Back on the Bank Block

On New Year's Eve, I find myself in Stauf's again, just like three years ago. The background music is The Pet Shop Boys and not a bad Hallelujah cover.

What have I, What have I, what have I done to deserve this?

I'm here because Emma's across the street at the dentist, not to sit and reflect on my life falling apart - as life was then.

Two years ago I was in Glasgow, wandering around a chilly damp city that was getting ready for Hogmanay. We drank champagne, hung out in a jacuzzi and watched Jools Holland ring in the new year. One month later my divorce was finalized.

Last year Emma was here, still on the tourist visa, and we went to Dave's and I sang The Candy Man. It was a perfect way to start the calendar year.

Today I wait here, post-bagel, drinking a french vanilla coffee and waiting to see what condition my wife will be in after her procedure. The music has changed.

Holiday, it would be so nice.

Oh man, now it's Shalamar.

I can tell by the look in your eye that you're a dead giveaway. I'm finding out what you're all about.

I did one of those year in review memes on Facebook, not going to subject it to you here. One thing though. There is a resolution. Something I need to do. Need is a very powerful words but when I see that number on a scale I know something has to change.

I see Limbaugh is in the hospital with chest pains. I do not want the man dead, but to live long enough so he can realize how wrong he is about so many things.

Speaking of death. Had only three hits in the deathpool this year, including the Farrah/MJ double. I know the day is not over but I have submitted next year's 40 to the proper compiler.

Had no idea at the beginning of last year that I'd abandon my live journal for this place. I think I'm happier here. It's hard to log on to live journal and see the deterioration. The people who have disappeared. If you're still there, I'm not picking on you for staying, not at all. It has changed, and it was a change that was hard for me to stay with. After the divorce, the drama stopped, comments dropped and I kept a lot of the personal stuff quiet. Good for me, bad for business. Losing a few friends was tough, and you miss some of that interaction. Moving forward is the new black though.

It's good to be here, on blogger. I see the number of hits increasing, but the comments are not increasing in proportion to the page views. I appreciate the readership. A lot. Thank you for coming. Please stay. Introduce yourselves. And have a happy new year.

And the train conduction says driver 8 take a break we can reach our destination, but we're still a ways away.

Vic Chesnutt 1964-2009

Back in June we saw him open for Jonathan Richman. I was not familiar with his music, and still am not. We were in the back of the room, talking to a former colleague from the library and his wife.

I liked what I heard. There was a wit, and a darkness. It was all understandable. It's not the sort of sound that I seek out. Found what the library had. Listened.



This morning the news was coming though that he had attempted suicide and was in a coma. Kristen Hersh's twitter page was especially poignant. There were unsubstantiated reports of his death that were retracted. Now, his death is confirmed.

It's Too Late

An hour flew by yesterday when I was interviewed by Miss J. on Speaking of Poetry. We talked about slam, IWPS, influences. Thought it went well. I read four poems: After Birth, My Thunder, Nobody's Poet and Isotopes of Despair.

Miss J. also asked me if I'd fill in this Friday to host Writer's Block First Draft.

Sure why not? So come see me emcee this Friday at Kafe Kerouac at 8PM. Admission is only three bucks.



Jim Carroll died on Friday. He was best known to me for the album Catholic Boy and the song People Who Died. For others it was his book The Basketball Diaries and the movie of the same name. I read the book years ago and remember it as a rather decadent look at metro New York, and it was very intense. He was sixty years old. I saw a picture of him taken two years ago and he looked ready to die then. He was said to have been working on a novel at the time of this death, wonder if it will be published?

And the dog paid my wife 13-1

I went to Pittsburgh having no idea what it was like, or what to expect. It was an easy and leisurely drive there with a view that blows you away the moment you go through the Fort Pitt tunnel and downtown assaults your senses. It's rather amazing.

We went up the inclines, the Monongahela and Duquesne, which give you the best views of any city's skyline that I have ever seen.



We had a great time walking around the compact and sometimes confusing downtown. If you ever have an opportunity to stay at the William Penn Hotel, do it. The service is first rate and worth every penny.

We met up with a friend, who gave us the locals tour of parts of the city. Somehow, when we get together, we are encountered by people who like to talk about themselves, who we can't seem to get rid of either. We also went onto the campus of the University of Pittsburgh. I wanted to see the remains of Forbes Field, where the Pirates used to play. Home plate is inside one of the campus buildings. It was supposed to be in it's original location, but that would put it inside a women's restroom, so it had to be moved a little so the public can see it.

Some of the outfield walls are still preserved.



We also hit the Cathedral of Learning, a large edifice that I think Ayn Rand would have had a suite in.



Nothing like that on the OSU campus I can assure you.

I cannot emphasize how picturesque the city is.



On the way back to Columbus, we stopped in Wheeling to see the casino and the dog races. We bet on one race and my wife's dog came in 13-1. I did not do so well. We played the slots and saw every senior citizen in the state of West Virginia before leaving for home. Then we get home to find out Comfest turned into Altamont, Billy Mays died in his sleep, and Michael Jackson is still dead.

