..this is the one (two)...or this is the one too..or also...

first, Joni Mitchell...

...now where was I ?

Oh yeah....
"I just locked the safe and I don't know the combination".

So I turn around and reposition myself so that everyone is still comfortable with me staring directly down the barrel of that damn gun

and I say to my new friend, "Sorry (still polite), we just locked the safe and NO ONE (I emphasized no one, like there was ANYONE but me) has the combination to open it".


So Genius says, "Excuse me?" (see now even he decides to be polite...you catch more bees with honey than you do with vinegar, right?). Since I just repeated myself he apparently felt like he had to as well (obviously low self esteem issues)...YOU NEED TO GIVE ME ALL THE MONEY IN THE STORE (note the caps on every word now).

Since we seem to be playing anything you can say I can say better, my response is, "Sorry, I can't open the safe"...even I'm feeling a little embarrassed by the lack of rapport the two of us seem to have.

Genius didn't like this...and this is where it gets good.

Genius decides he no longer likes the service desk being between us so he decides to climb over it to get a little closer to me...me being a likable guy and all. Now don't forget the total picture here. Skinny guy, all dressed in black, wearing a full face mask, with a gun in his hand, climbing over the counter of a service desk ...why?...to get his gun a little bit closer to me because, obviously, he thinks I'm lying about the safe situation.



(This , by the way, would have been the perfect time for Bill (or whatever that bagger's name was) to maybe give him a little ooomph when he has climbing over that counter...sending Genius ass over tea kettle, but then again, I don't think he would have successfully have been able to finish peeing his pants if he had...because he had to have been doing something like that or I would have at least remembered his presence throughout this entire episode, which, coincidently, I do not).



Alright, now genius is next to me inside the service desk. He tells me to turn around. "Turn around", he says.

I do.

He puts the gun against the back of my head. I can feel it, Right at the point where the back of your skull ends  and your neck begins. Go ahead, take your hand (right or left, makes no difference) and feel that spot I'm talking about.



Got it?

Now, with the muzzle of the gun touching the back of my head he tells me to "put your hands up". Really? "Put your hands up"? Everybody knows "putting your hands up" is the first thing you are supposed to say when initiating a robbery. Amateur. I actually think that when he tells me to do this.

So I put my hands up.

This is what he says and does..."GIVE ME ALL THE MONEY IN THE STORE", but with an added twist this time. Genius punctuates each word by pressing the gun into my skull (or neck, or whatever that part of your body that technically is) with every word he said.

Nice.

So I clear my throat and say, in the calmest, evenest tone I can muster, "I really can't do that. Nobody here can open the safe after it's been locked. Believe me, if I could I would, but I can't". I said it just like you would tell someone that you forgot to grab them that cup of coffee they asked you for...just like that. Then I added for good measure, "You can take my wallet out of my back pocket and take anything I have in there". This was an offer that he opted not to take me up on, which is probably a good thing, because except for my license, a library card, and probably a note I had written myself as a reminder of something I needed to do, I'm sure there was nothing else in there. If he had taken my wallet, that is probably what would have gotten me shot.

Now let me tell you something. If you think you've got pressure in your life or at work...have to make an important presentation at work...have an unpleasant meeting with your boss...have a deadline you have to hit...all that is nothing. Having a gun pressed up against the back of your head and telling the person on the other end of that gun exactly what he does not want to hear is pressure. But that's what I did.

...and somehow, after telling him to reach in my pocket to get my wallet, I had a sense of calm come over me. Somehow I now felt I was in control, not that skinny little runt hiding behind a mask and gun. I also had a revelation. I'm sure Genius and his getaway driver waiting out in the parking lot (at least that what I had envisioned...I never really found out for sure if he had an accomplice) had worked out an ingenious plan that went something like this...

• Be at the door when they are closing the store
• Get to the place they keep the money
• Demand the money
• Get the money
• Run out of the store
• Total time , maybe 90 seconds
• Spend the money on candy and comic books 

So in my mind, I'm thinking Genius has been in the store about five minutes and things were not going to plan (actually not going to the plan I had devised on the spot) and I thought he was getting a little antsy.

He was.

He told me to "Get on the floor". No way in hell was I getting on the floor. No effing way am I getting on that floor, I think to myself. I get on the floor and he shoots me, I also think to myself.

