Mass. bound mix tape

Music has always been a big part of my life. Baseball, riding bikes and around the age of 8, discovering rock 'n roll via my cheap transistor radio and WPNO (AM-1590). For today's post-modern travelers, AM and rock 'n roll are like oil and water. However, for someone of my advanced age, growing up in the late 1960's/early 1970's, hearing Blue Cheer's version of "Summertime Blues" on our local AM rock station was not uncommon.

One of the cool things about WPNO was their weekly top ten list that you could pick up at some of the local retailers like Sparks Department Store, or Kresge's in Lewiston. My mother, who always drove to Lewiston on Friday to grocery shop, received a weekly request to pick up the latest 'PNO offering. For an eight or nine-year-old, first embracing the medium of rock, I had a sense of empowerment--I thought I could influence the DJ's and place my favorite songs on the list. For instance, when Grand Funk did a cover of Little Eva's "Locomotion", I called the station multiple times for a week and sure enough, the "hot track of the week" was none other than my fave song. Was it coincidence? I think not!

My love and fascination of rock has not dampened over the years. Even though I'm in the process of doing a million things in order to get myself out the door and off to the Cape, one of my priorities is a mix tape for the drive south. In this day of high tech devices, Ipods, satellite radio and other gadgets, my '98 Taurus wagon is equipped appropriately, with a tape deck. Hence, if I want to listen to something other than bad FM rock via the stations south of here (personally, I don't find the Boston stations any better than Maine--just more bad choices available), I have to provide my own selections via a mix tape.

Having become a regular traveler south on those 2 3/4 hour trips to Wheaton and other ball fields, certain bands have been frequent fellow passengers. Swervedriver, a British band with an affinity for books and effects pedals, has been a favorite soundtrack for the past three years. Their Rave Down LP, with songs like "Son of a Mustang Ford", "Pile-Up" and "Sandblasted" seem to be the perfect music to navigate the crazy traffic in and around Boston. At 85+ mph and drivers who have no understanding of lane management, I often feel like a stock car driver at Darlington or Daytona.

On this trip, I'll also have Matthew Sweet, Idlewild (the perfect post-modern group of blokes, literate and possessing the caustic wit of all great UK bands), as well as a truly great and typically under-appreciate U.S. band, Swearing at Motorists (how appropriate, seeing that I'll be fender-to-fender with some of the craziest drivers around).

Gotta' go and get Bernie (my trusty Sheltie companion) to his weekend lodgings, finish the mix tape and throw some clothes in the travel bag.

Please send some positive energy my way and towards the Wheaton Lyons. Let's hope they can play up to their abilities and that the seniors, as well as big #24 stays hot. If that happens, I may be reporting from Wisconsin next weekend! Peace out.

Some baseball R & R

The past two weeks have been absolutely crazy. I often forget how much work there is to getting a Twilight League season off the ground. Usually, it's just my own team and the administrative details of putting a competitive squad together. Added to that this year is my role as league president and the work that's gone into getting the new Lewiston/Auburn team off the ground.

On top of all of that, I've been trying to finish my book. I'm so close--just two chapters left. Actually, less than that, as I've written about half of one of the remaining two chapters.

I'm planning on spending a few days away from the blog altogether. I'm headed to Cape Cod to watch my son's team, the Wheaton Lyons, as the play in the Division Three baseball regional in Harwich, Massachusetts. My son has had a stellar year and was recently voted to the All-New England Team, as the First Team Designated Hitter. Needless to say, his Dad (as well as his Mom) are very proud.

I'm planning on enjoying the ballgames and will probably have some pictures to post over at the other site, next week.

Filling the tank for democracy

All of us who drive cars have to buy gas. It's actually very painful at present to fill up the tank with prices well over $2.00/gallon. Here's a way to alleviate some of the pain if you are not a fan of The Fuhrer.

Apparently, Citgo is a wholly owned subsidiary of Venezuela's state-owned oil company. Money you pay to Citgo goes primarily to Venezuela -- not Saudi Arabia or the Middle East. What better way to protest the Bush foreign policy than to gas up at your local Citgo. You can find a station here.

According to Jeff Cohen over at Common Dreams, "By buying your gasoline at Citgo, you are contributing to the billions of dollars that Venezuela's democratic government is using to provide health care, literacy and education, and subsidized food for the majority of Venezuelans. "

"Instead of using government to help the rich and the corporate, as Bush does, Chavez is using the resources and oil revenue of his government to help the poor in Venezuela. A country with so much oil wealth shouldn't have 60 percent of its people living in poverty, earning less than $2 per day. With a mass movement behind him, Chavez is confronting poverty in Venezuela. That's why large majorities have consistently backed him in democratic elections. And why the Bush administration supported an attempted military coup in 2002 that sought to overthrow Chavez."

