Playing Time Against My Troubles

I may or may not be melting as I type this. Even nestled in the cozy catacombs of my unlit basement (coincidentally listening to the Miles track that provides the namesake of this blog) the sun's relentless rays appear to be on the hunt. While being as cool as Miles Davis is indeed impossible, I was hoping he could at least drop me down a few degrees. It doesn't appear to be working.

I digress.

This, if I recall, is the first, and likely last, truly anticipated blog post as it will center around the Stockhausen family gathering and the great honor and pleasure to be a part of last weekend. Unfortunately, I entered the scene just as Sean Taylor was leaving to handle some business. I know that there have been a few time in this thing where I go a little hard on Sean because simply sometimes it just can't be helped. However, in all seriousness, I can think of no man I know who works harder at what he loves to do and does a better job with it. I can't respect Sean Taylor enough and I'm proud to consider him a dear friend.

For the second time in about three posts, "enough with the sentimental stuff."

I entered the place and the jam session was already in full swing. I can think of few better ways to enter a space than to be immediately wrapped in the embrace of casual live music. It brings about the desire for reflection in me, a feeling I always embrace.

I didn't need much provocation to join the festivities and I laid down a few spontaneous verses and some vocals etc. Ben and Mr. Taylor were really welcoming to my vibe and we created some tunes that people really seemed to enjoy. Ben and I really seemed to be in the pocket that night. A kind of musical niche, if you well. It's something I'm starting to develop with Jay as we play about once a week, but I haven't had it consistently since I used to play with the Beard. It's overwhelmingly pleasant to be able to read another musicians mind and respond to their stimulus. It was a great session and something that was definitely present in the room that night.

I love Mr. Taylor's demeanor in jam sessions. The man has a wealth of talent and knowledge that I always seem to learn from. He's really very open as a musician, yet he's very quick the facilitate the action by saying to someone "keep it up" or "wait" or "cut it out." He's passionate and all, but I think that can be said about all of us. What's cool is that the man has ears all over the room and is confident enough to try and bring the sound in his head to life. It's always a different kind of session when he's involved. I mean that in a very positive sense. He tends to bring out the best in people.

Following the session I was a little embarrassed because I sweating pretty profusely following not very much actual physical activity. With that said, I do tend to stay in a perpetual state of motion when performing. A state of motion I found defined me amongst Deanna's more distant relatives. A couple of times I was told that they were asking Deanna about the guy who did {Inset your own spontaneous hip and hand gyration here} and whether or not he was coming that night. I was quite flattered and suddenly very aware of just how mobile the human body could be.

This brings me to my next point of discussion: The Stockhausen family.

The Stockhausen's have always been incredibly warm people towards me and this past weekend only further highlighted their welcoming nature. After the session, the family decided to play some thumper (I wish this game came up at half of my family gatherings) a game which I hadn't played since a Vermont trip a couple of years back. You know it's going to be an occasion to remember when grandma joins in on the fun. It was just a great time. To see a family laughing and enjoying one another so much was great and I knew I was witnessing something very special.

Though I will say that if I shared the "whip-a-doodle" with any of my relatives, I don't doubt that I would be barred from any future family occasions until such time as I could be proven sane.

After the game died down, they all stayed up for at least another hour and shared stories from their younger days about some wild times and whatnot that I won't repeat here, but the openness in the family unbelievable and enviable. I had a wonderful time. This family dynamic was one of a kind and I can't thank them enough for making me feel like one of their own.

Shared at the Beanberry this past week again. The intimacy of the place continues to blow my mind. I was little concerned about sharing this week, given that my most recent piece is about my relationship to basketball. I mean no disrespect, but the crowd didn't exactly strike as a crew invested in the present and past of the NBA. It was of real comfort to see some friendly faces in the audience. I'm really appreciative to those people for attending. You know who you are, and it meant quite a bit to me. Thank you. Hopefully we'll be buffin' it up on the beach in short order.

Again the crowd was really receptive and it was great hear such great talent gathered in one place. Not to call him out, but it was the first time I'd seen Ryan Smith perform and I enjoyed it quite a bit. I look forward to spending more time in that space.

I will say this, only I could perform a piece and leave with two guys' numbers. Kind of a shake your head moment, to say the least.

Camp goes well. I feel like I have about three stories a day, but when it comes to blogging, I have to kind of trim the fat. A couple of things.

