MICK KAHLER'S WORLD

I consider my Facebook page to be a little stage. It’s a soapbox where I can spout off a pithy little comment or observation and see what Facebook ‘friends’ have to say about my posts.

Some of what I create and post up is tied to twentieth century music in the rock, pop and country genres. Often, I’ll take a line from an old song and put it in the context of today’s world. So here are a few of my favorites from the past two years.    

Don’t accept a friend request from someone named ‘Buttercup’, she’ll build you up just to let you down.

I wish a vow taking nun would change her name to Sister Disco.

Love grows where my Rosemary goes but so do STDs.

In modern times Foreigner’s “Jukebox Hero” would be re-titled “I-Pod   Icon.” 

Harry Chapin’s song “Taxi” should be re-titled “Uber.”

Kids now get inoculated to prevent the rockin’ pneumonia & the boogie woogie flu. Jenny McCarthy protests this vaccine.    

The road to Shambala should lead to a Waffle House.

“One of these crazy old nights, we’re gonna find out pretty mama, what turns on your lights.” (I bet it’s The Clapper)

 In “Take a Letter Maria”, R.B. Greaves asking his secretary out for a dinner date would now be viewed as sexual harassment.

“I can see for miles and miles”, thanks to Lasik Surgery.

“…way past one and feeling alright, cuz with Little Willy around they can last all night.”  (Thank you Viagra)

 Nickelback’s “Rock Star” asks for a bathroom with a king sized tub big enough for 10 plus me.  (That’s gonna be a bitch to clean)

Are Cheap Trick’s ‘Dream Police’ equipped with body cameras?

“She calls me up and says baby it’s a lonely ole night.” (Sounds like somebody needs to get on Tinder)

Michael Penn sang, “What if I were Romeo in black jeans?”  (Make sure those pants are the ‘relaxed fit’ style)

Pearl Jam- Were charges filed when Jeremy bit the recess lady’s breast?  (Did he at least get an ‘in school suspension’?)

The new drug Huey Lewis wants, does it cause oily discharge?

NEXT WEEK’S BLOG- Highlights from my Spring Break.

St. Patrick’s Day is over.  Amen. I’m sure plenty of revelers started drinking on Friday and kept partying on through Sunday night.  Erin go Bragh, and all that stuff.  Yeah, I’m not a fan of the Irish boozing festival.  Too many goofs see St. Patrick’s Day as a built in excuse to get piss drunk. Jerry Seinfeld used to say how he didn’t like being around drunks because they’re always telling you how much they love you or hate you and he didn’t want to hear either of those things. Me neither.

Not that I’m trying to ruin anyone’s good time, but my heavy or even moderately strong drinking days have been in the rearview mirror for a long time.  I can’t recall a time since 2000 when I was even giddily buzzed, let alone bombed out drunk.  It’s not that I’m some high and mighty Puritan, I just don’t see the value in ruining a whole day or longer nursing a hangover after a night of too many cocktails.

When I get together with friends for fellowship, I keep it to a 2 drink total, 3 if it’s a longer hang.   In between each alcohol serving I’ll have a diet Coke or a glass of ice water with a twist of lime.  As far as drinks of choice, I go with bottled beer, Rolling Rock or a Shiner Bock do just fine by me.

Still, the carousing others do on St. Patrick’s Day reminds me of the days when I used to howl at the moon with the drinking. The first boozing I did was at age 14.  My sister Mary Ann was four years older than I and she introduced me and my friends to ‘Slow Screws’ which was Sloe gin mixed with orange juice.  That cocktail had a sweet and easy taste which made them fun to get an occasional buzz on. 

When I was in high school, the legal drinking age for beer and wine in Illinois was nineteen and to drink hard liquor you had to be twenty one.  My friends and I kicked into weekend beer hoisting at the start of junior year in high school.  Some of us, me included, were shaving fairly regularly so it was easy to look nineteen and buy suds at liquor stores in neighboring towns. We did that because the alcohol sellers in my hometown of Elmhurst always demanded to see an I.D. We rarely got into the hard booze.  A few cans of Old Style or Olympia beer were the norms for us.

 My parents had a liberal attitude towards alcohol. They told me to call them if I was ever too liquored up to drive, get a ride home from someone sober or just stay over where I was until the morning. By age seventeen they allowed me and my friends to drink at our house. My mom would fill us up with snacks and keep an eye out to make sure nobody went too nuts with the malt pops. The logic from my folks was, “He should learn how to handle drinking and if it happens under our roof, so much the better.”  And yes, there were a couple of times when I had to bunk at a friend’s house due to being over-served. I also hosted buzzed pals at my house for the same reason.  One piss drunk buddy filled up half a laundry sink with beer and pizza puke then passed out on my cold basement floor. His head was resting against our cat’s litter box.  Hey, we were young and stupid. O.K.?

Actually most of us York High School kids were fairly careful with the drinking after some sophomore classmates got into a horrible night time drunk driving crash.  Two blocks from my house some teens sped out of control while turning a corner and slammed a car head on into a tree. One of the crash victims almost lost his life and was laid up in the hospital for quite some time.  That was a stark wake up call to have fun but don’t be reckless.

