Going to the Chapel

My sister Nancy and Chris Tomchik got hitched on Sunday. The ceremony and reception were great. I'm exhausted after chasing Liam around the reception hall, however, so I don't have the energy to compose a lengthy report on the event.

Some highlights:

1. It only rained for about 10 minutes, just enough to eliminate the excess humidity. According to the minister, every marriage occasionally has "a little thunder rumbling in the distance."

2. Using a raspberry-flavored Ring Pop, we managed to keep Liam quiet for a few minutes of the ceremony. Baby Carter let out a few squeals but did not break wind loudly enough for anyone outside our immediate family to hear.

3. At the reception, I finally got to smoke one of the cigars Dad brought me back from Key West. And a good smoke it was. Hand-rolled by a real Cuban, apparently.

4. The food was excellent. The hors d'ouvres included smoked gouda, which is the cheese the gods would eat if Mount Olympus was located in Wisconsin. The dinner buffet (I swear I heard someone in line behind me pronounce the word "buffett," as in "Jimmy") included a carving station offering a "spice-encrusted tuna loin," which was delectable despite its curious name. Jen wondered how they get a loin from a fish; my best guess was that it must come from the extremely rare two-legged tuna native to the waters off the Solomon Islands.

5. Toward the end of the evening, Liam started asking other wedding guests if they would be interested in going to a "naked juice bar." (See my earlier entry titled "The Scottish Pornographers) As we left the reception, he started chanting "PARTY ANIMAL!!!" with only a little encouragement. As a parent, it warms the cockles of my heart to see my son's vocabulary flourish.

Some lowlights:

1. The bartenders did not know how to make a mojito. Phillistines.

2. I found out the hard way that I am allergic to Sam Adams Boston Lager. I think it must be the yeast. Or perhaps the malt or the hops, which doesn't leave much. I used to love that beer, but now I have added it to the long list of quality brews that make my eyes water and my brochial tubes contract. Wheezing and gasping really detracts from one's enjoyment of a fine lager.  

3. Alas, I failed to snap a photo of the conga line. If anybody got it on film, send me a copy and I'll add it to this album.

New Poster

I've put together a poster to publicize my upcoming farmers market gigs. Right now it looks like my first date there will be June 4. I plan to be at the Gloversville market every Saturday morning except for June 11 and July 9 and 16. All this is tentative, however. I'll be sure to post a formal announcement here on my blog and send out an e-mail to everyone on my music mailing list (to sign up, e-mail smokinbill@aol.com). The fine print at the bottom of the poster says "Acoustic musicians always welcome to sit in."

The Parting Glass and Other Watering Holes

On Saturday, we took my sister's fiance out for lunch in lieu of a more adventurous bachelor party. I had offered to plan an excursion to The Golden Banana or some other such burlesque house, but Chris said he'd prefer a "mild" event to a "spicy" one.

So we took him to the Parting Glass, a place in Saratoga Springs that has decent sandwiches and pub food, an excellent selection of beers and whiskeys, and a large dart hall. We decided to make things interesting by giving each guy in our group a chance to hit a bullseye. For each dart that hit the outer ring, Chris would have to drink a pint of beer, and for each dart in the inner ring, he'd have to drink a shot of liquor. This game of chance would have been more exciting if we were better dart throwers: Only one hit the mark, and Chris only had to drink one beer.

As we sat down to our lunch (I had the infamous Harry O'Reilly sandwhich, corned beef and swiss on egg-battered toast), I ordered a Powers on the rocks. When I went to Ireland in 1999 I spent 10 days sampling the various varieties of ouiska bah ("water of life" in gaelic), and through careful research determined Powers is my favorite. When the drink arrived, many in our group remarked on the impressive size of it. Suffice to say the Parting Glass serves generous libations.

At this point I was struck by a powerful wave of nostalgia and it hit me: I have been a patron of The Parting Glass for half of my life. I received a good portion of my education in Irish folk music at the Glass, sampled more than 100 varieties of beer (try the Belhaven Scottish Ale), played many games of darts and once watched a large rugby player prevent a fight by screaming at another guy in Japanese. The years I lived in Saratoga, before we moved back to Johnstown and got married, Jen and I used to drink beer and play darts there nearly every weekend.

