The Californian

The Horse Thief

2012-02-09T07:16:00.005-05:00

The moon was out and it’s light spread across the branches of the scrub oak casting a phantom hand on the small house. He slept in a room at the back on a rope bed near the pot-bellied stove. Winter was early and the night was cold.

Out across the hard-packed yard, beyond the barn the sound of the horses in the corral pulled him from his sleep. He lay still, listening. There it was again, the horses whining, hooves stomping. There had been news of Indians, off the reservation, stealing horses through the territory, reports he had passed off as gossip. But now he could hear the agitated animals clearly.

He swung his legs off the bed and caught his toe on the cast iron foot of the stove as he moved to the doorway. Cursing and shuffling through the front room he sat again on a rough-hewn walnut bench to pull his boots on. Hurry, before they’re gone with the whole damn string. He stood and paused to force the fog of sleep out of his eyes and then reached for his rifle fixed above the door.

The barrel was cold and the gun heavy as he leveled the weight in his hand. He left the house, stepped off the porch and was now in the yard dressed only in his boots and long underwear. A long shadow stretched behind him leading back to the front door.

The air made his knees and knuckles ache as he approached the barn and his nervous breath burst into the night like smoke. The man edged close to the barn wall now, hunched out of instinct with the rifle held low and thrust out in front to probe the darkness. He turned at the corner of the structure, seeing the ponies and the figure of a man among them.

From the cover of the barn he moved to the first corral post. The thief had not noticed, still trying to manage the horses. The man crouched, passed between the rails and finally stood not more than ten feet away when the thief turned his face. The moonlight was enough for the man to recognize an old neighbor, one who had fallen on hard times, losing property, a wife and had turned to drink for comfort.

“Duncan Barnett?” The sound of the man’s voice startled the thief so that his legs nearly buckled and he dropped the leather cord he had tied to one of the horses. The man said again, “Barnett.” But even in the dark he could see the deadened and weary eyes of a drunkard. The prodigal son not yet returned to his home.

“Stay back, damn you!” said the thief. He reached into his threadbare coat and pulled a pistol from his belt. “I mean to take these ponies mister and I’ll shoot you down if you try and stop me, by God.”

“Barnett,” said the man, “It’s Roy Martin. Don’t you know me? Roy Martin?” Martin lowered his rifle, “C’mon over to the house and get you something to eat.”

Barnett’s pistol dipped and rose, a drunk maestro conducting an orchestra. “You all can go to hell,” said Barnett. “Every last one of you.”

The gun fired, splintering a fence post behind Martin and the explosion echoed hard against the buildings. Martin stepped back and held his hand up.

“Duncan, please,” he said. “Put that pistol down. You want a little money? Come with me.” Barnett’s gun fired again this time striking the dirt at Roy Martin’s feet.

“C’mon up to house and get warm. I’ll fix you a pallet to sleep on,” said Martin. Barnett steadied his revolver, but the rifle came up and fired first. The bullet sent up tufts of fabric as it hammered Barnett to the ground.

Roy Martin breathed deep to calm the nausea as he stared down the barrel of the Remington to the fallen man. The horses had yet to calm down and their eyes were still wide and round and white.

Trail Running

2012-01-27T11:22:00.012-05:00

Two years ago I left the pavement. I saw the opening in the trees and stepped onto the natural surface of the trailhead and from then on I was a trail runner. Running out on the street was becoming difficult for me. I was tired of putting up with traffic, exhaust, stop-lights, sidewalks, noise and I’m not a very disciplined runner, so the thought of forcing myself to sprint around a track for speed work sessions was about as exciting as mowing the lawn.

So on the advice of my buddy, Dexter Pepperman, I joined him for a trail run one morning out at Francis Beatty Park. I didn’t have trail shoes at the time. I ran in a pair of old, spongy Asics DS Trainers. We did about 5 miles and I was hooked! I wanted to come out there everyday and run through the woods like Natty Bumppo.

The first thing people say when I encourage them to start trail running is, “Oh no, I’d probably fall and hit my head or break my ankles out there. ” While this can be true in trail running answers like that usually come from people who hardly spend any time running out on the trails. I was one of those people. As a kid who sprained his ankles every few months from playing too much basketball I knew first hand what my limitations would be when I subjected my clown ankles to the “punishments” of a North Carolina trail. I saw every root and rock as tools that the trail was using to buck me off of it like a cowboy on the back of an angry bull.

Trail running w/ my brother near our house.

Running trails is more than just buying a new trail shoe (although, it helps). It takes practice and patience. You have to slow down and, without sounding too new-agey, it’s about understanding and working with the trail. In the end, you still may catch your toe on a hidden root stub and find yourself crashing face first into a patch of red clay.

I’ve run into herds of deer, a coyote (which I’ve never seen in NC before. They were practically pets where I grew up in CA), hawks and owls. I saw a guy out on a trail dragging off a piece of an old car that had been abandoned out in the woods and a few weeks later the entire rest of the car was gone. I’ve been caught in thunderstorms. Been slightly lost a few times. I’ve been bloody and muddy.

But that’s exactly what I love about trail running and why I can’t get enough. I don’t worry about qualifying for Boston. I don’t get disappointed when my workout doesn’t go well. Leaving the asphalt for the trail is about enjoying the adventure of running out in the woods and not knowing what you’re going to find.

So, here are a few tips that have helped me and might keep the trail from buckin’ you off it’s back or least keep you holding on for the ride a little longer:

Wear a hat with a bill. I like to do this because it gives my face (especially eyes) one more second of protection from little branches that hang down into the trail.

Take a watch or don’t take a watch. Sometimes I need to take a watch or I’ll be out there all day. Time slips away from you. That’s the exact same reason I mention not taking a watch.

Wear comfortable shoes with plenty of room in the toe. Your feet will be swelling. Your toes will be wanting to crash into the end of the shoe. You need room to let these things happen.

Pepper spray. You never know who you’re going to meet out there. Although, I’ve never really had trouble with people, I did have a run in with dogs.

If you’re going for a longer run and you can’t get back to your car until the end, bring some water and some sort of fuel.

Cross-train. Believe me, I hate cross-training, but I’ve definitely seen its benefits come out in my trail running. I have a stronger core, better flexibility and stronger ankles.

No headphones. First, there’s the safety issue. Sometimes there are mountain bikers on the trail and you need to be able to hear them coming. Sometimes there are other people out there and you need to be aware of your surroundings. Second, wearing headphones defeats the purpose of running out in the woods. You don’t need them. You’ve got enough media stimulus creeping into your brain all day. This is your time to get into nature and run like a wild animal.

And finally, just get out there and try it. Experiment with your form. Practice your footing around tricky roots & rocks. Take your time and have a ball!

So... I was on Chris Robinson's tour bus last Sunday...

2011-11-14T08:13:00.008-05:00

I was out in the front yard raking leaves when I got a message from my old buddy George Sluppick. George is a drummer whose list of cool bands he's played for is a mile long and now he's playing for the Chris Robinson Brotherhood (Chris Robinson, the lead singer in the band The Black Crowes).

His message was simple: "I'm in town, come on out." For those of you who don't know me, I used to play music for a living as well. It was 10 years of touring, recording and local gigs. I did ok for myself; lots of festivals, 4 albums, a couple of awards, some small magazine articles, a few trips to Europe. I've settled nicely into my life here in Charlotte, though. I haven't missed playing music that much. Bought a house. Have a day job. My commute to work is about 15 minutes on a surface street--no traffic. I get to come home and have dinner with my wife most evenings. I took up beekeeping.

I'm still working on a couple of music projects that are cooking on the back burner, but there was something about George coming to Charlotte that brought things back out to the front.

I left the house around 7pm and headed over to NoDa (North Davidson, for those Californians who don't know Charlotte) to the Neighborhood Theater. I called George's cell phone and when he picked up he instructed me to head around back to the tour bus. As I turned the corner and saw the big bus, the door opened and out jumped George.

I hadn't actually seen George in about 3 or 4 years when my old partner Nathan James and I were in Memphis, TN playing some gigs. We stayed at George's house. He treated us to some BBQ Nachos (his creation, and I won't give away the secret recipe). I remember that trip fondly which is another blog post for another time. It's amazing the ways you can catch up with someone you haven't seen in awhile. I used to see George all the time when he lived in San Diego. We played gigs together. Then I caught up with him in Memphis and now here we were in Charlotte.

George was wearing a cowboy hat and his hair had gotten long and was streaming down to his shoulders. He had on a western shirt covered with a blazer and on his face were his signature horned rim glasses. He gave me a big bear hug.

Ben Hernandez and George Sluppick

I stepped up into the bus and George offered me a beer and introduced me to the bass player, "Muddy". Chris was in the back of the bus watching TV, so George and I sat in front and started to catch up on 3 years of lost time. He asked me what I was up to and if I was playing any music. I asked him how the tour was going. Chris came out shouting something about a football game.

After a few minutes George and I decided to head across the street to Smelly Cat Coffee to get a couple of cups. We sat outside and watched the people lining up for the show out in front of the theatre. George noticed these knitted hats that a lady was selling outside the coffee shop. He said something like, "Man, look at those hats...I gotta get me one." Our conversation was simple. It felt good sitting back with an old friend and talking about how we've both ended up where we had. We reminisced about Los Angeles, San Diego, Memphis....Music. We talked about strength of family. Burying the hatchet with people and forgiveness. Friends. It was the first time in a long time that I felt truly comfortable being in Charlotte and in the same moment, lonely.

We finished our coffee and George approached the lady who was selling the hats. Her "husband" came up too and we noticed both wearing her creations. She said, "I knit all the hats myself and I don't use any kind of pattern. Just what comes out of my mind." George looked at all the hats and then at her husband and said, "Man, you got a good one here (referring to the woman). You better hold on to her. She'll keep you warm at night."

We walked back across the street to the venue so George could start getting warmed up with the band. I checked in at the door (George had put me on the guest list) and entered the theatre.

There's George in the back w/ his cowboy hat.

It was great watching George play again. He and I had played together many times when we lived in San Diego and I missed that sound. The band was good. I enjoyed the songs. But I had to smile when I saw George playing. He does this thing where he jumps off his drum stool when he wants to really punctuate part of the song. Just like old times. George is one of the funkiest drummers I know. He's George. He can be funny, stubborn, moody, philosophical, kind, generous and it all comes out in his playing. George, that night, was a link to my past life that had followed me to Charlotte. There are some things about that life that I was glad to leave behind and George was a reminder of the things that still hang on and haunt. And it feels right knowing that they are still there.

The band took a break and George brought me backstage. We talked about the first set and what I thought. We took a picture for the record books. I told him I couldn't stay for the last set because I had to get up early for work. Having a day job can still be an adjustment for me.

He gave me a parting bear-hug and a hand shake and we looked at each other in a way that said, "Been missing my old friends lately. Glad to hear your doing well. I'll be seeing you again soon."

I walked back to my car. The streets of NoDa had quieted some and I felt a melancholy feeling that my brother and I talk about sometime when you're walking through a city. It was a feeling of being caught between two places and the present and the past. Being caught in the middle of comfort and loneliness and inspiration. I went home and started writing a new song. Thanks George.

Bees At Night

2011-07-10T21:00:00.008-04:00

Beekeeping is the kind of hobby where you never quite feel like you're the one in control.

Here are a few photos of the bees when the sun has gone down and they don't think I'm watching. The photos don't really do it justice. It's pretty amazing seeing them either all bunched up in a chain or shifting back and forth on the face of the hive doing some grooming and cleaning.

The heat and humidity is the reason they're doing all this stuff. There is not as much for them to do when the sun goes down (no foraging) and the inside of the hive gets a little too warm with thousands of them in there. So some of them sit out on the porch while a few others stand in the entrance fanning their wings to draw cool air in. Crazy!!!

Trail Runners Beware!!!: Dogs at Francis Beatty Park

2011-06-07T09:50:00.004-04:00

So I just wanted to go for a nice trail run out at Francis Beatty Park this morning. The first half of the run was just fine until I came around a bend and stopped about 20 yds. short of two guys with dogs. Two of the dogs weren't on leashes. I asked if he was going to get them on leashes and he said, "They're fine." And then at that moment the dogs cut through the trees and came up to my legs growling. I slowed down to a walk and tried to give the dogs room because I don't really like dogs coming up to my legs snarling. I told the guy he better put them on leashes. The owner of the dogs, a great big guy came around the curve trying to call the dogs back. The dogs don't hear too well I guess because they won't really let me pass and continue growling. He calls again. Nothing. So I let the big guy know that I have pepper spray and would be more than happy to use it on them to help get them under control.

The man freaks out. On me. He's still trying to call the dogs off though and I think he's watched too many mafia movies. He says, "What the f**k, man. Why you gotta be such an a$$hole?"

"I'm the a$$hole?" I said. "You're the one with dogs off the leash about to bite me."

"You know what? Just get movin', you f**king a$$hole! What is it, a**hole day?!" he said.

So of course I said, "Well, it must be if you're out here!" I finally got past them and ran a few yards up the trail to where his buddy was waiting with his dog. A rotweiler. The man held the black dog's collar and waited patiently. The rot sat there like a little kitten. Well, I guess now I know where the other dogs got their aggressiveness. As I ran up the trail I could hear him mocking me in a high pitched voice. I love it.

What is it with me and running in Charlotte? When I've tried running on the roads I've almost been hit by cars (one guy kind of chased me down in his car {see earlier FB post}). I tried running out at McAlpine greenway, but now they're gonna pave it. I got into trail running to get away from all that only to get chased by dogs and roughed up by NY walkers.

I don't tolerate people who don't have control over their dogs. I've been bitten before. I don't like it. If you want to have your dog out on the trails keep a leash on them or get out there earlier. Or go to a dog park for goodness sake.

By the way. The two dogs are white-ish with a couple of brown spots and look a little like smaller huskies. And this isn't the first time they've come at me or others I know.

(the only dogs I do like are my parents' dog, Dexter's dogs and of course Molly Jones.)

The Bees were, well....busy today.

2011-05-24T19:29:00.006-04:00

The weather's been warming up and today the bees were pretty active. Almost too active. I had noticed that the feeder was empty and when I replaced it full they just started going crazy. I just finished the box and frames for one more brood section so the bees have more room. I've heard that if they feel like they're running out of room they can swarm and I didn't want that to happen. So, when I saw so much activity outside of the hive this afternoon I assumed the worst only because I still have no idea what I'm doing and what to expect from these insects. Here's a little video. Enjoy.

BEES!!!!

2011-05-19T22:23:00.005-04:00

So I've been thinking about it for a couple of years and now I've finally done it. I brought home a hive full of bees today.

I got in touch with a man out in Indian Trail and drove out to his house this afternoon. He and his wife have about a 6 acre spread of woods, meadows with goats, a big pond and I don't know how many bee hives.

I after loading a few full frames into my hive box and one bee sting on the back of my neck (I wasn't wearing a veil.) I drove back into Charlotte and starting getting the colony into it's spot.

These are pretty amazing creatures. As soon as I opened up the little hatch on the front a few streamed out. They hovered around the entrance for a few minutes and within 20 minutes were already buzzing around the front and backyard foraging for nectar. I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning and organizing my shed and checking on the entrance of the hive from time to time. And when the sun finally started going down and my backyard was getting dark, I could see the last few scout bees coming in for the final landing of the day. A little while later the hive was quiet. I guess I'll find out in the next couple of days if they all want to stay awhile.

Yo-Yo Adventures in Church

2010-06-06T23:12:00.005-04:00

A kid was sitting in front of me in church this morning playing with a yo-yo. He didn't flip it out and "Walk the Dog" or anything, but I guess I was just amazed that kids played with yo-yo's at all anymore. Well, he was turning it in his hand when the thing slipped out, rolled across the aisle and ended up lodged under some old man's chair. The kid's little head snapped over to his right to see if his mom had seen anything. She was standing and singing along with the band. Good, he thought, she didn't see a thing.

He hesitated for a few moments, laying out his game plan. Do I just walk over there and ask the old man for my yo-yo back? The kid takes a church information card and slides it over with his foot across the aisle toward the stuck yo-yo. I think he was either creating a diversion or giving himself an excuse to go over there..."Excuse me sir, I seem to have dropped my card across the aisle and under your seat. And even though there are hundreds of other information cards scattered through the sanctuary I really want this one."

The kid, I think, realizes that his information card didn't slide far enough and the old man wouldn't buy the card routine anyway. So he sits back into his chair and thinks about his move one more time. I almost wanted to tap him on the shoulder and tell him that it was ok if he went over to get his yo-yo, that he wouldn't get in trouble. I almost volunteered to go get it myself. And then finally when the band was getting all wound up and the singing was at its peak, the kid crept over, crawled under the chair and grabbed the yo-yo. Whew. That was a close one. It was such a Tom Sawyer moment.

By the way, the kid sitting next to him (his brother?) just fiddled around on his mom's cell phone playing video games....Boring.

There's Coffee At The Summit

2010-03-18T07:59:00.007-04:00

The alarm went off at ten-to-5 a.m. I got up and put my running clothes on in the dark. I hate getting up early to run especially during the last few months when it's been cold. There's nothing like stepping out the door into 19 degree air knowing you have 10 miles ahead of you. Yesterday morning wasn't that cold, thank goodness, but it was still early.

The thing that got me going this time was knowing that I had already committed and people might be waiting for me. I had been talking to my buddy Chad Randolph for weeks about heading up to Davidson to run with his group. Davidson is a small town about 25 miles north of Charlotte and one of the few places in NC that reminded me of being on the west coast again.

So, of course, I was running behind and had to speed to get up there. I didn't want to drive all the way just to get there and see the running group take off without me. I drove in the dark with no traffic. Man, Davidson is out there a ways.

I pulled up to the CVS right in downtown and saw the familiar sight of runners warming up. And there was Chad, tall as a tree, wearing shorts! Dang. I pulled up just in time to get introduced to everyone--Jeff, Todd, Jim; and then Chad hands me a headlamp. A headlamp? Where the heck were we going? I tried to be cool as I adjusted the strap like I'd worn headlamps to run all the time, but honestly I've never worn a headlamp. Back in California I almost never ran in the dark. I was a musician, so I usually got out the door in the late morning and didn't really get to running until the early afternoon.

