Ramblings and Insignificant Trivia

Please join me on a journey back to my college years:
Manchester College (now Manchester University)
North Manchester, Indiana
1984-1988

Once I decided to write a blog post about my college experience, it was obvious I needed to start by acknowledging the people that came into my life during that time.  And I consider myself incredibly lucky to have so many of them still in my life today.  Roommates, Baseball Teammates, Dorm Mates, Friends both male and female from all across campus, and Friends that came from off campus as well.  You all made that time super special.

Besides the people, what else could/should I focus on? Recently, a thought from years past has been coming back to me.  The thought is that 95% of what I learned in college occurred outside the classroom.  I can’t remember one thing from my Programming in RPG class, but I’ll go to my grave remembering all the words to “R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.” by John Mellencamp.  Who was my Differential Equations professor? I dunno. But… “Some are black, and some are white.  They ain’t too proud to sleep on the floor tonight.”

With that 95% theory as an anchor, a 2^nd thought made its way into the conversation.  The thought is that If I had to do it all over again, I’d re-do my college experience the same as before.  Warts and all.  Certainly, a short memory has helped me come to that conclusion.  Thank goodness I don’t remember many of the horrific choices I surely made during those 4 years.  Partaking in a Pizza Jack’s deep dish and a bottle of Cherry Vodka after 10pm on a Sunday night is definitely one of those decisions made while wearing my 30W 30L “Bad Idea Jeans”.  Hopefully I’ve lived and learned. The jury’s still out on that one.

So, let’s go visit the place that was my second home in the mid-80s.  Manchester College is/was a tiny school with just under 1000 students.  It is affiliated with The Church of the Brethren (my Catholic mother was not amused to hear that, after a rather spirited Convocation, I thought I inadvertently switched my religious allegiance to someone named Yahweh). It is located in a sleepy little town, and alcohol was NOT allowed on campus. With an administration that did not understand what made 18-22 year-old’s tick, we had to invent ways to entertain ourselves.  Again, this was the 1980s.  No Cable TV in the dorm rooms.  Cell phones and the Internet were years away.  If we wanted to talk to a girl, we had to walk across campus.  Part of that walk was through a wind tunnel that seemed perpetually 40 degrees colder than the air temperature on either end of it. When that walk across campus was a No-Go for any number of reasons (mostly the ladies coming to their senses), it could get a little boring.  But nothing a few games of 3-Handed Euchre or a few rounds of The Quit Smoking Game couldn’t cure.

We all survived and often thrived for many reasons, chief among them was the ability to seek out others to enjoy the ride with. As this venture played out, you realized you rarely met someone who already liked the same things you liked.  Or knew about the things you held dear.  We didn’t arrive on campus with much in common (aside from an unjustified overconfidence).  We came from every corner of Indiana and many bordering states.  We came from big cities and small hamlets.  We came with varied backgrounds and different outlooks.

Once on campus, we slowly, almost imperceptibly, started to develop the likes, dislikes, and personalities that persist today.  We all heard Henry Lee Summer’s first album and became big fans.  When Tim introduced us to Bob & Tom, we started listening to those guys any chance we could.  On the other hand, Chris liked Tang.  Nope.  No thank you.  Mike liked Stevie Ray Vaughn.  That one took me a while to come around to.  I liked Sha Na Na.  Shockingly, no one else appreciated the genius of Bowzer and Company.

It was awesome in the moment and even awesome-er now to recall this transformation. We didn’t have Fraternities or Sororities, so if someone just made an honest effort to join the festivities, that was it.  You were in.  And when you were in, you were in on some major league goofiness.  Here is a very tiny microcosm of what we did to amuse ourselves and forge the friendships I proudly nurture to this day:

Side Note: For obvious reasons, I must leave out a lot of the stories from that time period.  There are things my wife doesn’t know, and my lawyer can’t know.  Stories about Peace Poles, Hairy Buffalo’s, and Log Jams will have to wait until we’re hanging out sharing a cold one.

So here’s the PG13 version of the very tiny microcosm of……..

Study Naked Night – A proud tradition held once a week…or whenever the mood hit.  How do these things get started?  Why did they persist?  In an all-male dorm, what purpose did they serve?  In unison, we all say, “Exactly”!

Winter Olympics – Around midnight on a particularly chilly night, Freshmen were encouraged to strip naked. (OK.  I’m quickly realizing that a lack of clothes is developing into a theme here.  But remember, no selfies back then.  No big deal. If you wanted a pictorial memory of an occasion, you had to be willing to let the film developer at the pharmacy in on the Kodak Moment.  With some notable exceptions, wink, wink, it was not a viable option.)

