Stormy Monday.
An iconic blues song. The lyrics describe most peoples' lives.
"They call it stormy Monday
but Tuesday's just as bad.
They call it stormy Monday
but Tuesday's just as bad.
Lord, and Wednesday's worse
and Thursday's all so bad.
The eagle flies on Friday,
Saturday I go out to play.
The eagle flies on Friday,
Saturday I go out to play.
Sunday I go to church, yeah,
Gonna kneel down and pray."
I lived my life that way for a long time. And I loved it.
Going out on Friday night, Saturday night, going to a bar, listening to live music, dancing. That is the Joe Testa I know best. That is a living, breathing Joe Testa.
I miss it. In the biggest way possible.
Now, the eagle does not fly on Friday and I don't go out to play on Saturday.
What does that leave me?
Not a hell of a lot.
Wednesday, November 13, 2019
Concessions
I have made every concession I can possibly make regarding one of my Big Hatreds.
Cold.
I hate cold, I fucking hate being cold.
In 2019 spring bled into summer, summer bled into fall. Recently it got cold. None of this bothered me. Truthfully. Did not think about it.
I won't say for the first time in my life but, for the first time in a very long time, I did not torture my soul in anguish.
Typically when the good weather rolls around I start counting the days until cold. As a result I don't enjoy the warmth the way I should. The way my soul craves.
This year I made my way through spring and summer and fall peaceably. And it slowed time down. I was amazed. Everything moved slower and I truly dug it.
I walked out to grab Carol's paper the other day, it was around 25 degrees, and my brain did not react. I was stunned. I laughed at myself.
But there is one concession I cannot make.
Snow. I cannot accept it. I will never accept it. The other day as I sat preparing to go to work I kept looking at the snow falling. My spirits sank. I was depressed. I was angry.
Accumulation was negligible. Took me one minute to brush my car off. But I was fucking pissed.
My theory is that life is hard, very fucking hard, and choosing to live in a place that makes life harder is sheer stupidity. Which, of course, is why I have spent my entire life in New England.
A job is an intrusion. It is an insult to my life. It takes me away from reality, so my approach is to minimize the time it steals from me. Leave for work as late as possible, get home as soon as possible.
Unless it snows.
Then I have to get up earlier, I have to shovel, I have to brush and scrape. I have to give up even more of my precious life in order to get to work on time. Get to work on time. I hate the concept of it, the reality of it.
I have to leave extra drive time because traffic will be slow. I will get home later because traffic will be slow.
All because of snow.
Cold does not slow me down. Snow destroys me.
I fantasize about killing someone. I believe if you kill someone who deserves it, who you truly hate and has done you wrong, someone who deserves to die, it must be cathartic.
Generally, I am not capable of that level of violence.
But if it ever happens it will be on a snowy day.
Cold.
I hate cold, I fucking hate being cold.
In 2019 spring bled into summer, summer bled into fall. Recently it got cold. None of this bothered me. Truthfully. Did not think about it.
I won't say for the first time in my life but, for the first time in a very long time, I did not torture my soul in anguish.
Typically when the good weather rolls around I start counting the days until cold. As a result I don't enjoy the warmth the way I should. The way my soul craves.
This year I made my way through spring and summer and fall peaceably. And it slowed time down. I was amazed. Everything moved slower and I truly dug it.
I walked out to grab Carol's paper the other day, it was around 25 degrees, and my brain did not react. I was stunned. I laughed at myself.
But there is one concession I cannot make.
Snow. I cannot accept it. I will never accept it. The other day as I sat preparing to go to work I kept looking at the snow falling. My spirits sank. I was depressed. I was angry.
Accumulation was negligible. Took me one minute to brush my car off. But I was fucking pissed.
My theory is that life is hard, very fucking hard, and choosing to live in a place that makes life harder is sheer stupidity. Which, of course, is why I have spent my entire life in New England.
A job is an intrusion. It is an insult to my life. It takes me away from reality, so my approach is to minimize the time it steals from me. Leave for work as late as possible, get home as soon as possible.
Unless it snows.
Then I have to get up earlier, I have to shovel, I have to brush and scrape. I have to give up even more of my precious life in order to get to work on time. Get to work on time. I hate the concept of it, the reality of it.
