Brianland

Every Day Is A Gift

by Brian Hassett

Every day you’re alive is a gawd-damned gift.  And that’s the whole shot, as Gregory Corso would say.

Try adding up all the times your Indomitable Spirit was challenged but did not topple in a deathly firestorm of adversity.  There’s probably been a hundred of them, and many more when you were a couple of seconds from Ka-Plooey and never even knewy it.

Remember all those times you were so depressed you almost killed yourself — or those premonitions which never came true about dying on some trip — or the ice patch skids you blindly avoided — or the hiking adventures where you barely made it back — or the other car that went out of control just seconds away from you — or your pilot who just missed last call at the bar because his cab got stopped at a red light because the car in front was going slow because the driver was arguing with her boyfriend when it was really a total misunderstanding — or the mugger who just missed the subway train and got to your neighborhood five minutes later — or all those times you said to yourself, “God, get me through this and I’ll be good forever” — that if only one of these had ended in death — which odds are would happen at least once in the hundred close calls — you’d be gone.  But you’re still here!  And living with that second chance at life that nobody really gets but every dying person prays for with all their might.

You’ve got that chance.  Feel blessed.  You are.  God, or whatever you call it, gave you a chance to go on, to do what you’re here to do, to add to The Big Picture the way you were meant to.

You’re still Alive, and no matter what happens today or tomorrow, it’s okay, because you’re not even supposed to be here anyway.

Every moment, every smile, every vista — is a pure gift, and don’ you-ever for-get it.

Remember all the good things that happened in the last year?  Then think of all the time you spent worrying and complaining and being pissed off or depressed about things.

Everything worked out the way it was supposed to, and the only mistake you made was the time you wasted and the Stress-Death Cards you collected by worrying about it.

And in the next year, all sorts of amazing and wonderful new things will happen that you have no idea about today.

You don’t have to worry about a thing.  And you certainly don’t have to worry about today, because Christ man, it’s a gift.

Simply unwrap, and play.  Batteries included.

It was a grey newspaper day during “papers” week at Camp Cleanup — digging through layers of mounds of newsprint and letters and notes like an archeological dig, uncovering the strata of history in this ancient city of my life.

Overnight, the cat tipped over an old Safeways bag full of newspapers from a closet shelf.  On top were a bunch of various John Lennon copies from December 1980.  I figured that would be the whole stash;  but after I dusted away an inch or so I uncovered an unexplainable collection of different papers from 1959 — a New York World-Telegram, a Chicago Times, and a Minneapolis Tribune.

I flipped through the New York and Chicago ones looking for the major story these were saved for — but there’s nuthin — just a random day’s edition like someone picked them up on a cross-country trip.

The last paper was the Sunday Minneapolis Tribune with all the different sections, including not one but two magazines.  One was a Picture Magazine — a routine Parade thing — although it did have a cool page about the new singing sensations Paul Anka, Fabian, and Bobby Darin!  But it was already late in the day and my eyes were glazing sepia after an endless flipping flow through the yellowing pages of antiquity.

The last thing in the pile was the This Week magazine — which looked like the TV listings.  I flipped through it hoping for a story on Dobie Gillis or American Bandstand, but of course it wasn’t a TV guide.  There were only 3 channels back then!  It’s just another news magazine with ads and recipes and bowling stories from the fake Father Knows Best ‘50s — my numb finger flipping through the same numbing fluff, next page, next page, and the next page I flip there’s the headline across a 2-page spread —

“Wouldn’t that be funny if this was about acid…” I think,
before my eyes have time to scan to the bottom of the page
and see

In 1959.

You can click on any of these pictures and they go big.

I love the quote above — “Music is often played to stimulate memories and fantasies.  And patients are told to ‘go with the music,’ that is, have fantasies suggested by the music.”

Check.

“a psychic energizer”  :-)
“The most common experience of people who have taken LSD may best be described as ‘mystical’ or ‘religious.’”

It turns out the writer, Joe Hyams, is the guy who famously first broke the Cary Grant / LSD story earlier in 1959, and then he got sued by the movie studio, but later they totally settled and Hyams ended up writing Grant’s authorized biography.  Long story.  But he got interested in the subject because Cary Grant told him about it, so he began researching the drug, and here he safely writes about what he’s uncovered without mentioning any famous movie stars.

The Ballad of the Profiteers

You’re suckin’ on / your money’s teat,
When nothin’s left / for folks to eat,
You’re livin’ high / down on Wall Street,
Crushin’ dreams / beneath your feet.

How come it is / and why it’s not,
The biggest thieves / are never caught,
When all you are / is what you bought,
And what’s inside / just ain’t a lot,

You’re singin’ the Ballad of the Profiteers,
You’re sailing your yacht on a river of tears,
You’ve been scorchin’ the Earth for all these years,
You’re the skill-less, soul-less profiteers.

You don’t make anything / except for money,
You don’t find anything / to be that funny,
You’re only friend / is a hired bunny,
And you’re drowin’ alone / in your milk & honey.

Selfish is / as shameless does,
And profits are / your only buzz,
You cast aside / whatever was,
You have no love / and it’s all because . . .

You’re singin’ the Ballad of the Profiteers,
You’re sailing your yacht on a river of tears,
You’ve been screwin’ us all for too many years,
You’re the skill-less, soul-less profiteers.

You’d push your mother / down in a hole,
If it added to / your bankroll;
You’re all fluffed up / like a perfumed troll,
That thinks it scored / The Golden Goal.

Life doesn’t start / on Monday morn,
It began on the day / when you were born,
When you looked outside / with so much scorn,
Then skipped the dance / with The Golden Horn,

cuz …
You’re singin’ the Ballad of the Profiteers,
You’re sailing your yacht on a river of tears,
You’ve been fuckin’ us over all of these years,
You’re the skill-less, soul-less profiteers!

repeat as needed

Brian Hassett, 2011
karmacoupon @ gmail.com

Condolences, memories, and tributes to Enid have been coming in from —

Indonesia, Vietnam, Nepal, Oman, Switzerland, Austria, England, Mexico . . .

Los Angeles, Palm Springs, San Francisco, Lake Tahoe, Portland, Eugene, Seattle, the Olympic Peninsula, Missoula Montana, Colorado Springs, Minneapolis-St. Paul, Rochester Minnesota, Rochester New York, Phoenix, Dallas, Austin, Louisville, Detroit, Key West, Tampa Bay, Daytona, Washington, Philadelphia, Harrisburg, New Jersey, New York City, Woodstock, Saugerties, Boston, Northampton. . .

Victoria, Nanaimo, Vancouver, Bowen Island, Calgary, Edmonton, Saskatoon, Brandon, Winnipeg, Lake of The Woods, Windsor, London, Orillia, Collingwood, Montreal, Ottawa, Perth, Toronto, Markham, Mississauga, Burlington and Oakville.

That’s – 60 – different cities, and counting.

Way to go, Mom!

= = = = — — Here’s a few choice riffs — — = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Hi Brian,
There was no one closer to Enid than your superb self — in sparkling qualities, huge belief in life itself, generosity of spirit, imaginative wit, and quick intelligence. What a Mom — but also — what a devoted and proud son. She LOVED you more than you will EVER know and she is watching over you, calling the moves, and smiling the smile of the universe.
I’m sorry I won’t be there for the memorial, the wake, the party and the anythings else that happen.
On the Autumnal/Enid Equinox I will be in Salt Lake City (my film opens the Gandhi International Film Festival in the heart of Mormon country!) but will be sending the good vibes to you and Enid.
We need more Enids in the world. What a character, trailblazer, intrepid warrior of all things good and, yes, unique — just like you. So if you ever feel out-of-it/not-quite-here/but over in-the-undefinable there, you’re on track for sure.
Sending love & solidarity,
Keep your courage and faith, wonderful Brian!
Teri McLuhan — Marshall’s daughter and great filmmaker — in NYC

Dear Brian,
Words cannot express my appreciation for you sharing the biography of your wonderful, feisty, LIVE LIFE AND LOVE mother.
I wish we had had more time to spend together when she was in Texas, but alas, some distinguished Canadian banker traveled down here and swooped her off her feet. I mentioned to her one time that it was strange to have come down here so she could meet her future Canadian husband.
While I cannot be there physically, I intend to be at her Memorial in spirit at least. I can imagine the many tales that will be told about their friend, Enid. And yes, it could very well last into the wee hours. At least that is how Enid would have wanted it.
Sylvia Gregory — Mom’s friend from the 1950s — in Austin

Brian —
She was a great lady, Enid was. I have so many memories from way back in 1978-80…. “Sue, do you know what a bag lady is?” — that was from Christmas 1980. And of course I had no idea!
And how did she ask for the sugar when we had tea? “Pass the fattener, please Sue.”
And that massive car. Do you still have it? I know that we generally drove your dad’s car but I think hers was even bigger.
She never settled for less, and always wanted the best for you!
I’m thinking of you,
Sue Howard — my high school sweetheart — in Vancouver

Brian …
The first time I met you was the first time I met your mother! Do you remember this? At the Nuyorican show. I thought it was so cool that you brought your mum places — like Jack [Kerouac] did.
She was a great person — I also remember hanging out with her at your apartment on 70th street.
Know that I’m thinking good thoughts for you and you mom.
Required listening, of course … John Lennon.
With friendship and best wishes …
Levi Asher — founder of LiteraryKicks — in Queens, New York

Hey Sweetheart…
So sorry to hear of your mom’s passing…
Funny thing — my mom read me your mother’s Obituary earlier today and I KNEW as soon as she read it that You wrote it!
It was the most beautiful, heartfelt and loving tribute to your Mother or anyone my dear, sweet friend.
Know that You and your mother are in our hearts today and always.
We’ll talk very soon…
Until then know that we know that your mother is sleeping peacefully and know that Your work as an Angel will continue here on Earth …
I adore you for your friendshp and common love of life, doll…
Love and the biggest softest squish ever my dear, dear, friend,
xx
Alison Myrden — law enforcement speaker friend — in Oakville

Hey Brian —
I knew yr mom and really dug her. I hung with her one evening when i came by your apartment and you weren’t home. I saw her watching her son on stage in New York City with love, pride and admiration. I know what a creative and inspriational force she was in yr life. Where does all that larger than life energy go? Somewhere for sure!
Big Hug.
Ralph Stevens — filmmaker — in New York City

Brian,
We have such fond memories of Enid. What an amazing woman she was …. so many accomplishments in many areas. I sure remember the cottage in Gimli.
She was such a supportive neighbor when we were just starting our family. I love to hear about your relationship as mother and son….you had so many great adventures together. You were kindred spirits like none other. You will miss her terribly I know. Just think of all the people she encouraged and those who had amazing times with her. She left a huge gift to you and everyone she met.
That’s an incredible piece…. A Song of Enid. I love your writing style – you are such a free, liberated spirit, which is rare in the normal Winnipeg business world…..or anybody’s world for that matter.
You have a myriad of great friends who feel like family no doubt, but Enid especially, was a very big part of you. In fact, she lives on in you. You bring that same adventurous and creative spirit to the world. I absolutely love your realness.
Much love and thanks for sharing Enid with us.
Deanna Waters — musical theater singer & actress — in Winnipeg

Or there’s a ton of stuff going on on my wall on Facebook.

A full day and night party . . .
featuring Enid movies, music, paintings, photographs, artifacts, internet performances, books with stories, and people with stories.
It’ll actually be sorta fun.

We’ll have oliver favorite food n drinks.

This is just an invitation, not an obligation.
But it’ll certainly be a memorable Memorial.

Date:  on The Enid Equinox, Friday, Sept. 23^rd, 2011

Time:  Toodle’nine. (2 till 9)
And if it’s still cookin we’ll go back to the townhouse.
Or you’re always welcome to come out for one-on-one visits at a later time.

Location:  in the gorgeous Grand Gathering Grounds in the front of Burloak — two-story high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, huge fireplace, piano, video screens, great sound system, giant patio, exotic fish and other weird stuff …

Burloak Long Term Care — 5959 New St., Burlington

In lieu of flowers, please simply experience this performance of, appropriately, a woman doin’ a man’s job better than he could do it.
http://www.rockpeaks.com/video/a/Adams-Yolanda/In-Performance-at-the-White-House-2010/A-Change-Is-Gonna-Come

“I was born by the (Assinaboine) River
In a little tent,
And just like that river
I’ve been runnin ever since”

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Mom’s Memorial — Friday, Sept 23^rd, 2011

It went great.  It was like an extensive museum exhibit, except the stuff wasn’t under glass and you could pick it up and look at it.  And it was like a library the way people had their heads buried in historical books and photo collections — and were finding things that I didn’t even know about!  And it was like a great party with a lot of laughter, electric energy, and new friendships being made.

There were no formal speeches — it just never felt right.  Everyone was so into the show and the moment — That was the Memorial. They didn’t need anyone telling them what to feel — they were already memorializing in every direction on their own.

It was Enid through a kaleidoscope anywhere you looked — about 20 of her paintings, paintings of her, framed photos covering nearly 90 years, her report card from nursing school, her paint tubes and brushes, her brass rubbings, her father’s diaries from the 1910s, her childhood albums from the ’20s, her scrapbooks from the ’30s, her nursing memorabilia from the ’40s, her fashion photos from the ’50s, her Rocky Mountain paintings from the ’60s, her real estate clippings from the ’70s, her miniature paintings from the ’80s, her video adventures from the ’90s, her published stories from the 2000s, her notebooks from writing classes, her trip diaries, her writings to take with you in photocopy, a huge spread of all her favorite chocolates and cakes, Edward Sellers playing acoustic guitar in the background, home movies of her hiking under the Redwoods in the Cascades … her whole life on display in a giant cathedral-like space filled with all these different people who knew her, over all these different decades, in all these different ways, sharing memories with each other.
For 7 hours.

It was so nice.
And she was there smiling, laughing, and telling stories all night long.

Rock on, Mom!

Enid E. Hassett — 1920–2011  R.I.P.

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Obits ran in the Oakville Beaver for the Sept 16/17/18 weekend edition, in the Winnipeg Free Press on Saturday, Sept 17th, and the Brandon Sun, Saturday, Sept. 24th.

Enid Ester Hassett, formerly Olver, and originally Bennett.
Born in Brandon, Manitoba, on Earth Day, before there was one — April 22^nd, 1920.  She skipped away while dreaming on September 13th at the age of 91.

Enid was an environmentalist before there was a movement.  She was a feminist before there was a word for it.  She was a painter, a writer, a nurse, and someone who found people homes to raise their children.

She always championed what was right, and was never addled by artificial restraints. Her philosophy came down to — “Do whatever you think is right, but DO it.”  And — “Don‘t stop at the first roadblock — there’s a way around everything.”

She was a nurse anesthetist at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, and Supervisor of the first Intensive Care Unit at a hospital in Manitoba.  She was the top woman real estate agent in Winnipeg in the 1970s, and she made sure she saw the world, traveling far and wide long before it was common. She married a happy, happening Air Force pilot, Frank Olver, who was tragically killed in 1951. They had one daughter, Susan.

In 1956 she married a cute, easy-going banker, Vern Hassett, and had one son, Brian, in 1961.

An Epic Enid Memorial will be held on the Equinox, Friday, September 23rd, from 2PM till 9PM, at Burloak Long Term Care, 5959 New St. (at Burloak Dr.) in Burlington.

