Sweet seasons

(I always do a Carole King shoutout when I can...she wrote a song with that title)

But before I do, first, a tip to save money that I just discovered:

A week ago, I emailed the Amy's Food company. They make pretty awesome products, especially for people like me who are on a joy-free diet. One thing they make is this really good mac cheese that's both gluten free and dairy free. Problem is, it looks a lot like their other mac/cheese meals which DO contain either gluten or dairy. I brought one with real cheese, heated it up, took a bite and thought, "Hey, this is really good. It CAN'T be something I normally buy." Sure enough, I looked at the package and saw that it had "cheese", not "cheeze". (I am not kidding about this)
Anyway, I had to toss it out. I emailed the company, who responded very courteously to say they had received similar complaints and were updating their packaging. I thought, "Cool...glad they're doing it". And that was the end, until today, when I received about 20 dollars worth of coupons from them in the mail.
Moral: If you don't like what a company is doing (or better, if you DO like something they're doing), all you have to do in contact them. Even today, companies generally like to hear from consumers with constructive feedback. It makes them better and it saves you money. How cool is that?

Now, to the main event. My love of 4 seasons. (Not the band, although I must say I DID like them and lamely tried to imitate Frankie Valli's falsetto).
But I digress...
No, I'm talking meteorologically. I spent about 10 years in sun belt climates. Columbia, SC. Los Angeles, Nashville, TN. (the latter being a marginal sun belt city that gets 2 ice storms a season). And I hated, hated, missing winter and even more, the autumn.
When asked why I like living in CT, my #1 answer is "the first part of October." Case closed. Our state, and Litchfield County in particular, is the prettiest place on earth in early fall.
But beyond that, almost as beautiful is a new fallen snow. Of which we've had 4 events so far. None major. However, as beautiful as it is, driving in it is another story. Now, keep my background in mind. I have a masters degree in geography and I specialized in climatology and even taught it in grad school. I also have 9 credits in meteorology. Everyone who knows me knows that I'm a weather freak of the first order.
Therefore, it is, even now, inexplicable to me how I could be driving in each of the 4 storms. Let's take this chronologically.
1: First week of November, a week after Sandy hit (itself unprecedented). Where am I? I'm at the laundromat. The $%^&ing laundromat? Yeah, I was out of clean clothing. But I KNEW the forecast. So when they pulled my body from the wreckage, they could say, "Well, at least he had clean clothing."
2: My girlfriend, who still wishes for me to hide her identity, and I are out at a Christmas Eve mass. (She's a former Christian who wanted to revisit her faith). Beautiful music.  Boring prose. Amazingly
irrelevant sermon. Anyway, it starts snowing during mass. I need to drive her back. The snow has stopped, with very little accumulation. For you snow novices, that's a worst case scenario. A little snow makes the highways very, very slick. Again, we survived. This time, when our frozen corpses are found, they could say, "well, at least they didn't die alone."
3: Just a few days ago, I drive to anonymous girlfriend's house. And I leave in the heart of a storm that, when done, will only leave maybe 4-5 inches accumulation. Not a big deal. But, as the band 10cc said back in the 70's, "The Things we do for Love". All I had to do was wait a couple of hours. Or spend the night at my place. Or any number of other non-suicidal options. But no, off I went, on a drive that lasted over an hour, that's normally 20 minutes. I'm still not sure how I was able to go an hour without taking a breath. But somehow I did. This time, when my corpse is found, they could say, "He was a devoted boyfriend."
4: Finally, just 2 days ago, I visited my friend, Donna. I could have cancelled but this was already a reschedule. Nothing was going to stop me. When I left, it actually was not snowing. It started halfway there. By the time, I left from Donna's, it was snowing...and hard. (By the way, how come there's no verb to describe this condition? If it's rain, it's pouring, a downpour, etc. But when it's snow, there's no equivalent.) But I DO give myself credit for taking the longer, but flatter, route home. My normal route, which would have taken me down a steep hill on Rt. 15, an expressway, would have been suicidal. After I lost control of my car and careened into oncoming traffic, they could have said, "Well...he survived his last 3 suicidal encounters with clean clothing, a girlfriend, and devotion. But not this time. What an idiot."

All that wasted education. I promise to not do anything suicidal ever again. Unless anonymous girlfriend says otherwise.

A wonderful and blessed 2013 to everyone. Thanks again for visiting, y'all.

Spiritual Rx

I don't know about you, but being joyful sure is hard work.

When I first started this blog in the summer, I pledged to create a post every Sunday. For the most part, I've done that. I knew December would be a challenge but I never expected to be thrown this far off course.
There are 2 main reasons, one joyous and the other heartbreaking. The latter, of course, is the Newtown shootings, now 12 days in the past but still seems like an hour ago.
The other is that I'm in a relationship with a woman who is, as they say, a "keeper". She has asked me to remain anonymous for now in the blogosphere. It is NOT Berenice Bejo, the spectacularly gorgeous lead from the movie The Artist, (which I've seen twice). No, my love is even better. 
I tend to be overly confessional, so there's a better than 50-50 chance I'll say something that will elicit a "I cannot BELIEVE you put that in a blog" reaction from her. I'll say, "But sweetie...no one reads my blog." That will not persuade her. Therefore, I will delay my sonnets and romantic exhortations until she gives me the green light.
On the other end of the spectrum, I'm in a "Newtown echo" phase. Which is to say that I find myself spending less time per day thinking about the horrific events of 12/14. But a few times a day, I'll ask myself, "How can the parents of those sweet kids get through this period?" Sometimes, it's a mild echo. Other times, I'm almost obsessing over it. And of course, I never find answers. My powers of empathy do not extend far enough to include being a suddenly childless father. Even as I write these words, I freeze because, I suspect, to put myself in their shoes is just too painful for me. Yet, these parents somehow move on. As do all the other lives forever upended.
I posted on FB that I drove up to Newtown last Thursday, with my guitar and harmonicas in tow, hoping to just play some music. As I drove southwest on Rt. 15, the sunshine quickly turned to overcast skies. So quickly that I started asking myself if I could play music in a cold rain or sleet. I was already mentally chickening out. I got off 15 and onto Rt. 25, which runs through northern Fairfield County.
A side note for those not from these parts. Fairfield County is, for the most part, very wealthy. This wealth includes Newtown. As you drive in the area, you generally see wealthy colonials, stores decorated in a faux-Revolutionary War architecture, with ornately displayed business signs. It's not a Beverly Hills, new money, in your face, kind of wealth. It's more the opposite. It's a wealth that says, "We've had wealth for a long time and it's so much a part of who we are that we don't need to throw it in your face". The entire area says, "We are safe. There is no violent crime here." That's why it was that much more jarring that, as I got closer to the town center, I saw this uniquely Connecticut wealth mixed with signs of anguish and suffering. Like walking into someone's mansion, knowing that all is not well. None of this surprised me. It was essentially what I expected. But even with this knowledge, each sign that said "We love you, Charlotte" (or any other child) felt like being hit by a Floyd Mayweather right hook. For the 20th time, I again asked myself if I could do this. My answer was always the same. "You have no choice. And it won't be enough." So, northward I kept going, feeling a bit like I was driving into a hurricane.
I checked in at the police station to ask if it would be OK to do some music, After a brief wait, Carolyn, who I'm guessing is an administrator, came out and said yes, by all means. We chatted briefly and this woman, who must have been under an insane amount of stress, reached out and gave ME a hug. Which is what I was thinking of doing to her but thought it wasn't appropriate. This was the first of many signs that told me that for every sick individual with access to a weapon, there are 100 or more Carolyns in the world. People who want to do the right thing. Carolyn also gave me a contact of a woman who was organizing a concert.
I then walked a block south and looked over a makeshift memorial. 26 candles, teddy bears, toys, flowers, clothing, religious symbols, just about any symbol of love you can conjur up...all there on display. I could almost see the kids holding them. I saw 2 people looking alongside with me and started a conversation. (Side note: If we arm citizens, as the NRA and others seem to be pushing as the solution to these tragedies, I wouldn't have started a conversation for fear of offending them and getting my brains blown out for my trouble). As it turns out, Ken and Darla were wonderful people. Not only that, THEY were the ones who started the memorial, with the 26 candles. They could not believe that their initial offering had grown to include well over a hundred remembrances. Initial score: Evil, 1; Angels, 3.
I asked them if they'd be interested in any songs I could play for them. They said yes...anything. For reasons I still can't figure out, I started with the Moody Blues classic "Nights in White Satin." Maybe it was the refrain "But I love you, repeat, Oh how I love you". More likely, it was that beautiful melody, in E minor in a 6/8 meter. The lyrical connection isn't apparent to me, even now. But as a songwriter, I always trust a melody over a lyric. And in the end, it didn't matter. What mattered was that I did something...anything. In truth, I probably could have played industrial-punk-metal and it still would have been appreciated.
I followed up with the more obvious Graham Nash/CSNY "Teach Your Children". After that, I thought something holiday/kid friendly might be right. So I switched to Jingle Bell Rock, a song that, for some reason, I just can never get enough of. By this time, a few more people gathered around. After these 3 songs, my fingers were too cold to feel the strings. People wandered away. I felt like I may as well pack it in. Besides, I'll call this woman Carolyn told me about and we'll figure something out. So I've done enough for today.
To finish up the meteorological simile, I saw fewer and fewer signs as I got farther from Newtown. The storm faded away...at least for me. 
As it turns out, after 2 messages, I never did hear back from the woman Carolyn told me about. When people don't return calls, it generally pisses me off. But that didn't happen this time, because I have no idea what this woman is going through. That was lesson #1. Don't judge or assume anything. I cannot assume I know what Adam Lanza was going through either. Nor Nancy Lanza, his mother and his first victim. I don't know Adam Lanza's pathology. All I do know is that Asperger's Syndrome, which he may or may not have had, had nothing to do with it.
Which leads to lesson #2. Not only can I not judge, I also know next to nothing about the specifics of this tragedy. Therefore, maybe I'd do well to just keep my mouth shut when it comes to speculation. No one will ever know what Adam's pathology is. No one will ever know what possessed him to commit this unspeakably cruel act.  
Which takes me to lesson #3. If I can't say who's good or bad, if I can't assume facts about the case, what then CAN I do? Is it OK to have no answers? Because I surely do not. The answer to the "no answer" question is, of course, yes. I don't have answers but maybe "God", or whatever term one cares to use, does. Therefore, all I can do is let these questions go, which frees me up to look at my talents and skills as a way of providing comfort, knowing fully well that I can sing my heart out and it won't bring back the 18 sweet souls, nor the 8 beautiful souls who died just because they felt called to teach or help children. Nor Nancy Lanza, the 27th soul that's often forgotten. Someone who just tried to do her best in an impossible situation. A chemist who unwittingly engaged in a toxic form of chemistry, that being to expose one element, a mentally unstable human being, to another element, an assault weapon, creating a toxic compound that took the lives of 27 people.
In my last blog, I got deep into politics and the nuts and bolts of what to do next. So I won't repeat it here. But in the end, there IS no spiritual Rx, if "Rx" means to make well again. Because we all know that won't happen. But that won't stop me from trying to understand, from trying to bring a smile to someone who needs it. From being goofy and silly in situations that are anything but. From the simple act of being present with someone.
Which leads to lesson #4 for me. The next Adam Lanza could be someone I know. A person who is a medical and sociological enigma. Such enigmas should not own guns.  Therefore, get off my ass, fight the NRA and it's almost comical solution of arming schools. I suspect Wayne LaPierre knows this won't help. But, after all, he has a business to run. We need laws to make sure this particular toxic combination will never, ever, happen again.
And finally, lesson #5, I will try to pay attention to people, places, and things. I will try to slow down my mental NASCAR. All these issues that race around my head at 200 mph. I will try to shut out the myriad distractions. I already got rid of my TV years ago. I try to avoid anything that's mentally and spiritually toxic. I don't avoid it all, to be sure, but I DO know it's in my best interest to keep this up. Only with focus and clarity can I do whatever work I'm put on this earth to do.

