The final bar we hit in Jamaica Plain was a place called Brendan Behan Pub, which turned out to be something of a gem...though not really what we were looking for at the moment. It was a smallish bar that was clearly a bit old. The wooden walls and benches were all a bit warped, giving the bar an odd angular look that us NYC-ers would refer to as "Character".
The crowd was mostly neighborhood types and most interestingly enough, dogs. Now, not dogs in an 80's slang, ugly chicks kinda way...I mean actual canines. There were easily 4-5 dogs in there with their owners, just randomly wandering the bar and socializing. As I am a dog person, this was a plus. I'm sure if I lived in JP, I'd find myself in this bar quite often. We were, however, looking for a bit more excitement than that and the pub was not providing it...so we were out after one drink.
We made a quick stop in the CVS, as I had forgotten a toothbrush and deodorant (Prompting Anand to snipe "you use those?") and then it was a cab to "Southie" for the remainder of the night.
Fables of the Reconstruction, the band's 3rd album, has always been my least favorite of the "Golden Age of R.E.M." albums. Sure, I'd listen to it 20 times in a row before I'd listen to Reveal or Around the Sun even one more time...but compared to the stunning debut album and the autumnal majesty of Reckoning, this album has always been a bit of a let down. Not quite sure whether to recapture the murky haze of the early work, or to head towards the arena rock they'd move towards on Life's Rich Pageant and perfect on Document...Fables seems stuck in two places at once, neither one thing nor the other.
Beyond this, it always seemed an odd decision for a band so steeped in Americana (Despite it's artier tendencies) to produce an album explicitly dedicated to a sort of modern American folk lore in London. The band wouldn't record out of The States again until the execrable Reveal. Stripped of all of their baggage, R.E.M. are, at the end of the day, an American rock band and they are at their best when they remember that fact.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Auctioneer - REM - Live Rockplast Oct 2nd 1985 - 1985
As we stumbled East on South St., now fairly lubricated, we came across a bar that hadn't been on our list (Even on vacation, I project manage...I had put together a spreadsheet of 40 bars and restaurants, spread around different neighborhoods, for us to check out). The bar was called Alchemy and was a bit more of a lounge type place, complete with low lighting, a cocktail menu and a fair assortment of Boston skanks in nice-ish dresses.
It was approaching 7 o'clock and the fact that we hadn't eaten anything but a small order of chicken wings and 1 bagel (both split 2 ways) all day long was beginning to take it's toll on our drinking. Additionally, we were beginning to rethink our plan. Clearly JP was too residential to get much of a happy hour scene, and most of the bars we'd been in were drastically under populated. If there was a good time to be had in this city we hadn't found it yet. We debated pulling the plug on this hood and heading over to Southie (our night time plan), but as we only had one JP bar left on the list, Anand insisted (in the insistent way that he does when he is drunk) that we finish the job and visit the last bar.
This is R.E.M., back when they were still a rock band playing in Amsterdam in 1985, complete with some unfinished spoken word nonsense from Stipe to kick off the song. This has never particularly been my favorite song but it is impressive to hear the band kicking in their prime.
It was approaching 7 o'clock and the fact that we hadn't eaten anything but a small order of chicken wings and 1 bagel (both split 2 ways) all day long was beginning to take it's toll on our drinking. Additionally, we were beginning to rethink our plan. Clearly JP was too residential to get much of a happy hour scene, and most of the bars we'd been in were drastically under populated. If there was a good time to be had in this city we hadn't found it yet. We debated pulling the plug on this hood and heading over to Southie (our night time plan), but as we only had one JP bar left on the list, Anand insisted (in the insistent way that he does when he is drunk) that we finish the job and visit the last bar.
This is R.E.M., back when they were still a rock band playing in Amsterdam in 1985, complete with some unfinished spoken word nonsense from Stipe to kick off the song. This has never particularly been my favorite song but it is impressive to hear the band kicking in their prime.
Auctioneer - The Broken West - Now or Heaven - 2008
My friend Shani had hooked us up with a discount rate at the Marriot in Copley Square, which is located inside the Prudential building. Our spacious and accommodating room was on the 17th floor with a great view across the Charles. The building had a gym and pool facilities, 2 bars, and a very friendly concierge service. If nothing else, we couldn't really complain about the lodgings.
