The Cars saved my life in high school

In the late 1970's, as a lonely high school kid, I thought The Cars were the coolest. Their debut and Candy-O lived on my turntable. There was something aloof about Ocasek. He seemed to be above all the craziness of rock stardom (he was about 10 years older, in his mid 30's, than everyone else). Great chords, flashy solos by Elliot Easton, quirky seemingly interchangeable vocals of Orr and Ocasek. It was all brought together by the stellar production of Roy Thomas Baker, who produced Queen's greatest work.

The Cars were the first band I ever saw live, although technically it was the opening band, XTC. We were in the last row of the Nassau Coliseum. We were still buzzed from a bottle of Canadian Club and I remember they chose a weird song, Shoo Be Doo as the opener. They were not flashy, and I am not sure if they were an ever meant to be arena band and I never did connect with the Panorama album - the one they were touring on. But it was not a bad show.

They really took off with the Shake It Up and Heartbeat City records, and those records were good, but I was moving on to other music.

Ocasek put out a few uneven solo records, reunited the group after Ben Orr's death. I was not really listening anymore. The memories will always be good though, and always there.

A few years ago, his daughter in law owned an art gallery in the Short North and put on a show of his work, which I did not really connect with. He was here for the opening and I was walking south on High and saw him and his family (including his wife Paulina) coming toward me. He was in black, black and white tie tied loosely around his neck, dark sunglasses on. He did not look much different than the late 70's. I was too stunned to say anything. I was stunned to see the news of his death cross my social media tonight.

Rest in Peace, Ric. Thank you for the music.

There's something about loss

I've probably seen more loss than victory, and not just from the world of sports. 

Redman Street 

High school was a barrage of

Friday night parties I was not invited to

On Monday the sounds all around my desk

were laughter, all the drinking, fun and vomiting I missed

It's said the diploma was the goal

More important than a degree was

four more years of directionless loss

Administrators pushed me through second grade

because I could read

In third grade I learned how to hate myself

In fifth I learned how power can abuse

If seventh grade went as quick as sitting next to a pretty girl

in ninth grade science class

eleventh grade would have been more tolerable

I'm not even going to mention any more even numbered years

Every Saturday afternoon I heard the marching band play

at halftime from my backyard

I'd been beat up under those bleachers too many times to see them filled

Had lockers broken into more times that I want to remember

Problems were solved with withdrawal, not a gun

another shot of whiskey means

another game of dodge ball forgotten

There's not enough whiskey

but there's plenty of time to move forward

The kids are alright

I was reading an interview with Elton John last night and he was raving about this band. So I looked this group of Irish kids up on Youtube and was very impressed with what I saw and heard.



I mean, what the Hell was I doing when I was 16? Compared to the ramshackle band I was involved with, these kids were on a stage at Glastonbury. They're also quite talented, with polish provided by the production skills of Chris Thomas and the management backing of Elton John's empire behind them.

There's a lot that can go wrong here, or simply fade out to remember whens or what ifs. Right now I'm going to focus on the promise and enjoy hearing about their ascent.

Avoiding the Vitriol

Alright May, you're just like April with the rain. Knock it off!

Already knew this but it became magnified yesterday that this country is not over 9/11. I have no idea what it's going to take for this country to move ahead but it was not the death of Bin Laden. Even his death kept the divide going. I'm not sad the guy's been killed, but I'm not wrapping myself in the flag and jumping into Mirror Lake over it either.

Been thinking, writing, goofing off the last few days. After a conversation in a bar I'm wondering what poets in this town say about me behind my back. Still processing that part of the weekend.

Been in contact with my high school graduating class on the Facebook. There's a group forming for the 30th anniversary reunion later this year. A lot of pictures. I put one up of my fifth grade class, the only class picture I think I own. There were comments praising the teacher. The guy made my life a living hell for a year so I kept quiet. I'm not going to be the one to harsh others reflective buzz.

