Oh...and don't drive on drugs....

Dropping acid and driving are a rarely a good combination. I say this from experience. In fact, after the last time I did this (sadly, it happened more than once) I didn't drive for two years. No, I wasn't cited or arrested or anything of the sort...I was simply too freaked out.

I was thinking about this particular instance today while writing a song...about trains. Now that you're probably more convinced than ever that I am, indeed, a bit whicky in the whacky woo, trust me...this will make sense in just a bit.

I grew up in a small town in Ohio...firmly in the American "Rust Belt". This was steel country. Almost everyone I knew had ties to the steel mills. Everyones dad worked in the mills, in some capacity. Our dad didn't...but as a cardiologist, he basically kept these hard-working men (and women) alive. I was informed of dad's actual job description by a family friend, who was actually better known for his leg-breaking talents for a local family business with strong ties to the old country. Our dad's job was to keep people alive. Made sense to me.

The closest mill to our house was Weirton Steel. They poured molten steel into something over there. I know this because when they did it at night, the sky turned red. It was always an amazing sight to me. I've since learned that not everyone got to witness such beauty on a nightly basis. I'm glad that I did. To me, seeing the sky turn red at night was normal. It saddens me that I don't get to see that anymore.

OK...where am I going with all of this? Trust me...it makes sense.

Like I said, I was writing a song about trains. Like a lot of Americans, especially those my age or older, I hold a certain fascination with trains. To a lot of people, they're now more of an annoyance than anything else. Trains are a relatively slow mode of transportation in the US...and who hasn't been held up at a railroad crossing by a slow-moving train? Trains, at least in our American mythology, took people away...took them to new and exciting places...took them away to new adventures and/or new beginnings. And...they look and sound pretty cool too.

Chuckachuckachuckachuckachuckachuckachucka...trains are rhythmic. Probably another reason why so many songs are written about them.

When I was little, I loved that sound. Still do. But even better is the sound of an old-fashioned train whistle. When I would stay at our grandmother's house in Pittsburgh, I used to be awakened by the sound of a train whistle. Just down over the hill from her house was a railroad track. At 5:12am, just about every morning, I would hear that train whistle. It inspired wonder in me. Where was it going? Was it hauling steel or coal or people? Where did it come from? Just what did it look like? Was it one of those really old locomotives or something newer and more industrial looking?

I asked my grandmother if she would take me to watch the train go by some morning. The tracks were less than a mile away, down the hill near the creek...but she would usually look at me like I'd grown a second nose or just flat out tell me she wasn't getting up at 4am to take me down over the hill to see a train. She eventually took me to the Amtrak station...but it just wasn't the same. Those trains had either just pulled in or were getting ready to leave. There was no mystery to them. Getting to see the train that I heard every morning just seemed more...special. In my mind, it was MY train.
I can't remember the last time I heard that train whistle. I live in my grandmother's old house now. I'm often awake at that time of morning...I just never hear that train whistle anymore.

I learned a healthy respect for trains at a young age. One day, I was in town with our mom. I was probably 5 or 6 years old at the time. Being a geek of a kid, I never wore sneakers. I always wore dress shoes...big, black, heavy ones...because I used to love getting dressed up (my how things have changed!). I remember, we had parked in the parking garage near a place my friends and I called "Dirty Book Ronny's"...which was right by the railroad tracks. As we walked out of the garage and down the street to run whatever errands we needed to run, I recall my foot slipping as I walked on the tracks and my shoe getting wedged between the rail and the railroad tie. It was stuck in there but good! I tried to pull my foot out with the shoe on...no luck. Mom tried...still no luck. Then we heard the train coming. It was one of those "Oh Shit!" moments that we all have in life. Mom yanked me out of  my shoe. If I was being dramatic, I would add that she did so just in the nick of time...but in all honesty, the train was still a fair bit down the track...and wasn't exactly moving at any great speed. Mom was, however, less than thrilled that my shoe was about to be destroyed. She tried to extract the shoe from the railroad tracks...but no luck. A guy came out of the garage and tried his luck. Still, no go. If it hadn't been for the impending train, I imagined an Arthurian competition...various people would try their luck yanking the shoe from the tracks...and whoever managed to do so would save the day. No such luck. Train came by and destroyed the shoe. I was left standing there wearing only one shoe.  Not being smart enough to remove that shoe, we walked (I hobbled) the rest of the way to The Hub, the local department store, and I was forced into a pair of sneakers. Neither of us were happy about this...for different reasons...but at least I learned to 'watch my step' and to not mess with trains.

