Happy Birthday, Naked Miles Davis

A few times I have played that ice-breaking game where you tell a group of people something true and something false about yourself, and they have to guess which is which. I always include the statement that I was once alone naked in a room with Miles Davis. It usually wakes the crowd, especially in work environments, and has never been selected as true, but it is.

It was a locker room, but it still counts. We were alone, very early in the morning, and I did not feel entirely comfortable. This fellow was very talkative and a little odd, not good traits in a naked stranger. I did not know at first it was Miles Davis.

It was the locker room at the gym at the U.N. Plaza Hotel in New York. It was almost exactly 27 years ago, in the last week of May, 1986. I was just married, on my honeymoon.

My wife (now ex-wife) and I were from New York, and had courted there as high school kids, but had moved away, and decided to spend part of our honeymoon in the city we loved with some money in our pockets now. In the old days our dates consisted of walking in Central Park with perhaps an iced tea and a pretzel to split. Now we would stay at a fancy hotel and go to plays and restaurants.

The U.N. Plaza was a nice place at the time. We didn't want anything too fussy, and we liked the fact that it had a gym with a big pool on the top floor, with views of the city as you swam.

I was up at 7 one morning to swim. My wife stayed in bed and I told her I'd be back by 8 for breakfast. I was the only one at the gym at that hour, and it was great, the place all to myself.

I look up, though, as I'm doing laps, and there's a guy at the side of the pool. He is very skinny, doing stretching exercises. They are very slight movements, but he is making a lot of noise: kind of high-pitched squealing sounds.

It is a little distracting, and I try to ignore the guy, but it isn't easy. The movements are strange, and so are the sounds, and he is kind of striking, besides. He is built like linguine, with a boney head. He is dark-skinned, and his hair is in long braids off a receding hairline, with gold metal tips. He is maybe 60 years old, wearing a very small Speedo, and a watch and other jewelry such as swimmers don't usually sport.

I take the guy for maybe an African ambassador. We are at the U.N. Plaza, after all. I figure in the name of diplomacy I won't say anything, but after a while it becomes a bit much. The guy isn't getting in the pool or anything. After a while I figure I am done.

I get out of the pool and dry myself off and go into the locker room. The place is fancy and there's an attendant outside and there are no locks on the lockers. I sit down in front of mine to get dressed. I hear my man coming in from the the pool and think, watch, 100 lockers here and I bet he's right next to mine.

Sure enough: he walks over, opens the locker right next to mine, and sits down next to me.

And I mean next to me, like a foot away, maximum: a lot closer than necessary. I shift to my left a bit, tired of diplomacy.

I'm pulling on my pants and socks and the guy starts coughing. Deep, phlegmy coughs. "Man," he says, after the exertion. "Hey, man," he says to me. "When you go swimming, does your saliva get all sticky like this?" and he holds out his hand, full of gob.

"Come on, man," I say, scowling and squirming away. "I don't want to look at your saliva."

"Come on, man!" he responds. His voice is scratchy and his accent sounds American, not African. "Take a look! That's all I'm asking, does your saliva get all sticky like this?"

"I don't know," I say, still scowling. "It gets a little sticky, I guess. Were you even in the pool?"

"That's what I mean!" he says. He's shaking his hand back and forth. "And this is some sticky motherfucking shit!"

Now I have a pretty good idea he is not African, though what do I care. All I want him to be is a guy I'm no longer around.

But he continues to talk, and all of a sudden it is interesting to me, because his vernacular is so funny, and his voice strangely familiar. I still haven't really looked at him yet, until he starts talking about being "in Russia with my band."

It was a long story, but here is the end of it. He says, "I passed out on the stage. They took me out of there and put me in an ambulance. I woke up and said, 'Where you taking me, motherfucker?' And they said to the hospital. And I said, to a motherfucking Russian hospital? I ain't going to no motherfucking Russian hospital. Take me to a fucking American hospital. And they said America's 2000 miles away except for Alaska. And I said take me to fucking Alaska, then. And they did, they put my ass in a plane and flew me there. At least I think they did. They spoke English there, anyway. Motherfucker," he mused.

