Partners in Crime

For a few years now, I have resisted the pleas of others to join facebook.  I just recently did so at the request of my friend Mark, who suggested that if I wanted him to know that I had a new post to my blog, that facebook would be the perfect method of communication.  Little did I know that my sister Dianne had loads of photos to which I could now be tagged.  I also started looking for old photos already on my hard drive that I could post.  I ran across one of my favorites, one of me with three of my buddies at Dianne’s and husband Arthur’s wedding reception.  Of course many comments followed on facebook which rekindled the memories and antics of that momentous evening.

I was truly honored to be an usher and frankly did most all of the ushering as Art’s three brothers were more than willing to let me earn my spot in the rotation.  Dianne and Art had tried to have a dual or combined ceremony where both Catholic and Protestant clergy would preside.  It is my recollection that our long-time pastor declined to participate so Dianne agreed to be married in the Catholic tradition.  While she did not convert to Catholicism, she did commit to rearing her children that way and I must say they’ve turned out awesome. 

At the time, the Catholic thing was kind of big for our family.  Despite my protestant perspective that grace cannot be earned versus the Catholic tenants of faith and good works, the long-term impact upon our family dynamics could not be more benign.  I was thrilled that Dianne and Art chose each other and am still proud of how well they have made things work.  As I recently wished them congratulations on their 28^th anniversary, they are our inspiration.

If I remember correctly, I only made one potentially disrespectful move (in the church that is).  Prior to anyone else being in the church, I asked my cousin Tim to take a picture of me with my arm around the Virgin Mary.  Tim thought better of being connected to my immature stunt so he refused to do so.  His judgment would get far worse as the night progressed however.

They were married on December 17^th, 1983 and had both graduated from Arizona State the prior day.  Joshua David would be born nine months later.  The pair also experienced the typical whirlwind of activities as family and friends had come from across the country to help them celebrate.  I also had come home from Dallas and was excited to be part of the experience as well as seeing my family and friends.  Dianne and Art were kind enough to invite my friends Paul H., Mike B. and Paul G., a move they are probably still questioning.  In speaking with Art recently, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t in on the Paul G. thing:).

After the wedding, the reception was held at the Holiday Inn.  I had no mischievous intentions whatsoever until Mike B. kept bugging me to find out where they were spending the night so that we could do something fun (for us I guess, mean to them).  Mike was next to youngest of eight brothers and sisters and had lots of wedding prank experience he was more than willing to unleash on our innocent newest of newlyweds.  The rest of us, including a surprisingly party ready Tim, were feeling pretty good or at least on the way there, so we put our/Mike’s plan into action.

It was not a stretch to assume that the couple was staying at the Holiday Inn.  It only took a ten spot to buy off the bell hop and he obliged us by even letting us into their room.  Apparently the last trick Mike had been a part of entailed tearing the bed down and putting it in the shower.  Okay, well that’s exactly what we did.  Then we, mostly me I think, drank the bottle of champagne intended for the couple.  I left something like a five or ten dollar bill, like that would have bought a replacement bottle.  Dianne still claims this was the worst thing I did.  We all signed our names as though we were proud of our handiwork.  However, I am pretty sure by this time that the Paul(s) were working on just being able to stand upright.  I probably had their delegation authority. 

We joined the party back at Art’s folks’ place as the couple opened gifts.  Only two things stand out during that time as we were hyper-focused on when the bride and groom would return to their presumed refuge.  One is that I remember Art’s brother (Martin I believe) serving me a White Russian, perhaps an omen.  I don’t drink those any more, I prefer Swedish vodka:).  The other memory was a lowlight for Paul G.  As I was most recently reminded of by Dianne, the spirits Paul had imbibed earlier were exorcised onto the hosts’ lawn.  So Paul H. checked him backed into the rehab facility (his parent’s house a few blocks away). 

We raced back to the hotel without the Paul(s) to watch the couple go to their honeymoon suite.  They got to their room as we peered from behind a nearby bush.  It was a short stay.  Minutes later a hotel manager came.  We stayed long enough to see them move to another room.  After a few minutes, we had Tim, who had probably not participated much up until now, knock on their door and wish them congratulations.  It was our thought that having Tim be the one to represent us was a way of shielding ourselves from any wrath.  No 

one could get mad at Tim.

