Breathe in and let in God

3/18/20 23:06 Bethlehem, PA

Leaving my parent’s house was sad.  There was the sense that it could be the last time I saw my mother alive.  She came outside to see me off, blowing me a kiss and a God bless.  I love you.  Maybe she was trying to ask me to stay another night?  There was not the usual handshake from my father, no hug for Ma.  I drove off in my car with some groceries I had bought and intended to eat while staying there.  But I was done.  I spent two nights and their day to day activities and banal conversations were making me irritable.  I was working in a room upstairs and they’re yelling to one another – not fighting about some bullshit in plain English.  There is enough stress in the world, I reminded my son of this in a text.  He can read it here and so can you. There is enough unease and panic that erupts with each sneeze or dry cough and I can hear my roommate upstairs hacking.  The good news, I am away from my parents and the idea that I am a carrier or that one of us is sick in their house was too much.  Get out.  Before leaving, I made sure my sister, Eileen would buy them groceries, I did not want Dad out in the world and especially in a crowded supermarket, searching for a way to save a dime.   He is very frugal.  He did not balk or try to interfere when I said I spoke with Eileen who will take care of the shopping.  Yes.  Good idea.  That is done.  My other sister is holed up in her house for fear of the virus.  They have enough food and toilet paper for a couple of weeks.  I think she is alright.  I can call her.  I will call her.  I will call my brother and cousins as well.  This is a time to share our isolations and our vulnerabilities.  This will pass like a long wind which dissipates over the ocean.

Thank you for reading this.

The night before flying to Mexico

11/20/19 22:45 East Northport

I’m back at my parents since I am flying to Mexico City tomorrow.  Driving back in the dark and it seems like it was yesterday that I left this place. It was the day before yesterday. Maybe I could have timed it better?  I needed to pick up paperwork at the courts on Monday.  The rings were going to be delivered.  So that is the reason for the short trips.  Even the trip to Mexico will be brief and yet it sounds as if we are going to have a packed weekend.  I bought Meli’s birthday gift, ordered flowers which were delivered in hours and now I am here and tomorrow I will be there.  Living in the moment.  Feeling grateful.

Thank you for reading this.

Being a divorced Dad

11/10/19 23:23 East Northport, NY

My dad has some nuggets of wisdom from time to time.  Tonight before I came to bed, he suggested I pray the serenity prayer.  For those who are not familiar with it: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.  Thy will not mine be done.  The prayer is used in 12 steps rooms and has helped me when I feel there is little more I can do, expect to pray and to accept the circumstances.  This weekend has been emotional.  Last night I had dinner with Amanda and Joey and felt we ended the night in a positive way.  But there was little communication from either of them today, I was not sure what to expect.  I had dinner with Emma Tess who has been with me through thick and thin, there was not one moment when she made an ultimatum, it’s either us or her.  And both Meli and I know how the divorce is still fresh and painful, but we are making plans to marry.  I asked her last January if she would marry me, so it should not be a surprise to any of my children that we will get married.  I listened to their fears.  I know they love me, but I don’t like hearing, if I really loved them, I would not get married.  The fear is that I will go away and not be a part of their lives.  The move to Pennsylvania was not easy since I was moving away from my parents, sisters and more importantly my children, but it is more expensive to live here and they understand, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  I can’t run out to pick up Bella from school if she needs me; it will take more than three hours – at least – to get to her.  But I have not abandoned them. Yes, I live in Pennsylvania, but I am still part of their lives – as best as I can be and as best as they want me in their lives.  I visit Long Island at least every other week and see the kids, the one or ones willing to see me.  So, it’s true, the serenity prayer is perfect for tonight, especially knowing most of my children are suffering in their own way, with the divorce, with knowing I am engaged and with the possibility, I will be married to someone other than their mom.  I will always be there for each of them as much as they are willing to accept me for who I am and who I choose to be with.

Thank you for reading this.

A Sort of Reunion in the Grocery Store Parking Lot

10/15/19 22:52 Valley Forge, PA

Listen to this.  The last couple of days when I have been driving around Bethlehem, I noticed a number of New York license plates.  Yes, we are close to New York, and yes there are a lot of carpet baggers like myself who made the move up here.  I mentioned the amount of NY cars to Meli on Sunday while I was driving and yesterday, I pulled into a spot at the super market and there is front of my car, yes it’s still registered in NY; is another NY license plate, I took a picture and sent it to Meli, is there something in the air?  Is this a conspiracy?  This afternoon I drove back down to the same supermarket and parked next to a car, also with NY license plates.  I was going to take a picture, but did not.   I went into the store and came out.  The man who was parked next to me was getting into his car.

“You’re from New York?” I asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah, what part are you from?”

“Long Island.”

“Me too.”

“Really?  What town are you from?”

“I grew up in Northport.”

“Really?”  He said.  “I grew up in East Northport.”

“That’s where my parents live, off Vernon Valley, Bellecrest Avenue,” I said.

“I grew up on Bellecrest. 63.”

“Really? What’s your last name?”

“Petersdorf.”

“Fred?”

“He’s my younger brother.  I’m Billy.”

It turns out the mom moved up here years ago and Freddy lives with his mom.  Billy was too cool for the kids and looked a little wild, that’s how I remembered him.  Later, my brother called.  I have not spoken to Dave in over a year.  I asked if I was dying, I could not believe what happened today.  Dave and I talked for close to an hour, the same with Billy and I, we also spoke for close to an hour …small world.

Thank you for reading this.

Training for two weeks to run a half marathon

10/10/19 21:32 Bethlehem

Went for a run earlier.  8 miles through this town, on the rail road trail and around the casino and back to the house.  I am checking if I can run a half marathon in two weeks.  The Suffolk County Marathon and half and 10K and 5 K and everything in between is being held on 10/27.  Join me on my training and let us run together on the South shore on Long Island.  Let us pray dear friends that it does not rain.

Mo Cheeks is going to France next month.

Joey was visiting her, we FaceTime, or FaceTimed?  What is correct?

I may fly back to Mexico in November and back to Costa Rica in December for Christmas.

Thank you for reading this.  

Running the Suffolk County Marathon in the rain!

