Stories of Loves Lost

Although nowhere near as dramatic as either author William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet or singer / songwriter Daniel Fogelberg’s autobiographical Same Old Lang Syne, I do have my own, personal, love lost story to share.

In my case, my “Juliet’s” father had broken us up. His rationale? Not only were we both too young but I was also from the wrong side of the tracks… his belief being that his daughter could do much better than “lowly” me.

What had made this so much more emotionally painful for us… the star-crossed lovers… was how I was… and still am… a man of good character… all of which I had amply demonstrated by respecting her father’s wishes that I stop seeing his daughter.

But… truth be told… I never really got over my feelings for her… and to this very day, I do consider our love to have been mutual, genuine and true.

Interestingly enough, we did have a reunion of sorts when… on the sly… “Juliet” had phoned me on New Year’s Eve 1972. As we talked… just for a fleeting moment… I sensed we had both been tempted to follow our hearts… but… all we wound up doing is audibly sighing while wishing each other, “Happy New Year”. I can still hear the finality of that long, long ago night’s clicking sound in my handset’s earpiece.

Considering all of those similarities between my story of love lost and Daniel’s… his Christmas Eve reunion with Jill (the decades later revealed real name of his old flame) it’s easy to see how his song resonates so well with the perpetually lingering song in my heart. Whenever I’ve ever heard it… either played on the radio or over @YouTube… I’ve also heard my audible sighs… especially as saxophonist Michael Brecker plays the Auld Lang Syne coda.

A short addendum here… I’ve never actually wanted to add this particular Fogelberg track to my vast musical library… need I even say why?

But what I do want to add here is how Dan and Jill could’ve chosen a far better place to drink their “toast to innocence” than consuming a six pack of beer within her car. If he truly had strong, lingering feelings for her at all… or even if he hadn’t… he’d have never allowed her to drive home impaired.

And considering how many states here in America have recently legalized the recreational usage of weed, no one should allow anyone to ever drive home while in that altered state of consciousness, either.

Just to clarify, I’m not some goody two shoes who’s saying it’s wrong for you to put a good buzz on… what I am saying is don’t drive if you ARE buzzed. On this New Year’s Eve… and the same goes for any other time of the year… it is far better to figuratively crash at your party host’s home than actually crash while driving home drunk or stoned. If you cannot arrange to sleep it off there, rely on your designated driver or arrange to be picked up by an Uber driver or a cabbie.

You’ll have a far better chance of arriving home safe and sound… that is unless the cab which pulls up reeks of burning rope and the song playing in the cabbie’s earbuds is Harry Chapin’s Taxi

 

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BlogCast: What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve / Day?

Following Ella Fitzgerald’s fine, smooth, lead performance above, I now welcome you to my New Year’s Eve / New Year’s Day BlogCast. Since each song title says it all, there’s no need for any special setup. So… let’s just keep on clicking onto those playback buttons…

B.B. King ~ Bringin’ In A Brand New Year

Naturally, you can check out our next vid (a two decades old, spirited B.B. King / David Gilmour performance) just for the pure enjoyment of it… BUT

It’s also possible for you to don your DJ cap and more actively participate. How so?

Well, first, you’ll need to find a timepiece that can tick off the seconds and, next, understand that approximately midway into this clip, the band will stop playing. As the Midnight Hour nears, everyone counts down the arrival of New Year’s Day 1998.

So, to properly synchronize the arrival of New Year’s Day 2018, simply hit the playback button when your clock tells you it’s precisely 11:55:42 p.m.

B.B. King & David Gilmour ~ Ring in New Year ‘98

There’ve got to be, literally, hundreds of recordings of Auld Lang Syne to choose from… BUT… it was our next video’s bagpipes accompanied by the breathtaking, eye-opening imagery, which caught far more than my ears and eyes.