I wasn’t done with the mischief.  I stayed at their house while they were on honeymoon.  A lot of uncooked pasta was distributed.  I believe this was spearheaded by my mama who actually taught me about putting spaghetti in the sheets as well as short-sheeting the beds.  I was most proud of the pasta I strategically placed on top of the ceiling fans.  They didn’t receive that surprise until summer.

Bobbi and I were on the receiving end of the pasta and other funny things in 1991.  Dianne’s and Art’s retribution was substantial.  Although Paul and the gang tried to find out where we were staying, I learned from others’ mistakes.  We did find cat food and pasta in our ice cubes and wine glasses well into the next year following our wedding.  Then there was my 40^th birthday surprise which Dianne trumpets as one of her biggest achievements.  She might be the master, but I was first:).

Happy Anniversary Art and Dianne!













P.S. Dianne found the original note.  Unbelievable not that she had it, but that she found it.  Clearly PVG was not present during the act and Joyce R. was.  How could I forget her?  I think we danced until the next day and I can't even dance.

TDML (A Tribute to my Aunt Mary)

From the archives; written about 4 years ago.

In our family, the acronym TDML refers to Trip Down Memory Lane.  I believe Dianne coined this term once as we mercilessly teased our parents for reminiscing fondly of times gone by.  Of course they loved returning the favor when catching us doing the same.  When recently compiling a slide show for my Dad, I experienced deep feelings of reflection that I can not fully describe.  Some of the pictures which I’d never really seen or paid attention seemed to come to life.  In particular, seeing my folks and relatives as they were in their youth, struck me in a numinous way.  A way in which says loudly that we belong to each other and always have.

My soul is imprinted with the best memories of my Aunt Mary.  It was years before I realized that not everyone had an AuntMary (one word).  There was absolutely nothing as exciting as going to Aunt Mary’s.  Are we there yet?  Of course, Aunt Mary meant all of the Smiths as she was the definitive matriarch.  She was beautiful in every sense of the word.  Not a bigger heart ever.  Boy did I ever feel special around her.  She even made Bobbi feel special the few times they were together.  You’ve made the grade when you get your own pie.

My sister and I both feel that we have had close to ideal childhood experiences in which our Aunt Mary played a major role.  These experiences are a part of our very being.  I believe that Mary even through her struggles with Dementia and Alzheimer’s could somehow see into the windows of her soul and know that she was blessed.

I have not lived close to my extended family for more than half of my life.  I did not experience the harsh reality of seeing Aunt Mary decline in health over the last few years of her life, so it may be easier for me to remember her as she was.  She was beautiful.  Thank God for my Aunt Mary and her family.  We belong to each other and always have.

God Bless

Hambledon Hill (Mental Medication)

Was I high on Hambledon Hill or was it the oxycodone I was taking to avoid further disruption to my ailing back?  No doubt both were at play, but the moments spent with my youngest son Trey in the morning, and later that day three weeks ago with my friends at Six Flags over Texas seemed timeless. 

It was Raytheon Day at Six Flags which meant that employees, friends and family had the run of the park at a discounted price.  Although she is not a Raytheon employee, I had ironically been alerted to the event by my friend Sher which not only suggests my lack of attention to such things, but the complete absence of effective communication within my own company.  Regardless, it seemed a great idea and I planned to take the whole family only to find out later that Mike and Danny both had conflicts.  What a surprise.  Trey had recently missed an orchestra Six Flags event due to a conflict, so I promised him that he and I would attend.  Bobbi graciously volunteered for basketball fundraiser duty.

It was a beautiful fall day with a chill in the air reminiscent of my early childhood in Indiana.  We were up early as Trey had texted me from his upstairs bedroom by 6:00 a.m. wanting to know when we would be leaving.  I was determined to have a good time, but dubious about how my back would hold up to the obvious perils of riding roller coasters.  Mr. Freeze loomed large on the horizon.  By the time we got to Arlington, it was 10:00 and I felt the need to prepare myself in the event of a mid-ride muscle spasm, so I took an oxycodone I’d saved from a previous need.  By the time Trey and I had ridden our first roller coaster, I was ready for the day come hell or high water.

We rode one ride after another, including the Superman Tower of Power and the aforementioned Mr. Freeze roller coaster which was Trey’s favorite.  The thrill of any ride could not have surpassed the one of watching Trey thoroughly enjoy himself.  To make things even more fun for him, he ran into a couple of his buddies.  I took this opportunity to relax while he and his friends tried to set the world’s record for riding the Texas Giant and Titan roller coasters.