I suppose I'd have to say the Glass is my favorite pub, if only for all the history I have with the place. Perhaps this is a good place for a list of my favorite pubs (Irish and otherwise):

1. The Parting Glass, Saratoga Springs, NY

2. Le Vieux Dublin Pub, Montreal, Canada

3. O'Donohue's, Dublin, Ireland

4. The Thirsty Scholar, Cork City, Ireland

5. Paddy O'Reilly's, New York City

6. The Hawk and Dove, Washington, D.C.

7. The Coat of Arms, Portsmouth, N.H.

8. The Press Room, Portsmouth, N.H.

Perhaps I'll add more to this list as the memories come back to me. Keep in mind I haven't listed these places because they make a good Cosmopolitan or the menu is exceptional. They're simply places I've been where little chapters of my personal history have been written, where decent pints of stout have been poured, good live music has been played, where authentic atmosphere and genuine characters have made a lasting impression.

Priced to Move

The garage sale is a strange phenomenon. This weekend we cleared out about three tons of junk from our garage and the attic, cellar, closets, car trunks and bookshelves. It was a great spring rite of purgation, and some colorful characters came by to relieve us of our unwanted merchandise.

The most prized item for sale was a circa-1982 faux leather vest, black with cow-pattern patches on the shoulders. We let it go for fifty cents.  

Jen said I should write a song about the whole experience. I'll let you know if I come up with one.

Getting Mugged

Lou, a co-worker who has the cubicle next to mine at the newspaper, has a stunningly expansive collection of coffee mugs from all over the world. He recently decided to take inventory, and the following archive resulted. (I have xxx'ed out the names to protect the innocent).  

A. Places in U.S.„
          1. Alaska Indians / from xxx xxx„
          2. Elvis mug from Memphis / gift from xxx„
          3. xxxy's / From trip to Maine for xxx wedding„
          4. Charleston, South Carolina / from xxxx„
          5. Cleveland / from xxxx„
          6. St. Louis arch / From xxx visit„
          7. Don't Mess with Texas / from xxx„
          8. Acadia National Park / From a xxxxx??„
          9. Roycroft Inn / From xxxxx„
          10. Wrigley Field / During Princess Magogo visit / at
airport„
          11. National Air and Space Museum / From xxxxx's
class trip„
          12. Historic Market Street / Corning / from xxxx?„
          13. Jello birthplace Leroy NY / from xxxx„
          14. East Aurora, NY / 5 & 10 „
          15. Verde Canyon Railroad / From visit to Arizona„
          16. Glacier Country, Montana / xxxxx „
          17. Beale Street from Memphis / xxxxxback from
funeral„
          18. Portland, Me., railroad (from bar mitzvah visit)„
          19. Lilac Festival 2005 „
          20. Fargo ND Salvation Army / Sent by xxx xxx
          21. Rochester ... where the sun always shines _ above
the clouds
          22. Arizona / From someone's trip

B. Foreign places
          23. Jerusalem, Israel / gift from xxx
          24. Museo del Cafe / from Antigua, Guatemala / From
                xx and xxas a thank you for caring for
                their cats.
          25. New Zealand / from xxxx xxx's sister xxx
          26. Brazil / From whom?
          27. Namibia / from xxx
          28. Cozumel etc. / Mexico / purchased by xxx
          29. China mug with a cover / A xxx
          30. The Caribbean / Not sure 
          31. Hebron / Recent mug from xxx
          32. Venice, Italy, from xxx xxx 
          33. London mug / xx? / xx?
          34. British Flag / From xxx, I think
          35. Wooden mug from Cuba / xxx
          36. Belize / from xxx
          37. Romania / from xxx
          38. Croatia / from wedding xxx went to
          39. Barbados / from whom?
          40. Brazil / From xxxx ?
          41. Honduras / from xxx???? /

C. Odds and Ends
          42. Albany Attack / purchased at game
          43. American Express / gift from xxx
          44. DAI / xxx's company / from xxx
          45. Race for the Cure / From xxx awards dinner
          46. United We Stand / Post-911, purchased on Thruway
          47. Caffe Lena / purchased at 2005 concert
          48. Straphangers Campaign / from xxxx
          49. Soup cup from xxx
          50. Sirsi / from xxx
          51. The Ultimate Drive / BMW for cancer gift
          52. LOU / mug from xxx
          53. QV2021 / Jewish Home of Rochester / from xxx or xxx
          54. Tabasco / Gift from xxx from New Orleans ALA
convention

