't jump up and turn everything into a marathon of tweaking toward absolute perfection. He'd look terrible hanging lifeless from his ceiling fan by a guitar string...

Bat in the Cave

2007-04-29T01:22:00.000-04:00

Our kitties, Ginger and Jet (when Jet was a mere lad)

Florida panther at Busch Wildlife Sanctuary

Cutest critter in the world: Pablo the Screech Owl, Busch Wildlife Sanctuary. He's tiny and could sit in the palm of your hand... y'know, if you didn't want your fingers anymore. This is one of my favorite photos I've ever taken.

Now if I had a digital camera (ok, if I had a digital camera that I could understand how to properly operate), I would post a photo of the handwritten sign I saw this morning taped to the electrical box outside the Texaco station on the corner of Jeffrey St. and Federal Hwy. It said:

BRING BACK LOVE

It was a nice sentiment to be greeted with as I left home to begin my day. Just a bit further on, I saw the same sign posted on the corner of Yamato Rd. and Dixie Hwy. It made me ask myself, "Gee, why hadn't I thought to be a positive vandal?" 'Cos it's prob'ly illegal and I try not to do illegal things today, but if I did, this is the kind of illegal thing I'd do. I'm gonna try to get photos of the signs tomorrow before the Thought Police come along and take 'em down, lest they get too many people thinking about what's been lacking lately.

On the other end of the spectrum, while waiting tonight for my veggie roll & edamame at Sushi of Boca (voted Best Vegetable Roll in Town... by me), I overheard a woman talking to her dinner companions about how she's tired of these "peace protesters" and their "anti-American" gatherings. Uh... Republican Party of five, your table is ready. Before I knew what had happened, I actually said out loud, "Oh, fffuck you". I don't think it was loud enough for her to hear, or maybe she thought I was talking into an invisible cell phone, or that perhaps I was some poor Tourette's afflictionado. Whatever the case, she kept right on ranting to her tablemates (one of whom was a teen. Oh well, there goes the next generation...) about her dissatisfactions, spouting the oh-so-original "if-they-don't-like-it-here-why-don't-they-go-live-somewhere-else?" rhetoric and saying that she hates how those "peace people gather and incite riots". Uh, peaceful riots?!? Kind of an oxymoron, no? Or would that simply be "moron"?

I wanted to engage her and explain how being anti-war does not equate to being anti-American, and how the administration she seems to be defending attempted to incite an entire country (with a good deal of success, sadly) to go blow up a country or six. Seeing as how my mouth had already opened of it's own volition and what had come out was not exactly pleasant or particularly intelligent, I decided to hold my tongue, take my sushi and go home. I flirted with the idea of flashing her a big smile and a peace sign on my way out, but Shakespeare once told me that discretion is the better part of valor so I just let it go.

And for the fulcrum on today's seesaw of life, I got to see Ben Prestage at the Lake Worth Folk Festival with my friend Don (thanks yet again to Danielle for turning me onto this guy). We were a bit late for his performance being that the asleep-at-the-switch folks at floridamusic.org listed last year's location for this year's festival (WAKE UP, KIDS!!! IT'S 2007!!!), but I sniffed it out and we got to see about 1/2 of his 45 minute set. He's got a great sense of rhythm and a deft touch on the guitar. I may have mentioned it before but, as well as guitar, he also manages to play drums with his feet (right foot--kick drum, left foot--"kick" snare and high-hat) and come off not sounding the least bit hokey. His encore was a slight rewrite of Devil Went Down To Georgia (amazing fingerpicking of all parts throughout), in which Johnny loses his soul this time in a guitar-pickin' battle:

Now Johnny bowed his head 'cos he knew that he'd been beat/and he laid his wretched soul on the ground at the Devil's feet

Never in his life had Johnny felt so belittled/No one told him the Devil's better on the gui-tar than he was on the fiddle

I recorded three of his songs on my digital voice recorder (DWDTGeorgia being one) and dumped 'em onto my iTunes in case anyone would like to hear a sample.

I'm currently listening to a CD copy of my band's gig from this past weekend. I hafta say that borderLine sounds better than I thought. It's rough in places, but that's to be expected. I can almost believe that we have a bassist and drummer in there someplace, rather than it all coming out of Carlos's keyboard. And little Miss Casey's voice sounds older and richer than I'd realized. It's tough to really hear what's going on while standing in the middle of everything, in front of the amps and behind the PA speakers. "Fever" sounded especially good.

Of course, the wheels fell completely off during "Feelin' Alright" as both my D and G strings went wretchedly out of tune and I ended up playing two notes over and over for the last minute or so of the song. Neil Young woulda been proud...

And Another Thing...

2007-04-25T01:26:00.000-04:00

There was a film crew in attendance Saturday night at Gizzi's, so borderLine can be seen in a short promo video here (click on "View Videos"). I'm trying not to take is personally that they decided to use some cheesy Muzak over the top rather than any of our fine tunage. I mean, I thought we played rather well...?

Look closely near the beginning and you can spot the elusive North American Dancing Johanna Vullo, a rare and beautiful sight to behold...

Do You Know the Way To Sanho, Say?

2007-04-25T00:12:00.000-04:00

I've added a clickable banner thingy just below my profile for anyone who's interested in checking out savenetradio.org. If you go to their site, you'll get an explanation of what they're all about, and to me it's a good cause.

From savenetradio.org: The future of Internet radio is in immediate danger. The Copyright Royalty Board in Washington, DC has more than tripled the royalty rates for webcasters and left unchanged they will kill Internet radio. These exorbitant rates go into effect on May 15 (retroactive to Jan 1, 2006!). Without Congressional action the majority of webcasters will go bankrupt and silent on this date.

Now, I listen to streaming radio all day at work through shoutcast.com. It offers an endless variety of music (just the Beatle stations alone would be enough for me, but there's tons of great jazz and other eclectic stuff to mix things up) without which I'd surely lose what's left of my mind. I play DJ for my office throughout the day and it keeps me and a few others happy and toe-tappy. I'd hate to see this music source dry up, and it sounds like that's a very real possibility. There's a provision on savenetradio.org and a link through shoutcast.com to send a letter to Congress in support of keeping this resource alive. If you think it's as good a cause as I do, then you may want to add your voice. Think of it as your small contribution to the Keep Keith Happy and (Arguably) Sane Project...

From the We Have No Idea What We're Talking About But We'll Present Theory As Fact Dept.:

Today, Yahoo News reported that "...astronomers have discovered a planet outside our solar system that is potentially habitable, with Earth-like temperatures... a big step in the search for 'life in the universe.' " They go on to say that it's "...just the right size, might have water in liquid form, and in galactic terms is relatively nearby at 120 trillion miles away." Mmm, hmm. 120 trillion miles. Well then, surely they know all about it, don't they? I mean, that's right down the street. You could walk there.

To say that the rest of the article is somewhat non-committal is like saying the Grateful Dead have a somewhat devoted fan base. There's a lot of "could be"s and "maybe"s and "we're not really sure"s in there.

OF COURSE YOU'RE NOT SURE! It's 120 TRILLION miles away, or so you say/think/guess/theorize/make up. There's no way to know any of that from here. Seriously, it's silly. Stop trying. Let's put some of that money, time and energy into figuring out what we don't know how to deal with right here on home base, shall we? Or am I the only one who thinks this is a good idea?

When we look for "life" on other planets, we always seem to look for the kind of "life" we understand, "life" that looks like ours, "life" that needs temperatures within a certain range, and water, and an oxygen-based atmosphere, and Wal-Mart, and pedicures, and... That's patently ridiculous. Has it occured to our planet-centric scientists that perhaps the rocks we think are meaningless on Mars are what constitutes life on that planet, and that each time we drop some very expensive scrap metal up there, we're giving someone a headache (the next googolbillion-dollar Roomba we strand on Mars should be stocked with aspirin)? Or that each planet itself is a living organism, alive in its own way just like our Earth is?

Just 'cos something doesn't look like the life we understand here and doesn't have the same requirements we have doesn't negate the possibility that it's alive in its own way. I'm sure that whatever instruments we use to seek out "life" beyond our planet are only calibrated to sense what we already define as life, and this seems incredibly limiting and shortsighted..

On a related note, Gabby was reading from a 3rd grade science textbook recently and each page was filled with "facts" about how the Universe was formed umpty-billion years ago and how long it'll be till our sun collapses into itself and goes poof. It frustrates me to no end that this is all presented as hard and true fact when there is no possible way this stuff can be proven. Nobody knows how or when the Universe was born (or if it was here all along) or what will become of the sun (shit, we can't even predict tomorrow's weather beyond a 60% accuracy rate and it's right outside the window), but page after page purports to know these things with absolute certainty. To present as fact that which is clearly theory is to do a disservice to the kids who will read and study from these books, and is completely lacking in integrity. When it's a theory, just be honest and say that. Use phrases like "we believe" and "theoretically" and "it's possible that" and "we really have no frickin' idea, but what we'd like to believe is". That way, I can stop using phrases like "that's a big lie" and "yeah sure right, and monkeys might fly outta my butt" and "oh, come on now" and "you expect a person with a critical mind to buy this crap?"

If you don't know, say you don't know. Trust me, it's very liberating. I know. Or rather, I don't know. Y'know?

Groove Returned

2007-04-22T07:48:00.000-04:00

"Mama, what's a 'Dopsie' and why does it dress like a pimp?" "Hush, child, and hand yo mama her fryin' pan so's she can hit yo daddy once mo'. He's still twitchin'..."

Call off the search parties. Bring in the bloodhounds and feed 'em. Scour the streets no more. My groove has been returned. Or is it my mojo? Or are they one and the same?

Whatever it is, it seems I may have left it at the home of La Famiglia Vullo, who were nice enough to bring it to Gizzi's last night... and not a moment too soon. Had it not been for this timely return o' groove, Childe Vullo might not have had occasion to get up and shake what her mama gave her with as much reckless abandon as she did. Fun, fun, fun till Daddy takes her Scion away, or takes her away in the Scion. One of those, anyway.

This reminds me: we forgot to do "Don't Dream It's Over". Rats...

Saturday's gig went well, despite a bit of a late start. That's what happens when your equipment is split between several vehicles and your 4-piece band has more gear packed into a small coffeehouse than the Dead used during the Europe '72 tour.

[just took a break to watch Rafael Nadal whoop Roger Federer's usually-unbeatable ass on the red clay in Monte Carlo, 6-4, 6-4. Last night Gabby asked, "Who's that guy?" re: Nadal. Then she said, "Ooh, he's cuuuute!"]

In other music news, my childhood friend David Lind--whom I haven't seen in 27 years but have reunited with through classmates.com--has some new David Lind Band music available for download or just plain listening here. Or, you could fly to Madrid and hear 'em in person. Life's all about choices...

Lost

2007-04-21T13:59:00.000-04:00

Missing: my groove

Where: lost somewhere in the vicinity of Koffeeokee in Delray Beach

When: last night, 4/20/07

Description: elusive tonal quality/creative flowability sometimes found in my guitar playing (shut up, Dave); is deeply missed and would be welcomed home with open arms

No tags, no collar. Probably hungry, confused and frightened. Very friendly and approachable.

If found, please return for reward, preferably before tonight's gig at Gizzi's.

Contact Stella at this website.

Thank you!

Me and Costello Down By the Schoolyard

2007-04-18T22:44:00.000-04:00

Since Mike suggested I post it, here's a pic of me and Elvis Costello taken after a show in Miami a little while back.. EC's always good about hanging around after concerts and shaking hands, posing for photos, etc. I once brought my guitar in hopes of snagging an autograph to go alongside Richie Havens, Kelly Joe Phelps and Leo Kottke, but EC declined and was nice enough to take a few minutes to explain his reasoning to me (he only signs guitars for charities and is reluctant to do so otherwise in the event that the person might sell it on eBay or the like. Makes sense). He did, however, sign my Dylan shirt so I got to use some of the ink in my Sharpie after all.

