Month: November 2022

When I got home on Thanksgiving Eve and got sneaks kicked off, got catz and hooman fed and gotz myself settled into the sweats that I was going to wear until Friday morning (I joyously, or should I say thankfully, didn’t go anywhere for Thanksgiving) I downloaded a couple of older posts in the Attic that I had read at the end of the day and emailed to myself with the intention of cleaning them up for Audio Posts only to discover that I didn’t like my read on either of them.

They were too fast, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself that “Hey, Steve, they’re just fine man, you can use them” I just couldn’t. That was disappointing as I love having something to edit, or a new intended thought to write when I can be an idiot and stay up far too late knowing I’m off the next day. And I can be a REAL idiot in this regard. Like sometimes even a not realizing I haven’t been to bed till the next afternoon kind of idiot.

But with no new edits or new words coming I just went to MLB and DK Pittsburgh Sports to see if there were any new news to report for the Bucco’s in Hot Stove action land, I checked my fantasy basketball and football teams, went to Facebook etc etc yadda yadda blah blah to basically just PC putz and see if anything WOULD come now that I had relaxed and was comfortably hunkered.

Then I came across a Facebook post from a friend, Linda, who is cat folk, like me, along with her husband with a few running around their stead doing all cat stuff and such and her post was a picture of the very handsome Patrick on a spot next to a pretty Christmas tree decoration with a post quote that said, simply, “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Patrick”.

I got a real laugh out of that but then, I of course sang, in my head, as I was compelled to, as surely anyone who read the post was compelled to, the next line in a Patrick version of “It’s Beginning To Look A Like Christmas” and then another and another until I said “Oh shit, just open up a blank document already dude and get to work and have a bit of fun”.

A few hours later, after following along with Bing over and over and over again, I had a full Patrick take done.

I then replied to Linda’s post with “Ok, so you do know that dropping “It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick” is like dropping the gauntlet to a to a crazy cat lady guy who likes to do this sort of thing right?” while I posted her my new lyrics along with the YouTube Bing Crosby for her to follow along with.

This garnered me a reply of “Wow! I have to say I am very impressed my friend! THAT is AWESOME!!” which brought me such a smile, and with caps and everything and even a “We Are Not Worthy” Wayne and Garth Gif! I know, a Wayne and Garth Gif huh??!! Hey, your envy is not very becoming, just be happy for a fella will ya?!

I thought during the day earlier today though that I couldn’t just leave it at the lyrics and a follow along with Bing now could I and when I checked? There was a usable karaoke version of the tune that was just waitin’ for me and my little studio before leaving for the day. I just had to right?

So anyway, long story long.

Cheers Linda … and Patrick

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Patrick

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Everywhere Pat goes

Take a look in his snug cat bed laying his Patrick head

With maybe a mouse or two un-der his toes

— 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Fur on every rug

Till the monster is need brought out

To suck away all hair’s clout

While Patrick runs no doubt

— 

An extra can can of food or some cat nip for mood

Is his wish as any cat would

Ball with a bell and a knock it to hell

Is new wish across some hardwood

— 

And Mom and Dad do funny dance to not step on cat’s pants

— 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Everywhere Pat goes

— 

There’s a tree that is soon to rise

Each branch a new cat prize

The hanging kind just waiting for a fall

—

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Snoozing underneath

And what brings that slumber best

Are the lights not put to test

With Christmas cats now at rest

— (break)

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Runnin’ cross the floor

To every cat’s Christmas dream

And the presents that will be

Box torn paper all a-skew

— 

Sure it’s Patrick once more … time to puke, time to puke it’s Patrick’s time to puke.

A while ago, back in September of 2020, I had this small story of a heist gone awry rattlin’ around my head and I thought, well, how about putting it to tune? Maybe an instrumental from our production site at work. It just had to be something fast, a little manic. So, thus, my first attempt at doing such a thing (I’ve done a few others since) grabbing an instrumental and writing some lyrics to it. I will say, along with some added production elements for the theatre of it, that I thought it came out pretty nice in the telling of the story of the voice (who I will call Stevie – I know I’m so creative and original that way) and his friend Tommy and Stevie’s little brother, Billy.

“We Let Billy Drive The Car”

Well recently, at the same site, in my search for something for a work commercial spot, I came across a bed that caught my ear, a short, bluesy rockin’ thing with a cool hook. So I thought to another new tune and, while I was at it, another tune in the world of Stevie and his pal Tommy, drunk at a bar … and with twins.

