Posts

Posted on

Rock Shows, Well, Rock

Can you guess from the title of this post what we did last night? If you said “I’ll guess you went to a kickass rock show last night.” You win! Congratulations! Of course there’s no prize or anything for your correct guess, except for the warm sense of self-satisfaction for reading a dead giveaway and not fumbling it away.

We (B2 and I) went up to Greensboro last night to see Shovels & Rope at The Pyrle, a newish venue right in the middle of downtown. This is the 2nd show we’ve seen there, Patterson Hood with John Moreland being the first, a couple three months ago, and this is rapidly becoming one of my favorite venues, for a variety of reasons. Not least of which is because it’s only about 30 minutes from home. That’s no small thing either, as every other venue we/I have been to here in NC (10 off the top of my head) is between 45 minutes and an hour and a half away. Since last night was “An Evening With” (there was no opener) and it started at 8:00 we were home at 10:15. The old man lurking in various body parts of mine has a deep appreciation for that. My only complaint with The Pyrle is that the acoustics feel a little off. Or the mixer board/person running the board. I’m far from an expert on things of this type, but I noticed at both shows the guitars were way louder than the vocals, and the vocals seem a little distorted compared to what I’m used to at other venues where I’ve seen shows. I feel like otherwise it’s been a pretty great experience to this point.

Another key factor in favor of this particular venue is the plethora of dining experiences from which to choose prior to the show. The first time we went, we made a reservation at a cajun/creole place right across the street. (That btw is the 3rd slash I’ve used so far, idk why, but after noticing it I feel like I need to make them a point of emphasis moving forward, let’s see how I do.) That was the first time either of us had eaten there and the food/service/ambiance were just outstanding. So naturally I looked to make another resy there for last night, but, alas, they’re closed on Sundays. Our Plan B for dinner proved excellent anyway, a taco joint a couple doors down from the venue, that we’ve been to several times in the past. I had a couple of Korean bbq tacos and B2 had a Nashville chicken taco and a version of the ones I had only with tuna replacing the bbq.

I feel like at this point I need to diverge from my previous course here for a brief detour to describe one of the (many) endearing quirks B2 has. Bearing in mind that I have outquirked her by a factor of roughly 37. Also I want to tread carefully here so as not to offend/infuriate/piss off/cause them to launch a counterattack any of my female readers/friends. Many persons of the female persuasion (and some males as well, I’m sure) carry a handbag or purse of some type or another because, well, sometimes people need things and sometimes they need those things right. effing. now. and I totally get that, I truly do. There have been multiple times where I have asked B2 “Hey, do you have ____.” and the answer invariably is “Yes” as she reaches into her purse and produces the requested item for me. Now, here’s where the quirk part comes in. She refers to her purse as a “pocketbook” and my frequent comment to her is “Who has pants big enough for the pocket that thing could fit in? It’s a valise, if not suitcase. If it wasn’t for the handle it could be a steamer trunk.” Again my quirks are numerous, but I will always chuckle at her description of the weight lifting apparatus she calls a “pocketbook”. I mean, seriously, you could anchor a small watercraft with it.

Back to last night, after we ate we walked a couple blocks back to where we parked so B2 could leave her “pocketbook” in the car, rather than having to take it through security and check it etc, etc, etc. and due to the close proximity of, well, everything, we were back to the venue with ample time to get to our seats. Which is, of course, very convenient. So I’ll end this portion of the post with, yes, lovely venue, we’ll see more shows there, I’m sure.

The show itself was just excellent. This was my 2nd time seeing Shovels & Rope, and B2 saw them last night for the 1st time. It was not for lack of trying to see them however. The first time saw them was, I think, in Chattanooga at a music festival in the before times. I got tickets to a music festival in Charleston, SC that they were hosting. Then a crazy little thing called COVID 19 happened and the fest was among the things that didn’t happen. There have been, I believe, two other occasions over the years when I’ve bought tickets to see S+R and had to miss it for whatever reason. So I was very hesitant to buy the tickets for last night. Like I wavered with this decision for a week or so before I finally thought it was worth the risk. And holy crap was it ever worth it. For the unfamiliar, S+R are a husband and wife team, Carrie Ann Hearst and Michael Trent, they’ve been touring for 15 years, and they make more music out of the two of them than some bands do with 5 or more pieces. For example, this song, which they played last night, and, btw, is brilliant also and aptly demonstrates their multi-instrumentality. Watching Carrie Ann sing, while she’s playing the drums and the keyboard simultaneously and omfg, mind officially blown. While you’re watching that video (you really should) pay attention to the lyrics and it’s clear that in addition to their musical skills, they love their dog. “Runnin’ like a color-blind, love-sick fool, runnin’ like I’ll die if I don’t get to you, runnin’ like I got more legs than two…” I mean, come on. If you’ve ever had a dog in your life you can relate to those lyrics amirite?

I think I’m gonna tap out here, I have a couple errands to run and I need to get moving. So I leave you with my musical choice which, today, is unironically Shovels & Rope at a reasonable (note I didn’t say moderate) volume. I’m not gonna lie, I think the cherry on top of this sundae would’ve been to listen to Guns N’ Roses (see what I did there?) but having never been a fan, I thought why start now. Besides, how far can you push a bit?

Peace

Posted on

Hello In There

What do you write when you don’t know what to write? No, really, I’m looking for a little help here. I guess the nature of this interaction kinda precludes getting your help today. So I’m gonna try something I’ve never done here before. While scrolling through the backstage portion of the website I noticed I’ve got 5 drafts of posts that withered on the vine. For, I think, a variety of reasons. One, for example, has a final line of “I’ve just hit a wall here…….” so I guess that one’s pretty self explanatory. But idk why I dropped this one where I did. Maybe a similar reason? At any rate, I decided I’m going to take a previously unfinished draft and, well, finish it. So, without further ado, I take you back to April of 2020 and let’s try and put a bow in this one.

Usually when I pick a title such as the one here, I apologize to the original author. Not today. Last week the world lost an incredible artist. John Prine died from complications of COVID-19.

Obviously, this is not breaking news. And, in the grand scheme of things, maybe it’s nothing more than a blip on our collective radar. I mean after all, world-wide the death toll has passed 100,000 and of that number many famous (and, I’m sure, infamous) people have died. So why did this one seem to strike the chord it did? All I know is, I’m not smart enough to know.

