Today's Music: A Rant

If this blog makes me sound like a grumpy old man, then so be it. But, some of the people who are allowed to be called musicians today really tick me off. When you need computer software to make you sound just okay, you probably should find a new profession. You do not deserve to be sold in the same store as Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Cyndi Lauper, Michael Buble' or Josh Groban. These people can sing and they do not need the help of Auto-Tune to do it.

These artists would not be caught dead lip syncing on live television like a certain Ashlee Simpson. In fact, I have a recording Frank Sinatra made in 1962. It is called “Live in Paris.” On this album you will hear something that I would say most of the popular artists today would try to have a sound engineer correct. Frank Sinatra, the Chairman of the Board, misses a couple of notes and words. It is actually really cool to hear. Listen to any of his studio cuts and he is flawless. Listen to this live album and he is not; but that's what makes it great. I must confess, the album was not released until 1994; but, Sinatra was still alive and I have to believe he had some say in it being released.

Britney Spears and Miley Cyrus, I challenge you to sing a concert without Auto-Tune. Take a listen to Christina Aguilera, she can actually sing girls. She does not need some one to engineer her voice to sell her music. But, this is the way the industry has become, and the people buying their music helps to perpetuate it.

I should tell you what got me fired-up about this to begin with. I was listening to “We Are the World,” the good one from 1985, on the way to work this morning. I got all nostalgic and wanted to watch the video. So, I did a search on YouTube. Yeah, “Were Are the World 25” displayed at the top. So, for some reason I watched this imitation. Now, it is not terrible, but in some places it is really obvious that you have a bunch of different singers. In the 1985 version, you can tell the difference between the artists, but it is not nearly as obvious. They made it sound like a more cohesive song. It seems like they checked their egos at the door. The 2010 version, not so much. But, I digress.

Maybe I am just old fashioned. I cannot help that I like the people on my Walkman, err I mean iPod, to be able to sing. I often think I was born about forty years too late. I feel like I should have been a teenager/young adult, during the big band era. That was a time when musicians had to be good because they were constantly putting on live performances whether in a concert hall or on the radio. I continue to hold out hope though when the Josh Grobans and Michael Bubles surface. For now, I can continue to listen to some contemporary music.

Meatloaf, Forts, and Go Diego Go!

What could Meatloaf, Forts, and Go Diego Go! possible have in common? Surprisingly, it is something very important that none of us can live without. But I am not going to tell you straight away. You are going to have to read on and see if you can guess.

Meatloaf

Two days ago my wife and were talking about dinner plans for Today. (Sometimes we are that organized.) I had suggested that she make her famous meatloaf for me, I mean us. Shannon graciously agreed. By the time today had rolled around though, I had actually forgotten that she was making me, I mean us, meatloaf for dinner. My excitement was barely containable when she reminded me.

When I get home my mood changed. I was shocked, stunned I say. She had made me, I mean us, Turkey Meatloaf with zucchini, carrots, and I think I saw spinach all mixed into the loaf. This was not ground beef. This was Thanksgiving dinner and my garden mixed together. Oh, the tragedy. Oh, the horror. But, my wife made dinner, and by gum, I would eat that dinner. Please do not tell her I said this, but it was really good. I cannot wait for leftovers for lunch. I will deny that I ever said it.

Forts

After dinner tonight, my two oldest, Molly and Jillian, wanted to build a fort in the dining room. They wanted to drape a blanket over two chairs and hide underneath. I had to nix that idea. Coilin would be running around too and a 17 month old and a fort constructed in that fashion was not going to work - at all. But, I am not a total meany-head. I told them to go upstairs and pretend that the bottom bunk was a fort. Apparently, that was an acceptable alternative because I think I saw little clouds of smoke shoot out from behind them as they ran up the stairs.

About five minutes later, I had to go upstairs for something, and I was barely on the landing when Molly comes running out of her room and says, “Daddy, look what we did!” Yes, I was scared to see what she wanted to show me. I put on brave face and walked into her room, and was ecstatic. They had hooked Molly's purple “Nana Blanket” onto the top bunk's railing, and the blanket was totally covering the entry way into the bottom bunk. They had modified their original design to fit the furniture they were allowed to use. I am not sure who was prouder, Molly and Jillian for their design, or me.

Go Diego Go!

At about 7:30, Coilin was winding down. He had played hard all day. Go Diego GO! was on the television and I was sitting on the floor watching it with Coilin and Jillian. Coilin was standing in front of me; so, I grabbed him and sat him in my lap. He snuggled into me as only a 17 month old can, and Coilin sat there totally calm and totally chill. Then about two minutes later, he got a burst of energy and was gone again. Man, that was an awesome two minutes though.

