Boors,Cads, Fiends and Bounders

“When you get to my age, your tolerance for bullshit is going to get real short.” B. tells me.

“The reason why is that as you get older, everything you experience becomes ceaseless...a repetition of 'Been there, Done that.' How long will your patience last after you've 'done that' 11,304 times?”

I had a tiny experience with this last night. Perhaps the younger generation doesn't understand etiquette or the rules for it have changed and I'm the one who's clueless. I ain't so sure now.

When I see an empty chair at a bar, restaurant or wherever in public, and there's a coat draped on it, a beer sitting on the table in front of it with keys, or a plate of food, I tend to think that chair is “owned.” Obviously someone was sitting there and will come back in a few.

**

I came back from the bathroom and saw this sort of pretty young women, about 22, in my chair. I then get real close to her, reach right by her face with my arm to retrieve my beer. Basically I'm violating the hell out of her personal bubble space on purpose. She then shoots this annoyed look at me and I say:

“Wow, I was gone for two minutes and you jumped right into my spot!”

She then giggles some, reaches out to flirtatiously brush my arm and flips her hair and says: “Oh, well I saw it was open.” I get one of those great toothy smiles and dead-on eye contact. Once she's done, she turns around and goes back to texting, completely blowing me off.

“Holy shit” I think to myself, “She ain't moving!” I also am taken aback a bit by this breach of etiquette. What balls!

I remain there for twenty long seconds and then bark:

“GET OUT!”

To that I have my hitch-hiking thumb extended that accompanies my demand and points, “Get on down the road, bum!”

She jumps from the change in my attitude and gets out of the chair as well. As she leaves, she shoots me this bratty, almost pig-faced “I didn't get to keep my candy” look back at me. She moves back down to where her other friends are, all the while acting like she just smelled burning cat fur.

Two guys about her age were watching this show. They were right behind me the whole time and seemed startled by what I just did.

One says to me, “Wow, that was mean and rude.”

“Hopping into my chair when it was obvious someone was sitting there wasn't?” I say in defense. “Why does she get a pass for her bad manners?”

I then see what they are both thinking and I go on.

“How many times have women done this to you? Girls your age? Flirting with you to get their way?” I ask.

“Alot” they both nearly say at the same time.

“Uh-huh...and how many times did you get laid by acquiescing to it?”

“None” they both nearly say again.

“Now you're learning, boyo!” I say in a mock Irish accent.

“Get to my age and you won't fall for those little tricks anymore. You're hopes of 'getting it' shouldn't be based on manipulative teasing that was never meant to attract you. Don't worry, after it happens to you 630 times, you'll get sick of it.”

**

What the kicker of this was, it happened again thirty minutes later. Another twenty-something jumps into my chair when I got up for about five minutes.

I come back and see this guy who had pushed my belongings over to put his in place. His beer, his keys, his iPhone, his burger and fries.

This time I grab my coat that was draped on the chair and start roughly yanking on it. This got his attention as he was also sort of sitting on it.

“OH...Sorry...You were sitting here?” he says.

“Yes, I was.”

He then grabs his stuff and moves on.

I sit down, look towards heaven and roll my eyes.

Have the rules changed and I'm just not “with it” anymore or are some of these kids just oafs?

Learning Your A, B, C's

Do you remember this stuff? I don't know if they make it still. Though, any of this stuff tasted exactly the same as any other Chef Boyardee, pasty tomato juice with a pasta that was reminiscient of wall paper glue. Though as a kid, I liked it as it was just junk food.

My Mom liked it too for the reason that it was easy to make. There's no skill required except opening the can, glopping it into the pan and heating it. Add to that a couple of pieces of buttered bread and there's lunch!

For those of us that had this Alphabet soup, we all tried to maneuver the pasta into words, mostly trying to spell our names out. After a bit, my brother had a different idea.

With my Mom's backed turned, he pushed his bowl near me and floating in the red sauce was the word, “Fuck.”

I busted out laughing and my Mom never did turn around. Kids laugh and make noise anyways.

He then worked on the dish a bit further and showed his next word: “Asshole”

I laughed again but this time my Mom turned around. But by then my brother had put his bowl back in front of him before she noticed.

He then became more concerted. It took a while but then he showed me the next obscenity, “Pussy Fart.”