What a novel concept--using the wealth of one's country to alleviate the suffering and eliminate the poverty of its people. Good lord, that's downright revolutionary!

For me, it's easy, as I usually hit the Citgo in Yarmouth on my way south. It's convenient, as it's on the southbound side of Route 1, just off from I-95.

If you have a Citgo in your area, drop your $20-25 and support some democracy for a change.

This is the anti-boycott in support of the anti-Bush.

Losing another icon

With the arrival of the interstates and America’s embrace of the automobile came the need for roadside diners and lodging along the country’s byways. With its bright orange roof, Howard Johnson’s loomed as a beacon for tired and hungry travelers, becoming a stopover of choice (and often necessity) for those on the move.

Like so many things linked to our nostalgic glances backwards, Howard Johnson’s is slowly fading away, as the chain that once had 800 restaurants stretching across the fruited plane, is now down to eight. According to Walter Mann of North Haven, Connecticut, the decline of the chain began 25 years ago, after the company was acquired by a British conglomerate. Mann, who runs a website devoted to the venerable roadside chain, indicates that the company has been sold two more times since and now sits in the hands of Franchise Associates, Inc.

My experience with Howard Johnson’s is limited to a couple of stops over the years in Springfield, Massachusetts, traveling westward on the Mass Pike. One could usually get a burger--fat and greasy like it was meant to be--not dry like cardboard as many of the processed fast food versions are. Granted, with the arrival of the food Nazis and all the health warnings against any of life’s guilty pleasures, fat and greasy hamburgers are the food equivalent to cigarettes--items guaranteed to get you listed as a “leper” and shunned, if caught using

I also recall a song by the New England band NRBQ. I’m not sure what the song title was, but they sang a song with the words, “Howard Johnson’s got his HoJo working, HoJo working on me.”

Mrs. Words tells of a childhood memory of bowling and burgers at the local Howard Johnson’s in Falmouth. Her friend, from the ritzy side of town, that being Cumberland Foreside, used to have a birthday party which meant bowling and then a post-lanes shindig at the orange-roofed eatery on Route 1. The Mrs. recalls it being her first (and only) birthday party where she went to a restaurant.

“It was fun to be able to choose anything off the menu,” said Mrs. W.

Interestingly, the former HoJo's in Falmouth became a well-known local eatery for several years, with this writer logging a season of discontent waiting tables there. During my winter of desperation in 1997, while between my series of dead-end corporate gigs, I worked for the eatery slinging hash and regaling diners with my sharp wit and caustic sense-of-humor. Fortunately for me, a falling-out with my boss made my stay there relatively brief--I wasn't much of a waiter.

Mrs. Words, who travels about the state and occasionally southern New England, recently stayed at one of the remaining eight HoJo’s while working in Bangor. She recalls the waitresses being very friendly, but that the cleanliness of the hotel wasn’t up to par with competitors such as the Ramada, Days Inns, or Holiday Inns that she’s stayed at.

With Bangor being one of the few left, I hope I’ll have the opportunity over the next few months to stop in, chat with the friendly staff and have one of their 16 flavors of ice cream (they used to have 28) before they shutter the place and tear it down.

Have you heard of Phantom Buffalo?

This week has been an odd week. I've had very little time to write and focus on the book. One book-related event was my Wednesday evening talk that went very well. It's a bit intimidating to speak in your former home town, in front of family, friends and those who remember all the stupid things you did as an angst-ridden adolsescent. All told, the turnout and reaction to "Local Baseball Made Me Do It" was very positive.

I also spent some time driving in the car running errands locally. This allowed me the guilty pleasure of listening to some local college rock via WBOR and WRBC. On Thursday, while off to see my friend Marina become an American citizen, I heard this incredible track by Phantom Buffalo on WBOR. If anyone has never heard of them, they are this virtually unknown (at least locally) band of former art students (?) who were formerly called The Ponys. Apparently, some midwestern band already had rights to the name, so the band formerly known as The Ponys are now, Phantom Buffalo. I do remember this band having a killer track on a previous GFAC 207 CD. I also caught part of their set at the 2003 WERU Full Circle Fair.

Lest you think that my gushings about them are merely the product and perspective of a holed-up writer with tunnel vision, I found these reviews. Curiously, these are from across the pond, from both the BBC, as well as No Wax. Maybe these guys are gods in the UK?

As crazy as I've been with my baseball organizational chores this week, I've enjoyed the paucity of time I've spent focused on politics. Remarkably, my outlook has been amazingly close to what some might call optimism. Maybe there is some inverse correlation between music, happiness and sick fixations regarding political corruption.