Harleys, Cars, Girls & Guitars

Vital Signs Conference in New York

Last weekend, I attended (along with a number of other volunteers from the Woodstock Rescue Squad) the Vital Signs Conference at the Sheraton Towers in New York City.

Two great aspects of the conference: (1) an inspiring motivational speech by John O'Leary, and (2) the opportunity to spend some quality time with my friend, Peter Allemano. Peter and I had dinner with the other members of the rescue squad at a Chinese restaurant on West 56th Street, and we also had plenty of time to yak and walk the streets of the city.

O'Leary was by far the best speaker at the event. When he was nine years old, O'Leary was playing with matches and a full can of gas in his family's garage. He burned the house down, and sustained third degree burns over 87% of his body.

O'Leary was not expected to live. Emergency medical personnel, dedicated nurses and some unexpected friends in high places provided him with the motivation to recover and thrive. He's now a middle aged man with a wife and three sons. I strongly suggest that you read his story.

I had not known that so many emergency medical personnel die in the line of duty,  but I learned this at the conference. On Sunday, our opening ceremonies memoralized fallen comrades from 2009.  Very moving.

I learned some very worthwhile new skills at the conference. I learned that I'd better keep my eyes open when I go out on calls. Although the calls often seem routine, serious injury and death can strike emergency medical personnel without warning.  Many have made the supreme sacrifice.

Kenny's Castaways on Bleecker Street... Pay to Play Showcase Club

Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village is lined with clubs. I'll do some short pieces on each of them over the next few weeks. The clubs are only a block or two away from my office.

Kenny's Castaways is one of those pay to play songwriter showcase clubs. The club makes its living by running up three acts every night. Each act is expected to strong arm its friends and followers (if it has any) to show up.

I doubt if the club pays its acts, or if it does, I doubt if the pay equals the expenses. That's not the point anyway. The hopefuls line up to play these clubs in the hope that the record company executive or television producer will stop by to see their act and sign them up. Sometime, it happens.

The club holds, maybe, 100 to 150 people.

The club proudly displays this poster from a 1972 appearance by Bruce Springsteen. Springsteen was already an established act in 1972.

(Note the politically correct edit of the word "History."  This is the Village, after all.  Back in 1972, Springsteen was all macho motorcycle.)

The music business was very different way back in the early 70s. Rock bands really did emerge from years of hard work in clubs. Today, the internet rules. I'm sure that club bands still exist, but I'm a little too old for that scene.

Too old to pay to play in places like Kenny's, too.

A Little Help from Big Joe

Big Joe (who now weighs less than me!) and I recorded this Beatles' tune Sunday.

I like it. Did it on my Zoom H4, and sharpened it up and added effects in Soundbooth.

Woodstock Town Picnic: Volunteer Appreciation Day

Today, I attended the Woodstock Town Picnic, which also serves as Volunteer Appreciation Day. I was one of the honored guests because I serve on the Rescue Squad. As is customary at Woodstock events, the local bands played in the pavilion at Andy Lee Field.

I enjoyed the picnic, which included BBQ chicken, corn on the cob, salad, pita bread with hummus, and a wide variety of deserts. Unlike last year, when I arrived late in the afternoon, I made sure to arrive close to the start of the event. Last year, the food ran out. I was determined to get my fair share.

The big plastic playtoys for the kids were a nice addition.

I've had to cut back on my commitment to the Rescue Squad because of my new job in the city. That's unfortunate. But, I have to make a living. I'm only on duty now on weekends. Don't know if the job in the city will go full time. If not, I'll be back in Woodstock and I'll be able to commit to full duty again.

Cafe Racers Parked in the Village

College students ride motorcycles because they can't afford cars. So, the streets of the Village surrounding New York University are studded with cycles. Parking spaces for cars are just about nonexistent. A cycle solves this problem, too. You can park it in about two feet of curb space.

Above, the reissue of the Triumph Bonneville, one of the most popular bikes of the 60s. I spotted this beauty a couple of blocks from my office.

The Bonneville was a famous hipster bike. To quote Wikipedia:

The 1960s saw a stream of Hollywood and home-grown celebrities riding Triumphs and establishing the marque's global cult status: Steve McQueen (The Great Escape), Marlon Brando (The Wild One), Clint Eastwood (Coogan's Bluff), James Dean (Rebel Without a Cause) and Bob Dylan (who famously crashed his Triumph, sustaining serious injuries in 1967), to name a few. In England the Triumph was, and still is, infamous for its connection to the "Rocker" culture centred around the Ace Cafe.

The Royal Enfield pictured above was also a famous cafe racer.  You've got to love the sign on the front fender.

