Author: ICRTD

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Finding Rhythm

I spent my morning blasting Foo Fighters for about four hours while I caught up on my online reading.

Fwiw, it seems as though many of my friends are musicians of some sort. I don’t mean that in a negative way in the least, even though it may come across that way. What I mean is, I don’t know any touring musicians. I’ve met a couple in one way or another, but I mean of the people I know, off the top of my head, probably ten or more play an instrument. And of that group, it seems most are drummers. I don’t know what, if anything, that says about me (or them) but it just struck me as odd.

I bring this up because late last night news broke of the sudden and unexpected passing of Taylor Hawkins, the drummer of Foo Fighters. Now, I don’t claim to be a huge fan of theirs, I like them, I listen to them from time to time, but I don’t for example have any real desire to see them in concert. This may seem odd to the casual reader among you, since I do consider myself an avid concertgoer, but I think due to their popularity if for no other reason, I’d consider them an arena rock band and that’s not an environment I particularly enjoy. Sometimes I get a little twitchy getting bounced into by random people (even in the Before Times) at the smaller venues I typically inhabit and the thought of getting crammed in with 40 or 50,000 other people just isn’t appealing to me.

But before I digress any further, let me try and return to my original point. Hawkins, 50, was on tour with the rest of the band in South America when he passed. As of this morning no other details were released, and I don’t know that anything relevant will be. Not that it should matter to any of us that aren’t related to him, you know? I mean, obviously, human nature being what it is, there is some curiosity, but what matters is a family lost their father/husband and a band lost their brother-in-arms and the rest of us should just leave it at that as far as I’m concerned. Maybe instead of letting our minds wander to some darker place, we should take some time to listen to someone who, as the Roots Music site No Depression wrote earlier today, was a drummer that was “ferocious, yet joyful” when he played and just be grateful we had the chance to listen to him for as long as we did while we send strength and light to those that loved him and will feel his loss for the rest of their days.

Rest In Peace Taylor Hawkins, and may we all find something in our lives that we perform in a ferocious, yet joyful manner.

I feel like I got a little preachy there, and I apologize if I did, but I don’t apologize for the sentiment. By and large, the general public doesn’t need to know details behind the demise of someone outside of our personal orbits. The exception being if there is some benefit to the greater populace. Here’s an example, kinda.

By this point in time we all know that purchases on over the counter meds like, for example Claritin D, are regulated by the federal government so that you cannot buy more than 9 grams, roughly 2 teaspoons, because some cracker ass cooked meth from it in his bathtub. Now, you might surmise that since a stimulant is made from this base substance that, in turn, Claritin D would also have somewhat of a stimulant effect on a person.

You might, but I didn’t last night.

We here in central North Carolina are in the early stages of The Pollening, as witnessed by the lovely yellow hue my truck has taken on. As a result, my sinuses are wreaking havoc on the rest of my head, with Claritin D being about the only thing bringing me any relief. Typically, I buy it in a package containing 15 capsules, each providing 24 hour relief. I take it in the morning and I’m good ish for the day. Except for the fact that, for whatever reason, the drug stores in my fair town were out of the 24 hour variety earlier this week. I don’t know why, but I found it odd that two different chains were both out. Idk, maybe it’s also cooking season, but this time I had to buy a package with 30 of the 12 hour capsules. I had been sticking with my regular morning pop, but last night I was feeling it in my head (this always reminds me of the old joke “Does your face hurt? Well, it’s killing me!”) so I took another 12 hour pill around 9:00, just before we went to bed. I did give brief pause to what the effects might include, but figured it’d wear off in an hour or so.

HAH!

I got roughly zero hours of sleep last night. But apparently if I ever need to make an overnight drive anywhere I can just pop an otc decongestant to get wherever I need. I don’t know what else to attribute it to, but what I do know is it sucked. I moved out to the couch around 11:00 and #LillyNO was gracious enough to share it with me. B2 had to work this morning and I didn’t want to take a chance on waking her (B2 that is, not Lilly) as I tossed and turned, literally all night. I should clarify, it’s not like I had the shakes or anything, I was just awake. Like unable to sleep. I finally started to feel a little tired around the time her alarm went off so I just made it official and got up to have a cup of coffee. Fortunately we don’t have any plans for the evening, so if I end up calling it a night in the immediate aftermath of dinner, so be it.

And I’ll be calling it a night without any decongestant.

Ok, last thing, this post has been accompanied by the last album from the late Justin Townes Earle; The Saint Of Lost Causes, and if you’ve never listened to it, you should. It’s wonderful. He was a wonderfully talented, troubled young man. And also gone too soon. Maybe that’s what drew me to that album this morning, I don’t know. But it was a good call.

Peace

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Writer’s Block

I’ve been struggling to compose anything that made sense/brought joy to me of late, so I thought I’d try and break my slump here. To be sure, this isn’t the type of “slump-buster” you may be familiar with, I have no plans for anything nefarious, merely trying to switch things up a little. I don’t have a theme for today per se, rather I’ll try and do a “hit to all fields” post for the occasion.