Right now I'm listening to the streaming music on the Kelly Joe Phelps website. If ya like really good acoustic fingerstyle blues (as opposed to the usual crappy version), hit the link above and give KJP a listen. I think he's great, both as a player and as a lyricist. Also, he's got a cool dragged-down-a-gravel-road voice... And if you do end up diggin' on Kelly, I suggest Shine Eyed Mister Zen as your next music purchase. Amazon's got it dirt cheap, but it's well worth whatever you pay, in my opinion.

Got a massage today at my chiropractor's office. If anyone around here is in need of a great massage therapist, I'd recommend Diane highly, loudly and with much clapping and whooping. I see her in the Lake Worth office, but she has table and will travel (within reason. Don't get any ideas, Dave). She's got a great intuitive touch and could prob'ly put her thumbs through concrete if she needed to. Lemme know and I'll get you in touch (no pun intended... or was it?).

The band's got two gigs this weekend, Friday at Koffeeokee and Saturday at Gizzi's, both in Delray Beach. It'll be borderLine's first show at Koffeeokee and I'm excited to see how it goes, who shows up, and all that. Each time I've been there the place has been fairly-well packed, so it'll be nice to play where there's a good clientele if the same holds true for this Friday. I think Gizzi's is hosting some sort of birthday party or something Saturday, so it oughtta be fun to play that night too. Sunday, I intend to be exhausted.

If you've ever had questions or wanted information about vegetarianism, veganism, animal rights/cruelty or why the circus is the cruelest show on Earth, you may want to stop by askcarla.com Lots to read, lots to learn. And although I've sometimes thought that PETA is a bit too radical (prob'ly, if I were to take a closer look at them now that I've been vegan awhile, I might think otherwise), I know that most days I'm about a thought process and-a-half away from devoting myself to full-on animal activism. I was at Publix tonight and stopped by Lobster Death Row to give the little guys the only loving, compassionate energy they may have been exposed to all day and came away depressed and awash in a feeling of powerlessness and disdain for my fellow human (as opposed to humane) beings. I wondered what people might think if, instead of "Seafood", the signs said "Sea Life" or "Sea Animals", which is what they really are. Would things change? Would people hesitate and make a different, healthier, more humane choice? I guess if one person did, it'd be worth the effort... For today, I'll be that one person.

Overqualified?!? Yeah, For Kicking Your Ass!

2007-04-13T11:04:00.000-04:00

My friend Christina informs me that she was told at a recent interview that she's "overqualified" for the job. I never really understood this term.

Telling someone they're "overqualified" is tantamount to saying, "Sorry, but you'd clearly be much too good at this particular job, and we at Smedley's Turd Polishing & Lint Maintenance, Inc. simply can't have that. We've come to expect a certain comfortingly-low level of output from our employees, and we feel you'd spend too much time working and not enough time drooling on the office furniture to suit our needs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm quite exhausted from this interchange and need to resume staring vacantly at the brick wall view outside my window. Now, where did I put my bib...?"

It's not exactly heartwarming to think that we're turning away good people from the general workforce and denying them the opportunity to make a decent living for having "too much" experience, education, expertise and skill, yet we continue to elect the most inept, staggeringly unqualified, quasi-retards to the highest offices in our government (sometimes twice in a row). Then we give 'em guns (with which they may or may not shoot caged animals and the occasional close friend, sometimes on the same day) and the keys to the nuclear (or nucular, depending on how tight your ten-gallon hat is) toybox. It's like giving a razor blade to a baby.

Yup, I feel safe.

Oh, and using what basically amounts to as the "my dog ate my homework" defense with regard to Emailgate or whatever they're calling it? As they say in New York, whattayoukiddinme? What, was Rove in the bathroom when the call came to supply an excuse?

As usual, I give it four days for the public outrage to run its feeble course and we'll all be back to being distracted by the latest episode of American Whore. You've seen American Whore, haven't you?

It's every episode of every "reality" show, or hadn't you noticed?

You go, America. Pimpin' ain't easy...

To Know, Know, Know Me... Is To Love, Love, Love Me...

2007-04-12T16:39:00.000-04:00

I always did love me a good game of tag... As per the "rule" Kristie laid down, if you're reading this, you are now "it" (are you listening, Danielle?).

FOODOLOGY

Q. What is your salad dressing of choice?
A. Goddess by Annie's - the yum factor is high.

Q. What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
A. Ain't got one. If I absolutely have to, maybe Pollo Tropical for the Side Sampler.

Q. What is your favorite sit-down restaurant?
A. Sublime in Ft. Lauderdale. They bill themselves as vegetarian, but shhhhhhhhhh..... they're vegan!

Q. On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
A. Uh... tip? When did this start? Don't they get paid already?

Q. What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick off of?
A. Beans n' rice. Oh, and peanuts. Not together.

Q. What is your favorite type of gum?
A. Guar, even though I have no idea what it is. I just dig the weird name.

TECHNOLOGY

Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A. Home: Me, Mrs. Me, and our late kitty Caramel; Work: Nevada Falls, Yosemite Nat'l. Park

Q. How many televisions are in your house?
A. 1

BIOLOGY

Q. What's your best feature?
A. My bionic arm. I can throw wicked far...

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
A. Not intentionally.

Q. Which of your five senses do you think is keenest?
A. Jermaine. No, Tito. No... Jermaine.

Q. When was the last time you had a cavity?
A. What time is it?

Q. What is the heaviest item you lifted last?
A. Myself out of bed this morning.

Q. Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
A. Nope, but can I be?!? Please?!?

BULLSHITOLOGY

Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
A. Nah, I prefer to just have all my plans ruined.

Q. Is love for real?
A. Love is real / Real is love...

Q. If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
A. Kevin, 'cos that's what 90% of people call me after they first meet me anyway. Saves the trouble of all that, "No, my name's Keith" stuff. Hey, at least I could keep three of the letters. Kinda Scrabbly, no?

Q. What color do you think looks best on you?
A. Blue. I hope I'm right, or I gotta get rid of most of my wardrobe.

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
A. Does gum count?

Q. Have you ever saved someone's life?
A. Wish I'd said "Elton John" before Mike got to it...

Q. Has someone ever saved yours?
A. Sugar Bear. In the Honeycomb Hideout. Something about crunchberries, if memory serves.

DAREOLOGY

Q. Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
A. Oh yeah. For much less, prob'ly.

Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
A. On the mouth, right?

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
A. Nope. I'm sure I'm gonna need all of 'em for as long as possible.

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000?
A. Please make the check out to Keith Berger at 690................

Q. Would you pose nude in a magazine for $250,000?
A. (Oh, I am such a money whore.)

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
A. Nope. That'd barely cover the hospital costs.

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
A. Depends on where I'm taking it. To the movies? Definitely. $1,000,000 buys a shitload of popcorn and Twizzlers!

Q. Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
A. In a heartbeat. I'd do that for free.

Q. Give up MySpace forever for $30,000?
A. I've yet to begin MySpacing.

DUMBOLOGY

Q: What is in your left pocket?
A. My portable brain (digital voice recorder). It plugs the holes in that wiffle ball rattling around in my head.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
A. I'm gonna get slammed for this but, except for the dance scene, I could not STAND that film.

Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
A. That's kinda personal, dont'cha think? Sheesh...

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
A. I stand in a seated position. Don't try this at home. I'm a professional.

Q: Could you live with roommates?
A. Depends on whose they are.

Q: How many pairs of flip-flops do you own?
A. Zero, and I'm keeping it that way. I don't like my feet being slapped with every step I take. My feet have been good, there's no need for a spanking.

Q: Last time you had a run-in with the cops?
A. I cannot comment on this ongoing investigation.

Q: What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. Awww, do I have to?

LASTOLOGY

Q: Friend you talked to?
A. Mike (thanks for the tip on the Beatles wigs!)

Q: Last person you called?
A. Mike. I don't get out much.

RANDOMOLOGY

Q: First place you went this morning?
A. Kitchen, to feed the cats. Toilet a close second.

Q: What can you not wait to do?
A. Play tennis.

Q: What's the last movie you saw?
A. The Reaping. Must be the sequel to the Sowing.

Q: Are you a friendly person?
A.Yes, you nosey bastard. Who let you in, anyway? And turn off that bare bulb.

Good Times And A Slight Dilemma--Gimme Five!

2007-04-08T00:49:00.000-04:00

"Keepin' your head above water / Makin' a wave when you can..."

Sorry, my titling triggered a sudden onslaught of 70's tv theme music. I'm better now.

Slept in this morning and went for lunch solo at Pei-Wei (Gab went to do some work at school), an Asian place owned by P.F. Chang's that Mike turned us on to. Udon noodles, veggies and tofu. Yum!

Afterwards, I went to Mike's so we could meet each other's new guitars. We played for awhile, which is something we don't get many opportunities to do, and set about solving the problems of the world... OK, well, we played for awhile anyway. I had a great time, and his blog assures me that [Teri Garr] zee feeling is moochal [/Teri Garr]. He was kind enough to lend me a case that looks really cool wrapped around my guitar. Thanks, Mikey-Mike. You da bomb!

So now for the dilemma: having purchased concert tix through TicketBastard, I have five free downloads from iTunes. Now this may not sound like any sort of problem to you, but you are not me. I'm a person who, when receiving, say, a $50 gift card to Borders, practically has a panic attack. I end up skulking around the store for longer than any sane person would, basket slung over one arm (ok, in Borders it's a bag), filling it with CDs, DVDs and books I would just loooooove to bring home. Then at some point when my mind clears a bit or I run out of room in the basket (who am I kidding? My mind never clears in such situations), I sweat and fret over which to buy, which to put back and which to spend my own money on (which ,of course, I assured myself I would not do from the moment of gift card possession). In the end I make the best choices my muddled mind is capable of under the circumstances, using the gift card to pay for the two-and-a-half things that add up to $50, and paying for the remaining half-an-item out of my own pocket (and maybe sneaking in another item if I'm not looking), rationalizing that it all somehow makes sense.

I've met many drug addicts who say they're drug-of-choice is "more". I can't say I'm any different...

So, Dear Reader, I ask for your help. I have no idea which five songs to download out of the 2,164,317,672,676,538,717,687,235 gazillion available on iTunes.

Your suggestions (besides years of therapy)?

Expand my horizons. Turn me on to something new. Gimme five!

Lullaby... of Death!

2007-04-07T00:18:00.000-04:00

Consider the following:

Rock-a-bye baby
On the tree top
When the wind blows,
The cradle will rock
When the bough breaks,
The cradle will fall
And down will come baby,
Cradle and all.

Is it just me, or is that some scary-ass imagery to be filling a child's mind with as you try to softly lull them to sleep? Talk about a mixed message!

My mom must've sung that to me. No wonder I never want to go to bed...

The Late Show

2007-04-06T00:04:00.000-04:00

From the Betty Lake Dan Ever Dept.:

1) picked up the new Fountains Of Wayne tonight.

I'm still amazed that both B&N and Borders have such limited supplies (4 and 3 respectively). At least I can maintain that feeling of being in on something that most people aren't--like listening to good music, for example.

FOW--or as Dave once called 'em, the Jones Beach Boys--have managed to do again on this album what they've been doing all along: writing songs so deliciously power-pop-catchy that, by the time you're halfway through hearing each song for the first time, you're singing along as if you've known it all your life. The songs made me wanna drive fast, which ended up sucking a bit as it got me home that much faster. I guess the upside is I'll have more to look forward to listening to tomorrow. Maybe I'll skip work and drive to Naples...?

Related note: I met FOW frontman Chris Collingwood after a show in S. Florida and he was nice enough to chat awhile and sign a t-shirt for me despite the onset of a raging asthma attack.

2) My good friend Mike now has a blog. Do yourselves a favor and go enjoy what I've been enjoying about him all these years... And while you're at it, pay a visit to Kristie's blog (Mrs. Mike). And happy 5th, Johanna Holly!

3) I'm getting rather frustrated with my inability to insert images in my posts, despite Dave's adept tech support. I've managed to get three images in here, but I was shooting for a few more without success. Ah well, let's hope this is the biggest problem I have to face today...

