A History of Love, Part 3

 "History is the meaningful sequence of unpredictable events." ~ Albert Borgmann

Some believe that everything is predestined in your life. I think we only impose order on our past which is a random series of events. We see a path of destiny helped by invisible hands. As much as I want to believe that, there are parts of me that remain a realist.

The sudden passing of my father changed everything. The family spiraled for a while until my mom realized she couldn't manage two maniac growing boys by herself and so she got remarried. Long story short, we moved to West Virginia.

When I visited West Virginia to get used to what would become my new home, I thought I had gone to some southern paradise. The mountains were intoxicating for a kid spent looking at "rolling hills." The people acted differently, the accent was alien but charming and the girls were, quite frankly, friendly and open.

I heard this new speech when I was ordering at Long John Silvers with my step-dad. The girl behind the counter spoke in a way that was so very foreign to me. I have many 'Burgers (Pittsburgh) in my family and the whole rural Pa way of speaking was in my ear and this sounded more like music. Vowel sounds were drawn out, single syllable words could become two or three syllables. "Jeff" became "Jay-eff." for example.

Get to the Hot Stuff, OK?

Actually, this is no tell-all (how dull that would be) and I offer no names (unless they are so ancient it is irrelevant) or intimate details. The Internet is not place for details which could come back to bite my ass. Besides, you gotta be cool, right?

Hell's bells, boys, let's move on.

When I found that a very cute girl was living right next door to me, I could have come out of my skin. Coming out of my skin around the opposite sex was pretty much my M.O. I had zero game.

What I was beginning to discover was the girl who called me ugly back in grade school held an opinion that was contrary to the girls in West Virginia. I was "cute" and even though I didn't believe it, had no maturity to act on it, there was evidence.

Two houses down was a sweet girl whom I shall just call M. M was a tall, lanky, sort-of-awkward girl who had a liking for this lad of tender years. I used to hang out down at her house so much that I knew all her family. The grouchy, mostly silent father, her stuttering brother, her baby sister and her mother, who was the Rosanne Barr of the neighborhood. Her mom was one of the most colorful people I have ever met. Her personality was big, bold, colorful and sarcastic.

M taught me the inequity of attraction, that is, the other person is not drawn to us.She had the all too telling signs when someone has a crush on you: the endless smiles, the laughing at every joke however weak and stupid, the undivided attention. I recognized that when someone has it for you, you hold power over them.

M and I were just innocent kids. We never even kissed.

She gets around.

Terry was a girl who had a reputation for sleeping around. I don't know if this was true, but I was kind of in awe of her nevertheless. She was older than us and she did have a direct sexuality about her. Remember, I'm an awkward virgin with nuclear hormones at this point and no social skills.

One hot summer, I remember smoking some tobacco with her on the river bank. Then we took turns "shotgunning" each other, which lead to some kissing. Some kissing lead to some other more steamier things which lead me to come near out of my tree in lust. It's hot, it's summer time, we're wearing few clothes as it is and we're higher than kites on love. Ahem..

At one point, I got so frustrated that I just got silent. She asked what was wrong and I said that I wanted to proceed further. "If you tell me you love me, I'll let you do it," was her succinct reply. But, hell, I didn't love her. I didn't know what the fuck love was, let alone tell a girl you actually love her!

By all that is true, I couldn't muster up the words, even for my first experience of heaven. I can't stand back now, all Wordsworth-like, and declare this a time of innocence and a coming of age story. Hell's bells, I wanted a girlfriend in the worst way. This was lust, so why didn't I just lie and embrace love's opportunity?

Beats the hell out of me. I must have had morals.

Next: Don't Stand So Close

Hell Hath Frozen Over



Rock's most flamboyant and hilariously lovable frontman/asshole,
rockin' Diamond David Lee

 David Lee Roth returns to Van Halen and a new album and tour are planned.

That's something I never expected to see. Kind of like Roger Waters and David Gilmour hugging it up on stage.


The classic '80's lineup of Van Halen was most amusing to me. Not only was Eddie Van Halen changing electric guitar playing with his innovative virtuosity, but drummer Alex had a most distinctive and influential sound (sampled on Funky Cold Medina) and bassist Michael Anthony had a better voice than any of VH's frontmen. As much as Eddie's chops made my head swim and our fingers seem useless, it was David Lee as comic sexgod ringmaster who kept me in stitches.

Roth reveled in his reckless rock star lifestyle while counterbalancing it with strenuous workouts and martial arts. Eddie probably felt a little jealous of Roth's magnetism, plus, I can't imagine David Lee is an easy guy to work with, but it was clear to everybody who was bringing what to the table.

When asked about tension in the band, Roth told Musician magazine: "There's tension between me and the bus driver. We're not traveling at ground speed."

Or other quotable quotes:
"I used to jog but the ice-cubes kept falling out of my glass."