1. As a result of my Monopoly prowess, (I actually lost the game, but they don't seem to care/notice) a few kids have started calling me "The Constable." I'm thrilled with the moniker. "Poli" has treated me well, but it may be time for a change. I remember wanting to be called "Young Jeezy" for a day in Rhapsody just to see if we could get through it with a straight face. Also, I've always secretly dreamed of being called Sir Topham Hatt by my peers, but that's another blog post entirely.

2. I want to preface this by saying I certainly mean no disrespect, I just can't lie. I find it hilarious when little kids around here assume that two black kids that hang out together are siblings. To hear such blunt honesty from kids on both ends of the question is absurdly humorous to me. It says a lot about our neck of the woods. Again, not the most P.C. thing I've ever said, but I swear to witness it is to believe it.

Stay cool, dear readers.

Advice of the Day: When seeking employment, sometimes working hard is not enough. You've got to learn to be a respectful pain in the ass, too.

Song of the Day: 1921- The Who

Jazz Song of the Day: I Guess I'll Hang My Tears Out To Dry- Keith Jarrett Trio

Lots of People Talking, Few of Them Know

A quick little story for you:

Working at the same camp for as many years as I have, you grow attached to certain kids and their families and get to know them pretty well. With that said, there is one such kid at my camp whom I've considered one of my favorites. (I know you're not supposed to admit you have them.) Back when he was six I used to call him a "little wrecking ball" he's just always kind of been a rough and tumble kid who kind of did whatever he wanted in a still somehow really endearing way. Now he's ten and not much has changed. As tough as he may act, he's still such a mama's boy who gets really excited to see her and hug her before she leaves. I hate to say it, but the whole thing is just plain cute.

Anyway, my point is, I like just about every kid at that camp, but if there's one kid whose family I wouldn't mind hanging around with after work it's this kid. I know he feels the same way because he often begs me to come to Subway with he and his mother after camp. This kid and I were tight...Subway together tight... in the world of friendship, nothing ranks higher. Nothing could tear this friendship apart, or so I thought.

Lo and behold, today my main man pulls up to camp in a shiny, white, sparkling, bright, shimmering, fresh, gleaming, twinkling (did I mention it was clean and new) LeBron James Miami Heat jersey.

Immediately, I felt the cold steel of the blade thrust into my back. "Oh, Nick," I said, shaking my head in shame, "you're killing me, bud." Nick approached, unfazed and smiling, wanting to have a catch as if nothing was amiss. I did some more dramatics of lamentation and really got him laughing. After I collected myself, I set aside my plotting regarding how to spill paint on the jersey and still make it look like an accident to ask him what exactly he saw in the man to be wearing his name so proudly.

His response, and I quote, "I don't watch basketball, I've just heard of him." Only then did I realize the power of a TV special and Sprite. I hung my head for a beat and told him I was a Mavs fan. He said, "No, I don't like the Mavs." As he did this he moved his hands defiantly like an umpire saying "safe." At that point I was confused as to how someone who didn't watch basketball could be so adamantly against the Mavs. I could only assume that he'd accidentally seen sportscenter's countdown of the "Shawn Bradley's Not Top Ten" and let that sway his decision. Let's be honest, there could be a lot more than 10.

Well, not one to let a self-proclaimed patriarch ruin a friendship, I decided to let bygones be bygones and be the bigger man, and we both carried on our day as usual, with tag, uno, and baseball all being important aspects of our addendum. As fun as this was, I couldn't help but feel like something was missing. As if I had something else to say, but couldn't quite phrase it properly.

Then, a counselor informs me that Nick is not feeling well. My heart goes out to the young fella and I ask him what ails him. He says it's his stomach and I call his mom just to cover my bases. She comes down and he's feeling a bit better after hydrating and relaxing in the shade. When she gets down to the park I ask him how he's feeling and he says he's alright. I said "Do you want to leave now or can you make it a half our or so when camp ends. He says he'd rather leave. After wishing him well and a speedy recovery, I say, "You know, Nick, I'm beginning to see why you picked that jersey. LeBron James never wants to play towards the end either." I then proceeded to laugh for a good 60 seconds.

Now we're even. Hopefully my bud is feeling better on Monday.

Advice of the Day: When trying to explain why not shouting is important to a five-year-old, do not quote Shakespeare's Richard II. You will undoubtedly have to rephrase.

