The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for March 2011

I Want To Meet Bruce Springsteen

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I am not the sort of person who is star struck, but I might be if I met Bruce Springsteen. He wouldn’t be the first star that I have met nor seen in person. Fact is that I have encountered many, but for me Springsteen is a different sort of animal. I have been a fan of his music for years but within the past five something changed inside me.

A switch was flipped and I realized that one of my dreams is to be like Bruce, not Bruce but like Bruce. The world already has one Springsteen and a million aspiring artists who want to be him. Not me, I want something a little bit different. I want to be able to take my words and turn them into music. I want to take the songs that I hear in my head and convert it into something that I can play. I want it to move from fantasy into reality.

I listen to music all day long. It is a constant companion and a trusted confidante. My favorite music does more than tell a story, it touches you in places you don’t always know exist. Sometimes it brings you joy and sometimes sadness. Music is the touchstone of our hearts and I wish that I could call upon it in the same manner that Springsteen does.

He has bigger fans than I and people who know his songs, stories and music far better. All I have are my observations. He strikes me as a force of nature with exceptional energy and insight. And he seems to be someone who looks inward and thinks about what he feels and why.

These things resonate with me. There are songs and moments that I never get tired of. I can listen to the entire Tunnel of Love album all day long and never get tired of it. I want to meet Springsteen and hang out with him. I don’t just want to shake his hand, but that would be cool.

I want to hang out with him because I want to have time to ask questions and to listen. I want to see what I can learn from him. I want to find out more about how he writes and see if it is consistent with what I think. I suspect that he just hears/sees the words and then lays them down upon paper. That is how I do it. Maybe it is a bit egotistical to think that he writes like I do, but why not. Either way I would be curious to learn more.

For those who are curious here is a smattering of lyrics from his music that I like:

It ought to be easy ought to be simple enough
Man meets woman and they fall in love
But the house is haunted and the ride gets rough
And youve got to learn to live with what you can’t rise above if you want to ride on down in through this tunnel of love

Tunnel of Love

And though this world is filled
With the grace and beauty of God’s hand
Oh I wish I were blind
When I see you with your man

I Wish I Were Blind
Now, I been lookin for a job, but it’s hard to find
Down here it’s just winners and losers and don’t
Get caught on the wrong side of that line
Well, Im tired of comin out on the losin end
So, honey, last night I met this guy and Im gonna
Do a little favor for him
Atlantic City
Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
I can take you higher
I’m on fire
I’m On Fire
‘Til the world falls apart
I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you
That’s what I wanna do
Until they will rip out my heart
I wanna be with you, I wanna be with you
Well that’s all I wanna do
I Wanna Be With You

Man Fired for ‘Thoughtless’ Tweets

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Never forget that the words you blog, tweet or and or post online can come back to haunt you later.

(CNN) — The Aflac duck lost its voice Monday after the insurance giant fired the comedian behind the commercial quack for tweeting jokes about the earthquake and tsunami that has devastated Japan.

The Columbus, Georgia-based company fired Gilbert Gottfried less than an hour after discovering the tweets, according to a news release from Aflac.

“Gilbert’s recent comments about the crisis in Japan were lacking in humor and certainly do not represent the thoughts and feelings of anyone at Aflac,” Michael Zunda, the company’s senior vice president and chief marketing officer, said in a statement.

 

The Write Words Not Written

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Sometimes the write words aren’t written here. Sometimes I hear the words whispering inside my head and they flow from my fingertips to wind up on the page where they tell the stories of the things I have seen and the feelings I have felt. And then there are moments such as today where I can’t find the write words. I am not blocked nor prevented from writing.  I call upon the words and they answer but I am not pleased with their performance. Instead of telling the tale in a smooth fashion that is easy to relate to they speak in a stutter.

It is a struggle to understand the story and the feelings that I wish to convey aren’t clear. Such is the way of the words and the life that they lead. The only way I know to correct the infernal clickety clack and clanging is to keep writing. It is not any different than a bad day at work or school. You can’t wave a wand and make magic mist to hide from the world. You can’t do anything but walk the road that you have been running upon. Sooner or later the sites will change or a fork will come. Either way you will find yourself clear of the doldrums and in greener pastures.

These are not said nor written facetiously but because hard earned experience has proven them to be true. Such is the word, such is the path. Write what you will and go where you can.

Preserve Your Memories

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Here is the next insertion for The Red Dress Club. The prompt is as follows:

This week, we’d like for you to write about your favorite fresh fruit or vegetable.

Share a memory of when you first tasted it, where it came from, when you last had it, a favorite way to prepare it, and such.

As you write your piece this week, think of it as writing a scene. Be sure to engage our senses, make us feel, see, taste, hear, and smell. Pull us in with your description. Your word limit is 700 words.

Author’s note: This post was written three different times because I didn’t like what I wrote. If I had to grade those posts they were fine, satisfactory, ‘c’ level work. I want these posts to be better than that so I nuked them. I am not thrilled with this one, but sometimes you just let the words go and move on.

garden

The year was 1980 something and the lovely Anne Stacey had chosen to grace me with her presence. I had spent countless hours unsuccessfully wooing the woman. Cards, chocolate, flowers, and a barbershop quartet had all failed to do the trick but I couldn’t tell you why. All I knew was that the girl who had gone to prom with me had chosen to withdraw her favors and spend time with a man I dubbed the scoundrel. I once tried to tell her this and she suggested that my ill feelings towards him had to do with jealously. Now I won’t say that this is true but I admit to suggesting that if she hoped for more than simple companionship she might consider spending time at the produce market.

