Past New Year's Eves

 THE OLDER YOU get the faster time flies. Here we are, ready to kiss 2025 goodbye.

How do you celebrate?

NYE celebrations have varied. My father used to gather us a few minutes before midnight and read a bible passage, then be in prayer as the clock ticked to midnight. Needless to say that method of ushering in the new year changed. A lot.

One year I was working at a restaurant in Grand Rapids (Mountain Jacks) and we all had to work. It was a party for everybody, but not us in that awful hot kitchen. A year or two later we gathered in a field behind the Rosewood house in Grand Rapids and had a huge bonfire during a blizzard. THAT was a great way to welcome a new year. We had pallets and Christmas trees from Kingmas that wooshed up into flames. Somebody called the fire department, but they simply drove up the street, took a look, and headed back to the station.

In the early years of married and family life it settled down ... eventually. One year in Alpena we had Grand Rapids friends drive up on NYE and then tore it down somewhere in town. But it became just another night, until the band thing started really kicking in.

We had some righteous Cheeseburger shows at the Elks and One in Quincy. Maye we were in Keokuk one year? The mind and memory betray us and play tricks. If I wasn't playing, I was surely in bed by 10 as usual.

In 2019 HartLyss played on NYE at the late and great Revelry in Quincy. Again, the memory isn't that great but I recall Cori and I and our old drummer Lincoln Lieber really clicking and kicking butt. Little did we know that 2020 would change everything. Man .... 

Last year I cobbled together a band and played at The Club and it was fun, but it was really hard to function the next day. Also, today is the one year anniversary of my last alcoholic beverage, a milestone to be sure. Pretty proud of that one and it's one of the best things I've ever done, the whole quitting drinking thing.

It's actually become a thing to have a party on New Year's Day, of all things. A year ago Prospect Road played at Shorteez's On The Hill in Clayton, and I couldn't believe all the people packed into the place for an afternoon gig. 

Guess what? Prospect Road gets to do it again tomorrow at the same venue. So tonight I'll get off of work, come home, make sure Coco gets some quality time in front of the space heater, and I'll be sawing logs by 10. 

Gotta rest up for the big new New Year's Day tradition, you know.

 

Catching up

 I MARKED ANOTHER trip around the sun a few days ago. It was a good day. And I'm getting old.

Later on during the day a text message popped up from a friend I haven't heard from in ... forever. We were buds in high school and my one disastrous year at Calvin College more than 40 years ago. I got her email address and we got caught up and it was a great thing.

I've lost contact with most of those friends from those years. We all moved far away from Grand Rapids and the whole life thing took over. And that's a shame. 

I wonder where they are and if life has been good to them and what they think now.

I also want to go back and confront that dumbass kid that was me all those years ago. "Hey. Wake up! Screw your head on straight and start realizing how good you are going to have it!" would be the main message.

Thank you, friend, for taking me back and reconnecting all these years later. Here's to hoping it won't be that long until we communicate again!

 

No Christmas decorations yet please

HANG ON. CHRISTMAS decorations before Thanksgiving?

Ugh.

Quincy has no shortage of people into the Christmas thing. The lights, the elves on shelves, the huge trees in living rooms, the massive amounts of egg-nog fog required to think all this decorating stuff up. It's fine. Christmas is fine. 

But it's not until Dec. 25.  

There's an unwritten rule to not decorate before Christmas. And now it's written. Don't. Christmas. Decorate. Before. Thanksgiving.

On Friday night I stopped by my favorite Quincy establishment, Lux Stogie Company, to wind down the work week. Alex, the owner, has done an incredible job opening and expanding his business. He has just opened a member's lounge area, and of course I joined. I mean, am I going to smoke a nice stogie in my garage when it's 20 degrees and the Christmas decorations have blinded me all day and night?

In my little corner of Calftown heaven, Christmas decorations include a Charlie Brown tree and few lights that go up in December. Coco usually plays with the lights and breaks stuff. Maybe this year I won't even bother.  

Alex's wife, Jamie, the real brains behind the whole cigar store thing, stopped by and started pointing at various corners of the member's lounge. "We could move that or get rid of that and put the tree right there," she said.

The tree?

"Yes. The tree. The 9-foot Christmas tree I bought today."

Then it was learned she planned to put the tree up the very next day - Nov. 1.

"But ... Thanksgiving isn't for another month," I said.

Alex simply shook his head and looked away. Jamie got a glazed look in her eye.

"I'm putting it up tomorrow," she said.

"She's putting it up tomorrow," Alex said. "Hey Rodney have you tried the new Croatian Mafia cigars we just got in?"

Alex is a sharp guy. He knows when to pick his battles. Namely, never. 

I stopped at Lux yesterday. I went back to the member's lounge. I looked for the tree. It wasn't up.

"It's in the corner and still in the box," Alex said. "I think Jamie is putting up our tree at the house today."

"We could keep it in the box and put an ashtray on top of it for now. Until after Thanksgiving," I said.

I'm just a weekend cigar warrior. It will probably be Saturday before I get a chance to stop by Lux again. I'm wondering if the tree will be up. I'm wondering how much time Alex will spend this week watching his wife put Christmas stuff up in Lux.

You know what? It's their yuletide thing. And if it makes Jamie happy, then Alex is happy (dang it). I'm sure it will put us all into the spirit of the season, and it might even make my new favorite cigar even better - the Croatian Mafia Soldier is divine, right up there with Henry Clay's War Hawk and the Rose of Sharon by Southern Draw.

So decorate away, Jamie. You rock. I'll salute your efforts with a fine cigar and good company.

And count down the days until Thanksgiving.

The Blue Jays and not watching baseball

 COCO IS IN a very good mood this morning because the Lions beat Tampa Bay last night. We watched and as usual she was cantankerous most of the game - she's into it. She thinks she's a Lion.

During commercials I flipped over to the baseball game, which for some reason was on a regular non-cable channel. All baseball games are on cable, one of many reasons I don't watch MLB. But there it was and lo and behold, the Toronto Blue Jays were playing the Seattle Mariners for the right to go to the World Series.

 I have not watched an entire baseball game on TV since 1993. That's not an exaggeration. In 1992 and 1993, the Blue Jays were World Series champs and I lived and died with them. Yes, I remember Mike Timlin getting Otis Nixon out on a bunt attempt to end the 92 Series. Yes, I was hiding behind the couch and peaking over the top to watch Joe Carter end it in 93.

In 1994, my real baseball love, the Montreal Expos, were the best team in baseball. But the season ended early because of a strike or lockout or some ridiculous reason involving greedy owners and millionaire players.

I lost interest. I never got it back.

It's too bad because there are great storylines in baseball, even though the owners are billionaires, the players are millionaires and you have to sell your car to attend a game. The Dodgers apparently bought themselves a World Series last year but I didn't watch and didn't care.

But what do I do now? The Jays are a great story - last place last year, comebacks all season, scrappy players and career minor-leaguers now playing big roles. The hero last night, George Springer, can barely walk because of a knee injury, but it didn't keep him from smacking a late-game home run to cap another rally.

And it's always nice to see and hear the Skydome, or whatever corporate name it now has, rocking and rolling.

So. Will Coco and I watch the World Series? Maybe some of it. The first game is Friday night, and it might be cool to settle in after work and see if the Jays can work more magic.

Wait. I have a gig Friday night.

Maybe the next game.

 

 

The missing toilet paper

  I HAD SOMETHING terrible happen to me in the past week.

No, it wasn't being filmed by a creepy guy leaving Pride. No, it wasn't getting sunscreen in my eye as I was about to play a lead part yesterday at a Prospect Road show. No, it wasn't getting run over or cut off on US 61. That happens almost every day.

It was running out of toilet paper when my sister stayed with me.

Charys is from Denver and was with me and Coco. My other sister from North Carolina, Kathy, was here as well with her daughter, Brooke. I put Kathy and Brooke up at an amazing little Air BnB just a few blocks away. That way we all had room and we wouldn't run out of anything. They had a blast.

A week ago Saturday afternoon Charys announced we needed more toilet paper. No problem! I'd been to Sam's Club recently and bought a massive bag, because everything comes in massive bags from Sam's. Actually, Massive Bag From Sam's would be a great name for a band.

 I went upstairs to find the bag. I always keep it in the small office room. It wasn't there. I checked across the hall in the big storage room. Nope. The guest bedroom? Nope.

Ok, Ok. Don't panic. It's gotta be in the laundry room. 

Nope.

Panic. I have my sister staying with me, and she's female, and I'M OUT OF TOILET PAPER. Bleep me! The Massive Bag From Sam's is not only releasing its debut album, it's also AWOL.

I know it's here and I'm wracking both of my brain cells and I know I'm going to save the day. 

Nope.

Charys, of course, saves the day by "borrowing" a role of toilet paper from the Air BnB. I gave the Air BnB owner a five-star review and the owner was happy with my sister and niece, so apparently the owner doesn't know about the missing TP.

The family heads home. The next day, I'm in my lesson room. I'm looking for a guitar. I open the closet door.

And there is the Massive Bag From Sam's. 

Who kind of birdbrain puts his toilet paper in his lesson room with his guitars? Why would he do this? And why can't he remember doing this? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?

That's the eternal and ultimate question.

Anyway, Charys laughed herself silly when I told her. She's used to her brothers misplacing things and getting lost. We are our mother's sons. And that's pretty much it.

At least I have enough toilet paper to last until the next Hart sisters visit - if I can remember where I put it. 

 

 

 

Steve Homan - a bad videographer

 I'VE NEVER HAD a personal issue with Steve Homan. 

Until now.

Homan regularly spews noise at city council meetings and fancies himself as a hero in the MAGA world, a man of the people exposing government fraud and waste. Apparently he has a podcast. He's quite the dashing figure and has a lot of Facebook friends.

I make a habit of ignoring him, and ignoring people like Steve Homan makes them upset.

Sunday, at Pride in the Park at Clat Adams Park, Homan went on Facebook and live-streamed from a parking lot across the street. He had running commentary about the people coming and going to the event. He didn't like it. He called the people in the park "idiots."

Pride in the Park is an  LGBTQ event and started maybe four years ago. I've played at it every year. The first time was when Cori Powell-Green asked me to play at it with her. I loved it from the start - the whole park is filled with joy and acceptance, not judgment and vitriol. So call me an ally. And there's other very personal reasons for doing it, but I wouldn't expect you to do your homework, Steve.

A friend sent a short video clip from Homan's live-stream. I'm not going to post a link or show it. It's just not worth it.

It shows my vehicle leaving the parking lot. "Rodney Hart, just leaving there," Homan intones with authority. "He was their entertainment for 15 minutes or whatever. Rodney Hart is a big leftist liberal in Quincy that promotes all this nonsense, driving away right there."

First of all, work on the shaky hand holding your phone, Steve. I got a little motion sickness watching my nice Jeep leave the parking lot.

Secondly, what kind of person does something like this? How full of hatred and ignorance do you have to be? And ... is it just creepy? Or is this what you do now in our social media world?

Steve is not that bad of a guy, really. It's not like he's ever been in trouble with the law, or tried to run for office but had a small clerical issue, or has a section devoted just to him at Muddy River News called "Steve Homan Archives." Nah. Not that bad at all. 

Steve, you were half right about the length of my performance, which is twice as right as normal. It was 30 minutes. And I was one of several musical acts. Just so you know.

Leftist liberal? Well, I've been called much worse. But I've never been a member of either party, and have no plans to do so. Ever. I've voted for Republicans and for Democrats. I don't like our president, though I think some of his ideas are not bad. I keep politics off my social media and I try not to get sucked into all the crap going on in this wretched world.

You might be surprised to hear some of my very conservative social and political views, and, gasp, we might actually agree on some things, Steve. Not that I'll ever bother to share them with you.

Here's the difference between you and me, Steve. I'm not consumed. I don't feel the need to point out how awful certain people of certain political or sexual persuasions are. I'm a live and let live kind of guy, Steve. Maybe you should try it.

I actually think what you did recently in organizing the Charlie Kirk vigil in Washington Park was fine. I wasn't there and I don't know that much about Charlie Kirk. I do know violence of any kind is not the answer and his murder was a terrible thing. And I'm not comparing your vigil to Pride, other than they were both peaceful gatherings. 

Then again, I wasn't standing at Fifth and Maine live-streaming everybody coming and going.

No doubt Steve's ears are steaming now, since I'm sure he'll be reading this. In case you want to dig up dirt on me, go right ahead. There's stuff out there and sure you can find it. I've flunked out in life many times.

Here's the last thing, Steve. You will go ballistic when reading this, and say all kinds of nasty things about me. 

I. Don't. Care.

Live and let live, Steve. It's the way to go. Not that you'll ever do it.