Not an eternal mind. Not a spotless mind. No, not even a mind that is a terrible thing to waste.
Rather a mind, seemingly, in a perpetual state of intense bombardment from the Mothra of suburban, middle class realities. My job.
On the work front, the economy is now going on 4 years of massive, unending volatility and uncertainty. The constant drone of my clients' fear echoes its torturous rhythmn in a never ending parade of dread. Every night, I go to bed thinking tomorrow will be the day it gets better. The sun rises. Tomorrow comes...and it's not the day. So you do it all again. It's Groundhog Day. Only more frightening and real because it's happening to me. If you are a broker, an agent, a financial advisor, you know exactly what I mean. If not, I do know that the pressures of the world spread across the work spectrum and this whiny fit is not my province alone. Just know that, for me, it exists and it leaves one's mind a frazzled goo. Creativity? Judge for yourself in reading these words!
Now, as a mental palatte cleanser, I offer this "soup and crackers" story in six lines or less.
Never before told. One night, I believe in 1977, I had transmitter duty at KRCU in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. This involved logging the plate current and power output every hour on the hour. And I did note the readings, until about 8:30pm when my friend Jeff came by with a bottle of tequila and a yellow, plastic lemon holding artifical lemon juice. The next thing I remember is lying on the floor at 5:00am, the dried remains of regurgitated taco pooled by my mouth. Somehow, the transmitter got turned off. The chicken scratches where notes should be gave no clue. I really love radio! (okay, seven lines!)
Friday, August 26, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Hull City
Alas, Hull City's season has come to an end. Not with a bang. Not even with a whimper. It just came to an end.
Teasing us fans through the second half of the season, Hull mounted a spirited charge toward the playoff zone. The last time they were there in 2008, Dean Windass rifled home a shot from 22 yards out against Bristol City and propelled the Tigers into the Premiership. It was the culmination to an unthinkable Cinderella story. This team of overachievers advancing 4 divisions in four years to the very height of world football. Relegation came soon enough. Back to the Championship and, at least in the beginning, a struggle to maintain even that ranking.
But then it all turned around. Why? As a former goalie, I can offer a theory.
Brad Guzan.
Given my position on the field and in the geographical scheme of things, I've always been partial to the stories of American keepers and their successes in England. Brad Friedel. Kasey Keller. Tim Howard. Hull's own Boaz Myhill (actually born in California but, since the age of one, lived his entire life in Great Britain) All have earned international fame on the pitch "over there".
And then there was Brad Guzan. Loaned to Hull from Aston Villa, the Illinois native anchored a rejuvinated squad that challenged for promotion and brought excitment back to Tiger Stadium. From December 2010 until April 2011, Hull climbed steadily. Unfortunately, Guzan had to go back. The loan, initally for one month, had strecthed into four months and had finally run out. Hull managed a mere point in it's next two matches, eliminating it from the playoffs. If he plays the whole season, it could have been quite a bit different.
Nothing I say here is based on fact. It is my opinion based on news accounts and a general feeling of one who will always be a Hull City fan.
One thing's for certain though. If Hull is getting back to the Premier, they are going to have to do better than Matt Duke, who is, himself, a very fine goalie. Just not in a league with Brad Guzan. Hull has Premiership level talent over most of the field. I hope next season sees an upgrade in the net.
Teasing us fans through the second half of the season, Hull mounted a spirited charge toward the playoff zone. The last time they were there in 2008, Dean Windass rifled home a shot from 22 yards out against Bristol City and propelled the Tigers into the Premiership. It was the culmination to an unthinkable Cinderella story. This team of overachievers advancing 4 divisions in four years to the very height of world football. Relegation came soon enough. Back to the Championship and, at least in the beginning, a struggle to maintain even that ranking.
But then it all turned around. Why? As a former goalie, I can offer a theory.
Brad Guzan.
Given my position on the field and in the geographical scheme of things, I've always been partial to the stories of American keepers and their successes in England. Brad Friedel. Kasey Keller. Tim Howard. Hull's own Boaz Myhill (actually born in California but, since the age of one, lived his entire life in Great Britain) All have earned international fame on the pitch "over there".