At this point I look over at him, because my heart is beating so hard I figure he can hear it, because I realize this is Miles Davis. He looks back at me.

"What's your name, man?" He held out his hand to shake. The other hand.

"Steve," I said, my voice not shaking, with effort. We shook hands. "I'm Miles," he said. "Yeah," I said.

"I never seen you here before, man," he said. "You a member of the club? You live around here?"

"No," I say. "I'm here on my honeymoon. Staying at the hotel."

"Your honeymoon?," he says. "You motherfucker. You got married?"

"Yeah," I say. This is fun now. "I got married. You know. You get married and you go on a honeymoon."

"You motherfucker," he said. "Don't tell me about no honeymoon. I been married four - five times." We were both were trying not to laugh.

"You got a wife?" he continued. "Where you get a wife?" I explained about our history, our marriage, and lives. He listened as he dressed. I couldn't help noticing bills folded in a money clip, about an inch thick. Between that and his jewelry he was carrying thousands of dollars, who knows how many, with no entourage, no bodyguard, all alone, 150 pounds maybe.

He asked if I was interested in music, and I said yes, and did I play anything, and I said yes, and he asked all about that, and talked about his love, too, for country blues. It was as if I was the famous one.

By no means did I want to go - I'd had a chance to ask him a few questions, but not many - but, as I explained to him, my wife was expecting me. In fact, I was late.

"Fuck, well, yeah, late. You don't want to be late for shit on your honeymoon. Let's go, but what are you doing later? Why don't you and Amy come up to my house?"

I said thanks, but in fact we had the whole day planned. We were meeting my parents for lunch, and hers for dinner.

"Bring them, too," he said. "It's a big place." He gave me the address.

"It's a great offer, Miles, you're very generous, and I would love to do it," I said, "but you know how it is. We've had these plans a long time."

"Yeah," he said. "Well, anyway. If you change your mind, come by. Tell the guy at the door just to send you up or call me."

We walked out of the locker room together. I was maybe half an hour late: we had talked a long time. He asked me, "Think you in trouble?"

"Maybe," I said. "Here comes my wife." Amy was walking out of the elevator to come find me. I knew she wasn't mad, but I let him think I was worried.

"Uh-oh," he said. "Wow. Let me do the talking. Tell her it was all my fault."

"Don't curse," I said.

"Don't curse?" he said, That threw him a second. I laughed. "Motherfucker," he said laughing, under his breath.

My wife had a funny look as she realized I was not just walking beside this very well-dressed, older Black man, but with him. What now, said the look. It intensified as he strode up to her, arms outstretched, calling her name. "Amy, Amy, Amy," he said, hugging her. "I'm so sorry, baby. Here you are on your honeymoon and I'm keeping your husband late from you. But I'm so happy to meet you. I'm so happy for you on your marriage and your lives together. I wish you so many blessings."

"Amy," I said, "this is Miles Davis."

We never made it to his place. I might have tried harder if he had mentioned, as we were celebrating our marriage days before on 24 May, he had just celebrated his birthday, 26 May. I'm writing this on the day in between. Happy anniversary and happy birthday, Miles Davis.

WRFI Radio Striding Ahead

WRFI community radio is a great new reason to listen to radio in Ithaca. The station has been busy creating new programming, and it seems every time we tune in there is something engaging, among both the news and the music shows.

Our current favorite is The Joe Show, with our friend Joe Romano, Tuesdays from 7 to 9 p.m. Joe is old and new school, both, with the music he plays and the way he presents it, with plenty of verve and charm.

Joe is Marketing Manager at GreenStar Coop, and we sense he is helping RFI heighten its profile. Recently he broadcast live from a roller derby bout. If that isn't community radio, what is?

We have heard that RFI will have a contingent striding in the Ithaca Festival parade next Wednesday. Go look at them, listen to the station, and take one of the many opportunities to get involved with this exciting and valuable venture. WRFI 88.1 FM has a website and a Facebook page.

