Baseball Project and slipping back to 1984

So what’s it like seeing The Baseball Project. A year after their release, Mike Sweeney, Jeff Parkhurst and I were in front of the stage. A month or so after we bought the tickets – we stood close – almost arm in arm like survivors. Having ignored the lack of sleep; our tired middle aged bodies made it to the Bowery Ballroom. Before such an event – I struggle with the thought. I knew it would be a late night. Damn, did they really need to play to midnight? Did they really need to hit the stage at 9 PM? Why did I have to be late?
Ali dropped out since this was back to school night at the high school. Eric dropped out since it was back to school for Eileen. And I could not get any replacements. I should have called Frank, but it was back to school night for him I assumed. Dennis couldn’t make it. Not even for a drink.
I drove up from Philadelphia. I was there a couple of days for a cold chain session and stayed at the Courtyard. The hotel is across from the city hall building. I was late leaving the city since I had to wait for an hour for Les. I agreed to drive him back into the city – so he could catch a train at Penn to take him back to the island. 76 was slow, but once we hit 476 and 276 – traffic moved very well. There was little traffic on the turnpike. We stopped at a rest stop where I filled the tank with cheaper New Jersey gas, and bought some horrible food at an Arby’s. But we were starving. It was close the 7 when we stopped. Les hoped to make an 8:06 from Penn, but he hit the sidewalk around ten after. And this was after taking the Holland Tunnel – I don’t like tunnels. By the time I dropped him off, and made my way to the Bowery – I knew I was running late.
Damn the GPS. It kept announcing “calculating route…” but I got out of the car on Bowery – close to Grant and felt I was close to Delancy. MTS suggested I head up down – away from China town and this led me away from Delancy. I asked a street cop where Delancey was. I went in a full circle and after sweating in the late summer humidity and feeling beater that beat – we walked down the staircase to the Bowery Ballroom and heard the song – Ted Fucking Williams. The guard said we only missed the first song. I’d like to know what it was.
It’s been a little more than twenty five years, when Mr. Feinstein and his wife took me and Bob Miller and Dave to see REM in concert and the opening act Dream Syndicate. Mr. Feinstein saw my REm T-shirt when I was in summer school and he told they were playing out east and he’d be happy to take me. I brought a tape player and made a fake ID – WNPT radio and laminated the homemade card with Scotch tape. We drank beers with our teacher. High School kids with a slight buzz. I asked where press would go and I was directed out of a side door at the Roller Skating rink in Setauket. There was a long bus as well as sleeper vans and Bill Berry was there in his white cowboy boots. He swore I was someone from Athens – happy to see me again – and I explained who I was and why I was there – to interview him and the rest of REM.
We set up the interview in the camper, and were joined by Michael Stipe – who sat in for most of the time. He had black fabric Chinese slippers on. A few days later, I found a pair for sale at the Commack Flea Market as well as a small handbag. I think I bought his somewhere as well. Peter Buck was by far the most energetic and outgoing. Berry was just as cool, but the band could sense I was not there as a reporter – though I had twenty minutes with the band. I discussed my REM dreams and asked about songs. There were a couple of lulls and I would ask Bill how was I doing – “You’re doing fine…keep firing away…”
Last Wednesday must have been about the tenth time I met Buck. He was signing CD’s and I shook his hand and introduced myself. I was a little buzzed after a couple of beers and might have appeared worse off, with my loose belt and disheveled appearance. Got a CD signed, and went back up to the floor.
The show was great. I was surprised they played as many Dream Syndicate songs. And I was brought back to the roller skating rink – summer of 84 and hanging out with Bob Miller and seeing Steve Wynn back in the parking lot and interviewing Dennis Duck. It was a short interview – since I didn’t buy the latest Dream Syndicate record at the time – Medicine Show – and he was upset – he caught on – the interview was a waste of time – for both of us. I wanted to interview Steve. Steve seemed more appealing and interesting for the wanna be rock star/journalist/fan I was back then.
The Days of Wine and Roses!

