Mauser, we hardly knew ye

A couple of months ago K and I were enjoying some quiet time, sitting on our front porch after she got home from work about nine-thirty. It was a nice, summer evening, still a little warm after reaching the mid-nineties earlier in the day, but the oppressive humidity had receded. As we sat and talked about the events of the day, we noticed boxes being carried from the house next door to a waiting car; a peculiar activity at this time of evening, we thought. After a while K pointed out a detail that I had missed - it was the woman of the house that was carrying all the boxes. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. My immediate conclusion, which proved to be incorrect, was that another love song had hit a sour note.

K was up later that night and, looking out the window, noticed the male occupant of the house now carrying boxes out. Also, the open blinds of the house revealed it to be almost empty of furniture at this point. There goes the neighborhood - or at least the neighbors.

Two days later I was preparing to do some yard work and noticed an unfamiliar vehicle in the driveway next door and a "For Rent" sign in the front yard. While K and I own our home, a number of houses in our subdivision are rental properties. As we live in a small college town, most of the rentals here are occupied by students, but a few are inhabited by families, mostly young couples just starting their lives together.

The driver of the car and, as it turns out, owner of the house noticed me and waved; I returned the gesture. She walked over and introduced herself. We chatted for a few moments and I shared what K and I had witnessed two nights previous. Trying not to be nosy, I asked if what we observed had been our former neighbors skipping out on their rent. The woman replied yes, but she had already found their new address, adding that one wouldn't believe how quick and easy it is to track down someone in such a situation (let that be a lesson to anyone reading this who is thinking of attempting this kind of stunt).

Shortly after this exchange a cat appeared on our doorstep. He was not a stranger; we had encountered him quite often, shooing him away so as to not invite any quarrels with Spooker, our very territorial mixed breed (part Siamese, part Charles Manson) who has a tendency to show uninvited critters who encroach on his turf just what a badass he is. We had assumed this cat belonged to our former neighbors, because he always seemed to be coming from and returning to their house, although we had never seen him actually entering or leaving the house itself. And now here he was, seemingly abandoned and obviously very hungry.

If you've ever fed a stray cat, you know what happens. The cat takes up residence at your home and now believes it lives there, that you are its human. We knew the consequences, but we did it anyway. We started feeding him, knowing full well that we may wind up with a third cat.

The cat itself was not an issue. It was an affectionate and docile animal, with a very thick coat, incredibly fluffy tail and huge, soulful eyes. It looked like nothing so much as one of the humorous cartoon cats drawn by the late B. Kliban during the 70s.


Artist's rendering - not actual Mauser cat

No, the problem would be introducing this new cat into our already established family. Spooker was the senior feline, with K acquiring him before we were married twelve years ago. We brought Jay Jay, our tortoise shell calico, home shortly after we were married in 1996. How would they react to another cat, an interloper poised to threaten their routines, vie for their humans' attention and, worst of all, eat their food?

We needed to give this new addition a name. K asked him if he had one, and he replied with a "Meow." Hmm, "Meowser" was a little unwieldy to pronounce, so how about "Mauser?" Okay, he had a name, now on to the task of trying to socialize him and get all the felines to play nice.

Spooker, when encountering Mauser outside, seemed relatively indifferent to the intruder. He would occasionally hiss at him in passing, but for the most part kept his distance and gave him wide berth. Perhaps it was age, perhaps physical limitations (Spooker's numerous fights over the years have left him with weakened back legs, a condition which breaks my heart to observe - this cat could jump like a kangaroo just a couple of years ago) or maybe he has just mellowed with the passage of time (if he could read he would undoubtedly bite me on the ass for that comment) but he showed no real aggression toward Mauser. Jay Jay, on the other hand, was another story. She would stare at Mauser through the glass of the living room and kitchen doors, teetering on the verge of a psychotic episode. A few times Mauser would get into the house when a door was opened and this would result in a full-blown freakout on the part of the little calico.

We never got the chance to see what would happen if Mauser was fully introduced into our family dynamic. Mauser had been provided with bowls for food and water on our front porch; one afternoon he was enjoying a bite to eat when one of our former neighbors, the female half of the couple, pulled into the driveway next door. Seeing Mauser, she called to him and he ran off the porch and into her waiting vehicle. K watched the entire episode from the porch, making eye contact with the woman, who didn't bother to thank her or in any way acknowledge that we had been taking care of a cat the she and her husband had left behind a month prior.

The onset of cold weather, moving from summer into winter with almost no hint of fall, has left me wondering what has become of Mauser. I hope he has a warm home with plenty of food and lots of love. I hope his humans realize what a sweet cat he is and don't abandon him again.

And people wonder why I like animals more than most humans I know.

In case you didn't get the memo

or weren't tipped off by the turkey baster method of conception, Clay Aiken has come out of the closet and admitted he's gay.

In other breaking news, Captain Louis Renault is shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on at Rick's Cafe Americain in Casablanca.

The Great Gig in the Sky

Not counting my miserable attempts at learning to play piano and cornet, my real musical education began during my junior year of high school. Until then I had been content with pretty much whatever was on the radio. My junior year, however, brought about a new group of acquaintances due to a county-wide consolidation which reduced the number of high schools from five to three (this new environment also allowed me to complete the classic 70s trifecta which included sex and drugs, but that's another post for another time). My new pool of classmates weaned me away from AM radio and introduced me to such heavy metal stalwarts as Blue Oyster Cult, Black Sabbath and a newly discovered band from Australia known as AC/DC.

I was quite the young headbanger upon graduating from high school and moving away from home to begin a technical program in radio and television broadcasting at one of my home state's fine community colleges. It was there that I met Sherman, who became not only a classmate but a housemate as well.

Under most circumstances, I would probably have regarded Sherman as the village idiot and treated him accordingly. However, he had two qualities which I considered to be extremely attractive at the time. First, he was always - always - up for a good partying session. If we had something that would alter our state of consciousness, Sherman would partake regardless of the time of day and the responsibilities, academic or otherwise, facing us (this would probably explain him partying his way out of school within six months). Second, he had an amazing record collection which he had acquired from his older sister, a la Patrick Fugit's character in Almost Famous. Among the vinyl in Sherman's collection was Pink Floyd's magnum opus Dark Side of the Moon.

