Born to Run--and Never Grow Old

Bruce Springsteen recently released his 17^th studio album, Wrecking Ball, seventeen albums spanning four decades of prolific song writing and legendary live performances.  Bruce has been on my radar screen since the release of his first album, Greetings from Asbury Park in 1973, but it wasn’t until his ‘75 landmark album Born to Run that I raised the flag of E Street Nation.

When Born to Run was released I was in my mid-twenties, a dreamer who moved from my childhood home in Bergen County, New Jersey to Manhattan with the expectation that I’d become a wildly successful independent filmmaker.  Subsisting on meager wages and living in a 400 sq. ft apartment on West 80^th St. my expectations were ebbing and spirit was fading.  Although it’s never been an easy place to live, New York City was particularly ugly and unforgiving back in those days—Gomorrah seeking redemption.

My 400 sq. ft. cell was flanked by heroin addicts, hookers, and other dreamers who were dancing on the edge.  It was an oppressively hot summer day, my air-conditioner, the same air conditioner that was eventually stolen from its mount, strained to keep up with the heat.  Disillusioned and depressed I tuned to WNEW-FM, which had become my lifeline to the outside world.  The DJ introduced Jungleland, a rock poem punctuated by guitar riffs and stirring instrumentals from Born to Run. Before the opening violin and piano arrangement concluded I sank to the floor, closed my eyes and absorbed every note and every word of a remarkable composition.

For the next nine minutes I was transported into a story about aimless suburban kids acting out their lives in the dark shadows of a merciless city.  Jungleland was the soundtrack of my journey from suburbia to a place where dreams easily die.

At its core, Bruce’s music is about ordinary people reaching for the brass ring; sometimes they’re successful, sometimes they’re not, but the characters that populate his lyrics forge ahead even in the face of long odds.

Springsteen’s politics are rooted deep in the souls of the people he writes about.  His music has always been a reflection of the times we’re living in and that is no more evident than it is on Wrecking Ball, a work that captures the groundswell of anger rippling through a populace on the brink.

Despite his enormous wealth and status as rock royalty, Springsteen has never strayed far from his working class roots.  When the cause is just, he’s always been generous with his time and money.  It’s been his long-standing tradition to make a monetary donation to the food banks of the cities that host his concerts. 

As long as he’s been coming to Denver, he’s encouraged his fans to support the Food Bank of the Rockies.  Never in the history of his career have the resources of food banks across the country been stretched as thin as they are today.  

E Street Nation was built largely around Bruce’s live performances.  In a 1999 interview with Bob Costas, Springsteen described his shows as, “…a revival meeting, a circus, a dance hall, a political rally; all those things rolled into what you present in an evening, and that was rock and roll for me.”

Sadly, in the last four years two long-time members of the E Street Band have passed, organist Danny Federici and saxophonist--and Bruce’s onstage foil--Clarence “Big Man’’ Clemons who died of a stroke last year.  In his eulogy at Clemons’ memorial service Bruce said, “Clarence doesn’t leave the E Street Band when he dies, he leaves when we die.”

At 62, Springsteen is an elder in the rock community.  As the years add up and the stage gets smaller, his songs are an affirmation of life.  On March 9th at an invitation only concert at the Apollo Theater in NYC, he acknowledged the absence of his musical soul mates by saying, “If you’re here and we’re here--they’re here.”

Corporations are NOT people!!!

(The following opinion piece was originally written during the early "daze" of the Republican primary in the Fall of '11.  We'll never forget the entertainment value Rick Perry and Herman Cain brought to the political process.)

“Corporations are people.” or so says Mitt Romney as he campaigns for the Republican presidential nomination.  It began at the Iowa State Fair in August when a heckler suggested to Romney that taxes be raised on corporations.  Surprised and seemingly agitated by the brazen protestor, Romney went off-script and responded by saying, “Corporations are people, my friend.”  I doubt the heckler was Romney’s friend, but by responding with a counter-intuitive phrase, he let the genie out of the bottle.