Commonality

Have you guessed what Meatloaf, Forts, and Go Diego Go! have in common? All right, I will tell you. They all displayed signs of love. My wife made the meatloaf out of turkey and mixed in vegetables because she cares about what we put into our bodies. The fort, well, the girls constructed it with a blanket that my mom (Nana) had made for Molly. I think Go Diego Go! is the easy one. I was snuggling (yes, I snuggle) with my son.

It just goes to show you that love is all around us whether in the form of a meatloaf, a blanket used in a fort, or simply holding someone. So, the next time things are not going your way, or you are just down, look around and I bet you will find your own symbol of love that someone has left for you along the way.

Molly versus Jillian

“Daddy, I mad at Mahwee [Molly]!”

“Daddy, I'm mad at Jillian!”

This is how I was greeted when I came upstairs into the kitchen to make dinner for my darling children. At that moment, I wished I had been able to go with Shannon to the gym. Alas, she, deservedly, went by herself. Normally, the girls fighting before dinner would drive me bonkers – especially, when I am hungry. Tonight, however, something soothed me. Perhaps, it was the hot pepper, Turkey Pastrami and Honey Ham sandwich I was about to eat. Regardless (not irregardless – that is not a WORD), a calm came over me and I simply told them not to talk to each other. I made one stand by the back door and the other near the doorway leading to the basement. Then, the strangest thing happened – they listened.

In fact, they wanted to make their own dinners, and ended up working side-by-side. Yes, Reader, a three year old and a six year old can work next to each other without killing one another. They did not talk to each other or look at one another; but I heard no arguing, and that is all daddy cares about when he is hungry.

What's that, you ask? What can a three year old possible make herself for dinner? Why Strawberry Frosted Mini-wheats (or Pink Cereal, as Jillian likes to call it). I am willing to let her eat cereal for dinner from time-to-time if it empowers her knowing she did something a “big girl” can do. My Molly is an expert sandwich maker; so, she made herself a Honey Ham and Pepper Jack cheese sandwich on whole wheat.

They were so hungry that they even sat next to each other during dinner without fighting. The truth be told, whatever transgression that had occurred was forgotten, and they started to play together again. They did not fight again until Jillian hit Molly with her toy camera. Hey, it was good while it lasted. At that point, it was pretty obvious that it was bed time. The funny thing is that they will not go to bed without giving each other a hug and kiss good night. Jillian is inconsolable if Molly goes to bed without doing so.

Now the house is quiet, and the little darlings are in bed. I am contentedly typing away on my iMac, and they are probably dreaming of life where they are the only child. Although, Jillian's dream world may include Coilin, her baby brother. Those two are like two peas in a pod. I feel badly for Molly because when the twins (as we like to call them) get a little older, they will really start to wreak havoc on her world. Until then, it is Molly versus Jillian.  

Oh, and I still do not know why they were mad at each other before dinner.

Our Mark

The world is circular,

and I don't mean its shape.

What goes around

does come around.

If you open your eyes,

you will see.

Life has its ebbs and flows;

its contractions and expansions.

We can't get caught in the middle

trying to do the best we can.

We need to leave our mark,

and not just say “I've done Enough.”

We are all destined for greater things

than even we can imagine.

If we open up our hearts and minds,

we can see what God has given us,

and we will know

what we must do to help our fellow man.

Pizza and Wings

I have a great many things on my mind tonight. However, if I start to talk about half of them, I will get fired-up and this blog will turn ugly really quickly. Some things are just better left off of the internet. After all, you know what they say – The Internet is Forever. Instead, I am going to switch gears and talk about my favorite food – Pizza and Wings.

Some of you may argue that Pizza and Wings are two foods. I disagree. To truly enjoy one, I must have the other. They are the perfect example of a symbiotic relationship. Without one, the other dies. So, they are one.

I am very spoiled. My in-laws are from Buffalo, NY, and we go to visit their families from time to time. As a result, I get to eat true Buffalo Wings. Not Buffalo-style Wings; but true Buffalo Wings. And brother, there is a difference. They really do taste better.

Tonight, my dear mother-in-law, on her way back from a visit in Buffalo, brought us – wait for it – Pizza and Wings from Pasquale's. As the late-Myron Cope would said, “Yoi and Double-Yoi.” I was that excited. Tonight we had Peperoni Pizza and BBQ Wings. I can still taste the wings two and half hours later. Typically, I am not a BBQ Wing fan. I prefer them hot. However, Pasquale's and Center Ave Slice, right here in Pittsburgh, are about the only BBQ wings I really enjoy.

