Cross-Promotion: A Very Special G:TB Episode

It was genuinely wonderful to have the opportunity to celebrate the life of Dave's father Guy this weekend in New Jersey. Those of you that have been given the honor of eulogizing a parent know that it's both fulfilling and emotionally draining. I'm here to tell you that Dave did a brilliant job capturing his larger-than-life Dad, from the intimate family moments to Guy's (literally) global impact on the corrections profession.

As Dave himself notes over at the Sentence, "...though it was something of a somber occasion, my college and high school buddies brought some joy to the weekend". We did, in fact, pack a lot of joy into a short period of time, and I'm once again reminded of the incredible gift of friendship I'm fortunate to receive every day.

Godspeed, Guy, and much love to all you you, my Gheorghie pals.

New In-House Music: Friends and Neighbors

Howdy, friends and neighbors.

The latest offering from one of the handful of house bands here at Gheorghe: The Blog and Music Source has hit the streets.

Now that I mention it, who's on the roster of those rostered G:TB&MS bands?

• Random Idiots
• Rootstone
• Greasetruck
• Almighty Yojo? Was that a musical act?
• Les Coole and the Cukes

Who else?

There are likely other acts and offshoots I've forgotten or never heard. Please pipe up if you've been omitted (Z as in Zamfir, Timmy and the Tubesteaks, etc.).

Anyway, here's the freshest scoop to keep you in the loop. The dopest track from the old New Jack. (A certain Weenie used to call me New Jack Lester.) 

It's . . . well, it's new. That's good enough.

Here's an up-close work at the artwork, replete with a photo take in Igor's 2 weeks ago,

And here's the track. Anyone with video-making skills (or with a youngster whose skills invariably put ours to shame), I'd love to craft something visual so that these YouTubes aren't so dull.

Cheers, friends and neighbors.

Mr. Astley... the Other One

So, everybody, even the younger generation, knows about Rick Astley. I do not care for his music.

But what about Jon Astley?? Here's betting that less than 1% of Gen Z knows about him.

To any of you 80's music simpletons, here's a reminder. A one-hitter classic from 1987.

A ridiculous video for sure, but Jon Astley was also a producer and a master of mastering and remastering. He worked with The Who (even producing a couple of their albums), the Stones, and hundreds of others. He was a whole lot better at that stuff than the whole being a pop star thing. But he had his one moment in the MTV sun.

And I do like the song. More than I should.

And you where you might have also heard "Jane's Getting Serious"? This commercial from the same year the tune came out.

A ridiculous ad for sure, but it does make me want to grab a frank for lunch. And that particular actor, who's now reportedly worth $85 million, was in some other fine fare...

Nice to see Aguado from Ace Ventura getting some work.

And here's another 80's ad... with another friend.

But does it compare to this?

Alrighty. Your time has been sufficiently wasted in the very vein that this blog was built on, Teej-style. Now back to something with some actual merit. Who's up? Maybe something a little more serious.

I could get serious, too. I could get so serious. And I cannot believe that I would ever admit that I could take Jane seriously. Come around eleven, we're still on our way home, all dressed up and nowhere to go, but all along I should have really known that Jane's getting serious (Jane). Jane's getting serious. Jane's getting serious (Jane). And I could get serious, too.

Apocalypse Now: Fat Tuesday Feeling So Thin

Sometimes something nice comes together out of nowhere.

Last Wednesday

My friend from all the way back Ned (who has lived in New Orleans for 25 years now): 

Just throwing a song idea your way. I remember every other Mardi Gras thinking to myself: everywhere else in America it's just another Tuesday. Well, this year Mardi Gras in New Orleans is pretty much like everywhere else because Mardi Gras is for the most part canceled. I was wondering if you had any inspiration for a song exploring that feeling. I have yet to sit down and write anything but wanted to share the idea with you.

Me:

Hey Ned! That's a terrific idea. I will give it some thought. Great one.

Thursday

Ned:

Awesome. I'll see if I have some music. There's actually a song I've been working on that might work for this. I've got a rough version of the music on Dropbox. It may be too mellow, a Mardi Gras song maybe needs more hopeful pep in it.

Me:

Listening now. Great stuff, dude. Really nice listen. And frankly the loss of Mardi Gras seems to conjure a slow and sad song. This could work... Giving it a few listens and I'll try to come up with some words.

Saturday

Me:

Sending you my take on the lyrics. See what you think. Went back and forth on the chorus. Settled on an allusion to it not being Fat Tuesday.

Ned:

Damn, dude. The right mix of clever and heartstring pulling. Thinking of trying to get this done and released by Tuesday. And also make a video of the song. May be too ambitious. 