Some fun and some shit that just makes me happy.

I also repurposed an opening from one of my parody tunes going back a ways just because I can and because it makes me laugh.

Twin Vision

Tommy said wanna ask that one to dance

I said good luck but you knows you ain’t a chance

I said I wanna ask that one to dance

Tommy said back off I was first to glance

—

She’s looking at me, no she’s looking at you

She’s looking at you, no she’s looking at me

—

Now don’t make this another throwdown  

Fightin’ over girl another go round

Cause I’ve owned you since k-town

Grab another beer and just go sit down

—

She said they want one of us to dance

Me or you they’ve only half a chance

She said we’re mean but it’s fun so give a glance

Ok your turn let’s put them on their pants

—

They don’t know it’s me, they don’t know it’s you

They don’t know it’s you, they don’t know it’s me

—

We really gotta stop playin’ this game

Momma she would be so angry plum ashamed

But this is how she grabbed Pa back in days

And Aunt Millie twin she did the same 

—

Tommy am I think I might be seein’ two

Tommy said no drunk it ain’ta just you

Are there two one girl at table here

I don’t know man but I ain’t so clear

Just sit down boys let us buy you a beer

For Mom and Aunt Millie and a night be dear

—

Now how’s about’s by chance would you two like to dance? 

—

Jesus Tommy, am I drunk or are there two of ‘em?

From a Facebook memory that popped up at the end of last week from 5 years ago and Gray sitting on the cable box next to the television and a Christmas commercial.

The post then from Nov 11, 2017 said: “Grayson has his eye on a new Hess truck this Christmas and a slightly more plush butt warmer”

This was from my share of that memory for Gray who passed away suddenly, heartbreakingly in the middle of the night the following summer in our new apartment. He did at least get a chance though to enjoy all the new windows of this place and all the new cat TV they afforded:

Grayson the Mighty from the old spot in Hyde Park.

Miss ya and your crunchy paper forts and grabbing my ankles from underneath with surely, in your large cross eyed noggin, a little Gray giggle, miss ya wrestling around and chasing with Bella on and off counter top and table and couch runnings and jumpings like loud tiny elephants (if elephants jumped on and off counter tops and tables and couches while running and being tiny and loud) for the neighbors bemusement below, miss ya on your little cat tower looking out the porch sliding door from our third floor over your former holdings when you were a scrawny outside stray cat land baron before agreeing to come inside and be my (our) friend, miss ya keeping me warm and you close on my arm on cold nights with sweats and long sleeves when it was just the three of us in the bedroom and our friend space heater for when I couldn’t afford to use the criminally expensive whole apartment’s electric heat. I miss … damn Gray, I just miss ya kid.

(though I didn’t swing for the Hess Truck that Christmas 5 years ago I can’t tell you the joy this crazy cat lady guy got out of you almost immediately putting your new cat bed to use)

“Hi…I believe you are the same Frankenberry I met in Pittsburgh at a bar Someplace Else. Crazy if it is. I heard u on the radio this morning. We watched a movie with Christian Slater n Marisa Tomei. Anyway-cool if it is and I live in Orange County, NY. It was way back in the 1900’s lol circa ‘93-‘94”

This was an out of the blue Facebook messenger note I got about a month or so back now, from a long lost who remembered me while I stretched the brain to do the same and I immediately realized I may have been an asshole, probably was an asshole for some reason as often in those way back in the 1900’s circa ’93-’94 times I didn’t think as much as I should. Not a good look on remembrances and someone reaching out with such Steve.

Yeah, I know, I thought to a me in my head.

Now mind you, there was never any intent on being an asshole if that were the case, obviously, I was always genuine I’d like to think, have always been genuine in new found affections and in generals, always wondering of the down the roads. I’ve never understood temporaries. Down the roads. But I also wasn’t very good at sustaining this thought back then. I was all over the place, disjointed, sometimes haphazard, was hard working a radio working (with a few extra jobs) trying to prove my worth and also enjoying the semi-celebrity status of a jock with a funny name at a well known Rock N Roll Pittsburgh radio station and in places to trot it out I found a cockiness I had never known and that I reveled in …

… for about 5 minutes.

I didn’t like it.

I have since purposely eschewed the whole idea of anything resembling this, having not been a jock now for so many intentional years, having put aside the notion. I just do production now, imaging, fairly nameless, a voice heard in one of our big station’s here identity, a couple of podcasts but with no fanfare. I’m much more comfortable with that.

