Sentimental Cats

How do I know that cats are privy to the thoughts of humans and maybe even have a feel for the sentimental?

Earlier today, as I finally broke out the vacuum to clean a bit, I thought about taking this sideways box, with its old Steve t-shirt bed, out. Be done with it I said. It’s been sitting on this rug in front of my TV for months, empty.

It was a spot my dearly missed Blink, in her too short a time, would sleep in or use to torment old girl Mimi from atop boxtop when Mimi would claim it, Blink The Kit just happily cat slappin’ away while Mimi growled her old lady annoyance. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it, to get rid of it, surely because of just that.

Today though, while I cleaned, and with firm resolve, was the day I thought, today it would go. Done. Gone. One less thing and pained memory to step around.

Bella has never layed in it. Ever.

And so it stays.

Ohhh, for sentimental cats.


Bella in a Blink Box

Checking In On A Bird Or Two Twice

One: Because I said there would be more from these two and, no, before you ask, I don’t know their names or gender (UPDATE: Found out – a gal and a guy – meet Rico (yellow top) and Birdy Ray (orange top)). They’re just two beautiful, godly colorful, noisy-ass birds with a good spot in the sunroom … and they seem to like me. I’m good with that.

Two: Pretense for reminding myself and then pointing out to you all one of my all-time favorite of movies, “Birdy”. A 1984 Alan Parker film (oh, where have you gone old friend) with Matthew Modine and Nicolas Cage and a soundtrack from Peter Gabriel. Win, Win, Win. I think I may have even gained a glimpe into where Matthew Modine’s character could have been coming from.

And shit, since I have the DVD, I guess I just planned my Saturday night huh?

The movie also has one of the greatest one word scenes ever (the ending), but no real spoiler here.

Though I’m looking a little tired here and, dare I say, old, this is exactly the reason that I look forward to coming home from long days. Thank you for that Momma D.

Cats and dogs and … birds … oh my!

Cheers alI

The Trump Treehouse of Tall Stories, Treason & Tyranny: “Gettin’ Redder” – Song

(UPDATE: 08-30-19. I just couldn’t take #6 below and the being satisfied, at the time, with “note that it’s not your best…” 

No, “note that it’s not your best” won’t fly. Though it may still not be my best (that is all relative to my endeavors in this small canon of tunes in the first place I guess) I couldn’t let lyrics I worked hard to be sharp be relegated to “note that it’s not your best” and maybe be lost because the final product isn’t up to snuff, for me at least. This one is up to snuff by the way. 

I had to try and clean it up a bit, to try and fix that shitty verse plus some of the breaths that made me sound like I was running a fucking marathon. Ok, I feel better now. Thanks. Updated … it’s kind of a toe tapper by the way)

Taking a long weekend (a Friday and a Monday) for a single dude who gives not a shit, or two, or maybe even a three about such singleness involves a few things.

One: Stock up. You have no intention of leaving the house once you’re in, so that Thursday night make sure there is plenty of cat food, litter, beer and wings from Adam’s hot bar (grab an extra Wish Bone chunky blue cheese by the way, just in case, as being old and stuff you can’t quite remember if you have one in the fridge and you don’t want the headache of all the cursing when you get home if you don’t).

Two: If you do leave the house make it quick and productive, in your case, heading down to the station yesterday to sing out a new tune and email the pieces back to yourself.

Three: Get laundry done early, even if you plan on wearing the same shorts and underwear for four days (I did mention that I’m single right?) damning the judgers (fresh sheets on Tuesday). Good to have a backup just in case the Pope or someone’s Mom shows up.

Four: Think about shaving but decide against it as it is just too much bother and the mirror says “ehh? You’re kinda good”.

Five: Hang out in quiet with your Bella and the Unintentionals, She, Cricket the Blind and Mimi the Quirky while trying your best to keep an eye on the gang downstairs (loveable furry/feathered knuckleheads all), have a thought about maybe watching that movie you’ve so wanted to watch but opt out ’cause you’re just not in the mood to invest the time and then refer back to the quiet hanging out with Bella and the Unintentionals.

Six: Build a song from the afformentioned trip down to work yesterday, from the pieces you emailed to yourself and wonder why the hell you keep doing this but knowing exactly the reason. Note that it’s not your best, that that shredder verse sounds like shit and you can’t squeeze tight enough for some of the high notes but know that it has it’s moments. Words. Important ones … at least for you.

Seven: Feel profound anger at the state we’re in.

Eight: You’ll have to be good at six or else you’ll lose your fuckin’ mind.

A high five to myself (a “Too Something” thing … Russ knows) and to you all as well.