I know it's considered a cliche about stoners listening to Dark Side of the Moon but it's true - musically speaking, it's a revelatory experience if you're completely sober upon your initial listening, but stoned - well, you have to experience it firsthand in order to understand why this album is sacred to those who enjoy altered states of consciousness. And don't get me started on headphones - that is an entire topic unto itself.

Confession - yes, I was stoned when I lost my Dark Side of the Moon virginity. I sat there awestruck, as if hearing not just music, but anything for the first time. It was as if there was nothing to hear before I became immersed in this incredible black disc on Sherman's turntable; I had fallen into this twelve inch black vinyl hole and didn't want to come out. Instead, I wanted to venture further into the black hole and experience more.

And there was more. Sherman also had Pink Floyd's previous album Meddle and their follow-up to Dark Side, Wish You Were Here. The latter, with its theme of loss and alienation, remains to this day my favorite album, and the title track my favorite song. It was about this time that The Wall was released and, by now being an avid Pink Floyd fan, I purchased it as soon as I could get my hands on a copy.


It's always hard when someone who has contributed something memorable to your life is no longer a part of it, even if you've never met that person. People often react to the passing of a favorite actor, musician, or member of a beloved sports team as they might a close relative. I remember seeing the shock on my mother's face one afternoon in 1977 when she received a call from one of her sisters informing her that Elvis Presley had finally left the building. Grown men who were raised on a steady baseball diet of the New York Yankees openly wept when the great Joe DiMaggio passed away. I personally went into a mild case of shock when I heard John Lennon had been murdered, and was numb for days after hearing of Hunter S. Thompson's suicide. Now comes news of the passing of Richard Wright, a founding member of Pink Floyd.

Richard Wright died last week of cancer at the age of 65 - too young to succumb to anything, much less the evil incurable disease that has no respect for anyone regardless of their station in life. I hadn't heard anything about him being ill until K sent me a text message at work to let me know that he had died. The resultant shock came not from his death, but that it came out of left field with no advance notice.

I shouldn't have been surprised - not because of his death, but because his illness hadn't been in the news. Wright was an integral component of Pink Floyd's unique sound, but he was also very low key, leaving the spotlight to the band's two creative forces, bassist Roger Waters and guitarist David Gilmour. His contributions, however, cannot be overstated. It's impossible to imagine Dark Side of the Moon's "Us and Them," "Any Colour You Like" and "The Great Gig in the Sky" without Wright's piano and synthesizer work; the whole of Wish You Were Here without Wright's keyboards would not exist.

Like his bandmates, Wright could walk down the streets of practically any major city and go unrecognized to most people, including a good number of Pink Floyd fans. A true musician, one who cares about his art rather than image, lets his music define him. Richard Wright will certainly be remembered for his music, a legacy cherished by millions of fans, including this one whose musical world was forever changed that first time he heard Dark Side of the Moon in a pot smoke-filled living room almost thirty years ago.

So what did I do?

Looking back at my first post since returning to my blog I realized that I didn't really say what I actually did during my sabbatical. Technically I only had two weeks away from work but over the last four months I

- celebrated twelve years of marriage with my most beloved K
- participated in the gas crisis-fueled (no pun intended - maybe...) phenomenon known as a "staycation"
- attended more concerts than I'd seen in the last several years, including Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers (of which I'm convinced is America's best rock and roll band, even better than Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band) with Steve Winwood, whom I've been waiting years to see and was well worth it
- finally painted the spare bedroom which serves as my home office, after almost four years in our house
- bought a CrackBerry (no, I'm not addicted to the email and web functions, I need it for the PDA features to organize my life, and I can quit anytime I want, thank you very little)
- got to spend some long-overdue time with my oldest friend and partner in crime Kevin, who is now happy remarried and living the good life in Florida
- almost adopted another cat
- became one of the first five hundred voters in North Carolina to register as a Libertarian upon the state (again) officially recognizing the party
- saw my friend Mighty Joe Young's band ANTiSEEN celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary (or ANTiVERSARY, if you will) with a killer show at Charlotte's Tremont Music Hall
- and spent a week falling in love with New York City, where we celebrated K's birthday (posts and pics on that to come - stay tuned)

Looking back, I guess it was busier than I realized at the time. You know the old cliche about time flying when you're having fun? It did, and I did. I suppose cliches are like stereotypes; for good or bad, they tend to have some basis, however small, in reality.

What I did on my summer vacation

It's the first day of fall, my favorite season, and that seems like the perfect time to dust off the ol' blog and start writing again. I haven't posted anything since May - what started out as a case of writer's block turned into "well, I might as well take a sabbatical and enjoy the summer" - and here we are, four months later. As I mentioned in a previous post, I don't do well with deadlines.

Truth be told, I might well have given up on this altogether if not for three people. First, my most beloved wife K, who has is my muse and inspiration for whatever creative outlets I may explore. Second, my friend Stephanie, who writes the "Medusa" blog you may have noticed under my links on this page. During our last conversation Stephanie was extremely complimentary of my writing, which gave me a wonderful ego boost (one of the things I've always loved about Steph is an uncanny sense of knowing when to stroke my ego and about what). And third, Bill Floyd. Who?

Bill Floyd is the author of The Killer's Wife, his debut novel. The bookstore where I work hosted Bill for an author signing early this summer, and I spoke with him at some length about writing. He told me that the most important advice he could give me is to write something every day - it didn't matter what, or whether or not it was intended for public consumption, but just force myself to write. I'll admit that I haven't put Bill's advice into practice (yet) but it has been in the back of my mind every day, especially those days in which I don't write. Thanks Bill, and to repay you here's a plug for The Killer's Wife, which currently has four stars on Amazon.com.

There's another reason I have to start blogging again. I realized what my last post was and I don't want people to remember me for something I wrote about a damned SpongeBob SquarePants thermometer. Not exactly the legacy I want to leave behind.

