Temporary breakthrough

To say that I have written very little lately is an obvious understatement. I'm not even talking about updating this blog, but writing in general. The addictive time suck of social media, along with a lack of confidence has really caused me to essentially stop writing. It's been months since I've written a poem.

Months.

Since Meatgrinder last July, perhaps?

It's been a few years since I've written with any energy and grief stopped that in its tracks. Now, I have zero confidence in putting any thought to paper, let alone want to present it to people at a reading. I think I have successfully erased myself from the Columbus poetry scene. That's how low I feel.

Something was festering in my head for a few weeks though. The germ of a thought that came from an observation. Could I put it down and feel like i am not mining my son's life, which is (again) what the poem is about?



There was a moment in time before a webinar today when I set pen to paper and hoped. It took less than five minutes for most of it to be put down. I refrained from putting the paper in the shredder. During the webinar I edited it a bit and in typing at home it got edited a bit more.

Not the best, far from it. Not the worst, far from it. But it's something, and it's been a long time since I put something down that I did not immediately hide or erase.

Truck, what truck?

52 is an odd year for an even number. I'm one year younger than my Brother when he died. It's tough to wrap my head around that, still, and all the other grief I've dealt with over the last year.

Did a lot of driving this weekend in the new car. It's been a comfort, a lot of fun to drive. Went to Yellow Springs for lunch, another match of International Mini Golf (the first draw!) and to Westerville for dinner. Took in a good sunset at Hoover Reservoir.



My Wife's been taking good care of me. This afternoon we went to the Ohio Theater and took in a matinee of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Clark Wilson did his thing on the Mighty Morton Organ.



So it's been a good birthday weekend. And I got a reminder from my son's mother about upping the size of diapers. He's eating well, if not sleeping right, but he is growing - he never came with a pause button.

Even the coffee is improving

The New Year means that my work anniversary is here. I started where I am currently employed nine years ago on January 2nd. I enjoy the work, and the environment around me. Heck, unlike at a previous employer, I did not hit a glass ceiling and earned a promotion. Unlike at a previous employer, we're not guilt tripped into our pay checks by pie charts during budget presentations. There's a respectful balance here between life and work that is usually maintained.

So here I am, and will continue to be, probably, for some years to come.

Just do not mention dying at my desk, that happened to the woman next to me last year.

2015, the year in poetry

2015 was not the most public year for me and poetry. I'd like to blow this year up socially as being constantly worn out made it difficult to attend open mics in the community.

Had to cancel a feature in Pittsburgh due to weather difficulties but I did have a good reading in Dayton in May for the Gem City crew.

It was an honor to be a part of the Sign Your Art project that put poetry on the street signs all over Columbus.

Had a great co-feature with Nancy Kangas at the Kitamu Coffee for the Second Friday Fete in November.

Had some strong thoughts about how the Columbus Arts Festival gave poetry the shaft.

Still writing, albeit slowly. It's there, quiet.

Most important though, we lost Gina Blaurock and so many of us are still reeling from her death.

2015 slideshow

For the past four years I've been making slideshows and setting them to music. This year is no exception. It's been a year of a lot of loss. Friends, a co-worker, my Brother and my biological father just died on Sunday. It adds up.

The music is Nobody's Empire by Belle and Sebastian and it's a very appropriate song that resonates this holiday season.

Bad days and days

It's a struggle that has nothing to do with agoraphobia but it's a time a year when I just do not want to leave the house.

Another tough holiday after a tough year approaches and it's really hard to celebrate. Never know what to get my son. Hard to know what he likes to do other than watch trailers on iTunes.

Mom's been gone two years, my Brother two months, it's too freaking dark outside although unseasonably warm for this time of year.

So it's become too easy to stare at a screen, a device, to catch up on season two of Buffy and ironically chuckle at the use of a Sarah MacLachlan song in the last episode. The results are no real writing or reading gets done, let alone attempting to be social.

My Wife has some hope and started a new job this month, there is that to rightfully celebrate and appreciate.