Casey, Carlos and me... borderLine!

Having fun at Gizzi's in Delray Beach

I like to call this piece Ignored By Bikers.
I think the looks on our faces say it all...

No gig for me this Saturday as it's Gabby's b'day weekend, but borderLine will be playing that night without me. We're playing at Koffeeokee in Delray Beach on Fri. 4/20 and Gizzi's on 4/21. Come out and see us if you can, and bring a friend or six. Word has it that we'll soon have a myspace page up and running, as soon as I figger out how to up & run a myspace page.

borderLine has postions available for a bass player and drummer, as we've gotten tired of the ones we have. They're very small and seem to be locked inside one of Carlos's keyboards. We think they're both named Roland... So, if you are one or you know one, let us know. We're fun and we RAAAAAWWWWWWKKKK!

OK, well we rock, anyway. We sway, too. Sometimes I lean on Casey. When I'm tired. Or if there's a strong wind.

Tennis Tuesday

2007-04-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

I've had a nice evening/night.

Work was work, blahblahblah, nobody needs to hear any of that mundane stuff. All day, however, I looked forward to playing tennis in the evening and couldn't wait to get out on the court. Well, the beautiful blue sky didn't let me down.

At 6:30, Ralph and I met on the field of battle (with Gabby in attendance for awhile as our lone spectator. Why is it that wives always prefer to root against their husbands?). We've both been playing consistently well these past several weeks, pushing each other to the limit and having some quality matches. I've finally found a service motion that is comfortable, less silly-looking than my usual amalgamation of tics and contortions (another tennis partner, Evan, has taken to calling me Dontrelle, after Dontrelle Willis the major league pitcher. If you've seen Dontrelle pitch, it's a fair comparison) and produces power and accuracy. The key seems to be in the flick of the wrist. If only I'd listened to all those guys years ago...

We played a set and a half with me coming out on top 6-2, 4-3. Ralph gave it all he had but knew his limit and called it quits when he'd run out of gas. Although he didn't seem to think his play had been at a high level tonight, I reminded him that he'd hit a fair share of clean winners and that his serve was working. I had one ace in the first set (I hit two in our previous match, which is unusual. I've never really had the kind of serve that produces aces, but as I said, this new one is working) and enough winners to make myself happy. I figure I played at about 70-75% of my best tonight, which is respectable. It never matters so much to me whether I win or lose but that I play to the best of my abilities or as close as possible.

Post-match, I went to Barnes & Noble to look for the new Fountains of Wayne CD. (see Dave's review here) Even if I might have somehow gotten an advanced copy online (which of course I didn't, 'cos that just wouldn't be right...), being that I lack either a CD burner or an iPod, it would be tough to listen to in the car, which is where I do most of my music absorption these days (gee, I certainly like commas, don't I?) (parentheses, too). B&N did not have even a single copy, so I figured they'd sold out already. Nope. When I got tired of failing to find it on my own, I asked the guy where they were hiding the new FOW and he actually began typing "new fountains" in his computer's search engine. Realizing he had no idea who they were, I a) told him this was a crying shame ("Dude, they're only possibly the best band in the world at the moment") and b) corrected him so I might actually find out whether I'd be getting a copy tonight. I was told that none are in stock and 4 are on order (4?!? 4?!??!??!?!?!?! Oh, for f&#!'s sake... I'm surrounded by idiots) and that they'd "probably be in tomorrow". I'll be sure to call first, just in case they forget or the truck breaks down or Barnes & Noble sucks.

So, upon leaving the music section and reentering the store proper, I spy with my little eye Boca Raton's own Vince Spadea (and his dad Vince Sr., as it turns out), whom I'd seen in the store two or three times previously but had never spoken to. Spadea is currently ranked 77th in the world in men's singles tennis (he's also a highly-ranked doubles player, currently pulling his weight at 129), which is pretty respectable considering the other residents of that particular neighborhood. I spoke with Vince and his dad for awhile, telling Vince how much I respect and admire his tennis playing and that we have a mutual friend, Dr. John Murray (I was the office manager where John had his first sports psychology practice in Boca). I mentioned that I had just been out on the court at Patch Reef Park and he mentioned that he'd been there a few days ago practicing against the wall. Seems it's not easy at times to find hitting partners. I told him that if I happened to see him out there, I'd gladly hit with him anytime. Now I doubt the 77th-ranked tennis player in the world is gonna wanna hit with me, but you never know.

Hopefully I'll cross paths with Vince again, as I'd like to tell him what I failed to mention, which is that watching him play doubles at the ITC Tournament in Delray Beach taught me more about hitting effective volleys than anyone I'd seen before. Seeing how he handles himself at net completely changed my approach for the better.

Well, I hope B&N comes through tomorrow. If not, there's always Border's.

Weekend Recap

2007-04-01T22:28:00.000-04:00

Gabby and I returned home today, rested and relaxed from our weekend getaway to Stuart. A special thank-you (in lieu of monetary remuneration) to Ralph, my good friend and tennis nemesis, for looking in on/feeding our cats and fish! Jet was completely freaked out and made a mad dash for safety under the daybed when we returned, so this tells me Ralph was actually here (Jet's name really oughtta be Skittish...).

Leo Kottke was great, as always. He was in fine form Friday night, weaving hilarious true stories together with impeccable 6-and-12 string guitar. He never fails to inspire. By the way, if you intend to buy anything by Leo, I'd stay away from Leo Kottke: The Best, 'cos it ain't. For me, his playing is best heard unaccompanied by drums, bass, etc. (with the possible exception of the two albums he's done with Mike Gordon of Phish, neither of which I've yet to given a listen to) as his sense of rhythm and composition can be a bit quirky. It always sounds like the rhythm section is trying to keep up or catch up, but ends up just sounding like they screwed up. One Guitar, No Vocals is just as the title suggests and has some great stuff on it. I dig his singing, though I'm fairly sure he once referred to his own voice as sounding like "geese farts on a muggy day". A humble man, our Mr. Kottke is.

After the show, I brought Gabby back to the room so she could settle in (we hadn't had enough time to go to the B&B prior to the show). I went back out to scout for some food and chose a little place called the Osceola Street Cafe, which had a couple of vegan offerings and live performers. I had the edamame with kosher sea salt ('cos we all know how this good Jew just loooooooves to keep kosher) and a Winter Salad with Good Stuff, said "good stuff" including mixed greens, shaved asparagus (good for giving my pee a certain bouyant aroma it ordinarily lacks) and roasted red peppers.

The performers were the Sleepin' Dogz, an acoustic duo consisting of Jeannie Blatus and Leo Burke. I arrived late in their set but got to hear them do a bit of Melissa Etheridge and some originals, which were quite good. As no one in the cafe seemed to understand that clapping at the ends of songs is allowed and possibly encouraged at such times, I stood out a bit when I applauded the Dogz's efforts. Thankfully, late though it was, I started a trend.

[Playing music involves putting out energy, and it's disheartening when that energy is not returned in some appreciative way by the audience, be it through cheering, applause, the tap of a foot or a simple smile. In the best cases, there is an energy transfer that builds upon itself and becomes something very special. We've all felt this at concerts and shows. It's a feeling of bonding and of mutual enjoyment. In the worst cases, it's like playing ping-pong by yourself. You hit the ball across the table and then it just bounces pitifully across the floor--clack-clack-clack--till the energy is spent, game over (of course if it's a carpeted floor, it's more of a soft, lonely thud). borderLine played a gig recently for a large group of unappreciative bikers that was like a long, one-sided ping-pong game. We kept serving the ball, we kept getting nothing back. At one point I said on mic, "I wanna thank you all for making me feel like family today... They ignored me too". Response? Nada. We had to keep looking to each other for that energy return and it was enough to keep us going till the end of the gig. Then, we picked up our balls and went home.

Well, not Casey...]

I took the opportunity to chat awhile with Jeannie and Leo after their set had ended and found them to be very personable and interesting. They'll be playing locally in Delray Beach next month, so I'm gonna do my best to get my bandmates out to see 'em and hopefully find a way to hook up for some gigs. In an interesting bit of serendipity, they'll be playing in Vero Beach in a few days with Amy Steinberg, who I'd mentioned two posts ago. Six degrees of Amy Steinberg...?

We spent some time Saturday at the Busch Wildlife Sanctuary in Jupiter, a not-for-profit facility for injured wildlife. It was my second time there and Gabby's first, though she intends to try to bring her class there for a field trip. I will not go to zoos (no animal jail for me), but the sanctuary rehabilitates injured animals in order to return them to their habitats whenever possible. I'm certain that, among others, the one-winged golden eagle will live the rest of his/her days there... One can easily see that the animals are cared for and treated with the kindness, respect and compassion they deserve rather than kept stressfully on display. They appear relaxed and as physically well as can be expected for being in some phase of recuperation.

Gabby got the news Saturday night that our friend Nicole had given birth on the 29th, so we left Stuart this morning and went directly to SteveandNicole's house to meet the newest member of the Haggerty clan, Ryan Dunning Haggerty! He's a big kid already and he just got here, weighing in at better than 10 pounds at birth (which explains Nicole's pronounced limp today. I'm figuring they dropped him on her foot...?). I believe the first thing Ryan did after exiting the womb was sign his Voter Registration card. Big kid. Huge. Good sleeper, which is a plus. They made me hold him, which is not. Somehow, I got him back to them intact.

Congratulations, SteveandNicole! Now, stop having children. Three is more than enough, no matter what the name of that TV show was. I can barely find a parking spot most days as it is. Please don't make things worse...

We're home, Gabby's on a much-needed spring break as of this past Friday, and I'm back to work in the morning.

Peace!

Leo Kottke, Here We Come!

2007-03-29T14:54:00.000-04:00

Gabby and I will be in Stuart, FL this weekend for a quick getaway. We're seeing Leo Kottke, one of my very favorite guitarists and one of our favorite performers in general, at the beautiful Lyric Theatre. We've got the Sage Sensation room at the Inn Shepard's Park, a cozy little B&B where we stayed the last time we saw Leo in early '06.

[after having seen Adrian Legg at the Bamboo Room in Lake Worth earlier this month and now being the proud owner of a brand-spankin' new Sonic Blue Fender Strat, I've been in guitar heaven lately]

Leo's equal parts amazing guitarist and hilarious, stream-of-consciousness monologuist/storyteller. Two hours of either would suit me fine and be equally entertaining, but when combined, he simply kills. I talked to a guy who'd seen Leo about 15 times and he said he'd never heard Leo tell the same story twice. If you're interested in seeing Leo Kottke but can't get to a show this time around, his performance video Home and Away has been released in DVD format as Home and Away Revisited. If you have any interest in acoustic guitar, I highly recommend it!

The original plan was for me to go solo to Stuart for the Leo concert, as Gab thought she couldn't go. I bought whatever ticket was available (decent seat, nothing special, but since the place only holds about 500, every seat is pretty good). When I went on the Lyric website a couple of days later to check seat availability for a friend, I spied one front-row seat that must have just opened up. After a quick call the the Lyric box office and an additional $5.00, I now had a front-row seat.

Just this weekend, Gabby told me she's now able to go to the show. I put my selfishness aside (eventually, anyway. That ain't easy for me, lemme tell ya) and called them yet again to ask for two seats wherever two were left. From the looks of things, we were gonna be sitting in the balcony somewhere. I spoke with a very gracious and helpful box office associate named Carol who said, "No promises, but let me see what I can do". She called less than an hour later to tell me our seat assignments:

Front row. Two seats over from the one I'd given up. I hope Leo doesn't mind the smell of a pair of Hi-Top Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars, 'cos I plan to be resting them on the stage the whole night!

I'm checking into vegan options in the area, and have so far only found Nature's Way Cafe. I'll be sure to pack my Emergency Vegan Survival Kit (a selection of protein bars and the like) in case my food options end up being limited to pasta primavera and salads... although there is a wonderful Italian restaurant called Casa Bella that's walking distance (c'mon Keith, it's Stuart. Everything's in walking distance...) from the B&B.