Chad showed me how to switch the thing on and soon we were headed up the street. We cut into a greenway section, which I would have liked to see in the daylight. You could see the outline of the trees like giant matchsticks against the dark purple dawn. The guys mentioned that some kids had shoved a big log across the greenway path so that if you weren't watching carefully you could trip over it and wind up face down in the middle of the path. They joked about the delinquent youth of Davidson.

I've come to realize as I get older that everyone has their "thing". Which means that everyone has an interest that they geek out on. Some people are into Star Trek, some are into classic cars, some folks are music snobs (me), and some people are runners. We geek out on running. As we ran along the dark greenway path we talked about everything running.

I hung back with Jeff and Chad most of the time, both of whom run ultra-marathons (distances longer than 26.2 miles). Jeff is probably in his late 40's*and he and Chad talked about their ultra races. I think Jeff said that he'd run about 150 ultras! I peppered Jeff with questions about the races and the ultra-marathon "community", about his times and training. This guy is insane!

Chad, 42 (I think), runs almost exclusively in Vibram Five Fingers and is the one who got me excited about them so, of course, we geeked out on that too. Todd was maybe in his early 40's, too and Jim was about my age. They stayed up toward the front and then cut off a little early.

Chad and Jeff and I crossed a road and headed up an incline near a field just as the sky began to glow at the horizon, mixing dark with light. Our breath in the cold trailed behind us like smoke coming out of a locomotive. We dropped back into downtown Davidson to complete six miles and cooled down to where we had started. Next stop--Summit Coffee house.

This is probably one of the best parts of the run. Strong coffee in a cool coffee house. Summit definitely made me feel like I was touring again, up in the Northwest, sampling all the amazing coffee joints. It's a small, narrow place with wood paneled walls and warm light and great coffee. I liked it because it was funky. It was no Starbucks or Caribou. It's the kind of place where none of the chairs really match and the guy working behind the counter has dread-locks.

From the street we could see Todd and Jim waiting for us. Our group sat around the table with our coffee (thanks Jeff. It's on me next time) and talked about the next run. I said that I would definitely come to run with the group again. Jim asked me if I lived in Davidson and Chad told him, "No, this guy drove all the way up from South Charlotte!"

"What?" said Jim. "You came all the way up from Charlotte for this run?"

That's right. I lived in San Diego county for the last 10 years, dealing with traffic, long commutes, time on the road for hours touring and so a 45 minute drive to Davidson with no traffic was a breeze. If I hadn't driven up there I wouldn't have had such a great run with a great group. I'll definitely do it again. Anyone want to join me? We can carpool.

*So, I had originally tried to guess Jeff's age and got it wrong. Big time. Sorry Jeff. Like I said, it was dark. Hope you'll let me keep running with y'all again.

Monday night Bobcats

2010-03-02T07:30:00.004-05:00

Last night my wife and I went out with one of her colleagues and husband to a Bobcats game. For anyone who doesn't know; the Charlotte Bobcats is an NBA team now entirely owned by a guy named Michael Jordan. Charlotte used to have the Hornets until the team was moved to New Orleans, I believe.

We started the evening out at a cool little tavern called "Tavern on the Tracks". And one of the best things about the place is that it is SMOKE FREE! We can finally go out to some of these places and not taste cigarette ashes in our food and come home without having to leave our clothes hanging up in another room.

After dinner we headed over to Time Warner Cable Arena, nestled right downtown/uptown. If you haven't been to a game there, I would suggest checking it out. It's a great facility. The interior of the building has many modern touches with other unique characteristics like a huge mosaic representing some of the region's basketball history that almost covers one entire wall near the entrance.

Our friends hadn't mentioned anything about our seats when we got inside. We got into an elevator (which has a human operator--classy.) and went up a couple of flights. I knew we were getting something cool when we stepped out of the elevator and the floors were carpeted. Turning a corner, we finally came to a closed door and I realized we were getting treated to box seats. Never had box seats before. Pretty cool.

We eased into soft faux leather seats and watched the game below. My wife and I have been to 3 events at TWC Arena: 2 Bobcats games and 1 concert. There's not really a bad seat in the place. For a major sports arena the place is actually pretty cozy. The state-of-the-art scoreboard features replay videos and special short films and even holds a model of the city skyline that wraps around the whole thing.

One thing about these games that I find crazy is the amount of audio and visual stimulus that goes on during the night. It's a testament to how short our attention spans are, I guess. You can't just sit back and enjoy the game for what it is. Almost every moment is filled with the announcer hollering, songs being played, the organ pumping or recordings of huge beats to get people to chant "defense". Every time-out features another booty dance by the "Lady Cats" or the firing off of T-shirts into the crowd.* There were a couple of times when it got quiet for about ten seconds, when the Bobcats were behind, and as if the system had sensed a change in the arena noise, a recording kicked in that said,"Everybody clap your hands!" So of course we all felt compelled to like little robots.

The Bobcats lost to the Dallas Mavericks unfortunately, but the game was still a blast to watch and we had a great night out. Not bad for a Monday.

*I'm constantly being amazed by human ingenuity; the fact that someone, somewhere invented a special hand-held "cannon" to fire rolled up T-shirts into the stands of sporting events.

The Great Blizzard of 2010: Myrtle Beach Marathon Pt. 1

2010-02-13T21:51:00.004-05:00

So, I've trained for months, spending hours running. I purchased new shoes. I spent $100 bucks, that isn't easy for me to come by, on entry fees. I took time off work. My wife also took time off work. We drove for hours to get there. We showed up to the expo and picked up my bib number and stuff. I started actually getting excited about running my first marathon. Because it was a special trip (Valentine's Day and the marathon) my wife and I decided to splurge and get a nice dinner. A light snow flurry began to fall. We drove back to our apartment to get ready for the big race in the morning, stopping by Walmart first to buy a pair of galoshes for my wife so her feet wouldn't get soaked as she watched me along the course. We flip on the local news to hear them announce that the Myrtle Beach Marathon is canceled...And all I got was this stupid T-shirt.

That's right, race fans. The powers that be decided that they should cancel the marathon because a light snow was falling and that the forecast called for more snow throughout the night. The trouble was, none of the snow from The Great Blizzard (which measured at about 2 in.) had actually stuck to the roads. The road got wet. That's all. The suits at the city decided that for everyone's safety, rather than push the marathon back an hour, it would be better to cancel the whole dang thing. They thought that the runners wouldn't be safe on the "open" parts of the course with wild motorists wreaking havoc. It can be hard to spot thousands of runners out on the road. My wife said something like, "The streets are just as dangerous when it rains". Would they have canceled the marathon if it rained and got the streets all wet?

So we sat back and watched the opening ceremonies of the winter Olympics instead, glancing at the little update strip at the bottom of the screen. Over and over again it stated that the marathon had been canceled. Occasionally the local news station would interrupt NBC with information about The Great Blizzard. They would cut to a field reporter dressed in his best arctic apparel, standing out in the middle of the CLEAR street telling us what we could already see by looking out the window--light snow, wet streets.

We went to bed. I was extremely disappointed. To add insult to injury, my wife and I woke up this morning to find that it was NOT SNOWING. And of course the roads were clear and dry. We made the best of the situation by getting dressed and going for a walk out on the beach. It was beautiful. The entire beach was covered in snow. Neither of us had ever seen a beach covered in snow. After our brisk morning walk we came back to our apartment and I decided that I was still going for a run, so I headed back out to the beach.

To further pour salt into the wounds of my disappointing marathon weekend, as I ran down the beach, the cold gray clouds split open and the sun came out. Some blizzard. By the time I got back from the run much of the snow on the beach had melted.

Back at the apartment we packed our things, cutting our weekend short, and hit the road. The last I had heard, the race officials were "evaluating refunds". That's right, they better evaluate refunds. They better evaluate them right back into my bank account. The Sun News.com, in an attempt to make it sound like participants at least got something out of the deal listed these few tidbits:

"All other marathon-week events, including a two-day runners expo Thursday and Friday at the Myrtle Beach Convention Center (which I only attended because I had to, to get my race packet), one-mile Family Fun Run on Friday (didn't participate...came for the marathon), 5-kilometer race on Friday (once again, came for the marathon) a post-race House of Blues party (didn't feel like going and still had to pay $20 so that my wife could go too), and three cycling rides in Conway on Sunday (here for the marathon) have been held or are expected to be held.

This part I love:

"All participants also received a gift bag with apparel and gifts." Ok, you know what? I'll give you back the gift bag and gifts. Just send me back the dough.

Mark Kruea, the city's public information officer writes: "The BI-LO Myrtle Beach Marathon is valued by the entire community, and we do not make this decision lightly."

Well, all the runner's came into town and spent a bunch of money in the off season. City officials made the decision to cancel at 10pm just when it was late enough so that runner's staying in local hotels still had to pay an extra night. What does he care if the thing got canceled? The community got it's "value" out of the marathon.

I understand that "bad" things happen beyond our control. I know that there is a great deal of planning that goes into an event like this and there are a lot of people who are involved. But all the runner's signed a waiver releasing the city from any liability in the event that a car slides off the wet roads and hits someone. What about swimmers at the beach during the summer. Do they sign waivers before getting into the water? Did the city big wigs even go outside to see the roads for themselves? I read some comments left on the Sun News.com website and about 90% of them, including locals, were negative.

I'm really just venting. I'm tired and going to bed. Well hopefully, if I get my money back, I'll use it to enter a different race in the future.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of The Great Blizzard of 2010: Myrtle Beach Marathon.

Countdown to Myrtle Beach Marathon 2010

2010-02-12T09:46:00.003-05:00

I had originally wanted to run the Outer Banks Marathon back in November, I think. But I got injured during the summer and I got lazy with my training so I chose Myrtle Beach because I had heard that it was flat and the weather was usually nice. Jessica and I are about to leave for the beach and the weather forecast for tomorrow's race is a balmy 31 degrees with a chance of snow flurries. C'mon!

So the countdown begins. My first marathon. Over 26 freakin' miles. I'm counting on at least 4 hours of running. We're staying at Jessica's uncle's beach house in North Myrtle and hoping to have a nice little Valentine's Day weekend--if I can walk later and the weather's nice. We packed movies and the backgammon board just in case.

I'll be posting marathon photos when we get back. For everyone else running tomorrow, Good Luck.

First Snow in Charlotte

2010-01-30T17:40:00.004-05:00

Well yesterday about 4 o'clock the temperature dropped, the clouds opened up and snow began to fall here in Charlotte. And today, for the first time in my life, scraped thick pieces of ice off my front porch with a garden hoe.

What I've learned about the relationship between the South and snow is that Southerners tend to freak out just a little bit when it starts to snow. Granted, I'm from California, so I'm not used to the snow that much either. But when snow starts to flurry in Charlotte everything shuts down. People don't go out. Businesses are closed.

There are a lot of Northerners living in Charlotte and most of them snicker a little. "This isn't snow," they say. For me, the snow is pretty fun. I was actually looking forward to the challenge of getting in the car and driving to work (Run For Your Life was open!). There were warnings on the internet about going out. I noticed that the Harris Teeter (east coast equivalent to Ralphs or Vons) was packed with people the day before the snow as if folks expected to be trapped in their homes for a week, with drifts piled up around the door, unable to get good access to bread or milk.

I completely understand that the roads are icy and can be dangerous. It's probably a good idea to stick close to home. I drove around town. I just made sure I drove slow. That's it. Just drive slow.

Back home, the fog is the serious weather issue during this time of the year. Tule Fog (pronounced too-lee) can get so bad that you can't see past the hood of your car. Every year the news broadcasts highway accidents and pile-ups of 60 cars or more.

My wife and I ate dinner out, drove to a friend's house and returned home just in time to see two people sledding down our frozen street in the dark. So cool. One of them made it almost the entire length of our street, lying down on the sled, while the other stood at the other end and yelled "Car!".

I'll limit my driving tomorrow if I can and do my best to watch out for the nut who's driving his SUV too fast, thinking that he'll be ok because he's got an SUV. And I'll try to make it to the store to get some bread, milk and rock salt for the slick porch.

Sleep Machines

2009-12-18T08:16:00.004-05:00

The weather in Charlotte right now reminds me of my hometown. It's like this during the winter in Exeter, CA. It's wet and cold and all the leaves are gone. Last night I laid in bed trying to fall asleep and let my mind wander off a bit. I thought about California and places I've traveled within the state, either on family vacations or on tour playing music. As I watched the ceiling I realized that this particular night in Charlotte seemed too quiet. There was a sound that was missing. Wind machines!!! I couldn't hear wind machines. I had grown up right next to a sprawling orange grove in Exeter. And when the winter nights got too cold, the farmers would switch on the tall wind machines to help circulate air through the rows of trees to keep them warm and to keep the fruit from freezing. The machines sounded like helicopters in the distance and my family and I would fall asleep to the beating hum of the propellers. That's what I missed last night, the sound of wind machines.

There are digital alarm clock-type devices that will also emit static sounds of white noise to help people sleep. I had one that played different sounds--a babbling brook, gentle ocean waves, white noise and forest sounds complete with an owl hooting in the background. I never did use any of these effects, though. When I lived in San Diego I could hear the constant sound of the freeway in the distance. And now here in Charlotte, it's completely quiet and still in our house which, most of the time, is just great. But for me, this time of the year needs a wind machine or two in the background. Maybe I could get my folks to record them for me and send me a copy to play while I sleep in North Carolina.

iPod Hunt in Denmark

2009-06-11T07:32:00.004-04:00

During my flight to Denmark a few weeks ago I accidentally left my iPod in the seat pocket in front of me. Of course, this was the only time I didn't check the pocket before leaving the plane. I had loaded thousands of songs on that thing not to mention photographs, a few television shows, and a movie (Spinal Tap by the way).

I didn't even realize it was gone until I got to my booking agent's house and then I couldn't even get back to the airport because I would be leaving the next morning, early, for a week spent in Norway.

While in Norway, I emailed all the proper authorities in an attempt to hunt down the iPod. I got form letters back saying that my letter had been received and that they'd let me know if anything was found. It usually took two weeks.

When I flew back into Copenhagen I thought, "Great, I'll just go to the lost and found desk and search through a bin full of iPods until I find mine." Yeah right. When I got to the SAS service desk I was told that SAS doesn't actually keep the lost items at the airport. After 48 hours said items are transferred to the Politi (police) lost goods office in Copenhagen. Thanks for not telling me that sooner.

I was busy that week in Copenhagen with shows and a bit more traveling, so after more time passed I figured I might as well accept the fact that I'd have to buy another iPod when I got back to the states. The bad part is that I also brought a mini-DVD player to watch other movies during the flight back, but couldn't now because the headphones were wrapped around the iPod. I had brought the thing for nothing.

When I finally had a day off in Copenhagen I called the lost goods office, got directions and borrowed my buddy's bicycle. I rode about 5 miles only to find that the office was this little run-down warehouse tucked away off the street. You almost needed another lost and found office to find this one.

trying to take a picture while riding my bike.

I parked my bicycle outside and walked in. Behind the service desk were shelves and shelves full of lost goods sent over from the airport. There were short bins on the counter filled with car keys all tagged with dates and flight numbers. It was overwhelming and I figured that there was no way that I'd see my iPod again.

Outside the "lost goods" office.

The man at the counter, Michael, asked me what date I had lost the iPod. I had written down the date, the flight number, the city from which I flew, I had my passport, driver's license, and had written down the first few artists' names that would appear on the iPod in case someone turned it on and needed me to prove it was mine.

Michael and my runaway iPod.

Michael turned and opened up a metal storage cabinet and began hunting through a plastic bin. After about 5 minutes he turned back around and held up a plastic bag that looked like those evidence bags you see on court TV shows like Matlock. He asked, "Is this your iPod?" I couldn't believe it. There in that little zip-lock was a white iPod with black head phones wrapped around it.

Enjoying my iPod waiting for the train.

I told him it looked like mine and if he turned it on would find the Abyssinian Baptist Choir and AC/DC at the top of the list. We turned it on and sure enough there was High Voltage. I thank him profusely and after signing a release I practically skipped out the door like a little kid. When I got back out to the street I noticed a rail station about a block away so instead of riding my bike back another 5 miles I hopped onto the train and enjoyed my iPod all the way home.

Back Home

2009-06-04T13:31:00.004-04:00

Well, I'm back in the good ol' US of A. I came from enjoying Denmark's 75 degree, blue-skyed days to North Carolina's hot, humid summer. At least everything here is green and the lightnin' bugs are out. Being from California, those little insects will forever fascinate me. For most Californian's the only time they'll see lightnin' bugs is during the beginning of the Pirates of Carribean ride at Disneyland.

The evening I got home, my wife had fixed chicken and dumplings for dinner with peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream for dessert. She's a good woman.

It's good to be back at work here (RFYL) and I'm excited about running the King Tiger 5k this Saturday. I did my best to stay in shape while I was gone, but I didn't account for the heat and the humidity here so my times for the next couple of weeks will be a little slower than when I left, I think.

I'm in the process of posting all the photos from the trip on my website--www.benhernandezmusic.com. So if you go to the "photos" section you can check out all the places I visited and a few of the people I met along the way. Hopefully, I'll be including a few little stories about of couple of them in coming days.

Thanks for reading The Californian.

Ben

Scandinavian Tour 2009: Sleep...I need sleep.

2009-05-22T19:20:00.001-04:00

Sorry I haven't written in several days. It's been busy. I just got back this morning from playing a festival in Eutin, Germany yesterday. Had a gig tonight in Copenhagen, get up early to leave for a festival in Sweden in the morning. I'll try to write more when I have a free moment and my computer handy. Take care everyone.

Scandinavian Tour: 2009 Day 11

2009-05-20T12:13:00.003-04:00

A few days have passed since my last post. It's been busy here and it's about to get busier. I'm back in Copenhagen now. This is probably my fourth trip to CPH. It's nice because I can find my way around the city pretty easily. I have a couple of favorite coffee shops, bakeries, cafes and this trip I've plotted out several running routes throughout the city. Yesterday I found a running shop similar to the one I work at in Charlotte and also talked to a runner at a running club here in Copenhagen.

