Moby Dude

One of the longstanding jokes in my family is that my dad liked the “idea” of a dog as a pet, but was unwilling to let us have a real dog. He liked the metaphorical dog, man’s best friend who’d fetch your slippers or sit at your feet idly napping while you read Proust in your easy chair. But acquiring an actual dog and all the barking and shedding and eating and pooping and smelling it entailed was always a non-starter.

In much the same way my dad liked the “idea” of being a dog owner, I have always liked the “idea” of fishing, and could fancy myself a fisherman under the right set of circumstances.

I love the epic man versus nature elements found in Melville, Hemmingway, and even the salty dog Bering Sea crab fisherman in the “The Deadliest Catch”. And equally attractive is the family-bonding element of “A River Runs Through It”. I even love fishing shows on TV with their professional master bassers decked out in enough advertising to make a NASCAR driver blush. Remember Jimmy Houston and his dark black sunglasses and that shock white mop of hair and his cool drawl?

Father’s and sons at war with nature and with each other, casting off their differences and dipping their lines in the water hoping to catch a “metaphorical” fish while becoming at one with nature and themselves. I can imagine putting on our waders and flinging our fly fishing lines in slow motion through the crisp Michigan air or manning a skiff in the Florida Keys on the hunt for the elusive bone fish or even just idly floating along in a rowboat on a Wisconsin lake.

The dude and I, waking up at dawn, at our secret fishin’ hole, grunting, casting lines, wearing those fun-looking bucket hats, baiting hooks, drinking bitter coffee (me) and Yoo-hoo (him) from tin thermoses, gutting our catch, and frying it up for lunch. I can imagine it all…

But in reality, I don’t like waking up early. I’m afraid of tipping over the boat and falling in and getting eaten by a shark or a largemouth bass (are their mouths large enough to fit a human head in?). Go to a sporting good store and there’s like four zillion types of rods and lures to choose from. It’s worse than golf equipment. This isn’t the low-pressure sport alternative to my score-obsessed golf game that I’m looking for. People take this seriously. And all those mosquitoes!

My earliest fishing memory is as a West Hills day camper using little pieces of mealy corn from a big chum bucket as lures and attaching them to a hook that resembled a bent paperclip. I distinctly remember catching a boot, but that could just be something that I imagined to be true.

I have been taken fishing a handful of times by neighbors and friends in the past and have enjoyed it. Once I caught two fish, but I secretly think I caught the same dumb-ass fish twice.  And after, I always think that it was fun and should do this again sometime, but that feeling wears off pretty quickly. I have the same reaction after going bowling. This is fun, why don’t I bowl more often? I asked myself.  I should wear bowling shirts and recruit a bunch of friends and join a league. Then a few years pass…

I don’t know if the Dude will get into fishing and want his fishing naïve dad to take him out on the water somewhere. What about the retention pond behind my house? But if he does, there’s always people like Papa Bill and Great Uncle Danny who are ready teach him how to properly bait a hook and cast a line without catching the back of your shirt.

Beady Eye Music, Mate

Going to the rock show! Time to put on my rock clothes. I look in my closet and ask my wife, “Where’s my skinny jeans? Where’s my belt chain? Where’s my poly cotton blend Spoon t-shirt? Where’s me fit trainers?”

I swear I had cool rock clothes, where’d they all go?  I find my skinny jeans (which used to be my fat jeans) and squeeze into them. My god these are tight. “Did you leave them in the dryer too long?” I accuse my wife. She looks at me sadly and goes back to concentrating on finding her own cool rock wardrobe.

Instead of cool rock clothes, I settle on my suburban-dad-attending-a-barbecue-after-hitting-a-bucket-of-balls-at-the driving-range-clothes. Only driving in the car to the venue do I realize that the shirt has some sort of baby-related stain on it (Vomitus? Mac & Cheese residue?).  Damn it, I’m dropping coolness points left and right! Was I ever cool? Maybe not if we’re using sabermetric (CPAR? Cool Points Above Replacement?) to judge my entire career, but I swear I had a few hot weeks back when I was around 23 or 24-years-old. But those days are apparently in the rearview mirror.

We have tickets to Beady Eye’s first show in the US and we’re meeting up with my friend and frequent collaborator Jeffrey (who is a drummer in a couple bands and still has rock clothes) and his wife. Beady Eye is the band that Oasis lead singer Liam Gallagher formed with the rest of Oasis after one final row with his brother guitarist and main songwriter Noel that finally broke up the band after twenty years.

Though I believe that it is in every long-running band's financial interest to at some point break-up, just to enable them to cash in on a reunion tour sometime in the future.

The brothers have been famously fighting for the entire history of the band, but apparently Liam attacked Noel backstage with both a plum and a guitar and Noel said he’d finally had enough and left the band.

You DO NOT attack the man that wrote “Wonderwall” and “Supersonic” with any pitted fruit. There are some things you just don’t do.

With Noel Gallagher packing up his songbook and going home, we’re left with Oasis without any of the songs that they’re famous for. No matter how much the crowd pleaded, there would be no “Wonderwall”, no “Don’t Look Back in Anger”, no “Champagne Supernova”, no “Cigarettes & Alcohol”, no “Shakermaker”, not even “Little by Little”. I’d even settle for “Hindu Times”.

What was on our prix fixe menu for the evening was a steady diet of the most dreaded words in rock concert history, the words that no concertgoer ever wants to hear. That’s right, I’m talking about the dreaded “new material”. Egads.

Now, to be fair, Beady Eye’s debut album, “Different Gear, Still Speeding” is surprisingly solid. It’s a fun little straight-ahead throwback rock n’ roll album. The band was tight and I thought that Liam’s voice sounded more engaged than it had in years. But it’s not even definitely maybe on par with “Definitely Maybe”.

Why the excitement over a band that really isn’t all that exciting? The reason is seeing Liam Gallagher in a small venue (the Metro, basically an oversized bar), the type of which he probably hasn’t played since the band hit it big. Liam Gallagher, one of the last great cock on the walk, petulant, bratty, obnoxious, bigger-than-life lead singers in rock n’ roll without his big brother, without those great songs to sing, with a fraction of the audience and armed only with new material and the other members of Oasis, of which only hardcore fans can name (Andy Bell & Gem Archer for the record). What would Liam do? Was there a chance this would be a debacle and we’d all end up on YouTube?

My father still talks about the disaster of a Kinks show he saw back in the day. Would this be my disaster story?

Alas, as much as it would have made a better story for the show to have ended in riots and/or pitted fruits hurled at the band while security beat the crowd back with pool cues, the show was pretty good and the band played well. Liam strutted out in a ridiculous Union Jack waistcoat that looked like it weighed a hundred pounds causing the hair dye in his trademark Beatles moptop/mullet to run down his neck (Okay, maybe that didn’t really happen, but in my mind it did).

In between verses during guitar solos, he did his trademark move of standing in front the stage to survey the crowd and folded his arms as if to say, “I conquered the world in 1995 and even if you don’t believe it anymore, the truth is I still own you. Worship me and receive nothing but my cool indifference in return.”

While Liam was doing his Liam thing of sneering, preening, and mumbling incomprehensible words to the audience in his thick Manchester accent, the bassist (who wasn’t an official member of the band and probably just a session guy) stood next to him looking absolutely coked out his mind, his eyes wide, ringing slot machine cherries, his hands independent from his brain haphazardly strumming his instrument. It looked like Liam gave the newbie a bump of rock star coke a minute before they went on stage. “Here, mate. Try this.” The good stuff, the stuff reserved for only the most decadent rock stars, the medical-grade-Merck- puffy-cloud-type coke that Keith Richards went on and on about in his autobiography and attributed his superhuman stamina to in the 70’s.

And while the musicians were on stage, what where the nostalgic aging Gen X-ers in the audience doing? Well, the music really didn’t necessitate any real dancing or deep shoegazing or moshing, so I kinda lightly tapped my hand on my thigh to the beat.

To my left, a guy lifted a girl on his shoulders. “Show us your tits!” a skinny fellow in a Pulp t-shirt shouted then looked away pretending that someone else had said it. The girl bowed to pressure and lifted her shirt and flashed her… bra. Those around her made it clear that they were of the opinion that she should perhaps show a tab more skin, and the poor girl who had no intention of showing any more quickly realized that she gotten in over her head and wanted out the situation and motioned for the guy to let her down. At that exact moment a meaty security guy wearing a black shirt appeared flashing a penlight telling them to break up this spontaneous display of rock clichés.  The girl yelled at the guy on whose shoulder’s she sat to let her down, but he was too busy texting on his cell phone.

Standing in front of me was a couple in their mid-to-late- fifties. The guy looked like he owned an independent record store specializing in vintage vinyl and the woman was probably an adjunct professor of Victorian literature at DePaul.

While Beady Eye played, the guy accompanied them by playing a mean air guitar, and the woman was so admiring of her man’s invisible ax-work that she was helpless when he dropped his “instrument” and dove in for a serious make-out session.  They were going for it. Their eyes were closed, their tongues were slipping and sliding, and their hands were everywhere.

And I was about three inches away from the whole thing.

Usually in floor seating-only shows, the crowd condenses itself into a tight pack and everyone tries to get just a little closer to the stage, so I was pretty pinned in my spot. All I could do was watch the action like I was Malcolm McDowell in “A Clockwork Orange”. Is that what kissing really looks like up close? Are they doing it right? Am I doing it right?

It was the final song of the night, the guitars swirled, the crowd cheered, the couple kissed like they were the only two people in the world as a movie camera tracked 360 degrees around them like at the end of a romantic comedy.

Then I realized that this show, this moment was not about my nostalgia for a time when I went to tons of shows and wore rock clothes, or the audience’s nostalgia for the mid-90’s when Britpop ruled the music world for a few minutes (Blur versus Oasis!) and people actually purchased music (Sam Goody! Tower Records!), or even for the band itself trying to reestablish themselves with a new name and new songs. It was about Jane Eyre and Air Guitar, nostalgic for each other.

And I couldn’t look away… even if I really wanted to.

The Dude Takes Flight

Close your eyes. You’re in an airplane. You’re 35,000 feet up in air.  You’re supposedly traveling at about 500 miles per hour, but you feel like you’re going nowhere.

You hear the nonsensical babbling of a small child. You try to ignore it. The babbling seamlessly blends into whining. You try to ignore it. The whining becomes crying. You can’t ignore it any longer. Does this child have parents? Can’t they please calm down this demon child? Isn’t that THEIR JOB?

The crying is now a full on tantrum. Other passengers must notice and share your disgust. Why is this child even on an airplane in the first place? Shouldn’t there be some form of rule against it? Can’t the parents even be shamed into forcing this child to be quiet for even a couple minutes?

The noise emanating from the child is getting closer. You feel it all around you. It won’t stop. Now you sense that the scornful looks of the rest of the plane are directed at you for some reason.

Open your eyes. The crying child is sitting next to you. It’s yours.

This is a live blog.

1:45- Boarding. Me, the Dude and Supermommy are flying to NY for a family vacation. We’re flying Southwest so they have an open seating plan. We board the plane to find our seats. As the Dude says, “Hi” to all the passengers already seated, they try to avoid eye contact as if to say, “Please don’t sit your snot-nosed kid next to me. Just keep walking.”

 1:46- We find our seats. Even though the Dude is technically young enough to sit on our laps for the two-hour flight, the Dude is pretty big for his age and awfully wiggly. So, we bite the bullet and buy him his own seat for everyone’s comfort.

1:47- We buckle the Dude in along with his traveling companions Dog-Dog (aka Blanket-Dog) and Bear who also needed to be buckled in with him. His binky (pacifier or nook as I’ve heard it called) is surgically attached to his lips. We don’t even care.

1:51- Our steward “Colin” casually says hello to us and asks how old the Dude is. We say, "a little under two, 22 months actually.” Colin the steward frowns and says, “He has to sit on your lap.” We say, “Wait a minute, we bought a ticket for him.” Colin the steward just shakes his head as if we are the worst people he as ever seen and walks away to do whatever they do when they’re not pretending to demonstrate how an oxygen mask works or seeing how many ice cubes they can fit in a tiny plastic cup of Sprite.

1:52- I realize that Colin the steward made me feel guilty for buying a ticket and giving the Dude his own seat, rather than putting him on the plane for free and let him crawl over some other poor passenger.  Point taken. Don’t give Southwest any extra money.

1:53- I take out Spirit, Southwest Airlines official magazine, from the seat pouch in front of me. I’m in luck because this month’s issue is “The Awesome Issue”. If you happen to fly next month you will receive the “Less Than Awesome Issue”. Sorry. The cover story is entitled, “Think This Looks Gnarly? Try Doing It At Night.” Awesome.

1:55- The poor suckers who didn’t get their tickets in time and we’re in the D line are now boarding the plane, frantically trying to find seats that aren’t near any little children.

1:59- The Dude’s diaper is already saturated with pee, and he has decided that seatbelts aren’t that fun after all. He tries to wiggle out of it like Harry Houdini in a sinking box bound by shackles and chains.

2:00- I open up Spirit Magazine: The Awesome Issue. I’m always fascinated by the letters to the editor section, I mean who reads this stuff on a flight and is stimulated enough to write in? I’ll tell you who, Dan Lothian CNN White House Correspondent in Washinton. He wrote in about a story Spirit did on golf, specifically the golf course TPC at Sawgrass and the island green on the 17th hole. He writes about how he doesn’t play golf but admires it, and perhaps when he has more time and he retires he might take it up. Thanks for the insight, Dan. Glad to hear your thoughts on the matter.

2:01- Take-off. We’re off! Quick tip- Binkies work great to combat ear popping caused by air pressure.

2:10- Our captain informs us that we can take out our electronic devices. Suppermommy whips out her trusty new iPad.

2:11- Our iPad in-flight movie today is Curious George 2: Follow That Monkey. The original film starred the voice talents of Will Ferrell, Drew Barrymore and Dick Van Dyke. The sequel uses the voices of Tim Curry, Matt Lauer, Clint Howard (Ron Howard’s brother) and Jerry Lewis. Downgrade?

2:15- The thing about Curious George is that he’s just so darn curious. It will get him into serious trouble one day, the type of trouble that even a man in a yellow hat can’t fix.

2:20- Turbulence!!!!! The Dude doesn’t seem to mind. Kinda fun.

2:25- The kid behind us is crying. It sounds like locusts buzzing. I feel a sense of smug superiority that my child is watching his iPad is rapt silence.

2:26- Dude loses interest in the movie and wants to stand up in his seat and dance. Looks like a situation. I pretend to be engrossed in my Spirit Magazine-The Awesome Issue and let Supermommy handle it.

2:27- Here’s a list of stats as reported by Spirit Magazine- The Awesome Issue: Hackers create 57,000 fake websites each week, modern punctuation wasn’t around until the 15th century, Dr. Seuss wrote Green Eggs and Ham using only 50 different words, and we consume nearly 50% more sodium than is recommended.

2:30- Snack time! The service staff distributes peanuts, pretzels and baked pita chips. Baked pita chips? Where the hummus? Hook a brotha up with a little chickpea, yo!

2:31- Supermommy is dismayed to find out that her bag of honey-roasted peanuts contains a grand total of one whole peanut and six halves. She essentially was handed a bag of honey-roasted air.

2:32- I triumphantly announce that my bag contains 22 honey-roasted peanuts.

2:33- Supermommy steals my bag of honey-roasted peanuts.

2:34- I place my drink order with the smug steward Colin. I order a Coke. Will I get a full can or not? Always a mystery.

2:40- Where’s that Coke, Colin? I’m thirsty!

2:42- I make a serious mistake by breaking down and eating my pita chips before my drink arrives.

2:45- The service staff, Colin included, are nowhere to be found. They must be retrieving my drink order by skydiving to the ground.

2:50- My Coke finally arrives. A splash of soda over 10 ice cubes.  I drink it in one swallow before the Dude gets wind of it. Now where’s that extra bag of pita chips I took from the Dude?

2:51- The Dude finishes eating the aforementioned bag of pita chips. The pita chips are gone. What will I do if the hummus spread arrives? SOL is what I’ll be.

2:53 The Dude attempts to flip the table tray with the iPad resting on it. Bye-bye, iPad!

2:55: I pretend trouble is not afoot and turn back to my Spirit Magazine-The Awesome Issue and read an article about all the fun you can have living in Baltimore. Avon Barksdale and Stringer Bell from “The Wire” would no doubt love for you to join their crew.

2:56-The seatbelt sign is off.

2:57-The seatbelt sign is back on. The Dude is not amused.

2:58- The Dude’s getting squirmy.

2:59 The Dude’s getting ticked off.

3:00 Ah, freak out.  Le freak, c’est chic!

3:05-3:30- Per a deal I made in conjunction with Southwest Airlines and the FAA, I cannot publicity comment on the events that occurred during this timeframe.

3:31- Juice.

3:32- I read a story in Spirit Magazine- The Awesome Issue about a canine genius who knows more than a thousand words.

3:50- Colin the steward implores us to turn off all electronic devices, blackberries, pinkberries, blueberries and Chuck Berrys. I didn’t make that up, that’s what he really said, people you got to believe me.

3:55- We begin our decent. Ahhhhh, we’re gonna die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

3:56- No, we’re fine.

4:00- The plane lands. The stewardess (who looks like Thelma from the TV show “Amen”) gets on the intercom and sings to the tune of “Rockin’ Robin”.

Fly Southwest Airlines,
cheap, cheap.
Fly Southwest Airlines and we’ll really get you there,
cheap, cheap.

This really happened btw.

4:01- With time running out on my time with Spirt Magazine- The Awesome issue, I quickly flip to the end to read an interview with actor Bryan Cranston from "Breaking Bad". Heisenberg! New season of "Breaking Bad" starting soon. One of the best shows on TV and the best place to pick up tips on the fine art of meth cooking (way better than Rachael Ray's "Thirty Minute Meals" for instance- you can't rush good crystal- yummo!).

4:05- As we pack up our stuff to leave. The stewardess and a couple of passengers comment on what a good little boy the Dude was on the flight. Supermommy and I do a double take. I guess the standards of behavior on an airplane are graded on a curve.