Author: fifteenkey (Page 27 of 96)

[Written Thursday, November 12 at 12:00am]

A few years back, my friend Barb and some of her friends compiled, um, compilations under the moniker “Music That Matters To Me.” I helped her find a Gene Kelly song from her childhood and committed to building my own list. Peering down such a deep well was daunting, so Mr. Procrastination deferred. Well, I started a list, but articulating why the music was important was going to take some soul and sentence searching.

My list goes back to the glistening sugar brown sands of Revere Beach with nods to 680 – WRKO and their summers of the late 60’s featuring lots of the Motown machine catalog. From there the constant flow tore through the 70’s with the Stones, the Who, Pink Floyd, Zep, Elton John, KISS, Queen, Aerosmith, Neil Young and one particular Grand Funk Railroad song featuring my best buddy drunk dancing by himself in whitey tighties. Oh yeah, some of it wasn’t pretty. College in Arizona was dominated by Petty, more Stones, Who and heavy doses of Bon Scott’s AC/DC, although I dimly recall spinning Back In Black with the Gonnella boys over Black Russians made with “Joe’s Vodka” and “Hank’s Coffee Brandy.” I’ve never literally had a spike through my brain, but I know what one feels like.

The 80’s were owned by U2 and once I had children, music took a back seat until about 1995. It was “that year,” to quote the hugely influential Uncle Tupelo, that the RustedRobot casually asked, “Hey, wanna start a record label?” It’s from that era where our sonic journey will begin.

In March of ’99, the Robot and I were in Austin, Texas for my second South By Southwest Music Conference. We had rented a cool condo for the week, paid of course by mega-label Tar Hut Records, who agreed to upgrade us from the Motel6 they forced Jeff, me and the methane factory Hut234 to commune the previous year. Seriously, if we were hitting bongs or crack pipes back then I’m certain the Austin Chronicle headline would have read,

BLAST KILLS 3 AT MOTEL 6
Gas Leak Probed

“I think you’ll like this,” said Jeff with a full head of hair and no thoughts yet of twins dancing under it. The first few acoustic strums catch you, but the voice was thin and very mellow in the first minute of Elliott Smith’s timeless epic, “XO.” As often is the case, the third song of a record (or show) is often killer and “Waltz #2” wasted me. I’m not sure why it appears before Waltz #1 on the record. I’ll have to look that up, but it’s really not important right now so why spend much time dwelling on something not really relevant to the theme of the post because that would just be annoying and may in fact irritate the reader because who the hell likes a run on sentence, especially when it’s completely diversionary from the topic at hand and doesn’t even add context, and in fact takes away from what was turning out to be a decent story about “Waltz #2;” it really shouldn’t matter that it is sequenced before “Waltz #1,” but that curious fact is probably worthy of investigation and a post of its own, don’t you think?

Elliott Smith was gripped by demons that eventually forced him to grip a kitchen knife and shove it through his heart. Yeah, he dealt with some pain. From that anguish came beautiful music and “Waltz #2” is one of his most heart gripping for me.

In the place where I make no mistakes.
In the place where I have what it takes.
I’m never gonna know you now,
but I’m gonna love you anyhow.

[Written Tuesday, November 10, 2009 at 9:22pm]

There are good days and there are days like today that should be on a list. Today should be on the “days reaffirming faith in mankind” list. Maybe I’m overstating it, but when was the last time you received a phone call from your child’s doctor saying, “sorry we can’t see you and Kyle in New York this weekend, but I’m sending him a birthday present to your hotel?” Yeah, never, that’s when. Admittedly, my son is bright torch of love, but seriously, doctors are busy people, right? Yet this one makes the time to reach out and touch hearts. Uhhhhhhh…. I’m… Thank you. Just thank you.

I’m in Vegas at a show with 900 of our customers. To drive them to our Services booths, we gave them open ended questions they could answer by speaking briefly with our people at 6 booths. One of them would win a 46″ HDTV, Blue Ray player, Netflix subscription, installation and a 4 year service plan. We even threw in Leonard Maltin’s 2009 Movie Guide. The random winner was a young mother of 2 who does not already own any of this stuff. She was so nice, and so appreciative… and it was so cool…

Finally, another customer stopped by a booth to let us know the questions promotion got her to engage and was the best technique she’s ever seen at a trade show. That was nice to hear.

Finally, I received a call from someone I just wanted to tell all of this to… Yeah, I would have liked to have spoken those words to those eyes, but the call was enough. It fit the day.

