Simply put, the past few weeks have made my life seem deceptively interesting, as I've logged yet another Phish show, a much ballyhooed meeting of worlds in Rome, Italy, and an extended city stay, which indeed made me look about as worldly and carefree as Jacques Cousteau, minus the pruning. Attempting to catalog these three weeks in one post would be a fool's undertaking on my part, so therefore I will attempt to chronicle and cut these past three weeks into thirds (conveniently enough) and fill you in on all things existence.
With that bit of pretense aside, we will now jump into the date of November 1st, as I went straight from work to my second home of Astoria to, as is custom, visit and catch a night's rest at Ben and Deanna's. It is often that I laugh about how when I had barely a penny to my name I found the money and time to get to Astoria with friends about once every two weeks and now, with all modesty aside, I have the money to make that trip daily and simply the different direction life has pulled our group have made such gatherings and trips a rarity.
This trip had a twist, however, as while I was indeed in town for the Phish show in AC the following evening, I made it a point to arrive a day earlier in order to christen the new abode of a freshly donned Astorian Kevin Montgomery of York College infamy. Now, Kevin was well aware of my plans peruse his pad, but others present at the housewarming shindig considered my arrival quite spontaneous. As a result, I'd like to believe pleasantly surprised a great many York and Lancaster faithful that had sojourned from near and far to wish Kevin well including, Doug, who made a point of telling me he had been enjoying the party's festivities long before I arrived, Addy, the great stilted one, Brett, and of course, my one and only partner in shenanegans, Steve Murillo. In addition, Ben was kind enough to make the journey with me, which was thrilling because I never feel like there are enough activities that connect York with Long Island. The bottom line is I had a great time seeing some of my best friends and took a cliche, but nonetheless cherished photo with all York alum atop an Astoria rooftop.
Special shotout to Adam Stamm, a great friend I met in my brief time in Lancaster. My best and most sincere wishes to Adam, Kevin, and Nick on their new digs and continued success and good times within and beyond those walls.
Following the houseparty, Ben and I made our way back to his place and I had a conversation with he and Deanna, which I admittedly have little recollection of. As my head hit the pillow, I had faint thoughts that we were going to track down video evidence of Abe Vigoda's Halloween escapades, but my mind and body had other ideas, as I passed out like a light.
I wish I could say I awoke after a restful slumber, but it was indeed the call of duty that stirred me from my sheets at a most unenviable hour. It seems that one of the trips I'd planned had not had their group booked for a night at a hotel in Boston that evening. To say I wasn't feeling so hot would be an understatement, but what was a bit more the proverbial (in this case) head, was that the arrangements were pretty spontaneous and not the result of a screw up on my part. In other words, if I were up early and under the weather as a result of me messing up some arrangements, I wouldn't be thrilled, but at least I would know I made my own bed. The fact that this early morning work was thrust upon me through no error of my own was frustrating to say the least.
With that said, I'm not trying to throw my own personal pity party, as these things happen in both business and life, but I truly felt bad for one Ben Kraus, whose laptop I had to borrow in order to complete the multiple tasks before me. This laptop could only be accessed through the use of his specific fingerprint, so, long story short, I had to bop into his room on at least three separate occasions to get him to (re)activate the laptop for me, disturbing both he and Deanna a great deal as a result. I did do their dishes after the seas had calmed as a 'thank you' (I had stumbled into the aftermath of chili night), but I feel my best efforts of gratitude fell short. A thousand apologies.
After all had woken of their own accord, I very casually brought up my vague idea for a Phish shirt (as all of the best Phish shirts are homemade) entailing the universal men and women's room sign detailing the sleeping positions outlined in Phish's brief ditty (Ben wouldn't like that I called it a ditty) "Lengthwise." The idea quickly took on a life of his own as we were waiting out the arrival of Jeremy anyway, who would obviously be joining us for the trip...
Tangent: Recounting the ins and outs of this would be a silly, but Jeremy showed up in Astoria a bit later than all would have expected and cared for, and as a result Ben was a little hot under the collar. Nothing about that is funny, but when Jeremy did arrive and mentioned he had an EZ-Pass, he was a little unclear as to whether the device would work. Ben essentially let the car know that if the EZ Pass were to fail and Ben were to get pulled over, we would have to get to work promptly on Jeremy's obituary; Again, not a laughing matter. However, when we rolled through our first toll without any negative repercussions and Ben very flatly and unappreciative-ly said this post's moniker, I couldn't help but be tickled to death. Speaking for myself, it broke any residual tension and I knew we were in for great night.
Ben and I went to a shop to grab a quick t-shirt in order to bring my vision to life, where we waited on an inordinately long line with inordinately abnormal people. Yet again, Ben Kraus' reaction to the situation makes it worth all the hardship as he makes in clear that waiting on that line had been excruciating and he came very close to ditching me at the store and in addition he felt entitled to not wait on line. Now as much as I sound like I am bombing on Ben, I can't say my thoughts were dissimilar, but his willingness to say whatever is on his mind at any given moment is at most admirable and at the very least entertaining.
As if I needed proof, Ben and Deanna then displayed just how much they're some of the best friends I have in the world. The mornings events had finally caught up with me and was overtaken by the desire to sleep. Ben and Deanna were kind enough to keep and bring my vision alive as I napped quite peacefully, that is until Ben stepped on Deanna's foot, but that's another story all together.
Once we got to the show, we enjoyed it quite thoroughly, as the group has really been a pocket lately. I feel like if I went into too much detail about that I'd be out of line, because I feel like DMB is the only group I have the right to really critique, but their renditions of "Funky Bitch" "Theme From the Bottom (a first for me)" "Tweezer" Down with Disease (believe it or not)" and Character Zero" were simply awesome, and the rest of the gig was equally groovy. The one thing I will say is that it was my first time seeing the group indoors and it was cool to see them in that sense because it felt as though people had gathered more for the music that the atmosphere, if that makes any sense. A great time with all involved.
After the show, we did indeed toil around the casino scene, being in AC and all. Regrettably, I did lose 200 bucks. Not a thrilling feeling, but I lost it playing four card poker. My only true regret is that I don't think everyone I was with knew it was a game of luck and I think they thought I lost 200 bucks because I wasn't good at the game. Suffice to say, my pride hurt more than my wallet and if this post accomplishes anything, let it serve as the clarification that I lost my chunk of change on a game of chance.
Following my beating at the hands of fate and fortune, we met up at a karaoke spot, where I admit I dabbled in The Police's "Walking on the Moon" (briefly interrupting a girl clearly trying to get a record deal out of her showing) and fell in love with Rihanna's (probably not spelled correctly) "Man Down" which Deanna and I quoted ad nauseum for the remainder of the trip. The rest of the trip was largely uneventful, but did include a grilled cheese incident and a point where elevator doors stayed open a bit too long, which I'm glad Laura witnessed with me. Essentially there was no room for this guy on the elevator, but the doors stayed open for a solid 20 seconds as we awkwardly stared at the poor guy seeking passage on the vessel. You kind of had to be there, which is why I'm being a bit vague about it, but it really was a highlight of my time.
Great times with all, as Phish shows and circumstances never fail to disappoint. More to come concerning Rome in the coming days. A big thanks to Ben, Deanna, Emily, Laura, and a freshly showered Jeremy for making my time so wonderful.
Song of the Day: Ringo - Umphrey's McGee
Jazz Song of the Day: Solar - Keith Jarrett
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Lavishly Bohemian
I have played these chords before. It is with my tail between my legs that I return to you, a prodigal son, who at last has the time and inclination to set about carving the rhetoric of everyday life that in hindsight seems anything but ordinary. My life has evolved at the expense of the very outlets that set these wheels of advancement in motion in the first place. It is with this post I apologize for my absence and promise never to leave for so long again.
To put it much less pretentiously, "Hey, how's it going?"
It has indeed been a spell and it's rough to put the past half a year in perspective period, much less in the context of a blog post, but I'll be brief.
I'm currently at the reigns of a Project Manager position for an established International Company.involved in the business of education, and indeed it is an business... and it is indeed an education. Why did I feel like Al Capone after writing that sentence?
You'll excuse the cloak and dagger routine with these job specifics, but I'd rather not this post or any other content of mine pop up on any unsuspecting Internet searches. Other than gratuitous spelling errors and a rather questionable phone of me in a giant cowboy hat milking a Grebe donned in a cow-costume, I have nothing to hide regarding my Internet fingerprints, but at the same time, I'd rather at least strive for a shred of privacy.
The bottom line is that I'm fortunate to be involved and excelling in an incredibly interesting business and have had the privalege and opportunity to work with and get to know people from all over the world. The implications of such a globally interwoven workplace unfortunately results in a job that can very much immitate a 24/7 obligation. As a result, sleep is at a premium and creative pursuits that once sustained me and indeed, in some cases, had succeeded in taking on success of their own have fallen, not necessarily by the wayside, but certainly to the proverbial back burner. Such is life and growing up and that's more bitter than sweet some days, but when it comes down to it, I'm thrilled to have gone from running customer service at a local Stop & Shop, to running business trips to Boston and planning trips abroad. Plus, my office is a really supportive place filled with great people. As cliche as it sounds, at the end of the day, my job is to help kids see the world and shape their futures. I'm not saying I go into work singing Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah" everyday (or any day), but I can't help but endorse and admire that idea. It feels great to have gotten where I am on my own steam and to have my hard work rewarded.
