Beyond The Ken

I love words. I'm good at the English ones. I'm getting better at the Spanish ones. I know a bit of Mandarin, as in "Nǐ hǎo ma" or "hello". I think. I have a friend of mine on the train who is trying to teach me Italian. Every morning when I catch the 6:17AM to Penn Station from Lindenhurst, there she is greeting all of her train friends --including me -- with a cheerful "Buon giorno!" I even know a bit of Thai -- that land where almost everyone's name has a "porn" suffix, as in Phanporn. (Man that always makes me snicker in humor.) But Thailand is one of the most beautiful lands I've ever laid eyes on, so it always gives me great pleasure when I can join my palms, bow, and greet a local with a sawat-dee-kaa (for female) or a sawat-dee-khrab (for males ...this one also makes me snicker because it sounds like "crap" when you hear it).

Lately, though, one word has been tripping me up time and again. It's the word ken. This also happens to be the name of someone for whom I reserve no cheer, which may explain why I keep lacerating my linguistic knees and elbows every time that word comes to mind. But he's not the topic of this post. Still there's the tripping.


So, I dusted myself off bandaged the wound, and went out to get myself a definition. Here's what I found from dictionary.com:


ken /kɛn/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[ken] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation noun, verb, kenned or kent, ken·ning. –noun

1.	knowledge, understanding, or cognizance; mental perception: an idea beyond one's ken.

2.	range of sight or vision.

–verb (used with object)

3.	Chiefly Scot. a. to know, have knowledge of or about, or be acquainted with (a person or thing). b. to understand or perceive (an idea or situation).

4.	Scots Law. to acknowledge as heir; recognize by a judicial act.

5.	Archaic. to see; descry; recognize.

6.	British Dialect Archaic. a. to declare, acknowledge, or confess (something). b. to teach, direct, or guide (someone).

–verb (used without object)

7.	British Dialect. a. to have knowledge of something. b. to understand.

Once I read this, it hit me. There is just so much shit I don't understand about this world. Language aside, there are some concepts that simply escape me. To use ken in a sentence, there are some things in this world, that are beyond my ken.

Religion is one of them. I was once a practicing Catholic, so I think I know a thing or two about faith and believing and living for an afterlife in heaven. Conceptually, I get what Catholicism is all about, but even as a Catholic it never failed to stump me, why so many Catholics get hot and bothered by people who don't believe the same way. Take for example this story in Long Island Newsday in which a local retired fireworks company executive living in Patchogue, NY has made it his business to fight the "secularization" of Christmas. To wit, "We are bringing Christmas back to Long Island," says M. Philip Butler. I ask, aren't there better things to do with one's time in retirement than worry about the fate of a holiday co-opted from the Druids? Like many "downtowns" across the U.S., Patchogue's is hurting, and all this wingnut can think of is how his dear holiday was stolen. Way above my ken.

Consumer debt is another. When I was a kid, my parents were quite "frugal" with household finances. As the parents of seven, hungry growing kids stuffed into three-bedroom Manhattan housing project apartment, I could see now why my mother would tell me, "Oh, it's just a small hole. Keep wearing them," when I showed her how worn the bottom of my Pro-Keds were. They managed quite nicely because they based their purchases on need. Moreover, they did what few people do these days, they prioritized those needs so that a pair of new sneakers didn't keep us from going hungry. Let's face it folks. We are not any richer than our parents were in the 1970s, 1960s or 1950s. In fact, we're probably poorer now when you consider how devalued the dollar has become. What I don't understand is that if we are sooo fucking poor, why do we accept being chastised and negatively "scored" by credit rating agencies for not carrying some kind of debt; as if paying cash for something were some form of scarlet letter. As more and more people default on jumbo mortgages they had no business taking in the first place, and with the holiday, "Christmas" season approaching, it perplexes me how these Visa commercials are still on the air. Is carrying mounds of unaffordable debt just to move quickly through a convenience store the apogee of out existence? I don't get it. I have no ken for this one.

Finally, there's this gem from the sands of Saudi Arabia, where the authorities there jailed and whipped a 19-year old woman for being a rape victim -- you can read about it here. When she and her lawyer complained about the injustice of the charge and sentence, the Saudi courts "upped" the sentence. This woman was gang-raped by seven men, and because she broke some Islamic law about hanging out with men not her brother or husband, she gets tossed into the klink, too. The worst part in all this is our own government's reaction in which they "expressed astonishment" though not directly to the Saudi government. And don't kid yourself into thinking that a Democratic President would react in the same way. Sure, Hillary Clinton talks a good game in debates and on the campaign trail, but if she's elected President, her administration will be sucking at the Saudi oil teat just like every other one has since the 1950s. What perplexes me is not so much the inhumanity and barbarity of the sentence, but the hubris of the Saudi government to defend the actions of their courts. I know it's a "cultural" thing in Saudi Arabia, but so is female genital circumcision in parts of Africa. Calling it a tenet of culture does not make it right. Yet, it persists. This is so beyond the ken for me.