[Written Sunday, November 8, 2009 at 9:50am]

So the New York Yankees are the World Champions of Major League Baseball. Since their win, I’ve seen some over the top bad reactions from some residents of Red Sox Nation, and truthfully, a few years back, you know, prior to the Sox coming back from 0-3 to win the ALCS and then the World Series, I would have petulantly pouted about yet another Yankee ring. Now, the Yankees are the Yankees and you won’t be seeing me wearing the Darth Vader colors any time soon, but I’m here today to dispel the notion that the Bronx Bombers are in any way an “Evil Empire.”

Mickey Rivers – That f&%$ing dirtbag punched Bill Lee from behind in the shoulder during a 1976 Stadium brawl that put Lee on the DL and killed the Sox chances that year. F&%$er. Oh, we’re off to a bad start. Let’s dig into the archives a bit…

George Herman “Babe” Ruth – The big lug was a Red Sox before making the Yankees re-think the pinstripes thing, plus he visited lots of sick kids in hospitals. Oh, and I’m sure he didn’t know all those Nathan’s hot dogs he inhaled were laced with roids… Yeah.

Joltin’ Joe – Joe D never remarried and sent roses to his late wife Marilyn Monroe’s gravesite on a weekly basis for 20 years after she passed. Any man who can love a woman like that cannot be evil. That’s a streak.

Yogi Berra – Who doesn’t love Yogi? The guy does freakin’ commercials with a duck! I know for a fact ducks do not work with evildoers, even if their paycheck may come from some.

Thurman Munson – This may cause a crease in the time-space fabric of Red Sox Nation, but I idolized this guy in the late 70’s every bit as much as Sox legend Carlton Fisk. Catchers freakin’ rule!

Reggie Jackson – Yeah, he was as arrogant as they come, but he didn’t get the nickname “Mr. October” by not backing it up. Plus, while he did fight Yankee manager Billy Martin in the Fenway dugout one year, I fully condone Yankee on Yankee violence and do not consider it at all evil.

Mariano Rivera – After blowing a couple early season saves against the Sox in the Bronx, he stood on the third base line at Fenway on opening day as the Sox received their 2004 rings. When he was introduced, the Fenway Faithful gave him a huge Bronx cheer. The only thing bigger was the smile on his face and the class in his heart.

Joba Chamberlain – I’m gonna take a Kevin Youkilis mulligan on ol’ Joba the Nut.

Jorge Posada – Clutch hitting catcher with ears like Dumbo. What’s not to like?

Derek Jeter – He’s one of the all-time greats and made the best play I’ve ever seen in a baseball game, plus that “nice guy” thing can’t be fake, can it? I still think when he jackknifes back like someone lit his balls on fire any time there’s a pitch on the inside corner is overacting, he’s still a class act.

Exhibit 1B – Alex Rodriguez – I know, he’s a dick and he wears lip gloss, but he was the starting shortstop for the Seattle Mariners when he was eighteen years old. To be that talented that young means he was a pampered and spoiled kid waaay back. Like Michael Jackson, he can’t help himself… His attempt to slap the ball out of Bronson Arroyo’s glove in ’04 wasn’t evil. Stupid and pathetic, yeah, but not evil’

Exhibit 1A – George Steinbrenner – The blustery Boss has faded, but the game is about winning and George demanded it. Most people don’t know that when Boston’s WEEI sports radio does their Red Sox “Jimmy Fund” telethon, Mr. Steinbrenner calls up and donates… big. I’m glad the Yankees won one more for the man who loves them unconditionally.

Yankee Fans – Finally, I know a few Yankee fans, and while some are smug and obnoxious about their boys, the ones I know have more class than most Red Sox fans I know including me.

[Written Sunday, November 8, 2009 at 4:40am]

There’s an Oscar Wilde quote about how life can’t be written; life can only be lived. After living through written fantasy of nearly 700 posts and four years, I’m just now understanding the truth of it. Lately I’ve had less to “get out” in key pecks because I’m living instead of longing and there’s less cathartic motive to document it. I’m repeating myself (early onset Alzheimer’s, I’m afraid) I’m repeating myself, but since that August vacation with my son Kyle, I’ve emerged with blinking and blurry eyes (I got glasses for that). I can see it in Megan and Kyle when they’re looking at me with those “who the f&%# is this guy” looks. My boss walks in my office and just laughs an eye roll exclaiming, “I can’t take this happy Leo.” Sorry, but if it helps, I’m just getting to know this clown myself. Remember, I was in the pod cryogenically frozen for some time and the reanimation process causes all sorts of issues including memory loss and uncontrollable shudders. Not to mention that shit was frickin’ freezing and well, you took Physiology or at least saw “Seinfeld” right?