This post is about my favorite, and that is Hot Wings and Pepperoni Pizza. They are the perfect compliment to one another. (Oh, and that Pepperoni better have some spice in it.) Here is how I like to eat it. First, you take a bite of the Hot Wing , and with a good Wing, you get a nice heat starting in your mouth with that very first bite. Next, comes a bite of the Pepperoni Pizza. The heat starts to build a little more. Go back to the wing, and the heat starts to intensify. That is when I dip the tip of my pizza into Ranch dressing, and take a small bite careful not to get any Pepperoni. I want to cool down that heat a bit; but not too much. Hence, the small bite sans Pepperoni. When the heat becomes too intense, the flavor balance is ruined. This dance on my palate goes on and on, until all the food is gone. This dance, like a dance with with my wife never lasts long enough though. So, I savor every moment.

Yes, you read my statement about Ranch correctly. Please keep that stinky Bleu Cheese away from my dance. That is like having an ex-girlfriend trying to cut in while I am dancing with my wife. No good, can come of that.

Get to the Point

I have a problem. Sometimes I like to talk, and talk, and talk, and talk. Somebody asks me a question and I just talk. I answer the question, but I give a lot of extraneous details that half the time are not that important. Now, as a Technical Writer that is a bad thing to have happen in my work. But, I think, perhaps, because I am a Technical Writer, it is part of the reason that it happens.

I have to be so concise in what I say in a manual for work that sometimes when people ask me a question I feel the need to expound upon a point. I have a lot of great ideas to share with the world, and I think it is an inherent need of mine to elaborate on those ideas for the first person to start up a conversation with me. The other contributing factor could be the fact that I am in a house with three women. It is hard to get a word in sometimes. I love the women in my life; but geeze maweeze, sometimes I just want to be heard.

Alas, I cannot blame my children, my wife, or my profession for my verbosity. If I blamed them for my faults, why, I would be no better than the growing contingent of folks in America that do not accept responsibility for their own actions. My family and job are not the reasons that I ramble. I ramble on, because, as I said, I like share my ideas. It is just that sometimes I have to remember that the other person(s) in the conversation may not be as into what I am saying. As soon as I forget that, I lose them.

It is at those times, and probably most times, that I need to get to the point. The person who compliments my shirt does not need to know the exact circumstances under which said shirt was purchased. It is okay to just say thank you and move on in the conversation. It is more than okay to get to the point.

Stuck In the Driveway Part II

It is "Fiction Friday" here at Writing for Fun. Tonight we continue our story from last week. Enjoy this week's installment.

Stuck In the Driveway Part II

A yellow Pontiac Sunfire pulls into the parking lot of the “Brogan's Green Thumb.” A dark haired woman steps out of the car wearing jeans that are a half size too small and a too tight “Brogan's Green Thumb” shirt. Bev's pony tail flips up as she looks down to extinguish her cigarette. As she is twisting her foot to grind the cigarette butt into the ground, she starts coughing as only a smoker can in the morning. In her attempt to get her cough under control, she did not see the black sedan exiting at far end of the parking lot. Bev spits out the phlegm that she has coughed up. She quickly looks around to see if any one has seen her less than elegant act, and no one is around. The dull pain of her headache was a constant reminder of the beverages she consumed last night.

“What am I doing here on a Sunday at 8 a.m.?” Bev asked herslef. Last night at dinner, she had sensed that something was wrong with Stan. Her husband, Tom, and she got together with Stan and Mary Ann every Saturday night for the last 18 years. Ever since Stan and Mary Ann got married. Last night Stan seemed very preoccupied, and Bev knew that when he was preoccupied that nine times out of ten it had to do with work.

So, Bev took it upon herself, as she always felt she had to, to try and take care of him. She knew he would pretend to be mad at her; but, in the end he would thank Bev for her help, as he always did. Bev went to put her key in the door and realized that it was already unlocked. Briefly, she thought that she should call the police before going inside, but that thought was fleeting. Bev wasn't one to wait for help.

She gasped as she looked around the office. Manilla folders were strewn all over the floor, the papers that had been in them were scattered everywhere. Bev noticed that a few had gotten stuck in the Fica tree that was laying on its side. Most of the dirt that had been in the pot was now staining the carpet. Oh how she hated that tree.

Bev turned around to go outside and call the police from her cell phone when a man in a dark suit stepped into the office. Her scream was stifled as everything around her went black.

To be continued...Stuck in the Driveway Part III


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