It’s worth pointing out you didn’t have to get TOTALLY naked.  You could wear a hat, shoes, gloves, and sunglasses if you wanted.  The Freshmen lined up outside the dorm and proceeded to run laps around the inner parking lot.  Upperclassmen hovered around and tried pelting the living bejesus out of them with snowballs. The snowballs rarely found their target. Everyone was laughing so hard, aiming was next to impossible.  Was it a weird tradition? Absolutely!  Was it borderline criminal?  Hmmm.  I’ll defer to that time honored passage: “The statute of limitations ran out a long time ago on that one”.

Air Band Contests – This was a biggie.  For all the right reasons, the lip-synch competitions were “Must See” events.  They truly were some of the best nights of the year.  Every dorm was well represented.  Every demographic participated.  The venues were packed.  There were cash prizes!

We entered just about every air band contest there was.  We picked our song.  We figured out our costumes.  We made our instruments out of cardboard.  We practiced our dance moves.  We performed like our lives depended on it.  For sure, our beer budget depended on it. For just a few minutes, we were members of The Clash, Dire Straits, U2, The Beatles, The Temptations, The Knack, and Franki Valli and the 4 Seasons.  But without the Groupies, darn it. 

It truly brought people together.  I didn’t know everyone at our small college, or care for all the people I did know.  But if I saw you put it all out there on the line performing at an Air Band contest…immediate respect.

I could go on forever with more inside jokes and stories oozing with immaturity, but I felt like I was losing you about 400 words ago. I’ll quit while you’re still awake. If you’re interested in hearing more, that’s an even better reason to stop by for that beer.  Open Invitation.

Post Script: In 7 ½ months, it will be 40 years since I stepped foot on the campus of Manchester College as an incoming Freshmen.  I arrived with 4 cassette tapes, white tube socks pulled up to my knees, and a threadbare blanket that looked like an orange and white checkered tablecloth.  Yep, I’d do it all again.  Exactly the same way.  In a heartbeat. It’s an easy decision made while wearing my 36W 29L Relaxed Fit Levi’s.

Now it’s time for some “Insignificant Trivia”!

Before Sha Na Na made it big with their own TV Show, their original lead singer hit the Top 10 in 1976 with a song called Shannon.  What was his name?

No fair using The Google.

An old friend I’ve known for 50 years, but haven’t seen in decades, reached out on Facebook the other day to comment on a topic I was talking about. When I saw his name pop up, it immediately brought back a story I’ve told many times over the years.

Terry and I went to the same elementary, middle, and high schools. In 10^th grade, we both joined the high school football team and played the same position, Flanker (wide receiver).

For 3 years, I was right behind him on the depth chart. He got about 75% of the snaps. I got about 25%. And rightly so. He was a way better receiver than me. After senior year, he earned a Scholarship to play College Football. I was incredibly happy for him. Well deserved.

Now, the other side of the story. We were not that great of a team.  We punted. A lot. And I was the punter. On 4^th downs I would trot out from the sidelines to the punt team huddle.  Terry would NOT go back to the sidelines and rest. He would join the punt team huddle…as my Long Snapper! One of the all-time thankless jobs in football history. If you do your job right, you’re ignored.  If you do your job wrong, the world knows your name. Plus, you get the bonus of having a few defensive linemen pound you off the line of scrimmage for your effort. Now he may have loved that job. He may have hated it. I don’t know for sure.  I never heard him complain once. And like all things on the football field, he was very good at it. 

It’s one of my favorite “taking one for the team” stories.  I don’t know the moral of the story, if there even is one. A hundred people can interpret it a hundred ways.

Enjoy what you do, whatever you do? Be willing to go into the trenches if the situation calls for it? We’d do anything for the Scarlet and Black of the South Bend LaSalle Lions?

I just know it makes me smile every time I think about it.

Happy 2024 to one and all!

Postscript: Ok, now I have to tell my all time favorite high school football story. I graduated high school in 1984. My sophomore year, I didn’t play in any games but I did get to dress for a few games. The first game of the season I’m on the sidelines minding my own business. All of the sudden, a part of the crowd starts chanting 83! 83! 83! What? I was #83. They were chanting for me! How could this be? I didn’t play. Maybe by standing still for a solid hour right in front of them, they finally took a liking to me. So I turn to acknowledge the crowd, and I realize it’s only the Juniors who are chanting 83. The Juniors. The class of ’83. Only they were chanting “83”.

