There's no "X" in CHRISTMAS!

It's bad enough that we've managed to almost completely remove the true meaning of Christmas from the holiday, do we also have to change the name of it?!

How the hell did we come up with "XMAS"?! Are we that lazy, inconsiderate, and illiterate as a society that, for the sake of brevity, we completely remove the name of the person for whom the holiday was created? Now I know what you're thinking... but I'm not making this argument perched atop my religious high ground. I haven't been to church in years and I don't go around spewing Bible verses at folks. But I do believe that there once lived a man named Jesus Christ who many millions of people throughout history -and right up to current day- believe is the Son of God. This Jesus Christ dude had such a profound affect on folks that his teachings and stories of his life, death, and resurrection are the foundation of no less than a dozen different religions all over the world including the various denominations associated with Christianity. Even those who didn't believe he was the Son of God (the Jews for one), still don't refute the fact that he existed. He was a real person and his birth is celebrated all over the world during CHRISTMAS - the birth of Christ. Not the birth of "X".

Of course, there are many who will tell you that it's quite likely Christ was not born on December 25th. Fine. But December 25th has been designated as the day we celebrate his birth... the birth of CHRIST.... Christ's Mass... Christmas. There's no X in there, people. Not even close!

Even though Christmas is the biggest, most-celebrated holiday in the United States -and many other parts of the world- there's a sizable portion of the population that doesn't know or truly appreciate the REAL story and meaning behind Christmas. Instead of hearing about Jesus, kids are indoctrinated into the big myth of Santa Claus. A fat magical guy dressed in a red suit who brings you toys if you've been good. Wow. Not that I see anything wrong with Santa, I just think kids ought to also know about the guy for whom the holiday is named. It's not Santa Claus Day, it's CHRISTMAS. Again, no X in there.

Just for the sake of being objective, let's totally eliminate the religious point of view from this discussion. Let's instead approach it from an English language point of view. First of all, the fact is English is a trampled on language. Very few people these days have a firm grasp of the language and they continually bastardize it and misuse it. They get away with it because those of us who know better, don't or can't really do anything about it. This alarms and saddens me beyond words. It makes us (Americans) look stupid, lazy, and uneducated. Every day there are major print and visual media publications using bad English in their ads. Misspellings, mispronunciations, bad grammar, and made-up words. It's embarrassing to me. Really. And we're fooling ourselves if we think other countries and cultures aren't noticing. They are.

So, let's get back to the holiday... XMAS, pronounced as it is written, sounds nothing like "Christmas". Of course, folks will tell you the "X" is short for "Criss" -as in "Criss-Cross"- but even that doesn't hold much water for me. There are established signs for Railroad Crossings were "crossing" is abbreviated "Xing"; so if we apply that same logic to "XMAS", we'd have to pronounce it "CROSSMAS". Doesn't make sense!

You don't have to be an English professor to apply some basic logic to abbreviations. It's stupid. Doesn't make any sense! And why don't we do the same with other holidays if it's just a matter of saving letters and being lazy? Why isn't Valentine's Day just "VDay" or even "Love Day"? Why don't we just say "Happy Thanks Day" instead of spelling out that long word, "Thanksgiving"? Why isn't Halloween just "Boo Day"? Why don't we receive invitations for our nephew's "Xning" instead of spelling out "Christening"? Why? Because they were given those names/titles for a reason; to commemorate or honor someone or something. If you rename it or bastardize the spelling of a holiday, I believe you take something away from its significance. And no example is more prime than CHRISTMAS. Named after Jesus Christ; they guy who launched dozen of religions with millions of faithful followers. You take his name out of the holiday and you lose the significance. Unless, of course, you're like every retailer in the country who believes the significance is in SALES FIGURES.

I can remember the excitement of Christmas as a kid. Yes, I bought into that whole Santa Claus myth, but my mom also made sure I knew the reason behind the season. In addition to hearing "Twas the Night Before Christmas", I also heard the story of Mary and Joseph, the immaculate conception of their son, Jesus, and his birth in a lowly stable. And I heard about the wise men traveling from afar after being told by an angel that a very special person, the Son of God, had been born in the city of Bethlehem. It only added to the magic and awe of the season for me.

That magic fades a little as you get older - at least it has for me. Especially when you figure out there's no actual Santa Claus. But if you have a little faith and optimism, you can still let yourself believe that this Jesus guy was the real deal and everything about his life is true. If only during the holiday season, indulge yourself and maybe grow a little hope and love in your soul. Devout Christians would call it faith, but you can just refer to it as Christmas Spirit. Nothing wrong with that.

You don't have to be a Christian to take part in the magic of Christmas. Use it as a time to get closer to those you love and to go a little farther out of your way to help those less fortunate than you. In the process, you'll realize how lucky/blessed you are to be where you are and have what you have. And even if you're not a Christian, you should still respect the sanctity of the holiday and call it what it is; CHRISTMAS, not XMAS. Spread the word. There's no X in CHRISTMAS!

Best wishes for a happy and blessed holiday season and a very merry CHRISTMAS!

Celebration? Really?

