For the second time in my life, I am humbled beyond words being paid the honor of being called a “mensch,” in Yiddish lexicon, the highest praise a man can get. Not too shabby for a gentile! Similar to my late Aunt Lois calling me a fine man, the ultimate distinction to hers and my mom’s generations. On the flipside, I have been called a narcissist and branded a villain. My first review assignment for Blabbermouth, the community took exception to my only giving Rush’s Clockwork Angels an 8.5 out of 10. It was said I didn’t matter and my death was called for. I laughed at that, though I shouldn’t have.
I take the “mensch” label and my aunt’s appraisal as the standard I hold myself accountable to. Still, I have made a ton of mistakes, I have hurt people, I have done things I’m not proud of. I was given the news of the passing of a friend from way back whom I hurt because I mishandled her affections for me. I am grateful I was able to come to her later in life and make amends with her. I can’t say I will be able to rectify all the turmoil I may have caused that hangs over me, but the point to this entire litany is to take what people say about you both to heart and with a grain of salt. Use all of it as a measure with which to grow.
More often than not, I have done what I felt is right, even at great risk or at consequence. All I can do is be me and to try and keep my compass straight. This is the most challenging period of my entire life and it takes more effort than ever to check down the anger that boils inside of me and as Lenny Kravitz would say, to let love rule.
I don’t drink soda too often these days, considering I once a bad habit of pounding Vanilla Coke, Cherry Coke and various colas more than a decade ago before I transformed myself through fitness and I ditched soda. I still hit ginger ale and seltzer and on the rare occasion, a birch beer or a raspberry Coke from one of those hundred flavor machines you see in certain fast-food joints. Yeah, I’d consider myself Team Coke if I still bothered with it, albeit Dr. Pepper, which has been owned by both of the major soda conglomerates, beats Coke and Pepsi hands-down.
When I was a teenager in the Eighties, the timeless Coke vs. Pepsi battle raged at its apex. You’ll remember the “Take the Pepsi Challenge,” which actually started in 1975 and you can still catch in-store marketing street teams offering it now and then. I took it at the grocery store I worked at, still with maturing taste buds ravaged by Mountain Dew and a local soda manufacturer, Colt Cola. Prior to that in my younger years, I was ape for RC Cola, Frostie Root Beer, 7-Up and Suburban Almond Smash. Funny to think how much of that sugary carbonated crap I subjected my body to all those years.
My result in the Pepsi Challenge? You guessed it. I chose Coke, albeit I fingered it as the Pepsi. Cue the tuba and brass tones marking you a loser on The Price is Right. Bum bum ba bummm….wahhhhhhhhhhh…. Other than Cherry Pepsi, I’ve just never really been a fan of the brand, even though my dad and my grandmother on his side loved the hell out of Pepsi, thus I had more than a lion’s share of it. I love sweetness in taste which I’ve had to tame down in my later years, but Pepsi was just too syrupy for me. To each their own, you know? I mean, my aunt loved the Coke-backed diet soda that makes some people who remember it cringe: Tab. I didn’t hate it, actually, and I’m calling shade on you Coca-Cola, the Coke Zero product is just Tab rebranded. Hmm? Hah? Come on, man…
In 1985, Coke was losing sales ground to Pepsi, thus they committed the cardinal sin of introducing “New Coke.” If you were born before the early Eighties, you know damn well what I’m talking about. “New Coke” was what, my friends? Say it with me: PEPSI!!! This hypocrisy flated by Coke’s old jingle, “Just for the taste of it” for their diet brand. Talk about calling shade, a facepalm-worthy bit of commercial huckstering only a fill-in deed to the Brooklyn Bridge outdoes for the b.s. factor. Truly a road best left lesser traveled, except in the establishing scenes of a Stranger Things episode.
