An American in Cairo...and Jefferson City

The story of three American college students recently detained in Egypt was of particular interest to me. One of the students, Derrik Sweeney, is from my hometown. I don't really know Derrik, but he went to high school with my son. Derrik played baseball growing up, but never on any of the team's I coached. I have met his mother on a couple of occasions, but I doubt that she really knows who I am.

As a parent, I was relieved when Derrik was released by Egyptian authorities and allowed to return home. I read many accounts, in the paper and online, about his experiences.

I was saddened, though, by the comments made by other readers on the various news sites. It didn’t matter if I was looking at the websites for Fox News or MSNBC. The majority of comments were along the lines of: “Why do idiots always travel in threes?” and “These young anarchists should have been punished.”  Other commentators assumed these college students were radical socialists “like the Occupy Wall Street crowd.”

When did we reach the point that we want Americans punished in foreign prisons because we “know” they must have been doing something wrong? Just because we can comment immediately online, and make up facts to fit our pre-conceived agendas, does not make it right to do so.

Unfortunately, this is the level of most political discourse in our country nowadays. We argue for the sake of arguing, totally convinced not only in our own righteousness but also in the absolute evil intentions of the opposing side. People around the world are struggling for democracy, and with our rude and impulsive commentary, we give free speech a bad name.

On a personal level, though, as the father of a 19-year-old, I can only imagine what it feels like for Joy and Mike Sweeney to be able to hug and hold their son once again.

You Never Forget Your First Dog

I grew up in a fairly large family—5 kids, one bathroom. I was 9 years younger than my nearest sibling, Sue.  When I was 3, we moved from St. Louis to Jefferson City. About a year later, my parents promised me a dog.

I can’t remember asking for one, but I must have.  Why else would parents add a dog to such a crowded house?

I remember the day I got Jerri. She was a tiny pup, black with a patch of white on her chest. When I held her, she melted into me. I fell in love instantly. Jerri was a gift from my father’s best friend and cousin, Jerry Walther—hence her name.

My father was out of town that day and I couldn’t wait to show him MY puppy. After what seemed like forever, I saw the white Ford station wagon pull up in front of our house.

Dad got out of the Galaxy, walked around and opened the tailgate. Out popped a large, hyperactive, hound that lumbered next to him as he walked toward me. I was horrified and wondered what this creature was doing at my house.

It turns out that Dad had no idea his friend had found a puppy for me. While traveling through Southern Missouri that day, Dad had come across someone that had a dog they were happy to be rid of (or at least that is how I remember it).

The hound, already named Patsy, never had a chance. She was bigger than me. She was hyperactive and Ritalin was not prescribed to dogs in 1964. But most of all, she wasn’t Jerri. Obviously, Patsy had to go, and she did.

Jerri had been described as a “pocket beagle”—supposedly she was a dog that should remain small enough to fit in your pocket.  In reality, she could not be described as anything other than a mutt, a sweet and loveable mutt.

In my memories, she was always by my side. Many of the photographs from my childhood include her. Once my sisters dressed me up in a topcoat and hat. In the black and white picture, there is Jerri , on her hind legs, reaching her fronts paws up toward me, with her tongue curled, trying to lick me. Jerri was my best friend.

Alas, as I grew up, she became less and less of my focus even though I still loved her immensely. The summer before I left for college, she approached me one day, limping and with an unrecognizable expression on her face. It was clear something was wrong.

Dr. Burgess said she had a stroke and he kept her for observation. When my mom approached me the next day, I already knew what she was going to say.

In a strange way, I found it easier to leave for college that fall, knowing that Jerri was gone. A part of me had felt guilty knowing I would be leaving my friend behind. When I look back now, I realize that the average lifespan of a dog is the time it takes a child to grow up. Jerri left when her work was done.

Every Dog has its Day

This past Saturday, Jesse and I went to a Cardinals game for the first time in 3 years. It turned out to be a "pooches at the park" day sponsored by Purina. Hundreds of dogs were dressed in Cardinals gear. All breeds--from Great Danes to Chihuahaus--were lined up nose-to-rear, waiting to get to their assigned sections.


Here are a few photos:

Dad Rock II-The Gaslight Anthem

Brian Fallon, lead singer of The Gaslight Anthem

If I'm talking about Dad Rock, it only makes sense that I include a band that Jesse and I saw together. Last June, through a bizarre but fortunate series of events, we had free tickets to the Bonnaroo Music Festival in Manchester, Tennessee. We left after work one evening and made it as far is Fairview Heights, Illinois. Jesse wanted to get up early (before 5 AM) the next morning so we could make it to Bonnaroo in time to see The Gaslight Anthem.