I was DJing tonight -a fill-in gig after a band had canceled- at Stan & Joe's (quickly becoming my new favorite place) when a girl I knew came in. She was all smiles and with a girlfriend and she came over and gave me a hug and then quickly informed me that they were out celebrating. Yep, the papers were finalized, she was moving ahead with her divorce. High five! Woo Hoo! Um. Really?

I tried my best to be enthusiastic, but it was evident by the look on her face that she could see the sadness in my eyes.

Shit happens. People fall in and out of love every day for every reason under the sun. I kinda think there's a lot of people who get together and get married without ever really falling in love or knowing what being in love is all about. Still, when a long-term relationship ends -when a marriage ends- I can't fathom it being a cause for unbridled celebration.

Woo Hoo! Glad that's over with! Never mind that the last however many years of my life have been altered and marred forever. Never mind that the person I pledged my undying love to is now some repulsive stranger to me that I can't stand to look at. No, forget all that... I'm free now and it's time to celebrate.

I just don't get that.

I'm a victim of a failed marriage myself. Today I can say with all honesty that I'm glad it's over and I'm glad things worked out the way they did. But I can't ever remember a time where I was "celebrating" my failed marriage. I did a lot of crying, a lot of soul searching, a lot of questioning, and -yes- a fair amount of drinking, but I don't ever recall celebrating. While I see now why things were doomed from the start and why it was hopeless to try anymore, I still can't classify my feelings as "happy" the marriage ended. It took me a long time afterward to trust my heart and my feelings again and to even think about loving someone else. It was a tough time.... no parties, no celebrations. We didn't have any kids. That undoubtedly would've made things infinitely more complicated and painful.

This acquaintance of mine did have kids with her now-estranged husband. I guess that was all the more reason to celebrate.

Really, I'm not trying to judge this girl because I'm positive the the whole breakup and separation has been -and will continue to be- hell on her, on him, and on the kids. I just find it odd how we always try to cover up the pain and emotion when it comes to failed relationships. Failed love. It's tough. It's embarrassing. Especially if you're married because that usually means you stood up in front of a bunch of friends and family and pledged your undying love for each other. And now look at you. You can't stand to look at that person anymore. How did it get to that point? That's what I kept asking myself when my marriage failed. And there were many, many more questions I asked. It wasn't a happy time. At all.

I don't really know what my point is in all of this. I guess it's simply to say that it struck me odd to have this girl come up to me all bubbly and giddy -in 'celebration' mode- because her marriage was officially over. I just don't think it's something to celebrate. It's definitely something to think about and ponder. Something to question and something to learn from. I'd even go so far as to say it's something that you should mourn a little.

Love is a very rare and fragile thing and it can't exist without the right mix of admiration, communication, friendship, patience, skepticism, and respect. So when you find it -or think you've found it- it's definitely a reason for celebration. But when you lose it, don't celebrate that. Figure out how it fell apart and make sure it never happens again.

That's all I'm sayin'

Crab Hunter

I'm from Pennsylvania and it wasn't until I got transplanted down to Maryland -compliments of the U.S. Army- in my early twenties that I learned to appreciate steamed Maryland Blue Crabs. That appreciation quickly progressed into a seasonal love affair with the delectable little darlings. So, for at least fifteen years now I've been indulging every chance I get. The main thing I had to overcome was the fact that picking crabs requires a lot of effort and skill and yields a comparatively small amount of reward for your efforts. But I'm sure any seasoned crab picker will agree that any good crab feast requires lots of crabs as well as lots of good friends and family to share in the fun. Crab picking is a social event; a chance to sit down with friends and family for a few hours and trade stories while your fingers are busy excavating sweet morsels of crab meat from the intricate shell and cartilage crab carcasses. It's definitely not a quick brunch type of meal, but more of an afternoon-long get-together.

For as many crabs as I've eaten, I never had the opportunity to actually go crabbing and catch my meal. We always ordered them steamed from a great little crab joint down the road. But I have a few friends that have gone crabbing on quite a few occasions and I was finally fortunate enough to tag along on one such excursion this past Sunday in Fenwick, Delaware. Friends of ours have beach houses down there and my family is lucky enough to be invited down from time to time for a weekend stay. My friend, Shane, has a brother, Matt, who is quite the crabbing pro and agreed to let me and Shane tag along for a late morning/early afternoon expedition.

NOW, as I understand it, there's two primary ways to catch crabs. The first way is to use a crab "pot" or wire cage filled with bait. The cage is dropped into the water and sits at the bottom waiting for crabs to scurry inside and take the bait. There's usually two entry ways into the cage, but they are one-way entries only; crabs: check in, but they don't check out! After a few hours, the cage is hauled up out of the water and -hopefully- there’s a bunch of big crabs trapped inside waiting for you. The upside to this method of crabbing is, of course, very minimal work for the crabber. You bait your cages, drop your cages, and then come back in a few hours -or the next day- and collect your prizes. The downside to this method is there's a lot of waiting involved before the payoff. And while you're waiting, nothing's stopping an unscrupulous crabber from pulling up your cage and stealing your crabs.

A more hands-on approach to crabbing is through the use of a trotline. A trotline is, quite simply, a long, long piece of rope that has bait attached to it every 24 inches or so and weighted on each end to keep the line resting on the bottom. One of the more popular baits used in trotline crabbing are pieces of chicken neck. They're simply tied snuggly on the line at the desired interval. Then, each end of the line is weighted -we used a length of heavy metal chain and some metal weights- and a buoy is attached (so you can spot the beginning and end of the trotline).

