So Then Sunday (the first post in the Attic – 12 years ago)

For the past few weeks I’ve done a re-post in a Sunday version of a Throwback Thursday, a So Then Sunday, recent song parodies of mine. I’ve come to like this idea and thought I’d continue it today, not with a song parody but with an old post, a first post.

Now it’s not like I just suddenly came to be writing things about my goings on, like Boom, here’s an Attic start the write, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell ya where I might have put my thoughts, the ones that really mattered, before the Attic other than to just save them in files lost in some haphazard saving way for none to see. But Maria was my eye back in our day. I mean obviously I did have my things saved, in that haphazard files in a PC kind of way, but it was she who made me put them in a place, if for no other reason than to have them to show, my thoughts right there, to her, and she was always, when I did get them in that spot, my arbiter of what was good or shit. To this day if I see that she has liked something of mine I know I’m on the right track.

We took a step together back in 2008 to a house, a little place in Newburgh NY, a place that would eventually house she and I and the JG (Jagger) and my Benny and Shoes and her Shana girl and soon puppies, Jackson and Brady, and then my little Bella in this small Newburgh place, the FrankenGreco Ranch, that had an unfinished attic, one we would finish and put my PC in. It was the most perfect of spots when done with undiscovered golden hardwood floors, duck your head ceilings in spots, a good and bad paint job, a couple of windows and life up some stairs. It became our Attic, a pride, a spot. Yes, I like the word “spot”.

Unlike the little extension on our house on Archer Road when I was a kid, the smallest of things really, just a few feet, but the biggest of things to my Mom, with a bay window, bay windows being how Mom’s measured themselves against other Mom’s then, a thing for Ma to show off, this finishing of the attic wasn’t a Mom’s bay window. It was internal. It didn’t overtly overlook driveways or lawns or busy streets for all to behold, it was just there and we knew it and we owned it. It was a palpable change to an old new house that we could hang our hats on without the seen need. The rest of the house might still be the same just with new inhabitants but the Attic? It was ours … we did that … with no need to preen. And it was mine, with a keyboard.

Now eventually it became a too much mine and then housed a solitary bed, my own fault, not one down the stairs with pretty company, just some cats and an extra pillow but there was a time where, if given the time, I could write a few words about our at, about our us. Thus the first post from Frankenberry’s Attic 12 years ago.


February 2009

Let me start by stating that I live with a 7 year old. Let me state further that I have never lived with a 7 year old, the only experience I have with such being the one year I spent living with myself in the early seventies. It was the year Frankenberry cereal came out and I was more concerned at the time with prank phone calls and the fun poked at me on the school bus than I was in trying to accommodate the none too subtle nuances of living with me or anyone else that was 7. I’m sure if I talk with my mother she would be able to tell me of the similarities between that 7 year old and the one I live with now though I’m also sure that “I wasn’t like this”. This is a phrase that I’ve actually caught myself saying by the way, in the same way that we all catch ourselves defiantly repeating what parents laugh about that they knew we would defiantly say. They laugh a good bit.  Again, I’ll have to talk to mom. She’ll probably get the same laughing kick.

As to the living with a 7 year old that I’ve never done? Well I’m not completely ignorant to the world of small early stage humans, it’s just that I’ve never gotten this far in their evolution. My experience came when sharing a house with my brother and sister starting in 2000 when she informed us of her impending babyness, something we weren’t aware of, her included, at the time we decided to throw our hats into the same ring, a small 3 bedroom soon to be circus in Beacon, NY.

So there my brother and I sat, bachelor #1 and bachelor #2, looking down the barrel of myths, legends and outright falsehoods about pregnancy that would all prove to be true.

Without even a hint of girlfriends, never mind mom to be’s we were thrust into the world of babies. Everything babies, babies all the time, first, second and last thought babies, babies the book, babies the movie, babies the graphic novel, babies in IMAX (my god that pee stream is huge), babies are the world concerts for babies, babies rock for grandma, babies are babies u can’t touch this. And this was all before any baby was actually produced.