So what does this have to do with driving under the influence of hallucinogens?

Well, the song I wrote today references memories about the train whistle, the red skies at night, our mom, and my shoe getting stuck. While writing it, I took an ambling stroll down memory lane. In thinking of the Weirton steel mill, I remembered a night in 1984. A friend and I had taken his mom's car and gone to a bar in Pittsburgh. While there, I made the acquaintance of a young lady who just happened to have a small quantity of the aforementioned illegal drug. She was nice enough to turn me on to some. I had no plans to drive, so I figured, Why Not?

Just my luck...my friend drank too much and got sick and couldn't drive. This left me to do the driving. In his mom's car. On acid. Honestly, I couldn't tell you just how fast (or slow) I drove us home. I could never keep track of time when on that stuff. What I do know is, we got stuck waiting for a train near the Weirton Steel mill. The train seemed to be taking forever, so I took the shortcut...a bridge that essentially went between two of the mill's buildings. As luck would have it, steel was being poured right as I got to the bridge. Anyone who has ever done hallucinogens can probably guess...my brain didn't process this well at all. It looked like a sea of fire to me. I imagined the bridge melting and us plunging to a fiery demise. It took me two years and a girlfriend needing a trip to the emergency room before I could drive without freaking out.

Since you've made it this far....here's the song. Oh...and don't drive on drugs.

Time To Sh*t Or Get Off The Pot....

Sometimes losing someone helps you prioritize things. Being comfortably in "middle age" (provided I live well into my 90s), I pay attention to that voice inside of my head that says things like "It's time to shit or get off the pot" (one of our grandmother's favorite phrases) or "You ain't getting any younger" or "Maybe I should get that growth looked at by someone other than the cat".

The past two years, my life has been a stagnant mess. After all of the legal bullshit, health issues, etc., I lost my career in the mental health field. Honestly, I haven't known what the hell to do. I've done all sorts of jobs...and so far, none have lasted, or paid well, or given me any level of the security I figured I've have at my age. Well Boo Friggin' Hoo Metzger! I guess its time to go with my gut...and in my case, that's a lot to go on.

My music career has been just as stagnant as everything else. Don't get me wrong, I love playing in both bands I'm in but neither is 100% ME. OK...I'm sure you all probably figured that The Tremblers are...but you'd be wrong. I fell into a rut...and in so doing, so did the band. I've had an album finished that was supposed to be released in December 2010. It still sits unreleased. Don't get me wrong...the songs are great. I just don't know what the hell to do with it! The music market is in the tank...and let's be honest, my rootsy/rockabilly-ish/garage-y/blues-y/surf-y/doesn't-fit-any-particular-genre stuff is even harder to sell than ever. So...I've let it sit. I'll put it out at some point...whenever I figure out what to do with it.

So what to do now?

Let's see: I'm 47, broke, and have been, surprisingly, writing some of the best music of my career. When I play music at home, it's more or less what my auntie used to refer to as "hog-calling music". God how I love that! It's probably my most natural musical expression...and I've been playing/writing it for decades. Just never figured anyone would ever want to hear it. Well you know what? I don't care if no one WANTS to hear it...because you're gonna! (that said, everyone who HAS heard it, digs it...or they're just being polite...which doesn't sound like MY friends...thank God!) Thar be a lot of hills around here...and I plan to scream these songs from the top of each and every one of them!

Along with all of my other daily ventures into trying to keep some semblance of income coming in, I'm going to add "looking for funding for this very personal recording" to my list. I'm sure there's a market for it out there somewhere. If not...I can at least let it go with the knowledge that I did it...gave it my best...and then go on about life.