Auto Train to Orlando

Last night we arrived at the Springfield, VA Courtyard a little after 9 PM. The pool was closing so we changed quickly and enjoyed the hot tub and pool. A father and his two daughters joined in and soon the kids were eying each other suspiciously and doing their own thing. The father took over the hot tub, and we dried off and headed off to the courtyard. It was warm last night. I bought a beer, and we headed back to the room. Lights were off a quarter to 11. By 6 AM I was awake and ready to go. I finished up some work, and wrote my weekly while the rest of the bums got dressed, took showers and watched the Disney Channel.
We ate breakfast, really brunch at Bob Evans, I had eggs and pancakes and sausage and OJ and coffee. The food wasn’t too bad, but the waitress had an extremely dry sense of humor. Not sure how he day was going, but she told us she was there since 5:15.
Afterwards, knowing we had time to kill, we drove to DC and went to FDR’s memorial. It’s a beautiful display, using boulders and water, and is the only presidential memorial which includes the first lady. Took some pictures with Amanda standing next to the statue.
We’ve been at the Larton terminal since 1 PM. This is our first time and we didn’t know what to expect. Not sure if our seats would be next to one another. The process was very easy. We drove the car, checked in and watched as our car was inspected and videotaped, since they wanted to make sure there were no erroneous claims of damage. I took Bell and Joe outside for a walk. We had an hour and half to kill. The depot building is very roomy and bright. The building is air conditioned and modern. A TV is playing in the corner, and there is a small café, a shop really in one corner. From the look of it, the place appears to be in Florida.
It appears as if people are boarding though there was no announcement made. Just waiting for Ali to get back since she bought TUMS. This place is emptying fast. Time to go?
We’re on the train. There is a lot of room. It’s very comfortable. Whoever is sitting behind me is playing with the foot rests. The seat is knocking. There is a family next and behind us. This is not going to be a quiet train, but let’s see how it works out. I can use an ADVIL.
Instead of Advil I had a couple of beers. Dinner was served at 5 PM and 7 PM – we chose the early dinner since there was a movie playing for the kids at 7…I had cod and veggies and rice. The food was very good. With dinner came white wine and water and choices like iced tea and apple juice for the kids. They were given the choice of chicken fingers, and mac and cheese. There was a lot of food. The other options were a beef or veggie lasagna. The settings were pleasant, a flower on each table as well as silverware, but the cups were plastic, as well as the plates. For dessert we had cheese cake with a couple of options, either covered in strawberry or chocolate.
Overall it was quiet, but one neighbor watched a movie on his laptop and the language was not appropriate for children. A couple had two little ones on-board and it took them a long time to fall asleep. Music came over the loud speaker but was shut off close of 8 PM and soon after lights were shut down and we got comfortable.
Sleeping was a little bit of a challenge. Trying to get my 6 foot 4 body comfortable – even in reclining chairs was interesting. I bent my legs and curled in the seat, and propped the small pillow on a corner as well as my sweat pants.
I’m typing this, knowing we’re expected to arrive an hour earlier. Amanda and I had breakfast and met an older couple from Florida. Cereal as well as warm bagels and muffins were served, coffee and OJ as well. A good start to the vacation…rise and shine we are in Florida.

Much To Do

Went running earlier. Twenty nine minutes and we’re pulling out of Stony Brook.
This past weekend we left Amanda in Hyde Park. She was accepted into a wonderful program – Young Women’s Leadership Group, which is organized by the Eleanor Roosevelt Foundation. Today she’s taking a hike, and this week this she will meet with global leaders at the UN and work in various shelters, clinics and bring back a new maturity as well as a transformed outlook on life. It’s an incredible opportunity. When we pulled out of the town, I reminded myself of her first full day at school. The school picked. Full day kindergarten. Most of us took half days, but it’s a new requirement for the school districts, and we must have been one of the first. She took those first steps into the bus and started talking to the little girl next to her and did not notice that her parents we’re outside, watching and waiting for a sign that she was alright. The same happened on Saturday. We brought her to her dorm room, and she wanted us out as soon as we were there. The last we saw her was at Val Kill – home for Eleanor and where Amanda would spend most of her time. Ali started bawling. Amanda did not.
Yesterday, we went to church. The children that were in the Vacation Bible School performed songs and read. There were more children in the program than previous years, and the stage was packed. At first Isabella did not want to perform and then got up there and smiled away, although she was in the corner and sort of under the balcony. Joe read and I was very proud of him, and on our way home I told him it took a lot of courage to get up there. Emma Tess looked like she was just going through the motions. She was tired. Slept over her friend’s house the previous nights and explained to Ali she only slept 14 hours the previous nights.
So I’m here in Huntington. Let me go back to this weekend since it was the first time I saw JP Groenger in over fifteen years. My old friend from St Phillips is in the production – Much To Do About Nothing – I thought he was incredible. Jape has come a long way from the motorcycle, Harley Davidson bell bottom blue jean days…I would like to hang out with him and catch up after all these years and we just might to that. I brought Emma and Isabella since the performance was outside. I thought it would be a good opportunity for them to see Shakespeare. We brought chairs and snacks and overall had a good time. It was a beautiful day. A steady breeze blew through the trees and the clear sky without a hint of humidity was a perfect addition to the play. Afterwards, I went up to Jape who looked at me for a few moments, studying my face and not sure if it was me….Mike Gordon?” He was very warm and was excited to see me and more – so grateful that I came.
After the play we went home. I ate a lunch and went out to Riverhead to see a baseball game – Riverhead Tomcats vs. Long island Mustangs. This is a college league. The game was played at Riverhead High, just a half hour from home or twenty miles. By the time I got there the game was in the third inning. I saw one kid hit a dinger – in fact he hit the fence a couple of other times. Tonight the league is playing their all-star game. Last year I brought Isabella to the game and we saw a short stop make incredible defensive plays and hit two dingers. He’s playing for the Oneonta Tigers –Chris Sedon. I hope to catch him playing against the Brooklyn Cyclones this later next month.
So what are you writing? I was thinking of this story for some time. Oldest daughter is taking care of her sisters and brother while Mom is working. Parents are divorced. School is out and she’s finding ways to keep them entertained. There are chores and there conflicts. The oldest would tell stories and the younger sister and brother always ask her to tell a new story. It’s different from the others since I’m using my children as references. Isabella is always asking me to tell her a story, and normally it’s the same two stories I’ve told her before. This one would evolve since the oldest is creating a sense of adventure. I’m imagining the father as being a pirate who tries to kidnap the others. In reality the father is trying to get the kids back as the mother struggles – works two and a half jobs and the bills are just getting paid….
The train in pulling into the station and it’s time for me to write…