And then there was Brad Guzan. Loaned to Hull from Aston Villa, the Illinois native anchored a rejuvinated squad that challenged for promotion and brought excitment back to Tiger Stadium. From December 2010 until April 2011, Hull climbed steadily. Unfortunately, Guzan had to go back. The loan, initally for one month, had strecthed into four months and had finally run out. Hull managed a mere point in it's next two matches, eliminating it from the playoffs. If he plays the whole season, it could have been quite a bit different.
Nothing I say here is based on fact. It is my opinion based on news accounts and a general feeling of one who will always be a Hull City fan.
One thing's for certain though. If Hull is getting back to the Premier, they are going to have to do better than Matt Duke, who is, himself, a very fine goalie. Just not in a league with Brad Guzan. Hull has Premiership level talent over most of the field. I hope next season sees an upgrade in the net.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Yes Dear Reader
Dear Reader is actually me as, so far, no one has viewed this blog other than me and my wife, and she has not come back!
The hot water heater is gasping its last, tax payment is due today and I'm still 18 years away from retirement. Yet, I still find life remarkably worth living (as an old mayor friend of mine used to say) and even the prospect of trudging off to a mindnumbingly boring job does nothing to dampen my spirit. Of course, it doesn't hurt that my paycheck is quite large and affords our family certain creature comforts!!
By the way, Mark McGwire should be in the hall and Hamilton Fish was my very first foray into broadcasting.
Now, to turn on the shower and see how cold and impersonal it can be!
The hot water heater is gasping its last, tax payment is due today and I'm still 18 years away from retirement. Yet, I still find life remarkably worth living (as an old mayor friend of mine used to say) and even the prospect of trudging off to a mindnumbingly boring job does nothing to dampen my spirit. Of course, it doesn't hurt that my paycheck is quite large and affords our family certain creature comforts!!
By the way, Mark McGwire should be in the hall and Hamilton Fish was my very first foray into broadcasting.
Now, to turn on the shower and see how cold and impersonal it can be!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Ol' S Turns 50!!
Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday ol' S! Happy Birthday to you.
The giddiness is palpable. A special anniversary is taking place this year. One that has been anticipated for a long, long time. Ol' S is 50! 50 years old. Eligible for AARP and a 10% discount at IHOP. (something I, myself, now use) For so long, it felt like this day would never arrive. It has and I am the proudest owner that ever wound a string.
Ol' S is my guitar. You see it, resplendant on a Cracker Barrel blanket, in the picture atop this blog. What we have is a 1961 SG special with a single tailpiece and natural cherry finish. S came into my life in 1977 in Scott City, Missouri. David Daniels, I wonder what he's doing these days, offered it to me for $125.00 and I jumped at the chance. Back then, as a stupid, starving college student, $125 might as well have well been a million. But I scraped it together and S and I became a team. Through the years, it has laid on the floor, stood in a closet, played some gigs and generally been by my side through life's adventures.
S earned its trial by fire in the rock blues ensemble "Puke". If memeory serves me correct, Puke consisted of myself, the aforementioned David Daniels, Billy Dodson, Randy Briggs, Tim Wade, Billy Briggs Jeff Jackson, Bob "Turk" Jackson and Race Car Roy. We would spend hours on stage in a rural high school auditorium playing to no one and having the time of our lives. Allman brothers, Whishbone Ash, UFO and a few others I can not recall where practiced over and over again. Eventually, we took over a rural farm house where we could drink beer, smoke squares and enjoy life as only an irresponsible 23 year old could. The culmination of that run happened when Puke took to the stage for a community gathering. Renamed "Race Car Roy" to appease the less enlightened in the audience, we burned through a set that culminated in the long lost, but still inspiring original, "Pull Down Your Panties Lorraine"
And while I look back to that time with affection and whimsy, I would have to pinpoint the highlight in our relationship to one magical day in 1980 and the front room of Darryl McQuinn's house. Darryl, Tony Fagfolia and myself shared the two story Victorian Style abode in Edwardsville, Illionois. Both of my roomies were accomplished musicians, they actually made money, and Tony had run across a Sony 4 track reel to reel recorder to practice some licks. He was away one afternoon and I was alone in the house, just me and S. I plugged in and layed down a basic track F,C,G. Layed down a second track of fingerpicking the same chords and two tracks of riffs and leads. For that one magical afternoon, I was able to play a seamless run of anything I willed my fingers to do. As Ringo Starr once said, there's me and my drumming and then there's Rain. Well, as a crappy guitar player I can honestly say there's me and my playing and then there's that one afternoon. Somewhere in a box, buried deep in a closet, or garage, or attic, is that tape.
Ol' S was one of the few reasons I stayed sane in Manhattan, Kansas and stood by me as the media took me from Missouri, to Mississippi and to Arkansas.
And now, it's 50! They grow up so fast. I plan on getting it appraised this year. Sort of a half century birthday present. And while I will never sell this one of a kind personal treasure, I would like it to know just what value it has in dollars and cents. It has been invaluable in the 34 years we've been together. Let's try for another 34.
Unless, of course, it's worth something!!!!
The giddiness is palpable. A special anniversary is taking place this year. One that has been anticipated for a long, long time. Ol' S is 50! 50 years old. Eligible for AARP and a 10% discount at IHOP. (something I, myself, now use) For so long, it felt like this day would never arrive. It has and I am the proudest owner that ever wound a string.
Ol' S is my guitar. You see it, resplendant on a Cracker Barrel blanket, in the picture atop this blog. What we have is a 1961 SG special with a single tailpiece and natural cherry finish. S came into my life in 1977 in Scott City, Missouri. David Daniels, I wonder what he's doing these days, offered it to me for $125.00 and I jumped at the chance. Back then, as a stupid, starving college student, $125 might as well have well been a million. But I scraped it together and S and I became a team. Through the years, it has laid on the floor, stood in a closet, played some gigs and generally been by my side through life's adventures.
S earned its trial by fire in the rock blues ensemble "Puke". If memeory serves me correct, Puke consisted of myself, the aforementioned David Daniels, Billy Dodson, Randy Briggs, Tim Wade, Billy Briggs Jeff Jackson, Bob "Turk" Jackson and Race Car Roy. We would spend hours on stage in a rural high school auditorium playing to no one and having the time of our lives. Allman brothers, Whishbone Ash, UFO and a few others I can not recall where practiced over and over again. Eventually, we took over a rural farm house where we could drink beer, smoke squares and enjoy life as only an irresponsible 23 year old could. The culmination of that run happened when Puke took to the stage for a community gathering. Renamed "Race Car Roy" to appease the less enlightened in the audience, we burned through a set that culminated in the long lost, but still inspiring original, "Pull Down Your Panties Lorraine"
And while I look back to that time with affection and whimsy, I would have to pinpoint the highlight in our relationship to one magical day in 1980 and the front room of Darryl McQuinn's house. Darryl, Tony Fagfolia and myself shared the two story Victorian Style abode in Edwardsville, Illionois. Both of my roomies were accomplished musicians, they actually made money, and Tony had run across a Sony 4 track reel to reel recorder to practice some licks. He was away one afternoon and I was alone in the house, just me and S. I plugged in and layed down a basic track F,C,G. Layed down a second track of fingerpicking the same chords and two tracks of riffs and leads. For that one magical afternoon, I was able to play a seamless run of anything I willed my fingers to do. As Ringo Starr once said, there's me and my drumming and then there's Rain. Well, as a crappy guitar player I can honestly say there's me and my playing and then there's that one afternoon. Somewhere in a box, buried deep in a closet, or garage, or attic, is that tape.
Ol' S was one of the few reasons I stayed sane in Manhattan, Kansas and stood by me as the media took me from Missouri, to Mississippi and to Arkansas.
And now, it's 50! They grow up so fast. I plan on getting it appraised this year. Sort of a half century birthday present. And while I will never sell this one of a kind personal treasure, I would like it to know just what value it has in dollars and cents. It has been invaluable in the 34 years we've been together. Let's try for another 34.
Unless, of course, it's worth something!!!!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
And so it begins...
My job offers ample opportunity for a wandering mind and I've utilized that time in developing a huge array of useless thoughts and pursuits. So many thoughts are running through my head as to what should be first. After more thought than this decision deserves, the categories have been whittled down to three, all of which will be explored at some point in time. The three...Hamilton Fish, my unnatural disdain of Foriegner and Mark McGwire in the hall.
I'm leaning toward choice number two as I really do, genuinely, dislike this band. Not merely for its ability to produce insipid waste in the form of poorly written and produced pop drivel, but for its complete assimilation and subsequent burying of one of the greatest rock saxaphone talents ever to wet a reed.
If you need evidence to support my first assertion, look no further than the guitar solo from Foriegner's 1978 hit, "Hot Blooded". The band's co-founder, Mick Jones, begins his schtick competently enough. But soon, he's falling all over himself, slipping strings and missing frets in a recording that is unbelieveable in the fact they left it on tape and in the song. A quick disclaimer. Jones is a credible professional guitar player. Much better than I could ever hope to be. But to leave an abomination like that in a song that is supposed to be your signature is unforgiveable.
And, honestly I could ignore that, subscribing to the motto, "If you don't like it, don't listen".
That leads to my second assertion.
Ian McDonald co-founded Foriegner with Jones in 1976. It was a wildly successful venture for the two. But think for a moment what comes to mind when you think of the band. Certainly not Saxaphone. And that's a shame. McDonald co-founded another band previous to Foreigner in 1969. King Crimson was the brainchild of Robert Fripp. The talents of multi instrumentalist McDonald fit in well with his concept of jazz-fusion tinged rock. If you've not listened to their first album, "In the Court of the Crimson King", do yourself a favor. It can be more than a bit pretentious at times. However, it is also loaded with gobs of entertaining twists and turns, all prominantly featuring brilliant saxaphone work by McDonald. To compare this to his later efforts with Foriegner really does bring a small tear to my eye. He recorded only the one studio album with King Crimson. And aside from Foriegner, McDonald has been, and still is, a featured session player for a wide range of acts. But nothing he's done since has come close to the magic he brought to the table some 41 years ago.
As my closing comment, I do understand the value of a paycheck. Foriegner allowed McDonald a much better lifestyle and level of financial comfort than anything he has done before or since. I will never fault a person for making it big. I just rue the path taken to that success and the loss of what might have been.
And so it begins...
I'm leaning toward choice number two as I really do, genuinely, dislike this band. Not merely for its ability to produce insipid waste in the form of poorly written and produced pop drivel, but for its complete assimilation and subsequent burying of one of the greatest rock saxaphone talents ever to wet a reed.
If you need evidence to support my first assertion, look no further than the guitar solo from Foriegner's 1978 hit, "Hot Blooded". The band's co-founder, Mick Jones, begins his schtick competently enough. But soon, he's falling all over himself, slipping strings and missing frets in a recording that is unbelieveable in the fact they left it on tape and in the song. A quick disclaimer. Jones is a credible professional guitar player. Much better than I could ever hope to be. But to leave an abomination like that in a song that is supposed to be your signature is unforgiveable.
And, honestly I could ignore that, subscribing to the motto, "If you don't like it, don't listen".
That leads to my second assertion.
Ian McDonald co-founded Foriegner with Jones in 1976. It was a wildly successful venture for the two. But think for a moment what comes to mind when you think of the band. Certainly not Saxaphone. And that's a shame. McDonald co-founded another band previous to Foreigner in 1969. King Crimson was the brainchild of Robert Fripp. The talents of multi instrumentalist McDonald fit in well with his concept of jazz-fusion tinged rock. If you've not listened to their first album, "In the Court of the Crimson King", do yourself a favor. It can be more than a bit pretentious at times. However, it is also loaded with gobs of entertaining twists and turns, all prominantly featuring brilliant saxaphone work by McDonald. To compare this to his later efforts with Foriegner really does bring a small tear to my eye. He recorded only the one studio album with King Crimson. And aside from Foriegner, McDonald has been, and still is, a featured session player for a wide range of acts. But nothing he's done since has come close to the magic he brought to the table some 41 years ago.
As my closing comment, I do understand the value of a paycheck. Foriegner allowed McDonald a much better lifestyle and level of financial comfort than anything he has done before or since. I will never fault a person for making it big. I just rue the path taken to that success and the loss of what might have been.
And so it begins...
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