Intended or not, the August 11^th incident might play well with corporate donors during a heated primary, but with a cranky electorate it will spell doom in a general election.  Rather than run away from what might have been a Freudian slip in August, Romney doubled down on his corporations are people assertion during a town hall in Miami on September 21^st.

When a slick politician like Romney says that the car I drive is made by a corporation, ergo person, that, like me, might be mildly neurotic and slightly overweight, I’ll respond with a, “Huh?”, but the executives at that car manufacturer hear, “Don’t worry, I have your back.”

Romney’s charming notion of corporate personhood is rooted in the Securities Act of 1933, which does in fact state, “The term ‘person’ means an individual, a corporation, a partnership…”  From a non-scholarly perspective, I doubt that when F.D.R. signed this act into law it was intended to bestow birth rights onto a legal entity.  According to all of the dictionaries I’ve consulted, a person is unequivocally defined as a “human being”.

Then there’s the Citizens United ruling by the Supreme Court.  It extends First Amendment rights to corporations (associations of citizens) so the electoral process can be manipulated by laundering money for “political speech” through a convoluted set a rules.  Citizens United establishes super PAC’s which ostensibly are created to promote education, but really provide cover to corporations and big money donors whose agenda is to influence elections with misinformation and truck loads of money.

I’ll concede that without corporations, a lot of real people wouldn’t have jobs, but to equate corporations with human beings is absurd. 

If I were to suspend logic and accept Romney’s assertion that corporations are people I’d have to ask the following questions: Have you ever hosted a dinner party for eight of your favorite corporations?  When was the last time you sat down and had a thoughtful chat with a corporation?  Who was that really cute corporation walking her dog in the park this morning?  And most importantly, where is The Trump Organization, Inc. birth certificate?

At a recent Republican debate, Stephen Hill, a gay solider currently serving in Iraq, asked Rick Santorum via a You Tube video if he would, “…circumvent the progress that’s been made for gay and lesbian soldiers in the military.”  Hill’s question was greeted by loud boos from some in the audience.  Neither Santorum nor anyone else on the stage thanked Mr. Hill for his service, instead the chorus of boos fell on the deaf ears of all the Republican hopefuls.

In August Romney snapped at a heckler in defense of corporations, yet in September, as he continued to promote corporate personhood, he stood like a mannequin when an active duty member of the military he wishes to command was booed by a small contingent of boneheads.

I don’t care what Mitt Romney or the Securities Act of 1933 say-- corporations are not people!  A human’s existence isn’t validated by articles of incorporation—a real person’s life is measured by the rewards and challenges of everyday living. 

Real people will cast their votes on November 6, 2012--people who’ve had their fill of Wall Street barons and their lap dogs in Washington DC.  At a time of expanding economic inequality it’s political suicide to conflate the human condition with amorphous legal entities.  If Romney wants to avoid fanning the flames of discontent, he’d be well advised to put the “corporations are people” genie back its bottle. 

Health Care... People or Profits?

Okay, right-off the top, full disclosure: I have what might be referred to as "Cadillac" health insurance, although I'd much rather look at it as being Mercedes coverage. I'm fortunate enough to have access to this kind of coverage and even though it's not cheap--double digit annual increases for the last eight years--I can FINALLY look at it as a good investment.

When the dust settles I have no idea how much my battle against cancer will cost, but I'm sure it will be WELL into the five figures--if not six figures.

Listen-up, here's the important part: For reasons I won't get into here, I purchase my insurance through the Federal Government, the same benefit extended to our Congressional Representatives, even those who opposed Health Care Reform. Hypocrites!!

Arguably the Federal Government is one of the largest employers in the U.S. The critical mass of employees enables the Feds to dictate the terms to the insurance companies, "You want our business, here's how the game will be played." Pre-existing conditions? That was NEVER an issue for anyone who was extended these generous benefits, the insurance companies were obligated to take anyone regardless of their medical history. I knew someone who battled cance for years, yet changed insurance companies almost annually.