It’s good to be back, but as the saying goes, behind every successful man is a group of very tolerant people who looked after me while I was away. I am thankful for:

Jeff: I’m glad, “hey wanna start a record label” resulted in a friendship with one of the finest people I know.

Dave: “You know Son Volt?” Yes, my friend. I do. While battling physical demons I hope I never meet, he was always there with a great ear, pomp and a smile.

Pete: This man told me he wanted my priorities to be, “family, personal development, and the work… in that order.” Then he lived up to it. Plus, he got me to my first Bruce show. His laugh is like paddles to a still heart.

Barb: This particular dark (Yankee fan) angel descended and taught me how people should be treated… that is with mutual respect. She has lifetime visitation rights with my children and grandchildren.

Joyce: I inherited her as a new boss and the chemistry was instantaneous on a September 11th afternoon. For work to be fun is incredible good fortune, and following Pete and Barb, she’s maintaining the tradition.

Mike: Watching that reality show in Anthem, Arizona helped me learn how to live. May all the good Karma of the Navajo commandments flow through you, my friend.

Kyle: “The boy who lived” gives me a bottomless well of reasons to want to. He shines a light on every life he touches, none more than mine.

Megan: Speaking of wells, one made of tears is forming behind hazel eyes. My girl is my friend. She has (I hate cliché’s but…) the heart of a lion and I could not be more proud of the young woman she’s become.

Madison: Sure, maybe it’s the acid, but I’m reliving the early years of Megan’s life with this child. Smart, funny and beautiful, just like her mom.

I’m on a plane headed to Vegas and the LeoPod is speaking to me once again… I should add that everyone on this list has filled me with life sustaining music.

“It ain’t too late to take a deep breath and throw yourself into it with everything you’ve got. It’s great to be alive.” – World of Hurt by the Drive By Truckers

[Written 110609 and too late to post before the big U/G]

…not that I’ve been writing many here lately. Anyway, my web host is performing a major upgrade for the next week, so we’ll be dark here till mid month. By then I’ll have some crowd pleasing aluminum tube musings, Sin City sightings, and a report from my Big Apple weekend with “the boy who lived” to see “Wicked” for his 18th.

Oh, I’ll also be completing an essay on the World Champion New York Yankees and how they’re not really evil after all… Yeah, it’ll be like the Seinfeld episode, “The Opposite.”

Now that she’s 2, granddaughter Madison is into a strange New Orleans beads and dancing thing…

[Note: There used to be a cute video of 2 y/o Madison dancing in a diaper, but someone warned me about all the pedophiles among us, so no more vid…]

Yesterday my Facebook update read, “Leo Daley needs to write something. Anything really. Help a guy out with a topic.” A few of my so-called “friends” responded, so let’s examine their submissions and determine their blog-worthiness:

• Warren, obviously watching the green opener, asks, “how bout some Boston Celtics.”
  Well Warren, beating King James and some other guys on his home court is impressive, but I’m not inclined to write much into it.
• Suzanne gets clever and inquires, “ummmm…what’s new in your life? : )”
  Well Suz, quite a bit actually, but I’m under an NDA and can’t write anything about it. Let’s just say if “life is a box of chocolates,” I got handed one spiked with Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. I’m tweakin’, man.
• Phil, the other business major in a house full of University of Arizona Engineering Grad students, tosses, “There was this time we drove 1000 miles to see The Stones. That was fun.”
  Yes it was, Phil, but I don’t remember much more then that. Oh, wait… It was 900 miles each way. Lisa chased us out of town and gave me beers. We had salad in Denver. We saw a kick-ass balloon show passing both ways through Albuquerque. You and I took about 3 hours finding a fuse for the car after the show, but had a great time looking. We saw a stupendous sky of stars while four of us peed in quadraphonic stereo on the side of the road somewhere in the New Mexico desert… Anything else? Yeah, my first Stones show rocked.
• George from Orlando wonders, “sticking with the basketball theme, you could write about how there is no way the Celtics or the Cavs will be able to get past the Orlando Magic again this year in the playoffs.”
  George, George, George… Even though you literally live in a fantasy world where dreams come true (mostly for little girls), I’m afraid your lofty expectations may lead to a tragic, not magic season.
• Louise went for the Daley double suggesting “Agile vs waterfall methodology” and, “even better, Why do hotels give you 8 pillows on a bed. 8? Really?”
  Hmmm… On the first request, I believe the Agile approach is more “real-world” and adapts to inevitable project change, while the first thing over the falls in a barrel in the latter methodology is the original project completion date. Your clever second suggestion demands to be answered with another question: “What stories do those pillows have to tell about what happened to them before you got to them?” I realize you travel a lot, so… sorry.
• Keith, hopefully in jest asks, “How about some good lifecycle management topics that you’d like to see in a presentation at KronosWorks?”
  After reviewing about 15/20 session PowerPoints for the conference with varying degree of that theme, I must write what I hope the Yankees will be saying soon: “Wait till next year.”