There is so much more in this world that I simply do not understand. Someday, I'll write about them here. For now, I suppose I should just shut the fuck up and listen more to what people are trying to tell me -- at home, at work, or wherever I may find myself . But there's this nagging little thing inside me called a conscience and sometimes it needs to speak up before it gets kenned by subjective insights. Sometimes, I have this need to call it like I see it. Sometimes, I need to say, "Ken, you're full of khrab."

Wǎnshàng hǎo my friends. Buona sera!

Exorcising Demons

We all have bad weeks. I think mine happened last week. It actually started out well. But for reasons I can't discuss, it almost turned into a situation where I could be looking for new employment. Honestly, I should have just told them to Take This Job and Shove It --



But I really need the money.

So what do I do? Seek out the company of friends and a few nice frosties to quench my thirst for alcohol, that's what. Tracy, Josh, Fabulous Frank, Ivonee and Amrita were all waiting for me wondering if I would show up. A few beers, a few laughs, some jalepeno poppers and a few tokes from the one hit should be more than enough anger management. But I was not quite done exorcising the demons from my being.

Flash forward to Saturday evening. After having spent much of the day catching up on work I didn't get done because of the three days I missed in training class, I was about to settle down and read up on all the blogs I've neglected, and watch the NY Rangers take on the Pittsburgh Penguins. But no. I had to deal with the drama of The Eldest's misplaced pocketbook. We literally turned the house over looking for the knock-off Louis Vuitton which contained The Eldest's mobile phone and school ID. All the while I was shouting expletive deleteds with every other word, not realizing the cathartic effect it was having on me. I became a clean-freak zealot, raising couches and hell, putting our vacuum cleaner to such great use, I thought I'd burn out the motor. In looking for her purse, I discovered that our house was really disgusting.

Part of my rant included sending the kids to their rooms to clean up their messes. The Eldest went to hers and did what she was famous for -- tossing everything under her bed hoping no one would notice. By then E. had left the house to hand with some friends at a knock-off pocket book party. A few moments later, E. called to send The Eldest over. Apparently, E. and her girlfriends all felt sorry for The Eldest's "loss" and wanted to engage in some mother-daughter bonding. Pobrecita! Meanwhile, I'm turning over the entire house still looking for her "loss".

Well, I found the purse. It was buried behind her bed under all the crap she had thrown in there. I was so amazed and pissed at the pile I pulled out. I took a picture.

The first words out of my mouth after I told her that I found her purse was "You're grounded for a fucking week!" I'm not quite sure what exactly that means to a young girl with more communication outlets than CNN, but it felt good saying it. The exorcism continued. The bad karma oozed out of me like the goo from a popped zit. It was putrid.

It's now this afternoon. After having played an exhausting game of touch football in the morning. I figured I sit home, relax, crack open the laptop, catch up on my blog reading, and watch the NY Giants take on the Detroit Lions. That's when I got a call from Joe.

Joe: Yo! I want to get together at Naumowicz's house for jam. You up for it?

Me: Sure. Let me talk to E. and see what's going on here.

A few moments later.

Me: Yo! I'm in. I'll see you at 2:30. I'm bringing (The Eldest) to sing with us.

Joe: Cool. But then we can't smoke the....

Me: Don't sweat it bro. You can go a day without it, can't you?

Joe: Alright man. I'll see you later.

The afternoon turned out to be the thing I needed to finally expel the demons from the past week. I needed to do something creative and fun and I was glad that I dragged The Eldest out to see how music is made outside of the school and chorale setting. Here's a video of an original song called "Falling" written by Joe. Can you guess who's with him in this cut?



My apologies for the blurriness and sound quality. The Eldest took this video with our Sony Cyber-Shot. I'm also including a shot of Joe going solo singing Don McLean's "Vincent"



Here's to hoping this week was better than the last.

So...I Took A Few Days Off

What of it?

It's been a long week. I've been away for a work-related training class and because of my return flight was nearly three hours late from "ground delays" at JFK International, I did not get back to the beautiful, bucolic Lindenhurst, NY until sometime after midnight. (I was expecting to be home by 9pm. Do the math.)

