One spring day as a farmer was loading his prize ewe into the back of his truck, his young son asked him what he intended to do. Recognizing this as an opportunity for one of life's lessons, the farmer explained, "Well, Jimmy, the farmer down the road has a prize ram. So I'm taking the ewe there to get it served." Still too young to fully understand, Jimmy said,"OK dad, thanks."
A few days later the farmer was loading a cow into the back of the truck, when little Jimmy happened by again. "Where you taking the cow dad?" asked Jimmy. "The farmer down the road has a prize bull, so I'm taking the cow there to be served."
Again this satisfied Jimmy's curiosity and he happily ran off to shoot porcupines.
Once again a few days later while the farmer was loading his sow into the truck, Jimmy asked again. "Where ya goin' now, dad?" He answered, "The farmer across town has a prize boar and I'm taking the sow to be served."
Finally Jimmy asked "What's that all mean, dad?" So the farmer sat down in the barnyard and explained all the facts of life to little Jimmy. When he finished, he asked, "So now do you have anymore questions."
To which little Jimmy replied, "So when a politician says, "Send me to Washington to serve you." Now I know what he really means!!!"
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Sensitive Mentoring
Another Oldie, but Goodie... I had forgotten I wrote... Finding a link to www.togetherweserved.com on facebook the other day... I signed up and posted a profile with service dates and locations, etc... Today I received this email... It was a nice surprise.
Steve
I was one of your students in 1985 ... I was thrown out of checkouts, run time, and interviews with you more than once or twice. But you never gave up on me ... THANK YOU!
MCPO(Ret)
I removed the name, for those that don't know the designation is Master Chief Petty Officer (Retired)... He did 22years...
He's not the subject of this story, but it probably occured during the same time frame...
Nostalgia, sometimes it's funny when it strikes. Since everyone I work with on a fairly regular basis has the same ex-Navy background, there are many of us who also shared duty stations together. So the stories are very regularly preceded with " Do you remember when…?".
Having been at this job now for more than 18 years, one accumulates a good deal of what is known as "tribal knowledge". It's the knowledge of experience and a lot of it's been learned the "hard way".
Part of an aging work force, we are now being asked to train some new employees. Fresh out of a six year hitch in the Navy, they're in their fuzzy faced mid-twenties. Young enough to be sons to some of us who have been here for a while. But I think that sounds better than saying, some of us are old enough to be their dad.
Corporate buzz words also being a big thing these days, "training" has been replaced with "coaching". Reflecting better the "kinder & gentler" training model that is used these days. "Coddling" might sometimes be a better description, though that may betray the dry and crusty sea salt that still flavors my way of doing things.
I spent some time coaching this evening within ear shot of another almost as old, "old salt". Dave sat mesmerized as he listened me to coach a new member of the operations department. As I glanced up at him silently taking it all in, I knew what he was thinking. A smile crossed both our faces as he said to the new operator, "I remember when Steve coached me. He wasn't this nice, then."
Laughing, he shared the now more than 20 year old story. We were both still in the Navy, I had spent four years aboard a submarine in San Diego and had returned to the Nuclear Power Training Unit in Ballston Spa, NY as an instructor. Dave was one of my students, 19 years old and full of himself.
Coming to see me one day to discuss the operation of a shipboard steam system, I started by asking him to draw a working diagram of the system. Moving on to various components and their respective functions and finally to their location in the plant. We would have gone on past that, but this is where Dave needed some "coaching".
Where's valve AS-12? I asked.
"Right here, I labeled it", Dave answered confidently.
"No shit. Where is it in the plant?"
"I don't need to know that", Dave answered defiantly.
"Don't tell me what you need to know and what you don't!"
"But it's not in my qual standard, I don't need to know that", Dave added somewhat defensively.
"My f-in' signature isn't in there yet, either and it won't be until you come back here with the g-ddamn answers! Now get the hell out of here and find them. I have to go back to sea when I leave here and some moron like you isn't going to get me killed, when I get there!"
Twenty some years later, we laugh now remembering the hail of chalk and erasers that chased him from the room.
"You're getting too old for this, Steve".