Gabby shouldn't have any food issues as she's an omnivore (this means she'd happily chow down on a Dodge Omni provided there were enough condiments available), tho' I think she may have given up chicken...

Hello, It's Me...

2007-03-26T12:33:00.000-04:00

Dave "tagged" me to answer the following questions and, seeng as I haven't posted in, to use Dave's words, far too long, I figured I'd play along and get my blogging juices flowing again (sounds icky, I know...). And I'm tagging Danielle and Dave Lind...

Here goes:

Eight Songs I Am Diggin’ On Right Now:

I'm currently fixated on the first two sides (and the second two sides, when I get past the first two) of The Beatles' White Album, as I recently went with my friends Mike (see also here) and Glenn to see these guys perform this album live at Palm Beach Community College in Lake Worth. While Classic Albums Live bill themselves as playing "note for note", after listening to them play the songs from an album we'd listened to a gazillion times and prob'ly have absorbed deep into our Ob-La-DNA, we determined that they should change that billing to "not-for-note". Oh, and fire the drummer. Oh, and give the percussion guy (Marty Morin) a huge raise, 'cos he deserves it.

Other than that, my eight songs would be:

"Cowgirl in the Sand" -- Neil Young, Live At Massey Hall. Nice solo rendition, fresh and new at the time. I always enjoy the fragility of Young's voice, and the lack of background vocals or any accompaniment other than his rhythm guitar make that voice seem somehow lonelier and even more fragile.

"King Harvest Has Surely Come" -- Bruce Hornsby and the Noisemakers, Endless Highway, The Music of the Band. No matter what Amazon.com may say to the contrary, I like this track. So there.

"Gravity" -- John Mayer, Continuum. When Casey (the lead singer in my band, borderLine-see pic) suggested adding a John Mayer song to our set, I wasn't sure. Then I heard her sing it. A nice song with lots of room for vocal harmonies (which, I must say, we nail) and a guitar solo that plays like a horn line, one of the few I've made an effort to learn mosly note-for-note (hey, maybe I should try out for Classic Albums Live?)

"Pretzel Logic" -- Steely Dan, Pretzel Logic. A great song, and when Casey brought Jonny Lang's "Still Wonder" to the band, I said, "Heyyyyyy...." So now we play Lang's song and I get to sing "I would love to tour the Southland/In a trav'ling minstrel show..." So far, no one outside the band seems to get the reference, but that's what happens when your audience is limited to those you invite, those who share your DNA and those to whom you're married... But this will be changing soon!

"Exactly" -- Amy Steinberg, Must Be The Moon. I met this multitalented person at an open-mike night at the Funky Buddha Lounge here in Boca. She tore the frickin' roof off the joint that night, and her one-woman theatrical performance at the Cuillo Theatre in West Palm Beach was a hoot. She's great, and she's touring. 'Nuff said.

"Blow Away" -- George Harrison, George Harrison. Until hearing this song again recently on some internet radio feed at work, I'd pretty much forgotten it existed. A very catchy song, uplifting and thematically beautiful. Imagine, George Harrison singing songs of love...

"Rain King/Thunder Road" -- Counting Crows. I thank Limewire for this one, and my friend Josh for letting me hear it initially. Two of my favorite songs, sandwiched together and played by one of my favorite bands. Could I ask for more?

"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" -- Death Cab For Cutie, Plans. Another internet feed find. I just sat with my mouth open listening to this one at my desk at work (Death Cab for Lowered Productivity?) until this one was over. A gentle acoustic guitar coupled with an incredible lyric.

If money were no object, what would you be doing with your life?

I'd be living in Yosemite with Gabby, hiking as much as possible, playing guitar on the banks of the Merced River, and learning to play drums when it rains.

Money is just that - an object, so why aren’t you doing it?

Fear...

What’s better: horses or cows?

I feel we should respect them equally, as we should all other sentient creatures.

What do you think the secret to happiness is?

Why must it be a secret? Remember, we're only as sick as our secrets...

When was the last time you had a dream that you either remember well or did not want to awake from? Can you share a bit?

Nothing comes to mind at the moment, but I'm sure it involved Salma Hayek...

When you were a little kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Taller.

I'm still waiting.

Complete this statement: Love is…

Wasn't there a comic strip...?

Can you tell a good story?

Yup. Wanna hear one?

Can you remember your last daydream? What was it about?

Ten minutes ago. It involved Yosemite, Gabby, guitars, drums and rain...

If you were to thank someone today, who would you thank?

I already did. It was Carol, the box office associate at the Lyric Theatre in Stuart, FL for helping me with tickets for the Leo Kottke show this weekend.

OK, now I hafta figure out why the band image I've been trying to upload is not appearing. More later, I promise...

Weird, Unexpected and Pretty Frickin' Cool!

2006-11-01T17:45:00.000-05:00

First, gotta thank Dave for sending me a link to the Sound of Young America blog and their Larry David contest. I posted an entry last night (see below if you don't feel like checking out the site, which you should) with no expectations that it would result in my winning a free copy of the very same Curb Your Enthusiasm book I posted about here recently. Oddly enough, I won.

(My apologies to Dave and his dad, Henry, for denying them they're moment in the sun by beating out Dave's entry. Pale as they both are, God knows they could use a moment or two out there...)

I find a bit of irony in the idea that I won something while comparing myself to a character whose most noticable attribute is prob'ly his ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

So, to quote George Costanza (Mr. David's alter ego), "I won a contest..."

My winning entry:

Mine would be a combination of two experiences, each happening at the same local restaurant, in the same bathroom.

This particular restaurant employs (if that's the correct word) attendants who stand conspicuously in the bathroom, offering a selection of colognes and sundries to folks like me who are simply looking for a place to pee. The most manipulative part is that they remove the paper towels so the guy has to hand you one, provided you actually wash your hands, and you end up drying your hands directly over his tip bowl. Now, I'm all for giving gratuities, but not to a guy who steals the paper towels and then offers me one!

The first time there, knowing the guy was standing only a few feet away and waiting for me to finish, I succumbed to what my mom refers to as "shy bladder syndrome" (I call it "stage fright") and just couldn't produce. I returned to my table, bladder bursting, and told my wife I'd be right back. She looked at me quizzically as I walked out of the restaurant and across the street to find a less daunting restroom.

A few months later, we returned to the restaurant. Remembering the previous situation, I hatched a plan.

I went to the bathroom and was relieved (pun intended) that the same attendant chose to wait outside this time. Of course he returned in time to hand me a paper towel but, when he did, I pulled a cloth table napkin from my back pocket, smiled brightly and said, "Thanks, I got it covered!" and dried my hands.

Since I do believe in gratuities and I know he needs to make a living, I dropped a couple of dollars in his tip bowl. My terms, my tip.

A true story, and one that I realized at the time was about as Larry David-esque as it gets.

So, I Wrote This Letter to the Editor...

2006-10-27T11:06:00.000-04:00

My boss prompted me to submit a letter by informing me that she'd read a piece about alcohol comsumption that was "so ridiculous, I threw it in the trash". She suggested--no, make that demanded--that I find it online and write the most "sarcastic, sardonic, cynical, point-by-point response" I could manage. A smile spread across my face as I realized I was being given permission to remove the filters, step into the box and swing away...

Being that the article and my letter date back to 9/21 and 9/26/06, and I don't feel like ponying up whatever it costs to access the archives of South Florida's beloved Scum-Sentinel, I'll just retype both pieces here in their entirety.

Here's the original article, as picked up from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel:

If you're the life of the party, this Bud's probably for you
by Kathy Flanagan
September 20, 2006

You're used to getting advice from all sorts of places, but the Aluminum Can Council might be the most unlikely. A recent survey the council funded reveals what your favorite beverage says about you.

Canned beer drinkers (77 percent) and those who opt for a mix of alcohol and canned energy drinks (70 percent) describe their romantic demeanor as "friendly and open."

If you can't spot the drink in hand, observe how your potential date is acting. The canned beer drinker (36 percent), the energy drink drinker (38 percent) and the wine drinker (34 percent) describe themselves as the life of the party.

Here's what the council found:

>Bottled beer drinkers tend to be more open to the idea of committed relationships and have the personality of a bartender. They talk to everyone.

>The average canned beer drinker is single, friendly and open and is most often a hard-working, younger professional.

>Those who prefer canned energy drinks consider themselves the sexy Casanovas of the 21st century.

Wine drinkers most often are white-collar women who are considered the "ultimate hostess."

Suave and sophisticated folks who like drinking alcohols such as scotch are typically white-collar divorcees.

Those who like non-alcoholic beverages are often widows or widowers with teenage children.

...and my response, as printed. Sadly, they edited some of my best sarcasm. Personally, I'm surprised they even considered it for publication:

What drink survey failed to reveal
Keith Berger
Boca Raton
September 26, 2006

Re the Sept. 20 article, "If you're the life of the party this Bud's probably for you":

Finally, the Aluminum Can Council has weighed in on the subjects of personality and relationships. Usually, they stick to thinking about what to put in cans and how to get 'em all shiny, but not anymore.

It must be the bottles and aluminum cans and not the contents within that cause those surveyed to be so "friendly", "open", "committed" and otherwise wonderful, because my experience has been that alcohol tends to have exactly the opposite effect on most people. The only thing I've seen energy drink users commit to is bouncing off every available wall on the way to the next energy drink.

Had the Aluminum Can Council, which certainly had no stake in a positive outcome of a survey they funded, lookd a bit more deeply into the behaviors of people once they'd actually ingested the chemicals in those pretty little bottles and cans, they'd surely have gotten more disturbing results. Let's look at what these results are really saying:

Those "suave and sophisticated... white-collar divorcees" apparently weren't quite sophisticated enough to keep their marriages from falling apart.

"Bottled beer drinkers tend to be more open to the idea of committed relationships..." --the idea, maybe, but not actual relationships. They're certainly committed to their relationship with their alcohol.

"Those who prefer canned energy drinks consider themselves... sexy Casanovas..." --if anyone believes the things presented in commercials will happen to them because they drink an energy drink, my guess is they've been drinking something stronger already.

"The average canned beer drinker is single, friendly and open", but somehow not enough so to have secured a committed relationship (again, we're not counting the relationship with alcohol).

Those who describe themselves as the "life of the party" tend to look a bit worse once they've locked themselves retching in the bathroom, provided they make it that far and haven't already vomited on the shoes of the "ultimate hostess".

So, if I "can't spot the drink in hand", I'll just hope there isn't one and won't be one later. And if I do spot the drink, or the drinking behavior, I'll simply walk the other way.

I'm satisfied with what they published with one exception. This was left on the editing room floor, and it may be the most telling bit of all:

"Possibly the only group I read about that does not concern me is the group of widows/widowers bravely and responsibly raising their teen children without turning to alcohol. Unfortunately, this statistic is not only the last one but also the only one that reads negatively on the surface: "Look at these poor people, grieving their dead spouses and struggling to raise teeneagers. I bet they'd have a lot more fun if they'd just throw back a few Jackbulls!"

This didn't make it, either:

"...those who opt for a mix of alcohol and... energy drinks..." usually do so beacuse the artificial stimulation is needed to counteract the effects of the Cenrtal Nervous System depressants they've been ingesting. Life's all about balance, right? I believe one such concoction is called an Up All Night. That sounds healthy.

Next up will be my letter published earlier this year in Addiction Professional Magazine. I'll have to type this one out as well, but I'll forego the long article that inspired my letter ("Thank God", say you all). The article was terrible anyway, which is why I wrote mine in the first place.

Peace!

Amazin' Amazon!

2006-10-20T10:14:00.000-04:00

Based on my love of HBO's brilliant Curb Your Enthusiasm (the brainchild, of course, of Seinfeld co-creator Larry David), I received an email suggestion from Amazon.com that I might want to consider purchasing the new Curb Your Enthusiasm: The Book.

