Vichy Water – Author's Blog Just another WordPress weblog

 Set sail in a heavy humid aromatic wind; for me, it provokes memories of childhood, father-son relationship notions and a Yankee-Baltimore Orioles baseball game on a Saturday in July when Eisenhower was President. I always pick on Eisenhower, it seems. He had a mistress you know and so did FDR.  Senator Vitter solicited a prostitute. In a magazine interview way back, Jimmy Carter said that “he lusted.” I liked when President Carter told us in the 1970’s to go solar and get off oil. Now it’s windy; smoky dust gets in my eyes; I wonder if published ‘lust’ is different than sending picture tweets on the internet.

   All of a sudden, its Christmas week and we had that terrible snowstorm (some media folk insist it was a blizzard) and I keep shoveling streams of pure consciousness into huge piles, as tall as eye level. Everywhere, there are huge drifts, piles of snow and double societal standards. Hot dog! (Exclamation of sarcastic excitement): are we entering a new world of revelations and redefining of politician’s private lives? I took a double take last week when my Governor Christie was interviewed locally on television and during the call-in segment; a woman asked why he sent his kids to parochial schools. He replied, “It’s none of your business.”  I liked that response because he’s ‘politically’ right.

   I just rubbed a strange striped stone from the Bay of Fundy last summer. A tour guide said some stones, near a big red cave, have magical powers. If I had the resources, I’d graciously send a stone to each member of the House of Representatives. Ah, but it’s Father’s Day so I need to get back to that baseball game.

  When I was ten years old, my parents rented a bungalow in Belmar at the real Jersey shore for the month of August. There weren’t a lot of kids my age, so I found ways to amuse myself; notably in a pinball amusement place. When no one was looking, as if I was a local street urchin, but I was, I crawled underneath the machines, and foraged for dropped nickels and dimes. Hey, it was a living. When I finished accumulating daily wealth, I walked to the beach, checked-in with my mother and baby sisters, then I disappeared to my ‘Walden Pond,’ the jetty at the Shark River inlet, where I’d sit for hours, dreaming, staring down ships heading to Kilimanjaro and places Blackbeard would frequent. Sometimes you can’t explain why things buried deep inside your brain just randomly fire away. Lamentation: why I wasn’t ‘afflicted’ with “superior autobiographical memory;” imagine having total recall of every day of your life. CBS/Sixty Minutes did a report on this condition which has only recently come to light.  A handful of people, including actress Marilu Henner have this memory condition. And it’s probably true, if you ‘suffer’ from this, you might never lose an argument. Here’s the program video link:

 video link to CBS/60 minutes/ superior autobiographical memory

But what I do remember from the jetty during that summer of my contentedness was how I kept wondering about being someone’s father and how important it was and whose father would I be?  Gosh, I was only ten, so why did fatherhood dreams pre-empt the Brooklyn Dodgers on their way to the pennant and a chance to get the hated Yankees in a World Series? Funny, I remember loving the Dodgers and not the Yankees; it was a racial thing and I was ten.

 The Dodgers and my hero, Jackie Robinson were the first to break baseball’s color barrier, not the Yankees. Jetty sitting one day; there were white caps and my mother told me the ocean is readying for a big storm; I resolved before that storm, that I’d bring my child to this magical jetty which helps you look past the horizon and tell my son/daughter (I was never gender specific) how much I dreamed of bringing them here. My father was never with me. I was always alone. Oh, a couple of times he’d throw a baseball to me in the driveway until that wonderful July day in the Bronx. My father got tickets to the Yankees versus Orioles. We were so early that we watched a choose-up game in a field near the stadium and pre-baked in hot unyielding sun; once inside Yankee Stadium, he passed out from sun stoke and I saw the game from a nurse’s office. That was the last time my father spent a day with me for the rest of his life. My father, who never even saw me play organized basketball, still taught me about fatherhood. When my son was ten years old, we went to my jetty and I told him the story. The following year we went to a football game at Rutgers Stadium and the year after that, my son and I were season ticket holders. I thought about my father yesterday. One day I’ll ask my son what his plans are for our Belmar jetty.

 It’s a good time to plug this amazing place of sand, jetties, Atlantic Ocean, summer sounds, winter solitude and French fries with vinegar sold at boardwalk vendors. The Jersey Shore is a best kept secret (sort of). Years ago, people from eastern Pennsylvania used to invade the shore, carrying lunches in shoe-boxes; hence they were called “shoe-bees.”

 Some of the most expensive real estate any where is on Stone Harbor, near Atlantic City and HBO has the successful series, ‘The Boardwalk Empire” as is MTV’s ‘Jersey Shore.’ That’s a lot of pop culture, for the obvious reason; the shore is happening, evolving and magical (and probably hard to adequately describe if you haven’t been or happen to live in one of the Dakotas). Spur of the moment Saturday night, with friends, we went to Asbury Park (where Bruce Springsteen first met Clarence Clemons), walked downtown, crowded with casual folks, found a perfect Portuguese restaurant and dined for three hours outside, under cirrus clouds and a pink setting sun; two pitchers of Sangria enhanced as did a red trolley car that passed by. After dinner, we walked around absorbing the Haight-Ashbury-like youthful energy of the place. You could hear/feel echoes of Bruce, but there’s actually plenty live music to be had all the time in Asbury Park. Here’s a link/doorway/rabbit hole/key to shore magic:

http://www.visitthejerseyshore.com/ 

 Also check out the ‘Jersey Shore Icon Contest.’   

 And speaking of Clarence Clemons, why is it in life; that you never pay enough attention to gifted humans, or find ways to get to that first row and just keep regularly taking in amazing precious talent? Clemons met Springsteen on the Jersey Shore in 1971 and played on two songs on Springsteen’s debut album; ‘Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J.’ Clemons joined the inaugural E Street Band in late 1972 and played with them until his death. He played on 21 Springsteen albums and was featured prominently on many of his biggest hits, including “Blinded By the Light,” “Thunder Road,” “Jungleland,” “Badlands” and “I’m Goin’ Down.” On stage, Springsteen regularly introduced Clemons as “The Biggest Man You’ve Ever Seen.” Clemons was around 6-foot-5 and 270 pounds. And I’ve added “not having seen Clarence perform enough live,” to my ever growing list of “should’ve done” things. I hate that list and I loved Clarence Clemons.

 Youtube. Clarence Clemons “Jungleland” solo 

So what’s the deal with my moving to a cabin in Montana? It’s because of everything swirling around my head, Ma (listening now to Dylan’s song “It’s Alright, Ma, (I’m Only Bleeding).” “Son, you take too much to heart. Go hop on your Harley, find Captain America.” I wish my mother would’ve said that back then. I might’ve headed out west, discovered America and more of myself. Cousin Stuart offered me a ride on the back of a Harley last summer in Dallas. I looked to the hot sun and asked Ma, “Is it alright?”

 “An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it”    Bob Dylan

 Here we go; the roller coaster ride at Olympic Park in Irvington, New Jersey. I rode that ride once when I was twelve years old and never again. Could it be, I’m still dizzy? Guess what I’ve known all along; The Supreme Court ruled unanimously today that a huge class-action lawsuit against Wal-Mart Stores alleging sex discrimination cannot proceed. The lawsuit could have involved up to 1.6 million current and former Wal-Mart employees and billions of dollars in damages. The plaintiffs (women) can still pursue their suit on their own, but not as a class action, the court ruled, meaning much less money would be at stake. See Ma, big money usually always wins.

 Back to the cabin idea; I’d live alone, grow my own cucumbers, no electrical outlets, no outside world, no US Mail, no political campaigns, media feeding frenzies and other dire straits machinations.

 There seems to be ten states now where it’s particularly bad to be a woman because of a lot of new legislation (hint). And if I did cabin living (with only batteries), there might not be National Public Radio, under the de-fund gun. In Minnesota, the Education Finance Committee is readying a funding bill that will eliminate the goal of desegregated schools. And a few states have rejected high speed rail service and I love train travel as you all know. I like net (internet) neutrality; that’s under fire. Did some House representative from Arkansas introduce legislation cutting funding for the President’s teleprompter? Are there real wars going on against unions, collective bargaining, middle class; all of which touch me? I’m so ‘middle,’ I want to live in a cabin.  In Texas, Debbie Riddle  (R-TX) introduced a bill that would jail people who hire undocumented workers but would exempt anyone who hires “the help” for their homes, thereby effectively legalizing slavery for illegal immigrants. And what’s the deal with Neal Boortz, an Atlanta vitriolic radio talk show host advocating vigilantes and shooting ‘street thugs.’ Cox broadcasting likes the publicity; good for ratings? And how come there isn’t more of an outcry from the media and politicians or are they still burned out on hot dogs? “Hey Ma, do you see why I’m dizzy?”

  ‘Islamophobia’ became institutionalized in the U.S. House of Representatives when Rep. Peter King (R.NY) had his McCarthy-esque “investigation of radical Islam” back in March. I’m so tired of Joe McCarthy.  Pell Grants, that help middle class kids go to college, have been cut by 25%. Back in my cabin, I wouldn’t have to worry about the planet adding a billion people every 12 years.

 Hey Ma, more swirling stuff; Back on June 7th, there was a fire at the Fort Calhoun Nebraska nuclear plant.  The official story is that the fire was in an electrical switchgear room at the plant.  The facility lost power to a pump that cools the spent fuel pool for approximately 90 minutes.  According to the Omaha Public Power District, the fire was quickly extinguished and no radioactive material was released. Right now, the nuclear facility at Fort Calhoun is essentially an island. It is surrounded by rising flood waters from the Missouri River.  I love the ocean especially by my jetty in Belmar. But is Fukushima, which we hear nothing about anymore, killing our oceans and will it be the worst disaster known to us human kind? How much of Japan will be inhabitable?  My friend in Seattle, a psychic, keeps telling me about cracks in the earth’s surface (and earthquakes); one 500 foot crack developed in Michigan recently.

The fire in Arizona consumed 500,000 acres and saddened me; I’ve climbed red mountains there a dozen times. I left my heart out west; that’s why I want cabin life in Montana; big blue sky away from the maddening crowd. “Hey Ma, why do I let all this stuff swirl me around?” Maybe if Captain America would ask me, under a starry western sky, to join him around a joint camp fire, but I’d have to tell him it doesn’t work on me and to put it back in his handlebars. Too much rationality and sensibility fight cerebral recreation.

 I just came in from outside. I love shoving 10:30 PM summer air into my lungs; I was back in Newark, sitting on a stoop, smoking a ‘punk’ which was nothing more than a lit stick that scared Jersey mosquitoes away.

 The stoop gang looked up at the stars and wondered about the television ‘Superman’ George Reeves, dying the way he did. I hear the ‘Book of Mormon’ is now sold out for five years and I could’ve gone to previews. Pandora now has comedians. Earlier this afternoon, I flicked on the television and watched an HBO documentary ‘Section 60;’ the story of a section at Arlington National Cemetery where America’s most recent war dead from Iraq and Afghanistan lie in a quiet patch of ground. Families, friends and military comrades visit the gravesites. Such powerful visual stuff.   Link to Documentary web site:

‘Section 60’ Documentary Link 

Sure Ma, this was a serious blog. I think its time for Youtube and ‘Abbott and Costello’ “Who’s on First” routine.

 Abbott and Costello ‘Who’s on First’ Routine 

Often I’ve pondered writing like this, but thirty years ago, expressing what’s out the window, down the block, but I don’t think I could’ve back then without internet infusions and confusions. I’m a product of changing digital times, Belmar jetties, Google, Facebook, anti-oxidants, the Constitution, and Montana cabin dreams. If I were a songwriter, I would’ve written the lyrics for the aforementioned notions by this morning followed by two aspirin. Have a nice first day of summer. Quick thought; I wouldn’t have to move the clocks back or forward in my Montana cabin.

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 website:  http://vichywater.net

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 Book Trailer(hey its only 65 seconds, Ma):

Vichy Water book trailer