Enid is survived by her son Brian Hassett;  her sister Marjorie MacAuley in Brandon;  3 grandchildren, Christopher and Michael LeSavauge, and Elizabeth Sutherland;  and 3 great-grandchildren, Grace and Christopher LeSauvage, and Magdalene Tsushima.

Her father was an engineer on the CPR,
so the whole family got to travel all over North America,
when virtually no one in their town ever went
more than a few miles from home.

They had 5 sons, followed by 4 daughters, Enid being the first.

They owned the first (and for a long time only) car and telephone
on Third Street in Brandon.

She grew up in a world with oil lamps for light,
and horses that delivered the milk;
Without cameraphones, she painted pictures to share what she saw,
then lived to attach them to emails.

She got her drivers license by her dad taking her to the Town Hall:
“Well, kin she driave, George?”
“Yep. Taught ‘er ma’self.”
“Okay, then.”

She painted mountainscapes in the Rockies,
seascapes around Superior,
and short stories using words.

She married a funny, happening Air Force pilot;
they had a daughter and a happy home,
until she was tragically widowed one December.

Then she became a Nurse Anesthetist at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester,
and did nursing stints in Austin and Houston,
before marrying a cute, easy-going banker,
moving to Calgary, and bearing a son.

She was the Supervisor of the first Intensive Care Unit in Manitoba,
and the Director of Nursing at Winnipeg Municipal.

Then she became the top woman real estate agent in Winnipeg.

Then she bought the nicest cottage in Gimli, Manitoba,
… and made it nicer. Eleven rooms!

Then opened her own manicure & spa business.

Then in her 70s, she up n moved from White Rock, B.C. to Oakville,
on a premonition, a series of dreams, and following some signs.

She always had a sixth sense, and proved time and again that it’s real.

She traveled the world, all ten provinces, and most of the states.

She took painting and elocution lessons,
learned Reiki therapy,
studied and collected antiques,
checked out different religions,
raised a champion bull terrier,
took a spectrum of New Age classes,
drove a car like she was a getaway man leavin a crime,
won damn near every bridge night she ever went to,
slept and stayed awake whenever she felt like it,
never had more than one drink on any day in her life,
but loved to party till dawn,
and went to writing conferences all over North America,
and was published in both countries.

She hit Limelight, Area, and all the nightclubs of New York;
She caught The Grateful Dead at the very Giants Stadium,
and the greatest jazz at the very tiny clubs of Greenwich Village;
And was known in some circles as the “rock n roll mum.”

Besides all that, she was a really focused mother —
Always inclusive and playful and encouraging and adventurous,
And she knew New York City was the place for her son.

In this anniversary month of Woodstock’s August . . .

Obama’s election night in New York City may have been my favorite single night / moment in 25+ years of living in Manhattan.

That feeling was extended to a week-long celebration in my second favorite city, Washington, D.C. — a home-game in the history league — And lo, the magic gushed up like fountains showering the city in love and soaking us in positive human accomplishment.

And of course I was in the middle of it, sending out daily dispatches from the front , and one of them struck the great writer and editor Holly George-Warren’s ears as she was working with Woodstock producer Michael Lang on his book.

The guy who envisioned and produced “Woodstock” — the concert that changed everything — used my words on the climactic page of his book about the festival.

Forty years later, the Wall Street Journal would refer to Obama’s inauguration as “Washington’s Woodstock.”  Experiencing the joy in coming together with a million celebrants on the Mall in Washington, a blogger named Brian Hassett put it this way:  “As it was happening, every single one of the people I met was beaming with joy.  In terms of a crowd euphoric, the only thing I ever heard of that was like this was Woodstock in ’69.  That changed our country a lot, but this time Woodstock was in the seat of power.  Jimi’s ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ was the prelude, and a scant forty years later, here’s that scorching soul of new thinking actually overtaking the reins of government.”

from “The Road To Woodstock: From The Man Behind The Festival” by Michael Lang with Holly George-Warren

Here’s a few verses of personal faves after thousands of performances and hundreds of RockPeaks music riffs . . .

Blessing the blast is Johnny Clegg bringing Nelson Mandela into the house during the celebratory Asimbonanga

The Half-Centennial Celebrations

Saturday June 18^th on the Caddy patty-o    (also Sir Paul McCartney’s birthday! 

6:00 dinner — the food’s tasty and diverse with a great new chef doin’ mmm duck quesadilla … southern pulled-pork … New York Strip … ginger salmon . . . here’s the menu — http://www.cadillaclounge.com/the_menu.html

All-night  come-as-you-may  hang from then on …

on the upper patio deck in the back of the Cadillac Lounge’s back outdoor patio, hidden away, where you wander through a labyrinth of rooms and halls, passing images of Elvis and Dean and Dylan and Bruce as you venture on the journey through the past, beyond the outdoor pool tables, to the distant horizon of trees …

It’s a homey space in a transportive place … a wooden cottage deck that attracts the non-playa set.  It’s the heart of the city — but it could be Gimli.

And then when it gets mysterious and dark, there’s two different simultaneous killer bands — one playing outside on the patio, and one playing inside the club.

Outdoor’s some serious Booker T funk n jazz . . .  indoor’s some joyous Beatles n Bruce rock n roll.

It’s the upper deck of the best outdoor patio bar in Toronto  . . . from dinnertime to 2AM.

It’s Summertime . . . and the livin is easy . . .

on the weekend with the longest days of the year!  

in a sacred space for The Grand Humanity Jam to play.

Jest keepin’ ya toasted!

B Major and B Well

Got live if you want it . . .

The last great Rock n Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. There’ll never be another with as many key, great musical artists in one year.

The following is a customized composite of tweets, blogs n news reports on the untelevised Induction ceremony, including sequence and set-lists, with my own additions knowing the scene from being at a couple of these . . .
Just what they say, and what they play. 
In order. Because none of the post-event reports really paint the picture of what happened.

Some portion of it will be aired this Sunday from 9–11PM Eastern on the Fuse cable network.

There’s a buncha good jokes  ;-)
some poetic praisings
and life-lessons learned …

It was a five hour show — from 8:30 to 1:30 AM

Bruce Springsteen is in the house, mingling with Bette Midler and Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Michael Douglas says, “If you haven’t seen Dr. John in a while, he’s playing great.”
“wonder if Bruce and Tom Waits will do Jersey Girl?”
Also in the audience: Bob Geldof, Robbie Robertson, Michael J. Fox, John McEnroe …

8:35-ish — Jann Wenner — opens it — “The New York Health Dept. shot down our plans for an Elton John–Bette Midler aerial battle!”

John Legend inducts Dr. John — who he first met at a Hurricane Katrina benefit.  He eloquently documented the Doctor’s half-century as a “musical ambassador” for New Orleans, including his work with The Meters, and in collaborating with icons from John Lennon to Doc Pomus.
Legend’s conclusion? “He has never stopped flying the flag of funk.”

Dr. John, in a royal purple suit, wearing shades, a fedora and with his gris-gris walking stick, and also sporting some wicked snakeskin shoes.
Asked where to buy them? “At the pimp store!”

He thanked a long list of persons whose tutelage had made him who he was – a list that included New Orleans greats like Professor Longhair and Huey “Piano” Smith. And jokingly concluded, “If I didn’t mention you – too terrible!”
“I feel like I’m blessed to get an award from y’all — I feel like I’m blessed to be standing, to be breathing.  We just buried my drummer Saturday.  He’d been my drummer for 37 years.  I’ve played with a lot of cats for a long time because … we love what we do.”
“And all y’all that’s in this thing tonight…you’re blessed to be here.”

Lloyd Price inducted Art Rupe (record exec who signed Little Richard, Sam Cooke & others).
Doors’ drummer John Densmore is playing a djembe while inducting Jac Holzman (founder of Elektra Records).

Bette Midler inducts Darlene Love!
Such a pro! Every joke is so natural, she commands the stage.
“I spent 2 hours on hair & makeup, and I’m wearing a very serious undergarment — I’m using my whole 5 minutes!”
She’s killing. Who knew jokes about Lipitor and Viagra could be so rock n’ roll?
“At least now when you Google ‘bette midler rock and roll hall of fame,’ SOMETHING will come up.”

Then she thanked Love for “changing my view of the world” and called Love “the embodiment of teen spirit” in her era.
“No voice drove me crazier than Darlene Love’s. From the moment I experienced the powerhouse that was Darlene, I was a goner.”
“After her, all of us wanted to meet Rebel boys.  She picked us up by the scruff of our neck and shook the starch out of us. She has been robbed of royalties, but by no means of self-respect, and yet she lives without a trace of bitterness.”

Darlene Love accepting — glowing, glamorous, gorgeous. And that VOICE!  She’s 69 and looking & sounding fabulous.
Love fought back tears in her acceptance speech, saying she had faith that the gift God gave her would sustain her for the rest of her life.
Her speech elicited a standing ovation.

Springsteen and Tom Waits are having a vigorous handshake as Stooges music blasts through the hall.

Rock devil and occasional CSI: Miami director Rob Zombie inducts Alice Cooper.
Zombie’s decrying the state of rock music before Alice Cooper came on scene in 1969. Telling story of Alice Cooper’s start – with the aid of a Frank Zappa puppet.
“Alice Cooper invented the rock show. Before Alice Cooper, there was no rock show.”
“They’re more than a band. They were more like a murderous gang of drag queens … in a good way.”

Alice Cooper gives his induction speech with a giant yellow (live) snake on his shoulders.
He’s wearing a tux with his trademark black eye makeup, and a shirt splattered with blood.
After 16 years of eligibility, Alice Cooper said that getting into the hall was “like graduating. I feel like I’m getting a diploma — becoming a real person, ya know?”

He cited the Kinks, The Who and The Yardbirds, and said, “We’ve always been a hard rock band. We just wanted to decorate it a little differently.”
He singled out Glen Buxton for special praise, calling him “the heart and soul of our band, as black and dark as it may be.”
“I hope I never outgrow a Pete Townsend windmill chord,” he said. “I hope I never outgrow a Jeff Beck lead guitar. I wish I could tell you that being in the Hall now, we’ll never embarrass you, but I really can’t make that promise. After all, we are Alice Cooper. It’s what we do.”

Then each of the three surviving band members spoke.

They’re the first live performers of the night — and ultimately the only ones who play before the later all-music portion of the evening.
He and the original band perform “I’m Eighteen”
Under My Wheels
then “School’s Out” with Rob Zombie and schookids dressed like Alice.

“Alice Cooper (as a whole) has very cool outfits.”
Alice brings his giant snake to the press room. 

The following is from AC original bassist Dennis Dunaway’s daughter Renee . . .
“My dad & unk are INDUCTED!!!!” 
[she must have married a nephew of one of the other bandmembers …?!]
“my dad is sparkling like crazy!”
“Bette Midler’s pointing and enjoying my dad. This is a dream.”
“Dad’s high kicks, ‘my bass is a machine gun’ — and bass-above-the-head move in full effect.”

Neil Young makes a loopily poetic introduction for Tom Waits.  “This next man is indescribable . . . and I’m here to describe him.”
Then called him a “magician, a spirit guide, a changeling.”

At the podium, Tom Waits took a bow, gave a tip of his hat, and said —
“Songs are interesting things to do with the air.”
on songwriting: “It’s like fishing, you gotta be quiet to catch the good ones.”
on his family: “They know me, and they love me anyway.”
on the industry:  “They say that I have no hits and I’m difficult to work with.  And they say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He recalled how, at age 15, he’d snuck in to see Lightnin’ Hopkins by putting “Wite-Out in my hair and drawing on a moustache.”
He compared his induction to receiving the key to the city of El Paso. “They told me there was only one,” he said, “but I found out there were a whole bunch of them, and they didn’t open anything.  So I hope there are some fringe benefits to this baby.”

Holding the statuette, he noted that it was “really heavy.  I’m wondering if there’s a keychain version I can keep on me so some day a guy will say ‘Pete, take the cuffs off — he’s a Hall of Famer.’”

Elton John inducts his hero Leon Russell with lots of “colorful metaphors.”
Elton on Leon: “You have to have someone to aspire to, or you’ll never achieve greatness.”
“I’m proud to induct a man who could eat me alive on piano.”

Leon Russell walked on stage slowly with the help of a cane and gave the shortest speech of the night.  He says: “Thank you very much. I appreciate it, and Hallelujah.”
Then he thanks Elton for their collaboration, saying he “found me in a ditch at the side of a highway of life and took me up to the high stages with big audiences, and treated me like a king.”

“When Neil Diamond was younger he was known as the Jewish Elvis Presley….” said Paul Simon.  “In many synagogues across the country, Elvis was considered a bogus Neil Diamond.”

“Why so long?” wondered Simon while saluting Diamond, before answering his own question. “I have a theory. Six words: ‘You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore.’ Beautiful love song. Recorded with Barbra Streisand, one of the great voices of our time. But Barbra Streisand, rock and roll? I don’t think they even allow that kind of DNA near this place.”

Neil Diamond comes out snapping photos on his iPhone as the fans in the balcony go wild.  Then says, “People in the $3000 seats, I love ya, but you make too much money.”
“I love you, too — even though you didn’t vote for me.”
addressing a ballroom full of music-business figures:  “Anybody here that I’ve worked with, will they admit it?”
Neil Diamond makes a rambling, disjointed, obscenity-laden speech.  “Where are we? What day is it? What time is it? And what the f*** country is this?”

Diamond, who had interrupted an Australian tour to come to the ceremony, deadpanned, “I write songs,” before explaining why his induction was so vital he flew halfway around to world to concentrate. “Being accepted by your peers and by people that you idolize is very special,” he said, “So I’m very pleased to be part of this shindig tonight. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Trust me, Neil Diamond’s acceptance speech is not to be missed! A speech for the ages.”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

11:30 PM — The main performance portion begins with Tom Waits.
There’s the smell of weed in the darkened tuxedoed room as he begins to play.

Tom performs “Make It Rain,” — belted out with raw gusto
“Rain Dogs,”
“House Where Nobody Lives”
then Tom pulls Neil Young onstage to jam on “Get Behind the Mule.”
“Waits is so twitchy and awesome.”
“Tom Waits set is amazing!  One of the best-ever.”
Waits was accompanied by his son Casey on drums, David Hidalgo of Los Lobos on guitar and accordion, Larry Taylor on bass, and Marc Ribot on guitar.

Surprise guest Judy Collins serenades Jac Holzman with a soaring  “Both Sides Now.”

Dr. John turns it up a notch with “Right Place Wrong Time,” with full-force backing from Letterman’s Late Night band with Will Lee & Anton Fig. 
He’s joined by an exuberant John Legend, trading verses and solos on “Such a Night.”

“Song of the night so far.”
“I’m pretty sure Dr. John has 4 hands….”

“John Legend can sure roll those keys — even in the presence of the Doctor.”

Surprise guest John Mayer adds tasty guitar to Leon Russell‘s “A Song for You.”  — he killed it w/o stealing center stage.
Leon also does “Delta Lady.”

“John Legend + Dr. John = hotter than John Mayer + Leon Russell.”
Renee Dunaway

Bruce Springsteen’s playing guitar for Darlene Love’s set,
which opens with a funkified “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah,” then
“(Today I Met) The Boy I’m Gonna Marry” and
“He’s a Rebel” doing a rousing duet with Bette Midler, all with Springsteen on his twangy Telecaster.
“Holy pipes, Batman! Darlene Love sounds amazing!”