In good news my first college roommate found me through Facebook. Been trying to find him for years so it's been good to be catching up.

In very sad news a good friend's mother died. A sudden diagnosis of cancer and it stinks being so far away.

The little guy is good. Fell asleep at nine last night and slept through the night. Must have been tired. Swimming has been going great. He's going underwater a lot, opening his eyes up big. He's going to be swimming underwater any time now. Time to make sure he's finishing breakfast.

All in all, all is well. Now about that sun. Time to make an appearance, sometime this month.

Out on my brain on the 5:15

Day 11 - a Song from your Favorite Band

Since I put my favorite song at day one, and vowed to not repeat any bands, I go to band two. I fell in love with this band the night of the junior prom, which I did not attend. I went with Frank to a long gone little strip mall movie theater in Bay Shore to see The Kids are Alright.

They had me at the first power chord. The first drum destruction. The first stationary bass player whose fingers moved like lightning. The first swing of the microphone cord. The first rock and roll scream.

It was this performance, not even their best, that put me over the edge.

Music Running Free

Day Eight - A song you know all the words to.

Man, I don't have my own poetry memorized. It's hard for my brain to memorize stanzas, choruses and shit. It's never been trained to do that.

I'm sure there are a lot of songs I can sing along with easily. Maybe I'll skip a word, or be slightly behind following along as I sing in the car (yeah, I do that sometimes)

Committing a song to memory. Pain in the ass.

For a brief, horrible, moment in high school, I was the lead singer in a band. It was 1980, a sucky year that ended a decade of suck. A year that would end in a pile of suck. My friend was in a band. I hung out with band. Did their sound. Relationships formed. Relationships broke up. There was high school drama. There was adult drama. Sound equipment was hidden. Fistfights and body slams happened, more punches were threatened in a parking lot. Van Halen blasted out of a van. Somewhere in there I was given a microphone.

It did not work. I had less stage presence than singing ability and even less of the confidence needed to fake it.

I know where the band is now, and no, they're not getting back together. Most of them are on Facebook, except the bass player. I have no idea what happened to him.

There's a tape of me singing this song, but it's hidden behind traps that would kill Indiana Jones. Don't ask me to sing it a capella, ok.

This is sure stirring up ghosts for me

One thing I do not want this place to be is a crying room. I do not want to vent, lament, recap sports events from the night before, throw pillows around the room or whine about my dying 21 year old Volvo.

I am slightly better prepared to ponder about why someone who barely knew me in high school, who was in a more social class of friends, and who I think did not like me, would send me a message on classmates.com? It's a part of the game though. You put your name out there and people do show up. It happens on Facebook too, but there's an ignore feature there. I use it.

So what do I say to this guy, twenty eight years after we never really spoke to each other? Wow, I remember the time in English class you pushed me around a bit too much so I hit you in your budding rock star face and you went berserk. "Don't hit me in the face." Is my fondest memory of you. Ok, maybe not fondest but my only.

Maybe I should think on this a little more.

Last night my gal and I went out for a fine dinner which rekindled my love of Madeira.



Every couple of years I try it and vow to drink more. Every couple of years I fail to do this. It's the oldest wine I've had. At a shop I worked at, we had a tasting for a group of people from Arthur Anderson (before their book cooking) and one of the big wigs was looking around and found our 1870 Sercial. Later in the evening he bought it and wanted it opened so everyone in his group could try it. What I remember most was right after it was uncorked being about twenty feet away and being able to smell it. A genie was opened and it was beautiful. Apricots, heat, smoke. Lots of fruit. I did get to try a sip, and that was plenty. The juice never ages. Madeira is Peter Pan in a bottle.

I do not miss the wine business much. I had enough of crazy owners who died of crack overdoses or who tried to shoot themselves in their bathtubs. You get burned out on that type of dysfunction. My taste for the drink back then took its toll on me also. Best to stay away from things that can damage you if you can't control them.