Tonight, Nathan and I will be playing at Denmark's premier blues club called Mojo. It should be a good night because tomorrow is some kind of Danish holiday so people will be out and going crazy, from what I hear.

James Harman flew in from Belgium last night to join us here for some gigs in CPH and a couple of festivals in Germany and Sweden. Should be a good time. Always is when he's around.

Getting close to dinner time. I'll write more later.

Running in Norway

2009-05-17T11:23:00.011-04:00

Haugesund Bridge Run on Constitution Day

Me running near Arnt Ove's house. This was my warm up everyday.

As my tour of Scandinavia approached I worried that I wouldn't have the time to fit running into my music schedule. I packed my running shoes anyway, sacrificing a few more clean shirts and another pair of dress shoes to do it. I'm glad I did.

The first week overseas has been spent in Norway. Fortunately we've been staying at one house that belongs to our host/manager Arnt Ove (Andy) so it's been easy to just put my running gear on and head out the door. Our shows don't start until 9pm usually so there's still enough time to squeeze a run in and take a short nap before the gig.

The weather has been perfect for running and so has the geography. There are paved bicycle/walking paths that will lead to almost anywhere you want to go. The day we arrived I set a goal for myself--to run from Arnt Ove's house, up and over this huge bridge and back again. The first few days were shorter runs and some speed and hill work and I had to take a day off because we were playing in another town so I didn't have time to run there.

I tried to run the "course" yesterday, but after Arnt Ove showed us the sights and cooked dinner when we got back, I really wasn't in the mood. But today, I had to put up or shut up. I had been talking about running that dang bridge all week, so when Nathan mentioned it today I knew I had to.

After attending this morning's Constitution Day parade in downtown Haugesund we came home and ate breakfast. I answered some emails and uploaded photos, allowing my food to digest then I put the gear on. I had been trying to think of a way that I could prove to Arnt Ove and Nathan that I actually made it across and that's when Arnt Ove suggested I bring a napkin back from the McDonald's which is just about 100 yards on the other side of the bridge. Perfect! Except that today being a national holiday, McDonald's was actually closed along with all the other stores around it. The 7-11 nearby was the only store open, but when I started to think about the route I thought it would be a waste to only bring back a napkin from 7-11. So I decided that I would take my camera. This was probably the only time I would ever bring a camera running. I put it in the little pouch and slung it around my shoulder and hit the road. I was glad I took my camera:

On the way to the bridge

This is the point where I had to decide if I still wanted to run it.

On the way up. The head wind was INSANE! I'm a little afraid of heights and the wind gusts felt like they were going to blow me over the railing.

View from the highest point on the bridge.

McDonald's! Just about 100 yards on the other side of the bridge. Proof that I made it over.

View from the other side. Heading back over.

The view of the community coming back over the bridge.

Heading back to Arnt Ove's house.

Coming back into town.

This hill killed me. I know it doesn't look like much in the picture, but my quads sure felt it. This was within the last two miles of the run.

The route turned out to be about 10 miles round trip and took my about an hour and twenty minutes to complete. When I got back to the house Arnt Ove said, "You look so relaxed. I can't believe you ran over the bridge. You are INSANE."

Scandinavian Tour 2009: Day 8

2009-05-17T08:00:00.005-04:00

Happy Constitution Day! May 17th is a national Norwegian holiday. It is the day Norway signed it's "Declaration of Independence" from Sweden. This morning Arnt Ove took us into Haugesund to watch a parade. On May 17th, Norwegian men, women and children dress in ornate and hand-crafted traditional costumes. This morning's parade featured many of the children of the city who marched with their school mates and teachers waving flags.

Scandinavian Tour 2009: Day 7

2009-05-17T06:56:00.009-04:00

Yesterday (Sat.) our host, Arnt Ove, took us out sightseeing around Karmoy (that's actually spelled with the "O" that has a slash through it). We first visited a nearby church that was built around the year 1250. During the World War II people could go to the church to hear radio broadcasts and news. The building still shows pocked marked signs of German airplane bullets in it's ancient stone walls. Below the church is a Viking museum that houses artifacts discovered there and elsewhere around the island. Further on down and through a little forest lies a Viking village that was recreated to look just like it might have during the time of the Vikings.

St. Olav's Church

Bullets marks from Nazi airplanes

This is called the "Virgin Mary's Needle." It's a giant, obelisk-shaped stone that was put there when the church was built. The stone leans toward the church and it is said that when it finally touches the wall that will be the day of Armageddon. There are only a few inches to go.

Viking village

Just past the village and at the water's edge, you can see a tiny strip of land almost like a sand bar, out in the middle of an inlet. It is said that a scorcerer and his men were coming to the area to try and defeat the king, Olav. The sorcerer wanted to make such a powerful level of fog and darkness so that they would be able to catch Olav by surprise, but instead made it too dark and enveloped themselves...you can read more by clicking on the photos below:

Later Arnt Ove took us on a drive around the island eventually to a tiny community called Skudesneshavn. At first we thought he was saying, "Scooter's Nest." The community is bound by strict building codes that don't allow for progressive building. All the structures have to remain in the old-fashioned way. The drive around the island was beautiful and reminiscent of Northern California coastlines. Small farms and hugged the hillsides and quaint homes stood along the rocky cliffs.

Skudesneshavn

Arnt Ove lead us to what used to be an old copper mine. It is now a water filled pit adjacent to a pretty little park and mine museum. The mine is significant because it supplied the copper that was used to make what eventually became a fairly famous American statue....See photo below:

The gig last night was a quiet one. Everyone was at home getting their traditional Norwegian costumes ready for Constitution Day, a national Norwegian holiday, basically their Fourth of July.

Scandinavian Tour: Day 6

2009-05-15T09:38:00.015-04:00

Since leaving California and moving to North Carolina I've settled rather nicely into a non-musician lifestyle. I went from playing gigs almost every night to not playing at all the last 6 months. I started going to bed around 10:30pm and getting up to take my wife to work at 6:30 am. On Sundays I go to church and afterward mow the lawn. As a musician I had been starting my work "day" anywhere between 8 and 9:30 pm and not getting home sometimes until 2 am. Now that I'm here in Scandinavia I've had to go back to the old hours. Unfortunately, even though I don't get sleep until late I still get up early.

Last night was no exception. After leaving Bryne, Norway in the morning we drove another 30 minutes to the city of Stavanger where we played an upstairs pub called Ovenpaa. The crowd wasn't as enthusiastic as the night before, but we still had a great time. And even though Nathan and I haven't played together in quite sometime our sound is coming back together as if we just picked up where we left off last November.

Ferry Ride to Stavanger

After sound check we went back to the small apartment the club owner had loaned us for the evening to take quick naps and get ready for the show. We walked back to Ovenpaa, had some dinner and walked around town and harbor. I guess Stavanger is a fairly wealthy town, getting most of it's money from the oil industry. We didn't see any of that money when we were checking out our CD sales. We only sold two CD's and those went to two other musicians--horn players who had just recently moved to Norway from the UK. Neil, the trombone player, sat in with us on a couple of tunes while I accompanied on jazz horn (kazoo) and jug.

Ovenpaa

The streets in Stavanger were filled with teenagers who are about to "graduate" from Norway's equivalent of high school. Hundreds of the students come out on the town wearing red overalls with the straps hanging down. Each kid adds their own patches and designs to the pants, sometimes rolling up one pant leg, or other times both. The legal drinking age in Norway is 18, so each disco is bursting with the graduates all wearing their red, school overalls.

Graduates

Arnt Ove (Andy) our host and "manager" informed us that we were going to have to catch the late ferry back over to Haugesund and that we needed to be ready to go by 11:30am the next day for an appearance on a weekend morning television show. That would mean we would be done with the gig at 1:30am, but only be able to catch the 3am ferry which would put in Haugesund and in bed around 5:30am. Fortunately, when we arrived at the ferry terminal we found that their was an earlier ferry that left at 2:30am. We crossed the channel in the dark with just a handful of other people and watched the sun slowly come up as we hit the sack around 4am I think.

11am came quickly this morning. I hung another blanket over the window before I fell asleep so the room would be relatively darker. The sun never really completely goes down here because we're so far north. It seems even in the middle of the night there is still a slight glow on the horizon.

Andy had only gotten about an hour and half of sleep. He still had to be at his regular job this morning. He took his lunch break and was waiting to take us to the TV station right on time. The station is small with the transmission only reaching the surrounding communities. We set up our instruments on their sound stage with the host, named Karen, while the production guy clipped microphones on our shirts for the interviews.

Norwegian local T.V. show

In Norwegian, Karen spoke into one of the cameras letting the audience know what kind of music we played and where we performing in town, I think. And then she turned to us and asked us a couple of questions about ourselves. Because it's a weekend show, the station found that no one wanted to get early and produce the show early on Saturday and so they record everything for the weekend during the week and run it on the weekend. So after our "interview" we stopped, made a couple of adjustments and then resumed recording. We played one song while the credits rolled, I guess.

Andy drove us back to his house, Nathan took a nap and I went for a run into town. I'm about to fix a sandwich soon and then catch up on some sleep myself. Tonight we're playing our first show of three at The Irish Viking here in Haugesund. This weekend is a Norwegian holiday--Constitution Day and so I hear that it will be pretty crazy downtown tonight and tomorrow.

More photographs available in the "photos" section at www.benhernandezmusic.com

Scandinavian Tour 2009: Day 5

2009-05-14T07:39:00.006-04:00

Last night I played in a small country town called Bryne. The drive over here was beautiful, the road winding through the hills and countryside. Occasionally we drove through deep tunnels dug beneath water inlets from the North Sea that separate the different parts of Norway. We arrived at the venue, a place called Thime Station, and dinner was already waiting for us. The venue is a small, dark pub with heavy timber beams supporting the ceiling. People crowded in close to the little stage and around the bar. It was a great audience.

I was a bit nervous about playing because Nathan and I haven't played together in about 6 months, but once the first note was thrown out there it was like riding a bike. For me it was a bit like riding a rickety and rusty old bike, but a bicycle none the less. My voice wasn't as strong as I wanted it to be, but I haven't been singing the way I used to. I felt like an old prize fighter being pulled out of retirement for one more fight, trying to win back the championship belt.

I spent some time enjoying a local brewed, stout beer called Sorte Faar (Black Sheep) with some locals, one named Rolf. Afterward, we walked across the street to Erling Dagsland's apartment. He's a friend of Andy's and a blues fan and photographer who owns the top two floors of the building which used to be the living quarters for the proprietor of a grocery store that used to sit below. Nathan and I stayed up a little later with Erling and his friend "Oscar" watching film footage of Freddie King while Erling kept bringing out slices of bread topped with different types of cured meats and local cheeses.

This morning Andy was downstairs waiting to pick us up to take us over to his guitar player's house for a breakfast of eggs, thick bacon, sliced bell peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes and juice and coffee. We'll be leaving soon for a short drive over to Stavanger where we'll be playing tonight.

See more photographs in the "Photos" section at www.benhernandezmusic.com

Travelogue: Scandinavian Tour, Day 4

2009-05-13T08:15:00.004-04:00

This morning I woke up, put my running shoes on and headed out the door. The air was crisp and the sky was clear. I ran about 7 or 8 miles toward town. I love running in a new place or in this case a new country. You're able to see so much more than if you had driven a car. I found a walking/bike path that stretched for miles, through tiny neighborhoods, along the harbor, and past wide open pastures.

I poured some coffee when I got back and fixed some eggs and fried up some of the potatoes from last night.

I think I might have left my iPod on the plane from Chicago to Copenhagen so the other half of the morning was spent calling a couple of airline service numbers with the hopes of tracking it down. All lost and found items get sent to the Copenhagen police (politi) office in the airport (lufthavn). After the shows here in Norway, I'll be back in Copenhagen on Monday and so with fingers crossed, I hope to find my iPod.

Andy, our host will be getting home from work early this afternoon so that he can drive us to our first show at Thime Station in Bryne, Norway. We stay the night in Bryne then drive to a show in Stavanger. We get back to Andy's house on the 15th for 3 shows in a row at a place called The Irish Viking.

Time to get packed.

Travelogue: Scandinavian Tour 2009

2009-05-13T03:04:00.010-04:00

Sunday, May 10
Sunday evening my wife dropped me off at the Charlotte airport for my flight to Chicago. From Chicago I would then be flying over the Atlantic Ocean and ending up in Copenhagen, Denmark. The O'Hare airport in Chicago is one of the most confusing if you're trying to fly international. There are no signs that tell you where the international terminal is. My ticket read Terminal M15, so when I stepped off the plane from Charlotte and looked up at the signs all I saw was ABCD. I ended asking about 5 different people where it was. It turned out that I had to go up an elevator to the sky bridge, then over the bridge to a tram that would take me 5 stops to the IT. Well, I found it and boarded the plane.

The flight to Copenhagen was only 7h and 45m long! Now some of you might say that that's a long flight, but not when you're accustomed to overseas flights sometimes taking 10 or 14. I sat next to this free-spirited, long haired, bearded bicycle mechanic from Capitola, CA (Santa Cruz). As we were lifting off the ground I asked him if he'd ever been to Copenhagen before. From that point on he talked almost the entire flight (sorry Victor, but you did). I found out Victor's entire life story it seemed. He was actually on his way to Latvia to meet his girlfriend. I found out the history of Latvia, stories about his past adventures in Latvia, his inherited house in Capitola with his crazy friends living their with all their dogs, his vegetable garden, old relationships with girlfriends, current relationships, his music, massage therapy. There was a moment that I actually started to fall asleep during one of his stories. The great thing was that I actually slept for about 3 hours. I never do that. Usually I fall asleep for about a half hour and am awake the rest of the flight.

I woke up and Victor started in again until we landed in Copenhagen. Victor was funny and hope to see him again someday. He made the flight go by pretty fast.

Monday, May 11
I took a train from the CPH airport and then walked about 5 blocks to my friend Peder Nande's house. He wasn't there and I didn't have a cell phone and I didn't want walk another few blocks to the nearest payphone. I stepped into a deli next door owned by a Polish woman and asked to use the phone. She was more than happy to oblige. So to return the favor I bought some food there. The deli serves this snack that looks like a big appetizer. On a small piece of rye bread, they layer on shrimp, sliced eggs or fish with small slices of cucumbers or tomatoes all topped with Hollandaise sauce. I chose one that looked like it had a nice fillet of fish on it, but turned out that it was actually a slice of compacted fish eggs.

I spent the evening catching up with Peder and his wife Lene. I rearranged my suitcase for the trip to Norway, checked some email and fell asleep.

Tuesday, May 12
I jumped into a cab left for the airport around 5:30 am. the next morning. We have shows in Norway so I would be first, flying to Oslo and then to a town called Haugesund where I would be meeting up with my partner Nathan James and our Norwegian host Andy (his real names is Arnst Ove, but he says "Andy" is easier to say). I waited in the Copenhagen airport for about and hour and a half before leaving for Oslo--a 50 minute flight. I waited in the Oslo for about two and a half hours for the flight to Haugesund--a 35 minute flight. I waited in the Haugesund airport for Nathan and Andy another two and a half hours.

The flight to Haugesund, Norway from Oslo

Andy's house is a fairly large house nestled in the countryside about a half mile off the main road. It's surrounded on one side by pastures full of grazing sheep and on the other side by an inlet from the North Sea. We unpacked our suitcases and took a little walk while Andy cooked us this amazing dinner of local trout covered in pesto, small gold potatoes, cauliflower, salad all topped with herbs cut from his own little herb garden. We had a small shot of a Norwegian liquor to warm our insides up a little.

Dinner at Andy's house

The view from Andy's living room window

Then Andy told us that if we were feeling up to it, he had a friend that worked at the local performing arts theater in town. She could get us in free to see Bobby McFerrin in concert. Bobby McFerrin?!!! Hell yes!

I really didn't know what to expect. Of course, I really only knew that he did "Don't Worry, Be Happy", but didn't know much else. Let me just say that Bobby McFerrin is an amazing singer and vocalist. I was completely blown away by his performance. When we saw the stage we noticed that there was only one chair in the center. No band. He sat on the stage and made enough music with just his voice and taps on his chest and with his feet that it sounded like a whole orchestra and kept me entertained the entire time. He eventually invited up a choir from Haugesund to accompany him on a couple of songs and he invited the audience to participate a few others, but the rest was all him. That was a concert that I won't soon forget.

Bobby McFerrin

We all got home, fixed a little coffee and talked about the show. Later, we a little bit of aged Scotch from Andy's cabinet and finished the night out by watching a DVD of an old concert of Dr. Hook live on a television show in Germany back in the 70's. It was insane!

Dick Cheney's True Identity Revealed!

2009-04-27T07:35:00.008-04:00

Dick Cheney has come out on talk shows recently bashing some of President Obama's decisions when it comes to our foreign policies. Or he's upset that the US has foreign policies now. He's probably also upset that there's no president for him to push around anymore. He's frustrated that the United States has decided to extend an olive branch to the rest of the world, turning our enemies into friends or at least not creating any new enemies.

I started to wonder why Dick Cheney is getting so worked up over everything. He's retired, for goodness sake! Now is the time for him to enjoy golf or hunting...well, maybe not hunting. Could it be that he has a new book that he's releasing soon and is trying to drum up publicity? Maybe. Will he team up with Donald Rumsfeld to start their own right wing radio show and try to overthrow Rush? The known unknowns aren't known. Why is Dick Cheney so angry inside? Because he is actually Major Arnold Toht, the Nazi in Raiders of the Lost Ark! Your true identity is revealed Mr. Cheney...or should I say, Major Toht.

Don't believe me? Check out some of the photos I've found and you be the judge:

Here's Dick Cheney at Barack Obama's inauguration. See the sinister look on his face. It's the, "I'll-get-you-Obama-if-it's-the-last-thing-I-do" look.

Here he is as his alter ego, Major Arnold Toht in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Same sinister look.

