Crack Babies Christmas

Christmas is a time for reminiscing, for sweet nostalgic get-togethers. And despite its overt rejection of bourgeois values, the world of punk rock is really no different. This year (specifically, last Friday) Valley punkers-of-old were treated to a reunion of one of the most exciting local bands of the 90s: the Crack Babies. Crack shows back in the day were...well, the best rock shows EVER. Twice a month or so, they'd play the Funhouse or the Four G's, and all the south side freaks would gather. It was unlike anything else I've experienced (I'm actually being serious here). We'd all just start buying Yuengling Black and Tan pitchers and filling up the glasses nearby. If you were newly-arrived, you'd buy a pitcher or two; if you'd been there a while, you just kept drinking the beer handed to you. It was the apotheosis of the socialist ideal, with alcohol. Whether you saw the Crack regulars in between shows or not, they were your friends on show nights, and the dancing/mostly-gentle moshing began in earnest by the second or third song. The tiny Funhouse would be so full some of us would be dancing in front of the monitors. If you wanted a place to sit, you had to get there early and never move, but that wasn't really the point anyway. The feeling as Billy Crack began the bass line of a song was indescribable; the entire bar seemed to move in small, unconscious waves. Well, that was in 1995. In 2005, a Crack show is a little like Revenge of the Thirtysomethings. The late thirtysomethings. The Wildflower Cafe, home to this reunion, was a bit small--it seemed all the old guard turned out (many leaving the kids with a sitter)--the drunken slam-dancing by a few zealots nearly took out one of the speakers, as well as several annoyed patrons. There was a steady stream of people crossing New Street between the cafe and Your[sic] Welcome Inn, where beer to go was available. (A word about the official drink of Crack reunions, as determined by my friend Tony and me: Yuengling Lager quarts make great BYOs, and the German stylings of the amber lager go well with the PA Dutchie punk-funk of the Cracks.) As I entered with my companion for the evening, duly-dubbed Eileen Crack, I received several nods from the minions, none of whom I actually know, except in the context of a sweaty bar floor while bouncing off each other. I can't tell you how good that little recognition felt. We were back together, for one night. And yes, many of us don't get drunk too regularly enymore (except those still in grad school), and some of us (and by "us" I mean "them") don't hold our/their liquor too well as a consequence, but it still felt like our old communion. And the boys sounded pretty damned good. The songs were tight, if rushed at times, and the great slow burns and build-ups that would really drive us to a frenzy in the old days were smoothed over by too much anticipation for the old explosion (it is hard to keep one's cool when waiting for that old feeling, I surmise), but Andy was in fine voice, Bill and Odie seemed to work well together, and Captain Bob still worked those cymbals hard. Some old glory was indeed recaptured. (For the record, I didn't partake of the mosh floor. You know, I have to remain dignified now. But there were a few moments...) Will the Crack Babies ride again? Who knows. Should they? Well, I'm not sure. But my ears were pleasantly clogged and ringing this Christmas Eve. God bless the Crack Babies, and God bless us, one and all.

Happy

Chanukkah Kwanza Boxing Day I'd be playing with my awesome new presents (like "Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall" and "Northern Exposure" season one), if it weren't for all of this friggin grading I still have to do for tomorrow morning.

Merry

Christmas. Nothing like listening to new music, playing new video games, and wearing new slippers in my old bedroom with my old(ish) siblings and new niece. Coffeetown Christmas...

oh so sensitive

More healing through poetry, one of my old standbys: Plaint Spring flowers, Autumn moons, Water lillies still carry Away my heart like a lost Boat. As long as I am flesh And bone I will never find Rest. There will never come a Time when I will be able To resist my emotions. --Chu Shu Chen (trans. Kenneth Rexroth)

Back with booze

Been away a long time, I realize. I guess I haven't been wandering much. Dark times inspired emotional hibernation. And a good bit of whiskey drinking. My optimism, such as it ever was, follows the sun, and closes in upon itself at night. It's funny how I am so affected by lack of sunlight, but I also love cold temperatures. A winter contradiction, and with the shortest day of the year quickly approaching. Maybe I should get up earlier to take advantage of the sun… Small gestures can mean quite a lot sometimes, and one of those improved my mood tonight. Hugh and Lynn were up this weekend from Philly (which was also nice, but not part of my point), and they met Jeanne and myself for dinner at Bridgeworks here in the Christmas City. I've been going there for many years--all the way back to college days--and I used to work at a print shop around the corner where I did some work for the restaurant, so I am acquainted with the owner. I don't go too regularly anymore, so he and I usually greet each other warmly when we meet, and tonight it felt a little like old times, what with Hugh and I hanging there again. Anyway, I got a Jameson's, which finished off the bottle in the bar, and the owner came out to tell me they had some other whiskeys if I wanted another. I didn't intend to, but after dinner Hugh ordered dessert and I didn't, so he brought me a glass of the 18 year-old, 100 dollar-per-bottle Jameson's as my dessert on the house. And I have to say it made me really happy (beyond the effect of the spirits, which were glorious). If you think all booze is the same, have a touch of something like this stuff. And if you want to have a contented life, learn to love moments like that. Another example of the benefits of roots.