Yesterday

Just Another Tuesday
(Ned Henry/Les Coole)

3 rocks there smack / in my Sazerac / is the only float today
4 beads of sweat / from the mignonette / are the only beads in play
Magazine is empty / And there ain’t a soul around
It’s just another Tuesday / And I’m uptown feelin’ down

CHORUS
Lord, it feels so thin
Please bring it back again

Fairly soon / this doubloon / will be back on the shelf
I’m the King / of not one thing / A krewe unto myself
I’m a one-man carnival / and it’s all neutral ground
It’s just another Tuesday / and I’m uptown feeling down

CHORUS

BRIDGE
Ain’t never seen this town this way / it feels so strange
What I took for granted / that’s all gonna change

No parades / no hand grenades / the Quarter’s one-eighth filled
The good times rolled / they’re all on hold / all broke up, my go cup spilled
The Ash comes in tomorrow / with the tolling of the bells
But today’s just another Tuesday / just like everywhere else

CHORUS

A Face in the Crowdsource

Crowdsourcing -- it's the new panhandling. Or the new Tupperware, Avon, Amway, Mary Kay, Cutco, or more recent ones like LuLaRoe, cabi, or Rodan + Fields . . . all stuff one of my wives called "peddling shit to your friends." (Her apologies if you or yours are part of these obeliscal entities.)

Zach Braff famously used Kickstarter when he said that the brilliant script he'd written could never get made unless his fans paid for it.  The sympathetic public acquiesced, contributing $2.6 million to the cause.  After which, or course, the traditional film-financing engines did what they do and funded Braff with the $10 million he wanted. (Wish I Was Here has a Rotten Tomatoes score of 47% and a Metacritic score of 43%. Maybe it was the ignorance of the subjunctive mood in the title.)

Carbon Leaf's Barry with fans

More recently, and with less public snark, one of the two bands featured in a February G:TB double-bill two-night musical mini-summit (Carbon Leaf) launched a Kickstarter campaign to help fund their new album. With concerts a thing of the past (sigh), they needed an influx of cash to get them where they wanted to be. They asked their fans to help out with a collective $21,000 by this Saturday, July 25, to make that happen. Looks like the band and its fans, eager to hear new music, will be just fine. If they get just $200 more, they will reach a total of . . . $200,000. Holy crap.

So, uh, Random Idiots will be following suit next month to support our new record, A Fool and His Money. Link to the Kickstarter site coming soon.

Much, much, much more importantly, there's a crowd-sourcing site doing well right now that brings a bit of a tear to me eye, to quote Dean Ween.  Here's the story . . .

* * * * * * * *

Flash back to 1976.  The Bicentennial celebration has come and gone, the fireworks and fanfare for a nation have given way to back-to-school time. (You know, what families east, west, north, and south are praying for as we speak.)  A new school for me, one where I'd stay -- by the skin of my teeth -- for a dozen years. Also, a new sport. Football.  The European kind.

On the west side of Norfolk, our youth soccer leagues were the simplest they could be in structure. Your neighborhood was a team, and someone's mom or dad was the coach. Larchmont, Lochhaven, Ghent, West Ghent, and so on. It was co-ed for the first few years, then gender-divided.  It was an absolute ton of fun. I was mediocre at best, but I kept playing. Practices for my Larchmont squad were once or twice a week after school at "Brick Field" next to Old Dominion University, three blocks from my house. Games on Saturday in the home team's neighborhood.  Simple.

In a year or so, after we grew out of the "bumblebees" age for soccer and actually started to play the game a shade closer to how it was designed, we were assigned positions. Our scheme was incredibly complex. Forwards, halfbacks, fullbacks, goalie. In my later years (6th grade), the concept of "sweeper" was introduced. Blew our frickin' minds. So simple.

I moved around a bit, jacking up all the trades and mastering none.  I was mostly a halfback, which is where Coach Smith put the kids who couldn't score but also couldn't be relied upon on for defense. Also, my age 9 penchant for running around all game was the diametric opposite of that at age 49. But it was fun wherever they put me.

I made good buddies on that team. Strangely, I didn't have any school friends on that team. I think maybe it was because I was young for my grade, a September birthday, and a handful of kids I was pals with in school were on the older teams. I didn't love that everyone always questioned me about that, but as I got older, it mattered less.  Also, a number of kids from other schools were on my squad, and we bonded as we played together year after year. Years later, when I stopped playing community league soccer and played school sports, my circle of friends became nearly exclusively confined to kids at my school.  The situation was way better for me when I had my soccer friends.