Song of the Day: Motion Picture Soundtrack- Radiohead

Jazz Song of the Day: Just So Only More So- John McLaughlin

Hunger For The Dreams I'll Never See

The hands of fate appear to be drawing me to a place that has always been nearby, but never really on my list of frequented places until this summer. I first went to the Beanberry Caffe on assignment for the Patch to see their comedy night. The event was a solid one, not much to say about it, but it really was pretty enjoyable. Come to think of it, the only thing worth mentioning was this mother whom I'd been shooting the breeze with waiting for the show to start said I'd be perfect for her daughter. I just kind of nodded and said thanks, I really had little intention of following that up. However, what little impetus I had to follow up quickly vanished when her next sentence was something to the tune of "if you break her heart my husband will get someone to break your legs." Ah, the innocence of a budding romance. I, again, kind of nodded and said thanks. Another woman, noticing my shirt with her name, said I knew nothing about Janis Joplin. We exchanged thoughts on her music and some very basic trivia about her life and apparently I passed the test. She then said I was cute and went to rub my face. The interview ended immediately.

Anyway, the atmosphere is awesome there. For lack of a better term, there's a really chill and intimate vibe. They offer a variety of food and assorted drinks including tea, wine, and beer. As if that weren't enough, they have a scrabble board too. It would seem I've found a home away from home.

This past Tuesday, they had an open mic there. Usually, my spot for musical open mics is pretty exclusively the Velvet Lounge unless I'm going to see a specific friend someplace else. A friend, Eliot Greene, mentioned that the Beanberry was pretty open to poetry reading as well. That was a refreshing proposition because I'm not a fan when poetry is kind of the elephant in the room when surrounded by great tunes. It's a little unnerving in my opinion. Anyway, I went to take in the scene and really had no intention of performing, but the talent there was really impressive, and I've already spoken with much aplomb about the setting, so I went for it and read one piece of mine I brought just in case and inspired by Eliot, laid out some improv verses that people really seemed to enjoy. I was thrilled with the warming reaction and reception and definitely plan on attending pretty often. Not since York have I felt so at ease to share some of my work and experiment with my lexicon in public. The Beanberry is providing an outlet that I find myself really hungering for at this point in my life. I can't say enough about the quality of the place and people.

I had accidentally showed up to the session an hour too early and witnessed three high school aged kids nose deep in their gameboys and having in depth conversations about the quality and apparent strategy of various pokemon games and levels. I'm not even trying to hate on it. It was really enriching to hear people be so passionate about something that I didn't understand/didn't care about too much. I kind of realized how I must sound when the NBA comes up in conversation in certain company.

A few days ago I went to Cedar Beach to shoot some hoops as I do every now and then. I summer camp pulled up and they watched my play for a while. Then, I imagine they thought they were whispering, but I could hear them plain as day as they spoke about how I was really good and whatnot... what they said is kind of irrelevant, but the idea is pretty important. I then heard them debate amongst themselves as to whether they should ask "the stranger" to play. Many kids said no for that very reason, others seemed really eager to play with me. I watched them put it to a vote and was quite proud of the demonstration of democracy. I imagine it was decided I shouldn't play because I never heard anything more about joining their ranks. It's so interesting to see kids in their interactions with each other.

Speaking of kids, the summer camp I work at has started up again. It's good to be back and brush up on my "lava monster" and jump rope, both of which had gotten quite rusty over the past 10 months. I feel like rather than tell you all about my camp days and likely bore you, I'll simply share one or two highlights of each day.

7/11

1. Girl feeling tired intentionally closes her eyes while walking and proceeds to ram herself into a wooden fence, cutting her chin open. Confusion still lingers about what she expected would happen.

2. 10 year-old boy takes great pride in "Wolverine" impression. Actual impression tends resemble more of an effeminate catwoman, complete with hissing sound which may or may not be voluntary. A big part of me wants to tell him to knock it off, but a bigger part of me doesn't want to endeavor to explain to him why he should knock it off. I leave it alone after becoming open to the idea that maybe my ninja turtle impressions as a youngster weren't as spot on as I hoped they were. Ignorance is bliss, witnessing ignorance can be even more rewarding.

The Kraus family had a gathering to celebrate Emily's graduation from UD. These gatherings are always a good time. Part of what makes these days so special are the volleyball games that take place. Two quick stories along those lines before I let you go.