"Smile at Hugo Chavez, will you? Talk to Iran? Never."
His face gets melted off at the end, by the way.

Easter Weekend in California 2009

2009-04-21T21:59:00.011-04:00

The flight home to California was a pretty smooth one as far as flights go. My wife and I left Charlotte the Thursday before Easter, landed in Dallas/Fortworth, took another flight to Fresno and met my parents. I haven't flown into the Fresno airport in about 14 years when I took a trip with my church youth group to a youth convention in Memphis. That was my first experience of the South. It was August and we stepped out the of cool confines of the Memphis airport and got smacked upside the head by the humidity. Granted, where I'm from, temperatures reach triple digits throughout the summer, but we never had the humidity that the Southerners have.

So we walked through the airport and spotted my parents just beyond the security gate. I was nervous to see them. I hadn't seen them since early December and wasn't sure what kind of emotions would be in the air when we arrived. There were a few tears, but they didn't last long.

Immediately after leaving the airport my Dad took us all to a little Mexican restaurant in a barrio in Fresno. Ahh, Mexican food, how I missed you...

In Exeter, my hometown, the rainy season was a short one, so the spring green hills surrounding the town were already beginning to turn brown. The slight smell of orange blossoms drifted in the air. In June the aroma is strong and hangs heavy in the warm evening air.

Friday morning I was able to take part in our family's Easter golf tournament. I used to play golf everyday as a kid, but stopped when I had to start paying for my own rounds. Golf is expensive, man. Now I play once a year only for our tournament. I missed last year's so my joints and muscles were even stiffer for this round.

Family Golf Tournament--Lemoore, CA (Jeremy, crouching. Stephanie, putting. Steve, background.)

Cousin Jeremy contemplates going pro.

l. to r. - Tia Mary Ann, Cousins Stephanie, Jeremy, Steve

Saturday morning came around and our family met at Burris Park. We've been getting together at Burris Park for the family picnic since before I was born, so at least 32 years. As a kid, the anticipation of the day at the park almost ranked up there with Christmas morning. My brother and I could not wait. Burris Park is a county park, nestled far back in the country, surrounded by farm land. It's a grove of ancient Valley Oak trees and green lawn. The family spends several hours out there playing volleyball, softball, frisbee, flying kites, hunting for Easter eggs--you name it.

Sunday, my wife and mom headed up Rocky Hill for the Easter sunrise service. There is nothing like watching the sun come up over the foothills spreading it's light into the valley below. We sang hymns and prayed and thanked God for so many gifts and blessings.

We headed home then over to the Exeter Veterans Memorial building for the Kiwanis Pancake Breakfast. My dad's in Kiwanis, has been for years, and is usually working at the breakfast on Sunday morning. This year he was on bacon detail.

In the early afternoon, my mom and Jessica and I drove into the hills, far into the hills, to find a trail to one of the most amazing lower elevation hiking trails that I've ever been on in the Sequoia National Park. The Ladybug Falls Trail:

Jess and mom

wild flowers

Ladybug Falls

The Sierra Nevada Mountain Range

Monday came quickly indeed. It was the day we were leaving. The morning flew by as we finished packing. We decided to make a quick stop off at a local restaurant for breakfast in the nearby town of Visalia where we met my dad. Then we all hoped into the car and off to Fresno for our 11:30 flight. In the airport, we all hugged good-bye, shed a few more tears, and Jess and I boarded the plane.

California

2009-04-08T21:50:00.003-04:00

Easter is almost here! I hope everyone has a good time this weekend. I'm actually going to be on a plane tomorrow morning bound for the homeland--California, to see my family. I haven't seen them since I moved out here in December and I'm looking forward to it. I'll try to slip in a post while I'm gone, but don't hold your collective breath. Hopefully I'll have some photos to post after the trip as well. Thanks for checking out The Californian.

Coffee & Biscuits: The Shamrock 4 Miler

2009-03-23T11:20:00.019-04:00

It was cold last Saturday when I got out of bed and out the door at 6:30 in the morning. I headed over to the Stonecrest Shopping Center in Ballantyne to run the Shamrock 4 Miler, a race organized by Run For Your Life stores located throughout Charlotte (see blog post "Run For Your Life").

I don't like running in the morning. I see people running in the dark, dressed from head to toe, slugging along the sidewalk when I take my wife to work. The little reflective patches on their running gear flash in the headlights as I pass by in my warm car, still in my PJ's. I understand that some people have to run early because they don't have that kind of time to put the miles in after work. But for me: I don't like running early in the morning. If I have to watch the sun come up I like wearing my moccasins, drinking coffee.

So here I was out in Ballantyne*, in the cold, ready to run a race that stretched four miles, down one side of Ballantyne Commons Parkway and back up the other. I showed up early because I've had some injuries in the past and now have to take a lot of time to warm up and stretch. The Shamrock festival ground was filled with all sorts of runners and their family members. There were booths from The Flying Biscuit restaurant, a radio station, The Great Harvest bread company, a coffee company, there was a bounce house for the kids, and a booth from Run For Your Life. The thought crossed my mind that I could just skip the race and hang around the booths eating biscuits and drinking coffee, but I had paid the entry fee and didn't want to chicken out so easily.

The final call to the starting line was announcing over the loud speaker and I made my way out to the street.

I haven't run a foot race in about 5 years. And the only races I've run have been the cross country races in high school (many, many years ago) and a few 10k's after that in my hometown. I wasn't used to all the fancy racing stuff that bigger cities provide on race day. I wasn't used to picking up a "chip" before the race. A chip is a little electronic doo-dad that fastens to the top of your shoe and records the exact time you pass over a sensor pad at the starting and finish lines. That's because in a race there can be so many people crowded up to the starting line that when the gun goes off folks in the back may not even get to the starting line until several seconds or several minutes after. I was not used to this. In the little farm town where I grew up, unless things have changed recently, there are usually only about 100 runners at the starting line so it isn't that difficult for everyone to start at the same time. I was not used to the nifty digital clock at the 1st mile marker either. I was only familiar with our town's attorney, Mr. Spot, riding his bicycle ahead of the runners and standing at the mile marker shouting out times from his stopwatch as we ran by.

The runners, all 850 of us, huddled close together like a bunch of arctic penguins at the starting line. We shivered and stretched and jumped up and down to stay warm. The runners with jogging strollers (baby joggers) started a minute before the other racers. And then it was our turn. The penguins crammed closer to the line and I heard someone yell "go" and we were off!

The thing I noticed immediately was how quiet everything got. Just a few minutes prior, people were talking and laughing, telling stories about past races or whether so and so would be racing in other events coming up. But as soon as the race started all you could hear was breathing and running shoes striking the pavement. My adrenaline kicked in and I was running pretty fast--too fast. My first mile time was 6:54, which is good for me but the first mile was downhill. The entire morning I had been telling myself to take it easy. This is your first race in awhile. You don't have to go out there and kill yourself. Just run easy and finish strong. As soon as the pack took off from the starting line all that wise advice flew right out the window.

I was excited about competing again. It was kind of a rush. I'm not a thrill-seeker, so for me, this is as good as it gets. I smiled for the first few seconds, but then my lungs became filled with that sharp frigid air and the smile turned to a grimace. My stiff legs, which had been warmed just a few minutes earlier, ached as I tried to get a better position in the group. Runners passed me by, male and female, young and old.

I passed a baby jogger during the second mile. It was an entertaining little moment. A little girl, all bundled up in a soft, puffy, pink outfit sat in the jogging stroller as her dad pushed. He asked her how she was doing. With her face flushed from the cold wind and in her little voice she answered quietly,"Gooood."

It was kind of a lonely race. I played organized team sports in the past as well and there were always spectators in the audience cheering. Last Saturday's race didn't have any of that. It was chilly, it was early and the only spectators that were there along the course were a few police officers and race volunteers. The police officers gave you a look of indifference as if to say, "Well, you brought this on yourself." And even when the race volunteers tried to be encouraging and enthusiastic you still didn't get much because they were freezing out there too and their clapping was muffled by their gloves and mittens.

Three weeks ago, I began coming out to the shopping center to run the course and get a feel for the distance. According to the Run For Your Life website the course extends to John Delaney Dr. and then crosses over and continues up the other side of the street. So I trained on that course about three times, always going down to John Delaney Dr., crossing the median and heading back up the hill. But on race day, before John Delaney was even in sight I saw police barricades at the intersection before JD! Then the thought passed through my mind, "Is there another, shorter race? Do the 4 miler's continue on past the barricades?" I didn't know what to do. I turned to a gentlemen who had been running off my left shoulder to ask him about it, but because I was fatigued and my face was so cold when I opened my mouth it sounded like, "Duhs ev-wee one ton heah?" He said yeah, but was probably thinking, "What's wrong with this guy?"

When I realized that the race was shorter than I had been training I got all excited again and turned up the heat to luke-warm which at that point was really all the heat I had left. I pushed hard up the hill, but it seemed like I still wasn't going anywhere. I eventually passed another baby jogger. This guy was pushing 3 kids in his jogging stroller! He's huffing and puffing, leaning forward pretty far to keep the stroller moving up hill, sweat pouring off his face. The kids were getting restless, all crowded in that thing and I guess were misbehaving because the runner, in his exhaustion said, "Lulu! I said knock it off! *huffing* Leave him alone! *puffing* Sit still. We'll be done soon. *huffing & puffing*" It was the running equivalent of long car rides on your family vacation. Are we there yet, Dad? We'll get there when we get there! Don't make me pull this jogging stroller over! That guy should've won some special award. The rest of us had it easy. We just had to run, but this guy had already run three miles with the fourth up hill pushing three squirmy kids in a stroller.

With the third mile behind me and just about to complete the fourth I finally made it to the top of the last slope and turned the corner and into the homestretch (do they call it that in the running world?). I could see the finish line, but it still seemed a good distance. There were two other guys ahead of me that I wanted to try to beat. I didn't want to start my sprint early and fade before the finish and I didn't want to wait too long to sprint and have them too far ahead to beat. The time came for my final kick and I rushed past the finish line. My time on the digital clock read 28:37.

I cooled down and stretched and helped myself to a free hot biscuit from The Flying Biscuit booth and went over and grabbed a cup of coffee. Man, it would've been perfect if I would have had my moccasins and PJ's. I met up with my wife's uncle, Clint Prouty (who beat me by over 3 minutes) and we stayed to watch the awards ceremony in which he took 2nd in his age division.

I was officially addicted to running races again and when I got home that morning I wanted to run some more. But reason got the better of me and so I opted for having some breakfast and going out to mow the lawn. There would be plenty of time for more running.

*Ballantyne is an area/neighborhood right outside of Charlotte.

St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-18T10:16:00.017-04:00

Ahh, Drink-Patrick's Day. A day where Americans go out wearing all manner of ridiculous green-colored costumes and drink themselves into oblivion in honor of Ireland's patron saint, Patrick.

Patricius, as he was originally known, was actually a Romanized Briton who was kidnapped at sixteen years old by Irish raiders and sold into slavery to an Irish king. As a slave, Patricius was made to watch over the king's flocks out in the countryside-- cold, underfed and without clothing or human contact for about 6 years. He prayed everyday that he might return to his homeland until one night he had vision. God, who Patricius hadn't really believed in when he lived in Britain, spoke to him telling him that his, "...hungers are rewarded. You are going home. Look, your ship is ready." Patricius escaped captivity, walked about 200 miles to the sea where he convinced merchant sailors to allow him to board their ship which was bound for the main continent.

It still took Patricius a few more years to reach Britain and his family. But time passed, and while he was living with his family he began receiving visions from God again in the form of voices of the Irish people begging him to return to Ireland. As much as he tried to ignore the visions they persisted until finally Patricius journeyed to Gaul (France) to begin a theological education. He returned to Ireland as Saint Patrick, spreading the Gospel and eventually converting hundreds of pagans to Christianity.

Just like every holiday here in America, it seems like we take so little time to actually celebrate the reason for the holiday. We twist it around and when we're done it ends up a poor reflection of what it used to be. Veterans Day and Memorial Day--barbeques, blowout sales at department stores, drinking; Cinco de Mayo*--drinking; Christmas (probably the worst example)--shopping ourselves into a stupor; St. Patrick's Day**--drinking; Fourth of July--fireworks, drinking. The list goes on.

So the next time St. Patrick's Day comes around, before you don your soft, puffy, green-striped top hat and emerald glasses...before you wipe your greasy, chicken-wing-covered fingers on your beer stained "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" shirt...before you even put anything green on...before you guzzle that 10th green tinted brew...before you start a fight with someone over nothing at the bar, please take at least two seconds to remember St. Patrick, the struggles he endured and the spiritual work that he accomplished when no one else would.

Be sure to read How The Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill.
*Cinco de Mayo, first of all, is a minor Mexican holiday and despite popular belief, is not the day Mexico gained it's independence. May 5th is the day that the outnumbered Mexican forces defeated the highly trained French military at the Battle of Puebla.
**It is a myth that St. Patrick chased all the snakes out of Ireland.

Run For Your Life

2009-03-12T09:23:00.014-04:00

A few days ago I decided that I needed some new running shoes because I had been running in the same pair for over a year which, any running nut will tell you, is too long. Through a recommendation I found a store called Run For Your Life in Charlotte. They actually have three stores, I think. I wandered into the Dilworth store right off of Park Rd.

The store is very neat and spacious. It contains all the crazy stuff a person might need in order to run. That's always a little funny to me because really all a person needs is shoes, but a store that just sold shoes would be a pretty sparse one so you have to add clothing and accessories; like little water bottles that fit in a belt you can strap to your waist, kind of like Batman. The store is stocked with gloves made of reflective material and stretchy pants for cold days and a good assortment of shirts and shorts made with "wicking" fabric that I think actually drains your sweat directly from your pores using little machines sewn into the fabric, converting the sweat into drinkable water (although I could be wrong) They have pamphlets on the wall with information about races and running clubs. And finally against the back wall are the shoes. That's what this story is really about.

Each shoe is placed on it's own little platform made of brushed steel and mounted on the wall. They are lighted and displayed like museum artifacts, labeled for exhibit from tribes called Saucony, Mizuno, Brooks, Addidas, Nike, etc.

After an ankle injury I sustained about 5 years ago and knee problems more recently I was educated in the art of being fitted for running shoes. Almost like when you would go to a department store with your mom and the shoe salesman would bring out that cold metal measuring device with the slider on the side to measure your foot's width and so forth. Many times it was my mom who was the one who did the "fitting". You remember--you'd put the shoe on, she would press her thumb down on the toes of the shoes to see how much room you had, mostly checking for that delicate balance between being too tight, cutting off blood circulation and also making sure that there was enough space left so that you wouldn't grow out of them in two weeks. Then she would make you walk around the department to see how they felt. That was good enough for me then, but when you're a grown-up and you visit a true running store to buy true running shoes the salesperson takes it to a whole new level. They don't wear short-sleeved dress shirts with ties, musty slacks, sporting comb-overs like the shoe sales persons of my youth. No, these folks are experts. They know running shoes.

The Run For Your Life store was quiet when I first walked in. Beth, from Buffalo*, was off to the side unpacking some inventory and Kara, from Rochester*, was busying herself with straightening the shelves. Beth had recognized me from an earlier reconnaissance mission in which I gathered information about Charlotte running groups, races and to get an idea of the shoes' prices and so I wouldn't look dumb the next time I came in to actually buy them.

The first thing I was asked to do at Run For Your Life was to take off my shoes and run from the rear of the store to the front and back again so that Kara could watch my stride and to see how my feet struck the ground.

She asked me questions almost as if I was filling out a health questionnaire at a doctor's office, but only for runners. "So you had an injury, huh? Which foot? Do you have pain when you run? Do you over-pronate?" Over-what? She took my old shoes in her hands, flipped them over and studied the soles like a forensic scientist. "Hmm, she said, looks like you over-pronate a little."

Kara brought out two boxes of shoes that she thought would work for my feet. I tried them on, she felt around the toe just like Mom would and then she asked me to run around the store again. She said, "You mentioned it was your left foot that had the injury? Because your right foot is doing something funny when you run."

A couple came in during this time and was promptly attended to by Beth. Beth asked them many of the same questions Kara asked me. I tried on two more pairs of shoes and a few more customers entered.

The cool thing about this store was that as more people filed in Beth and Kara never lost their cool. They kept introducing all the customers to each other. "Miss Edith (who was probably in her late 60's) this is Ben, Ben this is Chris. Ben is new to Charlotte, from California." We were all part of this little run-a-holics anonymous group.

I tried on more pairs of shoes, completing more laps up and down the store as Kara watched my stride. Sometimes she would say, "Oh yeah, I like those on you. Your right foot's not doing that thing that it does." But most of the time she shook her head and said, "No, not good. I don't like those." Occasionally, she would call Beth over and have her watch my weird feet run. Beth would offer her opinion and walk back over and continue with her customers. I'm telling you, it was a well oiled machine.

After about 45 minutes, the place was busy. There was Chris, originally from Georgia, who was a swimmer now training for triathlons, there was Miss Edith, the couple from earlier, and two other ladies whose names I didn't get. I was too busy running around the store.

The floor was covered in half-empty shoe boxes with tissue paper strewn about like Christmas morning. Most of the boxes were on my side of the store. I would take a lap then Chris would. Miss Edith walked back and forth trying to decide on some snappy orange and white New Balances. Beth took the other couple outside to try out their shoes. It was a circus with only Beth and Kara in the center ring keeping all the animals and clowns from losing it.

When it was all over, I was the only customer left in the store and 13 boxes of shoes lay on the floor. I had set two pairs aside that I wanted to go back to. One pair fit too small and would have to be sent from another store and the other felt great. I slipped the latter pair on and the shoes fit like...well... like gloves. I took another jog around the store. I was floating. There was no pressure in places where there shouldn't be. My screwed up ankle was in no pain. There was plenty of bounce while still maintaining support.

"I'll take 'em," I said.

"You're sure?" said Kara.

"Yep, they fit the best and I don't want to be here another hour and have to help you clean all these shoes up off the floor," I said.

