Rock-tober 31, 2017

Hatshepsut came to power in Egypt in 1473 B.C. after the death of her husband, Pharaoh Thutmose II, and at that point was only the 2nd woman in Egypt's history to lay claim to the title, pharaoh. While some military actions are attributed to her early reign, she is credited with presiding over a 22 year period of peace. To put that in perspective, the U.S. has yet to string together a single decade without armed conflict. As part of this peace dividend, she was able to re-establish trade routes disrupted by earlier conflicts and establish new ones. The resulting increase in trade greatly increased the wealth of the Egyptian kingdom. She also launched a massive wave of construction projects that have been deemed wonders of the ancient world and have given us insights on certain building methods of the ancients.

Shortly after her death, an attempt was made to expunge her from memory. Statuettes of her were destroyed, her name was chiseled off monuments and temples, and many of her construction projects were claimed by subsequent pharaohs as their own. Scholars still debate the reason for this obliteration. It may have been a patriarchal attempt to dissuade another woman from seeking the pharaonic title in the future, or it may have been a political move to collapse lines of dynastic succession. It may have been simple jealousy and rancor. Regardless of the reason, Hatshepsut disappeared from written history until the 19th century.

I oppose the destruction of Civil War era statues. This attempt to edit history is at best silly and at worst puts us on a very dangerous revisionist slope. My views on this are not uninformed. I'm obviously a lover of history. I recognize it as a record of humanity's soaring successes and abysmal failures. I also have first hand experience of growing up an Asian kid in the deep south at the tail end of a very unpopular war. I hadn't yet reached my 10th birthday and had already been subjected to epithets from "Fu Man Chu" to the hardcore slurs of Chink and Gook. Kids in my neighborhood came up to me and matter of factly announced, "My daddy hates Asians."

*sigh* Well, sucks to be him...and more General Tso's Chicken for me.

Folks, after nearly 50 years of observing the human race I've decided we can be pretty hard headed. If you really don't want to make the same mistakes over and over, you might want to leave yourself some hard core reminders of where you went astray.

Removing what you find offensive is fairly easy, depending on the level of civil disobedience you embrace. In 1912, a shipment of cherry trees given as gifts from Japan were first planted along the the tidal basin in Washington, D.C. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Japan became our preeminent foe, and there were calls to destroy these symbols of that era's evil empire. Four were actually cut down by vandals who likely saw themselves as patriots. However, the rest of the trees survived, and in 1952, Japan requested US assistance to restore a stand of trees in Tokyo that sustained heavy damage during the war. Despite the enmity from the hard fought battles and Japanese atrocities that came to light, cuttings from descendants of the original cherry trees were returned to Japan to restore Tokyo's trees. I hope cooler heads can prevail yet again regarding Civil War statuary and turn the issue into one of restoration rather than division.

You have my thanks for indulging me this past month and my apologies for this long rant. Despite some close-minded knuckleheads south of the Mason Dixon, I still love the South. Skynyrd said, "You can take a boy out of Dixieland, but you'll never take ol' Dixie from a boy." On this final day of Rock-tober, I'll take another line from Skynyrd - sometimes "all I can do is write about it."

Rock-tober out.

Rock-tober 30, 2017

Thomas Earl Petty was born in Gainesville, Florida on October 20, 1950. His musical heritage started early when a family member involved in the film industry invited Petty to Ocala, Florida, where he was doing a location shoot. While there, he met none other than Elvis Presley. The encounter left him starstruck and immediately upon his return home,  he traded his Wham-O slingshot for a friend's collection of Elvis singles. Later, Tom received guitar instruction from Don Felder. If you don't recognize the name, Felder went on to join the Eagles. Petty also cited the appearance of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show as inspiration to form a band.

Home life was tough. Non-athletic Petty was verbally and physically abused by his father. He retreated into music and eventually dropped out of high school to devote his full energy to his band, Mudcrutch. While popular in Gainesville, they were never able to gain traction with a larger audience and eventually disbanded. Shortly after, core members of Mudcrutch along with Petty reformed as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Their debut album, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, was not an immediate hit in the US. However, after a rousingly successful British tour American audiences finally took notice. The album peaked at #55 in 1976 and eventually was certified gold. From that shaky start, Petty and the Heartbreakers released 12 more studio albums, the majority of which have been certified either gold or platinum. Along with 3 solo albums and a stint with the Travelling Wilburys, Petty amassed an impressive musical discography that netted 3 Grammys, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

In the midst of all his musical work, he still found time to log a few IMDB entries. Along with over 100 soundtrack credits and voicework on King of the Hill, he played the mayor of Bridge City in Kevin Costner's post apocalyptic tale, The Postman. In the film, Costner's character meets the Bridge City mayor for the first time and does a double take. He stumbles, "You're...famous." Petty as the mayor smirkingly replies, "I used to be."

Tom Petty died earlier this month on October 2nd. Just days earlier he'd completed a very successful 40th anniversary tour with the Heartbreakers.

There was universal agreement that he had more music in him and he had no intention of slowing down. In recent years, he'd reformed Mudcrutch. United with his original band, they released 2 albums and kicked off 2 tours. At the time, Mike Campbell, guitarist with both Mudcrutch and Heartbreakers said, "Tom is in a position where he could do anything he wants with anyone he wants. The beauty of this is that he wants to reconnect with his old friends, not for money, but the pure joy of revisiting the energy that we started with."

Not for fame, not for fortune, but for the love of music and the camaraderie of close friends. Tom Petty was definitely one of the "good guys" of rockdom.

Rock-tober 29, 2017

I've had multiple requests to do an entry on 70's disco. The problem is, apart from movies and my collection of polyester disco-esque shirts and bell bottom slacks, I was a preteen during this era and had no first hand experience with this phenomenon. Interestingly, it caught up with me in the next millennium.

A few years ago I was with a group of friends trying to drum up a fundraising idea for our church youth group. Someone got the bright idea of putting on a talent show. So far, I'm in. It was then suggested that we do a lip sync number. As long as I'm not having to belt out any tunes, I'm still in. The discussion then turned to what number we would perform. This is when it goes sideways. "Hey, let's do 'Y.M.C.A'!"

One of the guys present used to work construction. "I've got a toolbelt and a hard hat!" Another had connections to law enforcement. "I can be the cop!" One by one, the roles were claimed - cowboy, biker, soldier. "Hey, who's going to be the Indian?" In unison, everybody turned to me.

Me: "Umm. Wait a minute."
Them: "That'd be perfect!"
Me: "Whoa. I'm not so sure about this."
Them: "You'll be awesome! Headdress. War paint. You can do buckskin breeches and be shirtless!"
Andrea: "YEESSS!!!"

Thank the rock and roll gods, it never happened. I forget what we eventually did, but it didn't involve me prancing around on stage doing "Y.M.C.A" in nothing but buckskin breeches, headdress, and war paint.

"Y.M.C.A" was released as a single off the Village People's 1978 album, Cruisin'. It was their biggest hit and claimed the #1 spot on a multitude of international music charts. Interestingly, it never hit #1 in the US, being thwarted by Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?." Because of its iconic dance and association with major worldwide sporting events, this 70's tune, an intriguing piece of Americana exported to the world, is still alive and kicking to this day. Even I've been known to join in on the dance myself, just not while wearing only buckskin breeches, headdress, and war paint.

