tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-243726492024-03-07T21:47:34.695-05:00Positively Catherine StreetPositively Catherine Street: Same place it always wasWilliam S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.comBlogger360125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-7716982351019792432020-12-25T20:15:00.002-05:002020-12-25T20:16:29.556-05:00Stayin' Alive<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif; font-size: large;">On Christmas
Eve, I went to the laundromat as they’re closed the following two days. It
was surprisingly under-populated. The last chapter of my New York book regards
this laundromat, and the wonderful dog of the owners, Yagi. Yagi's been missing in action since the virus started in March, the owners wisely finding it better to
leave him at home to prevent people touching him in public. A stuffed toy dog
sits in the display window where Yagi is often found dozing between his favorite
customers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #351c75;">It was
surprisingly under-populated. The owner had a boombox he sometimes plays when
the TV isn’t on behind the counter of his change station. It was playing
</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNFzfwLM72c" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">“Stayin’ Alive” by The Bee Gees</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">“Man,
that’s the song of the year,” I said to the owner. He laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">“I
hadn’t thought of it that way, but it makes sense!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">We’re
all just stayin’ alive. Well, not all of us: 326,000 of us and counting aren’t
staying alive. We’re averaging about 2,600 people per day whose EKG’s are
flatlining on the Bee Gees’ pulsing beat. Over 18 million people and counting
have had this thing in one form or another, probably a few million of them who’ve
had their health severely damaged or ruined.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">And
still I’m seeing people walking around NYC without masks daily! The past week
has been especially trying, post-blizzard, with the streets even more cramped
from unshoveled sidewalks and banks of snow from ploughs and car owners
shoveling out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully, it’s been
above freezing all week, and a horrifying squall that lasted all night on Christmas Eve wiped out all but the largest banks. The old “walking in the
street” trick to avoid the assholes hadn't been working with a three-foot wall
of snow on the street side of parked cars. Those dreaming of a white Christmas settled for a wet Christmas, and ultimately that’s good news.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">We’re on
the cusp of the worst stage of the virus, during one of the worst health crises the
world has faced in years. The president is spending all his time either
golfing or on Twitter rallying morons (and taking their money) for his lost
cause of overturning an election he fairly and decisively lost. I guess there’s
never been a better time to toy with fascism? Did you ever think this would
happen in <i>our</i> country, in our lifetime? If someone had told you four
years ago how all this was going to play out, would you have laughed at the
person and considered him insane? Which part: that the president would brazenly
attempt to destroy democracy and our electoral system, or that he would address
the challenge of conquering a deadly pandemic by indulging
in pathetic, self-absorbed social-media outbursts?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Who
needs Joseph Goebbels when we have Twitter?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Last
December, I wrote about missing Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania due to grand jury
duty in Queens. That seems like a gilded age of innocence and a lifetime ago.
This year, I missed it again and am missing Christmas due to the virus, and all
the odd and troubling travel issues accompanying this level of the outbreak.
Sure, I could hop on a bus if I want and go. But the Covid rates in PA lately
are worse than what we had in NYC in April when 700 people were dying per day.
I would imagine that with the general population more spread out there, and
hospitals more well-versed in how to treat this thing, the death toll won’t be
quite as staggering. But the past few months, we’ve seen what happens when
entire swaths of the country pretend this thing isn’t real, so that what
happened in NYC in April has happened or is happening almost everywhere in the
country. When it should have been stopped in its tracks shortly thereafter, or
at least kept to a minimum, as most sane countries have done. Live free or die?
These days, it’s live free <i>and</i> die.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">It's
been a strange, unsettling year for everyone. If you are working, you’re either
at home, realizing this “work from home” thing kind of blows (after fantasizing
for years that it would be paradise), or at a job requiring bodies, like
hospitals, retail, restaurants or shipping warehouses, and sweating bullets if
you have underlying medical conditions, or live with someone who does. Or there
are those of us who haven’t worked much of the year! This has been mindblowing
for me, but at least not financially devastating as it has been for millions.
(All those Depression-era lectures from my parents must have worked, because
I’ve been spending money like Ebenezer Scrooge this year.) I’ve made the best
of it, with my Supermax back-patio calisthenics workout. One good thing I
pulled from all this: you don’t need a gym to stay in good physical condition.
But I surely do miss the social aspect of gyms, a cornerstone of my social life
in Manhattan. We’re all missing cornerstones that have us feeling like the
building is about to come down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Walking
every day, regardless of the weather, has helped. Of course, walking exposes me
to assholes. (Sorry to sound like a broken record. 2020 has been a broken
record, with the needle stuck in the groove of death.) The whole mask thing has revealed a wide swath of
society, mostly teenage to early middle-aged males, to be either sociopaths or
so pathologically irresponsible that they should be barred from the general public.
Most people I encounter on any given day are playing by the rules, in tune and
empathetic. Why is it that the relatively small number of people who aren’t any
of these things bothers me so? I would answer that I can normally handle
stupidity, but not when it has a body count. It’s deeply offensive and so unaligned
with the core values of what makes America great that it deserves to be driven home repeatedly. I’ll
start having real problems when I come across these assholes and <i>don’t</i>
feel this flicker of rage. Our maskless days are months away, I would guess
late summer or next fall, so there’s plenty more time to work through this. I’m
being too generous with people who have lost this thread of humanity and wonder if they even had it before the virus so clearly exposed them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">But
that’s much of what 2020 has been about! That peculiar balance between hope and
despair. The need to be around people, even when doing so might end up killing you, or you might end up killing them. We’re getting rid of a maniac, which is great news. But as we watch
him hijack Airforce One to Fantasy Island, it’s been deeply disturbing to watch
a startling majority of a political party, and millions of fellow Americans, go
there with him. As I’ve learned working so many years in Manhattan offices, it
never pays to go there with someone in a position of power. Sooner or
later, you either embrace that insanity or walk away. Here’s hoping most people
are sane enough to choose the latter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">So,
let’s do that, walk away from 2020, slowly and quietly, so that it doesn’t hear
us leaving. Face forward. Don’t turn you back. Don’t make eye contact. No
sudden motions. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. If 2020 lunges towards you,
turn tail and haul ass. Hopefully, you’ll find a climbable tree and get far
enough up it that it doesn’t sink its gnarled fangs into your flank. History
will note this as one of mankind’s worst years, and be brutally honest and unforgiving
with so many people who just can’t grasp that now (and probably never will). Given
the <i>Twilight Zone</i> episode so many of us are living in, I’ll do my part
to take the road more traveled, you know, sanity. It’s the only way out.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-37482626487860941872020-11-08T13:15:00.001-05:002020-11-08T13:36:10.598-05:00Pennsylvania, Again<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;">People went nuts in NYC on Saturday, right after the larger
media outlets made the call for Joe Biden as president. I had been planning on
taking a nice, long walk around Central Park but decided Monday would work just
as well. The jubilant crowds didn’t appear to be out of control but in a giddy,
low-grade party mode. </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FaPM8-20fvA" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">This song</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> was playing in my head all morning.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">It wasn’t lost on me that I was running into just as many
maskless dildos on the street, with the virus preparing to shift into overdrive
most places in the country (but not here, yet). I find it hard to feel ecstatic
knowing the hammer is getting ready to fall, and I suspect will be worsened by
Trump being a sore loser over the next 10 weeks. I must admit, it was a
pleasure watching him burst into the nightly news on Thursday to bitch and moan
like a hurt teenager on Twitter. It was like watching a broken old man,
convinced he was going to hell, fart and shit his death bed so hard that mourners
in the room were vomiting and wailing from the profound stench and unbridled
despair. But that impish fever dream has been tempered with the possibility of
what damage he’s planning on the way out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Once again, Pennsylvania played a key swing-state role in
the election, this time the deciding state with its large volume of mail-in ballots
to count after election day. Like many Americans, I was despondent watching
Trump take a sizable lead in my home state on Tuesday night and went to bed
thinking the country was doomed. But it became obvious over the next two days
that so many Democrats, being sensible during a pandemic, mailed in their
ballots, particularly in and around Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, thus there was
a massive number of ballots yet to be counted, skewing heavily in Biden’s
favor. The last four days have been like watching a flower slowly bloom with
the realization that Biden was going to take the state with ease.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">One thing I’ve noticed with liberal musings is the concept
of “Philadelphia and Pittsburgh saving the state” for a Democratic presidential
victory. Not true. They were the last voting precincts tabulated due to the
massive number of ballots to be counted. But they didn’t “save” the state. It’s
always expected that they will skew heavily towards the Democrats, along with a
few other key “blue” counties. I suspect not much has changed since 2016 in
terms of counties taken by their respective Republican/Democrat candidates.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The issue is the state’s final vote tally is not an
electoral college. Each vote cast feeds into the overall state tally, regardless
of which way a particular county skews. Those blue counties will probably go on
being blue due to their economics, colleges, industry, population centers, etc.
It’s my take, and probably not a popular one, that the state was won for Biden
in the red counties with their smaller, less-diverse populations.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #351c75;">How? Take a look at the simple statistics I came up with,
based on numbers pulled from the </span><a href="https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/elections-2020/results-map?ocid=msedgntp" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Pennsylvania state voting chart</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> that shows
votes by county. (These numbers surely aren’t final tallies, but close enough
to make my point. If you click on each state, voting by county numbers appear.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EbjYATrnje258B7nKDM3EMC2yHAOnjCWFJZlTi61geOCurW79zZgHipzVVkiYj1Vmwo0lLyT4XuqWxuL-dmg1k2OivDmubjl48mfdwr16L7ZfmBlqSFJ0caMIODXK1horCoNlA/s700/Capture.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="563" height="503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EbjYATrnje258B7nKDM3EMC2yHAOnjCWFJZlTi61geOCurW79zZgHipzVVkiYj1Vmwo0lLyT4XuqWxuL-dmg1k2OivDmubjl48mfdwr16L7ZfmBlqSFJ0caMIODXK1horCoNlA/w405-h503/Capture.JPG" width="405" /></a></div><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Pennsylvania has 67 counties. Of them, 13 ended up as “blue
counties” in terms of voting for Biden, thus Trump took the remaining 54
counties (and usually by a sizable number). I listed each “blue county” and its
vote tally, added all of them up to derive a “blue county” total. I compared
this to Biden’s overall vote tally for the state, subtracting the “blue county”
vote to determine how many votes for Biden were cast in the “red counties.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Once I had those numbers, I noted Trump’s overall tally in
Pennsylvania. I then show what happens when you add Biden’s “red county” votes
to Trump’s overall tally and subtract them from Biden’s overall tally. If this
voting scenario had played out, Trump would have taken Pennsylvania by roughly
2 million votes: a landslide.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">To extrapolate even further, I determined the minimum number of votes
Trump would have needed to take from Biden to win Pennsylvania by subtracting
his total vote count from Biden’s and adding one vote (41,224). Breaking that
number out by county (dividing by 67), I found that if Trump had won 615 more votes
in each county, he would have won the state. If that’s not a realistic proposition
I broke out the 41,224 by only red counties (dividing by 54 instead) and found
that if Trump had won 763 more votes in each of those red counties, he would have
won the state.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">It’s an over-simplification that I’m showing for a reason.
Most liberal pundits over-simplify Pennsylvania to the extent that there’s
“nothing” between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia. I’ve seen this land area
compared unfavorably to rural Alabama. A nowhere place filled with angry, uneducated,
working-class white people no sane person would want to live around. Yes, there
are people like this there, but bad news, I got people like that living on my block
in Queens. In one form or another, they’re everywhere, and very often they’re
not white, or working-class.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Two major facts become apparent here:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><ul><li><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;">Just under half of Biden’s PA votes came from
far less populated “red” counties<br /><br /></span></li><li><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.25in;">If a vast majority of the Biden votes from those
“red” counties went to Trump, PA would have been a landslide in Trump’s favor</span></li></ul><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">In other words, it’s not accurate to portray rural
Pennsylvania as a wasteland of any sorts. Anyone who understands <i>the whole
state</i> knows this, but it seems like an ongoing liberal trope to paint
Pennsylvania with this broad political brush. Doing so is detrimental to the
Democratic party, and as we saw in 2016, can swing an entire election away from
them. Yet, liberals will go on seeing not just this state, but <i>all</i> rural
areas in America this way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">It’s not reality, nor a very intelligent point of view, held
by people who see themselves as intelligent, probably are in many ways, but
have this perverse blind spot that will go on tanking elections in Republicans’
favor (if not this one).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I remember when Jeff Bezos launched his campaign to find two
new campus headquarters in America for Amazon’s rapidly expanding empire. Municipalities
all over the country submitted their plans, with tax cuts galore and all sorts
of enticing propositions to sweeten the pot for Amazon to choose them. Tens of
thousands of high-paying jobs would be drawn to an area, changing it in
numerous positive ways, mainly financially, higher tax base, more educated
employment pool, increased residential values, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #351c75;">What does Amazon do? As one of their picks, it chooses Long
Island City, New York, just across the East River from Manhattan, a
neighborhood that has gone from a sleepy, under-privileged warehouse and
taxi-cab dispatch district to </span><a href="https://www.elliman.com/insider/why-millennials-love-long-island-city/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;"><i>Blade Runner</i>-style skyscrapers</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> in the past
20 years. Never mind that city planners warned this would dangerously strain
the neighborhood’s resources, make living there impossible for working- and
middle-class residents in terms of inflated rents and real-estate values, and place
serious stress on an already over-burdened public transportation system.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Amazon received so much flak from local politicians that
they hedged on their plans. They simply spread out their planned expansion
among already-existing locations (and the other location chosen in Crystal
City, Virginia), including two Manhattan offices.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I gather Jeff Bezos, like most tech leaders, is a liberal.
He didn’t buy <i>The Washington Post</i> for kicks. I was left wondering why he
wouldn’t choose places like Scranton/Wilkes-Barre, Harrisburg or
Allentown/Easton in Pennsylvania for expansion. All these areas already have
reasonable business/industrial centers, are close to both New York City and
Philadelphia to attract talent and, most importantly, are located in a state
that routinely plays a crucial role in national elections. A tech-based
corporation with tens of thousands of new employees would draw a
liberal-leaning work force, and most likely attract other like-minded tech
businesses to do the same. It might not seem like much, but national elections
are often coming down to less than 10,000 votes in states like Pennsylvania due
to its electoral-college strength. If not Pennsylvania, then Wisconsin, or
Michigan, or North Carolina. Until liberal-minded business leaders start seeing
rural America this way, “rust belt” states will go on deciding national
elections, sometimes in unpleasant ways to liberals that make them sound like
Archie Bunker in reverse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Pennsylvania is not as clear-cut as it seems, something I
know from growing up there. My parents were working-class, FDR-era Democrats,
not necessarily liberals. They raised us with that same FDR “can do” sense of
democracy, values learned in a depression, tempered by war, banding together for
a larger cause. Mom was fretting Vietnam carrying on long enough so her sons
might get drafted, which had her righteously angry (but the war luckily petered
out before any of us were old enough). I still recall my parents receiving
gentle ribbing from neighbors for being “liberals” for voting for Jimmy Carter. I
guess we were liberal in some small respect, but far from leftists and
comfortable with Republican friends. You had to be in rural Pennsylvania. Politics
didn’t mean that much to us as kids and rarely was an issue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">By the same token, I recall Mom’s fury at Clinton for pushing
NAFTA and her voting for Bob Dole. I’m certain both Mom and Dad voted for
Reagan the first time (but not the second). Or the times she voted for in-state
Republicans for governor, senator, state or local representative, etc. She
emphasized voting for the person over the party, which usually panned out to
the Democrats, but you can’t live in rural Pennsylvania without running into
relatively decent and sane Republican candidates along the way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I’ve always respected that open sense of give and take. It’s
why rural Pennsylvania presents such a problem to a political world senselessly
gravitating towards dogma and extremes. I don’t doubt a small but crucial
number of rural Republicans got into the voting booth, quietly marked the box
for Biden, then filled out the rest of the ballot straight Republican.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The hardest part of this presidential election for me has
been wondering why <i>anyone</i> would vote for Trump, much less nearly half
the voting populace. His past nine months have been a pathological attempt to
damage and destroy key institutions in our society (like the postal service,
Social Security via payroll tax deferment, the CDC during a once-in-a-lifetime
pandemic and the integrity of our election process) and have included criminal
indifference to a pandemic that has killed hundreds of thousands of Americans
and severely damaged the health of millions more. Before this, my attitude towards
Trump was laissez faire – didn’t like him but often found myself bored whenever
a liberal friend would go on a passionate anti-Trump tirade. After the virus, I
found myself thinking that if Hitler and a chimp were running against Trump in
a presidential election, that I would dye my hair blonde, brush up on my German
and start hoarding bananas.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">But now it’s over, thankfully. To anyone I know who voted
for Trump, I don’t know what you were thinking, nor do I want to. He surely did
drain the swamp. And replaced it with a sewage treatment plant that didn’t work
and left us up to our necks in his shit. It was a moral imperative that he lose
this election, and I’m glad my home state turned a corner on Thursday morning
and slowly hammered in the last nail. If you don’t want a place like Pennsylvania
making this sort of decision for an entire nation, then you should understand
why it does, and will continue to do so.</span><o:p></o:p></p>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-21886802445871896022020-09-23T10:33:00.001-04:002020-09-23T10:36:00.025-04:00The Noise Complaint<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">It’s clear to me: the NYC area is going to get hammered by
the Covid virus again. There are just too many people out there pretending this
thing isn’t real for it not to happen. After all this time, if you’re still
pretending this thing isn’t real, there’s something really wrong with you.
Whether it’s a profound disconnect from reality, some deep-seated prickishness
or rank stupidity, I have no idea. These days, I’m going with “D. All of the
Above.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Something strange happened on Sunday with the schoolyard
next door. I’ve written about it before a few times: a place of never-ending
adolescence, be it actual adolescents, or grown men who never moved on to that
next phase in life. Sunday was the first time I phoned in a noise complaint to
311 – after living here 34 years. I finally had it to the point where I wanted
authorities involved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I’ve even written about the Mexican soccer league back in
2010, roughly when they first started showing up at the schoolyard every
Sunday. They’ve been a fixture since, save when temperatures sink into the 40s
in winter. They have their own uniforms, their own refs, their own nets. They
store the metal frames for their nets on the very edge of the landlord’s
property. As the metal poles are wedged flat against a cement wall, it’s really
not a problem. I’m surprised these things never get stolen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">They weren’t the first group to take over the schoolyard on
Sundays. For a few years in the early 00s, there was a street hockey league
that drove in from farther out on Long Island to use the schoolyard for 2-3
hours every fall. They were obnoxious. Loud, white, deeply suburban, acting
like they owned the neighborhood and the people who lived here were irritating aberrations.
How they got wind of the open space, I have no clue. Everyone in the
neighborhood was relieved when they inexplicably stopped showing up one fall.
Of course, within a year or two, the Mexican soccer league slowly eased into
that space and made it their own on Sundays. Not just for a few hours, but all
day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Until recently, they weren’t coming in such large numbers. As
the Covid restrictions came into play in mid-March, they had yet to start up
playing soccer full-on again. They were surely not around in March or April. If
they had shown up, they wouldn’t have been able to get in. The third week in
March, the mayor ordered parks closed. Thus, extra chain-link fencing was wired
into place covering the entrance of the park, and the basketball rims were
taken off the backboards. This provided a good laugh to people in the
neighborhood as doing so might have put out a dozen kids in the neighborhood
who use the schoolyard for basketball (as opposed to the dozens of men in the
Mexican soccer league). The fencing stayed in place until the first week of May
when one day, it simply wasn’t there anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The soccer league showed up shortly thereafter, long before
the Covid restrictions were lifted in early June, i.e., in clear violation of
the city’s law prohibiting public gatherings. In early June, a new limit for
social gatherings was set at 10 people; the soccer league showed up with dozens
of players. No one stopped them. I was not happy that they were showing up and
playing but didn’t want to be “the bad guy” to bust them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">When they came back, it was just the guys playing and
waiting to play. Over the past few months, things have eased back to normal,
i.e., by early Sunday afternoon, there are anywhere from 150 to 200 people in
that schoolyard. The players aren’t wearing masks. Some of the spectators are;
most aren’t. No one is social distancing. To give you an idea of the size of
the schoolyard, it contains one basketball court and about half of one football
field.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">As before, children are relieving themselves in the small
patch of woods that run between the park and the row of houses with their
backyards to the park. The park contains no public restrooms; it wasn’t built
for gatherings this large. None of the parks around here are; you need to go
down by the East River to Astoria Park to find that. These parks were built to
serve local kids to walk to and play sports or games for an hour or two, then
walk home. Not to host large all-day events requiring parking and sanitation
facilities.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">This isn’t a hard-edged crowd. There are a lot of wives and
kids showing up, an afternoon out for the family, to watch Dad vainly try to
prolong his adolescence. I think for this reason, people tend not to give them
a hard time. None of them appear to live around here and are clearly driving in
from other parts of the city and suburbs. By 10 a.m. on Sunday, cars are double
parked all up and down the street in front of the park, for hours. I know there
has been friction in the past with locals trying to get their cars out. As I
don’t have a car, this hasn’t been an issue with me. If you’re the kind of
person who likes to use his car on Sunday, as most people do, chances are you
will be parking blocks from your home when you get back. (In all fairness, the
neighborhood has gone insane with parking. It’s nearly impossible to park on
Ditmars Boulevard, the main drag in the neighborhood, with all the restaurants
taking dozens of parking spaces for their outdoor seating.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The only problem I’ve had with the league is that some of
the more moronic players will leave their garbage behind in the gutter on the
sidewalk I’m responsible for cleaning: empty Corona cans and bottles, food bags
and wrappers, the occasional used diaper. Honestly? Given the mass of people
passing through here any given Sunday, the amount of garbage left behind is
minimal. In their infinite wisdom, the sanitation department decided to take
away the lone garbage can situated at the park entrance. These people are
producing far more garbage than can be contained in one garbage can, and it’s
usually piled up there in mounds of black garbage bags on Monday morning. (I
assume they’re bringing their own bags.) The city and sanitation department
appear to be oblivious of what goes on here on Sundays, despite a sanitation
department truck routinely driving by the park in the afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">What I’m detailing for you here is that while the Mexican soccer
league on Sundays is a pain in the ass, it normally isn't that much of a
problem. Do I wish they’d go somewhere else? Sure, everyone who lives around
here does, especially if they own a car. It’s too many people crammed together
in too small a space, in a park that was in no way designed to deal with this
many people for that length of time. If you have plans on using the park with
your kids on Sunday? Forget it – isn’t going to happen. While the park was
created as an open space for locals to use for recreation, there are no locals
there on Sunday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">This past Sunday, there was a new twist. Around 10:00 a.m.,
I noticed a man’s voice booming from a sound system, in Spanish, coming from
the park, along with some very loud music, some type of Latin pop with heavy
bass. Someone had clearly set up a small P.A. system with a microphone, and
this guy was carrying on about every 2-5 minutes. He sounded like a party D.J.
I’ve lived here since 1999 and had never heard anything like this before. This
was <b><i>loud</i></b>. Living in a basement apartment, I wasn’t getting the full brunt. When
I went up to the landlord’s apartment, I couldn’t believe how loud this was.
You couldn’t carry on a normal conversation without hearing this guy’s voice
louder than the person speaking in the room. Coming back from the supermarket
later in the day, I could clearly hear him from the other side of the public
school about 300 yards away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">That’s when I called 311 to file a noise complaint. Frankly,
I was pissed. Sunday morning? This disruptive level of noise? Along with the routine
nonsense people around here tolerate with the schoolyard? No. Enough. Rule #1
of assholery in New York City: if you let people get away with questionable behavior
once, they will take the lack of opposition as silent consent and keep doing
it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The police didn’t respond for hours, which made sense. Noise
complaints must be last on their list of things to do on any given shift. Eventually,
the cop who got me on my phone told me he was in front of the park, and these
people had the right to be in the park until 10:00 p.m. that night. (He was
wrong. The sign on the front of the park clearly states no one is permitted in
the park after 9:00 p.m.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">He was looking at a street lined with at least 20 double-parked
cars, from one end of the block to the other. He was also looking at a
gathering of 200+ people in a cramped schoolyard, with many of those people not
masked and none of them socially distanced. (If I’m not mistaken, the current
law in New York City is that public gatherings of up to 50 are allowed. What’s
going on every Sunday in the schoolyard is clearly illegal, but I’ve routinely
seen gatherings this large, mostly informal sporting events in Astoria Park,
over the past few months with no police intervention.) If I was a cop, I’d
understand immediately that everything I was looking at before responding to a relatively
minor noise complaint was wrong here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">Now, I would also gather the cops have fielded many
complaints over the Sunday Mexican soccer league in the schoolyard in the past,
be it parking, or what have you. I know an elderly Italian woman who lived
across the street and died a few years ago, was out of her mind that kids were
pissing and shitting in the woods by the park. (She would tell me as much
whenever she accosted me while I was sweeping the sidewalk.) The cops want to
avoid a hassle. I understand them not busting people double-parking, or they’d
be doing that alone the rest of the afternoon. Breaking up a public gathering
of that size would be difficult. If they were dedicated police officers, they
would do something about it. But given the last few months of protests and
such, most cops aren’t going to be that diligent. For all I know, they might be
instructed not to disturb large gatherings like this.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">What the cop said next startled me: “Buddy, this really
isn’t that loud.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">This was while the guy on the P.A. system was blasting away.
I could barely hear the cop speaking on the phone with the background noise. To
not think this was loud, you would have to live between an airport and a drag
racing track. He reiterated, “These people have every right …”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">I cut him off: “I’m not debating their right to be in the
park. But someone operating a P.A. system in a public park surrounded by residential
housing is something I’ve never heard living here over 20 years. This can’t be
legal?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">He paused, asked his partner a question, then came back:
“Yes, it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The sign by the entrance to the park states clearly that
there is no “loud music” playing allowed, a rule which is broken daily. This
was way beyond that, a man with a P.A. system shouting at the neighborhood for hours
and blocks around the park, with music blasting behind him. At this point, I
figured, “This cop just doesn’t want to deal with this.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">He finally sighed and said, “Look, we’ll tell him to turn it
down, but understand these people have the right to be in the park …”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">His insistence on repeating that line let me know this was
far from the first time he was dealing with complaints about the park. It also
let me know that whatever residual guilt I was feeling over filing the
complaint was for naught – the soccer league wasn’t going anywhere. While I
wasn’t calling to complain about a violation of the city’s pandemic laws, he
let me know even if I had, there was no way he was going to enforce those laws.
When a cop tells you a clearly illegal gathering is legal, the best thing to do
is quietly concede the point. Because there is a disconnect with reality that
makes no sense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #351c75;">To his credit, he did what he was asked to do. Minutes
later, there was no more guy carrying on through a P.A. system. He didn’t just
turn it down – he shut it off, for which I was grateful. That said, I still
heard people carrying on in the park from around 6:00 pm to 7:00 pm, purposely
making too much noise to be defiant by that point. They had no idea blasting a
boombox, screaming and whistling put out a minute fraction of the decibel level
of a P.A. system. I also did some quick research to find Mexican Independence
Day was this past Wednesday, so I gather this might be related to that. </span><a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/the_americas/coronavirus-mexico-independence-day-grito/2020/09/16/5ef6b04e-f777-11ea-a275-1a2c2d36e1f1_story.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">This Washington Post article</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> implies that the holiday for people
in Mexico was somber and reflective due to the pandemic. Well, not in the
schoolyard on Sunday. I suspect if that reporter had sauntered off to the poor
neighborhoods, he would have found people partying in the streets, but noting
as much wouldn’t have served his political agenda. (Maybe this was the Mexican
version of Trump’s Fourth of July blowout in South Dakota?)</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The soccer league showing up on Sundays is made up of simple working
people trying to make it in a foreign land, and this is their day out. Under
normal circumstances, I’m OK with them being there and playing as long as they
want, despite the issues I noted. During a pandemic? Something isn’t working here
in ways that suggest a systematic refusal to acknowledge the virus. There seems
to be an understanding among all parties that these people gathering in the
schoolyard are somehow lesser and not held accountable for their actions, and
they in turn seem to have placed less value on their lives. Which, in turn,
places less value on everyone else’s lives. This is how a pandemic thrives.
