Author: Stephen J Frankenberry

Was thinking the other day (not recommended by the way – it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, it can take soooo much out of ya and no one really listens anyway) that the Green Acres theme song seemed kind of an obvious thing. An obvious thing when it comes to Margie Q Greene, Queen of the nutters who has somehow come to represent some of us these here days … freakin’ democracy.

Well, I finished up a Friday, a day that I had worked hard earlier in the week to get to, making sure that I had all my shit checked to hopefully coast for the last hour or two before cat and a couple of beers weekend time, before sans human time, before random movie time (thinkin’ “A Boy Called Christmas” to maybe lighten my cynical Christmas heart – I always have to watch one other than “It’s A wonderful Life” for a bit of a reminder) or the latest Netflix or Prime show time (season 3 of Lost in Space / season 6 of The Expanse).

But then I thought again (refer back to not recommended) to the theme song for Green Acres.

So I took a minute … literally just a minute when done … ok, a minute and change.

Greene Crackers

Greene crackers are the treat for me

The favorite snack of the new GOP

Buttered with lies that spread from sea to sea

Keep the truth just give us conspiracies

—

Margie Greene crackers is party’s new face

With Gosar, Gohmert & a guy taking girls ‘cross states

Throw in Boebert with a shiny gun case

it’s a GOP wagon to a really dim-lee lit place

—

The lies

White cries

More lies

Past dies

—

Authority life

Hello fascist right

Greene Crackers we are there

/////

Yeah, what I said about thinkin’

Jacob Marley: Whoooo hoooo oooh (wind rushes and chains doing Jacob Marley wind rushing chain rattling kind of things with approaching footsteps)

Guy: Really dude? That’s a bit dramatic.

Jacob: What? (stop … wind rushing chains sounds coming to a slowed turntable wind down dying hault)

Guy: You still workin’ that?

Jacob: What?  

Guy: I know this can be considered your time but it’s still kind of tired now don’t ya think?

Jacob: No, no it’s not thank you. I’ve got stage time again where I get to Whoooo hoooo oooh and frighten the children with cautionary tales.

Guy: You know you’re just being used right?

Jacob: What?

Guy: Ebenezer, he’s just using you, has been for years.

Jacob: ?

Guy: He’s been building himself up at your expense ever since he woke up and threw some coins in the snow at some kid from a newly opened window for a turkey for Bob and the family

Jacob: … freakin’ sudden goody two shoes, but he was a shit.

Guy: That he was but he’s been redeemed now, new old stories told over and over again.

Jacob: I’ve thought about that

Guy: But what about you? The chains?

Jacob: They are a bit heavy

Guy: Ask yourself why they’re heavy

Jacob: Well, I was kind of dick

Guy: indeed you were. More than just kind of a dick and more than him by the way

Jacob: Can I call someone to kill him? I know a guy

Guy: And you see, that’s just it

Jacob: Sorry, old habits

Guy: Yeah, but no excuse

Jacob: Point

Guy: Does Christmas mean anything to you anymore?

Jacob: No, I’m dead. Just Whoooo hoooo oooh’ing these days and rattling chains. What’s Christmas when Whoooo hoooo oooh’ing is your only gig once a year for a kid’s benefit/detriment or even an adult’s depending on need? It’s just a season, a day.

Guy: It never meant anything?

Jacob: Well …

Guy: C’mon …

Jacob: Ok, it did once. She was the prettiest thing you ever did see standing next to that tree

Guy: Really?

Jacob: I know Ebenezer’s story is more well told, looking sadly through windows at the past, scary futures, sad every days, blah, blah, blah, but she had eyes that would stop ya, could define ya, a strawberry blonde that would just get to a stop’s stop, make you get on the bus even if you were already home

Guy: Why the chains?

Jacob: Ebenezer and I fought and I killed him in my head, that was enough

Guy: No, I don’t think so

Jacob: Ok, we fought about money, the end all, the be all right? and the devil jumped in, gleefully. The devil loves money ‘cause we all love money, or think we do, and then one day I just wasn’t there anymore for him or for her. I was consumed. Chains come with thoughts like that

Guy: Hold on …

Jacob: ?

