and I still miss my new Ross 3-Speed

It was a genuine thing of beauty…forest green paint with bright chrome wheels and handle bars that exceeded my wildest expectations for a new bike. It was Christmas Eve 1969, and after being coaxed outside for a game of catch by my beloved uncle Ted, I returned inside to the living room of our West Los Angeles home to find a brand new, sparkling Ross 3-speed bicycle parked right next to the fireplace. There are not a lot of vivid holiday images stored in my memory banks, but the picture of that glistening new 3-speed is etched in my brain with crystal-clear clarity.

It had to be a pretty heavy lift at the time for my electrician father and stay-at-home mom. With a car payment, house note, and the intermittent construction work at the time, I can’t imagine the purchase was particularly easy for my conservative Depression era parents. As I rolled the bike outside and hopped on for the inaugural ride, I remember my father telling me to take good care of my new prized possession. As I careened up and down Esther Ave that night (this was long before helmets or even illuminated bicycle lights), I remember thinking life couldn’t possibly get any better.

A couple of weeks later I was riding my new wheels back from my friend Stanley Carmack’s house who lived in Cheviot Hills about two-miles from our place in Rancho Park (at that time, an eight year-old could travel 2 miles to a friend’s house alone on a bike…I still think that’s true but that’s a whole other subject). Just as I passed the bridge that went over the old railroad tracks into the east end of Palms Park, I notice two shady young teenagers walking toward the middle of Northvale Ave. I probably should have turned around, but I proceeded ahead and as I came upon the two, one of them held up is hand and indicated I should stop.

Not really knowing any better, I slowed to a halt to see what the two needed. When I did, the eldest of the two (I’m guessing they were about 16) put his hand on my handlebars and asked me where I lived. Not thinking, I said simply “oh…a ways away from here” and with that he instructed me to get off the bike. The other teenager looked scared, but he moved behind me and grabbed onto the bike rack to prevent me from pulling backward. The kid again told me to get off the bike, but I said I would not. The thug then jerked the handlebars and implored me to get off. He held an object I had not seen before to my stomach, and as he pushed a button, a platinum colored blade swung out. I’m guessing it wasn’t more than a four inches long, but at age 8, it looked to me like a machete.

Well, to be honest, I pretty much froze. I thought about my possible courses of action, but at the end-of-the-day, all I could figure out to do was reluctantly hop off the bike and give it up. I remember the kid climbing on my new bike and riding away with his accomplice sitting on the bike rack. It was a sobering experience that played out over-and-over in my young life, and for a long time, I was haunted by all of the things I could have done. I could have picked up a rock and clocked the guy in the head as he rode away, or ran to the nearest house (literally 50-feet away) to call the cops. I could have chased after them screaming and trying to draw attention to them (they really couldn’t ride too fast). However instead of doing any of those things, I ran home the entire two miles literally sobbing, and I was such a basket case when I finally arrived at the house that it took a good 20 minutes for me to convey to my mother what had transpired.

Aside from losing that beautiful new bicycle, I think I was probably pretty petrified about what my dad would likely do. He had grown up in a rough-n-tumble neighborhood with little in the way of excess, and I suppose I feared he would be disgusted with the way I handled the situation…and the fact that I didn’t fight for my prized bike. In retrospect, I think he probably was a little disappointed. He’d spent hours teaching me how to fight and how to defend myself, and I’m sure he thought there was little chance they would have actually stabbed me just to get my bicycle. To his credit though, if he felt any shame or disappointment he did not show it…not even a hint. I remember him trying to calm me down…and saying “it’s only a bicycle…you did the right thing.” 

That was the last I ever saw of that bicycle…or those two criminals. I was hoping to hear they’d been broadsided later that day by a car on Manning Ave, or hit by the Southern Pacific freight train as they crossed the tracks on Motor Ave by the old Tootsie Roll factory, but we never heard anything. There are literally years that pass between the times I recall that story now, but when I do I try to derive some sense of peace by telling myself those two delinquents are doing hard time at Folsom with big cellmates that have leprosy. Sometimes, I fantasize that they got the chair…and that maybe when I did electrical work I wired the substation that produced the voltage that ridded the world of their pitiful existence. (For the record…I’m not bitter).

What’s the point of all this? Well, if history really is a teacher, I’m guessing there is no point. It’s probably the best I could do at 4:34am on a Friday.

Because it is Friday, start today with a song. If you take the time to listen to this tune you might even find yourself smiling…and that really isn’t such a bad way to kick off the weekend.

Your eyes have a mist...

This past Wednesday I drove some folks over for a breakfast meeting on Capitol Hill. While sitting in the vehicle and waiting for them to wrap up, I was struck once again by the incredible differences between the east and west coasts.  This manifests itself in a litany of ways that reflect both good and bad on both regions...but nothing vividly illustrates the dichotomy more than the way people with brains see fit to use their vehicle hazard lights.