Honestly, I know that your favorite posts of mine to read entail playfully over-analyzed anecdotes, but I simply can't even begin to cover the scope of these months in that regard. I continue to have great times with great friends and this new position has allowed me to appreciate just who is important to me and just how important they are. I thank them for that.
The good news is, I am going to make a conscious effort to be more involved on this blog and with the NBA season fast approaching, re-immerse myself in all things roundball. I'm working on a new project and hoping this winter (when I've been told my job finally relaxes some) I'll be able to get "Horseplay" galloping again. (See what I did there?) The only true disappointment of this new chapter of life has been having to cut the cord on that project as it was genuinely starting to blossom. Ideally, this winter will give me the chance to rectify that. Anyway, consider this the boring welcome back piece and do be on the look out for more posts in this medium, basketball, and creatively as I continue to reach for the brass ring of a life perfectly toeing the line between commitment and contentment.
Song of the Day: Granny-Dave Matthews Band-Live at the Gorge '04"
Jazz Song of the Day: Autumn Leaves-Keith Jarrett Trio-Live at the Blue Note '95
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
No Tequila Since March, No Meat Since August
Around my birthday this past March, my good bud and brother, Matty Matura, was kind enough to select a spirit (Patron) for our friends and I to sip upon to celebrate the occasion. My longstanding relationship (questioning that word choice) with Patron is well documented, from the time I drank a glass of it last summer and the moment of silence that followed...
Matty: "You were fine and all, but I've never heard you be that quiet for that long after you took that shot."
... to the time I got to work on the agave based libation following a Christmas-time shift at Stop & Shop and wound up overrunning Wong's stairs a bit and after likely a very dramatic-looking couple of balance maintaining flails wiped out flat on my back in front of the entire (modest) party in attendance. That last one, I assure you, sounds worse than it was, as I popped right back up after fending off my own fit of laughter. However, obviously tequila was at the root of the minor mishap.
Anyway, Wong's actions the night before my birthday ensured that no one was in a mood to christen the gift that night. Since that point, the occasion to open the bottle hasn't really come about. I drink pretty moderately, to say the least, and as you likely know, when you opt for tequila over more... modest... drinks you're kind of making a commitment to the night that you're not always up for backing up, so to speak. As I headed to York College for my first post grad Alumni Weekend experience, I figured it may well have been time to at last pop the cork on that bottle of Patron. Alas, or fortunately depending on your perception, the Patron still remains unopened atop my dresser. However, another notable streak did come to an end this past weekend, and with that somewhat coarse interlude, I recount my York experience.
Just in the general sense, because I don't think I'll necessarily get back to it once I start zooming in. Always a great time to be in York and especially at YCP. The Alumni weekend brought back some familiar faces and I also got to see some friends who've yet to leave. Feels like a home away from home and brings up some of the best memories of my life. Really blessed to have known and, as this weekend proved, still know such good people. I'm gushing, I know, about a pretty dangerous area once you get beyond George, I know, but it's just a special place.
With that brief bit of blathering behind and alliteration ahead, I actually didn't have to wait long, or even ask, to relive some collegiate memories. York's current and my former a cappella group, Rhapsody, found themselves somewhat divided between the obligations of the school's musical, "She Loves Me," and a performance at the annual Relay for Life. When a couple members heard that I was heading to York that same day, they reached out to see if I could help them out and sing with them at the Relay for Life. It's a bit of a stretch to say they "needed" me and by no means am I under that impression, but I know that they were grateful to have the extra tenor/bass with knowledge of the catalog close at hand and, from my perspective, by no means was it an inconvenience to sing with them. I found myself rusty, to say the least, jumping the gun on a "Buttercup" entrance. (The one song each Rhapsody member should be able to treat like riding a bike.) Learned a song on the fly and handled it pretty well, and despite the group being in about three different keys during "Africa", blew the dust off that high harmony pretty impressively if I do say so myself. (I assure you that's the extent of my self-exultation.) The group did throw in some dub-step inspired changes to "Crazy" that pretty much hit me like a ton of bricks mid-show, but I still got to throw in my "HA-HA-HAs" so all was well that ended well.
I will say, I wish I had left to arrive in York a bit earlier in the day. I made great time traffic-wise and with about a half hour to spare before a pretty casual (especially for me) call time. With that said, I did want to make sure I got into York early to square away a couple of errands. My trip was, by my standards, pretty last minute, so I wanted to make sure to confirm with some various hanging and indeed sleeping arrangements. Basically, check in with the few cats banking on my arrival. I also wanted to make sure to drop off some "Horseplay" related material to Professor Mott before the hurricane of a weekend swept me away. Specifics of "Horseplay" are for a different post all together, if at all, as I feel that's the only bit of my writing that I get a little repetitive with, so mum's the word for now.
I'm sure most could relate that after spending enough time in a car, especially driving, you kind of zone out a bit mentally and suffer from something I would call "drive lag" after you get out, where you're physically out of the car, but not so much mentally. I was definitely suffering from this ailment, as nonexistent as it my be medically, but I thought little of it as I bounded towards Wolf Hall, prepped to drop off my script and such and just kind of rest up for a bit. Lo and and behold, though, two of the four people on main campus at the time were my good friends Justin Rivera and Renee. Obviously sounds like it was a negative to see them; nothing could be further from the truth. I just felt bad because I met their enthusiasm and embraces without really being able to string words together cleanly. A pleasure to see them both, I just kind of socially wasn't ready for it. Pretty laughable in hindsight. Got to clear the air a bit later that weekend, but I don't doubt I looked like a deer in the headlights and sounded Ozzy Osbourne with a New York accent for a bit there.
After the Rhapsody "gig" I got the chance to see "She Loves Me". Great all around. Always cool to see friends and other performers in their element. Some real talent on the stage and I'm sometimes in awe that these people are in my life.
*That last bit is a little syrupy, even for me, and I don't mean to be all that sentimental about it, but the bottom line is that I'm friends with some talented people, and that's, like, really cool. I definitely think the above has over romanticized my thoughts a bit. It's not like a weep openly every time Jay strums a guitar chord, Steve harmonizes to the radio, Joe Mayes lays out a sick bass vocal solo, Allison draws a picture, and Sean Taylor and Grebe talk about something financial that I succeed in following for about five minutes. Essentially, I just don't want to take for granted the talent and skills of the people around me. It's a proud to be among them kind of thing.
After the show I met up with Steve, Doug, Angela, and many others and really got the alumni festivities started. The blow by blow there would bore you, but I was getting as much of a kick out of catching up with just casual familiar faces as I was old friends. What I mean to say is, it was cool to run into people I wouldn't consider buds of mine and just kind of saying "Hey, you're that person I used to see all over campus, but never said two words to... You noticed me? I noticed you, too!... How's it going?....Cool, have a nice life and/or see you next year!" Really interesting vibe on top of catching up with dear friends. More to the night than that, including catching up with the newly-svelte DeJesus and Dunn, Rita driving over to say hello, and finding out Kyle Minogue is living in our old Jackson house, but tough to put all that in a sensical and concise paragraph. Great times.
As if the weekend weren't already ripe with memories, Saturday morning saw the beginning of a story-ful day as Melissa, Doug, Rita, Steve and I went to grab some breakfast. Now, as you'd expect, a great deal of reminicing was occurring and, not surprisingly, Jamin's wedding came up. I, thinking with my stomach as I often do, casually brought up that the chicken fingers at their wedding were genuinely some of the best I've had in my life. Obviously they paled in comparison to the bride and groom, sanctity of the day, etc. etc., but it would a total lie if I said the chicken wasn't one of the top five memories of that day for me. Moose, if you're reading this, love you guys.
Steve then said something to the effect of "Oh, I wouldn't know, I was eating broccoli the whole time. I asked why and Steve replied, "I haven't eaten meat since August." Here's where it gets interesting.
Up until that point, the conversation had been very jovial, light and, dare I say, bubbly. Steve's meat claim was by no means rude, pointed, or condescending at all, but it was said very seriously and matter-of-factly. It ran in contrast to the rest of the table talk and was therefore very punctuated. That morning, Steve ordered a "Western Omelette" that the menu clearly stated had ham in it. As I looked down at the omelette now half eaten, I noticed these pretty large pink chunks of ham in it that couldn't be mistaken for onions if you squinted. At that point became so confused I felt as though I was listening to Sean Taylor and Grebe talk about financial stats. Can't emphasize enough how overwhelmed and lost I was in that moment. Steve was flagrantly eating meat and I found it impossible to believe he wasn't aware of it.
Surely he read it on the menu.
Surely he sees the giant pink chunks in his breakfast.
Surely he at the very least tastes the ham as he's chewing it.
Surely he sees the door coming up. (Last one not relevant)
I really thought Steve was just kind of making a joke that I didn't quite get. A feeling to which I can certainly relate and sympathize. My brain was left with a "fight or flight" moment to gently call him out and get to the bottom of the statement, or ignore the statement entirely and keep eating. I opted for the latter and Steve and I both resumed eating. About three minutes later, Steve realized that he'd accidentally soiled his voluntary vegetarian lifestyle and was no longer meat free since August. He was pretty floored and the table was similarly flumouxed by how he got three-quarters through a ham-filled omelette. I think that cloud of confusion was the only that kept me from busting up at the situation. Not trying to be too hard on Steve. Lord knows he's seen me be pretty boneheaded. I think moments like that just serve to remind us both how important we are to each other. Tomorrow is a new day and the start of a new streak. I will say, ten years from now, when you ask me to describe my first alumni weekend, this will be likely the one story I remember off the top of my head. Truly a golden moment.
