Category: Uncategorized (Page 23 of 96)

Let me post preface by stating I’m not buying the “guy in the sky” with harps and pearly gates, but now that I’m actually paying attention when in a house of the holy, I am beginning to understand. Last night’s 5:00 gathering was a good one, mostly because of the wonderful voice of the elder directly behind me in Pew 43, Seat 6. Actually, I only envisioned the old man, but looked forward to the “Peace be with you” moment when I could tell him I enjoyed his tenor.

The gospel was a long-un, but reading along, it told the story of a wealthy man with two sons, one of whom jumped the nest with his early inheritance to blow on basically, hookers and um, blow. Anyway, after junior hits bottom, he heads home and is lovingly welcomed by his father, much to the annoyance of the brother. In spite of what the son had done, the father welcomed him back with unconditional love. Without knowing “the rest of the story,” we can speculate whether the father’s act was prudent or just one of enablement with a bad ending… Whatever. It gave me some perspective on something personal to me.

The homily was titled, “Christianity is for losers.” As Father Tim talked about loss, I looked around the church and took in the faithful. It was mostly a blue-collar crowd and I realized Joyce and I were probably among the most fortunate in the room. I thought about how many struggle with paying bills, battling illness, or wrestling more elusive emotional or spiritual demons. The sermon described a black man about to be lynched by a white mob of his neighbors. The local pastor halted the proceedings to read the man’s will. He left all his possessions to those under the sheets for the acts of kindness they had shown him through life. They all left quietly in shocked silence from the love they’d been shown.

Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed… To me, they are examples of how to live, not gods. In the category of “what would Jesus do,” I think if he saw the fuss made over him in the last 2,000 years or so, he’d be embarrassed. To me, if going to church can help people be humble, kind or loving to each other even a fraction more than they were before, that’s a huge benefit. A “force” if you will.

I couldn’t wait for the “let us offer each other the sign of peace.” Well, for one I got a kiss, but at that moment I wanted to tell the old gentleman behind me how much I’d enjoyed his singing. When I turned, the old man was gone. In his place was a large, 40-ish man who looked to be somehow disabled. I can’t describe it better than a “vacancy” in his look. My comment about his singing was lost on him. At least that was my perception. I thought of a young man with a beautiful voice and a heart full of love…

Back in the car I had so much to say, but “that was worth it” said it all.

For some reason, tears of a clown appeared when I read this: “The mere fact that there is a world at all is so miraculous, so impossible to explain, that we should, in recognition and faith of that, be continually awestruck and joyful, in spite of any lacks we may feel in our daily lives.”

It was very odd that while Maddy napped next to me and Kyle auditioned for the lead in “Wicked” from his room downstairs, I was overwhelmed on Saturday afternoon reading that little passage in “Dr. Quantum’s Little Book Of Big Ideas: Where Science Meets Spirit,” by Fred Alan Wolf, Ph.D.

Why? Was it just a “Dude, we could be just a speck under my fingernail” stoner moment, or something else? Well, just think about how freakin’ heavy (not the gravitational suck “heavy”) it is that we’re here. I get the same wave of emotion at times when I look at my little granddaughter, Maddy. It’s never when she’s doing something special, it’s just when she’s being. Witnessing that little life in those simple moments is massively awe inspiring and sometimes overwhelming.

Give yourself a treat. Clear the clutter, focus for just a moment and take in the slightest bit of the beauty and love in your life. Think about the enormity that you and it exists. It feels good. Do it.

This morning began with one little bird chirp sprouting from somewhere in the massive oak tree hovering above my stucco bungalow. Then another. It was as if word was being passed along the hundreds of dormant branches: “Wake the kids. Spring is near.” In his poem Locksley Hall, Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote, “In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.” My fancy has been there since the fall, and actually long before that, but for reasons untold, this bright morning I’m thinking baseball.

Exactly four weeks from tomorrow is Opening Day for the Red Sox. Well, actually it’s opening night with an 8:05 ESPN tilt against the… yep, the Bombers. The “World Champion New York Yankees.” Man, even after the epic “greatest comeback / biggest choke” in the history of professional sports in 2004, it’s still not easy to cough up that Yankee hairball. Anyway, one reason the Yanks are champs and the Sox naught is still tilting the American League East equation this year… The Red Sox have no fear in their lineup, and the Yankees, um, do.

Sox GM Theo Epstein has stated, “We actually have nine guys on our club who hit 25 or more home runs in a season.” Yeah Theo, but those were career years for many of them, and right now, not one of them strikes fear in an opposing pitcher, and that’s a problem. Theo’s a numbers guy, and his calculus has produced two world championships, but what’s getting lost in the Sabermetrics is that the game is played with emotion by human beings, and in the biggest situations you need emotion on your side, and one of the most important is fear.

