Old houses demolished and the new year

I DRIVE TO Hannibal twice a day for work. In the morning I usually cross the Mississippi River in Quincy since I'm at 9th and Broadway. So there's a lot of driving on U.S. 61.

There is an old farmhouse on the west side of the highway about a mile before you get to Doyle Manufacturing. It's abandoned and ready to fall down, windows and doorways boarded up, gutters sagging, paint peeling. You wonder who lived there, how old it is, what stories the walls could tell.

There's been activity on the property lately. It looks like something is going on. Is somebody attempting to save the house? Or are they giving up and just going to knock it down, finally?

No saving. Lots of knocking down. Yesterday I drove past and the house is now a pile of rubble. Workers were sifting through the mounds of dirt and wood. 

Some places beg to be torn down. There was an ugly Quincy house at Sixth and Jefferson recently demolished, thank goodness. It was an eyesore. Yet somebody built it, somebody lived there and maybe took care of it years ago. Do their spirits cry when the house comes down?

The debate about preservation versus renewal is fierce. Both sides are understandable. I'd rather try to save something then knock it down. But sometimes there's no choice.

There's a bit of anger because somebody let this old farmhouse go. Why? Did it get passed down in the family and did the kids just not want it anymore? Too many painful memories? Did something terrible happen in the house? You gotta put lots of love into maintaining older properties, which is code for old houses are expensive.

The old farmhouse just seemed to lean drunkenly to one side, as if it was giving up. So in a way it's a good thing it's coming down. Maybe something else will be put up in its place.

At 24th and Broadway there was an ugly bank building which recently came down. Sure, there are people who worked there and have fond memories. It was undoubtedly considered modern and eye-pleasing when it was built. Something else will go up, and in 50 years we will probably have AI tell us it's ugly and not feasible anymore.

Build it and tear it down. You come up with the metaphor. Maybe it's appropriate on New Year's Eve, where we start over and hope for better things.

Anyway, I need to keep my eye on the road, especially on that stretch of U.S. 61, where vehicles enter the highway from tiny side roads without caring you are going 65 mph and are going to crash into them. Happens once a week.

But I'll keep an eye on the property. Maybe it will sit vacant, memories the only thing left. Or maybe somebody will put something else up there, garish or beautiful. They will build it. 

Who knows how long it will stand.

 

Death, finality and Christmas

Uncle Peter’s Lake Michigan Beach.

I CORNER NO market for misery. We all go through ups and downs. We all deal with death, finality.

It's a hammer blow and it leaves you reeling, especially at Christmas.

My uncle, Peter Hart, passed away Dec. 26. I will miss him and it seems surreal that he's gone. Peter died on his own terms after a long fight with cancer, with his family near, at home, in his sleep. My cousin Roland said they've been dealing with grief for a while, knowing he was terminally ill.

But death itself brings a new finality, and that's where the world gets ... murky.

I am still angry about my friend Jeff Vankanegan, who died Nov. 23. He and his wife and family and close friends went through hell in his final months because he had a rare neurological disease. I was praying hard as death closed in that he go to a better place. He did.

And now he's gone, and it's final. It's like trying to see in the dark, or swim through lava.

My brother Steve and I had a great talk with Peter on Sunday. He wanted us to know how important family was to him. After talking to him, I went into a strange daze.

In Holland, Michigan, Christmas Eve found Peter's family surrounding his bedside, knowing he'd be leaving soon. In Quincy I brought lunch to the Blessing lab for a friend, part of Peter's message to "be a light." Then I found myself in church that night strumming away and completely out of it. I think it went OK. 

Now Peter is gone, and his wife and children grieve and move on. It's hard to describe, this huge void, but we've all been there and we all have different coping mechanisms.

I'm at a loss for words. So I'm going to let a few other people explain it.

First, this comes from 11-year-old Henry Shelley, the son of my cousin Maaike, who lives in Ontario.

"Christmas is like a magnifying glass for your life. - if things are going great, the holidays are so much fun and exciting; if you're struggling with something, the holidays can make things extra hard. Everything is magnified."

Maaike and Brian are raising amazing humans.

This is from cousin Natalie Hart, daughter of Peter.

"I feel like I understand how people came up with the idea of Purgatory. Not for theological reasons, but because of how in-between things feel for us when someone we love dies. Life has changed, but it also doesn't feel like it will when the reality of loss settled in. Yesterday I kept looking for a checklist for what to do after a loved one dies and none of them seemed right. But then I realized I was just in-between."

And finally, from my aunt Willa Hart, sister of Peter, in reply to Natalie's comment.

"I understand you. You feel like you should be able to move on faster than you are. After all you had plenty of time to get used to the idea he (Peter) was going to die soon. But then it actually happens and it seems so surreal. Death is a mystery and so  hard to accept even when it's expected. The more you loved someone the harder it is. Give yourself lots and lots of time. Death stings for a long time and then very slowly your grief begins to shift. Always loved and never forgotten."

Geesh. Just give Aunt Willa a doctorate in Understand Life right now.

I am playing three shows in the next five days, so that's how I'm going to deal with it. I'm raising a glass at each one to Jeff, Peter, and all those who have departed. I'm just going to ... keep going.

That's it! 2025 - Just Keep Going.

Peace.

Ten years later, it's still Been So Long

LIKE MOST THINGS about Second String Music, memory is kind of a blur. For more than 11 years was quite the adventure, and every now and then I miss it.

I just realized the infamous "Been So Long" Christmas video, done by the amazing Chris and Victoria Kelley at Table 16 Productions, is 10 years old. Ten. TEN. Now that is really hard to believe.

It's an original song and the video was inspired by the Cheeks McGee song and video for White Christmas, which was made the year before by the Kelleys in Washington Park and on the roof of our Second String Music building. That video features the Mitchell kids and Lucy, Sheryl's beloved Border Collie. Also I lost my keys while doing a snow angel and found them in the park the next day in the melting snow.

Typical of the Kelley genius and creativity, the Cheeks video was done very spontaneously. It snowed on a Saturday night and they decided to make the video the next day. 

Why we decided to make a video of our own is no longer recalled. Perhaps it was because we let Chris film many of his Full Frame movie scenes on the third floor (it's the room with the red curtains). I do remember not wanting a script and just shooting stuff in the building, and making it goofy.

So, on a Sunday afternoon in early December, Greg Ellery and Adam Yates joined me at the store. Ben Poland and Mike Sorensen were there to help. Chris quickly figured out what we wanted to do and did his usual job of making sugar out of shit, and boom, a few weeks later we had our video.

Yes, we almost got hit by a car on Maine Street. Yes, Angus is eating something disgusting on the sidewalk in the last scene. Yes, that is the legendary office of Mr. Houston on the fourth floor. And I just caught this at about the 55 second mark - the door in the bank vault painted by Jeff VanKanegan. What I wouldn't give to find that door today, long lost and forgotten after several renovations to the space.

So here it is again, 10 years later, as the years and memories blur. The video, however, doesn't. 

Merry Christmas!

Best Christmas decoration ever

 YESTERDAY I WAS picking up labs at Blessing's Express Clinic, where the Sears tire store used to be. No, you can't get your tires rotated or brake pads replaced. Yes, the crew will do a great job looking at your sore throat and figuring out if you have strep.

One of the crew, and I won't use her real name but her initials are Maria, likes to decorate the place. She is really good at drawing spring, summer, fall and winter scenes on the windows. So Christmas is right up her alley. As I was leaving yesterday she said, "Take this and decorate it and bring it back,." It was s small paper stocking. I had no clue what to do.

So I did the smart thing and brought it to Blessing's 48th Street lab. There I left the blank piece of paper with young Lab Brat Ashley, who is constantly doodling and made up a bunch of cool Christmas gingerbread people to put on the doors.

I'm not into Christmas decorations or lights. Christmas at Second String Music featured my comically inept attempts to decorate a fake tree and string lights. In fact, in the last few years, we just left the lights up around the ceiling. Why take them down? They'll just go up again the next year.

Anyway, I figured Ashley would color a nice little ornament. I was wrong. So, so wrong. 

Instead, she made what might be the nicest Christmas decoration ever, in the history of yuletide and glad tidings toward men. 

 It has a musical note for the R. There's a golf club in it. And a guitar, with the right amount of strings and everything! I was blown away and I'm not worthy of such graphic arts excellence. Ashley obviously put a lot of thought into a simple Christmas decoration, and she nailed it.