The most disturbing thing I've ever seen

Most people who know me will tell you that I'm seldom at a loss for words, but this is one of those rare exceptions.

Actually, I can think of a word to describe this - "wrong."


So what, you may ask, is so disturbing about a SpongeBob SquarePants digital thermometer? Look closely at the packaging - right side, about midway down, just below the black arrow pointing at the temperature display. Do you see it? "Oral, underarm or rectal use."

It gets worse. The damned thing plays the SpongeBob cartoon theme.

I don't get weirded out very easily, but this is just wrong. Wrong on so many levels.

Of birthdays and purple spandex

My next birthday is literally minutes away. I try not to think about it; I've already lived much longer than I had expected to, and as far as I'm concerned it's just another day. However, every now and then something comes along that hits you like a brick and reminds you of how quickly time passes. I had one of those moments recently.

My favorite TV show when I was a kid was Batman with Adam West and Burt Ward. The show ran from 1966 until 1968, when I was between the ages of five and seven. Now, at the age of five, you don't have a concept of sex, generally speaking. At that age you're expected to think the opposite sex is yucky and has cooties. But there was something on that show, something that made me realize there was a desirable quality about the female of the species. I didn't recognize it in the little girls I was around at school or in my neighborhood, but through the magic of television I could tell the future held something wonderful.


My vision of the future came in the form of one Yvonne Craig, who played Barbara Gordon, a/k/a Batgirl, every week on my family's television. Mild-mannered librarian by day, smoking hot crimefighter in skintight purple spandex by night, the lovely Ms. Craig stirred in this five year-old primal feelings that I wouldn't fully recognize for a number of years.

The reality check I mentioned at the beginning of this post occurred a couple of days ago when I heard on the radio that it was Yvonne Craig's birthday (May 16, to be precise). Nothing to be concerned about; birthdays happen to us all. Then fell the bomb - she was now 71 years old. How could it be? This amazingly sensual woman who had made me feel...well, something new and unknown all those years ago, was not just 71, but a scant five years younger than my septuagenarian mother? What does that say about my age? I know I'm getting older, but my cultural heroes and touchstones shouldn't be allowed to. It's just not fair.

A quick internet search shows that Yvonne Craig is still alive, has had a successful career in the field of real estate, and judging by her website is still a very beautiful woman. So, Ms. Craig, may I wish you a belated happy birthday. I hope you have many more years ahead of you, and thanks for helping a then five year-old realize that maybe girls weren't yucky and had cooties after all.

But he has such nice hair...

So North Carolina's most famous shyster, John Edwards, has officially endorsed Barack Obama for the Democrat Presidential nomination. Isn't it interesting that Edwards, a one term do-nothing Senator in title only with one of the worst attendance records in the history of the Senate, who began showing up in Iowa and New Hampshire almost as soon as he was sworn in, who couldn't get reelected dog catcher in his home state, endorsed Obama after the North Carolina primary?


A prediction: If Barack Obama is elected President, his nominee for Attorney General will be John Edwards. You read it here first.

Still the Boss

Sorry I've been neglecting the blog lately, but it's hard to type when you're pinned down by Bosnian sniper fire...

K and I went to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in Greensboro Monday night. This was K's first Springsteen show, and my fourth. I've seen him twice with the E Street Band, on the Born in the USA and Tunnel of Love tours in 1985 and 1988 respectively, and in 1992 on the E Street-less Human Touch tour. This show would be different than any others I had seen, for a few very significant factors.

First would be the addition of violinist/guitarist/vocalist Soozie Tyrell, who joined the band in 2002, and the presence of Little Steven Van Zandt. Van Zandt had been Springsteen's long-time lead guitarist until leaving the E Street Band in 1984 and rejoining in 1995. Having never seen Little Steven play with the E Street band, I was curious to see what the on-stage dynamic would be.

Next would be the absence of keyboard player Danny Federici, a founding member of the E Street Band. Federici had been fighting melanoma for three years when he passed away earlier this month. The show began with a moving video tribute to the late "Phantom Dan," may he rest in peace.

Also to be considered would be the Boss' age. Springsteen is known to be one of the most energetic performers of any genre, famous for marathon shows of four (sometimes more) hours - he once said that his goal was to wear the audience out, that he would still be ready to play until the final audience member surrendered, saying "Uncle!" Would he still have that Energizer Bunny quality? I hadn't seen him in sixteen years, when he was in his early 40s; he will be 59 this year. Could New Jersey's favorite son still move like the Boss of old, the guy from the "Dancing in the Dark" video that played non-stop on MTV in the mid-80s, or would he just be a shadow of his younger self?


The answer: the Garden State still has every reason to be proud. Almost 60 and a father of three, Springsteen showed the Greensboro audience how he earned his reputation as one of the greatest live acts in music, and why he still deserves it. He doesn't play the marathon shows of his earlier tours (well, maybe in New Jersey) but for an intense two and a half hours he gave one hundred percent, proving why he is one of a handful of live performers who is actually worth the high price of a concert ticket these days. (Tom Petty is another one who comes to mind; I've got tickets for him later this summer.)

One of the great things about a Bruce Springsteen show is the element of surprise - you never know what the set list will be. You can check out websites such as Backstreets.com and get an idea of the majority of the set list, but it's never the same any two nights. This show opened with two songs that were only released on Tracks, a collection of studio outtakes and B-sides - "Roulette" and "Don't Look Back." This was also the tour premiere for both songs - neither had been played on any prior dates. Truly a treat for the hardcore fans.

The other side of this coin is that inevitably you will not get to hear something you wanted or expected to. For someone with such an extensive back catalog, this was the case even with the longer shows of Springsteen's earlier tours; cutting the shows back to two and a half hours just makes this more problematic. Gone from the set list were such E Street Standards as "Jungleland," "Prove It All Night" "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out" and "Thunder Road." Also absent was anything from Born In The USA, but personally I can do without that album in favor of material from Darkness on the Edge of Town or The River, which are much better. Of course, we did get a couple of songs which in part made up for these omissions, namely Springsteen's wonderful version of Jimmy Cliff's "Trapped" and "Because the Night," which he cowrote with Patti Smith and was a huge hit for her.

