Mom died two Aprils ago, and anyone who has ever read this blog knows my thoughts on her were mixed, at best. I’m not going to go into details now, as I’ve said as much of that as I can or want to at this point. What happened — or didn’t, as the case may be — is past history, and I’d rather not go back down some roads.

Instead, I want to thank my mom. The inheritance we received, which was the combined one of both mom and dad, went a long way to helping us get to this point in the house purchase. I’ve never been the best when it comes to saving money, and we used the inheritance to do several things. We bought Cherise, aka RAINDNCE, outright, for one thing. She’s our wonderful 2010 VW Jetta TDI that many folks who read this will know well.

We also completely wiped out our debt. This was a big deal with which I’m sure most folks can agree. That alone set the stage to the point where we are now getting ready to up and leave the Bronx and head to greener pastures in Teaneck, NJ.

What was left of the money at that point, we sat on. We had vague plans that we were going to… do something. Just what that something entailed, we didn’t know. Now, of course, we know. Buying this house is the scariest damned thing we’ve ever done, but in all honesty, if it hadn’t been for mom (and dad), it probably never would have happened.

So, thanks mom. We both really and truly appreciate the fact that you and dad worked hard your whole lives, and left behind something that enabled us to move forward with our own.  The future is bright — and frightening — but it’s there, partly thanks to you.

Happy Mother’s Day! I love you and miss you, and wish you could have seen the house.

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Friday night we caught RatDog at the Beacon Theater, our only show this tour. We spent the day and evening with friends from out of town, and saw a fair show from where I sat, but that’s a separate topic. Bob was great; it was his band I had issues with. What happened after the show is what will make it one I will remember for a long time [Ed: or not, as I'd forgotten!].

A group of us were prowling the streets uptown afterwards, looking for an open bar. We tried an Irish bar we’d partied at last year, but it was packed. No bars were around on Columbus, so we ended up back at the Amsterdam Brewery around 12:40 AM. Seeing as our friend Gus got us kicked out earlier in the night from there after getting into a fight at the bar (really, he did… but that’s not why we got tossed), it was ironic.

After eating, some folks went out for a smoke while Gus and I stayed inside to watch stuff. When they came back, we went out for our smoke.

We’re standing next to the vestibule, on the deck, and I’m telling Gus how the show might have been my last Bobby show (probably not, but I was in that mood then), and how Mark Karan really wants to be Warren Haynes when he grows up. All of this with a somewhat loud voice. Hey, I was drunk and my voice was shot.

I looked up in mid-sentence and saw through the plastic vestibule that a group of six or so people was walking down the sidewalk from 77th street toward us. Leading them was Bobby, in a brown casual jacket.

I’m thinking, “Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Did he hear me?”

What came out of my mouth to Gus was a forced but hushed, “Bobby! Bobby!”

He says, “What?” and then Bobby walks right up onto the deck next to us. He sees us, smiles and I say, “Hi Bob. Great show tonight.” He grins and said, “Hi, thanks!” and continues around the deck up 76th St. with his entourage following.

I turn to look inside the bar and begin gesturing to the street so folks look out the window. They’d already seen Bob, who, then, unexpectedly, walked into the bar with people. He walked past our table over to the bar (the place was really empty by this point) and looked like he asked if his group could set up in back — which they did. He shook a few hands, too, from what I saw through the window.

Gus and I, meanwhile, were still a bit speechless outside. Starstruck, you might say.

Only in NYC can I be trashing a show only to have the guy I’m trashing walk right past me unexpectedly.

How can you not love a bar with beer taps in your table? Not to mention the beer stock market that tracks prices of a dozen beers in-house, and allows for market crashes? It’s awesome. Somewhere around 7:50, most of us made our way over to the venue (up the street a block) to catch Cornmeal, who were opening for Railroad Earth this night.

Let me tell you something: If you haven’t heard Cornmeal before, do yourself a favor and go dig some up on Archive.org, or check them out on youtube (and then buy some of their music). Allie and the boys bring some serious ass-whooping musicianship to the stage and are truly one of the great bands emerging on the scene today. We were down on the rail for the end of Cornmeal and Railroad’s first set, and the crowd was huge and incredibly into both bands. The Best Buy seats 2,100, and I’d say it was three-quarters full, which is a big deal.  This was far and away the largest crowd I’ve ever seen at a Railroad show outside of festivals.

We ran into many people we hadn’t seen in a while during set break, and finally, somewhere around 9:30, Railroad hit the stage, ready to take no prisoners.

February 25, 2012
Best Buy Theater
New York, New York

Support: Cornmeal

Railroad Earth:

Set 1:

Mighty River
Saddle of the Sun –>
Head
The Good Life
For Love
Right in Tune
The Hunting Song –>
Hard Livin’

Set 2:

Happy Song
Seven Story Mountain
Chains
Daddy-O
Elko
Potter’s Field
1759 –>
Goat
Any Road
The Green Roofs of Eireann –>
Like a Buddha –>
El Cumbanchero

Encore:

Everything Comes Together

So how was the show, then? In a word: good. Not great, not epic, but if this had been the first time I ever saw Railroad Earth live, I would have walked away hooked. It was incredibly well played, and the band looked to be into it. Todd was extremely animated on stage, for one thing, and there was some real fire going on up there.