What I do know is this. As I’ve read the various articles written about him this past week, it was obvious how influential he was on modern music. I read one piece that described him as the “Godfather of Americana” music and I think that’s perfectly appropriate. He was an amazing songwriter and, until his passing, I never really thought about that particular skillset of his. Shame on me. I first became aware of John Prine around 1976 or 1977. I worked in a restaurant at the time, and two of the other cooks, Ray and Skip, would sing Prine songs. Specifically “Illegal Smile“ (Ray) and “Please Don’t Bury Me“ (Skip) as we worked. I was also listening to XRT by this time, so I became familiar with other John Prine songs from his first couple albums. Here’s the part I never really considered until now though. He was 24 years old when he wrote songs like “Hello In There” and “Sam Stone” and “Paradise” and if you’re not familiar with any of them hit those links. Even if you do know the songs, they’re always worth a listen. And, as always, If I knew how to link to YT without the #*%#@% ads, I would. So apologies in advance for that. One of the other things that always blows my mind about John Prine is this- he was “discovered” by Roger Ebert, the Pulitzer Prize winning movie critic from the Chicago Sun-Times, at a small club in Lincoln Park. At the time Ebert saw him, John was still a letter carrier for the USPS in suburban Chicago, Westchester, I think.

John Prine is high on the list of artists I wish I’d seen when I had the chance. Although oddly enough, B2 and I did see his son Tommy, at his, iirc first solo show, over by Chapel Hill a couple three years ago. I’m pretty sure we’ve seen him twice now and actually, as I type this out, I’m pretty sure I mentioned seeing Tommy Prine in a post shortly after the fact. Hah! Sometimes I scare myself, lol. Here is the aforementioned post and the bonus is, since it’s from the 2nd time we saw him, I can relate my little tale about the first time.

I have no recollection how I learned of the original show, probably an email from the venue, but that’s just a guess. The opener was a name that, when I read it, I thought was familiar, but couldn’t place it, so that drifted off into the ether. The night of the show came and we found ourselves (we were easy to find, we know what we look like) at a small venue (The Back Room) which is part of a larger venue (Cat’s Cradle) that is legendary in the Chapel Hill, Durham, Raleigh area. As we walked in, I saw one of the flyers for the show listing Peter Holsapple as the opening act and, once agin, the name felt familiar, but I still couldn’t place it. The show started and Peter came up on stage and started playing a song that also sounded familiar. When he got to the chorus I recognized it as a song by the DB’s and the lightbulb finally lit. Peter Holsapple was half of the songwriting team (along with Chris Stamey) of that very band.

Here we are, now six years ish after the fact so obviously I couldn’t tell you much of what either of them played, but I can tell you we had a wonderful time along with the 40 or 50 other people that came out to the show. What I do remember is that Tommy played mostly original music, although he did play one or two of his Dad’s. Maybe Paradise, maybe Angel from Montgomery, I’m not sure but he did a fine job either way.

Ok, Imma wrap this up now. I feel like I accomplished at least a little something by A.) getting an old draft wrapped up and B.) getting words on a page again, so I’ll take it as a win. Oddly enough, even though the post centers on John Prine and his son Tommy, I’ve been listening instead to one of my playlists , titled Speeding Ticket, as I try and hammer away at the keyboard. Don’t ask, I can’t explain the way my brain works (or doesn’t) but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my musical choice du jour.

Peace

Posted on

Frequently Flying

Let’s dip our collective toes back in to the pool of memorable calls from my time with the good old FD. I enjoyed looking back in time for the last post, and it seems as though a couple of you did too and that’s all the encouragement I need.

The last post was about a memorable call, how about some memorable people this time? You know them, you love them, you all have them (if you work in this or an allied field), let’s hear it for frequent fliers!!! Here’s a couple, three that stick in my mind for various reasons.

Some of our frequent frequent flyers provided us (me) with lasting laughs.  I still giggle about some of them to this day, when the recollections run through my brain.  Lola would call us on occasion, for any number of minor ailments.  But one of the first times I encountered her, during our initial course of treatment, one of the crew attempted to put a nasal cannula on her.  These are used to deliver low-flow oxygen to a patient in need of a little boost in their oxygenation.  As he approached her face with the cannula, Lola held up her hand to stop him, proclaiming, in no uncertain terms,  “I’m allergic to oxygen!”  This, of course, caused us all to pause so each one of us could, in our own way, stifle the laughter that was vigorously fighting its way to the surface.  Now, do I think she meant to say she was allergic to latex?  Possibly, since that’s a fairly common occurrence.  However this call took place in the years before the switch from latex to nitrile exam gloves, so had that been the case it wouldn’t have mattered.  I’m still not sure what Lola was allergic to.  But I’m fairly confident in my medical opinion that it was not oxygen.

Sometimes, in the course of our dealings with frequent flyers, we would learn that a particular regular was more susceptible to the power of suggestion than others.  Myra, for example.  I remember the evening where most (emphasis on “most”) of our crew determined that Myra was near the top of this list.  Even though I had been told about her behavior in advance, I’m pretty sure this was my first visit with Myra, but certainly not the last, although shift transfers came out soon after this encounter and I was granted a return to the high rise district, so my contact with her was (mercifully) short-lived.  I don’t remember the specific complaint for which we were dispatched, but my partner that day was the report writer, so I was assuming a position in the background.  Often times, the patient’s distress is readily apparent.  On this night, Myra was in no apparent distress, so beyond taking her vital signs, which were all within normal limits, I wasn’t actively involved. But I was definitely listening in as my partner took her history.  And it went something like this-

“Are you having trouble breathing?” “Yes.”

“Do you have a headache?” “Yes.”

“Does your stomach hurt?” “Yes.”

“Does your shoulder hurt?” “Yes.”

“Do you have leg pain?” “Yes.”

Since none of Myra’s answers jibed with what I (or anyone else paying the slightest bit of attention) was seeing, I spoke up at this point and suggested we stop asking Myra questions (since each question brought a new symptom), and instead just get her to the emergency department (since that was obviously her goal).  My partner on this night chose instead-

“Are you having chest pains?” Which, of course, drew a “Yes.”

This, in turn, brought from me a glare at my partner followed by (in my best sotto voce) “What the fuck did I just say?  Stop asking her questions.  And it’s on you to explain to the hospital why we didn’t ALS a patient with chest pain.”

