SONG FOR THE DAY

MEMORIES: BLUE CAMARO

No, I never owned a blue camaro, or any camaro for that matter. Nor would I ever own a camaro. But I was talking (chatting on FB, nobody talks anymore, talking is so five minutes ago), talking with an old friend lastnight, she was a high school girlfriend. And no, this is nothing sinister or anything. We got caught up a few years ago on some group email and we've stayed in touch, vaguely. That is to say that i talked to her on the phone about 3 years ago, just the one time, and we've exchanged some emails every couple of months. She's happily married for a long time now, and she actually helped me rent my old house, since that's the sort of world she works in...rental property. Anyhow, i was on FB snooping at someone's pictures. SIDEBAR-- Ok, I criticize Facebook all the time. I do. But I look at it every night. It's fascinating to see names and then pictures of people i haven't seen nor heard about in 20 years or more. I've never typed a word into FB, just put pics of my girls and looked at other people's pics. It's like an addiction. Some people play games or poker, and hey thats cool. And Kelli, thats her name, Kelli says its relaxing after a long day at the office to come home and "grease some mobsters" on Mafia Wars. Hey man, i dig it. Not going to criticize that. But I find it interesting that some people need to write the stupidest, most mundane details about their life, or their day and push it out to all the people that are their "Friends". Who cares if you're having a good day, or your going shopping? Not me...shut the hell up. But anyhoo, i digress.

So in chatting with Kelli, we remembered a time when i got beat up by some assholes in a blue camaro, in my own front yard. Here's the breakdown... Kelli was driving us because she had a corvette, and all corvette people must drive wherever they go, it's a rule or something in the "Corvette People Handbook". It actually is a rule, I've read it. So there we were, she driving me home, and I couldn't remember where we had been, she thinks it was a party, but who knows, and more importantly..irrelevent. So this group of guys in the blue camaro are like driving up on her side and ogling her, she's oblivioius as all hot chicks should be, which i find refreshing. So then, they pull up on my side and they're giving me the badass "what the hell are you doing with her" looks. and I don't know what to do, our windows are up, so I just sort of gesture, like I'm with her, you're not. I raised my hands up and and kind of presented her, as if to say "Look, she's here with me". And the light turned green and we went straight and they turned right. But then they circled around and caught up to us. We said our goodnights in my parents driveway, kissed and I hopped out of the car. The driver of the blue camaro stopped in the street. He rolled down his window and asked why i flipped them off. I started walking toward the street saying "I didn't flip you off" at the same time putting my pack of cigarettes into my back pocket. I heard a voice from the back seat say "he's got a knife" and I quickly held up my smokes to show them, but it was too late. All four jumped out of the car in a flash and at first I thought I could out run them, but I was a little drunk I guess and they were close, and they'd had the jump on me, I was more shocked than anything. One had an aluminum baseball bat, one had brass knuckles and the other two I never saw if they had anything. I made it to my neighbors yard before the bat hit me in the ribs, and down I went. I immediatley curled into a ball and tried to protect my head from getting bashed in. Kelli stayed in the car blowing her horn. They kicked me a little, punched me a little and hit me with the bat one more time. And then they started to go away. It was all over in about a minute.

As they were walking away, I heard one of them say "that's how you jump somebody!" and I immediately said "There's fucking FOUR of you!" and they just drove away. Kelli got out and we went into my parents house and called the cops. The cops came and filled out a report and we never heard another thing about it. Assholes.

And so that's the story of me getting jumped in my driveway. But in our chat last night, Kelli said the strangest thing. She said that she still has nightmares about that night. I was kind of surprised that she said that. I even asked her "still?" and she said yes. It's kind of sweet in a way, no? I don't have nightmares about it, and I don't think I ever really did. But maybe it was more scarring for her watching it than it was for me actually going through it. When it was over, it was over. I survived but maybe she had that feeling of helplessness, of not being able to stop something that was happening in front of her eyes. I agree that that is a terrible feeling.