D. Newspapers
          55. Gazette reaches 100
          56. The Post-Star / from lunch visit with xxx
& xxx
          57. The Sunday Gazette / from arrival here
          58. The Bridgeport Post and Telegram / Initial office mug
          59. The Post-Standard / From Syracuse visit
          60. I am / under / paid / [and] over / worked
(xxx mug from The Post-Star)
          61. Hartford Courant white mug 
          62. The Gazette white mug / was given to golfers
          63. Gazette Newpapers reach 100
          64. Hartford Courant reaches 225 / from first week on
staff

E. Colleges etc.
          65. Haverford / purchased at xxxx's graduation
          66. University of Wales Swansea / From xx
          67. Culinary Institute of America / From xx
          68. Albany Law School / Purchased there
          69. MCC / from xxx
          70. St. Louis University / From xxx
          71. University of Rochester / purchased at a reunion
          72. University of Maryland / xxxx gift
          73. Harvard University / from visit to xxxx
          74. Union College / from lunch with xxx

F. Music 
          75. Chicago Symphony / from visit for xx and
xxx's wedding weekend.
          76. Metropolitan Opera / Purchased at Met with xxx
          77. Mostly Mozart / xxx's mom
          78. Boston Early Music Festival from Tanglewood offering

G. Organizations:
          79. READ / American Library Association
          80. ACES / Blue mug from Louisville
          81. SND mug / from Barcelona convention
          82. ACES / from Chicago convention

Perplexing art

I try to be open-minded about a thing as vast and subjective as art. I try not to be too quick to judge. But sometimes, even in my eagerness to see the beauty or significance of a thing, I bump up against the limitations of my own understanding.

Today I read in Metroland, the Albany-area alternative news weekly, my friend David Brickman's insightful review of a show of paintings by an accomplished local artist, Richard Callner. Since I fool around with watercolor in my own amateurish way, I always take interest in observing how professionals use the medium, and how critics rate their successes and failures in the use of it. Brickman's review piqued my interest, especially in its last few paragraphs, in which he explains why he has devoted a lot of his critical efforts to shows at a particular Albany gallery, the Firlefanz. It basically came down to that fact he feels this gallery exhibits what matters as opposed to what sells. I went online and found the gallery's well-put-together Web site and browsed the .jpegs of the Callner show. The painting below is one of several in the exhibit that impressed me:

I am intrigued by the combination of mimesis and abstraction, and my overall reaction is that I  take pleasure in the viewing of the paintings and the feeling that they have in some way connected me to the artist. Each is a one-way window from my world into his.

After spending some time with the Callner images via the Web (no substitute for being in the presence of the actual pieces of art, I acknowledge), I surfed through the rest of the gallery's site and came upon a display of work by a younger artist, also local, named Justin Baker.

That's when frustration started to overwhelm me. I tried to take in his works with the same good-natured disinterestedness that I had approaching the Callner paintings, and it just wouldn't work. Here's an example from the gallery's Web site:

OK, I said to myself, he's going minimalist, using the negative space, very neutral tones. The works taken together certrainly have a unity of style. But they simply don't impress me .. they don't move me the way I want to be moved. The feeling of connection I felt with the Callner pieces was absent from the experience of looking at Baker's. 

Now, I used the word "frustration" earlier, and I want to be clear that it is not this artist or his work that frustrates me. It is, at least in part, my own inability to appreciate what he's done in these works. When I look at a piece of visual art, I generally ask three questions: 1. How does the experience of viewing it affect me? (Is it pleasurable? Discomforting? Exhilarating? Or does it make me shrug?) 2. Am I able to detect what the artist has attempted to acheive, even if it doesn't necessarily work for me? If I can answer "yes" to either question, my judgement (that's too strong a word) of the work is positive. (I've found I can arrive at such a determination even if the net effect of the work is to offend or repulse me ... ) If I answer "no" to both questions, the only effect is the aforementioned frustration, the persistent peal of a third question: What's missing?

Apparently I am able to isolate and ruminate on the qualities of a piece of art that make me enjoy it, but I am less able to grasp or pinpoint any qualities (or lack thereof) that make me fail to enjoy a piece of art.

Could it simply be a matter of looking longer? Looking harder? Perhaps yes and yes, I think. And perhaps continuing to view more art, expanding my conceptual vocabulary until I have the mental tools to make that connection.