“I know, I know, I know.”

At this point Myra was loaded onto the cot, wheeled to the ambulance, and transported to the hospital for her complaints.  We found out later that night she was discharged less than two hours later when the hospital could find nothing wrong with her either.  Some of us came to believe that a good portion of our contact with Myra came at the urging of her husband.  She didn’t always seem totally convinced of the existence of any particular ailment, yet, more often than not, her husband was sitting on the side, encouraging her to go to the hospital to get checked out.  We noticed he never went to the emergency room with her.  Instead, telling her he would be up to see her “in a couple hours” he would remain in their apartment as we rolled her off to the ambulance.  Of course this was not the kind of thing that could be proven, but the sentiment was almost universal among the crews that dealt with Myra, that the husband, in need of a few hours of solitude, would suggest to Myra that she seemed to be having trouble breathing.  Or whatever other complaint he could come up with to buy some “me” time.

Then there was the single-most foul mouthed patient I’ve ever encountered.  Cynthia would hold a commanding lead in any scenario you can imagine that includes a large quantity of cursing.  Cynthia  would call us at all hours of the day or night, typically for very minor issues ranging from picking her up off the floor to more serious things like chest pain or trouble breathing.  I’m convinced she had Tourette Syndrome due in large part to her creativity when it came to cursing.  Most of the time her verbal venom wasn’t directed at any of us, rather it was more like cursing for the sake of cursing.  And I’m not gonna lie, there’s something entertaining about seeing a woman that looks like one of our grandmothers cursing like the proverbial drunken sailor.  As we would be headed out the door of her apartment, on the way to the hospital, it was not unusual to hear her exclaim to no one in particular “Grab my fucking teeth!”  For another example, asking “Cynthia, what’s wrong today?  Why did you call us?” brought the following reply – “My left titty hurts like a son of a bitch!”  That was one of the milder exchanges we had with Cynthia.  For the record her chest pain that day was not cardiac related.  One of the methods we, as paramedics, employ to measure how much pain a patient is experiencing, is to ask them to rate their pain on a scale of 0-10 with 10 being “the worst pain you’ve ever felt.”  Cynthia’s reply to this query one day was “Come a little bit closer so I can kick you in the scrotum, That’s how much I hurt, you asshole!”  Often times we would have to “shush” Cynthia while we rolled her on the cot, either from her apartment to the ambulance or from the ambulance to her bed in the emergency department, as she would launch into a tirade that would make the late Sam Kinison blush.  Again, usually directed at no one, but as loud as it was colorful.

I’m not gonna lie, at this point in time a lot of memories from the FD days are not as clear as they once were. But as I said up top, some, like these, are still crystal clear and can still evoke various feelings. In these cases, all smiles, if not outright laughter as I play through the images in my head.

I’m gonna wrap this one up for now, but before I go, today’s musical accompaniment has been a continuation from the last post – The Beatles. Abbey Road to be specific. I even stuck it out through Octopus’s Garden, a rarity for me, but I felt like the flow should stay true to the album for today.

Peace

Posted on

In Which I Regurgitate A Vivid Memory

Ok, I know, it’s been quite sometime since I’ve sat here in front of my keyboard, I got nuthin. Actually, that may be partly to blame for my lack of posts the last few months. I’ve got a partial draft of one, so I have taken a shot or two, but I decided today was going to be the day to put something out on the interwebz, so lucky you!

To kind of ease myself back into this, I decided to take the bulk of this from a side project that is currently floundering. It’s one of my personal fave job-related anecdotes and I think a large portion of you, dear readers, will get a chuckle out of it too. So, without further ado, let’s get some!

One summer afternoon we were called to a local manufacturing company, a place that made printed circuit boards for electrical devices, for a patient complaining of a headache and nausea.  We pulled in to the back parking lot, by the employee entrance and were met by not one, but a handful of employees, each with the same complaint for which we were initially dispatched.  As we started assessing our patients, a steady stream (well, maybe a trickle) of employees continued out to our location.  Each of the employees we talked to expressed a similar comment about an unusual smell inside the factory.  We started passing out oxygen masks like a Pez dispenser, trying to alleviate the symptoms more quickly than the ambient air was allowing.  We also requested a second ambulance to assist, since our patient total was rapidly exceeding our capability to treat them all effectively.  As the patient number approached twenty, we requested a third ambulance and the Battalion Chief to the scene.  The BC got on the radio and asked if we needed to pull an Ambulance Box (in our terminology, a “Box Alarm” is a call to neighboring FD’s for pre-determined resources, depending on the nature of the call; whether Fire, EMS, Special Rescue, etc.) and we told him we were pretty confident we could handle things with what we had requested.  The ladder truck, dispatched along with us on the initial call, geared up and went inside to evacuate the remaining employees and assess for the cause of the odor. I think it was in between the arrival of the 2nd and 3rd ambulance that one of our patients (all of our patients were female and almost all of them were workers from the plant floor) had worked herself into a little bit of a frenzy, convinced in spite of our best efforts to calm her, that she had inhaled some horribly toxic substance that would inevitably mark her demise, and started gagging, eventually producing a small amount of stomach bile.  This touched off a chain-reaction, the likes of which I had never witnessed before and hope to never see again.  

Sympathetic vomiting swept through our crowd of patients like Sherman’s March to the Sea, laying waste to the lunchtime intake of at least a dozen of our 23 total patients.  Our location was bad in that, since it was summer and we were outside, we were unable to really isolate a vomiter to prevent her triggering the gag reflex of others.  On the plus side, since we were outside, our location meant our ambulance wasn’t turned into a vomitarium so we didn’t have to take our ambulance out of service for an hour to decontaminate it after Puke-A-Palooza had run its course.  With no end in sight to the circular firing squad of regurgitation, we determined it was in everyone’s best interests to transport the most prolific of the retchers to the hospital.  In retrospect most of the six or eight patients we sent in probably didn’t really need to go, but it was the only way we could think of to shut off the tap on the stomach contents several of them kept on vigorously trying to empty; by finally, and definitively removing them from each other.  I’m fairly certain the staff of our local emergency department didn’t share in the belief that this was a great plan, even though we never caught any grief from anyone there.  And the plan did help to mitigate our situation more quickly, so there’s that, too.  I don’t recall what particular chemical was determined to be the offender, but a malfunctioning ventilation system in the plant allowed the concentration to reach a level that triggered the symptoms we found.  I do remember that, whatever the chemical was, it wasn’t the kind of thing that could potentially cause lasting harm, it was relatively benign, otherwise this whole scenario could have taken a much different turn.  And I probably wouldn’t have felt the same way writing about it.  Probably.