But it’s the set list I have to comment on. The first set, for me, while looking great to many on paper, contained (outside of For Love, which was great to hear again, and it really smoked) a bunch of tunes I’m rather jaded on. Head and Mighty River get played a lot, and I get that they should be — they’re “big” songs by which the band is known — but I’ve seen them a whole bunch. I could do without, you know? But again, this was rather like a showcase, in a huge venue, and they needed to make a point.

Which, I have to say, they did. The crowd seemed to be devouring it with joy.

The Hunting Song was extremely good, but the Hard Living coming out of it? Not the song I would have chosen, even though they were going into set break.

After heading out to the merch area during break, we moved back for the second set, settling in to the front right of the soundboard (Mike did a killer job, by the way). Happy Song to open was a good call, and the Seven Story Mountain was excellent — the build-up to the Over the Waterfall section was really well-done and when they hit the crescendo it was perfect.

But then…Chains.

I know a lot of folks love this song, but it’s a complete show-killer for me. It sucked right out of me all the warm glow that had been instilled by 7SM. I was standing there thinking, “Hell, really?” and worried that I was going to simply dislike the rest of the show. Fortunately, the band then launched into Daddy-O, which has found its way back into the set lists of late, much to my extreme happiness. Even though Todd doesn’t strum the banjo on it now, it was still the perfect choice to bring me out of my Chains funk.

Crackling versions of Elko and Potter’s Field (which I’d leaned in to Kim to say I wish they’d played instead of Chains) kept the good vibe going. At that point, Skehan pulled out the bouzouki and began wailing on the noodling riffs for 1759, and oh, baby, that was perfection. Linked with Goat (another tune for the zouk these days) and we had about 25 minutes of mega-fun right there. Timmy broke out Any Road in honor of George Harrison’s birthday, and then we got a Green Roofs > Buddha > El Cumbanchero to finish up the set. Great stuff there, but except for the El Ronquillo bit of El Cumbanchero, pretty standard fare these days.

The encore brought them back for a surprise ending, though. Instead of Long Way to Go, or Bringing My Baby Back Home, which often seem to be encores at shows I’m at these days, we got something special with Everything Comes Together. And yes, judging by the crowd’s reaction to the entire night, everything did, indeed, do so. We had our coats in hand and were out the door by 1 AM, and at the garage moments later.

A home run for many people, I’m sure, but more like a solid double from my perspective, mostly because I’m jaded at this point. Me, I would have preferred the show they played in Boston the night before, but you can’t see them all. I’ve rarely seen so many people so into the band — the crowd knew the songs and were singing and dancing along like maniacs — in other words, like us hobos. That is a great thing for the band — they’ve made huge inroads over the past year and a half, since the release of their eponymous album in 2010. Railroad Earth is on fire these days and the shows are filled with tons of great musical moments, and they’re well worth seeing. You’ll come away with a huge smile that’ll carry with you for quite some time.

Do yourself a favor and go to the show the next time they are in your neighborhood.

Now if only they’d bust out Dixieland…

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For years (nineteen and counting)[Ed: almost thirty now!], I’ve wanted to put together a live-action movie based on an old cartoon that I watched growing up. It had everything — comedy, fun characters, and trips to the moon.

In other words, everything a kid in the early Seventies might watch.

What cartoon is this, you ask?

FADE IN:

EXT. PRISON WALL – NIGHT

EXTREME CLOSE-UP on a BLOODSHOT HUMAN EYE. It stares at the camera for a moment before blinking once. We then hear a SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH.

PULLING BACK slowly, we see THE FACE OF A BALD MAN slowly coalesce on the screen, a SNARL curling his lips… This is KNUCKLES NUCLEAR. In his thirties, he has an almost insane aura about him.

KNUCKLES (O.C.)
They told me that I was here for life…. my life. Well, I’m bustin’ outta here, and I don’t care what those stinkin’ people who live in da clouds think. I’m gonna get me a piece a dat!

REVERSE ANGLE on Knuckles. He is clothed in STRIPED PRISONWEAR. We see that he’s climbing a wall. He stops as a SEARCHLIGHT slowly pans above his head before moving on again. The air is thick with HAZE, having an almost tactile feel to its look.

Knuckles makes it to the top of the wall and pulls himself onto its top. Standing up, he looks UPWARD, into the swirling mass of FIRE-BELCHING SMOKESTACKS, each contributing to the SMOKE AND HAZE.

REVERSE ANGLE focusing on Knuckles. SLOWLY, the camera pulls back, revealing the IMMENSE SIZE OF THE PRISON. It begins to travel UPWARDS through the smoke as Knuckles fades into the haze.

FASTER the camera moves UP, following a METAL PILON, until we hear a FAINT DISTANT WHIRRING SOUND. We hear another, followed quickly by another. A GLINT OF METAL flashes before the camera as we emerge high above the HAZE AND SMOKE. Above, we see a DISC that appears to be a BUILDING. We see the BOTTOM OF A TREADMILL and hear a voice.

