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With a Little Help from My Friends

by earlthepearl137

Normally, I celebrate my birthday by going out to dinner with a friend or two. This year I celebrated a little early with 15,000 strangers. My birthday is August 19th, but on Saturday the 17th Lancaster hosted a free musical tribute to the 50th anniversary of The Woodstock Festival, and I decided to treat it as a birthday party.

The party was at Long’s Park, just a short 10-minute bus ride from my house. I’ve been there before, and I know that it is lawn seating. People bring blankets or those folding chairs that fit in a bag. I have a bad hip and I know that if I got down on the lawn, I might not be able to get up without help. So, to prepare for the event, I went and bought a folding chair. I also went to Subway and got a foot-long steak and cheese sandwich. They have a no alcohol policy at Long’s Park, so I made a half gallon of iced tea, which I stored in the freezer for a few hours, so it would stay ice cold all night. Then I went to the liquor store and bought some peach brandy in those little bottles you get on airplanes. I had no intention of going alcohol free at my birthday party, no matter what the park rules said. I have my own rules.

The concert started at 7:30, but I got there early to enjoy the sandwich and a “Lancaster Iced Tea.” The first thing I noticed was that there were a bunch of food trucks there, and most of them had cheese steaks, so next time I don’t have to bring food, just bring a chair and the contraband liquid refreshment. The spiked iced tea was perfect, by the way. I knew it would be. I experimented all week with different liquors and the peach brandy turned out to be my favorite mixer. (Vanilla brandy came in second.)

It was interesting watching the concertgoers arrive. It had to be the oldest crowd ever to attend a rock concert. Almost everyone had found a tie-dyed shirt somewhere in their closet for the occasion. Ladies had flowers in their hair and peace symbols and flowers painted on their faces. At the original Woodstock, Arlo Guthrie looked out at the crowd and made a comment, “Lotta freaks!” These people didn’t look freaky, at all, though. Lancaster has a half-dozen colleges and a dozen tattoo parlors. The average person on the street here looks 10 times freakier than anybody who was at the concert. The concert audience just looked like very normal people going to a 60’s costume party at the senior center.

By the time the concert began, I was well-fed and working on my third Lancaster Iced Tea. I only had one problem. This was the first time I used the new folding chair I just bought. It turned out to be very low to the ground. I still might need help getting out of it, especially if the peach brandy iced teas kept going down so smoothly.

Twenty-five musicians gathered from various local bands quickly shuffled in and out in different combinations to recreated non-stop sets of the Woodstock songs played by Sly & the Family Stone, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, Blood, Sweat, and Tears, Jefferson Airplane, The Who, Santana, Country Joe and the Fish, The Band, The Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and it ended with the Joe Cocker version of I Get By with a Little Help from My Friends. Then, they all came out on stage for the encore, Woodstock, a song written after the event to commemorate the festival.

I wasn’t surprised that the entire audience seemed to know all the words to the 50-year-old songs, but I was amazed at how incredibly well the musicians played these songs that were hits long before most of them were even born. They all sounded surprisingly like the original artists. When the producer’s wife, Patty Grabowski, came out to perform, I figured it was just a favor to his wife, and I wasn’t expecting much from her. Then, she nailed the Grace Slick songs White Rabbit and Somebody to Love. Later in the show, her daughter brought Janis Joplin back to life with outstanding renditions of Me and Bobby Magee and Piece of My Heart.

During the night they also recreated some of the stage announcements from the original Woodstock. They made a “public service announcement” to stay away from the brown acid, and that got a laugh from the crowd. The one that got the biggest laugh, though, was when the producer came out to solemnly inform the crowd that, “From now on, it’s a free concert.” Later, they acknowledged that because there were a handful of young people in the audience, they didn’t do the infamous “Gimme and F…” cheer before they performed the Country Joe & the Fish song, Feel Like I’m Fixin’ to Die, Rag. Also, the since the weather was beautiful, so there was no crowd chant of “NO RAIN…NO RAIN.”

Then came the moment of truth for me as the concert ended. I pushed on the arms of the chair and to my great surprise, I sprung to my feet with no problem. I guess the lubrication helped. Maybe I’ve found a new arthritis remedy. I better go get some more peach brandy before they make it a prescription drug.

Thank you, Lancaster, for a great birthday party.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

I Believe

by earlthepearl137

I’m currently working on a screenplay about our 15th President, James Buchanan. The setting shifts back and forth between the present and 1863. How do I get the audience to believe that they are going back and forth between the present and 1863? I can’t. But I don’t have to make them actually believe it. Audiences are conditioned to “suspend disbelief” in order to enjoy the show. If you tell, or somehow show them that it is the present, they will go with it. If you dress the actors in clothes from 1863, the audience will “play along” and accept that it is 1863.