We set out for our trotline crabbing adventure late Sunday morning. According to Matt, conditions were ideal. I know it had something to do with the tides and the wind and the temperature, but don't ask me precisely why conditions were "ideal" - I just know from the pro that they were. We boarded our boat "THE CRABMASTER", which was nothing more than a small four-seater aluminum fishing boat with a small Yamaha motor hung off the back, and set out on our 3-mile journey to "the spot" where hopefully a bunch of big, fat, hungry crabs were waiting for us. On board we had a bucket with a 1,000 foot of pre-baited trotline, two nets, and a big battered plastic tub in which the captured crabs would be kept. We, of course, also had the requisite safety gear (life preservers and vests as well as a trusty whistle!) in case we happened to be inspected by any police patrolling the water.

Once we arrived at "the spot", Matt eyed out a straight line course upon which the trotline would be laid and then started setting the line. The trotline began with two metal weights followed by a length of rope with a white buoy attached. After that, there was a, length of heavy chain and then the actual trotline. Matt maneuvered the boat in a slow straight path while carefully dropping the baited trotline. Once the entire line was dropped (set), we found ourselves at the other end with another weight and another white buoy. Now it was time to see if there were any hungry crabs nibbling on our line.

Matt drove the boat all the way back to the first white buoy, which was the marker for the beginning of the trotline. He then hooked up an ingenious PVC pipe attachment to the back of the boat. The best way I can describe it is a sideways "F" - looked sorta like this:

|__|___

Matt picked up the beginning of the trotline (the chain) and fed it through the PVC pipe holder and slowly proceeded forward. The clank-clank-clank-clank of the chain length soon fell silent as the actual trotline started to feed through. Now this PVC pipe contraption was so ingenious to me because it not only kept the line on track, but it also served to knock off any small crabs (not big enough to catch) before the line was returned to the water and its resting place on the bottom. The groove was big enough -and the PVC pipe rounded enough- to easily let the bait pass through without tugging or snagging the entire trotline and it enabled Matt to use his hands for more important things -like steering the boat and snatching catch-worthy crabs from the trotline ascending from the water in front of him. It obviously took a lot of skill and coordination on Matt's part. Somehow he managed to steer the boat, running it at just the right speed, while holding a wire net with his other hand and snatching up crabs from the ascending trotline -without getting caught up in the moving line- and slamming the crabs down into the big plastic bin in one fell swoop. It was amazing to watch him work and a little scary to see that net slamming down in front of me with a panicked crab flailing around. On our first run through the line, we (Matt) probably netted a little over a dozen nice-sized crabs. Once we reached the end of the line, we'd turn around and head back towards the beginning and do the whole maneuver again.

The crabs were none too happy about being snatched up and hurled into a plastic bin with dozens of other prisoners. And a few of them angrily lunged at anything that got too close. Unfortunately for me, that happened to be my hand at one point. I was actually being a merciful captor by pouring some water over the prisoners but I got down in bin too far while pouring the water and, like lightening, BAM! A crab in the corner lunged at my hand, claws snapping, and he managed to latch on to my middle finger. It felt like the tip of my finger had just been hit square with a big heavy hammer. The pain was instant and intense and I instantly shot up to a standing position in the boat while I yanked back my wounded right hand. The angry crab held on tight for a moment and then fell off back into the boat causing all of us to scramble and get our exposed bare feet and legs to higher ground. Shane finally managed to grab the rebellious crustacean with some metal tongs and fling him back into his holding bin.

By the time I finally got a good look at my finger, it was bleeding pretty nicely. The crab had managed to snap his claw closed on my finger top-to-bottom. In other words, the top part of his claw punctured my finger nail while the bottom sunk into flesh on the other side. I was amazed at the force of the blow -enough to go through my finger nail! So now I had a battle scar to show my family when I got back to shore. I was hoping for sympathy, but fully expected the laughter I ended up getting.
In a little under three hours we had made a dozen or so "runs" on the line and netted a good sized bushel of crabs. Some runs only netted one or two edible-sized crabs while other runs yielded more than a dozen. In the process, the three of us traded dirty jokes and funny stories and had some real quality male bonding time. Sure, Matt did all the hard work while Shane and I just watched, but you could tell he really enjoyed crabbing and he enjoyed it even more when he had some company on the boat -which Shane and I were happy to provide.

Of course, the most gratifying part of the whole experience was getting back to shore and throwing them crabbies in a huge pot with some vinegar, beer, and spices and steaming them to perfection. I made sure to identify the little bastard that attacked me on the boat and, after he was steamed, I began my feast with him, starting with his menacing claws.

So now I can say I've gotten the full crab experience and I feel like a more well-rounded crab aficionado because of it. I hope to have the chance to go crabbing with Matt one more time before the summer ends and, this time, I might even try my hand at actually netting some crabs. If I do, the odds are very much in favor of me ending up in the water. I can see that already.

