Never Grow Old


Most folks that know me know that I loved David Bowie.
He’s was as unpredictable as a 65 degree January day here in New England.
He was the quintessential ‘box of musical chocolates‘.
You never knew what you were going to get.
You would reach in and maybe pick one that tasted like it was filled with Colgate toothpaste.
You’d gag and say, “Yuck,” and maybe spit it out but inside you’d think, hmmm, it wasn’t that bad.
But now and then one chocolate was quite simply extraordinary.
So it was with Bowie and his many musical gems.
I’m going to miss his element of surprise.
I read this article from the Steinway ‘Listen’ Magazine and thought it was quite good.
Has some incredible photos of the man himself as well.
Good for a morning read with steaming a cup o’ joe.
You can read it HERE.




I’ve been out straight with all sorts of things lately but I saw this video and had to post it.
As a musician, I am in awe of this guy.
Not sure if he came before ‘August Rush’ or if he was the actual inspiration for it.
Judging from the movie clips I’ve seen, the August Rush kid smiles way too much for my comfort.
Kinda freaky and ala the Shining, so very unlike Mongrain.
Check it out.
This is some tres cool shit.
Off to bed, folks.


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.



Walking to South Station tonight, I noticed the elaborate and somewhat intricate weaving of people on the streets of Boston.
Sometimes my walk seems perfectly timed as I pass pedestrians in an orchestrated sort of dance, just missing bumping into someone while neon pedestrian lights go white and I walk across the streets unscathed.


Maybe . . .

Something happened last night that I have no reasonable explanation for.
It’s quite simple but it went something like this:

I began thinking about this particular song and went to YouTube to see if I could at least find the video, which I did.
As I listened, I thought of one special person that I had to send this song to.
There was a reason for this intense feeling but it’s a long story, and not for tonight.
I thought about opening my ITunes and buying the song and sending it on but decided it was too damn late to start futzing around with my Nano.
But I did check my Gmail and was surprised to see an an email from a dear friend of mine and in the title it said, “Here you go ~m”.
Curious, I opened the email to find the song I’d just been listening to attached to the email in an ITunes format.
Goosebumps, blessed goosebumps.
There was no logical reason for me to receive this email but there it was. Go figure.
It was an ultra-heavy dose of serendipity, possibly chance but I smiled as I dragged the tune into my ITunes folder.
The story gets more interesting though.
I sent the song sailing over the waves of the internet to a soul that I knew it would appreciate it.
Turns out the song was desperately needed and right on time.
The chain of events that made this happen made me realize that many stories have already been written.
And I felt so blessed and happy to be included in this one.
For Lent (yes, it’s Lent for us Catlicks), I have given up nothing but I have vowed to get on my knees on a nightly basis and pray.
My prayers tonight go out for my friend Gerry and his nephew, Brandon.
Have a serene weekend, folks . . .
See all of you next week.


ps. the candle in the post is for Brandon.
was his birthday. Sleep in sweet peace, young man
and to the special lady that has sees the Southern Cross at night

Bad Country Song Titles

  • I hate every bone in her body but mine.
  • I ain’t never gone to bed with an ugly woman but I sure woke up with a few.
  • If the phone don’t ring, you’ll know it’s me.
  • I’ve missed you, but my aim’s improvin’.
  • Wouldn’t take her to a dogfight ’cause I’m real scared she’d win.
  • I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like having you here.
  • My wife ran off with my best friend and I miss him.
  • She took my ring and gave me the finger.
  • She’s lookin’ better with every beer.

    And the Number One bad title is . . .

    • It’s hard to kiss the lips at night (that chewed my ass out all day long).

    A shout out to my good cigar-smoking bud, WM for the email.
    You made Henry proud with this one, dude.


    What is the square root of eggnog?

    It’s always around this time of the year (December 20th, to be exact) that my brain goes into this bizarre auto-hibernation cycle.
    I can’t hear “Jingle Bells” or “Merry Christmas, Darling” by the Carpenters simply because my brain refuses to latch on, refuses to release the adequate amount of acetylcholine needed to make my synapses “see” the connection.
    Maybe it sounds Grinch-like, but it’s not.

    Around every corner lurks some crazy bastard that thinks I should be incredibly happy, that I should embrace the “wassail ‘n eggnog” mentality of a holiday I’m still trying desperately to understand.
    Sometimes I wish I didn’t understand it, maybe I’d enjoy it more but sadly I cannot.
    I don’t watch much TV but when I do I inevitably see a Kay’s Jewelers commercial and I’m pretty sure that ‘every kiss begins with Kay’s’.
    Hey Kay’s! I’m holding some wicked mistletoe over my yuletide ass.
    You guys can start there with a big, wet smooch.
    Gag me with an unrealistic, smarmy and overtly utopian commercial.

    Avaricious companies like this prey on the materialistic and compulsive nature of nincompoops foolish enough to believe that some diamond-studded placebo will make all their holiday dreams come true.
    My God, what unadulterated bullshit.

    There is a major reason for my somewhat apathetic attitude towards the holidays and maybe it’s because I’m just beginning to understand that it has little to do with shiny and expensive things.

    But there will always be another commercial, another misguided Christmas song and another 100 reasons for me to hate the things that society thinks will make my holiday grand.

    I’m thinking that maybe that’s okay.
    And I might just make it through another Christmas without the help of Kay’s . . .
    As far as the answer to the square root of eggnog, maybe it’s 42
    Though I may have to ask Sarah’s roomate, Kat . . .
    I hear she’s pretty good with math.


    Leader of the Band

    Dan Fogelberg ~ (1951 – 2007)

    In my early years of playing music, Fogelberg was a definite musical influence on me.
    I saw him perform in 1976 at the Orpheum in Boston (the first night I ever smoked a joint, now you have some serious dirt on me).
    I wooed my wife way back when performing many of his tunes.
    Whether you liked the guy or not, he was a peaceful man and a very talented songwriter.
    I saw this news clip on Yahoo this afternoon.
    God, I have another reason to hate Mondays.
    I am very sad tonight.
    I’ll stop there.
    Should you ever get a chance, listen to “Souvenirs”.
    Click on the photo above for Fogelberg’s website.

    And here is a sunrise
    To set on your sill.
    The ghosts of the dawn
    Moving near.
    They pass through your sorrow
    And leave you quite still…
    Sitting among souvenirs . . . 

    Sleep in heavenly peace, Dan . . .


    Some Children See Him

    It was many years ago on a Christmas night that I paused to look in on our girls before I went to bed. They were sleeping and hopefully dreaming of sweet things.
    At the time, we’d put a radio in their room so they could drift off to dreamland to some soft music.
    Though this Christmas night was very long ago, I remember it vividly.
    As I turned to make my way to our bedroom, my ears soaked in whatever was playing on their radio.
    It was a beautiful solo piano piece.
    Standing there mesmerized, I realized I had goosebumps up and down my arms.
    (a rarity for me, musically speaking)
    This song, whatever it was, was something special.
    When the song finished, I went back downstairs and called the radio station in Boston and actually spoke to the (obviously) lonely DJ.

    “What was the last song you played? That solo piano thing?” I asked.

    “Yeah, man . . . wasn’t that beautiful? It’s called, “Some Children See Him”, by Dave Grusin.
    It’s off the first GRP Christmas Album. Nice stuff.”

    I wished him a Merry Christmas and told him he’d just made my holiday.
    I think he liked that.

    Fast forward to tonight.
    I’m sitting on the train listening to my Ipod when this song comes on.
    It’s James Taylor singing Some Children See Him.
    Goosebumps, folks.
    The sad realization came to me that I never really ‘listened’ to the song.
    Tonight was a very different story.
    Hence, this post.
    Here are the lyrics . . . (much nicer if you have the tune to listen to)

    Some children see Him lily white,
    The baby Jesus born this night.
    Some children see Him lily white,
    With tresses soft and fair.

    Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
    The Lord of heav’n to earth come down.
    Some children see Him bronzed and brown,
    With dark and heavy hair.

    Some children see Him almond-eyed,
    This Savior whom we kneel beside.
    Some children see Him almond-eyed,
    With skin of golden hue.

    Some children see Him dark as they,
    Sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray.
    Some children see him dark as they,
    And, oh . . . they love Him, too

    The children in each different place
    Will see the baby Jesus’ face
    Like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace,
    And filled with holy light.
    O lay aside each earthly thing
    And with thy heart as offering,
    Come worship now the infant King.
    ‘Tis love that’s born tonight!

    For me, the holiday season can be summed up in the very last line of the song:
    ‘Tis love that’s born tonight’.
    Christmas has very little to do with gifts, Mistletoe, jingle bells or EggNog;
    there’s so much more that we may never see or feel simply because we’re all too busy Christmasing the way we “think” we’re supposed to, the quintessential celebrations we unknowingly try and mimic based on oh so many HDTV and jewelry commercials.
    Yes, some children do see Him but it’s through eyes that understand the true nature of the Christmas holiday.
    It’s never been about ‘the stuff’.
    It’s about offering your soul, granting forgiveness and selfless acts of the heart.
    I pray that my eyes will see Him for who He truly is.
    I pray the same for the commercially blind living in this surreal marshmallow world.