Once we were settled in and had had our pre-game cocktail, we hit the subway to go check out Jamaica Plain. I'd been to JP a few times to stay with a previous girlfriend's sister and her husband and found it a nice enough neighborhood. It's clearly Boston's best swing at having a Brooklyn style area, with neighborhood pubs, little cafe's and craft stores. It would do the trick on a sunny Friday afternoon.
After dealing with Boston's almost useless subway system, we got off and found our first bar with the Jeanie Johnston Pub, which was easily the least interesting bar we were in that night. We kicked off the festivities with a beer and a shot and some small talk, before heading out...so far we were unimpressed.
After that we hit James's Gate, a totally cool Irish Pub in the center of the hood. The problem with this place was that it's a winter bar. Old world style dark wood fixtures, steaming bowls of clam chowder, and thick pints of stout are all great on a chilly November night, but on a hot July day...we ended up in the back yard watching the girls walk down the sidewalk, downing a few pints and a some chicken wings. The younger Singh had a salad, for which we gave him no end of shit. Then we settled up and headed back to our explorations.
The Broken West does non-threatening power pop with a fair bit of melody. What it lacks in risk, it makes up for in sunny accessibility. They aren't going to change your life or anything, but this song is a fine example of the way that a simple sing-song melody can be stuck in your head for days.
Once we were settled in and had had our pre-game cocktail, we hit the subway to go check out Jamaica Plain. I'd been to JP a few times to stay with a previous girlfriend's sister and her husband and found it a nice enough neighborhood. It's clearly Boston's best swing at having a Brooklyn style area, with neighborhood pubs, little cafe's and craft stores. It would do the trick on a sunny Friday afternoon.
After dealing with Boston's almost useless subway system, we got off and found our first bar with the Jeanie Johnston Pub, which was easily the least interesting bar we were in that night. We kicked off the festivities with a beer and a shot and some small talk, before heading out...so far we were unimpressed.
After that we hit James's Gate, a totally cool Irish Pub in the center of the hood. The problem with this place was that it's a winter bar. Old world style dark wood fixtures, steaming bowls of clam chowder, and thick pints of stout are all great on a chilly November night, but on a hot July day...we ended up in the back yard watching the girls walk down the sidewalk, downing a few pints and a some chicken wings. The younger Singh had a salad, for which we gave him no end of shit. Then we settled up and headed back to our explorations.
The Broken West does non-threatening power pop with a fair bit of melody. What it lacks in risk, it makes up for in sunny accessibility. They aren't going to change your life or anything, but this song is a fine example of the way that a simple sing-song melody can be stuck in your head for days.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Auburn and Ivory - Beach House - Beach House - 2006
AC Milan and Inter Milan (2 of the best teams in Italian football, and as such, 2 of probably the 10 best teams in the world) were playing a "Friendly" pre-season exhibition match in Boston this weekend. As such, me and the Singh brothers decided to head out to Beantown for a long weekend and see what the city had in store for 3 strapping adventuresome men.
Friday morning, I took the PATH out to Hoboken. The car rental was cheaper to pick up in Jersey and there was no sense back tracking into Brooklyn if we didn't need to. The Singh's picked me up, and we were on the road before 11...a good start.
The ride up North was relatively cut and dry, we hit some traffic in some of the larger cities (Stamford, Bridgeport, New Haven, Hartford) but these were rarely more than 10 minute stops. We marvelled at how, despite it's image as the "Who's the Boss" wealthy suburb state, Connecticut is largely blue collar, grungy, and depressing. It does however possess beautifully landscaped rest areas.
We arrived in Boston a little before 4, and tried to find street parking, but this was considerably trickier than we thought. Parking in NYC, is rather famously, a bitch, but if you are willing to take the effort, you can usually find street parking after a few swings through some residential blocks. Boston has residential blocks, but all of these require resident passes to park. Eventually we gave up and just begrudgingly sucked up the $30 a day parking fees available at the local garages. This town was already showing it's downside.
It's a good day here for Beach House...their name is deceptive. Rather than the sunkissed Beach Boys record you might expect from such a band, they play the kind of music that you'd associate with being stuck in the rain all week on vacation. Sad, morose and lethargic. It's pouring rain here to the point that my coworkers just stated that it was a hurricane, and it feels like Beach House weather.
Friday morning, I took the PATH out to Hoboken. The car rental was cheaper to pick up in Jersey and there was no sense back tracking into Brooklyn if we didn't need to. The Singh's picked me up, and we were on the road before 11...a good start.