I brought it to Express on my last stop of the night. Maria and the crew were impressed, to say the least. There are some very cool paper stockings hanging up on walls in there now, and it feels less like a place to get your oil changed or checked for walking pneumonia and much more like Christmas. 

Now mine is up there too and it looks ... amazing.

Almost as amazing as the person who made it for me.

It's the little things, Santa. Merry Christmas Ashley! And everybody else too! See? A little Christmas cheer can go a long way.

 

Coco and the Lions - ROAR

 COCO AND I are watching the Lions play the Packers tonight. Coco is a huge Lions fan. Coco thinks she IS a Lion. I just go along with it for the sake of domestic peace.

I've been a Lions fan since moving to Michigan 44 years ago. The great thing about living in Quincy is that most Lions games (until now) aren't on television in this market and people usually feel sorry for me when learning my devotion to a historically bad team. 

Not now.

Last year the Lions were good. Really, really good. So good they should have gone to the Super Bowl, where they would have clubbed that team west of here, the one with all the fair-weather and bandwagon fans. In a very short time, Detroit got an excellent young coach, an experienced gunslinger quarterback, two amazing running backs, the best offensive line in the NFL and a defense that bends but seldom breaks. 

Coco getting pensive before a Lions game.

 

Unlike that team to the west, the Lions haven't relied on pure luck to go 11-1. True, the Bears did fall apart in the final seconds a week ago - but being a Lions fan for so long, it's impossible to have any sympathy for a team inventing ways to lose games.

Coco and I warmed up for tonight's big game by watching Michigan beat that team to the south last Saturday. I wasn't going to watch - I thought for sure Michigan would get trounced. Instead, it was the other team who played like it had a huge anchor tied to its feet. 

As far as the end of the game, Coco and I were disgusted at both teams and it tempered our love of the college football. Many things do. Still .... Michigan has won the last four games. Can't do anything about that, team down south.

Coco is a bit nervous about tonight - Green Bay smacked Detroit last year in the game at Ford Field, and the Packers are very good. I may have to give Coco a kitty sedative before it starts because she gets quite vocal and upset. Or she is napping on my lap with one eye open watching the game.

Cats are multitaskers, you know.

Wouldn't it be great if the Lions keep winning and get to the Super Bowl? Coco all but guarantees it. I'm not that dumb. But we will watch, together, fingers and paw crossed, and hope for the best.

 

Celebrating 60 and Jeff VK

  SATURDAY WAS ONE of the best days of my life. And one of the longest.

I turned 60. My sister Charys was here from Colorado and my cousin Roland and wife Amy drove down from Michigan. We had a glorious jam session in my garage Saturday night with great musician friends and about 30 people. It reminded me of the fun Saturdays before Thanksgiving at Second String Music, when we'd have a party and toast our friend Pat Cornwell.

Early Saturday morning, former Cheeseburger bass player Jeff Vankanegan passed away. We jammed with Jeff in July for a one-off gig, and he was mentally still sharp and could still play. But physically he was struggling with a rare neurological disorder, and he ended up not playing the show. 

He went fast after that. 

Jeff at Cheeseburger show last year.

Kirk Gribbler and I went to see him in Good Samaritan Home a week ago Sunday. We played a few songs for him and Mary in his small room. Jeff was confined to a wheelchair and couldn't express his thoughts, but he clearly knew where he was and what we were doing. Mary grabbed his hand and "danced" with Jeff. He gave us big "WOO HOOS" after every song. As we left, he tried to tell us something, and I think it was to come back and do it again.

But he turned two days later. By Wednesday he was at Blessing Hospital. I saw him Friday morning, and he was resting peacefully, Mary holding his hand while sleeping in a chair next to the bed. 

At 4:20 a.m. Saturday, Jeff left us.

Saturday night in the Calftown garage, we toasted Pat Cornwell, Frank Haxel and Steve Pezzella. Then Kirk and I talked for a minute about Jeff. There were tears and laughter and even the people who didn't know Jeff were moved. Kirk had a framed photo of Jeff playing his bass at a show and proudly showed it to everybody.

Then we started playing and it was ... magic. I'm not mentioning names of everybody who participated because I'll forget somebody, but man did it cook. And I will say having Allison Hutson, Monica Scholz and Alicia McCarl all singing like the beautiful songbirds they are was ... special.

Kirk invited Jeff's son, Mike, to hang out with us. Mike didn't know a soul in the room. It didn't matter. We stopped the jam and had another toast to Jeff. "I can feel the love for my dad," Mike said.

Sunday, I took my sister Charys to Bingo at Quincy Brewing Company. We had the best time, and did absolutely nothing the rest of the day. 

At work yesterday, people asked me how it went. "Talk to me Wednesday. Maybe I'll be recovered by then," I said.

I've been talking about future plans, maybe moving back to Michigan in a few years to be closer to the big hole in the ground full of water. 

But after Charys, Roland and Amy experienced the jam session and saw all those people and felt all that love, they had a different opinion.

"You aren't leaving Quincy," they said. 

They might be right.

The day always breaks, sleep or no sleep

 

FOUR YEARS AGO I got Covid for the first time. It was awful. I have blocked most of it out.

The other day I saw a Facebook memory of the sun rising in Quincy. It was taken four years ago, the day after I got Covid, from the roof of our Second String Music building at Fifth and Maine. I must have climbed the stairs and found solace in the sunrise - I wasn't sleeping and I was ticked off in general about Covid and the world.

Sleeping well has always been an issue. Not falling asleep, but staying asleep. So I get it as much as I can when I can.

Three examples about going to sleep come to mind. A few weeks ago, the World Series was on. It was the fifth game. The Dodgers were about to win. It was about the eighth inning. But I was ready for bed. And I couldn't have cared less. In younger years I would have stayed up just to see what happened. Not this time.

ZZZZZZZZ.

Then it was election night. I attempted to stomach TV coverage but gave up after 10 minutes. The results wouldn't change if I stayed up or went to bed - and going to bed was way more important. It's going to be a long four years, but you know what? I'll still go to bed and try to get sleep. We'll get through it, one way or the other.

Then, finally, the most crushing and crucial sleep story - last Sunday night, the Detroit Lions played the Houston, whatevers. Oilers? Texans? I watched the first half at a friend's house and it didn't look good for the Lions. So I went home, watched the third quarter .... and fell asleep on the couch.

When I woke up the game was over. I was exhausted from a rock and roll weekend, so I simply got up, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

The next morning, I couldn't believe it. These are not the same old Lions. They kicked two long field goals in the last five minutes and won. 

Coco, my cat, is a huge Lions fan. In fact, Coco thinks she's a Lion. She wasn't happy I fell asleep and missed the end of the game. "You call yourself a Lions fan?" she said, giving me an angry glare.

I asked her why she didn't wake me up. "Because I was sleeping," she said. "But that's what cats do. You have NO excuse."

True. But I refuse to feel guilty about it. 

Next week, I turn 60. This is scaring the living crap out of me. What? SIXTY? And the thing is ... I'm wondering how I'm going to stay awake for the festivities, whatever they end up being.

Actually, I'm going to make an effort to say up that night. And maybe the night before. But definitely not the night after.

I'll still be 60 the next day, sleep or no sleep.

Broken ribs, stage falls and winning lip sync contests

 WE ARE APPROACHING the one-year anniversary of a famous event - the falling off of a stage during a lip sync contest. It involves breaking ribs and winning the contest. 

Yup. Winning. Was it worth it?

A year ago, Adam Yates convinced me to join him, Mike Sorensen and Alicia McCarl to compete in the Quincy YWCA's annual lip sync contest. It's part of the Voice For All Women event. It's a big deal. It's at the Oakley-Lindsay Center and there are always a lot of people there. 

I think there were 10 teams entered, and three celebrity judges scored the acts. Adam decided we were going to lip sync to "The Streak" by Ray Stevens. Guess who the streaker was? I can't figure out if I screwed up a few too many guitar solos playing with Adam and Alicia in Prospect Road, or maybe Adam just couldn't find anybody else. Come to think of it, Justin Sievert was supposed to do it but begged off. 

He missed out on history.

I wasn't naked. I wore shorts and a T-shirt. My job was simple. Run out onto the stage during the first and second chorus. Adam and Mike had the hard parts. I just had to run around and google-eye Ethel, played by Alicia.

We practiced a few nights before, in the dark, on Adam's driveway. "I even drew out the stage dimensions on my driveway. I showed you exactly where to go," he said. 

So, on that fateful Friday night, I showed up, not naked, and got ready to run around the stage.