I was crestfallen. I’m still applying salve to that wound 41 years later.

A few days ago I was driving smack dab in the middle of downtown Chicago (The Loop for those in the know).  Over a 45 minute span (where my car only moved half a block), I felt like I was witnessing a controlled experiment in human psychology.  And not that my experience will help answer any questions relating to Free Will, Law and Order, and Mob Mentality…but all of those topics and more raced through my head while “parked” on Washington Street.

The crux of the problem was an all too common phenomenon in bumper to bumper city traffic.  Every car that had a chance to block the middle of the intersection took that opportunity with gusto.  Knowing full well they were going nowhere once in the middle of the intersection, it was more important to not let anyone get in front of them than it was to keep the intersection clear for the crossing traffic.  Over and over and over and over and over and over again.  On average, one car going my same direction made it through the traffic light every 2-3 minutes.

After 40 minutes of this, salvation arrived in the form of 2 young kids in matching windbreakers with the word TRAFFIC written on the back.  With no words, just arm movements, the clog was roto-rooted immediately.  They asked drivers to stop short of the intersection when the light turned red and they asked drivers not to enter the intersection on a green light until it was clear.  Simple, Common Sensical, and Completely Beyond The Capability Of Drivers To Do On Their Own.

Other than 2 teenage-looking civil servants showing up, what else changed to clear up the traffic?  What REALLY changed to clear up the traffic?

Trust.

No one trusted the other driver to do the right thing.  And rightfully so.  It wasn’t going to happen.  Everyone was out for themselves, even though everyone KNEW if they did the right thing it would be best for everyone.  No way.  If one car is going to benefit by not doing the right thing, screw it, we’re ALL going to suffer.

Once the traffic patrol arrived, trust was an option.  A good option.  The best option.  Instinctively, each driver was able to trust that every other driver was going to abide by the traffic patrol’s directions.  Thankfully, everyone waited their turn and I traversed the second half of that block and beyond in short order.

So what’s the takeaway here?  It’s complicated.  It’s multi-faceted.  Two themes were obvious to me.

First:  Don’t expect others to do something you’re not willing to do yourself.  Equally but different, don’t do something and then be upset when someone else does it.  Besides the obvious hypocrisy, those two scenarios break down trust quicker than snot.

Second:  Society needs trustworthy leaders and trustworthy keepers of law and order.  Obviously, the key word is “trustworthy” and everyone has a different definition and threshold for what that means. If those things are in place, a society has a good chance to thrive and be stable.

I’ve often wondered why a lot of people are comfortable with being told what to do and how to do it.  While I don’t know the answer to that mystery, I’m convinced it’s the only way to explain the phenomenon of Line Dancing.

Happy Spring everybody!

I was watching the movie Deadpool the other day.  Although incredibly graphic both visually and verbally, I consider it a modern day classic.  The humor is woven in and balanced brilliantly throughout.  One of the funnier running themes is Wade Wilson’s (Deadpool’s real name as played by Ryan Reynolds) love of the pop group Wham!.  While I truly appreciate the talents of Wham!, which really means the talents of George Michael, I’ve had a 32-year old bone to pick with the recently departed legend.  When Christmas-time rolls around again, and with George not around to worry about it, I’m hoping one of the great injustices of our time will finally be righted.

Of course, I’m talking about the perennial lie that George Michael’s “Last Christmas” is a Christmas song.  A lie so great, mind you, that not only is it considered a Christmas song…aside from Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You, it is probably the most played Christmas song in the world.  Well I am here to shed light on this travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries of a sham (the only decent Woody Allen line that doesn’t require 3 decades of living in Manhattan to appreciate).

All the song has going for it (from a seasonal-specific standpoint) is that it mentions December 25^th as the date when a very non Christmas-y thing happened.  That doesn’t count!  Let’s look at another calendar-conscious song.  When you sit around with your friends and debate the greatest Autumnal Equinox song ever recorded, I’m sure you don’t consider “September”, the song that has Earth, Wind, and Fire dancing the night away. Yow!  Of course not.  September 21^st (Autumnal Equinox Eve for those of you playing at home) just happened to be the night for chasing the clouds away. Yow!

Here’s a quick mid-post Insignificant Trivia Question:  What is the greatest Vernal Equinox song ever recorded?  Please.  Like it could be anything other than Age of Aquarius by The 5^th Dimension.  And a belated thank you needs to go out to Marilyn McCoo et al for explaining once and for all what happens in March every 25,800 years.

Last Christmas, da da da da da.  The very next day, da da da da da.  Ok, back to the original point.  Looking at it a different way, simply mentioning a holiday does not automatically attach it to that holiday.  If that was the case, George could have made an entire album called “Songs For Every Holiday”, sang Last Christmas over and over again, and simply replaced the word Christmas with Easter, Dyngus Day, Halloween, and every other major holiday out there.  George made that incredibly easy to do by not bothering to rhyme the word Christmas with anything.  Was it that implausible, George, for you to break up on an Isthmus?  It almost makes me want to call for a complete and formal removal of the previously earned exclamation point at the end of “Wham!”…Almost.

So please everybody, when you make those calls to your local DJ starting the day after Thanksgiving, request a true blue Christmas song like Springsteen’s version of Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.  Or the absolute best Christmas song ever, the Johnny Cash version of The Little Drummer Boy.  The man was so cool he paid others to sing “Pa rum pum pum pum” for him.

You’ll be glad you did. Yow!

RIP George Michael: 1963-2016

Wham: 1981 – 1984

Wham!: 1984 – 1986

Insignificant Trivia Question: What is the name of Marilyn McCoo’s husband, who just happened to double as her singing partner after the 5th Dimension broke up?

I hoped writing would help me deal with what the heck is going on.  It has helped to a great degree, but there looks to be no end to the civil unrest on display and egged on for whatever gains.  Instead of leaving well enough alone, I’ve decided to double down on my efforts to calm the cat fight taking place in the pit of my stomach.

I typically don’t sweat the day-to-day goings on outside my little universe, but you can’t help but do so with what is happening in the USA and around the world.  I can barely keep up when there’s two sides to an issue.  Now there’s just short of a kajillion sides to this particular issue the last I counted.  All claiming they are right.  All wanting…actually I have no clue what anyone wants.  That part never seems to be discussed logically ahead of time.  The only thing I’m sure of is Person A wants exactly the opposite of what Person B wants.

So if it pleases the court, I offer up this meme of Captain Jack Sparrow as some of the soundest logic EVER.

As I was looking at the meme, it dawned on me – Everyone Is Crazy…in a good way…actually in the best way possible.  All you have to do is admit it.  Admission of crazy helps eliminate the crap.  Eliminates the caveats.  It would be “Love Trumps Hate”.  Not the current “Love Trumps Hate, so start loving my views or I will boycott everyone and everything you ever cared about.”  It would be “All Lives Matter”.  Not the current “All Lives Matter, except refugees heading my direction, death row inmates, and basically everyone with an opposing view that I don’t need to make my Starbucks”.  In a nutshell, it helps people practice what they preach.

Crazy does all this by allowing you to take that all-important step back.  You look before you leap.  You see above the fray.  You say nothing at all if you can’t say something nice.  Crazy makes it easier to see both sides of every story, no matter how unpleasant it may seem.  Crazy allows you to understand it’s alright to disagree.  It’s fine if there isn’t one universal right answer to every question.  There’s Sweet AND Savory.  There’s Coffee AND Tea.  There’s Country AND Western.

Trouble only rears its ugly head when people think they’re not crazy (see Politicians, The Media, Religious Literalists, Actors, etc.).  Common Sense goes right out the window.  Self-Importance rises to unimaginable heights.  The laws of physics themself seem to break down.  When opposing groups of crazy deniers meet, cooler heads rarely prevail.  As sophisticated as everyone thinks they are, these battles at best turn into good ‘ol fashioned school yard name calling contests.  They’ll call each other Commies.  They’ll call each other Elitists.  They’ll call you Crazy.  So beat them to the punch.  Admit you’re crazy and diffuse the whole situation.

Rumors are out there Lady Gaga is going to politicize her Super Bowl performance tonight.  Boy I hope she doesn’t, and it’s not because I don’t like her.  She’s a great performer.  A great singer-songwriter.  One of the best voices in the world.  I hope she doesn’t because it is a classic no-win situation.  Even if she just gets up there and passionately exclaims “water is wet”, the Dry Water Coalition will immediately start boycotting every Wet ‘n Wild in North America.  The People For A Dryer Tomorrow will flood (pun intended) the airwaves with an endless, mindless stream of impassioned soliloquies.

Denying her craziness will all but guarantee that her stance, whatever it is, will fail to start a civil dialogue or anything else productive, no matter what the spin doctors say.  It will more than likely continue the pissing contests which are more popular than Beer Yoga and Beer Church.  It will give over a billion people an excuse to add the word Uppity to the front of her stage name.  No one wants that.