I laughed but didn't get it. At eight, what do you know of these things?

My brother made a huge mistake though. He didn't scramble the letters up but left to go to the bathroom, probably confident my Mom would continue with the clean up by the sink. I was too focused on eating the glop when she left the sink to go to the kitchen closet.

She did a double take at his bowl and then shouted out...

“KENNETH!!!!!”

That jolted me out of my daze and I looked up. I then acted as surprised as she was.

He comes back and she looks at him, then the bowl and back to him.

His best answer was that it “formed that way on it's own.”

My Mom was never an astrophysicist or mathematician but she said something like: “Oh sure! Those letters just formed themselves like that! It would take million monkeys a million years to accidentally put those letters together like that!!”

Of course, my brother had no response.

The bowl, bread and milk all soon went down the drain or into the garbage.

“I think you can do w/o lunch...don't you?” my Mom sarcastically said.

I sat there, sort of secretly enjoying this spectacle. For once it wasn't me that was in trouble.

More Gossip.

More dry but fun reading. NATO sitrep courtesy of you-know-who.

Reports of heavy rocket artillery firing on the eastern parts of the city of Mariupol have been widely reported, with the death toll rising to 27 people. Mariupol has been shelled in the past, notably in early September, but as the cease-fire took affect separatist forces generally conducted attacks only outside of the city. It is not clear whether this is simply an intensification of relatively static fighting along the front between Russian and pro-Russian forces on the one side, and Ukrainians, or the beginning of a Russian-led offensive to widen the pocket, or the opening move in a broader strategic offensive to link up with Crimea, 200 miles to the west of the pocket.

The widespread use of Grad Multiple Launch Rocket Systems indicates that this is a planned action with significant logistical support that it involves extensive use of Russian troops, though Grad fire has been widely used throughout the conflict. There have been indications that Russian Marines and Spetnaz (the American SEAL counterpart) have moved into the eastern Ukraine pocket controlled by allied-Russian forces, giving the Russians offensive options. Heavy artillery preparations frequently precede Russian attacks, particularly by concentrated MLRS launches. Given the amount of munitions needed to supply concentrated fire, the Russians historically tend not to use them casually. The presence of Grad missile batteries indicates the possibility of artillery preparation for a broader offensive.

The attack comes days after the Russian forces secured the Donetsk Airport by completely devastating it. There is nothing left to it. It's important in defending the right flank of any offensive westward. It also comes days after Lt. Gen. Ben Hodges, commander of U.S. Army forces in Europe, came to Ukraine and publicly announced that a small number of U.S. Army trainers would be arriving in Ukraine. While any large-scale offensive would have been considered and planned for much longer, the decision of the United States to send Lt. Gen. Hodges could have affected the dynamic of internal Russian calculations.

In any event, we do not yet know Russia’s strategic intentions. It is too early. This could simply be an attempt to signal the danger Russia could pose to their negotiating partners in the west. It could be an attempt to extend the pocket they hold modestly. It could, finally, be the opening of an offensive toward Crimea.

The Russian position in Crimea is untenable. Crimea is easily isolated should Ukranian forces strengthen or Western forces get involved. Russia holds Crimea only to the extent that the West chooses not to intervene, or to the extent that it extends a relatively wide and robustly defended land bridge from Russia to the Crimea. Crimea and the Sevastapol naval facilities are of strategic importance to Russia and the decision to hold these facilities but not extend their power makes diplomatic sense, though it is not militarily rational. Either Russia can build the geographical structure to support Crimea, or it becomes a permanent weak point in the Russian position. The Russians do not want a massive confrontation with the West at a time of economic dysfunction, yet at the same time, having made the decision to hold Crimea, they will not have a better moment for consolidation. Use it or lose it may be their thinking.

This is an ongoing conversation in Moscow from what we hear. It is not clear that it is over. The artillery may simply be a minor probe or it could be the preface to an assault. We know that there has been a significant increase in Russian troops and equipment in the pocket, but it does not seem to us that the Russians are logistically ready for a major offensive yet. Give it a few days and I'll change that view as the Russians can move very quickly.

Taking Mariupol is a first step to a broader offensive. It is also an end in itself, anchoring the southern flank in the city, though may not even be that. However, the MLRS barrages on Mariupol open the door to multiple avenues of exploitation and have clearly moved the fighting to a new level, not so much in intensity, but in raising serious questions of strategic intention. If this is a major move, the Russians are beating us to the punch.