TJ found a hilarious meme last night which prompted this silly post today. The second below is a variant of what she showed me and we had a nice little rip over it. Neither of us drink soda too often these days. We’re more about teas, vitamin waters, juices and filtered water. I’m also keen on fruit shakes and almond milk. Then there’s my love of coffee, which gets exploitedanytime we eat at First Watch. Alcohol, we love our wine, and I have my share of beer and bourbon, though the older I get, the more I find the need to scale back.
To take a taste of Coke or Pepsi these days makes both of our tongues cringe at first, and our stomachs rebel within minutes after finishing. Still, funny is funny as are the burps we generate amongst ourselves if we find nothing else to drink but a soda.
So for fun, where do you all fall in line, if it all, Team Coke or Team Pepsi?
I spotted this theme running at a few blogs last week, especially at Paula Light’s Light Motif II in answer to the original post at Maggie’s Tranquil Thursday #2. The idea is to answer four questions delving into the concept of peace as it relates to yourself. I felt compelled to play along.
How do you define peace on a personal level?
Having the confidence in yourself to know yourself, i.e. your strengths, your limitations, control over your emotions, the wherewithal to reject unconstructiveness, dismissal of negative vibrations, the capacity to push away selfish thoughts and people projecting their hate game toward you. It’s about knowing who you are, what you want from your life and setting boundaries on what’s acceptable to come into your life, then rejecting all that impedes your life’s progression. Knowing we are all fallible and on occasion culpable, we are left with a life’s journey always in need of refinement and navigation.
There is the correlation of peace and nirvana, as in a perfect state of being without problems, hurdles and drama. This is, unfortunately, a pipe dream. Even the best of us and those with the purest of intentions in how we project ourselves into the situations and relationships we seek can and will face the gauntlet life brings. It’s inevitable. True peace comes from rising above the cynical and embracing a path leading to the divine, taking comfort in the knowledge we are not alone, even when depression and despair hits us. Peace is knowing you are on the side of the light and knowing the divine is reaching out to you, in real-time or in an astral state, cheering you on to summon enough character to see the error of pessimism and self-ruin.
What does finding peace mean to you?
When you have reached a state of confidence in yourself and have found your value set to avoid succumbing to all that life presents for processing and in many cases, forces your hand to react, it answers that pesky voice in your head. If you’re like me, the chatty internal voice can badger at any time, any place. I often want it to shut up, especially at 3:00 a.m. when my entire laundry list of life drops down in a sequence like a movie’s final credits. Peace is when I can tell myself things are resolved or will be resolved, and I feel my pantheon float into my head, easing my burdens by letting me know I am doing my best and making choices they approve of. If I am doing wrong, they also let me know, and you know what? There’s peace in that, as well. Well-intended guidance, however it comes, is so valuable to one’s personal evolution.
Peace is also successfully swerving from the mundane, the aggravating and the insipid. The biggest joy in life aside from an intoxicating romance with the right person is getting to discover what a beautiful world exists out there and having the common sense to detect and appreciate it. Moreover, having a common courtesy not to destroy it for others.
What environment (the ocean, the mountains, the desert, etc.) brings you peace?
TJ and I are so happy on a trail. We love to hike, to bask in nature with as much quietude as we can seize for ourselves without getting so far from civilization as to cause ourselves discomfort. We commune with the Lord and Lady in the woods, we relish when we’re given response by the elements of air, earth, wind and water. Fire, only when contained for scrying purposes or candle and incense lighting. I like to travel, period, so I find such peace journeying by car to a far destination to see for the first time and to meet people in other towns. It’s a pleasure to see how others live and to compare either their isolation or their hectic habitue. I’ve always said I could easily live in the Outer Banks of North Carolina for all the oceanic removal from the world, yet I also feel a charge of electricity whenever I’m in Manhattan which makes me want to be a part of the intense action daily. Of course, hurricanes are the deterrent to the former, an outrageous cost of living the same to the latter.