Eventually a baby did reach production, after a grueling 18 hours on the line and amid rumbles of a strike from the union workers: namely me. Across four hard plastic benches in the waiting room, with a newspaper over my face not hiding the early dawn and also not hiding the screams from my sister that led to a C-section, I was ready to walk off the job – that of waiting across four hard plastic benches in the waiting room with a newspaper over my face not hiding the early dawn or her screams. Then Jake came, a brand spanking new model replete with a great working engine, racing stripes and a fully functioning horn.

The next five years were a wonderment and support my contention that I’m not completely ignorant to this world of small humans, but I did regress. After getting my own place I quickly reverted back to bachelor #1 status just minus the main trapping of being a bachelor. Dating. Other than that my bachelorness went well. Benny and Shoes were happy. I fed them, rubbed their bellies, hung out in windows with them and scratched their ears. Shoes even learned how to get his own cat treats out of the cabinet and bring them to me while not knocking down the beer can pyramids on the kitchen counter, a lazy cat guys dream. All was good.

Then I met her. The best her ever. Violent regression backslide. Screeching breaks and smoking tires. Beer can pyramid tumble.

Now I live with a 7 year old. As with my first experience with my sisters’ baby product I’m getting used to a new product, one that comes with no directions or warnings, just like the first, requiring me to discover instead how to use it through trial and error and the common sense that I often don’t have. For instance, trying to operate said product early in the a.m. may cause auditory damage if not managed correctly, (tarmac headgear helps, refer to directions you don’t have). Or, when trying to dress product, at least 17 different outfits should be offered to assure that at least one of them will be considered the products’ own choice, if not, be prepared for a really long morning and another tardy note. Also know that the desired breakfast may not be available, either through the dreaded immediate advertising of Nick TV or because you just forgot to buy something that you didn’t know you needed and then ran out of.

Like I said earlier, trying to remember what it was like for yourself is fruitless unless you consult mom, who finds this too entertaining, though she does offer advice amidst her giggling. The amazing thing though is that showering doesn’t always come with wet collateral damage, breakfast does happen, outfits gets picked, teeth brushing gets successful unwanted attention, lunch is made, bought or two dollared for the cafeteria, shoelace tying is finally tackled on a daily basis.

It is a slow process and I’ve only touched on mornings. You don’t even want to know, if you don’t already, what carnage the phrase ‘bed time’ causes or what it is like to live in ‘contrary land’, and you’ve probably heard the word ‘meanie’ quite a bit. But I’m living with a 7 year old for the first time and the rewards, though they may seem to be minimal to the outside observer, are huge. Bachelor #1 has this new product tying his shoes the same way he does. Give me one check on an imaginary checklist.

Crumbs For Crows (a poem)

I haven’t written a poem in quite some time, years actually, so this will surely be read as a poor attempt. Don’t be too harsh in your opinions, honest but not too harsh. I’m fragile yah know. 🙂

Crumbs For Crows

Thoughts dropped


The wipe of a mouth


Damned falling bits of things

A crow’s right

We sit on lightposts





Hover busy highway or

Lonely humble back otherway

Sometimes with a God’s wink snark as you pass underneath


Or around the long way

With a caww’s call

To friends

In just not enough light

We sit on lawns, flitting away’s easy flight of raised hand only to return

Sifting through around mad divide, anger a thing these days

We sit on sideways with defiance to remind

We even cousin famous sit in old haunting odes, though this isn’t one of them

We sit waiting ask just what is your crumb’s point

Get it right and we won’t pick you clean

… bones

No muddle middles

Just get it right

… bones

Pick you clean

We sit and figure how to use small stones to build things

Beyond you

We are here there to best you

We’re still

Were still

Are still

Will still

Knock knock


While we wait … always waiting …

We got those leavings,

Those thoughts




Picking, pecking

And we dance

Over them

In sideslide Crow clack steps

A So Then Sunday Continues (song – The Jonna Show Theme)

If you visit here (and for some reason come back, god bless ya) you may have noticed that the last couple of Sundays I’ve re-posted a couple of my parody tunes as a kinda Throwback Thursday thing just, well, on a Sunday, a So Then Sunday.