By this time, I was ever so content to sit on a bench and let the sunshine warm my soul.  I seemed to drift in and out of consciousness and started to hum a familiar, but forgotten tune in my mind.  Although I knew it was by Gordon Haskell and I had a sense of some of the lyrics, I could not remember the title of the song.  Without doubt the scene that the song creates, including the brisk but sunny morning, was how I felt.  I was at peace.  For the rest of the day and frequently since, I have been thinking about, and listening to Hambledon Hill.

The lyrics are obviously unique to the artist, but a few lines are eerily close to my own feelings that day.  Suffice it to say, the subconscious is a powerful thing.

Hambledon Hill Lyrics

Gordon Haskell

We walked in the sun on a Saturday morning
You and the baby on Hambledon Hill
And the passing of time was your friend for the asking
And all you were asking was the passing of time

And the whole of my world stood so wonderfully still
And I knew I was tumbling head over heel
And all in the space of a Saturday morning
High on Hambledon Hill

All I remember was not really knowing
Where we were going on Hambledon Hill
The pain you had gone through, the dream you held onto
No longer mattered on Hambledon Hill

And the whole of my world stood so wonderfully still
And I knew I was tumbling head over heel
And all in the space of a Saturday morning
High on Hambledon Hill

It all hangs in my head
All of the heaven on Hambledon Hill
It all hangs in my head
All of the heaven on Hambledon Hill

And if you should need me one Saturday morning
I will be walking on Hambledon Hill
I'll turn every stone there for what I have known there
For it all lies buried on Hambledon Hill

And all the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put us together again
And all the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put us together again

And all in the space of a Saturday morning
High on Hambledon Hill

It all hangs in my head
All of the heaven on Hambledon Hill
It all hangs in my head
All of the heaven on Hambledon Hill
It all hangs in my head
All of the heaven on Hambledon Hill
It all hangs in my head
All of the heaven on Hambledon Hill

     

The phone rang.  Stop dreaming Dave.  It was Sher calling to say that she and her family had arrived as we had planned to meet them and others sometime during the day.  Trey is off trying for the world’s record, so I tell her that we’ll have to see them later.  Remarkably, I am not at all feeling any internal pressure to be accommodating, because I somehow sense things will happen naturally and they did. 

Trey sends me a text that he and his friends are riding the train to the Batman area.  As I make my way there, I walk up behind Sher, her husband Mark, Steven a workmate of Sher’s and his wife Beth.  Much like Trey, Mark and Sher’s daughter Heather had gone to spend time with her boyfriend.  I had just earlier met Beth, but it was the first time to meet Mark even though I felt as though I already knew him through Sher’s many anecdotes.  The greetings went well as they waited with me to catch Trey.  I kidded that I would lose that “Dad of the Year” award that I’d just earned if I lost him.  Beth took it to heart and became my lookout for the rest of the day.  While we waited on Trey, Sher coerced a “coaster averse” Mark into riding Batman.  Beth spotted Trey, so I told him to wait until he met my friend before he left again.  Shortly thereafter, Steven spotted Mark and Sher coming off the ride and joked that my friend’s husband might not be in a condition to meet anyone.  As it were, he seemed no worse for the ride.  Unfortunately, this was not to be a harbinger for further coaster events.  I let Trey run off again with his buddies and I became a willing 5^th wheel for the afternoon.

Again, just like the song lyrics, one of the things I liked best about the afternoon was not knowing or really caring where we were going or what we did.  I was just along for the ride so to speak.  I did suggest that the ride formerly known as Tony Hawk’s Big Spin had been pretty easy on my back earlier in the day and that Mark would probably be okay.  After a short wait during which Steven and I agreed to disagree about appropriate disciplinary actions for kids (another indication that I was chillin’) we embarked on our roller coaster ride.  Boy did I have a short memory.  Of course a ride with the words “Big Spin” in its title should have been our first clue.  Within seconds I was wishing aloud that I’d taken another pill and Mark was verbally regretting his choice to trust my judgment.  All the while, Sher was laughing so hard at us, that she was crying.