Senior year, during our Christmas break, we had a huge beer bash in my basement and one of my teachers and his wife came by to say hey.  One guest was the daughter of the assistant director of our school district.  In our underage drinking times, things were much looser than today. If you got caught with alcohol, Elmhurst police officers usually made you pour out all your beers and if you weren’t drunk they’d send you on your way.  No arrests or police reports, no tickets, no court dates or alcohol counseling. One night my friend Todd Beja and I were directed to dump out a 12 pack of Old Style beer under the watchful eye of an Elmhurst cop who caught us with the forbidden drinks.

Some weekends, I had baseball teammates over to our house for poker and beers. One of those card games was the night before Easter my senior year. During that get together my cat Squeaks delivered a freshly killed rabbit to our back porch.  The next morning I awoke to find no basket of candy waiting for me. My first basketless Easter!  My parents thought I outgrew the whole treats thing but I hadn’t.  So I asked my mom why I didn’t get a basket full of candy.  She calmly answered, “Sorry Mick, Squeaks ate the Easter Bunny.”     Very funny mom. Maybe she had a few drinks too and forgot my basket.

College drinking for me got a bit crazy.  Two summers in a row I hosted 4^th of July parties that saw us drain 3 kegs of beer each year.  The first time I ever attended an Everclear punch party saw me literally crawling out of an elevator and to my dorm room to sleep off the effects of that drunk.  My introduction to doing whiskey shots at a party was also the first time I threw up on my shoes. Another time I wasted myself at a neighbor’s party, came home and spit up into a kitchen sink basket full of clean dishes. 

After college when I started working in Chicago morning radio, I could only drink on Friday and Saturday nights. By age 25 I started curbing my heavy alcohol intake because I didn’t like sleeping away my weekends thanks to too many pitchers of brew or mixed drinks. 

So yeah, now I’m a light drinker at best.  I do hope everyone had a nice St. Patrick’s Day weekend but am also glad I wasn’t around for any of the alcohol fueled ‘fun.’ 

I think it’s best to close off this blog with a drinking related song.   Bottom’s up!

March 11^{th 2019} would have been my father’s 84^th birthday.  He’s been gone since August of 1993 and today I offer some fond remembrances of an aces guy.

Growing up I would often ask my dad about how things were when he was my age,.I’d say, “Pop,, back in your day, what did…” and he’d stop me right there and say, “Back in MY day?  It’s STILL my day!”  We always had a good laugh on that.

My dad’s sense of humor was sly and dry and something he didn’t often share with those outside of the family.  One thing he did shared was his love for all animals.  Dad could not stand people who hunted wild critters just for sport.  He adored the dogs we had and was truly broken up when our first pooch ‘Coach’ had to be put to sleep due to age related health problems.

He was also a cat fancier and we had two kitties (Prissy & Squeaks) while he was alive.  Dad would often say, “When someone tells me they don’t like cats, right away I don’t like them.”

Movies were something we shared a long and common bond on. He took me to see many films in their first run;  “The Godfather”, “Bonnie & Clyde”, “Rocky”, “The Great Santini”, and “Deliverance”  which dad said was one of the best & worst films he ever saw.  He also introduced me to classics like “The Hustler,” “Citizen Kane” and opened my eyes to how evil Andy Griffith could be in “A Face in the Crowd.”  Late Saturday nights were reserved for watching old time monster movies on Channel 9’s “Creature Features” show.  We also saw many great and not so great monster and horror films in theaters.

I’ll NEVER forget how hard pop laughed when we watched “Caddyshack” and the infamous Baby Ruth in the pool scene happened.  The whole segment had my dad loving the potty humor and when Bill Murray took a bite out of the ‘dookie’ he exploded with louder laughs and howls!  Pop went nuts for that!

My dad was not shy about sharing any of his feelings. I remember back in 1990 when my car got rear ended and totaled in a bad crash.  My mother was in tears, beside herself that I had to deal with a trip to the E.R. (everything checked out fine) and the hassle of having to find a new car through no fault of my own. When mom shared this bad news with my dad, she told me he cried even harder.   Damn he was a good guy!

On the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend 1993, my father was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. This was discovered after he suffered a seizure in a store. The oat cell carcinoma started in his lungs and went to his brain and adrenal glands.  Up until March of 1993 my dad was a lifelong smoker and he knew that hard to quit cigarette habit is what did him in.  Still dad took on his short but fatal illness with bravery. His faith that heaven awaited him never wavered.

This next segment comes from my pending auto-biography titled “Raised on the Radio.”  A book I hope to self-publish later this year.

My pop said he wanted to accomplish more in his life but I assured him he did way better than he gave himself credit for. Dad was a dedicated and loving son who took care of his elderly mother after his father died.  He served in the U.S. Navy, met and married my mom and adopted her daughter Maryanne and fathered me.  Dad had a career he loved and supported his family with, settling us in a fantastic neighborhood in a good town.  The beauty shop he owned did well in spite of having two other salons on the same street, just a half a block from his place. 