Loss of a Good Friend

Today our dog, Woody, died very unexpectedly. He was 8 years old. A Rottie-Shepherd mix with a heart of gold and a quirky personality, he will be sorely missed and fondly remembered. He was a solid and vetted member of this family and the rest of us are deeply saddened tonight by his sudden and untimely passing. The house seems empty as are all of our hearts.

I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on Woody. My wife and I were making the rounds at the local Animal Control shelter looking for a dog that would fit in with our growing and hectic family. My wife was actually drawn to a different dog at first. He was jumping up and down, barking like there was no tomorrow. I said, "uh, no.... not that one." and then I saw Woody. He was less than a year old. Calmly sitting in the pen, intelligent eyes looking back at mine; head slightly cocked to the side. Yeah. He sucked me right in.

It wasn't until we got him home and the anesthesia from his, um, "fix" wore off that we realized we had a real live wire on our hands. At the time, we lived in a three-level townhouse and that dog would start from the ground floor and tear up the stairs -all the way to the top floor bedroom- bounce off the bed, tear back down the stairs to the bottom floor and ricochet off the couch only to repeat the whole maneuver again. Crazy. And that was only his inside antics.

Take Woody outside and show him a Frisbee or a tennis ball -any kind of ball for that matter- and the game was on. The dog was focused on that ball or frisbee... nothing else mattered. Some of his mid-air catches were downright breath-taking.

And it didn't take us long to realize that Woody LOVED to swim too. He was like a big furry fish in the water. He would swim and swim and swim and swim.

Once we moved to our next house and our two children started getting older and bigger, we saw the patience and understanding that Woody had with them. They would pull his ears, try to hop on his back, and attempt to dress him up in all sorts of costumes. When Woody was really annoyed, he let the kids know with a menacing snarl. Not that it ever stopped our kids. And much to Woody's credit, he never went further than that menacing snarl. He understood that kids would be kids.

It only took a couple of times for you to be around Woody before you really appreciated what a fine dog he was. For as goofy and hyper as he acted, underneath was a true friend and a thoughtful companion. His facial expressions were sometimes so human it made you pause and wonder just what he was thinking. And as he got older and calmed down a little, we all enjoyed being able snuggle with him and scratch his tummy and watch him act all goofy in appreciation.

Woody definitely had a love-hate relationship with our other dog and our cat -at least during daylight hours. At night, you could find all three animals snuggled up together. In our bed, of course, hogging all the good sleep real estate.

Woody loved to run and play ball and tug-of-war and he was fiercely protective of his backyard domain when he saw a squirrel or two threatening to intrude. He had a bark that would scare the meanest burglar but he was a real love-muffin at heart.

I miss him so much already.

The hardest part of losing him is just how quickly he left us. He collapsed at home, was rushed to the vet and, less than two hours later, he was gone. Turns out he had a cyst or tumor in his heart and, this particular day, it just failed him. Up until then he ran like a horse and played like there was no tomorrow. And now it feels like there really is no tomorrow.

I'm glad he went fast and with relatively little pain and suffering but we're all still in shock at how sudden and fast it all went down. If only I would have known that this past morning was the last time I'd see him alive... I could've given him an extra hug and reminded him how much he was loved. I think he knew that anyway, but I guess it would've been more for my piece of mind.

Our young children -especially my son- are devastated. Knowing how hard it all is for me to accept, I can only imagine how difficult it is for them. And to see the tears and pain in their eyes only makes my heart ache more. And then there's my poor wife who had to take Woody to the vet and be with him in his last moments. She so loved that dog. She's been crying off and on all night and I'm of little comfort since I'm so upset myself.

It's times like these when you want to believe -without a doubt- in heaven and angels and life after death -even where dogs are concerned. Woody is surely angel material. He brought us so much fun and laughter and gave us unconditional friendship... it's just hard to imagine tomorrow without him. I hope if there is an ever-after for dogs that Woody is among friends now and knows how much we all love and miss him. I wish him limitless frisbees and tennis balls and all the swimming and squirrel-chasing he can handle. I hope he never forgets us because we'll never forget him. We're better people for having known him and much sadder people for having lost him so suddenly. Rest easy Woody. Thanks for all the great times. We love you and miss you terribly.

What a Weekend!

I always joke, from time to time, that I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. That is oh so true this weekend.

Saturday, I DJ'd back-to-back weddings. The first was more a favor to a quasi-friend and it was outside (yeah, there was a tent) in 95 degree Annapolis weather. Rough. Then I had to travel 40 minutes north towards Baltimore and set up a sound system for a ceremony (again, outside -no tent) plus the main system for the reception (in an AIR CONDITIONED tent). Needless to say it was a LONG, HOT, SWEATY DAY/NIGHT for me. Both weddings went well, but there was one person -one asshole- who ruined the entire day for me. He was greatly angered that the song that he requested (several times via several people) didn't actually make it to my speakers in time for the intended person to hear the song. So, when I did play the song he made a special point to come up to me and explain that this song was requested especially for the grandmother of the bride (news to me!) who had already left the reception. I felt really bad. I told him that and sincerely apologized. I said, "Sir, I'm really sorry." He informed me I wasn't sorry. Instead I was a "fucking bad DJ".