So what is this "hog-calling music"? It's tough to describe (ain't THAT a surprise coming from me?!). It's rootsy as hell, is what it is. It's equal parts gut bucket blues/Nawlinz jazz/hillbilly/drinking songs/sea shanties. What it AIN'T is rock and roll...at least not in any traditional sense. It's songs about life; the good parts, bad parts, and the parts the tabloids feed on. It's theatrical to a point. It draws different voices out of me...from a Tom Waits-ish growl to, as a dear friend put it, my "Yinzer Yodel". Some are 1st person, some are 3rd person. Some are introspective, some are made up stories. Some are ridiculous and some are serious. They're all really good.

These songs ain't about hot rods or pickin' up chicks or "oooh baby I love you-oo-oo". These are songs about drunks, drag queens, bar flies, whores, Heaven & Hell...you know, light subject matter. These songs are a nudge and a wink. These songs are dirty jokes and ernest prayers. These songs are lonely tears at night and laughing at the absurdity of life. These songs are me flipping the music industry the bird and just doing my own damned thing.

I hope you'll get to hear them.

So how the hell do I get this money together?

Yeah...there's always Kickstarter. God...have I sunk that low? A fucking 'online begging bowl' is how I've always seen it. It's a hope and a prayer and 9 times out of 10, no one gets shit for their money. I refuse to be party to that. IF I'm forced to go that route, I won't take a dime more than I need to make this thing happen. I'll pre-sell the record. Hell, I'll even add a Thank You gift. I'll keep it inexpensive. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's working below a budget. I've always hated spending money unnecessarily. I can record an album at a fraction of what other bands/producers can. And it will be QUALITY! I only ever use the best...because that's what I expect when I buy something. I don't want "Sorry...gosh O gee...we wanted to make this better but ran out of money...hope you like it anyway". Fuck that noise! I want this to be an interesting sounding record. I want YOU to listen to this and enjoy every second of it. I want you to beg your friends to listen to it. That's how good I want this to be.

OK...I have the songs. I'm enlisting some of my many musical friends and colleagues to lend their talents. I want them to make a buck too. I have access to the studio that I love to work in. All I need to do now is come up with the money.

Oh yeah...if you have want to throw some money at this project, I won't say NO. I'll make you an honest deal. I doubt anyone is gonna get rich on this record...but it's gonna be memorable. Most of all, it's gonna be worthwhile. Fuck that silly-ass 'sounds like 1000 other bands' shit. Imagine Johnny Cash, Shane McGowan, Dave Alvin, and Tom Waits on a bender in Tijuana with a polka band on acid letting it all hang out. Yeah....it's gonna be like that.

Wish me luck! I'm gonna need it!

Saying Good-bye...

Is there anything harder than suddenly, out of the blue, losing a friend? That's how today started for me and most of my friends here in Pittsburgh. We lost our buddy Osh. An early morning 2 car accident down in the South Side. It was over that fast.

I woke up already feeling like shit. Between my heart condition and sleep apnea, mornings suck for me in ways that, fortunately, most will never know. Imagine waking up feeling like someone has been suffocating you. That's how most of my days start.

I came downstairs, took my pills and flipped on the laptop to see what was going on on Facebook, while having my coffee. This is how I start most days. Today was bad. I saw a large number of messages in my inbox...rarely a good sign. The first thing I saw in my newsfeed was a post about a car crash. Right away, I knew it wasn't gonna be good.

I clicked on the post and read the article. Damn. Tommy Osh gone in a car crash. 47 years old...same as me. Way too young. For anyone. I just talked to him 2 days ago. He had a huge project that he was working on but wasn't talking about. He was worried he'd jinx it. He'd been asking me to help him learn a few different bass styles and how to make sense of chord charts for this project. Seriously...it was gonna be big. He was so proud of it too. It was his time and he was gonna make the best of it. He asked me not to divulge any details about the project...but let me tell you, I was jealous as hell and proud of my friend at the same time. We're talking Big Time stuff!

I met Osh back around 1990. Our bands used to gig together all the time...The Upstage, Decade, Zelda's, The Electric Banana, Anthony's...always seemed like we were doing a show together. And if we weren't, Tommy Osh was usually at the show anyway. Him and drummer Ang were ALWAYS out supporting other bands. Real Rock & Rollers, that's for sure.

