NJ Turnpike

A favorite pastime of mine is eavesdropping. Sometimes my busy-body bent has provided fodder for this blog.

Last weekend I overheard two parents discussing the challenging task of talking to their bairns about sex. Little did they know that the gentleman behind them at the deli counter was once a certified sex education instructor. Or, as my employer at the time, the diocese of Camden, called it "Becoming a Person Program."

During the 1976/77 & 77/78 school years, I taught elementary school at St. Rose of Lima in Newfield, NJ.  During my second year, New Jersey provided funding and books so Catholic schools could participate in the state's sex-ed program. Either I, or one of the nuns had to tackle this subject. The instruction fell on my shoulders.

I went to Trenton to receive my training and text books. I was told the books were appropriately edited. When I unloaded the books, I found out how. Those intended for the 7th and 8th graders contained a large gap. Some state minion had used a razor blade to excise the chapters on contraception and birth control. We must keep propagating and filling the Catholic coffers, so none of that now!

My "Becoming a Person" classes for the 5th grade focused on the male and female anatomy and the reproductive systems. 6th was conception and child birth. 7th and 8th were hygiene, responsibility and respect. Also for those not constrained by Catholic canons contraception.

I prepared my homeroom, 5th grade, for the first lesson. Having no graphic arts skill, I asked the only other lay teacher, who taught kindergarten, to draw a diagram of the uterus, fallopian tubes, etc. onto my blackboard. My classroom had the blackboard and my desk on the back wall. The desks faced me and behind them was the door to the hall. You will soon see the significance of this.

The aforementioned diagram has always reminded me of an interchange on the NJ Turnpike. I was only 22 at the time and my feet had not yet "taken root in the earth" to quote Bruce Springsteen. So before the young minds came into class, I started adding signs. "Lincoln Tunnel 2 miles", "Hazmat Depot Next Exit", "Slow Traffic Stay Right", etc.

As a typical teacher, I had a drawer full of confiscated toys. So I took a couple of matchbox cars to use as sperm representations. Using the appropriate car/traffic sounds, I described the spermatozoon's commute. I don't know if the class was instructive. Judging by the laughter, my truck driver impersonations, and sundry noises entertained those eager, young minds.

As one sperm was cutting of the other after passing on the right to enter the cervical canal, the class got very quiet. I knew what that meant. I turned from the blackboard to see the principal, Sister Augustine sternly standing mid-aisle. Entering the class to see what was causing the hilarity, she did not look kindly on my methodology.

As the year progressed, I had little difficulty with the lower two grades. The 7th and 8th graders were another story.  The onus with that group was containing their lewd wise-cracks. Refraining from laughing and exclaiming "Good One!" was my personal cross to bear.

That was my last year of teaching. I moved on by my own volition. Despite my off-beat style, I was well liked by the administration and the parents. My last "Becoming a Person" class  was with the 8th grade. I asked for questions. The one hand raised came from the chief class clown. I girded my loins as he stood up and asked, "So, Mr. Billings, what would be your advice concerning our future situations involving the opposite sex."

I looked at him, glanced around the room at those anxious, inquisitive faces and said, "Remember, it's all about chromosomes and genes. Keep your chromosomes in your jeans and you'll have nothing to worry about." As ever - BB

"...I was the cosmic kid in full costume dress. Well, my feet they finally took root in the earth but I got me a nice little place in the stars..." - Growing Up, Bruce Springsteen

Skid Row

My first experience unchecked by the ties of home and family came in 1972 when I matriculated at Siena College. There I found kindred spirits affected by writings of the Kerouac, Rimbaud, Verlaine, etc. We desired to experience life outside of our shared, conventional, prep-school blazer background.

Leaving the collegiate cocoon, we plunged into the skid row experience. The run down sections of Albany, Schenectady and Cohos, NY became our hang outs. Along with a lot of cheap beer, wine and whiskey, I drank in the ambiance of the derelict. Sometimes I'd talk to these old-timers, but mostly I'd just look at their faces. In them, I understood Kerouac's desolation angels, "beat and down in the world," yet beatific also.

Last night I stumbled on a 1956 movie, On the Bowery. This moving piece of "docufiction" portrayed three days in the lives of New York's skid row denizens. The film had no actors, but actual Bowery residents trying to eke out an existence in gin mills, flop houses and in the streets.

The two main characters where the old man, Gorman Hendricks and the younger, Ray Salyer. During the filming, Gorman was ordered to stop drinking for health reasons. He did for the remainder of the shoot, but when filming ended started up again. He died before the film was edited. Ray became a minor celebrity. Life Magazine interviewed him, and Hollywood offered him a contract. He turned it down claiming all he wanted to do was drink. He slipped into the obscurity of the Bowery.

