Do you have a friend called "Drugs?"

I find amusement in the things that stick with me for no reason at all. 25 year old stuff that matters to no one. Please allow me to explain.

This evening, I sent my dear friend a picture of me flipping off a baseball player's water color portrait in the exercise room at the Holiday Inn Express in Raleigh, NC. I have no idea who the player is, and I mean no particular offense to him or his chosen profession. The pic was for my friend who hates baseball, and equally for me who has grown to dislike the game with authority. She laughed, mission accomplished.

With that in mind, I was reminded of a recent purchase.

One of the scourges of my short life is finding a baseball cap that works for me. I have been blessed with very few that I actually like, and the minute I get one that works, I lose it, leave it or wear it the hell out. Hence, the search is evergreen and continues year after bloody year.

I was at Target a few weeks ago, looking to replace a few items I lost in the (almost famous) chicken fire. Of course I stopped and looked at hats. Basically, unless I wanted to advertise Corona or Ford, it was No Bueno on the cool kid side of the French Walmart.

After stopping and looking at children's books (yeah, that's me), I noticed a Pittsburgh Fan Athletic Wear section close to the limited selection of automobile accessories. Of course they had hats. Of course I tried them on.

After much debate, I opted for the option I normally would never do. I bought the Pirates Hat. Why? It was an impulse and the best on the rack. I am not very fond of the mustard yellow the Pens have adopted, and most of the Steelers gear is marketed toward Affliction wanna-be city hicks.

Still, I questioned the purchase immediately. After a V8 head slap, I reminded myself of some half assed life advice someone had told me many years ago.

Back in the day, on Peach Street, across from Fred Biletnikoff Field, in the heart of Erie, PA, lived a local pot dealer named Sam. A 14 year old Nago (along with his click of Hessian ruffians) would walk this route each and every day to get between cribs. He lived around the corner from Shane, and just a few block from Roger.

I remember being in Sam's apartment on a few occasions, of course we were scoring weed. I guess he saw enough of us to let us be cool with him. He may have been a friend of Roger's brother, I don't remember, honestly, it doesn't really matter.

Sam used to walk around town in a "Just Say No" ball cap. No one seemed to bat an eye at this. At 14, my posse' understood irony on a basic level, so one afternoon, one of us asked him while passing on the street:

"Sam, what's with the hat, dude?"
Sam didn't bat an eye with his response: "It don't pay to advertise."

Drawing a conclusion on the pirates cap? I do live in Pittsburgh, and when in Rome, bathe in public bath houses.

That's it for tonight, kids. Love each other equally, and do things unexpected.

Nago.

Scooby-Dad and the Guitar Wax Box

I received a list of items deemed "non-restorable" by the company handling the fire clean-up. Some things are silly things, other things are less so, all of it is replaceable, so NBD.

However, on this list, buried 35 lines down on page 4, a mystery item appears: Guitar Wax Box. What in the seven rings is a guitar wax box?

Now, I'm aware guitar wax is a thing, and it's safe to assume it comes in a box of some sort, but I don't purchase Guitar Wax, my son has no clue what it is, and why would anyone outside an OCD professional waste time or money on such an item?

This had me perplexed, so I checked the Google box for more info: 

Plenty of Guitar Wax, right? Free Shipping!!!!!! Hell yes, but it comes in a bottle or can. Neither Mocha or I actually use any guitar wax, so why is it listed here on this sheet?

Now I'm bummed. I want my guitar wax box back so I can unravel this mystery. I'd very much like to say things like "Zoinks!" and pull the mask off the Guitar Wax Box to reveal Don Knots screwing with me. Maybe I just don't remember buying Guitar Wax, but if this is just a box the said wax product came in, then it’s safe to assume I bought it, took it out of the box, misplaced it, and left the box out to be non-restorable in a chicken fire? Too many random acts for me. Strange things are afoot at the Casa Nago.


In an unrelated story, yesterday, my buddy at work told me he was going to hire a camera crew to follow me around. He thinks the chicken fire episode would do well in his imaginary Nelson ratings. I had to remind him that the last time we hung out, he damn near lost an eyebrow from falling (Nestea Plunge) into the key hook board at the valet outside of Nakama. This was after the Budos Band tore up the Rex Theater in Pittsburgh last year. According to him, it was still my fault, because he was hanging around with me. That's right, the DD who ended up at UPMC getting a friend’s eyebrow sewn back on, after god knows how many pollutants said friend ingested, was to blame. I guess I do live an interesting life. Bring on the camera crew (but not all the time, I like to introvert on occasion).

Standing down.


Nago

La Cervesa Mas Fina

Last night, I attended an open mic locally here in Pittsburgh. It's always bitchin to see the level of talent that comes out and shares their eclectic skill set with friends and strangers. I dig the vibe. 

I got up on stage early and played a few originals. I also worked in a cover mash-up of Hungry Heart/Runaway Sue (they’re basically the same chord progression, and some other guys wanted to play along, so eff it). I'm getting a little more comfortable with playing acoustic live music, but I have a long way to go before I'm rad enough to feel like a boss.