Well that was fun, at least for me. Looking back on the day in question, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, and if it hadn’t been for the “contributions” from the patients it might not have really registered. I can think of at least one call that had more patients, from a science project gone awry at a local high school. But that one didn’t involve a dozen or more people giving their lunch the old heave ho (see what I did there?) repeatedly.

One (I think) last thing before I hit the “Publish” button. Since AI has become ubiquitous, even in the creation parcel of this humble, little blog, I decided to give a couple options a try. I’m inherently opposed to non-human authors, but, when in Rome, I guess. Anyway. I tried the generate title option button and found them to be, well, lacking that certain je ne sais quoi that I had in mind. So I scrapped the AI reccos. Next I tried having the little bot create an image to feature with this post. Theoretically, images boost engagement. But no luck. Wait, hold that thought…

Ha! Well there you have it, a featured image to promote the post. Created by AI with a couple of nudges from me to get it a little more accurate. I’m particularly fond of the look on the face of the medic. I’m sure a few of you can relate, lol.

Ok, Imma wrap this beast up and go run a couple errands. Before I forget, The Beatles have provided the background music for today’s missive, specifically Anthology 4 and fwiw it is a delightful listen. Lastly, as always, and perhaps more than ever,

Peace

Posted on

Let’s Try This Again

You know, stuff happens. I started hitting this happy place a couple months ago with every intention of regularly posting something that amuses, well, me certainly, but hopefully a few of you as well.

You see where that got us.

So let’s climb back up on this beyotch and see what sort of masterpiece I have in my fingertips today.

Even though I’ve been away from this for a little bit now, I’ve still made notes to myself about potential topics. Glancing at them just now I’m choosing to call an audible since I was apparently kind of angry almost every single time I made a note to myself. Rather than piss and moan about something over which I probably have no control, let’s choose instead to stay lighthearted and frivolous, shall we? I mean, I’m ok with rage-typing when the mood strikes, but that can cut both ways, you know? Sometimes venting my spleen brings a little relief, but sometimes it leaves me with spleen remnants all over the place and that’s a mess to clean up.

I’m actually going to break from my typical format here, at least briefly, because it offers a nice segue to the next thing I want to fit in. I usually include at the end a tidbit or two regarding what I’m listening to as I type. Imma jump right into that today. I’m listening to Grace by the late, great Jeff Buckley and holy christ it’s amazing. His talent; as a songwriter, singer, and musician, was just staggering. We just watched a documentary, It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley, about him yesterday morning and it was really well done. It came out earlier this year and is available to stream on a couple different outlets. You should check it out. And also, definitely add Grace to your library if it’s not already there. Some of his songs, whether original material or covers, will send a chill down your spine. “I Want Someone Badly” “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” “Last Goodbye” “Grace” and of course Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” all pop off the top of my head as favorites of mine. He also does a killer cover of “Kick Out The Jams” the old MC5 pearl. Yeah, you should listen to this album.

Now, I wrote that to get to this. It’s been on my list of potential ideas to trigger my writing for *checks notes* a little over 4 years. Now, to be faiiiiir, a lot of that delay was due to my distinct lack of being at this place, but today is your lucky day.

In September of 2021 B2 and I took a trip to Maine. It was fantastic btw. Amazing seafood, nice people, beautiful weather, pretty much everything you would look for in a trip of this type. Quick side note, holy crap people up there drove fast. I remember traveling on I95 between Portland and Augusta doing 80 mph and having the doors blown off by basically every other driver. This was not a phenomenon with which I am familiar btw. But enopugh of my driving habits, back to where I was headed with this…

We spent a couple, three days in Bar Harbor (Bah Hahbah for you phoneticists) and really enjoyed it. A large part of any travel we’ve done to this point, and almost certainly any travel going forward, is eating. The food scene in Maine generally, and in Bah Hahbah particularly did not disappoint. But the thing I wanted to get to isn’t food related, more like food adjacent, in that it happened while we were eating. We went to an Irish pub up there, the name escapes me because like I said, 4 years ago, but the “entertainment” was 3 old guys (apparently) inspired by Chicago as teens, now strolling downtown unleashed and playing barely recognizable versions of songs from the 60’s and 70’s. As they launched into what can be only be described through extreme generosity on my part, as a cover of the Stevie Wonder’s rollicking “Sir Duke” a woman sitting a couple tables away gleefully said “Oh, I love this song!” At which point I thought to myself “If that were true, you, madam, should be pissed off. Because what these alleged minstrels are doing to that song should be a crime against your ears as well as your musical sensibilities.”

That felt like a long way to go with not as much payoff as I’d expected, but I at least feel better for having cleared it off my ICRTD list, so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

I’d like to try and work this next part a little more fully in the next week or two, but for now I’m going to wrap this gem up by mentioning the OO and her SO came out for a visit week before last. We had a lovely time with them and I’m pretty sure they enjoyed their time in central North Carolina too. I (we) always appreciate when someone comes out for a visit. It’s a lot more involved than it may appear at first glance. So for someone to put in that kind of time, effort, and expense to visit with us? Yeah, there’s a lot of gratitude on our part. There were a few hijinks involved, nothing the authorities need worry about, but all involved parties need to grant clearances before anything comes out on the page here, you know?

I think I’m going to call it here today. I’ve got a couple odds and ends to take care of before I lose all interest in domestic duties, you know? For example, I’ve already lost interest in leaf removal for the day.

If only that were the last one, sigh. I’m fairly confident I’ll be dealing with them into next month. Such is life, amirite?

Peace

Posted on

In Which I Recount More Of My Tech Savviness*

Well, I think that title pretty much says it all doesn’t it? I mean, not everything or else there’d be no point in typing any further (settle down Ray) than the title. So allow me to fill in some more tech-related details. Shout out to a faithful reader (and also a family member) (it just occurred to me the Venn Diagram of readers and family members would probably have a steep overlap) (c’est la vie) for pointing out in the comments that I neglected to share the conclusion of my back door lock issue. What was I thinking?