The good, the bad, the ugly. This holiday season has had it all, on the most extreme level.

Next week, If I know myself, I'll be blogging about something silly and inane. I could use a good dose of inanity right about now.

To all of you who've read these blogs, or are doing so for the first time, a heartfelt thank you. I wish you peace.

...gp

Newtown/NewDialogue

First off, am back after a week off. Had to meet a couple of school deadlines.

I was prepping to write something about the holidays. But that all changed Friday morning.

I'm currently living something like a Jekyll and and Hyde existence. I was doing fine this morning until I got out of my car to enter my local supermarket and saw a kiddie play horse at the entrance and I suddenly felt paralyzed. Once again, my mental firewalls were breached. And, like an idiot, I bought USA Today, apparently looking to inflict further punishment on myself. That has to be because I want to understand something that's incomprehensible. I think USA Today is actually a terrific paper, but they didn't help me.
My girlfriend suggests I lay off this stuff. She's as heartbroken as I am. We went to a candlelight vigil at her school. She's a teacher too, plus she has two sons in their 20's, so this has a triple impact on her. Yet, she carries on. Even with her school having gone into lockdown earlier today. Even with extra meetings and drills. Maybe I can find ways to do the same. Is that what they're doing in Newtown? Are the parents carrying on? They will, eventually, I suppose. But right now, I cannot imagine how they can get through the day.
I've been asking myself what I can do. In truth, everything we do doesn't seem like enough. The real work is the longer term project of preventing this from ever happening again. Here's what my experience has taught me:
1: I have many friends who are gun owners. Every one of them owns guns for as many as 3 purposes: Protection, sport, investment. Every one of them are people who I'd trust with my life. They get very agitated when they hear about misguided legislation. We need to convince them that their 2nd amendment rights will not be affected. This can be done.
2: We need to, in its most basic form, separate the good guys for the bad (or potentially bad) guys. That means people who are at risk. That means, among other sub-groups, people with mental illnesses. Can anyone justify someone with a mental illness (involving a tendency toward violence. Most mental illnesses have nothing to do with violence) having the means to carry it out? Is this part of their rights as Americans? How we do that would take up too much space here, nor do I know the exact path. But we have to try.
3: This also means meaningful legislation addressing the issue of assault weapons. It's widely agreed that the assault ban passed under Clinton and expiring in 2004 was ineffective. So we need to readdress it. It means looking at how criminals got around the loopholes and fixing them. But not, for a minute, think that this is enough.  The government is a huge, lumbersome behemoth that rarely accomplishes what it sets out to do.
4: Most of all, we need to understand and to stop thinking we know exactly what to do. I sure don't. We're no better than the government at thinking up solutions to this problem. I don't understand why Nancy Lanza had an assault weapon, if all she did was keep guns around the house as an ordinary citizen. I don't understand why she'd do so knowing she has a son with a mental illness that might lead to violence. I don't understand the nuances of guns and their uses. I've never owned one. I want no part of living in a society where everyone is armed to the teeth and saying the wrong words might get my brains blown out.

Believe what you will, but the next victim, tomorrow, could be someone you love. Want that on your conscience? No? Then get off your ass and start thinking seriously about this problem.
1: Don't assume you've got all the answers. Pay attention. I'm no Bible thumper, but I completely relate to the ongoing passages about arrogance versus humility. Arrogance is often manifested as thinking you know all the answers. You don't. I don't. We don't until we...
2: Get to know the mindset of those who don't share your point of view.
3: See those with mental illnesses not as "nut jobs" (a phrase I've seen repeatedly in the last few days) but as people who have an illness that's not their fault. 
4: Comfort those who have to care for those with mental illnesses. They need your support and understanding.
5: Write your representatives with your thoughts. Start with www.senate.gov and www.house.gov. The sites are very easy to use for contacting your reps in DC. Our system of democracy is dominated by those with money. Your emails are the Rx for that. And yes, the reps DO listen.

This is test of our nation. I hope we pass.

Written on the subway walls...

As I've alluded to before, I have a love/hate thing with New York City. It's my home...I grew up in the Bronx until I was 13. Then Queens until I went off to college.
I love dissing New York. My childhood friends can do the same. So can any of the other 11 million Americans who are from the NYC Metro area. But if you're not from there, watch what you say. Because when it comes to verbally gutting you like a trout, we New Yorkers are non-pareil. Sound hostile? Venomous? Too damn bad.  Lewis Black said it best, when giving advice a few years ago to Republicans, arriving in NY for the convention. "Imagine you've just arrived at JFK. You wonder what New Yorkers are like. Here's your answer...imagine ME...times 8 MILLION!"
The problem is, to paraphrase Chrissie Hynde, "I went back to New York...but my city was gone." The problem, specifically, is that the hostile, in your face, high volume New York I grew up with has been replaced by, by, (this is hard for me to write...sorry)...friendliness and cleanliness.
It's like the city has become this huge movie set for the Stepford Wives. I don't understand.

