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.

A Kitten-Palooza At HVARS

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 07-20-19)

About a week or so ago Celie (my landlady) decided to bring a group of gray kittens back up to the house from the shelter. It was the Gang of Five who had started their kitten gig here at the house, with many a too cute picture being taken by this resident cat guy at the time, but eventually had their way made down the hill to the shelter to be “seen”. After one was seen and adopted the Gang of Five became the Gang of Four (don’t know if they “love a man in a uniform” or not, they’re cats after all, though surely there are plenty of children’s books with cutely uniformed cats performing cutely uniformed jobs in them so it’s possible…sorry old band/song reference…I could go on). Celie just loves this long hair/short hair set of fur which if you met them you’d understand, as do I, and she wanted to give them a little space in the Sunroom. Plus the shelter right now, Hudson Valley Animal Rescue and Sanctuary, is kitten-palooza so it needed a little space as well.

Now I hadn’t been down to the shelter in a few weeks and when Celie told me of the above mentioned kitten-palooza (“Been caught kittening, once, at this Barnes Drive”) I figured I’d pop my head in and say Hi. It’s one of the many furry benefits of my current digs. She also said for me to check out the upstairs in the back if I did make my way down there, as if there weren’t enough downstairs, which I did and thus the reason for this post. For anyone that may be looking to add to the family there are countless deserving little ones here, older ones too, and no Sarah McLachlan or Phil Collins pulling at the heartstrings, which isn’t a slight by the way, not in the least. Those spots always get me and you I’m sure, as they should, and they do a tremendous service for our friends in fur, but I’ll go with something a bit more upbeat if I can, as I’ve referenced here (though dated) or maybe even a bit of classical for a change of pace.

But, again, if a kitten or kittens is or are on your radar then you need go no further. A hundred bucks will get all you need for the kitten start-up, shots, spays or neuters covered and the only real groundrule is that if you don’t already have a cat you take at least two. I’ve always felt that our friends need a friend besides us, a compatriot for the too long stretches when we’re not at home, thus the reason I’ve always had two (except when life does what it does and changes this rule – damn you life – and until, after a time and some hard heart shed tears, it can be reinstated) and Celie and the shelter feel the same. Yeh, I knew I liked this place.

I did check out the upstairs and if this post gets even just one of these little longings a spot then it will be words well spent.

PS: The little pretty one at the end, Savannah, is a shelter house cat. I first met her here, up top, at the house, in the sunroom as a matter of fact where the Gang of 4 are at the moment. She was in there with Cricket the Blind who I brought upstairs with me a while ago now. She’s deaf and has no use in her back end/legs but the shelter, with its smooth floors, provides a good spot for sliding herself along and doing what she does which is, well, just living and being an ambassador of such. It also gives her a good spot to be well cared for as that “no use” in her back end/legs does require some care. As I made my my way through the back to the upstairs she made her way over to me, I’d like to think maybe even recognizing me and I gave her a pet and a rub on the ear “Hello”. When I was done with my little video of the gang here there she was, much to my surprise. That’s a lot of stairs a “no use back end/legs” Savannah had to drag/slide herself up to catch back up with me. That perseverance, that need for a rub on the ear’s attention, that need for love, limitations or not, is what this is all about.

A Crow Knows

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 07-03-19)

So I just watched Celie, my landlady and good friend outside of my kitchen window that overlooks the back yard. She was patiently and lovingly dealing with a poor Crow that came her way, just within the last couple of days. He’d been injured and needed a spot. Thus this one. A good one.

In her gig of running a shelter, HVARS, this Momma Doolittle does life and the amount of it that I witness in need on a regular basis surely would be overwhelming to the best of us. But not her. The care of taking this injured Crow out into the sun for a little while and then convincing him, as he excitedly spoke Crow talk at her, to hop on her hand for a ride back into the house is beyond astounding and heartwarming.

Her selflessness is tiring and I see it, especially when I make my way downstairs in the mornings as she’s grabbing that first cup at the Keurig with heavy eyes. I’m also proud to pitch in when I can, to ease, even in a small way, that tired, to watch over the gang when needs be.