1:00 AM — “Neil Diamond‘s power is taking over me…”
he works the crowd, rocking into the wee hours with
“Cherry, Cherry,”
“I Am…I Said”
and a euphoric “Sweet Caroline” — where he gets Springsteen to join him.
“Now he’s down in the audience.  Now he’s standing on chair. Now Jann Wenner’s singing along.”
“Sweet Caroline — the song that miraculously becomes more fun the more times you repeat the chorus.”

4 Hall of Famers doing —>
* “Stagger Lee” ! ! ! — the Three Masters — Dr. John, Leon Russell, and Elton John — all with Lloyd Price takin lead vocal.

1:30 AM — Surreal finale:
“Da Doo Ron Ron” — with Darlene Love, Bette Midler, Neil Diamond, Alice Cooper, Leon Russell & Elton John.

= = = = = = = = = = = =

A Stagger Lee Addendum:

The 2nd last song of the night was  ”Stagger Lee” sung by one of it’s most closely-associated artists, Lloyd Price, with Dr. John, Elton John and Leon Russell — which i cannot fuckin believe they played — on piano — on three pianos!  — it’s a fantastic, historic, multi-versioned song,  but traditionally a blues guitar — pray to gawd they air it, but i somehow doubt they will.  But i bet it’s gonna be the rock-hard crystal-clear musical diamond of the night.  (and from what I heard, the Such A Night with John Legend was the other one)

Here’s the original Mississippi John Hurt “Stagger Lee” — he was another of those most closely associated with the original song.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8S-Pu6T0Q0

Then here’s Taj Mahal doin’ it old school — http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lBsE4_GbGU

Then here’s a Lloyd Price version — the guy who rides vocals with Dr. John — http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FCPutYaGFlE(imagine it filled with grand piano solos by 3 different masters)

And here’s a jaw-dropping updated version by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds — http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYyl78qQPVI

And here’s Jerry & the boys doin’ it —  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6q3AE96TUE

yours,
Sir Really

I happened to be reading The Warren Commission when the the Tucson tragedy went down, and when I saw that mug shot with the left black eye—  Click! . . . I started to notice an inordinate number of similarities between Oswald, Loughner and the two shootings . . .

Both were born on or near the southern border — Oswald in New Orleans, Loughner in Tucson.

both had the given name of Lee, and both often went by their three names.

both were of average weight, height and appearance — nothing physically unusual about either.

both were heterosexual, but both had few healthy relationships with female partners in their life, including during the year leading up to the shootings.

both read a lot, but both wrote in disjointed thoughts, and could not spell to save their lives.

both were areligious / anti-religion.

both had trouble in school, and both failed to finish high school.

both tried to join the army, and both were rejected  — Oswald in 1955 for being too young (he was accepted a year later), and Loughner in 2008 for admitting marijuana use.

both read and liked The Communist Manifesto, and both strongly and vocally opposed the capitalist system.

both disrespected, distrusted, and did not recognize the U.S. government as valid.

both were loners who grew more reclusive and disconnected to others as they entered and progressed through their twenties.

both had delusions of grandeur — as revealed in the writings each left behind.

both wrote specifically about revolution, and both were writing up their own new forms of society — Oswald planning a new government for after the overthrow, and Loughner with a new alphabet and currency.

both exhibited an escalating pattern of antisocial behavior, behaving increasingly erratic and inappropriate in the company of others.

both were only minimally communicating, and often arguing, with their immediate family in the months leading up to the shooting.

both were without a single close friend in the year leading up to the shooting.

both thought they were being bugged or followed by the government, and both grew more paranoid and conspiracy-obsessed with each passing month.

both were unable to hold a job for longer than a month or two.

both exhibited every symptom of schizophrenia (you just read them) — which most commonly manifests in males between 18 and 28 years old, and specifically 20 – 26.

both were almost the same age at the time of the shooting – twenty months apart — Loughner was 22 and 5 months, Oswald 24 and 1 month.

both carefully planned their assassination in advance.

both were gun owners who bought their weapons legally and easily — Oswald mail-ordered both his from magazine ads, and Loughner bought his over-the-counter at a local sports store.

both proudly had photographs taken holding their guns shortly before the shooting — Oswald in his back yard, and Loughner in his G-string.

both had their desired target make an appearance in the wide open outdoors, right in front of them.

both shot their intended victim in the head.

both shot a popular sitting Democratic federal politician in their 40s.

both did their shootings in the third year of a Democratic President’s first term.

both killed and wounded others in the process — Oswald killed Officer Tippit and wounded Governor Connally.

both were apprehended in a no-shots-fired manual take-down involving several people, and both received a black left eye in the process.

both were arrested for murder using a hand gun — Oswald initially for the pistol shooting of Officer Tippit.

both did something “crazy” and then behaved quite rationally once in custody.

both did not verbally cooperate with police in the days after capture.

both left a paper trail.

both had a larger political conspiracy ascribed to their actions immediately following their arrest.

both shootings were filmed — by the Safeway surveillance cameras, and Abraham Zapruder.

both shootings had a wide range of differing witness descriptions.

both shootings happened in a state bordering Mexico (there’s only 4 of them), and in each’s second largest city.

both shootings happened on a bright, sunny, Friday/Saturday morning around the same time — Oswald Friday at noon, Loughner Saturday at 10AM.

both shootings happened at the safest of places — a Safeway store, and a school book depository.

both acted alone.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Brian Hassett (karmacoupon@gmail.com)

NYC, Dec. 8th, 1980 . . . the 3rd month and 3rd day in New York City, America, for this 19 year old kid.  My first week in town I went to the free Elton John concert in Central Park.  He played Imagine, and introduced it with, “He can probably hear us right now,” referring to John in his nearby park-side home at the Dakota.  On October 9th, I was walking in the Village and looked up in the sky and “HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN AND SEAN” was being written by an airplane — and I thought how neat it was to be living in the same town as John Lennon.

11:30 on a warm December night, in bed reading, all the lights in the loft are low, the SoHo streets are Monday night quiet, the calm before the storm.  Phone rings in the sleepy background, alarmingly late.  Roommate answers.  “Hello?”  The long odd silence.  Then the scream.  “Oh my God!  Brian!  Turn on the radio!  John Lennon’s been shot!”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The late, wonderful Elizabeth Edwards put it well once:  Talking about losing their young son, she said, “People ask if you’ve gotten over it yet.  But, it’s like losing your leg and asking, ‘Have you gotten over that leg thing yet?’ You may eventually learn to get around without it, but you never forget. You never ‘get over it.’  It’s something missing that was a part of you.  You learn how to live without it, but you never stop missing it or wishing it was here.”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

WNEW-FM — the internet of the day.  The only connection to the outside world.  It was John’s radio station, the original and longest lasting rock station in New York, the one he showed up at one day as a surprise and played records with the deejay all afternoon.

After an hour of radio group-therapy, I needed to be with people.  I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping.  So this young squeaky-white Canuck ventured out into the nearly 1970s New York war zone streets that just killed John Lennon, and took a 75-cent A-Train uptown to 72nd Street.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Everyone is crying but no one makes a sound,

Nobody told me there’d be days like these,
Nobody told me there’d be days like these,
Strange days indeed,
Most peculiar, Mama.

John Lennon, 1980

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The Dakota, 2AM — as I walk up, a couple hundred people are swaying back and forth, singing, “Alllll we are saaaaying, … is give peace a chance,” every one with peace sign fingers swaying towards the heavens.

It was dark, but it was light.  Beatles songs play from a transistor radio, and a hundred people are singing every word.  The other hundred are crying.

Every cheek is wet, every eye is red, and most hands hold candles.  Pretty much everyone’s come here alone.  We’re all scared, numb, in shock, quiet, just standing, surrounded by others.  Family.  In mourning.  All are somber, but some not so sober, with joints being smoked and beers drank openly in the old New York.

I’m leaning on the rickety blue police barricade, five feet from where John last stood, looking at the patch of washed sidewalk.  People come and stand, usually silently, for a few minutes, then walk away.  Some bring flowers and reach down underneath the barricade to gently lay them on the pavement.  Some ask and are allowed to go and weave them into the wrought-iron gate.  Some do the sign of the cross and say a prayer.  Everyone is weak, gentle, and white as a ghost.

There’s this one Hamburg-type leather jacket tough-guy who’s crying really loud at one point, almost scaring people.  Suddenly he reaches some breaking point and angrily rips off his road-aged motorcycle jacket and with this primal scream, throws it down into the mass of flowers and photos. Stripped of his armor, the t-shirted man quickly dissolves into the crowd a different person — but Elvis’s rock n roll leather is now part of the collage.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

You may say that I’m a dreamer,
But I’m not the only one,
I hope someday you’ll join us,
And the world will be as one.

Imagine!!

John Lennon

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

The Dakota, 6AM — What the assembled didn’t know was that the darkness of the night just past was to be our only true memorial, when it was just us.

Our beautiful, peaceful, tranquil, candlelit darkness gave way
from the John Lennon mourning to the New York morning —
with news trucks driving,
and the human flood arriving,
the streets returning to their New York life —
And as some part of a road is blocked,
the city just flows around it like a boulder in a river —
First a trickle, then the gushing cascade out the narrow skyscraper crevasses
into the flow of the sidewalk earth.

What was once ours, was no longer.
It was their’s now.

I wandered into Central Park under its winter skeleton canopy, into what’s now known as Strawberry Fields, and sat on a bench in the bird-chirping dawn.

For those first few hours of darkness, we had the Cathedral of St. John the Divine to ourselves.  And I could still hear it echoing on that bench, like I can still hear it now, everyone gently and endlessly singing,

“Alllllll we are saaaaying . . .
is … give peace a chance.”

Here’s a poem I wrote about the eternal spirit of New York City . . . including the ever-present ghosts of Charlie Parker, Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady . . .

turned into a jazzy song and played by Will Hodgson and The Mighty Manatees, with special guests Walter Tate Jr. on sax and Jason Crosby on keys, recorded in the tiny n cool Dutch Cottage outside Philadelphia, April 23rd, 2009.

Click here to hear:   Smokin’ Charlie’s Saxophone

I’m just stunned. Speechless. Maybe it was the set-up, cuz i was thinkin early on … this ain’t happening, this is sad, capitalizing on their name and what they’d done.

. . . and then . . . . . . . :-0

they were playing Dylan’s “Infidels” as the warm-up music!!!! The whole album, Union Sundown, Licence to Kill, Man of Peace ….

and Bill Walton was hanging right near us all night.

and it was so funny cuz … like going home to your birthplace, the Garden looked so much smaller than I remembered it.

They open with Help –> Slip –> Shakedown !!!

Three grate songs, but I was thinking, this is not the shit (to use Keith Richards-speak) and I’m like, “I drove to New York for this??”

then a Jack Straw with the keys rippin’ some Hornsby fills. El Paso. Wharf Rat.  And it was in here that they started to get their groove on.

then into Terrapin. Except after the Lady in the Fan part they always do . . . they actually played the entire suite of Terrapin, which i don’t think the GD ever performed live (I’ve never heard it before). The downloads will bear it out.

For me, it’s still very mixed after the first set, and i really have no expectations for grateness ahead.

They opened the 2nd with The Mountain Song — “Gonna make the mountain be my home….” the David Crosby riff from the If Only I Could Remember My Name sessions, that Phil’s son … Brian ahem developed into a full song. seriously.

so, they open with Phil singing this, builds to a grate jam … then ba’doom-ba’doom, ba’doom-ba’doom … launches into Dark Star!  Sick, crazy, insane. then he does a little Other One just so you know it’s coming, then full-on jazz Dark Star for hours. it’s Mingus or Charlie Hunter-like in the way that the bass is the central driving instrument. I’m in heaven. this is EXACTLY the kind of music I love . . . jazz-rock … heavy accent on both, please. And this is just SO Phil’s band.

And then he drops a phucking building-shaker long Bomb into the Other One! just stupid-great. Galloping Neal. –> St. Stephen in the Garden, the thunderous Phil & Friends version, –> a fantastically jazzy The Eleven n s’more crazy Coltrane-rock –> a long tripping blues-rock Death Don’t Have No Mercy . . .

it was like that Classic Albums Live thing, except it was “Live Dead” — the live album that started live albums.

Oh, after Death . . . figured it out already? uh-huh, wrapped it with the Franklin’s to complete the show-opening medley.

So, it was basically a Help –> Slip –> Terrapin –> Live Dead –> Frank

I’ll remember that sweeping suite of a second set forever . . . snapping cracking jazz, followed by thunderous rock.

Dark Star –> the Other One –> St. Stephen –> The Eleven . . . that’s crazy-talk.

I remember thinking during this, “This is EXACTLY the kind of music I like!”  A whole new band — I only heard a couple of these players before — and it was the jazz-rock I hear in my head and long to hear live.

When the second set climaxed there was as loud an ovation as I ever remember hearing at the Garden. Shades of Beatlemania in that when Phil came out after to do the donar rap, you couldn’t hear him … it was just deafening … again, the tapes should bear this out. It was like the described ovation when Lennon came out to join Elton in this same room.

and THEN after the encore was over, Phil just stayed on the stage behind his amp all the way until the house lights came up … but before they did, i could see him turning around slowly in a circle looking into the bleachers and soaking in the thunder that was coming back at him after the lightning he’d just hit us with.

and get this — before the show, you can pay $25 at the front, and they give you a wrist band, then after the show, they give you the disks of the show . . . so you walk out of the venue with a 2-disk direct recording on CD of the show you just heard. hello!

I’m just sayin’.

SECOND NIGHT:

“Got to get back to where you belong.”

Well … that was a trip back in Time! And I don’t just mean the Dead playing Viola Lee Blues! After a chaotic crazy Saturday night in the Garden that was still more anything-goes than most any other concert experience these daze, Sunday night there were essentially no ushers or security.

It was the same Madison madhouse that I first experienced going to Yes in 1980 on my second night in town and easily weaving right up to the stage — and followed by about 40 Dead shows — back in the day when we could bring in blenders and make our own mixed drinks at the seats!

For one night “the world’s most famous arena” was our house again. And we let our hair down.

In honor of my Road Trip . . . the boys played a show about a road trip . . . of course . . . about finding your own path and following it with brio — opening with Truckin‘ down from Buffalo, into going down to the Cumberland mines, into George Harrison’s “Any Road” will take you there —> Viola‘s “mailing a letter in the air” —> you are the Eyes of the World —> New York to San Francisco, So Many Roads I know —> goin’ down The Road feelin’ bad.

The second set was 90 minutes of jazz ensemble playing on a theme of Time and friends . . . “every time that Wheel turn round, you’re bound to cover just a little more ground,” and Pink Floyd’s powerful “every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the Time,” and Bob’s advice that applies to just about everything — Let It Grow, and Phil’s reminder of the continuum of friendship in an Unbroken Chain, and the beautiful summation from the Palace of “mama mama many worlds I’ve come since I first left home.” Which is both true and the last song the Dead ever played in New York, closing their final-ever Jerry show with this encore in ’95.

The dancing bears were back in the enchanted Garden once again.

