When I was in 7th or 8th grade, I can’t seem to remember which, but it was middle school nonetheless, I played tenor saxophone in the school band. Next to me sat the baritone horn section. Section. Sounds large. It wasn’t. Two guys actually played baritone horn, Leonard and Jimmy. Leonard and I were friends. But Jimmy who sat between us, sat near me in this class alone. We had no other significant contact except band. I did know that he was also the student manager of the high school varsity football team. So after school in the fall, he went to the high school field for football practice when I went to the high school swimming pool for swim team. Our paths would cross when both of us were done. But we never spoke except for band class.

One day, swim team practice was over, and I went shivering into the locker room to change for home. On my way to my locker from the showers, I saw the football players coming in, many with their heads hanging down. I asked what was going on. They said Jimmy had been hit by a car and he was up in the parking lot. I hurried into my clothes to go out and see him. I hadn’t even asked what his condition was. My mind was thinking that he was probably sitting out there with a broken leg. I’d go up to make sure he was ok. I don’t know what I thought I could do. I just had this impulse.

When I got up there, the EMS workers were on the ground working on Jimmy. I peered over their rapidly moving arms and there he was. There was the guy who only sat next to me, nothing more, with his body torn up and plenty of blood and gore. He was distinguishable in that mess. He was Jimmy. But he was not going to survive even if he was still alive at that moment.

I was shaken up. This was not a natural death. Natural only to its causation, but not natural in the course of ordinary life. This was shocking. I couldn’t bear it. Jimmy’s death rattled me but not in a grown-up way. I was still young and that meant I was invincible like everyone under thirty behaves as if they are. So I wasn’t rattled into an understanding of my own mortality or at the very least a fear of it. No, the sensation was one of actual horror and disbelief. In a moment, a skinny kid playing the baritone horn could become a lifeless mess of blood and gore. I relived those images bouncing back and forth in my mind over and over again. I grew desensitized to them as I got older. They have never actually gone away.

On the football team that Jimmy managed was a golden boy named Joey. Joey was the kind of kid movies are made about. He lived two doors down from me. His dad was a big guy who adored his talented son. He recognized his son’s true athleticism. This wasn’t a guy trumping up the kid’s actual abilities because he had some vicarious need to live through him. Joey was really that good. We played all kinds of games as little kids that gave way to baseball and football as we got a little older. Joey led all of them. He was the home runner, the long passer, the far jumper.

And he only got better. His dad knew it. Strangers knew it too. Joey started getting scouted pretty early. And by the time he was in high school, he was moved over to a parochial school which was known for its football program. It was the right move. As good as Joey was, our high school was no place for him. He was a star there. But a bright star on a dismal team wasn’t going to get him to where he needed to be. Our school was known for an unusually bad record. We went completely un-feated at least two of my high school years.

At his new school Joey was a star in the right sky. Out of high school, Notre Dame got him first. But Pitt got him when he had to take a medical redshirt and transferred. He was a reserve quarterback. My understanding is that his record at Pitt of the longest pass to not result in a touchdown has still not been eclipsed.

My brother stayed friends with Joey over the years. I saw him last somewhere around 1987. He was a guest at a wedding that I also attended. He was always such a nice guy. You wanted to be around someone like him who exuded charm and confidence. And you also liked that his talent wasn’t fake. He was no poseur.

Yesterday, I got an email from my mother that Joey had died. He was 47 years old. He died napping on a couch. What happened? Again, like Jimmy 30+ years ago, this just didn’t seem natural.

The messages started popping up on Facebook about his death. There was the death notice in the paper but it only stated his death as unexpected. My mother gave me information that she knew but I didn’t want to share it before it could be verified. I kept reading all the posts to see if someone could tell us what had really happened.

Well, Joey it seems had had some medical issues, that reading the posts from friends and acquaintances it didn’t appear as if he spoke much about them. He had diabetes which doctors said he acquired due to trauma associated with intestinal surgery in his youth. While I still don’t know what the actual cause of death was, I’m sure it was related to his illness in some way.