But the reason I post this is that we all should aspire to be as selfless, to kindly put an injured Crow at the top of our list or any other being, for that matter, that might be in need. At least if we can. To be just a little bit more selfless in general, a little more human.

A thought.

The Trump Treehouse of Tall Stories, Treason & Tyranny – “Baby General’s Golden Black Heart’s Band / Sky’s Orange When You’ve Got Blind Friends” – Song

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-30-19)

Baby General’s Golden Black Heart’s Band / Sky’s Orange When You’ve Got Blind Friends

It was two plus years ago today

That baby general came to have his say

In a propagandist fascist style

With his lies he’d go the extra mile

He’d hammer them unto the red

IQ’s regressing in his stead

Baby general’s golden black heart’s band


We’re baby general’s golden black heart’s band

We play you all ya need to know

Baby general’s golden black heart’s klan

The torches are only for show

Baby general’s cor-rupt

Baby general’s morally

Baby general’s bankrupt black heart’s band


There’s nothing to be seen here

Just back room in the know

There’s such important work be done

Now won’t you all just pray with us

We love it when you’re dumb


We don’t want you to be in the know

But we make you feel you’re in the show

Keep you happy swimming in the glow

Helps suck you in the undertow

Now let us to present to you

The sad and lonely Orange years

Baby general’s golden black heart’s band


Trump D’s victim’s tears…


What would you say if I sang you a lie

So obvious you can’t deny?

But you take it and then get to singin’ along

Cause re-ality it don’t apply


Oh, the sky’s purple when you’ve got blind friends

Mmm it’s any color when the truth gets bent

Mmm the sky’s orange is the new message sent


What would you say if I filled you with hate

Gave you an enemy you could detest

Locked them away less than human they’re caged

As you lend deaf ear to mankind’s rage


Oh, the sky’s black to go along with blue

Mmm your hu-manity now shares that hue

Mmm your sold souls invent a diff-er-ent view


Could you think you need saving?

That will surely come bust

Do you need to get praying?

But only to an orange need’s lust


Where will we be when sad histr’y holds true

(do you re-alize that there’s a cost?)

It’s measured in lives deemed be less than they be

(can you jus-tify the ones we toss?)


Oh you get by when smallish minds stay small

Mmm to think more’s an order way too tall

Ooohh there’s no longer a sure one for all


Do you feel the en-emy’s breath

(when it’s their last just at our door-step)

Does it feel sad em-powerin’

(to de-value them as he has pled)


Oh you get by when it’s a think of group

Mmm it’s much eas’r in an ignorance troupe

Mmm you ‘splain why but only in a vacuum

Yes you get by

Believin’ nationalist lies

You’re just a means to his end


A Next Day Must’s Fact Check On The Night Befores Lie-Fest

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-20-19)

Always my favorite thing following the latest “history, apparently, hasn’t taught us a fucking thing” jackboot sentiment propaganda lie fest is the next day’s fact checking article in the Washington Post and there are some doozies from last night to add to the over 10,000 lies already told in just 2 and half years. Which is actually kind of impressive in a sad, perverse kind of way.

There is the usual thrashing at the Meuller investigation being “illegal” somehow, or that it cleared him of obstruction (the unilateral judgement of a paid for loyalist AG isn’t much of a confidence inspiring clearing) when it was noted that charges only weren’t recommended due to DOJ guidelines or that it proved no collusion when it only didn’t find enough direct evidence, though it did find plenty of “wink wink” glad acceptance of the assistance or even the lies to the genesis the investigation. But these lies/misinformation are standard stuff by now, as was most of the speech, but it still included the usual drawer full of Trump magic math and made up #’s, the overly exaggerated or just plain wrong timelines, his never correct talking of anything involving trade and its #’s, the undue credit taking when he was, in a lot of cases, just riding an existing uptick or coattail etc, but my favorite has to be the one he continues to bellow about the GOP Tax Cut Scam, the one he always claims to be the largest package of cuts in history when, in fact, it is eighth.

There were a few blustered new ones you’ll find here but mostly it was an old magicianed hat night, filled with the usual rabid three legged rabbits.

Washington Post Fact Check Story