Also surprising was a lack of on-stage banter. Springsteen is known as a master storyteller, not just in his lyrics but the introductions he provides to his songs in a concert setting. There was very little of that in Greensboro. He did make some comments about wiretaps and the Constitution while introducing "Livin' in the Future" from his new album, Magic, mercifully leaving the political rhetoric at the door for the rest of the evening (I don't care if an entertainer's political views are in line with mine or not, when I go to a concert I want music, not politics, damnit). For the most part, though, the music did the talking.

So the verdict? Not exactly the rock and roll tent revivals of the mid-80s, but a more mature, grown-up Springsteen who can be an adult and still rock with the best of them, showing the young ones how it's done. If love rock and roll and you've never seen Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band live, do yourself a favor and make the effort to see them while you can. They've already lost one member to the fate that comes to us all eventually; they won't be around forever, and neither will you. Life is too short not to experience what may be America's greatest rock and roll band.

Why we need the First Amendment

Do you know what the real beauty of the First Amendment is? It allows total asshats who have somehow managed to acquire a public forum to show the world exactly what they are, be it stupid, bigoted, ignorant, or - in the case of alleged "comedian" turned "political commentator" Bill Maher - a combination of all of these wonderful character traits.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFfbR_BWsuU&feature=related

I'm neither Catholic nor a fan of organized religion. But this life support system for a sphincter, who probably hasn't had more than a dozen people at a time laugh at his shtick in at least a decade, is without a doubt one of the best arguments in favor of the First Amendment. After all, our country was founded on the tenet of free speech (that whole yelling "Fire!" in a crowded theater thing being an exception). We need the First Amendment, and we need Bill Maher so that we can see exactly how important it is. The First Amendment is the GPS of the Constitution. It shows us where the stupid people are.

National holiday (observed)

...at least in my house.

Forget national holidays honoring politicians, civil rights leaders, people who have to work for a living (I usually don't get those days off unless I request them or some scheduling fluke works in my favor). This is my national holiday. The NCAA Division I Basketball National Championship. The end of the college basketball season, of the insanity that is rightfully called March Madness, and the end of another dreary winter (I hope - just two weeks ago I was mowing my lawn in shorts and t-shirt; since then I've been bundling up like Nanook of the North and considering buying Ark Building For Dummies if this rain keeps up).

Some championship games are, of course, better than others. This one promises to be among the best. First of all, this is the first time in the history of the tournament that all four number one seeds from each bracket made it to the Final Four. That alone should be enough to guarantee a Final Four to remember. However, sheer mathematics can't even begin to describe Saturday's semifinals - the Jayhawks and Tigers both playing as if they could hang with any NBA team, much to the dismay of their opponents, UNC and UCLA, respectively.

In the title game you've got Kansas with a school record 36 wins against Memphis with an NCAA record 38 wins on the season. One of those teams will add another notch to their "W" column. The other team will close their season with nothing to be ashamed of. If the Jayhawks win, it'll be their third national crown. If the Tigers win it'll be their first, which could give them the psychological edge. I don't like to use the term "common wisdom" because it's pretty much an oxymoron, but the Tigers are by most accounts the favorite. I think they'll take it. It won't be easy. The Jayhawks won't roll over and play dead, but Memphis is a team of hungry cats. They can taste it. Not being a betting man I won't venture to predict a score, but I think the spread will be six points or less. It's gonna be great.

My new hero

Boy, there are a lot of blogs on the internet. Some of them are pretty astute; my experience has been that most of them are essentially a waste of time (which you may be thinking as you read this). Every now and then, however, you stumble across one which hits home. I recently discovered one called Waiter Rant, written by an anonymous waiter in NYC.

I find this blog fascinating for a number of reasons. First, I seriously considered culinary school when I was looking to make a career change several years ago. I decided against it, primarily because I love to cook and felt certain that turning a personal pleasure into a primary source of income would take the enjoyment out of it. Waiter Rant, however, focuses on not cooking, but the service aspect of the restaurant industry, known in the trade as "front of the house."

I've worked with the public in one form or another since I was seventeen, which was many moons ago. A good chunk of that time has been in retail, primarily in management positions. My father, who served in the Navy during WWII, often said that he felt every young man should serve one year's mandatory military service. After spending more time in retail than I care to admit to, I feel the same way about the field in which I work. Everyone needs to spend a year working in retail, especially the Christmas season. While such an experience would hopefully help one develop an appreciation for retail workers, it may also cause one to hate the holidays - c'est la vie.

I guess it's my years in retail that have made me appreciate the food service industry, because I couldn't wait tables. I just know that I couldn't do it. I'm good with customers, but I've seen too many people in restaurants make total asses out of themselves. I am fully aware of my tolerance for stupid behavior and, although I've never snapped on a customer, some have pushed me to just this side of my limits. A long time ago I came to the realization that there are some people who have no way to assert themselves except by bullying retail associates who have to live by the old maxim that "the customer is always right." (This, by the way, is the biggest line of crap you'll ever hear outside of the political arena. No one is ever always right. The customer is always your boss, because he or she ultimately signs your paycheck, therefore you have to make that person happy, but always right? No way.)

In addition to the inside view of an industry which I considered entering and am often a patron, I enjoy reading Waiter Rant because there are so many parallels to my current profession, at least as far as the aspect of dealing with customers, and that the author is free to not only chronicle his experiences but that he also provides details - at least, I assume, as many as he can without being sued for libel or fired. At this time, I'm unable to share too many details for fear of reprisal (Latin for "pink slip") - perhaps when I finally escape from retail and the statute of limitations has expired.