Here's what most people don't know - the audience clearly sees the stage. But the stage lights are ... blinding. So there's no way to see where you are going. Plus I was bouncing a basketball. And wearing sunglasses. 

I survived the first chorus. But on the second chorus, I kick over a light by the end of the stage, and then got too close to the front. And down I went, bouncing my ribs off the sharp edge.

I don't remember much after that. It knocked the wind out of me. I managed to climb back up. Alicia (Ethel) helped me off the stage when we were done. In the dressing room, I lifted my shirt to see a nasty red welt. And ... it hurt. A lot.

I manage to get back on the stage with everybody else to hear the results. Guess what? WE WON THE #$%^$%#$#% CONTEST. So I guess it was worth it.

Allison Hutson of The Whatevers was there. She performed a Spice Girls song with some friends. It was ...spicy. Anyway, her soon-to-be husband Ryan was backstage running lights. Ryan texted Allison after I fell. "Did Rodney die?" Ryan asked.

Allison texted back, "I think so."

Adam snapped a cell phone photo (right) of my ribs right after it happened, took his phone out to the audience for all to see, and promptly raised another $200 for the YWCA under the guise of me not nearly meeting my deductible - going to the hospital to check my ribs was gonna cost me.

I don't remember much of the next two days. I just remember lying down and then not being able to get back up. I had trouble breathing. And the less I moved the more it hurt. But when I moved .... you get the idea.

Finally on Monday morning, I took a look at the massive bruise on my side. Geesh. Impressive is an understatement. At the bottom you can see a photo, but skip it if you are squeamish. So I went to the Ortho Walk In at Blessing's 48th Street facility. The doctor took one look at my side and said, "Wow!" He poked and prodded. It hurt. A lot. But there was no apparent internal damage, and I could breathe without passing out. He said, "Your ribs are probably broken. We could get an X-Ray. But it won't do anything because you really can't put broken ribs in a cast or fix them with something."

So. I ixnayed the X-Ray. Because it was going to cost a lot. Even with good insurance. He did prescribe some nice little white pills. They were ... dreamy. But I only took them at night.

It was a week before I could lie down to go to sleep. If I coughed, it was .... agonizing. I had muscle spasms the first few days and they brought tears. It was awful.

But. We won. And that's what counts.

I even kept going to work. I had the guys in Purchasing lift the heavy stuff. What I found was doing nothing hurt worse than actually moving around. Then some of the Lab Brats found out about it and made me show them my bruise. Every day. They were impressed. And Lab Brats don't impress easily.

About 10 days later, a Lab Brat said, "It's turning yellow. That means it's healing." I was relieved. And still really sore.

It took a month for it to stop hurting. It took six weeks before I could cough without crying. Busted ribs take a long time to heal. But they did. I lived.

Did I mention we won the contest?

This Friday, the same group is back for this year's event. Because we won last year, we can't compete against the other teams. We are the opening act, purely entertainment for the contest to follow. We have something spooky cooked up.

But I don't have to run around the stage. So I won't fall off. Hopefully. 

I mean ... it has to be worth it.

Attacking balloons to get rid of country music ick

AT THE END of the work day, I go to Blessing's 48th Street facility and sit at a podium. We often have people coming in for late lab work or x-rays, etc. I'll get them directed to the right spot. It's a good way to wind down what are often hectic days of driving and walking around in circles.

The problem lately at 48th Street is that some administrator has decided to play awful late 90s and early 2000s country music over the intercom. This was a bad time in country music, a lot of bad songs by average "artists" who had little talent. Here! Let's record this one! Let's auto-tune the harmony vocals! Let's put the same old Telecaster guitar solo right before the last verse! Yay!

Some days I just want to hurt something or somebody after being forced to listen to it.

I won't mention the name of the person who is in charge of this, but his initials are Evan Canfield. I asked him nicely the other day to put different music on at the end of the night, but he was in a meeting and has way more important stuff to do, like running various hospital departments, so the request has fallen on deaf ears. Like, my fingers in my ears when I sit at the podium.

It might be time to go over Evan's head.

Yesterday was Ashley "Red" Redenius' 40th birthday. She's one of the head Lab Brats. She is awesome and likes Caramel Marching Band coffee. She has an office at 48th, and other Lab Brats decorated it with some nice balloons over the doorway. I hope Red had a great birthday. But she left yesterday afternoon and didn't take the balloons and won't be back until next week. So ... they had to go.

Another head Lab Brat, Amanda, started taking the balloons off the doorway and gently inserting needles into them to deflate them. "I don't want to hurt them," she said. That's when the week of being force-fed bad country music finally overtook me.

I grabbed a pen. And I went to town. Pop! Pop! Pop! It felt wickedly ... satisfying. Then the pen didn't work on the smaller balloons, so I started slashing with scissors. Slashing With Scissors is a GREAT band name. And it's a great way to get rid of frustration. On inanimate objects, of course.

Younger Lab Brats Skylar and Ashley took video. Can't wait to see that on Instachat or Lab Couriers Gone Wrong online. Soon there was nothing but shredded balloons and a weird rubber smell. 

Of course Ashley and Skylar, the nicest young people you'll ever meet, sweetly suggested we clean it up. Unfortunately I had to go. We did leave a few balloons over the doorway and I hope Red's 40th will be remembered as the best ever. It will for me, anyway.

Somebody else better have a birthday and balloons next week if the country music keeps playing on the intercom. Ya'll been warned.

 

 

Cigar store, done right

 MY NEW FAVORITE small business in Quincy is Luxe Stogie Co. on York Street, across from the Ratskellar and Dick Brothers Brewery buildings. Owner Alex O'Neal is starting small but is already growing and thinking big. I spent a few hours there Saturday during Octoberfest and it was glorious.

Luxe is located inside an old tire and auto repair store. Alex has done a ton of work inside and just hung up a beautiful sign in front of the store. He has a decent sized humidor and his cigar selection is excellent. Most range from $7 to $20, decent prices for a good cigar. There's a nice back room with overstuffed couches for you to enjoy your stogie, or you can sit on the sidewalk by a table and light up.

I'm not a hardcore cigar smoker but in the summer I like to puff on a good one every now and then. That's the great part about Luxe - Alex is extremely knowledgeable and knows his products inside and out. A lot of newcomers to the world of cigars walked into his store Saturday and Alex put them at ease and made them feel welcome. He isn't going to sell you a heavy cigar if you are just starting out or only have one now and then. 

In Holland last August I went to George's Smoke Shop, my go-to during the Michigan trips. I bought a Henry Clay War Hawk cigar and it was one of the best I've ever smoked. So I mentioned it to Alex when I got back to Quincy. Lo and behold, on Saturday Alex had a case of War Hawk cigars in his humidor. And it was just as good Saturday as it was on that Lake Michigan beach in August.

I admire Alex and his wife Jamie (yup, he outkicked the coverage there) for putting in the long hours and learning the ins and outs of owning a small business. Alex's real job is at Gardner-Denver. The cigar thing is now more than just a pipe dream (STOP IT). Among his next goals are to expand the space and offer memberships. Then there's the tricky liquor license thing, which is massively expensive and full of challenges. Good luck with that one, Alex.

Not long ago I was in there on a Saturday afternoon and decided to smoke a good stogie with him. We had a great talk about a lot of things. We have some different ideas and beliefs and you know what? It was all good. I'm thinking more people should get together over a stogie to talk about life. It might make them appreciate things more.

Alex has embarked on a great adventure and I'm wishing him the best of luck. You can be a newcomer or a cigar aficionado, doesn't matter. Smoke em if you got em, and make sure you get em at Luxe!

Proud to play at Pride

 SUNDAY WAS A rainy and overcast day at Clat Adams Park in Quincy. But it was beautiful. It was Pride in the Park. And it was an honor and privilege to be there.

Pride is a celebration of life, NOT just a LGBTQ event. I'm struck every year by the love, respect and inclusiveness on display. People are happy to be there and do nothing but show love. 

I've played at all four Pride events at Clat Adams. This year Cori couldn't make it so I just did it myself, early, as people were filtering in and the rain tapered off to a mist. It was a blast. I got to play a few original songs and make noise and couldn't have had a better time. Many thanks to Chris and Austin for inviting me. I'll do it every year, if asked. Also a big shout out to my Rent partner in crime, Ian Carlstrom, for doing a great job with sound.

I was exhausted from playing an amazing gig with Allison Hutson in Hannibal the night before. Plus we just lost our beloved English Shepherd, Genie. So I went home after playing and did what I do best the rest of the day - nothing.