Getting out in the crowds is difficult, but maybe next weekend. Perhaps the temperatures will remain warm or there will not be bitter wind chill to annoy me during the experience.

Still fading away

Another one of my former coworkers died this past week. Jane was an incredibly sweet woman, who I thought had a much harder life than she deserved. She was always working to help make ends meet, even while she was raising her daughter. Her acceptance when I first started working at the liquor store meant a lot to me.

Jane knew everyone who came into the store, and would share gossip and tell some interesting, but not always slanderous stories about them after they left. She was a talented woman, who was the first female window decorator for the J.C. Penney's company in the 1940's.

So when I saw her obituary and read that she died, at the age of 92, I was sad but not too surprised. Had not seen her in years, and thought maybe she was already gone. I hope the final years of life were kind to her.

It's trendy to slag them off now

This song is one of the several that got me through a rough patch in my life nine Novembers ago. This month symbolizes lock down to me. The leaves go, have to be picked up and raked. We're paying someone to do that for us now, which is one major difference from those days when bleak was the norm. The temperature drops then the days get shorter as I go to work in the dark and come home to sunset.

Doesn't help that death came last month and there are now constant reminders of it to our house throughout the holidays now.

So maybe the best thing tonight will be drinking down some Cava and watching the Bills/Jets game from the couch. Even the football is taking up too much time investment these days. I've only so much time, so many hours, left. It's coming to a point where I have to really start thinking hard about time allocation. Or maybe I should just go with what I'm dealt, every day, for whatever is left.

It's hard to remember the fun with all the shouting going on when I look at my screen, which I admit is another part of the problem.

I will be out for a reading tomorrow night, at Kitamu Coffee in Hilliard, featuring with the wonderful Nancy Kangas. Here's the information about it. I will have a lot of new and newer poems about death and travel. Guaranteed to be entertaining and engaging. Plus, free!

Roddy Piper in October 1986

I am going to be watching this video all day long.



Ya Gotta Believe!

To write it all down, or none of it.

My Brother died on Tuesday of complications following a bone marrow transplant. He kept his illness private, but if there were any questions he would always answer them.

Last month, he left me a message to call him. I suspected something was up, as this was a very rare thing for him to do. In my family, random phone calls mean the news is rarely good. We were not very close, due to physical and emotional distance. Despite his being a yankee fan, a lot of mutual respect between us developed over time. He was always wondering how my son was and did his best to keep on his life.

He told me he was going into the hospital, again. The way he said it was a bit of a surprise. He had been in and out of the hospital more than once in the last couple of years, but this was the first time he let me know. There was something in the tone of his voice that led me to think this was more serious than usual tests and defense against infections.

During her visit, my sister confirmed this. His body weakened over the last few weeks and his organs told him the fight was over. He had a strong spirit, was a good man, and his loss will be felt by so many in and outside of his family.



Rest in Peace, Scott.

Being social is hard, but rewarding.

It's a rare weekend when we're invited out for not just one, but two, social events and have the time and ability to do it.

There was an energy in the microbrewery on Friday, where we waited for a person to show up to celebrate his birthday, and to meet him in person for the first time. We had a good conversation with another friend who was waiting as well, and met the celebrant's brother and a few other people.

Over the course of the evening we also met a local dining establishment owner and a local food blogger. I was in a good mood so I did not ask the blogger if he ever had a bad meal out, ever, and if did, did he ever write about it? But that's my issue with local food critics who hyper-focus on nothing but positives and never offer any constructive critique.

So that was growth on my part, I think.

There was also a fun dinner party in which Cards of Humanity was played. My wife and I were cleaning up on the black cards but this exchange was one I happened to read.

"Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's ___________________

White privilege."

That was the first card I read, and I nearly ended it right then and there. How can that be topped?

It was good, but tiring to get out.

Plus, the Mets were playing on the west coast in the playoffs. The games ended very late, Here's my poem about last night's game.

"An open letter to Chase Utley of the Los Angeles Dodgers; after he broke the leg of New York Mets shortstop Ruben Tejada during an illegal slide into second base in the seventh inning of a game that was played on October 11th, 2015.