Now, before you think, great, the guy writing the blog I'm reading now tends to go off on tirades and he's recommending another blogger who does the same, Waiter Rant is more than some disgruntled table jockey blowing off steam about customers who don't tip fifteen percent. Yes, the Waiter (as the anonymous author is known) does indeed get medieval on patrons who are abusive, mean, stupid and are just otherwise pissing in the gene pool, but there are also posts dealing with human interactions of all types, and with all types of people, not just customers. Some will make you laugh, some cry, you might even think after reading some posts. I guarantee you will find something to which you can relate. And who knows, you might even tip your waiter or waitress just a little bit extra the next time you go out to eat.

Beware the Ides of March Madness

(Alternate title - Everybody into the office pool!)

Ah, springtime and a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of...college hoops.

The NCAA Basketball Tournament is underway. A field of 64 (okay, 65 if you count the play-in game) teams duke it out over a span of three weeks to claim one of college sport's most prized championships. If you don't already understand, I can't explain it to you. Last night's first round game between perennial contender and three time national champion Duke and underdog Belmont, a team unknown to the general population and to most people in their home state of North Carolina, a 71 to 70 Duke win by the skin of their teeth, was one of the most exciting NCAA tournament games I've ever witnessed, and I didn't even see all of the second half. It was drama, tragedy, comedy, all of the elements that make up the human condition. It was a perfect example of the mania that grips otherwise sane people during this month. It was why it's good to be alive.

"If you don't have anything nice to say...

...come sit next to me." - Dorothy Parker

Unlike a newspaper columnist, I don't have a deadline. I can post anytime I feel like doing so. I would like to be able to post something on a daily basis, but the details of my personal life aren't interesting enough to warrant that, and I don't like to post something involving my opinion or viewpoint without a serious self-editing process, which can often take days. And then comes the arduous task of editing while I'm writing, often accompanied by more editing after I've posted what remains of the original topic. I've actually missed out on posting about a number of topics because they were stale by the time I had mentally constructed an outline and was ready to apply my fingers to the keyboard.

I've never done the math, but I probably have more friends who are liberal than conservative; I have some friends with whom I've never discussed politics and honestly don't know what their leanings are. For a while I was even in a serious relationship with a young lady who came from a family of "Yellow Dog" Democrats, a clan who would have disowned the lady in question if we had married and I had not changed my voter registration (for any reader not aware, a "Yellow Dog" Democrat is one who would vote for a yellow dog if it ran on the Democrat ticket). To this day I'm astounded that we dated without catching more grief over our "mixed relationship" than we did.

I've received relatively little flack from my friends on the liberal end of the spectrum about my political posts, or "rantings," as my friend Dallas put it in a recent email (an ironic aside - Dallas lives in Texas' capital city of Austin; I always found that amusing). I don't know if this is because they're used to my conservative leanings, they're not reading this blog, or they figure it would be a waste of time to try to get their viewpoint through my thick skull. In any case, I've recently been mentally outlining a positive post about Barack Obama. Not to appease anyone, but because I genuinely have something nice to say.

Obama has, without fail, taken the high road in his campaign for the Democrat Presidential nomination. As the first serious (note the use of the word serious - this immediately DQs shakedown artist Jesse Jackson and poverty pimp Al Sharpton) black, African-American, whatever you want to call him, Democrat candidate for nomination, he could have made race an issue a long time ago, especially in light of comments and various stunts by Hillary Clinton's campaign. But rather than get into the mudslinging and dirty tricks one expects from the Clinton camp, Obama has kept the focus on the campaign and his message, not resorting to in kind attacks on his opponent. He has been, above all, a class act. And as a former boss often told me, there are two types of class - "first" and "no."

Now, however, race and patriotism have been put front and center in the Obama campaign due to caustic sermons delivered by his pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright of Chicago's Trinity United Church of Christ. By now you've probably heard at least part of Rev. Wright's inflammatory rhetoric, or seen the now infamous "God damn America" sermon on YouTube.

On Tuesday, Obama attempted to quell the firestorm about his pastor's remarks with a speech centering on the need to bridge our country's racial divide. No one can deny that even in this day and age that racism still exists, and that there is a need for greater understanding, to look beyond one's DNA and see peoples' performance, not appearance. As I've mentioned before, the gentleman is a gifted orator and, as someone who has spoken in public many times myself, I can assure those who have not that delivering a speech is no easy task. I've often heard that short of death, the most common fear people have is speaking in public. It's a well-deserved phobia.

The jury is still out on two issues concerning Obama's association with Reverend Wright, and whether or not this will hurt his chances of securing the Democrat Presidential nomination. First, and most obvious, what does his association with someone who makes such inflammatory remarks about America say about the candidate? Second, what does this say about his credibility? Obama claims that in twenty-something years of attending Trinity United Church of Christ that he has heard Reverend Wright make what may be considered controversial statements, but has never heard anything like the "God damn America" sermon.

Now, as much as I would like to, I don't attend church regularly, but in the past have done so whenever possible (or when my parents made me, but that's another issue altogether). And I'm not black, so I don't have the vantage point that Obama and his fellow parishioners share, but I feel certain that the average minister of any skin hue doesn't just start preaching "God damn America," or similar sermons, out of the blue, and that if he or she did, that minister would have to deal with at least some backlash. And for someone who aspires to hold the highest office in our country to not only listen to such rhetoric, but to do so on what is supposedly a regular basis, and call the person spewing this invective a mentor and inspiration, make this candidate a questionable choice, at least in my mind.

God bless America.

Well, they told me that stuff would cause bad flashbacks one day...

The annual induction ceremonies for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were held this week. Now, there are some who feel this is the antithesis of what rock is about - rebellion, revolution, sex, drugs, and...well, rock and roll, not some corporate, black tie event at a four star hotel with a VIP list and goodie bags with a five figure value for the recipients and presenters. That's the Oscars, not rock and roll (or rock n' roll, if you prefer).

Personally, I don't have a problem with the concept of a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Everything else has a Hall of Fame, including virtually every other musical genre, so why not rock and roll? The problem is who is behind the scenes, specifically Jann Wenner.