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. (Sorry, it’s hard to pass up on the opportunity to drop in a Princess Bride reference.) When we left this topic, our intrepid writer (me) had a semi functional electronic back door lock. I was able to add in a few codes manually to lock and unlock the door, but wasn’t able to connect the lock to my home wifi network. This caused much consternation, and more bad language than I’d care to admit to using. Of course losing my shit also did nothing to expedite the problem, so I did my best to just let it be and wait for tech support to call me back. Patience, however, is rarely my strong suit so I was pleased that I was able to, more or less, not fiddle around with the lock on a daily basis.

The phone call from Schlage Tech Support came in a couple minutes after the scheduled time but still well within the expected window, and, as I expected, the issue was operator (me again) error. Nick, the tech, was remarkably patient with me, even when I made a full bodied effort to eff things up again by repeating the error I had been making all along. So thanks for that Nick! I think we were on the phone for a grand total of about 15 minutes and we had a fully functional back door lock once again! Yaaay technology!

Let’s see, what else do we have that’s tech-related that I can ramble on about for a few hundred words… Oh yeah, there’s this – Around the time I stopped actively doing this, although unrelated to it iirc, my laptop was starting to show signs of its age. I bought it, a MacBook Air, around 2014, and had been very happy with its performance from day 1. Over the last couple years I noticed it seemed a tad slow, not terribly, but enough that it was noticeable. Then it reached the point in its life cycle where Apple stopped issuing updates for it. A few apps stopped responding the way they had before, but I was usually able to figure out a workaround and keep getting results as I was accustomed to getting. I thought at the time about replacing it with a newer model, but decided against it because I also thought about how much less I was writing than I had been and was able to talk myself out of spending the money. And using it less and less frequently over the last couple years seemed to support my theory.

At least until a few weeks ago, when I had one of the aforementioned random ideas about a potential topic pop into my head. It was followed by a thought along the lines of “Geez maybe if I get a new laptop it’ll encourage me to put these thoughts down on “paper” and start posting again. The more I thought about it, the more I started to convince myself of the logic in that point of view.

Until, lo and behold, I found myself at the Apple Store. Where I met a lovely Apple person by the name of Oscar (or maybe Oskar, idk, I didn’t think to ask him how he spells it) who helped me narrow down which model I wanted/needed. Although I pretty much knew what I wanted going in, a little bigger, a little faster than what I was used to, but not top of the line. Anyway, here I am, typing away on my new MacBook Air, happy as a clam. Oscar, if you read this, you’re the best. And I owe you an apology, I should’ve asked where I could catch your act. As it turns out, Oscar is a stand up comic. That came up when he was asking me what I would use this baby to do. I told him about the blog and he asked for the address, then confirmed it after he pulled it up on his phone. And yes, I’d (we’d) love to come catch a gig so let me know. Or if I get back up to the store for something I’ll flag you down and ask.

I have to give kudos to Apple for the way they do stuff. Granted, I’m a long time user because I like the products, but I’ve never had a bad experience at one of their stores. And the Air purchase was just one example.

Here’s another one. B2 and I just got new phones. Not brand brand new, but last year’s model. Which actually brings me to a point I don’t like about Apple. They changed connectors from Lightning to USB-C. Now, that may seem a little like gobbledygook, but it refers to the end of the charging cable. I could go into greater detail about this, but I don’t really feel like it right now so… At any rate, due to that change, I needed a new cable. I had a cable at home to plug my phone into the car (I use Apple CarPlay while driving) however, it was a cheap version from some random device I had gotten at some unknown point in the last few years. So while it charged my phone in the car, it wouldn’t allow for the CarPlay hook up to occur. I chose yesterday, you know, 2 days after the release of the new version of the iPhone, as the day to go to the Apple Store to buy my cable. I noticed my lack of judgement when I pulled into the parking lot and had to park about 3 rows farther back than normal. And, as I walked up to the door the mass of humanity inside was hard to miss. Resolute in my decision to make my purchase, plus refusing to turn around and drive 30 minutes home stewing in the juices of my defeat, I joined the shopping fray. An employee asked me what I was looking to get and pointed me in the direction of the charging cords. It took me a couple minutes to find exactly what I needed (USB-A to USB-C) but, once I had one in my grubby little paws I saw a thing, kind of like a QR Code but different, on the shelf that said “scan to pay”. So I did. And I did. Scanned and then paid, I mean. And it was stupidly easy. Like I was convinced I did something wrong, easy. Like, how did they know I actually paid for it and how did they know I had the product I said I did? I kept the app open so I could show it to any employee that might question what the heck I was doing just walking out of the store like I owned the place with that charging cord in my hand. But no one even glanced my way. Mind boggled.

I think that just about brings us up to date on my tech (mis)adventures. I could probably rattle on a little about the phone shopping experience, but I think I’m good for today. I’m starting to get a little bleary eyed, I can’t imagine how you, gentle reader, are feeling.

Peace

PS- I spent a couple hours yesterday morning, thanks to the interwebz, listening to a Chicago treasure, Terri Hemmert, on Breakfast with the Beatles and as a result have had early Fab Four bouncing between my ears as this gets formed. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it too. I’ve always been able to avoid singing along (off key and loudly) to whatever I listen to while writing, but one of these days I fear I’ll slip up. Of course it would be something else to write about so…

Again, Peace

*Savviness may or may not be an actual word. Consult your local thesaurus for clarity. Or lack of same.

PSS or maybe PPS I don’t remember- Since I’m nothing if not a public servant, I feel I need to warn you that when looking for an image to add to this post I GTS’d “techno boob” and I want to tell you friends, never GTS “techno boobs”. Yikes.

Posted on

Southernisms Episode III – A New Mope

Ok, for starters, and to get out in front of any Star Wars nerds that might be reading, I know I mixed metaphors in the title. But I couldn’t make anything witty out of Revenge of the Sith, whereas A New Hope seemed to fit my style. You don’t like it, write your own damn blog.