After selling his business, my dad started a new career as a hair-styling teacher at the DAVEA vocational school which is now known as TCD. (Technology Center of DuPage) His students loved “Mr. Ken.”  He also became the loving grandfather to my sister Mary and her husband Jack’s children Doreen and Michael.  Back in the mid-eighties he surprised me by taking over my college loan re-payment schedule.  Dad didn’t want to see me saddled with any debt and had the means to knock out my owed balance quickly.  This was the kind of man my father was.  He accomplished plenty.   

After dad’s grim diagnosis of no more than six months to live, we quickly planned his memorial service before he even came home from the hospital.  Hospice care would soon come in and treat him wonderfully.   I was to write and deliver dad’s eulogy at the service.  My dad had about two good months with us at home before leaving us.

I finished writing dad’s eulogy two days before he slipped into a coma. Mary read it to him because I was a puddle of sobs and tears. Afterwards he and I had our last heart to heart talk. I’ll always be grateful that we got to share those vital moments together.

In the early morning hours of Sunday August 15^th, surrounded by his loving family, Kenneth Robert Kahler passed away peacefully at the way too young age of 58.  Smoking ended a life that should’ve gone on for another thirty years. My dad’s own mother would live to the age of ninety-five.  Mary Ann helped with the memorial service as she handled the scripture readings and shared some of her own fond memories of the only man she knew as dad. 

I wrapped up my eulogy with a quote from the liner notes on John Mellencamp’s “Scarecrow Album”; “There is nothing more sad or glorious than generations changing hands.” Those eleven words were a great comfort to me.  Then we played the Paul Overstreet song “Seeing My Father in Me” for the packed room of mourners.  The man who raised me to think so well of others, who taught me patience, how to appreciate movies and passed on his dry wit to me was now gone.  There has not been a day since when I haven’t thought of my dad and missed him very much. 

The Paul Overstreet song we played at my father’s memorial service was timely. But today I’m thinking about this wonderful dad song from Conway Twitty.

T

As crazy as it sounds, I’m a fan of the TLC reality series “Dr. Pimple Popper” starring Dr. Sandra Lee.  There’s something fascinating about seeing pimples, lipomas, cysts and other growths squeezed and surgically removed from her patients.  The human body is a wondrous miracle that happens to also be capable of producing really grotesque material that makes for wild TV.  Full disclosure: In the past, I had a 4 inch lipoma removed from my abdomen and a benign marble sized cyst taken off the side of my head, but not from Dr. Lee.

Many of the pimple popper patients featured have let their growths expand to amazing sizes.  One episode showed a man with a cyst on his arm that was the size of a 16 inch softball.  Another guy had a benign but bulging golf ball-like tumor on the middle of his forehead.  Cyclops had nothing on this ‘third eye.’  There’s also the poor woman who had a horn shaped cyst sprouting out of the top her of head.  It is cringe worthy seeing custard like goo oozing out of these growths. I might never eat another cream filled doughnut again. You can even sometimes hear the squishing sounds of certain cysts getting squeezed out of their skin.   

The one thing I don’t understand is WHY these patients let their bulging lumps get so big that their body parts become a freak show. Maybe they didn’t have the money or insurance to take care of these issues.  However, the growth growers do receive what appears to be excellent care from Dr. Lee. Many of these epidermal abnormalities look like they were borne from another world.  I wouldn’t be surprised to someday see Dr. Pimple Popper yank the creature from “Alien” out of someone’s body.  

It can be a challenge to watch some of the scenes inside Dr. Lee’s exam room because they are not for the squeamish. Still, I take on that challenge each week and make it through without getting sick.  Some people like to climb dangerous mountains, some ride scary roller coasters and hope to not throw up, I watch Dr. Pimple Popper and hope to keep my non-vomiting streak going.  (If you’re keeping score, I haven’t thrown up since early February of 1991. )

However, I think I’ve met my limit with a new program now airing on A&E.  It features an African American chiropodist who specializes in excising warts, ingrown toenails, fungus and other abnormalities from patient’s feet.  Feet! Ugh!  I cannot let myself even peek in on this program. 

Anyone who knows me is aware that I have an aversion to bare feet, especially toes. No matter how well clipped, manicured and painted they might be, toes are the ugliest part of the human anatomy.  Those goofs who claim to have ‘foot fetishes’ are in my opinion the most twisted weirdos on the face of the earth. Lord knows those ‘foot freaks will be tuned in to “The Toe Bro” as he clips, lances, burns off and surgically heals the ailments of men and women who want to get back to a normal life.

With ‘The Toe Bro’ (pardon the pun) following in the footsteps of Dr. Pimple Popper, I see the realm of reality medical shows may have no limits.  So let’s examine a couple ideas from my sick mind for future doctor programs. 

You could take a male physician with a stoner persona who does breast enlargements and call his show “The Boob Dude.”   Or a female doctor who specializes in treating man’s erectile dysfunctions, call her “The Dick Chick” or “The Cock Doc.”   My personal favorite idea? How about showing a female proctologist doing her job?  Call her “The Ass Lass.”

I’m just spit-balling here.  There’s probably a load more of specialists doctor shows just waiting to be produced.   Until then, I’ll stick with “Dr. Pimple Popper” and make fast tracks away from “The Toe Bro.” 

