The PawSox vs The Durham Bulls

5/4/13 08:51 Stoughton, MA

I wanted to write for a few minutes since I will be leaving this town to pick up Mo Cheeks and bringing her home.  Her school year is over and we are all looking forward to having her back in our daily lives.  I’m curious how the bomb experience impacted her.  Yesterday I left Port Jeff around 12:00 and made it to Pawtuckett Rhode Island to see the Paw Sox take on the Durham Bulls.  On the way up I hit traffic just after Stamford, but I gave myself enough time. I was in Bridgeport by two and was set to be at McCoy Stadium at 5 PM.  On the way up I saw a terrible accident, what appeared to be a minivan that crashed in the woods.  A Helicopter was parked, motionless on the highway.  A cherry picker was trying to hook up the van since it ran up a hill and was deep within the trees.  Yellow plastic bags were laid out on the ground, were their bodies in there?  Then again I noticed ambulances heading West earlier, maybe they carried the passengers, then why the helicopter?  Traffic was at a standstill, cars were parked on 95, the drivers and passengers were out, one man climbed up a hill in hopes to see ahead of the cars, but he was too far back. A minivan with kids had their windows open and small heads craned to see the devastation and violence that occurred.  Keep moving.  You’re too young to see it.  I made it to Pawtucket and thought I’d have a couple of hours to kill, but the game started a little after six.   You drive through the small city to get to the stadium and can easily get lost.  Free parking till it fills up.

 I bought a ticket from a scalper for 10, in the green section.  I was inside the historic stadium early enough to watch the ground keepers, sweep around the batter’s box so there was not a foot print anywhere, the surface was smooth like brown ice.  I sat with a family.  The dad sold the ticket to the scalper who sold it to me.  The wife said I looked liked someone she knew.  I have one of those common faces except for my Roman nose.  That makes an indelible impression.  She agreed.  The grandmother wanted to share popcorn with me, really nice people, but I sat next to the father a big guy around my age with a booming voice who cared less about the game and more about the beer.  Before the game some players sign autographs, the fans place balls and cards in empty milk jugs that are tied to string and lower it down to the player.   It was a cold night and difficult to see the game with the glare of the setting sun.  The Sox won the game.  I got a foul ball and I made it to the hotel in about a half hour.  Time for a beer. 

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.

An assorted REM Reunion at Webster Hall

4/27/13 17:12 Home

The last two nights I was in the city.  I bought tickets the moment I heard Peter Buck was opening up for Robyn Hitchcock at Webster Hall.  Ali and were looking forward to the show, but just in case, I gave Eric a head’s up.  I told him, I might ask you to attend a show in the city.  Who?  Robyn Hitchcock.  Cool I like him.  Let me know.  Thursday, I tell him, looks like Ali is going, but thanks.  Friday comes and Ali can’t make it and then Eric tells me he can’t make it and I’m walking around the office looking for someone who could.  I’m out of luck, but I suck it up and drive into the city, park on 15^th just as a car hit their alarm, the car's lights flashed telling me they were arriving and eventually pulling out.  What luck.  It was close to Irving Plaza, but I made my way to 11^th, passed a Greek place which look very appealing. I avoided one of the premier book stores like a good disciplined man: Strand.  I’m selling my books on EBay since I have so many which are either signed or first edition.  I have amassed a library of good books.  This will be another blog entry some other time, you want to read about the show and I’m sorry. I was prepared for the show.  I bought Buck’s LP – which is limited edition – only 2000 copies were released - vinyl - on a small independent label Mississippi Records in Oregon.  I wanted to hear what he would do without the major influence of REM or his other bands like Baseball Project, Tired Pony, Minus 5 and Venus 3.  The album captures the music that Buck gravitates to when he places a needle to thin grooves.  You know he was having a ball recording it.  On the way to Webster Hall I saw Mike Mills walking in front of me, he has a sort of unique strut and his cowboy boots gave him away.  I caught up to him and like a kid, “Mike!” I called out. He turned around, not recognizing the chump who called out his name and said, “Hey...” and moved on up and in the venue.  I caught up to him again and asked if the Baseball Project would come back around, “Eventually,” I could have asked if REM would come back, but I knew the answer.  I assumed Mills was playing bass in Bucks’ band which is called Richard M. Nixon.  They didn’t have a bass player.   Surprisingly Peter was talkative, I dare say - comfortable almost aloof on the stage.  He said he hasn’t played this venue since 85, when it was The Ritz.   I think by ’85 REM were too big to play there since the previous year I saw them at The Beacon.  I know I am a dorky fan.  