Sorry folks. When you throw out the "F" word at a wedding reception - after I've been on my feet all day and working my ass off to make sure everything is perfect for two brides and two grooms- I just don't react all that well. I wanted to hit him. Hard. With everything I had. Instead I informed him that the conversation was over. But this drunk asshole wouldn't let it go. He kept blabbering on and on. I wanted to hit him. Harder.

Finally, I just walked away. My intent was to go find the manager of the hall and have her kick this chump to curb. But this guy followed me. He FOLLOWED ME. So, I turned around and asked him how long he'd been DJing. Totally threw him off... "I'm not a DJ!" he insisted. "Right!" I said, "so shut up and leave me alone!"

Sorry, but I take that kind of stuff to heart. It hurts me deeply. I put everything I have into DJing weddings including countless hours before-hand preparing music, schedules, and all sorts of details. And then I take great care at the actual reception to make sure I play what the bride and groom -and their parents- want to hear. After that, I focus on guest requests and try to play as many as possible. So when you come up to me and insinuate that I'm just a sucky DJ who is unconcerned about request, that just kills me. If this guy had come up and explicitly said "hey, this song is a request for the bride's grandmother who is going to be leaving soon" I can guarantee you the song would've been given a higher priority. That wasn't the case. It was just a request. And I did play the friggin' song -as soon as I thought it was appropriate and after I had accommodated all of the bride's requests.

I ended up getting a big thanks from the bride's father, and nice tip from the groom. Several other guests made it a point to stop by at the end and thank me for the great music too. But, of course, that one drunk idiot is going to be forever associated with that otherwise-awesome wedding reception. It's moments like that that make you wanna stop DJing.

And that brings us to Sunday. We had our first house concert of the season scheduled. My plan was to sleep in until 9am or so and then get up and get everything in order way before the 2pm start time. But my gung-ho tree-hacking friend/neighbor had other plans. He had already spent the better part of Saturday (while I was DJing) in my backyard -and my neighbor's backyard- hacking down this precariously leaning tree. There was very little left of it by the time I arrived home at midnight, but my neighbor figured it was his civic duty to finish the job bright and early Sunday morning.

When I heard the knock on the door a little before 8am, I peeled one eye open, looked at my wife, and said "That was someone knocking on our door... it's 8am... who the HELL is knocking on our door at 8am!!?!"

When I got to the door and saw my neighbor standing there -chainsaw in hand- I just groaned. I knew my plans to sleep in where gone. I ended up helping him clear the rest of the tree branches and logs out of the neighbor's yard and then it was time to set up for the house concert. It was a lot of running around. And it was about 98 degrees outside (where the house concert was taking place). We had hosted one last year -kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing- just to see if we could pull it off. It went so well and we enjoyed it so much, we decided to do it again. So, early this year, prompted by a singer-songwriter friend of mine, David Glaser, we took the plunge and set up a concert every month at our place starting in May. The May concert never happened because the scheduled performer had a death in the family -his mother. Rather than try to substitute someone else, my wife and I decided to just wait until June.

We intend to hold all our house concerts out on our huge back deck which means we are always going to be at the mercy of Mother Nature. So in the week or so leading up to the big day, my wife and I were constantly checking the weather forecast. Our main concern, of course, was rain. But that turned out not to be an issue. The excessive heat and humidity was.

Temperatures were hovering right around 100 degrees Fahrenheit and we had set a start time of 2pm for the show. 1/3 of our deck is a screened-in gazebo room but the other 2/3 is open and uncovered. The one big canopy umbrella that we own was placed at the "stage" end of the deck to provide some cover for the performers. That left a "no man's land" between the "stage" area and the screened in gazebo. No cover, no breeze, no mercy for anyone wanting to sit there. A friend of mine brought three of his box fans over and we placed them strategically on the deck but they did little good. They were basically just moving around extremely hot humid air. Let's just say it was one HOT show.

OK, lessson learned. A 10'x 10' pop-up canopy will be in place for the next show. I'm also thinking about starting the concert a little later in the afternoon... maybe 5pm. That might help a little too. But when all is said and done, it is what it is. Welcome to the wonderful Maryland summer weather!

I think more people would have shown up if it weren't for the extremely hot temperatures, but I was surprised and encourage by the 2 dozen or so people that did show up and stayed for the entire time, enjoying some great local original music. We made sure there was plenty to munch on and there were plenty of cold beverages to sip. Most folks came prepared with umbrellas, sunscreen, and cool clothing.

I really must say how great it all sounded. Aside from the fact that we had two incredibly talented singer-songwriter (who both brought along an A-list sideman to help them out), the simple sound system that I had set up just worked perfectly and sounded just awesome -to me anyway. I was worried about the music getting too loud and bugging my neighbors, but I had nothing to worry about. It was just all at a perfect level.

First up: Ruben Dobbs a.k.a. Swamp Candy. Now I've known Ruben for many years. He's played in a lot of different bands doing a lot of different styles of music. He's a top-notch guitar player, but I have to admit I was never really much of a fan of any of his previous projects so it was with great deal of skepticism that I took in my first Swamp Candy performance from Ruben about two years ago. Gee, sure glad I went. Ruben had hit upon something special. He had focused in on the classic roots and blues music of days long gone by and sprinkled in a little country twang here and there. The music instantly took me back to the first time I heard classic blues masters like Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, and John Lee Hooker. His performance of this genre of music was genuine and emotional and, quite frankly, my wife and I were blown away.