11/3/17 16:33

Last Sunday, I ran the Suffolk County Marathon.  Anytime I mentioned I was preparing to run a marathon, notice my friend, “a” I was asked if I was running THE New York City Marathon.  No, I responded, and clarified, I am going to run the Suffolk County Marathon. 

Last year, I ran the half marathon with barely any preparation.  I challenged myself, two weeks before the race, if I can run 10 miles, I can run the half.  I accomplished the task and beat the time I wanted. 

A marathon is a lot different.  There are training guides which I could have followed.  I don’t follow no guides.  I was a rogue marathoner.  I increased my distance gradually.  I wanted to prove I can run a marathon.  It’s been a goal of mine.  Placed on the bucket list, with flying a plane – done, getting to bat in a major league game.  Not.  And having a book contract with a major publishing company.

The last three or four years I told myself, run your first marathon.  Years passed.  Run one by the time you’re 50.  That threshold passed, a few weeks back I turned 52. 

Preparing for a marathon takes insanity, slight determination and the constant pursuit of a vague and very long race in the future.  In April of this year, I signed up for the marathon.  Noe that I paid for it, I was committed.  I had time.  The race was at the end of October and for most of this year it felt like a lifetime away. Slowly, I increased my distance.  I could have psyched myself and at times I did, reminding myself not to push it.  I was injured while in yoga.  I know what you’re thinking.  Yoga?  What the?  The hamstring was the culprit and for weeks I was hobbling.  Gradually, I got back in the game, slowly and carefully, and after six weeks I was back.  My pace was back.  I was making good time.  I ran a 10 K race in the woods, but started too fast and by the end of the race, I was huffing, watching other racers pass me in their steady pace, which I scoffed at earlier as I hustled past them.  Slow pokes!  They got me.  Lesson one, pace yourself.  Last year, I started the half marathon faster than I should and by the end, I was beat.  I am a slow learner. 

Let’s start with the weather.  It was raining.  The organizers sent an email the night before the race, to let the runners know, it will be raining.  If that wasn’t bad, the after race events (music, mingling, free beer) were cancelled, but dear runners - the race will continue.  And by the way - there is a chance of lightning.  If there is lightning, seek shelter, under someone’s front porch.  Imagine a huddled, dripping mass of humanity cringing for safety under a stranger’s front porch.  The cops are called.  Who is on your front porch?  A dozen joggers?  We’ll send someone over.  Could be a new cult. 

The night before the race, I laid out my clothes, the shorts, the socks, the t-shirt and personalized bib and was ready.  I knew it was going to rain, but did not expect the rain from the time I left the house at 06:30 to the time I hobbled back down the driveway hours after the race.   

I took my time at the start, like I said I am a slow learner.  I told myself the first two miles, go slow.  I stayed at the even pace, 9 minute mile for a good chunk of the race and in fact I did not stop.  Typically, I get to mile 7 and slow down and walk a hundred yards and get back on it.  I was still running past 12 without a break.

Carrying my bottles, one filled with Gatorade and the other water and a nuun tablet for sodium. I bought GU packets and a Gatorade extra energy packet.  I don’t mean to be crude, but I had more energy stuffed in my pockets in case I ended up lost and abandoned on the side of the road.  I passed the water stations and thanked the volunteers for coming out in the rain.  I kept going.  Keep going.

Rain seeped into every pore of my skin.  The Under Armor underwear which I typically highly recommend, was chaffing an area that is very sensitive…to men.  That was around mile 13.  Around the same time my knee was sending me warning signals.  Remember me?  I’m the area you pushed the week before when you intended only go out for 10 miles?  Me? Yet you wanted to run 16!  Bright idea, Einstein, now take this…ouch, and I walked and felt this odd twisting, liquid sensation.  I tugged the underwear away from the raw skin.  It was either or.  Deal with one pain or the other.  My knee behaved and I got my head back into the race.

My drenched shorts started to slide down.  I knew I needed help.  I saw a cop and ran over and asked if he had scissors, I needed to cut the cord in my shorts and pull it tighter.  No, he said there’s a First Aid station a mile away.  He was not going to help.  I made it to the First Aid station was given scissors and pulled the cord.  The cord was ripping out from the liner.  I was fucked.  Need tape?  The kid asked.  No, I should be alright.  The cord stopped pulling out from the liner and I was able to tie it up and got back out on the street.  A woman approached me, I told her my shorts were falling down.  She laughed nervously and quickly passed me.  What?  Do I offend?

There is an area where the half marathon runners are separated, they turn down a long driveway which once was Dowling College.  The noble and gallant marathon runners, continue straight and continue.  We ran like soaked idiot warriors.  Briefly panic struck, it felt as if we were lost - till I saw the First Aid stations and the mile markers.  I passed marker 17.  Let me be clear, the marker 17 was facing the runners in the opposite direction, the fast runners who were finishing the race.  I comforted myself with the thought, eventually, I would face the marker from the correct angle.  As that point, I was feeling beat, I felt I had run 17 miles.  I was barely over 10.

Through a neighborhood, the cops blocking the roads.  Through the empty streets, one guy ahead of me stops and takes in a GU.  He’s shorter and slower than me and I can tell he’s a couple, maybe even ten years on me?  I should beat him.  Right?  I pass him and make my way into the woods.  What’s this?  A crowd?  Cheering us on.

A narrow path weaved through the drenched trees.  Puddles the size of small ponds caught the constant rain drops.  I made way around the puddles and tried to stay on the path.  What difference did it make?  My shoes were soaked like everything around me.   The air inside the woods was still.  Barely a sound escaped except for my breath that carried out a long painful sigh. Runners were passing me.  I kept my eye on the guy who I passed earlier.  As long as I beat him I was making progress.

The path is lonely.  The roads were empty, only the cheerful volunteers at the water stops who encouraged us.  The volunteer cops stood on the side of the roads with their yellow rain coats.  They appeared like solemn monks contemplating the weather.

After passing marker 17, I walked more frequently.   The older runner passed me and I did not give a shit.  The County Executive who organized this race for the third year in a row passed me.  I saw him earlier in the race and told him this was my first marathon.  Good luck, he said with a smile.  The second time I was him was when he passed me.  Shit, I thought he was slow.  Go Steve, I said and nodded and he raised a limp thumb.  We were all in the same boat by mile 20.  I didn’t want to quit, but I wanted to get the race over with. 