I’ve been doing this because, while I work Friday Night Lights High School football games up the Albany way for the season, I haven’t had opportunity to grab my little studio at work on said Friday nights to have my parody fun.

Now usually my parody tunes are political, my sort of musical opinion pieces if you will, but I’ve kept these “So Then Sundays” so far to the few songs that aren’t that. Things that are just a bit of fun.

So here is another and the post I wrote for it back in September of last year …

(PS … the scream in the song is an actual Jonna scream by the way)


I record a show with two friends, have now going on, I don’t know, close to 10 years I think, minus a couple when I was let go at one group of radio stations and then picked up at another, “Happy Hour”. It’s Jonna Spilbor, you may know her, a regular contributor on Fox News and other shows as a legal expert and Keryl Pesce an author of two self empowerment books and the boss lady of a small publisher, The Little Pink Press, that helps others get their thoughts out there. A thank you for them. They are two of the most wonderful and whip smart women I have ever known. Ahhh, if only to live up to that wit and humor, something, I’m afraid, I often can’t keep up with on the show, but

Jonna, whose stories of mishaps and annoyances are a regular part of the fun, is having her house renovated. So we thought it would be funny for me to come up with a little intro/sting jingle type thing to lead into whatever her latest story of misadventure might be, a something I can do. This renovation has had her move back in with her Mom and Dad for the moment. Sounds almost like being kid again right, just out of college? Except none of us are kids so this situation is ripe with possible comedy and I don’t think she can get back on her parent’s insurance now.

Well, the little intro/sting thing wasn’t enough for me. If I can’t keep up in the show I do have other things I can do, so I searched out “sitcom” this past Friday afternoon at our production music site, a wealth of good choices, but found the best of these sitcomy beds for just what was in my head. A few words later that afternoon, some ‘singing’ in my little studio after everyone had thankfully left for the weekend (other than time spent at the house with my furry girls it’s my favorite of times) and then back home to build. I came up with this.

The theme song for the Jonna Show.

Jonna’s back home after years on her own

Nance & John happy after their bird had flown

Back in her old room

Posters still up

Of boys that were a cause to just swoon

Cassidy brothers, David and Shawn, Travolta and even Scott Baio too

Jonna’s back home her own house is a mess

Remodeling disarray causing much stress

She thought then move back with the rents

Temporary sure but with Momma food scents

She’ll just need remember live when in Rome

But what could go wrong with moving back home?

They’d of course get along

Her single habits they wouldn’t grow long

No Jonna wardrobe mishaps would occur

Her raccoons though they will miss her

Nance won’t ask of margarita again

Or glasses of wine where she never says when

Or helping with the garbage

But in outfits to send

Young boys round the bend  

Jonna’s back home after years on her own

Nance & John happy after their bird had flown

Jonna’s thankful to avoid all the stress

Of that house of hers being a mess

And timelines that will most surely get stretched

Nance & John won’t now be alone

Cause their Jonna, she’s back home!

Frankenberry In A Straw Bowl?

A good friend and co-worker, Patty, sent me a text this morning while she works from home. It was just one word with a picture.


Now besides brimming with obvious snickering pride at her choice I was also proud that she was starting her day in such a nutritious and sugary sweet vitamin charged way, I mean it is important to try and eat healthy …

Corn Whole Grain ( Includes , Corn Bran ) , Corn Meal , Sugar , Marshmallow ( Sugar , Dextrose , Corn Starch Modified , Corn Syrup , Gelatin , Malic Acid , Flavors Natural & Artificial , Citric Acid , Red 40 , Blue 1 , and , Blue 2 ) , Corn Starch Modified , Corn Syrup , Canola , and/or , Rice Bran Oil , Salt , Tricalcium Phosphate , Trisodium Phosphate , Red 40 , Flavors Natural & Artificial , Wheat Flour , Peanuts Flour , Vitamin E , ( , Tocopherols Mixed Vitamin E , ) , and , BHT , added , To Preserve Freshness , Vitamins & Minerals , : , Calcium Carbonate , Zinc , Ammonium Phosphate , Iron , Sodium Ascorbate Vitamin C , Niacinamide Vitamin B3 , Pyridoxine Hydrochloride HCl , Riboflavin Vitamin B2 , Thiamine Mononitrate Vitamin B1 , Vitamin A Palmitate , Folic Acid Vitamin B9 , Vitamin B12 , Vitamin D3

… but the most important part of her start?