After looking at that last paragraph, I’ve apparently got baseball on my brain, what with all the references. Ok, let’s start there. If you’ve followed the lack of action on that front for the last several months, you may be aware that Major League Baseball (MLB) and the Players Association (MLBPA) recently agreed on a new collective bargaining agreement after a lockout that lasted 99 days. If you have ever read any of my stuff before, or if you know me IRL, I think you’ll know that; A.) I love baseball, B.) I support union workers period, and C.) I’m a lifelong Cubs fan. Let me add to that by saying; D.) I’m what you might call somewhat political. While I’m not argumentative by nature (there are some that just need to hold their thoughts right about now, just sayin’) I have felt the need to stand my ground from time-to-time on various topics. Here’s one that has been building for a long time and the recent lockout proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back- I’m done with the Cubs.

I’m done giving my support to an ownership group that has, at almost every turn, stood for things I vehemently oppose. Every inside piece I’ve ever seen about the family that owns the Cubs has been filled with disdain for the common fan. Almost every move they have made since taking over the team has been done to deepen their own personal pockets. Now don’t misunderstand me, I understand that it’s a business, and the point of a business is, to my simple mind, to turn a profit. I get that. But when you turn a healthy profit and cry poor, well that gets old. Through readily available public sources, the family that owns the Cubs paid $845 million for them in 2009 and as of March 2021, according to Forbes magazine, the ball club was valued at $3.36 billion dollars. So don’t tell me you can’t afford to pay your employees. And it’s not just them, I’m sure a similar search through any number of ownership groups would produce similar results. And yet, MLB chose to lockout the MLBPA last December and sit idly for 43 days before restarting negotiations. And fought them every. single. step. of the way.

So thanks for the 2016 season and the World Series, but I’m out.

I’m not going to go any deeper into this particular topic, I just submitted my article for the Illinois retired fire person magazine and I feel like they should have a little exclusivity as far as my views on the topic go. So. Moving right along.

I’m often fond of weather bragging when it’s beautiful down here. So I feel the need to weather shame a little today. It’s. Frickin’. Cold. Like, I had to get my old Carhartt winter jacket back out of the closet this morning. Granted, those of you back in the Greater Burlington Metropolitan Area (aka northern Illinois) might cast a wayward glance at me for whining about rain and 40ยบ but I’ll not change my position that this is just not right. The fact that the coming week should be pretty seasonal if not a little better is small consolation to me today. I’m cold. And a little crabby too. But a lovely latte and firing my thoughts off on my laptop are helping to abate that misery.

Music, of course, helps. How’s that for a segue? For my listening pleasure today I’ve got Joe Pug pumping through the headphones. Today is the first time I’ve ever listened to him, possibly even the first time I had heard of him although the name does strike me as kind of familiar. I was scrolling through the Twitterz this morning and I saw a post from Jason Isbell that linked to a Joe Pug song, so I gave it a listen. The song was Bury Me Far (from My Uniform) and it blew me away. I apologize for the ads on the link, if I knew how to put one up without them, I certainly would, but I guess that’s the way YT does business… Anyway, back to the music, yeah, if you’re unfamiliar with Joe Pug, give him a listen. He’s actually playing in Chicago next month on the 15th at Tonic Room and if anyone goes, I’d love to hear your thoughts. I can’t wait for him to get down to the southeast, we’ll definitely go check him out.

Imma wrap this one up briefly by continuing the musical vibe, we’re off to see Graham Nash on Tuesday over in Durham. I’m really looking forward to it too. I saw CSN many years ago, Diane and I went with the Great Vincenzo and Terri to the United Center. The band was at the opposite end of the stadium from us, but it was a great show nonetheless. There have been countless protest songs written throughout the history of recorded music, but I wonder if anyone, anywhere has ever written one as beautiful musically as To The Last Whale: I. Critical Mass, II. Wind On The Water because I don’t know if it’s possible. Again, sorry if you get the ads, but enjoy the music. I know I do.

Peace.

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Confessions of a Budding Fat Guy

One of the things I have learned, probably too late in life, but I’ve learned it nevertheless, is how pervasive body-shaming is and how wrong it is. Self reflection also taught me how often I was guilty of it in the past. I made a conscious effort a few years back to stop doing it, and it wasn’t as difficult as I feared it would be. I mean, really, it’s more about being a decent human being than anything, right? That shouldn’t be too hard for any of us.

I wrote that as a segue to this – the title is absolutely, totally, unequivocally, this guy. And, fwiw, I have no problem body shaming myself when necessary. If you know me IRL, maybe even only if you know me from here, you probably know I have an affinity for baked goods. Sweets, in general really, but more specifically pastries and the like. Ice cream has been a big part of my life for a long time too. I can’t help it, I just love the stuff. In the past I’ve always gotten away with eating those types of things with no regard for weight gain due to my metabolism and/or genetics I guess. I’ve been accused, on more than one occasion and by more than one person, that I have the dietary habits of a garbage truck.

Guilty as charged.

But, as I said, in the past it never really affected me. I was able to stay around 195 pounds pretty consistently for a pretty long time. And the time or two where my weight did jump up over 200 pounds I was able to cut back on careless eating habits and get things back under control fairly easily.