Here is the set list: So Long Johnny, It’s Alright, Give me back my wig,  10 Million BC, Planet of The Apes, Monkey Man, Vaso Loco, Outta the House, Near Wild Heaven, Pushing too hard, I’m Alive.

 Buck’s band consisted of Bill Rieflin on drums, REM’s last drummer, Scott McCaughey, REM’s fifth man,  and Kurt Bloch.  Mills eventually joined Peter on stage and they played the REM song Near Wild Heaven.  Was this the first time they played an REM song?  Let the Murmurs.com and REM HQers take note...Lenny Kaye from Patti Smith’s band joined him as well and performed Pushing too Hard…I was debating on calling it a night and head home.   I felt the mission was accomplished I saw the band I wanted to see.  I even sold the extra ticket to some guy who was looking for a freebie…I sold it to him for $10…cheapo…better than nothing.  I really don’t know too many Robyn Hitchcock songs.  I used this same excuse a few years ago when Ali and I went to see Buck and the rest of the Venus 3 support Robyn at the Knitting factory.  As you may know from the blog postings we are REM fans.  I repeat myself.  The rationale then, we had a chance to talk to meet and talk to Peter before the set.  We were honest and told him we didn’t know much of Hitchcock’s songs.  Oh you should stick around, he has great music.  I’m sure you’d like it.  Not taking his suggestion we left.  It was an early night.  So I waited for Robyn to come on and had a beer in the shadows. I was glad I stayed, it was a great show.  I liked how Robyn shared surrealistic stories before each song.  Each time telling us Bill Rieflin was going to keep us in tempo…He wore bright purple pants or some other brightness under the stage lights and a polka dotted shirt.  He will be sixty next week and this is a happy birthday to him.  The set was very diverse, included songs from his repotore, Kingdom of Love; I love you, Madonna of the Wasps, Adventure Rocket ship, as well as a Dylan cover.   Mike Mills joined him as did Lenny.  They closed the night with the Velvet Underground classic: Waiting for my man and finally an excellent version of The Beatles, She says…  She says…and the lights gradually came on as Robyn waved and walked off the stage.   In the night I found myself on the sidewalk, headed back to the car and not waiting as I'd normally do - to meet the band - since I don’t have to always be the obsessive compulsive neurotic fan.  Right? But if Ali was there…well then…neurosis and the chance encounter is rampant.

