State of Bob

Absolutely stuffed
A big meal
But also quite out of shape

Always searching for that which I do not know
It’s easy to be unhappy
Yet, to be happy doesn’t allow for introspection
I seek that now.

My known desires are basically the same.
Almost 10 years written and more if I think
I am who I was and not whom I want to be.

Writing is healthy
And health (good at least) is needed
I’m moving away from many things
Yet haven’t shaken some.

I’m alone
And mostly happy about it
I’ve dealt well with the break-up
And I have much in front of me to look forward to
That, in itself is the best thing I’ve had in some time
A future!

I can’t think of when I last (if ever)
Had such emotion for it

I still need to addres some of those nagging things . . .

I can’t afford to permit myself to party
It’s death for me, I know

I was almost in tears after the bar-b-q

Action speaks much more positively than lists
I could look back at my goals, my needs, desires, etc.
What was there?

You Have Taught Me Well

You opened your doors
And let me in
I was young
And you taught me well

They now want to celebrate your graciousness
You are not about celebration
You are too grand for that
You have taught me well

I live with your teachings daily
That I am alive is my salute to you
We are aware of that
And this gathering is but idleness

It's a shame you cannot speak out
Harmless, yet ultimately useless
Some shall speak of the absence
But it is to you that I listen

I am here for you if you need me
You will speak, as you have, when it's time

My profession is your praise
There is nothing else
I love you

Without you, I cease to be
Without us, you
Harmony is beautiful

A step back slows the tune

I sing proudly your hymn
It's the only song I know
It continues and changes
Yet never ends

You have taught me well.

This was published in the alumni magazine at some point.

Final Dead Show

Grateful Dead in Uniondale

Grateful Dead
Nassau Coliseum, Uniondale, NY
4 April 1993

set 1: In the Midnight Hour, Sugaree –> Walkin’ Blues, Dire Wolf, When I Paint My Masterpiece, So Many Roads, Eternity –> Bird Song

set 2: Eyes of the World –> Samson and Delilah, Broken Arrow, Estimated Prophet –> Drums –> Space –> The Other One –> Attics of My Life –> Throwing Stones –> Not Fade Away

encore: Liberty

The last time I saw the Dead. I called the opener. I remember Paul just shaking his head. Paul, Jen, and I had traveled out here. The last time I was at Nassau was in 1977 to see a tennis match. I remember the promotions for Elvis. Seriously.

Attics was sweet.


Radiators Ticket

Chestnut Cabaret, Philadelphia, PA
2 April 1993

Stealin’ A Feelin’, This Wagon’s Gonna Roll, Everything Gets In The Way, Rainy Day Women #12 & 35, Mood To Move, Molasses, Little Sadie, I Like My Poison, Have A Little Mercy, Suck The Head, Oh Beautiful Loser, Good Things, Doubled All Up In A Knot -> Love Is A Tangle, Lowlife, Shoot Out The Lights, Doctor Doctor, C.C. Rider, Number 2 Pencil, Like Dreamers Do

encore: Jump Back, 634-5789, The Weight, Nail Your Heart To Mine

I am not certain how I originally hooked up with Alan Sigman, but I think it was through RIME. Anyhow, we had met once at Friday’s and then decided to go to this show. I had wanted to see the Rads for a number of years and had always missed them.

We made the drive up and had a great time.

Super Bowl XXVII

I recall watching this with Paul Pietras at his house at the Point.  It was a very quiet Super Bowl for us.  The Cowboys absolutely blew out the hapless Bills (yeah, I know, four straight Super Bowls is impressive).

What I remember more about this day is that Dances With Wolves was shown after the Super Bowl (or perhaps it was cable).  I tried to watch it, but was so bored, I left Paul to watch it alone.

Solar Circus on NYE

Solar Circus
Rockadero, Wildwood, NJ
31 December 1992

set one: Midnight Hour –> All Here Together, Tabla Rasa, The Race Is On, Candyman, Hidden Colors, Let It Go

set two: Spin Song, Better Things, One More Time, Cortez the Killer, Three Bells, Touch the Ground, Mountain Marlane, Just My Imagination, Obsession –> Just A Mystery –> Obsession, Lovelight

Elvis has left the building!

Mayhem.  Absolutely.  The place was rocking big time.  Unlike the summer, the Rockadero was packed.  I was patched into the board and was in the sound booth.  But there was so much commotion with all the partying that Dan actually cleared the booth to get control.  I guess I was too heavy on the dry ice. 🙂

I had driven Paul and Jen.  Of course when the festivities ended at 5:00 AM, my mother‘s car (I forget why I hadn’t taken mine) would not start.  We ended up taking a cab.  I did not like leaving the vehicle there, but Dad and I retrieved it with Jimmy the following day and brrrr was it cold.

Lost Bob

Bob is a lost 27-year old man. You may think he is but confused. Bob is confused, but more precisely, he is lost. Bob knows the way. He just can’t find the way. This is the story of Bob.

The first story Bob will tell you is of his first rememberance. He was three years old. The year was 1968. Bob, his mother Betty, and his sister Linda flew down to Dallas to visit Betty’s grandfather. On the flight down, Bob was immortalized as an honorary pilot of TWA—he was given his wings to fly. And with that, Bob first dreamed of being someone else.

Bob can also tell you about his orange Nerf football and how time after time, day after day, and yes, year after year, he took his orange Nerf football through the obstacles of his mother and father’s house and always scored the game-winnig touchdown—usually with an inspirational dive over the back of the couch. Sometimes Bob would change up. He had an equally illusionary playing field for his one-against-the world basketball game . . . but that started a bit later. And when strapped for a ball, molded one with a damp tea towel that would be line driven over the regrigerator and the green plastic scrub bucket that was seemingly ever-present atop the Sears machine.

Bob will tell you about the floor length mirror that hung on the outside of his parents’ bedroom door during his childhood. It would later be propped up in the corner of his adolescent bedroom. That mirror is where Bob would lose himself. And as we know, Bob was lost.

Bob was so enamored with that mirror that over the years he was able to step into the mirror and enter the world in which he yearned. The world in which he was accepted. The world world in which he, Bob, was in charge.

In his youth Bob toured the worlds of athletes and superheroes. Firemen and presidents. Alwats revered. Always respected. He could do no wrong. He was happy.

Yet, Billy the little cowboy that hung on his wall could induce fear into Bob. There was that feeling that came upon Bob every now and again. Those pins and needles—although stronger and more fearsome, That was the only thing Bob feared—Billy the little cowboy.

Bob will aslo tell you about cleaning his room for the nihilist look. He was 11? It was to appear to be an adult.

Looking back, Bob will say it was when he was a little boy that he lost himself. Always the younger brother, Bob hung out with Linda, her friends, and the neighbor’s much older children. He will tell you that he was ever-attempting to impress them—to be their peers, rather than the little boy they made fun of.

There was Barry later, who so picked on him that when Bob saw him just this past summer, he quickly excused himself from the bar. The uneasiness of being nicknamed Odor stifles Bob.

The legacy of a nickname that Bob has woven into one of his patented stories. But this story alone is never told. In 1972, second grade, Bob collected stamps from the town’s Sunoco station. If you look at that year’s media guide, you will see that one of the Cleveland Browns running backs was Bo Scott. Bo Scott. A back no one remembers. A back who probably wasn’t even very good. A back who’s responsible for uncountable childhood torture of a little boy in New Jersey whom he would never know. Bob’s initials were B.O. And Bob was very proud that Bo Scott had his initials. So proud Bob would bring that stamp to class and tell his classmates. And while doing a pie chart exercise in Mrs. Leaming’s second grade class—the nickname Odor was given to the boy with the unfortunate initials.

The Rub

The rub dear Hamlet is whether it is nobler to fight to understand our mortal world and float in the arrogance of an examined life or just pass through to the nothing that awaits. Even that gives the appearance of an afterlife. It is pointless to debate what can’t be known, yet we/I place such emphasis upon the road which is taken. Is it better to examine? Is it better to search and find nothing? Is it better to search and take the leap of faith? Is it better to search and beieve, yet not know? The rub my friend is that it all leads to death. Death—that thing which we fear, yet is the definition of life itself. As it follows, life cannot be comprehended. Vladimir has the path. A fool. An idiot. We the people.

my verse

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