Friday Photo #26

Another sad farewell to one of the good guys 

*Sigh*

Back in the winter when my buddy KJo (whom I still miss every day) left for warmer climates, I wrote how many people have come and gone through the station, but there have been only four whose absence I truly missed. 

Today there are five.

Sonya walked through our doors as a mere pup. She was fresh out of college. She was so young she still had baby fat for God's sake! But from the start there was something special about her. She was vibrant. She was drop-dead gorgeous. She was smart, scary SMART! She has always been a quick study, able to adapt her delivery and mannerisms to match the old pros around her while developing a style of her own. She's got it all.

I should hate her.

But that's impossible. Here's why...like my friend Beets and I, she's one of the guys. She's bawdy, belches and has a finely honed 12-year-old boy sense of humor. How could I not love her. She's one of the most down to earth people with whom I've ever had the pleasure to work. And she's just a kick to be around. Always upbeat even when situations are maddening, she can lift the mood with that big, goofy, lovable laugh of hers.

She brings a positive, youthful energy that's contagious. The newsroom is dimmer when she's on vacation. It's going to be absolutely black now that she's leaving. 

Sonya is heading South for an opportunity which should have been afforded her here...afternoon and evening anchor. I've told her before she's too good for us. Seriously. She's talented enough to be on Network. She's waaaaaay better than any of the chippies on the Early Show. It's great to see a news director finally believes she's ready to run with the big dogs. I just wish it would have been someone here at the Special K. 

Her empty cubicle, like KJo's, will be a sad, daily reminder of the two pieces of our heart lost by short-sighted thinking. But I can't help but be thrilled for her. She'll be living in a happening city, near her sister with her brand-spanking-new niece and finally in the same city as her equally drop-dead gorgeous beau. 

She has the world by the short hairs. This is her time to shine. I have no doubt she will beam brighter than the white-hot Florida summer sun. 

So here's to you, my lovely friend. It has been an absolute pleasure and privilege to work with you and watch you grow professionally as well as personally. May your new life be bursting with elan, love and all the goodness you could ever imagine. You will forever hold a special spot in my heart. 

I miss you already.

Excuses Excuses 

or reasons for my blogging lameness of late 

Okay, so you know how when you decide to start an exercise regimen and you're all gung ho at the start and you get up every morning much earlier than any human with any sense should rise and you dawn your work-out clothes and jump on the treadmill and lift weights and sweat and actually start to feel stronger as the days pass? This lasts about, oh..two to three months. 

Then you go on vacation. 

Kiss of death. And when you come back you just can't seem to get back into the swing of things because on vacation you ate what you wanted, when you wanted, slept in till whenever because you weren't about to get up early to exercise since you were up late socializing over cocktails with friends and family...

Yeah, blogging apparently is like that. For me anyway. 

When I began this ramble-fest last October, it felt like that initial rush of adrenaline you get from the start of an exercise routine, only my writing muscle was the thing being flexed and pumped full of blood. The flood gates of my imagination were flung wide open, and I literally could not sleep in for all the ideas, notions and observations gushing forth. I would wake to postings whispered in my ear from my newly rejuvenated subconscious. 

The effortlessness of the process was incredibly thrilling and satisfying not to mention intoxicating. (Seriously. You should go back to the beginning and read some of the entries. They were much better than this recent lot. Except for Rhett Fest)

Then I went on a "vacation" of sorts. Between physical therapy twice a week (I've got back/hip issues, don't ask.), literally going to the gym and Pilates classes multiple times per week, getting home later from work and making dinner (a task from which Geo reminds me I've also vacationed of late. Okay, he's right on that one, so I can't use that as an excuse..even though I will. Hey, it's my blog.) I've unintentionally taken a break from jotting entertaining tidbits and what have you.

Now my discipline has dissolved. Well is dry. Done. Finished. Finito. The flashing cursor mocks me for the wordless loser I am. Now I hunch over this keyboard, sweaty palms, blank stare, numb mind. Waiting for something ... anything to inspire.    