Here's a Wikipedia bit about the Royal Enfield company:

In 1956 Enfield of India started assembling Bullet motorcycles under licence from UK components, and by 1962 were manufacturing complete bikes. Enfield of India bought the rights to use the Royal Enfield name in 1995. Royal Enfield production, based in Chennai, continues and Royal Enfield is now the oldest motorcycle brand in the world still in production with the Bullet model enjoying the longest motorcycle production run of all time.

I've seen a few Harley baggers parked at the curb in the Village, with maybe a foot clearance from the cars in front and back. I'd be worried that some idiot would back over my bike. Still, if you really want to ride into the city (and it's a gas), a bike is a cheap way to do it. And, you might find a free parking space.

Dog Toilet in Greenwich Village

In my walks around the Village, I passed by this dog toilet. Produced by an Orlando, Florida company, the Dogi Pot contains everything necessary for cleaning up after the urban pooch.

The Dogi Pot dispenses plastic baggies to contain the poop. Unfortunately, the day I walked by the system was out of plastic baggies. Once you've collected your dog's feces, you just dump the baggie into the waste receptacle at the bottom of the Dogi Pot.

It's “The Clean Solution to Doggie Polution!” Not only that, it's “The GREEN Solution to Doggie Polution!”

Painting Sign on a Building on Houston Street

Two painters suspended on a rig ratcheted down from the roof of the building below were painting an advertisement for the World Basketball Festival yesterday.

This event is... well, here's Nike's promo bit:

BEAVERTON, Ore. (June 9, 2010) – This summer, NIKE, Inc. and USA Basketball are planning to bring the world's best basketball teams and top musical performers to New York City for the inaugural World Basketball Festival, a four-day celebration of the performance and culture of the game, an event that Nike has committed to reprising every two years.

If you look really close in the picture above, you can see the two workmen, on either end of the rig, painting the sign. I took this picture with my iPhone, so the resolution isn't so great. As the painting progresses, I'll take some pictures with my Canon Digital Rebel.

UPDATE:

Below, a pick of the ad shot with my Canon Digital Rebel.  Quite a difference in picture quality.

I imagine that the iPhone 4 camera produces much higher resolution than my antique iPhone 3. But, I'm not buying the iPhone 4. Doesn't run Flash. So, I'm thinking (if money is ever abundant again) of moving to the Android X.

Old And Alone

I will probably spend the rest of my life alone. Not at all what I wanted. I've been fighting against this reality since Myrna died. Lately, I've been thinking that it's best to surrender to that reality and make the best of it.

Being alone and lonely is an unfortunate reality of old age. My wife is long gone. So many of my friends are on the other side. I've tried to replace the losses. But, it's a losing battle.

Myrna completely filled up my life. We worked together and played music together. She put all her chips in the pot. We were both far away from our families, and we had little support except for one another. Our lives were entirely built around one another.

After Myrna's death, I tried frantically to find another woman. That has also been a losing battle. Most women are justifiably unhappy about following in Myrna's shadow. It's a long shadow. And, let's face it... I'm not a great catch. I'm limping toward the finish line, struggling with money, and struggling with a new job. What woman in her right mind would want to take on my problems? Physical and mental disability loom in the not so distant future.

So, I'm thinking about settling in to being alone and accepting that that's the way it will be for the rest of my life. I've got, probably, 15 years of good health remaining. What to do?

Six years after Myrna's death, I'm surrendering. God apparently has some other plan for me. The days of living for romantic love are over. Big Joe says that I'm lucky God gave me those 16 years with Myrna.  He's probably right.

What's next, God? My life is in your hands.

The View Out My Office Window

Just across the street, I can see this Picasso statue. Not bad, eh? Same model Picasso used to produce his famous statue at the Civic Center in Chicago.

I really enjoy my walks through Greenwich Village. I get off the subway at West 4th Street, and walk along MacDougal and Bleeker. Several times a day, I take a spin around the block.

Above, the dedication plaque for the statue.

Gay Marriage Judge from My Hometown

My mother told me this bit of bizarre news. Judge Vaughn Walker, Chief Judge of the United States District Court for the Northern District of California, who repealed California's anti-gay marriage Proposition 8, hails from my tiny hometown of Watseka, Illinois.

Judge Walker, I gather from various news reports, is gay.

The judge is six years older than me, so I never met him in school. He's close to my oldest sister's class.

I really don't have an opinion on gay marriage. Well, I do have a variety of opinions, but who cares? It's not my decision to make. I try not to get politically involved in anything that doesn't concern me directly.

It's cool that such a high ranking judge emerged from my little hometown. I am always heartened by stories of success among my homeboys.