I have to leave extra drive time because traffic will be slow. I will get home later because traffic will be slow.
All because of snow.
Cold does not slow me down. Snow destroys me.
I fantasize about killing someone. I believe if you kill someone who deserves it, who you truly hate and has done you wrong, someone who deserves to die, it must be cathartic.
Generally, I am not capable of that level of violence.
But if it ever happens it will be on a snowy day.
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Powerful Truth
A character in the book I am reading met with an older man.
She described the lines and imperfection on his face as "markers of time and damage."
That is perfect. The ultimate definition of aging.
Time and damage.
She described the lines and imperfection on his face as "markers of time and damage."
That is perfect. The ultimate definition of aging.
Time and damage.
Sunday, November 3, 2019
You'll Never Believe What Happened
Carol and I have to replace the screen door on our porch.
I pushed it as far as I could as a responsible homeowner. My approach as homeowner is to ignore everything and let it run down to absolute destruction. Absolute zero. And then let it go a little more.
The screen door made the cut. It was so bad that the outside frame split in one spot. We had to open and close the door delicately so the door wouldn't completely fall apart. Sometimes we had to line up the top of the door with the bottom so it wouldn't sag.
So we motor in to Home Depot yesterday and pick up a new door. A rather nice one, I must say.
Right off the bat I gotta say I was already irritated. Anytime I walk into Home Depot or Lowes or a hardware store, there is an excellent chance I will have a stroke and die. I fucking hate those places and am exceptionally uncomfortable inside them. I avoid them like the plague.
I ain't no fucking handyman.
Got the door out to my car and the fucker wouldn't fit. I had pulled the back seats down without noticing that the opening was limited - it did not span the full width of the car.
We played with it for a few minutes until I angrily decided we would return the goddamn thing and figure out another approach. I was fucking furious. The non-handyman curse strikes again.
Along comes a stranger. "Doesn't fit, huh?" No condescension, which immediately made me suspicious. He took a shot at getting it into the car and then said "Give me a second." Went back to his vehicle and came back with one of those straps. Not a bungee cord; a strap. You know, with the hook on the end and all that. A workingman's strap.
We slide the door in as far as it would go and he proceeded to strap the trunk down and wrap it tight to the door, tying it underneath my car. Said "That is not going anywhere."
I thanked him profusely and asked him how to get the strap back to him. He said "Keep it. I got a million of them." As he walked away he said "Merry Christmas."
We drove home without incident. If he hadn't showed up, the door would be back inside Home Depot.
This incident really fucked up my hard line view of humanity as a bunch of useless assholes to be avoided at all cost.
I really hate dealing with people. Socializing I can do because I am a fun guy and a good actor. But dealing with people fucks me up. I don't want to see people, I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to answer their questions or ask them questions or deal with their opinions. In stores, in restaurants, in public. Anywhere.
I want to sit in the dark with whiskey and music and dream of alone-world.
And then this guy shows up so nice , so helpful, no condescension and unselfishly helps us out.
I don't think I would have done it. The only thing I would consider is if I saw someone unconscious on the ground. I would walk over, steal their wallet and then help them.
He really blew me away. Made me feel good. There really are good people in the world.
Not many, though.
By the way, don't worry. I am not installing the fucking door. Carol found a local dude to do the job.
I ain't no fucking handyman.
I pushed it as far as I could as a responsible homeowner. My approach as homeowner is to ignore everything and let it run down to absolute destruction. Absolute zero. And then let it go a little more.
The screen door made the cut. It was so bad that the outside frame split in one spot. We had to open and close the door delicately so the door wouldn't completely fall apart. Sometimes we had to line up the top of the door with the bottom so it wouldn't sag.
So we motor in to Home Depot yesterday and pick up a new door. A rather nice one, I must say.
Right off the bat I gotta say I was already irritated. Anytime I walk into Home Depot or Lowes or a hardware store, there is an excellent chance I will have a stroke and die. I fucking hate those places and am exceptionally uncomfortable inside them. I avoid them like the plague.
I ain't no fucking handyman.
