Otis... My Man!

Otis was the coolist dog in the world!

Otis

Otis… (July 2005)
My man!
We would go on
Long walks together
Sometimes twice a day
We wouldn’t talk
We would just walk
For exercise
Or just to clear our heads
And so Otis –
My big black setter-type dog –
Could relieve himself
I don’t know which one of us enjoyed those walks more
All I had to do was go to the door
Grab his leash
Which hung on the railing
And the sound of the metal clip
Hitting the railing as it was pulled
Would get Otis to leave whatever spot he was hanging at
And run down the stairs
to the door
barely stopping at the bottom of the stairs
barely not running into the door
For 12 years –
Since he was a puppy -
Otis was part of our family
Ever since Kelly and CathleenWent to the Guilford dog pound
“just to look” they said
But, of course,
They couldn’t “just look”
No one with a heart
Can ”just look” at the pound
So they saw Otis
With his big eyes
Big floppy ears
And even then he had big hairy paws
And he had what we swear was a big smile
everytime we looked at him.
Kelly and Cathleen knew
He was our dog
Otis had a bounce in his walk
Especially when he was young
Especially when he saw a squirrel
Otis would sit on the top of the foyer stairs
Like a majestic library lion
So he was the first family member
Anyone saw
When they entered our home
He would share his dog mattress
In the corner of the living room
With the cats
Whenever they felt like joining him
When Jack was just learning to walk
He would plop down
With his baby bottle
On the mattress with Otis as well
Otis didn’t mind.
He would adjust
And go back to his rest
Very little bothered Otis
He was just cool
AndIn the evening
If Kelly or the kids
Would blow off my invitation
To watch a game
Or a movie
Otis was usually right there with me
Unless, of course, he decided to take my spot
On the bed
Because even though Otis was a big dog
I think he still thought of himself
As a puppy
Or someone much smaller than he actually was
ButLike all of us
He slowed a little as he got older
And a few weeks back
When stones clogged his bladder
And cut up his insides
He couldn’t walk any longer
So, to end his suffering
Otis had to go down
Now there’s a void
That even our cats
Bandit and Midnight
Seem to feel
Otis is no longer sitting at the top of the stairs
And his leash doesn’t hang on the railing by the door
But he’ll always be a part of us

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

One more thought about Otis
Turning 50 doesn’t make me feel old
Being a grandfather doesn’t make me feel old
My girls – the members of the youth soccer team I coach –
Moving on to the high school freshman high school team
Essentially ending my coaching career
Doesn’t make me feel old
When my hot late-20-something co-worker
At the book store where I worked part time
Thumbed through my CDs and said,
"Hey, this is the same stuff my father listens to."
That didn’t make me feel old
(well, not too old!)
But when Otis
Our family dog of 12 years
Died recently
Putting an end to the 12 year tradition of
Long morning walks
I realized that a phase of my life
Which I never gave a second thought to
Was over
And I wondered how many phases I had left
And if any would include anyone as cool as Otis
And that the last phase would always just be a memory
From this point on...
That made me feel old!

Jack Kerouac Bobblehead Night!

Jack’n

July 2006

“I used to see Jack Kerouac

every once in awhile

in a coffee shop in the city,”

this older guy named Louie –I think he said he was 74 –Said to me.

“I saw Ginsburgand the other ‘Beats’around the city a lot.

They were pretty nice guys

Very approachable

Very dedicated to their craft

I’ll never forget the late morning

I once sat with Jack Kerouac

Drinking coffee

Smoking cigarettes and talking about writing and living…

So, what brings you to Lowell?” Louis finally asked.

Lowell, Mass

Home of Jack Kerouac

And Jack’s final resting place

Now

On this hot July afternoon

I am in line at a minor league baseball stadium

With a few other sweaty – and anxious –Jack Kerouac fans

(no, make that worshipers!)

We’re all here for the same thing

A Jack Kerouac bobblehead doll –

(Given to the first 300 fansAt that evening’s Lowell Spinners baseball game)

And I’m here to hang with some people, who

Like me

Were crazy enough

To drive to Lowell, Mass

On the road

To get a Jack Kerouac bobblehead doll

Louie lives in New Hampshire now

But lived in the City when he was a book editor

Some people in line were academic-types

Writing or teaching writing – or both

Most were just regular Joes

Or Jacks –

Or Jackie in my sister’s case

She took the short drive from Rhode Island

I wasn't going without her!

“I read ‘On The Road’ every summer,” one man boasted

“I own everything Jack has done,” another one said

“I love Jack Kerouac,

especially the spoken word albums he has done,” one woman said.