You’ve probably already noticed but yes, she’s putting all this nutritiony sugary sweet vitamin charged goodness, from a Family Size 50th Anniversary (*) Monster Mash box of nutritiony sugary sweet vitamin charged goodness no less, in a freakin’ straw bowl!!!!! A FREAKIN’ STRAW BOWL!!!!! (**)

Very nicely cereal played Patty!!

Every now and then your friends confirm why it is, indeed, that they are your friends.


(* – Frankenberry cereal came out when I was 7. 50th Anniversary Box? … damn)

(** – or sippy bowl if you must)

Another So Then Sunday (song – It Wasn’t Me, I Didn’t Pee)

It Wasn’t Me, I Didn’t Pee

Back in March Celie gave me an idea, a tune about cats peeing where they shouldn’t.

To Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me”

Yo, Handsome … Open up man

What do you want Cujo?

Mom just caught me


I don’t know how


In the shower, you know


I don’t know what to do

Well, say it wasn’t you


Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

How could you forget that Mom’s the one who owns this villa

She’s got sixth senses that snap up on her pilla

You keep this up she’s gonna be your killa

She knows it’s you even got ya on camera

Before you were dumb and strolled off into the shower

These humans got tech to catch you any hour

Yeah that’s video your ass up on stovetop

You gotta say it wasn’t you to save you from the next stop

But she caught me on the counter (It wasn’t me)
Saw me peein’ on the stovetop (I didn’t pee)
Even saw me in corners (It wasn’t me)
Yeah she caught me on camera (I didn’t pee)
Saw scratches on the floorboards (It wasn’t me)
Smelled the smell that made her nose curl (I didn’t pee)
Heard her screams when she discovered (It wasn’t me)
I couldn’t stay so I took off

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

Act like nothing happened, that it’s no big deal  

Walk your Cujo walk, denial in your cool

See if you can sing another cat’s fault song

Maybe Sunny with who you don’t get along  

You’re gonna be banished from house for real

You’ll be pushin’ daisies soon for just this deal

You’ll be out garage, house life won’t last

Get caught again and 9th life will pass  

But she caught me on the counter (It wasn’t me)
Saw me peein’ on the stovetop (I didn’t pee)
Even saw me in corners (It wasn’t me)
Yeah she caught me on camera (I didn’t pee)
Saw scratches on the floorboards (It wasn’t me)
Smelled the smell that made her nose curl (I didn’t pee)
I heard the screams when she discovered (It wasn’t me)
I couldn’t stay so I took off

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

Gonna blame some other

For the smell that I’ve caused

Gotta be some other cat who goes and pees against doors

I will tell her that maybe it’s because of the dogs

I’ll just make sure they don’t catch me

When they figure mad cause

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

Celie came in

She caught me red handed

It wasn’t me I do say

I didn’t pee I will say

Celie came in then

She caught me red handed

It wasn’t me


A So Then Sunday (song – We Let Billy Drive The Car)

We Let Billy Drive The Car

Ok, it’s not quite a Throwback Thursday but I thought maybe a So Then Sunday might be in order today.

Apologies to Tolerable Tuesdays, Frantic Fridays or Wishy Washy Wednesdays but, well, today just ain’t your day.

No, really, look at the calendar, today just ain’t your day.

Monday and Saturday? You know your gig.

So a So Then Sunday it is, like a Thursday’s Throwback but just, you know, later in the week.

From a year ago.

Had a thought of grabbing an instrumental from our production music site, something I didn’t know, to see if I could write some lyrics to it and have a little fun. For the manic story idea in my head the instrumental just had to be fast.