Anyway, long story short, I'm tired. But before the head that's thinking these lame-ass words hits the pillow for the night, I thought I'd drop a musical gift for my pal FranIAm on the occasion of her 50th birthday. (I think she's lying about her age though. She doesn't look a day over 35 to me.)

Dave "Mahoney" Mullen and Butta at the Triad, October 10, 2007, performing two numbers from is new CD, Mahoney's Way.

Like Rashaan



Flip It

Call a Doctor! I've Been Memed!

The great Mathman has gone viral on me, infecting me with his meme, which he got from FranIAm, who got it from her blogfriend, Diane, who herself was memed by Wyldth1ng. Man, I feel so dirty. Maybe we need blog condoms or something, because I feel like I just caught The Clap.

But I could never refuse a good challenge, so here goes:

1. I hate tourists in NYC, especially the ones that walk around Times Square. For two years, I worked at the Marriott Marquis Hotel right, smack, dab in the middle of the crossroads of the world and it never amazed me to see tourists walking five across on the sidewalk craning their necks at all the tall buildings. When you've got ten minutes to get catch a train at a station that's ten blocks away, the last thing you need is a wall of fat-assed out-of-towners blocking your way.

2. I was a terror as a young kid. Although I will elaborate on this random fact in a future post, once in kindergarten, I hit my teacher in the back of the head with a sneaker because she forced me to take a nap when I didn't want to. While the PF Flyer found it's mark on the back of her head, eventually, my father's shoe found my skinny little ass when he found out. That didn't stop me from getting uppity with Mrs. Carroll, though.

3. I once had a class picture taken of me with a snot in my nose. Another potentially bloggable item. I never lived this one down at home or at school. My mother still has the picture. One day, I'll get it and scan because I really have no shame anymore.

4. I lost my virginity at the ripe old age of 19. I'm not sure if was really a late bloomer or simply unlucky in sex, but I definitely made up for the lost time.

5. I sold sweaters in college for one semester. Lots of them. Some people say I missed my calling as a salesman because I was good at it. Then again, when your entire market is virtually made up of hot, young women looking for a bargain (Macy's was selling my sweaters for 400% more than I was), selling them really wasn't that hard. Hmmm. Hard. That's precisely the state of arousal I'm in now just thinking about those days.


6. I prefer to sit next to women when I commute to work. They're thinner and generally smell nicer than the men on the train. Anyone who rides the LIRR knows that the seats on the new M-1 trains are cramped and uncomfortable, especially when two middle-aged fat-asses try to sit together. Ask anyone who rides with me what my favorite phrase is -- sit where you fit.


7. I shook hands with Colin Powell in 1995, and I have a picture to prove it. Please no comments on the hairdo. I was growing it after....

8. Getting a crew cut the week before the Oklahoma City bombing. People at work said I looked so much like the then-suspect, Timothy McVeigh, that my nickname that year was "bomb boy".

9. I freak out when thunderstorms approach. In fact, anytime extreme, inclement weather is predicted for the NY area, I get absolutely fucking giddy. Snowstorms, hurricanes, Nor'easters, you name it and I want to be out in it driving my 1999 Jeep Grand Cherokee -- which I drive less and less now that gas is nearing $3.20 a gallon by me.

10. One of my wife's best friends, in a drunken stupor, tried to make out with me on my wedding day! I kid you not.

So, because this is a viral exercise, I now meme CDP, Cunning Runt, and Kelso. Have at folks. Ten random things about you.....

Why Cheer When You Can Play?

Nothing sets the Girl off like telling her that cheerleading is not a sport.

It's not.

We've been having this on-and-off again feud for the last few years. We'd state our thesis, offer rebuttals, then toss out the questions. I like to think that I am training a future jurist or simply teaching a young woman to stand her ground. But she's only 15 after all, and if you've ever tried debating a 15-year old, it always goes swimmingly well until something -- some statement -- causes it to end with a yell for "MOMMY!!!!!!" I'll get to why later....

Right now, I want to marvel at the fine argument The Girl has constructed for why cheerleading is a sport. Her position is anchored by the fact that cheerleaders compete. Agreed. If you've ever had the pleasure (or misfortune) of sitting through one of these events, you'll know the competition is as fierce as any sports contest; the routines are as choreographed as any Broadway show; the training and physical skill needed to compete even at the high school level is incredible. There's no doubt that cheerleaders are athletes. But cheerleading is not a sport.