Poetry destressification

In an effort to wash out the "reflection" of the last post, here's some truly good writing from Welsh poet R.S. Thomas, who I learned just passed away a few years ago. I turn to his poem "Lore" when I need a little bucking up (or up-bucking, if you like). from "Lore" Job Davies, eighty-five Winters old, and still alive After the slow poison And treachery of the seasons Miserable? Kick my arse! ... What's living but courage? ... What to do? Stay green. Never mind the machine Whose fuel is human souls. Live large, man, and dream small. I'd put the whole thing up, but I'm a little leary of the legal stuff. Needless to say, the full stanzas are better than my chop-job, so go find the poem. It's worth it.

Church of Coltrane

I recently gave in to a brilliant marketing ploy by Borders, where if you buy something (in my case, a cup of coffee), you get a coupon for somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 to 30 percent off an item bought in the following three days. As it happens, there is this CD set out now of John Coltrane's monumental quartet recorded live in 1965, just at the end of its reign, called "One Down, One Up." The tapes were found in a family closet in the early 90s, and his son Ravi has finally produced them for release, thank Jesus and the Mary Chain. Anyway, I bought the mf, and it has gotten me thinking of why I like jazz, and how I can possibly make real and intuitive judgments about the musicians I like or do not like. I mean, I don't have too much knowledge of music theory, so a lot of the structural statements, like developments of themes and unique changes in harmonics, go right past me. Because I've listened for many years now, I get some of the references and can pick out influences, but mostly I'm listening for the overtly lyric and/or rhythmic qualities. So why can I be so definitive about liking Coltrane or Monk or Mingus, and not being as crazy about Miles Davis or Weather Report? Well, maybe I've answered my own question. Obviously, those that I just mentioned are amazing and important examples of music, so my lack of depth in the music is probably a main factor in my inability to appreciate them. The more I write this little meditation, the more I think I'm just revealing my shallowness, but the impact on me when listening to "My Favorite Things" or "Naima" is not shallow. Coltrane, of course, would have no trouble with my concern. Technical knowledge, though he had it and made amazing use of it, was not what he was in business for. I'll finish with his own words: “My music is the spiritual expression of what I am — my faith, my knowledge, my being … When you begin to see the possibilities of music, you desire to do something really good for people, to help humanity free itself from its hangups … I want to speak to their souls.” PHILLIES WATCH: Pat Gillick, eh? OK, I like that he says we don't need a huge shakeup right away, but I'm sure he has some plans for making the team in his own image. All we can do is wait and see. Wait. And see.

Daily Zen from Jen

An old friend forwarded this to me, and I'll post it here on the old Lehigh Valley blog (making no autobiographical implications, but not denying them, either, in a romantic hope you'll blend the speaker's voice with my own--a move I would deny if you confronted me) (How's that for psychological transparency?): During thirty years since my birth I’ve hiked thousands of miles, Seen green grass converging with a river And red dust rising at the frontiers, Searched in vain for immortals and elixirs, Studying books and histories. Today I’ve returned to Cold Mountain. I lie back in a stream, washing out my ears. - Han Shan (early 9th century) Happy All Saints...

Hallowe'en

Happy haunting everybody. I hope you're all getting ready to protect yourselves and your livestock from the active spirits that will be wandering about tonight. Remember to drive your animals between two fires to protect them in the new year; you can just use two candles for your housepets, I suppose. And if you eat an apple in the mirror tonight, your future husband (this is really aimed at the maidens out there, but we'll pretend it works the other way, too) will appear over your right shoulder and ask for some. Apple, that is. Sicko. Anyway, keep the Celtic New Year in mind today (Samhain), and watch those spirits tonight. For the Lehigh Valleyites, a trip to Hexenkopf is recommended, though the actual witchs' dance isn't until Beltane. [Insert Gaelic phrase here (you can look it up yourselves).]