You may now proceed to the bathroom and throw up.

A couple weeks ago I took up one of those Facebook challenges. Each day (for 10 days) the ‘challenged’ was to show a picture from a movie that had an impact on me personally but leave no reason why or any other explanation. These did not have to be the “Greatest” movies of all time or anything like that, which was fine with me.  I was also supposed to nominate a new Facebook friend each day to take on the same challenge.  That part I refused to do because I don’t like throwing others into those kinds of frays. Silly me, I don’t want to be like the parent who tries to peddle their daughter’s Girl Scout Cookies to co-workers.  No thanks on that.

So as the first 9 days rolled on, my film list included “Network”, “Ordinary People”, “Tender Mercies”, “The Godfather,”  “Good Will Hunting”,  “Citizen Kane”, “Hannah & Her Sisters,” “Brokeback Mountain” & “Waking Ned Devine.”  For different reasons, each of these movies affected me personally and that’s why I proudly posted them. 

But it was my last pick, Demetri Martin’s “Dean” that I wanted to write about or give a further “explanation.” Martin wrote, directed and starred in this movie. Late last year I mentioned this film as a new favorite of mine. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t some mega-selling movie that gobbled up awards or nominations when it was released a couple of years ago.  What matters is what I got out of it personally, how I was impacted by this small movie.

Dean is a twenty something cartoonist trying to get over the recent death of his mother.  Meanwhile Dean’s father (Kevin Kline) is coping with his wife’s passing by selling the family home in Brooklyn and relocating to New York City.  Dean travels to L.A. for a job interview and to meet up with friends there. He then falls for a young woman who introduces her name by saying “It starts with an “N” and ends with ‘icky’.”  Dean and Nicky (played by Gillian Jacobs) have an awkward start to their relationship but they casually bond and click.  Heck, I fell for Nicky’s quirkiness and saw how Dean could do the same.

Dean himself has a dry wit who says funny things to his friends that he just sees as simple truthful observations. I saw his humor and persona aligned with my own.  (We often gravitate towards those who are like us and that would be the case here.)           

There’s more to the story including Dean’s father’s tentative courting of his real estate agent played by Mary Steenburgen. Dean and his dad continue to navigate through their grief, albeit in different ways.  Without spoiling things, the words that end the film are touching without being sappy and wise without being pompous. It’s a perfect close to a story about love, loss and hope.

Dean’s personal revelation culled from his mother’s passing was something I’ve been looking to find for many years.  In fact I was searching so long I actually gave up on locating it.  Here in my middle years not only have I lost most of my family members, I’ve also experienced the deaths of six non-relatives, most at very young ages, who meant as much to me as family.

In Lawrence Kasdan’s 1992 film “Grand Canyon,” Steve Martin’s movie producer character had a great line (told to Kevin Kline, ironically) when he said, “All of life’s riddles are answered in the movies.”  I’m not sure that’s true but in the case of “Dean” I found an answer to the riddle of missing special people in my life.  The impact of that answer makes this movie more than worthy of being on my ‘personally significant’ list.

If you get the chance, catch “Dean” on DVD from your library or on a streaming service, cable, whatever.  I’m not saying you’ll get out of it what I did but you’ll like the movie nonetheless…

In June of 1979 I graduated from York High School. While most of my friends left Elmhurst to attend downstate or out of state colleges, I stayed home and went to the College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn.  When my pals came back for their first Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks I was hearing stories about this great band they saw in their college town bars; a quartet called Kool Ray and the Polaroidz.  A name like that makes you think they were a punk or new wave band but these guys played pop and rock hits from the 50’s, 1960’s and early 70’s.  Kool Ray covered Chuck Berry, Elvis, the many bands from the British Invasion era, The Doors, Motown and other familiar oldies.

Students loved to dance to this band whose members weren’t much older than their many fans. They rocked bars, clubs, outdoor festivals and frat and sorority houses.  Kool Ray was becoming well known throughout Illinois, Iowa, Indiana and Wisconsin.  I was hoping they’d travel to the Chicago area so I too could see them but they were doing just fine touring Illinois college towns like Charleston, Champaign-Urbana, Bloomington Normal and other locales.   

Fast forward to January of 1981 when I transferred from College of Du Page to Southern Illinois University in Carbondale to study communications.   After the first week of classes, I saw that Kool Ray and the Polaroidz was playing that Friday and Saturday night at T.J. McFly’s, a popular bar on Carbondale’s main strip.  Friends from my dorm and I went out that first night to see the band and it was a wild and fun time!  Not only did this group play many of my favorite songs of all time, they played them so damn well.

Kool Ray blasted through The Who’s “Can’t Explain”,the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride”, the Stones’ “Jumping Jack Flash” and Marvin Gaye’s “Heard it Through the Grapevine” to name a few. I still remember them doing the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me” and in the middle of the song, during an extended bass line jam, they infused the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood” by singing, “I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me.”   These four musicians had it going on.