If you don't know it already, the United States is involved in a proxy war with Russia herself. 

  What's Left of the Airport

The Quick Brown Fox Jumps Over the Lazy Dog

“Foxes occupy a unique place among animal stereotypes. They can be good guys, bad guys, or completely neutral, but they're always crafty, clever, and cunning. Their sly nature sometimes results in illegal actives, so it's not uncommon to see them portrayed as thieves or con-artists; in other words, they're a classic Trickster Archetype

In folklore, the trickster is incarnated as a clever, mischievous man or creature (typically the fox), who tries to survive the dangers and challenges of the world using trickery and deceit as a defense. For example many typical fairy tales have the King who wants to find the best groom for his daughter by ordering several trials. No brave and valiant prince or knight manages to win them, until a poor and simple peasant comes. With the help of his wits and cleverness, instead of fighting, he evades or fools monsters, villains and dangers with unorthodox strategies. Therefore the most unlikely candidate passes the trials and receives the reward, the King's daughter. A modern example would be seen in the character of Bugs Bunny.”

**

“I've been reading your blog...it's NUTTY! You say anything you want in it!” says Diane, a very old friend from years ago.

“Diane, you've known me since I was what? Twenty-three? You're just finding that out?”

“True...you're more crazy like a fox. But others won't get that, I knew others who would just shake their head at the stuff you said or did. I knew you were screwing with them, they didn't.” She says.

I say, “That's the point! Foxes intentionally act irrational or hyperbolic in order to throw off the competition! Plus, it's fun screwing around. SO WHAT if I lowered people's view of me, their estimation of me, that's a tactic. And if it initially costs me some street cred, so what, the pay off in the end was larger.”

She goes on. “Damn, you were always soo competitive then, in your own odd ways. I'd watch you completely enjoy playing those games you did then...you devious little bastard!”

“I'm not a bastard...I am a FOX!”

“You've outfoxed yourself a number of times, you know.” she goes on.

I admit it. “Yeah, that's when I lose control of the game, I get taken up by it and nail myself with my own tricks. If there was something I wanted, the trick is to make sure the opponent doesn't know what I want, hide how I was going about to get it and then send them down the wrong trail when they finally become aware something is up...without falling into my own trickery.”

“Uh-huh...and I've seen you convict yourself with your own mouth when you tripped up.” Diane says.

“Ummm...I didn't win them all, but I had wicked fun doing it!”

Diane thinks for a moment. “You know, I swear you are still competing against your own Dad.”

“Good girl! You know me well. He was my main competitor at times...and a good one. Where do you think I learned these tricks from? And he competed against me too, don't forget!”

**

I admit it. I loved trickery. The best “wins” were when someone was trying to outsmart me and then I used their own game to defeat them. Whether it be gossip, family life, relationships or just general everyday life, it was fun to defeat someone who was playing the same game as I was. We compete for food, mates, money, attention, the TV channel and a host of other things great and small. To win, you use your best talents.

And why?

Because growing up in a family teaches you this from a very early age. Every family has it's own little dynamic that pretty much every member understands. The rules for it are known and everyone in the family plays their part. Everyone will do what they can to satisfy their wants or needs within that family.  Dysfunctional family you say? Find me one that isn't! Families too play foxy games with the world at large too.

Of course, the trick here too is to display to the neighborhood a family gleaming with shiny mental hygiene. Little Jimmy is on the honor roll. Suzie scored the winning goal in soccer. (But don't speak of little Billy when you had to take the cat to the vet after he nearly bit the tail in half!). Show the world how stable you are and never let a family problem or argument spill out into the front yard where everyone can see or hear it.

Though that is entertaining...watching some family go hog wild with everything that's been pent up for weeks, on the front lawn, for all to see and hear. A true SCREAMFEST.

I digress...

We all learn how to live life by learning it early from our families. I haven't seen one family that was so perfect that the members didn't learn various “ugly” talents in order to navigate them. We all experienced this and we all have our ugly talents. It's human. Period.

When my Dad said, “No, you can't do this or that,” I found a way around it. If not, I led him down a path that had him acquiescing to it. Well, I didn't win all the time but I scored rather well usually. That's my ugly talent. I can be a fox and seem nutty. But there's a motive behind it all.  

