"People needed jobs and they needed shelter and they needed hope. When none of those proved forthcoming, they settled for a drink."
From "Live By Night" by Dennis Lehane
Monday, January 9, 2017
Saturday, January 7, 2017
Roll Call
The effects of 2016 linger. It was a harsh year.
I cannot move on to 2017 without reflecting on people who died in 2016, whose deaths hurt me; whose deaths leave a void. People whose deaths have made my life smaller.
David Bowie, Glen Frey, Paul Kantner, Keith Emerson, Merle Haggard, Prince, Muhammad Ali, Leonard Cohen, Greg Lake, Leon Russell, Guy Clark, George Martin.
That is a much abbreviated list. There are many more people I could have included but I tried to stay true to the pain and the sense of loss. Tried not to sensationalize.
The deaths of Leonard Cohen and Muhammad Ali floored me. Left me stunned and disoriented; brought the tears on and left such a hole in my heart.
These people, all of them, meant something to me. They had an impact on my life; they inspired me; they grabbed a hold of me in my formative years, they got into my heart and they redirected my vision of life; my understanding of it.
Everyone but Muhammad Ali and George Martin were musicians, and George Martin is the dude who produced the Beatles, worked closely with them throughout their careers, who was their musical guru.
This is not a coincidence. Music is everything to me. It is the thing that slammed me on the side of the head when I was ten years old and never let go.
As each death occurred, I felt a chapter closing on my life. Taken cumulatively, these deaths force me to face a harsh reality.
Obviously most of the people who have inspired me are my age or older. They will continue to die and my life will continue to shrink.
It is an ominous feeling. People who have done so much with their lives and touched so many people are fading away. In doing so they are making a commentary on my own life; forcing me to take a closer look at where I am, who I am and what I can reasonably expect or hope for as a future.
The window is closing.
In the past few years I have felt the hole in my heart growing and, as a consequence, I have felt my heart itself diminishing.
Took a heavy duty blow in 2016. It was rough.
Death, man. It is the final punctuation. The ultimate arbiter and the one thing that forces a life to be reviewed with finality.
Other peoples' deaths carry a message, especially if they mean something to you.
I am still a bit overwhelmed.
I cannot move on to 2017 without reflecting on people who died in 2016, whose deaths hurt me; whose deaths leave a void. People whose deaths have made my life smaller.
David Bowie, Glen Frey, Paul Kantner, Keith Emerson, Merle Haggard, Prince, Muhammad Ali, Leonard Cohen, Greg Lake, Leon Russell, Guy Clark, George Martin.
That is a much abbreviated list. There are many more people I could have included but I tried to stay true to the pain and the sense of loss. Tried not to sensationalize.
The deaths of Leonard Cohen and Muhammad Ali floored me. Left me stunned and disoriented; brought the tears on and left such a hole in my heart.
These people, all of them, meant something to me. They had an impact on my life; they inspired me; they grabbed a hold of me in my formative years, they got into my heart and they redirected my vision of life; my understanding of it.
Everyone but Muhammad Ali and George Martin were musicians, and George Martin is the dude who produced the Beatles, worked closely with them throughout their careers, who was their musical guru.
This is not a coincidence. Music is everything to me. It is the thing that slammed me on the side of the head when I was ten years old and never let go.
As each death occurred, I felt a chapter closing on my life. Taken cumulatively, these deaths force me to face a harsh reality.
Obviously most of the people who have inspired me are my age or older. They will continue to die and my life will continue to shrink.
It is an ominous feeling. People who have done so much with their lives and touched so many people are fading away. In doing so they are making a commentary on my own life; forcing me to take a closer look at where I am, who I am and what I can reasonably expect or hope for as a future.
The window is closing.
In the past few years I have felt the hole in my heart growing and, as a consequence, I have felt my heart itself diminishing.
Took a heavy duty blow in 2016. It was rough.
Death, man. It is the final punctuation. The ultimate arbiter and the one thing that forces a life to be reviewed with finality.
Other peoples' deaths carry a message, especially if they mean something to you.
I am still a bit overwhelmed.
Revelations On A Dump Run
Motoring my way to the dump earlier, turned on the radio, randomly caught "Piano Man" by Billy Joel.
A straight ahead, rock solid, viciously honest, slice of life.
It's not like I didn't know this; I always knew this; it's just that things hit you differently as you age.
Snapshots of people; snapshots of life.
The old man who is making love to his tonic and gin; the bartender who believes he could be a movie star if he could just get out of this place; Paul who never had time for a wife; Davy who will probably be in the Navy for life; the waitress who is practicing politics as the businessmen slowly get stoned ( they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone).