A got a flurry of messages from people at the event about a caravan of protestors that drove past, honking horns and showing their disdain. "It just made the park louder," one friend said.

Congrats, Caravan of Ignorance! Your attempts at intimidation and showing your side backfired. You just made everybody else prove that love wins, not hate and stupidity.

This next part is going to get me in trouble, but I'm beyond caring. Somebody told me my employer, Blessing Health, was "taking a beating" for being a major sponsor of Pride. Apparently the drag shows at Pride drew the wrath of the web warriors and uninformed.

If you are so upset about drag shows at Pride events, well, the cure is obvious. Don't go. In my opinion, people who froth at the mouth at rallies held by convicted felons telling lies is a far worse thing. And I'm not being specific.

My friend Tony Metz, a former pastor in Quincy, had a FB post today that pretty much summed it up. "I wonder how may folks went to church and 'worshiped Jesus' before they strapped flags to their truck and paraded past Pride in the Park seeking to intimidate and strike fear in our hearts. I bet a lot."

Wouldn't bet against you, Tony. BTW ... I was in church Sunday morning before going to Pride. 

I'm just a straight man in a screwed up world trying to figure it out. Pride is a great example of figuring it out. And I'm way better off for participating.

 

 

 

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Last live music push

WE ARE  GEARING up for a busy couple of weeks to end a hectic season of live shows. This Saturday at the Great River Brewery in Hannibal, Allison Hutson and I are playing from 7 to 9 p.m. This is an acoustic Whatevers show and it will be the last public gig for Allison and me for a while.

Allison is getting married at the end of the year and we've decided to take a break. It's been quite a ride for the past two-plus years and I wish Allison and Ryan the best. I'm sure we'll be back in 2025 but we are putting the Whatevers into hibernation, for now.

That's followed next weekend by a fun Saturday morning into afternoon show with Prospect Road. In two weeks, Cori is back and HartLess hits Tipsy Bricks in Hannibal once again for another fun night on the porch!

Then ... quiet. I'm sure shows will pop up here and there but nothing is planned. Coco and I are ready for quieter weekends and yelling at the TV watching the Lions and college football. Ahhh ... peace and quiet and normality! It's not overrated.

Thank you to everyone who came out this past summer to see us play, Whatever band or duo it was. 

Saturday Sept. 21 - The Whatevers (Allison and Rodney), Great River Brewing Company, Hannibal, 7-9 p.m.

Sunday Sept. 22 - Rodney solo, Pride In The Park, Clat Adams Park, Quincy, 12:15 p.m.

Saturday Sept. 28 - Prospect Road, Hy-Vee at Harrison fall parking lot party, 10 a.m. 

Saturday Oct. 5 - HartLess at Tipsy Bricks, Hannibal, 7-10 p.m.

Spinal Tap moment going to see Spinal Tap

 LAST WEEK THE Ratskellar in Quincy showed "This Is Spinal Tap" as part of a year-long film series. Spinal Tap is my favorite band and favorite movie. Ever. I was very excited and even though I've seen it a hundred times, I was looking forward to it.

Friday night I headed to Lux, the fabulous new cigar place across the street from the Ratskellar. After a nice stogie and chat with Alex, the owner, I went into the bar and was all fired up.

"Where are they showing the movie?" I asked the bartender.

"Over there," she said, pointing to a side room. "But it was last night."

Heavy sigh ....

Look. Not getting dates right and forgetting stuff is par for the course. I am not making fun of memory loss or dementia - it's an issue that's hitting home right now for a couple of reasons. But I'm very good at simply being a dumb-ass and forgetting, or not looking closely enough at the actual date of the actual event.

I blame my late sweet mother, God bless her soul. She was always forgetting things and getting us lost on road trips. Or, as my father likes to say, "I have a good memory. It's just short."

Last week I was chatting with a guy I play in a band with, Adam Yates of Prospect Road. I said, "I'm really looking forward to having this Saturday off." He said, "Yeah, but we have a gig Saturday. Remember?" 

Of course I remember! Not. It's on my calendar, of course. But why should I bother looking at the calendar every time?

Because it's saved my life more than once.

I'm very sorry about missing Spinal Tap. It's about an English heavy metal band that goes on tour and everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong. The first few times I saw it, including 40 years ago in a Grand Rapids theater, I fell out of my chair laughing. But now I tend to cry because it's all so true, even though it's meant to be a farce.

I've gotten lost trying to find the gig or even the room we are playing. I've lost bandmates over dumb arguments. I've had drummers spontaneously combust on stage or die in bizarre gardening accidents. Hey. It happens. 

Earlier this summer Prospect Road played in Quincy. We were doing the song "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac, all two chords (F to G). But our bass player, Filbert Sievert, had his low E string knocked out of tune. So he played it lower. I was in one key, our poor singer was in another, and Justin was wondering what the fuss was all about. Three different keys all at once! It's not easy to do,  you know.

I have a million other Spinal Tap stories, but I'd have to remember them. And there isn't enough room here to tell them all. 

 

The water crisis

THERE WAS A significant water main break yesterday in Quincy. We are expecting a boil order today. It prompted a run on buying bottled water and highlights yet again our old and antiquated our water delivery system.

I'm not blaming our current city leaders. They've inherited many years of neglect and ignorance when it comes to water. They are trying to fix it. Our water bills are going to go up again, by a lot, soon. 

But ... I just paid two large property tax bills. I mean ... large. We expect more. 

Sheryl is a manager at a local grocery store. A city worker came in yesterday and loaded up a cart with water, and warned them the boil order was coming. Guess what? They were insanely busy the rest of the day and night until they closed at 11, and they ran out of water. If you go out this morning looking for water, well ... good luck. Sheryl smartly bought herself several cases before the mass of humanity descended.

I don't drink city water. Call me paranoid, but there's too much concern over lead pipes and other chemicals. I go to Ecowater and buy a 3-gallon jug of water for my coffee, which tastes 1,000 times better than made with city water.

We are spoiled when it comes to water because we have this big ditch called the Mississippi running past us. I wouldn't dare stick a toe in its polluted stream, but it's enough to supply us with water and we'll never run out. At least, I hope we never run out. Quincy has plenty of water in reserve but the city has asked us to refrain from watering lawns and doing dishes and laundry until the water main is fixed. Fair enough.

I have siblings in Colorado and Arizona where the water that falls on their lawns isn't theirs. In other words, rain barrels are highly regulated. I'm not making it up. My brother lives in Phoenix and he casually talks about water shortages and issues like construction projects halting like we talk the weather. 

Be smart about your water choices and put your laundry off for a day or two. We'll be just fine. And don't take for granted our water, wherever we get it from.

Mohs and waiting rooms

 I HAD Mohs surgery to remove skin cancer Monday. Normally my face hurts people. Now my face hurts. I wore a big scary looking bandage over 10 forehead stitches all day yesterday. But the cancer is gone.

A few months ago I went to a free skin cancer screening offered to Blessing Hospital employees. It was at Dr. Elise Scoggin's office at 12th and Broadway. She came in and looked at my face and said, "Uh oh." Turns out there were two spots that looked suspicious and several other "pre-cancerous" spots. 

All those years in the sun being dumb undoubtedly contributed. Now I wear a hat and use sunscreen liberally. But you can't undo being a beach bum and wanting a sunburn. I should have had this checked out a long time ago.

I came back a few months later to have biopsies done on the two spots, and to have the dreaded liquid nitrogen sprayed on the others. One of the biopsies on my forehead came back positive for skin cancer, one of the common types. So I showed up Monday morning and prayed it wouldn't take all day.

Mohs involves using a local anesthesia, removing the piece of skin and then analyzing it on a slide for skin cancer and to see if they got everything. I was warned it could take all day. Sure enough, it took two tries to get everything out of there and five hours overall.

First of all, Dr. Scoggin and her staff were tremendous. While she was mining for treasure on my head, I greatly appreciated them breaking down the best rides at amusement parks and the horror stories of rides failing and people getting hurt. Educational! They were talking about risks involved and I told them I drive to Hannibal twice a day for work and defy death on a weekly basis. They faked being impressed and resumed talking about all the ways you can die on a roller coaster. My kind of peeps!

Apparently Mondays are Mohs days for Dr. Scoggin. There were seven or eight patients in the small waiting room, most of them older men and almost all of them with spouses. It was fairly quiet but of course there was the one guy a little louder than most. We all had to hear many times about how he had no idea he was going to be there all day. It was clearly explained to him, I'm sure.