Fuck you."

And that's all that needs to be said, until Monday night.

The death of Carey Lander, the keyboardist for Camera Obscura, leaves me very very sad. Lander died of sarcoma this morning at the age of 33. Sucks when such a vital, creative person is taken from us too soon. She will be greatly missed. Condolences to her family, the band, and her friends.

Thank you, Van

One of the great broadcasters, Van Miller, died today aged 87. He was the longtime voice of The Buffalo Bills. His work was terrific. His enthusiasm for the game came across whether the team won or lost. Here are some of his calls for The Comeback Game.



He coined the term 'Fandemonium."

You can listen to more of his calls here.

He retired in 2003, his successor, John Murphy does a fine job as well.

Rest in Peace, Van.

Reasons to be sad and unhappy

The one and only time I was on a horse, it stopped and rolled over on to its back. I had to jump clear so I would not have been crushed.

I did not get back on that horse.

While I was away I received an email from my son's mother saying that he was accepted into a equine therapy program about a half hour north of us. I've heard that horse riding may be beneficial for autistic children and I was as pleased as she was that he was accepted. It's been funded through some generous donations so it's free to us and the other dozen or so participants in the program.

Why not, right?

The orientation session was this afternoon. There were a number of screaming, quirky kids in the corral. My son was not happy more or less from the get go. There was a ceiling fan in the waiting area that bothered him. The noise other people were making bothered him. The smell of the barn probably bothered him.

He went to his mother's car and got in the back seat saying "Bye bye" and "Time to go" over and over.

We waited for him to calm down and then brought him back into the barn to wait for his turn to get on the horse. He did not like getting sized for the helmet. And when the time came, he did not want to stay in the area where the horses were. It's not that he was afraid of the horses, but this was not what he wanted to do today. None of this was in any of the routines he knows and he reacted in the only way he knows how.

The horses seem to be quite chill and I'm very impressed with the ability of the volunteers who work with the kids. One of them while on a horse for the first time, was asked to put his hands over his head, "It's too dangerous" was his logical reply.

Sometimes, ok, most of the time I have no idea what to do to help my son. We're blindly throwing therapies, treatments and coping solutions at the wall - trying to find some hope in whatever sticks. I wonder who we're really doing this for. Him, or us. He can't sit there in his iPad all day, watching videos (do as I say not as I do) it's my job as a parent to try and socialize him. So I try not to once again feel like a failure as I read about all these super fantastic and authentic parents leading and teaching their kids to all kids of accolades.

Meanwhile, we cheer when my kid plays with a garden hose.

In two weeks, the sessions will have fewer kids and we'll try again. Maybe this time he'll be ready to take the next step.

As if that was not enough, on Saturday I found out that one of my co-workers died on Friday. She worked next to me and was one of the most giving people I've ever met. I know her health was not great, but this is a real blow, and not how I wanted to end a vacation. She'd been with the library for about fifty years. Not sure what kind of maelstrom I'm going to be going into Monday morning.

He liked the scripts better when they had coffee stains on them.

One of my college professors at Fredonia died yesterday. John P. Malcolm was a gregarious and knowledgeable man. Whether in the classroom or walking about town he always had a kind word to say, and if years had passed since you had seen each other, he did not forget who you were.

When he found out we were moving to Columbus, Ohio State was his Alma Mater, he would always ask if we were going to live in Buckeye Village, which he called "Fertility Acres." Many conversations or lectures you had with him started, “Back in my old days at Ohio State!” He was a good man who is directly responsible for my having a degree.

Here’s the story: when I ‘graduated’ in 1985, my GPA in my minor was not high enough so I did not officially earn a degree. No, I was not the best of students. A couple of years later, my ex-wife asked him, he was Chair of the Communication Department, if he would waive that requirement (all without my knowledge) and allow me to have the degree, which was well within the rules at the time. He did it without hesitation.