The ride up North was relatively cut and dry, we hit some traffic in some of the larger cities (Stamford, Bridgeport, New Haven, Hartford) but these were rarely more than 10 minute stops. We marvelled at how, despite it's image as the "Who's the Boss" wealthy suburb state, Connecticut is largely blue collar, grungy, and depressing. It does however possess beautifully landscaped rest areas.
We arrived in Boston a little before 4, and tried to find street parking, but this was considerably trickier than we thought. Parking in NYC, is rather famously, a bitch, but if you are willing to take the effort, you can usually find street parking after a few swings through some residential blocks. Boston has residential blocks, but all of these require resident passes to park. Eventually we gave up and just begrudgingly sucked up the $30 a day parking fees available at the local garages. This town was already showing it's downside.
It's a good day here for Beach House...their name is deceptive. Rather than the sunkissed Beach Boys record you might expect from such a band, they play the kind of music that you'd associate with being stuck in the rain all week on vacation. Sad, morose and lethargic. It's pouring rain here to the point that my coworkers just stated that it was a hurricane, and it feels like Beach House weather.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Attention - Gentlemen Jesse and His Men - Introducing Gentlemen Jesse - 2008
So ever since I was 15, my left eye has been noticeably worse off than my right. I wear glasses from time to time, and for a while wore them most of the time. Last summer I lost my glasses and since then have basically been going without. As a Brooklyn resident, I rarely drive and it's such a gigantic hassle to go to a movie in NYC...so I rarely need to pull out one of my old pairs. Most of the time I just make do with the good right eye.
The problem with this is that I've developed a head lean to favor the good eye. Additionally, I am noticeably aware of my left eye going lazy. This has lead me to try a few experiments, which if nothing else, makes me acutely aware of the way my brain process visual information.
Perhaps the one that is the most entertaining involves me blindfolding the right eye to force the left eye to get some exercise. I'll usually blindfold it for about half an hour and then do something that requires some visual work...play a video game, read a book or webpage, walk around the apartment swiftly. After about 20 minutes, when I remove the blindfold, a weird thing happens. There is a few seconds in which I am aware of my brain switching. At first the flood of information coming into the right eye is overwhelming. Then, I can feel my brain realizing that the information is more valuable than that coming in through my left...and in response, the left returns to it's "lazy" state.
This all happens in like 2 seconds, but it's a cool 2 seconds.
Anyway, Gentlemen Jesse sounds more or less exactly like The Exploding Hearts, only with less quality, less exuberance, and fewer dead members.
The problem with this is that I've developed a head lean to favor the good eye. Additionally, I am noticeably aware of my left eye going lazy. This has lead me to try a few experiments, which if nothing else, makes me acutely aware of the way my brain process visual information.
Perhaps the one that is the most entertaining involves me blindfolding the right eye to force the left eye to get some exercise. I'll usually blindfold it for about half an hour and then do something that requires some visual work...play a video game, read a book or webpage, walk around the apartment swiftly. After about 20 minutes, when I remove the blindfold, a weird thing happens. There is a few seconds in which I am aware of my brain switching. At first the flood of information coming into the right eye is overwhelming. Then, I can feel my brain realizing that the information is more valuable than that coming in through my left...and in response, the left returns to it's "lazy" state.
This all happens in like 2 seconds, but it's a cool 2 seconds.
Anyway, Gentlemen Jesse sounds more or less exactly like The Exploding Hearts, only with less quality, less exuberance, and fewer dead members.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Attack on Love - Yo La Tengo - Electr-o-pura - 1995
Barring an amazing late career resurgence, the span between 1993's Painful and 2000's And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out will probably be regarded as YLT's heyday. But it is important to remember that even during this period, Hoboken's finest could still turn out some total crap.
YLT are at their best when the tension between Ira Kaplan's undeniably explosive talent is tempered by the unbelievable discipline of his wife Georgia and bass player James McNew. Together Hubley and McNew are probably the tightest, most versatile, rhythm section in all of indie rock...and without them Ira is just a middle aged Jew masturbating on a guitar or organ.
Case in point, Attack on Love.
YLT are at their best when the tension between Ira Kaplan's undeniably explosive talent is tempered by the unbelievable discipline of his wife Georgia and bass player James McNew. Together Hubley and McNew are probably the tightest, most versatile, rhythm section in all of indie rock...and without them Ira is just a middle aged Jew masturbating on a guitar or organ.
Case in point, Attack on Love.