Factor out all of the lobbyists and legislative smoke and mirrors ,and the benefit I've been getting through the Federal Government is what Health Care Reform was supposed to look like.

All of the bitching over the requirment that people buy health insurance and no one ever stood-up to question why it's a law in every state that if you want to own a car you MUST buy automobile insurance. Why is that okay, yet spreading the risk for health insurance causes some peoples' veins to pop?

Socialized medicine? To that I say, Bullshit!! One of the popular scare tactics of those opposed to health insurance reform is the tired line, "It will wind-up being like Canada where you have to wait to get in to see a doctor." I have no personal experience with doctors in Canada, but have you ever tried to schedule an appointment with a specialist here in the U.S.? Weeks, it can take weeks before you can fit into their schedule. That's not a wait?

Reforming health care "should" be easy, just change the business model from profit driven to non-profit. How can health care ever be just or equitable if the bottom line is the determining factor in how care is delivered and to whom?

Hell, Kaiser, which is a non-profit, works just fine and I'm sure there are plenty of Kaiser employees, doctors and staff, who make very handsome livings. Kaiser's focus is on their patients--not the stock-holders.

Will we ever see the day when common sense prevails and the interest of ALL people are served? I want to believe it can happen, but it will require an iron will and visionary leadership. Obama got the ball rolling, let's hope the Sarah Palin's of the world don't find a way to knock the ball into the gutter.

Fifty plus Ten

(Author's note: The following essay never saw the light-of-day as a published piece. It was intended to be a follow-up to "Bread Pudding and Harley-Davidson" which you can access through the link above.)

August 2010

“Bread Pudding and Harley-Davidson”. That eye-popping headline graced a column I penned for this paper on August 25, 2000. The off-beat title, which was the brainchild of one of the Post’s copywriters, actually befit the subject matter of the piece.

Earlier that year I was honored to have been selected as one of the panelists for the Post’s Colorado Voices. My fifteen minutes of fame as a guest columnist gave me the opportunity to write about anything I deemed worthy of one column width. As it so happened, my 50th birthday, a worthy subject if there ever was one, occurred during that time.

As anyone who has crossed that chronological threshold knows, 50th birthdays can be cause for full-blown existential crises. I used my biweekly 650 words to share a half-century’s worth of transitions and transformations with the Post’s readers.

Ten years, two wars and one global financial melt-down later, and I’m about to commemorate my 60th birthday. At my annual physical in 2000, my doctor informed me that my life was theoretically five-eights over. Using that math I’m now three-quarters of the way to the theoretical finish line.

How do I plan to usher in the last quarter of my life? I’ll be on the track at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway clutching the steering wheel of a Ferrari F430, an ultra sleek car that tops out at 198 miles an hour. Not a bad way to begin the fourth quarter, or as Doc Brown (Christopher Lloyd) from the movie Back to the Future put it, “The way I see it, if you’re going to build a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?”

During the summer of 2000, when I was straining to assemble my thoughts about the unsolicited invitation I had received to join the AARP, I elected to put a humorous spin on my circuitous route to the big Five-O.

The dog days of 2010 find me reflecting on the last ten years and things seem less amusing. In ten short years the pace of life has accelerated faster than Doc Brown’s time machine. The technological advances we’ve seen in one decade are mind boggling--yet our economy is stuck in the toilet.

Google was in its infancy when I penned Bread Pudding, but in the time it’s taken me to get to this point in this essay I’ve probably “Googled” a half-dozen references—including the history of Google.

Our world has changed in the span of one decade. I’m not going to waste precious space rehashing all the life altering events of the last ten years. We know them too well--the 24/7 news machine won’t let us forget that there are still boogey men living under our beds.

The billowing clouds of ash and smoke from the World Trade Center seem to linger in the atmosphere. The world has become an unforgiving place where ideological vampires drain the spirit from our collective soul. Those of us who greeted the new millennium with optimism are now, at best, cautiously hopeful. And the many who laid-in supplies for the media inspired Y2K apocalypse are preparing for the final invasion of the boogey men.