Sher and I were the only ones interested in the next ride, a pendulum-like carriage that eventually goes full circle, turning you upside down.  Trey and I had also ridden that one earlier in the day.  After we’d been locked down for safety, it became clear that Sher was being pressed too tightly to the seat.  After we complained, the attendant actually asked if we wanted her to reset it.  Duh, YES.  After what Sher later referred to as her free mammogram, I think she had an enjoyable ride.

Heather finally responded to her dad’s persistent texting as she and her boyfriend Christian joined the group.  It was great to finally meet Heather, a very cute girl whom I also felt familiar because of her mama’s stories.  From my perspective she quietly accepted more than her share of grief regarding an award winning bridge built from spaghetti.  Apparently Steven was under the impression that she received too much help from her father.  Oddly enough, this was the most awkward I felt the entire day and it really had nothing to do with me.  To spare her any further angst, her mother adeptly and thankfully suggested the topic be dropped.

We all headed towards the big roller coasters which included the newly reconstructed Texas Giant.  Seeing as though the last time I had ridden this thing had been at least fifteen years ago and it hurt me then, I decided discretion the better part of valor and stayed with Mark as the others rode.  As luck would have it, Trey and his buddies also showed up and rode the same coasters.  Mark and I rested and talked shop while occasionally bonding with a moment of shared conservative political views.  Meanwhile, the others concluded their day of coaster riding at various times.  Unfortunately Beth became somewhat ill and Sher would suffer from vertigo for a few days. 

Of course Trey was the last one standing and we all waited on him to finish his last ride on the Texas Giant as the park closed.  As the shadows drew near, I was glad to be wearing my fleece vest and I again recollected the many times during the day that I felt the sun shine upon me.  I felt warm inside. 

There have been many times that I have had feelings that were directly connected to both music and lyrics.  Seldom have they resulted in the feeling where the whole of my world stood so wonderfully still.  Another song, one which actually describes this process is Mental Medication by the late seventies progressive rock band U.K.  A brief snippet of the lyrics follow.

Mental medication
Sweet music's conversation
Play for all creation here

Melody fair.
Lost in contemplation
Drowned in meditation
Need your inspiration near.

I’m sure my physical medication was a factor for my mood, but on this timeless Saturday, Hambledon Hill, sunshine, great kinship and friendship were my mental medication.

I Believe in Father Christmas

A familiar ring each holiday season, especially in the Sinclair household, is Greg Lake’s I Believe in Father Christmas.  It is one of the most played Christmas songs since its release in 1975.  It was written by Greg Lake with Peter Sinfield who was a long-time collaborator with Greg in King Crimson and ELP.  For years, the song was only available as a single and difficult to locate at best.  In High School, I remember staying up late to watch the ABC Midnight Special so that I might see the video only to fall asleep just as it began.  With the advent of the compact disc and the internet, it is now available in multiple versions including hundreds, if not more, covers by other artists.  WARNING to all, although I generally like U2, Father Christmas was not meant for Bono. 

I love the tune and the video, but was always conflicted about the lyrics.  It was my impression that they were anti-Christian in nature.  Other Lake and Sinfield lyrics tended to be harsh and iconoclastic so this lent even more credence to my belief.  More recently, Lake has indicated that this was not his intent and that the song was more about a return to child-like idealism as well as a statement against the over-commercialism of Christmas.

The most perplexing line of the song for me was “They sold me a dream of Christmas; they sold me a silent night.  They told me a fairy story; ‘till I believed in the Israelite”.  Calling it a fairy story bothered me because I thought that meant it wasn’t true, and I thought that was absurd seeing as the guy is singing about believing in Santa Claus whom I’m sure was a fairy tale.  Sorry Mom:).

Even though there are historical and practical aspects of the Bible, I’ve long held the belief that the most important parts are lyrical, poetic and metaphorical in nature.  After all, by the time they had reached 3^rd grade, my own children wanted to know why the Bible doesn’t say anything about dinosaurs.  I’ve made the statement many times that I do not believe that the Bible is the literal word of God, but of inspired men trying their best to explain something beyond their comprehension.  It still is the Greatest Story Ever Told and the keystone of Tolkien’s and Lewis’ concept of True Myth.  Just because it may not have naturally occurred in our space and time, does not mean it doesn’t represent something naturally true.

I believe there are other works of art and literature that are similarly inspired that are relevant spiritual themes including Lewis and Tolkien fantasies such as The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia.  Some folks scoff at Harry Potter and Star Wars as being Christian corollaries.  I’m not sure, but as long as there are people trying to make connections, I think it is a worthwhile debate.