In a wintry scene, their reasoning minds might know that a stagehand is sprinkling white confetti on the stage from above, but when they learn to suspend disbelief, the audience will enjoy the “snowfall.” In the theater, in movies, audios, or in reading, we need to be able to sometimes disengage our reasoning mind and engage our imagination in order to enjoy it. Basically, there is an unwritten covenant between authors and their audiences. You suspend your disbelief for a couple hours and I will give you a couple hours of entertainment.

tinkerbell

Did you clap your hands and say “I Believe” when Tinkerbell was dying?

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who wrote the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, invented the term suspension of disbelief in 1817. He wanted you, sitting in your comfortable easy chair, to clearly imagine the anguish of the cursed mariner drifting far at sea “with water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.”

Wikipedia defines the term suspension of disbelief as a willingness to suspend one’s critical faculties and believe something surreal. It is the sacrifice of realism and logic for the sake of enjoyment.

Sometimes we need to use both our reasoning mind and our imagination to get the most effect from a story. If we are watching a murder mystery, we use our reasoning mind to gather the clues, but we must use our imagination to suspend disbelief that the “murdered” actor is not really dead, or that the famous detective is just an actor.

We can be thrilled watching a magician saw a woman in half, though our reasoning mind knows (or at least hopes) that the woman is not really cut in two. We know that she will be back for the next performance. We must suspend this disbelief, though, to be able to enjoy the magic and the illusion.

More than 60 years ago, I was an avid fan of comic books, especially the DC comics, which featured Superman, Aquaman, Batman, Green Arrow, and other superheroes. To enjoy a comic book, we need to suspend disbelief and accept the character’s amazing, and often quite unbelievable, skill set. We know that man can’t fly, but we accept that Superman can. We know that man can’t live underwater, but we accept that Aquaman can. We accept an unrealistic premise in order to enjoy the story.

Places of worship are theaters in a way. In them, we are also able to suspend our disbelief and fully enter another world. It takes conditioning and practice, though, for us to be comfortable enough to lower our reasoning and boost our imaginations. Not surprisingly, those raised by Christians can easily adjust to the theater of a church, but they are not conditioned to equally accept the different customs of a synagogue or a mosque. Those raised by Jews can adjust to the theater of a synagogue but find themselves unable to adjust equally to the different ways of a church or mosque. Those raised by Muslims can adjust to the theater of a mosque, but not much else.

A Muslim man can imagine that if he died killing Christians and Jews he would be rewarded in paradise with dozens of virgins. Christians, Jews, and Atheists all think that this is absolutely crazy. A Jew or Muslim might abstain from the delicious taste of pork, lobster, or shrimp, because of what he is told in his Bible, Torah, or Koran. Christians and Atheists find that a bit crazy, even though Catholics once believed they would go to Hell if they ate a hot dog on a Friday. Christians believe that the wafers and wine served in Communion are transformed (transubstantiated) into the body and blood of their Savior, Jesus Christ. Jews, Muslims, and Atheists think of this as crazy, and maybe just a bit cannibalistic. Scientist just disavow it. Wine has a certain percentage of alcohol, while most people’s blood (except mine, of course) has a lower level of alcohol. “Transubstantiated” wine retains all the alcohol content and properties of wine, not blood.

Mormons, Jehovah Witnesses, Christian Scientists, and Scientologists – they’re all bat shit crazy, according to everyone who is not themselves a Mormon, Jehovah Witness, Christian Scientist, or Scientologist.

Atheists believe that all the world’s religions are crazy, and, reciprocally, all the world’s religions believe that Atheists are delusional. Many people don’t even accept that anyone could honestly be an Atheist. “There are no atheists in foxholes,” they have decreed. The Atheists counter that everyone in a foxhole must, in fact, be an Atheist, because if you truly believed that an all-powerful supreme being, who loved you, held your life in His hands, you would defiantly stand in the open and just dare the enemy to waste their ammunition trying and kill you. Picture that scene in Dances with Wolves, when Kevin Costner’s character, dreadfully worried that his injured leg will soon be amputated, decides instead to ride his horse back and forth in front of the enemy lines, actually preferring that a bullet will kill him instead of a surgeon.

Dances with Wolves

In religion, you are supposed to substitute imagination for reason. It’s called having faith. The hardest parts to believe require the strongest faith. Faith is more than just the suspension of disbelief, though. It is also the firm belief that what is imagined is the actual reality, and all too often, unfortunately, they believe it is the “only true reality.”