40th Anniversary of the Camden 28

On the Democracy Now program today, host Amy Goodman mentioned the 45th anniversary of the antiwar protests of the Catonsville Nine. On 17 May 1968 the nine, including Father Dan Berrigan of Cornell, burned records at a draft office in Catonsville, Maryland in protest of the war in Vietnam.

This month also marks the 40th anniversary of the trial of the Camden 28, who raided a draft office in Camden, New Jersey to confiscate draft registrations. That group included Dan Berrigan and John Grady, Sr. of Ithaca.

John was a professor at Ithaca College and the father of five children. Among the children are MaryAnne, Clare, and Ellen Grady, who are active in various peace and justice movements today. John passed away in 2002.

The Camden group had been infiltrated by the FBI, which had 40 agents hidden at the scene of the raid. Upon arrest, each protestor faced over 40 years in prison on felony charges.

Members declined a plea bargain and went to trial. They invoked the responsibility of citizens to act against governments engaged in "crimes against peace," as articulated in the Nuremberg Principles after World War II. Their defense focused on the legal principal of "jury nullification" of a law deemed wrongly formed or applied.

On 20 May 1973, the jury found the 28 defendants not guilty on all charges. The trial was an historic affirmation of jury nullification and civil disobedience.

On its 40th anniversary, we remember Dan Berrigan, of Cornell United Religious Work, and our friend John Grady, a man whose courage shook the earth, and laughter shook the skies.

New CD By Rockwood Ferry; Article in Ithaca Times

We have observed the Ithaca music scene a long time, and think that Tenzin Chopak and his band, Rockwood Ferry, have gotten fonder, faster fervor from local fans than anyone we've ever seen.

The band recently released its second CD. Also called Rockwood Ferry, it is all original music. It is available at the band's website and gigs.

We wrote an article for the current week's Ithaca Times about the band. It got a little mangled in print, but the original version is posted pretty nicely on the Ithaca Times website.

Comedic Correction in the New York Times

Of course, how long will I remember this one, but if there was ever a better correction proferred by the New York Times, I don't remember it:

"A feature transcribed incorrectly a comment from Callie Khouri, creator of the television drama 'Nashville,' about what she would put on her Easter playlist. Khouri said she would include music by Pops Staples, the late patriarch of the singing family the Staple Singers. She did not say she would include 'pop staples.' "

Coincidental to the humor, I learned something. Even as a longtime fan of Pops and the group, I never recognized before that, individually, each is "Staples," but collectively, they are "Staple" Singers.

Soft Sell For Mother's Day

We like the soft-sell sign for Mother's Day outside the Jewelbox shop at the corner of Buffalo and Taughannock. "Mom - You Were Right," it says. Pretty universal.

Mother's Day is this Sunday, 12 May.

R.I.P., George Jones: Music Legend, GrassRoots Performer

I've known Jeb Puryear, of Donna The Buffalo, a long time, living and working in the same circles, but we've had very few conversations. Maybe Jeb is a man of few words, or maybe I am (actually - obviously to you IBlog readers - I am not).

Anyhow, one of those few conversations was about having a Ferris wheel at GrassRoots Festival. It seemed an excellent idea, especially while Jeb and I drank cool drinks, there at the Trumansburg Fairgrounds, and thought about how good things could be, or how better.

Another idea that emerged was to have George Jones perform, someday, at GrassRoots. Somehow, in our middling conversation, Jeb and I discovered that we were both huge fans of the man.

The Ferris wheel never appeared, but George Jones did, a couple of years ago. He was past his prime, a little - in one's eighties, one will be - but he was still great. You know. He was George Jones.

For the generation after Hank Williams, at least, George Jones was the greatest country singer - the greatest American singer? - ever. What the hell: put George up against old Hank. It'd make a good bar argument; and they'd probably both like that. (I guess if we're talking American singers, and not just country, you'd have to throw ol' Frank in there too; but that's okay - he'd probably like that bar talk, too.)

Rest in peace, Trumansburg visitor, GrassRoots performer, legendary man of music - with our repsect and gratitude - George Jones.

