The simple formula
Breathe.
Give thanks.
Repeat as necessary.
Both are necessary.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I dig those crates!
I spend an inordinate amount of time digging through crates of old albums at thrift stores. I’m like the old joke about the kid who wakes up on Christmas morning and finds a pile of horse manure under the tree instead of gifts, and dives right in because “there must be a pony in here somewhere.”
In my case, the pile of horse manure is albums from Andy Williams, the Ray Conniff singers, and The First Family album that was a spoof of the Kennedys.
Fun fact sidebar: The First Family album was released in November of 1962 and sold seven million copies by January of 1963. The follow up album (the not-so-imaginatively-titled Volume Two) hit #4 in June of 1963… both albums were pulled from sales after JFK’s assassination in November.
But if you find a prize hidden among all that audio detritus – “there must be a pony in here somewhere” – it’s worth the dig.
This weekend I got a Los Lobos album, still in its shrink-wrap, for a dollar.
I’m not looking to cash in and flip these platters — other than flipping them from Side 1 to Side 2. I’m no Discogs dude. I just like the joy of discovering something that means a lot to me, at a bargain basement price.
To be honest, I don’t really spend much time listening to vinyl albums. (I have to keep up with the new music releases, which I compile into a weekly Spotify playlist.) But albums as an artistic artifact are a lot cooler than CDs. I grew up devouring liner notes, and still do. With albums, I can actually read the fine print. And someday, I will give all of my albums (my wife claims I have too many – not humanly possible) a spin or three.
Until then, I’ll keep digging for that pony. Or “The Wolves” en Español.
Side 1, Track 1 of the album above – one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands:
The boys are back in town
Take a gander at this group of old guys (and one younger lady):
You might think there’s nothing remarkable about them. But you’d be wrong. I met all the guys in the picture when they were young dudes, back in 1982. It was our freshman year of college at Xavier University. (I know that’s hard to believe, as we all look so young… there’s no way we’re in our 60s!)
And here we are, 43 years later. A band of brothers with a bond of friendship that’ll never be broken. That’s truly remarkable.
It stinks that it’s usually sad occasions that bring us together. The first photo above was after yesterday’s funeral for our friend LJ – that’s his wife Patty in the middle. She went to XU too – she and LJ started dating in college, so she’s been part of the gang for nearly as long as we’ve been a gang.
Our friend Ned isn’t in the top photo either – he passed away two years ago, sadly. And a few fellas couldn’t make it in for the services. But they were there in spirit.
In S.E. Hinton’s novel That Was Then, This Is Now, narrator Bryon Douglas said:
If you have two friends in your lifetime, you’re lucky. If you have one good friend, you’re more than lucky.
If that’s the case, then we all won the friendship Powerball lottery. When I showed up at XU back in August of 1982, I had no idea that I was about to hit the jackpot. Such rewarding relationships, with friends that are good as gold.
My buddy Rick (yep, he’s in the photo from yesterday) sent me a text today and summed it up beautifully:
I’ve been thinking this morning that of all the non-XU friends I have, there is not a single one who can claim a cohesive group of 30-40 people who are always there for each other no matter the distance, the financial status, or the time between interactions, the way our crew is. It is honestly a really great feeling, even in times of sadness that will inevitably draw us together again and again, but knowing that even in the sad times, there will always be great stories, great memories, and uncontrollable laughter as the by-product. I thank God for you and our whole group of misfits that somehow all fit together!
Amen, Brother Rick, amen!
Spoken and Unspoken
An incomplete list of the things I wish I’d said to one of my best friends, as he lay dying from brain cancer.
- You have been a tried and true friend for more than 43 years, since we met in the dorms our freshman year. I’m truly grateful for our time together.
- We had so much fun over those 43 years – and most of it was probably legal. I will cherish the memories.
- My life is infinitely richer for having met you and having been befriended by you. I won the friendship lottery.
- You truly are one of the nicest people in the world. Your sincerity, your empathy, your complete lack of guile – such great gifts to bestow upon us.
- Your devotion to family is an example for all of us – a steadfast son, a devoted husband, a loving father, a doting “Pops” to your grandkids.
- You are so brave. Your courage in the face of soul-crushing, heart-breaking news, just a couple of months past your 60th birthday, is admirable.
- You are so strong. Even while the cancer ravaged your brain and body, you stayed positive, stayed resilient. You lived out The Serenity Prayer:
- In your courageous — and serene — approach to your final chapter on earth, you taught all of us more about what really matters.
- I love you, brother.
What I actually said to one of my best friends, as he lay dying from brain cancer:
“I love you, brother.”
The latter will have to suffice. I’m not good at goodbyes.
Rest in peace and supreme happiness, my friend. You’ve earned your wings.
John Hadden. March 6, 1964 — November 15, 2025.
My Boston Marathons (plural)
Last night, I got back from a four-day trip to Boston. It was yet another pilgrimage to see my favorite band doing three nights of shows.
It was like ComicCon, but for old guys who like guitar-driven, melodic rock circa the early 90s. (I’m being reductive – Buffalo Tom still puts out new albums occasionally, and their newer stuff is just as compelling as their older tunes. But still, they might want to look into sponsorship deals with hip replacement surgeons and Flomax.)