Got the door out to my car and the fucker wouldn't fit. I had pulled the back seats down without noticing that the opening was limited - it did not span the full width of the car.
We played with it for a few minutes until I angrily decided we would return the goddamn thing and figure out another approach. I was fucking furious. The non-handyman curse strikes again.
Along comes a stranger. "Doesn't fit, huh?" No condescension, which immediately made me suspicious. He took a shot at getting it into the car and then said "Give me a second." Went back to his vehicle and came back with one of those straps. Not a bungee cord; a strap. You know, with the hook on the end and all that. A workingman's strap.
We slide the door in as far as it would go and he proceeded to strap the trunk down and wrap it tight to the door, tying it underneath my car. Said "That is not going anywhere."
I thanked him profusely and asked him how to get the strap back to him. He said "Keep it. I got a million of them." As he walked away he said "Merry Christmas."
We drove home without incident. If he hadn't showed up, the door would be back inside Home Depot.
This incident really fucked up my hard line view of humanity as a bunch of useless assholes to be avoided at all cost.
I really hate dealing with people. Socializing I can do because I am a fun guy and a good actor. But dealing with people fucks me up. I don't want to see people, I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to answer their questions or ask them questions or deal with their opinions. In stores, in restaurants, in public. Anywhere.
I want to sit in the dark with whiskey and music and dream of alone-world.
And then this guy shows up so nice , so helpful, no condescension and unselfishly helps us out.
I don't think I would have done it. The only thing I would consider is if I saw someone unconscious on the ground. I would walk over, steal their wallet and then help them.
He really blew me away. Made me feel good. There really are good people in the world.
Not many, though.
By the way, don't worry. I am not installing the fucking door. Carol found a local dude to do the job.
I ain't no fucking handyman.
Tuesday, October 22, 2019
Nobody Ever...............
Carol and I watched a movie on Sunday called "Harvey. 1950. Jimmy Stewart.
About Elwood P. Dowd and his 6 foot 8 inch invisible rabbit named Harvey. Magnificent movie.
Carol has been pestering me to watch it for a long time. Typically I prefer movies with machetes and beheadings but I am really glad I watched Harvey.
One chunk of dialogue exploded my head.
Elwood P. Dowd talking:
"Harvey and I have things to do. We sit in the bars, have a drink or two and play the jukebox. Very soon the faces of the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fellow.' Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We entered as strangers and soon we have friends. They come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they have done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes, their regrets. Their loves, their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. Then I introduce them to Harvey, and he's bigger and grander than anything they can offer me. When they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back, but that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us. That's too bad, isn't it?"
There is a lot of emotion, empathy and insight in those words. The line that cracked my skull was "nobody ever brings anything small into a bar."
How true. How perceptive. If you walk into a bar to kill your pain, it doesn't matter what the source of your pain is. A collection notice on an overdue bill, the fact that your house burned down, or you lost your job. Or you are just feeling down. Or your fucking back is killing you or your kids don't talk to you.
Whatever the reason, it is huge to you. Huge.
Such a delicious surprise, this movie. Sounds silly but it is far from that.
About Elwood P. Dowd and his 6 foot 8 inch invisible rabbit named Harvey. Magnificent movie.
Carol has been pestering me to watch it for a long time. Typically I prefer movies with machetes and beheadings but I am really glad I watched Harvey.
One chunk of dialogue exploded my head.
Elwood P. Dowd talking:
"Harvey and I have things to do. We sit in the bars, have a drink or two and play the jukebox. Very soon the faces of the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fellow.' Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We entered as strangers and soon we have friends. They come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they have done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes, their regrets. Their loves, their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. Then I introduce them to Harvey, and he's bigger and grander than anything they can offer me. When they leave, they leave impressed. The same people seldom come back, but that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us. That's too bad, isn't it?"
There is a lot of emotion, empathy and insight in those words. The line that cracked my skull was "nobody ever brings anything small into a bar."
How true. How perceptive. If you walk into a bar to kill your pain, it doesn't matter what the source of your pain is. A collection notice on an overdue bill, the fact that your house burned down, or you lost your job. Or you are just feeling down. Or your fucking back is killing you or your kids don't talk to you.
Whatever the reason, it is huge to you. Huge.