Run For Boston At The DeMott Peace Trot, 16 June

Frida Berrigan is a prominent peace activist and an avid runner. Here we quote Frida's blog, Waging Nonviolence, about Ithaca's annual run for peace, dedicated to her friend (and ours), the late Peter DeMott. Frida will run the 5K race and intends to run in Boston next year.

"The DeMott Trot is a great way to start getting in shape for the Boston Marathon next year, so come out and run for peace, friendship, nonviolence, family, and community. Come out and run against fear and hatred and bombings and terror and tyranny and BBs and small nails and lost limbs and lost lives - in Boston, Baghdad, Mogadishu and anywhere else in the world."

Frida quotes a friend about the value of running (we especially like it in light of our last Ithaca Blog post, "Meetingspeak"):

"Long runs teach patience, and are good preparation for a long vigil, physically and mentally. They are also welcome relief from interminable meetings."

The DeMott Peace Trot is Father's Day each year. This year's date is Sunday 16 June. The race is at Cornell Plantations at 10 a.m. Find more info at peterdemottpeactrot.org, and on the race's Facebook page.

Meetingspeak: A Quick (No, Really) Guide

Like many good Ithacans, we suffer through our share of painful, ponderous committee meetings of various organizations. Comprehension lessens suffering,`perhaps, so we offer this brief guide to the type of talk you will hear at meetings, with specific examples, so you can see it's not you, it's them.

When someone says "I'd like to front-load the process with action points that might require closure," you should start day-dreaming as vividly as possible, because you are in for a mind-numbing time.

When someone says they want to say something "real quick," that means it is going to take real long.

When someone says they want to "share" something, it means they want to say something that just popped into their heads that is of no relevance or interest.

When someone says "I respect Brian and his opinions tremendously," they are telling the truth, if you replace the word "respect" with the word "loathe."

Okay, let's take a quick break now and be back in ten minutes sharp. I really mean that. We have a lot of back-loading to do from the parking lot.

Our Favorite Holy Thursday Joke

It's Easter, and with all that is sacred about the season, we offer something profane, or at least silly: our favorite joke about Easter in general, Holy Thursday in particular.

Yes, we bring it up every year, or most years. It's alright, it's an eternal joke.

You can see it by searching for "Easter joke" in the inquiry field on the top left of this page.

Have a nice holiday, and no hamburgers tomorrow.

Amy Goodman At Ithaca College, Sunday 24 March

Amy Goodman, the foremost journalist in America, will speak at Ithaca College on Sunday 24 March.

It's been a few years since Amy was here, and last time security tried to close the building for the crowds. Instead Amy induced them to let everyone in, even if they had to sit on the stage. (They did, and they did.)

Tomorrow should be less crowded, with schools in spring break, but not that much less. You'll want to get there early. The talk is at 8 p.m. in the Park Center.

Play Music, Don't Curse Dishes

As a kid I was confused by the biblical saying, "It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." Of course it is, I reckoned, unless you were cursing the darkness because you couldn't find the candles. It didn't strike me as much of an injunction.

Maturity taught me the real story, that it simply means you shouldn't complain about things, but find ways to make things better. This all came to me recently as I washed dishes to music from a CD.

I don't mind housework, but dirty dishes is just one of those things, it seems like a punishment for having cooked and eaten well. I could unfreeze pizza and not have to work afterwards. But try to do right, and cook creatively with fresh ingredients, and at the end of it rather than be happy and satisfied, you have to stand up and wash things while looking at a wall. That is some darkness to curse, isn't it?

The other dissatisfaction of my home life is that I never listen to music. I love music, but I'm almost never home, and when I am, I'm either reading, writing, or sleeping, none of which go with paying attention to music.

You don't have to be a theologian to see where this is going, right? I got the idea to bring the little boom box from the west wing of my apartment to the kitchen, in the east wing, 15 feet away, and set it up by the sink. Then I get the Mary Lorson CD I have been meaning to revisit. Turn it on loud enough to overcome the faucet, and start washing dishes, in mindless motion, while full attention is turned to Ms. Lorson's excellent rendering of "I Don't Care," by Eva Tanguay, and her own collection of lovely tunes.

