Gagliarchives Blog

2010-02-16T19:53:00.000-08:00

I Don’t Have To Like You
The blizzard came on Wednesday, and I lost a very close friend and partner in it. It’s no surprise because we became friends during a hurricane almost a decade ago. We didn’t like each other at first and weren’t even close to getting along. I guess being booted out by your landlord along with your sibling will do that to you. With him, I felt it was a sense of trust that had been broken in the early going. So, I was no help in trying to comfort the situation despite my efforts. I tried all the little things to make his stay a bit more worthwhile, but to no avail. It took the flooding and power outages of Hurricane Floyd in September of 1999 to change everything. We bonded. We understood that day that we needed each other whether we got along or not. His name was Opus. He had only been here a month or so before the hurricane along with his sister who we have written about here. She moved right in with very little difficulties and clearly made herself at home. Meanwhile, Opus sat at the top of the steps waiting for his former master. This killed me. I tried to give treats and toys. This meant nothing. I tried petting him and being affectionate only to have him run to the other side of the room and clean my scent off of his body. But as the storm came along with those ghoulish, howling winds, so did Opus. He found his way near me as the power went out. It was from that moment on we clicked. It took 8 hours of darkness and candles to see that I wasn’t such a bad guy. He knocked the wall down and realized I wasn’t out for any malicious gain. So, we learned to live with each other. We made a compromise. We made a silent deal…that expanded and was renegotiated in time.
A Temporary Home
When I was approached at my job about friend who needed a new home for her cats, I was apprehensive at first. As she explained her situation, it seemed as if the person she was about to marry despised cats and would have probably stuck the needle in them himself if it all possible. So the more I heard this story my instant reaction was, “I’ll take the cats and I will find them a home eventually.” I felt if this person would be this quick to discard them, at least let me find somewhere where they would be loved as equals. So my thinking was: look, I’m single, no kids, and no girlfriend. I will hold these cats till I find a place for them so in the mean time, I'll have a roof for them. The female was orange and white and named Silly. She was the personality and the most vocal. When I took them in, Silly was already 13. Opus was going on 7. Opus was very long. At black and white in color and a matching black nose, Opus stood as tall as a 4 year old when he was on hind legs. He also had weight to him for being so tall. So in essence, if Opus was human, he would stand about probably 6’ 4” with the personality to match. He wasn’t his sister at all. Opus was very curious and quiet. And even when we had our hurricane Floyd bonding moment, he kept his distance yet only to a minimum. I started to learn his mannerisms and his way of doing things…sometimes a bit more abrupt than I wanted. The first instance was very easy to remember. I went to take a shower and as the water began to pump out of the shower head, Opus climbed into the shower with me. We both kind of looked at each other in shock. His thinking was along the lines of, “What? I always do this”. I on the other hand didn’t know whether to jump out of the shower and turn the water off, or allow a dog sized cat to join me in lathering up. Aren’t cats supposed to hate water? I remember the previous owner telling me with a smirk that Opus loved water. Ok. But I didn’t realize he wanted to be doused in it. He didn’t seem to care about the water’s volume, either. So we had to come to a compromise. I shower first and when I am done, you have total free reign to do whatever you want in there but NOT while I am showering. I reciprocated by waiting till he was done drinking from the spout and getting his body wet before starting my day. Water would still present problems down the road for Opus. His obsession would cause some housing problems. But this would just be one of many little quirks I would come to learn.
Opus The Barbarian
After the first 2 years of having these 2 cats, the thought that eventually I would have to find a home for them disappeared. They both became a part of my life. The female cat was often unwell and had many obstacles keeping her from having a fruitful life. She was anemic, had irritable bowel syndrome, had shaky sugar levels, was slightly overweight, had liver issues, had a heart murmur, and suffered from allergies. Not to mention she struggled with arthritis. You could hear it as she walked. Opus? Not a thing was wrong with him. He liked to take a dump and not bury it. And trust me; you knew when he went to the bathroom. It was like elephant tranquilizers. I mean when this cat urinated it sounded like someone running a hose into a plastic box. He ate like an ox. If it came in a can, he wanted it. It could have been canned poop and he would have begged for seconds. In his early years, I used to allow him and his sister to go outside on the front step to soak up the sun. Silly loved it. Opus on the other hand, would begin to ‘wander’. Wander to the point where I couldn’t find him. He would be trying to climb a tree to get to a squirrel. His arm length was impressive for he was able to grab them a few times but luckily no front claws..and they always got away. He loved the bushes. He was convinced there were treats in them. He’d scour them and watch. Even neighboring cats caught his interest. He would charge full steam at them outside only to stop just before pouncing to smell them. The other cats would hiss at him, but he never had that response. He just would look at them with blinking eyes and turn around and walk back to me. He had no front claws to begin with so each time he’d pull this stunt I obviously became worried. He’s playing. They aren’t. Grass was his thing. LOVED grass. He’d eat it, throw it up, and then ask for more. I would let him out for small intervals to eat some, even rebelling against the neighboring cat birds that lived in the tree near my house and undoubtedly owned the turf. He’d eat as they swooped down on him. He had no interest in them, but they didn’t understand that. All they knew was he was on their turf. Opus came to love being outside with his favorite place being the porch out back that overlooks the street. To him it was ‘the great unknown’. He would stare for hours and watch cars, cats, squirrels, people, pollen, bees, wasps, birds, leaves and anything that even slightly moved. Opus was sharp and quick. I used to find stink bugs and other smaller bugs crushed to death and knew every time who the culprit was. It wasn’t Silly’s thing, it was Opus’s thing. Again, he was very curious. He watched you. Never said much, but he would watch you. He studied your reactions to things. He knew just what not to do, and what TO do without it being annoying. Sadly, I wasn’t catching on to these things till much later. One day I was cleaning around the apartment and was getting material ready for the radio show. My cell phone rings. It’s my 70 year old neighbor next door on the second floor asking me to come get my cat. I asked her if she was dialing the right number. She responded with, “You have a black and white cat, correct?”. “Yes, Opus…why?” I started looking around my apartment at this point. “Yes,” she said, “Your cat jumped from your porch onto mine, then came in my apartment and started walking around.” I was furious. I ran downstairs and she chuckled about it the whole time. Opus the Barbarian was now torturing my neighbors. That means screen doors had to be closed, and I had to ‘supervise’ him when I would go outside. He found ways into things….cabinets, bread bins, shelves, and other nooks. I understand that this is normal for cats. But when your cat has the length of a 4 year old kid and almost the weight to match, it makes it a little tough to sleep on small spaces that normal cats can. Poor Opus never understood that. He’d fall off the window sill, bed pillows, laps, chairs, counters, and numerous other things. And during this whole process, it would be interrupted by trips to the bathroom tub. The tub became a full fledged institution for Opus. He insisted that somehow, someway, that water be left on. Of course I didn’t know that at the time that on top of him wanting to be in the shower with me, that I had to leave the spout running once I was done so he’d be happy. His wailing and wailing would continue till I figured it out. Then it all made sense.
Opus The Aquarian
One day Opus was ticked off. The township must have been doing a backwash on the water system that was affecting the pressure of the water. So the drip I had set for him before work apparently stopped. Now keep in mind, Opus had 3 bowls of fresh water around the house. This wasn’t good enough. So in his frustration, he decided to jump up on the bathroom sink and turn the water on which he knew how to do very easily. Remember, he watched and learned. So as I sat in my office, my cell phone rang. It was the sweet, old couple that lived downstairs from me. “Hi Tom, its George from downstairs. I just wanted to let you know that I think you left your tub running or something.” I was sure I didn’t. But he explained to me on the phone that water was forming in big bubbles on the ceiling of their bathroom. I figured a pipe must have gone. I left work and flew home 10 minutes away. I walked in to find Opus hiding under the speaker stand next to the bathroom with a tail the size of a raccoon’s, and water running along the floor into the hallway. What had happened was, Opus turned the faucet on and it ran so hard that it closed the drain. But unbeknownst to me or Opus, the reservoir that keeps it from overflowing was blocked. So, water ran until it flooded the floors with no way for him to understand how to turn it off, obviously. As Opus came to realize, turning it on is the easy part. It was a memory that wasn’t pleasant at the time, but in hindsight was one of the most memorable. Opus would drink so much water that I had a friend who was a vet, look at him. She explained he had no real issues and wasn’t diabetic. He just LOVED water. Some cats do. It’s their obsession. And fresh water from a tap is something they know is the real deal. Opus drank so much water and visited the tub so much that his black head started to turn red from the fluoride and chlorine in the water. It was quite amazing to see the color change. It was ‘bleached’. After a while he used to use it to his advantage. He knew it drew attention to him. Especially from women. So he gladly would get wet, come and show you, then find me and shake it all off on me like a dog. It got to be a running joke, literally. I’d try to avoid him if he got out of the tub wet because he wanted to shake it on me. I won this race rarely. What comes with a lot of water drinking is a lot of pissing. Which means in turn, lots of litter. The litter was for him, mainly. Not for the fact he didn’t bury anything, but the more litter in the dirt box, the more absorption. If not, the smell would hit you instantly or it would become mud. But here’s the thing, he drank so much that his piss didn’t really smell like typical cat pee. He drank so much that it was more like water. But still, he had no health issues because of it. But it didn’t end at tubs, sinks, and faucets. I’d jump out of sleep to the sound of glasses I had full of water for myself running down the coffee table, and a puffy tailed cat looking at me as if to say, “You aren’t mad, are you?”
Addition By Subtraction
In the spring of 2006, his female counterpart had left us sadly. When I came home to find that she had just passed, Opus stood beside her. It was almost like he knew she was gone. He even at one point laid down next to her lifeless body. His playmate that he loved to dominate because of his size was no more. This would be the beginning of a new relationship. A relationship that I had no idea would blossom from this sad, sad loss. It was the day that began ‘our’ friendship. He knew something wasn’t right once she was gone, and he could see by my actions that he needed to somehow comfort me, and I, him. He stood next to me a lot during this time, a habit that continued for quite a few years. He didn’t just stand next to me, he leaned in. He needed the physical contact. He was alone and so was I. Silly was our balance. For as sick as she was for most of her life, she provided the perfect chemistry for the three of us to live together. Despite the contrasts, she made everything equal. Now with it just being him and I, things changed. Before I knew it, Opus started communicating with me on a vocal level. I mean, he had in the past, but now, with it just being him and I, it became an everyday part of our relationship. But it was OUR relationship…it was OUR thing. When others would come over, he maintained his silence. It was astonishing how he would change it on a dime. In Silly’s sad absence, he would now sleep next to me. He would be the one to greet me in the morning. He would be the one to show me that the alarm was something of nuisance but knew that when it made noise, it was time for me to get up. Silly used to mumble to herself, lick your face and grunt to make sure you got up. Not Opus. He tapped your face. He walked on you. Not the type of walk when they are walking so tenderly and gingerly to not cause a ruckus 'so he could rest on you' kind of walk…but the kind of walk that he put every pound per square inch of pressure on you. Basically letting you know, “DUDE, GET UP”. It was quite comical. He had many different tactics on waking me up. One of his favorites was getting soaked, then coming out to the living room, jumping up on the couch, and then leaning his head over me just enough to where his wet nose would just skim my ear. This wasn’t a one time deal either. He knew it drove me nuts, so in his eyes, this is the best way to get daddy up. At one point, no one believed me that he would do this. So that’s when my Blackberry came in handy. I snapped photos left and right. As a matter of fact, in time I took hundreds more photos of him than I ever did of her. Video, even! Like anything else, the closer we got as it was just him and I, the more he felt he had to be a part of everything. He only did this because unconsciously I treated him like an equal. If I went outside out front, he had to go outside. If I went on the back porch, he deserved the right to be out there too. If I ate, he ate. If opened a can of tuna to eat, he had to have some. If I laid down in the room, he had to have some part of the bed to rest and the view to watch me. If I was fixing stuff, he had to be there to supervise. If I worked on the radio show, he had to be on my lap or on my feet. Even during my ‘intimate’ moments, Opus found a way to either watch from a distance and freak me out, or made sure that he took the biggest dump in the world so I would have to stop what I was doing and take it out. Remember, Opus was like the size of a bobcat. Opus owned and dominated more things in my life than I imagined. And I let him.
Best Laid Plans
The routines were quite simple. You could set your watch by them. Monday through Friday’s schedule went like this:
-----8:00am to 10am- Bask in the sun till the alarm goes off. Then walk on daddy until he gets mad and wakes up. If that doesn’t work, get wet and drip on him…better yet, drink out of his water glass. That works.
----10am-12pm- Take as much time in the tub as possible before dad gets in there. If boredom sets in, ask dad to open the screen door so he could go enjoy the big bright light of the ‘great unknown’.
----12:00pm – Make daddy feel guilty for leaving by staring at him
----12:05pm -10pm- The time he had on his own to surf the web, wear funny hats, play poker, crank call people, and buy stuff off the home shopping network.
----10pm-11pm- As daddy gets home, wait at the top of the steps or the window sill so you can watch him pull up and give him the business. Usually fed by 9:30, this usually contained Sea Captain’s Choice, Ocean Whitefish, Turkey And Giblets, or Beef and Liver. It has to be Pâté, or else he just won’t eat it. Won’t interest him if it’s in gravy. He hates it. After eating a nice chunk, he will venture to the bathroom tub to drink from the spout and get his head wet.
----11pm-12am- Repeat the previous entry at least 3x. Walk back into the kitchen, eat more from the bowl, walk back to the bathroom, drink, get wet, walk over to daddy at his computer and wipe your dirty teeth from your dinner on his pants. (I used to think this was Opus being affectionate. It’s not. He’s cleaning his mouth.) Then walk back to the bathroom, get wet, come out, go into the dirt box, take a piss or a crap, walk back out, and stare out the back door.
12-2am- Nap time at dad’s feet, or on top of the bed facing dad as he works on his PC.
2am-3am- Start tapping daddy to come to bed and shut the lights out. Climb even. Despite not knowing your own size and strength. Repeat 5x
3am-3:30- Follow daddy to the living room and take your spot on the recliner.
The Weekend schedule went like this:
(SAT + SUN) 8am-12:00pm- Try your hardest to somehow some way, wake Dad up. This means spilling water, taking a dump, knocking stuff off the bureau, walking really hard on you etc.
12pm-2pm- While dad works on the PC, you can nap. (my revenge is a dish best served cold)
2pm-3:45pm- Its tapping time. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap "WHAT OPUS?"...... “Hi”
4:00pm- Dinner time. This is where you could literally set your watch. He will let you know by body movements that he is hungry at exactly 4pm on the weekends. He gets what I call ‘pointy face’. This means he is smiling. The skin under his nose forms a triangle. That’s how we knew he was smiling. This reaction was realized while getting treats, catnip, or getting fed. It became infectious.
5-8PM- His time. Leave him alone as he wanders around the house and either naps or watches the NFL network. .
Then upon returning from my radio show, he would be at his peak in energy. Running from room to room, yapping, purring, getting wet repeatedly, talking up a storm and begging for more food on top of the food he already got.
Life was simple and routine.
I Know What I Like
Opus loved Tuna. Straight up. Raw, canned, cooked, seared, didn’t matter. "Tuna? I want some." Opus was obsessed with his fishing line with a piece of burlap at the end. He spoke in tounges when it was visible. He loved exploring closets that were usually closed up. Climbing like a mountain lion on National Geographic. He loved the back porch and the dead plant leaves that surrounded it. Crunchin' em like Doritos. He liked crushing bugs. He loved the window sill. He loved girls. He liked showing off to them, too. Opus loved the snow. He loved downpours just to hear the rain hit the wood of the back porch. The force was hypnotizing to him. He loved laying on you. He liked watching himself on video. Opus liked being held but only if you wrapped him around your shoulders. Opus liked getting your attention and loved when you talked to him…more so if you are talking normal to him and not like a baby. He loved Jeep interiors and a freshly mowed lawn. He loved gripping my fingers with his wide paws and a tight grip. He loved bathroom visitors. You were in his office. He loved sleeping on furry things as much as he loved the sun. He enjoyed the ‘hunt’ but would clean you while he cleaned himself. Opus loved watching the footballs fly across screens on Sunday but not as much as he loved Animal Planet. Opus didn’t like milk. He hated cigarettes or anything that had smoke to it. He'd literally wait to come over to you until he heard the butt go out in the ashtray on the porch. He detested sirens. He didn’t like Ozric Tentacles. He didn’t like loud people and was very standoffish and wary of children. He hated whistling and didn’t like cheese. Come to think of it, he didn’t like people food at all. He wasn't fearful of much but he hated spray bottles. And I never used one on him. So I could tell the previous owner must have just by the reaction of me holding one in my hand. He absolutely hated thunderstorms and hid under the toilet every time he heard a rumble.....and most of all, hated if you were leaving for the day or a trip even. He'd show you by knocking things off the kitchen counter when you aren't home for within 2 hours.
The Blizzard
In the final 2 years in the life of Opus, he did many bizarre things. My Vet friend explained that cats do go ‘senile’ a bit in the final stages of life just like humans. Opus wasn’t running into walls or anything, but things started to change. His long back legs didn’t bend like they used to so he had a hard time ‘sitting’. He was missing the box on a regular basis and only made it in there if I was home. If not, he found different places to leave me surprises. His mentality was, “well I know the bathroom is in here, so I was close, right?” One of the funnier moments was when I tried to set up a barricade to keep him on track to go right to the box and keep him from returning to the places he messed even years earlier that were treated. But one night thinking I was asleep on the couch, the genius decided to burrow between the box barricade which honestly took a lot of work to do even for a cat, only to have me catch him and look at me as if to say, “Whoops!” He got low to the ground and walked over to the dirt box and went to bathroom. I just thought to myself: ‘all that work when the box is right there?’ Explain the logic in this Opus. But again, he’s a cat. But in a small way, he understood enough to be like “Yeah that was stupid.” Just like any cat at this age, Opus began sleeping more. I mean you’d be ignorant not to notice that his sleeping habits picked up. He’d fall into these deep sleeps that almost began to worry me when I couldn’t wake him up. Cat owners are familiar with the whole ‘second eyelid’ thing…it can be a bit creepy. But again, this comes with age. He got more mouthy, crotchety, and unfortunately due to my neighbors kitten factory, fleas. I felt bad that at 17 years old, he had to be treated. But, he took it like a champ and even braved the tub for flea shampoo.(It's not fun when he HAS to be in the tub.) All things seemed to be getting better. He still ate like a horse, crapped like a racehorse, and peed like one too. Food was still his favorite gig and even showed curiosity when I was given a big red fighting fish we called Chase. He’d stare at him frequently, but Chase was high enough to not be touched. But I know how that little brain of Opus works. I kept telling my friend to stop showing Opus the tank. Not knowing Opus as well as I do, I explained that he watches and learns. Well, as the hours went by that night, I could see Opus staring from different areas and plotting within the fish tank area to see just how he could get up there. I warned him intermittantly. My friend said, “He won’t go up there…trust me.” A few hours after that as I was watching TV on the couch, I swore that Opus was still plotting. So I quick turn the lights on to find Opus standing in the hallway staring at the fish tank in the shadows. I told you he watches and learns. As December closed in, Opus was still his same old self, sleeping a lot, but still very active, still eating, still drinking, still plotting etc. But as the worst snow storms on recent record began falling over our area, Opus started sleeping more than I wanted him too. I didn’t stop him, but I just kept trying to keep him active. We got pounded with snow again in February which meant I had more time to spend with the boy. As the first storm in February hit, things were business as usual with Opus. I gave him a treat of tuna one night because of how good he’d been which made him outrageously happy. I told him if he was good as the next storm approached, I’d give him more. So that Tuesday night, a friend stopped at the house to pick up something and explained how funny Opus was being with flirting, going in the tub, doing what he does, etc. I arrived home an hour later to find Opus on his side whimpering. His grumblings at first made me think he had a hairball or was maybe having a hard time going to the bathroom. Then I began to notice white foam on different spots near him. I called my friend again and she said it definitely sounded like a hairball and just to keep him comfortable and it should pass. He just laid on the floor by my feet. I lured him out of the room to give him some food. He followed me but this time he was making stops along the way to rest. I knew something was wrong. I opened a can of Ocean Whitefish and I could see the look in his eyes that he was interested. He walked over to the dish, licked the top of the food only to go under the kitchen table to rest. Something was wrong. This was very un-Opus like. Then the nor’easter hit that night. Unfortunately when I awoke in the middle of the night, he hadn’t moved from under the kitchen table. I laid down on the floor near him and talked to him. He kept reaching his long arms out to me as if to say ‘I don’t feel well, please hold my hand.’ This went on till I fell back to sleep. Later that morning my company confirmed they were still open and I had to go in. The snow was bad. I felt guilty leaving Opus, but I figured they may close early anyway and I can spend time with him later. When I returned home a few hours later, I couldn’t find him. He put himself under the bed to be alone. Pet owners know what that means and I wasn’t having any of it. I pulled him and put him on the bed next to me. He hadn’t growled or whimpered, he just insisted on gripping my hands with his paws. I didn’t even bring into my mind what may be happening. But 24 hours of denying water and food from me on numerous occasions told me there was something a bit more deeper going on. As I looked in his eyes, the far away stare became more prevalent. I kept talking to him and calling his name which worked from time to time. I got worried because now, parts of his body weren’t moving at all. My boy was dying in front of me. I called animal hospitals all around and most were closed due to the blizzard. The closest one was 30 miles away and had limited staffing. As I contemplated getting ready to take him, things took a turn for the worse. His pupils were black, his paws were cold and his breathing picked up yet he laid motionless. At this point I was yelling his name repeatedly to very little reaction. I picked him and held him. He was limp and lifeless. His breathing became more silent and was reduced to a 'rattling'. I begged him over and over again not to leave me. Please don’t do this. Not now. But one knows that once that ‘rattling’ sound is heard, the end is near. I held him and he groaned and fought. He kicked and moaned not wanting to leave. And again came those awful breaths. Just then, a never to be forgotten, almost guttural sound could be heard, and his eyes showed that no one was home. How could that light that once burned so brightly, suddenly turn so pale? Opus was gone. That was it. My longtime friend and confidant was no more. For even a fleeting moment I thought that maybe this was just a bad dream. It wasn’t. Now? Like this? This is how this ends? I wrapped Opus in a towel and woolen bedding and put him on his favorite place, the back porch. I hated that I had to. But family, friends and even the Vet said this had to be done. I slept with the back door open in my insane grief that maybe he would wake up with the snow, crawl out of the box and come back in. And on the sane side, I felt, if he’s cold, then I will be too. We did everything else together, what should change now? The sad part was the snow just fell and fell with no relief. We became friends in a hurricane, and then lost him in a blizzard.

Memoirs
As the days pass now, the house is completely different. Friends have tried to comfort me, and many of my non pet friends can’t understand the sadness. Their remedy is usually “Just go get another cat.” They simply don’t understand. It’s something that just can’t be done. I can’t do that. Not now. There is no replacement for Opus. My home is not the same, nor will it be. There is no need to rush home anymore. There is no need to stop and feed my boy before I trek out for the night. There is no need to keep things off the counter filled with water anymore. There’s no one to tap me while I work, or dishes to be filled, or cans to be bought. There’s no need to leave the TV on anymore, or leave the door to the ‘great unknown’ open as I get ready for work anymore. There’s no one to be plastered on my screen door while I do laundry anymore. There’s no need to race to get to the bathroom now, nor is there the companionship for when you're in there. I won’t be showered and sputtered with water unexpectedly anymore. I won’t be awakened anymore by a friend that just wanted me up just to be up, nor is there a reason for me to have all these toys around. And most of all? There is no need to leave that tub spout dripping. We all say the same things when one close to you passes. I would have let Opus poop and pee all around my house if I could have him for one more day. One day just to show my roommate my appreciation. I’ll miss our conversations about my troubles with women and life as he would just gaze thin-eyed at me on the porch just listening. Life goes on I know. I just think of how unfair that whole process is. I have to move on now? How dare they say that. But, it’s true. It does. I don’t go quietly into that thinking. I never have nor will I ever. Death is not something I understand, nor do I scrape to understand its logic, if there is any that is. I do hope Opus got where he was supposed to go. I pray he did. I wish I knew if he did. I wish he could let me know, even. It sounds selfish, but he was mine and I should know. Sounds odd, huh? I’ve had lots of pets in my life. None of them were like Opus. I’ll miss those facial expressions too. That’s what burns in the recesses of my mind. The ‘pointy’ face when he smiled. Yes, I’ll miss that the most. But wherever he is, I know he’s going to be handful. I’m sure in heaven some habits are hard to break.
Even on this side they are as I forgot to shut the water completely off this morning when I was done my shower.
I miss you buddy.

2009-03-26T18:30:00.000-07:00

Go Southeast Young Man
This thing called March Madness came upon me as hard as an airline stewardess handing out stale peanuts on a 2 hour flight. I know that doesn’t really make any sense, but I am indifferent when it comes to the biggest college sports weekend in the nation. I mean, it’s not that I don’t care, but again, to be honest, I don’t care. You could tell me Pennco Tech is playing, and I would be like, “Yeah? Cool.” So I took some days off from work to begin the annual pilgrimage to Wildwood, NJ to see the Pole. Pole is the master of Swinefest, the greatest event of BBQ known to modern man. It takes place every year in September in Mount Royal, NJ (not Clarksboro) and has featured celebrities from around the world. We are writers that have the dream of making it somehow. How, we don't know. On top of being a hell of a barber, nobody quite makes Deviled Eggs stuffed with lump crabmeat like he does. Nobody. I owe him my life. And when I hit the lottery, he gets his bar in Wildwood, and I only ask that my bands I feature on the show have a place to play. Anyway. I digress. My original plan was to head 'down the shore'(how SJzn's say it) Wednesday night, but forgetting I had things to take care of locally on Thursday morning, I figured, well, Wildwood ain’t goin’ anywhere….and what’s the rush? You get there when you get there. That’s one fine example of how everything has changed within me in the last few years. I just don’t care. It’s the destination…you will be there when you arrive. There is no ‘deadline’ so to speak, and regardless, your friends love you whether you show up 20 minutes late, or a week late. So I didn’t fret about it. As a matter of fact, which became the joke of the weekend; I took my time getting there. I made the plan of getting some things ironed out before I left. And as the afternoon crept along, there was this quiet sense of urgency in my head. Not in the sense of rushing to get down there as I said above, but more in the way of ‘Ok, you have dilly dallied long enough…if you waste anymore time, you won’t want to go down.” So as I packed and fed Opus by tricking him into eating so I wouldn’t have the pain of him watching me walk out the door, I was on my way to Wildwood. But I learned something yet again. I learned why I have worked my bizarre work schedule over the last decade. As I approached 295 at 4:45 pm, it was a parking lot. Cars were backed up from the black horse pike exit, to route 38 in Mount Laurel. I thought to myself, you have to be kidding me. Ok, don’t stress. There are always good moments like these where you can sit and listen to all the new music you just got in. Done, tracked, picked, and filed. All as I crawled. After burning through 3 or 4 discs, I decided after 40 minutes I didn’t want to wait on 295 to move a whole 6.4 miles. And if it’s this bad here, I could only imagine how nonsensical it would be if I took this obsolete and ill protected highway to the 42/North South Freeway. I know what to do! Do what the colonials did! I took the White Horse Pike exit and began to head east down this one time Indian foot path. My Jeep was full of gas, and full of Pat Metheny Group’s The Way Up. There’s always a certain haunting I experience with this album. It talks to you every time you hear it. And you can be sure to hear something different every time. Six minutes into part 2, just happened to be as I approached the back roads of Winslow Township and Waterford. Funny how life imitates art….the soundtrack and reminders of the past were complete……and introspectively humbling.
My, my. my….look at how far you’ve come.
Beyond The Sun
Once I arrived to the Garden State Parkway I couldn’t help but think the intention of the highway was to have it look like the design of the Santa Monica Freeway with Palm Trees and perfectly lined deciduous trees. But in our case, evergreens, stop lights, blown tires, trash bags, signs to encourage you to stay awake, and my favorite, the town mile markers. The highway was barren. Not a soul on the thruway. What made me laugh was that this will be opposite in contrast in a mere month. How dare they come down here and ruin my state. After convincing my father I didn’t leave for Montreal again, I barreled into Rio Grande and headed eastward to the Wildwood By The Sea. Or, as us local south Jersean, non Canadians would say, Wildwood. (The jersey shore is the canuck’s Florida. Ugh. Get out of the left lane.) The air was crisp. It had been warmer the days prior, but there would be no satisfaction to have it work out perfectly for this weekend. I mean, it IS March. And it was brutally colder the last year I had Impanemia over the Rio Grande. I met up with Pole at this years homestead located actually ON Rio Grande. Doing his best impression of the air traffic controllers on strike, he guided my tent with wheels into the hidden underground garage. I checked out our friend Kevin’s shore house. It was huge. It went about a mile back with 10 bedrooms and an arctic air mixed with a burnt ozone smell that seemed normal to everyone positioned there. Regardless, it was a great place. The perfect set up. You could tell it was new and well kept. You could see other buildings going through renovations nearby. It was good to see Kevin as well. We worked together as well a few years back and delivered a lot of hours. A trooper. Kevin is one of those guys that can look at something and break down how it works and 'get it' immediately. He liked working with me because I used to pistol whip his phone reps. Best numbers in the region, yo. So after greetings and salutations, off we went to the infamous Dog Tooth. Pole and I met up with his buddy Rich. Rich wore a bright red “WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS” long sleeve that made him easy not to miss. After winning the World Series, it was a nice reminder of how awesome October was, and that yeah, We're fucking champs dude. I didn't catch on to Pole's HICKORY shirt. I just thought it was a great smoking wood. We all shook hands and began drinking. March Madness was upon us, and Villanova was struggling a bit. Down by 10, I could hear Rich and Pole play the “Let’s see how loud we can get the more we drink game.” Every Villanova play resulted in grunts and groans from Rich. I sipped my Dos Equis like it was the last thing I wanted to drink. I could hear my body telling me, “Do we really have to do this today?” I forced another sip. Just the mere fact I was forcing ‘sips’ was a bit troubling. Pole insisted I wasn’t having a good time. I realized he was in the place I so wanted to be, which was inebriated. I had 2 beers at this point and realized, you know what, I am just going to sit here and relax. You aren’t at work, you aren’t working on a script, your phone is on silent, and you are with your friends. Have a good time, dammit. Pole tried repeatedly to keep me on the up and up. I just couldn’t help my resistance to it. It was almost like I felt guilty for wanting to have a good time. And the guilt was winning. The sad part was, I couldn’t really find what the root of the problem was. I should have just switched to Vodka, but I just had no desire to up the ante. Then the voice of reason kicked in and said, hey, relax…..seriously. All I could think about was what was not getting done at the speed I wanted. Stuff at work, the book, some radio show production, upcoming festivals, 500 emails, blah blah blah. I know, I know. In time. Alas, after finishing my second beer and cigarette, the throbbing headache began. It didn’t help that Pole was picking all the death metal he could muster, (not really) or every modern rock band I had no clue about or felt anything for on the jukebox. Then Rich and I got in a discussion about music. I find myself trying to be objective when it comes to music discussions with the normal Joe. Or in this case, Rich. I find myself appalled when someone tries to tell me that “Flea” is the best bassist that ever lived. Or that Pearl Jam was one of the greatest bands of all time. Or that the Rolling Stones are the greatest musicians of all time. Or Bruce Springsteen is a genius. I take it they never heard of Jaco Pastorius, Rick Laird, Stanley Clarke or Percy Jones. Eh, it’s ok. You are a Jedi. Doesn’t make them part of the Sith if they don’t know who they are. But again, I find myself very out of place in those conversations. I really wanted to respond with, “Well none of those guys have any real depth or talent and can only play 3 chords anyway. But if you are into it, you are into it. Opium of the masses I always say. It’s like being a Yankees fan. Anyone can root for them…” And keep this in mind, it's not a bad thing. Music is music. Some people would rather just stay on the surface. Then there are others who like dive in a bit. In ANY genre. But still staying relatively close to the surface. Then there are freaks like me and countless others that have to do a full blown out study of certain type of music. It becomes them. They go after the offshoots, the rare recordings, the bands that started at the same time, and try to study trends of the bands and projects in a particular era of time. So with all that, I have a hard time really talking to people about music, the thing I love the most. When these conversations come up, I just stay quiet because they wouldn't know half the bands, composers, and artists I could mention. It's not their fault if they don't. But when they say stuff to me like "Oh you like prog rock? Dark Side Of The Moon was the best Floyd album ever", It’s like going up to a priest and saying, “Whoa man...that ending of the Bible......um...what's it called?....um...oh yeah Revelation. Man, that's wild!” Um yeah. Wild. So as the headache came to a crescendo, I decided I needed to walk back to the house a block away and just take a breather. Once I arrived, Kevin and his brother Mark were watching the outcome of one of the many games. Whatever game it was, Pennco vs. Miley's Driving School or whatever, came down to the buzzer. After rapping about the past presidential election, the Eagles on draft day, and how its ok that I can’t seem to hang for marathon drinking, the front door barreled in. Rich crashed through with an impish grin to his face. Visibly drunk, and obviously not smelling the burning electricity in the condo, he reckoned he wanted to pounce on someone. Well, he’s drunk. What do you expect? So he eyes up Kevin. Like a ninja, Kevin was gone in a puff of smoke. Within a billionth of a second I could hear him say behind his bedroom door, “Its ok, I am glad that everyone got home ok! I’m off to bed now…” Just before I could say anything, Pole fell through the front door. He was blitzed. He just looked up at me and said, “I fell.” I laughed at the timing and decided I wanted to have a smoke. As I went outside, Rich came out behind me. We chewed the fat, and just then, Pole came falling out again. “I’m a jackass. I know. I’m a jackass…I’m the jackass here everyone.” He yelled to the invisible audience. Just then, Richie started punching his stomach in a pseudo boxing kind of way. Well, you just don’t do that to a person who had 56 beers and 15 shots. You just don’t. Pole disappeared to the side of the house. Rich followed. As minutes became double digits, I approached the side of the house as well. “Hey, is he ok?” I asked Richie. Richie turned around like that prairie dog in that youtube video as if something murderous and sinister was transpiring. “JUST GO AWAY. EVERYTHING IS FINE HERE. NOTHING TO SEE!” Wow, ok, at this point, I understood that in essence without the drama that Pole was throwing his guts up. That’s fine. We’ve all done it, and I just enjoy it more than the rest I guess. I mean, don’t you feel better as you’re hurling? Jeez, I do. I went back upstairs and the next plan was all about trying to find a place to sleep. I had picked the back bedroom first. But Rich insisted on having me help him carry Pole to the bedroom. This was something Pole wasn’t really up for. Rich insisted I continue to help, but at this point, Rich and Pole had collapsed on to the floor followed by giggling. Rich was laughing his ass off. “I’m out..” I said as I grabbed my pillow and headed to the living room a mile away. But it was only a few minutes later it was followed by, “Sssshhh” (banging noises approaching the living room) “ssshhh, come on Pole, let’s hit the sack. Come on. Shhhhh (Inaudible) Ssshhhh. Lets get to bed. Come on…..(more bangs) Stop! Stop! Dude. I will hit you in the nuts. Seriously. I will tap you right in the nuts (Laughter, more bangs) Dude, get off me. Oh dam. I am out of it. Dude, GET OFF. Wait, I swear Richie, I will tap you right in the nuts. Gimme a hug…” The noise got closer to the living room. “SShhh, gags is sleeping (big bang follows)” Well not anymore, guys. Just then, Pole slammed down in the couch next to me and said, “Gags. Just let it go. Let all your pain go” Then he passed out. I sat and stared at the light across the street fighting to get in through the blinds. I watched it as it got reddish purple and I began to fade thinking of how I should have been here years ago….the debacle of 1995 as I called it. Pole’s snoring helped set the rhythm for sleep in between the grunts of him trying to get comfortable on the ottoman. Despite the temperature in the house being 65, it was comforting…I faded.
The Best Pancakes On Earth
As I woke up, I realized how hungry I was. I didn’t have the luxury of eating my little snacks through the night like I would at home if it was just me and Opus. Once I got up, my plan was to get in the shower as quick as possible, and get coffee. That was first. That would at the least distract my nausea of an empty stomach. I get in the shower, there’s no strength to the water at all. But then again, I am used to a fire hydrant at my house. I’m spoiled I guess. Well, I don’t ask for much. Coffee, a powerful shower, and no rushing to get ready. That’s all I want in life. So once I was ready to go, Kevin’s Brother Mark walked in the door and asked if I was up for breakfast food. I wanted to see if Pole was up, but before I could check, out he came. “Where am I?” he asked. “Dude, breakfast? Huh? Huh? Huh?...” I responded with a question. All I heard at this point were grunts and groans. Then there we were off to a pancake house near Pacific Ave. Mark assured me they had the best pancakes on earth, and I hate pancakes. But I was so hungry, I wanted some. The wind was piercing through Mark, Pole, and I. We walk up to the front of the place. “Closed - Opening May 1st” We were pissed. Now what? Where do we eat now? Despite being a populated town in the off season, there isn’t a ton of places open. As we walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but notice a big pile of shit on the front lawn of Kevin’s house. “What a wild night.” I said. “Pole took a dump right on the lawn.” Pole replied with, “Again?” The funny thing was, Pole thought he really did it. I mean, I could TELL it was a dog and all that did it, but I didn’t know what was funnier, the fact that Pole ‘thought’ he did it, or that with all of his past wild stories, he could have. We walked back in and told Kevin. Kevin put his head in his hands and said, “Where did he do it?” That was just the icing on the cake. It was then decided we would order Pizza from Pizza Hut. Mark proceeds to tell the girl on the phone as Kevin was en route to the place, that the house was full of drunk teenagers. The girl almost seemed aroused by it. The bill came to 33$ and we all gorged out. Pole would pass out, and I would find myself in and out of sleep on the couch. It was the most relaxing part of my stay. They all were glued to the TV watching college hoops and I was in another world. The monotony was broken by the news that the Eagles picked up Fullback Leonard Weaver. It was then that Kevin decided to call a radio show on 950AM to say that Wake Forest was a lock for the game that night, all the Syracuse players he could think of, and that Leonard Weaver was left handed. Whatever that meant. The ozone smell from the hallway got stronger, and my concern grew over the implications because the condo was getter colder and colder. Kevin and I fooled with it until it a call was made to Banks. YES BANKS! He showed up at the house in his Air Conditioning/Heater Fixer Guy costume and proceeded to tell us the blower went. We laughed for hours. In my mind at least.
The Bayview Massacre or The Trouble With Jenna And Amanda
As Friday night came upon us, it was time to decide where to go. Kevin came up with the idea of us going to The Bayview. Pole was pumped, and with the arrival of John, another friend of ours, the night was complete. John and I worked together in sales at one point and was always a good help when I had no clue what I was doing. He also follows a lot of what goes on in the music world with a decent amount of knowledge of progressive rock and metal. As for the bar, The Bayview sits on the bay, obviously. Once we got there in Pole’s car, which I affectionately called KITT, it had the look of a large wooden buffet house. I have never been here, but it seemed very open, yet very homey. We took our seats at the bar as the Flyers game was 19 minutes in against the Buffalo Sabres. I decided to be the designated driver that night so they could all have a good time. Little did we know, IT WAS TRIVIA NIGHT! So we go and get our slips. The questions start rolling out from the gentleman with the CB radio microphone that cut out every 13 seconds because the wire was shot. We just kept replying “WHAT?” every time he would finish a question. We were killing in the match up. Just then to our right at the corner of the bar, an older gentleman, a younger guy, and an attractive brunette sit down at the bar. Sounds like the start of a joke. As they celebrated someone's birthday in the group, I am thinking the older gentleman, they started getting into the trivia as well. I could tell the girl was staring at us because we were being obnoxiously loud every time we got a question right he asked. Well, I was being the obnoxiously loud patron, and I was the sober designated driver mind you. I kept looking over to see that the girl was looking at us and smiling. It was obvious at this point she was flirting, and I was cool with it. Her name was Jenna and insisted I gave my answers to them so they could be in contention. Kevin, John, and Pole would have killed me if I did. So, I just kept saying, “I can’t, wouldn’t be fair to my group of geniuses. And that would be cheating!” Meanwhile I am calling my dad about the answers to, “Where did pieces of 8 originate from? And “What’s the most common Pope name?” We were on a roll. Were texting, calling, cheating just as bad. But were in front. Smoking everyone in our path. Jenna started talking to us a little more, and I thought it was nice to at least make a friend. After winning rounds 1 and 2, Pole and I departed the main bar for a game of air hockey. I am usually the master at this game. But for whatever reason, Pole jumped out to a 6-0 lead. I was stunned. I did crawl back to tie it at 7 which was most impressive, but not impressive enough as I lost 9-8. Oh well. The life of a Philadelphia sports fan. So we head back and answer questions about Blowfish, Garbanzo bean aliases, and the like. The smell of hickory from the fire place engulfed the seating area as did very unhappy trivia players. Apparently, when I walked back up, there was a woman basically scolding Jenna and her friends. I was kind of shocked actually. The woman accused Jenna and her friends of cheating during the trivia game with their blackberries and cell phones. Meanwhile, we were just as awful. So the people, who were pissed that they were supposedly cheating, left the bar in disgust. This was utterly absurd. I started laughing out loud that they caused the Bayview about 59$ in sales from those partaking in spirits during the game. The lady even said to them, “You made people leave here! And they were school teachers!” Oh go fuck yourself. Seriously. Grow up. It’s a fucking trivia game you dolt. Who the fuck cares on a Friday night? Is your life THAT fucking pathetic? Anyway….so, Jenna has a friend show up. Her name was Amanda. Amanda found out about the supposed cheating that had happened within her group of friends prior to her arriving and voiced her disdain for it. We just kept playing. Then we get to the bonus round. All questions about Ireland. I would have rather had my fingernails ripped off. So we turned in our questions, and as I walked back to say hi to Jenna and ask how they did, her bitchy friend turns and goes “Ew, go away, he’s slimy.” Now, let’s stop for a second. Slimy? Bitch you don’t even know me. For someone that wasn’t even that attractive, I was appalled. I mean god knows I have been called worse, but at least let me DO something to you for you to say that. So I was a bit stunned, because honestly, it was the first time I was ever called that. So I go back to my seat to see that even Pole was shocked at what she said. So Kevin started saying loudly, “Aren’t you guys cheating?” Just then Jenna asked for the answers to one of the questions, and I obviously replied with, “Well, you don’t want any answers from a slimy guy. They won’t be right.” Then Amanda obviously thought it was unfair for me to joke about her slanderous comment because she started realizing that the rest of my friends started heckling their trivia cheating ways. Jenna came over and did a pseudo comforting thing with me defending her friends attitude that she had a bad day etc etc etc. I don’t care. I wanted to say, "Get a shower you bridge troll." But of course I didn’t say that, and learned in my old age its better and wiser to just keep your mouth shut and ignore the hate. I guess.... So Jenna was getting drunker, and it was just then we won the round of trivia, and ultimately, the contest. Kevin gets a 50$ certificate for free dinner there, and we decide to depart. We come to find out that our happy girl Amanda, was manager of, get this, a bar we frequent regularly! As we start to walk out, Amanda decided to tell Kevin she liked him. So at least there was a sign that she could be a nice person...maybe. I wanted nachos, make that Chicken Nachos and really didn't feel like hanging out to find out if she was or wasn't. We laughed all the way home in our undefrosted KITT Car. Kevin insisted that Jenna would call. I knew already they wouldn’t. As we got closer to the bar, we saw a mess of cop cars ahead on Rio Grande. Not thinking anything of it, we get to Kevin’s house to see Banks working in the utility room fixing the heater. YAY! WE HAVE HEAT! Now it was a bit too warm in the place. We walked over to the bar and I was STARVING for chicken nachos. We inhaled them. Just then the long haired ex surfer bartender comes over to our corner and gives us free drink cups. I asked, “What was that for?” The bartender replied, “Well Amanda asked if 4 guys were at the bar that just left the Bayview. She felt bad for how mean she was to you guys and wanted you guys to have some free drinks.” Now I felt bad, I mean, still, she was a bitch and all, but I thought, wow. That was a nice gesture. I gave the cup to John and told him to enjoy it. The night ended with me walking back to Kevin’s and then taking a walk out back. I was grateful for the invite to the Wildwood by the sea, and told Kevin how proud I was that he did it the right way. He owns the place out right, and is an area that I predict, will be more popular than any shore town in the next 10 years. I truly believe that. As much as I am not a fan of Wildwood, this town is going through a revival…a renaissance so to speak. And he’s in a prime time location. As I smoked my last cigarette, I watched the cop cars still down the road. Pole later told me that the reason they were there was not for a sobriety check point. Sadly, a fight between a couple led to a girl stabbing her boyfriend dead. I was quietly shocked. Amazing how life works. And people wonder why I stay single.
The Greek Girls From Vegas
The next morning Pole and I decided to get some breakfast before I left for the mainland. I owe this guy my life and I felt I let him down because I wasn’t the party animal I could have been that weekend. We went to the diner on the other side of town called the Vegas Diner. We decided to order something diverse as always. A Crabmeat Omelet with French fries and rye toast. I think crab meat should be involved everyday, but the doctor doesn’t think so, sadly. As we ate, I prepped myself for all that had to be done that day. I had to meet Kevin Feely, Ray Loboda, and Jim Robinson from NEARfest to discuss that night’s program. We do the show every year, and this would be the first of just them being there without the stalwart in Chad Hutchinson. So, in a way I was eager to see how the day would go. I really wanted to get home to see Opus because as he gets older, he misses me more and more when I am away. Years ago he would be fine with it, now it seems like it wears on him when I am not home. So, there was this sense of urgency that I wanted to get home. It’s funny how priorities change as you get older…for a cat no less. After we said our goodbyes, and complimented the Greek daughters of the owner, Pole was back on his way for more festivities dealing with alcohol, and I was on my way back towards the other side of the state. As I jumped on 147 and headed west, this sadness came over me. I should be here. The tugging in my heart was awful. This is where home should be. Ok, maybe not Wildwood per say, but the shore in general. As I moved northward up the Parkway, I listened to Impanemia from Brand X (again) and thought about a longer March (again). I passed each exit of all the sleepy towns along the way and thought to myself to remember it all now. For one day, it will all change, yet still stay the same. I could see the old country roads that seem to stop on the outside of the parkway and continue on the other side. All because of progress. But that old road was important to someone at one time. And I, as always, recognize that. It means nothing to the next guy. But it means the world to me. It’s bitterly symbolic yet ironic in the same frame. I made it all relative to a person say in their 70’s who remembers coming down to the shore when the only road there was, was Route 9. All these sleepy towns I passed. Its home….it’s who I am. It’s all so endearing to me. If I could hug it all I would. It’s almost like when I come down here, I change. Something just goes right within me. Kind of like when Indiana Jones was in his Venetian room kissing the Austrian archaeologist and he stops to look outside and goes, “Ahh…Venice.” I totally understand what he meant. My soul is most at peace here. Sigh. One day I will return. I will have the house that everyone can visit, vacation, and let their hair down. I will walk on the beach at all hours of the day and night and be thankful for my accomplishment of arriving to my 'destination' in the spiritual sense. The last few years have been an interesting challenge to say the least. But again, it's like anything or anyone else trying to exist today. This is how the ball rolls. It's all about timing. I'm not saying we all don't feel like at times we're just existing. This at times, is a noble fight within itself. But one day the timing will be right. One day I will be here. I swear to you….one day I will. And there will be no need to go home anymore.