Almost a month and a half into these 12hour midnight shifts, all I could do was agree. "I know am, Dave. I know. Now shut the f-up!" I said as we laughed. "You'll make the kid think I was being easy on him."
Steve
I was one of your students in 1985 ... I was thrown out of checkouts, run time, and interviews with you more than once or twice. But you never gave up on me ... THANK YOU!
MCPO(Ret)
I removed the name, for those that don't know the designation is Master Chief Petty Officer (Retired)... He did 22years...
He's not the subject of this story, but it probably occured during the same time frame...
Nostalgia, sometimes it's funny when it strikes. Since everyone I work with on a fairly regular basis has the same ex-Navy background, there are many of us who also shared duty stations together. So the stories are very regularly preceded with " Do you remember when…?".
Having been at this job now for more than 18 years, one accumulates a good deal of what is known as "tribal knowledge". It's the knowledge of experience and a lot of it's been learned the "hard way".
Part of an aging work force, we are now being asked to train some new employees. Fresh out of a six year hitch in the Navy, they're in their fuzzy faced mid-twenties. Young enough to be sons to some of us who have been here for a while. But I think that sounds better than saying, some of us are old enough to be their dad.
Corporate buzz words also being a big thing these days, "training" has been replaced with "coaching". Reflecting better the "kinder & gentler" training model that is used these days. "Coddling" might sometimes be a better description, though that may betray the dry and crusty sea salt that still flavors my way of doing things.
I spent some time coaching this evening within ear shot of another almost as old, "old salt". Dave sat mesmerized as he listened me to coach a new member of the operations department. As I glanced up at him silently taking it all in, I knew what he was thinking. A smile crossed both our faces as he said to the new operator, "I remember when Steve coached me. He wasn't this nice, then."
Laughing, he shared the now more than 20 year old story. We were both still in the Navy, I had spent four years aboard a submarine in San Diego and had returned to the Nuclear Power Training Unit in Ballston Spa, NY as an instructor. Dave was one of my students, 19 years old and full of himself.
Coming to see me one day to discuss the operation of a shipboard steam system, I started by asking him to draw a working diagram of the system. Moving on to various components and their respective functions and finally to their location in the plant. We would have gone on past that, but this is where Dave needed some "coaching".
Where's valve AS-12? I asked.
"Right here, I labeled it", Dave answered confidently.
"No shit. Where is it in the plant?"
"I don't need to know that", Dave answered defiantly.
"Don't tell me what you need to know and what you don't!"
"But it's not in my qual standard, I don't need to know that", Dave added somewhat defensively.
"My f-in' signature isn't in there yet, either and it won't be until you come back here with the g-ddamn answers! Now get the hell out of here and find them. I have to go back to sea when I leave here and some moron like you isn't going to get me killed, when I get there!"
Twenty some years later, we laugh now remembering the hail of chalk and erasers that chased him from the room.
"You're getting too old for this, Steve".
Almost a month and a half into these 12hour midnight shifts, all I could do was agree. "I know am, Dave. I know. Now shut the f-up!" I said as we laughed. "You'll make the kid think I was being easy on him."
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Welcome Aboard
Another Oldie, but Goodie... One of the first things I ever wrote...
My thoughts often drift back to my years in the US NAVY and serving aboard fast attack submarines.
I am repeatedly asked to describe the life aboard a submarine. Since there were no embedded reporters, "Losing their tan, off the coast of Iran", I thought I'd write this column. As a tribute to those who shared this experience with me and to those who have followed. I hope that as they read this they can chuckle along with me as the memories come flooding back. (Maybe flooding isn't the word I want to use in a submarine story).
Many who have experienced submarine life would say (and there are times I'd have to agree) that it's not a life. Others might say that it's extreme boredom punctuated by moments of shear terror. It's during this time that you watch the "This is Your Life" video pass before your eyes in fast forward. These are the times that with almost no thought, but as a result of repeated practice and drill you react to the situation at hand. Albeit fire, flooding (there's that word again) or a power plant casualty. Only after the adrenalin begins to wear off, do you realize that you almost died. These stressful moments become the source of some quality "gallows humor" as a means to deal with the stress and boredom.