But more than that, Osh was a character. He could be loud, obnoxious and crazy...but could also be the sweetest teddy bear you'd ever want to know. For as wild as he could seem to some, he was every bit as quiet and sensitive as a poet. He was a helluva songwriter and a bass player too. Any success his bands had was due, in large part, to Osh's determination and love for the music. Rock & Roll was more than his passion: it was his life's blood.

I remember back in our younger days, when we'd all go to a party after a gig. Osh was always there and always ON. He'd pick my brain about everything I knew about music. He'd ask about 'those fancy jazz chords' that I played or who originally did an obscure cover we'd played. If the guitars came out, of course we'd jam. Damn... I miss those days. I miss them even more now.

Osh was supposed to come over this week. I was looking forward to getting to hang out, just the two of us. We hadn't got to do that in years. Seriously...probably 15 years since the last time we got to hang out and just make some noise. Funny how life goes. It takes friends all over...but invariably, leads us back again. 

I've fielded calls from a number of our friends today. We're all just stunned, shocked, pissed off, and generally saddened by the loss of our friend. I guess what hurts most is in times like this, we're all filled with the woulda shoulda coulda's. What I think hurts us all the most is that we never got to say good-bye.

Good-bye Osh. Damn...I'm gonna miss you. Damn...

Matthew 5:4 "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

"Ya see....here's the thing...."

So a snake handler died from a snake bite, after refusing appropriate medical treatment...and this is news?

Yes, there are still snake handling Christians in the US. They usually drink poison too. These people are Christians, and very devout, I might add. They also tend to have some fun music going on in church too. They get into it! Are these Christians the "norm"? Ehhhh.....no.

Then there's the folks at Westboro Baptist Church, following Fred Phelps. These people are being mislead down a hateful path. There's no other words to describe it. Just "hateful". This congregation calls themselves Christians. In their minds, they are. To most Christians, they are not.

I'm a Christian. That fact seems to confuse many who know me. I was recently asked how long I've been a "Bible thumper". Just to set the facts straight, I don't believe I've ever "thumped" any book, religious or secular. I do have a tendency to strongly suggest that friends read David Sedaris and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle...but no one ever seems to get upset about that. I usually only reference The Bible when in a discussion that warrants it...and usually only with someone I feel wants to hear about it or could benefit from it. I think I'm more like most Christians in this way.

As for the snake handlers and such out there...hey, do your own thing. If you seriously believe that God is telling you to chug some strychnine while dancing around with a handful of timber rattlers, have at it. Just remember, when you get bit...and chances are, you will...God brought you the people who invented anti-venom. He also brought you a lot of the medicine in the world. In many primitive tribes, "medicine men" and "healers" are part of their religion. Therefore, to save a life using these cures is not against God's will. I won't speak for Him...but I don't think I'm wrong either. (Nope....no lightning bolt. I'm safe...for now)

When we hear or read about the Westboro Baptist folks, or the "creationists", or pretty much anyone who is screaming from the mountain tops that they're doing "God's will"...chances are, these folks don't know what they're talking about. OR...if they do know, they know that they're using scripture to their own advantage. They're cherry picking. Sure, Leviticus alludes to homosexuality (from my understanding, the original word was pederasty, but that's a discussion for another time)...but it also says not to eat shellfish. I'm sure that many fine Christians have eaten at Red Lobster or dined upon some delicious shrimp scampi. I don't believe God is quite so worried about our diets, or else he would have smited the good folks at Hostess long ago.

Whenever these sorts of people take to telling you that they know God's will...please remember these words. Feel free to reference them. They come from the Bible. From the Book of Matthew.

Matthew 6:1 "Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

Did you read that? The Westboro folks and their creationist buddies, as well as the politicians that claim God told them to run for election, and do everything but offer bathroom blowjobs to get the Christian vote, are acting against their own beliefs. Matthew has more to say about the subject...

Matthew 5"And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full."

I think we all know what hypocrites are, right?

Matthew 7 "And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words."

Matthew 8 "Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him."

The Bible says not to do these things, yet these folks keep on doing it. Doesn't sound horribly Christian, now does it? Yet these are the people most non-Christians equate with being Christian! Why? Simple. There are powerful people in this world that understand "divide and conquer". If they can polarize the peoples' viewpoints...black or white...up or down...left or right...this or that...they can separate us and control us. If you step back and take a look, and ask the question "Who does this benefit?" you're likely to find a clear answer.