Guy: How’s this?

Jacob: Is that a couch?

Guy: Yeah

Jacob: (feeling hands around it) that’s pretty nice, how’d ya do that?

Guy: I’m writing this, I can do as I please, hut it is nice huh?

Jacob: Leather?

Guy: No, faux stuff. Leather has family.

Jacob: Nicely done … still … hey, why are you crossing your legs and leaning back in a chair? And is that a pipe?

Guy: Just getting comfy

Jacob: Shit stinks … don’t you got something in vanilla or maybe chocolate … and is that a pen and a notepad?

Guy: Let’s talk Jake, can I call you Jake, Jacob?

Jacob: Do you know what you’re doing, are you qualified for this?

Guy: Nope … but I still kinda look like I fit the part right?

Jacob: Clichéd, but Ok, I’ll give ya that, though a beard would help … well … I was five and my mother was …

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

Jacob: Wow! That was great. I almost feel like I want a cigarette.

Guy: Whoa, easy big fella. Just a couch and a chair and a crossed leg pipe here.  Ya know we’re just having coffee right? Plus, you don’t even smoke anymore.

Jacob: I could again and … (big swish sound and cloud effect) … coffee. Damn!! Where the hell are we now, what happened to your “no, there could be family” faux leather couch?

Guy: Just license. Nice place though huh?

Jacob: They got scones?

Guy: I’m sure they do

Jacob: Orange ones where you can taste a bit of the rind?

Guy: Sure

Jacob: And butter?

Jacob: Cool, I’ll go get us one …

Guy: Hold on cowboy, that chainy shit of yours makes noise, uncomfortable noise

Jacob: Oh right

Guy: Let me …

Jacob: (light whistling and some smiling nods to others who don’t nod back)

Guy: Orange … with butter?

Jacob: Cool

Guy: You can’t eat it though

Jacob: What?

Guy: Go ahead, try

Jacob: (hand passes through it a couple of times)

Jacob: Son of a bitch. NOT cool

Guy: With ya, and I love orange scones (taking a bite)

Jacob: Really? You suck.

Guy: (mumbled over a mouthful) Do you recognize that couple at the table in the corner?

Jacob: What, over there to the left?

Guy: Yeah (wiping mouth)

Jacob: No

Guy: You sure?

Jacob: Yes, don’t know them

Guy: Really?

Jacob: Yeah

Guy: Isn’t that you and Wendy in the past, Strawberry Blonde?

Jacob: Who’s Wendy?

Guy: The girl you were going to Marry?

Jacob: Don’t know a Wendy. And I was never going to get married. She’s cute though

Guy: Hold on … (Talking into wrist – angry back and forth)

Jacob: Ummmmm …

Guy: Aren’t you Jacob Barley?

Jacob: What? No. I’m Jacob Marley, with an “M”

Guy: (more wrist)

Guy: Ok, my bad, so sorry

Jacob: So sorry for what?

Guy: Was gonna show you stuff, ya know, past, present, future type things

Jacob: No, I don’t know

Guy: Ok, gotta run

(swish sound and cloud effect)

Jacob: Wait! (still in coffee shop) Hello? ……….. Hello?

Guy: (head poke through the clouds) Hey, by the way. Ran you through the system just now, Marely with an “M” and wow, you really were a dick. (head poke out – another swish sound)

Jacob: Ummmm …

Guy: (head poke in one more time with a swish) … and no, you still can’t grab the scone (head poke out with a swish)

Jacob: But? … (empty swipe) … son of a bitch!

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

Guy with girlfriend: Ya know, they say this coffee shop is haunted

Girlfriend: Really?

(light chain sounds)

Girlfriend: Did You hear that?

(lightly)

Jacob: Seriously? (swipe swipe) It’s just an orange scone for fuck’s sake, C’mon!

A good friend of mine, who is waaaaaaay more popular than me in social media ways that the kids all talk about (waaaaaaay more popular in general as she is actually social) recently posted to the Facebook of having a bit of an issue with Stink Bugs at her place. Seeing this I shot her a link to a post I wrote back in February of my own Stink Buggyness here at the ‘stead, just in case she hadn’t seen it, in a “hey, with ya girlfriend” kind of way, a funny bit.