I can say a trip out west for my 50th birthday to Devil’s Tower, Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, the Grand Tetons, the Badlands of South Dakota, along with Mt. Rushmore, Deadwood and Crazy Horse Monument was unforgettable. Devil’s Tower was a lifelong obsession I’d wanted to see since I was a child and seeing Close Encounters of the Third Kind in the theater back in 1978. If there’s anything that lived up to its hype for me, it’s Devil’s Tower. Peaceful doesn’t begin to cover it. Devil’s Tower is holy to many people from different walks of life. For me, it is likewise sacred and I expect I will return again before I die.
Is there a person whose presence puts you at ease and gives you a feeling of peace?
On the physical and intimate level, peace is having the right person nurture your heart, mind and body, providing a foundation of love, support, respect, trust, dialogue, motivation, partnership, sexual release, spirituality, laughter, goal attainment and future growth. Laughter and communication is one of the top priorities to a relationship. It’s so much sweeter when you like the person you profess to love. I am blessed to have found my best friend who fulfills all these things. In this part of my life, TJ my future bride brings me incomparable joy and peace.
Aside from her, my parents have long provided me a foundation of strength, wisdom, courage and inspiration. Going to visit them routinely over the years gives me a lift when everything in life comes crashing down or even puts me on an adrenaline high. My parents’ house is what I spent my teens in until I got married to my first wife. I love their house and have mostly wonderful memories since 1983 when they bought it. Coming over to their house always feels like it’s still my home, even with the home I share with TJ. My folks purposefully create a safe zone ambience for our visits, purposefully pushing for peace and calm with which to recharge.
A happy Valentine’s Day to all you lovebirds out there and especially to mine, TJ, who prefers scoundrels to nice men. Love you to every end of the galaxy, from your scruffy-looking nerf herder. I’d fight hell through asteroid fields and carbonite freeze with a bounty on my head, just to get to you.
Apologies to anyone I may offend with this post, however, the intent behind the message is so valuable I’ve shared it with many including my social media feeds and even my son, who has been working his way through a personal struggle. Now and then it’s okay for him to see his dad stoop a little lowbrow in the interest of lifting his spirits. I believe it’s had a hand in boosting his attitude and demeanor around here. It’s gotten that serious, and I cheer for his slow recovery.
I have also flashed this meme before my eyes and drilled it into my head repeatedly going through my own trials which have likewise dragged me down. It rekindles my drive and will to fight against all obstacles and negative dimensions to my life. The rest sorts itself out accordingly.
Remember who the eff you are, my friends, and go get it…
We were having a family discussion about favorite and best Christmas gifts from over the years, a much-needed fun topic to kick up a warm chat. Having received a telescope from TJ this past Christmas (a lifelong wish fulfilled, thanks, babe), my son recollected other great gifts given to me he’s been witness to over the years. Perhaps the top primo gift I ever got in my former life with my ex was the high-end box set of the entire run of Batman ’66 on Blu Ray, inclusive of a replica toy Batmobile and a trading card set made solely for the package. Despite how my marriage may have ended, we had some amazing Christmases over the years.
The three of us began coming up with our favorite gifts from our respective childhoods. Growing up, my parents were always tight on money, but they always came through for the things I liked or wanted. They pushed all their money towards my Christmases. Most of the time they would get their holiday bonuses on Christmas Eve, then blitz to the mall, sneak everything past me and stay up half the night wrapping to be “Santa.” My Christmases were thus epic and once I put everything together down the road on how the magic actually worked, I adopted the same ethic toward my own son. The years we were lean back in the day, we put everything in the budget toward his Christmas and gifts for everyone else. We often did the same dash and carry and wrap at zero hour, all to give the kid a bonanza to remember. I’m proud to say we never failed that child, ever.
