MORE OF THE BEST OF THE WORST OF TIMES...

REUNION RECAP 2010 INCLUDED A TRIBUTE TO MY BEAUTIFUL GRANDMA WHO HAD PASSED AWAY DURING THAT EMOTIONAL WEEKEND...

"AFTER MIDNIGHT..."

ABOUT THIS ONE MY AUNT CARMELA SAID "WHEN I READ YOUR WORK IT'S NOT YOU THAT I AM READING... IT'S AS IF I AM READING YOUR GRANDFATHER'S WORK..." <= THAT IS THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT I'VE EVER RECEIVED. MY GRANDFATHER WAS AN ACCOMPLISHED WRITER, SPEAKER, AND RADIO HOST. HIS WORKS ARE SO IMPORTANT TO THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA, THAT HIS RECORDINGS OF HIS RADIO SHOW "THIS IS PENNSYLVANIA" ARE ACTUALLY BEING KEPT AND RESTORED AT THE PA STATE ARCHIVES... STERN MAY BE THE KING OF ALL MEDIA, BUT NOT KING OF HISTORY OF PA. GRAMPA WAS KNOWN AS "MR. PA" AND MY AUNT CARM SAID I SOUNDED JUST LIKE HIM... IT STILL MAKES ME SMILE...

ENJOY IF YOU'D LIKE...



Summer in the even years is always a fun time for all of us, unless you are on the reunion committee… most think last year of “is it the reunion year??? NO… AWWWW SHUCKS we gotta wait another year!” but this weekend was the big one. And what a weekend it was.

THE VJ MEMORIAL GOLF GAME

Early Friday morning I woke up and decided to go to work. I don’t have much time saved so to take a whole day of vacation is good but if ya have a bunch of paperwork to do with a new car, the “license and registration please” envelope could use copies, city parking passes, etc etc etc… little things… so I decided to go to work for 2 hours and get all my “homework” done. And shockingly, it turned out perfect. I took 2 hours of time I would normally spend making drool pictures on the floor at my desk, and by the time I was ready to go, it was done.

Went home, picked up Gibby & the Schmidts (great band name) and headed to Deer Valley. The golf course is really nice, the same place we play at every reunion (lately)… they are really great people and the course is a fun one to run around on the carts on. Oddly a few were missing from the golfing party (aka the JOYS) but Charlie, Tony and Ricardo filled that void quite well. Although since the beginning of coming there, they never filled in the sand traps with sand. So it was a beach free day for all of us!

We started around 11 and after 18 drives off the teebox, I finally got the ball to move off the first tee. We continued and Gib as usual was clutch in the short game. My buddies Marc and Johnny k were hitting drives that were undeniably PGA worthy and well, if you had been playing since you were 5 (John) or buy fitted golf clubs (Marc) ya better be able to perform. They were no pros by any means, but they were better than me. and saying that is like saying Sammy Clemens is a better writer than trevonbach… BUUUUUT I was having fun killing worms and earth dwellers with my drives and chips. At one point it was mentioned that cleaning balls were a good idea for aerodynamics of the balls but I mentioned that “aero” meant “air”, and my ball wasn’t seeing much air so the cleanliness of my ball really didn’t matter. Gib had a GREAT tee shot, only to hit a tree and land 20 yards in front of us. But that’s how our long game was going. Gib came through though with chips and making just about every putt you could think of. If not in the hole, closer than john, marc, or I could put it.

After the grueling 18 were completed, we all sat around the table outside the clubhouse swapping stories and reminiscing about the day. The final talley of scores came in and turned out we came in second. Mikey and sean’s team, who hit off the girls’ tees, won and Mikey will retain the paper towel holder (as it was in my apt… check it out Mikey its perfect size)… I sat back quietly due to my searing pain from exercising, as my usual regimen for exercising is equal to 3 letters: N, I and L… so I knew full well it was the greatest I’d feel (physically) all weekend.

KARAOKE AT ELKS CLUB

After a well needed shower and half a nap, gib and I went to the Elk’s Club, a fine establishment for some family bonding and spirits were there to be had. Since I have hayfever, I decided that I wasn’t gonna sing, except for one song, and they didn’t have it. . . . “BARBIE GIRL”… it’s a stupid song by a group called AQUA and it is sung nervously by me, and literally performedby the king of karaoke, Jamal. Speaking of aqua, the Elk’s Club had some mighty fine tasting aqua that myself and uncle pat comitz enjoyed from a beer pitcher.

I saw a beautiful brunette walk in and start walking around the place nervously as if she went there by accident. I thought “awesome… maybe if I show off my skills in front of her on the pool table, she’d notice me.” then like clockwork, the double~mint twin popped in. YUP. The Italians had made it, and beyond being purdy, they were cousins. FIGURES! [Its like the time I saw another beautiful brunette coming thru the doors of the courtyard off i-83… she swaggered over to me and sat right beside me. wiping the drool from my chin I thought “what’s wrong with her? Why is she sitting here?” she said “HI PETER!” Yeah, this beautiful model of a woman… she knew me? oh my what a prize! It was the second coming of Brooke Shields when she was hot and relevant! I asked “how do I know you” and she said “I’m Jean-Anne Benson, Suzy’s daughter!” FIGURES! I hate Scott :) lucky! SOB ç that’s crying, not S.O.B… I don’t even know his mother so to say that is, well, hmmm I digress…]

Free pool. What? One of my many sporting events that I actually know about and enjoying playing was there, and FREE. To heck with aerodynamics, this game had nothing to do with balls in the air, but more like balls in pockets. So guess who hung by the table all day? Not me… TONY and CARLO! I couldn’t win in singles, and in doubles, they couldn’t be beat. Carlo was playing “make it take it” pool but tony had mentioned it was the first and only time they had ever shot pool together. So I let them have their fun playin grandma pool… “hit it hard n pray to god” pool… Dirty pool. Uncalled pocket pool. 5 year old pool. I could go on and on, but I was just happy cause I was playing my game today finally, yet frustrated because I couldn’t be worse at it at this point… I guess I should be like Michael Jordan, err Alan Iverson “I’m the franchise player, and we talking ‘bout practice?!?!?!!!”. EEEEEEEEEYup!

Night went on and spirits flowed. Songs were sung by all and the surprise of the night was… (drumroll please…………)  give manu some R-E-S-P-E-C-T! areefa had nothing on her this night. This shy bookreader has a voice on her better than the diva herself! She was pitch-perfect and her backup singer conveniently turned off his microphone knowing full well she’d upstage him. Sean may have obscure writing skills but his voice had nothing on this piece of artist! Manu literally rocked the house with her rendition of the powerful song.

Tim did his usual best work in front of the crowd, uniquely using a second mic as his own backup to the ol “bohemian rhapsody”. How fitting in a family of so many bohemians, that they have a rhapsody (queen rocks, and thanks wayne and garth for bringing this music to the mainstream) and a whiskey fueled timmy belted out the song as if he had done it before…

And these people joined us who never seem to come by that we notice… lasssshhhhhhhhhh-gosh? Huh? I thought it was osh-gosh-b’gosh… nope, the laskosh crew showed up in full force and sang the theme to deadliest catch! “where the faces are so cold, I drive all night to get back home…” its the cowboy song… oh yeah, “WANTEEEEEEEED dead or alive”… looks like the boys from jersey thought to make an appearance in song at least.

The night wore on, I had 2 pitchers of the usual (H20) and fun was had by all. Pete Jr grabbed the mike and asked for alls attention. It took some time cause most thought some idiot left his interior light on in his new car (license GFE-6728… not mentioning any names though but it was a blue accord with freshly copied “license and registration” paperwork… hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm)

The room quieted down and it was announced at about 11:22pm that at 11:07pm Friday night, we were at the wrong party. It was grampa’s birthday and grampa got the best gift of all. The doorbell finally rang and the girl next door was finally on his doorstep. He hugged rita and carried her over the threshold of their heavenly abode. They walked over to hang out with aunt patty and aunt mary Theresa, and the cotton candy haired fellow, uncle ange. They had a birthday party in grampa’s honor and hung out with uncle leon and aunt gladys, chilled with aunt connie and uncle vinnie, and even uncle joe brought some baileys along with some of gramp’s favorite, 7n7s.

Those of us at the elk’s club here on earth had a different feeling though. our loss was so great that it slowed down the party and if you’re me, you go into silent leave-me-alone mode. The quiet weird guy is back. I don’t have a woman to hug n cry with, I don’t have the option to have a fireside chat with the bottom of the bottle anymore… Its like a state of shock even though I knew this day would come. Its easy to say something while she’s still here, like “that’s what old people do” or “it won’t be long now” but when she heads off to the other party, it kinda sucks for those of us who are still here rotating thru the universe that she gave us life to live and be a part of...

I walked and sulked. I hugged and sulked. I had nothing to say cause I am so weird around people that I just kinda hung in the shadows. At one point I was sitting at a table looking at my shoes. Kara asked me to come sit at the “COOL TABLE” with her, kris, jmac, nate, and kirstin but I informed her no, I was sitting at the cool table. It was me, and a bunch of chairs.

The party wound down and I was close to just going straight home. As a clinically depressed fellow, you just don’t know what to do in these situations. Ya just go with the flow… but in my decisions and thoughts, I knew now the living needed me to be there, and the dead needed my final respects. So as much as I didn’t want to but was obligated to, I followed JMac to the manor and found myself at the head of the bed, where my peaceful, gaped-mouthed beautiful grandma lied. There were chairs set up there, but I felt more appropriate kneeling. As the man in black said locked up in folsom prison… “I hang my head and cry”… it was pretty odd being there, and I kept expecting her to breathe in and shake it off, but it never happened. After a minute of my own infinite respect payment, I felt a hand on my back and dad was there to console me.

I eventually got up and went back to silent mode again. so I did something I never did before. I thought about work and doing this. I said to myself “I can’t wait to go to work on Monday!!!!!!!!” you guys don’t understand how this helps me and makes me feel good to send out goofy stuff and make people smile. Its like listening to blues and feeling cleansed after a great soul shakeup.

So I, the weird silent guy, took a tour of the apt as she left it. Looked at the decorations around the place. Saw the interlocked wooden people that used to be on the angel bookshelf at 2200… I saw pics of all of the cousins, all of her kids, young paintings of gram n gramps… jewelry in and out of jewelry boxes, bathroom accessories, and different well-hung pictures of beautiful settings and family trees… the Zarbo birthdays calendar on the side of the toilet in the bathroom (it had my birthday wrong I may add J its 10/29/76…)

A few of the things I took cell pics of. . . one of which was stuffed on the side of the mirror in the hallway leading to the hallway of the manor. a big-headed baby with blonde hair and blue eyes. Then an older one of that same big-headed baby with his overalls on that said proudly… “Pete’s #1 Son!” Yup, that was me as a baby. There was a picture hanging on the wall with the saying “I just can’t ignore the girl next door” written below a sketch of their houses… and finally there was a quote that hung stuffed in the frame of a picture that read “the human race has only one real effective weapon… that is laughter!” – Mark Twain. The fun thing about that particular quote is that daisies are growing out of it as if it were part of the painting...

Before I left the karaoke party though, uncle chris gave me a good piece of advice…”this didn’t happen till tomorrow night at midnight”, and to paraphrase, so enjoy the reunion and take care of gram once the fun is done. Even though I handle things differently than most, for the most part I couldn’t get Clapton out of my head… “chingachingachingachinga CHING CHING DA LING... After midnight, we gonna let it all hang dooooooown!!!!!!!”

Still at the manor at 2am or so, we thought it was a good idea to leave and prep for the fun-infested ZFR 2010… and so we did.

ZFR 2010

When you wake up after a tragedy in the family it just isn’t the same kind of wake up as before. Its more of a “take a deep breath, exhale, and get yer toys ready, today will be fun, but somber…” [CHING CHING DA LING…. “After midnight...”]

I picked up tim and gib and we headed out 22 to 39. nice thing: I had GPS… not so nice thing: I looked up WEST hanover park on google. It couldn’t find anything so I called dad for directions. When we got there it was found out it was EAST hanover park. Forget directions, I can’t even get the name right… BUT we made it.