Now on to today’s literary potpourri. One of the things that B2 and I do throughout the spring and fall is go to baseball games. Specifically the games played by the 11 year old twin grandsons. They play on a local travel team (which as I write feels like an oxymoron, but it’s accurate. The team is local and they play travel ball). Moving right along. For the most part the games are within a 90 minute drive and usually within 45 so it’s not too demanding on us, no overnights, etc. They’re both good ballplayers and they really enjoy the game. That enthusiasm makes it so much easier to invest our time in their efforts. Geez that sounds harsh. We love the boys and we love baseball, how’s that? It’s a great way to spend time each week. All that to say I noticed something at the games this past weekend that got me thinking. If you’ve spent any amount of time here, or if you know me IRL, you probably just shuddered. It’s ok, you should be used to that by now.

Due to idk what, somebody on the team had to miss the weekend. Maybe it was an illness, maybe a prior family commitment, maybe the soon-to-be-mentioned kid happened to be available. All I know is the boys’ team had a “guest” player last weekend. If you’re unfamiliar with travel baseball, this is apparently kinda common, down here at least. Their team has had guest players before and I know of at least one occasion when the boys both guested on another team. At any rate, the guest player’s name was Ty. Nothing unusual about that, right? Many of you may know a Ty. Some of you may even be a Ty. It’s, well, I wouldn’t call it ubiquitous, but yeah, it’s a common name nowadays.

But this was what caught my ear and sent me spiraling down a bit of a rabbit hole. The name Ty, in the southern dialect, is pronounced Tah. Which, by logical conclusion leads me to believe that tie dye is, of course, pronounced TAH DAH (all caps to encourage your brain to read that with the appropriate sound of fanfare). Now, to be faaiir, I haven’t tested this hypothesis with my local (very local) native southern speaker, but I’m pretty confident I’m right on the money here.

Ok, here’s a brief editorial comment. Apparently I need to apologize for at least one and possibly two things here… A quick look at the top of this gem will show I chose Episode 3 for part of the title. I did that because in thinking I had written about Southernisms before I wanted to check back to confirm my thoughts. I quickly found a post titled Southernisms – The Sequel from a few years ago. Now, if you’re like me, seeing the word “sequel” in that title would lead you to assume that a prior edition of Southernisms existed. You, like me, would be wrong. Because I just spent 20 minutes looking for the original Southernisms post without success. So I’m sorry I don’t know how to count and you’re welcome for not having to fight the urge to look up the nonexistent original. Also I’ve already forgotten the other thing I may have wanted to apologize for, which leads me to my next entry on the topic of Southernisms. After all this confusion I’mma throw a duck fit.

Yes, you read that right. Duck fit. It’s a polite way to say lose your shit. Don’t bother asking, Idk the origin. It occurs to me I should really have B2 here next to me when I write about things like this, so I’ve got a quick reference handy. Although I’m not sure she knows the origin either. If I find out before I hit “Publish” I’ll let you know. Don’t hold your breath.

Lastly, at least until I compile some more (which will also probably be mis-titled)(just sayin) distinctly southern expressions, I’ll drop this one on you. What do you call the headwear, typically worn in the winter? You know the one; knit, usually snug fitting, possibly with a fluffy ball on top. Canadians call it a toque, but I’ve known it as a stocking cap, or a beanie. Here in this part of the country they are known as toboggans. I know, I know. I asked the same thing. They call them sleds. Even when they’re toboggans. Not the hat the sled. I hope you followed that one, I think lost myself. In summary- if you wear it on your head it’s a toboggan. If your butt sits on it as you slide down a snow covered slope, it’s a sled.

Lastly Lastly as I hammered away at this one I listened to some early Bob Dylan. I read a long form article on Dylan’s early days this morning on Mojo. I have to admit although I knew a lot of his early (ie early 60’s) work, I didn’t know a lot more of it. B2 and I went and saw A Complete Unknown in the theater last winter, shortly after it came out. I couldn’t tell you the last movie I saw in the theater, it had been quite some time prior to that. But we were both blown away by the film. It’s available now on Hulu if that’s an option for you. I highly recommend the movie. Unless you’re trying to write something at least theoretically humorous. If you don’t know Dylan’s songs from that era they were mostly either political or dark and sometimes both. Maybe I should go back to just listening to instrumentals while writing.

Peace

PS- because, well, you know… B2 wasn’t sure of the origin of “duck fit” she thought it might be a family thing. So of course I had to fire up the Google Machine because my curiosity got the best of me. And because I care about your education dear reader, here is the definition/origin of duck fit according to Wiktionary, which I’m sure is a highly reputable resource and clearly highly citable. You’re welcome.

Again,

Peace

Posted on

Back In The Saddle Again

Before I dive any further into any of this mess, Imma place this right here and, as always, apologies if you have to click through an ad. In addition to the title being apropos, there’s something about the exuberance of the song, at least once they get past the intro, that is (happily) a parallel with my mood towards getting back behind (in front of?) the keyboard.

There, I said it, I’m returning to ICRTDs. Truth be told I’ve never left, but I sure as heck haven’t produced anything in really long time. Some (Hi Ray) would say never, but that’s a story for somebody else’s blog. Idk if there’s any real reason I haven’t written anything for the last almost three(!) years. Other than I just didn’t. I still had ideas. I can’t tell you how many times something would happen and I’d think “geez I should write about that.” or random ideas would pop into my head at random times and instead of making a note to myself to flesh it out a little more, I’d let it wither on the proverbial vine.

It’s actually not accurate to say I haven’t written at all, I still kick out the biannual (biennial? idk and I don’t care enough right now to confirm) article for the Illinois Retired Fireperson (not its real name) magazine. Which is now an E-zine. I think. Idk if that’s a thing or not, but I’m on a roll right now so… Yeah, I’ve done two of those articles a year at 500 words a pop, which is actually harder than writing these gems. Typically I’ll toss out 1000+ words into one of these word salads, with minimal editing other than you know triple checking spelling and maybe a once over for a grammar faux pas along the way.

It’s not like I didn’t miss doing this either, I did. Just not enough to grab myself and haul my behind to a local (or local ish) coffeehouse with my trusty keyboard. Or to sit at the desk at home to create, well, anything. I don’t know that I can put a finger on what triggered this renewed interest in writing, but I’m not going to question the Muse. Let’s just go with it, shall we?