Route 22 from here

Here in the good old Valley, one of the ongoing debates is how to handle the huge growth in population over the last 20 years, mostly from New York and New Jersey refugees. There is a lot of talk about traffic on some of our older roads and highways, naturally. The following is a letter to the editor I can't get the Morning Call to print, for whatever reason (I like to suspect a suppression of dissent, but it could very likely be for a more mundane reason, like it isn't interesting): To the editor: I am mystified by the descriptions of Rte. 22 by those who advocate its expansion. Claims that the temporary rush hour jog from 7th St. to Airport Rd. constitutes horrible traffic are provincial to the point of paranoid. Have these people not been to other parts of the country, where miles and miles of highway are jammed everyday for hours? There are roads that are beyond their capacity in the Lehigh Valley, but they are the two-lane state roads like 191 that used to lead from one town to the next, but now are the main thoroughfares through mile after mile of housing and strip-mall sprawl. And far from easing the traffic on these roads, which is where the vast majority of Lehigh Valley citizens spend their most frustrating traffic time, expansion of Rte. 22 will make the problem much worse, as it will encourage the kind of bedroom commuter growth that is gobbling up our farmland and making our city streets too busy to be safe for children to play outside. The most outspoken "community leaders" that have taken up the call for expansion are the ones who benefit the most from more tract housing and miles of shopping centers. The vast majority of us will only see the costs in our higher taxes, lost time, and ruined quality of life, not to mention the aesthetic depreciation of this once amazing region. I wish it were a coincidence that this Rte. 22 coalition was formed just a few weeks after the landmark and controversial court case this summer that granted expanded eminent domain powers to municipalities, even for private profit. But I am not that naïve. We must stop making it easier for the kind of growth that we consistently, in election after election, say we don't want for the Lehigh Valley. The way to not have a four-lane highway running through the heart of our region that leads from sprawl to the city begins by not building one. That's it. I just wanted one other person to read it, I suppose. So, thanks. And one more thing, check out this website for more about gambling and Bethlehem: www.citizensforabetterbethlehem.com

Holding Leaves of Grass

Yesterday here at the old schoolhouse, we had a little celebratory round of readings from Whitman (mostly). That was lovely, including some great readings by TB, Gallagher, and Gordon. But what still has me buzzing is that I got to hold a copy of an 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass! There was the weird verdant title font on the cover, the engraved image of a "rough" on the inside in lieu of an author, the period-less ending to "Song of Myself." Considering the one-man band nature of the original production, it isn't inconceivable that the copy I held passed through Walt's hands. As corny as it sounds, I'm really honored to have had that chance. PHILLIES WATCH: So Ed Wade is out. I'm afraid that this means a pretty radical overhaul of the team, and that is truly too bad. The Phillies had the chance to be a team that worked together to get better without buying a new line-up every year to replace the merceneries hired the year before. Plus, I think Ed Wade did a very good job, and should have been vindicated by what happened this past year with the team and its amazing young talent.

Walt and me

There is a ceremony coming up here in old Bethlehem--on the old campus, even--honoring the 150 anniversary of "Leaves of Grass," and I've agreed to read something (probably from "Song of Myself"). In a way, I've been having these little ceremonies to people and pieces I love my whole life, so one would think that I'd be more organized about this one, but it feels weird. I'm sure it will go well and all--lots of good people involved, food and wine available (though it is written, "He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face;" IStBE, 3:9). Maybe even a yawp will be loosed, by me or some other rough. Here's something I was thinking of reading, from the same poem as quoted above: "There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, All things please the soul, but these please the soul well."

More Phillies

My home computer has decided that it can no longer support the blog-writing site, so I'm reduced to writing this at the office. Not too surprising, since about the only thing my computer manages to do efficiently is dial a mobile phone number in the Netherlands ($20 a minute) and constantly try to load porn sites. Fun. Anyway, the Phillies are unbelievable. The season, which should really be over for them, continues to be meaningful. Now only one game back of Houston with two to play. I have to say, all the life-long Philly fans around here have said nothing but "They're not gonna do it." But not me. That's right, I'm Mr. Optimism. I won't stop until the mathematical certainty is realized. Go Phils, damnit. Baseball is so amazing. From Jimmy Rollins' 34-game hitting streak to Ryan Howard's home run hitting to Chase Utley's game-saving play at second in the 7th last night. No matter what happens, this has been a fun season. I can't believe it's almost over. And since these entries have been all about me lately, let me add that I'm sick and I want your pity. This is like my sixth cold this year. What gives? My immune system is usually pretty decent--I generally only get one or two colds per year, and my annual October Snot-Off is probably allergy related. But not this year; every virus that comes down the pike seems to pull off the road and ask directions in my throat, which then sends them to my sinuses (damn throat). Is this a sign of the strengthening viruses to come, and our germ-borne apocalypse? Or am I getting old and drinking too much coffee and eating too few fresh fruits and vegetables? My TV-loving lizard brain thinks it's the former.