"YMCA" - Village People

Rock-tober 28, 2017

Wikipedia defines a musical cover as "a new performance or recording of a previously recorded, commercially released song by someone other than the original artist or composer." The Rock-tober alums who've graced these pages with their covers took the original, imparted their own stylistic interpretation, and made it uniquely their own. The Eagles harmonized their voices in an acapella rendition of "Seven Bridges Road." Disturbed gave a hard metallic edge to "Sounds of Silence" as did Metallica with "Whiskey in the Jar." Sometimes the covered version is striking for its similarity to the original source recorded decades earlier as in P!nk's homage to Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee."

Done well, covers can be amazing and impart new life to an old standard. Such was the case when Michael Bolton repackaged Percy Sledge's "When a Man Loves a Woman." It earned him a Grammy. However, some covers are just ill conceived. Back in college I was studying in my apartment with a buddy of mine. The radio was on and the intro for "Natural Woman" started. We abruptly looked up and at each other when the vocals kicked in. It wasn't the deep, velvety tones of Aretha Franklin. Rather, we got the pinched, nasally voice of Rod Stewart's 1974 release. He changed the lyrics, of course, but it was still just all kinds of wrong.

In 2011, Rolling Stone polled readers for the worst covers ever. Britney Spears had the dubious distinction of two listings for her attempts at "I Love Rock and Roll" and "I Can't Get No Satisfaction." There was also William Shatner doing "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." OMG. The one entry I disagreed with was Sheryl Crow's "Sweet Child of Mine."

I know, right? Put the pitchforks away. I found it to be an interesting acoustic take of Guns-n-Roses's classic ballad. Besides, it's hard to knock it when it earned her a Grammy. Interestingly, the daughter of some friends of ours used an even slower instrumental version in her wedding as the bridal march and her father-daughter dance. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't misty eyed.

Every now and then I'll find a cover particularly intriguing because I wouldn't normally be within earshot of the original. Vanilla Ice released "Ice Ice Baby" in 1989 and it went all the way to #1 on the US Hot 100, the first hip hop song to do so. With all due respect to the success and legacy of the song, it's just not my style. Moreover, there's my annoyance with the uncredited sampling of the baseline from Queen's "Under Pressure."

This is where Marty Ray enters the picture. Internet sensation, Marty Ray, hails from Memphis and his music is steeped heavily with the influence of his home town. His soulful, stripped down version of "Ice Ice Baby" consists of just him, his 6-string, and that epic beard, and in my honest opinion he completely overshadows the original.

Rock-tober 27, 2017

There's an epilogue to Andrea's and my encounter with the plaid wearing, Nirvana grooving clerk down in Auburn.

After I finally found my tobacco supplies, we headed back to Andrea's mom's place. My nephews were cleaning out one of their grandfather's cabinets and found some tobacco tins and old tobacco. Andrea's mom picked up one of the tobacco tins to examine it and declared, "This is pretty old. I'm not sure you'd want to smoke this tobacco - but you can smoke pot in Daddy's pipes, too." If my head was on a swivel it wouldn't have been able to whip around any faster. I wondered if I'd heard right.

Apparently I did. Andrea sputtered an incredulous, "MAMA!"

Holy cow. I looked over at my nephews and the look of admiration they were giving their grandmother at that moment was priceless. They already knew they had the coolest gran around, and this just cemented her reputation in their books. She wasn't finished. "You know, pot may be legal in Maryland pretty soon."

Andrea's mom is one of the most straight laced people I know. She's incredibly unflappable, and I've never seen her lose her temper or even raise her voice. Her hospitality is first rate; the meanest thing about her is her world class pot roast. She doesn't drink or smoke, let alone spark the occasional bowl. Even so, and with all the beatniks, hipsters, and Nirvana grooving sales clerks walking around, my mother in law still won the day with +10 street cred.

Rock-tober 26, 2017

Andrea and I visited the Smithsonian Institute of American History this past summer. While there we saw an interactive display that was intended to show the dispersion of your ancestry. You were first prompted for your place of birth, then your parents' places of birth, and then their parents' places of birth. When you finished entering the data, all these locations would light up on a large map.  Each generation was color coded so you could tell them apart. Typically your grandparents would show up on very disparate parts of the map.

Andrea went through the exercise and her results were fairly typical. Starting with her birthplace in Opelika, AL, preceding generations lit up southern Alabama, Indiana, and Florida. I watched one little girl plug in her information and lights lit up on several continents. I smiled and said to Andrea, "Watch this."

I followed the prompts, entering all the hometowns for my family. After a lot of repetitious typing, I hit "Done" and waited. The entire world map was dark except for this very bright cluster of lights in the mountain province of the Philippines's largest most northern island.

Coming from an island culture definitely makes tracing your genealogy easier. In recent years I started tracking down branches of the Capuyan and Comicho family tree on a genealogy website. At a family reunion, I met up with a distant cousin who was doing the same for his side of the family. He told me about a DNA test you could take to help trace your ancestry. I'd heard of this test kit. Commercials touted the excitement of an individual born in Kalamazoo discovering he had ancestors from Scotland, Italy, and North Africa. My cousin said he submitted one of these test kits himself and was waiting for the results. I was confused, "But...you're from an island. We may be from the Mountain Province, but I doubt great-great-grandpa was a Scottish highlander."

We laughed at this, and went on to reminisce about what we remembered about the Philippines. I haven't been back in 40 years so my recollection was sketchy. I'm constantly invited by relatives over there to come over for a visit or to travel along with family going back, but thus far I haven't been able to make it work. One of these days, I suspect the frenetic pace of life is going to make we want to go back to "the Island."

Rock-tober 25, 2017

Soulshine.

It's better than sunshine.

It's better than moonshine.

Damn sure better than rain.

These are lyrics to the Allman Brothers track, "Soulshine," which was their entry into the elite membership of Rock-tober alums just over 3 years ago to the day. The 2 namesakes of the band, Duane and Greg Allman formed the 6 man Southern Rock group in Jacksonville in 1969. Of note, their original drummer was Jai Johanny Johanson. Just "Jaimoe" to his friends, he hails from Ocean Springs, MS, just 3 cities east of my adopted hometown of Long Beach.

Fame came fast and early starting with the release of their self-titled debut album, The Allman Brothers Band in 1969. The follow up, Idlewild South came out in 1970, and then their first live recording, At Fillmore East dropped in 1971 and eventually went platinum. From these 3 albums came a good part of their canon with "Whipping Post," "Midnight Rider," and their cover of "Statesboro Blues" finding their genesis in this trio of rapid fire records.

Cruelly, disaster followed quickly on the heels of this phenomenal success. Duane Allman, the catalyst and soul of the group, died in a motorcycle accident on October 29, 1971. We discussed the deep soul searching surviving band members must navigate with last year's missive with AC/DC. Likewise, the surviving members of the Allman Brothers Band, with a drive instilled in them by Duane, released Eat a Peach the following year. It peaked at the #4 spot and it, too, went platinum. Maintaining their incredible cadence, 1973 saw the release of  Brothers and Sisters. It remains their highest charting album, claiming the #1 spot and yet another platinum certification for the band.