"You don't want to wait to try on those other ones when they get here tomorrow?" she said.

"Nope."

"Ok..." Kara exhaled. She knelt down one last time and did some last minute checking. She felt around the toe and side and finally pulled the tongue back to check the label. She looked up at me with a frustrated look, "Ben, these are 12's!" (I wear 11 1/2's) Let me go get the 11 and a half's."

Kara went to the back room to get the right size. She emerged from around the corner with a frown on her face.

"You don't have them." I said. She shook her head.

"They're at the other store," she said, with a defeated look. "We can have them here for you tomorrow."

"You gotta be kidding me!" I laughed. She shook her head.

"Oh well. I guess I'll just have to go back to my old injury-causing running shoes," I joked.

I showed up the next morning around 11am and could see Kara standing inside the store near the front door. I could've sworn she was smiling until she saw me walking up (I'm kidding). She was helping another employee Perry? with dressing the mannequins. I walked in right when Perry was pulling one of the dummy's new running shorts up. Of course, I said something like, "Ahh, caught you with your pants down." I know, I know, I thought it was genius too.

So Kara had already filled her co-worker in with my history so he said,"Oh, your the guy who tried on 13 pairs yesterday." I guess that was a PR (personal record--runner's love to use the term PR) for Kara that day.

There they were waiting for me. The two pairs that would be competing for my feet. I tried them on, did my little jogging routine around the store again. Perry came over to check out my stride too, also noticing my floppy right foot. And finally I decided to take home the Saucony's. I think they're called The Saucony Volcano Avalanche Tiger Hurricane 3000's with the patented Comfor-Tread designed by the Sealy mattress company. Saucony also partnered with Toyota so that each shoe holds a small hybrid engine in the heels, causing tiny bursts of electricity when the runner's foot strikes the ground. The shoes also come with an AM/FM radio and cassette player.

As I was leaving Kara said,"You tried on 15 pairs of shoes. That's really something." I could cut through her sarcasm with a chain saw.

As I walked out of the store, feeling the warm sunshine on me, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my accomplishment settle on my shoulders--15 pairs...

All joking aside, if you're serious about running and you want to be fitted for a good pair of shoes, visit Run For Your Life stores around Charlotte. Like I said they know running and they'll make buying shoes pretty fun. If you see Kara and Beth at the Dilworth store be sure and tell them that Ben sent you...actually maybe you shouldn't.

*The fact that I've noticed that people living in Charlotte are never actually from Charlotte seems to be a recurring theme in my blog. See my first blog, Wagons East.

He Stopped And Smiled: The Passing of John Cephas

2009-03-05T10:30:00.020-05:00

John Cephas 1930-2009

I am very saddened to report the passing of country blues guitarist, John Cephas. John died of natural causes yesterday, March 4th, at his home in Woodford, VA at the age of 78. Here is an excerpt from the website he shared with his partner, harmonica player, Phil Wiggins:

“Bowling Green” John Cephas was born in Washington, D.C. in 1930 into a deeply religious family. He takes his nickname from Bowling Green, Virginia, where he was raised. His first taste of music was gospel, but blues soon became his calling. His grandfather taught him the folklore of eastern Virginia, where his ancestors had toiled as slaves, and Cephas learned about blues from a guitar-playing aunt. But it was his cousin, David Taleofero, who taught him much of what he plays—the alternating thumb-and-finger picking style that characterizes Piedmont blues.

After learning to play the alternating thumb and fingerpicking style that defines Piedmont blues, John began emulating the records he heard. By the age of nine, John was playing for weekend gatherings with family and friends. Music from the ragtime era and early Piedmont artists such as Blind Boy Fuller, Blind Blake, Rev. Gary Davis, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Tampa Red were all influences on Cephas.

As a young man, John joined the Capitol Harmonizers and toured on the gospel circuit. After a stint in the Army during the Korean War, he returned to the United States and went through a variety of jobs that included professional gospel singer, carpenter and Atlantic fisherman. By the 1960s, Cephas was starting to make a living from his music and, since forming a duo with Wiggins in 1977, John has performed all over the world, serving as an ambassador of this singular American art form.

Among his many endeavors, John serves on the Executive Committe of the National Council for the Traditional Arts, and has testified before congressional committees. He is also a founder of the Washington, D.C. Blues Society. “More than anything else,” says John, “I would like to see a revival of country blues by more young people… more people going to concerts, learning to play the music. That’s why I stay in the field of traditional music. I don’t want it to die.”

Cephas received the coveted National Heritage Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts in 1989. These fellowships recognize those who preserve cultural legacies in music, dance and crafts.

I had the good fortune and pleasure to see and play with John Cephas on a few occasions. Last July Nathan James and I opened up for he and Phil Wiggins at a house concert in Gig Harbor, WA to support the Centrum Country Blues Workshop. One of the songs they played that afternoon (I can't remember it's name) is featured in the video below. It was both peaceful and melancholy, a beautiful tune that made the whole place silent and gave me chills.

Several years before, my partner and I were playing a corporate BBQ at the Taylor Guitar factory, at which John Cephas was an invited guest. He arrived as we were playing and started to walk right on by us to join the crowd and shake some hands. But just as he stepped a couple of feet past the bandstand he stopped, turned around and looked at as us both, a little surprised (I'd like to think) that two young guys here in San Diego county were playing piedmont-style country blues. Mr. Cephas nodded and smiled, pausing for a few seconds more to listen then continued on. That smile was one of the greatest compliments I could have ever received as a country-blues musician. The song we had been playing was by the great Blind Boy Fuller and later in the day John told us that it was one of his favorites.

At a time when our country is faced with economic and political uncertainty we need to remember what really makes us American--the history, passion, and SOUL of our traditional music. This is the thing that people turn to when they are confronted with adversity or heartbreak not governmental institutions. We overlook sometimes, the use of art and music as a tool to help keep us feeling human, flesh and bone, to help us avoid being made into hardened cogs to keep the "machine" running.

Country blues and gospel music are two of the major foundations of American music as we know it today and John Cephas had mastered both of those styles in his lifetime. He toured the world sharing our musical traditions and he worked tirelessly to make sure that our inheritance would be secure by passing those traditions on to countless others here at home.

John Cephas was a national treasure and he will be sorely missed, but I'm thankful his music will continue to live on.

--BH

Cephas and Wiggins: http://www.cephasandwiggins.net/
Nathan James & Ben Hernandez: www.nateandben.com
Blues At Centrum: http://www.centrum.org/blues/
Ben Hernandez: www.benhernandezmusic.com

Why Are We Surprised? Pt. 3: The Wrath of Travis

2009-02-19T12:50:00.022-05:00

In Stamford, CT, Charla Nash 55, was brutally attacked by a pet chimpanzee belonging to 70 year old Sandra Herold. Nash sustained serious injuries to her face and hands and is still in the hospital. Travis the chimpanzee wasn't acting right earlier in the day, getting all worked up. So Herold decided to give the 200 pound chimp a cup of tea laced with Xanax to help calm him down. Travis, who was raised by Sandra Herold and her late husband, instead grabbed her keys, let himself out of the house and began beating on cars out on the street.

Oh silly, Travis. Herold was unable to get the chimp to come back inside so she decided to call her neighbor, Charla Nash, over to help her get him under control. As soon as Nash gets out of her vehicle Travis attacks her, biting her hands and face. Herold calls 911 and grabs a butcher knife from inside and begins stabbing the 14 year old ape and hitting him with a shovel, trying to get him to stop. Travis runs off, stunned and confused. Police and ambulance arrived to attend to Nash, but then Travis returned and began harassing the officers. He tried to gain entry to a squad car, smashing its side mirror. He then moved around to the driver's side and when the officer sitting inside felt threatened by the animal he had no choice but to pull his pistol, shooting Travis several times in his torso and chest. Travis stumbled away from the scene and officers, following a trail of blood leading back to the house, found the chimpanzee dead inside his jungle-like play room.

Travis the chimp

Officials don't really know what sparked the attack, although it is speculated that Travis had contracted Lyme Disease which can cause fits of frustration and rage. Another possible reason for the attack was Charla Nash's recent haircut which dramatically changed her appearance.

This isn't the first time Travis has caused trouble. In 2003, the primate jumped out of the stopped SUV he was riding in and wreaked havoc on the town for a couple of hours until officers finally put him down with a tranquilizer dart.

Travis was well known in the community of Stamford. He could be seen walking along the streets with the Herold's, sometimes without his leash. He also starred in several television commercials for Old Navy and Coca Cola. It was said that Travis ate his meals at the table with the family sometimes drinking wine from a long-stemmed glass. He could log onto a computer to see pictures and use the television remote control.

Ok, Ok, Lets pause a second. What are people thinking sometimes!!! Sandra Herold is a 70 year old woman who owned a pet chimp! I've known a couple of elderly women who could barely handle their hyper pet dogs, let alone a 200 pound chimpanzee. I've seen plenty of wildlife documentaries that profile highly intelligent bands of chimps, stalking, hunting and killing members of neighboring chimp groups to gain territory, females and food.

Does anyone remember the incident a few years ago involving a California husband and wife who were visiting an animal sanctuary where their former pet chimpanzee was being kept? They had brought a birthday cake with them to give to their chimp Moe to celebrate the day he came to live with them. While they were eating the cake two other males in the facility escaped from their cages and attacked the couple. One male went for the wife, biting off her thumb and when her husband pushed her out of the way to protect her, both male chimps focused their attack on him. They mauled his face, gouging out one eye, biting off his nose, lips and some teeth. They also gnawed on his buttocks and tore off his genitals. Both chimps were shot to death by one the keepers who heard the couple screaming. Eventually, Moe the chimp, who sat in his cage helplessly during the ordeal, was transferred to another facility where he escaped and has yet to be found.

Moe the chimp

We think we can take a chimpanzee and dress him up and let him eat at the table and play with the kids in the neighborhood. We can take this animal who possesses the strength of 3 grown men and turn him into a member of the family.

People who own these kinds of exotic and wild animals are the same ones who keep vicious dogs locked up in their apartments and then are surprised when the dogs maul one of the neighbors to death (this happened in San Francisco). These are the same people who keep giant boa constrictors in their homes and are surprised when the thing gets out of it's little aquarium. These are the same people who keep baby alligators in their garages and when they become too big or unwanted they release the animal into a city park pond (this happened in Los Angeles county and the alligator, later named Reggie, took two years to capture. When he was finally caught and taken to the zoo he had grown to 7ft long. Reggie eventually escaped from his temporary enclosure at the zoo also).

Reggie the alligator

How about Roy Horn in 2003? Horn, of Siegfried and Roy, Las Vegas magicians who use tigers in their act, was left in critical condition after a tiger in the show lunged at him, biting him around the throat and dragging him off stage.

Roy Horn and one of the tigers he uses in his magic acts

These are animals, people. They are not human beings. Humans beings act irrationally and violent enough in our society. We don't need to add fuel to the fire by bringing jungle animals into the house as well. Pet owners keep chihuahuas and fluffy terriers and little kitty cats in their homes; they dress them up in outfits and kiss them and call them "baby", and that's fine--I think it's insane--but at least "Mittens" isn't going to rip your neighbors arm out of it's socket.

I read an article about a man whose rat terrier had jumped off a jetty, into the ocean and was immediately attacked by a Great White shark. What did the man do? He jumped in after the dog, that he considered a member of the family, and beat the shark on the nose until he let go of the dog. Now, let me just say--I love animals, I do. I respect them and am always filled with wonder at God's beautiful animal creations, but if it were me up there on that jetty watching Fido swimming into the open jaws of a giant shark I would have to tip my hat and say "So long, old friend. You were a good dog," and chalk it up to it being the circle of life. Fortunately the man didn't make his wife a widow and he saved his dog.

Jake the Rat terrier who was saved from a Great White shark.

Every year animal attacks happen, just maybe not as bizarre as Travis the chimp's. The headlines usually read,"Child mauled by neighbor's pit bull." So if folks are getting attacked by pet dogs, why are people allowed to own pet chimpanzees? And why are we surprised when they go ape and hurt someone?

Crowders Mountain and Fish Camp

2009-02-17T08:53:00.021-05:00

This is for all the folks new to the Charlotte area. As a Californian who grew up near the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, one of the first things I try to do if I move to a new place is find the best hiking trails nearby. I lived in both Los Angeles and San Diego and the hiking wasn't much. I mean, it was better than nothing, but it was usually hot and dry and rocky with very few trees. I certainly missed the giant Sequoias, the back-country lakes and streams and wildlife. So, the other day I was introduced to Crowders Mountain State Park. The park is located just outside of Gastonia, NC; about 45 minutes drive from Charlotte.

I was pretty excited about having a state park practically in my backyard so, last Sunday, after church my wife and I ate a quick lunch, packed some snacks and fruit and headed down the Interstate toward the park. At the trail head, located next to the visitor's center, we glanced over the map, choosing the Crowders Trail to start with and then eventually switching to the Ridgetop Trail that winds across soft level ground giving way to steeper climbs leading to the top. The peak of the mountain is craggy with rock formations that jut upward like a saw blade offering views of the vast surrounding countryside. Unfortunately though, without leaves on the trees you also get views of the creeping "progress" of housing developments and warehouse structures scattered throughout. I did my best to ignore that part and also the amount of dogs people brought out onto the trail.

view from one of the peaks on Crowders Mountain

I love dogs, my parents have a dog, she's great, but I've always had a problem with hikers bringing their dogs hiking with them. In my opinion, it breaks the serenity and beauty of the place when you watch two leashed dogs approach each other on the trail as their owners do their best to reign them in, they sniff behinds (the dogs do), and then commence to snarling as the owners reprimand them.

We found ourselves on the trail following a couple who had a great big dog that I thought I heard them call "Horse" and it was almost comical watching them lift this poor dog up through the trail's rock formations. The man would try to lift the dog's front legs up to the next step as the woman, who was standing higher up on the rock tried to pull the dog up to her level. The man then tried lifting Horse's hind end as the his back paws clumsily scratched at the rock trying to get a firm hold. When that didn't work the man tried to set him up on the rocks by hoisting the dog up from it's middle. He kept squirming, his back legs jabbing out like a jack-rabbit, obviously not understanding what his owners were trying to do with him. When Horse finally did get to a spot where he could stand comfortably his back legs shook like crazy, probably terrified by the whole ordeal. I stood back and watched this canine lifting ceremony wondering why they hadn't just walked their dog in the city park that morning instead of subjecting him to Crowders Mountain and then further wondered why they didn't lead the poor beast down the lower path, one that circumvented the rocky part of this trail completely, but ended up at the same place.

lichen--Crowders Mountain

Anyway, I'm not trying to get off subject. I just don't understand it. Back to the beauty and splendor of the trail.

The thing that I do appreciate about North Carolina hiking is the extreme changes in scenery during the seasons. California's mountains may have giant trees and massive peaks, but they don't have the variety of changes in the foliage. In spring, North Carolina wilderness is bursting with energy and shaking off hibernation, in summer the thick trees display deep green leaves, in fall everything turns gold and orange and red; and in winter the forest becomes cold and gray. There is a melancholy feeling in the woods during the winter. The infrequent bird calls can cut through the stillness, echoing in this sparse landscape like a hammer striking an anvil. The trees are bare and their trunks come out of the dense leaf compost like concrete columns.

lower section of the Crowders Trail

We ate our apples and energy bars at the top and took a few pictures then hiked back down a trail stairway along the Backside Trail, eventually rejoining the Crowders Trail. By the time we reached the visitor's center we calculated that we had covered about 4 1/2 miles, not bad for a little afternoon hike.

My wife and I at the top of Crowders Mountain. A note to all my Carlsbad friends: If you look closely you'll see I'm sporting my Pollos Maria hat* (see footnote).

A company store building, built in 1890, found just outside of the Crowders Mountain State Park.

Hunger was now setting in. My wife, who has the metabolism of a hummingbird, was starving. Earlier, while driving through Gastonia we had spotted signs for a fish restaurant called "The Captain's Cap". It was a fish camp:

Now let me pause here and explain a few things to my west coast brethren about "fish camp". A few years ago my wife had tried, unsuccessfully, to explain what her people call "fish camps". I had NO idea what that was. She laid out in perfect detail the decor of fish camps, the type of food served at fish camps, the candy shelves next to the cash register, the fishing nets and trophy catches on the walls, the rustic wooden booth seats or tables aged to look like they had been gleaned from a torn down wharf. Sometimes there was a fisherman statue carved out of wood, painted and standing outside to greet customers. The only guess I could come up with was Long John Silver. She laughed. I tried Red Lobster. She shook her head. When I visited Memphis awhile back (before moving to North Carolina), I called her convinced I had finally understood what a fish camp was. I said, "Is it like Captain D's?" More laughter. I've come to realize now that fish camps are very, very rare in California and when Californians see one they sure don't call it a fish camp. Now that I think back--no longer a fish camp green-horn--I seem to recall eating at a restaurant that fit the above description on the coast of Oregon somewhere.

The Captain's Cap sign outside the restaurant

So the Captain's Cap billboards led us to smaller signs which directed us along winding back roads. "Make a left at the old church," one sign read. It seemed like we were out in the middle of nowhere with nothing around us except this old church and a vacant trailer park. But sure enough as we rounded a curve and came over a hill, there nestled in a little valley was The Captain's Cap.

It was a true fish camp. The menu featured several different combinations of fried fish and sides. I chose the catfish and flounder combo with onion rings. My wife went with her favorite, popcorn shrimp. We shared an order of hushpuppies between us and drank water to counteract the effects of the fried food. The staff was fast and very friendly and the fish was gooood. The average age of the patrons was probably about 65 and most were white-haired. One group was celebrating a birthday. The birthday boy who was probably about 70 received a giant, brightly colored birthday card and every time he or someone else opened the card, the card would "sing" out, "Cel-e-brate good times! C'mon!.....Celebrate good times!.........Celebrate good.......Celebrate good....."

fish camp

When we were done feeding like hungry sharks, we pulled ourselves up out of the booth and slowly moved toward the cashier. In true fish camp fashion the cash register sat right next to the candy shelves, with gum and candy bars for sale and tiny complimentary calendars reading "Captain's Cap'' with monthly pages you can tear off. My wife was in fish-camp-nostalgia heaven as we added a couple of peppermint patties to our bill.