I parked and gib ran off to the pavilion because he was starving. It was said to me that he grabbed a cheeseburger, added fixins and turned around to eat and a man was there. Gib said “oh hello, who are you related to?” and the man replied “I am the head of this family…” that’s when gib realized he didn’t recognize anyone. He offered to give back the burger, but they were nice and said take it. Turns out his stomach was stronger than his eyes… he got food from another picnic! OOPS! our reunion pavilion was under a seemingly LARGE gazebo-shaped pavilion, and it was located in a never-before seen place behind the tennis courts. An obvious mistake, but a sweet screwup! Haha he said they mentioned that if we had any ribs a payback would be nice but alas they didn’t ask for chicken and orzo salad so GIB WINS!!!!!!!!! Woohoo!

This large octagonal pavilion very quickly began getting smaller and smaller the more people arrived. And the usual suspects were grillin, others brought food from shrimp to salads to ramen noodle something good to pineapple upside down cake. Plenty of food for the hungover nutzis…

Yet in this gazebo, the food line was basically a circle. And a circle that didn’t move at all. everyone kinda stood there waiting for someone to move but noone did. So ya picked and chose what was close to you and ate while in said circle.

Somehow I had no problem picking and choosing what I wanted and WOLFED down 4 plates. What was I some national guardsman? Like it or not, I had better exercise today, or I was flat gaining 40 pounds from what went down my piehole.

Zarbo Olympics started off with Softball, barely digesting the food, we all got teams picked between timmy and nate. Jill started off for us on nate’s team. [on a side note, not that she looked any better or worse when we met her, but Jiminy Christmas! I thought there was a divorce and remarry in progress when Jill got out of the car with the kids. I hadn’t recognized her. And what was this beautiful young lady doing with my uncle chris? Is she available? Oh crap its just Jill…. Boo for me!]

At some point nate’s team was down 6-0 until we got our bats working… it was an epic game complete with broken ankles for the first base runners (FYI FOR THE FUTURE… SLATE ROCK DOESN’T MAKE GOOD BASES), to bee stings for certain masciullis named tony, to a home run by mikey into the tennis court (a first for the ZFR since we’ve been there at EAST hanover park), to plenty of errors from nate’s team captain, and even one or 2 for tim’s team captain. It was tied up in the 8th inning (extra innings in softball) when tim got up and cracked the ball for the final RBI to win 11-10. noone complained about the score, it was a tre-cool game, and fun was had by all.

As I was walking to the car I noticed a tall soldier looking man with a girl he hadn’t introduced me to. One of those “too hot for the hottub” girls… or “to hot to even notice me” kind of girls. Typical of this man, I told this soldier fellow to stop so I may be introduced. Wow. I think I had to wipe drool from my chin once again, yet realized this woman wasn’t related! Woohoo! Yet she is from missu, so she may as well be a mirage… Maybe I should go out for basic training. I certainly could eat apparently!

At this point the recap from my perspective gets sidetracked. I had a personal sweatgland problem in a particular area of me-self so I went home took a fast shower and changed so I was more compfy, plus gave me an opportunity to drive the car again J
When I got back the basketball game had ended and chuck said he had lost… its so sad to hear an 800 year old man pout when he loses at basketball, but also fun when you have to think of all the talk he usually spits when prepping for a basketball game at the reunion. I figure its cause Beth Herchelroath wasn’t on his team, or even there at all.

We headed inside and I saw people playing bingo, all the new banners from the new “Families” made over the last 2 years, origami, silent auctions going on, things offered as a family yard sale, and the list goes on. The smell of meatballs and noodles filled the room and after 4 plates of lunch I wasn’t exactly hungry so I waited the allotted 30 minutes for the line for dinner to be made and end so I could get the leftovers. As I waited Eddie and Lita and Schuyler pulled in. WOW were they late. Yet Lita had just gotten back from Thailand with Schuyler and its from the other side of the world so to say they were jet lagged would be an understatement. Their nights were our days so it takes some time to readjust (like I have a clue. As we found out in max’s tunes, tre doesn’t fly)

Then I got in line and met yet another beautiful woman named Amy. What is this my lucky day? Amy asked who I was and how I fit in to the family. I told her I was pete’s son pete’s son pete. So everyone calls me tre. I asked the same and she said she was from Montana (maybe…. I explained I didn’t even know where that was but still a slight bonus for me… YES!!!!!!!!!) and she was related to the laskosh’s (crap!)… I was battin 1000 this weekend… ungh…

On a side note… is every woman in our family a model?
And a ps to the side note… you might be a redneck if you go to a family reunion lookin for a wife… … I had some sunburn on my neck too…

So we ate n ate (I had 2 plates of dinner), listened to the mac play “the cabin” among other favorites, had a family jam band play with da cofe on harmonica, Patrick played his banjo with one of the lashkosh rock n roll boys, and even the children put on a talent show. Its been a few years since the talent show was a part of the reunion but this year they found time for it. How refreshing! We had a dance recital to singers (sal sang an entire song and langan sang his wo-wo-wo song (bon jovi) and lina sang the tweet tweet song she always sang with gramma when she stopped by.)

Kiwi did the ultimate though. kiwi passed the torch to a young lashkosh relative and the young man now owns “talk me out to the ballgame”…

No no I didn’t forget max. max was part of everything. He stood on stage diligently playing along with the bands. He was a young mini-me to many of the guitar players, and it was a great sight to see. Remember max… you’re part of the 4g band, just ya have to wait for nick to grow older and learn the bass.

On a side note #2… I held my godson and ran around with him and he didn’t cry. Hate to say it but the highlight of the weekend for me. babies always cry with me, but I guess something was different this weekend… NICK RULES BABY!!!!!!!!! moving on…

Once all was done it was time to clean up. You know how that goes… organized CHAOS!

We left and went to JM+E’s for the after-reunion reunion and enjoyed telling stories, singing, drinkin, and all around good fun.

All in all a fine weekend indeed, and since she wasn’t there physically, I let gram watch the festivities thru my eyes, and lemme tell ya, she loved it! She’ll always be with me in thought, spirit, and heart. I’ll miss ya, but thanks for this life, and this loving family. Without them……I am nothing.

LOVE,
III

I HEARD MY GRAMMA CRY, I HEARD HER PRAY THE NIGHT MY GRANDPA DIED...

HORRIBLE TITLE, BUT ITS A NUTSY THING...

MY GRANDPA DIED AT THE HOSPITAL AND THE TIMELINE THE WEEKEND OF HIS FUNERAL INCLUDED A CELEBRATION OF MY COUSIN HANNAH'S GRADUATION... MY OBSERVATIONAL EMAIL FOLLOWS... GRAMS INCLUDES A REUNION RECAP SO I WILL ADD THAT LATER IN ITS ENTIRETY... SOME SAY ITS AN EASY WAY TO BUILD A BLOG, BUT I BEG TO DIFFER. I STILL HAD TO COMMIT THIS TO PAPER... AND AS THE SUBJECT MATTER SUGGESTS, IT WAS A LABOUR OF LOVE...

ENJOY:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” – Dickens (I think)

How true was that in terms of the weekend…? Although when I received the email from Kara on Wednesday it turned the surreal into real life. Gib called me from work Wednesday afternoon and said he’d be in to see pops in the hospital, and I told him he could stay in my place. He arrived late and decided it was best to let pops have his rest, that he would see him Thursday.

Thursday, 5:30 am…

“Pete? It’s Dad. Grampa died 5 minutes ago.”

Those words will be etched in my mind forever. And how was I going to tell Gib that his father died? How frightening?!

He woke me up saying “Its 9:30! You’re late for work!”

- “No its ok. I called off today, being up till 2:30a…  But I have bad news. I don’t know how to tell you this *swallow* but grampa died this morning at 5:25 am.”

He looked deflated, but walked out of my bedroom and went into the living room. I turned over once more and somehow fell back asleep to be awake later on in the day.

Later we went to Gram’s for the wonderful occasion of making funeral arrangements and hang with the fellow mourners. Although with all the different conversations in the room, there was an old Jewish man named Allen who lightened the mood, let alone the room. He is a truly intriguing man that at every turn seems to be a bit like me. Just likes to see smiles on people’s faces, using any type of humor that will help accomplish his task. He seemed to have a goofy story for every occasion and somehow grabbed everyone’s attention by saying “QUIET! Allen is speaking!” in his (un)orthodox drawl. I don’t think ANYONE has ever silenced a room like that before, even with a ketchup bottle in your hand!

Later, Gib and I retired to my apartment and reflected on grampa’s life a little, then went to bed.

Sunday was a party like no other. It was like a reunion of sorts. Everyone was in town for the funeral, but that wasn’t priority this day! Hannah “banana fannah bo banna” Carmela turned a new leaf this year. Congrats to the grad! We all congregated to the Montrose Mansion and celebrated her achievement. There was catered food, vino, punch, a main course you could write home about, and cake fit for a queen… how fitting.

I found myself at a table with Tim “I wish it was 1990 so I had a chance with Hannah’s friends” Hill, Gib, and, of course Allen. For some reason I couldn’t resist listening to his stories and corny punch lines, and he gave me, ME, a lesson on self-deprecating humor. He was kinda intrigued by me though cause I was quiet, my mind of course was elsewhere. A tragedy had just occurred and I couldn’t turn my brain off of it.  Dad had eventually explained to Allen that I am a different breed of fellow, I speak my mind on paper (electronically) and like to just take things in wherever I am at and report an all the misgivings later. I wasn’t engaging much with Allen but whenever I passed him or saw him on future days on this weekend I was sure to say hello to him. He helped brighten our day of sorrow Thursday and anyone who can make you laugh or at the least smile on a day like that at least requires acknowledgement of existence.

Later that night the first cousins (mostly) of drinking age slithered off to JM & E’s house for some late night reminiscing of the late pops, telling funny stories, being philosophical, thinking about how we could be like him in life, so as to be appreciated as much in death.

But as things go and as people stopped by bringing food and ordering pizzas, the party got looser and looser and after a few went home there was a few of us left who now have code words to remind us of that crazy end of an evening.

I never really spent this much time with my cousin Kiwi before, not this late at least. This kid has a future in comedy, the arts, something of that nature. We laughed and laughed singing songs of our generation, mostly rap so I of course just listened, and even were talented enough to seamlessly merge a song without knowing it, till music guru Jmac realized the mistake. We riffed on comedy routines, told jokes, and just had a ball. But apparently the equation of this humor by Kiwi is “make tired + family n friends = hilarity!” after a couple of hours of his sit down stand-up routine it was time to leave.

Monday was back to the grind for me. I put in time though for Thursday and Friday, and Tuesday, the day of the funeral itself. Monday was the viewing day, and when I stepped down to the bar with my best bud of 13 years, Mike, for a pre-viewing edge-taker-offer, it was about 5:20p, and there was already a line forming outside the funeral home. This was part of the testament to this radio personality. We headed down to neumeyer’s (unless this is it I will never spell that funeral home correctly) and stood in line for a split second, standing behind a towering Rick Wagner. I called dad real quick and said what can you do? He instructed me that family (and friend) could run in the side door so I grabbed tony, em, cathy, dom, tina, walt, and made a bee line to the side door.

First person I see? “Hello Allen!”

-“How ahh you?” hand extended, with an ever-present smile.

I walked in and realized we had just jumped a 2.5 hour waiting line to see gramps for the last time. I kinda felt bad but at the same time he was MY grampa, not a friend or coworker, but GRAMPA! So that anxious thought quit the second I thought of the bad feeling. He looked great, even better at peace than actually alive. He wasn’t in any pain, didn’t have to think of some quick comeback for a line you said to him, nothing. Just at peace.

The viewing went as smoothly as planned. But it was going strong the entire scheduled time. The governor make a quick respect payment, I even saw the former Secretary of Revenue Gregory Fajt. He was my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s boss’s…..boss. He was “the godfather” of revenue. But a pleasure of a man to work under. But the best meeting I had ever hoped to have had was a childhood friend from the boat. Susan Stewart. I saw her while walking my mom to her car. She is truly a great person and one of those people who don’t age. Her husband, Stu, had passed away about a year ago she said, and he was like a second father to me. Just a great guy and fun to be around. But sue looked terrific and we had a nice fireside chat with her, all the while more and more people were showing up to see gramps.

We were there for 3 hours and it seemed the line never diminished. And it hadn’t. After taking many outside breaks, Mike and I had decided we had had enough, and headed home.  After starting early, Gib finally made it home at a quarter of 11.