I went to Amazon to do a little recon, and found that their next suggestion was that I purchase the Curb book coupled with a book written by Larry David entitled The Prescription for the Church. I thought, "That's odd. I had no idea Larry had a book out..." I eagerly checked into it, relishing the idea of Larry skewering organized religion in print form.

Alas, it was not to be...

The Prescription for the Church, written by another (and clearly far-less entertaining) Larry David appears to be a "serious" take (if there can be such a thing) on the "last days" the author believes we are now living in. According to Mr. David The Less-Funny's scientific calculations, we've got somewhat less than 53 years left to get our collective shit together if we wanna "qualify for the rapture" (Jeez, I hope my credit's good enough for rapture pre-qualification...).

Considering the following quote, it would appear that this Mr. David has put into 148 pages what so many others have been able to do by simply strapping on a "The End Is At Hand" sandwich board and parading around the streets of major cities, mumbling to themselves, shouting at others and kicking at pigeons:

"Though most don't see what's happening, with all the calamities, it's starting already and will progress exponentially at a speed that will boggle your mind... THERE IS YET A LITTLE TIME, BUT VERY LITTLE."

Ah, the words of a prophet! He sees what we common folk cannot!!!

Thanks for the inadvertant entertainment, Amazon, but howzabout a little attention to detail next time?

An Angel Walks Among Us

2006-10-05T02:57:00.000-04:00

Emmylou Harris - For No One

...and to think I stood on this woman's tour bus not long ago, chatting with her and petting her dog... sigh...

I Oughtta Blog More Often...

2006-09-29T00:42:00.000-04:00

A few things I've neglected to mention of late:

1) I bought a new car!
Yes, I am the proud and happy owner (or at least I will be after 71 more months...) of a brand-spankin' new 2007 Mazda 3. Although I hate the idea of having car payments again as much as I hate the idea of having to send someone a check for a couple of hundred dollars each month (wait... that sounds familiar...), the idea of driving a vehicle that might randomly come to a screeching halt in 50+ mph traffic just any ol' time (also familiar...) is marginally worse. Plus, no one ever died from putting a check in the mail.

OK, well that may not be true, but I've never died from putting a check in the mail and that's what counts. Call me selfish...

Oh, and I know what you're thinking: "Jeez, he must really like red cars! His Tercel was red too...", but it came down to a choice between this one and a silver one, as both were in my price range. Unfortunately, someone had put a deposit on the silver one just before I arrived, and there went my other choice. But ya know what? I LOVE it! Zoom, zoom, zoom...

2) We've adopted two new kitties!

This young girl and her babies were found homeless and in need of shelter by our friend Alex during "Hurricane" Ernesto. She lured them onto her patio, against Mama Kitty's vehement protests, and gave them shelter from the storm. The family was fostered until the kitties were weaned, and we went to meet them in the meantime. When Mama walked into the room, I was stunned at her resemblance to our recently-departed Caramel and immediately took to her. We offered to adopt her and whichever kitty was not already spoken for, and waited to see the result.

Well, we've now got the mama and a baby at home, and it's my pleasure to introduce them to you. In keeping with our tradition of naming cats after foodstuffs, I would now like you to meet Ginger (foreground). *extends paw* On the far left, please meet Jet (as in, "Whoo-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh! Jet!" *ignores you and chases dust particle* They are adjusting well to our home, and we are loving having them here!

Ginger seems to be a young cat and is apparently in heat again (possibly only her 2nd), as she will not stop offering me unobstructed views of her ass... up close. I spoke to her about this, explaining that I'm her Daddy, not her boyfriend and that, while Florida may be in the South, it's not in the "South" and we just don't do "that" here. We're having her spayed as soon as is feasible, so the Ass Show is a limited engagement...

3) My cousin-in-law Laura had her baby!!! (What's that you say? You didn't even know she was pregnant? Or that she existed? Or that I have relatives?) Congratulations to Laura and Scott Pomerantz as they welcome Hannah into the world. Details to follow as I get them.

[I'm always amused by the whole baby thing. First, it's always this: "Did you hear? Suzie had a little girl!" Really. A little girl? She didn't give birth to, say, a six-foot perimenopausal woman with back hair? That's odd. She looked like she was packing a heavy load those past few months...

Then, the statistics: "Nine pounds, four ounces! 24 inches!" Ummm, why would anyone besides the woman who had to pass this thing out of a much smaller opening care to know this, other than to win the baby pool at work? Maybe, if it's a really big bowling ball of a baby, we feel kinda bad for the mom who rolled this particular strike? Sometimes even the kid's Apgar score is mentioned which, unless I'm actually in the delivery room and have somehow become credentialed as a physician, has absolutely no bearing on my life. Really, the only statistic I need to know about a birth is how many came out, and I can find that out when I go visit, or am asked to babysit, or when the Christmas card arrives. No need to advertise. Keep it a surprise. It's better that way]

Stay tuned for more riveting news from my life! My next entry should include tales of a recent Counting Crows concert, Josh & Lisa Paris's incredible L.A. wedding, and my latest published letter to the editor.

One sad item: our parakeet, Ringo, passed away tonight (regrettably, I do not have a picture to include here). We had no indication that anything was amiss until this evening, when Gabby noticed that he simply seemed ill. As she reminded me, it's often very difficult to tell that a bird is sick until it's become quite seriously ill, as they naturally give the appearance of good health so as to keep predators unaware that anything's wrong. Our guess is that he may have hit his head on something and suffered blunt trauma. I was at band rehearsal when he passed and arrived home shortly afterward. Ringo died in Gabby's hands with our conure, Jay (Ringo's best buddie), by his side. We loved the little guy, and he will be missed. Our apartment won't be the same without his R2D2-esque whistles and beautiful rainforest songs. Our home has lost its soundtrack...

Ernest-who?

2006-08-30T22:49:00.000-04:00

Okay, well we all ran around battening down (whatever that is) our hatches (whatever they are) in preparation for what was essentially the kind of rainstorm we experience in Florida nearly every day, and all for naught.

Naught, that is, except for this gem of an image:

"Hey, baby............ May I introduce you to Ernesto?"

I hope someone's wearing plywood panties...

At least now the missus and I have 72,000 gallons of water, 6 bazillion batteries and enough non-perishable foodstuffs laid in to keep us going through three nuclear winters, or an actual hurricane---whichever comes first.

Birthday Blues (long...)

2006-08-23T23:57:00.000-04:00

At some point during the writing of this post, I will officially turn 38 years old.

*sigh*

Life has been a bit of a rollercoaster for me this past month. It's not the best August I've ever had... Though I'm open to the idea that it may be a misperception on my part, I've come to think of this as my Month of Loss.

On August 1, Gabby and I lost our beloved kitty-cat/baby/love of our lives, Caramel. As those who know us may recall, Caramel had been sick for quite some time, having been diagnosed with feline diabetes (and a few other conditions) in the summer of 2003. We nearly lost her then, as she was given a 20-30% chance of surviving hospitalization at the time of her diagnosis. Eight days at the Animal Medical Center in Cooper City, FL (our undying gratitude to my good friend Dr. Jeff Toll and staff) and several thousand dollars later, we brought her home, loved her back to health and were blessed to have her with us a day at a time for three more wonderful years (making a total of eight years that we were a family). We were home with Caramel when the end came, which is as much as we could have asked for. No tubes, no cage, no phone call from a vet to break the news... just Mommy, Daddy and our little girl, together in her last moments.

To date, I have grieved harder and more deeply for Caramel than for any human loss I've experienced. Just as I've heard, the grief comes in waves, sometimes like a freight train and other times with less intensity. I've never been a big griever, having learned from a young age to compartmentalize and stuff such feelings lest they get the better of me. This time, out of respect for Caramel and for my own continued mental and emotional well-being, I'm letting myself feel whatever I need to feel. There's been a great deal of pain, but I've come to realize that the pain is just the other side of the love. As my friend Iris put it (and she should know, having had more than her share of major losses these past few years), "If we didn't love them so much, it wouldn't hurt so much when they're gone".

Soon after this sad event, due to an unforeseen conflict of interest, my bandmates and I found that we needed to part ways with our lead singer. Try as we might to find a way past this, there does not seem to be one. Kory is a wonderful person and a great, empathetic singer who brought a much-needed sense of harmony to our little band and we wish her all the best on whatever path she chooses. For now, BorderLine consists of myself (lead & rhythm guitar, vocals, percussion, comic relief), Carlos (lead & rhythm guitar, vocals, keyboards and drum programming, compulsive equipment purchasing) and Bill (bass, bass, more bass, ears and brains). We've become the Saturday night house band at Gizzi's Coffee in Delray Beach and are playing a gig in support of Alternative MC, a local sober biker's club, this Saturday 8/26 in Delray Beach. For this gig (and perhaps others), we've reunited with our former lead singer Jessie from back in our Ridgetops days (y'know, waaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in April...).

And the latest... I had the opportunity to spend last weekend in Miami with some friends and had a wonderful, relaxing time. This was much-needed, especially after all that'd been going on in my life. So, just after leaving my friends Christina and Jackson's house in Kendall (or whichever part of South Miami it is. North Cuba...?), my car broke down. Quit. Died. Plotzed. Muerte. In traffic.

After (barely) pulling off the road and screaming "FUCK!!!" at the top of my lungs, I somehow limped my now-transmissionless '95 Toyota Tercel back to C & J's house and called AAA. I'm now glad I opted for the Plus membership and its 100 free towing miles, as I was having enough problems already. I hitched a ride with my tow truck driver Edgar, who spoke English nearly as well as I speak Spanish. This is to say it was a long and quiet trip save for the selection of oldies on the truck's stereo which, judging from the sound quality, was located somewhere deep in Edgar's ass. I couldn't help noticing that Edgar's truck was about half-a-roll of duct tape away from needing a tow of its own. Oh, and if you've never taken a ride on an 1840's-era stagecoach and would like to know what that feels like in the spine and buttocks, please give Edgar a call and ask for a ride in the wondertruck. I believe the correct phrase is "Por favor, senor. Déme un dolor crónico en mi parte posteriora". And don't forget to tip.

So, I'm left without a car and am faced with the daunting process of buying a new (or newer) one. The last time I bought a car (August 9, 1995, notable for the being the day Jerry Garcia died), I spent nine grueling hours at a dealership and barely resisted the urge to fashion a noose from my shoelaces and hang myself before finally walking out of there with a new car (the one that now sits idly in my driveway) and a $300/month car payment. It's been paid off since 2001 and I hate the idea of a car payment, but it's time to move forward. Besides, Gabby has made it quite clear that if I attempt to fix the Tercel and she sees me in it again, I'd better bring furniture 'cos I will be living in it.

That should bring us all up to speed. Mom is taking me out to dinner for my b'day, which should be nice. Unfortunately, Gab's gotta work...

So, y'know, Happy Birthday To Me!!!

(anybody wanna buy me a car...?)

One Small Voice in a Big World

2006-07-31T12:35:00.000-04:00

I was pleased to see that the Sun-Sentinel was gracious enough to print my latest letter to the editor, this time in response to an article detailing opening day of the lobster miniseason. This is not my usual beat, as in years past I have generally had letters published in newspapers and magazines relating to alcoholism, other addictions and recovery (my latest was a 3/4 page piece published in Addiction Professional magazine, but no web link exists for the letter. If anyone is interested in seeing it, let me know and I'll be glad to reproduce it here). As the things I'm passionate about continue to evolve, I guess I'm branching out. I've come to understand that I have a voice in this world and that, when I risk putting it out there, people respond...

I judiciously held off on presenting my opinions as to the poor unfortunates who were inconvenienced, injured or killed as they rushed out to kill some defenseless anima....... I mean, catch some "dinner". To me, this is the same kind of instant karma that some hunters experience when they blow their own feet off out in the deer blinds...

Whether or not you agree with my way of thinking, thanks for listening!

Unless you're Dave, in which case......... let the mockery begin!

Count Fresno Must Be Stopped!!!

2006-07-27T15:57:00.000-04:00

As I was reading an article in the New York Times online, I saw something that prompted me to submit the following letter to the editor. It's a sad situation, no doubt, but now's not the time to throw proofreading out the window. Besides, that would let more heat in...

