Smoke, Lies and the Nanny State and . . .

Just wanted to put up yet another “thank you” post for being so damn generous with your comments.
I wanted to make my way around the “bloghorn” but will never do it all tonight.
I’m only human.

A few notes of interest, if you look to my side bar you will see a little jpeg of Joe Jackson (musician).
If you click it, it will open Adobe Reader on your computer (assuming you have it installed), and download his essay as a .pdf file.
I don’t comment much about smoking on the blog but I feel Jackson’s essay should be read by smokers and non-smokers alike.
I think it’s absolutely brilliant.
You may feel differently.
I’m not going to address my stance on smoking right now.
Just know that I smoke.
And I enjoy it.
And I pay exorbitant and unscrupulous taxes because of my habit (which is absolute bullshit).
To the US government, tax something else for a change, for cripes sake.
Just imagine if the government started taxing Budweiser and Happy Meals the way they tax tobacco these days.
Would people be a bit angry?
Think about it.
Click on the philosopher above to visit Jackson’s website.
There’s some great stuff to be found there.

And now for something completely different;

Last week, I woke up in the middle of the night after falling asleep early and came downstairs to the sound of ‘beep-beep-beep-beep’.
My wife was laying on the couch pointing the cordless phone at the TV and pressing the “call button” on and off.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to turn this friggin’ thing down,” she said.

“You can’t do that with the phone, dear, ” I said, as I took the phone out of her hand, turned off the TV and guided her upstairs to bed.
Ah, sleepyheads can be funny sometimes.
I think she may have called China a few times though.
Check out the Jackson video below.
Classic Joe.

~m

the Frozen Man

His soul sleeps,
buried far beneath a long forgotten vertical landscape,
yearning for home . . .
it dreams of places remembered; warm places, complete and innocently raw

The perpetual journey through a cobwebbed labyrinth remains a stygian quest at best,
an unanswered prayer, a dimly lit votive, a quiet cry in the dark
the clouds thicken, the earth cools and a winter of the mind settles in

Rolling waves of emotion yield snowflakes of blue
that fall like sleet, slicing the spirit into oh, so many unrecognizable pieces of what used to be a life; where nothing fits or belongs but must somehow remain

still . . .

Who knows when, this sadly shattered thing will end
Only God knows when it started,
But it’s wearing pretty thin, as the winter settles in, covering the frozen man . . .

~m

Oscar

Oscar Peterson was a jazz monster and had hands the size of a gorilla.
I’ve tried somewhat unsuccessfully to play some of his stuff over the years.
Yeah, right. Maybe in another life.
Sleep well, OP.
You will be greatly missed . . .
Check out the video below with fellow jazz legend Joe Pass.
And yes, I found the best sounding video possible.
You’ve come to expect that, haven’t you? :mrgreen:

~m

you will know

I saw this and thought, “What a perfect Christmas post.”
Stuart Shepherd is a good looking and compassionate man but sorry ladies, he’s married.
This will probably be my last post until after Christmas so I’ll wish all of you a day of blessings, good cheer and the surroundings of family.
Christmas Eve may briefly call me back to the blog.
We’ll see . . .
Don’t forget to make the French Toast Casserole
for Christmas morning breakfast. Awesome.
If you don’t make it, you’re missing out on some very serious and delicious calories. (Yoiks!)
Merry Christmas!

paz, folks . . .

~m

Cahoon's Haiku

Bighearted wiseass

Complaining ’bout the hollow

Still can’t find the key

*******************

Happy Birthday, you pooftah-loving bastard. {10.18.07}
And a thousand more.
Somebody has to take care of the garden and water the plants, right?
Not too much water now. I know you have a tendency to over water, or so I’ve heard
{and yeah, McDonald sucked. But the air guitar was pretty good. Damn, we’re getting old aren’t we, man? ;)
Beers by the pool soon, okay? How’s about this Saturday night?}

~m

Cahoon’s Haiku

Bighearted wiseass

Complaining ’bout the hollow

Still can’t find the key

*******************

Happy Birthday, you pooftah-loving bastard. {10.18.07}
And a thousand more.
Somebody has to take care of the garden and water the plants, right?
Not too much water now. I know you have a tendency to over water, or so I’ve heard
{and yeah, McDonald sucked. But the air guitar was pretty good. Damn, we’re getting old aren’t we, man? ;)
Beers by the pool soon, okay? How’s about this Saturday night?}

~m

Rock on

Michel Camilo last night, Michael McDonald tomorrow night.
Guess who’s not going to be blogging this weekend?
I’ll catch everyone up on Sunday night.
I will tell you that Camilo was more than incredible.
And he smiles more than any musician I’ve ever seen in my life.
More on Michel later.
Have a great weekend folks.
Catch you on the rebound . . .

~m

ps. a very special birthday is coming up next week. Stay tuned.

Nine Eleven

I remember the day vividly; there were crystal blue skies, warm and ample sunshine, comfortable temperatures, a picture perfect fall day in New England.

The date was September 11, 2001 and I was just getting into work (selling pianos at the time) when the phone rang.
It was my friend Colin, a piano technician from the store where I worked calling to tell me he’d heard on the radio that a plane had just flew into the World Trade Center in NYC.
It must have been a terrible accident we both agreed, a freakish malfunction of an old turbine perhaps, a minor incident but nevertheless a tragic loss of life of strangers neither of us would probably ever know.
At the time, it seemed safer thinking of it that way.
It was a small plane, Colin said and that made me feel better.
Fewer people meant fewer casualties in a city the size of New York.

 

After I hung up the phone, it occurred to me that something didn’t seem quite right about the conversation. Couldn’t put my finger on it but something was wrong.
I knew it and Colin knew it, we just didn’t want to say it.

I mean, planes just don’t fly into buildings, do they?

My question was promptly answered when the phone rang 15 minutes later.
It was Colin again sounding a bit nervous.

Another plane? Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on? I asked.

He went on to tell me that both of the towers were hit and that it looked like we were at war.

War? I thought, With who?

I went outside and looked up into the sky for a sign that the world was still alright and all I saw was the endless crystal blue of the atmosphere but I noticed something else; there was an eerie stillness and silence hanging in the balance.

Word got around quickly that the US had been attacked as we began adding words to our daily lexicon: WTC, 9-11, Atta, Al Qaida, Al-Jazeera . . .

The dark truths would begin to bleed through the seemingly impenetrable fabric of our lives virtually changing all of us, forever.

The phones started ringing at the store . . . but not from customers.
The calls were from wives to husbands, sons to mothers, sisters to brothers – with one simple question; are you okay?
By noontime the phones stopped ringing and business ceased as the United States was brought to its very knees.

I can’t help but think of the same three words I thought on that horrible day: God Help Us

 

I still pray for all that we lost that day; the brilliant lives, our {unjustifiable} innocence and our shattered sense of {false} security.
We were too blind for far too long.

My words describing that day are still woefully inadequate but my thoughts and feelings of incomprehensibility are still so incredibly tender and raw.

I want badly to forgive but I still can’t.

God Bless all those we lost.

As Annie said, turn those headlights on . . .

~m