However, rapid success and survivor's guilt are hard burdens to carry. Founding bassist, Berry Oakley, fell into a spiral of addiction and depression. Just over a year after Duane's death, Oakley died shortly after a motorcycle accident that took place 3 blocks from where Duane had his fatal crash. 

The mid '70's saw band members start to go their separate ways. An attempted reunion in 1978 culminated with only 1 song, "Straight from the Heart" managing to break into the Top 40. In an attempt to exit the limelight while they still had some relevance, 1982 saw the breakup of the group.

A second reunion was sought in 1989 during the band's 20th anniversary. In the intervening years, the band made changes to its lineup and management and released 8 studio albums. They were unable to reproduce their early success, and only 1 album, Where It All Begins, attained gold status. They continued to tour until their final performance on October 28, 2014. It was a magnificent 4 hour jam session to end a 45 year run which included 2 Grammys and induction into the Class of '95 of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

This year, with the deaths of Butch Trucks on January 24 and Gregg Allman on May 27, Dickey Betts and hometown boy, Jaimoe, are the last surviving founding members of the group. During the band's farewell performance, a screen behind them displayed the message, "The road indeed goes on forever. So stay calm, eat a peach and carry on..."

Carry on.

Rock-tober 24, 2017

As a 9 year old in the late 70's, I loved baseball. My bat, glove, and ball were always within arm's reach. During the summers, I'd ride my bike onto the CB base every day and find a pickup game at one of the sandlots.

I'd watch any baseball game on TV regardless of who was playing, but Orioles games were special. For those, I broke out all the juju. I wore my lucky shirt and cap and spent the entire game throwing my ball into my glove, throwing harder and faster to illicit a hit for the offense or strikeout for defense. During the 1979 season the superstitious ritual paid off. The Orioles punched their ticket to the big show. They were going to the World Series.

In their first at bat of the first game, the Orioles set a World Series record for number of runs scored in a single inning and won Game 1 5-4. When the Pirates struck back, winning Game 2, my uncle, a die hard Pirates fan, laid it on thick with the smack talk. He called me up to tell me his Pirates were going to spank the O's and send them packing. My smack talk game was pretty lame. I think I called him a doo-doo head and slammed the phone down.

The Orioles took the next two games on the road at Three Rivers Stadium and were a single win away from the pennant. I called my uncle back to gloat. "Mark my words, Wayne. My Pirates will come from behind." I scoffed, "No way, unc. They'd have to take the next three games in a row with two of them at Memorial Stadium."

An ominous pall settled on Game 5 when the Pirates trotted out a new pitcher. Tall and lanky, I remember one of the announcers called him goonish. It was an apt description. Tall, lanky Goon proceeded to tear through the Orioles batting lineup, who only managed a single run and lost the game 1-7. They failed to score at all in Game 6, losing 0-4.

With the Series tied at 3 games apiece, I was in full panic mode, trying to find the right combination of charms to secure that last win. I'd donned my lucky shirt and ball cap, and my glove hand was smarting from the hard throws it was catching. I was jumping up and down, running around the coffee table, and cheering as loud as I could without incurring raised eyebrows from Mom and Dad. It was all for naught. My uncle was very prescient. His Pirates did come from behind and took the last three games of the series and the pennant.

That was a lot of heart break for a 9 year old to swallow. I put my bat, glove, and ball in the back of the hallway closet and never touched them again. When the next season rolled around, I didn't watch a single game. My little league coach called asking why I hadn't signed up again. I gave some lame excuse of how we'd just moved to Long Beach and practices would just be too hard to attend. I haven't followed baseball since.

Andrea and I have now been living in Maryland just half an hour south of Baltimore for 20 years, and still I have yet to go to an Orioles game. One of these days, maybe, just maybe, I might find myself in the stands at this new fangled Camden Yards. If the Birds win, though, they'll have to do it without the juju from my trusty ball and glove. I think they were lost during one of Mom's infamous purges.

Rock-tober 23, 2017

We spent some time in Auburn after Andrea's father passed late last year. When I asked my mother-in-law if I could pick out one or two of Andrea's dad's pipes as remembrances, she summarily bequeathed the entire collection to me. In an instant I'd gone from someone with a passing curiosity in the hobby to having well over 30 burl, pear wood, and meerschaum pipes.

Andrea accompanied me as I immediately set out on a quest through Auburn for pipe tools, cleaners, and filters. We struck out at one tobacconist as they carried tobacco, but not tools. Undeterred, we stopped in at a convenience store and asked the plaid wearing, Nirvana grooving clerk behind the counter if he had stuff to clean pipes.

Dude's face lit up waay too much. "Aw, yeah, man, I got everything you need. Here's some rubbing alcohol and epsom salts." Wait. What? Rubbing alcohol would be way too harsh a cleaner on a burl pipe's finish. I don't even want to think what the salt would do. On the other side of the counter, Andrea was picking up some boiled peanuts because, well, Alabama. I also noticed she was working hard to stifle a laugh. I just looked at her quizzically. What am I missing?

Dude noticed the confused look on my face, so he decided to elaborate, "Yeah, man, you just stick your pipe in a ziplock bag with these two ingredients, give 'em a shake, and let 'em soak." I was already dubious about the epsom salts, but you definitely don't soak a meerschaum in alcohol. I raised my left eyebrow, which serves as my nonverbal "B.S.", and I thanked him for his time. We paid for Andrea's boiled peanuts as she continued to suppress a snicker and walked out.

The whole time walking back to the car, I'm muttering to myself, "Epsom salt and alcohol?! Dude's crazy. I can't even. Why the bloody deuce would you subject wooden pipes to that concoction?"

Back in the car the sudden realization hit me like Hacksaw Duggan's 2x4.

"Ohhh. Dude wasn't talking about tobacco pipes." Andrea could no longer suppress a howl. "No, Hon, he was not."

Pfft. College towns. Gotta love'em.

Rock-tober 22, 2017

One fall day in '95 I was in a record store in Birmingham and saw a new Garth Brooks release. I know this guy who's been described as a thumb wearing a cowboy hat may be out of place in these pages, but one song on that album had special merit. As I listened to "Ireland" for the first time in that record store, I was halfway between tears and a fist pumping, "Hell, yeah!"

"We are forty against hundreds
in someone else's bloody war.

We know not why we're fighting
or what we're dying for."

For the entirety of the 19th century, countless Irish joined the ranks of the British army out of necessity. Lack of prospects and the Irish Potato Famine at home led a great number to enlist in order to feed their families. Considering the breadth of the British Empire at the time, they could find themselves in any corner of the world fighting skirmishes for a foreign crown on foreign soil.

"They will storm us in the morning
when the sunlight turns the sky.

Death is waiting for its dance now.
 Fate has sentenced us to die."

A last stand is a tactic of last resort. They're made when retreat or surrender are not viable options or if the defense of a strategic point is critical to a campaign. Thermopylae, Masada, Rorke's Drift, the Alamo, Little Round Top. All were podunk, unassuming place names until they became associated with and then immortalized by a small band of defenders facing a vastly superior force.  