For Ray Lex 1959-2009

2008-12-04T08:28:00.000-08:00

One Year Later
Yes, my sabbatical has brought another blog posting. It’s been a year, and I felt since these get more responses than my radio program did at times, I felt maybe I should post another one. I know I had left off at the tide of things turning last November. In hindsight it was for the best, and the farther you get from some things, the more you realize how more revitalized and smarter you were for doing so. In the last year, I have had some wanted and unwanted tests…and still continue to pass them without cheating. And it’s not that I have stopped writing, not even in the least bit. To reveal without revealing, I am writing a trilogy of stories that basically have nothing to do with one another. More on this later. But this is only one thing of many occurring. I have continued to write in other veins, but not to the magnitude of response the blogs used to get. I felt, if I can’t write something of any worth while here, why should I share? It’s like making a really good album and trying to follow it up with the same formula. It just doesn’t work. After the theft of my dying neutron star, the show has moved along and become as always, stronger and reinvented at certain intervals. Cuts and breaks have been tended, mended, and cared for, while others haven’t been fed the nutrition that’s needed. But I digress. Things have shaped up oddly in the last year. I have become more introspective and quiet as of late, yet slowly started enjoying my life as a hermit while not losing sight of what has to be accomplished week to week. If there is one thing I have learned in the course of the last year is when push comes to shove and things happen to those close to you, the trivialities of life mean nothing and don’t weigh as much. It’s almost an automatic default response. Cancer has unfortunately decided to rear its ugly head this year. The news all came along during the ironic anniversary of the fallout where I was finally set free one night while sitting on my back porch. But that’s how life works. You move past one thing, only to get challenged by another. The news was saddening, shocking, and humbling. All of the sudden, there was an internal battle….one to maintain balance and stability in the face of family support, and only allowing my emotions to disclose when alone amidst the darkness. I found myself recoiling for the next setback. It takes a lot to shake these feelings when you take things in love and life like you do your sports teams. It shook my foundation of who I am, and I found myself angry at god and, at the world. I still to this day beg that I could have it in place of my mother, or anyone else in my family. I mean, my brother and sister have kids….my father and mother want to see them grow up…like they watched us do and hoped to do with grandkids. Me? I have had a good life, I have traveled to a degree, I have loved, I have seen the best and worst of people, and I’ve enjoyed this ‘circus’ called life. Why can’t I have the cancer instead? I have no children, wife, lover, or ties. I have had a blast here. Why can’t I take the cancer….god only knows I would deserve it more than my mother would. But, it’s nothing you can change. This is how the cards are dealt. The best I could do and have done is to be a smiling and reassuring face in unsure times. I showed my support and sacrificed what I took so much pride in over the years…my hair. My mother prided herself on hers, and when she lost it, I knew it bothered her despite her resilience to ignore it. So off it came. My family was stunned and couldn’t understand why. But later they did after repeated trips to treatment and seeing others who’d done it. It wasn’t for me, it was for her. And if I did get anything out of it, it made me enjoy my knit caps a bit more. (I love hats)
Muck The Fetts Part V or “you stand there with your fixed expression, casting doubt on all I’ve had to say”
September was an odd month. Amidst all the personal chaos, there was the Phillies. They again became the opium to all the problems that ensued in all facets of life. I never had any hope that they would repeat 2007, let alone make the playoffs again this year. But as the season drew to a close that month, the butterflies began to churn. Greg’s Swinefest preparations had us all united under a grey sky of hope as they would beat the Nationals yet again to secure a division title, and I would revel in the pain of the fans of the other New York team that’s not the Yankees. The Phillies would play Milwaukee in the first round of the playoffs. Game one would be a gem by Cole Hamels while I sat at work with a tiny radio praying that my row of computers wouldn’t interfere with the AM waves that blessed its little speaker. The Phillies would beat them 3-1, to mark their first win in the playoffs since 1993 when I was just a young DJ driving in a car with no breaks, and a girlfriend at college 2 hours away. Ok, it’s only game 1. But a lot was let go that day in the terms of anticipation. The next day, in what I called the best game of the playoffs, was the game where Brett Myers pitched 7 great innings and shook the confidence of the unstoppable CC Sabathia. Phillies would win that one 5-2 while I sat celebrating by myself in the office. They didn’t play on my birthday, but commenced the next day. Amidst doing production for the radio show, I saw the Phillies get their asses handed to them at the hands of the Brewers in Milwaukee. The dinosaur Jamie Moyer was no match for the hot bats of the Brewers, and his 42 MPH fast ball wasn’t going to ‘fool’ anyone today. I went to the radio show that night thinking, ok, that does it. It’s over. I would be crucified by my friends and family for being negative. But when you are a Philly fan in general, you are used to this. Am I wrong? Did something happen today to change this? The next day, Agent Bradley decided I needed to get away from my life and take the young Parson Jack Russell Li’Le out in the Pine Barrens. Yes, I know, totally unconventional. The Phillies are playing, and the Eagles are playing Washington. Dude, are you nuts? Who misses this stuff? First off it’s Sunday. This is an action packed day of pivotal sports in the city of brotherly love. One not watching and witnessing should be burned at the stake. So there we were heading into the Pines. The Eagles had taken a 14-0 lead over the Redskins, and the Phillies were up 1-0 in the first inning off J-Roll’s home run. We made our first stop at Hampton Furnace. I was getting anxiety thinking I really should be home watching this game. But just then on the radio, Burrell and Werth sent bombs out of the park to ensure the Phillies would win their first playoff series since 1993. We sat at Batsto and listened to the final out while Li’Le and her now browned coat from running through piles of the stinky, mud infested puddles on the Atsion tract permeated the interior of my Jeep. But alas, the Phillies won. We won round one. The next series would be the Phillies versus the Los Angeles Dodgers. A flashback to when I was 12 and the belief that they could win with a bunch of old guys. I remembered back when the Phillies played the Dodgers in the regular season in 1983, they had gone 1-11 against them, and then would beat them 3-1 in the playoffs. I had bad feelings 25 years later. My thought was with a rejuvenated Derek Lowe, and the addition of Manny Ramirez, the Phillies wouldn’t have a shot. I mean come on, it’s Philly. This is how it’s supposed to go. In Game 1, the Phillies were down 2-0 for what seemed like an eternity. But once Lowe got rattled with Victorino at 2nd, the game and ultimately the series would change complexion. The Phillies would win 3-2. In game two, the Phillies bullpen would reign supreme after Myers outing to tame the Dodgers offense and win 8-5. Wow. The Phillies were up 2-0 in the series. Game three would be on a Sunday night in L.A. Jamie Moyer would come out and again get shellacked in the first inning. It wasn’t good. I was nauseous. There was no way we would win this game. My thoughts were, well, we won 4 at home against them in the regular season, while they won 4 on their house as well. The series was taking the same kind of vibe. But something happened. Victorino became head hunted by cowardly Hiroki Kuroda, the pitcher for the Dodgers. And although the Phillies lost 7-2, I was angry, and so were they. You could see it. You could feel it. Fuck the Dodgers. Fuck those Hollywood elte. Fuck Jon Lovitz, fuck Mia Hamm, fuck Tommy Lasorda, fuck Josh Brolin, oh and fuck Joe Buck, again. I was starting to feel it. I was 11 again. I was yelling BEAT LA BEAT LA. Down 5-3 in game 4, the Phillies roared back with 2 of the most clutch home runs I ever saw in my life. First Victorino hit a 2 run homer, only to have it followed by a pinch hit by Ruiz, and the biggest home run of the season that still hasn’t landed as of yet from the old Canadian, Matt Stairs. I admit it. I started to well up. I thought, oh my god. We are going to win this series. Ok, ok, settle down. Nothing is final yet. Relax. Stop. Sitting in my apartment alone didn’t help because I wanted to call people, but I didn’t want to get overly excited over something that wasn’t done yet. So on comes Wednesday. Cole Hamels would pitch, and any Dodger comeback would be thwarted early by the tone the Phillies set with Jimmy Rollins early home run. The Dodgers would implode in the game causing three errors allowing the Phillies to win 5-1. When the game ended, I just repeated the same thing over and over again. Oh my god. We won. Oh my god. I can’t believe it. We won. Oh my god. We are going to the World Series. I could hear my neighbors cheering…people screaming in the streets, pots and pans banging…and this was only the League championship series! As I tried to make my way to Frankford and Cottman, I stopped. Besides traffic being impossible that chilly Wednesday night, I said to myself, let’s go home, and wait to celebrate the series if we can win it. Don’t buy any shirts; don’t buy any hats, nothing yet. Let’s wait. I turned around and went home and smiled. I felt the most for my mother because the chemo had been so overwhelming; all she could do was sleep. To her, this was very bitter sweet. So what would seem like a month, the Phillies would have to wait for the outcome of the Rays/Red Sox ALCS. Time was of the essence….
Room 333
By Monday the 22nd, my mother was not well. Chemo and the aftereffects were wearing her down. By Tuesday, things took a turn for the worse. My mother would be rushed to the hospital Wednesday morning. She was weak. Unable to fight infections, her temperature rose. I left my jobs and made my way to the hospital. It was tough. The toughest thing I had experienced in a long while. She was placed in the ER for most of the morning, day, and night. Finally, at the beginning of the World Series game 1, she was placed in an isolation room. While everyone family wise had gone home, I decided I would stay. In and out of sleep, my mother would ask me the score. I sat in the chair and watched. I could see she wanted to watch, but the opiates would make her fade in and out. The Phillies would walk away winners 3-2 in game one. My mom weakly did what we always did at end of a Phillies victory, the fist punch. Her hand shaking really got me. I broke down, but not in front of her. I was talking to her about the game as if we were at home and nothing was wrong. I think it had to be the strongest I ever was despite what was going on with her. When I went home, that was a different story. When the Phillies lost game two, 4-2, I was back in traditional Philly mode. “Series is over, forget it….that was it, hope you had fun folks.” My mother was the one in her weakened state that said to me, “Stop being that way. Stop it. Don’t be negative.” I was silent the rest of the series. Then on that Saturday, I spent most of the day in the hospital with her. Little did I know at that point, we were amidst a perfect Philadelphia sports weekend. The Flyers had won on Friday night over New Jersey, 6-3. Then on Saturday, we beat them again 3-2 with the help of a smoke bomb thrown on the ice (Only in philly). So after hanging out with mom at Virtua, I went back home to finish production for the radio program. Who could do a radio show with all this going on? By the time the Phillies game started with the rain delay, I had just started the radio show. Great. Now I have to do my show, try not to be distracted with a TV on in the lobby, hope my brother in law can give me the best updates he can as the asshole umpires try to decide the fate of my home team in the biggest series of the year. The score was 4-3 Phils by the 7th. In the top of the eighth inning, B.J. Upton led off with a single, stole second….then third, and scored on a throwing error to tie the game. I was ready to puke. But then Eric Bruntlett was nailed by a pitch leading off the bottom of the ninth, then moved to second on a wild pitch and then to third on a throwing error! Now keep in mind, I was getting all of this through Instant Messenger from Agent Bradley because I was on the air. Then coach Joe Maddon decided to use his intriguing coaching tactics by intentionally walking the next two batters to load the bases, and brought in Ben Zobrist from right field to play as a fifth infielder behind second base. Basically, a 5 man infield….I hadn’t seen this in about 25 years. But then, Ruiz got a blooper hit in what would become the only time a walk off infield single would win a game. And as a long play CD played on the air, I remember just pumping my fist and yelling in a sharp quick breath, “WE WIN” in the lobby of the radio station. The Phillies took a 2–1 lead in the series. It was just then that Pole, the master of Swinefest extended his offer to see the Eagles play against Atlanta that next day. Can we stay perfect, win wise as a city? Let’s review:
Friday: Flyers 6, NJ Devils 3
Saturday: Flyers 3, NJ Devils 2; Penn State 13, OSU 6; Phillies 5, Rays 4
The Sexfecta
Sunday morning was a bit rough after only having a few hours after the radio show for sleep. But that’s ok. I am not used to sleeping anyway. The plan was to get to Pole’s house as quick as possible so we could intake massive amounts of alcohol in the hopes the Eagles could beat the Falcons. My mom, still at Virtua but getting better, insisted I go and spend the day having fun. She couldn’t understand why I’d spend so much time in the hospital to begin with, but we all know why. Nevertheless, I took Greg’s offer and a day of Philadelphia sports was ahead of us. We arrived at the stadium and began drinking and slamming hoagies down. I had a good feeling about that day.
Something told me it would be a weekend to remember. So we arrived at our seats to find some hot girls sitting in our seats. Now anyone who knows me knows that when I am at a football game that women are the last thing on my mind. Salma Hayek could be sitting in our seat and I would still be saying, “Um, yeah kick off is about to happen and you are in our seats. You are in the wrong section.” So as we sit down, there is a guy in a gorilla suit sitting behind me. Why? I have heard of the Rally Monkey, but dude, um, you know you are wearing a Gorilla suit, right? So, after watching a rich women get arrested in the club box near our seats, the Eagles rolled to an unflattering 27-14 win over Philly boy Matt Ryan and the Falcons. I then stared scheming up some weird plan to try to scale the wall of Citizens Bank Park to get into a World Series game. Pole almost bought into it. But alas, after drinking in the parking lot, getting our pictures taken by the Phillies ground crew, and watching Hot Dogs get burnt beyond recognition, the plan was in place. It was decided to get to Northeast Philadelphia with Pole’s friends to watch the game. It was a bar called Flukes that lied on a sleepy street with no street signs and no life. Grey was the best way to describe it. After sitting with some friends, we watched the hated Giants come from behind to beat the Steelers, and then a national anthem sung wrong and out of tune for the World Series game by Philadelphia’s very own Patti Labelle. After she butchered that, Pole and I began to butcher these great wings we ordered. The Phils took a 1–0 lead in the bottom of the first. I couldn’t drink because of the nerves of this game. The Phillies doubled their lead in the third inning when Chase Utley reached base on a fielding error and scored on Pedro Feliz's single. The Rays scored their first run when Carl Crawford hit a solo home run in the top of the fourth inning. Ryan Howard's three-run home run in the bottom of the inning brought the score to 5–1. But then Eric Hinske hit a pinch-hit home run for the Rays to bring them within three runs. But then something happened that could only happen in October baseball. Phillies pitcher Joe Blanton rifled a ball over the right center fence to re-extend the lead to four. The bar went nuts. I began hyperventilating. I still couldn’t believe it. Are we seriously going to win this? Can this be happening? I looked across the bar to see people hugging and celebrating. Maybe I was going to wake up and it was going to be like…I don’t know September and the playoffs were about to start or something. I was interrupted deep in thought by the old man across the bar saying, “If the Phillies win this game, this is serious.” And I knew it was real when Jayson Werth hit a two-run home run in the eighth inning, the Phillies third of the game, to bring the score to 8–2. Then Ryan Howard hit one to complete the rout at 10-2. The sexfecta was complete. The perfect weekend. Pole and I hugged, as did all the others at Flukes….but there was still more baseball to play. But as a Phillies fan, you could taste it. I always wondered for the last 28 years what it would be like to win a championship. I mean, how will it feel the closer we get to closing the deal? Will it be easy? Where will I be? Where will my family be? What memory will stick out the most? I scurry to try to remember every detail because honestly, this may not happen again for a long time. If you know me, I must remember everything. Smells, sights, where we were, what was going on in everyone’s life at that time, etc. I suddenly realized, “dude, its happening. Start recording.” I have endless tape in my head, and that can never be taken away from me. We drove home amidst the fog and dampness with happiness in our blood. One more game. One….more….game. I slept well that night. The best sleep in years.
It’s Been No Bed Of Roses
Monday arrived and I had the day off from work for I had to go to court for a stupid ticket I got going a few miles over the speed limit in Maple Shade. That’s a funny story for another day. Anyway. The plan was to watch the World Series with my mom because the great news came through that she would be coming home that night. But as court came to an end I got the call that she was exhausted and would be asleep at home. So I sucked up the fact that now the complexion of my plans would be changed. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I just thought to myself, there is no way I can’t watch this with my mom. We have watched almost every game together. Something just isn’t right. The vibe has gone awry. Here’s how I knew there was something higher than all of this pulling the strings. I rushed to get home to find my laundry never dried in the dryer because the heating element went bad. Fine, use another dryer right? Nope. Out of quarters. Ok. Don’t panic…run and get some quarters. I call my brother in law. After explaining the situation of game viewing, he insisted that I get to his house to watch. So as I ran to get quarters, I noticed my gas gauge was sticking. I knew I had to get gas, but how low was I? Ok, no problem, I will stop at the gas station and get gas real…(putt) (putt) (BEEEEP). Shit. Shit. SHIT. Ok, well maybe I can listen to the game in the Jeep. “Victorino at first, one out”. Ok, ok. I gotta think. YOU CAN’T SIT IN THIS JEEP AND LISTEN TO THE GAME. What if they win? I’m starting to sweat. It’s only a quarter mile to the station. Ok. It’s starting to rain at this point. And the distance is not far at all. But it felt like I was 20 miles away. I get to the gas station, get the canister, and start jogging in the frozen rain to my Jeep. I start to fill the tank and realize that there is more gas on me, than there is actually going into the tank. Ok, dude. Settle down. (End of the inning). I finally get enough gas to cover the fuel pump to turn the engine over. I start staggering down the street to the station. She stops right at the pump. Ok, the Phillies are winning 2-0. Everything will be fine. I must get to Marlton. The rain is coming down harder. I could only imagine how the conditions must be at Citizens Bank Park. The rain is coming down even harder by the time I crossed route 70 and route 73. I finally arrive at Agent Bradley’s to see that game is about to be suspended. The puddles were like small lakes on the infield. Bud Selig, the sloth of a human being, comes on television to tell the baseball world that the game would be suspended JUST AFTER THE RAYS TIED IT UP because of an error due to the weather on Jimmy Rollins. I hate Bud Selig even more for the mere fact that YOU KNEW the weather was going to bad 2 hours before game time you poor excuse for a man. I mean I know you didn’t want the Phillies or the Rays in the World Series because of your precious prime time ratings and your invested advertisers…you made that quite clear as you forced your Milwaukee Brewers into the playoffs. Dirtbag. Meanwhile Pete Rose can’t be reinstated into baseball? You suck Selig. Real nice that you sold your soulless soul to Fox so Major League Baseball can make some money. He probably had to drink heavily game to game because the Red Sox and the Cubs weren’t in it. I hope you get hit by a bus full of Cubs fans. Oh and Bud? The BREWERS SUCK. So. There I was. Soaked, stunned, and in disbelief. So let me get this right. This is the first game in the HISTORY of the World Series not to be played through to completion or declared a tie? Ok, I wouldn’t want the series to end that way anyway. I’d want 9 innings as well. I’m totally up for fair competition, despite the idiocy of Bud Selig….the evil and dopey emperor in charge. So now what?? So now, we have to wait? Are you kidding me? It was the most helpless feeling I ever had as a sports fan. This weird euphoric feeling hung over me much like the storm front that decided to take refuge over the Delaware Valley that Monday and Tuesday. My phone started buzzing from disgusting Mets fans everywhere. “You guys are done. This is the curse! You guys will lose out! HAHAHA” So finally it was decided that the Phillies would play on Wednesday night. So as I counted the minutes on my watch till I could get out of work to watch the final 3.5 innings. I rushed to my parents to find my mom in bed, but awake. She was just as nervous as the rest of us. My father paced, my phone was being texted, and the world just stopped. Geoff Jenkins led off with a double and was bunted to third by Rollins. Jayson Werth then batted in Jenkins to take the lead for the Phillies, 3–2. But, it can never be easy because then, Rocco Baldelli of the Rays re-tied the game at three runs with a solo home run. Later in the inning, Bartlett was thrown out at home by the clutch Chase Utley for the third out. I knew right then. “Guys? This is for real..” I could hear the old man across the bar at Flukes echoing in my head from Sunday. “If they win this, this is serious.” And now, it was. In the bottom of the seventh, and what most likely would be his last at bat as a Phillie, Pat Burrell got a double. How symbolic. How fitting. How story like. Eric Bruntlett, pinch-running for Burrell, scored on a single by Pedro Feliz to put the Phillies up by a run again, 4–3. In the top of the ninth, Brad Lidge gave up a single and a stolen base, but was able to reach and dig deep down inside….and Harry’s most listened to call: “One strike away, nothing-and-two to Hinske... Fans on their feet, Brad Lidge stretches... the 0–2 pitch...Swing and a miss; he struck him out! The Philadelphia Phillies are 2008 World Champions of baseball! Brad Lidge does it again and stays perfect for the 2008 season, 48-for-48 in save opportunities... And let the city celebrate! Don't let the forty-eight hour wait diminish the euphoria of this moment and celebration! Twenty-five years in this city that a team has enjoyed a world championship and the fans are ready to celebrate. What a night! Phils winning, 4–3, Brad Lidge gets the job done once again!” The Phillies won their second World Series Championship in 125 years.
Done. Finished. Champs.
All was forgiven. 1983, forgiven. Pat Corrales, forgiven. Von Hayes, forgiven. Jim Fregosi, forgiven. Mitch Williams, forgiven. Terry Francona, forgiven. Larry Bowa, forgiven. Lenny Dyskstra, forgiven. The Marlins series in 2003, forgiven. 2007 postseason, forgiven. Etc, etc, etc. My mother screamed from bed “WE WON! WE WON!” It was over. World Champs. The phone rang incessantly. People screamed in the streets of their quiet neighborhood. Horns honked, people hugged. It was over. All the frustration of my teens, 20’s, and now my 30’s, were soothed with flavor of patience and victory. The Philadelphia Phillies are World Champions. You can capitalize it now. Fuck Joe Buck, fuck the Mets, fuck Jose Reyes and his pointing finger, fuck Tim McCarver, fuck Sports Illustrated and their cowardly writers, fuck Bud Selig, fuck the New York Post, fuck the “tampa curse”, fuck the Mets fans sitting behind us in section 134, fuck ESPN, oh and fuck Joe Morgan. You wore a Phillies uniform once you dope. Did I say fuck Joe Buck? I hopped in the Jeep and met with Agent Bradley en route to Ashland speed line. Rocco met us there as the Phillies Pain Train pulled up. The train was all red in its interior. Fans old and young sat in the train at 11:17. There was no curfew; there would be no school tomorrow for these youngins’. Smiles permeated the train. Each stop, more people…and more people. We got out at the Broad Street line. People were hugging, screaming…it was pure, pleasant chaos. It was something that had to be seen up close. The Philadelphia Police opened up the doors to the Broad Street terminal and none of us had to pay. “The Phillies won the world series…enjoy and be safe”.
The closer we got to the stairs above the city; you heard this pulse….this pulse of excitement. You could hear the vibration, the cheers, and the bedlam. The sound of release was the best way to describe it. The sound of pure bliss. The roar from above was getting close. Up the stairs we went, and there it was. Red. Broad Street was red. From Talk Of The Town Steaks to City Hall. Red. ALL red. People were united. Black, white, Hispanic, Japanese, Vietnamese, Italian, Irish, Polish, you name it they were there. Hugging, kissing, high five-ing and hand slapping, crying, laughing, dancing, drinking, smoking, and reveling in the monumental finish. We walked northward and I was strangely silent. I couldn’t believe it. So this is it, huh? This is what happens when you win a championship? Look at this place. Look at all the broken glass on the street. Broad Street wasn’t even a street anymore. Cannons of M80’s went off in the distance. People had back packs full of beer. One couple got engaged. Another couple sat on their front step and took pictures. As I walked, I would be interrupted by the occasional hand shake and “WOOOO CHAMPS!” It was something I would never forget. The air was cold but heated by the exhilaration that the city was feeling. People swarmed the newsstand to get a news paper from the trucks wheeling in. I turned and looked at Rocco and Rob and they were just as mesmerized as I was. At one point, I was so struck by the moment, that Rob and Rocco ran over to me as if I was a lost kid at the mall. “Come on dude, stay with us.” I was speechless at the mayhem. People who hadn’t seen each other in years hugged and cried. Girls lifted their shirts; guys wore funny hats, and people painted their faces. Things got a little hairy when someone started burning a newspaper machine on one of the corners. That’s when the cops rode in and threw the culprit against the wall and cuffed him. At one point a bottle whizzed literally between me and Rob to the point where the wind of it grazed my eye. Not to mention, the bottle was broke already. Everyone had fun…I even was grabbed and kissed by girl in the middle of the street. It was the closest I got to Mardi Gras. The party was great until a cop got hit in the head with a bottle. That was when everything changed. They moved us off the street with their bikes. Next thing I knew, we were back on the subway and on to the speed line. The cold air was crisp goodness once we got home. It was bitter, but a good kind of cold. I dropped Rob off at home and I headed home listening to 610, something I never do. To hear the callers talk about their love for the Phillies made sense to me in one light. We all have suffered. It really hasn’t been a bed of roses. It’s been torture. And most people not caring about it would go, “So what? It’s only a stupid sport.” First off, it’s your mom and dad dressing you in jerseys when you are 8. Its talk at the coffee machine after hitting 3 home runs the night before, or seeing your pitcher go down in a hail of boos after he walked in a run. It’s chat when you are in the lunch line or at the supermarket talking to the bagger with the Phillies hat on. Its emails you get at work talking about trades, jokes, and whether Manuel is any good or not. Its text messages when you are losing 7-1 and score 7 runs in the ninth. It’s not reading the Daily News the next day after an 11 inning loss to the Mets. It’s being a Phillies fan. It’s realizing that this all parallels life. That was it. Story over. The post game analysis replayed until the sun rose…
City Hall Parking
That Thursday, I told people that if they were going to go to the parade on Friday, not to be stupid and to take the speed line. Genius plan. At least so I thought. So I set the alarm Thursday nightto get up at 7:30 AM Friday. No problem, right? Wrong. Apparently at 3:15 AM, someone hit a telephone pole on the outlying highway that led to a brief power outage for 3 minutes in my sector of town. Well, I awoke to seeing all my clocks blinking 12:00 AM. I broke out in a sweat and stared at the clock just knowing this couldn’t be right. So, I see the actual time is really 9:45, and my ride has already left for the Ashland speed line. I only knew this because I received like 10 text messages from my family and friends asking where I was at 8:30. So I quick get in the shower, dress accordingly and hop in my Jeep bound for the Haddonfield speed line. Once I get there, I see a line of people that wrapped two blocks back to Kings Highway. I stopped a person waiting in line and asked, “What are you waiting for?” “Tickets” the father of three responded with dressed in Phillies garb. “They are telling us it’s about a two hour wait. At this point I sped out of Haddonfield for Collingswood. I get to their station, and the word is about a two hour wait there, too. So I have now wasted at least an hour in this nonsense of trying to figure out how to get to Philly for the parade. Then the light bulb went off. Drive into the city. There is no other choice. I am not going to miss this. No matter what the situation is at hand. So there I was, tearing down Route 70 to get to the Admiral Wilson Boulevard. No one was on the road. No one. I get to the Ben Franklin and I am amazed at the fact that NO one is on this road. I pull under the bridge into Olde City to again, minimal traffic and make my way to Market Street. Everyone in the city is red. I turn right on to Market Street and start heading west. Again, minimal traffic within Center City. No real problems at all. I get to Juniper Street where City Hall is to find that there is some slight congestion, and the city again, is decked out in Phillies dress. As I circle around Juniper Street, then on to Filbert, I see the luckiest thing ever happen in all my years of driving into the city. A parking spot becomes available in front of the Arch Street Methodist Church on Broad. I slam my Jeep into the spot as a cop watches. I waited for him to tell me not to park there. I get out and ask, “Hey, can I park here?” He responds with, “No one is going to write you a ticket today. The Phillies won the World Series. Have fun.” So there I was. Literally with personal parking at City Hall, and walked half a block to watch the parade. Broad Street was mobbed. No one could move once you got towards Penn Square. I was blown away. My phone couldn’t work because everyone and their brother were trying to use theirs. As I walked, I ran into a guy who was lifting up his kid above his head. As he brought his arm down, his elbow nailed me in the head. No big deal. I just saw stars. When I realized it wasn’t done maliciously, I walked on. But god damn, did that hurt. I was at City Hall. My brother in law with his family was more towards Broad and South, while my other friends were down by the stadiums in South Philadelphia. As I stood on the gate by City Hall, I laughed at how easily I got here and how here I am watching this all unfold. The weather was lovely, yet brisk. And just then, the crowd started raising their tone as the trucks made their way around the circle. I couldn’t see much because of my height obviously, but then, the crowd parted for a brief second, and just then I could see Mayor Nutter holding up the trophy. I saw it as it glistened in the sunlight as they turned the corner. That was it. I saw my parade. Finally. It was all over. Well, not for another few hours, but I was there for the beginning of it. Amazing how it all worked in the end. I walked half a block back to my Jeep and headed back through Olde City on my way home. People were all wearing their red stuff…I honked as I passed the people crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge. Wow. Champs Baby Champs. As I finally got into New Jersey, my phone started ringing from friends and family telling me that there was no way to get home because the train system had been shut down. I forgot that everyone assumed that I took the speed line in, too. Boy did they want to kill me. I was already on my way to work while everyone was trying to figure how to get home. When all was said and done, it was a great finish to a bittersweet week. The perfect band aid amidst all the turmoil….. It was time to return to life, and return to the grind of things. But it was nice that for a brief moment, a wish was granted, and a dream came true….A championship for the city of Philadelphia. A city I love so dearly. It was more personal…it’s hard to explain. It was almost as if some personal ghosts were exorcized. A championship parallels life. If you work hard enough, anything can happen.
1993 to 2008, now forgiven.

