Pet Peeves. Everybody's got 'em. Some people have only one or two. I envy them. Anybody that can be that oblivious obviously knows contentment. Some people have many. I think they're more normal. My wife has several - unfortunately they mostly center around me. But they are legit. What bothers her may not bother others, but they do bother her. Mine bother me. Yours bother you.
So I got to thinking about pet peeves yesterday, and I thought I would share a few with you. In this way, you may say "Hey, you know, my pet peeves are no big deal." More likely, you'll think "You know, that's a good one. I'm putting that on my list of pet peeves too." So here are the pet peeves of mine and other people I know.
MINE: Pronouncing the T in often. It's not ofTen. It's often - pronounced offen. If you put an S in front of it, it doesn't become sofTen. It's soften - pronounced soffen. It's fabric soffener, not sofTener. By the way, how come the same people who pronounce this T leave it silent in the word LISTEN? How come they don't say lisTen? Like in Sonny Liston?
HANNAH (my bride): People that make un-necessary noises. Cracking knuckles. Drumming on table tops. Snapping gum. And let's not even get into bodily functions. Yes, dear readers - guilty on all counts.
BILL MURGAN: People that mis-use the word "Literally". "It is literally raining cats and dogs out there!" Why, Einstein, just step in a poodle? No it's not literally - meaning empirically, in fact - raining cats and dogs.
SANDY BAKER: People that hold up fingers to show the number three, and hold their first finger down, leaving finger 2, 3, and 4 to illustrate three. In her mind - mine too- one must hold down your pinky finger and hold up fingers 1, 2 and 3 to properly illustrate three. I suppose the Boy Scouts have been wrong in their salute all these years? I think not!
STACEY SUTTON: Another buddy's wife, another finger thing. Her peeve is this. Whenever Tom lays a map down on the table, and he has to point to something, he points with his middle finger. Her contention is that in order to properly point one must use your first or index finger. I concur. That's why God gave it to us.
These are just a few. What are yours? Let me know what they are. I'll publish them. Maybe we can get people to stop annoying you so much!
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Pinball Alley
Back in the mid-seventies Todd Pierce and I climbed into his VW Beetle and caravanned with a bunch of folks down to East Lansing, Michigan to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band somewhere on the Michigan State campus. It was Bruce's "Born To Run" tour and it seems to me that the East Lansing stop was one of the first stops on the tour. We made it down there and Todd and I had seats about mid-way back on the main floor. It was not a huge venue so they were pretty good seats. The show was the first time I'd seen the Boss and naturally I was blown away. Three plus hours of frantic blistering rock and roll in an era that was overdosing on California singer-songwriters. Bruce took the stage and played every song like it was the last time he was ever going to get to play in front of people. He poured absolutely everything he had into every solo, lyric, and song. He did a Mitch Ryder medley. Entirely awesome.
After a Bruce show one's adrenaline is pumping so Todd and I were excited. What a show! As we walked outside to meet up with the others, we noticed the tour bus. We decided to hang around and see if we could meet Bruce. We had good intentions, but it was spring and there was a nip in the air. We got chilled and eventually we gave it up. The others had left us by now, so we decided to hit the Big Boy across from the campus for a burger and coffee before heading home.
As we were finishing up, we noticed the tour bus pull into the motel next door. I brazenly stated to Todd that we should just go over and see about partying with the band. A driver got out as we got near the bus, and I just asked where the band would be partying that night. The driver said "They said they were going to somewhere called "the copper penny or the wooden nickle, or something like that." I told Todd we should go over the the Silver Dollar. We did.
When we walked into the bar we were sure the driver had been putting us on. There was nobody in this place. There was a band and they were playing to the bartender. No exageration. There was not another soul in the place. Why? It was a Sunday night and it was exams week. People who had dared spend precious time at the concert, were now back at their dorm frantically cramming. So it was like a ghost town. But we were the only two there, so we opted for pinball and a beer before heading out. Suddenly we noticed another guy at the bar. It was Mighty Max! Bruce's drummer! We went over and bought him a beer and I was delighted to spend time talking about drummers with him - a subject he has since written a book about. Then we noticed Danny Federici come in and Clarence and Roy Bitten and I struck up a conversation with Miami Steve (now of 'The Sopranos' fame too). Then I notice over his shoulder was Bruce. How cool. Todd and I have the whole E street Band all to ourselves. Bruce went up to the pinball machines and I asked if I could play with him. We did. I will always tell my grandkids about it, as if I were telling them about getting into a swordfight with Zorro. After the pinball game I fumbled through my pockets looking for something to write on. Since I worked part time at Flaming Rat Records, all I could come up with was a promo sticker for Roger Daltry's release "Ride a Rock Horse". I told Bruce none of my friends would believe he was in this bar. He wrote on the Sticker "Lyle - I was in this bar - Bruce Springsteen." I have it framed.
None of my friends ever did believe me.
After a Bruce show one's adrenaline is pumping so Todd and I were excited. What a show! As we walked outside to meet up with the others, we noticed the tour bus. We decided to hang around and see if we could meet Bruce. We had good intentions, but it was spring and there was a nip in the air. We got chilled and eventually we gave it up. The others had left us by now, so we decided to hit the Big Boy across from the campus for a burger and coffee before heading home.
As we were finishing up, we noticed the tour bus pull into the motel next door. I brazenly stated to Todd that we should just go over and see about partying with the band. A driver got out as we got near the bus, and I just asked where the band would be partying that night. The driver said "They said they were going to somewhere called "the copper penny or the wooden nickle, or something like that." I told Todd we should go over the the Silver Dollar. We did.
When we walked into the bar we were sure the driver had been putting us on. There was nobody in this place. There was a band and they were playing to the bartender. No exageration. There was not another soul in the place. Why? It was a Sunday night and it was exams week. People who had dared spend precious time at the concert, were now back at their dorm frantically cramming. So it was like a ghost town. But we were the only two there, so we opted for pinball and a beer before heading out. Suddenly we noticed another guy at the bar. It was Mighty Max! Bruce's drummer! We went over and bought him a beer and I was delighted to spend time talking about drummers with him - a subject he has since written a book about. Then we noticed Danny Federici come in and Clarence and Roy Bitten and I struck up a conversation with Miami Steve (now of 'The Sopranos' fame too). Then I notice over his shoulder was Bruce. How cool. Todd and I have the whole E street Band all to ourselves. Bruce went up to the pinball machines and I asked if I could play with him. We did. I will always tell my grandkids about it, as if I were telling them about getting into a swordfight with Zorro. After the pinball game I fumbled through my pockets looking for something to write on. Since I worked part time at Flaming Rat Records, all I could come up with was a promo sticker for Roger Daltry's release "Ride a Rock Horse". I told Bruce none of my friends would believe he was in this bar. He wrote on the Sticker "Lyle - I was in this bar - Bruce Springsteen." I have it framed.
None of my friends ever did believe me.
Monday, August 27, 2007
This Year's Kleinhardt Excursion.
I don't know where or when I met Dave Kleinhardt but since we were both guitar players (a term used loosely in my case), we struck up an instant friendship working together in a prison. He was a counselor then and I was a Sergeant. Throught the years we have played in numerous bands together. Well not really numerous, since every year instead of learning new material we would just change the name of the band. We started as "Premature Grey", and went through names such as "The Dillons", "Shotgun Romeos", and "Three Daves and Two Other Guys". Although they still occasionally play, Dave cleverly moved so far away that it became impossible for me to keep it up.
However all is not lost. Although he accepted many promotions and works in Lansing now, we have kept up our friendship through the miracle of e mail. He supervises a large office staff and every year for Christmas they buy him a double pass to the Common Ground Festival in Lansing. As a generous goodwill gesture, Dave usually lets former band mates go to one of the 8 or 10 nights with him. I started out just taking the night nobody else wants to go, but recently I've kind of indicated which one I'd like to see.
So here is a run down of the years as I recall them.
Year One: Nobody else wanted this night so I went to WAR and JOE COCKER. We sat halfway back, and halfway through Dave's seat collapsed (chair technology has come a ways since then). But nevertheless it was a great show. I was blown away by how really good Joe Cocker was . He just kept coming at us with hit after hit. I had fogotten how many really great songs he has had.
