Category: Uncategorized (Page 26 of 96)

Thursday I took a vacation and it was like a lifetime in an afternoon. “It’s December 3rd!” was met with a bright smile and shimmering eyes as we practically skipped like children on the buoyancy of rising mercury in the 60’s. A Christmas tree lighting and some Newbury Street window shopping was on our back of a napkin agenda, and passing the Boston Common ice rink somehow conjured up discussion of how truly lucky we are. After passing Manny’s old pad, we were there, hips and knees still intact after sampling a couple miles of Boston topology. Though considerably younger than me, my date was pretty, but parched, so we settled onto a couple resting stools and sipped liquids from “V” shaped glasses. After eyeing a block of cheddar “the size of a car battery^1.,” Joyce was all smiles as she scarfed (daintily, of course) and made cheese jokes. After the refueling, we searched for sacks in Saks. The sheer volume of shoes and handbags for women approaches incomprehensible, but I hung in and took note of likes and dislikes… I also envisioned Megan’s eyes bugging out if she were witness to this “Sex and the City” display of chick chic. After being pulled back from the ledge of a post “V” shaped drinks impulse buy, I did get a card from one young retailer for future consideration. “Thanks, man. What’s your name?” “Kyle.” Of course it is…

Cabbing over to the North End with my Italian guide, the driver asked where we were from. “Iowa.” I have no idea why I responded with a major corn producer, other than to give context to the “we don’t have stores like that where we come from.” Dinner was unexceptional except for the Hopper-esque ambiance and my wonderful view. After skipping dessert, and having not yet hit our stepping quota, we left and righted, dodged traffic, passed through a blue time tunnel, and finally caught view of the flying saucer that would beam us safely home.

We never did see the tree lighting, but our hearts got lit up pretty good anyway.

1. Shameless “Seinfeld” reference from “The Foundation.”

Why’s it “Black Friday,” anyway? Here’s a good Gizmodo article on how to avoid Black Friday ripoffs.

So, it’s 6:21AM and I feel a gym trip beckoning, but for now I’ll just exercise 2 of my fingers. For the record, that would be the index finger of my left hand and the middle finger of my right. Strange. Considering how much I tap, maybe Mavis can still teach this old dog.

When I was in Vegas earlier this month, gerontologist Ken Dychtwald was our keynote speaker, and a fine headliner to our cool opening video on the changing workforce, but that’s not important right now.

During his presentation on the evolving expectations of generations, Mr. Dychtwald attributed a quote to former “Original 7” astronaut and US Senator John Glenn, who in 1998 became the oldest human to enter space. At the time Glenn was criticized for the trip by some who saw it as a publicity shot for an old politician. True or not, his response got me scribbling in the canyon of a conference center: “Just because I’m about to turn 77 doesn’t mean I don’t still have dreams.” Once I got home, I transcribed those words onto a greeting card featuring a monkey smoking a cigar. I sent that South to another man looking at a 77th birthday, but one who seems to have let go of his dreams. Since the passing of his wife of 30 years in 2007, Dad has confined himself to a solitary life, even though he has many friends and acquaintances in “the Villages.” Most times it seems futile, but I always encourage Dad to “get out there.”

Yesterday as we danced and laughed in the car on our way to “Nana’s” for dinner, Megan, Kyle and I howled while discussing how long it would take Dad to say, “Lee, I gotta go. I gotta pee like a race-hoss.” To our gleeful surprise, Dad didn’t have to pee, but he had to go. “I’m going out for Thanksgiving dinner with Dick and Kay.”

Thanks John Glenn.

February 28, 2005 was Megan’s sweet 16th and the day I wrote my first post here. Now, 700 posts later on Thanksgiving Day, I’m thankful for this digital light casting out of the darkness. Contemplating the use of words takes a working head, but I hope that within the cold code that is HTML, the presence of a beating heart has occasionally nudged an EKG spike upward.