I had heard a few tracks off the band's breakthrough album, The '59 Sound. I generally liked the music--they clearly channeled a young Springsteen and had incredible energy.

When we arrived at the festival, they had already begun playing and we were far from the stage on a 95 degree day following a rain storm. Jesse and I parked ourselves near a lemonade stand, far from the mud pits that would have provided a better view.

Even from that distance, while we dripped with sweat, lead singer Brian Fallon and the rest of The Gaslight Anthem dripped with charisma. It may be a cliche, but the band really did sound better live than on recordings. They played most of the songs on their new album, American Slang, which was released the very next day. 

The Gaslight Anthem is led by Brian Fallon, lead singer and lyricist. Fallon brings the energy of an early punk band, the lyrics of a modern culturally observant poet, and the humility of someone comfortable with his blue-collar roots. In fact, he worked as a roofer before the band became financially viable.

Alex and Jesse

After seeing them perform, Jesse and I were able to attend an interview that Spin Magazine did with Fallon and lead guitarist, Alex Rosamilia. There were only about 5 other people at the interview, so it felt like it was our own private meeting with the band. In the interview, they were pleasant and funny, clearly enjoying what they do. We had a chance to talk briefly with Brian and Alex--we were on a 1st-name basis by that time--and they were very accommodating in taking time for a few photos. 

The Gaslight Anthem have had a big 2010. American Slang has been a consensus choice on all the "Best of the Year" lists. I am still listening to it constantly more than 6 months later. The band is from New Jersey, and they clearly have a Springsteen influence. They borrow at times from his lyrics (it seems every girl in a song is called "Maria"), his images (cars), themes (lives of desperation that really aren't that bad because they are honest).

Brian Fallon is a fascinating guy. As a dad, I was overwhelmed by the quantities of tattoos when I saw him up close--he certainly looked hard-core--but he always had a twinkle in his eye that made him seem more like the kid who was always full of mischief, but you could never come down hard on him because you knew he was basically good. Near the end of the Spin Magazine interview, he was asked about the lyrics of his new song, Old Haunts, and if the lyrics were "anti-nostalgia." (The '59 Sound had been full of nostalgia.)

Fallon smiled and said, "No, it's not anti-nostalgia at all. Actually, that one was for my mom. She's always talking about how I only live in the past or the future...so I had to write a song for her, about the present."

The Gaslight Anthem--maybe I should include them under Mom Rock.
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Here is Bring It On performed live at Bonnaroo 2010:
 

Now for an acoustic version of Old Haunts:
 

Finally, a glimpse of The Gaslight Anthem with The Boss:
 

Dad Rock--Introduction

I have not posted in a while--been busy and lacking creativity. The other night, my wife suggested I do a list of the best "Dad Rock" songs. Thanks, Barb, for the inspiration.

About six weeks ago, my son showed me a column that described the growth of Dad Rock--referring to the growing number of bands that appeal to all ages. The column specifically mentioned a number of bands that I enjoy (as does my college-aged son). The writer described Dad Rock as music that makes you want to speed down the road with the top down (or at least at 5 miles an hour over the speed limit with a sun roof).

In True Stories, I have already shared some of my favorite bands from the past (and a few from the present). Over the next few weeks, I will be introducing you to some of the best in Dad Rock.

Up first--Frank Turner

Frank Turner is a folk-punk artist who formerly was in a hard-core punk band. He has soared in popularity in England with his ironic lyrics, great live performances, and a sense of humor. In I Still Believe, he sums up the joy of music:

I still believe in the saints

In Jerry Lee and Johnny, and all the greats

I still believe in the sound

That has the power to raise a temple, and tear it down

I still believe in the need

For guitars and drums and desperate poetry

I still believe that everyone

Can find a song for every time they've lost, and every time they've won

So just remember folks we're not just saving lives, we're saving souls and we're having fun. 

Turner has lyrics and song titles that can make every English teacher smile. Check out I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous:

Let's begin at the beginning: we're lovers and we're losers

We're heroes and we're pioneers, and we're beggars and we're choosers.

We're skirting round the edges of the ideal demographic.

We're almost on the guest list but we're always stuck in traffic...

I am sick and tired of people who are living on the B-list.

They're waiting to be famous and they're wondering why they do this.

