While Flying Back from Mexico City on Sunday Night

11/24/19 19:14 34,941 feet above the Gulf of Mexico

Meli and I fell asleep early last night.  She said it was before 2200 but I would like to think we made it to the 2200 hour.  We hung out with a couple of her friends from work as well as her roommate Dani.  We saw a light show in the city.  It was in an open space, people were either laying on their backs on the floor or if they were lucky they had a lounge chair.  It was promoted to be an hour, but it was only a half hour. Ethereal music pulsed, lights appeared like moons and space ships. Mirrors reflected columns of golden light like tunnels that either fell on some of us.  A few kids chased after the tunnels and smiled as if warmed by the light.  After that dinner and drinks.  Meli and I had a veggie meal.  I had two mojetos and Meli ordered one.  I finished half of hers which may be the reason for the early night.  The light weight that I am.  Hitting some turbulence and I know like a breath it will dissipate and it does as I type.  I am in a strange mood, missing Meli already and dealing with an email that was disturbing.  But like the turbulence and the breath, I need to settle down my thoughts.  Meli was great, very supportive.  She made a delicious lunch today, fish and vegetables.  We said grace before eating, same as this morning over pancakes and coffee.  And now I am heading back to New York.  Tomorrow is going to be an early day workday. I am not prepared as much as I should be.  

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.

Kids Don't Follow! And We Can't Stop Getting Older...The Replacements at Forest Hills

9/20/14 9:20

Last night was one of those events that met all expectations.  It doesn’t happen very often.  There is the height of anticipation of the first kiss only to meet dry lips or the closing on the house and learning there are chickens in the attic or meeting that one person who you thought would be inspiring and so insightful but instead were dreary bores.  Before we got in Mike T and I bumped into Rhett Miller from the Old 97’s who literally came out of a porta potty and was drying his hands.  Mike shook his hand first and Rhett jokingly said now my hand is dry.  He was appreciative when Mike had mentioned seeing some of his solo performances at Fez so many years before.  He was also pumped for seeing The Mats.  

So, let me share this event.  After decades of listening and dreaming of a Mats reunion it occurred.  For the legion of fans we know why it was nearly impossible, Tommy Stinson the Mat’s bassist was in an exclusive contract with Axyl Rose and Guns & Roses.  The chances for a Replacements reunion were slim.  The second lead guitarist, Slim Dunlap had suffered a debilitating stroke.   But it happened.  The first reunion shows were last year in Toronto and Denver. In more than twenty something years, Replacements were on stage in New York.  Their everlasting goof ball ringleader, Paul Westerberg wore a yellow clownish blazer, red knickers, and knee socks.  He took a guitar and had a smile that could part the red sea.  Tommy Stinson stood to his right and was almost ready.  He fixed the microphone stand and cursed at the roadies, “What the fuck?  Why is this so short?  I’m older and taller.”  Tommy was twelve when he started playing with his brother and the rest of the band.  At the cozy Forest Hills Tennis stadium in New York, The Replacements were tight and efficient.   They ripped into Favorite Thing off their Let It Be album (Twin/Tone) and then Taking A Ride off their first Twin/Tone album, Sorry Ma Forgot To Take Out The Trash.  I was a few rows back from the stage until nature called.  Excuse the interruption, let me get this off my chest; from this vantage point in front of my computer and a day later. I can hear some groveling.  These are the whiners, the hardcore Mats fans who would not dare set foot in front of this semblance of the band.  The Mats were once and this band is a fraud.  Without Chris Mars, their former drummer or Bob Stinson, their former lead guitarist, the band as The Replacements for these ardent and stubborn fans is not truly…authentic.  I heard some of the skeptics.  I looked around me and noticed all of them were singing to the music and pumping their fists.  Listen, Chris Mars refuses to play with the band and sadly Bob has been dead for twenty something years.   Get over it.  For a couple of hours we linked the past to the present and suddenly everything was right in the world.   Each song evoked a burst of energy, but for me there was one particular song which ripped my vocal chords, that was their classic howling blues "White & Lazy" off their Stink EP.  I understand they have not played this song very often. I called out for it when I was in front of the stage and this is my hunch, my faint voice was heard.  I noticed Tommy approached Paul and perhaps suggested a different song; Paul waved his head and picked up the harmonica.  Maybe he thought, “No, I heard some tall guy in the front call out for this and he will get what he called for.  Here’s to you tall guy with the big nose.”  Yeah, I can dream.  Too band I can’t post my video for you all to hear my singing and see The Mats from where I stood.  The song did not get the full or even half of the audience’s response. I assume there were some who heard the song and asked what the fuck is he singing?  Is this a white racist song?  Far from it.  If it was, I would not be a fan.  "I can wake up in the morning and stay up in the afternoon"…there is a link to the set list from last night, which includes, Color Me Impressed, Taking a Ride, Waitress in The Sky, Bastards of Young which is the anthem for The Replacements, “The ones who love you least are the ones you die to please.  The ones you love you best - are the ones you laid to rest, if it’s any consultation I cannot begin to understand.”   Tommy said they had to shut the show early since the neighborhood has an enforced policy, “What can I say? We need to pull the plug at 10 PM.”  When I strolled out into the streets, I was surprised by the robust presence of the police.  There were mounted police who looked menacing, eventually galloping off to battle some night creatures in Kew Gardens.  Why the full force? It was just us older - meandering middle aged punks who drank a few beers and perhaps appeared slightly inebriated to the neighbors. Was there really a need to have a battalion of cops ready or was it the distant threat - that if we acted like the children we once were - we would be severely punished.  It was the slap in the face, the voice over the loud speaker…hello… the party is over...do yourself a favor and listen to the link below, Kids Don't Follow and you'd get the reference.

