Matthew’s text read, “Wow. Crazy Madrid Derby!” He knows not to give away too much. We usually watch La Liga matches from ESPN’s “On Demand” section, hours or days after they were played live. We follow the two big Madrid clubs and when they meet – our allegiance is solidly in Atletico’s camp. Matthew knows this so how should we have read Matthew’s text?
I took it to mean there were a few goals and the match went back and forth and maybe it ended in a draw. We were overjoyed to see Atletico win 4-2, Real’s first loss of the season. The following day we watched Barcelona beat San Sebastian’s team and move ahead of Madrid into first place. Following that we watched Barca and PSG meet early in the Champions League and we reacquainted ourselves with the idea that Paris is still the best team in the world.
We were reading how octopus, a favorite dish in Spain and Portugal. is now in abundance off the coast of England, a consequence of global warming. Lyme disease didn’t used to be in the Adirondacks either. Our friend got that this summer. We spent the afternoon pulling invasive plants on our property. Garlic mustard, wisteria, black swallowwort, euonymus (burning bush) and the poisonous snakeroot. We suit up for that. And we took our last swim of the year to wash the ticks off. Temperatures are expected to reach into the eighties this weekend.
I have always marveled the way our friends choose to live – for the past thirty years or so, off the grid. I would not choose to live that way but I admire it, not just the small footprint but its purity, a minimalism that opens your senses to overwhelming beauty.
Maybe it was a just a confluence of annoying appointments this summer, doctors etc. – it seems anything would be an intrusion in this idyllic setting – but not all years in the woods are the same. Maybe it is Father Time rattling his scythe. We are close in age and that is top of mind. Maybe it the outside stepping on their toes. Tech advances do not lift all boats.
For now, the local libraries are still stocked with the classics of literature. Infinite Jest is still on their shelf at home and mushroom reference books are at the ready. There is plenty of wood for winter.
Half order of Biscuits, sausage and gravy at Flo’s Diner in Canastota, New York
It is a five hour trip to Crown Point if you take the back roads. We left after our first cup of coffee, had one more on the road and then stopped midway in Canastota near Cicero at Flo’s Diner. How could we not stop there? A low slung building from the 50s with outdoor seating and giant white hen standing by the road. Only after pulling over did I see the sign that read “Home of the 10¢ Coffee. I just had to google where is the cent key is on my keyboard in order to type that last sentence – that’s how old- fashioned this place is.
Inside. the space was huge with tables in two dining rooms and most of them were full. We sat at the long counter. Desserts, that looked like they were made in someone’s home, lined the counter, the way the tapas are displayed in Spanish restaurants. And copies of newspapers were there for customer to read.
The chalkboard behind us listed the day’s specials. “Biscuits, Sausage and Gravy” caught our eye. The woman who was smoking a cigarette outside when we arrived waited on us. We asked if we could split an order and we each had a cup of coffee. We paid for our lunch at the end of counter. The total was $6.40. I put the change from a ten dollar bill in the big coffee can next to the cash register. I took a picture of Peggi standing next to the big chicken before we drove off.
Amy Rigby reading from her newest book,”Girl to Country” at Bop Shop in Rochester, New York
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 desktop computer started acting funny. Wouldn’t search for files, windows from different apps would interleave, so my pallets from Photoshop would be on top of browser windows, that sort of thing. I ordered a new one and tracked the delivery. It was in China one day and at my front door two days later. Because I didn’t want to migrate my problems from on machine to the next I chose to set it up as new and reinstall all my apps. It has been a mess for days but I am coming up for air to post something. I’m not going to talk about comedians getting canceled but I am thinking about it.
We got to Scott McCarney’s lecture a little late. We were walking along the lake. He was already in the post-presentation, taking-questions-from-the-audience phase. Pretty impressive, the number of people that came out at two in the afternoon on a gorgeous last of summer day. We will watch his presentation when Flower City Arts Center posts it to YouTube.