Like plugging a microphone into a P.A. system and blasting everyone within
earshot. Forgive me for not wanting to listen.</span><o:p></o:p></p>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-62514499333457138452020-07-19T18:10:00.000-04:002020-07-19T18:10:50.577-04:00PA Visit<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Last week, I got back to Pennsylvania for a visit, the first
time since late February. That previous visit was by chance: free time, I
thought I’d be bearing down on finding a job in March, so may as well kick ba</span><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">ck
for a few days before this. Two weeks later, the world ended.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Four months on, things had finally leveled out enough in
both Pennsylvania and New York that I could manage this. Without my normal bus
line that drops me off a hundred yards from the house in PA. Martz Trailways started
running its NYC line in early June, out of Wilkes Barre, an hour north from
where I’m going. My siblings agreed to get me up and back on weekend days with
a week visit in between.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The bus ride was unnerving. The subway ride into Manhattan
was, too, my first since the day after St. Patrick’s Day. It featured one dude
without a mask coughing (I changed cars as train was still in station) and
another carrying on into his cellphone with mask dropped (I went to other end
of the car). This is the kind of shit I don’t want to see going forward. Subway
cars are not the street, and people can’t treat them as such. They’re enclosed
public spaces, the exact kind of place where this virus will thrive, and
everyone needs to wear a mask all the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Port Authority wasn’t much better. I cringed when I saw a
gang of about 30 people around the gate I was supposed to leave from, with the
station otherwise empty. I spied the departure map from the actual gate number
and realized Martz was sending out two buses at the same time, one to Wilkes
Barre and another to “Water Park” (a large water park in the Poconos that
surely must be a good getaway for NYC families), both trips leaving from
adjacent gates. I knew I was in the right place, the only one standing at the
correct gate for Wilkes Barre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Finally, the drivers came in and told everyone what was
going on. It turned out a majority of those passengers were going to Delaware
Water Gap. In the past 20 years, a lot of black and hispanic New Yorkers have
moved to the Poconos, where housing was much cheaper in the 90s and 00s,
advertising that you could “live in a house in the beautiful Poconos while
working in New York City every day.” And that’s just what a lot of people do
these days. Which seems nuts to me, but I gather there are even people
commuting to NYC from Wilkes Barre and Scranton. As it panned out, about 15
people got on each bus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I tripled-masked for this trip. Much like the subway, a bus,
especially a bus for an hours-long trip, is the exact kind of place I picture
the virus being a threat. Thus, a mask is necessary. I had three cotton
surgical masks and put them on, one on top of the other. It felt safe, but I
was still on edge. I heard one sneeze and two coughs during the trip. A
loudmouth kid got on at Delaware Water Gap and rode to Scranton, on his
cellphone the entire time, although I couldn’t tell if his mask was on. This is
the exact kind of shit I don’t want to experience in an enclosed public space.
While I wouldn’t say I’m dreading subway and bus rides going forward, I surely
anticipate having to deal with assholes who aren’t grasping how the virus works
and never will.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Rural Pennsylvania had such a different vibe from New York
City. Obviously, but this was something new. I noted earlier the discrepancy
between people living in an urban area, particularly one where over 700 people
a day were dying for much of April, processing this thing differently from
people in a more sparsely populated area with a much lower death count. I could
see just by walking around my hometown, it’s easy to go maskless as nearly
every encounter could be more than six feet apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Don’t get me wrong. I encounter maskless assholes on the
streets of my neighborhood daily. I don’t just mean people with that insulting “masked
pull down to chin” nonsense. I mean people with zero intention of ever wearing
a mask. Usually in 20s and teens. Usually male. The dipshit contingent, a
strange, surly mix of stupidity, arrogance and sociopathy. Rest assured, as
this thing needlessly drags on for months, it will be these sad clowns who keep
this thing alive and thriving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">My siblings had warned me, watch out for Redners (a
wonderful local market owned by employees, comparable to any urban supermarket
I’ve shopped in). The “live free or die” zealots had been purposely going
maskless there to wave their freak flags high. The governor had just passed a
public mask ordinance a few days early, but my siblings didn’t expect it to
have any effect on these geniuses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Lo and behold, every person at Redners had a mask on while I
was there! I was pleasantly surprised. Frankly, every store and restaurant I
was in, people had masks on and were respecting the ordinance. The only place I
didn’t see this was Tractor Supply Company by the Walmart in St. Clair, a few
surly-looking assholes in their lone-wolf t-shirts, all scowls and angry eyes. They
should know, they have company in New York City just as dumb and misguided as
they are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I have to admit, it was wonderful to run the back roads
around my hometown without a mask, where I rarely see anyone. In the entire
week I was there, I came across three people on my route: one dude checking his
mailbox, one runner and one walker. The closest I got to any of them was about
12 feet. (I really don’t understand how people go running with masks on. I can
do my four-mile walks in mid-80 degree heat and humidity, but that level of
cardio must be march harder. It seems like about an 80/20 split in NYC with
runners and masks, 80 without, 20 with. I really don’t care all that much as
we’re in open air and sunlight, save to say I’ve encountered too many runners
who don’t seem to grasp that nearly brushing my shoulder as they pass isn’t
quite six feet.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">People back there were just as rattled and spooked as we’ve
been in New York. We got pounded by this thing like very few places on earth,
but Pennsylvania took a beating, too. I’m hoping this isn’t the formula for
this thing to go away. That where you live needs to be ravaged by the virus
before you have enough people with sense to mask up, socially distance and
fight this thing. When you’re going through the virus in a harsh way, like we
did In New York City, like states like Florida and Texas are experiencing now,
it adds a layer of fear and tension to daily life that’s incredibly stressful.
I can tell people in Idaho and South Dakota haven't experienced this – people anywhere
where they’re going brazenly maskless and acting like this is a political issue
and not a medical one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I had dinner with an old friend at an Italian place with
outdoor seating. Well, it was pushing 90 that day, and we found that the
outdoor seating was in direct sunlight despite the table umbrella. It was too
much, so we asked if we could go inside. I wasn’t too nuts about this, given
New York state’s reticence to move forward with indoor dining, but there was
just no way we’d last an hour out there. As it was, we were seated at a booth
with high walls. Frankly, I was more worried about the occupancy level, as I
could see the place slowly getting more crowded as we ate. (Pennsylvania indoor
restaurants were at 50% occupancy at the time, now reduced to 25%.) We had our
masks down most of the time to eat and drink. I didn’t know how to handle this,
if I was supposed to keep putting the mask on and off, or what. It didn’t feel
natural or right to have my mask off in this situation, but I knew the person
eating with me had been as diligent as I’d been with the virus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Our high-school teacher was supposed to join us, but I knew
she was worried about potentially exposing her husband (with an underlying condition)
to the virus. She came to greet us but told us she had to pass on the indoor
dining. (I assured her the outdoor version of this would have been just as
uncomfortable!) Before leaving, she gave me the gift of life: an unopened N-95
mask she had from a painting project she was working on a few years ago. I
could wear this instead of the triple-mask set-up I had going for the bus ride
back. I’d never been so over-joyed to receive a present, like an eight-year-old
getting a G.I. Joe for Christmas! Hopefully, next time I get back there we can
arrange some outdoor meeting that works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">That N-95 mask was hard on my face the whole trip back from
Wilkes Barre. Hurt the bridge of my nose. Dug into my cheeks. But the peace of
mind it gave me to know I was wearing something that would offer me the best
protection possible was worth it. The bus was more crowded on the way back,
more people getting on in Scranton and Pocono Mountain than had got off on the
way in. By the time we left Delaware Water Gap, there were 25 people on that bus.
Roughly every two-seat row taken, no chance of getting six feet between each
person. I suspect if everyone masks up and does this thing right, a situation
like this is manageable. But I’ve learned in New York City, you need to account
for assholes, people who just don’t grasp the gravity of the situation.
Dropping their masks to talk on cellphones, coughing or sneezing while they do
so. I’m anticipating this as I know there are people out there too fucking
stupid to handle this thing. And it’s great that I can N-95 it for at least the
next few bus trips!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Overall, it was a great trip. It’s hard to communicate how
trying it was to spend four months in a studio apartment with maybe 2-3 hours a
day outside. That’s what people aren’t getting about New York City: most people
live in small spaces, often in roommate situations. This is hard to pull off
when you can’t go anywhere or do anything. That’s loosened up in the past month
(obviously too much in terms of bars), but our normal lifestyles are centered
on using the city as much as possible, counting heavily on public
transportation and being part of a bustling metropolis. No bustle starting in
March. Things got rough mentally by end of May. Just in time for a few riots
and daily protests. (I still find it hard to believe they’ve had no lasting
impact on virus spread.) To top it all off, the landlord had some troubling
health issues in early June. Nothing life threatening, but just enough to get
under my skin with all this other shit going on in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I wouldn’t say I came close to a nervous breakdown, but I reached
a low plateau in mid-June where I felt isolated and unnerved. Not in a good
place. I brought myself out of it by maintaining the exercise schedule on the
back patio, walking daily, and training my mind to not focus so much on the
negatives and to let go of what I couldn’t control. It worked, at least so much
that I feel normal now and in a much better frame of mind. I’ve noticed one big
change: when something needs to get done, I just do it. Rather than letting it
become another thing playing on my mind. I picked up a few good mental
practices in response to the virus. My attitude is if this thing is going to
massively interrupt my life and make things hard for the next few months, the
least I can do is reduce the stress by removing extraneous bullshit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Speaking of, I normally avoid politics in my writing. But I
need to state that the past few weeks have been jaw-dropping with Trump and his
“response” to the virus. Never mind the ongoing mask debacle that has most
likely led to the deaths of thousands and infections of hundreds of thousands.
The disturbing smear job of the CDC and Dr. Fauci has done even more to damage
the deadly, ill-conceived political take so many wrong-headed fools have on
this issue. Just when I think he can’t do any more wrong, he does things that
are like pages from a George Orwell novel. Only this shit is real, and it will
guarantee months more suffering and stumbling with the virus. I feel like I’m
living through a time in history where new lows are being created. That one day
historians will look back on 2020 and realize that it got no worse than this in
the history of American presidents, as if we were being led by a clandestine
operative for a foreign agency trying to destroy the country. I don’t get it;
the lack of leadership and constant mixed messages are puzzling. I’ve been
indifferent on Trump most of the way. The last four months have been one long,
unbelievable streak of inaction, unaccountability and childish head games that
amount to the exact opposite of what we need to fight a raging pandemic. I
don’t state this as any condemnation of the president. There’s still time for
him to take control, guide the country to a safer place and get this virus
under control, for the sake of our lives and the economy. I’m not holding my
breath. Are you?</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-57881715551063579952020-06-19T09:44:00.000-04:002020-06-19T09:44:17.624-04:00Letting Go<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">That’s what the last week or two in NYC feels like. People
are letting go, in good and bad ways.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Bad way: people are acting like this thing has never
happened, and we’re not in the middle of massive pandemic that’s still very
much active. Not everybody. In fact, I find myself surprised by the number of
people on the streets who aren’t screwing around and are masking up and
distancing appropriately. But enough people in denial to cause concern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I’ve seen a few youtube and news clips of people in their
20s gathering outside of bars in the evening or night all over NYC, no masks or
distancing in sight, basically partying like this thing is over. I’d like to
say something vaguely complimentary like, “Well, they’re seeing New York’s
vastly improved statistics and celebrating that the first wave of the virus has
mostly passed over.” But I suspect the reality is these people are just idiots
who are strangers to news and statistics. Or maybe they’ve seen news clips of
thousands of people marching and thought, “If they can do that, then we can do
this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">And it is a pretty ragged signal to be sent out. I don’t
care if it’s rednecks with semi-automatic rifles in state capitols, planned indoor
Trump rallies in a state where the virus numbers are rising, or the numerous
police brutality protests over the past few weeks. The last place on earth I
want to be now is in a large crowd, in any physical circumstance, that could
cause the virus to spread. There will easily be 200,000 Americans dead from the virus by September. I’m not sure why this number seems unreal or non-existent to so many people. It’s not bullshit. I
wish it was. At some point in your adult life, you realize you're not living in a vacuum, and that your actions impact everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I wish this whole thing was a put on. I do believe the
authorities are over-stating the case, asking us to adhere to standards that at
this point in states where the virus has done its worst, might be overkill. The
problem being if you don’t make a statement this forcefully, many people are
going to take this thing even less seriously than they already have. From what
I’m seeing here recently, most people are taking this thing seriously, hopefully enough to keep moving forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">On Monday, NYC will move to the next phase, with all retail
stores opening, outdoor seating in restaurants, salons and barbers opening,
etc. I gather masks indoors in public will be strictly enforced. That’s what I
find encouraging, as we take these baby steps back towards normalcy. Most
people I know with jobs in NYC have told me their companies plan to get them
back in office after the Fourth of July. This is great news, a major step in
the right direction. We’ll have to reacclimate to public transportation, where
the “six feet” rule will be impossible to follow during rush hours, but if
everyone is masked up and being sane, hopefully the virus has died down enough
not to start up again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">What I’m gathering from the people blowing this thing off is
they’re living lives where they can get away with no masks, whether they’re
students on summer break, unemployed, probably living with their parents, and
not in positions where they have to mask up to buy groceries, go to
laundromats, conduct bank transactions, etc. In other words, as we get back to
normal, these kids (overgrown or actual) are going to encounter the real world
most adults live in, which requires getting a mask on while we interact in
public/indoor spacing. When school starts in September (which it will, barring
any spikes or catastrophes), that should let them know, this is how you need to
handle this thing. The downside of everyone being isolated is people make up
their own rules. I’ve done it myself. But I caught on pretty fast that the
livelihood of my country, and this city in particular, depends on people like
me to help, so I have. I hate masks as much as any d-bag who’s refused to wear
one. We all do!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">My attitude was, is, will be, whatever it takes to get
through this thing as quickly and as safely as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I hope to get back to Pennsylvania in July, and after that,
back to Manhattan via subway train, even if it’s only to take long walks in
parks, but hopefully to hit the gym and have lunch with friends, assuming
NYC goes to the next phase later in the month. I think that’s what’s been
depressing me more than anything, the lack of mobility. I moved to NYC years
ago because of Manhattan, to work there, partake of the arts, great shopping,
restaurants, etc. My life here is better when I have daily access to Manhattan. I
feel more active and connected to the world. Even if I’m doing nothing while
there, I still feel that force. I haven’t set foot in Manhattan since the day
after St. Patrick’s Day, and I surely do miss it (the real, active city, not
the ghost town I encountered that day). And once the economy starts kicking in
again, I surely hope to start working again later in the summer. If it happens
before then, great, but I’ll surely be surprised if that happens so quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">So, I’m hoping to get through June and anticipate life
opening up just a little in July, but enough to start easing back to some sense
of normalcy in the city. Three months is a long time to lock down, so I can
understand why New Yorkers are busting out, even if I don’t agree with how some
people are doing it. The ultimate reality is I don’t know more than anyone
else, if all of this is overkill, if it’s not going to have any recognizable
effect for so many people to go maskless, if things will ease up or grow worse
in the next few months. I’m just as uncertain as everyone else. As noted above,
whatever it takes to get this thing in the rear-view mirror. “Letting go” for
me may eventually imply letting go of this hardline stance on distancing and
masks I’ve held since the last week of March. We are surely farther along than
we were back then, and things have improved dramatically here.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-69959976895290002912020-05-28T19:49:00.000-04:002020-05-28T19:49:51.529-04:00The Temporary Normal<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">How does that sound? I know, we’ve been inundated with
countless headlines and examples of “the new normal,” usually designating some
aspect of the coronavirus that we find troubling, distasteful and hard to
handle. Why not call it what it is: the temporary normal?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I would guess because doing so doesn’t play on that angst
the media hopes to generate by exploiting people’s fears. I’m hardly a
shaved-head/goateed freedom fighter. If anything, I want us all to wear masks
when necessary in public, socially distance when necessary, and get this thing
under control as quickly as possible. You’ll find me walking in the street
routinely to avoid assholes on the sidewalk who are going completely maskless
and appear indifferent that the three-feet width of sidewalk we’ll be sharing
doesn’t cut it in terms of distancing. (While I firmly believe it’s very hard
to get this thing outdoors unless you’re in a crowd, I also firmly believe
someone who unsubtly signals me that he’s sloppy and careless is worth avoiding
at this time.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I started in with “the mask thing” with the understanding
that I’d go out walking with these neck gaiters that you can pull up over your
face like a balaclava. That way, I could walk without a mask for long stretches
where I wasn’t encountering anyone. This theory worked in March when there were
much less people venturing out. Once it warmed up, and particularly on sunny
days, it made no sense to keep pulling up the mask and dropping it down as
people were coming out of the woodwork. It made more sense to simply put the
mask on when I left the house and leave it on until I got back. I found myself
running into people routinely enough that it became impractical to keep going
up and down, particularly with runners coming up behind me on my walks, never
mind more people coming out of doorways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">That’s where I’m at now. I keep this in mind when I see
these unbelievable news clips, people jammed together at a resort bar swimming
pool in the Ozarks. Without fail, every interview of a participant is an
eye-rolling exercise in unforgivable stupidity. I know, again, the media is doing
its thing by rubbing our noses in these outlandish situations. That’s why
they’re news; you’re not going to get pearls of wisdom from a drunken, shirtless
23-year-old in full-on party mode. (I would put forth that the reporter was
lucky that his response wasn’t, “Blah ba-ba-ba cunk ma-ma” … before the
interviewee vomited on her ... the reporter then desperately googling "coronavirus and vomit" on her iPhone.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">But I also think about someone living in rural or suburban
America. These people most likely have property, even if it’s only a backyard.
Some may have acres of property. They’re used to walking around the property
with no mask. They get in their cars and visit people with similar space and
properties. They’re not living in a bubble. I’m sure they understand, get the
mask on at the supermarket or drug store. But I would also guess that’s the
only time a lot of these folks are wearing masks, and they’re not as acclimated
as I am to this living in a crowded city. There’s no excuse for what went on in
the Ozarks video, but I also understand it’s a completely different scenario
than the one I’ve experienced in a city where the virus dropped like a bomb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWmPbTlg-XvyICJk08Z3udSDc6ERAkgyWG9jpwLgZfqMqda9Mt7XG2oesxzcdAUr8Ah6BA4aqrHhxeAaad3k5-FV9AXy2_4zfmLNfuh5AGKLPU4pxxMsEFBups1wUuxnccLr3AQ/s1600/IMG-0279.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWmPbTlg-XvyICJk08Z3udSDc6ERAkgyWG9jpwLgZfqMqda9Mt7XG2oesxzcdAUr8Ah6BA4aqrHhxeAaad3k5-FV9AXy2_4zfmLNfuh5AGKLPU4pxxMsEFBups1wUuxnccLr3AQ/s200/IMG-0279.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Last week, I gave myself a quarantine self haircut. I had to
as I was about a month past my normal cutting date, and it was getting far too
shaggy. The hair felt heavy on my head. My hair goes wide before it goes long,
and I hate the feeling of going helmet head with too much hair. How did it go?
See for yourself. </span><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Not a bad job, right?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Of course, that’s only half the story. I own a set of Conair
barber clippers, extensions and scissors. I bought these in the 90s, back in
the Bronx – why, I can’t recall. But it stayed with me through two moves, so I
sensed some value in the kit despite never using it. Last Wednesday, the time
had come. I watched at least a dozen videos on YouTube regarding self haircuts –
some complete bullshit, others helpful. I noticed that most of these guys had
relatively short hair to begin with and wouldn’t be giving themselves the
radical cut I was in store for. The general idea appeared to be pick out the
clipper extension one higher than you’re used to getting at the barber. I normally
“get a #3” – matching that clipper extension. So, I clipped on the 4 extension,
the idea being start at the bottom of your hairline on the back and sides and
push it through your hair all the way up to the natural part, making sure to
pull the clipper away as you moved near the top.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">That worked very well. There was so much hair in the sink
that it looked like I was shearing a sheep. So, I got out the 3 extension with
the concept of going halfway up the back and sides. This went very well, too,
even more hair. I could see the beginning of the fade effect of a normal
haircut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">With the 2 extension, the concept was to just go about an
inch up the sides and back, as this would be a much closer cut. Very good
results again – I felt great, even though hair was all over my back and the
sink. (It would take me close to half an hour to clean up afterwards and a few
days of dabbing up loose hairs around the bathroom with moistened tissues.)
Still, when I pushed my hand against the back, I didn’t get that feeling of a full
cut, of hair bristles flicking against my fingers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I decided to take off any of the extensions and use the bare
clipper on the very back edge of my head and the lower sides beneath each ear.
It felt great on the back of my head – that bristly effect I loved to feel
after leaving the barber with a good haircut. So, I did the sides behind the
ears, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1UuJ1aUlpHgmc1ZAw63YSUj06EFRRllbgBLbrMP8FpgdXkFLJU4cH5XnCWTRTQUxXmOXQa4GXaw8fyRoFztKB5CTLlJBDcYSCljd-cEBovQUnxBONtXgHvR9NEdJXLOTQIsZOg/s1600/IMG-0282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ1UuJ1aUlpHgmc1ZAw63YSUj06EFRRllbgBLbrMP8FpgdXkFLJU4cH5XnCWTRTQUxXmOXQa4GXaw8fyRoFztKB5CTLlJBDcYSCljd-cEBovQUnxBONtXgHvR9NEdJXLOTQIsZOg/s200/IMG-0282.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">This is what happened on the right side! The left side, I
carved out only a small patch that’s already grown over. But boy, did I mangle
that patch of my head, down to bare skin. I hadn’t even realized it as the hair
felt the same all around, not like these two jagged V’s cut into my head. I finished
off with the top of my head, simply combing up swatches of hair and clipping off
¼-inch portions that were between my fingers. This went well, too, although I’m
sure a real barber would shit himself laughing over my ineptitude. I know I
left too much hair on top, but there was no way I was going to butcher that
part of my head. I’ve been waking up with an eraserhead as the hair goes straight
up after sleeping all night, but this is easily reduced with a comb and some
water. In a few weeks, the sides will grow in proportionately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">As far as that awful patch behind my right ear? Lesson learned: never take bare barber clippers to the back of your head! I never
thought I’d look forward to wearing a face mask, but this is how most people
have been and will be seeing me in public for awhile! My neck gaiters pull up
nicely on my ears so I can just cover my radical error. It’s a week later, and
I can already see those patches growing in; I hope they’re grown over in another
week, two at the most. Frankly, I don’t ever want to cut my hair again and hope
the barbershops in NYC re-open some time in July.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Thus, the virus rolls on, with the news of the day and our
own personal foibles. Things here are getting better, to the point where we’ll be
going Phase Yellow in a few weeks. Forget about politics. You either want this
thing under control and our lives reverting to a more normal existence, or you
want to pretend this thing doesn’t exist. The sort of empty bravado I’m seeing
on the news, and often on the streets, is just that. People who are either so
stupid or afraid (or both) that they can’t grasp this thing without forming a disingenuous,
macho wall of denial around themselves. If the virus rolls around for a second
or third round, and I suspect it will with or without masks, here’s hoping that
what we’re going through now is the worst it gets, and we’ll be ready and able
to handle it. I have to believe there are enough people out there with their
heads on straight that we’ll keep a lid on this thing.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-2030498235662654282020-05-10T09:41:00.000-04:002020-05-10T13:00:21.724-04:00Tallboys<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Things are going well in New York City. Our virus numbers
are slowly but surely decreasing, and it’s foreseeable by month’s end that
we’ll be able to start the re-opening process.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">We’ve reached the Tallboy stage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">This stage is designated by the addition of tallboy beer
cans to street trash, alongside the used rubber medical gloves, that I still
see constantly. (On the plus side, I haven’t seen any used rubbers in the
gutters for awhile.) We had a few warm days last weekend, after a month of
unruly weather not unlike Scotland’s rainy/windy climate. Of course, people
came out in droves, which was to be expected. One thing I hadn’t anticipated.
At night, I could hear young adults and kids going around in groups. Not
necessarily being assholes, but being an asshole did seem to be a prerequisite
for many of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Even without aural proof of them wandering the night, I could tell they were assholes by their droppings. The usual detritus
– empty cigarillo and cigar packs to make marijuana blunts, and those small
zip-lock packets suggesting recreational drug use. But most of all: empty
tall-boy cans of cheap beer. Keystone Light, Milwaukee’s Best, Bud Light, etc.
You have to be cheap and tasteless to be buying shit beer like this. Buying it
in tall-boy cans?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><b><i>Asshole</i></b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Much to my surprise, I haven't seen any Four Loko cans. Maybe too high class for this crowd?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">In a perverse way, it’s a good sign. It suggests a greater
wave of freedom is coming, and these assholes can’t wait to partake. Granted,
I’m describing very few people in the neighborhood, but I look at them as those
birds you see in flying V formations in early March skies, slightly ahead of
schedule. I can clearly see we’re going to have stops and starts, and flare-ups
with the virus in the next few months. By the same token, we’re all yearning to
be free, so I can understand an idiot expressing it this way. I have to believe
that with social distancing and masks in tight public quarters, and enough sane
people practicing these things, that we’ll be able to keep a lid on this, if
not eradicate it. Once we get a vaccine in place and mass inoculations? Game
over for this shit virus. Or at least render it controllable on the same level
as the annual flu epidemic, which will still mean tens of thousands dying. (If
you hadn’t noticed, this is normal for the flu.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">But we’re months away from that, not even to the point of
opening society here in NYC, but inching closer. It’s a good feeling. As much
as I hate masks and waiting in lines for basic services, I’m much more used to
it now. Unlike people who are going around stating things will <i>never, ever</i>
be the same again, I can see they will eventually. Beware of people using
“never, ever” in a sentence. If they’re more than five years old, there’s no
excuse. If you’re thinking “never, ever” with this virus, understand that the Spanish
Flu in 1918 killed 50 million people and infected over 500 million. Aside from the availability of an annual flu shot, there have been no “never, ever” scenarios associated with
that pandemic. (I write that knowing there are probably countless small ways the
flu changed society that we still practice today. But I’m focusing more on
alarmists now implying our world will be “forever changed” in countless
major ways. They may as well be wearing acid-wash jeans and listening to Candlebox
and Matchbox 20 as far as I’m concerned. Things change, often for the better.
Every “list of changes” article I’ve read has been nothing but negative; there
will be major, positive changes coming from this thing, the same way they come
from any world war, which is exactly what this is.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I like to think there’s a Jonas Salk out there who, in the
next few years, will come up with a gamechanger in terms of thwarting any
future viral outbreaks. As it is, I’ll settle for an annual vaccination that
keeps the coronavirus numbers manageable going forward. Amidst all the
negativity and paranoia, I’d like to believe there are some major breakthroughs
in the near future that could greatly diminish or eradicate pandemics all
together. At least something more tangible than wearing a fucking mask and
crossing my fingers that some moron doesn’t sneeze too close to me! I don’t
consider myself a particularly hopeful person. Maybe when I was a child or
teenager, or a young adult. But at some point in my adult life, I realized that
if you want positive results, you need to work towards them, with the
possibility that all your hard work might be fruitless. I suspect there’s a lot
of that going on right now with major drug and viral research companies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">What the hardest thing I’m realizing the past few weeks?
It’s not only the virus and its endless spider web of issues. It’s stupidity. I
see it every day. It’s safe to say that New York City has been one of the
hardest hit places on earth by this virus, over 20,000 dead, hundreds of
thousands infected. From the first day of mask regulations to this day, I will
see people with no masks, clearly no intention of ever wearing one, making no
effort to distance themselves from anyone, convinced this whole thing is “fake
news.” On the streets. In stores, although I’ve seen a few deny them entrance.
Believe me, when you live here, unless you’re completely clueless, you’re
acutely aware of just how hard this thing has hit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I can work around this individual stupidity, but when
stupidity is contagious and possibly deadly? That’s a whole new level of
crawling up your own asshole. In every action movie, there are numbskull bad
guys who appear to be menacing. We watch the movie and usually within the first
half hour, these brazen imbeciles either get murdered or ass-kicked by the hero.
These people I’m seeing now in New York remind me of those disposable action-movie
henchmen: arrogant and dumb as nails. I never found that movie-character archetype worth emulating, but these guys aspire to that level of assholic loser.
Whether it’s on the streets of New York or toting a semi-automatic rifle in a
state capitol’s veranda. This is shameful behavior that’s the antithesis of
everything I understand to be true about America. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The unspoken threat I’m seeing is the horrifying failure of the
American education system that people like this not only exist, but take a
perverse level of pride in their stupidity. If we come away with anything from
this? It’s the realization that we need to overhaul our education system so
that people like this can grasp basic human qualities like shame and empathy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">And a word on New York “seeding” the virus in early March
via travel before restrictions were imposed in mid-March. It makes sense. We
were all living normal lives up to St. Patrick’s Day, believing the virus
“wasn’t here yet” and those news reports of pandemics in China and Italy would,
much like SARS, have little impact here. I would wager all American cities did
the same to varying degrees. You can’t really fault people for spreading what
they did not know or understand to exist at the time. None of us did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">That said, I gather there have been waves of New Yorkers who
have abandoned the city since then, not quite realizing wherever they go,
the virus is already there. And they’re possibly bringing it with them. A vast
majority of us stood our ground and have weathered this thing. April was a
truly frightening month to live here, no matter how much we downplayed it in
reassuring phone calls and emails. It’s the same fear a lot of people across
the country are going to have when virus numbers skyrocket where they live. It
didn’t occur to me to leave here for two reasons: this seemed as good a place
as any to face this thing, and I didn’t want to risk spreading the virus
wherever I might have gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The pain of New York? All those people who fled will come
back. Eventually, they’ll be among those who can afford to live here.
Many of us who stood our ground, who chose to stay, will slowly be funneled out
of this city by rising rents and gentrification. What’s wrong with this
picture?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-85025166877011408952020-04-26T10:39:00.000-04:002020-04-26T13:34:22.376-04:00Woodpecker<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">You’ll have to excuse me. I over-dosed last night. Syringe
full of Lysol. In my black, sleeveless “Lone Wolf” t-shirt but otherwise naked.
