Menlike Gods At Rest Within The Tableau Of Loved Ones

My grandfather passed away last week. I wanted to take the time to dedicate a blog post to his memory by sharing a couple stories. I'd rather not talk about the wake and services period, much less on a blog for public viewing. I will say that I had the opportunity to give his eulogy, which was a tremendous honor that I'll never forget.

There are many people, especially within my family, who have had their lives impacted significantly by my grandfather, Jim. I do have to say that one of the things I felt was pretty exclusive to his and my relationship was our mutual appreciation for life's bells and whistles. In a sense, he and I were the same in that we could find some silly little observation that no one either understood or cared about hilarious enough to laugh about in ten minute segments over the course of a couple weeks. I will say that the generation gap at times hindered our ability to laugh at the same bells and whistles, but I feel confident in saying that there was a mutual understanding of this similarity between us that ostracized, yet endeared, us to our family. No one else quite thought of life the way we did, and from that acknowledgement we formed a strong bond and love for each other that unfortunately was becoming stronger than ever since my graduation from college.

Among a couple of his quirks (just for you to get to know him a bit) was telling strangers of all shapes, colors, and sizes that he was a mere 21 years old given that he was born on a leap day. Such an oddity of space, time and coincidence never failed to amaze and amuse him, and he loved to share that while the rest of us were unfortunate victims of time's cruel march towards the future, he only aged once every four years.

He also collected toys and dolls and placed them all over his house to amuse himself and my Grandma. As I grew up, I watched the dolls and toys dominate a wall, then a stairwell, then a basement, and eventually, an entire home. Now, those of you who really know me are likely wondering how I ever set foot in the house in the first place. I never told him how much the toys freaked me out and just how deep the waters of my phobia ran. He got too much joy out of adding to his collection and sharing it with others for me to dare saying a word about it. When someone you care about finds a passion that makes them happy, you have to embrace it. Plus, there's that whole bit about respecting your elders. Suffice to say, though, I kept my eyes on the steps in front of me whenever I had to use those stairs. I found out a couple of years ago that while not quite to my degree of discomfort, my grandma also didn't always appreciate the collection and had a hard time eating "with all the dolls staring at {her}" The sacrifices of love, my friends.

Hopefully that gives you a bit of an idea as to what kind of man my grandpa was and makes this post interesting enough for you all to enjoy. Strangely enough, my favorite memory about my grandpa involves a story that I wasn't actually present for, so I figured I would tell that one and a story in which I was more directly involved.

My grandparents live (now obviously just my grandma, but it's a reflex to refer to them as a unit. For the sake of the story, go with it.) in Manorville right near the game farm (It might be called the Long Island Zoo now. I'm not sure.) where you can find all sorts of farm animals, deer, gators, bison, peacocks, etc. One day, when I was no more than 6 or 7 years old, my grandpa mentioned that he had found a back way to the back-end of the deer field through the patch of woods that faced his condo development. If we ventured to make the trip, we would get an up-close and personal look at the deer without having to pay for admission (thinking like a Policastro). Essentially, we would be able to face the crowd looking at the deer from the game farm and get our own view of the animals. My sister and I readily agreed to make the trip with him and we set out on a rather crisp, but beautiful autumn day. To be honest, I can't remember a time in my life when my grandparents weren't chronically frigid, so my grandpa tossed on a rather no-nonsense winter coat while my sister Noelle and I donned less arctic outerwear.

My grandpa didn't really emphasize just how much of a trek this was, as we left behind all semblance of a woodland path and wound up soldiering through some really dense woods and some really tall grasses which, given my age and directly proportional lack of height, were taller than I was. I remember distinctly having a close encounter with a thorn bush that nearly engulfed me. Naturally, Noelle got quite a bit of enjoyment out of that. Naturally, I don't doubt I was already plotting my revenge. Despite the rural scenic route, we did make it to the deer and had a good time bidding them to come over and say 'hello' with mixed success. Eventually, we'd had our fill of inter-species interaction and bid adieu to the does. Which left us with one problem. How on earth do we get back?