2007-11-30T20:08:00.000-08:00

Elegy For A TJ
It was the end of 2000. I was driving a 1991 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. At the time, it was in its final stretch of being a beauty. White, tinted windows, 12 disc CD player, great rims, brand new front end, etc. But after 8 years, the paint was fading, the engine was bucking because of the deteriorating engine mounts, and the nickels and dimes of repairing were adding up. A buddy of mine was interested in it, while my other friend Paul was trying to talk me into buying his vehicle…a 1997 Jeep Wrangler. I was a bit skeptical at first because the 2 years prior, he had been telling me I belonged in a Jeep. I never knew what he meant. It’s supposedly like a ‘brotherhood’. Well, it came down to crunch time and Paul was relentless. “Dude, you need to get a Jeep. I have two. You need to buy one, even if it isn’t mine.” I went and looked at it. When our eyes met, it was love at first sight. I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated by it. There it stood on a back road in Delran. Black, soft top, shiny, new tires, grey interior, and ready to be driven. It was a stick shift. I hadn’t driven a manual in nearly 10 years. This was a learning process. Once I took the paperwork to my bank and got everything squared away, I was nervous, yet excited. I picked Rohario up at my work, and we went for a spin so I could learn the ins and outs of driving a Jeep. She had a 4CYL, 2.5L engine, better known as the Iron Duke, and the quietness of a buzz saw. Nah, I am exaggerating. But I learned a lot of things about a Jeep that first week. First and foremost, they are not cars. At all. You can’t burn down an exit at 40 miles an hour. You will flip it. You have to watch, as you would with any manual vehicle, how you shift gears. Jeeps can take a beating with the stick shift, but you still have to drive with care, obviously. I also learned that that besides not being the most aero dynamic vehicle that they are also the most noisy on certain terrains. But I didn’t care. The week I bought the Jeep, it was the week of the NBA finals and the Sixers were in it. I actually blew off driving around in my Jeep to watch. (Sixers won game one, then lost 4 straight…so Philly). So I then decided to take my Jeep off road for the first time to a place in Chatsworth called Apple Pie Hill. I won’t get into details about the area, but more or less, it’s the landmark for the ‘novice’ off road driver. This would be my first trip in the back woods with it. My friend Kate and I went burning through to the top and when all was said and done, I was sold. I mean, I had driven to Apple Pie Hill in my Oldsmobile, and my Chryslers…but it just felt ‘right’ in my Jeep. But going to Apple Pie Hill in your Jeep for the first time is like going to the Moorestown Mall for the first time after you get your license. It’s not a big deal. But I was excited. It would be the first trip of many in my new 4X4.
This Is Only A Test
The first test of my Jeep came on February 3rd, 2002 in the back woods of Hammonton and Winslow Township. My childhood friend Nicole and her boyfriend, who she had just met at the time, were having a Super Bowl party at their house. I was still suffering depression from the Eagles losing to the Rams the week before and decided to protest the Super Bowl and not watch it. Yeah right. So, I dressed up in nice casual clothes to attend. Turtleneck, nice jeans, brand new shoes etc, and drove to the party. Once I got there, her boyfriend and his best friend saw my Jeep pull up and said at the same time, “Feel like going for a ride?” At first I thought they were kidding. They both insisted that they were going to help ‘break in’ my Jeep. I told them I would follow them. I broke out in a sweat. I could tell they were trying to see if I would back out at the last minute to go off road in the pitch black darkness. I didn’t flinch. “You think yer little Jeep’ll make it in these parts? HAHAHA.” They handed me a 6 pack and said, “You’ll need this.” So I followed them. Nicole’s boyfriend had a huge pick up truck that was lifted, while the other guy had a Cherokee that was clearly used to being in knee high mud. So there we went tearing through the woods. I had never been here before but had this sense of confidence, despite my fear of winding up not being able to get my Jeep out of a mud hole. As we continued to drive at high speeds through the sugar sand trails, we came to a semi-cliff. The angle was very steep. They both got out in the darkness and smiled at me. “Ready to take the hill?” “That’s no hill guys, it’s a wall.” I responded. “Come on, you can take the hill. Maybe the little Jeep can do it.” They laughed as they got back in their trucks. Nicole’s boyfriend was the first to hit the cliff. Charging at full speed, he hit the hill and as soon as he approached the top, a tree stump caught his differential and axle, ripping it out of the wall, and paralyzing his truck. Then his friend hit the hill at full speed. This time a tree sticking out of the ground at the top of the hill cut his radiator hose. Antifreeze was everywhere. Now, it was my turn. (gulp). I hit the hill at about 15 miles per hour and still keeping myself in first gear. It was all a blur. The next thing I remember I had actually leaped OVER the cliff because of my speed and landed perfectly on all 4 wheels. My black Jeep was now brown completely covered in an inch thick grime of mud. The two of them stood there in disbelief. My Jeep door opened and mud was oozing out of all crevices. “You guys need a ride back?” I asked cleanly dressed and curious. It should have been a Jeep commercial. After returning my silent and dejected passengers back to their homestead, I drove back home with a mud enriched trophy. I refused to wash it off. I was proud.
From Atsion To Harrisville
I began my exploring with my Jeep in early 2002. I started going down back roads of Burlington County trying to get an understanding of the physical world I grew up in, and gain an appreciation of all the scenes and history around me. It wasn’t just a place I cut through to get to the radio station anymore. It was history. I began an outline on how I wanted to formulate a possible story but as time went by, I found myself burning through local history books. I couldn’t get enough. And my Jeep became my time machine. We traveled to colonial New Jersey, pre civil war New Jersey, and post industrial age New Jersey. I would meet some cool people as well who enjoyed the same off roading as I did. I would hook up with my buddy Ben of the Pine Barrens website, and we would get lost exploring for hours. My Jeep truly became my everything; a car, an amusement park ride, a place to sleep, a tanning bed, a moving van, a training tool, a charity mobile on 9/11, a hospital for wounded animals, a mobile stereo, a tailgating center, and most importantly a friend. My Jeep and I would travel to the Poconos, upstate New York, New England, New York City, Nearfest on numerous occasions, the jersey shore, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and Pittsburgh and god knows where else. I hit 3 deer with it, clipping 2, and sadly killing one. I got engaged in front of it, shot at in it, was a victim of a hit and run in it, and was in another accident that almost cost my life. I restored it with bigger tires, new soft top, multiple stereos, new hoses, new radiator, new differential, new brakes, new carpet, and a new clutch. In return, I received my therapy in that no matter what was going on in my life; my Jeep was freedom to me. It was my identity. Paul was right, I was the Jeep. I don’t think people really get it. When you own a Jeep, it’s a frame of mind. I have to say, there is nothing in the world quite like owning a Jeep. The sound of the road beneath you, the stereo blasting in the roll bar, the top down, the windows off, the wind, the shifting of the gears, the smell of the air, riding the sand roads….there is really nothing like it. It is a frame of mind. When I raise my hand to wave at the other Jeep owners, there is a feeling we all have. We own Jeeps. It sounds corny, but you have to own one, and preferably like it enough to accept its shortcomings to even WANT to raise that hand up to wave back. In my darkest moments, I had my Jeep. I’d look out the window and slightly smirk.
Under A Raging Moon
In the searchlights
You could see us as we circled around
Down below us
You were screamin’ I could hear the sound
I could see your arms
Reaching up to me….
By the time the trip to Montreal came up, I started thinking of what I could do next to the Jeep. But something was wrong. I started hearing a faint noise in the under carriage of the engine. I was convinced it was something that the recall was causing. After battling with Triplex and being convinced they caused it, I started shopping around for mechanics. I figured what’s the worst it could be? Another 1000$? But that time would be abruptly coming to an end. In the course of 3 weeks, my Jeep started deteriorating. It wasn’t losing pressure or driving erratically, but you could hear the engine. As the odometer was approaching 200,000, I could feel that something had to be done. Every person said something different. “Timing belt” “Timing chain” “Valve tap” “Bad lifters” “Piston damage”. But no one really knew for sure. Then came that unforgettable night. I had finally found a supposed honest mechanic that was going to tell me regardless what the problem was, if it could be fixed, and if it would ultimately be salvageable. As I left to bring it to him under the full moon, the noise beneath me intensified, and then the sound of a chain snapping and grinding, then BOOM. The Jeep just stopped right there on Briggs road. Dead. Nothing. Not turning over, not doing a thing. I knew just then it was helpless. There was nothing I could do. A tow company came out and told me that they would figure out what the problem was. I had to call the other mechanic where he insisted that I pay the tow and have him come get it. So the Jeep then went from Lumberton to Hammonton within a week for further investigation. Meanwhile, I waited and waited and waited. When all was said it done, it was pointless. The timing chain was broke, one of the pistons was going, and on top of all of it, the heater went as well. To put a band-aid on it, 1500$. To get a new engine? 3500$ to 4000$. I was deeply saddened. I realized there were a lot of things I should have had done to it that I missed out on in the last 2 years. But this was it, and my fault.
Like a demon
Feel the madness running thru the crowd
We were freedom
From the moment that we hit the ground
And the wild man
He laid the thunder down
The Long Wave Goodbye
Rohario let me borrow his Nissan Stanza for the time being until word came through on what I would be doing with the Jeep. The mechanic offered me 1700$ for the Jeep. 1700$ for a lifetime. There was no need to get it fixed. I have had 6 other vehicles and never really cared, well maybe a little for most of them in the end. I mean, the Oldsmobile bothered me a little because it was something else when I got it. Since 2000, I’m not really used to driving cars per say. I feel like I am hugging the ground and the suspension is just too nice. I think internally I like to have that lifted feeling. Napoleonic complex? You be the judge. So, I had to make that trip. The trip to say goodbye. I drove down to Hammonton on the Atlantic City Expressway not even realizing I was doing 80. I had too much pressure on me coming from all sides at the time to really think straight…most of those close to me were supportive and offered advice, some had no answers, and others didn’t care what the answer was or what my situation was as long as I did what was ordered of me. I was so out of it and exhausted that I forgot to bring coins for the toll. Great. I was able to get into Hammonton though. When I approached the garage it was being held at, I walked around the back to see it sitting in a junk pile. My heart sunk. I realized, of anything I ever owned, this Jeep had more of a soul than any of them. If cars had souls, this one CLEARLY did. As I walked over my eyes welled up. I started cleaning up the stuff that was mine inside of it (which was a lot) and got it ready to be destroyed. I filled the box of memories. I sat down inside of it and smoked the last cigarette. I remembered everything that transpired in it. I remembered the smell of it, how excited I was when I got it and everything I wrote above. I came to the realization that it did in fact carry two times its weight in gold. She fought to keep me as her owner…even when the odds were against us…in a sea of hands, she kept shining through. I gave her a big kiss on the side of the new top I had just bought for it and said I was sorry, and then goodbye. I felt like a dope as my eyes refused to stop welling up. The cash was handed to me, and off I was, out of Hammonton, and back on to the Atlantic City Expressway. (Theme from the Makado starts to play here)But as I approached the tolls, the irony smacked me in the face to see I had 1700$ in cash on me, yet no change. I figured since it was Roger’s car, that if I searched in the seats there’d be some change. There was no ‘good faith’ envelope to give to send the toll when I got home, or anything. I was perplexed. Now what? I have no change, yet all this money, and no one to help me. So I figured, who would really be watching me as I drove down the exit? I DOUBT that I would get photographed or anything. So I drove home listening to cassettes of Tears For Fears (it’s all the car had as a stereo but I was grateful) and philosophized about the Working Hour.
This is the working hour
We are paid by those who learn by our mistakes
And fear is such a vicious thing
It wraps me up in chains
Rain Falls In Pemberton
The big, regular season programming show was planned a few months in advance. It was a big undertaking and the first of its kind at the college. The plan was to have a live show at the College as part of the new Gagliarchives Concert Series. It was very special. The station had a basketball game being broadcast at the time, so I had the beauty of watching 2 rookies nervously run the board for it while I got to observe how far the radio show has come. Radio Massacre International was to perform live. I decided not to charge the limited audience to see the performance and instead have them bring canned goods. After organizing the cafeteria, which was perfect for the setting on this drabby day both physically and mentally, the audience began to walk in with their cans. Jack and Ryan showed up to do their videotaping and Carol provided all the snacks and beverages and kept me rolling through a stressful night technically speaking. We were able to land a PA for Steve, Gary, and Duncan and they set up with no help. They were quick and efficient, and before you knew it, Cyndee showed up to play with them for the first time even though she was featured on the latest disc Rain Falls In Grey. It was a magical night that reinforced the strength and power of the ‘live’ show. RMI was incredible and hypnotic. Everything was put back together and we all ended the night with a humorous, yet good interview with the gang. I have invited them again to play down the road which they happily obliged. Carol, Jack, Ryan, and Brett were a big help that ultimately pulled off the show that was easier than expected. It made me wonder, why don’t the other jocks utilize this room? It could be a big factor to attract more live bands of different magnitudes.
After The Fire
Big things are happening on some fronts. Big things. One door closes, and another opens. In other areas, ties have been cut, less stressed and all the previous pressure on things that weren’t even rectified to begin with have been absolved. I felt no pain oddly enough. There was no animosity for the things lost, but I learned never to just settle. Even after dire things that can be said, done, and thrown at you. Faint jabs can build to a crescendo. When you are unhappy how things are going in your life, even if they have been band aided, you have to keep focus on staying fluid. Make a change. You have to respect you. But you have to be smart on where to draw the line. I sometimes refuse to see that line because I easily let by gones be by gones. This in the long run is not always healthy. You can’t be forced with an agenda and build when there are problems within the foundation. One can only give so many chances to have something fixed. Sometimes, people need to have confrontation at any level to reassure who they are. But when you are beyond the games, the ultimatums, and petulance, it comes back down to who you are and how you deal and handle. When it clicks and the light can be seen, it’s time to regroup and correct those things you let happen to you. Sometimes, it’s just how people are. They aren’t going to change. And now, I feel relieved despite my several tries to right the wrong things. But as I said, big things are happening. It's time to make it happen.

After searching for a Jeep, I finally found what I wanted. She’s clean, bronze, and taken care of. The stress of a car payment is there, but hey, what can you do. I can afford it fortunately.
They were very nice sellers; their daughter owned it up at Martha’s Vineyard and made several trips to Boston babying it in so many ways. When all was said and done, I registered it, insured and drove it home. Parked in the spot the other was for so many years. I came home to get a phone call from Roger.
Me: Yo bro
Roger: Dude, are you an idiot?
Me: Why what’s up?
Roger: Dude, I can’t believe you.
Me: Rog, what’s wrong?
Roger: Did you blow through a toll on the Atlantic City Expressway a month ago with my car?!?
Me: Wait, no, it’s not what you think. I had 1700$ cash on me and no change…
Roger: I have a picture of you doing it you dope…
Me: Rog, I swear..it was an accident
(Curb your enthusiasm theme starts to play now, credits roll)

After the fire the fire still burns
The fire still burns, raging through the pain
Blackening the promises the tears and the rain
The fire will burn
'Til the wind begins to turn
And it all begins again
After the fire the fire still burns
The heart grows older but never ever learns
The memories smoulder and the soul always yearns
After the fire the fire still burns

2007-10-15T19:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve Been Waiting Here For So Long….And All This Time Has Passed Me By
The year was 1993. The radio show itself was building in popularity, but unfortunately its host was unwell. By the time the middle of the year came upon me, I was in the hospital with liver and blood problems. Amidst my turmoil, my illness, the darkness, and even my spiritual moment of clarity, there were the Phillies. This team awakened the 8 year old in me. All of the sudden I was watching every game, every pitch, every article, every win, and every loss. The ’93 Phillies came out of the gate in April with a 17-5 start. Amazing. The Phillies never looked back. They distracted a city, and a young DJ from doing live and prerecorded radio shows. My cohorts at the radio station, Joe, Bobber, Hitman, Mollica, Kevin, and numerous others seemed to know something the public didn’t. The Phillies were going to the World Series. I remember staying up night after night watching extra inning games and even at one point, staying up till 2, 3, or 4am to watch some of those games. Whether I was at a shore house in Brigantine, a go go bar in Pine Hill, or in the confines of bed, I watched those Phillies. The Dude, Krukster, Dutch, Inky, Eisenreich, and so many other colorful characters. Life was so easy then. Well, kinda. I was still going to college full time, 2 radio shows, working at WMMR, my regular job at the bakery, and I had a girlfriend. By the time September rolled around, everything went southward. My car was a piece of shit, my girlfriend went off to school, my illness kept me out of WMMR due to doctor ordered rest, I had to take a semester off of school, the radio station was changing dramatically, and the gagliarchives were more prerecorded than live. But….there was the Phillies. I witnessed them win the division against Pittsburgh while in Williamstown, NJ. (ahhh Williamstown) I had felt at that point, nothing mattered. Just the Phillies. When the Phillies faced the Braves, I felt that they had a shot. I mean, on paper, the Braves were perfect. The Phillies? Flawed. Very flawed. But…a 4-3 Phillies win in game one made me believe. Well…at least until the next game. The Phillies were bitchslapped 14-5. Then of course was game 3, where the Phils' were hammered again, 9-4. At this point, I was ready to give up. But 10/10/93 was a game I wouldn’t forget. John Smoltz was pitching for the Braves, and Danny Jackson was pitching for the Phils'. Only Danny wasn’t ripping his shirt off. The Tomahawks took an early 1-0 lead on a Mark Lemke double, but the Phillies went on top in the fourth inning with two unearned runs. Atlanta had baserunners throughout the rest of the game, but could not get a clutch hit as the Phillies hung on to win 2-1. Phillies closer Mitch Williams allowed the first two runners to reach in the ninth, but a double play helped him get out of it and earn the save. The series was even at 2-2. On Monday October 11th, 1993, I was a nervous wreck. To add insult to injury, my brakes were starting to go on my Plymouth (U.S.S. Reliant). So on top of that stress, I had to watch this team that not only evened the series, but decided to prolong the torture and go extra innings in game 5. Are you kidding me? I should have just had an iv of Mylanta put directly into my veins. Curt Schilling was a gem. He had 9 strikeouts, and had a 3 zip lead moving into the 9th and he started getting a bit shaky. Wild Thing came in to relieve him but alas, Francisco Cabrera tied the game on an RBI single. The Braves had so many chances to win the game, but Mitch did it. In the tenth, Lenny “Nails” Dude” Dykstra hit a solo home run off of Mark Wohlers, and Larry Andersen retired Atlanta finishing the game. We beat those smug bitches in Atlanta. God that felt good. The series would return to Philadelphia. The Braves were shaking scared. They decided to go with their ace in Greg Maddux. Then the unthinkable happened. Mickey Morandini hit a bullet and it popped Maddux right in the leg. HAHAHAHAHA. (all is fair in love and sports)He was never right after that. Darren Daulton hit a two-run double in the third and Dave Hollins connected for a two-run homer in the fifth, putting Philadelphia on top 4-1. Morandini's two-run triple in the sixth finally chased Maddux. Atlanta shortstop Jeff Blauser had an ugly home run to make it 6-3, but Wild Thing finished the Braves with a perfect ninth. My brakes grinded as I pulled up at my parent’s house, but boy did I ever celebrate. It was something I witnessed. My Phillies were going to the World Series. Later that night, I painted the Phillies logo on the back of my K car, with Tug’s famous quote, “Ya Gotta Believe!” And I did. I watched the Phillies climb into the front seat of the World Series against Toronto. In game 1, the Fightins' had 4-3 lead, but would lose 8-5. Ok, ok. We’ve lost game one before. They bounced back to take game two 6-4. But the next game would be a harsh reality. The Phillies would get crushed at home 10-3. Danny Jackson sure wasn’t ripping his shirt after that. Not to mention, I could hear my brakes in my car ripping into my drums. The next game was a wild one. I had mustered up a concept of just driving using my emergency brake to go out to see ball games. (I know, whadya expect, I was 21.) I decided to drive to the now burned down gogo bar called The Mad Hatter in Pine Hill, NJ with Reggie, my first program assistant, to see game 4. I think it was the only time in my whole life, that I was paying attention to the Phillies over scantly dressed women shaking their tits in front of me. First it was 3-0 Blue Jays, then 4-3 Phillies. Then 6-3 Phillies. Then 7-6 Blue Jays. Then by the end of the 4th inning, the Phillies tied it at 7-7. This is when the game got crazy. The Phillies would score 5 runs in the bottom of the 5th and take a 12-7 lead. But it wasn’t over. After 4 beers and every girl hanging on Reggie while blocking the television intermittently, the Phillies lost 15-14. That game was the crusher. Schilling would be a gem for game 5, and silence the Jays with a 2-0 win. The series would be coming back to Philadelphia. The Phillies would have Terry Mulholland on the mound. He had been solid all year, but we really needed him now. In the seventh inning, Philadelphia fought back down 5-1, with five runs to take a 6-5 lead. Lenny Dykstra hit a three-run home run, Dave Hollins had an RBI single and Pete Incaviglia hit a sacrifice fly. The inning brought an end to Stewart's night, leaving the game with six innings pitched and four runs given up. As my brakes seized in my Reliant, so did the Phillies. Joe Carter would hit a home run for the Blue Jays giving them the 6-5 win, and ultimately, the 4-2 series win. I watched the home run whilst sitting in the kitchen of the Mount Laurel restaurant La Grotta Azzura. My brother and I both put our heads down. He threw a pan across the kitchen, and unexpected tears rolled down my face. I called my mom, who was clearly distraught. My father was silent. My car fell apart, leading to my next vehicle, 1987 Dodge Charger. By the time the 1994 season started, the Phillies were a mere shell of the season before. They changed their uniforms for home games which pissed off their fans, and they just stopped hitting. John Kruk got ‘ball’ cancer and the Phillies never recovered from a 54-61 start and then baseball went on strike. At least the Phillies were still technically the defending National League champions. The Phillies in 1995 had a promising start, but fell apart midway through the season. The seasons pretty much sucked until the end of the 90’s. By the dawn of the current decade, the Phillies started showing a little promise. Lieberthal was a good young catcher, Bobby Abreu was a power hitter, and the Phillies drafted a promising Scott Rolen for 3rd base. This meant nothing. Curt Schilling would later leave to head to a World Series contender, and Larry Bowa would take over as head coach. The Phils would have a great season in 2001, that resulted in a second place finish, then 80-81 in 2002, 86-76 in 2003 and 2004, and then 2005 and 2006 they would finish in 2nd AGAIN, including 1 to 2 games out of the wild card in those years finishing with respective winning records 88-74 and 85-77. You have to be hard as nails to be a Philadelphia fan. Especially for the Phillies.
Muck The Fetts Part IV
I made a vow to myself not to get too excited about the Phillies this year. Jimmy Rollins started spewing out in the winter that the Phillies would be the team to beat. DUDE. SHUT UP. Bold statement to make, but that’s Jimmy. I love him to death, but dude, please don’t start shit with the Mets from now. It’s not even preseason yet. The Phillies began the 2007 season with a 5-3 loss to the Atlanta Braves after 10 innings. After the first fifteen games, the Phillies limped to a 4-11 record, but then found a five game winning streak to put them back into contention in the National League East. Meanwhile, I found myself punching my monitor night after night. First the Eagles let me down, now you too? Are you kidding?? But things started looking up. After 40 games, the Phillies finally reached the .500 mark at, 20-20. Ok, nothing special, but at LEAST we are .500. Then all the sports dopes around the country were gloating on the fact that we lost our 10,000th game to the Cardinals. Whoopdie fucking doo. Is that all you have? You want to rip us for that? Are you kidding? BY THE WAY YOU DOPES, THE PHILLIES HAVE BEEN AROUND SINCE 1883! Our worst seasons were the first quarter of the century. Granted. They only went to the World Series in 1915, 1950, 1980, 1983, and 1993. And yes we only won one of them, but come on. Find something new to rip on us about. Meanwhile, Tampa Bay has had a colossally horrendous start as a newer expansion team in the major leagues. Christ, even a train stops, ya know? So all the New York dopey fans talked their trash all year. Friends, co-workers, sports writers, all of 'em. Just kept riding our team's awful past. Laughing at us, making us the butt of their jokes, while most of the Philly fanbase kept quiet. I read the message boards every night on the Phillies site, and then started reading the website for the ‘other New York team that’s not the Yankees.’ I started to noticed a little over confidence from their fans. But what I started to notice was, the Mutts were really not as good as the media was making them out to be. Heading into the All-Star break, the Phillies split their win/loss record at 44-44. Then more great news. Loser, lowlife and thief Freddy Garcia went down, as did John Lieber. They found a bright spot in young pitcher Kyle Kendrick, who rose from the Phillies' AA team in Reading, Pennsylvania and started to show some promise. Not to mention, a few Phillies were named to the 2007 All Star Game in San Francisco, CA. Chase Utley was the starting second baseman for the National League and center fielder Aaron Rowand was named as a backup (his first All Star appearance). Starting pitcher Cole Hamels also appeared in his first All Star Game.
There were so many highlights. You may remember that many times in previous blogs and radio programs that I was either way up on them, or way down on them. But as I said in March, and many times on the radio show, I felt something was a bit special with this line up. By the time I was en route to Montreal, the Phillies were seven games behind the New York Mets in the National League East, and it appeared as if all hope was lost. But the greatest thing humanly possible happened to just reconfirm to me that there is a God. 'The other New York team that’s not the Yankees' were amidst one of the greatest sports collapses in history. I just didn’t realize it at the time. When you are a fan of Philadelphia, you are used to things NEVER going your way. It’s not something made up, it’s known nationally, even internationally! When people want to insult our baseball team, they always grasp at the 10,000 losses, or the 1993 World Series, or the J.D. Drew and Scott Rolen debacle, blah, blah, blah, etc. You get the idea. But what was most referred to in reference to insulting Phillies fans was the epic collapse of the 1964 Phillies. Better known as the "Phold of 1964." My father used to go quiet when it was brought up. You could see a wave of nausea sweep over him on the topic. I obviously was not alive for this, but it still hurts knowing the details. The 1964 Phillies, who had risen in the standings each of the previous two years, traded to get Jim Bunning from the Detroit Tigers to give them the edge in their pitching staff and he was worth his weight in gold by winning 19 games. But with just over a week to go in the season, the Phillies, with Bunning, Johnny Callison, and a rookie third baseman named Dick Allen, led the Cincinnati Reds and St. Louis by 6 1/2 games with 12 to go. Chico Ruiz stole home. They lost 10 in a row and got swept in a three-game series by the Cardinals who finished one game ahead of the Phillies. It was awful. It killed the city that had no championships to begin with since their inception in 1883. Ugh. How awful. But justice would be served. After my infamous trip to Montreal, the scum bag, whiney, low life Mets went 4-11 over the next fifteen games while the Phillies had the run of a lifetime going 12-3. The Phillies defeated the Mets in eight consecutive awesome games and ultimately overtook the Mets by one game on September 28. The Phillies fell back into a first-place tie the following day(because of a guy with the name Chico...ahhhhhh!) with a Mets win and a Phillies loss, with only one game remaining in the regular season to decide the champion of the National League East. Jodi had called me a month before to tell me that she had tickets for the last out of the year. A month before I figured, well, by then, it won’t mean anything but at least we can say thanks for a thrilling season. Who would have known that the last game of the season would be the most important game in 14 years? As we arrived at the game that Sunday, I was in a fog. (I am always in a fog after the show on Saturday night). But this is what it would all come down to. The Mets thumped the Marlins the day before and the Phillies were beat by the Nationals the day before. I was pretty much expecting the Phillies to lose this game because it’s like…part of the script, ya know? Our seats were excellent, and we were so close to the field that I would have scared Ryan Howard if he batted righty instead of left. We were in the VIP section which made it even better. We stopped to get food while the beginning of the Mets game had started against Florida. Glavine was to be the starting pitcher. We ordered some food, I grabbed some beers for us and I started drinking heavily and quickly. I wanted it to be quick and painless in case the Phillies lost. But as we watched the Mets/Marlins game, the Marlins were pounding them. 1-0, 2-0, 3-0, 5-0, 6-0, 7-0. It was only the first inning. People inside the restaurant were going nuts. We all felt it. My hairs started to stand up. Was I going to witness history?!? Wait, the Phillies haven’t even played yet. Once we got to our seats, the Phillies park staff started handing out collage pictures of Jimmy Rollins, the same man that said in the winter that we would be the team to beat. It was chilling. The dinosaur on the mound, Jamie Moyer, would pitch a boring gem in shutting down the Nationals 6-1. But more people were going nuts at how bad the Mets were losing as the innings grew on the scoreboard.

I waited my whole life for this.

My eyes started welling. The last pitches were thrown, and the electricity in the stadium was on maximum. It was the greatest thing I ever witnessed in my life at a game. Next to beating the New York Giants in 2002 in 10 degree weather after being down 2 touchdowns. I would never forget this. I cried as the last strike was called. I admit it. That was it. It was over. 14 years of frustration were gone. Most of the ghosts were forgiven. But the 1964 ghost was finally put to rest and exorcised. The Mets would lose their final game of the season while we won. That’s right, we won. We did it. You lose. What touched me was knowing that 44 year old Jamie Moyer, who in 1980 skipped a day of high school to attend that year's Phillies championship parade down Broad Street just happened to be the guy on the mound in the most important game of the year. It was a celebration. It was a party. Nothing could hurt me that day. Would you believe I didn’t even care that the Eagles lost to the dirtball, 2000 postseason cheating ‘listening to opposing teams play calls on scanners’ Giants? Justice was served. The beauty of it all is that, yeah, we got swept by a red hot Rockies team that ultimately was cooled down in the World Series by the 'Sox, yeah we probably won’t sign Aaron Rowand to a new contract, and yeah we probably won’t get Schilling or Lowell. But I will tell you this. We beat out the Mets. All that shit talking and harassing banter we experienced for all the years leading up to it finally put the icing on the cake. Their collapse was worse than ours was in ’64. They were in first place all year. And we did it. We took it from you with a shaky pitching staff going down the stretch. I don’t know what was funnier, how they talked shit all the way through the season in the media, radio, message boards, or that their marketing department thought it would be great to use the slogan “Your Season Has Come” to their fans. You are damn right it came. The Mets collapse would be greater than 1964. There you go New York, your memorable season has come. In 2050, after the Phillies have won their (ugh) 3rd World Series title to the Sacramento Angels, people will always refer to the colossal collapse of the 2007 Mets. Driving home from the game that night I listened to the NY station WFAN. It was the best radio I have ever heard in my life and I'm a DJ. To hear these fans calling and saying that the Phillies didn’t deserve to win it just made me smile even more. How does it feel bitch? You like it? WELCOME TO OUR WORLD. Tom Glavine wasn’t even somber about it. He was like, ‘yeah, whatever’. So what did Lodoosha have to say about this? Nothing. Except, “I don’t want to talk about it, WHAT DID I SAY? I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.” What was funnier was how mad the radio hosts were when a Yankees fan called in to gloat. So awesome. I found new respect for the Yankees. That’s right Mets fans. Eat shit. So what we were swept by the Rockies? YOU HAD THE WORST COLLAPSE EVER IN BASEBALL. Thank you god, I loved it. I wanted to taste their tears I loved it so much. I think us getting swept was actually good because it made Mets fans even more upset. God that was awesome. Maybe this will teach them to be a little more humble and quiet. Probably not. If you think I am being harsh, go read the Mets message boards, or go read their beat writers. I will say I only felt bad for some of their realistic fans that weren’t arrogant like 90% of their fanbase. I actually had respect for the ones that called WFAN and said, “hey, the Phillies deserved it.” There is nothing in the world like seeing a New York fan sad. Nothing. People say I am cruel. I respond with, 25 years. Sometimes I even respond with, Sixers 1983, Phillies 1980, Flyers 1975, Eagles 1960 (there wasn’t a Super Bowl then you dopes). So for me to see it happen to a NY fan? It’s almost as good as winning one. I mean that. Justice was served. God the taste was so sweet. Fuck The Mets.
Here's some great reading material. Please enjoy. I did.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/01/sports/baseball/01mets.html
http://www.newsday.com/sports/baseball/mets/ny-spjim1001,0,3834541.column
http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/baseball/mets/2007/10/01/2007-10-01_mets_fans_driven_to_tears_as_oncemighty_.html
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dII71bNceg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKMm6i-6-Ws

2007-09-21T21:14:00.000-07:00

Wiz Wit
So the innovator called me this week to usher in the golden end of my summer by kicking off the forthcoming autumnul equinox seeing Within Temptation in Philadelphia. But first and foremost, something bigger would be at hand. And that would be the kickoff of the Eagles 2007 football season at Lambeau field in Green Bay, WI. Well, the Eagles were flat, as was my beer that afternoon. The birds responded back with 13 unanswered points only to lose it in the sad end of the game, 16-13. So much for my 27-24 prediction. Well, there is always next week against the skins. So I meet Ken to go to Olde City with Big Jim and Chaddington to see the Dutch Gothic Symphonic Metal band Within Temptation. I had first heard of these guys about 5 years ago and Ken was adamant that they were a must see. As you have noticed the last few years, the band has garnered a great reputation and truly started to grow on my audience. I guess it's mainly due to the male percentage of listeners that think Sharon Den Adel is absolutely stunning….which she is, mind you. But the music, the band, the energy with her at the forefront makes it a nice package. They sell out arenas across the old world yet shockingly, no one knew them here. But nonetheless, their new album The Heart Of Everything has been anything less than stellar. The buzz earlier in 2007 made a big impact on our weekly top 20. It held the top spot for 7 weeks and why not? It’s great. And the American release wasn’t even out yet! We arrived in the city to park in a lot that had car-sucking potholes. Not to mention that Jim’s gastric issues were well rounded this fine evening. It was then off to some bar on South Street that caters to just Europeans it seemed. I only say that because everyone in there had an accent. Anyway, we met up with Chad, who with a new child on the way, was celebrating the final days days before birth. He was in good spirits so it was time to go off to Jim’s Steaks. (Duh...i know, shocker) I had my usual, Cheese Whiz with fried onions. Ken went with his usual, Chad tried the Pizza Steak, and Jim, well, Jim just ate anything in front of him. We finished up and wondered South Street looking for records. Well, Ken was, but I was interested to see if anything good was out. We walked down near tattoo row off of 6th street. We then eventually made it to the Philadelphia Record Exchange. The basement was cool and damp while Chad and I fished through poorly cared for Asia vinyl, and talked about how awful the bootleg Yes vinyl was. I went back upstairs and looked for Ken and Jim. They were gone. Little did I know, there was a 3rd floor to this place. The heat was unbearable. But I think it had to do with so many GREAT jazz albums that were up there. I thumbed through some great ones. Return To Forever, Dry Jack, John McLaughlin, Herbie Hancock, and so many others. But the heat was unbearable. I then decided to leave for a smoke where Jim met with me outside. He bummed one from me, but hid from Ken. Which I thought was hilarious. Who hides from their boss to smoke? Anyway, we head back towards the TLA to find surveyors asking us to see a free movie and then comment on it. We couldn’t obviously, but this woman was relentless. We left her and headed back towards the theater to find out that band 2, (there were 2 scheduled to go on before Within Temptation) was still playing. So we walked some more. I chugged some more water, went into another shop, and within 25 minutes, we gave in and went to the TLA to see the end of the second opening act. Sigh, I hate cover bands. So, the stage crew tore it up, and made the stage ready for the Dutch icons. I would say there were about 350 people in the TLA at this point. The atmosphere was very gothic with a lot of youngins’ in the area. Then the band took to the stage. Sharon was more beautiful than I expected. But she did a lot of arm waving as if she was playing at the old Vet Stadium to thousands of people. But nonetheless, their sound was great. She looks great for being a new mommy. Just stop doing the arm thing and the hand dance. What was that? Chad didn’t get it, neither did I. I kept watching her hand. Maybe it's the way she feels it when she sings. Who knows? The sonics were good with a big video screen submerged in the backdrop with previous videos playing that were on MTV Europe…here’s how the setlist went amidst me watching my cell phone intermittently to get the Mets and Giants scores. Thankfully they were both losing:
Solemn Hour
The Howling
Julian
Stand My Ground
The Cross
What Have You Done? (Some dude in the front row sang Caputo’s part right on the money while Sharon held the microphone to him!)
Forsaken
The Heart of Everything
Angels
Intro/See Who I am
Mother Earth
The Hand of Sorrow
Frozen
The Truth Beneath the Rose
Deceiver of Fools
Memories
Ice Queen/ Outro
When all was said and done, it was a great show that started to all sound the same by the end. The acoustics are awful at the TLA. The band was great. Don’t be fooled, Sharon clearly is the leader of the band with her aura alone. All in all, it was nice to see the band finally in the states. It was just weird to see that they were playing the TLA after seeing videos and DVD’s of them fronting so many arenas. We then departed the event amidst Jim’s nuclear gas that made me forget what day it was. We ventured to the innovators’ and had the pleasure of eating Caramel iced cup cakes. That was just the icing on the cake of an interesting weekend. Well, watching the Giant’s Eli go down with a separated shoulder made the icing even sweeter.
On Screen, Off Screen
I decided to finally get the Jeep’s recall done. The recall entailed the replacement of a Catalytic Converter and a new CPU replacement. This was ok, seeing that I needed no ride for Montreal. Agent Bradley would be driving thankfully. Not to mention, my left foot would look like a baseball glove if I had to drive all that distance. So I left the blueberry patch to head north early on Wednesday morning. The plan was simple, we’d make a stop to see some clients in New York, stay at a hotel, then cross the border. So, we hit exit 4 and headed north. While agent Bradley yapped endlessly on the BlueTooth each time it rang…which more or less meant the music had to stop every time, I watched the scenery. It fucked up Supper’s Ready, but what can you do? It took 2 hours to get through. But the scenery truly was beautiful. I had several false alarms for bathroom trips, surprisingly. Maybe I should move up north, I seem to get better and better the more north up 87 we went. One funny part of the trip as we approached the Tapanzee Bridge was the multitude of signs preaching how important life was. I thought to myself, wow, maybe Tarrytown is like over the top religious or something. But then it hit me, the Tapanzee Bridge must attract (gulp) jumpers. Oh jeez. That’s awful. Maybe this is like their haven or something. You never really see much of that on the Ben or the Walt. Maybe after an Eagles game. But hey, at least on the Tap they give you a number to call to clear your mind of whatever is troubling you. That’s gotta impact the numbers, right? After stopping for 3 cups of coffee and a distributor who knew nothing, we stopped up at a client in Clinton Corners, NY. The scene was unforgettable. It was like driving through the New Jersey Pines only with treacherous hills and mountains. Deer were like......everywhere. One asked me what time it was. I think they even owned the gas station off the main road. We then arrived at our destination to meet Kenny and Amy. They were very nice people that live literally in the middle of nowhere in this heavily wooded area. Their house was fronted by a beautiful, mid sized crystal lake. Once we pulled up and I got out of the car, I would be approached and mauled by two beautiful girls. They wanted me badly. Unfortunately they were the typical yellow labs….smell….lick….then ‘ooh look, a rabbit!’ POOF! Gone. But it didn’t end there. Once I walked into their cozy house, the dogs ignored Rob, their owners, and decided to steadfastly focus on me. Trinity was the older female who had some saddle bags but was adorable. Then there was Dakota who obviously despite her large size, was still a pup. Ya know what I mean? Ya know….the big body, but can’t quite seem to understand her big legs and paws...or seem to grasp the concept of stopping in mid-run when tile floor comes into play. Within minutes….and close to tipping my beer on several occasions, the dogs fought for my attention at fever pitch to even the surprise of their owners. They acted as if no one was in the house but me. I loved it. We left the homestead and headed to Rhinebeck, NY to eat at a restaurant called Gigi Trattoria. I ordered the Caesar Salad with big anchovies and cheese and a flat pizza that was to feature ‘smoked’ mozzarella. Unfortunately, it didn’t taste like it was smoked at all. I packed the Pizza, and headed with Agent Bradley back to our hotel in Kingston. We followed the Phillies closely on the lap top as they returned the favor and thumped the Rockies 12-4, I ate junk food, watched a guy get kicked by a horse (on screen, off screen) and then….I……faded……..zzzzzzzzz
Heathaze
We woke up Friday morning to head up the rest of north route 87. The day started out with dreaming of another Phillies sweep of the Mets. Screw them. Anyway, we pounded down some muffins and 3 bags of free food, and headed to the hills. As we drove, and agent Bradley’s phone rang non stop, I popped in the Duke album from Genesis, one I hadn’t heard in a while. I forgot how this was so new to me back in 1987. The album was already 7 years old by then, but to me it seemed brand new. I started floating back a bit. Then all of the sudden I became deaf. As I chowed out on the left over pizza from Gigi, I started getting this tremendous pressure in my ears. It then dawned on me, (since my ears absolutely suck out loud) (what?) that we were hitting the Adirondack Mountains. Now, I hadn’t known much about them except for plugging shows in the area, way back when we started simulcasting on Aural Moon. Well, for one, the closer you get to the mountains, the cloudier it gets. Because we were in them! That I did not know. Oh, and the temperature drops! We stopped at a rest stop about 20 miles south of Plattsburgh, and met some cool stoner that gave us haphazard reinforcements on where we were going. (Rob and I were convinced he had bodies in his trunk.) When I got out of the car, I was freezing. I put a long sleeve shirt on, and a t-shirt over it (I know I’m a fashion guru.) as the winds were cold. But once we headed down hill again, I found myself starting to get misty. It was one of the most beautiful and surreal things I had ever seen. Beautiful rolling hills, woods, large Deer, lumber trucks with Quebec tags…signs starting to appear in French…it was captivating. It was right then I knew I was doing something very special. Maybe to some it didn’t seem like a big deal. To me, it was one of the echelons in my life. I loved every minute of it the closer we got. The leaves had already begun to change. The virus of the equinox began to move southward…and we were marching right in with reckless abandon. Then in perfect timing, a moment of clarity engulfed me and it all made sense as the song came on the stereo:

Heathaze – Tony Banks

No cloud, a sleepy calm,
Sun baked earth that's cooled by gentle breeze,
And trees with rustling leaves,

Only endless days without a care,
Nothing must be done.
Silent as a day can be,
Far-off sounds of others on their chosen run

As they do all those things they feel give life some meaning,
Even if they're dull.
It's time to stop this dreaming, must rejoin the real world
As revealed by orange lights and a smoky atmosphere.