Candle lit. No bad feelings. Thumbs up for a solid injunction, and the maturity to understand and improve things. Where to turn one's attention next? World peace? Hydrofracking? Dust-busting?

St. Patrick's Day, Free Whiskey?

In a move that should probably be illegal, our friends at Maxie's restaurant are having free whiskey tastings this Sunday to celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

Finger Lakes Distillers are the co-conspirators. There will also be half-price oysters from the raw bar from 4 - 6 p.m.

As if this is not enough entrapment, there is also free music. No doubt there will also be plenty of verbalizing of talk.

The menu will also feature corned beef reubens, and a house special dessert free with dinner. Maxie's is crazy.

Solas Show, Multi-Media, At Cornell, 3/13

The Irish band Solas, longtime Ithaca favorites, return in time for St. Patrick's Day for a mutli-media show at Cornell's Willard Straight Cinema.

"Shamrock City" is a live-music show with visual media. It tells the story of the great-grandfather of Seamus Egan, Solas's leader, who came to America as a young man to work as a miner in Montana, and traveled as a bare-knuckle prizefighter. His hard-scrabble life (and early, mysterious death) dramatize the plight of the Irish immigrants who fled famine at home to find violence, discrimination and poverty here.

The show is at 7:30 on Wednesday 13 March. Tickets and information are available at the website for Dan Smalls Productions.

Karan Casey Sings For Peace, March 7

Karan Casey is a star of Irish music whose concert tours span the world. Whenever she tours America, she tries to visit Ithaca to perform a benefit concert for the peace and justice work of the Ithaca Catholic Worker and her friend, Ellen Grady.

The latest concert, of about nine or ten over the years, is Thursday 7 March at the Community School of Music and Arts. Karan will appear with guitarist John Doyle, with whom she has worked for 20 years, including in the Irish supergroup Solas, at its founding in the 1990's.

We spoke with Karan via Skype from Ireland on Sunday. A portion of that conversation appears in the Ithaca Times tomorrow.

Ellen is out of jail in time for the concert. She was imprisoned for a peaceful demonstration in Syracuse against the drone war planes operating from there. You can say hello to her today, selling tickets for the show at a table at GreenStar Coop from 4 - 6 p.m. Tickets are also available at Angry Mom Records on the Commons, open 7 days a week.

Facebook: Too Little, Too Much

An acquaintance of ours, who is also a Facebook friend (copyright?), recently posted there that she is taking a break from Facebook for a while. No posting, no looking.

We didn't think too much about it, as we don't need Facebook every day, like coffee or something. It stayed in mind, though, as we saw notice of an article somewhere about whether social media actually makes people feel lonely, rather than connected.

We didn't pursue that, either, but it came up for us personally when we looked at Facebook and did actually feel a bit blue.

There were extenuating circumstances for us. We were sick, with a throat swollen up like a bullfrog's, and pretty much quarantined. We had occasion to look at Facebook, and were struck by a bunch of bad feelings.

Here is one friend, dressed up and supremely happy at a dance. Here's another, hosting a birthday party for her lovely kid. Here's another, in Ecuador. And here we are, in lounge pants, and not our best socks, worrying about our apple juice supply.

It's not just a question of envy, though. Because here are our other friends depressing us even worse with their sad photos of funny animals, rancor about right-wing radio, and entries consisting of the word "Yum".

This is when it occurs to us, it is a no-win situation. Facebook is making us hate our friends because they are too interesting, or not interesting enough.

JW, is this what you meant? How I see the light now. When one writes a letter, it takes time. Thus it has scope and complexity. Facebook postings don't. Thus the dissatisfactions.

Write me a letter. I promise I'll write back.

Cue From Cupid

Just because something came along with a holiday years ago doesn't mean it's worth less than before. Usually it is the opposite, in fact.

And so it is, we believe, with our advice to the lovelorn on Valentine's Day. We first printed this bit, "Valentine's Day Tip For The Unattached," here in Ithaca Blog exactly five years ago today.