Can't wait to have more time to see the city, it's only three hours away.

Let Scott's Groove Locker Say Amen

My friend Scott has put together a wonderful podcast of Michael Jackson's music.

You can listen or download it here

As I've said, my Mother and her generation watched the rise and fall of Elvis Presley. Now I and those of my age have seen the same of Michael Jackson.

I choose to remember the music he left behind.

I know many others have died

Today was a celebrity death double, one that has not had such star power since the triple of Billy Wilder, Milton Berle and Dudley Moore back in 2002, and before that was Sammy Davis Jr. and Jim Henson back in 1990.

We knew Farrah was not much longer for this world. She fought the brave fight, took it public when the rumors and lies went out of hand. Now, I suspect her family and friends will be able to mourn privately after Michael Jackson's sudden death.

At first CNN was saying cardiac arrest, at the same time TMZ was saying he was dead. It reminded me of when Lady Diana was in her car accident, but we got the sad news much quicker.

Jackson's music and talent are unparalleled. You cannot take that from his legacy. He left behind an incredible body of work.

It's the surgery, the changes of skin color, the trial, the dangling of a baby over a balcony that too many will remember him by. Like me and Elvis. My memories of Elvis while he was alive are of a fat, bloated pill popping has been. Jackson left us as an anorexic pill popping space cadet. It's a damn shame.

He leaves behind a financial mess and I'm wondering what's going to happen to the kids he bought.

I got nothing else but Thriller on vinyl, the cardboard 45s from the back of the box of Alpha Bits cereal were thrown out years ago.

Listen.

At My Window Sad and Lonely

I never saw him play with the group, but he was a member of Wilco when I started listening to them.

Jay Bennett's death at the age of 45 was quite the shock.

Condolences to all his friends and family.

Bird Flown

You came ready to play
So young that a wad of bubble gum
replaced chaw in your mouth
Scouts took a chance on you
while your manager did not for the first month of the season
Once he realized you could control your pitches
and throw a 95 mile an hour fastball
that jumped past the batter
and exploded in the catcher's mitt
you were put in the rotation
By then, America noticed

They could have been scared off
by your unorthodox enthusiasm
on the mound
The way you filled in the cleat marks you made between pitches
No one had seen such stunts on the mound
since Rube Waddell chased fire engines
seventy years before

Your arm and your act put fans in the seats
Teams would beg for you to start on their turf during road trips
to see your hat fall off between pitches
only to be put on over your unruly, curly locks.
You brought your joy to the mound
and threw nothing but strikes
They were intrigued
when you flapped your arms at the start of innings
to warm yourself up
They called you The Bird
And when you began speaking to the ball
telling it
imploring it what to do before every pitch
They called you box office
And when you filled stadiums
They made you an All Star

You won nineteen games
Lost nine
Named rookie of the year
You were twenty one years old

The next spring training
While goofing off in the outfield
You tore up your knee
You tried throwing off of it too soon
And screwed up your pitching shoulder

For three or four more years
you tried to make comebacks
But the damage was done
At the age of twenty five
you went back home to Massachusetts
And became a Sports Illustrated
Where are they now story

And I was at the Olde Mohawk
watching the Cubs play
A former Columbus mayor and his wife
sitting behind me
When your face appeared on the screen
With the year of your birth
Followed by the year of your death
Fifty four is too young
Ten years older than me

And on a day when baseball announcers drop dead
in the press box
Porn stars die in double wide trailers
Friends marriages lay on fault lines
Record producers get convicted of murder
And work turned into a turf war
This was too much
Too much

But I will fight off this hitter
The way you did
Tossing down the resin bag in a cloud of talc
Grasping my pen
And telling it
what to do

For Mark Fidrych (1954-2009)


(From ESPN.com)

Wrote that at the Rumba Cafe bar tonight. Man, that one got to me.

I read there tonight at the Poetry Forum. It's a very serious group of poets. Clapping is limited. I have to say it's a great venue for poetry. Reminds me of a sixties coffeehouse where Woody Allen would do stand up or Dylan would play. Louise showed up, so WB represented - as well at Arts Fest 1/2.

Brought the A Game and read After Birth, went over well. It's rare that I get there because I have my son on Monday nights. I hope it's not another three years before I get to read there again.

A phone call from long ago

Back in the 80's my ex was editor of the English Department's poetry quarterly. She brought in authors to give readings.

One day I answered the phone. It was for her.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"My name is W.D. Snodgrass."

And that was my conversation with him. I was not able to go to his luncheon or the reading because I had to work at the liquor store. He gave a good reading from what I understand.

W.D Snodgrass died of cancer at the age of 83. Check out the video of his last reading in October. A great poem. Look at his eyes and see how full of life they were!

I'm a reporter of celebrity death. You'll see that here.