I responded back to this message with a yes and and an immediate apology for whatever I may have done wrong 30 years ago (apparently I never got back to her – did I mention asshole?) a recount of time and where I had been and she recounted her same and we talked, via messenger talk. We talked. We talked. Continue talk. We talked even out loud. I found myself really enjoying this which was new, now. Not new, as in new, like I had never done this before, but new for me now as to the years I’ve spent trying to NOT have any conversation like this, anything that may have been construed as a possible lead up to something. I had become pretty insulated almost hermit-like, and intentionally so with my free time, and I was Ok with that, plus it kept my any possible asshole at bay.

///////////////////////////

The last time I’ve been on a date was around 8 years ago now, something that hasn’t bothered me in the least, not that that is something expected here I tell myself (though), it’s a bit of a daunting thought actually after so much time and miles on the bones and a few extra pounds around the belt that make for an awful profile pic and a possible awkward moment when someone asks me when I’m due and a head full of a sort of blonde salt and pepper that I don’t think I can call distinguished yet and some needed quality time with the dentist down the road and worry that maybe I’ve missed a window with my lack of caring blah blah blah and that last date was just a final “let’s go out before you leave” sort of thing anyway so I’m not sure that that even counts. One last Hurrah with a hands on hips her back to my front to the band rocking back and forth and then a kiss on the cheek and a handshake and a can I help you with those boxes tomorrow? The getting rid of our house was pending, she had a new boyfriend now and I was just living upstairs in Frankenberry’s Attic with a computer for words and a couple of cats for company and wondering of where I’d gone and where I would be.

///////////////////////////

There have been pictures sent of cats and dogs from us both, and the prettiest of Roaring 20’s themed Halloween costumes that would have any warm blooded, or even cold blooded guy exclaim “Holy Cow!”, even the prettiest of half face shots with an orange cat on a shoulder on a couch the envy of any woman who would think to send half face shots with an orange cat on a shoulder … did I say the prettiest and I wondered, “you have seen my old ass pictures in the Attic here right?”

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But from finally getting out of the house to a Pirates/Mets ballgame just a few months ago after four years with my bestest of buds Jeremiah, daring crowds and public once again to working not one, but two broadcast gigs with Spectrum News out in the public sphere at a couple of colleges (two posts from one of them in Schenectady) to now doing something like this, even if it’s just fun talking or something with some actual interest, something I had resigned myself to probably never happening again, I’m feeling almost an overload of being all human and social … and giddy?

I find myself singing just a little bit louder to the Rainmakers these days in the car, my most recent band obsession, catching up on tunes I hadn’t heard till this obsession, some from right around that time as a matter of fact, on the way to and from work, BB giving me a nod as he knows my singing and just might notice the change in tenor with a wink, if cars named BB could wink or nod, I find myself feeling just a bit more … happy?

Whodathunk?

///////////////////////////

I think I might be OK with this if it is a something … but even if not, just the feeling a little bit more alive again is so well worth it. A reminder. And I have a new (old) friend who maybe has given me a mulligan after all these years.

///////////////////////////

Well … that is a good pretty I see looking back at me and an in turn somehow looking at my un-pretty and being Ok with that, un-pretty old lines marking my under stickered suit case eyes mapped in years traveled, stickers on a full baggage steamer trunk holiday that hasn’t been all that much holiday that I want to be careful unpacking too near anyone and tired tired’s sometimes but a maybe conversation, conversations still to be had before the next stop, possibly a good one.

Searching a new sticker. Steamer trunks always need new stickers.

Don’t get ahead of yourself Steve.

Point.

But?

Came across this earlier today and try not to think about how this, for some, is necessary.

Note for future vacation planners: If you are thinking of a trip to the western U.S. anytime soon, maybe sometime in 2023, the National Park Service has issued this notice about toads and how, you know, you shouldn’t lick them, especially the Sonoran Desert Toad.

“These toads have prominent parotoid glands that secrete a potent toxin. It can make you sick if you handle the frog or get the poison in your mouth. As we say with most things you come across in a national park, whether it be a banana slug, unfamiliar mushroom, or a large toad with glowing eyes in the dead of night, please refrain from licking. Thank you.”

Now I’m sure for some of you that when coming across, say, a banana slug or a large toad in a National Park, possibly in the dead of night mesmerized by glowing eyes, your first inclination may be to lick it, or them if you come across both at once as a sort of daily double bonus, as I mean, who wouldn’t jump tongue first to such and surely the National Park Service is sorry to be such killjoys but they’re just looking out for your wellbeing and trying to keep you from tripping your ass off from licking psychedelic toads and mistaking the edge of a ravine for anything other than the edge of a ravine and then them having to scrape you off of the rocks below.

Though if you feel as if the National Park Service has now thrown a wet blanket on your western U.S. vacation plans for next year take heart in the fact that the notice said “As we say with most things you come across in a national park … please refrain from licking” with the operative word here being “MOST” in the MOST things you come across in a national park.

So it seems there could be a bit of licking hope after all, a licking loop hole, a bit of licking wiggle room for wiggly things you could say and even with the National Park Services’ unintended blessing ‘cause well, MOST things ain’t ALL things right?

You may not have to put those plans on hold after all and you’re probably already gleefully wondering if there are any scorpions with psychedelic gland properties, I mean the Park Service didn’t mention them specifically so …

** Provided as a public service

So this Daylight Saving nonsense, moving the clocks back in the Fall, doesn’t really have much of an effect on me, I don’t work Sundays where the extra hour would be a more tangible thing or do overnight weekend radio any longer where an hour was tacked onto my shift, no, I just sleep right through it and know that the clock in my car will finally tell the correct time again until March when I head to work on Monday.

Now I say doesn’t really have MUCH of an effect though as there is one, an effect I came about this morning when I got up close to my alarm for that pee break you take when you’re close to your alarm that you don’t really want to take because you’re close to your alarm and you argue with yourself over whether you really need to get up, this close to your alarm an all, is this really urgent or the old man that you are just thinking he MIGHT need to go, aren’t you sooooo perfectly comfortable right now and so on and so on.

Well, I lost the internal “stay in bed” argument, and, flashlight in hand so as not to step on anything furry along the way, I made my trek to the bathroom (I did have to go by the way and with the “get out bed” half of the argument gloating a little bit) and then flashlight still in hand so as not to lay down on anything furry that may have Jones’d my warm spot the second I got up I made my way back to bed but not before I pointed the flashlight at the Pittsburgh Pirates clock I have hanging above my computer desk.

It said 5:45am (which is actually around 5:32am as that clock is always gaining time almost as if it’s mocking me and trying to age me a little faster).

“5:45 or around 5:32!!?? Son of Bitch!!” I sigh/screamed in my head.

Then I checked my phone to make sure my 7:45am alarm was turned on.

My phone said 4:31am.

“WhooooHooo!!!!” I overjoyed in my head.

Man that was just huge right then and there this morning and Cricket hadn’t Jones’d my spot so I was able to just slide right back into bed without any extra moving of cat machinations and then revel in that extra hour.

Possibly the greatest single hour of time EVER!!

Ok, so this Daylight Saving thing ISN’T complete nonsense.

Not too long ago I asked my Sis if she could recommend a good plant for the apartment as I just wanted a plant(s), something to add a bit more life to this space on top of the already existing feline furry and human here, plus I had had plants before and missed the addition, one in particular who had proven a bit magical quite some time ago.

I had bought and brought home (for a good dollar) the prettiest of Lilies but without doing my due, dude you have the aforementioned feline furry ones, diligence only to discover with a simple click or two. Cats? Lilies? Bad.

So, thus, the call to my Sis who does a furry homestead like me but is also quite the green thumb and knows cat safe plants and she said she could gift me a couple of small fledgling Spider Plants.

Fledgling? I don’t know. New sprouters, new greenies minus some old baseball candy speed stories or dog chews, newly sprung of this earth only to rise to the heavens sun worshipers? Whatever, fledgling works well enough for me plus they would come with pots and dirt included and were to be, as I said, gifted, less the extra Lily $$’s and along with another gift, a small tall table from a friend at work and I was good to go (Lily did find a home by the way, with my pal/boss, who hadn’t done plants before this but dotes a bit now … I followed his instructions when he was out of town recently and he asked me to check his mail and water Lily, and give her a turn in her window, just right, give her a spritz even, tell her she was a good plant).

Why is any of this a post? I don’t freakin’ know I just know that there’s nothing compelling on TV, I’m sure there is but nothing’s grabbing me, I just wanted to sit and write something, an anything and that earlier tonight as I was saying Hi to my Spiders, Erica and Syd (yes I named them, a real stretch on Arachnid, that was the attempt, probably should have gone with Erica and Ned, but I knew a guy named Ned once and I didn’t like him) I noted that the two of them were doing pretty well after four months or so with a window and water and dirt and some very one sided though spirited conversation.

They reminded me of that one plant, more a small tree, from years ago who proved to be that bit of magical that I mentioned earlier, going from a thin trunk and mere stick, last legs/stick in a last ditch pot to growing and blooming and dropping the most beautiful of small blossoms from his branches over two kittens in an early this was the finally found future time I had always dreamed of with a newly wed better half (it wasn’t) asleep in their chairs underneath him (his name was Heckett) after he being stuck with me in a room for too long, on too many days, with my early computer pacings, talkings over REALLY bad poetry so many years ago.

There is something to be said of bad poetry it seems. The plants know. They may sigh, but they know and sometimes even unexpectedly bloom and petal on kittens.

So, a before and now and finding things to write about, anything.

Hey Erica? Syd? Just wrote something about you two ………….. no? Nothing? Not yet?

That’s alright, probably best you hold off on your response, for now at least.

I know I’ve posted this one a number of times since I wrote it a few years ago, for an orange friend, apologies on the repetition, but I thought to do a read of it for an audio post. Still missin’ ya kid.

A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat 

There was a boy and his cat in a cone plastic hat

Who found themselves walking this way and way that

In circles round home on a night by night trip

He talkin’ cat list’nin’
At a calm peaceful clip

You see

The boy’s cat in this cone plastic hat was not well

And the boy he had many long stories to tell

To his dearest of friends of 11 grand years

But trying to do so without shedding his tears

So they walked and he talked on these perfect of nights
Allowing this cat in the cone plastic hat
Some flights
Footed outside
For the first time in his life
A gift from the boy to this cat’s great delight

And the cat in the cone plastic hat listened just right
Though now minus one ear from a Doctor’s try stop
The other had might
Enough to catch stories spun high in the air
By his boy who he followed with great love and great care

Along their way they passed people and pets
Both large and both small
To the cat in the cone plastic hat though
They were all tall
But he came to grow big as they petted and gushed
With attention he loved
As they marveled his gifts to walk with no rush
With his boy who just smiled some big hearty hugs

This cat in the cone plastic hat waited by day
For the sound of boy’s car
To home come from what seemed so
So far
Far away
To make
Way
Stairs
Down,
No dilly
No dally
As time for him now was no longer an ally

You see

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew he hadn’t this time
He wanted their friendship to grow and to shine
But for this shortest of moments
In the grandness of things
They would stride steady together with the greatness of kings

It was stories of boy that were of utmost import
In walks round their round he would offer support
While cat sniffing cat checking
Getting caught in the brush
His cone plastic hat it was flush
Filled with tales flung way far
That dearly so meant
So,
So much

There was even a day
This cat in the cone plastic hat
Got chance just to play
And to lead while, of course, always knowing the way
But minus his hat
Oh glorious day
Then bringing boy back to that place they called home
Where all with the boy it was always the known

But there were things this cat in the cone plastic hat knew needed be said
Of what would become in his absence of stead
Of what boy would do after the gone
Where time it would shorten but still feel so
Long

The cat in the cone plastic hat knew just what
What knew of just such
What knew sure of be that too long
A day
To help him stay strong
To make it not much
He’d say

Goodbye
He thought

In life’s wonder of walks
This cat who was now at in his cone plastic hat
But remembering time where this wasn’t just that
When play was a shoelace tossed long and just right
For wondrous of times and of silly fun fights
Of a mouse down to chase
Or a titter hand tat
And all while wearing no such special hat

But paw forward he would
This way and way that
His best boy in the world as well as he could
To friends who he knew he should
Surely point true
To others in fur and some so in skin
But still remind them that his name was Shoes

Always Shoes

You see

He resides now in heart held so very so strong
Of a nightstand’s still perch
Sensing short winded nightmares long
So sudden jerks
To come down and so sweetly lay to boy’s left
To calm him to know that all was still well
That there would still be so many more stories to tell
That there will always be some more to be said

Now sleep just go back
“We’re hittin’ the rack”
As you always would say
Ahead of tomorrow’s a brand new grand day
Rest your boy head
The begin has its end but ends beg begin … always
Get some sleep for right now
At least
My dearest of friends