So, here’s a thing. I like to consider myself fairly tech savvy for an old timer. I mean, I know my limitations, but by and large, I can keep myself out of trouble when it comes to modern technology. Until recently. A couple, three months ago, I bought an electronic lock, a Schlage Encode, for the back door at La Casa Mains. The installation was a tad cumbersome, but I was able to do a workaround, and the lock worked flawlessly for us. Until late last month when the whole thing came to a screeching halt. What I thought was a prematurely dead battery turned out to be something else. The interwebz provided no real answer either so I reached out to Schlage, which in itself turned out to be ridiculously cumbersome as well. Poor #LillyNo heard so many bad words, none directed at her, of course, but she was not at all happy that I was so fired up. Of course Schlage’s customer service was closed on weekends, because apparently no one needs to lock their house other than Monday through Friday, so I scheduled a call back appointment for 5 days later. That was the first available slot. The morning of, I got an email to, very helpfully I might add, put the CS number into my phone so the call didn’t bounce to voicemail. The call came in, right on time, I answered, and heard nothing. Dead air. For about 10 seconds until the call dropped. As you may imagine, I was not pleased. Go ahead, imagine yourself silly, I’ll wait. The technician called back pretty quickly, the call was successful this time and she apologized for an error on her part. We started walking through the lock and got about two steps in when the problem surfaced. We tried a couple things to no avail, and she said she’d send out a replacement lock. I saw that as a win. When the replacement lock came out 4-5 days later I took that as another good sign. Then I tried to install the new lock.

Picture, if you will, Mount Vesuvius, or really any volcano, erupting and you’ll have a pretty fair idea of how the remainder of my replacement lock installation went. This time I was able to get as far as connecting to my home wifi network, which the lock has, to the moment I’m writing this, yet to find. Idk if it’s using both hands, but it can’t find it. That prompted another scheduling with Schlage CS, this time 8 days out. And yeah, that didn’t help my mood any either. I was able to enter some codes manually, so we can at least lock the door, but we’re nowhere near the full functionality of the lock, and they’re not cheap so I really feel like we deserve what we paid for the product. The next edition of “How do I make my new lock work” takes place tomorrow morning so send good thoughts and keep your fingers crossed for whatever sanity I have left.

But wait! There’s more!

We lost power the other night when a thunderstorm rolled through around 2:00 in the morning. It was restored before we got up so if it hadn’t been for the texts on my phone from the power company, and the clocks displaying the wrong time I would have never known. That evening I sat down to watch some tv, nothing in particular, I mean, right here, right now idk what I was going to watch. So nothing vital. But when I turned on the tv, the speakers wouldn’t connect. I said to myself “Self” I said “This isn’t right.” and it wasn’t. This is not a common occurrence in our house, and if it does happen, it’s usually about a 15 second long fix and we’re good to go. But on this particular night, not only did the typical fix not work, the tv sets, yes, all three of them, couldn’t find the speakers. Not. a. single. one. I was, shall we say, displeased. Because, if you recall (I know you can, I just wrote about it) my lock issues were running concurrently to this new tech problem. Poor #LillyNo was also not happy, as my language took an expected turn to the gutter. So as I’m running through the various potential fixes I could think of; restarting/resetting the speakers, restarting the wifi, restarting, well, anything that might remotely be connected to the issue, I noticed something. The speakers were connected to the wrong wifi network. Maybe it was related to losing power, idk, that seems logical, but it never happened before. Anyway, I had no clue how to get them back on the correct wifi network so I went back to the interwebz. And found all kinds of things that didn’t relate to my problem.

And then, I found an app for Apple Support.

Friends let me tell you that installing and working through this app was the single most pleasant customer service experience I’ve had in a really, really long time. I sent in my question and was redirected to iMessage where a text from Apple Support was waiting for me. It was a tad awkward at first, and tbh it was probably some type of bot or AI that I was interacting with, but after a very few minutes my problem was solved by unplugging the speakers, plugging them in to my computer and updating/restarting them. So I spent maybe 15 minutes on three of the four speakers, the other one, idk how, reconnected to the proper wifi network on its own, and I once again had tv’s and speakers that worked as I expected them to work.

As I prepare to close this Pulitzer-worthy nugget out, I really hope you’ll be able to read it. By that I mean, it’s been so long I’m not convinced I know how to successfully post anymore, I guess we’ll find out together. Also, I don’t have much (read none) of a social media presence anymore, so I’m not sure how to get this out to the masses and I use that term loosely. But I’m game if you are.

Lastly ish. Despite the reference way up top, I haven’t been listening to Aerosmith as I write this today. Nothing against the band at all, 16 year old me loved the album Toys In The Attic, but old me generally spends more time listening to other things. Today’s playlist has been one I created a few years ago titled I Have No Words and it’s all (hence the name) instrumentals. Jethro Tull, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Jeff Beck, some Irish reels and the like, Santana, The Allman Brothers, Roy Clark, Mason Williams, Link Wray, The Pogues, and many more. I remember reading somewhere that listening to words, whether songs or podcasts, or what have you, while trying to write was not helpful. So I thought I’d give this a shot. Honestly I have no idea if it worked or not, how do you quantify something like that, you know? At any rate, that’s all I’ve got for you today

As always, Peace.

Posted on

It’s Great To Be Alive

I’m listening to XRT this morning.

I haven’t done that for years. Not a slight to “Chicago’s Finest Rock” either, I switched to satellite radio a while back for my main listening and from there, a few years ago I started listening mostly to streamed music. Mainly since it gave me (within reason) full control over what, and who, (whom?) I listened to. Admittedly, I missed XRT, but not enough to go out of my way to listen to it. I think maybe I missed the on-air talent as much as anything, although I can’t go any further without acknowledging that a very large part of my current tastes in music was developed, nurtured, and curated, by WXRT. I don’t remember exactly when I started listening, but my best guess is somewhere around 1976 or 1977, so people like Garry Lee Wright, Johnny Mars, Bobby Skafish, Tom Marker, Frank E. Lee, geez there’s so many more. Of course no list of XRT DJ’s would be complete without the inimitable Terri Hemmert, everyone’s favorite Aunt Terri. So many different voices helping to form my taste in music.

But today’s post isn’t about them. It’s only superficially about me. Rather, today I want to write about your best friend in the whole world, at least if you listened to WXRT any time over the last 30+ years. Lin Brehmer. Lin passed away yesterday, prostate cancer taking him far too soon.