You see, it’s the sights of Earth’s, fragile, natural beauty… in this case the Scottish Highlands… which remind us of what we all stand to lose if ignorant, petty, self-destructive, mentally ill world leaders maintain their chokehold… if they stay their collision course with disaster… one, which guarantees ecological and economic ruin and societal decay.

Never forget that bagpipers also frequently perform Amazing Grace at funerals. We must never allow foolish leaders and the foolish people they oft pander to to co-conspire… to bury our precious world.

Royal Scots Dragoon Guards ~ Auld Lang Syne

Now, just to prove that I’m not all doom and gloom… or more to the point… that I’ve not forgotten how to Rock in the New Year…

U2 ~ New Year’s Day

 

I thank you for your listenership and cordially invite you to click back here for my next monthly BlogCast… one that typically features anywhere from 3 to 5 songs that, when segued, transform everything into an appealing theme… this program slated to hit the www on Thursday, February 1, 2018.

 

I now wish all of you… my listeners, readers and followers…

the happiest, healthiest, safest, sanest New Year 2018 possible!

 

FYI, my past musical presentations are archived within my BlogCast and music categories.

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2017’s Too Real News (One Quick Limerick #036)

 

Let us review 17’s real bad news,
Fake Prez taunts Un online, World War 3 brews,
For the worse, tax laws changed,
And 2 gun nuts, deranged,
Killed concert peeps, congregation in pews.

 

 

FYI… you can access archived limericks, poems, and lyrical parodies by clicking onto my poetry category.

If you’ve enjoyed this post, don’t forget to like, follow, share and comment… click onto this blog’s headline to access the “LIKE Button” and “Comment Box”.

 

 

Tweetstorms, Terrorism, Taxes & Testosterone

 

Being a big fan of alliteration, I could not help but notice all of the “T” words in which one can neatly compartmentalize this past year’s front page news… hence my above blog headline.

Indeed, we are just about ready to say, “Good-bye”… or more to the point… “Good riddance” to 2017… a lousy year that was all about unevolved, little boys trapped in grown men’s bodies… little boys behaving badly… very, Very, VERY BADLY!

While I never opted into parenthood… nonetheless… my fatherly nature is still thoroughly ingrained within my DNA. To be sure, every instinct within my being now tells me that the time is ripe for some much overdue Father – Son chats.

And in spite of these talks involving XY entities, I still invite and encourage everyone in possession of XX chromosomes to read on, as well.

 

Tweetstorms

 

Bad Boy Donny:

You have the uncanny knack of knowing the exact wrong thing to say at any given moment… and then ignorantly and undiplomatically Tweeting / uttering your inflammatory words. Most notably and worrisome is how you’ve been targeting the enemy of your own making… North Korea’s Kim Jong Un.

Are you even remotely aware of how much carnage your “fire and fury” Tweetstorms could unleash? How there’s the potential for other, mentally deranged “world leaders” getting into that “the more the merrier” and “let’s all pile on” mindset? Thermonuclear exchange reducing our entire world to a burnt out cinder and irradiated graveyard may be how you choose to partay… but… then again… is that not how all of you terrorists roll?

FYI, don’t expect anyone who winds up being a survivor to ever come staggering towards what’s left of DC. No well-wishers will be gathering around you just to stroke your massive ego… to thank you as you boast about your “historic,” “epic,” “tremendous,” “biggest ever,” nuclear holocaust (NOTE: Words in “” are Donny’s uttered faves). After all, it’d be tough to talk while one is puking from both the radiation sickness and the revulsion we feel for you.

The best way you could “Make America Great Again”… the only way you could serve and save our nation… indeed our entire world… would be to veg out in front of the TV and/or go golfing every last damned day, which remains in your term… and not run for reelection!

 

Terrorism

 

Bad Boy Mass Murderers:

If you ever believe the voice in your head is god’s… guess again. If his words are prodding you to kill people, rethink that NOW! Guys, we are taking about a Supreme Being… an entity that created an entire universe. Do you really, Really, REALLY SERIOUSLY believe such an omnipotent force would even need to stoop so low as to outsource the extinction of the human race to insignificant blobs such as you?