I had approached him sort of last-minute (the week before) to perform at the house concert and he was gracious enough to accept, no questions asked. He showed up with his bass player toting a huge upright bass and a kick drum. Ruben had a couple different guitars with him and I just knew it was going to be a good time. And it was. He just sound awesome and I know he garnered some new fans and sold quite a few CDs afterwards.

Next up: One of my favorie singer-songwriters, Mr. Tony Denikos. He's a true song craftsman on par with the likes of Arlo Guthrie and John Prine. No one can tell a story with a song -and have you laughing and crying at the same time- like Tony can. At least that's my opinion. He had with him a bad ass guitar player, Gantt Kushner, who just perfectly highlighted all the songs Tony played. It was the best I've heard Tony sound -not that he ever sounds "bad" mind you. Maybe it was the heat that made everything sizzle, I dunno.

After it was all over, we all hung out and chatted and got to know some of the new faces that had shown up. It was a great time and so much worth all the effort leading up to it. I would be very remiss if I didn't give most of the planning and preparation credit to my super human wife, Asa. She cooked, cleaned, weeded, mowed, scrubbed and set up practically everything for the big show. And then we got an extra hand from some true and wonderful friends who ran to the store for more ice, brought box fans and umbrellas from home, and help Asa and me with the food. Awesome. Just Awesome. Can't wait until the next one.

More on Music

It takes a great deal of skill and music knowledge to be a good DJ. Most people don't realize that. The majority of bar and club owners these days don't realize that. A lot of musicians don't realize that. Quite a few DJs don't realize it either.

As with anything art-related, you really have to have a love and respect for music in order to successfully do anything with it; whether it's singing, dancing, composing, or DJing. DJing, quite simply, is the artistic programming and manipulation of recorded music. You can create an iTunes playlist with 50 great songs, but the magic is in the way the songs are ultimately delivered to the listener. The order in which they are presented. The timing. The grouping of songs. The change ups. All these things turn a playlist of songs into a powerful, motivating, and magical tool in the hands of a good DJ. DJing is a performance art when done correctly. But unless you're a bigshot club DJ spinning vinyl records full of techno, house, and alternative dance grooves at some ubercool club in NYC, you're not gonna get much respect as a mobile DJ playing in a bar downtown. It's just the way it is. It's always been that way and I think it's gotten significantly worse thanks to the giant leaps of technology that enable any dufus with a computer and a USB control surface claim to be a DJ.

Most of the people who are booking music (live and DJ) for the bars and clubs around town are ignorant to what works and what doesn't; who's great and who's not. And money continues to be the bottom line. This is great news to all those mediocre musicians and DJs out there who are willing to play the night for $50. It's downright frustrating to the true professionals who are losing gigs to these bottom feeders. You don't have to be very bright to know when a band or musician sucks. It only takes one or two songs; sometimes even less than that. It's a little trickier to pick out the good DJs from the not-so-good ones and you truly have to appreciate and love music to really notice and appreciate a great DJ. That's what I think anyway. And since I write, sing, play, compose, study, and DJ music, I'm confident that I'm qualified to make such an assessment.

I've DJ'd hundreds upon hundreds of bar gigs and witnessed first hand the euphoria (theirs and mine) that a stellar set of perfectly melded songs can deliver. I have had countless people shower me with slurred praise at the end of the night and tell me what an awesome DJ I was and how great the music was. Nothing beats the feeling you get after receiving a kind word or sincere compliment. Nothing beats the feeling you get from seeing a packed dance floor and knowing that you caused that to happen. I've had a lot of those good feelings over the years but there's still times when I get down on myself and discourage at the business side of things. There are people who can make you feel worthless and insignificant and cause you to question why you even bother at all. I guess it's a roller coaster sort of thing.

This was a very long-winded way to get to my point. I received a compliment last night from someone who wasn't really trying to compliment me, but really succeeded in making the frustration I've been feeling lately a little more "worth it" to me. I was DJing at place that I hadn't played at in years and I was playing off-the-beaten-path music for most of the night. There weren't too many people in this place, but one of them happened to be a "regular" who used to come every week to hear me DJ. I recognized her immediately when she approached and she had this big smile and hopeful eyes when she asked, "hey, are you gonna be here next week too?" I told her no; that I was just filling in. She was noticeably disappointed and then she said the nicest thing to me. "You know, nobody plays music like you do. I was all excited to see you back here. You've turned me on to so many great songs that I would have otherwise never heard. I hope you fill in more often."

Wow. Somebody notices and understands and appreciates what I do and what makes me different from most of the other DJs in town. And even though it was a dead night and a pretty uneventful evening, that little conversation made it all worth while.

Scapegoats and Plastic Bottles

We gotta have a scapegoat. It’s the American way. When something goes horribly wrong in our great nation, we like to narrow it down to one person or one entity, heap all the blame on them, and string them up for all to see. Ah, there. Now don’t we all feel better?

