WLB Press

Say Hello 2 Heaven Chris Cornell and Gregg Allman

I hopped in the back of pick-up truck and sped toward Manhattan for the much anticipated Guns N' Roses concert. We had just finished our shifts at IHOP and two of the waitresses had changed out of their blue plaid frocks into fishnet tights and black leather jackets. Their lips were painted ruby red and their friends provided the transportation along with a case of beer. One of my fellow refugees was not going for Guns, he was going to see the opening band Soundgarden. He had on a Badmotorfinger t-shirt that was well worn.

Chris Cornell performs in 1992.

That concert was my introduction to Soundgarden and the emerging Seattle music scene. I can still hear Chris Cornell shake the walls of Madison Square Garden as my neck snapped back and forth with each passing rocker chick who left nothing to my teenage imagination. I would hear that same booming voice again some years later when Audioslave played atop the marquee of The Late Show with David Letterman and shook the neighboring building were I worked 32 stories above.

News of Chris Cornell's passing was shocking. He was the beacon that led the way for the tumultuous talent in flannel shirts who occupied the nation from coast to coast for more than a decade. Chris Cornell had a voice. Not only to shake the concrete walls where he performed, but also to carry the beleaguered hearts of his generation. His lament for the loss of his friend Andrew Wood on the Temple of the Dog album is eerie as it is a fitting eulogy for himself: There's just one thing left to be said, Say hello to heaven.

There's Nobody Left to Run With Anymore

With zero time to comprehend the loss of Chris Cornell, we were hit with the passing of Gregg Allman. I've lost count of how many Allman Brothers shows I've seen and how transported I was at each one across each state I visited. There is one show that stands out. It was not due to the sheer power of Gregg Allman's voice, rather it was due to its absence.

Gregg Allman and Cher circa 1975.

It was late morning in the summer of 1995 when my phone rang. My friend broke the news that Jerry Garcia had passed. I met my friend at our familiar spot and friends dropped by at various times to grieve the loss along with us. We went to the Allman Brothers show that night at Jones Beach where the crowd was in a somber mood.

The Allman Brothers took the stage and Dickey Betts addressed the crowd by saying, "We lost a brother today." It soon became apparent that Gregg Allman had lost his voice, so the band played many of the songs Dickey sang including Ramblin Man which they had retired after its chart topping success. The Black Crowes were in town and the Robinson brothers joined the band for a spirited rendition of Southbound. Gregg did manage to to sing No One to Run With that featured a montage of fallen musicians with the recently added Jerry Garcia.

As I look at my music shelf, a good percentage of it comprises Chris Cornell and Gregg Allman records. The impact these musicians had on my life can be measured in decades. I take comfort in knowing they left behind many recordings and I imagine the choir of angels has gotten even better.

Tire

When my life does expire
my poems will roll on like a tire
even though the words
and thoughts aren't new
the arrangements will give people
something to chew on and on
as the threads become smooth
the next generation will feel my groove
and light their own fire
with ditties that inspire
as they roll on like a steel-belted tire.

Tire by D.W. Dowling (Meredith M. 1998)

Made in the USA

Buying products that are made in the USA has long been a passion of mine. It can be a challenge sometimes as these products may not be easy to find or may not be made here anymore. In categories such as autos, shoes and clothes, there are many wonderful American manufacturers to choose from. While price can sometimes be more than foreign counterparts, I find the quality of American products is worth it with the added benefit of supporting jobs here.

From the coffee I drink, to the car I drive, there are numerous opportunities to buy well-made products that are manufactured in the USA. Here are a few examples in men's wardrobe:

Shinola Men's Watches

The Runwell Chrono by Shinola

Randolph Engineering Sunglasses

Aviator by Randolph Engineering

Hickey Freeman Suit

Navy Chalk Stripe Tasmanian Suit by Hickey Freeman

American Trench Socks

Pima Cotton Houndstooth Socks by American Trench

Rancourt & Co. Shoes

Blake Wingtip by Rancourt & Co.

Try any one of these products when it comes time for your next purchase, not only will you feel good about it, you'll look sharp.

Writers on the Storm

The legendary editor of Charles Scribner's Sons, Maxwell Perkins, worked with writers who became legends such as Thomas Wolfe, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway. None of these men knew celebrity until their first novel was published.

Back then, publishers invested in writers who could build careers. They paid modest advances and worked together to produce literature that could achieve commercial success. Some books would flop, others would yield a modest return, and some would be gigantic best-sellers. The best-sellers would fund the enterprise.

George R.R. Martin

Publishing has changed since then.

