Day 19: Digging in the archives--a story

Most of my published work is in online journals. Some of those journals have gone under, and some just stopped archiving past a certain date. So I've chosen to post them on my web site, acknowledging their original publisher.

This piece appeared in 'Third Wednesday,' which is still in existence but which is no longer archiving the story. It's called 'Subway Ride,' but it's original name was 'The Feral Nature of a Subway Ride.' They were insistent that I change it and I really wanted the pub credit so I changed it, despite the fact that the journal was based in Ann Arbor, Michigan and I don't trust anything anyone from Ann Arbor ever says to an Ohioan. But the other editing changes they wanted were spot on, so there is a teensy little part of Ann Arbor that's ok in my book. 

I included the original artwork. Enjoy!

Subway Ride

It was only a scratch, a tiny line on my cheek, a mere tracing of a fingernail whose polished edge held a single flaw – an insignificant burr – which found a weakness in the layer-dermal, nicking a capillary and leaving the slimmest, most trifling river of blood ever drawn.

When she had boarded my car, heads turned, eyes pointed, women and men alike. She stopped only to survey the field. I sat alone. She stalked the space, her eyes hungry, her breathing shallow and quick.

Me: Stillness. A rabbit in the tall grass,

She sat, gracefully swinging her hips around and down. Next to me. Our clothing touched but it may as well have been flesh.

I dared not look, tried instead to remember her from five seconds ago. Black leather waist jacket, tailored to fit. Black jeans, bought to shrink. Delicate porcelain skin covering sharp cheekbones, thin red lips, short black hair, not kempt, not messy. An aura, god, an aura. From the loins of Artemis and Eros.

My heart accelerated to the speed of a thoroughbred on the homestretch. She glanced at my hand, a gold stop sign encircling a wedding finger. The way she swayed her head and shoulders to music only she could hear told me such things didn't matter. My eyes darted with uncertainty or embarrassment or expected failure and she laughed.

Do I make you nervous?

Maybe a little.

Good.

Then a kiss. All this occurred, except the kiss, I swear, silently, telepathically, while she stared sidelong at me. With her little finger she snatched a trickle of sweat from my cheek, and cut me.  She daubed at my face until molecules of red smeared her fingertip. She held it up to me; I tasted. She tasted. Finger lingering inside lips, mouth. Gentle vacuum, pulling, raising clouds of ache that swirled and danced with the vapors of pheromones and perfume. My nostrils flared for more. I inhaled all she could give, sorting through the odors of commuters and students and vagrants and old men rotting from the inside and diapers in need of changing and the ozone made by the sparks of the electric motors that propelled us.

We rounded a bend and she leaned into me with a pressure that was more than mass times velocity times centrifugal force times the gravitational pull of bodies. I leaned too, away; don't show the neck. I prayed for mercy.

The train straightened out and she took her time un-leaning. Finally upright, she looked at me again. I fidgeted, my eyes searching for a safe place to land. I could only look at her. We stared for minutes or miles, then the train slowed and stopped. She slid off the seat, still staring, and rose to leave. She kept me in her sights all the way to the exit.

The doors parted. She waited. The cut on my cheek burned and I didn't know if it would be extinguished by staying or going.

It's not my stop.

I know.

It could be, though.

I know that too.

Day 18: Midweek Music Break

Lunasa is my favorite Irish group and one of my all time favorite bands. I've seen them live twice, once at my favorite venue, Nighttown in Cleveland Heights, and once at P.J.McIntyres. They play mainly traditional Irish music with (mostly) traditional instrumentation, but with updated arrangements and exceptional artistry.

This is a tune set called The Dimmers. Irish tunes are traditionally played in sets of two or three. Often, jigs are played with jigs, and reels with reels, but there is no rule, and some of the best sets are mixtures. This particular set is made of two tunes, Jerry O'Sullivan's and The Dimmers.

I picked this because it's accessible to the non-fan. Jerry O'Sullivan's is a beautiful flute piece, while The Dimmers is led by fiddle and Uilleann pipes. The other members play rhythm guitar and stand-up bass.

Without further ado, I give you, Lunasa

Bonus:

Here's a second set called Morning Nightcap, which is one of their most popular sets. It also shows them live with a bootleg-quality recording. My favorite part is the whistle-featured middle tune, which is the title tune, Morning Nightcap. The first tune is MacLeod's farewell and the final tune is The Malbay Shuffle. They are all reels. 