Those days are, apparently, behind me. Along with a rather ample rear end. In front of me however, is the prospect of moonlighting as one of Santa’s department store helpers. And I wish I was joking about that. B2 got one of those high techy scales from her parents (her request) for Christmas. I should specify that she wanted it for herself, not because she thought I needed it. She has been nothing but kind about my expanding horizon. I, on the other hand, have become increasingly agitated with myself. Anyway, I started using the scale this past week, not every day, but probably four of the last five days. Much to my dismay, the numbers on the digital display rose like the express elevator in a skyscraper. As it stopped at 215 pounds this morning, I made a decision. I went out to the kitchen and threw out every last one of the delightful little nuggets left.

I’m swearing off sweets/pastries/baked goods/whatever for the foreseeable future.

However long that may be.

This is not an easy thing for me to do, but I’m really left with no choice. It seems I’ve finally reached the point where my body will no longer let me eat like an unsupervised 8 year old. Frankly, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. But maybe it makes some sense. I’m roughly the same age now as my Dad was when he retired. As far back as I can recall, Dad weighed around 165 pounds. Until he retired. Then he grew a little bit of a paunch. I guess I’m there. Judging from what I see in the mirror and on the scale, I’m past there. Also, as I’m putting this missive together, I feel like there’s a little bit more redundancy than I’d normally like. Typically, if I catch myself doing that, I’ll either apologize for it, or go back and edit what I’ve written to resolve it. I think I’m ok with it today, I probably need to keep rubbing this mess in my face.

So it’s cold turkey for me. That approach has worked for me in the past, specifically when I’ve quit smoking. Maybe by throwing that stuff in the garbage, I’ll be able to pull this off too. I told B2 this morning that I’m going to get back out and start walking too. Can’t hurt, might help, right? That’s the same reason I decided to post about this, put a little extra pressure on myself by going public.

One last thing before I move on to the musical portion. Don’t expect this to turn in to a regular feature. I don’t plan on doing any kind of an update on this A.) because I don’t think anyone cares so much that they would want to follow along with my “misery” and B.) I feel like this particular topic is pretty boring and I’d much rather write things about stuff I enjoy writing about.

Peace

PS

Here’s today’s musical guest – John Moreland. Again. I really wasn’t going to listen to him today, had other stuff queued up, but when I sat down at the coffeehouse and said hi to the owner/barista she mentioned she hadn’t had a chance to give him a listen yet. The backstory there is; she has a sign in the shop that says “Long Live The Songwriter” so one day I asked her who her favorite songwriter was. She was kind of stumped I guess, cause she answered by asking who mine was. I told her in my case the answer was kind of transient, depending on my mood, etc. but that currently my favorite was John Moreland. She was unfamiliar with him, but wrote his name down and said she’d give him a listen. So, when I walked in this morning, she asked his name again and put him on the house system. So my decision was made for me. I have no complaints.

About anything really.

Other than my waistline.

Again, Peace

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About Last Week

I know I’ve mentioned this before, how I tend to obsess over things like typos, spelling errors, and botched grammar (but not the Oxford comma. Never the Oxford comma) and how, on occasion, I’ll go back over and reread an older post and something glaring will jump out at me that I missed, despite proofreading these posts multiple times in a couple different formats. In fact, I’ve probably mentioned a few times over the years I’ve been doing this. Because I am, in fact, obsessed with not putting out a shoddy product.

I also know that I mentioned specifically that the subject last week might have been a little repetitive, but that I didn’t care since blah, blah, blah. Tbh, I still don’t and I stand by that statement fwiw.

Now, having said all that, the other day I happened to glance at the post that preceded last weeks post. It was dated August 27th and the post was titled Southernisms, in case you’ve forgotten. As I scrolled through the post, what to my wondering eyes should appear? No, not a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. Rather, it was an introduction to a new feature wherein I tell you all about whatever musical selection I’ve got running around my brain whilst hammering away at the keyboard. You know, remarkably similar to the way I ended last weeks submission. At least it was a different band. I think I would’ve felt even dumber if I happened to be listening to the same one each time. Which brings to light something else of which I’ll need to keep track. *makes note to self not to repeat bands*

As I’ve said before, I’ll look for typos all the live-long day, and while some things might strike me as familiar, if I’m not overly concerned with repeating something I’ve written some time ago, that’s about the extent of it. But from one post to the next is a little bit closer than I care to leave things. Of course if I wrote things about stuff here more frequently, this probably wouldn’t happen, right Ray? Guilty as charged on that one.