I'm going to give Nancy at the front desk a lot of credit. She deals with crabby people on the phone all day. She had to explain many times about getting a physician referral before making an appointment, etc. Also she brought out cookies, really good cookies, and kept the coffee pot brewing. You can have all the highly-trained medical people you want in a doctor's office, but people like her are the glue and she's pretty awesome.

I got done and Dr. Scoggin stitched me up and they put the big bandage on my face and I went home and took a nap. About 5 p.m., the anesthesia wore off, and .... well. Ouch. They suggested ice and Tylenol (no blood thinners). I've thought about taking something stronger but I didn't want to miss work Tuesday, so I sucked it up. And it sucks.

But ... Mohs has a 98 percent success rate in removing skin cancer. So I'm good.Until I get the bill.

I took the bandage off this morning and really, it's not  .... horrendous. Below is the pic, if you dare look. My brothers says floppy hats on the golf course and just tell people I was in a hockey fight. 

Take care of yourselves, people. Even if it's one Mohs stitch at a time.

 

 

Downtown rocks on a Saturday night

 ALLISON AND I had a blast at The Pour Haus Saturday night. We played in the courtyard and the weather was perfect. Allison’s mom and dad always come see us play and they brought a ton of people, and some of the Blessing Lab Brats showed up. It was … glorious!

My friend Jenny took this amazing picture of us playing Stray Cat Strut. Actually we don’t do it. The Pout Haus adopted two alley cats and the live in the courtyard. To me, seeing a cat slink around is the ultimate compliment - cats are picky and they both liked us. 

Just down the alley, Quincy Brewing Company had a band and it was packed. All night long people wandered back and forth between the two venues. 

Win win win! The bars did big business, people had a great time and the musicians cranked it out.

The Sixth Street Promenade project is coming along and it’s going to be so nice. I appreciate all the businesses staying positive during the construction and mess. Big things are happening downtown and it takes a lot of vision and patience to make it happen. 

Saturday night was an example of what is and could be, and Allison and I were honored to be a part of it. 

Busking in the park

 SATURDAY MORNING IN Washington Park, Travis Hoffman and I are playing at the District's Farmer's Market. Vendors are lined up along Hamphire Street on the north end of the park. We are "busking," a polite way of saying we are playing for tips.

As musicians we tend to get waylaid by our gear and sound and the latest toys. This gets thrown out the window when you busk because all you have is your guitar, a park bench and a tip jar. It's entertainment in it's purest form and freeing in many ways. We just have to sit there and play. No cables, no volume levels, no inner ear monitors to monitor, nothing.

Just. Play.

Travis is a great guy to jam with, and this kind of setting is right up our alley. I'm trying to think of songs to do in the park, like "Saturday In The Park" by Chicago or "Down On The Corner" by CCR. With Travis you never know what we might pull out to play, but that's not the point because we are just part of the whole vibe, not the focal point of anything.

I'm also doing the Farmer's Market with Allison Hutson in two weeks, which will be great for the both of us as we have several big shows lined up toward the end of August and September. Before that, Allison and I are playing Aug. 17 at the Pour Haus courtyard just a couple of blocks up the street from Washington Park.

It's supposed to be gorgeous tomorrow morning and Brianna Rivera, executive director of The District, says this year's Farmer's Market has been huge. I went a few weeks ago to catch the awesome Katie Smith and buy homegrown catnip from Fawn Berry, and there were people everywhere. There were interesting vendors and and it reminded me of the Fifth and Maine days when we used to saunter down there before opening on a Saturday morning.

Travis and I will be sitting on a park bench in the middle of it all, strumming and humming from 10 a.m. to noon. If you are out and about, come say hello and enjoy a beautiful morning in Washington Park!

Madness Divine and the new album

 

AFTER SIX LONG months, our little trio has ... a thing.

We call ourselves Madness Divine after a line in the first song. We wanted to call ourselves Cellar Dwellers because we recorded it in Adam's basement. There were many other suggestions, few fit to print. But we had to come up with something because we were ready to submit the eight songs for distribution.

The name of the eight-song project is called West Of 12th Street. I've lived west of 12th my whole 28 years in Quincy. Many people have a stigma about the area of town you live in. They are ignorant. But maybe they can't help it.

It took six months because we'd get together every few weekends and knock out different parts in a few hours. It's a good way to do it because time helps you judge stuff.

It's out on all the streaming platforms like Spotify, Apple Music, iTunes and YouTube.

Here's a bio of each performer. We are doing the Traveling Wilburys thing and going under assumed identities. We are not in the Traveling Wilbury's league. But we do sneak around using fake names and job titles.

CHRISTOPHER ADAM (Adam Yates) - Drums, keyboards, engineer, producer. We used his basement recording studio and he spent countless hours refining and turning shit into sugar. One night when playing a gig with Prospect Road, somebody asked Adam what he did for a living. "I work for the sanitation department in Quincy," he said. "Well, it's a living," was the reply. So true, on so many levels ..... So Adam is the Sanitation Engineer of Madness Divine.

FILBERT (Justin Sievert) - Bass, acoustic guitar, vocals. One night after a Prospect Road gig in Plymouth, Filbert got us lost coming home.  In fact, "McDonough County Exit" was a strong contender for the album title. So Filbert is the Navigation Coordinator of Madness Divine. And I have no idea why he is called Filbert.

DIRK WHITEY (me) - Guitar, vocals. The nickname came from a Central Michigan University professor nearly 40 years ago. He invented a town and we had to interview the weird characters in the town and write stories. He named the characters after students. Dirk Whitey was a pinball arcade attendant. And that's my job title for Madness Divine.

THE SONGS (links to YouTube).

Your Kind of Crazee (Hart) - Not about one specific person. It's amazing how many people I know with, uh, hyper personalities. They kind of steamroll you and you can't live with it or without it. It's YOUR kind of crazee, not YOU ARE kind of crazy. It's a possessive thing.

Love Letting Go (Hart) - This one has been around awhile. Probably a leftover Funions song ... we did this song in the original Sidewalk Chalk band in 2012. It's got a simple message - you can often help somebody the most by simply letting go.

I'm The Man (Hart) - Adam coaxed some pretty good guitar out of me for this one, some great ideas to mix it up. This one has a jazzy and bluesy feel. It's about a guy who is in charge and uncomfortable with being in charge, because people expect him save the world, "When in fact, I'm gonna crumble to the floor ..." 

The Ship Was Going Down (Sievert) - A unique way of looking at something that is sinking. Amazing job by Filbert playing acoustic guitar and bass. And singing. And he wrote it. Killer!

West of 12th Street (Hart) - Made up many years ago after a person was critical of somebody moving into Calftown. Them's fighting words, friend. I kept messing up on the king and queen part, you'll hear it at the end reminding myself of which is which.

Guard Down (Hart) - We started recording a couple of songs that just weren't working, or, in one case, recorded in the wrong key. GUH. So this was a very late addition and kept pretty simple, and works for that reason. It's about being content and not expecting anything to happen by keeping the guard up. Then it goes down. Is there much you can do about it?

More Is Most (Hart) - This was an idea I came up with when Allison Hutson and I were working on Whatevers songs last year. Adam's piano is the best part of this one. Filbert's bass is fat and juicy too! And it's yet another song about saying "screw you" to regret. It won't do ya no good, friend.

One More Thing (Sievert) - Adam did a fabulous job recording and engineering these songs, and I love the way Filbert's acoustic guitar and my electric guitar blend on the rhythm tracks. And the piano is sublime. Actually it's bleeping kick ass, especially at the end.

MADNESS DIVINE, West of 12th Street

All songs Copywrite 2024 D. Rodney Hart, except One More Thing and The Ship Was Going Down, Copywrite 2024 Justin Sievert.

 

 

Vacation needed after the vacation

Sunset in Douglas, Mich.

GETTING BACK FROM a vacation is a drag. I spent most of last week in the old stomping grounds of Grand Rapids, Michigan. It was glorious. And not long enough.

You are supposed to feel ready and rested after time off. BWAHAHAHA. Right. 

This was the first time in 35 years I've spent more than a day or two in Grand Rapids. Much of the city has changed, mostly for the better. Some stuff never changes. We stayed at an Air BnB near Burton and Eastern, a block from a house I lived in during the summer of 1985. Time changes memory and recollection, I supposed. The porch didn't look as big and the house now has siding. But it was the same place. 

