Sweat Equity

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I have an over-active imagination; always have, and it’s not helped by the fact that I’m something of a popular culture junkie. Without realizing it, I’m constantly calling upon different books I’ve read or movies or television shows I’ve watched. So it probably shouldn’t be a surprise that my imagination kicked into overdrive when I visited the steam room at my area YMCA early one morning a couple of weeks ago.

I had finished working out and had a bit of time to kill before I met a friend for cofee. So before showierng I entered into the small tiled room and immediately sat down close to the door. The steam was so thick that I couldn’t tell if anyone else was in the room with me. But I’ve seen all the seasons of The Sopranos and multiple Scorcese films. I pictured all types of illicit conversations shared in hushed tones. Plus all types of illicit 1970’s and early 1980’s-style activities that I won’t get into here.

I’m a big believer in the truth being quite boring and the truth is that I was alone in the steam room. After a few minutes I had enough. So I showered and went on with my day.

In hindsight, I should have seen what was coming but when I mentioned the steam room to my wife and teenage kids, the kids teased me mercilessly. Neither of them have ever been in a steam room, mind you, but it seems that stereotypes and cliches have a way of enduring. My steam room visit became somethng of a thing,

But then something funny happened that in hindsight, I proabably also should have seen coming; our son Ethan became curious about the steam room. I had reserved two lap lanes in the YMCA pool this morning for Ethan and me. Ethan asked if we could go into the steam room after our swim.

As I sat there next to Ethan in the steam room, I considered how what the two of us were doing wasn’t so different from what so many of my ancestors had done before us – taking a “schvitz,” which is the Yiddish word for sweat and is used as a noun and a verb. A “schvitz” is essentially a bathhouse or steam room where Eastern European Jews, just like the relatives on both my wife and my sides of the family, would congregate; a place where they felt comfortable and welcome.

So much was going through my brain during the five or so minutes Ethan and I sat there. About Ukraine. About my Jewish identity. About the parent-child, especially the father-son bond and, as corny as it sounds, how everything comes full circle. That traditions and cultures will always endure.

Ethan and I looked at each other at around the same time. We’d both had enough. It was time to go and we agreed to do it again sometime soon.

Image credit: Leohoho

What Tom Said

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

If you enjoy listening to different genres of music, you reach a point pretty quickly where you hear songs from artists that are no longer with us. Many, unfortunately, leave us too soon because of accidents, violence or addiction; some go on to lead much longer lives. But I for one have come to just accept it. If I hear a song by Elvis Presley, John Lennon, Amy Winehouse … the list goes on and on, I rarely stop and think about the artist or miss them in any particular way. Except for Tom Petty, who died in October 2017.

I was fortunate enough to have seen Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers in St. Paul, back in December 2002. Jackson Browne opened and Mr. Petty took the stage in his velvet green Mad Hatter’s outfit.  Tom Petty gave it his all. And of course we expected nothing less of him.

Tom Petty always knew what he was good at and produced consistently, but in a way that wasn’t derivative.  He never displayed a over-reliance on technique while giving emotion short shift.  He played with both his heart and head while making it sound fresh and innovative, no matter how many years passed in the interim.

In my opinion, Tom Petty will always be mastery, personified. Just take one of my favorite lyrics of his, from the song “You Wreck Me”: I’ll be the boy in the corduroy pants; you be the girl at the high school dance.  Like everything else about Tom Petty, it says quite a bit while concurrently saying very little. And “corduroy” is such a great word choice and conjures up  images in my mind that Tom Petty may or may not have intended.  Awkwardness, yearning, tension, desire, joy – it’s all in the eye of the beholder.

Lately, another Tom Petty lyric has been on my mind – the “There ain’t no easy way out” refrain from “I Won’t Back Down,” off Petty’s excellent 1989 Jeff Lynne-produced Full Moon Fever. It’s like any other Petty lyric in that it’s deceptively simple but oh, so effective. And for some reason it’s so applicable to me lately.

I’m not sure what it is but for me, 2022 so far has been about trying to find a groove – personally, professionally; in every aspect of my life. I just want things to be peaceful, secure, and of course, writing this sentence amidst what’s going on in Ukraine seems so selfish and naive. But that’s very much what I’m feeling right now and of course I realize I’m hardly alone.

Because of this mindset, I sometimes find myself slipping toward taking the path of least resistance – what’s going to get me to a place, literally and figuratively, without hassles. Yet just because something’s hassle-free doesn’t mean it’s right. I find myself doing plenty of things I don’t really want to do. Things take me way longer than I anticipated. Actions don’t go the way I planned.