Reformed Immigration Policy

Immigration is a loaded word. Depending on how you feel, there are those who foam at the mouth at the slightest suggestion of the word. For those, images are conjured up, dark men sneaking under fences, raising our crime rate and raping our women. Huddled men standing in parking lots waiting and begging to work. There are others who like me are taking a stand for immigration reform because of my Christian values (read Romans) and standing apart from some of my xenophobic neighbors. There is a distinction between begging for money and working for the money. There is great disparity between the man who asks for money for his next “escape,” and the other who support his family from hundreds of miles away. This also applies to my sisters who cross the border and are subjected to harsh treatment and many suffering in modern day slavery.
What causes my point of view? After taking two trips to Guatemala and seeing firsthand the squalor and extreme poverty, I can tell you that to survive in some parts of the country are limited. Statistics have proven the average age of a Guatemalan is 45 years old, and the life expectancy is 62. There is little work and minimal if any support from the government. Years before during a famine in El Matasano mothers had to choose which child survived and which starved to death. Imagine the horror of listening to the screams across the village. My church is working with a local agriculture committee and assisting to install micro drip irrigation systems. Not only are the families surviving, they are able to sell their extra food to earn an income. Keeping the men in the villages that are vital in their families and communities. But not all villages have this sort of assistance. What options do they have?
Here are a few myths that need to be addressed and can be researched. Most immigrants are illegal. More than seventy percent are legal residents. My Irish mother is one. Most crimes are committed by illegal immigrants. This is another fallacy The FBI reports – How about a drain on our health care? Not true. Over two billion dollars are collected by social security and never collected. Immigrants cannot seek health care unless it’s an emergency.
Franklyn was concerned about the Germans who were taking over his Pennsylvania, “ “So if the Germans, who were persecuted and suffered from prejudiced men, how did the Native Americans treat us? The land was a gift from God. They could not understand why we wanted to trade for land. What fools we must have appeared like, but is power the answer. We’re on the face of the earth for a short period. Imagine if we could live in peace.
So, what are the root causes for immigration and what can I do to show my support for my brothers and sisters in Jesus’ name? Write an essay? Sure I can do that, my intention is to look for others support and show my support. How? By finding other groups who support immigration reform.
When a man is stabbed by a group of young men there is an underlying hatred that is percolating in some parts of this island. When most a family is killed by an arsonist since the landlord removed the fire escape, there is a need to take a stand and unite. When a family walks through our neighborhood, we say hello and welcome. Just a smile can be a beautiful act of kindness and peace that can transcend the violence. In Jesus’ name I commit myself to this cause.

Joe's Birthday

My son’s birthday was today. This morning he woke up while I was downstairs watching the rain and wondering if today’s softball game was a rain out. It was. I put on my Chuck Taylors and made it outside to retrieve the paper, and made some coffee and had an oatmeal breakfast ball. By 8 AM, I asked Ali if she wanted to make it to the 9 O’clock service, but she was too comfortable in the dark warm room. I wanted to climb back in even with the birthday boy. There’s little room in the bed. We’re getting to the point when there’s barely an inch on the mattress.
So, here I am. Back on the blog and getting some words down. It’s been weeks and I’ve slipped from my goals. I wanted to submit something each week, but there’s been little time or the options I have are either rest and let the mind go blank with some mindless TV or something else, but don’t put the demand on. And if I continue to choose to do nothing I will have nothing at the end of the year. The decision is mine.
What did you do today? Went to church and after went for a run. Eileen and Eric and the boys stopped over. Went to see Kyle Okopuso – Islanders and got him to sign the year book and an Isles book I bought on EBay with signatures from the some of the dynasty players. Kyle was cool. There was no line, one good reason to show up a half hour before the signing was over! I’m old enough to be his father. Went to dinner at Friendly’s and we’re back for the night.
As I’m writing this, watching MLB and I’m considering starting a fantasy team. Last season I thought I’d give the NFL a shot and I made the playoffs. I didn’t do anything.
The choice is mine.