Thank you for reading this

A Bomb explodes in Boston a block away from my daughter

There is a lot to write about since this past week I was on vacation.  Let’s start with the bombs in Boston.  That Monday afternoon, I was paying for some food at the super market and had all the kids when Ali called.  She said Amanda just called her and she is Okay, but I will hear soon enough that two bombs exploded in the city.  She was walking towards to finishing line and then the bombs,,,she was safe, but was running away from the explosions with another friend from Simmons.  It was a terrorist act.  Being so far removed from Boston and trying to buffer the kids from what occurred was frustrating.  I wanted to drive up there and take her home. No child of mine should have to experience this.  Soon the rest of them found out what occurred as we turned from the Disney channel and watched the horrific news - a panic set in.   What was that red stuff?  Bella asked as the picture hovered over the sidewalk where blood was splattered, not sure I said, it could be fabric.  Yeah, she said there are a lot of flags there.  Listening to Amanda I could hear the shock in her quiet, shaken voice, that tried to sound controlled.  She repeated like a monk in a mantra, yeah….yeah…yeah after every response.  Evidence of post traumatic stress.  Violence changes life rapidly.  Earlier that day – Patriots day in Boston - she texted me, telling me she was on her way to see the Sox play.  I was happy for her, but she said she missed me.  The city of Boston and The Red Sox have a special place in our lives.   What a general statement without real resonance.  There is a charm Boston retains that appeals to our senses, the way history and dusty decades remain with a New England pride for generations.  Over the years, I brought Amanda to a couple of Sox games.  Once when she was a little girl we flew up there using discounted - standby tickets which someone from Delta lent to me.  For about thirty dollars we flew to Boston and back.  This was before 9/11…and caught a game on a warm autumn day.  Since we flew stand by, flying home was a bit of a challenge; we had to sit separately. It didn’t upset the curious and personable child who bid me farewell and told me she was fine, she sat back in her seat, feet dangling over the seat and struck up a conversation with the woman next to her as I sat alone and pondered how I was going to explain to Ali that our precious five year-old daughter sat next to a stranger on the flight home.  We survived.  After the bombing she was picked up from her dorm by Katie and Ben and brought back to Watertown - where they live - to get out of the city.  It helped, but she was still shaken and did not attend classes on Tuesday.  Simmons College gave the women the option of not attending.  On Wednesday she was back in class and feeling better.   Each day Amanda called Ali or I...yes sometimes I got the call...on the rare chance Ali was not available.  Funny how we always go back to our mothers when we encounter something horrible, but no mother can be prepared to console a child who witnessed two explosions.  Ali was in her element.  By Friday night, after being locked down on campus all day - Mo Cheeks and the rest of Boston and Watertown were dancing in the streets.  We survive through another day and grow stronger, but live with that uneasy feeling - and the unanswered question, why do this? Yesterday, I drove into Citi Field for the first time this season.  This was Bella’s first trip to Citi Field and since she is my baseball buddy as she tells me she is, I felt it was appropriate to ask her if she wanted to go.  Sure was all she responded with.  The other kids could care less about baseball.   Although it was a chilly day we made it to the stadium in about an hour, paid the $20 for parking and passed through security.  I wanted Bella to experience the rotunda at Citi Field, and pointed out the pictures of Jackie Robinson, one with them at a graduation procession and she was impressed with the link to history.  We went to the fan center where kids can play waffle ball and other games and then bought some pizza.  Standing while the national anthem played, with our hands on our hearts, we then took an escalator up to our section 307.  After an inning there it was due time for my sausage and peppers and down we went to find the vendor. I bought her some ice cream as well and we shared a Pepsi.  The wind was picking up, foolishly I wore shorts and we were in the shade.  It was freezing.  The seats will be perfect if it was raining, but it was cold and she didn’t want to move to the warm open seats in the sun light in case we were kicked out.  So we stayed and watched The Mets come back and then headed off to our car and drove to Queen’s museum.  I asked if she wanted to see the globe from the World’s fair and she did…after that I drove around the expressway and felt my steering wheel pull to the right, I thought some part or belt came lose or was damaged.  A van passed us and the passenger pointed to my front wheel, You Gotta Flat!  I changed it with the Manhattan skyline in the distance and gave Bella a lesson on changing tires.  It was the first time I changed a tire in years and felt lucky, it was not raining or bitter cold.  We were done and back on the road to home.   After a dinner at Friendly’s – it was her choice, we watched some videos on You Tube, decent music like The Clash and Cracker (her request) Fishbone, Problems Arise and I played Camper Van Beethoven, Take the Skinheads Bowling, which is now one of her favorite songs.  This morning we came downstairs, I gave her the medication and she played Take the Skinheads Bowling and sang along to it….Everyday I wake up and pray to Jah…  

What you would not want to happen if you play Jesus in church

3/24/13 22:02 Home

Thoughts of portraying Jesus in church – greeted by the congregation Hosana.  Waving and standing in the center.  Where was Ali when I needed her, home taking care of Bella who has a cough.  There I was, front and center, the costume was made for a shorter man, so my knees showed and even Reverend Diane snickered when she first saw me in the vestibule.  I knew I was in trouble.  But it was worse I had to take off my sneakers.  Thank God I clipped my toe nails last week. But the nail on the left big toe is hideous after so much abuse from the basketball games.  And there is the tattoo on my left calf and my scar when I burned my right leg and had a skin graft.  There were hoots and whistles I lifted the fabric a little higher and laughter erupted.  This is entertainment at it's worst.  But what was the most distracting for me and for those looking closely at my acting - the fabric molded a curious tent right above my crotch.  In front of everyone... the holy of holiest - appeared to be aroused.  I tried to move and make it go away, but nothing helped. I said my lines and blessed a blind man and swore someone would betray me, but I wanted to crawl away.  Then it was over - I was off - say thank you to Jesus.  Tom gave me a high five and I received some reluctant good jobs from some parishioners who saw me afterwards.   Some eyed me with disgust... 

We had a pancake breakfast at church…Emma and I ate to ourselves…afterwards I went for a walk down to the beach to get my thoughts together.  I saw some men with metal detection devices, waving them over the ground and wearing head sets.  One of them waved to me.  It was a little chilly, but I took these pictures.    

Thank you for reading this

Richard Hell Doesn't Like Punk?

3/16/13 10:18 Home

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wyqmt8G5BiI

Richard Hell autobiography has been published, I Dreamed I Was A Very Clean Tramp which is on Harper Collins.  He was in Huntington's Book Revue for a signing.  Arriving about twenty minutes early last night I was dismayed by sparse audience.  There may have been six of us.  The others were older than me, discussing their children in their twenties, divorces and lives they’re living outside of the book store.  One man had a Long Island Duck’s jacket and brought an album to get signed.  You like punk?  Maybe you need a little background of the man?  Richard Hell was a staple in the New York punk scene in the late seventies to the early eighties.  He has the reputation of being the person to influence the punk fashion style of the Sex Pistols.  He was in Television, The Heartbreakers (Not Tom Petty’s band) and Richard Hell and the Voidoids.  His story is different, running away from private school in Delaware, getting arrested in Alabama after setting fire to a field (because he wanted to see it burn) and eventually arriving into New York where he wanted to make a name for himself as a poet.  The fact he is alive is a miracle since the book will depict his struggles with drugs and eventual retirement from music back in 1984.  I am not familiar with his music as I should be, so I checked YouTube and watched the Blank Generation.  I will see if I can link it to this entry.  If not, do yourself a favor, it’s a good clip and has excellent audio and visual that was shot at CBGB’s.  Hell is the man who helped build the stage at CB’s and made an appeal to the owner of the venue to recruit other bands to play there like Patti Smith and her band, as well as Blondie and Talking Heads.  So I wanted to hear him read and describe the book in some detail.  I was disappointed.  Hell was late for the signing, close to twenty minutes, “They picked me up late.”  By the time he arrived there was a decent showing, around thirty bodies of various ages and identities.  But he seemed less prepared than what I would expect for a reading.  For most readings and/or signings, the writer will share some stories of the book and make the reader want to read it.  It only makes sense.   They may actually read from the book, but did not. So when Hell was introduced and walked up to the microphone he seemed nervous and awkward.  His voice was sort of muffled maybe the influence of the southern drawl he may had.  He said, “I should describe the book, but I’ve never done that.”  Instead he referred to a recent interview.  The journalist did not want to ask him the typical question.  Richard thought this was different - the reporter cared what questions he was asking.  “Why did you write the book now?  It came time to write another book.  I regard myself as a novelist, I’ve been out of music for thirty years and I wanted to be a professional writer.  Finish one book and start the next.  It’s truly my vocation.  For fiction, I’m not very good at the plot.  I need a strategy.  For instance my first novel is a road novel.  The characters travel across the country.  It has momentum.  I didn’t have to conjure up a story.   My second novel, Godlike is based on a pre-existing story in history.  A couple of poet s from the 19^th century, so I took advantage of their interesting story and set them in New York City in the seventies.  I never thought I’d do an autobiography.  It’s easier to write fiction.  With fiction, you don’t have the constraint of describing things, following something that actually happened….when you hit your forties you assess who you are and what you’ve been through and get a handle on it.  I could work through that problem or question by writing about it.  My purpose is to write a good book.  The point is to write well.  It’s almost incidental what the story is.  Richard said his writing style is clear and concise.  Hell is also a voracious reader, has an extensive poetry collection which is described and referenced some of his favorites writers like Raymond Chandler and an obscure British writer (hope to get the name) as well as William S. Bourrough’s later novels (not the cut and paste works)…the audience was allotted a few minutes for a Q&A and had some good questions.  I was curious if he wrote his autobiography after reading Patti Smith’s very popular book, Just Kids.  A woman asked this.  He said he was afraid of the comparison, but her book was a memoir.   A memoir can be a book about having a disease like cancer or having a relationship, like Patti and Robert’s love.   What was surprising was Richard’s taste for music.  “I don’t listen to punk music.  I’d listen to rockabilly or something else for entertainment.”  He discussed how long it took for punk to gain popularity, more than twenty years.  He did not see any royalty checks till years after his albums were released and what was a shocker, The Ramones who are a legend today did not have the status back then, they toured constantly and were frowned upon back then.  After waiting a few minutes to get my book signed - the line was fairly short, I got up to the table and took my picture as he signed my book and CD.  I asked him, “Why did you quit music?”  He glanced away from the book and looked up and said, “You have to read the book.”  I’m curious what he has to write about Johnny Thunders who was influenced so many, played in the NY Dolls as well as The Heartbreakers.   Another guitarist, Robert Quine who I met before a Lou Reed concert at Stony Brook back in the late eighties.  I was told Quine was a legend and I remember how he was down to earth, a gentleman who was short and bald with dark glasses and smiled from embarrassment when I was told he was a legend.  Both men are dead, but were important friends in Richard’s life and have most of the space within the book…

Thank you for reading this

The Who and Elvis Costello play for charity at MSG theatre

3/01/13 10:13 Home

I took the day off since I knew I would not be in the right frame of mind to drag my ass out of bed and make it into work.  On a few hours of sleep, I was up early anyway.  I can use more rest but want to share some highlights from last night.  It was the first time in years I hung out with Jim Marcino.   There was a period in our lives when I’d consider him a close friend, but with his marriage and both of us having children, we drifted apart.  Please cue in the violins.  Jim and I saw The Who at the garden back in 2002.  It was one of their first shows after their incredible and historic performance they had at the 9/11 concert months before.  The energy in the garden that night was heightened to a peak that is tough to repeat.  In the past Jim and I have seen Ringo Starr’s All Star Band as well as the Old 97’s, but music and sports are stables of our conversations.  Hanging out with him last night brought back warm memories of why I like and respect him for the man is he and the life he is leading.  His life revolves around his children.  Everything he does is for his family.  Jim doesn’t hold back - he tells you what’s on his mind and it can be brutally frank.   Eric met us outside the entrance to the theatre.  It is a small venue compared to the garden where the Rangers played last night.  We saw their intoxicated obese fans on the train heading into the game with their $400 dollar jerseys and shorts on although it’s still winter and they are men.  I love their passion.  They clutch onto the blue shirts as if their lives depended on it.   Back to the show….Elvis Costello and The Impostors opened.  It was the first time for us seeing the legend.  Now, just a second as I digress to the ancient past; sleeping in tents in Dan Madigan’s back yard, say 1978 and hearing Pump It UP on the radio and thinking this song is powerful.  I loved it.  But never have seen a single performance.  Elvis came out and high fived some fans in front of the stage and cranked out his hits.  What’s so funny about Peace Love and Understanding, Radio Radio, Pump It UP.  Allison,   Everyday, I write the Book.  Each song smacked into the next, no holding back for the green Costello with his thick black glasses and white wired head set looking like a freaked out Irish alien from outer space.  His band was incredible.  This is one act I would love to see again instead of an opener, although New York loves the Costello alien.  Watching the Detectives….Elvis can play the guitars with the best of them.   This was the third time seeing The Who.  The second I described earlier, but the first was at Shea Stadium.  The Clash opened up and I was excited for seeing two of my favorite bands.  I stood in the outfield at Shea thinking of all of the players whose cleats ripped up the grass which was covered with a plastic sheet.  This was the same place The Beatles played and as I normally do, I made my way as close as possible to the stage. Paid for it days later; with ringing ears, and permanent hearing damage to my right ear.  I did the same last night when The Who was on.  Our seats were in the way back, although there is not a bad seat in the house.   I walked down steps and was about to set foot on the lower level just yards from the stage when I was stopped.  Told the usher I just want to take one picture…you can take it there.  From where I was and I should have been content till I saw another sneaking expert slip in and got in close to the stage. Bastard!  There was some commotion and it was my opportunity.  I made my way in.  Then even closer when two ushers were talking and I walked past them and got in in front of the stage.   The Who played a couple of songs off Quadrophenia  since they are on tour playing the whole album as well as a best of set.  Love Reign over me, Pin Ball Wizard, The Kids Are Alright, Who Are You.  Baba O Reilly, You Better You Bet! Were some of the highlights from their set.  Pete had more energy than I recall the last time we saw him as the garden, he was leaner and bounced around windmills of course and played the whole set with electric guitars.  Roger was in great shape and swung the microphone like no one else can.  His voice was shaky at times but what can you expect for someone who is nearing seventy.  Last night’s concert was a benefit for Teen Cancer Fund.  Both bands played for free.  Roger was eloquent as he described the hurdles teens encounter with cancer research and the extreme struggles for the health care providers who have a high burn out rate.   And just before the clock struck 11 PM, the show was over since Pete explained - we don’t want to pay the union anything more than what we need to!  Good night.

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