Day 17: A terrific show you may not have been watching

A good psychologist friend of mine once introduced the term, 'anticipatory grief' to me. I forget the context at the time, but there are times I feel sad for what seems like no reason and I realize it's anticipatory grief, which is getting sad in advance for something that's going to happen someday. It's usually in conjunction with something important, but sometimes it's not. For example, my wife and I are experiencing anticipatory grief over the impending end of Downton Abbey. We mention that it will be starting soon, which means that it will be ending soon, and we look at each other with pouty faces and say 'awww.'

So we checked out the Masterpiece 'Indian Summers' in hopes of finding a replacement, but we just didn't take to it. We don't know why. Then we found Masterpiece 'Home Fires.'

What a terrific show! 

It's about a small town in Britain during the early part of WWII, but what makes it remarkable is that it focuses on the women back home. The central figures are involved with the Women's Institute in the imaginary town of Great Paxon, and they build a community bomb shelter, gain permission to use extra land to grow food, and raise money for ambulances. Of course there are the usual romances, and with the war, the occasional tragedy. And they try to cover the gamut of women, from self-reliant farm wife to hoity-toity town dame, to plucky WI presidency usurper, to distraught mother of a soldier, to abused housewife, to adulterers, to lesbians. Some of the time they edge into cliche, but mainly the women are well drawn and the writing is, as you would expect, well done. 

Season 1 (it's called series 1 in the U.K.) just ended and if you can find it on one of your favorite streaming services, check it out. 

Day 16: An unexpectedly long lasting gift from my dad.

When I got my driver's license my dad had a set of car keys made for me, and at the same time picked up a little key chain to put them on.

As you can see, it's a nothing little key chain, completely utilitarian, with nary a decorative feature. But that sturdy little son of a gun just keeps doing its job. I would never have guessed in a million years when he gave it to me that I'd still have it 42 years later. 

I bet if he was here he'd have forgotten all about the keychain. To him it was just a practical thing. He had keys made and they needed a keychain. It had no significance beyond that. It probably didn't even cost a dollar.

He could have never guessed that all these years later, that keychain is just about my favorite thing he ever gave me. 

Day 15: Violins of Hope

Free music is good. Good free music is better. Tonight we saw Di Tsvey, a musical duo of Steven Greenman on violin and Pete Rushefsky on tsimbl, playing klezmer music in conjunction with the Violins of Hope exhibit at the Maltz Museum of Jewish History in Beachwood. 

What is a tsimbl, you ask?  It's like a hammered dulcimer.

But it sounds more Eastern European-y. It's more suited to 'Lemisch Sher' than 'Oh, Suzanna.'

The Violins of Hope is an exhibit of violins that were played by Jews before or during the Holocaust and were all but lost. These instruments have been lovingly restored and "serve as testaments to the resilience of the human spirit and the power of music to lift hearts in even the most horrific of circumstances." They are on display at the Maltz Muesum until Jan 3. 

Here is a video of Steve and Pete (not from last night)

Day 14 : A Little Late

Random thoughts from Saturday:

I don't think the West has any idea how to deal with ISIS. I read a good article in the Atlantic in ISIS that makes me wonder if we can ever have peace. We won't as long as ISIS has anything to say about it or until the world looks like they want it to look. This is going to take a long time and a lot of work.

I love how the guns people think that if the good guys had guns it would solve terrorism. Yeah, I've seen guys who think they can shoot straight. I'd rather be shot by a bad guy than a good guy trying to shoot a bad guy. I mean, you know, if I have to be shot.

A couple of decks of cards, a Scrabble board, a Jenga, some wine, a crock pot full of weiners and Beam, and a tasty avacado dip all make for a fun evening.

The Buckeyes need to show up next Saturday. I'm hoping they've simply been sleepwalking up til now.

My favorite part of every Buckeye game:

Day 13: Holy shit!

Having just now learned of the attacks in Paris, I have nothing appropriate for a blog post at this time.

See you tomorrow.

Day 12: Where I Link to an Old Post About Holiday Music

In Blogapalooza 2011 I talked about how people who play in bands and orchestras began rehearsing holiday music in October. I mention it today because, for one, I need a quick topic for today's post and two, I'm in two bands this year who are each rehearsing holiday music. And three of the pieces overlap each group.