'Whatever guy said that money doesn't buy you pleasure didn't know where to go shopping."

"I was with a girl not terribly long ago and she said "Mr. Roth, I think you’re the oldest person I've ever been with." I said "Honey I was gonna say the same thing to you."

"The world's a stage, and I want the brightest spot."


Let's hope Eddie and DLR can keep things in perpective: Eddie brings the talent and Roth brings the entertainment and big fun.

And hopefully more hilarious quotes.

Death of a Dictator

Tears of sorrow or joy?

News footage of the North Korean people in mourning over the death of all around nice guy and dictator, Kim Jong-Il, brings to mind several points:

1. Tears of joy or sorrow? They can't believe their self-annointed god is dead. Are they happy the old goat is gone and faking it for the cameras? I imagine Big Brother there watches day and night.
2. What mad man will replace him? Give a meglomaniac a kingdom and he wants the whole world.
3. How many of the North Korean people secretly embrace the idea of democracy?

Panic Not

A few things to reflect upon after this week's events.

Panic is an option, but not a good one.

This little expression of mine is something I tell myself when performing before a live audience. I try to make light of what is essentially hilarious: me in the spotlight for one and how freakin nervous I get.

 I got to MC before a sold-out crowd at an annual holiday event. Everybody backstage was so relaxed and down-to-earth, but these people had done this thousands of times before. I was the new boy. I was watching my pulse hover between 94 and 104. That's like a mild treadmill pace for me, but generally my pulse runs a lot lower than that. Panic is an option....

I kept hoping to find a way to slow myself down inside, but nothing worked. When this happens, I know that the only thing that will bring some relief is walking out on that stage.

Thank mercy for the soundcheck. At first, I felt a little winded and thought, "This will never work. Calm the fuck down." After facing an empty hall and bantering with the invisible sound engineer, this "first blood" was what I needed.

Still, being on a stage, even just reading from a piece of paper, takes practice. The band performs all the time-sometimes as much as three times or more a week. Plus, with the chops they possess, it flows out of them like water. They had their game down ten-fold.

In the end, things went well and everybody had nice things to say.

So kids: panic is an option,

but tell panic to go outside and wait in the car.

 You'll be out after the show.

As the Crow Flies

Call it something spiritual.

Oh no. He used that word. Let the arguments ensue.

I see that spiritual life, in any unconventional form, brings up the same sceptical attitudes over and again.

Spiritualism is not simply a question of rules, regulations, morality, ethics and the appropriate punishment for violation of such. Spiritualism is very different from religion. Spiritualism is what you do to commune with yourself and the world, both seen and unseen.

Morality doesn't enter my mind when I watch crows circle in a cloudy sky. Down near 53rd street, crows have been gathering on this one tall tree by the river. If you just pause and watch, something changes in you. You begin to sense something. I don't athropromorphize the crows. I don't judge them, I just watch. It's beautiful. It's spiritual to me.

Of course, this suspicious behavior brings out neighbors who want to know what this crazy man is doing. "Watching crows," I said to the lady, who came out to see what was going on, before she could mouth the question that was already on her face.

Why? Why would anyone stop and watch some stupid birds?

I'm surprised the police didn't show up.

TV talk

Stuff that's worth your time.

Best actor, Michael Pitt. You'll see.

1. Boardwalk Empire. I never thought after the Sopranos that HBO could ever produce another hit series. As Boardwalk draws to a close, this has been superb. The cast is one of the strongest I've ever seen in any movie or on TV. It's that simple. Prediction: multiple Emmys. I'll buy ya lunch if I'm proven wrong.

2. Homeland. Although reaching the season's end, Homeland is just getting started and each episode rewards the viewer with twists that challenge the mind and stir the emotions. Claire Danes is excellent as the more-than-slightly unstable CIA agent who has been hot on the trail of Sgt. Brody (Damian Lewis).

3. Dexter. Why do we root for a serial killer? Because he satiates his "dark passenger" by murdering people who are worse? Whatever the moral vagaries, we watch because this series keeps moving and lets the characters' actions speak for themselves.

4. Hell On Wheels. I had low expectations for this AMC series, but this gritty vision of the "Union Pacific Railroad's westward construction of the first transcontinental railroad" is unflinchingly brutal and savvy. SPOILER:

The fight scene was a little weak, but the aftermath was great.

Moot point: It goes without saying that Big Bang Theory is the best ' com on telly today.

I Coulda Been a Contenda
The Walking Dead "mid-season finale" closed with an episode that had a glimpse of the potential that this series has so consistently failed to reach. Drag, drag, drag, talk, talk, talk. If I want that, I'll watch the Lifetime network. Will someone step up and save this series????

Brit stuff:
Whitechapel. Worth a watch.

Real duds:

Unforgettable. I didn't think that the "watch me watch myself in the video vault of my mind" trick would be the reason to watch. Dull and predictable.

Person of Interest. Started out good, then fell flat. Can't say why.

Two and a Half Men. OK, now I'm starting to miss Sheen. Kutcher's lonely hearts club band song is a bit of suspending disbelief. He's funny, but Alan and his dopey son seem like they belong to another sitcom. The three are not coming together in a convincing way. You can see the strain.

Two Broke Girls. They have a horse that lives with them in NYC. Can I have the number of the doctor who precribed the medical marijuana? Laughs are occasional when el skeezo Jonathan Kite lets loose a way inappropriate invitation to love-which is all the time.

A History of Love, Pt. 2

Get Thy Bearings

In junior high, whilst still living in Pennsylvania, this amorous mess still continued.

There was a girl named Cindy who thought me cute. I was a bit taken back and way too backwards to know how to react. I certainly wasn't sure of myself at all. I do remember she had perfect blond hair and she wore a brace on one of her legs. The brace didn't bother me and I never asked. This was long before anyone at all had any sensitivity to a disability. At the end of the school year, she gave me her picture and wrote, "To the cutest boy in town. Love, Cindy." I think my brother, kind soul that he is, made fun of her.

Well, hell's bells boys (a drafting teacher used to say that). This might not be bad.

Enter Darkness

The move to Charleroi Area High School was a cold shower and a quick introduction to the inherent cruelty of kids this age. Again, this was back in the days when bullies roamed the halls, free to do whatever the hell they pleased to any underclassman who had the misfortune of being in the pathway of these sociopaths. The area I grew up in was pure redneck blue collar with a mill town mentality. As my cousin referred to them, before moving to California, as "dirty mill towns." Absolutely fucking right.

I saw violence on a daily basis. A senior threw pepper into someone's eyes and then excitedly told his girlfriend what he had done. A kid spit in my face, one guy taunted me as he stole the basketball from me that I had brought as part of a class demonstration, books were knocked out of my hands. In short, this was an ambiance of a state penitentiary. I learned to be aware, to mistrust and to hate. There were daily fights. Kids would sound the blood-thirst alarm: "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Everyone would gather to watch wild hay-makers throw by sweaty, red faces. Students and teachers got into fights. Now, it seems a little unthinkable, but this was Charleroi High School: brutal, ugly.

What did the teachers do? They were either rolled over, abused and eaten alive. Or they were hard-assed bastards who ruled with an iron fist.

It's a wonder I haven't ever gone completely off.

Sidebar: I will one day have to blog just about this time period.

Oh, back to our topic. I remember a girl named Robin who sat on my left. She entranced me as she would wear some pretty provocative outfits. She was damn cute. How else would I remember her name decades later?

Then the class hottie was named Kathy. She was way out of my league. I noticed that even the seniors hit on her. I was probably a tongue-tied mess around her. I certainly wasn't old enough to drive or go out on dates. I think I just stared at her. She was beautiful.

Where I lived during this time was a place called Lover. Yes, the irony is not lost on this old boy. Lover, Pa was pretty much farmland, but you could call it a more rustic form of the 'burbs.

Life out there was pretty much "guy world"- meaning it was pretty much male friends with whom you played sports, hiked in the woods or sat around talking about girls or school events.

There was a girl named Terry (Boncarosky?) that I used to walk across a huge stretch of farmland to visit. I cannot recall how or why the courage was summoned to talk to her, but my guess is that we had to have shared the same bus. I must have been around 11 because I used to sing "These Eyes" by the Guess Who (came out in the US in 1969) as I wandered over to her house. (Why my mom thought it OK to let me wander about alone at such a young age speaks of the innocence of the time and place I suppose.)

The whole thing must have been hilariously awkward as an early Woody Allen movie. I just can't imagine what the hell we talked about and how goofy it all must have been.

Redd's Beach circa 1955 (before my time, dammit!)

Redd's Beach

Each summer was filled with wonders and endless possibilities. I felt like I was released from prison when school let out and the glorious and seemingly endless days of summer were ahead.

When the fam decided to join Redd's Beach, which was a huge pool for its time, this opened up a whole new world. That world was boogles of girls all in pool attire.

My pal, Richard, had a huge crush on this one blond. I distinctly remember him talking about her constantly and she damn well knew it too. At the time, Herb Albert had a big hit with, "This Guy's in Love With You." We were all in the pool and she pointed at Richard and sang, "This guy, you see. This guy's in love with me." Can't say I blamed him.

She didn't reciprocate, but neither did she treat him as if he didn't exist. Richard was a fat lad and as much as we now pretend to be blind to these things, fat boys had "romantical" troubles. They still do.

I do remember some magical moments where we'd get into a splashing/dunking fray with some girls. I was a flaming heterosexual and I knew it.

If I could somehow enter a time machine and talk to that 11 year version of myself, boy could I tell him some things. One of them would be: "Kid, it rarely gets better than it is right now."

Part 3: He has to move in order to kiss a girl