Well she decided to share my said Stink Bug post and lets just say I got quite a few new eyeballs on it, quite a few, a lot actually. Ahhhhh the power of the popular.

“But Ma …”

“It’s Ok Stephen, we can’t all be popular and … hold that thought, just got a tag … HeHeHe … ”

“Thanks Ma”

Now I realize I’m just talking of Stink Bugs here, nothing ground shaking, just little legs walking and towels and shirts hanging, air buzzing, but it is a favorite of posts of mine and it was nice to have so many new visitors to the Attic to give it an eye and maybe even hang around for a bit (though no hanging around the futon dresser thank you).

Thanks Jonna.

Anyway, a re-post here of that one.

Link here. Stink Bugs & Me.

Cheers all,

This one is to the Dixie Cups “Chapel of Love”. I know, “Chapel of Love” really? How the hell do the Dixie Cups come into the noggin? They don’t but …

… there’s a radio station of the group of stations that I work for that stands out simply for its stand out of quite the mix of styles and genres and eras. A station where you can hear say, Christopher Cross, some random Jazz (the only Jazz really I guess), Journey, Doo Wop, something from “Annie”, The Beatles, Bill Haley, Gregorian chants, the Grease soundtrack (ummm, I have limits) Rupert Holmes, and even some television show theme songs all in around the space of an hour. Ok, maybe not Gregorian chants but, then again, it wouldn’t surprise me.

It’s the musical brainchild of my production boss, Randy, to fill a hole left by our finally abandoned country’s stations, a station that is kind of a musical kitchen sink everything of tunes that he has run with and run with joyous well received abandon.

So there was then, the other day, out of the corner of my ear, the catching of “Chapel of Love”, and it got stuck.

So, I decided to do my own running with …

… another tune.

This one is for all those that have decided, in their finite white wisdom, to start banning books, whitewash curriculums and prove their proud ignorance.

To the Dixie Cups “Going to the Chapel”.

Goin’ to the School Board

Goin’ to the school board

And we’re gonna get carried away

With banning books now that aren’t

In a real right straight white safe way

Gee we’ve got some issues with works

That don’t teach imagined virtues of a

Re-visioned whitewashing day

— 

GOP’s here

To set message clear

Ignorance sings

Of white patriot things

— 

This country was found

On exceptional ground

And we’ll never teach real truth anymore

—

Because we’re

Goin’ to the school board

And we’re gonna get carried away

Might throw books on a pyre now

And dance ‘round with a hey hidey hey how

— 

Gee you don’t need a degree

From any liberal leftist factory   

Goin’ to create history  

—

Whistles will blow

And dogs will crow

We’ll set it right

No CRT will be in sight

We’ll ignore slave-ery

Even though it’s part of the core  

And strike systemic from vocabulary’s lore

— 

Because we’re

Goin’ to the school board

And we’re gonna get carried away

Snowflake about the sensibilities

Of our children’s tender feelings

Gee we don’t know the problem

Of new curriculum’s whitey outcome

Goin’ to the school board of dumb

(yeah-a-yeah-a-yeahy-yeah)

Goin’ to the school board of dumb  

(yeah-yeah-yeah-yeahy-yeah)

Just mind your place and we’ll all get along

(a picture from downstairs earlier in the week)

Mimi: Who is that?

Me: What?

Mimi: Who is that?!

Me: Just a cat

Mimi: Just a cat?

Bella: Yeah, who is that?

Me: Just a cat

Mimi: There are no cats that are just a cat

Cricket: Hey, blind over here ya know. Where ya’ll at?

Mimi: Steve’s got a cat

Cricket: Ummm … well …

Bella: Yeah, Steve’s got a cat

Cricket: Ummm … well …

Mimi: Is that a new at cat cat?

Me: No, it’s just a cat

Bella: But it’s a bowl O’ cat

Mimi: Yeah right, a bowl O’ cat (is that bad? just askin’)

Bella: I don’t know, you started this. But Steve’s got a cat

Mimi: Yeah, Steve’s got a cat, a bowl O’ cat cat

Me: What, cats can’t come in bowls n’ that?

