Raising Rockers

I'm raising a classic rocker.

Aleda, my daughter, got her start listening to reggae. When she was an infant, I would play Marley and Cliff (and a little Tosh) and dance with her folded in my arms. She would fall right to sleep. As a toddler she had her Laurie Berkner spell, which is kinda okay, but it was supplemented with a lot of the Police and the Clash and, yup, a little PJ Harvey. At around seven-years-old she discovered me listening to Judas Priest and soon leapt from choosing to play the Monkees to listening to BRITISH STEEL... and then Joan Jett... and more Police and Clash on her own. I would douse her in music nightly and she absorbed it all – the alt. (Pavement, Neutral Milk), the pop (Feist), the Led and the prog. (Genesis... all of it). And now she's on her own. I built a Spotify playlist that she navigates for only the classic rock, skipping all my rap selections (unless Run DMC), all my attempts to connect to currently hip bands (does Dr. Dogg count?), for Foreigner, Queen, Nirvana (in her world, they’re “classic rock”) and the King of 'em all, Bowie. She's becoming that kid with the denim jacket and the buttons. If I could just tear 

https://open.spotify.com/user/cartknocker/playlist/4Oryk5EDZMKKIJ3Jvuu0Y3

Hillary or Bernie? I May Side with the Kids... or Not.

I have been absolutely and completely tortured by my choices for this presidential election.

2008 was beyond difficult as Maria and I split our votes. It felt kinda awful. It was the first time we chose different candidates since we canvassed the East Village in 1992 for Governor Moonbeam.

And here we are, almost eight years later, and we may split our primary votes again. Believe me, we both know what’s at stake; and our hearts and minds couldn’t be more invested.

So, I asked Aleda, our 14-year-old daughter, “Who would you vote for if you could?”

“That’s almost impossible for me to answer.”

“Why?”

“I love Bernie. He’s from Vermont and I believe in him, but I worry that he wouldn’t get anything done because everyone in Washington would be against him.”

“You would vote for Hillary then?”

“No, because her intensity doesn’t seem real.” [I shit you not. She said this.] “And I worry that she’s the kind of person to put us in another war.”

“So, if I gave you $1,000,000.00 to choose, who would it be?”

“Then it would be random.” [Pause.] “No, wait, it would be Bernie. He cares more about the future.”

My daughter is the Modern Young Woman and making choices like a Modern Young Woman not unlike the 80% of 18 to 30 year olds who support Bernie. The history of women in the world is not, thankfully and disappointingly, hers. [Did we err as parents?]

Bernie is my truth and Hillary is a woman and I have lived my life trusting women more than men, almost always.

Tonight, 23 days from New York’s primary, and I’m no closer to making a decision than I was on April 28, 2015 when Bernie announced his candidacy.

I may side with the young who are siding with the old man… and then again, I may not.

Not Necessarily a Joke

Facebook post from two days ago:

So, Bernie and Hillary are having pints at Donegal’s on 72nd St. talking about their respective campaigns. Bernie says, “Listen, Secretary Clinton,” and Hillary cuts him off:

“Oh, Bernie, Hill is fine.”

“Well, Hill, the only way I will step away from this race is if you promise…”

“I promise already.”

“You don’t even know what I’m goin’ to ask.”

“Well, I have a sense: Raise the minimum wage to $15, forgive education loans, eliminate tax breaks for the oil companies, make all public colleges tuition-free, support states’ rights to legalize marijuana, expand social security,…”

“Yeah, yeah, all that too, but not what I was goin' to ask.”

“What, Bernie? What? I’ll do it.”

He takes a gulp of his IPA and she sips her Guinness.

“I want you to ‘Drumpf’ 'im.”

“’Drumpf’ him?”

“I want you to kick the mutha fucka’s ass so hard that only shit comes outta his mouth.”

“Clearly, Bernie, he was Donald Drumpf-ed a long time ago.”

Just to Confirm...

Just to confirm what you already know, the KKK’s current political platform IS the same as the Republican Party’s agenda, if not always overtly so. Their positions include, but are not limited to:

1. The recognition that America was founded as a Christian nation.
2. The recognition that America was founded as a White nation.
3. Put America FIRST in all foreign matters.
4. Stop all Foreign Aid Immediately.
5. Abolish ALL discriminatory affirmative action programs.
6. Put American troops on our border to STOP the flood of illegal aliens.
7. Abolish all anti-gun laws and encourage every adult to own a weapon.
8. Drug testing for welfare recipients.
9. A flat income tax should be introduced to allow for the funding of community, state and federal projects.
10. Abortion should be outlawed except to save the mother’s life or in case of rape or incest.
11. We support a national law against the practice of homosexuality.
12. Restoring individual freedom to Christian America.
13. We support state sovereignty resolutions.

The Knights Party Platform is currently unavailable on their website. Instead, I found it tucked away in the Internet Archive. Here’s a snapshot: https://web.archive.org/…/201507020523…/http://kkk.bz/main/…

While we scream about Bill’s proximity to polling places in Massachusetts, dive deeper into Hillary’s private server, and condemn Bernie as “unelectable,” we need to confirm our overall positions. The above beliefs are unacceptable, no matter who conveys them, Trump or Cruz. Let’s stop our infighting and focus on the big picture. Please.

Spring Out of Myself

“Spring is the mischief in me…”  (R. Frost).

This will be my 45^th spring and if I can keep my health, avoid the self- and selfless-destruction that I seem so bent upon, maybe I’ve got another 40 springs to enjoy.

Spring means planting and that’s what I am, a planter, not necessarily a gardener – the latter implies physical and aesthetic control over that which is being planted. I like things to grow… and grow. I am, unquestionably, the world’s worst bonsai artist.

No other season comes close to this one. Summer, while great, can carry with it the complications of heat and sunburn and August droughts.

Autumn wrecks me (although when living in Vermont, its foliage lessened the blow). I fall into a seasonal funk that extends beyond my emotions as all my senses are cut in half. By November, I’m storing extra weight and retreating from everyone, including myself.

Winter is good – I’m full of beer and pasta, idle and okay with that – and can hint, like the past few days, at the promise of spring. Dates begin to matter again: March 1, and I’m moving again; St. Pat’s Day, and everything tastes better; March 20, and I’m ten pounds lighter (I almost shit you not).

In about two weeks I will begin to plant my first seeds. This year, after a five year break, I’ll be planting tobacco. The nearly microscopic seeds produce ten foot stalks, 20 inch leaves, and clusters of flowers that draw almost every beneficial insect its way (and more than a few unwanted ones).

I’ll be planting sweet peas directly into the containers on the roof – seeds I swiped from the vines that seem to grow wild around the Park-McCullough House in North Bennington, VT.

I’ll be planting okra because, and I swear this is true, my daughter loves the fruit. I, in turn, adore its trumpet blooms – probably my favorite flower, hands down.

In a few weeks, my one forsythia will start to bloom, my cherry blossoms will be pinched by the sparrows, and my plum tree will begin its endeavoring to give me my first plum. In about a month, the gladiolus will start to spike. Around April 15, my chile pepper plants will arrive from Hunterdon, NJ (see Chileplants.com) and my planned descent into my own burning bowels begins. I’ll plant a few tomatoes for Maria and fill all our ceramic pots with farmers market bought annuals. When the absolute danger of frost [pun intended] is past, I will bring out my deadly citrus trees (all thorns and no fruit) and not mourn the loss of a few of them. And then everything will grow and my chin will reappear and my irises, of the optic kind, will be visible and then on Wednesday May 4, when I go to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden Plant Sale (on the first afternoon for members), I will buy perennials that I know will fail, like pomegranate and water lilies, but I’ll try again.

By June, I’ll be completely alive; but by July, I’ll be crossing off one more spring and looking forward to my 46^th version.

And in 2017, I plan on growing hemp because it grows. And in 2018 I'll be working the garden at the Fishkill Correctional Facility in Beacon, NY.