Phillies; good grief

I had originally intended to get back to the blog sooner and describe the incredible comeback and feelings of the Phils' weekend series against the Reds. But in the short time since then, they have run into some hard luck and costly mistakes against the Mets, of all teams. It is agonizing to watch them lose to these chumps. There are now only four games remaining in the season, and they must make up two games to the Astros. It isn't impossible, but it is growing more and more unlikely. What we must consider, though, is that this run is somewhat improbable anyway, since the Phils lost their team leader and one of the best hitters of the last ten years in Jim Thome, one of their best pitchers of the last six years in Randy Wolf, and half of Vicente Padilla's season to his previous injuries and the recovery therefrom. Like a lot of good teams, they were deep enough to make up for some of this, but there is no way to really prepare for some of these setbacks. Anyone who blames Ed Wade and the organization for the lack of a playoff berth needs to remember that he is also the one responsible for Chase Utley, Ryan Howard, Robinson Tejeda, Brito (cant remember his first name), and the productive platoon of Kenny Lofton and Jason Michaels (something I myself was pretty negative about at the outset of the season). But where do we go from here? I really dont know, and I'm somewhat glad I dont have to make that decision. In other cultural news-- Last night saw my first trip to the Snydersville Diner for the seasonal apple dumplings. Only on Tuesdays, only in the fall and winter with fresh apples, and usually only by 6:00 or so, since so many people come for them they run out. It felt good to sit again in the old booth (in the old part of the diner, of course--which, like a lot of diners, means the smoking section, but it is worth it) and chat with the waitress and take in the stainless steel decor of the old dining car, now encased in the facade of the much larger building. And the dumplings were magnificent. It seems like a long time ago since I would go there two or three times a week, and I guess it was. I moved out of Stroudsburg in 2000, and out of the Poconos in 2001. Coincidentally, I'm showing a part of the "Pennsylvania Diners" video to my classes, and it makes me wonder how the producers managed to leave Snydersville out of it, considering the place's reputation and the hordes that go there for practically every meal. The diner has existed since around 1930, so it definitely has some history attached to it, and the staff and owners are full of chatty regulars, like any good family business. And the food...aah. I talked Wes and Nick (his friend visiting from California) into getting my non-Tuesday usual: the hot chicken sandwich. I myself felt I couldnt eat an entire platter and a dumpling, but I probably could have. Who am I kidding, really?

Weekend of cultural highs

This past weekend saw two of my favorite things come around: Bethlehem's Celtic Classic festival and pennant-race baseball. First to the first. Celtic Fest, as we call it, has always been a big deal with me--Irish music is what first pointed me in a folkloric direction. The first time I ever went to the festival, during my first or second year of college at Moravian, I didn't know much about it, but I enjoyed walking around and listening to the music, and I remember asking a music vendor about Irish flute who directed me to Matt Molloy's new album Stony Steps. Talk about fortuitous: of all the Celtic folk music I've listened to since then, and all the records, tapes and CDs, that Molloy album is still my favorite. In fact, you could say I've been searching for a record as good as that ever since. (This year I bought a flute CD by Kevin Crawford which is good, but not Stony Steps good.) Anyway, this year's fest was another solid effort, though musically didn't come up quite as high as the previous two or three. There was not that one new-trad group that could burn up a set of tunes in that way where you can't easily pick out an individual instrument--they all become one sound and one rhythm. There is nothing like the feeling when a group like that transitions from one tune to the next, where the first tune slows a bit--or maybe there is a pause--and then suddenly the band drops down into the next one and just takes off. It feels like that bit of turbulence on an airplane where the plane's motors seem to lose effect for a split second and the plane falls or glides until it lurches back into power. Except without the momentary terror of impending death. Well, maybe that analogy needs work. The last few years saw bands like Teada, Danu, and Solas come through town, but this year's festival seemed to focus on a new crop, most of which weren't up to nearly that level. The only band that got me excited was the Old Blind Dogs, who were as much a song band as a tune band (at least in this context), and who sufferred from the defect of having no Irish flute. They also eschewed the use of the traditional Celtic percussion boudrhain (sp?) for a bongo-type percussionist. He was very good, but the part of me that doesn't get to see as many trad bands as I'd like missed the chance to hear a boudrhain. Still, the group was great, charismatic, and in good voice. And they do a very nice Bobby Burns song, which is extra credit in my snotty Celto-traditional worldview. I'll have to discuss the Phillies later--must go teach now.