1. Mild-mannered Ben Kraus took his game to another level and was all over the court. Good to see his mean streak on full display as he took on all comers unbiasedly laying down the law to each one. As the other team innocently tossed the ball over to our side for us to serve, Ben spiked the ball emphatically out of reflex, leaving stunned spectators and players on both sides in his wake. Also, his brother called him "Daddy Long Legs." I really got a kick out of this very appropriate nickname.

2. As was bound to happen, the volleyball was hit into Emily's pool. Rather than wait for the ball to float to the side where it could be picked up, Emily's uncle went to lean in and grab the ball. Everyone knew this was a bad idea, but we looked on in silence anyway. His risk proved costly as he fell in the pool, soaking his phone. I'd be lying if I said I didn't crack a smile, but it was more of a shame than humorous. What was funny was Emily's uncle's friend coming to his aid was a lawn lamp to get the ball with and/or for him to grab on to. Now to be fair, I cannot with 100 percent certainty say that the object was a lamp and even if it was a lamp (which I do think it was) it was definitely not plugged in. But even with that said, there's something hilarious about about grabbing something strictly electrical to fetch something out of a pool. That laughter was not as easy to disguise. Grebe and I were on similar pages in that regard and shared a hearty laugh and fake noises of electrocution for the rest of the night.

Song of the Day: Roll Right- Rage Against the Machine

Jazz Song of the Day: Lost- Wayne Shorter

Stars, Stripes, and Sean Taylor Forever

The month of July has brought about some new and exciting experiences coupled with the reprise of annual outings that have become a sign of the season and, in many ways, staples in my life.

There is no more proper, and indeed enjoyable, way to celebrate a nation's independence than to spend the day at Sean Taylor's Fourth of July gathering in the Hamptons. In addition to paying homage to the stars and stripes, family and friends also celebrated the graduation of Sean Taylor's sister, Erin. My deepest congratulations to her and the family on what was a fine way to end an era of Sean Taylor Hamptons celebrations.

Enough of the heartfelt moment. The day itself was beautiful gathering of friends highlighted by my own intestinal fortitude as I ate many a sausage, a stirring rendition of "Mustang Sally" from the mom-magnet himself, John Johnson, a nearly as poignant arrangement of "Summer In The City" by Jay and Bob (not silent, in case you were wondering), and other less-than-noteworthy but nonetheless enjoyable moments. Jay and I are strongly considering a career change in which we help run parties via DJing, emceeing, and whatnot. Definitely not a bad idea. I think if we bring Matty Matura in on the business this could very quickly turn from semi-joke to very viable option.

Due to the harsh sun, I was forced to adorn a very special straw hat that I can only describe as "fun in the sun meets the bright lights of vaudeville." What started out as a fashion statement of necessity soon became an expression of self as the sun went down and the hat stayed on. While I hear straw sun hats are very passe in Milan, the South of France, and whatever other fashion capital you undoubtedly know more about than me, apparently I pulled off the look well, and received praise for the look throughout the night and even the next morning (proving that alcohol was at least not the primary reason for such rave reviews). Even as I initially nestled in for the night in an uncomfortable chair with my head atop a mound of hamburger buns, subconsciously (very subconsciously) the hat stayed on. I find that so much of great fashion is simply instinct that some are blessed with *cough* and others are not.

Speaking of heroic headware, one little kid at the party had a balloon hat that he proceeded to make larger and larger throughout the day, but unfortunately the hat met an untimely demise, leading the child to be none too pleased. Kind of a dumb story through type, but to see it was too believe it. Grebe, Jay and I wound up passing out in a row on the floor of Sean Taylor's living room (sans buns). It was carpeted... worse slumbers have happened. The day night before, Grebe, Sean Taylor, and I were considering going to the Boardy Barn the following day. We awoke and realized that probably wasn't a great idea. It rained anyway, so it all worked out.

I probably should have mentioned that was only July 2nd. The fourth itself was mercifully much more mundane as we spent the evening in Astoria doing some grilling on a neighbor's grill (much more of an ordeal than it should have been). Jam sessions were abundant as we settled atop Ben and Jake's roof to take fireworks you could see from the city and a few in Astoria itself. A nice relaxing time with good friends.

I assure you I have so much more to say, it's simply getting late and I don't want to sacrifice details in my fit of fatigue. Look for a new post tomorrow.

Thanks for reading, it means a lot. I think it's pretty clear from the terrible jokes that sometimes surface on the screen that in a way I wrote in this blog for myself at first. To see 30-40 pageviews for each post is far more than I could ever have imagined. I'm so pleased that at a few of you seem to enjoy what I have to say, and you've added a whole new element to "Yesternow."