That's right, ladies and gents, the three of us spent the better part of at least an hour wandering aimlessly in the grass that was taller than I was. We had completely lost our sense of direction and given that this was a bit before the the cellphone invasion, we were truly off the grid. Now I think the fact that we had planned this trip early enough in the day that we weren't at risk to losing daylight is that only factor that keeps this childhood memory a positive one rather than a suppressed brush with death (like the ill-fated "squirrel quarrel" incident). Time was indeed on our side, at least in that sense.

Grandpa was doing his best to keep our spirits up by singing various different ditties that we'd learned to sing with him over the years. I don't think that was too hard though, I think Noelle and I were still a little young to realize just how serious being truly lost is. Bear in mind that this was well before the release of "The Blair Witch Project". It was before the "Lord of the Rings", too, so it never dawned on us to ask the trees for directions.

Eventually, we came to this kind of pipe that gave gave grandpa some sort of idea as to where we were and we were bid to cross it. (Whoever came up with the over the river and through the woods anecdote clearly left out the pipe crossing balancing act in their description of how to get to grandmother's house.) Noelle and I did so pretty easily as we just kind of crawled across it. My grandpa had a much more difficult time with it and fell a good five feet or so into this miscellaneous brush. (It reminds me now of my struggles to cross the YCP creek.)

My grandpa was still young enough that him falling like that could still be considered the cream of the crop in physical comedy. I won't speak for Noelle, as she was a little older than me, but I was still young enough to consider the fact that my grandpa might be hurt a sheer impossibility and just one of the few instances of grown-ups proving themselves imperfect. I laughed hysterically and fortunately, grandpa was okay, climbed out of the little pit, and we got home a short time later telling grandma about our adventure.

Now, I know it's bizarre that my all-time favorite grandpa memory was something I'd never seen, but I was directly a part of it.

Throughout high school, I was quite active in musical theatre. ( *dons spontaneous surfer accent* Chicks did it, bro.) My Junior year, we performed Godspell in which I had the pleasure of being Judas alongside my brother from another mother, Matty Matura, as Jesus. (Despite the role he was given, he's my brother from another father, too... why is it near impossible to make a good immaculate conception joke? That's my new project, I think.) The role I was playing isn't relevant, but there are far too few Matty references in this bad boy. Anyway, one of the things we did as a drama club was create our own bios for the audience to peruse while waiting for the show to start and keep as a memory or whatever.

I admittedly don't remember the specifics of the show itself, but I can only assume that the first act ran smoothly enough seeing as the only in-show drama screw ups I remember is botching a "Tommy" entrance and a horribly timed attack of puberty during the run of the same show. Also, there was a random gunshot from the backstage area mid-show during Ragtime, but I had nothing to do with that.

Anyway, the first act seemingly went fine. Then Mr. Kramer (our director) enters the backstage area and calls my name out immediately. That's never good and while not the end of the world, usually means your mike is off, or your underwear is showing. Bottom Line: Something you did wasn't part of the plan. Mr. Kramer walks up to me grinning wildly (although you can only tell from the way his beard bends unless he's right in front of you; I got pretty good at using his beard to judge his mood) and grabs my shoulders and asks, "is your grandfather in the audience today?" I nod in the affirmative. "He's a wonderful man," he says and walks away. I'm a little perplexed, but inclined to agree with him. Following the show I get the lo-down from my Aunt Debbie as to what provoked Mr. Kramer's compliment.

Apparently, the copy of the bios that my grandpa received was missing the page that listed mine and right as intermission started, he walked to the top of the auditorium, quaint as it was, and approached Mr. Kramer to find out why it was missing and get a new one. Despite the protests from my Aunt and other family members who offered their own bios to him and pleaded with him to ask an usher for a new copy. My grandpa was undeterred and approached Mr. Kramer directly, which is a bit like telling President Obama to fix a pothole on your street. While firm, my grandpa wasn't rude about the situation and Mr. K apologized and had someone bring him a new copy right away. After talking with him about it later, I guess Mr. K got quite a laugh out of the ordeal and so did I after hearing both he and my family members (including my grandfather) recount it from their perspective.

Perspective is just what the story gave me, as it really personified just how much of a caring, unique, and charmingly stubborn man my grandfather was. I mean, it's easy to micro-analyze everything he said and did now that he's passed, but I genuinely never forgot that story and his reaction. It was one of life's bells and whistles that has provided me many a ten minute burst of laughter over the past many years, and will continue to do so.