Dear Editor:

My hope is that this is a typo, and that there is not a "hotheaded" madman on the loose driving sharp wooden spikes into unfortunate Californians...

Heat-Related Deaths Climb in California

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published: July 27, 2006
Filed at 1:46 p.m. ET

SAN FRANCISCO (AP) -- Scorching temperatures have resulted in scores of heat-related deaths since a statewide heatwave began July 16, and coroners in hard-hit Fresno Count are staking bodies two to a gurney because there are so many, the coroner said.

Two For Bill DC--Antiwar Elvis

2006-07-11T21:56:00.000-04:00

Shipbuilding

Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe & James Burton
(What's So Funny 'Bout) PEACE, LOVE & UNDERSTANDING

It's Come To This

2006-07-11T20:57:00.000-04:00

Every year or so, I develop an immunity to my alarm clock. No matter what type of alarm I try---wind-up bell-ringer, clock radio, teeny, beeping travel size (oddly, these work the best and for the longer time. I suspect it's a frequency thing), talking, yelling, farting---or where I place them---across the room so I have to get up to turn them off, overhead on the windowsill, on the frickin' pillow (my latest alarm location), anywhere but up my ass---none stand the, uh, test of time. I've lately taken to setting two alarms, five minutes apart, but even this is no longer working. Eventually, I cease to respond to their insistance that I awaken at my own prescribed time, resulting in my starting my day late and/or missing appointments entirely. This is not good.

My mom's told me for years that I sleep like my dad. Consider the following true anecdote: my dad, illicit chemical usage notwithstanding (that's another story entirely), once slept through a raging apartment fire that burned all but him and the bed in which he slept. With genes like these, it's a wonder our family name's not VanWinkle (please, no Vanilla Ice references...).

My latest attempt at a solution? Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Sonic Alert Sonic Boom Alarm Clock SB300ss!!!

Yup, that's right. After an extensive web search for "alarm clocks for deaf people", this is what I've decided to try. This little guy comes with a bed-shaker device which will, hopefully, succeed in waking my virtually-unwakable ass while not bothering Gab. I figure I'll put the vibrator under my pillow (doesn't everyone?) and allow it to annoy me out of unconsciousness. Sounds like a plan... It should arrive in a few days.

If this doesn't work, I'm gonna hire those pillagers from the Capital One ads to burst into my apartment and flip my bed every morning. I figure, what the hell? Those guys are always looking for work...

In the course of my clock search, I happily stumbled upon this related piece from the Onion:

Revolutionary New Alarm Clock For The Deaf Uses No Hammers

November 25, 1998 Issue 34•17

METUCHEN, NJ–America's hearing-impaired are hailing Monday's unveiling of the "Sentinel 450," a breakthrough alarm clock that awakens deaf sleepers without the use of hammers. The alarm clock, developed by Metuchen-based Integrated Products, uses a flashing strobe light to wake hearing-impaired sleepers, rendering obsolete previous models utilizing a mechanical arm to pound the sleeper's cranium with a ball-peen hammer. "Rise and shine in an delightfully new, painless way," trumpets the brochure for the Sentinel 450, expected to hit store shelves in early January. "Now you can be on time for work without all the debilitating concussions, cranial fractures and costly reconstructive facial surgery."

What a life..........

Funniest Thing I've Ever Heard... Today

2006-07-11T17:44:00.000-04:00

Upon mentioning to Gabby today that Pink Floyd's co-founder Syd Barrett had died this week, her completely innocent, unscripted reply was as follows:

"Syd Barrett? I didn't know he was still fucking alive..."

I had to climb up off the floor just to post this entry...

And While We're At It

2006-06-03T17:29:00.000-04:00

Here's a great performance I'd never seen of one of my favorite Beatles songs. For my money, this is one of the most hauntingly beautiful lyrics ever penned.

Paul McCartney

Aha!

2006-06-03T17:24:00.000-04:00

Elvis Costello's 1st TV Appearance

I was wondering how Dave was able to post videos in Wings For Wheels... He'll either be proud that I worked it our for myself, or he'll call me an idiot for having taken so long to do so. Truth be told, I only just decided that I might want to post the occasional video. And I don't mind being called an idiot, especially by Dave... 'cos if you spot it, you got it.

Speaking Truth To Power

2006-06-03T14:15:00.000-04:00

So I guess, by that standard, Dubya has done some good after all.

And let's never forget how he helped encourage and mobilize a certain group of Americans to overcome their crippling disabilities en masse one day in November 2004. Yes, I'm speaking of that often-overlooked subset of the American people who, had it not been for this man, might not have found the strength to even leave their homes that day. Who are they, you ask, and what disability do they share?

Why, I speak of course of the 59,000,000-ish Americans who managed to make it to the polls and cast their ballots for Bush. I wouldn't think it possible for folks with their heads so deeply up their own asses to even walk, let alone drive themselves to their voting stations. Bravo, you good people! Yours is a proud legacy, indeed!

Please help fight Cranial Rectal Inversion w/Persistent Penetration & Lowered Expectations Syndrome (CRIPPLES) by donating to your local charity. Act today so that this sort of thing never has to happen again.

Got Health Problems? <--Click Here

2006-05-30T22:41:00.000-04:00

Perhaps it's that milk you've been drinking...

As if there weren't a hundred other reasons, this is enough to keep me off milk for life:

"In addition to saturated fat, cholesterol and animal protein, a wide range of undesirable components occur in cow’s milk and dairy products. The modern dairy cow is prone to both stress and disease... cows suffer from a range of infectious diseases including brucellosis, bovine tuberculosis, foot and mouth disease, viral pneumonia and Johne’s disease. As a result of an infectious disease a wide range of contaminants can occur in milk. Mastitis (inflammation of the mammary gland) is a widespread condition affecting cattle... in which all or part of the udder suffers from an infection caused by bacteria entering through the teat (MDC, 2004)... The cow responds to the infection by generating white blood cells (somatic cells) which migrate to the affected area in an effort to combat the infection. These cells, along with cellular debris and necrotic (dead) tissue, are a component of pus and are excreted into the milk.
The number of somatic cells in the milk (the somatic cell count) provides an indication of the level of infection present... In the European Union the somatic cell limit is a maximum of 400,000 cells per ml in bulk milk (Dairy Products (Hygiene) Regulations, 1995). This means that milk containing 400 million pus cells per litre can be sold legally for human consumption. So one teaspoonful of milk could contain up to two million pus cells! It could be even worse, as concerns have been raised about the efficiency of cell counting techniques (Berry et al., 2003). --from White Lies, published 2006 by vegetarian.org.uk

Mmmm... pus! Pour me a big ol' glass o' that!!!

In case you're wondering what mastitis looks like:

Notes From Shrewsbury

2006-05-28T22:53:00.000-04:00

Our flight to Boston was pleasant and uneventful. The wings stayed on, the wheels came down when appropriate and the bathroom functioned properly. These are the three things I ask for in an airplane flight. Everything else is gravy. To occupy myself in-flight, I completed a Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle and listened to Rubber Soul, Revolver and some Fountains of Wayne.

Rudy and Mary (Gab's dad & stepmom) picked us up at Logan Airport and took us out for Mexican food before bringing us to their home in Shrewsbury, which will be our base of operations while we're in Massachusetts.

We got up at 5am today in order to get ready for the ride to UMass Amherst (the "h" is silent) for Sarah's graduation. The day was beautiful, but we all had some uncomfortable moments sitting for hours under the hot sun on the football stadium bleachers. One thing that made our time bearable was watching the prospective graduates toss a blow-up sex doll amongst themselves as if it were surfing the crowd. All I could think was, "I hope whoever owns that thing cleaned it before bringing it here..."

[side note: Know what I think is unfair about blow-up dolls?

They're treated as nothing more than sex objects. Someone oughtta advocate on their behalf...]

Random Blues Moment of the Week:

During today's commencement ceremonies, Taj Mahal was on hand to pick up an honorary Doctor of Fine Arts degree.

Post-ceremony, a horde of Sarah-related folks enjoyed a brunch at the I-Didn't-Catch-The-Name-But-It-Looked-Rustic-And-Colonial Inn near the campus. I had pre-eaten a couple of veggie burgers as I wasn't confident that much would be available for Pain In The Ass Vegan Boy, but I was pleased to see that they offered marinated tofu and grilled veggies. I had a couple of helpings and some fruit. The "yum factor" was high.

It's really a blast seeing Gabby revisit the places of her youth. As we're being driven around the state, we continually pass the landmarks of her life and the look of joy on her face at seeing these places and things is priceless. Tonight we visited the Trapasso's, Gabby's childhood neighbors who looked after her as if she were a member of their family. They were having a party and had quite a few people in attendance, some of whom Gabby hadn't seen since she and they were much younger. It was fun seeing the dawning of rememberance on their faces as they looked at each other and realized, "Oh my God, you're that little kid I used to babysit! Why are you so tall now?!?"" We'll be visiting them again tomorrow.

I like visiting New England. There's a sense of history here that I don't feel in Florida, at least not in my part of the state. Some of the homes I've seen date back to the Revolutionary War and before. There's a comforting sense of permanence and place here.

And there are hills and mountains. I always dig a raised land mass. The only thing near home that resembles a hill is a stinky landfill. Putrescent raised land masses? This I do not dig.

Massachusetts Bound

2006-05-27T01:39:00.000-04:00

On Saturday morning, Gabby and I are off to Shrewsbury, MA for Gabby's sister Sarah's graduation from U-Mass Amherst. We'll be in Mass. until Wednesday and will be staying with Gabby's dad and stepmom, Rudy and Mary.

I'm hoping that we'll get the chance to see Elizabeth and Jason at some point. Elizabeth is a good friend of mine from high school (one of the few good things to come out of that hell hole...) and she and her husband live in Arlington, which is about an hour away. I'm not sure what kind of vehicle access we might have, so hopefully they'll be able to come to us.

When we return, I've taken the rest of the week off and am looking forward to using some of my six gazillion vacation days. No work for Keith until June 5th!

For any Sasha Baron Cohen fans (Ali G), click this link to see photos of Borat pimping his forthcoming movie in Cannes!

Have a great Memorial Day weekend, all! Peace!!!

Poetry Corner

2006-05-17T14:37:00.000-04:00

This Springsteenesque poem, "Hard River" by James Finnegan, comes to us courtesy of The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor (lots of other good stuff at publicradio.org, in case you haven't been):

Hard River

I pulled back
the jaundiced curtains
of the room rented
for four weeks in Wichita.
I didn't care
that the only thing I could see
from the window was the highway,
because I would watch the highway
the way I used to watch the river
with a six of beer and nowhere to go
after work, just watch
the cars and trucks
flow on and on, heading home
or to work or nowhere in particular,
knowing out there somewhere
someone was listening to the radio,
the same station I was listening to
with this man talking, just talking
into space, wavelengths over furrows
in the wide stretches of farmland,
knowing no one cares
about what he's saying,
still he talks and syllables and seconds
and dust settle like silt in the open air,
a child asleep across the backseat
of a car, tires throbbing over
slabs of pavement, no spare
in the trunk and two hundred miles
from here to wherever is there
on the hard river that carries them along
and if they're lucky
takes them home.

A Couple of Things

2006-05-16T22:15:00.000-04:00

1) Danielle's on the road and her blog is up and running. Please stop by and say hi!

2) My band, The Ridgetops, is playing again this Saturday at Gizzi's Coffee at 2275 S. Federal Highway in Delray Beach (just south of Linton Blvd. on the east side of Federal in the Delray Plaza). We start at 6:30pm and end around 8:30pm. Please come out and support us if you can (and by "support" I mean, of course, tip heavily). Just think, we play early enough so that you can stop in, have a coffee/tea/pastry, listen for a while, wipe the blood from your ears, and still enjoy any other sort of Saturday night plans you may have. We oughtta change our name to the Early Birds...