None of them happy; none of them where they want to be. And they know that will never change.
So they rely on the piano man to cheer them up; to play them a memory, to play them a melody, 'cause you got us feeling alright.
They look to the piano man for some happiness and "to forget about life for a while". But from the piano man's perspective the piano sounds like a carnival and the microphone smells like a beer.
He doesn't want to be where he is either.
Life for most people is one massive disappointment; Billy Joel captured it all in one song.
A straight ahead, rock solid, viciously honest, slice of life.
It's not like I didn't know this; I always knew this; it's just that things hit you differently as you age.
Snapshots of people; snapshots of life.
The old man who is making love to his tonic and gin; the bartender who believes he could be a movie star if he could just get out of this place; Paul who never had time for a wife; Davy who will probably be in the Navy for life; the waitress who is practicing politics as the businessmen slowly get stoned ( they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone).
None of them happy; none of them where they want to be. And they know that will never change.
So they rely on the piano man to cheer them up; to play them a memory, to play them a melody, 'cause you got us feeling alright.
They look to the piano man for some happiness and "to forget about life for a while". But from the piano man's perspective the piano sounds like a carnival and the microphone smells like a beer.
He doesn't want to be where he is either.
Life for most people is one massive disappointment; Billy Joel captured it all in one song.
Friday, January 6, 2017
Yeah, What About THEM?
And what about those fuckers at O? O Steaks and Seafood? What about those assholes in the new year? Huh?
They're still there. That's what's up with them. Sons of bitches. Nothing different. No changes. No need - they got the world by the balls.
Don't think the name of that joint was not carefully planned out. What are the most expensive things on any menu?
Steak and seafood, for Christ sake. Steak and seafood.
A not so subtle message. "If you can't afford steak, if you can't afford seafood, please do not set foot in our establishment. We do not want to smell the odor of failure that your broken down body reeks of."
The O probably stands for orgasm, which is what the regulars experience as they bite into their American Kobe NY Strip and Filet Oscar while watching poor unfortunates rush by on the way to their second job.
Nothing changes in the new year for these scumholes because nothing has to. They have made their deal with the devil and, for the rest of their mortal existence, all they gotta do is sit back and indulge.
Shit, even Hell has become elitist - the fucking Devil will not even talk to anybody who makes less than $175,000 a year.
Little known fact - the barstools have grooves cut out of one corner to accommodate fat wallets. 4"x3"x2.5". That way when a man sits down his body will not be tilted to one side.
Do you realize how much cash it takes to make a wallet 2.5 inches thick?
A fuckload, that's how much.
Sometimes I get out of work and stand across the street from this elitist hellhole and pull a couple of nips out of my pocket.
I chug the first one. I sip the second.
As I'm sipping I concentrate all my fury into a vicious, powerful, laser beam of thought. I try to cause fatal heart attacks in the patrons I'm staring at.
I have not succeeded yet.
But I will not give up.
Happy 2017.
They're still there. That's what's up with them. Sons of bitches. Nothing different. No changes. No need - they got the world by the balls.
Don't think the name of that joint was not carefully planned out. What are the most expensive things on any menu?
Steak and seafood, for Christ sake. Steak and seafood.
A not so subtle message. "If you can't afford steak, if you can't afford seafood, please do not set foot in our establishment. We do not want to smell the odor of failure that your broken down body reeks of."
The O probably stands for orgasm, which is what the regulars experience as they bite into their American Kobe NY Strip and Filet Oscar while watching poor unfortunates rush by on the way to their second job.
Nothing changes in the new year for these scumholes because nothing has to. They have made their deal with the devil and, for the rest of their mortal existence, all they gotta do is sit back and indulge.
Shit, even Hell has become elitist - the fucking Devil will not even talk to anybody who makes less than $175,000 a year.
Little known fact - the barstools have grooves cut out of one corner to accommodate fat wallets. 4"x3"x2.5". That way when a man sits down his body will not be tilted to one side.
Do you realize how much cash it takes to make a wallet 2.5 inches thick?
A fuckload, that's how much.
Sometimes I get out of work and stand across the street from this elitist hellhole and pull a couple of nips out of my pocket.
I chug the first one. I sip the second.
As I'm sipping I concentrate all my fury into a vicious, powerful, laser beam of thought. I try to cause fatal heart attacks in the patrons I'm staring at.
I have not succeeded yet.
But I will not give up.
Happy 2017.
Better Fucking Duck
He realized, with dread, that the situation had indeed become dire when he could feel his soul begin to flicker and wane.
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