And what about the Atheists? When did they become so militant? Hey, if you don't subscribe to a religion, that's cool with me. I just don't see the need to get so dang uppetty about it. You're not asking any questions that Christians and non-Christians alike have asked for over 2000 years. And you still don't have concrete answers either. This is why it's called "faith". I have faith that if I throw a donut in the air, it is going to come back down. Mind you, the neighbor's dog might jump up and get it before it hits the ground...but it will be heading towards the ground when Fido gets it. I have faith that there is a God. I could go into a long story about WHY I believe that, but again, a discussion for another time (but feel free to ask and I will happily tell you). I wasn't always a Christian. I used to call myself atheist and agnostic. Suffice to say, I know what I know and how it relates to MY life and MY existence. It won't necessarily mean anything to you or anyone else...but it does to ME. And guess what...it's MY Constitutional right to believe. If you don't, that's fine...but when you question me, put me down, and make fun of my religion, YOU'RE the one being an ass. YOU'RE the one attempting to deny me MY rights. YOU'RE the one who likes to believe that you're progressive yet can't accept that I have faith in a 2000+ year old religion. What scares you so much?

Hey, what if the Christians are wrong? What if there is no God? Well, we'll all find that out one day. And if there is no God...who am I hurting by believing in Him anyway? Who am I hurting by trying to do good in His name? MOST Christians are just good, every day people. We're not handling snakes, or carrying picket signs at funerals, or telling anyone what to believe. We just live our lives as best we can and try to do the right thing. We understand Matthew 6-8. We understand that the Bible was written a long time ago and has been translated, edited, interpreted and re-interpreted more times than anyone will ever know. We know and understand this. But the wisdom in the book, THAT is God's word. It's not a rule book, per se...it's a book of lessons and philosophies. Don't let it scare you.

You're probably wondering why I left out Matthew 6:6. I didn't. I just saved it for last. Matthew 6:6 tells us (us Christians...not anyone else) how to pray.

6 "But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."

This is followed by The Lord's Prayer. If you know it, you know it. If you don't, it doesn't upset me in the least. If you want to look it up, now you know where to look. Or not. Doesn't matter to me. I'm just a musician/writer/average guy. Just a quick FYI: we don't believe God is a lottery ticket. When most of us pray, we pray for things like strength to get through another day, or some peace of mind. That's our reward on earth.

Be smart. Don't allow the world's people to be so easily divided. Sit down and talk with someone you think is different. I'll wager that you're not as different as you think. Who knows...maybe talking with someone outside of your comfort zone will open your eyes and theirs. It could be the first steps in creating a more perfect world.

You might have noticed....

If you're one of the 7 or 8 people on the planet who have been following my music career, you may have noticed some drastic changes...but let me assure you, they are neither drastic nor much of a change.

Most of you are probably more accustomed to me writing and playing stuff like this:



Yep...that's me too. Loud, noisy rock and/or roll. I love that stuff! But...I like to think that there's more to me and my music than just that.

You might have noticed that I've been posting new song demos online as of late...stuff like this:




Yep...that's me too. In fact, it's probably closer to who I've always been. I'd just sort of gotten away from that part of me for a bunch of years.

I've always loved playing old blues and country kinda stuff. My auntie used to call it my "hog calling music". I always got a kick out of that. But as I look back at life, this is really more like how my songs usually start out. In the past 25 years or so, I'll write a song and then try to rock it up with the band. Even songs that I wrote back when I was still in The Rowdy Bovines usually started out like this. I dunno...maybe I didn't want to be seen as a "folky".

An old buddy of mine from college, Jeff Finn (bassist for the bands Mannequin Odd & Dink) used to brag up my acoustic stylings to people. For some reason or other, he thought it was special. It was just what I did, so I never thought much of it. I probably should've paid attention. We'd be at a party and guitars would be passed around, and among our friends, the music leaned more towards punk, hard rock, etc. I never figured anyone wanted to hear some dorky white kid, who was better known for playing bass in rockabilly bands, bang away at some old 1930s sounding music. Jeff would always push for it though...and usually just to shut him up, I'd play a little something, then go find the booze.