Here it was morning rush hour in the middle of the week,  and more than a few folks reasoned it was perfectly fine to double park their car in a congested traffic lane while they ran (sadly...they didn't always run) into some neighborhood joint to conduct their morning business. In most cases, they were headed in to drop-off or pick-up dry cleaning, but there were also more than a few that concluded it was appropriate to hold up others while they stopped to get a four-dollar "grande" soy latte. In several cases, the hold-up lasted more than a couple of minutes.  

Now...I find this odd for a couple of reasons. You see, people in North Dakota (did they move that state to the west coast?) simply would not do this. First off, most roads are only two lanes total so if you park in one of them you're cutting off the entire flow of traffic in one direction. Second, there are hitching posts in front of many businesses so most people still just “ride” into town. However even when visiting the big city, people raised in places like Fargo and Bismarck wouldn't presume their needs are more important than all those stuck in the lane behind them. It’s basic “do unto others” stuff. Here on the other hand, in the nation’s capital, it happens all the time…and the folks doing it are often driving high-end vehicles and don't appear to have been deprived of a top-notch education…or the minimum civilities one would assume comes with such an experience.

The weird thing is such courtesy is not restricted to folks living in the Bible Belt. Even in Los Angeles (now the west coast thing is making some sense), most people wouldn't double park (unless they'd spent time in DC). Sure, they might scream an expletive at you for saying hello, or pop a cap in your right-rear quarter panel for cutting them off on THE 405, but they'd never double park and stop traffic. For one thing, people in LA inconvenienced by such rudeness would never stand for such crap...that's why we carry (a 9mm) when we drive. I don’t really carry a gun anymore, but I do keep a pair of 9” diagonal pliers from my days as an electrician. If you double-park in front of me, expect to find your valve stems decorating the pavement when you walk out of Starbucks. That of course presumes I’m bigger (or can run faster) than you and have at least assessed that I can pull it off without getting my butt kicked.

Oddly, this self-centered bad behavior isn’t restricted to those double-parking automobiles. It’s the same principle deployed by some environmental Nazis that choose to take up a lane during the evening rush-hour as they slowly pedal up 16^th Street at 2 miles per hour blocking everyone behind them. Essentially, the message is “Screw you, my bike ride home is more important than the hundreds of you stuck behind me. Besides…you’re all idling now, your gas guzzling engines are running more and your commute is now much longer. Can’t you see…I’m saving the environment.”

So...here's the deal. If you have find yourself thinking you’re more important that every other inhabitant on the planet, fight the urge to double-park. Do your societal duty and park a couple of blocks away and walk over to take care of your errands…that way, on the few emergencies where you may have to double-park, you might have enough energy to actually jog in to pick up your chai. When you do hustle in…you’ll at least mitigate your depraved behavior by conveying to the rest of the world that you’re aware that you think you’re god and everyone else matters less than you.

OK…this is pretty cool. Aside from my paltry writing skills, the plummeting popularity of this blog also suggests my song choices need help too. Rather just one song, this quasi time machine of music will take you to a site that will play the best 20 hits of any year below. Pick a year, wait a few seconds, and the Juke Box will show you the 20 hits to select from. As best as I can tell, the music keeps playing and playing with just an occasional station identification (upchucky.com). Hope you like it..it may take a minute or two to load (I tried to check every link and I think they’re all good). Have a wonderful weekend.

 

1940	1950	1960	1970	1980	1990
1941	1951	1961	1971	1981	1991
1942	1952	1962	1972	1982	1992
1943	1953	1963	1973	1983	1993
1944	1954	1964	1974	1984	1994
1945	1955	1965	1975	1985	1995
1946	1956	1966	1976	1986	1996
1947	1957	1967	1977	1987	1997
1948	1958	1968	1978	1988	1998
1949	1959	1969	1979	1989	1999

...and if you think the DOW chart is ugly...check this out

For more than a few years now, I’ve emailed out a short message and song (usually unrelated to the story) on Friday mornings to a group of friends and coworkers. There really wasn’t anything behind it more than the thought it was a groovy way to kick off the last hectic workday of the week. Put simply…it just seemed like a nice way to start the weekend.

As you can probably tell if you’ve read any of these weekly ramblings, there was never much forethought put into the Friday drivel. Most of the time, I just wake up, stumble down to the gym, and hammer out a couple of paragraphs between bench-press sets (as I’m doing right now). Often times, the biggest struggle in this process is navigating Grooveshark and picking out a song worthy of sharing. Sometime, I am so rushed to get it out, I don’t take the time to proofread the drafts.

After several years of prodding by various folks to formalize the Friday missives, I went ahead and stopped polluting inboxes and put the stories online sometime late last spring. In deference to the many folks that never asked to receive the weekly message in the first place, the blog concept was intended to make the Friday stories more elective. My hope was that the writing works would stand on their own…and that people would want to read the weekly postings without prompting. Initially, I sent reminder emails to folks to let them know the messages and songs were still there…and when I did, the blog diagnostics revealed most people actually took the time to go to the page…or at least click the link.

Well, you’re probably not surprised to learn the effort has been a failure. The fact-of-the-matter is that once the reminder emails stopped…readership plummeted. It would be nice to lay out a bunch of possible explanations, but the sad truth is pretty simple…clearly…there is no real demand. Actually…that’s kind of sugarcoating it…the reality is the product is really not good enough to create interest.

The actual diagnostics are uglier than the 10 year chart my 401K fund managers send along each quarter. However while the amount of weekly readers have plunged since launch, there is something interesting going.



Aside from the fact that the blog has tanked…there are several people that appear to be following in other countries…particularly Russia. This is a trip to me…and here’s why. You see, my dad’s parents emigrated from Russia to the United States from a city on the Volga River called Saratov.

OK…so you’re thinking…No wonder nobody is reading this blog…it’s a snorefest. So your grandparents are from Russia…you think you’re the only person in the United States with such a lineage? Well…here’s the weird part. My wife’s mother is also from Russia…and she too hails from the city of Saratov. My brother-in-law’s grandparents were also from Russia…and yep…you guessed it, they too came over from that same Volga River city.

Now…I know what you’re also thinking…but you’re wrong. They didn’t all originally start in Tennessee before settling in Russia. Plus…they’re from totally separate families (I least I think they are), so it’s not the typical thing you see down south. BTW…if you’re from the south and you’re offended…please don’t be. Besides…why be mad? NASCAR kicks off soon and the Daytona 500 is just around the corner. BTW… you can watch and listen to the best NASCAR pre-race prayer ever (the link below). It really is pretty inspiring…and  if you take a minute and listen to the prayer…at the very least…I bet you’ll smile.

The Best NASCAR Pre-race Prayer Ever

What’s it all mean? I have no clue. I’m thinking maybe it says something about the world being smaller than we think. Or it could have something to do with cosmic forces out there that we really don’t understand. I mean really…what are the chances of three unrelated families all from the same Russian city playing such a role here? If indeed it turns out the Russian families are all related, I guess it also could mean Saratov is to Russia what Little Rock, Arkansas is to the United States. Again…if you’re mad…cool your jets...it's all in fun. If you're really upset, just listen to the pre-race prayer again.

It’s Friday…so go ahead and kick off the last day of the work week with a little music. If you do…you’ll have a better day…guaranteed. Now honestly…how many honest-to-goodness guarantees do you get these days? BTW...life is short...and it's fragile too. You need to be well-rested, so do something fun and relaxing this weekend.

Skipping and a jumping...

...and if you pray, make it a better world

About two weeks or so ago, the local weather forecasters predicted some freezing rain would hit this area in the wee small hours of the morning and that it would likely continue well into the morning commute. When I awoke at 3:55 a.m. and stumbled down to the basement gym, I glanced outside and noticed the pavement was bone dry. At 4:25 a.m. the local Fox 5 News channel began its morning “Storm Center” coverage with an opening sequence that included reporter Stacey Cohan (on “storm watch”) standing in front of some ominous looking front-loaders as they picked up giant scoops of salt for awaiting DOT road trucks. Concurrently, a growing litany of school and government closures scrolled across the bottom of the TV screen. This was understandable, because the tenth-of-an-inch of anticipated freezing rain accumulation (for those of you that live in North Dakota…that is no joke…that was the actual forecast) was so threatening that the Federal Government had announced a delayed 11 a.m. start time…and they had done so the night before (are folks in government really perplexed why their national polling numbers are low?).  Fearing the apocalypse was upon us, I peered through the basement window, but again, it appeared the streets were still waterless.

When I left the house about 6:20, it was beginning to lightly drizzle and it was clear impending doom was not far off. Still, it was about 34 degrees so the rain wasn’t freezing. There were about 8 confirmed drops between my front door and car, so I put on my snow shoes before walking gingerly toward my vehicle and heading into work. I turned on the car radio, and though I didn’t connect the dots at the time, WASH FM got into the wintry spirit with their morning play list.  As I drove by the VP’s residence down Mass Ave, a song began to play that I had never heard before. As soon as I heard the opening lyrics I feared where the story was going…and I was horrified to think that I could be listening to what may have well been entitled “Christmas Shoes II).  

If you’re unfamiliar with the song Christmas Shoes, consider yourself the beneficiary of prayer. If you have an affinity for train wrecks, you can hear the song here by clicking Christmas Shoes I

This song playing on this particular morning starts out with a woman singing about another woman that was heading down the interstate to Cincinnati to visit her parents on a snowy Christmas Eve. For extra drama, her “baby” child was in the back seat (I presume in a car seat) and the vehicle was also low on gasoline. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the driver was also lamenting the fact that it had been a “long, hard” year. As if this alone didn’t telegraph pending disaster, the woman also had a lot on her mind, wasn’t paying attention and according to the lyrics, was driving “way too fast.” Well thankfully, unlike Christmas Shoes, the woman in this tune didn’t need to die so that her son could spend his last pennies on a new pair of shoes to ensure she looked good when she inevitably croaked later that evening. She did however need to hit a sheet of black ice before spinning into an harrowing Christmasy Interstate death spiral. You can imagine the terror (according to the lyrics, her life actually flashes before her eyes), so thinking fast, she threw up her hands and shouted “Jesus take the wheel.”

You can hear this song by clicking Jesus Take the Wheel

If you’ve ever read the bible or listened to Christmas Shoes, you already know full-well the son of god doesn’t limit his power to making the blind see, the lame walk, raising the dead or helping an underprivileged boy buy shoes on the night his mom kicks the bucket after a painfully long illness. In Jesus Take the Wheel, he apparently takes control of the vehicle and steers the spinning car safely over to the shoulder where both the woman and her baby escape unscathed. Sufficiently scared onto the straight-and-narrow after her icy near-death experience, the appreciative woman humbly bows her head and prays before continuing on her way to spend the holidays with her parents in Ohio.  

Few would argue it was good the woman’s plea resulted in her spiraling vehicle making it safely out of harm’s way, however I could be wrong here, but seems to me a lot of heartache (and terror) could have been avoided by just a little more strategic and proactive praying. You see, instead of asking Jesus to take the wheel only after the car started to spin, the young woman could have asked for studded snow tires to appear as the snow began to accumulate, or even better, pre-empted the event and requested that he remove the black ice from the highway altogether (this would have been especially nice for the other drivers). Actually, if she truly thought it through, she could have asked Jesus to divert the winter storm just south of the Interstate so all could enjoy a safe Christmas Eve commute.

Now…if you’ve ever read one of these posts before, you already know I’m no brain surgeon.  But even with my substantial cerebral limitations, I still know enough to stay away from controversial subjects like politics, music tastes, appropriate attire, why the NY Giants are truly evil and religion. So, consequently, there is no need to debate the existence of a divine being here. Actually, for purposes of this discussion, it doesn’t matter if you’re a bona fide believer, an ardent atheist, or probably like some folks...somewhere in the middle. The only case I’m making is if you’re going to pray…be bold. Think big and go beyond simply asking your higher power to take control of your car.   

You see, this past weekend alone, there were several horrific car accidents in the metro region. On GW Parkway, a vehicle slammed into a tree and the driver was killed.  There was also a police chase that resulted in at least three folks being killed (on Taylor Street in N.E.). On Route 50 there was also a horrendous head-on crash caused by a drunk driver that took the life of several motorists. On the same weekend, a woman on RT 544 struck a hunter that was crossing the road. The well-intended woman then stopped her car and attempted to assist the stricken hunter, however both were then killed by an oncoming car that plowed into the both of them.

So…what’s the point? Well, I guess as stated earlier, the goal should be to think big. Make your request for safe travel before you leave the house, and don’t wait until you’re spinning out-of-control at 60 mph on Christmas Eve to bow your head. Be bold, and ask for clear highways, good weather, responsible alcohol consumption and safe passage for all travelers. Ask for less poverty, a better environment, a cure for cancer, to stop hunger, to eradicate terrorism, to reduce domestic abuse and for world peace. If you pray to a higher power, don’t ask them to take control of your wheel…ask ‘em to take control of everybody’s wheel. That way…we just might just get a better world, and we may even avoid the need for terrifying icy death spirals…and the tragic loss of life that occurred on the roads this past weekend. Heck…we may even eliminate the need for a poor kid to have to go out and buy his dying mother Christmas shoes…on Christmas Eve.

One of the best gospel groups of all time is the Fairfield Four. Normally I wouldn’t be so bold to boast about a Friday Morning Song, but this morning’s tune is a genuine toe-tapping gem. It features Natalie Merchant, backed up by the famous gospel foursome. Kick back and take 5 minutes and 17 seconds to listen…you may even want to close your eyes and say a big picture prayer. Enjoy and have a wonderful and safe weekend.

28 Devine Creations

BTW…if you want to hear a little more from the Fairfield Four…here is a classic.

Standing in the Safety Zone