Back in May of 1984 Marvel Comics released issue #252 of The Amazing Spiderman. As an avid Spidey fan it was no coincidence that Amazing Spiderman was the first comic book I ever subscribed to. But what was ironic was that this particular issue just happened to be the very first one I received in the mail.
You see, this was also the first issue where Marvel surprised readers by giving Spiderman a brand new costume. Something I did not particularly care for. You can check that story out here (A fun read).
The change away from the classic red and blue tights Spidey wore to a plain black design posed a dilemma for two young film makers (my friend Mike and me). If Spidey was going to change costumes then we also had to change as well in order to keep our films relevant.
A call went out to the hard-working people in our design department (Me and Mike). Under a tough deadline and with no money for anything but film and developing it was going to be a real challenge. It was a challenge we gladly accepted. After all, if there was a “new” Spiderman in town then it was our duty to showcase him.
In the end, it all worked out.
Spidey vs The Mime Part 3 introduces the new black costume. It was the only film we made that doesn’t have the wall crawler in his classic red and blue jammies (or in our case, the jeans or red shorts with tube socks).
Our story opens with the Mime returning to town to wreak havoc (what exactly that “havoc” is isn’t revealed). Meanwhile a short ways away our friend Peter Parker is busily sewing his new black costume. Suddenly his Spider-Sense starts tingling. He realizes that once again, The Mime is near so he gets the chance to try on his new duds.
Appearing as Spidey he jumps on to the nearest roof and spots his adversary. Let the fun begin.
Watch the video and see if you can spot the classic 1980’s reference and the flub. They should be quite obvious:
For Spidey’s costume what could possibly be better than a 1980’s black Members Only jacket? It perfectly matched the maroon-colored one I wore as the Mime.
As far as the flub is concerned: did you notice the shadow when Mime was rolling down the hill after being punched over the fence? Yup, that’s Mike filming.
I remember when we first got this one back from the developers and loaded it on the projector up in my bedroom. We must have watched it two dozen times. It was so good.
Now a days, kids can make films a thousand times better with the equipment that’s available. Had this technology and the Internet been around in 1985 I think Mike and I would have accepted at least a pair of Academy Awards by now.
Sure, you see the clothes hanging out on the line. And some shots are out of frame. And sure, Mike’s shadow is visible. But as far as the black costume is concerned, I think we hit a home run.
Friday…FRIDAY…FRIDAY!!!! Did I mention that today is Friday? And what could possibly be better than Friday? Just one thing – a Friday with your friendly neighborhood Spider man. Or in this case, another home movie from 1985 with me and my friend Mike bringing the wall crawler to the silver screen.
I have to tell you, these movies were so much fun to make. Way better than playing Dungeons and Dragons or taking a walk downtown to the comic book store.
I think the cost to film just one of these shorts and have it developed was somewhere in the range of $20. Roughly equivalent to a billion dollars as far as a kid from 1985 is concerned. So for us to forego seeing a rock concert or buy a video game and instead try to make a movie was a huge investment and something that we did not take lightly.
Once again, let me set the scene for you:
In our last episode Mime (the bad guy in this story played by yours truly) narrowly escaped the clutches of Spidey (played by my friend Mike). Mime is now sitting on some steps next to a hill contemplating his next move when suddenly he hears someone approaching. He looks and sees that it’s Peter Parker, a young punk kid from school.
At this point Mime (who does not know the kid is actually Spidey) decides to have a little fun. He hides behind a fence and trips Peter as he walks by.
The “clumsy” child falls and then rolls down to the bottom of the hill. Distraught about his predicament and knowing that the evil Mime has just attacked him, Peter starts crying and immediately runs behind the fence to become Spidey. (Hey, no one said our Spidey didn’t get emotional).
That’s when the fun really begins.
This film would be the first to introduce the special effect of teleportation. It was a technique that we would also use in subsequent Spidey shorts as well and was rather simple to produce. Here’s how it worked:
In my role as the Mime I would touch my fingers to my temples to indicate I was about to do some amazing mind trick. Mike would then stop filming and stand perfectly still. Once I was out the scene Mike would begin filming again and PRESTO! I had “magically” disappeared. We did the reverse of this effect to make me reappear somewhere else. Pretty cool huh?
In addition to teleporting, this short also features a comedic showdown on the stairs and a daring escape by the heinous villain.
One word of caution: much of this footage is out of focus so do not adjust your settings. This error was actually the case when we originally got the film back from the developers. But the story idea is still there.
Enjoy!
Some notable 1980’s references:
1. You’ve just got to love Spidey’s summertime costume. A red shirt/shorts combination with red mittens for gloves. Believe it or not, Mike’s “Coke is It” red t-shirt was all the rage back then. This was the logo used most by Coca-Cola back in the mid 1980’s.
2. The classic tube socks worn up to our knee caps.
3. The laundry hanging out on the clothes line. It may seem trivial these days but back then washer and dryer combos were quite expensive. Most families only had just the washer and would hang clothes out on the line to dry in the summer or take the wet clothes to the laundromat to dry in winter.
As was always the case when filming, the challenge in making these shorts was that everything had to be done in one take. Any kind of screw up couldn’t be erased. This episode shows two examples of mistakes. One of which we were able to “fix”.
The first mistake you’ll notice is one scene where Mike was filming and you see part of his mitten filling the shot. Obviously, there was nothing we could have done about that. But the next flub we knew about immediately and were able to quickly bounce back from.
Originally, Spidey was supposed to capture the Mime on his first attempt at spinning the web. I was the cameraman at the time and was pulling on the “web” as Spidey shot it but accidentally let go of it and it bounced back onto Mike’s arm.
We spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out what we were going to until at last it dawned on us. We both looked at each other, smiled and said: “Spidey’s Web Shooter Jammed!”. It was the perfect opportunity to film it again and this time get it right.
Having rediscovered and sharing these movies has been a great experience. I’m even considering sending in my resume to George Lucas. I think I’m a shoe-in for a position in the special effects department. What do ya think?
The other day, while doing some “pre-spring” spring cleaning I stumbled upon a bunch of old 8mm film equipment and movies down in my basement. You know how you have some things in your possession that are, for all intents and purposes, useless but yet you still can’t bear to part with? Well, this equipment is one of those things for me. Something I should have thrown away long ago but still managed to find a place for every time we moved into a new apartment or house over the years.
I don’t really know why it never made it to the landfill but I would soon be glad it didn’t reach its final destination.
Even though the high tech gadgetry that’s available in today’s video equipment has sent my 8mm camera and film projector the way of the dinosaur, I was intrigued to see what kind of treasure was still being held on those old reels. So one night, I decided to go old school and set it all up.
There’s a certain odor that comes from things that have sat idle in a basement or attic for two dozen years. The smell of which seems to get stronger as you start un-boxing them from the places where they’ve sat in silence. Most especially when they’ve sat in an old attic with the extreme hot and cold seasonal temperature changes like these things did. It tattoos an odor on every piece that can best be described in one word: Old.
I suppose it was sometime in the fall of 1984 when my friend Mike and I made our first 8mm movie. I’m sure we would have liked to have made hundreds of them but we weren’t able to due to the high cost of film and processing. I’m sure a lot of it also had to do with the frustration that went along with making them. Unlike today, where you can take anything you can film and edit the video to death, with our 8mm camera you had only one chance to get it right. Every scene had to be done in one take. There was absolutely no going back.
The movies we made were nothing like the caliber of the Steven Spielberg/JJ Abrams blockbuster from last summer. Ours didn’t have zombies, train wrecks or even aliens. Heck, our movies didn’t even have sound at all. And where as the kids in that movie chose to go the romantic route and even include <GASP!> girls in theirs, we chose to go the manly route and make our movies about the greatest superhero of all… Spiderman.
I like to think that in some way the Spiderman movies we made gave inspiration to the three Tobey Mcguire films and the new Amazing Spiderman movie that’s coming out this summer. As you’ll see, considering the technology available to 15-year old boys, our budget and time constraints, I’d say we did a pretty good job. Especially for only getting one take to shoot each scene.
So let me set the scene for you: The setting for this clip is at my house. Spiderman (my friend Mike) has just returned from searching the city for Mime, the evil villain (played by yours truly). Mime is a Dr.Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type character that transforms from good to bad. He has issues (much like the guy who portrays him).
As Spidey is taking off his costume he gets blind-sided by Mime. Spidey quickly recovers and tries to capture Mime by spinning a web around him but Mime is able to escape and bull rush him.
Spidey uses his super jumping ability to leap onto the roof of a nearby house.
As Spidey makes his way across the roof top and back down to the ground Mime has transformed back to his normal self and makes his escape.
Academy Award of Golden Globe nominee? I think so. And now, without further adieu, I give you, Spiderman:
Some classic 1980’s references: My Quiet Riot t-shirt (told ya I was a metal head). Also, if you look at Mike’s sneakers after he jumps off the roof you’ll notice they are different colors. Remember when changing your shoe-laces was all the rage back in the 80’s?
I found myself laughing over and over watching this and remembering just how much fun it was to make. Mostly, I enjoyed the stunt of having Spiderman jump from the ground to the roof. This was actually a dummy that I had spent two hours making before filming. I tied jeans and the costume together with twine and stuffed the entire thing with crumbled up newspaper to fill it out. For only getting one take to film it turned out ok. It reminds me of something you’d see in an old Three Stooges short when they’d fall off a building.
In an age when anyone can post a You Tube video we sometimes take for granted all the technology that’s available to us. I can, and have, video taped the world around me with HD cameras. I’ve recorded my daughter’s school and sporting events without batting an eye. The technology is even available on the cell phone I carry every day (just in case the moment strikes me). Back then, it was a whole process.
Our children can have a video of their entire lives if we so choose. A living, breathing memoir if you will. And yet, these half-dozen or so 8mm movies Mike and I made almost thirty years ago are the absolute only recorded things I have from my childhood that are not a still picture.
But thanks to that same modern technology, I’m able to extract these precious moments from the film and put them on to a digital DVD before the oxidation process completely destroys them.
It’s amazing to see just how I looked, moved and thought back in a time when the only responsibility I had was getting up for school every morning.
I got into a conversation over drinks last night with a bunch of friends from high school. Guys I hadn’t seen in years. In between manly talk of girls that were gotten and grid iron glory the topic of real true greatness came up.
One friend told us about how he had almost been drafted by a local minor league baseball team. He pounded his chest telling us all of how if it hadn’t been for a nagging knee injury he would surely have had a career as a New York Yankee.
Glasses were raised and drunken chants of “Yankees! Yankees! Yankees!” could be heard by half-drunken middle-aged men from our little corner of the bar.
More grunts and groans soon surfaced with tales of lost treasure and a futile attempt to be cast as an extra in a Tom Hanks movie. Finally it was my turn.
I don’t really like to brag but there once was a day where I almost became a superhero. Now before you go having your doubts and laughing like they did let me tell you the same story I told them. I didn’t rescue a cat from a tree or save a girl tied to the railroad tracks by some nefarious fiend. But I did almost stop a speeding bullet once.
Well, in this case it was a car.