Cricket: Still blind here

Mimi: … Ok … hold on … (maintenance) … but Steve’s got a cat

Bella: Yeah … what Memes said … hold on … (maintenance) … Steve’s got a bowl O’ cat cat

Me: No, I don’t have a cat

Cricket: Ummm … well …

Little chilly out there now in these here parts, who couldn’t use a bowl O’ cat … cat?

(WARNING: Gonna ramble a bit here)

The platform I use here to move stuff into an Attic with boxes of thoughts to pile atop other thoughts on fashioned storage bin cat seats, things I’ve talked of before with towel topped windows is Word Press. It works for the most part. I switched to it a couple of years ago and it seems to be the de rigueur of places to sit and muse with cats.

As with anything it has its plusses and minuses. The minuses being its concept of “Blocks” for the writing, one of the most frustrating things you could possibly imagine, the simple concept of a word document, which is all a blog is for the most part really, is lost in some unnecessary attempt to be singular, maybe, I have no clue.

The plusses being the ability to share posts, if that would be a thought, or to check “numbers” to see how your stuff plays.

I don’t have ads at my site, not that I wouldn’t succumb to the possibility of a few extra cents in my always need of a couple of extra cents world if that were a possibility (and curse then incessantly at that maybe necessity) but I’m not one to dismiss the idea, its more because I don’t have the traffic that might make that appealing to some advertiser’s Ad boxes in corners or sides or tops of pages. I’m just some dude with a written or sung blog with pictures and the talkings of cats. It’s not really all that Ad compelling I wouldn’t think. Lori and Tom, my pals and their own blogs, have much more of an argument for such.

But the main thing I’m a fan of, like I said, is the ability to check numbers, relatively small ones in a large blogosphere of large blogosphere numbers but small numbers that are still big to me, to see that I actually have some occasional eyeballs on some occasional worked words, even if just a few.

I have this ongoing group messenger thread with my three best from the college days who I’ve mentioned here at length before, Iived with some of them actually, comfortably, in unsightly way to too stretched out elastic jammy day ways, somehow still friends (they were seriously stretched) some who have come to define “tolerate” when it comes to a Frankenberry over the years, as I’m sure you may have of your own, college or not, friends who you can dumb with, with no concern, say stupid things, have jammies droop, be stupid things and wonder sadly of those that don’t have the pleasure of the same.

I added to our group message earlier today …

Lori and Tom you probably already know this , I’m sure, but I was looking into stats at the blog and I kind of accidentally came across where to find my tally’s, my viewed posts number totals of in a time period, in the last quarter, last year, all time etc, but also to see a tally of where the views were from, especially internationally. It seems “all time” the most views I have from outside of the states are from China, then Finland, the UK (probably all my cousin Liz, a school teacher who is surely using my posts as cautionary tales for her students but with warnings spoke with an English accent so it’s cool. Hell, you could say fuck off an die with an English accent and I’d be Ok with it and even consider the request) and Germany, though in the last year Finland tops the list with almost the same view number for the year as their all time, so the last year seems to be when they joined in on the FrankenAtticParty.

(disclaimer: I added that bit about my English cousin in the message thread, she is real though and might have even actually warned her classes of the Frankenberry in such a way if she were smart, which she is).

There’s an old 80’s tune from Alphaville “Big in Japan” that I was a fan of in college (dating myself) that I will now have to amend the title of I think. Just the title, not thematically, as I’ve always gotten a kick out of that phrase “How are things going for you all at home?” “Not as well as we’d like but hey, we’re big in Japan.” So maybe now “Big in Fin-Land” or “Big in Beijing” or “Big in Berlin” or “Big in London” whatever. Just a thank you to all my international friends from across a now small ball for checking in with me … and most especially for coming back. I have imagined you all and that maybe I’m doing something word worldy right in my word wording for an audience I know is there.

I’m still a radio DJ at heart, though I’m not really on the air anymore, don’t care to be, the sometimes voice tracked show to fill in for the help but the one thing you always do as a jock is imagine that one person to talk to, or maybe a small group, that is there listening to you. Same concept here.

Still in the message thread and where I mentioned Finland being big in the last year for the number of views I thoughted that maybe there’s some nice Finnish woman who is a fan of mine, likes my posts. Mark, of the three, replied with “Don’t flatter yourself my friend”.

Oh, that’s cold dude.

It is though, cool, to check these stats and see the international.

Mark then added “It is nice to know that your posts transcend borders and languages and that when you send the words you’ve sweated and labored over so much out into the world that there are people all over that world to receive them.”

An Amen on that Mark.

I was surprised though to see that my top post, by quite a good margin, is a one I wrote right at the beginning of this pandemic nightmare back in March 2020, one with silly “Pirate” talk, before the GOP started trying to keep the pandemic alive with more death, and included my parody version of Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al”. Some of it is obviously dated now, but some is not, and this one, after all of my parody tunes, continuing parody tunes, and I have quite a few here, is still one of my best so it seems my Frankenblogonado’s are a pretty discerning type and I still wonder, listening again, of how the hell I did it as it’s way better than I think I am.

A Frankenberry says thanks from his Attic, Attic International, me and my furry girls, my little Bella, Mimi the Quirky, Cricket the Blind, a Thanksgiving thanks if you will, from storage bin cat comfy spots, for “tolerating” me and for coming back on occasion.

Cheers international all,

My Sunday look back this week on old posts goes to April of 2009 and the last radio station digs before my current ones.

There was an apple pie contest once where I didn’t burn the house down in the process of trying to create an apple cheese crumb pie.

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

I’m back and sorry, a little tardy on the Blog front. Life and the aliens who keep borrowing my thoughts and my macramé projects have me behind. Here is an update from the Attic…

A couple of months ago Brandy Hunter from WRRV’s Music all Morning had a great idea, no, not duct tape and a large mailing crate with an Anchorage destination for Boris but a chili cook off between the Cumulus gang here to be judged by a chef from the Culinary Institute of America. All interested were invited to fashion huge vats of their own signature style chili (regular size crock pots) in the hopes of being crowned chili champion. It was an eagerly anticipated event that drew throngs of chili aficionados from all across these great states (Bob from Production) to revel in the odors and tastes of all types of chili.

When the time came for the judging by our revered special guest from the Culinary there was a hush. He tasted, wrote notes, gave scores and made judging faces. As he went from crock pot to crock pot breaths were held by those being judged depending on the particular judging face of the moment. Thankfully none of the judging faces made by our culinary guest were those of spitting, regurgitating or dying. Eventually he was done, scoring sheets were handed in and the tension rose a notch to “Don’t we have work to do?”

The scores were then tabulated by an independent and impartial group that specializes in events such as these and likes eating free chili (Jeremiah from Promotions and an intern) and the results were revealed.

Sadly my five cans of Hormel with half a bottle of Saranac black & tan were not among the finalists. To everyone’s great delight though, Boris from WRRV was named Grand Poobah of the chili cook off. Now when I say great delight it is because we knew, if Boris were to be deemed grand chili master, it would be with a sense of humility and grace that doesn’t often come with competitions as large as this. You would normally expect a certain level of gloating and glee at the expense of the “non-winners”, as this was big, but in Boris’s case we knew we needn’t worry. He would take his “Cumulus Chili Cook Off” Champion trophy, congratulate all on a fine day of fun and quietly anticipate another spirited competition.

Then came the “Apple Pie Throwdown,” another fantastic idea from Brandy Hunter that had the staff all abuzz. Could we top the Chili Cook Off that had generated so much excitement in the building? Difficult I know, but, believe it or not, it was done. As with the chili cook off, aficionados of apple pies from across the nation were on hand to marvel in the tastes of the staff’s apple pie creations (Bob from production) and the game was on.

I decided to venture into uncharted territory. I was actually going to create an apple pie, from scratch, on my own, for the first time with no help from the folks at Hormel or Apple Pie Land or anyone else who builds this stuff for your purchase at a local supermarket though with a twist. I intended to make an apple CHEESE CRUMB pie with a base of cheesecake and a crumb topping. Daunting would be the best word for such a task.

So I searched for help. First, of course, was mom. “Hey mom, I’m going to bake an apple pie”… “Don’t burn the house down Stephen”… “Ok”…

Then I sought out Beth Christy from The Wolf. “Hey Beth, any tips?” tips followed, a lot of them. She’s good at this baking stuff. She recommended I do my best to not light my house on fire.

Then I found Brandy who is also good at this. She googled apple pies and printed things. I think fire safety tips was in one of the searches.

Back to mom. “Hey mom, do you think I could have your recipe for cheesecake?”…“I thought you were baking an apple pie”… “I am” … “Ok, don’t burn the house down”…“Gothca.”

My Maria was next. She played along, made me think I was on the right track and showed me where the hose was while checking the batteries in the smoke detector.

I was set.

Talking to the experts had convinced me that I could, indeed, bake an apple pie with cheesecake involved all on my own without setting anything ablaze. After all, we just bought the place and that would probably be bad.

I then when out and bought and meticulously double checked every item on my list. Cinnamon, sugar, vanilla, cream cheese, dog biscuits (a distraction for Shana from the odors of cooking), eggs, pie crusts, oatmeal, brown sugar, cat treats (refer to dog biscuits), 37 gallons of lard, salt, a t-shirt that said “Blessed are the Apple Pie Bakers and Silk Undergarment Makers,” and skittles (for the 9 year old – same concept as dog and cat). I also bought apples, plenty of them in case I screwed up the first attempt but didn’t destroy the house and still had a kitchen for a second try. On the advice of Beth who, like I said, is good at this baking stuff I actually bought specific apples, Golden Delicious and Fuji. No, I didn’t know either. I also got oatmeal for the crumb topping instead of flour, an inspired tip from Beth.

The peeling, mixing of ingredients, extremely anal attention to the recipes and eventual baking commenced. Two and a half hours later I had, I hoped, finished building an apple cheese crumb pie that would be worthy of the competition that would follow the next day.

The judging for the Cumulus Apple Pie Throwdown was done by the competitors and other co-workers that just wanted to eat some free apple pie. The only requirement was that they fill in a few scale of 1-5 judging sheets and not spit anything out in disgust in an overtly obvious way. Napkins and a sense of class were provided.

When the judging was done another hush came over the throng as once again the votes were tabulated by an independent and impartial group that specializes in events such as these and likes eating free apple pie (Anthony and Jeremiah from Promotions).

The results were in. The hush hushed. The runnerups were announced, six through three (I wasn’t one of them). Then came the call of the second runnerup. It wasn’t me either. Whooo Hooo!!

Yes, I had somehow built a pie, on my first attempt, that was not only not spit out in disgust but was deemed to be pretty damn good!

My apple cheese crumb pie was the People’s Choice Winner and came with a trophy and everything. Cool Huh? Boris, who had hoped for a sweep of our first two cookoffs was gracious in defeat and even offered to mention my name on his radio station which I’m sure came with a grand announcement and fireworks sounds. Ahhh, the magic of radio.

I’m not sure what the next cookoff is going to be, Gary Cee from WPDH offered the suggestion of a lumpy porridge competition and I certainly have some ideas for that, including one that’s just right, but whatever it is I will enter with a new found confidence and the knowledge that I didn’t have to make any insurance claims on the house. Satisfying and great ala mode.

Cheers to specific apples, a layer of cheesecake and an oatmeal crumb topping.

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After 10 weeks of some Friday Night Lights Football return where I made a few well needed bucks and was reminded of enjoying the hell out of myself on these nights again after a COVID year’s layoff, walked some pretty darn good High School Football sideline games with my parabolic along the way or some not so much (rain games with lightning bolt holds, penalty flags like confetti and curious overtime finale’s) but whose nights caught up with up with me and my sometimes old, especially the last two cold ones, I finally got a chance to NOT Friday Night Lights Football with our season done and just hang in my little studio after work knowing that I was going to get home and then hang with the girls and a PC and headphones at a reasonable hour, no driving up the state at the end of a regular day for a two hour ride, a five hour work a game and a two hour return.

Mimi the Quirky wouldn’t rasp at me tonight at my late. Cricket the Blind wouldn’t feel as needy after a finally sat lap and little Bella wouldn’t just stare in her wide eyed disapproving blinklessness, as she blinklessly does at the door wondering where the fuck I’ve been, but instead, wind sprint across the hardwood excited that it wasn’t one in the morning.

I was back at a MY return Friday, a regular Friday, though a still a make a point Friday it seems, always wishing I didn’t have to make some point again, but still looking forward to the necessary of it for me and thinking that after 10 weeks of not making points and thinking of only immediate things, like that one kid rushing and passing Kyler Murray-like top of game, where the world was just yards gained and pretty tip toe pylons, crowds roaring or crowds cursing, that maybe the need for making points would have faded a bit while I was sidelining in a temporary no need for points to make kinda world. Hey, a boy can dream right … but if I’m going to have to make a point again?

A new it needs be tune then … and loud

(To Green Day’s “Troublemaker” from “Uno!” … have instrumental and new lyrics will travel)

Kingmaker  

Yeah!

Woo hoo hoo

—

Hey!

Democracy’s under attack

Right in plain sight a lockstep right

Work their authoritarian plight

—

Hey!

They wanna control the states

So next time vote around they’ll mess ‘bove ground

Mold sham results for self-serving tastes

—

They wanna be some new Kingmakers

Autocracy’s G-O-P takers

They wanna be some new Kingmakers

Great leader’s cult first of new shakers

—

Hey!

We like your lie moxie cool

Obstructive whitewash of what was true

It’s quite impressive in its attempt at coup

—

Hey!

His Rally’s his palace days  

He’s sounding loaded, old lie bloated

In his propagandist playbook word salad way

—

They wanna be some new Kingmakers

Autocracy’s G-O-P takers

They wanna be some new Kingmakers

Great leader’s cult first of new shakers

—

Hey!

Woooh oooh oooh

Woooh oooh oooh

Woooh oooh oooh

Yeah!

—

They saw election pass with result a bad state

So pass suppression laws before it’s too late

Present these measures in a group all for one haste

Integrity’s at stake the big lie is the play that they make

—

Hey!

Democracy’s under attack

Right in plain sight a lockstep right

Work their authoritarian plight

—

Hey!

They do their do

Hey!

A lie’s whose who

Hey!

Who know the screw

Hey!

A fascist stew

Hey!

My Brother’s birthday is a couple of days away and I remember this because it’s also the day one of my best of pals, Shoes, passed away six years ago. I think of Nick and Shoes in tandem not because of this though, that’s just sad coincidence, but because the first five years of his life were spent upstairs in a house Nick and my sister Beck and I shared and where Shoes was born all small and squirmy and orangey in a large toweled cardboard box world with human hovering in a small attic storage space between our two bedrooms after we had been adopted by his stray pregnant Mom.

If I couldn’t find Shoes for any reason back then I needed look no further than Nick’s lap or cat messing with his sister Cal in Nick’s room (the kitten Nick kept as his own) and it was Nick who first came about calling him Shoey, which I think if he could have talked, he would have said was his preferred designation, well, he might not have used the word designation, I mean, he was a cat, not sure if the vocabulary would have extended as far as to include ‘designation’, but ….

So my So then Sunday look back to older posts becomes a So then Shoey Sunday this week … and Happy Birthday Nick.

This was a post that took me quite some time to get right back then or at least right for me. And yes, I know that many of you have already been there done that with this one but, well, reminders are reminders.

A bit of a Seussian thing.

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(from February 2019)

For three plus years now I’ve had this single line rattling round my noggin, bumping into shit. “A Boy And His Cat In A Cone Plastic Hat.” A Dr Seussian type line that has never let me be (hopefully no disservice to the Doc here). I’ve written thousands of words around it in my head over these years as I remember Shoes and the walks he and I would take around the drive/roadway and parking lots that circled our apartment complex during his last month or so. It was a time for me that was as equally heartbreaking as it was wondrous. I know I’ve brought up Shoes often, so much so that it may seem tired, but he was one of those friends that needs be remembered and brought up often for what he was. A reminder of who we are. A reminder of what is/was true. I think, maybe, I’ve finally got this down now. Bear with me.

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 (s) 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 need 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
And 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 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
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

Time to chalk it up, or down, or sideways (there’s always gotta be one right?) however you chalk things on an imaginary board, this first season of High School Football back with Spectrum Sports and the semblance of returned normalcy is in the books and board “chalked”.

It was a good season and so nice to be back on these fall sidelines with some ball and a crew well worth spending a Friday night with, and after 10 weeks it almost felt like we were dating, again, just minus any residual anger for not returning calls or texts for about two years after our last pizza dinner football date nights and life went awry (and I thought she really liked me) and we eventually dated only ourselves in seclusion. At least we could truly say, honey, there wasn’t anyone else.

CBA, Collective Bargaining Agreement (a little uninspiring but pretty forward thinking moniker I must say – I kid Christian Brothers … I kid ) capped things off with a kick in the Shen to Shen, tripping them up with some pretty QB twinkle toe pylons at the end and a game long kid named Boz double armed power runs impersonating John Riggins in his #44 to land themselves in the faraway State finals tourney which are as faraway as faraway could be if we’re not going to pull a couple of trucks up and land a crew.

Scott: (at the final pieces of a broadcast loaded) Hey, Frankenberry? You taking the pizza?

Me: Yep, I got it (for my freezy thing above a coldy thing that holds only beer, old mayonnaise and a jar of pickles).

It’s comforting that they think of me in this save the pizza for Frankenberry kinda way and supports my why it’s a good crew and was a welcome return. They obviously care. This plus LAST week’s “Hey, Frankenberry? You taking the pizza?” and I now have 46 slices of pizza in my freezer for future lunches or dinners or possible charity functions. Selfless I am that way.

I re-discovered in this return season some of the things that have kept me coming back all these years, following the welcome Greg phone call wondering if I would be interested again, like the prepper backseat of BB, being loaded up with extra Pirate hats and sweatshirts and sweatpants, a couple of jackets, a cooler, a to go bag with socks, T-shirts, a wad of unmarked bills and clean underwear (gotcha Ma) and anything else that I might need when the weather turns cold enough to make my old feel older, or when it rains and rains for that always at least one game, just to make sure I’m prepared, enough of these things, as a matter of fact, that might make that state cop who pulls me over for some reason wonder if I had a permanent address.

It’s overkill I know but nobody is going to possibly be living in my backseat when I fall off into a ravine or something, lost for days with a broken leg, living on only half a sandwich, a Slim Jim and seltzers from my little cooler on the way home other than me.

I re-discovered how much I enjoy my ride homes on the NY State Thruway from the Albany round on clear nights with a moon smile bright enough to null my headlights, or on overcast torrential downpour nights where that one trucker in front gives me guide or even on foggy ones, so soup thick, clammy wet, like this final night, that you suddenly feel as if you have a head cold and could use some actual soup, Ma chicken noodle right about now until you’re home snuggled in flannel sheets with armpit cats. There’s a just me and BB quiet to these return home nighttime rides, no matter the weather, that I cherish.

I re-discovered that one rest stop that has a Burger King, just after the one with a McDonald’s on the other side of the highway to have that old commercial’s argument of which is better and wonder if my preferred of Burger King is only because suddenly crossing the highway across the grass like in some action flick for that McDonald’s might not be the most prudent of ideas.

Plus, I took some cool pics on my rides up and in games, came about some cool posts that I wouldn’t have written without and made a dollar or two though, sadly, a necessary dollar or two, not banked ones.  

I know this all sounds overly dramatic but, well, I am trying to write a story after all, but for a guy who has come, over the years, to intentionally only go out in the world as far as he might throw in the towel on contact with people it was ten weeks of old football girlfriend dates and raucous student sections and Mom’s and Dad’s being Mom’s and Dad’s with phone held high recordings, fans and alumni with loud opinions, sidelines with coaches and players noising past the ear that doesn’t have Greg directing and grabbing a shot of coaches in shorts in cold weather for a future montage of coaches in shorts in cold weather or a calling for the sideline “Frankencam” where someone end of game will inevitably remark that I get more screen time than that of the talent (I’ve said it before but, Greg, you’re frightening the children).

I’ll be here for that phone call next year.