Sans Sons —

a Song in Names Only

Jesus Christ

Isaac Newton

Plato

Mother Teresa

Florence Nightingale

Mary Magdalene

Joan of Arc

Lawrence of Arabia

Edward the Confessor

Betsy Ross

Rosa Parks

Bert Parks

Susan B. Anthony

Arthur C. Clarke

Ralph J. Gleason

the Dali Lama

the Pope

the Babe

Howard Hughes

Amelia Earhart

both the Wright brothers

Henry David Thoreau

Oliver Wendell Holmes

George Bernard Shaw

Beethoven

Tchaikovsky

Vivaldi

George Gershwin

George Balanchine

George Washington

Louie Armstrong

Lionel Hampton

Lillian Hellman

Billie Holiday

Bettye LaVette

Ella Fitzgerald

Leonardo da Vinci

Michelangelo

Salvador Dali

Jackson Pollock

David Hockney

Georgia O’Keefe

Andy Warhol

Dostoyevski

Chekhov

Keats

Poe

Pound

Proust

Rimbaud

Whitman

Koufax

Mississippi John Hurt

Tennessee Williams

Washington Irving

William Blake

Henry Miller

Henry James

H.L. Mencken

T.S. Elliot

J.M. Barrie

Lewis Carroll

Edward Albee

Virginia Woolf

Simone de Beauvoir

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Emily Dickinson

Edith Wharton

Eudora Welty

Dorothy Parker

James Baldwin

Carlos Castaneda

Mary Cassatt

Raymond Chandler

Allen Ginsberg

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Dr. Suess

Dr. Kellogg

Gore Vidal

Vaclav Havel

Edwin Hubble

Immanuel Kant

Helen Keller

Queen Elizabeth I

Oprah

Odetta

Annie Oakley

Harriet Tubman

Lily Tomlin

Diane Sawyer

Gilda Radner

Rita Rudner

Brett Butler

Molly Ivins

Gloria Steinem

Gertrude Stein

Julia Child

Liza Minelli

Ginger Rogers

Mack Sennett

Billy Wilder

James Dean

Sal Mineo

Marilyn Monroe

Ann-Margret

Ava Gardner

Jacqueline Bisset

Bo Derek

Lauren Hutton

Linda Evans

Lara Flynn Boyle

Daryl Hannah

Greta Garbo

Katherine Hepburn

Helen Mirren

Stockard Channing

Betty White

Bonnie Hunt

Marlo Thomas

Ellen Burstyn

Burgess Meredith

Peter Ustinov

Montgomery Clift

Harry Dean Stanton

Patrick Swayze

Victor Mature

Rock Hudson

Jimi Hendrix

Joseph Haydn

Bill Monroe

Aaron Copeland

Sonny Rollins

Cole Porter

Little Richard

Charles Mingus

Jim Morrison

Lou Reed

Robert Hunter

Ron ‘Pigpen’ McKernon

Dave van Ronk

Garth Hudson

Steve Martin

Mitch Hedberg

Michael O’Donoghue

Bill Hicks

Bill Maher

Dick Cavett

Graham Chapman

Tracy Chapman

Laurie Anderson

Dusty Springfield

Christine McVie

Bonnie Raitt

Debbie Harry

Dolly Parton

Stevie Nicks

and … Janis

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

searched and deranged by yours,

Sir Really

Brian Hassett at

BrianHassett.com

Henri Cru (1921-1992) was a life-long friend of Jack Kerouac’s. They met when both were students at the Horace Mann prep school, New York, in 1939. Henri appears as “Remi Boncoeur” in Kerouac’s On the Road, and as “Deni Bleu” in Lonesome Traveler, Visions of Cody, and other books.

Original Author’s Note:

This was written in April 1991 as a present to Jack’s oldest New York friend, Henri Cru, for his 70^th birthday.  Henri and I had been friends about ten years at this point, and there are endless stories about him, but this is the tale of just one night.  It was sort of a written-to-order gift:  Henri wanted the girls painted pretty, the jazz described just so, etc., even adding a few brush strokes himself.  The title comes from my writing about Henri in the Toronto Star, calling him, “Greenwich Village legend Henri Cru,” and the term playfully stuck for the rest of his life, which sadly ended the year after this night took place.

2010 Author’s Note:

When I read this two decades after he & I last spoke, I could hear his voice again. I hope it works for you — but I’m totally back in his junk-filled apartment listening to Henri tell stories.  He had the funniest way of talking.  A gracious loquacious preacher, with a little Edward G Robinson, ya-see?

As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.”
And boy, was he ever.  I have tons of phone messages he left over the years — many beginning, “You’re not gonna believe this, but …”  It would be such a cool project to gather them onto one tape so you could just listen to Henri’s stories for hours. I need an intern.

We lived 3 blocks from each other, and he’d call all hours of the day or night.  I was in my primetime 20’s so was out a lot, but my early-‘80s phone machine would record until the cassette ran out, so there’d be these nights I’d get home in the ska-doobalee of half-past-threebee, and the machine would take 5 minutes to rewind …

Henri loved this birthday piece, and gave it out to everyone he met till the day he died.  He’d always give away his last copy, and then call me in a panic cuz he “desperately” needed a new one.   :- )

Henri was just crazy in the Best way you can be crazy.  Boldly himself, eccentric, benevolent, honest . . . loopy as a loon, but joyously in love with people and life — like so many of the characters Kerouac captured in his books and who populated his life.  And mine, too.  How ‘bout you?

The Legend Turns 70

An Easter Sunday  In Greenwich Village

When I got the birthday invitation phone call to Henri’s House of Cards, on Bleecker Street, Manhattan, U.S.A., I was duly warned – “My apartment is smaller than the last time you were here.” And I knew with all the crap Henri carted home, he didn’t mean he’d rented out a room.

This first invitation was followed a few days later by an urgent midnight phone call. “Why — it’s Henri again! Is the party off?  Or we’re getting together a different night? Or, I know, he’s dis-inviting me — his old boozin’ beat buddies are in town and he wants them to have a seat at the Birthday Table.” But noooooooooooo. Not this Cru. He was calling fervently in the middle of the night to simply tell me the rest of his guests would be “just a bunch of real regular fella’s, and I wanted to let you know you’ll be amongst friends. There’ll be no roughnecks or oddballs — just the very nicest people I know in New York.”

“Real salt-of-the-earth types are they Henri?”

“YEEEES,” he bellowed, “You’ve got it exactly.”

He wanted me at his sanctuary by 5:00 on Sunday for some afternoon cocktails before an Easter dinner at a local Village establishment, followed by Maynard Ferguson at The Blue Note. “Hot damn,” I thought. “I’ll be hearing a legend, with a legend!”

As I arrived for the mysterious afternoon rendezvous with god-knows-who, I was smiling over Groucho Marx’s commandment about not belonging “to any club that would have me as a member.” There was no telling what colors might be at this Rainbow Gathering.

From the elevator canyon in the Atrium vestibule I peered up through the opening and could see Henri’s be-signed door with what appeared to be bar stools outside. As I bopped out of the elevator, there was Henri perched in his doorway like Santa Claus in summer, waving his big paw in the air and grinning like a retired Buddha. Sure enough the bartender was positioned behind his overflow stools, with the swatches, swirls and shapes of his castle spilling out behind him.

And speaking of his spilling castle, Henri’s stock-piling of supplies dates back to Pearl Harbor: You never know when you might get bombed, so months of supplies are always needed. And for anyone who gets bombed as often as Henri, you can never be too careful.

The party boy was looking great on his birthday I must say. I couldn’t believe how combed and perfect and full his hair was. His face was cheery and his eyes were bright. And you shoulda seen the vest and tie!

As he rolled his wheelchair backwards down its track (because there wasn’t room to turn around) the other birthday celebrants started coming into view in the dark recesses of The Cru Cave. There was Beanstock Gorman — who I used to think was quite tall until I met Big Tums who was towering above the refrigerator (which was very difficult to distinguish amongst the mosaic of streetside collectibles). Out from the darkness reached the big greeting hand of Beanstock’s on arms that seemed to stretch like Mr. Fantastic’s. Henri graciously ducked while Tums reached over like a pool cue to do the same.

Just as I was starting to feel very insecure about my height, these two Celtic guards began having some kind of Easter hallucination right in front of me, crying out, “Mary, Mary, Virgin Mother Mary of Christ, you look stunning!” I thought that was an odd thing to say to me, and as I turned around to inquire, out of the darkness sashayed this vixen princess in a tight black miniskirt and thigh-high boots. She was grinning so proudly it looked like she really did just sire Jesus! I started thinking to myself, ‘Now wait a minute, am I in Henri Cru’s apartment? Who is this girl? Maybe she´s in the wrong place. The door is open,” I thought as I looked beyond to see it was closed.

Running beneath the curvaceous soft leather skirt ran a dancer’s bodysuit that marvelously illuminated her finest curves. She was happy and giggling like a shy little girl on her birthday. “You look wonderful Mary,” “Mary, you look great,” “Ou BOY,” the guys were falling all over themselves trying to get a better view and out-compliment each other. She blushed, giggled, shuffled and swayed to the chorus of praise. Finally, as the wave began to subside, she politely said, “Hi, I’m Mary,” and reached out her delicate hand. “Henri bought me this outfit for his birthday. Try to restrain yourself,” she said, giggling again in time with the room.

Just as it was beginning to sink in that Henri actually knew someone this pretty, out from behind one of the columns of boxes popped this petit, long haired angel of about 17. Who are these girls, I was asking myself. The Celtic’s cheerleaders or what? “Hi, I’m Alexandra,” the dainty little face said. “Do you have a light?” Things were definitely looking up.

My old friend Henri has lived in Greenwich Village a long time. Some say too long. Visiting his apartment is like visiting a museum of two-for-one offers, or some collage of consumerism. Piles were supporting piles which became walls upon which more stuff was hung.

It’s kind of like that game Mousetrap, where nudging one item could set in motion an unstoppable string of events that crossed the entire room. So much was balancing on top of so much that the tiniest sneeze could bring down an empire. It was Henri’s House of Cards in more ways than one.

The place ticked with the complexity of Professor Pott’s windmill laboratory in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and mystified with the single light bulb ambiance of a subterranean prohibition bookie joint. There was absolutely no room left to stand, except on Henri’s wheelchair track which ran the width of a chair from the front door to the kitchen. Period.

And of course stalactites of flotsam had begun to drip from hooks in the ceiling, in the form of backpacks and tied-bags with clothes hangers hooked on. The cross-beam poles of sagging hickory were draped with belts, utensils and tools of every contrivance. The two Celtics were continually bashing their noggins on some suspended pot or other, or getting their faces caught in cobwebs of clothing, all the while doing this peculiar sort of ceiling dance as they bobbed their heads around the ever-shrinking cavern. It was sort of like urban spelunking. Or like taking a long trip with six people in a small car where every time you wanted to get something — even if it was out of your pocket — all six people had to re-arrange themselves.

And so it was into this slightly tight madhouse that some old trucking friend of Henri’s, Red Jackman, came stumbling in. Old Red — easy to see from his nose and eyes where he got his name — arrived with the slurring promise of a colorful philosopher. He promptly plopped himself down on the center stool and began pontificating about Christ. “Jesus was the only man who talked sense,” he said about 35 times in a row. Seeing as it was the day of His resurrection, the gracious thing was not to argue. Not that anyone could yell a word in sideways.

About this time, over the din of the droning drunk, Henri announced his most prized birthday present of the day: a box full of pre-rolled joints specially from a friend of his old flame Frankie Edie Kerouac Parker. Edie and Henri definitely fell from the same tree. Seeing them together is like watching two married Nick and Nora’s wise-cracking one-liners off each other in a good-natured battle of one-upmanship. Henri showed us the funny birthday card she’d sent, but it just couldn’t make up for her laughter or her silly asides being there.

That joint may have been one the most enjoyable I ever shared with a seventy year old sailor, a couple of Celtics, and two Miss America contestants. I suddenly began to feel like I’d run away with the circus . . . as the Duke Ellington that was tooteling from some hidden recess began to come into focus.

“Here you go Mr. Jackson,” Beanstock said, passing the number to the drunk.

“That’s Jackman,” he protested, and was so pleased to be smoking a joint with two beautiful young girls that he took the occasion to fall off his throne. On the way down he tried to grab two separate stacks of Henri’s Building Blocks, bringing entire mountains of cigar boxes and fishing tackle cases cascading down on top of himself in a Chaplinesque whirlpool of drunken helplessness.

Beanstock and Big Tums cast their fishing pole arms over and hoisted the hoser back onto his stool for another round (even though it should have been stopped with a TKO). Verbally, or slurbally, Red didn’t loose a beat (or the floor, unfortunately) throughout his compromising collapse. He was still ranting on about Jesus, the joys of speaking Hebrew, and his fancy for Alexandra’s, uh, affections.

With one man drowning, the cru began to think about rations and fresh air. Showtime was nine o’clock, and we were thinking —— Chowtime.

Beanstock suggested, “A little Mexican place I know on Third Street — Senor McDonalds.” No argument. It seemed the plan was to leave Mister Jackman in a slumbering daze and high-tail it out of there. Nobody wanted to test his dexterity inside the Blue Note. But just as we were in that ocean of motion, ol’ Jack started to come around, and Lord knows he was out the door with us. A helluva cru we were to look it, lemmi tell ya.

So this highly charged group hit the pavement with Beanstock driving Henri.  He took off with the girls down the Bleecker Street sidewalk that Kerouac once described old newspapers blowing along as his idea of “fame.” I was hanging back with staggering Red, when suddenly the cru cut straight across Bleecker through a temporary lull in the river traffic.

It was the old Village Dash, with Beanstock and the girls taking the early lead. Without conferring, the plan went in effect — using Beanstock’s long sober legs to motor Henri in a high-speed chase away from the Collapsing Clown.  Tums and I gave Red the sense he was still with the Cru, while Beanstock wheeled a hard right and shot straight up the center of Sullivan Street between the lines of parked cars.

We lollygagged with the loopin around a bluff of flowers at a corner deli, and distant spied the royal procession snapping their quick left into the mayhem of Third Street.  With the Jack of Reds bent at the corner sniffing the daisies, we darted off like fish through the sea of Sunday people.  I think I heard the Batman theme playing somewhere in the background.

We managed to safely disappear into the sanctity of Senor McDonalds, and promptly sat as far from the windows as possible. Henri backed in between two tables and we all crowded around with our backs to the window for coverage.

It was a grand Easter supper at America’s most famous restaurant — and I was at the Captain’s table! We had a full encampment, and a glorious feast amid wrappers and shakes and salty language. With Big Tums in front of me, Birthday Henri to my left, and my bag with the journalist’s tape recorder to my right, I felt we had the enemy at bay — until I looked and saw the chair was empty where my bag used to be! The horror! The emptiness!

I immediately dashed for the door — and just as I got there, coming out the restaurant’s other doors was some guy holding something in his winter coat. I lunged at him without even seeing his hands — grabbing for the grey backpack he was holding as cover, still not seeing anything that indicated he had mine.  I just knew I wasn’t going to let anybody leave until I’d searched them.

Then I suddenly saw my black strap dangling behind his and grabbed with both hands, catching the strap with one and my bag with the other.  He offered only guilty resistance, and I pulled my life back into myself.

I pulled the bag to my chest and stormed back into the restaurant, never even looking into the face of my thief.  But I’d foiled New York crime once again.