 During that semester at S.I.U. Kool Ray and the Polaroidz returned to T.J. Mc Fly’s for two night stands (Fridays & Saturdays) about once a month.  I caught them several more times and even got educated on songs I wasn’t familiar with.  They did Marvin Gaye’s soul-pop romp “I’ll Be Doggone” which I never knew before. The same went for Robert Palmer’s “You’re Gonna Get What’s Coming” which to this day is in the top ten of my favorite rock songs. Their cover of Elvis’ “Little Sister” was another money in the bank play.  Kool Ray released an album of cover songs which included an aces run through Roy Orbison’s “Oh Pretty Woman” among other songs.

As I mentioned, this band wasn’t just a group of hacks, they were very capable musicians, young and full of true rock roots credibility.  In 1981, the disco era was on its last legs and while punk or new wave music was making inroads, college students like me appreciated seeing and hearing the best music of the 50’s thru 70’s played back to them live.  Dance floors were always packed and Kool Ray’s players were stars in a small but intense galaxy.

I only lasted at S.I.U. that one semester as too much partying and not enough studying knocked me back home to Elmhurst where I found my academic niche at Elmhurst College .  In time, I was able to score a vinyl single of original material from Kool Ray, it was a pop song called “Day In and Day Out.” Another original was the Beatlesesque cut titled “I Heard You Fell”, which sounded at least as good as the stuff I heard on top 40 radio.  I often played these songs on my college radio shows at Elmhurst College’s WRSE FM. One other Kool Ray original that I never found on vinyl but to this day I could sing the chorus of was “Diane.” “Diane, you blow me away, you’ll never change, you’ll never stay, Diane you’re the one for me!”

As time went on, the band made their way to play a club in the south suburbs of Chicago called “Ryan’s” that was once a bowling alley. I saw them there and other places.  In the summer of 1983, I made it a point to catch them play a bar on the north side of Chicago and met the group personally for the first time.  Writing a weekly music column at the time for my hometown newspaper, I wanted to feature Kool Ray and the Polaroidz.  Between sets I asked their road crew if I could have twenty minutes with my favorite unknown rockers and they were more than accommodating.  Until that point I never even knew the names of any of the band members.  There had been a couple of changes in personnel but the mainstays were guitarist Doug Johnson and bass player Dee Pearson. They did most of the singing and were the engines that drove Kool Ray and the Polaroidz.

Doug and Dee had an interesting way of explaining why they focused their shows on playing hit songs from the way back past.  Doug said the band remained big fans of that era of classic rock/pop music. The band saw themselves as curators and preservationists who wanted to play songs that should never be forgotten.  Sure they were paid for the gigs and paid well, but the passion and performing of that music came from somewhere deeper.  These young men were sincere artists and a great show happened every time they were booked to play.

I last saw Kool Ray and the Polaroidz in the early winter of 1983 when they played a low key club on the northwest side of Chicago.  It was a snowy cold night and this was one of the few times the band rocked in front of less than a full house of fans.  That didn’t matter to me, I still enjoyed their sets just like that first time down in Carbondale. 

All these years later, I sometimes wonder whatever happened to this band that brought me so many hours of live music enjoyment.  Did the guys move on to so called ‘real jobs’?  Did they pack away their Gibson and Rickenbacker 6 strings and 4 string Washburn basses?  Does anyone know? Kool Ray and the Polaroidz, I wonder where you are…

THOSE AREN’T BELLS FOLKS

I’m a TV news junkie and there’s a phrase often used during newscasts that continues to drive me nuts.  It’s said when a shooting occurs somewhere and the on-site reporter or news anchor will say, “Shots rang out.”  Shots do not ring out.  Shots or better put, ‘gunshots’ are not bells.  I’ve shot guns before, and they don’t ring.  Not to get over dramatic but a better phrase to say would be “Shots were fired.”  That is a more accurate depiction of what goes on when shootings happen.  Of course here in the Chicago metro area, shots are fired way too often.  I don’t want to get into that issue right now, let’s just use better nomenclature to describe the firings of guns.

NEVER SAID, NEVER MIND

On the subject of conversations, when you watch movies or TV shows there’s a line used that is totally out of bounds.  I don’t know if anyone in real life EVER said it.  It happens when one TV or movie character has to turn down an invitation to do something or go somewhere, they will say to the person inviting them, “Can you give me a “rain check?”  Now the term “rain check” comes from what was written on major league baseball tickets in case a ballgame was rained out.  I don’t even know if that phrase is still on ticket stubs anymore but more important, I have never, ever in my life heard anyone say, “I can’t make that party, can you give me a rain check?”  Art often imitates life and vice versa but “rain check” is a term that belongs in neither place.  It reminds me of how comedian George Carlin mocked the term “Mary Jane” which was believed to be slang for marijuana.  As Carlin stated, “It’s in all the books, Mary Janes, marijuana,.nobody ever said it!” 

I CAN’T SEE THE WRITING ON THE WALL

When using public restrooms has anyone else but me noticed the absence of writing on the walls or the sides of toilet stalls? It’s almost non-existent now and has been for the past few years. Not that I enjoyed reading all the obscene poems or crude drawings of penises on crapper walls or phrases like “The joke is in your hand” scribbled above urinals but it seems graffiti like that has gone the way of 8 track tapes.  My guess is social media and the ability to post your weird thoughts online (often anonymously) has done away with bathroom comments and art.