Throughout all these instances, I swear I hear Tom Petty’s voice and solid, workmanlike chords driving me, almost like a mantra. “Hey, baby, there ain’t no easy way out.” The other part, about not backing down, is unspoken of course. It literally helps me change my mindset from “oh man” to “stop griping and keep moving foward.” And I have every intention of letting Tom Petty guide me for as long as possible.

I recall that years ago another artist who I highly admire, Dave Grohl, said that in some ways, we’re all trying to be like Tom Petty. I couldn’t agree more.

Image credit:Mark Seliger

Guilty Until Proven Enduring

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve been watching the Hulu series Pam & Tommy and enjoying it quite a bit. Starring Lily James as Pamela Anderson and Sebastian Stan as Tommy Lee, the show covers a timeframe during the 1990’s when a home videotape was stolen from the couple and inadvertently set the template for quite a bit of our current junk, reality culture. Pam & Tommy features incredible performances by James and Stan, neither of whom I was familiar with, not to mention supporting roles by Nick Offerman and Seth Rogen like you’ve never seen him.

Pam & Tommy is frenetic, gratuitious and tons of fun. But under the surface the show sends quite a strong message about sexism and gender roles. Not to mention a perhaps unintended one about the notion of what constitutes a guilty pleasure; especially when it’s a pleasure that perhaps, despite itself, continues to endure.

Back in 1995 and 1996, when we first meet the couple in the Hulu series, Pamela Anderson’s career was very much on the rise and for Tommy Lee, it was quite the opposite. She was the star of Baywatch and promoting her ultimately ill-fated movie Barb Wire. Meanwhile, he was somewhat adrift in a musical landscape embracing Grunge and Alternative gengres while lumping bands like Lee’s Mötley Crüe, Poison, Warrant and others together as cheesy, dated, Sunset Strip relics.

There’s a great scene in the most recent episode of Pam & Tommy where Lee meets his Mötley Crüe bandmates at their label’s studio only to find they’ve been relegated to a smaller room. Their new labelmate, Third Eye Blind, has been given the main room.

There’s still a few episodes to go in Pam & Tommy but, as they say, I know how this movie ends. It’s shameful seeing the difference between the way Pamela Anderson was treated in the media and culturally in comparison to Tommy Lee once their tape was released. And while the show certainly can’t right the wrong, I do believe it paints a balanced, very empathetic view of Pamela Anderson. Yet it also demonstrates how popular culture is quite cylical and you never know what’s going to endure.

The thing is, many of us, myself included, never stopped listening to bands like Mötley Crüe and Poison long after their commercial peak or culture moment. But we felt like we somehow needed to justify it, listening in our car or while exercising, lest we be caught. We categorized the activity as a “guilty pleasure” – something we convinced ourselves we felt bad about enjoying. Which I believe is complete nonsense.

I’m biased because I’m a fan of Mötley Crüe and that type of music But I’d make the case that Mötley Crüe is as culturally relevant as ever. A few years back Netflix released The Dirt – a Mötley Crüe biopic based on the best-selling 2001 tell-all book. And this summer, the band is co-headling a stadium tour with Def Leppard that also includes Poison and Joan Jett.

I’m not sure what Third Eye Blind is up to.

Sebastian Stan as Tommy Lee and Lily James as Pamela Anderson. Image credit: Hulu.

Ties that Bind

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

If you’re lucky you develop one or two unique frienships that go on for years. Friendships where, no matter how much time has passed, you just pick up right where you left off. And regardless of how y ou’ve changed as people, the common threads of your friendship remain consistent.

I have two friends who fit in this category. Our Jewish identity is the common thread and we all grew up together in Connecticut and Massachusetts, respectively. One of us has, like me, lived in the Twin Cities for quite some time. Last year, the three of us decided to form a virtual book club that we informally dubbed “Boychick Lit.”

We take turns recommening books. By chance circumstances, a member of our group got to talking with the parent of one of his childrens’ friends. The woman, Taffy Brodesser-Akner, happened to be an author and had written a book, Fleishman Is In Trouble in 2019, which is currently being made into an FX original series. We decieed to read it as part of our club.

Beleiving it was wasteful to pay full price on my Kindle and not wanting to wait until I could find a used paperback copy, I did something that, despite my best intentions rarely do – visit my local library. I love libraries, always have. To me they’re these institutions that are constantly evolving yet remain rooted at a certain moment in time and evoke a sense of nostalgia. As it turns out my library had a copy of Fleishman Is In Trouble. I brought it home and have been devouring it ever since.