One of the last things my grandpa ever said to me was:

"If there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that if it doesn't break no laws or hurt anybody

you've got to do what makes you happy in life."

With that sentiment in mind, I dedicate this post to his memory and thank you from the deepest part of me for reading. It means a lot to me, and I'm sure it means quite a bit to him as well.

I love you, grandpa. I'll see you everyday.

Song of the Day: Top Rankin'-Bob Marley

Jazz Song of the Day: Every Time We Say Goodbye-John Coltrane

Sometimes It's Easy To Be Myself. Sometimes I Find It's Better To Be Somebody Else

Let me just say that I'm sorry for the recent dearth in posts. It has taken a solid week to get my other projects up and running, but at last, things are settled enough to create some new material. I want to make a conscious effort to keep the blogs and other stuff separate, like I don't want to advertise one blog on another, so this will be the only time I type this; bear with me.

If you're interested in NBA ball, make sure to look up my other blog you can find on my blogger profile. My creative writing blog is on wordpress called "Poli Poetica" if you dig. Check out my Facebook "fan-page" (Again, I hate that term. I would never call you my fans, just my friends.) and/or my twitter @Poliwastaken. Also, if anyone else with a wordpress knows how to make the thing list the posts by name rather than by month that would be helpful. Thanks.

Okay, let's get down to it.

This past week I had the pleasure of heading to the city to see Bon Iver with my sister. While I'll get to the show in a bit, I feel it's important to recap some moments of the city trip itself. We left for the city straight from camp where nothing but blue skies beckoned our arrival. As tempted as I was cue the Ella Fitzgerald rendition, it would seem that my celebration of good fortune was all too premature. Lo and behold, on the train the rain began to tumble, changing the soundtrack of my life from Ella's "Blue Skies" to Rhianna's "Umbrella". Being as fueled by testosterone as I am, I stubbornly refused to pay ten bucks for an umbrella I would likely never use again. I initially felt pretty good about my decision. We only had to walk about ten blocks from Penn to the restaurant we wanted hit up and it was only water, after all. However, about five blocks into the trek, it went from pouring to darn-I-can't-believe-I-forgot-my-boat-at-home. The walk was much less pleasant, but I kept a pretty positive attitude about the whole thing, I just felt a little like an ass walking into the restaurant looking like I just took a swim. It took a great many paper towels to make me look presentable, but overall, I wouldn't change much about it.

The place we ate was "Southern Hospitality", which, in part, I think we ate at because Noelle thought there was a one in a million chance we'd see Justin Timberlake feasting on his down-home cuisine. No such luck, but the food was very good, I must say.

After the meal, Noelle was willing to humor me as we went to "Birdland", the jazz club, for drinks until it was time to leave for the show. Unfortunately, the place was closed, but I did get a snapshot outside of the place, much to the pleasant chagrin of my friends in or around the great city of Baltimore. Don't worry, I already know: The real Birdland never closes. Rest assured, my friends, lesson learned.

Thankfully the rain had dissipated, so we were able to toil around the area for a spell. I went looking for an orange Knicks hat in Modell's. Apparently, they're harder to find than you might think, I'll get it next time. We stopped briefly at Ripley's Believe It Or Not, which, even in the lobby, has some freaky stuff in it that you might not believe... wait, I don't get the name. Anyway, it was all pretty cool, but outside they had this kind of mannequin with his face all folded up. It sounds gross in type, but it's more of a comical messed up face than a tragically scary one. Kind of like John C. Reilly as opposed to Mickey Rourke. (Not for nothing, but that's the second off-hand comment I've made about his appearance in the past week. That feels like at least one too many.) Anyway, I didn't see this mannequin on the street right away and when Noelle said, "Look at that!" I looked casually to my left and saw the dummy, said okay, Noelle, I will, and looked to my right and saw the mannequin that I mistook for a real person in the moment. I swore and jumped about five yards into the air in fright. I suppose it was I who was the dummy in that instance. Noelle got a good laugh, so I suppose all was not for naught.