In other words, you are no longer needed. Why not… you ask? Well, that’s because we already have two terrorists who are far better equipped to kill off seven plus billion humans. Indeed, you can outsource that task to the professionals… Dotard Donny and Killer Kim.

On a more positive note, believe it or not, there just might be some hope for you rank amateurs. How so… you ask? Well, many of you DO dredge up your god to justify your maiming and murdering of the masses. If you could no longer do so, might you even feel remorse? Think about it.

If nothing else, first, wrap whatever is left of your warped minds around that preceding paragraph and then stand down.

 

Taxes

 

Bad Boy Wealthy Whiners:

To be clear here, I have nothing against prosperous businessmen who live the good life. What I do take exception to is how you ingrates don’t fully appreciate America, a nation where the entire financial system is totally rigged in your favor… where this system lavishes upon you a “too big to fail status”. You, the powerful, are permitted to totally F-up your dirty deals, tank out the global economy and then gleefully laugh your asses off when Uncle Sam… in the role of Robin Hood in reverse… bails you out by shaking down the powerless working poor.

I also take exception to how you’ve accumulated more bucks than you could ever spend in five lifetimes… yet, still refuse to pay even five pennies in taxes.

Wake up call… if, after taxes, you still can enjoy your outrageously opulent lifestyle… just pony up and shut up!

 

Testosterone

 

Bad Boy Politicians, Hollywood Bigwigs and Mass Media Types:

Wake up you vile little boys. Guess what? In reality, healthy interpersonal relationships DO NOT play out like hardcore porn videos… ones that, no doubt, insensitive creeps like you routinely fast forward just to drool over the “money shots”.

Guess what? The male appendage (let’s refer to it as “IT”) is not akin to some sort of key that, on your mere whim, will open every door. “IT” does not act as a magic wand that… upon dropping your drawers and wildly waving it about… will instantly cast a spell that’ll suddenly, somehow, make you irresistible to your targeted, soon-to-be traumatized victims.

Even in the straight, consensual context… from a purely anatomical perspective… “IT” is primarily designed to provide the male pleasure… not the female. In other words Bad Boys… that blows your magic wand theory.

Until you Bad Boys stop objectifying the people you meet… until you first establish genuine friendships that’ll last even if they don’t lead both of you to the bedroom… until you learn to respect humankind… especially womankind… just zip up and shut up!

 

End of Father – Son Chats? Not likely… we are talking about unevolved, little boys trapped in grown men’s bodies… little boys behaving badly… very, Very, VERY BADLY! And, regrettably, that’s a species that’s nowhere even close to becoming endangered.

 

 

Footprints in the Snow

Just before the ’17 winter solstice, I had set forth on one of my early a.m. power walks, which upon arrival at my favorite park, typically transitions into a more contemplative, leisurely stroll.

On this particular occasion, it soon became evident that while we homeowners do a good job clearing snow from the public walkways we’re responsible for, the DPW does not always shovel those they’re required to maintain.

Judging from the neglected, snow-covered condition of that park’s asphalt paths, I presumed that some austerity program adopted by our city fathers had either furloughed some of their snow removal crews or had assigned them to less frequent work-shifts.

Looking glumly at the sorry state of affairs, I soon found myself wishing I had worn my boots instead of athletic footwear. My options were now limited to two. Either walk gingerly to prevent snow from collecting inside my shoes or do an about face and head for home. Since I normally slow my pace in this setting, anyway, I figured I’d be OK with cautiously staying the course.

As I soldiered onward, all the sudden, I spotted a trail of fresh footprints, ahead. My lucky day! Executing a slight course change and matching the previous park visitor’s stride, I had found that third option. In other words, my following in the footsteps of an anonymous, out of sight trailblazer had saved the day.