"The captain he lay bleeding.
I can hear him calling me.

'These men are yours now for the leading.
Show them to their destiny.'"

A meme circulating on the Internet declares, "I would rather suffer in the company of good men than live comfortably surrounded by delicate men." Certain stories resonate with most people. Glory, Band of Brothers, even the fictionalized accounts of Braveheart, and Gladiator strike a chord. Was it charismatic leaders? Noble causes? Sometimes it's just the simple, but unassailable bond of camaraderie that can only be born on the battlefield. 

"As I look up all around me,
I see the ragged tired and torn.

I tell them to make ready
'cause we're not waiting for the morn."

Andrea once asked if I'd rather deal with someone who was neutral or dogmatic on an issue. I told her it was sometimes advantageous to deal with someone dogmatic because their actions and responses were predictable. Sun Tzu once said, "When you are weak, appear strong. When you are strong, appear weak." Being inscrutable and unpredictable to the enemy and attacking when least expected is classic Sun Tzu.

"Now the fog is deep and heavy
as we forge the dark and fear.

We can hear their horses breathing
as in silence we draw near.

There are no words to be spoken
just a look to say good-bye.

I draw a breath and night is broken
as I scream our battle cry."

This conjured up images of the Charge of the Light Brigade, Gallipoli, and the 54th Massachusetts's assault on Fort Wagner. I can't fathom why this song isn't belted out at every Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day.

"Ireland I am coming home

I can see your rolling fields of green

And fences made of stone

I am reaching out won't you take my hand

I'm coming home Ireland"

Rock-tober 21, 2017

My late father in law had a substantial collection of tobacco pipes, many of which were gifts to him from his students. I can imagine him puffing on a well worn Dagner while giving his lecture (back when smoking in the classroom was still allowed). He'd punctuate each salient point by jabbing the chalk into the board with one hand and with his pipe hand, make bold, gesticulating smoke trailed images in the air.  Nowhere nearly as acrid as cigarette or cigar smoke, the room note left behind by his favorite tobaccos, Carter Hall and Flying Dutchman, would be as fitting in a lecture hall as well worn leather chairs and the mild, earthy mustiness of old science and biology tomes.

Pipes and certain vocations just go together. Bespectacled college professor is the obvious one, as my late father-in-law demonstrated. A novelist is another. Hemingway, Twain, and Tolkien were well known to be pipe smokers and were easily pictured to be scribbling away at a manuscript, pipe dangling from their mouth. Pipe smokers can be found in the music world, also.

However, only certain acts can pull off a pipe. Clenching a pipe in your teeth while running around the stage would be very difficult. With the possible exception of Bing Crosby, vocalists, would have trouble belting out lyrics and keeping an ember going. Or, you could be Stevie Ray Vaughn who didn't make a habit of prancing around on stage and, for the most part, let his guitar do most of the talking. When a pipe smoking forum was asked who their favorite piper/rocker was, SRV was the overwhelming response.

Vaughn was a major influence in his native state of Texas, winning ten Austin Music awards and induction into the Austin Music Hall of Fame. He also picked up five W. C. Handy awards for his blues influence, six Grammys, and posthumous induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. In his relatively short career, he cast a long shadow. Upon hearing of his death, the great John Lee Hooker said, "I never cry, but yesterday, when I heard the news about Stevie’s death, I sat down on my bed and cried like a little baby."

Rock-tober 20, 2017

It's Friday night as I write this and at high school stadiums all around the country, the lights are coming on. Concession stands are churning out pretzels, Cokes, and overpriced hot dogs as the scent of freshly popped popcorn drowned in butter wafts through the air. Vendors circulate in and among the throngs of people, peddling all manner of kitsch from ball caps and giant foam fingers to mascot emblazoned beer coozies and stadium cushions. Cheerleaders work the crowd, bringing the excitement level to a fever pitch.

The two opposing sides face off against each other across the field, fierce determination on their faces and their school pride and colors mirrored in their as yet unblemished uniforms. A battle will take place tonight. Victory will go to the side with greater determination, a greater desire to give every last measure and leave everything on the field. Victory will go to the side that rocks the house with the best set list. If you're a football fan, there'll also be a game on.

I'm not much of a football fan, a fact to which my long suffering co-owners in my fantasy football league can attest. My version of Friday Night Lights was a battle of the bands waged in the stands and on the field. A challenge to the opposing band's school pride was always in the offing, "We've got spirit, yes we do! We've got spirit, how 'bout you?" Sometimes we'd initiate the wave, testing the other side's unit cohesion and their ability to coordinate at close quarters encumbered with instruments. Most of the skirmishing, however, was done on the field during the halftime show.

Our high school band had a reputation of excellence at competition, and each foray onto the field was a serious affair. Our halftime shows were dress rehearsals for these events. During my tenure, our band directors were a husband-wife team, who, if I'm not mistaken, custom scored all the arrangements for our band. Our competition show always had a theme and we played some pretty cerebral stuff. Performances were usually from Broadway musicals and included music from Cats and even Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. I still wonder how that got past the school board.

By the end of the evening, self assured in our victory, we bid our opponents farewell. Usually in the form of good natured taunts and ribbing, it was pretty tame, unless we were dealing with competition rivals. It would then escalate to chants of "See you in Picayune!" and singing the refrain from "Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye." Not exactly a rumble in the jungle, but what do you expect from band geeks?

Rock-tober 19, 2017

I once worked with a guy who found himself in traffic court in Northern Virginia. It was a full docket and he had to wait while those in front of him were processed. He noticed a disturbing pattern. Everyone preceding him was there to answer for reckless driving, and they were all getting jail time.

"You are hereby sentenced to 30 days in county lockup."

"But, Judge, I'll lose my job if I'm away that long." The judge looked at him.

"What would be your commute time from the courthouse?"

"Twenty minutes, Judge. Both ways."

"You have an 8 hour 40 minute pass every workday for the duration of your sentence. If you're late once, this will be rescinded and you'll spend the entire remainder of your sentence in lockup."

Ouch. Virginia takes its reckless driving statute seriously.

One day, Andrea was cruising through Virginia and her speed matched the tempo of her playlist. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the blur of a grey state trooper as she sped past. She looked down and realized she was flying. When she checked her mirror, the trooper was already in pursuit with lights flashing. She was clocked going 12 over the limit and so it became an automatic invitation to traffic court.

Based on my coworkers experience, we thought it prudent to hire a lawyer. On the designated court date well before Andrea's docket came up he was at least earning his fee. He pressed the flesh with everyone involved. He ascertained from the trooper that Andrea was not in any way belligerent and was in fact very polite and apologetic. With the prosecutor, he pointed out that this was her first offense and she hadn't had a moving violation in well over 5 years. He assured us everything would be OK, but I've watched enough Law & Order to realize that it's not over until the gavel falls.

It turned out well. She was fined with points, but the points could be mitigated by taking an online vehicle safety course. Our lawyer cautioned us that the first offense was relatively easy to mediate, but a second offense, not so much.

Consider this a PSA. If you find yourself on the I-95 corridor in Virginia, you'd be well advised to stick to the speed limit. Otherwise, you could find yourself 30 days in the hole as an honored guest of the State of Virginia. If that happens, I'll be a good wing man. Give me a call. I can at least get you burger....and a good lawyer.

Rock-tober 18, 2017

There's a 10 year age difference between Andrea and her older sister. This lead to some interesting interactions like the time her teenage sister brought home the album from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. In their room, they played the album over and over, singing along the whole time. Soon, 6-year-old Andrea was skipping happily around the house singing "Sweet Transvestite" and "I Can Make You a Man." When she was old enough to realize what she was singing, she was utterly shocked her older sister let her listen to the album. She laughs about it now but also wonders what her mother must have thought about her youngest daughter.

Being an only child, I didn't have to worry about running afoul of sibling mischief. This was especially true in the music department. Mom and Dad's collection had a smattering of Elvis, but there were loads of reel to reels, albums, and 8-tracks of The Platters ("Harbor Lights") and guys like Jim Reeves ("Welcome to My World"), Eddy Arnold ("Make the World Go Away"), and Engelbert Humperdink ("Can't Take My Eyes Off You"). This was some serious, old school stuff. I found a few selections that turned out to be gems for me. There was Red Sovine and his trucker stories set to music, a full collection of Marty Robbins and his cowboy ballads, and an aforementioned Roger Whitaker 8-track that prepared me to sing along with Metallica a few decades later.

One 8-track in the entire collection was particularly intriguing. It stood out among all others and got plenty of play time on the many road trips we took. This was the self titled Commodores album released in 1977. This thing sounded like nothing else I'd heard previously at the house and was my unknowing intro to 70's funk. Two singles came off the record.

"Easy," featuring Lionel Richie, went to #1 on the US R&B and #4 on the Hot 100. "Easy" was about as easy listening as you could get. For the funk, you had to step over to the other side of the house. "Brick House" charted almost as high as "Easy," reaching #4 and #5 on the respective charts. I enjoyed the really cool groove while the lyrics, like Andrea and Rocky Horror, went completely over my head. "The lady's stacked?" "She's a brick house?" Somewhere, mid-song, the lead belts out, "36! 24! 36!" I remember thinking, "Man, that'd be an easy padlock combo to remember." It would be a few more years yet before I figured out it wasn't about literal stacked bricks at all.

Rock-tober 17, 2017

Readers of these pages know that the bulk of my music collection dates from the previous millennium. These days, when Andrea and I watch an awards show and the musical entertainment comes on, I'm always asking, "Who's this, again?" She's way more in tune with the contemporary scene than this old school curmudgeon.

I've often looked at songs and artists on her playlists and not recognized a single name. Every now and then she'll surprise me, like the time I found out Metallica was part of her collection. Despite my inclination to dismiss anything released beyond 1995, once in a blue moon the musical stars align, and I'll come across someone on her list I actually like . One such artist was P!nk.

Before she joined the ranks of rock's single moniker elites, she was born Alecia Beth Moore on September 8, 1979, in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Her 2000 debut album, Can't Take Me Home, went double platinum. She followed up with six more albums to date, along with nearly 40 singles. In her career thus far, she received 129 award nominations and took 100 of them. Among her wins were three Grammys, five AMAs, and in 2009 she was named Billboard's Pop Song Artist of the Decade.

My first introduction to P!nk was her 2010 Grammy performance of "Glitter in the Air." I was impressed. Her voice was powerful, strong, and sultry, and her previous experience as a dancer served her well in the physicality of her number. In interviews afterward, people were amazed that despite the aerial aspect of her performance, she was not lipsyncing.

I started listening to her other offerings, and the deep power of her voice came through in everything I heard. I was particularly pleased to find this cover of Kris Kristofferson's "Me and Bobby McGee." First performed by Roger Miller in 1969, it was also recorded by artists with backgrounds as diverse as Kenny Rogers and the Grateful Dead. Janis Joplin's version was probably the most recognized, as it posthumously hit the #1 spot in 1971. While P!nk has called Janis her "favorite singer of all time," she has yet to release "Me and Bobby McGee" as a single. If you close your eyes and listen to both versions, you'd be hard pressed to tell them apart. Hopefully this will be a future single for her. I would be very curious to see if a P!nk rendition would chart as well Joplin's.

Rock-tober 16, 2017

Wikipedia says an earworm is "is a catchy piece of music that continually repeats through a person's mind after it is no longer playing." The entry goes on to say that causes can include recent and frequent exposure to a song or experiencing something that triggers a memory of the song. The phenomena affects 98% of the population which makes me wonder what kind of earworms isolated tribes in South America and Africa get. Men and women are equally susceptible to earworms, but according to a study cited in the Wiki article, "earworms tend to last longer for women and irritate them more."

The top definition on Urban Dictionary defines earworms similarly as "a song that sticks in your mind, and will not leave no matter how much you try." I love that they also have worst examples:

• "Mmmbop" by Hanson
• "Toxic" by Britney Spears
• any damn Hilary Duff song

"Hooked on a Feeling" is a vintage 1968 release originally performed by B.J. Thomas. It peaked at #5 and barely squeezed into the year end standings, ending the year at #99 on the Hot 100. While Thomas's version used a sitar in the intro, it didn't have that awesome chant we all know and love. I bet it's boring a hole into your head as we speak, right?

For the chant, we have to wait for the song's second iteration. A Brit, Jonathan King is responsible for adding the "Ooga-Chaka" in 1971. There's an awesome write up in PopShifter that says King added the "Ooga-Chaka" to give the song a “reggae rhythm by male voices.” Both the author of the article and I agree King likely had a dubious understanding of the reggae sound.

Folks, it took a Swedish rock band to deliver the song as we know it. Blue Swede released their cover of "Hooked on a Feeling" in 1974 and rode it all the way to #1 on the Hot 100. It blew past the original and ended the year at #20. They changed the lyrics to eliminate drug references in Thomas's version, and not only did they keep the "Ooga-Chaka" from King's version, they embraced it.

This is one earworm that will not go away. It resurfaces periodically, making an appearance in the soundtrack to Reservoir Dogs and in episodes of Ally McBeal. Remember the dancing baby? At one point, even David Hasselhoff released a cover. Today's Millennial crowd likely knows it best from Guardians of the Galaxy. Hey, I'm all for whatever it takes to make the introduction.

Still citing Wikipedia, "scientists at Western Washington University found that engaging working memory in moderately difficult tasks (such as anagrams, Sudoku puzzles, or reading a novel) was an effective way of stopping earworms." However, not all earworms are as awesome as this one. Just put down the Sudoku and let it wash over you.

Rock-tober 15, 2017

I love New Orleans, and it was my fortune to grow up in Long Beach, Mississippi, which was a scant 90 minute drive away on Interstate 10. Whenever out of town guests came to visit, it was a given we'd load them into a car and make our way over to the Big Easy.

