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.