Have a look, either by using the blog search field above left, or by using the calendar at right. And, by all means, get out there and have fun.

How To Lose Weight

We were out to eat, at The Piggery (excellent and fun, by the way), and talking about food, when M. said he didn't want to gross us out by reporting on what he heard on This American Life recently. We said go ahead, as long as it's not as boring as the show usually is; we don't mind gross, we do mind pretentious ironic unpretentiousness (we like to make M. mad, easy to do).

Once he unscowled, M. told us about the topic, so-called "imitation calamari" in restaurants, that is really pig rectums, or thereabouts. Isn't that gross?

No, what's gross about it, we said; what are we eating here? The fact is, we eat hotdogs (not often, but ceremoniously, in baseball season), and we know what goes into those: everything, including some things that mightn't cross your mind, much less your knowing lips, like placenta and eyeballs.

It all reminded us (tangentially, I suppose) of a notion we had recently, of how to lose weight, by only eating things you don't like.

It was one of those brainstorm moments, based on circumstance, which was that we came home ravenous one evening, with nothing ready to eat, except for something someone made for us, a friend who is very generous, but a scattershot cook.

It was healthy, which we like, but rather bland and mushy. We thought we could fix it by seasoning, but then thought, why not leave it, and just eat enough to sustain ourselves?

Thus, the weight-loss notion. What if you cleared your kitchen of things you really like, and replaced them with healthy things you really don't? Over-eating will end, and you will become slim, practically automatically. You won't starve - in fact, if it is fava beans, cabbage, and cranberries, your make-up will no doubt improve.

One key to this scheme is no eating out. The world outside is just a big trough, you know. We would also recommend avoiding TV, or at least keeping the remote handy for when food ads broadcast. We watch sports on TV and know there is a lot of food porn during commercial breaks.

It's a simple idea, and simple ones are the best, aren't they? We wish you luck with it, and if you lose weight we will accept your thanks, although in the meantime, not your dinner invitations.

Buy Local (And Be Glad): The Computer Room

We think we need a new battery for our laptop. We figure first stop will be Staples, to see what they will say. Also, without some research, we don't know where else to go.

We stand there a long time at Staples while two clerks look at us. One finally moves. We describe our problem to him.

He looks at us dully like he's simply waiting for us to stop talking. And then that seems accurate, because when we're done, he goes into a pitch of a comprehensive diagnostic examination, of all our hardware and software, which costs $69.

We say we just think it needs a new battery. So he goes to check on that price. It is $139. It must be a nice battery. But we decline.

We tell this tale to our friend Tom. He says yeah, forget Staples, go the Computer Room on State Street. Where on State Street, we ask. Next to Maxie's, he says. Oh yeah, we pass there every day.

Today we go in. The clerk sees us and greets us right away. He listens to the problem. He is not sure it's not "a fluke." If that means don't do anything, that's alright with us. He says yeah, try this and this, and if it still happens, we'll see about a battery. The battery will cost $50.

That was a pretty comprehensive diagnostic, and it didn't cost anything. And, should we need it, we'll save $90 on the battery.

Three cheers for local good guys. Check out the Computer Room when you got the need.

"Brooklyn 3 New York" Is Back

Our parvus opus, our jugger-not, 100 pages of a plain slice of Brooklyn, is back online.

We wrote this little work, "Brooklyn 3 New York," to document the Brooklyn we grew up in, a good time ago. We admit, it is partly an effort to counterpoint the blowhard Brooklyn lit of today. All the syllables, all the concepts, all the thinking who one is. That's not for this place.

"Brooklyn 3 New York" was offline for a while as we negotiated publication somewhere. That deal fell through, but another came through, that allows us to offer B3NY free once again, on Blogger.com., at least for a while.

You can find it by entering "brooklyn3newyork.blogspot.com". Reading requires some juggling, as the last entry written is printed first, the first last, etc. But you'll catch the hang of it. Then when it's published, you'll still want to buy it, to have it right-side up.

What's not to enjoy, as they said in Smilin' Jack's Appetizing. And, you gonna buy something?, as they said at the comic racks.