So with him behind me and the gun still pressed against my head I say to him, "I'm not going to get on the floor" and that was it. I wasn't.

Genius is rattled now. "I said get on the floor"...and although the gun was still on me, I don't remember feeling the emphasis of him pressing it into my skull with each word.

"I'm not doing that".

Now the bastard, I mean Genius, really does not know what to do. Things had clearly not gone as planned. Now he was scared and I could hear it in his voice.

The gun comes off of my head and this is what he says, actually sort of announces, because let's not forget Tori was behind the short glass wall and Bill was standing in a puddle on the outside of the service desk (although for the last few minutes , for me, it was just me and genius), "Nobody moves for five minutes and you won't get hurt". Really, that's the best you got? Christ, you better go back and watch some of those gangster movies for the forties or fifties again and get some better lines.



And with that he bounds over the service desk, takes a quick turn to the right , and sprints out the front door. I watched him, he was gone.

He was gone for less than a minute and a half when Westbrook's finest come barreling in through the front door, guns drawn. Turns out Mickey (do you remember Mickey?) saw Genius walking across the front end after she had handed me her till, bolted up the stairs just to the left of the service desk. grabbed a phone, hid under a desk, and called the police to tell them the store was being robbed. I do not think she peed her pants.

If he had just been in the store for 60 seconds more, who knows what would have happened? Personally I'm glad I didn't have to find out. The outcome would not have been the same. May not have been as pleasant.

After about ninety seconds of them realizing that none of us were the bad guy, they tried to find Genius outside. This is where the store being near the old exit 8 comes in to play (I told you it would). He was literally 30 seconds to the turnpike and had the choice of going either north or south for his escape route. That was the smartest thing he did all night, well, that and not shooting me. He was gone, never to be seen again.

So there were lot's of other details to tell...me calling home to tell my family about what had happened...staying at the store for hours going over every detail with the police...me working the very next night, closing the store again (which to me is a very relevant point...I was at the tipping point of letting this scar me for life, or facing my fears head on and putting it behind me..I chose the latter), going to some therapy sessions with my comrades and on and on and on.

So, next time you see me, think of my calm demeanor and how it saved my life.

...and know I'm one tough son of a bitch that stared down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell about it.

Peace and Love

this is the one...

I'm sure no one remembers this but a few posts back I left you with a teaser....something about what would you do in a life or death situation...then I was told by my number one fan (no, not me) that I write about death too much...well, that was a couple of weeks ago, so now's the time to revisit that post.
But first....a semi autobiographical clip

Back to the story. I was once faced with a life or death situation, and unknowingly the decision I made was the right one (right in the sense of staying alive so that I could go on to marry a wonderful woman, have a beautiful daughter, see my oldest daughter blossom into a successful young lady, move to a wonderful neighborhood, etc etc etc, kind of right).

First a little background. The names I'll use will all be fictitious...I'm still in peripheral contact with a few of the people involved and I'm not so sure they'd appreciate being called out. I will refer to myself as Pete (no explanation needed there, is there?) and I might be obtuse about some of other points, but everything you are about to read is the God's honest truth. Now sit back and enjoy the story.

Year was early 90's (Maybe even 90 or 91...believe it or not this is one of those things I said I would be "obtuse" about...either way THE DATE IS NOT IMPORTANT PEOPLE, so give it a rest). Pete was a Produce manager for a local supermarket chain (for most of you, you'll know which one...for the rest of you, take a guess) and was working in a store that has since relocated, but is still in the same town...alright, it was Westbrook. The store used to be just off of the old exit 8. This is an important point and will be mentioned later in this story.

So, part of my "development" was to "learn how to run the store", and the way I was to "learn how to run the store" was to occasionally work as the Closing Manager. The Closing Manager's job is just what the title implies, to be in charge of the store during the closing hours after the store manager has left for the day. So after a little training, I was deemed ready to act as the Closing Manager on a rotating basis. Looking back on it, I don't recall the Deli...or Bakery...or Seafood...or Meat Managers being part of this closing "rotation"...twenty plus years later I think I've finally come to the conclusion that it wasn't because I was smarter than all of them. I now realize it was that they were (by far) smarter than me. Such is life.