The venue holds about 400. 400 dedicated, dyed-in-the-wool fans, from all over – L.A., Baltimore, south Michigan, even Tasmania! And yours truly, representing the Flyover States Chapter of the Buffalo Tom Fan Club. The vibe is quite casual, as witnessed by the very “Puppet Show and Spinal Tap” look of the chalkboard sign in front of the Armory.
Buffalo Tom was never “massive”… but I love their music, and they’re good dudes. I’m so grateful that they’ve organized this festival for the past couple of years. Seeing and hearing them live brings me so much joy. They’re my jam!
Three nights of concerts (including an acoustic set Thursday with some very tasty cover songs from Echo & The Bunnymen, the Rolling Stones, The Cars, the Psychedelic Furs, New Order, Simon & Garfunkel, and Died Pretty).
Plus a book reading from lead singer Bill Janovitz’s latest book, which is about The Cars.
But wait, there’s more! A band Q&A, an autograph session, and cool opening bands (John Wesley Harding! The Moving Targets! Hilken Mancini and Melissa Gibbs! Elsa Kennedy!). Truly an embarrassment of riches for BT fans. A magical musical marathon.
Speaking o’ marathons, I clocked a ton of steps traipsing through Boston, Cambridge, Somerville, and Medford during my stay. I had to make a pilgrimage to Greystone, the amazing cafe/bakery in the South End that my first cousin once removed Jacqueline owns and operates, with an assist from her mom (“Cousin Patty” to me).
They weren’t around (Jacqueline just had Baby #3, and Patty was out of town for a wedding) but the morning bun was to die for!
I met up with the daughter/niece (respectively) of a couple of brothers who are friends of mine from college. (She works at Greystone!) And with husband/wife co-workers of mine who relocated to Boston a couple of years ago.
Boston Public Library. Harvard Square. Newbury Comics. Davis Square. Winter Hill Brewing. Cheapo Records. And green space galore!
I started walking and never really stopped.
I walked a Boston Marathon and a Boston Half-Marathon. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Buffalo Tom’s song “All Be Gone” says it best:
Seems like I was just a kid not so long ago
So many arrivals
So many hellos
Now my time behind is greater than my time ahead
Save up the minutes like flowers
Before they’re all dead and gone
While I can, I’m gonna lace ’em up, and keep on keepin’ on.
Miles of memories
This past weekend, my wife and my son Peter flew to Hilton Head, SC to run a half-marathon.
Meanwhile, I drove 278 miles to Nashville on Saturday to see The Beths in concert.
Oh, and then I drove another 88 miles to Lexington, KY on Sunday to see Kathleen Edwards in concert.
The thought of running around the block, much less 13.1 miles, doesn’t appeal to me at all. Yet I’m fine standing for two hours at a show. I don’t know about a “runner’s high” but I do know that hearing a great song live sends my spirits soaring.
Tina and Peter got a finisher’s medal after the race.
I got a setlist after Kathleen Edwards’ show.
My wife’s trying to run a race in every state. I think South Carolina was #26 or #27.
I don’t have a goal to see a concert in every state. But maybe I should.
They’re different kinds of miles, but they’re totally worth it if they bring you joy, and you’re making memories in the process.
Live music is my marathon. I’ll never stop running.
Permission granted
A bit of Monday morning inspiration courtesy of Austin Kleon:
Maybe it isn’t so much “inspiration” as “motivation to create a little perspiration.”
Drawing art, starting a business, writing a book – they all take effort. Even putting an album on the turntable (or creating a playlist) requires a bit of exertion.
You don’t need permission from anyone else. But you do have to do the work.
Austin Kleon is the New York Times bestselling author of a trilogy of illustrated books about creativity in the digital age: Steal Like An Artist, Show Your Work!, and Keep Going. He’s also the author of Newspaper Blackout, a collection of poems made by redacting the newspaper with a permanent marker.
He sends out a weekly “10 things” email newsletter that’s always engaging. You can sign up for it in the sidebar of his website’s home page.
“Monetize” is not the prize
I’m way overdue for a Seth Godin reference. Lemme rectify that right now.
That’s Seth’s blog post from 10/2. In its entirety. (I should be learning his “economy of words” lessons too!)
When I read this post, I immediately thought of three things that don’t “pay me back”:
- This blog.
- The podcast I do with my buddy Dave.
- My music blog/whatchamacallit (where I also post podcast episodes).
They’re all loss leaders… I’ve earned the princely sum of zero dollars and zero cents, combined, from all three. (Quite the trifecta!)
I have to pay for the domain names, the podcast hosting, the WordPress hosting, anti-spam software… it probably comes out to just shy of $300 a year.
Don’t tell WordPress and Podbean and Akismet and Namecheap, but I’d gladly pay a lot more.
I’m not looking to “monetize” my efforts.
The blog has helped me be a better writer (still a work in progress), stay better connected with my friends, and even connect with one of my mom’s relatives in Italy. Pure gold. And my Cincinnati Magazine writing assignments most assuredly wouldn’t have happened without this blog.