It was the summer of 1985, the year I was going to turn sixteen and get my driver’s license. As a child there are really only three birthdays you look forward to. The first one being your 10th birthday when you’re finally in “double digits”. Next is the year you turn 16 and get your driver’s license (and if you’re female, a “sweet sixteen” party might also be in the cards). Finally, your 18th birthday when you officially become an adult. At least as far as the courts are concerned.
I had already applied for my learners permit and could not wait to get behind the wheel of my own car. Any car! It didn’t matter if it was my Mom’s 1985 Chevy Spectrum or my Dad’s 1965 Ford Mustang…I just wanted to drive.
Growing up in a “car” family there was almost always a beat up clunker sitting on our property. Usually these cars would appear out of no where from relatives or friends when they were broken down. They’d then just sit on the hill next to our house until they were either fixed up or hauled away. As “luck” would have it, there was a car sitting on the hill that summer.
It was a 1976 Chevy Vega. A car that my brother Bones had driven until it broke down and he moved on to driving a truck. It was a white, stick shift beauty with red and blue pin stripes. I assumed that the unique color combination and pin striping had something to do with the Bicentennial celebration which made it even cooler to me. Even though I had only driven cars with automatic transmissions very short distances and had absolutely no idea how to drive stick I immediately fell in love with it and could think of no better vehicle to have as my first car.
A rare picture of where the Vega sat on the hill. The bottom right of the photo is the side of my house.
I had spoken to Bones about the car and he informed me that it needed a new carburetor before it could run. Day after day I would peer out the window at the Vega sitting on the hill and dreamed of me taking it out on the road for the first time. I could picture myself with dark sunglasses on cruising the strip and giving “the look” to the girls as I drove by. I couldn’t think of anything better than having a beautiful female riding shotgun in my first car. Unfortunately, my desire to get the car on the road soon became overwhelming.
It was a typical summer afternoon and I had absolutely nothing to do. Bones was away and it was only me and my Grandmother at home. I was so tired of seeing the Chevy Vega sitting lifeless and the thought occurred to me to move it down the hill. Although I knew it wouldn’t run the least I could do is put it in a better place so when we did get the new carburetor for it we could install it easier.
I went out to the car, hopped in and put it in neutral. I started to rock it back and forth a bit to get it to move but it wouldn’t budge. Suddenly a little voice in my head began telling me: “Bones is going to be pissed when he finds out you moved this car!” Sadly, this wouldn’t be the first time I ignored my conscience.
Inside the car I noticed the steering wheel was moving freely and I thought to myself “This should be easy” but as I continued to rock back and forth the car still wouldn’t move. A dilemma. What to do?
I exited the car and went around to the front to see what could possibly be keeping the car from moving. I noticed that a large brick had been placed underneath the front tire and my pushing from inside wasn’t enough to move the car over the brick.
What happened next still remains a blur to me.
For some reason I got the brilliant idea to tug on the front fender of the car to help get it “over the hump” if you will. Sure enough, I succeeded. The car started to roll down the hill. Only one problem, I was in FRONT of the car and not safely inside controlling it.
Did you ever have one of those experiences where your life flashes in front of your eyes? One where you relive all of the things that have happened to you in your short life span of sixteen years? Well, this wasn’t one of those times. I was too damn scared.
All I remember as I’m trying to hold the car back as we’re both going down the hill were the following four sentences: “Gotta stop this car… Gotta stop this car! … I CAN DO THIS!! ..Uh, oh – this is NOT going to end well.”
CRASH!!!!
The next thing I know I am pinned between a 1976 Chevy Vega, a metal swing and the side of my house. I am literally afraid to move because I think bones have been broken and internal organs damaged beyond repair.
As I’m slowly coming to my wits I hear a pissed off Grandmother coming from inside. “JIMMY – WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”. Then she suddenly realizes that her favorite grandson (yep, I said it) was trapped in twisted metal and she immediately begins to scream “Oh my God…JIMMY!”
It’s at this point I realized that the damage to me wasn’t nearly as bad as what happened to the swing or the house and I somehow managed to get out of the twisted mess. Since it was quite obvious there’s nothing a seventy year old woman was going to be able to do to help me, she gets on the phone and calls my brother.
As I’m sitting on the side of the porch shaking like a leaf and looking at the gash in my lower abdomen I kept thinking of the beating I was going to take when Bones saw what happened. He was one of those brothers who liked to pummel you if you even breathed next to his food so I figured an extended hospital stay was definitely in my future.
Needless to say, I was relieved that he decided to give me more of a verbal than physical beating when I told him the story of how I stood in front of the moving car rolling down the hill and into the house. But one question he asked about my ordeal still sticks with me:
“Who did you think you were, Superman?”
I guess in some strange way I guess I did. At least for one day and I almost pulled it off. So whether or not you want to categorize this as true greatness you have to admit one thing. My story is way better than any baseball career or being an extra in a movie.
Ah, another Paycheck Friday. My favorite day of the bi-weekly cycle. I only wish there could also be a Pay Check Monday through Thursday to go along with it. I’d probably sleep better at night wondering how I’m going to save for my daughter’s college education. But if you stop and think about it, there aren’t too many days that can compete with the day the money is literally in the bank.
Presently, I’ve been a Clinical Systems Analyst for over five years now. Time sure flies doesn’t it? I love my job and the people I work with. Seriously, I really do. Although some days may be challenging depending on the number of people who call me with Malware issues they have from perusing the Internet.
By now you also know my love for revisiting the past. So as we celebrate another Paycheck Friday I’d like to share with you the story of my first job.
From April to October of 1986 I was THE biscuit baker at McDonald’s with secondary skill as fry cook. I wouldn’t even categorize me in with any other because quite frankly, there was no comparison. I was in a biscuit league all my own. Light and fluffy. Just the right amount of brown-ness to them every time. You wanted a Sausage, Egg and Cheese Biscuit? You came to The Woodsman. Yeah, my biscuits had them ALL coming back for more.