Inside the suddenly bright fluorescent restaurant everything had stopped and everyone was starring at me. Apparently I’d yelled, “My bag!” fairly loud and a jaw-dropped audience was waiting.  I just rushed to my encampment in the shock of a loss reclaimed, and the collective silence didn’t help one bit.  I high-fived Big Tums — and Beanstock wanted to know what was in the bag — which allowed me to bless and give Easter thanks to the resurrection of each of my lost lifetools.

The Sunday Supper ended peacefully after that, and in no time our cru was on its way across the street to the crowning performance of the evening — Maynard Ferguson’s closing night at The Blue Note Cabaret in New York City.

One of the pivotal trumpet voices of American Jazz was about to give a command performance in the Village of its birth. Henri was bubbling and bouncing like a little kid on his way to Disneyland. Hearing Maynard was to bring back the euphoric swing era of the 1940s for one more night. “He’s one of the last authentic old time jazz players around,” Henri was telling me as we crossed the street. “You can count all the great living trumpet players on one hand,” he went on, “with two fingers amputated.”

Inside, just after we squeezed into our table for six, Paul Schaffer arrived with his parents and sat beside us. Shortly, Maynard himself came swaggering past to pay his regards. There was quite the feeling of anticipation in the air: the glittering mirrors of the famous nightclub; the closing night of a trumpet legend; the attendance of a TV band leader; and the jazz-jumping revisitation of Remi Boncoeur in Greenwich Village.

Maynard’s set was smokin’. He had four horn players with him, an excellent pianist, a 19-year-old upright electric bassist, and drums. All the arrangements were pure horn — no guitar or keyboard solos that had no part of Maynard’s sound. It was just the real thing in the club where other musicians come to hear what you’re up to. This ain’t the road show in Poughkeepsie.

The big guy blew for over an hour, which was pretty great for lungs about Henri’s age. “He doesn’t face the floor or the back of the stage like some novice,” Henri pointed out. “He holds his horn high and proud and in-your-face, confident of hitting the notes, and not burying his instrument like some others.”

Maynard let his young players load up the bases early in the song, and then right when it was climaxing he’d step to the plate and blow the home run solo. He’d wait till the mood was just right then lift you away on one intergalactic joyride of a soul, slingshotting it into Masterspace, and Henri would cry out, “Strat-o-spheric!” The pure brass voice of scatological American history blasting loud and screeching clear — over the fence and into the Mississippi. True and free.  Maynard on Closing Night!

He even announced a nice howdy-doo to honorable Canadian Paul Schaffer and his lovely parents from Thunder Bay, Ontario. He regretfully overlooked the mighty Henri, but he coulda been bucking for that shot on Letterman.

The night ended with a bopping version of “Birdland” that blew the napkins right off the tables. All the hornmen were letting fly in one climactic scream of brass-driven magic. It was the “Johnny B. Goode” of jazz — and Henri was rocking back and forth in his seat and hollering something about the “20th century Gabriel.”

And all of a sudden it was over, and the saxophone player was hanging at our table ordering a beer. Henri was quick to snatch a yak, a laugh, a shake, and a birthday autograph to which the hornman grinningly obliged.

We were one big, glowing band as we poured back into the buzzing Village street scene that was just hitting its evening stride. The lights and the street people were blinding our eyes like coming out of an afternoon movie into the sunshine. I thought back to my bag thief lurking in the shadows, hitting on other civilians. Mary was lookin so hot she had to keep bashfully beating away all the boys on the block. Once again our Cru was cookin’.

The evening ended, as all good birthdays should, with a comfortable debriefing back in the host’s living room. Or in this case, wheelchair track. We gathered ‘round the old maestro and sang “Happy Birthday,” and everybody made their testaments to how Henri had changed their lives. The King held court and told stories of wayfaring adventures. Then he sparked up another number for the band. The Cru was in rapture. Beanstock began channeling Lenny Bruce . . . entertaining The Rat Pack in the pack-rat’s maze . . . with background be-bop blasting the soundtrack and setting the tempo . . . and Henri riding it all on a wise-cracking flow, ya-see . . .

The joint was jumpin’.

And he was only 70.

Rosters updated as of:  Friday, February 26th 

Here are the easily printable one-sheet roster line-ups for the different teams, with all players in their positions, on lines, with their Olympic jersey numbers, ages, current teams, etc. . . .

The docs are in Word, and for printing just make sure it’s set to “landscape” — it should come out on one sideways page.  
And just print “Current page,”  and not “All” unless you want a blank extra. 

CANADA —   Team-Canada-2010  

RUSSIA —      Team-Russia-2010       

SWEDEN — Team-Sweden-2010

USA  —    Team-USA-2010    

FINLAND  —  Team-Finland-2010      

CZECHS  —   Team-Czechs-2010            

SLOVAKIA  —    Team-Slovakia-2010        

Updated as new information emerges. 

by Brian at
BrianHassett.com
karmacoupon@gmail.com

Being in Canada on Gold Medal Sunday will be like being in America on Obama’s Election Night.

Canadian Kindness:  When in public Celebrations — remember, we’re hosting.  People rooting for other nations are our guests and Olympic friends.  It’s just a game.  They’re just you and me, from somewhere else.  Celebrate them for showing pride in a foreign land, and make everyone love this place as much as we do.   

I’m back doing Olympic Hockey Reports on ThatChannel.com.  Here’s with hosts Hugh Reilly & Nikki Hayes doing The Final Olympic Debriefing  discussing the overwhelming effect they had on Canada.  (open another window to keep reading this site) 

Or here’s Jan. 29th   — Brian-Hugh-Nikki  — discussing the final cauldron lighting;  Canada’s consortium of coaches;  the Russians vs Canada;  great players vs team sports;  the Magic of the Midnight Games;  the emotion of Canada winning;  the David & Goliath epic being written;  and the opening game vs. Norway at the Cineplexes. 

And as we should always play the national anthem first, here’s Maritime rapper Class with his new Canadian anthem for your listening and/or viewing pleasure as you discover the Gold in these thar Olympics.  

I also highly recommend all Canadians watch the amazingly revealing documentary “On Home Ice” that was filmed over the last year showing how the team was put together.  It’s kind-of a must-see if you want to understand this team.  And thank gawd somebody put it on YouTube!  

The Flow Below

Preliminary Round Gameplans . . .  

(feel free to replicate in a town near you) 

game 1 — Tuesday Feb 16th — 7:30PM — Canada vs Norway — this is the 10-0 game where we come together as a team and have a gelling & excelling scrimmage.  I expect Roberto Luongo in net for his evaluation game against this weakest of opponents.  Location: the Cineplex (the Scotiabank one Richmond St.). Yes, the movie theater.  I’ve never seen a live game in one.  Could you imagine a 100 foot Hi-Def screen with the best surround-sound in existence and hundreds of screaming new best friends?  It’s not weather dependent cuz it’s indoors, and t’s the first game, so it won’t have caught on yet as the thing to do.  And we let the outdoor scenes have a chance to gel and work out the bugs and spread word-of-mouth and gather mass momentum.

Oakville/Burlington:  SilverCity on Wyecroft at Burloak 
Winnipeg:  SilverCity at Polo Park 
All participating theaters in Canada here.

game 2 — Thursday Feb 18th — 7:30 — Canada vs Switzerland — despite our pathetic Wayne Bertuzzi team last Olympics getting shut-out by the Swiss, this should  be 5–1 or better, or we’re gonna have trouble again.  I expect Brodeur to be in net for Canada in his warm-up try-out game — vs Anaheim’s current monster Jonas Hiller for the Swiss, an excellent foil who’s on a hot streak.  And we need to be able to beat good goalies.  Since it’ll be a fast-played, exciting game, this is the time to be cheering & high-fiving in a Sea of Red at Nathan Phillips and/or Dundas Sq (weather permitting). We’ll find out which has the better screen and scene. It’s a 10-minute walk between and there’s 15 minute intermissions — I’m anticipating the first period at one party, the 2nd at the other, and the third at the best one.

game 3 — Sunday Feb 21st — 7:40 — Canada vs USA — The Home Game — the 2002 Gold Medal Rematch!  This is the one to watch at home or a friend’s house, a la Super Bowl Sunday — there’s a fantastic warm-up game in the afternoon with Russia vs the Czechs from 3:00–5:30 — have a nice afternoon of it, making good use of the kitchen — followed by a 2-hour dinner n drinks break, and then the game that determines who finishes First in our Group, getting a bye directly into the Quarterfinals — and which team has to play an exhausting extra game the night before. The team that wins Gold will likely have gone 6-0 in the tournament. Only 3 teams will win this Sunday Final.  And don’t forget — the big Midnight Game —  Sweden vs Finland!  The second recent Gold Medal rematch of the night! 

After these 3 games, I/we/you will have experienced it 3 different ways, and can decide how to do the “game 7″ elimination games, beginning with the Quarter-Final game on Wed Feb 24th, at 7:30 (Eastern).  
I anticipate some serious Hi-Def action at Nathan Phillips. Including and especially the pre-Gold Medal games. Stay tuned for details.
Semi-final game:  Friday Night, 9:30 PM (Eastern), Feb. 26th 
Gold Medal game:  Sunday Afternoon, 3:15 PM  (Eastern), Feb 28th

These are the Final All-Player Olympics

Although they won’t officially say it until eons from now in the middle of some summer when no one’s paying attention, the  NHL is not going to participate in the next Olympics.  Their 4-Olympic association did not produce the desired results of generating massive interest in hockey (in the, um, U.S. they mean).  The next in Russia will have all games played in the middle of the night in North America, and the NHL and the KHL don’t get along, and nobody but Russians will be paying a smidgeon of attention, and the best players on every NHL team won’t have to get completely distracted and have their internal clocks thrown off and risk injury and keep everybody else on salary for two weeks doin’ nuthin’ for some nobody’s-watching tournament in a remote port on the other side of the planet.  Which, nobody mentions, is located about 5 minutes from Syria, Iraq, Iran & a whole rubble’a trouble.  Nobody’s gonna wanna go anywhere near this thing.  

So, the all-player Olympics will end with this 4th tournament.  
So far it’s:  Sweden 1, Canada 1, Czechs 1.
So, rightfully and fairly, it’s Russia’s turn.  But . . . 

It’s a Clean Slate

People always compare one Olympics to another, as though they’re games in a continuing series. They’re 4 years apart.
What happened before has nothing to do with what will happen this time.
That’s the first thing to internalize.
It’s a clean slate.

Make Hockey Not War

I see hockey as more art than war.   I don’t view anyone in this tourney as the enemy, but rather amazingly skilled players joining the all-star jam.  I know competition is required for the artform to be created, but when it’s players this good I couldn’t care less what color their jersey is.  

This Olympic Chapter

With the Russian’s so dominant right now, it makes for such a great story to have the underdog country win Gold at home.  Plus, Russia’s gonna SO win it next Olympics at home.  

This is the classic match-up where the team with the will, passion, desire and need will be the one that triumphs.  It’s the Moose Jaw Davids against the Moscow Goliaths.    

These Olympics will surpass any single assemblage of hockey players in history.  There’s never been anything with this many Masters in their prime in the modern uber-skill era.  And it’s SO set up for this great underdog home team victory story!   ’72 in the 21st Century.  And to top off the weirdness and drama  …

Historic Hockey  — these four teams’ one-time-only combinations — and for the last time from the NHL — 88 of the greatest hockey players alive are on those Final Four teams — this will be an all-star jam for the ages!

Do not Self-inflict Blindness by Oneteamism — it doesn’t matter where you’re from — do not miss watching and appreciating all the other Top Teams.  Every one of them is jaw-droppingly great.  

And watch for  —  a direct correlation between the total number of team penalty minutes and the final standings.  The Gold Medal team will have gone 6-0 for the tournament, and will have the lowest number of penalty minutes;  the 4th place team will have the most PMs, and so on. 

The Gold Medal will be Decided over Lunch

The biggest game in every one of these players’ lives — the game that determines Hockey Supremacy for the next 4 and likely more years — The Gold Medal Game — is being played at puckin lunchtime, High Noon local time — seven hours off all the players’ cycle and schedule. It’s because the Closing Ceremonies are scheduled for dinnertime that night, and this is the climactic Medal of the Tournament — but still. This factor, more than any other, affects the game. It’s like a football game in snow: Who responds to the adverse conditions better?

But the good, weird & wild thing is — every period will be different. In these “morning” games, the team that’s alert and awake in the first period is often not the team that’s “on” in the third.

Overview of 2010 Teams

Although the tournament groups are divided differently, there are essentially four groups of three countries each.  

There’s the “Thanks for coming” countries —
Belarus
Norway
Latvia

There’s the “Could pull off an upset” countries — 
Slovakia
Switzerland
Germany

There’s the “Could Medal with a hot goalie” countries —
USA
Finland
Czechs

and then there’s “The Three Giants” —

Canada
Russia
Sweden

Either Canada or Russia will win Gold, that’s for sure.  If another team makes it to the final, they won’t beat the team in red.  

The two semi-final games on Friday (Feb 26th) may very well decide which red team it is.  The best thing for Canada will be if Russia plays Sweden, and Sweden wins.  Only one of the semi-final teams gets a “bye” and doesn’t have to play a fellow Top-3 Team.

And the way who-faces-who happens is  —>

The “3-Point System” to Determine Standings

This is KEY to Canada winning Gold.  They MUST finish First and not be in the 2-vs-3 semi-final game. Not only because risking elimination, but the team that wins that game will be bagged for the final.  

The U.S. also needs to finish in the top 4 (or above), or 5th at worst, to get to play the 4th place team and upset them.  If the U.S. finishes worse than 5th in the Preliminary, they’ll likely be eliminated in the the first quarterfinal game against any of the Big Three.  

The 3-game “Preliminary Round” — which determines the rankings for the rest of the tournament — will use the 3 point system — much debated since the NHL’s implementation of the shoot-out and elimination of ties.

3 points – for winning the game in 60 min.
2 points – for winning in OT or a Shoot-Out
1 point – for being tied at end of regulation, but losing later
0 points – for losing in regulation
. . . (seems fairly fair n logical to me.)

Overtime

ALL overtime is played 4-on-4.
Preliminary round — 5 minutes of OT, then shoot-out (3 players, then tie breakers)
All following games, including Bronze Medal — 10 minutes, then shoot-out
Gold Medal game — 20 minutes OT, then shoot-out

Shoot-out Panic Reduction:

Do note: No Olympic men’s hockey game has gone to a shoot-out since Gretzky didn’t skate against Hasek in 1998. And before that, there’d only been 3 all-time. They’re pretty rare. And there’s no way the Gold Medal game will feature two teams who both can’t score a single goal in 20 min. of 4-on-4.

The TV Broadcasts

In Canada: Great News: CTV / TSN have teamed up with Rogers Sportsnet to use all of their collective networks to broadcast the Olympics — meaning all hockey games will be broadcast live and uninterrupted.  You can check the specific TV listings here.  
Additional Major Bonus: Don Cherry’s voice will not be heard anywhere — and the Real Hockey Anthem will be played everywhere!
Play-by-play — Chris Cuthbert, Gord Miller and Peter Loubardias (some guy from Saskatoon who calls the Flames games on Sportsnet).

And we’re gonna be blessed with Buddha Bob McKenzie — the Howie Meeker of our time.
And now . . . let us bow and pray . . . “Lord, may Pierre McGuire takes his meds on time, lays off the coffee, and have his mike turned down.”  Sadly, Ray Ferraro is the very weak link in the color dept. 