Fleishman Is In Trouble revolves around a Manhattan physician in his early forties who is going through a bitter divorce with his wife, a successful talent agent. On the surface, it might seem as though the characters would be difficult to relate to but I can tell you that the novel absolutely nails not only the modern Americn Jewish experience but what it means to be a married professional of a certain age. The book’s Wikipedia page notes comparisons to Philip Roth and John Updike, two of my favorite authors. When I saw this prior to reading Fleishman Is In Trouble, I assumed the praise was a bit hyberbolic. Now I can say it’s absolutely accurate.

When you get to a certain age or life stage, it’s easy to feel uprooted or adrift, even if you’re fortunate to have things be pretty steady at home and work. You, and by you I mean me, can tend to lose sight of your purpose. That’s why those ties that bind – friendship, faith, a book club recommendation, even a long enduring instiution like a local library, are so crucial.

Image credit: Jackson Simmer

Avenged!

Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I have a somewhat odd relationship with the Danish band Volbeat. Technically, I’ve seen them in concert two and a half times. The first time was back in 2016 when they played lead-off spot at a Metallica concert (we found our seats halfway through Volbeat’s set – hence the aforementioned “and a half” reference). The second was a co-headling spot with Godsmack back in 2019. And the third was another co-headling spot with Ghost – a concert I saw only 10 days ago

And the thing is, despite all the times I’ve seen Volbeat, I’m not that crazy about them. They’re solid and in fact play a very unique blend of metal, rock and rockabilly. It’s just that I find the band nothing speical. It just so happens they’re typically on the bill with other bands I really want to see.

So there I was, 10 days ago, about midway through Volbeat’s set at the Target Center in Minneapolis, when I was recalling with my friend and seatmate the other times I’d seen them. He also attended the 2016 Metallica show and I asked him if he could remember the band that played after Volbeat. He couldn’t and neither could I, for the life of me.

“Let’s not Google it, and see if we can figure it out on my own,” I told my friend. He smiled, nodded, and then we both went back to watching the concert.

For the past 10 days, the thought of this band has been twirling around in the recesses of my brain. Every day or so I’ll get a quiet moment and try to recall it. But then I’d get pulled back into the countless things I have going on at any point in time and give up on my search. Until the thought came back in to my head. Again and again.

Yesterday, I was driving on the freeway, on my way to pick up our daughter Sasha at driver’s ed, listening to 93X, a local Rock station. I heard a vaguely memorable song and saw the digital screen on the radio start scrolling “Avenge…” That’s when it hit me! Avenged Sevenfold was the band that opened up for Metallica back in 2016. Who played right after Volbeat.

I was almost at my destination and parked my car while the Avenged Sevenfold song was still playing. Then I grabbed my phone and texted my friend. My sense is that it I was way more excited about the find than him but it hardly mattered. After the song faded, “Dance Macabre” by Ghost started playing and for one brief, shining moment, all was good in my karmic universe.

I’m as guilty as anyone of relying too much on technology and the truth is that it has made our lives more convenient in countless ways. But I fall into the trap of not being able to imagine life without it. Truth is, it feels pretty darned good.

Image credit: Japheth Mast

On Rooting for Mitch

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Much in the same way I find myself pulling for a particularly compelling villian in a movie or television show, I’m rooting for Senate Minortiy Leader Mitch McConnell. This past week the Kentucky Republican critized the Republican National Committee (RNC) for censuring Reps. Liz Cheney of Wyoming and Adam Kinzinger of Illinois for their participation on the House panel investigaging the Jan. 6 insurrection. By the way, this is the insurrection that the RNC referred to as “legitimate politcal discourse” during the same meeting.

Now, I’m not a fan of Mitch McConnell’s politics and even though I don’t know the man, find him kind of icky. But Sen. McConnell has always weirdly impressed me. He’s cold, tough, strategic and calculating; he plays the long game and doesn’t make a move until he’s thought it out beforehand. My sense is he truly believes Donald Trump’s days as a political force are numbered. And man, I so hope he’s right.

Of course, the former president is in the news again (surprise) this week for his handling of classified documents both while in office and his post presidential days. Tearing up documents. Flushing them down toilets. Possibly even eating them.