We walked back to our car through a little maze of GM made vehicles and driving past the old church and the trailer park, in a heavy fried fish stupor, we got back out to the highway and headed home to Charlotte.

*Pollos Maria is a Mexican restaurant in Carlsbad, CA that specializes in serving char-broiled chicken. One day, while I was at Pollos Maria ordering food, I asked the cashier if they were selling the hats that the employees were wearing. He said yes, but that he thought there was only one left and it was for sale for $2. Two dollars? That's it? So I reached in my pocket pulled out the cash and handed him the money. He reached behind the counter and gave me the hat. The first thing I noticed about it was that it was slightly stained with grease. No big deal. I figured I would use the hat for hiking or working in the yard anyway. Then discovered that someone had written the name "Faustino Danger" under the bill. Still, no big deal. But when I walked away from the counter, I saw printed on the receipt for my order, the cashier's name-- Faustino.

Traffic Reports

2009-02-13T12:36:00.013-05:00

I'm not going to lie, I miss the west coast. I lived in San Diego county before I moved to Charlotte, NC and I was checking out one of my friends, Veronica Miranda's blog today, reminiscing about the things I love in San Diego county. There is a pace of life and a feeling in the ocean air on the west coast, north and south, that is unlike any place I've been. I saw her photographs and longed for the smell of salt air, the company of funky beach people, even the heat on the sidewalks in summer.

But the thing I will NOT miss is driving, no, sitting in my car in traffic everyday. Living in San Diego people don't have it nearly as bad as folks living in Los Angeles. I did that too, for a short while, and everyday you could feel your brain start to atrophy, melting down to the point where you start speaking gibberish to yourself and punching your steering wheel, feeling precious years slowly being taken away from your lifespan.

This morning around 7 a.m. I was returning home from dropping my wife off at work (we only have one car) and I was listening to WFAE 90.7 (NPR) on the radio when the traffic report came on. The broadcaster mentioned a traffic accident at some intersection in Charlotte and then moved on to another segment of the show. ONE traffic accident! After it was announced he said something like, "And that's the only traffic problem we have to report this morning." I couldn't believe it. In Southern California, and as I mentioned, especially in Los Angeles and Orange counties, there are entire segments on the radio devoted solely to traffic reports. Most of those stations have hired reporters just for that purpose; to report on jams, grid-locks, crashes, animals running around on the freeway, ladders in the road, construction and more. Some radio broadcasts report traffic stories every 15 minutes. At 7 a.m. in Southern California there would probably be at least 5 freeways jammed, and maybe 10 traffic accidents. And it's that way everyday.

photos from top to bottom: Los Angeles, Orange County and San Diego on a normal weekday afternoon.

During my short time living in Charlotte I've very rarely had to use the freeway. And when the time came to do so I discovered the speed limit was 55 miles per hour. Most of the time, I'm driving through town going 35. And when people tell me, with some exasperation in their voice, that it takes about 30 minutes to drive from south Charlotte to north Charlotte, I chuckle and say, "30 minutes? That's it?".

So yes, there are very nice things about Southern California, the entire state of California for that matter, but having to sit in your car for hours, creeping along on the asphalt, isn't one of them.

North Carolina Initiation

2009-02-12T10:06:00.012-05:00

Last night my brother-in-law invited me to what was my first true initiation into North Carolina. Tarheels-Bluedevils basketball. He's got three little kids and his wife is out of town, so first he called up and asked if my wife could come over and babysit so he and I could go watch the game with some of his buddies.

Initially I thought we would be going to someone's house to watch the game and have a couple of beers and that would be that. Nope. Last night we ended up at the Visualite Theater to watch the game on the big screen.

I'm not that familiar with everything that is North Carolina, but I was aware of there being a little rivalry between Carolina and Duke, considering that the schools are only about 10 miles apart from each other.

Except for teams like UCLA, college basketball isn't the same in California. My glory days on the court ended when I graduated from high school and I didn't finish college, so I don't have the same devotion to college sports as many people out here do. I used to watch the Lakers back in the day, that was about it.

I was a little unprepared. Knowing that my father-in-law, sister-in-law, her husband, several of my wife's aunt's and uncles had all attended UNC Chapel Hill I wanted to fit in at the big game last night. So I hunted through my closet for any piece of clothing that would at least come close to being "Carolina Blue". What I finally found was a light blue and navy track jacket that once belonged to a member of the Bundeswehr*. So I put on my jacket and told my wife that it was a "North Carolina basketball, neutral-fan outfit" which, I found out later, doesn't exist. You can't be neutral. You're either a Tarheels fan or a Blue Devils fan.

Me with my "neutral" jacket in Copenhagen 2007

So we picked up my brother-in-law's buddy and headed over to the Visualite. Rain poured down heavily, soaking all of us as we hustled to the doors of the theater. Inside, the place was packed with mostly, ex-Chapel Hill students. Come to find out later, when I was wondering where all the Duke fans were, the night's event was sponsored by the alumni association, or something like that. Slices of pizza were being sold and Tarheels swag given away. There was a raffle at half-time and $5 "Blue Cups" of Bud and Bud Light were being poured. For those who don't know about "Blue Cups"; there is a bar in Chapel Hill, He's Not Here, that serves beer in these 32 ounce plastic cups.

I'm not a sports writer so this post is more about people watching sports than an actual play-by-play of the game.

The game started out with the tip-off in favor of Carolina which immediately caused the crowd to erupt into cheers, followed by the first two-points on the board and more cheers. And it went on like that for the rest of the night. Anytime a Tarheels player did anything positive, like scoring or stealing the ball the crowd went crazy.

I started noticing that as the night wore on and more blue cups of Budweiser were consumed the cheering grew louder and the individual fans became more belligerant. One man near me, a grown man, with his face, beet-red with alcohol, slammed his fist on his cocktail table, raised his middle finger and screamed at the top of his lungs, "Pass the f**king ball Green! You f**king ***hole!" I'm sure Danny Green heard that. The fan didn't realize that he was shouting at a movie screen, I guess. But a moment later, Green scored and redeemed himself. He had been forgiven as made known by the guy's hoarse cheering, letting by-gones be by-gones. His buddy even joined in this time by lifting his chair and slamming it's legs down over and over again on the concrete floor. It was North Carolina's versions of soccer hooligans.

I've been a musician for many years now, so I've seen a lot of crazy drunk people. But I have to admit that it was fun being part of this crowd, crammed in the dark theater chanting "Defense!" at the movie screen. It was almost like you were actually at the game in the upper bleachers and could hear the voices echo off the wood floors of the court.

It was a basketball theater melodrama of sorts. The referee would make a call for Duke and the crowd would boo. The Tarheels would take advantage of a turnover and the crowd went wild with shouts and applause. They even laughed at a Duke student who was caught on camera at the game wiping tears away from his eyes as Carolina piled on more points. My brother-in-law remarked, "It's all right for a player to shed a couple of tears after a lost game, but man, you don't want to be a Duke fan caught crying on camera in front of this crowd."

Thank goodness Carolina won. I think people would have torn the place apart if Duke had claimed victory. When the game ended we shuffled to the exit and out onto the sidewalk. The rain had stopped. The sky was crystal clear as if God had ordained the win for Carolina. We walked out as fans tried to leave with their half-full Blue Cups, red-faced and staggering; pissing in the bushes of the parking lot. Ahhh, like I said, it was almost like you were actually at the game.

We got home and as I drifted off to sleep, with my ears ringing from the crowd noise and screams, I reflected on the evening and the game. I had a great time and had watched one of the best basketball games in my life..........next to the Lakers' 1987 & 1988 NBA Championship wins, that is.

*Bundeswehr is the name of the unified armed forces of the Republic of Germany (man, you can find out about anything on the internet). A funny story: My brother found a Bundeswehr track jacket several years ago at a thrift store in the farming community of Delano, California. In 2007 I found the exact same jacket in a small thrift store in Copenhagen, Denmark!

Creative Loafing's "Lust List" 2009

2009-02-11T14:34:00.010-05:00

Ooo, ooo, the Lust List is here! The Lust List is here; in the Febrary 11th edition of Charlotte's Creative Loafing newspaper! The Lust List is the paper's "annual showcase of the Queen City’s hottest citizens."

February is a slow month in Charlotte, I guess. I know that times are hard and print media is becoming a thing of the past, but why make it worse by printing more shallow garbage. No wonder Creative Loafing is filing for bankruptcy protection. Actually, in this day and age, the "Lust Lists" of the world seem to be the only way people will stay interested in anything. Maybe this is CL's version of a "stimulus package", a way to increase readership and bolster ad sales.

There seems to be so many stories to tell; stories about people and places. I'm sure there are interesting artists and musicians, volunteer workers and community activists to write strong articles about. As a new Charlotte resident (I don't dare call myself a Charlottean) it would be nice to find out about interesting places to visit in and around the city, hiking trails or historic landmarks and short, weekend vacations, not profiles about people who "just happen to look sexy as hell".

Call me a stick-in-the-mud (I'm almost positive that that term is pretty curmudgeony...oops, there I go again) but it seems to me that the magazine tends to emphasize more of the loafing part than the creative part. Now, granted, there are a few interesting columns found within CL's pages, but they seem few and far between. That's why it was odd to me to pick up my copy of Creative Loafing and find this week's issue devoted to 6 pages of Lust List.

I understand that there is a delicate balance in this kind of publication, held between keeping it free of charge and being able to sell ad space to pay for the paper itself. If no one picks up a copy of CL then businesses won't want to waste money placing advertisements in it. But there has got to be a way to add more quality content.

There are 72 pages, from front cover to back cover in this week's CL. About 45 of those pages of space are used for advertisments--venue music calendars, nightclubs, restaurants, classifieds, sex, etc. Approximately 11 pages of space, only eleven, were designated for actual writing--articles, commentary, reviews and so on. Which leaves the last 6 pages or so for the Lust List.

The Lust List doesn't really have any written content. There are photos of the "lusty" people and very short lists of Q and A's like, "What is your biggest turn-on?" and "What's your idea of a perfect date?". The feature opens with: "Valentine's Day is on the way, so that means lust is in the air--and between the pages of Creative Loafing." But if you look through a CL magazine during most holidays, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, The Fourth of July, Memorial Day and Halloween; you'll find advertisements for wet T-shirt contests and "sexy" masquerade balls anyway. And so what's different about it now? The article doesn't mention anything about love being in the air for Valentine's Day; because the "Lasting, Meaningful, Loving Relationship List" takes up too much room on the page, I guess.

8 out of the 11 List members, when asked what food they associate with "sexy" mentioned chocolate and strawberries. Of all the foods in the world everyone chose chocolate and strawberries!? C'mon people, you can do better than that. The food that I associate with sexy is delta short ribs and apple pie, but that's just me.

When asked how the recession has affected her, one "Lister" answered that it's "affected me personally because I work at Hooter's and work off tips." Tough times in America. Another, when asked, "What was the last book you read?" said, "That was in college..." I'm hoping college for her ended just a few weeks ago.

One question asked was, "Do you think it is more important to be right or to be popular?" Hmmm, I do like popularity, but.....C'mon what are they supposed to say?! That's like Rick Warren asking the presidential front-runners in '08 whether they believed evil existed or not. These are beauty pageant questions. Which raises the question, "Can a person be lustful/lusty and handle intelligent questions?" We'll see.

I know the economy is bad and times are hard and many businesses are implementing hiring freezes so I shouldn't really give Creative Loafing such a hard time. The magazine does inform me about where and when movies and bands are playing around town and maybe the occasional art show, so that's good.

Anyway, Creative Loafing has included a website so you can go online and get in touch with these Queen City celebs and you can stop by a Lust List "signing party" to get their autographs or maybe phone numbers. I'll be there with my "sexy" apple pie.

Musical Beards

2009-02-10T10:57:00.007-05:00

A few years ago I noticed a trend that seemed to be growing steadily in the indie-rock music business. No, it wasn't overproduced pop garbage and it wasn't boy bands or skinny jeans or trucker hats. It was beards. Beards everywhere. Everyone seemed to have one. It was almost as if you couldn't be taken seriously as a musician if you didn't have a Rock-Beard. For awhile, everyone was just unshaven with two or three days growth and that was the style, but something changed in each musician and suddenly, or actually slowly, thick beards began to emerge like Rumplestiltskin from his slumber.

That was about two and a half years ago and the trend hasn't gone away and two and half years is long time for a trend to stick around in the music business. The beards continue to flourish and seem to have become their own entities in marketing the musician on whose face they grow. At one point, I even had one, just to see what it was like. After it grew in it took me about 3 months to realize that it was too hot and uncomfortable to have on my face.

I compiled a short list of current bands and musicians who sport rock beards, or who rock sporty beards and other facial hair styles and have followed the list with another list of musicians who were bearding it long before them. You can mix and match them, if you like, to see which contemporary band goes with it's classic Rock counterpart. Have fun.

Because I just moved from San Diego, CA I'll start with my personal favorite, Dirty Sweet. I first encountered this band at the San Diego Music Awards and to be honest when I saw them I thought they were cast members for the remake of “Almost Famous”, but when I heard them I liked there tunes ok. They played Rock ‘n’ Roll. Not indie rock, not blues rock, but just good ‘ol rough-edged Rock. You’ll also notice in the picture of Dirty Sweet, a hair sub-trend, the “straight-long-hair-parted-down-the-middle” look:

--------------------------------

Next we’ll move onto a band called Band of Horses. I just listened to some of their songs on their website. Not bad, but what is important here is that Band of Horses refuses to be tied down to any trend band wagon. They’re seen in the photo below representing each stage of Rock facial hair. Clean shaven, a few days growth, and the full beard:

----------------------------------

Next is a band I discovered on a random Charlotte music website that I can’t remember, but I will remember the band. This band has done things right. They've got a catchy name, 2013 Wolves; their Myspace website features a pack of rabid wolves in the background, the "four wolves of the apocalypse", I assume, and they’ve got some cool beards. I just listened to their stuff. Pretty exciting:

--------------------------------

Ok, let's get away from the Rock category for a second and get into the Roots-Rock category. Roots-Rock is a place where, in my opinion you can find the most backwoods facial hair growth.

First up in this category is another Charlotte, North Carolina based band called the New Familiars, a band whose music mixes acoustic folk styles with a little electricity. I like their stuff and they also feature a strong variety of hair growths. In this group you’ll find: long beards with long hair, short beards with short hair and everything in between. Bravo:

---------------------

Next up we have, ME. This is a photo of me during a very long layover in New York on my way to play festivals in Italy. The beard was fun to grow, but it was July in Italy and close to 90 degrees and I came to hate it. I got stopped by Italian Police on my way back from the festival late one night. And the trooper kept glancing back and forth from me to my license as my driver was nervously explaining to him that I was a musician. Not a great time to have a Rock-Beard:

---------------------

Here’s a photo of a friend of mine, Ben Prestage, from Florida. We competed together at the International Blues Challenge in Memphis. This guy is a serious musician. He plays a cigar box guitar plugged into two amps and sets up almost an entire drum set and plays it with his feet, one foot for the kick drum the other foot’s heel and toe playing high hat and a snare balanced up on it’s side, struck with a kick drum mallet. He’s the real deal and so is his beard:

------------------

Below is Black Keys front man Dan Aurbach who has just released his new solo album. He started out playing in the Black Keys clean-shaven, but found that he couldn’t quite achieve the sound he wanted, so he opted for more facial hair. Aurbach keeps his hair cut short and also crosses trends with the stingy-brim fedora. Good move Dan!:

----------------

I have to pay respects to the home state favorites and so, last but not least, comes The Avett Brothers. Their sound is raw, their shows are entertaining and their Roots Rock beards are great. The Avett brothers keep you on your toes. Seth and Scott feature the “long-straight-hair-parted-down-the-middle” look with shorter beards, but also sport the thick “Gentleman-Lumberjack" look. Excellent:

---------------------------------------------------------

Now comes the “Legends of Rock-Beards” match up:

First we’ll start with the late, great Sam Chatmon, who I’m sure most of you have never heard of. He was a member of one of the greatest string bands of all time, called the Mississippi Sheiks, whose songs were covered by numerous rock bands in the 60’s.

-----------------------------

Next is Canned Heat who probably covered a few of Sam Chatmon's tunes. They have huge "beardal" variety.

-------------------------

Credence Clearwater Revival from California. Mop top, mustaches, long hair and of course Rock-Beard. Ahh, CCR.

-----------------

Next is The Band. Also a good mix of hair and facial hair styles.

------------------

We can't forget Lynrd Skynrd. One of Southern Rock's finest and with a splendid hair variety:

---------------

The great Allman Brothers Band. Another Southern Rock giant. Good Rock-Beards and nice display of the "long-straight-hair-parted-down-the-middle" look:

-------------------

And of course, no Rock-Beard list would be complete without the reigning Rock-Beard champs, Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill of ZZ Top:

--------------------

Red Clay and Gray Concrete

2009-02-09T12:13:00.012-05:00

On Friday, February 6th the Charlotte Folk Society hosted a concert at the Great Aunt Stella Center featuring North Carolina’s own Watson, Hicks, Craver and Newberry (WHCN). WHCN has a long history of playing authentic American Roots music, blending bluegrass, stringband, and ragtime styles. Their songs represent a rich musical heritage that was born in the hills and valleys of the southeast.

With the massive brass pipes of the church organ directly behind them, stretching up to the ceiling, WHCN took to the stage and played old favorites as well as their own originals. Jim Watson, mandolin, Bill Hicks, fiddle and Mike Craver, keyboard, founding members of The Red Clay Ramblers were also joined by well known banjo picker Joe Newberry replacing another Rambler original, the late Tommy Thompson. Lighted stained glass windows fixed in the ceiling, stages left and right and throughout the balcony area gave the place a very warm presence, reminiscent of the Grand Old Opry’s Ryman auditorium.