Lady Gaga, please don’t upstage the commercials.  Please don’t upstage the game.  Take your cue from Pink Floyd’s 1979 album “The Wall”.  When did Pink tear down the metaphorical wall that closed him off from the realities of the world for decades?  Not even 5 minutes after he realized he was “over the rainbow” crazy.  The truth set him free and he lived happily ever after.  Or the judge with his face on his butt ate him.  Actually, the ending is not so clear after the wall comes down.

Most importantly, don’t go through with it if for no other reason than tonight I’m going to have an ungodly amount of chips, dips, meats on sticks, and Natty Light in me.  As soon as you get on your high horse, the fully clawed, feral cats already in my stomach will start their royal rumble.  The results won’t be pretty.

You’re better than that. You’re something crazy.

Postscript: Lady Gaga gave one of the best performances in Super Bowl halftime history.  She took the high road, showed patriotism, and just killed it.  So proud of her.

Here’s a live one-time TV Special I’d like to see.

Start with 2 separate rooms, each with an equal number of die-hard liberals and die-hard conservatives.  Come up with a bunch of fake, important sounding issues from the arenas of politics, worldwide concerns, religion, human rights, safety, education, etc.  Make sure they cover a good range of minor impact to major impact topics.

Randomly divide the issues into two groups.  In Room 1, tell the participants that the Group 1 issues are liberal backed and the Group 2 issues are conservative backed.  In Room 2, tell the participants that the Group 2 issues are liberal backed and the Group 1 issues are conservative backed.  Really sell it.  Drop all the big names.  Ellen, Rush, Oprah, Dubya.  Then ask everyone in both rooms their opinions.  Now sit back and watch the end of civilization as we know it.

If done right, I would hope it to reveal the equally embarrassing traits of blind faith and blind rage.  I would hope it to reveal for all to see that something is way out of whack and a whole heap of people, way way way more than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime, are suddenly judge, jury, and executioner for any one of a billion different causes.

All for a lack of Gray Area.

Nothing is completely Black or White (yikes, that sounds kinda Black or White).  Let me put it another way.  If you truly have the ability to stand back and see things from not only your perspective but from the perspective of others, nothing can possibly be as Black or White as it originally seems.  I’m convinced everything is mostly Gray Area.  Even the term Gray Area has Gray Area.  I’m sure someone out there will tell me it should be Grey Area.  And they’re probably right.  Bernie Taupin and Elton John thought so, hence that spelling in the title of this post.   I make no claims of being right or better or smarter or anything.  All I know is I have a big knot in my stomach and common sense seems to be on permanent vacation.  I’m afraid to blink now that people in droves are going ballistic over every single syllable that is uttered from sea to shining sea.

In Coven’s song One Tin Soldier, the chorus goes: “Go ahead and hate your neighbor, go ahead and cheat a friend.  Do it in the name of heaven, you can justify it in the end”.  Easy now.  Easy.  This is not a slam on religion.  My point is a lot of people are living these lyrics and replacing the word “heaven” with any number of well-intentioned but incredibly nuanced subjects. And for me, the most striking word in the chorus is “can”.  Again, it takes all the Gray Area out of it.  There’s no chance the Valley People won’t be justified in the end.

Extrapolated out, you get examples like:

Do it in the name of school kids.

Do it in the name of equal rights.

Do it in the name of unborn babies.

Do it in the name of Allah.

Do it in the name of saving the earth.

Do it in the name of Harambe.

Now I hope and trust most people mean well.  I’m sure Harambe was a heck of a gorilla.  But as soon as you favor Harambe in any way, the lack of Gray Area shouts out to the world that you hate kids.  You’re a racist.  You’re sexist.  You condone murder.  You’re an Islamophobe.  You want all the ice caps to melt.  It’s not that simple.  It’s not that cut and dry.  It’s not that Black and White.

So People – Please bring a little Gray Area into your lives.  It’s Ok.  It may sting a bit, so let’s start small:

Root for the Cubs AND the White Sox.  Even if you don’t know what baseball is.

Only say you’ll “CONSIDER” moving to Canada the next time you are asked to comment on something you are 100% sure will never happen.  Sometimes that long shot comes in.

Once you start to Embrace The Gray, you can step up in class.  There are a lot of variations to this next one.

Understand that people who like something don’t automatically hate everything else.  People who hate something don’t automatically like everything else.  For example:  I like Paul McCartney.  I like Michael Jackson.  I hate “Say Say Say”.