An unknown writer presents undue risk to a publisher. To achieve profit they must invest in those titles the industry will support as best-sellers. That said, a writer with an established audience has leverage. For example, the Obamas were awarded a $60 million contract from Penguin Random House for the President's and the First Lady's memoirs. A safe bet by any calculation, but the pendulum for today's writers can swing both ways.

With a bona fide hit out of the gate, the pressure to follow it up can be overwhelming. One way writers can avoid the sophomore jinx is through a series that rolls like a snowball down a hill such as Game of Thrones and Harry Potter. Of course, a writer can become the series themselves such as Stephen King, Tom Clancy and John Grisham. Since many of the commercially successful books are wonderful pieces of literature, too, where does it leave today's aspiring writers?

J.K. Rowling

While the business of publishing has evolved with the marketplace, the marketplace has itself become more accessible. Backing from a publisher with promotion and distribution can smooth the path to fortune and fame, but it's never an easy path. It's a howling storm out there and writers must put on their boots, fasten their coats, hold on to their hats, and trudge along.

Running of the Bulls in Jamaica, Queens

A bull escaped from a slaughterhouse on Tuesday running through the streets of Jamaica, Queens with reckless abandon, terrorizing pedestrians in its path. The NYPD was in hot pursuit as the bull paraded down city sidewalks and hopped fences looking for its way out of the urban maze. The beast was struck with tranquilized darts resembling carefully placed swords from Spanish matadors while crowds gathered to watch the event. Its captors from the nearby Aziz Slaughter House chased the bull until it turned its horns toward them and charged. They escaped being gored without the customary cheer of Olé!

The bull traveled two miles and was seemingly cornered before escaping to run a half mile more. It finally sat down in a yard on 158th Street and 116th Avenue and was captured and transported to a nearby animal shelter where it was later pronounced dead from the corrida. The gallant run by the beast to escape the butcher's knife prompted a candlelight vigil in its honor outside the slaughterhouse the next day.

Bull escapes slaughterhouse in Queens. Theodore Parisienne

While the annual Running of the Bulls Festival takes place in Pamplona, Spain in July, New Yorkers received an unexpected preview this winter. To some, it came as no surprise as the bulls have been running wild on Wall Street for the past month.

The Enduring Beauty of Liz Cho

Have you ever stared at a portrait of a lady for an eternity? What if eternity was measured in 10 minutes or 10 hours or 10 days? What if you saw the same picture each day for 10 years? Would it feel like eternity? Could any portrait hold you captive for that long? Perhaps if it changed ever so slightly each day, a new hairstyle, a different dress, a dash of pepper here, a pinch of salt there, would it continue to entice the palette? Imagine if the lady could speak and you could watch her expression change from mock disbelief to spontaneous laughter in an instant? Would eternity be long enough?

Liz Cho, Eyewitness News, Feb. 4, 2016.

I first wrote about Liz Cho in December of 2006 when she was the co-anchor of Eyewitness News at 11pm. Her bright portrait illuminated my tranquil living room each night. Those times when she was absent, there was a noticeable void like a blank space on a museum wall. I took note of one such absence in 2007 when she was on maternity leave and triumphantly announced her return a few months later. I chronicled the disappearance of her wedding ring in 2008 and speculated there was a budding romance between Liz and her co-anchor Bill Ritter. It was an unfounded rumor; however, it forshadowed her public divorce in 2012 and her equally public romance with Good Morning America's Josh Elliott with whom she would marry in 2014.

The consummate professional, Liz Cho's personal life rarely interfered with her professional one. The only disruption in a decade was when she left the 11pm broadcast to fill the 4pm void in programming when Oprah Winfrey retired. The change in shift was thought to be temporary at first, but it soon became permanent. The portrait of the lady that had become a fixture in my home seemed lost forever, snatched away by an earlier broadcast that mercilessly conflicted with my own schedule. Luckily, it wasn't for long. As my living room grew less tranquil with a growing family, my schedule skewed earlier and earlier until her 6pm broadcast filled the time slot before dinner.

Liz Cho, Eyewitness News, Feb, 14, 2017

To me, it does not seem like an eternity since I first gazed upon the portrait of this particular lady. Her elegance and beauty has not only endured a decade, it has radiated in high-definition from an increasingly larger frame, leaving me as captivated today as I was back then.

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Thank You Lord

Thank you Lord for the ability to make a wrong a right

and coffee and aspirin after a late night,

Thank you Lord for another chance to run and laugh

and for declining the penalty after an ill-advised gaffe,

Thank you Lord for treating us all the same

and for being impartial to our endless blame,

And thank you Lord for listening to my prayer

and letting me know you're always there.