Jann Wenner is the founder and publisher of Rolling Stone, a magazine that was once the voice of modern, i.e. from the Sixties to the present day, rock. In its day, Rolling Stone was the vanguard of the rock and roll counterculture, covering all it involved and stood for. For a prominent member of that counterculture, being honored with the cover story was akin to a Catholic receiving a blessing from the Pope himself. Those of us of a certain age even remember a song by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show, "The Cover of the Rolling Stone." Dr. Hook did indeed make the famed cover, and legend has it all the band members did "buy five copies for (their mothers)" as the lyric went.

But, as Saint Zimmerman once put it, the times they are a-changing. For at least twenty years (and that's being kind), Rolling Stone has been at best irrelevant, and at worst a bad joke, at least in terms of rock journalism (an oxymoron, as the late Frank Zappa would remind us). These days, Rolling Stone is in the middle of a crisis - whether it's of the identity variety, midlife, or perhaps a combination of both remains to be determined. Rolling Stone can't determine whether it wants to be Tiger Beat (for example, a recent "High School Musical" cover story) or a house organ for MorOn.org (read any article about any Republican or anything related to the war in Iraq).

It hasn't been that long ago that I was covering a register shift at work when a young customer was purchasing what was the then-current issue of Rolling Stone, one which had whatever the prefab pop flavor of the week was (I believe it was Justin Timberlake) on the the cover. The next customer in line was a gentleman about my age who, when he got to the register, looked at me and said, "You know, some of us remember when it meant something to make the cover of Rolling Stone."

So what does this mean in terms of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? It means that the nominees no longer have to have any connection whatsoever to rock and roll in order to be eligible. Jann Wenner is pulling the strings like some perverted puppetmaster, and he has the final say over who gets nominated and therefore inducted. And since Wenner no longer cares about rock and roll but his focus is on pop culture celebrities (and left wing politics), anyone with a "musical" career who is on his "A" list has a shot at nomination. Mark my words - if Britney Spears is still alive when she's eligible for nomination in 2024 (highly doubtful), Jann Wenner will make sure she's the first member of that class of inductees.

The most prominent member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Class of 2008 is Madonna. Yes, the "Like a Virgin" pop tart who was on MTV every five minutes back in the 80s. Whether or not you care for her music, you have to give her credit - she's been smart enough to keep her career alive by keeping things fresh, constantly changing her image and keeping people guessing. Note the key word here is image, not music. I couldn't tell you what she has sounded like since I left radio in 1990 - I'm not a fan and don't listen to radio stations whose formats would incorporate what she does - but if you're exposed to enough entertainment news (another oxymoron there) you'll inevitably run across whatever her latest incarnation happens to be. And that makes her very, very smart. When the average musical entertainer of virtually any genre now has the career lifespan of a fruit fly, it says something about her that she's savvy enough to stay in the game for more than a quarter century. It does not, however, make her rock and roll.

So what lit the fuse on this screed? Not that Madonna is now a member of an institution to which, in theory, she shouldn't have even been considered for in the first place. No, I recognized the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for the sham that it truly is some time ago (if Lester Bangs wasn't already dead, this would've done him in), so this shouldn't come as a surprise. What prompted this post was when I read who performed in Madonna's stead at the induction ceremony - Iggy and the Stooges.



That's the same Iggy who was once known for such antics as throwing up on stage, smearing himself with peanut butter, stabbing himself with pencils, rolling around on broken glass and in the resultant blood, sometimes all in the course of a single show - not the kind of performance you're likely to witness during a matinée at the Bubba Joe Jim Bob Jr. Theater in Branson, Missouri. The same Iggy and the Stooges who recorded Raw Power and Fun House, two of the most brutal, violent, beautiful masterpieces of American pre-Ramones punk music ever. The current incarnation of the Stooges includes bassist Mike Watt, who made his bones anchoring the rhythm section of the Minutemen, one of the greatest of the 80s era American punk bands and perhaps the second best to embody the decade's DIY ethic, number two only to the legendary Black Flag. And this is the band that performed in Madonna's place? Performing not one, but two of her songs? I don't know what it says about Madonna, Iggy, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, or any of the above. I only know that it makes me realize that if rock isn't dead, it sure as hell has a foot in the grave. I shudder to think what's next - Nike using Beatles songs to sell sneakers? Songs by the Who used for television themes? Wait, what's that? Oh shit, does anyone have the number for Jack Kevorkian?

But what has he done?

It's beginning to look more and more like Barack Obama is going to be the Democrat nominee for President (this is, of course, barring any dirty tricks from Hillary Clinton, and you'd have to be a complete idiot to ignore that possibility). He certainly looks and sounds the part - he's telegenic, an excellent speaker, witty, has a magnetic personality - it's easy to see why so many people have compared him to John F. Kennedy, a Democrat that had strong support among Republicans. One can only speculate what kind of Presidency JFK might have had if his life hadn't been cut short, but there's no denying that he was a leader. He was by no means perfect - there was the Bay of Pigs, getting us into Vietnam, not to mention his womanizing (I can't condone that, but he did Marilyn Monroe - I mean, damn!) - but he had the balls to stand up to the Russians and Castro during the Cuban missle crisis, and how many "leaders" today would've not blinked if faced with the same threat? My guess is very few. Harry Reid? Nancy Pelosi? Give me a freaking break.

And, JFK was inspiring. People still speak of "Camelot" with a gleam in their eye.

Obama is inspiring also, no doubt about it. He resonates, strikes a chord with voters. People find his message of hope and promise of change (the buzzword of this campaign season) to be something to which they can hitch their wagons. And if I weren't such a cynic, I might do so myself. Fortunately, I learned a long time ago not to drink any candidate's Kool-Aid without taking a close look at what he or she has to offer.

It seems that there is one big problem with Obama that everyone not in the candidate's camp has with him - experience, or lack thereof. I do know that he served in the Illinois state legislature and is in his first term in the US Senate. And I remember him delivering the keynote speech at the 2004 Democrat national convention. Beyond that, nothing. A quick look at Wikipedia (if it's on the internet, it must be true!) tells me that as of less than a week ago he's sponsored or co-sponsored 570 bills since joining the Senate. Only fifteen of these bills have been passed - less than 2.7 %. In all honesty, I have no idea what the average success rate of bill sponsorship among Obama's colleagues is, so I don't know how to gauge that statistic, but maybe someone reading this post does. Please respond if you know this; I'd love to find out.

