Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

So my beautiful wife turns to me the other night and says, "You talk to much about death".
I say, incredulously,  "What do you mean I talk to much about death? I don't talk to much about death".
Says she, "Your blogs all have something to do about death".

Apparently she had something there...reminiscing about my Dad (dead)...songs I want played at my funeral (death)... life and death (ummm, death), so I guess that cliffhanger I mentioned earlier will have to wait.

So what to write about?...hum dee dum..

got it.

Beer.

First a video from my second favorite band of all time...

So, I like beer, although I'm not really much of a beer drinker, really I'm not. I go days without as much as a swig...a six pack can reside in my fridge for weeks at a time...I'm as apt to have a tall glass of water as I am a beer when I got out to dinner.
But, don't get me wrong, I'm no teetotaler, not remotely. I can "drink too much" ( as the amateurs say) a couple of times a year. By the way, Missy- if you're reading this , I still need to apologize to your Dad for a conversation I had with him at a Sea Dogs game this year.....

Anywho, back to me liking beer.

I cut my teeth on , of all things, Colt 45 (had to be 16oz cans) and Haffenreffer bottles, with the rebus' under the cap. Go figure...and while you're at it, here's a Haffenreffer cap to figure out on your own.


When my friends switched to Budweiser or Miller or Pabst Blue Ribbon, I stepped into Heineken or Beck's..which began my journey into "good" beer snobbery. Although I'll bet I digressed when I'd be drinking out of the red solo cups in the woods or golf courses or sand pits of SoPo.

And why beer do you ask ? (do you?). I attribute that to an unfortunate incident that was equal parts southern comfort and vomit. Hope weren't eating.

I digress....

Some of my favorites would include

• most of the Shipyard line up, especially the seasonals
• Ubu Ale, which I discovered on a business trip to Lake Placid
• Gritty's, well just because (by the way I'm now the owner of mug #222...it had to be something I'd remember)
• Peak's Organic, because every best of list has to have something organic on it nowadays, doesn't it?
• Top of the list for me...Magic Hat. Especially #9. That's my go to beer...and would you believe I can now count the magician that created this wonder as a friend of mine...although he still won't go for that Scratch Pete's Fresh Nuts idea (that is, in case you were wondering, a reference to a facebook post prior to facebook going all haywire on everyone). ..and maybe in some way the sayings under the Magic Hat caps bring me back to my Haffenreffer days....nah, I think that might be a stretch

Well, I think that's enough for now. No beers were hurt, opened , or drank during the writing of this blog, although I hear a Magic Hat calling my name from the kitchen.

A toast: Here's health to those I love and wealth to those who love me.

Salut

Happiness is a warm gun

What would you do if your life was in danger? I mean really in danger...
I 'm not talking about falling down and getting hurt...





I'm not talking about being afraid of something in the closet....



Not being scared by a bug...



or not being able to find the right clothes to wear...


I'm talking life and death....right choice and you live, wrong choice and you may not.
I'll tell you what I did.

Next time.

How's that for a cliffhanger?

Summer's Almost Gone

Why not?...
Not looking to be morbid, but for anyone that wants to keep a tally , here are a few songs that I'd encourage to be played at my funeral (assuming that you, dear reader, outlasts me on the big rock we call home). I think it's this dreary day (and the last day of Summer at that) that inspired this. Well, that ,and looking for a way to get some music on these sorry blogs of mine. Here's the first five...next batch to be continued at a later date. Somebody write these down....

Have to have Harry Nilsson...he's pulled me out of some miserable depths in the past with his lugubriousness

...This Warren Zevon song hits me pretty hard..knowing it was one of the last things he had ever done, and him knowing he was on his deathbed when he recorded it.

One of my favorite Talking Heads songs....probably a better option than Psycho Killer...

Love these lyrics...Can't you picture this?...Doesn't this put you there? Great writing....
You're in the back seat laying down 
The windows wrap around
To sound of the travel and the engine 
All you hear is time stand still in travel
And feel such peace and absolute
The stillness still that doesn't end
But slowly drifts into sleep
The stars are the greatest thing you've ever seen
And they're there for you
For you alone you are the everything

And I said five, right?
Has to be a Beatles song...although I do kind of like this cover.

So five for now....five more at a later date.
Did someone get these?

If you post a blog and no one reads it, was it really written?

Picture this...
Early morning only one awake in the house. A little groggy, in the bathroom...windows open.

The sound of a lighthouse, deep and long. A second sound, a handful of seconds later...another lighthouse replies, a little higher pitched, a little shorter sound, maybe a little farther away (but then again maybe closer).

The first answers back in the same voice it used the first time. Then the "little" lighthouse, but a little closer in time than before. It answers in it's own good time. No need for perfect timing between sounds. Actually it's the slight irregularity that makes it so perfect.

Before the first lighthouse gets another chance, I pick up the sound of a bell in the background. I imagine it's a buoy, a big one, somewhere between the two lighthouses, pitching back and forth with the rolling of the waves.

A sound that can only be replicated in the ocean. Was it two clangs or four, or the echoes of two that sounds like four?

Then the lighthouses, in tandem this time. The sound perfectly synced on top of one another. More harmonious than anything I've ever heard.

For that brief moment I can appreciate my lot in life. Where I live. Who I am. Why I'm here.
I'm satisfied, and serene.
Things are good.
Everything is clear...I'm at peace.

But it doesn't last. It can't. There's work...deadlines...be someplace at a certain time, oh, wait, is that today or tomorrow? Did I have to be in early today...or was it late, or is that next week..or maybe yesterday. Did I remember what I told myself yesterday I couldn't forget, or did I have to remind myself today about something I needed to do tomorrow. I think there's practice after school, but do I have to leave early or did I arrange for someone else to do it....or is it dance...or am I supposed to go out to dinner after work, or was that Stef, and I have to be home by 5:00..or is that Tuesday, like last year, or do I remember seeing that's now Wednesday this year, if I could just find that paper, or email, or note sent home from the teacher, or text from my boss. ...and aren't there some library books around here somewhere, I think there's one missing, or maybe I never took it out, but meant to...oh, and it's trash day, I should have put it out tonight because they come so early I don't want to miss the truck, and I can't forget I have clothes in the dryer, so I'll have to iron in the morning and I'm sure I have to get in before 7:00 so that means I'll have to get up by 5:30 so I can get lunch made because there's nothing good to eat and I hope there some fresh fruit in the fridge because I can't send her to school with goldfish again or can I...

and on and on and on...

Thank God for the lighthouses.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again

                                                               

So my Dad...
Don't know why , but one of my strongest memories of my Dad is one word he once said to me..but I'll get to that in a minute.

First let me draw you a little picture of my Dad. Dad was a big man in every way...big build, big personality, big presence, big heart. Everyone knew my Dad. As a kid, everywhere we went (and I do mean everywhere) people would know him. Still happens, although less so now than when he was alive...but it was maybe about a month ago it happened again. It's always the same thing..."You're Wilbur's boy? I knew your Dad. How's you Mom ?" ..and then usually some anecdote about a memory of him and how he somehow fit into their life. Always something nice and usually something that resonated with that person to keep it as a memory. What a great legacy to leave. Would be proud to leave that as a legacy myself, but I've got a ways to go to achieve that, methinks.

I always saw Dad as a leader, the center of his large group of friends. Sort of the Frank Sinatra to his own extended Rat Pack. Or maybe more so like John Wayne...always a twinkle behind that solid exterior. Dad was cool without truly knowing what cool meant. But then again, maybe he did know all along, either way..absolutely someone to emulate, someone you were happy to have known, someone you are proud to have crossed paths with.

One thing Dad rarely showed was his temper. I remember one time playing pass with him in the back yard. Must have been about this time of the year, because if I recall correctly, an errant throw by son number three (me) bypassed my intended target (Dad) and instead went through three storm windows that were leaning against the house. Don't remember anything else about that, but I'm sure if Dad had a negative reaction I would have.

One time I do remember Dad getting mad was this....(once again a little back ground is needed).

Dad was many things, but one thing that he definitely was not, was mechanically inclined (which , by the way, he did pass down to me - thanks Dad), but he did somehow have every conceivable tool known to man either in the garage or in the basement. This was probably because whenever something needed to be fixed , it was always one of Dad's friends that came over to do it, and I guess in my father's mind the proper protocol in that situation was, "If they're doing it for you, the least you can do it have the right tools ready for them".

So back to the time I remember Dad getting mad involved him replacing a toilet seat. Now we've all (even me) replaced toilet seats, right ? Loosen the two screws that hold the bolts that attach the seat to the toilet, lift off the old seat, put on the new one, and attach the screws. Voila', you're sitting pretty again, (so to speak). Well somehow to Dad that job ended up needing a screwdriver and a hammer, with the act of chiseling taking place. Picture, if you will, a Screwdriver being pounded by a hammer as a chisel directly into porcelain. Not sure but I'll bet it wasn't much past the first or second "thwack" when Dad split the toilet bowl...not in two, but more like in four. I remember Dad's face turning a shade of red that Sherman Williams would market as "Incensed Wilbur". He started to storm around the house swinging that screwdriver and hammer like the God of Thunder. I was afraid they might have found their way through the bathroom door the same way Rico Petrocelli's throw in the back yard found it's way through the storm windows. I think of this exact scenario EVERY SINGLE TIME  I use a tool. To this day. I truly do.

So, back to that word.

Picture an honor role student, bringing home his first progress report indicating a failing grade. The honor role student was me, in case I needed to clarify, and home was where I was living at the time, in case I needed to clarify even further. (and if that is the case, please stop reading this blog now and go back to brushing up on your 5th grade English class). I don't recall the year (although it may have been 8th grade)...don't even recall the teacher or course...although Mrs. Hladke and German (German, why the f*#% German - that got me far) are a distinct possibility.

Dad , upon seeing this shocking turn of events from his most scholarly of all four of his kids (don't deny it) uttered the phrase that contained the word that I will always remember...

"Pete, you better get on the titstick"

That's it. Titstick.

Don't know what a (or the) titstick is. But I got the message and I got on it.

I've actually used that same word , in similar situations, and no one has ever questioned it, and the point has always gotten through.

So do me a favor, if you ever are in a situation when you can use the word titstick, please do so, and think of my Dad.

peace and love

let's see how this goes

Going to give this a go.
Nobody has ever said to me, "why don't you write a blog?" I never even considered it until my lovely wife asked me last night, "What's that song that goes - I really love your peaches want to shake your tree?" After my quick answer (music trivia has always been a personal strength - some folks can build things, I can tell you Badfingers top three hits). When I got to the pompatus of love line I thought to myself, "now that's a great word and doesn't get nearly the play it deserves", hence, this ridiculous endeavour on my part. That's how my brain works. Maybe at some point I'll actually bother to learn how to create a layout beyond the kindergarten level that is this first crack. So it goes.

Don't know what to expect, how often I'll post, or if I'll have anything interesting to share. A few things I do know...this will suck for awhile...I expect nothing beyond rank amateurism for quite some time..probably won't land on a theme or style (other than the parentheses and dot dot dot...that I obviously use as my fall back punctuation).

Sure there will be the occasional flash of genius - like the awesomeness of the name of my blog- but more often than not it will be the meandering and noodling style that I'm currently employing, but all things considered...who doesn't love to meander and noodle once in awhile.
Speaking of noodles, here's what Mr. Noodle does with a banana...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBOsz03ZZZ0

(the sole reason for that was to see if I could execute a link)

Anyway, don't know how to share this...if anyone would read it anyway...or if this is my first and last.

dot dot dot