***** Five stars.
Year Two: CROSBY, STILLS, AND NASH: Easily one of the best concerts I've ever seen, and buddy, I've seen a lot. I had anticipated three guys with acoustic guitars on stools and some quiet warbling. Boy, was I wrong. These guys came out rocking and never let up. They opened with a pounding version of "Carry On". We were also about second row center, and the boys were only about 20 feet from us. We could hear them chatting to each other. Hit after pounding hit highlighted by a blistering version of "For What It's Worth" from Stills, who is a lot greater guitar player than I ever gave him credit for. Combining all of the Springsteen shows into number one, this show easily fall into my top ten all time shows.
**** Five Stars. Easily.
Year Three: MITCH RYDER and THE BLACK CROWES. First row - right. I was attracted to this bill in order to see Mitch Ryder. I was right about him. He sounded great for 60 years plus. The Black Crowes were a real downer though, and maybe the worst show I've ever seen. They were terrible at best and were so full of themselves they wouldn't even play their one modest hit "Hard To Handle". If you ever get a chance to see them - don't.
* one star (Mitch gets that one).
Year Four: KEB MO and BONNIE RAITT. Third Row -center. I love Bonnie and since I'm a blues fan I was also excited to see KEB MO. But it had downpoured on us earlier and KEB just barely got a short set in before it started to down pour again. Bonnie tried to hurry through a set, but we were getting drenched and she mercifully cut it short. What we heard was wonderful though and I can't wait to see her again.
***Stars (only because it was short)
This year: DICKEY BETTS and PETER FRAMPTON. Fourth Row Center. Never been a fan of opening act Dickey Betts and still ain't. He was tired and lame. Yech! But Frampton came out and opened up on us with both barrels and never let up. He was incredible. Every time I see this guy, he's a better player than the last time. Man, was he great. And on top of that , he had a guitar side-man who was also one of the best guitar players I've ever seen. This was an awesome great rocking show, and I am so glad my old buddy Dave thinks of me year after year. Other than the Black Crowes, we have seen some terrific shows together.
***** Five Stars
However all is not lost. Although he accepted many promotions and works in Lansing now, we have kept up our friendship through the miracle of e mail. He supervises a large office staff and every year for Christmas they buy him a double pass to the Common Ground Festival in Lansing. As a generous goodwill gesture, Dave usually lets former band mates go to one of the 8 or 10 nights with him. I started out just taking the night nobody else wants to go, but recently I've kind of indicated which one I'd like to see.
So here is a run down of the years as I recall them.
Year One: Nobody else wanted this night so I went to WAR and JOE COCKER. We sat halfway back, and halfway through Dave's seat collapsed (chair technology has come a ways since then). But nevertheless it was a great show. I was blown away by how really good Joe Cocker was . He just kept coming at us with hit after hit. I had fogotten how many really great songs he has had.
***** Five stars.
Year Two: CROSBY, STILLS, AND NASH: Easily one of the best concerts I've ever seen, and buddy, I've seen a lot. I had anticipated three guys with acoustic guitars on stools and some quiet warbling. Boy, was I wrong. These guys came out rocking and never let up. They opened with a pounding version of "Carry On". We were also about second row center, and the boys were only about 20 feet from us. We could hear them chatting to each other. Hit after pounding hit highlighted by a blistering version of "For What It's Worth" from Stills, who is a lot greater guitar player than I ever gave him credit for. Combining all of the Springsteen shows into number one, this show easily fall into my top ten all time shows.
**** Five Stars. Easily.
Year Three: MITCH RYDER and THE BLACK CROWES. First row - right. I was attracted to this bill in order to see Mitch Ryder. I was right about him. He sounded great for 60 years plus. The Black Crowes were a real downer though, and maybe the worst show I've ever seen. They were terrible at best and were so full of themselves they wouldn't even play their one modest hit "Hard To Handle". If you ever get a chance to see them - don't.
* one star (Mitch gets that one).
Year Four: KEB MO and BONNIE RAITT. Third Row -center. I love Bonnie and since I'm a blues fan I was also excited to see KEB MO. But it had downpoured on us earlier and KEB just barely got a short set in before it started to down pour again. Bonnie tried to hurry through a set, but we were getting drenched and she mercifully cut it short. What we heard was wonderful though and I can't wait to see her again.
***Stars (only because it was short)
This year: DICKEY BETTS and PETER FRAMPTON. Fourth Row Center. Never been a fan of opening act Dickey Betts and still ain't. He was tired and lame. Yech! But Frampton came out and opened up on us with both barrels and never let up. He was incredible. Every time I see this guy, he's a better player than the last time. Man, was he great. And on top of that , he had a guitar side-man who was also one of the best guitar players I've ever seen. This was an awesome great rocking show, and I am so glad my old buddy Dave thinks of me year after year. Other than the Black Crowes, we have seen some terrific shows together.
***** Five Stars
Saturday, July 21, 2007
My Kids, The Superheroes
Man, am I lucky. Not only do I have great kids, they are superheroes. What makes my kids so special? What is their super power? Are you ready for this? They can become invisible. I'm not kidding. If you don't believe it, come stand behind them with me at a parade sometime. Watch how all the kids get candy tossed at them, and then watch how mine get skipped. Amazing. They stand there in what I believe to be full view and yet nobody handing out candy can see them. It has to be a super power. Some of the people look in their general direction, but I know they can't see them. Most just walk on by totally fooled by their invisibility.
Did I mention my kids are black? You'd think they'd stick out even more in our rural commmunity, but nope. Nobody can see them.
Now before you start rolling your eyes and think "Here we go again" let me give you a little background. I'm a white guy. Almost three years ago I married a black woman who much to my delight, brought along with her two children. They have been raised their entire lives in our small, rural, white community. I have often mused that I enjoy the kids innocence so much because they don't know they're black yet, i.e. what it means to be black in America. They have friends of all colors at their school, and are usually included in every social event just like everyone else. But slowly I have noticed a subtle, unconscious (dare I say the "R" word?) racism creeping into their lives. And I thought this stuff went out with Brown vs. the Board of Education, or the Civil Rights Act of 1964. But this stuff is so permeated into our society, that we as white Americans make decisions that we are not even aware of. (And I say "we" because having a black wife and black kids doesn't get me a free pass).
So I noticed the parade thing about three years ago while watching my first parade with my new family. I thought it odd that the candy would fly and then the person would be fumbling in the bag as they walked by mine, and then it would fly again, but hey, that's the breaks, and just wait for the next candy hurler to come along. And they would. And the same thing happened. And then another. And another. And soon the parade was over. Oh well, we'd think, better luck next year. That was just the way the chips fell this time, but what are the odds of it happening again? But it does. It happens so consistently that I, becoming jaded, find myself getting more and more disgusted and disheartened. What do I tell a kid on Memorial Day in Sheridan whose little white friend just down the way managed to get nearly a half a grocery bag of candy when he got three pieces? Three. And he gave one of those to a kid in a wheelchair. Trying to be good adult examples, we mumbled something about having better luck next time, but we know that luck hasn't got anything to do with it. Because it happens nearly every parade.
My son also played Pee-Wee baseball. Although he was consistently huddled with the others around his coach, and yelling as loudly as anyone, he would usually be one of the last to get an assignment. Ah, but there were three more players than positions. So the coach made a deal - if anyone agreed to sit out an inning, they could pick where they wanted to play the following inning. So, my son figured that this was an easy sacrifice to be able to play first base. But guess what? Assignments were being handed out, and he would bound out of the dugout first, but dog-gone it, he had that invisibility thing going and he would get an assignment last. He rarely ever got first base and if he did it was because nobody else wanted it.
My wife and I watched him come out of the dugout slower and slower as the year went on. He was resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't be seen like everyone else. And do you want to know the kicker? His coach loved him. His coach was a wonderful, caring, giving, generous individual who had a genuine fondness for our son. I know what he did was not a conscious thing. He liked our boy. But when we questioned our son about it at the end of the year, and asked why he thought he didn't get called on by the coach like the others, he answered "I just thought the coach didn't like me." Try convincing a kid in his position that the coach did like him. And like I say, the coach did like him! In fact we want our son to play for him again next year. But this white American conditioning is subtle.
