SHORE POINTS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-28-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     When I reach a certain point sometime after June has been laid to bed with some warm milk, it starts to feel like the summer has not really been put to the test. That's when it's time to head to the Jersey Shore. We chose Wildwood for a long weekend, because if the name of the town already has the word "wild" in it, I feel like we have a head start.

     We were running low on gas about halfway down the Garden State, so we pulled off the parkway into the Jon Bon Jovi Service Area. I was not sure exactly what services Jon Bon Jovi might provide, but if he offers, I'll ask that he fill my tank with regular, fill my oil pan with 10W 40 synthetic, and fill my heart with song. I'll let him know that we're headed to Wildwood, and... "We're halfway there!" (maybe he'll sing that part with me). And I don't want to start any bad blood or anything, but the next time I run into Bruce Springsteen I'm going to casually drop into the conversation that Bon Jovi has his own service area, and see what he says. I doubt I'll be the first person to mention that the highway's jammed with broken heroes and they're all stopping at Bon Jovi's service area.

     Back on the road, I checked the ETA on the GPS, which said 5:00PM. When I looked a half-hour later, the arrival time was 5:30. In moments like these it seems like they keep moving my destination farther away when I'm not looking, and I feel that maybe the Earth isn't really round at all, maybe its elliptical or something. And don't call me a conspiracy theorist, because so far I haven't found anyone else to conspire with me on that idea.

     We rolled into town and unhooked our bicycles to pound the sidewalks looking for a place to eat. I can manage to drive my wife nuts by stopping at each place, taking a look at the menu and then convincing her that there's someplace better close by. After we finally settle on a place that's no better she confesses that she was never really convinced. 

     After dinner we went out to take in some live music, which is plentiful at the shore. A good band makes everything more festive. Even a bad band playing good music is better than a DJ playing bad music. Some groups take a lazier trajectory than the work ethic I'm used to as a musician. The band we saw only did half of each song, and right before the guitar solo they were off to the next one. It certainly saved them money on a lead guitarist. They didn't bother with a keyboard player either, and when the piano part came up they had it on a pre-recorded track. And when the key change in "Living on a Prayer" rolled around, they just held the mike out to the audience and said, here- YOU sing it. Any dude who can sing that high should get a service area named after them.

     The next day we found a good old-fashioned diner for breakfast. Service is slow everywhere these days. The pandemic, the "Great Resignation," the Ukraine war and other factors have contributed to a shortage of help. Issues with the supply chain have prevented workers from being supplied I guess. There is always a "Now Hiring" sign up, and I thought it might actually be quicker if I filled out an application, punched the time clock, made two orders of pancakes and then quit just after I got my tip and right before I sat down to eat.

     I'm tipping a little more these days, even though smoke comes out of the top of my head because of the extra math. I take the total on the bill, move the decimal point one place to the left, then divide that number in half and divide it in half again and add both numbers to the first number and then add the whole thing to the bill. It came out to over $7,000 dollars so I had to start again. This time I didn't "carry the one," I let it get there by itself. I'm so used to just leaving 15 percent. I always understood that a tip was meant for exemplary service, like whatever would normally qualify for the Congressional Medal of Honor. Nowadays, if somebody comes to fill my water glass I get misty-eyed with gratitude. 

     We hung out at the amusement pier for the afternoon, and my advice is that it's better to take a short walk off a long pier than the other way around. We hung out at the water park, which was exhausting, not because we were so active, but because watching other peoples' little kids is almost as tiring as having your own. How many times do I have to tell you, when you're at the pool, WALK, don't RUN. Some kids looked like they were having too much fun, and I had to restrain myself from telling them to tone it down. Kids, you have a whole lifetime of fun at the shore ahead of you, so don't use it up all at once.

ROADIE FOR A DAY

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-21-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     The Pleasantville Music Festival was back in 2022 after a few years in dormancy. It wasn't dead, just living in a state of suspended animation. Once it got woken up, it was as good as new. When the Festival comes to town I enjoy volunteering for the Stage Crew, toting the bands' gear on and off, helping to set stuff up and getting in people's way whenever necessary.

     It's also my way of giving back to the community. I try give back a little more than usual so that the community owes me one, and I don't have to give back as much next time, but then the community gives me a little extra and I have to give back to the community again. It's a merry-go-round I can't get off.

     The weather was perfect for the Festival, a little hot but not humid, plenty of water around if you needed it, but none falling from the sky. My friends Matt and Anne were there as usual, volunteering on the hospitality crew, and I thank them for their hospitality. Parking is the most strenuous part of the day if you're not on the crew. It's easier if you just sell your house and move to Marble Avenue so that you can walk. Once you get there though, you have all the comforts of home, especially if you bring a comfortable chair from home.

