Benny the Barber

One of my favorite parts of growing up in a small town was the mom and pop businesses that helped make the community. In Stewart Manor we have a great little deli, card store, bagel store, hardware store and of course, a barber. Any guys around my age in the greater Stewart Manor area go to (or went to) Benny and Mike's Barber shop. I started going there as a kid and was there just last week getting my monthly hair cut. As a kid, Benny and Mike's was made up of three older gentleman straight off the boat from Italy. I always went to Benny. He was my barber when my mom would come to the shop with me, he fixed the mess I made of my hair with manicure scissors before our family vacation to California in '88 (yes I cut my hair with manicure scissors. What can I say? 8 year old boys are curious) and he cut my hair before my communion, confirmation and graduations from grammar school to college. I figured that Benny would cut my hair before my wedding but when the time came, Benny wasn't there. Since he often went home to Italy during the summer I figured that we just missed each other and that I would catch him for my "first day of school" hair cut.

When I went back in September, I learned that Benny had died. He had been sick with cancer and he went quickly over the summer. When I learned of this, I was both shocked and saddened. Benny was a genuinely nice man and although we weren't exactly friends we did have a relationship that covered 20+ years. He would often remind me that he had cut my hair "since I was this big" while holding his hand a few feet off the floor. My mom always told me that any time she passed the shop when walking down the avenue Benny would give her a wave. Time passed, the two other men retired but Benny kept working with his sons and grandson joining him in the shop.

A few months back, Benny's grandson was cutting my hair and we started talking about soccer, specifically the Champions League. His grandson was a fan of defending champion Barcelona who would be playing Inter Milan of Italy in the semi-finals. Since I had just watched Inter defeat English powerhouse Chelsea, I told him that I thought Inter was the team to beat. It was at that point that his grandson told me that Inter was Benny's favorite team. Although they hadn't won the European Championship since 1965, the combination of a great coach, a good team and Benny confirmed for me that Inter would indeed raise the cup in Madrid.

Yesterday was the final between Inter and Bayern Munich of Germany. Behind the plan of coach Jose Mourinho and two wonderful goals from Diego Milito, Inter Milan won the Champions League. Throw in winning Serie A (the Italian league) and the Italian cup and Inter did something that only 5 other European clubs have done by winning all three titles or the "treble" as it's known in world of soccer. After the match I couldn't help but think of Benny. Although he was no longer cutting hair on Covert Avenue, I'm sure he was somewhere celebrating the victory.

LCD Soundsystem @ Terminal 5

Most of the time, music can be easily defined. You can have your traditional four piece rock band, a DJ with an MC on the mic or even 5 pretty white boys singing and dancing in unison with the McDonald's drive thru microphones wrapped around their finally gelled hair. Music that is not easily definable? Well that's a horse of a different color! (did I really make a Wizard of Oz reference?) Finding this rare breed is not a common occurrence, but last night I found it and it was fantastic.

LCD Soundsystem played Terminal 5 last night (sold out shows through Sunday)and the show that I saw left me slightly confused, a little bit drunk and overall ecstatic at the performance. I was confused because my ears told me one thing but my eyes told me another. Upon listening to LCD Soundsystem you would immediately classify them (or more accurately HE, James Murphy who is LCD Soundsystem by himself in the studio but brings a band on the road) as dance music, which it absolutely is. But after seeing them up close I realized that they are much, much more. On stage you have Mr. Murphy and all the makings of a traditional "band" including guitar, drums, bass, keyboard and synthesizer. However when you hear the music they make (looping beats, heavy percussion, and synthesizer) your mind is drawn to dance music; then, it gets really weird. If you listen closely and move past the beats that are making you dance (awkwardly in my case) you realize that they're playing real SONGS complete with verses, refrains and stories about life and love. A rare combination that places LCD squarely in that area of "undefinable" which is a beautiful thing in both music and life.

This really was one of the best shows that I've been to in a while. In addition to the great music, we were perched up in the balcony which enabled us to look down at the crowd simultaneously moving to the beat. I've always found the idea of a large number of people (in this case 3,000) focused and committed to the same thing at the same time to be, in a way, quite inspiring. It's the beauty of music, bringing together the hipsters of Brooklyn and the social studies teachers of Queens.

LCD closed with an acapella version of "Empire State of Mind" complete with hundreds of balloons falling from the ceiling. A surreal end for a surreal show that made me appreciate live music that much more.

Hello Again

I haven't written anything in a month so I figured I'd write a quick blurb about baseball as I watch the Mets game.

Basic rule of baseball: If you don't take advantage of your opportunities you will not win games. It sounds simple but the Mets have become masters of this over the past four (miserable) years.

Although the game isn't over the Mets are currently losing 4-2. The big free agent acquisition Jason Bay has come up 2 times with a chance to drive men in and hasn't come through. After the Mets didn't come through, the Reds hit two home runs to take the aforementioned 4-2 lead.

As I'm typing this, David Wright hit a home run to make it 4-3 which just goes to show that I pretend like I know things when in fact, I'm just a boob.

Haven't posted in a while since work and life in general have been a bit busy but I plan on getting back into it.

Thanks for reading.

(I'm pretty sure I just said that to myself since no one reads this shite)

Opening Day or How I Soaked a Stranger

Bottom of the first, one on and one out. My buddy Mike turns to me and says that David Wright was going to hit a two run home run and when he did I jumped out of my seat. I also knocked the beer out of his hand which went all over the guy in front of us. Now, while I felt like a complete idiot for soaking this guy (and still kind of do) it turned out to be a good thing. How can dumping beer on a stranger be a good thing? Well based on being a Mets fan over the last few years, it could have been much worse but Opening Day 2010 proved to be different.

When I think about Opening Day 2010, I think nothing but good thoughts which, if you're being honest, has not happened much since Game 7 of the '06 NLCS. However, Opening Day '10 brought a new start for the both the players on the field and the fans off of it. It's been a long ten months since the meltdown of '09 featuring a dropped pop up, a bases loaded walk to Mariano Rivera, and a shirtless/wrestling assistant general manager. When you throw in a long spring, complete with the apparent foregone conclusion that this team will be sub .500, it became clear that it was time for the new season to start.

Well yesterday the new season started and the Mets came through. A dream first at bat for Wright, amazing new additions to the stadium and an overall positive vibe in the park (minus the booing of the medical staff and Ollie Perez which were both hilarious and deserved) left the feeling that the darkness of 2009 had lifted. It's a new season and it's time to see what this group of guys can do. Can they make the playoffs? Probably not but I don't think an 85-87 win season is completely unreasonable if they stay healthy and get good pitching (great pitching might push them up near 90 a maybe a wild card, and yes I did just say that.) Overall, yesterday was a great day; the Mets were back and life was good in Queens.

I can't wait for the next 161. Let's Go Mets!

Lucky Me

The following is a guest blog from my wife Mary Kate. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.- Frank

My parents were married on March 17, 1973. St. Patrick’s Day in our house, then, became twice as big of a deal (as if it wasn’t big enough on its own). My early memories involve sips of wine during dinner, with music from the Chieftain’s and Tommy Makem playing in the background. And my later memories involve pints of beer during dinner, with the same music from the Chieftain’s and Tommy Makem. Every memory in between is a good one – the year that we gave my parents green jellybean-filled wine glasses and the Riverdance soundtrack (one of the first CDs in our home!), or the year that my sisters and I cooked dinner for them and I almost dropped the cake we made because I insisted on dancing a jig while bringing the cake in from the kitchen (note: I’m a Lenihan School of Irish Dance drop out and have not fully come to terms with it). Sure, some years have been better than others, but the day always guarantees delivery of a few basic things: having some drinks with family, enjoying good music, sharing memories and being proud of being Irish (or half-Irish, as the case may be…).

Since 2005, I’ve been fortunate to share March 17 with Frank, the only person I know outside of my own family who knows what the day means for me and, more specifically, my parents. Each year since 2005, he’s been ready with a whiskey if ‘The Parting Glass’ or ‘Galway Bay’ is played, knowing that it’ll calm me down as I’m reminded of my dad. He’ll sit through watching ‘The Quiet Man,’ hokey as it is, because I get to hear John Wayne say my name. He always offers an invitation to my mom for any of his family’s events of the day (she especially enjoyed the year that we found ourselves in the private party for the pipers at the Roosevelt Hotel after watching the parade. I remember her saying, “Your dad would be like a pig in poop if he were here!”). He sings a mean ‘Streets of New York’ and is perfecting the art of Irish coffee. In all, he’s a catch. But on March 17, he’s exceptional.

My parents would have been married 37 years tomorrow and I hope that I have at least 37 more March 17ths with Frank, my proud Irish man.

Cosmos and Beer

I'm just home from an incredibly long day (teaching during the day then working at Trinity at night.) I'm quite tired but I had to share one story from my shift tonight.

A woman ordered a cosmo, which I always hate because of my notoriously shakey hands (thanks Mom!) and also because I can never remember what fruit goes in it. When I asked the bartender, my fellow server chastised me for not knowing that a lime goes in a cosmo.

"You don't know a lime goes in a cosmo?!?!?! Haven't you ever seen your wife drink one????"

To which I replied: "No, my wife doesn't drink cosmos. She drinks beer. That's why I married her."

That exchange made me smile. So will bed, which is where I'm going now.

Good night.

Hot Dogs and Shame

Kate has classes on Monday and Wednesday which leads me to fend for myself when it comes to dinner. Now don't get me wrong, I can cook (just ask anyone who has had my fish tacos or meatloaf.) However, as we all know, sometimes all we want is something easy. Upon inspecting the freezer, I found some hot dogs. I left two out to be defrosted and finished up some work.

As it came time for dinner I realized that I was not that hungry. It could have been my late lunch or it could have been the leftover Swedish Meatballs I had when I got home but either way I wasn't that hungry. Since I had defrosted two hot dogs I decided that I would at least cook the two and if I didn't have room for the second one I would dump it.

Then I saw some cheese in the fridge, so I decided to make cheese dogs.

Then I ate both of them.

Now I'm washing them both down with a beer.

As I barrel out of my twenties it's nice to see that I have total disregard for the horrendous middle aged gut that will be upon me in the blink of an eye.

But damn those cheese dogs were good.