Attack of the Killer Bees - Archers of Loaf - All The Nations Airports - 1996
Instrumental...though it is impressive that Bachman could make his guitar sound like a killer bee.
Atoms for Peace - Thom Yorke - Eraser - 2006
Saturday evening I took a trip up to Cityfield for the annual visit of the Cincinnati Mets. I met up with my friends around the Penn Station area for some pre-gaming before the first pitch. The problem with this plan is that the Penn Station area ("The Fashion District") is not really a friendly place for my type of bar. The whole zone is covered with tourist traps, fratty sports bars, and faux-Irish pubs that are usually filled with the spill over of Tourists and fratty sports fans. So, it seemed like a totally great idea to go to Deno's Party House and Bikini Bar.
The logic was, ok we amuse ourselves by going into a shitty dive bar where the bar tenders are all FOB russian girls in bikinis...sounds like a win-win situation, right? The problem here is this...we aren't usually the kind of guys to go these bars. Now I don't mean that in a "We're too classy to go here" kind of way, but rather...single men go to bars to meet women, attached men go to bars to NOT HAVE TO TALK TO WOMEN. If we wanted to talk to women, we'd stay home, where we get plenty of that.
We sat at the mostly empty bar (it was only 5 in the evening on a Saturday) and ordered our beers only to have our every attempt at having a conversation interrupted by one of the two (or both) bartenders attempting to "flirt" with us. We tried to make it clear that we really just wanted to drink and talk amongst ourselves, but that didn't really work. At one point, the smarter of the two asked us our names and my buddy introduced himself as "Terd Fergeson" (classy as always, Anand)...this resulted in me laughing uncontrollably. Unfortunately our bikini clad bartender took this as me laughing at my friend's odd name and tried to console him and tell him that it was a very manly name...which resulted in me laughing further. Finally we just had to put down our beers and head for another bar.
Atoms for peace is one of the more underwhelming songs on Yorke's underwhelming solo album. Like much of the album, it's not bad...but, so what?
The logic was, ok we amuse ourselves by going into a shitty dive bar where the bar tenders are all FOB russian girls in bikinis...sounds like a win-win situation, right? The problem here is this...we aren't usually the kind of guys to go these bars. Now I don't mean that in a "We're too classy to go here" kind of way, but rather...single men go to bars to meet women, attached men go to bars to NOT HAVE TO TALK TO WOMEN. If we wanted to talk to women, we'd stay home, where we get plenty of that.
We sat at the mostly empty bar (it was only 5 in the evening on a Saturday) and ordered our beers only to have our every attempt at having a conversation interrupted by one of the two (or both) bartenders attempting to "flirt" with us. We tried to make it clear that we really just wanted to drink and talk amongst ourselves, but that didn't really work. At one point, the smarter of the two asked us our names and my buddy introduced himself as "Terd Fergeson" (classy as always, Anand)...this resulted in me laughing uncontrollably. Unfortunately our bikini clad bartender took this as me laughing at my friend's odd name and tried to console him and tell him that it was a very manly name...which resulted in me laughing further. Finally we just had to put down our beers and head for another bar.
Atoms for peace is one of the more underwhelming songs on Yorke's underwhelming solo album. Like much of the album, it's not bad...but, so what?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Atomic Power - Uncle Tupelo - March 16th - 20th, 1992 - 1992
If Uncle Tupelo was the godfather of the Y'alternative movement, then March 16th-20th, 1992 probablys marks the subgenre's first official album. No Depression was a gritty, punky rock album with occassional country larks...the country influence was more pronounced on the follow up Still Feel Gone, but it was really this (largely acoustic) album on which the band let it's country folk flow. Peter Buck was even brought in for some feedback noise, giving tribute to the heavy work done by "Don't Go Back to Rockville" in the creation of country-punk ethos.
I still stand by Anodyne as the band's best album, but for purity of focus it's hard to beat March, and a track like the Oh Brother, Where Art Thou-esque "Atomic Power" is as good a place to hear that as any.
I still stand by Anodyne as the band's best album, but for purity of focus it's hard to beat March, and a track like the Oh Brother, Where Art Thou-esque "Atomic Power" is as good a place to hear that as any.
Atomic - Blondie - Eat to the Beat - 1979
So the other night I was out with my buddy Anand and we ended up in some wine bar on the outskirts of Soho/Tribecca. In our quest to find new bars, we had intended to close out our evening at City Winery on Varrick, only to discover that there was some sort of show going on that you had to have tickets for to even come into the bar. Having decided to close out the evening with wine, we ended up going into this hole in the wall place.