I was looking for a quick pick-me-up after a rough day of seasonal allergies - not
to Make Heaven Great Again. Luckily, I’m still here and now making an American
flag for the next freedom protest, out of the walls of toilet paper that I
couldn’t sell for $10/roll on eBay in early March.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;">Now that we’re coming down the other side of the hill with
this virus in NYC, </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5aeClRY4kA" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">the song “White Cliffs of Dover” by Vera Lynn</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> has been stuck
in my head. The song came out in 1942, the “darkest hour” for Great Britain as
they were under constant air attack from the Germans, the U.S. not yet fully engaged in Europe.</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;"> There were multiple covers by American
big-band artists shortly thereafter. </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5D4-Jc7MIF4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #351c75;">“</span><b><span style="color: red;">I’ll Be Seeing You”</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> was another hit song that my Dad certainly had good memories of as many people took
to its message during the war. (That song became particularly poignant after Dad died; the implication of the song isn't that the singer will be seeing someone again, but seeing vestiges and reminders of that person who is now gone.)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I remember Mom singing along to songs like these on a
portable AM radio in the morning. That was her oldies show that she played
while making Sunday dinner in the 1970s, usually meat loaf or pot roast. I would
sit in a kitchen chair by the window playing the imp, poking fun at her. But
she paid no mind as she worked. Call it osmosis, but those songs stuck with me
for decades, through blizzards of teenage and early-adult cool, for me to appreciate
how great they were. It’s strange, how the world was so much harder then, millions
of violent deaths, yet this music was so light, hopeful and buoyant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">That’s how I’m feeling now, although this thing is far from
over. Most people who don’t live in a large urban area have little idea what
it’s like in New York City. <i>(Thus, the black-covered book advertised on this
site that’s selling like shit-flavored ice cream!)</i> A vast majority of us
have small apartments, no back or front yards, living literally on top of each
other, not owning cars, taking public transportation everywhere. Even when this
thing ends for most people, we’ll surely be wearing masks and gloves in certain
social situations for months. I can see that now, as much as I wish we could
drop this shit all together and go straight back to normal. That won’t be happening
here for awhile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;">I’m dreading my return to daily subway rides. Here’s what
</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJSTg0Al2X4" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">they look like normally</span></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> and will surely be like as things get back on track. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;">(This is what </span><b><span style="color: red;">t<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TaCIjhJHhIQ" target="_blank">hey look like now</a></span></b><span style="color: #351c75;">, thanks to the homeless
taking over the empty space. That video reminds me of what it was like in the
late 1980s at the height of the crack epidemic.)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Being on unemployment for the time being, that would imply
going into Manhattan to attend my boxing workouts at various gyms throughout
the week. I can only wonder how they’ll be … with the instructors wearing face
guards when we do hand-pad combination workouts? We’ll be wearing
boxing gloves on our hands, but I’m sure social distancing will still be an
issue. I’m dreading the locker rooms, which are always the worst part of going
to the gym, how cramped and unsanitary they are, in close proximity to childish
buffoons who think the world spins around them. I have no clue how gyms plan to
handle this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I finally learned of someone I “knew” who got this thing,
and that person died. I didn’t know her well. Back at the job, there was this
woman I’ll call Beverly who worked on the other end of the (football-field
length) floor. Usually the only time I saw her was in the lunch room, eating
with her friends and talking shit loudly, which I considered perfectly healthy,
for coworkers to commiserate over their injustices. If I saw her down on my end
of the floor? Particularly walking up my aisle? It could mean only one thing:
she was shaking everyone down for charity donations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I know this should have been banned from work, but I’m not
going to out someone getting money for breast cancer research. That was her big
one, along with Girl Scout cookies for her daughter. She always called me “William”
based on my cubicle name plate and was very polite. I usually had a $20 bill
and would ask her for $10 in change. It irritated the hell out of me to see her
skulking down the aisle, but I also knew she was doing it for causes she cared
about deeply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Well, I didn’t know she was in poor health herself and often
suffered bouts of pneumonia during the cold season. Whatever happened in March,
she got this thing, and it took her down. A strange passing. Someone I knew and
would nod at or say hello to in the hallways, and liked despite whatever mild
dread she inspired coming down the aisle with her sign-up sheet, envelope of
cash and big smile. She meant well, and this thing took her like a truck on the
interstate running over a deer in its headlights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I say “only person I know” not even knowing if I have or
have had this thing due to lack of testing. Given that a few million New
Yorkers may have already had this thing without even knowing it, I would surely
love to get tested, but who knows when that will happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">But for now, it’s just the daily grind of waiting out the
pandemic. Jumping rope and doing calisthenics on the back patio. Going for a
long walk each day. Washing hands constantly. Sing “The Birthday Song” twice
while washing? I’m singing “Hey Jude” in its entirety. Wearing a mask has been
the hardest thing to adapt. When this whole thing kicked off and we were told
masks would be a necessity, I found myself cutting up old pants, thinking the
length of fabric from the knee to the thigh would make a perfectly-sized piece
of cloth to cover my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9v9rcAnFDOpwwVDmI2u46HkskyhlukHz-M6AycHkCOK_AjtfGE5XoVPk2IOzQv239A20MLuTO3nMmpa7gaOf0Raz7asPmgJfniSG9yc6Ft6Tr7zm561aMvZVqF1-Y_tZa95Ykog/s1600/IMG-0269+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9v9rcAnFDOpwwVDmI2u46HkskyhlukHz-M6AycHkCOK_AjtfGE5XoVPk2IOzQv239A20MLuTO3nMmpa7gaOf0Raz7asPmgJfniSG9yc6Ft6Tr7zm561aMvZVqF1-Y_tZa95Ykog/s320/IMG-0269+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Well, I found that denim and khaki pants were too heavy and
bothered my ears when I tried to hook the fabric around them. It was then that I
discovered a few old pairs of Uniqlo thermal underwear that I’ve rarely worn.
Using the same methodology, I’ve found these much more agreeable: breathable
and easy to drop up-and-down while out walking and not encountering anyone for at least 50 yards. As you can see from the photo, I look like that Bazooka
Joe character with his turtleneck pulled up over half his face. And I don't quite understand some folks' horror that I'm wearing old underwear - as if I shat them first before putting them on. I haven't worn these things in at least two years, and they were surely washed before then!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">This doesn’t
feel like a long-term solution; I’ve ordered some silk cycling half-face masks
that will hopefully work better and last longer. (And no lectures please, on
the do’s and don’ts of wearing masks. The two articles I’ve read imply that we
should wear these things as if we’re going into surgery, as opposed to
providing minor, largely ineffective positive reinforcement to fellow pedestrians.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I don’t bust balls when I see people not wearing masks in public. While I feel a mild sense of unease that they're not going with the flow, I’m not convinced it makes any difference. I’m saving the outrage for the first
time someone sneezes or coughs near me without covering his mouth, which is
sure to happen given the levels of stupidity I witness routinely on the
streets. It’s so easy to not share your “droplets” with others by practicing common
sense and simple hygiene, but I guarantee you there are millions of people out
there who are too stupid to do either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The last thing I’d like to note is the woodpecker. With life
growing so quiet in New York City, the main thing I notice now is the sound of birds
in the morning and evening, chirping away in the trees. One morning, I heard
this insistent tapping sound. Rhythmic, but not steady. Every few seconds. Son
of a bitch, I thought, that’s a woodpecker. I ran out, looked up at the bare
branches, and sure enough, there was a woodpecker hammering away at the tree
outside my window. It’s amazing to watch them at work, bashing their
beaks into the wood. I did some research online to see why they do this (often
a mating ritual, or to mark their territory).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The best explanation I came up with was from a site called
Trusted Psychic Mediums that lists “spirit animal” justifications of
woodpeckers: <i>“When the woodpecker comes knocking, it seeks to rekindle your
passion in finding the truth. It also encourages you to be innovative and
creative and to protect those who are too weak to protect themselves. The
meaning of the woodpecker can help you be more open to changes and
opportunities and invite more luck into your life. The woodpecker appears to
you because you need to protect your wisdom and creativity from threats. Do not
be too open about your pursuits because there are many threats out there that
will take them away from you. People will always want to take advantage of your
kindness and generosity. The woodpecker encourages you to strike a balance
between being kind and being cautious. It symbolizes the need to understand
different rhythms, patterns, and cycles, and to do your best to adapt to them
and flourish.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Fuckin’ A.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-37215120895442858482020-04-05T19:53:00.000-04:002020-04-05T19:53:12.424-04:00Gloves<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">That’s what I’ve been seeing the past few days walking
around various parts of Astoria. Gloves on the ground. Rubber medical gloves.
I’ve seen at least two dozen scattered throughout my walks. In the past, I
would find these things when out sweeping the sidewalk on Saturday morning.
Before all this, that meant some strange remnant of the drug culture (people
getting tuned up in cars before/after attending a nearby nightclub) that I’ve
never quite understood. Now, it’s people throwing away used medical gloves on
the street due to the Coronavirus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">The gloves are indicative of two things to me. One very
minor hopeful aspect: more people are wearing gloves. That’s the only positive.
The much larger takeaway for me is that despite the good intentions of whoever
was wearing the gloves, the slovenly tendency to throw a used medical glove on
a public street at the height of a pandemic suggest a near-criminal sociopath.
This person could be walking around in a hazmat suit all day, and I can
guarantee he will still get and spread this thing if he’s this pathologically stupid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">This week, New York City feels like a scared, shivering dog
with its tail between its legs. We’re all on edge, underneath. I’m sick to
death of the media, of press conferences, the heavily weighted news reports
designed to humiliate politicians and get partisans riled up. I’ve had it with
the media – worse than politicians, if that’s possible. This stuff is brain-eating
cancer to someone in a major city during a pandemic. People don’t know how to
act here, save to keep their distance. As crazy as it sounds, the most humane
thing I see people doing is maintaining a safe distance. I routinely encounter
people on the sidewalk who, if we both keep our course, will pass within a foot
of each other. One of us, most likely me, will stop, back off and let the
person (or people) pass. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve got a friendly
nod or “thank you” for doing this – and done the same in return. Maybe it’s the
civility of being scared shitless, but it’s civility, nonetheless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Recognizing the humanity of someone you’re passing on the
street is something ingrained from my rural upbringing, but not so much the
city. Sometimes you get it, usually not. Under normal circumstances, there are
just too many people here. It becomes much easier to acknowledge in a pandemic!
In that sense, New York City feels like a small town now. Less people on the
street, all of us going through the same shit, easier to be kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Will it last? I’m sure you’ll read many articles in the next
few weeks how this will change everything and mark the beginning of a new age. I
suggest you take these articles with a grain of salt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Why? Let’s go back to the fall of 2001. Post 9/11 world. <i>Everything
had changed</i>. I can’t tell you how many articles I read at the time that put
forth all sorts of grandiose concepts regarding humanity in general and New
York City in particular. True, for at least a year or two, there did seem to be
something else going on here. A few new threads weaved into our lives. Surely,
efforts to combat terrorism took a quantum leap throughout the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">But really? New York City went back to business as usual
within a few years. Rents and property values sky-rocketed. It’s become much
harder for middle and working-class people to live here – almost impossible in
many neighborhoods. Whatever sense of humanity was generated and/or rhapsodized
over by the media at the time, New York City became more cut-throat after the
brunt of 9/11 lessened. Entire classes of people have been erased from
neighborhoods they built and lived in for decades. The cost of living has grown
prohibitive and inhumane. <i>But this pandemic is going to change everything and transform us into higher life forms!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">No, it won’t. Yes, it will for awhile, I would guess for a
few years. But then it will be absorbed into a city with centuries of history,
and a world with a much longer and larger history. This city has absorbed wars,
depressions. influenza, outbreaks of civil strife, riots, uprisings, crime
waves, etc. The coronavirus pandemic of 2020, sure as any other major event in
world history, will be absorbed, too. Many things will be learned from it.
Hopefully, there will be some major breakthroughs in vaccines and
pandemic prevention. But I suspect if you revisit New York City in 2030, you’re
going to find a much harder, less diverse, more expensive place to live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">A few words on face masks, the burning issue of the week. Do
I wear one? Sometimes, but not all the time, when I’m in public. If I’m out
walking, and clearly not encountering a lot of passers by on the street, I
don’t have a face mask on. I don’t like these things. They don’t feel sanitary:
sweaty lips and wet nose, stuffy, breathing recycled air. From what I’m seeing,
if people are exercising in some respect – running, biking or hard walking –
they’re not using face masks. I can’t imagine doing my normal 3-4 mile walks
with one on. (I usually walk along a near-deserted stretch of road leading past the power plant in Astoria, down to the river and Astoria Park. If it's raining, I'll walk along the park edge as there will be far less people. Sunny day, forget it, too many people. I've noticed the same phenomenon with supermarket lines.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">That said, when I find myself approaching a stretch of road
where I see more people, I put it on, particularly the normally bustling
streets of my neighborhood (31<sup>st</sup> Street and Ditmars Boulevard). I
can see, more people around, more contact. I surely wear it in supermarkets,
drug stores and getting take out. All the supermarkets have lines now to get
in, taking anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour. Once in, it’s a comfortable
shopping experience with few customers. I still don’t waste any time – get
my shit and get out. I normally make small visits to supermarkets during the
week. It’s a much better idea now to do it once and stock up. Most people I encounter
in these enclosed public spaces are wearing masks and gloves, staying the hell
away from each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">I note this because the media has me feeling like I’ll be
clutching at my throat and shrieking if I dare go out the door without a mask
on. I’ve been acutely self-aware and careful since this thing began. I don’t
sneeze or cough in public. My bare or gloved hand does not touch my face. I
wash my hands thoroughly, at least four times a day, sometimes more. If you
get this thing from me, I have no clue how that would happen, with or without a
face mask. You’re not going to get “droplets” in the air or on any part of your
body from me. From the moment the severity of this pandemic was made clear to
me in mid-March, I assumed that I “had it,” was asymptomatic and conducted
myself accordingly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">If someone is acting like a slob on the street – which I see
routinely - you’re going to see me walking in or crossing to the other side of
the street. <i>Asshole avoidance</i>. This is nothing new. Anyone who’s worked
in midtown Manhattan knows what it means to walk in the street to avoid packs
of aimless tourists and smartphone zombies. Sometimes now I’ll walk in the
street to give someone passing by their six feet. Like foot traffic, car
traffic in NYC has greatly decreased. Most people I’m encountering these days
have their shit together, regardless of what they’re wearing or not wearing. I’m
not worried about offending someone who’s carrying himself like a complete
dick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Your other choice is to barricade yourself in a small
apartment and drive yourself insane. I have to get out, every day. It preserves
some sense of normalcy – the main lesson I learned in the days after 9/11. I’ve
had it with celebrities, “sheltering in place” in massive duplex apartments and
mansions with sprawling properties light years away from our cramped living spaces. Try
“sheltering in place” in studio or crackerbox one or two-bedroom apartments.
It’s a struggle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">It comes down to how much shit you can handle and stay sane.
How empathetic and disciplined you are. If you’re a good New
Yorker, these things are ingrained in you. Or they are not. Plenty of people
live here, are sometimes born and raised here, and are lost and forsaken. Thus,
the dirty, crumpled medical gloves in the streets, and the uneasy feeling that the
door is going to hit our asses on the way out.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-78393708798091639782020-03-26T19:26:00.000-04:002020-03-26T19:26:07.311-04:00Social Distancing<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I’ve been practicing social distancing in New York City for
years, although I have a different name for it: <i>Getthefuckawayfromme</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I can’t recall exactly when I started in with
Getthefuckawayfromme. Surely not my first decade or two here. I loved crowded
bars, concerts, movies, museums, even parades. Coming from a rural area and
never having experienced it before, I reveled in the novelty of the city’s
bustle. When you’re new to a city, you embrace everything about it, the good with
the bad. I’d yet to realize that being on packed subways, then in crowded
office buildings, then in gyms, then in jammed restaurants and nightclubs could
have a corrosive effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">But it surely did, over time. In the last decade, I’ve found
myself placing much more emphasis on “alone” time when I get out of work. Not
worrying if I wasn’t seeing a great band play. (Of course, never the opening
act, usually in a deeply uncomfortable, nose-to-back-of-head club, sometimes
standing for hours, while one act, then another, played, and my band would
finally come on around 10:30, play until midnight, then I’d have to take a
ghostly and sometimes frightening subway ride back to the Bronx or Queens, then
get up for work the next day with about four hours sleep. That didn’t get “old,
fast” … but it got old.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">As time went on, I found myself irritated by people who
didn’t respect boundaries. There are myriad subway circumstances of riders invading
personal space. People who stand too close in grocery and drug store lines,
never mind shopping as though they were high and oblivious of everyone around
them. The advent of smartphones. This was a catastrophe in terms of respecting
social space; I’ll never get used to it. Previously, New Yorkers had prided
themselves on that quiet street savvy: how to move, read body language, avoid
being a pain in the ass for other people, avoid people who were a pain in the
ass. Life after smartphones, we’re plunged into a world of self-absorbed
zombies with the street smarts of a five-year-old. (“Street smarts” are simply
self-awareness and empathy in a tight urban environment.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Thus, the past few weeks in New York City have been a more
acute version of Getthefuckawayfromme. To a lesser degree, I’ve been practicing
it for years. After jury duty in November, my big daily ritual
involved boxing classes in gyms. Without the daily routine of work, I focused
on something that would get me out of the house for a few hours, doing
something positive, connecting to people socially, etc. Even in a gym, the
worst times are in the locker room, being jammed in too closely with flaming
narcissists and ageing frat boys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">It’s been a surprise to realize that social distancing now
implies a few slight tweaks to my lifestyle in New York City, as opposed to a
major overhaul that leave many feeling alone and despondent. I sure do miss
boxing. I miss work, too, that casual sense of power and self-importance we all
get from bringing in a nice paycheck and feeling “essential” in a social
format. Well, a CEO sneezes, and you’re no longer essential.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I’m not sure where this thing is going. I read something
today, that the mayor is saying “half of all New Yorkers” will get the
coronavirus. Does that seem odd to you? We’re coming up on 500,000 people
having this <i>worldwide</i>. So … 4.3 million New Yorkers are going to get
this thing? <i>The fuck</i>? I can’t decide whether the guy’s lost his mind or
if he has a mad, blind seer on his staff, in a hooded robe, who foresees <i>dark
things</i> that no one in their right minds can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">We need to define what “getting this thing” implies. For all
I know, I may have already had it or have it now (another reason to be careful around other people). I feel fine – some minor sinus stuff that I get
every year when the trees begin to blossom, which is full-on right now.
Apparently, there’s a huge cross section of people who will get this thing and
not even know it. Another large cross section of people will get this thing
and receive a “stay home and rest” diagnosis similar to having the flu. A smaller
number will get this thing and be hospitalized, and of that number, a much
smaller number will die. I’ve seen reports that the usual diagnosis rate for
people getting tested now is around 10%, meaning 9 out of 10 people who go to
these testing sites don’t have it. They’re either having symptoms of something
else, or are hypochondriacs who have had their heads filled with fear and
paranoia by the media.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">When people from other parts of the country check in with me,
they assume the city is in a state of pandemonium. It’s not. Earlier today, I
jumped rope on the landlord’s back patio for half an hour. I saw a guy walking
his dog. About three cars passed. That was it. In the afternoon, I went out for
a long walk. Just as in the past few days, I saw a handful of runners and other
walkers along a quiet stretch of road by the big Con Ed plant leading down to
the East River. I walked down to Astoria Park, and I saw more people doing the
same, but much less than usual. I walked the circumference of the park and saw
a few guys using the outdoor calisthenics gym. (When this thing broke out, I
thought I’d do the same myself but saw too many people using it without gloves
– no way.) As I cut back through Astoria, I saw a few people here and there, a
vast majority practicing safe Getthefuckawayfromme. More people are out on a
nice day, hardly any on a rainy day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I’m not bolting from my apartment, screaming and naked, floundering
in a vision of hell like some medieval painting of lost souls being pitchforked
and herded by government employees in hazmat suits, onto packed subway trains
heading for the reorientation camps. It’s actually quiet, much like the
blackout we had back in 2006 that I wrote about in the last book. The nights
are very quiet. If there wasn’t a worldwide pandemic going on, I’d think the
city had gone sane. (Keep in mind I have no idea what goes on in hospitals,
which sound like war zones.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">My last subway trip into Manhattan was early last week. I
had ordered a DVD from Amazon to ship to one of their Hub locker locations on
34<sup>th</sup> Street. (I ordered this before the world ended.) I left around
noon, making sure to wear gloves, not touching anything in the subway station
or train. There were a half dozen people on the car: a homeless dude
sleeping in the corner, a guy and his girlfriend with facial tattoos on there with
a bicycle, two burly guys with beards and a guy on his smartphone who got a
serious dose of Getthefuckawayfromme attitude from me when he started in with that
meandering, walk-nowhere-in-particular-while texting style referenced above. None of them was wearing gloves or masks. Everyone was touching handrails and doors with
bare hands. I realized I was on a subway car with a small assortment of bozos
who weren’t properly grasping what was going on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I got into Manhattan, subway station had roughly a dozen
cops in it. When I got above ground, I was shocked to see how desolate midtown
was. I likened it to the scene in the original 80s version of <i>Red Dawn</i> where
Patrick Swayze and a few of the other kids go back into town after the Russians
took over. Bereft of the usual throngs of workers and tourists, the only people
left were the assorted freaks, weirdoes and assholes you’d normally find
haunting Port Authority and Penn Station. It was depressing much more than
frightening. I decided to walk back to Queens from there. Luckily, when I got
into a more residential neighborhood (the 50s on the east side), I could see
life was more normal, people carefully going about their business in gloves and
masks. But I made a vow not to take another subway ride until this thing blew
over. Since then, I’ve been in Astoria the whole time in the much more sedate
environs I’ve described.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">It’s only when I watch the news, or more directly, go into supermarkets
or drugstores that I feel the brunt of this thing. I’m more prone to watching
the press conferences now and only the local news at 6:00. The rest of it is
indicative of a society where the media blows every crisis into “end times”
proportions, making everyone upset and angry. I’m ignoring that. Mind you, not
ignoring what I need to know when I head out the door every day. But ignoring
all this other bullshit that feels like cancer of the soul – watching too much
of the news must be what it feels like to lose your mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">You’ll find the main reason why this thing is spreading in
the drugstores and supermarkets of New York City. At the height of this thing
in our country, maybe in the world right now, no other place is more
contagious, yet you still have people in these public places without gloves.
This is going to be how a vast majority of people get this thing: by touching
contaminated surfaces and transferring the virus to their noses and mouths.
Young and old alike, there’s a blithe unawareness of what’s going on right now
and how you should be handling it. I’m trying to go to the supermarkets as
little as possible – never mind the depressingly picked-over shelves. Last Friday,
I went to the Best Yet market down the hill from me, near the Steinway Piano
Factory. Since this market has a parking lot, it draws in a
lot more than neighborhood people who can walk there. Approaching the
store, I saw there was a line of about 30 people waiting to get in. It had
opened an hour earlier. It was then I realized people were treating this like
Black Friday, showing up early to get "the best" groceries. The manager must have set
crowd limits and was letting in customers one at a time, like a crowded night
club.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;">Fuck that. I haven’t gone back since, although when I walked
by yesterday, it didn’t look as bad. There are other options in the
neighborhood, strictly walk-in stores. Toilet paper? Forget it – not yet in
NYC! Luckily, I had bought a four-roll before the world ended and </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Irrigator-Portable-Handheld-Personal-Telescopic/dp/B0868GRR9B/ref=sr_1_12?dchild=1&keywords=toilet+irrigator&qid=1585264878&sr=8-12" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">realized long ago there are better ways to do this</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;">. Hand sanitizer? None to be found,
anywhere. My landlord’s healthcare assistant came back with a bottle the other
day; the nearby dollar store had them behind the counter. I went down, and they
were already gone, another feeding frenzy in the time it took her to walk up the hill and me down. Surprisingly, the meat section in all the markets has come back
since being non-existent for the better part of two weeks. Bread is doing
better, too, after being decimated. I needed 100-watt lightbulbs as I just ran
out, only to find some asshole(s) completely wiped out the supply at the Trade
Fair on Ditmars. Luckily, the C Town by the subway train was well stocked.
That’s how it is now, piecing together what you need in different places.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The worst part is the people without gloves. Almost as bad,
the smug looks on their faces, young and old alike: <i>this thing is bullshit, and
I’m not changing a damn thing about how I live</i>. I can see it in their eyes.
You want to know why this thing has spread like wildfire in NYC? It’s not the
“hub of international travel, people from all over the world pass through here”
bullshit. Atlanta has the busiest airport in the world – why aren’t they
pounding the same numbers? It’s because of people like this who, through sheer
arrogance and stupidity, think they’re above it all, in a cramped city where
people are in constant contact with each other. Given that I’m in contact with
a few older folks who could have a death sentence if they caught this thing,
I’m not above it all. That’s not the only reason, but reason enough to wear
gloves when I have to touch anything in public, wash my hands thoroughly before
and after I’m around other people, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Will the rest of the country get hit as hard as New York? I
hope not. From what I’ve heard, the supermarket insanity has gone on
everywhere, with hoarders and resellers making life hard on everyone. It’s
easier to feel safer and more isolated in places where you drive your car to
get things done, like go to work or buy groceries. Reality is, people aren’t
safe or isolated when they go out in public and interact, whether it’s a city
teeming with people or a rural outpost. There are ways to make yourself safer
in this respect. I would wager how seriously people take these things will
determine how deep and wide this thing goes in America.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-30134038794000617552020-03-18T11:33:00.000-04:002020-03-18T17:39:06.097-04:00Coronavirus<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">While New York City isn’t Ground Zero for the coronavirus in
America, it’s not too far from it. We are in the shit, so to speak, in ways
that feel mildly similar to how the city felt in the weeks after 9/11. The vibe
back then was utter devastation that at first was mixed with profound sadness,
but quickly turned to rage, then defiance. We were going to live like normal
human beings again, no matter what, knowing that wasn’t going to happen for
months.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">This time, who do you get mad at? A bunch of poor-ass, rural
Chinese eating crazy shit purchased in “wet” markets? While we probably don’t
have markets as unregulated here, I’d bet you’d have your mind blown visiting smaller
scale markets in Chinatown and Flushing, Queens. Just down the road from here
is a small slaughterhouse that handles live chickens, goats and cows, customers coming in and purchasing meat directly from them. Blame Trump? Go ahead, but
despite his initial address to the nation that felt like a sophomore reading
off a teleprompter in a high-school TV production class, he’s getting better as
this thing goes along and made the smart move of blocking travel to/from China
when the rest of the world was dumping on him for doing so. (And I’m no fan!) I’ve
turned off much of the media as it’s shady and alarmist by nature, but I can’t be
bothered with finger-pointing articles. Now’s not the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">At first, I resented the NYC restrictions that went into
place on Monday morning. I had my last boxing class at the gym with my instructors,
Peter and Kid, that morning down around Wall Street. Two of us showed up! I
hadn’t realized the gym had already contacted staff and instructors to let them
know there would be at least a two-week shutdown (although I suspect it will be
longer). Peter worked my ass off, putting me through five rounds of pad work.
(We normally get one two-minute round for a class of 8-12 people, two if we’re
lucky.) We finished with Peter's patented "500" - 500 stomach reps comprised of five separate 100-series exercises. It was good to work that hard, knowing it would be the last session for
awhile. I was pissed to know this was it for a few weeks and left wondering how
I was going to stay healthy in the meantime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Then I walked out on Pine Street and watched some douchebag
blow his nose by pressing one finger on a nostril and exhaling a glob of mucus
on the sidewalk. It was then I realized, this is all necessary. There’s no
escaping people like this, who seem to be living in a permanent vacuum. And
we’re all in the same world of shit when it comes to contagion, no matter how
careful or slovenly we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I promptly went home, found my leather jump rope, the
push-up handles in my closet and the yoga mat I never use, realizing I could
put together a solid workout on the landlord’s back patio a few times a week.
Never mind that I’ll feel like an inmate in Super Max getting his one hour of
daylight. I can also go running or walking in various parks in the city, for
now. I’m not sure what this “lockdown” implies, but it seems to me that keeping
yourself in good physical condition, in open air without being in physical contact
with anyone, is a reasonable concept. The way this thing sometimes feels – like
a 10-ton weight hanging over my head – I get the impression I’m supposed to be
in my apartment 24-7. People are guaranteed to lose their minds living this way;
I hope we don’t cross that bridge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I think most people are out of their “party like it’s the Weimar
Republic circa 1920” phase. Officially, they have to be as the bars are closed,
but I saw more than a few people jamming the bars last Saturday afternoon and
laying it on thick, young and old alike. I also suspect this will be a time of
“decadence” in that people will conspire to have clandestine drinking sessions
in public places. Because we’re young, wild, free, etc. I’m as sick of the hype
and overkill as anyone else, but I’m still not going to tempt fate, especially
in a house with elderly women living in the apartments above mine. Why run the
risk of ruining or ending their lives so I can live out my Baz Luhrmann movie? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">If my experience with hard times in New York holds true,
meaning the AIDS epidemic, L.A. Riots (which had a frightening, under-reported
effect on NYC), 9/11, the various blackouts, numerous recessions, the 2008
financial collapse, people are going to both lose the thread and come together
in ways that will be troubling and uplifting. The vibe I get walking around the
streets the past few days is one of mild optimism. People know bad shit is going
on, it will get worse, but what can you do except go on living and try to make
the best of it. I haven’t seen people losing their shit or causing scenes; the
only places I’m sensing that are on the nightly news and at the supermarket. If
you want to be “a New Yorker” in a true sense you must do something: <i>live
through this</i>. Whether “this” is a depression, the ass falling off the city in
the 1970s, the crack and murder epidemics of the 80s … or this pandemic, right
now. You get a few dog-assed eras like that under you belt, then you get this
place in ways most people never will. I can’t tell you how many people bailed
on this city after going through shit times like those noted above. (Of course,
some just bailed because they found better options elsewhere, but let’s ignore
those people.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Lately I feel like I’m losing the thread here, like trying
to find a job the past few months and wondering if I’m the invisible man. Or
feeling like I’m about to be erased at any moment by skyrocketing rents. These
aren’t pleasant feelings, and they’re persistent. But really? Compared to the
massive doses of fear and paranoia generated over the past few weeks, I’m not
feeling overly upset. I can control how I handle the coronavirus because I’ve
dealt with worse over the course of years here; I’m having a harder time
controlling these other more personal things that in a more subtle way are as destructive
as any hurricane or pandemic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;">I saw a strange thing yesterday afternoon while walking in
Astoria Park, down by the East River. Cars park along the river drive all the
time. Guys comparing street rods. Families taking pictures by the bridges or
admiring the view of Manhattan. People relaxing and trying to get away from it
all for a few minutes. There was this white guy, probably in his 50s, had not
aged well, pasty, gray and paunchy, leaning on the side of his muscle car. “Asshole”
was the thought bubble that appeared over my head. I caught the smell of skunk
weed on the breeze. A guy this age smoking pot in public? Come on, man. Not
only that, I could hear “Don’t Believe the Hype” by Public Enemy echoing from a
car stereo. Turned out it was his! It was such an incongruous mix of images and
details that I had my mind blown. The guy looked like </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZYlXEUo-Lo&t=3s" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">R. Lee Ermey</span></b></a><span style="color: #351c75;"> gone to seed.