The evening was filled with music and stories, both intimately expressed to the “family” of audience members. At times it was raw and raucous, break-downs that got everyone shouting, songs that kept Jim Watson’s hand flittering across his mandolin and which powdered Bill Hicks’ fiddle with white rosen from his frantic bow. Other selections featured tender folk ballads by Joe Newberry and humorous ragtime-style show tunes by pianist Mike Craver, such as, “How Does A Glass Eye Work?”. Afterwards, the band as well as musicians from the audience split up and formed groups throughout the building for informal jams.

photo taken at The Carter Family Fold, Hiltons, VA 2008 by Bren Overholt

The Great Aunt Stella Center is a beautiful venue indeed. Once a Presbyterian church, the Center is now an island in a sea of concrete and modern skyscrapers. I peered out the window and noticed a cold, gray parking garage that seemed to creep ever closer to this historic red, brick building. In a time when, from what I’ve heard, the city of Charlotte seems to push, full-steam-ahead to tear down these structures in it’s race to modernize, the Great Aunt Stella Center remains. It’s a port in the storm for music like WHCN's, a place where DJ’s and pop music have no foothold, an old refuge for old music; folk traditions that lie in the foundation of much of American music as we know it today and thank goodness for it.

As a younger player of old roots music myself, I’ve definitely noticed, at times, the lack of young people supporting it. I was surprised (and then again I wasn’t) that so few younger fans were in attendance. There are groups of musicians who during the day, will profess their love for old-time music, sitting in a coffee house or on their college campus spewing out names of legendary artists. There are bands that claim inspiration and influence from American music pioneers, but at night they’re nowhere to be found when authentic acts like WHCN are performing. And last Friday night’s concert was free!

At any rate, the show was nothing but entertaining, which a good show should be. I felt like I had been let in on a Charlotte secret by hearing Watson, Hicks, Craver and Newberry at the Great Aunt Stella Center. As a musician new to the Queen City I had the opportunity to make much needed contacts and break out harmonicas, jug and gutbucket bass to present my own “resume” to the other musicians. I’ll definitely continue to support the Charlotte Folk Society if these are the kinds of acts and shows that they produce. Be sure to check out this link for WHCN to see when they might be passing through your town and stay in the loop for other great shows presented by the folk society at www.folksociety.org.

Real Life Music

2009-02-06T13:22:00.005-05:00

(Taken from a Nathan James & Ben Hernandez website post from December 2007)

By Ben Hernandez
Nathan and I notice a lot of things when we're out playing shows. Working in the kind of environments that we do, we see just about every facet of human psychology. There is anger, humor, sadness, happiness, tragedy, pathetic-ness, and just plain bizarre behavior. We have the ability to sort of step back, remove ourselves and observe and many times enjoy the situation. There was a drunk guy that got angry with me and started cursing at me while we were playing a show in Long Beach years ago because he had reached across the stage and started beating on my washtub bass while we were in the middle of a song. I told him not to do that, that he knew better than to behave like that and his response was, "F*** you!" There have been many times that we've had to stop playing in the middle of a set to protect our instruments from being crushed by groups of "dudes" clearing the room to start fighting.

Once, while we were on a break, a woman wanted us to play "Born On The Bayou", I guess because all the unique ragtime, country blues, gospel, and jug band music that we were playing and that she probably never hears wasn't good enough. Nathan informed her, very cordially, that we didn't know that song and we don't play those kind of covers. Well, the woman insisted that we did know that song and we should play it for her. "It's a great song by a great rock band," Nathan replied. "But we just don't know it." That wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. "C'mon," she pleaded, "you know it, it goes like this: dum, dum, dum, dum, dee, dee..." At that point her eyes closed slightly as if she had been transported back to some Creedence show in her mind. Her hands and arms awkwardly fell into "air guitar" position and she started rockin'. Now during this time, as Nathan continued to inform her, still as politely as he could and almost talking to her like a child, that we didn't play that song; her husband kept pulling on her arm trying to get her to stop and return to their table. Finally she blurted again, "No, c'mon, it's a really easy song. I know you know it." Nathan glanced over at me then back at the woman (she was still going on and on). He held up his finger and said, "Shhhhh, ma'am, stop....I can't talk to you anymore," and walked past her. Luckily, I was still standing there to see the reaction on her face--as if no one had ever done that before during one of her drunken rants.

Last night we were playing in Orange County, and although this incident didn't happen inside the venue we were playing it was strange enough to put into this story.

I had just pulled up across the street from the club, in front of the post office. I was listening to an album that Troy Sandow (bassist and harmonica player) had loaned me: Aretha Franklin live at the Fillmore. In the space next to me, a guy ,who looked like he was in his early forties, was blaring some teenage pop-punk or something, out of his windows and into my soul filled car. It was like nails on a chalk board. It was one of those bands that would be featured on the T.V. show "The O.C." or some MTV "reality" show. A band whose lead singer's name is Tyler or Casey or Cody or Brett.

Anyway, I stepped out of my car, grabbed an armload of equipment and headed into the club. Nathan was there setting up and I remarked to him what a rude awakening it had been pulling up listening to the Queen and First Lady of Soul only to have her drowned out by the stuff that that guy was listening to.

We chuckled about it as we walked back outside to get more gear from our cars. Then, as I approaced my car, I noticed the man who was listening to the "Aretha hating" music was standing there between the two automobiles waiting for me. He was huge! At least 6' 4" built like an oak tree, with thinning, dyed blond hair and wearing these clear- lensed, sport glasses--you know, the kind that cyclists wear.

He stepped in front of me, I could hear "Cody's" whiney vocals come out of the guy's stereo. He said, "Do you think you could sing a song with words like that?" I chuckled uncomfortably, not knowing what the heck "Tyler" was singing about. All the while I was thinking that maybe he heard me trashin' his music and I pissed him off. "Yeah, that's right," he continued. "Their singing about this fake war in Iraq."

"Oh yeah?" I said, trying to play it cool. Still thinking he had heard me bad-mounthing his tunes.

"Yeah, they've got the balls to sing about it. About how we're stealin' oil from some another country and givin' it to China. They're with the people not the pussys. You're either with the people or the pussys. Do you have the balls to sing about that stuff like they do?" he said intensely, pointing his finger at me.

"Well," I replied, looking up at him. "I just do the best I can."

And with that he turned and grunted, not too satisfied with me, I guess; dropped his mail into the post office night box and jumped into his GIGANTIC, FULL-SIZE, GAS-GUZZLING TRUCK, and drove away.

Why Are We Surprised? Pt. 2: The Rise of Bale & Phelps

2009-02-06T09:16:00.022-05:00

So the other day an audio recording was released of Christian Bale falling out of his tree and going off on the director of photography while they were filming yet another Terminator movie (Does anyone remember James Cameron holding up his Oscars for Titanic and shouting, "I'm the king of the world!"? He's not involved in this new film). Bale was accusing the DP of stepping into "his" scene and distracting him in the background. Christian dropped the F-bomb just about every other word of each sentence he shouted at the guy, saying things like "My mind is not in the scene if you're doing that..." What scene is that, Bale? Is it the one where you kill the robot aliens? Yeah, I could see how you would need the utmost focus and concentration. You see, this is a movie. Christian Bale is an actor. He pretends. He pretends to kill robot aliens. Other times he pretends to be Batman. My wife's 6 year old nephew pretends to be Batman, too. Bale gets paid a lot of money to play pretend while other people film him pretending. The audio of his rant actually starts to get pretty funny, like a little kid losing it because his Cheerios got soggy. The thing that's really sad is that news organizations like CNN devote whole segments of their show to this kind of crap. They have analysts and "experts" sit and discuss how crazy Christian Bale is. Gimme a break!

First of all, Christian Bale is not our moral leader. I've worked on a couple of film sets and people used filthy language every single day of filming. Secondly, how is it that we're shocked by the language when the actual movies that these actors are in sometimes have worse language in them. Christian Bale sounds like a spoiled brat, so what. HE'S AN ACTOR! He's not a social worker. He's not a school teacher. He's not a volunteer at a homeless shelter. He plays with toy laser guns. Or toy cowboy guns. The bad part about it is that Christian Bale was in the guy's face ready to strangle him because he broke the actor's focus, but if the director of photography had popped him in the face like he probably deserves, Bale would've probably sued the guy.

Next up, Michael Phelps. In 2004 he was arrested for drunk driving in Maryland. And just a few weeks ago a photo was taken of Michael Phelps with a bong up against his face in South Carolina. He has now lost his Kellogs endorsment (no more free Corn Flakes) and USA Swimming has suspended Phelps from competition for a short while. USA Swimming, the nation's governing body for competitive swimming released a statement regarding the Michael Phelps situation: "This is not a situation where any anti-doping rule was violated, but we decided to send a strong message to Michael because he disappointed so many people, particularly the hundreds of thousands of USA Swimming-member kids who look up to him as a role model and a hero." A hero? Did he jump into the water and save someone who was drowning? Did he swim underwater to avoid capture to deliver needed information about the advancing enemy? No. He swam in a pool faster than some other guy and got a prize for it.

The Columbia, South Carolina sheriff's department is investigating whether the marijuana inicident happened on the university campus and if so, they would take action by filing criminal charges. Smoking pot on a college campus? I know, I know, it sounds crazy, to me too.

And role model? That's right kids, if you work hard and lift weights and eat right you can: make lots of money?...probably not. Become famous?...not likely. Get a book deal?...Nope. No kids, you can swim faster than the next person and maybe, just maybe, win a colorful ribbon or a gold-colored medallion made of die-cast metal.

Ok, here's the thing: Michael Phelps is a SWIMMER! He is an athlete. Again, he is not a moral leader. He shouldn't be a role model. He's not a hero. He's a 23 year old kid with lots of money who likes to smoke pot and drink. The ironic thing is is that he didn't even really make his money by swimming. He recieved endorsments from corporate companies so they could put their labels on him to sell more of their stuff. Do you think Kellogs and Speedo really care whether Phelps is a stand-up citizen? No way, they're just trying to sell more swimsuits and cereal. We need to stop holding these people up on a pedestal. They play games. That's all. We enjoy watching them do it, but should we want to be them?

Here are some other great sports role models:

Kobe Bryant: Got caught up in a rape scandal.
Michael Vick: Dog fighting ring scandal.
Jan Ullich: champion cyclist tied to Spanish doping scandal.
Jose Conseco: steroids
Barry Bonds: still fighting his performance enhancing drug scandal.
Marion Jones: US track and field star. Caught doping. Did six months in jail and lost all of her medals dating back to 2000.
Ron Artest: jumps into stands and beats on fan.
Alex Rodriguez: recently admitted to using steroids from 2000-2003.

Athletes people, not heroes, not role-models. There are some out there who are good people and have used their influence as celebrities to help in the world, but when it comes down to it they are still athletes who play games for a living. Teachers should be role models. The fire fighters who rush into burning buildings to save people are heroes. Not swimmers.

Why Are We Surprised? Pt. 1

2009-02-04T12:43:00.005-05:00

Politicians are crooked. Big surprise. Well it always seems like everyone is surprised and outraged when stones are overturned and all the creepy, dirty garbage underneath is exposed. Right now people are up in arms over a couple of the Obama administration's cabinet choices. I'm a little upset myself, but c'mon what did you expect? Here's the thing, before you start getting all tied up in knots about it: Geihtner was the only one who was confirmed. He did have about $35,000 in screwed up taxes, but he was confirmed. Let it go for a second. Tom Daschle had about $140,000 in back taxes and "paperwork errors". Did Daschle get confirmed? No. Let it go. Bill Richardson has a pending grand jury investigation for "pay-to-play" dealings in his home state of New Mexico. Was he confirmed as Secretary of Commerce? No. Let it go. Move on. Big politicians are treated differently. They've got more money. They have friends in high places. Do we think that's really going to change? I messed up on my taxes once. It took the IRS 5 years to discover the mistake. I got a call from a representative who told me that I needed to pay them $75. Are you kidding. 5 years! Well I paid it because I knew that someday I might want to run for public office and didn't want that hanging around my neck. Can't we wait just a little while to see how everything is going to turn out in the first one hundred days before we release the dogs? We did the same with Donald Rumsfeld, we let him in, let him shuffle the papers around on his desk, send off a few emails and then when we realized he didn't work well in that position we got rid of him.

Ok, let's see, who we have in the cabinet so far:

Agriculture--Tom Vilsack (confirmed)
Commerce--Judd Gregg (nominee)
Defense----Robert Gates (selected)
Education--Arne Duncan (confirmed)
Energy----Steven Chu (confirmed)
Homeland Security--Janet Napolitano (confirmed)
HUD------Shaun Donovan (confirmed)
Interior---Ken Salazar (confirmed)
Justice----Eric Holder (confirmed)
Labor----Hilda Solis (nominee)
State-----Hilary Clinton (confirmed)
Transportation--Ray LaHood (confirmed)
Treasury---Timothy Geithner (confirmed)
Veterans Affairs--Gen. Eric K. Shinseki (confirmed)

That's 11 people already confirmed with no problems so far, with two nominees waiting to be confirmed out of a total of 15 positions. So two guys didn't make the cut at all. TWO PEOPLE! That's a pretty good percentage when you think that all of the politicians are crooks in some way.

People are griping because they're candidate didn't win. People are griping because they think that Obama said he was going to change the way politics was going to be in Washington. Let's not forget all the griping and finger pointing when it came to Jack Abramoff, Tom Delay, Mark Foley, Ted Stevens, Duke Cunningham, Harry Reid, Bob Ney and William "Dollar Bill" Jefferson. It's a two way street, both Republican and Democratic. Politicians are screwed up. They are not our moral leaders. They all have corrupt, immoral skeletons in their closets. And it seems like these days even our "moral" leaders can't cut it. But if we get shocked and apalled and mock the other side for saying this and that during their political campaigns we'll never get anywhere. In George Bush's first campaign he vowed that he wouldn't use or military for "nation building". Well?

This is exactly how Rome fell. A huge empire was filled with corrupt politicians, and the wealthy elite who finagled their way out of paying taxes, among other things, and eventually the whole system just fell apart. So what did they do? They just kept hosting more gladiator events to keep the everyday people occupied so they could do anything they wanted. Hmm, no wonder the Superbowl is such a huge event.

I'm from California, so what do I know. If you don't like it I'll sick Arnold on you. It is funny, though that one of the most liberal states, CA has a Republican governor and one of the most conservative, NC has a democratic governor in the capitol. It would make for a great gladiator event.

No Classic Cars in Charlotte?

2009-02-01T13:17:00.004-05:00

I was driving back from church this morning and it popped into my head that I haven't seen any classic cars here in Charlotte. Why is that? Living in California, you see a pretty good number of classic cars on the road. While I was touring and playing music I would occasionally run into old-timers who were part of Model-T Ford restorations clubs. Those were always cool to see, a huge caravan of Model-T's putt-putting down the open highway. In the northern portions of Orange County near the city of Orange and Pomona there were always cool car shows going on. And in my home county you could occasionally spot a beautiful 60's caddillac, '57 Chevy, or more often a 60's Mustang. I owned a 1968 Mustang at one time. But it's in a better place now. A friend of mine, who restores classics, bought it from me and restored it for a relative. I'm glad, because by the end, I was hating that car. I didn't have the time, money or knowledge to keep a car like that up and running. I recently owned a classic 1991 Honda Civic Hatchback and was deeply sorry I had to sell it before moving here. It had over 171,000 miles on it, hardly ever needed any serious maintenance and could sometimes get close to 40 miles per gallon. If GM started making more cars like that then maybe they wouldn't be in so much financial trouble.

Anyway, with advanced auto technology and fuel efficiency and all that, I'm still glad to see mint T-birds, old Chevys, hot-rodded fords, and classic Cadillacs drive past me.

NPR Economy News

2009-01-30T01:04:00.006-05:00

I had to chuckle a bit when, this afternoon on NPR in Charlotte, the broadcaster mentioned, "...President Obama's gigantic stimulus package..." Ok, I'm sorry. It's late.

Haircuts, Gasoline and Tough Choices

2009-01-26T16:00:00.009-05:00

My dad was the director of the Southeast Rio Vista YMCA in Huntington Park, California in the 80's and continues to be a part of the "Y" to this day. But, as he told my brother and I, years before that, when he was first trying to gain college course credits and employment through a YMCA program, he found that he had an important decision to make one day.

On the morning of the program interview my dad needed to get a haircut. The year was 1970 and he had pretty shaggy hair and thick mutton-chop side burns and he said, "The people I would be working with through this program would not have approved of long hair." So, he thought he would get a haircut on the way to the interview. He got into the car, which was a 1956 Corvette that he was borrowing from his brother-in-law and discovered that the fuel gauge was down to "E" (my dad told me that because he was a starving student it was always on or near empty). Not having much money at the time, he realized that he had only enough for either the haircut or gasoline. He chose gas and just hoped that the interview went well. It did, but afterward the hiring manager shook his hand and mentioned that my dad needed to cut his hair before he started working there...

Fast forward to 2008. My younger brother was going to be interviewing for a teaching position at the community college. He had been working as a volunteer coordinator for a non-profit cleanup project in the National Forest which didn't pay much money and only lasted for the summer. Along with the interview came the excitement of finally getting to put his degree to use and money was getting tight and he needed some steady dough for rent and to pay off his student loans.

The day of the interview came. He got up, had some cereal, brushed his teeth and shaved, noticing in the mirror that his hair was looking a little unkempt. "No matter", he thought, "I'll get a haircut on the way to my interview." He got into his car and as he started the engine he noticed the fuel gauge. His chin dropped. Shaking his head and laughing to himself, my brother grabbed his cell phone and called my dad to tell him about the important decision he had to make...

Snow Day in Charlotte!