So let me just go on the record here and apologize to you all for my carelessness. It left me pretty aggravated, I assure you, and I’ll try to make sure I don’t do dumb stuff like that again. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa. *skypoint to Dear Abby*

I’ve got an idea. instead of leaving you all with the bitter taste of me flubbing a relatively simple task, why don’t I leave you with a new feature I’ve been think about adding here? Sitting in a new coffeehouse in town (Bold Coffee Co.) with a little pre-concertgoing taste of American Aquarium. >insert sound of a record skipping here<

Since I pondered this one for a few days, the American Aquarium concert is now in the rear view mirror. B2 and I went up to The Ramkat in Winston Salem this past weekend to see AA with Tommy Prine as their opener. This is the second time we’ve seen Tommy Prine, and man he’s off to a good start on his career. As a songwriter it’s easy to see that he learned his chops from his Dad, the late, great John Prine and he seems pretty at ease on stage. This show was also a first in that, prior to Saturday, I’ve never sprung for a VIP upgrade to any of the shows I’ve gone to. So this entitled us to a pre-show picture with the band…

I give these guys a lot of credit for posing with a bunch of knuckleheads every night, lol

three acoustic songs from front man BJ Barham, followed by a little Q&A with him. We both enjoyed it quite a bit too. A small group, only nine of us, made for an even more intimate feel. One of the other guests asked him a question along the lines of “If you could hear any album again for the first time, which one would it be?” After a brief moment BJ put up In The Throes by John Moreland and it was such a good choice. He talked about how much respect he has for John as a songwriter and he’s spot on. I first heard/saw Moreland play in Memphis in 2018 and I was hooked. I’ve seen him I think three times since then, including last month at The Ramkat and he’s on the lineup for February at Haw River Ballroom (my favorite venue out here) and I already can’t wait. So, as I write up the rest of this “sorry I screwed up” post I’m listening to In The Throes and trying hard not to sing along here at the coffeehouse. I’ve mentioned before how sometimes I’ll read something and think to myself “you have no right calling what you do writing” and listening to John Moreland’s lyrics confirms to me that he is one of the people that makes me think that. He’s that good.

Imma leave this one a little short, there are other things I need to accomplish today. So in case I don’t get back here before, I wish you a joyful holiday, whichever one you may celebrate, and here’s to a peaceful, happy and healthy year to come.

Peace

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All I Want For Christmas

This one kinda hit me this morning so I thought I’d better jump on it and see what I can build. I think I’ve done something similar in the past, but tbh I’m not interested in checking, and besides, even if I did, I’m fairly confident this’ll be different enough that there won’t be a bunch of overlap. Even if there is some, everybody likes reruns now and again, right?

Yes, I totally glossed over the fact that I haven’t put anything up here in a good long while. I’ve also conveniently tuned out any voices that may or may not have been harping at me to do something here (I’m looking in your general direction now Ray) but I have, in fact been typing, occasionally furiously, on something else and managed to add several thousand words to it over the last few months. So there’s that.

But now, onward!

With the holiday approaching, whichever one you may celebrate, I felt like this would be a good time to share my thoughts on giving. B2 and I were talking about Christmas the other day, specifically about gift giving. And as I laid out my thoughts, a sometimes opaque process, I’ll grant you that, she saw where I was headed and agreed with me completely. I’d like to share those thoughts with you all (all 7 of you faithful readers) here in case anyone feels moved to appropriate the idea.

I have a pretty good life, by any measure. I have a nice home (due in no small part to the presence of B2 but that’s a story for another time), I have a nice car, I have more clothes than I need and a surprising number of shoes, especially if you’ll recall my comments from a much earlier post about how living with Diane and Caitlin was like living with Imelda Marcos. And if you’re too young to remember Imelda Marcos, I suggest you take a second and GTS “Imelda Marcos and shoes” and this will become crystal clear to you. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I have gotten to the point in my life where I don’t really need anything and if I decide I want something, I go and buy it for myself. This is not to say I’m a Rockefeller (again, too young? GTS the name) by any means, merely that, by and large, life has been pretty darn kind to me. I mean, when my time to shuffle off this mortal coil comes, my kids are not going to become independently wealthy. This should not be breaking news to any of them btw, and if it is, well I guess they’re not quite as bright as I’d given them credit for being. I mean I’m not going to leave them nothing, they’ll surely be able to enjoy a lovely plate of nachos or some similar, tasty, small plate on my largesse.

Bon appรฉtit you guys!

As I was saying…

Typically, my tendency to buy for myself is not a problem for anyone concerned. However I recognize the stress this can put on my loved ones, particularly around this time of year, well, you feel me, right? So I told B2 instead of spending money on each other, with the exception of surcee type things, stocking stuffers if you will, we should instead look for someone or something in the community that can use a hand up around this time of year. I also reached out to my kids and suggested instead of getting me something their money would be better spent making a contribution to the non-profit of their choice. I made the same request to half of B2‘s kids too. Haven’t had the chance to tell her other one yet, but that’ll be taken care of soon. When her son asked me last week what was on my list, I explained my thoughts. His first comment was confirming Ryan did a run for one and when I told him yes, he said that was where they’d make their donation.

That, my friends, is the essence of what I’d like my Christmas to be. Taking care of those less fortunate. I’m a little embarrassed it’s taken me this long in my life to realize the things that are truly important, but there’s no time like the present to go about doing the right thing, you know? I read an aphorism a while back, that, while I’m certain isn’t new, was the first time I read it and it kind of struck a chord with me. It said –

“The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The second best time is today.”