I am surely not a linguist, but it seems to me that words are symbols that allow us to understand and communicate both mundane information as well as being artistic components for intimating personal feelings and expressing greater than thou reality.  The best of the Bible is not mundane.  To quote Chris Rock (okay now I’ve really discredited myself), “I don’t think my diet will be called into question on judgment day.”

More word fun includes consideration of the multiple translations of the original scriptures included and excluded from the canon.  When describing greater than thou reality, you really need all of the words you can get.  English has but one word for love.  Greek has four.  Agape means unconditional love, or higher love of God.  Eros means I want you (now:)).  Philos means brotherly love or affection as in friendship.  Storge means affection for offspring or similar.  Obviously translations from Hebrew and Greek into English don’t always convey the intended feeling.

Mainstream Christians also needed a bit of Greek influence to help us attempt to describe the nature of God.  The Trinity is probably befuddling to many, but not unlike the multiple definitions of love in the previous paragraph.  I believe the Trinity arose from inspired thought, perhaps imperfect, yet a true characterization of God as The Father, Christ the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Oh yes, back to God and Santa.  Don’t anyone go Church Lady on me now (Santa not Satan).  According to P.J. O’Rourke, God is a republican and Santa is a democrat.  God holds you accountable for your actions and Santa brings you what you want regardless of whether you deserve it.  It’s kind of funny despite the over generalizations.  However, I’ll bet that P.J. himself would even go for the ideal Christmas if he knew he wasn’t paying for it.

I’m not suggesting that the myth of Father Christmas is as core to our being as our religious ideology, but there is no question that the spirit of Santa Claus is also a true representation of our Christmas experience.  Just ask Mom.

 

I wish you a hopeful Christmas

I wish you a brave New Year

All anguish pain and sadness

Leave your heart and let your road be clear

Greg Lake & Pete Sinfield

Happy 15^th Birthday Danny! 

Benny the Bouncer

I often get the question regarding the source of my email address, so this seems the appropriate time to dive headlong into what most of you will know as one of my biggest obsessions, Emerson Lake & Palmer, or ELP for short.  The ELP experience has provided both the primer and the pinnacle to my eclectic musical tastes since first being exposed to their music in 1974.

For as long as I can remember, I have been inspired by music.  I regularly spun records on a small, red, portable phonograph as a very small child.  Some records were for children, others were selections from my parents’ collection of 45s, 33s and even 78rpm discs.  I know this record player had to be pretty old as I have now seen it in pictures that were taken prior to my birth.  Not that the age of the player was of any particular relevance, it just seems so bizarre in terms of today’s rapid pace of technological obsolescence.  One particular day I had trouble plugging in the phonograph.  One of the prongs on the plug had been bent.  Not to be denied, I chose a kitchen knife to guide the plug into the outlet.  Of course it shocked the living hell out of me, but I was fortunate that the knife had a plastic handle.  I will never forget precisely how that felt!  On reading this, some might wonder whether this might explain a few things:).

Besides whatever ball I was shooting or slinging at the time, the radio was my most-loved inanimate companion.  This was especially true during the 3 years I delivered the Arizona Republic newspaper commencing at 4:00 each and every morning.  Not only would I carry the radio with me on my route, it routinely stayed on all night.  Kids, I don’t recommend this (do as I say, not as I did).  There is no wonder I stopped growing near that time.  The station I listened to was primarily top 40, but would sometimes play album oriented rock (AOR) during the wee hours.  The most incredible thing at the time was that you could hear a Motown song back-to-back with Deep Purple.  I thought nothing of that then, but everything has to have a genre these days and stations are strictly formatted to fit the demographic they’re targeting.  Who knows, I might be more amenable to rap music if such a concept still existed.  I doubt it, but I do have a very soft spot in my heart for soul music.

It wasn’t until about 1971 that I discovered that there was more to a band than what I was hearing on the radio.  My first favorite band was Three Dog Night which was hugely popular due to their penchant for top hits and radio friendly songs.  I eventually became disenchanted with this style even though I still love most of their songs.  I started listening to Steppenwolf primarily due to the presence of their titles being shown on the record sleeves of Three Dog Night albums (ABC Dunhill Label) and because my cousins had an 8-track tape that I loved (Steppenwolf, The Second).  Led Zeppelin IV was the album that took me to the next level.  Never before had I heard such power on a record.  The song Black Dog just exploded and jumped off the vinyl through the speakers and through my body.  I ran to turn it down because I thought my dad would be disturbed.  He saw me and just laughed.