We knew quite a few of the people there, that’s the way it works in Rochester, so we hung around afterward talking. Elizabeth, who bought our house in the city twenty years ago, told us she was painting the house so we drove by on our way home. It is a bold butter yellow, bold for Rochester. Ethylene was out front of her house, on the corner, showing her garden to a friend. We slowed to a crawl to say hello but Ethylene wanted to give us a hug so we stopped. Peggi and I were both thinking the same thing. “Did her husband, Willie, pass away?” We both breathed a sigh of relief when she pointed to a wilting plant and said, “Willie must have forgotten to water that .” And just like that he appeared. We talked about the old neighbors and the new and for the next hour we felt like we had never moved away.
Street performances happen all the time in European countries. Ours are reserved for the Fringe Festival. Last night the Italian aerialists, eVenti Verticali, performed downtown at Parcel 5. An inflatable orb was suspended from a large crane, hoisted into the air behind a triumphant musical score while acrobats swung from wires while creating time-lapse like flower formations in and around the orb. It was rather sensational.
Abraham family and some of my family at my brother, Tim’s, First Communion
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.
“City of Angels” by Margaret Explosion. Song recorded live at Little Theatre Café on September 3, 2025
I had the window seat on the way in to Los Angeles. I put my iPad camera in record and pressed it flat against the window to steady the cam. It worked until we touched down but I won’t spoil that. The song is from last week. Jack was unable to make the gig so no bass clarinet. It was the night before the first day of school for Melissa’s kids so no cello either. We called Bernie Heveron that afternoon and he sat in on guitar.
It was a good night, crowded but oddly quiet, plenty of attentive new faces. It affected the way we played and, of course, it was all new with Bernie. We had played with Bernie back in the early eighties but he played bass back then.
Joe Beard and Frank DeBlase checking out each others attire at Brian Williams 80th Bday party at Abilene
I remember celebrating Brian’s 70th birthday at the Little. Maybe it was his 60th. We’ve know Brian a long time. Everybody knows Brian. He and his big bass have played with or sat in with most bands in the city. His 80th bash was hosted by Danny at Abilene. The Goners, Brian’s longest running band and the best in the city, had their gear on the stage out back and since most people there were musicians the music never stopped. The party was billed as 3-7 and the Goners never got up there until after seven.
We dropped Steve off at the airport yesterday and slept for more than ten hours last night. It was the tail end of a string of visitors and we enjoyed every bit of it. Duane was up for a wedding and we spent a few days with him without ever getting down to the pool. The weather changed when my brother and his wife drove up from NJ so we did get to spend some quality time at the pool. They let their dog out at night and then fell back asleep so we woke up early to search the neighborhood. Our niece drove up from NYC and got here hours after Steve. She slept on the couch and Steve slept in the basement. We all went out to my brother, Fran’s, house for his annual corn roast. The star of this show is his ribs but the corn, soaked in the husks in a large barrel and then roasted over a wood fire, was the best corn I have ever had in my life.
Steve was my college roommate and the best man at our wedding. Bluffed my way through high school. Could have graduated after my junior year but was having way to much fun and I was determined to apply myself as a college freshman. Steve was already a junior. He put a big homemade stereo speaker on my desk. He had a car, a white Barracuda with and 8-track player. He wrote an English paper for me (sci-fi themed of course) and I got my highest grade. My agenda went out the window. I needed a fresher course in Hoy.
This blog format suggests I assign posts to a category. I get to make up the categories. The ones I use most are “Life is a Spell,” “We Live Like Kings,” and “Field Recordings of the Future” although they are assigned arbitrarily. One category I hardly use but have for this post is “Irondequoit Melon.” Our sandy soil and temperate conditions near Lake Ontario made our area ideal for melon farming. The Irondequoit melon developed a reputation for being exceptionally sweet and fragrant. They became a regional delicacy—sold in Rochester’s public market and were shipped to nearby cities. In the late 30s the soil became infested with a fungus, fusarium wilt, and the melon seeds were retired.
Aman’s Farm Market has been selling “Irondequoit Type Melons” this season and we are working on our third one. They incredible juicy and sweet.
Before repairing a few pot holes the park maintenance people had fun with the orange spray paint. I took a series of photos there this morning. This one was my favorites.
I wish we didn’t have to come home to such terrible news. One of the first things I read was J. D,. Vance’s statement “We’re at the WH monitoring the situation in Minneapolis. Join all of us in praying for the victims!” And Kristi Noem, “I am praying for the victims of this heinous attack and their families.” I immediately hear my mom’s voice, “I wish they would stop praying and do something.” Fat chance. The guns were “perfectly legal.”
The mayor of Minneapolis issued a statement, “Don’t just say this is about thoughts and prayers right now. These kids were literally praying.” Right on, but while I respect the sentiment I can tell you those kids at Mass in the middle the day were probably not praying. Most likely they were spacing out. I went through the tenth grade in Catholic Schools. The nuns were always dropping the lesson plans and taking us over to church where someone would inevitably get sick, barf in the isles and they would sprinkle that disgusting orange stuff on the puke. We may have been looking at the statues or the Stations of the Cross or goofing around with our friends but we weren’t praying. It was just June in that state when Vance Boelter, after preaching the gospel in Africa, assassinated congresswoman Melissa Hortman.
The Annunciation Catholic church shooter apparently went to the school. The police say the shooter is transgender. The mayor said, “Anybody that is using this as an opportunity to villainize our trans community — or any other community out there — has lost their sense of common humanity.” On that I agree with the mayor.
Joe Tunis performing at Visual Studies Workshop August 23, 2025
In yesterday’s post I mentioned we had had to drop out of Matt Green’s Rochester walk in order to catch at least part of Joe Tunis’s twenty-sixth annual Day-Tour. This one consisted of 8 shows in and around Rochester where Joe performs with different musicians in each location. Peggi and caught one of his very first tours and try to catch at least one performance each year. Peggi made this video.
By chance we crossed paths with one of Joe’s earlier performances while we were on the walk withMatt Green. Joe was just finishing up at East End Green (across from Ugly Duck Coffee) when we left the Little Theatre. And then over near Grove Place we ran into James Tabbi power washing his porch.
If there was ever a movie that was right up our alley “The World Before Your Feet” is it. A documentary about Matt Green walking every street in New York City, over 8000 miles, it is just as fresh today as it must have been when it was released in 2018. Matt just completed his journey in September and he was on stage for a Q &A following an afternoon screening of the movie. He is just as warm and cheerful in person as he was in the movie. No wonder he never mugged.
Schiller Monument Downtown Rochester with tents for the unhoused along the fence
In the movie we get to experience the Brighton Beach bungalows, the gridded streets of torn down houses at the end of Queens, Emma Lazarus’s grave in Greenpoint cemetery. She wrote the poem on the Statue of Liberty. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” How quaint those words sound today. We see the oldest living thing in NY, the 400 year old Queens Giant tree and Seagate, vast expanses of former industrial site in Staten Island and the Coney Island gated community.
Finishing the 8,000 miles was really never really the objective. Each day’s adventure was the point. Along the way he collected funky images of former synagogues that have been converted to churches, barber shops and hair salons with z’s in their name like Cutz or Kutz and 9/11 murals. His ability to stay in the moment was remarkable.
Art Deco Rochester Fire Department
After the Q & A in Rochester Matt plotted a google route for a group walk. We left from the theater and headed over to Grove Place, down Saint Paul, through the Projects to High Falls and then across the river and down an alley behind State Street across Main to the old subway bed on Court Street and then through Washington Square Park. At Clinton Matt turned to us and said “I guess will do one more bridge.” We had been walking for two hours and we planned to catch Joe Tunis performing at Visual Studies Workshop at 4 so we reluctantly left the group. It was as good as the movie.
“Train” from 2003 Margaret Explosion release “Happy Hour”
We performed a version of “Train” at the Little a few weeks ago. I still have the wooden whistle I got from the Railroad Museum. It prompted me listen to the original, from our 2003 cd “Happy Hour.” I threw that file and a few train videos I had into iMovie and came up with this.
Tom Kohn was spinning forty-fives at Skylark last night so headed over there after dinner. We hung out behind the two turntables and I helped Tom put records back win their sleeves. He had all sorts of music mashed up together and some crazy segues. Black Sabbath “Paranoid” into Wreckless Eric’s “Take the Cash.” He had some crazy 45s like Lou Reed and John Cale before the Velvets and Jon Hendricks with the Grateful Dead. But I just couldn’t believe my eyes and ears when he pulled out a Verve Records VU and Nico promo copy of “Sunday Morning” and “Femme Fatale.”
Minimalism always works. It maximizes the impact of the elements. I photographed Pete Monacelli’s drum set during Debbie Kendrick’s break when they played the Little Theatre Café. Yes, this is his whole set now. Pete was a master of the hi-hat. Coming up in the swing era he kept time with it. I use my hi-hat more like a noise-maker. Pete is short one leg these days so he has stripped down his uncle’s 1930’s set to just the snare and this cymbal mounted to the snare. He has great feel and still sounds like he’s playing a full set, especially when playing his beat up brushes, right hand sweeping while playing the butt end of the left hand brush on the rim. It is a wonder.
And another wonder is kids. I need reminding of how much fun they are. Their boundless energy, their openness, their wackiness are all gifts. Melissa, who plays cello with Margaret Explosion, brought her two over again for a swim and we picked up right where we left off. Our niece was here earlier in the summer with her kids and my sister brought three of her grandkids over after that. And with each visit I realize how much responsibility they are. How they need elders to draw boundaries and establish limits. That too is a gift. Having grown up as the oldest of seven these revelations all come back with ease.
Am I the only one who thinks this trailer looks really cool? It’s a little beat up. It obviously has a leak in the roof because they have the blue tarp up there. They have recently spray painted the whole thing. Black. I didn’t get close enough when I took this photo (I was on their property) so I can’t be sure but it looks like they spray painted it with the propane tank in place. I love how the blue painters tape on the windows matches the tarp on top. I can only image what it looks like inside.
Resist graffiti on on sidewalk at Durand Eastman Beach
We walked early yesterday to beat the heat and came across this graffiti near the beach. We couldn’t figure out what the first word was but we got the “Resist” message.
Swimmer pulling a “No Kings” protest sign at Durand Eastman Beach
As we walked along the beach we passed this guy swimming while towing a plastic dolphin. I tried to read the sign but couldn’t. I assumed it was a Bills thing. The guy saw me taking a photo and stopped long enough to shout “No Kings.”
I set the alarm on my watch for 2:50 so we wouldn’t forget to tune into Kyle Brown‘s three o’clock show “Up on the Roof” on WAYO. We love it so much. Kyle opened this week’s show with Jimmy Smith’s “Walk on the Wild Side,” too long to have been on a 45 and too clean. He plays mostly 45s and playfully skips around from soul to jazz and doo-wop. It’s like a dreamy Sunday afternoon drive in the country and provides items for my want list of used 45s.
New paint job on the garage at the end of the street
Our neighbor’s son and his Russian bride have been painting their garage this summer. They live in the Adirondacks but they have spent the last three weeks or so here with his parents. They are taking their time with the paint job but doing it right.
I seems like a week since I last posted here. The summer heat has slowed things to a crawl, things like my brain, but it is all good. We don’t have air conditioning and that contributes to the lazy pace. We’ve spent a good amount of time in the garden keeping a steady stream of greens coming in with successive plantings. And we walk down to and along the beach most days. We spend most nights reading by candlelight on our screened in porch listening to the crickets, the owls, an occasional coyote and our neighbor’s air conditioning.
We stopped in Stephen Merritt’s backyard gallery for a show with Maureen Church and Sari Gaby. Of course there was plenty of Merritt’s work there as well. Maureen paints mostly en plein air these days, lots of beautiful river scenes. And Sari had some gorgeous charcoal drawings based on Edward Curtis’s photos of Native Americans. Mostly we talked.
We stopped at Herrema’s on the way home to pick up a few things and decided to leave the car in the lot and take a walk. We were trying decide whether to walk across the street and down to Shumway’s Marina or to walk in the other direction up the river toward the city. We opted for the later. I know the City has been talking forever about developing the trails along the river but I think they are fine just the way they are. Sort of Huckleberry Finn country with the river to your right and glimpses of people’s funky backyards to your left. We even came across an old tire attached to a rope and tied to an oak limb above us.
We’re sitting on our porch in the dark as I finish this entry and we can hear Joan Jett playing in a tent down at the lake. En plein air.