Frost Bite

There used to be an old commercial where the house owner would grimace to hearing his old furnace kick on. The last shot of him, in bed, had him putting the pillow over his face as it kicked on again, sucking up his dollars. I think it finally ended with an overlay of “Call Your Local Tappan Dealer” or something like that.

Growing up I had no worries about old furnaces. My brother and I discovered a trick where we could turn the furnace on if it was near close to doing so. We'd walk by where the thermostat was and thump the wall with our fist. It was enough to jar that mercury switch to the “on” position and we'd run to the heat registrars and bathe in that wonderful warm air. That way, we'd never be seen trying to turn up the thermostat. I am sure, my Dad grimaced when it came on, ever.

Luckily in my life I've never really gone hungry or cold for any length of time. (Knocking wood for this to continue!). The only time I was dangerously cold was my first experience with frostbite as a kid.

Our gang in our neighborhood were mall rats even before that term was coined. There was a small strip mall on Armistice where we'd hang out, ride our bikes and other wise be bored. We'd be on the outlook for trouble, as trouble was exciting.

This particular day I was riding around with the others and it was bitingly cold, but when you're twelve your body is in perfect condition and can handle it. I didn't have gloves on and so the skin was exposed for a good hour or two. I was privately complaining to myself about this but I wasn't about to bail on the others because it was “too cold.” I'd get instantly needled for that. So I suffered with that stinging pain on the tops of both my hands.

After a while, I was happy to notice the pain went away. The tops of my hands were completely numb and grayish looking. “Ah, they're just cold as hell, that's why they're gray.” I thought. We eventually all went home as the sun sets early and when I did, I came into a nice warm house. About ten minutes later, the tops of my hands were singing in pain again.

Have you ever had a part of you that was sooo cold, that plunging it into cold tap water felt warm? I did that day. My Mom who noticed the gray color after my quiet grumbling about the pain took some action.  So into the sink my hands went, into what is usually even colder in winter, tap water. After a few minutes, she refilled with more slightly warmer water and brought my hands, bit by bit, to temp. This was accompanied by that burning sensation.

Two days later, I saw the top layers of my skin peel like they were sunburned. Underneath that, newer skin was trying to come up. Whoops! I stayed out too long that day.

On another twelve year old “Let's see how far we can get away with it” romp, Jim and I decided to go off into the woods after hearing nothing but warnings on how cold it would be. We wanted to see what it was like in the worst area, which was standing in the middle of a frozen lake with nothing to block the wind. In a way too, it was competition between us two. Who would chicken out first from the cold?

It wasn't bad actually. Sure, it was savagely cold but we lasted about an hour out there in the woods and ice before we became bored enough to walk back. What I discovered as a boy is that the animals, all of them, disappear. Even the birds hide and where I do not know. Also, the lake when freezing even thicker, makes this un-earthly sound as it contracts tighter. There were loud cracking sounds that boomed across the entire thing every now and then. Miniature ice quakes I thought. I heard what had to be frozen trees. They were so cold that the sap in them froze and cracked loudly when the wind shoved the limbs around. Strange sights and sounds. But that is what we wanted to know and see.

Walking home is where it hit us. We'd been out long enough to cool off some but then there was that added time needed to make it home, so we cooled further. I kept with my usual pig-headedness at stomping through the snow toward where we'd finally see some suburbia. Even then I was a tenacious little prick at times.

We made it out of the woods and then a little further we found a Friendly's Restaurant where we stopped just inside the door to warm up. A young teen waitress there asked us if we wanted a seat and we told her we had no money, just wanted to warm up. The girl then seated us and gave us free hot chocolate. She had asked us “Where were we? Why were we out on a day like this?” When we said we were standing on the middle of the Central reservoir, she seemed shocked. She rolled her eyes and mouthed “..boys”

Then she added:

“You know, if you two were GIRLS...you'd never leave the house today.”

“But we wanted to see what it's like...how it is out there when everything's negative 10 degrees.” I said.

“It's because you're BOYS...you have no common sense!” she repeated.

“I have PLENTY of common sense...and I got to see the wilds at their worst in the winter!” I thought.