What tells me Obama has an issue with being inexperienced is that even his prominent public supporters have no answer when the question of his resume comes up. This clip from "Hardball" with Chris Matthews illustrates this perfectly. At the 1:33 mark you can almost hear crickets chirping as Matthews waits for an answer. And I apologize in advance for exposing you to Keith Olbermann at the end of this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jj4VK9wVAi0 (You may have to cut and paste this link)

What's shocking about this is not that Chris Matthews, a partisan hack if there ever was one, is taking on a Democrat (in this case Texas State Senator and former Austin mayor Kirk Watson) like a rabid pit bull, but that Obama's been a declared candidate for a year now, and his supporters still don't have a talking point to answer the question of "What has he done?" If his advisors didn't know this would be an issue at the start of the campaign, it should be obvious to anyone with even the most casual interest that it is now.

I personally think that politics and political campaigns have become too scripted and structured, that what we see of a candidate is more of a product than a person, but I suppose that's a trade-off for living in an age of 24/7 information, when it takes literally mere seconds between an event occurring and coverage being dissimenated worldwide. If the Obama campaign is deliberately not providing their supporters with an answer to the $64 question in an effort to keep things organic and spontaneous, I applaud their efforts, but not their judgment. I never thought I would find myself agreeing with Hillary Clinton on anything, but this will have to be an exception. The office of President is not a position in which on the job training is a suitable option.

Hunter S. Thompson

July 18, 1937 - February 20, 2005


"A Man on the Move, and just sick enough to be totally confident" - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream

I could've been a contender...

...or at least worked for one.

I spent the eighties working in radio. From May of 1980 until August of 1990 I logged time at a couple of AM stations when the classic Top 40 format was morphing into what was termed CHR, which officially stood for "Contemporary Hit Radio," but those of us in the industry (especially programming, in which I was also involved) referred to it off the record as "Crap in Heavy Rotation" because we played the same crap every three hours or so. It was an interesting time, because the CHR format incorporated a number of singles charts (back when singles really mattered) from Billboard Magazine, then the Bible of music and program directors. The "interesting" (in the ancient Chinese blessing/curse sense) part came from having to program a song that was on multiple charts at the same time and going in different directions. The quintessential example of this is a Lionel Ritchie song called "Stuck on You," which appeared on the Billboard Hot 100, Adult Contemporary, R & B, and Country charts simultaneously. I don't recall the movements on the individual charts but as you may have guessed by now, the numbers weren't all moving in sync. What to do? Lower the song's position on the station's playlist because it's peaked on one chart? Move it up in rotation because it's just entered another chart and climbing? Do I crap or go blind? Do I close one eye and fart? What to do?

It was in 1988 that a serious relationship I was involved in for some time came crashing down around me. I had based all thoughts of my future on spending the rest of my life with the young lady that was the other half of this relationship, and now she was gone. At the time, it was the worst thing that I thought could happen to me. Hindsight being 20/20, it was the best for a number of reasons. I had been considering leaving radio, but had no idea what I could or would do. Whatever it was, I knew it would involve going back to school to get at least a bachelor's degree. This breakup gave me the kick in the ass I needed to evaluate my strengths and weaknesses and determine at what I excelled. I decided that my greatest asset was my ability to write well, so I set out to pursue a degree in a writing-intensive major, namely public relations (I don't currently work in that field, but that's another story for another blog).

The plan was to attend the local community college, working part-time on getting an associate's degree during the day while I worked the evening shift at the radio station. This would allow me to transfer to a university as a junior, where I could concentrate on my major (communication arts with a concentration in public relations) and minor (political science, which should come as no surprise to even casual readers of this blog). During my last year at the community college, however, I was lead into temptation - a friend with connections to a local 100,000 watt FM station playing a classic rock format informed me that said station was about to lose their midday jock. A shot at a position like this had the potential to change my mind about leaving radio. I got together an aircheck and resume and went calling on the station's program director, a fellow by the name of Justin.

Justin confirmed that yes, their midday jock was leaving, but the station manager was looking to continue with another female in that time slot, so he didn't know if my tape and resume would be given any consideration. However, you can't predict what the future will hold, so Justin encouraged me to leave my stuff with him in case anything came up.

The station did indeed fill the eventual vacancy with another female jock and I never heard anything back from Justin, so I took this as a sign that I was destined to move on and complete my studies. A year or so passed, and I had put aside all thoughts of blasting 100 K of Pink Floyd and the Rolling Stones to the masses, but then things took an unforeseen turn...

It was a sunny afternoon when the phone rang. The caller asked to speak to me, and identified himself as Allan Handelman from WXRC-FM. I had heard him on the air, immediately recognized the voice and knew it wasn't one of my sick friends playing some joke on me. Allan explained that he had recently joined WXRC as the station's program director and that the station was moving across town to another building (I knew this to be true - they were moving to the building which used to house WSPF-AM, a station which had "gone dark," meaning the license hadn't been renewed when it expired and was no longer on the air) and in the course of moving he had found a stash of airchecks and resumes which the previous regime had accumulated. To come to the point, Allan said that he found my aircheck, liked what he heard, and that he liked what he saw on my resume, and wanted to offer me a job. Just like that. Sight unseen. A pig in a poke. Easiest job interview I've ever had. Just one problem - I had already committed to finishing my education. By now I had been accepted at a nearby university, got my financial aid in order, received a couple of scholarships, found a roommate and a place to live, and was just waiting to make the big move. 100,000 watts of FM greatness was being offered to me on a plate, and I couldn't take it.