At long last, it's time to discuss the show. I hate to be a downer, but I fear there is less to say than you would imagine. Justin Vernon is a monster and the show was transcendental on all counts. It was absolutely brilliant. The difference in sound between the first two albums is quite noticeable with "For Emma" being subdued, stripped, and beautiful in simplicity. The new album has a few more musical layers to it, as he now rolls about nine deep in his band. It was cool to hear a full band's take on some of the older songs and the difference in sound was quite noticeable and lovely. Highlights were Wolves, Blood Bank, and Perth, but honestly the whole show was overwhelmingly tremendous and I was moved to a mist during Wash. Just beautiful music all around. Even a Bjork cover, just when you thought you knew everything. It was especially cool to hear the songs transition into one another, by no means did the concert sound like a continuous track, but there were a lot of interludes and postludes that worked beautifully together to really set up the mood for those transitions well. It also gave the band a chance to showcase themselves as individual musicians. Not too much more I can say about the music quality. The venue was small and beautiful as well. The United Palace Theatre doubles as a church pretty unsecularly and the architecture and intimacy fit the music well. What a scene. What an experience.

On a rather short digression (Holden Caulfield would be pleased) camp ended last week. Good to have another year in the books. I spent the last week of camp showing them Frisbee games like Kan Jam and Ultimate. I don't know why, but I was surprised none of the kids had heard of these games yet. My ten-year-old partner, Brandon and I only lost once in the five days we played, and ultimate lagged sometimes, but overall it was a positive experience. At one point I freaked out a kid because I shouted, "I got, I got, I got! You stick your man!" The kid just froze and I dove over him to try and make the play. I honestly don't remember if I was successful or not, but I do know we took a thirty second time out for me to collect my bearings. What a game.

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of going to the Collins house for a quick visit to see Amber and Kaitlin. The Collins family was quite generous and kind in opening their home and arms. It seems all they wanted in return was a little vocalization. A debt, regrettably, that was never quite paid. It was unfortunate to be involved in a scene where music was kept under a bushel, and I secretly wished the Hebros were in tow to rectify the situation, but the time was tremendous. It was great to vibe with Amber and Kaitlin again and we spent some time in the pool. The time started out care-free enough, until I lost my blue glasses in the blue water of the blue lined pool. Mr. Collins, I imagine in an attempt at comedy, shut off the pool light mid-search. When he went to turn on the light again, it wouldn't work. Not only were we searching for the metaphorical needle in the hay stack, but now the lights weren't even on. After a good 20 minutes, after the bulk of those in attendance gathered around the pool's edge to aid the search, after the light situation had been mended, the glasses were found. I could not be more grateful to those who helped. I felt a bit like a horse's rear for derailing the good time in such a way and Amber kicked me in the head, which, knowing her, was intentional.

We went to the the Brewery for a bit that night and took in an impromptu Afrodjmac show. Enough said, I think. A good time with good people. Much to our disappointment (and Wong's), Gallo was closed.

I've been poking around with the bass recently during my jam sessions with Jay, Matty, and Adam. Jay and Matty have been really great about teaching me, and I dare say I've been a pretty quick study. It's been a real growing experience to add this facet to my musical education and repertoire, for lack of a better term coming to me at the moment. I'm surrounded by a lot of talented friends.

A final story involving a very special phone conversation I had with Jay this past Saturday. I had called Jay casually enough, seeing what we were up to that evening. The following is a chronicling of his response.

Jay: It sucks man, I'm out here working a sweet sixteen, but I might be home around midni- Oh, it's a deer. Hey there, little deer. Woah! Two deers, wow.... three deers, holy shit. Four deers! Are you guys seeing this right now?! FIVE DEERS! Poli, I gotta call you back..."

Now, I can only assume that this was quite a serene experience, or the does were fixing to surround and attack him ala Genghis Kahn (not pronounced like you think). I was a little rattled when he never called back and feared the worst, but he later informed me he was fine. I bring this up because, while Jay was nowhere near the verge of tears, it was the closest thing I've ever witnessed to a true life reenactment of the "Double Rainbow" experience. The way his excitement built, combined with the entropy of the event made it one of the funnier phone conversations I've ever shared.

Busy times, my friends. Thanks for sharing them with me.

Song of the Day: Gloria-Van Morrison

Jazz Song of the Day: You're Blase-Louie Armstrong