...and I think this took place sometime around this time of the year, not that it really matters, but I just thought of it.

On with the story...

So, it's 11:00 PM. There are associates out in the back room of the store unloading the Grocery truck. I'm in the Service desk. The service desk was a decent walk to the front doors at the old Westbrook store...most of the way across the front end. Just beyond the service desk is a door leading to a flight of stairs going up to the managers offices, the break room, associate lockers, etc. There's a cashier just handing in her till for the night (I'll call her Mickey). There's another person working in the cash office which is directly in from the cash office, separated only by a counter top and a partial glass wall. This person I'll call Tori. The last poor soul was a the lone bagger working until 11:00, I'll call him Bill (believe it or not, I've completely forgotten who this bagger was, although he played a key role in the evening's events...he actually could be named Bill, though I doubt it, either way, I'm going with Bill).

I send Bill across the front end to lock the front doors. We're closed

"Bill, can you go lock the doors?", I say in my most professional "Closing Managers" tone of voice.

"Sure thing Pete" Bill says to me (remember , I'm Pete). We're obviously on a first name basis.

I take the till of money from Mickey, turn around, take two steps (behind those service desks are both long and narrow) put the till on the back counter and hand the till to Tory, who begins to tally the money before locking all the cash away in the safe for the evening.

"Thanks, Pete"     "You're welcome Tori"  We really were that polite...seeing as how it was quitting time, we were all tired, so why not be nice to the people you've been slugging it out with all night (for any of you that have ever worked retail, you'll understand that slugging it out comment).

I turn around again so I'm facing out towards the store now and I've noticed that Mickey has quickly zipped up the stairs to the offices, break room, etc. I didn't think much of it, but in less than a minute I would know why.

So, I'm standing in the service desk, Tory is in the cash office, and Bill comes walking up to the service desk after being dispatched to lock the front doors.

But, Bill's not alone.

Bill has someone with him.

This someone is wearing black gloves (not so odd, because like I said, I think this was in October), and a black jacket (once again not odd, but the black on black look wasn't really doing it for him, although, looking back on it, I guess what they say about black being "slimming" is true, he did look fairly slim), but what was odd was the black mask that Bill's "friend" had on. Actually it wasn't really a mask. it was a black hat, the kind that has two holes cut out for the eyes and mouth, and maybe the nose - the nose part isn't really a key element to this story.

I think you get the picture...and if you don't...



Now do you?

Back to the story.

Bill says to me, "Pete, this guy needs to tell you something" Again, note the politeness.

So, none of this making any sense to me...kind of (kind of?) surreal...I understand what's happening, or is this really happening? Is someone playing a joke on me? Is it a bad (very bad) early Halloween prank being played on me? Is what I think is happening, really happening? But mostly, what the f*@# is happening?

Then the genius in the black mask speaks up...I'll refer to him as the genius, which in case we're not clear here, I'm being facetious calling him genius. What  I really think of him is somewhat less than genius, somewhat less than normal, somewhat less than human.

Genius says, from just across the service desk counter, "You need to give me all the money you have in the store." Which was not in the polite fashion that we had thus far been conducting ourselves in. Not polite at all.

Pete says, "Excuse me?" (note the politeness still)

Genius says, "You need to give me ALL THE MONEY IN THE STORE"...the caps are meant to convey the sense of urgency that he was trying to impart to me (oh, and one other thing here, which is a pretty relevant point. Genius then takes out a gun. Now I'm not a gun guy, but it do know it was one of those guns that if someone shoots you with it, you die kind of guns).



He points this gun directly at me. Keep in mind he's standing about six inches from the edge of the service desk...the counter of the service desk is about 18 inches wide...probably a six inch divide.. then there's 18 inches of counter on the inside, my side, of the service desk...genius' arm is what, three feet long...gun is probably six inches long...a little quick math here...end result is, the gun is about six inches from the tip of my nose.

This what I say and do, literally.

I hold up my arm, extend my index finger, and I say, "Just a sec." Really ...gun six inches from my face and my response is, "Just a sec"?

Pete turns his back on the genius with the gun (maybe not the best idea) and says to Tori, "Tori, you need to give me all the money you have back there".