I cannot say that Joey and I were friends these many years. But like many people, I easily attach myself to those from my hometown fondly. It makes me proud of where I’m from to know that we came from the same place.

Joey’s death made me think of Jimmy’s. They knew each other. I’m sure they knew each other better than I knew either one myself. And I think about both of them and how shocked and sad I am for both of their passings. Neither one seems natural to me. I accept them. I honor them. But I won’t call them natural deaths. They were both taken too young.

Full article on The Advocate here

Reagan embraced Jerry Falwell’s friendship. The phrase “Moral Majority” entered into our lexicon and brought the party down in my book. Gone was personal liberty. And what replaced it was a world view that some animals were more equal than others. Orwell was right. But the totalitarian view did not rise from the left as might be expected and evidenced from Stalin. It came from the right in a most insidious way. And those who believed in the historical Republican ideals, were left dangling. The religious right fought science and allowed Reagan to go two terms without ever using the word AIDS. Deregulation of the banking industry began the descent into national crisis. A “man of faith” could become President and go to war based on a lie, taking us from unprecedented surplus to crushing national debt. A battle over teaching the scientific fact of evolution is still being fought today. We have candidates vying for the 2012 Republican ticket who use the Bible as if it were the law and not our Constitution. One in particular is actually leading the race. Not just getting any votes at all, he’s actually leading. And he believes in the “innate” evil of feminism, Islam, homosexuality, and the 9th Circuit Court. Where is the Republican party of my ancestors? Gone.

So, I jumped ship. I didn’t register as a Democrat until Bill Clinton’s presidency. And during that time, I saw all the things that had disappointed me about the Republicans before get worse.

And what have we got today? Elected officials who sign pledges to Grover Norquist. I want my leaders to take ONE oath, to uphold the Constitution of the United States. No other oath is appropriate. It is beneath their offices to do such a thing. The Republicans seeking the nomination have all signed the National Organization for Marriage’s pledge. Again, it is beneath the office they seek.

We have been given despicable people as leaders and voices; Rove, Cheney, Bachmann, Santorum, Gingrich, Perry, Gallagher, Perkins; and ineffectual ones like Bush, Cantor, Boehner who just dig their heels in. Lincoln wouldn’t recognize any of them as Republicans.

So I stay a Democrat. Mainly I do to vote in primaries. But more and more I realize I should jump the Democratic ship too. My disappointment is great for our whole party system. Ideas get squashed in the name of party. And I am feeling my feet start to rise off the plank.

Egg? Blind baking? Starch? Pre-cooking apples? These are the ingredients to what my mother would call a sad overworked pie. This article, entertainingly written, but unfortunately lacks a good apple pie recipe and process. The best crusts are those that are made by “feeling” the ingredients. Knowing how lard or shortening provide good structure and butter adds great flavor; combining the flour, salt, and fats into a crumbly mixture; adding the proper amount of cold water depending on the humidity in the air; working the dough minimally; these are the elements of a great crust. And starch in with the apples? C’mon. Apples have enough pectin to thicken the filling. It’s not complicated. But maybe you just have to learn how at your parents’ and grandparent’s knees. I’m not so sure it can be taught when you’re old enough to fear making a mistake.

Read the NYT article I’m responding to here.

Full op-ed piece here: NY Times

I keep saying that if lower tax rates really fostered job creation, then why haven’t those beneficiaries created any jobs?  Boehner and his cronies all trumpet the cause of the down-trodden corporations and super rich.  They keep recycling that old chestnut of job creation being hindered by higher taxes.  Well, in all these years of the Bush tax cuts remaining in place, where are those jobs?

The Gershwins and Mr. Heyward won’t come around now to complain about this new Porgy and Bess.  And don’t they deserve more respect for their great work?  Use all the backstory necessary in rehearsal if it helps get to the proper moments.  But if you want to bring all that new material into the performance call the show something else.

And to Mr. Sondheim’s other point, no judgment has been made on this new production in performance.  It might be great.  We don’t know yet.    That production of “A Doll’s House” I saw was brilliant.  I even went back twice more.

Heaven On Their Minds; the creation of Jesus Christ Superstar fan page!