Here’s a toughie.  Acknowledge that your opinion on any given matter may not be the only one in the universe that counts.  And the kicker is you don’t automatically have to hate the person who has that difference of opinion.

And here’s the toughest one of all.  Disclaimer: I don’t have tinfoil on my head as I’m writing this.  Ok.  Here we go.  Take the media with a heavy heavy dose of salt.  The media’s job is to sell advertising space.  The media’s job is to get you to click on the link that gushes “You won’t believe what she looks like now!”  Somewhere down the list, far down the list, maybe even on another list like a grocery list or something, is the duty of the media to try and provide fair, balanced, truthful information to the people consuming that information.  Their whole business model is founded on drilling Black and White into our heads on a consistent, relentless basis.  Gray doesn’t sizzle.  Gray doesn’t pay the bills.  But Gray is exactly what’s needed.  Unfortunately, they are perfectly happy fanning the flames of this 24/7 Black and White rhubarb.

So let’s all trust us some Gray.  Acknowledge the Gray.  Use the Gray, Luke.  For the greater good, hopefully, eventually.  Until then, untying the anaconda in my gut is as good as I can hope for.

** Insignificant Trivia Question #2 **

Who was originally slated to sing the opening lines of “Do They Know It’s Christmas” before they were inexplicably sung by Paul Young, himself the answer to that age old question…”Who?”

A little Zombies to start the summer of 2014.

It’s been a while since I last posted.  I took the winter off, and I’m just now comfortable enough to stop worrying that a 12 inch snowfall is right around the corner.  So here we go!

One of the things I did this winter was visit Phoenix, Arizona.  I love Arizona.  I love it!  I golfed.  I watched Spring Training baseball.  It was perfect.  Well, almost perfect.  As great as everything was, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the cost of golf was high.  The golf courses in AZ know that all of us in waist deep snow are desperate to escape and will pay anything to swing the sticks.

That is why I’ve traditionally come out to Phoenix in the middle of the summer to do nothing but golf.  Sure it’s 110 degrees, but the $300 golf courses are $40!  And the courses are in perfect shape.  The natural Bermuda grass thrives in the summer heat.  The high priced winter rounds are shot on rye grass, overseeded onto the courses while the Bermuda goes dormant.

36 holes a day.  Hardly anyone else on the course.  Heaven!

So whenever I talk to people about my love of Arizona summer golf, I get the same question:  “Isn’t it too hot in Phoenix in the summer?”.  My answer has always been: “It’s just like winter in Chicago, but in reverse.”  That answer has served me well over the past 20 years.  But after this winter in Chicago, I’m never using that analogy again. Phoenix summers are not like, have never been like, and will never be like Chicago winters in reverse.  It’s always been the case, but it’s taken me until this winter to fully realize it.

A case can still be made that the “in reverse” analogy works. But only from 10am to 6pm, give or take a couple hours.  During that stretch of the day, for most people in both regions, you only go outside if you have to / want to.  You don’t go out of your way to hang outside.   But early mornings and late nights are beautiful in Arizona.  The temps are much lower and it is downright pleasant.  The dry heat effect is in full force when it’s a cozy 90 degrees after the sun goes down.  I love sitting outside at that time.

Wintertime in Chicago is nothing like that.  It is brutal 24/7.  Late nights, early mornings, middle of the day, etc. are all equally horrific.  There is no break from the misery and it can be exhausting.  The lack of sunlight just adds to the pall cast over the area.

So as we celebrate the Summer Solstice and another 85 degree day here in Chicago, the “glass half empty” side of me has nightmares that tomorrow is the 4th of July, this weekend is Labor Day, and I’ll need to gas up the snowblower in about 10 days.

How much is airfare to Arizona these days?

Our family recently drove from Chicago to Virginia.  On the way back, we made it all the way to Cleveland before calling it a night.  The next day, we took in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  I was really looking forward to going, and for the most part it did not disappoint.

Some of the items I saw were absolutely incredible.  Joe Strummer’s guitar from his days with The Clash blew me away.  It looked like a spray painted piece of cardboard taped to the end of a yard stick, with a few strings (no way there was 6)  meandering from one end to the other.  It certainly wasn’t a trophy guitar.  It was a tool that was used and abused…to help create some of the best music of my lifetime.

http://youtu.be/_5t0euQvYlQ

But this post is really about what happened after our visit.  I was googling for information on the R&R HOF and what I found shocked me.  There are SO many performers worthy of induction into the HOF that are not yet in there.  And what really brings this into focus is some of the acts that ARE in the HOF.