Downtown GR is completely different, and that's a good thing. We were there for a family wedding in the Harris Building, and 40 years ago you wouldn't dare be in that area at night - South Division is so much nicer now.

I ate dinner at the Last Chance Tavern on Burton, and the Garbage Burgers are still the best. Of course we had to hit Yesterdog in Eastown. We even played golf at Indian Trails, which was just up the railroad tracks from the family residence on Rosewood. The course got a massive renovation a few years back - much shorter now, with new holes. The infamous seventh hole along the railroad tracks next to Jolly Roger and the football stadium is now two holes on the back 9. But there was still a lot of deja vu for me and my brother, Stephen. 

I got up to Belding Thursday for some of the Gus Macker 50th anniversary festivities. Scott McNeal is still all fired up. I played golf with Macker legend Jerry Fike, saw a bunch of other guys I've hung out with at many a Macker tournament. 

There was even a family gathering in Zeeland. Our kids are rarely together in one place, so nice to see. My cousin Roland and his amazing wife Amy hosted and it was all tall tales, laughter, beverages and music. 

Now I'm back and getting ready for work and I'm exhausted and all I want to do is find a Lake Michigan beach and collapse. Because of vehicle issues the trip got delayed and beach time torpedoed, but we did have an incredible late afternoon and evening beach time near Holland.

I need a vacation. After the vacation. Oh well. Onward and back to real

Wait. Has anybody seen my golf clubs ..... ?

Moves like whoever or whatever Jagger is

THE OTHER NIGHT at Blessing's 48th Street facility, a very young Lab Brat was singing a song. "Moves like Jagger!" she sang. 

Moves like Jagger? Hmmm. Do you have any idea who or what Jagger is?

"Nope," she said.

The next day I was in the Hannibal lab and another young Lab Brat, whose initials are Sadie, gave me further info.

No, she had no idea about Jagger. But she did have insight into more important matters.

"It's a song by Maroon 5. You know, Adam Levine and the four other guys," she said. "Adam Levine was with this super model but he cheated on her and they broke up."

So she knows the important stuff. I guess.

"I could ask my fiancee. He's really really old," Sadie said.

How old?

"He's 35," she said. With a straight face. I fell to the floor and covered my head with my hands. Another Lab Brat said, "Sadie just broke Rodney." 

Sadie also owns Def Leppard and Grateful Dead T-shirts. "And my mom went to an Air Supply concert once," she said. 

Sadie? You are OK. You might just make it in this wretched world.

NOTE: Sadie in Hannibal is not to be confused with Sadie from 48th in Quincy, who is amazing. She knows who Jagger is. We are besties. Obviously.

Back at Blessing's 9th Street location, a young Lab Brat said she would look it up when asked about Jagger. "Oh," she said, after a few clicks on her phone. "He's OLD."

A few minutes later, she said, "But not as old as his friend. Keith Richards? He wears makeup. Man, is he OLD."

Look. I'm not the biggest Rolling Stones fan around but this is an attack on my generation, my sensibilities, the days when I was in my prime. Well, it's not an attack, but it's just offensive that anybody wouldn't know about two of rock and roll's greatest figures.

Then again, I have never intentionally listened to a Billie Irish song, and apparently there was a woman named Aggy something who sang on Moves Like Jagger, and I have never listened to her either, though I recognized the name.

Leave it to Jody, one of the senior Lab Brats at 48th Street, to wisely sum it all up after I confessed to being upset about a lack of Jagger awareness.

"It just means we are old," she said.

We are the same age, actually. And she's right. 

Guess I'll just have to work on my Jagger moves. And hope I don't throw my back out.

New (old) musical adventures

 THE SUMMER ROCK and roll truck motors on! Saturday night at the Quincy Axe Company, Prospect Road 2.0 is playing and we are all kinds of excited. This event is open to the public, and there is a Class of 94 reunion taking place. That means learning songs from 1994 ... Pearl Jam, the Pretenders and a lot more!

I'll say one thing about Prospect Road - it's a fun band and I love just being a goofball and playing guitar. This band likes to practice too! The Axe Company has become a popular spot and we are all fired up about being there Saturday - note the special start time, 9 p.m.

It's also time to officially unveil a new project, a one-time only event for Saturday, July 27, 8 p.m. at The Club Tavern in Quincy. Here we come - Cheese Whuz, featuring former Cheeseburgers Kirk Gribbler on drums and bassist Jeff Van Kanegan, along with the amazing guitar player from Raised On Radio, Spencer Smith. 

This is not going to be a working band. We are only doing it this one time to scratch the rock and roll itch. We are doing a lot of the Cheesey gooey classic rock and country songs, plus some really different tunes you might not hear from a bar band.

And, to be honest, we are doing this for Koz, the Club owner, who has been so good to the local music scene. The Club is on North 10th between Chestnut and Cherry and is one of my favorite places to play, ever. The regulars love their live music and appreciate effort and the band having a good time. 

As always, get out and support live and local music when you can, and we will hopefully see you as the summer rolls on!

Updated gig list (all shows in Quincy unless noted)

Saturday, July 20 - Prospect Road, Quincy Axe Company, 9 p.m.

Saturday, July 27 - Cheese Whuz, Club Tavern, 8 p.m.

Saturday, Aug. 3 - Private Party, Zeeland Mich.

Saturday, Aug 10 - Quincy Farmer's Market with Travis Hoffman, Washington Park, 10 a.m.

Saturday, Aug. 17 - The Whatevers (Allison and Rodney), Pour Haus, 7 p.m.

Saturday, Aug. 24 - The Whatevers (Allison and Rodney), Quincy Farmer's Market, 10 a.m.

Sunday, Aug. 25 - Prospect Road, Pop A Top, Plymouth, Ill, 1 p.m.

Friday, Aug. 30 - The Whatevers, private party, Quincy

Saturday, Aug. 31 - HartLess (Cori Powell-Green, Thomas G and Joe Desmond), 4 p.m. Tipsy Bricks shrimp boil, Hannibal Mo.

Saturday, Sept. 7 - HartLess, private party, Coatsburg Ill.

Saturday, Sept. 14 - The Whatevers, TBA

Saturday, Sept 21 - The Whatevers (Allison and Rodney), Great River Brewing Company, Hannibal, Mo, 7 p.m.

Saturday, Sept. 28 - Prospect Road, TBA.

 

Soccer with an Englishman

 I KNOW A little bit about soccer. I grew up playing it in Canada.I wrote about a lot of soccer games in my 10 years as a sports writer. My daughter played in her younger years and I helped coach her team. Actually I more or less coordinated who brought treats after the games. Who Brought Treats then became a famous Gus Macker team name. But I digress.

Soccer is actually called football in the rest of the world. I know we think the world  revolves around us, but it doesn't. But we are right to call it soccer. Even though it's not the right name.

There are several big soccer, er, football, games on Sunday. One is the finals of the Copa America, which I thought was a Barry Manilow song but is actually a tournament for all the countries on the left side of the world. The bigger tournament is called the Euros and it's in Germany. 

Canada is actually playing for third place in the Copa. Apparently they are playing the Urologists, who got beat the other night in the semifinals. Their players then climbed into the stands and brawled with fans from the other team. Copa! Excitement! I kind of understand it, because I certainly wouldn't want to upset my urologist, especially after the procedure he did on me about a month ago. 

Wait. I'm being told it's Uruguay. Whatever. It still sounds like something connected to the prostate. And if they brawl with fans in the stands, they deserve to be seen by a urologist every day. 

The Euros feature the best teams from, you guessed it, Europe. It is a huge deal over there. I watched a game last weekend and all I could hear was the crowd singing and chanting and banging drums. And it was 0-0, or nil-nil, as my football friends like to say.

England is playing Spain in the Euro finals. I know a guy from England. He works at Blessing's 48th facility. His name is Martin and he's a good guy. He's kind of obsessed with the Euros and his English team being in the finals.

I asked him if he was going to watch the game. Turns out he doesn't have the station that carries the games. 

"Well, we should invite ourselves to Avery's house Sunday. He's a big soccer oops football guy," I said. Avery used to work at 48th and knows the names of all the players on every team.

There was the minor issue of informing Avery's girlfriend Sadie, who also works at 48th and is amazing. I took care of that. "We are coming to your house to watch the game Sunday," I said.

"Oh," she said.

Anyway, we worked it out. Now there might be burgers and beverages involved. See? This soccer ooops football stuff is like the Super Bowl! Only you kick the ball most of the time, not pass it or run with it. And there are no commercials during the actual game. Hmmm. I'm liking this soccer oops football thing more and more.