He didn’t say anything as I passed, only scowling and smoking as the dark water of the East
River rolled towards the sea, the towers of Manhattan shining in the
background.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">It took me about 50 yards of walking away from that dude to
realize how much I liked him. Maybe an asshole, I thought, but an asshole I
could respect at this moment in the city’s history. That guy’s not going
anywhere, and he’s going to get through this thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">My final words on this: if you’re going to hoard anything in
these strange days, don’t let it be toilet paper. Let it be sanity. I will
forever be at a loss with the “toilet paper” thing. Either people are taking astonishingly
large shits out there, or a lot of my fellow countrymen have completely lost
their minds. I stand to be corrected, but it sounds like many of us would
rather sit.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-21178632796772437232020-02-11T15:42:00.001-05:002020-02-11T15:42:43.995-05:00Unemployment<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Well, I’m three months into my six-month allotment of
unemployment. Didn’t think I’d make it this far – that I’d have surely been
working by now. Go figure, now I’m wondering if I’ll be working before it ends!</span></div>
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">I’ve never been on unemployment before. Doing a lot of temp
and consulting gigs over the years, there were times in my adult life where I
desperately needed the option. Unfortunately, when you leave them or work is
slow between jobs, you generally can’t get on unemployment. There was a time in
my late 20s where I nearly zeroed out my accounts, which was frightening. I
think it was from that point forward that I made a vow to get away from more “creative”
industries and find work “where the money was” – or at least more stability. If
you did a chart of my earnings and savings since then, you’d see a gently
ascending line to a much higher point than that late 20s low point.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">What bothers me most? The unemployment rate is as low as
it’s ever been in my lifetime. What they don’t tell you: that still doesn’t
mean people who hate their jobs aren’t putting in applications for other
positions in droves. (I would wager the low unemployent rate encourages them to find work, knowing they don't have to cling to their jobs.) I thought, near 3% unemployment? I’ll have a job in no
time. For the few dozen applications I’ve filed, I’ve received about seven or
eight responses, none of them leading to a job. That’s a huge problem with
social-media sites. Your resume is one of dozens, sometimes hundreds, coming in
for a position, and there’s just so much you can do with a piece of paper. I’ve
listed out my dozens of skills, dozens of years of employment, over a decade at
last job … and it feels like I’m pissing in the wind some days.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">I had to visit with a counselor at an employment center in
Flushing, Queens back in early December. Her take on me: “Ah, that level of
experience, all the skills you have. These are things employers find highly
valuable.”’ I just smiled and nodded but in the back of my mind was thinking, “If
I had a dime for every time I’ve seen a flashy bullshit artist hired instead of
someone who knew what he was doing, I’d be retired by now.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><a href="http://poscathst.blogspot.com/2019/12/grand-jury-duty-seeing-no-hands-and.html" target="_blank"><b>Grand jury duty in November</b></a></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"> proved a huge impediment. It
took up a month of my life when I could have been charging out of the gate,
looking for work. I went ahead and filed the minimum “three applications per
week” to get my unemployment benefits, knowing that I was way too pre-occupied
to handle looking hard for work. When I got out in early December, I was exhausted. My attitude
was, end of year, how many people really are hiring in December, just ride it
out through Christmas and start bearing down in January.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">First week of January, I get an email from a major bank
telling me that since I haven’t replied to their emails, I’m no longer in
consideration for a position. Huh? This was the first time they contacted me. I then looked in my Spam folder in Gmail
(which is normally not visible) to see that, sure enough, I had received three
robo-emails from their HR Department over Christmas week asking me to fill out
a more detailed application and take a test. <i>(Word of advice to HR Departments:
stop using robo-emails to contact job applicants. I can only imagine how many
other people are getting jammed in similar scenarios.)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><i></i><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">That started a flurry of activity, and since then, I’ve had
about “once a week” interactions with places I’ve applied to, even a home
interview I did with the camera on my phone answering pre-screened questions,
but nothing resulting in employment. It’s discouraging to have this much
experience, not demanding a huge salary, and feel like I’m looking for work in
a void. I suspect most people looking for work are going through the same
process. Most likely, the world will not be beating down your door, no matter
what your experiences and accomplishments are.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Getting paid a reasonable amount of money weekly on
unemployment certainly helps. I’ve been losing money, albeit very slowly. I
saved up a ton of money (having a nine-month lead in from notification date to
the actual layoff date). I’ve dialed back my expenses and held off on big
purchases. Low rent has been key – without it, I’d be hemorrhaging money. As it
is, I’m about to get a healthy tax refund in the next few weeks. Money isn’t a
problem and won’t be for at least another three months.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">One of the bigger problems is staying motivated. I can
handle the bits of rejection and mostly silence after filing applications. When
you’re a writer, rejection is part of the landscape; you either have faith in
your machine or spend a lot of time doubting yourself. Doubt will leave you
dead in the water, something I learned in my 20s. It’s simply the amount of
daily down time for months as opposed to having your personal life crammed into
the weekend. Unlike college, when I had free time with other like-minded
individuals, this is more like playing hooky as everyone I know is working!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Boxing has provided a crucial routine to follow. I’ve
realized that there are a series of late lunch-time boxing classes in my gym at
various Manhattan locations that I would normally never consider (due to taking
a two-hour lunch). They give me a sense of structure three days a week: doing
unemployment stuff in the morning, then boxing, then taking my time to ensure I
get back on the train after the asshole school kids afternoon rush (after 3:00
pm). It makes for a well-rounded day. Tuesday is the only hard day as I have my
normal 5:45 boxing class and tend to burn through the whole day in the
apartment to get there. Thursday, I’m in the habit of taking walks through
parts of the city I haven’t seen in years. I’ve had my mind blown by the Hudson
River Park, the Highline, Hudson Yards, Riverside Park, the northern paths of
Central Park, the Wall Street area, etc. My first decade here, I made it a
point to explore as much of the city as I could, and it doesn’t feel bad to do
so again.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Our lives are structured so that either you have no time at
all or too much. Unemployment past a month or two becomes too much down time.
At first, it helped me get out the second book as I used the few weeks between
the job ending and grand jury duty beginning to do some last-minute editing and
the leg work required with launching any book. But I’m not burning with ideas
to write another one yet. As history has shown me, when I’m not working/bringing
in money, I’m just not that inspired. A strange dichotomy – you would figure
I’d be bursting with ideas. But the times in my adult life when I wasn’t
working have been pre-occupied with worrying about working again. If I didn’t
have to worry about money? It would surely free up that part of my mind, but
I’ve never experienced that luxury.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">I’m trying to avoid the inevitable – headhunters – but
another month or two of this may force me to contact them. The social-media
method feels like a bit of a mirage, all these jobs for the taking, just click
a button. That simplicity of just clicking a button should clue you in that
something so easy is going to invite overkill. People who aren’t qualified to
do the work but like the company. People with perfectly good, normal jobs who
have talked themselves into hating their workplace. And, of course, those of us
who need to find work, know what we’re doing, have the skills and experience to
prove it, but get lost in the shuffle.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">So, it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be, but I should
have known. Nothing ever is.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-69012897792911843062019-12-01T09:22:00.005-05:002019-12-01T15:17:09.467-05:00Grand Jury Duty: Seeing No Hands and Hearing No Voices<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #008012; font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I spent the month of November in purgatory, i.e., grand jury
duty in Kew Gardens, Queens. A Google search on the word, purgatory: “a place
or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their
sins before going to heaven.” At various times in my life – shortly after 9/11,
hernia surgery, enduring various deaths of people close to me – I was made to
understand that simply walking around freely, sane, and in good health,
represented some form of heaven. We’re usually too dumb to understand this.
Grand jury duty did a nice job of reinforcing this for me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I had no idea what to expect going into this, so let this
serve as a guide to any poor souls who go forth and find themselves ensnared in
this unfortunate circumstance. Having a guide like this would have helped me!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">In mid-July, I received a notice in the mail instructing me
to report to grand jury duty at the Queens County Courthouse in Kew Gardens on
August 5, 2019. This implied an entire month of service, 20 working days. My
story really begins on January 28, 2019 when I was “laid off” from my job at
the bank. I put that in quotes because there’s a long, convoluted, deeply
screwed-up story as to how that happened. This was part of a bank-wide “10% of
staff” layoff for no other reason than the bank had a terrible 2018 fourth
quarter. This is the regrettable, shameful sort of thing corporate America does
now to please shareholders. Suffice to say, when I walked around informing
colleagues that this had happened, I was met with shock and disbelief. But
really, the past few years, we had all witnessed very good to essential coworkers
getting shafted the same way in near-annual mergers and periodic layoffs.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Almost immediately, I was asked to sign a two-month
extension agreement to help my department “move on” without me, i.e., giving me
time to write up my job duties (a roughly 120-page PDF document that accurately
detailed a vast majority of “what I do”) and eventually train a colleague to do
the essential, daily routines. One extension wasn’t enough. They asked me to
sign another. Then another. Then another. By mid-July, I had signed my fourth
extension agreement that would take me up through the end of September.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">That’s important to note, because if I was a prick, I could
have not said a word about this grand jury duty notice and, with signed extension
agreement in hand, forced the Bank to pay me for being out of office for the
month of August. In retrospect, I should have done this! But that’s not my
style. I let the bank know, I had just received the notice and was allowed to
reschedule once. When I did on the Queens County website, I was given a date in
mid-October.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">End of September rolled around, I left the job I had been at
13 years. (The bank claimed I had been there four, as I worked many years on
contract. They short-sheeted the severance accordingly … see previous musings
on corporate America.) It felt pretty good to leave a place that had constant
upheavals and no recognition of my worth. The day before I was set to attend
grand jury duty, I phoned up the court to make sure that this was happening. It
seemed odd to me because my first day would be a Friday. It was lucky I called.
The guy in the jury-duty office informed me that I had been misinformed, that
grand jury duty was a monthly rotation, and the next one would start on
November 4<sup>th</sup>. I heaved a sigh of relief. That book you see
advertised on the upper-right of this website?
Those two weeks gave me enough time to do all the last-minute things one
needs to do to put a book out.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Eventually, the first Monday in November rolled around. I
thought it would be hard to get to Kew Gardens. I found I could get there in
just under an hour: walk 1.25 miles down to the Steinway Street R/M station (in
lieu of taking the clunky Steinway Street bus that always runs late), take the
R/M Train four stops to the Jackson Heights stop, get off there and catch an
express E or F Train that arrived in Kew Gardens in 2/3 quick stops. I had been
to the courthouse once before and knew where to go once I got above ground,
even knew I had to be near the front of the train to avoid crossing major
roadways with long traffic lights.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">When I got there around 8:45, there was a huge line of
people snaking from the side entrance of the courthouse where jurists reported.
I had forgotten that there was a bizarre tourist attraction right next to the
jury entrance: <a href="https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/abandoned-redbird" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">an old “Redbird” subway car</span></b></a>.
You couldn’t go in. But you could walk up a wooden plank, gaze around
and read the informative plaques. Having rode in those cars thousands of times,
it made no sense to me. For one, if it had been realistic, this relic would
have been bombed with graffiti, even the windows, and had McDonalds and Dunkin
Donuts junk scattered around the floor, along with plastic water bottles and
aluminum soda cans. Maybe some unidentifiable brown streaks on the corner seats
where the homeless often slept. There were no tourists in this part of Queens,
and I was never sure why that subway car was there!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I knew the courthouse drill: the long line was due to the
metal detector, the most irritating part of this whole process. I underlined <a href="https://poscathst.blogspot.com/2012/02/jury-duty.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">in this previous post</span></b></a> how deeply offended I was to pass through these things.
Presumably, I cannot be a jurist with a felony crime on my record. What felony
requiring a metal weapon would I then want to commit in a courthouse filled
with armed guards? But never mind – you
grasp how much I hate this horseshit.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">(After my first day of service, I got on Amazon and ordered
a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/JASGOOD-Breathable-Military-Tactical-04-Black/dp/B074XNWLD7/ref=pd_yo_rr_rp_2/137-9274277-1241662?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B074XNWLD7&pd_rd_r=16ef8ee7-f9a9-4d53-bc5f-4da543133c2c&pd_rd_w=rMiDX&pd_rd_wg=6o9o4&pf_rd_p=1052f804-649f-403a-953c-962cca53c537&pf_rd_r=X2EB9FC7MK30B4RMTHH1&psc=1&refRID=X2EB9FC7MK30B4RMTHH1" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">military-style belt with a hard-plastic buckle</span></b></a>. Why? Twice a day, people
wearing belts with metal buckles had to take them off at the metal detector.
That’s a minor irritant for one day, and something I wasn’t going to tolerate
for a month.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">When I got inside, a female guard who had the exact look and
personality of Tank Girl (<b>a<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: red;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_O2MbGWpHYI" target="_blank">s played by Lori Petty in the 1995 movie</a></span></span></b>) made us
file in to take up each empty seat as we arrived. I didn’t know it at the time,
but we were all potential grand jurists, i.e., not a mix of different types of
jurists. They would filter into this room throughout the month – most of them
daily criminal court jurists. By our second week, those daily jurists seemed
like elementary school kids in terms of navigating the courthouse.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">At 9:45 when we were all assembled, a very loud, serious
middle-aged white woman addressed us, laying down the rules. Some people didn’t
understand we were there for a month and left out gasps. She was a no-nonsense
hard ass who told us no excuses unless they’re in writing. She wasn’t as bad as
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ZYlXEUo-Lo" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">R. Lee Ermey in <i>Full Metal Jacket</i></span></b></a>, but she was firmly in line with that
rigid courthouse vibe we all found vaguely nauseating. She then started reading
out our names and asked us to form a line and approach the front desk (now
manned by a handful of staff, not in uniform) and let them know if we had any
issues with our service.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I don’t know how it happened, but a lot of people walked out
of the room after this process. My interview was curt, with a nice older man
who asked me if there was any reason I couldn’t serve. Sure, there was. I had
spent every Thanksgiving of my life back in Pennsylvania with family and
friends. I could not do this with jury service going through the end of the
month. I didn’t even try to pitch a sob story as I had nothing in writing. As I
wasn’t working, I was a perfect candidate. (This meant $40/day, roughly $800
for the month, payable 4-6 weeks after service, although I gather this will be
taxed.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Dozens of people got out that door, although many of them
were sternly warned that they would be notified to serve again in May 2020 or
face serious charges if they failed to show. Most of them appeared to have a
very hard time with English. Some were old and infirmed; they appeared to get a
completely free pass. Some tried to pitch their personal stories with no luck.
One woman wept openly. Some claimed their employers wouldn’t pay them. This bellicose
woman then informed them, call your employers right now and tell them I want to
speak with them. Most of those folks ended up staying. (It’s against New York
state law not to pay employees on jury duty of any sort, even for a month.) In
summary, if you want to get out of grand jury duty, you need to get something
in writing beforehand and be ready to pass this gauntlet.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">About a third of the people who came through the door left.
The rest of us were instructed to follow the head court guard, this elderly
black man who seemed like a nice guy but also a bit flaky, to follow him across
the street to the criminal courthouse to be sworn in. There were just under 100
of us, walking behind this guy as if we were school kids on a field trip.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">We got into the courthouse, which seemed much more “on
guard” then the jurist entrance in the other building and went into a large,
mahogany-wood court room where a very bored judge swore us in. It was also here
where we were split into four parts of 23 jurists, A through D, and these would
be the grand juries for November 2019. When we were all assigned, the judge then
picked out names at random for each group to serve as foreman (with a substitute)
for each part. I heaved a sigh of relief when my name wasn’t read, as I
normally get nailed for senseless shit like this.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">(Later that morning, a secretary and substitute would be
assigned based on volunteers, which two people in our group did. As it turned
out being foreman and secretary were not at all stressful and rote routines by
the second week. The foreman simply swore in witnesses and later read the
charges for our votes; the secretary kept track of our attendance and noted the
votes in a ledger.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">At each step, we were informed of how wonderful we were,
good citizens doing our duty. Conversely, we were occasionally treated like
assholes by the staff, especially at the entrance. But what else is new. We were also given a handbook that covered everything
about the process. This along with the paper badge that was torn from our
notices identified us as grand jurists.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">After the assignments, we all filed out. Parts A and B were
to go back to the original building to serve, while C and D would remain in the
criminal court building. I was in Part A. This was a minor stroke of luck as
the C and D people were relegated to the much stricter, high-volume building,
with the general public using the same main entrance. They also had to vacate
their court room after each session, which meant picking up their stuff and
moving to another room four to eight times a day.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">We filed back to our building, this time going upstairs
instead of into that main jury bullpen room we had been in. We were guided to a
small, non-descript room, painted off white, with a bunch of padded wood chairs
and small judge and witness stands at the front. It felt like a break room, and
I assumed we would sit there until being moved to a much more grand,
traditional court room.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Wrong. That was the grand jury room, where we would spend
the month. There was nothing wrong with it; it just seemed so … undramatic. I
had seen grand juries portrayed on TV: cool lighting, hushed tones, plush
leather seats, dark-wooded court rooms, large windows. This felt more like the
rubber room in high school, where the bad kids went when they were suspended.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The female guard who walked us over turned out to be our
jury guard, a brassy black woman named Brenda. The first week, she wore an
imposing pair of terminator shades that we assumed were part of her no-BS courthouse
psyche. She later stopped wearing them and informed us she had an eye infection
that required the sunglasses. She had a strange job. Part of it was setting us
up so we could function as a grand jury, which took about half an hour on the
first day. She was also a janitor in terms of keeping the water cooler, small refrigerator
and microwave in order, along with the men’s and women’s restrooms off to the
side. She threatened physical violence to anyone who flushed the harder
hand-crank paper down the toilet as that would create a jam and make her life
hell.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Most of her time was spent out in her smaller bullpen,
waiting for Assistant District Attorneys to show up and present the jury with a
case. Her main job was to schedule a steady flow of cases and not overwhelm us
with one case on top of another. (She may have had a lot of other ancillary duties
that we’d never know because we weren’t allowed to go out there, save for
entering and leaving.) The bullpen was a small rectangular area with her desk,
some benches, a small, waist-level door that opened into her bullpen (with
another door leading to our enclosed jury room). She was busy in the morning
and afternoon, and during the long lunches appeared to be watching Netflix on
her laptop. Keep in mind, like any court guard, she was a police officer: gun
in holster on her belt, bullet-proof vest, handcuffs, etc. While she enjoyed bantering
with us … I found it hard to joke around with someone carrying a gun for any
reason. No offense to her. She did everything in her power to keep things
loose.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">We were at the front of the upstairs hall, and Part B was
just down the hall. We never saw them, save for lunch breaks when we were
allowed to use the big jurist bullpen downstairs. Some days that area was
filled with daily jurists, but most days it was just us, with Tank Girl and the
rest of the jury staff in their enclosed office at the front of the room.
Upstairs, the other side of the hall appeared to have numerous offices where
police and staff went in and out, but I was never sure what they were.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">There were 23 of us. As Brenda explained, it was our job to
hear felony cases reported to us by Assistant District Attorneys (ADA’s),
sometimes with witnesses (usually the victim, arresting officer and
detectives), and occasionally defendants with their attorneys. It was our job
to vote whether to go forward with an indictment on the felony charges, which
would require 12 of us to find in favor. The two foremen sat in the judge’s
area at the front of the room, and the two secretaries sat at a wooden table
beneath them. (The water cooler/microwave area was to the right, with a witness
stand on the left before the wall with the restrooms. When the ADA’s presented
a case, they would stand at the entrance to the room right where our seats
began, three rows of chairs on three small terraces. Every time they presented,
they had a court stenographer with them, sitting next to the secretary and two
feet below the witness stand.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Of the 23 people, I took notes one day and came up with this
loose demographic breakdown: seven black people (six women, one man), seven
white (two women, five men), three Asian (all women), three Indian (all women)
and three Hispanic (all women). No one clumped together. There were no
recognizable lines drawn among any demographic. More recognizably, there were
six guys and 17 women. Aside from one loose cannon, the guys kept to
themselves. The average age skewed older, with a handful of clear retirees, and
roughly equal numbers of middle-aged and younger people. The main foreman was a
shy Indian woman, her second an equally shy Hispanic woman. The secretary was a
large, affable white guy, his second a studios black woman.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">We usually kept the same seats as when we first walked in.
The second day, this black woman who would reveal herself as a bit of a nut and
constant questioner, was in “my” seat by the window, which irritated me. I sat
on the other side of the room, weathering a constant barrage of whispers from
the women behind me having a meaningless personal conversation that went on for
two hours. (The next day, I got there early and staked out my seat by the
window. The only black guy sat next to me, a nice, reserved guy who ran his own
party D.J. business. The black woman on the other side of him was equally
pleasant and good to be around. The white guy behind me looked like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4oZCtfmh44" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Patrick Simmons from The Doobie Brothers</span></b></a> and didn’t have much to say.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I should point out the concept of hours. <i>Hours</i>
sometimes passed between cases. We got there at 9:15 in the morning. The
earliest first case we heard was 10:00. Normally, the first case would be closer
to 11:00 or 11:15, quickly followed by another case. This would take us up to
12:00 – 12:30, at which time, we’d have lunch, always until 2:00. Usually there
were two or three cases after lunch. There were times when we would sit there
for two hours between cases with nothing to do, save whatever we brought with
us. I brought along my Kindle and gave it good use for the month, reading
constantly. Some people had laptops, magazines or paperbacks. Sometimes the TV
was on. (I forgot to mention the TV was necessary and stationed next to the
witness stand. There was a laptop attached on a shelf underneath it with a
DVD-R drive that was used heavily for video evidence.) If you weren’t smart
enough to bring something to pass the hours, and many people weren’t, you
stared into space or chattered. I can tell you that having someone whisper a
few feet behind your ear in a stone quiet room makes concentrating on anything
very hard!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Eventually, the TV would get heavy use. One of the white
guys insisted on watching the impeachment hearings during our down time, which
was like watching the two most popular groups in high school have a prolonged
catfight. I shouldn’t be too derogatory. That was like <i>Masterpiece Theatre</i>
compared to <i>The Wendy Williams Show</i> that one of the black women favored.
If it wasn’t that, it was <i>The Kelly Clarkson Show </i>in the afternoon.
Watching either was like getting a colonoscopy without anesthesia.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">It didn’t take long for the cases to come in. Patterns
quickly developed. Many of the ADA’s were attractive women somewhere in their
30s. Why? I don’t have a clue. A few were average looking, but most were
anywhere from reasonably attractive to stunning. The male ADA’s were more
officious, guys who’d been to law school but still liked to high-five each
other. It was their job to tell us stories, create narratives that led us from
the Point A of someone being victimized, through identifying the defendant,
informing us of evidence, apprehending the defendant, then charging us with
full legal definitions of the crime before we voted. (Many were the same
charges with different degrees, sometimes even the same degree with different
legal sub-sections. You had to listen carefully to understand the differences.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Seeing no hands and hearing no voices</i>. That was a
common refrain we grew all too familiar with. Any time an ADA presented a
witness, questioned him or her and then asked if we had any questions … once
all questions were answered, those were the words spoken each time, like a
magical incantation. The witness was excused. Next!</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The cases were rarely a “one and done” process. A few cases
were like that, where the ADA came in, went through this process, and we were
done. Far more often, the cases were presented in two or three parts over the
course of days or weeks, so note-taking on our part was important. I learned
fast to take precise notes, particularly noting dollar amounts, whether or not
the victim ID’d the defendant, the timelines involved, what types of weapons
were used, etc.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Why were they done like this? Clearly, because the ADA’s had
a scheduling nightmare in terms of presenting cases. There were often one or
two witnesses who had to be scheduled to come in, usually an arresting police
officer and often a detective or two who had to testify. Try getting people in
New York just to go out to dinner, then think about how hard it would be to
corral 4-5 of them to appear in court on the same day. Officers and detectives
had to take time from work or come in on their days off. All of them were
rarely scheduled on the same day. Keep in mind, we were charged with indicting
a crime. If the crime actually went to the court? This would happen all over
again, although I gather an officer or detective being summoned to a
criminal/jury case must drop everything and be there as ordered. Also keep in
mind, they didn’t just pull up to the courthouse before their appearance. Many
of these cases were months, sometimes years, old, and they had to sit down with
the ADA’s to review their notes and videos before appearing.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">We all had voluminous pages of notes. I had about six pages,
scrawled on each side, each page divided up into four sections. I was
constantly running out of space. These were crucial on those turnaround days
when we had to revisit a case that we hadn’t seen in two weeks. I could tell by
many of the questions asked, some people weren’t keeping good notes (or simply
didn’t know how to listen).</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The main thing I learned in grand jury duty? Watch yourself
in public: chances are, at least in a major city, you are being filmed. Nearly
every case had video evidence of crimes occurring in public places, or at least
evidence of a defendant going to or coming from a crime scene. The television
got constant use.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The second main thing I learned? If you find yourself a
defendant in a felony case, consider testifying to the grand jury, even when
doing so kills your immunity. Why? Of the dozens of cases we voted on, only a
few were not pushed forward to indictment. A vast majority of them were slam
dunks, people caught in the act, often on camera, and there was no question.
Two of the cases that weren’t put forward were the only cases where defendants
came into court and offered their statements. In each case, the jury went in
with the attitude of “this one is obviously an indictment” … but shortly found
themselves wondering what the hell was going on when they realized there were
two sides to the story.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">And that became a problem for me, although there was nothing
I could do about it. It occurred to me that in these cases, we were hearing
only the prosecution’s side: a carefully-crafted story line to make it appear
that this was an obvious case that demanded to be indicted, a slam dunk.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">That’s not reality. There are two sides to every story?
There are countless sides to every story. If you had a dozen people in an area
witnessing a violent act, each one would have a different story, some wildly so
that it would appear that no one had witnessed the same incident. Keep in mind,
as part of a grand jury duty, we’re witnessing violence. People getting stabbed.
Beat up. Held up. Molested. Or stealing things openly in public. Or breaking
into stores and businesses. Selling illegal substances in public. The cameras
used in those cases made everything relatively clear. Many cases did not have
cameras and only testimony.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Not only that, some of the ADA’s were bad at creating
narratives. I only blew a gasket once in the process, in the third week when,
out of the blue, a witness was brought in identifying the defendant in a case
as someone who had lived in a halfway house in the Bronx. <i>(I’m changing the
particular details of the case so it doesn’t match the actual, active case.)</i>
Apropos of nothing. The victim in the original incident we had viewed had
already ID’d his mugshot. I had no idea why that witness was brought in, other
to visually identify the defendant outside the constraints of the actual crime.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">“How did the detective know to approach the manager of a
halfway house in the Bronx, and why does it matter?” I blurted out. Fellow
jurors looked at me as if I was insane. They were so used to being told what to
do and think by the ADA’s that this weird detour was just something that blew
right by them. What had probably happened was the detective running the case
had researched previous convictions for people committing the same crime in
that part of Queens, came up with the mugshots, narrowed them down to ones that
resembled the defendant, ran the mugshots by the victim for a positive ID, one
matched, tried to find his address, and all he could find was this halfway
house the guy had lived in a year earlier. Why that mattered at all in this
case, I had no idea.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">You see, I’m <i>assuming</i> all this. We’re instructed to
assume nothing and base our findings only on evidence that was presented to us.