I don't want you, the reader, to think it was all bad and I don't want to write this as an embedded reporter. I wish to write this, so that you, the reader can experience a taste of this salty adventure as a new crew member. So come aboard with me shipmates, and let me be the first to say, "Welcome Aboard"!
As we cross from the pier to the boat let me take this opportunity to explain that a ship is a ship, but a submarine is a boat. This being a hold over from the German U-boat terminology.
We're standing topside now staring down the main hatch and at the ladder bolted to the wall below the hatch. Before you begin to descend fill your lungs completely with a deep breath of fresh air and look straight up. This is your last breath of completely fresh air and your last look at the sky for the next sixty days.
As we reach the bottom of the ladder and proceed forward you begin to become aware of your new surroundings. The first is the ever present and distinct odor that permeates everything and everyone on board. It's a mixture of diesel exhaust, lube oil, food, sweat, cigarette smoke, grease, salt water and trash. Yes, a regular "eau de toilet water" kind of smell. (I think submarine air comes from France).
Remember that description and you'll understand why people are looking at you funny when we get to our first liberty port.
We continue to go forward, down another deck and through a water tight door, we are now in the bow compartment of the boat. Here we'll assign you your rack (this is your bed). It's approximately six feet long, three feet wide and three feet high, with a reading light, an air conditioning vent and a curtain for privacy. That sea bag you're carrying with all your worldly possessions in it, gets unpacked and stowed in the three inch deep bed pan that is the length and width of your rack. And since you're new on board, you get to share these luxury accommodations with one, maybe two other people.
The good news is that you'll probably rarely get to sleep anyway until your qualification cards are completed. These earn you the right to proudly wear your silver dolphins pin(the symbol of the submarine service) with your uniform. It also earns you a seat at the evening movie, until then though you're on the "dink" (delinquent) list.
Well, before you get to work let us go to the mess decks for the evening meal. Of course we'll have to stand in line for these culinary delights. I hear they're serving fried chicken that tastes like shrimp, because they never change the grease in the deep fat fryer. We get to wash it all down with "bug juice",the navy's brand of high potency kool-aid. It's so full of ascorbic acid that it's also used to clean the grill and the toilets. Bon appetite,shipmate!
As an added bonus the "doc" is waiting at the head of the line to make sure we're all up to date on our shots. I haven't decided yet if it's because we're going overseas or to protect us from the food.
We'll skip ahead now on this adventure story. We've left port, we're underway now and you've poured coffee all over yourself upon hearing the diving alarm for the first time.(2 blasts on the loudest "uh-ga" horn you've ever heard, followed by the announcement of "dive,dive"). Now you experience the same anxiety felt by every new crew member the first time you realize that this is what submarine life is all about. You're underway, hundreds of feet below the surface and if something happens, you can't escape and there is no rescue.
Your crusty old chief (Me) has sensed your tension and shared the "two key secrets of a successful submariner". The first is so profound that you're amazed at its wisdom.
"Son", say the chief, "We want to keep the water out of the people tank". You're speechless at the wisdom of that statement and at the fact that the chief seems to love being asea. "Maybe he's just confused", you think, after all you certainly are. You're wondering, "What the hell am I doing here?" As he continues to try to ease your fears, he shares the second secret of submarine life. It may take some higher math skills to understand this, but thank God for our public school system. "The second secret", says the chief, "is to make sure the number of dives equals the number of surfaces" You thank the chief for sharing those with you and silently vow to get the hell out of the navy before you end up like him.
We've been out at sea now for a few weeks and the closeness of the quarters is beginning to wear on you. There are few places on board where you can stretch your arms straight out and not touch something in a 360degree circle. When you find one, you're reminded of your surroundings by the fact that something is in the overhead just inches from your head.
You're standing your watches in the engine room, the hottest, sweatiest, oiliest place on the boat. Six hours on watch, twelve hours off during which time maintenance, cleaning and training, etc. get done. Notice that sleeping is not on that list.
The evaporator, which is used to make fresh water from sea water has been secured for weeks now because it makes too much noise. The trash compactor and overboard trash disposal unit is also secured and all trash is bagged and stored in the engine room, your watch station. (Stealth is important in this business).