If only someone would invent a microchip that could be implanted in my head to record my thoughts as they scroll through the wasteland of my mind. That would be so SWEET! Seriously. I can't tell you how many brilliant blog entries have slipped through my figurative fingers while driving for lack of pen and paper... and the whole having-to-drive-with-two-hands thing. Kinda crucial for, you know, surviving travels through the high-speed, urban jungle.

Dear Science Nerds:

Please get on that microchip thingie ASAP. 

Thanks!

Now I have to leave to, you guessed it.. hit the gym yet again. The worst part is the pain hasn't subsided much, and it's not like I'm getting that much more svelte. WTF?

Enough belly-aching and lame excuses. A friend of mine recently pointed out this peculiarity from the "Warnings" posted on the back of every toothpaste tube. 

Wha...?

Okay, first of all...who ingests a bunch of toothpaste on purpose? And second...what the HELL is in this stuff that's so poisonous?!?!?!

Death By Toothpaste. 

Wouldn't that be the lamest demise EVER? 

RIP Michael Jackson 

or enough is enough already! 

Okay, so I know it's not kind to speak ill of the dead, but in my book it's equally wrong to canonize someone who clearly evolved into an unsavory character, just because he died young-ish, unexpectedly and had a bazillion dollars. 

Michael Jackson was laid to rest today in a manner befitting his circus-act of a latter life. He may have physically died last week, but the reality is he died a long time ago, somewhere around the time he decided to mutate from a young, handsome black man to a freakishly pasty-white, Diana Ross wannabe. He only spiraled downward at break-neck speed from there. 

Yes, he made an enormous impact musically... Thriller being the pinnacle of his success and influence in my humble opinion. However, as the years marched on, so did his erratic and bizarre behavior, culminating in charges of child molestation. And that is unforgivable. At the very least those charges are reason enough to eliminate sainthood from his epithet. 

There was something obviously broken about him. He naively or foolishly (call it what you will) surrounded himself with individuals who must have seen his decent and refused to help him. And that is just criminal. You can make all the excuses you want for his aberatted behavior, but the fact remains we all make our own choices in life. He did some pretty twisted shit. He chose poorly and paid the price, scarring a few young souls along the way. 

I chose not to watch his memorial service. I don't believe he deserved the dramatic pounding of chests and ocean of tears shed at his passing. He once was a Pop star of enormous influence and innovation. He had the world in the palm of his hand. That's a fact even one as jaded as I cannot deny. 

He pissed it away.

And that's all I'm going to say about that. 

Avoid This Job 

or helpful guidance from an hilarious blog 

Okay, so you know how I always say Twitter is the biggest time suck and if you aren't on it, for the love all that is Holy... DON'T START!! Well, okay so there are actually some very funny things to be found on there. 

One of them is a blog by a woman named Sarah who goes by thesaltman on Twitter. I suspect she is a writer of some sort being as she is so witty. 

Anywho, her blog is titled avoidthisjob and her mission is to sarcastically skewer Craig's List job postings for their outrageousness. For example, her June 27th job to avoid is a "Sexy Rickshaw Driver Wanted" for a bachelorette gig on July 4th. Applicant must be Sexy overall, have a handsome face, hot body, work shirtless on the holiday in the heat of the midday sun. 

She's much more funny than I can convey. Here's the link. Read her witticisms for yourself.

I may actually start surfing Craig's List want ads. Who knew they were comedy gold.

Hartwood Acres Freebie

or the end of the line for my Old 97's/Rhett Fest 09 :(

Okay, so Sunday was the last stop on my Festival Train of Obsession. The Old 97's played a freebie (gotz to love the freebies!!) at the beautiful concert site at Hartwood Acres north of Pittsburgh. 

(OMG!! Look at that face!!!! Sorry. Moving on.)

I had arranged to meet up with my steel drum buddy/Old 97's virgin Sheila and her hubby shortly before the show. I got there earlier, natch (obsessive/compulsive behavior will do that) and staked out a claim in the front. 