Such a delicious surprise, this movie. Sounds silly but it is far from that.
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Wherever The Music Takes Me
For the past two weeks I have been listening on Sirius XM exclusively to the Sinatra channel and the Jazz channel.
I typically dabble in these channels but for some reason - right here and right now - they are captivating my mind and my emotions. That's what I love about music and, frankly, about my open minded approach to it - you never know what is going to give you peace. Make you smile. Make you cry. Make you think.
The Sinatra channel has blown me away with variety. I love a lot of what Sinatra did. I also have heard Tony Bennett, Rod Stewart, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Willie Nelson.
Billie Holiday, man. She alone blows my mind. If you don't know who she was, what her history is, check her out. The opportunity to hear her music is pretty fucking cool.
I dig the Jazz channel because I get to hear old school jazz, the names I am familiar with, and more recent musicians - people I don't know but who manipulate my emotions.
I dig musicians, man - I used to be one. Once a musician, always a musician. As I listen to what these people do - drum solos, trumpet solos, sax (fucking love sax), small groups, big bands - I am thrilled. The Allman Brothers were all about improvisation. Sense a connection?
I think improvisation in music is the ultimate statement of how much talent, emotion and empathy a musician has. And knowledge. You gotta know what you're doing to improvise. It is a direct translation of what you are feeling into musical expression.
I was smiling to myself last night on the way home from work. Smiling at the range of stuff that turns me on. Had Carol's car because my car has been cranky lately. She doesn't have Sirius. I listened to a classic rock station. They played a bunch of Metallica and I was rocking out. I fucking love Metallica.
Heard a song on Sinatra this week called All I Have To Have. Love song, all I have to have is you - you get the point. I loved one section that goes a little something like this:
"If there was no confetti, if there was no champagne, I would eat cold spaghetti standing in the rain."
Is that a good lyric? Or is it corny? I don't know. But I like it. It got to me.
Hal Linden sang the song. Hal Linden played Barney Miller on TV many years ago. Who knew?
OK. That's it. I am done.
I typically dabble in these channels but for some reason - right here and right now - they are captivating my mind and my emotions. That's what I love about music and, frankly, about my open minded approach to it - you never know what is going to give you peace. Make you smile. Make you cry. Make you think.
The Sinatra channel has blown me away with variety. I love a lot of what Sinatra did. I also have heard Tony Bennett, Rod Stewart, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Willie Nelson.
Billie Holiday, man. She alone blows my mind. If you don't know who she was, what her history is, check her out. The opportunity to hear her music is pretty fucking cool.
I dig the Jazz channel because I get to hear old school jazz, the names I am familiar with, and more recent musicians - people I don't know but who manipulate my emotions.
I dig musicians, man - I used to be one. Once a musician, always a musician. As I listen to what these people do - drum solos, trumpet solos, sax (fucking love sax), small groups, big bands - I am thrilled. The Allman Brothers were all about improvisation. Sense a connection?
I think improvisation in music is the ultimate statement of how much talent, emotion and empathy a musician has. And knowledge. You gotta know what you're doing to improvise. It is a direct translation of what you are feeling into musical expression.
I was smiling to myself last night on the way home from work. Smiling at the range of stuff that turns me on. Had Carol's car because my car has been cranky lately. She doesn't have Sirius. I listened to a classic rock station. They played a bunch of Metallica and I was rocking out. I fucking love Metallica.
Heard a song on Sinatra this week called All I Have To Have. Love song, all I have to have is you - you get the point. I loved one section that goes a little something like this:
"If there was no confetti, if there was no champagne, I would eat cold spaghetti standing in the rain."
Is that a good lyric? Or is it corny? I don't know. But I like it. It got to me.
Hal Linden sang the song. Hal Linden played Barney Miller on TV many years ago. Who knew?
OK. That's it. I am done.
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
Pets
Cori had to put Newman down. It got me thinking.
Newman was a part of my life too.
That is the magic of pets. They belong to a family and they belong to every family member and friend who is close to that family.
I am proud of the fact that my family is a pet family. It is a sign of sensitivity and a loving nature.