The conversation last night leaned more on my childhood growing up in the 1970s and 80s. I brought up some favorite toys I’d been given for Christmas as a child, like Stretch Armstrong, a U.S.S. Enterprise from Star Trek which had a motorized fan and swivel to send it lifted, round and round. The Guns of Navarone battle playset became a go-to, the Hot Wheels Criss-Cross-Crash car set produced hours of fun. Mattel handheld baseball and football electronic games bleeped and blooped all over the house. No doubt my folks enjoy a silent, delicious revenge upon me from my son’s video game addiction. The original double vinyl pressing from 1977 of the Star Wars: A New Hope score from John Williams was a holy grail present, which got played in-and-out between my Kiss albums. Then there was the Batman exploding bridge playset and the Joker battle van, complete with a squirting flower on the roof. I gasped to find a Batman and Robin walkie talkie set beneath the tree, only to see it sadly get broken two days later.
The be-all, end-all of my childhood Christmas gifts, however, were given the same year and split timed in usage. 1978. Kenner’s Star Wars Death Star Space Station and Mattel’s knee-high sized (by kid gauge) Godzilla, the latter coming as part of the Shogun Warriors “life-sized” action figures. Also that year came a super-sized Chewbacca and Stormtrooper, which I also loved and unfortunately became cannon fodder against Godzilla’s spring-shot claw. As if he wasn’t deadly enough with fire breath and gargantuan size, Mattel went next-level being able to shoot his fist at things. I was also given an actual Shogun Warrior to square off against Godzilla, one who also shot his gauntlet fist, but also two small missiles from his breastplate. Most fun was the fact Godzilla and the Shogun Warrior had roller feet, making their combat much zanier. The Shogun Warrior always fell when struck by Godzilla’s claw. Godzilla had staying power with that tail of his to keep him propped up. Speaking of zany, you pushed a plunger to send a plastic tongue of “fire” out of Godzilla’s head. Godzilla forever!!!
Anyone lucky enough to have had the four level Death Star playset will attest you could have hours of fun sending Luke Skywalker, Ben Kenobi, Princess Leia and the droids through the bottom tier trapdoor and into the trash compactor. A knob on the side sent foam pieced garbage and a green rubber monster against our heroes their foam-tacular deaths. The sliding elevator was a gas, and I always had Han Solo inside, ready to ambush Darth Vader, Stormtroopers and the transplanted cantina aliens (i.e. Greedo, Hammerhead, Snaggletooth, etc.) into a laser gun frenzy. When I got a Millenium Falcon later, you know I made Han and Chewie “blow up” the Death Star with massive kid-orchestrated destruction.
Even better when I sent Godzilla into action to stomp down the Death Star. Good times. Damn good times.
Hey there, friends. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted, but I see a lot of you dropping in and poking around the page. Thank you for that. Much love to you, my gracious readers.
I’ve been on an odyssey that was thankfully short-term, but it’s kept me from regularity here at “Roads Lesser Traveled.” You see, I work full-time in the mortgage title industry. Or I did until last Monday. Yet now I am again, a week later. I have a few friends here at WordPress who’ve been in the real estate business and y’all know the deal. It’s one of the most cyclical industries to work in. Building a career for the long haul toward retirement…um, yeah. When mortgages are hot, we’re running with our keisters on fire. Title companies, mortgage brokers, realtors and lenders hire high in those fruitful, stressful times. They also drop personnel when the business dries up as it does and has of late with the Fed hiking interest rates in response to this confounded inflation and ludicrously priced houses from sellers looking to drop their junk as-is for a tidy profit.
Nobody outside the business ever thinks of it, but all of this high-fallutin’ gouging and rate spikes displaces people in my profession in droves. I’ve been laid off in the mortgage title industry so many times I’ve had to develop a sixth sense for when it’s about to come and when to get my ducks in a row. The scariest moment of my entire life came when the local foster care agency brought a six-month-old baby into our lives. I fell in love with that child upon sight and knew he would become my son. The day after, a title company I worked at 14 years ago laid me off, even knowing this child was coming to us. Frightened beyond comprehension I was responsible for a new life I’d signed up to foster then adopt, I was on the horn immediately after I packed up. I had resumes faxed within hours of layoff. I went after it with desperation and hunger. I had a new job the day afterwards.