I found a Porta Potty and took a piss.  The sensitive area I detailed for you previously was screaming at me.  Why did you do this to us?  Settle down.  I was back out on the street.

There was one woman who was having a difficult time.  We passed each other a few times, until 22 when she was out.  She was running with a member from her club, who was about my age.   We were the same height and yet he was leaner.   He looked as if he could run four marathons and smiled over at me when I was walking, You alright?  I looked at him and smiled back, Yeah, just trying to finish.

When we passed through Sayville earlier, there was a good crowd.  Hours later as we moved our slow bodies and sore feet and aching legs, there were a few die hard waiting.   We moved through the town.  Getting closer. 

One guy kept running and walking.  He said we were playing leap frog with each other.  There is a lot of back and forth banter as the race progressed.  You’re travelling with these strangers for an hour or two, each keeping pace with the other, and yet I wanted to finish.  Mile 24.

I saw my sister Eileen close to the finish line.  She was jumping up and down and tried to take pictures of me.  I assume the startling gate was the finish and made by way over.  I raised my arms a most painful triumphant pose. There were only a couple of people standing there.  It was odd. I was told it was not the finish line. Go straight down the hill.

Picking up my pace and seeing the actual finish line, the crowd, one of my targets was ahead of me and I ran as fast as I could and pulled in ahead of him.  I beat him.  I finished, but not with great time.  I significantly surpassed my intended goal, and yet it was a miserable day.  The race was over. I was starving.  Grabbed a banana and bagel.  Was given my medal. Eileen came over and pictures were taken.  Let’s get out of here.  Ali texted to congratulate me and that made my day. 

Maybe next year I will run THE New York City Marathon.

Thank you for reading this.

Henry Rollins is a sell out

10/30/16 17:27

I heard the criticism about the Henry Rollins for years, a self-absorbed, macho, and of course a lunatic.  I have a friend who were threatened by the Henry years ago.  I have read his articles and books, and would say I am a fan of the Henry; the myth which he created when he adopted a different last name, "Rollins" when joining Black Flag.  I always respected the Henry who would tell us at his shows that he was accessible, since he had the punk attitude; there is no difference to the person on the stage and the audience, we were united.  “I am here because of you,” the Henry tells his audiences. You could send the Henry an email and he would respond which is respectable and follows the punk ethos.  When seeking advice, for instance, on books or on bands such as - should I see Suicide who are playing in the city? The Henry thought it was a good idea and I went.  And I walked out before the concert was over.  Their last concert.  The Henry removed his email address from his website, no more direct contact with the Henry.  Last Sunday, I saw the Henry in Philadelphia and was not impressed.  He seemed sort of out of place on the stage and I left the show before it was over.  But before the show, I received a promotion from the TicketWeb pitching a special Q&A with Henry.  For $125 I could ask the Henry questions after the show, get my picture with the Henry and a signed laminate from the Henry.  What happened to the accessibility?  Now the Henry will charge you.  You think this was only for his fans in Philadelphia?  Not quite.  The same promotion was in-place when I was saw him in Westbury.  For $125, I could meet the Henry and ask the Henry a question.  I ignored the promo, brought my books for his signature to the gig - since I’d like to have them for my or the Henry collection.  The show itself was full of rehashed stories which I heard over the years and yet he added a new twist on his tip toeing around his sexuality, since he has been friends with Ru Paul for years.  Who cares?  He is seen hanging out with Ru Paul and the stories fly around the web that they are an item. The Henry received an email from a distraught fan.  Sounds like bull shit to me.  Listen, you are on the pride ride or you are not.  Either way, I don’t care.  It takes guts to tell the world you are gay.  It also takes integrity.  So, after the show I go back to the shiny monster tour bus for the Henry. I see his manager, who makes an announcement to the five of us standing around for the Henry, “Sorry fellas, the Henry is not coming out due to liability and management contracts and etc.”  Wait, you mean to tell me he’s not coming out, but if I paid $125 I could have met him after the show?  First he denied it and then made up some shit that was only in Philadelphia.  Henry Rollins, you lost this fan.  You’re a sellout.  You’re gouging your fans for all they can give.  Go on repeating your stories around for the rest of year and try to get on another ad for Calvin Klein.  You said it, you are a whore.  Your words.

Billy Joel at the Garden....it's time to see what's the fuss about this Joel kid

It’s a rare event when my wife and I are out on a date.   I think the last time we were out was the night we went to see Ed Harris in Buried Child a couple of months back.  Getting to a concert is scarce since we generally have very different tastes in music.  We have one band in common, REM.  For Christmas I bought us Billy Joel tickets.  He has played at Madison Square Garden almost monthly for over a year.  He said our performance was the 30^th show in the run.  I have not been to one of his shows for a couple of reasons.  He plays at large venues and I’d prefer a small theater or a more intimate event.  I doubt that will happen with Billy Joel, he’s a stadium performer.  But more importantly I don’t go out of my way to listen to Billy Joel.  I respect him and like many I can sing his hits, but he’s not edgy enough for me.  I like his song, You May Be Right and a few others, but most are middle of the road.  I have a clear memory of listening to The Stranger when it was newly released.  My mother brought us kids out to California to visit my relatives and we stayed at our Aunt Betty and Uncle Gene’s house.  I played the record over and over as I tried to fall asleep on their sofa.  I have followed his career from the periphery.   Keeping with the large venues, in a few weeks Billy will play up at Fenway.  Amanda is hoping to get there and will listen to the show and may get a chance to see him.  If you’re around my age and have lived most of your life on Long Island you may have a Billy Joel story. I knew someone who knew someone whose sister was the inspiration for Virginia in his song, Only the Good Die Young.  I have never met him, but I have a couple of second hand stories.  While on a high school field trip, my sister and her friends were in Central Park and saw Billy playing with his daughter, Alexa Ray on the swings.  Gives you an idea how long ago it was.  As the kids from the high school spotted Billy and were making their way towards them, he headed in their direction and politely asked if they would respect his privacy with his daughter.  Sure thing.  The kids moved and the dad went back to playing with his daughter.  Years later a friend of mine had a restaurant in Sag Harbor and Billy was a frequent guest.  Imagine if they had a piano and the man decided to strike up a few tunes.  Anyway, this past Friday Ali and I drove into the city and we sung to a Billy Joel greatest hits CD.  I parked the mini-van on the street and we walked a few blocks to the garden.  We paid a lot of money for food and beer (for me) and we found our seats in the garden.  The show was supposed to start at 8:00, but twenty minutes later the man and his band took the stage and played in front of another sell out.  His banter with the crowd was a relaxed as if we were watching our uncle, Billy play in front of us.  His voice was strong and I can rattle off the songs he played like Only The Good, Piano Man, New York State of Mind, Moving Out, Uptown Girl. He dedicated, “You’re only human,” the victims in Orlando and said it was the first time they played the song in twenty five years and he hoped they wouldn’t fuck it up.  He played roughly two hours.  Added material from The Beach Boys and Led Zeppelin.  We sat behind the stage and still paid a good amount.  I looked out at the audience who were generally older and very white.  Some had their hokey dances.  I will say everyone had a great time since the entertainer was in the house and in our neighborhood.  As we were walking out of there we both said we’d like to come back.  Why not?

The Scofflaws played Ska in Setauket near sheep

The Scofflaws played in Setauket on Friday Night (7/10) at Benner’s Farm.   Parking was very easy and I was surprised with the number of vehicles, it was evident there was a crowd. I was impressed with the sound system as well as the raised and well lit stage which was set up next to one of the sheep stables.   There were food trucks as well as an ice cream truck.  It was a reasonable $10.00 to get in.  Yet, I needed a beach chair or blanket. Maybe I should keep one in my trunk for these summer shows?  With five kids dancing in the grass as the sun was setting and families on lawn chairs and virtually no one...dancing the show was...different. Being alone, I was a little out of place.  When you see The Scofflaws everyone should be up and having a good time.  Even some of the sheep cried out.  It was also a clean show.  Their song Paul Getty which normally has an angry anthem at the end…was…tame.    Typically, you would hear some lines like, “Got any ganja?  You know what I told him (The boss) Eat Shit.  This is my mantra, work sucks!”  None of the angst was there expect for a slide slip of sensamilia…I was also disappointed with their song, Till the End of Time.  I think Sammy was just going through the motions.  He jived a little, but he did not have the balls to get the crowd up and moving.  The positive, was that their trombone player, Jared Dubin was there, he fills out their sound.  Hats off to the talented Brian Duggan who kept the rhythm section tight.

So why did I go?  I went for the prime reason, it was The Scofflaws and the show was close to my house.  I did not stay to the end of the second set.  The kids were playing with beach balls that glowed in the dark.  That was cool.  The stars were out, very nice.  The adults for the most part were sitting in their chairs and clapped and occasionally hooted, which was a little disappointing.  Two thick bugs flew in my eyes and blinded me.  I could feel the blood sucking mosquitoes were getting a good pint out of me.  Time to go…till the next time…and remember when The Scofflaws announce family fun on their Facebook page...I just might skip it...

Thank you for reading this.

Ravi Coltrane plays in Huntington, a review

7/12/15

We arrived from California just after midnight.  On Saturday, while we were packing up I read Ravi Coltrane was giving a free concert on Sunday (7/5) in Huntington.  He was also going to be interviewed by a DJ from Hofstra.  This event was to kick off a proposed annual event, John Coltrane Day in Huntington.  It was also a fund raiser for the Coltrane Home foundation which is trying to raise funds to refurbish the house where John Coltrane lived and composed for the last years of his young life.  He was only 40 when he passed in 1967.  This is the house where he wrote the classic and influential A Love Supreme.  There are details on the house on the web site:

the coltrane home

From what I understand Ravi has played in Huntington previously, but I am waiting for more details.  I’ve seen Ravi Coltrane previously, performing at the Blue Note, Iridium, Lincoln Center as well at his mother’s memorial at St. John the Divine.   This was one of those shows I would be kicking myself if I didn’t attend.   Even Ali said I should go.  Off I went with my head still in the clouds and a little jet lagged.  I found a spot on the hill, sloping towards the stage and in the back.  I could have sat closer.  There are rules to these concerts I learned.  No beach chairs in front of the stage, only blankets.  Since I had neither, I could have propped down stage center. 

Before long more people were staking out their places, some had candles in glass cups. One couple had a small hibachi with a small flame.  There was a crowd.  As dusk fell on us I saw a drone which at first I thought was a bird fly over the park and then fly back to where it originated.   The device was pretty cool and I have to admit I’d like to get one.  Why?  It’s a cool toy.  Fire flies dotted the dark.  Children were playing in the park. Sparse couples sauntered around the pond as Ravi Coltrane’s quartet played.  It was a cool summer night to spend under the Huntington sky....listening to jazz.

The interview was sort of bland, the DJ said he was nervous, but Ravi made a memorable remark about his birth at Huntington Hospital. “The doctors botched up my circumcision. I really need to speak to them.”  He discussed growing up in California, “My mother was an Ashram and my father was a jazz legend.”  As well as the influence John Coltrane has on jazz. 

The Ravi Coltrane Quartet:  featured Glenn Zaleski, piano, Joshua Crumbly, bass and Kush Abeday, drums. This quartet is different and new and as Ravi explained, “young.”   Still, this brief show displayed their immense talents. Yet, I am curious why Ravi would not play one of his originals?  He is a Grammy nominated artist...

The following is a play list:

My Lady, by John Coltrane

Who wants Ice Cream, by Ralph Alessi

I’m old fashioned, by Jerome Kern

Nothing Like You, by Bob Dorough

Lush Life, by Billy Strayhorn

A Love Supreme, part two resolution by John Coltrane

Thank you for reading this.

The American Pink Floyd Experience-Ameri-Floyd at 89 North Patchogue

07:54 2/15/15

I wanted to get in a review of The American Pink Floyd Experience (Ameri-Floyd) at 89 North a couple of weeks back.  I also wanted to write down some thoughts on the amount of Pink Floyd copy bands that play in the area.  This will be brief and I hope you can relate or share your thoughts.   If you are a Pink Floyd fan, the only feasible way to experience their music live - is through a cover band.  There are no plans for Pink Floyd to tour.  There is no reason for them to tour since there are many options to see these cover bands.  No matter where to live, you can rest your minds there is a Floyd cover band close by.  The band that played at 89 North was their first show, but they were solid and were close to perfect.  Ameri-Floyd are fused from two different Pink Floyd cover bands to form The American Pink Floyd Experience, not the be confused with the Brit or the Aussie Pink Floyd Experience and not to be further compared and contrasted with the The American Pink Floyd, who are based in Nashville which is the home of country music.  What is curious is how Pink Floyd has influenced these bands and the countless musicians who strive to create a show and sound to perfection.  What impressed me was the dedication Ameri-Floyd had at recreating the sound by using authentic equipment which Pink Floyd would use.  The band is led by David Aguirre, guitar and vocals, Matt Ganulin, percussion, Vic Delgado on Sax, Erik Semo on Bass and vocals,  Paul Drollinger, keyboards, Ben Shin, guitar and vocals, Their beautiful and professional back- up singers Samia Mounts and Vicky Modica stood in front of the stage where they belonged.  There was a screen in the back of the stage which ran a series of films from the movie The Wall, to the Wizard of Oz.  Hearing songs from Animals brought back memories of listening to 8-track recording as my cousin drove my brother and me around San Jose.  It was a long time ago and yet this music brought out "hundreds" of fans on a chilly night in January.  It was packed inside 89 North. This is why there are many Pink Floyd cover bands.  It’s the supply and the demand.  Next up for Ameri-Floyd is Revolution Bar in Amityville on Friday May 29^th.   If you are a fan, I encourage you to get out and get impressed with the experience.

Thank you for reading this.

Daring to be BOLD The Scofflaws played at 89 North!

12/28/14 11:07

This year I saw the Scofflaws four times. Their performance at 89 North on Friday 12/19 was one of the best.   It was a cold night which was a stark contrast to when I saw them at the Great South Bay Music Festival last July.  I walked into 89.  The cold entry leads to a staircase which was barren.  The bar was empty and I paid a $5.00 cover to the doorman who asked, who are you here to see?  The Scofflaws.  Sammy was at the bar with a gin and tonic and was talking to the bartender.  She said she used to tend the bar in Port Jefferson when The Scofflaws regularly played on Main Street years before.   There was a venue above Starbucks and I’m not sure if this is what is called The Arden.   I offered to buy Sammy a drink, but he was good.  Bought a pint of Blue Point’s Hoptical Illusion and took a sip.  It was very refreshing and when the bartender said, the alcohol content is higher than normal, well, I liked it even more.   

This was my first time at 89 North and I have to say I was impressed with the layout.  There was a kitchen in which fresh pizza was being prepared for the soon to be intoxicated crowd.  There was a large bar with a varied selection of taps as well as spirits.  I walked in and was impressed with the expansive risen stage.  There was a large area for dancing.  Tables with chairs were in neat rows and there was a balcony and another bar in the back as well as the sound board.  If you wanted to watch The Islanders or basketball, there were assorted TV’s on.  So, in comparison to some other Long Island venues, 89 North is a very professional establishment.  Don’t let the barren lobby fool you.

Eventually, Erik showed up since he worked till 7 PM.  His band is playing at 89 North on January 24^th, The American Pink Floyd Experience.  We had a pint and took a seat at a round bar table.  The subject of cover bands playing gigs is something I need to cover in another blog entry.  It amazes me there is such a robust market for these bands who tour and are able to pull in crowds at larger venues.  Just recently, I saw another Pink Floyd cover band on TV performing at Red Rocks in Colorado.  There is an array of Led Zeppelin cover bands.   Anyway, if you like cover bands; 89 North has a variety playing each weekend.  I can’t say I’d go to one of these gigs unless I knew the musicians…but if there was a Clash cover band…you might pull me in.  You might.

The Scofflaws were the first of three bands to play that night.  Also on the bill were Noah’s Arc and Slavery by Consent. 

When The Scofflaws took the stage the crowd from the bar came in and started to bop to 

the music.  Missing was Jared on trombone which was similar to the last time I saw the band in Smithtown.   It means the sound is less full, but the band at 89 was tight.  Listen; there can’t be a mediocre Scofflaws performance as long as Godfather of the Rude Boys, Sammy Brooks is on the stage.  There were people grooving in front of the stage as Sammy praised the crowd and sent his love.   Just look at the pictures.  He is the man.  I’m working on getting an interview with Sammy for this blog.  He said he’s interested; it’s just getting the time to get together with the man…the man…

Let’s hope we all get to see The Scofflaws in 2015. From what I understand there next gig is in March.  It’s a shame they are not on The Slackers line-up at 89 North on January 30^th…just saying…any Ska gig on Long Island should include The Scofflaws!

Thank you for reading this.

Working in Oscar's Bookstore in Huntington and discovering the avoided art of isolation

12/17/14 21:38

I’m on a search mission for a good used book store on Long Island.  For now I have settled on Book Revue in Huntington although I can get lost in the massive space.  It’s not exactly what I am looking for.  Although their staff is very knowledgeable and courteous so I am not discontinuing my patronage to this fine establishment.  There is Canio’s Books in Sag Harbor and I hope to get out there this season.  This place has small bells on the front door; the musky, yellowed paper scent, the faint classical music or jazz playing over the radio from a couple of suspended speakers from a tin ceiling.  I find peace in these stores and want to shovel cash through their registers to keep their lights on and the scent of the books wafting through the narrow aisles.  Sadly, all of us have experienced the closing of some these hollowed landmarks.  For those of you who recall Oscar’s Bookstore in Huntington.  It was on New York Avenue. I will share some memories.  Oscar’s is where Kerouac shopped and where I worked for a summer.  I had the honor of working there before Oscar retired to Florida.  Of course I asked him about Jack and he responded with a casual reference.  I could tell it was something he often repeated to anyone who asked.

That summer, I was renting a room in a boarding house owned by a Stony Brook philosophy professor. I was attempting to live a bohemian life.  My room had a tall ceiling.  The windows faced West Neck Road.  It’s the room where I discovered and transformed in some respects.  I discovered tranquility and the art of being alone.  Being alone is a difficult task.  For a young man or woman it’s an avoided evil.  They tend to search for diversion and common distractions which can lead to some intoxicated and drug induced episodes.  I learned.  I learned from my transgressions and moved on.  If we dare and are bold enough - we face the fear of isolation and look within inside ourselves and accept the person we sometimes avoided at all costs.  It takes work. 

So, let me share what sort of poet I was while I worked at Oscar’s.  For any writer, artist or reflective soul it’s important to push the boundaries.  I pushed them as often as possible.   Mr. Piddles, the manager at the book store was a gentle easy going family man with a good temperament.   One Saturday morning I slept in.  I accepted the fact I would most likely be fired for not going into work and defiantly pulled up the covers and dealt with my decision and aching hangover.  Suddenly, there was a pounding at the front door at the boarding house.  It was uncommon to hear such commotion.  I heard the door squeak open and then I heard, “Where is he?”  Who?  “Michael.  He is supposed to be at work!”  Mr. Piddles?  I thought.  Mr. Piddles was a raving lunatic.  To march down to the boarding house - which was a half mile away from the store – was the sign of a disturbed mind.  “Michael?!   I know you are in here!”  Who let this man inside the house?  Did I dare show my face?  No.  I waited for Mr. Piddles to storm out and pulled open the door to my room and peered into the empty hallway.  It was safe.  Kevin who lived downstairs liked to sit in the front porch and play his guitar, singing loudly as he could to the passing cars.  He liked the attention of his passing fans.  He was the one who let in Piddles.  He was surprised to see me.  He said, “Hey, if I knew who he was…I wouldn’t have let him in.  I would have covered you.”  I nodded.  He asked, “So?  You going in?”  I looked at Kevin who was shirtless and pale and nodded.  His pink nipples were gross and too long for a man.  He had a large shamrock on his arm.  It was an off centered, homemade tat on his right arm. “He’s going to fire you.”  So what, I said and went back to my room and got dressed.  I stumbled up to the book store and saw Piddles.  His face was red.  He exclaimed, “Well, look who it is.  You know I came down to your house to bring you in here.”  I nodded.  “Lucky for both of us you were not home.”  What? Wait, he didn’t know?  Piddles assumes,I was not home.  I did not hear anything and he smiled.  “Well? Get to work!”  Maybe he did not want to know the truth and gave me a break.  It was one of many breaks.

Killer Commute is now available on Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/Killer-Commute-Michael-Robert-Gordon-ebook/dp/B00M4RQU0G%3FSubscriptionId%3DAKIAILSHYYTFIVPWUY6Q%26tag%3Dduckduckgo-d-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3DB00M4RQU0G

Sharing Garden: an organic garden, in which all of the crops will be donated to a local food pantry

4/6/14 20:40 Home

Today, I read in front of the church, I do this about once a month which gives me the opportunity to sharpen my public speaking.  Today’s reading what a bit of a challenge Ezekiel Chapter 37 verses 1 through 14 which is long and starts with the title, The Valley of Dry Bones. The prophetic message was…well…sort of disturbing and sure - it is also hopeful.  From bones comes the flesh and with the flesh...breath.  I started with a brief introduction to the prophet, putting him in the company of Isiah and Jerimiah.  I’m not writing about the reading, although I will have to share with you as I walked back to our pew I saw Bella who gave me a thumb’s up. This is the same child who earlier - did not want to scoot into the pew to give me room to sit. She defiantly said; she didn’t want to move - she liked her seat - she had a better view of our handsome new music minister, a young man from Stony Brook University.

I want to keep a record of the organic garden we have at our church.  All of the fruits of our labor will be donated to a food pantry.  Those who are less fortunate can have organic and locally grown food.  Yesterday, I met the insightful and warm Iman Marghoob who is helping plan what the crops and will participate in the management of the garden; which is named Sharing Garden.  After leaving the house, as low grey clouds churned in the spring winds just a few hundred feet above the earth, I met Iman a little after 9:00.   She asked where the rest of the volunteers were.  The plan I had was to get together with her and discuss the layout of the garden as well as have some direction since I was expecting close to 12 volunteers who arrived at 10:00.  We had eight from a girl-scout troop and Jim Hennessey who was vital for repairing the wagon as well as Jeff Klauder and family.  Jeff’s wife, Mel is very knowledgeable about the species of plants and I have to say, was the hardest worker, pulling up weeds, tossing the dirt bombs with green tails into the wheel barrel with such precision -barely missing anyone close to her.  The girl scout troop jumped to work and were directed by Iman and their leaders as I went around with a digging fork, which is not the same as a pitch fork.  Most of us common folks refer to the fork looking instrument that we have in our garages or sheds at a pitch fork and now you’re like me –we know these are digging forks.  The pitch fork has thinner tines and used more often for lifting clumps hay.  The digging fork is used for lifting clumps of weeds or very good for pulling up potatoes, and as we discovered with a thrust of dirt – some soft beets which were unearthed from last year’s garden.  There is enough sun on one half of the garden and the second half will have assorted vegetables which do not require too much sun.   It’s a project I felt compelled to do.  The girl scouts plated pea seeds against a fence.  We marked sections, 5 x 5 with a 1.5 path.  This will be organic so it means removing any plastic walkways and instead using wood mulch.  We are planting seeds and with attentive care - the plants will sprout as the days increase in light.  So, to some who may be reading this - no more basketball; my Saturday mornings will be shared with other hands in the soil of our garden. Like I said, this will be a journal of what we can grow together; to share with our friends at the food pantry.  If you'd like to join us, please bring your own tools, clearly marked and most important - good thoughts of hope when walking through the garden's gate.

Scott Chaskey reads from SEEDTIME, and shares his organic wisdom at Canio's Books

2/23/14 09:26

Amanda came home Friday night.  Ali took the train into the city to meet her.  Later, that night Emma Tess showed us incredible pictures that she took during her trip.  Oh yes, Ali and Emma arrived safely from their trip to London, Paris and Madrid.  It was a relief to have them safe and sound - back home.  Even exhausted they stayed up Thursday night and shared some stories before falling into a deep global trotting induced sleep.  Joe was relieved their trip was over and admitted he did not suffer too much under my assumed and expected harshness and of course; the diverse meal suggestions.  All in all it was an easy transition for us.   I was aware I could not ask too much from them and would not make any concoctions which would involve gagging and sudden outburst of tears.  It was a relatively safe ten days except for Joe spraining his wrist while sleighing. There were some chores which I asked from both Bella and Joe. So, both realized Dad is not that bad after all.  Bella chipped in on the chores without prodding, breaking ice with me on the driveway, shoveling, and afterwards we had a nice walk around the block.  I shared how my Grand Da would always insist when taking walks, take in a deep breath of air.  “Breathe it all in, Mick, get it in the lungs.  There…that’s good.”   She loves to hear family stories.  But anyway, Amanda was back for a bit, and left early this morning with my father-in-law Joe and Diana, taking the 7:30 ferry from Port Jefferson to Bridgeport.  Yesterday, the six of us went to Patchogue, and had lunch in the Brick House and discussed summer plans, Adirondacks and Gettysburg.... 

After lunch Amanda and I took 27 out to Sag Harbor and walked out onto the dock, the wind was blowing mightily though it was a relatively mild day.  We went into a record shop and I bought a copy of The Byrds (Untitled) and I will download it later.  After that we drove to the end of Main to Canio’s Bookstore.  I know what some of you are thinking, a record store and a bookstore in one day? Both types of stores are becoming scarce.  The smell is sweet inside Canios; the decades of the decaying scent of yellowed pages and undisturbed dust.  We drove out to see Scott Chaskey who was there reading from his new book.  His new memoir is titled SEEDTIME (Rodale Books), and as he took the podium, he joked in front of the small audience - that he was a frustrated Shakespearean actor.  He appeared to be an actor, weathered red face, white bearded character from one of William’s plays.  I was there to hear and learn since I hope the book will inspire me; since I am leading a group of fellow gardeners at our church’s organic garden.  All of the food will be donated to Middle Island food pantry.   Scott was articulate, engaging and I wish he read more of his poetry which resonated within the cozy book store - which was packed.  Above us a tenant walked on a creaking store, the distinct chimes from the rusty half-moon bells on the door, the whispers from an indiscreet conversation followed with a rush of ssshhh’s… If you were late to the reading, you could not get inside.  I had the opportunity to meet Scott and suddenly my mind went blank.  I tried to explain what we were doing at church and how the food will be donated, but the words were a struggle inside my blank brain.  I think I was so impressed with the way Scott spoke that I felt - anything I would say would be a pale comparison.  But Scott looked up at me with patient eyes as if to say, no need to speak you blubbering ignoramus; I will try to cultivate the words out from the deep soil of your dense mind…and he said, “Oh, you’re starting a garden or restarting a garden at your church and donating the food.” I nodded.  He calmed me down and said I should contact the farm he works for - since they help organizations like ours.  But there was little help for my speech deficiencies…  He signed my book.  Amanda and I walked into the Saturday night and witnessed the faint remnants of sun light cast itself over the calm Sag Harbor waters.

Thank you for reading this

Steve Earle exposes his heart & soul in Westbury

2/9/14

                Westbury has a new venue for concerts.  The Space is another concert venue for Long Island, which has Huntington’s Paramount, Amityville’s Revolution Bar, Rocky Point’s Suffolk Theater, the Bolton Center in Bay Shore and while we are at it, NYCB Westbury theater, Landmark, Port Washington, and some others which means all of us on Long Island can see a decent show almost every weekend.  Last night was the first show I saw at The Space which I understand is a converted movie theater.  It’s an odd theater

, seems like you’re walking into a store front and soon corralled in a sparse lobby.  We went out onto the main floor and were shown our seats. The aisles were narrow and difficult to squeeze through while holding a couple of beers and a glass of wine.  The venue reminded me of The Paramount, with a bar off to one side and seats in a balcony in the back, the tall ceilings with exposed industrial air vents, and a cozy stage. It was warm in the theater and seemed to be sparsely attended.   I was not sure if Earle was popular to the Long Islanders since I’m a late bloomer to Earle who later performed a two hour solo set to what was then close to a sellout. 

Before Mr. Earle, was Brooklyn based Dawn Landes who had a pitch perfect voice which reverberated between the walls.  I’m not that familiar with her work, but am kicking myself for not buying a copy of her new album, Blue.  Her last song was Blue which was different from her other standard country folk jangles.   She also had the crowd singing Pete Seeger’s Turn, Turn, Turn which surprised her – the response from the audience.

After a brief intermission and without an introduction Earle slowly walked onto the stage, wearing a baggy shirt, chains dangled from a wallet in his back pocket, a red bandanna wrapped around his right wrist and his thinning greyish hair and long disheveled beard gave the illusion this man was a pondering soul who was lost.  He picked up a guitar and started playing, actually didn’t really stop till he described having an 8^th grade education and researching by reading different topics.  “If I didn’t know why something was happening, I’d read.  I’m always reading.”  Mr. Earle did not sound like a man with a limited education.   At times in the first half of the show I felt he was tapping in Tom Wait territory.  His ability to write songs which kept tapping at scars and exposing their pains which is what Mr. Earle has had a lot of pain in his life, battled addictions, broken marriages, time in jail, the tortured soul, his youngest son diagnosed with autism...rehab...the sound of his lone boot thumping in cadence echoed from hollow stage floor, an isolated performance from a dim stage.  One song which resonated was his take on God.  God is God, “We can learn to play the songs the angels play.”  I believe in God and God ain’t me…” The Devil’s Right Hand is an anti-gun song although he denied it when it was first recorded, since he was raised with guns.  When an ex-wife told him that he need to raise his rebellious son, Justin Townes Earle found a 9 mm which his father kept under the mattress, but Justin denied finding it.  Steve described getting him in the truck, like tackling a deer and dragging him in, and took his son to a labor camp for juveniles.  After one day at the camp; Justin called and told him where he could find the gun.  There were other stories like playing and recording with Pete Seeger and close the end of the show an obnoxious woman, maybe she was drunk and frustrated, but she demanded he play a certain song, I think it was Copperhead Road.  He told her he had a plan and, “Hold onto to your knickers.”  She went back at him, the audience started booing her and Earle went back to his songs and the show continued. 

      Steve is passionate about his progressive causes and he was clear, he will always be passionate and not give up the hope for peace and social justice in the world.  He saw the change take place in Northern Ireland, from when he first toured there and saw tanks in the roads to these days which is a peaceful place without barbed wires the roving tanks.  He hopes the same can take place in Jerusalem.  He described recording with an Israeli musician which took place is a studio owned by a Palestinian, a Muslim engineers the controls in the studio and he said as long as he can, he will always play his song Jerusalem.

I wrote a radio play which will be performed during service on 12/29 at Mount Sinai UCC

12/29/13 10:00

Join us for an old fashioned radio play.  In All These Things, We Find Peace is a one act Christmas message.  The Richardson’s are a family on Long Island who have their struggles through the generations   It begins on Christmas morning 1975 when the kids are opening their presents except for their youngest brother Chuck who would like to give his presents to a little boy he met in the church’s thrift shop.   His older brother Bobby can’t understand his little brother while their sister Beth accepts and respects Chuck’s generosity.  Years later Beth continues to remind Bobby what a special man Chuck is, and how supportive they should be as they prepare for Chuck’s return on Christmas Eve.

Long Island has a new airline, Pen Air flying to Boston - all aboard!

Monday September 9, 2013 19:33 10,000 feet or more above Connecticut

Flying Pen Air for the first time from Islip to Boston.  We took off from the old terminal, B 17 to be exact.  I recalled bringing Phil there when he was in the Navy and watching the red lights of his US Air prop fly away into the night.  That was when you can wait at the gate seeing the passengers off or waiting for their arrival, that was before 9/11 and the necessary security measures. I’m sitting in the last row.  The seat does not recline, yet there is a woman in front of me and she is stretched out like a beached whale and asking for more to drink.  There is a steward, an older gentleman who speaks gently.  I watched his pre-flight routine unlike the other flights I’ve taken just because he asked me to pay attention and there was only him, not a line of attendants.  Behind the steward are the pilots who are behind a locked door.  It’s a smooth flight thus far.  I was thrilled with the prospect of taking a prop and felt a rush when we pulled away from the gate, passing the dark green National Guard helicopters, a row of Cessna’s and I remember the lessons I took at Mid-Island all those years and moneys in the past.  Up to Boston to see Mo Cheeks tonight and then driving to Wooster to spend the night and to meet Todd King.  If feels as if we are descending….and we are.  19:41 the steward made an announcement we have started the decent.  It will take at least another ten minutes before wheels are down, and I can feel the wind on the narrow plane as we move into the area.  Amazing.  Time to shut her off.

September 10, 2013 17:56 10,000 feet above Connecticut

Last night Amanda met me at the baggage claim at the airport, holding a sign she made: DAD…it makes me smile thinking about it.  We took a shuttle bus to the Enterprise terminal and I was struck how subtle she was as she flirted with the young man helping us.  She was sweet, but as I looked down they were giving each other the eye perhaps since I was in my jovial good mood.  I was with my daughter.  Had meetings today with Todd up in Boston, the first was out of the way and will remain nameless.  I think it’s best to keep a distance from writing about work and my blog.  That’s all.  It’s overcast up in the clouds, which is different from what we had last night.  A clear flight up to Boston, a little rocky, but not too bad. I plan on using this airlines more often since it’s easy.  You walk on and can sit wherever you’d like.  I chose the same seat as last night.  Like a train commuter we like our seats and keep returning to them.   We’re rocking a little more and I imagine we’re getting ready to land soon.   Airport to airport 45 minutes, but if I drove…five hours at least in traffic…so the flight is much better.  I can see the Long Island Sound or perhaps that is the ocean….the sun is setting.  We were told it’s a gusty on the ground…but it looks as if the clouds are clearing up.  I will be home for dinner and will need to write more of my novel.  I can’t believe I didn’t call Katie or Ben, but this was a pure business trip, except for seeing Mo Cheeks.  I should add we bought some ice cream down the block from her school; I had pumpkin since I’m off the beer.  What route are we flying?  I’m closing up since I’m expecting to feel…and there it goes…the decent…and Long Island is below.

Watching the Ladee rocket pass over Long Island on its way to the moon and random thoughts on the tourist train

9/07/13 Train to Penn

There is a family on the train chatting away, not a care in the world; they’re making sauce from scratch.  And what else did she say?  I never said that. You have a bad memory.  It’s been weeks since I wrote down my thoughts.  Last night we had a fire in the back yard and Ali and I relaxed on the lounge set, under the stars.  

Some guy just left his bag in the aisle and went back into the bathroom.   Don't leave your bag or I will call the cops.  He’s having some issues. On his cell phone.  Gets off at the next stop.  

So, last night there was a rocket, the Ladee that blasted at 23:27 from Virginia.  At 23:25 we were outside and waited, scanning the skies and searching.  I thought we lost our chance since I waited for it to pass.  It’s scheduled to orbit the moon on October 6^th.  Since it was a clear night, most of the east coast was able to see the rocket blaze over the trees or tall buildings and fade away to become a small diminishing dot in the blackness.  After a lot of prodding my son such as it’s a rare event, it's historical, you won’t get this chance…reluctantly Joe joined me and Ali outside.  I saw it cut across the sky and pointed it out.  It was a glowing cigar slowly rising into the night.  Joe was excited as was Ali although she was not too certain it was the rocket.  

Ali and I were sitting outside earlier today and she told me more about the federal tests for the schools which is her rallying call.  She will be interviewed by a TV station in Virginia.  

Shit, I can’t think there are too many conversations on the train.  This teen is saying LIKE…LIKE…I’m Like hold on…I can’t do it.  Parallel parking is too hard.  I hear them more when the train slows down.  Why? Take a deep breath and get the word like out of your vocabulary the world will be less polluted. Easy there…The next station is Hicksville.  And as the noises rise, the voices rise and I am trying to tune out from their popping gums and LIKES.   I can’t stop, they keep sucking me in…stop…now someone is cranking their music, this is a different world from the commuters I was used to riding with.  Let me remember this crap the next time I consider taking the train into the city on a Saturday.  It’s easier but this is painful.  Divide sign which is in Hicksville.  There is a clear divide between these generations.  There are true tourists coming in and taking over...