I’m an Atheist. Most likely, you are not. You think that I may be headed down the Highway to Hell. Whereas, I don’t believe there even is such a place. The problem for Atheists is that they are unable to suspend disbelief when it comes to religion. They can’t turn off their reasoning mind, and, so, they don’t get the same warm fuzzies that everyone else gets. They can’t enjoy it the way everybody else can. It’s a curse, and a blessing.

People think that because Atheists don’t believe in God, they don’t believe in anything. That’s not true. I don’t believe in a lot of things, but I do believe strongly in the few things I do believe in.

I believe that two hands working are far more powerful than a thousand hands clasped in prayer. Madalyn Murray O’Hair taught me that.

I believe in the separation of Church and State. Our American Founding fathers taught me that.

I believe in Love. The Beatles taught me that. I don’t really believe that Love is ALL you need, though. Food, clothing, shelter, a few drugs, and some beer may prove useful, too.

I believe in trusting everyone, but always cutting the cards. My Mom taught me that.

I believe in enjoying every moment I possibly can. My Dad taught me that.

I believe that we should all live and let live.  Lancaster taught me that.

 

Peace and Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

 

It Takes a Village

by earlthepearl137

 

Elio Chacon (INF) Mets poses for a portrait before a game at the Polo Grounds / Early Shea Stadium, etc. He is a member of the 1962 Original N.Y. New York Mets

Ashburn, Chacon, and Thomas

It may take two to Tango, but it took a village to get the facts right in my “Yo Tengo” story.

In my most recent blog I wrote about communication problems in the outfield in a minor league team.  I did not check my facts before I wrote the story.  I rarely do.  My brother Kevin and I are both firm believers that writers shouldn’t let the facts get in the way of a good story, and the story was really about me being drunk and getting hit on the head with a baseball.  Brother X, a.k.a. Beelzebro X, has a completely different attitude.  He thinks that stories should be loyal to the truth.  How quaint.

So, he pointed out some factual errors in my story.  It wasn’t a minor league team.  It was the 1962 Mets.  Well, in 1962, the Mets won 40 games and lost 120 games, so I don’t think you can blame me for being confused.  They sure played like a minor league team back then.

Then, Brother X pointed out that the names of the players were not lost to history.  It was Frank Thomas and Elio Chacon, he said.  At this point I decided to look it up for myself, but I didn’t have to.  Some baseball fans sent me the Wikipedia article.  It turns out that Beelzebro X was a bit wrong, too.  It was originally the Mets outfielder Richie Ashburn and infielder Elio Chacon, who had the communication problem.  Chacon solved it by teaching Ashburn how to say, “I’ve got it” in Spanish.  It turns out that I got that wrong, too.  It’s not, “Yo Tengo,” but “Yo la tengo.”  My bad.  But, come on!  “Yo Tengo” was close enough for my story.

So, one day there’s a fly ball to Ashburn in shallow centerfield and he yelled out “Yo la tengo.”  He noticed that Elio Chacon stopped coming, so he relaxed and prepared to catch the ball.  That’s when left fielder Frank Thomas, who hadn’t been involved in the Spanish lesson, crashed into Ashburn.

After they got up and dusted themselves off, Frank asked Richie why he was yelling out “Yellow Tango.”  He then got his Spanish lesson, and now, thanks to Brother X, Wikipedia, and a village of baseball fans, the story can truthfully be told.

I just want to point out that everyone pointed out the errors in my story.  Nobody asked me if my head hurt.  Baseball fans are like that.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Yo Tengo; Yo No Tengo; Yo Tengo