The trees and I are shaken by the same wind but whereas
The trees will lose their withered leaves,
And I just can't seem to let them loose.
And they can't refresh me those hot winds of the south.

Oh I feel like an alien, a stranger in an alien place.

Now the light is fading fast,
Chances slip away, a time will come to pass
When there'll be none,

Then addicted to a perfumed poison,
Betrayed by its aftertaste,
Oh we shall lose the wonder and find nothing in return.
Many are the substitutes but they're powerless on their own.

Beware the fisherman who's casting out his line
Into a dried up river bed,
But don't try to tell him 'cos he won't believe you.
Throw some bread to the ducks instead, it's easier that way.

I feel like an alien, a stranger in an alien place.

The trees and I are shaken by the same wind but whereas
The trees will lose their withered leaves,
And I just can't seem to let them loose.
And they can't refresh me those hot winds of the south.

I feel like an alien, a stranger in an alien place.

It all made sense after that. Now I know why after all these years I appreciate that song. I always wondered when it would hit me. And that day, it did. It all made sense.
Midnight Express
As we approached the border of Canada, it didn’t look like anything I thought it would look like. There were like farms and stuff. We then hit the border. I was nervous for several reasons, but first and foremost, I had no passport. Now keep in mind, when I called the US Government, they told me I had really nothing to worry about until 12/31/07 when I would need one regardless. So as we sat there at the border, the Canadian flag flew boldly. People were moving stuff in and around their car etc. I just sat and laughed at how easy it would be to just bring in anything you wanted to another country. The man at the toll booth that didn’t collect tolls asked us basic questions:
Border Dude: How long are you going to be in Canada?
Agent Bradley: Till Sunday
Border Dude: Do you have any weapons, explosives, or illegal drugs?
Now wait a minute. Dude. Would I tell you?
Agent Bradley: No (me giggling)
Me: I have some Genesis bootlegs from 1977 OOOPH! (punched in the arm)
Border Dude: How long are you going to be in Canada?
Agent Bradley: Till Sunday
So after feeling like I was in the twilight zone, we crossed. Oh wow. We crossed.
My phone all the sudden decided to fuck me over and my whole world would change in a matter of minutes. Ok. I am slightly exaggerating. But seriously, once we crossed, everything changed. I mean every thing. My phone went on roam which meant like 10 bucks a call and you were lucky if you had a signal at some points. Then when you did call the operator or your voice mail, everything was once again in French. Sacre Bleu!
Bienvenue vers le Canada
Avez-vous jamais vu l'épisode Du sud de parc quand Cartman et la troupe vont voir ses cousins et grand-mère au Nébraska et toute la quand la croix la frontière dans l'état que le signe a indiqué, "bienvenue soudaine vers le Nébraska, désolé." ? Puits est qui comme ce qu'il était. Contraste total. Paysage, les gens, voitures, tout. 75 ont signifié 45, arrêt signifié par Arrett, et sortie signifiée par Sortie. Nous tous les deux nous sommes sentis comme nous étions en un autre monde littéralement. Chacun a expédié après nous comme nous étions des dopants car nous avons juste regardé fixement autour de nous. Tout était en français. Il plus ou moins signifié, "va te faire foutre l'Amérique". Pour nous avons marché et avons traité le changement, avons ainsi fait mon accent. Toute la soudain, chacun nommée est devenue ` Jonzey ', et nous avons fini tout avec un ` oui?' Mais je ne pense pas que je jamais ai ri tellement dur dans mon vie entière. Remerciez un dieu du GPS parce qu'une fois que nous entrions, nous étions clueless. Les vaches mooed en français. Les voitures ont corné en français aussi bien. Une fois que nous arrivions dans la ville de Dorval sur les périphéries de Montréal, les choses commençaient à devenir plus claires. See? There I go again. Like I was saying, did you ever see the South Park episode when Cartman and the gang are going to see his cousins and grandmother in Nebraska? All of the sudden when they cross the border into the state the sign said, “Welcome To Nebraska, Sorry.” Well that’s what it was like. Total contrast. Scenery, people, cars, everything. 75 meant 45, Arrett meant stop, and Sortie meant exit. We both felt like we were in another world literally. Everyone sped past us like we were dopes as we just gazed around us. Everything was in French. It more or less meant, “Fuck you America”. Well in my sick mind, anyway. So as we coasted and dealt with the change, so did my accent. All of the sudden, everyone’s name became ‘Jonzey’, and we ended everything with an ‘aye?’ But I don’t think I ever laughed so hard in my whole life. Thank god for the GPS because once we got in, we were clueless. The cows mooed in French. The cars honked in French as well.
The Burger Stands Alone
Once we arrived into the town of Dorval on the outskirts of Montréal, things were starting to get clearer. These people aren’t that much different than us. There are typical physical features and although most speak French, they easily spoke English. But that’s here in Dorval. The desk clerk at the hotel seemed to take more interest that we were Americans and were curious of our locations. They were genuinely nice; I mean hey, they have to be for 120 Dracma a night or whatever you have to use here to pay for things. The king of fence and I decided it was time to get some chow at Jack Astor’s up the street from my hotel. We walked in to a ‘TGIFridaysesque’ atmosphere, only mostly in French, I kind of felt at home. We sit down, and Rob had a headache from all the driving and really wanted to relax a bit before the Genesis show at Olympic Stadium. So he orders a chicken club type of sandwich and I decided I wanted a bloody burger with smoked cheese, bacon, and barbeque sauce. It looked good, it sounded good, and the spice fries are apparently legendary. Rob then tells me that the grade of beef in Canada is totally different. I was so hungry that even though I thought about his point and concern, I could have cared less if a massive tape worm decided to cocoon inside me and make a home within my intestines. So our waitress spoke in French to her new assistant that must have been in training or something. She walks up with our food and places the plates down and I was in love. I also had ordered a Molson which had like 7% alcohol. I was trashed after my tall glass. The burger’s arrival was perfect. First, the fries were amazing. The vinegar and the spice were just fucking phenomenal and were salted just right! I took a bite of the burger. It was nothing short of an orgasm. I took 2 more bites and watched people walk by me talking about things in French. Another guy was talking about the Montreal Allouettes. I wanted to keep eating but I had to go to the bathroom. I get up, and the bathroom was one big urinal sink. Ok fine, I pee while everyone has a big mirror in front of them. Hmm. So I come back to the table to find my plate is gone. Rob is just looking at me like, “she just……took it..” The look of disbelief shocked me. “You mean they just took my fucking burger??!?” He was stunned. The waitress walks back and I go, “Excuse me, do you know what happened to my burger?” “Oh, you wanted that?” she said surprised. “I took 2 bites of it. I just went to the bathroom. We have been sitting here 10 minutes.” She looked at me like, “Oh, Americans must eat the whole thing.” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. She took the burger off of our bill, but even at that, I was like, hungry. But we had no time. So we left for the famous Olympic Stadium. I was starving but, Genesis should keep me preoccupied.
Olympic Nightmare
As we left the debauchery of Jack Astor’s, we headed into downtown Montreal for the Genesis concert to be held at Olympic Stadium. The stadium has a bizarre history. First of all, it has many names. First and foremost, Stade Olympique. But the ones I liked were, The Big O (the main nickname for how it looks), then of course there’s The Big Owe for how many billions of dollars it costs to maintain, then my favorite is The Big Uh Oh and The Big Mistake for how many problems have plagued this place since it was built in 1976. Located in Montreal, it was going to be the main spot for the ‘76 Summer Olympics. That year it became home to the Montreal's professional baseball and Canadian football teams as well. It went from being this great stadium that was so state of the art to a white elephant that is more of hassle then an icon. They still have Montreal Alouettes games here (CFL) and Grey Cup games (CFL’s superbowl). A mainly forgotten fact about Olympic Stadium is that this is where the seed was planted for the Pink Floyd The Wall album. In 1977, Pink Floyd wrapped up their Animals tour at this venue. During the performance, Roger Waters started to sing "Pigs on the Wing 2", but was interrupted by an audience member setting off a firecracker near the stage. He stopped singing and shouted out, "Oh, for fuck's sake. Stop letting off fireworks and shouting and screaming. I'm trying to sing a song." The crowd cheered at this. He continued: "I mean I don't care. If you don't wanna hear it, you know... Fuck you! I'm sure there's a lot of people here who do want to hear it. So why don't you just be quiet... If you wanna let your fireworks off, go outside and let them off out there. And if you wanna shout and scream and holler go and do it out there but... I'm trying to sing a song that some people want to listen to. I want to listen to it!" He then continued with the song. The situation continued to deteriorate, however, and during "Pigs (Three Different Ones)", Waters watched incredulously as one fan climbed the netting that separated the audience from the band. Out of disgust, Waters spat in the fan's face. Near the end of the show, Pink Floyd guitarist and singer David Gilmour was reported to have walked off the stage in disgust, sitting out the final encore. Following the performance, Waters regretted his actions, and began to lament the separation between the audience and band. It was this which caused Waters to come up with the idea of the critically acclaimed album The Wall. The band would not play at the stadium again until 1988, after Waters' departure, on their A Momentary Lapse of Reason tour. On that occasion, the performance went smoothly. They subsequently returned to the venue on their 1994 The Division Bell tour. But other prog events happened here as well. A month after the Floyd incident, Emerson Lake and Palmer recorded and filmed a live performance at this venue with an orchestra which was released on the live album Works Live and the video Live at Olympic Stadium. Great concert as well. Genesis played as did many others. Many Canadians that I talked to look at the stadium as something that needs to be destroyed. But one thing that amazes me about the stadium is how amazingly big the complex was. Once we made our way near the stadium, we had to get into a tunnel to get there, then through all these loops that eventually led us into a parking spot RIGHT NEXT TO THE STADIUM. I was like…wait, we park right next to the stadium? Getting here was nightmare. People just stop on a dime in traffic there. It was amazing. No regard for gravity whatsoever. So we got out and headed towards the stadium and here’s what amazed me the most. We walked right into the stadium. No security check, no nothing. They just took our tickets and we walked into the arena. Our seats had us down on the floor about 14 rows back from the stage. There were no numbered rows. It was chalk on the ground lol. THAT’S how things were labeled. I laughed my ass off. So we get to our seats and it was so hot that Rob and I were drenched. Perfect Pneumonia atmosphere. The difference between seeing a concert in Philly and Montreal is this. In Philly you would be shot on sight if you lit a cigarette. In Montreal, it’s not really a big deal, I mean they don’t allow it, but people were smoking. And not just cigarettes mind you. But the French Canadians were happy with and without it to see Genesis for the first time in 15 years in Montreal. The set went like this amidst Phil talking French. That pissed me off.
Behind The Lines / Duke’s End
Turn It On Again
No Son Of Mine
Land Of Confusion
In The Cage / The Cinema Show / Duke’s Travels
Afterglow
Hold On My Heart
Home By The Sea / Second Home By The Sea
Follow You Follow Me
Firth Of Fifth / I Know What I Like
Mama
Ripples
Throwing It All Away
Domino
Drum Duet
Los Endos
Tonight Tonight Tonight (intro)
Invisible Touch
And then the encores:
I Can’t Dance
The Carpet Crawlers
On a scale of 1-10, I gave the show an 8. They played well, they looked ok and in good form. The intro of Duke’s Travels was great and they seemed to be right on. But there was only thing wrong with it. Olympic Stadium is NOT where you see a concert. I learned that within 10 minutes. The echo was awful. It bounced everywhere. Granted, I am a rookie audiophile and all, but I could clearly hear that the band was having a hard time with sound deflection. Daryl kept holding his earpiece but as time went on, it got better. The stage had backdrop of a digital monitor system that acted as artistic design, lightshow, and at times, a BIG TV screen. I think what I enjoyed the most of the set had to be In The Cage. When they started doing that, everyone sat down. I was stunned. Am I the only person here that knows this? It was incredibly intense. Firth of Fifth was great too. But Follow You, Follow Me’s video backdrop was cool as it melded all the Genesis album cover characters together into a video-esque type thing. Domino was actually cool too because my mother called me to tell that Phillies beat the Mets 3-2. I was loving it. Then there was Los Endos which was preceded by an EXCELLENT drum solo between Phil and Chester. When all was said and done, the show was good, but by the time the encores came up, I needed water. I ran to the backdrop of the floor section to find there was no water only beer. Which is fine, but I was in a place where I truly needed to have water. I found a fountain and chugged away. I could hear Rob in my mind telling me that the water in Canada is not the same grade water that’s in America. I just drank away again. The concert was done, and then it was time to exit the show. The female voice after the band left the stage more or less said thanks for coming and check out their website. Wow. How times have changed. So leaving the inside of the arena was a joke. God forbid if there was a terrorist attack. We finally got outside, watched our counterparts ‘try’ to leave the stadium in an orderly manner. Rob ripped signs off walls, while I watched Genesis shirts fly off the counter. I finally bought one of a guy out in the street for 15 pesos or whatever, and we left the stadium. The stadium has this huge slanted structure that goes out on an angle on the stadium which makes me still look in awe. Why isn’t this stadium still the shiz nizzle here? Sigh. I mentally photographed the stadium and made sure I would never forget it. I was here. I can say I saw Olympic Stadium. Driving home was a scary nightmare as well. Everyone drove like maniacs including my counterpart. I held onto the handle above my door for dear life. I kept thinking we were going to just plow into somebody. Even though we didn’t, but if we did, what accent would I use to talk to them?
FMPM 2007
Once Saturday arrived, our Syrian/Iraqi hotel hostess Kathleen fed us with frozen Stouffer’s meals and weird French titled drinks and made a night in a strange town more understandable. What I learned is that, the English Canadians don’t like the French Canadians because they are arrogant and refuse to speak English. The French don’t like the English because they feel they are the ‘real’ Canadians because they are French and badly want to secede from the rest of the province. Well at least that’s what she explained to us. I was expecting everyone to hate us because we were Americans, but not the case. They were rude to us until we SAID we’re Americans. Then it was among the consensus ‘whew, we thought you were Canadian’. We were treated well. But the hotel was creepy. I felt like I was in the first 5 minutes of Pink Floyd’s The Wall movie. It just seemed eerie. I was waiting for Danny from The Shining to come riding around the corner on his big wheel while Mr. Grady’s twin daughters would see me and ask if I wanted to play with them forever. Rob was ready to zonk out, while I watched snow or cheese on the TV. God I miss America. We woke up in the morning to realize my ATM card doesn’t work in Canada. For whatever friggin reason, I couldn’t take money out. But the Canadians LOVED American money. So I had a couple hundred on me, and it was dwindling fast. But the exchange was about even. We arrived at the new home for FMPM 2007. This festival was one I was close to visiting last year as seen here, but alas, it didn’t come to fruition. The plan ultimately is to do a broadcast from here for the show. The FMPM has had its first year at the beautiful Salle Pierre Mercure of the Centre Pierre Péladeau, in the heart of the Latin Quarter, on the campus of the University of Montreal. As the venue site stated, this area of Montreal renowned as the entertainment hub of the city, with its captivating lightlife, great restaurants, pubs, cafés, hotels and theatres. Boy, are they not lying. We arrived mid performace to see the band Jelly Fiche take to the stage. But before we went in, I saw one of my prog comrades in Sean McFee. Sean is the Original Irish Bastard that has lived everywhere in the last 10 years. You’ve heard me rave before that I think he is one of the most knowledgeable about progressive rock around the world. His radio show Progressive Shores which is kind of in hiatus off hiatus at times is still in my opinion along with Cozy’s Interzone some of the best prog radio I have heard. I mean, let me put it to you this way. I don’t listen to the radio except for AM sports and talk/news. But if I HAD to sit daily and listen to internet radio, it would clearly and hands down Sean and Cozy. I will hire them if I ever get my lucky break at the satellite level. Sean stood behind the Progquebec/Unicorn vendor table and was in good spirits. It was so nice to see a face that I knew amidst this foreign place…and thank god, it was a blessing. We talked for a while about some of the forthcoming releases from the Progquebec label and the differences between French and English Canada, we went in to watch Jelly Fiche. This was a very interesting performance that incorporated jazz, rock, poetry. The costumes made the show even more interesting. But the attention then turned to me when I pulled my camera out and took a photo. One of the ladies came over and scolded me in French that sounded something like, 'On ne permet pas des appareils-photo'. So I put the camera away and watched the end of the set. After it was done, Rob and I went to the bar and grabbed some lagers that we couldn’t pronounce and enjoyed talking to a bartender about the hottest sports topic in Montreal which seemed to be how Briere went to the Flyers and not to the Habs. But this guy was knowledgeable. He knew all about the Phillies, the Eagles, and the team they showed the most respect to for some reason, the Flyers. He was spewing out facts and stats and how they liked the Phillies to actually win the division! Whoa. Canadians know Philly sports. He later would tell us, that Montreal sports fans like ‘good’ teams that play hard. He went on to say that Montreal resembles Philadelphia in that sense. Cool! We then met up with Stephen Tackasy who is the founder and coordinator for the Montreal fest. Nice guy. Very intense and busy…but he stopped to chat with us about the event and what the future may hold. Stephen went out of his way for us which will make us never forget that. He will always have our support. We later met with some more vendors and chatted business talk, then saw one of our great contacts in Steff from Xpanse. She hooked us up with Sveti which we featured not too long ago and is one of the best of the fusion antennas on the left coast. We checked out some of the excellent, excellent, Miriodor and saw them do Famous Loops/Bugs which is one of my favorite tracks. We were starving though. So Rob and I decided to try and find Schwartz’s Deli located on 3895 Saint-Laurent Boulevard in old Montreal. Ken told me about this place as if my life would depend on eating there. Well guess what. After walking up hill for like 30 blocks, we finally found it. And there was a line that wrapped around the place back one block. I was crushed. The wait could be up to 2 hours we were told. Then there was a Portuguese rotisserie place I wanted to eat at which looked great, but Rob wasn’t up for it. When all was said and done, we wound up eating friggin American burgers and fries served up by some of the rudest people on earth. They were disgusting burgers with fries that had some kind of funky cheese on them. It made no sense. It was all lumpy and greasy with some kind of cinnamon sauce smothering them. It was nasty. We left to shop around for a bit on St. Laurent which started to remind me of South Street. We stopped in one head shop where everyone seemed to be really cool and LOVED Americans. We heard stories about how they hated New York (haha) and loved Philadelphia. It was back to PMFM to see Samla Mammas Manna and it was great. Hailing from Sweden, I have always been on the fence with these guys. Well they totally took me by surprise. The band is one of the founding members of the genre that always generated raised eyebrows in Rock in Opposition. They aren’t kids either. Samla started back in 1970, and their albums have been full of excitement and mystery combining great tightness, dissonance, great and complex compositions as well. We hung out to see them for a bit and before I knew it, I was once again looking to see where I could hook up a phone line for FMPM 2008. I was trying to get my hapless phone to work and lost my bearings, and everyone else for that matter. After looking for Rob and talking to some other friends, I met up with the great Guy Leblanc of Nathan Mahl who teased about the new forthcoming album called Exodus. It sounds tasty. I found myself wandering around Montreal and suddenly found myself at the Café Hookah Lounge on Saint Denis. We smoked some dazzling different tobaccos and talked to the locals who loved the fact once again, we were Americans. I also drank a few more 10% alcohol beers and got myself buzzed and very fuzzy. It was a fun night that led to me passing out and saying to myself, ‘viva le Montreal!’
Muck The Fetts Part II
After a blurry morning, we decided to take care of other business at hand and head back home early. We said goodbye to Montreal and made an early and unexpected run for the border. But this time around it was totally different. The Canadian side had police, bomb and drug sniffing dogs, and a line that took us literally 45 minutes to get through. We had nothing to claim except two tall cans of Molson “kick your ass’ beer, and funny labeled Marlboro Lights. Once we crossed the border we went for the best cuisine money could buy and headed for the golden arches. Unfortunately, I left Canada with a bunch of kooky coins and paper as did Rob, so I had to get some real money. Thank god the ATM worked. We chowed out on double cheeseburgers as I sighed and thought, whew, am I happy to be back home. I love America. I really do. Yeah I only went to Canada, but let me tell you, America kicks ass. You can hate the president, hate your neighbor, hate our policies but when it all comes down to it, it’s friggin awesome to be an American. We cut through the Adirondacks again down south 87, and realized the Phillies and Mets were playing. So we popped on the game to see that the Phillies were leading 4-1. But the Mets started hitting as well. But as we listened to the announcers, they started lambasting the Phillies for winning. Saying how awful our pitching staff was, our hitting wasn’t as great as the Mets, oh wait, 5-2 now Phillies. The further south we went, the more the Mets started threatening. Now tied at 5-5, I started thinking, well, this is the last game of the season series against them, and you’ve won like 8 in a row against the ‘other New York team that’s not the Yankees’ and maybe we’re due for a loss. Not the case. Bases loaded, and Dobbs smacks a grand slam, 10-5 Phillies. All was right in the world. Meanwhile, the announcers on WFAN started ripping the Phillies even more so practically coming close to saying that the Phillies don’t deserve win this game. I was laughing hysterically. I’ll take Philly announcers any day. From a broadcast standpoint and working in the field, they should be ashamed of themselves. I guess Paul LoDoucheuh will find a reason to say we shouldn’t celebrate ANOTHER sweep of the Mutts. Once we arrived into New Jersey, I was happy. Sirius football action dominated as we listened to a wild finish between the Vikings and the Lions. I watered the blueberries and zonked out.
All You Know, And All You Feel
I woke up late on Monday morning to finally sit in front of my emails that had accumulated from the weekend I was away, and sadly, I started to see tons of text messages appear on my phone and my voice messages as well. Anchor had apparently called me Saturday night to tell me news but felt he would wait to tell me the ‘actual’ news once I called him back. But I didn’t need to. As I started going through my emails, it came through that the great host of the Sunday radio show The Sunday Drive and the new voice of the gagliarchives production spots, Kevin O’Hara had unexpectedly and shockingly passed away. Kevin O’Hara was a hard to find guy. He was dedicated, loyal, sweet, compassionate, funny, positive, forward thinking, and creative person. I was stunned. I broke down. Kevin had just finished doing production work for me, and still had some more pages to read for me. I was really stunned. I almost didn’t believe it. Then, sadly, Sgt. Joe Larocca, who was our security guard at the station for 7 years on Saturday nights, had passed away as well. It was too much to take in one shot. It made Montreal bitter sweet. I was totally exhausted and saddened. My heart went out to Beth, Kevin’s wife, and their children. I wouldn’t know what to do if my father passed. He’s part of my foundation. I would be lost. Kevin, you were a hell of a guy. I will miss you. We had so much more to do. And Joe, I know we didn’t get along too great in the beginning…but we made up for it. I am sorry to see you go as well.
The lackluster Monday and its energy would transcend onto the field of the Monday night opener against the Redskins. Even our Molson’s from Canada couldn’t lighten things up. The Eagles would lose an ugly one with everyone saying….huh? I walked to the car in disbelief that no matter how good things can go, they can also be so bad. I mean, I know it’s a football game, but life parallels it so much its disturbing. You can be up by 3 touchdowns, but lose it on penalties. Life finds a way of balancing it all out.
Adieu
The Genesis concert in Philadelphia capped off a bittersweet week. It was nice to have the family with me this time, and the set list was the same as it was in Montréal. The only difference was this time Phil had a cold and the sound was better. I was caught up in the moment during the end of the show realizing that this concert would probably mean the last time I would see them. Be it a trio, the full fledged band (never say never) or the four of them. (With Hackett only). I was a dumb young kid when I saw them in 1992 and 1987, but now, knowing what I know now about prog rock, the different levels of production of the top tier of those great bands, and all the other stuff that goes with it being a media person made me realize that I am still a loyalist. Yeah I was ripped up by my friends for seeing them this time. But all in all, it was what it was. I still was glad I saw them, and traveled to see them in another country. I used to hear those some older prog heads who saw Genesis in Toronto, Yes in Cleveland in '72, Gentle Giant at the Spectrum in '75 etc blah blah. Well, I was that guy now. “Genesis? Yeah, I saw them in Montreal at Olympic.” I know whoopdie do…I just felt when it was all over, “well, I guess that’s it.”

The trees and I are shaken by the same wind but whereas
The trees will lose their withered leaves,
I just can't seem to let them loose.
And they can't refresh me those hot winds of the south.

I feel like an alien, a stranger in an alien place.

2007-09-01T22:03:00.000-07:00

Meet Me Tonight In Ocean City
Yep, I did it again. A much needed vacation. Never in my life have I taken so much time off from work. I don’t care. I needed it. While my book project takes a break to getting the radio show at a higher level, I decided to satisfy my burnt brain with an extended personal holiday to Peck’s Beach. I love the Jersey shore. I mean love it. I have been to other beaches, Florida, the Carolinas(rival second place), Delaware, Rhode Island, Maryland and I have come to the conclusion that the best shore is the Jersey shore. And when I say Jersey shore, I mean everything south of Long Beach Island. Anything northward is a joke. I will say this though. I would clearly trade Atlantic City to the north for Belmar. It’s the only cool place up there despite the bike cops. LBI is great because people live there the most of all the shore towns in the south…Atlantic City is well…you know, Atlantic City, but the lights are pretty at night….from afar. Longport, Margate, and Ventnor are great stops down Ocean Drive, but then of course comes Ocean City. This was a religious retreat following its main history as a farming and logging community. I love the town. Always have. I spent many a summer here and despite it being a ‘blue’ town, there are many spots to buy booze on the outskirts of town in Somers Point, Marmora, Strathmere, Sea Isle…There’s just a magic here that the North shore towns could never have. The attitudes relaxed, the people are nicer, and despite the invasions of Canadians and the occasional lack of driving skills of the obnoxious North/Central Jersians and New Yorkers…it’s like home. But I digress…I love the shore. I don’t know what I am more in love with. Driving there, or actually arriving there. The back roads wind through endless hamlets and lost towns now incorporated into boroughs. My week in the Blueberry Patch proved to be what I thought. No cares in the world with an undying, wild dream of living there. The week didn’t start out so good though. First, was packing. I have no problem packing and it’s usually a breeze for me. Guys are very simple. I usually over pack in the T-Shirt department because I feel you can never have enough especially when it’s hot and muggy. (I like to change clothes a lot). I also love collecting T-shirts with logos as well. So this week, I had a few shirts I wanted to pick up…preferably the 2007 Mack & Manko’s shirt. But my departure would be held up with having to drive to Pemberton to program the show into our Saturday schedule. It wasn’t a big deal, but it was a lot of extra gas miles. So my plan was to leave by taking CR 530 and boogie on down to route 72. There was a problem. Route 72 was backed up for a mile and a half. I am not sitting in traffic in the hot pines on one of the most humid days of the year. My map studies for the last 20 years paid off. I decided to whip down CR 563 and bolt through the carless Pines. Within 22 minutes, I was in New Gretna where I experienced the bizarre storm phenomenon that is only known by those residents for some reason. Whilst driving, the road looked wet. But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Yeah it was hot and muggy, but no clouds. I figured people had sprinkler systems on the sides of the road keeping their grass watered. But then it hit me, ‘hey history boy, there ain’t any houses out here!’ Then I saw the culprit….A storm, on a bright, hot sunny day. It was like something out of a movie. The rains fell so hard and so powerful, but as quick as they came, they disappeared. I later found out this happens frequently in the Port Republic/New Gretna area. It’s due to how the marshes, lakes, ponds react to low level moisture with nowhere place for it really to go, but to kick up a brief rain storm. The Crabbers in the area are well familiar with it. I still think it’s the weirdest thing I have ever seen. At any rate, I jumped on to the Parkway from good ole Route 9, which I still can’t believe people actually came to the shore this way at one time, and headed south to the Ocean City/Marmora exit. I hit the 34th street Bridge and the temperature dropped 4 degrees. Sigh. After trips to the supermarket, and saving shoppers from being crushed by Swedish fish, it was off to the liquor store for spirits that would be hardly touched by me, but frequented happily by others. The weather started its unhappiness on Sunday leading to massive flooding on the south end of West Avenue leading to such a flood that the road became a haven for Kayakers. No joke. But that would be the only bad weather we would see. Let alone the heat, which was manageable, I feasted on Crab, Crabmeat, more crab, oh and crab again. I had it canned, on my pasta, done imperial style, boiled, and directly in the crab itself. Obidiah’s in Marmora is great as was this great Italian restaurant in Strathmere called Andrea Trattoria Italiana where I indulged in smoked mozzarella and a wonderful filet mignon. All in all, you can’t go wrong with food in Ocean City either. Despite all the junk food on the boardwalk, there is one great mainstay in Mack & Manco. There is no better place in south jersey for pizza than Mack & Manco. I usually go for the white pizza with slices of jersey tomatoes on them. It’s like you died and went to heaven. Not to mention it is usually packed down there, and when I say packed, I am not talking about 9th street. In ALL their locations on the boardwalk (12th and 8th). Sigh. Good pizza, good times. I am also an old video game junkie. I love the Star Wars Trilogy game that has only brought me to the unfinished Death Star 3 times where I only destroyed it once. I also love air hockey, bubble hockey, and of course Ms. Pac Man. I have been known to break out in a sweat during any of these games. It’s an honest town with honest people. Try losing your wallet there. It will be returned to you.
Welcome To New Jersey. Now Go Home.
My feeling when I go to these places of pleasure is, as idiotic as it seems, is my annoyance of the obviously visible, non native visitors. These are the ones that look like tourists. This is what inspired me to get the T-Shirt. First off, a guy cuts me off in the liquor store when I am going to get ice and then gets an attitude with me. He was from Canada. The Ontario tags on their car was the dead giveaway. I drove over the 34th street bridge upon my arrival to find 3 cars from Canada, one from Philadelphia (car was bought in Bristol), then 3 from New York. First, the Canadian drivers must think the driving rules change once you come into New Jersey, like riding with your foot on the brake. Not to mention all I could see were knuckles. Ok, I will let that one go. Then I am side to side with another car on the lanes coming into town, and this Canuck, who can CLEARLY see my Jeep, decides to go into my lane while looking at me! Ok, wait, it gets better. Then there are the idiots that want to sight see amidst heavy moving traffic. You know the ones, pointing, looking around, talking, putting their foot on the brake to stop. This makes me insane. So as I passed them I yelled, “THANKS FOR STOPPING ALL OF US. PLEASE GO HOME.” True energy vampires. Then of course there are the New Yorkers who don’t use turn signals. They just decide two lanes over, to make a right turn and can’t understand why people are honking at them, and the guy behind them just clipped their bumper. And they say New Jersey drivers are bad? We aren’t bad, we are just smarter than the norm and know where we are going and don’t want you in our way while we get there. I admit we are aggressive. But we don’t stop traffic on the parkway to look at a deer, we don’t think the 3rd lane is a cruise control lane, and we know how to negotiate circles. Once I arrived at the house, and what a great house it was, we could see the house across the street were avid Penn State fans. Beers were flowing from 2:00 that afternoon, well into the wee hours of the morning. As a matter of fact, I had gone out side to have a smoke, and saw the same guy earlier in the day going wooooooo! Only difference was, he was the only guy out there. Their house remained quiet and calm the rest of the week with everyone in recuperation, yet started to show signs of life the following Saturday. I don’t think I can write much more about the trip because I honestly get depressed thinking about how awesome it was. Sigh.
Muck The Fetts
After losing the way the Phillies did to San Diego on their home stand, I was done. I officially gave up on the Phillies, and said the only way back for me would be if the Phillies swept the scumbag “other New York team that’s irrelevant, and not the Yankees.” I really had bad feelings because the Phillies have been the hottest team in the National League since 04/18/07. But when you have no pitching, you have to score like 30 runs to beat teams. This just can’t happen. But the closer I studied the ‘other NY team that’s not the Yankees’ I started to realize something. They aren’t that good. Either that or the Phillies are awesome. The overrated bank roll has done really nothing to wow me like maybe the Yankees or the Red Sox. In other words, they are slightly good in a league of mediocrity. So all the dopey NY fans start talking their trash that NY will do this to the Phillies, do that etc, blah blah blah, even luring in the poor innovator to join the stupidity. Ya see, I’m smart. I don’t come out and say things like most Philadelphia fans, or even retarded NY fans stuff like “WE ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES” or “WE WILL WIN EVERYTHING THIS YEAR.” I am a realistic sports fan. And granted, the Mutts have talent, but they don’t play together. The Phillies have a nucleus and are a hitting machine, but they have no pitching whatsoever. I mean that. It’s god awful. But the Mets are loaded with talent and money that goes nowhere. So all week prior to the series I was hearing about how great the Mets were, and that the Phillies had no chance.
GAME 1 – Phillies 9, Mets 2
GAME 2 – Phillies 3, Mets 2 (great fights started by NY fans that got their ass kicked. Friggin dopes)
GAME 3 – Phillies 4, Mets 2 (This is getting good here)
GAME 4 – Phillies 11, Mets 10
The beauty of the last one is that we were up 5-0, then tied 5-5, then down 8-5, then we tied it, then lost the lead only to come back and win 11-10. Here’s the topper. Paul LoDuca of the Mutts had the balls to go on WFAN and in the media to say the Phillies shouldn’t celebrate the sweep we just laid on them. Wait a minute. The Mets taunt more teams than any other in BASEBALL, and you are criticizing the Phillies for kicking your ass? That’s just dumb. I was glad to hear commentators on WFAN say the same. Sour grapes you friggin dope. I will sum up my finish for the Phillies in 2007. They aren’t going to the World Series. They probably won’t make the playoffs. But I will say this, the ‘other NY team that’s not the Yankees’ will have a colossally bad finish in 2007. Be it the playoffs, end of the season, world series…they will do nothing…just like I predicted next year. I will even go this far and say; the Yankees will go farther than that NY team.
‘n dats dat!