Man, that was a throat punch to my sense of self satisfaction. It really helped to form this whole thought process too. I should’ve planted this tree some time ago. But I didn’t. So I’m planting it today. And I’m grateful B2 jumped right on it too. Just another of the many reasons I’m fortunate to have found her.

I guess that’s about all I’m trying to get across here today. I hope it helps inspire someone else with a little extra this year to give to those in need. If you’ve been doing this already, good on you, I’m proud to know you. If you’re not at the point in your life where you can do this, I totally get it. File this little gem away for when that time comes for you.

Remember the tree.

And, of course…

Peace

PS- Geez I really haven’t done one of these in a long damn time. I thought I’d try and add something to these posts, infrequent though they may be. I’m almost always at a coffeehouse when I fire off one of these potential Pulitzer nominees and probably equally as often I’ve got something bouncing between my ears at a reasonable decibel level *ahem* and I thought, for the sake of idk what, I’d include the particular artist in the post. So for the inaugural edition, today’s musical guest has been Turnpike Troubadours. It’s been a pretty enjoyable ride too, I must say. Their selection was triggered by a post I saw a couple days ago that their frontman got himself sober and the band is going back out on the road. This is great news for them, of course and on many levels, but for anyone that has ever seen them live it’s a pretty damn good day. They are a rollicking good time live, I assure you and I’m looking forward to them hitting this part of the country.

Ok, that’s all I’ve got for ya. Be well, happy holidays and all that stuff!

Peace

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Southernisms – The Sequel

Today feels like a good day for a little light-hearted fare. So if you’ll allow me to play Mr. Language Person (with apologies to Dave Barry) then let’s dive right in to a few more southernisms, shall we?

Astute and/or long time readers of this page may recall (and it should be easy since production numbers have been pretty low this year) a semi-recent post in which I referenced my immersion into the dialect of the American southeast. Of course I’ve been compiling additions to the list since the seed for the original post was planted with the intention of doing exactly this, so, without further ado, here you are.

One afternoon, a handful of weeks back we had one of those days where it was simultaneously sunny and raining. Not exactly a rarity on par with finding a four leaf clover, or hitting the lotto, but pretty uncommon nonetheless. When B2 asked me if I knew what this phenomenon was called, I must admit, my first thought was not “Oh good, more fodder for the blog!” But it might’ve flashed in almost instantly after, as she told me…

“It means the devil is beating his wife.”

I’ll pause here briefly, to kinda let that one bounce around your brain as it did mine…

I’ve gotta say right here, I had no clue what she was going to say; but that particular group of words, in that particular order, was not something I would have ever guessed prior to hearing them. And, even though I didn’t doubt what she was saying was, in fact, a thing, I felt the need to go ahead and GTS that phrase. Lo and behold, it’s an actual thing here in the south.

Now, for your further education (because, hey, I’m nothing if not helpful) and in no particular order, here are more of my favorite Southernisms-

Let’s say you’re sitting outside, enjoying a lovely evening. Save for one thing. Getting dive-bombed by those blood-sucking, little, flying bastards aka mosquitos. And they’re feasting on you. You’ve been “bug bit”. As in-

“I was sitting in the carport but I had to come back in, I was getting bug bit.

Or suppose you’re spending your Saturday morning by strolling around downtown. You’ve decided you’d like to stop by the farmer’s market for some fresh, home-grown produce. As you’re making your way leisurely around the center of town you encounter an acquaintance and, in passing, you casually mention you’d like to stop by said farmer’s market for some peaches. (This btw is getting near to the end of the season for them and if you happen to be traveling south, I encourage you to grab some, they are amazing.) Your friend has a warning for you that includes the Southernism “get gone”. This is how the conversation might go-

“Honey you’d best get there right now before they get gone”

I feel like I should point out here, that both of the examples above are not in a southern dialect. I’m still y’all-less. Mostly. I did throw one out recently (to other drivers. I know, right? Who could’ve guessed?) but I’m not sure it counts since I was in Illinois when it happened. And it still feels disingenuous on my part to start trying to speak like someone that has spent the better part, or all of, their life living in the south. For better or worse, I’m a midwesterner and my speech patterns, ingrained for lo these many (many. Many. MANY.) years are with me to the end. And I’m ok with that fwiw.

Moving on, here’s another southernism, kinda. It’s something near and dear to my heart and tbh it took me by surprise just how wonderful I found it to be. Hand Pies (trust me, the capitalization is deserved). These things are the real deal, yet based on my childhood I never expected them to be. Most, if not all of you are likely aware of Hostess fruit pies. They were, in my case, a random, pleasant addition to my parents trips to the grocery store. And they were fine when I was 12. But at some point you realize that they are, in essence, cardboard quality pastry dough with jelly smeared on the inside, and watered down glazing on the outside. Again, it was fine for the childhood me, but I outgrew them and, as an adult, never really had the conscious thought of “I need to buy some next time I go to the store.” Living down here I’ve seen Hand Pies (I’ve made the editorial decision that, henceforth, just as RVCB’s! will always have an exclamation point, Hand Pies shall always be capitalized.) on menus in a few different southern comfort food type restaurants, and tried them at one of my favorite places in my town. And that one was significantly better than the commercially made product of my youth. But recently we stopped in at a coffeehouse/bakery in Winston-Salem on a visit to the parents of B2 , at a place called Lavender and Honey. On the display counter I noticed a collection of Hand Pies, peach in this case, and they looked amazing. Better than the ones I’d seen here previously. So I ordered one. Can I just take a minute here while I flash back on that in my mind?

OH MY FRICKIN’ GOD IT WAS INCREDIBLE!!!

Like, incredible as in I heard a gospel choir in full throat busting out in my head when I stopped to think about them just now.

Fluffy, light, flavorful, lovely. I mean they were so damn good I’m compiling a list of felonies I’d be willing to commit just to get another one. It’s about a 45 minute drive up there, so it’s not like I can just hop over and get one. I mean, of course, I could do that, but I’ve got to have some semblance of restraint, you know? Especially when I consider how hard it was to get into my suit last weekend. Oof. Go ahead and insert a “fat guy in a little coat” mental image here if you like, cause god knows I tried to insert one into the post and couldn’t. But yeah, that’s pretty much spot on.

I guess that’s about all I’m going to attempt here today. Except for one more thing. I think I’m going to start a new ‘feature within the feature’ kinda thing starting with today’s post and continuing until I forget to do it. Whenever I work on a post, for basically as long as I can recall, I’ve got music playing. Whether blaring (oops, I mean rolling along at an audibly safe level) through my headphones, or on the rare occasions I write at home blasting through the, well if I’m home alone it’s rockin’ through the whole house. But since I’m currently at a coffeehouse I’ve got Foo Fighters racing around my brain. This is in tribute to a video I saw this morning. It was from last night’s FF concert at the Forum in Los Angeles and it featured a performance by Nandi Bushell. If you’re not familiar you need to GTS this young lady, she is the absolute shit. Last year, at the ripe old age of 11 she challenged Dave Grohl to a drum off and she killed it. They kept up the video correspondence culminating in her walking on stage and playing “Everlong” with the band last night. I’ll try and save you a little legwork, click here to watch this, now 12 year old, genius rock the eff out. I sat there the whole time with a big, stupid, grin on my face watching, I hope you enjoy it just as much.

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Mysteries of Mental Illness

This one is probably not going to be terribly long, it is sort of my version of a PSA.  Airing tonight and tomorrow night on your local PBS station (or through the app, if that’s how you PBS) the documentary Mysteries of Mental Illness will air.  It airs at 9:00 PM Eastern (check your local listings for when it airs on your particular nape of the neck) and each night there will be two, hour long episodes, back-to-back. 

Here is my best attempt at providing a link to the trailer featuring Ryan.

The documentary crew followed Ryan, Danielle, and kids, off and on, for several months last year, including part of the inaugural RFOL last May. I’ve watched several of the trailers for this series and they are pretty powerful. Of course it’s easy for me to say that about the segment on him, but I mean each and every bit that I’ve watched has given me pause. And, in more than one case, has caused me to examine my own beliefs about some of the topics the show discusses. And realizing just how wrong society in general, and myself in particular, was about many things. A little self reflection is ok with me though.

So, I don’t know when specifically his segment will air, or if it is going to be woven throughout the entire documentary. But if you’re the least bit interested, from what I’ve seen it will be worth your while.

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Random Acts of Kindness

I know, right? Nothing for months and now two in, like, three days? In all honesty if tomorrow wasn’t Caitlin’s birthday (she’d be 36 tomorrow btw) and, therefore, Random Acts of Kindness (RAoK) Day, I probably wouldn’t have written one this quickly.

But it is (or will be) and so I am.

I think most of you are familiar with the story; Caitlin was killed by a drunk driver when she was 17 years old. It was a week before her high school graduation, three weeks before her 18th birthday. I’ll put some links in for anyone that needs a refresher; here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. Jesus, seven links, I’m pretty sure that’s a record for ICRTD. I’ll keep this one intentionally short on the off chance any of you want to go back through some of these. There’s tearjerker or two, so maybe don’t read them at work…

So here’s the deal. All I’m asking for tomorrow is that you do something nice for some random person. Whoever is behind you in queue at the coffeehouse, drive-up or wherever. You can do it anonymously if you like, or you can tell the person that it’s in memory of a pretty amazing young woman, you can do anything you like, just do something. No act is too small, I’m not asking you to drop a hundo for this, if all you do is buy a beverage for somebody, that’s great. Heck just hold the door open for a stranger if that makes you smile, or help them carry groceries to the car. Just do something nice that you might not normally do for someone. If what you do makes your eyes light up, like the ones in these next two pictures, that’s a win. Actually, it might be a good thing for some of us to do on a semi regular basis, or at least more than once a year. But if you can do it tomorrow, please give a thought to Caitlin when you do.

Last thing (I think) that I’ll ask for today, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made the same request before; if you do something tomorrow for RAoK, please mention it, either in the comments here, or through whatever social media led you here.

I’d love to know we can continue to make a difference.

Thanks.

and Peace.

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New Post, Who Dis?

This is, roughly, the third attempt I’ve made at putting up a new post in the last few months. There’s a draft or two sitting here stewing and I think a couple more percolating in the notes app in my phone. Probably none of which will see the light of day. Hell, this one may never either, who knows? I’m still wrestling with where to go with this one. I mean, it’s not like nothing happened since my last post, eight months ago, right? Jesus, eight months. Maybe I should just wait another four weeks so I can draw the parallel between writing this and a pregnancy. Meh, probably not. Still, eight months is a long ass time. And you’d think, especially since I just referenced how much has happened in the last eight months, that I’d have a veritable cornucopia of topics from which to choose, wouldn’t you? Of course you would.

Ok. Instead of sitting here pouring out some more word soup, I think I’ll just take a hitting to all fields approach and fire out some stream of consciousness stuff.

For instance; I’ve calmed down quite a bit from my younger days as it relates to losing my shit over the way other people drive. I think I’ve mentioned it here before, about how when they were younger, the kids used to really enjoy my reactions to traffic as we drove through St. Charles. I am admittedly not the most patient person when I’m driving somewhere. Part of the reason is that I am, in fact, driving somewhere. As in, I have somewhere to be. So when other people drive as if they’re enjoying the scenery and impede my progress, I tend to get a little agitated. I mean, c’mon people, drive like you have an agenda for cryin’ out loud. Also people that drive with no conception of anything around them beyond the confines of their own vehicle tend to get under my skin. So, along that vein, here’s one of the things I’ve noticed about people that drive down here – driving on the highway, a four-lane interstate highway mind you, I tend to click on my cruise control as soon as practical. So, I tend to cruise at a fairly steady rate, traffic allowing. Of course if there’s congestion, bad weather, what have you, that isn’t possible and that’s, like, a given. But under optimal conditions, my cruise is on and typically anywhere from 7-10 mph over the limit (don’t @ me). Now, here’s the lose my mind inducing part. Let’s say, for the sake of clarity, I’m in the left lane. And I’m approaching a slower moving vehicle or three, each of which is in the right lane. All good so far, right? Invariably, as I approach, one of the trailing vehicles will move out to pass the lead, slow moving vehicle. Now, I don’t know about you, gentle reader, but I was taught that when you pass someone, get around them. Not so much down here. I won’t say without fail, but I will say that in the majority of cases the vehicle that pulls out to pass (thereby moving in front of me) will, if not slow down, hold speed with the vehicle they’re attempting to pass.

THAT’S NOT HOW THAT WORKS YOU *DUMBASS M#TH#RF#CK#R!!!

I think I’m actually starting to get used to this happening, I very rarely resort to an all caps comment to the offending vehicle. It’s kind of downgraded to a shaking of my damn head now, which is probably better for my personal mental health. Also, it helps having B2 in the car with me, I don’t want her to start making a Plan B thinking she’s going to have to bail on the madman behind the wheel.

So, that’s a thing.

Here, apparently, is another thing. As I was sitting here at the local coffeehouse attempting to reconnect whatever synapses (what’s the plural of synapse? Asking for a friend…) I used to use when I did this more consistently, I have Tragically Hip pulsating through my brain via my headphones. And, I admit, it might be a tad on the loud side. Like maybe this one goes to eleven loud. And Siri, bless its little A.I. heart, just popped up a warning that I’ve probably exceeded my suggested weekly allowance for loud music. Here’s the direct quote

“Based on your headphone usage over the last seven days, you’ve exceeded the recommended limit for audio exposure.”

And, can I just say here, that ship has sailed. 28 years of sirens and air horns blaring overhead; along with I have no clue how many years of listening to loud rock and roll much, much louder than would be considered acceptable and, well, yeah, pretty sure the damage has been done. Oh sure I could probably keep it from getting worse, but really I’ve kinda gotten used to the cicadas that live in my head. At least that’s what it sounds like now.

Ok, I just watched an RV motor by, and that got me thinking about how badly I need one. Pro tip- not much, but that hasn’t stopped me from gazing longingly at them online for the last couple years or so. I’m still in the trying to convince myself phase btw. You know “gee whiz, think how much it would save you in hotel costs, now that the concert industry is cranking back into action.” Or “Gosh, it would make it so much easier to visit different parts of the country this way.” I think this one is my personal favorite “Just think, if you were driving an RV, you could stay off the interstates for the most part, you know, drive through small-town America as you make your way to wherever you’re going. Think how much more relaxing that would be instead of driving like you had somewhere to be.”

And, now that I’ve successfully circled back to where I started this, I think it’s time to wrap it up. Welcome back, those of you that clicked in to this. I make no promises, but I really have missed doing this, and I’d like to get a few more thoughts off my chest…

I guess we’ll find out together, won’t we?

Peace

*I should point out here, for emphasis, the above mentioned phrase is reserved for that special kind of stupid, and its origin comes from the bargaining table as we (3234) worked on a successor contract with the Village. I’ll leave it at that for now, but this might appear in some future piece of literary wonderment.