Thanks again.

Song of the Day: Lying In The Hands Of God- Dave Matthews Band

Jazz Song of the Day: Prickly Pair- The Flecktones

Give Peace A Chance

By now anyone who keeps an ear to the ground in the world of professional sports has either seen the mushroom cloud looming ominously over the city of Los Angeles (not just smog), or felt the after quakes for the atomic bomb that was Laker-forward, Ron Artest, filing to legally change his name to "Metta World Peace." Ron Artest, with a track record about as clean as James Harden's shave, has taken a lot of heat from sports analysts and fans alike for what seems to be yet another Hollywood distraction for a clearly out-of-sync Laker squad. I, while not usually a huge fan of Artest, beg to differ.

A few quick side notes before I jump into the meat of my argument.

1. "Metta" is a Buddhist word for "kindness" as far as I know. In addition to learning my World Religions professor loved Chocolate and hot sauce (not together), we also did a fair amount of learning.

2. The fact that this is such news underlines the state of sports media today and its apparent dependence of sensationalism. This is neither a good or bad thing, but it's impossible to talk about without pointing that out. I'd love to tell you more about that. If you want to hear more, let me know. I wrote a 20 page paper on it that I promise isn't boring. My 20 page papers on Illegal Immigration and Fluctuating Moralities in Thane and Lady Macbeth... are a different story.

3. Did anyone give World B. Free this much of a hassle? I mean you'd have to cite number 2 when talking about the difference between the two, but here we see two players who made similar life choices albeit in two very different times, but one is mocked while the other is lauded. Here we see Ron Artest's past coming back to haunt him.

However, while we're at it, let's take a closer look at the Ron Artest we've come to know and... know. We all know Ron the tenacious, one of a kind defender, the hot head and ticking time bomb responsible for the infamous "Malice at the Palace", a rap album during his suspension, multiple techs and post game interviews we'll never forget. After a Houston Rocket loss, I remember being left speechless and uncomfortable as he talked about seeing a man murdered with a piece of a bench on the streets of New York after a foul call.

But then, there's LA Laker Ron Artest. A Ron Artest who has acknowledged his mental issues and raised awareness to benefit kids similar situations. He even sold his championship ring to benefit his cause. Now, I don't think Ron's change in behavior has anything to do with his change of scenery, but while still not a guy I'd invite over to dinner, he's quite a different guy (publicly) than he was back in those days. It's a shame that analysts seem to prefer the former Artest rather than the latter.

Regarding the distraction, I don't really think there is one. I mean, how does a name on a jersey impact the team. He's still the same player. The media will go nuts for a week or two once they see him play in it, but then things should be business as usual. I've heard this equated to Chad Johnson's name change. I disagree there as well. Chad's name change was clearly something tailored for stroking his own ego. It's cliche, but his name says it all. While "Metta World Peace" is a name for from drenched in humility, the name expresses some sort of larger belief system. A crazy one, maybe, but it's more than just an ego supplement.

Great athletes like Kareem, and Ali changed their names because of their beliefs. I know that this point is strained and would never be my primary argument, but the point, while flawed, has merit in my opinion. The name is nuts, the man has issues, but this is not the kind of life choice that should fall under such scrutiny. Lamar Odom is the one with the reality show. Let him do what he pleases with his name.

A few people are saying that this a last stitch effort of a setting star to be in the spotlight. I'll say this. Ron Artest out of the triangle offense will have a much better season. He'll be more involved offensively and, I think, therefore more inclined to commit on defense like the Artest of old. Instead of him shooting threes, he should be put on the blocks and be the on-the-court bully we expect. Artest on the blocks will be anything but peaceful. By the way, I'm not saying the Lakers will be better necessarily, but Ron really should.

In conclusion, quite simply, cut the guy a break and let his game do the talking. Hopefully Ron Artest will let you.

Besides, who, in their heart of hearts, doesn't secretly want an NBA jersey with "Peace" on the back of it.

Song of the Day: I Still Care For You- Ray LaMontagne

Jazz Song of the Day: But For Now- Jamie Cullum

There's Nothing Wrong With Being So Quiet

This past weekend, I made the trip out to Astoria to visit Ben and Jake. The trip yielded a few stories that I won't grow weary of recounting for quite some time.