And the thing is; regardless of your politics, we’ve seen this game before. Trump’s actions are at the center of a news cycle. The liberal-leaning media chastize him and the right-leaning media justify or enable him. The actions equally embolden Trump’s supporters and detractors. Life goes back to normal and Trump, as always, gets away with it. I wish I could remember who it was but some journalist once said that because everything sticks to Trump, nothing sticks. That’s exactly it.

But I still hope that one day (hopefully soon) the ride ends for Trump. That he ends up not in jail (which I believe he deserves) but a fate that I know he dreads much worse – irrelevant. Not a politcal force. Not a social force. Just a matter from another day and time that we’re all happy to leave behind.

I tend to have an overactive, cinematic mind and when it comes to Trump I conjure up a scene that’s like something out of a Scorcese film or Law and Order episode. A group of tired, well-meaning bureaucrats are sitting in a grey, bland meeting room with black and white photos of President Trump and his associates on a corkboard. There’s Post-it notes and markers showing connections between various crimes and misdemeanors.

A messenger walks into the conference room and announces that Trump has recently slithered out of the most recent proverbial net. An audible groan arises from the group. But one member, the oldest and wisest of the bunch – a Sam Waterston or Martin Sheen type says, with a clear sense of resignation, “Don’t worry. This son of a bitch is going to screw up one of these days. And we’re going to be there when he does.”

But in actuality I wonder if this figure in question isn’t an earnest fictional bureaucrat but a frustrated, owl-like Senator from Kentucky. Waiting in the wings to take down a rival he, despite public comments to the contrary over the years, he so clearly despises. That would be fine by me.

Image credit: Drew Angerer/Getty Images

Between the Light and the Shoe

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m a superstitious type; always have been. So I’m constantly mindful of the dreaded jinx. This makes it very hard to expereince joy. Now, I’m not talking about real, deep-seated joy and satisfcation. I’m referring to those seemingly little things that can make a big difference. So when something good comes along I’m reticent to embrace it because I’m waiting for that proverbial other shoe to drop.

Not to pass blame on a locale but I truly believe living in the Twin Cities fosters my sky-is-falling thinking and a big part of it, like everything else in Minnesota, is weather-driven. I’ve lived in this area for more than 25 years; it’s where I call home and on so many levels, is a great place to live. But the weather sucks; there’s no way around it. And we’re conditioned to seize upon any type of decent weather because we know it will be short-lived.

Yesterday was a prime example. It was in the high 30’s in Minneapolis, which for early February, is practically a heat wave. Speaking of February, the month always serves as a key winter milestone for me. I know that, depending on the year, we could have quite a bit of winter ahead of us. Yet February is when I start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel – figuratively as well as literally, given it’s light outside for longer in the evenings.

By midmorning, I was feeling pretty good. Work was going fine. Kids were both back at school and the house was peaceful. COVID infection rates, both locally and nationally, were falling. For a brief second, I truly began letting down my guard.

And, just like that, the power went out in our house, along with others in our neighborhood. Some widespread outage. At this point it was around 1:00 p.m. and my wife Wendy and I started planning the next few hours – where we’d go, what we’d do. We kept wondering how long the outage would last.

Fortunately, even though it felt much longer, the outage was relatively brief. Just enough to be a major inconvenience. And a reminder of how conenient our lives truly are.

Several hours later, I was standing on our deck, grilling. For one brief moment there I actually felt pretty fortunate. I just didn’t want to linger too long on the thought. Because I’ve seen how that goes.

Image credit: Adrian Regeci

Don’t Call it a Comeback; They’ve Been Here for Years

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve gotten to the age and point in life where weekends, except for being times when I’m fortunate enough to take a break from work, are pretty similar to each other. But I was really looking forward to this one. On Friday my wife Wendy and I were planning on taking a day off together. And on Saturday I was seeing my first arena concert since the pandemic began. There was just one thing giving me pause: my respective planned outings would take me, respectively, to Uptown and downtown Minneapolis.

I don’t have to tell you that Minneapolis, especially during the past few years, has been going through a tough time. Our city is in the headlines again as I write this post and not for good reasons. Riotings, shootings and a ton of carjackings of late are resulting in businesses closing and people staying away. I never could see myself as one of those people. Until I did.

On Friday Wendy and I arrived at the Lagoon Theater in Uptown after an incredible brunch at The Copper Hen and parked on the street. We were there to see Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film Licorice Pizza and hadn’t been to the theater, or Uptown, in quite some time. Now, Wendy and I used to live in Uptwon back in the day and I have such fond memories associated with the area, like standing in line to see a matinee of Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights at the now-closed Uptwon Theater.