If it was a weekend, we'd wind up at the Old French Market, row after row of open air stalls built right on the bank of the Mississippi. Here, vendors hawked everything from locally sourced groceries to New Orleans themed kitsch. I still have a 70's era snow globe containing the Superdome and a riverboat. With purchases in hand, that renowned institution, Cafe du Monde, was the next stop. While locals debated the spot for the best beignets in town, the Cafe was definitely the most popular. Besides, I was just happy to get some beignets. I ranked breakfasty type breads with beignets and croissants at the top, followed by English muffins and southern biscuits. Donuts pulled up the rear, and way below that, bagels. A word of advice before you get into the inevitable long line at the Cafe, it's a cash only operation.

The Riverwalk didn't exist back in the day, but today, this mini mall is a welcome, air conditioned respite during New Orleans's steamy hot summers. Rested and cooled, we'd follow the river back down and strike inland. Crossing through Jackson Square and it's iconic photo op, we'd wend our way over to notorious Bourbon Street. You could spend the rest of the day exploring its cross streets and alleys. Wrought iron balconies draped with hanging baskets wrap the upper floors of the buildings. Crossing streets you have to look out for not only cars, but also horse drawn carriages and the occasional parade. On our last trip down, one procession let me join them for half a block or so. Street musicians are everywhere. Follow the protocol, if their music gives you pause and causes you to stop, you owe them a buck or two. Here, walking the streets, is where you can get your full dose of the local flavor, literally with its cafes, restaurants, and bars and figuratively with vendors, artists, and musicians - and the occasional hustle.

On one visit, a kid comes up to me. "Hey, mister!" I turn, and he looks me up and down. "Hey, mister, I'll bet you $5 I can tell you exactly where you got your shoes."

"Wait. Just from looking at me, you can tell me exactly where I got my shoes?"

"Yessir! We got a deal?" Pfft. Kid, don't hustle a hustler.

"Where I 'got' my shoes is on my feet."

"Aw, man. Mister, don't be spreadin' that around." I smiled, laid a finger along the side of my nose, and he scurried off to find a real tourist rube.

Fats Domino is a born and raised native son of the Crescent City. Born Antoine Domino on February 28, 1928, "Fats" began his music career in 1947. He toured and recorded for 60 years and is second only to Elvis in record sales for artists of his era. He retired from touring in the 80's and decided to stay put in his hometown. Fats cited the rigors of being on the road and perhaps more importantly, he couldn't get food that he liked anywhere else. I feel ya, Fats.

"Walking to New Orleans," released in 1960, hit number 6 on the Hot 100 and number 2 on the R&B charts. The song offers some good advice. Park the car and walk the city. Just wear some good walking shoes and be kind to street hustlers trying to make a buck.

Rock-tober 14, 2017

You'd easily be able to discern my favorite authors from the amount of shelf  and closet space they occupy. Casa Capuyan's nooks and crannies are stuffed to the gills with books I've read or that I tell myself I intend to read. Michael Crichton and Tom Clancy take up a lot of real estate, especially in hardback format. You'll also find a smattering of titles from John Eldredge and Charles Dickens. However, the sheer number of titles by far belong to Louis L'Amour.

Many people mistakenly believe L'Amour only had one speed - the western. While it's true the cowboy was usually his hero of choice, he's also made use of sailors, medieval adventurers, and even ghost busters. Check out Haunted Mesa for that last one. He's also authored nonfiction and poetry and the wisdom in his writing is still relevant today. From Education of a Wandering Man he says

A mistake constantly made by those who should know better is to judge people of the past by our standards rather than their own. The only way men or women can be judged is against the canvas of their own time.

Still, it's the cowboy that's most associated with L'Amour and his writings. Quintessentially American, apart from perhaps the Argentinean gaucho, the American cowboy has no other counterpart in the world. Next to my desire of sailing the open ocean, living with the vistas of a cowboy's life would be a dream. Who wouldn't want to wake up, walk out their front door, and be greeted by a mountain view or the lushness of a fertile valley? In my quest to touch all 50 states, the bulk of the remainder are in cowboy country - Montana and Wyoming. I'm looking forward to these trips. A coworker of mine bemoaned the possibility of his significant other getting a job offer in Wyoming. He saw the spark of excitement on my face and knew me well enough from our past conversations, "Wayne, I know you wouldn't mind living in Wyoming, but my Jamaican-born hiney ain't going anywhere near it."

Desperado, from 1973, was the Eagles's second studio release. The album followed a western theme from the group dressed as cowboys on the album cover to the titles of the album's tracks. Its title song, "Desperado,"  became one of the essential songs of any Eagles anthology. Ironically, it never charted as it was never released as a single. According to the SongFacts website, it was also the last song performed by the Eagles in concert before Frey's death. I don't know if Louis L'Amour was an Eagles fan, but "Desperado" could easily be the theme song for many of his novels.

Rock-tober 13, 2017

In the late 70's, Hot Wheels cars were today's equivalent of Pokemon or fidget spinners, just orders of magnitude cooler. One Christmas or birthday, Mom and Dad found a package deal of some crazy number of the miniature cars, 50 perhaps, that was going to be my present that year. We went to the store to pick up the collection, and I had the big box of awesomeness in my hands. Then, when walking with Mom and Dad to the checkout counter, I saw it on display - a telescope.

I loved astronomy and read every book I could get my hands on about the subject. The pictures I saw in those books blew me away. From Saturn's rings and Jupiter's enigmatic Red Spot to the constellations and the moon, everything I saw in the night sky captured my imagination. Now here I was, standing the closest I'd ever been to an actual telescope, a magical apparatus that could bring those faraway objects tantalizingly closer.

In truth, this was a rudimentary reflector model. A simple, 3 foot long cardboard optical tube open on one end with a mirror attached to the other, all on a spindly metal tripod. The finder scope was just a rigid plastic tube riveted to the main body. The optics were probably weak as well, but it stopped me dead in my tracks. "Wayne?" Mom and Dad were at the checkout counter. I looked at the collection of scale replicas of hot rods and sports cars in my hands and then back at the telescope. Mom and Dad saw my struggle. "You have to choose, son." I looked up at them. As a 7 or 8 year old kid, it seemed like the toughest decision I'd ever had to make. I took another look the magnificent box in my hands and slowly put it down. As I picked up another box with a telescope, Mom asked, "Are you sure?" All I could manage was a nod.

That night, my new telescope was hurriedly assembled on the back porch and trained on the only thing in the sky I could find in spite of the flimsy finder scope, the full moon. When I looked through the eyepiece, my heart dropped. All I could see was a white light with fuzzy spots. Had I just made the biggest mistake of my young life? Then I remembered the focus knob. Turning it slowly, the image started to sharpen. Suddenly, there it was taking up the entire field of vision. In crystal clear clarity, I saw crater impacts, the dark "seas", and ridges of the highlands. I was stunned and stepped back, not quite trusting what I saw was real. Taking another look at the image I saw through the eyepiece, I smiled and decided I was happy with my decision.

Train released "Drops of Jupiter" in 2001, and it peaked at #4 on the Hot 100. The song saved the group from becoming a one hit wonder since their release of "Meet Virginia" had been two years prior. "Drops of Jupiter" went on to receive 5 Grammy nominations, winning two of them including Best Rock Song. With its multiple references to heavenly bodies, the song is usually viewed as a euphemistic journey of self discovery. I like the more literal take of this song being a personal voyage of exploration. Whether it's travel to another continent or driving down a country lane I've never taken, I thrive on going where I've never been and seeing things I've never seen. Dad was the same way, so I come by it honestly. It could also stem from wanting to see more of the wonders I glimpsed through the eyepiece of a discount store telescope all those years ago.

Rock-tober 12, 2017

I returned to Long Beach for my 30th class reunion this year. I don't know about the girls, but when the guys clustered together, we inevitably talked about the growing list of aches and pains that had become a part of daily life. It's annoying when your knee is a better weather forecaster than the meteorologist on the local news. Years ago, I tuned out during TV commercials hawking pain medicine that promised to soothe all that ailed you. These days, I find myself weighing the promised benefits against the probable side effects, some of which sound just as bad or way worse than the original ailment. One drug was touted as a relief for joint flare ups. Possible side effects: joint flare ups and intestinal bleeding. I'm thinking, "How in blazes did you bozos get past the FDA?"

For most of us guys at the reunion, an additional accomplishment of leveling up a couple of decades was leveling up in weight class. One of my buddies proudly proclaimed, "Of course I'm in shape. Round. Round is a shape." My doctor once told me, "You know, Wayne, for your height, you should be 165 pounds." I laughed. "Doc, 165 is so far back in the rear view mirror, I haven't seen it since Junior High."

Yet another common point of commiseration was the old receding hairline. I worked with a guy who was particularly sensitive about his. Whenever I wanted to annoy him, I'd just stare at his forehead. He'd instinctively reach for it, asking in a panic, "What?! What's wrong?!" We'd all get a good laugh. Back at the reunion, my buddy Mike made me laugh as he seemed to greet each new arrival, "Dammit, you've still got good hair!"

At least in this one area, the old gene pool worked in my favor. Men on Dad's side of the family didn't seem to go bald. They'd go grey, sometimes very early, but never bald. I can do grey. A touch of grey is cool. A touch of grey is distinguished. A "Touch of Grey" is today's feature.

The Grateful Dead began their eclectic, psychedelic incursion into the rock world in 1965 and continued until Jerry Garcia's death in 1995. Along the way they picked up a Lifetime Achievement Grammy and induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Of the 30 singles they released, none charted higher than "Touch of Grey" which reached #9 on the Hot 100 in 1987. It's fitting that the 30th anniversary of its release coincides with the class of '87's 30th class reunion.

To my knowledge, only one of my classmates was a true Dead Head. She once mentioned she followed them on the back of a motorcycle on one of their tours across the southwest. She's gotta have some epic stories, but they're not mine to tell.

Rock-tober 11, 2017

I had a music professor at South Alabama, Dr. Wermouth, whom you've met before in the scandalous post from Rock-tober 27, 2015. When our class talked about music of the Baroque Period, the discussion inevitably came around to Bach. I've mentioned previously my fondness of the Baroque period of classical music and how most of my favorite composers came out of this era - Vivaldi, Pachelbel, and Mr. Baroque himself, Johann Sebastian Bach. The entirety of Bach's life was lived in the Baroque era, and his compositions are definitive representations of the style. Towards the end of his life, while his contemporaries started to experiment with different musical characteristics, Bach stayed the course, continuing to hone aspects of his form until the features of his compositions became the definitive style list of Baroque music. It's no coincidence that the year of his death, 1750, is considered the end of the Baroque era.

Yup. I know, this is Rock-tober. Bear with me.

Chuck Edward Anderson Berry was born on October 18, 1926, and he died this year on March 18 at the age of 90. Like Bach and the Baroque, Berry saw the ascendancy of a new genre. He was there at the dawn of rock and roll and was in the first class inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He lived long enough to see his style of music grow as the 2nd generation of rock took the stage and diverge into a myriad of styles from pop, punk and grunge to psychedelic, outlaw, and metal. He is Mr. Rock and Roll.

Influenced by blues musicians during his youth, Chuck honed his craft and created his own definitive sound. Musical success came early as his very first single, "Maybellene," went all the way to the number one spot on the R&B charts in 1955. Over the course of his career, the trail of singles he recorded are like signposts charting the way through rock's early years. "Roll Over Beethoven," "Johnny B. Goode," and "No Particular Place to Go" along with 1975's "Shake, Rattle, and Roll" still get air time today. Much like Bach in days of yore, he showed he and his sound were still relevant amidst the plethora of his musical descendants.

"Johnny B. Goode" was released on March 31, 1958, and helped bridge the racial divide of the time by peaking high on both R&B and Hot 100 charts. It's always enumerated in the top 100 of any music magazine that covers the rock and roll scene. Speaking of scenes, it got a second and third life by being featured in the soundtracks for "American Graffiti" and "Back to the Future." It's been covered by different artists representing different genres, with my favorite being the reggae release by Peter Tosh. Still, it's hard to beat the original. Thank you, Mr. Berry, for being an integral part of the history and vanguard of rock and roll.

Rock-tober 10, 2017

To be laid low by gastronomic misadventure is not a pleasant experience. Sometimes it happens through no fault of your own, as the victims of the Chipotle salmonella outbreak discovered. There are times, though, when you're knowingly flirting with disaster.

During my time at South Alabama, I once went grocery shopping with Brian and Shannon, the Alpha South pranksters you've previously met. We were picking up dorm staples - chips, Coke, and a couple of frozen dinners. Shannon noticed corn dogs for sale in the non frozen food section. "Hey, guys, three for the price of one! Deal!" Brian took a look. "Uh, Shannon, these expired three days ago." Shannon shrugged him off and loaded his basket with his dubious bargain find. Brian and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.

Later that evening, we were all in their room catching the latest Magnum PI on a tiny B&W TV, and Shannon made short work of the corn dogs. The next morning, I walked into a lecture auditorium where the three of us shared a class. I saw Brian and plopped down next to him. I looked around and asked, "Where's Shannon?" His smirk told me all I needed to know. Shannon missed quite a few of his classes that day and the next.

I once worked with a guy named Charles who commuted into Bethesda from West Virginia. I asked him why he put up with the two hour commute - both ways. He said his house payment was the size of most people's car payment. Fair enough.

Charles was cruising around the backroads of the Mountain State with a buddy of his one summer day when they came across a large deer that had been struck and killed by a car. His buddy pulls over, jumps out of the cab, and inspects the carcass. "Hey, man, help me get 'im into the truck!" Charles just looked at him incredulously.

"You are out of your hillbilly mind! Are you serious?! I'm not helping you load roadkill!" His buddy ponders this a moment then presses his hand against the carcass.

"Naw, Charlie. He's alright - he's still warm!" This solicited an epic face palm from Charles.

"Dude. It's 100° out here! Of course he's still warm!"

Despite appeals to his common sense and intestinal well being, Charles's buddy would not be swayed. Dutifully, he helped schlep the carcass into the bed of the truck. His buddy drove him home and dropped him off. He yelled back as he pulled away, "Ya'll come up on Sunday for dinner!"

To my knowledge, Charles bowed out of that invitation. I often wondered about his friend, though, traveling down those country roads and flirting with gastronomic disaster.

Rock-tober 09, 2017

One of the biggest revelations to hit me sitting in college physics classes was that Sir Isaac Newton's laws governing the natural world are not sacrosanct. They're actually approximations - very good ones, mind you - that have underpinned our understanding of the natural world for centuries. However, they break down under certain conditions such as velocities that approach the speed of light or in the presence of huge gravitational fields (think black holes).

Another interesting fact about Newtonian physics is that time is bidirectional. In the equation Force = Mass x Acceleration, the acceleration term is represented by length / time^2. The fact that time is squared (^2) indicates time can be going forward or backward (positive or negative value) and the answer would be the same. The motion of a projectile fired at a target could mathematically happen in reverse with the projectile ending up back in the barrel of the gun.

There's a bigger life lesson here. Based on Newtonian physics, there's no mathematical reason we couldn't rewind time and have the projectile move from the target to the gun. However, anyone with enough life experience under their belt knows this is a false presumption and inherently, the flow of time is irreversible. Parents are very keenly aware of this fact.

Many of my friends have kids either starting or returning to school this fall. All the "first day of school" pictures were tagged with the universal lament, "Where has the time gone?" Unfortunately, you can't turn back the clock, regardless of Sir Newton's math. A subset of this group of friends are those whose kids are graduating from high school or college and are now striking out on their own. In these cases, among the parents' most prominent concerns is, "My dear child, have I imparted enough of my life experiences to you in our time together that you may find your way in a world that may not know up from down, forward from back, or right from wrong?"

"Shine" was Collective Soul's debut single and became their anthem, topping out at #11 on Billboard's Hot 100. It continues to be synonymous with the band and has landed on nearly every compilation of 90's rock. The song went on to be covered by several artists including none other than the great Dolly Parton. Don't snicker. Her rendition garnered her a Grammy.

"Give me a word. Give me a sign. Show me where to look. Tell me what will I find."

The opening lyrics to "Shine" come across as a simple prayer for divine guidance. It's also represents the hope of mothers and fathers that their young adults will recognize answered prayers sometimes reveal themselves in seeking the wisdom and life experiences of parents and trusted mentors.

Rock-tober 08, 2017

Y'all, this has been a year for hurricanes with 2017 on pace to becoming one of the most active and dangerous seasons on record. Hurricane Harvey came ashore as a Category 4 and struck deep into the heart of Texas, the first hurricane to do so since Celia in 1970. Some areas received up to 40" of rain and damage estimates in Houston alone are at twenty billion and rising. Some bean counters say Harvey may be the most expensive hurricane to strike the mainland US simply because of the population density of the affected area.

Irma then made her appearance. Speaking with family and friends back in South Mississippi, there was a palpable trepidation as forecasters attempted to predict Irma's path. I watched with concern as an early, single outlier in the spaghetti model showed one errant track that curved through the Gulf and right up to the Mississippi coast - also known as "Landmassia" to the uninformed, geographically inept media. Unfortunately, it was Florida that bore the brunt of this monster. Wider than the entire peninsula, Irma took her sweet time plodding up the west coast. Fortunately, all my friends from the Sunshine State have all checked in and reported minimal damage to hearth and home.

Now, as I write this, Hurricane Nate made his landfall near the mouth of the Mississippi river just a whisker into Category 2 storm strength. I'm talking to Mom on the phone and in Long Beach, she's reporting rain with high winds, but nothing severe as of yet. While all hurricanes must be taken seriously, I hope based on the speed and strength of this storm, it will be more of annoyance rather than a severe threat to life and limb.

Live on the Gulf Coast and you can expect a few certainties.

• We have two seasons: sweltering summers and mild winters.
• The seafood is superb.
• Hometown Mardi Gras parades are more relaxed but just as festive as the throngs of humanity in New Orleans and Mobile.
• You have to deal with the occasional hurricane.

I've written previously of how my family sheltered in place for Hurricane Elena, but she was not the first storm we rode out. In 1979, during Hurricane Frederic, I remember taking shelter in one of the stoutly built warehouses at the Naval CB base. Mom and I (Dad was deployed at the time) were packed in with hundreds of other families waiting out the squall. The CBs kept one of the warehouse loading bay doors open to keep watch. When I stepped up to take a look outside, it was the first time I'd ever seen the fury of a hurricane. As a 9-year-old kid, I was somewhere between fearful and awed.

The Gulf Coast recovered from Frederic, as it's recovered from every hurricane that's ever come knocking. The resilience of the region and its people is inspiring. After Katrina, I remember some talking head in the media ask, "I don't understand. Why don't these people just move if  they know hurricanes are a known threat?" I unleashed an explosive tirade of expletives at the TV. Are Malibu residents encouraged to abandon their homesteads because of the frequency of mudslides and forest fires? The entire midwest is called tornado alley for a reason. Should those folks relocate? The threat of a massive quake hangs like the Sword of Damocles over San Francisco and LA. Are their residents called ignorant rubes for sticking around? For crying out loud, Manhattan itself is sitting on a fault line. Where are the calls to abandon the island?

To be fair, I know some families that did emigrate after Katrina. While there are still numerous vacant lots, there's also no denying the Mississippi Gulf Coast is recovering above and beyond what was there previously. Other hurricanes will undoubtedly swing through, and Landmassia will no doubt weather and recover from them as well. Home has a powerful draw, and, like the stout, moss draped live oaks standing like sentinels in the area, its people are amazingly defiant. It'll take more water than what any hurricane is packing to wash us away.

Rock-tober 07, 2017

If I were to describe drivers in the DC metro area, it would be "aggressively impatient". Maybe it's symptomatic of daily, close order automotive drills with a couple of thousand yahoos. It could be the close proximity to New York and New Jersey, states not exactly known for churning out courteous drivers. Perhaps it's the self importance people get being so close to the seat of power down in DC. Whatever the source of the contagion, very few people are immune. Basically, it sucks. Witness the typical, one-sided conversations I have with others on the road:

"Oh, I guess you're merging over. Nice turn signal, jack hole."
"Don't. Don't you do it! AUGH! YOU. DID. NOT. JUST. DO.THAT."
"Your gas pedal. It's that thing on the floorboard that makes you go faster. Just saying."
"OMG! From what defective, malfunctioned Cracker Jack box did you get your license!?"

There's medical evidence that the stress of traffic has a detrimental effect on your health. A former coworker of mine made the dubious decision to go in for a physical immediately after his commute home. The doctor was shocked when his blood pressure was taken.

"Holy Hannah! Your numbers are off the chart! What have you been doing?"
"I just spent an hour and a half on I-270"
"Oh. Yeah. That would do it."

At stop lights, there a 2 simple rules. The first guy at the light has one job and one job only: punch the gas the instant the light turns green. The second guy at the light also has one job and one job only: lay on his horn if the first guy doesn't do his job.

Meanwhile, Mom calls and gives me the download of what's going on back home. She complains the traffic in Long Beach is getting "bad". "I'll come to a stop light, and there's always at least 4 cars in front of me."

*sigh*

Thank goodness for Sirius and Spotify. My playlists take my mind off the close proximity of knuckle heads between me and my destination. They're full of songs that induce a more chill state like this one from Rocktober 2013 or today's feature that just reminds me to have some patience. A lot of patience.