The podcast about 97X seems like a fool’s errand. Very few people listened to the station when it existed, and it’s been off the air for two decades (or a mere 15 years if you include the dot-com era). But the people who listened to the station absolutely loved it. And somehow, some way, despite the lack of promotion (and the weird name of “97X Rumblings from the Big Bush”), they found the podcast. As I tell Dave all the time “every time we publish a new episode, we make 150 people very happy.” Through the pod, we’ve been able to reconnect with old friends, meet new ones, talk to musicians we admire (the latest episode features two members of Too Much Joy), and create a place for folks to relive some of their fondest memories. And hanging out with Dave — one of the most naturally funny people I’ve ever met — is always a treat.
My music blog? It’s mostly a “concert calendar” – every few weeks, I’ll post about the bands coming to town, and throw in a bunch of wacky music-related material. In other words, it’s a chance for me to connect my love of music with my love of being goofy. Sold!
Combined, my trifecta of trash takes up a decent amount of my time. And time is our most precious commodity. But I spend it willingly and gladly. I’m not getting “paid back in equal measure.” And that’s exactly the point!
Plain Jane
Yes, I’m the kinda guy who reads the blog posts of the guy who creates the daily Bizarro comic strip.
Here’s the lead-in to the latest post, which is called “Morality Tale (With Bananas)”:
There’s a ton of inspiration in that. Starting with the words of wisdom from Jane herself:
Each one of us matters, has a role to play, and makes a difference. Each one of us must take responsibility for our own lives, and above all, show respect and love for living things around us, especially each other.
Then from Stephen Jay Gould, who said her work “represents one of the Western world’s great scientific achievements.”
Think about that for a second. And ponder the idea that Jane started her work without any degree, in a male-dominated field. There’s no doubt she had to ignore the doubters at every turn.
Then, some words of encouragement from the guy who does the Mutts comic strip:
I know the best way to honor her is for us all to carry her mission forward.
Indeed! Here’s the mission, summed up on the Jane Goodall website:
Then Wayno (Bizzaro daily cartoonist) weighs in:
… there are still forces for good in the world. We need them, and need to be among them, more than ever.
Amen, Brother Wayno!
Now let’s have Jane bring it home:
“Every single one of us makes a difference every day – it is up to us as to the kind of difference we make.”
Happy Monday! A.k.a. Difference Day.
Smiles > Sadness
Sorry for the ouroboros-like post today. It’s been two years and one day since the passing of my friend Ned. Just like last year, I’m reposting my blog entry from October of 2023, and adding a few new thoughts on life and death (you know, just a couple of light topics).
It’s hard to believe it’s been two years. Maybe some of that is due to the fact that time seems to speed up as we age. But for me, I think a big part of it is because the pain, the sting, the overwhelming sadness of Ned’s passing diminishes over time, and yet the smiles, the joy, the love that Ned gave to all of us is still just as strong, just as vivid, just as real. His death was a punch to the gut that sent all of us reeling. But it had no lasting impact on our hearts. If anything, we love him more, because his absence gives us a greater appreciation for what he meant to us.
The sadness doesn’t go away, but it dulls over time. And the smiles are as fresh as today. Or yesterday. Or two years and one day ago.
Be Like Ned (from Oct. 2024)
One year ago today, we lost our dear friend Ned. (The “we” in this case includes the countless people Ned befriended during his too-short time on earth.)
I’m reposting my tribute to Ned from last October below. And adding a few more thoughts:
- Be kind to everyone you meet, from the cashier at the supermarket on up, like Ned was.
- Be caring, like Ned was. Ask others how they are doing.
- Be faithful, like Ned was. A devoted husband, a proud parent, and a true-blue friend.
- Be open to adventure, like Ned was.
If we could all be a bit more like Ned, the world would be a much better place. And to those of us who were lucky enough to know Ned, our part of the world IS a better place than it was before he came into our lives.
Photographs and Memories (from oct. 2023)
Back in my college days, if we needed someone to get swung around like a helicopter blade during a party, Ned was there.
If we needed someone to dress up like an elf, Ned was there.
Getting handcuffed to a loft? Ned was there.
Beer bongs? Ned was there.
For all of our Spring break adventures, Ned was there.
If we needed someone to man the grill, Ned was there.
At all those parties — in the dorm rooms, in the quad, and at the bars — Ned was there.
Whenever you needed a friend, Ned was there.
After college, when some folks from our gang got married, Ned was there.
At all the memorable moments over the past 40 years , Ned was there. Always.
Then, this past Monday, out of the blue, Ned was no longer there.
Suddenly —
You were gone
From all the lives
You left your mark upon
Ned had a stroke back in May of 2020 – it caused all sorts of health complications. But his departure still came as a shock. Now he’s in another “there” and we’re still here.
Tried to believe
But you know it’s no good
This is something
That just can’t be understood
Every one of us has a special place in our heart for the guy who was good-natured, sweet, kind, caring, smart, attentive, funny… and always up for a good time. Ned is still there. He always will be.
You done said…