Here I am at a recent gig. I have "dog eye". Dylan looks good, though:

I'd post a full band picture, but we have yet to get a good one.

3) Speaking of Dylan, Glenn and I saw him Thursday at the Seminole Hard Rock Casino. It was one of the worst concerts I've ever had the displeasure to attend. This was not due to Dylan's usual hyper-speed mumble, the approach he's employed in recent years that makes some of the most profound lyrics ever written sound unintelligible and unimportant. This I can deal with. He's Bob Dylan. Whaddaya gonna do?

What su-uuucked was his band which, as far as I know, is the same band I saw in NYC two nights last year (once with Dave and once with my cousin Richie). At the Beacon Theater, these guys played great music and were as tight as a frog's ass . Last week, they played like they'd never met each other. It was like listening to a mudslide, only with fewer moments of coherent music. Instruments inexplicably dropped out of the mix at times, solos began and then faded away as if the players lacked the confidence to seize the moment, and no one seemed sure of what was supposed to happen next. I can't remember the last time I left a concert before the encores were over and house lights came up. Oh, wait. Yes I can. It was last Thursday during All Along the Watchtower. I couldn't bear to hear somebody forget to solo again.

You let me down, Bob, and without even the courtesy of a reacharound. And you cost me $65 in the process. Crap, crap, crappity-crap.

4) I've decided I don't like the soap that comes out of the dispenser already foamy. I feel as if somehow I'm being cheated out of an integral part of the cleansing ritual. It used to be soap + water + friction = suds + a nice clean... well, whatever it is you're cleaning. Now the soap is sudsy right out of the container, and you had no part in it. It oughtta be called Lazysoap.

5) The next time I see that seductive ad for the Lexus ES 350 (you know the one: the car is stroked longingly by robotic appendages while a voice asks, "Is it possible to engineer desire?"), I think I'll go down to my local Lexus dealer and ask if I can take one out for a test-fuck. "The 2006 Vagina, from Lexus. Tinted windows and cloth upholstery come standard..."

She's Leaving Home...

2006-05-09T12:09:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to take a minute to let everyone know--and by "everyone" I mean all two of you who read this blog--that my good friend Danielle has started a blog that will soon detail her adventures on the open road (see link to the right or just click on the title of this post). She's packing up her car, tuning her guitar (I sense a song coming...) and leaving us all behind to travel the country in search of answers to life's persistent questions. Chief amongst these questions would be "Where am I gonna live?", "Where might the next folk festival be?", "Where will my next meal come from?" and "Should my car be making that awful sound??"

Please join me in wishing Danielle all the best a wandering folkie can hope to find out on that ribbon of highway!

Actions Have Consequences

2006-05-04T16:54:00.000-04:00

Barry Bonds Hit In The Head By Foul Ball

See what happens? Had his head not been so unusually large as a result of steroid use, that ball woulda gone right by...

Radio, Radio

2006-05-04T00:14:00.000-04:00

I was on the radio today, sort of.

First, let me say that I tend to find very little of interest in 91.3 WLRN's Topical Currents program. The host, Joseph Cooper, has got to be the single worst radio personality I've ever heard in my life, and all without trying. He never fails to make the stupidest, most inappropriate, most off-topic comments, all without a hint of humor or ironic intent. In 26 years, this is the craft he's honed...

I literally screamed at my radio the time he asked a guest, a young woman who'd been the first prominent victim of Internet pedophilia--as she was in the midst of recounting her terrifying experience with the perpetrator--, whether it had been a "complete molestation". Wait. I'll give you a moment to digest that.

I can only assume he meant "Was there penetration?", as if anything less wasn't complete enough or wouldn't qualify as molestation (I'll certainly never have to ask myself whether Joseph Cooper is a completely insensitive moron). I congratulate the young woman for keeping her composure, for setting a boundary and answering in a mature manner what had been the capper in a series of increasingly inappropriate and lascivious questions, and for resisting the urge to reach over and smack the living shit out of this idiot. My guess is she was in a separate studio. My hope is that she was in another state, so as to not have to be too close to such stupidity. OK, rant over. Back to me.

I'd heard earlier in the day that today's topic would have to do with animal rights and animal cruelty, so my interest was piqued as much as Topical Currents is capable of doing. I was able to listen to some of the show at work while covering my colleague's lunch break at the front desk. Some of the conversation turned to the mistreatment and cruelty inflicted on veal calves, so I composed the following email:

For those who abstain from veal and yet continue to use milk products, here's food for thought:
To drink milk is to support the veal industry. Milk cows are kept pregnant--through brutal artificial insemination techniques--to keep them lactating in sufficient quantities to support the demands of the industry. When their calves are born, they are immediately taken from their mothers and many of the males go on to become veal.

I decided that was as much detail as was necessary (I left out the term "rape racks", which is how dairy industry insiders describe the insemination devices), and that I didn't need to climb up on my soapbox... which I use as a saddle on my high horse... which I keep on a pedestal. I figured, in this case, less is more.

Less than 3 minutes after sending the email, Idiot Host Boy surprised me by uttering the words, "Keith in Boca emailed us and says..." He asked for a reply from the animal rights activist guy who concurred wholeheartedly and drew a parallel with chickens and how male baby chicks are discarded in trash dumpsters and left to die because they have no use in egg production (I saw such footage in the film Peaceable Kingdom, a documentary about Farm Sanctuary in Watkins Glen, NY, and I made the transition from a vegetarian to a vegan lifestyle very shortly thereafter. As I recall, it was, like, the next day). A sad conversation, but one that I feel is necessary for people to hear. We are what we eat, and when we consume animal products we're eating the unnecessary and avoidable stress, pain and suffering of our fellow sentient creatures. And that just can't be good for ya.

Whether or not I like your work, Joseph Cooper, thank you for letting me have a public voice today and for getting some important information on the air.

A True Patriot Act

2006-05-03T00:33:00.000-04:00

From today's Sierra Club Currents:

Quote of Note: "Now, there may be an energy crisis. This president has a very forward-thinking energy policy. Why do you think he's down on the ranch cutting that brush all the time? He's trying to create an alternative energy source. By 2008 we will have a mesquite-powered car!" - Comedian Stephen Colbert at the White House Correspondents' Dinner

See the complete video here (lots of other crap on the page and, like most crap, best avoided). Jon Stewart called it "ballsalicious" and, after what he did to those assclowns on Crossfire, he oughtta know...

One of my favorite Colbert bits was on MLK Day. Lie down someplace where you won't knock anything over as you roll around in hysterics, put on a comfy diaper and watch I Have A Dreamsicle .

I'm No Veganazi, But...( <--Click Here )

2006-05-02T00:26:00.000-04:00

I was glad to read this last week. Italy, rock on with your bad we-ain't-gonna-tolerate-no-animal-abuse selves. Every little bit helps.

I'm constantly amazed at the cruelty humans are willing to inflict on their less-powerful neighbors on this planet. Isn't it bad enough that so many lobsters are cooked alive in boiling water or stabbed in the head and split down to the tail just to become a high cholesterol meal for someone who could've easily made a cruelty-free choice? Now, as an added indignity, these morons wanna keep the poor little guys on ice before they slaughter 'em? I think we're seeing the Han Solo-ization of the crustacean, and I don't like it.

I've gotten to the point where I have a hard time walking past Lobster Death Row in my local supermarket without thinking about how these creatures would be having a much better time hanging out in the ocean, socializing, mating and just basically lobstering around than waiting around for some schmuck to come along, take one home and kill, dismember and eat it. An undignified end to any life, no? At the very least, let's take those claw-cuffs off and even the playing field ever so slightly. Let 'em go down swinging. Take out an eye or two. Reroute a nostril. How badly do you want that lobster dinner, big man? You willing to risk losing a pinkie?

Each time I see my little red brothers and sisters languishing in the tank, I resist the urge to buy a few and set them free, knowing that this would only create more demand for the supply.

I'm still waiting for a reply to the letter I sent to the supermarket manager regarding discontinuing the sale at his store of live animals for slaughter. I personalized a sample letter I found here, and it was all I could do to leave out a line asking, "Would you sell kittens if you knew the same thing was going to happen to them?" The answer, of course, is "no" because that would be illegal. Anyone who ever saw The Jerk knows full well that even juggling kittens--while popular in certain countries--is illegal. But I digress...

It's not about lobsters, folks. It's about us. It's about humans and the choices we make every moment of every day as to how we treat ourselves and those around us. What we do speaks volumes about who we are. The word "human" makes up approximately 83% of the word "humane", but our actions would strongly suggest that this is a misnomer.

Stay tuned for...

The Saddest Show On Earth

Gotta Give My Man His Props!

2006-03-29T17:33:00.000-05:00

I was clearing out emails from a now-defunct account and found this gem from Dave dated March 24, 2003:

"I have decided that I am going to change and live a good, clean, sin-free life. This way, when I die, I can hopefully come back as Salma Hayek's lint brush."

I, myself, have a similar goal. I would like to be the one who gets to hold the brush and, uh, de-lintify Ms. Hayek.

Great Music, and the Guy's Got Balls

2006-03-24T23:45:00.000-05:00

...in the air:

What do you get when you combine juggling and the Beatles? Click to find out.

Just Wondering...

2006-03-19T20:44:00.000-05:00

I pose this question:

If a death-row inmate is partaking of his (ok, let's just say he's a he. I know there are women on death row, too. No sexism here!) last meal prior to execution and he starts to choke on his final meal-of-choice... do the guards try to save the guy or is it like, "Uh, I guess we can let this one go, Bobby. Shorten up the night a bit. My, what an interesting shade of purple!"

Do they even bother to train death-row guards in CPR and First Aid? What's the protocol if they're walking a guy down the hall toward his ultimate demise and he has a heart attack? Is it "chest compressions and rescue breathing" or "everybody look the other way for a few minutes"? It somehow seems wrong to save a guy and then twenty minutes later strap him into the ol' electric Laz-Y-Boy (I think that's still how we do it here in Florida. Sun, sand and barbarism!).

Anyone? Thoughts? Experiences?

God Bless The Onion (America's Finest News Source)

2006-03-18T01:09:00.000-05:00

And the caption reads:

"The queen of daytime TV talks about her troubled past, her rise to success, and the challenge of a near-crippling superiority complex. Oprah's triumphant story will touch your heart."

Love it.

Son of a B...!

2006-03-04T13:10:00.000-05:00

ARGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!

OK, just had to get that out. Today I picked up the latest issue of City Link, the local bird cage liner/arts and what-not paper, and saw that Glen Phillips --formerly of Toad the Wet Sprocket--is in town tonight at the Bamboo Room. My hopes of a same-day ticket or two were dashed when a quick phone inquiry resulted in two of the most wretched* words in the English language (*when used together as a phrase. When used singly... not so bad) : SOLD OUT. Oh, and there's already a substantial waiting list. BAH! This displeases me...

I must try to assuage my grief through repeated listenings to my TtWS Acoustic Dance Party disc. And by picking up the new Costello CD.

Things You Don't Generally See Where I Live

On Thursday morning I saw a picture of Frank Zappa adorning the back window of a van here in town. Very cool! What was perhaps even cooler were the sentiments the van's owner had hand-lettered above and below the American flag decal on the spare wheel cover. I didn't have a chance to get it all down, but what I got was the following:

"Our civil rights are not violated equally."

"Even dead, Zappa would be a better president."

Thank you, Mystery Van Man. You rock a mighty rocking.

I Nearly Bought A Ticket To Thailand

2006-03-04T00:07:00.000-05:00

Apparently, earlier in the week my wife thought she might be pregnant. Something about a "friend" who was supposed to visit on a certain day not showing up or being late...? I dunno. I'm not up on all that technical stuff. I failed health class.

All I know is that I got a phone call today and I've never in my life been so glad to find out that someone is bleeding...

Oh, and "Why Thailand?", you may ask?

'Cos if you take a globe and put one finger on Boca Raton, Florida and another finger (preferably your own..) on the opposite position on the globe, you've pretty much got that finger on Thailand. And that's where I'd be off to...