This past Saturday, my girlfriend took me to NYC for my birthday (which is today, actually. 57 and life is very good.) We first went to the Guggenheim museum, which was phenomenal. But as much as I loved it, and as much as I loved being with her, what I REALLY loved was getting on the subway. I love subways. When I was a kid, my mom, among the many cool things she did for me and Jeff, my brother, was to take us to most of the Broadway shows. The shows were great, but even better was getting on the #1 train at 231st Street, which was elevated. The subway would head south, then somewhere at the south tip of the Bronx, the train would suddenly descend, like a pelican catching a fish, into darkness. Me and Jeff would stand in the front of the 1st car of the train and stare into the darkness of the tunnel. Just an occasional green or red light. Some litter (I always wondered how someone could actually litter in the middle of a subway tunnel). Then the light of the next station. At one point, I could tell you every subway line in the city, and it's terminii. (I'm trying to come up with a fancy word to describe the first and last stops of each station. I like "terminii", even if I'm getting the red squiggly indicating there's no such word. Ah, screw the red squiggly line. Ah, that felt good...very New York like)

But I digress...back to last Saturday.

So, we leave the museum. We walk across Central Park (which, again, was clean and safe. Very frightening. I was hoping some thug would accost us so I could fend him off in front of my girlfriend. Very disappointed to find a paucity of any threats) and we descend down to the B train, which will take us south to 50th Street, so we can catch the tree at Rockefeller Center. During the whole time on the subway (as was true on the #6 train that took us uptown to the museum), it was clean and quiet. The only echo of the old New York was that it WAS crowded. We were like the proverbial sardines. My girlfriend is 5 feet and I was wondering what the experience must have been like.  How could she see anything?
Again, sadly, no perverts trying to rub up against her. I felt all this New York macho energy, just wanting to kick someone's ass if they tried. But everyone was civil. People were smiling. One woman started a conversation with us about how nice it was to be in NYC during the holiday season. What??? What planet did you come from? What's wrong with you?
That's what I thought. But, I played along with all the other New York Stepfordians and engaged in a conversation with her. As I also did with the Japanese tourist who asked about the subways. She was smiling too. But she was Japanese, so, naturally, she would smile. I'm not proud of this, but my inner Archie Bunker possessed me for a second and I thought of asking her if she'd be in town for Pearl Harbor day, the following Friday. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut.
Anyway, the tree was beautiful. We then walked over to Town Hall on W. 43rd Street to catch a live airing of the show Prairie Home Companion, which was way fun. Then we walked to Grand Central Station, grabbed dinner, and headed back to CT. I still love the small clock in the center of the station. Maybe I'm getting sentimental.
So, continuing this sentimental jag, being in NYC during the holiday season really is magical. Everything New York-y. All for free if you like, save the cost of getting there via MetroNorth. No fancy restaurants...you can buy a hot dog and a knish and soda from any corner stand. Watching New Yorkers just walking the streets...that's free too. As is the tree. As is looking in the windows of any fancy 5th Avenue store.
I couldn't ever see living in the city. No desire. I always get on sensory overload once the day is done; ready to head back north to CT. But while I'm there, especially if you're with someone you love, it just doesn't get any better. To quote my son's favorite cliche, often said when he's eating lobster, his favorite food, "Ah, this is the life."

Happy holidays, y'all. (or "youse").

Beautiful voices

For some reason I can't figure out, I got into singing late in life. I started in my 20's and, 30 years later, it's my favorite musical thing to do. I'm fascinated by how people can interpret songs and the technique of singing. I wasn't born with a great voice, but there are songs I just "get", particularly those that have a blues element. I like to think the feeling makes up, at least in part, for technical shortcomings.
But this isn't about me. It's about the voices that mesmerize me.

I don't evangelize about politics or religion. Or anything else...except Eva Cassidy. People who know me are sick of me hearing me talk about her. So maybe I'll get it out of my system by posting it on a blog. Eva was, in short, the greatest female singer of all time. No disrespect to Aretha, Sarah, Patsy or Billie, but when Eva sang, it was on a universal level. A level that said, "I'm singing about our lives. Not just mine, but yours too." At 33, she left us way too soon, in 1996. Melanoma took her.
Please go to YouTube at some point and type in her name followed by Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Make sure you pull up the clip of her at Blues Alley in her home metro area of Washington, DC. You'll see a live recording of her, a few months before she died. It is as close to musical perfection as anything you'll ever see. It's not easy to make a classic song a signature song. But she does it.

To make a baker's dozen, here are 12 more, in no particular order:

1: Bobby "Blue" Bland. He's retired but still with us. Pure Memphis soul.  He takes the technique of melisma to a new level. Half church, half secular, all grit and soul. Don't miss him. Honorable mention to Little Milton too, who is similar to Bland. Recommended listening, his definitive version of "Stormy Monday."
2: Gregg Allman: I don't understand why he's not more appreciated. He is, to be sure. But when you think of great blues singers, his name doesn't generally come to mind. Perhaps still in brother Duane's shadow. But the term "world weary" was meant for him. Recommended: Just about anything but I'm going to go with an obscure blues cover from the ABB Brothers and Sisters album called "Jelly Jelly."
3: Annie Haslam: Retired too. Former lead singer of the band Renaissance. First time I heard her, I could not believe anyone could sing like that. Remarkable technical skill. Give her the right song, something in a classical or folk genre, and there's none better, this side of Eva. Recommended song; Mother Russia.
4: Richard Manuel: One of three lead singers from The Band. Could sing in his natural baritone but also went effortlessly to tenor and just as easily to his falsetto. Never heard a singer glide between tenor and falsetto as easily as he could. He left us in 1986...suicide. I'm still pissed off. Recommended: Whispering Pines.
5: Otis Redding: Like Bland, pure Memphis. Probably nothing I could add that hasn't been written by rock historians. Recommended: His version of a song he co-wrote, "Respect."
6: Sinatra: Again, probably not a thing I can add. But when I hear him, I hear an attitude that I can completely relate to and internalize. Reinvented how to phrase a pop song. Recommended: Where to begin? "But I'll pick Fly Me To The Moon."
7: Marvin Junior: Lead singer of The Dells, the best R&B group you've never heard of. From Junior comes Teddy Pendergrass and every other great R&B baritone. Many rock baritones as well. Still active, as far as I know. Recommended : "Oh, What a Nite."
8: Dion (DiMucci): Another well known voice. Still active. Like Sinatra, an attitude I totally get. There are at least 4 Dions. There's early doo-wop Dion. There's mid, introspective, Dion. There's later, Christian contemporary Dion. And there's latter day, straight rock/blues Dion, with elements of the earlier periods still there. So much to pick from, but for vocal prowess, I'll go with perhaps his best known song "Runaround Sue." A template for what a rock and roll attitude should be. 
9: Bob Seger: Yet another superstar. And well deserved. The best purest rock voice ever. I've never met anyone who didn't admire Seger. After a long hiatus, back on the circuit. Recommended: Live version of "Katmandu."
10: Roy Orbison: Like Sinatra, nothing I can add. What a musical soul. Best known for ballads, but he could rock with the best of them. Like Seger, I've never heard anyone say a bad word about the big "O". Recommended: "Love Hurts." After hearing it, you'll appreciate the more popular Nazareth cover even more for their reinvention of it.
11: Wilson Pickett: The Wicked one did almost everything uptempo. Occasional ballad, but that was just a pause. Just pure grit and soul. I guess I keep coming back to best known songs by these artists, but I'll go with another one, "Midnight Hour." He co-wrote it but, interestingly, his version was a cover of the original by the Young Rascals. Rascals version is pretty damn good too.
12: Tom Waits: Odd choice to some, but as a sort of "anti-singer", he's as much a singer as anyone on the list. Like Dion, a singer with multiple personalities, too many to list. A growl, a croon, a yelp, Waits does them all, honestly. And a tabula rosa for interpretation. Recommended: "Tom Traubert's Blues."

Highly honorable mention: Solomon Burke, John Fogerty, Steve Forbert, Lyle Lovett, Bryan Adams, Axl Rose, Carl Wilson (always wished Brian would have let him sing more), Rick Danko, Matthew Bellamy (lead singer of the band Muse), Patsy Cline, Janis Joplin, Luther Vandross

Happy listening, y'all.