     The headliner this year was X Ambassadors, and I was assisting with their gear so that they could get in an early sound check. Some have even called me the "5th Ambassador." Also in attendance were Glenn Tilbrook of Squeeze fame, Paula Cole and many others. Crash Test Dummies filled in for 10,000 Maniacs, who were a last-minute scratch. I heard that 7,000 of the maniacs fell ill, but roadies are notorious gossips. 

     One thing I love is that the folks who assemble the day put the music first, and the lineup is well-curated, with a song for everyone, something old, something new, something borrowed and something blues. Aspiring hopefuls get a voice along with seasoned veterans, and local talent is featured as well. My job is called Stage Crew, but I'm basically a roadie. And I'll tell you, life on the road can get pretty lonely. I was on the Parkway for 20 minutes, and soon I started to get lost in my thoughts. I was lost before I knew it, and for quite some time after. This is my 4th year with the crew, and I'm hoping that soon I'll be entrusted with a flashlight, or someday even a walkie-talkie. I'm not getting my hopes up, because I tend to be too much talkie and not enough walkie.

     I was chatting with the cops on one of those rare occasions when they didn't ask to chat with me first. They said that the Festival usually goes pretty smoothly, with the possible exception of one or two guys that become a little potted in the Beer Garden. The police ran a bomb-sniffing dog through the Main Stage and the backstage area, and I was afraid the dog would stop right in front of me, having detected one of my jokes, two at the most. Okay three, but that's my final offer.

     I was in the shade keeping an eye on things at the the equipment tent next to the Main Stage. Things were going pretty smoothly but a small bird walked in, brown with a gray-speckled breast. I didn't recognize it, didn't identify itself, and I was already susipicious because it walked in instead of flew in. I gently but firmly escorted it back out. It's the first time I've ever had to explain to a bird that NOBODY is allowed in the equipment tent without a blue wristband. 

     I was done with my lunch so I wandered over to the zer waste bins, and the volunteers there can tell you exactly what is garbage and what is recyclable. I had a paper plate, a piece of aluminum foil and a plastic knife and fork. They told me all that stuff should go in the recycling bin, and that my sneakers should go in the garbage bin.

     Next year I'll have a retractable key chain and about 30 keys that I have no idea what they open, and I'll be in a big hurry to open them, and I won't have a lot of time for chit-chat. So if you see me at the Festival and you come up to say hello but I'm on the walkie-talkie with one finger in my ear and the other fingers giving you the "hold on I'll be with you in a minute" sign, it means that there is no one on the other end.

AFRO-CUBAN FUSION CONCLUSIONS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-14-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Even living right around the corner, we had not yet paid a visit to Caramoor Center for the Arts in Katonah until last Friday. Much like a good cup of coffee, the experience starts with the lovely grounds. There is an event space here for every type of show, from a covered outdoor 1500-seat theater to a small, indoor concert room almost like watching a performance inside a museum. The room is one of many filled with precious artifacts and works of art from the Caramoor founders' lifetimes of collecting.

     We joined our friends Margaret and Gene for a concert on Friends Field, outdoors on a gorgeous evening, in front of a spacious wooden stage, well lit and well mixed. Picnics were welcome, and although ours was a modest couple of sandwiches, this was Katonah, after all. There were elaborate spreads, fancy seating and wines of fine vintage. I think I saw some Louis XV furniture and a chandelier. By the way, I've never met anyone more bitter than Louis XV, because everyone else had his furniture and he remained standing most of his life.

     Providing the music was an Afro-Cuban quintet, lively and rhythmic. Afro-Cuban would have been great as a restaurant choice, but as a musical genus it was even tastier. I'm a drummer by nature and soon I was tapping both feet, both hands and consider yourself lucky if I left it at that.

     It was the type of performance that you could dial fully into if you wanted, or just sit back, relax, have a conversation and come back to the music when you wanted. I just let the sultry night absorb the music so I could bask in it. All the lyrics were in Spanish, and I only speak just enough to get me around at a Mexican restaurant as long as I don't mind ordering the wrong thing. I took Latin for two years in middle school, so I can easily break down the entomology of a word and figure out its basic meaning. Okay, it turns out that "entomology" is the study of bugs, but you get the idea. You simply find the root of the word, figure out its prefix and its suffix, and bingo, you're speaking Spanish. For instance, the phrase "La casa de los famosos" translated, means "The casa de los famosos."

     My friend Gene is a musician too, and as we listened we got into a conversation about how we started in music. He was well familiar with the sounds of salsa from working at his Dad's sign shop in the Bronx during summers out of school. His co-workers blasted Latin music out of their boom-box, and he became well acquainted with the busy rhythms and full horn sections. I went to high school in Chappaqua at a time when there was only one black kid in our class, and luckily he was a good guitarist. We recruited him for our band, and he showed us some blues, some soul and some color. I would have been happy to be somebody's influence if I could find anyone who thought a musician from the bewitching land of Westchester, white, upper middle-class and Protestant was exotic.

