Rock-tober 23, 2023

Looking back on the years growing up on Island View in Long Beach, it's a wonder there weren't more casualties and hospital visits. The neighborhood kids didn't need jarts, we found a myriad of other ways to tempt fate. Apart from drinking straight from a rubber hose on hot summer days and taking woodland trails at breakneck speeds without helmets, we had bottle rocket fights involving every able-bodied kid in the 'hood. I don't recall any serious injuries, but property damage was another matter. That may be another post as soon as I verify Mississippi's statutes of limitations.

There are also the forts whose construction involved a dozen teen and pre-teen boys in close proximity to each other swinging axes and hammers. Mind you, these weren't made from salvaged and/or liberated construction supplies. We picked a spot in the woods and started chopping down trees for materials.

Nunchucks and throwing stars were prevalent, with some friends testing their aim and ninja skills on rodents around dumpsters, if not each other. In his long-suffering attempts to elevate my street cred, Noel gifted me a pair of nunchucks, and it's a wonder I didn't give myself a concussion, at least I don't remember one. I do know my old bedroom furniture still sports divots from where I "momentarily lost control" of my swings.

That fact that Mike and I escaped serious maiming must have kept our guardian angels on their toes. After I got a recurve bow, we spent hours sending arrows downrange to a target my dad set up in the backyard. After a while, that got pretty dull so we decided it would be cool to mimic Hiawatha and started shooting arrows straight up into the air. Our addled brains at least had the wherewithal to find an empty field. We found we had trouble seeing the arrows as they came back down so we duct-taped lit smoke bombs to the arrow tips, adding an uncalculated pyrotechnic risk to the activity. I think jarts would have been statistically safer.

Once, Ken, another band geek buddy of ours came over to the 'hood. We all had BB guns so I think the intended activity was plinking away at target cans Mike had in his backyard. It devolved quickly when Mike took a potshot at Ken. Suddenly it was "weapons free" and we all dove for cover.

It was a bad idea. We knew it was a bad idea; our parents didn't raise blithering idiots. However, whatever hormonal cocktail was bathing our brains back then allowed us to consciously disregard all common sense. Pellets were flying and yowls were heard as hits were scored. Mike and I settled into a detente and double-teamed Ken (sorry Ken). From my position, I could see Mike pumping continuously on his gun.

"Mike! What are you doing?!"

One pump on his air rifle was enough to hit your target at the given range. Two pumps would definitely be felt. Three would sting, badly. Mike was on pump five. With a goofy Scooby-Doo laugh, he took aim at Ken's posterior just visible behind a tree, and squeezed off a shot.

The resulting tirade of expletives from Ken ended the Battle of Latil Street.

Ken, if it somehow evens the score, I still have scars from one of your well-placed shots. Good shooting, sir.

Ken, like Mike, is a frequent reader of these posts. Over the years he's sent me multiple notifications of Rock-Tober alums who had concert dates in our area, and even put together a Spotify playlist of Rock-Tober Year One.

A few years back, I got a link from him of an artist doing a cover of  "Sweet Dreams" along with the question, "What do you think?". Unfortunately, the link has disappeared from my feed, so I can't refresh my memory, but I know I have an inherent bias against covers - especially if you're covering as iconic a voice as Annie Lennox.

Eurythmics - "Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)"

Rock-tober 22, 2023

My buddy Noel and his brother are anomalies in my life. Being Navy brats going from duty station to duty station as our dads received transfer orders from the Navy, our families moved on average, every four years. It was unusual to maintain friendships beyond a single tour, but Noel, his brother, Roel, and I have managed to maintain contact for over four decades.

These days, we're on opposite coasts. But back in the mid-'80s, we were all plying the mean streets of Long Beach, Mississippi. Countless times, Noel would be riding shotgun in the 'Stang, and we'd head out for the evening to see what shenanigans we could find.

Actually, I followed his lead on the shenanigans since I was way more straight-laced in those days. He was my role model for "cool".

We always packed a boombox because, at the time, the 'Stang was still sporting its stock AM radio. He also carried a collection of his own cassettes because he didn't trust mine would exude the proper boss vibe. Noel confided in me on several occasions he was worried I'd start a cruise down Jeff Davis blasting Beethoven's 5th. I think more than likely it would have been Vivaldi, but point taken. In his ongoing efforts to raise my street cred, he made sure to pack some tunes more appropriate to our ride and the century we were actually living in.

One Saturday evening, as we started our slow roll at the top of Jeff Davis, he started rifling through his collection. Suddenly, he paused at one cassette, gave me a Cheshire cat grin, and locked and loaded it into the boombox. With all dials cranked to max, he hit play.