In the 24 or so hours since I got the text from Ryan alerting me to Lin’s passing I’ve spent a lot of time reading tributes to Lin, so many beautiful, heartfelt words from those that knew him, knew him as more than a voice on the radio, but as a friend, coworker, or mentor. They are far more qualified to express their thoughts and process their emotions on the man than I am. I don’t say that to diminish my feelings, only to contextualize what I’m trying to say. A voice on the radio is the only way I knew Lin, and, theoretically at least, I shouldn’t feel his passing as much as I do given the nature of our “relationship”. After all, he was “only” one of the voices accompanying me down life’s highway, literally and figuratively, for many years.

I feel like I have so much more to say here, but instead I’m going to do two things- I’ve mentioned here before that I sometimes feel wholly inadequate as a writer when I listen to lyrics by songwriters I admire, Lin, through his 20 year long segment “Lin’s Bin” wherein he would answer readers emails, as well as in many other ways, was incredibly gifted with words. So I want to add a postscript in the form of one of his beautifully eloquent answers. Here, from the XRT Facebook page, are Lin’s own words. I’m gutted.

Is it still great to be alive?

What is my inheritance? What have my ancestors left for me? They have left those voices in the dark that ask questions, my own voices in the middle of the night when the mind spins slightly off its axis and wobbles like a spinning top about to roll over on its side. 
Is it still great to be alive? A delicate question subject to the eloquence of the ages.

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long a life.”

And yet we can say it out loud. 

It’s great to be alive.

Affirmation is so much easier in a convertible with the top down.
Celebration comes naturally in the robustness of our younger years.
Optimism is a dish best served with extra appetizers to share.
Great to be alive.

How does this phrase sound to the people living on the fringes?
Living on the street. People who survive against all odds.
What is so great about alive?

Is it still great to be alive?
This question stirs the guilt we feel when we attempt to rejoice among the ruins of civilization.
So better to joke about it.
Better to sing about it.

For the thoughtful, this is an awkward question.
Some have said that It’s great to be alive is not something they would ordinarily say.
Me either. But these are not ordinary times. And they never were.

Are we shaken from our brighter purpose by the unspooling tragedies that start as a ten word tweet and grow into a news story with full team coverage and a regenerating youtube video? Sadness that proliferates like the head of the Hydra.
These events that amplify our own misery and doubt.

When the noted social critic Frank Zappa stood on a stage to announce that it is great to be alive, it might have seemed sarcastic. 

“It’s so f$%&*g great to be alive is what the theme of our show is tonight, boys and girls. And I want to tell you, if there is anybody here who doesn’t believe that it is f$%&*g great to be alive, I wish they would go now because this show will bring them down so much.”

Life is so much clearer with a guitar in your arms.
But the truly cynical observer will remind us that it is always more poetic to reject life when you’re not fighting for your own. If it’s only pretty good to be alive, we should wonder at the young and the old who struggle to breathe.

Some of us are tempted to give up. Instinct is strong but not unshakeable.

In the absence of certitude, we make choices. I’ve made mine.
Is it still great to be alive?
Actually, no.

It’s f$%&*g great to be alive.

That last line was one of the taglines Lin will leave with us.

I’m going to leave this for now but, before I go, I want to encourage you to tune in to WXRT 93.1 FM if you’re in the Chicago area, if you’re like me and somewhere else in the world, you can stream that at, for example the Audacy app or likely any number of other streaming options. Regadless how you do it, you should listen in as the station pays tribute to one of the good ones.

Rest In Peace Lin. From one of your many best friends in the whole world.

Peace

Posted on

Why Modern Radio is A-OK

I suppose this is, to paraphrase the immortal Harry Doyle juuuust a bit behind. I wrote a couple months ago that I would be taping a segment to be played on a local radio station at a later date. Well, that date came and went. It aired on July 1st, something I didn’t find out until a couple weeks later, but regardless, it happened. I had thought it might be nice to put up a post with a link to the radio station in case anyone wanted to listen as it aired, sigh, and with that now an impossibility, I’m left with a couple options for those interested. As it turned out, B2 videoed my bit the night it was recorded, so I could put that up. Or, I could send you to the page on the website of the production company that recorded, edited, and got it radio-ready. As I type these words I haven’t decided which way I’ll go, so I guess we’ll find out together.

There are some differences between the two; despite my best efforts, my stories (well one of them anyway) weren’t “radio friendly” since it got lopped off completely. Kind of a shame too, that one got a great response from the crowd that night. But I guess I get it. Apparently you can’t say genitalia on the radio in the Bible Belt. Maybe anywhere else idk. I mean, I know George Carlin’s famous bit about the seven words you can’t say on the air (it’s a classic btw and if you’re unfamiliar I suggest you GTS) but genitalia wasn’t on his list so… Another difference is that, since the production company, you know, produces things, their version sounds a lot cleaner than the one B2 recorded. By that I mean it sounds like it was professionally recorded whereas our version sounds like it was recorded on somebody’s cellphone, which, oddly enough, is exactly how it was recorded.

So, you know, pros and cons for each. I suppose as far as that goes I could link to each of them and leave it up to you, gentle reader, to decide which one you prefer. Let me ponder all this for a bit as I meander across the keyboard.

The experience of doing the radio show was pretty excellent, I must say. But I already did kind of a recap of the evening, so I’ll just leave it at that and move along. Funny thing about that too. I was a couple hundred words farther along than I am here when I started to realize how familiar the things I was typing sounded. I scrolled through my last couple posts and there it was, this post covering the evening from the perspective of the next morning. *eyeroll* *facepalm* #reallygladicaughtthatbeforeitposted

Moving right along…

I’m not sure why I came to today’s musical selection but I’m listening to the Drive By Truckers this morning. In particular the Friday night show from 2019’s HeAthens Homecoming, a show which I happened to attend. They just came through our area recently, but we were unable to make the show. I can’t wait for them to come back around, they are firmly on the medal stand of my favorite bands, and just incredible live. Speaking of live music, I felt like I needed to name this with another radio-centric title and as I thought about which song to choose, this one popped into my head. It’s a long time fav of mine and I haven’t listened to it in a while. Apologies in advance if the ads get in the way.

I guess I’ve put off the inevitable long enough. Here’s the link to the video B2 shot and it’s age restricted due to subject matter, which is maybe why it got axed off the air, lol. This link will take you to the professionally recorded version that aired locally on July 1st. So check them out if/when you get the chance, and, as always, I appreciate any and all comments. Even those from you, Ray.

Peace