My schedule has it that I will most likely be unable to attend any services for him, and that distance makes me sad. Dr. Malcolm leaves behind a loving family, scores of colleagues and the many students who had great respect for him. Rest in Peace Dr. Malcolm, and thank you.

Another boss bites the dust

1985 was a crazy year. I graduated college, got married shortly after and began work for a local radio station that was in the process of having its broadcasting license revoked.

This is the second former employer of mine who has died in the past year.

It was a strange place to work, like many of my jobs, with weird and wonderful coworkers. I've never been so scared at work before, as I tried figuring out a newscast out of the local paper and nicking the other station in town. Had no idea what I was doing. None. There was no AP teletype in the station, the owner was too frugal to pay for that. The morning guy was a hoot, a former stand up comedian he made me laugh on the air constantly, God rest his soul.

The former owner of WBUZ, Hammerin' Hank Serafin, died on Saturday, aged 89. I've been playing with this for over a year and a half, finally got motivated to finish it today.



Ten Reasons You Lost Your FCC License

In 1989 radio station WBUZ Fredonia/Dunkirk had it’s license pulled by the FCC. It was only the second license revoked since the Communications Act of 1934. The owner of the station, Hammerin’ Hank Serafin, died on May 2nd.

1) Do not rig a contest in which first prize was a trip to Niagara Falls in which you sent a major advertiser and his wife went to because you were worried people in an immoral relationship would win. Second prize was a hi-tech radio you kept in your office.

2) That time you called the agency for a secretary then asked her supervisor if they had any white girls because the one that showed would make charcoal look white.

3) That day you hacked a public phone booth to air a high school baseball game.

4) Do not keep the public from inspecting your public file during business hours. Do not harass the person who came to view your public file by mocking his hair length.

5) Do not forge the records in your public file. Even if the guy you strung along for years so you could try to sell him the station lied for you.

6) You were also a well known local slumlord. Do not call an advocate for the poor a bitch on the air. Said person was the daughter of a well known county judge. But you could not help yourself, could you?

7) Never charge sponsors for ads they did not agree to run. It also helped your bookkeeper pay her electric bills without you knowing for years.

8) Do not lie about paying your ASCAP fee. Even the polka musicians had to get paid.

9) Because you were such a cheap bastard, you left a visible storefront in town, bought a double wide and parked it next to your transmitter. Enviably located next to a pallet factory at the end of a dead end street. Painted a sign that read the temporary home of WBUZ.

10) In the last days even nature knew you were done. Days before the station went dark a bird flew into the trailer, fluttered around the station, then shat on your desk

Beyond Language

Last Sunday, the Columbus arts community lost one of its most talented members. Gina Blaurock was an artist, poet, and my friend. Her unexpected passing has left many of those who knew her gutted and in shock. She created her own jewelry and sold it in many places including Gallery Hop and Comfest. She wrote and performed poems that were insightful, wickedly funny and magnificent. Her work for the Columbus Arts Festival Word is Art Stage committee was valued and diligent. She won the poetry contest at the arts festival, twice. Last year Louise Robertson needed a last minute poet to do a lengthy set and Gina came through with a performance that was mesmerising, and did it all from memory. That was Gina, she was clutch.

Her brain contained a jukebox of songs, mostly from the eighties, she never needed a lyric sheet. During poetry slams, we went to her for the poets’ scores before using a calculator. When she and I sat together during open mics, we were bad influences on each other and giggled the whole night with snarky commentary. Steve Brightman took the only picture of us that I could find. We were rarely this serious when we sat together.



Word began to spread online about her death on Wednesday afternoon. The grief was deep. Writers’ Block had its open mic that night which quickly and rightfully turned into a poetic wake for Gina. Many of us gave sweet eulogies and reminisces about how much she touched our lives. It was a necessary thing for us to do, but it just touched the surface of our sorrow. Poets who have not been to the show in ages came out to pay tribute. When I was talking to Scott Woods and Louise after the show, we thought that she is the first of the regular and long time Writers’ Block poets to die, and why did it have to be her? We were all supposed to get old together.