After breakfast, I wanted to make sure to set aside a good chunk of my day to basketball. I turned down a couple of plans specifically to make sure I had plenty of time to get a good run in with all the students and what have you. The Grumbacher has never really had the reputation for being too packed on a weekend day, but for some reason I thought alumni weekend would be the exception to that rule. Unfortunately, I found that some things never change as I wound up shooting around... a lot... and eventually playing some "21" equivalent that took forever to finish, and finally some twos with Le Von (no disrespect, not sure if that's how he spells it) and a couple of his friends. That was a lot of fun and certainly better than nothing. They were good dudes. On a personal note, my chest was incredibly tight from a Thursday workout. I think the day in the car on Friday didn't let me properly stretch it out and bottom line my chest was tight as a snare drum on Saturday and my first few shots were about three feet short. I held my own, though, to say the least, and actually wound up winning I think all but one game I played, but I didn't really loosen up until it was about time to go. Couldn't help but think if I was shooting this well feeling awful, how well I could have played if I were feeling up to snuff. Oh well, just pick up games anyway and a little petulant on my part, but in the interest of full candor, it was nagging on my mind.
The guys I played with happened to be black and my good friend and Grumbacher mainstay, Rachel, happened to see some of the game. Later on that night, I met up with Rachel at the bar and as Le Von passed by he was nice enough to mention how cool it was to play with me etc. Rachel and he then proceeded to talk about how this skinny white dude walked into the gym and pretty much showed them up. They were both exaggerating a bit (not that skinny) about how I showed them up. I played well, but didn't dominate or anything. Anyway, my point being, I was called "skinny" and "white" about 15 times in 30 seconds, but it was hard to be offended because they were being so complementary. Good laughs there great to see both Rachel and Le Von again.
Prior to the bar, I went on a bit of a bar crawl with Dunn and Big Phil. Great time and featured some great live music at the White Rose. Could be in my head, but York College seems much more open to planning things with a pretty buzzing surrounding community than they were when I was a student. That bodes well for those businesses and the college crowd and enrollment if that teamwork continues. In a couple years, hopefully there will be more of a weekend crowd to play ball with indirectly is what I'm saying.
Hard to segue into this, so I'm just going to have to apologize for the short tangent. I think due to the West Coast schedule and my lack of a smart phone, I gave about five people inaccurate Orioles scores and stats. I was seeing highlights from the night before and thinking the game was live. It was really a mess. My bad on that. Idiot move. Steve should have fun with that one.
Great to be back at YCP with such great friends. I look forward to my next visit.
Just in the general sense, because I don't think I'll necessarily get back to it once I start zooming in. Always a great time to be in York and especially at YCP. The Alumni weekend brought back some familiar faces and I also got to see some friends who've yet to leave. Feels like a home away from home and brings up some of the best memories of my life. Really blessed to have known and, as this weekend proved, still know such good people. I'm gushing, I know, about a pretty dangerous area once you get beyond George, I know, but it's just a special place.
With that brief bit of blathering behind and alliteration ahead, I actually didn't have to wait long, or even ask, to relive some collegiate memories. York's current and my former a cappella group, Rhapsody, found themselves somewhat divided between the obligations of the school's musical, "She Loves Me," and a performance at the annual Relay for Life. When a couple members heard that I was heading to York that same day, they reached out to see if I could help them out and sing with them at the Relay for Life. It's a bit of a stretch to say they "needed" me and by no means am I under that impression, but I know that they were grateful to have the extra tenor/bass with knowledge of the catalog close at hand and, from my perspective, by no means was it an inconvenience to sing with them. I found myself rusty, to say the least, jumping the gun on a "Buttercup" entrance. (The one song each Rhapsody member should be able to treat like riding a bike.) Learned a song on the fly and handled it pretty well, and despite the group being in about three different keys during "Africa", blew the dust off that high harmony pretty impressively if I do say so myself. (I assure you that's the extent of my self-exultation.) The group did throw in some dub-step inspired changes to "Crazy" that pretty much hit me like a ton of bricks mid-show, but I still got to throw in my "HA-HA-HAs" so all was well that ended well.
I will say, I wish I had left to arrive in York a bit earlier in the day. I made great time traffic-wise and with about a half hour to spare before a pretty casual (especially for me) call time. With that said, I did want to make sure I got into York early to square away a couple of errands. My trip was, by my standards, pretty last minute, so I wanted to make sure to confirm with some various hanging and indeed sleeping arrangements. Basically, check in with the few cats banking on my arrival. I also wanted to make sure to drop off some "Horseplay" related material to Professor Mott before the hurricane of a weekend swept me away. Specifics of "Horseplay" are for a different post all together, if at all, as I feel that's the only bit of my writing that I get a little repetitive with, so mum's the word for now.
I'm sure most could relate that after spending enough time in a car, especially driving, you kind of zone out a bit mentally and suffer from something I would call "drive lag" after you get out, where you're physically out of the car, but not so much mentally. I was definitely suffering from this ailment, as nonexistent as it my be medically, but I thought little of it as I bounded towards Wolf Hall, prepped to drop off my script and such and just kind of rest up for a bit. Lo and and behold, though, two of the four people on main campus at the time were my good friends Justin Rivera and Renee. Obviously sounds like it was a negative to see them; nothing could be further from the truth. I just felt bad because I met their enthusiasm and embraces without really being able to string words together cleanly. A pleasure to see them both, I just kind of socially wasn't ready for it. Pretty laughable in hindsight. Got to clear the air a bit later that weekend, but I don't doubt I looked like a deer in the headlights and sounded Ozzy Osbourne with a New York accent for a bit there.
After the Rhapsody "gig" I got the chance to see "She Loves Me". Great all around. Always cool to see friends and other performers in their element. Some real talent on the stage and I'm sometimes in awe that these people are in my life.
*That last bit is a little syrupy, even for me, and I don't mean to be all that sentimental about it, but the bottom line is that I'm friends with some talented people, and that's, like, really cool. I definitely think the above has over romanticized my thoughts a bit. It's not like a weep openly every time Jay strums a guitar chord, Steve harmonizes to the radio, Joe Mayes lays out a sick bass vocal solo, Allison draws a picture, and Sean Taylor and Grebe talk about something financial that I succeed in following for about five minutes. Essentially, I just don't want to take for granted the talent and skills of the people around me. It's a proud to be among them kind of thing.
After the show I met up with Steve, Doug, Angela, and many others and really got the alumni festivities started. The blow by blow there would bore you, but I was getting as much of a kick out of catching up with just casual familiar faces as I was old friends. What I mean to say is, it was cool to run into people I wouldn't consider buds of mine and just kind of saying "Hey, you're that person I used to see all over campus, but never said two words to... You noticed me? I noticed you, too!... How's it going?....Cool, have a nice life and/or see you next year!" Really interesting vibe on top of catching up with dear friends. More to the night than that, including catching up with the newly-svelte DeJesus and Dunn, Rita driving over to say hello, and finding out Kyle Minogue is living in our old Jackson house, but tough to put all that in a sensical and concise paragraph. Great times.
As if the weekend weren't already ripe with memories, Saturday morning saw the beginning of a story-ful day as Melissa, Doug, Rita, Steve and I went to grab some breakfast. Now, as you'd expect, a great deal of reminicing was occurring and, not surprisingly, Jamin's wedding came up. I, thinking with my stomach as I often do, casually brought up that the chicken fingers at their wedding were genuinely some of the best I've had in my life. Obviously they paled in comparison to the bride and groom, sanctity of the day, etc. etc., but it would a total lie if I said the chicken wasn't one of the top five memories of that day for me. Moose, if you're reading this, love you guys.
Steve then said something to the effect of "Oh, I wouldn't know, I was eating broccoli the whole time. I asked why and Steve replied, "I haven't eaten meat since August." Here's where it gets interesting.
Up until that point, the conversation had been very jovial, light and, dare I say, bubbly. Steve's meat claim was by no means rude, pointed, or condescending at all, but it was said very seriously and matter-of-factly. It ran in contrast to the rest of the table talk and was therefore very punctuated. That morning, Steve ordered a "Western Omelette" that the menu clearly stated had ham in it. As I looked down at the omelette now half eaten, I noticed these pretty large pink chunks of ham in it that couldn't be mistaken for onions if you squinted. At that point became so confused I felt as though I was listening to Sean Taylor and Grebe talk about financial stats. Can't emphasize enough how overwhelmed and lost I was in that moment. Steve was flagrantly eating meat and I found it impossible to believe he wasn't aware of it.
Surely he read it on the menu.
Surely he sees the giant pink chunks in his breakfast.
Surely he at the very least tastes the ham as he's chewing it.