It was quiet and tasteful seeming, with oak book shelves and a jazz tro playing in the corner. The forty something, librarian-ish hostess spotted us and took an almost immediate dislike to us. It's probable that she assumed that we were wasted (correctly) and that we might cause a scene. Little did she know that we were trained professional drunks with ninja-like skills at keeping it together. She was condescending from the get go, trying to usher us into a back corner.
Once we were seated, we ordered a couple of glasses of wine and a meat and cheese plate and got on the business of planning our next adventure. A youngish waitress brought out our glasses of wine, and promptly proceeded to dump both glasses on me. Now I wasn't dressed terribly well, and it was Rose, so it wasn't really a big deal...but still...
Anand and I both looked at each other to confirm that niether one of our drunk assess had been responsible for the accident. The condescending hostess zoomed over to wipe down the table and move us to another one, her condescention now tempered by the knowledge that her staff had fucked up...but still present. Our wine, was of course on the house. The waitress who had spilled on me refused to look at either us, or her boss for the rest of the night...spending the following half an hour furiously scrubbing the espresso machine.
As we wrapped up, the hostess came around to give us our check and asked what had made us come into her place. Anand told her that we liked to wander from neighborhood to neighborhood and check out different bars.
You could see the lightbulb go off in her head...she thought we were restaurant reviewers...and she realized that her waitress had probably shot the review in the foot. It was totally amazing the speed with which that condescention turned to obsequeisness. Our remaining five minutes in the bar were filled with ass kissing on a level I've rarely experienced. We quietly left, tipping well, and letting her stew in the fear that she'd shot her business in the foot.
I'm just barely old enough to remember the time when Heart of Glass was a hit. To me, Blondie were always that band. It was only as I got older that I discovered that there was a much more interesting band behind the hits. Atomic, with it's Spaghetti Western Guitar, disco drums and typically haunting vocals show a band with much more going for it than you'd think.
It was quiet and tasteful seeming, with oak book shelves and a jazz tro playing in the corner. The forty something, librarian-ish hostess spotted us and took an almost immediate dislike to us. It's probable that she assumed that we were wasted (correctly) and that we might cause a scene. Little did she know that we were trained professional drunks with ninja-like skills at keeping it together. She was condescending from the get go, trying to usher us into a back corner.
Once we were seated, we ordered a couple of glasses of wine and a meat and cheese plate and got on the business of planning our next adventure. A youngish waitress brought out our glasses of wine, and promptly proceeded to dump both glasses on me. Now I wasn't dressed terribly well, and it was Rose, so it wasn't really a big deal...but still...
Anand and I both looked at each other to confirm that niether one of our drunk assess had been responsible for the accident. The condescending hostess zoomed over to wipe down the table and move us to another one, her condescention now tempered by the knowledge that her staff had fucked up...but still present. Our wine, was of course on the house. The waitress who had spilled on me refused to look at either us, or her boss for the rest of the night...spending the following half an hour furiously scrubbing the espresso machine.
As we wrapped up, the hostess came around to give us our check and asked what had made us come into her place. Anand told her that we liked to wander from neighborhood to neighborhood and check out different bars.
You could see the lightbulb go off in her head...she thought we were restaurant reviewers...and she realized that her waitress had probably shot the review in the foot. It was totally amazing the speed with which that condescention turned to obsequeisness. Our remaining five minutes in the bar were filled with ass kissing on a level I've rarely experienced. We quietly left, tipping well, and letting her stew in the fear that she'd shot her business in the foot.
I'm just barely old enough to remember the time when Heart of Glass was a hit. To me, Blondie were always that band. It was only as I got older that I discovered that there was a much more interesting band behind the hits. Atomic, with it's Spaghetti Western Guitar, disco drums and typically haunting vocals show a band with much more going for it than you'd think.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Atom Eyes - Guided By Voices - Under the Bushes Under the Sky - 1996
Tobin Sprout's songs on the Guided by Voices albums that came out during the reign of the "classic" line-up are always a bit of an enigma. It seems inconceivable that an ego as outsized as Bob Pollard's could allow another songwriter, even a minor one, to have his moment in the spot light. Beyond that, Sprout's songs, while rarely bad (And this, along with Alien Lanes' "Little Whirl" is probably one of the two best), are generally pretty mundane affairs. Typically the fall into the niche of sub-REM mid-90's indie rock. Eschewing the arena rock gestures that always elevated GBV's lo fi days, Tobin's songs were...nice, and little more. And by and large they were interchangable, offering little sonic variation.
So again, the question is...how did they make it onto GBV albums that were already overflowing with tracks? I have no good answer...there is a temptation to say that Bob put them on the record to showcase how much they were inferior to his work...but that is hardly being fair to Uncle Bob. Also arguable is that Bob, always the coneisseur of the classic rock move, decided he needed a George Harrison to his Lennon/McCartney, a Spiral Stairs to his Malkmus...which isn't outside the realms of possiblility. Or perhaps Bob just liked Tobin's songs...we don't have an answer...instead, they just stand as interesting side alleys on albums already full of experiments, both succesful and less so.
So again, the question is...how did they make it onto GBV albums that were already overflowing with tracks? I have no good answer...there is a temptation to say that Bob put them on the record to showcase how much they were inferior to his work...but that is hardly being fair to Uncle Bob. Also arguable is that Bob, always the coneisseur of the classic rock move, decided he needed a George Harrison to his Lennon/McCartney, a Spiral Stairs to his Malkmus...which isn't outside the realms of possiblility. Or perhaps Bob just liked Tobin's songs...we don't have an answer...instead, they just stand as interesting side alleys on albums already full of experiments, both succesful and less so.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Atmosphere - Joy Division - Substance - 1995
Of all of my relatives, the one that I am probably most like is my maternal grandfather. I may have gotten my alcohol tolerance, blarney, and sense of humor from my biological fathers side, my intellect from my mother, and my professional sense from my (step)Dad...but my grandfather is the person I see myself in most.
Born in 1930, he was certainly raised with Depression era ethics. He was too young for WWII and his service was concluded before Korea. He worked most of his early adulthood as a shoe salesman before opening up his army surplus store in Kokomo, IN. He was 2 pack a day smoker until he had a heart attack at the alarmingly young age of 38...at which point he decided to go on mission to Puerto Rico to help build a church.
Always an incorrigible flirt and a man who loved to stir the pot, he was a son of a bitch in the best possible sense. I lived with him for a few years in high school due to some family difficulties and he was my first employer, putting me to work at the shop and at the gun shows he'd attend on weekends to sell his wares.
I went to go visit him this weekend for the 4th, as my family has recently had to put him in a home. He is wheel chairbound, and at nearly 80 has survived 6 heart attacks, many strokes and recently been diagnosed with bowel cancer. It's heart rending to see a man of such limitless spirit stuck in a place that he clearly sees as a waiting room for death...though it is encouraging to see that he has made many girlfriends among both the nurses and the other inhabitants.
I've survived 34 years without losing a family member...and for that I should be thankful, but it is never easy to watch someone you love fade away.
Was this an appropriate post for Joy Division...maybe? They are certainly a band for whom death (though not aging) is usually associated. The best I can say is that at least I gave tribute to my grandpa on a great song as oppossed to one of the filler tracks.
Born in 1930, he was certainly raised with Depression era ethics. He was too young for WWII and his service was concluded before Korea. He worked most of his early adulthood as a shoe salesman before opening up his army surplus store in Kokomo, IN. He was 2 pack a day smoker until he had a heart attack at the alarmingly young age of 38...at which point he decided to go on mission to Puerto Rico to help build a church.
Always an incorrigible flirt and a man who loved to stir the pot, he was a son of a bitch in the best possible sense. I lived with him for a few years in high school due to some family difficulties and he was my first employer, putting me to work at the shop and at the gun shows he'd attend on weekends to sell his wares.
I went to go visit him this weekend for the 4th, as my family has recently had to put him in a home. He is wheel chairbound, and at nearly 80 has survived 6 heart attacks, many strokes and recently been diagnosed with bowel cancer. It's heart rending to see a man of such limitless spirit stuck in a place that he clearly sees as a waiting room for death...though it is encouraging to see that he has made many girlfriends among both the nurses and the other inhabitants.
I've survived 34 years without losing a family member...and for that I should be thankful, but it is never easy to watch someone you love fade away.
Was this an appropriate post for Joy Division...maybe? They are certainly a band for whom death (though not aging) is usually associated. The best I can say is that at least I gave tribute to my grandpa on a great song as oppossed to one of the filler tracks.
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