2007-07-19T17:42:00.000-07:00

A River Runs Through It
My program director broke the news to me that the stream would be turned after the recent stay put up by congress. Great work you guys. You spoke, they listened, and they stepped up to the plate. But it’s far from over. It’s just a stay. Our station is ok for many overpowering reasons. First and foremost, we’re a radio station. We have 3 FM frequencies. But the drawback is that the internet stream, where 85% of my audience would listen through, was shut down 15 weeks ago. We rode the storm, and turned ‘er back on. It was great news. The only disappointment is that Aural Moon didn’t carry us as well Saturday night. Not because we didn’t want to, but because…more or less, we are taking the wait and see approach. I didn’t bother pegging my PD with getting Aural Moon back on board because; no one still knows what’s going to happen. This is just a stay. He knows how integral Aural Moon, besides our radio station, was in getting the gagliarchives big at an international level for this genre. But it’s best to just wait and see. I know a lot of you; mainly the AM faithful want to know. But honestly, I have no clue what is going to happen. Hey, at least it’s on. Let’s see what happens so we can get back to being at full strength. But I have to say this. I think it’s great that the RIAA thought no one would do anything. Ha. People in large numbers can be scary to a bully.
Bridge To Hammontonia
We decided Saturday to take a trip down to the Blueberry capital of the world in Hammonton, NJ. Hammonton is known as the ‘hub’ of south Jersey. Sitting between two major cities, Atlantic City and Philadelphia, is this unusually large town. Ton of history here as well. Blueberries are their thing among other agricultural milestones. Hammonton is just south of Batsto, Pleasant Mills, and Sweetwater nestled underneath the south edge of the Pine Barrens. This is a very tight knit town with a lot of vowels in the last names of their residents. It’s close. It’s Italian. Not to mention, the town holds many prominent Italian names. Back while Batsto was cranking out Iron for the War Of 1812, Hammonton was pretty much woods. With the occasional saw mill here and there. The most popular and well known was that of William Coffin’s. The story goes that William bought out his partner named John Coates, and then teamed up with John Haines.(hint Hainesport). These guys were quite popular. They later built a glass factory and had a general store along the Mullica in between Leeds Point and Camden. The name of the town is actually from William’s son, John Hammond Coffin. His other son was, Edward Winslow(yes friends, Winslow Township)Hammond. Just like everything else, the name evolved into Hammonton. A bit later, two guys from Philly, Richard Byrnes and Charles Landis began to sell tracts of land off. Central Avenue is where it all started. By the time the summer of ’54 arrived, well 1854, the Camden and Atlantic Railroad had its first run between Camden and Atlantic City. By ’58, the first train station was built which brought an overload of settlers. The English were the main settlers here. And as always with about any settlement then, there were blacksmiths, brick layers, carpenters, farmers and anything else you can think of in a budding town. This town actually was very diverse religiously as well. The town, which was part of Mullica, became Hammonton ‘officially’ in 1866. It was a party, too. They had this ‘convention’ so to speak called the The Grand Strawberry Exhibition, which more or less gave Hammonton its agricultural reputation. Before there were Blueberries, it was Strawberries and Sweet Potatoes that were the business there. And then at the dawn of the Civil War, came the Italians. In large numbers might I add. They all flocked to there including my mother’s family in the early 1900’s. They resided in Chesilhurst actually. But all of their business was in Hammonton. By the time the 1950’s arrived, blueberries became the big crop. But the story goes back to the 1930’s and the post depression era that made them the main crop. The 5 brothers of the Galletta family started with a mere 5 acres, and now in the 21st century have over 1300 acres. Because of these guys, Hammonton’s claim to fame is Blueberries. The town is special to me because, well it may sound weird, but when I drive through town, I can recognize all the faces without knowing anybody. Next to south Philadelphia, it’s the highest concentration of Italians in a single spot in the metro area. We stopped at the one time famous Sweetwater Casino. What a nightmare this was. I won’t make this mistake again. We get there, and although the design of the place was cool, that was about it. We get there to get some lunch. First and foremost, there were greenhead flies everywhere. Ok, it’s July. But still, do something about it. You have people sitting on your back deck. Get some damn citronella candles or something. Ok fine. Then, our waiter gives us an attitude. As if we were bothering him. No “Hello, how can I help you,” he just stares at us. So I go with the dozen order of clams, while my partner in crime goes with the BBQ chicken sandwich. Now the sandwich is supposed to feature Monterey Jack Cheese, BBQ sauce, and Bacon. So here comes the sandwich. A piece of cheese and chicken on a bun. I’m furious at this point because I say to him, “uhh, where is the BBQ sauce? The bacon?” He leaves without saying anything. What made me even more irritated was the fact that he is laughing and smiling with other customers but talking to us like we were foreigners. The green heads kept biting and I came to the conclusion that this place is a mere shell of what it once was. Oh and by the way, they never brought the bacon. Awful. Just awful. I would avoid that place. It was a big disappointment. I really didn’t want to tip. But was told, “it’s the right thing to do.” Screw them. DON’T EAT THERE. We left for dough at the local bakery for what was to become the best Pizza I have had in a while in a tied position with Innovator’s grilled pizza from a few months back. But this pizza was intense. Hot wing sauce with mozzarella, blue cheese, and of course chicken. The crust was thin and crunchy and left my stomach begging for more, while my butt begged to differ. It was off to Pemberton with the excitement of knowing there was a stream flowing. A big, healthy one.
Pasta and Gravy
I stopped at moms on the way for some chow. As always, my mom makes the best tomato gravy. Not sauce, only ‘medigons’ say that. After inhaling it, I cruised down to Pemberton with all windows off and life size bugs attacking me. Jbird was off, well kinda, and the show began 15 minutes before I even started. Emails, Instant Messages, phone calls……people were thanking me left and right. The only thing I was a bit worried about was the playlist. Because, keep in mind, I had no clue it was a go that we would be streaming. Look, I play what I play, but you want to lure the aficionados as well. And 80% were in the 85% of listeners I lost 15 weeks ago because of this RIAA/Copyright thing. So, more or less, I was happy yet, ‘cautiously optimistic’. I decided to open the show with the most ‘summery’ of all the fusion albums in Jeff Beck’s Wired. This album smokes. I never get tired of this album. Jan Hammer is phenomenal, Jeff Beck totally plays off this, Walden smokes and George Martin did a hell of a job producing. I played ELP’s Trilogy for the first time in ages. I searched my playlists for half a day and realized it’s been literally almost a decade since I played it. But as always I am pimping the new stuff. I featured a Porcupine Tree-esque new band called Abigail’s Ghost. Despite the Wilson/Barbieri overtones, no one jumped out for it. One listener from Philly said: “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just think it sounds like Porcupine Tree.” Other listeners felt the same way, but, to be honest, they all felt the same way about The Mars Volta, and they were #1 2 years ago in the top 100. It’s almost like….when listeners get irate about a new release, it’s a good barometer to use to play it again. Hey, that’s how Porcupine Tree became popular in the genre. No one was ready for something ‘new’. Eh, that’s life. I liked it, and I will play it again. I featured a new disc, well I should say the EP from Aziola Cry titled Ghost Conversations. Um…wow? This disc is great. It goes from ambient to grunging in the span of 20 minutes and is stunningly tight. This one is a huge step ahead of their debut. Kudos. I can’t wait to hear the whole new album. I featured another new progressive metal disc in Transmission. This was good as well featuring much of the same. Innovator turned us on to it, and even though I thought the vocals were a bit much, the sound, production, music, all get high marks. This is a disc that is getting a lot of attention right now. (I know John in Burlington liked it heh). By request we also tracked the recent release from Canvas Solaris titled Cortical Tectonics. This one is a big step from the last as well. The technical stuff is sure to please anyone who is a fan of prog metal/instrumental compositions. It’s not a ‘crunch crunch’ album. This is worth a look again if you passed by it. Stunning work. I also featured my friend Trey Gunn and his latest project Quodia. This disc is an adventurous spoken word album over introspective soundscapes. Trey teams up with Joe Mendelson of Rise Robots Rise fame. There is a cameo from one time band mate in Crimson in Pat Mastelotto in the track Thick And Thorny. It’s reminiscent of the ‘Projeckts’ that they were going through at the turn of the decade. Nonetheless, this is a new journey for me and one I liked, but others wanted more from. But, hey, it’s new, and it’s here. I also went into the vaults with my spotlight in recent weeks on Italian band Osanna. This week I went with Palepoli from 1972. What a great one. A mix between heavy guitar oriented rock at times with Crimsonian overtones. This is great stuff. The vinyl was mint, too. Loved it. Next week there will be more. I wrapped up the show and headed westward amidst flashing lights and moldy cheese. There must be warlocks nearby or just a bad cooling agent in the main fridge at Wawa.
The Boxer
When I moved out to my apartment in Christmas of 1998, my parents were welcomed with a new tenant in Callie. She was a husky and muscular calico cat, hence her name. But this wasn’t just any cat; this was one of the toughest cats in all the cats I have ever come to know in my life. She was from an alley in South Philly. She was born fighting. My grandmother had given her a home in her South Philly row home, but Callie was never quite ‘home’. She wanted to be out…be it fighting with another cat, studying her prey, owning her territory, or just looking for food. Truly a Philly cat. My grandmother did the best she could for her despite the circumstances. I mean, Callie was an alley cat. She wasn’t born to a vet or loving people that would instantly reassure her when she was born that she was safe. She spent her early life constantly looking over shoulder in hidden fear. Callie was brutal with her defense. She bit quite frequently for no apparent reason for no other reason than her own. It didn’t matter who you were. If she didn’t like what was going on, the cobra’s mouth opened, and there was bruising damage. She often sized up how she could inflict the most damage. She had to change her life to living indoors at my grandmothers. This was a culture shock to her. But still, she did the best she could for the early environment she was brought into. Then sadly in 1997, my grandmother passed on. While my grandmother’s house sat vacant in south Philly, so did Callie. My cousin would go and feed her, but never really saw her. As a matter of fact, no one really saw her. She hid from the world. They only knew she was still alive by finding cat terds from time to time. She wasn’t a kitten at this point, she was already 7. It was at this point that I was getting ready to move out on my own. Although it stressed me a bit to live on my own at first, my parents had a new pet that would occupy their time without having to worry about it coming home late or drunk. This was a good feeling. Well, until I found out she wouldn’t come out from under the bed. For days might I add. Finally one day, out came Callie, into the living room, a surprise to everyone….feeling safe enough to check out her surroundings. She was still rough around the edges the first few years. Another words, you really couldn’t ‘pick her up’ and caress her. She would attack you. She wasn’t used to affection that way. But in the span of 3 years, she would let you pet her and stroke her fur. But still, she was cautious with any of that. The first time Callie and I bonded was on the morning of 9/11. My parents were in Italy, and she was not used to being alone. So I decided I would spend some nights there to make her feel at ease that no one was deserting her. I’d wake up and see her watching me from the other side of the room as if to say, “Hmm, why are you sleeping in mom’s bed?” The morning of 9/11 had me calling the police at 3:54am because of the neighbor downstairs from my apartment a mile away had all the tell tale signs of having a stroke. And in the midst of me being in the phone explaining my concern for neighbor to the police that I had just left en route to my parents, Callie jumped on my lap, hugged me repeatedly with her face, and then curled up on my lap. I was speechless. I almost forgot the police were on the phone. Callie and I later became sparring partners. This is no joke. Callie could only take so much teasing before she used two weapons. Her strong left hook, and her cobra styled jaw. She had no problem using it at any time if she felt threatened. But as time went on, she was smarter than we thought. She was just a tough cat. She was intelligent; she just didn’t take any shit. But what made her so enticing is that, SHE would call ME out at times. It was time to play fight. Not many people could get away with what I got away with, with her. My parents even felt that way. When I came over at night after work, the look always on her face was, “try me”. But she always watched me closely. She loved my parents and let them know in many ways despite her roughness, in expressing it. She always looked at my father as if she had died and went to heaven. He was her initial savior that brought her home, so in her eyes, he was it. My mother to her was a sleeping partner, and a great source of comfort, especially in the final years. Callie was a fighter. No doubt. Yeah she unexpectedly bit here and there, but that rarely happened in the final few years. She accepted mom and dad as her symbol of safety, after having such a rough and tumble beginning to her life. She left her home, or what she knew as home, when she was only just a baby. Even in the company of a series of strangers, she pushed through. One thing that stayed consistent was her ability to fight. She was a boxer and could have topped any cat I ever knew. Mom and dad were finally ‘home’ to her. So over a period of 5 years, she had softened up a bit. The last few months, her weight began to drop, and she would confine herself to one spot in the place she now called home. But age was stepping in. She knew they loved her, but she didn’t trust her surroundings anymore. Her hearing went, her eyesight was going, and now, her appetite was too. I would visit on my lunch breaks to feed her, and try to playfully antagonize her. She knew she ‘wanted’ to spar, but she just didn’t have it in her anymore and I don’t think she even knew why. I could tell she was fading, but I didn’t have the heart to say it out loud to my parents, and to even her. Food even became problem when the end drew near. Then her yelping and howling couldn’t be fixed with roast beef or turkey anymore. My cold glasses of water that she spied from a distance weren’t want she wanted anymore, either. But, her foundation stood tall even in her final hours. She would fight the unknown tumors in her chest. Every time the pain became weakening and physically exhausting, she would start to lie down but then fight it and swing her whole body upright and got in the face of her faceless enemy. The southpaw refused to lie down. Callie fought death even in the end. But of course, death won in the 16th round.
So in the clearing stood a boxer, and a fighter by her trade.
And she carried the reminders of every glove that laid her down or cut her
till she cried out in her anger and her shame, I am leaving, I am leaving,
But the fighter still remains.

Yes, she still remains in our hearts.

2007-07-01T17:07:00.000-07:00

Nearfest Weekend 2007

…And Then There Was One…
Yes, and yet again comes another Nearfest. I worked this one out the best I could under the circumstances dealt to me. Jack couldn’t go this year due to personal issues, George; well we don’t even know where he is at the moment, and Roger and Bob? They gave up years ago. So this year narrowed it down to just me. But of course not without issues. The Jeep noise I talked about in November was not the transmission at all. It was the differential all along. That combined with some axle problems brought the bill to about 1400$ from Flanagan’s. So, I was happy to hear from Rob that they would float me out on the hotel room till a few weeks and I could pay the bill for the room seeing that I was solo. Whew. What a relief. (you know I should never think everything is ok) So I gave myself enough time to pack and leave….prerecord the radio show back home to upload for the local audience, prep for the Kevin Feely driven Aural Moon broadcast Saturday night, and last but not least ‘finally’ enjoy some live music without any stress. This was clearly going to be the highlight of my weekend (Friday night). So I left with my brand new Jeep up I-95 packed with beer, clothing, equipment and music. I fell kind of quiet because I hated the fact I was going alone. Part of me loved it, yet part of me felt very incomplete with Jack and George. As much as I ride George when he WAS here, I missed having one of my lifelong music friends to my right. But as you read last year, things needed to change. Riding him leaves no room for fun on both sides. As I approached Route 378, Jan Hammer’s The First Seven Days provided the back drop for what could be, at least in my mind, the greatest weather Nearfest weekend has EVER seen. I rolled into Bethlehem by 6:30 and rolled into the Comfort Suites Hotel. As I approach the desk, the woman behind the counter goes “Oh, Tom Gagliardi, yes……you are supposed to pay….I need to have your credit card.” So I explained that Rob was supposed to have me floated out on the list, blah blah, etc, etc. Well that wasn’t going to happen. Why would I even be in the least bit surprised? All the years of…wait, I am so tired of even explaining this AGAIN. So I figured I would give benefit of the doubt that he had it taken care of. Meanwhile, Chad is calling me that my tickets are in his hands as he awaited me at Zoellner Arts Center. So, I have to get this cart to take my mountain of shit to room 413. Yup. 4th floor. So I get to my room, only to run right out of it and head to the theater. Meanwhile, I had leftovers from Melange Café in my refrigerator in my hotel that was going to be my fine cuisine for the night. So I scurried down to the Zoellner Arts Center to see Fusion Friday. The triple show was going to be hot. And I mean HOT.
That One Shot Of Magma Is Dripping On My Leg
The show started out with Magma’s off shoot, One Shot. One Shot has a pseudo Crimson feel that blew minds with their set. Granted, the band had some technical difficulties in the beginning of their set, but when they got rolling, they were heavy and hot. Hard to believe they are in Magma if you never heard of them before. One thing I kept watching during their set was bassist Philippe Buissonnet. I went outside to chug a beer and his bass was vibrating through the whole lobby. When all was said and done, despite the shortness of their set, I was pumped for what was next. Many people were disappointed that One Shot only got 30 minutes. I was satisfied. Then one of the bands I most waited for all year was the reunion of Danish progressive rock masters Secret Oyster. I have to honestly say, their set made me weepy. Claus Bohling was incredible, as was Karsten Vogel and the rest of the band. Wait, let me get this right, these guys have played maybe 5x since the reunion not too long ago? So, after 30 years these guys didn’t miss a beat? SCREW THE REISSUES. RECORD A NEW ALBUM! Well, wait, I like the reissues. Sorry. I ran to Ken to tell him this amidst me stopping myself to realize I am insane. Then comes the text message from Chad:
CHAD: Meet Me Backstage
TOM: Ok
As I approach the backstage, I have no all access pass yet, so I wait instead of barreling through the back like people have in the past. Chad meets me, we go backstage, and there is Jimmy Johnson, Chad Wackerman, and Allan waiting to take the stage. I look at Jimmy Johnson and say, “Dude, your bass playing makes me cry…” He responds with, “My bass playing makes me cry too..” We laughed for a minute until Kevin Feeley goes, “GO. GO. GET OUT THERE. BRING THEM ON.” Allan had already walked out on stage. The crowd starts. I then go out on the stage. And then, in my moment of happiness, I realized what it’s like to be a deer. The stage light was so bright, I couldn’t see anyone in the audience. Oh I heard them, just couldn’t see them. They cheered…that’s all I remembered. I know I said something….I just can’t remember. I walked off stage like I just did a shot of Adrenaline mixed with cocaine. I was super pumped at this point. I ran back to my seat and hummed along with every track I heard Allan pluck. There were some selections from IOU, Road Games, 16 Men of Tain, but I think what got me the most was the track Looking Glass. He seemed excited as well. Yeah, Allan may be humble and not take himself too seriously, but you could see his eyes during the in betweens and pauses….he loved it. He loved that they loved him. Bottom line. He friggin loved it. Anyway, at the end, I walked outside to talk to Claus of Secret Oyster and met his daughter who basically looks like him, only a girl. And that is not a knock, she was beautiful. She knew her dad’s music inside out, and then, when Claus walked up to talk some more, they both broke out into this alien Danish dialog and walked off. Wild huh? I walked back to my hotel room and was starving to death. I then walk in and begin my fine cuisine dining from Melange Café in Cherry Hill, NJ. I ate every left over there and had to contain myself from licking the bowl. It was a stuffed Filet Mignon and a life size crab cake. I relaxed on the bed then went down stairs and watched Ostrich do his ‘dj’ thing. I later found out why he didn’t invite me to room with him. You see, he was adamant that he didn’t want any ‘late nighters’ hanging out in his room because he needs to get sleep. Well I later found out he in fact did have a roommate he wasn’t at liberty to tell anyone about. At any rate, I went downstairs and hung out with a few friends at the bar and Deshaun and Lisa. These were the bartenders I deal with every year. Great, great, great guys. There were totally up for helping me with whatever I needed that next night. But we’ll get to that in a bit. I realized by midnight I was old and needed to go to bed. But I couldn’t sleep. I went back down to talk to some friends and saw Allan Holdsworth along with Claus Bohling discussing music. I was loving it. Jamison was pouring out like crazy with these two. The music discussions ensued till about 3am. I later went upstairs after walking around with my new “the man” in Keith “The Man’ Laboda. He is gagliarchives material. He has no fear of anything, and just seem to fit. Seriously, no joke. The night ended with me watching Claus Bohling eat ice cold wings in clumps from the masterful Kevin Feeley, who by the way, makes the best fuckin wings ever. It was off to dreamland to try and wake up for IZZ. How on earth is this going to happen?
One With Extra Extra, Please.
I woke up just as IZZ was getting on stage. I rushed to iron a shirt, (yes I care what I look like when I leave places), eat something, then bolt to Zoellner. I was craving one thing, and one thing only. Greg Jones Coffee. I know I tend to exaggerate at times. I can’t on this. This is the best cup of coffee I have ever had. I love Dunkin Donuts, I love 7-11 coffee, but I am sorry, this is no match and never will be. It’s the super bowl of coffee. I drank it with delight. No acid backlash, no burning in my stomach, and no rush to go to the bathroom. Hey, I’m just being honest. I then moved to the loading dock, or what I refer to as, the “big backstage”. I smiled on the inside as once again, despite all the changes in life etc, nothing changed. It’s almost like Nearfest picked up right where it was all the previous years. People walking around, moving gear in, talking about sound levels, the sound of drums and keyboards being tested, Kevin walking around with his headset asking for technical specifics, Mike Emerson with his dark glasses on in the dark, Keith Laboda standing guard over equipment, Chad jabbing me in the arm asking me about things I can’t remember at this point because I am still getting over Greg’s coffee, Rob walking around with the suitcase bomb, Noreen telling me to eat something, Ray and I smoking, talking about the broadcast later in the day…..Dude, this is Nearfest. I can’t tell you how much energy comes out of it. This was only Saturday morning for god’s sake. I love it. I could do this every day of the week. IZZ was great and tight and unfortunately, I only saw them perform their last 2 songs. They are the guys we had in our studio a year ago, and were just as tight unplugged. Kudos to them. It was a great set by the consensus of people behind and in front of the stage. The next set involved a band that I have followed since their inception in French project Nebelnest. Nebelnest was band two at Nearfest following IZZ, and what can I say but, wow. Despite the personnel changes, it was still Nebelnest. They did selections from their latest offering from Cuneiform titled Zepto. It was amazing to see these men who were once kids playing in my studio nearly a decade ago when they released their debut. Anselmi was still red hot on the drums. Greg and Olivier were just as driving as well. More on them later.
The 2007 Gloveball Championship
As Bob Drake’s ensemble played, so did the 2007 Gloveball Championship overlooking the beautiful rolling hills of Bethlehem’s Zoellner Arts Center. Sponsored by Jagermeister, the breakfast of champions. Before leaving for this fictitious annual event, I shared a pulled pork sandwich with Molly. Molly was a hottie. Perfectly contoured with beautiful eyes, a shapely figure, and sweetly affectionate. Molly was a Rottweiler mix that used her eyes and eyebrows to get what she wanted. Typical woman. But at least we bonded. It was off to the game. Let’s explain the rules.
1) You need to have a cubed sticks tied to together 2 inches by 2 inches preferably spiked at the end or with nails at the end for full effect.
2) You need an auto mechanics dirty cloth/leather glove to give it some weight. Also remember, it has to be large and not important. Preferably yellow as well.
3) Stand 20 feet from your opponent. Put the glove on to the end of your stick.
4) Pitch the glove either over hand or under hand BUT using your stick.
5) If the opponent hits it, the pitcher must throw his stick spear-like at the batter.
6) If you hit the opponent, he doesn’t get a point and it counts as an out. There are 3 outs.
7) If you miss the opponent, he gets a point, and another at bat.
8) So in actuality, you can have the lead over your opponent, but still lose.
The matchup was between Ray Weston, lead vocalist of Echolyn, and Tom Hyatt, bassist of Echolyn as well. These two were neck in neck, and Ray seemed to have the slight advantage. As the Newears.org guys watched from afar with mixed spirits, Ray was clocking the glove, pushing it up to the roof of the Newears Winnebago quite frequently. But just then, sloppy play would give Ray 2 outs while Tom had only had 1 out. Time was against Ray. Ray had a lot of power behind his swing but it just seemed that Tom was better equipped for striking out and missing the spear. Despite Ray’s 10-7 lead, Tom would win on a final spear on Ray. One can only wonder what next season will bring. Congratulations Tom.
Bombing The Wall
As always, at least on the Saturday portion of the weekend, I have to reserve the second half of the day to radio show prep within the confines of the University Station Bar in Bethlehem, PA. That means meeting up with Davin Flateau, the master of Aural Moon, and Keith “The Man” Laboda. The plan was in February to do the broadcast with z889/95.1 FM and we remote with a simulcast through Aural Moon as well. Well, without getting into details or rehashing, I decided that is more pain than pleasure to do this again. So, I decided no broadcast. At least until I got leeway from both sides. So as the months rolled along, Kevin Feeley started pushing me to at least do the internet broadcast for Aural Moon. So as that got closer, I decided this would be somewhat sufficient enough. The plan was to do the show from the same bar as the previous 2 years, but not have the restrictions I would with the radio station. Which isn’t much, but there would be no stops for breaks and just non stop music until the bands would hop on board to join us for interviews. The main key was to get to the main hub of the hotel for the internet. Which more or less means, if we are going to stream, we need to be able to punch through to the server through a specific port and start testing the broadcast leading up to show time. Sounds simple right? WRONG. The Comfort Suites firewall stopped us from doing that. At least the first 2 hours. David Urban, manager of the hotel, and a real gem, was extremely helpful but the only problem is, he is not an IT guy. He knows nothing about getting the firewall taken down nor would I expect him to. Now keep in mind, I am insane as the show gets closer to going on. I am sweating thinking that this broadcast is not going to happen. I kept myself busy by hanging the NJPROGHOUSE draping behind me, and cleaning up the area to look professional. I have to say, if Jack had been there, he would have been floored by the setup. So by 6:30, and missing Magenta, I was sweating. I actually had to go upstairs to my room and change clothes. I came back down to find Davin still plugging away. I was flattered by his tenacity. He diligently tried; keep in mind calmly, getting this show to go on without a hitch. He worked, and I ordered a big old sloppy burger with blue cheese. Then the magic words came out from Davin. “We’re On!” Let the madness begin….
Can You Lower It Please?
Our first guest of the night would be Sean McFee, host of the Aural Moon radio show Progressive Shores. We talked about his show, Progquebec, and most humorously, Hoppertunity Box. Sean is truly one of the good guys of the scene I can always count on in a pinch and has a great sense of what’s good and not to mention his knowledge of music is disturbing. Unfortunately, he had to be our guinea pig to make sure our microphones and system worked. We didn’t plan it that way, it just worked out that way. Within a half hour, people started rolling into the bar. We then started getting complaints that it was too loud. After talking to management of the hotel, they said it was fine. It was then we realized the complaints were coming from the people sitting right next to the speakers. Sigh. Deshaun and Leesa kept the drinks coming as more people started leaving the theater after Hawkwind. The show was in full swing at this point. Then Kevin Feeley comes over to the board and asks why the system was lowered. I explained why. Let’s put it this way, I will never lower anything again. All complaints go to Kevin Feeley from now on! You don’t like the set up, talk to Kevin Feeley, you think it’s too loud, talk to Kevin Feeley, don’t like the music, well…I guess you would talk to me. But you know me, what do I care what you think ;-). Then the laptop started giving me problems with the wireless connection. I couldn’t really talk to my listeners without the network folding. This got to be very frustrating. But the monotony was broken up with our next guest in vocalist Allesandro from La Maschera Di Cera. This guy was great. Very spirited. I know I am partial to Italians, but it was a great interview and these guys followed the radio show pretty well and knew how much of an impact that they made on our Top 100 of 2006 and the weekly top 20 as well. We discussed Luxade and how the audience responded to them in other parts of the world and what their plans for the future were. These guys were timeless and a big favorite of Sunday. We then had a visit from Gary Green of Gentle Giant fame. I don’t know what else I can say about this guy….Priceless? He stepped up to our booth and chatted with us about his love for prog rock, his love of the festival, and oh yeah, Gentle Giant. Gary and I are no strangers to each other. We had him on our program back in 1996 and this was amidst the ‘buzz’ of a possible reunion. Of course it never happened but nonetheless, he was right on with what he liked and was into. Gary is real. Not an artist just appeasing you because you are in the media. There was a sense of normalcy in our banter as if we were neighbors. We talked and shot the breeze and even made fun of each other. Gary’s concern for my health seeing that I never sleep and including my rising blood pressure was flattering as well. Most people don’t care about that kind of stuff, but Gary could kind of sense it. “Take time for you…” When he said that, I think he broke through. I mean that. Like, maybe he is right. Maybe I need to just relax and not let all the little things involving the radio show and even life get to me. After Gary stepped up, Chad stole the spotlight with his new Nearfest ale that had something to do with a Hammond Organ. I don’t know…I stuck to Yuengling and vodka. Chad then brought Christina from Magenta over to the table. First and foremost, Christina is one of those people that are far more beautiful in person than in a picture. She seemed shy and nervous and when all was said and done, she enjoyed her time in the spotlight on our show. We then were visited by Dibs of Hawkwind and we talked about the blistering performance we unfortunately couldn’t see and then helped plug their show in Allentown the next night. It was not too much longer after that, that the bar was increasingly packed. You couldn’t move. I have to be honest. So many people had come up to the table to say hello and even ask for autographs that I was physically and mentally on the verge of an anxiety attack. It all changed when I saw two people. Ken Golden, and Cozy Powell. Not the late great Cozy Powell, shit if that happened I’d know I flipped. Cozy stepped up to the microphone and we began our whole spiel on http://savenetradio.org/ and the importance of saving it. I won’t get into details, which I really should.
Here are the myths and facts in relation to this:

MYTH: Broadcast radio, satellite radio and Internet Radio pay the same amount of royalties to creators of music, or pay proportionate relative to the size of their businesses.
FACT: The smallest medium – Internet radio – pays the most royalties; and under the new CRB royalty scheme the smallest webcasters will pay the highest relative royalties in amounts shockingly disproportionate to their revenue. Broadcast radio, an industry with $20 billion in annual revenue, is exempt and pays no performance royalties to record companies or recording artists. Satellite radio, which has approximately $2 billion in annual revenue pays between 3 and 7% of revenue in sound recording performance royalties.
The six largest Internet-only radio services anticipate combined revenue of only $37.5 million in 2006, but will pay a whopping 47% (or $17.6 million) in sound recording performance royalties under the new CRB ruling. In 2008 combined revenues will total only $73.6 million, but royalties will be 58% or $42.4 million.
Small Internet radio services are essentially bankrupted by the CRB ruling, with most anticipating royalty obligations equaling or exceeding total revenue.

MYTH: Internet Radio isn’t really that big anyway. Most people still listen to traditional FM radio.
FACT: At some point every day more than 7 million Americans are listening to Internet radio. Studies by Arbitron and Bridge Ratings conclude that between 50 and 70 million Americans listen to Internet radio every month, and about 20 percent of 18-34 year olds listen to Internet radio every week.

MYTH: If Internet Radio is so big the higher royalty rates should be affordable.
FACT: Internet radio is a relatively new industry with advertising models still developing. Some services rely on banner ads; others are selling traditional audio ads; and still others rely on sponsorships. The vast majority of Webcasters will not be able to generate enough advertising revenue to pay their new, higher royalty fees.

MYTH: The webcasters’ previous royalty rate was too low and needed to be increased to ensure that artists and record companies are paid fairly.
FACT: Bankrupting the Internet radio industry will not benefit artists or record companies, as total industry royalties will diminish. Moreover, the demise of Internet radio will be particularly harmful to independent artists and record labels whose music is rarely played on broadcast radio. The American Association of Independent Music reports that less than 10% of terrestrial radio performances are independent music but more than 37% of non-terrestrial radio is independent music. This benefits artists, labels and music fans.
When Congress provided webcasters a guaranteed “statutory license” to perform sound recordings, Congress intended that Internet radio would flourish as a competitive medium offering diverse programming and paying a royalty. Tripling webcasters royalties undermines all these goals.

MYTH: Big webcasters can afford these royalties and they will each offer hundreds or thousands of channels, so what’s the big deal?
FACT: The CRB royalty is so high that even the biggest Internet-only radio services – including Yahoo, AOL, MTV and RealNetworks – will pay a combined 50+ percent of their revenue for only this single royalty. The only way to make a profitable, scalable business will be to attract the largest audience and advertisers while reducing overhead and innovation. The result will be “mass appeal” Internet radio programming that will look much more like today’s broadcast radio, rather than the diverse programming that exemplifies today’s Internet radio.

MYTH: The rate is only increasing from 7/100 of a penny per song streamed to 19/100 of a penny per song streamed over a 5-year period.
FACT: Nearly tripling the per-song royalty rate is only the first insult.
No Revenue-based Royalty Option. Prior to this decision all small webcasters and some large webcasters had the choice of paying royalties based on a percentage of their revenue that typically equaled 10-12%. But the CRB decision did not offer a revenue-based royalty option for any webcasters.
Retroactive Impact. The CRB decision is effective as of January 2006, so if it actually becomes effective for only one day its impact will be immediate as the past due royalties alone will be enough to bankrupt virtually all small and mid-sized webcasters.
Per Station Minimum. The CRB piled on even more, by imposing a $500 per channel minimum royalty that for many services will far exceed the annual royalties that would otherwise be due even after the CRB decision. One advantage of Internet radio is that it is not limited by spectrum capacity or bandwidth capacity, which enables several services literally to offer 10,000 or 100,000 stations and more. By penalizing this innovation and creativity the CRB further ensures that Internet radio will become less creative, less dynamic, less of an opportunity for non-mainstream artists and genres, and will look more like broadcast radio in the future.

So there you have it. That’s it in a nutshell. Don’t worry, we’ll win.
As we got ready to close out the show with some selections from Cozy’s new pile of goodies, he said some of the most powerful things in relation to our show and its impact. So help me god, when I make it to a PD position for a satellite station, Cozy is in my administration and will be a regular DJ. Keep in mind during all this, Keith is snapping photos. Please thank him. Then not to mention, Davin Flateau paid tribute to our show as well saying powerful things about the importance of Aural Moon and shows like the gagliarchives. It was touching. I have to say in a strange way, this was my favorite simulcast in my life’s history of the show. Just as we were wrapping up and starting to pack, the unthinkable happened. Karl Eisenhart, who really had no sleep in the weekend, accidentally shut down the main power source. The next thing I hear is Davin yell “NOOOOOOOOOO” I turned around and broke into a sweat. He held his head in his hands. But thank god for temporary folders. We found it, and saved it. All 5 or 6 hours of that night’s madness. I was spent. But I honestly felt like I accomplished something. It was a great feeling. I handed the hotel key to my new roommate Lynn, and the rest my friends, was history. I walked around for a bit trying to come down from the insanity and finally laid down by 4:30 AM. Unfortunately, Lynn is a snorer. Ave Verum Trembling Lovers
I woke up in a fog. My back hurt, my legs hurt, and my brain hurt. I was exhausted. Indukti was due on in 5 minutes. I flashed into the shower and flashed my ass right out the dow’. I made it to backstage and Greg Jones goodness and I was in heaven. I chugged it and headed to the theater to watch Indukti ravage our souls with a dose of blistering metallic lightening featuring highlights from their album S.U.S.A.R. from 2 years back. I with hundreds of others gave them a STANDING ovation. They were incredible. They rivaled Greg’s coffee. I moseyed through the Nearfest audience, meeting with close friends and listeners…stopped and chatted with Floyd, the Aural Moon gang, Cyndee and Jeff of Scattered Planets, Gary Green, Chad, Kevin Feeley, Cozy, Sean, and so many others. I meant some cool promoters including Stefanie Freedman of xpanse who shared the same love of music but only out on the west coast. She’s a world traveler and knows her stuff. I had to cut the conversation short to get in to see La Maschera Di Cera. The set was incredible. Especially Orpheus. I personally went back stage to thank them for a great set. We talked about Italy, about where my family was from, what it is now etc. It was good times. It was then on to the band I waited to see all weekend(Next to Secret Oyster) in Pure Reason Revolution. I was stoked. Jim Robinson and I sat next to one another not to miss this beginning. IT WAS AWESOME. Besides the chick in the half skirt that screamed in our ear every 4.5 minutes with words like “YEAH”, and “SHOW THEM”…I was like…wtf? Maybe she is related to that guy that was at the Strawbs show I went to last year. Anyway, the set was great. The vocal mix was a bit low unfortunately and I had a hard time hearing Jon sing and the red hot Chloe Alper. I met up with them backstage as well to thank them for not only being great, but giving a shot in the arm to the world of prog rock in 2006 with their #1 album of the year as voted by our listeners in The Dark Third. Chloe was absolutely stunning in person. I brought up how I remembered her teen music start in ‘Period Pains’. She blushed. I felt bad. I was like, oh wait, you are like way beyond that now. I just thought it was cool that you were kinda “Anti-Spice Girls”. We laughed for a minute, but then my stomach called me. It was time to eat. Cozy and I chatted on the phone and decided that Lehigh Pizza was the place to go. It was off to the Pizzeria, but first it was time to stop back at the MAC machine to tap for money and smokes. This is where my nightmare begins. I tapped my card to find out that there were insufficient funds. I broke out into a sweat. We came to the realization that we were never floated out on the NF card like I was told I would be, and was decked for 347$ with no $ in sight to get me home. I never imagined that. So in my panic, Rob put a band aid on it but then it led to me not being able to leave for the room I evidently already paid for so Kevin talked me into DJ’ing that night. No internet show or anything, just flip CD’s. So I obliged because it’s hard for me to say no to someone who reciprocates and appreciates the work I do promotionally speaking. So I was in. Cozy fed me, and it was time to get drunk. I rarely have ever gotten tanked at Nearfest, but tonight was the night.
Can You Lower It Please? Part II
So I setup at the bar again with my music but was thrilled I didn’t have to talk. The expletives would have flowed steadily. So I started serving up some music and sat down with Jonathan Cooke, the road manager for Pure Reason Revolution. We shot the breeze for a long while, while I turned him on to the beverage known as Yuengling, established 1829. After rapping with the band again over shots, it was then I saw the always jovial Leonardo Pavkovic of the Moonjune Records label. We started drinking some more with the music of the Pat Metheny Group’s The Way Up on. It was just then that a bald gentleman walked over to the table. He looked pretty pissed off, which I was wondering what could you be mad at with this playing in the background. He says to me, “Yeah, you need to lower this.” At first I thought he worked there. I said, “Do you work for the hotel?” “No, but you need to turn this down.” I said, “Well I’m sorry, but if you have a problem with the volume, you may need to talk to Kevin Feeley. This is his equipment and I was instructed not to touch ANY of the levels on this board. It’s not my equipment.” Disgustedly he responds, “Do you know who I am?” I just looked at this guy with the thought in my head, are you serious? The attitude was shocking. “I’m sorry, who are you?” “You don’t know who I am? Well I’m Robert Rich, and you need to turn this down.” Quite frankly, it could have been Pat Metheny and I wouldn’t have turned it down. “Ok, well I’m Tom Gagliardi, and I am still not turning it down. Talk to Kevin. Thanks.” That just added insult to injury. And you are again…? I don’t even know who you are. Klaus Schulze shows me more respect and he’s Klaus Schulze.

The Long Goodbye
The after party was great. I hung out with Jello Biafra of The Dead Kennedy’s fame and came to realize he was pretty cool and evidently, a BIG Magma fan. I stopped for photos with listeners and fans, including shots with Christian Vander, Pure Reason Revolution, Paul Sears of The Muffins, and many others. I partied with Jim Robinson, Noreen, Ray and…well, to be honest, I was pretty hammered at that point and don’t remember. I later hung out with Indukti for a while as Ewa and I showed off our UK stripes, Keith and I took another long walk, I would then go on my Butterfinger binge while the boys from Nebelnest watched. The after party was great watching the entire staff that worked their blessed asses off ALL weekend FINALLY enjoy some spirits while watching half of them nod out. I felt fuzzy despite being trashed. And then, it was off to bed. I woke up obviously hungover, and in a complete fog. I made it to my Jeep with sunglasses on with one thing in mind. Meet Cozy and Laura for breakfast at (THANK GOD) Perkins. What I didn’t know when I got there, was that there were 2 Perkins in the area. L I was upset. Thinking they left without me, I just sat and ate and as always, (you know this Jack) felt melancholy. Eh, it’s an event I look forward to all year, and now it was over. But it’s all good. Things went well at least with the people and the broadcast. When all was said and done, I helped Keith and Noreen get out of Bethlehem, PA and begin to head southeast. The rain was miserable at times, but it all began to clear once I crossed the Tacony Palmyra Bridge. Sigh. Home again. The Blueberry patch is much needed after this nonsensical at times weekend. Time to lick my wounds and count the damage. Only 52 weeks to go till Nearfest X. Ok, I’ll stop.