My unacclimated ears were assaulted by heavy guitar riffs and the lead singer screaming the lyrics. It shocked me into slamming on the brakes, and that garnered a few honks and expletives from the car behind us. I waved apologetically in the rearview and started rolling again.

"What?! Dude! Who is this?! What is this!? What are they even saying!?" Noel was laughing and air drumming like a maniac. Then he joined in on what I could only assume was the chorus.

"BAT-TER-RY!!! BAT-TER-RY!!!"

Fast forward a few decades, and my childhood friend who was my role model for "cool" continued this position and became Senior Chief Silva, USN (RET). Along the way, he married an awesome lady and raised a daughter.

A few years back, we were texting back and forth and he mentioned he'd recently taken his daughter to a concert for one of the boy bands that was popular at the time. Remembering all our cruises down Jeff Davis together, I suggested he then broaden her musical horizons.

"Man, that's pretty cool. For her next concert, maybe take her to Skynyrd?"

"Yeah, I dunno about that. They might be a little too rough."

After I stopped laughing, which took a minute, I sat and thought about it. I imagine raising a daughter would have a mellowing effect on anyone. I believe Noel did eventually take his girl to Motley Crue and Poison, so "parenting win" there.

However, while the last music video he sent my way was an incredible example of musical proficiency on a 6 string, it was a long way from Metallica blasting from the shotgun seat of the 'Stang.

 

Luca Stricagnoli - The Last of the Mohicans

Rock-tober 21, 2023

Earlier this year, a classmate of mine asked for some travel recommendations in the Boston area. Pfft. Anyone who knows me will know my #1 must-see on any visit to Beantown - "Old Ironsides". I've made a few trips to Boston, and every single time I rolled through, I always made it a point to stop in and visit her at her berth.

Constitution and her 5 sister ships were launched by the fledgling United States as the need to protect its maritime interests and project power at a distance became evident. In the late 1700s, US merchant ships were being harassed by the  French Navy and Barbary Coast pirates. Also, to supplement its own naval forces, Britain began forcibly conscripting US merchant sailors for service in the Royal Navy.

One of the first frigates built for the U.S. Navy, Constitution was launched in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1797, and is the world's oldest commissioned warship still afloat. While HMS Victory maintains her commission from two decades earlier in 1778, today she's dry-docked in Greenwich, England, and will likely never sail again.

Built of live oak timbers, known for their incredible density and resistance to rot, Constitution's design by Joshua Humphreys was inspired. Her keel was unusually long for a vessel designated a frigate, and her beam (width) was narrower than other ships her size. This hull configuration gave her superb efficiency at slicing through the water. With an acre of canvas hanging from her masts under full sail, she could achieve 13 knots (15 mph) - astonishing for a vessel this size.

The arrangement of timbers forming her ribs was a radical new design that more efficiently carried and transferred the weight of her upper decks to the keel. As a result, Constitution could carry more and heavier guns than other ships of her class. Officially designated a 44-gun frigate, she often exceeded this. Typically, this armament included thirty-two 24-pounder guns and twenty 32-pounder guns, both of which could fire once every two minutes.

Her speed and firepower made Constitution an anomaly. She could easily outgun any ship her size and outrun everything else. After she destroyed HMS Guerriere and HMS Java in two separate battles, the British admiralty issued a directive that the American frigates were not to be engaged in one-on-one skirmishes.

How do you know you're a badass? When the most powerful navy in the world orders its fleet not to tangle with you.

It's hard to describe the first time I saw "Old Ironsides" in person. I imagine it was very similar to a Swifty coming face-to-face with Taylor Swift herself but with slightly less squeeing. I spent untold minutes just looking up at her. Many people may be unmoved by being in such close proximity to such a storied, first-hand witness and participant in US Naval history, but I was definitely not one of them.

As I crossed the gangplank and boarded her, my mind's eye saw the long line of sailors that had crossed that same threshold, seabag slung onto their shoulders, an adventure waiting over the horizon. A slight tremor passed through my hand as I touched the gunwale. I'd just made physical contact with over 200 years of living history, and I smiled.

No, that wasn't a tear I was wiping away, just sea spray from the stiff breeze.

Today, 21 October, is the anniversary of her launch, and effectively her 226th birthday. Happy birthday to a grand old lady. Huzzah!

United States Navy Band - "Haul Away Joe"

Rock-tober 20, 2023

Back when I was just on the cusp of being a teenager, Mom gave me some advice. "Wayne, you really need to learn how to cook. You may wind up marrying a woman who doesn't know how."