Thanks kids!

No, not really, but I have nothing to write about, so instead I’m providing you a rerun of the best show canceled after 8 episodes ever until I come up with some new material… Yeah, CBS dumped it and I was bummed, then hoped VH1 would pick it up (it didn’t), but now through the magic of your tube, here’s the pilot episode… Enjoy!

Love Monkey Pilot Part 1 of 5

Love Monkey Pilot Part 2
Love Monkey Pilot Part 3
Love Monkey Pilot Part 4
Love Monkey Pilot Part 5

Billiards is an interesting application of geometry. I get geometry. Back in the day, formula math like algebra and calculus were challenging, but I easily earned 4 Aces in the study of angles and the Pythagorean theorem*. It’s a right brain thing. If you have the capacity to see the angles required, you’re halfway there, but then you have to execute. That’s the tricky part for ADD me because it requires focus. Lose focus on anything but the simplest of shots and you’ll miss. There are a few degrees of imperfection that will still result in a made shot on most efforts, but they shrink as shot length increases, so focus is needed to assure the easy shots and to drop enough of the tough ones to win. Many things can affect focus during billiards and here are some I experienced last night:

• Environment – Noisy? Quiet? Lots of people moving about? Hot woman’s hips just beyond the corner pocket? Gotta focus…
• Intake – There’s a fine balance between relaxation and impairment and that’s somewhere between one and three Maker’s Marks. I stopped at two. Oh, and wipe the grease from those chicken wings off your hands!
• Headful – Bad day at the office? Monday audit with the IRS? That rash still hasn’t gone away? And then there’s that other stuff… Think like Crash Davis in “Bull Durham” and, “get outta the box you idiot, where’s your head? Get the broad outta your head!”

Anyway, last night all I saw was the ball, the angle and the pocket. Well, except that one hips and miss. I heard nothing while lining up a shot. I missed a few and had a bad scratch, but I played well and had some fun. It’s a right brain thing. Oh, and don’t forget to chalk your stick.

* a² + b² = c²

No, I didn’t do one and never have, but I’ve found the effect of alcohol as a creative catalyst interesting. Not so much while drinking, but the next day. It seems the addition of chemical cobwebs affects the old (and now fewer) neurons in a way that realigns thought. It changes perspective like when a batter is really dug in on a pitcher, comfortably zoned in for a good look, then gets head buzzed by a 95 MPH fastball that was audible. That gets you thinking. I guess mildly traumatizing events just change your perspective. Maybe that’s why drunks like Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson were such titillating texters. Of course they would have been good without the booze, but different and maybe not epic. Acid does the same thing, but I’ll save that fractal post for another time.

I love words. Yesterday I went truant on low-calorie 4:30 break outs to visit the Bellagio Gallery of Art. Experiencing art is another way to squeeze creative mojito and delivers without the hangover. The current exhibit is around the new “City Center” development on the strip. There were many sketches and models on display, but also less functional art at scale that will adorn the hotel. One was a shiny chrome representation of the Colorado River snaking like liquid mercury 7 feet up a white wall. In the new hotel it will flow inflexibly skyward some 80 feet. What stopped me cold though was a Times Square style neon messaging piece in hues of soft blue. The words… They were rapidly streaming across and I couldn’t stop reading. They were the work and words of Jenny Holtzer and brilliant as the LED’s forming them.

Speaking of words, I just heard Jeff Tweedy sing, “A sonic shoulder for you to cry…” That dude can turn ‘em.