Tuesday didn’t start off well. First I had the wrong instructions so I was in a rush. Since never being a pall bearer before I didn’t know the pall bearing meant heavy lifting. Well, not like this. I have never in my life carried such an important thing like my grandfather in a casket along with my other cousins. And that wasn’t the point. This thing weighed in at 3,000 tons. That’s 6 MILLION POUNDS. There were 8 of us (including “the Hulk”AKA young Philip) so we were each carrying 750,000 pounds. Needless to say my elbow separated more times than Bob Horst has broken my hand in a handshake.

I have never carried something so heavy in my life.

We got to the church and parked in the alley. No parking lots or nothing, it was the alley. We were all in formation so it worked out fine. We grabbed gramps, got him in the church, and proceeded with a wonderful mass. Joe stood up and the family sang, Kristin read well, Banana sang beautifully, and even the priest’s homily was poignant and his attempt on gramp’s voice was funny. Paul later reported the flag would be flying at half mast in honor of the fallen wordsmith, Eddie read one of gramp’s passages that this year, 20 years ago, any time, could be used as a way to think differently about yourselves and others. Dad got up there and gave a eulogy that Mike complimented best. He said “My wife said to me after your eulogy that she had never met gramps, but she felt like she didn’t just meet him, but she knew him.” And it was true. A fine eulogy indeed.

Later we went to Cantone’s restaurant, a favorite watering hole of gramps, and the owner was a great friend. The food was fantastic, drinks flowing and everyone had an all around fine time. Although when I walked in, I heard a great line: “Oh no… finish fast! They’re here. Its gonna get loud!” Well, yeah… it did.

I think if gramps was alive, and younger, he would have had a blast. But you know what? He WAS there. He’s in all of us now more so than before and as long as we all carry him around with us in our hearts, his legacy will never die.

III

COONMAN, UNLIKE SPOONMAN, CAME UP WITH HIS OWN PLAN

AN OLDIE FROM A FEW YEARS AGO, MY BUDDY TIM COONEY TOLD ME A STORY I HAD TO REHASH ON AN EMAIL AND IT MADE ME FRIGGIN HAPPY FOR HIM. THE KID IS A GIFTED PLAYER AND IF THIS HELPS ANYONE, FEEL FREE TO CONTACT TIM OVER YOUTUBE.

ENJOY:

ok so as some of you know my mother used to sing folky songs with this dude named denny cooney. they sang songs and made a record with such standards as "west virginia" (take me home to the place i belong...) among others. think if john denver did duets... that "shove your finger down your throat" kind of music... no offense karen carpenter...  makes ya wonder why they arent still making records... ok, maybe not.

he had a brother named bob and bob had a son named tim. patty mac daddy knew him a few years ago and when i found out who he was and that his cooney was the same as denny's cooney, we became friends... we were oddly bonded and he was a hell of a musician... he was good at playing and as y'all know i can listen like nobody's business... but i havent seen him in about 6-8 years...

killing 3 paragraphs, aka, long story short i got a phone call from tim today and he's living in delaware married with 3 kids... his talent is out of this world good, like patrick, but uniquely individual to him. but this is why you are reading this heresay story:

tim went to an open mike in delaware and apparently tim described this as "the carnegie hall of open mike nights" in delaware. the place has been in business doing this open mike night for 60 years and everyone who plays there is incredible.

tim asked the owner one night to play and the owner took a look at him and said NO. apparently the guy is really cutthroat. later on he asked again and he said no again. he pleaded with the guy, said he'd only do 2 songs and this is the time he is alotted out of his house for the week cause of his kids and life in general. so eventually the owner said "2 songs... go ahead"... its a movie script i know...

so he went on stage and the magic of tim happened. he started playing and the room quieted down to a pin drop. he said there is a style he does called tapping, and from note one he had the room. the other musicians who signed up came to the front of the room to hear him play. i don't know how anyone can play any instrument but this guy is insanely good like patrick. its in his blood.

the owner said after the first song there was a problem in his club. the other musicians didn't want to follow tim. so he put on an hour and a half show for the club and now either hosts or occasionally hosts that open mike night. i forget exactly how it worked out, but he proved his worth in one song. the moral? don't judge a book by its cover.

i thought it was a pretty kick arse story and thought for a dreary cold friday on the east coast, it would warm all your hearts to hear it too. after the dover race in may, gib and i will take an "old guy" nap, then head to see tim play in rehoboth that sunday night. or i will at least.  

to see an example of what tim can do go here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clBoyR_c1Rs&feature=endscreen&NR=1

or search youtube.com"tim cooney" he has about 15 videos... for those of you in the business of music who may know a thing or two may i suggest you pass this on to the powers that be... and since we all know norwegian wood, find him doing that one in his 15 videos as well...

(mare pass on to patrick and encourage him to play more. i wish i knew how to hold a guitar but i refuse to learn cause i could never be as good as patrick. so i'll get back into shooting pool instead...)

enjoy
III

HELLO HOLLYWOOD, ITS ME, TVB

MID OCTOBER 2011 WE WENT TO PSU TO VISIT WITH SOME FRIENDS I CONSIDER FAMILY AND HAVE A TAILGATE AT BEAVER STADIUM AS WE DO EVERY YEAR. ITS BECOME TRADITION AND PEOPLE NEVER COMMIT TO THE TAILGATE UNTIL WITHIN A WEEK FROM THE GAME WHEN THE WEATHER IS IN QUESTION. IF IT RAINS YOU REALLY DON'T GET THE NORMAL 20+ CROWD THAT YOU DO WHEN IT DOESN'T. IT RAINED ON THE WAY UP, BUT THE WET WASNT THE ISSUE.

IN FACT THIS EMAIL WAS SENT DURING THE WEEK AFTER THE FUN OCCURRED. ANOTHER GAME WENT BY AND YET THE FOLLOWING TUESDAY IT HAD BEEN FOUND OUT ABOUT THE KIDS AND MR SANDUSKY. AS SAD AS I AM FOR THE KIDS I COULDN'T BE HAPPIER IT OCCURRED AT PSU. I'VE HATED THE FOOTBALL TEAM FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER BREATHING, SO THIS HORRIBLE MAR ON THE MUSEUM QUALITY POLISHED MIRROR OF PSU MAKES ME FEEL GOOD TO KNOW THEY ARE NOW LOOKING MORE DEEPLY AT THEMSELVES THAN THE NONEXISTENT GAME AHEAD.

OTHERWISE, HOLLYWOOD, GIMME A CALL, THIS ONE IS WORTHY OF A MOVIE. THE WIND WAS AMAZING AND COULD MAKE FOR A GOOD CAMPING THRILLER NOT UNLIKE THE CHARACTER THAT FIRE PLAYED IN "BACKDRAFT"...

ENJOY:

PSU V PURDUE 2011: A VEGETARIAN TAILGATE

COULD IT BE THE WAR OF WORLDS? NOT REALLY. HOT AIR? POSSIBLY AND I MAY HAVE FOUND THE SOURCE OF THAT IF AIR WERE WORDS ON A PREGAME EMAIL… BUT THE WORD OF THE WEEKEND WAS W-I-N-D… I REMEMBER SEEING THE FORECAST OF “WINDY” HERE IN MECHANICSBURG AND THAT IT MAY GUST TO 40+. WELL, THE LITTLE PIG IN THE BRICK HOUSE HAS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT… MAKE YOUR HOUSE OUT OF HAY HOWEVER, AND YOU MAY AS WELL TRY YOUR LUCK WITH SOME TAFFETA AND NYLON… IN THEORY IT WORKS FINE. ADD A GUST OF WIND AND YOU DON’T HAVE A HOUSE… NO NO NO… YOU HAVE A SAIL.

ALTHOUGH THIS WEEKEND WAS DIFFERENT, A LOT OF THE NORMAL “MR G’S PREPARTY” CROWD COULDN’T MAKE IT THIS YEAR. WHETHER YOUR EXCUSE WAS ATTENDING A WEDDING, “OUR HONEYMOON” (SORRY WE’RE ON A DOMINICAN BEACH… ENJOY THE TORNADO.... DARN HIPPIES CAN’T BE WRONG), OR THE FLU… IF THERE WAS ANY REASON YOU COULDN’T COME TO THIS PSU WEEKEND, WELL, IT WAS A GOOD ONE. BECAUSE THE WEATHER WAS A SONNNOFABITCH. BUT THAT WASN’T THE ONLY NEMESIS OF THE WEEKEND…

I LEFT WORK FRIDAY ONLY TO BE CONFRONTED WITH A FEW OBSTACLES GOING HOME. NAMELY OTHER PEOPLE’S PROBLEMS, AND I’M NOT DOWN WITH O.P.P... THERE WAS A STUCK TRUCK UNDER A BRIDGE ON FRONT STREET AND SLOWED TRAFFIC TO A HALT THEN HEADING HOME I FINALLY ARRIVED WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE OF OTHER ISSUES. THIS YEAR WAS DIFFERENT. MARC AND I DECIDED TO MEET AT HIS HOUSE AND NOT JONNY MAC’S CAUSE IT WAS JUST EASIER TO THE WEST SHORIANS. IT TURNED OUT TO BE A BAAD DECISION IF YOU WANTED TO LEAVE EARLY.

FIRST A CAR FIRE. YES. IF YOU’VE NEVER SEEN A CAR ON FIRE IN THE REAL WORLD, IT’S A SPECTACLE TO SEE. FLAMES SO HIGH AND THE FRAME OF THE CAR IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING THE BRIGHTNESS FROM BURNING THROUGH YOUR EYES, LIKE LOOKING UNPROTECTED AT A WELDER IN ACTION.

NATURALLY IT AFFECTED TRAFFIC AND MY INABILITY TO REMEMBER IT WAS GOING TO BE COLD AND TO GRAB A JACKET MADE ME GO BACK HOME AND GET SAID JACKET. ON THE WAY HOME A BUILDING FIRE ON ST JOHN’S CHURCH (ROAD) SLOWED TRAFFIC EVEN MORE.

WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM GPS, I FINALLY ARRIVED AT MARC’S PLACE AND WE LOADED UP AND HEADED OFF. WE NORMALLY LEAVE AROUND 5:30ISH AND ONCE AGAIN NOTHING WAS NORMAL. WE HEADED OUT AROUND 6:30ISH AND 322 WASN’T BAD AT ALL. MAYBE MORE PEOPLE WERE SICK THAT WEEKEND… OR MAYBE THEY READ THE WEATHER REPORT AND THOUGHT “ONLY AN IDIOT WOULD GO TO THIS GAME” SO THEY DECIDED TO HOLD OFF AND STAY HOME. HOW SMART AND RIGHT THEY WERE.

WE ARRIVED AT 9:03PM AND SET UP. IF JUST PUTTING DOWN MARC’S TARP TO PUT HIS TENT ON WAS ANY INDICATION, IT WAS GONNA BE A LONG STRUGGLE WITH THE WIND. BUT ALSO I THINK IF WE HAD TO SET UP TENTS IN SUNLIGHT WE COULDN’T DO SO WITH SUCH EFFICIENCY AND EXPERTISE AS WE DO IN THE DARK. AND OF COURSE WHEN YOU HAVE AN EXPERIENCED HOLDER OF FLASHLIGHTS AS BETH HELPING YOU OUT, THINGS JUST GO SO MUCH SMOOTHER, ERR WHATEVER “SHE” SAID.

WE WENT INSIDE FOR SOME FRIDAY NIGHT FOOD AND THEN THE WAIT WAS ON… I KNEW MY COUSIN KIWI WOULD BE ON THE WAY, I JUST DIDN’T KNOW HOW WELL HE’D DO WITH DIRECTIONS. ITS HIS SECOND TIME COMING, BUT FIRST DRIVING, AND I HAVE TO SAY FOR MYSELF, KNOWING WHICH WAY IS LEFT IS AN ACCOMPLISHMENT. BUT KIWI, ARMED WITH A GIFT ONLY JONNY MAC COULD UNDERSTAND, GOT TO THE COUNTRY CONVENIENCE STORE ON HIS OWN AND WITH OUR “SHOTTY” DIRECTIONS, FOUND HIS WAY TO THE YARD. WHEN YOU LOOK AT THAT FIRST PIC OF HIM WITH THE FOOTBALL, ALL YOU CAN DO IS SCREAM “KIWI!!!!!!!!!!!!!” WHICH WOULD CAPTION IT WELL.