So, tonight, it's headed down to below zero with the threat of nasty, skin freezing wind chills. I have enough experience with odd winter conditions, from that frozen reservoir, the Carrabassett Valley in Maine and freezing my nips off in Montreal one night to know what it's all about now. I did my tour and tonight I'm going to hibernate...and if need be, smack the wall with my hand to get the thermostat to come on.  

Falling Like a Rock

Zzzzzzz

I tend to have some specific memories that have burned themselves into my brain from years ago. Not all are exciting or even that interesting to anyone else, but they have settled on my brain and that's that. Here's one about a few minutes long from a class I had in 1979 regarding something I still love to do.

Ed Angiolillo, a one time science teacher at Goff Jr High, was a rare instance of a teacher I've met. One who liked the subject he taught and the kids as well. His only fault, that I know of, was that he barely kept control of his class. I 'm sure he felt like a heel when the principal would stroll on by, and hear the ruckus. Hell, every teacher in the school knew he was lousy at managing the more boisterous of the kids. But in my opinion, that was a small price to pay for his being “real” and human. Other teachers there easily defaulted to their neurotic/ugly coping skills to control a class. Read that as: Those teachers lost control and let their emotions rule. “GOD DAMMIT! I SAID TO QUIET DOWN!” In contrast, Ed was one of those people who didn't seem to have a bad bone in him.

Ed also allowed the kids to have conversations that had nothing to do with the matter at hand and he'd jump into them from time to time. Anything from sports, to the current news or life in general, he'd get his opinion in as well. When Newport ave was being torn up for a resurfacing, we kids were surprised to see them pulling out old trolley tracks that had been repaved over and over again. Ed told us he rode trolleys as a kid. It was kinda cool to hear this, from a living witness of local Pawtucket. Add to that his stories weren't full of BS either.

One time, I once mentioned to others in Ed's class that I LOVED to sleep. Some balked at that thought as Saturday should be enjoyed as soon as it got light out. “Don't waste a minute of it!” was their credo. I said the best relaxation you could get was being dead asleep. If I remember right, I said, “sleep is the best vacation in the world you'll ever take.”

Some others in the class were backing me the whole way, they loved it too.

“How late do you sleep till on a weekend?” I was asked by one of them who routinely got up with the chickens.

“Ten”

“TEN!” she and others shrieked.

“Hey, I'm up watching SNL and then SCTV after...it gets late.” I said, feeling like I had to excuse myself.

I was then asked why I liked to sleep.

“Oh, the relaxation, there's nothing better. In winter, you can't get any warmer than that (My Mom was a thermostat dictator) and the dreams. The dreams are more wild than any movie you can watch.”

I then added something that grabbed the attention of Angiolillo.

“Plus, when you're asleep, you don't have to think of anything, you're numb.” I finally said.

Angiolillo's head shot around and looked right at me.

At fourteen, I never did “get” what his immediate reaction to me meant. I did recognize he shot me one hell of a look, more of one that was of deep interest if anything else. I did come to realize he looked at me with a “Why does a fourteen year old kid need to be “numb?” look. But when I was fourteen, how much living and experience with reading people's reactions did I have then? Barely above zero.

The funny thing, he occasionally would shoot a look at me for the rest of the class, long after the topic of sleep was over and we were onto some reason why gases expand when heated. Like I said before, I was clueless that he had learned something about me with that slip of mine.

Had I been aware, I wasn't about to say to him and the entire class: “Gee Mr. Angiolillo, I'm currently propping up, emotionally and psychologically, a 48 year old Mom who in the depths of depression. That's why I like it when I can be unconscious for a few hours and forget it all.”

Right. I was far more than aware than to unleash that juicy tidbit of gossip onto the small town that Pawtucket was. I was very aware of that at that age.

So parents out there, how many times did your own kids blurt out deep, family secrets to their teachers or anyone else without realizing it? Oh, I'd say a few million times per kid. One of the more funnier things I overheard a kid say a ways back was: “Mommy and Daddy don't fight over their covers..they have TWO beds!”

**

Why do I love sleeping still? Again, the relaxation, the warmth, the dreams...and the fact sleep can keep me blissfully unaware that I'm sick with the flu, for a few hours at least. Taxes, the lengthening crack in my windshield, other people's chemo treatments I worry about and the usual day to day BS doesn't intrude. Welcome to the Bahamian vacation!

I ain't alone in this way of thinking...am I? Nope. At 50 I know a few things about people now.

If you really want to be comatose, get a Techloft anything; quilt, sleeping bag or what not and toss that on top of your bed. It's great!

The One Item Everyone Wants!

Growing Up

Knowing when “you're on your own” comes in dribs and drabs, hopefully; instead of all at once, like those kids tossed into DCYF for their entire childhoods. Decent parents, who try their best, slowly ween their kids a bit at a time, till they can fly off on their own. Other parents are either somewhat absent or care a wee bit less.

For the past week, I've been coping with a minor headcold. If anything, I've been having sneezing bouts, some shoulder pain and the usual coughing and this reminded me of how glad I'm am it's not the flu. The flu would've whacked me entirely. This little cold is manageable with some ibuprophen and with this snowfall I'm seeing now, it reminds me of an event past that allowed me to grow up more. 

Years ago, while having a snowstorm drinking party at a friend's house off of Atwells ave, I became so tired that I fell asleep on his living room rug. After an hour or so, I rose, looked at the three people still left in his home and started cough my brains out. I then realized that miserable malaise and achy all over feeling. Shit. I'm sick. There was no point in going home as there was about foot of snow still falling outside, the roads would be a bitch as they weren't cleared yet. 

So, I found the warmest heat source in his little apartment, a gas heater that was in his kitchen and curled up in front of that, like a dog would in front of a fireplace. Not that it did any great good, I was cold still, but not as cold as I would be elsewhere. The next morning I awake, more miserable than any cold would have me. Great, I think, it's the flu! I want to get the hell out of there so I can return to my own comfortable nest I've lived in since I was a boy. 

I get dropped off at RIC and find my car snowed in. No problem. I rock it back and forth and finally burst through that wall of snow the plows shoved up against the car. Finally, I can get home and get some decent sleep before I have to go into work later in the day. I'm still achy, snotty and miserable but at least the place I work at is dry, heated and there was little stress with that job.

Why I didn't anticipate this I don't know, you'd think I would. Perhaps my brain was fuzzy from dealing with little flu viruses. I pull onto my own street and see this Great Wall of China snowbank blocking the driveway due to the snowplows. Add to that, the dropping temperatures is turning it to concrete. 

I park the car, get out think for a moment. I can't park the car in the street as the town still has their parking bans in effect. I can't park it at Stop and Shop as I saw that they were still digging it out. My brother isn't home but my Mom is and at her age, what am I going to do? Elicit her help in moving heavy wet snow? 

My sinuses are full of wood glue, my lungs hurt and my entire body still aches and I feel weak. And not only that, I'm getting colder as the north wind starts to really rip. Then this thought occurs to me. 

“I'm on my own...I'm abandoned. Only my own efforts will fix this.” 

I find the shovel and start digging out. Each shovelful seems to weigh 100lbs as my shoulders complain due the the flu and this added work that aggravates them further. I stop many times to rest and sort of longingly look up and down my street. Completely empty of people. The street looks like a white desert. Even the slightest hope for another to help is dashed. Back to shoveling I go. There is no other answer. 

The little boy in me is really protesting. “This is UNFAIR! I'm sicker than I've ever been in years and now THIS? Why do I have to do this ALONE!?” 

I do a shitty job because the priority is in getting the car off the street so I can go inside and collapse on my bed, the perfect shoveling job can come much later. There will be no medals for doing the perfect job while fighting the flu. Even the idea of self congratulating myself over withstanding the elements, my own illness doesn't matter at all. Fuck it...just get the damn car off the street first. 

I get it done, come into the house and pass by my Mom w/o saying a word. When I get to my room I pull off my jeans and such. They stand up on the floor somewhat as the calves of them are solidly frozen. My cold wet socks feel disgusting and I peel those off too. Those too on the floor look like I wore them nine days straight, soaked in sweat. 

I finally crawl under the covers and pass out and sleep that sleep you get when your sick, restless and full of odd dreams. Later I get up, put on clean dry clothes and go into work. 

At work, I mention once and only once, that I was sick as a dog and had to move that mountain of snow myself. I quickly learn that no one gives a rat's ass and stop speaking of it. This second lesson I knew already but it was further burned into my brain: “No one gives a rat's ass.” 

That event was decades ago. Since then, there have been now countless times where I (and you) have had to rely on just yourself. Do this enough times and you develop a thicker skin and a ton of life skills as well. It doesn't make the ugly tasks you have to perform yourself less annoying, but you suffer less from the perceived injustice of it. I save my animosity for real injustice now.

Famed 54th Massachusetts training. Click and Watch about "growing up a little more"

Top 40, Broadway and Me

I once walked by all this, many years ago. 

I've had friends who were heavily into Broadway musicals and the whole scene that comes with it. The problem with talking to someone like that is that they can go on while I have little clue as to what they're talking about or even referring too. One of my hobbies is high-end stereo equipment and talking about Vas, Qts or 40,000 uF capacitance leaves most people bored. To me and others of like mind, it's porn that we shamelessly abuse.

So, Broadway is porn to a friend and after hearing about it for years I did tend to pick up some things. I never knew what the phrase “Angels” meant on Broadway. I came to find it it's the investors who will back a production. The “angels” arrive and shower the cash around. Imagine the payback for those angels who financed Webber's “CATS” that ran for years and made profits into the billions. Or, and you don't hear about this, the abject failures of Broadway shows that close within a few weeks, taking the investor's money with it. Whoops!

I never knew what perfect pitch meant either, considering that I'm a nut about music reproduction. Thank Broadway for that also.

So I get updates on whatever Broadway production is out there and the latest up and coming stars in Top 40 music too, as Top 40 has more of a connection to the Great White Way than the screaming guitars I tend to love instead. I never was into WPRO Top 40 really. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I don't like most dance music? Add to that a bit, no..alot of that older guy's simple dismissiveness of anything newer than 70's mainstream rock and roll. "Phssssh! It SUCKS!” Yes, unfairly dismissive.

I was listening to him go on about what I'm missing by NOT bothering to listen to Taylor Swift.

After much cajoling about my refusal to be current and “get with it,” I listened to some of her stuff on YouTube. I admit she's pretty but any girl in her twenties is. I guess her singing abilities are good but I'm no expert critic on that. I've been told she's talented, a rare star to come flying out of Nashville and that her writing abilities are exceptional as well.

So I look up her lyrics to most of her songs. The jist of them are:

“You BASTARD! You BROKE my heart!”

“You made me CRY!”

“I can't TRUST you!”

It seems every young and new girl singer writes what she knows about..heartbreak and lots of it.

Why don't young male singers sing about: “You C*NT! You LIED to ME! You STOLE all of my money! You USED me like as Shake 'n' Bake bag!”

Well, some do.

I can remember when Alanis Morrisette hit the Big 40 back then. She was the latest young and fresh girl singer to come by. I found most of her songs whiny. I don't mean to be dismissive, but when you have a planet full of people who abuse one another selfishly and have done so for thousands of years... Hell, ask the Jews about WW2, ask the Hmong about Cambodia, ask the Serbs, as the Hutus, ask anyone. “Lather, Rinse, Repeat” that's on the back of most shampoo bottles, is just the perfect, final thing you can say about humanity. And the jist of today's songs is just another reiteration of an old theme.

What this is, is a constant repeat of “It's New to You!” Every generation that comes along claims to be the first to discover it all. Well, you can't blame them, my generation thought the same thing. That until we were used, abused and refused and replaced by younger, fresher ones. By then Boomers became numb to it...or at least developed a thicker skin in response.

Ah, this is the thick skinned, scarred and older guy spouting off here when it comes to newer music. Ack! I've heard it all before!

What I should do is just shut up. What the youth have and created is real and it's undeniable. Their new perspectives on the world are just as a valid as mine were then..and very much the same exact thing.

Perhaps the Boomers, my generation, can sing about the upcoming things they haven't experienced yet but will, and act like we're the absolute first ones to know it. Song titles such as:

“Fuck! My Hair's Gone White!” I see this as a heavy metal one. (I can personally write this one)

“Shameless Cougar Mom” This has possibilities as women of my age grasp at youth one more time and make fools of themselves doing so. Maybe a hoppy/80's rendition would do?

“My Kids Aren't Alright” This can be a remake of the Who's version, for all the Boomer parents out there who lament their kid's shortcomings.

And a host of others we can write...only to be laughed at by today's 70 year olds who might listen in and claim..”Phsshhh...It SUCKS! You ain't telling us anything new!”

Ugh!