Apparently this is not advisable nor is suggesting that he would probably die in robbing a drug store for used condoms. Don’t ask me to explain why I said these things or what they mean because I won’t answer nor will I admit to wanting to give him the same treatment a flying clown once received from me. Women make men crazy and love just exacerbates the craziness we feel.

Weeks of rejection turned into months but I refused to give up. I can’t explain why other than to say that every time I saw her I heard music and it made me believe that one day she would dance with me again.

One day I sent her a card with some of the lyrics to Get Down Tonight by K.C. & The Sunshine Band.

“Baby, babe, let’s get together.
Honey, hon, me and you.
And do the things, ah, do the things
That we like to do.

Do a little dance, make a little love,
Get down tonight.
Do a little dance,
make a little love,
Get down tonight.”

P.S. Come over and find out if I really am a better cook than you are. I’ll make it worth your while.

I had been rejected so many times that I was beginning to wonder if maybe I was swimming down the river of denial but was pleasantly surprised to receive a telephone call from her asking why she should come. Needless to say I was nervous because I knew that the wrong words would result in another no. Yet something told me that it was time to be bold so I told her that I was going to pick her up at 10 am so that we could go to the farm to pick fresh fruits and vegetables for dinner. Two days later she walked out of her apartment and into my car.

For a few moments we drove in silence and listened to a mix tape that I had made for the occasion. Good old cassette tape technology, a soft hissing noise in the background accompanied us on our ride. The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Cat Stevens, Joe Cocker and Springsteen serenaded us.

A short time later we arrived at the farm and began picking out the items we wanted for our meal. She made a crack about me making her work for her food and I said that remained to be seen. Every time she bent over to pick something up my eyes were drawn to her. I was completely entranced by her- not just because I thought that she was beautiful but because she was so very smart. I attribute my love for carrots to that day. Somewhere I have a picture of holding one close to her mouth, pretending to be Bugs Bunny.

And had anyone heard the music that played inside my head at the moment they would have heard Bookends.

“Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you”

Self Defense and Children

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During the summer of ’76 I was a seven year-old child who spent the time off from school attending summer school, camp and riding my bike around the neighborhood with my best friend. I was also the boy who had a tooth knocked out in a fight. It happened at Camp Summertime. I don’t remember why the other boy hit me but I remember spitting out my tooth (it was already loose) and crying. I’d like to say that seven year-old Jack gave as good as he got but I don’t think that was the case. Thirty-five years later my parents can’t tell you any more details than I can nor can any of us remember what they said to me.

What I know is that my father told me that if someone hit me first I had permission to defend myself. I remember thinking that I didn’t want to have to get hit first.  It seemed like a harsh way to gain his blessing but such was a child’s understanding. A few years later the third grade version of Jack ran into trouble because a 4th grade boy gave me a knife to hold. It was a pocket knife but I was afraid that I would get into trouble so I gave it to the teacher. The boy who owned the knife was very angry with me and for a short time he and his friends picked on me a bit.

I suppose that if the same happened today it would be described as bullying. Back then I was unwilling to go to a teacher for help. It would only make it worse. For a week or so the boy and his friend Wes made life difficult for me. I wasn’t afraid of the 4th grader. He might have been older but he wasn’t bigger than I was. Unfortunately Wes was much larger and that scared me. He and I had problems for a while and then something happened.

We were playing out in the yard and he grabbed my shirt and started pulling on it. I did my best to free myself from his grasp and managed to tear my shirt or maybe he did. It really doesn’t matter who tore it because the end result was the anger and fear of punishment was enough for me to start fighting back harder than I ever had. Again, I would like to say that 9 year-old Jack kicked the crap out of Wes but that is not a fair representation either. What is fair to say is that day I established playground street cred. Everyone learned that I wasn’t an easy mark and that I had a bite to match my bark.

These are not my only tales of battle. I had other fights and learned how to use my fists. I know what it feels like to be hit, kicked and bitten. Two of the people that hit me in the head broke their hands.  I take pride in that and why shouldn’t I. If you intend to do me bodily harm than I hope you get hurt. But the point of this is not to try and paint a picture of a tough guy because I am not him. I am just someone who when required did what he had to do.

And more importantly I am a father who looks back upon his life and realizes how very lucky he got. I was never seriously injured and never spent any in jail. I knew others who weren’t as fortunate. One wrong turn, one bad punch, one drink behind the wheel and life is changed forever. That is not a tired cliche but a warning that bears repetition.

So I look at my children and do what I can to educate and guide them in all that they do. My job isn’t limited to teaching them how to read and or add. I need to know that they know how to take care of themselves. I need to know that when they are old enough to go places without me they can walk the streets without looking like easy pickings. I need to know that out on the playground they don’t fear others.

That doesn’t mean that I have changed the rules that my father set down. I don’t advocate fighting. I don’t recommend that they use their fists unless there is no other choice. I would prefer that they not share some of the experiences that I have had. That is part of why I got them into Krav Maga. I like it because they learn more than just how to take care of themselves physically. They teach them how to deal with bullies and what to do when a stranger offers them candy. They teach them that the best fight is the one that they never have.

But they also teach them how to use their hands, their fists and their feet so that if something happens they have a resource to draw upon. I like that. I like how it helps with their self confidence and how it is an active sport that requires movement. The skills that they learn their will be something that they can use for the rest of their life. The exercise aspect of it doesn’t require a big space or teammates. And god willing that is all this will ever be, exercise.