LIGHTEN UP

Lately when watching new movies I’m seeing a trend of showing teenagers bedrooms dressed up with strings of lights and all sorts of extra flair.  I’ve caught it in films like “Love, Simon”, “8^th Grade”, “Blockers” and “Midnight Sun” to name a few.  It’s usually the girls’ bedroom that’s glammed with lights and trinkets and since I have no business being in or near teenager’s bedrooms I’ll guess this is the way it is with kids in real life. Maybe? Heck, when I was in high school my bedroom walls were adorned with an action poster of hockey star Phil Esposito, a stage level shot of The Who in concert and a promo poster for Animal House.  And I will confess to a “dig me” wall that had a dozen framed photos of me playing baseball and carrying on in school.

EVER GET A HOT FOOT LIKE THIS?

In the first week of the New Year I suffered a severe burn and did it in the most unusual way.  In my morning routine I was carrying a bowl of freshly cooked oat meal to my room. The bowl was on a small plate and as I moved too quickly, the bowl slid off the plate, fell to the floor and splattered on my bare feet.  Most of the piping hot oats landed on top of my right foot.  It burned hard and I quickly flicked the steaming chunks off and winced in pain.  At the time I was so busy cleaning the mess off my floor I didn’t notice how much my right dog ached. Even a cold shower a few minutes later wouldn’t ease the pain and by the end of the day I had four strips of scabbing on the top of my right foot.  I was careful when putting on my sock and shoe on that foot and yet those scabs opened up a couple of times, ouch!  Two weeks later I now have scars where the injury took place and a weird story to share about what happened.

Speaking of feet, most of you know of my phobia of bare feet, especially toes.  Well in about a month there’s a new reality TV show coming to A&E. It follows the work of a podiatrist who helps patients with wonky toes and feet.  The doctor is African American and his show is called “The Toe Bro.”  Just like my oatmeal on foot story, I am NOT making this up.

I GOT A NAME

Recently while watching “The Hunt for Red October” on cable for about the 20^th time, I smiled at a phrase I thought would make a good name for a band.  It’s in the scene when Sean Connery’s submarine captain character Marco Ramius directs a crew member to “Re-verify our range to target, one ping only.” The crew member played by Sam Neill questions this directive and Connery again says he wants “One ping only.”  So I was going to suggest “One Ping Only” as a band name. It’s offbeat and clever to those familiar with the “Red October” movie.  So I Googled that phrase online and there’s ALREADY a band called One Ping Only.  They’re a Chicago based group who claim to be “Purveyors of Dive Bar Rock.”  For more information on One Ping Only, check out their website and songs at

http://www.onepingonlyband.com/#music

The One Ping Only band beat me to that cool moniker.  I’ll keep watching movies in search of other potential names for groups of aspiring musicians.  In fact the other night while watching “Jaws” on cable I came up with another band name that has a nautical tie-in to it.  How about “Ben Gardner’s Boat”?

COMING NEXT WEEK: REMEMBERING THE BEST BAR BAND I EVER SAW.

Super Bowl 53 is set for Sunday February 3^rd in Atlanta.  During the weeks and days before the Super Bowl I really get bugged by one silly quirk.  In radio or TV commercials for food, beer, big screen televisions and other items, if they want to make a reference about the Super Bowl, they have to call it “The Big Game.”  The only way these ads can say the words “Super Bowl” is if they are officially and financially tied to the NFL and the Super Bowl in sponsorship form.  Do you know how stupid that sounds?  Ooh!  “The Big Game!” What COULD they be talking about?  So to the NFL I’m going to stick with just saying I look forward to the SUPER BOWL.  Now go sue me.

Be Square and Stay on the Grid

Every year a few days before the Super Bowl, I get my students to put their initials on a grid of score squares for the game. Then we draw the numbers that will go on the vertical and horizontal axis.  I explain to them how the team’s scores at the end of each quarter will dictate who wins some extra candy treats in school the day after the game.  The sad part of this is most of my middle school students don’t have much interest in watching any sports. While I’ll sound like a ‘get off my lawn’ old man, they’re too goddamn busy playing countless hours of Fortnight or 2K video games.  Still, I hold out hope that they at least acknowledge the presence and of an event that tens of millions of people will be watching.  One of my constant missions is to show my class news clips, current event features and other points of world happenings. I try to open their eyes so they see there’s more to life than moving to another level on MineCraft.

Hot Time in Atlanta

No matter which teams are playing, I enjoy getting sucked into all the fun of every Super Bowl. I’m way into it because the whole phenomenon is over-hyped, over-commercialized and bloated.  In other words, it’s very American!  Back in 2000, I won a full expenses paid trip to the Super Bowl in Atlanta for me and my buddy Marko.  That was the year the St. Louis Rams and their ‘Greatest Show on Turf’ beat the Tennessee Titans, who came just one yard short on the game’s last play to tie the score.  Marko and I spent 3 ½ days partying in Atlanta and did just about everything you could do during Super Bowl Week.  On Super Bowl Eve we took part in a game that involved flicking folded dollar bills at some strangers covered in whipped cream.  Good times.

The End of Eating Season.

I once heard a sports radio host say he felt relieved that the day after the Super Bowl was approaching. Why?  Because he said that was the end of “Eating Season.”  He aptly described how for many of us, the season of culinary over indulgence begins at Thanksgiving then segues into Christmas holiday parties, office bashes and family events.  Then there’s the lead up to New Year’s Eve, not to mention all the late season football (pro and college) that’s watched. Next you’ve got the three rounds of NFL play-offs and then the capper of all pig-outs of chips, dips, nachos, sliders, pizzas and plenty of booze, yes the Super Bowl itself!  Forget New Year’s Resolutions, the day after the last NFL game of the year is a good time to re-assess one’s physical shape and what to do to change bad eating habits.

Not So Fast S.I.

One more point on this time of the year.  About two weeks after the Super Bowl, the release of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue happens.  There’s all the drooling over tanned super models hanging out in exotic locations, posing in barely there pieces of mesh, string and dental floss.  Often a strategically placed splatter of brushed sand is used to cover up a naughty bit or two.  A few years ago, so called ‘plus sized models’ like Ashley Graham broke through the teeny bikini glass ceiling and appeared in the swimsuit issue. These non-twig-like models struck a critical victory for 99% of the women in the world who are of normal size and eat a diet that consists of more than lemon slices and boiled kale.  Well I just read that this year’s Swimsuit issue will not be released until mid-May.  The idea being it’s best to promote swimwear and fun in the sun when we’re not in the dead of winter.  When that swimsuit issue is on newsstands I’ll have further comments on it. 

So enjoy the Super Bowl, good luck to my students who sign in on game score squares, use your imagination on that dollar bill flicking game, prepare for the end of “Eating Season” and be patient for the S.I. Swimsuit Issue, it’s only three months away.  

P.S.  If you’re betting on the game, take the Rams and the points.

Late last month a friend told me Brian McCarthy, a former baseball teammate, was very ill with cancer and the outlook was not good.  This was stunning news and I kept Brian and his family in a morning prayer/reflection I take part in every day. Sadly, Brian McCarthy passed away last weekend. 

Whenever someone near my own age who I know passes, I get numb. Brian was one year younger than me so yes, once again I’m numb. Numb with disbelief, numb with shock and numb with hurt.   It’s a reminder that as young as we all may feel, we are mortal. By this age most of us have been through these kinds of situations but familiarity to them doesn’t soothe the ache.  Still, my primary thoughts are with Brian’s family and his many friends. I wish them all only peace and the ability to cope through this sad time and beyond.  

Now from what I remember of Brian from back in the day, if he was here right now, he’d probably say “Hawk (my nickname from way back) cut the maudlin crap and lighten up!”   O.K. Brian, for you, I can handle that.  So here are a few of my memories of one Brian “Bubba” Mc Carthy.

I first knew Bubba from our Little League baseball days.  He was on the Pirates, I was on the Orioles. We both were pitchers. When playing ball, Bubba was always blowing huge bubbles from the massive hunks of Bazooka or Bubs Daddy gum that were jammed in his mouth.  In fact our team referred to him as “Bubbles” because of the constant pink bubbles he’d blow during a game. Maybe that’s where the nickname ‘Bubba’ formed. I never asked.

Bubba was a damn good ball player and steady all-star for his team.  One distinct memory was when we played the Pirates in a single elimination tournament game at old Elm Field. That field was located where the Elmhurst Portillo’s restaurant now stands and it was the only place in town with brick dugouts.  I was pitching out of a final inning jam, two outs, bases loaded and my Orioles were up by one run. Bubba was up to bat and worked me to a 3 and 2 count. I sailed a high fastball just out of the strike zone that he swung and missed at. Game over, we won, the Pirates went home. Whew! Not that this mattered much, we Orioles got eliminated a few days later by those pesky damn Mets.

Fast forward to high school baseball.  Starting with sophomore year, I made each York team as a pitcher. Bubba was on the freshman squad and played all 4 years for the Dukes.  We finally became teammates on the York summer league team of ’78 and then during the Spring season of ’79.   Bubba was a steady pitcher mixing a decent fastball with sidearm curves and really good location. During that summer season he was our go to starter and in that spring season, a reliable reliever putting out run scoring threats and saving games for us starters. 

Despite being a year younger, Bubba would sometimes lead me. He showed me a good hideout during boring baseball work-outs.  While the rest of the team was taking batting practice, we’d ditch into a football storage room underneath the gym stairs and lounge on padded tackling dummies, exchanging lines from “The Honeymooners” and other jokes.

During pregame work-outs Bubba and I would hit fly balls to our outfielders and see who could sky the highest pop-ups with our long skinny fungo bats.  Once the games started we’d sit in the bullpen beyond the left field home run fence and do a running play by play /color commentary of the contest at hand.  

As anyone who knew him will tell you, Bubba McCarthy was a very funny guy. He was always quick with a dry or sarcastic comment that would crack up everyone, including coach Erl Ellingsen and our summer ball coach Dave Trayser.     

During my last semester at York we were in the same Probability and Statistics class.  Freshman baseball coach Mr. Aggen was our teacher and the first 15 minutes of every class would be held up while we talked about sports.  Mr. Aggen finally decided to give Bubba and I the first 5 minutes of each class to give a formal sports update to the class on what was happening with Chicago teams.  I worked part time at White Castle and brought in a couple of paper hats for us to wear during our in class reports I called the White Castle Sports Update.  At the end of the semester we had a White Castle party with my mom making a burger run and delivering several bags of sliders for our class to munch on. 

Whenever we’d talk about the fine cuisine at White Castle Bubba would say a funny line like, “I should grab a few, I haven’t taken a healthy one in a while.”  A glib line like that was his specialty!

It was great to have someone like Bubba as a co-conspirator for my own shenanigans.  That last baseball season at York included several beer fueled poker parties happening at my house on weekends.  Bubba was always on hand for the cards and the cracking of jokes and camaraderie. 

After graduating York, moving on to college and respective careers I lost track of Bubba McCarthy but heard from mutual friends that he was married and doing well.  That was great to know.   I always smiled when thinking of the fun I had with him.

Bubba, you were always aces in my book, and I’ll let you have the last word on this post.  This is a direct quote that you wrote in my senior yearbook: “Drink beer and eat sliders, and good luck in college.”  

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I used to be on top of every hot trend and happening in pop culture. As I settle into middle age my ‘hip quotient’ has dimmed somewhat and I’m O.K. with that. Anyway, here are a few things I was admittedly late to the party for:

For a period of time last year Wendy’s did a $1 per Double Stacker burger sale.  Until this money saving promotion happened, I never had eaten a double stacker.  Warning, they are cheap and very easy to get addicted to.  My goal is to stay away from Double Stackers in 2019.  So far, so good.  

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Last month I finally figured out how to use my Xfinity DVR which has been part of my cable package since late 2017. You’d think that a former radio geek/producer/audio file like me would be all over modern technology. Not true! Just catch me using the microwave oven, it’s like watching a monkey doing a math problem.  I’ve always been a more old school writer and creative type. However, now that I’ve mastered the DVR, I’m a TV show recording maniac. 

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While it came out in limited release in 2017, I only caught up to the warm witty movie “Dean” last year. It’s one that is now locked into my DVR storage.  “Dean” is about a young cartoonist who is working through the death of his mother and occupies himself by trying to stop his dad from selling their home.  He then finds love in L.A.  Try “Dean” out, it’s an under the radar treat and one I enjoy watching over and over.

I don’t subscribe to Netflix because if I did, I’d probably be glued to my TV 24/7 and never leave the house.  So contrary to the photo below, I have not yet seen the Netflix offering “Bird Box.”  I have friends who subscribe so I will catch up to this movie in time.  The sensory issues of the ‘don’t take off your blindfold’ plot remind me of last year’s fine thriller “A Quiet Place” and also a lesser known movie from 2015 called “It Follows.”  If you want to be creeped out, find a way to watch “It Follows.”

Anyway, thanks to this Sandra Bullock starring film, people are now on social media doing “Bird Box Challenges,” walking around with blindfolds on banging into walls and falling down stairs..  Some are even trying to drive cars with their peepers covered!  So now the “Bird Box” producers had to put out notices asking their fans to stop attempting such dangerous stunts. 

Eating Tide pods, snorting condoms up the nose & spitting them out your mouth, swallowing cinnamon and the dance to the “In My Feelings” song challenge are just a few of the other idiotic stunts pulled by goofs with too much time on their hands. We live in a participatory world full of knuckleheads who are eager to be temporary YouTube stars and frequent patients in the E.R.   Social media mongrels will sniff up the butt of the latest ‘thing’ to do and the “Bird Box Challenge” is just the latest. 
I’m just glad Vincent Van Gogh isn’t around to star on YouTube, otherwise people would be lopping off their ears.

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Since leaving country radio years ago I only check into the newer offerings from Nashville on rare occasions.  That explains why I missed out on Carrie Underwood’s 2015 single “Smoke Break” until late last year.   I always liked Carrie’s voice and this song is without a doubt my favorite of hers.  Great lyrics that anyone who’s been over worked or over taxed can identify with.

I’m only a year or so late on this next ‘catch up’ but I recently heard the music of country singer-songwriter Ashley Mc Bryde on CBS TV.  Wow! She’s like a mix of Miranda Lambert, Wynonna Judd and Brandy Clark, in other words REAL country music.  Nominated for a Grammy this year, Ashley Mc Bryde’s climb to stardom has an interesting back story and my next blog will address more about that.  She had plenty of naysayers and I’ve got more to say on that.  Until then, here’s the link to the title cut of her debut album “Girl Goin’ Nowhere.”

One more item on the music beat, one of my favorite things about surfing You Tube is finding songs that were hits for bands that were then covered by other groups.  There are also plenty of unknown aspiring singers who can do justice to well worn songs. This year on my Facebook page I’m going to post up some of the better covers I’ve heard.  With that said, I’ll close off this first blog of 2019 with the Jay Hawks doing up the old Grand Funk single “Bad Time.”