“Vanity vent” is an accurate description for any blog, and ego drives the belief that anyone would actually want to read what appears once the “Publish” button is clicked. I do know of a few faithful readers, and one of them is ego me. Having a near five year journal of life is very handy for someone in the pre-Alzheimer’s boomer set, and sometimes reading old posts is brand new, like reading someone else’s words. Other times, the story is so familiar; I don’t need the written word to recite it. One such post is “Love is Blindness” from Valentine’s Day 2007. It started out as my annual “Valentine’s Day sucks” post, but ended up in a place the Hallmark holiday can’t touch. That story is etched in my heart forever, but one line mystifies me:

“I still want to be a better man…”

I’m not sure why I wrote that, but looking back I know I’ve become… better. Whether “better” means “healed” or “improved” doesn’t matter. I’m both, thank you. Now on to a post I’d forgotten from May, 2005…

Music links many of my life’s pages and “Sweet Illusions” was inspired by a gorgeous Ryan Adams song. The short post was a dream of the future we have no way of knowing. I haven’t made the Napa plans, but the woman, the beauty, the music, the silence, the hands, the leaves, the kids… Illusions no more.

Happy Thanksgiving.

That 700th dinger should be special, but the one before it will be a pre-Thanksgiving cobweb cleaning…

• Tonight was my first night reunited with a gym. It was a great workout and I’m pumped and jacked to be back, but why does it take 30 minutes on an elliptical to burn 300 calories, but less than 30 seconds to consume them?
• Life would be pretty different if the calories consumed versus calories burned quotient was reversed. Not necessarily better, but different.
• Sloan has a new EP out and after one preview I’m not sure how I feel about it. Still, I’ll buy it to support the band and be there for their show a week from Thursday at TT the Bears in Cambridge. Here, see for yourself…

• On to cheaply manufactured music… Hey Adam Lambert, did you hear that sound? Yeah, that was the sound of you blowing your career.
• I never watched Oprah, but I think I’ll miss her.
• I’m looking forward to hearing Clarence say, “Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”
• And of course, “Ralphie!”
• At a recent conference, I noticed them traveling in packs and solo, trudging on, heads down, their imaginary snouts sniffing the blackberries for scraps of data.
• In the first ten days of December I have trips to Atlanta and Manhattan. I’m not even going to try whining about either. I am so fortunate to do what I do. Today I spent an hour basically authoring a comic strip for an internal promotion. That didn’t suck.
• There’s currently no sweeter sound than that of my granddaughter’s voice. Speaking of which, she’s still up and it’s 9:20… Bad Papa!

There are times you go to a show and there’s just a song you have to hear. Back in ’81 when I drove a 1,800 mile round trip from Tucson to Boulder for the Stones it was “Under My Thumb.” Third freakin’ song. Sweet. 22 years later after missing the early years of Bruce Springsteen because of “Warren” (and you know who you are…) and my punk baby brother, I walked onto the wet floor of Gillette Stadium wanting to hear pretty much the whole set list I got, but having to hear “Prove It All Night” from Darkness. Actually, I wanted the left jab, right cross of “My Love Will Not Let You Down” and “Prove It” back to back, just like the opening of the live NYC DVD from 2001, but that was probably too much to ask…

I’ll admit I’m not a life and death Bruce fan like some. My buddy Pete has seen the Boss twenty something times and Barb… well Barb’s from Freehold, NJ. If I have to explain that, maybe you should stop reading.

Sex, Drugs and Rock n’ Roll… There are probably thousands of rock songs about sex, but this one gets to a place where most guys wish they could go, even one night in their life. Now I grew up with some, um, confident friends and I’m not naming any names, but do recall hearing the bravado as a younger man and claims like, “Oh yeah, we went at it all night.” Yeah, sure you did. The only thing that probably went all night was the snoring after 30 crappy seconds, but I digress.

As I looked up at the canyonesque pit from around the 20 yard line, I simultaneously thought what the view looked like on a Fall Sunday and about a woman. Yeah, I multitasked. Then the band hit the stage.

Gillette Stadium, Foxborough, MA, Friday, 8/1/03 Night 1

1. The Promised Land
2. The Rising
3. Lonesome Day
4. My Love Will Not Let You Down
5. Prove it All Night

This song evokes such raw emotion with primal, guttural vocals and screams, pitched, blistering guitars and the consistent thunder of Max on the drums. By the end of this, only the second song of the show, Bruce is dripping with sweat. The way it should be. Rock ‘n Roll, that is. Heart and soul and one of the best rock songs ever.