Thank you for reading this.

Kids Don't Follow

How cancer can lead to a positive awakening

This may be the first posting written by someone else within the pages of this blog.  I thought it was inspiring message when I heard it the first time last Sunday during church.  Cancer effects all of us, we know of someone we lost or have battled it ourselves.  It's our worst fear, but we can learn how to cope and live with it.  My wife was articulate and poised behind the podium - although once or twice she broke down while reading this.  I heard the sniffles and saw others wiping their eyes.  It's an inspirational story, not only about how Ali became a cancer survivor, but how this deadly disease transformed her faith - how she became a stronger - independent woman. I hope this inspires you.

Rev. Diane and I have spoken several times about sharing my faith story with the Congregation. I wasn’t ready for a long time. The preparation for today was difficult. Many of you know that I was diagnosed with cancer in June of 2011. But this isn’t a story about cancer, or beating cancer. It’s not about treatment and side effects. It’s about the most important relationships in our lives, and what happens when we recognize them as just that.

My story begins before my diagnosis. I was coming out of a very difficult time. Depressed, feeling worthless. I had just begun to realize it was my own responsibility to do something about that. I needed to answer for myself the age old question, “Who am I?’ So with the incredible support of my husband and children, I focused on my passion for public education, and ran for the Board of Education. On May 17^th, I won my seat with a large margin, and felt like this was the beginning of a fabulous new journey. Just 2 weeks later, on June 1, I was diagnosed with Endometrial cancer; Stage 4b. My world came to a grinding halt.

Beyond the physical pain and illness was the emotional chaos. The fear. The questions. Terror. I tried to keep a brave face most of the time, but internally I was reeling. I spent some time contemplating, why? Not a self-pitying ‘why me?’, but a realistic, trying to understand, why?  What did I do to bring me here, to this place? Was I being punished? Was this diagnosis a message from God? What was He telling me? The Catholic guilt from my childhood had me recounting every misstep I ever took. Every regret. That is a very dark place; not one anyone should be in for very long. I tried to focus on being strong for everyone else. Not letting them know how scared I really was.