Playing bass was easy. Rockabilly, even easier. But to show off original music that sounded dated to me...well, that took more guts than I had at the time.

Luckily, I'm now at the "I don't really give a shit" age. This means not only can I comfortably go to the store wearing socks and sandals (or even my slippers...much to the young'un's chagrin) I can, will, and do often write exactly what I want...and leave it alone. I no longer feel the urge to "rock it up".

So, does this mean that I've left rock and roll behind me? No. I'll always play some rock and roll. I believe it was George Harrison who said, "It's good to boogie now and then". I've always seen myself as more of a blues player though...so maybe I'm just finally mixing it all up the way I hear it. Regardless, I'll always keep on writing. I do that purely for me. That anyone else has ever listened and paid attention is just the cherry on the sundae.

OK, I'll stop yammering on...and get back to playing music. I've been on a writing jag lately...and I'll keep writing the music as it works it's way through me.

Until my next song post....here's a couple more of the new ones. I hope you like them. If you do, just keep an eye on my Facebooger page...I usually post them there. If you don't like them...oh well!

Yeah Yeah Yeah

Was it really a half century ago that The Beatles performed on Ed Sullivan for the first time, and proceeded to knock America on it's collective ass? Here it is, Sunday February 9, 2014...and people are still talking about...revering and reviling the Fab Four...the Moptops...the Lads From Liddypool...The Beatles. An anniversary like this is usually reserved for something of historic significance...not a pop group, right? The Beatles are history. They are our history.

Say what you will; The Beatles were good. 38% of the US tuned in to watch these long-haired Liverpudlians. That says something. These days, the media goes out of its way to try to recreate that level of hype, but there is rarely any substance to back it up. The Beatles wrote the lion's share of their early material. That, in itself, was rare. What they wrote was also excellent music. Even Leonard Bernstein agreed. If you don't know who he was, look him up. Suffice to say, the man knew a thing or two about music.

The cover songs they did weren't carefully chosen by a team of "experts". They played the music they enjoyed. If their rendition of a song was catchy enough, their producer, George Martin, gave it the green light. The covered everything from girl groups to R&B to rockabilly to standards to C&W...and did them all well. This was because they were good musicians and creative enough to come up with arrangements that fit a 4 piece band. They were doing this long before they ever even dreamed of becoming "stars".

I know a lot of people who loathe The Beatles. I find it humorous that people even feel the need to voice an opinion on the subject. They were just a pop group, right? Maybe not.

Let's face it, when they hit the American airwaves and truly felt they'd "made it", they were freaks. They were a group of pasty white, long-haired English boys in matching suits. They weren't polite. They were smart-asses. They smoked and drank and cracked jokes. They were just what America needed...a swift kick in the ass. The country was still in mourning after the assassination of JFK...and let's be honest, American music wasn't exactly exciting at the time. How many of you still listen to The Singing Nun? or Lenny Welch? or Johnny Tillotson? Those were big stars of the American music charts at the time. To say that The Beatles blew them all out of the water would not be false.

Some folks just don't like anything popular. But why?

The Beatles took a hold on the world unlike anything before or since. Their sense of style became everyone's sense of style. If The Beatles dug something, chances are the sheep of the world got into it themselves. The Beatles dug Bob Dylan...so Dylan's records got a boost. The Beatles weren't the first group to use drugs, but they get the credit/blame for the world's youth turning on to it.

The Beatles never thought they'd last. They thought they might last anywhere from a few months at the top to maybe, just maybe, a couple of years. Here it is a half century later and people are still listening to them. Not just us old farts either. I know a lot of younger folks who listen to and collect their music. There's something timeless to a lot of their music. Sure, some of it sounds dated now...but a lot of it still holds up. For any pop music to last more than a few months is a testament to the writer(s), producer(s), and performers. Were they really that good? As musicians...no. As singers...no. But collectively, they had that spark. And people recognized that spark. It wasn't genius...it was much simpler than that. The Beatles were just 4 guys doing what they enjoyed...and did it with their friends. That was the genius of it all. They were just a bunch of working class kids who lucked out. They had talent, sure...but their biggest talent was their collective personality.  They were smart asses...not necessarily mean, but witty. Pretty much everyone I know enjoys that quality in people.