Any time spent with my son Kyle is time well, um, spent, but road trips are the best. Here’s a sample of highway banter with the boy:

Kyle: “Dad, do you know Celine Dion is one of 14 children?”
Dad: “Wow! Really? Which one is she?”
Kyle: “She’s the youngest.”
Dad: “No wonder she’s so skinny.”
Kyle: “Dad!” (as he whacks my arm)
Dad: “Fourteen kids. That’s amazing.”
Kyle: “Her father is dead.”
Dad: “Yeah, I bet he is…”

“Gentlemen, you have a package in Shipping,” noted the front-desk dude who’s actual occupation eludes me. The package turned out to be a beautiful box of cookies for my wicked cool boy care of a female admirer, an older woman no less. That was so cool, yet only part of what “Goldilocks” had in store for Mr. Broadway…

Gotham was fully brined this past weekend, and the rain not absorbed by the Apple was absorbed by me every time the deluge flowing atop Kyle’s “Mary Poppins” umbrella collapsed onto my head and shoulders. Kyle meanwhile, remained dry and humored under my functional shield.

While the edge of wetness crossed the slender island, the boys retreated to the lobby bar of our Millennium Broadway digs. After napping (me, not Kyle) nearly past our dinner reservation, we bartered a 15 block bicycle rickshaw ride for $20 and headed to Luna Piena on 53rd, between 2nd and 3rd Avenue. Kyle musseled through a pre-show meal of a shellfish appetizer, then a seafood risotto. Based on the barrenness of the china shortly after their arrival, I guess he liked them. I had a just-right portion pasta special with homemade spaghetti, zucc’s, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes and sautéed chicken. Overall, the food was good and a good value, and our waiter was competent, but without personality other than the “I’m Italian” accent.

Only cool, comfortable fall air accompanied our mile walk to the Gershwin Theatre for “Wicked,” and the show did not disappoint. Although there was some unevenness to a few chorus numbers, the chops of Dee Roscioli as the emerald “Elphaba” and Erin Mackey as “Glinda” were amazing. Their acting and comic instincts (especially Ms. Mackey) were wonderful, but their singing (most notably Ms. Roscioli) will stay with me awhile. Kyle was beaming and wildly clapping after every number, so I know his 18th birthday will stay with him too…

I had a spring in my step on the post-show walk, probably due to the fact I was $18 dollars lighter for a Maker’s on the rocks and a coke! Well, the coke did come in a 4 cent souvenir cup… We headed back to drop off our $8 cup and Playbills when we were jumped by 4 large “Happy Birthday” balloons in our room, planted by the notorious “Goldilocks.” I think we were both stunned by this incredible thoughtfulness, so we headed back out into the concrete jungle for a nightcap that turned into a slice and a lemonade for junior and a couple more hours of bliss for his happy dad.

Sunday morning was warm and bright for our short stroll to Grand Central Station via Starbucks and an Egg Nog Latte. Our last few steps down 42nd street were quiet, and ended with a short exchange:

Kyle: “Thanks for taking me to New York, Dad.”
Dad: “You’re welcome, my boy. Did you have a nice birthday?”
Kyle: “Yes. Thank you…”
Kyle: “What do you want to see next year?”
Dad: (laughter)

Songwriting is a huge part of my musical experience, but it’s not all about the words. Recently I wrote to a friend, “if that were the case, I’d just read poetry.” Sometimes it’s about chords coursing through you like lightning shot down every microscopic capillary, thumping bass and the riveting rapid fire on a drum kit. Sometimes it’s just about fun. Put all of that together with clever songcraft and playful enthusiasm and you have Sloan. I don’t even remember when, but probably around 2002 or 2003 Jeff dropped a homemade Sloan compilation on me. That burned gold CD had more hooks than a Nova Scotian’s tackle box and snared me by the upper lip and yanked me out of the deep end of the ironic “No Depression” ocean. I’ve been flopping to Sloan ever since and will again on December 3rd.

“This song is dedicated to you. Cuz’ this song is
for people who know what rock n’ roll is about!”

[Facebook friends go here for the wicked cool Sloan video…]

[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.