thought for food

 Before I get into todays rant, a shout out for good friend, soul brother and saxophonist extrodinairé, Marty Stonely who was hit by a car while walking a dog last week.

By all reports he's suffered a concussion but other than that (as if that isn't enough) he's got no broken bones and will recover nicely.

My prayers are out there for you my friend.

Thought for Food. . .

Some people live to eat, I eat to live.

For the most part, I keep a pretty short leash on my diet.
It's not and never has been a weight thing, I've been 160 lbs. since I was in high school.
(back when we wrote on stone tablets)

It's just that I've learned, over the years, more about nutrition and, more personally, what this mortal coil will enjoy and digest without any grief.

For example, I limit myself to only two cups of coffee in the morning (which, if you knew me when I was younger, it would be an "are you kidding, no way!!")

I make one hell of a green smoothie from
blueberries, bananas and spinach and a vegetable stew that, I've heard from friends I've shared it with, is to die for.
(yeah, I cook - sue me)
 There's not a lot of meat in my diet but for fish, usually Grouper or Snapper, I eat a garden salad every day and I do love my oatmeal.

I know not to eat greasy stuff (I learned that one the hard way a lot of years ago).
And like I said, it's never been about weight, it's all about feelin' alright.

I do the best I can but I'm the first to admit, that as good as I try to keep at it, I ain't no saint.

Every few months I'll stray from the nutritional path, and go over to Willie T's for a bacon cheeseburger.

  A couple of years ago I got on a kick for Cheetos.  . .

Last year it was Pepperige Farm cookies. . .

 . . .and just recently it was the all time favorite breakfast cereal of my childhood, CocoaPuffs.

 In every instance my body says, "what the hell is wrong with you man?"
Then, after the immediate gratification, there are several days of intestinal grief.

You'd think I'd know better by now.

take a bight

Sometimes I get my head so far up my work and worry,
I forget about all the cool stuff to do and see around Key West. (well, in my case, it's not so much worry - I've been up to the plate a few times so there aren't as many curve balls life can throw at me that I haven't seen before - but I have been known to work non-stop for weeks at a time)
Anyway, maybe that happens to you too.

It didn't happen as much when I was living a half block from the bight on William Street, it couldn't. . .
I'd hear Barry Cuda honky tonkin' on his piano at B.O's Fishwagon on Friday nights from my front porch; or saxman Marty Stonely (sorry, no website) on Sundays at Schooner Wharf jammin' reggae and calypso.
The music always drew me in and in the time it took to get to my feet, walk that half block singing the chorus of "Three Little Birds", I'd be there knowing. . .
"every little ting gonna be alright".

But now, living over here under the flight path on the cemetery side of town, it's a little different. The rousing sounds are the roar the jet engines passing overhead (but I don't get inspired to go to the airport) and when I finally do remember to get my dose of live music, it's an easy 15 minute walk; just enough time run "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" in my head while I take it.

What brought all this up for me was talking with a buddy who said that this "bullsh*t economy" had him working so much this past year that he hadn't been out on his boat for months and, did I see on T.V. Goldman Sachs this and
Obama Care that. . .

He raved on for a while and I wondered, privately, how a guy working so much made time for watching so much television.
"I'm telling you man", he continued "I'm so beat at the end of the days it's all I can do to crash in front of the tube with a brew at night." (. . .oh, that's how)

So I'm thinking, work all day everyday and then some at a job you don't like and worry that the ends still won't really meet and then let the 24 hour T.V. talking heads badger you 'til bedtime with crisis and chaos and an Afghan girl with her nose cut off.
That's a life you live, maybe, in New Jersey; but here?
In paradise?

So what's the fix?
I'm guessing the details are different for everyone and for sure, we all need to take care of business but the broad-stroke, at least for me is first, don't take it all so seriously (face it, in 100 years we'll all be dead), then relax and remember who you are and where you came from.
Make a list of the things that lighten your heart, bring peace to your mind and pleasure to your body.
Lay it all out on the table in front of you, your true ground of being, embrace it with all your love and take a bight.

musical musings

After we'd put this week's edition of the BluePaper to bed, Dennis, Rhonda and I sat down together for our weekly post production "staff meeting" at the Meteor.

It was good to have Rhonda back at the bar after her year long staff meeting sabbatical to have her new baby boy. Dennis and I both agree that she adds a touch of graceful elegance to the proceedings.

Anyway, they watch TV at the Meteor the same way I used to (back when I actually did watch TV) sound down, music up. I was on my way to resume my stool after "seeing a man about a horse" when I glanced at the TV that was set to the weather channel. Somewhere in America it was snowing like hell and as it does sometimes when I see snow scenes, that Michael McCloud lyric, ". . .I'd rather be here just drinkin' a beer than freezing my ass off up north. . ." smiled through my mind.

When I got back to the meeting my focus shifted, for a second, to something Aerosmith rockin' on the box and unconsciously my left hand mimicked the lick on an air guitar that wasn't there. Always impressively observant, Rhonda caught me doing it and asked if I played guitar. I told her I did and she wondered, after all the time we've known each other, why she didn't know that.

I explained that in Key West, no one really does and while I used to work on stage up north, now I only play for my own peace of mind. (like Sherlock Holmes playing his violin)

Well, I was doing exactly that a few days ago when I decided to change out the strings on the old D-50. While I was getting it done I thought back to a recent conversation I'd had with friend and famous sax-man, Marty Stonely about creative expression.

We agreed that whatever creative medium we were into; be it sax or guitar playing, painting or writing, taking photographs or shooting video; the energy invested in the creative expression is always constant and uniquely personal.

hmm. . . I mused as I tuned up my new strings, if the energy is a conscious constant, regardless of the medium employed, then the relationship between individual forms of creative expression must be inherently harmonic. . .

. . .and, with just a touch of design sense, I concluded, all the 8 or 9 mediums I work with could be brought to a single stage, a paradigm performance as an orchestra.

If I didn't lose you along the way there, you'll understand that I've discovered a new creative direction for the new year.
So, as we say at the BluePaper, "stay tuned". . .