This was also roughly the period that I started pushing music.  See I had been ridiculed a bit for listening to Three Dog Night because it was too poppy.  I was the first of my friends, however to discover the raw power of Zep and I immediately started sharing the tunes.  My records were now the ones being played at 8^th and 9^th grade parties:).

It was the summer following my freshman year that I first heard a song I couldn’t get out of my head.  It was on the way to an all-star baseball tournament in which I would coincidentally hit several home runs.  The song would turn out to be From the Beginning by Emerson Lake & Palmer.  Because I didn’t understand the DJ, it took several days to determine both the name of the song and the band.  I think I bought the album Trilogy at the local Safeway with my cousin Tim.  I put it on the stereo with great anticipation expecting to hear something similar to the song I'd heard.  What I heard was the strangest music I’d ever experienced.  I seem to recall making some unflattering remarks.  Tim encouraged me to give it a try and not to judge too quickly.  In retrospect, I would describe the music as hauntingly majestic.

The Endless Enigma starts out with a low level drumbeat that sounds like a heartbeat as eerie cries from a Mini Moog tease the listener.  Then the rapid onslaught of Hammond keys, drums and bass with interspersed whines of a zourka (a Tunisian instrument which sounds like bagpipes) explodes, then primes Greg Lake’s strong, pure initial query "Why do you stare, do you think that I care.  You've been misled by the thoughts in your head", etc.  Part 1 concludes and is followed by a piano fugue, something more foreign to me at the time than that already described.  Part 2 follows and closes with a full-fledged fury of arpeggios complete with Moog horns, bells and crescendos with Greg’s iconoclastic phrasing and resolution "Each part was played, though the play was not shown, Everyone came, but they all sat alone.  The dawn opens the play, breaking the day, causing a silent hooray, The dawn will break another day! Now that it's done, I've begun to see the
reason why I'm here", synth trail off as if there is still a question.

After the ten plus minutes of Enigma, I would finally get to From the Beginning and fell in love all over again. I am still hooked today.  It’s a jazzy ballad with subdued, but passionate wanting and sincere vocals.  Keith’s Moog solo at the end is reminiscent (but more interesting to me) of the famous Lucky Man bit that both propelled the band to international acclaim and brought the Moog into popular music view.  Another surprise was their arrangement of Aaron Copland’s Hoedown which I immediately recognized from my classical music memory days in grade school.  How did they make this work?  And how on earth did these same three guys play all these tunes?

The music described thus far is representative only in that is shows the depth and range of the band.  Keith Emerson would later describe ELP’s music as progressive rock with a lot of regard for the past.  The primary difference between ELP and other bands is their roots.  Most of rock music is based on American black blues.  ELP is primarily based on European classical and folk music.  They do incorporate many other elements such as improvisation, a cornerstone of jazz and a true American art form.

As I stated in the introductory paragraph, my musical “homepage” is ELP.  I have discovered more classical, jazz, folk and other related progressive music by listening to ELP.  I kid by calling myself a music snob because I think I have a broad view of musical styles, something I’ve gained with the ELP experience.

ELP have been vilified by the mainstream rock press because their music does not fit the mold.  They have also been called over-the-top, overblown and pretentious.  They were indeed showman and in their prime were arguably the best musicians ever to play rock music. Then, amidst their musical tempest, they'd stop and perform some of the most evocative ballads of our times. The encores were of legendary proportion.

Their influence on other bands is now well documented.  Keith’s sphere of influence goes far beyond rock and his Piano Concerto No. 1 has been performed worldwide.  The classical snobs chided ELPs attempts to blend these themes into their music while the rock and roll purists have shunned them because their music is not blue collar, for the common man.  Despite its raw power and blues mode, their arrangement of Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man apparently did not resonate with the critics either.

As good as they were, between 1970 and 1977, they were singled-out by the Sex Pistols and other punk bands as being the epitome of arena rock dinosaurs and primary drivers of the punk movement.  Keith Emerson was regularly burned in effigy during Pistols' concerts.  Revolution against the elites is ubiquitous throughout history.