KISS is NOTin the HOF, but Alice Cooper is.  I like Alice Cooper, but he/they would be an opening act (at best) for KISS at every point in time over their respective careers.

The Heartbreakers are in the HOF, but the E Street Band in NOT.  Bruce Springsteen is in the HOF, but I’ve never considered The Boss a solo artist with a back up band.  Besides Mike Campbell, I couldn’t name a Heartbreaker and would walk past each and every one of them if I saw them on the street.  The E Street Band is loaded with characters who have elevated Springsteen’s music to unbelievable heights.  The Big Man, Little Steven, Roy, Max, etc.  Did others besides Tom Petty write lyrics and/or music?  Handle the arrangements?  If so, and I’m a Heartbreaker, I’m pissed that TP got to put his name out front.  And for some reason I don’t think someone with a HOF ballot looks that closely into such things.  Maybe I’m wrong.  But what a crock.

Onto another category of Ins and Outs.

In:  The Stooges, Dusty Springfield, Frank Zappa, Jeff Beck as a solo artist, and The Velvet Underground.  I could have named more, and I decided to leave off people/groups I’ve never even heard of.

Not In: The Cure, Dire Straits, Hall and Oates, Jim Croce, Journey, The Moody Blues, Peter Gabriel, Roxy Music, and The Steve Miller Band.  I easily could have named 20 more.

This is flabbergasting. Ask a thousand people what trait is most important in earning a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  You probably will hear:  Sold A Lot Of Records, Kicked Ass When Playing Live, Stayed Relevant For A Long Time, Were Respected By Their Peers, Were The First To…, Were The Best At…, Influenced People And Other Bands, and In One Way Or Another Have Indelibly Left Their Mark On The Music Business.

I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out why some “In’s” are in and why some “Not In’s” are not in.  Granted, it could be parts of many reasons, but the only angle I can come up with is the nebulous “Influential” tag assigned to some and not assigned to others.

The issue of influence was readily apparent in the wake of Lou Reed’s death a few weeks ago.  I believe it was Brian Eno who said something to the effect of: Only a few thousand people bought the Velvet Underground’s first album, but every one of them started a band.  The cynic inside me says that was possible because no one in Velvet Underground could sing and anyone with more than 2 music lessons could replicate their music.

Is Daryl Hall not influential enough because only a handful of people on earth can sing like he can?   Is Roxy Music not influential enough because their style couldn’t be replicated and was decades ahead of its time?  I seriously want an Official of the R&R HOF to explain how The Stooges got in before Roxy Music…or how The Stooges got in before anybody for that matter.  Name one member of The Stooges.  Don’t say the stage name Iggy Pop.  What’s his real name?  No one knows.  No one cares.  I think he’s from Detroit.  Whatever.

The proverbial straw.

Further googling unearthed the most blatant omission.  The band Chicago is not in the R&R HOF.  The omission is bad enough, but the story, or lack thereof, concerning the omission has relegated the R&R HOF to Pro Wrestling status.  What I mean is I may still enjoy it every once in a while, but I’ll never ever take it seriously again.

You may love the band Chicago.  You may hate Chicago.  But you cannot deny that they have accumulated a body of work over the past 45 years that warrants serious consideration, right?  Record sales are only one way of looking at the success of a group, but being in the top 5 all-time in record sales shouldn’t hurt your chances, right?

The kicker is that in the 20 years they have been eligible for the HOF, they’ve never even been nominated.  Not once.  A quick search on The Google let’s us know that every year there is a nominating process.  Then later that year a vote determines if you make the HOF.  When I first read this, I smelled conspiracy.  And it didn’t take long to find theories to support my hunch.  The theory that most web sites subscribe to is the alleged rift between Chicago and Jann Wenner, the founder of Rolling Stone magazine and co-founder of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

So an institution I respected for years, and an induction ceremony I looked forward to every year, has devolved into an episode of reality TV.  Secrets, pettiness, alliances, undeserving winners, disrespected losers, etc.

Reality TV is not my cup of tea (Rockstar INXS in 2005 the exception), so I’m declaring my separation from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.  Unless I’m in Cleveland…and I get a hankering to see some scribbled lyrics on the back of a cocktail napkin.

The title of this post is a sentiment I’ve shared with The Boss for many years.  With few exceptions, my TV watching over the past 25-30 years has consisted mostly of live Sports.  I’ve enjoyed a lot of non-Sports TV over the years.  Mostly documentaries and Science Channel type stuff, but rarely any episodic TV.  It’s just dawned on me recently that, over the span of the last few decades, very few shows have made it to the level of “Must Watch”.