But my tenure at the golden arches was not all happiness and rainbows. Oh no, there was plenty of tribulation too. Disgruntled customers, pain in the ass managers and even whack job co-workers always made things interesting. One day in particular though I’ll never forget.
I was training a new employee, let’s just call him ‘Dude’ for the sake of argument. And also for the fact that I can’t for the life of me remember what his real name was. Anyway, I had already taught Dude how to make all of other batter dipped and deep-fried goodies on the McDonald’s menu and we were now onto the fine art of making twelve “regs” (as in regular cheeseburgers) and following it up with six macs (Big Macs). You have to learn the language of Mickey Dee if you plan to survive there.
It was the beginning of the lunch rush and the line was literally out the door but Dude and I were really starting to get into the groove. It almost got to the point where Dude was becoming one with the McNugget. But then, disaster struck.
I’m not sure if he did this deliberately or by accident but at one point during the commotion of dropping fries and Quarter Pounders Dude said “Oh, what’s this?” and proceeded to reach over and pull the fire alarm near the grill which caused massive amounts of foaming agent to cover the entire contents of the grill and all fry vats. Enough foam that, had there been an actual fire, would most likely have put it out and possibly saved dozens of lives. But unfortunately, this was not one of those times. Dude just looked at me dumbfounded as customers were informed that effective immediately, the store was closed.
So as I’m in the process of busting ass and helping to clean up the mess the manager starts looking for Dude but Dude is no where to be found. It’s at that point that one of the cashiers informs him that she had just seen Dude walk out the back door with two cases of frozen burgers, put them into his car and drive off. Dude sacrificed his job for a hamburger.
I have to be honest, amidst all the commotion of trying to clean up this huge mess, it did give me a chuckle when I heard the news. Although naturally, I also assumed that with the way management had treated screw ball employees in the past it was quite possible that Dude might wind up coming back next week having been promoted to now be my boss. But alas, they wound up firing Dude instead and I never saw him again. Go figure.
During those six months I did everything at that joint for a measly $3.35 an hour. I heard the torment of laughter from friends because THEY didn’t have to work all summer but I had to go make the biscuits. They’d even say things like “Burger Flipping Biscuit Bakin….Burger Flippin Biscuit Bakin” over and over ad nauseam.
It was a feeling that would break the heart of most working sixteen year olds. But rather than pound my friends into dirt I decided to channel that energy creatively. And it was that inspiration that helped me invent and perfect the first McDonald’s Triple Cheeseburger. Yes, while most others were at home watching Scooby Doo and listening to Culture Club I was busting ass over the grill creating just the right combination of grease and pickle to make a triple-decker bomb.
Just thinking about it now fills me with pride and even makes me have more respect for Sponge Bob Squarepants.
Now, you might be saying to yourself, “There’s no way the manager would let you do that” and you would indeed be right. But you see, most night managers at McDonald’s liked to hang out up in the drive thru window. Quite a distance away from where I stood with my spatula. So I would appoint a lookout, some other of lower intelligence, to stand guard while I perfected my craft and alert me if a manager entered my zone.
Of course, no test would be complete without sampling the creation so frequent trips to take out the “garbage” were made. And on the way out there was also always a need to stop by the Chicken McNugget bin. You never know when those will have to be thrown out. That summer I made $3.35 an hour. I think I also gained 15 pounds.
It was then that my senior year of high school began and I quit my position as head fry cook/biscuit man. I would not have another job until school was out but still think often of Dude and my days at the Golden Arches. Well, actually, no I don’t.
So, as we celebrate the occasion of another direct deposit it’s nice to look back and see where it all began. Just like always, the money deposited is usually in the bank and gone by Monday on silly things as mortgage, food and electricity.
In my effort to eat healthy I’ve tried to minimize my visits to fast food joints. Truth be told I haven’t made a biscuit since my departure but I’m willing to bet mine would still be the best.
And finally, in closing, just remember the next time you see or hear a commercial for a Triple Cheeseburger at Mickey Dee’s that you know who you can thank for its creation.
The other day I finally got around to adding the $15 i-Tunes gift card I received for Christmas onto my i-Tunes account. I have to admit, although I do have a lot of songs in my playlist, most of which converted over from old CDs, I haven’t had much desire to purchase anything new as of late and hence my delay.
But with fifteen bucks beginning to burn a hole in my pocket I started perusing the list of what’s currently being classified as “hot” to see if anything struck my fancy. As expected, I began to become a bit discouraged.
Call me old (well, on second thought don’t) but I’m from an age where music and lyrics actually mean something. Having a robotic voice singing to a pre programmed beat and calling it music just doesn’t appeal to me.
And what’s with all these different versions of the same song? A song, and album for that matter, should always stand on it’s own. But yet I saw a listing of a current “hit” with no less than four different versions of the song to choose from: one done by the original artist, another a re-mix version with some rapper I never heard of, yet another version done for a Kidz Bop CD and finally one done by the cast of the TV show ‘Glee’… “This is Hot?” I asked myself. “More like cold. Cold as ice”.
Hmmm.
I typed “Foreigner’ into the search box and suddenly there she was again. The black and white album cover of the lady with one eye: Inside Information
I didn’t want to see the date it was released. I knew it was a long time ago. Ok, twenty-five years if you really must know. An album that sold 1.6 million copies worldwide and one that also has some history with me and suddenly I started to remember. This was just one example of an entire album that related to me.