And I know I'm not the one who is habitually optimistic,

But I'm the one who's got the microphone here so just remember this:

Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings,

About fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings,

And the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering,

And help us with remembering that the only thing that's left to do is live  .

After all the loving and the losing, the heroes and the pioneers,

The only thing that's left to do is get another round in at the bar.

One last Frank Turner song with great lyrics and a video that shows his sense of humor. How can you go wrong with a title like Reasons Not to Be an Idiot?

I'm not as awesome as this song makes out

I'm angry, underweight and sketching out

I'm building bonfires on my vanities and doubts 

To get warm like everybody else...

  

Dirty Politics? Polarization? The American Way

Were you sick of the proliferation of negative campaign ads this election season? Do you long for the good old days when there wasn't so much negativity? What would the founding fathers think of our current system? What about how journalism has fallen into the competing agendas of Fox News and MSNBC--what happened to objective news?


Other than the increase in money that allows saturation of the electronic media, the tone of campaigning has not changed much since the beginning of our nation. As the video below demonstrates, using actual words from past campaigns, politics has always been a full-contact sport. Thomas Jefferson called John Adams "a bald, blind, crippled, toothless man who wants to start a war with France." Jefferson went on to say, "When he's not busy importing mistresses from Europe, he's trying to marry his son off to a daughter of King George." 





Somehow, we have this idealized and sanitized view of what democracy is. A government by and for the people is a messy thing. People make mistakes. People are uninformed. People vote based upon emotions and perceptions. If you are a Democrat, you find the most recent election proof of that. If you are a Republican, you saw that proof two years ago.


The objective journalism of the past, is partly a myth. I have been reading a book from the 1970s, The Powers That Be, by David Halberstam. Did you know that the Los Angeles Times refused to even cover Democratic candidates in the paper? That Time Magazine's founder felt it was his obligation to champion the conservative viewpoint in news stories?


I believe that part of our dissatisfaction with our political system is that we are taught this romanticized version of the past. Whereas the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution were brilliantly conceived documents, the Founding Fathers were still flawed human beings. They did not envision democracy as being open to everyone--they assumed the upper class (white men) should make the decisions.


Rather than focusing on a past that was not as cleanly glorious as we like to think, perhaps we should focus more on appreciating that democracy is a work in progress, with steps forward and backward. The amazing thing is that it works at all.

The Ghost of Howard Stern

As a kid, I always looked forward to Halloween. I enjoyed choosing a costume, and what could be better than roaming the neighborhood to get free candy? 


I can still remember my all-time favorite costume. As a child in the 1960s, I was about 8 years old when I dressed as an astronaut. The only problem was that the "helmet" included a plastic face shield that fogged up every time I exhaled. 


At some point, Halloween became a less interesting event for me. I had no interest in costumes, and I generally have access to candy at all times anyway. Two years ago, a friend of my wife's invited us to a murder mystery dinner theater, and we were expected to arrive in costume.


Barb found a long black wig, some "tattoo" sleeves and some inexpensive costume jewelry. She wasn't dressing up as anyone in particular, just wanted to look funkier than usual. At my work at that time, there was a young secretary who definitely marched to the beat of her own drummer--she had creative tattoos and piercings.


Upon seeing Barb's supplies, Mandy instantly recognized that Barb would make a great Kat Von D, the star of the tv show, LA Ink. I had never heard of it, but Barb was excited.

Now the pressure was on--what could I come up with. I went to the mall and browsed Hot Topic. There wasn't much left to pick from. As I began to feel desperate, I noticed a small collectible action figure of punk rocker Joey Ramone. Joey was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt and black jacket with his wild black hair.


THAT WAS IT! I found a wig, and a black jacket. Hot Topic even had a black Ramones t-shirt. I went to Kohl's and found some skinny jeans (skinny is a redundant adjective when I'm wearing denim).


Barb and I were HOT together. We were a perfect couple. For once in my adult life, I had a decent Halloween outfit. We had our son take our picture. We had to save our triumph for posterity!


We arrived at the dinner theater, knowing we had a good chance to win Best Costumes. As the evening progressed, my anticipation grew. Everyone commented on Barb's Kat Von D costume. Surprising to me, everyone knew who Kat Von D was--and this was not a young crowd. I received several compliments as well.


Finally, it was time for the announcement. I was shocked when the best female costume was awarded to someone other than Barb. Moments later, the emcee for the evening proclaimed Howard Stern as the male winner. I looked all around and could not find a Howard Stern anywhere...Then I realized, everyone was looking at me...