Thanks

I try really hard to avoid cliches. If there's a trend, I'll do the opposite for no logical reason other than it's "just the opposite". As Groucho said "Whoever commenced it...I'm against it."

But I can't resist one cliche, and that's giving thanks on Thanksgiving.

My girlfriend, Valerie, told me this morning that she follows the idea of a fellow teacher of hers. She has these paper figures of turkeys. She scatters them around the Thanksgiving table, with pens, and asks all the guests to fill out things they're thankful for.
I keep a list of gratitudes on my refrigerator, in alphabetical order (sometimes more than one item per letter). So, here it is: (even without the paper turkey figures)
Al-Anon: My program is my bedrock
America: We're not perfect. But feet don't lie. This is where people want to live.
Andy: One of my best friends. We go back to 1980, Los Angeles, and we've been through an awful lot...together.
Baseball: More than a game. It's life, and some of my best memories.
Brian: My son. Somehow, despite every way I've screwed things up, he still turned into an amazing young adult.
Cindi: Along with Andy and Greg, my 3 best friends. Plus, she introduced me to Valerie (see below)
Cold weather: Walking in brisk weather is magic for my spirits, as is the first snowfall.
Depression: I deal with clinical depression. It's brutal when I'm in it, but a source of wisdom when I'm not. Fortunately, that's increasingly most of the time.
EFlat Major: I can hear musical keys and there's something magical about that key. As is also true for its darker companion, Bminor.
Empathy: I seem to have been born with it. Although prone to vacillation at times, it's served me well.
Eva Cassidy: Best singer I've ever heard. We lost her too soon. 
Faith: Even in the darkest hours, I still have it.
Greg: My conservative alter-ego. One of the kindest people I've ever known, and one of the best musicians I've ever met.
Health: Not perfect (hey, I'm almost 57) but I still have it.
Income: Not much at the moment. But I'm still better off than a lot of other people.
Introspection: Another quality I seem to have been born with. It's inspired some of my best songs.
Jeff: My bro. He's done so many cool things for me over the years, but topping the list is the CD mixes he makes for me. A real talent that I'm proud to be the beneficiary of.
(Uncle) Ken: He took me and Jeff in after our mom died. Probably saved my life. He turns 80 in April and we're still close.
Leaves: Since "A" wasn't used for autumn, this is the same thing. My favorite season.
Mom: I had her only for 13 years, but she took us to Broadway shows, paid for my piano lessons, and was a schoolteacher who went back for her masters degree while raising us. Some awesome examples.
Music:I may be the most musical person I've ever met. Music has saved my life. Everything is music to me. Too much to explain.
New York City: Where I'm from. I get OD'd on its energy, so I can't live there. But taking the train down a couple of times a year is major fun.
Old souls: They come at any age. But I know them when I'm with them.
Peaches: My favorite food.
Plattsburgh, NY: Where I went to school undergrad. 4 of the best years of my life. 
Quiet: Increasingly rare in our ADD/TMI society. But I do savor it.
Rivers:I love watching their personalities and moods. The rivers of my life; Hudson, "Harlem" (not really a river), Saranac, Congaree, Los Angeles (a bipolar wadi that is dry except during El Nino, when it becomes a holy terror), Cumberland, Housatonic, Quinnipiac.
Sunsets: Especially in winter.
Travel: Hope to do more, but grateful for where I've been.
Unitarian Universalism: Currently not on the path, but it's taken me a long way.

Veterans: My life's work. That I can write and speak without fear of retribution is due to their efforts and their lives.
Weather: I am a proud weather freak.
Xmas: Magical season, regardless of theology.
Young minds: The "yang" to the "O" above. Again, they can be any age.
Zero: An ongoing search for zero judging, zero intolerance.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all...gp

My 2 election cents

First, a plug for a good friend of mine, Andy Ancel, who posts a wonderful blog called Navigating Life. Andy and I used to do beach walks. Not so much these days. But his blog reminds me of things we might say as we go walking. Check it out at http://navigatinglifestories.blogspot.com

What a juxtaposition of events we've had here in the northeast. In one week, we had Sandy, an election, and a noreaster. (If you're a Romney supporter, one could argue that it's 3 devastating events in one week). Long time meteorologists have said they've never, ever witnessed a hurricane followed a week later by a noreaster.
Since I'm not devastated, I've just been in a reflective mood all week. As have many of my friends, particularly those in the GOP. (My GOP friends are not in the Karl Rove/denial camp. They're hurt but have their feet solidly planted in the real world)

I remember how I felt after the 2004 election. In short, I was devastated. I thought, "This horrific unnecessary war, and Bush gets 4 more years? What the hell is wrong with this country?" I remember getting out my guitar and playing George's (that's Harrison, not W. Bush) "All Things Must Pass" to some like-minded people. Later that night, I was watching the Daily Show because I was curious to see what Jon Stewart would do. He didn't disappoint. His guest was Bill Kristol, the conservative commentator. And, I might add, a friend of Stewart's. Kristol says to Stewart, "Don't worry, Jon. The worm always turns." Stewart responded by saying, "That's OK. Nothing that some porn tapes and a brick of hash can't fix."

That response was so hilariously pathetic (done intentionally, of course), that it managed to lift my spirits a bit.
I have one friend in particular who's a solid, bleed GOP red, conservative. He was also devastated last week. He's more or less come out of it but still in a funk. I said the same thing to him that Kristol said to Stewart.
Because, indeed, the parties always come back. It's happened numerous times just in my life. And I hope the GOP DOES come back, but in its retro, "fiscally responsible, socially moderate, foreign policy-no-neoconservatives-need-apply" mode. Closer to the one I grew up with, not the one that's been hijacked by those in denial and in the stone age....You know the names already.
Arrogance and denial don't get us anywhere. Each party needs a counterweight. Something to drive the party to the middle. I don't know what'll come out of the GOP over the next few weeks. I've heard those who got some religion, so to speak. I've heard others who, incredibly, say the party was too moderate. This is when they're taking a break from their research trying to find the gene that terminates a pregnancy upon rape.
I don't have a sense of what they'll do but I can only hope both sides will sit down and hammer something out that moves us forward. I'm not taking any bets, that's for sure. 
I'm a registered independent who voted for Gary Johnson. Yeah, a protest vote. To protest the stranglehold 2 party system we live in. Had I lived in a swing state, it would have been Obama. But because I live in CT, I have the luxury of going 3rd party.
That's why I plan on contacting my state reps and others so that we in CT can elect the president the same way Maine and Nebraska do...by congressional district, not winner take all. In a poll last year by Gallup, 62% of voters want to get rid of the EC. I've also joined the site www.nationalpopularvote.com. Which is my real goal...Prez elected by popular vote.

And finally, we have a 4th event, one that we can all agree on. My father, who died before I was born, was  in the Air Force in WW2. His father lied about his age to serve in WW1. I'm not a veteran but feel an increasingly stronger obligation to honor our veterans.
I can't write anything that's not cliched, so I won't. But I will say that I'm going back to school (if accepted) to become a full time student, working toward my MSW. And then my LCSW, hopefully starting a private therapy practice specializing in veterans issues. And hopefully using music in some capacity as part of the healing process. Until then, if you see a veteran, a sincere "thank you for your service" or "welcome home" does a lot more good than you might think. So DO it. And (have to add one cliche here), that I can post this blog and have friends across the aisle is a tribute to our country. And that's because of veterans.Thank you to those who've served and kept us safe.

Catch you later, y'all.