It was a typical Friday night two dozen summers ago. High school was over and college had been delayed temporarily for me due a lack of funds. I was still living at home and spent most of my days working 9-5 for minimum wage in the receiving department of the local supermarket trying to save money and start my music education journey at community college.
Say you will. Say you won’t. Make up your mind tonight.
Once the whistle sounded that Friday night it was time to jump into my orange 1974 Ford Torino and meet my fellow musician buds Nathan and Ronnie for a night of debauchery. At least that’s what we called it. I suppose that in some countries ‘debauchery’ is still defined as hanging out at a miniature golf place making plans to become rock stars and then having cheese fries and coffee at the local diner. It worked for us.
I still don’t remember how the Inside Information cassette got into my possession. I figure it must have been one of the twelve cassettes I initially chose for a penny from Columbia House as part of my initial membership. A membership that I never completed. But that tape was the soundtrack to my life for months in the summer of 1988.
I don’t wanna live without you ~ live without your love.
The funny thing about cassettes is, it’s almost impossible to skip a song on one of them. Unless you have the patience and where withal to meticulously fast forward or rewind you were pretty much stuck having to listen to the entire album in order. Suffice to say, I had neither of those qualities so I got to know every track personally from “Heart Turns To Stone” all the way through to “A Night To Remember“.
With windows rolled down we drove up Northampton street (or “The Strip” as it was called) to the echoes of Lou Gramm singing about teen angst and young love blaring from my Kenwood stereo system. Passers by would glance at us strangely when we’d stop for traffic lights but that didn’t bother us. It was a magical time. This was freedom and we were Counting Every Minute of it that we had. And we weren’t just listening to your every day Richard Marx or Michael Bolton tune. On the contrary, this was raw, pure unfiltered rock at its finest. And the words that Lou sang defined what we had in store for the evening:
I feel mean tonight ~ One-eyed jacks and aces
Read ’em and weep tonight ~I’m gonna let all hell break loose.
For the next several hours me and my homies did just that: raised hell cruising the strip and visiting the V-7 miniature golf range. I was feeling particularly lucky that night and my play proved it. Much to Nathans chagrin I sank three hole-in-one shots that night, including one through the dreaded windmill. But during my hat trick run I noticed that Ronnie seemed to be a bit distant and I’d soon discover why.
It was on the drive to the diner that Ronnie began insisting on wanting to listen to “True” by Spandau Ballet to help heal his heart of a high school love gone wrong. Ronnie was the first of our trio to be in a serious relationship that had gone sour. Right now he wanted consolation but Nathan and I wanted nothing to do with it. A Spandau Ballet cassette would never be seen in my record collection let alone in my car. “Those days are over man and you screwed up”, I told him. How ironic it was that the words to “Heart Turns To Stone” began to play to remind Ronnie of the mistake he made:
When she was with you, all along ~ Behind you, right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on ~ But you went too far, and she’s gone
To this day I still have no idea what the hell it was he did that went too far and ruined the relationship. The song just seemed to fit the moment and we all got a good laugh out of it.
Eventually we ended up in the diner counting pennies in our pockets to pay for coffee and french fries covered in cheese. Even though it was well after midnight just knowing that we had no where to go and nothing to do in the morning was comforting. We could easily have stayed there all night discussing women, music and songwriting and how all three were going to be a huge part of our lives as soon as we became rocks stars. But it soon became apparent that bed was calling.
Before getting back into the car for the final drive home Nathan decided to begin singing ‘Heartache Tonight’ by the Eagles right there in the parking lot:
“Somebody’s gonna hurt some one…. before the night is through.”
Which was soon accompanied by Ronnie and I in full three part-harmony: “Somebody’s gonna come undone… there’s nothing we can do”…
Perhaps it was a good thing it was midnight and no one was around for it might have been the most horrific version ever done. But late nights and copious amounts of caffeine and cheese have a tendency to throw you off key while singing A cappella. Yeah, that was my story and I’m sticking to it.
So, two dozen years after that night to remember, Inside Information was added to my i-Tunes playlist. An album I loved but had completely forgotten about. And although the V-7 has been closed for years to golfing I think one of these nights I’m going to give Ronnie and Nathan a call.
We’ll take a ride up The Strip in my 2010 Toyota Rav-4 blasting Foreigner again and seeing if the magic is still there.
Long before Katy Perry sang about dancing on table tops and getting kicked out of bars I was mastering the art of Friday night. And there’s one particular one that I’ll always remember.
It’s a Friday night in the early 1980’s and my friend Mike and I are hopping into the back seat of his Mom’s old blue station wagon and being chauffeur driven to the Palmer Park Mall. Thirty years ago, being a teenager at the mall on a Friday night was on par with going to the “Dip-and-Dances” at the Palmer Pool in the summer or hanging out with a bunch of classmates after a school event at Penn Pizza. Even if you weren’t popular, if you made it to the mall on Friday night you were part of the in-crowd.
You see getting dropped off at the mall and left alone by your parents moved you up three notches on the coolness meter. Personally, it was also the perfect opportunity for me to showcase my chiseled teenage abs and Sylvester Stallone looks. My red Members Only jacket and my Jordache jeans. Ok, I made up that last part. I really didn’t wear Jordache jeans.
But a typical Friday night excursion to the mall was always exciting for me. It was a chance to see all the kids from school outside of the element. No teachers, pencils or homework assignments. More importantly, it was also a chance to see the hottest girls from school too. Oh sure, I’d always see a few of them here or there roaming the halls all week but in the mall environment they ALWAYS gathered together in some kind of sorority. And although I knew my shyness would inevitably hinder any chance I had at any real conversation with those of the female persuasion, I’d still be polishing up my “Hey Baby” lines as we’d pull into the parking lot.