Aside from their tremendous ability to hit, the 3-4 combo of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez in their prime was psychologically devastating to opponents because they struck fear into the hearts and minds of pitchers. Let’s say it’s the 8th inning and the Sox were down 2-0 with the top of the lineup coming to bat. Not only would the pitcher have to worry about Jacoby Ellsbury and JD Drew, but they’d be especially worried knowing Papi and Manny were to follow. So they’d have a little less focus on Ellsbury… They’d press… They’d squeeze the red stitching a little tighter. With heightened emotions, missing a close pitch aggravates them more than it should. They squeeze. They over throw. Ball four. Ellsbury’s on and becomes another worry. “Shit, if Drew gets on, I’m screwed. I can’t walk him.” Drew knows it and laces a first pitch fastball that caught too much of the plate the opposite way. Big Papi lumbers toward the spotlight… We know how the rest of the story usually turned out.

That’s how big innings happen. It’s rare that a team just bashes the baseball hitter after hitter. There are hits, yes, but mental errors caused by pressure, caused in large part by fear, fuel those innings. Right now the Yankees and every other team have nothing to fear but the Red Sox getting Adri?n Gonz?lez…

I’m trying. I really am. One birthday present for the newly working-out Megan was the latest “Women’s Health,” with the gorgeous Paula Patton (“Precious”) on the cover. Honestly, it caught my eye because her body really reminded me of um, this friend of mine. Yeah, she’s way too young and hot for me, but that’s not really important right now. Anyway, as said friend and I watched the Vancouver Winter Games closing ceremony, I thought I’d earn some points by handing her the magazine and saying, “you look this good.” She flipped through the magazine eventually arriving at the article on Ms. Patton. I was feeling pretty good as I scanned other very flattering pictures that naturally would make my friend feel even more beautiful…

“She’s five months pregnant,” was what I heard as the magazine left airspace and landed in my lap. There was some silence, but I scrambled for recovery, “hey, there’s Neil Young.” Neil was standing alone in black under the “Superman” movie-like ice pillars with acoustic guitar and harmonica. As he sang “Long May You Run” to the athletes and the world, the flames died out around him. Pretty much the same thing I’d achieved a few minutes earlier.

Looking at this picture, it’s a wonder my brother Kevin isn’t really screwed up. Well, I mean more than he is now. What was my mother thinking dressing him “totally plaid?” And is that a freakin’ beret? Now look at me. Totally sweet threads! Navy blazer… Gray slacks… White shirt… Hankie… Stylin’, baby! Jeez… Kevin looks like a midget from “Cirque de Plaid.” Sadly, the kid on the right, Kevin Gatti, died in a fire shortly after we moved from East Boston to Wakefield. I remember hearing that as the house on Homer Street was being engulfed, Kevin appeared at a second floor window and was encouraged to jump. He disappeared back into the deadly cloud…

Anyway, this was a happier day, probably a Sunday before or after church at St. Mary’s off Bennington Street. I loved going to that big old church with my grandmother Lily… I don’t recall going with my parents. Maybe they weren’t into it. My mother developed a pretty strong faith later in her life. I guess faith can help you get through some tough stretches of life road. I know it’s helped her. Anyway, I went to the school there through second grade. I had a wicked crush on Sister Laura, but once we got to Wakefield, a mortgage payment replaced tuition and I was on a different path. One that brought me here.

So… here. I have no regrets about the journey and am quite happy where it’s currently winding. Oh, gotta go. I’m winding over to the 5:00 Mass. I hope to hear something interesting. Now where’s my plaid blazer?

Last night after cranking my heart rate at 155 for the last half of a 30 minute elliptical endurance, I arrived home to a healthy Megan prepared meal: tacos. [For the record, the 155 bpm is the 80% target for a 30 year old… Note to self: Don’t die.] After crunching down 2 with about 4 bites, a taco minus the crunchy corn home sounded less bad, so I tossed the ingredients into one of Maddy’s little plastic bowls… a fuchsia one. As I turned from the stove, I caught the little blond with my “Chapix,” or “Chap-Stick” for those of you who don’t speak Maddy-ese. “Give me that Chapix,” I said sternly. She’s now a serial “Chapix” thief having clipped 3 from me, so yeah, I was serious. Regardless, rather than cowering consensus from Miss Madison, the following negotiation took place:

“Papa, that’s my bowl.”
“Well, can I use it?”
“No.” (I sensed the sting was in play.)
“Can I use it if I let you use my Chapix?”
“Yes.”

She’s 28 months old… I used to joke about how negotiating with Megan was tougher than with any lawyer. I can now gleefully imagine future Blond-on-Blonde negotiations. I think that’s called Karma.

As much as I’d like to write my annual Valentine’s Day rant, uh… I’m busy, so you’ll have to be entertained with re-runs and viewer mail… Sorry.

Fifteenkey has received some Valentine’s Day feedback:

Jenny writes, “I think its a chance for people who have trouble normally expressing how they feel to let it out without feeling weird…some people are just not comfortable with expressing themselves romantically all of the time…so on one day a year they can be as mushy as they may feel all year…but not be open enough to communicate…”

For the record, I’m not crazy about that term, “mushy.”

Esmeralda joins in, “…at least the outcome is generally pretty positive with this valentine stuff: people expressing thoughts of caring to one another. It could be worse.”