What struck me most were the faces. Full frames of careworn, grizzled faces filled the screen. Watching transported me four decades. Again I looked into the rheumy eyes of men; the windows to their souls. For whatever reason, life and alcohol had trampled them; however, an unfailing kernel of humanity remained. As ever - BB

     “The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved..." - Jack Kerouac

Sleepless in Nostalgia

I consider myself lucky in that I usually have no problem sleeping. Last night was an exception. I've been up since 3am. With less than 4 hours in the arms of Morpheus, I do feel a little punch-drunk. Thanks to caffeine, and up-coming weekend adrenaline, I endeavor to persevere.  

 Not wanting to wake my partner, I went downstairs to ruminate and contemplate. Sitting in the predawn darkness, my thoughts went not to the metaphysical nor the aesthetic, but to the inane. I reminisced about an obscure puppet show of my youth, Bertie the Bunyip. 

A bunyip is an Australian aboriginal mythological creature. This children's show puppet was created by Lee Dexter. He described the bunyip as a creature made with God's leftovers - the bill of a platypus, the ears of a kangaroo, the nose and fur of a dingo. My favorite character of course was the sly villain, Sir Guy de Guy. Even at an early age my sartorial sense showed. I just loved the fox's grey top hat, cape and Western bow tie.

Bertie first appeared on the Lunch with Uncle Pete kids' show on Channel 3 in Philadelphia. Uncle Pete was Francis Xavier Boyle, a cartoonist/artist and early TV personality. His son is actor, Peter Boyle. As Chuck Wagon Pete, he hosted a Western show, Six Gun Cinema.

Twas on this show I first experienced the old Gene Autry movie serial, The Phantom Empire. Thus began my proclivity for Scully shirts and singing cowboys.

By the early 60s, cartoons like Popeye and Tom Terrific paired with Three Stooges reruns replaced home-grown offerings like Bertie. These needed no production; ergo, they were cheaper for the stations. But on my rare sleepless nights, memories of Bertie, Fussy and Gussy and Sir Guy de Guy maintain my mental meditations. Plus, they provide fodder for my blog. As ever - BB

"But three, now, Christ, three A.M.! Doctors say the body’s at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow." - Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

Well, I'm The Kind Of Guy

who'll never settle down...

This Dion & the Belmonts song popped into my head as I read the latest National Geographic. The issue delved into explorers and man's wanderlust. Two items fascinated me.

One was about a Polynesian, Tupaia, who assisted Captain Cook on his first voyage of the South Pacific. Tupaia navigated the Endeavour to several islands with out referring to a map or instruments. As he did this, officers and sailors would ask him to point the away back to Tahiti. Each time the islander would point in the correct direction without use of a compass or sextant.

I smile thinking of the Royal Navy bristling with the 18th century's newest, technological navigational advances, befuddled by this half-naked savage's mastery of the vast Pacific. His understanding of  ocean currents, wind, weather and the stars showed ingenuity and intelligence. Nothing amuses me more that the comeuppance of the arrogant.

The other addressed our insatiable curiosity into what lies over the horizon. Our closest ancestor, the Neanderthal, spent 100,000 years (give or take a millennia) in Europe and central Asia. Yet in 50,000 years, homo sapiens had migrated to every part of the planet. Why?

As scientists probe deeper into the human genome, interesting hypotheses arise. A DNA variant, DRD4-7R is thought to stimulate our wanderlust. Those with this strand are never satisfied with the here. They desire the over there. The truly fascinating thing is this strand can also trigger ADHD. Possibly, that annoying kid bouncing off the walls could be our next star galaxy explorer.

As with everything, one detail cannot explain our actions. Despite our desire for simple solutions and penchant for short sound bites to explain complex problems,  most answers are complicated and fleeting. The more we delve into life's mysteries, the more convoluted our problem solving becomes. Something to think about indeed.


I'm thinking about a new tattoo of "...Rosie on my chest. Cause I'm the wanderer..." As ever BB

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

Soothing the Savage Beast

This post's title comes from one of the most common misquotes: "Music has charm that soothes the savage beast" Most often attributed to Shakespeare, the words actually come from William Congreve's 18th century play, "The Mourning Bride."

We all have savage beasts inside of us. Suppress it as we may, our psyches possess an atavistic, untamed ferocity. If music is the key to tame said beasts, then over the next two weeks Fells Point has the cure you need.

Yes, this is unabashed self-promotion!
Saturday, January 12, Without a Net performs at Leadbetters Tavern from 2pm to 4:30pm.  I will sing, play guitar and tantalize you with tall tales and trivial tidbits,  Big Ed will offer his tasteful guitar accompaniment and Kristin will provide percussion, vocals and her colorful fashion sense.