Thoughts While Commuting To Work

Thoughts While Commuting To Work
By
Michael Robert Gordon

Is the media distorting the news? Are we getting all the facts on the stimulus? Maybe the media assumes we would be swayed by the panic? Another depression? I’m writing this while commuting on the train to work. Passing the same parks and streets, seeing the same faces in their same seats, we’re sort of like machines moving in our commuter’s syncopation. But we’re all here. Perhaps the economy in New York is not the same as the rest of the country, but we’re reminded we should all be afraid. Be afraid – very afraid for the wind is changing direction.
It’s tough for me to write about this. I have my job and for the most part speak to the same clients and new prospects each week. Our company is doing well. When I’m on the train I’ve been struggling with these deliberations. What good can come out of this current mess? Were we ignorant to think there was no such thing as a looming bursting of the housing market? We were warned. Were were silent when we allowed congress to send our money to the banks and other firms without at least the responsibility to enact fiscal policy or reform? I don’t work for a bank. What did we learn from our past? You can’t trust the government? Be the change.
There is another theme I’m hearing. Be grateful you have a job. Remember that meal you refused to eat? You crossed your arms in front of you and would not budge. Wasn’t it ma who said, be grateful you have food? I think while the bubble was expanding we lost the ability to be grateful, to put an effort into each day, and perhaps became complacent? It’s something my grandfather who worked three jobs to take care of his family would not dare to do. He had to feed eight children.
Let the market take care of itself. There will always be special interests that will police themselves. It’s the economy stupid! Be stable. Like children, we lost the strength and boldness to call out when we saw fraud and wasteful spending, questionable transactions. Be silent. It will all go away. As long as I get mine. Why, all of a sudden we’re exposing the likes of Maddoff, and other financial crooks? Think less government, fiscal responsibility, let the market regulate itself. Can we trust?
I feel sorry for those who lost their jobs and feel more for the children who don’t have a roof over their heads. Be grateful, is my daily mantra and each day while sitting in this seat, the same one near the back of the train and listening to the same voices tell their stories or complain, I will remain grateful for my job and do the best I can. This is a time when we are correcting the market, cleaning out the corruption. It has happened before and will happen again as long as we are ignorant to our insatiable greed.

It's the second day in the second month of the year

This past weekend I submitted stories to three publishers. By Sunday, I received a formal rejection and will put this story into the pending file. There are going to be some stories that I’m not confident about. Either the plot is different from what I’m used to, or there is an element that is lacking. The element that is lacking can range from character development. Thinking of Andre Dubos, what a writer to learn the craft of character development, and this is someone I need to go back to. Someone I’ve told myself I needed to go back to for a little over eight years, so after Audacity of Hope – I will read some Andre. But, what about the plot? In this example I’m considering POS, the Sci Fi story that is not really a Sci Fi story. Written by a writer who doesn’t know that much about science; so let me think about this…if I never swam before, can I really describe the sensation? Maybe that’s not a great comparison, since most of these writers never or will never live in the future. I was a little disappointed to read Asimov stopped writing novels during the fifties. Most of his million books were non-fiction. Did not know this. I would like to wrap up POS and submit the story and see the reaction I get.
Killer Commute is now in the hands of 5 Star. I should get a response in four to six weeks. It’s actually in God’s hands. Each time I read the book, I love it more. After reformatting it, the novel is approximately 280 pages. A lot different from the 340 or so I initially counted up. I’m thinking of ways to promote the book and can set up a table at train stations, and even have readings at certain stations. Why not? Imagine a reading at Penn? There are bands playing there. Imagine a reading during rush hour in the summer? Maybe give out free water? There’s a lot to do.
I’m writing this on the train. It’s warm in here and I’m at the Northport station. Just sat up in my seat and I can feel the sweat. The Salvation Army – Family Store. The one story business buildings. There was a mob killing in one of them – more than twenty years ago. Newsday had an excellent article that implied it was an inside job – dirty cops – that were arrested just a couple of years ago. And my old high school and we’re off towards Greenlawn.