This Razor Thing Is Getting Out of Control!

2006-03-03T17:39:00.000-05:00

Consider this 1st paragraph an addendum to my previous post (Rant and Shave, 2/6/06):

I've just seen Gillette's newest offering, the FIVE blade Fusion. Five frickin' blades... Yeah, it's a fusion alright: a fusion of a shaving apparatus and a ninja weapon. Just what kind of facial hair requires five razor-sharp blades to take down? Who's in the demographic they're trying to reach with this little piece of hardware? Sasquatch?!? Keeeeee-rist... If your beard is that intense, keep it, dude. Apparently, there's a force in the universe that wants it there.

In other, semi-related news:

I replaced my toothbrush with what I thought was the same model, but I inadvertently bought the one with the compact head as opposed to the full head (stop it, Dave...). This means I now have to brush twice as long to make sure I still get all the teeth...

In completely-unrelated news:

Network television continues its quest to sink to lows that would make Dante retch in his grave. As if it wasn't bad enough that they've created Dancing With the Stars (which, abhorrent as it is, somehow managed to average "16.8 million viewers weekly" last summer, according to the ABC website. One can only hope the numbers would've been considerably lower had the TVs of coma victims been switched off now and again), now Fox offers Skating With Celebrities.

Shit... If I wanna see a celebrity skate, I'll watch reruns of the O.J. Simpson trial.

Weekend Update

2006-02-27T17:40:00.000-05:00

As the young folks like to say these days, it's all good in the 'hood. Yo.

Caramel's doing well. She seems to be getting her strength back, which means that she can now move briskly from one napping area to the next...

Having played tennis Friday and Sunday (Ralph and I got one set of singles in Sunday morning before a mini-hurricane soaked us and the courts. Despite the pre-storm winds, I managed to take the set 6-3), this means that my weekend was stellar. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Gabby and I went to Glenn & Kelly's wedding. It was a very nice affair, despite the hotel not really having their shit together insofar as setting things up and getting hungry people fed in a timely fashion. Being that most of those in attendance don't drink, including Gabby and myself, it was a sober wedding without a drop of alcohol in sight. This made for a pleasant change from other weddings I've attended, in that there were no staggering, slobbering, potentially-vomiting guests to avoid. Trust me, this is a crowd who can easily make a huge mess without needing to be fueled by booze...

More later...

Been Busy Lately...

2006-02-24T11:13:00.000-05:00

It's tough finding time to post, but while I've got a few moments...

I've been feeling a bit "stretched" these past couple of weeks, as I've had a lot going on. It's mostly good stuff, but I've found myself wanting to add two more days to the week to fit it all in. Who do we think I'd need to contact in order to get that sort of thing done? The calendar people? God? The president (he seems to be able to do whatever he wants...)?

As I said, my time has been filled with mostly good stuff. I've been rehearsing with two bands, Spanky's Monkey (which I've been active in for years) and a new project called the Ridgetops (named for a song by Jesse Colin Young, formerly of the Youngbloods).

Spanky's Monkey consists of myself and Peter Hearn (and an ever-changing cast of characters, the latest of which is a smoky-voiced female singer named Cat), and we usually play an assortment of Spanish guitar pieces--Pete is an accomplished flamenco player, I just bash out an accompaniment--, blues, folk and rock-n-roll. Pete and I both sing, play guitar (acoustic, electric, six-string, twelve-string, dobro, whatever. If it's got strings, we'll give it a shot) and percussion. Pete's a classically-trained guitarist who, being a Brit, actually started out in skiffle bands. Whatever he tries his hand at, he masters, so he's also become an expert blues player. I bring out the harmonica for Dylan covers and old folk-blues pieces like Freight Train, written by somebody who was prob'ly blind and more than likely named for some type of citrus, as so many of the old bluesmen were... [OK, a bit of research suggests that Freight Train was written by Elizabeth Cotten, who was neither blind nor named for fruit... although, wouldn't it have been more interesting to find out it was written by Blind Elizabeth Grapefruit Cotten?]

The Ridgetops began with Carlos (a fantastic guitarist, singer, keyboardist, percussionist and composer) and myself. We've now been joined by a female singer, Jessie, who possesses a bluesy voice capable of blowing the roof off of most places we might play. Let's hope South Florida clubs have finished repairing last year's hurricane damage, 'cos the Ridgetops are coming and we might be shaking some shingles loose...

The rest of my time, when not at work, has been taken up by tennis and running my cat to the vet (that's the only "not-so-good" part). This week, I played doubles for the first time in a loooooooooooooooooong time. My usual singles partner, Ralph, brought his brother-in-law John (visiting from Mass.) and I brought my buddy Steve (a golf professional who splits his time between pro-ing in Long Island, NY and daddying in here in Palm Beach). For two guys who don't play much tennis, John and Steve held their own pretty well (that, or Ralph and I aren't nearly as good as we think we are...). Steve and I played a set of singles after Ralph and John left, and Steve took the set 6-3. Apparently, Steve waited until we were playing singles before deciding to bomb me with often-unreturnable first serves. That, coupled with the fact that I'd apparently left my forehand in the frickin' car, contributed to my loss. See ya on the courts next week, Steve-O. I shall be redeemed...

As for our kitty-cat Caramel (she's insulin-dependent diabetic, has an enlarged heart, hyperthyroidism and God-knows-what-else, but always seems to be in good spirits), we noticed she'd not been eating for nearly a day--which for her is extremely unusual--so we brought her to the vet for a look-see. Turns out the little girl was dehydrated (they said "she's like a little raisin") and needed to stay at the vet for 2 days to receive IV fluids. We made sure to visit her each day. Our apartment is very strange without her in it, so we missed her and were grateful to get her back home yesterday. She's eating fine now and, despite looking a bit weak, is doing well.

Today, our friends Glenn and Kelly are getting married (congratulations, kids!) at the Holiday Inn Catalina in Boynton Beach, so we'll be there this evening. They (and their friends) are among the more fun people we know, so it should be a blast!

OK, that's all for the ketchup! Peace!

Rant and Shave

2006-02-06T16:54:00.000-05:00

To paraphrase Dennis Miller's commentary on Richard Nixon, my facial hair grows in so quickly that I actually need to shave while I'm shaving. And since my job requires that I appear "well-groomed and presentable" (the subjective nature of this phrase allows for some flexibility but, sadly, I can no longer get around the daily chokehold of the corporate-noose-as-necktie), shave I must.

The day I found that I'd run out of razor cartridges for my fancy-schmancy Gillette Sensor Excel, I took one of my wife's plastic, cheapie, disposable, non-pivoting powder-blue "women's" razors and hoped it'd make do. The results?

It was the closest, best, most comfortable shave of my life. That's when I realized I'd spent years as a pawn on the great marketing chessboard. I look at razor ads now and wonder why I'd ever buy what they're selling.

First, I don't need a razor that pivots. I have a wrist for that. If I ever lose my wrist-flexing abilities, I'll reconsider. Right now I'm just not that lazy.

Second, as far as I know I'm not under consideration for a stint on the International Space Station. This would negate any need for a razor that operates under zero-gravity conditions. If I'm floating around in a giant metal dragonfly 220 miles above the Earth, a close shave will not be high on my list of concerns. Keeping the oxygen flowing and not running out of food and water head that list. Oh, and put "toilet paper" on there somewhere near the top. I'll shave when I reach terra firma, thank you. Who am I trying to impress? The other two guys? It's not as if we're gonna meet some chicks while we're up there...

Third, I'm married. This would negate any need for attractive women to be flouncing around trying to get a look at my ultra-cool razor... not that I'm adverse to this, mind you. It's just that we have such a small bathroom and women tend to flock toward guys with cool razors in such high numbers. I've seen it in the commercials, and we all know commercials don't lie...

Fourth, am I really expected to believe that the guys I see shaving in the ads are actually shaving and not pre-shorn or previously depilatoried by some hair-removal expert? They look more like animatronic wax figures than actual people! Where's the blood? Where's the stubble? When I shave, half the time I'm lucky I don't pass out from blood loss. The TV ads look like an episode of Red Shoe Diaries. My bathroom looks like a Wes Craven film set...

...or at least it did before I put down the expensive Mach 3s, M-Powers and Quattros with their bells and whistles and picked up a few packs of Gillette Daisy Disposable Razors For Women. At $5.99 for a ten-pack, I even have some money left over for Band-Aids, just in case.

It's Enough O-ready

2006-02-02T00:51:00.000-05:00

I guess I've been in some sort of protective denial-bubble since this thing first started, but now that I've noticed I just have to ask:

Since Oprah Winfrey has more money than God, more power than the frickin' sun and more exposure than... well, than this guy, why does she feel compelled to appear on the cover of every issue of her self-titled O magazine? I'm thinking a more apt title might be EGO.

Every 30 days, a new cover: Oprah's thin. Oprah's put on weight. Oprah's in black. Oprah's in white. Oprah's smiling. Oprah's smiling. Oprah's smiling. Hell, I'd be smiling too if I were making bank like her.

What will next month's cover bring? Look everybody! It's Oprah sitting down and eating a plate of crow over the James Frey debacle! Oh, and who didn't see that one coming, an admitted alcoholic/addict/thief who... gulp!... LIES?!? *smacks forehead*

Actually, I'm envious. I long for the day when I, too, might become embroiled in a debacle. I've been in some sticky situations and a coupla controversies, but never an honest-to-goodness debacle. Maybe one day, if I play my cards right...

It would seem to me that the big O could step aside and toss someone else a bone now and again (who knows? Maybe she has. Remember, I've just now become aware of this). It's not as if she isn't on TV every day. Do we really need a monthly photographic reminder that she's still with us?

Oprah, we get it. We know you're there. You can stop now. You're ok. It's enough O-ready.

Culture... In Delray?

2006-01-29T02:31:00.000-05:00

I've yet to post anything here and already I've been asked, " 'The Turbulence of Dreaming'? What the hell does that mean?" It's good to have friends, ya know?

The phrase popped into my head one day and made it's way into my journal, so I figured I'd give it a new life here rather than keep it stuffed between the pages of a book. Besides, is it just me or can't dreams be a bit turbulent now and then?

Today's been a great day! While the wife worked, I played (y'know, as it should be). Specifically, I went to Old School Square in Delray Beach to attend In My Life: The Artwork of John Lennon. Despite the fact that I've already seen most of the pieces at previous year's shows, I always find it enjoyable to be around his artwork and amongst fellow Beatles fans. I got particularly choked up when the sound system played cuts from Double Fantasy and while viewing the photograph entitled Remembering John & George, which the caption said was taken during the filming of Magical Mystery Tour.

A middle-aged guy in a Yellow Submarine t-shirt dropped $24,000 (yes, that's three zeroes) on a signed, framed original lyric sheet. I can't remember which lyric it was, probably due to the residual shock of seeing a man pay twenty-four grand for a piece of paper doodled on by a dead guy while I struggled to decided whether $26.00 isn't a bit high for a t-shirt. And I thought I paid a lot for my Macca ticket last year...

Today was the first round of the International Tennis Championships and, being a tennis nut, I walked over to see who I could see. I took a seat in Stadium Court (there were maybe a hundred or so people there) and watched Boca's own Vince Spadea warm up for five minutes or so. Just as I was about to go scout out the other courts, everyone turned at once to watch Andre Agassi enter the court. I moved down to the front row (roughly the same seats I've got for Tuesday and Thursday's night sessions) and watched him warm up and play two sets with an Asian player I'd never seen before. Whoever he was, the guy could hit! Although I love tennis in general, Agassi is the main reason I've got tickets to this tournament. My guess is that I am not unique in this motivation. The only downside of attending the ITC two nights this week is that it cuts into my own tennis time. Man, am I gonna be jonesing to play by next week! Fortunately, I'll be at the tournament with my friend and main tennis partner, Ralph, so he'll be as eager to get back on the court as I will... which means we'll probably overhit all our shots and injure ourselves first time out. Ah, it'll all be worth it!

OK, that's enough outta me for now.