It’s funny the things that fix themselves in our memories. Earlier today I invoked the phrase “pet peeve” and chuckled as I remembered the first time I heard that particular phrase. I was in (I think) 4th grade and had been sent to the principal’s office (also a first) along with my partner in crime, Randy Nichols, for returning to class after recess completely soaking, dripping wet. The fact that the object of our impromptu game was to run the gauntlet of agricultural-style sprinklers without getting wet was apparently lost on our teacher, so off to the principal’s office we sloshed.
I don’t remember in what context the principal, Mr. Mallow (Mr. Marshmallow, we kids called him), used said phrase, but I do remember that it really ticked him off when I couldn’t suppress a giggle as I imagined him putting out food and water for his “pet peeve”, which I envisioned being the size of a small dog and vaguely pig-like. He was kind enough to define the term for us, and after giving us a good talking-to, sent us back to class.
I’m not sure why I can recall this event with such startling clarity some 30 years later, but I’m rather glad that I can.
So, (have you noticed how I like to start off with “so”? Yeah, me too.) several years ago on Good Friday, the roof blew off of my apartment building. Today, noting it was Good Friday, I laughingly thought to myself “I sure hope my house doesn’t blow down again”. Anyway, bright and early, before the sun was really up, I needed to run to the bank. Immediately I sensed something was amiss with the car. My right rear tire was flat, completely flat. It’s 30-something degrees, raining just a bit, and I’ve got to change the tire, get to the bank, get to bed, and go to work tonight. I get the tire changed by 7-ish and decide that I’ll go ahead and hit Discount Tire right after they open at 8 and cash in my road hazard free replacement certificate… how busy could they be at 8 o’clock on a Friday morning?
Well, let me tell you, the Friday before Easter is apparently a very popular tire purchasing day, what with all the going to Grandma’s house and all. It reminded me of the time that I decided that the day before Thanksgiving was the perfect day to get a haircut. Who gets a haircut the day before Thanksgiving, after all? I’ll tell you who; every man in the world, that’s who!
Anyway, as I was limping the 20 or so miles to the nearest Discount Tire on that ridiculous looking miniature spare tire, bemoaning my misfortune, a thought occurred to me. Compared to the day that Jesus fella had a couple of thousand years ago, I really didn’t have a thing to complain about.
The moral to this story? Don’t buy tires on Good Friday if you can help it, don’t get your hair cut the day before Thanksgiving, and for Heaven’s sake; don’t sweat the small stuff.
So, my friend Chase has been a musician since… well basically forever. His band, 105 Tangents has a CD out (you can hear samples and order it from their website) and there’s a pretty interesting interview with them here. Chase is a great guy as well as a great musician, check it out… and if you buy a CD (and I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t), tell ‘em Greg sent you!
I’m anxiously awaiting their next release.
So…
I was having this conversation about the 35th anniversary special edition DVD release of “Easy Rider”. The DVD comes with a CD “songtrack” from the movie, not the actual soundtrack (which is 2 CD’s full of goodness) but an 8 tune collection of the essential tunes (some of which aren’t on the soundtrack).
I was puzzled by this song:
Smith - The Weight
Yes, “The Weight” AKA, The Cingular Wireless song (If you’re unsure on my opinion of such matters this post from Dec. 5, 2004 should clear make it abundantly clear).
I could have sworn I remembered it being The Band’s original version in the film.
Gentlemen, start your search engines!
I discovered here that my recollection was correct, that it is, in fact, The Band’s version in the film, but that they refused permission to be included on the soundtrack album, thus it was recorded by this elusive “Smith” character (I’ve yet to find out who, exactly, this is; perhaps when I purchase the DVD all will become clear).
Anyway, here’s where the tale takes a turn for the surreal. I also came across a page by Paul Fleming, no, not the Paul Fleming I went to high school with, whom my wife married after divorcing me… a different one! This Paul Fleming lives in Canada, is not married to my ex-wife, and in addition to being a lawyer and musician, is quite a gifted painter. I immediately fell in love with several of his watercolors, specifically this one of Levon Helm (of The Band) playing a mandolin.
Oh what a World Wide Web we weave… or something.
This was originally posted to my blog’s old address, but I felt it worthy of repeating:
Just like the Jeffersons, I too, am moving on up.
While not to a de-luxe apartment in the sky, at least to my own domain name, which is nearly as good, in a 21st century sort of way, isn’t it?
All 4 of you who regularly read my blog may continue to do so at:
www.gsevans.com/blog/
Creative, huh?
Oh, and don’t forget to update your bookmarks, post-its, petroglyphs, or whatever it is that you use.
Thank you.
Einstein (with whom I happen to share a birthday) was right vis-à-vis the relativity of time and space, and I have proof.
As you drive from Indianapolis, Indiana toward Dayton, Ohio on Interstate 70 there’s a sign not too far from the Ohio border that says “Dayton 40″ (miles). Roughly 1 mile later there’s another sign; this one says “Dayton 39″. So far so good. 5.2 miles later, after crossing into Ohio, there’s a sign. This one reads: “Dayton 40″. Not 34, not 35… 40!!!
Richmond, Indiana (right on the state-line) has always made me vaguely uneasy, now I know why!
Ok, maybe it doesn’t prove the theory of relativity, but it certainly proves something!
On Sunday, February the 27th while the rest of the world went about its business, I, along with no small number of other people mourned the loss of a truly great man. That man was my father, Ralph Evans. For those who didn’t have the privilege of knowing him, I will attempt, as best I can, to illustrate what made him such an amazing person, beloved by so many.
First a little background; my parents divorced when I was quite young, Dad remarried when I was four years old and remained (very happily) married until he passed away, nearly 35 years. Dad and my step-mother had two daughters and I always felt that I was blessed to have two mothers and two sisters; plus, getting to celebrate Christmas twice definitely had its advantages. Despite geographic distance and not getting to spend as much time together as either of us would have liked, my Dad had a tremendous influence on me. My father truly was, and will always be my biggest hero and role model.
He was a man whose actions and deeds spoke of a purity of character few can hope to achieve. Dad’s life was filled with medical emergencies and brushes with death, but throughout these and his final battle his faith and sense of humor were indomitable. In 1985 my father was in the hospital, near death. For days he had been delirious with fever, not recognizing anyone and hallucinating. I rushed to be with him and when he regained consciousness and awareness the first thing he said to me was “Hi Greg! How’s your leg?” Asking me about my (relatively) trivial injury while facing down death; that typified my father’s care and concern for others above himself.
One of my father’s great passions in life was fishing, for as long as I can remember his bass boat was very dear and precious to him. One night he and a couple of his fishing buddies were launching his boat when a Coleman lantern fell over and spilled, setting fire to the boat. The boat was a complete loss, but that didn’t deter my father, it just meant they had to fish from the bank. The next morning a ranger came looking for him, at first he thought it concerned the boat fire, but no, there was an urgent phone call for him. His father (my Grandfather) had passed away. When my dad retold the story of that fateful night, he could amazingly see the silver lining to the situation. If the boat hadn’t burned, he would have been out on the lake and the rangers couldn’t have found him. That typified my father’s incredibly positive outlook on life.
My father was quick with a joke, a smile, or a kind word; whatever the situation warranted.
Dad, I’m sorry I couldn’t articulate my love and admiration for you better at the funeral, but I know it doesn’t matter; everyone there was fortunate enough to have known you or to have somehow had their lives touched by you and that is truly a blessing. I’m sorry for the millions of people who didn’t know you and didn’t have the opportunity to see the incredible light and beauty of your spirit.
I’m sure the fish will be biting when I join you on that big bass boat in the sky, so save me a pole and a seat in the back of the boat. I love you Dad, I couldn’t have asked for a better father.
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