by earlthepearl137

This season, The Lancaster Barnstormers offered a package to their “more mature” fans, The Silverstormers. I know I didn’t qualify as a mature fan, but I did meet the age requirement, so I bought it.  In the package, you get one field-level ticket to every Tuesday night home game (the same exact seat for all 10 Tuesday home games), a “SilverStormer” T-Shirt, and morning fitness walks in the stadium if you want to take them (or even know what morning is…I don’t even get up until the crack of noon). All this costs only $35, just $3.50 per game. It’s a great deal, which is made even sweeter by the added fact that Tuesday at Clipper Magazine Stadium is Brewsday, featuring $2 beers.
As if that wasn’t enough to bring out the fans, they also had to make up a previously rained out game, so last Tuesday they were playing a doubleheader. The fans were getting two games for the price of one. Well, almost. Atlantic League doubleheaders go 7 innings each, instead of the usual 9 inning games. So, you get two quick games. Or so you would think.
And, of course, if you did think that on this occasion, you would be wrong. The first game began promptly at 6 p.m. The second game didn’t end until well after 1 in the morning. At first, you had to blame the High Point Rockers. They just wouldn’t stop hitting Lancaster pitching. They led 9-1 and it was only the 2nd inning. Then, the prayers of the Lancaster faithful were finally heard. It started to rain. Maybe this slaughter would become just another rainout. As the rain got heavier, the game was halted. People started leaving their seats to seek shelter from the storm during the rain delay.
The concourse of the stadium was now packed with both those seeking shelter and those seeking the $2 beers. I was in the latter group, and I was doing my absolute best to support as many local breweries as possible. I had gone to the game by myself, but after a half-dozen Tuesday nights of seeing the same people in the same seats, we “mature fans” had bonded as a group. So, while we waited for the game to resume, we were talking baseball, and I was getting loaded.
One guy told the story about how he witnessed a near collision in the outfield at some minor league game, because they had just acquired a Latin outfielder, who didn’t speak any English, and he kept charging for the ball even though the other guy was screaming, “I’ve got it.” The two English-speaking outfielders quickly learned that “Yo Tengo” was the Spanish equivalent, of “I’ve got it,” and they switched to yelling that on fly balls to the outfield.
Eventually the Latin player was traded for another English-speaking player. On his first day, however, he crashed into the other outfielder who was screaming, “Yo Tengo.” The new guy didn’t have any idea what that meant, and, of course, he was trying to show some hustle on his first day with his new team, so he never stopped going after the ball.
We all laughed at this and many more baseball stories for an hour and a half until the game resumed play. Then with every Lancaster fly ball, the people in our section began yelling out, “Yo Tengo.” The Rockers continued to pile up runs, but, at least, everyone in our area was now laughing and having a good time.
Finally, the lop-sided game was over. The second game would start in just a few minutes. It was very late on a Tuesday night, so almost nobody stayed for the second game. The dozen or so fans who stayed for the second game move down to the best seats in the first row. I moved to my favorite seat, right behind home plate.
It’s a good thing I did, because it turned out to be a pitcher’s duel, and the home-plate umpire in the second game needed a lot of my help. In his defense though, he didn’t have his beer goggles on, like I did, so he wasn’t seeing the ball as well as I was.
They’ve been installing a radar/GPS system in all Atlantic League ballfields that will call balls and strikes. The Homeplate umpire will wear an earpiece that will signal to him if the pitched ball is a ball or a strike. So, whenever I wanted a strike call, I would yell “BEEP.” Everybody in the area (10-people max.) knew I was drunk, and they all found it funny. Even the umpire got a laugh out of it eventually, when a ball that was fouled straight back, bounced off the 2nd level and then bounced off my head. As the ball hit me, I think I heard him laugh and say, “BEEP.”

Game Ball - Yo Tengo.png
It looked like the ball bounced smack off the top of my head, but it actually bounced behind me and then just glanced off my head before landing in the mitt of a young fan two sections to the left of me. So, I wasn’t hurt, but I milked everyone’s concern. “Yo, NO Tengo,” I laughed. “I don’t have it.” The few of us who were still there continued to joke and laugh with each other throughout the rest of the ballgame. We had a great time heckling everyone, even though The Barnstormers lost.

Then, at the end of the game, the boy (I didn’t get his name, but he had #22 on his jersey) who had caught the ball that bounced off my head, came over to give me the ball. From watching the Youtube replay the next day I was able to piece together that his parents might have encouraged him to give away his baseball treasure. (From watching the replays, I was also able to determine that the men on the grassy knoll were baseball players.)

Game Ball - Parental Guidance

Game Ball - 01Game Ball - 02Game Ball - 03
So, thank you #22 for the game ball.  I will keep it as a reminder of the fun we had on a rainy night at the ballpark.  I’ll autograph it, “Yo Tengo.” I’ve got it. I guess I should also thank Charles Weeghman, the former owner of the Chicago Cubs, who on April 29, 1916 began letting fans keeps any baseballs that landed in the stands. Before that, you were supposed to throw them back on the field.
Here’s to you, #22.
Peace and Love, and all of the above,
Earl

The Longest Day

by earlthepearl137

The Atlantic Baseball League is divided into two sections, The Freedom division and the Liberty division.  Then they divide the season into two halves.  In each division, whoever wins the first half season plays against whoever wins the second half season for the division championship.  Then the two division champions face off for the Atlantic League Championship.

You can do lousy in the first half, but win the second half, or vice versa, and be in the Division Championship.  Most years this rule hurts the Lancaster Stormers, who have often had the best overall record but finished second in the Freedom Division in both halves.  This year, however, the rule helps the Stormers, because they are doing lousy in the first half, but they can still salvage their season by winning the second half.

That’s one way that the Atlantic League differs from the Major Leagues.  Another difference is money.  The minimum salary for a Major League player is $480,000 a year, with many making far more than that.  The Atlantic League players only get a few thousand dollars a month.  When Major Leaguers go on road trips, they take chartered jets to their destination.  When Minor Leaguers go on road trips, they, literally, hit the road by bus.

As I stated earlier, the Barnstormers are having a lousy first half this year.  How lousy?  They lost 4 straight home games to their archrivals, The York Revolution.  Then they had to climb on a bus for a road trip to North Carolina, where they lost three straight games to The High Point Rockers.  Then on June 21st, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, they had to take a 12-hour bus trip to Commack, NY to face the Long Island Ducks, in a doubleheader that night.  That wasn’t just the longest day of the year, for many of the Barnstormers it turned out to be the longest day of their lives.

Historically, the Stormers do not do well playing in Commack.  Their heavily left-handed batting order is tailored to hit the ball 300 feet to right field for a homerun.  In Commack, a ball that travels 300 feet to right field is a fly out.  So, they arrived in Commack, exhausted from the 7-game losing streak and the 12-hour bus ride, to play a double header in an unfavorable ballpark against the Ducks, the powerful, Liberty Division first place team.

They still had some fight left in them, though, and they clawed their way to victory in the first game.  In the second game, the Ducks took and early lead, and it looked like the Stormers were out of gas.  Then, they summoned all their strength for a big rally in the 6th inning that put them 5 runs ahead.  Then, in the Duck half of the 6th inning, the Barnstormers hit the proverbial wall.  They had nothing left, and the Ducks took advantage of it.  They scored more runs in the bottom of the 6th than their scoreboard could display, since it was only designed for the one-digit numbers from 0 to 9.  When the Barnstormers finally got up to bat they meekly went down in order.  They had no more adrenalin, no more strength, no more fight.  They just wanted to go home, but they still had two more games to play, one on Saturday night and the other on Sunday afternoon.  The lost both.

In an homage to the movie, The Big Lebowski, my friend John later said, “Sometimes you eat the Ducks, and sometimes the Ducks eat you.”

So, on Sunday evening they took a bus back to Lancaster.  Fortunately, they had a much-needed day off on Monday.  Tonight, they play the Somerset Patriots, and I hope that they are able to shake off the events of this past week and get into a winning pattern before the second half begins in July.

They play six games here at Clipper Magazine Stadium before they have to climb back on the bus for another road trip.  Maybe a little home cooking and sleeping in their own bed instead of a Motel 6 will do them a lot of good.  Like Dorothy said, “There’s no place like home.”

Sliding into Home Plate

Also remember that the darkest hour is just before the dawn.

Go Stormers.  Keep calm and storm on.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

 

Fit to be Tie-Dyed

by earlthepearl137

 

 

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I was supposed to go to New York this past weekend for another Mavericks concert with my friend Maria, but there was a problem.  None of the proprietors of my usual New York City crash pads would be home.  Brother and Mrs. X had a family function and my Long Beach friends John and Margaret would also be out of town.

I had a Plan B.  I could take Amtrak to New York, then a subway to the Beacon Theatre, meet my friend Maria for dinner and drinks before the show, watch the show, then go bar hopping until 4 in the morning, have a sunrise breakfast, and catch the first train back to Lancaster in the morning.  That plan might have worked 30-40 years ago, but nowadays that plan would have been more like a kamikaze mission for my well-worn body.  So, I decided to stay home.

Then, while glancing at the ads in the Barnstormer program last Tuesday, I noticed that Lancaster had its own summer concert series at Long’s Park.  On Saturday they had a Beatles tribute band playing, and on Sunday they had an Eagles tribute band.  That sounded like fun.  I just had to find out the location of Long’s Park.  Google to the rescue.

Turns out that Long’s Park is only 2.3 miles from my apartment.  According to Google it was a 35-minute walk.  Obviously, Google is not 70-years old, with a heart condition, and an arthritic hip.  2.3 miles would take me more like 3 hours, and the return trip would probably be in an ambulance, but I was in luck.  One of the many Lancaster buses passes right by there on its way to one of the many local shopping malls.  So, I dug out my tie-dyed shirts from the closet and prepared to get groovy.

According to their song, it was 20 years ago, today, that Sargent Pepper taught the band to play, but, actually, it had been 50 years since the Beatles last live performance.  It was the famous free concert from the roof of the Apple building in England on January 30th, 1969.  So, I expected the crowd to be quite old, maybe even as old as me.  There were a few of us senior citizens there, however there were lots of young people, too, with their very young children.  Altogether, thousands of people had “Come Together” to listen to some good Beatles music.

Most people had folding lawn chairs, but a good many had those things that look like fat canes until they unfold like transformers and become comfortable chairs.  One couple had a contraption that actually unfolded into a couch.  Obviously, this wasn’t “their first rodeo.”  So, while the adults were setting up their spots on the lawn, the children were on the perimeter playing soccer or tossing baseballs, softballs, footballs, and frisbees.  The show started at 7:30, but most of the people were there hours ahead of time to insure getting a good spot.  Besides, the weather was perfect, and it was just a great day to hang out in the park.  I think every dog owner in Lancaster was there, too.  It looked like the Westminster Dog Show, with every breed of dog being represented.

I didn’t want to risk lying down on the grass and then not being able to get up without assistance, so I headed for a picnic table in the back.  I got out my phone and watched the Belmont Stakes and some of the Barnstormers game.  They were playing in New Britain, Connecticut, and I used my phone throughout the night to keep up with the score.

The Corty Byron Band came on promptly at 7:30 and they were very good.  They’ve been doing these Beatle tributes for years, so they knew the music well.  The theme was “Post White Album” and they played for hours.  They had a few dancers who came out to entertain the audience during a few of their songs.  One was named Sherry (or something like that) and she came on when it was still light out and did a dance with what appeared to be hula hoops.

Later, when it got dark, another dancer, whose name began with an M came out and put on a one-woman light show while she did her interpretive dances.  She was wearing some kind of butterfly cape with hundreds of LED lights that kept changing colors, and, over the course of a few songs, she danced through the entire audience looking like Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (which wasn’t one of the songs, though).

On Sunday, a Nashville band named 7 Bridges performed the music of the Eagles.  The crowd was twice the size of the night before, and I was lucky to find a picnic table way, way in the back.  I had on my “Hell Freezes Over” t-shirt from their 1974 reunion tour, which I attended with my friends Barbara and Jim.  While the real Eagles may have sounded a little better, in my opinion 7 Bridges put on a better show.  I remember that back in 1974 Joe Walsh was the only member of the band who didn’t look like a cardboard cutout on stage.  7 Bridges joked with the crowd right from the very beginning.  After their very first song, as the crowd was applauding, they yelled out, “Thank you, and good night.”  Of course, they kept playing for another two hours.

One of the other many jokes they told was that they travel all over the country, but they had never played in Lancaster before.  They said they always wanted to come to Lancaster in the worst way, so they finally did.  They came via West Virginia.  I guess they tell that joke differently when they are playing in West Virginia.

Whenever I go to a concert with Maria, no matter where we are sitting, she always winds up standing right in front of the stage.  “Rushing the stage,” I think she calls it.  So, in her honor, after the band played what they pretended to be their last song, I rushed the stage for the encore.  Fortunately, they played a few songs, because it took me a long while to get there.  7 Bridges closed out their show playing Take It Easy with everyone in the crowd joining in.  I thought about my friend Marianne, who always uses her Dad’s standard response when people tell her to take it easy, “If I took it any easier, I’d have to give it back.”

So, instead of going to New York this past weekend, I took it easy right here in Lancaster, and it sure was groovy.  Now I’m looking forward to the 50th Anniversary Celebration of Woodstock at Long’s Park on August 17th.  Peace, Love, and Music.  Or like I always say:

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

The Royal Treatment

by earlthepearl137

 

Harriet Lane, Queen Victoria, me, and an unwrinkled President Buchanan

June 1st is the birthday of Marilyn Monroe, Morgan Freeman, Heidi Klum, and Amy Schumer.  This June 1st was also the 151st Anniversary of the death of President James Buchanan.  His historic home, Wheatland, is just a few miles from my apartment, so I made my second trip there to pay honor to the man on this solemn occasion.  I’m glad I did.  Normally a guide takes you on a tour of the mansion, but, on this day, because of its significance, we had two guides, and there were also two special guests.  Two very beautiful local actresses in full costume played the roles of Queen Victoria and Buchanan’s beloved niece, Harriet Lane.  The ten of us on the three o’clock tour entered the room where the two actresses were sitting opposite each other, and they played out a scene for us.  They reenacted the moment in Buckingham Palace when Queen Victoria asked the enormously popular Harriet to remain in England after her Uncle finished his duties as Ambassador to England and returned to the States. 

Halfway through their scene, the Queen noticed the t-shirt I was wearing and directed a question to me.  “Is that a picture of Harriet’s uncle on your shirt?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” I responded a little nervously, as if I was actually speaking to royalty.  The “Queen” told me that she approved, and I beamed with pride that she had interrupted the scene to speak with little old me.  Well, she didn’t exactly interrupt the scene, she incorporated me into the scene.  Both she and the actress playing Harriet remained in character while they told me how much they liked the shirt.  The “Queen” then involved me further into the scene by asking for my opinion about whether or not Harriet should remain in England or return to the States with her uncle.  At that point, I really wanted to break out my phone and get a selfie with the two lovely actresses, but I don’t think they had smart phones in the Victorian era, and I didn’t want to break the magical spell of the reenactment.  Where are the paparazzi when you need them?

After the tour, I wandered around Wheatland for a while, walking in the footsteps of America’s most underrated President.  Some historians even claim that he was the worst President the U.S. ever had.  That’s a sad situation, which I hope to rectify with a play I am writing about him and his Wheatland family.

President Buchanan was unmarried, so when he was in the White House, his niece Harriet Lane handled the social calendar, and she was the first woman that the newspapers referred to as “The First Lady.”  She parlayed her popularity in Europe by being even more popular here as The First Lady.  She played piano and especially enjoyed the songs of fellow Pennsylvanian, Stephen Foster.  She also loved to dance, and she planned an elaborate ball at the White House when her friend the Prince of Wales made the first visit of a member of the British Royal Family to their former colonies.  Many Americans, especially in the Northeast, were suffering the effects of the Panic of 1857 at the time, and President Buchanan did not think it was proper for there to be dancing in the White House while Americans were out of work and going hungry. So, he made her change her plans from a grand ball to a State Dinner.  She was disappointed, but she understood.  So, there was no dancing in the White House while he was President, but there was dancing in the street when he returned home to his home, Wheatland, in 1861.

I took a bus home and it went past Buchanan Park, which is just south of Franklin and Marshall College, where James Buchanan was the first President of their Board of Trustees.  The place was packed with people.  There were so many vendors tents that it looked like a camp grounds.  I don’t know what occasion they were celebrating, because I didn’t get off the bus to find out.  I was just happy to see so many hundreds of people having a good time in Buchanan Park. I only hoped that they were all somewhat aware of the historical significance of the day.   James Buchanan loved the places and the people of Lancaster, and the people of Lancaster loved him right back.  More than 20,000 people came to his funeral 151 years ago, even though he had requested a small simple service.  A century and a half later, he is still beloved by the people of Lancaster, and they are still dancing in the street for him.

 Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Never a Cross Word

by earlthepearl137

 

PITA Brand

 

Brother X and my friend John stopped by this week.  When I go to New York, I always visit them, so it was nice to have them pay me a visit.

We went to ballgames and bars, and had a great time.  Nothing unusual happened, but I just had to share this crossword puzzle question and answer with those who read this blog.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

The Games People Play

by earlthepearl137

 

This past weekend my friends Barbara and Jim paid me a visit.  They like bowling, Scrabble, Bocci Ball, and shooting pool.  There wasn’t enough time for everything, but I tried to plan as much as possible.  Normally, I just go to baseball games with my visitors, but the Barnstormer season doesn’t begin until April 26th.  I can get seats so close to home plate that the umpire can hear every word we say.  That’s my favorite go-to spot, but since it wasn’t available, I had to make other plans.  Fortunately, my second favorite local sport, Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby, was available on Saturday night.  Jim was a big roller derby fan, back in the day, when big #40, Charlie O’Connell, helped make the San Francisco Bay Bombers the greatest team on skates.

So, we went to see the Dutchland Rollers split a doubleheader on Saturday night.  But let me backtrack a little.  Jim is currently in the home repairs business.  (I wrote about their visit last year when Jim fixed my kitchen plumbing.)  Both Barbara and Jim have at one time been in the cleaning business, though, doing both residential and commercial properties.  So, I had to clean up my apartment before they arrived.  I spent two days trying to make it look like a human being occupied the apartment.

My friend Debbie stopped by on Friday afternoon and thought she was in the wrong apartment.  She had never seen my place so clean.  We had a few drinks and waited for Barbara and Jim to arrive.  As usual, they arrived like they were visiting Ethiopia or some other poor starving country.  They had a trunk-load of groceries (in addition to the incredible number of suitcases they brought with them.)  I asked them if they were planning on staying the originally agreed upon two days, or were they planning to stay two weeks.  When I go to New York, I bring one knapsack.  When they travel, it’s like Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey are coming to town.  Hannibal crossed the Alps with less luggage.