Moved in fast

Wanted to grab cash

Had an inside

Point us to the stash

All gassed up

Had some cool masks

Famous baddies from

Old time gangster flicks

I was Cagney

Tommy was Edward G

No weapons though

Way too much the risk

Just a bluff

And the fear that goes with

Work the room posing threats

Now that’s biz

Grab the loot scoot

Back door left ajar

Plan was ticking

Like a really expensive watch

Into the alley

Out of sight of cops

Billy couldn’t be far … right?

“Hey, where’s Billy?”

“I don’t know man”

“but he knew the plan, we practiced, He knew this alley”

“I told you we shouldn’t let Billy the drive the car”

“Hey, you agreed man!”

“I had no choice, he’s your brother and I ain’t pissin’ off your mother”

Why’d we let Billy Drive the car

Mom always said he wouldn’t go very far

I wanted to just prove her really wrong

Was always singin’ the same ol’ tired song

Told her the plan no guns and just commands

Protect Billy In the best way that we can

Give him the wheel and just wait out the plan

We lit on foot then

Tommy and me we ran

Plan had been rocking

But now we’re on the lam

With nothing even resembling a plan

Other than shucking and really duckin’ now

Hidin’ round corners

And peakin’ round some bends

Tryin’ keep the coppers

From their ends

Cursing Billy to the hell he will attend

All in my head while we ran and ran and ran

Just tryin’ not to end up in the can

At least that’s if we had another plan

Why’d we let Billy Drive the car

Mom always said he wouldn’t go very far

I wanted prove her to be really wrong

Was always singin’ the same ol’ tired song

Told her the plan no guns and just commands

Protect Billy In the best way that we can

Give him the wheel and just wait out the plan

We shouldn’t have let Billy drive the car

Tommy said that we wouldn’t go very far

Except the slammer that’s just right up the state

But poor Billy he just could never rate

To the ones who always judged the most

A lost cause on their paper notes

He’s the one they say see ya later to

And I had no couch for that

“Oh shit Tommy, tell me that can’t …”

“I don’t know man …  I don’t wanna think about it”

“Billy, where you been?”

You were so right to let me drive the car

Coppers been sent a little way out far

Tripped an alarm at a different spot

An inside knew a perfect wild goose

At your plans on your wrist’s spot

Ticking along with your planned depart

I waited knowing just where your legs would stop

We were so right to let Billy drive the car

Tossed our masks and cash into the back

Cagney and Edward G they’d be so proud

And ode to gangster’s legends of the old

A new chapter maybe in that gangster ode

Of Tommy and me a new story be told

A one to finally make my momma proud

Of when we let Bill-lee drive the car

Of when we let Billy drive the car

Spiderweb Dances & New Passengers

So, this morning as I made my way to the car, which was next to Celie’s truck, I walked right through a spider web that was stretched invisibly from the truck’s passenger mirror to my driver’s own.

Sorry, I should say, this morning as I made my way to the car, which was next to Celie’s truck, my FACE walked right through a spider web that was stretched invisibly from the truck’s passenger mirror to my driver’s own.

After doing the requisite cursing, awkward and frantic hand and arm face waving dance that comes with walking through spiderwebs face first, instantly recognizable to any outside observer without need of explanation …

(holding a coffee in a cupped hand at the living room window) “Oh, look at the neighbor honey … he just walked through a spiderweb”

… followed with the instant nervous check/wipe of the mouth, I opened my car door and on the seat?

Seems after I had destroyed his invisible spider rope bridge with my face this little fella decided to hop down or got sucked down with the door open balled up onto the driver’s seat.

He then asked me for the keys. Not knowing if he knew how to drive stick I got him on a napkin and placed him on the bed of the truck.

Once there, he stretched out and after a quick “Jesus!” I realized this was the best move.

He definitely seems like more of a truck spider kinda guy anyway (and this is an automatic in case he, indeed, doesn’t know how to drive stick).

New Cat Scratcher 2

I posted here in the Attic early last month of picking up a new cat scratcher at PetSmart and the quick tale of a pretty young woman calling me “Sir”, one of my favorite of recent posts.

Well, Bella and the girls promptly ignored it, as promptly as promptly ignoring can be prompt at promptly ignoring.

Not a sniff or even a glance.

So that scratcher is now with Celie and headed down to the shelter for the cat room there while I have bought another in it’s place, this one with a perch spot.

It took all of about 5 minutes for Cricket, in her Cricket the Blind roomba kinda way, to bounce into it and wonder why I was being an asshole and messing with a blind cat with newly placed “furniture”.

But then … happy crazy cat lady guy moments

A Friday Night Lights Return

7 miles. 35 minutes and the last 2 of those 7 miles went relatively quickly. A newly remembered two years later stress filled start to a Friday Night Lights gig up the Albany with the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge being an even worse back upped construction bastard than usual to start the trip now. Fridays in my radio production job can be headache enough already without adding to it the need to leave two hours early to hit the road and try to get to whatever Albany area High School is this week’s game of choice. Newburgh-Beacon Bridge? You ain’t helpin’.

The great Pyramids were probably built in a more timely fashion than this long, tortured attempt to fix a few lanes of traffic going back and forth across a river.

(holding a clipboard)

“How’s it coming Lenny?”

“Couple of big blocks are stuck sitting in river transit Bill, and a couple of others have been lost “



“Bob?! Freakin’ Bob! Why is he a captain of these transports again?”

“His Dad?”

“Oh right, nepotism, and can’t go questioning the ol’ Pharoah there now can we, well, not without losing our heads right? Does his almighty have any kind of timetable on this, when more blocks might arrive?”

“No, but the river will provide”

“No, Lenny, apparently not always. Monster sized rocks sink Lenny, especially if Bob is piloting though I am told by the priests to chin up, that we will be finished with this in waaaay better time than some Newburgh-Beacon Bridge fix at a distant place in a distant future.”


“Don’t ask”


High School Football is back for the broadcast crew at Spectrum Sports and after that stressy 35 minutes 7 miles thing to start my trip I finally hit the Thruway. And, besides the bridge backup, there were also school busses flashing lights and brandishing stop signs, firetrucks giving pause as firetrucks will, bicyclists, lost semi’s, aliens with tractor beams grabbing at BB’s ass, slow oblivious pedestrians in crosswalks, like some sort of piling on comedy plus a line of traffic in front of me all suddenly needing to make left hand turns against even more traffic coming the other direction for some unknown reason at 3:30 in the afternoon.

“Hey ya’ll, Frankenberry’s hittin’ the road and he’s already stressed out for time … whatchya gonna do?”

“On it!! We’ll call friends!!”

Cue canned laughter.

Man, what a relief though, a relief like shot out a relief cannon at BB and I eventually finding our way out of the slow down.  

I’d actually forgotten how much I love that long wide right curve after the bridge and the Newburgh Thruway tolls to drive under the “North – Albany” sign on these Fridays, always gladly dismissing right then and there anything at work that I may have left behind and undone in my haste, anything I may have missed, the worry of possibly being yelled at a thing for Monday. Though it can make for a pretty long day when I finally do make it back home I have always enjoyed these Friday Night Lights nights, once I get past the early time scrunch stress, to get to a sideline’s excuse to tell the world to piss off for a little football while.


Now in past seasons my Football Fridays always finished with the immediate turn around after game’s end and the breakdown of equipment and the truck load up and the search then for the closest McDonald’s on the way to the Thruway for a large fry and a larger caffeinated sugar me up awake Coke. Work a day a little short at the station, hop in BB for what usually approaches a two hour ride (two and half frustrating hours this time around), work a game and turn right around looking for the Moon’s assist to my headlights on my two hour way back, even hoping for an unmet new friend’s own headlights to keep pace with me and have my back for a few miles till I reach the end day promise of the Poughkeepsie/New Paltz exit.

But I had my sister’s place this first game back night. Mind you, it’s always been there in Albany, I’ve just been too much of an idiot to think about it more often in the past. But Mom is there now, with Beck being her caretaker these days in her diminished and I do love seeing her and Beck and the nephews and the cats and a happy Razzy lump of dog. The thought of the offer of the comfiest of couches downstairs to cut the long day a little short for the moment? Most appealing now, especially as I’ve added a couple of years to the human wheels and breath since the last games.


Burnt Hills, a seeming one legged football team on this night, kept shooting themselves in their only foot  which made for a lot of falling down and coming up short and Shaker’s sideline, just behind me and following my parabolic mic steps, gleefully reminded them of such with whoops and hollers at every unbalanced misstep as well as screams thrown past the back of my head of “Hold ’em D!!”, “Let’s get ‘em O!!” or “C’Mon’ teammate’s number!!!” but not a number of a guy who may be 42 but a 4 -2, not a 17 but a 1 -7 and the rest of the litany of earnest football sideline chatter and entreaties just with some volume, with some serious volume, especially from that one kid, an injured one, going up and down the sidelines run like some caged Lion who couldn’t join in with the rest of his Lion pals, or Blue Bison pals in this case, one who was surely going to experience some lack of voice issues on Saturday morning or, at the least, just wake up sounding as if he had picked up a 2 pack a day habit overnight after his game long clichéd though excitedly genuine shrieks behind me every step of my way. Apologies to you, my ears.

I was reminded after two years of the almost comical obviousness of sideline yelling banter from coaches and players alike. From “eye on the ball” as if maybe something shiny might distract from the very nature of what your game asks for, the in unison play call shouts as they happen of “run!” or “pass!” like those on the field hadn’t already figured that out for themselves and needed the assist, punts that seemed to call for everyone to yell “Ball!” as it was in flight. I mean, yeah, it’s theoretically possible that there may have been some dozing for a moment so thus the reminder of the ball off a punter’s foot being in the air a necessary thing but still. Or, on another punt play, a coach calling out what always precedes “Ball!!” on a punt play, “Watch the fake!!” but in this case with the opposing team’s punter backed up to only a few yards away from the back of his own endzone on a fourth and forever down by 3 touchdowns. Yes coach, “Watch the fake!!” here. These nights, it seems, can even involve a little rote football comedy.


This was Shaker’s night. They kicked off their season in grand fashion with some full blown highlight reel type stuff, passes to open sure hands down the right or perfectly blocked runs up the middle that breathlessly ran, and ran, and ran to the raucous din of the big bannered Blue Bison student section doing what they do supporting them with some coordinated noise or just noisy noise and joy.

I was so glad to be back at this (and to arrive to the free pizza for pre-game dinner and post-game leftovers for the weekend or, if they were big ass pizzas, as they sometimes are, leftover slices frozen in zip locks for lunches during the week).


Hi Ma. No, don’t get up (comfy bed, quick kisses), just getting back from the game and crashing downstairs tonight. Murder mystery I see? That has always been your thing Ma. I like them too I said before a good night kiss on the cheek. Though she won’t remember me saying Hi or that kiss on the cheek she was indeed comfy, which was so nice to see and all that matters. Then it was a sit down with my Sis and a Matty (nephew) and a soon Jake (other nephew) to regale us with tales of how much he just adores his restaurant’s customers plus a kitten and a dog and half a sandwich and a two halves of a beer before making my way to that downstairs couch that nephew Matt had set up for me with fresh sheets and pillow cases and folded blankets down at the feet end just in case. I’ll have to let him know of little chocolates.


Sitting in Beck’s driveway the next morning after finally taking advantage of this family Albany way station instead of just turning around, with Sisters and Ma’s and Nephews and fur and a fresh made couch, all of my weekend shit and change of clothes in a tote from some place that paid a dollar or two to have their name on a tote, a dental office, one that I’ve never been to, I asked my phone Google lady for directions to get me home.

Eventually, along the way, I realized that it wasn’t the way home I had intended, the Thruway that is mere miles from Beck’s place was apparently not on the top of Google lady’s GPS list of directions but instead she took me, after some time, to the Taconic State Parkway but not before guiding me on an open windowed beautiful picture drive of a day past perfectly sunlit farm stands and pick your owns and corn fields and cows and horses and other farm assorteds, places that were almost idyllic, places that when you pass them you take note of in glances of a that would be kind of nice huh? It was the most unexpected and enjoyable of rides. I think I know the way to go back now, after these family way station stops, at least until the weather turns, as I could be Ok with more of this.

I mean, there are more drives to come and football to be played with sidelines to be walked and more free pizza to be ate or frozen then ate over the next couple of months to give me continued enjoyable reason to tell the world to piss off for a little football while.

Right Prince Arthur?

Miss Sephira?

Well ya didn’t think I’d finish a post up without some obligatory Sister Beck cat pics after I’d told you of them did ya? Silly reader.

(pics of Razzy and Rikki Cat #3 next time around)

Mikey Six

Mikey Six. My sanity, Mikey being the kid who actually liked it ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,………….. c’mon Memes, really? You’re usually more profound at your cat scribble steps across a left hip search keyboard – that was a little pedestrian don’tcha think, proving yourself aged at the remembering of old commercials of a kid trying a new cereal, and I know cereals. But Mikey liked it with a milk filled spoon and a smile. “Mikey likes it!”

That’s my only ask with my Mikey Six, will Mikey like it? Will you, my Mikey’s, Mikey or not Mikey?

Rick with his frustrations of a frustrating job not giving him his due but with new concerns now that trump any job requirements as family is and always will be the only.

Cindy with a new confident toes up in the sand while seeing and watching over her littles as time grows long and tall … or short, depending on how you look.

Lori with a newfound that gives her greatest of things, just the simple escape effort of reading a book, a purpose, a new blog’s purpose.

Tom with poring over and commenting through streams, and movie theaters and memory and his video library, even hitting thrift shops on Thursdays to add for the possible greatest of video finds and joys, sometimes for just 6 bucks, to then write a few horrific words about such but only in the best horror as topic kind of way.

Mark to make sure that we’re not sitting on our hands on the news however much we may wish we could just hand sit and ignore the attempt from the darkside asking us to succumb quietly to a dumb and just defer.

And Jeremiah being a guy named Jeremiah who has found a way to live through all this shit with a fun aplomb though aware check replete with cats and a dog and ball games and trips away and bar stops and food shots and tall goldish pints and pictures of all of that to remind us that we’re not dead yet.  

I word stuff by these guys/gals to make sure that I am also not dead yet. Words thrown at a wall, new words to a tune or just straight up small story words of stuff that I feel compelled to get out there if for no other reason than to do just that. To get them out there before I overload, to get them out there before they build to break.

I ask of opinion of the Six even if those opinions are not always as honest as they could be, placating an old man to make him feel better about his attempts at these words, attempts to say something,

I’m lucky to have a Mikey Six, so lucky, lucky to have those that actually pay attention and even listen while also being a guy who is perfectly happy to a solitary, with only cats for muses, but who still needs a Mikey to grab a spoon with an unexpected smile, my Mikey’s.

Rick? You have one gig now, with that unthankful one only needed for a roof. Keep better a son who is more than he knows.

Cindy? Keep those toes up and keep the gang together. You are that. You are Mom, the power of Mom, when dad’s a loss.

Lori? With a Zooming cat in your hair, just read. Just read.

Tom? Crunchy Frogs? Your other spot? You are definitely Crunchy Frogs as well.

Mark? You make sure to keep me on page of this fucked up world’s book before I know I need the page reminder. I always check and follow at your insistence as you’re always one step ahead.

Jeremiah a guy named Jeremiah? Keep keeping me young my friend. Something about vicariously.

I put stuff out there, things for my Mikey’s, anyone else just gravy.

88888888888888888888555555888888888888888877777777888888888888888998888888 Aaaaaahhhh Mimi, silly cat., as you almost cat scribble cat step step back out across my keyboard, wavering, from your left hip lap or to your PC desk bar towel.

Don’t know what the 8’s mean Memes, but as long as they’re not “ates” for eyeballs when I’m dead then I’m good.

15t`545432231“` Hey, what are you dancing now? Pick a spot girlfriend.