I'll watch the TV special tonight. I will most likely bitch, moan, and complain all the way through it.  The collected contemporary talent assembled for the special makes me itch. Does the world need to hear Katy Perry, Alicia Keyes, and/or John Legend croak their way through Beatle classics? Hell no. But watch it I will. I'll most likely cringe when I see Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr team up again. I'll bitch and moan like the middle-aged curmudgeon I've become. But...I like The Beatles. I always have. I always will. So, out of habit, if nothing else, I'll tune in. All the while, I'll keep this thought in the back of my mind: I have never known a world without The Beatles...

Just another day in delirium......

Bang your fucking drums and throw a parade. This week's flavor is here. It doesn't matter if you buy it, sell it, or even like it...all that matters is that its new and you acknowledge it. Keep taking sides - like it matters. As you draw your last breath, what will your last thought be? Will you die content that you backed a winner or will you simply hope that someone remembers your name? News flash: you won't live forever. By the time you care, it's probably too late anyway. Until then, you'll pay for poison and neglect your children into submission. The electric babysitter is dead but there's a wireless village waiting to raise them for you. All you have to do is breed more than the others and consume. Thinking isn't cool...it never has been. That's what Jesus Washington said in the Bible's Bill of Rights. There's no genius in homogeneous. Pledge allegiance to the Corporations that kill your land. Enjoy the chemicals you ingest and digest and crap back out into the rivers. You've come a long way baby...but you're still just a slave. Fed a lie of freedom, you wait for the bells to ring. School bells, lunch bells, church bells - ding dong, conformity calling. Punch a clock, be a rock, be all you can be. Uncle Sam doesn't want you...but he does need you. He needs you to believe. Fairy tales have happy endings...at least once upon a time they did. Mommy lied when she told you to share. All you have to be is better than everyone else. All you have to do is believe. The founding fathers believed in slavery...nothing has changed. The emancipation was proclaimed, but like forgotten luggage, remains unclaimed. The few still own the many, by way of jobs and dollars and pennies. The story's the same, and we're all to blame; too busy waiting for someone else to do something for us.

(Damn...I should've been a beatnik)

It was like something out of a Stephen King novel....

For whatever reasons, I love Groundhog Day. I love the silliness of it. Depending on whether or not the groundhog (Punxsutawney Phil!!!!!!) sees his shadow, we'll either have 6 more weeks of winter, or spring will arrive early...in about 6 weeks.

The small town of Punxsutawney, PA is only about 75 miles from my house, yet I've never gone there before for the big celebration. Why? No one ever wants to go. I obviously know some real fuddy duddies.

This year, the young'un suggested we go. This came out of the blue. She called from work on Thursday and suggested we go to see the groundhog. I was stoked! By the time Saturday arrived, our plans were loose...but we had a plan, at least. We would leave around 3am for the 90 minute drive, and go see the groundhog and the festivities. The weather wasn't supposed to be too cold, so it sounded like a fair bit of fun. I had planned to take a nap from about 8pm - midnight, but honestly, I was too excited to sleep!

Some friends suggested we leave earlier. I mistakenly thought this might be based on some previous experience. I was wrong. I'm pretty sure they just thought it was funny. When we got to Punxsy, we stopped at Sheetz for drinks and snacks, and then drove to the local shopping plaza to get our tickets and await the bus to Gobbler's Knob (this, for the uninformed, is where Phil allegedly resides, as well as the spot for the main grounghoggian festivities). Needless to say, we had a LOT of time to kill. Over an hour.

Had we been better informed, we would've tailgated, as many others were doing. The parking lot was a-buzz with revelers. You know you're in for some fun when there's tailgating going on. People drinking and cooking out in a parking lot...that's fun.

After some looking around, we got our tickets for the bus and festivities (2 please! $10). We boarded the bus around 5am and rode on up to Gobbler's Knob. The weather wasn't too bad...about 38 degrees...and a steady drizzle. It's Pennsylvania and it's February. Mild and dry usually ain't gonna happen here at this time of year. The ground was pretty much mud. And straw. And more mud. I was really wearing the wrong shoes.