We don't want our kids treated in any special way or any concessions made for them in any way at all. You see the point is, we just want them treated the same as everyone. No special favors, no free rides, just the same as everybody else.
So regarding the parades, eventually I reckon they'll end end up figuring out what's going on, and they'll get angry about it and become more aggressive in trying to get candy. And then watch. I can hear the people sputtering now. "Did you see the way those black kids acted? They don't know how to be civlized. They act like they won't get any candy unless they bully their way in." Suddenly, unfortunately, our kids won't be invisible anymore.
Did I mention my kids are black? You'd think they'd stick out even more in our rural commmunity, but nope. Nobody can see them.
Now before you start rolling your eyes and think "Here we go again" let me give you a little background. I'm a white guy. Almost three years ago I married a black woman who much to my delight, brought along with her two children. They have been raised their entire lives in our small, rural, white community. I have often mused that I enjoy the kids innocence so much because they don't know they're black yet, i.e. what it means to be black in America. They have friends of all colors at their school, and are usually included in every social event just like everyone else. But slowly I have noticed a subtle, unconscious (dare I say the "R" word?) racism creeping into their lives. And I thought this stuff went out with Brown vs. the Board of Education, or the Civil Rights Act of 1964. But this stuff is so permeated into our society, that we as white Americans make decisions that we are not even aware of. (And I say "we" because having a black wife and black kids doesn't get me a free pass).
So I noticed the parade thing about three years ago while watching my first parade with my new family. I thought it odd that the candy would fly and then the person would be fumbling in the bag as they walked by mine, and then it would fly again, but hey, that's the breaks, and just wait for the next candy hurler to come along. And they would. And the same thing happened. And then another. And another. And soon the parade was over. Oh well, we'd think, better luck next year. That was just the way the chips fell this time, but what are the odds of it happening again? But it does. It happens so consistently that I, becoming jaded, find myself getting more and more disgusted and disheartened. What do I tell a kid on Memorial Day in Sheridan whose little white friend just down the way managed to get nearly a half a grocery bag of candy when he got three pieces? Three. And he gave one of those to a kid in a wheelchair. Trying to be good adult examples, we mumbled something about having better luck next time, but we know that luck hasn't got anything to do with it. Because it happens nearly every parade.
My son also played Pee-Wee baseball. Although he was consistently huddled with the others around his coach, and yelling as loudly as anyone, he would usually be one of the last to get an assignment. Ah, but there were three more players than positions. So the coach made a deal - if anyone agreed to sit out an inning, they could pick where they wanted to play the following inning. So, my son figured that this was an easy sacrifice to be able to play first base. But guess what? Assignments were being handed out, and he would bound out of the dugout first, but dog-gone it, he had that invisibility thing going and he would get an assignment last. He rarely ever got first base and if he did it was because nobody else wanted it.
My wife and I watched him come out of the dugout slower and slower as the year went on. He was resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't be seen like everyone else. And do you want to know the kicker? His coach loved him. His coach was a wonderful, caring, giving, generous individual who had a genuine fondness for our son. I know what he did was not a conscious thing. He liked our boy. But when we questioned our son about it at the end of the year, and asked why he thought he didn't get called on by the coach like the others, he answered "I just thought the coach didn't like me." Try convincing a kid in his position that the coach did like him. And like I say, the coach did like him! In fact we want our son to play for him again next year. But this white American conditioning is subtle.
We don't want our kids treated in any special way or any concessions made for them in any way at all. You see the point is, we just want them treated the same as everyone. No special favors, no free rides, just the same as everybody else.
So regarding the parades, eventually I reckon they'll end end up figuring out what's going on, and they'll get angry about it and become more aggressive in trying to get candy. And then watch. I can hear the people sputtering now. "Did you see the way those black kids acted? They don't know how to be civlized. They act like they won't get any candy unless they bully their way in." Suddenly, unfortunately, our kids won't be invisible anymore.
25 "Must Have" Recordings
Here is a list of 25 recordings that everyone should have. If you don't, then check them out of the library and download them - or would it be upload them? I get confused - anyway load them. You'll never regret it.
1. REVOLVER the beatles
2. BLONDE ON BLONDE bob dylan
3. SMALL CHANGE tom waits
4. BORN TO RUN bruce springsteen
5. SURFACING sarah mclaughlin
6. MY AIM IS TRUE elvis costello
7. WORLD MACHINE level 42
8. STOLEN MOMENTS john hiatt
9. ONLY TRUST YOUR HEART diana krall
10. I AM THE BLUES willie dixon
11. BEGGAR'S BANQUET the rolling stones
12. 'ROUND MIDNIGHT ella fitzgerld
13. MARSHALL CRENSHAW marshall crenshaw
14. JOHN PRINE john prine
15. TAKE FIVE the dave bruback quartet
16. KIND OF BLUE miles davis
17. SWEET BABY JAMES james taylor
18. MY FAVORITE THINGS john coltrane
19. ARE YOU EXPERIENCED? the jimi hendrix experience
20. SQUEEZIN' OUT SPARKS graham parker
21. TEA FOR THE TILLERMAN cat stevens
22. ZIGGY STARDUST david bowie
23. IN THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING king crimson
24. DESPERADO the eagles
25. MY MOTHER'S HYMN BOOK johnny cash
1. REVOLVER the beatles
2. BLONDE ON BLONDE bob dylan
3. SMALL CHANGE tom waits
4. BORN TO RUN bruce springsteen
5. SURFACING sarah mclaughlin
6. MY AIM IS TRUE elvis costello
7. WORLD MACHINE level 42
8. STOLEN MOMENTS john hiatt
9. ONLY TRUST YOUR HEART diana krall
10. I AM THE BLUES willie dixon
11. BEGGAR'S BANQUET the rolling stones
12. 'ROUND MIDNIGHT ella fitzgerld
13. MARSHALL CRENSHAW marshall crenshaw
14. JOHN PRINE john prine
15. TAKE FIVE the dave bruback quartet
16. KIND OF BLUE miles davis
17. SWEET BABY JAMES james taylor
18. MY FAVORITE THINGS john coltrane
19. ARE YOU EXPERIENCED? the jimi hendrix experience
20. SQUEEZIN' OUT SPARKS graham parker
21. TEA FOR THE TILLERMAN cat stevens
22. ZIGGY STARDUST david bowie
23. IN THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING king crimson
24. DESPERADO the eagles
25. MY MOTHER'S HYMN BOOK johnny cash
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Note To Karl Rove
Just because you can teach a monkey to sell pencils on the corner, doesn't mean it should be the CEO of Eberhard-Faber.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Biography
THE BEATLES - THE BIOGRAPHY
BOB SPITZ - Little, Brown, & Co.
Not long ago I finished the latest Beatles book in my collection - "The Beatles - The Biography" - and it is easily my new favorite book on the subject. I have read dozens of books about the lads from Liverpool, but this one is not only the most comprehensive, but is one of the most readable. I thought I knew everything about this subject, and yet I learned quite a few things. (Did you know that in spite of all the mysticism and swamis along the way, George Harrison embraced traditional Christianity near the end of his life?) And by comprehensive I mean comprehensive - it was well over 300 pages before Ringo Starr is mentioned in any context other than one casual reference to the drummer of a rival band in Hamburg. This book practically goes day by day.
This ride is thrilling as it paints the meteoric rise of the band, the blossoming genius of Lennon-McCartney, and the joy of discovery as they record "Rubber Soul", "Revolver", and ultimately "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". The ride is also told in painful detail as the boys begin to falter - with the disasterous Magical Mystery Tour film, and as Yoko enters the sanctity of the studio and actively criticizes the other Beatles' methods. She actually at one point got up in the studio and sang... as if they were going to ask her to join the band. And we also get all of the details as John and Yoko got strung out on heroin throughout the "White" album, "Let It Be" and "Abbey Road" sessions.
My only critcisims are that author Bob Spitz doesn't mention the George Harrison trip to America in the summer of 1963, when he spent two weeks in a small town in Illinois and jammed at a VFW hall with a band called the "Four Vests". He also becomes a bit over-zealous, as they all do, and credits the Beatles with inventing the music video after they made two small films of a couple songs to promote then instead of playing them live. (I believe that of all people Ozzie Nelson was way ahead of his tme, when he would take a Ricky Nelson song like "Travelin' Man" and superimpose concert footage with scenes from around the world. Call it what you want, but that was a music video.)
Over all, even if you think you know it all, like I did, read this book. I guarantee you'll learn something.
BOB SPITZ - Little, Brown, & Co.
Not long ago I finished the latest Beatles book in my collection - "The Beatles - The Biography" - and it is easily my new favorite book on the subject. I have read dozens of books about the lads from Liverpool, but this one is not only the most comprehensive, but is one of the most readable. I thought I knew everything about this subject, and yet I learned quite a few things. (Did you know that in spite of all the mysticism and swamis along the way, George Harrison embraced traditional Christianity near the end of his life?) And by comprehensive I mean comprehensive - it was well over 300 pages before Ringo Starr is mentioned in any context other than one casual reference to the drummer of a rival band in Hamburg. This book practically goes day by day.
This ride is thrilling as it paints the meteoric rise of the band, the blossoming genius of Lennon-McCartney, and the joy of discovery as they record "Rubber Soul", "Revolver", and ultimately "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". The ride is also told in painful detail as the boys begin to falter - with the disasterous Magical Mystery Tour film, and as Yoko enters the sanctity of the studio and actively criticizes the other Beatles' methods. She actually at one point got up in the studio and sang... as if they were going to ask her to join the band. And we also get all of the details as John and Yoko got strung out on heroin throughout the "White" album, "Let It Be" and "Abbey Road" sessions.
My only critcisims are that author Bob Spitz doesn't mention the George Harrison trip to America in the summer of 1963, when he spent two weeks in a small town in Illinois and jammed at a VFW hall with a band called the "Four Vests". He also becomes a bit over-zealous, as they all do, and credits the Beatles with inventing the music video after they made two small films of a couple songs to promote then instead of playing them live. (I believe that of all people Ozzie Nelson was way ahead of his tme, when he would take a Ricky Nelson song like "Travelin' Man" and superimpose concert footage with scenes from around the world. Call it what you want, but that was a music video.)
Over all, even if you think you know it all, like I did, read this book. I guarantee you'll learn something.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
Elementary School
Thank You Mrs. Thomas for teaching me to read.
Thank you Mrs. Krieger for teaching me to write cursive.
Thank you Mrs. Bradshaw for allowing Steve Walton to participate in story telling
even though he had that over-active saliva gland problem.
Thank you Mrs. Waters for reading all those animal stories to us.
I still remember why the Blue Jay is blue, and why the porcupine has quills.
But Mrs. Heaton with your wooden block heeled shoes
and your demented cruelty,
And Mr. Acey with your sadistic treatment of Mike Browan
and the sick way you punched us in the chests with your first two fingers,
and Miss Azzarello with your talon like nails that pinched juglar veins
and your twisted obsessive-compulsive hand washing and clothes changing
throughout the day,
You three can all kiss my fat behind.
But you can't can you?
Because you're all dead.
And so we terrified little ones, we victims of our ages,
We have the last laugh after all, now don't we?
Because you're all dead.
Dead and gone to the eternal teacher's lounge in Hell
where Farrell Bieber's cigarette smoke always hangs in the air,
and the sandwiches in your lunches stay forever dried out.
Thank you Mrs. Krieger for teaching me to write cursive.
Thank you Mrs. Bradshaw for allowing Steve Walton to participate in story telling
even though he had that over-active saliva gland problem.
Thank you Mrs. Waters for reading all those animal stories to us.
I still remember why the Blue Jay is blue, and why the porcupine has quills.
But Mrs. Heaton with your wooden block heeled shoes
and your demented cruelty,
And Mr. Acey with your sadistic treatment of Mike Browan
and the sick way you punched us in the chests with your first two fingers,
and Miss Azzarello with your talon like nails that pinched juglar veins
and your twisted obsessive-compulsive hand washing and clothes changing
throughout the day,
You three can all kiss my fat behind.
But you can't can you?
Because you're all dead.
And so we terrified little ones, we victims of our ages,
We have the last laugh after all, now don't we?
Because you're all dead.
Dead and gone to the eternal teacher's lounge in Hell
where Farrell Bieber's cigarette smoke always hangs in the air,
and the sandwiches in your lunches stay forever dried out.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
After The Dance
A year or so ago I sat in my room staring at the e mail on my screen. A friend had sent me an obituary of a former local disc jockey. For a moment I went whirling back to places and times I associated with Wayne Thomas, the disc jockey. I can still hear an echo from the 60's shouting "The Waynillo Thomaso Radio Programmy - I am not a prima donna!!" He was more than a guy that probably lived in a mobile home and struggled to make ends meet. He was a key to a storage cabinet of memories.
I remembered the night one of my high school garage bands played at a high school dance and this very disc jockey was also hired to entertain.
He was angry for having to share the bill with us.
At the end of the dance, we both stood in a breezeway. He was waiting for whoever picked him and all of his records up, and I was waiting for my band-mates to back an equipment trailer up. While standing there together, I mustered up all my courage and muttered something to him. I admired him very much and was star-struck.
He was a much older guy and he looked down with a look of disdain and snapped something at me and looked away. I thought to myself "You needn't be that way - it won't always be like this - you won't always struggle."
I'd like to think I thought that, but maybe at the time I really thought "hey buddy, bite the weenie."
And now that the dance is over, as I looked at his obituary I realized that even though he changed his name to China Smith, and tried his luck in California, he always did struggle. And at the time of our encounter, he was only twenty-five years old.
And I forgive him.
I remembered the night one of my high school garage bands played at a high school dance and this very disc jockey was also hired to entertain.
He was angry for having to share the bill with us.
At the end of the dance, we both stood in a breezeway. He was waiting for whoever picked him and all of his records up, and I was waiting for my band-mates to back an equipment trailer up. While standing there together, I mustered up all my courage and muttered something to him. I admired him very much and was star-struck.
He was a much older guy and he looked down with a look of disdain and snapped something at me and looked away. I thought to myself "You needn't be that way - it won't always be like this - you won't always struggle."
I'd like to think I thought that, but maybe at the time I really thought "hey buddy, bite the weenie."
And now that the dance is over, as I looked at his obituary I realized that even though he changed his name to China Smith, and tried his luck in California, he always did struggle. And at the time of our encounter, he was only twenty-five years old.
And I forgive him.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
The N Factor
For those of you who didn't see it, this editorial entitled "The N Factor" appeared in The Greenville Daily News on May 15, 2007.
It was edited quite a bit, and in fact in the paper was entitled "Presidency Hinges on 'The N Factor'. So for those of you who didn't see it, and those of you who did, here is the unedited editorial in it's uncensored entirety.
THE N Factor
-Lyle Fales
It's a couple of years away and already stories regarding the next Presidential election are creeping into the occasional news segment. John McCain is being touted as the likely Republican candidate, and of course the bigger story is who the Democrats might select to run. My personal pick is John Edwards, who might make a race with John McCain interesting indeed. Of course there's always the outside chance - I think it's outside anyway - that Hillary Rodham Clinton will toss her hat into the ring and along her husband, the thermonuclear weapon of campaigning, and/or that the religious right will crush the hopes of the moderate McCain.
So there are many who may run, but who is most likely to win? I have long held that the candidate, in order to win, must have a name that sounds wholesome and as American as apple pie. I knew for example that Dukakis never had a chance. His name sounded too... well...foreign. It was practically like they were talking about turning the reins over the the commies for crying out loud. Nothing against Mr. Dukakis, a fine fellow I'm sure... if you're a comrade. I know, I know, Dukakis is actually a Greek. Don't get me started.
And Obama whatever from Illinois? Not a threat. I read about him all the time and I still can't remember his name. Other than it sounds vaguely like a terrorist.
Thus come my theory. I call it "The N Factor". This simply means that in our history we find names - and hence candidates - most appealing if their last names end with the letter N. Yep. That's it. That's my theory. I think if the candidate's name ends with the letter N they have a much greater chance of being elected.
I know you are mentally scrambling right now, so let me save you much time, research, and energy. N Factor Presidents to date are: Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, Buchanan, Lincoln, Johnson, Harrison, Wilson, Truman, Johnson, Nixon, Reagan, and Clinton. And if you didn't know it, we once had a President for just on day and his name was Atchinson. Further, when one pronounces the name Cleveland (as in Grover) it sounds like it ends in N too. And he was President twice.
So when I hear that Hillary Clinton may run against John McCain, it gets my heart racing and I break into a cold sweat. How can this be? Who would win? Would this somehow upset the natural order of things? Contribute to global warming? Would there simply be no clear winner (shades of 2000!)? Since buttered bread always lands buttered side down, and a cat always lands on it's feet, a McCain vs. Clinton race would be like tying buttered bread on the back of a cat and tossing it out the window. It would just get near the ground and spin like opposing magnets.
So let's all hope Edwards runs for the Democrats and the Republicans put up Bill Frist. No N Factor. It's more fair that way.
And if the Democrats want to make it even more sporting, they'd let the Republicans have Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.
It was edited quite a bit, and in fact in the paper was entitled "Presidency Hinges on 'The N Factor'. So for those of you who didn't see it, and those of you who did, here is the unedited editorial in it's uncensored entirety.
THE N Factor
-Lyle Fales
It's a couple of years away and already stories regarding the next Presidential election are creeping into the occasional news segment. John McCain is being touted as the likely Republican candidate, and of course the bigger story is who the Democrats might select to run. My personal pick is John Edwards, who might make a race with John McCain interesting indeed. Of course there's always the outside chance - I think it's outside anyway - that Hillary Rodham Clinton will toss her hat into the ring and along her husband, the thermonuclear weapon of campaigning, and/or that the religious right will crush the hopes of the moderate McCain.
So there are many who may run, but who is most likely to win? I have long held that the candidate, in order to win, must have a name that sounds wholesome and as American as apple pie. I knew for example that Dukakis never had a chance. His name sounded too... well...foreign. It was practically like they were talking about turning the reins over the the commies for crying out loud. Nothing against Mr. Dukakis, a fine fellow I'm sure... if you're a comrade. I know, I know, Dukakis is actually a Greek. Don't get me started.
And Obama whatever from Illinois? Not a threat. I read about him all the time and I still can't remember his name. Other than it sounds vaguely like a terrorist.
Thus come my theory. I call it "The N Factor". This simply means that in our history we find names - and hence candidates - most appealing if their last names end with the letter N. Yep. That's it. That's my theory. I think if the candidate's name ends with the letter N they have a much greater chance of being elected.
I know you are mentally scrambling right now, so let me save you much time, research, and energy. N Factor Presidents to date are: Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Jackson, Van Buren, Harrison, Buchanan, Lincoln, Johnson, Harrison, Wilson, Truman, Johnson, Nixon, Reagan, and Clinton. And if you didn't know it, we once had a President for just on day and his name was Atchinson. Further, when one pronounces the name Cleveland (as in Grover) it sounds like it ends in N too. And he was President twice.
So when I hear that Hillary Clinton may run against John McCain, it gets my heart racing and I break into a cold sweat. How can this be? Who would win? Would this somehow upset the natural order of things? Contribute to global warming? Would there simply be no clear winner (shades of 2000!)? Since buttered bread always lands buttered side down, and a cat always lands on it's feet, a McCain vs. Clinton race would be like tying buttered bread on the back of a cat and tossing it out the window. It would just get near the ground and spin like opposing magnets.
So let's all hope Edwards runs for the Democrats and the Republicans put up Bill Frist. No N Factor. It's more fair that way.
And if the Democrats want to make it even more sporting, they'd let the Republicans have Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.
President For A Day
Here is a little bit about the reference I made in my "N Factor" editorial regarding a President for one day.
His name was David Rice Atchinson. He was President of the United States for a day.
Atchinson was never elected President of the US. He succeeded to the office by accident - and is renowned for having served as President for one day.
The facts are these: Atchinson had been elected president pro tempore of the US Senate 15 times and was president pro tempore in March 1849. President James K. Polk spent his last day as President on March 3, 1849 and as midnight tolled and Sunday March 4th began, Polk was out of office. Meanwhile, his successor, General Zachary Taylor, a staunch Episcopalian, refused to be sworn in on March 4th because it was Sunday, and preferred to celebrate his inauguration on Monday, March 5th. The United States was faced with a full day gap between Presidents. According to the law, when the presidential and vice-presidential offices are not filled, the president Pro tempore of the Senate automatically becomes President of the U.S. Since Senator Atchinson of Missouri was president pro tempore of the Senate, he automatically became President of the United States for the single day of March 4th, 1849.
Detractors claim that he was never elected - true - and that he never took an oath. The Constitution does not set time limits on taking the oath. Nevertheless, the Biographical Congressional Directory published in Washington, D.C. in 1913, called Atchinson the "legal president of the United States for one day."
In 1928 the governor of Missouri and other state dignitaries went to Plattsburgh to dedicate a statue to Atchinson and his brief term as chief executive of our nation.
His name was David Rice Atchinson. He was President of the United States for a day.
Atchinson was never elected President of the US. He succeeded to the office by accident - and is renowned for having served as President for one day.
The facts are these: Atchinson had been elected president pro tempore of the US Senate 15 times and was president pro tempore in March 1849. President James K. Polk spent his last day as President on March 3, 1849 and as midnight tolled and Sunday March 4th began, Polk was out of office. Meanwhile, his successor, General Zachary Taylor, a staunch Episcopalian, refused to be sworn in on March 4th because it was Sunday, and preferred to celebrate his inauguration on Monday, March 5th. The United States was faced with a full day gap between Presidents. According to the law, when the presidential and vice-presidential offices are not filled, the president Pro tempore of the Senate automatically becomes President of the U.S. Since Senator Atchinson of Missouri was president pro tempore of the Senate, he automatically became President of the United States for the single day of March 4th, 1849.
Detractors claim that he was never elected - true - and that he never took an oath. The Constitution does not set time limits on taking the oath. Nevertheless, the Biographical Congressional Directory published in Washington, D.C. in 1913, called Atchinson the "legal president of the United States for one day."
In 1928 the governor of Missouri and other state dignitaries went to Plattsburgh to dedicate a statue to Atchinson and his brief term as chief executive of our nation.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Holly and Division
It was a cold Saturday night in the spring of 1969. We were all gathered for a cast party since we had just given our final performance of Arthur Miller's "All My Sons". I was fairly new to high school drama, and George Deever had been my first real part. We were all still feeling pretty euphoric since our final performance had been particularly moving and quite successful. Everyone was chatty and excited, feeling, in our minds at least, that we had all just been part of something important. And it had been special to be sure.
High school parties then were coca-cola cheese curl extravaganzas. This one was no different. People were discussing their parts and how their character wove into the story as a whole. Others searched for symbolism and greater truths. My friend Bill and I were mostly just interested in soda pop and potato chips.
Eventually someone produced a guitar and it began to be passed around to the various people who could play. Soon the room was full of people singing along to "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" and "Rock My Soul In the Bosom of Abraham". I watched the whole thing with total indifference. I didn't know those songs and I didn't care to learn them.
Eventually the guitar made its way around to me. I hesitated because I wasn't the greatest player in the world, but I decided to try my hand anyway. I put my head down, closed my eyes, and took off on a growling, rousing version of Bob Dylan's "Maggie's Farm". "I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more. I got a head full of I-dee-yas, driving me insane...." When I got done, the room was absolutely quiet. I looked up and some of the girls had been staring at me and were now starting to giggle. They rolled their eyes, and gave me sideways glances as they asked incredulously, "What was that?" It was obvious I'd made a fool out of myself. I decided I needed to look for more snacks and simply went outside to get away.
Out in the cold night air, I began to see things as clearly as I could see my breath slipping out like puffs from a steam engine. I began to see that these girls, who didn't know a songwriter from a typewriter, would never get it. They would never see The Monkees as a corporate marketing ploy, and never see Dylan as the quintessential singer-songwriter. Somehow there in the lonely night of Wyoming Michigan on the corner of Holly and Division, I figured out some empirical truths about art. And how public acceptence has never been an accurate gauge of artistic achievement. I mean, Donnie Osmond sold millions of records for crying out loud, but nobody will ever accuse him of being a great 'artist'. Maybe Arthur Miller was to blame for my realizations; he'd just sent me spinning through empirical truths.
Suddenly I sensed another presence. I turned and saw that I wasn't alone. My hostess and fellow cast member Shawn was there. She came up close to me and whispered in my ear "I thought it was wonderful." And then she was gone. And so was my anxiety.
I have never forgotten that night. I'll always be grateful to Arthur Miller for writing that brilliant play. I'll always be grateful to our director Jim Hoffman for giving me a chance. But mostly I'll always be grateful to Shawn for her simple words that were spoken at just the right time.
I had an opportunity to direct "All My Sons" for a local theater group a year ago or so, and many memories came flooding back. I remembered certain lines and phrases, and how other people delivered them 35 years earlier. But mostly I remembered Shawn and her brilliant, inspired performance as Mother Keller, and her sensitivity to a friend.
High school parties then were coca-cola cheese curl extravaganzas. This one was no different. People were discussing their parts and how their character wove into the story as a whole. Others searched for symbolism and greater truths. My friend Bill and I were mostly just interested in soda pop and potato chips.
Eventually someone produced a guitar and it began to be passed around to the various people who could play. Soon the room was full of people singing along to "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" and "Rock My Soul In the Bosom of Abraham". I watched the whole thing with total indifference. I didn't know those songs and I didn't care to learn them.
Eventually the guitar made its way around to me. I hesitated because I wasn't the greatest player in the world, but I decided to try my hand anyway. I put my head down, closed my eyes, and took off on a growling, rousing version of Bob Dylan's "Maggie's Farm". "I ain't gonna work on Maggie's Farm no more. I got a head full of I-dee-yas, driving me insane...." When I got done, the room was absolutely quiet. I looked up and some of the girls had been staring at me and were now starting to giggle. They rolled their eyes, and gave me sideways glances as they asked incredulously, "What was that?" It was obvious I'd made a fool out of myself. I decided I needed to look for more snacks and simply went outside to get away.
Out in the cold night air, I began to see things as clearly as I could see my breath slipping out like puffs from a steam engine. I began to see that these girls, who didn't know a songwriter from a typewriter, would never get it. They would never see The Monkees as a corporate marketing ploy, and never see Dylan as the quintessential singer-songwriter. Somehow there in the lonely night of Wyoming Michigan on the corner of Holly and Division, I figured out some empirical truths about art. And how public acceptence has never been an accurate gauge of artistic achievement. I mean, Donnie Osmond sold millions of records for crying out loud, but nobody will ever accuse him of being a great 'artist'. Maybe Arthur Miller was to blame for my realizations; he'd just sent me spinning through empirical truths.
Suddenly I sensed another presence. I turned and saw that I wasn't alone. My hostess and fellow cast member Shawn was there. She came up close to me and whispered in my ear "I thought it was wonderful." And then she was gone. And so was my anxiety.
I have never forgotten that night. I'll always be grateful to Arthur Miller for writing that brilliant play. I'll always be grateful to our director Jim Hoffman for giving me a chance. But mostly I'll always be grateful to Shawn for her simple words that were spoken at just the right time.
I had an opportunity to direct "All My Sons" for a local theater group a year ago or so, and many memories came flooding back. I remembered certain lines and phrases, and how other people delivered them 35 years earlier. But mostly I remembered Shawn and her brilliant, inspired performance as Mother Keller, and her sensitivity to a friend.
Friday, May 4, 2007
So, Why Is...
For all of you out there who have wondered why a boxing ring is square and Madison Square Garden is round, ponder this with me:
Why is it that "Wise Man" and "Wise Guy" mean the opposite, but "Fat Chance" and "Slim Chance" mean the same thing?
And why is "people of color" acceptable, and "colored people" not?
Silly, isn't it?
Why is it that "Wise Man" and "Wise Guy" mean the opposite, but "Fat Chance" and "Slim Chance" mean the same thing?
And why is "people of color" acceptable, and "colored people" not?
Silly, isn't it?
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Virginia Tech Shootings
It wasn't the Dean's fault.
It wasn't the Administration's fault.
It wasn't the faculty's fault.
It wasn't the police's fault.
It wasn't the gun salesman's fault.
It wasn't the ammo seller's fault.
It wasn't the campus security's fault.
It wasn't the other students fault.
It wasn't music's fault.
It wasn't video games fault.
It wasn't the FBI's fault.
It wasn't movies fault.
It wasn't parents fault.
It wasn't the media's fault.
It wasn't gun laws fault.
It wasn't legislator's fault.
It wasn't background check's fault.
It wasn't the gun manufacturers fault.
It was Cho's fault.
It wasn't the Administration's fault.
It wasn't the faculty's fault.
It wasn't the police's fault.
It wasn't the gun salesman's fault.
It wasn't the ammo seller's fault.
It wasn't the campus security's fault.
It wasn't the other students fault.
It wasn't music's fault.
It wasn't video games fault.
It wasn't the FBI's fault.
It wasn't movies fault.
It wasn't parents fault.
It wasn't the media's fault.
It wasn't gun laws fault.
It wasn't legislator's fault.
It wasn't background check's fault.
It wasn't the gun manufacturers fault.
It was Cho's fault.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Where Are They Now?
I realized during a prior posting that my two old buddies that began the Flaming Rat Record Store in the Town and Country Shopping Center circa 1970, are both deceased. This won't mean much to anyone who didn't grow up in the Grand Rapids area, but at the time, Dave and Harry were kind of southside legends. With the recent death of Jeff Boughner, the guitarist for local bands of some reknown, I got to thinking about some of the other local characters that have sort of faded into the woodwork. If you happen to be reading this and know where any of these folks ended up, please share.
FLOYD BLOSS: whatever became of Grand Rapids' first porno merchant?
TERRY McCARTHY: the owner of the head shop "The Painted Caravan". ?
BUCK BARRY: Moved to Texas, and passed away several years ago.
DON MELVOIN: Fireman Freddy of GR TV. Died three years ago, after living in the Traverse City Area for several years.
FRANK SLEIGHMAKER: The first TV 8 Weatherman I can remember.
SKIP BELL: disc jockey
GEORGE ARTHUR: the disc jockey that guided us through the "Paul is Dead" clues.
ARIS HAMPERS: Runs a disc shop at Celebration Cinema on the Beltline.
RONNIE FREY: Made the Bavarian a place to go to. Country musician from Canada.
VIC AMATO: Made Charlie Huhn a star. And Danny J's out of "The Elbow Room". I lettered his drum heads.
More to be added later as I think of 'em.
And who could share any insights about PHASE II (head shop on South Division at Burton), THE BEEP LINE, THE PLACE, THE PIT, HOOVER GIDEON, and CHERYL HAVENS?
later old timers-
FLOYD BLOSS: whatever became of Grand Rapids' first porno merchant?
TERRY McCARTHY: the owner of the head shop "The Painted Caravan". ?
BUCK BARRY: Moved to Texas, and passed away several years ago.
DON MELVOIN: Fireman Freddy of GR TV. Died three years ago, after living in the Traverse City Area for several years.
FRANK SLEIGHMAKER: The first TV 8 Weatherman I can remember.
SKIP BELL: disc jockey
GEORGE ARTHUR: the disc jockey that guided us through the "Paul is Dead" clues.
ARIS HAMPERS: Runs a disc shop at Celebration Cinema on the Beltline.
RONNIE FREY: Made the Bavarian a place to go to. Country musician from Canada.
VIC AMATO: Made Charlie Huhn a star. And Danny J's out of "The Elbow Room". I lettered his drum heads.
More to be added later as I think of 'em.
And who could share any insights about PHASE II (head shop on South Division at Burton), THE BEEP LINE, THE PLACE, THE PIT, HOOVER GIDEON, and CHERYL HAVENS?
later old timers-
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Black Is Beautiful, But C'mon...
It was with great sadness a few years back when I watched the Atlanta Falcons sidleline their bright red uniforms. The NFL granted much leeway regarding such things and Atlanta had a new coach and he, along with management, apparently decided it was time to "reinvent" themselves. So they benched red in lieu of black.
Atlanta wasn't the first team to don black jerseys. The Chicago Bears have always worn black. They should. They're Bears. And for years the NFL's resident "bad boys" - the Oakland Raiders - wore black. Their notoriety as cheaters (and being very successful while doing so), made the color black a color to be "feared."
Of course all teams are forced to wear white, a a very light colored jersey for their away games. This dates back to the early days of lucrative television deals and since most or all of TV was broadcast in living black and white, it was the way in which teams could be easily distinguishable to viewers in their living rooms. But the colors the teams are known by are the ones on their home jerseys. And more and more they are becoming colorless in the name of macho posturing.
The Denver Broncos were once a lively orange and were even nicknamed the "Orange Crush". Now they've switched to a blue so dark it looks like black at first glance. And recently, following the lead of many teams, the Detroit Lions, laughably, have gone to a black jersey. Along with their standard and beautiful Caribbean Blue, it becomes very unpleasing to the eye. Sorry Detroit, you can't be tough and feared by simply putting on black jerseys. You get that by winning games.
Alas, this ugly trend has even slithered down to the high school ranks. Even the Greenville Yellow Jackets have gone from a once great look to the "go-to-when-you're-out-of-ideas" color black (or a reasonable facsimile thereof). Another victim of a coach's perceived need to "reinvent" a team and possibly desiring a "bad boy" label. I, for one, sure miss the beautiful and very eye pleasing complimentary colors of the purple jersey with the yellow numbers. They are the YellowJackets after all. Maybe the coach should have stopped by one of the most important departments in the school - the art department - before making the decision to opt for boring.
But this is what happens when not enough attention is paid to the arts in school. Today's architects design buildings that are just square boxes. Automobiles today all look alike. And all of the beauty and color, delight and pagentry of football is going dull, colorless, and flat. And we don't even complain.
Hopefully someday this disturbing trend will cycle out and color and a little joy will return to football. I think it should start now. Bring back color to the game and leave the overly dramatic black to Johnny Cash and Darth Vader. They pull it off. But anyone else, as often a not, come off looking like Snidley Whiplash.
Atlanta wasn't the first team to don black jerseys. The Chicago Bears have always worn black. They should. They're Bears. And for years the NFL's resident "bad boys" - the Oakland Raiders - wore black. Their notoriety as cheaters (and being very successful while doing so), made the color black a color to be "feared."
Of course all teams are forced to wear white, a a very light colored jersey for their away games. This dates back to the early days of lucrative television deals and since most or all of TV was broadcast in living black and white, it was the way in which teams could be easily distinguishable to viewers in their living rooms. But the colors the teams are known by are the ones on their home jerseys. And more and more they are becoming colorless in the name of macho posturing.
The Denver Broncos were once a lively orange and were even nicknamed the "Orange Crush". Now they've switched to a blue so dark it looks like black at first glance. And recently, following the lead of many teams, the Detroit Lions, laughably, have gone to a black jersey. Along with their standard and beautiful Caribbean Blue, it becomes very unpleasing to the eye. Sorry Detroit, you can't be tough and feared by simply putting on black jerseys. You get that by winning games.
Alas, this ugly trend has even slithered down to the high school ranks. Even the Greenville Yellow Jackets have gone from a once great look to the "go-to-when-you're-out-of-ideas" color black (or a reasonable facsimile thereof). Another victim of a coach's perceived need to "reinvent" a team and possibly desiring a "bad boy" label. I, for one, sure miss the beautiful and very eye pleasing complimentary colors of the purple jersey with the yellow numbers. They are the YellowJackets after all. Maybe the coach should have stopped by one of the most important departments in the school - the art department - before making the decision to opt for boring.
But this is what happens when not enough attention is paid to the arts in school. Today's architects design buildings that are just square boxes. Automobiles today all look alike. And all of the beauty and color, delight and pagentry of football is going dull, colorless, and flat. And we don't even complain.
Hopefully someday this disturbing trend will cycle out and color and a little joy will return to football. I think it should start now. Bring back color to the game and leave the overly dramatic black to Johnny Cash and Darth Vader. They pull it off. But anyone else, as often a not, come off looking like Snidley Whiplash.
Monday, March 19, 2007
When Do You Reckon?
This is a posting that I am going to add to as different words occur to me. See, lately I've been contemplating the fact that we seem to be losing words and misusing others (For example people can often be heard saying they are 'anxious' to do something when in fact they mean 'eager'). But that will be for another time.
RECKON: I occasionally use the word "reckon". Do you reckon?" I might ask. "I reckon we should do that" I might offer. This makes my wife nuts. She thinks this makes me totally hillbilly. She'll always respond with "I dunno, but y'all shore makes me feel purty!" I don't know why we are losing the word 'reckon'. It seems perfectly logical to me and sometimes seems like the only appropriate word for the situation. I'd like to think that I am just trying to perserve the language, but I acknowlege that it may be a case of too much Andy Griffith Show.
SLEET: Another thing that makes me crazy is people saying this stupid phrase "Freezing Rain". Hey, folks we have a word for that. It's called "sleet". This begs the question: When did 'sleet' fall out of favor? Why do people opt for the more bulky 'freezing rain'? Now I know there are those morons out there that will say "Hey, Freezing Rain and "Sleet" are two different things." Oh, really Frank Sleighmaker? Not according to the dictionary. It's sleet. And no, there's no such thing as 'black ice'. There's clear ice on black things.
CRESTFALLEN: When's the last time you were crestfallen? How would you know if you were crestfallen, as opposed to just say, blue. I suppose the "freezing rain' people would prefer the bulkier "down in the dumps." But sometimes I feel downright crestfallen. I can't explain it, I just am. So try to be crestfallen this week. It really feels different. And it'll make you want to save the word.
GAY: The problem with homosexuals having some sort of inferiority complex which does not allow them to embrace the perfectly good word 'homosexual' is that they decided to steal another word from the language, and that word they decided (They must have - I didn't get a vote!) is GAY. Now this is truly too bad, for many reasons, but mostly because we don't have any other word in the lexicon that means exactly what gay means. But we have many words that mean the same thing as Fabulous. So fellas, have a "Fabulous lifestyle" and go to "Fabulous nightclubs" and let us have 'gay' back.
ASTONISH: 'Awesome' is so over worked, that it is losing its potency. Most people blurt 'Awesome!' when they are actually astonished. These are the same people that say they are 'anxious' to do something, when they really mean 'eager'. But I suppose exclaiming "Astonishing!" would draw sidelong glances. Too bad. Astonish is a good word and is too often neglected.
RECKON: I occasionally use the word "reckon". Do you reckon?" I might ask. "I reckon we should do that" I might offer. This makes my wife nuts. She thinks this makes me totally hillbilly. She'll always respond with "I dunno, but y'all shore makes me feel purty!" I don't know why we are losing the word 'reckon'. It seems perfectly logical to me and sometimes seems like the only appropriate word for the situation. I'd like to think that I am just trying to perserve the language, but I acknowlege that it may be a case of too much Andy Griffith Show.
SLEET: Another thing that makes me crazy is people saying this stupid phrase "Freezing Rain". Hey, folks we have a word for that. It's called "sleet". This begs the question: When did 'sleet' fall out of favor? Why do people opt for the more bulky 'freezing rain'? Now I know there are those morons out there that will say "Hey, Freezing Rain and "Sleet" are two different things." Oh, really Frank Sleighmaker? Not according to the dictionary. It's sleet. And no, there's no such thing as 'black ice'. There's clear ice on black things.
CRESTFALLEN: When's the last time you were crestfallen? How would you know if you were crestfallen, as opposed to just say, blue. I suppose the "freezing rain' people would prefer the bulkier "down in the dumps." But sometimes I feel downright crestfallen. I can't explain it, I just am. So try to be crestfallen this week. It really feels different. And it'll make you want to save the word.
GAY: The problem with homosexuals having some sort of inferiority complex which does not allow them to embrace the perfectly good word 'homosexual' is that they decided to steal another word from the language, and that word they decided (They must have - I didn't get a vote!) is GAY. Now this is truly too bad, for many reasons, but mostly because we don't have any other word in the lexicon that means exactly what gay means. But we have many words that mean the same thing as Fabulous. So fellas, have a "Fabulous lifestyle" and go to "Fabulous nightclubs" and let us have 'gay' back.
ASTONISH: 'Awesome' is so over worked, that it is losing its potency. Most people blurt 'Awesome!' when they are actually astonished. These are the same people that say they are 'anxious' to do something, when they really mean 'eager'. But I suppose exclaiming "Astonishing!" would draw sidelong glances. Too bad. Astonish is a good word and is too often neglected.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Baby Face
A little tid-bit I recently ran across and was sharing wih my pal, Bill Baker:
In the early 30's Baby Face Nelson decided to get into the Bank Robbing business. On August 18, 1933 he robbed his first bank -the Peoples Savings Bank - in Grand Haven, Michigan. I have a friend that used to live in the area, and according to him the old bank building still stands, although the People's Savings Bank is in a new location.
In the early 30's Baby Face Nelson decided to get into the Bank Robbing business. On August 18, 1933 he robbed his first bank -the Peoples Savings Bank - in Grand Haven, Michigan. I have a friend that used to live in the area, and according to him the old bank building still stands, although the People's Savings Bank is in a new location.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Ten Must Reads To Understand American Life
Here are ten books that I think are must reads if a person really wants to understand American life. For my money, I think you should have to read all of these in order to qualify to be an American citizen.
1. Look Homeward, Angel. Thomas Wolfe
2. To Kill A Mockingbird. Harper Lee
3. The Grapes of Wrath. John Steinbeck
4. On The Road. Jack Kerouac
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Mark Twain
6. The Catcher In The Rye. J. D. Salinger
7. Of Mice And Men. John Steinbeck
8. One Flew Over The Cukoo's Nest. Ken Kesey
9. The Great Gatsby. F. Scott Fitzgerald
10. Trout Fishing in America. Richard Brautigan
If you ain't read 'em, read 'em!
1. Look Homeward, Angel. Thomas Wolfe
2. To Kill A Mockingbird. Harper Lee
3. The Grapes of Wrath. John Steinbeck
4. On The Road. Jack Kerouac
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Mark Twain
6. The Catcher In The Rye. J. D. Salinger
7. Of Mice And Men. John Steinbeck
8. One Flew Over The Cukoo's Nest. Ken Kesey
9. The Great Gatsby. F. Scott Fitzgerald
10. Trout Fishing in America. Richard Brautigan
If you ain't read 'em, read 'em!
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Jeff Boughner
I just discovered that my old friend Jeff Boughner passed away the middle of last month. Don't really know the cause yet - it takes a while to get news out here in Sheridan- but rumor has it it was cancer. Jeff was of course a founding member of the 60's Grand Rapids garage band extrodinaire "The Soul Benders" with former radio personality Aris Hampers.
I worked with Jeff on and off at "Flaming Rat Records" which was a record store co-founded by Dave Swart (deceased) and Harry Dieterman (also deceased). Ironically, in later life, Harry Dieterman would become a very close friend of Jeff's brother Lee. But I guess that's another story.
Flaming Rat Records" morphed into "The Rat" after a location change - a change that proved to be it's undoing. But while it was "The Rat" across from Woodland Mall, Jeff and I spent many hours there working together and debating the virtues of this artist or that artist. I am a compulsive list maker so it really was "High Fidelity" come to life. Jeff had a quiet soft-spoken demeanor, but he wasn't a lightweight. He was one of the sharpest guys I've ever met. Got me truly interested in jazz.
Jeff also gave me guitar lessons back in my "Springsteen period". Since I was already a player of no distinction, I would go to the lesson having already told Jeff what song I wanted to learn. He would have it figured out and would take an hour to teach it to me. Imagine my delight when I hit the street and could knock out "Prove It All Night", leads and all. Man, that was fun. It was about then he found out he needed a kidney transplant, and his brother Lee had to give him one of his. I visited Jeff in the hospital then and had to get into a full scrub outfit and had to keep my mouth and nose under one of those masks. Haven't thought about that in years.
After that I would see Jeff as he managed Schuler Books and Music on 28th Street. Again, a quiet demeanor, but with a little prodding we could get into a discussion about the best or worst of this or that. But since I have moved so far from Grand Rapids, I hadn't seen Jeff in a few years. Schuler's won't seem the same. Nor will the Grand Rapids musical landscape.
So long, Jeff.
PS. Little known Jeff Boughner fact: His grandfather was former GR mayor George Welsh, of the Welsh Auditorium fame.
I worked with Jeff on and off at "Flaming Rat Records" which was a record store co-founded by Dave Swart (deceased) and Harry Dieterman (also deceased). Ironically, in later life, Harry Dieterman would become a very close friend of Jeff's brother Lee. But I guess that's another story.
Flaming Rat Records" morphed into "The Rat" after a location change - a change that proved to be it's undoing. But while it was "The Rat" across from Woodland Mall, Jeff and I spent many hours there working together and debating the virtues of this artist or that artist. I am a compulsive list maker so it really was "High Fidelity" come to life. Jeff had a quiet soft-spoken demeanor, but he wasn't a lightweight. He was one of the sharpest guys I've ever met. Got me truly interested in jazz.
Jeff also gave me guitar lessons back in my "Springsteen period". Since I was already a player of no distinction, I would go to the lesson having already told Jeff what song I wanted to learn. He would have it figured out and would take an hour to teach it to me. Imagine my delight when I hit the street and could knock out "Prove It All Night", leads and all. Man, that was fun. It was about then he found out he needed a kidney transplant, and his brother Lee had to give him one of his. I visited Jeff in the hospital then and had to get into a full scrub outfit and had to keep my mouth and nose under one of those masks. Haven't thought about that in years.
After that I would see Jeff as he managed Schuler Books and Music on 28th Street. Again, a quiet demeanor, but with a little prodding we could get into a discussion about the best or worst of this or that. But since I have moved so far from Grand Rapids, I hadn't seen Jeff in a few years. Schuler's won't seem the same. Nor will the Grand Rapids musical landscape.
So long, Jeff.
PS. Little known Jeff Boughner fact: His grandfather was former GR mayor George Welsh, of the Welsh Auditorium fame.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Don't Buy Into Convoluded Thinking
One thing that I hear people say that I find incredibly disturbing is the saying "if you don't vote, you don't have a right to complain." What a bunch of hogwash. So then I guess another way of saying it would be, "If you don't vote for someone you don't care for, don't share values with, don't agree with on a multitude of subjects, don't believe can make the world a better place, then you don't have a right to complain." Pshaw! Of course you have a right to complain! And maybe you have a right to complain more than anyone.
More accurately I think the saying should be "If you don't pay your taxes, you don't have a right to complain." See, I think if you don't pay your taxes and aren't being part of the process, then you don't have a right to complain. But please don't feel obligated to vote for someone you don't want to see elected just to have the right to complain. You have that right. Make a lot of noise. That's what being an American is all about. Our right (duty really) to question, or complain, or protest or (Heaven forbid) burn a flag, is what makes us beautiful. And we are beautiful.
Americans the Beautiful.
More accurately I think the saying should be "If you don't pay your taxes, you don't have a right to complain." See, I think if you don't pay your taxes and aren't being part of the process, then you don't have a right to complain. But please don't feel obligated to vote for someone you don't want to see elected just to have the right to complain. You have that right. Make a lot of noise. That's what being an American is all about. Our right (duty really) to question, or complain, or protest or (Heaven forbid) burn a flag, is what makes us beautiful. And we are beautiful.
Americans the Beautiful.
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