It was afterwards, on the return home leg of my fitness walk that I sensed something much deeper than those actual footprints in the snow. True, my observations are hardly anything unique and groundbreaking. But, upon factoring in how, our increasingly “What’s in it for me, Me, ME” driven society needs an attitude readjustment in that regard, my following “deep” thoughts are worthy of mention. Let’s refer to them as…

 

A Refreshing Refresher Course

  • In humankind’s walk through life, we are following in the tried and true footsteps of others who came before us. It’s that intergenerational continuity from where we learn what worked for our forebearers and what didn’t. In other words, if we watch where we are / where they were going, they’ll save us from repeating their mistakes… and, if nothing else… that’s a great time saver.
  • It’s our slowing down, thinking on our feet and… when appropriate… accepting someone else’s fresh, course of action (e.g. our following those footprints) that can work wonders whenever we’re trying to work through some unanticipated, problematic situation.
  • More importantly, regardless of our “shoe size” / our station in life, at any given moment anyone with a good idea has equal footing.
  • We humans are helping one another even when we don’t realize it. And that says much about each individual’s importance. Of course, this doesn’t even take into account how much better life can get when we do consciously cooperate / work well with each other. Words such as “offering a helping hand” and “walking hand in hand” do come to mind… that latter phrase possibly even adding the dimension of love into the equation of life.
  • Seeing how the person who had walked in the snow before I had, wore a smaller shoe size, as I enlarged that original trail of footprints, I may’ve even made life easier for the next person to follow in my footsteps. And maybe, someday, some newly arriving person (with even bigger feet) will do the same!
  • It’s safe to say that the spirit of human kindness and cooperation can have a snowballing effect…and that improves the quality of everyone’s life.

 

In spite of how those footprints in the snow had helped me, I do know they best serve us as a metaphor. Were that not the case, with the arrival of the warmer months everything would soon melt away and we’d lose our way. We’d then have to depend on the next snowfall to regain our bearings (and with global warming snow days could become rare).

That means we must take great care to heed the wisdom of our past and present, actual, venerated trailblazers… many of them brilliant scientists, who are ignorantly ridiculed by the present DC regime. After all, it takes trailblazers to hurdle political speed-bumps and roadblocks… to help us stay the correct course upon humanity’s path to survival.

 

 

‘Twas Not Rachel, Bridgette or Carman

CommonSenseTom

Yesterday, I blogged about the robocalling robo-women, Rachel, Bridgette and Carmen… told how the persistence of these scammers… their flat out refusal to take my “no” for an answer… has ruined my life… has gotten me to the point where I actually dread answering my landline phone.

My true story, in this day’s post, points out why we must never permit these vile entities to sour our view of our world…

‘Twas in the waning days of December ‘15, when my phone rang. Glancing over at the clock… it was still well before 9 p.m…. so… the window of opportunity for more robocall abuse was still wide open. I had even considered letting my answering machine field the call… but…

Just before the fourth ring I picked up the handset… time seemed to freeze. Palpable was that moment of hesitation, both the caller’s and mine. Then I heard a female voice…

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BlogCast: Tom’s Top 20 Countdown “2” Christmas: Song 1

 

Five Decembers ago on the 14th… I first learned of the Newtown, Connecticut, Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre. My heart immediately sank. I could only imagine the ghastly horrors experienced by the traumatized student body and staff… how they were forced to endure watching a mentally disturbed individual so callously and casually blow away 20 young children and 6 educators.

My thoughts then turned to the grieving survivors…of how the families and friends of these victims would be undergoing a mourning process, made even more unbearable because of the close proximity of Christmas… a holiday that is all about families and friends.

In the days to follow, with the crime scene tape still fluttering in death’s icy wind, I naively thought…

Newtown has got to be the very tragedy that’s sure to trigger an open, honest discussion about gun control… one, which will break down that wildly partisan, stone-hearted, stone-headed Republican stonewall. What Republican would not FIRST see this as America’s wake-up call and NEXT be as publicly and visibly moved… perhaps even to the point of fighting back their own tears… the same way President Barack Obama had had to do.