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Write, Write, Write…

Ok, I’ll start by addressing the elephant in the room. I haven’t been writing much lately. Like, seven posts (not including this one, since, as I’m writing this now, it hasn’t actually been posted yet) this year. And, four of those seven came in January so, yes, it’s safe to say I haven’t been writing much lately.

I don’t know that there’s an easy answer why either. I’ve had the time. I don’t suddenly hate writing. I’ve kept the upkeep on this site current. I still have functioning computers on which to write. There’s certainly been no shortage of things about which I could write. I mean, have you looked at the news lately? I just haven’t felt like writing. Despite the occasional prod from various friends.

And then, the other day, I heard from a very dear (No, not you Ray) friend, castigating (not as painful as it sounds btw) me for my lack of literary production. And I took a step back and did a little self-examination. Figuratively. And I said to myself “Self” I said, “I need to do a better job of writing things about stuff.”

So here we are.

Let’s see now… what to write about… Hmmm… Ok, how bout the weather? No, too small-talky. Maybe some of the amazing concerts I’ve been to lately? No, too non-existenty. How bout them Cubs? Nope, too flashbacky. I know! Let’s talk about politics! LOL, just kidding. Mostly. I’ll fight that temptation. Probably. Maybe if I try this…

#LillyNO has a new bestie, #LollyStopEffingBarking. A Goldendoodle (there’s a name I never thought I’d write. Also, I feel like Ned Flanders whenever I say/write it) whose real name is Lolly (Yup, Lilly and Lolly) has taken up (purely coincidental naming too) residence with us. A very sweet dog, kind of a lovable lug, has without question, a totally under-developed sense of threat assessment. Somebody comes to the front door? She barks like she means business. Squirrel scampers down from a tree? She barks like she means business. The neighbor’s cat walks across the yard? She barks like she means business. A bird flies overhead? She barks like she means business. A leaf falls from a tree two streets over? She barks like she means business. The sun shines? She barks like she means business. Which, truth be told, is really only a minor annoyance. Although I do find it pretty aggravating at night; as I’m just drifting off to sleep and she loses her shit barking because the wind picks up from 1 mph to 2 mph. You get the picture. But the two dogs get on famously and they’re pretty hysterical together. They’ll play tug-of-war with each other, or play fight (generally with great care to not hurt the other, although every once in a while one of them will get a little overzealous and the other will “yip” causing me to send them to their neutral corners), or try to steal toys from each other, or just lounge with (or on) each other. Neither has really shown much in the way of dominance over the other, but each will try from time to time. All in all, it’s been a really good experience with the two of them and it wasn’t something I’d ever really planned on happening.

If you think the last couple of paragraphs have been a little bit “beat around the bush”y, well there’s a good reason for that. They are. I’m trying to think of a way to get to the point I actually intended to make a while ago. #LollyStopEffingBarking didn’t move in here by herself. Her person, the previously mentioned Beautiful Blonde has moved in along with her.

This started as a supportive gesture. Bยฒ decided that after almost 30 years in the same house, it was time to downsize. So she put her house on the market and started looking for a smaller house to buy and, trying to be helpful, I suggested she move in here. My thinking was by doing that, it would eliminate, or at least reduce, the stress of having to find a new house. You know, like “OMG, I sold my house and now I need to find one by tomorrow!” and ending up with a house that you’re going to spend a lot of money on and live in for a really long time and yet from day one you never really liked it all that much. Makes reasonable sense, right? Plus we both really enjoy spending our time together, so why not do something that allows us to spend as much time together as possible? She agreed and, well, here we are several months later doing quite well together.

Not without adjustments though. I’ve had to learn not to try and do/pay for/handle everything that comes along. And that hasn’t been easy for me, in fact I’d say it’s a work-in-progress, but it’s been totally worth it. It’s making me a better person too. Which is never a bad thing.

Plus, I’m learning to speak Southern. And, really, why Rosetta Stone or Babbel (or Berlitz for you older readers) haven’t come up with a class for this is beyond me. The immersion training I’m getting here is pretty thorough. I almost never have to say “Wait, what did you just say?” or “What does that mean?” or “I know all those words, but I’ve never heard them in that order before.” anymore. Well, hardly ever. But, between Bยฒ and the next door neighbor, I’ve learned, for starters, that if someone is going to “Jerk a knot in you” or “Give you the back of my mouth” well, those are bad things. Whereas, a “Surcee” or “Wet nuts” are good things. The first two should be self-explanatory, but the second two may cause some looks of bewilderment so, allow me to explain. A “Surcee” is a small, thoughtful, no occasion gift. While “Wet nuts” can be found as an addition on many sundaes down here. They are walnuts or pecans in syrup and don’t think for a second that they are anything like dry nuts. Because they’re far better. Then there’s “might could” as in “I guess we might could go on down to the Tractor Supply and get us some food for the dogs.” This, of course, is followed by the negative “mightn’t” as in “I mightn’t oughta go out today, it’s fixin’ to rain.”

I’d like to get into more of these Southernisms, but my stomach is eatin’ at my backbone, so I think I’m gonna go get me something on a biscuit before I get to dog lippin’ myself.

Peace