It wouldn’t be long now before the smell of pizza and feel of Orange Julius running down my arm would put any thought of romance on hold as there were more “male” dominated matters to attend to. Mike’s mom gave us the usual time and rendezvous point to meet up with her for our journey home and at this point, the entire mall was ours.
With no I-Tunes or Internet access of any sort, unless you consider the useless modem that I had for my Commodore Vic-20 computer, being at the mall was the only chance I had to stop into the Listening Booth record store and seek out new music. On good days, today being one of them, I had extra money and with that, the opportunity to buy my very first record album which I eagerly did.
With new music now in hand, Mike and I made our way down around the furthest corner of the mall. Well past The Gap, Pearle Vision Center and Waldenbooks store. A place that was always dark and mysterious. Kind of like some seedy back alley. One of those places where there might be a bunch of people playing an illegal poker game in some smoke-filled back room and you needed a special knock just to be allowed entrance.
Only one thought came to mind as we approached: My pockets have gone through six days of pregnancy with quarters and it was now time for delivery.
I could not wait for the chance to open a can of whoop ass on Mike again playing Space Invaders or Pac-Man. I was feeling particularly lucky this evening which wasn’t a good thing for Mike. Tonight was going to be a good night. I pictured my initials being emblazoned upon all of the top spots of the machine. I was more than ready to place my quarter on the console while someone else was playing and reserve it. You see, there’s a certain unwritten rule about strategically placing your two-bits on the machine that even the meanest of children abide by. It’s the customary thing to do to indicate to the kid currently playing that: “Dude, once your ass is dead, this machine is mine!”
As we slowly entered the darkened Fun Attic arcade it sounded like a scene right out of The Empire Strikes Back. Machines beeping and flashing as far as the eye could see. Teenage Boy Nirvana. Nothing but kids congregating with each other around machines in an attempt to dominate at Pole Position or vanquish the evil Donkey Kong once and for all.
I was always conservative when it came to my video games. Although most kids were now on to bigger and better things I relished being one of the last old school players who much preferred dominating on mindless games like Space Invaders. So you can imagine the shock when I discovered that the Space Invaders machine had been replaced. Apparently, the brilliant minds at Fun Attic had decided to take away the only game I’d ever love.
But that’s when I saw it: Dragon’s Lair.
It sat alone in the middle of the arcade, right where Space Invaders once sat. Beneath a single spotlight that I’m sure was always there but some how never noticed before. It was almost as if it were the Hope diamond on display in some museum.
The machine read “50¢ a play” – fully DOUBLE the cost of three lives on a traditional machine. But as I stood there in awe watching the movie preview enticing me to dump Mario and Ms. Pac-Man to save Daphne the princess and defeat the dragon, I realized I had no choice.
I spent every last quarter I had on that game and loved every minute of it. As I progressed through the levels I took notice that a gaggle of girls from the Palmer Mall Sorority were now lining up around me to watch and cheer me on. Something that never happened while I was playing those “other” games, or at all for that matter.
It didn’t take me long to realize that in addition to this game being the coolest thing ever, it was also a chick magnet. I felt like a rock star maneuvering through the catacombs of the dungeon to the delight of those observing. Even Mike, my loyal compadre, who normally would have beckoned me over to play pinball by now still stood by my side: my wing man.
When the last of my quarters was gone without rescuing the princess and the girls went back to doing whatever it was girls did my life suddenly had new meaning: I needed to defeat the dragon and impress the ladies.
We soon met up with Mike’s mom at the rendezvous point and were en route back home. And although I had originally planned to just listen to my new music all weekend I couldn’t help but also think about how I needed to double my quarter intake in six days.
Because next Friday night, we were going to do it all again.
A few days ago a friend of mine asked me to go online and check out a new CD the band he was in had just released. I quickly pointed my web browser to the CD Baby website to give a listen to a buddy whose cover band has been tearing up the local watering holes around town for years. Finally getting to hear his own original music was really going to be a treat.
CD Baby is a gold mine for independent artists. A website most local and regional bands use to promote their new music. It’s a great way for unknowns to get the word out to people who may not even know who they are.
But I never would have guessed that the CD Baby platform would ever be used in the opposite way.
Case in point: While listening to my boy’s uptempo bar songs I happened upon a CD listing for a band whose name sounded familiar to me. The album for sale was called “Replay” and the band was “The Outfield”.
“The Outfield?? It couldn’t be”, I said to myself. But by checking the band description it didn’t take long to realize that yes, this “Outfield” was the exact same Outfield who had been all over radio and MTV and sold five million records thirty-two years ago. Riding a stream of hits including “Say It Isn’t So”, “For You” and “Your Love” (a song which ironically has been in the set list of my buddy’s band for years). What the hell were these guys doing on CD Baby?
I gave a listen to some of the preview tracks just to verify that this was the band whose catchy hooks were a staple of the mid 1980’s. The new songs I heard were actually quite good. Just as good if not better than some of the ones I had heard from them during the Reagan administration. Music that brought back memories of blaring boom boxes, feathered hair and childhood summers. Music that, in my opinion, should now still be played on Top-40 radio and what ever the alternative is for MTV.
Sadly, there was no point in me picking up the phone and calling the local radio station to request California Sun, a track from the new record. Although it would personally be cool to request “The Outfield” again what were the odds that the DJ on the other end of the line would even know who this band was?
Now, had I said Bruno Mars, Katy Perry or Taylor Swift it would be a different story. There is a plethora of songs to choose from there. “Music” that saturates radio today. Song by artists that quite honestly are completely interchangeable with each other. All manufactured with the same chords, the same beat and the same theme. The only difference being the actual lyrics of the song and even most of those are cliché’.