To short-circuit the cancel crowd, Andrea is a great cook of all things Southern with a touch of international. As I sit here typing this, I'm thinking about her specialties and will be putting in a request for a batch of her yeast rolls.

But Mom's advice was well taken. I'd already been dishing up my own scrambled eggs since I was tall enough to see into the skillet on the stove. By the time I walked into college, I had a few recipes down pat in my back pocket.

Once, at Auburn, I cooked for a dinner party at my group's hangout house. The pepper steak I served up that evening was a hit, and as a bonus, Andrea was in attendance. It was an early win with the redhead.

Over the years, I've become very aware of our different methodologies in the kitchen. Andrea cooks like a head chef in a professionally staffed kitchen. By the time everything is roasting in the oven or maintaining a slow simmer on the stove, she will have utilized every bowl, spoon, pot, and pan that we have. Dishes will be piled in the sink, leftover ingredients will be out and about on the counter, and a thin coat of flour will cover the stand mixer and everything else within a 2-foot circumference. The meal will be fantastic, but cleanup falls to her support staff of one.

On the other hand, as a result of my undiagnosed OCD, I tend to clean as I go. One of my proudest culinary moments was a time I served up a 3-course meal. I have absolutely no remembrance of what I actually prepared, but I can say with a certain amount of pride that by the time the appetizers hit the table, the kitchen was spotless.

I'm thankful Mom pushed me into the kitchen all those years ago. Being self-sufficient in that arena should be as much a part of a guy's basic skill set as doing an oil change. Once when Andrea was heading out of town for a conference, she told me some of her coworkers asked if they needed to drop off meals to me during the week.

I'm certain the neighbors heard me as I burst out laughing. I asked her to pass along my thanks as I eagerly planned out the next week's menu. Cooking for myself was an opportunity to cut loose and crank up the spice level to 11.

Despite 25+ years of marriage, Andrea's palette is still mired by her Scots-Irish sensitivity to anything hotter than black pepper. It's a shame because as we head into fall, I'm picturing large batches of chili and Brunswick stew whose spice load will need to be moderated.

I take that as an excuse to start working on some ice cream recipes to pair with my spicy dishes.

David Lee Roth (Van Halen) "Ice Cream Man"

Rock-tober 19, 2023

I really dislike reality shows. Putting people into an artificially contrived situation, subjecting participants to stressful conditions, playing up personality conflicts, and all the while rolling cameras in the hopes of capturing something juicy is banal broadcasting at its worst.

Andrea, however, apparently loves them. These shows take zero mental effort so for her, they're a perfect way to unwind after a day of fighting dragons. Sadly, they're just not my way to unwind, and for me, just being in the same room as the TV when they're playing has some unfortunate side effects. I'm constantly annoyed at the inane cattiness pouring out of the Housewives franchise, the self-absorbed rudeness of the Sharks on Shark Tank pisses me off, and DO. NOT. GET. ME. STARTED. on Sister Wives. Kody, my dude, you are a first-rate, government-inspected, Grade-A dumbass.

I walked into the room recently and Andrea was tuned in to yet another reality series. The premise of this one was basically a dating show with a mix of couples who've never met and don't actually see each other over the course of the episodes. All couples are separated by a screen during their "dates". The end goal, of course, is to walk out engaged. If this is what the dating scene has come to, I'm glad I'm not in it. Attempting to form a lifelong bond with a stranger over a half dozen "blind" dates does not seem to be a valid success vector.

And some of these guys were just trying too damn hard.

Guy: "I wrote you a poem."

Girl: "Awwww." 

Me: "Pffft. Lame."

After that episode, I remembered something. Andrea has a box with some of her most cherished keepsakes. Among the contents were some childhood mementos, some of our early correspondence, her handwritten list of qualities she wanted in a man (I don't think I made half of them), and a book of poetry. Specifically a book of love poems. By Keats.

I have a memory from early in our dating life of my head in her lap as she read me passages from that book.

Dammit.

"Ummm. Hey, Andrea, does it bother you that I don't write you poetry?"

"What?! No. You've written a lot of things to me." My memory was a little hazy.

"Was any of it poetry?"

"Umm. No. *snicker* I don't believe any of it rhymed."

"Oh. Did you want rhymes?"

"Nope. Not necessary."

"Because I can dust off the old quill and make an attempt."

"No. It's REALLY not necessary..."

"THERE ONCE WAS A LADY FROM NANTUCKET...."

I've made several attempts at learning this on the piano. Maybe it'll be a good substitute for a heartwarming limerick.