It’s how I’ve approached my life, be it in title work, music journalism, writing or any job I’ve held. When the sources dry up and I’ve found myself on the streets, I’m already networking and pounding resumes before I even file the unemployment claim.
As it was this time and because of my outreach through social media and because I projected gratitude instead of angst toward an employer who’d been forced into an unfavorable business decision, I found a veritable army of friends, family, business compadres, recruiters, people I’d graduated high school with. The support I received made me emotional enough to record a few videos for my social media as people phoned me, emailed me, texted me, rallied for me with reposts and forwards and sharing of my resume. It only took a couple of interviews to weather, and I was proud to announce my new position yesterday with a close to home title company with reputable standing (and an enviable pipeline of work) in its local industry.
It truly is about who you know in life. The rest is up to your wherewithal. Fight for yourself if you find yourself downsized. Never take your network granted. In fact, build it bigger in organic fashion with each new venue you find yourself a part of. Take a layoff on the chin with grace, but never take it personal. Exercise in the mornings to calibrate your body before your mind. The achievements from working out creates a positive, can-do mindset for tackling your days spent in search of work. Above all, believe in yourself. I’ve said in a prior post, we all matter, so GO GET IT!!!
Thank you all, readers, for continuing to support my writing and this blog. I will be making efforts to resume activity here and to visit you all on your pages as well. It may be slow as I get acclimated to my new digs, but I’m here, friends. I’ll see you, sooner than later…
The deserved praise for this year’s rock ‘n roll biopic from Baz Luhrman, Elvis, has hit a proper chord at a time when the Presley estate could use a booster from a hype hypodermic. As generations fade with their adulation of The King of Rock ‘n Roll, what Austin Butler achieved with an Academy-worthy depiction of Elvis Presley cannot be understated in its relevance. Elvis has stood to wane from the public eye along with always-in-the-public-mind icons such as Tina Turner and John Lennon.
Pilgrimages to Graceland are no doubt up these days, jam-packed in reverence of gold records galore as it was when I was able to visit the Memphis-planted estate built on Vitalis and (at the time) rebellious hip thrusts. Graceland is something every American (or those traveling from abroad with an interest) should see, whether you’re a fan of Elvis or not. Perhaps you’ll take an overnight at The Heartbreak Hotel across the street from Elvis’s variegated, polychromatic mansion. Maybe you’ll be compelled to snag a gold “TCB” lightning pendant, the acronym Elvis and his entourage used as code for “Taking Care of Business.” More mandatory is a trip to Sun Records in downtown Memphis where Elvis cut his recording teeth, along with the Stax Museum–not just a shrine to classic soul and funk, it marks another of Elvis’ landing spots later in his venerated career.
One of the stressors behind the new Elvis film is exposing the truth of what most fans long knew at the time Presley’s death in 1977. Tom Hanks delivered just as much as Austin Butler as Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’ unscrupulous manager who not only mishandled and exploited Elvis’ global popularity, he was contributor to The King’s exhaustion and tragic death. Part of this fatigue came from a relentless, cash grab Vegas residency and via a gamut of 31 makeabuck movies, many of them insufferable dreck. Jailhouse Rock, King Creole and Viva Las Vegas nothwithstanding, Elvis Presley became for better or worse (mostly worse), a parallel king of the cinema while he was alive.
If you grew up in Elvis’ times and the few generations thereafter, you will be familiar with television in its primitive, pre-cable state. You would then know the terms “VHF” and “UHF.” Rabbit ear antennae and roof-mounted sputniks scraping to pull low fidelity wavelength transmissions, all part of our archaic home entertainment norm. We’re talking capturing no more than 13 or 14 channels total of a possible 36, between the mainstream VHF where the networks primarily operated, and the independent t.v. stations fighting to be seen amidst the tundra of static-snow in UHF land. Elvis ruled both domains.