Ireland Baldwin drinks coffee (Pinterest).

Drink on Hemingway

I drove through Islamorada in a fiery Mustang convertible with the top down and Marley and the Wailers playing over and over while my foot weighed down like gravity on the accelerator.

Spontaneous flight to Miami, now on the hunt for inspiration once owned by the man who left a blueprint to literary fortune in his short, swift typewriter strokes.

Hotel in Key West where a cute girl in navy blue g-string bikini waits poolside for me to make a move, but I'm incapacitated by irreverent sun beams and the beauty of her fresh tan lines.

Ernest Hemingway

Night falls. Drag queens on Duval Street singing Christmas carols. Ruckus up ahead, sirens and handcuffs, I turn left to Whitehead, to find blues burning from Caffeine Carl and the Funky Beans and wild locals getting loose on buckets of beer, drunk on the notion I'm in heaven, but it's filthy and lonely after a while.
Wallet empty, party strong, I leave dejected, seeking inspiration, call on Hemingway ... Show yourself, you son of a bitch.

And then I find it -- a five dollar bill in front of his house!

After six long years of embellishment, I pick up the bill and head back to the bar for a drink on Hemingway.

But, according to my notes, the bill was one block away and I could not go back, chased by a black cat to the beach where I charge bare-ass into the water only to be devoured by camouflaged sharks and the wonder of how I will look back on this absurd life.

Green Parrot Bar, Key West, FL

Unre quit ed

Unre quit ed is a bitch
A back to scratch that doesn’t itch
A nose to pick that always bleeds
A potted garden full of weeds
A towel to dry unwashed hands
A container filled with rubber bands
Unre quit ed is a bitch
A gaping wound with no stitch
A mirrored ball with no dance
A matching top with no pants
A drink in hand with no thirst
A thinking man’s muttered curse
Unre quit ed is a bitch
A name I’d say but just can't snitch.

To Be a Kid Again

My wife and I promised our boys we'd take them ice skating this New Year's Eve and we made good on it. I haven't been on skates in ages and the sum total of times I have can be counted on one hand.

My youngest son is a big three, which means he's closer to four and he was unfazed when I laced up his tiny skates. He walked with a purpose to the edge of the rink, but when he stepped on the ice, his confidence shattered. His feet went in different directions like a foal outside a barn and he screamed from the top of his lungs for me to get him out of there. Problem was, I couldn't.

He held my hand as I clutched the wall and the two of us spiraled our way forward with the other skaters. At times, he would clutch me as if he was hanging off a cliff. Then a young girl came by and asked me if my son was learning how to balance. She couldn't have been much older than six. She told him to keep his legs straight, bend his knees, and walk like a penguin. I don't think he heard her over his tears, but I followed her instructions and echoed them as we made our way.

About halfway through, my lower back started barking like a hound dog in pursuit of a fox. My son's pleas to turn around became my own. We did an about-face and before we got too far, the young girl skated over to us and told us we had to go in the same direction as everybody else. Of course she was right, that know-it-all.

We pushed on. Salvation lay on the other side of the rink, but to make it, we'd have to cut across the ice without the safety of the wall. My son sensed the gravity of the situation and squirmed like a puppy before its first dunk in the bathtub. We glided in slow motion toward our destination. When we made it, I praised him for being brave and asked him if he wanted to go around again. He looked at me like I was crazy. He couldn't wait to get his skates off.

On the way home, he and his older brother were filled with song and laughter before they fell into a deep sleep.

I've never made a New Year's resolution I intended to keep and today is no different. I did realize something, though. After I made it around the ice rink with my three-year-old, we watched the other skaters and I felt exhilarated. Memories of my first skate flooded back to me along with the realization that decades later, I'm no better at it than I was then, but boy, did I have fun. Simply being with my kid, doing what he wanted to do, made me feel like a kid again. I may have a different answer later tonight when the ball drops and that familiar question is raised in song: Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Grab your kid by the hand and see for yourself.

Billy Joel Plays 33rd Show at Madison Square Garden

You can tell Billy Joel enjoys what he does for a living. From the moment he walks on stage, the room shrinks and the audience feels like they're sitting in his living room. These days, that living room happens to be Madison Square Garden.

He called his 33rd show at MSG, the "Halloween" show, and peppered his fans with the themes from Halloween, Friday the 13th, The Addams Family and Jaws along with a raucous snippet of "The Monster Mash" amidst "The River of Dreams."