As long as Baker, and artists like him, keep working beyond the borders of my apreciation zone, I promise I will keep trying to meet them half way.

Woody Guthrie in Watercolor

Tonight I'm just throwing a few random things onto my blog that may or may not be of interest. The image above is a watercolor I painted a couple of weeks ago. It's based on a photo from the early 1930s of Woody Guthrie (center) with two other guys in a string band they called The Corncob Trio. They played around Oklahoma and the Texas Panhandle before Woody set out for California. I won't get into all the reasons why Woody is an idol of mine (like so many others before me), but I'm sure I'll have occasion to mention him again as this little blog adventure continues.

Did you know Woody was a professional sign painter? I'm by no means an accomplished artist, but one of the things I've learned from reading about Woody and listening to his recordings is "it ain't about being perfect."

A little poetry

Strings

I could change the strings

on my old guitar

but it wouldn't sound like new.

I tune it up

then down again

a sloppy whole step

to play "Louis Collins"

in B flat.

That's the key to the highway

out of my weatherbeaten upstate town

looking out over the once-majestic Mohawk

snaking through the shadow

of the Adirondack foothills

where lumber and leather

rolled down the line

on the F, J & G

to the E-RI-E

a rusty, dusty, rustic

memory of mules

flat-bottom boats

sweet stink of woodsmoke

on my clothes.

Some nights my guitar sleeps

in its sturdy case

pining for a player

dreaming the valley below

is a delta

sloshing muddy water

rocking in a cradle

of mossgreen levees.

Dreaming the hills above

make a rugged blue ridge

of rocky tops

and dark hollows

sour-mashed sunlight

on wet red clay.

I could change the strings

on my old guitar

but's the coffee's almost ready

and it's just a broke-down engine

away from a blind man

wailing into a tin can

barrelhouse burning

gravedigger looking me right in the eye

just the way I like it.

                                      - Bill Ackerbauer © 2005

Accordion Player From Hell

I've been listening lately to the music of a guy named Geoff Berner, an accordion player/singer/songwriter who plays all over the U.S., Canada and Europe. He's kind of a cross between an old-world troubador and John Prine, with a lot of dark humor and a wicked edge to his songs.

He wrote (or co-wrote?) the song "Light Enough To Travel," which is one of my favorites from the Be Good Tanyas' first CD. In has some great lines, such as:

"Promise me we won't go into a nightclub/I really think that it's obscene/what kind of people go to meet people/in a place you can't be heard or seen?"

His web site, www.geoffberner.com, is worth checking out if only for the cool visual effect in the art as you open the page.

The Scottish Pornographers

The other day, Jen and I took the boys to the playground. As we were getting ready to leave, we asked Liam what he wanted to have for lunch. The reply:

"Haggis and nudes."

He's only 3 years old, and that's how he pronounces "hot dogs and noodles."

I thought, if anybody had overheard our conversation, they'd think we were a family of Scottish pornographers. Either that or a troupe of bizarre performance artists.

This incident reminded me of the time a few months ago when we were all in the car and drove past an establishment that advertised itself as a "100% Naked Juice Bar." I said, "Hey, Liam! Do you want to go to a naked juice bar?"

He answered, "YEEEAAAHHHH!" with the most emphatic nodding and flapping of arms I've ever seen from him. I guess if a three-year-old has any real concept of "naked juice bar" at all, he must visualize it as a sort of day care center where the kids all run around sans diapers, with sippy-cups in hand.

Hey, if they served haggis, Liam would be all over that.

 

I guess I'll try my hand at blogging

I guess today I'll try my hand at blogging. I recently wrote an academic paper on the role of blogs in literature ("Carving out a Space for Cyberspace in the Literary Tradition"), and while I hardly claim to be an expert on the subject, I've developed an interest in the format's possibilities.

My goals for this blog are to:

1) Offer my thoughts on a variety of subjects of interest to myself and other like-minded folks (especially acoustic music, songwriting, literature and more down-to-earth stuff like my family and my hometown).

2) Keep the entries concise and worthy of my readers' precious time.

3) Make it an outlet for many of my creative projects, whether they are failures or successes, serious efforts or the fruits of sheer whimsy (which would make an excellent name for a band).

If you enjoy anything I put up here, or have any other reaction other than bland ambivalence, please do drop me a line at smokinbill@aol.com or post a comment.