Cheers gang,

Gettin’ Redder 

We’re gettin’ redder all the time.

Democracy used to be cool (now it’s so passe)

It followed a true set of rules (they’re now so cliche)

Set by the father’s

Who took time to bother

Independence their then new crown jewel-ewll

I’m afraid where we sit we’re getting redder

As the GOP toes the line (thinking only purse)

Following trump cues to the letter

We’re getting redder

And Mitch won’t decline

We once were a free and proud land

But with despots we surely now stand

Trump tries to re-write while dimming the light

A constitution that’s not up to braa-aaand

I’m ‘fraid to admit we’re getting deader

a little deader in the mind (in the soul it’s worse)

I’m scared to admit it won’t get better

it won’t get better ‘less we de-cline

Getting so much redder all the time

We’re getting redder all the time

redder deader redder

For true elections we will pine

Values in a shredder

We once found a way to escape tyranny to keep us apart from cruel Kings and their word

But now we return and with trump words we’ll burn

Histry’s coming back vengeful full turn

We’ve got to escape now from the redder

Before it drowns us in the lies (yes it can get much worse)

We’ve got to stand up and to remember

When it was better and we were fine

We’ve got to get less redder there’s no time

Can we keep the red at bay-ay (stand up an be count-ed)

Push the auotcrat away-ay (grab hope make it swa-aay)

Can we get less redder while there’s time

A Grayson Reminder

A Grayson Reminder

So this past Tuesday I shared one of those Facebook memories that pop up on occasion, mostly trivial and useless, “Hey, here’s that time you took a video of that crab on vacation” (no, not your mother-in-law…badumbump!…here all week, tip your waitstaff) or “Remember when you posted about toast?” or “Here’s a picture someone shared from 5 years ago of you, drunk with someone you don’t remember from back in the 90’s, though you may have slept with them.”

But Tuesday’s reminder wasn’t useless or trivial at all as it was of a video of my Bella on the kitchen table from 3 years ago in my old Hyde Park apartment where she, passively yet insistently, really has something on her mind. This video, because in her 8 years she has made barely a sound, is one of my favorite moments with her as she seems to be asking questions and, at the time, I knew these questions surely involved what was going on with that stray gray cat I was feeding that she could smell on me every day. It is also a little strange as to the timing of this Facebook memory presenting itself on my page when it did as it was just a day short of the 1 year anniversary of the sudden passing of that stray gray cat, who came to be my Grayson and a two year member of the then newly formed 3 Frankenteers.

I’ve been posting to my blog here for quite some time now, starting with life at the house, where Frankenberry’s Attic got its start, with Maria and JG and the gang of fur back then, before my eventual return to singleness (something I think I’m destined to), but I’ve always been proud that my two pieces about Gray, “Grayson” & Grayson Part II: It’s Never Just Black & White – There’s Sometimes A Gray Area” garnered some of the most views of any of my many posts, that along with the Dr Seussian ode to my dearest  Shoes “A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat”. (Not a lot of views relative to what people of the internet might consider a lot by the way, but a lot relative to my blog).

Though recently I’ve been posting a great deal from the Trump Treehouse of Tall Stories, Treason & Tyranny, first with Trump dialogues (which I need to get back to) and then with my ongoing set of Beatles themed parody tunes, posts that have racked up a good number of eyeballs, I’ve always been proudest of the tributes to my dearest friends when they leave as they are just so personal and such a comfort to me.

Now whether, on all these post views, people actually read the post all the way through I couldn’t tell ya (Grayson Part II is pretty long…like 3000+ words long). But just knowing that my two pieces for Grayson, one about the “save” and the other of the profound heartbreak at his passing so suddenly are right at the top in the way of views is just so heartwarming. It means, that a little scrawny, angry, left behind but eventual robust, happy, found gray cat got a few people to read his story, to remember, even for a moment, that he was here and that he was important.

Gray, it’s been a year now, and Bella and I soooo miss ya dude, but know this. Some folks out there took the time to get to know you my friend, to discover the ‘special’. That is a good thing.

A year later now my piece for Gray is linked above, it’s one of my best (and the link for my Dr Suessian ode to Shoe’s again as well). If ya take the time, surely Grayson would say thanks.

The Trump Treehouse of Tall Stories, Treason & Tyranny: “Being For The Benefit Of All That’s White (And A Moscow Mitch)” – Song

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 08-03-19)

Being For The Benefit Of All That’s White (And A Moscow Mitch) 

For the benefit of all that’s white

We’ll re-visit Nur-emberg tonight

So gather round

Fox pundits they will gladly share

Masking bias they no long-ger care

Cage the brown

And four congresswomen we’ll chant send back

Accusing them of being on attack

In this way Trumpy D he poisons the well


The ignorance of this Trump D

Rallies at a furious speed to gather base

The Tucker’s Hann-itys are there

Fox and Friends as well don’t care, lets bring the hate

His lapdogs blindly follow suit

Justi-fy his words or just hit mute

And of course Mitch’s ele-phant dances the worst


The white takes hold at half past black

Un-American the tried true tack

Let’s send them back

He’ll propagate a fantasy, new histry’s order

On favorite stage, he’s got a knack

It’s 2 plus years of prep-a-ration

To induce separation of this Klan

And tonight Trumpy D he’ll go for the kill


(For the benefit of all that’s white

Mitch blocked a bill to try and right

Our voting plight

The Russians he invites back in

Others please come join the din

Truth take flight

A complicit GOP it plans to benefit

Renewed elector’l hack

Free-dom suffers elephant’s wrath

A planned whackety whackety whackety whackety whaaack

Their treason’s always on the attack)

Buccos/Mets Weekend #4: Notes From The Ballpark And A Down But Not Yet Out Pirates Fan

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 07-28-19)

(refer to pictures for some of these notes) 

* Title tells you how we did, though not without a valiant 4 run 9th to come up 1 short today while finishing being on the wrong end of a 3 game sweep. Sigh. 

* Our seats were a little closer to earth this time around, as opposed to Saturday night’s one step from heaven, where the air wasn’t as thin and our noses didn’t bleed and Jeremiah Johnsen , who knows his way around Citifield, made sure these seats were under an upperdeck’s overhang out of the sun. Smart dude. 

* A guy asked his girl to marry him on the scoreboard’s kiss cam today, down on a knee with the ring and everything. As basebally romantic as you’re gonna get and his knee didn’t even stick to the stadium floor when he stood back up. Kismet. Thankfully she said yes saving all 25+ thousand in attendance the need to look away and make awkward small talk with whoever was closest if she hadn’t. 

* We parked under the highway across from Mr Jung and his Auto Shop sign as we often do to save 25 bucks with just a few extra steps. You can tell from the sign that if you’re having car issues Mr Jung is your guy by the way. I mean he’s giving a smiling thumbs up and holding a wrench. How could he NOT be your guy? Obviously he’s very trustworthy AND professional. Did I mention he’s holding a wrench? 

* Went to use the men’s room only to come back to find a new guy in the seat next to mine who was so drunk his head seemed made of concrete the way it lolled heavilly back and forth and up and down, impossible for him to hold upright. No idea where he came from but thankfully someone came by to round him up before he just fell into my lap like a cinder block. 

* Got a couple of nice shots of my boys at bat near the end of the game reminding me of excitedly taking the same pictures at Shea Stadium so many years ago with my Dad but with the then impatient anticipation of having to wait for those pictures to come in the mail. They were always just a little bit disappointing, my boys so much smaller than they eye, but still proud proof I was there. 

* Yes. I took my ballglove and no, I’m NOT too old to do so and anyone who feels the need to chime in as some sort of arbiter as to the appropriate age to or not to take a glove with you? Screw you. It’s not my fault your dreams died and you got cynical. 

* Thank you random NYC Police officer who was kind enough to take our picture. Much appreciated. 

* Jeremiah’s left ear. 

* The picture that JJ took with my phone of he and Melissa Anne when I left it with him to go and replace the 13 dollar and 50 cent beer in a “collector’s” souvenir cup that I had just spilled down the outside of Citifield. 

* A few shots of the scoreboard, Coca Cola sign and even, for some reason, Jung Ho Kang big screened. Maybe I was forgetting his three easy strikeouts and .170 batting avg and imagining, instead, him giving a smiling thumbs up while holding a wrench. He and our car guy do share a “Jung”. 

* Statue in a back alley we took through the car shop and automobile hell/graveyard next to the stadium. No, I don’t know either. I just hope that I’m not cursed now for having taken this totem’s soul with my picture.

* A weekend to put shit away, shelve it for just a moment and have that hot dog and that funny named beer in the parking lot or that too expensive one in the stadium, wear my shorts twice after they passed the butt sniff test and just take in some baseball, win or lose, on a perfect summer night and then a perfect summer day. A weekend to remind myself of the power and strength of friendship…and all with the comfort of knowing that if the car broke down Mr Jung was right there…wrench in hand. 

Cheers JJ….and you as well Mel.

Buccos/Mets Weekend #3: Forgetting Pants New And Old

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 07-28-19)

Well, I did it again.

Years ago, when I was living in Pittsburgh I drove back near home to Long Island for an old Grade School/High School friend’s wedding, David Readyoff, to be “in” his wedding as a matter of fact.

When I arrived at his place all hyped up from the 6 pack or so of Mountain Dew I had drank on the ride and was hurriedly getting ready for the rehearsal dinner that night I discovered that I had forgotten to pack pants. Yeh, I know…pants. Not my toothbrush or deodorant or even socks…pants. Figuring the sweats I was wearing from the road wouldn’t fly at the dinner, though I tried to argue that it would make for one of those funny little anecdotes you’ll look back on and laugh at years later, it was off for a fast trip to the mall. I REALLY wasn’t a fan of spending some of what little money I had (a common Frankenberry theme if you hadn’t noticed) in the men’s Department at Macy’s I can tell you that.

So, though not in the same ballpark (see what I did there?) as forgetting pants for a trip to a wedding, a wedding you’re in, I did a similar thing this weekend for my trip down to Jeremiah Johnsen and our double shot of Buccos/Mets games. I forgot to pack pants again or, in this case, another pair of shorts.

At least here I don’t have to head to the store and spend money I don’t have. I’m not going to a rehearsal dinner this time around where the parents of the bride and groom would have surely frowned upon sweatpants, funny little anecdote notwithstanding. No this is just a ballgame. I think I can get away with wearing yesterday’s shorts, and they passed the butt sniff test so I’m cool…oh, c’mon…like you’ve never held up pair of something for the butt sniff test to check if you can wear ’em again? I you say you haven’t you’re lying. Plus, and a bonus, I didn’t do my usual yesterday and act like I’m 5 around any foods and beverages. I did not spill, drip, or pour anything on them so these shorts will do for a day two (I did spill the entire contents of a 13 dollar and 50 cent beer though, after just one sip, down the outside of Citifield from our seats in the heavens during the game. Alas dear 13 dollar and 50 cent beer in a “collectible” souvenir cup, I knew you not well (enough) my friend, but I at least didn’t get any of YOU on ME.

I have a feeling no one will notice my shorts redux for game two but just in case someone cute and female throws a look or two my way? Don’t tell ’em please. I wouldn’t want them to think that I possibly do the same with my underwear (only in the direst of circumstances). We’ll keep it as our little secret Ok?

JJ, Ace & Sonny in his little back yard earlier. My boy has some nice digs here in Yonkers and, yeh, he’s a cat guy like me. No wonder we get along so famously.

Well, off to the ballpark. Just give me one baseball Gods, alright? It’s not that much to ask.

Buccos/Mets Weekend #2: The Air Is Really Thin Up Here

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 07-28-19)

We, Jeremiah Johnsen & Melissa Anne and I, literally, could not be sitting any higher at Citifield right now. Reminds me of my days with a press pass back in Pittsburgh in the early/mid 90’s (post playoff years) where I would use it on a Friday or a Saturday, when I didn’t have to get any sound for the morning show, grab a couple of dogs and a beer and make my way up to the 600 level to watch some bad, but still Black N Gold baseball (this was when my boys were starting their infamous record setting, sigh, streak of 20 straight losing seasons).

Now mind you I could have sat pretty much anywhere I wanted to back then, it’s not like Three Rivers was full for God’s sake, but I just loved sitting up high, just me and some baseball alone.

Well today, we’re up high, I mean really high, the only thing behind us is a fall. There is though a really nice breeze, a random Met fan to hold the Mr Met on the Moon Bobblehead I got so that I can show my sis that, yes, I was among the 1st 25,000 in and it’s all Bucks (her guy and Mets fan) and a cool view of NYC if you like that sort of thing.

As I’ve said countless times over the years and to the few Black N Golders I’ve high fived here today?

Let’s go Bucs!

Buccos/Mets Weekend #1: Reviving The Tradition

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 07-28-19)

Though we missed the last two seasons Jeremiah Johnsen and I have gotten back on the pilgrimage to Queens train (along with Melissa Anne from the old Cumulus road crew today). This will be 13 trips down here in the 15 years we’ve known each other now. Buccos/Mets. Finally a weekend series too, which means we’ll be back tomorrow for the day game.

I’d like to think that maybe I might bring my boys some luck today as they have hit rock bottom lately, but then again, I’ve been a Buccos fan for 50 years and they’ve only had two championships in that time and the last one was 40 years ago so well…

…here’s to baseball, a couple of tailgated dogs with horseradish mustard in the parking lot and good friends anyway…oh and a Pork Slap from a Butternuts.