I want to take time to thank them both. Ed delivers an excellent guitar lead. My "stream of consciousness" set list and musical ADHD can make playing with me a difficult task. Ed's acumen provides me a simpatico support that amazes each time. As for Kristin, I would not be doing this if not for her - enough said. My deepest gratitude to you both.

I hope you can make it down  Saturday afternoon. Our sets at Leadbetters have a relaxed, living-room ambience that makes for a truly pleasurable experience.

To quote those cheesy TV commercials, BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!

The following Saturday, January 19 from 4pm until close, it's the Jam to Memphis at the Cat's Eye Pub. Nothin' But Trouble will perform along with several mystery guests. There will be a cover charge to help pay for the band's trip to Memphis to compete in the International Blues Challenge. Hot, new Nothin' But Trouble t-shirts will be for sale. Be one of the first kids on your block to have one!

The Jam to Memphis is one of the hottest shows to hit Fells Point. Come support the band and enjoy this "One Time Only" event.

So mark your calendars and beat your feet to Fells Point over the next two weekends. Your savage beast won't know what hit him/her. As ever - BB

"Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul."  Plato - I didn't realize Mickey Mouse's dog was so deep.

Why?

Actually, today's subject is Y, as in chromosome.

I put up my 1964 aluminum Christmas tree last night. I also have a vintage color wheel bathing the strange silver "branches" in green, yellow, red and blue. From GEM Lighting in Brooklyn, NY, it predates the tree. When I bought the tree at a flea market, it had the original box with the date. Alas, the box has long since deteriorated. I still have the original box for the color wheel, and the address does not have the zip code. Ergo, it was made prior to 1963.

Digression? But of course!
While decorating I had the TV on a program about tracing man's DNA. My divided attention caught little of the program, but I did absorb one fact. Scientists investigating our DNA trail focus only on males. I, myself, prefer focusing on females, but enough digression for one blog.

Humans have two chromosomes; receiving one from each parent. (The following explanation is rudimentary. Apologies for these generalities to the several scientific minds on my blog list) The X chromosome mutates during gestation giving each child his/her unique characteristics. However, the Y chromosome remains unchanged. This perpetual nature allows scientists to chart our heredity. So, that little bugger inside me has not changed over the many male Billings' generations.

I find that fascinating. Many times since my father's death, relatives and family friends have noticed a mannerism, or style of speech that reminded them of my Dad. As I get older, I notice more and more similarities between him and me. Now it all makes sense.

Even more interesting are the differences between my father, my self and my three brothers. We all share the same Y, but we each have unique and, in some ways, dissimilar personalities. Curious how that mutated X we received gave us our remarkable idiosyncrasies.

In the late 60's aggressive researchers vying for government grants, linked LSD use to chromosomal damage. If not for the fact that these studies were proven specious, I could blame that insidious chemical for my strangeness. However, I must chalk up my off-beat, eclectic and, from what some say, annoying personality to that strange XY chromosomal stew.

But what of the nurture vs. nature factor? Sirrah, that for another time! As ever - BB

"Men are all alike-except the one you've met who's different." - Mae West

January 19 - Get Ready for Trouble

Nothin' but Trouble that is...when this band plays it's nothing but a party!

Their repertoire includes Americana and roots music, but under it all is the blues! As Keith Richards said, "If you don't know the blues, there's no point in picking up the guitar and playing rock & roll or any other popular music."

And these four musicians KNOW the blues. So much so, that Nothin' But Trouble will represent the Baltimore Blues Society in the 2013 International Blues Challenge in Memphis, TN (Jan. 29 - Feb. 2). Of course, getting the band and the equipment to Memphis isn't cheap.

So on January 19, the Cat's Eye Pub will host a fundraiser to help the band defray some of those costs. From 4pm to closing, Nothin' But Trouble will be playing and having a jam session with a little help from their friends. I've written about the extraordinary brotherhood which exists among the musicians who play in Fells Point.  On this special Saturday, fellow players and bands will be on stage to help us get Nothin' But Trouble ready to rock'em in Memphis.

It's the Jam to Memphis on Saturday, January 19 at the Cat's Eye Pub in Fells Point from 4pm to close. Yes, the Cat's Eye Pub that was recently named on of Baltimore's 25 Best Bars by Baltimore Magazine.

Mark your calendars, come down, join the party and help the band! - as ever BB

"You got to help me/I can't do it all by myself/You got to help me, baby/I can't do it all by myself" - from Help Me by Sonny Boy Williamson II & Willie Dixon

Click here to hear the full song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhlygCtJFSM