Bittersweet Birthday

 

A birthday cake for the band who put that song in Shrek!

I've mentioned our good friend Susan here before.

Today's her birthday and, honestly, when I wished her a happy one on the socials, all I could muster was "Happy birthday!"

Granted, it was just after midnight but I couldn't seem to find anything else to say without being an ass, frankly.

Maybe what I said seems OK, but I didn't include her name, any nicknames, or witty liners.

I've often said that other people's stories are theirs to tell and Susan is a fairly private soul.

But I know her heart is hurting after a rough stretch of losses, including her mother. I don't think I need to keep that private.

We've discussed that the first time for everything following a death can be difficult.

First holiday season.

First birthday (theirs and yours).

First Thanksgiving.

First anniversary of their passing.

And so on.

There are no rules for how to proceed. I remember trying to drag Mom along after my father died, hoping to shield her from the pain.

Yet, it can't be escaped, especially when sitting at the dinner table, say, on Christmas, and Dad isn't at the head of the table.

Mothers always have a way of making things special. Especially birthdays, I suppose. And so, it has to hurt. No, in fact, it does hurt, especially in the first year.

I feel for Susan today. There's literally nothing I can do to help, outside of trying to make her smile as we texted during the day.

I just hurt for my friend.

With each day, you try to move forward. That's what I remember from 1989 and, I guess, from 2020 as well.

In '89 I was an idiot in my early 20s. I went through various stages of handling that grief. In 2020, I was blindsided by what happened after Mom died, thus negating any grief. 

Still, it was an adjustment.

So I get where Susan is coming from. All I can do is listen and support.

She has a good soul, Susan does. A complicated one, but a good one. 

She's had my back more times than I can remember and has calmed me down more than once.

Tonight, I'm trying to help a little.

I'm hoping these words make up for my rather antiseptic birthday greeting this morning on Facebook. 

Happy birthday, my dear crazy friend. Jane's smiling. Maybe hanging with my parents. Likely hanging with your grandmother. 

She's proud of you. I'm confident of that.

The tears and sadness will continue to flow. That's how this works. Time won't dim it.

Yet, somehow, a day at a time, it will get better.

I'm proud to know you.

We all are.

Ainsley's Back

 

I'm sort of dragging tonight, so forgive me if I'm not providing deep thoughts.

But, then again, we all need to check out, right? Not everything needs to be profound.

Then again, hold on. Wait a sec.

Ten years ago, I barely knew a coworker of mine named Susan. We'd chat online via instant messenger, especially if she wanted to pass along knowledge about something in Wilton, given I was a reporter in that town.

Eventually, of course, I'd start HAN Radio/Network and she was a huge sounding board for all of that.

Anyway, no need to ramble about knowing her, except to give you the foundation of how I came to know that she was an incredible reporter, editor, and writer (not necessarily in that order). I've long been dazzled by her writing talent. I've even occasionally asked her to edit this trainwreck of a blog. Generally speaking, she has demurred.

But as we got to know each other, she told me about being a published author. To that end, I learned of her book, The Blacksmith. At the time it was an ebook and I quickly downloaded it.

What you need to know is that horror and goth aren't normally my style. I'm a reader of sports, music, and travel as well as a fierce consumer of current events, which sadly means social media in 2024. But what is also my style is supporting my friends and loved ones.

So, I downloaded it and sat down one night to read it.

I was entrenched. Flabbergasted. Mesmerized. Enchanted. Titilated.

Susan created a world with her lead character, Ainsley that produced all of those emotions.

I thought it was great and nothing in my mind has changed that opinion.

Susan has added to her Tales From the Graveyard series since then and has also published two books of poetry. I have such admiration for her because I know how personal this is.

She also remains a fierce lover of storytelling, though her journalism has evolved into the marketing side of things. Still, she has interviewed a wide range of people. 

Since then, she has given Ainsley a reboot, publishing a physical copy of The Blacksmith and I'm so proud to say I have a copy.

Of course, I'm sort of afraid to sleep now with Ainsley in the house but I don't sleep much anyway.

Still, I have to watch my back.

I know Susan would be thrilled if you brought Ainsley into your world. I purchased it on Amazon and I've also seen Barnes and Noble has it as well.

I guarantee you'll enjoy it.

Things We Said Today

9:02 am. Four minutes to air

I was up early.

Anxious, I figured.

I wasn't exactly singing "Good Morning Good Morning" at that point.

No, I didn't sing "Good Day Sunshine" either.

But I went through the motions. Shower, breakfast, and pulled the equipment together.

I felt ready. Really, I did.

And yet...

I've decided to work off my computer for the music I'll present on "Meet the Beatles." We don't have a turntable and while we do have a CD player, I'm not really high on lugging CD's to and from the station every week.

That's fine and we have the ability at WGCH for external sources but ... wait for it ... only for one external source.

So regardless of which source -- iPhone, iPad, Macbook, or even a flash drive, I can only plug in one, or I have to come up with a solution to split the signal.

Sure, I can plug in my computer. Heck, that was created for me, because I liked playing sound files of sports sounds off my MacBook.

But how could I work in a second? There wasn't enough time to load all of the music on the station's hard drive.

So I had one of my ideas.

Ah, the idea. It can be great. It can be a game changer. It can also cause an absolute train wreck. 

In this case, keep in mind that time was a factor.

In fact, I considered all of that as I conjured the concept for today's debut show. Initially, I was going to dive right in, covering the history of The Beatles. But I was encouraged to make the first show a bit more personal. 

It was the right call. But that also made the content a bit more free-form.

Before that, I had to work out how to present that content.

The idea was to use a little Behringer mixer that I bought a few years ago. That, I thought, might handle the two computers I was bringing to be able to crossfade between songs if I wanted.

I plugged everything when I arrived at the hyper-warm WGCH studios, which was drastically different than the 16 degrees outside.

It didn't work. I didn't like the volume or lack thereof. It wasn't going to sound right on the air.

Drat.

OK, I thought, I'd still be fine. I'd use the one MacBook.

But, hold on. I had my Zoom PodTrak P4 with me. Maybe?

I tried. 

Again, the sound was off. Even though it's a music show on an AM radio station, there are still people listening on the internet and, for what it's worth, I'm listening in the studio. I'd like everything to sound right.

Even my MacBook (the one I'm typing on now) wasn't giving me stereo sound.

The heat in the studio was helping to build sweat on my brow.

I took a deep breath. Thankfully, the building was quiet and so was my phone.

I fixed the MacBook sound issue in settings and decided there would be no crossfading this week.

I'd have to play one song at a time interspersed with my jibber jabber.

I started Robcasting just around 9 a.m. and waited the interminable six minutes for the national news to end, rolling my eyes at the slanted presentation that we sadly run. Can anyone report without an agenda?

Finally, a Frank Sinatra show promo ended and the theme music began.

It was show time.

As I often get, I was nervous with what I call "good nerves."

I stammered a bit over the next 54 minutes as I found whatever groove I could get.

I plucked songs on the fly, after deciding that "Eleanor Rigby" would be the first offering. Full credit to Susan for the suggestions. Her idea was that it should be personal so the audience could learn why I was doing this show. Eleanor Rigby strikes on a few levels, including a connection with Sean as well as my great-niece Eleanor. I ask her about "the lonely people" every time I talk to her.

The technical issues didn't hurt the show and I have other ideas on how to fix the crossfading concern. It would be nice sometimes to just go from one song to another.

Overall, I pulled the show off without anyone knowing too much "inside radio" knowledge. I did acknowledge my nervousness on the air. It's just how I get.

I thought the show might have been a bit disorganized and that I rambled but all reviews I received were quite favorable.

As the closing song, "Cry For a Shadow" from Anthology 1 concluded, I faded the song into the 10 a.m. news and took a deep breath.

It had been a quick and emotional hour. Ever the softie, I swelled with pride that I was doing this and I suppose a tinge of sadness over who wasn't listening. But my heart felt good with the kind words of support.

The first show is over and I know it will immediately get better. I needed this first one to be mine to work out the cobwebs and the kinks.

There are so many ideas. I didn't fret over playing anything off the beaten path on this first show, opting for songs that are universally known. I stepped away from a studio version just once, playing a live version of "Got to Get You Into My Life."

We can get into the timeline of the lads next week.

We'll "come together" again next Sunday at 9 a.m.

(Today's show is archived here)

Thoughts and Prayers

 

I have no words for this.

Even now, as I try to write, I find my brain is just blank.

So, I'll post this story from ABC 7 New York, though it's on several major media outlets today.

The house in the story belongs to our dear Susan's father and late mother, who died in November.

Now, horrifically, Seven-year-old Rory has died. Rory is Susan's niece.

I type the words and it just doesn't make sense. That's Susan's childhood home.

That's the very base of her family.

A GoFundMe has been created to support Susan's brother Mark, his wife Meg, and their kids. 

Money is needed, sure.

But this goes way beyond that.

As I mentioned, Susan and Mark's (and Amy and Megan's) mother, Jane, died in November. 

Now Rory. 

Seven years old.

I mean, how much more can one family deal with?

They're devastated, to say the very least.

A recent notion is that we shouldn't offer thoughts and prayers because they're hollow. Now, I realize that's in relation to the disgusting rash of shootings in our society but the point remains.

Those thoughts and -- if it's your thing -- prayers are often sometimes all we have.

Mark, Meg, Susan, her dad, and the entire family will need every last ounce of support possible.

They're going to need strength. Somehow, they have to get from one minute to the next.

So if all you have is a thought, prayer, or a hug of some kind, I tend to think the family is willing to accept it (I'm not speaking for the family by any means).

For right now, as the family grieves, let us all do whatever we can for the DeCristoforo family of Staten Island.

Anything.

Sometimes words are all we have.

And they're escaping me right now.

Focusing on the Good

 

Us -- 2020 in Mahopac

Regardless of the many mixed emotions that go through the holiday season, I normally find a point where I consider the blessings in my life.

I have Sean. No matter how I look back at my life -- and there are regrets, mistakes, etc -- I can never have him taken away from me.

Our relationship has been discussed and demonstrated on this very page many times. 

No matter what, in the darkest of times, he and I remained fiercely close.

It's a frankly effortless thing. Oh, it took work when our family first split up, through the awkward father/son Wednesday night dinners and the initial weekends spent with me but we got the hang of it.

Thankfully, that era is long over.

Now I get to watch as he figures out who he is.

But the blessings don't end with Sean. It includes Rascal/Squaky, the cat who has been more than just a pet.

Oh, sure, he's a cat -- we remind him of that many times daily -- but he's a companion and friend.

In truth, he's sort of a support animal to us in that he came here after Mom died and he's living his best life with us.

At least we think so.

I also have friends. Great friends. Incredible friends. To name them all wouldn't be fair because I always forget someone. 

I could just go with "Susan" and let that one name represent everyone whom I'm blessed to call a friend and loved one. Loyalty and respect mean so much to me and so those whom I can count on are the ones who find themselves in the inner circle.

I've also learned to move forward without some in life as necessary. It hurts and it's not my style but it's become necessary for survival.

And so, I do it.

With Mom in rehab after heart surgery, 2013

I have family also and believe me, I need them more than they know. Such definitions have been shattered and shifted over the years. 

I'll go to my nephew's tomorrow and see my sister along with her kids and grandkids. I know Kristy, Hector, and their kids are a call away, and would love for me to be down in North Carolina with them.

My cousin Kris and his wife Lori -- my Renegades colleague! -- are literally always there for us.

But this is where I risk leaving people out. Kris's sister Kourtney helped us out with the very couch I'm writing to you from. Their sister Keli is someone we also try to connect with when we're in North Carolina (and we're unsuccessful every time, unfortunately). 

Kristy's sister Stephanie sent us one of the few Christmas cards we received this year. Her sister Laura will always be my first niece. They're all a call away and I know that.

The point is that it really should take a village (theoretical or otherwise) to survive in this world. Nobody should be alone. For, as Clarence the Angel inscribed to George Bailey at the end of It's a Wonderful Life, "No man is a failure who has friends."

I have employers who are also friends and I believe they'd each like more of my services. I'd like that also and I'm hopeful 2024 will be more fruitful but I'm grateful for the work I've received.

I miss both of my parents and I mourn them but I also recognize that I had them both in my life. No, I didn't have my dad long enough but I had him longer than a lot of others get to have a father.

So, while life is rarely easy, I can pause and recognize that I've been quite blessed.

John Nash -- the blogging co-conspirator -- wrote an exceptional post yesterday. One passage really grabbed me.

"I don’t love. I rarely play. I wake up and attack the day until I need a nap. Then I nap and I get through the remainder of the day until night falls and I lay down in my bed and close my eyes."

In many ways, that's me also. I try to love and play (some). But the rest? I wake up after not sleeping well (today included), perhaps grab a nap, and then go to bed.

They're full days, sure, but there's a certain level of wash, rinse, repeat. They're not all the same but, yet, there's a rhythm.

But I'm still here. I'm still grinding. I'm still standing (yeah, yeah, yeah).

Despite whatever is going on in your world, I hope you also pause to consider your blessings. They do exist. I hurt over some things -- some of them being my own doing -- but I know I need to be here for some.

And so, we prepare to turn the page on Christmas 2023.

May you find whatever brings you peace in this season.

Let's be good to each other. Let's understand each other.

Although it's been said many times.

Many ways.

Merry Christmas to you.

The Pizza Had to be Just Right

 

I mean, wow

I want to tell you a story.

About pizza.

It was Nov 1, 2014, and I was going to have some of the best pizza I've ever had in my life.

That's what I was promised.

But first, there was work to be done.

I don't do a lot well but I can broadcast some sports to a certain degree of satisfaction. I've often felt that, whenever I can, I like to give that to those who might not get such coverage. Thus, having gotten to know Susan over the previous year, she had told me about her brother, who was the coach of St. Peter's Boys High School on her native Staten Island.

At the time, we were just about a year into what was now known as HAN Radio. I thought it would be cool if we could find an open slot and go call one of her brother Mark's games.

We agreed on an end-of-the-regular-season matchup between St. Peter's (aka "Peetahs" in a Staten Island accent) and St. Joseph-by-the-Sea (aka "Sea"). In return, Susan promised us the pizza to end all pizzas.

Initially, it was a running gag. This Staten Island pizza was going to top all of my beloved pizzas?

Better than Sal's in Mamaroneck or L&B in Brooklyn or Patsy's in Harlem or the Connecticut pizzas that I constantly hear about?

Susan believed it would hold its own. Thus I trusted her and the gag ended.

But there was another gag: joking about her father. I half-joked that if I didn't bring an excellent broadcast or -- worse -- if Peetahs lost, would I be sleeping with the fishes?

I was told that Susan and Mark's dad was nothing like that. He wouldn't be intimidating me or the crew at all.

However, her mother might have something to say.

The night before the game, Chris Erway and I called Darien and Wilton football in Wilton, CT. In honor of Craig Sager, the longtime sports reporter known for his garish suits, Chris and I dressed like him for Halloween. Susan and her daughters stopped by the booth to say hello as they went around town to trick or treat.

We finished the game and I went back to the HAN Radio studio, then situated in Ridgefield. Having been stressed out a bit that day, I enjoyed the peace of a Friday night in the office editing audio for the opening and closing of Saturday's game. It would be a New York-centric broadcast featuring music and references that made Staten Island so wonderful and so misunderstood.

On Saturday, I began driving in heavy rain. I was also way ahead of schedule as I crossed the Goethals Bridge.

A short time later, I was at St. Peter's and began nosing around the locked press box. Chris Erway and John Kovach would be along later to round out our broadcast team.

Eventually, of all things, I was invited inside the Christian Brothers' 1859 house to have coffee with the priests. They were all intrigued by the stranger from the northern New York suburbs who was there to broadcast their football game.

I can't stress enough, of all the things for me to do, but I was way ahead of Chris and John. For Chris, this was also a personal trip as his in-laws, as his father-in-law was a St. Peter's alum. They were coming in from New Jersey for the game.

I was given a tour of the school and eventually connected with St. Peter's head coach Mark DeCristoforo. Soon, Mark, Chris, John, and I were sitting at a table discussing strategy and game plans. Few coaches had ever been so open and accommodating.

We set up in the booth, did a long pregame show to review football back in Connecticut, and then opened the Peetahs/Sea game broadcast.

The people in the booth seemed fascinated by us and the way Chris and I -- with John on the field -- bounced off each other.

I got to meet Susan's dad -- "The Godfather" -- when she brought him up to the booth and joined us on the air.

The broadcast was, frankly, about as good as possible. St. Peter's won 35-28 and the postgame pizza was on.

I felt great about what we had done. Even now, I feel tremendous pride when reminded of that day.

Chris and John both passed on the pizza invitation, which was to take place around the corner at Susan's aunt's house.

Nervously, I drove there, parked, and knocked on the door that, apparently, was never used.

Susan's Aunt Kathy greeted me. Within minutes I realized I wished that this wonderful woman was my aunt.

Received warmly by all, I finally met Susan's mom.

Jane.

Lovely and radiant, especially thanks to the St. Peter's victory, she made sure I was welcomed and comfortable.

Eventually, The Godfather came in with the pizza.

Finally, I would have my chance to enjoy Joe & Pat's, one of the definitive Staten Island pizza experiences.

But, despite my hunger, the pizza would not be coming my way just yet.

Jane spoke up.

Apparently buoyed by the win and the stranger who had brought radio fame to her son, she accounted that I -- this broadcaster dude -- could not have Joe & Pat's in its current state.

You see, friends, it took a few minutes to get the pizza to the house, and it wasn't the right temperature.

Immediately, the oven was opened, the pizza went in, and I was instructed to be patient.

Not long after that, it was food time. 

Jane, her sister Aunt Kathy (and Susan) wouldn't dream of me doing what I normally do, which is linger behind and let others get food. I was pushed forward to grab the heavenly slice.

Rarely -- and I mean this -- have I ever anticipated a bite so much. What could it possibly be like?

I put my faith in Susan, who knew what she was talking about.

It was phenomenal. It stands among the best I've ever had.

I pondered eating the entire pie.

I thought Chris and John were nuts for bailing.

I questioned most of the decisions I've ever made in my life.

I ate while sitting at a kitchen table with various members of Susan's family, sitting near her father as well, who I got to know as the night went along.

Everyone there asked about me, the broadcasts, and so on but, eventually, I faded into the fabric of the evening. It was like being among family and that's as special a feeling as I know.

The rest of the night featured laughter, more aunts, cousins, and uncles, and a selfie with Susan's oldest daughter, Lucy. 

I made the long drive home feeling overjoyed for the new friends I'd made and the pizza that had to be just right.

While somewhat embarrassed I was very touched that Jane cared so much about the pizza for me. Susan told me that was special treatment and like I said, I was slightly embarrassed but also honored.

I tell you this story for the sad reason that the world lost Jane DeCrisoforo on Saturday morning. A beautiful and fascinating woman, she married Chris ("The Godfather") and raised Susan, Amy, Mark, and Megan.

They're a wonderful family who are devastated.

As I've said many times, some stories aren't mine to tell. Susan wrote an eloquent obituary and I'm sure many more words will flow from her.

This is the one story I can share -- my one encounter with Jane.

Susan was a rock to me when Nancy died three years ago.

I'm here for the DeCristoforo family. So is Sean.

We raise a pint to a true Irish beauty who, like my own mother, will always remembered by me for pizza.

I'm so glad I had that one meeting with Jane (no, I didn't call her that to her face).

And that she'd welcome me back to cover St. Peter's sports.

So long as they didn't lose.

Softball Mayhem Tonight

Tonight's office: SIUH Community Park
(Photo: Staten Island FerryHawks)

 

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they called New York Harbor

 -- Gordon Lightfoot (sort of)

It's a gloomy, awful Friday morning in Connecticut and I'm preparing for a softball broadcast.

Check that. Two softball broadcasts.

The rain is supposed to clear out after a night of heavy downpours and thunderstorms.

So, we should have the aforementioned softball game(s) later as scheduled.

Ok, then what's this all about?

What it comes down to is that I like calling games. I also like calling games for those in my world.

So when Kathy Dempsey (friend of Susan but, now? A friend of MINE!) asked if I would do it, I couldn't pass it up.

I will say, both Kathy and Susan kept reminding me that I didn't have to say yes to any of this. While Kathy doesn't know me as well as Susan, we all knew that I'd do both games.

Kathy, I should mention, is playing in the first game. There will be plenty of Gordon Lightfoot songs to go around for our fair Queen of Yacht Rock.

So, no, I didn't have to do the second game, but I know Susan thought I'd do it.

Have we met?

I don't do much well. I barely broadcast well. But I can make these games special for the people playing and their families.

So, when asked why am I doing this, I'm doing it for fun and to give everyone a nice memory.

Sean is coming with me and the idea of calling these games from the home Staten Island FerryHawks is too good to pass up.

He and I are making a day of it. We're heading up in the early afternoon to go grab lunch before heading to Staten Island. It will be a long day for sure but, again, have we met?

I'll call the games as I always do. Sure, there might be more frivolity than normal to keep the affair light but that's because I want it to be fun.

Keep in mind that, long before the Greenwich and Port Chester baseball game that I called on Apr 10, 1999, I was first a softball broadcaster. Back in 1995, I became the play-by-play announcer for the league where I worked. Even after my job with Kraft Foods was transferred to Chicago, I stayed on and called games for a few more years and continued to host their banquet until the league folded.

Those Philip Morris/Kraft softball games proved to me that I could be a serviceable play-by-play announcer.

So this is going back to the beginning for me. Just in a nicer stadium than old Abendroth Field in Port Chester, where people could just walk across the outfield grass while the game was going on.

Barring any Kathy hijinks, I don't expect we'll have such issues whilst the game proceeds. Though one can't rule out a pizza rat showing up (if you know you know).

We're going with an open mind. I have no -- literally, zero -- idea of what to expect. We might be in a booth. We might be sitting down in the stands.

We might not have wifi or cell service. We're trying here.

The whole thing might bomb or it might be a blast and a beginning of a new tradition to end the summer broadcast schedule.

Isn't that the beauty of broadcasting? Look, radio and TV can be scripted. Of course, it can and it often is. But, so often, many parts of the business are completely unscripted. I don't script my radio shows. I don't script my game broadcasts. 

We've prepared as best as we can. Kathy has spoken with the stadium about us being there. We've done our due diligence. Now we leave it up to the broadcasting gods.

So it's best to go in with an open mind and enjoy the evening. The stadium is great. The view is breathtaking and, take it from me, Staten Island is a cool place. The people have always been kind to me and it reminds me more of the suburbs than of the city. Plus, I'll stack Joe & Pat's pizza against anything Connecticut has to offer. 

Yes. Anything.

Ah-nay-than-ugh (from "Anchorman").

And we get a perfect view of the Staten Island Ferry. 

So come for the softball and stay for the fun.

Incidentally, admission to the game is free. 

The broadcast is also free.

So join us. Sean will be there and he might do some color commentary. Heck, maybe he'll break out his play-by-play skills like he did in Brooklyn a few years ago for the mascot race.

I've got notes for three of the teams as I write (8:35 a.m.). 

6:30 -- Damn Dames vs. Old School (I'm still waiting for their lineup and roster!)

8:00 -- Dirt & Diamonds vs. Basic Pitches

Playoffs and fun abound.

All live at robcasting.mixlr.com.

And why not do it? I taught myself that many years ago. I have a little bit of a skill and I'm happy to contribute it wherever it brings joy to everyone (including me).

See you tonight.

*****

Since we've mentioned Susan and Staten Island, how can I not remind you to get your copy of her latest book of poetry: Broken Places?!

It's great. That's my review.

Buy it on Amazon!

At Seventeen

 

Sean and his dad, Aug 2006

Somehow, for reasons I don't understand, we're still here.

It was on this day in 2006, after prodding, encouragement, and inspiration from several friends, that I started this train wreck of a writing exercise.

My only rule was that if I started it I wanted it to last.

Well, 17 years later, here we are.

Of note on that date in 2006: 

- I owned a house.

- I was married.

- I had a pool in the backyard.

- Sean was four.

- I was sports director at WGCH, preparing for another football season.

- As I prepared to write the first post, ground was being broken on the new Yankee Stadium.

Us. July, 2006

Since then, obviously much of the above has changed and, frankly, for the better. We could do an analysis of then versus now but I'd absolutely say I'm happier and a better person now than I was then.

At that time, I had certain delusions. A certain naivete. Now, I'm more world-weary, less trusting, and dare I say even smarter. These things are frankly for the better.

Yet, overall, I'm still me.

Seventeen years and over 4,000 posts have washed by. There have been wonderful triumphs. There have also been horrible lows. I've never quite figured out the lowest point. Deep financial woes a few times, especially in late 2017/early 2018 come to mind.

The pandemic of 2020 to 2021 also impacted me much more than I've ever spoken about.

But the highs have been full of laughter and love and friendship and whittling down exactly who belongs in the circle that I want around me.

And just when I thought I was about to end this journey here, I elected to jump into writing a post per day. Save for very few exceptions where time zones have come into play (San Francisco, London) I've honorably done that very thing.

And I suppose that's an interesting thought: where I've written from. OK, maybe I haven't typed away from the Great Pyramid of Giza but I've brought you to places that were meaningful and interesting to me.

- North Carolina

- Florida (in fact, a few locations in the Sunshine State)

- Rhode Island

- San Francisco

- London

- Virginia

- Stuck in traffic in the middle of Interstate 95 in Bridgeport while I typed on my phone

- A parking lot in Norwalk, CT

and wherever else. I know there are others whose datelines I've forgotten.

I haven't loved every story I've written. Heck, I can give you examples from this week alone. But I've loved plenty of others.

Heck, I can give you examples from this week alone!

I actually really enjoyed researching and presenting Arctic Outpost Radio to you last night. Sometimes, the writing is a joy even if the reaction isn't.

But, mostly, I find it all to be cathartic. Discussing the divorce and the heartache and the battles and the insanity of life and my own bouts of being down and the fun with friends, family, and especially Sean.

Even introducing The Cat and telling stories about him. Almost three years into his living with us and I truly realize that we needed him mostly for the company but also for the diversion he provided after Mom died.

I've learned to not live in the past but certainly honor it, understanding everything that I've seen and heard. A lot of things have damaged me for sure but I like to think I'm a survivor.

I'm not where I thought I would be in a lot of ways. I just have to accept that and keep striving.

As a writer, I've continued to be a reporter, in that every detail of life doesn't need to be shared. I share enough. I can't explain my philosophy much better than that. I constantly worry about oversharing.

You didn't need a post about every baseball game or practice of Sean's. There's a line.

So you don't know a lot of stuff through these posts.

But, no matter what, it's always honest.

And to each person that has read, I say thanks. To Susan, Shawn, Harold, and Jon, who I know have read basically everything, profound thanks. To others I've missed, please note there's a reason I tend to not name names and I apologize if I missed you!

With that, we start the 18th year here. I'm not planning to shut down the blog anytime soon.

If anything, I ponder how to keep growing. I've often contemplated changing the website, which is why I share the posts on WordPress.

Of course, I'll keep grinding. No dream necessarily dies. It all just has healthy doses of reality.

Real. 

That's me.

We keep moving forward.

Aug 17, 2023

Books, a Beaver, and Pedro

 

Muppet (the cat) and Hector (the human, I think)

I used to be a fierce book owner. 

Then they became overwhelming and, as a result, I've switched over to books on Kindle.

They were overwhelming to move especially.

But, sometimes, I need the printed copy and I bought two today.

Let's start with today being about being a tourist.

The first stop was with a beaver.

We went to Buc-ee's in Florence, SC. 

I've mentioned it before but it is worth repeating. It's a gas station/convenience store on steroids. It's got food and ultra-clean restrooms and candy and beverages and gifts and t-shirts and sweatshirts and camping goods and it's just wow.

Along with 120 gas pumps and whatever else.

I'm sure there are those who pull, get gas, maybe use the restroom, and leave. Yet, I'd imagine most take 20 minutes or more to peruse the store.

We were there today. Hector, Evelyn, Eleanor, and Isabel dashed in, nosed around, grabbed food, and went back to the car.

Sean and I walked the whole place and made a few purchases. For one thing, you'll spy each of us in a new Buc-ee's t-shirt.

But the food. Oh, the food. I've seen people review it with mixed results. I'm here to say the brisket I had was outstanding. It hit the spot and I'm sorry that is literally the closest I come to a Buc-ee's in my travels.

Sean also said the pulled pork was amazing.

But our day wasn't done and this had nothing to do with books.

Next, of course, was Pedro. For it was time for South of the Border.

Our favorite tourist trap continues to evolve with buildings having been torn down in spots but plenty of customers still strolling around the grounds. 

We hit our favorite spot -- Mexico Shop West -- and walked all of the aisles, with me succumbing to the allure of a new S.O.B. mug. It won't replace my current S.O.B. mug but will simply be an addition. It is adorned with classic billboards from the glory days of South of the Border advertising.

And that, finally, leads me to the first book purchase.

It will come as no surprise that I belong to a South of the Border group on Facebook. It was through the group that I discovered a fellow member had written a book. PJ Capelotti's effort -- Your Sheep Are All Counted, A Roadside Archaeology of South of the Border Billboards -- is a deep dive into those glory days.

The book came out in Apr 2022 and I was there last August. So why didn't I get one?

Because I'm a fool. S.O.B.'s motor lodge had an ad for it (and we stayed there). The Mexico Shop West had copies.

And I just completely walked away without looking at it. I forgot and, frankly, I fumbled the ball.

Before you ask, it is no longer available on Amazon or, literally, anywhere else. Even the publisher lists it as out of stock. At this point, it appears it can only be purchased at South of the Border. 

So I was out of luck until I came back to South of the Border today.

"I think you should buy it," Sean said. 

He was right. I'm 10 pages in and I'm fully engaged. I'm fascinated.

South of the Border continues to evolve. Some of it for the better and so on. We were able to go up in the sombrero tower and enjoy the view. The Hot Tamale restaurant, once a staple for us, has been redone as Burrito Loco Mexican Street Food. My review is that it's good but what made Hot Tamale better to us was that it was a quick and simple grill of burgers and chili dogs and other goodies. There was more variety and it felt like a restaurant at South of the Border.

Also, it was open 24 hours at one time.

This was fine. We each tried a taco.

But it was time to return to the house.

We had our S.O.B. fun and that's when the next book purchase came to be.

Earlier in the day, Susan told me she had her new volume of poems in the final stages of being published on Barnes and Noble's website. I got to see a preview but it wasn't available to be purchased in a physical form yet.

Then, right around 2 p.m. today, it was ready to go on Amazon. 

I was on Interstate 95 North when I found out and, seconds later, I had it ordered. I'll receive my copy in a few days in Connecticut.

I can't wait. Just as with Skipping Rocks (her most recent book), it's a collection of poems that she wrote. Then, she selected the ones that she thought were best for the circumstances. It was a process to her that was deeply personal and the result was phenomenal. 

As with Skipping Rocks, I fully support and endorse Broken Places (buy it here).

It will be an emotional journey.

A Successful Failure

 

Before we get to anything else today, happy birthday to Susan, the leader of the very small Rob Fan Club. I don't even think my own son is in that so Susan is probably the lone member. OK, she and Shawn Sailer.

She hates overwrought birthday messages so I simply call her "the GOAT." That will have to suffice. Plus, like me, she has a difficult (at best) relationship with her birthday. 

But I can't ignore it. Nor will I.

So happy birthday you Crazy Lady. 

*****

Among Susan's various gifts (or curses) is dealing with me. As she is a master chef and honestly could have a business making any one of a number of food items, she's my go-to for questions and concerns.

She heard from me today as this morning, I decided to be like Donkey, the character voiced by Eddie Murphy in the Shrek movies.

I was makin' waffles.

(Emma Kumer, Redbubble)

Oh, I've had a waffle iron for years. It was a gift from a bygone time.

I haven't used it in years and decided it would be fun to try again. We bought a waffle mix a few weeks ago and had the necessary accoutrements.

So I whisked the mix with oil and water as instructed however, I lessened the recipe a hair because it would just be Sean and me eating this morning.

Well, that didn't quite work. OK, a couple of smallish waffles were produced and I elected to start over, following the recipe on the box.

The consistency was different from the first batch but I soldiered on. I loaded the batter onto the already-hot waffle maker and stepped away.

I stayed patient. Waiting for any signal from the waffle maker itself would be too long and likely burn the finished product.

I opened the lid and the waffle promptly split in two.

Worse, I couldn't extricate it from the iron. I scraped and worked and, if you haven't figured it out, there would be no waffles today.

The waffle maker sits on the kitchen table where I'll continue to try to clean it. Otherwise, well, it might be done.

Remaining calm and not letting the frustration boil over, I reached for a griddle and lit the stove. I had a mix and there would be a plan b.

That's right: waffle pancakes. Wafflecakes.

I poured the batter onto the griddle and, of course, smoke rose to the ceiling. Nothing dangerous and the apartment was fully ventilated but, as you may expect, the smoke detector begin to sound out.

Again, I stayed calm, silencing that and airing the kitchen out.

The wafflecakes weren't burnt, for what it's worth.

When the smoke cleared (ha!), Sean and I scarfed our wafflecakes down. I thought they were fine. Nothing spectacular. 

I told him to have low expectations and was sort of prepared to hear how bad they were. I respect that honesty.

Alas, he said they weren't bad at all.

As I worked my way through this fiasco I was reminded of what Apollo 13 was. Oh, I'm not comparing a mission to the moon with the cooking of crappy waffles. I'm just saying Apollo 13 was deemed a "successful failure."

I used the same term -- in jest -- about this morning.

Yet, I'm sure you can figure out the conclusion that we both had.

Just go to Waffle House next time.

Great Artist. Bad Record.

 

There are so many days and nights when I just hit a wall. No topics jump out.

Often, I get an assist from my writing muse. Susan rides in on her white keyboard with suggestions.

She texted me a Rolling Stone story the other night that I certainly found interesting. When I was talking with her the next day about this little ol' slice of internet hell, she suggested I write about the very story that she texted me.

She helped me talk it out a bit. It was a great idea.

And so, here we are.

The topic of the Rolling Stone story was to rank 50 Genuinely Horrible Albums by Brilliant Artists. As with everything R.S. does, it's utterly and completely flawed but still interesting. The text, written by Andy Greene, includes this passage:

There’s also no U2 record because we like them all, even Songs of Experience and October. Those are fighting words to some, and we’re sure many readers will have problems with this list. True suckiness — like true greatness — is a subjective quality.

Good lord. Considering it said "brilliant artists" and includes Kiss also adds to have just flawed the thinking is, but we can digress.

(Incidentally, the story did rank 50 albums, and number one was Ye by Kanye West.)

Since this is all subjective and it's my list, I'm going to just throw what are not great albums by artists I genuinely enjoy. And, yeah, U2 will likely show up in this. There's no great methodology here, and I don't intend to spend hours on this.

Well, let's just start with The Beatles. Now, if you know me, you know that on Babe Ruth's green earth there is no way I will tell you that there are any bad records of theirs. However, Beatles for Sale isn't my favorite. I will say that Let it Be has grown on me, thanks to the 2021 Get Back documentary. Magical Mystery Tour is a bit unfocused but has brilliance on it. Thus the answer has to be Yellow Submarine only because six Beatles songs followed by a collection of George Martin instrumentals.

Obviously, it's not dreck but I tried to find flaws.

Billy Joel, while revered, is a little easier. I never liked The Bridge but that can't be my answer. Hell, he barely cared about The Bridge and, well, it shows. Still, it does have "A Matter of Trust" and that counts for something.

But River of Dreams is just awful. Of course, it's awful by Billy Joel standards but when compared to, say, The Stranger in his canon, you realize it is terrible. I remember cranking the CD open right after it came out in 1993 and seeing that Color Me Badd sang backup on a song and realizing this was not good.

I mean, look, it still has some decent songs but, well, no.

Paul McCartney is easy to narrow down. Just go to the 80s. Critics and fans have come to recognize his 70s output (solo and with Wings) was much better than we ever gave credit for, mostly because it was being compared to that band he used to be in. By the 80s, things are much more unfocused as Paul clearly missed John Lennon following his death. Then he did the absolute train wreck that was "Ebony and Ivory" with Stevie Wonder and do we need to get into the Michael Jackson duets?

Sir Paul needed the end of the decade and Elvis Costello to discover his mojo (and his Hofner violin bass) again on Flowers in the Dirt. But while many mock his 1984 soundtrack to Give My Regards to Broad Street (he remade Beatles songs for the love of Lennon), Press to Play is not good. Classic rock artists didn't have the easiest time around 1986 and Macca was no exception. While I personally like "Spies Like Us" (from the same era but not on this album), his music at this time was dripping in gooey 80s production values.

No. 

I wanted to pick a truly awful Beach Boys album but I truly felt there was only one way to do this correctly.

Take virtually every non-Brian Wilson album. Bingo. You have an answer. Also, anything with "Kokomo." No, I'm not kidding. The Beach Boys played the Greenwich Town Party a few years ago and while it was a pleasure to take a few minutes to watch them, Sean and I were thankfully gone before they sullied things by playing "Kokomo."

How does one suggest a bad Elton John album? Well, let's see, we could go to his late-70s selections or anything after "I Guess That's Why They Call it The Blues." Leather Jackets, his 1986 album (again, classic rock and 1986) has got to be the right answer. It's truly amazing that Elton John and Bernie Taupin can come up with anything this bad.

Genesis. Oh, Genesis. Of course, they're a band who have a simple dividing line: the Peter Gabriel years and the non-Peter Gabriel years. Snobs like me see where the Gabriel stuff is great and non (read: Phil Collins) isn't. 

But that's not true. Duke is great and Abacab is very good and the Perfection pieces self-titled album is also terrific. Invisible Touch is fine and then there is We Can't Dance.

Glub.

Look, the Collins and Genesis-less Congo is insufferable but given Collins, Tony Banks, and Mike Rutherford are on We Can't Dance, well, that wins. The problem with that album is that we're into the cutesie-I-Make-Movies Phil Collins years. He's lost that loving charm by that time and, while there are a few OK songs on it, we've reached the border of the Phil Collins Disney years.

Make it stop.

Now how do I address Huey Lewis and the News? I mean, their early work was blah blah blah.

No, I revere their early work. I don't care it was a little too "new wave." The first four albums (self-titled, Picture This, Sports, and Fore) are sacred to me. Small World changed the game and Hard at Play was an attempt to remain pop-driven. 

But Soulsville is the album that I haven't listened to enough. Is it a bad album? No, not at all. In fact, I saw them touring in support of that album and the collection of soul covers on the album are solid. But, keep in mind, this was their second album of covers following the wonderful Four Chords and Several Years Ago.

Let's finish with U2 since Rolling Stone could never see any wrong with the four Irish boys.

They'd be definitively wrong.

Pop is a strange album but one in which they tried to embrace the electronica of the era. But they came back from that. Beginning with No Line on the Horizon, the game was over.

But Songs of Innocence was the end. Look, this was the album that the band and Apple forced on all of us. As I'm one to like free music, I was into the idea. But then I listened to it.

Sadly, whatever good I have to about U2 was over and done with.

So, no, Rolling Stone, I don't like them all.

What about you? What are the albums in the acts that you love that just aren't up to the standards you want? What Taylor Swift miscue makes you cringe? 

I'll leave any analysis of The Monkees to my writing muse.

Susan, it's all yours.

Thursday Thoughts

 

Time is winding down and so is my energy tonight.

- I'm so proud of our dear Susan. I mean, I am for a lot of reasons including her dignity and humor in the face of life, but tonight I think it's because of a story about an artist she truly admires. She got an interview with Emily Sailers of the Indigo Girls and it went really well. 

The story, of course, is great and has also done really well. The social media team for the duo of Sailers and Amy Ray seem to get it because they shared Susan's completed story on their Facebook page. As I write, the story is approaching 1,000 likes and receiving praise from fans of the band.

I know what this means to Susan. Look, it's not about attention for her but it can be about respect. Someone she admires gave the story well-deserved extra attention. 

She and I have compared notes many times on these kinds of interviews. She has done a remarkable job with all of them, including the one or two that didn't quite go as planned. I'll withhold names since that's Susan's story to tell.

Anyway, I can always babble about her. She rocks and her work is getting nice attention tonight. I'm happy about that.

- It was back to hockey for me today. Oh, that first call after months away can often be raw. I knew today would have an emotional touch given the official dedication of the Balkind Balcony.

It was a poignant way to open the season and I'm moved to be broadcasting from up there.

Sports, of course, always get the last say. The scriptwriters weren't with Brunswick today, as the Bruins fell to Loomis Chafee 3-2. Brunswick's senior goalie, Brendan Holohan, basically stood on his head at times. His mates just couldn't answer offensively.

I'm thinking I'll see the Bruins on the ice again next Wednesday though we haven't set the full broadcast schedule yet.

The first game back often feels like a reunion. I hadn't called Brunswick in a couple of weeks and hadn't been in the Sampson Athletic Center since probably last March. Besides the plaque honoring Teddy Balkind, the rink has new lights and two new scoreboards along with some other cosmetic changes that I noticed.

The place looked great.

It was nice to see those I haven't seen in months. It was also nice to get back to calling hockey. Yes, I had rust and I feel like I'm stumbling at times but hopefully, viewers found it all smooth.

I'll be back there to call basketball on Saturday.

- Baseball Hall of Famer Gaylord Perry died today. He was a noted character who had a jersey with the multiple teams that he played for on it. I remember him first with the Giants and then with the Indians but he also had a brief stay with the Yankees.

While he was a seemingly enjoyable soul, whenever I think of him, I immediately think of Bobby Ray Murcer. Oh, did they have a rivalry at one point in the 70s! For more, I'll point you to this biography of Murcer on SABR, written by Clifford Blau (no, not by me). The key passage is this:

Murcer had a running feud with Gaylord Perry, the AL Cy Young Award winner in 1972. Perry had held Murcer to 2 hits in 20 at bats that year, mainly (Bobby thought) by throwing a greaseball. Murcer had some fun with Gaylord; he once caught a fly for the last out of an inning and spit on the ball before tossing it to Perry. Another time he sent Perry a gallon of lard. Perry retaliated by having a mutual acquaintance cover his hand with grease before shaking hands with Murcer and saying “Gaylord says hello.” Despite having better success with Perry in 1973 (nine hits in twenty-four at bats), Murcer’s complaints about the greaseball got him into trouble in late June when he commented that neither AL President Joe Cronin nor Commissioner Bowie Kuhn had the guts to stop Perry from throwing the pitch. Kuhn then proved Murcer correct by fining Bobby for telling the truth while doing nothing to stop Perry from throwing his illegal pitch.

Yeah. So forgive me if I scowl when someone mentions Perry and, of course, Bowie Kuhn. For further reading, Bobby's book Yankee For Life has more details of the feud between the two ballplayers.

I wish Gaylord Perry no ill will and may certainly rest in peace (or pitching). He was, though, a notorious cheater that we all turned a blind eye to -- a point that I've noted many times over the years yet he's in Cooperstown. I'm fine with that but it does sort of muddy the water a bit (Barry Bonds? Roger Clemens? Anyone?).

Either way, whether funny or not, he did my guy Bobby Ray dirty.

- The other night, after Chris Erway and I wrapped up the Greenwich/Hamden broadcast, I saw the above tweet from John Scarlata. John was an outstanding, dominant Greenwich player and, as an alum, he's now tuning in to stay up on the Cardinals.

As with what I wrote about Susan above, you can't put on price on this kind of thing. It means we've had an impact. Over 20 years of Greenwich students have been covered by me and my fellow broadcasters. We often wonder who is listening and watching and reading. The important thing is that the game is getting covered and, for fans, they have "voices" they can trust. They're used to my cadence. They're used to the byplay between the boys in the booth.

We're the comfy pillow for them, like their varsity jacket, after they leave GHS. So to know that John and other alums and other listeners not only count -- nay, expect -- to hear us but are pleased to do so really means a lot.

And they'll hear us all again on Sunday.

A Poetic Gift

 

I went down to the mailbox right before I was due to go on the radio today.

A small box awaited. It sat there comfortably, not stuffed in.

I quickly returned upstairs with a bounce in my step.

A new book was in that box.

"Skipping Rocks: A lifetime of lines and verse" is the work of our dear friend Susan. She selected poems that she has crafted over most of her life.

I don't know how she did it considering she has multiple notebooks dating back to the 1980s on a variety of topics.

This project was something she had told me about a few times. So I was thrilled when she texted me not long ago to say she completed it.

As soon as I had the Amazon link I knew I had to have a copy.

Susan has shared some of her poems with me; her talent is unmistakable. Poetry is an art and, let's face it, most of us love poetry even if we don't know it.

Do you love music that includes lyrics? Do I need to point out that's, essentially, poetry? Now, granted, some songwriting is more poetic than others, but I think you get my point.

I've often said that Vin Scully's play-by-play was poetic.

So, yeah, poetry can be found in multiple ways.

I know Susan has a deep love of Emily Dickenson as well as a love of rhyme. 

And so this book was relevant and perfect for this time.

(I'll leave the poetry -- and rhyming -- to Susan)

While the book is 62 pages, I've been taking it in slowly to savor the words. 

I will assure you that you'll deal with a variety of emotions.

Each poem is a work of depth and the meanings can sometimes take a moment to register (at least for me). I'm fortunate to be close to the author if I have questions.

So far, "Service Roads" and "A Distant Highway" have especially stood out to me. Sure, in part because of the topic in the titles (hi, I'm a fan of roads) but additionally because Susan's work also contains surprises that pay off. It reminds me of her brilliant novella, "The Blacksmith" and the surprises contained therein. We still laugh about it.

I'm so proud of her for doing this. I told her it was a gift and I'm overjoyed to have a copy, just as I'm thrilled at the reaction it has received. I know what this meant to her. I know why she did it. I know the timing involved also.

It's so important to her and I'm excited to support it.

Additionally, the cover art is by her also, if you're not already bowled over by her breadth of talent (journalist, editor, poet, chef, artist, mother, Billy Joel savant, and so on). 

The book is available in paperback and Kindle form and, while I have come to really like Kindle, certain works deserve the physical copy.

Even when Sean is cursing me out for having so many books when we have to move.

Rhyme away, Susan. Keep the poems flowing.

Maybe it will lead to a second book.

My collection will be growing.

(Sorry. Again, you're the poet. I'll volunteer to read the audiobook if you ever want to do that.)

"Skipping Rocks: A lifetime of lines and verse" is available on Amazon and will also be available at Barrett Bookstore in Darien, CT. 

Storm Front

 

This post can be summed up simply: I like making people happy.

That's it. That's the post.

Oh, I can go all-in about the Greenwich Town Party experience.

I was there just after 8 a.m. and had WGCH's tent set up for the most part.

Despite the humidity, it felt like a good day.

I can tell you about walking -- WALKING -- to the concert site from home and how I walked back to meet Sean.

How we grabbed breakfast sandwiches and strolled back to the GTP.

How we weren't on the air when I wanted to be and how an audio guy made a snide comment to me. (Side note: he was wrong and took it out on me. Whatever.)

How we still didn't miss anything.

How we made the family of the first performer happy because we were on the air and his grandmother listened.

How that same performer came over later and was interviewed by me.

How there was a two-hour rain delay and, because I didn't feel right abandoning things, stayed with the equipment and went on the air occasionally to provide updates.

How incredible Robert Randolph is. Ditto for Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Extra ditto for Preservation Hall Jazz Band with Robert Randolph.

How the broadcast was basically flawless and how, once again, Sean was a great co-host.

But tonight was also Billy Joel at the Greenwich Town Party. I basically revere Billy Joel.

So does Susan, and Sean wanted to be there. And Susan's daughters -- especially her oldest, Lucy -- love Billy Joel.

And Paul Silverfarb and Jeff Alterman got passes. And Chris Erway hung out on nearby Grass Island to hear the concert.

But with a small request, I got Susan, Lucy, and Susan's youngest, Annabelle, into the concert.

And Sean was there to work with me.

So watching all of them happy was everything to me. Honestly, I didn't need to be there. I don't know that I care enough to go see Billy in his residency at Madison Square Garden. As I've said, my concert-going days appear to be pretty much over.

But this was different. Four loved ones were able to see an artist they love -- three for the first time. I saw smiles and hips shaking and people singing.

They all got to experience the joy of "Piano Man" which I can only compare to the McCartney sing-along on "Hey Jude."

I watched Susan hug each of her daughters. I could tell what it meant.

"Tell Rob thanks," Susan told Anabelle. Annabelle followed with the "thank you" of a typical kid whose mother just told her to say "thanks."

She owed me no thanks whatsoever. I could tell she had a ball. That's what matters.

I stood behind them and smiled most of the night. That's just it. As I danced what I'm sure was a "dad boogie" and nodded my head, I felt such total joy.

I don't care about what songs he did or didn't play. I felt emotion during "Vienna" (based on a conversation he had with his father) and smiled at "Movin' Out" since those were the two songs I played as I came home to Greenwich for the first time on Wednesday.

Greenwich. My home. The home I walked to from a Billy Joel concert.

Tonight wasn't about the music. It was about the joy of these people.

Tonight was honestly one of my favorite concert experiences ever. Yes, ever.

And that's enough for me.

Christmas Eve

 

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON.
115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET. (letter to the New York Sun, printed Sept 21, 1897)

*****

Christmas Eve has evolved over the years for me.

I suppose the holidays have also.

As I wrote recently, a favorite Christmas Eve is one my mother would have preferred to have forgotten. She was in rehab, recovering from open-heart surgery. Yet those of us who gathered around her felt a certain relaxation and, dare I say, joy.

I'm not sure I've felt that in the years since.

Still, life is what you make of it.

With nowhere to go, Sean and I continued our recent tradition of watching movies and eating dinner. Our prior movie selections have been "Avengers: Infinity War," "Caddyshack," "Psycho," and "Fargo."

This year we opted for a double feature of music biopics: "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Rocketman." Though I've seen both of them, Sean had expressed an interest in seeing them. I made sure I wasn't "that person" and kept most of my knowledge to myself, both historically and in terms of the movies.

As for the food, we had an elf that likes to feed us hand me a bag of steaks, shrimp, garlic bread with cheese, and other delights. There also might have been a few rice balls that this elf is known for.

Oh, and I added a cheesecake from Junior's in Brooklyn. So, yeah, we were sufficiently fed.

The movies were great, each in its own way. I'd probably lean more towards "Bohemian Rhapsody" but that's only if I have to give you an answer. Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury is just one of a collection of remarkable performances in that film. The Live Aid segment to close the movie is off the charts and is a time capsule for me, even if I didn't see it live.

While it isn't ideal for either of us, we both seemed fairly content with the evening. It's still not the same, sitting just a few feet from Mom's chair. My parents literally lived and died in this room. That's not an attempt to be maudlin. It's simply a fact.

I think we'd both like to be a little more settled in 2022. It's been a long path to what's next and we're both anxious to get there.

To be blunt, I want to be in a different place physically, emotionally, and spiritually in 2022. It's time. 

I'd like to believe I'll recapture a little bit of holiday magic though I haven't seen it in several years and I don't know if I ever will.

But, let's not be a downer. We made the best of the night and my heart is full.

Sean heads back to his mother tomorrow and my Christmas plans are, well, up in the air based on COVID. My family keeps getting hit and I'll figure it out in the morning. Still, it's OK. There will be football to watch and I've been staying busy around the house.

*****

While we live in a dour world of people who want to break down "It's a Wonderful Life" into being sexist and whatever other nonsense they sling at it, I believe in thinking that it's a movie from 1946. To further analyze it is to say that George Bailey was a good and decent man who was also flawed. His beloved wife Mary adored him and was the rock of everything, saving everything.

Why not just enjoy the movie?

Just as we did tonight, watching the stories of two flawed legends. No further analysis was needed.

*****

So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, just as the New York Sun editorial (written by Francis Pharcellus Church) said in 1897. He or she is what you make of it.

Just like life.

And Christmas Eve.

And I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight, "You can tell everybody this is your song!"

And to all, a good night.

Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & DeCristoforo Ltd.

 

Susan, as promised, wrote about Mike Nesmith today. It was brilliant and beautiful. It hit all the emotions.

It's tough to bleed like that. I'm quite familiar with it.

I admire the writers and other creators who can just throw something to the world and go, "Meh. That's gone. Don't care."

I care. Susan cares.

You feel exposed when you do this. You're naked. It's a raw nerve. That's not true of everything we create but it is for certain things.

Like discussing the feelings of losing someone and something that has been with you your whole life. 

I've watched her put literally everything into something numerous times. She's written exhaustingly about various topics for different publications, most of all for her beloved Darien Times.

Susan often knocks her musical taste but, in reality, being an aficionado of Mike Nesmith is one of the coolest things about her. She often says my taste is more diverse and deep and so on. Yes, I dig jazz and a lot of other stuff but I'm also nuts.

This is actually a deeper topic and better for another post at another time but, in truth, for all of her pop sensibilities, she was loving The Monkees when it wasn't cool to love The Monkees.

And, specifically, to appreciate Mike Nesmith? He wasn't the charming Micky Dolenz or the "cute" Davy Jones or the happy hippy Peter Tork.

He was distant and difficult and perfectionistic and...cool. Way cool.

He made country rock when the world wasn't quite ready for it. Then along came the Eagles and Poco and the Flying Burrito Brothers and...

While I was honing my ears for The Beatles off my sister's records, Susan was spinning around in the basement of her Staten Island home with Mike, Micky, Davy, and Peter.

There's something cool about doing something that isn't cool. It makes you unique.

Nesmith is only now being viewed as the visionary he way. But, as I told you on Friday, it's Susan's story to tell and I know she obsessed over crafting it.

She can write fast -- trust me -- but something like this has to be sculpted. She finds her analogies along with her paintbrushes and hammer and chisel. From there, the artist goes to work.

No, you're wrong, Susan. Your tastes are cooler than you've ever known and your post today was a master class on honoring your heroes.

You'd be well-served to read the piece.

You'll learn a lot. Not about his mom inventing Liquid Paper or the "easy topics." This is more personal and, well, wonderful.

"My gift in memory of Michael Nesmith is to commit to exploring as much of his music as I can," Susan writes. "I’ve not done nearly enough. I hope he can forgive me for being late."

Nez would forgive, Suze. He'd be honored.

So will you.

The plaza

 

This is the view from behind the press box at Dutchess Stadium.

Once upon a time, a group of us would stand there and just take the scene in.

Sean Ford, Freddie Coleman, others...and me.

I loved it. We'd stand up there and laugh and talk and generally decompress before the game.

I'm the lone dog now who will just glance down and watch people as they come in. It's a brief moment of zen before getting back to the task at hand.

But, to be sure, people are coming in. 

People will come and they're going to keep coming.

Tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday.

Then comes a break.

*****

It was quite a ballgame at Dutchess Stadium as the Gades rallied on Friday night to win 11-9. Fun times at the ballpark. Nearly 4,000 packed the place.

*****

Happy birthday to Susan. The best fan and friend.