WE SET HIM UP, RE-INTRODUCED HIM TO CHARLENE AND THE REST OF THE CREW, HAD AN OBLIGATORY BOWL OF SOUP, AND CHILLED OUT FOR THE NIGHT.

EVERY YEAR THERE IS A NEW FACE OF THE PARTY, AND THIS YEAR IT WAS CHRISTINE… TEEN? NO, “TINE”! KIWI’S FIANCEE CAME WITH HIM TO EXPERIENCE WHAT WE ALL HAVE KNOWN FOR YEARS… PSU IS A GOOD TIME, SICK OR NOT, AND LOOKING BACK SHE DID WELL ON HER FIRST TIME, BUT THOSE STORIES WILL COME OUT AS WE GO ALONG.

IN THE BASEMENT THE KEARNEYS HAVE A HUGE BAR SETUP COMPLETE WITH STOOLS, SIGNS, LIGHTS, AND A FULLY STOCKED BAR. I COULD IMAGINE HAVING A FINE TIME THERE FOR A NEW YEAR’S EVE PARTY A FEW ELBOW EXERCISES AGO, AS LONG AS I DIDN’T HAVE TO SLEEP IN A TENT THAT NEW YEAR’S NIGHT.  THE FUN PART WASN’T THE BAR OR SWEET SITTING AREA, IT WAS THE POOL TABLES. NOW, IF YOU RECALL WHEN YOU MAKE IT DOWN THERE, YOU FIND OUT QUICKLY WHAT THE STEP OUTSIDE THE FIRST STAGE OF HELL MUST FEEL LIKE. IT’S ABOUT 100 DEGREES, AND WITHIN ABOUT 20 MINUTES YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF THERE FOR FEAR OF BECOMING BEEF JERKY. BUT WITH THE AMBIANCE OF A 70’S MOVIE SET, AND 2 (COUNT ‘EM, TWO) POOL TABLES, IT WAS DECIDED A NICE THAW AND FRIDAY NIGHT CHILL INSIDE WAS IN ORDER. CHARLENE CAME DOWN WITH US AND SHOWED US WHICH ONE WAS THE “GOOD” POOL TABLE. SO WE DECIDED TO USE THAT VS THE ONE WHERE THE BALLS WERE JUST SET UP AND WAITING TO BE BROKEN… LITTLE DID I KNOW THAT WHEN LIFTING OFF THE RACK ON THE “BAD” POOL TABLE THAT ALL THE BALLS GRAVITATED TOWARD THE CENTER OF THE TABLE. BUT I FIGURED THAT WAS OK, THAT WAS THE “BAD” POOL TABLE.

FIRST UP WAS KIWI AND MYSELF, AND WHAT WE KNEW WAS KIWI WAS 1-UP ON ME FROM A GAME WE HAD A FEW MOONS AGO. YEAH, I SUNK THE 8 BALL OFF A BAD CAREM, (KAREM?) BUT RULES ARE RULES AND HE HAD ONE GAME UP ON ME. WHEN YOU BREAK ON THE GOOD POOL TABLE YOU FIND OUT THAT THE GOOD POOL TABLE MEANS THE BALLS STAY STEADY WHEN YOU PULL THE RACK OFF. AFTER THAT YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN. ONCE WHILE MARC AND CHRISTINE SHOT, THERE WAS A SHOT WHERE NO RAILS WERE HIT, THE CUE BALL MADE A COMPLETE 360 DEGREE CIRCLE, AND 2 BALLS WERE PUT IN THE POCKETS. I’D LIKE TO SEE THE MYTHBUSTERS TRY AND DISPROVE THAT ONE, BUT IT HAPPENED.

DID I WIN? YES BUT I LOST TO MARC ON A SCRATCH LATER ON… BUT AGAIN, STEVE MIZERAK HAD NO CHANCE ON THESE TABLES… I THINK RORY MCILROY WOULDN’T HAVE EVEN FOUND THE HOLE READING THESE GREENS. YET THE IMPORTANCE OF EACH SHOT WAS SUCH A SWEET DIVERSION FROM THE REALITY OF WORLD GOINGSONS. IT WAS A BOATLOAD OF FUN AND WE ALL HAD A LAUGH AT THE SIMPLE DIRECTION OF ROLLING BALLS ON A TABLE.

FROM POOL THOUGH IT WAS GETTING LATE AROUND MIDNIGHT AND WE DECIDED TO MAKE OUR WAY TO OUR RESPECTIVE BEDROOMS AND FOUND OUR WAY OUTSIDE…

WHAT WE KNEW? IT WOULD BE CHILLY. WHAT WE DIDN’T KNOW? WE WERE NEVER IN KANSAS NOR NEVER INTENDED TO BE IN KANSAS… BUT I SWORE I HEARD A YOUNG GIRL CLUTCHING HER LITTLE DOG SAYING “WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE TOTO”… THE WIND WAS EXTREME. WE FELL ASLEEP, ERR, LAID IN OUR FREEZERS FOR 20 MINUTES COMPLAINING HOW DUMB WE WERE FOR EVEN COMING, HOW STUPID SLEEPING IN A TORNADO WAS IN LESS THAN A 1MM THICK TENT, AND HOW LOUD THE TREES WERE. THE GOOD THING THOUGH, THE DOGS KNEW TO STAY IN THE GARAGE. US? WE WERE BEING KEPT UP BY TENTS ARCHING THE WRONG WAY AND HAVING THE “WALLS” SMACK US IN THE FACE AS WE TRIED TO GO TO SLEEP. MARC MENTIONED HE HAD A “SLEEP AID” AND IT WAS DECIDED THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA. NOPE. NOTHING COULD ESCAPE YOU FROM THIS WIND. WE DECIDED TELEPATHICALLY IF WE ALL PUT A CONCERTED EFFORT INTO DOING THE CIRCADIAN THING AND KNOWING IT WAS NIGHT TIME, JUST S-L-E-E-P. ONE SHEEP, TWO SHEEP…

I THINK I WAS THE ONE WHO BROKE THE LOOONG SILENCE AND SAID “THIS IS STUPID”. APPARENTLY I WASN’T THE ONLY ONE WHO WAS AWAKE. YOU HEARD THE TREES CREEK AND MOAN AND ARCH TO MAX CAPACITY AND RUSTLE WITH EVERY FORCE OF NATURE IMAGINABLE TO KEEP YOU UP AT NIGHT AND YOU THINK “WOW, THAT’S SOME STRONG WIND…” … NO, IT WAS A WARNING BELL TO STAND UP AND HOLD ON. I HAD NEVER BEEN OUT THERE IN THAT FIELD AND THOUGHT I WAS GONNA DIE. THIS NIGHT MAY HAVE BEEN A GOOD ONE FOR THAT. BUT AS WE ALL THOUGHT IT HAD BEEN 6 HOURS TRYING TO GET TO SLEEP, MARC INFORMED US NO, IT WAS ONLY AN HOUR OF STRUGGLE. WE HAD 6 MORE HOURS OF THIS TO GO.

KIWI SAID “YOU KNOW, RAIN WOULD BE SO MUCH BETTER RIGHT NOW THAN WIND. I WISH IT WAS RAINING INSTEAD OF BEING THIS WINDY…” WHO KNEW THE KID HAD IT IN HIM TO CHANGE THE WEATHER? GRANTED, HE DIDN’T CALL UP TO THE SKY ON HIS CELLPHONE PUTTING IN THE REQUEST SO IT TOOK A LITTLE BIT LONGER FOR HIS REQUEST TO MAKE IT TO THE SKY… AND AT 430AM?

*TINK

*TINK

*TINK

*TINK TONK

*TINK TONK TANK TINKTONKTANK…*

IT WENT FROM A TERRIBLY WINDY NIGHT TO HURRICANE LEE. I WAS WORRIED MY TENT’S BASEMENT WAS GOING TO FLOOD, SO I MOVED ALL MY STUFF TO HIGHER GROUND (THANKS RAFT, ERR, AIR MATTRESS) BUT ALL MY PREVIOUS EXPERIENCES WERE WITH A DIFFERENT TENT THAT ALLOWED FOR MOATS INSIDE THEM. THIS IS THE ONE REASON I BOUGHT THIS TENT. EUREKA TETRAGONS HAVE THE UNBELIEVABLE ABILITY (PER THE REVIEWERS’ COMMENTS ALL AROUND) TO WITHSTAND RAIN. AND I NOW HAVE TO ADD MINE TO IT. NOT A DROP. I WAS DRY AS A FEATHER YET THREW ON MY RAINSUIT TO GET TO THE HOUSE. I BOUGHT THE RAINSUIT AFTER THE IOWA GAME YEARS AGO, SO I MAY AS WELL USE IT HERE. LUCKILY THOUGH IT WAS 630AM BY NOW, AND THE RAIN STOPPED ENOUGH TO GET A FEW SATURDAY MORNING PHOTOS OF THE SUN JUST OVER THE HORIZON.

NOTHING BRIGHTENS YOUR DAY LIKE A SUNRISE AT SAMS. IT’S JUST BEAUTIFUL, SERENE, AND OF COURSE LITERAL. THE SUN BRIGHTENS UP EVERY DAY WHETHER ITS CLOUDY OR NOT.

(LOOKING OVER THE RAIN SOAKED ELECTRONIC DAMAGE, WE HAD ONE CASUALTY. MARC’S CAMERA. SO COLLEGE GIRLS, YOU’RE LUCKY YOU’RE DOWN TO JUST ONE OLDER CREEP. AND THANKS FOR WEARING THE APPROPRIATE ATTIRE.)

THE SOGGY GROGGY CAMPERS MADE IT TO THE KITCHEN AND NOBODY, EVEN THOSE INSIDE THE HOUSE, COULD STOP TALKING ABOUT THE WIND. KIWI THOUGHT THAT MARC AND I WERE MESSING WITH HIS TENT ALL NIGHT… MARC AND I THOUGHT THERE WAS A BEAR… ALAN, WHO SAID HE WOULD BE IN HIS TREE STAND MOST OF THE MORNING WAITING FOR AN UNSUSPECTING BUCK TO WALK BY, DECIDED TO PLAY IT SAFE WHEN HIS TREE STAND STARTED SWAYING NOT A FEW INCHES BUT FEET LEFT TO RIGHT, AND WHEN HE SAW TREES FALLING AROUND HIM HE CAME HOME. HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE A STATISTIC IN THIS WRAPUP... BUT I THOUGHT SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH HIM THIS WEEKEND BECAUSE, IN FACT, UNLIKE THOSE GOOFBALLS SLEEPING IN TENTS OUTSIDE, ALAN WAS USING LOGIC.

NINA CALLED EVENTUALLY AND FIGURED HER WAY OUT TO SAMS. SHE BROUGHT A FRIEND OF HERS WITH HER NAMED JOE AND ONCE AGAIN, WE HAD A NEWBIE. JOE’S A NICE FELLOW, AND I HAVE MET HIS FACE BEFORE, BUT AS SOME KNOW MY ABILITY TO REMEMBER NAMES IS LIKE “WHY DID ANYONE HAVE A NAME TO BEGIN WITH?” SO “HEY YOU” WORKS FINE. BUT SOMEONE SAID HIS NAME WAS JOE AND THAT WAS EASIER TO REMEMBER THAN HIS NICKNAME WHICH WAS… … … . . . .  .  . UM… JOE.

NINA DECIDED AGAINST SETUP THIS YEAR, SAYING HER SICKNESS COULDN’T KEEP HER FROM PSU, BUT SHE WAS GONNA SLEEP IN THE BASEMENT DUE TO HER COLD AND SO WE WERE OFF. THIS MAY HAVE BEEN THE EARLIEST LAUNCH IN YEARS, OR EVER… SIMPLY BECAUSE NO WASTE OF TIME WAITING FOR THE 6AM CREW TO SETUP THEIR TENTS, NO FINDING THE HOUCK CREW IN A HOTEL PARKING LOT, WE JUST WENT TO THE GAME. THIS MUST BE WHAT IT FEELS LIKE WHEN PEOPLE COME UP ON A FRIDAY NIGHT… IMAGINE THAT… J

AS WE MADE IT PAST THE PORTA POTTIES WITHOUT STOPPING WE REALIZED WE HADN’T BEEN TO THAT POINT WAITING TO PARK SO QUICKLY. IT WAS WONDERFUL. WE WERE ALL ANTICIPATING THE GRILLED FOOD TO BE GREAT, UTENSILS WERE BROUGHT TO KEEP THAT MELTED PLASTIC FORKY TASTE OUT OF THE MOUTH, AND TYPICAL FUN WAS TO BE HAD.