So we are getting very excited about watching England play Spain and seeing if Martin has a stroke when it goes to penalty kicks. These football fans are really into it, you know.

It could be the greatest afternoon of our lives. If England wins.

Sweating is good

 I SWEAT. A lot. It's gross, I know. But sweat keeps us from overheating and killing ourselves. So it's gotta happen.

We've come off a spate of oppressively hot 90-90 days and nights. A few weeks ago I played three outside shows over the weekend and I went through seven T-shirts, three towels and massive amounts of water. What can you do? Somebody came up to give me a hug at one of the gigs and got a lot of .... me. In sweat. Ugh.

At work we've recently learned lab couriers can wear shorts. It makes a huge difference. Does it keep me from sweating and changing shirts two or three times in 8 1/2 hours? Noooooo! Of course not.

I just keep telling myself I'm "sweating out toxins" and it's good for me. Unfortunately, we don't sweat out toxins. Crap. I wanna believe it so bad.

On Saturday I played golf with some Lab Brats and it was humid. We walked. I was soaked after the first hole. I just focused on chipping for bogey and drinking water. Look at all these toxins I'm getting out! Wrong. I'm just sweating.

Bad golf in humid conditions is exhausting. I went home and took a long shower and had something to eat and I felt a lot better. Then I went over to the friend's house and smoked a very nice stogie and had a beer and more food and fortunately reversed all that sweating out of toxins thing. Wait. We DON'T sweat out toxins. So in the end it didn't matter. I think.

So if you see me at a show or at the golf course, and I look like I'm drenched, well .... I'm just getting it out of my system, toxins or otherwise.

 

Signs of life at 5th and Maine

 EVERY DAY AT about 4:30 p.m., I cross the Memorial Bridge into Quincy. Most people turn left at Third and head to Broadway. But I hate Broadway. So I go up Maine Street to Eighth or Ninth and then head north. That means I get to see former Second String Music location at Fifth and Maine, and it's bittersweet.

We closed almost two years ago to the day after 10 years at 100 North Fifth. It was a good decision and things have worked out. But I do miss certain things about the store, the building, the corner of Fifth and Maine. Man we had some good times there!

Malcolm liked hanging out in the back.

The space on the main floor was vacant and the music store signs in the windows stayed, but they were taken down a few weeks ago and there's activity inside. There's a logo on the front door and it appears to be some sort of thrift store.

Saturday I played at the MidSummer Arts Faire and I noticed somebody inside, behind the counter. I thought long and hard about checking it out. But there are no open signs or hours posted, so maybe they aren't open and just getting ready. 

And ... maybe I'm not ready to go back in there. 

Best of luck to the new business. It's a great space with a ton of history. Supposedly there's a coffee shop going in the 505 Maine space as well. It's an anchor location and downtown Quincy needs something there.

When the time comes, it will be cool to check it out.

 

The long and short of work clothes

 SUMMER IN ALL it's hot and sticky glory has descended on the Q. It's 90 90 time - 90-plus temps, 90 percent humidity. It's just the way it is, and we sort of get used to it.

Saturday we had two outdoor shows and I went through at least five shirts and three towels. It's OK. Sunday night I mowed my weeds and it wasn't horrendous, but it's a workout in the heat.

As a lab courier for Blessing, I'm expected to dress respectably. That means collared shirts (most of the time) and dress pants. Sometimes I'll even tuck my shirt in. We are visible so it's understandable.

Last summer I inquired about wearing shorts. We are in and out of air-conditioning all day and I sweat. A lot. I'm gross. It's not unusual for me to run home on my dinner break to change. There's nothing like cooling down by going inside, then getting back in the oven-like vehicle and driving for half an hour with the AC blasting in a futile attempt to keep me from looking like I've had water dumped on my head.

Couriers were under the Diagnostic Center at Blessing. My boss was awesome. But she said no to wearing shorts. Again, it's understandable - you put the Blessing tag on and you gotta represent. 

Last October we were switched to working for Purchasing. The new boss is a great guy and I like working for him. On Friday I was in Hannibal and the purchasing people said, "Lab couriers can wear shorts now. You didn't know that?"

Apparently we can. My boss is out of town this week on a well-deserved vacation so I can't ask him directly. But somebody said something to somebody who said the boss said it was OK to wear shorts when it was really hot. They can't be ratty and you still gotta tuck your shirt in, blah blah blah. 

So. Do I wait until he gets back, beg for permission to wear shorts and hope he says yes?

Nope.

Yesterday I went clothes shopping (ugh) and bought three pairs of nice shorts. And a couple of shirts with buttons. Yes, they were on sale. Yes, they are respectable. Yes, it will help me stay cooler and it won't keep me from sweating, but it will help.

So get ready for knobby knees and shorts that hit the knee for most humans, but are above the knee for a 5-foot-19 lab courier who wants to look his best. That's the long and short of it. 

I might tuck my shirt in, too.

 

That long ago?

LATER THIS SUMMER I'm going on a week-long Michigan adventure because my youngest sister's son is getting married. Charys lives in Colorado now. Her family has rented an Air BnB in Grand Rapids for the week. I'm going to hang out with them.

It's about a block from the corner of Burton and Eastern. And that's where the memories, however fuzzy, really kick in.

In the summer of 1985, I lived in a house at 830 Burton in Grand Rapids. I had at least one roommate, Bill Oostendorp. Was there somebody else in there with us? We had friends renting the house but they weren't moving in until late summer to attend Calvin College. 

I was working at a restaurant as a cook. It was called Mountain Jacks, and the job wasn't much fun. I was also getting ready to move to Mount Pleasant and tackle the journalism degree at Central Michigan University. So basically I was a broke college kid idling through the summer.

It was almost 40 years ago. Yup. Forty freaking years. That hit me like a runaway train the other day - how does time slide by like that? 

The main thing I remember about 830 Burton is the porch. It was massive and a great place to watch traffic and people. I'd get home late at night, take a long shower and hang out. It was a really hot summer, from my vague memories, so there were a lot of 3 a.m. porch sessions just staring at a quiet street.

Thank god I wasn't 21 yet, though we had our fair share of getting into trouble. There was an end-of-summer bash that involved a keg. One of my few clear memories is the massive amount of ice we went through to keep the beer cold - must of gotten it a few days before the party. Right.

The week in Grand Rapids will be great, seeing family and old friends. I'm sure there will be some summer evening strolls around the neighborhood, and I'm sure I'll stop by 830 Burton to look and remember, mostly with a smile and good vibe.

How four decades passes like the blink of an eye is beyond comprehension.

Busy music weekends

A RARE SATURDAY night night off is a nice thing indeed. But I know how much we appreciate people coming to see us play, in whatever band is playing. It doesn't have to be a ton of bodies but human beings bring energy and performers feed off of it. The more you get into it, the more fun everybody has.

Saturday night at Quincy Brewing Company, the lovely Hannah Mahon Haubrich played in the outdoor beer garden. The weather was perfect and the crowd slowly filtered in after she started. By 8 p.m. the place was packed. 

Hannah just got married and has had a lot going on in her life, so it's understandable she hasn't played much in the past year. I hope that changes. She is SO good, with a beautiful voice and amazing original songs. What a perfect night to hear great music!

The next two weekends are going to be busy ones, so here's a schedule. The show looming July 27 is going to be really cool ... can't say much about it yet, but there's a good chance of former Cheese with some Radio mixed in! Also fired up about hanging out again with powerhouse vocalist Cori Powell-Green and band this Saturday night in Hannibal, and some fun summer shows with Prospect Road.

Saturday, June 15

Maker's Market on Hampshire St. between 6th and 7th with Allison Hutson, noon to 2 p.m.

HartLess (full band), Tipsy Bricks in Hannibal, 7:30 p.m.

Friday, June 21

Private Party, Quincy

Saturday, June 22

Mid-Summer Arts Faire, Washington Park, Quincy, time TBA (about 1 p.m.), solo show with a very special guest!

Prospect Road at Sportsmen's Hop Garden, Mount Sterling, Ill., 8 p.m.

Saturday, July 20

Private Party, Quincy.

Saturday, July 27

TBA, Club Tavern, Quincy, 7:30 p.m.

Saturday, Aug. 2

Private Party, Grand Rapids, Mich.

Saturday, Aug. 10

Quincy Farmer's Market, Washington Park with Allison Hutson, 10 a.m.

Saturday, Aug. 24

Quincy Farmer's Market, Washingotn Park with Allison Hutson, 10 a.m.