Surely he sees the door coming up. (Last one not relevant)
I really thought Steve was just kind of making a joke that I didn't quite get. A feeling to which I can certainly relate and sympathize. My brain was left with a "fight or flight" moment to gently call him out and get to the bottom of the statement, or ignore the statement entirely and keep eating. I opted for the latter and Steve and I both resumed eating. About three minutes later, Steve realized that he'd accidentally soiled his voluntary vegetarian lifestyle and was no longer meat free since August. He was pretty floored and the table was similarly flumouxed by how he got three-quarters through a ham-filled omelette. I think that cloud of confusion was the only that kept me from busting up at the situation. Not trying to be too hard on Steve. Lord knows he's seen me be pretty boneheaded. I think moments like that just serve to remind us both how important we are to each other. Tomorrow is a new day and the start of a new streak. I will say, ten years from now, when you ask me to describe my first alumni weekend, this will be likely the one story I remember off the top of my head. Truly a golden moment.
After breakfast, I wanted to make sure to set aside a good chunk of my day to basketball. I turned down a couple of plans specifically to make sure I had plenty of time to get a good run in with all the students and what have you. The Grumbacher has never really had the reputation for being too packed on a weekend day, but for some reason I thought alumni weekend would be the exception to that rule. Unfortunately, I found that some things never change as I wound up shooting around... a lot... and eventually playing some "21" equivalent that took forever to finish, and finally some twos with Le Von (no disrespect, not sure if that's how he spells it) and a couple of his friends. That was a lot of fun and certainly better than nothing. They were good dudes. On a personal note, my chest was incredibly tight from a Thursday workout. I think the day in the car on Friday didn't let me properly stretch it out and bottom line my chest was tight as a snare drum on Saturday and my first few shots were about three feet short. I held my own, though, to say the least, and actually wound up winning I think all but one game I played, but I didn't really loosen up until it was about time to go. Couldn't help but think if I was shooting this well feeling awful, how well I could have played if I were feeling up to snuff. Oh well, just pick up games anyway and a little petulant on my part, but in the interest of full candor, it was nagging on my mind.
The guys I played with happened to be black and my good friend and Grumbacher mainstay, Rachel, happened to see some of the game. Later on that night, I met up with Rachel at the bar and as Le Von passed by he was nice enough to mention how cool it was to play with me etc. Rachel and he then proceeded to talk about how this skinny white dude walked into the gym and pretty much showed them up. They were both exaggerating a bit (not that skinny) about how I showed them up. I played well, but didn't dominate or anything. Anyway, my point being, I was called "skinny" and "white" about 15 times in 30 seconds, but it was hard to be offended because they were being so complementary. Good laughs there great to see both Rachel and Le Von again.
Prior to the bar, I went on a bit of a bar crawl with Dunn and Big Phil. Great time and featured some great live music at the White Rose. Could be in my head, but York College seems much more open to planning things with a pretty buzzing surrounding community than they were when I was a student. That bodes well for those businesses and the college crowd and enrollment if that teamwork continues. In a couple years, hopefully there will be more of a weekend crowd to play ball with indirectly is what I'm saying.
Hard to segue into this, so I'm just going to have to apologize for the short tangent. I think due to the West Coast schedule and my lack of a smart phone, I gave about five people inaccurate Orioles scores and stats. I was seeing highlights from the night before and thinking the game was live. It was really a mess. My bad on that. Idiot move. Steve should have fun with that one.
Great to be back at YCP with such great friends. I look forward to my next visit.
Song of the Day: "I Should Go"- Good Old War
Jazz Song of the Day: "Whither Must I Wander"-Dave Douglas
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
I Think That Girl's Throwing Up
Grebe's not so subtle observation on the streets of New York City's Little Italy momentarily landed us in some hot and foul-smelling water. More on that later.
Ladies and gentlemen, it finally happened. After years being one of the Metropolitan area's biggest Dallas Maverick fans and grinding through a couple of heartbreaking seasons, a great many solid seasons, and one magical championship run, I, Tom Policastro, have finally seen a Mavs game for myself. The game itself was a tremendous experience, though, I'm not sure if ironic is the proper word, (I'll ask Nick Pappas later) but I did find it interesting that my first Mavs game comes during a season of transition, where for the first time in many years not only are we not dark horse title contenders, but not even playoffs bound. That sentiment's a touch defeatist, but I'm also a realist. With that said, didn't leave my pride in the team or excitement for the contest the worse for wear.
I probably should have mentioned whom they were playing and where and whatnot. Anyway. the Mavs were in Brooklyn to take on the Nets and Wong had the great idea a couple months back to get a big group of our friends together to see a game. I would have went regardless of the matchup just to see NBA ball, unless the Bobcats are playing, but to see Dirk, Trix, VINCE CARTER, and the rest made the entire trip irresistible.
Wong, his friend Matt, and I made the journey to the BK out of Ronkonkoma, and as most of you know, train rides rarely fall short in producing memories as lasting as the times had at your destination. This time was no exception as no sooner was I in the train station ordering tickets (just in time for the rate hike. Yes!) than a laughably exasperated woman cut the line and began scolding/shouting at the man behind the window for giving her the wrong ticket. Now, as a customer service rep myself, my heart instantly went out to the guy. I really don't know if the woman was right, or the guy behind the window, but I've seen the extremes of a customer being right and a dick about it, right and a sweetheart about it, wrong and a dick about it, and wrong and sweetheart about it. Mistakes happen. No matter who makes them, Customer Service wouldn't exist without them. I will say this, though, the fact that this woman...
1. Cut the line in an interupting fashion
2. Was yelling at the guy like he was an idiot
3. Said "You didn't listen" literally five times before actually getting to her problem.
4. Said she was "on the clock" like her time was more important than other people's. (You'll have to take my word on her tone.)
made her instantly out of line. What was cool was, people on the line started scolding her immediately and the guy behind the window, an older man, clearly had enough clout that he didn't have to care about a stern letter or supervisor and fired right back, basically calling her out on being rude and a nut. Awesome to see those tables turn. A bit more to the story than that, but you largely had to be there. In the interest of time, moving on.
While on the train, I heard the already infamous "Harlem Shake" song. A song which, by itself, is not all that interesting or good, to put it bluntly. I did, however, get pretty jazzed when I heard it because I thought we stumbled into a viral video attempt that I, all shame and modesty aside, would have joined immediately. Regrettably, it was someone's ring tone and to make matters worse, it went off several more times on the train. Hearing the tune without the pending payoff a spontaneous dance party was irritating to say the least.
The Atlantic train lets you out pretty much right next to the Barclays Center, a wonder that lives up to it's hype. The place is state of the art, as you'd expect, but what I particularly enjoyed about it is that the surrounding area is still very much Brooklyn, with everything from run down bars and even a boarded up "haunted house" right across the way. Charming is a strong word and I think I'm over romanticizing the experience a bit, but how juxdaposed the arena was with it's surroundings was really intriguing to me.
Really not doing a great job setting up these stories, but the trip to Brooklyn also gave me a chance to catch up with a couple of York friends in Kev, Doug, and a visiting Brett. How it felt to see them as they entered the Black Sheep Pub is tough to put into words. Surreal in the best way possible, I guess. With the exception of a couple meetings with Kev, and a Jake Albus visit years ago, my York and Long Island worlds don't often collide. Again, at that point it could have been the beer romanticizing the moment, but it was great to exchange some introductions and just plain see some friends I hadn't seen in close to a year. Great to catch up with those guys in every way. Unfortunately, we couldn't quite align after the game to continue the festivities, but I look forward to our next meeting.
The game itself was pretty straightforward. I couldn't give you the play by play if I wanted to and you would want to read it if I could. We came to play, which was a relief, and a game where Dirk and VINCE CARTER carried us was about all I could ask for as a first time/long time fan. I was surprised how well Mavs fans traveled and there was definitely some more Mavs love in the stadium than I expected. It was a little hard to feel that love when Grebe and Wong shouted "sit down" at the top of their lungs every time I got up to cheer something, but I guess Dirk's appeal is pretty worldwide and I think during that title run we kind of became America's team for a couple weeks as we thwarted the then villainous LeBron and Heat. Directly behind me was a pretty adorable four or five year old yelling "Mavs stink" and other unpleasant things. I, obviously, said nothing and got the last laugh, but a couple times did look back at his parents as if to say "Are you kidding me here?" A very good-natured ribbing.
As Wong expected, our group of 14 immediately broke off from one another and I found myself with Wong and his friends from school heading back towards Manhattan. We stopped in a bar called "Coyote Ugly." Being that a movie was named after the place, I was a little disappointed with the venue. I don't know what I was expecting really, but there wasn't much to it. Not that I need my bars to have substance (other than alcohol, of course), but I guess I just expected Tyra Banks at the door to welcome me with John Goodman saving me a beer. Anyway, one thing they did have there was a punching bag designed to measure the power of your punch. All sarcasm aside, I can't say I expected to be any good at it and had no desire to get involved. Most guys who did it (not as much of a meathead activity as you might think, as the participants were pretty casual about it) were scoring between 550 and 750. The record was 920-something and of course, Wong had the idea that we should both toss our metaphorical hats into the ring and give it a try. I told him I had no desire to swing, but Wong wouldn't take no for an answer and threw in the dollar to punch away. He scored somewhere in the upper 400s and considering he had one arm in a sling, I was pretty impressed. I again told him I had no desire to swing, but he threw in another dollar and kind of forced my hand. I swung and got a pretty modest 185. I'm willing to chalk up some of that to a bad punch and the fact that my heart wasn't in it, but let's be honest, it wasn't going up much higher even if the wind were at my back. Kind of like when people don't like pictures of themselves. Yeah, I guess the photo could showcase you better, but at the end of the day it's a photo of you. Needless to say, I quickly tried to get lost in the crowd and when Wong went to talk to me about it. I said something like, "I didn't pay for it." It was the closest thing to a Pulp Fiction "they're your clothes motherfucker" as I've ever pulled off. Good times. For the record, the bouncer assured me I was nowhere near the worst score he'd ever seen. So there's that...