As we made the short walk to the theater, it was clear to me that just in the immediate vicinity, Uptown was still there. Bars and restaurants for the choosing. A certain grit and character. It just seemed empty and uninviting. All it needed was people.

The Lagoon Theater is nothing special and doesn’t hold a candle to the bells and whistles you will find inside any suburban multiplex. But it was the perfect setting to watch a matinee with my wife on a winter Friday afternoon. I knew the experience wouldn’t be the same anywhere else.

I had a similar enjoyable experience last night when I joined a group of friends to see a twin billing of Ghost and Volbeat at the Target Center in downtown Minneapolis. We parked in the North Loop and went to Grace Provisions + Libations for, well provisions and libations prior to the show. The place was pretty quiet but a good atmosphere and great food. Then we headed to the concert.

I had seen Ghost and Volbeat in concert previously but last night was particularly special. For starters, two people in my group weren’t familiar with either band so it was fun seeing true music fans openly embrace a new experience. But beyond that, it just felt so darned good to be out in a large gathering, espeically on a weekend night.

I know those problems I noted earlier are quite serious and won’t be solved by people going to matinees and concerts. But I do get that neighborhoods crumble, literally and figuratively, when people start avoiding them. It starts small; first you consider seeing a movie, then pass. Then it’s dinner, or a concert and before too long, our collective absences really start making a difference.

Of course, the opposite is true as well. Just last week I learned that the Uptown Theater will be turned into a live music venue. Ideally other similar developments will follow. And before too long, it will really start marking a difference.

The Uptown Theater in Minneapolis. Image credit: Carlos Gonzalez

Down Doheny Way … or Drive

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

When you get to a certain age you don’t care as much about being first when it comes to a particular popular culture trend; what matters is that you enjoy it. So it’s in this spirit that I arrived at the reality television party relatively late. During the pandemic, our family watched Keeping Up with the Kardashians and from there it was a slippery slope that’s morphed into a series of real estate-based reality shows like Selling Sunset and Million Dollar Listing – both the New York and Los Angeles versions.

We were watching Million Dollar Listing Los Angeles recently when I heard a familar phrase that I couldn’t quite place – “Doheny Drive,” a premier area in Beverly Hills. Doheny, Doheny. It just seemed so ingrained in my consciousness yet I wasn’t sure as to the source. Then it dawned on me – the lyric “And down Doheny Way,” from the classic Beach Boys song “Surfin’ USA.”

If someone asked me my favorite band, ever, I would have to say The Beach Boys in that they’re the one band I literally enjoyed as a child and still listen to (and enjoy) today. And to be clear, I’m referring to the 1960’s Brian Wilson Beach Boys, not the Hawaiian shirt, Mike Love-led “Kokomo” Beach Boys.

Back in the late 1970’s or early 1980’s my maternal grandfather gave me a Sony tape recorder for my birthday – quite heavy by today’s standards and about the dimensions of a hardcover book. I naturally taped my family’s conversations until the bit grew old. So I rummaged around our house looking for music cassette tapes. I recall finding three; all Greatest Hits collections – by Jim Croce, John Denver and The Beach Boys. Ultimately I sampled all. But The Beach Boys stuck.

I would take my tape recorder outside and sit, by myself, listening to The Beach Boys. Phrases like “a bushy, bushy, blonde hairdo,” “the hamburger stand” and “first gear, it’s all right” became embedded in my brain. There, in rural Connecticut, amidst the mosquitoes and chirping birds, I swear I could hear the Pacific ocean, even though I’d only seen it on a map. Although at that point I would have given anything to see any girl in a bikini, I envisioned willowy bikini-clad blondes walking along a boardwalk waving at me. I felt as though I was immediately transported to this imaginary Southern California landscape just by listening to The Beach Boys. And I loved it.

I’ve only been to Southern California a handful of times for work trips but the area still holds a special place in my soul. It’s like the lyric from James Taylor’s “Mexico” – “I never really been but I’d sure like to go.” And I know that the way I envsion the area, to this day, is based on Brian Wilson’s lyrics, and what I see in shows like Million Dollar Listing Los Angeles.

It wasn’t until I sat down to write this post that I bothered Googling “Doheny” as it relates to Southern California. It turns out the “Surfin’ USA” lyric refers to Doheny State Beach, not Doheny Drive, which is something entirely different.

But the thing is, I’ve never let reality interfere with my idealized version of Southern California. And I have no intention of starting now.

Image credit: Mike Fox