Carol and I have loved Onyx (our dog), Lokai and Max our cats, all of whom are now gone. I cannot accurately express how much it broke me to put these guys to sleep.
Now we have our two cats Maka, who we have had for 13 years, and Lakota, who we have had for 19 years.
These cats are the loves of my life. On Thursday and Friday mornings now I get up at 4:45. I don't have to do that, except for the fact that I need time for coffee and a book before I go to work.
Most of those mornings I have both cats in my lap. I look at them every single time, and a powerful feeling of contentment washes over me. Strong medicine at a difficult time for me.
My first pet was Sundance. Sundance was a neighborhood cat who used to come around late at night when I got home from a night of insanity with my friends, when I was still living with my parents. I named him Sundance and I loved him. I would sit outside petting and talking to him for as long as it took to soothe my tortured soul.
Keith and Emily had a cat named Liska. She got sick and had to be put down way too early. Broke my heart. I was cat sitting her once. I laid down on the futon, Liska climbed up on my belly and fell asleep. You can never take that memory and the emotions that accompany it away from me.
Keith now has Cooper (dog) and Jack (cat). I love them both. I cat sit Jack a lot and he makes me smile. A lot.
Cooper is hard to get close to. He is high strung. But when I look at his cute face and especially into his eyes, I see love. Especially when I see him and Keith together. I love their relationship.
Craig had a cat named Marley, courtesy of his girlfriend Karen. Marley got sick and had to be put down way too early. Broke my heart. Marley used to fetch things, like a dog does. Pretty cool.
Craig and Amanda now have Murray, a dog. Just got him recently. He is so goddamn cute and lovable it should be illegal.
I just name checked twelve pets that have touched my family. I love and have loved them all.
It broke my heart when Cori posted the news she had to put Newman down. Another chapter closed.
I am proud of my family. The fact that they have pets and the way that they love them is all I need to know about their sensitivity, their empathy, their open-hearted approach to life.
These are the qualities I treasure in people. I love all the pets and I LOVE my family.
Newman was a part of my life too.
That is the magic of pets. They belong to a family and they belong to every family member and friend who is close to that family.
I am proud of the fact that my family is a pet family. It is a sign of sensitivity and a loving nature.
Carol and I have loved Onyx (our dog), Lokai and Max our cats, all of whom are now gone. I cannot accurately express how much it broke me to put these guys to sleep.
Now we have our two cats Maka, who we have had for 13 years, and Lakota, who we have had for 19 years.
These cats are the loves of my life. On Thursday and Friday mornings now I get up at 4:45. I don't have to do that, except for the fact that I need time for coffee and a book before I go to work.
Most of those mornings I have both cats in my lap. I look at them every single time, and a powerful feeling of contentment washes over me. Strong medicine at a difficult time for me.
My first pet was Sundance. Sundance was a neighborhood cat who used to come around late at night when I got home from a night of insanity with my friends, when I was still living with my parents. I named him Sundance and I loved him. I would sit outside petting and talking to him for as long as it took to soothe my tortured soul.
Keith and Emily had a cat named Liska. She got sick and had to be put down way too early. Broke my heart. I was cat sitting her once. I laid down on the futon, Liska climbed up on my belly and fell asleep. You can never take that memory and the emotions that accompany it away from me.
Keith now has Cooper (dog) and Jack (cat). I love them both. I cat sit Jack a lot and he makes me smile. A lot.
Cooper is hard to get close to. He is high strung. But when I look at his cute face and especially into his eyes, I see love. Especially when I see him and Keith together. I love their relationship.
Craig had a cat named Marley, courtesy of his girlfriend Karen. Marley got sick and had to be put down way too early. Broke my heart. Marley used to fetch things, like a dog does. Pretty cool.
Craig and Amanda now have Murray, a dog. Just got him recently. He is so goddamn cute and lovable it should be illegal.
I just name checked twelve pets that have touched my family. I love and have loved them all.
It broke my heart when Cori posted the news she had to put Newman down. Another chapter closed.
I am proud of my family. The fact that they have pets and the way that they love them is all I need to know about their sensitivity, their empathy, their open-hearted approach to life.
These are the qualities I treasure in people. I love all the pets and I LOVE my family.
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