As best as I can recall, here are the only shows (I’m thinking since high school in the early ’80s) that I carved out time for each and every week they were on.

The Sopranos was the big one.  The show itself, along with the advent of the DVR, changed television viewing forever.

Entourage.  Another HBO show.  Jeremy Piven was worth the price of admission each and every week.

Rockstar: INXS.  In 2005, reality TV helped my favorite band pick a new lead singer.  I’m still blown away by how great the House Band was during that show.  It was only on during the summer, but I was locked in to that puppy.

Add to that list The Daily Show and The Colbert Report.  I’ve only missed a handful of these nightly shows over the years.  Most are watched “after the fact” on DVR, but I still count it since only a day or two goes by before I get caught up on missed shows.  Both shows are consistently funny and usually spot on with their views.

I think that’s it.  I could be forgetting something.  I’m sure I’m forgetting something.  But that brings us up to present day, where an interesting phenomenon is taking place.  And it all started with a big bang.

My son (11 years old at the time), introduced me to The Big Bang Theory during Season 6 last year.  After watching a few episodes, I became hooked.  We rented DVDs and watched every episode from the beginning.  Now in Season 7, I’m a full fledged fan and have elevated this show to “Must Watch” status for the foreseeable future.

What this breakthrough show has allowed me to do is take a chance on some of the new shows that recently started.  Who knows if any will stick, but I’ve given a fair shot to several shows that my wife is DVR-ing every week anyway.  Here’s a list of shows I’ve seen every episode of so far this fall.  None are super duper, but a few have a chance to improve.

1. The Blacklist has potential, but it conjures up too much Silence of the Lambs. James Spader is working with a bunch of actors well below his level.
2. Agents of SHIELD is kinda interesting.  Agent Coulson was such a great character in the Marvel movies.  Can he carry this TV show?  He needs to.  No one else is very interesting at the moment.
3. The Crazy Ones.  Robin Williams is great, but his daughter is unwatchable.  The two young guys are funny.

So we shall see how things go as the Fall progresses.  Happy viewing.

The first comment to my first post triggered a flood of thoughts on an age old problem: Singing the wrong lyrics to a song.  This universal human trait was brought into broad daylight a few years ago in this Volkswagon commercial.

Several people take turns butchering the lyrics to Elton John’s “Rocket Man” before the last guy correctly belts out “burning out his fuse up here alone”.  Very few media creations come close to capturing the true essence of a common phenomenon.  This commercial came darn close.  What a great commercial.  Everybody butchers lyrics, and it’s great that NOT knowing the words to a song  is NOT a big deal.  But since the advent of karaoke, google, shazam, etc.,  people are now noticing that they’ve been getting it wrong, sometimes really wrong, with songs they would swear they knew all the words to.

The title of this blog entry is in reference to .38 Special’s hit song “Caught Up In You” from 1982.  For years, I’m talking almost 20 years, I never quite knew what they were saying after “I’m so caught up in you”.  There was no internet in the early ’80s.  Looking up the lyrics wasn’t that easy.  I didn’t have the album.  I heard the song on the radio and saw the video on MTV.  The rest was left to me…and my guess/placeholder was “de janeiro”.  As in Rio de Janeiro.

Ok.  Hold on.  Before passing judgement on my lyrical competence, let me explain.  I liken this horrific misuse of the english language to the way Paul McCartney writes songs.  Specifically, the song “Yesterday”.  (Come on, work with me here).  While he was working on the music, he would sing the words “Scrambled Eggs” as a filler since it fit the musical path the song was taking.  Only when he finished the music and starting writing the lyrics did “Yesterday” make it’s appearance.  That’s what I like to think I do with most songs, and definitely was doing with “de janeiro”.   The correct lyric (“Little Girl”) wouldn’t dawn on me until the dawn of a new century.

To end this post, I return to that blog comment that inspired this post.  The comment came from my best friend, and if you read that thread you’ll see that he got the lyrics wrong to The Romantics best song.  Another song, “Hey Jealousy” by The Gin Blossoms, lyrically asks a girl if he can stay at her place because he’s in “no shape for driving”.  From 1992 until very recently, my buddy thought the singer was proclaiming his middle of the road status and telling his lady friend that he was “no sheep or dragon”.

It is, simply, my all time favorite incorrect lyric.

So as Dobie Gray once sang:  Gimme the Beach Boys, and free my soul.  I wanna get lost in your rock and roll, and drift away.