UNDERTOW 2.21

Let's have a ramble, shall we?

MY SISTER ERIN AND HER HUSBAND/ MY BROTHER-IN-LAW LARRY CAME TO VISIT LAST WEEK AND I FAILED TO MENTION IT SO I MUST NOW DO PENANCE (FITTING AS THEY ARE DEVOUT CHRISTIANS WHEREAS I AM A SORT-OF MEANDERING CHRISTIAN BUT THAT’S NEITHER HERE NOR THERE AND THIS HUGE FONT IS TAKING UP A LOT OF SPACE) BY EXTOLLING THE VIRTUES OF MY WONDERFUL SISTER WHO WAS DEFINITELY NEVER MEAN TO ME DURING HER BRATTY TEENAGE YEARS AND HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE PICTURE OF KINDNESS AND PUPPY DOG’S TAILS AND WHATEVER THE HELL ELSE THAT SONG SAYS.

Did I mention my sister Erincame down last week?

Byond that, there’s no real theme to this week’s Undertow. There’s generally at least an underlying thread to these things, but not today. Today is just a bunch of scraps, jostled loose from banging my head against a (metaphoracil) wall.

That reminds me of a joke I really liked from my old Elaine’s show, The Pink Panther Rides Again.

MAN 1: What is this?

CLOUSEAU: It’s a metaphor.

MAN 1: What’s a metaphor?

CLOUSEAU: Don’t be stupid, it’s for phoring your metas!

Good times.

THIS WEEK’S GLIMPSE INTO THE GENIUS THAT IS TERRY O’BRIEN:

Jerry Kolber (who swears he’s going to get a paid subscription to The Undertow any day now…) and I got to play a cool little event for Morey’s Piers on Monday; Curley’s Fries 50th birthday party. A few hundred people filtered through to grab some free fries and cupcakes and take photos with the Curley the Fry and Sammy the Seagull mascots. After about an hour of playing songs they had some local dignitaries come up and say a few words, including Cape May’s own NJ State Assemblyman Erik Simonson, also an accomplished musician and longtime school teacher, and County Commissioner Melanie Collette, a better-than-average karaoke singer, as well as various mayors and such, all declaring Friday, August 16th as Curley’s Fries Day. (For clarity, Curley’s Fries are salty, delicious, thick-cut beach fries that are impossible to resist, curly fries come from Arby’s, also good, but much different. I just don’t want anyone making fools of themselves when french fry talk gets real…) After these proclamations, we went back on but, stupidly, had not picked out a song to start with. I blame Jerry, because I was innocently out in the crowd devouring french fries. Anyway, panicking as the seconds of dead air ticked by, I blurted out, “Sweet Caroline…”, a song we don’t love performing as it is right up there with Margaritaville and Brown Eyed Girl as all-time overplayed songs, but it was a sing-along kind of crowd, so why not? It was then, in a stroke of what can only be called lyrical brilliance, I turned to Jerry and said, “Sweet Curley’s Fries.” The rest is history. Planted in spring, then spring became the summer, Curley grew up to be so strong… and so forth. It was honestly a super-fun gig. Plus, free fries.

And I have to say, it’s been great getting reacquainted with Morey’s. Not just because of the gigs (okay, mostly because of the gigs…), but because I forgot how great most of the people working there really are. My tenure there (Ghost Ship mgr.) came to a somewhat ignominious end (as all my ends seem to) but for very specific reasons that had little to do with 99.8% of the organization. They’ve all welcomed me back into the fold, as it were, and all seem genuinely pleased to see me (probably because they no longer have to see me every day, absence, hearts, fonder and whatnot). I’m taking a lot of words to say they’ve been great to us, and if it ends up being one season or 20, I’m glad it happened.

DAD JOKE OF THE WEEK:

Jerry and I have several minor little tiffs a week, always jokingly, always with a kernel of truth, always about Jerry’s desire to play hit songs in our duo while I live to introduce people to great songs they’ve never heard. Tale as old as time. As I described one of these “arguments” to my son Owen last week he remarked, “You guys are like an old married couple.” I replied, “No we aren’t… wait… yes we are… we fight all the time and never have sex.” ZING!

SONG OF THE WEEK:

Listen to this absolutely funked-up cover of The Doobie Brothers’ “Listen to the Music” by the Isley Brothers. My goodness…

Sometimes I get really down about stuff. Work, money, the usual. Then I get a miracle finish on an impossible Candy Crush level and all is well.

Before we hit the paywall this week, I’d just like to thank the 77% of you that at least open this email every week, the 15 of you who pay for the privilege of accessing the entire column and my short story, TIME STREAM, and the 1 of you that pay enough attention to bring Q-Tips to my gig (I WAS KIDDING ABOUT THE TOOTH PASTE DAVE!). As some of you may know, I nuked my Facebook page that had 1000s of friends because I just couldn’t handle all the bullshit around Trump, Biden and the upcoming election. It was unbearable. Even the people who were “on my side.” I make no bones about where my politics lie. I’m a Republican. But aside from a few jokes here and there I try not to beat a drum over it. If I do, please let me know, because I know I would hate reading it from anyone else. Anyway, I started a new Facebook and am being very scrupulous on who I let in. If you’re not on there, send a request. Those who are, I would appreciate a share. I love writing this, but it’s also meant to be a secondary (tertiary?) income stream and I’d like to see an uptick in subscribers as we had into fall. Your shares can help. My social media reach is somewhat limited at the moment, so I’ll lean on you until I can rebuild my army.

And, I’m not gonna lie, the very best part of starting a new Facebook is deleting 100s and 100s of friend suggestions every day… if THAT paid, I’d be a millionaire.