Author: Stephen J Frankenberry

(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.

(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.

(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!

(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.

(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.

(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.

(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

Aaaahhhh

(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

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-16-19)

In my last post here, song-wise, I mentioned tilting at windmills. That unflinching Quixote-esque need to wail at and fight against whatever it is that you feel needs be wailing at and fought against. Well, it continues …

Tricking The Whole

 

I’m tricking the whole to new reign of a King

To keep their minds from wondering

What the truth knows

I’m filling the gaps marking all that I say

With prop-a-ganda being way

To sell truth now

 

And it’s really heady matter for elites I lie

For a fake press I lie

The haters cry

But see my dog base blinding there who loyally lap at my feet

Never finding truth crumbs on the floor

 

I’m painting bona fide in a red white and blue

My fingers make confusing swirls

Till you let go

Oooh Oooh Oooh Ahh Ahh

(succumb you will in time)

Hey Hey Hey….Hey

 

And hey batter batter batter

Swing and miss my man, can’t hit this pitch you can’t

Not this big spin

I’m on the mound base is the crowd

They pay no mind they are fact free

See how they’re wowed by my huge back door curve

 

I never take time to study the things that were important yesterday

They don’t matter now

Oooh Oooh Oooh Ahh Ahh

Hey Hey

I’m tricking the whole to new reign of a King

It gets my mind to wandering ’bout new royals Ohhhh

Who we could own owwwwnnn

 

I’m tricking the whole to new reign of a King

My mind is always floundering

In a dark hole…in a dark whole

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-16-19)

Now many of you are aware of my current living sitch (kidding…seriously, just kidding. If I ever actually use “sitch” instead of situation, like here, in the future, or any abbreviation of the kind, or use any acronyms for that matter I give you full permission to swat me about the head with something blunt or maybe soggy heavy or even poke me with a pointy stick).

So, beginning again, many of you are aware of my current living situation but for those who aren’t I have a wonderful two bedroom place above a three car garage in the house of a landlady (Celie) who owns/runs an animal shelter and sanctuary. For all of the complaints I may have about living paycheck to paycheck and the difficulties that presents, of just being able to get by, where I, and my Bella and the Unintentionals lay our heads is not one of them. It’s a best of spots. The Unintentionals by the way (not btw) are Mimi the Quirky, Cricket the Blind and a new big guy named Duke who I’ve come to simply call Dude, ’cause, well, he seems like one, and who came to be here from a sad situation that I won’t go into (we’ll keep him well Hope, I promise you). Suffice to say he’s here at the moment and just needs to get along with my Bella and said Unintentionals, the Band if you will. He has some windows with plenty to see, a sort of cat TV, drama’d with the stories of cows and horses and chickens and roosters and cats and dogs, is fed well and has a cat guy who gives him kisses on the forehead. For a new misplaced dude? I hope that is, at least, some of what he could have wished for.

One of the things that has fascinated me from day one, Celie and I were talking of this this morning as a matter of fact, is how all the fur here get along, and there is a lot of fur. There are seven dogs, Pea, Polly, Chrissy, Eve & Senta (the big, really big, I mean wolf size big, German Shepherd sisters who thankfully have never thought of eating me) little Spanky (who has also never thought of eating me though I’m sure I could fend off the ankle advances) and a new bouncy, belly rubs welcome small one who I’ve named Georgia. Initially I came to call her “Gorgeous”. There is a cat here named Handsome so why not a dog named Gorgeous I thought? Then Gorgeous morphed into Gorgeous George (as for some reason I remembered an old wrestler) and then Georgia. The naming thing can be a process.

There are also numerous cats starting with Bruce, who is the man, and on down. Honey Bob Tail “Boo”, Cujo (who earns his name on occasion), Dolly, Sharky, Penny, Buck, Florida, Millie, Lola, Handsome, Trucker, Little Mama…and that’s only in the house. There’s also Dutch, Spud, Curly, Lumpy, Ghost and the B&W twins who come and go through a cat/dog door in the garage and lest we not foget the couple of nameless ones who have comfy spots on the front porch. I think I got everyone, apologies gang, to any of you I may have missed. And there’s new kittens, baby raccoons, baby skunks and even baby groundhogs all underneath my ass in the garage, the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the sun room, the little barn and the big barn etcetera etcetera etcetera. It’s a wonder of all spots here, all filled with fur and life, life just looking for care and it is a LOT of care. Cheers to you Celie, Momma Doolittle, for that, for them. As my Dad would have said “You’re a better man (Woman) than I am Gunga Din”. Miss you Dad.

Anyway, as to the getting along and what this long winded post is leading up to? Just a couple of perfect pictures (not pics) that exemplify this coexistence. A (daddy) Pea and a couple of the latest arrivals…plus my new misplaced friend.

Here’s to still breathing and still being able to note our lives.