The trip itself was quite memorable. Against all things convenient, Sean Taylor asked to be picked up in Massapequa. Jay and I set forth to pick him up on what would, on any other day, be a rather long, but painless, journey. However, heavens were not nearly as accommodating as we would have hoped, and some of the hardest rain I'd ever seen tumbled down. The weather caused most everyone to creep along Sunrise Highway as though we were trying not to wake a sleeping giant. In spite of even our most thorough of safety precautions, we and those around us hydro'd a couple of times as thunder and lightning crackled around us. In the face of imminent peril, Jay and I resorted to passionate vocal renditions of "Don't Worry Be Happy" upbeat Marley songs, and of course, "Stand By Me." While we both got a kick out of the juxtaposition of the scene taking place outside the car with the scene within it, neither of us ventured to tempt fate with a performance of "Singin' In The Rain."

Oddly enough, the hardest part of the whole trip was finding Sean Taylor's office. Sean was unfamiliar with the actual street names near his office, so we spent a fair amount of time going around in circle looking for a "place next to a Sleepy's." Things worked out fine, but I think we were both a little frustrated that we survived darn near swimming to Massapequa and were nearly sunk by a Sleepy's.

Astoria is a beautiful place. It's so full of color and life. You're near most anything you could look for and there is an active young population. So many different people coming together to make a great collage of humanity. A really chill spot where I could definitely see myself one day. We spent most of the time relaxing in Jake and Ben's great pad, playing some games and whatnot. Then we went out to a bar with some other folks. Along the way I saw an office for an accountant by the name of, John Constantiniou. You can't tell me that it's not hilarious to be an accountant and have "Constant I.O.U." in your name. What's more, is that the name is in huge letters that intentionally draw your attention. Now I admit to being a little quirky when it comes to word-based humor, but you can't say that's not funny on some level. Jay and I enjoyed the coincidence quite a bit, or at least Jay enjoyed my reaction quite a bit.

Sean Taylor showcased his True Grit by mounting a mechanical horse and riding it like the wind while waving to passersby and flashing the now all-too-classic horns all the while. I think all would agree that it was a 50 cents well spent.

"Sean Taylor" has now become an adjective for "way too drunk" amongst our group of friends. The fact that such a moniker has caught on is as hysterical as it is unfortunate. Sean was in rare form and having apparently drawn the short straw, I was assigned the task of walking him home. The trip was a stumbled one, during which we made a stop at a convenience store where I held him upright and offered chip flavors for him to accept or decline. It felt like an episode of the Bachelor (not that I've ever seen that......) except with chips and not roses. In the end it was the BBQ chips that won out, but the romance was short lived, as Sean got down to business and ate the chips the next day.

In true Sean Taylor fashion, we got back to Ben and Jake's where I had to coax him into bed (by himself, of course) and when I wake up, he is sleeping on the floor in the next room. When Sean woke up that morning the first thing he said to me was, "How did that happen again?" I laughed pretty hard.

Not to be out done by himself, Sean started off the next morning with a refreshing bagel and four loko. He then starting taking business calls as he lamented his position and longed to do nothing more than "tell everyone to fuck-off and go lay in the sand." Sean's seamless transition from Mr. Taylor on the phone, to Sean drinking a Four Loko at ten in the morning was a little eerie.

Later that night, I had some friends over to celebrate the night and we had a good time. The deck was full of friends, a few strangers, and some old friends that I'm glad to see back in my life again. Only one person got "Sean Taylored" so things worked out.

Sean Taylor himself understandably ran out of steam and missed the party. The man, the myth, the legend. There's always this weekend.

Song of the Day: Treat Me Right - Grace Potter
Jazz Song of the Day: Space Track- Freddie Hubbard

There's A Cost When You Radiate Sunshine

I've been busy in the best ways possible. I'm really not sure how to properly express so much in hopefully not too long-winded blog-post, but I sure will try.

First things first, the Dallas Mavericks became the NBA champions a couple of weeks ago. It was a sight for sore eyes for Mavs fans all over the world following the unexpected collapse in 2006 that made Dwayne Wade a household name for all the right reasons and Dirk for all the wrong ones. Dirk and the Mavs are all validated at this point, as well as their fans to a certain extent. I could not be happier for a more deserving bunch organization. My initial reaction to the win was a bit more understated than even I would have expected, but I was in a semi-emotional stupor from about the final two minutes onward. I'm not going to sully the Mavs' accomplishment by talking about the Heat, but I will say that the better team won, the Heat were not the most classy bunch throughout, and it was weird to suddenly be part of such a majority group of "Mavs fans" who were simply rooting against the Heat. I guess we all got what we wanted, but I was proud to root for the Mavs rather than against the Heat.