Death is tough enough to accept but that gets compounded a zillionfold when we consider how 20 of the victims were innocent school kids… children who had not yet lived long enough to have seen more than 6 or 7 lit candles on their birthday cakes… how they’d been denied all the good things life has to offer… growing up, discovering their innate talents, joining our workaday world, falling in love, marrying and watching their own kids growing up.

This Christmas morn, I dusted off my family photo album to leaf through its old-school, black construction paper pages… to fondly reminisce over two Christmases past… the very years when I, too, had been age 6 and 7. Yep, there was my all-caught-up-in-the-holiday-spirit, younger self… my ear to ear grins, eyes wide with wonderment. Yeah… those had been the cherished Christmas mornings that, within my memory, have lasted all my life. I could feel my present day face recreating those same smiles… but not for long.

My thoughts now turn to this morning… to Newtown’s surviving, still mourning parents… of how their own photo albums have wound up with missing of photos, empty black pages… and will continue to do so.

December 14, 2017 came and went without so much as even one whisper of the Sandy Hook massacre by the new, so-called prez. To these survivors he would not even be deadpanning or Tweeting one of his patent pending, insincere, robotic, braindead, “You are in our thoughts and prayers.”

Far worse… well… let’s now quote Nicole Hockley, whose 6-year-old son, Dylan, died at Sandy Hook Elementary School. From her Facebook post, which went viral… she justifiably lambastes Donald Trump…

 

“Not only did he ignore the five-year remembrance completely ― not even a single tweet ― he slapped us all in the face by having none other than NRA President Wayne LaPierre at his White House Christmas party that night. The appalling lack of humanity and decency has not gone unnoticed. While they ignorantly partied and remained uninformed on an issue that kills thousands of Americans every year, I was crying myself to sleep. While they got the chance to kiss their children goodnight, I kissed the urn holding my beautiful boy’s ashes.”

 

To be sure, the alleged prez has no need to fight off tears… for he has none to fight. True, his handler, White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders would likely spin this with her snotty, smarmy and sycophantic, Geeze what the hell is the big deal? What do ya want… blood? After all, this shooting incident did occur five long years ago.

To any such bullcrap, I’d counter…

 

“Oh yeah? Then how come I saw my eyes welling up this morning?”

 

During this new DC regime’s first year, we’ve seen even more massacres… to name two… Las Vegas and Texas… the latter one involving a church… A CHURCH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! Yet, even mass murder’s blood stained, stained glass locales have yet to trigger that sorely needed, open, honest discussion about gun control… have failed to prod the infantile minded powers-that-be to take even the first baby steps towards keeping guns out of the hands of mentally unstable people… to cure American society of its gun sickness.

I realize my tough talk may’ve bummed some folks out this holiday morn. But… long sigh… any momentary depression I may’ve caused you would pale in comparison to the lifetime of grief and sorrow which the Sandy Hook massacre survivors will be forced to endure. If there are any doubters amongst my readers, just scroll up to re-read Nicole Hockley’s eloquently stated, spot-on words.

We must never forget there are countless survivors of countless other mass shootings, too. And what about those shootings that fly under the media radar because of what? Too few deaths? As if what? One person dying isn’t enough to warrant coverage? Folks, the day society becomes jaded to the point where every such death does not move us… well… long sigh… that is the death of said, sad society.

Getting back to the music… I fully and freely admit that my featured Top 20 Countdown “2” Christmas Song #1, Christmas In Heaven, is not the feel good music that will paint smiles on the faces of decent folks… but until indecent, NRA propped up politicians are cured of their sociopathy, corruption, avarice, lust for power and gun sickness… we really don’t have much to smile about… now do we?

 

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