2007-04-20T19:11:00.000-07:00

The Calm Before The Tempest
In the weeks leading up to program 1000, the tension was slowly building. But it really got to be big 2 weeks before when the press stepped in. I’ve sent press releases and show menus for over a decade. But with some help from the blueberry, the impact of the press release sent shockwaves all about. It was nice to see the show get as much coverage as it did. I mean, we have been in the paper several times before. But this was big…we were in many papers. Many of which I didn’t know about. I have to say for the first time I was hoping no one was going to say stuff like, “Hey dude, I just saw you in the paper.”, or, “Hey dude, I really liked reading about the show…I didn’t know it was on for this long…” Well I was wrong. People were stopping me at Wawa, at work, in the city, at the mall. I started sweating. I have to make this a good show. And keep in mind, it’s not that I wasn’t proud of the milestone, but realistically the meat of the show was from 1995 onward. That’s where all the great guests, performances, events, concerts, etc took place. The notoriety began at WBZC. Despite what those past or present may think, the show’s success has been at WBZC. Dr. Messina, President of BCC, did what he set out to do in 1993. Create a powerful station that would clearly surpass other colleges similar to ours. He and Rich Pokrass, director of College Relations, who was obsessed with my long hair at the time, said to me while giving the freeholders a tour of the station on a Saturday night in 1996, that he wanted to see me there in another 10 years. Well, 12 years later, here I am. I couldn’t even believe it. Most people leave the college circuit and work in commercial radio or television. And many of my old cohorts have. But I decided that if I really loved what I was doing, playing progressive rock on the radio, I needed to stay where my palette would be untouched….a college station. No compromises. Granted, there have been a lot of changes to the show itself over the years, but all in all, there isn’t a radio station within a major market in the United States that offers that. So even if the show itself moves on to a bigger forum in the future, WBZC will always be the reason. So in the 3 weeks leading up to this show, I worked my hardest in all my years. The actual ‘archives’ were opened up. My office was a disaster. Old reel to reel tapes, cassettes, DAT’s, Mini Discs, CD’s, things that I haven’t seen in years. I slept in front of the stereo many a nights listening to old interview segments in those 3 weeks. I didn’t have a ton of help but it wasn’t anything my staff could really do. I knew what I wanted to do, and now with JBird giving up his 4 hour show for program 1000, I had to make it a good one. Saturday was closing in…
Program 1000
A few weeks before the 1000th show, my station manager unexpectedly and reluctantly pulled the plug on the internet stream for reasons around the RIAA ruling which was recently successfully appealed. So after talking to him, he gave the ok for this one broadcast to be on the internet. Many of the other jocks felt it was the right thing to do at the least, seeing that radio show’s bread and butter is the internet audience. Once I got to the station, Keith Rowe was willing to give up his 2-6 show as well! Wow. I was flattered. But that all changed once we realized that the computer in the studio for the web stream suddenly wouldn’t work. But the show must go on. I wasn’t going to look too deeply into it, but a lot of people weren’t happy with it both internally and externally. But I decided to not let it affect the show and move forward. I decided to start the show off with our interview with Greg Lake from 1996. This was an interview where I was accompanied by our one time co producer, Charlie Nolan. I loved Charlie for igniting the spark back into the show and at that time, he was firing on all cylinders. We followed up the segment with a track from the 1992 favorite Black Moon. Black Moon was our #1 album that year on the show despite the jokes and heckling from Bobber, Hitman Mike Gillen, Instigator, Wheels, and Jason Mollica. God, it sure brought back memories. We then fast forwarded to our interview with producer/artist Robert Berry from 1999. He’s been like the Phil Spector of prog, only without the guns and inferiority complex. I followed it with drummer Simon Phillips who is just the man. Clearly. He talked about Toto, and how HE was supposed to be the original drummer for Asia. I thought that was wild. I featured a cut from one of my favorite releases in 1999 titled Another Lifetime and the song Jungle Eyes. I then took a trip back to 1992 and my first local band that were my first guests as well. They were called The Age Of Reason. Keyboardist/composer Frank Staneck and drummer Patrick Van Belle were regulars on the show several times back in the Blackwood University days. The Age Of Reason and I had become pretty tight. Songs like …And Then…, Closer Than Today, Quodlibet, Lilies In The Field. There are so many others. It was special. When I was a rookie, I felt that they were MY band. I played them almost every show, even the prerecorded shows. Frank and I had become pretty close musically. The Age Of Reason would be one of my first hosted concerts as well. The date still rings clear in my head. 8/17/92. The Age Of Reason would be opening for Kansas at the The Pennant East in Bellmawr, NJ. Here’s the kicker. I wasn’t 21 yet. So, after serious schmoozing and well, begging from the band, I got to get on stage and introduce….my friends. I later would host them at Bonnie’s Roxx in Atco….another memorable night. But, as the story goes, the band somewhat dissolved and became a chapter in the back of my head. All until I heard from Michael Vogt, the bassist, a little over a year ago. He proceeded to send me the 2 releases they had remastered. It was a flashback to the olden days. Still to this day, despite all the music I have come in contact with, the guests, the bands, the discoveries, they will always ring true to my foundation. Something I won’t forget. Whenever I think I am getting too big for my britches, I put those discs on. I go back to a confusing, curious, yet happy time, full of naivety. They were the ones standing at the door to the beginning of the gagliarchives story. I then moved on to program 571 from 1999 when Ozone Quartet came to play in our studio. It was great performance until halfway through when the drummer’s bass pedal broke, and they had to stop playing. But what they did play, was hot…as was the studio. I then ventured to our interview from 1996 with guitarist Geno White. Hailing from Cape May, he released one of our favorite releases from that year titled Standing In Stereo. Geno is a wild cat with fantastic talent. I’ll never forget his trip up to the studio…It was one of those interviews I was put on the spot because all of my interview notes were lost along the way so I had to wing it. (this was the first of that happening many, many times.) I moved from there to 1999 and one of the monumental interviews with keyboardist/composer, Rick Wakeman. Rick was a great, great, great interview. To say Rick was down to earth is an understatement. He is real. In the interview, which was supposed to be 20 minutes. Wound up being nearly 70 minutes. All bits on that tape were timeless. We talked about religion, music, spirituality, Philadelphia sports (which he invested in the city’s soccer team), his solo career, his falling ill in 1998, oh and Yes. (haha) When I say it was monumental, I say that only partially to the fact that, it was the first radio show of the program to ever be heard online. I was approached by Radio Free Kansas to air the interview with Rick Wakeman on their station as a online radio special. The response was OVERWHELMING. It was from that moment on that many stations took interest. It spawned the original deal with Progradio.net and then ultimately, Aural Moon. Thanks Rick! Sticking with the keyboardist thing, I shot ahead to 2005 when everything was working out so great with the show, I landed Patrick Moraz. That was another interview that was a two parter! He was so funny with the stories of touring on his own, with Yes, and Bill Bruford, I nearly peed myself. Sticking with the Yes theme, I then went to our interview with original Yes guitarist Peter Banks. Peter was a great guest, but unfortunately still had some bitterness towards his counterparts in Yes. One of the highlights was Peter telling us HE gave the band their name. I then moved on to our interview from 2003 with guitarist Steve Howe. Steve’s interview was great and unexpected at the time. I had to scurry to get notes together, (not that I don’t know about him) but I had to pull out some obscure questions I was always curious about. Then when the interview ended, he just hung up. I panicked. No station ID’s??!? I called right back and he answers: “I forgot the station ID didn’t I?” Whew! That was a close one.
Chapter II
One of the finds in the 3 weeks leading up to program 1000, was our interview from a band I can honestly say was one of my favorite finds of the third incarnation of the Gagliarchives. The band was Boud Deun. I was first turned onto them by the much hated one time vendor Rob Wolf of Sights And Sounds. He sent me a box of discs and one of them featured the band Boud Deun and their Fiction And Several Days CD. This band was unbelievable. Powerful live, and their stage presence alone made you feel special. They were four guys. Rocky Cancelose on drums, Shawn Persinger on guitar, Greg Hiser on violin, and Matt Eiland on bass. This hodgepodge project rolled into Pennsauken, New Jersey one beautiful autumn night in 1996. Now the funny part was, if you have ever seen the debut album cover, it has a tractor on a farm field rusted out, looking dirty etc. They played at the Serengeti in Pennsauken that night with road construction going on off of Chapel Avenue. The street was littered with road machinery, tractors, blacktop cutters, but parked parallel! So I thought to myself, wow, this would make a great album cover for the live album. Well it obviously never happened, but wow that was cool. At any rate, they played on a stage about the size of an album, and I have to say, as did Roger, they were incredibly powerful that night. They followed it up with a candid interview, and the rest was history. They would break up 2 years later.
Later in 2000, Shawn Persinger went on tour and released his first solo album and made a cameo at the gagliarchives that summer. He played for about an hour and a half. It was nice. To an audience of 2. With clapping! I then jettisoned to 2003, and our interview with multi instrumentalist and composer Billy Sherwood. Billy was the center point of one of my favorite discs from 1995 in World Trade Euphoria. It still is one of my favorites to this day. He grew up as a big Yes fan, but also had a lot of progressive rock tendencies in the music he wrote with his projects. Not to mention he’s a big Star Wars fan. A good guy; and a very real personality. I then moved onto the Tunnels/Brand X set. These are two bands that obviously have shared components. I featured a segment of an interview outside the Tritone in Philadelphia in 1997 with Percy Jones and Frank Katz. The funny thing was, there was a fight that had broken out, outside the club and Percy was just calm and collected. Now in the meantime, I had Roger with me who was laughing the entire time. Percy even started laughing. That night, Percy and I started a bond that still is the same as it was then. I also featured and interview from program 769 that had Marc Wagnon and Percy, now of Tunnels, in our studio one cold November night as JBird had the Disco Biscuits playing live in his studio. It was so loud from the next studio, I couldn’t hear Percy and Marc answer my questions. I had to be honest, it was one of the most uncomfortably funny moments in the show’s history. Derek Shulman’s interview has to be one of personal accomplishment. This is one where I was very nervous about. I had been contacted by Rick Krim of VH1 to see if I was interested in airing the new Gentle Giant remasters. Uh duh? Is the Pope Catholic? Is cheese tasty? What got me uptight was that Derek was only doing a few interviews. And when I say only a few, he literally had 3 interviews planned. I was flattered, nervous, yet stoked to talk to famed front man of Gentle Giant. It was a great interview. I tried to touch lightly on Gentle Giant and his work with other bands, and ultimately his career as a record company head. I still remember how long the interview was…25.13 minutes. Enjoy it, you don’t get those all that often. The only disappointment was we had planned on doing a 4 part Gentle Giant documentary with many interviews never even aired from the band members. The disappointment was we never got any other remasters after the first two. No returned emails, no nothing. Like I said, enjoy it, and move on, and in hindsight, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I went from Derek to an interviewed guest that is up there with repeat visits in 16 years in the great, charismatic, funny, warm, and tactful Tony Levin. Tony has been on the show so many times, I don’t even remember the number. I pulled out our interview from the Bruford Levin Upper Extremities era. Tony was great. It was an interview I would wind up listening to in its entirety. The story that always bums me out was when he had gone out on tour and came to play with his band at the North Star Bar in Philly, he had asked me to introduce the band. I was so pumped and excited. But on the way to the show, I was plowed into by a pot infested car. But nonetheless, I survived by 3 inches after doing a 360. It was a wild night….but great memories in hindsight. I would have changed one thing. I would have taken the right directions with me that night.
Chapter III
On to the Crimson portion of our blog. I kicked off the portion with an interview with ‘The Dude’. I’m not talking about Lenny Dykstra either. I’m talking about Asia/Yes keyboardist Geoff Downes. First off, there are some hilarious stories over the years with Geoff and I. But what most people forget? Geoff was our first ‘big’ guest back in 1992. He’d later rejoin us in 1994, and then in 1998 with the whole Yestival thing. Geoff’s first night in the bar at the hotel featured him and I getting hammered to tune of 9 Yuenglings, (don’t know what he had) and him staring at a girl I was seeing at the time. Geoff, I’m over here. Anyway, we talked about all the hate that was spewed on him when he went with the whole new lineup of Asia in 1992, then looked to sneak out of the hotel and head to Philly for a cheesesteak. He says I’m dude. Dude, your dude. Then after featuring a b-side to Don’t Cry in the song Lyin’ To Yourself (originally a song called Barrenland from Howe’s homebrew) I featured a collage of interviews from the Patron Saint to the Gagliarchives in John Wetton. John Wetton was first on our program in 1993 and was one I was most excited about. He was so cool. Not only was he a fan favorite back in the Blackwood days, but on one of our morning shows that summer of 92, we named him our Patron Saint. Since 1992, Wetton has been a guest multiple times. He will always be the man in the genre. Dude, Larks. Larks! Speaking of which, we spoke in 1998, to violinist David Cross of the middle Crimson era. His Exiles album was a big favorite on the show as was his second album Closer Than Skin…and I capped the Crimson section off with our several interviews over the years with Trey Gunn who was once in King Crimson. Our first meeting was unforgettable. It was 1995, November, Thanksgiving weekend, and there I was…at the Long Acre Theater in New York City. I was taken away by how powerful the city was. You’ve heard my emotional rant on this. But what I never really included was how well I was treated by the theater in NYC. It was like red carpet. Oh, and here is your back stage pass to meet Trey Gunn. It was great. We did our interview in this room that had a radiator whistling and leaking from the 120 year old pipes it was connected to. It was memorable…where did the time go?
Bring On The Jebster
By this part of the show, Jack Webster and Frankie Alfeeri joined us in studio to video and take those awful pictures of me you see in the scrapbook. I guess I forgot to add how many people wanted my head for not being able to actually hear the show. I felt bad for many. Dan ‘the pimp’ in Grand Junction; Ali in Vancouver, CA; Floyd in Trenton, NJ; Chris in Omaha, NE; Darren in San Luis Obispo, CA. So many others to list….it’s sad. All I can say is for those that email about it, please understand, I am not the man in charge when it comes to the RIAA. It all comes down to the powers to be. I am just a DJ being tortured by it. The stream being shut down has also shut 85% of my audience. Let’s see what happens…ok, back to 1000. I featured snippets of interviews with guitarist Scott Henderson of Tribal Tech fame, the former frontman to Marillion in Fish. That was a funny one. Apparently he was a bit spirited during our meeting in 1999. Funny thing is, I went to host his show at the TLA in Philly, and when I went backstage, he was like, 7 foot 5. Like Andre The Giant size. Ok maybe not that big, but dude, he was tall and intimidating as well. I think one of the favorite parts of this whole ‘production’ twist for show 1000, was our interview collage with Marillion over the years. They first played in our studios in 1995, then returned 10 years later and did it again. Not to mention, our 500th show we hosted them at the TLA. I remember that night someone saying to me, what will you do for show 1000?!?! These are unforgettable memories. They will always be nestled in the backdrop of the show. I certainly couldn’t forget Genesis. That was up next. In their band collage, I featured interviews with keyboardist to The Musical Box, David Myers. We have had some funny run ins over the years. Including almost getting thrown out of the Borgata for conducting an interview with him while he gambled on the slot machine….the eye in the sky saw it all. I couldn’t help but laugh. They thought we were trying to steal detailed slot machine information. Absolutely hysterical. Get over yourself. Anyway, I moved on to our interviews with Tony Banks and Steve Hackett of Genesis. Steve has been a regular guest of the program over the years. Genesis is obviously my favorite ‘prog’ band of all time, but probably one of the least in sense of members actually being on the show. Tony Banks was big, this was, at least in my mind, the ONLY one to have. He is the center point of the band. Of course it was difficult holding back on questions about Genesis due to the fact the interview was more focused on his new classical album at the time, titled Seven: A Suite For Orchestra. He was great. It was so special. Something I never forgot. It was almost like, is there anyone else to interview after someone like that? I think not. (settle down dude).
At this point Jack and Frankie were just laughing at me in my 7th hour, and my 35th listener call on why we were not streaming.
The Return Of The Buttered Gazelle
Roger Beckwith was a big part of our Saturday programming from 1994-2000. Roger along with Janet Watts clearly made Saturday night a party. But because he missed our former station manager Drew Jacobs, Roger decided it would be best if he left. He hadn’t seen the studios in years. After a night at the Piccalilli, Roger decided to come up and visit Program 1000. The smell of Grape Soda mixed with madness was evident. He laughed hysterically for reasons he may only know, but I have to admit, I felt good having him there. I really did. The last hurrah. Flashback segments included Jan Erik from Anekdoten at Nearfest, Jeff Berlin talking about the best boxers in the fight world, a spotlight on both sides of the Echolyn break up which devastated me back in 1995, the creation of Finneus Gauge who struck the song “Open Up The Fog Lines” sigh….which moved into another big feat in interviewing The Mahavishnu Orchestra members Jan Hammer, and John McLaughlin. This was also memorable as a pivotal point in our shows history. Another memorable guest on 2 separate occasions was the great violinist Jean-Luc Ponty, do I even need to explain his position in music? Happy The Man, you know the band that was supposed to be the group to back Gabriel when he left Genesis? They were featured in time capsule collage as well. I decided to round out the show with in studio performances from Boston band Fluttr Effect from 2005, violinist Caryn Lin from 1996, and a look at the last 2 #1 discs in the annual stress loving project titled the The Top 100.
I closed out the show on the 8th hour with Echolyn’s This Time Alone. It just seemed to put everything into perspective. My only regret was there was no internet to stream all the work that went into it.
A thousand more?
Nobody sees you like I do
Nobody loves you like I do
Nobody needs you like I do

Selfish, but well spent
Few and far between is the luxury of alone
Use this distance, left the rest behind

I am, I think, I want, I need, this for myself

2007-03-25T06:42:00.000-07:00

A Break From The Sabbatical
I know, I know. I’ve read them all. “Dude, where are the blogs?” Another one said, “Hey Tom, are you still writing these things?” Close friends started asking me….”everything cool?” radio contacts, etc. I guess what got me the most was when my mother started asking me, “Are you still writing your blogs?” I finally decided it was time to write at ‘least’ one. Well let’s see. I guess I left off in January. There are a few reasons why you have seen the blogs slow up. First one being, I am writing a pseudo ‘book’ so to speak. Without getting into details, it’s about a guy and his dating life from his youth to his middle aged, pathetic life. The story is based on true events which is quite comical, intense, angry, shocking, and at times very saddening. The story begins when he sees Farrah Fawcett for the first time in the mid 1970’s. I know, it makes no sense, but when all is said and done, oh trust me it will. The story was inspired by my nightmare dating life in the last 20 years, with some stories mixed in from close friends. I never cared to write about it, but always threatened it because of how outlandish some of them were. I usually stuck to science fiction in my stories. But the more I told stories about the girls I dated, albeit crazy or normal, my family and friends thought they should be documented. I met some real doozies since my youth. So the story is still in the first few chapters, but nonetheless, it’s making ME laugh. I guess we’ll see what happens with it. There are still outlines for other stories that coincide with it in bizarre ways. Eat your heart our Martin Scorsese! (Just kidding, I love you.)
A Saintly Loss
I guess the darkness begins with a loss to New Orleans in round two of the NFL postseason. The Eagles were playing over their heads. Garcia was great. A perfect fit for the ‘West Coast’ offense we have been running since 1995. Look, Jeff was not Donovan by any stretch of the mind, BUT, he did a hell of a job running the offense the way it’s supposed to be. Not to mention that Brian Westbrook totally stepped up to the plate and became a vocal leader. I wanted to see this game so much that I aired the final top 10 of 2006 in the first hour and a half just so I could watch. It was a great game. 70 yard passes, back and forth in scoring, up field, down field, nail biting exciting. I have to be honest, I have a been a die hard since the late 80’s early 90’s, and in all the playoff losses I have ever experienced, this one hurt the least. Losing 27-24 is not bad at all. Hostile environment as well. The game could have gone either way. I won’t even blame it on a particular play or anything. The Eagles did well. If they would have beaten the Saints, the Eagles would have beaten the Bears 13-10 and lost in the superbowl to Indy 38-13. There I said it. Everything after Donovan went down was a bonus. Anyway, so, after that, I watched the Eagles lose, and shockingly life went on. Not the way I wanted to at first, but alas, it went on. On top of them losing, I lost again in the world of dating to a disappearing act. It was like 8th grade all over. Despite the negativity and disbelief of it all, it makes for even more interesting chapter for the book.
Dressing For A Thousand Islands
The guests so far have been great this year. We kicked off 2007 with an interview with guitarist Alan Morse of Spock’s Beard. Alan stopped off to chat with us about the band’s self titled release and upcoming tour. Apparently, Alan is heavily into bike riding. He will ride anywhere. Home, on tour, Europe, etc. Alan also has a great new release that is sure to please guitar fans called 4:00 and Hysteria. It’s a pleasant surprise to the recent releases for the year. I would say a must get. We also featured an interview with guitarist Joe DeCristopher of Fred fame. Joe joined us to talk about the legacy of the band. Fred was formed at Bucknell University in Lewisburg, PA. The band made three albums. The self titled debut is in a trippy, folk rock vein. Notes On A Picnic, the second album and radio show audience favorite, is more jazz rock, and fusion influenced. Live At The Bitter End, is the third and final album which captures an excellent picture of the group live. The German label World In Sound did a fine job as well, in documenting the legacy of Fred. This is a special interview for a band I have always been curious about. We also featured our old friend Steve Hackett as he chatted with us about the new CD titled Wild Orchids. Chad said something to me the weekend of our Nearfest radio show. “It seems like you guys know each other so well through years of interviews that it’s like two old friends talking.” I don’t know about that. But nonetheless upon playback, I realized Chad was right. The rapport was astonishing. Following Steve’s visit, and speaking of Chad, we had our 9th annual North East Art Rock Fest radio special which went off without a hitch. This year was different. Chad brought in 4 huge prize packages to give away and it was by far the most responded show caller wise of the year. Has it been a 11 years already? I digress. Then of course there was the Ken Golden masterpiece titled SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE. That’s the title. A four hour extravaganza of space rock, psychedelic, and stoner rock. Ken teased about doing this show for years. But it never happened. Ken’s worry was that he would only have a solid hour of space rock worth airing without sounding like Ozric Tentacles at every turn of the hat. So, I told Ken, “If you want to do something else, just let me know. It could be great either way. Fusion night, Progmetal night etc. But finally, Ken didn’t fail me. It was an awesome show. The only drawback was that we had a 15 minute public service program to air during the show. Not that it’s a problem, but it can be if you’ve pre recorded it. Surprisingly, it all worked out in the end. I even amaze myself at times. And my most recent guest was Jon Courtney Of Pure Reason Revolution. This was an interesting interview. Jon had just gotten back from watching a Reading Soccer match in the UK and was in good spirits. I think some of these more accessible bands (PRR, PT, TMV) get a bit nervous with the whole ‘prog’ moniker. Who knows. But Jon was a good sport and played along. I could tell he was excited about the upcoming Nearfest performance in June. So all in all, it’s been an exciting 1st quarter of the radio show in 2007. But what keeps me up at night, is the upcoming 1000th radio show. J-bird of Endless Boundaries from 6-10 has been an even better sport by giving me his show from 6-10 on 4/14/07. So the question is, what do I air in those 8 hours? I mean I already know what I am going to do, but seriously, how does it all fit without sounding sloppy? I can’t even begin to formulate 16 years into 8 hours. It just won’t happen. Maybe a show of highlights? Who knows. Come 4/14, its do or die. I hope it will be good. I will have a more rounded out idea come the end of this week. Gulp
The Return To The Emerald Kush Mountain Range (With Blueberries)
I haven’t been to the Khyber since I saw Echolyn last year. This time it would be The Mahavishnu Project playing live at the Khyber. It was a Friday night. I rarely get out to many shows, especially this year with all the excellent weather we have been dealing with. The night started out stressful as always, (no Rohario wasn’t with us, that’s later) where I just had a feeling something wasn’t right. Almost like impending doom. Well I was right. No less than 4 minutes into the city, I get sideswiped. Not to worry, I wasn’t driving the Jeep, I was driving the Hoopti. I was in Olde City however which made it more embarrassing for the perpetrator. She turns to look at me after the swiping jolt as if to say, “Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I couldn’t fit my car in there.” I guess I thought this because there was only 2 feet between my Hoopti and her battleship. Nonetheless, I was in a good mood, and let her go with a damaged mirror on her car, and no damage on mine. My partner in crime seemed blown away by all of this, but for those that know me, this is normal. On to the Khyber. We walk in to find an empty bar with refreshments waiting for us. I decided to text Gregg Bendian to let him know I was there. No response back, which didn’t bother me because I figured, they are all traveling with equipment and gear, and he is probably too busy to respond. You know how these things go. So I decided to visit the goose again. What a pleasant goose it was. 25 minutes later, and 3 drinks, I am wondering where the band is. So I decided to call Gregg. Left a message. Then out of the blue, I hear the band in the other room warming up. Hmmm….dam those drums sound familiar. Duh, Gregg and the rest of the gang are in the next room. At this point I was fairly buzzed, yet very excited. We walk in and I could feel the energy. Gregg asked me to bring them on. So I get up on the tiny stage that seemed like it was going to explode outward with all the people that were on it. So I start rambling about how the band, the radio show, and etc. Gregg turns to me and says, “Tom, why don’t you introduce the guys?” At this point, I blanked out. “Sorry man, ya got me on the spot, I don’t even know my own name right now.” Gregg smiled and the crowd cheered. The band set was incredible. Gregg Bendian was timeless, or timeful I should say, Dave Johnsen was perfect, Adam Holzman was hot as hell on keyboards, Glenn Alexander played all the nuances of Mahavishnu with ease, and Rob Thomas, who we were closest to on violin, would have given Didier Lockwood a run for his money. All in all, full of energy. People didn’t want it to end. Not to mention some of the audience members were so happy to see that it was #1 for so many weeks on our weekly top 20 (Return To The Emerald Beyond). After convincing Gregg that he needed to hear my vocal rendition of One To One from Jan Hammer Group’s Oh Yeah? It was off to Jim’s. I called Rohario and the order was in. Before a quick stop on 4th street, we were homebound. God that was great….
The Return To Epping Forest
As a child, I grew up on the border of Cherry Hill, Mount Laurel, and Maple Shade. My playgrounds were three sets of woods. There were Emma’s woods, which now has a pizza place and housing complex on top of it, and was our first successful attempt at building a clubhouse/fort. You see, the woods were ran by kids that were far older than us at the time. Mike and John, who were brothers 7 years older than us, built ALL the forts and traps in the area. When I say traps, I mean sticker bush traps. You know, you hit a string, and it pulls the wall of thorns into your face. Awesome invention, one I was always able to avoid. At any rate, as they grew up and discovered women, we discovered all their places, and rebuilt them. Emma’s woods were tough because ‘Emma’ used to listen to all of our walkie talkie conversations when we played our games. So she knew our every move. Not to mention, John, our neighborhood friend from Mount Laurel, had an older brother that with his gang, used to play these war games with us, which usually meant they would find our forts, and trash them. So then we decided to move to woods on the ‘other’ side of toe of Maple Shade’s southeast side, and christen them as our own. We called the woods Epping Forest. Obviously after Genesis Selling England By The Pound track titled, The Battle Of Epping Forest. It was me, my brother, John, Brian, Donny, and little Mike. We built a fort on the outskirt of the South Branch of the Pennsauken Creek, looking at the Cherry Hill side of Brandywoods. The fort lasted a whole summer in 1986. Until the great flood came. None of us had thought out that building a fort in a marsh could present a problem. Not just for overflowing creeks, but for Mosquitoes and oddly enough, Caterpillars. What a year that was. They were everywhere. So then, in my last hurrah, I decided to rebuild the fort, this time on BRICKS! They all thought I as nuts, but realized later, it was a genius idea. The only problem was, we were invaded. This time by warriors from the Cherry Hill side who exploited our trail system to their advantage. The fort was trashed, as was Paradise Cove. But then, we sparked a war with John’s brothers’ gang. This time I had an escape route in plan. I decided to steal one of those big metal grates that sat on the side of the Seven-11, and drag it over a mile through Pickwick, through Epping Forest, UP SQUIRRELL HILL, then down, then to Paradise Cove. Three of us dropped the new ‘dock’ in the water. Boards were tied around it, and John brought an inflatable raft to tie to it. We waited, knowing John’s brothers’ gang were coming through ‘Sauken trail to get us. We were ready this time. Sticker bushes and dug hole traps were set, which would buy us some time to get away. In the raft we went, and up the south branch of the Pennsauken Creek to the third set of woods, known as North Epping Forest (I named it that, and marked our flag on it in 1985 when I was exploring it) We had a ready made dock there with chairs and tables. The only drawback was, despite how high the vegetation was, you could still be seen if you made a fire by the surrounding apartments and houses. But, it was an evacuation fort site. But what memories. We later returned to Epping Forest to find our site was trashed. We would get revenge later, but still, our place was ruined. The fort was smashed up, my fence I built around the creek was demolished, and the ladder we made for the dock was cut. I was angry. Sad, but still very angry. I tried to rebuild the fort but two things kept it from going any further, my desire to rebuild, and my first ‘kissing’ girlfriend from the Cherry Hill side who watched us build those forts. I left my childhood in those woods in the summer of 1987, where they still reside. So I decided after a nightmarish afternoon with my brother shopping for clothes, that I would visit my mom, and just for the heck of it, walk those woods again. Just to see what I might find, or how much has changed. It was a great trip down memory lane. The trails that we made were a bit overgrown...parts of the creek had widened. Some of the banks of the creek had collapsed as well. As I walked, I was a bit dissapointed that so much had changed. But then, I stopped and found a piece of board from the first fort. I smiled. I turned to the creek and looked at the dock I dragged 20 years ago now looking like the undercarriage of the Titanic. It was funny how small those woods looked. I walked back to my Jeep and watched 3 kids head for those woods with stick branches they used as guns.
I smiled.

2007-01-28T18:12:00.000-08:00

I know, it's been a while. Here's where I'm at.

and yet, we are so self centered and superficial.

2006-12-13T15:34:00.000-08:00

211
34
The Reunion
Back in my final years of high school, I had gotten together with a few young musicians and we tried the whole 'band' thing. And it worked. But, due to one guy becoming a born again Christian, another getting this new thing called a ‘girlfriend’, and my early dabbling in radio put that baby to bed. Well, not really. In college I joined another band called Piece By Peace which was interesting….but it’s all hazy. I spent more time partying than anything else. But when I sang, I felt free. Things were cool once up on stage. But once again, the partying. I would have made the Allman Brothers back stage antics look like a tea party with some of the friends I made in that time. At any rate, I took another dive about 5 years ago with some friends from work. Bobby Blower was the bassist, (He says his name is pronounced Blauer like flower; which makes me also think, well why doesn’t he say is first name as Bowb?) Bob Blinebury on Guitar (who is very good btw), Tom McGarrity on Triangle, and of course me on Drums. They were the worst jam sessions ever. But, I still loved them. They were so much fun. Our band was called Joker’s Wild and to make a long story short, we split up a few years back. So I had gotten a phone call from Blinebury about getting the band back together. Well, we were a trio. Hours of talking and beer drinking led to nothing but a 33 minute set with constant returns to the laundry room for refreshments. All in all, a great time in Palmyra with the chills on the way back. I love those guys.
The Feast Of The Seven Polish Fishes
Saturday was a day of last minute touch ups on my script for the final part of the top 100. For some unknown reason to me and my internet provider, my script became corrupted. In essence I had to rewrite the whole thing again. Eh…good thing I kept notes. My good friend Pole had the 35th annual Feast Of The Seven Polish Fishes. Once I arrived, I fell in love. Not with Trina, but the lump crab deviled eggs. They were fabulous. Here is what was on the menu the rest of the night:

Appetizers
Crawfish dip - mmmm
Clams casino – Was never a big fan but the crowd went wild.
Crabmeat deviled eggs – So good I cried.
Kielbasa – Didn’t partake
Sweet bay scallop chowder – To die for.

Main courses
Shrimp and crab bake – I heard they were good
Crab cakes -- AWESOME
Seafood lasagna – Looked great
Oyster and Cajun sausage casserole – Didn’t see it to be honest.
Turducken – Looked great but I didn’t eat it.
Scallops Florentine – Didn’t see it.
Chili – Didn’t see it.
Chicken bites in roasted red pepper sauce – Saw it but passed.

Desserts
Toblerone and marshmallow fondue (I left at this point for the station)
Pumpkin pie
Frozen peanut butter pie
It was a success for the Pole. Met some cool people as well, including a guy named Anthony that was no joke on his love for jazz, its musicians, and its Philadelphia roots. We hit it off excellently and gained a new listener. See that? I am always networking.
Post Partum Depression
This was it. The third and final part of the 11th annual Top 100 CD’s of the year. The show I wait the most for….almost like a kid waiting for Christmas. The show began with Roger Lee taking a headcount online and it was discovered that this was clearly the most listened to show of 2006. We kicked it off at #30 and the disc from Terje Rypdal and the powerful Vossabryg, then moved into Ray Russell’s Goodbye Svengali. The rest of the night was a blur. Until the final 10. I started feeling my intensity as we got closer….I was on track in rare form with the clock as well. I knew they were listening, and the numbers were pulsating higher. Calls came in from everywhere; South Carolina, Ottawa Canada, The Jersey Pines, San Francisco, New York City, Montreal, Phoenix, and the Jersey shore. I may have forgotten some other calls. At any rate, as the countdown got closer to number one, I started getting tenser. I was getting more excited as I closed in. Even the Polish Feast attendees were listening as I corrected my engagement status with other listeners that obviously couldn’t take a joke. Poor Trina. The final 10 rolled down while I am answering instant messages, answering phones, answering emails and trying to fit a cigarette in the midst of the chaos. In the meantime, I was happy to hear from Ben who kept me somewhat grounded during the buildup to the finish. Then the final 5. Then, 4….then 3….then 2….then 1. The top 100 was over. Pure Reason Revolution was the #1 album of 2006 in voting and rightly so. All that work that began Halloween weekend with the kick off of the internet poll, poor Joe being a referee from 10/31 to 11/23, me being a tyrant and checking frequently to see what was happening in votes every end of the day, adding CD’s forgotten in the original list, answering emails related to (directly and indirectly) the poll, then having to talk with notable outsiders to make sure it ‘seemed’ right. When all was said and done it was like I just gave birth….to a statistician for a record company. I felt deflated. It was done. The top 100 of 06 is finished. Wow. It’s over. Every year I feel this way at the end but this one seemed almost like…..hmm…..like a football team that was firing on all cylinders going into the playoffs. That’s pretty much how it felt….this was the most organized team on paper going into it. But, like so many things in life, it came to an end. I later drove to Big Bob’s and received feedback including seeing Rohario who has recently left his paid post along with several other old schoolers from my company. All I can say is, I beat you Alan. I outlasted you. I won. God works in strange ways eh? Now I just wish I had one of those crab filled deviled eggs.
Just An Earthbound Misfit, I
Sunday I awoke late again, this time halfway through the first quarter of the Eagles game against the ‘Skins. My mom left 3 messages wondering if I was alive. I called back to see us up 21-3. I was happy…well kinda. I knew it was too good to be true. And it was, we won 21-19. Eagles must play better next week to beat the filth of the NFL in the Giants. After the game I rushed back home to get ready for the Australian Pink Floyd show that Salty Serlenga was adamant that I go to. I have seen The Machine before, and tons of bar bands play the music of Pink Floyd. But they said that this was the real deal sound wise. So, Big Bob was our limo driver yet again, and was well equipped. By 6:00, Bob arrived with a van packed full of people. The 2 Dans, Josh, Chris and Salty. We stopped off at Benash liquor store and then Wawa, and made our way to the city of brotherly love. Once we arrived, the queen was a monarch, and the trees were in full bloom. We tailgated for a solid 45 minutes and entered the Tower Theater. I sat with Salty who once again was disappearing every 20 minutes to get a beer, soda, and water. I hardly moved from my seat, only to pee but the set went like this, beginning to end:
FIRST SET
Shine On You Crazy Diamond (parts 1-5) - Incredible and literally sounded like the CD
What Do You Want From Me – It was almost like no one in the crowd knew this song. I was like wooooo!
Time – It’s not that hate Dark Side Of The Moon, but I can turn a radio on and find this at anytime.
On The Turning Away – I couldn’t help but get misty….how profound this song is and done so well.
Dogs – One of the greatest Floyd songs of all time done brilliantly by the Aussies
Take It Back – Another great song from Division Bell that I couldn’t help but reflect.
Eclipse – I went to get a beer at this point.
SECOND SET
Astronomy Dominy – Incredible actually. Not to mention an all time fav….The light show w/lasers was awesome.
Learning To Fly – This is when I noticed how creative the stage show really was. Lot of stuff going on during this.
Great Gig In The Sky – The back up singer almost brought me to orgasm. I mean it. My eyes were teary…
Money – See Time above
Us And Them – See Money above (also went to get a beer and a smoke and saw some friends from highschool)
Pigs (Three Other Ones) – YES! THE PIG WAS OUT!!! AWESOME! I didn’t see it until halfway through the song.
One Of These Days – Bass player kicked ass.
Set Your Controls For The Heart Of The Sun – Blown away they did this one live.
Nobody Home – Touching. Really touching. I so relate to that part of the Wall.
Comfortably Numb – Left for home with the gang.

We made it back into Jersey before you knew it…. My thoughts reflect on the Eagles next game against the dirty, filthy, classless New York Giants. Eagles win 31-16 this coming weekend. I could be wrong, but it’s how I feel at this point. If they in fact win, the Eagles could be scary moving into the playoffs. I decided the couch would be my friend tonight. The lights dimmed, the temperature dropped, and I fell asleep amidst the backdrop of the NFL Network week 14 highlights…all was well at the dead end court. I write this in 18.

This Program Ran 4 Hours And 15 Minutes.

2006-12-04T10:27:00.000-08:00

144
34
Watching The Wavs
I know….why was there no blog two weeks ago, last week, and this week? It was discovered recently that I may have Trigeminal Neuralgia. This comes from having Shingles in the past. What this does is irritate nerves in the side of the face. Now I was adamant that I at least cover all bases and go to a dentist and make sure no wisdom teeth were possibly causing problems. But according to doctors, I was a moron and didn’t know what I was talking about. Monday I had to go to the emergency room. The pain was so bad I couldn’t see out of my left eye. They gave me 2 percocets, migraine medicine, and an appointment with a neurologist. By the middle of the week, the attacks were fast and worse. My neurologist was very nice, and genuinely concerned. I told him what I thought, and like the others, thought I was nuts. Thursday morning at 6:4friggin5 AM, I was at South Jersey Radiology for an MRI. The girl that set it up was painfully attractive despite looking like she just woke up. There are people that are scared to death of MRI’s. It’s called claustrophobia. People break into hives thinking about going in the tube. I have to be honest, even if I did have a fear of it; I was so friggin tired that I slept through it, anyway. I got out of the tube and told the MRI tech she was beautiful. I wasn’t trying to pick her up or anything but I felt it was just something I had to say. She lit up. It made my day to make someone else’s. I went home and slept. I was physically exhausted. Toast. Spent. Done. My mom called me to have lunch which I was very skeptical about. Eating has become a challenge as of late. Thursday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided it was time to go to the dentist to kill the bird with the stone. I was now hell bent to prove that maybe, just maybe, a tooth was causing this. Let’s put it this way, I was partially right. So the moral of the story is, don’t always doubt your gut. My jaw pain is gone, but I still have the faint pain in my face. But let’s see what happens. This week my project was to get every station ID from every interview I have ever done, and compile them all onto CD. At first it seemed like it couldn’t be that difficult, but then I realized I opened up a big can of worms. I have done hundreds of interviews. There are many, many station ID’s. So I had to transfer some from CD to Adobe, chop them up, clean them, raise the amplitude without ruining the integrity, then name them. The tougher ones were the ones on tape. Which means I’d have to run through a tape or reel to reel, burn them to a CDRW on my CD burner, which is not a computer component, but an actual stereo TDK unit. I love it. It’s the jewel of my system. It’s turnover rate in successful burns totally outweighs a CD burner on a CPU. But there are drawbacks. It won’t burn data discs, but it sure helps on those old vinyl records that never made it to CD. At any rate, I burnt all the ID’s that I have easy access to, to some 7 compact discs. It was nuts. Some didn’t burn right, some did but didn’t track right, and the others, they just came up blank. All in all it was a success, but, I just realized there are more ID’s I didn’t know I had. UGH.
I Scored A Zero This Hour
Sunday November 5th, I woke to exhaustion, and wanted sleep. I was this close to calling the innovator to tell him I couldn’t take the drive to the NJ Proghouse. But instead, he talked me into it. Next thing I know I was blasting down the road to Gibbsboro listening to Phillip Bailey and Phil Collins doing Easy Lover. I was rocking. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT, I WAS LISTENING TO EASY LOVER AND LOVING IT. Once we arrived at the Innovator’s, we headed to Central Jersey with Troy Tipton, bassist of the powerhouse progressive metal band Zero Hour. Their new album Specs Of Pictures Burnt Beyond is a gem. This is the first Zero Hour album to do this great in requests on the program on all three sides (IM, email, phones) in their catalog. We drove up the turnpike and rapped about people and musicians who take themselves way too seriously, and the secrets of barbecuing. We arrived at the NJPROGHOUSE to find my favorite people. Jim Robinson was there with his wife and child, while the worst infection of Ray Laboda approached. The food was there. THE BEST COLD CUTS IN METUCHEN. Good salami, good prosciutto, good provolone, good rolls. Great fruit and vegetable spread. I felt like I was at my mom’s on New Years. Then there was Kenny Lesko. This guy is usually miserable. But that day, Bony Marone looked a little more miserable and lacking sleep. Speaking of lacking sleep and a touch of the flu was our Nearfest Bethlehem engineer Kevin Feele. He looked beat up. Like someone backed over him. Jon Yarger was there as well, looking at every piece of female meat that walked in there. Then there was Mike Emerson, as always a very happy, nice guy willing to talk to anyone. Ken and I pigged out. Then the band Suspyre were the opening act. They were good, almost Symphony Xish…but then it was time. Time for a sandwich. Then Zero Hour took to the stage. I came out to see the start of the show. Everything seemed cool, until the arrival of ‘the couple’. The guy, was about 6 foot 2, and almost 300 pounds. The girl, was 5 foot 3, and loud. Well, they both were. They sat up in the front. Everything seemed to be going fine until about halfway through the set which by the way went like this:
Specs
Evidence
Falcon’s
There For Me
Strategem
Reflections
Demise And Vestige
The Temple Within
Face The Fear
Eyes Of Denial
Voice Of Reason

The next thing I know, she gets up and starts gyrating in front of the singer Chris Salinas. Now keep in mind, this is not a club we are in. This is not an arena. This is an early 1800’s schoolhouse about the size of a small gas station. She leaves the front of the stage, and runs to the kitchen and starts talking to every person that walks by and if it was a guy, was hanging on them. I had just lit a cigarette when I saw her coming. She comes outside and her voice was at concert hall pitch. The next thing I thought was, ‘jesus…is she from Gloucester or something?’ She then asks:
“Hey, where are you from?”
“South Jersey.”
“WOW! ME TOO!”
“Cool…lemme guess…Gloucester?”
“WOW HOW DID YOU KNOW??!?!??”
She started hugging me. At this point I am thinking, if a girl like this hugging me with a linebacker for a boyfriend roaming the proghouse and can walk out at anytime, it’s time to walk away. I go in and Zero Hour continues on. She comes back in, walks to the front of the audience again. Innovator is rocking. In the best way he can, while Jim, with no expression on his face at all, was having the best time he could ever have other than working for Laser’s Edge. Karl Eisenhart was excellent by the way. Karl is the sound board engineer that knew JUST WHEN to raise the guitars on key parts. It was great. He did a hell of a job. Kevin Feeley looked like death and was wrapped tight like a bug. Fighting the flu, he still pressed on and oversaw the entire production. Just then, I turned to see the girl is in front of the stage again. This time, grabbing the microphone and feeling up the Tipton brothers while they performed. And I could see that Jason’s girlfriend was being observant while this nonsense ensued. Then the girl turns and looks at the audience of maybe 30 people and insists that they aren’t showing any spirit. THERE ARE 30 PEOPLE IN HERE. If they were to get up and act they way you are, it would be a fire hazard. Not to mention the whole place may collapse. Next thing you know the cops arrive. I run outside while Jim and the rest of the staph look on. I come to find out someone complained about the noise. And it wasn’t about the band. It was about ‘The Couple’ that were outside drinking and carrying on as if they were in Gloucester City. The cops were cool, then left. The fantastic show ended, and the next thing you know, we were going down the Turnpike and hit exit 4 in no time. I chowed out on some good soup, and made it home by 11:30 to see the final 2 minutes of the New England/Indianapolis game. Thank god the Eagles were off. That’s all I can say. I can say…I totally rocked.
The French Connection
Pole called me the week before and asked if I would be interested in attending a Flyers game at the Wachovia Center. Uhhh….duh? Not to mention there was a rumor his lovely sister would be attending. It was a great day off. It was 72 degrees and I had the windows off and the stereo blasting. It was time to drive to Greg’s with an over abundance of Genesis music in light of the recent news of the trio’s reunion. I knew it was going to happen and wasn’t that disappointed. I am a Genesis fan. I could care less if it’s the 1978-1992 lineup. If it wasn’t for that Genesis, I would not know anything about progressive rock. They opened the door to big things for me. So I could care less what my friends think. Cough cough Roger and Jack cough cough. I arrived in Clarksboro with the urge to drop a puck on someone’s head. The Flyers would be playing the Islanders. My last appearance at a Flyers game was in April in 2000. Game One of the Eastern Conference Championship Finals. It was a loss. 4-1. So my lifetime record at Flyers games: 0-1.
Greg and I left for beautiful South Philadelphia. There is a big difference between going to a Flyers game, and going to an Eagles game. First, the atmosphere. Sadly, these Flyers fans do not react as strong to their play when they are not doing well. I mean they do, but nowhere near the intensity as Eagles fans. I mean first of all, Eagles fans start throwing bodies down the bleachers. Flyers fans just turn away and yell stuff like “Hey guys, we go this way..” pointing to the opposing team’s net. Or other stuff like “RATHJE, YOU SUCK”. As the Flyers skated on ice, or if you want to call it that, you could see immediately why the Flyers are not good this year. Every team is two times smaller than them. This is clearly not going to work in the new NHL. Arriving late to the game was Greg’s sister Trina. Trina is amazing…and I will just leave it at that. She was the only one that seemed as excited as I got for music at the Flyers game. Well there had to be something other than the 3-1 debacle I would call previous to the game. We then went up to Victor’s Club where Trina found a wedding band, and where Greg would find cold Miller Light beers with Brian Propp in the background. It was then off to Finnegan’s Wake in the Spring Garden section of the city. It was then I realized how old I was. I know I still get carded for cigarettes and alcohol, but I realized I was 34 that night. Young girls with tattoos drinking shots of lemon drops, shots out of test tubes, and shots out of each other’s chest. At 26, I would have been like “WOOOOO HOOOOO! THIS IS FRIGGIN AWESOME!!!” (followed by puking on dance floor). Now I found myself a shy person…almost kidlike not maintaining eye contact with anyone. When did I age? Greg kept the night lively with shots of Vodka but it wasn’t the goose. It was the Ketel. Not a fan of the aftertaste. I went outside to smoke to find two groups of people ready to throw down. The out of town group to my left had a guy who was trying to be funny, but the Philly faithful group to my right was a bit uptight. Hey I rhymed there. Anyway, I watched back and forth as if it was a tennis match till finally everyone chilled and went back inside. I sighed and smiled. Brotherly love baby. Lifetime record at Flyers games: 0-2
Industrial Zen
There have been moments in the past where I have grabbed some exceptional guests. November 11th was that day. When all was said and done, my interview with John McLaughlin was one of the most gratifying interviews in my 15 year career. I was nervous, and upon listening to the playback, I could tell. Thank god for Adobe Audition that’s all I can say. John and I covered first and foremost, his new album titled Industrial Zen which features Gary Husband (Drums and keyboards);Vinnie Colaiuta (Drums); Dennis Chambers (Drums); Mark Mondesir (Drums);Hadrian Feraud (Bass) who is friggin awesome by the way; Matthew Garrison(Bass); Tony Grey (Bass); Zakir Hussain (Tablas);Shankar Mahadevan (vocals); Ada Rovatti (Soprano and Tenor Sax); Marcus Wippersberg (Drum Programming); Otmaro Ruiz (Synthesizer); Bill Evans(Soprano Sax); and Eric Johnson (guitar). We touched on the recent book written by my good friend Walter Kolosky titled Power Passion and Beauty, we also covered the recent tribute to John by drummer Gary Husband. We also talked about his astrological compositions he stylistically did in the 70’s…we covered his days in the Mahavishnu Orchestra and a recent dream he had about playing with them. Who knows, maybe one day it will happen. But all in all I can say, it was the greatest feeling I had in a post interview/production ever. I was giddy. I realized why I do this week to week. And the big moment was, wondering how the audience would take it. Part 1 went without a hitch and the response was overwhelming. And not just from listeners, but from bands and well known recording artists. Sometimes you wonder whose listening. At 2am. I realized more than I expected.
The Indians Invade
After the show I was on a natural high. First time I felt that way in a while. And there was still the second part of John McLaughlin to air! By the time I got home I tried forcing myself to go to sleep. Not happening. While checking in on seeing how the top 100 voting was going (friggin spammers) and still answering 50 some emails in regards to the interview alone, I watched Sissy Spacek in Carrie. Now what does this have to do with anything? NOTHING. I have seen this movie a hundred times. But for some reason, it bothered me this time. I most likely was tired from no sleep, but just seeing this cute, plain jane girl being tortured by her peers, her mother, her kinetic powers and ultimately herself, I found myself yelling at the TV going, “See?? That’s what you get. You shoulda just left her alone.” Brian DePalma films rule. Anyway, I started to nod waiting for my brother in law to arrive at this normal 730 AM – 8 am time frame. I had all the tailgating tools ready. All I had to do was just get up and be ready for Rob. Well guess what. I was asleep all of 10 minutes when Rob knocked on the door. I scurried to get my clothes on and leave for the thing I wait for most, Eagles Football. I realized I was deliriously tired. No one was on 295. The only commuters were those painted in green. I smiled. We arrived at our lot and were set up with the tent by 8:30. Rob had the new George Forman grill, and I had the Genesis CD’s in a frenzy. Grilling began after my 2nd beer in 19 minutes, and the smell of bacon covered scalloped enveloped us. By 10:30, shrimps were on the barbi, and I was totally lit. With just 10 minutes sleep, the beer was keeping me rolling. Rob calls my sister (his wife) and demands she leaves Wal-Mart, get in her car, drive to the house and do his fantasy picks before kick off. I LAUGHED MY ASS OFF. YOU ARE GOING TO GET DANA TO DO THAT? HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA. I laughed for 20 straight minutes. I don’t know what I laughed harder at, the fact he was dead serious, or the fact he chose the girl that once said to me, “Well a bear can beat a dolphin easily. And anyway, their colors are just too bright.” The next thing I knew, a girl was trying to take piss in front of our truck. Rob had to get a picture. Finally we walk into the stadium. The Eagles are routing the Skins. Next thing you know, we were leaving. I was so tired I was seeing double. Once we got home we grilled those steaks up and the weekend was complete.
Rest In Peace Yan Hazera
After some online difficulties with Aural Moon, program 979 was caught for the internet audience just before the second part of the McLaughlin interview aired. This part featured us talking about learning different kinds of music, and the fears involving prog rock and fusion fans stepping into the unknown with something they might actually like instead of criticizing it. All in all it was a great show but with the sad news of Yan Hazera, I couldn’t help but realize how fragile life really is. Yan was the guitarist of the project Zaar who released their self titled album on the Cuneiform records this year. He was also part of the project from a few years prior titled Sotos which also came out on Cuneiform. The only news we received was that he passed away in Spain. Sad. Young as well. I also did a recap of all the top ranking albums in the top 100 from year to year going back to 1996. It was a lot of fun looking back on those memories. They aren’t just albums….they were the buzzes from year to year. They are pieces of the past. In case you didn’t know the top ranking discs every year on the show went like this:
1991: Yes Years Box Set (Top 20)
1992: Emerson, Lake, and Palmer – Black Moon (Top 20)
1993: Ozric Tentacles -- Jurassic Shift (Top 50)
1994: Yes -- Talk (Top 50)
1995: King Crimson -- Thrak (Top 100)
1996: Anekdoten -- Nucleus
1997: Steve Hackett -- Genesis Revisited
1998: Djam Karet -- The Devouring
1999: Nathan Mahl – The Clever Use Of Shadows
2000: Transatlantic – SMPTe
2001: McGill/Manring/Stevens – Addition By Subtraction
2002: Deus Ex Machina – Cinque
2003: Kaipa – Keyholder
2004: White Willow – Storm Season
2005: The Mars Volta – Francis The Mute
Titanic Loss
Pole called me Friday and asked what I would be doing on Sunday for the game. I told him most likely I would be watching it at home. He replied: “Oh ok, you have plans, never mind”.
“Why what are you doing for the game?”
“Oh I thought that maybe you’d want to watch it from Club Box seats…no sweat I understand.”
“DUDE. I will go.”
We laughed all the way to the stadium. Well, until we walked in when it was then that the lowly Titans scored the first touchdown. Then shortly after that, we are at the one yard line, and I have my cell phone cocked and ready to call my mother so she can hear the Eagles Fight Song sung by 50,000 faithful. Well, unfortunately, that phone sat on pause as the ball was intercepted. Then before you know it the cart is being called out to take Donovan off the field. I could see the disappointment around me. I must have smoked about 5 cigarettes in the bathroom realizing the season was in fact over. How this team parallels my life is just amazing. Pole’s determination that Garcia could get us in to win this game was beyond me. Then out of the blue a guy from the row behind me goes, SORIANO WENT TO THE CUBS! GO PHILLY! I just grunted at this point. Why are we meant to suffer? Why us? This just doesn’t seem to make sense. Is it really a curse? Is it? I don’t even care anymore. I am so done it’s unbelievable. Once we got outside I had to keep Greg from killing himself. He looked like his pet just died. Then we get the word 45 minutes later, DONOVAN, TORN ACL. OUT FOR A YEAR. Nice. Just the way I wanted to keep things rolling on a positive note. A big old bag of smoked ribs closed out the night and what can I say, Pole is the man. Great ribs, great seats, but crappy football team. Oh well, this is life. Life is full of setbacks.
Déjà vu

Like a flower…slow to open…I do believe I’ve been this way before…
It’s everyman’s fantasy….to win victory….the world at his feet…..and songs of glory…

Thanksgiving weekend approached with the slow finish of the top 100 voting. People were pretty direct this year with the voting which I was happy with. Some spamming that poor Joe dealt with on a daily basis…but you always have to remind people….it’s for entertainment. I mean, the top 100’s literally have been a pretty good range on what’s what at the end of each year. It’s a lot of fun actually. I am looking forward to airing it. The three weeks are pretty wild. I was wrapped up finally by mid week which would be one of the strangest ones of all. I took a wild chance driving to Bethlehem for something I thought was the real thing. It just hasn’t been great as of late. When you are single after not being single for a long time….you know, just at that peak time you know you are ready to meet people you wonder what you are going to get yourself into. I have met some cool people in the last year, some have been a learning experience. Whether it was false promises or seeing how far someone would go to get your attention in the worst way, you definitely take something from each one.

The man seems smaller…the child stands taller….but now I know that what you sow you reap….
And every day at last must die in sleep….

I think it occurred to me as I was driving back from Bethlehem that, sometimes…you just have to go for it. Even if it means, it could all implode. But I discovered that sometimes things don’t do that when they don’t work out. Sometimes, it wasn’t even there to begin with. It was pleasant optimism on your behalf. Sometimes, even when it’s the worst outcome it could be, you may have put something else to bed that needed to be there a long time ago. Sure it sucks, but you can come back from an experience like that enlightened. It may have felt like a loss, but…I gained so much in knowing what I want.

You want to know the story of my life….
The only sin….is not loving enough….

The summation was clear...I never do stuff like that. That was a drive. I finally thought someone was on the same page. I was restless with it, though. Finally my attention was caught without wanting to cringe. Despite being apprehensive...I just did it. Took the chance. I wasn’t going to waste the light. In hindsight I think it was kind of absurd to expect so much. I crossed that line, you know? I know it was drawn so long ago, and no one comes close to that line…but it was finally crossed. It's nothing I planned to feel. This is quite fascinating, actually. I swore the field goal was good. Immaturity, disappointment and heartache were to pass. I promised myself to not walk on by. God knows how many times I hemmed and hawed and hurt people in the process.

I do believe I’ve been this way before….
You want to know the future? The last act....in a play…
A book that falls apart…..with a missing last page….

All the pastures, fall to wasteland….

You can’t take back the fruits you once enjoyed….

Maybe the weather was trying to tell me something that night…amidst the obstacles I had getting there. I realized once it was all said and done that it was something I didn't think it was…with the only difference being 100 some odd miles. I slowly walked to my Jeep with rain and wind being a bit ironic yet in a strange way, very emblematic. I drove away and the phone calls roared in on my cell with the twenty questions....I knew. I didn't want to know that I listened to what my inside was saying. Yeah I guess I know it was all for naught. I just hate how it all sounds. But seeing that I was interested was profound. Even if it was in the rain…..the pouring rain.

But now I know I’ve been this way before….

2006-10-24T02:25:00.000-07:00

130
41
The North Forklanding Blues
Friday was a blah day with really nothing to report. Work has been insane and so has the volume. So I unfortunately could not make it for the Musical Box performance for Friday night which would have been the Foxtrot tour from ’72. It also occurred to me that there would be no way for me to see Saturday’s show due to the radio broadcast. It would have been cool too, because it was the ’73 Selling England By The Pound tour…one of my favs. By the time I got out of work, I was spent. But I convinced myself to get out and head to the Jughandle Inn to see Standard Deviation….you know….that band I’ve been buzzin about. Anyway, I waited for Roger to arrive with Jack, and they couldn’t help but break my balls about Musical Box not doing Phil Collins music. (Sarcasm) …nonetheless 11/7/06 is d-day. So I get home, Roger and Jack pull up and the aroma of the jungle welcomed me. It was time to go to the Jug. I arrived after a sports update at Wawa with Kevin. I am always the bearer of bad news. The night was cold driving up Forklanding. Imagining what it must have been like a hundred years earlier. A bumpy ass road. Well, a dirt road. What a busy place this once was at one time. Back before roads were not straight. Forklanding winds all the way to the Jughandle and crosses route 73. It’s there that the settlement was first created. Right on the banks of the North and South branch of the Pennsauken Creek. I can only imagine in my head how the layout once was. Now, just a mere frame of what it used to be…littered with 500,000$ houses and baseball parks on the north side. Sad. No need to preserve anything here. Very sad. I pulled into the Jug to see the chickens at the entrance. Well, at least something still remains from this one time small farming community. (The chickens are added there by the owners). The chickens are in jeopardy of being extinct from here as well since the crows and hawks have caught on. So much like life. What irony. Once I walked in, I was comforted with the smell of stale beer and good music. Standard Deviation was already through their first set. Roger was nowhere to be found. Déjà vu. I sat down and ordered a beer from bartender Vince. Vince and I graduated together in 1991 and was always someone I admired in school. Vince was real, very direct, and wasn’t afraid to call ‘em the way he saw ‘em. He got the girl of his dreams in Barrie that also went to school with us and graduated the same year. Talking to him was made me realize that it’s not always a bad thing to look back. Vince has a baby now, and is happy with his life. He never knew what he wanted to do with his life for years. We would sit out back of his house, drink beers and ponder, ‘what do you think we will be doing in the year 2006?’ Well here it is Vince. You are married to a great girl, you have baby now, and work at the Jughandle Inn in Cinnaminson, and that's not a bad thing at all. I think it's cool. I am still working, doing radio, etc. The only difference between then and now is I have arthritis. We went down the paths we were supposed to go. But it’s nice to check in to see how your movie is going so far. We rapped for a while and it felt good. The beers set in, and so did Roger. I was curious to know if Standard Deviation did ‘The Theme From The Sparrow’. I know, how selfish of me. I asked this beautiful blonde that I see at their shows a lot if they played. Well I come to find out it’s Billy Corvino’s wife Cami. She said, “You must be Tom.” We chatted for a while, but it’s nearly impossible to understand anyone when a band is playing and you are sitting that close. It’s funny, Roger will ask me questions and it’s like “Dude, I can’t hear a fucking thing you are saying.” I just nod and go, “Ok.” So as he wandered, the band played. They did a lot of bar band stuff which I am not surprised….you have to, in this setting. But they would break into their original material which is always great. The band can be very funky, and cook. This is cool stuff live.Not to mention that Tim McKinstry and Bill are incredible together. The whole band is great, but seeing these two guys play together is great. They compliment each other in the sound of the band. Rarely do I get excited about 2 musicians, especially local ones. These guys have something to build on progressive rock wise. The smell is good from the kitchen. Garlic wings extraordinaire. The band plays, and a chick that could probably beat up any guy in the bar walks over to talk to me. I promised my friends I wouldn’t be cold or mean to any girl that approached me I did not know. So I gave a slight smile and started watching the band again. Roger comes back in after chasing chickens in the lot. He sits and orders a soda. The band’s set ends. Here comes the girl with chicken wing bones hanging out of her mouth walking towards me. Uh oh.
“Hi, how are ya?”
“Good, you?”
“I’m really pissed right now. My boyfriend left me here.”
“oh, I’m sorry to hear that. My name is Tom by the way, this is the keyboardist Tim.”
“Oh hi. My name is Kim.”
“Nice to meet ya Kim…I was just going to have a smoke, wanna go?”
It was just then as I walked out the door and she started acting weird. Cami, Bill’s wife, is outside smoking as well with the band.
“Hey guys, awesome set.”
I say hi and start chatting with Cami, only to have Kim give me the look like we had been dating for 5 years or something.
“Well I have to go. Bye.”
Poof! She stormed away. Wow. Now I know why I am single. Didn’t matter, I didn’t really care to be honest, but it was funny. We go back into the bar, and once again, Roger is nowhere to be found. At this point he’s outside wrestling chickens. I come back to my seat after speaking with f’d up George and Bill, who by the way, are loyal gagliarchives listeners and knew everything that I played. I loved that. I look at the bar and see they bought me a drink. Nice job. I rapped with Vince a little more behind the bar, and the next thing I know there is a 50 year old woman flirting with me. Ok, cool. What vibe am I giving off? This is getting too strange. Oh well. I need to go to Wawa. I left as the band finished, said my goodbyes, petted the chickens, and drove down lonely Forklanding Road back into town, a road that seemed larger than life to me at one time. I thought about the insight that Vince gave me, and how right he was. I was really happy that his life came together. I really was. You always wonder about classmates you were tight with....I am critical of everyone at times, but I had this fuzzy feeling looking at Vince’s life. He said, “Tom the question is, are YOU happy? Look at me; I never knew what I wanted. All the pressures of what everyone AROUND me wanted, made me crazy. Now look. I couldn’t be happier right now. That’s right, I work at the Jug and I have a child and a great wife with a great job. What more could I want?” As I drove home, the song on my CD summed it up.
High Hopes
Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young,
In a world of magnets and miracles.
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
The ringing of the division bell had begun
Along the long road and on down the causeway
Do they still meet there by the cut
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
To a life consumed by slow decay

The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder

Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world

Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There's a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Go down this road we've been so many times

The grass was greener
The light was brighter
The taste was sweeter
The nights of wonder
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river

Forever and ever

Out In The Sun
Saturday was a beautiful day. I ran some errands but more or less just moseyed on through some reading and driving. Then came prep time. Another blockbuster week of new music. Scott McGill gave me his new solo album titled Awareness. This features Ritchie Decarlo and bassist Chico Huff. This album is phenomenal. I’m partial because I am a big McGill fan. The CD features Scotty doing the ‘fretless’ thing. I didn’t know what to expect when I first heard it. Well now I am sold. Great disc and a totally different look on how Scott plays. Tonight I featured the new disc from multi instrumentalist Roger Powell titled Fossil Poets…this new disc comes to us from Inner Knot records who are part of Discipline Global Mobile. Very new age…lots of atmospheres…my listeners complained I should have featured it as the Fourth Hour Space Out spotlight. After the Strawbs show last Sunday, I was flattered to get the new disc from Chas Cronk of old tunes done acoustic called Painted Sky. Very nice. Response on the Strawbs is always good. The wackiness at 1am was a live concert recorded in 2004 from Gong in Tokyo, Japan. Gotta love the Gnomes. I’d say the disc that got the most response tonight was the long awaited new double CD from Rocket Scientists titled Revolution Road. Schiff and Norlander are very powerful on this. A late entry into tonight’s program was Clive Nolan and Agneiszka Swita titled closer. The noted composer/keyboardist Clive Nolan met Polish singer Agneiszka Swita some time ago, (Who is drop dead gorgeous by the way) and vowed to record together. This disc from what we understand is just an EP with a full length album to be done. Her voice is angelic. We'll also featured new music from the ProgQuebec label and the excellent 1977 and 1979 releases from L’engoulevent; I’ile Ou Vivent Les Loups and Etoifilan. With a special thanks to Anchor, I featured the new triple live disc from Dream Theater titled Score - 20th Anniversary World Tour. Quick side note. I remember when I was playing Dream Theater back in 1992 and thinking that these guys were the NEXT ones. And yeah, they have lived up to the expectations. They are one of the greatest Prog Metal bands of all time, if not the greatest. Oh by the way, I got this great email from Bob Garneau, one of my loyalist listeners who has been recording my shows for almost a decade. He sent this email about a show from 2000:
Hi Tom,

Attached you will find an updated, but still incomplete, tracklist for show 671.

This all begins with a broken TV...

Back at Christmastime (2005) my sister gave us a TV. I think it was a 20-inch.. it had a nice
indentation on top, pretty close to geometric center, in a hexagon shape. Turns out she left
a candle burning, and it got too hot and melted into the top of the TV. Didn't seem to affect
the TV, though. About a month ago my kids started complaining about the picture going funny.
For a while, it never did it while I was watching, then one day it did. Went widescreen mode,
except the picture was about 3 inches high. Not watchable at all. But turning off the TV and
waiting for a bit cured it, at least until last week. Then it just plain got stuck in that mode.
Well, since we needed a new TV, and the one in the livingroom was a 10 year old 27-inch job,
no way in heck are the kids getting a new one, so it's off the Best Buy. We picked up a very
nice 30-inch flat-screen TV (that's about 3 feet deep...) and weighs about 110 pounds. After
we finally get the thing in the house, we find out it will not fit into the space for a TV in our
entertainment center. The wife's idea is to get a table for it and stick my stereo equipment
out in the family room. That's fine, except in the family room I've got nowhere to run my
antenna to tune in WBZC. That's another story in itself.. some of which I am sure you
must remember as I've told bits of it over the years. Anyway, suffice to say I am ever
so close to WBZC in stereo that it hurts.. but I digress.. So, now we need a new entertainment
center that will hold a TV almost 32 inches wide, and 5 pieces of stereo equipment. Sauder
comes to the rescue yet again. While I have everything out of the previous cabinet, I find
a half dozen VCR tapes labeled "Gagliarchives". 4 of them have been recorded to my PC at
some point in the not to distant past and archived as MP3, but I run across 2 more that are not!
The one I am listening to as I type you this note is from December of 2000. I looked at the
tracklist on gagliarchives.com, and boy is your version of it messed up... So in the interest of
completeness, I have sent you an updated version of said show, although I am not sure
of all of it is correct. If you would like a CD of the show, let me know. The sound quality is
about a 6 of 10.. some hiss, a few static dropouts, and some "tunneling".. where a few bits
sound like it's in a tunnel.

BTW, it was a really good show. I especially liked the Kevin Gilbert Thud Live material.
Any chance of you getting some on in the next few weeks??? Please???

Bob Garneau.. getting close to 10 years as a loyal listener!!!
How cool is that?
I’ve Got Blisters On Mah Fingahs
Sunday I got up early to watch the Eagles game. Second week in a row we started like crap, came back, only to lose it in the 4th with 9 seconds left and a 62 yard field goal. Who does that? NOBODY. IT WAS THE SECOND LONGEST IN NFL HISTORY. WHO THE FRIG DOES THAT? Anyway, we are 4-3 now. We should be 7-0. Why you ask? Giants loss; we should have blown them out. Even Giants fans agree. New Orleans? We came back to take the lead only to lose it on a field goal after they held the ball for 4 hours. Tampa Bay? Come on. Who kicks a 62 yard field goal? The Eagles will win 9 in a row now. I was thoroughly disgusted and wanted nothing to do with football, although I have to say it again. 62 yards? Huh? Who? Anyway, my plan was to put in the new speakers that Jack gave me. I got home and started working. First, I took apart the front speakers to find that the new ones wouldn’t fit. I was very bummed. So, I decided to use a trick my dad taught me when I was a kid. Put cement glue around the rim of the dry rotted rubber on the paper and let it dry. Worked like a charm. Unfortunately the left front speaker had a bigger problem. The spider BEHIND the speaker itself was damaged. They separated. More or less meaning I would have to get it re-coned. That costs more than the speaker itself. So, I moved to the back speakers on the roll bar. Amidst taking out my old kicker box speakers, I cut my finger. Not bad, but enough where it was bleeding on my face. My neighbors stopped and asked,
“Hey are you ok?”
“Yeah I’m ok, just trying to get these in there.”
“What the hell happened with that Eagles game?” Ugh. Do I have to respond?
“Well, we didn’t win. 62 yard field goal will get you every time.” (blood dripping into my eyes)
“That’s why I am a Bears fan.”
“Bears fan? Oh come on.” I said disgustedly.
“Well, the Eagles haven’t been that good over the last few years.”
“uhh…they went to the superbowl in 2005.”
“Oh they did? I totally forgot.”
“Yeah, they also have been in every championship before that since 2001.”
“Are you sure?”
At this point I gave up. People just don’t think when they speak. At this point, the speakers in the roll bar worked, and the right front worked, while the other speaker was quiet with only the tweeter working. I was done and spent. Just as I was ready to run in and change for food shopping, my neighbor and his hot girlfriend come outside. She’s a HUGE NY sports fan.
“Heh heh heh…so, I see your Eagles blew it again eh?” she said sarcastically.
“Yeah, yeah I know.”
“So what happened to those losers huh?” With a shit eating grin on her face.
“Same thing that happened to the Mets. Only thing was, the Mets losing was so much sweeter.”
You would have thought I killed her pet or something. “Where ya goin? Ya got all quiet…”
She slammed the door and left while her boyfriend Bill just smirked. I was happy. Nothing in the world like telling a NY fan the truth. So I went to the supermarket in Cherry Hill and went food shopping. Food shopping is very therapeutic to me. People think I am crazy, but I really do love shopping at the store. So I got all my necessities and made it home by 11pm. including some great steaks I live for. Another weekend wrapped up. I am off this coming Friday to hang out with my buddy Pole. We are supposed to drink or something like that. In the meantime, I will be prepping all week for the ill fated Halloween show. Should be a spooky one! Speaking of spooky, time to make my prediction for this Saturday. The Eagles must win Sunday.
Eagles 17, Jaguars 9

Program 975 Ran 4 Hours.

2006-10-16T22:05:00.000-07:00

158
34
The Rudderrow Shuffle
Finally. My Jeep was finished. It took nearly two weeks, but the problem transmission wise, has finally been resolved. The funny part? It wasn’t even the transmission. It was the bearings that make the differential work. The Jeep also needed a Synchro kit. Or maybe they made that up. The Jeep also got what I didn’t ask for, a new clutch. I have to be honest. Despite the price, the hassle of trying to get rides everywhere, and being trapped like a prisoner in my apartment for two weeks, I was overjoyed to get my jeep back. I awoke early on Saturday to pick her up. I couldn’t help but think of all the little things I fixed, that took forever to do, the irony would result in my tranny needing repair soon after. But, my Jeep has been loyal and I can’t bash the situation really. Despite the mileage, she has really been good to me. She has shown me things and places I normally wouldn’t see…at least with a car. As I pulled up to the repair shop, there she was. My dad, being the gem he is, decided to wait this time and not take off like he did when the CLACK CLACK CLACK happened the last weekend I thought she was drivable. This may sound silly, but I wanted to hug my Jeep. I’ve never felt that way about a vehicle before. I actually wanted to hug it. I still think my Jeep and Jeeps in general, are the greatest thing that ever hit the road. Yeah it’s dirty, yeah there are stains on the floor from oil, coffee and dirt, yeah the back seat has a sheen of sugar sand on it, yeah the speakers are rigged in the sound bar till I install my new ones Tuesday, yeah the nicest thing in the car is the stereo…sure I hit a deer and his hair is still embedded in the radiator, yeah the wheel hub and fender are still bent, sure the running board on the passenger’s side is broken, but I still adore it. I don’t know why. I just do. I rolled the back window up, took the drivers side windows down and did a test drive. Siiiiiiigh. God I missed it. Shifting the gears was a bit tighter with the new clutch, and at least the whirring sound is gone. I was ecstatic. It was cold but I didn’t care. I am one with the road. I drove through Moorestown while blasting Supper’s Ready. Every year I pull this out and still to this day find myself getting misty at the end. If you can’t admit that it moves you, either you are dead, or you must be a Borg. So after so many years of knowing this song front ward and backwards…I finally decided to reveal my interpretation of it…
Supper’s Ready
I first heard this song when I was 14 and was immediately entranced by its construction and design. So in order for me to describe this, I will need you to get your Genesis Foxtrot CD, and put track 6 on pause. I’ll wait…………………………..
Ok ready?
i.LOVER’S LEAP
The scene begins with our main character explaining to his wife about his disappearance for the last week. She looks at him confused…perplexed. As he begins to go into the strange story, it fades back to before he vanished. The scene takes us to bedtime for a couple that hasn’t had the best of times as of late. Like anything in a relationship, the mind plays tricks and you question yourself whether in fact you are still in love with that person. The questions of uncertainty can reign dominant at times…it all begins to make things hazy. Am I ‘in’ love? Am I just going through the motions? Is our love strong enough? Can this last? These questions prior are plaguing our main character….
Walking across the sitting-room, I turn the television off.
Sitting beside you, I look into your eyes.
As the sound of motorcars fades in the night time.
I swear I saw your face change, it didn't seem quite right . . . .. .
He flashes back to the beginning of their love.
And its hello babe with your guardian eyes so blue.
Hey my baby don't you know our love is true.
The stagnation of marriage was setting in. But as he gets up to close the windows and shutters due to the bright moon, he sees an unfamiliar site. Seven priests walking on his lawn, one with a cross in his hand. They beckon him to come outside. He turns to look at his sleeping wife...
Coming closer with our eyes, a distance falls around our bodies.
Out in the garden, the moon seems very bright.
Six saintly shrouded men move across the lawn slowly,
The seventh walks in front with a cross held high in hand. .....
He remembers his wife calling him in for dinner whilst working in the garden…the first time they moved into their cottage. His fear and curiosity keep him fixated on his lawn.
And it’s hey babe your supper's waiting for you.
Hey my baby don't you know our love is true.
The scene returns to him explaining what has happened on his journey to his wife who stares at his tattered and ripped clothes. He starts crying and hugging his wife…
I've been so far from here,
Far from your warm arms.
It’s good to feel you again.
It’s been a long long time. Hasn't it?
The scene fades to our character walking into the horizon with children in large masses following him…they are dressed in white as well. He walks as if he knows what he has to do, yet has no idea what he is supposed to do. As they walk through the lush green fields with a backdrop that could only be reproduced through art, our hero arrives with the children at a setting that is familiar to him. It’s his normal life. But he sees what he hasn’t seen before, or chose not to see before. All the simple things that engulf his life are truly a battle between what is right and wrong. A setting that seemed so comforting and not obvious to him in normal life, has all of the sudden become the most critically evil thing he has encountered. The farmer and the fireman question his faith…
ii. THE GUARANTEED ETERNAL SANCTUARY MAN
I know a farmer who looks after the farm,
With water clear, he cares for all his harvest.
I know a fireman who looks after the fire.
Our main character is torn. Little does he know, the devil has incarnated himself in these normal roles of peace and normality. He tries to penetrate our hero’s psyche. They ridicule and criticize his beliefs…their deception almost works…
You, can't you see he's fooled you all.
Yes, he's here again, can't you see he's fooled you all.
Share his peace,
Sign the lease.
He's a supersonic scientist,
He's the guaranteed eternal sanctuary man.
Look, look into my mouth he cries.
And all the children lost down many paths,
I bet my life, you'll walk inside,
Hand in hand, gland in gland,
With a spoonful of miracle,
He's the guaranteed eternal sanctuary.
He realizes he is in fact the Devil trying to sway him...he turns to look at the children…he finds comfort in their innocence…something he no longer has.
We will rock you, rock you little snake,
We will keep you snug and warm.
He has passed his first test of temptation.
He remembers his life. He has a home, a family, a loving wife that he wishes he was with now. How does one explain this all?
Our hero finds himself between two armies. These are armies that have fought for centuries. He’s been called into battle….
iii. IKHNATON AND ITSACON AND THEIR BAND OF MERRY MEN
Wearing feelings on our faces while our faces took a rest,
We walked across the fields to see the children of the West,
We saw a host of dark skinned warriors standing still below the ground,
Waiting for battle.
Fights begun, they've been released.
Killing foe for peace . . . bang, bang, bang.
Bang, bang, bang . . .
And they've given me a wonderful potion,
'Cos I cannot contain my emotion.
And even though I'm feeling good,
Something tells me, I'd better activate my prayer capsule.
The side our hero is on has won…the energy of the music captures the intensity of battle.
Today's a day to celebrate, the foe have met their fate.
The order for rejoicing and dancing has come from our warlord.
Unfortunately, winning isn’t always everything…and war is not always the answer. Despite the joy of their victory…our hero contemplates his circumstance. As those around him celebrate…he realizes what sets himself apart from the warriors. He is torn yet again.
iv. HOW DARE I BE SO BEAUTIFUL?
Wandering in the chaos the battle has left,
We climb up the mountain of human flesh,
To a plateau of green grass, and green trees full of life.
A young figure sits still by a pool,
He's been stamped "Human Bacon" by some butchery tool (he is you).
Social Security took care of this lad,
We watch in reverence, as Narcissus is turned to a flower.
A flower?
v. WILLOW FARM
He turns to see a beautiful flower standing in front of him almost heckling him…despite its beauty you can obviously see this doesn’t fit….Narcissus is inane…and insane…the flower begins to show the worth of our hero’s life and his colorful offering to lure him to his world…
If you go down to Willow Farm, to look for butterflies, flutterbyes, gutterflies.
Open your eyes, it’s full of surprise, everyone lies, (Degrading the value of human life)
like the fox on the rocks, and the musical box. (Sees old Henry’s head knocked off)
Oh, there's Mum and Dad, and good and bad,
and everyone's happy to be here. (All the things we are raised to believe are good are everywhere…even in hell…or so he wants us to think.)
There's Winston Churchill dressed in drag,
he used to be a British flag, plastic bag, what a drag.
The frog was a prince, the prince was a brick,
the brick was an egg,
the egg was a bird,
Hadn't you heard?
(They are going to change you to a human being!)
Yes we're happy as fish, and gorgeous as geese,
and wonderfully clean in the morning.
(Narcissus does his best to tempt our hero…..)
We’ve got everything, we’re growing everything,
We’ve got some in,
We’ve got some out,
We’ve got some wild things floating about.
Everyone, we’re changing everyone,
You name them all,
We’ve had them here,
And the real stars are still to appear.
ALL CHANGE!
(The scene shows Narcissus reeling off all the celebrities that crossed to his side, including all the world leaders and people of interest)
Feel your body melt;
Mum to mud to mad to dad Dad diddley office,
Dad diddley office,
You're all full of ball. (This life is all a lie….if you join us, you will appreciate things more. Who needs faith when you have all this decadence?)
Dad to dam to dum to mum
Mum diddley washing, Mum diddley washing,
You're all full of ball.
Let me hear your lies, we're living this up to the eyes.
Ooee-ooee-ooee-aa
Momma I want you now.
(His fear begins to take over him and starts to realize, whoever this is, is not for good)
And as you listen to my voice
To look for hidden doors, tidy floors, more applause. (Our hero sees who this really is now)
You've been here all the time, (Life is hell on earth for some)
Like it or not, like what you got,
You're under the soil,
Yes deep in the soil. (We all wind up going in the same place. Is human life and faith worth it?)
So we'll end with a whistle and end with a bang and all of us fit in our places.
He has passed his second test. Satan gives up and vanishes into the ground while the costume of Narcissus he wore is ripped apart in anger at our hero not flinching. Our hero takes the children to a safe place to rest. He needs too. Dealing with Satan is traumatic and exhausting….as he sleeps he is suddenly awakened by remembering what the Farmer and Fireman did to him earlier….there are more tests yet to take my friend.
The battle of good and evil, the Apocalypse is upon us.
vi. APOCALYPSE IN 9/8 (CO-STARRING THE DELICIOUS TALENTS OF GABBLE RATCHET)
With the guards of Magog, swarming around,
The Pied Piper takes his children underground.
Dragon's coming out of the sea,
Shimmering silver head of wisdom looking at me. (God looks at our hero)
He brings down the fire from the skies,
You can tell he's doing well by the look in human eyes.
Better not compromise. (You cannot compromise with the Devil. There are no negotiations.)
It won't be easy. (Damn right it won’t)
The battle ensues. All those that have died before have risen up. It’s what has taken place in Revelation. The seven churches, the fire, the brimstone, Satan’s minions, they are all in the heat of the battle.
666 is no longer alone,
He's getting out the marrow in your backbone,
And the seven trumpets blowing sweet rock and roll,
Gonna blow right down inside your soul.
Pythagoras with the looking-glass, reflects the full moon, (His numbers figure correctly)
In blood, he's writing the lyrics of a brand new tune.
It now fast forwards to our hero with his wife finishing his story he had no idea he would tell. Her eyes are damp…and after all the chaos, pain, insanity, and peril. All he can see are her beautiful blue eyes he swore to honor till his death…
And it’s hey babe, with your guardian eyes so blue,
Hey my baby, don't you know our love is true,
I've been so far from here,
Far from your loving arms,
Now I'm back again, and baby it's going to work out fine.
vii AS SURE AS EGGS IS EGGS (ACHING MEN'S FEET)
Can't you feel our souls ignite
Shedding ever-changing colours, in the darkness of the fading night.
Like the river joins the ocean, as the germ in a seed grows
We have finally been freed to get back home.
Babies are conceived, people are freed, souls once lost are now found, all the pain, sorrow, and sadness fall away
There's an angel standing in the sun, and he's crying with a loud voice,
"This is the supper of the mighty one".
Lord of Lords,
King of Kings,
Has returned to lead his children home,
To take them to the New Jerusalem.
And the children walk into the sunset….he stands back with his wife and watches…

At least that’s what I think…

Or what I hope….
Gagliathetics
I felt good Saturday night…maybe it was because I was driving again…what a new experience that is! I stopped off at Jack’s to pick up some music for the program, and drool over his computer system. Jack has so many toys he could probably tap into the Pentagon’s computers if he tried. He offered up a mint vinyl copy of Second’s Out from Genesis. Now the reason being, last Saturday I featured Foxtrot, and played the suite better known as Supper’s Ready. So a lot of you emailed me to say I should play the Phil Collins version as well seeing that Second’s Out was released this time back in 1977. Unfortunately, I don’t have it on CD, but I still believe in vinyl for depth in sound. Unfortunately, there is popping and clicking that the beloved item does that turns off so many in this digital age. So, upon arriving at the studio, I sat in productions and listened to the album. Sounded good, no clicking, very little popping etc. Then came airplay time. It was awful. The clicking was so loud through the compressor in the FM antenna I almost stopped it. Dan in western Colorado was ripping me for playing it…while others were crucifying me for playing anything that Phil Collins was on. Whatever. People really are shallow. Phil Collins resume alone from 1971-1981 should be suffice to say that he paid his dues. Phil is a very open minded drummer that offered his skills and only 10% of the time albeit vocals. So whatever on that. Grow up and take your blinders off. Stop the hatin. Our main premiere tonight was the new disc from keyboardist extraordinaire Scott Kinsey titled Kinesthetics. This excellent new album features a who’s who of session artists. Vinnie Colauita, Scott Henderson, Gary Willis, Alex Acuna…I could go down the list. This disc in the post airing received a ton of buzz from both local and internet. It’s calling for a second spin soo….Another big response was in the new double CD from Richard Pinhas titled Metatron in our 4th Hour Space Out Segment. The CD has the new sound the Pinny is goin for, but still rocks at other intervals. Features some help from the old days, and new as well on this gem from the French master. Speaking of French, I continued on with our second straight spotlight on the new discs from the ProgQuebec label. This week it was an unearthed live concert from Maneige recorded between 1974-1975 titled Les Porches Live. The sound quality was quite succulent, and even features a never released track from the era. After feed back was so great following independent artist Tom Grose and his Jetsam CD, we featured his other 06 release titled At Bay….Not exactly the response like Jetsam, but still was favorable. We kicked things off tonight with the iconic, landmark recording from composer/keyboardist Patrick Moraz tited The Story Of I. This was a milestone for Patrick, which put him at the forefront of keyboardists of the time. The sound quality in these remasters is totally worth the price. Patrick will join us soon to reflect on this new set of gems re-released. I also got a little funky in the midnight hour by featuring the new disc from Club D'Elf titled Now I Understand. This is more of a collective that was turned on to me by Jeannie Becker, host of our Sunday show Time Out For Jazz. It’s a mix of RnB, funk, jazz, rock, ambient, trance….with many indicators pointing it towards prog rock…no doubt the influence is there. ReR just sent on the latest remaster of the 1980 album from Italian project Picchio Dal Pozzo and their Abbiamo Tutti I Suoi Problemi. This band was one of the rare Italian bands with a heavy Canterbury influence. I think this is another underrated gem that’s a must get. After the show, I left for home with the windows still off. I was surprised there was no frost on my eyebrows once I got there. God I love my Jeep…………………………..
I Am Immersed, And Love Forgets
Sunday was a tough day. The Eagles lost to the Saints in New Orleans. A game they clearly should have won. Well, at least they responded and scored 21 unanswered points. That’s why I believe this Eagles team is the partially the Eagles of the last few years (excluding 05-06). I have to admit, being an Eagles fan is great. At least right now. But I’ll be honest. It’s just as great when they are losing. And I mean this only in the camaraderie that the fandom has. Other than that, it’s a great excuse to get drunk early on a Sunday morning. After the game, I jetted to my house to prep for the Strawbs concert in Philadelphia’s Tin Angel. The date was with Roger and Cindy. This means usually, when the Strawbs play in Philly, it’s a cry fest for both me and Rohario. It hits us in a primal way…kinda like when you hear the bagpipes. Either it hits you spiritually, or you think it’s this obnoxious noisemaker that looks like a big spider. That’s what I think of the Strawbs. We arrived at Serrano for dinner in my incognito outfit. Didn’t matter, people still knew who I was. It was nice to put faces to your listener’s names. I had some of Roger’s Duck Pizza. It was ok, but I am not a big fan of Duck. It tends to be greasy and gamey and is rarely ever a first choice. The bread was good though. Once the show started in the cramped Tin Angel, I sat next Cindy and began to take in the ambiance. The set list went like this:
Benedictus -- (Beautiful start. Always a smile to be had to see this song played)
Simple Visions -- (Great as well, besides the guy that kept yelling, “Wow, Wow, Wow”)
New World – (Maybe he was high, but the guy kicked the “Wow, Wow, Wow” up a notch)
Flower And the Young Man – (Another great story to be told that had nothing to do with the song)
Golden Salamander – (“Wow, Wow, Wow” well now he is sitting by the bathroom goin “Do it Do it”)
Two Weeks Last Summer – (I’m buzzed now, but out of the blue the Bush bashers came out and started chanting. They heard crickets following the rant. Cousins looked at them as if they were nuts)
Ghosts – (What can I say, this is a tear jerker. I can’t look at Rog during this song.)
Shine on Silver Sun (Always beautiful live, but not a personal favorite)
Autumn – (I didn’t make it through the song. Too powerful for me…sobbed through it.)
The Battle (Outside smoking)
The River/Down By the Sea (Still outside, met their road manager who was hot)
Lay Down (Got back for this. Great song…always makes me think of…)
Hero And Heroine (Do I need to explain? It’s a classic)
After the show, I spoke with Dave briefly, then Lambert, and closing out with Chas. All in all a great show, and it never seems to fail. I always meet the coolest people at these shows. Maybe that’s why I am into this music after all. Not for the music at all….As for the Eagles game against Tampa Bay this coming weekend? Eagles win in a rout. They rebound big. 31-10. Donovan has a career day.

Program 974 Ran 3 Hours And 58 Minutes.

2006-10-08T23:27:00.000-07:00

150
65
Wranglin’ My Bearings
After the Monday night game, it was inevitable. Time to take the car to Cottman. I didn’t want to. I hate mechanics. They are liars. Cheating, sniveling, non emotional liars. They will rack up charges that don’t exist, and not to mention they back pedal once you prove to them they are being shady. So, extremely reluctant, my dad insisted I go to the mechanic up the street by his house. He swears by him. Me? I hate them all. If and when I ever become a terrorist, I plan on taking out all the local mechanics, and then DMV. I will tell everyone to get out of the buildings, but then just blow up their infrastructure. Bombing is too easy though. I’d want a fortified and reinforced Mac Truck. Then I will just blow right through these places. Anyway, my dad follows me to the Cottman transmission place. I walk in there and I could tell already that these guys were ready for me.
“Jeep giving you problems?”
“Yes, it sounds as if my bearings are grinding.”
“Ok, looks like you will need a new clutch.”
“Huh? I haven’t even given you my key yet.”
“Yeah but that’s usually what happens.”
I was furious already. I turn to my father and he gives me that ‘don’t worry, I know these guys, and they are cool.’ look. So at this point, my face is getting hot and my pressure is rising.
“When was the last time you blew your clutch out?”
“NEVER”
“Are you sure? How many miles have put on it?”
“150,000 miles. NEVER NEEDED TO PUT IN A CLUTCH EVER.”
“Oh…ok. Maybe you won’t need one….but I sure hope you don’t have the suitcase transmission”
“What? Suitcase? Did you just make that up? Do you think I am a rogue or something?”
My dad silently kicks me behind the counter. I didn’t want him to think I was mad for him taking me here, but he knows dam right well that I HATE dealerships, mechanics, and transmission garages. They are liars and thieves and should be all shot execution style. So reluctantly, I gave my key to him. This was Tuesday. By Thursday, I decided to check in on them.
“Yes I’m calling in regards to my 1997 Jeep Wrangler I dropped off Tuesday…can I get a status report?”
“oh…”(Silent giggling) “ Yeah, the Wrangler. We have no clue. Waiting on parts right now.”
“Ok, when can I expect it done?”
“hmmm..maybe next week. If you want, you can come get it now and just bring it back Monday….you won’t do anymore damage than is already done.”
So my dad decides to take me to it. Hey it’s a lot better than to hassle anyone else for rides all weekend long. We get there. It’s raining. I walk in, and ask for my keys.
“Yeah, your Jeep should be fine to drive around this weekend.”
I get in, start my Jeep, put it in reverse and KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK KLACK.
I pull it back into the spot. Walk in, look right at him.
“Dude, I’m not taking that Jeep. It’s making noises it WASN’T making when I brought it here.”
“oh…you know what? I think they opened it up and moved some stuff around when they checked it out.”
“Well, why would you give it to me?”
No response. I hate them. LIARS. SCUMBAGS. Worse than lawyers and the liberal New Jersey state government.
Thru These Walls
I sat in my apartment every night this week wanting to bite my veins out of my arms. Yeah I have no car. Not like I would have gone out anyway….but still, at least I would have had a car to go out with to like….say…. ‘Wawa’ or something. I can’t even do that. The closest ‘store’ is the gas station on Route 38 and the Uni mart a quarter mile away. It’s close when you have a vehicle…30 minutes without one. So, with the help of the Great Santoni, I was able to get rides home from work, but was trapped once I was home. Santoni is a great guy. Reminds me of every Italian cousin I ever had. He is the authority on College Football both past and present, and the NFL. Then he is just as brilliant in his knowledge of Baseball, and Hockey. Even Basketball. He is very passionate about it, and my admiration of him is that he has the same ‘negadelphia’ view that I have on local sports. We are both on the same page. His knowledge of sports history would be as comparable as my knowledge of progressive rock and fusion. But his negativity is more solid than mine because deep down inside, I find a way to get pulled back into loving my teams. By the time Friday arrived, I couldn’t wait to actually stay home. Here it is Friday night, and I have NO desire to do anything. Another thing that bums me out is the loss of my nest egg due to this transmission ordeal. Just when I think I am getting ahead, THEY PULL ME BACK IN. Oh well…that’s life.
The Special K
Saturday morning was panicky. I thought about maybe getting a ride up to the station to at least drop a 4 hour tape since I most likely wouldn’t be able to get a ride home. I couldn’t find anyone to help me get up there or at least make an arrangement for me to get to work. Between my friends sleeping and going to weddings and the like, I was in a tight spot. Then I got the best call of the day. My Dad decided to give in and lend me one of the 3 cars he has for the day. He already told me I would be getting his 1985 Chrysler LeBaron literally in mint condition. So I am counting the days so I can drive that, while I rebuild and repair my Jeep. My first car was a Plymouth Reliant so I know how the K cars operate. Little boxie cars with an engine slightly stronger than a lawn mower and surprisingly good on gas. The paint job is fading and corroding like most mid 80’s MOPAR paint brands, but I’ll just go to Maaco and get it repainted black. The interior of the car smelled a bit musty due to the leak within the door….nothing some Carpet Fresh can’t get rid of. I drove the car back and it reminded me of the old days. I pulled up in front of my house with my neighbors staring.
“What happened to your car?”
“Transmission”
“So you bought this?”
“No, this is my dad’s car he’s giving me.”
“So you won’t have your Jeep anymore?”
“No I will get it back this week.”
“What will you do with this car?”
“I will give it back to my dad so he can turn it over to me.”
“But what about your Jeep?”
I walked inside at that point. Why even go through it again? I capped the afternoon off with watching the Yankees lose (YAY) and working on Saturday’s show. It was fun to see NY lose…or any NY team for that matter….kinda pumps me up in a weird way…HA!
The Thunder From Down Under
The accumulation of great music has been a bit much in the last few weeks. There is just too much to play with too little time. My special guest this week would be a sure thing. Frank Gambale. Frank began playing music at a young in Australia before heading to the United States in his early twenties. From there, the rest is history. He played and recorded with some of the best; John Luc Ponty, Chick Corea, Holdsworth etc. He was good spirited and talked about his most recent compilations that have been released, and his new album as well called Natural High. The new disc is standards and all acoustic, something that Frank hasn’t stepped into in quite some time. We talked about some of the Yamaha gear he has been using along with his upcoming tour dates with Chick Corea and his upcoming tour to India for the first time. At #1 for the fourth week is The Mars Volta. This CD is sending shockwaves almost as strong as it’s predecessor and the new Pure Reason Revolution. Requests have been in full force from the younger crowd, but now the older crowd is appreciating it as well. One point I want to get across…the PRR CD is getting almost as many requests as of now…so who knows what could happen next week. Tonight I featured some more fusion oriented CD’s. The first being a disc that knocked me off my chair when I first tracked it in Tom Grose’s Jetsam. This CD has a strong Zappa influence but his keyboard playing and guitar playing are second to none. Where did he come from? Who knows, I can’t find anything about this guy anywhere. But nonetheless, it’s a good disc. More avant-jazz in Fasteau/Jordan/Thompson and their People Of The Ninth: New Orleans And The Hurricane 2005 CD. Fans of ReR and Cuneiform will eat this disc up. And apparently, this must be BRAND new because there are no listings online anywhere in regards to it. Great stuff. Speaking of Cuneiform, the new September releases are getting some great feedback. I featured the new Birdsongs Of The Mesozoic album featuring vocalist Oral Moses titled Extreme Spirituals. From their website; Oral Moses is a major interpreter of the African American canon. Born in South Carolina, he began singing in the US 7th Army Soldiers Chorus, continued as a member of the famed Fisk Jubilee singers, then earned his doctorate in vocal performance and opera at the University of Michigan. Moses' scholarly work is featured in the seminal anthology, Feel the Spirit: Studies in 19th Century Afro-American Music. He has also released several CDs. His voice is booming and powerful. He has the amazing ability to make this all work with the backdrop of the avant-garde music of Birdsongs. Great work, and should not be overlooked. These songs are powerful, and truly are the roots to our history as a people…not just African American history, but American history. We concluded our spotlight in our 4th Hour Space Out with Jade Warrior’s 4th reissue from Eclectic titled Way Of The Sun. Another beautiful and stunning album that finally got the justice it deserved in being remastered and reissued. Speaking of reissues, the magicians at Progquebec have returned with a new set goodies. This week I went with vocalist/guitarist/keyboardist Jacques Tom Rivest of Pollen fame and his self titled debut solo album. And as always around this week, I feature the album that changed it all for me. Genesis Foxtrot. What October is complete without a little Supper’s Ready?
Don’t Believe The Hype
TO, TO, TO, TO,….oh whatever. Go away would you? Sunday was the Innovator’s annual Progbecue. This year it was off the hizzy. Ken smoked several Pork butts, grilled incredible chicken sausage, and thousands of other things. This year was special because they had a wide assortment of different foods. Everything was absolutely incredible. The smell of pork, smoke, the sounds of people laughing, talking, drinking…all in all it was an absolute success. I had to stop and smile to myself at this one. It was a party. Football on, on the big screen, Innovator’s music blasting downstairs from the basement, obscure artwork littering the modern set up of this wonderful house, and great people. Drummer Vic Stevens was there whom I hadn’t seen since his return to South Jersey from Colorado. Vic loves making sure he puts me in my place when I start to say intelligent things. Scott McGill was there who handed me a fresh copy of his latest work…fellow Paisan and ARK drummer John Macaluso was there as well with his beautiful girlfriend. John and I rapped for a while and every time I look at this guy, I can’t help but see our life has so many parallels. A little nudge, and I could be this guy. Tom from SPV was there and was a pleasure to put a face to the name I have been talking to for so many years. He was very curious about my family history, and about southern New Jersey’s history. Also in attendance were Innovator’s neighbors Fred and his lovely wife. Michael Mazur showed up as well. He’s a big teddy bear this guy. Always smiling. Just as I was leaving, keyboard extraordinaire Vitali Kuprij arrived with his girlfriend…it truly was a who’s who at this party I had to sadly leave. I left halfway through the first quarter of the Eagles game while the much hated Cowboys had the lead. I went to my parents to watch the second half. What a game. The best game I have seen Donovan McNabb have in a couple years. Not to mention, TO was no factor. He didn’t catch a ball until midway through the third quarter. Lot of overhype. My friends who were in attendance at Eagles nation down in South Philly said it was nuts. 700 different news agencies were present. Including Al-Jazeera. This was the big game. And guess what. WE WON. Lito Sheppard picks off a passing attempt from Drew Bledsoe just as he was aiming for Terry Glenn. Lito ran it back 102 yards for the touchdown. God it was awesome. This game may be the tide turner on all the nay sayers that insist on having the Eagles under the radar. Their next opponent will be the New Orleans Saints in New Orleans. The Saints will be tough, and this won’t be a cake walk. I think as of now, Drew Brees is the real deal at QB, while Reggie Bush may be a rookie…he is very scary. However, I think the Eagles will in. 24-21
Time to watch Sportscenter, read the Cowboys message board, laugh and gloat.

Program 973 Ran 4 Hours and 3 Minutes.

2006-10-03T02:15:00.000-07:00

190
67
All That You Love, Will Be Carried Away
Saturday was a bit chaotic. I had to get my Jeep checked out because something isn’t right. I hear grinding in my transmission. I am very, very worried. I can get it taken care of, but it will pound me financially. The car did some heating up and I fixed that at Pep Boys. But on the good side, I finally got the new JVC car stereo I wanted. That was step 1. Step 2 is to get the rear and front speakers replaced. Then lastly, step 3 is to get the subwoofer. The Jeep needs lots of repairs however. My pride and joy needs 2 new sway bars in the front. She needs a new bumper from the hit and run. The soft top roof needs to be repaired heavily (Dirt and small tears here and there). I need new driver side and passenger side zipper windows. The carpet is absolutely filthy and stained. That needs to be repaired. And last but not least, a problem I have had since I got the Jeep, has been the exhaust. And apparently, this has troubled even the previous owner. And overall, the Jeep needs to be repainted. I won’t rest till all of this is done, and the (gulp) transmission getting repaired. If that’s what the case is anyway. The stereo sounded great though. The only way I got the rumbling in my Jeep to stop was by making the stereo louder. That worked! As I waited for my stereo to get installed, I passed out in Circuit City in the new TV Chair section (they vibrate) as I watched the Memphis game. Once I was called to get back to the installation department, 2 quarters had passed. Now, those that know me know I never close my Jeep up. This stereo installer had the courtesy of closing my whole Jeep up for me. I was kinda flattered to be honest, but wanted to say, “Dude, you didn’t have to do all that. I kinda like it being open and wet with rain.” But when I realized how stupid that was to say, so I just kept quiet. So I popped my first CD in the new player….Echolyn’s The End Is Beautiful, then on to Mats/Morgan On Air With Guests. This CD smokes. Outrageously hot and sonically awesome. I could definitely tell the difference in sound depth with the new JVC. I live for music and if it’s going to be in my car, it better sound good. Look it ain’t Alpine or anything…but it serves its new purpose. When all was said and done, I was on my way to Mount Royal’s SWINEFEST 2006. Many distractions however…the Phillies were playing Florida in a make or break game to keep them alive for a possible playoff trip, my email directions to Ray Laboda never made it to them to get to the radio station for the show…and my Jeep is making funny noises underneath me.
JVC KD G320 DETAILS:
» CD player with built-in amplifier (18 watts RMS/50 peak x 4 channels)
» plays CDs, CD-Rs, and CD-RWs (including discs loaded with MP3 and WMA files)
» Custom Equalizer (cEQ) — offers six preset tone settings (each setting can be adjusted to your taste) and a 2-band EQ
» loudness
» detachable face
» two sets of preamp outputs (rear outputs can be switched to subwoofer mode)
» subwoofer level and frequency control
» low-pass filter
» CEA-2006 compliant amplifier
» 24-bit digital-to-analog converter
» iPod-ready
» satellite radio-ready
» 18 FM/6 AM presets
» clock
» wireless remote
» CD frequency response: 5-20,000 Hz
» CD signal-to-noise ratio: 98 dB
» FM sensitivity: 11.3 dBf
» warranty: 1 year

Throw Your Pearls Before The Swine
I arrived at the Polish chef’s annual event a bit apprehensive. Last year, I ate a lot. I mean a serious, heart stopping amount. I didn’t know if I could top last year. When I arrived…Greg’s chef hat was the first thing I saw. The smell of hickory and mesquite was in full force, while people circled around the house drinking beer as if we were down at the shore. I saw the smoker, and was drawn to it. I pulled up a chair and let it enshroud me. Temps were riding in the 160 range and Chef Pole wasn’t happy. Banks, the Rush Chairman, made sure to the best of his ability to keep things under control and handled. By 4:00 it was inevitable…the Phillies were eliminated. A slight feeling of emptiness came over me. 162 games of hopes, disappointment, anger, happiness, disgust.......all fell to the floor. The only thing that could keep me out of the doldrums, was beautifully smoked vinegar ribs that Chef Pole is sooooooo good at. So I sat and ate, and insisted everyone turn their back to me while I ate. Kinda like Dennis Hopper as he breathed in the ether in Blue Velvet. “DON’T LOOK AT ME..” I don’t know. I just have this thing that if I don’t know you, you can’t watch me eat ribs or crabs. Weird…I know. As twilight approached, I realized that the world was a pretty small place. This guy named ‘Defaio’, at least I think, knew all my cousins from South Philadelphia, and knew the rest of my entire family. He proclaimed his love for my cousin Lori Ann who I must admit; I even had a thing for. As the night ensued, I really wanted to drink but had to be responsible. The radio show was a special edition as the New Jersey Proghouse guys were coming in. I sent out the directions to them from Pole’s, and it was time for me to get directions to the closest Dunkin Donuts. I left historic Mount Royal for the truck stop district for some hot coffee. There are times in life that good things happen. I pulled up at Dunkin Donuts by 295 north to just get a small cup…only problem was; this was a cash only store. So I had to find a MAC machine. So I pull into the truck stop…tap MAC, pay the $2.95 fee for usin the freakin thing (FUCKING CRIMINALS), smelled urine while I waited for the Gerbils inside the machine to spin my money out, and proceed to get my crack; a small with extra/extra, and a Boston Cream donut. As I am driving away, the cashier stops me. “Wait right here…”
I wait….and here he comes with a large bag of donuts. “You a good guy…tank you for the teep!”
Sometimes................ good things happen. You eventually get something back….
"This Time Alone"
[Lyrics by Ray Weston]

No sounds, this time alone
No one mentions my name, or a single word to me
Finally found this, left the rest behind

Wish I could stay like this
Feel like drifting away, visibility forever
Wide open, focus this time alone

Spring coming, sink so deep
Float so slowly as I go down

Alone at last, no circles to stand in
I've filled my head all full of me
And surrendered completely
Don't take offense if I don't want to share
These circles make me nervous
All closed in and uptight
My save me's go unheard now I've met my weakest point
I need a bit of distance for control

Nobody sees you like I do
Nobody loves you like I do
Nobody needs you like I do

Selfish, but well spent
Few and far between is the luxury of alone
Use this distance, left the rest behind

I am, I think, I want, I need, this for myself

You Touchin Me, Metuchen You
We presented our radio special centered on the New Jersey Proghouse. Like last year, we were graced with the presence of Ray Laboda, Jim Robinson, and Jon Yarger. They aren’t strangers to me or the radio show and as always, it’s a pleasure to have them on. They have made an impact in central New Jersey in the last 6 years with their small, yet personable concerts. Jim Robinson, the one I have known the longest, worked his butt off in the beginning of his concert series, to something that pretty much controls its own destiny now. In the early days of his concert series, Jim was screwed over a lot. Lying managers, low turnouts, etc. But things have gone his way like they should for good people. His reputation for his concert series now speak for themselves. Karma baby. Jim is a good guy…no agenda, no phoniness, a real person. What you see, is what you get. So his success, I feel personally over the years, is attributed to his fairness and objectiveness in the music and the people he has had over the years. Jim is also the official head cracker at Nearfest. He has done amazing things for our program as well. Him, Kevin Feeley, and Ray Laboda, were instrumental in making sure our live broadcasts in the past went over with no problems. They made sure we had equipment, extra hands, and of course, stuff to give away on the radio show. I can’t say enough about how good Jim is. Ray Laboda and I met only a few years ago. I didn’t know much about him at first, but as we got to talking, I realized he is one of the craziest, most intense, and passionate people I have ever met. The Proghouse is VERY important to him. He is vocal about how he feels, and doesn’t back down from his opinion. Ray is fair to those who are fair to him, and his rewards are obvious. He balances out Jim Robinson perfectly. Not to mention, Ray has one of the greatest sense of humors I know. His wind is disastrously strong. As for Jon Yarger…Jon has been a force in the progrock radio scene since 1996. Hence the website http://www.progradio.net/. Jon is the guy you see at most NJPH concerts running the video camera and getting a quality recording of the performances. Jon was our original internet broadcast carrier before Aural Moon took over in 1999. He was mainly quiet during the broadcast as always Saturday night. Saturday night set a milestone for the most listeners in 2006 at one interval between 1030-1130PM with 210 live listeners…great numbers. One of the big shows coming up at the NJPH will be the coming of Zero Hour on 11/5/06. That is a Sunday. The looks on all their faces when I featured the new album Specs Of Pictures Burnt Beyond sold them. These guys are going to blow the doors off of that place.
Forever Until Sunday
Sunday I decided, since the Eagles weren’t playing till Monday, to get some little things done I needed to. First, fix the lighter that hasn’t worked in my Jeep since I got it. After 2 hours of rigorous testing, we came to the realization that the wire internally was fried. So after 2 trips to Pep Boys, I found the lighter that would fit. My parent’s neighbor Jeff helped with splicing the wires to run from the fuse box and run it clean with no wires showing. It worked! And no, just because I am a smoker doesn’t mean THAT’S why I got it fixed. I needed to repair it for my second job. Hooking up my Sirius Satellite Network unit. I had the window mount along with the antenna wires and the like set up so you could hardly see it. And the lighter makes it all work…see?
COZY Analyzes Our Logo:

ScippyLisp: I've always wondered why you're wearing a helmet

ScippyLisp: and if it's archives, why do you look futuristic? ;-)

ScippyLisp: and if it is a prog show, how come you don't play Yes? >:o

ScippyLisp: and wtf is a Gagli anyway??? =-O

What Time Is it? It’s 6:30
My dad called me Sunday to say that he couldn’t go to the Eagles game on Monday night because of a recording session. Yeah I was disappointed, but quickly tried to find a partner in crime to go to the game with. I decided on bringing my brother. He happily said yes. We left for the game about 5ish to get to the Linc by 5:30. We arrived at 5:42. We were meeting my Swinefest founder Chef Pole at the game. We parked across the street, and I brought my folding chair, my grill, my walkman, my propane, my charcoal (as a backup), my brother, and my optimism. Once we arrived at the tailgate spot, I started chugging beers. I fired up the grill as well and we started on the prep for an early snack. It was then that Chef’s friend arrived at our tailgate spot. It was also then that an old friend visited me in Mr. Jaegermeister. After 5 Yuenglings, I started on it. Boy was I feeling good. Sadly, I only ate about 3 ribs. Far too worked up for the Eagles game is my thinking…but nonetheless, I am having a good time. By the time I had the third Jaeger, I was in that special place. I started talking to the tailgaters next to us, and after 2 more beers, Pippy and I were trying to GIVE ribs away. Pole's tailgating music consisted of Eagles fight songs, recordings from the field, and of course...John Facenda, the voice of god. So most of the night I kept telling everyone it was 6:30. 15 minutes to kick off, it's 6:30. We closed up shop and it was time to get into the stadium. My brother hadn't been to a regular season game with me in years, and I felt...this is kinda cool...me and my brother on my birthday kinda, are going to see an Eagles game. I think it was the first time in years I actually didn't want to kill him. Once we got to our section, up 3 flights of stairs mind you, the alcohol had kicked in full fledge. The game was tight. By halftime, and two turnovers by the Eagles, it 9-7 Green Bay. I have seen the birds CRUSH the Packers on several occasions here. I was a bit nervous. But just like the old days, the Iggles just pulled away. After chicken fingers, 2 beers, a pretzel and I forget what else, Michael and I decided to head to the lower level and see it up close. It was awesome. Lots of joy in the stadium. But of course, you can never leave a game error free:

http://willdo.philadelphiaweekly.com/archives/2006/10/a_philly_fan_of.html

All I can say is, God Bless Philadelphia.

We got back to Pole and Pippy and the tailgate spot, and were obviously giddy. I wanted to throw a football around, but unfortunately, we had to make one. First time around I went with my folding chair...which is totally absurd I know. But only my brother could get my humor. So, as Pole played Facenda, I went into slow motion as if I was Bart Starr of the Greeeeen Bay Packerzzzzz. (Facenda voice) Pippy couldn't catch ONE of my passes. I was thoroughly dissapointed, but Sawickster came through. The closing of the night was going well until Josh came along. Who is Josh? Well, we don't know really. He just walked over to our spot, and sat in Pippy's char. Josh then proceeded to throw up all over his feet and the sidearm of the chair. Wow. Ok...uhhh...what are we going to do with this guy? At this point, I was 0 for14 on my passes, and I wasn't going to win the imaginary game I was playing at QB in my head. Josh then got up and decided to get in Pole's car. Pippy was going to pee herself from laughing. Pole walked over to him, "Josh, you can't get in my car. Just sit here." At this point, Josh threw up again, all over his arm, and his brand new, crisp Eagles hat went right in the mound. Michael and I both looked at each other and simultaneously went "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww" Live pretend TV is great. So, we got Josh a cab, and Michael headed back to the Jeep. As we walked, I thought about the upcoming opponent in Dallas. I see T.O. being a distraction all week, but he will most likely have a good day with 2 TD's. Donovan will be hot, and the offense will just pull away. Eagles 38, Dallas 20.

As we drove home, I could hear the whirring sound beneath me getting louder. This isn't good. Time to drop it off I think. Figures, so much for my nest egg.

It's 2:15 A.M. I was born now 34 years ago. I gaze at my reflection.

Program 972 Ran 4 hours and 3 minutes

2006-09-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

186
67
There’s A Gun On My Pillow
It was time to take time off. I needed it. No regrets, not one peep of guiltiness. I needed to take off. The plan was to go to Montreal for the music festival I so badly wanted to attend. Well, after getting hit last week, and trying to save money to find a new bumper, it just wasn’t going to happen. Some close colleagues couldn’t go, nor could any of my staff due to prior obligations. But the bonus was, I could see some friends leaving for Iraq soon. The first day off, I decided to head to the Jughandle with Jack. When we arrived, I was starving. The Jug is old. Real old. It’s been there since the mid 1800’s and smells like it, too. So we went on a drabby day, to brighten things up with spirits. Once we arrived, I noticed a childhood crush behind the bar. We rode the bus together when I was 8 and she was a bit older than me, but I always had a crush on her. Unfortunately she brought a lot of memories of how I was on that bus, and understood her sarcasm. Service was ehhhh….but I still left a tip. Don’t fry bacon with your shirt off. We left the Jug and headed back to the office. Jack talked about Bermuda, and I thought of lying down in the Bedruma. I know. That was lame. Whatever, I’m on vacation.
39.96409 By 74.64546
I can smell the scent of the equinox. It’s here, as am I. The sun says one thing, while my surroundings say another. I was given the clues of truth in achy knees and an urge for a pullover. It’s unstoppable. It’s coming. I fight it. Even though my love affair of it year after year returns, my body begs to differ. I leave the windows off in rebellion. As I move east, I move into overcrowded terrain. Showcased by lights to my right, and spoiled woods to my left. The further I move the closer to the smell of the color green. The road hums beneath my wheels. I can hear the rubber pins on the sides of my tires cut through the air. I am out in the open. My CD player skips at every light bump I approach. It’s agonizing. I move into the crossroads of Marter. Diesel fills the air, as do 19 year old girls driving their first cars on cell phones…and not using turn signals. I crack a slight smile. I light a cigarette before the light changes. Up and left, foot down again, down and left, foot down again, up and center, accelerating all the while. I sled down the hill as the night invades the sky. Much like the approaching autumn, it happens while you are looking for it. I remember a barren road now filled with crammed housing, pizza places, and the smell of broiled burgers. The road grows narrower with passengers. The last majority disperses, and I am alone. I see lonely fields with black and white memories. God, this used to be fun. I’m distracted by an urge to hear what the pushing Phillies are doing. Down, but not out, I listen. I watch the trooper making himself obvious in the brush, while the car behind me slows down quickly. The smell has turned to burning slate. It permeates the air in this place. How do people not get sick here? I put out my cigarette. I see that Dadz makeover can’t really change the clientele that still grovel up. You can’t polish a turd. It’s never going to change, this is how it is. In a way, I am comforted by that. The person ahead is ten miles under. I move, and pass. I approach the winner’s circle. If you are at 15 minutes before the hour, you will get there in good time. This road’s scenery has changed a dozen times while the road itself hasn’t. I hit pot holes that break away to reveal the dirt road it once was. Wal-Mart sits lifeless here. Did they fail here? Out with the old, in with the new doesn’t always work. The fields on my right once occupied, have ‘for sale’ signs. This will be gone soon as well. Maybe not now, but soon. I stare before the White Dotte almost as if to say, ‘relish this now, for you will remember what it once was before it hits you that you have aged’. The light turns green, the road title changes, and the dip makes my bags hit the floor. I pat my dashboard in complimenting my girl, while sugar sand dust remains on my fingers. I smile again. A run gives us the lead. I pass by Cheeks, a place that has failed since Butch left us. I hear big rigs downshift, and my reception cuts out. It’s a race to get to a 35 mph zone as the road narrows. A soon to be lady of the night stands at the old motel trying not be obvious, while the smell of coffee travels from the Dunkin Donuts. Maybe I should have stopped. The light turns green and I move forward, only to stop on the road that shouldn’t be. It follows the old path of the rail line that once ruled here. I have passed the gateway into the kingdom. I arrive to the old path, and make my right. The truck behind me pressures, while I purposely slow down. He backs off, and I turn right. I am at my Saturday night home. My haven. The place that keeps my sanity, and allows me to forget my other world. It’s cozy here. And I run the table. There are deer in the field. I park in the circle and sit. I hear the dried leaves roll by me. It’s time to go in. It’s time to make my people happy. Maybe when I get done I will be happy with what I have done tonight. But seriously, have I ever? I have done this over 572 times here. And again, I acknowledge the equinox.....
What Is And What Should Never Be
It took a while, but the new Mars Volta is in. I had received so many emails leading up to it’s release it got to be frustrating. Many listeners felt we were holding back when in reality, I just didn’t have it. The album was a secret. The new disc is titled Amputechture and is a slight contrast to Francis The Mute, the #1 disc of 2005 in the top 100. The album is more angular and without the help of Jack Luminous of Night Vision, none of you would have heard it! We featured it to wide applause by listeners both locally and internationally. The thing with the Mars Volta based upon listener response is either “I love it”, or “I hate this.” That means….THEY ARE LISTENING. As much as the Mars Volta deny or ignore it, their admiration from the prog rock community is silently very strong. They are doing different things from album to album intelligently enough to garner this. Amputechture will be a top tenner for 2006. #1? I don’t know for sure…but it debuts at #1 in our weekly top 20. A few months back you may have noticed we have featured a new various artists CD titled Giant For An Hour. The CD was released in 2005, and had some favorable response on our program, and will fit in nice with our upcoming Gentle Giant documentary. Well my boy Andy Kubicki has returned with the sequel titled Giant For Another Hour. This new disc features yet another hour of Gentle Giant inspired music by various artists. A must have if you are into the tribute thing….but remember THESE AREN’T REMAKES. Just inspirational music. It’s been quite some time since I played the music of Jade Warrior. 1999 was the last time I think. I decided to make it a 4 week spotlight on each newly reissued release from Eclectic Discs. Originally doing three albums on the Vertigo label, the band sorta split and became a twosome. Field and Duhig were good multi-instrumentalists in a worldly kind of way, and were able to acquire some good session people to help. Island Records President Chris Blackwell fell in love with them after Steve Winwood nudged him a bit and would later say more or less, “Do what you want!” to the band. Now here we are all these years later, and they FINALLY remastered the albums from the original stereo master tapes. They include beautiful liner notes, a deluxe slip case and restored artwork. If you thought the sound and production was great on all those cheapo vinyl releases of these guys, GET THE CD’S! Tonight I featured to wide response, the forthcoming release from Keith Jarrett recorded live at Carnegie Hall last September from the ECM label. A wonderful pianist that you can hear by his humming and breathing that he totally feels what he does. You hear it, and you will know what I mean. We also featured a recent reissue of Rick Wakeman's Beatles tribute album from 1997 just put out on Voiceprint Records.
...For El-ahrairah, It Was A Perfect Day...
"All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies. And whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first, they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, Prince with the swift warren. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people will never be destroyed."
I decided to enjoy my last few days by getting out and driving. Anything to forget the Eagles collapse on Sunday. They gave that one away. Giants didn’t win, we lost. I have been teasing the notion for quite sometime about heading to Springfield Township, northwest of Pemberton, to a place called Arney’s Mount. This stone building at the corner of Pemberton & Arney’s Mount Road was built in 1775 on the foundation of the original log structure. What makes this one different is that it is made of Ironstone, and not brick like the rest of them in south Jersey. The place used to be called Shreve's Mount after Caleb Shreve, the original land owner. It was later changed to Arney's Mount after Arney Lippincott. This Meeting House is still used the second and fourth Sunday of every month for worship. Not to mention, the graves here date far before the building of the Meeting House. As I pulled up in the narrow driveway, I stepped upon the rocks and headed towards what seemed like an old gate that isn’t there anymore. The graves began right up to it. Headstones so old, you couldn’t tell who they were due to years of erosion. It was humbling. The beauty of the whole concept is that everyone knows that the Quakers were mostly known for being in the Philadelphia vicinity. But what people don’t know, was this area was the beginning experiment for Quakers in southern New Jersey. TRUE beginnings here. The Meeting House had two substantial fires…1800 and 1809. There is no running water or gas heat here either. I walked deeper into the cemetery, and started observing what visible names were left to be seen still. I noticed names such as White, Gaskill, Lippincott, Smith, Shreeve, Newbold,….a few Civil War soldiers, young children, and talked to them as if they were still alive as I read their names. What is interesting about this cemetery is that it is on an incline. It’s a beautiful hill with graves, surrounded by a cement wall built in the mid 1800's on the perimeter. Another cool thing about Arney’s Mount is that the Meeting House resembles a lot of the Eastern Pennsylvania structures. The stone actually came from the ground it’s on. I walked for a bit, and then headed back to my Jeep after touching the wall of the Meeting House. I hopped in the Jeep and then went down Birmingham road. The winding, warm road revealed an old school house built in the 1870’s. Keith Green, one of my colleagues, explained the layout of the mill that was once their and his family’s life there, generations ago. I stopped and looked at the nonexistent rail line that once ran through here. I watched the rabbits play and chase squirrels. I was humbled, and headed home for cheesteaks. Not the greatest vacation, but hey, at least I got some stuff accomplished. I guess I will have to do this again. I wait to return to work. I guess I should make my prediction for this Sunday, huh...? Eagles dominate and rebound over the Niners. 35-17

This Program Ran 4 Hours And 11 Minutes