GEORGE JETSON (O.C.)
ASTRO! Will you calm down?!

 

Years ago, we dream-cast this one, with the following people in roles:

George Jetson: Chevy Chase or George Segal
Jane, his wife: Goldie Hawn
Spacely (of Spacely’s Sprockets): Danny DeVito
Cogswell: John Lithgow
Knuckles Nuclear: Sgt. Slaughter

Obviously, this would have to change today. Leave Lithgow and DeVito in place, though.  Elroy could be any number of kids and Judy could be, well, pick a young female star.

For plot, you’d have Knuckles Nuclear (played by The Rock, now) breaking out of prison, and several of the episode plots linked together, including Elroy’s flying pills and the scout trip to the moon.

I can dream, can’t I?

Let me state something: Thank you for trusting my driving skills. I appreciate your confidence in me. But just to clear the air: I don’t reciprocate. Your cell-phone using, coffee swilling ass doesn’t earn my confidence back. You suck.

With another political season in full-swing, the urge some times hits me to write about it all, but then I’d simply be more noise to sift through. I’ll just say I’m voting for Obama, even though I’m less-than-enthused by him. But hey, at least the White House issued a memo this weekend that was anti-SOPA/PIPA, so that’s something good for once, domestically. Still doesn’t excuse his voting for FISA when he was campaigning in 2008.

What amuses me is how Rick Perry trotted out the comment last night that Obama disrespects the military. I love how the GOP always says that about a Democractic candidate/president. Who has more respect — the person sending the military haphazardly abroad on some vague mission (The War on Terra!), or the one who ends the missions and brings them home? It’s not about winning — it’s about choosing the correct battles to begin with, in my opinion. 

And anyhow, who got Osama, at the end of the day? Not W. He let him get away a couple of times. Saying that it was W’s policies that got him is ignoring that very fact.  How soon the lessons of Tora Bora have been brushed under the carpet and forgotten. I remain neutral regarding his foreign policy shifts regarding China, but will watch that one closely.

Since Romney seems to be coasting to a quick win in the GOP primaries, I hope folks wake up to the fact that the guy was a corporate raider, and really doesn’t give a shit about We the People (not that any of them really do, at the end of the day). The huge amount of money waiting in the wings with the SuperPACs is scary, and I expect the airwaves to be filled with nonsense very, very soon, to the dismay of all of us.

I do like what Stephen Colbert is doing with his campaign to highlight the problems with SuperPACs. Hopefully we’ll get some true campaign finance reform at some point; gods know the last round simply opened the flood gates.

To whit:

I went in for a cut and beard trim, knowing the guy works fast. So while I had my eyes closed toward the end, and with no warning as he was still using the trimmers, I suddenly heard it:

Pft! Pft!

And then, dear reader, I felt the cold mist of liquid descending upon my hair, my neck, and my face. Somehow, with no warning, the barber decided I needed to be doused in cologne. Awful, tawdry cologne that conjures up visions of Eurotrash. Or old European men who think this smell will be appealing to the New Yorker on the go — I’ll go with that one.

I can attest to the fact that it doesn’t. Appeal, that is. I was rather flabbergasted that this happened.

I paid up the sum due and a minimal tip, and hurried out the door, horrified by what I now smelled like.

Fortunately, when I got back to the office, I was the only person in the elevator. I had no desire to subject this to anyone else. Perhaps ten minutes later, my friend, Michael, IMs me, asking if I want to go out for air — he smokes, and I accompany him usually when he goes out for one. I hop onto the same elevator going down — alone again, I might add — and he gets on at the next floor and says, “Damn, that smell is still here. It smells like a cheap whorehouse!”

I was appalled. Turns out, he rode the same elevator after I did, so he knew the smell. I said, “No, no, that’s me! My barber did awful things to me!”  I leaned over for him to smell, but he couldn’t tell that it was, in fact, me.

“I’m very unhappy!” I said, as we made our way down the elevator. Once outside, I could feel the cologne radiating off of me, not unlike what you see for Pigpen on Charlie Brown cartoons. He wrinkled his nose over the cigarette, stating, “It is you! Oh, my god!”

“This is why I’m unhappy!” I said, “I have new hire training in an hour, and the new paralegal is going to be stuck with me for an hour or two, having to smell this.”

He was practically in tears, repeating, “Five dollar whore!”

“You’re not helping, you know!” I stated.

“I know!” he replied, laughing.

I’ve since tried to wash it off, with a very small success. It did get into my shirt, I think, even though I had a smock on. I took it off while I washed my neck, face and hair, but…well, let’s just say my new hire will not be thrilled.

A five dollar whore. Yeah, that’s the “Welcome to the Firm!” image I want to put forth.

 During a recent password audit, it was found that a blonde was using the following password:

“MickeyMinniePlutoHueyLouieDeweyDonaldGoofySacramento.”

When asked why she had such a long password, she said she was told that it had to be at least 8 characters long and include at least one capital.

Let me tell you — this rocks. Or it will once I fix the keyboard — somehow it split and became smaller. Still…wordpress installed ridiculously easy.

It’s a new day, maybe.