The cost of (electoral) college

Twas the night before the election and all 'cross the USA
The people were anxious...tomorrow's the day
Some will wait for hours to step into the booth
Some will stay home with their gin and vermouth

But for 38 states, some blue and some red
The Electoral College had rendered them dead
The 2 candidates had treated these states
Like tuberculosis on a first date

The founding fathers, some centuries ago
Believed that voters should not bestow
The presidency via popular vote
Instead, they compromised; here's what they wrote

"The leaders of states shall elect a committee
From various towns, villages, and cities
This committee shall vote in early December
To reflect the will of the votes in November"

Does anyone know how this process takes place?
Who gets to decide, and in such a close race
When the winner can be so strangely determined
By a ghost of a Daley or a Long or Strom Thurmond 

And in some states, this isn't always true
By law, they can vote for whoever they want to
Add to it, long lines and machines that are mysteries
Election fairness? That is history

I guess it makes for good conversation
But this Electoral College is an abomination
One hopes this is the final nail in its coffin
But until then..."vote early; vote often"

Stormy Monday, and Tuesday and Wednesday

Most people who know me know that I'm a weather freak. I studied it as part of my ill-fated academic coursework in geography. My favorite thing to do was drawing weather maps. Isobars, highs, lows, wind direction. All that stuff.
Which is why I'm simultaneously fascinated and frightened by what will probably happen the next few days. Here in Connecticut, and many hundreds of miles in many directions, we're about to get pummeled with a storm the likes of which have never been seen.
First, some meteorology 101. (By the way, why is it called METEORology? What do meteors have to do with weather?)
But I digress...Here are the facts:
1: Sandy is a borderline category 1 hurricane/tropical storm. Doesn't matter, really.
2: It's moving at a snail's pace. That's not good.
3: Most importantly, there are 2 separate storms inland which act basically as magnets. That means that Sandy, which would normally hook east and out to sea, will instead hook west and hit the northeast.
4: Once the storms meet, it'll intensify big time. This means more rain, snow, higher winds, flooding.
5: It's also hitting during a full moon and its slowness means it'll cover many tidal cycles, including four high tides. Yet more flooding.
6: Its swath, when its over, may extend literally from Maine to western Ontario, and as far south as Tennessee and the Carolinas. That's an area the likes of which have never been seen.

Am I scared? Answer: Damn right I'm scared. Am I prepared? Answer: As best I can. Got my provisions. I want this thing to get here already, and stop dawdling at 10 or so MPH. Get a move on. Get here, blow through, and get the hell out.

I live in a small apartment in the top half of a house. It's maybe 10 miles inland...so the flood surge shouldn't affect me. However, my place is maybe 20 yards from a river, which rises even in moderate rain. I can't imagine it rising high enough to affect my place. Then again, I have a very vivid imagination. But I suspect I'll be OK.


This storm has got me thinking in Biblical terms. I'm not conventionally religious and I don't know if everything that happens is some kind of sign from God. But I've been asking myself if, just maybe, this storm is God's way of saying, "The presidential campaign is the least of your worries. I'm sick and tired of you Americans fighting, name calling, and behaving like children. Yeah, yeah,  you're ALL my children. That doesn't mean you have to be infantile about it. So maybe you should consider working together instead of at cross purposes. (God's aside; sorry...I mean "cross" here in a generic sense). And that election next Tuesday? Yeah, get out and vote. If you can. But first, take care of yourself and your neighbor."
Speaking of neighbors, I have this neighbor whose car is festooned with right wing bumper stickers. Most of them I'm fine with. There are a few that are preachy and even hateful. When I chat with her, she comes across to me as angry and very stressed out. At the same time, she seems like a basically decent person. Like she's just had some bad breaks and is in pain. I want to remove her pain but I can't. I suspect after the storm, she'll regale me with every inconvenience she's gone through. As if she's the only one in America who was inconvenienced. When this happens, I'll tell her that I'm also in a tough place. She'll be too self-absorbed to hear me or even care. And she'll continue venting on about her own misery. And I'll try to get away from her as politely as I can. And eventually our lives will all get back to normal. And whoever's in the White House at that point will play the art of politics, peripherally affecting our lives.
Will we learn anything from this? Maybe to get along and be pleasant to each other? I don't think it's impossible but if I was a betting man, I'd say no. In the meantime, I hope everyone potentially affected is safe and takes this thing seriously.

Courtesy and Cowardice

Can't say I'm a Jane Austen fan, but I'm not above riffing off of one of her titles.

That's because this blog will be about one of the two above topics. Don't know which yet. I never know where these blogs end up. I don't work off an outline. I just sort of let it flow and see where it goes. Maybe it'll end up being about Thai food...which has nothing whatsoever to do with the subject matter.

So here's what happened. I'm in a "fairly rapid" food restaurant...Five Guys Burgers. (Their food isn't ready immediately, so to call it fast food would be an exaggeration.) This guy, maybe 20, walks in wearing a faded yellow t-shirt with black letters, which read "F&%K Smooth Vocals", or something similar. I'm just remembering the 1st word. A word I use all the time, probably more than most people. But always in company that I perceive is fine with it. I was in fact tempted to print the word without special characters, as everyone knows what it is. But you never know...kids can read the site (not that I anticipate a wave of kids to head over here) and I'm feeling self-conscious.

The bearer of said shirt wasn't burdened, as I was, with any inhibitions about language. Nor did his female companion, who apparently didn't care. Maybe this is a step up for her in the class department, assuming her last boyfriend was Jerry Sandusky. There are kids of all ages here, and the parents either don't notice, don't care, or prefer not to confront "X rated shirt" guy.
This is where my cowardice kicks in. I'm embarrassed to say this, but I did nothing. Oh, I came close. I seriously considered it. I had all kinds of scenarios.
1: I confront the guy, who looks to be around 5'-9", maybe 170 pounds. I'm considerably bigger. He takes a swing at me. I respond by flattening him. Someone calls the cops. Someone else puts it up on YouTube. I have my 15 minutes of fame.
2: I confront the guy. He comes to his senses, asks for a lift to the nearest clothing store so he can get a decent shirt and we become best friends. His life is immeasurably changed.
3: I confront the guy. We have a heart to heart and he apologizes out loud to everyone in the place.
4: I DON'T confront the guy but he comes up to me and says, "Hey, I was just wondering. You look like a smart guy. Do you think my t-shirt is offensive?"

Of course, none of that happened. No one confronted or spoke to the guy. I thought long and hard about it. I truly wasn't going to be high and mighty about it, because nothing good ever comes out of that attitude. I was picturing a conversation like,
Me: Listen, I need to ask you a question. I don't mean this disrespectfully, but I have to ask you about the shirt.
F-Shirt Guy: What about it?
Me: "It's that phrase on the front. I use the F-Word all the time. I don't have a problem with the word itself. But you HAD to know there are kids in here. How come you're wearing that particular shirt?"
F-Shirt Guy: Eyedohno... (Pronounced phonetically...I'm perceiving the guy as having a 3 word sentence maximum). 
Me: (I explain something about what it's like to be a father and that I'm concerned about kids. I'm figuring his attention span is already maxxed out)

Who knows where it would have gone. Perhaps it would have led to any of the 4 scenarios above. Perhaps he was armed. But at this moment, I'm royally angry with myself for not doing anything. If my son, now 24, was with me and younger, I truly wouldn't have let it go. I have trouble understanding why the parents didn't say anything.
I then thought, "Are parents that overwhelmed? What would possess someone to wear that shirt in public? Is this typical of society?" At first, I thought of the cataclysmic decline in manners. But then I thought that Socrates often complained about the same thing. And that the overwhelming majority of people DO practice courtesy and manners. It's like seeing litter on the highway. It pisses me off, but I then realize that it only takes one person to spoil a highway and that the litterer represents probably less than .05% of the population.
And then I thought about narcissistic behavior and where I was when I was his age. When I was 20, I was narcissistic too, although I don't recall doing anything at that age that would have drawn that kind of attention. Late teens? Definitely. I'd pick fights when I was drunk. Laugh incredibly loud. Especially after toking up. Raise my voice whenever I thought I had something clever to say, which was probably 75% of the time. Ignore advice...especially if it came from someone over 40.
But would I wear a shirt like that? Absolutely not.

What if it happens next time? I really believe, I WILL talk to him, even if he looks like an escaped convict who'd kill me as soon as look at me. I really mean it. If I sense danger, I'll walk away and say, "No disrespect. I just needed to say it. Sorry if I offended you." (And I will not look him in the eye. I know the rules of the road) If/when it happens, I'll post the results.

If I'm alive. Because I hate feeling chicken-(you can fill in the last word).

Talkin' baseball, and autumn

I'm a fallphile. And especially October. There are all the classic reasons...foliage, pumpkins, the first seasonal smells of cold weather, fireplaces, apples. All of it magnified here in New England.