One of those was a guy named Michael Cutter. He was our goalie, and like me, he was tall with rugged good looks for a 4th grader.  He went to our rival, Norfolk Collegiate School. (Our other crosstown rival, Norfolk Christian, was where Barry from the aforementioned Carbon Leaf was in school.)  Anyway, Cutter was a very good player and a friend. He'd go on to be a great high school goalie. But like I said, we mostly lost touch in high school because of my/our dipshit xenophobic insular ways.  We'd see each other at church or a hoops game 'twixt our schools and nod hey with a smile.  Sup, Whitney.  Sup, Mike.

I got better at soccer in those years on the Larchmont team. Years of dedicated practice will sometimes do that. I became a forward at some point, and one Saturday in 6th grade, I scored four (4) goals in an 8-0 drubbing of West Ghent. That was our last game of the season. Man, I loved the revelry and the congratulations I received that day. Not what I was used to.

The very next season, I left the Larchmont squad. Contract negotiations had stalled. Well, actually, it came to this: my school offered football in 7th grade. That was that, much to the chagrin of my old coach and a few of the nice parents who said I should stick with soccer.  The allure of the gridiron and playing sports with my best buddies was too much. Naturally, that proved to be a wise decision, as I turned into the tight end who managed to lead the Tidewater Conference of Independent Schools in receptions my senior year. (Ahem... that conference numbered exactly four (4) schools with football programs.)  It was a wise decision because I had a ton of fun playing football. I dated a cheerleader or two, I have plenty of old stories from those years, and my friends from those teams (a juggernaut who won 2 games in my final 2 seasons) are among my great comrades today.

Anyway, when I made the transition, I quickly became incommunicado with the old Larchmont team.  Great memories of simpler days, fading by the day but never leaving.

* * * * * *

Fast-forward to December 2005. My family and I have relocated to Norfolk, Virginia from the nation's capital and surrounding suburbs. My re-entry to the old hometown was nothing short of heart-warmingly revelatory to me: You can go home again.

The poker league welcomed me, the book club welcomed my wife, and everyone helped us assimilate into the circle of friends.  It was remarkable. There were dozens of new-new friends I met, people who'd transplanted here at some point before my return or folks I simply hadn't know growing up. Beyond the new-new people I met were the old friends that became new friends. There are a number of people that I just barely knew that are now my good buddies. Chums. Mates, as KT would say.

I have continued to meet great people in the 15 years I've been back, and I have sincerely appreciated that part of the experience.  Norfolk/Virginia Beach can play like a very small town. Some people dislike that aspect of the community greatly -- like seeing people you know wherever you go -- but I love it. Going through a pair of divorces in what can feel like a tiny hamlet (despite being an MSA of 1.8 mil) ain't no picnic, to quote D. Boon, but beyond that, I dig it.

Anyway, I digress mightily, but among the masses of those with whom I reconnected after coming home was one Mike Cutter. What a great dude. He'd gone off to Hampden-Sydney College and come home to work in the City's Economic Development office. For fifteen years now, we have seen each other at neighborhood cookouts, sporting events, birthday shindigs, our kids' school, church (on rare occasion), keggers (less rare), and work events. (You know, the things that evaporated into the virus-contaminated air.) We aren't best buds, but we're well past "Sup, Whitney. Sup, Mike." He kept up with the Larchmont team peeps a mite better than I did -- enough to know we lost a couple along the way, including the coach's son, sadly by his own hand. It's a long way from the old days at Brick Field, even as I drive by there all the time.

There's simply something about having known someone since you were 6. We catch up when we can, asking what's good and what's not so good in each other's worlds.

What's not so good in Mike's world is amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. ALS. Motherfucker.

Five years ago he was diagnosed with the disease formerly and then again known as Lou Gehrig's.  For several years, you would only have known Mike had the condition if you were looking for it. He was blessed in that regard, and there were a number of people who were diagnosed later than he was who have suffered much more rapidly and succumbed to it. That was a very polished silver lining.

The rest is more than a touch of grey.

At first, it was little stuff. A straw in a beer.  A noticeable effort to raise an arm to shake your hand. The Norfolk ED office is in my building, so I'd see him in the halls -- handshakes became me giving him a quick hug or a gentle pat on the back. He fell last year and broke his collarbone. The struggle has accelerated.

A GoFundMe page was launched last weekend. It says:

If you know Mike and his circumstances, then you have likely observed his life dramatically change in the last few years - particularly in the last 12 months.
While other options were seriously contemplated, Mike and Amy have decided that it’s best for their family to remain in their home - and the time has come where they need help in turning their home into one that is suitable for someone with his limited mobility. It is the intention of this GoFundMe Campaign to raise at least $150,000 to make some of the necessary additions and renovations to the Cutter home in order to accommodate Mike's disabilities. This will include, but not limited to, modification to home entrances, renovation of a downstairs room into a master bedroom, the addition of a downstairs bathroom with disability fixtures, a motorized wheelchair, a motor vehicle with disability accommodation, and any other ADA modifications.

There are also words from Mike himself:

In 2015, after months of testing on my right hand, I was shockingly diagnosed with ALS. For a while I lived without great complication due to the slow progression of my form of ALS; I have only in the last year or so felt its increasing debilitating effects. My arms are very weak - I’m no longer able to drive and I usually need help eating and getting dressed - and I am now having trouble with walking. I miss helping others, playing ball with my boys, and walking our dog. Other than mental anguish I am in no physical pain (unless I fall and bust my head open or break a collar bone - yep that’s happened). I am confounded with my current position, more easily angered and often frustrated; but despite my physical and mental battle each and every day with this beast, I’m still in good spirits and try to laugh at myself while remaining positive, faithful and hopeful. I’m most proud of my family; my 24-year marriage to my wife Amy, and being blessed with our sons Stanton (2005) and Archer (2009). We very much appreciate your willingness to help make possible this transition in our lives and in our home. With much love, thanks and humility, Mike

As of this writing, the GoFundMe page has generated $64,027 in a handful of days. 282 people have contributed thus far.  It's made me feel good that a good man is getting good help from good friends of his.

This is not a plea to give. At our ages (esp Rob, Dave, KT, and other fiftysomethings), we all know someone in need, and I am quite sure you all contribute to friends of yours in dire circumstances.

No, this is just a chance for me to open up about a sad scenario that won't end any happier, but to also appreciate some joy and human kindness in an era where it's underreported.  I feel better for having written it, so thanks if you took a few minutes to read it.  It's that . . . simple.

Be well, live well, do it now, not later.  Cheers, mates.

Never Forgetting Means Remembering

TR's comment from the last post stirred a little something.   There are many fine tributes on social media today, as there are every year -- some more cursory, some more thoughtful and thought-provoking.  I guess after a number years of tearful remembrances, it's been more of a quiet, quick reflection on this day for me.  The human brain doing what it does; it's more comfortable and natural  to not think about the horribleness I hope to never watch again.

But to "Never Forget" means to remember, and that's what we should do every year.

Lud, far right with the babyface

Not the unfathomably evil deeds and the terror we all felt, but the spirit of those we lost. For us older gheorghies that's fratres Mark Ludvigsen and Mike Edwards. As you've read here before.

I will always remember Lud as the guy who positively pestered me to play rugby (and join a certain fraternity). His love of the game was the most compelling reason for me to get involved, and doing so changed my college experience irrevocably for the better. Without question.  I'm grateful.

Scoop, second from left getting cupped

Speaking of which, for Edwards, I will remember listening to the Dead and taking heat alongside him from most of the guys in the house who'd much rather hear AC/DC and the like... but then him rallying a fairly large group of the dudes to go to Hampton Coliseum for the now-legendary "Formerly the Warlocks" shows.  That was a win.  And I was happy to be a part of it.



Little thoughts to stoke the embers of their memories.  I'll expect the same from you clowns when I'm gone.

TR's comment is worth re-airing

Today is a Tuesday, just like 9/11/01. But it’s not a crystal blue sky like that day. I worked downtown from ‘97 to early ‘03, then happily moved to midtown. Fate brought me a new job downtown. Will be my first 9/11 in the area since ‘02. Not too psyched to be here, staring out my window at my old work bldg, the one I evacuated that day.

Not sure anybody under 30 around these parts really gets it, and there’s a lot of them here b/c the Financial District is morphing into more of a residential neighborhood. Newspapers make the anniversary less of a big deal every year. Hoping to bury myself in work all day.

#nbtyrsd

In Gheorghe We Trust

This is not a Gheorghe-mas post, but it probably could be. Thanks to G:TB, we have been reunited with an old friend of ours from Unit M in the post comments below, and it only makes sense (because we need filler) to share some of his work below.

Pre-clip background, provided by our guy Scott B. in the comments:

New Roanoke Jug Band lived from 2000-2007. Original Roanoke Jug Band lived from 1925-1935 (and were not pederasts to my knowledge). Now it's Rootstone Jug Band - I've hooked up with some amazing cats who can do it all - Jug Band, Psych Rock, Hip Hop, Metal, Cock Rock, Old School Country, you name it. Jug Band stuff is here: www.rootstone.net

 

And give this a shot too. Scotty, welcome to the madness.