Welcome to Malarky Monday!
If you haven't been here, done that and bought the t-shirt
we take the first day of the week to see if we can get you to one simple thing:
Smile!
It's silly but we are having a hell of a time doing it.
This is our 'Silver Anniversary' week.
25 posts!
Be sure to visit my fellows in hijinx from the land of Oz after your brief visit here.

*Moe
*Morky
*Dilligaf

Thought I would bring back my little kitty friend from several weeks ago.
This time he's had a bit too much catnip.
Seems he really likes the stuff.

 

And never, EVER, trust a kangaroo.
the sneaky, bloody bastards . . . 

 

 

Don't leave home without these . . .
(wtf?)
Makes anything into a sandwich, huh?
Too bad they don't have pumpernickel . . .

 

Last but not least . . .
Have you been to the movies lately?
Mmmm . . .  yeah, I thought so.

Happy Malarky Monday folks!
Be sure to visit my whacky friends!

It was 5 years ago that I hit the 'publish' button for this post.
Many things have happened since that innocent and 'so me' post.
I like to think my writing has matured a bit and that I have taken many of you
on my journey down the road of life.
I want to thank each and every one of you for being a part of my life (good or bad)
for the past 5 years.
You have enlightened me, guided me, made me laugh and have given me solace when I needed it most.
You guys are incredible.
I will pat myself on the back for blatant consistency.
I think I can give me that.
There are several people I need to deeply thank.
Pamela, for believing in me when I no longer believe in myself. (and letting me know about it)
My three girls for keeping me on my  toes. Always.
For Jon, he keeps me cooking. I love cooking,
He is a man that will drive through hell and high water to have a bowl of my Cincinnati Chili,
Thanks, Jon
Last but not least, my family from Australia.
Maureen, Mark, Kelly.Zoe, Mel, Steve, Tash, Stick, Wil, Stella, Lucas, Issac, Max and all!
(who did I miss?)
Thanks to all that have visited and commented.
Read some '''old'''' Murph  . . . .
And watch the video at the end!

 

This is a piece I wrote several years ago but still seems to me to apply to the present day music industry.
I am still a musician at heart but venues to work in are drying up faster than a droplet of water in a bucket of dry sand.
It's an abysmal state of affairs these days musically and sadly we all saw it coming.
Some say business is cyclical. I wonder.
Hey, Paul McCartney played the halftime show Super Bowl Sunday, right?

Remembering Miss American Pie

The musicians of the 60’s and 70’s had a wealth of powerful and insightful compositions from which to draw their inspiration. The songs had shine and creative musical integrity that would forever set them apart from today’s musical mainstream.
The music spoke of the dynamic of the human experience; from love found and lost to political innuendo shaking hands with world peace.
The older generation frowned upon these freedoms of expression and saw the music created as an irrevocable evil to be stamped out in the hopes of ending the reign of terror that floated over the airwaves.
From the shaking hips of Elvis to the Mop-Tops from England to the androgynous and enigmatic David Bowie, the music written back then made us think and connect; it gave us an up close and personal view of the broken heart.
So what the hell happened to perceptive content?
Music, in its purest form is therapy, a most fundamental discipline of meditation the human race has, but along the way we altered the magic formula, ultimately changing its destiny as well.
It’s supposed to make you feel good.
Just think of a song that truly means something to you, take out a piece of paper, and jot down five things that come to mind immediately.
Chances are you can come up with more than ten.
That’s the miracle of music; when something unexpected touches the heart.
Much of what I hear today is tainted, biased and so musically inept that when I hear one of these prized gems, I can only wildly shake my head and slobber saliva like an angry PBR bull (which tends to make loved ones around me very uncomfortable).
A rule of thumb for future songwriters regarding lyrics: if it rhymes with shucking but has nothing to do with corn, get out a thesaurus and find another word.
The English language is chock full of them. Really.
It seems that few people write real songs anymore; that is a simple and yet sobering fact, not a generality. If it weren’t for artists like John Mayer and Dave Matthews, I’d have lost my mind by now.
Much of the music today is like bad poetry, arranged, set to a groove from the late eighties, and thrown into a 4,000 track, all digital recorder (yes, all the tracks must be used, read the contract).
Recently, while listening to a song on a brand X radio station out of Boston—the exact frequency slips my mind…you’re welcome—I remember thinking to myself, what language is this guy speaking?
I strained to hear anything remotely intelligible.
Musically speaking, the song was as mundane and pedestrian as an arrangement that oozes from a generic portable keyboard purchased at Wal-Mart.
I also thought that somewhere in the midst of this urban cacophony, I could hear the sound of a dog being run over and over, and over again… I’m not positive about that and maybe it’s just me. Somebody call the ASPCA.
The inspiration for this article came to me as I ambled down Main Street a few weeks ago (us old guys don’t walk, we amble…it’s much hipper) when a pulsating sub-compact Toyota Celica loaded with what sounded like two, maybe three 18-inch subwoofers drove past me towards City Hall, emitting music so thunderous it almost knocked down the lady walking next to me.
Initially, I thought it was just wind.
I didn’t get the license plate number because I was too busy bending over to retrieve my own two eyeballs off the sidewalk.
Sound pressure levels that can cause buildings to vibrate precariously…hmm, I wondered if the Slater Building was up to code on that one.
Nope, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
Then there’s the whole debacle surrounding present day artists hiding behind the 5th amendment, and we all can see what a gush of rotting sewage that is, but it doesn’t mean we have to buy a bucketful of it.
When a major proportion of the music available has a “parental advisory” sticker slapped on it, what’s left for those of us who prefer substance in what we listen to?
Maybe we need a special store that caters to people fed up with listening to music and lyrics that insult our intelligence with the glorification of worthless profanity while wasting our hard earned money on garbage that someone in the recording industry somehow deemed fit for human consumption. Bon appétit.
Maybe I’m not meant to understand what all the hype and excitement in the industry is about these days, because I’m no longer a child.
But there’s always that outside chance that as I struggle with my own foreseeable mid-life crisis, I’ll pleasantly discover that perhaps I’ve grown a little bit wiser in the process.
Just watch the Grammy Awards this year for a taste of the ultimate in garishness.
In the end, the music we choose to listen to and support should remain solely in the hands of the listener, but the overall message that it brings should be more of a boon to society as opposed to an outrage against the machine.
Comedian George Carlin hit the proverbial nail on the head when he stated that, “…inside every silver lining, there’s a dark cloud.”
Get out your umbrellas, kids; it looks like rain.

 

Happy 5 To S&M!!!!!!!
See you for the next five years . . .
I hope!

Pamela- I've always dreamed of singing this song for you. In my heart, I know that I have, maybe someday I actually will. It's everything I've always wanted to say to the only person in the world that I could ever say it to. Our love is a slow, sweet dance . . . Happy Anniversary, my Pamela (put on the headphones I've left for you. Loggins is simply amazing LIVE.)

Forever

Now, while we're here alone and all is said and done Now I can let you know because of all you've shown I'm grown enough to tell ya You'll always be inside of me. How many roads have gone by So many words left unspoken I needed to be be your side If only to hold you. Forever in my heart Forever we will be Even when I'm gone You'll be here in me Forever Once, I dreamed that you were gone I cried, I tried to find ya I begged the dream would fade away and please awaken me The night took a hold of my heart And left me with no one to follow The love that I grasped in the dark, I'll always remember Forever in my heart Forever we will be Even when I'm gone You'll be here in me Forever Forever in my heart Forever here you'll be Even when I'm gone You'll be near to me Forever in my life Always thought I'd be I'd be yours Forever . . .

I remember a moment 28 years ago like it was just yesterday. And here we are still trying to imagine. And Lennon's memory lives on . . .

25 years. I keep saying it to myself like it was an impossibility. Reality tells me I am definitely wrong. 25 years ago, I put on a cream-coloured tuxedo on a Sunday afternoon (like I'd done on an almost weekly basis back then while playing a gazillion weddings) To me there seemed to be little that was special about this silly monkey suit of mine. I remember I had a nasty head cold and the November 6th sky was grey and almost foreboding. I was currently living alone in the rented apartment that Pamela and I would live in for the year to come. Although, my tuxedo felt pedestrian, the day was bubbling with anticipation and excitement. I was getting married at 3pm. My best man, Donnie, picked me up around two. Parts of the day seem crystal clear to me: my mother and father walking down the aisle to be seated, my soon to be mother-in-law looking more beautiful than I've ever seen her look. Our parents were so damn proud they should have been holding signs. The years have brought us many things, some good, some bad. That's life I guess. The most important thing is that after 25 years I am still totally in love with this woman you've all come to know as 'my' Pamela. This is the woman that three beautiful, intelligent and free-spirited daughters call, 'Mom'. She loves me for many things: my cooking, my strange sense of humor, my writing and the thing that ultimately brought us together, my music. After 25 years, I wanted to find a nice tune that I thought she would like. This tune, much like her, is funky, infectious and filled with a smattering of sultry musical innuendo. Use headphones because the sound is really incredible. The name of the band is Toto, a favorite of mine. I think you'll be able to guess the title of the tune by the time the first chorus comes around. If my bride can guess the name of the drummer (another favorite of mine, sadly he died several years ago) she'll make my day. {*she will be allowed to ask me for a hint, though she may not need it}  :lol: So, a Happy 25th to the beautiful other half of my very soul. Here's to our future and a love that will simply never die. Ever. Love you, Pamela . . .

In about three weeks my wife and I will celebrate 25 years of marriage. It just doesn't make sense that I make a whole spectacle of it in one day, seeing we've been together and so incredibly strong for 25 years. These days, I'm truly amazed after reading the 'legals' in the newspaper with these assholes that get married for two weeks and then file for divorce. Damn, it's insane and I'm sorry, sometimes funny. But what the hell were they thinking in the first place? Either way, I'm devoting at least several posts to this incredible woman that understands me in a way no one in the entire world ever will, my wife, Pamela. Yeah, these are going to be romantic and sentimental. It's just the way I am, folks. Here's to the one woman that still makes Mikey tick . . .

You

Here, in my heart In my olde, melacholy soul is the You I've always known It's in my darkest hours that I find the way home from the very light of You; a serene beacon in this most sacred of harbours With my spirit at the end of my tether i cling to you like a rainbow clings to slices of sunlight; this complicated prism of all that's good in my life, the colours of emotion, the extreme comfort in belonging . . . It's there in your heart (I belong) where my peacefully sleeping soul is forever safe deep inside the You I will always know, love always . . .

There's a sacred moment lost somewhere between the dreamworld and my waking hours that you are alive, still within me, heart beating, the assuring rhythm of your breath Though the moment quickly dies, the memory of you continues to live; a complex composition of stars shining down from the heavens, the genesis of untold galaxies, the perpetual continuation of time as I know it Days turn to weeks, weeks to months and the months to years and your memory continues to grow, continues to soften, continues to go on . . . And though my soul weeps tonight, there's a bitterweet solace in my heart knowing that, in the grander scheme of things, tomorrow morning is just stolen moments away When the lavender dawn will find you once again . . . at peace {for Mom 7.15.2005 ~ 7.15.2008}

It seems improbable and physically impossible to feel alone on the streets of a city the magnitude of Boston but I've had such a day today. I ate a meager lunch in a deserted food court, rode a ghost train with no passengers (save for a lone and apathetic conductor that collected my money), walked down an empty Boylston Street to an 'I am Legend'-like South Station. My mind doesn't want to let anyone in today and I feel I'm struggling against a surreal and desolate landscape that is the city of Boston. I loathe days these because I feel almost anonymous and somewhat disposable. And nothing I can say or do seems to change anything. I get a seat on the train and I put on my sunglasses even though it's 5:30pm and the sun has set on the city. UV protection for the soul, I think, as I contemplate a jump into a vat of lukewarm self-pity. No, that would be too damn easy. The past several weeks have wreaked some serious emotional havoc on my sorry 49-year-old ass and this is the aftermath, an ardent and internal hangover; it's temporary but so very intense. I come to realize that I'm just really tired and can't seem to catch up. Exhausted, actually. Sleep doesn't help. But writing it out has immense possibility. And it does. "How are 'ya?" {Oh, God . . . not that question again, ad nauseum} {Me smiling} "Just another day in paradise, buddy, just another day." And I carry on. Still somewhat alone. For the time being . . . ~m [youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=20qEnKIuoaI] Ps. happy birthday to Smoke &Mirrors (2.22.05) {you people are sick} :mrgreen:

Sands of time drift silently by us, yet here we are climbing invisible mountains carelessly left behind, alone; yet never alone true companions . . . Evening hours sift seamlessly into the bleak tranquility of dawn, and here we are once again, facing truth and light, overwhelmed . . . but still impossibly together true companions . . . the Years grow wings, birds leave the nest and here we are, holding hands, in some kind of crazy love taking this life day by crazy day the best way we know how . . . just me and you, my one true companion - and I love you . . . [youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=pnDKb8Exrj4] When the rain is blowing in your face And the whole world is on your case I would offer you a warm embrace To make you feel my love When the evening shadows and the stars appear And there is no one to dry your tears I could hold you for a million years To make you feel my love I know you haven't made your mind up yet But I would never do you wrong I've known it from the moment that we met There's no doubt in my mind where you belong I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue I'd go crawling down the avenue There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do To make you feel my love The storms are raging on the rollin' sea Down the highway of regret The winds of change are blowing wild and free But you ain't seen nothing like me yet There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do Go to the ends of the earth for you Make you happy, make your dreams come true To make you feel my love ~Still crazy after all these years (go figure) . . . here's to another 24 always, ~m

I find myself once again at a crucial and necessary point in my life where a situation leaves me with no turning back and no time left for second chances. If this post comes across as somewhat cryptic, it should, I'm in camouflage mode right now. There's a part of me that wants to run away if only to spare myself the inevitable emotional turbulence most likely to be encountered . . . but I can't run away anymore. It took a conversation with a very special friend to help me see the proverbial ‘forest through the trees' and there will be no turning back, no gazing in the rear view mirror. The time has come for me to sit one on one with my dad and tell him it's alright to let go. He's holding on for reasons that only he knows. I'll take his aged and creased hands in mine and tell him as lovingly as possible that my sister and I are fine, that my mother waits patiently on the other side, that he can finally rest his weary head. There's a selfish part of me that never wanted to experience a scenario such as this, a part of me that wanted some silly miracle, an impossibility and medically improbable wish upon a non-existent star. The little boy in me just doesn't want to give his father the blessing he truly deserves, and though I understand it I'm having a very difficult time with the goodbye part. I just can't let go. In my heart, I see my mother as I did that day long ago, on Mayflower Beach but this time she's not walking away she's holding out her hand to my father. They've both been alone for far too long and I know my father's heart can't take much more. I have to tell my dad, ‘you can let go now'. I want him to touch the stars, and be that long forgotten prayer I've held inside me since they both got sick; I want them to once again be together . . . Maybe I just needed time to understand that. There will be a crystal winter night in the not too distant future that will find me gazing at the mysterious night sky. A star will sparkle in such a way that it catches my eye. As I look a bit closer I'll notice that it's not one star, but two. Maybe then I'll be able to let them go. Though I doubt it . . . ~m