Tori, oblivious to what is happening six feet from her, not questioning my request, not even looking up from whatever it was that had her so absorbed, replies, "I just locked the safe and I don't have the combination".

That sentence I remember explicitly...."I just locked the safe and I don't have the combination"..so nonchalant, so casual, so not knowing that those words might be some of the last that Pete ever hears.

...and that's when it gets interesting.

...and that's all for now.

I've had enough. Probably you have as well.

More next time.

...and that's the truth.

And now for something completely different...

It's all up to you.

Compare these two videos. Notice any difference between them? Same song, "slightly" different presentation.

and now for something completely different...

Is one better than the other or are they just "different"? I know what Uncle Jeff would say, but I know a few folks that would lean the other way. It's not just in the approach, but also the audience. Different strokes for different folks.

Or sometimes are things just bad?

 Who defines what's good and what isn't? What's cool and what's not ? (I was going to say lame, but I didn't think that would be cool). One man's trash is another man's treasure. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What's in and what's out? ...and on and on and on...It truly does come down to your own personal view, doesn't it? Or does it?

Once you realize that everyone has the right to their own opinion and being comfortable enough with yours to listen to theirs, everything gets a little easier. You're liberated to speak up...to take a chance....to write a blog...to enjoy the music YOU like...to watch a movie that You enjoy..to read a book that YOU want to read...to be yourself.

But it's not always that way , is it? You still catch yourself wanting to be with the "popular" people. You still worry about how you're perceived....what you wear...what you say....we're still that kid in middle school that wants to fit in. You want to be cool.

And so it goes.

I'll leave you with this.

Roses are red, mustaches are toaster, this poem makes no sense, pencils.

How do like them apples?

Strolling the kitties

My god, what a gorgeous day. It's gotta be one of the top five weather days of all time. To be in the top five it has to be a day unexpected by it's gorgeousness....85 degrees and sunny in mid July doesn't count...that's what we expect...although we seldom get it, we do expect it. At least I do (and you should too).

Since I keep a record of these beautiful days (remember,this is a work of fiction, right?...or is it? You'd think I'd know, being the author (and I use that term loosely) and all).

Nice use of double parentheses there...

First ...today's clip...in honor of John's birthday tomorrow (if I get this posted today)...

Anyway, to the best of my memory, here's the top five...totally subjective and these would be top five for no one else...just me.

5) May 4, 1974. Record low humidity. This enabled a nine year old kid  (me) to hit a homerun at little league tryouts (ball was carrying well that day). Crowd (of 12) went wild....made me run the bases, just like Babe Ruth (except I'm not left handed, or bow legged, and I wasn't drunk when I hit it). I was the talk of Thornton Heights Elementary school the next week. The dark side of this story is that this was the highlight of my sports career (unless you count that unassisted triple play I turned on my slow pitch softball team...unassisted unless you count the other team being too drunk to run the bases as an assist...I don't). So in a sense, my years as an athlete were in a slow and steady decline after this day.



4) September 29, 1979. Coolest day/night of the Fall. This enabled me to have the stamina to stand up front against the barricade at the first concert I ever attended. Cheap Trick. Cheap Trick at the height of their Live at Budokan run. I knew EVERY word of EVERY song on that album (did I date myself by calling that an album), and though I haven't listened to that "album" in probably 25 years, I bet I still do. So I sang, and sweat, and got crushed against the barricade, and I loved it. I even loved after the show, waiting for my friend Kevin's Mom to pick us up (in front of the McDonalds on Congress Street - that isn't there anymore) and watching a fight break out. The excitement of the big city for a 15 year old boy...ROCK N ROLL !!!



3) June 5th, 1975. Hotter than hell. This predates air conditioning (at least in Maine, and in early June) and too early to have to have one of those monstro fans pulled out of storage yet, that used to have two settings....turbo and jet plane. Went to bed with my window open, no screens in yet. Woke up in the middle of the night feeling like there was "something" in my room. Then it happened. Attack. "What the hell was that?" Attack again. A bat...a vampire bat (I'm sure of it) with a wingspan of nearly six feet...or maybe it was six inches, either way...IT WAS A BAT! ...and I WAS OUT OF THERE! Down the thirteen steps to the first floor by leaps and bounds (this was not much more than a year after my glory trip around the bases, so I still had it in me at this point). I burst into my parents room, the room in which they would be sleeping, but not for long..."Mom, Dad, there's a bat in my room!" My Dad, "Go back to bed". Me, "No. there's a bat in my room...I can't go back up there". My Dad, still not registering, "What?"...and so forth and so on until I finally got them out of bed. My Dad's solution was to close "the bastard" in there, which by the way was much easier said than done...seeing as how when we got the wall to wall  carpeting installed a few years before the rug wasn't cut "quite right" so that none of the doors would close tightly...anyway...a few feet of rope and a fews hours later, my room was safely cordoned off to be dealt with the next day.
Dealing with it he next day entailed me having to remove everything in my room and bringing it down those stairs and put it in the driveway...why the driveway, I don't know, but to the driveway my stuff went...and by stuff I do mean stuff. (Literal meaning of stuff is something of little meaning, significance, or worth...unless you're an 11 year old boy). Mad magazines (dozens), paperback books (hundreds), comic books (thousands), baseball cards (millions), Playboy magazines (one)...anyways, you get the picture. All with the constant worry of "that bats in here somewhere". After a few hours, a driveway full of my valuables, a lecture from my Dad (not the "titstick" one, but he would have used it , if it had been his repertoire at that point) and no bat.
To cut a long story short...and to get on to numbers two and one, the bat turned up on the curtain rod in the dining room that night. My Mom screamed, our neighbor Jesse Cook whacked it with a broom (bringing down bat, curtains and all), bat got scooped up, tossed into the woods, and that's the end of that. Phew.



What number was that one again?

2) Today. Unseasonably warm, over 80 degrees. Got the lawn taken care of, the gardens cut back, the Halloween decorations up (well mostly up, still have to do the ghosts in the trees, and the windows upstairs have not been turned into eyes peering out onto Clinton street yet) and ran into three friends at the grocery store.
First conversation (in the Produce department) was about the weather (appropriately enough) and somehow led to stories of swimming at Willard Beach in October....and yes, for those of you reading that don't know where Willard beach is, it's in Maine. Maine with the moose and snow and eight months of Winter Maine. Anyway...

Second conversation was in front of the Meat case with an old friend (old in time of friendship not of age...well, ok, maybe of age too, since we've been friends for so long, how could we not be old...unless, one of us was Ponce De Leon and we had discovered the fountain of youth...but, neither of us are, so let's just stick with old, ok?). She told me I was her favorite "facebook" friend...or I told her she was MY favorite "facebook" friend...I don't really recall, mostly because of my age. Either way , it was nice. Except for the people that were interfering with our pleasant conversation by actually trying to do some shopping. "Sorry, but by me blocking you from buying that bacon could have added at least a few days on to your life expectancy".

Third conversation was in front of the milk cooler with a wonderful friend from England (sorry Andy, my other wonderful friend from England). We talked about everything... ..pumpkins.....dogs......husbands and wives...surgeries......helicopters...writing....radio....Paul McCartney...get the picture? I was in no hurry, seeing as how I hadn't hit the frozen food section yet. Nice addition to a wonderful day.




Oh, and another friend gave me the title to this blog. Strolling the kitties. Doesn't get any better than that.

1) Number one...Numero Uno...best day EVER.
September 9, 2001. Beautiful Summer day in the Fall. Wedding day. Setting - Overlooking Higgins Beach Maine. Officiated by the Dad of a dear friend of both of us. Only other person if the wedding party was my wonderful daughter (only daughter at the time). Me and Stef in front of our closest friends with the ocean as our backdrop...the scene almost matched the magnificence of my bride to be. Nice...simple....perfect. I can't tarnish that day with all the nonsense that I used on the prior four.



So, that's it. The best five weather days of all time according to Pete Wildes.

Peace.

why didn't he just say that in the first place....

Let me break it down...great song by Michael Penn, but with slightly obscure lyrics.

That's where it helps to have someone with the musical acumen that I've been blessed with.

First off, familiar with this?

Here's the lyrics, with my comments in red

To start with, this is one of those boy/girl stories....

So, she says it's time she goes
She's running down to the store..probably to pick up a pizza, maybe a bag of chips, probably some beer. Not really important, what is important is that she has no cash and  borrows some from him, promising to give him back the change when she gets back.

but wanted to be sure I know
she hopes we can be friends.
Obviously sending him the signal, "There ain't gonna be no change honey".

I think, yeah, I guess we can say I
The guy is a little self important, notice how he refers to himself in the first person, actually both singular and plural, so would that be first people? ..or first and second people?

but didn't think to ask her why
"Where's my money?"

she blocked her eyes and drew the curtains
...obviously a diversionary tactic

with knots I've got yet to untie.
This is a poetic device called an iambic pentameter onomatopoeia alliteration (you'll have to trust me on this one)

(chorus)
The chorus is the part of the song that is repeated two or three times, depending on the laziness of the writer. It's also the part you keep singing to yourself when you can't remember any other words to the song. Tell me that's not the case with this song.

what if I was Romeo in black jeans
We all know Romeo, but what many don't know about Romeo was that he is actually the original "Man from Nantucket" from the infamous "Man from Nantucket" poem written by William Shakespeare

what if I was Heathcliff, it's no myth 
Heathcliff was the famous cartoon cat that wasn't nearly as funny as Garfield...and that's saying something because Garfield was about as funny as Family Circus, easily one of the most unfunny comics ever written

maybe she's just looking for
someone to dance with.
Lap dancing I guess we can say I

See, it was just too soon to tell
and looking for some parallel
parallel was used here because it made more sense to rhyme that with tell than it was with smell
can be an endless game.
whatever

We said goodbye before hello
Obviously stolen from that Beatles classic Hello Goodbye, which we all know is about Siamese twins stuck in a room full of mirrors (maybe I'll explain that song another time, this one has me almost worn out).

my secrets she will never know
If she knew, it wouldn't be a secret then, would it?

and if I dig a hole to China
Which, by the way, we all know is impossible...but, if you fell into that impossible hole to China it would take you two and a half days to fall all the way through

I'll catch the first junk to Soho.
Typo..He meant SoPo, as in South Portland. The junk he is referring to would be my first car, a 1974 Ford Maverick , which if he had just taken the time to get to know, he would of realized what a lost classic that was and how it bridged the gap between the Ford Falcon and the Ford  Fairmont. If you owned a Mercury Comet, it was essentially the same car.

(chorus)
what if I was Romeo in black jeans?
what if I was Heathcliff, it's no myth.
maybe she's just looking for
someone to dance with.
Do I have to explain this again?...please see the first chorus in case you forgot

Sometime from now you'll bow to pressure.
That's bow as in the intransitive verb meaning "to bend the head, body, or knee in reverence, submission, or shame and not bow as in "bow tie pasta".

some things in life you cannot measure by degrees.
remember in elementary school when we'd have to watch all of those movies about the metric system...how we had to learn the metric system because that is what the rest of the world used...how the U.S. was going to be using the metric system by 1980...well, 212 degrees fahrenheit = 100 degrees celsius.

I'm between the poles and the equator.
Which, by the way, could put you in Rangeley Maine

don't send no private investigator to find me please
unless it's James Garner, who playes Jim Rockford from "The Rockford Files"..remember that one?

'less he speaks Chinese 
"unless"

and can dance like Astaire overseas.
no a stair...Astaire..you know, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Fred Astaire. The greatest American dancer of all time...with the possible exception of Elaine Benes (from Seinfeld).

what if I was ...
Fill in the blank....what if I was an Oscar Mayer wiener...or I was three inches taller...or what if I didn't know how to swim...or what if I was purple

so what if I was... 
again, fill in the blank, but it has to rhyme with the prior line. Hopefully you didn't go with the one that ended with purple...

maybe she's just looking for
someone to dance with.
"Nobody puts baby in a corner" - Dirty Dancing 1987

(chorus)
what if I was Romeo in black jeans?
so what if I was Heathcliff, it's no myth.
maybe she's just looking for
someone to dance with.
really, the chorus again?.....

So, hopefully you'll hear this song with a new appreciation of the true meaning of the lyrics, giving you a deeper appreciation for the art of choosing the right word and how it adds layers 
of complexity that you never knew existed before.

...next time we tackle Frank Zappa.

You're welcome.

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