Quite often with bad ADA’s, we were not actually shown how the police came to
apprehend the defendant. It was usually
summarized as, “I arrested the defendant on 1/21/19.” I would imagine at the
grand jury stage, this is not as important, but in my mind there were some shady
and inexplicable ways that some of the defendants came to be arrested. At that
stage, the ADA’s were hyper-focused on the crime itself. But in my mind, it was
just as essential to let the jury know exactly how this person was identified
and eventually apprehended.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The Good ADA’s laid out each case as a complete narrative,
making sure the detectives described how they came to apprehend the defendant,
and dotting ever “i” from the moment the crime took place. The bad ones left me shaking my head. Very
often, there were unexplained bits of key research like this by the detectives,
and very few grand jurists seemed to notice or care. They assumed everything they were being told
was unquestionably correct.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">But hearing the defendant’s side of the case each time
resulted in non-indictments. I fully agreed with one of them, an altercation
that got way out of hand. But the other was shaky, with the defendant playing
dumb in hopes the jury would believe his story that implied a friend was far more
responsible for the crime. One of the black women, who had shown her hand a few
times with truly insane questions to the ADA, was yelling out lines like that,
“You know how it is! Snitches get stitches!” She made a few statements
inferring that since the defendant was black, and she was black, she understood
exactly what was going on, i.e., inferring, not basing her lunacy on actual
evidence. A few other women loudly chimed
in, “That’s right! That’s right!” It became more like <i>The Wendy Williams
Show</i> coming out of a commercial break, with the studio audience hooting and
carrying on, than a court room. That was the only genuinely disturbing moment
for me, and it came and went in less than a minute.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">That woman had been stewing the whole time – I knew the
vibe. We were all stewing in there at various points. It’s impossible not to
get wound up and let it out at some point. Many of us had WTF moments where we
either exploded or expressed exasperation with the process (as I had). While
our days ran from 9:30 to 3:30 (4:30 at the latest), often with a two-hour
lunch, I have never felt as mentally drained and exhausted as I have coming
home from grand jury duty. Part of it was the excruciating down time between cases,
but mostly it’s the after-effect of hearing these violent and/or stupid cases,
over and over. A lot of nervous laughter and joking occurred after an
indictment to cover the mild revulsion and horror we were all feeling at being
exposed to this routinely for days on end.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Without fail, the people with the most mediocre minds were
the ones who kept asking questions of the ADA’s. (This was a big process of
raising your hand, getting out of your seat, going down to where the
stenographer sat, and crouching there with the ADA so you could have your
question on record.) Not one question asked ever made sense to me – it was
either obvious or irrelevant. Someone asking a question to determine innocence
or guilt. We weren’t there for that; we were there to determine whether the
case and evidence were strong enough for an indictment for a criminal court to proceed.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Two black women (the one mentioned above), a white woman and
a white guy. Always the same people asking senseless questions. The white guy
got on my nerves. Queens native, older, pot-bellied, claimed to have bad knees
from playing basketball through his adulthood (and he was hobbled). He had an
odd, somehow aggressive face. His mouth appeared to be always slightly open,
and he had hard, downcast eyes. He looked something like a sad clown without
the makeup. Or if one of The Pep Boys had been a mass murderer instead of a
car-parts salesman. Instead of typing texts, he loudly spoke words into his
smartphone to translate to text (in an otherwise silent room). He fancied
himself a deep thinker; we could all tell by his James Patterson paperbacks.
I’ve come to realize James Patterson novels are comic books for white,
middle-aged males. I’ve seen this countless times in offices! <i>Do you read? Yes, I read quite a lot on the Metro North
train when not reading </i>The Wall Street Journal<i>. My favorite author is
James Patterson</i>.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Something about his light Queens accent, that hang-dog face,
the predictable reading material, his inane questions and routine
gerrymandering, made me dislike him. (Without fail, the loudest people on the
grand jury were the most asinine. I indulged once or twice myself but not to
the level of these other folks.) But given the circumstance, I could see this
guy rarely got a chance to pontificate, thus he took it. He didn’t seem like a
bad guy in general; I’d probably like him under different circumstances. But
with a captive audience and an urge to expound? It was a bit much after the
second week.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The only respite for me was walking around Kew Gardens and
Forest Hills at lunch time for two hours daily. Believe me, I walked
everywhere. Any direction you could go from the courthouse, I went. From Parsons
Boulevard to the northeast, down to the huge Maple Grove Cemetery to the east,
northwest along the Grand Central Parkway and the southern edge of Flushing
Meadows Park, south along Austin Street, and as far southwest as Metropolitan
and 71<sup>st</sup> Avenue.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Two incredible neighborhoods! I’ve seen high-end suburbs and
rural suburbs elsewhere. It’s rare to see neighborhoods that nice and well-kept
<i>within</i> subway train distance of Manhattan. I would love to move out
there but damn well know that whole area is out of my league financially. It
was amazing to cut left on grimy Queens Boulevard at, say, Ascan Avenue, then
walk down it, past Austin Street, and see this incredibly upscale, lush
neighborhood of mansions and huge, ornate houses with large yards. There was
also that style to so many buildings - the arched triangular fronts – that’s a
hallmark of what must have been a gilded age in Kew Gardens. I’ll include <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Austin+St+%26+Ascan+Ave,+Queens,+NY+11375/@40.7183324,-73.8405845,3a,75y,208.72h,84.9t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1ssDCo4p205sZbBeHDMWfpPQ!2e0!7i16384!8i8192!4m5!3m4!1s0x89c2609e38c5696f:0x7145cd462ffdeec0!8m2!3d40.7183854!4d-73.8405654" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">a Google street-view map link here</span></b></a>. Follow the camera under the bridge and take
note of the scenery as you navigate down the avenue.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Another nice, unexpected thing I saw: weddings. I had
forgotten that people get married at courthouses. Each day at the main entrance
to our courthouse, there were various wedding parties. Usually young black or Hispanic
couples, sometimes Asian, once even a white couple. Small gatherings, the bride
and groom and a few family members, often small kids holding bouquets. They
were clearly overjoyed, even in the rain, to be getting married at the
courthouse. Almost as important was the hustling dude who had his SUV parked in
front of the courthouse, with his homemade collage poster advertising his
wedding photography business. He sat there each day in the front seat, with a
few plastic bouquets on the shrubbery by the side of the entrance, waiting for
just-married couples to come out with their small, well-dressed parties to see
if they needed his services. Often, they did. I found myself walking, head full
of clouds and recent violent crime footage, only to see these smiling groups of
people thoroughly enjoying themselves on their big day.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Those were the big pluses I took away. Overall? At times, I
felt like grand jury duty was a complete waste of time and money. It is a waste
of time for the jurists, hours and days of down time. A month taken from their
lives. Two weeks seems like a much more reasonable timeframe to me. If I had to
hold down a day job throughout this? The pressure from the duty itself combined
with slipping backwards at my job would have been tremendous. It’s too much to
ask of every-day citizens.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">I ultimately understood why we were there: to save court
costs further on in the legal process. We previewed felony cases so that the
District Attorney’s office could come up with as many applicable criminal
charges as possible. (Nearly every case was overcharged with upwards of six
charges for even the most basic crimes, with multiple degrees of guilt.) I go
the impression this was done so when it came time to present the case to a
judge and ask for the defendant’s plea, a vast majority of the time a plea
bargain would be struck between the District Attorney’s office and the defense
attorney. Thus, a criminal court case in front of a jury would be avoided.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Do you realize how much money that saves in terms of court
fees and the enormous salaries of attorneys, district attorneys and judges?
They’ll be there anyway, but plea bargains help to cut down the number of cases
they handle and help push along what I gather is a deeply stressed and far
behind schedule legal calendar for any criminal court in a major city. We were
serving as the first, much more affordable line of defense in terms of the
ADA’s coming up with a laundry list of charges that would be whittled down, and
probably dropped a few degrees, so that a defendant could make a plea and end
up spending much less time incarcerated than if he had taken the case to trial.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Or maybe I’m just full of shit and don’t know what I’m
talking about!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">The last Friday (after Thanksgiving) we all sat there doing
nothing until 12:30 before receiving our certificates and getting the hell out
of there. My Thanksgiving was completely blown, but I still felt great to know
I wouldn’t be heading back there again. As I left, a few of the older black
women were taking their time to say goodbye to each other. There was a strong
matronly quality to them that I did appreciate throughout the month,
particularly an older woman with dreads and a cane. That last day, she had
dozed off in her chair and started snoring. I only wished I could have turned
off my mind far enough to relax like that and sleep.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">At times, it felt like a complete waste of time. Unless I’m
one of those happy people getting married and posing on the steps, I don’t ever
want to set foot in the Kew Gardens courthouse again. We were told that serving
on a grand jury pushes out our next jurist availability date eight years. I’ll
be damned if ever walk into that courthouse again. I’m feeling a bit numb and
exhausted now, after a month of these shenanigans, and I’m sincerely hoping I
never have to do anything remotely like this again. I did my time.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-1506036278673323962019-10-27T18:36:00.001-04:002019-10-27T21:07:28.619-04:00How You Are: Skipping Through New York City 1987 - 2019<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">After roughly six months of preparation, it's finally here: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-You-Are-Skipping-Through-ebook/dp/B07ZHM2Q8G/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=how+you+are+skipping+through+new+york+city&qid=1572213861&sr=8-3" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">How You Are: Skipping Through New York City 1987 - 2019</span></b></a>.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">It doesn't exactly pick up where <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Skipping-Through-Graveyard-Puke-Stained-Suit-ebook/dp/B0776QSBLM/ref=sr_1_2?qid=1572213944&refinements=p_27%3AWilliam+S.+Repsher&s=digital-text&sr=1-2&text=William+S.+Repsher" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Skipping Through the Graveyard in My Puke-Stained Suit: Growing Up in 1970s Rural Pennsylvania</span></b></a> left off. As I describe in the new book's introduction, college was such a fleeting time. "Real" college, away on my own at a campus, was only two years. An incredible two years, but I'd have a hell of time remembering half of what really happened and haven't documented all that much through the years. I did provide a chapter that glossed over my college years, but I can't really do that period of my life justice.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I can do justice for New York City. I've been here over 30 years and much as with the first book, I eventually realized I had more than enough material to piece together a book. From my first days here, I was writing, often professionally, and I kept it all. Some of the pieces in books come from personal letters and articles that never quite made it with various NYC publications. As I told a friend recently, this book is a junkyard, and if you haven't already guessed, you can build some crazy shit with the help of junkyards.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">The city has changed so much in the past 30 years, radically, something that crept up on me in the early 00s. I began to realize, the place I moved to wasn't the place I was living - mainly in terms of the hyper-gentrification that kicked into higher gear around that time and hasn't let up. I'm not going to tree-stump on this issue, but if I end up leaving New York City, this will be the overwhelming reason. </span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">You can see it in Long Island City. One of the chapters details a friend, James, turning 30, and our celebrating this in a neighborhood Long Island City bar. (This originally appeared as an article in<i> NYPress</i> in early 2002.) I remember being a bit on edge going down to that bar, at night. As I noted, tumbleweeds would have blown through that part of town if NYC had tumbleweeds: vacant lots, taxi-cab dispatchers, parking lots, factories, a few gas stations. It's not fair to say "nothing" was down there, but I just described about 40% of the land area.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I recall a fire at the block of buildings at Roosevelt Plaza just before this in 1999, a frightening experience seeing billowing black smoke that close to the train. That seemed to have signalled something, because just after that, the first luxuy hi-rise was constructed. Then another. Then another. Each one blocked the previous hi-rise's view of Manhattan. Not just there, on the north side of the 7 Train. A massive change started happening on the southern side. Nearly 20 years later, there are dozens of luxury hi-rises dominating the Long Island City skyline, amidst the working- and middle-class people who have lived there for decades. Every time the N Train hangs that low right turn into the Roosevelt Plaza station, I see all those massive, gleaming luxury towers that have overtaken the neighborhood. It's disheartening, to say the least, and I see it every god-damn day.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I'd be shitting bricks if I was living there; hell, I feel the pressure miles north of there in the Ditmars area of Astoria. I heaved a quiet sigh of relief when the Amazon deal was turned down in those empty trainyards in Long Island City; the already sky-high rents around here would have entered San Francisco's impossible stratosphere of overpriced real estate.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">But enough of that. It's an every-day fact of life now for those of us who have lived through decades in this city, and something all of us need to pick up and keep moving with. It's like we're being chased by a wolf pack, and every few months, the pack consumes one of us. My time will surely come! Until then ...</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">I've done the best I can with this book to present the New York City that I know, slightly on the underside, far from down and out. At best? I hope this book invokes the spirit of<i> The Basketball Diairies</i> by Jim Carroll. Not the heroin. But that voice, a hard sense of working-class New York City, of neighborhoods, subways, corner bars and bodegas. I'm not Jimmy Breslin. If anything, I hope the book underlines what it's like for an average American kid to move to a place like this and make it work for him. If my sensibilities are "New York," they are in the sense of any other emigrant coming here and mixing his heritage with the reality of the city he comes to understand.</span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">So, have at it, if you're interested, buy a copy, I'd surely appreciate it. I wish I could dedicate more time to the blog, but I've been working my ass off the past few months to make this happen, and that took over all my spare time. If and when I do get back into this, I'll surely shoot for shorter passages. Thank God I kept this blog going, as it's provided roughly half of each of my last two books. I knew it all meant something; it was just a matter of learning how to present it. I'd like to keep this going, but let me think about how I can do it. In the meantime, let me steal your money ...</span><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-92081894144613922842019-04-21T18:42:00.000-04:002019-04-21T18:42:03.977-04:00Book Update II<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">I've decided to forge ahead and put out a collection of New York stories similar to <i>Skipping Through the Graveyard in My Puke-Stained Suit</i>. Why not. I don't think I can do the same for my college years, although this book will dip back into my college years to show the roots of how I decided to move to New York way back when.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Same set-up: loose collection of pieces, sorted by year, pulling from my various published and unpublished sources. Along with new stuff. I can already see I need to fill in a few blanks about my decade in the Bronx.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">This will take a few months to pull off: a lot of editing. I know how much work this is from last time, so I would guess late summer or the fall. Possibly sooner if I get on top of this early and grind it out.</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">So, stay tuned. I think this will be a good read. A much different emotional landscape and set-up compared to growing up in a rural area in the 1970's. But hopefully it will all make some kind of sense in the end. And it would be nice if I could write here more often. This is sheer laziness on my part: I'll work on it.</span>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-35448946907328777362018-06-27T21:57:00.000-04:002018-06-27T21:57:04.513-04:00Book Update
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Skipping
Through the Graveyard in My Puke-Stained Suit</i>, has been out for roughly seven
months.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>How has my life changed?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">In a nutshell, as Mr. Welker would often say, not much.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sure, it feels great to have it out
there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>People back in that part of
Pennsylvania have told me, it’s good that someone has finally written about here
in a reasonable way.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hell, in any
way!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nostalgic, but no too
nostalgic.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not demeaning, not looking to
take some “Trump/Red State” style dump on the Coal Region.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Reading that sort of nonsense makes me see
red, too.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Anyone raised there is sure
to have some negative feelings about it, as with any working-class neighborhood
or area.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know those people too well, I
know myself too well, to understand that there’s a lot more going on in rural
American than mediocre, desperately out-of-touch nimrods in most media will
ever understand.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Their version of rural
America may as well be rendered in crayon and the size paint brush you’d use on
a house.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">A few people in New York have told me that I should be
contacting the local papers back there, hitting them up with promo copies.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I’m not so keen on that as most of those
papers don’t have any sort of book section, not even an Arts section these days,
and this would be positioned more as a “human interest” story.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">I’m particularly not so keen on the home-county newspaper, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Pottsville Republican</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I graduated from college back in the
80s, I blanketed the country’s magazines and newspaper with my resume and clips
from the campus newspaper.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I got one
writing assignment out of that, for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Musician</i>
magazine (thank you Scott Isler and Bill Flanagan!), about The Georgia
Satellites (just before they broke big with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdpAop7gp0w" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">“Keep Your Hands to Yourself”</span></b></a>).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(More importantly, that was my introduction
to New York City.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Two papers, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Philadelphia Inquirer</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Detroit Free Press</i>, wrote back
enthusiastic, positive letters of support, each running 2-3 pages long – while
not offering jobs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I got one-line
rejection letters from most major newspapers and magazines.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Pottsville Republican</i> ignored me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
had included them on a lark, not really wanting to write for them, but I had
the stamps and envelopes, why not.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
can’t recall any other publication that ignored me with that mailing, but you
better believe I remember my home county newspaper doing so.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Of course, I’m seeing that any sort of publicity is good
publicity when you’re trying to sell books.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But it’s also my attitude that a paper like that isn’t going to set the
world on fire.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If they approached me,
I’d be amenable as I realize most or maybe all people working there now weren’t
around in the 80s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This book isn’t my
livelihood … by a longshot!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This has
helped me see the pay scale for books and how they relate to a person’s life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sell a few hundred or thousand copies, you
can break even, make some nice pocket money, or a tax-return size chunk of
change for sales in the high thousands.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Tens of thousands, you can have this as a respectable side income.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hundreds of thousands, you could probably support
yourself.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Millions, you’ve hit the
jackpot, and time to look at the next mansion over from Stephen King’s in rural
New England (which always seemed to be the high-school daydream for me).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Anyone who writes a book, the secret hope is that he can
make a living doing nothing but that.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But that is such a rare option for so many writers, me included.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As I’ve noted previously, that would be a
“lightning in a bottle” situation, probably involving movie or streaming-service
folks catching wind and throwing money around.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I never know who’s reading this thing (the only way Amazon sale
analytics falls short is in demographics), but I surely can’t count on some
producer in the HBO office reading it and blurting out: “Man, this would make a
great limited series!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The every-day reality for me is the second paragraph, and
it’s not bad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In the past month, sales
have slowed down.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Every quarter, I can
do a “countdown sale” on Amazon, which means pricing the Kindle version of the
book at a buck or two for a week.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s
not even the pricing scheme that matters: it’s getting free publicity as Amazon
will promote the book more visibly in that time period.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There’s always a windfall of sales that week,
although I’m hardly making any money in the sale.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s worth it for the free publicity.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The ads I take out roughly every quarter tend
to be break-even proposition in terms of the sales they generate.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The one heartening aspect of selling a book on Amazon, at
least this one, is that roughly a third of my sales come from Kindle Unlimited,
Amazon’s program that charges readers $9.99/month for the ability to read
thousands of books, mine included.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It
started slowly but really picked up after the first Countdown sale in
January.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For every 300 pages read on
Kindle Unlimited, that’s roughly one digital book sale for me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some days creep along with only 0-50 pages
read. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Other days, I’ll check in and see
500-900 pages read (haven’t hit 1,000 in one day).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That means people are reading all over the
place, seeing an ad, or getting good word of mouth.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not taking too much of a chance: it’s “free”
or at least part of their monthly service payment.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s been the one consistent plus through
this whole experience.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The worst part?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When
you’re an author and you look at your sales page, you can see worldwide
sales.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s right, Kindle will make
your book available on their sites in over a dozen countries.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The problem being, you’re more than likely to
see sales <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only</i> in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> country.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve sold three books in the United Kingdom,
one to someone I know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the other two were
friends of hers!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I know this book would
do well in Ireland as Irish Catholicism, and the subtle (and sometimes not so
subtle) friction between my Protestant mother and dad’s Catholic family are
running themes, along with that black Irish sense of humor I was raised with in
the Coal Region.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">In January, I realized I could get on Kindle UK and order
books as gifts to send to various magazines and publications in Ireland and
England.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So I did, 10 copies to various
Irish newspapers and literary magazines and two newspaper in England, focusing
on book editors in the publications’ reviews sections.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I even picked two prominent Irish-American
newspapers here, both with offices in New York City, and sent them copies.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">I’ve been pissing in the wind: total silence.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t expect to sell books in France or
Spain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I do expect to sell books in the
UK but, for the life of me, I don’t know how at this point.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I buy ad space on Amazon, it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only</i> for the United States, nowhere else,
with no option to buy space internationally.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>This is the one thing that sticks in my craw, probably the only thing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sure, I want the book to take off like a
rocket, but it was just as important to pull it together and make sense of that
time of my life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve been meaning to do
that for years, could sense I had enough stories and material to do this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So I did.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Didn’t want editors monkeying with it.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Didn’t want some false narrative inserted into it, as that’s not how
life works.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Our lives do have a
beginning, middle and end, but as far as I can see, the type of drama you read
in fiction or see in movies is rarely part of our every-day lives.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As I’ve learned, the end leaves a lot to be
desired.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In fact, it scares the shit out
of most people.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I don’t believe our
lives are horror stories or fairy tales with happy endings.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Thus, this book.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Will I do it again? Sure, why not.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I already have a lot of material for another
one, although this one would be fiction, and I already have a few missing
chapters in mind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Completely different
from a memoir, but in my mind, a fun read.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Will I get it out this year?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s
possible.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have to rouse myself from
mid-summer stupor and make it happen.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But give me some time, and I think this thing can happen again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At least now I know how to navigate the Amazon
publishing system. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d still rather do
it this way than deal with publishing houses and editors, assuming that would
even be an option.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve spent so much
time on the outside of that world that I feel perfectly comfortable on my
own.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>About the only thing I envy them
for is the marketing department!</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-74831518384605185652018-04-22T10:57:00.000-04:002018-04-23T07:39:22.647-04:00The Pulitzer Prize and Kendrick Lamar<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">What will those zany members of the Pulitzer Prize committee
come up with next?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>First it was the Nobel Peace Prize committee awarding Bob Dylan for "literature.”<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>(He’s not a poet, unless you own a copy of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tarantula</i>, and if you do, you’re stouter than I. <i>Chronicles</i>, a partial autobiography, is a rambling mess: a fun read, especially for fans, but not Pulitzer material.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Now the Pulitzer committee is giving <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2018/04/regina-carter-kendrick-lamar-pulitzer/558509/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">the prize for music to Kendrick Lamar</span></b></a>, as opposed to some respected-but-obscure jazz or classical musician.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Let me check off the names I’m familiar with in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pulitzer_Prize_for_Music" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">the list of past winners</span></b></a>: Aaron Copeland, Wynton Marsalis, Ornette Colman, Steve Reich and
in 2015, Julia Wolfe for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anthracite
Fields</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I actually went out and
bought this, based on the similar Pennsylvania Coal Region background.<span style="margin: 0px;"> (</span>Unfortunately, it didn’t register with me. I like the fourth movement, "Flowers," but there's a lot of modal choir patterns in the longer pieces that felt repetitious.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I want to listen to more classical and jazz music,
particularly more modern pieces.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I do,
as I go along.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m a provincial in these
areas, but a well-meaning one who wants to learn more.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As opposed to hiphop which, along with the
rest of society, I’ve been bludgeoned with since the mid-90s or so, when the majority of a cool genre devolved into gangsta rap and overbearing
clichés.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s been a major industry since
that time, like any other, like rock or country before it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Much as with rock or country, things get
strange and hollow when they become industry and dominate the culture.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It would be nice to walk past a jeep with
blacked-out windows and hear bass-heavy Mozart blasting from the speakers, but
come on now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I hadn’t realized the monetary reward for the Pulitzer was
$15,000 … which Lamar could spend in one night in the VIP section of a
trendy L.A. night club.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That sort of
money can probably make a huge difference for a classical or jazz musician
struggling to make ends meet.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I’m sure the cultural exposure puts a few more asses in seats, which is
what it’s all about for performing artists.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The whole endeavor feels hollow and self-congratulatory,
like any other prize, be they Oscars or Nobel Peace Prizes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It feels like it’s given more to prove how
wonderful, insightful and all-encompassing the august group of people giving
the award are, as opposed to the artists themselves or their work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A look at <a href="http://www.pulitzer.org/board/2018" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">the Pulitzer Board</span></b></a> reads like an
Upper West Side wine-and-cheese fund raiser for Bernie Sanders.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Shamefully, a majority are New Yorkers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Gail Collins?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Do you really picture her listening to Kendrick Lamar?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And do you picture her or any of these women being
OK with being called “bitch” as a matter of course (as is the case in Lamar’s
lyrics)?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m certain their explanations
would be the usual condescending “different cultural qualifiers” tripe that
subtly creates lowered expectations for off-white people and holds white people
who don’t agree with them to irrational standards.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(You would be taking your life in your hands
to call any of countless number of women I’ve worked with in NYC “bitch." This is abhorrent behavior in our every-day lives, particularly at work. Why is it OK in this instance?)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The comments sections of publications and message boards
have been the predictable shootouts between older, white rock fans and younger,
white hiphop fans.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Or even worse, <a href="http://poscathst.blogspot.com/2013/04/nostalgia-in-sheeps-clothing.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">this type of person</span></b></a>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was writing about indie
rock snobs in that piece, but college-educated hiphop snobs fall roughly into
the same category.<span style="margin: 0px;"> (All those 90s kids wearing sideways baseball hats are now around 40.) </span>With the caveat that
they’re “of the people” because they’re championing a genre that’s selling in
the overall culture.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But not omniscient
in that old way we were raised to believe in with 60s and 70s rock.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Those days are gone.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m certain that I’m oblivious of the Top 10
hiphop acts of the past few years.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Most
people are.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If I’m aware of them, it’s
because they’re being hyped ad nauseum via reality shows or social-media fanned
negative press coverage.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Like most sane
people, I don’t pay attention to things that don’t appeal to me.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I’ve seen more than a few incidents where the offended hiphop
fan, having his unquestionable taste called into question, quotes direct lyrics,
often for the entire track.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Supposedly
for the lyrics they consider the best Lamar has to offer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I actually <a href="https://genius.com/discussions/31337-Best-kendrick-lamar-lines" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">found a few sites</span></b></a> that let the
fans state their favorites.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Maybe it’s like comedy?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>When someone describes it to you, the humor somehow disappears?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m reading those lyrics, and all I’m
seeing is the blustery, violent posturing that decades in NYC has taught me is adolescent male insecurity, half-assed
political statements that sound like someone drunk spouting off, and shallow
self-aggrandizing that has always annoyed me with hiphop.<span style="margin: 0px;"> And the occasional good one-liners and rhymes! </span>I’m reading a lot of emptiness, a lot of lines that sound like they're trying to impart something important but are actually saying nothing important.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Let’s not forget the silly cultural references
to products, movies and TV shows … which a lot of people seem to mistake for brilliance.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It just means the dude had the TV on when he
wrote the lyrics.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">And that’s fine.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Most
lyrics do not stand alone when separated from the music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> (The music I've sampled on youtube is OK, the usual repetitious riffs that hiphop employs that are boring more often than not, but sometimes pretty cool and inventive. Lack of melody or memorable choruses are what turn off most rock fans. Cool production touches and smart musical references are two of the few things I like about most hiphop.) P</span>eople like Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen wrote far better lyrics than this, but even with them, you read their lyrics on the printed
page, they’re not anywhere near as meaningful without the music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Lyrics are not poetry.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They’re not meant to be.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If Lamar’s lyrics read like gibberish to
me?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Well, so do David Bowie’s lyrics,
although I find Bowie’s music far more compelling that anything in the history of hiphop.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Little Richard sounds like a mental patient in
his lyrics.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His music changed the world.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">So, I can accept that and expect the usual defensiveness you
get with fans of any genre when someone points out that the emperor isn’t
wearing any clothes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All emperors stand
naked to anyone who simply doesn’t subscribe to what the emperors put forth as
common wisdom.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Millions of people get this?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s true.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Millions of people got Arrested Development and De La Soul, too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For however many of millions got it, there
are far more people who didn’t get it. Or who got it, and time marched on. (The great lesson most rock fans learn as they age: yes, time even marches on your favorite artists you thought would last forever. Very few do.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #0b5394; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">That's </span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">taken me decades to wrap my mind
around as a rock fan.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not everyone gets
it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not everyone is on your
wavelength.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Especially with music, which
tends to intertwine itself with pop culture of given time periods and specific age groups of the fans.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It might
stand the test of time in your life, but most lives, it won’t.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Very little does. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The problem with hiphop tends to be the
avalanche of words in each track … there’s often nothing solid to
grab onto over the course of time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s
the key to people listening to something decades later: something identifiable
in a piece of music, something that really stands out, grabs the listener.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In the case of music, it’s usually a melody
or a riff, a memorable chorus, something that makes sense to people beyond the immediate
fans.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There’s very little of that in
hiphop, which is why older artists tend to get ploughed over.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe it says something about me, but the
most memorable thing about Public Enemy to me is that screeching sound in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vQaVIoEjOM" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">“Don’t Believe the Hype.”</span></b></a><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Believe me, when I
was new in NYC, living in the Bronx, the summer of 1988, all you could hear blasting from cars was that sound!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">At that time, I was a lot more amenable to exploring that sound.
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Decades on, I’ve done the same dance too
many times, with the overall culture, with critics, with white hiphop fans
acting like they need to educate me, when I spent close to a decade living in a
neighborhood they would never set foot in.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I recall Chuck D. stating that hiphop was CNN for black America.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It seemed more like The Cartoon Network, or at least became that in a hurry.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I was living there and didn’t need him, much less an army of white suburban shitheads, to define my
experience.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All I was seeing was poor
black and hispanic people in much the same boat as the poor white people I had
left behind in rural Pennsylvania.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
they were being encouraged to ignore and hate each other with horseshit like hiphop
fanhood and divisive politics, rather than recognize they had much more in
common.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It goes on today, maybe even
worse given Trump’s berserk victory. (If the working and under classes of America ever get on the same page culturally and politically, look out. But that won't happen any time soon. I don't see too many white liberals with any understanding of the white working class, nor non-white people who are politically engaged but can't seem to recognize this important bridge that needs to be crossed.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">On one hand, it feels like an empty gesture for the Pulitzer
Prize committee to give a music award to a hiphop artist.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Much as with the Nobel Peace Prize in literature for Bob
Dylan.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They’re trying to generate hype
for their prize, and it seems as though they’ve shied away from hype over the
course of decades.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Why now?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe there’s a younger wave of voters on the
committees, and they feel a need to make a point, to “move with the times”?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d say it would be just as intriguing to
pull the same stunt with a country act, but tip of the hat to Kendrick Lamar and hiphop in general, there is nobody on a mass level in
country doing anything remotely interesting these days (nobody in rock either).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Plenty of cool stuff going on in alt.
country, but I don’t want to come off sounding like one of those white hiphop-fan jackasses preaching about “underground hiphop” and how much better it is.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">On the other hand, yeah, this is pretty interesting, not a
bad move. I don’t particularly like the guy’s work, it sounds false to me, then again, a lot of hiphop does, and has since the mid-90s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s all right to recognize a lot of kids and
young adults do get this guy on some important level that makes no sense to me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s
fruitless to say I don’t get everything.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s obvious.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When you really
understand music, the depth of it, how many hundreds of genres there are, how
many decades and centuries of history there are with some genres, how many artists have come and gone in the history of the world … I’m OK
with accepting that I “get” maybe a dozen genres and a number of artists
somewhere in the high hundreds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I’m
someone who pays far more attention to music than your average fan of any
genre.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The more you learn, the less you
know. I suspect understanding how dumb you are probably prevents one from being nominated to join organizations like Pulitzer Prize committees!</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-70472511307150176932018-03-24T14:54:00.000-04:002018-03-24T19:03:24.071-04:00Blue Mountain and a Bucket or Rocks<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Well, get ready for the anti-rural Pennsylvania
pile-on.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I just read the story about <a href="http://wnep.com/2018/03/22/superintendent-says-students-are-armed-with-rocks-in-case-of-a-school-shooting/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>the school superintendent at Blue Mountain High School</b> </span></a>suggesting that having each
classroom equipped with a bucket of “river stones” to throw at potential school
shooters is somehow a valid defense against this ongoing wave of semi-automatic,
schoolhouse genocide.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The really strange part of this for me?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You need to be from there to gather this (and
I am from Schuylkill County).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Blue
Mountain is, by far, the best school district for miles around, in county or
out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I didn’t go there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In fact, I often disliked kids from Blue
Mountain when I ran into them my two years at the Penn State branch campus in
Schuylkill Haven.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Blue Mountain is to
Schuylkill Haven as Cinderella is to her sisters.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There might have been Catholic schools that
rivaled Blue Mountain for academic excellence, but this was a public
school.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They were always the best high
school in the county, and they still are now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Those kids would carry around a sense of entitlement on
campus, and it was irritating.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Actually,
the Pottsville kids, too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Pottsville is
the county seat, and I would guess the largest school in the county.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was that “south of the mountain”
smugness.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Schuylkill County is divided
in half by the Broad Mountain, with the general concept that the north half is
a bunch of factory-working rednecks, and the south side the more refined “upper
class” of the working-class county.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>There really is no comparable community or school on the north side to
Blue Mountain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then again, there are south-side
towns like Minersville, St. Clair and Pine Grove, among others, that are
virtually identical to “north of the mountain” towns.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s possible the dichotomy exists because of
the infamy of Shenandoah, the north-side town permanently known for its
well-earned, rough-and-tumble image. Call it the antidote to Blue Mountain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That ‘Chendo toughness embellishes the entire
“north of the mountain” image.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Some of the Blue Mountain kids would carry themselves around
with that “Big Man on Campus” vibe.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
were from the best school district, and the Penn State branch campus was in
their backyard, on the edge of Schuylkill Haven, just down the road on Route 61
from their tasteful country homes, usually helmed by two college-educated
parents.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The thing is, when I got out of
high school, I was hoping to ditch that vibe, anything to do with one bunch of
kids seeing themselves as superior to all others, a malady that made high
school such a shit endeavor.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I recall one English class, reading some forgotten passage
out loud, and two kids from Blue Mountain snickering at me for my Coal Region
accent.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I would later befriend these
guys, but they came off like<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2j9u7iDwdI" target="_blank"> <b><span style="color: red;">James Spader in an 80s teen flick</span></b></a><b><span style="color: red;"> </span></b>when I first met
them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Never mind that I left that place
with a 3.9 grade average, one of those guys flunked out and the other muddled
through on the six-year party plan.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
their minds, I was a redneck because of the accent and where it indicated I was
from.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(As it turned out, my eclectic
taste in music, particularly all those great 80s indie bands, cemented our friendship.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">In my book, I get into being on the golf team, and how we
always got out asses horrendously whipped when we played at the prestigious,
much-harder golf course at the Schuylkill Country Club.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This was Blue Mountain, and those kids were
raised playing that course.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Us playing
there was like the scene in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Caddyshack</i>
where the caddies take over the country-club swimming pool for the
afternoon.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We didn’t belong there, in
more ways than one!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Moving on to the main Penn State campus, then the world in
general, then New York City … I look back now on that whole north/south of the
mountain divide and laugh.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It is
laughable in the overall scheme of the world, but I’m sure, is still a very
real thing for the people who live there.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It might be a matter of degrees, but it matters.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s why I was mildly surprised to see Blue
Mountain in this news story about the “bucket of rocks vs. AR-15 assault rifle”
insanity.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If the story had said Tamaqua,
Schuylkill Haven, Shenandoah or any other town around there?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Yeah, that would have made more sense in my
mind.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But Blue Mountain?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The gem of the county?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I suspect people not from there think that
school superintendent is some Li’l Abner caricature, running around in bib
overalls and a jug with XXX on it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not
realizing that’s an extremely smart individual running a highly competent
school district.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>How this bucket of
rocks thing entered his mind, I don’t have a clue!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">It’s not fair to say I hate it when people dump on rural
Pennsylvania.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I do it myself
sometimes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And I think about it <a href="http://poscathst.blogspot.com/2016/11/the-redneck-mystique-6-right-turn-clyde.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">all the time</span></b></a>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The people in cities who dump on
places like this, who aren’t from there, I can see, these people often don’t
know shit about life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They think they
do, but this vast blind spot concerning working-class white people, when they
are white, too, tells me so much more about them than anything else that will
come out of their mouths.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It bothers me
much more when people who are from there, who know that environment, dump on it,
unapologetically, all the time, no looking back, fuck that place, fuck those
people, I’m in a much better place, thank you very much, look at me now, so
much better than all those dumb hillbillies.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">No.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Just no.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You can’t reject your roots: know who you
are.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I probably entertained those kinds
of thoughts straight out of college, in my mid-20s, but I quickly came to
realize, there’s just as many bad, shitty aspects of life you run into no
matter where you live, particularly cities, with their own special brands of
darkness and stupidity.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We’d all be wise
to erase this upper-middle-class, suburban world view from our lives.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s sterile and reeks of all the false
values I’ve come to reject in my adult life.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s permanent high school and the rigid caste system that ragged,
immature way of life implies.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Of
course, I recognize this is America now and will go on being this way for a
long time.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">As for guns and Pennsylvania – guns and any rural area in
America – don’t get me started.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m all
for anyone in America having hunting rifles, antique guns, even hand guns or a
shotgun for home protection.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Let’s make
another constitutional amendment to protect every American’s right to always
own this level of weaponry if he so chooses.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But let’s get rid of everything else.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>If you’re worried about “the government” breaking down your door and
taking you prisoner all because you’re not toting semi-automatic weapons and
semi’s converted to machine guns, you don’t need to find yourself another
country.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You need to find yourself
another fucking planet.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If the “end
times” come, the survivalists are right, and these armed-to-the-teeth militants
are the only ones surviving in their bunkers?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Ask yourself if you want to live with these folks.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d rather go down fighting hand-to-hand with
the killer cyborg robots, winged skulls and nuclear mutants.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The last few years when I’ve visited Pennsylvania, I’ve noticed
something alarming.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In terms of gun
ownership, I’m not crazy about one man owning dozens of guns.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It suggests a level of fear and constant
state of paranoia that seems debilitating.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But I can surely live with that.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I have to – it’s the way things are in America for a lot of frightened,
deeply intimidated men.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(This is the
greatest ruse, something I learned boxing: self defense is fear.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe fear that is entirely justified.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But fear nonetheless.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When you can admit that to yourself, that’s
when the lightbulb goes on over your head.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s all right to be afraid.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
can live with the outrageous levels of gun ownership, but I’m having a hard
time living with <a href="http://www.pafoa.org/law/carrying-firearms/open-carry/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">the open-carry law</span></b></a>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I wouldn’t mind this so much if the few times I saw people
carrying guns in public they were staunch, dependable, John Wayne types.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But that hasn’t been the case.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The first time, my brother and I were getting
ice and hot coffee for the road at a Sheetz in Cressona, PA.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Somebody called out my brother’s name, we
turned to see a chunky dude in a camo hooded sweatshirt and pajama pants approaching
him … with a .38 special holstered on his hip.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Apparently, this was one of my brother’s former coworkers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He had been fired for exceeding his absence
level at work (which takes some doing), was known as a bit of nut.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I really needed no background on this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I could see in his eyes, no one was home,
much less hearing him speak and realizing this guy had mental problems, surely
not enough to be institutionalized, but enough for daily meds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And he’s openly carrying a hand gun in
public?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The handful of times I’ve seen this since then, while I
didn’t have this level of direct contact with the person, I wasn’t overly
enthused to see some hard-edged, scowling, middle-aged dude sporting a
holstered hand-gun on his hip … in the St. Clair Walmart parking lot … walking
down the main street of Ashland … coming out of a Dunkin Donuts in Shamokin,
etc.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Like we were in the Old West, and
this guy was going to have to draw on a cigarillo-smoking desperado in black.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You can read me off all the statistics you
want.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This is way out of bounds and
totally unnecessary.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve lived in New
York since 1987 and lived in a crack-ridded neighborhood in the Bronx from ’87
to ’97.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If I put myself in the mindset
of these dudes openly carrying guns in a comparatively safe rural area, I would
have been walking around with a flamethrower those 10 years.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It wasn’t unusual to hear gunshots in the
distance at night in that neighborhood, and there were a few notorious murders
in my neighborhood.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You learned fast
what to do and what not to do to avoid trouble.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Your mind</i> was your greatest
weapon, developing the traits and abilities to avoid meaningless, violent
confrontation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not a gun.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Granted, there are situations, urban or
rural, where a gun could save your life, but they’re surely not an every-day
aspect of existence, and something I’ve thankfully yet to encounter.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">So, think about the superintendent and the bucket of rocks
in Blue Mountain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If anything, this is
the antithesis of our gun-crazy culture, albeit more than a bit nuts.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Biblical in a sense, like Davey slinging
rocks at Goliath?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Only in this case, I’d
rather not go up against some deranged 15-year-old with an AR-15 assault rifle
… with a bucket of rocks.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t like
those odds!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nor do I like the concept of
arming teachers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Teachers don’t strive
to obtain their degrees and dedicate their lives to broadening the
possibilities for children with the thought of one day gunning them down in a
crisis situation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The concept of armed
teachers is the antithesis of education: it’s more like prison.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And the few teachers I knew in high school
that would have been comfortable handling guns in school were people who scared
me nearly as much as the thought of some unhinged kid on a shooting spree.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Then again, there’s a lot I no longer understand about high
school and this horrible, dark strain of shootings that has somehow become
normal in our society.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We used to have
fire drills.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The bigger end of the
baby-boom generation, those kids would have nuclear-attack drills, hiding
under their desks when the alarm went off, waiting for Russian warheads to rain down on them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kids are doing the same
thing now, only they’re hiding under their desks when the alarm goes off,
waiting for a psychotic American teenager with a semi-automatic weapon to kill
them.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">A few years back, when we were staging our 20<sup>th</sup>
high-school reunion, I went back to the high school for an informal tour.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(The concept was to gather as many people as
possible the Friday before a Fourth of July weekend, but I was the only person
who turned up!) <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I hadn’t set foot in the
high school since graduating.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Approaching the front door, I was shocked to realize it was locked down
(even in July).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There was a camera on
the far wall overlooking the far-left door, which appeared to have a
buzzer/intercom set-up.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I pressed it,
announced who I was and why I was there.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The woman at the front desk in the office buzzed me in, then escorted me
to wait for the principal.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The tour went fine.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It
was amazing to walk through that place again and have the teacher guiding me
grasp that not a lot had changed culturally there in the past 20 years.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But that front-door buzzer stuck with
me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Back in the 70s and early 80s, you
just walked right in or out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There was
no need for lock downs, shooter drills or armed guards.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then again, at that point in history, there
were relatively few, if any, school shootings on record, and only a handful of
mass shootings serving as templates for what would become societal norms
decades later.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Is there something wrong
in our society that horrible scenarios are now the norm?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Obviously.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And the concept of dozens of people, particularly kids, being murdered,
would be a lot harder to envision without semi-automatic weapons.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Imagine what <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Whitman" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Charles Whitman would have done in that tower in Austin in 1966</span></b></a> if he had one instead of a hunting rifle.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then again, you don’t have to, as Stephen
Paddock did just the same in 2017 in Las Vegas, killing 58 people and wounding
422 others.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A bucket of rocks doesn’t
seem any more or less sane against those kind of numbers.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="color: #351c75;"></span>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-13313664112358891082018-02-19T12:28:00.003-05:002018-02-19T23:10:58.645-05:00Meet the Beatles<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Of course, I never actually met them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was born when they broke big in America, a
toddler for their entire existence, and a large McCartney/Wings fan through the
70s.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">It seemed like getting into music as a kid in the 70s,
the one hallmark all serious fans of that time held: going through the
Beatles phase.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That initial blast where
it became clear to the young listener: my God, this stuff is over a decade old
and sounds as alive and interesting as anything going on now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I’ve had that similar music experience many times over with
other bands and kinds of music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A real surprise
as an adult has been hearing live blues and jazz albums from the 50s and 60s,
knowing they were recorded in the most rudimentary ways possible, and the music
sounds so immediate that you feel like you’re in the audience.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Compare and contrast with your average
Rolling Stones live album that sounds like a fuzz machine echoing through a
stadium.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I had brushes with The Beatles as a small child.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As noted in the book, “Hey Jude” became a
childhood staple at neighbor Bubba’s house, plundering his older brother’s
collection while he was fighting in Vietnam.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And the pool parties where some kid would lay the needle down on the
portable record player at the start of that 45’s flipside, “Revolution,” and
we’d time our jumps into the pool with Lennon’s opening scream.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The first real blast of Beatledom came with Brother J and me
pining over the recently-released Blue and Red compilation albums in 1975.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They came out in 1973, but it wasn’t until
then that both of us were thinking, “Man, we should own these things.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We didn’t know where to start with The Beatles
in terms of albums.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Their 70s
revisionist era was just beginning, where their songs would be repackaged in
all sorts of bizarre ways.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I recall
their “rock and roll” songs being packaged as a collection. Their “love songs”
as another.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The “Hollywood Bowl”
recordings.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Almost immediately issued in
the shitbins was “The Beatles at the Star Club” – a recording of their rowdy Hamburg
shows pre-stardom.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Brother J made the
mistake of buying that in the late 70s … it was the worst pile of shit we’d
ever heard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve since seen some
revisionist history on this bootleg … they’re wrong.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s recorded and sounds like shit.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The Blue and Red albums kept looking us in the face every
tie we went into Woolworth’s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Double
albums.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can’t recall the pricing, but
it was reasonable, around $10.00 for each.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>So, we kept mowing lawns, saved up, and eventually made those albums
ours, probably in the spring of 1975.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I was immediately struck by how much more I liked the Blue
album (1967 onward).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This sounded like
the music I was listening to in real time.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Their influence was so strong that mainstream music would go on sounding
like their varied takes on pop music for well over a decade, surely into the
early 80s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(And that’s just in terms of
cultural dominance … there have always been melodic pop/rock bands since then,
if not dominating the charts.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I Am the
Walrus” and “A Day in the Life” were far more out there than most music I was
hearing on 70s AOR radio.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nearly every
track had a timeless feel to it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The Red album didn’t register nearly as well, probably
because the recordings were more basic and raw, and only started to evolve
production-wise leaning into 1966 (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rubber
Soul</i> leading into <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Revolver</i>).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve since come to realize those two albums
are the apex for me and The Beatles, where they were all on the same page,
still seeing themselves as one band, creatively intertwined, putting out pop
music that would be influential decades later, without any hazy psychedelic
shadings, a few leaps beyond the early boy/girl stuff.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In 1974 I was thinking, meh, whatever.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I didn’t realize that “In My Life” was
Lennon’s direct take on Smokey Robinson and demonstrated his growth as a
lyricist.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Eleanor Rigby”?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Yeah, cool.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I didn’t realize that no one in the rock world was doing this, putting
out a track with only vocals and classical backing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Orchestras had crept into rock music in the
late 50s, with The Drifters and Phil Spector working
them into arrangements.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But not like
this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m shocked listening to “Eleanor
Rigby” now – this was groundbreaking material at the time.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Of course, the early boy/girl material left me cold at the
time, just sounded silly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I still feel
that way, although to a much lesser extent.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>You could hear them breaking ground almost immediately – the fuzz guitar
in “I Feel Fine,” Lennon’s lyrical genius in “Help” – but I don’t think they shifted
into creative overdrive until after the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Help</i>
album, later in 1965, where they really started learning their strengths and
how to use the studio with George Martin.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">This was the perfect musical schooling for an 11-year-old
boy just getting into music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Other kids
were doing it, too, and I was always tuned into when that was happening.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Those kids were either musicians themselves,
or smart kids who understood that Styx, Boston and REO Speedwagon weren’t
created in a vacuum.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Old friend Tony was
a budding guitarist, way into heavy metal, but he knew, The Beatles were a band
he needed to hear.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And it wasn’t like we
were in a Beatles-only musical world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We
were surrounded by Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd in their 70s prime, The Who,
Kinks and Stones still putting out reasonably good material.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Dozens of bands putting out good-to-great
material.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Bands like Fleetwood Mac and
Supertramp were putting out top-shelf pop albums that many considered Top 40
fluff because it was such a normal occurrence back then.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>While 70s AOR radio was becoming dull in
terms of repetitively playing the same tracks over and over (it took me decades
to appreciate Jethro Tull again), there was a time, up through the late 70s,
where you could still hear an amazingly large variety of 60s/70s pop rock being
played routinely.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It became a
teenage/young adult culture unto itself that many of us still identify with strongly.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">But in terms of The Beatles, for my first few years as a rock fan,
those two albums were it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If a song
wasn’t on those two albums, chances are we weren’t hearing it on the radio.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As we didn’t have the full albums, there was
a vast sea of Beatles material we knew little to nothing about.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I still remember hearing “We Can Work It Out” on the radio
one day and thinking it was a new McCartney song, not realizing it was a decade
old, and that was clearly Lennon on the harmony vocal.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ditto, “If I Fell,” which wasn’t on the Red
Album, but should have been.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A wonderful
pop song that blew my mind the first time I heard it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I knew it was The Beatles, but I didn’t know
where it was coming from!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The first non-Blue/Red album bought was based solely on
economics.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let It Be</i> album was in the shit bins for much of the early/mid 70s,
at least at Woolworth’s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve since seen
conjecture that this was because bootleggers were pumping out thousands of fake
copies to record distributors, more than stores could handle, so they’d dump
the album into the bargain bins at the front of every record store or section.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I don’t know about that.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The copy Brother J bought for $0.99 at Woolworth’s looked like a
legitimate Apple release.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What I do
remember is that rock fans at that time looked down on the album because it
sounded half-assed and unfinished compared to the last album they released in
the fall of 1969, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Abbey Road</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let It
Be</i> came out in early 1970, although it had been recorded a year earlier and
then shelved because no one quite knew how to salvage the project (their
attempt to “get back” to a more basic sound … although you can surely hear the
same desire on many songs on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The White
Album</i>).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I suspect record stores
dumped it into the cheap bin, bootleg or not, because of that reputation among the
fans.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Imagine my surprise to drop the needle on “Two of Us” and
hear what would become one of my favorite Beatles track.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can’t say that for the entire album,
although I’ve grown to love it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>What
really grabbed me was George’s guitar solo on “Let It Be,” sounding so much more
raw and alive than the thick/bouncy, Leslie-speaker version on the Blue album.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">But that album let me know: if all I knew was the Red and
Blue albums, there was a truckload of material with the Beatles that I didn’t
have a clue on.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">It wasn’t until 1980 or so, when Brother J came back home
one weekend from his junior year at Penn State, that I finally heard <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Abbey Road</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I knew the hits that appeared on the Blue
album.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(I even knew one-offs like “Old
Brown Shoe” and “The Ballad of John and Yoko.”)<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But I’d never heard “I Want You (She’s So Heavy),” “Oh! Darling,”
“Because” or any of the medley tracks.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>This was the second time I was absolutely floored by a Beatles
album.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My head split open, and doves
flew out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I couldn’t believe how good
this album was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I remember coming
downstairs after listening to it for the first time on headphones and telling
J, “That’s the best album I’m ever going to hear.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">And it could be, despite horseshit like “Maxwell’s Silver
Hammer” and “Octopus Garden” appearing on it.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>(Sidenote: I can see why George Harrison was glad to leave the
band.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can picture him offering “All
Things Must Pass,” “My Sweet Lord” and “Isn’t It a Pity” to the band, and Paul
responding, “I don’t know, mate, I think we should do about 300 takes of
“Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and use that instead. We already spotted you ‘Something’
and ‘Here Comes the Sun’ – isn’t that enough?”)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I should mention J had already bought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sgt. Pepper’s</i> by that point, which didn’t blow my mind nearly as
much (although I recognized I was supposed to view it on a higher level at that
time).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve never thought much of tracks
like “Fixing a Hole,” “Getting Better,” or “Lovely Rita.” Among others.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Half that album is filler.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Of course, the other half is
mind-bending.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But, again, I was shitting
my diapers in 1967 … I can recognize now, especially given the overall vibe of
the summer of that year, that this album changed the world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ditto, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Magical
Mystery Tour</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(This would lead into
J buying the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yellow Submarine</i> album,
and being mad as hell to realize side two was bullshit orchestrations from the
terrible animated movie that put us to sleep.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Still, we came away with “Hey Bulldog,” which was worth it.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I should note, after the Blue and Red albums, J was buying
these albums with his own money.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
really picked up the flag with The Beatles, not to mention getting the ball
rolling with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hot Rocks and Phased Cookies</i>
from The Rolling Stones.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The problems
with all these compilations were they left out so much great material,
legendary album tracks, that it would take us a few years to mine out for
ourselves being born slightly too late to assimilate these albums in real time.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">J did the same with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
White Album</i> shortly thereafter, and that was another mind-opening
experience, despite the sprawl of that collection.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I hadn’t heard “Dear Prudence” until the late
70s … why weren’t they playing this on the radio?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I had no idea.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>AOR radio would never play tracks like
“Julia” or “I Will” – songs that now strike me as real gems.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>About the only track I remember radio playing
routinely was “Birthday” as background music to rock-star birthday
announcements followed by four-song “super sets” or “rock blocks” as they were
often called.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">It seems strange to me now that I wasn’t immediately gobbling
up these albums in the mid-70s after that Blue/Red introduction, but those were
different times.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It took time to save up
money for albums, and back then, we didn’t know what we were buying.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(We were also buying a ton of great albums in
real time.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If songs weren’t being
played on the radio, or if a friend hadn’t bought the album on eight track or
vinyl, we didn’t hear them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ever.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If the internet existed back then (especially
as it existed in the downloading bonanza days of the early 00s)?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I would have downloaded the Beatles entire
catalog in one afternoon and tried to absorb it all in a few weeks.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I can see now how insane a method of music appreciation this
is, how crazy our world has become, an embarrassment of riches, so much wealth
that we just don’t’ have the time, patience or right frames of mind to
understand and slowly develop an appreciation for it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It took me weeks to absorb one Beatles album,
years to get a grasp of what the band meant.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>That sort of slow, careful nurturing fans would develop with a band or
recording artists seems like a thing of the past now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s not an age thing either.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I find myself doing the same now with bands I
stumble over, loving a track, sampling the album, buying the album, realizing
the band has a five-album back catalog, and knocking those off in very short
order.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s too hard not to do this when
it’s there for the taking!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">(Don’t get me started on streaming music in this
context.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Yes, you can pull up a band’s
entire catalog in seconds and listen to the whole thing in hours.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You love it?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Like nothing else you’ve ever heard? <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Great.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You’re
renting this music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If for any reason
that music is dropped form your streaming service, it’s gone from your
life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Never mind going further and finding
bootlegs and live shows: not on there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s one of the larger issues I have with the media format, and not the only
one.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It surely fills the needs of casual
fans, and that’s what I have to realize.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Most fans are casual, the real problem of the music industry: trying to develop lasting, passionate music fans when so much of their income is dependent on casual fans and then their waning senses of nostalgia.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">As it was, we pieced together the Beatles entire catalog,
probably over the course of a decade from the mid-70s to the mid-80s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The last to fall, of course, were those early
albums we shunned, and those tended to be cursory experiences, not the
revelations of their post-1967 career.<span style="margin: 0px;"> T</span>here were moments with each.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Hearing “And Your Bird Can Sing” and loving George’s guitar work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Lennon doing his thing for the first time on
“I’m a Loser.” The genuine energy from both Paul's and John's vocals on "Twist and Shout."</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">We were buying solo Beatles material every step of the
way.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Especially McCartney.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>After <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Band
on the Run</i> came out, he took over the 70s.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>That album was as great in its own way as any Beatles album: the essence
of McCartney perfectly captured in one album.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>You can say the same for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Plastic
Ono Band</i> – a stunning piece of work that would not have been possible as a
Beatles album.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A lot of people are now
saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All Things Must Pass</i> is the
best Beatles solo album.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But they’re
wrong.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Still, it would have made an
incredible single album.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(One of the
great 70s blowoffs for J and me was to play that awful third record of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All Things Must Pass</i> with those
interminable, senseless jams.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Say the
words “I Remember Jeep” and both of us smile at the memory of this ludicrously
bad material.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I should also note here
that the best post-Beatles single for me was “Photograph” by Ringo Starr, but
written with George.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Every now and then,
Ringo go it right, but clearly not on the same level as the others.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">It’s strange to think that I had probably only known the
song “Dear Prudence” for a year or two before Lennon was shot in December
1980.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That was probably the last album J
and I went halfway on, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Double Fantasy</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Of course, the Yoko material on that album
left us cold.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And not all of Lennon’s
songs blew us away.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But “Starting Over,”
“I’m Losing You” and “Watching the Wheels” were prime Lennon for us, and enough
to keep the album, especially when phony “fans” were offering to buy the
album for $20 and up when it became impossible to buy the album in the weeks
following his death.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(When <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Milk and Honey</i> was issued a few years
later, it burned us that he had shelved tracks like “Stepping Out,” “Nobody
Told Me” and “Grow Old with Me” – he had enough material in 1980 to make one
hell of a solo comeback album.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But that
wasn’t what he wanted to do.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">After that, it was a matter of changing media types.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I eventually bought CD’s for all their studio
albums through the early 90s, even found a cheap used copy of The Blue Album,
and the Past Masters which actually were very good collections.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was pretty happy with that but when the
mono and stereo remasters were announced in 2012?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I didn’t rush out and buy them, but maybe
should have.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As it was, I pulled a
massive trade with an old friend who was a big music collector, too, but only for
the MP3 files burned at 320 kbps.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I feel
weird now that I listen to only the stereo tracks.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The Beatles albums up to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sgt.
Pepper’s </i>were released in mono.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(A
lot of folks go on record as stating that and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The White Album</i> in mono are the way to go.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Honestly?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I wasn’t around back then as a fan, and this stuff all sounds perfectly
good to me in stereo.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I suspect mono and
original Beatles fans would be outraged, but I’m fine with this.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Stuff like the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">1</i>
compilation album?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have no need for
it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I made the mistake of buying a few
of the more recent remasters.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They were
really nothing new, although I did like the McCartney-approved version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let It Be</i>, with the more
stripped-down/original production values maintained on his tracks.<span style="margin: 0px;"> The Anthology collections were a lot of fun for serious fans, but I'd still find myself tracking down bootleg studio material before and after they came out. </span>Frankly, I’m just glad there’s enough public
interest from new and old fans to support these kind of projects.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Maybe I’m noting all this because I suspect whenever Paul
and Ringo go (they’re both in their mid-to-late 70s now), there’s bound to be
another reappraisal of what The Beatles meant, and the wheel will keep turning
for their music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In all honesty, I don’t
listen to it as much as I used to, will go through certain periods where I’ll
get a yen and run through their playlist on the iPod for a week, but it
passes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was raised in the 70s and grew
up with the likes of Elton John, David Bowie, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty,
Queen, ELO, and all sort of punk and new wave pushing me through those
years.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The Beatles were the first time I
looked back and realized there was much to learn from the past.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s something that any true music fan
realizes: understanding the past is just as important as grasping the future.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394;"></span>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-68556158807798984242017-12-26T14:53:00.000-05:002017-12-26T14:53:05.028-05:00The Learning Curve
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The last few weeks have been interesting since I put the
book out in early November. As I learned at that time, being your own copy
editor isn't a good idea.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(I’ve revised the
manuscript five times since publication, finding small grammatical glitches
each time I re-read chapters. I probably still don’t have them all, but I took
care of roughly two dozen.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Everything
involved with putting out your own book is rough work!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">What have I learned?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Let me put it this way: I couldn’t possibly envision Hemingway,
Steinbeck or Kerouac on Twitter or Facebook hyping themselves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Well, I could imagine Hemingway on Twitter,
but no one would grasp what he was doing.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>In the modern world, you’re supposed to hype yourself, shamelessly, endlessly,
chase after popularity, page views, re-tweets, “likes” in double- or
triple-digit numbers, “friends” galore, touting these digital triumphs,
building your online self-mythology, regardless of depth or sincerity, for the
whole world to gaze upon in envy.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">I can embrace that to a certain extent – anyone putting a
book out must endorse his own cult of personality – but not to the level where
I’m going to use social media to sell this book.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m convinced that unless you’re well-versed
in a given social-media platform, already using it for personal reasons and
comfortable with the time commitment and lack of privacy, it’s pretty much a
waste of time hyping a creative endeavor you’ve undertaken, be it a book,
album, paintings, etc.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>People aren’t
going to flock to your social-media site from the pure power of your creative
work, or your personality.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Like anything
else, social-media identities are carefully constructed and nurtured, over time, generally
on the premise of feeling a sense of self-actualization.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some people are great at that, and I surely
don’t hold it against them.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">People create works of art for the same reason.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I recognize social media as a separate
structure from what I’ve done with the book, where I’ve put a lot more time,
space, effort and consideration into creating something that will last, as
opposed to the constantly-running meter of social media. I want this thing to
stand, next week, next year, decades from now. Whether 50 people read it or
50,000.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sure, putting it out there and
selling it is a popularity contest of sorts.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But not why I wrote it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I wrote
it to define a time and place in my life that not many people have done, that
part of Pennsylvania, rural America by extension, in the 1970s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s not fully accurate.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I already had about 80% of the book written
and simply recognized this.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So, I
compiled those pieces, revised a few, ordered them chronologically, and added
about six more pieces that added to the whole.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">It helps to go back to <a href="http://poscathst.blogspot.com/2006/03/getting-back-on-horse-again.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">the first post I wrote here back in 2006</span></b></a>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It surprises me now how much of
that post rings true and applies to what I just did in terms of putting out a
book.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s simply what I do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Back then, my father’s death two years earlier had blown my
mind to the extent that I felt no urge or need to write.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In my mind, I created a half-assed tribute to
him in terms of seeing the world with his stark clarity, i.e., seeing right
through any sort of creative ambitions.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I hadn’t made it big by then … be practical … why go on?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">But I’m not my father.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>As much as I’ve adopted from him over the years, especially in terms of
temperament and personality, this urge to write is something that existed way
outside his frame of reference, Mom’s, too.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I remember the one time I got under his skin as a writer, when a story I
had published in the college newspaper, a satirical piece on how I was raised in
the Coal Region, was picked up by a local paper, re-published verbatim with a
sidebar editorial positing the piece as a non-satirical insult to where I was
raised.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was far from the truth, but
the sort of thing a bad editor would exploit.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Dad fielded a few nasty phone calls from outraged friends who didn’t
“get it” – which was fine by me, the whole point of satire is for a lot of people
not to get it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Not fine by Dad.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
was pissed at first.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I made it clear to
him: I’m your son. These jackasses calling you on the phone, threatening me
with physical violence, aren’t well-versed enough to know they’re being played
by a small-town newspaper editor.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You
don’t need to like what I wrote or even take my side.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But you either need to hang up on these
jackasses or tell them to go fuck themselves, because no friend of yours would
ever do something like that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I could
understand Dad being angry that idiots were calling the house and assuming he
was somehow responsible for this, but if I had a son, and you physically
threatened him in my presence?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">He got it, fairly fast.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I made it clear to him it was irrelevant to
me whether he got it or not: this was happening, and I wasn’t backing
down.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He should have known from the way
his mother raised him and he raised me: I was not going to be intimidated.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>From that point forward, he had no grasp of
what I was doing as a writer, which was fine, so long as he respected my
choice.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve learned, don’t expect family
to treat you like a rock star, or something special.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They know me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so much better than that</i>!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s
reassuring to have people see you for exactly who you are, good and bad.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">When you leave the working class,
which is exactly what I was doing by going to college and writing, you head
into a world that makes very little sense outside that context.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I learned how to work in offices, get used to
the corporate mindset and understand the value so many people place on money as
a source of self-respect.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In terms of
the “writing” world, I’ve only existed on the fringes of that, which suits me
fine now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Seemed like failure at some
points, but if you’re reading me now, or have ever read my stuff, and I’ve
communicated something worthwhile and memorable to you, there is no failure,
whether money has been part of that exchange or not.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">In Dad’s mind, anything that
existed above and beyond the working class was nirvana, paved with gold, the
promised land, where he thought he should have gone with his life, where he
wanted his kids to go, as that way of life would be “better” by one very clear,
quantifiable measure: more money.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Boy,
he didn’t have a clue!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The white-collar
ways of life I’ve encountered would have blown his mind in terms of pressure,
arrogance and the bizarre lack of self-worth that I’ve seen drive so many “successful”
people.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was over-joyed that I was
making good money in non-working class settings.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And in his practical mind, if writing pays
you next to nothing or nothing, you shouldn’t bother with it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">That was my only real rebellion
against him.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That incident I noted above
was the only time it ever got discussed.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I understood he didn’t place much value in that aspiration of mine.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I wasn’t hurt at all.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I could see in his mind that whatever I did,
preferably for more money than he made, in a place that wasn’t clanking
machinery, grease and dirt, was fine by him.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Whether it was getting paid for writing or punching an office
clock.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mom?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t think she ever got that part of me
either, but god damn, just like the picture on the back of the book <i>(if you buy
it!)</i>, she was teaching me how to write when I barely knew how to walk.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">That piece I wrote back in 2006
was before Facebook and Twitter were ways of life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Facebook was around a year or two; Twitter was
just getting started.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Smart phones
didn’t exist; people were painstakingly clicking miniature QWERTY-style keyboards on
Blackberries.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All social media did was
underline the tenets I put forth in that piece.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Self-promotion may have been more the domain of artists trying to hype
their work back then, but social media made it acceptable for everyone, an
addiction for many.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">I do want to hype and promote my
writing. But not like that, not in ways I’m not comfortable with, that I’ve
always found questionable, full of empty promises and false values.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Just by poking around the Amazon message
boards for publishing, I’ve seen so many people desperate for that level of
financial success and acceptance as writers.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I think that even if they’re lucky enough to find these things, they
won’t be as fulfilling as the illusion.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>When I read all these missives and hard-wrought wisdom (generally from
people who have sold 2,000 books at $0.99 per book about dog grooming) aimed at
“first-time authors” … I guess they mean people in their 20s who’ve never
published anything?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sure, this is my
first book, but far from my first brush with publishing or minor fame, or
thousands of pages into a life of writing that, in this case, culminated in a
book.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I worked through that mindfuck by
2004 and walked away from any vestige of it for two years.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Some people are going to get what
you do. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some are going to hate what you
do. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Most aren’t going to know or care,
one way or the other.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The goal seems to
be tapping into the “get what you do” group and exploiting it for all it’s
worth, whether that means dozens of sales or hundreds of thousands.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can see now, after jiggering ads on Amazon
for enticing keywords to pull potential readers in, trying to reach as many as
possible … even when you do reach them by the tens of thousands, 350 will click
on the book to actually look at it, maybe read the first few chapters online …
maybe 10 will go ahead and buy it. Thus, you keep re-thinking the next set of
ads and throwing the net out again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Social media would be much the
same concept, save there’s usually a meter on the site to let everyone know how
well or poorly you’re doing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And that’s
where me and social media part.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No one
has to know that but me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There’s
something so abrasive and empty about social media in terms of quantifying
every morsel of communication, every relationship, however deeply personal or
completely meaningless, that passes through it, visible to everyone, so you can
judge for yourself by their kangaroo court of internet popularity.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Tell it to Van Gogh or The Velvet
Underground, who would have had about 26 followers a piece on Twitter during
the course of their greatness!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Beyond that, I can see that the
only reason to put out a book through a publishing company is to have their
marketing department work for you, hopefully have you tapped into a good agent,
both of whom can arrange promotional tie-ins, appearances, reviews in major
media outlets, etc.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And that’s nothing
to scoff at.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>While these things won’t
make or break a book, they could go a long way in terms of influencing
thousands of potential readers.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">But even then, I can see, that’s
not it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve had friends put out books
with publishers, major and minor.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Good
books, too, well worth reading.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And even
with all the marketing and promotional muscle behind them … no big commercial
breakthrough happens.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Successful books,
especially today, are like lightning in a bottle.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So many different forces need to converge at
roughly the same time to push the visibility level so much higher than before,
as there so much more out there now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You
can launch an all-out assault on social media, arrange appearances on talk
shows and reviews in major worldwide newspapers, even with a great book … and
if the stars don’t align, it won’t happen. The way I’ve done it, if my book
under-performs, all I have is a bruised ego. You do the same with a publishing
company, you get the heave-ho, generally after being made to feel like a
failure by people whose livelihoods depend on selling as many books as possible.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Is that solace? Hardly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But it helps that I’ve been around long
enough to see these varying levels of success and failure occur, even see a few
people I know break through and make some kind of living as writers, however
tenuous and insecure that job position tends to be.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In the end, you just do what you can, what
you were put here to do. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s where I
began, and it will be where I end.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-46347271698729539172017-11-08T23:54:00.001-05:002017-11-08T23:55:24.491-05:00Skipping Through the Graveyard in My Puke-Stained Suit<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The day has arrived: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Skipping-Through-Graveyard-Puke-Stained-Suit-ebook/dp/B0776QSBLM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1510202636&sr=8-1&keywords=william+repsher" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Skipping Through the Graveyard in My Puke-Stained Suit: Growing Up in 1970s Rural Pennsylvania</span></b></a> is now available on
Amazon, in Kindle and Paperback versions.</span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The past two months have been insane. The key thing I’ve
learned: proofreading your own book is like representing yourself in a court of
law. You may think you’re smart. You may see yourself as empathetic. But when
push comes to shove, there’s a ton of tiny details about yourself that you’re
just not seeing.</span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I read this thing through so many times now that I’m simply
exhausted. If there is a next time, I need to pay someone to have a go at this.
It’s amazing how many minute details there were that took forever to detect,
and I’m not sure I caught them all. Forget about comma usage … I’m all over the
map with that stuff. But I have a propensity for dropping verbs and key words
like “the” or “an” to make a sentence read as though a caveman wrote it.
Mentally, these mistakes should be glaring, but time and time again, I missed
details like this. If you do pick up a copy, feel free to let me know about
minor glitches like this. Amazon allows me to edit the manuscript at any time,
even after publication.</span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Overall, I’m excited about the finished product. In my mind,
it’s a Frankenstein monster of bits and pieces I’ve written since about 1985
through last week. In the last two months, I added six new pieces that would
have easily made posts on this site. One memory lead to another, and there were
things I just had to include. Even now, there are bits and pieces floating
around my head, but I just had to let this hen out. Whether it makes sense to
anyone else, or has any appeal beyond people from that part of Pennsylvania
recognizing their own lives in my words, time will tell.</span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">You know how when you read a book, there’s an
Acknowledgements portion in the end that recognizes what seems like a cast of
dozens of people surrounding the author as he raises his new literary work and
unfurls it like a flag?</span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">For the life of me … I did this shit on my own! Sitting here
where I am now, in my leather chair in my basement studio in Astoria, cranking
this shit out, much as I cranked it out in my bedroom back home in spiral notebooks
back in the 70s. The only assistance I had was Angie Jordan’s husband, Scott
Sullivan, helping out with the cover design, taking a photo of the actual
cemetery in question and applying a more professional touch to the image. Are
these writers really living like this, surrounded by a swarm of people
supporting them and picking them up every step of the way? That wasn’t my
experience at all. I always feel like a dick when I read those Acknowledgement
sections. More precisely, the word “Bull … Shit” appears in my mind. Don’t let
anyone fool you. An undertaking like this, as Glenn Frey once sang, you’re all alone in the center ring.</span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">So, please, if you’ve been reading along here for any amount of
time, follow the link, buy a copy in your chosen format, you won’t be let down.
If you like it, spread the word, get on any given social media outlet you may
imbibe in, pass along a recommendation. I suspect that sort of informal “word
of mouth” publicity is how things work now, much more than the old machinery
clanking away at the publishing house. It’s been an interesting learning
experience seeing just how fast and self-reliant a method of publishing this
is. Of course, every crank with a book idea these days is doing the same thing.
I like to think I’m a higher class of crank. You be the judge.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-57649854390891741952017-10-08T18:33:00.002-04:002017-10-08T22:17:38.279-04:00Tom Petty's Inferno<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Scene: A tastefully
understated bathroom in a Malibu beach house. The Pacific Ocean is visible
through a bay window over a vintage cast-iron tub. On the toilet sits an
elderly bearded man: Tom Petty. He’s smoking a cigarette and reading a book
about The Shroud of Turin. Suddenly, a bolt of pain shoots up his left arm,
paralyzing that side of his body. Petty stands, drops the book in the toilet,
kneels to the marble floor and loses consciousness.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">He wakes up on a
bathroom floor, but not the one he passed out on. This is a non-descript, clean
bathroom of the sort found in doctor’s offices. Outside the door, he can hear
voices, feet shuffling, a lot of activity. He gets up, pulls his pants back on,
brushes himself off and looks in the mirror: the same person. The book is gone,
but all else remains the same.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Huh,
Petty thinks, that was a cigarette I was smoking, there’s no logic behind this.
Having been along for the ride on many similar drug experiences, he knows to
roll with whatever’s happening.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">He opens the door onto
a bustling backstage area of what he recognizes as a TV studio: cables, the
backs of klieg lights, stage curtains, fold-out director’s chairs, assistants
hustling to and fro. Petty thinks this vision will require him to perform live
since that’s the only reason he’d be at a TV studio.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Monty Hall</b>:
Wrong, Tom. You’re not here to perform.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"><i>The voice comes from
behind him, and it sounds vaguely familiar, as most game-show host voices do.
He turns to see </i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monty_Hall" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Monty Hall</span></b></a> <i>approaching him in a green plaid leisure suit, as he
was in the early 1970s, smiling broadly.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The only difference, Petty notices, is that he has two small horns sticking
out of his temples, and the slight smell of sulfur accompanies his presence.</i></span></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Monty Hall!
Didn’t you just die a few days ago?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Monty Hall</b>: Monty
surely did. He’s with us now.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: What? No.
You’re Monty Hall.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: No, Tom,
I’m not Monty Hall. I’m Satan. I’m using Monty Hall’s visage to create your
vision of hell.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Wait a
minute. You’re telling me I’m dead? Man, I’m not even 70!</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: No one saw
it coming, Tom, not even me! Keith Richards walks the earth, yet here you are!</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: What did I die
of?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Massive
heart attack while reading a Jesus book on the can. Just like your idol.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: And now I’m
in hell?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Literally,
no. We’re at the gates of hell, figuratively speaking. We’re here to play a
little game.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nn83kl3oIs0" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Let’s make a deal</span></b></a>?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Bingo!</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Are you sure
my name is on your list?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: It sure
is! There’s no waiting in line for Tom Petty!</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Look. I
could be an asshole. Most rock stars are. You don’t get that far for that long without
doing some damage.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Oh, you
did. You were no picnic. The usual rock-star stuff. Drugs. Debauchery. Neglect.
Pride. The shit that went on with Stan Lynch was pretty lousy.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Sure, Satan,
but he was being a prick, too.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>:
Undoubtedly so. But you should understand one of our circles down here features
a Jimmy Iovine clone in a recording studio control room making drummers hit the
same snare roll, over and over, for eternity, while constantly barking “again,
again” and “I have Jim Keltner’s number on my rolodex, why don’t you take a break.”
For eternity. That place is for aspiring drummers who come here, thinking
they’re going to realize their lifelong dreams of being rock stars, only to
find themselves locked in a recording studio with an irritating twat in a
baseball hat calling them “asshole” for playing the same beat, over and over,
and never getting it right.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: That does
sound like what happened.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: You should
be honored. You and Iovine served as inspiration for one of my better burns.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: But so many
people loved my music.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Me, too. Obviously, the long string of early hits, but when you later got into
stuff like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wcMYmNU3f8" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">“Echo”</span></b></a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UZwDBHhiYU" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">“Room at the Top”</span></b></a> … I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve
sat here in my lair, ruminating on the nature of mankind, and those two songs
perfectly define how I feel. You had a real knack for writing lyrics that were
deceptively simple, but suggested more profound meaning.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Thanks, I
guess. But come on, now, there’s more going on here than me giving Stan Lynch
the hard time he deserved.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Oh, there
is. I’d call it vanity, more than anything. For centuries, this had been the
domain of kings, rich men and heads of state. But in the past 50 years,
musicians and actors tend to suffer the same consequence. Your talent endears
you to millions of people who, on one hand love and respect you for your
warmth and immediacy. But on the other, encourage you to see yourself as super human, special
beyond comprehension. Thus, the one-night stands on the road. The brusque
behavior with record-company and hotel staffs, assistants and band members. The
purposeful distance with loved ones who knew you before you were famous.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: That’s
enough for hell?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: It’s the
gateway to hell. Remember all the times you were doing things that you
recognized as wrong, stupid and abusive, there was that voice in your head,
reminding you that this was wrong?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Sure, my
conscience.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Satan</b>: No. That was me. It's always me. That's one of the jobs God gave me, along with running hell. To give people fair warning of bad, potentially damnable behavior. I am your better angel. God gave you free will, so I have no control over your life. It's human nature to be sinful. That part of my job is easy; I literally do nothing. The hard part of my job is trying to subtly convince people that they should change their ways, and thus never lay eyes on me. I do this with the understanding that most people never listen to me.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: OK. So I
screwed around, like any other musician on the road. I got cross with people. I
got moody and abusive sometimes. I didn't kill anyone. Start any wars. If
anything, my music helped people keep their heads on straight and avoid going
off the rails like this.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: All good
points. But the key to your vanity is that it will strip you of the self-awareness
required to overcome it. That’s what I’m not getting about rock stars. You
pride yourselves on connecting to the common man, of relating to every-day
humanity and emotions. Yet, your personal lives are virtually no different from
those of influential men from the past who lived like angry gods, as opposed to decent human beings. According to
your songs, you’re only human. But the adulation heaped on you led you to believe
otherwise. To the point where you accepted this illusion of superiority as
universal truth. I think that’s the crux of why you’re here.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Other rock
stars are down here?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">laughing</i>) Sure! Far more than are in
heaven! Pretty soon, we’ll have a Traveling Wilburys reunion! Jeff Lynne will
be the last. We’ll get him more for the drum sound he created in the 80s
than anything else.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: So why am I
here? Not hell. This TV studio.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Well, as
you can see, I’m Monty Hall, and I’ll be hosting hell’s version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let’s Make a Deal</i>, featuring Tom Petty
as the first contestant.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: The band and
I used to get high in the morning and watch game shows all the time. If I
recall, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let’s Make a Deal</i> made the
contestants dress up like it was Halloween.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Correct.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: So what will
I be dressed as?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: The Crypt
Keeper. You really don’t have to change a thing.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Ha-Ha. Do
you know how many times I’ve heard that one?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Probably
about as many times as guys told you they once dated a girl in high school who
looked just like you.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Yeah, a
certain kind of guy always had that one girl.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: I don’t
think they were being complimentary.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: No. They
meant the girl was plain, sort of homely, and had droopy eyes from getting
stoned. How do I know this? Because I dated a girl who looked like me in high
school!</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Well, if
it’s any solace, you did look OK up through the mid-80s.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: My greatest
revenge in life was knowing I was an un-layable dude who, thanks to his musical
talent, had sex with dozens of beautiful women who otherwise wouldn’t have
looked at him twice.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Well
played, sir, well played. A fitting epitaph. That’s why guitars were invented. But
that was then, this is now, let’s go!</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Satan claps his hands,
and he and Tom Petty immediately materialize in the cheering studio audience,
Tom standing among a group of people dressed as sailors, witches, soldiers,
cheerleaders. He’s standing next to Satan who is holding a thin microphone and laughing
heartily.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: So, Tom
Petty, where are you from?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Originally
from Gainesville, Florida, but I lived in Los Angeles.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Are you
ready to make a deal?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Do I have a
choice?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Satan laughs his
bellowing, game-show host laugh again. A beautiful woman in a gown rolls out a
deluxe Kenmore refrigerator to center stage. The audience gasps in amazement.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Jay, tell
us about this wonderful prize.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jay</b> (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a disembodied television announcer voice, speaking
very fast</i>): Monty, we have a Kenmore 50023 25 cubic foot, Side-by-Side,
Stainless Steel Refrigerator. Fit more fresh food and delicious leftovers in
this spacious Kenmore 50023 Stainless Steel Side-by-Side Fridge. Top-to-bottom
storage space gives you plenty of room to stash away snacks, produce,
leftovers, pre-made meals and household staples with room to spare. Gallon door
bins means you won’t have to find a place to cram the milk, juice or wine while
the tight-sealing doors help keep foods fresher, longer. Adjustable shelving
and door bins let you organize the fridge just the way you like so everything,
even the leftover lasagna, has a place in the fridge. Suggested retail price,
$1,213.96.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The audience continues
to sigh in amazement.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Tom,
that’s a lot of space to store alcoholic beverages and scoobie snacks for the
munchies.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: That’s
right, Monty. And my collection of human heads that I keep in mason jars, too.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Satan doubles over in
laughter, as does an audience member dressed like the “devil” version of Satan.
Tom stares in amazement as he realizes the audience member is Jeffrey Dahmer.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Tom, that
dark sense of humor is going to serve you well here. But seriously, you know
how the deal works.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You can have this
wonderful Kenmore refrigerator, free and clear, or … we have other options
waiting for you … behind doors 2 and 3.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The beautiful woman
onstage strolls to her left. Tom looks more closely and realizes the woman is
Marilyn Monroe. She raises her left arm, while waving her right arm up and down
to showcase the doors that have appeared on each side of her.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Well, you know,
Monty, the refrigerator is tempting. But since I’m in hell and have nothing to
lose, why not chose one of the doors instead.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Always the
gambler, always the risk taker, living by his wits, Tom Petty, which will it be
Door 2, or Door 3?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Tom takes a moment to
ponder his choice.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He looks at the
audience and realizes Adolf Hitler is dressed as Charlie Chaplin, and John F.
Kennedy as a rodeo clown.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Is that
Adolf Hitler dressed as Charlie Chaplin?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Tom, this
is hell, not Burbank, California.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Of
course, that’s Adolf Hitler. Adolf, are you enjoying yourself?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Adolf</b>: Ja, sehr
gut, sehr gut. Much better than dragging dead Jews into mass graves you had me
doing yesterday, danke, Herr Satan, danke.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Good,
good. Tom, I should tell you, things work differently when you make a deal in
hell. We’re going to show you what’s behind both doors, the full implications
of each choice, and let you decide rather than have you feel terrible for
making a bad choice.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: That’s awful
nice of you.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"><b>Satan</b>: Well, let’s see what’s behind the doors before you
make that assumption. Marilyn, if you will, please show us what’s behind Door
#2.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Marilyn waves her left
arm with a flourish as she walks in front of the dissolving face of Door #2.
The sound of the French National Anthem plays … but it’s not. It’s the
introduction to The Beatles’ song, “All You Need Is Love.” The scene that
materializes from behind the door is the studio session that was filmed for
worldwide broadcast on June 25, 1967. Petty remembers it like it was yesterday,
as any time The Beatles or Stones were to appear on TV, he was on it. Something
strange though.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There appeared to be a
fifth member of The Beatles playing dual lead guitar, seated next to George
Harrison. A skinny, young guy, blonde, shoulder-length hair … son of a bitch,
Petty thinks, that’s me!</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Jay, tell
us more about Door #2.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jay</b>: Certainly,
Monty. This prize is a membership in The Beatles for eternity. History will be
revised just for you, Tom Petty, so that it will show when The Beatles fired
Pete Best for Ringo Starr in 1962, they also hired a young American guitarist
they had met playing night clubs in Hamburg, a certain Tom Petty from
Gainesville, Florida who played in Gene Vincent’s touring
band. Unlike George Harrison, John Lennon and Paul McCartney will include you
in their songwriting process so that you can share in the making of such hits
as “She Loves You,” “Ticket to Ride” and “A Day in the Life.” They will
consider you an equal creative partner and, in fact, you will serve as an
important bridge between Paul and John when they start drifting apart as
friends and songwriters in 1966. Suggested retail price is beyond comprehension
for a music fan like you, Tom Petty.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Now, wait a
minute. This is hell. There must be some catch, like in the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bedazzled</i>. Everything I choose, no
matter how rewarding and attractive, will be revealed as having a dark side
that I didn’t anticipate.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Thank you,
Tom, for noting one of my favorite movies that depicts me correctly. But, no,
there is no catch or hidden agenda. You will become part of The Beatles and
spend the rest of your after-life living that dream. Of course, the downside
will be there too: pissing off Ringo so badly during the recording of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The White Album</i> that he quits. Lennon’s
heroin abuse. McCartney’s ego. The fist fight between John and George during
the making of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let It Be</i> when John
finally snaps over one of George’s throwaway insults about Yoko. As with any
band, as you well know, shit happens. But you will also be a full participant
in the creation of songs that will be remembered centuries from now. How about
it, Tom, does Door #2 strike your fancy?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Satan,
you’re like a lawyer, asking questions you already know the answers to.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">laughing</i>) Well, funny you should say
that Tom, everyone who has ever received a law degree from the start of time is
hellbound, no matter what he does in his lifetime. Perhaps the only more
certain bet on going to hell than being a celebrity! But no matter, before you
decide, let’s see what’s behind Door #3. Marilyn?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Marilyn Monroe sweeps
back in from stage right, winking and curtseying before strolling in front of
Door #3 as the door dissolves to show a wood-paneled family room circa 1965 in
a middle-class American home. A thin, gaunt, bespectacled man in his 30s with a
crew-cut and face similar to Tom Petty’s, but harder, stands glowering over a
gawky teenage boy sprawled on the carpet watching an episode of the TV series, </i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zVwFADi4Y38" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">F Troop</span></b></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. I thought I told you to mow the
lawn, the man snaps at the boy. Yeah, I will in half an hour, the boy replies
listlessly</i>, F Troop<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> is on, Dad. The
man grabs the boy by the legs, yanks him to his feet, and pulls back his right
hand, where the scene freezes.)</i></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Jay, tell
us more about Door #3.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jay</b>: Certainly,
Monty. Tom, should you choose, Door #3, your after-life will be to be spend a
very long time in hell with your father, locked into a five-year period between
1963 and 1967. As you recall, Tom, this was when he was at his most angry and
abusive, lashing out at you and your brother for no reason, irrational outburst
of rage. You may also recall, your driving emotion at the time wasn’t
reciprocating anger and fear, but the desire to find out why your father was
this way. You will have a lifetime in hell to try to find out why your father
was mentally and<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>physically abusing your
family, then make him stop.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Well, Tom,
what say you?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">still shaken from being
transported directly to one of his more harrowing childhood memories</i>) What
do you mean, what say I? You’re telling me to choose between heaven and hell.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Tom, do you remember how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let’s
Make A Deal</i> worked? Particularly when we had a contestant win, let’s say, a
set of Samsonite luggage?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Sure. That was a trick prize. The contestant would clap along
gamely, thinking, oh well, I won some luggage. And then you’d say something
like, “Well, now wait a minute, you’re going to need some place to take that
luggage” and the door behind the luggage would slide open to reveal an
all-expense-paid trip to Brussels, Belgium.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: That’s right, good memory. Jay, tell us where Tom can take
his emotional baggage behind Door #3.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jay</b>: Certainly, Monty. Tom, if you choose Door #3, it will take you
a very long time to convince your Dad he’s wrong, as you knew that stubborn
Southern rebel streak well and possessed some of it yourself. There is no sense
of time as you understand it in hell, but in human terms, it may take you
decades of repeated abuse before you can break through and convince him that
he’s wrong. But when you do, you will magically be transported to heaven, where
you will spend the rest of your days hanging out, smoking pot, making love to blonde
bombshells, playing your guitar and watching as many episodes of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">F Troop </i>as you please.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: So, you’re saying I get to be myself again.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: That’s right, Tom. You get the rock-star lifestyle all over
again, as does everyone in heaven.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Monty, one key question.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: Shoot, Tom, shoot.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Where is my mother? I know Dad is in hell.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That makes perfect sense. But where’ my Mom?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The audience sighs knowingly, nodding their heads. General Custer,
dressed as an astronaut, wipes a tear away from his cheek.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: You can’t get anything past this perceptive young man! Yes, Tom, what
you’re thinking is true. Your Mom, bless her heart, is in heaven. She was a no
brainer for taking all that shit your father dished out, never once losing her
composure and sacrificing herself so that her kids could be raised with some semblances of love and
dignity.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: So, you’re pretty much saying I can live out a lifelong dream
for an eternity in hell. Or take decades, maybe even centuries, of abuse from
my old man so I can see my Mom again.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: That’s right. This is how we roll in hell. Door #2 with The
Beatles will be indecipherable from how many people spend an eternity in
heaven.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Monty, did you ever see the movie, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cool Hand Luke</i>?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: (laughing) Oh, I can see where this is going. The scene
where they <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISct39VObX4" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">roll Luke’s mama up to the prison in the back of the jalopy for one last visit</span></b></a>, with the understanding that she’s going to die while he’s in jail?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: Exactly. I never mentioned this in interviews, but that moment
had a far deeper impact on me than even seeing Elvis in person or The Beatles
on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Ed Sullivan Show</i>. All the more
so thanks to Dad beating the shit out of me and my brother all those years. You
see, instead of being in prison, I was a rock star, which was no prison at all.
But it kept me on the road and wrapped up in my own affairs from the moment I
left Gainesville for Los Angeles. When I saw Mom on her death bed days before
she died, figuring I was going to be on the road or in the studio when her time came, I
made a vow that I would do whatever it takes to see her again, this world or
the next.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Satan</b>: This is the next world, Tom, and that’s a long road ahead of
you, should you choose it. Do you seek the redemption you never found in life?</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Tom</b>: I have no choice, Monty, I made a promise. I choose Door #3.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Instantaneously, Tom disappears from the studio audience and is transferred
to his childhood self in the scene from Door #3. The action unfreezes, and his
father’s open hand slaps Tom directly on the face, dropping him to the
living-room carpet. His father expects him to start crying. Instead, Tom rolls
over and smirks, the very same smirk displayed on his first album cover. He
winks at the studio audience, who starts to fade from his view, with Satan
leading a standing ovation. The last person in the studio audience Tom sees is
George Harrison, smiling broadly and waving to Tom, dressed as The Scarecrow
from </i>The Wizard of Oz.</span></span></span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-33555726016024219602017-08-30T20:41:00.000-04:002017-08-30T20:41:45.561-04:00Placeholder<span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Just to let readers know, the past few weeks I've been assembling and editing various posts, older articles from publications, unpublished bits and pieces, etc. to form what should become a book about growing up in rural Pennsylvania circa 1972-84. I'm not sure yet how I'll present this, whether going through Amazon and self publishing or trying to weed out some type of publishing deal. But I like what I'm seeing thus far. Not doing it for the money, as with all things you read here, but simply because I'm good at doing it and have always enjoyed the process. Any recommendations or interested parties out there, feel free to check in with me via Comments. I should be getting back on a more regular writing schedule in September.</span>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-79304002122923024032017-06-30T21:29:00.000-04:002017-06-30T21:31:06.915-04:00Christ Comes to Coaltown<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: black;">Author’s Note: This story first
appeared in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Leisuresuit.net</i> on
February 21, 2000.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I always liked it,
and it’s worthy of reprint now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>From
what I gather, Whatsyourname <a href="http://www.tnonline.com/2014/jun/16/jesus-guy-returns-tamaqua" target="_blank"> <span style="color: red;">is still around</span></a>, taking the concept of Jesus <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2015/09/27/the-incredible-story-of-the-jesus-guy-in-philadelphia/?utm_term=.c9a3f6c5cb14" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">into new territory</span></a> as the Dude must certainly be somewhere in his 50’s.</span></b><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">****</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"And, behold, two of them went that same day to a
village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs. And
they talked together of all these things which had happened. And it came to
pass that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near,
and went with them. But their eyes were holden that they should not know him.
And he said unto them, What manner of communications are these that ye have one
to another, as ye walk, and are sad? And the one of them, whose name was
Cleopas, answering said unto him, Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and
hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days?"</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">-- Luke, 24:13-18</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Emmaus is a good ways south of the
Coal Region in Northeast Pennsylvania. Down around Bethlehem. And Nazareth,
made famous by The Band when Levon and Robbie pulled into for salvation via a
new guitar at the Martin factory. All they would have seen heading South on
Route 81 was woods, farms, Golden Arches and small towns in the distance.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Had they left the interstate, they'd
have been amazed how an approaching town, through tangles of tree branches and
telephone wires, resembled some small Eastern European village, with the
bulbous, golden domes of Russian Orthodox churches and angled steeples rising
over factories and houses. Each town would look the same, but somehow
different, as even the blank slate of a shantytown like Shaft or William Penn
would mean civilization after a few hard miles of great black slag heaps (soon
to be gone thanks to coal regeneration plants). The Molly Maguires traveled
these back roads in the late 1800's, before an undercover detective and the
hangman crushed their murderous coal miners' rebellion.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The long arms of Philly and New York
don't reach this far. The suburban sprawl and six-figure restored barns of the
southern part of the state haven't seeped north. I grew up thinking Scranton
and Wilkes Barre were big cities to the north but see them now for the
even-larger coal towns they are. The one or two ski resorts are miniscule
compared to the tourist chalets in the Poconos. West of the Poconos and east of
Eden.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"HAZLETON, PA. He appeared out of the blue back in
October, clad only in a dirty white robe as he walked barefoot along the
two-lane highway into this struggling former coal town. Folks pointed at first
as the man with the shoulder-length hair and scruffy beard preached to whoever
would listen. Before long, though, many in this largely Roman Catholic
community were embracing him as a holy man."</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">-- "Some See Hope in Mysterious
Preacher," Joann Loviglio, Associated Press, January 29, 2000</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I can see him now in the dim yellow
light of a firehouse hall. The bingo cage and microphone sitting on a card
table off to the side of the plywood stage. The firetruck smell of rubber and
metal seeping from the garage next door. Creaks and scrapes of folding metal
chairs opening on a cement floor. The taps at the bar turned off for this holy
night, and the regulars in their baseball hats and blaze-orange hunting vests grumbling.
The halo of a Pepsi clock glowing over his head.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Or maybe he's in a field. People
milling around him, where they normally gather for turkey shoots and block
parties, kids hunting for Easter eggs, and a cover band with umlauts in its
name playing Skynyrd and Springsteen in the summer. The faces, hard and round,
shadows of the Ukraine and Ireland, with bifocals and wrinkles, rosary beads
and little black Bibles clutched in hand, gazing back at this man in nothing
but a white robe and sandals in the dead of winter. Turn a six-pack of
Yuengling into the blood of Christ. A box of Mrs. T's Pierogies into His body.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">According to the A.P., when anyone
asks his name, he replies "What's your name?" He says it's part of a
Hebrew tradition not to reveal your name to someone until you're their friend.
So the locals now call him: "What's YourName". His real name,
according to a police affidavit, is Carl J. Joseph, 39. I've seen his face in a
picture. Like Christ as traditional surfer dude. Ted Neeley and Willem Dafoe.
He's got the look, even a year shy of forty. But where was Christ all those
years, after teenage sparring in the temple with the rabbis and before a
three-year lunge at earthly authority so burning and desperate even his own
followers called for his head? "What's your name" is a Hebrew
tradition? It's also a line from a David Bowie song that Pontius Pilate would
have liked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The newspaper says he's been
traveling for 9 years, through 47 states and 13 countries. But he's never
stayed in one place for so long before. He spoke to 2,000 people once in
Hazleton, and it's not uncommon to see dozens of people "standing in a
field at 2 a.m. listening to him preach. "He turns over all money and
gifts he receives to local parishes, except for sandals he received recently
because he did not own a pair of shoes.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"He said he will remain in the area as long as there
is a need for his words."</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">-- from the AP article</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I left when there was no longer a
need for my words. Or at least I was filled with enough anger, boredom and
resentment that whatever I had to say wasn't going to do anyone any good, and I
had to go away. Back then I blamed it on the place, that I had
"outgrown" it in some sense and had to move on. And maybe that was
true simply in the sense of leaving home, wherever it may have been. But I can
look back now and see that I had to outgrow whoever I was much more than the
Coal Region itself. That sense of abandonment haunts and comforts me to this
day. 1978, a good decade before I left. My brothers and I would sit on the
steps of a mausoleum in the graveyard by the church. Bagging it because our
relentlessly Irish Catholic grandmother had a debilitating stroke, preventing
her from attending Mass. Our sister was still going through the motions,
although that wouldn't last. Our father was doing much the same, only with the
benefit of a car. And our mother was a filthy Protestant, so she was already
hellbound and didn't count.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">We got dressed up every Sunday
morning, left at quarter to nine, and hung around talking about rock stars and
school. Occasional parishioners passing by would glare at us. They didn't know
teenagers like being glared at. We lived. The parish priest at that time was later
nailed for possessing child pornography, and he was in the pictures, too. The church
folded a few years back. My friend George bought it for a song. He didn't want
any freaks moving in next door.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Here's a picture I clipped from a
local newspaper and held for years before it turned too yellow: a group of
Catholic school children re-enacting Christ's agonizing walk up Calvary Hill.
Roman centurions in wire-frame glasses and shag haircuts, bearing plastic Star
Wars lasers and trashcan lids. The Virgin Mary in a headband and two-tone
saddle shoes. Christ, a pasty-faced 12-year-old, bearing his cardboard cross,
wearing a white sheet and a pair of Nike running shoes. They do roughly the same
show in Gordon every Easter, only with adults. What I always wondered: If this
reenactment were to be authentic, shouldn't most of the crowd be bawling out
taunts like "King of the Jews" and "crucify him" and
throwing stones at "Christ," even if they're only styrofoam chunks
painted to look like stones?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"SHENANDOAH -- Gary A. Moses, 42, said when driving to
Mahanoy City on</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #70ad47; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">
</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Friday,
he saw What's Your Name walking the road. 'It was bitter,' he said. 'It takes a
lot to walk in these conditions with sandals and a robe,' he said. He stopped
to offer him a ride but the nomad refused. 'His reasoning for not taking a ride
is he said that's how he meets people.'</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">-- "300 Hear Nomad's
Message," by Stephen J. Pytak, Pottsville Republican and Evening Herald,
February 2, 2000.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The only Buddha I meet on the road
back there is a guy named Buddy. Rumor has it he spent an afternoon hanging out
at the bottom of a swimming pool as a boy, and is lucky to be alive, but is
slightly brain damaged as a result. He thumbs it everywhere. It seems to be his
purpose in his life. You'd have to be nuts to pick him up. He has a shock of
red hair, and his rocking body motions let you know something's slightly off.
He's often wearing a bright red Philadelphia Phillies warm-up jacket. No one
knows where Buddy goes. He just goes. And he never gets there. As Woody Guthrie
must have known every Dust Bowl backroad, Buddy surely knows even the
abandoned, dilapidated mining roads in the Coal Region. Buddy's going to be
there long after What's Your Name is gone. I suspect one day he'll be thumbing
my hearse as it passes on the road to the cemetery. Then again, much like
Christ, Buddy has more reason to fear the motives of those nearest him than the
capricious whims of omnipotent rulers:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"TAMAQUA -- The 27-year-old Tamaqua man who allegedly
robbed and repeatedly stabbed a hitchhiker with a screwdriver Wednesday morning
remains today in Luzerne County Correctional Facility in lieu of $75,000 bail.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Tedd Richard Fredericks, of West Broad Street, was
arraigned before District Justice Joseph D. Zola, of Hazleton, on charges of
aggravated assault, three counts of robbery, simple assault and theft by
unlawful taking or disposition. The victim, Harold 'Buddy' Klinger, also of
Tamaqua, was treated at Hazleton General Hospital for numerous lacerations and
a broken right hand. Klinger is originally from the Ashland area, according to
Tamaqua Police Chief George B. Woodward, who said the man is known for
hitchhiking and panhandling in the Tamaqua area.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">According to the affidavit of probable cause filed by
Corporal Brian S. Tobin, a state trooper at Hazleton, the attack was initiated
when Fredericks offered Klinger a ride for $6 when he saw him standing along
Route 309 near Tamaqua. Tobin said Klinger knows Fredericks because they reside
in the same apartment building, so he agreed to the ride. They then picked up Fredericks'
mother in Hometown and took her to work at J.E. Morgan Knitting Mills, he said.
After dropping her off, the two drove back to Tamaqua for gas, then headed back
to Hazleton, he said.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">'They drove on Interstate 81 and got off at the Hazleton
exit,' said Tobin, who spoke with the stabbing victim. 'Klinger said they made
a couple of turns and didn't know where they were. Then Fredericks stopped the
car to go to the bathroom.' Fredericks then exited the vehicle and opened the trunk.
He called Klinger to the back of the car and asked him if he did drugs. When
Klinger said no, Fredericks began stabbing him around the head with a
screwdriver, Tobin said. According to Tobin, Klinger didn't see the weapon at
first, but when he started to get stabbed by Fredericks, he attempted to flee,
but the attacker jumped on him and continued stabbing.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">'Fredericks then took approximately $380 from Klinger and
drove off, leaving him behind,' Tobin said."</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">-- "Tamaqua Man Charged in
Stabbing," Chris Dean, Pottsville Republican and Evening Herald, 2/3/00</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">There are strange things about the
Coal Region reporters will never pick up. Having been born and raised there for
20 years, I'm not even sure I have. Forget about the accent, a strange,
guttural mix of Irish and Slavic. I can't imitate it, although I sometimes drop
hints of it when back there for a few days. Mahanoy City is famous for always
being on fire. And for once having their Christmas tree right in the middle of
the main street, and it would invariably get wiped out every few years by a
drunk driver. Old coalcrackers pronounce it "Mock-annoy." Shenandoah
is the heart of the Coal Region, if not the head. "462 da fuck" is a
popular local saying, the town's area code, stated with profane emphasis. What
amazes me about What's His Name--how he didn't get locked up in the hoosegow
for vagrancy and then given a ride to the edge of town the next day. This
unnerves me. Makes me feel like King Herod, and the pharaohs before him. Are
people in the Coal Region easily led astray? No. In fact, you'd be hard-pressed
to find people more stubborn. I know the hardcore coalcrackers, the factory
workers who never make the papers unless it's holding a trophy or the antlers
of a dead buck, are having a good laugh over What’s Your Name. But I would say
that as in any small town, curiosity runs wild in a situation like this, and it
doesn't hurt that What's Your Name is pushing all the right spiritual buttons.
I'd imagine a majority of the audience at his shows are Christians; the rest
just want a piece of the action. And they see a man who is not Christ, but
gives good scripture anyway.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: #1f4e79; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I've known Paul Rieder for a few
years now, a gentleman farmer in the wilds of southeast New York state who's
also a fine musician. One of his songs is called, "Jesus Died at 33- 1/3."
He and his wife, Heidi, have traveled extensively, and it's his habit to keep
journals of these trips. It was Paul who brought my attention to What's Your
Name's saga with the AP article that has touched off a media frenzy, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Time</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Washington Post</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Philadelphia
Inquirer</i> and ABC News hot on the trail. He sent me the AP article, along
with his journal entry from a trip to Mexico:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">3/27/97</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Palenque and Misol-Ha, Chiapas, Mexico </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">It takes a bit to find out how to get to the waterfall at
Misol-Ha without spending a lot of money. Everybody seems to want us on some
kind of $50 package tour with all the tightlipped sunburned Germans. Finally,
we decode the local schedule and get on a chicken-class bus--telling the driver
"Crucero Misol-Ha" a few times so he'll remember to stop there—and slowly
wait for the bus to Tila to fill. It's an ancient school bus painted bright
blue (inside and out). </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">About half an hour in the bus stops in the middle of the
jungle--not a building or path in sight--and on gets a white hippie guy dressed
only in a thin blanket--the polyester kind found in bad motels. He sits down in
the aisle up front. I know immediately that he's getting off with us. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">So of course it's just the three of us there at Crucero
Misol-Ha for the two miles or so to the water. He starts up a friendly
conversation--he's American. Did we know there was a Rainbow Gathering at
Misol-Ha this week? No, we did not. Turns out he's been on the Rainbow trail
for six years now--no vocation, no money, and unless he's hidden some back
there in the jungle, no clothing except a blanket. He expounds his
philosophical position--he's essentially a holy fool, constantly moving around
(Central America these past six months), going to these gatherings, sleeping in
the wilderness and eating whatever he finds. (Maybe the Mexicans feed him 'cause
he looks like Jesus.) He asks us what we do and Heidi says we're farmers--he
thinks she said "performers," then laughs when we correct him,
singing to himself, "Am I a farmer, am I a star?" We chat some about farming.
He asks us our names.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"Paul and Heidi. And yours?"</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"What'syourname?"</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"Um ... Paul and Heidi. And you are ..."</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">"What'syourname?"</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Aha. I laugh and he laughs too. It seems that
What'syourname is his nomde-Rainbow -- sort of a litmus test for a person's
tolerance and humor.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">We arrive at the falls: it's a much grander, jungly version
of Hamilton Pool in Texas, a big collapsed grotto with veils of water pouring
into a deep cool lake. It's around 95 now and very humid. Looks like the bulk
of the hippies have taken off. What'syourname has a baggie with his passport
and some money, but he doesn't have enough to pay the entrance fee at the park,
so we pay for him. He then gives me all the money that he has and won't take it
back, saying that he's held on to it for too long anyway. I'm wondering what
the hell I'm supposed to do with this hippie's pile of pesos, if I should buy
him a drink or something. But there is no one around selling drinks.
What'syourname dives in the pool, blanket and all, and that's the last we see
of him.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #385623; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">P.S. There's a picture with the article, and it's definitely
the same guy. I feel like I should send him a couple of pesos.</span></i></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24372649.post-57014881416032032772017-06-06T22:06:00.001-04:002017-06-06T22:06:10.262-04:00The Dead Files<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">God bless Amazon Prime.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>There are times when I wonder why I have it, but then the are times like
now, when they exclusively carry the new Grateful Dead documentary, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Long-Strange-Trip/dp/B072HHSYTQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=instant-video&ie=UTF8&qid=1496356054&sr=1-1&keywords=long+strange+trip" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Long Strange Trip</span></b></a>, that it all makes sense.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed watching this, warts and all.</span><br />
<span style="color: #008012; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The warts?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe
“lack of warts” might be a better description.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Not necessarily warts: there’s a lot missing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was waiting for a good 20-minute segment on
their insane trip to play at the <a href="http://www.openculture.com/2015/07/the-grateful-dead-play-at-the-egyptian-pyramids.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">pyramids in Egypt in 1978</span></b></a> (which I read about
in real time via <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rolling Stone</i> as a
70’s teenager).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some legendary band
associates are glossed over, and infamous wives of Jerry are completely
missing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Entire albums, particularly in
the 70’s, aren’t even mentioned, particularly post <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Workingman’s Dead</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
wouldn’t mind all this, save an entire episode is dedicated solely towards
their legendary fans, The Deadheads.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">And that’s a complete waste of film when there’s so much
other far more important ground that needs to be covered in a documentary of
this size and scope.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I didn’t truly get
into The Dead until well into the 90’s, after Jerry died.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can’t recall the exact time or place, but I
remember hearing “<a href="http://www.openculture.com/2015/07/the-grateful-dead-play-at-the-egyptian-pyramids.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Box of Rain</span></b></a>” in somebody’s apartment, and it struck me light
a thunderbolt.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One of those album tracks
that rarely got played on AOR radio in the 70’s or 80’s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The clouds parted for me, rushed out and
bought <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Workingman’s Dead</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">American Beauty</i>.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And thus I became a fan.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If you’re skeptical of The Dead’s
greatness, buy only those two albums.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>They aren’t all you need, but they’re the best.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Why wasn’t I a fan in the 70’s or 80’s?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Was I not exposed to their music?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sure, I was.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I think Brother J might have even had that standard-issue greatest hits
set from the time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Brother M, I’m certain, thought
they were horseshit, although in fairness he seemed to think roughly the same
of most 60’s bands and focused in on his 70’s heroes like Bowie and
Rundgren.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I constantly heard songs like
“Truckin” and “Casey Jones” on the radio, to a lesser degree tracks like
“Ripple” and “Uncle John’s Band.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was
usually the same handful of tracks, over and over and over.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No other album tracks.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ever.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>No “transcendent” live tracks, ever.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>(Commercial FM radio stations surely would not have played bootleg live
material at the time, although they would play cool stuff like King Biscuit
Flower Hour concerts.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I liked those
handful of songs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(I love them now.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In real time I was hearing stuff like
“Shakedown Street” … which wasn’t quite doing it for me!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Back then?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In my mind, as a kid in the 70’s, there was a whole hippie stigma attached to The
Grateful Dead that I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I respected them, but only because I was
religiously instructed to do so by the waning counter-culture powers that be
(like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rolling Stone</i>).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I thought Jerry Garcia was an affable and
likable enough character, but I had no concept of just how talented a guitarist
and songwriter he was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I suspect even if
you had exposed me to the good stuff, the tracks that floor me now, it wouldn’t
have made sense in my 70’s adolescent mind.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">It was the 1980’s that cryogenically froze The Dead
for me, that whole decade and halfway through the 90s, until Jerry passed on, when
that immense door quietly swung all the way open.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>College should be a time of great discovery
for anyone smart enough to recognize four years of relative freedom compared to
the prison of high school, and the anticipation of getting by in “the real
world” when it all ended.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It surely was
for me; it opened me up like a flower.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Musically?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So much stuff
happened, and not just with 60’s music.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Although I will say, it wasn’t until then that Bob Dylan made any sense
to me, and became an overnight god.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
wasn’t alone.<span style="margin: 0px;"> (</span>That massive <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Atlantic-R-1947-1974-Various-Artists/dp/B000JFXTHW" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Atlantic Soul series of the mid-80s</span></b></a> affected me just as much as any white 60’s recording
artists, maybe even more so as it opened me up to a whole different space and
feel that rock music could possibly offer.)<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Bob Dylan’s classic mid-60’s period, that was a guy who wasn’t fucking
around, or fucking around so cosmically that you had to stop and marvel at his
ingenuity.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If he was stoned, it was in a
much more enlightened, deep, human way than whatever general hippiedom appeared
to offer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That music felt real to me in
a direct, immediate way. Still does.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;">A huge cross section of the 1960’s opened up to me in
college in the 1980’s, although I already had an overwhelming affection for the decade
from being raised in the 70’s: Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Who, Hunter Thompson.
Tom Wolfe, Vonnegut, and so on.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The Dead?<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Nothing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Why?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One word: Deadheads.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">I might have referenced this incident before, but I knew a
girl, Elizabeth, who was a staunch English major, very clean cut, very much
into poetry, very much a proper, intelligent young woman who seemed like she
would have been much more at home at Princeton or Yale than Penn State, which
was and is a bit of a yahoo school.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Shit, I went there one third out of family tradition, one third because
it was eminently affordable (at the time, although I gather that’s changed),
and one third because the football team kicked ass.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Boy, would we get an <a href="http://poscathst.blogspot.com/2012/07/so-long-joe-iii.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">unforeseen wakeup call</span></b></a>
further on down the road.)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">We knew each other at our branch campus, and we went on
knowing each other when we moved up to the much larger main campus our junior
year.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I found work as an editorialist on
the campus paper, and had a blast doing so.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>One day I was typing up one of my columns in the basement, talking to one
of the photographers on the paper.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
can’t even remember his name, but he was a very cool, slightly older guy …
think <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbFvAaO9j8M" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Frederic Forrest in Apocalypse Now</span></b></a>.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>He didn’t look like Forrest, but he had the exact same vibe about him,
slinky and cool, like a cartoon character from a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-UCLiQ5EdQ" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Ralph Bakshi movie</span></b></a> come to
life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I really liked that guy and
respected his opinions.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Lo and behold, he said, here comes my girlfriend, and
Elizabeth walks in the room.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Our minds
were blown.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I knew and liked both of
them, a lot, although I was surprised that she would find herself with a guy so
comparatively worldly and a bit wild.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We
bantered for a bit and immediately agreed to have dinner at “their place” that
weekend.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Man, she was living with the
dude!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This was a lot of information to
take in, given that I thought she spent her nights playing chess with a bust of
Alexander the Great, or something.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">That Saturday rolled around, and I went to their apartment
off campus for dinner.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s always
awkward for people that age to have an adult-style dinner only with each
other.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For one, we barely knew how to make
real food, beyond ramen and canned goods.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I can’t remember what we had, but it had that stilted feel you get of a
few people in their early 20’s acting as adult as they possibly could.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Wine flowed, another shock, I recalled her
being a strict teetotaler at the branch campus.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We didn’t get hammered, just pleasantly drunk.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The conversation was nice, what we were
reading, our classes, the enormous changes we were sensing in ourselves over
the past six months, etc.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Dessert times rolled around.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Hey, Bill, would you like to listen to some music?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You know me, of course I would.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Elizabeth pulled out one of those medium-sized black leather
cases that people would carry cassette tapes in.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Everyone had these in the 80’s as cassettes had become the medium of choice, a lot more mobile than vinyl, playable in
cars, etc. Most guys had these cases in their cars filled with their favorite
albums and mixes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She opened up that
leather case …</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">… and every single cassette had the xeroxed symbol of a
skull with a lightning bolt on it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
knew exactly what that meant: these people were Deadheads, and all they
listened to was live bootleg recordings of The Grateful Dead.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nothing else.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Not The Allman Brothers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not
prog.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not metal.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not punk.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Surely nothing recent. Not even Dead studio albums.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Only Dead
live bootlegs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">They may as well have pulled out a baby goat, slit its
throat, smeared the doomed animal’s blood over their naked torsos and started howling
… it had the same effect on me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Shit.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Elizabeth.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The dude I thought was so cool from the paper.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Deadheads!<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>No.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Just no, man, this can’t
be.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was an exact photo negative of
being side-swiped by Born Again Christians playing “cool” until they pulled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Bible</i> out and asked if you’ve ever truly
met their special friend, <a href="http://poscathst.blogspot.com/2007/09/born-again.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">our lord and savior Jesus Christ</span></b></a>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">What do you want to hear, Bill?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Well, the sound of the door slamming and my
echoing footsteps running down the hall!<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>But in lieu of that, I always liked the song “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qe6sJMjy4T0" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Playing in the Band</span></b></a>” … is
there a good version of that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Thus
ensued a debate about whether the one from Cornell in ’77, or Nassau Coliseum
in ’81, or Boston Gardens in ’80, or … you get the picture.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(And I’m sure your average Deadhead would
correct me in a heartbeat if this song didn’t appear in any of these
shows.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The decision was made, the tape
was pulled …</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">And I then heard what had to be the worst fucking version of
“Playing in the Band” I’ve ever heard!<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>That was the thing about Deadheads in the 80s.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That suitcase of tapes they would always pull
out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(Which never, and I mean never, had
concerts for any other band.)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
somehow managed to find the worst, shittiest dubs of those concerts that
sounded like noodly hippie jibberish coming out of a boombox.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’ve since heard many very well-recorded,
clear bootlegs of numerous Dead live tracks that have floored me … but
back then, it just never happened.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That
might have been my first exposure to Deadheads, but surely not the last.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And it was always the same scenario.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not your typical Deadheads, not the
dreadlocked, patchouli-reeking lost souls of the 80’s, pretending to be
hippies, latching on to a mostly long gone culture that was much akin to bands
like Sha Na Na in the early 70’s pretending it was still 1958.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">The Deadheads I met with the tape cases were always
relatively clean, hip, smart college kids who were otherwise very cool,
insightful people to be around.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
just had the most inexplicably narrow taste in music that I could never fathom.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sure, I can see having a radical reaction
against the artifice of the 80s, the cold synthesizers, reverbed vocals, gated
drums, fake-sounding horn sections, fretless bass … that hollow 80’s sound
… I could understand revolting against that by retreating into 60’s music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But what about Dylan, or The Band, or The
Stones, or The Allman Brothers, or folk music in general, or god forbid, even
embracing classic country as a giant “fuck you” to the pop of the 80’s? Had Elizabeth and the photographer pulled out a suitcase filled with Hank Williams cassettes, that would have been one hell of a night.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">It never happened.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
that instance, they put on that bootleg, it was like listening to stray cats
fight and fuck in an alley filled with empty trash cans.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>To top it all
off, Elizabeth lit up a joint, and man, the world ended, as I knew she came
from a very strict background, and dating this guy from the paper was her big
rebellion.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I could picture the awkward
Thanksgiving dinner coming up with the new boyfriend, this hang-loose, artsy
guy in his mid-20’s who had that wonderful “whatever, dude, just give me a
Kerouac paperback, and I’ll sit over here on the sofa, man, while you
upper-middle-class folks stare daggers at each other” countenance … she was
heading for her showdown with parental authority for maybe the last time in
her young adult life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">Those were your higher-end Deadheads, Deadheads pursuing
college degrees, as opposed to people completely stoned out of their minds,
following the band on tour from one city to another, selling whatever wares
they had or made to acquire ticket and drug money.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I didn’t get it then and still don’t now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It just seemed so constricting, to
be that focused on one band to the exclusion of all others, to create a
lifestyle that served as monument to that narrow sense of taste.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">For me, respecting The Dead after Jerry died was
understanding where alt. country was born, although it surely wasn’t known as
that at the time, and wouldn’t be known as such until the late 1980’s when punk
would serve as another catalyst for that whole scene to happen.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But back then?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The first two albums by The Band.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>Workingman’s Dead</i> and <i>American Beauty</i> by The
Grateful Dead.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The first few Neil Young
albums, particularly with songs like “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pesIGuV9DDk" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere</span></b></a>” and
“<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VrTSF-v8Vs" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Don’t Cry No Tears</span></b></a>.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s alternative
country music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s not rock musicians
playing straight country, like The Byrds on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sweethearts
of The Rodeo</i> or Gram Parsons thereafter.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s not The Eagles pulling that similar sort of music in a very
pop/rock direction.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">It’s very raw, “country” music that touches on roots far
deeper than rock music, but uses the immediacy and instrumentation of rock
music to communicate those age-old truths.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The Dead had that quality in spades, as did The Band.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Neil Young was just an expert at pulling
together those loose strands and presenting them as a beautiful, unified sound
that no one could quite classify at the time, save to note that it was good,
sometimes great.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A lot of 60’s artists
paved the way for that to happen, you can even credit The Stones for helping it
to happen (“Dead Flowers,” “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNTH9zmleBE" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Let It Bleed</span></b></a>,” “Country Honk”).<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Credence Clearwater Revival dabbled in this,
but generally veered more rock … still, they had it, too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It seemed like a general vibe at the time a
lot of those great early 70’s rock artists could tap into, seemingly at will.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: calibri; font-size: large;">So, forgive me if I can live without the drugs, or the inane
lifestyle choices, or the endless sea of bootleg concerts.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I finally got into The Dead, it was
solely based on the music, most of it thanks to Jerry, although Bob hit it out
of the park every now and then, too.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Whatever faults the man had, they were easily forgiven by the music.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I have no idea what “kids today” make of the
Dead.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As far as I’m concerned, kids in
the 80’s were getting them all wrong, which turned me away from their music for
a long time to come, much to my shame and discredit.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You couldn’t have paid me to listen to The
Grateful Dead in the 80’s, as I had tons of very new and interesting indie
music to digest, on top of going backwards and re-discovering the earth wasn’t
flat via folks like Dylan, The Velvet Underground, Otis Redding, Chuck Berry,
etc.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The main thing I eventually learned
was to not judge music by the fans, otherwise I’d be listening to silence
all the time.</span></div>
William S. Repsherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00133278490771240664noreply@blogger.com0