I don't know how Kelli really "is" these days. She seems to have a good life, and I hope she does. Her kids seem well, and her marriage seems strong. But I realize that each of us has our own struggles, our own demons, our own things that wake us up in the middle of the night. I cared for her a million years ago, and I still do actually, but not in the way that I did back then. I care for her soul, for her well being, for her peace. There's been alot of shit that we've had to deal with in the the twenty years or so since we were boyfriend and girlfriend. The world is a funny place. The world is a strange place. Life is hard, no matter how things appear on the outside. We all have those demons and we all have our own ways of dealing with them. And what I've realized through our chat, and through this memory of the guys in the blue camaro is that memories are who we are, not just who we were or what we did. They are the things that make us, that create us, that bind our physical and mental worlds so that we can build upon those things. And in the end, that's who we are. We are the sum total of all of our parts. And even though there've been plenty of terrible things in my life, in Kelli's life, in you dear reader's life, we should always try to remember the things that stand out, to make them worth the pain and the suffering. Me getting jumped in my front yard was not that big a deal to me, but seems as though it was a bigger deal to Kelli. It's funny how the same incident between two people manifests itself so differently in each of our minds.

Today, I like the story of me getting jumped by those assholes in the blue camaro. I like that I survived, I like that I feel stronger knowing that I survived. I like that it is a part of me. And knowing that it's part of my past, realizing that it has affected me in life, which means that it's a part of my future too. I hope Kelli never has another nightmare on account of me. But if she does, if you do Kelli, know I'm just fine. I survived that night, we survived. They could've killed me, and you too. But they didn't and we're stronger because of it.

Have I mentioned that I'd never own a camaro? Those guys were cheesy, trashy, camaro driving hoods. They're probably dead or in jail. I hope that that night affected them too. But since I feel superior to them, I actually can't believe it did much for them. Anyhow, I don't wish them ill, I'm just glad they didn't finish the job on me or Kelli that night. Assholes.

SONG FOR THE DAY

IRON MAN 2

I loved Iron Man, and I swear I love Iron Man 2 sight unseen. It looks really cool. If you want a sneak peak, here you go.

CHARLIE THE WEEPING WILLOW

I remember as a kid, we lived in a pink house. It was the first house I ever lived in. In the 70's, pink houses were not that uncommon. I suppose it wasn't called pink, but maybe it was called Salmon. But either way, it was my first house. It had 3 bedrooms, I shared a bedroom with my brother, we had a trundle bed. Amy had her own room and Mom and Dad had the other. It was a small house, but to this day, I think it was a cool house. The back windows had those louvered windows that you cranked open and the deck over looking the back yard was actually positioned over the patio because downstairs was a walkout. I hardly remember the kitchen but I remember the basement. The basement was one of those that probably only kids can appreciate to it's maximum potential. It was a finished basement, probably though, you'd call it mostly finished. The laundry room was down there, and the storage area was down there, and there was one room that was finished, I think we used it as storage, and then there was sort of an all purpose room. I remember wood paneling and 70's type decor. The walkout to the patio was so cool as a kid. My Pop had setup a small above ground swimming pool on the patio. In those days, they weren't blowup pools, they had aluminum sides and liners and a ladder to climb into it. I used to stand on the deck above it and dream about jumping into the pool below. I think my brother actually did it a few times, but he was 4 years older, and definitely was crazy. But I never did it. The backyard was all hill. I remember it as long, and steep and being great for sledding. It was a terrific hill. And my dog Duffy loved to run the hill by the fence. His doghouse was on the side of the hill on a flat spot, and I can remember my Pop using actual roofing shingles to redo his roof on that doghouse. I also remember it getting painted every year. Nowadays, you go to Wal-Mart and buy a doghouse I guess. But that was Duffy's home, and my home. I remember one time we came home from church and an opossum had gotten into our garage. I thought it was a baby elephant and thought we should keep it. My Pop ran it off with a spade. That house was the first place I ever called home. I really loved that house. But when my little sister Abby came along, it proved itself to be just too damn small for a family of six, so we moved a few miles away to a bigger, better house.

And that next house was the house that I lived in through high school My parents added on to the back of the new house a few years later, and it became a terrific place to live too. But I'll always remember my first home.

Today, I had a little time to spare on my way to my Mom's condo, and I decided that since I was already in Hamilton, I would go check out the old neighborhood, the one I moved away from in Kindergarten. So the old house was there, it was a little more run down than I would have liked to have seen it, as was the neighborhood itself. But time takes it's toll on everything. The house,which I hadn't seen in years, looked old. There was a FOR SALE sign in the front yard, and too many cars and trucks in the driveway. The trees were overgrown and the roof needs to be replaced. But hey, it's still standing. I drove around the circular street and saw that behind our friends house about eight or ten houses away, they had developed that area and built new houses there. Me and my Pop had buried my cat Billy Bong back there when I was five years old. Ol' Billy Bong had surely been bull dozed years ago. And I started remembering the names of some of the neighbors there, from way back when. And I decided to drive one street over, behind the old house to see the view from there. And I saw it. They'd replaced those old louvered windows with typical storm type windows, and the backyard was much smaller than I remembered it. There was still a swing set at the bottom of the hill where ours had been thirty some years ago. But as I sat there, thinking about the times we'd sledded down that hill, and swam in our goofy little pool on our patio, I realized that something wasn't the way it should be. And then it hit me. Our neighbor, on the swing set side, had had a tree...a Weeping Willow, that hung onto our property, over the fence and we used to dance and play under it. We called the tree Charlie. Not sure who named it or why we named it or why we named it Charlie. But Charlie was the Weeping Willow that lived in our neighbor, Stanley Dezarn's yard. That tree, as I remember it, was huge. And it's branches spanned from the sky to the ground below. It was an amazing tree. I remember my Pop remembering that tree, and that we'd named it Charlie, decades later. Poor Charlie is no more. I guess that's the way things go. Charlie lived a good life I'm sure. What Weeping Willow doesn't have a good life?

And so I've been thinking about the old house and Charlie all day now. But what's really sticking in my head is this: Why would we name a tree? Why do kids do things like that? Why to I remember that some thirty five years later? I love that we did that. I love that we named it. That's part of being a kid isn't it. Charlie was part of the kid-universe that was my backyard. Charlie had a role in my life. Charlie was a tree. Charlie was a huge, magnificent tree. And I remember that tree, thirty five years later. How many trees do we name? How often in life do we take an inanimate object and make it a part of our personal history? When my sister Amy reads this, she'll smile and think I'm crazy, but she'll remember Charlie too. I told you earlier that I don't really remember the kitchen in that house, but I do remember the tree in our neighbors yard. How interesting. I think maybe we all need pieces of our life to resonate like Charlie does for me. Charlie was there for years prior to my existence and he was there for years after. He may have outlived ol' Stanley Dezarn but he didn't outlive me. That's a good thing because now i'm here telling you, my faithful reader about him. Charlie was a good tree. I miss him now that I'm thinking about him. He's kind of like Mr Snuffleupaguss on Sesame Street, no? So one of my best friends till I moved out of Southern Hills was a tree. A huge, beautiful, mature tree. And his name was Charlie the Weeping Willow.

SONG FOR THE DAY

SONG FOR THE DAY

STRAWBERRY FIELDS

On Tuesday, it will mark the 29^th anniversary of John Lennon’s murder. Twenty nine years man. That’s a long time in life, but I guess in death that’s really just a drop in the bucket. But murder is murder, and two of the other three Beatles that didn’t get shot that December day in 1980, are still alive. So it’s not really a stretch to think that Lennon would still be alive and still be vital in the world today, had he not been killed that night. I grew up listening to the Beatles and to Lennon and McCartney solo music. My sister Amy had gotten into their music before I did and she turned me and my younger sister Abby on to it. And I so loved it and continue to love it today. The Beatles were such a simple plan…they had great words and perfect harmonies. They had mass appeal and everyone loved them in their time. And people love them to this day. It’s not surprising that the Beatles broke up, I mean, people change, people grow, bands breakup. But the most surprising thing about the Beatles is how all their music seems timeless and relevant to any era. Who would’ve thought that something as simple as I Wanna Hold Your Hand would be known to teenagers of 2009? It’s really remarkable the longevity. And even more remarkable is the idea that the Beatle’s music has made yet another comeback with the Beatles Guitar Hero stuff. Personally, I don’t get those games at all, but I do get that kids love that stuff. I loved Frogger and Ms Pac Man. So I believe that the Beatle’s will be relevant for a long time to come, possibly forever.

The past few times I’ve been to New York City, I made sure to go past the Dakota where Lennon lived with Yoko Ono. Lennon was shot outside that building on that December night in 1980. The building is right next to Central Park, right off of Central Park West where W 72^nd Street collides with it. Great neighborhood, excellent surroundings, great building. Just across the street from the Dakota, is the part of Central Park called Strawberry Fields, where you’ll find a stone and tile mosaic laid into the ground with the word IMAGINE set into the middle of it. This is where New York memorialized Lennon forever. The first time I can remember coming upon it, I was walking up through the park, and I was actually surprised when we got there. And so we stuck around for a little while, not sure why. It’s sort of like being in a cemetery, where you know lot’s of emotions have poured through the air over the years. There’ve been countless tears cried there, and songs sung and hummed and millions of strangers left that little area of the park thinking about the Beatles and about Lennon, trying to remember all the things that they can about Lennon’s assassination. After a few minutes standing there, it got to me too. I remember my breathe feeling heavy and my eyelids feeling like they were having a tough time holding in what they were supposed to be holding in. And I started to think about the assassination itself. And I kept thinking of those Newsreels that we saw where everyone was congregating outside the building, holding candles, singing and crying for John Lennon. People held signs that night and the next night, and burned more candles and held up pictures of John. Standing there, maybe ten years later, in Strawberry Fields, looking down at one of my favorite words in the world, IMAGINE became etched in my brain forever. I mean, I really don’t remember my wedding or my wedding reception, but I remember Strawberry Fields.

John Lennon was a singer, songwriter, visual artist, peace activist, a father and a son. On that dark day in December of 1980, he was shot in the back, four times, by some crazy dude for whatever reason. Lennon was known to be a darkly funny man, with and imagination that is rivaled by only the great poets and philosophers. He was a true Renaissance Man with an insight into his own life that was as original and refreshing as can be imagined, far more than most men of his time. He was part of one of the greatest Rock & Roll groups of all time and was a trailblazer for musicians and artists everywhere across the globe for decades and decades and decades. His words have been memorized and immortalized by children and adults on every continent of this world and will continue to be important to pop culture and to humanity forever. This was a man who stood for peace, love and original thought. He was a man that believed that his words, his thoughts, his actions were important, and that those things could be the catalyst for imagination and serenity for all those that listened to his music, read his words, experienced his art. His children are gifted artists, who will never have the chance to grow old with their father because that dumbass shot him as he was walking into his home.

I never met John Lennon, hell I was ten when he died. I’ve watched countless movies and interviews and back stage type videos of him with or without the Beatles, and I’ve decided that if ever I were to have met him, I probably wouldn’t have liked him, as a guy. He kind of grates on me. But as an artist, as a musician, as a free-thinker, I love the guy. I will always love his music, always love his art, always love his world citizenry. He lived the life that he wanted and I’d bet that if he been given the chance, he wouldn’t change too many things about his shortened life.

Strawberry Fields recognizes and memorializes his life’s work and accomplishments. He was a peaceful man, who in a time of great change and shifting morality saw his way through life, and followed his inner compass to a level of achievement that most of us cannot even begin to conceptualize. He was a star of unequaled greatness and now, twenty-nine years after his death, he is still missed greatly by millions upon millions across the world. Standing at the Imagine mosaic, in the midst of Strawberry Fields, in sight of where Lennon lived and also where he died violently, the emotions that you have about him, the Beatles and about the songs that have been part of your life, come to the surface, and it’s a very powerful moment. Music does that to me in general, but that day, there in the park, was a very powerful, moving, spiritual moment. A moment, that at the time, I didn’t fully comprehend and couldn’t really express in words. I’ve been there three times at least, I think a few more times than that. I’m going back the next time I’m in New York for sure. It’s really a must see, and an experience that should be had by all. We lost John Lennon 29 years ago, but he’ll never be forgotten. Live Big and Imagine.

SONG FOR THE DAY

SONG FOR THE DAY