I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of hearing about skies full of lighters, a drunk party or crying out in the yard at two in the morning because my boyfriend broke up with me. They only make me long more for the days of Josie being on a vacation far away.
Music isn’t created anymore, its manufactured on an assembly line. The songwriters are gathered together with ideas already in place by the suits at the record company and the music is programmed in a high-tech studio in some big city. It makes me wonder how many actual musicians are playing their instruments on these tracks. Finally, it’s all put together, packaged and backed by a gigantic marketing team with deals already in place with major suppliers.
The days of the public deciding what music is good and bad are over – companies now tell you what you should buy and price their product appropriately.
Want proof? Just check out in stores and digital downloads. Ever notice that some new digital music singles sell for 30% less than standard 99-cent rate? And new CDs, for certain popular artists, which normally sell for $13.99 at a store, sell for $7.99? Not coincidence.
It’s no longer about the music or how much money sales generate, it’s only about how many physical units are sold. Selling a million physical copies of a single or a CD offsets the loss of millions of dollars in the art that created it.
Worst of all, this manufactured stuff gets top billing in stores, radio and I-Tunes while “real” new music gets pushed to Indie web sites to be stumbled upon by accident.
To help reinforce my point about the difference between real music and today’s manufactured material let’s do a quick comparison of #1 songs in the USA from the years 1982 and 2011.
Entire month of January 1982: Physical: Olivia-Newton John Entire month of January 2011:Grenade: Bruno Mars
Entire Month of April 1982:I Love Rock and Roll: Joan Jett and The Black Hearts
Entire Month of April 2011: ET (Katy Perry w. Kanye West) – No, it’s not about the little alien guy who ironically, first appeared in 1982.
Half of the month of July and all of August 1982: Eye of The Tiger (Survivor) Entire month of July and Half of August 2011: Party Rock (LMFAO Featuring Lauren Bennett & GoonRock)
Now, armed with this knowledge, ask yourself this question:
Thirty years from now, which songs will you still remember?
So here we are at the end of another year. Most people use this time to recall events from the year and look forward to what the future holds. And I’m no different. I always find myself sitting in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, reflecting on the past.
I started out this morning by reading an old journal entry I wrote 25 years ago. Searching for something that I thought made 1986 memorable for me. All that I found were paragraphs of me rambling on about learning a Van-Halen guitar lick and having a project due in my high school music theory class I wasn’t too enthused about. My only real goals for the new year were getting into my first real band and graduating. In that order if possible. Suffice to say, only the latter event happened.
The following New Years Eve though, 1987, will always be memorable for me. I was spending time with a girl I liked, got a little bit tipsy on the Manischewitz Concord Grape Wine I “borrowed” from my Grandmother (sorry Nan) and actually got up the nerve to ask her out. You must realize that I was an 18-year-old who had never actually been on a date before. So needless to say, this was HUGE for me. Fortunately, she said yes and we’ve been together ever since.
But the last day of the year hasn’t always been good to me. Nine years later New Years Eve literally changed everything.
It was around 10PM on December 31st, 1996 and I was at home getting ready to watch Dick Clark freeze his ass of in Times Square. It was fortunate that we had no plans of going out.
The phone rang.
On the other end was my Mother in tears. She NEVER calls me at night unless something was wrong. And this time something was. My grandmother, who had been in ill-health the past few months, had just passed away in the nursing home. The Grand Matriarch whose house I grew up in and who took care of me and my brother and sister was gone. Although the last words we spoke to each other was “I love you” a day earlier as she drifted in and out of consciousness, it was of no consolation. I put down the phone and just cried right there in the middle of the kitchen.
So it’s been fifteen new years eves since I got that call and usually not a day goes by that I don’t think about her in some way. I’m sure tonight I’ll be thinking about her even more.
Now that I’ve wiped my tears, let’s talk about some of the good stuff from this past year (2011):
#1. In January of 2011 I resolved to start writing. My very first blog post was about Pierogies and I’ve never looked back. I’ve written over 120 blogs since then and have even written articles for other online web sites.
#2. I was re-acquainted with a bunch of classmates I haven’t seen in years. It’s been so exciting to see what everyone has been up to and to take part in planning for our 25th reunion next year.
#3. My daughter started middle school this year. She excels at reading and writing (actually making books with chapters and everything) and is big into playing music, much like me. I am so proud of everything she’s becoming. I had the chance to visit her new school for the day and see how everything has changed since I roamed those halls. Made me feel, yup, old.
#4. This one many of you may not know but I can say it now. I was selected as a candidate to be on the TV show NY Ink. I went to New York and got tattooed by Megan Massacre while being filmed by the TLC network. I’m not sure if my segment will be airing or not but the whole experience was incredible. I got tell my story about my own musical journey and how for one night I became a rock star. I’ve been working on a four-part blog about it that I’ll be posting in the New Year.
#5. After hearing about one of my favorite bands, Survivor, reuniting with my favorite singer (Jimi Jamison), I wrote a blog about my journey with the band and how their music affected me. Because of it, I was asked by the management of Frankie Sullivan (guitarist from the band) to do an interview with him. We talked on the phone for over an hour yesterday and I heard so much good stuff about the band and the music I loved growing up.
Those are just five and I could probably go on. Life’s been good and I’ve been so blessed.
I’m not sure what 2012 will hold but I am looking forward to it. I’ve got plenty of ideas for articles and songs. I may even have a go at my first book. And to celebrate the resolution that didn’t come true in 1986 I think I may even take the plunge again and go back into a band situation. The sky’s the limit.
Over the years friends have remembered the Manischewitz story and every so often buy some for me as a joke. I haven’t had any of it in years. But tonight, in honor on Nan, I think I just may have to break it open.
And right after I toast to her memory I’ll make one for you as well.
The last time I roamed the halls at the current Easton Area Middle School it was still called Shawnee Intermediate School. Although additions were made structurally and the grade levels and names may have changed the building itself is still pretty much the way I remember it to be from when I was a student in the early 1980’s.
Today was a special chance for me to spend the entire day with my daughter at her school and see what a typical day for her is like. Suffice to say, it had an impact on me.
First off let just say that there are several things that I’ll always remember from my time spent at Shawnee:
1. The Planetarium. The absolute coolest place in the school. The only time where if a visit to the planetarium was included as part of an assembly kids got excited. Sadly, today it’s just a normal room now.
2. Shawnee was the place where I first heard of the band Duran Duran.
3. Reading the book 1984 by George Orwell in Mr. Pfister’s English class in the year, yep you guessed it, 1984.
4. Going to Mr. Heath’s Earth Science class where every morning began with him literally giving us the weather forecast. Mr. Heath would have a map of the US taped on the board complete with approaching cold/warm fronts and “H” and “L” letters representing the respective pressure systems.
5. Dale Wilson carrying around a briefcase and self-publishing his own newspaper. Why this one sticks out is a mystery to me.
Regardless, I thought of all of these things as my daughter and I walked through the doors this morning. Although I felt safe and secure, seeing the levels of security on campus reminded me that about the only thing still relevant in these hallowed halls was that big brother was now watching more than ever.
After spending the morning having breakfast we made our way to her homeroom. Once there I was quickly introduced to one of her classmates named Eric. Upon meeting me he immediately asked Jillian, “Does he know about David?”. “SHUT UP!” Jillian replied as Eric just chuckled. Later I would ask her what that was all about and Jillian told me that Eric thinks she likes David, another student in her class (one which she is quick to say she doesn’t)… Ah, young love.
It wasn’t long before the class clown/troublemaker made his presence known. Chad (name changed to protect the innocent), a ten year old boy who looked more like a linebacker was literally dancing around making “beat-box” sounds when the teacher’s back was turned. I think the level of commotion going on and students asking questions made her oblivious to his actions. Other kids were cracking up at his antics and as soon as the teacher turned back around he immediately would stop. Then sure enough, as soon as the teacher went back to work in a small group he’d act up again.
I had to laugh when I thought what the odds would be if I came back five years from now and Chad was still in the same class beat boxing?
BRRRING….School bell rang and it’s off to music class. My favorite. Usually there would be two periods of math but since she was signed up for band I got to sit with Jillian in a small group for clarinet lesson.
When the bell rang again we made our way to Math class. As we arrived the teacher, who was working out a problem on the board asked “Were you at music?”. When Jillian responded in the affirmative the teacher replied, “Oh, too bad. You missed some really great problems here”. It was all I could do to keep from saying: “Uhm, yeah…right…SURE she did!”..
Before I knew it lunch had arrived. We scurried our way into the lunch line. A smile appeared on my face when I discovered the tater tots were exactly as I remembered. Memories of the second period lunch at the high school flooded my senses.
About the only thing I lamented about lunch was that there were no green beans. Oh how I missed stabbing the green veggies with my straw. Trying to see how high I could fill the plastic straw before squeezing it’s contents back out on to the cardboard tray.
As we ate I asked Jillian what was next. “Science Class”, she replied. “But our normal teacher is not here today. We have a substitute”.
Substitute. That word triggered the memory of Mr. Stone, the universal substitute teacher in school. Mr. Stone worked as a substitute in pretty much every subject and to this day I’m not even sure what he was experienced to teach. When he was in for a sick teacher it was like study hall because nothing was about the only thing accomplished.
After Science, we made our way back to homeroom and then the funniest thing ever happened. The teacher wanted to take attendance again and she asked students to please acknowledge with a “Here” when their name was called. Now. most well behaved students would simply give the “here” as their name was called, although some thought to give more cool responses like “Yo” or “Hi There”. But when the teacher called out Chad’s name, he decided to answer with the “beat box”. The teacher asked him to answer properly, but the damage to me was already done.
I laughed…and I laughed…and I laughed. For some reason, him doing the beat box at that particular moment in time hit my funny bone. I was covering my face looking down at the desk with tears started coming from my eyes. I don’t know what it was that was so damn funny when he did that, but I almost had to leave the room. All the kids, including my own Jillian sat there laughing at me laughing. I don’t know how I was able to pull it together, but class continued.
The day ended with of all things an assembly. We entered the auditorium to watch The Bach Choir of Bethlehem perform a few selections. Maybe its because I’m in a choir myself or perhaps because I’m well beyond the middle school years but in either case I found them to be very entertaining.
As we walked out of school and headed home I had a new found appreciation for my daughter. Seeing her interact with others, openly raising her hand to ask questions and actively participate in school is quite the opposite of the way I was. I thought about all the memories she would now be making in these halls over the next four years.
Back in May of 1984 Marvel Comics released issue #252 of The Amazing Spiderman. As an avid Spidey fan it was no coincidence that Amazing Spiderman was the first comic book I ever subscribed to. But what was ironic was that this particular issue just happened to be the very first one I received in the mail.
It’s a Friday night in the early 1980’s and my friend Mike and I are hopping into the back seat of his Mom’s old blue station wagon and being chauffeur driven to the Palmer Park Mall. Thirty years ago, being a teenager at the mall on a Friday night was on par with going to the “Dip-and-Dances” at the Palmer Pool in the summer or hanging out with a bunch of classmates after a school event at Penn Pizza. Even if you weren’t popular, if you made it to the mall on Friday night you were part of the in-crowd.
go.Jimmy.go 