Of course I’m referring to that sinister, evil, spawn of Satan, Mr. Tony Hayward; the CEO of British Petroleum (BP), the most evil and heartless company on the face the earth; the entity solely responsible for the millions of gallons of crude oil that’s spilling into the Gulf. Yes, if it weren’t for BP, all would be right in the world. Mr. Hayward and his company have ruined beaches and waterways, destroyed scores of natural habitats and put entire species of animal at risk. Yep, it’s all BP’s fault and any apologies or acts of contrition from them or Mr. Hayward are obviously lies and utter nonsense.

Fear not dear citizens! Our noble and honest members of Congress are on the case and they are unleashing the scorn of a nation on that evil demon, Mr. Hayward; and all in front of rolling cameras that can broadcast the spectacle to all the world. Yeah buddy, BP’s going down for this one! Hey, and while we’re at it, let’s boycott all the BP gas stations. Don’t buy their gas – you’ll only be supporting the evil!!! Never mind that those BP gas stations are owned locally by, perhaps, a friend or neighbor of yours and you’re destroying their income and livelihood. Nah, that’s irrelevant! Someone’s got to pay for this! BP has got to pay for this!!

I’m sorry, but my heart really goes out to Mr. Hayward. Yeah, he may be a rich, greedy, fat cat who has profited tremendously as CEO of BP, but now he’s the poor schmuck who is the face of evil for millions of Americans and no matter what the guy says or does, he’ll probably go down in history as one of the top villains of our time. Bet that detail was never even remotely mentioned in his job description when he signed on. He may as well have just personally dropped a bomb on that oil rig because all of the dozens of people that will ultimately be proven responsible in part for this catastrophe will probably remain nameless while Mr. Hayward becomes a household name synonymous with pure evil.

If everyone would just pause for a moment, calm down, and really think this whole mess through, we’d realize we are all to blame for the debacle in the Gulf. Greed and Arrogance are the true evil behind this and other problems facing our country. We’re a gas-guzzling, electricity-hogging, resource-wasting, environment-polluting society. Anything goes as long as we’re fat and happy in our big SUVs driving through our big cities lit up like Christmas trees, throwing trash out the window, and leaving pollution in our wake. It’s the American way.

BP, ExxonMobile, ConocoPhilips, and Chevron all exist and thrive because we demand oil – and LOTS of it. It’s easy to sit and blame BP for everything, but every single one of us takes a big fat dump on the environment every day by insisting on driving performance and luxury automobiles, not recycling, and simply wasting everything imaginable in every imaginable way. We’re an arrogant society unwilling to cut back or modify our behaviors, foolish enough to believe that we’re entitled to everything and still wanting more in the process. We don’t think about the consequences until some catastrophe happens; the price of gas skyrockets, the economy tanks, or a major oil spill happens. And then, instead of each of us stepping up and trying to fix the situation, we immediately seek out our scapegoat and blame it all on them. Meanwhile, we keep doing what we’re doing and enact some insanely stupid measure like boycotting a business to vent our frustrations.

Nothing to me is more laughable than watching members of Congress get all holier-than-thou in front of the cameras and give the selected scapegoats of the month a good scolding on behalf of the nation. Remember when they hauled in the executives from the Ford and GM? How about the CEO of Toyota, USA? The Savings & Loan executives? Yeah, it was all pretty much the same show; a bunch of corrupt, greedy politicians yelling “shame on you!” at a bunch of scapegoats. Hypocrites with mighty big balls, that’s for sure. It’s like Charles Manson scolding you for killing someone. Laughable and so very sad at the same time.

Almost as laughable, but a little more irritating to me is seeing folks posting their “Boycott BP” messages on Facebook. Yeah! We’ll show ‘em! That’ll solve everything! I do believe our privileged way of life has seriously impacted our common sense. It’s really sad. The same people bitching about BP are the ones who refuse to recycle or half-ass the task because they’re too lazy to take the time to learn about how to effectively recycle. They’re the same people driving around in humongous SUVs or pick-up trucks that will never, ever, be utilized for their intended purpose -hauling huge loads or going off-road. Hell, most of the pickup trucks I see these days fall into the luxury auto class. It’s crazy. Why do we drive around in these monstrosities?! Because we can, that’s why! We always have to have the fastest, fanciest, biggest, newest, and most expensive of everything. It’s all about image, baby! Never mind the fact that we’re just fueling the vicious cycle of waste and abuse on our environment. Not our problem. After all, we got a scapegoat now!

Everyone all the way up to the President wants to stamp their feet and complain about how the automakers dropped the ball on developing alternative fuel sources and cleaner, more efficient vehicles. Well, yeah, they did but mostly because we all demanded that they do that. They’re all in business to sell as many cars as possible at as high of a price as possible. They spend a fair amount of money on research and marketing and, based on all their findings, they build and market the vehicles that are most likely to sell and most likely to turn a profit. They don’t have much room in their budget for noble for-the-good-of-all-mankind projects, they gotta sell, sell, sell!! And so when oil prices go through the roof and the economy tanks, who ends up being the bad guys? Yeah, the evil automakers who refuse to give us more fuel efficient cars… you know, the same cars that in more prosperous times, we laughed at the thought of buying.