I watched the game in Baltimore with the almighty patriarch of Birdland himself, Nick Pappas. We had an awesome time, and the royal family is always very generous and welcoming to me. To have such an influential family still be so down to earth is refreshing and I can't thank them enough. It was a lesiurly Sunday spent watching the Lord play softball in the morning, shooting pool in the afternoon (shot terribly for the first time in a while), and shooting hoops with He and his brother Dom, who is apparently allergic to shirts. One might say that I proved to "still have it" on the court and made up for my poor showiing on the felt. We were hit by a sort of flash monsoon. Fortunately, the only casualty was Nick's phone which he had accidentally left outside. Except for that minor hiccup in levity, the trip was all positive and I hope to do it again soon.

I was in Maryland in the first place to see Phish perform in Columbia with some friends from LI. It was an incredible time, as anticipated, and the consistancy of this group to muster epic performances time and time again is absurd. For those who care, Run Like An Antelope was definitely the high point, but the whole show was really top notch.

Prior to the show, we made an impromptu excursion to the fabled rhombus of Phish-lore. The rhombus is a former chill spot of Trey's where apparently a few songs were written and is an active portal to Gamehenge. If I'm not mistaken, "Divided Sky" is about this place. It was a pretty spiritual quest. My man Ben Kraus put a lot of research into the visit and he was really happy to find it, which was cool to see from my perspective. With that said, I got a little chuckle at him being pretty nervous to come down from a height that wasn't very intimidating. Also, when we entered the place where the rhombus was (which I don't think I can mention due to a code of honor) we stopped at an information booth to get directions to the specific rhombus area (lxwxh...kidding). A very exubarent Ben said, "Don't worry, I'll bet they get this question all the time." Emily imidiately deflated him as only a sibling can by saying, "No, Ben, I bet they don't." The delivery of such a chilling line had the whole car in stitches and still makes me laugh when I think about it. Emily was right, by the way.

Now, I'm not nearly as upset by this as I'll probably sound, but it is an observation of mine that I do feel the need to mention. One the special things about most any concert, especially a Phish one, is kind of the underground marketplace that forms. Cats looking to buy and sell tickets shirts and drugs. To have interactions and a trade system so informally and, honestly, pretty cool. Now, I don't do drugs other than some occasional drinking in any context, but I have good friends who do. If I had my way I'd legalize pot and whatnot. Drug use is all about managing yourself, which, sadly, some can't do effectively and it ruins it for others. I only bring this up to underline the fact that this is not a rant on how drugs are silly or bad, just not for me.

My frustration lies in a few conversations I overheard from those around me. Phish is in the middle of rocking the house and people are talking about the quality of their buzz, when to take more, etc. We're not talking a quick, "How are you feeling?" we're talking full blown conversations. Like I said, I have little issue with drugs as long as you're not driving or doing something dumb, but the fact that some people were valuing their buzz over the great tunes being created was kind of annoying; not pinfuriating or anything, but it didn't entirely sit well with me. Drugs are fine, but as soon as they become a priority over what's right in front of you, I consider that a very important line to be crossed.

I flew from Baltimore that Monday, it was quicker and cheaper than a train. I didn't have bags to check, so it was one of the smoothest airport experiences of my life. While I was on line waiting to board a young couple was in front of me. The gentleman had earphones on that were apparently a little loud because he was unintentionally shouting to his wife, "Is this the right section!" She said, "Yes." He appeared to be unaware of her response due to his out of control earphones and said, "Yeah, but is this the right section?" Her response made my week. She said, "shh, yes." Her tone was such to say, "shut the fuck up you idiot, I just said we're in the right place," however, it was still a tone of unquestionable affection. It was an infectiously charming moment that I instantly fell in love with. The three of us shared a hearty laugh over the situation, as I couldn't mask my staring, and indeed grinning, at that point.

It was a great trip with great people. Look for a post within the next couple of days about my trip to Astoria. I don't want this post to be longer than it already is.


Song of the Day: Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes- Paul Simon
Jazz Song of the Day: First Time Long Time- Medeski Matin and Wood.