After that we hit a couple of bars where the dancing shoes came on. Usually my cue that the night has hit its apex and I should start winding it down. In one bar, Biscuits and I pretty much had a dance lesson/off with a bouncer where at least a couple other people who tried to join were unceremoniously shoo-ed away. In hindsight, probably the funniest point of the night, but in the moment it was just the state of the union. I then had a dance off with Grebe at the Spring Lounge. Results were inconclusive.
As we were heading back to Grebe's to recharge some, Francis took the time to pick up some Milano cookies at a corner store and was kind enough to share. We each had a couple and at the risk of embarrassing him, Frank took a spill on the sidewalk and sent his remaining cookies violently to the street without so much as getting a hand out to break his fall. Biscuits seemed more concerned about the state of the cookies than Frank, I don't think Wong acknowledged it happened, Matt dutifully checked on this friend, and Grebe and I toed the line between laughing hysterically and showing concern. Frank get pretty upset with the situation and actually threatened to go home, but Biscuits stepped up and got him some band aids and convinced him to stay.
We hung out at Grebe's for a bit and then headed back out in the night. Just outside of Grebe's apartment, we saw a girl with her friends who was a little worse for wear and was vomiting on the street while still walking. A feat as impressive as it was pathetic. Grebe in his haze (a haze we all shared mind you, not trying to paint myself as a saint here) pretty matter-of-factly stated this blog's title and sent this girl into a rage. She immediately stumbled towards Grebe with violence on her mind and venomous words flowing from her mouth. At this point she was not vomiting (now that would have been admirable and terrifying). We then stumbled over a bit more surefootedly (only a little) to get Grebe out of the area. It should be noted Grebe wanted no part of instigating her and did nothing to provoke her further, we simply turned Grebe's slow walk away into more of a jog. I can't stress enough that Grebe was not aggressive physically or verbally with this young woman. He was just kind of guilty of making a pretty sensitive observation within the wrong person's earshot while she was in the wrong state of mind. Having successfully gotten Grebe out of the ordeal, I notice Wong is nowhere to be found. I turned around and saw him about half a block back still chilling next to that girl. I doubled back to move him along and the rest of the night progressed without much incident.
Overall, a successful night with good people. Some other nuggets here and there, including Wong saying goodnight to Francis and me, and leaving with an umbrella he probably could have used the night before, but nothing worth writing home about. *laughs for sixty seconds at his own joke* I'm fortunate to have such great friends with which to share these moments and while this lost its relevance five paragraphs ago, go Mavs.
Wong, his friend Matt, and I made the journey to the BK out of Ronkonkoma, and as most of you know, train rides rarely fall short in producing memories as lasting as the times had at your destination. This time was no exception as no sooner was I in the train station ordering tickets (just in time for the rate hike. Yes!) than a laughably exasperated woman cut the line and began scolding/shouting at the man behind the window for giving her the wrong ticket. Now, as a customer service rep myself, my heart instantly went out to the guy. I really don't know if the woman was right, or the guy behind the window, but I've seen the extremes of a customer being right and a dick about it, right and a sweetheart about it, wrong and a dick about it, and wrong and sweetheart about it. Mistakes happen. No matter who makes them, Customer Service wouldn't exist without them. I will say this, though, the fact that this woman...
1. Cut the line in an interupting fashion
2. Was yelling at the guy like he was an idiot
3. Said "You didn't listen" literally five times before actually getting to her problem.
4. Said she was "on the clock" like her time was more important than other people's. (You'll have to take my word on her tone.)
made her instantly out of line. What was cool was, people on the line started scolding her immediately and the guy behind the window, an older man, clearly had enough clout that he didn't have to care about a stern letter or supervisor and fired right back, basically calling her out on being rude and a nut. Awesome to see those tables turn. A bit more to the story than that, but you largely had to be there. In the interest of time, moving on.
While on the train, I heard the already infamous "Harlem Shake" song. A song which, by itself, is not all that interesting or good, to put it bluntly. I did, however, get pretty jazzed when I heard it because I thought we stumbled into a viral video attempt that I, all shame and modesty aside, would have joined immediately. Regrettably, it was someone's ring tone and to make matters worse, it went off several more times on the train. Hearing the tune without the pending payoff a spontaneous dance party was irritating to say the least.
The Atlantic train lets you out pretty much right next to the Barclays Center, a wonder that lives up to it's hype. The place is state of the art, as you'd expect, but what I particularly enjoyed about it is that the surrounding area is still very much Brooklyn, with everything from run down bars and even a boarded up "haunted house" right across the way. Charming is a strong word and I think I'm over romanticizing the experience a bit, but how juxdaposed the arena was with it's surroundings was really intriguing to me.
Really not doing a great job setting up these stories, but the trip to Brooklyn also gave me a chance to catch up with a couple of York friends in Kev, Doug, and a visiting Brett. How it felt to see them as they entered the Black Sheep Pub is tough to put into words. Surreal in the best way possible, I guess. With the exception of a couple meetings with Kev, and a Jake Albus visit years ago, my York and Long Island worlds don't often collide. Again, at that point it could have been the beer romanticizing the moment, but it was great to exchange some introductions and just plain see some friends I hadn't seen in close to a year. Great to catch up with those guys in every way. Unfortunately, we couldn't quite align after the game to continue the festivities, but I look forward to our next meeting.
The game itself was pretty straightforward. I couldn't give you the play by play if I wanted to and you would want to read it if I could. We came to play, which was a relief, and a game where Dirk and VINCE CARTER carried us was about all I could ask for as a first time/long time fan. I was surprised how well Mavs fans traveled and there was definitely some more Mavs love in the stadium than I expected. It was a little hard to feel that love when Grebe and Wong shouted "sit down" at the top of their lungs every time I got up to cheer something, but I guess Dirk's appeal is pretty worldwide and I think during that title run we kind of became America's team for a couple weeks as we thwarted the then villainous LeBron and Heat. Directly behind me was a pretty adorable four or five year old yelling "Mavs stink" and other unpleasant things. I, obviously, said nothing and got the last laugh, but a couple times did look back at his parents as if to say "Are you kidding me here?" A very good-natured ribbing.
As Wong expected, our group of 14 immediately broke off from one another and I found myself with Wong and his friends from school heading back towards Manhattan. We stopped in a bar called "Coyote Ugly." Being that a movie was named after the place, I was a little disappointed with the venue. I don't know what I was expecting really, but there wasn't much to it. Not that I need my bars to have substance (other than alcohol, of course), but I guess I just expected Tyra Banks at the door to welcome me with John Goodman saving me a beer. Anyway, one thing they did have there was a punching bag designed to measure the power of your punch. All sarcasm aside, I can't say I expected to be any good at it and had no desire to get involved. Most guys who did it (not as much of a meathead activity as you might think, as the participants were pretty casual about it) were scoring between 550 and 750. The record was 920-something and of course, Wong had the idea that we should both toss our metaphorical hats into the ring and give it a try. I told him I had no desire to swing, but Wong wouldn't take no for an answer and threw in the dollar to punch away. He scored somewhere in the upper 400s and considering he had one arm in a sling, I was pretty impressed. I again told him I had no desire to swing, but he threw in another dollar and kind of forced my hand. I swung and got a pretty modest 185. I'm willing to chalk up some of that to a bad punch and the fact that my heart wasn't in it, but let's be honest, it wasn't going up much higher even if the wind were at my back. Kind of like when people don't like pictures of themselves. Yeah, I guess the photo could showcase you better, but at the end of the day it's a photo of you. Needless to say, I quickly tried to get lost in the crowd and when Wong went to talk to me about it. I said something like, "I didn't pay for it." It was the closest thing to a Pulp Fiction "they're your clothes motherfucker" as I've ever pulled off. Good times. For the record, the bouncer assured me I was nowhere near the worst score he'd ever seen. So there's that...
After that we hit a couple of bars where the dancing shoes came on. Usually my cue that the night has hit its apex and I should start winding it down. In one bar, Biscuits and I pretty much had a dance lesson/off with a bouncer where at least a couple other people who tried to join were unceremoniously shoo-ed away. In hindsight, probably the funniest point of the night, but in the moment it was just the state of the union. I then had a dance off with Grebe at the Spring Lounge. Results were inconclusive.
As we were heading back to Grebe's to recharge some, Francis took the time to pick up some Milano cookies at a corner store and was kind enough to share. We each had a couple and at the risk of embarrassing him, Frank took a spill on the sidewalk and sent his remaining cookies violently to the street without so much as getting a hand out to break his fall. Biscuits seemed more concerned about the state of the cookies than Frank, I don't think Wong acknowledged it happened, Matt dutifully checked on this friend, and Grebe and I toed the line between laughing hysterically and showing concern. Frank get pretty upset with the situation and actually threatened to go home, but Biscuits stepped up and got him some band aids and convinced him to stay.