     Of course, even though I came out of the womb fully understanding the rattle as a percussion element, when it came time to choose an instrument in middle school my Dad chose for me, and he did not choose the drums. He chose the trombone, which although I appreciate now, back then I considered more of a comedy prop, useful for snatching peoples' toupees. There was a talented trombone player in last Friday's band, and I noticed two bald players with no toupee, just saying.

     Music can remind you of a time many summers ago, cruising in your car with your friends, or it can be the company that misery loves, or it can set the mood for something you'll remember every time you hear it. But I couldn't imagine me doing any of those things with a  trombone. And when the band teacher insisted I play the tuba, I knew my days in the brass section where numbered.

     When I think of all the time I spent not practicing the trombone, I realize that I could have used those valuable hours not studying to become the scholar that I never was. It fills me with regret every time I don't think about it. I suppose that when my parents heard me practicing the drums they just heard a lot of banging, but to me I was at the pulse of the music, the heartbeat. All you Moms and Dads out there, consider that even though you may be old enough to know better, you'll never be old enough to know your kid better than your kid.

 

PICK YOUR POISON

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (07-07-22)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

 
     As the population of the world expands and humans encroach upon the natural habitats of all kinds of animals and insects, we take on certain inherent risks. On the football field the penalty for encroachment is five yards, but in real life, it could be death. Just imagine that you are a family of alligators, living in the swamp for years and years, and a young human couple builds a house right next door. They are constantly showing off, walking around on two legs and smiling with their itty-bitty pathetic teeth. Finally the wife alligator says, "You know, they've been here a week- maybe we should have them for dinner." This is how misunderstandings start in the neighborhood.

     Just this last week a man was killed in South Carolina when an alligator dragged him into a retention pond. Part of my job is a journalist is to try and make the world a safer place. And before you go looking up the definition of the word "journalist," I'm going to share some tips with you that may save your life, if your retention is better than that of the average pond. One thing that you may not know is that alligator mating season runs from April through June, and that's a good time not to be a third wheel. Unprovoked attacks are very rare, say authorities, but an alligator's criteria for provocation may be different from yours. To be on the safe side, avoid insensitive comments about the length of their noses.

     Here in the Northeast it's no less dangerous. We were bicycling on a trail in New Jersey, and somebody said that they saw a rattlesnake. If you are bitten by one, try to position yourself so that your heart is above the wound, and wash it with soap and water. Do not apply a tourniquet, ice or drink alcohol. Remain calm and still so as not to spread the venom, and call 911. You should try to remember what the snake looked like, even if it was disguised with a fake moustache and glasses.

     Do not try to suck the poison out of the snakebite, and I've been telling most people that (I told Trump that I didn't share the information with him on purpose, but I heard it from an unimpeachable source, ha ha, and he said very funny, and I said, don't get your hackles up, if you even have hackles, it wasn't a real snake anyway, and he said yeah, but what about the poison, and I said I'll let you know in about an hour, ha ha, and he said very funny again- Trump and I have that kind of relationship).

     One relatively recent factor that has driven up the rate of dangerous encounters is the advent of social media. Everyone wants that signature Facebook photo that no one else has. "Look how close I got to this lion on safari! You can't hide your lion eyes! And here is one of me on life support at Nairobi Hospital!" Don't be surprised if the lion has his own account. You know how Facebook users are always taking pictures of their food? You should slowly back away from the lion while maintaining eye contact.

     During a bear encounter, you're not supposed to play dead. You should make as much movement as you can, while backing away. I would suggest that you do whatever you normally do in front of one of those motion-activated paper towel dispensers that never works in a public restroom. I usually perform the "warehouse scene" from "Footloose," and after I've finished drying my hands on my pants two paper towels come out along with a noise that sounds like a laugh. If there is anyone in the restroom while I'm doing that they are usually playing dead or backing away slowly.

     The brown recluse spider is poisonous, and if you are bitten by one you should seek immediate medical treatment, such as anti-venom. If the spider is armed it could be much worse, since spiders have eight arms. If I'm bitten I ask the spider if he wouldn't mind sucking the poison out of the bite before he leaves- we have that kind of relationship.

     My wife said that she has seen a different bug in her bathroom each day for the last week, which is not surprising because I enrolled her in the "Bug of the Month Club." She said she saw a centipede, then a millipede, and I said, "Hold it right there, you counted?" Naturally we haven't seen one carpenter ant, they won't even return my calls. Today it was a silverfish in the shower. Because I'm the man of the house I'm expected to dispose of it, no matter how much of a champion I am for women's equality. The last time I saw that bug it was looking a little flushed....