Everyone here loves Jack

It’s a good crowd

And once the gates open,

And we all get our bobblehead dolls

Many bid each other farewell

Even before the first pitch is thrown

I go in to take a look at the stadium

Grab a seat

And smell the freshly cut grass

And hear the ball slam into the mitts during warm-ups

And the sound of a ball cracking off the bat just before it sails into theoutfield

The food stands selling hotdogs

And souvinier tables everywhere

I open the box and

Gently

take the Jack Kerouac bobblehead doll out

Blue pants

Red shirt

A face that maybe –

maybe –

looks like Jack Kerouac

This

Baseball

Meeting people

And getting a Jack Kerouac bobblehead doll

Is america

The trip -

our brief On the Road

was worth it

Jack Keroac Bobblehead

Unchained Saw

Mike & Jack: Two 13-year-olds jamming under the band name "Unchained Saw."

Smokin' Joe

It's Time for Baseball!!!!

The Promise - November 2005

The Promise (November 2005)

Did you ever drop acid?
I haven’t in years
But every once in awhile
I’m reminded of "the promise"
The Promise
Made by the anti-drug forces back in the day
always in let’s-alarm-the-shit-out-of-you tones
They would say,
"Don’t do acid
because some day
when you least expect
you will have an acid frashback!"
That was The Promise
that some day
while traveling through your mundane existence
colors would all of a sudden
seem more pronounced – a little more vibrant
Movements would be tracked by trails
And you would chuckle at something silly
something you probably never paid much attention to before
like how the break lights on the car in front of you seem to be winking at you
like you two are sharing some inside joke
And everything around you would come to life -
it would explode with pleasure and pull you into euphoria
your thought process would escape to a whole other level
where you could understand life
where you could venture through the clutter in yourbrain
like the fellowship through the dark forest of Mordor
I’ve thought of this flashback
This two for one promise – if you will
At times like when I’m stuck in Q-Bridge traffic
with a seemingly endless pack of cars pinning me to a stop
Or when I’m chained to my kitchen table
my checkbook and calculator out and a pile of bills,
like concrete wrapped around my neck,
weighing me down
Yes, there are times when I could use such a break
But it could present a problem (a slight problem)
if the promise is fulfilled while meeting with my staff
or bosses in a conference room at work
flip charts and power points presentations
will melt from the walls
My boss would have a red bulbus nose
which would actually be a penis on closer look
A bad trip would bring a fire-snorting serphent
that made no sense when it spoke
(which I guess isn’t that different than meetings with my boss now…)
Either way
It hasn’t happened
and I’m starting to doubt it ever will
But they promised!
I am supposed to get acid flashbacks
But they lied! (so you know the government was involved)
I just wonder
who would I talk to
to get my money back

Selling Tickets at the OTB - October 2005

Selling betting tickets at the OTB (October 2005)

There are three types of betters
that come to my window
As I take bets for the day’s races,
which are shown on numerous large screens throughout the building:
There is the Professional better –
who always does research on the upcoming races
and always knows when to call it a day
and always plans for the next day
They sometimes smile
They rarely talk
They just go about their business
There are The Recreational betters –
who go into the day with a set amount of cash they plan to bet
and, generally, stays within that limit
They smile, they drink, they generally are looking to have fun
This group is augmented by the old-timers;
The older gentlemen who still dress nice when they go out
And the women who still wear hats and gloves
Just like they did in the 40s and 50s
when they visited Aquaduct
And then there is The Desperate –
those are the ones who are alternately entertaining and pathetic
Each Desperate better has a tale of woe
Like, “I was mad at myself yesterdayI picked the 4-6 at Philly
Even though the 4 was 50-1
But the friggin teller couldn’t get the bet in on time(It’s always the teller’s fault – never theirs)
And I was shut-out of a $15,000 payday!”
Most tellers just nod along to these stories
(although they usually wish they could just nod off!)
The Desperate also have stories of grand insightful victories,
Like, “I had the pick-6 at Belmont last month,
Made $106,000,
But hell, it’s only money.”
The “it’s only money” line is unpacked and delivered in arrogant tones
whenever they win and have money.
(Then they hold court with theirfellow-Desperate-losers
Talking about how they know the horse… or the jockey...)
When the Desperate betters don’t win
They have no lines
Just a look of desperation,
and the longing to be cool and smart like the Professional gambler,
Or relaxed and fun-loving like the Recreational gambler.
But they can’t look like either.
They can only look like what they are.
They start the day
Peeling money off a roll
And most times
They end the day paying for one and two dollar bets with coins
All while stinking of piss, BO and booze
Place the bet and stand in place with yourfellow-Desperates
And when the race starts, you start
“Five
Come on 5
COME ON 5
What the fuck are you doing?
Come on
COME ON
go, Go, GO
Watch that 7 behind you…SHIT!
What are you doing to me? (like it’s personal…)”
Hey, I got a hint for you
It’s a horse on a screen
The horse can’t hear you
Neither can the jockey
They are the lucky ones
They can’t hear you
Just like I wish I couldn’t

The Stadium

The Stadium

The Stadium