Cow Chasers on 10th Avenue ~ Yahoo!

Cowboys as cow chasers?
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Before the High Line elevated freight trains above the west side streets, there were cowboys on 10th & 11th Avenues shooing carts, vehicles and people off the street bed when the trains rolled by.
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The High Line is a section of the former elevated freight railroad of the West Side Line, along the lower west side of Manhattan. It runs from 34th Street near the Javits Convention Center to Gansevoort Street in the Meat Packing District of the West Village. The High Line was built in the early 1930s by the New York Central Railroad and was an active railway until 1980.

It's Good for Your Body, It's Good For Soul

Ladies and gentlemen,The golden age of rock and roll....

Everybody hazy, shell-shocked and crazy.

Screaming for the face at the window.

Jeans for the genies, dresses for the dreamies,
Fighting for a place in the front row.

Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh(its good for your body, its good for your soul)

Ohhh, ohhh, lets go!(its the golden age of rock and roll).

Well you getta little buzz, send for the fuzz,

Guitars getting higher and higher.

The dude in the paint thinks hes gonna faint,

Stoke more coke on the fire.

Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh(you gotta stay young, you can never grow old)

Ohhh, ohhh, whoooa(its the golden age of rock and roll).

The golden age of rock and roll will never die,

As long as children feel the need to laugh and cry.

Dont wanna smash - want a smash sensation,

Dont wanna wreck; just recreation,
Dont wanna fight - but if you turn us down

Were gonna turn you around gonna mess with the sound.

The shows gotta move, everybody groove

There aint no trouble on the streets now.

So if the going gets rough,Dont you blame us

You ninety-six decible freaks

Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh(its good for body, its good for your soul)

Ohhh, ohhh, whoooa(its the golden age of rock and roll).

Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh(you gotta stay young, you can never grow old)

Ohhh, ohhh, whoooa(its good for body, its good for your soul)

Ohhh, ohhh, whoooa(its the golden age of rock and roll).

Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh(you gotta stay young, you can never grow old)

Ohhh, ohhh, whoooa(its good for body, its good for your soul)

Ohhh, ohhh, whoooa(its the golden age of rock and roll).

That's all...

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Music saved my soul, I have no doubt. Off to the Losers Lounge show at Joe's Pub after a fantastic afternoon of bicycling to the GW Bridge and back down to the Brooklyn Bridge and finished with a spin through Central Park. Life is good.

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It's Still Raining? More Mermaid Parade!

Today's poor weather makes this week a tie for the worst weather wise vacation week I've ever taken. It previously was a three way tie between two Long Beach Island weeks with the Harveys and Hoelheins in early 90s, and a June week in 1977 in the St. John's Rugby house in East Quogue behind a big row of bushes on Montauk Highway across the street from the Citgo station with Yvette Baez, Michelle Migliori and Timmy "I'm a Computer Fixer" Crowley.
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In LBI, all nine kids were young and the rain finished a miserable second to a horrific undertow that kept everybody out of the water both weeks. The highlight of the shore trips was putting the kids to bed each night and stealing one hour of silence before we passed out. The men's offers to go the store sounded like parrots, "Need anything? Need anything? Polly want a Pamper?"
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One single afternoon in two weeks, the sun popped out from a bank of clouds for 45 minutes, we went bananas. You would of thought we were a family in church at a Baptist funeral.
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The 1977 week was a lost week of drinking and stinking and whining about the lack of sun and tan. It was cold too. But we played a lot of hide and go seek in the big creepy house, there were many secret deep closets, and we did see "Annie Hall." I couldn't have been with three funnier people so the cabin fever was tolerable.
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This week is now, so it squeaks by the other three rainy duds. But I'd be lying, if I said it's a total loss. I saw Ian Hunter rock out for free on the Hudson River the other night, I cheered the Mermaid Parade in between the rain drops last Saturday at Coney Island, I rode bikes in the rain with Alison when we visited the Little Red Lighthouse, and all importantly I'm not at work. Hip, hip.

All the Way From Memphis

Yeah its a mighty long way,
down rock and roll,
As your name gets hot,
so your heart grows cold,
and you gotta stay young man,
you can never be old,
All the way from Memphis

Ian Hunter & Jimmy Mastro rocking on the Hudson at sunset with Tom Otterness mischievous sculptures surrounding you. NYC June bliss.


Ian tore it up in Rockefeller Park last night and his new tunes are solid. My friend, Anne & I roamed the park, explored the naughty Otterness treats and planted ourselves right behind Ian and Jimmy. As close as we were to Ian at the Village Underground six years ago. We sang along on the top of our lungs. Ian played everything with heart and joy. I want to be Ian when I'm 70, doing something I love, and giving it away everyday. Jimmy's guitar playing led my spirit back to Earl Slick & Steve Hunter. Went right through me.

Ian Hunter, Eddie Skuller, Jimmy Mastro, Ed Rogers & Amanda Thorpe, five artists that keep my pilot flying right.

Washington Square Park

Washington Square is back.

Coney Island's Mermaid Parade

Went to the Mermaid Parade on Saturday. Well worth the trip to Coney Island in the rain. The parade includes everyone you look at in New York City all year long, the characters that make you smile, roll your eyes or shake your head. They come together and march down Surf Avenue in their Funky Broadway Easter best. A visual feast.

Here are photos that need no explanation.

Fresh Air Fund ~ Help A Kid Get Out of the City

There is only a week and a half left in The Fresh Air Fund's dollar-for-dollar gift matching program. The Fresh Air Fund provides free summer vacations to children whose families can not afford to get away or send their kids to camp.

Please consider a donation or becoming a host.

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You can look over the Fresh Air Fund program at the link below, and make a donation there. Thank you.

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http://freshairfund-newsrelease.com/

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Dad was not a vacation kind of guy. The only time the four of us got out of the city was a week in Putnam County. My grandparents came too. I don't know details on the location, but I remember five hundred things about the week. There were rabbits, frogs, fish, chickens, dogs, birds, raccoons, kids, dew on the grass, warm lake water in the morning, no sidewalks, crickets, stars, and there was Barbara. She's holding the dog in the picture. I couldn't wait to get up in the morning and play with her. She was a cute tomboy and had no issue with wrestling me ~ she beat me most of the time. She played catch, told jokes and stuck up for me with a couple of older bullies. I remember everything about that week, but it only happened once. Getting out of the city can do that to a kid.

Paul McCartney Turns 67

Well my heart went boom,
When I crossed that room,
And I held her hand in mine.

The 8 transistor radio pressed to my ear, I memorized every word in the song. Lying on the hill against the frozen grass at the north end of Carl Schurz Park, visions of girls, dancing and holding hands whirled through my head. Had no clue how it all worked, or what I would do, but I saw these things.

It was December 1963, I was nine years old, the Beatles had dropped a bomb in my head that never stopped going off. TV and sports formerly occupied my brain’s whole house but suddenly that year, the master bedroom room was turned over to music and my 45 singles.

“I Saw Her Standing There,” was the first time Paul McCartney’s voice trapped me. Even today, if I stood in front of a jury of my peers, charged with a capital crime, and the foreman was about to read the verdict, if I heard Paul in tune I just might miss hearing,“Guilty.”

I remember missing Pope John XXIII when he died. He seemed like a nice guy, but at least the next Pope had the good sense to take the name Paul. I figured it was only a matter of time before we had a Pope George and a Pope Richard. Even at 9, I knew the church would never allow a Pope Ringo.

Paul’s 67 years old today, the guy’s been cheering me up since 1963.

Happy Birthday, Paul!

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