We hung out at Grebe's for a bit and then headed back out in the night. Just outside of Grebe's apartment, we saw a girl with her friends who was a little worse for wear and was vomiting on the street while still walking. A feat as impressive as it was pathetic. Grebe in his haze (a haze we all shared mind you, not trying to paint myself as a saint here) pretty matter-of-factly stated this blog's title and sent this girl into a rage. She immediately stumbled towards Grebe with violence on her mind and venomous words flowing from her mouth. At this point she was not vomiting (now that would have been admirable and terrifying). We then stumbled over a bit more surefootedly (only a little) to get Grebe out of the area. It should be noted Grebe wanted no part of instigating her and did nothing to provoke her further, we simply turned Grebe's slow walk away into more of a jog. I can't stress enough that Grebe was not aggressive physically or verbally with this young woman. He was just kind of guilty of making a pretty sensitive observation within the wrong person's earshot while she was in the wrong state of mind. Having successfully gotten Grebe out of the ordeal, I notice Wong is nowhere to be found. I turned around and saw him about half a block back still chilling next to that girl. I doubled back to move him along and the rest of the night progressed without much incident.
Overall, a successful night with good people. Some other nuggets here and there, including Wong saying goodnight to Francis and me, and leaving with an umbrella he probably could have used the night before, but nothing worth writing home about. *laughs for sixty seconds at his own joke* I'm fortunate to have such great friends with which to share these moments and while this lost its relevance five paragraphs ago, go Mavs.
Song of the Day: Miracle Sun-Anthony Green (The binge of this cat I've been on is remarkable, considering how casual my fandom of his work is usually.)
Jazz Song of the Day: Sweet Georgia Brown-Anat Cohen
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
"Calamity Makes Cousins Of Us All"
It can be said that a blog is a contemporary pulpit with the blogger being a sort of digital preacher with the powers of anonymous judgment and spell check at his or her disposal. Please do not view the forthcoming blog post as such. While most of my blogs tend to center around Sean Taylor's latest blunder while featuring other playful anecdotes of varying resonance and a chance for me to showcase my latest vocabulary word (obstreperous, if you're wondering), I wanted to use a post to speak about something a bit more pressing to our nation and something, obviously, of much more gravity in the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting.
Again, I haven't a soapbox and would have no desire to stand on one if you offered, I blog about this black eye in human history admittedly because it does raise some interesting talking points that I think most everyone would at least feel the need to reflect upon for themselves, but mostly because it's a way for me personally to talk about something without dwelling on something. Like it or not, this tragic story, with the brief yet ironic reprieve during Christmas, has been the be all end all of media since the event and it has brought to the forefront of immediate decision and action some of the more polarizing and pressing debates in America today in statutes of gun possession and access to mental health care. Stances on these issues are vehement and firm, but for me, it's not so much about agreeing upon what's right going forward, but more about agreeing that what occurred was so wrong.
In hindsight that wording may be misleading. I mean, I'd like to believe that nobody out there really believes that the murder of defenseless children is "right", I'm referring more to the events aftermath in the sense that this event was so jarring that it motivated even the most casual of newsreaders/watchers to react and call for change one way or the other. Its compelling and almost a shame that it takes such cold moments of tragedy for people to realize the connectivity that binds us all together. The human experience is a fragile one.
The thought of banning guns and essentially repealing the second amendment sounds solid in theory. In a Utopian world, no guns would equal no gun violence. Come to think of it, a Utopian world wouldn't need guns at all, but as you surely know, we live in anything but a Utopian world. I agree that the notion of more guns equaling more safety is about as assbackwards as a notion can get, but I'm also of the opinion that just because there's a law against having a gun, it doesn't mean that guns and gun violence will disappear. I feel like if a person wanted a gun badly enough, they'd find a way to get one. Your natural argument would be "if that repeal saves even one life, wouldn't it be worth it?" That argument kind of shuts me up, I admit, but I do stick to the belief that you wouldn't actually be doing all that much to alleviate a no-win situation by abolishing the right to bear arms.
The much more glaring issue this shooting leaves us eye to eye with is that of mental healthcare for people in this country. I won't dignify that man by mentioning his name, but if society had more affordable outlets to give him the help he so clearly needed, maybe this blog post wouldn't be written right now. Even to that end, who's responsibility is it to ensure he gets that help he needs? At what point do we police each other to differentiate between shy, socially awkward people, to those who truly have darker motives and deeper issues? It's one thing to say that a person needs help, but another for that person to accept that they need help. People should be provided the medical help they need and it should certainly be easier to get help than a gun, but at the end of the day, every incident like this is more or less subjective. Lumping other autisics, and even gun owners, into this guy's world and mindset is perhaps unfair, but also hard to avoid, at least while these social wounds are still so fresh.
One thing that troubles me immensely is some of the verbage surrounding this event. About how this event is unprecedented, one of a kind, and one of the worst tragedies of it's kind in American history. I mean, this massacre WAS all of those things. I guess I just kind of don't like the tone of the media coverage because it kind of loosely implies that if a student went into a high school and shot other students it would be a little easier to understand, cope with, and get over and would by now be more of a local story than a national one as America's families send up one more prayer for those families and returns to normalcy. I don't think that implication is in my head, but I also don't exactly know how I would change that. I guess I'm just bitter about the degree to which violence has become so commonplace in our society that we meet events like this with a moment of silence and relative apathy.
I don't have answers for these issues and I don't presume to have any. If issues had cut and dry solutions, they wouldn't be issues.
This is not so much my tribute to the 26 who died so senselessly. Despite best intentions, I feel like any attempt to capture the scope of the Sandy Hook shootings in words ("26 angels, valliant heroes, God's children, other more poetic turns at tribute) don't exactly ring insincere, but certainly fall short in just about every instance I've encountered. There's no excuse for what happened and regrettably, even less explanation. Some things happen in the world that just break your heart in every possible way and are bigger than words. I struggle to wrap my head around it to this day, especially as we leave Christmas behind us.
I guess, rather than a tribute to Newtown, this is my appeal to society to motivate a change that goes beyond gun laws. There are people in this world who need help and while we all have our own problems in life, as cliche as it sounds, be the change you want to see in the world. No one's a saint and I'm certainly no exception, but I genuinely believe that making a conscious effort to keep an open mind, heart, and hand to others can go a long way. Don't let this Newtown massacre have happened in vain. A social moral conscious towards our fellow man is the only fitting tribute we can give those we have lost.
Song of the Day: Once Upon A Time-Smashing Pumpkins
Jazz Song of the Day: Acknowledgement-John Coltrane
Again, I haven't a soapbox and would have no desire to stand on one if you offered, I blog about this black eye in human history admittedly because it does raise some interesting talking points that I think most everyone would at least feel the need to reflect upon for themselves, but mostly because it's a way for me personally to talk about something without dwelling on something. Like it or not, this tragic story, with the brief yet ironic reprieve during Christmas, has been the be all end all of media since the event and it has brought to the forefront of immediate decision and action some of the more polarizing and pressing debates in America today in statutes of gun possession and access to mental health care. Stances on these issues are vehement and firm, but for me, it's not so much about agreeing upon what's right going forward, but more about agreeing that what occurred was so wrong.
In hindsight that wording may be misleading. I mean, I'd like to believe that nobody out there really believes that the murder of defenseless children is "right", I'm referring more to the events aftermath in the sense that this event was so jarring that it motivated even the most casual of newsreaders/watchers to react and call for change one way or the other. Its compelling and almost a shame that it takes such cold moments of tragedy for people to realize the connectivity that binds us all together. The human experience is a fragile one.
The thought of banning guns and essentially repealing the second amendment sounds solid in theory. In a Utopian world, no guns would equal no gun violence. Come to think of it, a Utopian world wouldn't need guns at all, but as you surely know, we live in anything but a Utopian world. I agree that the notion of more guns equaling more safety is about as assbackwards as a notion can get, but I'm also of the opinion that just because there's a law against having a gun, it doesn't mean that guns and gun violence will disappear. I feel like if a person wanted a gun badly enough, they'd find a way to get one. Your natural argument would be "if that repeal saves even one life, wouldn't it be worth it?" That argument kind of shuts me up, I admit, but I do stick to the belief that you wouldn't actually be doing all that much to alleviate a no-win situation by abolishing the right to bear arms.
The much more glaring issue this shooting leaves us eye to eye with is that of mental healthcare for people in this country. I won't dignify that man by mentioning his name, but if society had more affordable outlets to give him the help he so clearly needed, maybe this blog post wouldn't be written right now. Even to that end, who's responsibility is it to ensure he gets that help he needs? At what point do we police each other to differentiate between shy, socially awkward people, to those who truly have darker motives and deeper issues? It's one thing to say that a person needs help, but another for that person to accept that they need help. People should be provided the medical help they need and it should certainly be easier to get help than a gun, but at the end of the day, every incident like this is more or less subjective. Lumping other autisics, and even gun owners, into this guy's world and mindset is perhaps unfair, but also hard to avoid, at least while these social wounds are still so fresh.
One thing that troubles me immensely is some of the verbage surrounding this event. About how this event is unprecedented, one of a kind, and one of the worst tragedies of it's kind in American history. I mean, this massacre WAS all of those things. I guess I just kind of don't like the tone of the media coverage because it kind of loosely implies that if a student went into a high school and shot other students it would be a little easier to understand, cope with, and get over and would by now be more of a local story than a national one as America's families send up one more prayer for those families and returns to normalcy. I don't think that implication is in my head, but I also don't exactly know how I would change that. I guess I'm just bitter about the degree to which violence has become so commonplace in our society that we meet events like this with a moment of silence and relative apathy.
I don't have answers for these issues and I don't presume to have any. If issues had cut and dry solutions, they wouldn't be issues.
This is not so much my tribute to the 26 who died so senselessly. Despite best intentions, I feel like any attempt to capture the scope of the Sandy Hook shootings in words ("26 angels, valliant heroes, God's children, other more poetic turns at tribute) don't exactly ring insincere, but certainly fall short in just about every instance I've encountered. There's no excuse for what happened and regrettably, even less explanation. Some things happen in the world that just break your heart in every possible way and are bigger than words. I struggle to wrap my head around it to this day, especially as we leave Christmas behind us.
I guess, rather than a tribute to Newtown, this is my appeal to society to motivate a change that goes beyond gun laws. There are people in this world who need help and while we all have our own problems in life, as cliche as it sounds, be the change you want to see in the world. No one's a saint and I'm certainly no exception, but I genuinely believe that making a conscious effort to keep an open mind, heart, and hand to others can go a long way. Don't let this Newtown massacre have happened in vain. A social moral conscious towards our fellow man is the only fitting tribute we can give those we have lost.
Song of the Day: Once Upon A Time-Smashing Pumpkins
Jazz Song of the Day: Acknowledgement-John Coltrane
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Happiness So Pure As This Is Surely Worth The Making
On September 11th, 2012, perennial journeyman of live, dare I say "eclectic," music, Dave Matthews Band released their eighth studio album, Away From The World; a multi-dimensional album further cementing DMB's legacy as one of the most versatile and unique bands on the contemporary music scene. For the first time since 1998's release of Before These Crowded Streets (Not including the semi-informal release of 2002's Busted Stuff), the band reunited with longtime producer, Steve Lillywhite to create an album showcasing just how much this band has grown since its humble beginnings in Charlottesville, Virginia. Simply put, Away From The World is out of this world.
With the formality of that all-too-obvious wordplay that you knew was coming out of the way, let's get down to business. Dave Matthews Band has long since '92 proven that they are far more than your sandal-wearing, hemp-digging band of "Hillbillies on Acid," providing what has now, scarily enough, become generations of fans with a one of a kind songbook with the depth and dexterity to satiate most all musical tastes. Away From The World seems to bring what used to be an intriguingly vague, yet pronounced, fusion of rock, jazz, bluegrass, and folk music full circle, culminating in a cleaner, more easily defined sound showcasing arguably even more elastic creativity.
Where Butch Taylor on the keys kept this group immersed in the pudding of quai-genres, Tim Reynolds' presence on stage and in the studio gives this band a decidedly more rock-based sound, exemplified throughout this album and live shows alike, most notably as he shreds through hard hitting "The Riff." The vision of a unified horn section brought about prior to Big Whiskey's release has made a full and seamless transition to the studio as, rather than trade solos, Rashawn Ross and Jeff Coffin set the table for a larger sound and facilitate interplay between themselves and other band members, giving each song a sense of depth and cohesion not as easily found in earlier DMB work. Reserved fade outs on both "Mercy" and the uke-driven "Sweet" and a scorching, intricate arrangement on the rich "Gaucho" frame this album in a different light than any of its predecessors. With that said, Jeff Coffin's tight grooves on both "Gaucho" and "Belly Belly Nice" prove that while they no longer fit the mold of your stereotypical "jam band," DMB still has the chops to take their tunes off the beaten path and cut loose. Indeed, this band is very different both physically and in mentality from the last time Lillywhite produced them, but rather than try to force a "Crash 2.0" kind of sound, Lillywhite and the group quite aptly acknowledged the many sounds this band has explored over the years and captured a sound that puts all those years and songs into perspective.
While entirely coincidental, it's hard not to look at 2009's Big Whiskey And The GrooGrux King outside of the shadow cast by LeRoi Moore's untimely, unfortunate death. While a musically phenomenal album, with the exception of "Shake Me Like A Monkey" and "You & Me" the album features largely ominous subject matter, giving the album an intrinsic wounded sound of great gravity. Away From The World appears to serve as the flip side of the Big Whiskey coin. While the album opens with the pulsing guitar riff of "Broken Things", a sound and song title that appears to set us up for more of the same melancholy sound, Dave quickly pulls the plug on the blues with a soaring chorus "Oh my love is set on you," proving to be the catharsis of the album, giving the listener license to look up, in a sense, and appreciate life's positives, an emotion continued by the wildly catchy "Belly Belly Nice."
Inception-esque tangent: Track 2, "Belly Belly Nice", sounds suspiciously similar to track 2 of Big Whiskey's "Monkey" and features the first mention of Jack And Jill since "What Would You Say," Track 2 of 1994's Under The Table And Dreaming. Who says Radiohead has this big-picture-meanings-in-the-music market cornered?
"Gaucho" features a heavy sound and lyrics providing perspective on the many chapters and shortcomings of humankind (as Dave tends to do sometimes) proving that this album is anything but all sunshine and levity, but even the darker tracks on the album appear to have the underlying tone of hope in their delivery (enter chanting kids). Stripped ballads "Sweet," "Belly Full," and budding single "Mercy" resonate most on this album and are arguably the benchmarks for the unified, flexible sound of the band going forward. In addition, "If Only" is a swooning R&B groove that sounds like it could have been crooned by Marvin Gaye himself.
The album's closer, "Drunken Soldier" is the cherry on top of this musical sundae, featuring intricate guitar, tight horns, and as many layers as the album itself. The track resolves into into a sleepy, chillingly smooth transition into a likely unintentional nod to Pink Floyd's "Breathe" and a likely much more intentional mention of a "satellite." This humble homage to themselves has the effect of giving the listener a feeling of looking down from above at a retrospective of a band whose music has shaped lifetimes. It seems obvious that Dave Matthews Band used this album to look back on their careers... their lives... in much the same way. Away From The World features a Dave Matthews Band mindful of where they've been and excited for a future where their best music may yet still be to come. One can only hope they don't stay Away for too long.
With the formality of that all-too-obvious wordplay that you knew was coming out of the way, let's get down to business. Dave Matthews Band has long since '92 proven that they are far more than your sandal-wearing, hemp-digging band of "Hillbillies on Acid," providing what has now, scarily enough, become generations of fans with a one of a kind songbook with the depth and dexterity to satiate most all musical tastes. Away From The World seems to bring what used to be an intriguingly vague, yet pronounced, fusion of rock, jazz, bluegrass, and folk music full circle, culminating in a cleaner, more easily defined sound showcasing arguably even more elastic creativity.
Where Butch Taylor on the keys kept this group immersed in the pudding of quai-genres, Tim Reynolds' presence on stage and in the studio gives this band a decidedly more rock-based sound, exemplified throughout this album and live shows alike, most notably as he shreds through hard hitting "The Riff." The vision of a unified horn section brought about prior to Big Whiskey's release has made a full and seamless transition to the studio as, rather than trade solos, Rashawn Ross and Jeff Coffin set the table for a larger sound and facilitate interplay between themselves and other band members, giving each song a sense of depth and cohesion not as easily found in earlier DMB work. Reserved fade outs on both "Mercy" and the uke-driven "Sweet" and a scorching, intricate arrangement on the rich "Gaucho" frame this album in a different light than any of its predecessors. With that said, Jeff Coffin's tight grooves on both "Gaucho" and "Belly Belly Nice" prove that while they no longer fit the mold of your stereotypical "jam band," DMB still has the chops to take their tunes off the beaten path and cut loose. Indeed, this band is very different both physically and in mentality from the last time Lillywhite produced them, but rather than try to force a "Crash 2.0" kind of sound, Lillywhite and the group quite aptly acknowledged the many sounds this band has explored over the years and captured a sound that puts all those years and songs into perspective.
While entirely coincidental, it's hard not to look at 2009's Big Whiskey And The GrooGrux King outside of the shadow cast by LeRoi Moore's untimely, unfortunate death. While a musically phenomenal album, with the exception of "Shake Me Like A Monkey" and "You & Me" the album features largely ominous subject matter, giving the album an intrinsic wounded sound of great gravity. Away From The World appears to serve as the flip side of the Big Whiskey coin. While the album opens with the pulsing guitar riff of "Broken Things", a sound and song title that appears to set us up for more of the same melancholy sound, Dave quickly pulls the plug on the blues with a soaring chorus "Oh my love is set on you," proving to be the catharsis of the album, giving the listener license to look up, in a sense, and appreciate life's positives, an emotion continued by the wildly catchy "Belly Belly Nice."
Inception-esque tangent: Track 2, "Belly Belly Nice", sounds suspiciously similar to track 2 of Big Whiskey's "Monkey" and features the first mention of Jack And Jill since "What Would You Say," Track 2 of 1994's Under The Table And Dreaming. Who says Radiohead has this big-picture-meanings-in-the-music market cornered?
"Gaucho" features a heavy sound and lyrics providing perspective on the many chapters and shortcomings of humankind (as Dave tends to do sometimes) proving that this album is anything but all sunshine and levity, but even the darker tracks on the album appear to have the underlying tone of hope in their delivery (enter chanting kids). Stripped ballads "Sweet," "Belly Full," and budding single "Mercy" resonate most on this album and are arguably the benchmarks for the unified, flexible sound of the band going forward. In addition, "If Only" is a swooning R&B groove that sounds like it could have been crooned by Marvin Gaye himself.