That was eighteen years ago. I never met Allan Handleman in person, although I have emailed him at his current gig, an afternoon drive talk show at a radio station that is, ironically, about two miles from my house. I guess it was about the time of our telephone exchange that he also began what was to become a nationally syndicated weekend show, heard coast to coast each Sunday evening. These two shows have just gotten Allan named to industry publication Talkers Magazine's Heavy Hundred, "the 100 most important radio talk show hosts in America." As you can imagine, this is something to highlight on one's resume.

We often wonder about the path not taken. I've spent a lot of time thinking about what my life would be like, had I chosen to stay in radio. It wasn't that long ago that I considered getting back in the business. I consulted Donnie, my boss for nine of the ten years I was behind the mike, a guy who knows me as well or better than any of my previous employers. Now retired, Donnie told me that he would help me in any way he could, but warned me that the business had undergone wholesale changes since I left in 1990, changes that made what I knew almost unrecognizable. His personal opinion was that anyone entering the business as air talent today had to be crazy.

I haven't given a second career in radio much thought since receiving Donnie's advice, but I often think of what may have happened if I had forsaken my education for an airshift at WXRC. As in many industries, broadcasting has an "old boy" network built on a vast array of contacts and personal associations. Someone like an Allan Handleman is in a position to bring people with him, such as producers, call screeners, et al, when he moves, and who knows where that can lead? He's obviously made a mark (and Allan, if you happen to stumble upon this while surfing the web, congratulations on everything you've accomplished and thanks again for the job offer all those years ago) and I get a rare bit of an ego rush when I realize that I could've worked for someone with such accomplishments to his name. And maybe, just maybe, I might've been along for the ride. I may have not been a contender, but I could've worked for one.

Now for some really important news

I mentioned in a previous post that I love college basketball. You can have the NBA. I have no desire to watch what the professional game has become, primarily due to the character of its participants. The game doesn't have a Micheal Jordan, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, Charles Barkley, et al, anymore. With a few rare exceptions (Tim Duncan and Yao Ming come to mind) pro basketball is dominated by tattooed, blinged-out, overprivileged, overpaid thugs (Allen Iverson and LeBron James, for instance). And don't get me started on Shaquille O'Neal. He's 7' 1", makes millions of dollars and can't shoot a damned free throw? I'm 5' 6" and I could beat him in a game of "H-O-R-S-E."

College basketball, in contrast to professional, is a game dominated by coaches, rather than players. A college player can move through a school in four years, but his coach can stay there indefinitely, thus developing a following that attain cult-like status. This has been the case with numerous coaches, such as John Wooden, Dean Smith, the late Jim Valvano (RIP), Mike Krzyzewski, and the subject of today's post, the General himself, Robert Montgomery Knight.

Bobby Knight retired suddenly on Monday of this week. It was a surprise announcement, apparently shocking everyone except those closest to him, such as his son Pat, who is now his successor at Texas Tech.

People are constantly amazed when I express my admiration for Knight, primarily for two reasons. One is geography. "You live in the heart of the ACC; how can you pull for a Bobby Knight team?" Boy, if I had a dollar for every time I'd been asked that...The other is Knight's reputation for being, how can I put this, a little rough around the edges (some people would say he's a jerk).

I guess I consider Bobby Knight my standard for what a coach should be because he's been successful while making sure that his players do what they're in college to do - get an education. He won three NCAA national championships, eleven Big Ten conference championships, one NIT championship and is the all-time winningest Division One college basketball coach with a 902-371 win/loss record, all while having one of the highest graduation rates in collegiate athletics. Knight famously told his players they were student athletes - students first, athletes second. I've often had people point out that to be such a great coach, Knight had so few players go to the NBA. My response is that just shows that his players actually studied.

As far as his famous temper...well, I can't defend some things. And Knight didn't try to defend it either. A reporter once asked the coach about his temper and Knight asked him if he ever lost his temper at work. Sure, the reporter replied, all the time. Knight responded that the difference between him and the reporter was that he worked in front of thousands of people. And I guess that's probably the thing I like the most about Bobby Knight - he's his own man and doesn't give a damn what others think about him. So many of us - myself included - live our lives caring what others think. In the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is being true to oneself.

So here's to you, Coach Knight. Enjoy your well-earned retirement, and thanks from a fan in ACC country for a lot of great memories.

Hi honey, I'm home!

I haven't written anything in over two weeks. My work schedule has been a bear of late, and I haven't had the energy to focus on committing my thoughts to anything of any permanance. Trying to uphold my end of a coherent conversation has been taxing enough, but putting together something that might leave a paper, or cyber trail, as the case may be, has just been beyond my abilities. There are times when I try to write that I probably come as close to the experience of giving birth as I will ever get. And I have high standards for myself - at least for what I write - and don't want to offer anything that doesn't meet those self-imposed standards. If you find my efforts to be of some quality, even if you don't agree with my opinions, great; that's what I want to share. If you don't - well, your comments on this forum are welcome. And remember - opinions are like old Kiss albums. Everyone has at least one, and the majority of them (mine included) can be pretty stupid.

It's not like I don't want to write - damn it, I do. And it's not as if I haven't had things to write about. It seems as if everyday I come up with at least a dozen things I want to write about but can't seem to budget the time to do so, and do to my standards. I've spent more time writing about politics than anything else in the few posts I've submitted, but I didn't begin this with the intention of politics being the emphasis. It just happens to be the major focus of today's current events, what with primary season in full swing, and I happen to care about the future of the country in which I live. At least I try to stay informed, have an opinion, and I vote, for good, bad or indifferent.

I'll try to be more varied in my selection of topics, not just because we have enough hack political bloggers (a redundant phrase) but because my interests and experiences extend beyond the realm of politics. Certainly yours do too. My ultimate goal is to keep this interesting to both of us. I've received a number of positive emails complementing my efforts to date; thanks to everyone for the kind words. Since I can't promise to keep to any sort of regular schedule, I suggest subscribing to the Atom RSS feeder linked at the bottom of this page, unless you just feel like checking in randomly.

That's all my overworked gray matter is capable of producing now. There are a lot of things to write about currently. I'll see if I can put together some thoughts in the next few days, and get back on track with this. Until then, take care and thanks for dropping by.