Back to recycling. How much more easy can it be made for you idiots?! Nowadays, you have this big yellow recycling bin that you can throw –unsorted- plastic, paper, Styrofoam, metal, and glass in. Yeah, unsorted! You don’t have to do a damn thing except throw anything recyclable in the friggin’ yellow container. Years ago, you had to sort and separate paper and glass and aluminum into their own containers and figure out where to take them or, if there was a pick-up service in your neighborhood, figure out which days to put which items curbside. Now, it’s simple!! Just throw everything that’s recyclable in the yellow container and put it out by the curb once a week. Why do I see so many people having such a hard time with this?! Since my family started recycling in earnest in our house, I’ve found that probably 70% of what we throw away ends up as recyclable. Another 10% is food scraps that can be used as compost material or flushed down the sink disposal. On trash day now we have 2 to 3 times as much recyclable trash as we do regular trash. But yet I look up and down my block and I see the exact opposite. This can only mean that folks are either too lazy to recycle or they’re just not knowledgeable enough to be more effective with their recycling.

My office is another prime example. In every room they have both a regular trash can and a blue recycling trash can. So all a person has to do is throw the right kind of trash in the right kind of can, both of which are right there for them! And yet I can walk around and see plastic wrappings, soda cans, plastic water bottles, and discarded paper towels all thrown in the regular trash. Why?! Is it so difficult to grasp the concept of recycling? I also see lots of professed recyclers throwing away a plastic container or can in the regular garbage because it’s dirty. Maybe there’s a plastic takeout container with half a salad left in it or a yogurt cup that has yogurt smears. Nope, can’t throw them in recycling, they’re dirty. God forbid we actually have to take a moment and dump the remaining food in the regular trash or rinse something out in the sink. Nah. Too much trouble. Hey, guess what plastic is made out of…. OIL. Now you’re making BP work twice as hard so you can have your nifty little throw away plastic container that you simply refuse to put in the recycle bin. You tell me who the bad guy is.

I’m not denying that all of these big oil companies, automakers, and multi-billion-dollar corporations are mostly all run or influenced by greedy, rich fat cats whose primary mission is to make more and more and more money at any cost. I’m just saying it’s like that because we all ignorantly support that methodology in our daily lives and it’s time that we really own up to who and what we really are. It ain’t a pretty reflection staring us back in the mirror, but recognizing it, owning up to it, and then changing, is the first and only step in the right direction for our nation.

Dear Neighbor

I came home today and found an envelope tucked among my delivered mail. It wasn't delivered by the post office -one of my neighbors slipped in my mail box anonymously. It was a handwritten note on a piece of notebook paper informing me that my crazy old poodle, Linus, barks continuously from the time my wife and I leave in the morning until we return later in the afternoon (we had no idea this was going on). The note further threatened to notify Animal Control -or as the dipshit who wrote the note put it "Dog Control"- if the barking continued. Of course, there was no signature on the note.

I guess this is what it has come to these days. Face to face communication and common human courtesy has fallen by the wayside in today's fast-paced, get-ahead society. I'm guilty of it too. At work, I'll shoot an email to the guy in the office right next to mine instead of getting off my fat ass, walking a few feet, and talking to him man to man. I'll spend an hour texting or chatting online with someone instead of picking up the phone and talking to them. We are all, in one way or another, victims of our current society. I can remember my mom telling me about "the good old days" when nobody locked their doors at night and everybody knew everybody in the neighborhood. Truthfully, I know the names of only four of my neighbors and I've lived here for over five years. It's not like I'm a hobbit or a recluse, it's just that we all have busy lives and there's not a lot of time to get acquainted with neighbors unless you have to for some reason.

Still, if I were home all day and there was a neighborhood dog that was barking all day and annoying me, my first course of action would be for me to knock on the neighbor's door and let them know, as politely as possible, that their dog is annoying. Furthermore, if I were home all day being annoyed by said dog, and I realized that the owners were gone all day, I'd wait until they get home, knock on their door, and politely inform them that when they leave, their pooch barks all day. Based on personal experience, I have to believe that these folks would welcome such news and thank me for bringing it to their attention. After all, they're gone all day - how the hell do they know their dog is barking ALL day?!

Herein lies the source of my anger and frustration. It also kills me to see my wife get so upset over some cowardly asshole who decided an anonymous threatening note was better than a polite knock on our door. We're good, considerate neighbors. We do what we can not to piss off other neighbors. We also do what we can to take care of our pets. So when we're gone during the day -and the weather permits- we lock our dogs in our bedroom and leave our sliding glass door leading to our deck open for them. That way they can lounge on the bed and still have access to the outside when they need a tree or just some fresh air. Unfortunately, my old poodle, Linus, is quite deaf and senile these days. And apparently, he doesn't like it when we leave the house and now barks ALL day. We always heard him barking as we pulled in the driveway, but just figured he knew we were home. Obviously, we were mistaken.

I realize that we're surrounded by a LOT of idiotic people who have no real sense of reality aside from their own perception of it. I'm just sad that I now have proof that at least one of my neighbors fits into this pathetic category.

But, for the record Dear Neighbor, your letter was received and noted. And we are sorry to have disturbed you. We will be sure to keep our doggy locked up tight during the day. We're also sorry that you were too much of an asshole or a coward -or both- to knock on our door and talk to us about this.

Best wishes growing a brain or a set of balls. Or both.

Signed,

Anonym-ass