Elvis’ 17 televised appearances over the decades turned him into a ratings powerhouse on The Ed Sullivan Show, Stage Show, The Milton Berle Show and the nefarious “Hound Dog” incident on The Steve Allen Show.Elvis: Aloha from Hawaii, via Satellite and the 1977 Elvis in Concert nabbed gangbusters rating shares. Yet most fans would agree Elvis’ shining hour on the boob tube came with the electrifying ’68 Comeback Special, done Elvis’ way in rebuff of a starchy scripted Christmas Show. Let history show whose instincts played out the best.
Two years after Presley’s death, Kurt Russell launched an esteemed career of his own in the respectable 1979 made-for television bio movie, Elvis. From here, a devastated American public was still licking their wounds from The King’s inglorious death. Elvis impersonators first sought to keep Elvis’ legacy prospering in memory, even if the countless milking of this shtick soon led to farce. You get why the door was kicked wide open for Joe R. Lansdale’s hysterical horror romp, Bubba Ho-Tep, brought to comedic genius in the 2002 film, with an aged, dropped-out, purported “real” Elvis played by Bruce Campbell.
Seldom few glittering personalities have been elevated to their own personal canon like Elvis Presley. Before cable hijacked the way we consumed television, stations dedicated entire weekends in January and August to Elvis, marking his birthday (January 8th) and death day (August 16th). If you can picture it, one station (usually a UHF channel) would run a two-day marathon of Elvis’ schlocky films. You’d be guaranteed Blue Hawaii, Love Me Tender, Roustabout, Loving You, G.I. Blues, Follow That Dream, Kid Gallahad, Clambake, Fun in Acapulco, The Trouble With Girls, Charro! Double Trouble, Harum Scarum, Girls! Girls! Girls! and Tickle Me along with the few respected movies Elvis laid down for posterity. Keep in mind, in these days, television stations usually signed off the air for five hours before 6:00 a.m. between daily broadcasts.
In my house, my grief-stricken parents always tuned in for the two Elvis weekends, more so to hear the music as they did chores, hung outside on the porch, tossed a few spirits and, of course, to have me go as cross-eyed as the man himself in Blue Hawaii over how awful yet vibrant those cardboard cutout rock extravaganzas were. You just know one big reason for Batman ’66’s existence was to stick it to Elvis’ (moreso Colonel Parker’s) litany of lame.
What resonates the most of Elvis in my house growing up, however, is that glorious ’68 Comeback Special. When VCR’s became a thing, my stepfather recorded a rerun of it and he played it many times over. This is also the man who entered my life as my future dad figure tacking up a poster of Elvis decked in one of his trademark spangled jumpsuits and a Hawaiian lei only a few days after meeting me. This gift bestowed by flicking on my lamp at 11:30-ish at night and walking across my bed with me in it. I could hear The King’s posthumous snicker from beyond, then age 8.
I try to tell younger people, my son, especially, who has an in-and-out love of Elvis, you had to live it to believe it. Sure, somewhere in the 900’s of channel hell on satellite and cable t.v., someone’s still running weekend-long tributes to The King. Back in the day, though, it meant something. It was like the country stopped in remembrance, swinging like mock malefactors with Jailhouse Rock on the t.v. It really was like that. Elvis Presley is eternal, so much he’s deified in ghostly hologram form in a nuclear-blasted casino in Blade Runner 2049, one of my absolute favorite movies ever. No irony the meeting of former and current Blade Runners takes place in a scarred, torched and abandoned Las Vegas. Like Harrison Ford says to Ryan Gosling with “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” he likes that song, 88 years from when it first came out.
Any suspicious mind says Elvis’ reign is likely to make it all the way to 2049 and perhaps more…
Roads Lesser Traveled 