TABLES WERE SET, DRINKING CONTINUED (IT NEVER REALLY COMMENCES AT A GAME, YOU JUST HOPE NOT TO GET PULLED OVER…J) AND FUN WAS HAD BY ALL. WE DECIDED FOOD WOULD BE A GOOD THOUGHT EARLY SINCE IT WAS ABOUT 10A AND WE HAD ABOUT 2 HOURS TO PLAY WITH BEFORE THE TICKET HOLDERS NINA AND JOE WENT TO THE STADIUM.

ALL I HAVE TO SAY AT THIS POINT WAS THANK GOODNESS FOR THE VEGGIE TRAY AND CHIPS. MARC WAS THE GRILL MAN, WITH A GRILL. HE HAD GAS, 2.25 TANK LOADS OF IT. WE WERE GOLDEN. IT WAS WINDY YES, THAT WAS A SLIGHT ISSUE EVEN FOR THE FOLKS A FEW CARS DOWN WHOSE 10 FT CANOPY FLEW OVER AND TURNED IT INTO A HEAP OF ALUMINUM… BUT WHEN YOU MAKE FIRE YOU NEED 3 THINGS. WE HAD 1. FUEL. 2. OXYGEN. 3. SPARK. SO WE’RE GOOD RIGHT?

SEE WHEN FUEL IS UNDER PRESSURE THE PRESSURE NEEDS TO BE REGULATED IN ORDER TO WORK ON A GRILL SO THE WHOLE TANK DOESN’T JUST LET OUT ALL THE FUEL... ITS THAT METAL THING THAT YOU SCREW YOUR GRILL HOSE INTO ON YOUR GAS GRILL AT HOME. IT REGULATES THE PRESSURES OF THE TANK VS THE GRILL AND SUPPLIES YOUR FIRE TRIANGLE WITH THE CORRECT AMOUNT OF FUEL SO THAT YOUR SPARK, FUEL AND OXYGEN TURN INTO A FIRE.  WHILE HAVING THE 3 ELEMENTS OF FIRE IN FRONT OF US, AND THE SMELL OF PROPANE FILLING THE AIR ALONG WITH JOHNSONVILLE BRATS, CHICKEN, HAMBURGERS, HOT DOGS, AND THE OCCASIONAL WHIFF OF PROFESSIONAL TAILGATERS WHO BRING RIB RACKS AND SMOKERS, ALL OF WHICH WHO USE PROPANE NEED REGULATORS, OUR REGULATOR WASN’T ALL IT MOUNTED UP TO BE. OURS WAS MISSING. OURS WAS LEFT AT HOME. OURS WAS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. MARC’S NICE BLUE GRILL HE BOUGHT FOR TAILGATING TURNED INTO A BLUE TRUNK SPACE TAKER-UPPER. AND SO WE WATCHED THE BURGERS DEFROST ON THE TABLE IN TEARS.

BUT THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

NINA BROUGHT OUT ALL THE FIXINS FOR SOME GOOD OLD FASHIONED (MEANING NON REGULATOR STYLE) TAILGATING… CHIPS, VEGGIES, AND PRETZELS ALONG WITH THE OBLIGATORY JEAGER GALLON AND REDBULL WERE CONSUMED TO PERFECTION. I DUNNO ABOUT YOU, BUT I LIKE MY DRINKS MEDIUM RARE, SO I JUST HUNG IN THERE WITH MY WATER AND ENERGY DRINKS CAUSE I LEFT MY COFFEE IN ETTERS. BUT THERE WAS PLENTY OF FUN TO BE HAD AND WHILE OTHERS DID THEIR THING, ME AND CHRISTINE GOT TO KNOW EACH OTHER BETTER AND I THINK HAVE A FINE UNDERSTANDING OF EACH OTHER NOW. IN SHORT, WE’VE WON THE SIBLING RIVALRY.

NINA AND JOE WENT OFF TO THE GAME, AND WE WORKED ON PACKING UP AND HEADED OUT TO WALMART. AN AIR MATTRESS WAS IN STORE FOR KIWI AND CHRISTINE (COLD NIGHT CAMPING ROOKIES) AND I DUNNO ABOUT YOU, BUT AFTER A NIGHT OF WIND, A BIT OF STRING TO HOLD DOWN THE BOX KITE I WAS SLEEPING IN AND EXTRA REDBULLS FOR NINA WERE IN ORDER. BETWEEN THE DRINKERS, THE ORIGINAL REDBULL CASE WAS GONE. AND AFTER THE VEGETARIAN MEAL WITH COOKING ALL AROUND (NOTICE ALL THE WORKING GRILLS IN THE PICS) REAL FOOD EVEN WALMART COULD MAKE WAS NEEDED AND CHRISTINE TOOK ADVANTAGE. AS SHE ATE I KNEW I COULD WAIT TILL SAM’S GRILL GOT TURNED ON BUT IN THE BACK OF MY MIND ALL I COULD THINK WAS “WHY DIDN’T I GET A CHICKEN SANDWICH?”

WE GOT BACK TO SAMS AND, WELL…

I HAD PLANNED ON TAKING A NAP CAUSE THE WIND WASN’T AT A FULL 60 MPH IT WAS CLOSER TO 40, SO IT WOULDN’T BE AS BAD AS LAST NIGHT. AND EUREKA! MY TENT HAD BEEN INTACT, UPRIGHT, AND STILL FIGHTIN THE GOOD FIGHT!!! BUT SOMETIMES WORDS MOMS SAY ARE JUST WRONG, AND KIWI’S WAS NO EXCEPTION. HIS MOM SAID HE WOULDN’T NEED STAKES THIS WEEKEND. WHEN YER AT WALMART BUYING ROPE SO YOU COULD JUST STAY IN ONE SPOT WHILE SLEEPING… THAT PRETTY MUCH SAYS IT ALL. BUT THE SIGHT OF MARC’S TENT TWISTED UPSIDE DOWN COMPLETELY LITERALLY HOLDING ON BY ONE STAKE IN THE GROUND, HIS TARP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INFAMOUS FIELD BEHIND SAMS… AND THE SIGHT OF KIWI’S TENT BLOWING IN THE WIND… (PICTURE THIS: THE GREAT SAILING RACE THEY HAVE WITH THE HUGE SAILBOATS AND IF YOU CAN PICTURE THE HUGE SAIL PROUDLY GOING ACROSS THE FINISH LINE, IMAGINE IF ON THE FRONT INSTEAD OF “RALPH LAUREN POLO” YOU SAW A BLUE LANTERN AND “COLEMAN” WRITTEN UNDERNEATH, THAT WOULD BE WHAT KIWI’S TENT LOOKED LIKE.) IT WAS A DISASTER ANY TENT CITY SHOULD NEVER SEE… REMEMBER THE HINDENBURG VIDEO QUOTE: “OOOOOOH THE HUMANITYYYYYYY”…

WE GATHERED OUR THINGS AND EVEN YOUNG CJ HELPED BY GRABBING THE TARP IN THE FIELD… THE TENTS WERE RESTORED IN THEIR UPRIGHT AND LOCKED POSITIONS, ROPED IN AND STAKED TO COMFORTABLE PERFECTION, AND AN ENERGY RESURGENCE CAME THROUGH. MARC HAD A POLE SNAPPING CASUALTY THOUGH AND IT SEEMED THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE TO DO NOW BUT DRINK.

WE SAW A FEW SCORE CHANGES AND I CHATTED WITH SAM ABOUT HOW HE’S DOING. HANGING IN THERE HE SAID… HIS ONE SIDE SEEMS HALF PARALYZED FROM THE STROKE. HE HAS SOME MOVEMENT IN IT BUT FOR THE MOST PART HE’S NOW A LEFTY. HE SAID AFTER 58 YEARS OF WRITING WITH HIS RIGHT HAND, IT’S ODDLY DIFFICULT DOING IT WITH HIS LEFT, BUT IT’S STARTING TO COME AROUND... AND TO HELP HIM OUT IN THE GARAGE, THERE’S A LIFT NOW SO INSTEAD OF BENDING OVER TO DO EVERYTHING, HE JUST PUTS IT ON A MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY-COLORED LIFT AND MAKES THE OIL CHANGES AMONG REAL CAR WORK A BREEZE. I TOLD HIM IT TOOK TOO LONG TO GET ONE. HIS BACK WOULD BE FINE IF HE HAD THIS MANY YEARS AGO. HE AGREED.

SAM’S GRILL HAD THIS THING ON IT THAT ALLOWED THE GAS PRESSURE TO BE REGULATED FROM THE GAS TANK TO THE FOOD, CALLED A REGULATOR, SO SAM AND MARC CLEANED IT UP AND MARC COOKED OUR BURGERS AND HOT DOGS ON IT FINALLY BACK AT SAMS. IT HIT THE SPOT ALMOST AS GOOD AS A SPOT HOT DOG… ALMOST. IT WAS JUST FINE TO FINALLY EAT TAILGATE FOOD. AND IT TURNED OUT TO BE AS PERFECT AS ONE COULD EVER WANT. BECAUSE THE GRILL WAS USED FOR ANOTHER OCCASION. CHARLES HAD BOUGHT 3 RACKS OF RIBS FOR THE PARTY AND THEY WERE GONE BEFORE THEY LEFT THE GRILL. CONSUMED ISN’T THE WORD… INHALED. THAT’S ONE INHALATION EVEN BILL CLINTON WOULDN’T DENY.

WE ALL GOT OUR CHANCE AT SKEET SHOOTING THIS YEAR, EVEN THIS WRITER WITH A DULL SHOULDER PAIN STILL, BUT IT HAD TO BE DONE BECAUSE, WELL, IF CHRISTINE SHOT IT, THEN I HAD TO. CHRISTINE HAD NEVER SHOT A GUN BEFORE SO HER FIRST CHANCE AT IT, LIKE KIWI’S LAST YEAR, WAS CAUGHT ON VIDEO. THE GUN KEPT SHOOTING BLANKS THOUGH AND THE FIRST PULL OF THE TRIGGER WASN’T SO BAD. ONCE FIGURED OUT THOUGH IT WAS QUITE THE BANG AND KICK… WE ALL HAD OUR SHOT AT THE PIGEONS AND FUN WAS HAD BY ALL. EVEN A FRIEND OF CHARLES WAS QUITE THE SHOT.

THE FIRE THIS YEAR WAS KEPT TO A BARE MINIMUM DUE TO THE WIND SUSTAINING THROUGHOUT THE WEEKEND. SATURDAY NIGHT THOUGH IT HAD DIED DOWN ENOUGH TO GET ONE GOING AND WHEN CJ DIDN’T HAVE HIS FINGER BEING EATEN BY THE NOSE MONSTER, HE WAS PROVIDING US WITH KINDLING FROM THE WOOD BEHIND THE FIREPIT. WE HAD A HARD TIME GETTING IT GOING, UNDERSTANDABLY, SO GASOLINE WAS BROUGHT INTO THE PICTURE AND WELL, THERES NO DENYING IT. GASOLINE HELPS START FIRES. BUT THE WOOD WAS SO WET THAT IT BURNT OFF THE GAS AND NOT MUCH OF THE WOOD… WE ADDED A CHAIR IN MEMORY OF MOTTER AND DOUGIE FRESH AND THEN DECIDED THERE WAS TOO MUCH RUBBER IN THE CHAIR. I THINK THE CHAIR THIS YEAR WAS MADE BY GOODYEAR.

MORE FUEL WAS BROUGHT TO THE FIRE, MORE KINDLING BY CJ, AND EVENTUALLY IT WAS DECIDED TO BRING OUT A SPEAKER FROM DOWNSTAIRS. REMEMBER HUGE BOX SPEAKERS THAT BOSE SAYS THEY SOUND LIKE…? WELL, THEY GO UP IN FLAMES NICELY… YOU COULD SEE DIFFERENT FLAME PATTERNS IN THE FIRE AND WE ENJOYED THE HEAT COMING FROM IT AS WELL.