Journey - Open Arms

Rock-tober 18, 2023

Years ago, during a team-building exercise at a prior job, a personality profile test was administered. It pegged me as a very solid "C" in the DiSC personality types, and I've found this knowledge useful in the past. A primary characteristic of Type Cs can be summed up with "Get it done right". This can cause friction if a number of your team members are more aligned with "Get it done". The difference in verbiage is subtle, but the ramifications in team dynamics can be huge.

Because of their cautious nature, Type Cs can often be viewed as roadblocks to a project on a team full of Type D "Get it done" individuals. There have been many times I've had to point out that our current course of action will certainly "fix" the issue and get it quickly out the door, but we're going to circle back to it in about 6 months because the stopgap measures didn't address the root cause of a problem.

I'm unsure how this personality profile comes into play in Type Cs receiving uninvited recommendations. I think I would be OK if the proposition clarified an ambiguity or improved our process allowing us to avoid potential (expensive) trouble down the road. There have been times, however, when I did not take a suggestion well because it was just a really bad idea.

The "badness" can stem from technical issues like spec'ing out underpowered hardware to save on upfront costs. Sometimes, though, it's more personal.

There's a story I love about an architect who comes across as a solid Type C. Tasked with designing a new building, he incorporated a massive, full cantilever feature that created a bold statement for the building's front facade. When mock-ups and models were presented, whoever had ultimate decision-making authority didn't like the cantilever structure. He didn't trust its structural integrity and unilaterally added support columns to the design.

Predictably, this unsolicited edit annoyed the architect as the columns destroyed the aesthetic he was trying to capture. Even when presented with the calculations and analyses validating the construction, the higher-ups were unmoved.

Resigned, the architect executed the modified design incorporating the support columns.

That was seemingly the end of the story. Revealed much later, however, was a masterful act of malicious compliance. While compelled to include support columns, it wasn't mandated that they be functional. When measured, they were found to be several millimeters too short. The architect successfully produced his desired vision.

"Stick to Your Guns" - Stormbringer

Rock-tober 17, 2023

In high school, Mr. Burger, our World History teacher once had an impromptu Trivial Pursuit session in the middle of class. "What organization, formed during WWII, was the forerunner to the CIA."  As I raised my hand, he pointed at me. "Wayne?"

"Was it the OSS?" He double-checked the answer and smiled.

"It is! How'd you happen to know that?" Before I could censor myself, I replied.

"I read it in a comic book."

Rather than raise an eyebrow in a "You know you're in high school now, right?" manner, he paused, nodded, and said, "Knowledge is knowledge."

As a kid, I'd pick up comics at the Navy Exchange or from the convenience store down from the house. One day, in Biloxi, across from Edgewater Mall, a comic book store run by a Brit and his American wife set up shop. I'd never seen such a wonder. Here, rather than the scant half dozen titles carried by the Exchange, were hundreds of titles. Separated by House DC or House Marvel, back issues vs current, all in easily browsed cardboard boxes purpose-built for storing comics.

One month I was stuck at college in Mobile and wouldn't be able to make the trip over to pick up my titles. I was a little stressed because the very first Green Arrow annual was out, and it was a crossover with Batman. My fear was it would sell out before I could get my hands on one, so I asked my buddy Noel to pick up a few copies for me.

As he was checking out, Noel asked the guy, "Hey, do you think this title will sell out?"

"Well, yeah, if everyone buys multiple copies like your buddy did."

Wiseguys. 

I still have the book and the receipt. A quick search online shows a near-mint copy of Green Arrow Annual #1 can go for $34.00. A 35-year investment of $2.00 can now buy a tank of gas.

One of the reasons I liked the Green Arrow title was (1) the guy's an archer and (2) this title was unfettered by the Comic Code Authority. The CCA was the comic industry's self-imposed regulation used as an alternative to being regulated by the Feds, and it kept comic book content at the PG level. By stepping outside the CCA circle, this title was free to explore subject matter Archie and Jughead wouldn't encounter at Riverdale High.

One of the more profound realizations to come out of this book's storylines was the expectation that  "justice" and "the law" were synonyms. They are not. While justice says an individual must be held accountable for crimes committed, the law can vacate a judgment for any number of reasons.

I get it. The law is supposed to be an unbiased shield for everyone. But we all know that the law and justice aren't always in perfect lockstep.

Of note, on the other side of the equation, there's a red line beyond which justice becomes vengeance. Scanning some of the headlines of today, I imagine the inner strength required to not step over that line must be enormous.  When wronged, escalation is easy. But if we're going to make it as a society, it will require all sides to take a step back and take measured, very considered steps forward. Together.

Metallica - ...And Justice For All