In the U.S.:  NBC will do their masterful job again, utilizing USA Network, MSNBC and CNBC so all major games are covered uninterrupted. Make sure you know where those networks are on your cable — and that you have them — or you’re going to miss a lot of it.  NBC has an excellent website with TV listings searchable by day and / or by sport.  
More Good News Dept.: The Master, Doc Emrick, is doing the play-by-play for the U.S. games.  And Jeremy Roenick will be on hand — hopefully some color in the Doctor’s office.  But it may be his now-regular sidekick Eddie Olczyk, who’s pretty insightful.  Played 16 seasons for a lot of major teams, and was Crosby’s first coach in the NHL. 

Great news — all games are televised live in both countries.

Here’s the Preliminary Round schedule with times and networks:
(All times Eastern — and all games are the same time every day:
3PM, 7:30PM, and midnight.)

Tuesday Feb 16th

USA vs Switzerland — 3PM — TSN / USA
Canada vs Norway — 7:30PM — CTV / CNBC
Russia vs Latvia — midnight — CTV / CNBC

Wednesday Feb 17th

Finland vs Belarus — 3PM — TSN / MSNBC
Sweden vs Germany — 7:30PM — TSN / CNBC
Czechs vs Slovakia — midnight — SNET / CNBC

Thursday Feb 18th

USA vs Norway — 3PM — SNET / USA
Canada vs Switzerland — 7:30PM — CTV / CNBC
Russia vs Slovakia — midnight — TSN / CNBC

Friday Feb 19th

Sweden vs Belarus — 3PM — SNET / MSNBC
Czechs vs Latvia — 7:30PM — SNET / CNBC
Finland vs Germany — midnight — CTV / MSNBC

Saturday Feb 20th

Switzerland vs Norway — 3PM — SNET / MSNBC
Slovakia vs Latvia  — 7:30PM — SNET / MSNBC
Germany vs Belarus — midnight — TSN / MSNBC

Sunday Feb 21st — The Big Day

Russia vs Czechs — 3PM — TSN / NBC
Canada vs USA — 7:40PM — CTV / MSNBC
Sweden vs Finland — midnight — CTV / MSNBC

The Midnight Games 

For those in the Central or Eastern who can experience hockey at the witching hour, The Midnight Games are going to be as good or better than the Canada games.  The first night it’s the Russians playing the Unified Latvians.  Could be even more of a skills display than Canada–Norway.  The second night it’s the Russians vs. the Slovaks, which are an amazing team with Gaborick, the Hossas, and Chara, for starters.  And THEN on the Final Sunday — it’s the Finns vs the Swedes — 2 of the Top 4 teams will decide who gets the bye and who has to play an extra elimination match.  The Midnight Games are going to be some of the best hockey of the Preliminary Round.

The Crazy-But-True Dept.:

If you want to see NHL participation in the next Olympics, you better hope it’s a Canada vs USA Gold Medal game, and that the U.S. wins.
Failing that, this’ll be the last NHL Olympics until at least 2018 — the location of which won’t even be announced until 2011.  There will have been 4 all-player Olympics. The next possible one will come when you’re nearly a decade older.  

The Russians

It’s going to be such a Gift to watch this team play.  Their offensive unit is probably the best ever assembled in the history of the sport.
It’s funny how some think that because they have players from the KHL that they’re not as good as NHLrs. Them folks gettin’ a big surprise comin!   
The question is:  Can Canada beat them in one game?  at home?  a la Miracle on Ice? What is in the script?
If it was a 7 game series, the Russians may well take it in 5. But Canada can beat them once, when they have to. As long as they’ve got the goaltending. And they’re gonna have to score 4 or more goals — cuz there’s no way the Russians aren’t scoring 3 or more every game.  These ain’t gonna be no 2–1 games.  

No matter which team wins, we’re going to have been witness to an historic and lifelong memorable display of the best hockey ever played.

Rule Changes

There’s a great page that lists all the IIHF rule changes vs. the NHL
http://www.iihf.com/channels10/olympics-2010/home/men/rules.html

I read the whole thing of course, and there’s a few small differences …
— automatic icing  — thank gawd!  Whose career-ending injury is it gonna take for the NHL to adopt this?
— no trapezoid, so the goalie can play the puck anywhere
— intermission is 15 min., not 17 min. like NHL
— visors required for everyone born after ’74

But there’s some major ones, too —
Fighting,
Checks to the head, and
Checks from behind.

In the Olympics:
— Fighting means 5 min. major, plus ejection from game
— Check to the Head (aka a Pronger elbow), or a Check from Behind:
The IIHF officially and clearly states: “There’s no such thing as a clean hit to the head.” So it’s always a penalty.
if it’s not serious — 2 min penalty, plus 10 min. misconduct
if it’s at all serious — 5 min major, and ejection from game
Plus potential additional Match Penalty (player out for the next came as well, without substitution). This is my Pronger (and Mike Richards) concern, and why I’m glad Phaneuf’s not on the team.

Breakdown of Olympians by NHL team:

Anaheim (9) — Scott Niedermayer, Ryan Getzlaf & Corey Perry on Canada; Teemu Selanne & Saku Koivu for Finland; Bobby Ryan & Ryan Whitney for USA;  Luca Sbisa & Jonas Hiller (goalie) for Switzerland. 

Detroit (8) — Lidstrom, Kronwall, Zetterberg & Franzen on Sweden; Pavel Datsyuk (Russia); Filppula (Finland); Brian Rafalski (USA);  Ole-Kristen Tollefen (Norway), not to mention Team Canada’s GM Yzerman, asst. GM Holland, Coach Babcock, and former employee and friend Scotty Bowman as unofficial consultant.  

San Jose (8) — Heatley–Thornton–Marleau, & Dan Boyle for Canada;  Evgeni Nabokov (goalie Russia); Joe Pavelski (USA); Douglas Murray (Sweden); Thomas Griess (goalie Germany)

Vancouver (7) — the Sedin twins on Sweden; Roberto Luongo (goalie Canada); Ryan Kesler (USA);  Sami Salo (Finland); Pavol Demitra (Slovaks); Christian Ehroff (goalie Germany)

Chicago (6) — Keith, Seabrook & Toews on Canada; Patrick Kane (USA); Marian Hossa & Tomas Kopecky (Slovaks)

Boston (6) — Patrice Bergeron (Canada, & Crosby linemate);  Tim Thomas (35 yr old goalie USA);   Zdeno Chara (Slovakia); Marco Sturm (Germany); David Krejci (Czech); Miro Satan (Slovakia)

Columbus (6) — Rick Nash, and asst. coach Ken Hitchcock for Canada; Sami Pahlsson & Fredrik Modin (Sweden); Fedor Tyutin (Russia); Jan Hejda (Czech); Milan Jurcina (Slovakia)

Nashville (6) — Shea Weber (Canada); Martin Erat (Czechs); Ryan Suter (USA); Patric Hornqvist (Sweden); Marcel Goc, & Alex Sulzer (Germany)

Pittsburgh (5) — Crosby & Fleury; Malkin & Gonchar (Russia); Brooks Orpik (USA)

Washington (5) — Ovechkin, Semin & Varlamov on Russia; Nicklas Backstrom (center, Sweden); Tomas Fleischmann (Czech)

NY Rangers (5) — King Henrik Lundqvist (goalie Sweden); Marian Gaborick (Slovakia); Chris Drury & Ryan Callahan (USA, plus asst. coach John Tortorella); Olli Jokinen (Finland)

Minnesota (5) — Martin Havlet & Marek Zidlicky (Czechs); Niklas Backstrom (goalie Finland), Mikko Koivu & Antti Miettinen (Finland)

Atlanta (5) — Maxim Afinogenov (Russia); Johnny Oduya & Tobias Enstrom (Sweden); Pavel Kubina & Ondrej Pavelec (Czechs);  plus Don Waddell, asst. GM of USA

Los Angeles (5) — Quick Draw McGraw, Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid — aka Jonathan Quick, Jack Johnson & Dust’m Brown, for the Hollywood Westerns; Drew Doughty (the 20 yr old d-man for Canada);  Michal Handzus (Slovakia)

Montreal (5) — Andrei Markov (Russia);  Jaroslav Halak (goalie Slovakia);  Tomas Plekanec (Czech);  Sergei Kostitsyn (Belarus);  Yannick Weber (Swiss)

Ottawa (5) — Daniel Alfredsson (Sweden); Anton Volchenkov (Russia); Milan Michalek & Filip Kuba (Czech); Jarkko Ruutu (Finland)

Buffalo (5) — Ryan Miller (goalie USA); Henrik Tallinder (Sweden); Toni Lydman (Finland); Jochen Hecht (Germany); Andrej Sekera (Slovakia); plus Lindy Ruff, asst. coach for Canada

New Jersey (5) — Zach Parise & Captain Langenbrunner for USA; Marty Brodeur (goalie Canada, plus Jacques Lemaire as asst. coach);  Ilya Kovalchuk (Russia); Patrik Elias (Czechs)

Tampa Bay (4) — Ryan “Bugsy” Malone (USA); Antero Niittymaki (goalie Finland, MVP ’06 Olympics); Andrej Meszaros (Slovakia); Mattias Ohlund (Sweden)

Carolina (4) — Eric Staal (Canada); Tim Gleason (USA); Joni Pitkanen & Tuomo Ruutu (Finland)

Dallas (4) — Brenden Morrow; Loui Eriksson (Sweden); Jere Lehtinen (Finland); Karlis Skrastins (Latvia)

Philadelphia (4) — Mike Richards & Chris Pronger for Canada; Kimmo Timonen (Finland); Oskars Bartulis (Latvia)

Calgary  (3) — Iginla (Canada); Kipper & Niklas Hagman for Finland

St. Louis  (3) — David Backes & Erik Johnson on USA; Roman Polak (Czech); plus Doug Armstrong, asst. GM of Canada

Phoenix Coyotes  (3) — Ilya Bryzgalov (goalie Russia); Michalek (Czech); Sami Lepisto (Finland)

Colorado  (3) — Paul Statsny (USA); Peter Budaj (goalie Slovakia); Rusian Salei (Belarus)

Toronto (3) — Phil Kessel (USA — not to mention them being “America’s team” with GM Burke, and Coach Wilson); Tomas Kaberle (Czechs); the Monster (goalie Sweden)

Florida (2) — Tomas Vokoun (goalie Czechs); Dennis Seidenberg (Germany)

Edmonton (2) — Denis Grebeshkov (Russia); Lubomir Visnovsky (Slovakia); plus Kevin Lowe, asst. GM of Canada

NY Islanders (1) — Mark Streit (Swiss); plus Scott Gordon, asst. coach of USA

Current (2009) IIHF Ranking of the Top 12 Nations

[by:  ranking — nation — intl points won — position change since 2008]
1 — Russia — 3200 — +1
2 — Canada — 3160 — -1
3 — Sweden — 3095 — 0
4 — Finland — 3050 — 0 . . . (Note: 150 total points separate the Top 4 — then a 135 point drop to the next level) 

5 — USA — 2915 — +1
6 — Czech Republic — 2915 — -1
7 — Switzerland — 2725 — 0
8 — Belarus — 2660 — +1
9 — Slovakia — 2635 — -1
10 — Latvia — 2610 — +1
11 — Norway — 2545 — +1
12 — Germany — 2460 — -2

The Different Leagues in these Olympics 

Only about half the players in these Olympics come from the NHL.
Here’s a breakdown of the number of Olympians from each league:

142 NHL — — (equals 16% of the 860 active players in the league get to go play, and 84% get an amazing 2-week holiday in the middle of the season!  No wonder the NHLPA loves it!)
60 KHL
21 GERMAN
17 SWISS
16 SWEDISH
6 NORWAY
5 AHL
5 BELARUS
2 CZECH
1 FINISH
1 SLOVAK
1 WHL
1 FREE AGENT

by Brian at
BrianHassett.com
karmacoupon@gmail.com

Torch  Song

The Olympic Torch was passin through Oakville yesterday, had to go.  It was down at the huge “creek” that created the center of town at the mouth of the massive Lake Ontario.  There’s one main bridge, and at end of it is the town’s central library and performance center.

Some guy from Oakville won Gold, Silver and Bronze medals at recent Olympics, and he’s part of the Canoe Club based down on the creek below. He was supposed to take the Torch kayaking up the river, but it’s frozen. In fact, it’s totally freezing out, and I’m wearing my big winter jacket, but you wanted to show your red, so I pulled over a giant Team Canada hockey jersey, and looked like freakin Turk Broda on a bike in the circus.  And of course add a fire-red, torch-head blazing toque — just in case anybody hadn’t noticed me yet.

Adventureman and Mama Bear

As I’m reconnoitering on my shuttle-craft bike mission, I find the Olympic crew setting up base camp right in front of the library doors, and from a stunningly gorgeous Jordana Brewster who certainly lit my torch I charmed the exact route details.

I tie up Ranger, and went scouting on foot for the best scenic overlook on the now-confirmed mental map.  Turned out to be right at the beginning of the bridge, standing on the fat flat road barricade beams, where you could see everything that’s comin’ along the street and the whole bridge they’ve closed off for the “ceremony.”

With this perfect secret viewing stand scouted and secured by the Bears and their cubs, I decided to do a test run of the path I planned to run beside the Torch to the next exchange spot.

As soon as I zooped around the corner of the library, there’s the entire Olympic village!  Runners, officials, torches n everything!  In what appears to be their just-unloading staging area right in front of the library doors!  The cool white running suits, the white toques, and the white torches they’ll carry.  Just standing there near the vans.  Nobody’s around.  There are thousands of people lining the street, craning their necks for some dim view of the road, and here’s a half-dozen medal-winning Olympians standing a hundred feet behind them.

And they’re just as friendly as can be.  Some little kid comes up and the Olympian lets him pretend to hold the torch and have his picture taken. And I’m like, “I’m getting in on that!” And it’s this John Wood guy, who could be my new bff, won the Silver in ’76 for kayaking or some damn thing.  Zoom-bitty-zoom and I’m holding the bloody torch!  He’s like, “Here, I want you to feel how heavy it is.”  And sure enough it was pretty light for being such a big thing.  It’s about 3 feet high, and the flames come out of this black strip about 10 inches long with all these little holes, so if part of it blows out, part of it always stays lit.

Note:  there’s nobody around!

Course, right away I get on the cell and call Mama Bear and her cubs to scamper over quick and boom-bitty-boom, there’s dancing Bears in on the act!

Here’s a picture of me taking a picture of Mama Bear and brother Long John Silver . . .

and here I am in full Adventure blaze with Adam the Goldmedalman …

 

All of a sudden — a cheer goes up from the street. “Let’s see if we can get that perfect spot back!” And dashity-dash, sure enough.

Big parade float-type trucks roll slowly along the running route, with Canadian dancing girls looking almost hot in their parkas.  They use one painted lane of the roadway as the perimeter for everyone to stand behind.  A little sign on a truck is flashing, “The Torch will be here in a few minutes.” And everyone’s so waitin-for-something-to-happen they cheer the Coca-Cola truck!

Standing on high, Boom, I clearly see the flame early on.

Carrying the torch past us onto the bridge is 87-year-old Rhona Wurtele-Gillis, who, along with her twin sister, competed for Canada in Alpine skiing in the 1948 and ’52 Olympics.