Another charge against ELP was that they took themselves too seriously.  Really?  Have you ever heard Jeremy Bender, The Sheriff, Are You Ready Eddy or Benny the Bouncer?  Like the Beatles’ Rocky Racoon and Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, ELP would occasionally ham one up.  Greg sings Benny the Bouncer in an exaggerated surly cockney accent.

Benny was the bouncer at the Palais de dance

He'd slash your granny's face up given half a chance.

He'd sell you back the pieces, all for less than half a quid

He thought he was the meanest-

Until he met with savage Sid.

Now Sidney was a greaser with some nasty roots

He poured a pint of Guinness over Benny's boots

Benny looked at Sidney:

Sidney stared right back in his eye.

Sidney chose a switchblade

And Benny got a cold meat pie.

Oh! what a terrible sight,

Much to the people's delight.

One hell of a fight.

Sidney grabbed a hatchet, buried it .... in Benny's head.

The people gasped as he bled:

The end of a ted?

Well, they dragged him from the wreckage of the Palais in bits.

They tried to stick together all the bits that would fit.

But some of him was missing

And "part of him" arrived too late,

So now he works for Jesus

As the bouncer at St. Peter's Gate.

To be honest, I went through several ELP songs before finding something that had not been used as an email address.  I even had to smash the words together to make it unique.  Guess there are some more fans out there.

C'est La Vie (That's How Life Go)

Although the wounds are still fresh, perhaps enough days have passed since the Rangers’ World Series Götterdämmerung, that I might review my feelings in a more rational frame of mind.  Still, I have been barely able to watch any televised sports and even refrained from watching Jay Leno when learning that David Freese, the World Series MVP would be appearing that night.  As a kid, I can remember being devastated when my favorite teams lost, but last I looked, the mirror didn’t lie.  I am no longer that 12-year boy who cried his heart out when the Cowboys lost to the Colts in the 1971 Super Bowl.  I can still remember my grandmother asking my dad whether I’d cried when Tempe High lost the State Football Championship.  I was in my bed crying at the time.  So darling Trey, don’t be embarrassed, my face also hurt with the weight of disappointment last Friday.

There was a time that I believed I’d kicked the habit of being an ardent fan.  It was in the winter of 1989 when my life as a Dallas Cowboy fan would change forever.  I can still hear Scott Murray, the bumbling, drooling sports anchor from channel 5, breaking in with his self-congratulatory scooping tone, to bring us the word that Jerry Jones had bought the Cowboys and would bring his own coach Jimmy Johnson to Dallas.  Those were words I thought I’d never hear.  Tom Landry, the only coach the Cowboys had ever had, gone without as much as courtesy call.  These classless jerks were the ones taking over the pillar of sports franchises.  Of course it wouldn’t be long before we would see a similar level of integrity inhabit 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

 

Tom Landry was a great football coach and a greater man.  A dedicated student and innovator of the game, he continued to compete during talent lean years in the mid to late 80’s.  Landry certainly held on to some schemes, but continued to modify them to the players he had.  Johnson, on the other hand, knew only one way and made whole sale changes to build to his desired system despite the results in the meantime.  Landry was in the process of doing both while remaining a viable force in the league.  Certainly both were extremely successful as football coaches, but no one will ever mistake Johnson as anything beyond a possessed football coach.  Check his personal behavior after moving to Dallas.

I’ve not touched Jerry Jones yet, but maybe I’ll wait until his run is over.  You can only guess how I feel.  I thought I’d grown up a bit as I stopped watching the NFL almost completely after the ownership change and started doing other things on Sunday.  What a concept.  I’ve not fully warmed back up to the Cowboys, although I stay abreast of news and usually catch part of the weekly game.  The passion is gone, however.

While I’ve aged, I am not sure if my maturity has kept pace with regard to sports fandom, or other things for that matter.  I became genuinely captivated as a child and was enrapt without realizing it.  I still get somewhat surprised, but I can see it happening to me, little by little, because I’m wise you know.  So I keep saying to myself “It’s all gravy, the Mavs have already won the championship this year.”  Then I fall and say I want it all!  MAVS and RANGERS!  Ouch!  ‘Wash’ says “That’s how baseball go”, but I think Joe Jackson’s “Fools in Love” is more appropriate this year.  We may be fools, but I love the Rangers even if they didn't win the World Series.  Besides if the Mavs and Rangers had both won, we’d have to wonder whether that Mayan calendar might actually be right, 2012 being the end of the world and all.

Happy Birthday Keith Emerson (1944-    )

C'est La Vie

JD's First Post

So this is the first of what I hope will be many journal entries for my new Blog.  After all, my buddy Mark and I have wondered for years just how hard it really is to wax HSO's (Hot Sports Opinions) over the airwaves.  Maybe this is a baby step for me or perhaps just another way to express my thoughts (blowhard, cough-cough).  For sure, I expect this to be a learning experience and I encourage feedback.  I expect that some ideas will not be fully developed and I hope this process will lend itself to augmenting both my feelings as well as my expression of such.

During a recent discussion with my friend Sher concerning, I’ll say, peculiar beliefs, I suggested that some folks want to believe in certain things so badly that they cherry pick anecdotal evidence to support their points of view.  This certainly does not follow the scientific method we were all taught in school.  However, it does explain why we have CNN, CNBC and Fox News for starters.  This raises many questions, namely what are the facts?  My increasing age and cynicism have cemented the view that everything we know about history and world news has been filtered by an agenda driven force as it was for ages by Catholic priests who accounted events through their eyes.  Now that reliance on major network and printed news has waned and with the advent of the internet (thanks Al Gore), everyone can get the “facts” they want.  I have apparently just joined the fray:).

So, although I repudiate moral relativism, I will try not to get too far down in the weeds debating facts, although I’m pretty sure that Wilt Chamberlain is still dead and that Troy Aikman was actually drafted by Jimmy Johnson (for Mike and Mark). And I also suggest that truth has much to do with ultimate values and beliefs and that certain feelings such as Love, Hope and Faith (I Corinthians 13:13) transcend so called objective evidence.  (Note to self. Test the JRR Tolkien/ CS Lewis True Myth topic in the future).

Another point to consider regarding facts and justice, is one on which my dear wife Bobbi has counseled me for years. It is usually less important to be right (technically or factually correct) than it is to maintain and nurture positive relationships.  Holy Cow!  I think someone might have written this on one of my performance reviews.  This is the part of the Christian model that is lost on radicals and fundamentalists.  Even though I belong to a Presbyterian Church, which most closely coincides with my theological bent (the predestination thing not so much), the most impactful elements tend to surround community, hospitality and ecumenical ventures.

To be fair, like George Costanza, I struggle to suppress the need for getting “credit for the big salad” and like Dennis Miller, I want people to remember me as someone who doesn’t care what other people think. It makes me wonder about my true motives for writing a Blog.  Am I trying to impress someone?  Yes, I probably am. Or maybe I just want to share as I have done on many an occasion through my musical mixes.  I have come to realize and am disappointed that few experience the spiritual essence of music in the same way I do.  I do feel great about cultivating (brainwashing is what I’ve heard from some of my friends) my kids’ love of music, but have always wanted my parents and certain others to get it.  It’s really okay. Sorry I forgot to insert the Music Snob Disclaimer at the top.  

As I’ve alluded above, I do get a great deal of satisfaction when something that I believe, enjoy and/or find inspiring does the same for another. This comes naturally with some.  We commonly refer to these friends as our soul mates.  Bobbi is my wife as well as my soul mate. I possess more than one soul mate, however.  In addition, there are new relationships to be forged and current ones with the promise and anticipation of becoming anam cara, the Gaelic term for soul friend.  (Note to self: Potential book review on John O’Donahue’s Anam Cara; thanks Paul).

So in review this first post sounds a bit pseudo-theological with a nod to Luther’s protestation that one cannot earn his grace as it has already been given. And even though we profess unconditional love and charity, these are ideals few if any can attain.  Someone I know recently said “But who does that?” Wink:).

I will end by eulogizing my beloved Rangers.  I feel their pain and in some ways, the gut wrenching way we blew the series during game 6, was worse on fans.  After all, we couldn’t get back out there and play.  Bobbi started drinking (lol) and I had to talk her in from the ledge:).  Then there was last night when, yours truly, Mr. hardcore baseball fan who took a long walk after we didn’t score in the 7^th inning.  To put it bluntly, for those of you who’ve never had the experience, this was like a swift kick in the crotch.

Happy 18th Birthday to my eldest son Mike! Can you believe it?.

Peace.