Gobbler's Knob is, essentially, a small gated forest. The residents of Punxy have been reveling in the mythological, meteorological prognostications of the local groundhog, Phil, for 128 years. Needless to say, this is a big deal. So big in fact, that a movie was made based on it. There were between 25-30,000 of Phil's Faithful Followers in attendance...despite the mud.

Punxsy's Groundhog Day celebration has sort of a small town fair feel to it. Rows of vendors selling fried crap, a bonfire, and of course, rows of porta johns. Heck, there were even protestors! I went to take a look, but they were just Westboro Baptist-types, spewing their unique mix of hate and theology for all to ignore. But the real action was down at the stage. There was live music (Slim Forsythe and The Beagle Brothers), a troupe of young girls dancing...and dancing...and dancing...I thought they'd never go away. For all I know, they're still on that stage dancing. Two emcees kept things moving along...telling corny jokes, and doing random, corny skits. Any possible use of the name "Phil" was bandied about (I was disappointed at their not using "PHIListines" or "ParaPHILnalia", but that's just me). In keeping with the theme (and the local mentality), there was a PHIL Robertson (of Duck Dynasty) impersonator doing a corny sketch about switching the family business from duck calls to groundhog calls. Hey, I never said this was cutting edge entertainment. It was all about being corny, hokey, and for the most part, family-friendly.

At one point, two large, raised cauldrons of sorts started spewing fire and fireworks were being set off...all to the strains of the theme from Star Wars. Standing there surrounded by leafless trees and 25,000 people cheering, it began to seem like something out of a Stephen King novel. The smoke, mixed with a morning fog, and the mist from the steady drizzle, illuminated the light from the fires and fireworks in such a way, that it had an eerie effect. The madmen emcees, one in a top hat, the other in a groundhog hat, hooping and hollering on the stage, made it feel like a bizarre religious ritual was taking place. I was waiting for the ground to open and a 60 foot, millenia-old, horned groundhog with fiery red eyes to emerge and be fed a series of local, silk-robed children...an offering by the faithful to bring a timely end to winter, or risk a thousand years of continuous snow and ice!  Maybe the faux tree stump onstage would burst open, and a sea of groundhogs would swarm out and devour the audience. OK...maybe I drink too much coffee.

Finally after what seemed like hours of corny, family fun, the moment had arrived! The members of the Inner Circle, those who tend to Phil's every wish and whim, proceeded towards the stage. They looked resplendent in their black mourning coats and top hats. We were standing right along their path, so we got a good look at them. They all looked thrilled to be there. They guys probably hadn't slept in days...but it was all worth it to them! What's good for Phil is good for Punxsy!

With much pomp and circumstance, the Inner Circle members were introduced, and finally the moment we had all be waiting for....WAIT! There was a medical emergency! The EMTs were called down by the stage. I can't say for sure but I think someone fainted from all of the excitement. On with the show!

Phil, looking more heavily sedated than your average groundhog, was taken from his place of honor inside the faux stump on the stage. With all the noise and explosions, the poor thing would have had to been sedated. As they took him out, I joked to the young'un that he was going straight for his handler's jugular...she laughed. A nosey little woman in front of us felt it necessary to tell us "That's not the REAL Phil! That's one of the babies!" She then proceeded to tell us that she had her picture made with the REAL Phil at his enclosure down to the local library...why, he's so big his head comes halfway up her back! I didn't have the heart to tell her that the REAL Phil had most likely been dead for over 125 years.

A hush came over the crowd...the scrolls were placed on the stump....Phil was placed on the stump to see his shadow (or not) and converse with the Inner Circle members in "groundhoguese". Finally, the official words were spoken:

"A Super Bowl winner I will not predict,
but my weather forecast you cannot contradict.
Why that's not a football but my shadow I see,
It's six more weeks of winter it must be!"

In short, Phil told us "Take THAT bitchez! 6 more weeks of winter! At least!"

Did we really expect anything different? No. Will I go back to see Phil again. Most likely, Yes. If you've never gone, do yourself the favor. This is old-fashioned, family-oriented fun. You might learn some folklore. You might learn some history. You might make some new friends. You might see a celebrity or two. You will, most definitely, have a good time...provided you don't mind being out in the woods in the middle of the night in the middle of winter, waiting on a mythological rodent.

I still love Groundhog Day. I just may love it even more now.