While "You May Be Right" on any "Long Night" with the "Piano Man," I was thrilled when "The Downeaster Alexa" won the "toss up" over "Say Goodbye to Hollywood." Ya-ya-ya-oh! Strong Island in the house!

I brought my "Uptown Girl" to the show for our ninth wedding anniversary as she's wanted to see Billy Joel for "The Longest Time" and, well, "She's Always a Woman" to me.

We embraced our "New York State of Mind" as Billy Joel propped up a skull with Shakespearean flare before taking us on a tour of "Leningrad" and "Vienna" and then stopping for a pina colada at Trader Vic's with Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London."

"The Entertainer" has played songs throughout "My Life" from "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant" to when I was "Movin' Out," his classics are akin to Beethoven's "Joy" and "Nessun Dorma" by Giacomo Puccini.

Billy Joel opened his encore with guitar in hand reminding us that "We Didn't Start the Fire" while twirling his microphone stand like a baton before the King of Queens, Kevin James, who shouted "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me!"

We all left the show smiling and satisfied as if we had just finished our dessert on Thanksgiving. We were all in the mood for a melody and our "Piano Man" had us feeling alright.

Billy Joel at Madison Square Gardern.

The Body

Elle Macpherson aka "The Body"

The body is a source of sheer delight and immense disappointment. It is unique to each of us. It can be sculpted and it can change its shape without warning. We are its master and its victim.

Elle Macpherson was known as "The Body" after hers graced the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue again and again, meanwhile Jesse "The Body" Ventura used his on the battlefield, the wrestling ring, and the political arena.

The body of a newborn begins its journey to the body of an octogenarian. The intricate systems of the body keep it moving from start to finish, through shrieks of agony and pulsating electric shocks from the embrace of a lover.

It appears in scripture and in strip malls. It's in our work. It is the one thing you know best and hardly at all. We stare at it in the mirror and we stare at other versions on the beach or in the gym. At times, we covet it like a jewel.

Jesse "The Body" Ventura

Artists opine about the beauty of a body in masculine and feminine form. Scientists dissect it. Athletes push it to the limits. You and I touch it and sometimes invite others to do so as well. A pat on the back, a handshake, a different kind of shake, an embrace, a violent push. We adorn armor to protect it. We chose clothes that flatter its shape and keep it warm and safe from the elements. We shield it from the sun and bask in its rays. We manufacture a prosthetic to replace a piece that was once there or perhaps never at all.

The body is a tool to lay, move, gather, cook, hold, hit, drive, jump, stand, run ...

The body is sexy. The curves of a woman in clothes that cling or nothing at all. The broad shoulders of a man drawing the letter V at a tapered waist. The body seeks other bodies to reproduce more and more bodies.

For those whose body has been dormant, push it. For those whose body has been sore, heal it. For those whose body draws attention, flaunt it. For those whose body is healthy, appreciate it. For those whose body won't agree, convince it. For those whose body has been laid to rest, may it rest in peace.

-0-

/EDITOR'S NOTE: "The Body" was written by request for DELve Mag . It is syndicated here by its author, Weird Long Beard Press/

Working Man Blues

When that odd day comes
and I'm finally out of debt
I shall sit in a soft chair and
light up a cigarette
I will enjoy a good smoke
then I'll let out a sigh as
I think of all the days worked
and the time gone by
The bills will be paid
my stomach well fed
I'll watch some TV
before I go to bed
and dream of all the things I have
and those I should get
and in no time at all
I'll be back in debt.

Ireland Baldwin Treats Us to a Lady Picture Show on the Heels of Dylan Penn

Far from a rude, thoughtless little pig, Ireland Baldwin will appear in a "some like it hot" portfolio by Arthur Belebeau in the number 11 issue of Treats! Magazine on the 4" heels of Dylan Penn who appeared in the number seven issue. Seven or 11 is quite a come out roll for the luscious pair who continue their ascendancy and are no longer a secret. Check it out:

Ireland Baldwin, Treats! Magazine, Issue 11.

Mourn the Slain

Mourn the slain
of every color and domain
Oppose the violent and profane
and wisdom of the criminally insane
Violence begets violence, there ain't no gain
Tyrannical politics fanning the flame
No common decency to ease the pain
Just surging hatred toward fellow man
In the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave
Nobody's right unless someone is wrong
Each one of us deciding who does belong
Not a different tribe or religion
Blindness stands in way of our Founders' vision
that we are endowed by our Creator
Who sent forth a lover, not a hater
Who stood only as tall as the smallest one
and told us to love each and everyone
But we keep trucking a different lane
At speeds too fast to mourn the slain
and foot too heavy to hit the break
and a fury too blind to see our mistake.