Despite my insecurity, it's always a good time. I drank enough Pepsi to cause a diabetes crash. I had to cut off the bartender from re-filling me for the 6th time, which she found quite funny. I listened as the crowd drowned their sorrows, celebrated joys and bitched about problems. I can't say if anyone else stopped to just genuinely enjoy the vibe as I did, I certainly hope someone did. Beer was flowing in every direction but mine, and I felt the room get liquidly wiser. I almost regret leaving, but duty calls, and being a mess in the morning is not an option, even if it would be a sugar crash.

On my way out the door, the last guy I saw play was killing it with covers of Talking Heads, Dire Straits and Men at Work. I believe he pulled out a Wings cover also. Super cool stuff from a talented local guy.

Pittsburgh still has a '70's/80's vibe to it under the surface. A black drop ceiling with gold walls? Check. Pure Prairie League on rotation? Check. Donnie Iris? Check. It's a vibe I hope stays for a while longer. It's a city where they re-run nostalgic shows on PBS older than the local history covered in the documentary. A 35-year-old documentary on closing West View park? Do the math. I'm right.

So now I'm lying in my hotel (still camped out from the protein fire fiasco for at least another week) thinking about how good yesterday was. Great weather, work, friends and music. I want to bookmark it mentally. For a minute, I felt better than just existing. Ups and downs, good stuff.

Watching people do their thing tonight brought and old lyric back to the surface. It's a song about working, faith (or lack thereof), love and loss. It's a D, A, G song, and attempt at country from someone who knows nothing about country.

https://youtu.be/_xBg4IICNhY

Enjoy, or don't. 

Nago 

Silly Love Blogs...

I had a conversation last night regarding how crazy it is the Beatles still fascinate and inspire the hearts and minds of the masses. So much so, to this day, anyone can write a book, movie or article about anything related to the topic, and actually profit from it. It's been 46 years, and we still gobble up "new information." (Insert irony, it's a blog about the B...... Never mind).

I'm not going to tear down any of these works. I do consume with caution when the sources pull out 50 year old memories, especially during a cash grab. They have a tendency to rely heavily on refined opinion. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but a person can create 50 years of separation from the actual event while over emphasizing the importance of their own contribution. Call it human nature.

Writing about actual events, and trying to keep assumptions of the author out of it is difficult. In some cases it's impossible. I have heard about a published work on the moment John Lennon "discovered rock and roll." I have not read it, but assume it is a work of complete fiction. If I ever stumble across it, I'll read it. I reserve the right to "stick it to the man" by buying it at a second hand book store. Books like this may just deserve a "straight to paperback" download section (more irony?) on my Amazon Prime account. $0.98 purchase would motivate me to get it faster. 

Rock and Roll fan fiction isn't new. Most times, a fictional account of an event is better than the actual event. Last year in Las Vegas I saw the "Million Dollar Quartet" musical and loved it. I've always enjoyed the movie "Almost Famous," and I have several works of fan fiction on my own bookshelf. It's a fun way to pay tribute.

A romanticized version from a genuine place of admiration? What's wrong with that, I'd like to know, cause here I go, again....

That's me though. An odd duck leaning every direction but straight down the middle. I tend to look backward into nostalgia for some strange reason, and at the same time, I create grandiose plans for the future. Both burn me equally. I'm totally cool with that. Pessimistic attitudes bore me, even my own on occasion. 

This morning I'm spending a much needed (and long overdue) bonding moment with Paul McCartney's 1971 solo LP "Ram." I feel like Paul was in a similar mindset. The troubling past was sort of behind him, and the future was sort of in front of him. Not really a limbo moment, but not balls out living for the moment either. 

Here's a partial summary of the Wiki: 

1. Critics at the time hated it.
2. Legal BS surrounded him at the time
3. Credited to Paul and Linda
4. Lyrically and musically pissed off the other Beatles.

And so on. 

It's no Abby Road, but it's a good solo release completely on par with anything else of the day. There is a nice continuity to it. I wasn't there, but I can't imagine anyone on the street level hating it. It's not even remotely bad at all.

Maybe 45 years of musical hindsight skews any possibility of actually understanding what the issues were. I can cut through some of the crap and say that RAM isn't a Beatles record. Is it possible the critics expected Paul to run home and fix the issues? Like a musical equivalent to slut shaming? 

Who knows what the hell was going on in the moment except the moment itself? I am aware of the folklore surrounding the time, so no need to educate me on it. I wouldn't even trust Paul’s "PR" response today on the subject. He is very good at painting rosy pictures regarding tough questions. His hindsight is a positive force of nature.

It's enough for me to just enjoy his work on this October Sunday morning. It is a small moment in my life where the demons are a bit silent. The dark is not quite gone, and the light of day is not quite here. It looks to be overcast anyway and that's ok too. It's familiar ground.

Nago.

PS: sorry for 6 month break. I was reminded yesterday how much I love writing, and it motivated me. Thank you MAN.