Unfortunately when the evaporator is secured so are the showers. This is not good when you have to share a rack with someone. At least everyone smells the same, but twice already in the few moments you've been able to sleep, you've woken up wondering "What the hell stinks?" only to realize it's you!
You're developing a taste for navy chow and continue to be amazed at the creativity of the boats cooks. You've even won some awards for correctly identifying the "mystery meat of the day".
You've settled into the routine of the days, even though you don't know what day it really is. You've stopped wondering what the weather is like back home, but hope that there is some mail waiting for you at the first liberty port.
As the boredom builds the tension does also. You're starved for entertainment and read Louis LaMour novels as fast as possible. All the time imagining yourself in the story and the wide, open spaces of the American West. The days slowly go by as you begin to think about how good an ice, cold beer and some real food will taste.
Then one day you hear, "surface, surface, surface"!!! A short time later you're out in town, and yes the locals think you smell. Hey, you do smell! But the beer is cold and God bless McDonalds there's real food almost everywhere in the world.
The tension that was building slowly goes away and before you know it, it's the next day and you're trying to explain why you and some of your shipmates got into trouble out in town. A couple of more days like that and you'll be glad to be back to sea, you'll need the rest!
A week or so later you're out to sea again. But, now you're not the new man on board since some new crewmembers reported during the port call. The cycle continues until six months later you finally return home. It's great to be home, but you feel like Rip Van Winkle. The world continued without you, the whole time you were gone. There are new songs on the radio, new shows on TV, it was summer when you left, its Christmas time now. The car you left parked on base has become a seagull roost and the paint job is ruined.
The next day you take the motorcycle out and ride, ride, ride, up over the mountains and east into the desert. Ride with the wind in your face and no one around. Ride until the closed in feeling is gone and you feel like being around other people again. As time goes on, these trips will get longer and longer, sometimes even requiring a night of camping alone in the southern California desert.
Then comes the day, the day it's all over. The day you walk off that base for the last time knowing you never have to go back, you experience a feeling like none other. Then you're left with the memories that mellow with time… Memories of maybe "the worst of times" and certainly of the "best of times". Memories of youth and of friends now scattered across the country. Then you hope they see this story and they remember also, as you raise your glass and say "this ones for you, shipmate"!!!
My thoughts often drift back to my years in the US NAVY and serving aboard fast attack submarines.
I am repeatedly asked to describe the life aboard a submarine. Since there were no embedded reporters, "Losing their tan, off the coast of Iran", I thought I'd write this column. As a tribute to those who shared this experience with me and to those who have followed. I hope that as they read this they can chuckle along with me as the memories come flooding back. (Maybe flooding isn't the word I want to use in a submarine story).
Many who have experienced submarine life would say (and there are times I'd have to agree) that it's not a life. Others might say that it's extreme boredom punctuated by moments of shear terror. It's during this time that you watch the "This is Your Life" video pass before your eyes in fast forward. These are the times that with almost no thought, but as a result of repeated practice and drill you react to the situation at hand. Albeit fire, flooding (there's that word again) or a power plant casualty. Only after the adrenalin begins to wear off, do you realize that you almost died. These stressful moments become the source of some quality "gallows humor" as a means to deal with the stress and boredom.
I don't want you, the reader, to think it was all bad and I don't want to write this as an embedded reporter. I wish to write this, so that you, the reader can experience a taste of this salty adventure as a new crew member. So come aboard with me shipmates, and let me be the first to say, "Welcome Aboard"!
As we cross from the pier to the boat let me take this opportunity to explain that a ship is a ship, but a submarine is a boat. This being a hold over from the German U-boat terminology.
We're standing topside now staring down the main hatch and at the ladder bolted to the wall below the hatch. Before you begin to descend fill your lungs completely with a deep breath of fresh air and look straight up. This is your last breath of completely fresh air and your last look at the sky for the next sixty days.
As we reach the bottom of the ladder and proceed forward you begin to become aware of your new surroundings. The first is the ever present and distinct odor that permeates everything and everyone on board. It's a mixture of diesel exhaust, lube oil, food, sweat, cigarette smoke, grease, salt water and trash. Yes, a regular "eau de toilet water" kind of smell. (I think submarine air comes from France).
Remember that description and you'll understand why people are looking at you funny when we get to our first liberty port.
We continue to go forward, down another deck and through a water tight door, we are now in the bow compartment of the boat. Here we'll assign you your rack (this is your bed). It's approximately six feet long, three feet wide and three feet high, with a reading light, an air conditioning vent and a curtain for privacy. That sea bag you're carrying with all your worldly possessions in it, gets unpacked and stowed in the three inch deep bed pan that is the length and width of your rack. And since you're new on board, you get to share these luxury accommodations with one, maybe two other people.
The good news is that you'll probably rarely get to sleep anyway until your qualification cards are completed. These earn you the right to proudly wear your silver dolphins pin(the symbol of the submarine service) with your uniform. It also earns you a seat at the evening movie, until then though you're on the "dink" (delinquent) list.
Well, before you get to work let us go to the mess decks for the evening meal. Of course we'll have to stand in line for these culinary delights. I hear they're serving fried chicken that tastes like shrimp, because they never change the grease in the deep fat fryer. We get to wash it all down with "bug juice",the navy's brand of high potency kool-aid. It's so full of ascorbic acid that it's also used to clean the grill and the toilets. Bon appetite,shipmate!
As an added bonus the "doc" is waiting at the head of the line to make sure we're all up to date on our shots. I haven't decided yet if it's because we're going overseas or to protect us from the food.
We'll skip ahead now on this adventure story. We've left port, we're underway now and you've poured coffee all over yourself upon hearing the diving alarm for the first time.(2 blasts on the loudest "uh-ga" horn you've ever heard, followed by the announcement of "dive,dive"). Now you experience the same anxiety felt by every new crew member the first time you realize that this is what submarine life is all about. You're underway, hundreds of feet below the surface and if something happens, you can't escape and there is no rescue.
Your crusty old chief (Me) has sensed your tension and shared the "two key secrets of a successful submariner". The first is so profound that you're amazed at its wisdom.
"Son", say the chief, "We want to keep the water out of the people tank". You're speechless at the wisdom of that statement and at the fact that the chief seems to love being asea. "Maybe he's just confused", you think, after all you certainly are. You're wondering, "What the hell am I doing here?" As he continues to try to ease your fears, he shares the second secret of submarine life. It may take some higher math skills to understand this, but thank God for our public school system. "The second secret", says the chief, "is to make sure the number of dives equals the number of surfaces" You thank the chief for sharing those with you and silently vow to get the hell out of the navy before you end up like him.
We've been out at sea now for a few weeks and the closeness of the quarters is beginning to wear on you. There are few places on board where you can stretch your arms straight out and not touch something in a 360degree circle. When you find one, you're reminded of your surroundings by the fact that something is in the overhead just inches from your head.
You're standing your watches in the engine room, the hottest, sweatiest, oiliest place on the boat. Six hours on watch, twelve hours off during which time maintenance, cleaning and training, etc. get done. Notice that sleeping is not on that list.
The evaporator, which is used to make fresh water from sea water has been secured for weeks now because it makes too much noise. The trash compactor and overboard trash disposal unit is also secured and all trash is bagged and stored in the engine room, your watch station. (Stealth is important in this business).
Unfortunately when the evaporator is secured so are the showers. This is not good when you have to share a rack with someone. At least everyone smells the same, but twice already in the few moments you've been able to sleep, you've woken up wondering "What the hell stinks?" only to realize it's you!
You're developing a taste for navy chow and continue to be amazed at the creativity of the boats cooks. You've even won some awards for correctly identifying the "mystery meat of the day".
You've settled into the routine of the days, even though you don't know what day it really is. You've stopped wondering what the weather is like back home, but hope that there is some mail waiting for you at the first liberty port.
As the boredom builds the tension does also. You're starved for entertainment and read Louis LaMour novels as fast as possible. All the time imagining yourself in the story and the wide, open spaces of the American West. The days slowly go by as you begin to think about how good an ice, cold beer and some real food will taste.
Then one day you hear, "surface, surface, surface"!!! A short time later you're out in town, and yes the locals think you smell. Hey, you do smell! But the beer is cold and God bless McDonalds there's real food almost everywhere in the world.
The tension that was building slowly goes away and before you know it, it's the next day and you're trying to explain why you and some of your shipmates got into trouble out in town. A couple of more days like that and you'll be glad to be back to sea, you'll need the rest!
A week or so later you're out to sea again. But, now you're not the new man on board since some new crewmembers reported during the port call. The cycle continues until six months later you finally return home. It's great to be home, but you feel like Rip Van Winkle. The world continued without you, the whole time you were gone. There are new songs on the radio, new shows on TV, it was summer when you left, its Christmas time now. The car you left parked on base has become a seagull roost and the paint job is ruined.
The next day you take the motorcycle out and ride, ride, ride, up over the mountains and east into the desert. Ride with the wind in your face and no one around. Ride until the closed in feeling is gone and you feel like being around other people again. As time goes on, these trips will get longer and longer, sometimes even requiring a night of camping alone in the southern California desert.
Then comes the day, the day it's all over. The day you walk off that base for the last time knowing you never have to go back, you experience a feeling like none other. Then you're left with the memories that mellow with time… Memories of maybe "the worst of times" and certainly of the "best of times". Memories of youth and of friends now scattered across the country. Then you hope they see this story and they remember also, as you raise your glass and say "this ones for you, shipmate"!!!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Mornin' Wood, you like to come in???
An oldie, but goodie... I wrote this ditty probably ten years ago... While still working shift work at the nuclear power plant...
'Twas the day after midnights, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, the cat caught the mouse;
The clothes were all hung on a chair,
In hopes that laundry day soon would be there;
Nestled we were, all snug in our bed,
While visions of cool breezes danced in our heads;
Me in my skivies,
but holy they weren't,
since Wal-Mart had a sale 3 pair for a five,
and Jack in his collar,
I awoke with a holler,
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what the F@#$ was the matter.
Away to the door I stumbled slowly,
Totally unready for the sight before me,
As I opened the door, what should appear,
But a miniature old lady with big blue hair,
With a sales pitch so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment see was looking at my "Rick",
So I said with a grin,
Mornin' Wood, you like to come in?
She said If you're sleeping, you should put up a sign.
I asked Are you blind?
It seems plain to me,
and says Private Property!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!
And don't come back in the fall,
Jehovah she witnessed,
But the wrath of God they'll see,
If they come back here at all,
I shut the door tightly,
and said I've got to pee.
'Twas the day after midnights, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, the cat caught the mouse;
The clothes were all hung on a chair,
In hopes that laundry day soon would be there;
Nestled we were, all snug in our bed,
While visions of cool breezes danced in our heads;
Me in my skivies,
but holy they weren't,
since Wal-Mart had a sale 3 pair for a five,
and Jack in his collar,
I awoke with a holler,
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what the F@#$ was the matter.
Away to the door I stumbled slowly,
Totally unready for the sight before me,
As I opened the door, what should appear,
But a miniature old lady with big blue hair,
With a sales pitch so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment see was looking at my "Rick",
So I said with a grin,
Mornin' Wood, you like to come in?
She said If you're sleeping, you should put up a sign.
I asked Are you blind?
It seems plain to me,
and says Private Property!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!
And don't come back in the fall,
Jehovah she witnessed,
But the wrath of God they'll see,
If they come back here at all,
I shut the door tightly,
and said I've got to pee.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
A Vicadin Headache Moment
With the launch, yesterday of “Views from my Hammock” The Official Blog Page of Steve “The Nuclear Guy”… It’s certainly past time to write something new…
Being a comic, I probably should be writing something funny… While there’s the “in the moment” nirvana that we experience when everything is right… There’s “The Vicadin Headache” moments… The times when we just don’t feel funny and comedy nirvana seems like something that we’ve only dreamed about…
Though finally acknowledging my need for something stronger than a handful of Advil today, I had been fighting that mood for days…
Driving 4.5 hours Friday excited to be opening a new room with the help of comedy buddy Denis Donohue who drove 6 hours up from NYC… A small town crowd of 109 reservations turned into a well-attended first show of 78 despite some torrential downpours… But I left disappointed with my own performance, despite acknowledgements from the audience members who could hear it that they enjoyed it… Maybe I’m a purist, who isn’t just happy with the fact that I get paid to tell jokes for a living whether all or only a portion of the audience is listening…
I left amazed at the rudeness people can exhibit sometimes… Though unfortunately, I feel lately it’s more often than sometimes… People who having paid for tickets to see and HEAR a show… Then sit in the back and basically have their own show of LOUD conversation and occasional shouts of unintelligible, incoherent, bullshit totally unrelated to the subject matter being presented from stage… Granted alcohol plays a huge part in this type of behavior, but for the most part I am well past beginning to believe stems from the conscious decision not to give a shit about anyone, but themselves…
Despite being asked numerous times by audience members walking from the front of the room to the back to ask them to be quiet… The din of conversation in the room was not the “in the moment” nirvana I had hoped for…
Deciding not to spend Friday night in the hotel, I drove 4.5 hours home, in the rain, so as not to waste the July 4th holiday on the road… Ruminating on this the whole way home…
The upside is we’ve got two additional shows booked there… One in September and one next February… There’s a ton of potential there and I hope with some work we can produce the kind of show I’d be proud of…
Enjoying the weekend home, we spent sometime Sunday at Sodus Point, listening to live music and having some beers and dinner on the outdoor deck of a local establishment… It had finally warmed up and stopped raining long enough to get out for that…
Yesterday I launched my new blog site and turned my attention to getting ready for this weekends upcoming trip to Vermont with comedy buddies Ralph Tetta and Linda Belt… Shows that had been booked since last January… When I received an email from the venue stating that ticket sales were low and asking me for my opinion…
Well, my opinion was that losing a weekend of income was not an option… Another not “in the moment” moment from the business side of the comedy business… I wasn’t feeling especially upbeat or funny as Eileen and I headed out to Danny Liberto’s open mic last night… It was just what I needed at the time to get my comedy juices flowing again… Proving again that comedy and laughter are the best medicine…
The reality of possibly losing a weekend of pay still loomed though this morning and the dull throb of a “Vicadin Headache” moment began as I took my morning walk with the boys… Having a late breakfast I finally reached for something stronger… But the even better medicine is that after some renegotiations we’re doing one show Saturday instead of the original Friday and Saturday… At least we won’t lose the whole weekend… And Ralph and I still get to spend 6 hours in the car together each way…
Eileen leaves tomorrow for a book signing in Green Bay, Wisconsin this weekend and we’re both hoping she doesn’t get snowed in… All the global warming we’ve haven’t experienced this summer has us a little worried though…
Tomorrow night another open mic and Thursday I’m heading to The Comedy Club in Webster to see a comedy buddy from Maine, Tim Hofmann will be appearing there all weekend. If you are looking for something to do stop in for a show… Tim and I will be appearing in Manchester, Vermont together July 19th at a restaurant called “The Perfect Wife”… I never knew one existed, but then I married Eileen… Awwwwwww… OK, enough of that shit… I said it for you!!!
Tim and I will also be appearing together in Maine the end of July and early August… I’m looking forward to it.
So the view from my hammock today, though cloudy, has sunshine, smooth seas, following breezes and a witty blog on the horizon…
Being a comic, I probably should be writing something funny… While there’s the “in the moment” nirvana that we experience when everything is right… There’s “The Vicadin Headache” moments… The times when we just don’t feel funny and comedy nirvana seems like something that we’ve only dreamed about…
Though finally acknowledging my need for something stronger than a handful of Advil today, I had been fighting that mood for days…
Driving 4.5 hours Friday excited to be opening a new room with the help of comedy buddy Denis Donohue who drove 6 hours up from NYC… A small town crowd of 109 reservations turned into a well-attended first show of 78 despite some torrential downpours… But I left disappointed with my own performance, despite acknowledgements from the audience members who could hear it that they enjoyed it… Maybe I’m a purist, who isn’t just happy with the fact that I get paid to tell jokes for a living whether all or only a portion of the audience is listening…
I left amazed at the rudeness people can exhibit sometimes… Though unfortunately, I feel lately it’s more often than sometimes… People who having paid for tickets to see and HEAR a show… Then sit in the back and basically have their own show of LOUD conversation and occasional shouts of unintelligible, incoherent, bullshit totally unrelated to the subject matter being presented from stage… Granted alcohol plays a huge part in this type of behavior, but for the most part I am well past beginning to believe stems from the conscious decision not to give a shit about anyone, but themselves…
Despite being asked numerous times by audience members walking from the front of the room to the back to ask them to be quiet… The din of conversation in the room was not the “in the moment” nirvana I had hoped for…
Deciding not to spend Friday night in the hotel, I drove 4.5 hours home, in the rain, so as not to waste the July 4th holiday on the road… Ruminating on this the whole way home…
The upside is we’ve got two additional shows booked there… One in September and one next February… There’s a ton of potential there and I hope with some work we can produce the kind of show I’d be proud of…
Enjoying the weekend home, we spent sometime Sunday at Sodus Point, listening to live music and having some beers and dinner on the outdoor deck of a local establishment… It had finally warmed up and stopped raining long enough to get out for that…
Yesterday I launched my new blog site and turned my attention to getting ready for this weekends upcoming trip to Vermont with comedy buddies Ralph Tetta and Linda Belt… Shows that had been booked since last January… When I received an email from the venue stating that ticket sales were low and asking me for my opinion…
Well, my opinion was that losing a weekend of income was not an option… Another not “in the moment” moment from the business side of the comedy business… I wasn’t feeling especially upbeat or funny as Eileen and I headed out to Danny Liberto’s open mic last night… It was just what I needed at the time to get my comedy juices flowing again… Proving again that comedy and laughter are the best medicine…
The reality of possibly losing a weekend of pay still loomed though this morning and the dull throb of a “Vicadin Headache” moment began as I took my morning walk with the boys… Having a late breakfast I finally reached for something stronger… But the even better medicine is that after some renegotiations we’re doing one show Saturday instead of the original Friday and Saturday… At least we won’t lose the whole weekend… And Ralph and I still get to spend 6 hours in the car together each way…
Eileen leaves tomorrow for a book signing in Green Bay, Wisconsin this weekend and we’re both hoping she doesn’t get snowed in… All the global warming we’ve haven’t experienced this summer has us a little worried though…
Tomorrow night another open mic and Thursday I’m heading to The Comedy Club in Webster to see a comedy buddy from Maine, Tim Hofmann will be appearing there all weekend. If you are looking for something to do stop in for a show… Tim and I will be appearing in Manchester, Vermont together July 19th at a restaurant called “The Perfect Wife”… I never knew one existed, but then I married Eileen… Awwwwwww… OK, enough of that shit… I said it for you!!!
Tim and I will also be appearing together in Maine the end of July and early August… I’m looking forward to it.
So the view from my hammock today, though cloudy, has sunshine, smooth seas, following breezes and a witty blog on the horizon…
Monday, July 6, 2009
Views From My Hammock
Hello,
Welcome to the new Official Blog Site of Steve "The Nuclear Guy" www.viewsfrommyhammock.blogspot.com
I’ll be sharing my thoughts on a variety of subjects from the comfort of my hammock… Occasionally I'll also be attaching photos and/or video to my writings... So stay tuned for that...
Some will be new thoughts and musings… Some will be reposts of older blogs posted elsewhere as I transition some of my earlier writings to this location…
So if you are reading something you may have read somewhere else before… I hope you enjoy it again…
I welcome all your feedback on my writings and look forward to sharing my thoughts in this new forum…
Thanks,
Steve “The Nuclear Guy”
Welcome to the new Official Blog Site of Steve "The Nuclear Guy" www.viewsfrommyhammock.blogspot.com
I’ll be sharing my thoughts on a variety of subjects from the comfort of my hammock… Occasionally I'll also be attaching photos and/or video to my writings... So stay tuned for that...
Some will be new thoughts and musings… Some will be reposts of older blogs posted elsewhere as I transition some of my earlier writings to this location…
So if you are reading something you may have read somewhere else before… I hope you enjoy it again…
I welcome all your feedback on my writings and look forward to sharing my thoughts in this new forum…
Thanks,
Steve “The Nuclear Guy”
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