City Council wants to gamble

Well, the vote last night went down in part two of this crazy meeting, and council defeated the amendment that would have zoned gambling out of downtown. Now we just hope that the public that thinks this is a bad idea can get more vocal about it. Certainly, organizational resources like those of BethWorks would make a huge difference, but I dont see how that could happen. One of the things that supporters of BethWorks would snidely allege is that it was people from outside the town who were stirring up feelings against the casino. As if the many towns and townships around here that are going to be severely impacted shouldn't have a say in this, but what I wanted to say is that it turns out that many of the vocal and visible supporters of the casino were shipped in union workers, many from well out of town. They were doing the very thing they accused their opposition of doing, and that's not even counting that the people actually making the money off this are from WAY out of town. BethWorks Now is a New York company, and the Sands Corp. is located elsewhere (probably Vegas, but I don't actually know). I have to admit that after I saw the vote on the news last night, I was unable to sleep well. The Bethlehem that I have loved since I first spent time here may be irrevocably lost.

Where Christ was born (to gamble)

So the big doings around here lately involve Pennsylvania's decision (or the decision of its legislators) to legalize slots casinos in a few choice locations around the state, mostly in connection with horse tracks. The Lehigh Valley is one of the prime locations for one of the at-large casinos not tied to a track. There has been a proposal put forth by those who bought the old Bethlehem Steel property (and did so as this was in the works, I might add), which runs through the center of this city, to open one of the casinos just over the river in the South Side, which would anchor a massive retail/museum/arts/condo development. The Steel site has been a source of debate for ten years, ever since the heart of this old industrial town finally went silent. Still, Bethlehem itself is one of the healthiest cities around, thanks to a rich historical heritage, an impressive tourist and festival industry, the one major research university and one lovely liberal arts college within the city, and its proximity to both New York and Philadelphia. Of all the industrial cities in the area, it is perhaps the least desperate for the kind of quick fix idea of gambling. There has been massive opposition to allowing this in B'hem, and up until the last few weeks it seemed the weight of public opinion was against it, but the corporation that is BethWorks Now (headquartered in NY, and including the gambling company the Venetian) has since started a marketing blitz including mass emailing, fliers inserted into the local paper, election signs for folks' front yards that say "Build BethWorks Now!," and a total outreach to the old industrial unions focused on the construction jobs that the project will engender. Gauging public opinion is much harder now, as the proponents are much more visible and vocal, and the local newspaper's reporting has been tilting further and further toward the proposal as time goes along (at one point gushing about the beauty and intelligence of the drawings of the proposal on the front page). Which takes us up to the public city council meeting Monday night. Last month an amendment to the zoning laws of the city was proposed that would prohibit gambling, and this was up for debate. With all the publicity and strong feelings involved, the meeting was moved to Broughal Middle School's auditorium (which in itself is ironic in that this school is likely to be demolished in another much-debated zoning and development issue). Something like eight hours worth of speakers were signed up--at five minutes apiece--which were to follow presentations by a group critical of the proposed development and the developers themselves, including one of the vice-presidents and head muckity-mucks of the Venetian Corp. The atmosphere was pretty excitable, but not too hostile. By far, the largest contingent of the support was by what were obviously union workers wearing bright red t-shirts with BethWorks Now on them, and others with "Ironworkers for BethWorks," or something very close to that. The opponents tended to be more varied, both in age and gender and class. Many local and regional TV stations had cameras and reporters there, but Wes and I weren’t interviewed (too bad--I had my American Idol audition all planned out). The auditorium was full--we had to sit in the balcony, which was also fairly full. The council was set up in a long line at a table facing out, and a podium with a microphone was placed on the floor facing them for the speakers. Apparently, the city had deemed it necessary to truck over the impressive high-backed, executive office chairs for the council from city hall, so they all were comfortable. The audience sat in the old 1920-ish wooden theatre seats, which are gorgeous (I love that room, I must confess, and have seen some great concerts there, including Sonny Rollins--and I got his autograph, too!) but ass-killing after two hours. The meeting itself was more subdued than many had predicted, partly helped by the hour wait through the presentations and questions by council before the public began speaking. After a few speakers, many in the audience began filing out. Council's opinion is already a matter of record, since most have said they'll vote down the amendment, but only a few of them spoke or asked questions that revealed their inclinations. By far the funniest and most bizarre was by one councilwoman who had showed her thoroughness by stating that she'd been to the Venetian in Las Vegas and it was "lovely" and other wonderful things, and then said she'd gone to Atlantic City three times recently, where crime is apparently completely under control, and gambling money has built an amazing fire house, town hall, etc. She sounded ridiculous saying it, especially since her point was so superficial, but it drew as much applause from the partisans as laughter by the rationally-inclined. The argument for the casino put forth by the public speakers basically came down to two things: we must preserve the steel buildings, and we need the union construction jobs. Now, I know that there are other arguments for the development, but these two are really insufficient when viewed with any detachment. While pretty much everyone wants the steel plant celebrated, some aren’t in quite as much of a hurry to do anything at all to get this done. And as to the union jobs, that’s about the most short-sighted thing I’ve heard through this whole debate. What happens after construction is done in three years and now we have a casino in downtown B’hem? As I said before, the union argument was front-and-center because that’s who made up the vast majority of BethWorks supporters at the meeting. While some of those speaking against the casino mentioned the Sands Corp.’s (the corporation behind the Venetian) bad record with unions actually organizing its workers (as opposed to the temporary construction jobs), no one directly asked them to allow and encourage unions to organize the many low-paying jobs that are coming with this development. That’s what the council should have asked to be put into the letter of promises that BethWorks Now published before the meeting. I encourage anyone interested to go to the Morning Call’s website, as well as the Express-Times’, in order to read more on this. The last several days have been full of all this. I’d put a link to those sites here, but I haven’t figured that out yet. Sorry. More later, after Tuesday night’s vote by council.

Over til it's over

PHILLIES WATCH (first!): I suppose I need to say something about the Phils' historic comeback yesterday. Frankly, I'm a little stunned by it; whose Phillies are these? Dare we believe? And yet, they're still in second in the Wild Card. Damn, optimism is hard. How do cheerleaders do it? I really admire them.... And now I'm just being a wise-ass. (For those who missed: Down 2-0 in the 9th against the amazing Dontrell Willis, they got some lucky hits, some solid hits, some amazingly bad defense from the Marlins, and scored 10 runs--best they've done in a 9th inning since 1891.) Anyway, go Phils. They get the game-of-the-week slot tonight on ESPN, but since football season started, that doesn't mean a whole lot, unfortunately for America's soul. I think I need to detox. All I think about is making and consuming coffee. And it isn't even the cool of autumn yet. Reading the Steve Earle biography makes me overly-conscious of all of my addictions. Like sweets, and baseball scores, and The New Yorker, and this chicken and grilled zuchini they serve here for lunch. Can't get enough. Or as Steve would say, I ain't ever satisfied.

The Bookish Revolt (You and Me)

I was at the first B'hem Library used book sale of the season today, and there was nearly a brawl. See, these sales are held in the basement in a room saved just for this purpose now. They used to be pretty relaxed events that locals went to to pick up a handful or a boxful of books (and records--aah those lost days of yore), but as used books became a growing business/fad/obsession, book dealers began coming to these sales. The dealers now line up early with the die-hards (I used to line up, back when there were only 30 or so of us, but I'm too cool for that now; really), race in and start grabbing books like crazy. After 10 minutes they already have huge piles in corners of the room, or under the tables. It has always been annoying, but it is definitely getting to be more so. Now there are dealers piling and sorting books all over the place, and we're talking about hundreds of books with each of them. They don't exactly shove you aside, but they are certainly aggressive, and practically run from shelf to shelf--I always feel for the many elderly who come to the sales, though I suppose they may be looking at different books than the dealers. Anyway, today, a dude took exception and complained to the staff, who partially backed him up by saying that they are not going to police the piles left by the dealers (what sparked it is one of the dealers had started a huge pile under one of the central tables, putting it somewhat in the way, especially since it was a tandem attack with one guy running and a woman on the floor sorting). The dealers have this settled tradition where they pile books, or bag them in huge duffles, and then cover them with a sheet. The tradition is then that these books are spoken for. When the library staffperson said that people could take books from the dealers' piles, the dealers couldn't understand how such a common practice could be questioned. It almost turned into an argument over folkways, since rules like the "covered piles of books are taken" are obviously unwritten but widely practiced. Lots of raised voices ensued, mostly by the dealers telling others to go get the books themselves--the nerd version of the level playing field argument, I suppose. It was hard to tell what the opinion of the mob was--afterall, it was a crowd of introverts--even our vibe-giving is aimed at our shoes. Nothing was settled, though maybe it will spur the library to set up a policy of only being allowed to buy what you can carry. That would cause a ruckus, but would certainly change the sales' atmosphere. I, though finding book dealers highly annoying and mildly offensive at times (and I mean that ablutionally, too--dudes need to wash once in a while, and I mean the clothes, too), am somewhat conflicted. After all, I am a lover of used book shops as well as these little sales, and I realize that the profit margin on used books is not huge, so dealers have to take advantage of cheaply available books. But I do miss my old sale days, when I would look forward to the comeradery of the lineup, the strolling from shelf to shelf without feeling pressured--it was a cute, highly-civilized (in the Boston Brahmin sense of the idea) way to spend a morning. And it was often followed by a walk up to Hack's for a post-sale breakfast and book perusal. God I miss Hack's. Oh, here was my modest haul: Hardcore Troubadore: The Life and Near Death of Steve Earle; Willie Mays' autobiography; a Mike Lupica novel about baseball; a book of beer drinking games I'm thinking of presenting to President Farrington (for those not in the know, Lehigh was named the third best party school in the nation this year); and a brand new CD collection of Shostakovich's complete string quartets--obviously, that was my greatest coup at five dollars! PHILLIES WATCH: Lost tonight, but won three of four from the Braves. Ryan Howard is scary--another monster home run. I think most Phillies fans want him over Jim Thome next year. What a decision to have to make. Tomorrow begins a huge series with the Marlins, with whom the Phils are battling for the Wild Card.

A Nooner

Today was one of the Tuesdays that the Bethlehem Bach Choir scheduled to give a free, noontime concert at Central Moravian Church. These have been a treat for me ever since they started this past January; I even requested a Monday-Wednesday-Friday teaching schedule--though I have the seniority to get the more coveted Tuesday-Thursday--partly because of these concerts. Being in Central is nice for any occasion, but today was a particular dandy because it was pleasant out and very sunny, with light streaming in through the huge windows that line each side of the sanctuary. I sat in the choir loft and read Whitman for 45 minutes or so, since you have to get there pretty early for a decent seat. Another treat: Whitman in church--didn't work for him so much (though the Bible was obviously familiar to him), but it works quite nicely for me. The program consisted of the fifth Brandenberg (sp?) and a cantata from Trinity Sunday (dont remember the number). The orchestra sounded good to my amature ears, especially the flute (as ever--Robin Kani rocks) and cello, and the alto part of the cantata was gorgeous, too. There is something almost too rich in being able to go to something like that, on a Tuesday in September. At first I was annoyed by some of the street noise that penetrated the church during the quiet moments, but then I realized that a good part of the enjoyment was the fact that we had all taken time away from the things we are told are important (making the world go round, as it were) in order to pay our allegiance to that we know to be truly important (beauty, art, life, and other cliches that arent cliches). May my life always be structured thus.

Gatemouth

Another sad consequence of Hurricane Katrina: musician Gatemouth Brown died on Saturday. Gate had been seriously ill with lung cancer for over a year, though he insisted on playing through it as long as he could hold out. He was forced to evacuate his home in Slidell, a property he had been particularly proud of, and retreat to relatives' in his boyhood home of Orange, TX. His house in LA was destroyed. Said his agent to an AP reporter, "He was completely devastated. I'm sure he was heartbroken, both literally and figuratively. He evacuated successfully before the hurricane hit, but I'm sure it weighed heavily on his soul." This past summer, a new magazine dedicated to southern music (or perhaps just that one issue was--at any rate, I can't remember what magazine it was--hey, give me a break, I was wasting an afternoon at the coffeeshop--the Wisebean, on New Street in B'hem) did an article on Gatemouth and his refusal to give up music after his terminal diagnosis, and the article featured pictures of his house just off the swamps outside Slidell. I know Gate was proud of his home place, because he told me how he was thought of there, and that he was made a sheriff's deputy (I think it was--again, give me a break, this was six or seven years ago), which allowed him to carry a gun--he even showed me the badge. You see, I had the privilege of talking with him for several hours one night when he was playing at Godfrey Daniels in B'hem and I was working the show. He was the character I'd always heard about, plenty opinionated and appreciative of deference which, considering how I thought of his music and life, I was only too ready to provide. Mr. Brown (let's face it, this is how I should always be referring to him) told me stories of a few musicians he's played with, how he had to kick Vassar Clements out of his band (I won't say why here), and how he loved Louisiana. He even had a stalker. A woman had been following him around for some time, and calling after him when she couldn't follow. He warned me to not put her through when she called, which dismayed me until she did indeed call. (Keep in mind that he was about 75 years old at this point.) I can't remember if he had turned to authorities to help handle the situation, but it sounded like he should. Then again, he was authority itself. Gatemouth Brown was an amazing musician, and watching him onstage one got the impression that he forgot how to play more songs than you or I ever heard in the first place. He didn't like being thought of as a bluesman, but he sure was that and more. I am so proud that I got to hang out with him once, prouder still that I got to hear him play a few times. From his belt buckle to his pipe to his guitar to his viola, he was it. All the way. PHILLIES WATCH: They won two of three with the Marlins, and now they've beaten Atlanta in game one of a four game set. Are they just toying with us? God, this Phillies fandom thing is hard. I'm sure I'll talk about this more later, but I was raised a Dodger fan and lived through some good and hard times with them, but I don't remember it ever being so agonizing. Being able to watch every game of my team, and read about them every day of the year if I so choose, makes it harder. It's like all the bad things, all the failure, is happening to me. Then again, I guess that's what one risks in order to have the euphoria of victory on those rare occurrances when it happens. I wish Charlie Manual would depart from his bullpen formula once in a while. He's flirting with an exhausted set of relievers in Madson, Urbina, and Wagner by using them every night. He has a quick hook with his starters and a way too slow hook with the three above-mentioned relievers. But that's just my opinion.

Killing Me, I tell you

PHILLIES WATCH: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I was at the game last night.)

Brotherly torture

The Phillies are killing me. (But I'm positive positive positive.) That's five excruciating losses in a row. Awful. Their sometimes loud-mouthed closer coughed it up bigtime (positive positive). GODDAMN! Two and one-half games out of the Wild Card, who knows how far behind the Braves.

Louisiana

I know there is no shortage of heartfelt reflecting about New Orleans and Louisiana everywhere we turn in our cultural press, but I'm going to have my own say anyway. I spent two years in south Louisiana in Lafayette, about two hours west of New Orleans and 50 miles from Baton Rouge. Lafayette wasn't too directly affected, but is a command and refuge center now for the rebuilding of the LA delta and New Orleans. The time I spent in New Orleans was usually in small bursts, but because I had wonderful Louisianans taking me around, I was able to enjoy a slightly richer experience there--despite my short trips and non-existent budget--than the average tourist thing. I understand that the Quarter is mostly OK, and that is good, but it is the funkier, more bohemian New Orleans that I fear for, the stuff off to the west and north of the Quarter. Places like Movie Pitchers, a low-slung rambling building like someone's nasty basement, where a person could sit in couches and drink beer while watching mostly art-house movies on a screen at the front of the room. Bars like the Howling Wolf, and Jake and Snake's Christmas Club, and the Rock'n'Bowl (N.O.'s home for zydeco). And the countless coffee shops and boutiques and apartments and homes along Magazine. And even in the Quarter, I wonder what happened to the great Louisiana Music Exchange (I think it is called) and the cool used book shop a few doors down that had all the old opera LP sets. Of course, my New Orleans is the part that is unimportant when compared to the wards and neighborhoods where so many live and go/went about creating the entity we call New Orleans today. So many of those people are now living with relatives in Lafayette--as well as all over the South--or existing as best they can in the Cajundome, a stone's throw from my old house, or in Blackham Colliseum. I can't imagine what they must be going through, and I hope I never find out, but I hope I never let it drift far from my mind. One thing that has me worried is the rebuilding of the city. Specifically, that those who stand to profit from the efforts (and let's not kid ourselves, that's what happens) will, with influential planners, take advantage of the fact that the poorer neighborhoods are the hardest hit. So many of those people are now being shipped around the country to make new, theoretically temporary, lives. But I worry that the city will take advantage of that situation and engage in a de facto gentrification program, banking on the fact that the total life-shift that so many are enduring will prevent many of the working poor from coming back after months in a new situation elsewhere. Lord knows that the same situation that kept so many in the city during the hurricane--lack of money and therefore transportation--isn't going to change any time soon, and six months from now it is doubtful that there will be convoys of busses bring people back into the city in the way they were taken out. I hope I'm falling victim to my overdeveloped cynicism, but I worry. Lord, I worry. PHILLIES WATCH: In a much lighter vein, I inaugurate my blog's version of purgatory. As mentioned above, I often fall prey to my cynical, pessimistic side, but since observing the Philadelphia sports press these last few years, and observing Phillies fans my whole life, I have resolved to stay positive and not contribute to the undertow of negativity that always seems to swamp the team. But it's not easy. As of Lance Berkman's homer last night, the Phillies are now one-half game behind the Astros and tied with the Marlins in the Wild Card race, and six games behind the Braves in the N.L. East. Game tonight at 7:00. My girlfriend comes back from a week in Wisconsin tonight. Think she'll want to watch the game??

Hey

I am trying to not think about how everything I write at first will be the same as what others write: I'm new to this; I'm trying it out in order to work through some stuff and encourage writing; I hope you'll find some of what I have to say interesting; blah crap blah. This will be where I complain a lot, say nice things about people and things I like, and try to sound authoritative. Go me. So, I hope you'll find some of what I have to say interesting.