Less than a week after my complete hysterectomy, we came here to MSUCC for Emma’s confirmation. I was consumed with guilt because I was in no condition to throw Emma the party I had promised.  I was in a fog from medication, and so incredibly sad. I cried quietly. I was afraid I was dying. Afraid I wouldn’t be able to see my kids grow up. I didn’t know what was coming next. Fear of the unknown is the worst kind of fear.

When it was Emma’s turn, our entire family came forward to lay hands on Emma as Rev. Diane prayed over us all. In that moment, with Rev. Di’s hand on mine praying over Emma, I felt a calming sensation; a breeze from the top of my head down my back… and the tears stopped. I felt reassured, peaceful, comforted. And I knew God was with me- He loved me, regrets and all.

That day I remembered a quote that I had read in church long before: Faith is knowing that “When you come to the edge of all the light you have, and must take a step into the darkness of the unknown, one of two things will happen. Either there will be something solid for you to stand on - or you will be taught how to fly.” Faith. I realized as I dissected that quote, I have faith. I need to lean on my faith. Trust in God, talk to God. I knew I wasn’t going to fall into an abyss, I had faith.

I began praying more regularly. As Rev. Elaine has reminded all of us, prayer is a practice. And I practiced a lot. All my life, my prayers have begun with all of my thanks, and then move to “Could you please…” The more I prayed, the more I realized how much I had to be grateful for. Regardless of treatment, side effects, pain… I knew I was blessed many times over. My prayers of gratitude lifted my spirits no matter how I felt physically. I found myself stopping to offer thanks to God at the strangest times and places. In the middle of Uncle Guiseppe’s, in the car at a traffic light. I realized my prayers of gratitude were so abundant I nearly stopped the “Could you please” prayers. I never once prayed for God to take away my cancer. I prayed for strength, energy and for the people I loved. I prayed for God to stay by my side on this journey, no matter how long the road was. And I prayed that I would be open to the lessons I needed to learn.

If prayer is a practice, I believe faith is your relationship with God. Just like any other relationship, it requires time and attention. The bond I have, the connection I feel to God, is stronger now than ever before. And with that foundation, I found that I was more observant and open to everything around me. My inner strength seemed to double.  My attitude was more positive, and I began to recognize how much negativity I had been a part of for so many years before.

I paid more attention to my thoughts. The pervasive negative tone of my inner voice disturbed me. I realized I was in a terrible relationship… with myself. The voice in my head was so different from the voice I used to pray, or to speak to anyone else. I could hear the dissonance. Never good enough, strong enough, smart enough. If another person in my life that was that consistently critical I would have walked away a long time ago. But that was impossible, so I had to actively work on this relationship, too. Me, myself and I. The gratitude I offered to God shed light on all the good in me as well. When the negative attacks came I intentionally countered them. When I looked around the house and instinctively thought ‘I am a terrible housekeeper’- I would pause and say, ‘But I’m a good Mom’. I started to take credit for good things I had done, and not shy away from compliments as quickly. I began to see what God saw in me: An imperfect human being, doing the best she can.

It would be a lie to say that every moment of time since my diagnosis had been prayerfully blissful. I had weak moments. I endured 10 months of chemotherapy. Every three weeks I would go to the Cancer Center at Stony Brook. For 6 hours or so, I would sit in a chemo chair while medications were sent through an iv to destroy my cancer. As the treatments went on, it became increasingly difficult to get the iv in. My veins would collapse, and roll. I would spend the first 4 or 5 days after chemo treatment exhausted. I would have to sit and rest after getting dressed. I had a pulmonary embolism that could have killed me. I had nausea, strange shooting pains, and I lost all of my hair. I lost my eyebrows and lashes. I had to give myself injections daily. I had 30 rounds of radiation therapy.