In one group I'm the only drummer/percussionist. In the other, there are five of us. There are times in the first group where I have to play three things at once, and I feel like one of those one-man-band guys who has a washboard hooked to his drum, a car horn in his armpit, and a pair of cymbals between his knees,

In the second group I have to share, and there are times I'm thinking, "I could play that better," But that's not the point. The point is for everyone to participate. They show up, they donate their time and talents, they play. However it sounds is how it sounds. Because it's not about us, it's about who we play for. To the people who live in the retirement homes and nursing homes we play for, it could be the best thing that happened all week. And that's why we're there.

Day 11: What I Learned About the Shelf Life of a Hard Boiled Egg

Logic would dictate that if a raw egg can last in your refrigerator for a few weeks before turning bad, then a cooked egg should last at least as long, if not longer. But no.

The egg shell has a natural coating, sometimes called a cuticle or bloom, that protects it from spoilage. During the processing (washing) much of this is removed, but enough remains to let the egg stay fresh for a few weeks. Once you boil the egg the cuticle is destroyed and the shell is penetrable by bacteria. A hard boiled egg only lasts a week, providing you have kept it properly refrigerated and free of the introduction of bacteria.

I feel certain that somewhere in my yard is an unfound Easter egg from years ago. I now know it's not going to be edible.

Day 10: It's Time to Kick Bill Cosby Out of the Buckeye Family

I remember buying Bill Cosby's records when I was in junior high school and playing them over and over, never failing to laugh. 'I Started Out as a Child.' 'Why is There Air?' 'It's True, It's True.' I could recite them line for line.

There was a bit called 'Spanish Fly' that turned out to be a portent of this past year for Cosby. It's about the quest for a mythical aphrodisiac, and as a burgeoning hormonal teen the idea was, shall I say, intriguing. But when the allegations first hit, my mind went immediately back to that bit, and the creepiness factor that didn't exist in 1969, because of my immaturity and the social mores of the time, hit me right in the conscious.

Ever since, I've felt guilty having enjoyed that bit, even though there is no way I could have been expected to understand  the sinister, oppressive, criminal undertones that the allegations cast on it. Still, I never pass on a chance to beat myself up. 

All of this brings me to the news in the Ohio State University newspaper, The Lantern, that the university is considering whether to strip Cosby of his honorary degree. OSU is not the only school considering similar action. 

I know they have to make it not look like they're acting rashly, but this one is a no brainier. The evidence it too overwhelming. The guy is a first rate sleaze and a criminal. Do it. Do it now. Do it without apology. 

It's not like he earned a regular degree. Graduates are forever Buckeyes, no matter what path their lives take. But Cosby's degree was a rescindable bestowment. You have to deserve it and you have to keep deserving it. 

I don't mind them pausing to make extra sure taking it away is the right thing to do. As long as they decide taking it away is the right thing to do. 

Day 9: Word Fussiness Part 1

Many things people say bother me, from an English usage standpoint. Many things also bother me from a dumbness standpoint, but that's for another post.

One of those things is illustrated perfectly in this cartoon from the consistently excellent XKCD.

Another one is 'insure' and 'ensure.' I've looked them up and while technically it's okay to use 'insure' instead of 'ensure,' I don't like it. To my mind 'insure' should relate strictly to the insurance industry To insure some's safety should mean that you've paid money to your State Farm agent in case something happens to them. [Cool side note. I just installed Grammarly on my browser, which checks my spelling and grammar as I go. It's questioning my use of the word 'insure in the previous sentence. So Grammarly agrees with me.]

My last example today is 'on accident.' The correct term is 'by accident.' My kids picked this phrasing up in school and it took me years to break them of it, including, but not limited to washing their mouths out with soap, and shock therapy, which consisted of them being shocked that I actually gave a crap about it.

I'll post more when I think of them.

Day 9: Adios, Marcelita's

When we first moved to Northeast Ohio one of the first places we were told to eat was a Mexican restaurant called Marcelita's in Hudson. The food was good, the prices were very reasonable and for many, many years we enjoyed going there. It was super popular and on a Friday or Saturday you had to wait to get a table. We most often went there for lunch when the seating was a little sparser.

Over the course of the years, my wife got to know the owner by taking care of her dog, and whenever we visited, Jeannie would stop by the table to chat. I'm not going to lie, our service was never better than after a chat with the owner.

A few years ago they decided to sell. The new people kept it up for a while and we were never disappointed, but we hadn't been there in many months because there is a terrific Mexican place very close to home. I recently heard the quality had gone down. A couple of weeks ago I heard it closed. Today I drove by and the sign out front said, "Thank you and farewell."

I never like to see a business fail. I know how hard it is to make a go of it and I'm sure these people put a lot of energy and money into trying to make it work. I don't know the whys and wherefores of it all but it still makes me sad. I also think about how sad Jeannie must be to see the labor of love she nurtured for years and years go away.

Every time I have a chimichanga I will remember Marcelita's.

Day 7: Digging in the Archives: a Poem

I have a bunch of poems and stories on my hard drive that I've decided are not really publishable but there are some that I like enough to share (and especially enough to help fill 30 days of blogging).

This one is from, maybe, 2008.

On Napping

I have heard

it's good to nap.

Twenty minutes they say

energizes, but twenty minutes

just makes me want

twenty minutes more.

I remember when

my grandfather's naps

got longer and

longer then he died,

which makes me think

twenty minutes is enough

Day 6: My New Favorite Businesses

I just saw a list of retail establishments that will NOT be open Thanksgiving Day. I don't have a lot to say about it except, GOOD FOR THEM!. I would love it if more businesses would join in. People should be able to stay home with their families. These are businesses I will reward with my patronage whenever I can. Except Hobby Lobby. Hobby Lobby can bite me.

Day 5: Where I review 'Urgent' by Foreigner

Yesterday as I was running errands, I started the car and the radio turned on. The first thing I heard was the opening notes to Foreigner's 'Urgent.' 'Urgent' is probably my least favorite hit from a band I do not really like all that much, but don't hate. My favorite Foreigner song is 'Jukebox Hero.'

So after the 20 seconds it took for me to realize I didn't want to hear 'Urgent' I flipped to another station, where they were playing the exact same song, starting in the exact same spot, right at the beginning.  

Now I could have angrily switched to another station but I was almost afraid to. What if the next station played 'Urgent' from the exact same spot, then another station and another? I wasn't prepared for the possibility of a sudden appearance by Rod Sterling in my passenger seat. Instead I listened to the entire song to determine whether the universe was trying to tell me something. It was not.

So I'm going to make good use of the time spent listening to 'Urgent.' My quickie (urgent?) review:

Lyrics: It's a sex song. Nothing wrong with sex songs but it's not even sexy. It's trite in places, a little disjointed in it's narrative, and it feels like the lyrics are merely a means to get to the hook. The lyrics are a marshmallow of a meal. 

Drums: Competent but not interesting. Forgettable. In fact, I usually focus on the drums when I listen to music and with this song I can't even begin to tell you anything more about the drumming.

Sax: Nice sax solo. So nice that I had to look who did it. Motown great, Junior Walker. I think that every time I listen to that song I will do it only for the sax solo.  

Vocals: Lou Gramm can sing. Really, the whole song is a means to get Lou Gramm to sing the hook over and over and over. "Urgent, urgent, urgent, urgent ... emer--gency." That's the song. 

And it made them a lot of money. 

Day 4: Where I Remind You About an Often Overlooked Pop Album.

Every time I hear one of the few Journey songs that weren't sung by Steve Perry I shake my head and say aloud, "What were they thinking?" I mean, that voice! But the same doesn't apply to Hall and Oates, even though Daryl Hall had a significantly better voice. In later years Oates was pretty much relegated to backup status, but for a while he was given a lot to sing, and his voice is perfect for the blue eyed soul style of the early years. And that's one of the things that makes 'Abandoned Luncheonette' such a good album. It's truly a collaboration. And while Hall sounds great and the harmonies are beautiful, some of the real gems are with John Oates on lead. 'I'm Just a Kid" is a terrific song. But this is one you'll probably remember.

But there's solid songwriting and singing throughout the album. It's an under appreciated piece of work, I think.

You can listen to the entire album here




Or check it out on Spotify. It's a great pop album.

Blogapalooza Day 3: Where I tell you how I intend to vote on the weed issues

So Ohio has two issues on the ballot, Issue 2 and Issue 3, which relate to marijuana legalization and commerce. It's been hard to find quality articles on the issues but The New York Times has an excellent piece,

I had to really break this down into its component pieces:
1. I'm ok with legalization of marijuana.
2. I'm not in favor of the oligarchy that will control it.
3. I don't think the Ohio Constitution is the place to stick in a law whose only purpose is to counteract Issue 3.
4. Anyone who thinks Buddie is a good idea is begging me not to vote for them.

So 'no' to both.

I say, let them come up with a better initiative. Get back with me in 2016.

Blogapalooza Day 2: May as Well Get This Over With

The Browns.

Yes, I'm going there. This will probably be my only Browns post and now is as a good a time as any, coming off a terrible loss yesterday to Arizona. (I was going to link something there about the game but it's all so pathetic that I'll let you look on your own should you need a reason to get really bummed).

I didn't grow up a Browns fan. I was raised in Toledo and though I was a Detroit Tiger fan, I never took to the Lions. My dad was a Browns fan but for some reason I liked the Vikings. I think it happened because one year they were on TV two or three times (back then there were only one or two games on TV on a given Sunday) and they had the Purple People Eaters defense. I thought that was cool.

But upon moving to Cleveland I gradually shifted to being a Browns fan, which was easy enough because in the '80's they were watchable, Even when they broke your heart they did it with style.

Maybe when they left town we shouldn't have wanted so badly for them to come back. Maybe we should have let the NFL give us a make-up franchise a few years later and name it something else, like the Rockers or the Perch. The Cleveland Perch. I like the sound of that.

Since Cleveland fans love misery only slightly less than they do their Browns, one fan/blogger did something amazing and a little masochistic. He ranked every Browns loss since 1999, the year they gave us back the Browns.

As you might expect, blow-out losses to teams who were very good, like the 2007 Patriots, ranked very low on the list. Last second losses and losses teams they really should have beaten rank higher. The top ten is littered with losses in ways that were unimagined by the inventors of the game, ways that only the Browns could accomplish.

You know, I can't even say I recommend the list, because it's sad. Just sad. But I think maybe it's something that needs to be experienced, passed on, like an oral history of an indigenous people.

Okay, so I've done my obligatory Browns post for NaBloPoMo. Unless, of course, they manage to out-do themselves in some way, which is probably even odds.

Hello NaBloPoMo; Curse You, NaBloPoMo!

So here we are again. November. National Blog Posting Month. Time to come up with 30 ideas and then turn each into a blog post that is entertaining or informative or both or neither. This post will be the latter.

As a refresher, November is when thousands of novelists-to-be try to crank out a book in 30 days, in an exercise called NaNoWRiMo (National Novel Writing Month). April is NaPoWriMo (poetry) and I guess the blogosphere felt left out so they made NaBloPoMo. I can't be certain why they chose the same month as NaNoWriMo but it may have been started by someone who wanted an excuse to not write a novel ("No I can't do the novel thing, dammit, I'm blogging").

Things I plan on covering this month:

• The marijuana ballot issues in Ohio
• Dogs
• How thankful I am for something or other. 

That's it so far. I haven't really thought this through. November 1st always sneaks up on me, despite it coming reliably after October 31st every year I've been alive. 

So thanks in advance for reading. Feel free to comment, especially if you want to say nice things.

Hell Year

Today is the one year anniversary of my "little incident." I am speaking of course of my slippage on a tiny patch of ice and the tearing of my quadriceps tendon. My dogs played a big role but I don't harbor any malice, except that I've renamed them Extra Stupid and Beyond Extra Stupid. They each answer to both, which is due in large part to me feeding them cookies when I say it.

When I asked my surgeon, the terrific Damien Billow from the Cleveland Clinic, when I would be normal again, he resisted the obvious joke and said it would be a year from the surgery, which was actually in May. I was pretty pissed at him for being so pessimistic. Did he not realize I'm an exceptional healer? Did he not know I needed it to be faster than that?

It turns out he was right and probably undershot it a tad. I won't be 100% by May 1, and that's partly due to me being a bigger than the average person and the leg having even further to go to be able to do its job. I'd say it may be more than 90%, which a few months ago seemed unreachable.

I missed a lot of stuff. My daughter's engagement party, an entire season of concerts in 3 bands, our community garden, and the ability to go just about anywhere. But the one thing I did was work hard enough to be able to walk my daughter down the aisle in Toronto and dance with her at the reception. I had to skip the hora but I'll get over it.

I've had to make a career change, which is still in progress,

I've learned to depend on others. And to be patient with people who have trouble walking. And that all handicap access is not created equal.

And I've learned that the love and support of the people I love is pretty much everything.

Tomorrow begins the year after Hell Year. We'll call it Great Year. The fun starts right now.