And all the polite law-abiding Canadians are standing dutifully along the line without any barricades or enforcement, and then Boom, as soon as she’s past with the Torch, and, as respectful as we are, well, darned if there wasn’t just nobody there on the “bridge enforcement” per se, and what the heck?  The crowd quickly dissolves from two straight-line formations into this swoosh of amebas slowly then faster spreading like water across the empty bridge.

And I’m like, “Hey, this looks like a surf!” and I grab my board and jump right in, at first at a politely fast Canadian paddle, then the hell with it, I’m running — cut to the outside, zip-zam-zoodle, deak-I-am, and Boom!  I slant-right at the end zone and there’s the Aging Alpine Adonis standing beside a kid, and they light Torches — which is the big dramatic moment in these Olympic Torch runs — passing the flame from one to another.

They call it “torching off” — and there’s a whole ritual to it.  The lit torch and the unlit are both held high, perfectly perpendicular, and then they each tip towards the other until they touch, or “torch-off,” and hold them in an upside down V.  After the second torch ignites, they still hold them together for a couple seconds so there’s this huge raging double flame at the peak.  Then they separate out straight up and down, and the new person jogs off.  And after a quick minute or less of pics with the flame, there’s a specially trained fire guy at each exchange who extinguishes the torch.

So, this all happens right in front of me, and I’m like, “Wow!”

And then the kid with the fresh Torch starts — as per the revised route — back over the bridge the way it just came, in order to head to the Canoe Club.  But he’s running into the wind or something and his flame is really low, plus he’s not very tall, and all these people are still streaming onto the bridge right past him in the opposite direction and don’t even see him.

But I’m stickin with the flame, baby!  Totally running along side him.  And by the time we get off the bridge, the whole street that was just packed about 2 minutes ago is ¾ empty.  Nobody seems to get that this is the Torch coming back the same way.

I can see there’s still a huge crowd up at the intersection, so I cut off the corner and bolt for the “torch-off” point ahead.  And sure enough, I get right there just before the fame does — and the kid is handing off to none other than Oakville’s triple medal winner Adam van Koeverden!  I’m on the front line, three feet in front of him, and all the camera crews are rolling — The Shot of the Day.  This is the guy who carried the flag for Canada into the stadium at the last Olympics.  We don’t have too many multi-medal winners up here in Lil’ old Canada, so this guy’s The Man.  And I’m like, “Wow!”

And meanwhile he takes off down the road toward his Canoe Club.  I wasn’t planning to run anymore, but he was going kind of slowly, so I thought, “What the hell?” and I start jogging after him.

He goes down the big hill to the club and the creek, and I watch from this perfect view on the crest, the whole spectacle, camera crews and people running like chasing the bulls in Pamplona.

And all of sudden another kind of fake-out happens — somebody with an unlit torch (John) is walking away through the parking lot and taking half the crowd with him.  But the flaming torch is still blazing down by the river, says Neil, so what the heck? says I, racing down the mountain like a skier, wooo-hooo!  Zippity-zooming, and just as I get there, Kayaking Adam has his big red instrument hoisted over one shoulder, with the flame held with his other arm, and since he can’t paddle the water, he portages along the shoreline with both kayak and Torch!

Parts of the impromptu path have all these people clustered, and then there’s whole stretches with nobody but crazy me and him.  Oh, and the six guards.  They’re all in Olympic uniforms;   2 run in front, 2 on either side of the Torch, and 2 behind, creating this about 4-foot bubble around the Torch-bearer.

So we loop all around the park by the crick, and head back up to the Club and sure enough he’s handing off to brother John!  Because of the enormous crowd for this momentous Torch-off between their two famous champions, I’m jogging in the back of a parade.  But everybody bails as soon as we hit the hill back up, and sure as shootin it’s just me and Long John Silver & The Guardian Six-Pack running up the mountain, and I got my hands in the air clapping to people ahead.  Make some noise!

As we round the corner, a bunch of John’s friends are waiting and they’re yelling and he’s yelling and they’re waving and he’s waving and they’re cheering and he’s smiling and they’re snapping shots and he sees someone who makes him start to run over to the sidewalk and the two Captains in front simultaneously yell, “Hey, get back in line!  Stay in the center,” and he and I are laughing and he hollers to his friends, “I gotta stay on the straight and narrow!”

And all of sudden we hit traffic!  They don’t even close all the streets in this po-dunk town.  The Captains yell, “Goin’ Left” and they squeeze over and suddenly they’ve engulfed me.  I’m in the sacred circle.   And Mother Captain in front immediately looks back sensing her nest encroached, and before she could say anything, I go, “I know, I’m trapped!”  And the next available break in traffic I cut to the sidewalk, and even the cops are takin’ pictures.  It’s Brother John!  Oakville’s prized Olympic hero until Adam took a bite.

I ran over a mile of  The Torch Route with one of the greatest Canadian Olympians and several other glowing Silver foxes.  I’m exhausted, warmed by the flame, and fully stoked with the Spirit.

Ma’man, Long John Silver — his post-run torched Torch — and a Beaming Mama Linda Bear!

Hippie Holidaze!

and a Glistening New Year’s Olympics!

Brian O’Canada

karmacoupon@gmail.com

With the Leafs now in 30th place, I need to clarify why I say …

We’re living through a monumental collapse in the history of The Toronto Maple Leafs — a period that will be written about for the rest of hockey time.

Every facet of this franchise is now utterly pucked.   Teams can overcome an element or two not being in synch — but not The Full Ginsberg.

Here’s why it’s so bad — and is gonna get worse:

Ownership:  A corporation. Who knows nothing about hockey, as much as some of them may think they do.  What they know and care about are accounting statements, and that’s it.  If they’re charging Le Cirque prices for McDonalds food, and can raise their prices every year and still have a waiting-list every night, that is One performing asset that is not to be mucked with.

GM:  A large person is humble and deflects praise to others.  A small person takes credit for things they didn’t do.   That Burke, as a 2nd yr GM takes credit for that Anaheim Cup … don’t get me started.   And certainly don’t get any Anaheim fan started!  Now, here he is building a thug-based team in “the New NHL,” while simultaneously dealing away their drafting future, and maxing out their salary cap so UFA’s aren’t even an option.
Comic Image:  Blustering Burke in the oak paneled boardroom scaring the pants off the manicured suits — until they give him a 5-year, no-supervision contract.

Coach:  Prof. Wilson is a textbook mismatch for a “pugnacious” GM like Burke.  Wilson may be a passable hockey tactician, but quite obviously not a “motivator” — not a player seems to be responding — and isn’t exactly coaching this low-skilled squad to play disciplined, capitalize on other teams’ mistakes, and score with the special teams.  But these poor (okay, not “poor” – “unfortunate”) Leaf players are getting two opposing messages.  Their structure is built in conflict with itself.  Ironically, the recently unearthed Quinnasaurous Pat may be the only current coach appropriate for this Burke team.

Forwards:  Dump & don’t-chase.  There’s not a legitimate Top-6 sniper in the squadron.  They’re not a threat to any defense or starting goalie in the league.  Picture  – rocks dinging off tanks.

Goofy’s Goons:  1/6th of every game’s forward roster are staged fighters.  The Leafs are the last-place team, and they voluntarily spot every opponent 2 forwards per game.

Defense:  As bad as it gets — the most goals against in the league — undisciplined, slow, constantly out of position, neither strong defensively nor offensively, confused, penalty-prone as well as the league’s worst penalty-killers — and with no Leader to quarterback or follow.

Goaltending:   The one position that can, in some instances, overcome other factors not in place — and it’s the weakest part of the team.  There’s Porous Toskala (who’s currently the 50th worst save % goalie out of 53 to play so far this season);  and a giant injury-prone monster who drops to the ice before every shot is taken, and who’s already been out twice with heart and groin problems and he’s only been on the job a week.

Overall:  Beyond all the systemic and wide-arcing problems, they have the weakest current starting roster in the NHL, and one of the shallowest farm team talent pools — ranked 22nd, last I checked. And the team having no team Captain is emblematic of them having no leadership whatsoever in the dressing room. 

Add to that:   Every team has learned firsthand how hard points are to come by in this tight parity era, and unlike seasons past, players are much less likely to take lightly the “easy” games against last-place teams.  A couple points has been the difference between playoff bonuses or not for nearly every player in the league.  

Why the problem grows:  The only advantage to being terrible is getting top draft picks — except of course Burke’s traded away the Leafs’ for the next two years. So far.  And because the franchise has been doing that for so many years, they have very little in the stable to draw on — and no major player coming in until 3 years from now (at the earliest). 

Rebuilding:  Some people have bought the line that the Leafs are “rebuilding” — when, sadly, they’ve been looted, and are being demolished:   Almost all their “treasure” is gone, and they’ve sold off their futures, again.

The Long-Term:  This modus operendi will continue through (and by consequences, beyond) Burke’s 5-year contract — under a man leading the last war’s weapons into tomorrow’s NHL.
And because his boss, the ownership, doesn’t care if the team wins or loses — as long as they appear that they’re trying, and they sell more hotdogs than they did last year — then this Division of their holdings meets its target, and “Let’s move on to next on the agenda …”

Ramifications:  Since the Leafs will finish last or close to it the next two years, every draft pick they could have gotten (and especially the 3 players Boston actually selects) will be held against this Burke era for the next 20 years of those players’ careers.  Or picture in 2 years when whomever the Bruins draft 1st overall is having a better season than Phil Kessel.  Plus, of course, during this time the Leafs won’t be doing any “rebuilding” at all.

This is no small collapse.   It’s historically huge.  And the drafted bridges to a future escape are already burned.

It’s like watching Katrina form over the Gulf.  It’s so big, so ominous, and so obvious that utter devastation is coming when this hits home.

Brian, October 10th, 2009.

“Keep One Neal on The Wheel”

with a twinkling & loving nod to Neal Cassady . . .

Coming into Manhattan thru the Holland Tunnel, 6PM on the Friday of the Labor Day Long Weekend . . .
My first moments in Manhattan since Obama’s Election Night.
And on the exact anniversary of the very first day I first arrived in this town 29 years ago.

Everything’s not too bad considering, until I cross all the way over the island to the FDR entrance at Houston — and it’s freakin’ closed!  No reason no warning.  Just big orange blockers.  After contemplating just running them, I turn with everyone else and head back to First Avenue to go uptown. It was already a freakin’ nightmare of Long Weekend Friday rush-hour traffic and now the FDR detour is merging with everyone funneling off the freakin’ Williamsburg Bridge so fuget-about-it.  Motionless in the quicksand, I brilliantly hang a right onto dark n shady Clinton St. (New York’s first black street) and sneak up to Houston to get around it.

When I turned onto First Avenue from Houston — Zero Street — I couldn’t believe I was seeing a green Avenue light still shining there for a second so I gunned it like hell for the holy grail through the yellowing intersection and right into the end of the racing pack.

Zippity-doo-dahing along the crazy off-road tarmac they call avenues in this town — this whole island should be four-wheel-drive only.  But I’m in the mood for some real driving, so I scooch the hell up with the flow and make it all the way to 14th St. without stopping!  But suddenly the light’s turning so again I run the yellow past stopping cars on all sides and jump in on the bare-assed end of the next flow. “This is great! I’m gonna stay right here!”

I’m heading for 23rd where I plan to cut over onto maybe clearer 3rd Avenue, but I’m thinking, “Sumpthin’s goin’ on here.  This thing’s flowing.”  And you don’t break your flow in New York if things are going your way.  So, Boom, I stay on it, bouncing through Gramercy Park, using all three mirrors, windows open cuz you need all your senses, jumping lanes as needed, having to not worry about Casey cuz I’m on a serious roll.  But of course I glance back for a nano-second and she’s got her claws dug into the luggage and is holding unshakeably on.

Hit the 30′s and still haven’t stopped, slaloming between yellow cabs and other non-personal cars.  Nobody in their right mind would risk their own vehicle at more than 10 mph on these cement bike trails.

Suddenly I’m completely surrounded by buses — ahead, behind, both sides — driving in their dark canyon shade, deafened by their roar, gassed into a stupor by their smoke and all the while knowing I could be crushed like an ant in an instant by any one of the Goliath’s bouncing un-phased at 40 mph up this horribly broken track.

Then Boom — the U.N. coming up! “Go tunnel or road?  Tunnel or road?”   Too quick.  In the tunnel lane and there’s no movin’. Poof, down into the dark hole of the only Manhattan non-water-crossing tunnel, then just as soon Bloom!  Out and back into the light — and the red one ahead just turns green!!  Suddenly I’m crossing freakin 50th Street!   And a new flow’s starting!  Zoom, right into it, not letting up on the pedal at all.  If there’s any space ahead, take it.   Go go go.  ”Keep chasing the front of the serge, Sarge.”

All of a sudden, “That’s the 59th St. Bridge! That’s the last traffic clog on this Avenue!” And I’m passing 60th St. and haven’t stopped since Houston!

Suddenly it’s just your regular daytime bouncing rapids — fast flowing cars all around, shushing over cement moguls, in the zone, in the flow.  Next time I look up I’m passing my old neighborhood, 81st Street. “No frickin’ way! I gotta tell Rob when I get there. I just went 80 freakin blocks in one shot!”   And of course right then there’s a major clog!  But I’m feeling fine cuz I just set a new freaking All-Time Non-Stop Record!

There’s all these trucks unloading and cabs and people and about 1 lane trying to squeeze through, but I’m already sailing at a mighty clip up the center of the river and keep bullishly paddling straight ahead to where I’m through without stopping — and as soon as I pop out of the hourglass the light ahead’s turning yellow so I just floor it and make it through only by the courtesy of the old New Yorker’s rule: “Never pull into an intersection without first seeing if some maniac is gunning the light.”

But I’m way in the back of the flow again so I just give ‘er, and poor old Casey’s holdin’ on for dear life, but I gotta get with the flow, man — flooring it through yellows all the way till iI catch up.   And Lord help me but I’m crossing the fat freakin’ 96th St. at a race-car pace, dented cabs and army-surplus-bumpered trucks smashing along on either side, everything’s raging at breakneck New York old-school speed when we all lived by, “The speed limit is whatever you can manage to drive on these crowded lumpy roads.”

Boom! Going fast as hell through the crazy trunk-bouncing pot-holed rapids of Harlem when the thought first hits, “What if I could make it all the way to Rob’s 117th Street! . . . Play it smooth, now.”   I’d raced all the way from the back of the last yellow-light pack up to the pole position. “Don’t be too fast and hit the red.” I pulled ‘er back and just surfed on the crest of the wave.   Easy now, easy, just flowin’ with the lights, and glide in softly for a you-won’t-even-notice-it landing, a sweet coasting turn onto 117th Street. And of course I roll right up and park directly in front of his apartment where I won’t have to move the car till Thursday.

117 blocks non-stop through Manhattan during rush-hour on the Friday of a Long Weekend.

In the words of John Cassady — “I’ll take it.”

Be here now.

Brian & Casey O’Cassady

Check out RockPeaks.com where I’m the Editor-at-Large.

It’s the greatest musical performances ever caught on film.   You’ll see.

And Enjoy.

A bunch of YouTubes of the Summit can be found here.  

The Grand Humanity Jam Continues

Summer Summit ’09

The “We Made It This Far” Anniversary.

