Author: Paul

One of the rewards of getting old is that the obituaries are more interesting. So many people we grew up with are getting the back page send offs these days. Jack DeJohnette, who drove Miles’ band in the “Live Evil” stage, played with Alice Coltrane, Joe Henderson and Keith Jarrett and passed. We saw him with a trio out at Red Creek in the seventies and then in a duo setting with Bobby McFerrin at the Jazz Fest. I loved his playing.

The O’Jays’ bassist, Anthony Jackson, left us. I had never heard his name before but learned he invented the six string bass (two too many, I would say) and he was known for the iconic bass line on their song “For the Love of Money.” We have the forty-five and played the intro over and over after reading about it. Because we never watched the Apprentice we didn’t know it was the theme song. I hope Jackson lived a comfortable life with the proceeds.

We don’t get Fox so we can’t watch the Blue Jays beat LA in the World Series and none of our three La Liga teams had matches this week so by Wednesday we were jonesing for some action. We tuned into a Copa del Ray match between Real Sociedad and Negreira. Real Sociedad, from San Sebastian, is a top team in the Primera Division and Negreira is an amateur team in Spain’s sixth division. There are plenty of lopsided matches when the Copa del Rey gets going. Every team in Spain is eligable. We had walked through the village of Negreira when we did Camino de Santiago and we were in San Sebastian to see Chilida’s museum. Most of Negreira’s players had worked regular jobs that day and they were expected to peter out fast but despite the 3-0 scoreline they gave the pros a real run for their money.

Like one half of the city, we went to another “No Kings” rally yesterday, this one along the river downtown. It was a beautiful day to be out but there were so many issues to address. In 1969 it was just one. It can overwhelm you and make you feel like we have not made any progress. The anti-progressive movement is formidable. Despite the overwhelming number of issues, most people seemed to be having a good time.

I grabbed this photo from Jason Wilder‘s site. I didn’t ask permission and I hope he doesn’t mind. I just thought it would be the most effective way to steer a few eyeballs toward his work. He collects found photos, “curates” is a better word, and his own photography has the same miix of mysteriousness and wonder.

I stole this card off the Gonechester website. I don’t think Geoffrey will mind. Osmer Hulbert, “one of Rochester’s most conspicuous personages” according to a 1886 newspaper notice of his passing, owned a “recess,” one of the first restaurants in New York State on Main street, where Powers Building now stands. The obit state, “He was a perfect encyclopedia of local history, and to hear him talk when he was in the right mood was particularly interesting. He had a remarkable memory and his recollections of old Rochesterians were always enjoyable. “

Today, Gonechester is the perfect encyclopedia of local history. Hulbert’s Oyster Bar is just a tidbit on the site. I get lost there for hours. Just imagine how long it takes Geoffrey to research and compile this treasure trove. In anything other than Trump world he would be paid handsomely for his efforts, preserving our history. I hope you find the site as enjoyable as I do.

Years ago Wreckless Eric proclaimed, “All tours begin in Rochester.” Sure enough, Amy Rigby opened her book/music tour at the Bop Shop last night albeit without the book. The shipment from the publisher was a day late for her tour. She said she had to buy one of her new books, “Girl to Country,” from Amazon so she could read from an actual copy. She didn’t let that phase her as she effortless moved from chapter to song, both expertly crafted with a keen observational sense. 

Her chapter on meeting Eric at a gig in Hull was especially exquisite. He was djing with a crate of records and she already had “Whole Wide World” in her set. She asked if he would join her for that one. She had transposed the song and he told her, “The song has two chords and both of your are wrong.”

The average American teen spends 4.8 hours a day on social media and nearly three-quarters of them say they’ve used an AI chatbot for companionship. I am not average or a teen but my chatbot hours per day number is definitely going up. Not for companionship, that part sort of creeps me out. I wish ChatGPT wouldn’t compliment me, pretend to be flirting with me or even give me a thumb up. I assume I could just ask it not to respond with “Perfect” and “Excellent question” but I don’t like feeling responsible for its development. I might have to get over that as every question I ask it is another set of data points.

I was using the free version for a few months but I pushed it too far with questions related to a not-for-profit corporation I am connected with and it would not go further without me subscribing. It’s better than Apple Support for geeky stuff. I’ve been putting tomatoes from our garden on my morning toast and topping it with olive oil. When I asked ChatGPT why tomatoes and olive oil is such a good combination it replied, “Fresh tomatoes and olive oil are kind of a perfect duet—like Cannonball Adderley with Joe Zawinul.” It punctuated that line with a smiley face and then went on to explain the chemical properties. I was a little taken aback by the personalized analogy so I said, “I like your analogy of the perfect duet – Cannonball Adderley and Joe Zawinul. Do you know something about my musical tastes?” Sure enough I had asked about a jazz 45 and it had that info in the profile it is building on me.

My mom has her Devo hat on in this picture. Looking back, I see she was very fashionable but at the time I resisted the white bucks she insisted we all wear. My brother Mark has my friend, John Abraham’s, hat on. John is looking over my right shoulder and I’m clutching my missal. I can see some holy cards sticking out of it. We used those as bookmarks and I still have quite a collection of them. We’re standing in front of our grammer school. The convent, where most of our teachers lived, is seen in the background and the church, where we had just celebrated my brother Tim’s First Communion, was next door. Tim’s wearing a white tie.

There were at least five Catholic churches in Irondequoit when we moved here. The two on Culver are both senior living facilities now and the parishes all united as one, named after the first Native American saint, Kateri. Church attendance has withered. Millions of people are confessing their secrets to spiritual chatbots now. And then there is organized religion’s attempt to shove credible sexual abuse allegations under the rug. That cost our diocese 246 million in a settlement that was finally distributed to the victims.

My mother was working for the diocese when she married my father just ten months before I was born. The office was located in the former Knights of Columbus building at 50 Chestnut Street. We took the bus down there after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays because Catholic schools didn’t have gyms. The CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) had a few gyms, an auditorium, a pool and even a candy counter as you came out of the locker room. The Diocesan offices were upstairs and the priests lived on the top floors. There was a sign on the corner of the building that read “If You Lived Here You Would Be Home By Now.” I was never sure why that merited the effort. Garth Fagan Dance occupies some of this space today.

My mother would tell stories about how the priests she for were forever chasing the girls around the office. I would laugh at the thought and she would say, “No, they were bad!”

We went to both a high school reunion and a family reunion over the weekend. At the first my former teammates were still digesting the fact that our soccer coach is serving life in prison for sexual abuse. When the first allegation was made by a teammate our school, just like the church, quietly transferred him to another school where other allegations were addressed. At the family reunion my cousin told me he received his portion of the settlement from the church. Some consolation. I have two cousins who were nuns. One left the order with her partner. The other is still a nun with partner and still fighting the church hierarchy for more meaningful roles for women. What kind of religion insists on an all male, unmarried priesthood? The job description itself attracts perpetrators.