The chippie in charge just announced they were going to start the gig early when first came one 50-cent-piece-sized drop of rain...then another...then the sky split in two releasing the most powerful storm I have ever been caught in. Seriously. It was like the flood gates of Hell were unleashed on us unsuspecting heathens. I mean, Dude, it was of biblical proportion. No lie. The man-sized drops were pounding sideways instantly flooding the concreted dance area, not to mention my NEW SHOES!!?! 

Letter to God:

Dear Sir: 

Don't be messing with a girl's new shoes. That ain't right. Oh, and thank you for the rainbow afterwards. 

Sincerely, 

Murray

Anywho, I had my slicker on, but my blue jean capris were soaked through in minutes. I swear the weight of said rain stretched them an inch longer than when I dawned them hours earlier. This assault by nature went on for roughly 20 minutes.

During my desperate search for cover, I met a recent college grad/Olds enthusiast named Annie. She had driven for 3-1/2 hours from deep in West Virginia by herself to see the show...and apparently to get completely waterlogged. We ended up adopting her for the evening. Sheila and Tim finally made it down to the stage--dry, with some much needed wine in hand. 

It turned out to be a beautiful night.

With a packed crowd. 

The band was very impressed with our fortitude. Come on. We're Burghers. We're already out. What's a little flood waters amongst friends.

Rhett and the boys opened with the rocking "Won't Be Home" and kept the energy level at 11 for the rest of the evening. They even played "W. Texas Teardrops", a delightful little number that just makes you want to two-step around the dance floor. During the encore break, Rhett came out and played a new tune "Like Love" and perennial favorite "Come Around" before introducing the band back for the last four songs. 

He gave this young lad the thrill of his little life by personally handing him his set list in the middle of the encore set. Look at his little face. He was floating!

It was a great concert. The crowd was loud and appreciative, the wine was flowing, Annie and I were singing and dancing. And as always, it was waaaaay too short. I love "Time Bomb" because they play it with such abandon. They sink every last bit of energy left in them into that song. But I HATE hearing Ken's first chord, because it means it's the end of the evening. TB is their signature closer. 

*sigh*

This one was doubly sad for me, for it signified the end of my concert fun run. I  have nothing else lined up... I swear I'm going through withdrawal.

In honor of Billy Mays.. But wait, there's more!

Before the deluge, the lead guitarist, Ken came out to the merchandise table. He has a rep for being kind of the hard-assed, curmudgeon of the group. Geo and I spoke briefly with him at Maxwell's, but he's not always the friendliest. Whatever tension lurks within the Old 97's I'm pretty sure centers around the relationship between Ken and Rhett. I'm betting they're both rather controlling and butt heads regularly. 

This night, however, he was very chatty and approachable. He signed my CD, we gabbed, he shared his title as number one jazz patch in music. Apparently there was a listing in some magazine of the best jazz patches on musicians. Dizzy Gillespie was first, Frank Zappa second, Ken Bethea third. The first two guys are dead, so by his logic...he's number one.

That is a pretty good jazz patch.

Anywho, after the show the guys came out to meet those of us who stuck around. They're really good about taking time to greet their fans. It's one of the things that makes them special.

Finally got to meet the drummer, Philip. He's really sweet and quiet. I think he plays the part of Switzerland in the band. You know, neutral party...doesn't choose sides...just wants everyone to get along. 

Had a lengthy, animated and witty conversation with Murry, the bassist. He remembered me from the beach Thursday, which honestly took me by surprise since I hadn't spoke with him after either show. Perhaps my erratic, drunken dancing caught his eye...or the singing off-key.  We chatted about all sorts of topics; his charity (a habitat for humanity type of charity only the homes are for dirt poor people in Tijuana), the joy of aging (he gave a few pointers to Annie), how Ken, his touring roomie, doesn't flush (HA HA!) and just general crap. It's amazing how easy it is to talk with someone on whom you don't have a major crush. Unlike when I'm around Rhett and turn into brain-damaged, monosyllabic moron girl as stated in the last posting. Anyway, it was a very enjoyable conversation which ended in a hug. You know me. I'm big on hugging. I like to hug. I'm a hugger.