The album's closer, "Drunken Soldier" is the cherry on top of this musical sundae, featuring intricate guitar, tight horns, and as many layers as the album itself. The track resolves into into a sleepy, chillingly smooth transition into a likely unintentional nod to Pink Floyd's "Breathe" and a likely much more intentional mention of a "satellite." This humble homage to themselves has the effect of giving the listener a feeling of looking down from above at a retrospective of a band whose music has shaped lifetimes. It seems obvious that Dave Matthews Band used this album to look back on their careers... their lives... in much the same way. Away From The World features a Dave Matthews Band mindful of where they've been and excited for a future where their best music may yet still be to come. One can only hope they don't stay Away for too long.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Buckle Up!
The backdrop of an unfortunate end to an improbable post season run by the Baltimore Orioles seems ideal for the recounting of a trip to Camden Yards to take in the final home game of the season for the birds.
I was fortunate enough to make the journey to baseball's "mecca" with my good friend and bird of a feather, Chris Carey (the originator of the above quotes) and Rich Arleo, very much not a fan of the black and orange, who displayed his displeasure with a bold showing of New York team pride. Rich donned his Yankee cap, which is pretty much expected for any and every sojourn we make together, and took his fandom to the next level when he wore his Mark Sanchez New York Jets jersey. Considering there are places in New York where you couldn't get away with wearing that jersey, he was making a bold statement, indeed.
Promptly upon entering the car, Chris made sure to tell us both to "Buckle Up" as this was the new slogan for the Orioles as they came down the stretch of meaningful October baseball. This comment was expected (if he didn't say it, I would have), but we resolved to try and use the phrase ten times before getting to Baltimore, with the only catch being that we didn't want to force the issue and say it for the heck of it. The gauntlet was laid down.
Almost equally as promptly, Chris packed a lip, citing that it was his way of coping with long drives and minutes later Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight" popped on the radio. For but a moment we questioned whether or not we wanted to venture such an intense tune so early in the morning. We came to the conclusion that if it wasn't too early for chewing tobacco, it wasn't too early for Phil Collins. The track appeared to set the tone for the entire day. We made the right choice.
Not the best roots to lay for a story per se, but Chris made unbelievable time getting there and back; incredibly impressive. At one point during the ride in, we spied a massive bird of some sort chilling in a cage in the passenger seat just watching the traffic glide by. Consequent Birdland jokes were traded and after imagining the bird saying buckle up to its driver, we were all the more closer to both the great state of Maryland and our "BUCKle Up" goal. As we pulled into the city, we caught a glimpse of a perhaps inevitable traffic sign reading, "Buckle up for safety" and, while not the most creative of endings, considered our "buckle" goal reached.
Promptly upon entering the car, Chris made sure to tell us both to "Buckle Up" as this was the new slogan for the Orioles as they came down the stretch of meaningful October baseball. This comment was expected (if he didn't say it, I would have), but we resolved to try and use the phrase ten times before getting to Baltimore, with the only catch being that we didn't want to force the issue and say it for the heck of it. The gauntlet was laid down.
Almost equally as promptly, Chris packed a lip, citing that it was his way of coping with long drives and minutes later Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight" popped on the radio. For but a moment we questioned whether or not we wanted to venture such an intense tune so early in the morning. We came to the conclusion that if it wasn't too early for chewing tobacco, it wasn't too early for Phil Collins. The track appeared to set the tone for the entire day. We made the right choice.
Not the best roots to lay for a story per se, but Chris made unbelievable time getting there and back; incredibly impressive. At one point during the ride in, we spied a massive bird of some sort chilling in a cage in the passenger seat just watching the traffic glide by. Consequent Birdland jokes were traded and after imagining the bird saying buckle up to its driver, we were all the more closer to both the great state of Maryland and our "BUCKle Up" goal. As we pulled into the city, we caught a glimpse of a perhaps inevitable traffic sign reading, "Buckle up for safety" and, while not the most creative of endings, considered our "buckle" goal reached.
Stating the obvious here, but as questionable as the outter parts of the city may be, the Inner Harbor area of Baltimore is really a pretty special place that definitely has it's own distinct feel. I equated it, perhaps not quite eloquently enough, to having a Down Port kind of atmosphere with a big city activities list. There's a little of everything there, including a life-sized robot in the image of the tallest man in the history of the world that can rise from a seated position very, very quickly. More about Baltimore's extra curriculars in a bit.
The park itself is nothing short of incredible. If you haven't seen it, be sure you do at some point. I mean, there's that old time feel that I guess every ball park has to an extent, just because it's the nature of the game to take you back in time to something perennial, in a sense, but Camden Yards' brick construction right in the middle of a very populous city really takes the feeling to the next level. Even the vibe at the park was something special. You could tell that A. We weren't in New York and B. The Oriole fans were still a bit unused to being on the winning end of a baseball game. Even the people who stopped to heckle Rich a bit for his attire did all but apologize for it afterwards. (Including the guy who Tebowed in front him.) This truly was a team and fan base that was just happy to be here. One of my favorite shirts I saw while at the park seemed to sum up the attitude of park and its people perfectly as it combined the name of Oriole third baseman, Manny Machado, with a popular "Lion King phrase to say "Hakunamachado." No worries, indeed, what a scene.
One of the other great aspects of this trip was the fact that a few friends from York were also at the game. Lord Baltimore himself (and his peach shorts) took the time to dwell amongst his masses, taking in the game with the lovely Lauren. As if things couldn't get any better, Greg "Poppyseed" Sullivan and Emmie were also in attendance and fortunately, Rich, Chris, and I were able to go sit with them after learning there were some open seats in their section. This move proved most helpful, as we were initially seated next to a nice enough family, but a family with two young kids with them that were clearly more interested in reading books than watching the game. It wasn't exactly conducive to the kind of baseball atmosphere we wanted, so we were relieved Emmie and the Seed swooped in with the seating arrangements.
While not nearly the sore thumb Rich was, Emmie was dressed in neutral colors as a sign of support for the Red Sox. Needless to say, she had a long day as the O's pounced on the Sox like bird seed and pretty much never looked back. At one point, while the Yankees were down large to the Jays and the Jets were in the process of being shut out by the Niners, Rich, sandwiched between Chris and myself proclaimed, "This is my hell." At which point, I told him to "buck up". We didn't exactly make that day easy on him, but considering the Yanks came back and won that day, it's hard to regret it.
After the game, the announcer at the park notified us that the Angels were in the final inning of their game, which, if lost, would clinch a postseason berth for the Orioles. They threw the game up on the big screen and fans and players alike lingered on the field and in the stands respectively to see how it would all pan out. The buzz in the place was electric. Even Rich admitted that this moment had the potential to be really cool. Sadly, the Angels pulled it out and while the O's did clinch later that night, we didn't get to witness and partake in the celebration. Hard to be too upset about it, though, following the victory.
After the game we toiled around the harbor for a while and grabbed a bite to eat with Greg and Emmie. As we walked through the harbor, I noticed a replica pirate ship that I suppose they used for tours or something. I thought it was awesome, until I realized that the cannons actually worked. The thought of midday cannon fire and pillaging is a little alarming, but these cannons only shot water at those on land. To be fair, These guns didn't reach very far inland, but even so, I have to say if I was just strolling around enjoying the day and I was nailed with a water cannon, I don't think I'd take it very well. After it was clear we were out of shot range, we saw a street performer doing her thing. Towards the end of the show, she tried to mount a huge unicycle after turning on the entirely appropriate Rocky theme song. She messed up the first time, but played it off well, stretching and restarting the song. She had played it off like it was a gag. She messed up the second time and grabbed a drink of water and restarted the song. Again, really over selling it like it's all part of her schtick. She screwed up the third time and does more the same, which you expect because of the comedic rule of three. She screws up a fourth time and even then you think it's a part of the gag because she wants to stick it to the know-it-all in the front row referencing the comedic rule of three (namely, me). But then she fails to mount it for a fifth time and doesn't take the time to restart the song. At that point the crowd realizes it's not part of the act and it gets really tense really quickly. The crowd got pretty silent and the theme song now seems like cruel irony. It was awkward because they call it a unicycle for a reason, there's not much someone else can do to help you out. After about eight tries, she finally got up and the crowd erupted nearly as passionately as after the O's win.
Greg and Emmie left after the meal, leaving Chris, Rich and I to wander about ourselves. For a while we were just walking and talking and what have you, until I realized we were walking away from any sort of tourist area and were entering something akin to the dark forest of Legends of the Hidden Temple lore, except there were no trees and no talking rock. Whether or not there were Mayan temple guards lurking about...I'll never know. The comedy of this moment is tough to describe, but we very nearly wander aimlessly into a much less friendly area of Baltimore.
Later that evening, we met up with Nick (Lord) and shot some pool and played some ping pong. It got pretty intense and I think we all wound up sweating a little more than we'd like to admit. It was a great casual hang out to put the cherry on the day. Great to catch up and share old times with Nick and I'm glad Chris and Rich were there to share it with me. The trip was unforgettable and I'm thrilled to know that the Buck Truck is poised to bring Baltimore baseball back to its winning ways. *flaps arms like wings* See you next season.
Jazz Song of the Day: Raju- John McLaughlin
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