Sunday, Aug. 25

Pop A Top, Plymouth, Ill. with Prospect Road, 1 p.m.

Saturday, Sept. 7

Private Party with HartLess, Coatsburg, Ill.

Saturday Sept. 21 

Great River Brewing Company, Hannibal Mo. with Allison Hutson, 7 p.m.

Not getting lost in Rochester NY

WHOEVER INVENTED GOOGLE Maps deserves an Emmy, an Oscar, an ESPY, an arrow glued to a piece of wood dipped in gold - whatever they give to honor navigators.

I went to Rochester N.Y. and hung out with Dr. Emily Hart, Amy, their dog Stevie, and Gaelic Football enthusiasts. It was grand. Rochester is big enough to have big city things, but the charm of the city and surrounding suburbs is in the movement and emphasis on the outdoors. 

I stayed at a decent hotel and rented a car. Emily was more than happy to have me stay with her, but this arrangement gave us space and flexibility. As my father said, "Guests are like fish. After about two or three days, they start to stink." 

I have used Google Maps before but not extensively. I like writing down the instructions and the ensuing panic of getting lost. Why have the way pointed out when you can turn left instead of right and end up in Connecticut? This time, I used it. A lot. And it was amazing.

On the phone app, a map appears and a voice says, "In 200 feet, instead of being a dumbass and turning left like you probably would, turn right. You'll get there faster." The voice was always right. I even plugged it into the rental car, which had a display screen. It was .... wondrous. Emily just rolled her eyes when I excitedly told her about not getting lost, which is a big deal to her old man.

Welcome to the 20th century, Hoser.

I drove to the Gaelic Football game Saturday in East Rochester and went through one charming burg after another. It was a beautiful early summer day. There were farmer's markets, outdoor book fairs, sporting events of all kinds on community fields. Everybody was out walking or riding a bike. I had to stop every half a block in some places because pedestrians have the right of way at crosswalks (think 10th and Maine in Quincy, where nobody stops for the poor QMG employees).

And they have roundabouts. And they work. Wait. They work? Yup. Keeps traffic moving and gets you there faster. Progress! Don't rock the chair too much, Quincy. We wouldn't want a developed waterfront or safer intersections soon. We might get used to it.

My apologies - I love living in Quincy. Every city has its quirks and challenges. We should all travel and see how other places do it, or don't do it.

Sunday morning we went to Durand Beach on Lake Ontario. It was quiet and Stevie loved the walk. The beach isn't huge but it's big enough, and there are other more developed spots, Emily said. I don't know - being a beach conniosseur, it more than passed the grade.

Emily gave lessons Sunday afternoon, so I went solo to a Rochester Red Wings game. The Wings are the Triple A affiliate of the Washington Nationals. I paid $6 to park right across from the downtown stadium. I walked up to the ticket booth and bought a $19 ticket to sit five rows behind the third base dugout. I avoided the $11 beers. There were tons of young families and season-ticket holders, and they all seemed to know each other.

A guy named Conehead roamed the stands selling concessions, wearing a cone on his head. It was his birthday. They all got up and sang happy birthday to Conehead. 

I left in the 9th inning with the Red Wings way behind. In five minutes I was in the car and on the highway. 

Try doing all that at a big league game in the Lou or Chicago.

 Even my flights from St. Louis to Rochester and back were smooth, on time and crowded, of course, but bearable.

Emily is moving to Florida this summer to start her new adventure as oboe professor at the University of Florida. But she and Amy love Rochester so much, they just extended their apartment lease for another year. So I'll be back next summer, if things work out.

Rochester, you are beautiful. Thanks for the great visit!

Gaelic Football - run kick pass and pass out

 UNTIL LAST SATURDAY, I'd never seen a Gaelic Football game.Geesh. What rock have I been hiding under for nearly six decades?

Emily and Amy play for the Roc City Gaelic, part of the Midwest Division of the USGAA. Saturday was a glorious early summer day in Rochester, N.Y. Roc City played rival Buffalo and lost 13-12. They could've won, but that hardly matters.

Gaelic Football is played basically on a soccer field. It has a soccer goal with American football goalposts above it. The ball is about the size of a soccer ball and really hard. The idea is to kick or knock the ball into the goal (three points) or kick it through the uprights (one point). Players can pick up the ball or catch it, and can advance around four or five steps before either dribbling it off off the ground or kicking it straight up to themselves.

There are 13 players per team, including a goalie. They pass by holding the ball in one hand and punting it with the other. Technically there is no contact allowed, but there is a lot of reaching and grabbing and running into other players. It's physical. Emily and Amy could hardly move the next day.

 You can only dribble once and then you can kick it to yourself. If it sounds hard, it is - running and dropping the ball and kicking it back to your hands takes skill and practice. Much like ice hockey, Gaelic is a game of turnovers - you are moving up the field until the ball squirts loose, and the other team picks it up and quickly swings momentum.

Like soccer, it's about possession and spacing. And being fit. You run and run and run, catch your breath, and run again. I pulled a hammy just watching Roc City warm up. Emily says she's not in very good shape (she's 33, one of the older players). So you pick your spots and bust your butt when you can, and recover when the ball goes the other way. At the beginning Emily was in the midfield and set up some nice scoring chances. Later she was moved to the back, probably because she was gassed. Amy whizzed up and down the field with abandon and also picked her spots.

The Roc City team was formed last year. Amy was playing on it and brought Emily to a game - "Oh, it will be cool, you'll like the other girls and it's really chill." Oops. Emily was thrown into the game without a practice or the foggiest idea of what to do, but she was a natural. She used her 6-foot-1 frame to post up and catch passes, and she has good field vision and a strong leg.

Roc City plays teams from New York, Ohio and Pennsylvania. They have yet to win a game in their young history, but they came close Saturday. Roc City led 6-1 early and almost went ahead late in the game with a some good chances, but Buffalo held on.

Buffalo had a lethal one-two punch, and small and shifty midfielder who could run and create offense, and a big girl with a massive leg who was deadly accurate from about 30 yards on in. They seemed a bit more organized and eventually wore Roc City down with good passing and aggressive defense.

While this is a pro league, none of the Roc City players get paid - you actually have to pay to join the association. So there is a real sense of camaraderie, even with the other players. The action would be focused on one end of the field, so the players on the other end would take to each other and end up laughing most of the time.

After the game there was a team picture being taken, and the Rochester players insisted Buffalo come over and join in. There was a gathering Saturday night at an Irish bar called Johnny's, a team sponsor, and some of the Buffalo players came by. There were some hilarious discussions about recruiting and trying to find new players - Sunday night, Emily talked to her upstairs neighbors about getting their college-aged daughter on the team.

The Buffalo men are really good and easily won the men's game. There was also a Hurling game after that, which is basically field hockey with a wooden paddle and smaller ball. Rochester's men are pretty good and went to the national tournament last year.

At Johnny's that night, Emily and Amy had a great time with their teammates and friends. I think that's the best part - they are part of a team and sense of belonging. Joining the Gaelic Football team is one of the best things Dr. Hart has done in her Rochester years.

I'm ready to see them play again next year!

More on the trip and Rochester observations later this week.

 

 

I'm getting exciting to see Dr. Hart!

 WHEN EMILY WAS little, and we had a big event coming up like a birthday or vacation, she'd say, "Dad! I'm getting very exciting!"

Now her father is getting exciting, because I'm going to see the newly minted Dr. Hart in Rochester, N.Y. It's been almost a year since we hung out and I miss her a lot, and of course I'm one proud poppa.

It's just a three-day visit and we don't have a lot of plans, except for one day, and I'll probably spill the beans about her Gaelic Football adventures later. I just want to hang out. What's also terrifying and thrilling at the same time is renting a car and trying to find my way around Rochester.

"Rochester isn't that big, dad," Emily says. She rolled her eyes. I saw it. And we were on the phone. 

She's getting ready for her big move to Florida, and she starts her professor job at UF in Gainesville in August. Geesh. Now that is exciting!

In honor of Dr. Hart, I present to you this amazing baby picture, and quite possibly the best Herald-Whig column I ever wrote. Emily found it when we were on a family Zoom and started talking about Harry Potter. She loves Harry Potter. We went to see one of the movies a long time ago and I had no idea what was happening. But it turned into a good column idea.

I just re-read it. I have no memory of seeing the movie. The reason it's so funny is because it's probably all true. In truth you find the absurd and the laughter. 

Rochester, hope you are getting exciting!