Today was the service. I met her brother and mother, who were both understandably still in shock. Neither of them really knew how much Gina affected the communities she lived in. She really knew how to compartmentalize her life. Vernell Bristow has been a great help to her family and she delivered a well thought out and appropriate eulogy. I bought a red balloon and asked her brother if I could put it by the altar. One of Gina’s most endearing poems quoted 99 Luftballoons. There were a lot of poets in the room, and a couple who traveled from Chicago and Washington DC to be with us. A lot of love was in there.

I was not aware of how strongly Buddhist Gina was, neither was her brother. But he told a very touching story about how he contacted a local Buddhist temple for help and it was amazing that over a dozen of their flock came to celebrate the life of a complete stranger to them. The head explained to us what was happening then they chanted, then she sang a couple of lovely hymns in a powerful voice none of us expected to hear. It was a beautiful celebration.

I hope that somehow her writing is found, kept and preserved. She only put out one chapbook about ten years ago and there’s only one poem of hers on youtube at this point.

Here is the link to it.

It would be a profound disservice for her work to be lost and undocumented. I wonder if there is a way an executor or steward of her literary estate can be appointed to keep her poems alive? A quality book published with the proceeds going to her Niece could be a great way to honor her. I do not want her voice to disappear and I suspect there are others who feel the same. I did mention this to her brother and think after all the love her saw for his sister from people he did not know that he understands.



We’re going to miss her so much, I cannot believe she is gone.

Stan Freberg 1926-2015

He was one of the great audio artists of our time. Stan Freberg was a pioneer, a creative and innovator for over seventy years. I'm sure I first heard his work on the Doctor Demento show, but probably was introduced to him even sooner through a radio commercial or one of his numerous voice works in a cartoon.

I have no idea where to start. St. George and the Dragonet? Day-O? United States of America? John and Marsha? You can find it all on youtube.

This is the classic. A pinnacle of his work.



Later he would produce and write a very successful series of television commercials that featured his son Donovan. Freberg also appeared on Roseanne as Mr. Parkin and worked with Weird Al Yankovic on his television show.



The world is less funny today, less thoughtful and brilliant. One of the good ones has signed off.

Rest in Peace.

A few short takes and two wakes

I really hope that 2015 does not turn out to be the Year of the Wake. Tomorrow will be the second in two weeks. My neighbor died a couple of weeks ago, she was 86 and in frail health. Yesterday, a former colleague from the Statehouse died. As you get older I guess you meet more people and the chances of them dying increase. No one said this is what happens when you age. I've family and friends struggling with all kinds of diseases right now. Me? I'm just tired from lack of sleep and have a kid that stays in his shell and we can't get him out of it.

Today we found out that Harper Lee will be publishing a new book later this year. This news was received with a lot of positivity, especially from the book industry who can use a new blockbuster. After a bit of time more than a few recent articles about Lee and her health were released and rehashed. Not much of it good. I just hope that this book is being issued with Lee's full consent and knowledge and she was not forced or tricked into it due to her age.

Still trying to figure out what the Hell Pete Carroll was thinking when he sent in that pass play that led to an interception to end a very dramatic Super Bowl on Sunday. I get that he may want to pass, but what the heck was the slant pass over the middle at the one all about. Call a fade to one of your receivers. Throw over the middle to the tight end in the back of the end zone. But it went into traffic and the New England defensive back picked it off. Then again, Carroll will always have at least one more Super Bowl ring than me, so what do I know?

Saturday is another Super Bowl as Everton take on their arch nemesis, Liverpool. The Toffees have been struggling this year and are languishing in the lower parts of the table while Liverpool are doing a bit better. I hope it's better than last Sunday's match between Celtic and the club that may still be known as Rangers (but now have a bit of Newcastle in them). That match was a horror show of poor soccer and a crappy pitch.

The new Belle and Sebastian is great to listen to, as is the Sleater Kinney. We're seeing B&S here in June and are excited about that. The Dylan is, um, his Christmas album of Sinatra covers. I'll leave it there.