2009-01-20T10:31:00.004-05:00

This morning I woke up and found my front yard covered in snow. Now, I know, there are going to be people in the midwest and the Great Lakes area that are going to say, "Snow? That's not snow." There are people who have it much worse/better when it comes to snow. Where I grew up, in the San Joaquin Valley of California, winter temperatures could drop down pretty low, but never cold enough to really snow. We got hail and sleet. Our family would have to drive up to my aunt and uncle's house in the mountains to see any real snow. So it was pretty exciting for me to wake up here in Charlotte, North Carolina and look out my front window and see snow coming down. The kids in the neighborhood were already up and out the door wrapped up in there winter wear throwing snow balls and making snow angels. Another couple we know were out walking their dog. And here I was, the Californian, out in the driveway dressed in my PJ's and moccasins taking pictures.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day

2009-01-19T15:19:00.006-05:00

It's Martin Luther King, Jr. Day today. But as you've, no doubt, been hearing and seeing on the radio and television, this year's MLK Day is slightly different. It falls on the eve of January 20th--the day the United States of America will officially call into office an African-American president. I use the term "call into office" because that's what so many Americans did this year when they cast their ballots. They called Barack Obama into office. They asked for a change in the way the country governs itself. But not only that, they asked for a change in the way our country views itself.

Tomorrow is going to be a big deal! I've been listening to interviews on the radio featuring prominent African-Americans in our country--politicians, writers, war veterans, responding to questions about what today and Barack Obama's inauguration means to them. Most said that they never thought they would see this day. Many were proud of their country and the steps forward that it's taken, but also mindful of how far America has to go.

I'm not black. I didn't march with Dr. King. I didn't experience the civil rights movement of the 50's and 60's. But I have a lot of hope in people. As an American I'm sharing in the excitement of this time. I haven't always been proud of things that have gone on in this country or that the United States have been involved in with other countries, but I've never been one of those people to say that I'm going to move to Canada because I don't like a particular administration in office. It's kind of like my father. He may not have always been proud of everything I did, in fact, I know I disappointed him many times, but those things never amounted to him not loving me and encouraging me.

Things have been bad. The current, soon-to-be past administration was disappointing in many ways, but let's not dwell on them. This is a time of encouragement in our country.

I'm excited about tomorrow. I have to be honest, I didn't really think I would be seeing the inauguration of an African-American president. But I'm thrilled. I'm proud knowing that in my lifetime I can look back and show my children and grandchildren one of the "high water marks" of American history.

I've been to the civil rights museum in Memphis, TN twice. It's the place where Dr. King was assassinated. It's a powerful place. It gave me chills and made my eyes water when I saw the balcony where he fell. But I was also inspired. The Lorraine Hotel was such a humble place. It wasn't a plush hotel where dignitaries or celebrities stayed. It was a small motel, but it represented to me the power of humility and strength in ordinary people who act against extraordinary circumstances.

Here is Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech in it's entirety. And I know you're probably thinking, "I don't need to listen to it. I've heard it millions of times." But I encourage you to listen to it just one more time. It's a good one.

Sarah Palin's 15 Minutes: Sour Grapes & The "Mainstream" Media

2009-01-10T11:01:00.018-05:00

I’m not a very political person. I try to avoid political debates. But Sarah Palin is one person I can’t ignore. When Sarah Palin was introduced to the world I remember thinking, “Wow, this person has really charged up the Republican party. McCain might be able to take this election.” And then she began speaking.

I had pages of ranting sentences about why I didn’t like Sarah Palin and that she was one of the reasons I didn’t vote for McCain. It was making me tired, so I’ll spare you. I’m not going to rehash all the Palin criticisms that you heard during the campaign season because, if you’re like me, you had almost forgotten about the John McCain/Sarah Palin adventure. To be honest, I haven’t even heard McCain's name uttered in quite some time. But Sarah Palin doesn’t seem to want to go away. She keeps thrusting herself back into the spotlight and then complains that the spotlight is too hot.

A few days ago I read a couple of articles on CNN.com about Sarah Palin complaining that she hadn’t gotten a fair shake from the media. The articles are taken from an interview Palin gave on Jan. 5th. She was “perplexed” that Tina Fey had become Entertainer of the Year and Katie Couric’s ratings have risen, suggesting that these elements say "a great deal about our society," whatever that means.

During her most recent interview, Palin comments about how she knew the first Couric interview didn’t go well and couldn’t understand why they went back for more. She complained that the “mainstream” media continued getting the facts about her life wrong and refused to change them. She talked about the “hypocrisy” of the media and voiced her disappointment in it for relying on the “lies” of anonymous bloggers for its news sources. Palin mentions her naiveté, believing that the media would be nice her.

It’s the media for goodness sake. That's what they do. I once saw a headline on a newspaper at the grocery store that read, "Rednecks Shoot Down U.F.O." You better believe I bought that paper! The media is going to dig and dig for stories and mold that information in order to sell newspapers. They just didn’t have to dig that much with Sarah Palin. And I seem to remember her being irritated that the McCain campaign didn’t give her more opportunites to talk to the press.

Palin wanted to know if the media would treat Caroline Kennedy the same way. I don’t know Caroline Kennedy. I don’t know about her politics, but Caroline is running for a Senate seat not Vice President! I'm almost positive Sarah Palin would not be up in arms about all this had she won—I mean, had John McCain won. Hillary Clinton lost and I didn’t hear this much about the hypocritical mainstream media.

Palin didn’t like the questions that were asked of her by Katie Couric, but will she eventually complain about these new sets of questions? This newest interview smacks of sour grapes. She’s getting all poo-poo faced about these mean people making fun of her. Can she find nothing else to speak out about? Is there nothing else she can get fired up about? The economy? Jobs? Healthcare? Environment? Foreign Affairs? Poverty? Nope. Saturday Night Live. Mainstream media.

Sarah Palin seems to be scratching and clawing at just about anything that will extend her 15 minutes of fame, just like an old American Idol contestant. I’m waiting for her to shave her head and show up at the MTV music awards. I mean, take O.J. Simpson for example. We hadn't really heard from him in years and then bam!, he busts into a Vegas hotel room, heads back to court and back onto our T.V. screens.

Mrs. Palin, I know you seem disturbed by how cruel the media can be, but don't use the same media that you're shocked by to keep you out on the newstands. Especially when you don't have anything of substance to say. Yes, it's a media circus and it seems you're just the "mama grizzly" in the center ring again this week.

I didn’t feel like posting the video of the interview on my page, so if you want you can check it out yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-95wkCMeUkk

photos at top from left to right: American Idol contestant Willian Hung, Britney Spears, O.J. Simpson, and Andrew Meyer ("Don't taze me bro'")

For Auld Lang Syne: New Year's Eve 2008

2009-01-05T17:14:00.010-05:00

I’ve made my living as a musician for the last 10 years and have usually had to work on New Year’s Eve. Plans for that evening would be laid out months in advance. I wouldn’t have to worry about it; what clubs to go to, their cover charges, who would drive. I would just have to sit up there and play, collect my dough at the end of the night and go home. It was great.

This year was different. No gig. My plans for New Year’s Eve came down to either spending a quiet evening with one sister-in-law, her husband and a couple of their friends, drinking wine in their warm living room near the fireplace, watching the ball drop on T.V., or go out with the other Sister-in-Law, The Sister-in-Law’s BFF, The Brother-in-Law , The Cousin and two of her buddies from college.

My wife looked at me and said, “Honey, what do you want to do? I could go either way.”

Oh no, I thought, don’t make me decide! It’s the dreaded, “Do-these-jeans-make-me-look-fat?” decision. On one hand I know my wife likes to go out dancing with her sister, but on the other I think she would probably enjoy a quiet evening just as much.

So I tried to outsmart her. I restated both ideas in slightly different ways and laid out a few other details hoping that she would make the decision because, honestly, I couldn’t care less.

Here’s the thing: I don’t care that much about New Year’s Eve. In my opinion, many people use holidays like New Year's Eve as an excuse to get even more hammered out of their minds than they usually do on a normal Friday and Saturday night. They hold New Year's Eve up on a grand pedestal, one that they engraved the night before with the words, “Greatest Night of My Life.” They expect so much out of their New Year's Eve that if the insane events they’ve built in the minds don’t actually come to fruition they look back at their etched pedestal with regret and disappointment; even though they’ll be going out the following weekend and doing the same thing, just without the ball dropping in Times Square.

We finally decided on going uptown.

Here now, is a log of the events that took place during my New Year's Eve. Enjoy:

8:30pm
We began the evening at The Sister-in-Law’s house. My Brother-in-Law had already started on a bottle of Jameson.

Said hey to The Cousin and introduced myself to her college buddies Beef and Wheezy.

The Sister-in-Law's BFF passed out party horns.

Pestered Sister-in-Law’s precious cats until it was time to go.

9pm
The cab arrived right on time, driven by a very nice, courteous and friendly man from Africa named Raphael. We packed 8 people into 6 seats in his mini-van taxi and headed downtown or uptown, whatever. On the way, one of The Cousin’s buddies, Wheezy, told a joke about a dog licking his privates. Raphael laughed, but not that much. I stared out the window hoping the night would be over soon.

9:20pm
We eventually arrived at Connolly’s, a nice little pub downtown, and squirmed out of the taxi like a bunch of circus clowns busting out of a VW bug. We stood on the sidewalk getting our ID’s out, bright eyed, so full of hope and excitement for a great New Year's Eve.

I liked Connolly’s. It was dark and not too busy and the Guinness tasted great. The music was good and we were still able to chat without screaming at each other. Wheezy and Beef left early because one had met a girl who was going over to a club called Dixie’s. We stayed at Connolly’s a little over an hour and then it was decided that it was time move on to a place called Alley Cats for dancing. I downed the last bit of what would be my only beer the entire night and headed out the door.

10:45 pm
The walk to Alley Cats was freezing!

Along the way we passed a large number of police officers scattered throughout the uptown area. They were like action figures with an assortment of cool accessories. Some were up on mechanical lifts looking down over the drunken pedestrians. Some were on foot, some on bicycles, others on those two-wheeled Segways that Mall cops ride. I even saw a couple of officers holding what looked to be paintball guns.

10:50 pm
Stood in line at Alley Cats trying to get closer to the heat lamp near the entrance. We stayed about 10 or 15 minutes and then members of our party started changing their minds again because they wanted to dance and they didn’t like the band that was playing and the DJ wasn’t coming on until midnight.

As a musician, I usually always take the side of live music and scowl at the DJ who takes all the work away from the musicians, but I have to admit that even I was disappointed in the band. It sounded like a teenage, indie-rock, garage band. Sorry fellas. So we ducked back under the line divider and into the street again.

The Cousin decided she wanted to go to Dixie’s because she and Beef, had agreed to make-out at midnight and she didn’t want to miss it.

11pm
The Cousin split off and the rest of us decided on going over to a place called “Home” which is really where I wanted to be at this point, at home in my living room having a glass of wine, watching a movie with my moccasins on.

11:10 pm
The walk to “Home” was excruciatingly cold. Bitter cold, cold that freezes your jaw and makes you talk funny and slow.

11:15 pm
We got into the club and actually found a table! It was warm! They were serving food! I wanted some scotch to warm up my insides. It was perfect! Right? Wrong.

We sat down and The BFF wanted to go to their favorite neighborhood bar, The Thomas St. Tavern, instead. The Sister-in-Law, who was starting to feel the pressure of the evening settle in around us, said that that would be a good idea. At this point, my wife and I looked at each other. I could see it in her face. A look of, first, disappointment in herself because there was a time when she loved going out with the girls and dancing and having a couple of drinks, and second, a look of I’m-sick-of-this-of-crap. She said, “I would’ve been fine anywhere we went. But if we’re going to go somewhere else we might as well just call it a night.” I concurred. I said, “You know what, why don’t we just go home. You guys can go and have fun at Thomas St. and we’ll just head home and relax.”

Of course this made The Sister-in-Law feel worse. She had now taken all of our New Year’s Eve pedestals onto her shoulders, trying to balance them to keep them from falling and shattering all over the street. She laid out her argument for Thomas St. Tavern and finally I turned to my wife and said, “Ok, honey, let’s just go to T St.” It was nearing 11:30 and I figured we could at least get in on the countdown with family and friends.

11:25 pm
So back into the taxi. Drive across town to get to T st. The BFF had run into other friends sitting around a fire pit outside and invited us to sit out there with them. “Are you kidding?” I thought. “It’s freezing out here!” Maybe if you created a ring of bonfires and let us sit the center then maybe, but one little gas fueled boy scout campfire wasn’t gonna cut it.

My wife and I found a table inside with The Brother-in-Law. The Sister-in-Law and The BFF eventually followed. At this point I was starving, and had to pee somewhere back around the time we left Connolly’s. I went to the men’s room. We ordered food. I had the most amazing Reuben sandwich, maybe because my stomach was eating itself. My wife ordered another beer but eventually just gave it to drunk Brother-in-Law. We got some free champagne.

11:59:50 pm
Countdown. Watched the ball drop in Times Square. It felt strange to me to actually be on the east coast when the ball dropped. Being from the west coast the T.V. networks always had to rebroadcast the countdown so it would line up with Pacific time.

12 am
I kissed my wife and took a sip of champagne. Didn’t finish it.

12:15 am
A fight broke out. A huge tangle of bodies almost like a rugby scrim or a ball of mating snakes bumped into our table. A big bald guy was angry about something, pointing back at another guy and shouting obscenities as other people tried to keep them separated and moving toward the door. We snapped pictures.

12:30 pm
Wife and I decided to leave and believing that cabs would be showing up every five minutes ended up having to call three cabs before we could get one. I had been waiting outside in the cold for about 15 minutes when a group of patrons in their late 30’s came out holding up one of their intoxicated friends who looked like a punch-drunk prize fighter that just competed in a beauty pageant. They helped her walk out to the curb, her eyes half-closed and glassy, her sparkly “Happy New Year” tiara hanging crooked on the side of her head.

To my surprise, one of The Prize Fighter’s friends jumped out in the street and stopped a cab just pulling up. I couldn’t believe it.

I had been standing out in the cold waiting for a taxi and this guy thinks he can just jump out in the street ahead of me and “steal” my cab? I said, “Hey buddy, I was waiting for that cab.” He ignores me, opens the sliding door and rushes back to his group of friends. And in the second it takes him to get back to the curb the beauty queen prize fighter squats down into the gutter and vomits all over her fancy new New Year’s Eve pants and the street.

Now with all the attention drawn to her, I see my chance. I looked back through the front window of the tavern and motioned to my wife. She raced out and as the group was helping their friend finish her vomit session we jumped into the already opened door of their cab and drove off.

1 am
The drive home was quiet, so good and quiet. One of the first things I said was, “Next year we’re staying at home.” My wife agreed with me before I even finished my sentence.

Parking Garage

2009-01-03T11:05:00.004-05:00

I was in uptown Charlotte, NC yesterday and discovered a pretty amazing parking garage located near the corner of 5th and Wilkes Place. What you're seeing are small reflective plates that are shimmering in the wind giving the effect of ripples of water. Not bad for a parking garage. The city probably bulldozed over some historic building or site to put it there, but at least they made it interesting.

Wagons East

2008-12-26T23:06:00.007-05:00

Several months ago, my wife and I decided we would move back to her hometown: Charlotte, North Carolina. Upon hearing the news my mother said she wasn’t that fond of the idea but she supported us and my father asked why we were doing this during such a terrible economic time. My friends said get used to the heat and humidity. Someone else asked, “Don’t they get a lot of hurricanes?”

After spending Thanksgiving with my parents, my wife and I drove away and pointed our wagons east, letting go of California. I’ve never lived outside the Golden State and the thought of not seeing some of these places again made my stomach upset.

We were bound for a place I had visited only a few times. I would be buying a house and living near in-laws and making new friends. I was worried about finding work. My wife’s a nurse and had already been hired. I’m a musician with no college degree and not many skills other than singing and playing harmonica. I had been touring and working steadily and now all of that was going to be wiped away. My whole way of life was about to change.

I’ve been to the South many times and as a Californian I was fascinated and enamored by its culture—the music, the food, the rich green landscape. But really, the first thing I began noticing about Charlotte was that people I’d met here were never actually from Charlotte. It was rare, except for my in-laws, to find someone who was born and raised here. My next-door neighbor is from Wisconsin. The girl at our bank is from Vermont. The guy who installed our cable, from Connecticut. During my first Waffle House experience a few nights ago (they don’t exist in CA) one of the waitresses overheard me talking about where I was from. It turned out we were born in the same hospital in Hanford, CA! It gave me a comforting feeling knowing that I wasn’t the only one trying to adjust to saying “y’all” instead of “you guys.”

My wife and I stopped by the admissions department at Central Piedmont Community College to see about getting me signed up for classes so that I might be able to take that hand drawn diploma off the wall and get a real one. But I didn’t really know what I wanted to do and I haven’t been to school in about 10 years. Besides that, the out-of-state fees are frightening. So, instead, my wife was going to help me dust off my resume. I think it’s in an old trunk in the attic somewhere. The list of occupations and employers only goes about halfway down the page so I’m probably going to have to make something up. I've had no luck on Craig's List and the NASCAR Hall of Fame doesn't open until 2010.

I told my wife that when I do find a job, I would like to ride my bike to work. She said, “Honey no. You can’t do that, it’s dangerous. People don’t ride their bikes to work here.” I told her well, you’re just not used to riding a bike. So I tried to ride a bicycle down to the YMCA one day and had to pedal the entire way on the sidewalk or else be clipped by the side mirror of an SUV. Instead, I’ve been using my wife’s grandmother’s Chevy to get around trying to figure out if I’m on Queens Road or Queens Road West. Or is it Kings? Wait, I was just on Providence, but now it’s 3rd. Tyvola, Fairview, Sardis. Billy Graham, Woodlawn, Runnymede.

Now let me be clear, these are merely observations. These are not criticisms. I love the little brick house we moved into. I’m excited knowing that I can someday own a leaf blower. I love that eventually things will turn deep green again. I’m amazed by lighting bugs (also not in CA). I love that I can get sweet tea anytime, anywhere. People are nothing but friendly. I love seeing my wife happy about being near her family again; spending time with her siblings. Getting to take her nephews to see the singing mechanical bears at Founders Hall.

Several months back I spoke to a telephone operator who worked for our moving company. And after all the details were settled she said, “Oh, y’all are gonna love Charlotte. It’s cozy.”

That’s good enough for me.