As you can imagine, the sweet young ladies were swarming all over Rhett, so I had to wait to talk with him. No problem. I totally get it. However, he made my little heart jump when he looked my way, smiled and said "Hi, Marie". 

*swoon*

Seriously. I know it is the silliest thing ever, but it makes my day to know he actually recognizes me and knows my name now. And I swear to God he was glancing my way when I was chatting with Murry. Okay, that's my fantasy and I'm sticking with it. 

We yakked for a bit, but by then the younger, nubile girls were circling so I snagged my hug and stepped away. (One of these days I'm going to get a kiss from the blue-eyed lovely, but then I would officially be "creepy older lady". Eeeww...so, no. I'll stick with hugging.) Anywho, he stopped mid-sentence to say goodbye to me when he saw we were leaving. 

*uber sigh* 

That's why I find him so dear. He is the sweetest rock guy on Earth. Seriously. His Momma really did teach him right. 

Okay, so get this. The next morning I open my home email before heading off to work, and there's a "message from Murry Hammond on MySpace". 

What? Really? 

He had written a little note telling me how much he enjoyed our chat, how he wished we had coffee in hand and more time to talk. Ending with "see ya down the road, hopefully sooner than later." Imagine my surprise. He tracked me down on MySpace. That's a first. Now I guess I'm a FOM..Friend of Murry's. Cool.

What a great week!! Three live shows, one in-store solo performance, beach time, multiple meet & greets, numerous hugs, FOM and I got the best live album ever, "Alive and Wired" signed by the entire band. 

Not a bad week at all. I miss them already.

Old 97's/Rhett Fest '09

or my week as a 16 year-old middle-aged groupie

I'm back. Did you miss me? Sure you did, right? Right?

Okay, so I talked about my Rhett Fest week ad nauseum, and now it has finally come and gone. Too quickly, I might add. It started with a road trip to Hoboken last Friday. Geo was gracious enough to accompany me on this leg of my obsession...er, journey.

As luck would have it, the lovely blue-eyed one scheduled an in-store performance in a record store a little south of my sister's. We headed down there...in the teeming rain, only to be totally confused by our Google directions. We kept driving in circles once we reached the town. Panicked, I grabbed my phone and jumped on Navigator. Finally, we found the store. All was right with the world. (Note to self: NEVER use Google for directions. Especially for something as important as a Rhett appearance! Stick with AAA.)

Hanging around the outside of the store waiting for Geo, a sleek, black Sprinter bus pulls up. The door opens and ... ta da! Rhett himself steps out... like four feet away from me.

*swoon*

Because he's a good guy and his Momma taught him well, we chit-chat a bit before he enters the store. Now I'm getting the vapors.

The performance is fairly well attended and goes well. The crowd loved him. He's his usual charming self, belting out around a dozen songs, most of them requests. Here are a few I recorded.

The opener "Like Love" and "If It's Not Love". If you listen closely you can hear Geo shout out the request. I love him... Geo, that is. *Snort* You KNOW how I feel about Rhett.

The hit "I Need To Know Where I Stand" from his new CD aptly named Rhett Miller. Catchy, no?

Performing the oldie, but goodie "Jagged" and another knew tune "Caroline".

Afterwards Rhett did a meet and greet, taking extra time to talk with the half dozen children in attendance. He really digs kids. Another thing that makes him the perfect fantasy husband. Being the freak that I am, I stood in line to have him sign a couple of CDs, take photos, yak, etc. I even snagged a hug from the boy. Color me happy.

Grinning from ear to ear, Geo and I jumped back into the car and headed North for Hoboken. We decided to stay the night since we wouldn't be getting out of Maxwell's until one or two o'clock. I made reservations at the W Hoboken on River Street overlooking lower Manhattan. Uber swanky digs. Okay, there was something just a little odd and unsettling about this hotel. Service is a huge thing with this place. A little too huge. I mean they kept sending us emails asking if there was anything at all they could provide us to make our stay better. Without question. Anything at all.

Anything? Like, what...get a Filipino boy to scrub my back? A Geisha for Geo? It all seemed a little... pimpy, if you know what I mean. This whole "your wish is our command" sentiment was kinda wigging me out. But I have to admit, this was funny. Amongst a tray of items for sale in the room... you know the tray of snacks, t-shirts, whatever ... was this. (click on the photos for a larger view. really, do it. it's worth the read)

Hands down the best condom packaging EVA!

Later Geo and I met up with a woman I've become friends with over the internet, Cindy. 

She's a professor of social media at Texas State and is a big music fan. She was in town on business, and joined us for dinner before the Old 97's show. It was great fun for me to stand with someone equally enamored who sang and danced along. She took the photos I've posted, because quite frankly her camera is waaaay better than mine. I have camera envy.

We hung around later so she could set up an interview with Rhett for later in the week--she also writes for music magazines and has a music blog. You can see her interview with Mr. Miller here. To my absolute delight, Rhett recognized me and Geo standing off to the side, walked over and gave me a big hug.

*sigh*

Did I mention I'm like a 16 year-old around him? Pathetic.

Next up, Dewey Beach. Geo passed on this excursion, but my friend Kelly was on board. Our Thelma and Louise act pulled into town Thursday afternoon. The hotel was literally one block down from the club. Sweet! We had time to kill so we headed to the beach for some much needed sun and surf.

Okay, so this is where it gets ugly... and embarrassing.

On our way back to the hotel to clean up before the show, we pass the Sprinter parked alongside the club. And who should just happen to be standing next to the bus... you guessed it, Rhett!?!

OH.Mi.GOD!! UGGGGGGGGGGGGgggggggggh!

I can't believe my fantasy husband saw me in my BATHING SUIT, sporting my crazy-assed, beach-blown, mop-top hair, reeking of surf and sweat. I'm sure the sight of me scared the bejesus out of him. He, of course said hello and threw out some other small talk to which I could only respond with a classic Neanderthal, monosyllabic grunt. How mortifying. I totally blew my chance to casually chat at length with him. Stupid, Stupid chick.

There's a chance he didn't recognize me, right? Right? Yeah, right.

To add to my humiliation, when I caught up with him after the show, I was all sloshy and slurry having drunk waaaay too much vodka during the show. Can you say Asshat? I did get some nice photos, though.

Bottle and Cork, Dewey Beach

See that look right there... he's thinking about how hot I looked in my swim suit. 

This post is gi-normous, so I'll post part three of Rhett Fest in the next post...because I know you can't get enough of my little obsession. Ciao!

In Time Everything Is Illuminated 

or finally understanding your parent  

Okay, so last night I was sitting on the deck amidst a cool summer breeze, pitting what seemed like 3,000 gallons of freshly picked sour cherries so generously offered by our neighbors. The thing about performing a completely mindless, manual labor over and over again is it allows one's thoughts to freely drift from one's subconscious.  

In my reverie, I realized Sunday was Father's Day. Being as Geo and I have neither fathers living nor children of our own, Father's Day is a holiday which goes by uncelebrated and sadly, unnoticed in our home. Most of the time I completely forget on which day it falls. This realization lead me to thoughts about my Dad, and how, at 49 years of age I think I finally get where he was coming from. 

When we were kids, my Dad worked the afternoon shift at the Post Office so we hardly saw him until his days off. Even then he usually was gone all day Saturday either golfing or out with his brother. He usually returned drunk and raging about the war or missed opportunities in his life. He was a product of World War II--he smoked too much, drank too much and was haunted by ghosts that stared up at him from the bottom of a whiskey bottle. At the time we all were embarrassed by his weekly rants and could not for the life of us understand why he was unable to forget the past, enjoy what he had and move on. I was unable to forgive him then. I was too green.

I think I get it now. In time everything is illuminated.

Let's start from the beginning. My Dad had bad timing. 

When the war started his brother advised him to enlist instead of being drafted. That way he could choose a branch of the military and not get stuck in the trenches of the Army. Heeding his brother's advice, he enlisted in the Air Corp thinking at least he'd be dry, well fed and away from the crazy land warfare. 

Turns out the government yahoo in charge put him on the WRONG TRAIN!! He ended up...you guessed it, in the Army marching in Patton's Third division. He marched from Africa to Germany. He was cold. He was hungry. He was tired. He was wounded twice--one of the times he begged the doctor not to amputate his leg. He had the most impressive five inch x two inch x 1/2 inch deep scar on his thigh. I remember putting my little hand in that huge divot, marveling at the depth of the hollow. He would never talk about it. And he would never wear shorts, no matter how stinking hot it was. Then to top it all off, when he came home the ship carrying his belongings sank. All of his stuff was gone. 

When he met my Mother on a blind date, he was going to art school. My Dad was a really good painter/sculptor and dreamed of being a commercial artist. 

(All of my siblings are talented and take after my Dad. My oldest sister, Weezie has a fabulous eye for photography. Her compositions are effortless and outstanding. My second sister, Vicki, is the painter. She was really good and had a nice flair. I hope she finds time to pick up the paintbrush again. Toni has a gorgeous singing voice, just like my Mother. And my brother has all of the musical talent in our family. He was fantastic on guitar. I think he could have been a session musician, but like Daddy, life got in the way. Someday I hope he starts strumming again. Me, I don't know. I'm really good at wasting time.)

Anywho, back to my Dad....

He met my Mom, fell in love and six months later was married. Ten months later my sister, Weezie was born. A couple years later Vicki was in the picture. Four months after that my Mom was pregnant with Toni, and he finally had to face the fact he needed a full-time job to support his growing family. I think leaving his dream in the dust crushed his soul a little. He went from creatively expressing himself through oils and clay to sorting other people's college acceptance letters into tiny slots over...and over... and over... and over... and over.

There were times when I think he resented us kids. Our very existence represented a constant reminder of a life lost for him. A bitter pill to swallow. But I know deep down and especially at the end of his life, he loved us and was glad we were his. 

But I get it now. I get how his life not turning out the way he envisioned it made him bitter, resentful and pine for things that could have been. Who knows how his life would have turned out had he skipped that blind date or met my Mom 10 years later. We all have crossroads from which we must choose a path. Sometimes the choice we need to make is not the one we want to make. After circling the sun for a few decades, now I can understand his frustration. I couldn't then. I hadn't lived enough. Hadn't made enough choices between want and need. Life was too black and white. I couldn't see the gray. 

In time everything is illuminated.

My Dad's been gone 20 years. 20 years... It's hard to believe it's been that long already. He wasn't always the easiest person to get along with, but he wasn't an ogre by any means. He would always take us kids to the zoo, the drive-in, searching for leaves for a school project. Whatever. He was honest, earnest, had a great sense of humor, a yen for teasing my Mom and a tremendous work ethic. He did whatever it took, worked wherever he could to support his family. He instilled that ethic in all of us. Oh, and he could be charming, especially to my Mother the morning after a drunken Saturday night.

We all had issues with my Dad, but luckily his lingering illness afforded us all the opportunity to mend our respective fences before he passed. Sometimes life gives you what you need without you asking. 

I never told him I loved him until he got sick. Strange since we're Italian and you'd think we'd say that all the time, but we didn't. It felt really weird at first. Uncomfortable. Awkward, even. But then it felt wonderful...natural. I'm happy to say I tell my Mom I love her every time we talk. That, too feels natural now. That, too is a gift from my Dad.

I think about my Dad a lot. I miss him. You never really get over the loss of a loved one, no matter how flawed he might have been. Our flaws make us human. Our family wasn't Ozzie and Harriet. It was what it was. He did his best. That's all you can ask for. 

I don't know...I think we all turned out alright. 

This is a picture of my parents taken right before they married. They were 25, playful, carefree, vibrant and crazy about each other. They were in love and had the world by the short hairs. They had no idea what lie ahead for them or where life would take them. Nothing else mattered except the love they shared. Look at them. It's as if their radiance is glowing from within. The essence of the hopeful nature of youth captured in one perfect moment in time. 

I adore this photo.  

In time everything is illuminated.