But trumping them all is post season baseball. Baseball is my life. I can associate every major event in my life with baseball. (At least those that happened from April to October) I'm sure there are some unpleasant things that happened to me on the diamond. Maybe childhood incidents from my days in Little League or just playing with my friends. But I can't remember a single one. Only pleasant memories. My coach, Mr. Germain, gently prodding me to become a catcher rather than the motionless second baseman I was. Becoming an OK (not great) catcher, where I learned I still couldn't hit but I COULD play defense and call a game. Watching my brother launch some prodigious home runs. (A talent I never had) Hitting a bases clearing double when I was 14 off of Lenny Destro, a very tough, good, lefty pitcher. (The offensive highpoint of my life)
But the greatest memory was watching the Mets turn the country upside down in 1969 by winning the World Series. I was 13, and obsessed with normal adolescent thoughts, of which there are only 3. Sex, rock and roll, and sports. I had zero chance of taking the first two beyond the fantasy level. So I reveled in the 3rd obsession. And I was amply rewarded thrice, when the Jets shocked the football world in January of 1969 by winning Super Bowl III. As mentioned, the Mets did the same to the baseball world and beyond in October of 1969. (Each time, the city of Baltimore was on the losing end. Too bad...I always liked crabcakes) And finally, the Knicks would start the season in October and finish it in May of 1970 by winning the NBA championship. (The one title that wasn't a shock).
Since sex was out of the question, I considered these three combined events a "sportgasm", if you will.
My fondest baseball memories, not surprisingly, are of the "fall classic", i.e. the World Series; played in October. Over the years, I've conducted extensive research on what makes a great World Series. (In other words, I've thought about this a lot)
As I write this, the 4 contending teams for the 2012 World Series championship are the San Francisco Giants and St. Louis Cardinals in the National League. And the reviled New York Yankees against the Detroit Tigers (my pick from April to win it all). All teams are mid to major market teams. But whether the World Series will be a true classic or a snooze fest has nothing to do with market size or much of anything else. A great World Series has to have the following 8 elements:
1: It has to go the distance; 7 games, although there have been some 6 game affairs that have been superb. But that's rare.
2: A dominating MVP player. When it's a team effort, the series just isn't as memorable.
3: A Cinderella player, i.e. someone who had a so-so regular season but suddenly morphs in to Reggie Jackson. He can also be the MVP, but doesn't have to be.
4: Good umpiring. An umpire's blown call should never affect the outcome of the game.
5: Very few errors. As with umpiring, the game should be decided by the winning team, not someone else's mistake.
6: Low scores. I may be in a minority among baseball fans but I find slugfests boring, for the most part. (Game 6 of 2011 a definite exception)
7: Many close games. Again, one sided games are boring after the 5th inning.
8: Iconic moments, such as walk off home runs, amazing catches, etc. 

Based on the above, my favorite 6 World Series of all time: (all 7 game affairs)
6: 1982: Cardinals (there they are again) beating the Brewers with classic fundamental baseball, led by the great "Wizard", shortstop Ozzie Smith.
5: 1980: The forlorn Phillies, owner of more losses than any franchise in the history of global sports, finally get it done by beating the Kansas City Royals.
4: 1979: The "We Are Family" Pirates coming back from a 3-1 deficit to beat the Baltimore Orioles. What a way for the great Willie Stargell to end his career. (As much as I despised disco, I have to take my hat off to the series)
3: 1975: The mighty Cincinnati Reds beat the upstart Boston Red Sox. Carlton Fisk's iconic "body language" home run.
2: 2011: If not for a rather one sided 7th game, this would be the best Series of all time. It truly had everything else, including perhaps the greatest single World Series game in history, the amazing game 6 when the Cardinals were down to their final strike 3(?) times and crawled off the ledge. 
1: 1991: To have a World Series meeting all 8 points above is a rarity. This showdown, in which the Minnesota Twins beat the Atlanta Braves in 7 meets all 8 points. In the series, 5 games were decided by one run; 4 games were won in the final at bat, and 3 games went into extra innings.

It just doesn't get any better than that.

By the way, the Braves have had more than their share of misfortune in post season over the years. I believe it's because they have an Indian name. Indian names are curses for the poor franchise cities. Proof? Only time the Braves have won in recent memory was 1995, when they beat (wait for it) the Cleveland Indians.
I have other theories on winning and losing...ugly uniforms and stupid nicknames. But I'll save that for later.

PLAY BALL, y'all!

Being healthy

There are some things in life that are just plain old hard work. Raising a child, trying to have good relationships, being President, playing anything by Steely Dan, etc. But I think nothing is harder than trying to stay healthy.

I say this because I'm on a diet I invented which I like to call the "joy-free" diet. Simply put, if it tastes good, I can't eat it. Which, at the moment, is not a problem because I have a wicked head cold. So I can't taste anything.
By the way, I've told 3 people that I have a cold. All three said what everyone always says..."Yeah, there's something going around." There's ALWAYS something going around. Doesn't matter when, where. Apparently, there's been something going around since the dawn of time and no one has ever bothered to do anything about it. I'm going to offer grant money to anyone who can address how to stop whatever it is that's going around.

But I digress...Back to healthy things.

Ever notice that no one in health food stores ever smiles? And that they all look emaciated and sickly? I believe there is a state law here in CT forbidding the hiring of anyone in the health food industry who smiles.  Of course, this is New England, where you can be arrested for over-smiling. So maybe it's a geographic thing.
Anyway, I'm purchasing whatever I could that would make me healthy even though it's twice the price of non-healthy foods. Which, of course, tends to defeat the purpose of trying to get healthy. For example, I'm lactose intolerant, so I buy soy milk. Soy milk, last I checked, was $49.99 per fluid ounce. Or so it seemed.And don't get me started on measurements. I cannot define a fluid ounce. I get cups and pints mixed up. I see two brands of the same type of food...one shows as fluid ounces, the other in frozen metric ounce gram milliliters. Or something like that. I'm a reasonably smart and, I might add, mathematically oriented consumer. I'm convinced they're trying to confuse me. And doing a good job of it.
By the way, can anyone explain how olive oil can be "extra" virgin? I never had a girlfriend who was extra virgin. I wonder what that's like. Could I be the "deflowerer" multiple times?

But again, I digress...
Among my purchases was a container of black bean soup. Perfect for days like today, when I have this cold and am craving some soup. I will now tell you my experience of dealing with said container of black bean soup: (This is entirely true...I am not making this up)
1: To open soup, I needed to pull up the top section.
2: I then needed to compress all four corners.
3: Apparently, something magical should have happened. Such as access to the contents. It did not.
4: As this container is made of cardboard, I went to get my scissors.
5: Being mindful of unexpected events, I applied scissors to container over the sink. Good thing, as the container decided to  pee the liquid component of its contents.
6: I put the container in a microwaveable bowl, in case the container should explode.
7: As I cut into the container, I began to see the soup itself. I turned the container upside down to force the soup out. But the solid stuff wouldn't budge.
8: So I squeezed the container. The container responded with what sounded like farting noises. Exactly what I wanted to hear before a meal, of course.

I finally heated up the soup. Which was tasteless, probably due to my cold.

As I was opening the soup, I got to thinking that I've had these kinds of difficulties before. And almost always with "healthy" foods. The cereal that has better defenses than Ft. Knox. The shrink wrapped brownies that are impenetrable. Doesn't anyone test the packaging?

One more thing...ever see "healthy" people outside? They're on their bikes in 20 degree weather wearing shorts. And bicycling right in the center of traffic, 3 abreast. I know what they're saying..."I'm healthy...you're not." I'm thinking, "If I just nudge my car a little to the right, would the inside biker collide with the middle biker? Could I knock all 3 down with one minor tilt to the wheel?" It's like a great billiard shot. Alas, one I've never taken. 

Once again, I digress.

But in summary, this is why being healthy is such hard work. Maybe it's like giving birth. Once you're finished, you're just so incredibly grateful for the results. I don't suckle my food, of course. Nor do I give it a name. But I sure am exhausted.

Bon appetit, y'all.

Time for college

As in the Electoral College. Do you know that you don't legally elect the President? More on that below.

But my first question...why is it called a college? Are there dorms and empty pizza boxes  in the EC?

My real issue though isn't the name. It's that it exists at all. The EC, to give a very brief history, came into being as a compromise amongst our founding fathers, who acceded to the smaller, southern, states who felt they'd be shut out if the POTUS (President of the United States) was decided by popular vote. The founding fathers also felt that this momentous decision should not be left up to a popular vote but rather should be decided by the wise, officially elected "electors", appointed by the even wiser Congress. There are a number of problems with this argument.
1: Following the train of thought here, we have allegedly unqualified voters electing people to Congress.
2: These people, elected by unqualified  (read "stupid") voters are somehow smart enough to appoint even smarter people to legally elect the POTUS. Who in theory should be smarter than everyone. And this is true, except that the First Lady is, as we know, always smarter than the husband.
 
This is what happens in a society rampant with snuff, rum, and opium. But that's another story.

Back to the EC.
Every state gets at least 3 electoral votes. It's the two senators plus however many congressional districts there are. Mathematically speaking, someone from, say, Wyoming or Vermont has more power in their vote than someone from California. Fortunately, people from Wyoming and Vermont cancel each other much like matter and anti-matter colliding, producing a spillage of beef and maple syrup. What we have today, as we look at the impending election, is a system where 38 states are shut out of the process because their vote, based on polls, has already been determined. The 12 remaining "swing" states get all the presidential attention while the other 38 get none.

We need to dump the EC. There have been 4 elections, mostly recently 2000, where the person with the most popular votes did not win the election. We're the only country in the world that has such a labyrinth, nonsensical system of electing a president. I'm open to being convinced that there's value in the EC. But no one has given me a good reason yet.
There's a good site that's already making a lot of progress. It's www.nationalpopularvote.com. You'd be amazed how many mainstream lawmakers, even entire states, are in favor of running elections this way. The benefits:

• All votes count equally. 
• The campaign finance system, already a travesty, would be turned on its head, because there would be infinitely more "swing" areas. This could conceivably pump in even more money, I guess. But it could also get us to rethink how campaigns are run. 
• The candidates would be visiting your state. Perhaps not next door. But almost certainly not too far away. (Is that really a good thing? I guess that one is mixed.)
• It would encourage people to vote. 

No more college.   

Generally and randomly speaking

Before I begin, thank you to my friend Mary G. for pointing out that she couldn't comment on my last blog. Turns out, I had the settings set for registered users only. Now changed to anyone. So, feel free to rip this blog to shreds. I can take it.  Just one thing...does the IT term "trojan" mean anything to you? Just sayin'.

Now, on to the main points. I am a proud generalist and lover of randomness. I say this because my mind, at present, is swimming with thoughts of baseball, football, relationships, foliage, God, my jobs, money, family, and the presidential race. Oh, and my car too, which has gone "Hyde" on me after 2 years of benign "Jekyllness".
In other words, I'm about as scattered as I've ever been. Therefore, it's beyond my capability at the moment to write about one subject and to follow its train of thought. (I really need to stay away from Diet Mountain Dew) At times like this, I revel in my generalist and random tendencies. On the former, I'm a Jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Actually, the "all-trades" part is severely exaggerated. I'm a Jack-of-limited-trades, to be honest. But still, I prefer this to being a specialist. Tunnel vision scares me. I don't want to be the go-to guy for a subject and risk being clueless on everything else. I know too many people like that.

Randomness is another trait I value. When someone is talking to me in a random style, assuming he/she isn't doing so intentionally, I know we're both being open minded and we're not locked into a certain point of view, or trying to win any arguments.  Our bond of randomness grows.

Speaking of which, what great weather we're having, huh?

See? Isn't that adorable?

And speaking of random, here are some random thoughts:
1: There are enough songs on George Harrison's All Things Must Pass to make it one of the 5 greatest single albums of all time.  Alas, it was a triple album loaded with filler. Sorry, George. Just sayin'.
2: It's always a good day when the Yankees and/or when the Dallas Cowboys lose.
3: There are some musicians who are so beloved by the critics that they could probably release albums of them gargling mouthwash and the critics would still rave. 2 examples: Emmylou Harris and Bruce Springsteen. (2 musicians who I am fans of, by the way)
4: The 3 points above make me sound really, really, old. Guilty as charged.
5: Unless the last name is Kennedy or Adams, Massachusetts politicians are clueless about how to run a campaign.
6: I don't understand the term "cross-section". Whenever I heard it in 10th grade biology, I knew I was going to flunk the test.
7: I'm a registered independent who generally leans Democrat, but I think Ryan's Medicare plan, although not perfect, is an excellent starting point. Obama has lied about it and has lost my vote. Admittedly, I live in a safely blue state and would probably vote Obama if I lived in a swing state. Right now, I vote for Gary Johnson and if he's not on the ballot, I write him in.
8: Speaking of which (I'm suddenly going linear), the electoral college is a sad joke that should be eliminated via amendment. The sooner, the better.
9: My son and his generation are very familiar with, and generally fans of, classic rock. Yet, when I was growing up, I didn't know a thing about my parents' music.
10: I really need to upgrade my wardrobe. 
11: 99.9% of Americans praise veterans. For most of that group, although heartfelt, it's words without deeds. So, when you see a veteran, say "Thank you for your service." Or, if they just returned from Afghanistan or Iraq, try "Welcome home." If you happen to see them in, say, a convenience store, offer to buy them a cup of coffee, soda, whatever. Just as a token of thanks. If you've got a free morning or afternoon, volunteer at a VA Hospital or any other group that works with veterans. Your skills are needed, believe me.
12: If you take the word "parties" (as in political) and add an "a", you get an anagram of the word "parasite".
13: Getting campaign advice from Sarah Palin (as Mitt Romney did over the weekend) is like getting singing advice from Roseanne Barr.
14: Every time I read something and I see the phrase "He thought to himself...etc." I go out of my zone. Who ELSE does someone think to? It always stops me.

So I'm thinking to myself, this is a good place to stop.

Enjoy the spectacular weather (if you're in New England) y'all.

9/11 + 11

When I first started this blog a couple of months ago, I imagined a weekly blog of generally funny stuff. Interestingly, I'm finding myself approaching this somewhat schizophrenically. Funny one week (or trying to be) and reflective the next.
So...I'm feeling the latter. I saw the remembrances last Tuesday and thought it was handled perfectly. The list was read alphabetically, by two people who lost someone in the attacks. When the list came to the names of these first two people, members whose last name began with "A", each person read a brief memory of the one they loved. The remembrances continued from an adjacent podium, in the same manner. I watched A-Z and cried my eyes out.
I did not know anyone who lost anyone in the attacks. The worst obvious effect on me, a native New Yorker, is the loss of the iconic skyline. And that's not insignificant. It doesn't measure anywhere near the tangible losses felt by so many. But I have so many memories of seeing that skyline looking east from the NJ Turnpike, or even better, looking west from Brooklyn. I was atop the WTC in, I think, 1974. The view was intoxicating. I looked at that skyline when I'd hit the city after having driven 13 hours when I was on break from graduate school in South Carolina and I always got a second wind. I'd see the skyline and I imagined a lot of noise, great food, constant commotion, and a cacophony of accents, mostly New York accents. In short, I imagined the soul of the city I grew up in.
I have a love/hate relationship with New York. Always have. I love the rush of "New York"ness I get when I arrive at Grand Central Station from my home in Connecticut. I go up the escalator. I see the clock in the center of the station. I step out of the station on to 42nd Street and, as I always do by tradition, go to the nearest hot dog stand and order a knish. Extra mustard. I revel in everything New York. I love my Mets and despise the Yankees and wear my baseball emotions on my sleeve. And I feel especially grateful that I grew up in the Bronx and Queens. But I hate the mania of the city. That's why I keep my distance.  
I do whatever I need to do...maybe go to Central Park. Take in a museum. Grab a bite at any deli. After 3 hours, I'm ready to head back. I've had enough. Nothing negative...just exhausted. New York can do that to me. It's a city of sensory overload, always defeating my capacity to take it all in.

I don't have any special 9/11 stories. I know where I was (at work). I know I was worried about my son and stepsons, all in middle school. I took the proper precautions. Like everyone, I was devastated and royally pissed off. I never have felt, before or since, more American. The terrorist bastards didn't just attack my country. They attacked my city. They took away my skyline.
I supported the way President Bush responded. Essentially saying, "Give us the terrorists or we'll get them ourselves." Even when people like Jerry Falwell blamed feminists and other people who scared the sanctimonious daylights out of him, I didn't blame him. I thought that was just him venting. We were all out of our minds with anger.
That's why I find it hard to believe, 11 years later, that we could be so divided as a nation. If I was a terrorist, I'd clap my hands with joy every time we personally attack each other, be it verbally or otherwise. I'd say, "This is exactly what we wanted. I don't have to lift a finger or plan another suicide bombing. The stupid infidel Americans are doing our work for us."
I'm extremely analytical by nature. When something goes wrong, I take some pride in being one of the few people who tries to put myself in the mind of those who commit the offense. I tried to imagine what kind of monsters could perpetuate such an attack. I failed. I shifted my energies to try to understand how one American could so badly disparage a fellow countryman or woman. How our past president, who tried to defend our country, could be portrayed as an idiot. (Although I still stand by belief that the war in Iraq WAS tragically idiotic). Or that our current president is some combination of a socialist, Muslim, and an alien.
I try to imagine what motivates people like Rush Limbaugh, or Bill Maher, to show such sustained meanness. I have a theory, and a pretty good one. It's called money and/or fame. The more outrageous I become, the more you'll listen to me. And the richer you'll make me. My method is to become a human train wreck. You'll watch me just like you'll watch the ruins of a train wreck. Except even better, I'll recreate the wreck on a daily basis. And you'll listen. Before long, you'll see the world as I do, as a place of good and evil, with nothing in between. No shades of gray. Just the world wrapped up in one tidy, monochromatic package. I just simplified the world for you. Naturally, you're thankful because you don't have to do the arduous work of seeing inside people, getting to know them. These so-called Americans, be they on the right or left, are now your enemies.
Back to my own persona...I work Friday mornings at my local VA Hospital, helping veterans find their way, geographically, in a rather large hospital complex. My inner question, which I never verbalize is, "Is this what you fought for? Is this what you put your life on the line for?" I may just approach my veteran friends one day with this question.
I decided a year ago to go back to school to become a psychotherapist, via becoming an LCSW (licensed clinical social worker). I did this primarily to help veterans and to use my natural skills of empathy along with my musical ability as my primary tools. Because if I was a veteran, it would be hard enough to adjust to life stateside. But I should NOT have to witness the people I fought for fighting like pre-adolescents.
I always thought a good way to remember 9/11 is to call the day "National Unity Day." We don't have to take the day off. That's not our style, although I personally think it would be the right thing to do. But is it too much to ask of everyone to remember where they were on that fateful morning and to look at our fellow Americans as fellow countrymen and women, and not the enemy?

Conventionally speaking

I've gone from cynical to hopeful in less than a week. All it took was a local fair. But I'll get to that later. For now, some thoughts about our national (way)pasttimes, known as the party circuses. I mean, the conventions.
First, some truth in political background. I'm a registered independent but lean Democrat. In fact, I've never voted for a R president. Not a party thing. In fact, I'd do so today if the party's social fulcrum wasn't in Khomeiniville. I actually hope Olympia Snowe, R from Maine, in particular, runs for prez. She's the coolest politician I can think of. Unfortunately for me, she'd have as much chance of a R nomination as Derek Jeter has of being elected mayor of Boston. 
I HAVE voted for Republicans on state and local levels. So as I say, it's not a party thing.
I try to stay open, so I saw both conventions. I even reported on it to my brother and uncle (who are both on my left) and my friend Greg, who's to my right.
Rather than bore anyone with a line by line description, I'll sum up with a few thoughts:

1: Both parties lie. A lot. Someone (Twain?) said "There are lies and there are damned lies." Most of the lies fell into the 1st category. Then again, I've become somewhat desensitized to reacting strongly to the lying. Too many years, I guess.
2: If I was medaling the speeches, the gold would go to Michelle Obama, who gave perhaps the most conversational speech I've ever heard. I noticed that she was the complete opposite of her husband in terms of oratorial style. Rather than the thunder of her husband, her style was more like a gentle, soothing rain after a drought. She spoke haltingly at times, which may be counterintuitive for those who study public speaking. But I thought it made the speech sound someone sitting opposite to me at the kitchen table.
Silver, and perhaps I'm the only one who feels this way, goes to Biden. This, to me, was a blue collar guy speaking passionately about what matters to him. I've always been a Biden fan. I had a co-worker, Tom, from Delaware, telling me why he didn't like Biden. The short version is that they were both on an Amtrak and Tom introduced himself to Biden. Biden was rude and essentially ignored him. He went on to say that a minute later, Biden came back and apologized to him for being rude. Somehow...Tom's takeaway was that Biden was arrogant. Unless there's more to the story, I don't understand why he felt that way. To me, that someone would recognize his behavior and try to make it right spoke volumes to me about Biden as a person.
Bronze goes to Condi Rice. Showing again that we don't have to agree with a speech to appreciate it. Like Biden, Rice spoke just as passionately as Biden and Michelle Obama, yet in a style that somehow managed to be professorial and also warm. I've often wondered in my heart how people of color could be conservative. I understand intellectually how that could be. But it wasn't until I heard Rice, that someone who witnessed discrimination and racial violence first hand could be a part of the inner circle of a conservative president. I see how she felt patronized by Democrats and prefer what she sees as the support of self-reliance by Republicans. Her methods aren't those I share, but my respect for a conservative vision, in its broadest sense, grew exponentially. Her vision wasn't one of turning back the clock. It was, in fact, a quintessentially American vision of justice and equality.
3: Clinton's speech: Yeah, he hit all the right chords. He was in his element. He may, in fact, be the difference maker if Obama wins. All that said, all I remember is the number 47. That's the length of his speech. 47 hours. Oops, I mean minutes.
4: Music: Face it...a bunch of old white guys restoring their scuffling days with classic rock, played by a pretty lame house band just didn't cut it. And don't tell me the RNC was diverse. It wasn't. It was as white as a corpse. Dems were smarter here. Lose the idea of a house band and go straight to the originals. And closing with Brooks and Dunn's Born in America, something that would be presumably more at home at the RNC, was a brilliant choice. Not that anyone noticed it.
All in all, I felt in turns energized, depressed, angered, pensive, open to the RNC but in secret hoping the DNC would kick their asses. In truth, these things have I suspect zero influence on the election.

But this blog isn't about politics. It's about how my hope got restored on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
My friend Donna invited me to the local North Haven fair, mostly to hear this cover band that she liked called Flashback. An apt name, not just for the music, but mainly for how I felt.
Imagine seeing kids petting animals, barkers trying to take your money for a game that you have zero chance of winning, the mixed odors of burgers and the aforementioned animals, with a subtle scent of autumn. A display of (as my family might say), "tchochkes" (crap clothing). Some of it sounds good. Some of it not so much. But there's one universal thing you notice at these fairs. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE is smiling. America's in trouble? That's what the polls say. That's the vibe I get during the week. Do you feel like we're in trouble? Check out your local fair. If you're lucky enough to live in an area where fall weather is starting to kick in, that'll double your encouragement. I suspect intellectually that other countries have similar festivals. But I wonder if the heart is the same.
Songs and books have been written about trying to find America. Kerouac, Paul Simon, Tom Waits, Steinbeck. All have their approaches. But I submit that the heart of America is at your local fair. It's the antidote to this election season.

Flashback indeed.

Laws and Observations

I realized at the age of 24 that I knew everything there is to know. Then, Reagan got elected and I realized I was wrong. But I had the realization again, pretty much on an annual basis, every year going forward. Now that I'm 56, I realize that I don't know a damn thing. And I seem to know less every year. Should I reach 70 or beyond, the average broccoli crown would be in the genius category compared to what I'll probably know.
That said, there ARE a few things I've discovered in my time. I list them here, in graph form where possible:

Inverse relationships:
1: Comparing the volume of a man's motorcycle to his, ahem, "manhood". (ahem...confirmed by my gay friends)





2: What I know versus potential income.


3: Volume of public cell phone call versus importance.

4: Strength of faith versus need to tell everyone about it.


5: One more graph, this one based on my corporate experience:

Other observations:
6: The adjective "dysfunctional" before the word "family" is redundant.
7: Never trust a man with no (or thin) lips.
8: You can always trust jazz fans.
9: There are no jazz fans with no (or thin) lips.
10: Any commercial in which I hear the 800 number to call, more than once, is a ripoff.
11: When I see a picture of a 4 man rock band, even if it's for the first time, I automatically know who plays what instruments:
   a: The bass player is the tallest, most menacing looking person. He'll kill you if you try to talk to him. He's looking at the Harley behind the camera.
   b: The drummer is the person who looks out of focus. This is because he's so amped up that he can't keep still. He is either very lanky or very stocky, but never in between. He's looking at the espresso machine behind the camera.
   c: The guitarist is the most handsome guy in the band. He has the most smug expression on his face of the 4 members.  He's looking at his 3 hot groupies behind the camera.
   d: The keyboardist looks like he belongs in a classroom. He's nerdy,  and wears black rimmed glasses. He's not looking at the camera because he can't see it.

There you have it. If you have any more observations, feel free to educate me and the 2 other people who read this blog. I will give you a shoutout...I promise.