So, what did we do first?  We ate.  And ate, and ate, and ate.  Then we were ready for some serious Scrabble.  Debbie left.  The only thing she does seriously is drink.  Jim won the first game.  Barbara came in second, and I came in last.  After Barbara won the next two games it was time to head to bed, couch, and recliner.  Naturally, after drinking all night, I had to get up in the middle of the night to pee.  There was Barbara cleaning the kitchen.  “This needs bleach,” she said.  “Where do you keep your bleach?”

“Probably in the laundry room,” I mumbled as I headed to the bathroom.

The next day, as usual, Jim prepared breakfast for a small army.  We almost finished eating all of it, too, because it was so good, but it was just too much food to eat.  Jim cleaned up afterwards while I went in the backyard for a healthy dose of (non-prescription) medical marijuana.  Afterwards, we went back to playing Scrabble and Barbara resumed her winning ways.  We had to go to dinner early, because the Roller Derby starts at 6 p.m., and I took them to a new place that opened up on my block, Decades.  It’s a bowling alley, arcade for games, a bar, and a restaurant.  I thought they might enjoy the sound of tinkling bowling pins while they dined.  We all did, and the restaurant section was actually quiet enough for us to carry on a conversation during dinner.

Then, off to the Roller Derby.  I had a good time watching my favorite skaters, and they gradually got to understand what was going on, but I’m sure they wished the games were a little shorter.  We didn’t go to the after party with the team.  We went back to my place for our own after party, and I finally won a game of Scrabble

The next morning Barbara said that I should go in the backyard and just chill out for a while, while she vacuumed and cleaned the house.  I protested that I had spent two days cleaning the apartment and that it did not need any more cleaning.  I lost that argument, but I had no objection to chilling out in the backyard, so I didn’t mind losing.  I entertained myself while listening to the vacuum cleaner go for an hour as Barbara was searching out every speck of dust in every nook and cranny of my apartment.

Then we played Scrabble and Barbara won again.  What ever happened to “Root, root, root for the home team?”

As they were leaving, I warned them that when they visit me the next time, I will not spend two days cleaning up my apartment.  They will walk into a mess, which I will unashamedly allow them to clean.  I will spend the two days before they arrive studying the Scrabble dictionary for all the good Q and Z words, and all those two-letter words that are Hebrew coins or other oddities that no English-speaking person should know.

 Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

Tippy Toe

by earlthepearl137

Marianne, who has watched every Seinfeld show, reminded me of an episode where George Costanza used his invented code word “Tippy Toe” to signal Jerry that somebody was entering the room. It was right at the beginning of Marianne’s annual St. Patrick’s and Birthday party. I was talking about my latest big interest, James Buchanan. She told me that she would use the word “Tippy Toe,” if she thought I was talking too much about James Buchanan.

Then she said, “Tippy Toe” and went back to her other guests.

Eventually, other people at the party picked up on the signal, and I got a total of 24 “Tippy Toes” over the course of the evening. In my defense, I was wearing a James Buchanan T-Shirt (an item which can only be found here in Lancaster, his hometown). It was a conversation starter.  Many of Marianne’s guests are theatre people, so I was talking about the play I’m writing to boost the poor image we have of our 15th President. “It takes place during the Civil War,” I said.

“Oh, so it’s a musical,” Liz quipped.

“No,” I said, laughing, but then after a moment in thought, I said, it might contain some songs by Stephen Foster. Why not? He’s from Pennsylvania, too – and the same era as Buchanan, and his songs are in the public domain.”

“Tippy Toe.”

“Old Folks at Home?

“Tippy Toe.”

“Battle Hymn of the Republic?”

“Tippy Toe.”

I got the most “Tippy Toes” from Patrick, who gave me four of them. The last one was just for looking like I was gonna start talking about Buchanan.

It was a learning experience for me, as I searched for the episodes in Buchanan’s life that most interested a theatre-going audience. I found out what worked.

Very little.

Cool, I thought. Edison spent years testing over 10,000 elements, eliminating them until he was able to find Unobtanium, or whatever was the one substance he would use for a filament for his new light bulb. In just one night, I found out 100 things that the audience doesn’t want. A very famous sculptor, maybe it was Michelangelo, once said, I take a block of marble and chisel off the parts that are not whatever it is I want that statue to be. Me, too. I just have to chisel away the parts of my Buchanan’s story that the audience doesn’t like, which is pretty much everything between, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen” and “Good night. Drive safely.”

They liked the funny stuff, but there wasn’t a lot of funny stuff.

That settles it. Buchanan, a Rock Between Two Hard Places will now be a musical comedy.

I’m just gonna need more funny stuff.  Way more funny stuff.

Did you hear the one about Buchanan, a priest, and a rabbi walking into a bar…?

I know. Tippy Toe.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl