29 Years Down the Line

Sometimes you can go back, at least for a moment.  Last Saturday I joined my high school colleagues and performed as our old 80s cover band, I ON U, before an audience of family, friends and classmates at Oscar’s Pub and Grill in Milwaukee, playing a ninety minute set that briefly transported us back three decades.  When the band last played together on May 16, 1986, Ronald Reagan was president, Whitney Houston ruled the airwaves, and we five musicians were headed for glory.  Our closing song was INXS’s “Don’t Change,” and ever since then this song has represented for me the end of something and the beginning of something else.  Back in 1986, the “something else” was life.  Fortunately the intervening twenty-nine years of living did nothing to hamper the enjoyment of the group on Saturday.

It began as a lark.  When my daughter and I visited Belmont University last January I called on guitarist Bill and his family to meet for lunch.  That we did, and sometime during the afternoon we put two and two together and realized that it was January 10, twenty-nine years to the day of I ON U’s first concert back in 1986.  Bill’s wife Anne took a photo of the two of us and posted on Facebook:

Part 1 of IonU reunion — at Taziki’s Mediterranean Cafe.  Bill and Paul just realized that today is the 29th anniversary of the first show!

Kevin, a high school classmate who remembers every person he’s ever met and is the consummate event planner, responded:

Is part two going to be Live Sept. 19th 2015 For Team Bryce and Al's Run/Walk for Children's Hospital??? Hmmmmmmmmm!!!!!! 

Kevin was referring to the team that for nine years has participated in the Brigg’s and Stratton Al’s Run and Walk for Milwaukee Children’s Hospital, which this year grew to 370 participants.

That set the wheels in motion, and within a few weeks singer Rob, drummer Jim and keyboardist Aaron were all on board, busily deciding on a set list, dusting off our old equipment and praying that muscle memory would take over.  Two rehearsals in June made it apparent that nothing had changed in twenty-nine years.  We still played well together, but what I really liked was the ease with which we were able to hang out.  For me, it was as if no time had passed at all. 

Playing Saturday on a pitch-perfect day, I was focusing more on playing the correct notes on my non-native bass guitar (and sometimes succeeded!) than what was happening around me, but for a few seconds I glanced up into the cerulean sky and thought, “Well, this is pretty much perfect.”  And while playing the song “Abacab” by Genesis, keyboardist Aaron and I stood side by side and placed our four hands on the same Roland Juno-60 that we played back in the 80s, and I turned to him and said something like, “This is pretty cool, huh?”

It was, indeed. 

It was also great seeing our old classmates looking terrific in their late 40s.  What I really like about these mini reunions is that it no longer matters who knew who back in high school, who was the jock and who was the band nerd, who glided through school and who struggled, who was homecoming king and who was the class clown.  @@None of that shit matters any more.  All that matters is that we’re alive.  We’re here.@@  We’re doing the best we can with all that life has dealt us: all the joys and heartaches, the little victories and monumental losses, the struggles and disappointments, the friendships and celebrations.  All we really want for everyone at this point is to keep on keeping on, and it’s a good feeling.

As the band once again closed with INXS’s “Don’t Change,” my fingers slid to the F sharp to begin the song’s descent and I again felt that twinge: it was the end of something, just as it was twenty-nine years ago.  Back then it was the end of high school, the end of the band, the end of friendships.  On Saturday, it was the end of something else.  I can’t quite put my finger on it and maybe don’t even want to.  @@I think it might have something to do with ending that period in my life when I had more days ahead than behind me.@@  Something reminding me to embrace the moment, because none of this is going to last forever.

“Don’t change a thing for me,” says the song.  But change we will.

A Poem: Mea Culpa

MEA CULPA

A windowless room

Withered olive branches

strewn across a barren floor

Pebbles ingested,

heavy, unable to pass,

denying sleep nor food nor rest

Mea Culpa

Summon Shakespeare’s tangled web

Joni Mitchell’s lonely river

@@Bathe in transgressions,

the meaty remains

of tense and troubled pasts@@

thick with the insecurities and belittlement of youth

The lashing out from loved ones

Their stern disapproval

Seek the source,

to learn

To finally, finally learn the lessons

Rather than lumbering and stumbling from year to year

from offense to offense

– the careless gesture, the words of venom –

from defeat to defeat to defeat

Until at last peace is proclaimed

or – let’s get real here – some modicum of peace

A morsel, perhaps

The passing of at least a few pebbles

to lessen the unbelievable burden

of being human 

 (Copyright 2015, Paul Heinz)

Feline or Foe?

I’m going to make a confession despite the ensuing calls that are sure to come from my daughters, my sister and my vet if they happen to read this blog.  Okay?  Here goes.  I would be happier if my two cats – the orange tabbies Fred and George Weasley Heinz – would suddenly…um…not be alive. 

There.  I said it. 

Now don’t get your undies in a bunch.  I promise not to go all “Apt Pupil” on them and commit felinicide.  (Haven’t read the Stephen King novella?  You should.)   I’m not insane.  But yes, the cats do, from time to time, drive me insane. 

“Oh, come on,” you might say.  “What on Earth could two cute little cuddly cats do to upset you so?”

Well, I’ll make a list of the things my two cats have ruined since they joined the family nine years ago, right after my sister’s dog paid a visit to my home and played with our two hamsters until they were dead, hence clearing the Heinz household slate as far as pets were concerned.   We had an opportunity to replenish our deceased pets with something grander.  A dog?  One would think, but no.  We heard about someone getting rid of two flea-ridden kittens (the adjective unknown to us until we got them home), so we took the bait, and here we are nine years and many ruined household items later.  Allow me to share the items my cats have destroyed either by tearing them apart with their teeth, knocking them over onto the floor, or via urination:

A futon mattress.

A futon cover.

A shower curtain.

Three bean bag chairs.

Dozens of stuffed animals.

Four pillows.

A rug.

Two antique vases that had survived for eight decades, only to last two nights in my home.

Two plants.

Countless cut flowers, to the point where we don’t buy flowers anymore, and if someone gets us some as a present, we store them on TOP OF THE REFRIGERATOR!

Several scarves.

Several gloves.

Several hats.

Several blankets.

Several sweaters.

Several Crocks.

A few pairs of flip-flops.

Still think I haven’t earned the right to be mildly disenchanted with my feline friends?

“Oh, but the joy they bring,” you say.

Yes, the vomit I’ve had to clean up on an almost weekly basis.  The litter boxes they’ve failed to hit with their apparently malfunctioning weaponry.  The rug I had to spray from edge to edge while using an ultraviolet light to illuminate virtually one big mass of cat urine.  The $1200 I spent bringing George back from the brink of death after he swallowed a toy.

Joyful indeed. 

We now have to keep our bedroom doors shut at all times because doing otherwise will invite the Weasley twins to tear apart clothing and any other moderately fuzzy artifact lying about in our house.  But here’s the thing:  on hot days when the air conditioner is running we have to keep our doors open, so lo and behold there were days this summer I spent vacuuming up the little plastic beads spilled from the torso’s of stuffed bears, lambs, and other assorted Beanie Babies.  And since our doors were open, the cats felt obliged to wake us up at 6AM for their morning breakfast, be it a work day or otherwise.

(I know what some of you are saying: “Paul, you don’t work anyhow, so who gives a shit?”  I DO work.  I work cleaning up after my two demon cats!)

We must be among the first generations of mankind to put up with this kind of nonsense.  Would an average Joe living in 1850 put up with this crap?  Of course not.  He’d kick the damn thing out of the house and maybe even drown it for good measure.  Hell, I know a person who shall not be named who took his wife’s cat away for the day for a “little trip,” and only one living organism returned.  The wife is much happier now as a widow.  (I’m only kidding, but not entirely.)

“@@ I know a someone who took his wife’s cat away for the day for a “little trip.” The wife is much happier now as a widow@@”

I will not resort murder, though a blurb in TIME Magazine last week certainly put me on edge.  Seems a cat in Oregon named Corduroy has claimed the title as the oldest living cat.  Get this: TWENTY-SIX YEARS!  And that’s NOTHING!  The oldest cat ever on record is Crème Puff, who lived to be over 38 years old!

So Fred and George, I promise to keep feeding you and keep cleaning out your litter boxes.  I promise to play with you and talk to you.  I promise to let you hang on me when I’m watching TV.  I promise to continue to spend a small fortune on your checkups with the vet.

But do you think you could promise to bow out gracefully after, say, another nine years or so?  That seems like a fair deal, don’t you think?

Short Story Wins 1st Prize and Publication

"I saw the pictures on-line.  I've got a monster's cold, blue blood pulsing through my veins."

My short story "I, Monster" is now available to read on-line or to download onto your Kindle or other digital reader, and it's also available in paperback at Amazon as part of the Summer 2015 issue of Sixfold.  Sixfold is an interesting publication whereby writers determine which stories get published and offer comments and constructive criticism for each other.  For my story, which won the latest contest and its thousand dollar prize, I recieved over fifty comments from readers.  If I ever decide to rework the story or expand it into a longer work, I'll have a good idea where to begin.

Please give "I, Monster" a read, and if you like it, go to Amazon and give it a positive review.  You never know where this could lead with a little help.  Thanks in advance.

Here's a quick synopsis of the story:

Seventeen year-old Shelby is the same age her mother was when she was kidnapped, raped and imprisoned by the man who would become Shelby's father.  Believing she has "a monster's cold, blue blood pulsing" through her veins, Shelby now lives her life as an outsider, but when she notices a car stopping alongside a classmate on the way home from school, she has a chance to change the outcome, and maybe herself.

Introducing Block 37

With one gig and dozens of rehearsals under our belts (and five - count 'em - FIVE upcoming gigs scheduled) I figure it's high time to promote my latest band, Block 37, a five-piece act hell-bent on not boring you to death the way so many other bands do.  Seriously, I'm really excited about this venture for several reasons, three of which I'll highlight today.

1)  The band's mission to stay clear of classic rock and over-played hits and instead focus on fun, upbeat power pop gems, many of which you might have forgotten all about.  So yeah, we'll play some great tunes by bands you know like The Clash, The Cars, The Black Keys, White Stripes and the like, but then we'll perform that one tune that needs to be exercised from the recesses of your mind.  Songs like "Save it for Later" by The English Beat, "Here It Goes Again" from OK Go (which I just heard on an episode of Scrubs!), "Ah, Leah" by Donnie Iris, "A Million Miles Away" from the Plimsouls.  And Wilco.  And Elvis Costello.  Any Joe Jackson.  Vampire Weekend.  The Kings.  Fountains of Wayne.  The Knack. And, and, and...can you tell I'm really excited about our set list?

2)  So our current selection of songs is excellent, but what's really cool is we're learning new material all the time, which not only keeps us excited, it also means that our shows will constantly evolve so that you'll never get the same set list twice.  I've been in bands that are very reluctant to learn new material.  Not Block 37.  We are here to explore the vast soundscape of power pop gems from the last four decades.

3)  The musicianship of this band is ridiculous.  How Phil can remember all the lyrics to these tunes is beyond me, and Matt's spot-on guitar solos kills me.  Add to that a thumpin rock-solid rhythm section by Johnny and Doug, and it's a pleasure for me to add some keys to what's already a great sounding arrangement.

WHAT DO WE NEED FROM YOU?  First please go to our Facebook page and like us.  We're at 163 likes but we need more.  You can also check out our ever-changing website for news, videos and photos.

Second, come out to one of our shows!  As of this writing, you have five opportunities to hear Block 37 play:

Fri, July 31: Block 37 will be performing power pop gems for an evening gig at Phyllis's Musical Inn in Chicago, 10 to 1.

Sat, Aug 1: I'm back with Block 37 at Bono's in Lisle from 9:15 to 12:45 or thereabouts.

Sat, August 22: Block 37 is heading to Palos for a rip-roaring night of power pop favorites.  At Trio in Palos, 9 to really, really late.

Sat, August 29: My newest band, Block 37, will be performing at the Highland Avenue Block Party in Elmhurst Illinois.  Details to follow.

Fri, Septmber 18:Block 37 is back at our regular gig at Bono's in Lisle.  9:15 or so to the wee hours.

So come on out and see what all the hub-bub is about, help us grow, and with any luck, one day we'll play during daylight hours!