JDub’s Birthday Gift To Her Firstborn Sonย 

Music To My Ears

Yesterday the conversation went something like this:

Me to Pony: how can you not like Savage Garden?  

Pony: I don’t know who try are, that’s how. Maybe Slayer or Opeth.  Now that’s who I like. 

Billy Bob: He grew up listening to what I did. 

Pony:  Hey, that’s what we should do.  Go to a concert together.  Metallica is coming in June but it’s sold out. 

Billy Bob: Your mom got tickets.  I thought we told you.  Even after I told her not to.  And I’m working out of town so she’s taking Lulu.  That’s really not Lulu’s music but we don’t want to waste the ticket. 

Pony:  No way.  What about me?  That’s near my birthday too. You need to take me.  Or you need to give me the tickets.  Brando and I could go. (Wise is not a fan but his best bud would also enjoy). 

Me: I remember you singing all the words to Enter Sandman but I don’t remember Metallica as your favorite.  

Pony: They’re not but they did set the stage for all that followed.  They formed the soundtrack of my youth.   They are to me what Ozzy and Black Sabbath are to you.  The gateway sound. 

Then the memories flood in … of road trips to the tunes of the black album.  When Pony was still riding in a car seat.  Singing along at the top of his lungs.  Such a juxtaposition. His stellar memory knew no bounds. He also knew all the words to the movie The Land Before Time. 

Well hell, guess who is going to Metallica?  Not me.  The things we do for our kids.  I hope he realizes how much I truly love him! 

Rock on wit ur bad selves and listen to Enter Sandman
As always, more to come. 

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Woke Up To The Sound Of Pouring Rain and Boston Strong

Book Club, Music To My Ears

Last week I got three books. I started reading all of them pretty much simultaneously. My attention span is getting shorter as I age. I believe the expression is shorter than the gnat’s ass.  And that’s pretty small.  However Urban dictionary also says a gnat’s ass could be considered a near perfect measurement.  As close as one can get to exact aka being on the money.  

Here I’ll review two of the three books:

This morning I actually woke up to the sound of pouring rain. How coincidental that I am three quarters of the way through 18 and Life on Skid Row by Sebastian Bach.  The band was part of the soundtrack of my youth.  I learned how he played in clubs and other places to earn his due.  He did get a lucky break through a friend of a friend and connecting with Bon Jovi. By all rights he is respected Broadway actor.   For a birthday present many years ago, Billy and I saw Mr. Bach at the Majestic theater as the lead in the touring company of Jesus Christ Superstar. I learned he had other roles on TV.  I’m sure I’m the only one who has never seen him in Gilmore Girls. I’m sure I’m the only one who’s never watched a single episode of the Gilmore Girls. Now with the reboot I might have to check the show out. 

Anyway I’m always amazed at how someone can triumph over the shit they’re dealt. Part of me is surprised he still alive. As life gives me lemons I pucker up for a while. Then time passes and things get better.  Or things still suck but at least they change. The only thing that is constant in life is change.  Well change, death, and taxes.  My motisoperandi is to ride out any shit storm.  

If I feel moved to add to this review after I finish the remainder of the book, I’ll certainly do so.  For now, I’ll move on to the next gem. 

I finished Inside the O’Briens by Lisa Genova in the wee hours this morning.  I just couldn’t quit reading. This fictional family pulled me in. One of those stories ripped from the headlines.  Though not quite the same as a Law and Order episode because the end gave no neat tied with a bow answers.  Much like “real” life.  As opposed to the faux life we’ve been living.  

The patriarch of the Joe O’Brien family (a Boston strong policeman, blue collar townie) has Huntington’s disease like his mother before him.  Hers was mistakenly thought to be alcoholism at least by the townsfolk and her two children: Joe and his sister Maggie. Joe unknowingly passes Huntingtons on to at least to two of his four children.  His oldest, gene positive may or may not have passed Huntingtons to his firstborn son.  

This story moves gracefully along with many twists and turns. Ballet-like.  Read it and see how dance is included.  Dance as a metaphor for life.  Or maybe one could say the story moves along with several stops and starts and jerky movements similar to Huntingtons itself.  Like Huntington’s, the story is raw, gritty, and broken. Though there is no final scene of closure and we’re left to wonder what happens to this family, a sense of triumph remains.  One wonders, what would I do if faced with a deadly disease? Would I live life to the fullest to enjoy every moment of what’s left? Or would I jump off the Tobin bridge?  

Overcoming adversity is the theme of both of these books.  I recommend you read them and I hope in doing so you find encouragement.  As I conclude these reviews,  it’s storming outside.  We’ve lost the satellite signal.  We are preparing for the week and hunkering down as Stephen King would write. What better way to sign off than with a song.  I Remember You.  I hope you enjoy. 

As always, more to come.