My counter is that it's more like a form of competitive dance, in the way that figure skating and gymnastics are. Yes, I know that the last two examples are Olympic "competitions", but unlike a sport, in cheerleading one is judged on aesthetic qualities and not one's ability to race against a clock or juke a defender out of his or her Chucks on the way to an easy hoop. Cheerleading is not a head-to-head competition in the way that "sports" like football, basketball, and hockey are....



My friend and former co-worker Tracy said it best. She is a former Division 1A college cager (that's a basketball player) who knows a thing or two about sports. A few years ago, when I mentioned to her that the Girl was interested in cheerleading and wanted to try out for the high school squad, she shot back, "Why Cheer When You can Play?"

My sentiments exactly. In fact, it's the statement I use to inflame the Girl to the "MOMMY!" point whenever I feel I need to end the debate. Who says we can't learn something from neo-cons?

To all you Ariannas and Craigs out there, I say this: if you want cheerleading to be a sport, allow an opponent to make funny faces at you while performing your routine; allow your opponent to hit you with a tumbling body check while performing your stunts; allow the other team to hold their ears and yell "LA LA LA LA LA...I'M NOT LISTENING!!!!" while you vocalize your school spirit. Then, and only then, will I consider cheerleading a sport. Until then, shut up, lace 'em on, hit the hardwood or the turf, and play. That's what I did, and look how far it got me.

Yet Another Shameless Post for My Jazz Man Brother in Law

Oh, things I won't do for family. Listen, if you're in town and in a mood for good jazz, stop by and check out Dave's show this Thursday. Hope to see you all there.



Roberts Music Group invites you to a special event for jazz recording artist
DAVE MULLEN and BUTTA
CD entitled “MAHONEY’S WAY”

Thursday November 8, 2007 @CUTTING ROOM (212) 691-1900 19 West 24th Street (between Broadway/6th Ave) New York City Show starts at 10PM $10 Cover

With:
Dave Mullen- Tenor and soprano saxophones
Anthony Robustelli- Keys
Don Martin- Bass
Greg Gonzales- Drums
Ronnie Roc- Percussion
Eric J- Turntables and Rhymes
Lisala Beatty- Lead vocals
Gregory K. Lathan-Vocals
Kira Smith- Vocals
Wendell Jordan- Vocals
Leslee Warren- Vocals
with Special Guests


www.davemullen.com
www.myspace.com/davemullenandbutta


"David Mullen on tenor and soprano saxes comes equally from the David Sanborn and Gato Barbieri schools of phrasing and rhythmic pulse, and he has a melodic sensibility on a par with Stan Getz as a young musician."
-Thom Jurek All Music Guide (AMG)

...."He's paid attention to a wide swath of records from the sax greats, learned the lessons without regurgitating them. A sparkling debut that's well worth your attention."
-Chris Spector Midwest record

"Mahoney's Way" is an exception, for what I've had to get used to. A wonderful project that includes most titles written by Mullen and an excellent re-make of Stevie Wonder's "As". Some of the titles I prefer are the up tempo "Flip It", "Chase Away Rain" and I love the "Like Rashaan" and it's apparent that Dave has been influence by some of the best. A great CD that could change the direction of modern jazz."
-WorldSpace Corporation Satellite Radio

All Those Years Ago

This post is coming to you late on evening of November 4, 2007, but it's been a long time coming. On this date in 1990, E. and I were married. It was a day not unlike today in the New York area, although I recall it being warmer. It was Marathon Sunday and the New York Giants football team was off (they had the Monday night game that year), so, I had no excuse for not showing up at the church. Anyway, how could any man get cold feel with a bride as stunningly beautiful as this?




















It's 17 years later and we're still kicking it together. Though this date certainly wasn't as exciting as it was in 1990, we always seem to make the best of what the day gives us. Instead of the wild party on our wedding day that featured a kick ass band playing everything we asked for including "Love Shack" (I take full responsibility for making that B-52s song a wedding staple), we took care of a long list of chores and errands, listening to the music our kids enjoy.

Instead of hanging out in bed on Sunday mornings figuring out how we'll spend our day, we're drawing straws to see who gets up first to feed the dog, shower, dress, and pick up the bagels and the Sunday paper. We're trying to get our daughter to dance, 13 out of bed, and the little one to put some clothes on.

We don't live in an apartment apartment in Mineola, NY that featured the rumble and whistle of the diesels locomotives going to and coming from Oyster Bay, we live in a house with a nice sized back yard where we could still hear diesel locomotives go by on the Babylon Branch.

Clearly, many things have changed for me and E. But we still love each other and that's what counts.

Our wedding song:



The portrait in this post was painted by the artist Margaret Clark in 1991. I gave it to E. on our first wedding anniversary.