There were moments that I did just cry. Usually in the car, or in the bathroom, occasionally in bed. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see. I wanted to shelter my family and friends from my sadness. So I would allow myself time alone to just be.  But the reality is that I was never alone. In those moments of sadness and fear, God was with me. No, I never heard His voice, or felt His physical touch.  But there is an amazing sense of strength and light that I would feel as I allowed myself that time. God’s warm embrace, His loving light. When I was done with that ‘me’ time, I was ready once again to keep moving forward.

I was surrounded by amazing people throughout my ordeal. I will be eternally grateful to God for the gift that is my husband. Mike has seen me at my best and worst… and he’s still here. Our relationship has grown and flourished in these difficult times. His support, and belief in me has given me the strength I needed to fight. My amazing children, teach me more everyday than you can imagine. My parents, brother and extended family exemplify love. Friends, co-workers, fellow UCC members. The selfless Caring Ministry here brought us food and comfort for months. All of these people are gifts from God… brought to me when I needed them the most.

So, my initial journey began with a question: Who am I? Well, I am many things to many people. I have many significant relationships. I stand here today, a cancer survivor… a grateful wife, mother and daughter.  But above all else, I am a faithful child of God. When I reached the end of my light, and could only see darkness, He didn’t just give me wings, He made sure I wasn’t flying alone.

God IS good… ALL the time.

From Long Island to DC to witness President Obama's Second Inauguration

1/22/13 18:26 on the train Northport

How was the inauguration?  There were some who saw my pictures on Face Book.  I should sign in today and check what was written.   The comments, the likes... There are those who check on FB as if it is a lifeline to the world.  I’m not there and don’t want to be.  You can say this is a contradiction since I linked the blog to FB.  There are some stories I will post and others that will remain in the hidden chambers of these files.  So how was it?  Four years ago there was a different excitement in the air.  Those of us in the crowd of almost two million would say it was a festive occasion.  I didn’t feel the same.  Maybe since we had tickets?  Maybe since we expected Joe and Diana to join us as well as my son?  Amanda was in Boston?  Sunday night; I was stressed out.  I was even thinking maybe we can skip this thing and watch it on TV.  Who needs the stress?  Four years before, we dealt with long lines from the Metro station, long lines getting into the station, long lines onto the platform, onto the packed train and shuffling for blocks like zombies on packed city streets in DC. That was then.  I had everything planned, we leave by 7 - the latest.  Park the car and get into the station.  We bought our Metro tickets already - to save time.  If I can’t park the car in the lot, I will bring it back to the hotel and jog the two miles to the station.  Okay, I was a little obsessive about this thing.  I would do it if necessary.  It was not necessary.  I parked the car and we walked right up to the platform and felt like this was going to be easy.  It was not as easy as I thought.  Humanity swelled in the streets.  The crowds for these events are compacted and squeezed like herds of animals down into the narrow industrial strength steel fences, kept off the grasses and kept contained. Not to say we were going to get in trouble.  We were hoarded through metal detector devices. I was waved with a wand held by a lesbian who asked me if I had a belt on.  Yes.  Her mechanical voice sounded as if she was spat out from boot camp a few days before.  Yes, it’s a belt.  That’s my zipper.  The alarm went off.  It’s closed.   No bump.  It’s cold.  To feel any peace of mind, the ongoing concept of threat was subdued.  Silhouettes of sharp shooters, peered down from the peaks of roofs.  It was a warmer day than fours ago.  The sky was grey for the most part.  But this is one event in history - where humanity intermingles within inches, there is no such thing as personal space.  No need to freshen one’s breath as I encountered numerous wafts of digested meals on warm breaths.  We were told to go from one entrance to another and from there I was mixed with a group of young men who cussed on about how they were attending Yale - obviously trying to impress some younger women around them.  Bella was shocked with the language they were using.  What can I say my love? She is ten and the term asshole, makes a real impression on a ten-year old's imagination.  This is the same place where we were mixed with the exclusive company of mink coats, private designed wardrobes, hair styles that were expensive and molded for hours, and when set among the anonymous souls -  looked downright - outright ridiculous.  Did you pay a lot for that contraption? Why bother?  Did you tell your girlfriends you were going to see the President?  Why?  There was one point when we waited to cross the street, waited for a good twenty minutes till my eye balls rolled in urine, I was crying holding the pee and when we crossed we ran like the fools.  Well I couldn’t run.  A woman fell in front of me and when I went to help her up a guy shoved me off her, not too rough of a shove ‘cause I would have swatted him.  Let’s be civil here.  I made it to the barren Porto-Potty and released the steamy stream into the weird blue color abyss and felt a relief like no other.  When I came out to find my patient family waiting they were not there.  Instead I was staring at the blank faces of strangers, their eyes rolling in urine, waiting for their turn of glory.  Ali and Emma and Bella were gone.  Seized up by the tide and washed into the ocean of heads and coats and oblivion.  I went back and found a spot near one of the statues, with a view of where the speech would be given. I calmed myself since my calls were not going through - nor the texts.  I imagined getting back to the car and waiting in the cold parking lot since I could not reach Ali.  Till one message came in and we were only twenty yards away from one another.  I didn’t see them till the President was speaking.  Not that they could see what I saw, but I regret they were not with me.  Emma would have had some excellent shots since she brought her camera.  While the speech was going on, I became friends with those around me.  There was a young black boy who I helped to sit on the railing and an older black man who needed to rest against the railing since he had an ailing back.  For some reason he reminded me of my Father-In-Law.  We were all strangers and yet one unified family as we listened to history project over the loud speakers and into our hearts.

Thank you for reading this

A Day off to watch history RA Dickey wins 20 games

I sent an email to my manager that I’d like to take the day off. The reaction from most is, I hope everything is all right. Granted I worked from home on Monday since Ali was fatigued the night before and I felt it was better to work from home. In fact I hope to talk to Karen about working from home more often, but that is not the theme for this entry. I put in for the day since I jotted down in my calendar it was the Mets last home game of the season and they were playing the Pittsburgh Pirates. The decision was sealed since it was RA Dickey’s attempt at winning 20 games. Hope everything is all right…even though I took some calls and answered some emails, I took the day off. I even went back to sleep after dropping off the kids around 9 since I could. Ali went in for radiation. When I got up I took a long shower, shaved and dressed and went to the barber. My hair needed a cut as well as my goatee which is staying put for as long as I hear how good it looks. Thank you. John the barber has a new born at home and I was his only patron at that time. He looked tired. We bull shitted for awhile, but in any conversation there comes the time when there should be a lull even silence. I always give him some ideas to promote his business. I repeat the same thing each time I’m there. He likes the ideas. He has hired another barber, but I can hear behind his optimism some dread that business may not improve. Then he catches himself, like a cycle, his revolves from bad to good and spurts something positive. I don’t like when anyone says, maybe God has something against me. Don't be dramatic. He adds,just when I think business is good, it’s not. Onto baseball. Earlier in the baseball season I read RA Dickey’s book. I can’t recall if I reviewed in my blog, but if I did here is how I feel about the man. RA Dickey has taken his share of abuse, both physically and mentally. He was sexually abused by a babysitter as well as an older boy in his neighborhood. My heart went out to him since his depiction is similar to many others, although their lives are deeply traumatized and scarred. Dickey did not let these incidents define him. He didn't seem to dwell in the trauma. As he grew up he was a solid pitching prospect, but after a physical it was determined he was born without an integral ligament in his pitching elbow, this is why his arm can never straighten itself. He almost had a professional contract but after the physical it was taken back and he lived the hard life of minor leaguer trying to raise a family. His faith is strong and this brought him through some tough times…so briefly this is the Cinderella story we all dream about. Good guy who lives though tough times but makes it. So he makes it the Mets and last year was a break-out season for him. The Mets fans love him, but more he is a knuckle-ball pitcher. Their pitches are difficult to hit when their pitch is on, but when it’s not – it could be home run derby. Yesterday he pitched quickly through the first, I noticed he had little patience for the batter, he would set up and then have to take a break and wait and then set up for the pitch. Most of the time when I'm at a game,I like when the fans, who are strangers start to talk to one another, sharing their opinions and memories and even giving one another high fives as if they are on the team. I don’t like when the opinions become conversations. Keep em to yourself. In New York we all have opinions and can talk to anyone within seconds. I came to this game to see a game not to listen to you. I turn around and face the field where the action is. Baseball is all about sequences and position. The perfect competitive match is between a batter and pitcher, trying to figure out what each other has and waiting for the pitch. Dickey was hit fairly hard in the second and it appeared he may lose the game. That was until Ike Davis hit a home-run to right. He is another success story who made an incredible switch from a slumping player about to be called down to the minors to a power hitter with more than thirty homeruns this season. But the Pirates came back and once again it looked like The Mets would lose. The crowd cheered for Dickey, each time he was up at bat or had a strikeout, yesterday he had 13 which tied his highest in a game. After he walked off the field in the seventh, with more than a hundred pitches it was assumed he was out of the game. Not Dickley, he walk out to the field with his heavy bat and hit a slow roll to third which died in the grass as he ran full steam to first and was safe. That's one of the pictures. This meant he was coming out to pitch in the eighth. It was amazing since most pictures are pulled when they reach 100 pitches. By this time I moved down from the heights of jets that were landing at LaGuardia to field level, back among the living crowd who concentrated on history. We stood back as RA struck out the first two Pirate batters but after a 0 and 2 and then a full count he walked the third batter…and Terry Collins the manager took him out. Dickey gave the fans everything he could and so did Collins who moved Dickey up in the rotation to pitch yesterday. He wanted to give his pitcher the opportunity to seal his incredible 20th win in front of the home crowd. So we left the stadium and were jam packed in the parking lot, the smiles faded as cars barely budged. Even as we rolled into rush hour traffic among the obnoxious drivers those twenty to thirty thousand who were at the game enjoyed the day off from their lives and for a few hours shared this New York moment.

Running the New York Half Marathon in Flushing Meadows Park

3/25/12 22:54 Malvern PA

What was it like to run a half marathon? It was my first. Considering the weather was cool yesterday morning, no rain, and the course was essentially flat. I finished the run just under two hours. It’s hard to believe I finished, but even more, I ran without stopping for a bathroom break or to relieve a strained muscle. Starting at 0900, the plan was for a slow start. The race was open to 5,000. It took a few minutes to pass the start. Passed slower runners, walkers bull shitting with their friends on a stroll through the park, get off the course! Run you bastards. After the second mile – open it up until I felt comfortable. This meant running past other joggers and getting beat by even more joggers. This kid came by with a knap sack, wearing heavy jogging shoes, easily galloped to the finished line. Another man came out of the clear blue and took me, but when I saw this woman who wore the new fangled running shoes that look like feet, when she took me I picked it up a little in an attempt to see her sweat. She kicked my ass. Way to go over achieving fashion queen with your long brown hair. I started the race with Rolland a buddy of mine from work, but felt a little sorry for him since he did not have time before the race for a coffee or to release the kids. He was huffing as we approached mile 8 and I made a motion that I was going to get around some slower runners. He let me pass and that was the last I saw of him till he came to collect his bag at the drop off. He had to stop for a bathroom break. At the end of the race, I received a large medal. Rolland and I went to the beer garden and had a Michelob Ultra Lite. It was warm and tasted liked water at the bottom but beer is beer. I thought I would be more tired than I was. In fact just before the 12 mile I felt I could run a marathon. With the other runners around me and those who finished, cheering us slow ass fucker, there was the motivation to finish. A few times I kept my head down and would look out on the lake or Arthur Ashe stadium, even the sparse crowd was exciting to see as they clapped and cheered all of us on. Running that race motivated me to run a marathon – next year. I can do it. Not yet. When I got home, I was hit with the wave of exhaustion. I had a beer and popped some Ibuprofen, showered and napped for an hour with the window open as a cool breeze blew in the bedroom. I could rest knowing the race was over.

Time: 1 hour 54...9 minute pace...

We Were Promised Jetpacks Webster Hall 10 30 11 set list

10/31/11 Happy Halloween you bastards
Yesterday afternoon Amanda was checking the site for We Were Promised Jetpacks, which is her favorite band. She knew for the past few weeks they were playing in New York. She told me they were playing at Webster Hall that night. For the record, I took Emma Tess to more concerts; the last was 30 Seconds to Mars in Boston last May. Recently I bought Emma Tess a gold ticket for 30 Seconds since the band offers their rampant fans the chance to meet them for a steep price. What a scam for a corporate band. I don’t care to divulge how much I paid a horrible arrogant actor, but when Amanda said tickets were available to We Were Promised… and they were only $20, I said I’d take her. You want to go, let’s go. She wasn’t sure if she should go, this was her nerves talking, telling her to be nervous and stay nervous and stay home. When I was her age, I dreamed of seeing a show. When Emma agreed to join us, Amanda was excited. Since it was later that night, I had time for a decent run down to the beach and back. It was an opportunity to be alone and delve into my thoughts. After a shower and an early dinner we headed into the city. We were early, so instead of going in, we walked around lower Broadway. Saw Astor haircutters where I got one short cut when attending Purchase College twenty five years ago. It was cold last night. Emma wore a skirt so we headed into Webster Hall as Bear Hands was playing. Up old cracked white marble steps and into the expansive hall which had an ornate ceiling with a balcony where the sound board was. A large pentagram dangled over the stage, goodness knows it was for Halloween. A large bar was in the back. Off to one side of the venue was a long table where you could buy a t-shirt and CD’s…on the opposite side, was another bar and a small store where I bought three pairs of ear plugs. I bought a beer and listened to Bear Hands, thought they were a strong band till they got carried away with the shit synth pop sound and they lost me. I had the same reaction with the second opening band, Royal Bang who hit the stage with a in your face kick ass, but fizzled to a Southern drawl by their last song. So much hope. I will be honest, I didn’t know what to expect when We Were Promised Jetpacks. Based on the two previous bands, they’d have a synthesizer, a guitar player and drummer…so I was surprised when the young Scots casually walked out on the stage and kicked fucking ass. Each song was like a tidal wave that crashed into the audience and then washed over any of my doubts. Their lyrics were sung back to them with intoxicated slurred words, loose limbs and exuberance. Their singer had a bashful smile, nodded and we all knew what he was thinking, “Shit, they know my words.”
Based on the play list that Emma caught after the bassist threw his list into the crowd - this is what we heard:
Circles & Squares
Quiet Little Voices
Medicine
Picture of Health
Roll up your Sleeves
Keeping Warm
Dirt and Gravel
This is my house, this is my home
Boy in the backseat
Sore Thumb
Human Error
Ships with holes will sink
Pear Tree
It’s Thunder and Lightning
We Were Promised Jet Packs can make its genuine mark on the scene, if they continue to search for their original sound. It’s a daunting task, but this band is poised to become one of the best. Keep an eye on them and see them before they charge ridiculous fees. I heard fragments of Bloc Party, U2 and another band from my generation, Big Country, since they had a large sound that thundered the walls in Webster Hall. The singer, Adam Thompson has an incredible trained voice with a perfect pitch. The way he stood back as his voice became faint sounded like a distant scream. His lyrics touched on his experiences and drew me in. I think I found the band I was searching for and for an old fart like me it feels good to discover a new sound as well as the relief to know there are bands making good music without shit synth pop or posing for the cameras. This band has what it takes, they can bridge generations....