I’ve arrived at the doorstep of sixty and there to greet me is my own boogey man. In a lifetime of challenges, great and small, the biggest challenge came two months ago when I had to tell my daughters I have prostrate cancer.

It sucks. The entirety of my life is in my face, but I’ll deal with it and soon enough I’ll be eligible for membership in the community of proud cancer survivors. When you’re confronting the reality of turning the final page on your fifties AND you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, well, the right words don’t come easy.

If I’m lucky, maybe a Ferrari F430 will catapult me back in time, to a time when boogey men were locked in the basement and words flowed as smoothly the healing waters of a remote mountain stream

Someone Blogged in My Facebook

Facebook, Twitter, Instant Messaging, Text Messaging… What next? What new way will some techno-wiz conceive so that we can further avoid having actual conversations.

Several years ago I realized I was going to have to learn to “text” if I wanted to stay in touch with my daughters. Don’t bother making a call or leaving a voice mail--it’s an exercise in futility. Send a text and you get an immediate response. In addition to having to learn to type on an impossibly tiny keypad, I had to learn texting lingo.

I once cracked-wise during an instant message exchange with one of tech support nerds where I worked. Instant messaging being what it is, I received an instant reply--LMAO.

“LMAO, what does that mean?” I wrote back. Immediately my phone rang and on the other end was the very person with whom I had been messaging. She was kind enough to offer an explanation, but I couldn’t resist asking, “Why were we messaging when we both have phones at our fingertips?” I didn’t get an answer, but fifteen minutes later a three letter instant message popped-up on my screen--BRT. There I sat, LMAO because the tech support woman was making her way to my office from her office--down the hall.

Parenting a teenager today has to be an absolute nightmare. How young is too young to equip your kid with a cell phone? A cell phone that can do just about anything. If the kid is lucky enough to have an iPhone there’s probably an app that can do his or her homework for them, assuming teachers bother to give homework assignments anymore.

When I was a young lad and I wanted to call a girl her dad was usually the gate keeper, “Err… umm… hi… Mr. Smith, is… err… umm… duh… is Susan home?” Most of the time Mr. Smith was kind of cranky, probably because I had interrupted his newspaper and television time, “WHO’S THIS? WHAT DO YOU WANT??” If Susan was lucky she had a Princess phone in her bedroom, but that was rare, usually she was tethered to the wall phone in the kitchen.

Modern technology has made it difficult, impossible even, for a parent to know who their kid is talking to. Both of my daughters, who are now in the twenties, were on the cusp of cell phone technology when they were teens. I equipped my older daughter with a cell phone, it took her all of two weeks to discover the pleasures of text messaging. When I saw the bill my jaw dropped, hundreds and hundreds of text messages—at ten cents each!!! I called the cell carrier and pled my case, “I had no idea this could happen. Can you cut me a break?” Looking at the string of messages the customer service rep said, “Wow, that’s impressive!” Back in those days cell companies were customer friendly and the young man graciously knocked-off most of the charges.

We’ve gone from bulky cell phones that were just phones, to portable data devices that will do just about anything except clean-up after the dog. If you ever get bored with messaging log on to Facebook and catch-up on all of the mundane activities of people you never really knew in high school, “Jack Smith just changed the oil on his car.”; “Sue Johnson is stuck in traffic on I80 between Lodi and Saddle Brook.” Is this information anyone really needs? How about an original or entertaing thought now and then? Never have so many words been spoken and so little said.

Forget Twitter, I’m not going there; besides, I’m too old to learn how to use it. I’ll leave Twitter to all of attention whores who think that everything they do is of interest to one of their “followers”.

Suppose Jesus had a Twitter account. One of his “tweets” might go something like this, “in Bethsaida... tired... feet hurt... need new sandals... 4,000 hungry people... five loaves of bread... two fishes... think I'll order take-out”