Yes indeed, Esmeralda. It certainly could.

Strict copyright enforcement by the non-lingerie (as far as I know) football league prohibits my use of the proper term of tomorrow’s “big game” without the express, written consent of the… You get it, right? I can’t write “Super Bowl,” so you won’t see it here…

Anyway, I don’t want to generalize or be sexist in any way, but let’s face it, many of you ladies don’t have a clue about tomorrow’s game, so I’m here to help you engage your cave-men in their natural habitat and impress them with your football chops. And no, “football chops” are not something you serve after the nachos… Let’s get started, shall we?

First of all, the Indianapolis Colts used to be the Baltimore Colts and while the New Orleans Saints have always been from New Orleans, Archie Manning, their first big star, will be rooting for Baltimore… Uh, I mean Indy… Got it?

OK, so I want to give you some contextual nuggets to sprinkle into the testosterone and hot sauce fueled pigskin talk. Stuff you can say at just the right time to let the boys know you’re not just another pretty face… For example, early in the game when Indy gets a key defensive stop (whoa, this is going to be harder than I thought…). Re-do… Any time Indy’s defense (that’s when they don’t have the ball) stops the Saints on what appears (based on cavemen reaction) to be an exciting play, wait for the din to subside and say, ‘it’s amazing how the Colts “D” has played without Sanders.’ Bob Sanders is an outstanding safety (that’s a football position) who’s been out injured with “a knee” since early in the season. Trust me, the boys will be impressed.

This one is a little more sophisticated and is really a two parter… When the Colts have the ball, but are not successfully passing and Peyton (Archie’s kid) Manning appears frustrated, say “Wow, Marvin Harrison has been invisible today!” Now the guys will snicker and may try to ridicule you because in fact, Marvin Harrison, a long time Indy star receiver, is retired. When one of the he-men points that out, say “I guess you missed the irony of that, eh?”

Finally, here’s one you can serve with crackers or melted over nachos… When (and if) the Saints appear headed for a touchdown, try “I think the Saints are going to go marching in…”

Enjoy the game! Oh, and hon, can you get me another beer?

“Darkness.” That was my immediate response to a friend’s inquiry years ago regarding what Bruce record to start with. It was a no brainer really since I was living there in self-imposed exile. Bruce was a pretty pissed off dude after fighting with his label for nearly 3 years after “Born to Run” and that anger spewed out from the opening of “Badlands,” and the theme of “paying the price” for what you want in this life lives in every black groove of that vinyl right through to the title track. Two or three of these songs would make a career for a successful musician, but this guy exorcised quite a bit in 3 years and came up with ten.

Side one
1. “Badlands”
2. “Adam Raised a Cain”
3. “Something in the Night”
4. “Candy’s Room”
5. “Racing in the Street”

Side two
1. “The Promised Land”
2. “Factory”
3. “Streets of Fire”
4. “Prove It All Night”
5. “Darkness on the Edge of Town”

It took me a little longer than 3 years, and ironically during it, some musicians fought with my label (One was always Angry), but I managed to leave that behind, pay the price (we had debts…) and slowly crawl out of the darkness. Well, it wasn’t always dark, but friend Jeff did literally help me move back from the edge of town. Since then, a new dawn slowly emerged with a little help from my friends, culminating under a blazing desert sun and the bright heart of a dear friend.

I still embrace the dark, but everybody needs some light and I’m finding there’s still quite a bit of growing to do in it…

[Facebookers see blog for video…]

Driving to Tucson, Arizona was an annual August trek for Dillard and I back in the late 70’s. We had a medium-sized cassette tape case with a couple dozen rock assortments. One that got heavy, heavy airplay, especially on those long, hot, desolate and damn straight stretches was AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” The album was released in the States by Atlantic Records, but it should have come out on Epic, because that’s what it is.

On Amazon.com, rock critic David Cantwell writes, “What Highway to Hell has that Back in Black doesn’t is Bon Scott…” That’s it. Bon Scott. Bon had a voice like an arc welder and it cut through the heavy metal coming out of the guitars brothers Angus and Malcolm were grinding. The record is amazing, and it kicked off several years of rock enjoyment, including a stint as “Air Bon” with the Gonnella boys air guitaring the roof off the old Dooley’s club in Tucson.

Now I wrote about that night, but did not provide any photographic evidence of the performance. Well, tonight… I’m not going to either. I know some snapshots of that first show exist (I think “Angus” may have them), but what I do have are a couple publicity photos from our second show with body art care of Kraker’s sister Nancy. Since I’m very guilty of using “stuff” I’ve found on Facebook in Powerpoint presentations and other public medium, it is risky to “out” these photos, but let’s face it, there’s a certain “attention whore” aspect to blogging, so obviously I just don’t care, but I hope Dillard will comment and explain the “Rocky Horror” makeup that I clearly passed on…

We had a freakin’ blast rocking out and had no, none, nada, zippo inhibitions being up on stage looking like idiots “air” rocking. We were totally into it and the crowd reactions told us it worked. The music drove us… along with the attention thing. Primal music like this…