July 31st  –  August 9th, 2009 

An historically great crew reuniting . . .

A massive scene recreated . . . 

Look homeward, Angels.  

*     *     * 

Overview:  (July 31st thru August 9th) 

August Long Weekend (7/31-8/3) — Opening Reception, and gatherings at various lakes.

Wednesday Night Summit (8/5) —  at the new District nightclub, a block from Portage & Main.

Friday Night — “A Midsummer Night’s Social” (8/7) — the reunion “dance” at Earl Grey Community Club.

Saturday Afternoon (8/8) — Ball Hockey under the Dome, Yoga in the Park, and Brunch on the Bridge.
Saturday Evening — various house parties.  

*     *     * 

BREAKDOWN:  (for Woodstock in Winnipeg) 

With all the characters, the settings, the soundtrack, and the images, we’re recreating Winnipeg life in our time. 

Tuesday or Wednesday morning I’ll be on CBC’s “Information Radio” with Terry Macleod talkin about all this — 89.3 FM in the Peg, or you should be able to hear it here:  www.cbc.ca/inforadio/ 

FRIDAY, July 31st – “Christmas in July” — Opening Reception and welcoming home out-of-towners at a classic house in River Heights.  (7 PM on) 

LONG WEEKEND:

Gimli:  the 120th annual Islendingadagurinn festival weekend     Gotta crew.  Contact me if you wanna joyn in.  (And the joy will be emphasized.  Not to mention Jerry Garcia’s birthday celebrations on Saturday.)  
Lake of the Woods:  a singularly dense mob of old gangsters in the hood.

Monday — travel back to The Peg

Tuesday — chill, regroup, recoup, and reacquaint with family.

Full moon is August 6th — so it’s going to be blazing for the next three nights.

WEDNESDAY night (Aug 5th)  at   The District:  6PM till 2AM last call.
177 Lombard at Rorie, a block from Portage & Main.  Includes separate nice hundred-person restaurant with full dinner menu for those who want to start with an excellent meal.
“It’s super-deluxe comfy everything — like somebody’s really nice house.”
It’s a just-opened nightclub, like one of those secret New York hideaways  — antique couches and mystical chairs — 20-foot ceilings  – surround-sound music – flat-screens, pool tables — and it’s all a wireless hot-zone for Skyping the missing.

* Evening includes 200 of the best songs you ever heard at a party in 1979.

7:30 or 8 PM  – Group Photos at nearby Hollywood & Vine signpost.  I mean, Haight & Ashbury.  I mean, Portage & Main.  Take your own, and/or we’ll shoot from a ladder and have 8x10s by the Friday dance.

THURSDAY – 1 PM — Tour of  Kelvin High School!  Including photo-ops around the classrooms, in the stepped theater on the 2nd floor,and on the classic Kingsway stairs outside.  Followed of course by a trip to “Tubby’s” for some Italian health food, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some beer & wine involved.  

Evening – much needed time with family and pillow.  Or  . . . 

The Pre-Kelvin “Gang” Summit — the River Heights Junior High Reunion  at a house in River Heights, and maybe a bar-b-que at “the club.” 

FRIDAY night (Aug 7th) — A Midsummer Night’s Social – the big “Grad Dance” 30 years later   at Earl Grey Community Club  – 7:30-PM till 1-AM (and counting) — with the Cowpokes, One Life, etc. (see details below)

SATURDAY afternoon (Aug 8th) – 1 PM   The All-Star Celebrity Old-timers Ball Hockey Game –  at “The Dome” at Grosvenor School, btwn Guelph & Wilton.

1:00  “Yoga in The Park with Francie” – in a peanut park near the hockey game.

Brunch on the Bridge
The Sals on the Provencher Bridge
or with nearby alternates maybe it’ll be  Food at The Forks   –  four restaurant/bars with patios:
Muddy Waters BBQ  patio holds 60, no reservations, the best place.
Beachcombers – patio holds 80.
Finn’s – terrace holds 50, 150 inside, serves “pub food”
Spaghetti Factory – has a patio
The Tallest Poppy – Saturday all-day breakfast – at Logan & Main (Dunc’s place)

Saturday Night (Aug 8th) — It ends as it all began . . . with a circuit of house parties.  

Sunday (Aug 9th) — multi-denominational church service — time and location TBD.  

Reflections & recovery back-yard gatherings.   

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The All-Volunteer Executive Improvised Winging-it Committee – 

Brian Hassett — Prankster-at-Large, Sherpa Shepard, Lead Detective on the case
Bill Hodgson (from Philadelphia) – Official Bandleader Composer & Conductor
St. Joey / Mayor Myles / DJ Harry Vest — Director of Winnipeg Operations
Duncan Lennox — The Wizard of Wednesday — and Cent-Com Commander
Stu Hay (from Toronto) — Senior Download Officer and Headlining Comic
Joanne Gillies — Mother of the House, Saturday’s Reunion Award Winner
Kim McDuff — “Lady McDuff” — President of Earl Grey Community Club
Jeff Cantin (from Boston) –The Gang’s Official Curator of Photography
Su Lowery (from Victoria) — Bureau Chief — West Coast Operations
Diana McGhee (from Oman) – Official Midsummer’s Poster Artist
Leslie Stafford  –  Official Reunion Media Relations Liaison
Francie Adamson (from Toronto) – Official Reunion Artist
Joseph & Pat Myles — Honourary Reunion Chaperones
Mrs. Terry Kupchak — Honourary Reunion Teacher
Mrs. Jamieson — Honourary Reunion Teacher
Mr. Hutton — Honourary Reunion Teacher
Mr. Belton — Honourary Reunion Teacher
Bobby Stahr – Senior Reunion Prankster

[yes, that is The Stanley Cup's profile] 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Prairie buffaloes are returning to the herd from 3 continents and 25 different cities, and counting.    Victoria, Vancouver, Whistler, Banff, Calgary, Edmonton, Saskatoon, Regina, Kenora, Hamilton, Oakville, Mississauga, Toronto, Barrie, Ottawa, Boston, Buffalo, Detroit, Philadelphia, Washington, Tampa Bay, Miami, London Ontario, London England, and Oman in Southwest Asia. 

From the left edge to the right coast, from Argyle to Ravenscourt, from St. Paul’s to St. Mary’s, from the class of ’65 to the class to ’07, from grey hair to pink hair  

This is multi-school, multi-year, multi-national, & multi-disciplinary.

There’s going to be music, video, photography, spoken word, oil paintings, posters, improv madness, and the whole thing’s gonna be some kinda theater! 

– — – — – — – – — – — – — –

“A Midsummer Night’s Social” (Hodgstock) — every Winnipeg musician you ever heard of will be playing Friday August 7th at the Hodgson social at Earl Grey.

“From Woody & Hank,
       to Jerry & Frank.”
There will be versions of:
The Clearwater Boys (bluegrass quintet  to open),   the Cowpokes, both acoustic and electric,  One Life,  Million Civilians, The Wake, The Yipmen, Inna Riddim, you name it.

Think Rust Never Sleeps meets The Last Waltz.
It’ll start acoustically, gently, inspiringly, with a greatest-hits of wooden music — bluegrass into folk into country into unplugged rock n roll;
Followed by scorching electric rock, from dancing classics to shredding mayhem,
and through it all streams a steady flow of guest performers and different Band configurations.

At Earl Grey Community Club:  7:30 – PM till 1- AM (and counting).  $10
360 Cockburn St. — at Fleet St. — btwn Stafford & Pembina, and Corydon and Grant.  And may we suggest coming by Duffy’s cab. Parking isn’t real great, and you’re going to be way past drinking-&-driving by the end of this.

We all know about Neil Young at Kelvin, but Earl Grey Junior High was where he went when he first arrived in the Peg during the start of grade 9 — and this next door Community Club was where he was a 45-playing DJ for the canteen dances, and is where he played his very first gig with his very first band! – (The Jades) 

And besides all this madness, anybody can arrange any other kind of a “just us” gatherings!  Could you imagine?!?

And of course there’s a “Kelvin 30th” Facebook group for those so inclined.  

Accommodations:

Where I’ve stayed — and to me is really the only place in town — The Fort Garry Hotel — the giant castle in the center of it all.
If that’s not to your liking, there are actually a number B&Bs — go to BBCanada.com. There’s the Columns, the River Gate Inn and several others in Armstrong Point — it’s an area Very Much like River Heights, and very central to everything.
Or The Marlborough Hotel is also pretty cool and castle-like, and is also right downtown.
The old highrise NorthStar on Portage Avenue is now a nice Radisson.  I’ve stayed there and it’s totally acceptable. 
Or there’s The Inn at The Forks, overlooking the historic river junction of the two rivers, and is not unreasonable.
Or the Viscount Gort is still there on Portage Avenue.
Or if you wanna go funky nostalgic — The St. James Hotel above the Fox & Hounds Tavern! ☺

Most common comments so far — “Before, I wouldn’t want to do this, but now I really do!”  — “This just made my summer!”  –  “This is fun already!”

Most common comments from those Not in the Class of ‘79 – “I wouldn’t wanna go to my own class reunion, but THIS is gonna be wild!” — “I went to my high school reunion and it was fun, but this sounds crazy!”

The Grand Humanity Jam continues . . . .

I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t for you.

This festival is made possible by generous contributions from Google and Facebook.

surreally,

your pal,
Brian

karmacoupon@gmail.com

I’m Not There — film review

“Life is a crazy, dark circus.”

FANTASTIC, inspired filmmaking. (I gotta look for more Todd Haynes.)  Maybe I was super-well prepared for it by this late date, but as it was, I could easily follow it, and it painted a brilliant million-dollar-picture.

Obviously the unsuspecting could be caught off guard by the allegory and non-linear storyline, and I can see how it might come across as not entertaining or helpful for non Dylan fans – but for those familiar with this major artist’s life and work, it’s just full of humor and incredible detail in scene recreations (which are then played with), all mixed in with archival footage of Greenwich Village and such. — Especially the dustbowl Hattie Carroll, and all the Don’t Look Back reenactments! :-) . . . the press conference, the hotel rooms, and the encounter with the Duchess and the overly analytical fan!

I just LOVED the script! How it skipped around in time, but still flowingly told a chronological story. It was like a merge between Bob’s books Tarantula and Chronicles — poetically licensed autobiography (see, also: Kerouac, Jack).

And nobody seems to talk much about the editing, but it’s Brilliant! And the sound editing, and cinematography. (sorry, this is just post Oscars )

It was a lot like Masked & Anonymous — both very surreal musical dramedies starring Another Side of Bob Dylan — both with similar wonderful soundtracks of original Bob mixed with other’s versions — and both featuring a calliope of strange characters, and with a black child singing and stealing the show.
And B), it’s a helluva lot like Renaldo & Clara in many of the same ways. Life is a crazy, dark circus.

This is the kind of movie, like a great CD, that you could just put on at a party and let it play in the background — a series of music & words with images, called “scenes” instead of “songs” — you can dip in and out anytime, for as long as you want, then go back to your conversation. With all the Bob-inspired dialog and songs woven together it’s like a Dylan musical for two hours.

And how ‘bout that hilarious scene at the cross on the hill with Ginsberg & Bob yelling up at it! “Why don’t you do your early stuff?!”

Or that sweet Hitchcockian overhead B&W slo zoom-in of Dylan writing Tarantula with all the pictures surrounding him on the floor.

Or the scene in the car after the great, “That was Allen Ginsberg, man!” –> into the battle between Bob and the reporter –>  into that epic Ballad of a Thin Man!! Sick!

And the whole thing interspersed with a Spinal Tap mockumentary riff! woven into Don’t Look Back and a nature documentary about a grizzled Grizzly Adams Gere living in the woods! Great poetic storytelling.

I really liked every one of the Dylan actors’ performances — (in order) Cate (of course), the black kid (Marcus Carl Franklin), Bale, Gere, Heath, and even the 19 yr old in B&W at the table, Ben Winshaw. And how cool about Richie Havens playing the soulful father figure?!  And his partner mother-figure telling the young boy, “Write about your own time.”

It was realistically surreal. Like Terry Gilliam can capture it, or van Gogh, or Lewis Carroll, or Alvin Ailey. It’s crazy, it’s distorted, but it’s real.

All around, a playful joyous complex poetic work of art befitting its subject.

*  *  *

oh, and I noticed in the Special Thanks at the end: Neil Young! , Jeff Tweedy (Wilco), and Ramblin’ Jack.

And that it was mostly shot in Montreal! Beauty, eh!

and A Grate Family Friendly Film Tip – Watch Masked & Anonymous RIGHT After this –
the greatest One-Two-Blow-Off-My-Shoe
Bob Brain-blast Double-Feature Ever!
Bake the brownies in advance.

We need a strong Leader in the Senate right now.

And old Harry Reid is SO not it.

Think of this 111th Senate full of all these kick-ass, get-things-done progressives & centrists:

Pat Leahy, Carl Levin, Russ Feingold, John Kerry, Chris Dodd, Dianne Feinstein, Barbara Boxer, Chuck Schumer, Dick Durbin, Barbara Mikulski, Ron Wyden . . .
not to mention Senior Statesmen like Robert Byrd, Ted Kennedy, Jay Rockefeller and Tom Harkin;
Then add in Jim Webb, Claire McCaskill, Jon Tester and Mark Udall who are just rockin in their first terms;
Not to mention Al Franken coming on stage soon, and ol’ Bernie Sanders, the Vermont Socialist, who’s enthusiastically blowing his bugle with the band.

In fact, this is a full all-star line-up of players jamming right now in the Senate!

But this Harry Reid guy couldn’t get a stimulus bill passed in the middle of a recession if he had 59 votes to start with!

What’s wrong with this picture?!

Maybe Reid’s a great guy — I don’t know what he’s good at, frankly — certainly not being Majority Leader at this point in Our History.
We’re wasting once-in-a-lifetime momentum, political capital, and time here. We’re one freakin seat away from filibuster-free clear-sailing and this guy can’t make it happen.

And get this — Dick Durbin from Illinois is the #2 Democrat in the Senate after Reid! He’s the Assistant Majority Leader (aka Majority Whip). When Reid goes, he’s currently next in line — and then Obama’s got his man from home (and chaperone in the Senate) in charge. This has GOT to happen, and as soon as possible.

Maybe the same’s true of Nancy Pelosi, but I can’t say that for sure (yet).
But Reid!! It’s so typical of us Democrats to have a milquetoast muttonshop like this in charge!
We’re so hopeless!
But not anymore.

Watch for which Democrats emerge as leaders in the Senate.  I’m a lifelong Democrat who’s been considering this Reid question since he was first elected Leader — but I now have no problem making this call. He has GOT to step down (or the Dems force a new leadership vote) or we’re never gonna get anything done.

Feel free to forward this anywhere, and(or) please contact your Democratic Senator. Here’s the list of all of them with their phone numbers and most of their email addresses:
http://democrats.senate.gov/members/

and A Great P.S.: — “Good Morning America” just did a piece on the recent meeting between a former KKK member and now-Representative John Lewis (my favorite Rep. in the House) who the KKK guy beat-up back in 1961 in South Carolina. Everything with the Obama election / inauguration made this guy reach out and apologize. Lewis says he’s the first person from those days to have stepped forward.

Here’s the incredibly touching newspiece:  http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=6819133

peace n more progress,

Brian Hassett .com