NINA ARRIVED WITH JOE POST GAME TO ANNOUNCE SHE WAS HEADING HOME. SHE HADN’T FELT WELL DURING THE GAME AND SLEPT THRU THE LAST HALF.  PSU WON THOUGH SO SHE WASN’T IN DAMPENED SPIRITS, BUT HER MEMORY OF THE LAST HALF WAS SHOT. THEY SAID THEIR RESPECTIVE GOODBYES AND WE GOT MORE SPEAKERS FOR THE FIRE. A SET OF 3 TOTAL, BUT MAN, WHAT NICE HEAT. WE KEPT THE MATERIAL TO JUST BELOW THE FRAME SO AS NOT TO MAKE IT THAT BIG A DEAL AND IT WASN’T. “SUBDUED” WAS A WORD USED DURING THE WEEKEND AND THAT COULD DESCRIBE THIS FIRE AS WELL.

AROUND THIS POINT ALAN REALIZED MARC HAD SOME ALCOHOL IN HIS GATORADE ALL DAY AND MARC WENT TO HIS TENT FOR MORE. (YET THAT WAS THE LAST WE SAW OF MARC TILL SUNDAY.)

AT THIS TIME IT WAS DECIDED TO BRING OUT THE BEAST. IN THE BASEMENT THEY HAD THEIR BIG SCREEN TV. IT WAS THERE IN THEIR LIVING ROOM FOR THE FIRST FEW TIMES WE WENT TO PSU. ITS LAST RITES WERE READ AND KIWI AND ALAN HEAVED IT THRU THE BASEMENT OPENING. ONCE OUT KIWI APOLOGIZED FOR DAMAGING IT A LITTLE AND WE ALL HAD A LAUGH. IT WAS HEADING TO THE CREMATORIUM, AND THIS GUY SAID HE’S SORRY FOR THE FLESH WOUND. (LIKE PUTTING ALCOHOL ON A DEATH ROW INMATE’S ARM TO PREVENT INFECTION THE DAY HIS APPEAL IS DENIED… I DIGRESS)

A TV BURNING IN A HOT FIRE IS SOMETHING TO BE SEEN ONCE IN YOUR LIFE. LIKE A CAR FIRE. BUT A BIG SCREEN PLASTIC PROJECTION TELEVISION ON A SUBDUED, WINDY, REGULATORLESS WEEKEND IN THE MOUNTAINS WITH SOME OLD FRIENDS (THE OLDEST IN FACT) AND FAMILY, I COULD WATCH THAT EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE AND BE HAPPY. IT WAS UNBELIEVABLE. IT WAS SO HOT AND HUGE THAT EVEN THOUGH IT WAS WITHIN THE CONFINES OF THE FIREPIT I BELIEVE YOU GUYS HERE COULD SEE IT. IT WAS A SECOND SUN. THE SMOKE COMING FROM IT LITERALLY MADE YOU DIZZY AND IT GAVE YOU A REAL APPRECIATION HOW AND WHY FIRE IS SO DESTRUCTIVE. I FIGURED ALAN THREW IN SOME LITTLE FIREWORKS CAUSE OF THE DIFFERENT COMPONENTS POPPING THROUGHOUT ITS FINAL SHAPING AS A TV AND RESTRUCTURING INTO A BLACK PLASTIC BLOB. THE GLASS FROM THE FRONT OF IT SMASHED AND SMASHED AND SMASHED AGAIN AND IT MELTED AROUND SOME OF THE LOGS IN THE FIRE. IT WAS LIKE STANDING ON THE SAME OUTER RUNG OF HELL AS YOU FEEL GOING INTO THE BASEMENT, BUT THIS TIME THE DOOR WAS OPEN AND HELL WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. PLASTIC HAS TO BURN MUCH HOTTER THAN WOOD, SIMPLY PUT WITH LITERAL INTENTIONS: IT WAS BREATHTAKING. AND FILMED. IT FELT LIKE 20 MINUTES BUT FILM TELLS NO LIES. 10 MINUTES IT WAS OVER. A SPECTACULAR 10 MINUTES. BUT 10 MINUTES OVERALL…

ADDING TO THE FINALITIES OF PSU WEEKEND, A ROUND OF PICKLEJARRED MOONSHINE FOR THE STILL AWOKEN DRINKERS OF ALAN, KIWI &  “-TINE” WAS TO BE HAD. IT WAS FUNNY TOO CAUSE THEY CAME OUT OF THE BASEMENT AND SAT BY THE FIRE AND BLUE FLAME WAS COMING FROM THEIR MOUTHS. WHEN ASKED, KIWI SAID “MY ARMS ARE REALLY COLD, BUT THIS SECTION HERE (MOTIONING AROUND HIS ABDOMEN, CHEST AREA) IS BURNING HOT.” AND FOR WHATEVER REASON AS IF NOT TO HAVE HEARD KIWI AT ALL, “-TINE” WAS ASKED HOW SHE WAS FEELING AS WELL AND SHE SAID “MY ARMS ARE REALLY COLD, BUT THIS SECTION HERE (MOTIONING AROUND HER ABDOMEN, CHEST AREA) IS BURNING HOT.” SEEMED AS IF THE MOONSHINE WAS DOING THE TRICK.

THEY HEADED OFF TO SLEEP AND ALAN AND I REMINISCED A BIT, SHOT THE LANDMINES, AND CAUGHT UP. LATER WE DECIDED NOT TO STAY UP THRU THE NIGHT, AND JUST GO TO BED. LITTLE DID WE KNOW IT WAS THE LATE LATE HOUR OF JUST BEFORE 11PM WHEN WE DECIDED TO TURN IN. EARLIEST EVER? POSSIBLY, BUT WITH THE WIND AND RAIN OF FRIDAY NIGHT, CONSIDERING WE SURVIVED THE ENTIRE DAY WITH 3 HOURS SLEEP WAS AN ACCOMPLISHMENT. AND SO I TOOK THE OBLIGATORY SLEEP PILL, AND FIGURED EARLIER IF I REMOVE MY RAINFLY THE WIND WOULD GO RIGHT THRU MY TENT AND IT WORKED LIKE A CHARM… NO RAIN CAME THROUGH SATURDAY NIGHT AND IT WAS A GREAT NIGHT OF SLEEP (FOR ME AT LEAST)… MORE COMPLAINTS OF THE WIND COULD BE HEARD SUNDAY MORNING BUT ALL IN ALL IT WAS NOTHING LIKE FRIDAY.

SUNDAY CHARLENE COOKED UP OMELETS AND BEFORE YOU KNEW IT SHE WAS DONE. SHE SAID “WELL, THAT’S THE FASTEST BREAKFAST EVER!” THEN SHE WAS REMINDED ONLY 4 CAME UP AND SHE SAID “I DON’T CARE… WE DID GOOD!” AND SHE DID DO GOOD. SHE EVEN SAID “WHO’S THE ONE LAST YEAR WHO COMPLAINED THERE WAS NO CHILI FOR HIS OMELET?” “SEAN” WE SAID “AND DON’T MIND HIM HE’S ON A BEACH IN THE DOMINICAN REPUBLIC RIGHT NOW…” AND AS JEALOUS AS WE WERE OF HIM I KNOW DEEP DOWN INSIDE SOMEWHERE HE’S MORE JEALOUS OF OUR BREAKFAST.

WE ALL PACKED UP AND HEADED FOR HOME WITH DREAMS OF A FULL NIGHT’S SLEEP AND HOPE THAT OUR REAL WALLS DIDN’T FALL IN AND TOUCH OUR FACES SUNDAY NIGHT AS WELL. AS MUCH AS I WAS DISAPPOINTED WITH THE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE WHO DIDN’T COME THIS YEAR, IT WASN’T ABOUT THEM. I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER WITH THOSE THAT DID COME. WE ALL HAD A BLAZE WATCHING THE TV, ERR, A BLAST. WE ALL HAVE STORIES OF THINGS WE’LL NEVER FORGET AND STORIES OF TIMES YOU’LL NEVER REMEMBER. . . WE HAD 2 NEWBIES TO OUR LITTLE PARTY, AND MANY MANY “FIRST EVERS” FOR CHRISTINE AND ALL.

AMONG THINGS WE’LL NEVER FORGET, BEYOND SAM’S WIFE’S NAME, CHARLES AND BETH’S NEW BABY JEW, ERR, “KYLE”(THAT’S HIS NAME… SORRY I HAVE TO THINK OF SOUTH PARK TO REMEMBER IT), CHARLES’S DRINKIN BUDDIES’ NAMES, ALONG WITH THE KID RUNNING AROUND WITH CJ THAT WASN’T MARC, ROSIE’S PEANUT BUTTER FUDGE, THE ABILITY TO RUN OVER A BOX OF SODA WITHOUT BREAKING A CAN, “THE GOOD TABLE”, THE BASEMENT GREEN GAS CLOUDED FART THAT, TO BE LITERAL, IT WAS THE FART THAT BROKE WIND, AND OF COURSE THE WEATHER…

BUT MOSTLY, WE’LL NEEEEVER FORGET A REGULATOR AGAIN. . .  HOPEFULLY. MAYBE. BUT ALL OF A SUDDEN MELTED PLASTIC DOESN’T SEEM SO UNAPPETIZING…

SO, UNTIL NEXT YEAR… SOMETIME IN SEPTEMBER WHEN LESS SICKNESS AND WIND IS IN THE AIR…

III

PS… THANKS TO THE USUAL SUSPECTS: SAM THE MAN… “LIFE-POPS”… MEANING I HAVE LEARNED MORE ABOUT LIFE FROM SAM THAN ANYONE IN MY LIFE, CHARLENE THE EXPERT COOK, TO CHARLENE’S FATHER AND MOTHER FOR BUILDING ON THIS LAND AS WELL… CHARLES THE RIBMAN AND BETH THE FLASHLIGHT POINTER EXTRAORDINAIRE, KYLE THE NEXT GEN’S NEW BEST FRIEND, CJ, KING OF KINDLING GATHERERS, ROSIE THE PEANUT BUTTER FUDGEMAKER/CLAY PIGEON MURDERER, ALAN THE KEEPER OF THE FIRE (THAT IS MOONSHINE), KIWI THE MUSCLE MAN TO GET THE MAIN EVENT TO THE FIRE WITH ALAN, CHRISTINE THE ROOKIE NO MORE, NINA THE FOOD QUEEN (NOT HAIR, I HAVE NO HAIR, AND IN FACT NEITHER DOES ALAN), “JOE” THE GUY WHO HAS A NICKNAME WHICH IS IN FACT HIS OWN NAME TO ME, AND MARC, MY FORGETFUL DRUNKEN CHAUFFEUR.

PSS… THE NEWEST ADDITION MINUS THE DOG TO OUR PARTY THIS YEAR WERE THE ARTILLERY SHOOTERS ACROSS THE WAY… IN SOME OF THE VIDEOS YOU CAN HEAR IT TOO. IT WAS ABOUT EVERY HALF HOUR YOU’D HEAR THIS RAT-A-TAT-TAT-A-TAT-TAT OF MOTTER’S PISTOL GOING OFF. (WE FIGURE IT TOOK THEM A HALF HOUR TO RELOAD FOR THE 5-7 SECONDS OF SHOOTING THEY’D GET FOR EVERY RELOAD) YET WHAT YOU PICTURED HEARING THIS NOISE WAS THE 2 HANDED GUNNERS ON THE BACKS OF ARMY VEHICLES… POINT OF THIS PART OF THE PSS… JUST SAYING NO THANKS TO THEM. NONE. MAYBE SLIGHT APPRECIATION FOR THE HEADACHE, BUT ONLY A SLIGHT ONE. THE WIND HAD A STRONGHOLD ON THE HEADACHE JUST FINE THANK YOU! NO NEED FOR HELPERS…

FINALLY BEFORE LEAVING SAM PLAYED A SONG FOR ME IN THE KITCHEN BY AARON LEWIS. COUNTRY BOY. LYRICS ARE PRETTY MUCH HIS PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE AND WHERE HOW AND WHAT HE IS ALL ABOUT. “THIS IS THE SONG OF THIS WEEKEND” HE SAID. FINAL LYRIC OF THE SONG IS BELOW, AND IN FACT THE MAN EMBODIES IT.

“now two flags fly above my land and really sum up how I feel

one is the colors that fly high and proud, the red the white the blue

the other ones got a rattle snake with a simple statement made

Don't Tread on Me is what it says and I'll take that to my grave

because this is me I’m proud to be American and strong in my beliefs

and I've said it before but I'll say it again cause I won’t need a government to hold my hand

and I've said it before but I'll say it again because my family's always fought and died to save this land

and a country boy is all I'll ever be”

ORA-LOVE IN AN ELEVATOR

This morning I had an experience to remember in the elevator, having just been subjected to a very sad occasion on a wet, lukewarm fall afternoon the day before. When I found out about it, I teared up. I liked this guy’s comic genius and I wanted to hear more of it from him, but his diabetes and stroke had other intentions.

It was learned he passed away at 7am, 11.29.11 and he was 41. His name was Patrice O’Neal, a hilarious comedian and actor, and his delivery was one of a kind. He told truths in different ways and allowed his timing to keep you in the moment for the full hour he was on stage. His presence (6’5” (?), 300+ pound man) would be disconcerting in a dark alley, but his smile and diastema made him seem more like Gentle Ben. His subject matter was off-putting for some, while others laughed with him.

Patrice had a special called “Elephant in the Room” on comedy central earlier in the year and he talked about among other things sexual harassment, so the occurrence in the elevator was slightly relevant, well, to me. When a comic dies it hits me HARD, because I know their material and love what they do for a living. They pull me out of a deep hole of depression and there’s no way of saying thanks for that. So a quick payment of respects, if even for a minute, is beyond warranted. There are some entertainers who just memorize other people’s words from a page, go through the motions, and get $20 million a picture. While others who use their own words and start in the filthy comedy clubs that one out of a million make it. Heck, the odds of making it is probably even worse than that.

Patrice was at a show in the audience and he was one of those hecklers that, when a comedian had enough and said “you think you can do better???”, he got out of his seat to prove to the comedian that indeed he WAS and worked the club the next week. It was learned yesterday that THAT was his first experience on stage.

but Patrice had a way of explaining the feelings in his own words that people don’t generally think of when thinking of different subject matter… for instance: sexual harassment. To paraphrase, he said something like this to compare having women work with men but not allow men to harass them: “its like grizzly bears working with salmon… … … covered with honey…” and if you so much as smelled the fish they were off calling HR and having you fired.

I had just watched his “elephant” special yesterday as a way of remembering his genius, and I stepped on to an elevator with two women. This morning I decided to wear my blaze orange knit hat over my cap. The woman standing in front of me had an orange knit sweater on and had struck up a conversation with the woman standing behind me. The woman behind me said to me “you should take off your hat and give it to her because you two match…” and the woman in front of me said “yeah that would be nice”… but I responded to the request by saying “right but if I asked you fto take off your sweater because we matched I’d be getting a call to HR”… the elevator doors opened and they had such a laugh because, well, it was true.

Anyway, I am no Patrice O’Neill, nor O'neal, nor am I a comedian… but I know the man will truly be missed.

III

mailer-daemon... its time for murder.

so i send out a "hey facebookers, check out my blog" email and the usual suspects decide its the right time to respond... kara, kristin, kiwi, you know... the favorites. still waiting for all the state workers to reply (if in fact this is not a blocked site) and they will eventually...

but when you send out a mass email to friends and family you always get a notice of who in fact did NOT get the email. for free no less... and that daemon guy seems to always have his finger on the trigger the second i hit "send"... he's always there no matter how long your email is to tell you "don't bother asking Bill what he thinks of your email cause Bill moved on past you and decided not to send you an update of his email address so just make it known to your shitty life that Bill isn't in it anymore..." ipod contacts: delete Bill.

is there any wonder why the USPS is going out of business? i liked throwing my mail into the mailbox, reopening that tiny door to make sure gravity still worked, and letting my letter go far and wide across the country to anytown, USA... and like clockwork it arrived there. and just like your swatch, or um, rolex, the battery sometimes died in the USPS's clock and your letter was basically a message in a bottle waiting to be found. the greatest thing though was that noone was there to tell you it wasn't delivered. at that point its their fault.

i think this daemon guy's message needs to be corked and sent on his wet, wild, merry voyage, and leave us believing that everyone always got our emails, so we always feel good inside, like the USPS does... this is a free service provided by daemon, which is not far from "damian". (err, lucifer himself...that book's darth vader. . . maybe it'd be better if james earl jones told you your email didn't make it... )

yet usps is going away slowly but surely, unlike the price of stamps, which never goes down. imagine if your reply to the publisher's clearing house had the golden ticket yet some dude dressed like chuck cranston after the big fight with wren showed up at your door to tell you ed mcmahon wasn't around the corner with balloons for you... you'd wanna kill him too.

III

Mark Twain Awarded the George Carlin Award for Wordsmiths…

Well, that’s how I saw it. Sittin here with Gibbee watching the George Carlin ceremony to win the Mark Twain award for American Comedy at the Kennedy Center on WITF… What’s more funny than a dead Kennedy right? Carlin of course!

as I watch I am inspired to write… I dunno why. Gib is off having a smoke while giving me a moment to think and I decided to grab the laptop. Why? I dunno. I guess I am better on paper, err, in pixels…

What is it in the back of the throat that twists your heart in two and makes you decide to not swallow anything… air, water, nothing can get past the emotional throat choke. But when you don’t feel like crying or are with your uncle knowing you would look like a tool bitch crybaby for doing it while watching a comedy presentation… the complete opposite of why comedy is put on… at 35 I might add… that tight back of your throat is telling you something: As long as you don’t cry this will hurt.

Point is I feel like writing because I guess George always made me feel better. When I was younger and was going through my parents fighting or my parents divorce, or going to a new school where all the kids made fun of me or going home to a tumultuous home life of a sister crushing my spirit more than the kids at school did, I always had George to remind me to laugh once a day and get this shitty feeling to leave if even for a minute. George reminded me to keep my head up during the hard times and like Mike Hill he inspired me to find the funny in just about anything. When you laugh at natural catastrophes and humanity going to hell you know where your sense of humor is. Beyond the gutter, even beyond the grave. If that fictional place of hell had its own hell, there is where you’d find my sense of humor. In there, as a rapper named DMX titled his CD to remind you: It's dark and hell is hot.

I remember in 2008 just before George’s special for his twain award came on it was learned he passed away. I felt lost. I felt tossed out from the boxcar of life and tumbleweeded down the oily tracks and my world as I knew it stopped. I didn’t just lose my comic icon or the world’s greatest wordsmith… I lost my friend, my uncle, my reason for having my sense of humor… … … and the throat choke gets tighter… I remember I wore black for three days and sulked in my chair at work. People would walk past me, the weird quiet guy who didn’t talk to anyone at work, and asked what the problem was because I looked like my puppy died. I guess it was written on my face. I lost that voice in my head who reminded me to see whatever it was and find it funny… remember I am not even related to this man nor have I ever met him, he just reminded me that there’s more to life than people shitting on you.

What brought me out of it? Well, George of course. As I have told Christine Stanisec I decided one day (I guess the third day) that George needed resurrected. My savior from the hell I was living under needed saved himself… the throat loosens… so I threw in my collection from the VCR tapes to the CDs to their respective players and listened. I laughed, I cried, I felt emotionally discombobulated as ever, and at that moment I knew I was ok. I was back to “normal”, whatever that meant... I went back to orange or any other clothing I had on and decided the emotional feelings I was going through was done. I had to remember him in life instead of in death and go from there.

Remember to laugh at least once a day. They say “An apple a day keeps the doctor away”.  I say “A laugh a day keeps the psychologist away…”

Thank you Ge--- err, excuse me, Mr. Carlin.

III

GRAY MATTERS

ever think of writing a book?

first what is it going to be about, the subject matter?

is it fiction or nonfiction, and which one of those means true or fake? (i can know the answer of that question and walk into a library or a bookstore, err, do a search on my ipod and have no idea which side of the aisle to be on).

finally, thinking of everything even before word one is written, sometimes a title is best to know in the beginning. . .

so i am thinking of writing my (true) adventures from writing this blog, personal history, BS BS BS, emails i have written to my family, and general thoughts and insane dreams of a person with depression. i feel its important to understand what this is like because if people knew what clinical, suicidal depression was like and not just know how to treat it, it may get more attention and possibly a cure. instead of giving more money to pharms for meds that just make you more depressed and/or suicidal. (i believe the suicide part is intensified when you are on any particular med that said it would be the panacea to your ailment and it turns out to be a fictional story by big pharm.)

anyway, i decided on a title for the book of short stories and thoughts and decided to call it "Gray Matters".  (BTW google is saying its spelled gray or grey but it depends on where you are writing it from. the UK thinks they're so above REAL english. . . american slang.)

above all else when you have ass pain while excreting solid waste it makes you realize how good you had it ten minutes ago.  after a while if the pain continues, you eventually have to get your ass split so its easier for the solid waste to be released from the trap door. i had just gotten out of the hospital and went to the drug store for some drugs and walked to the back of the store for my prescription. i stand in front of the counter waiting with my new acquisitions of metamucil and tucks medicated pads (bring on the late thirties!) and i see there's a rack of books waiting to be bought. what is the one that i see? "How to Deal with Annoying People". i decide against buying this book due to the fact that a sober me is terribly annoying and i will just notice how other people deal with me vs how i'd deal with other annoying people. i put that book down and spin the carousel... guess what i need at this point...?



a new title. although as i reread this one immediately while watching "modern marvels' history of snack foods" i think of better title yet it has a few connotations... hopefully i won't need to go back to the drug store and see a new book on the rack called "Blue Matters"... thinking more on the depression side of blue vs a comedian who works blue.

ISN'T IT IRONIC?

As I sit here on the eve of my 35^th birthday, I see a few things that are Alanis-ly funny…

1. I watched the first installment of Ken Burns’ "Prohibition" documentary. Generally watching anything having to do with imbibing in a particular drug or vice I like to do that vice such as heroin or crack cocaine. Although this night the crackhead decided to stay at home, indoors, and away from the upcoming storm. Plus, it’s been 2 years and 8 months since my last drink and since alcohol prohibition has such a stronghold on me personally, I decided to watch it in the fullest sobriety I know of… (minus a few halves of legal heroin, Vicodin.)
2. When the first installment was done I decided to watch the final innings of game 7 of the world series. A baseball fan I am not, I am though a fan of a band from St. Louis called "Pokey Lafarge and the South City Three", so I was pulling for St. Louis, even though these are the only full innings of baseball I have seen all season. The odd part you ask? They were playing at Busch stadium. After just watching a documentary on prohibition, I am watching a game in a stadium named for beer. As I texted with a friend, "mymymy how times have changed". 

Don’t you think?

100 years from now it will be a stadium named after cannabis.

CARLY-TOE'S WAY...

ONCE AGAIN, CLEARING OUT EMAILS, THIS ONE WAS CLASSIC...

so here's a recap story from my weekend trip to the hershey theater. call me old school because i'm the only one that refuses to be on facebook, call me old fashioned because i won't send out 40 letters educating the masses (and making the disgruntled ones broke), but a word or 2 must be said about a young ballerina i saw perform on the stage in front of hundreds...

but first more about me...

i woke up sat morning and watched some of the aussie world cup match and texted with timmy about what a hand ball was. apparently it is any part of the arm at all, not the hand itself. i only played soccer for halftime as a kid, we got free grapes and oranges...

i brewed a "pot" of coffee and slunk back on my all enveloping couch and played poker online. thank goodness they have a play money option on full tilt otherwise i'd be just cresting over probably 4 million lost. yeah, i've won a few tournaments but the amount of winnings goes right back into the pot and lost just as fast as i have won. lost some real money too but when drunk you think you can conquer the world, and the poker world is no different. luckily though its only been a few live person cash games, and i won it all back over the years. i play live person real money once or twice a year, and i'd say i'm about even, if not out the $10 buy-in... i digress...

after my pot (8 cups) of coffee i flew down the stairs and grabbed my ticket from jmac... realizing this wasn't a suit n tie affair (hershey theater always seemed to be too hoity-toity to me.) i had a pair of nice shorts not in the filth pile yet so i got them ready for the show... pile, yeah right, if ya ever stopped by unexpectedly, the filth is all over the apt :) i'm a messy bachelor... i need a maid for my 3 rooms.... dad, whats the going rate?

so i ran to the sink, shaved the stubble from my face and head, showered, lotioned up, powdered down, grabbed my GPS (like american express, i don't leave home without it), and headed to chocolate town.

after a few traffic misfits kept me from getting there on time, and a woman in front of me in line moaned over her illegal bottled water (theater is a money making machine... this ain't the colonial commons movie theater) i sat down and 2 seconds later (no exaggeration) the announcements came on. i could have been more on time but i figured with 2 seconds to spare, it was close enough.

the lights dimmed and the groups upon groups of scantily clad 14 to 48 year olds danced their little butts off, tapping and kicking thru the typical dance songs and much were choreographed but some danced to the beat of just one drum... sorry emmanuel lewis, i got nothing for webster lyrics....

then the curtain lifted revealing the "kid-kids", we're talkin the aww factor was in full effect, and of course as if on cue the rush of "awwwwwws" flew through the crowd. after much scanning it was pointed out that carly was on the bleachers waiting to go. the little dancers in front of her finished their routine, and the young female version of barishnikov walked to dead center front row of the stage. (i don't know any famous ballerina names so his will have to do)... while other children performed in their own right, carly stood still and waited for her cue... even when she gave a wave to the crowd, she knew she had it.

music started, and while every other kid looked away, down, talked to their mother or father in the crowd, or looked to the instructor offstage for guidance, carly looked dead ahead and didn't just hit the routine, but it was as if she was giving a clinic to the rest of the kids. every beat was perfect, her timing was impeccable. every move hit every moment and it was truly impressive to watch. i couldn't remember if i tied my shoes that afternoon, and this girl didn't just remember the routine, wasn't just ready to perform, wasn't just amazing... she was perfection. it was as if she was Smokey in the movie "friday"...she stood over that now dazed routine as if to say "you got knocked the F*** out man!!!"

it was truly an awesome glimpse into her brilliance...

afterwards we all went our separate ways, i headed to Annville until i turned on the GPS and turned around, but i realized why those stage mothers do it... i couldn't have been more proud of my cousin, and she wasn't even my kid.

III

PS... the ol godson is next in line. he put on a show during the show of dancin, smilin, and kept the godfather and grandfather actin foolish and makin faces successfully making him smile... then we proposed he get on stage next, but they'd have to fashion a chair facing the back of the stage, have jon sit facing the back of the stage, and have nick peering over his left shoulder, dancing to the beat and smilin with that trademark cheeky face. it would bring the house down.

then again, i think we found our bassist for the 4G band... rock on (god)son!

HOW'D WE GET INTO THIS MESS?

BREATHE IN... IF YOU READ MY BLOG YOU WILL FIND IF YOU ARE AN EMAILED PERSON OF MINE THAT YOU MAY RECOGNIZE A FEW IF NOT MORE THAN A LITTLE OR SOMETIMES EVERY ONE OF MY BLOGS HAVE APPEARED IN AN EMAIL FORM SOMEHOW ONCE OR ANOTHER TIME BEFORE... FOLLOW THAT? THIS IS A GOOD PLACE TO STORE THEM FOR OTHERS TO READ AGAIN AND HELP ME CLEAR OUT MY 8000 EMAILS IN MY GMAIL FOLDER WITHOUT LOSING THEM. I WROTE THIS ON A COLD WEEKEND EARLIER THIS YEAR AFTER AN OUTING TO SEE MY COUSIN'S BAND "A HOT MESS"........................... ENJOY

A HOT MESS

 A few weeks ago I decided to go to the midtown for a jets / patriots game to watch it with an old midtown regular buddy named johnny mustache… he’s an older Puerto Rican dude who said no one can pronounce his last name, but he’s always worn a mustache, so he’s called johnny mustache.. If you were ever there while the steelers games were on with mike and I a few years ago, he is the guy who is always rooting for the jets, and I pass him on a daily basis on my bike on third street on the way home. (what were ya sean like 19? Ya gotta love midtown… cause that’s when I started going there too!) He works at roxy’s on third st and always screams my name (to him) “STEEEELERRRRRRRS”... when I pass him you can hear his echo thru the side streets of the city. Truly a nice guy and completely awesome to sit and have a few beers with. Heck in that case he could be president. Isn’t that how Bush got elected (‘a guy you’d wanna have a beer with’)?

 So I walk in to surprise johnny cause I hadn’t been in there for a while on a Sunday and low and behold johnny wasn’t there. So I drank my pitcher of water and as I sat by myself for a depressed 45 minutes, who walks in but Patty mac daddy and his friend/manager/former bandmate/the greatest bass player I’ve seen, err, rather, heard (who I can easily say that about who isn’t family) adam bustin. They decided to sit with me and life became manageable for that next hour. We chatted and joked and watched the pats jets game and figured all was right with the world.

 Midtown promoted January 22 as a day that a kickass blues band called the cornlickers was playing there.  I suggested they come down to hear them play and that’s when pat said he couldn’t… that he was playing downtown Gman that night… so naturally those who licked corn were put on the backburner. I knew I was in for a show, but I had to drive to get to it.

 On a side note, I’m weird. I like to go out and see a band. I am not there to talk, I wanna listen to the band. so it can be viewed as antisocial and in fact it is the definition. I’m not the social butterfly you think about when I’m out n about, cause in fact I don’t go out often. So if anyone thought oddly of me well, deal with it… that’s just me………sober. People say what’s new and I say I’m out of the apt., that’s what!

 Fast forward to the coldest night of globally warmed winter thus far.  January 22 was upon us with a feared frozen vengeance and so I threw on my long johns and layered up for the 2 second walk to my car, then the known 2 minute walk from the parking garage to the bar. Bundled with a masque and compfy carhartt hat I was warm and happy to see my cousin.

 I walk in and low and behold they were playing on the smoking side. Whats 2 showers in a night like for me? well I’ll put it to you this way… it was cold enough I would have done the second one after even if it wasn’t the smoking side. That’s how cold it was. But with me, a former smoker of 16 years (working toward my 4^th year without) I now know I am officially severely allergic to cigarettes. But I wasn’t leaving, as my cousin pat was there and was gonna play. I sat with kiwi and his awesome girlfriend Christine, their smoking buddy whose lit cigarette was contending with my staying there the entire evening (one of the few times in a restaurant where I couldn’t complain about the cigs, even though I never do anyway… here I just couldn’t if I wanted to…) but I toughed it out. *sniffle* 

Another room scan produced aunt mare and uncle pat, uncle patchy, aunt Phyllis, Sharon, vince, the 45 minute vince and his buddy I think merv even came. (you guessed it, like clockwork eventually they left. Vinny’s funny that way, and hopefully he understands I get it. We’re an annoying group of people, there’s never any seats when ya go out, ya always have to slide by someone cause grampa and gramma couldn’t stop at 2 kids no, they had to have 14 and they turned around and mass produced 38 million cousins, then we grow up and the cycle continues… it’s the cirrrrrrrcle, the circle of liiiiiiiiiiife.. I guess the baby BOOM didn’t happen till grampa got started… err, finished… how did we get here? Oye vey…. Oh yeah, see vinny? I over thought by 4 minutes, that’s what happens. but I love the young lad.)

 Kiwi’s mow hawked lookalike (the promoter guy) got up and announced a young woman would be opening so we shot a few games of pool, discussed the merits sports where you can smoke a cig and drink a beer and still be called an athlete… poker, shuffleboard, pool, darts, anything no sweat breaking and non physical I am good at… bowling, curling I’d imagine I’d be the thrower not the sweepers, etc etc etc. (writing… ok it isn’t a sport nor is it athletic, but I am told its an acquired skill…) 

So FINALLY PJ and his bandmates got their instruments and began playing. The girl was good but well, she went on too long in my opinion, and uncle pat said she sounded like some other cat on a fence I couldn’t listen to…

 First up, if howard stern didn’t play bowie’s “rebel, rebel” constantly into and out of the breaks during the “history of howard stern” shows, I would have never known the song…..

 Their sound is awesome. They have a sax player who is off the chart, the bass player (not adam) was very good and is a good lead singer, the drummer who is a spitting image of mikey if mikey had any arm muscle mass (made mikey look like a weak $5 soldier-boy), patrick the picking and lead guitarist extraordinaire, and I think the last guy on stage was the sound guy… no the third harmonizer may play guitar too… (it was dark and I think I have glaucoma… if I could only grow my meds…) but what sets this band apart is the harmony. Its an old goofy joke, but seriously, somehow, someway pat found a band where his singing adds to the show. It was phenomenal, and emotional. They were so good, it’ll bring a tear to your eye. Well ok mine did, but maybe that was the blue hue in the air too. but I’ll admit it… I’m pat’s biggest fan. Even if I don’t get to see him play ever, I almost don’t have to. He’s that good. (GIMME YER SCHEDULE KIDDO!!!) I was pee’d off at the reunion I didn’t hang outside more than I did to hear him play that banjo…

 Every song was recognizable, like “Renegade” I overheard it was called, but I can’t remember the titles… well, enough to remember now. Pat knows the sets and hmmm maybe if uncle joe was doing his backyard bash you’d all understand what kind of band we had here, I must say I will see them again. And again. And again.

 “A HOT MESS”… I could make a pun here but well, its half how we all came into this world. So I need not to. You could think of it to mean “crazy” and well, this writer has a feelin its gonna come out now:

My night with the family was cut short though unfortunately when I decided I was a bit chilly (icewater will do that) and our formerly wonderful waitress had regretfully for her, me, Patrick, and the rest of ya realized she threw my hat out. It was sitting at the table behind us, so you’d think she’d say “you guys know who’s this is?” but no, she said it had been laying there for a while (by my estimation since around 9pm-presently 11:40pm) so she threw it out. Naturally I was livid, I love my hats, especially the carhartt… so soft, warm, n compfy, ask langan masciulli… but since it was 38 billion below outside I was more pissed than I may have shown… I could have laughner’d her. But I didn’t. I was cordial to her, knowing it was a mistake, said my goodbyes regretfully to the family and pat, and left while they were starting their second set. 

If it weren’t for the other cars and pedestrians I’d have hit 120 down 2^nd st. but I think I grazed 30 between rage fueled red lights. I got home and ripped a new one into my cat for no reason, and immediately apologized to him. He’s a Jackass though and he knows I am too. Even he realized I was too keyed up and peeved to end my night. Then I looked down at the floor and there was the midtown card I had grabbed a few weeks back. To calm my nerves, and to cleanse my soul, I walked to midtown. I had on another hat by then though. I wasn’t a complete idiot. Yet grumbling to myself without a Bluetooth headset in my ear made me look like a schizophrenic so it scared off potential robbers along the way… midtown hbg at night even in frigid weather isn’t what it used to be.

 “Cornlickers”… googled is another name for moonshiners back in the day cause you make it from corn (like ethanol). These guys are from Mississippi and like the Eagles, the drummer is their lead singer. I first heard them play at der mannerchor on a Tuesday night and haven’t missed a performance of theirs yet. Simply for 2 reasons. 1 der mannerchor is not far away and 2 I’d be long dead if it weren’t for old school blues… some people take antidepressants when the alcohol doesn’t work anymore… not me… until I can grow my meds, the best meds ever, I take in blues. I dunno how to describe it but they know how to do it so well, that at the beginning of their set I was crying (how does an awesome night turn into stressful angry night? Ya gotta be a hot mess I guess) but at the end I was smiling. I am always sure to say thanks when I leave them because they don’t know what they do, medicinally, for me. they said they’d be back in feb sometime… if I think about it I’ll shoot out an email.

 There’s something to be said about live music that you just can’t download.

Moral of this story: keep track of your hat on a cold night… no, NO that’s not it… I’m just an idiot and didn’t put it in my coat pocket….

The real moral is this here: see pat’s band, “A HOT MESS” when the email is sent out by aunt mare. They’re awesome, the songs are great, and well, pat rules even if playing on my couch, but on stage you’d think it was Jimmy Page.

 III