Injustice at the Hall!

Ok, not really. But more about that later.

Great trip to Cleveland this week to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Nathaniel and his friend Pete Holohan made what they describe as their first sojourn there (of course, counting on that time in the future when they themselves will be inducted).

We started off things right with a Monday night visit to Progressive Field (f/k/a Jacobs Field, or "the Jake"). A short walk from our hotel room, we settled into some great seats right behind home plate. Pete treated us to burgers and waffle fries (well, he slipped me the cash later, but I had to fork over the actual $$ to the concessionaire because I bought a cold frosty one). The Indians were playing the White Sox, and there were quite a few Sox fans (good thing, it wasn't very crowded there, by St. Louis standards). Just the day before, the Indians and Cardinals had made a trade, swapping everyday player Mark DeRosa for reliever Chris Perez and a player to be named later. From the Indians' perspective, the other player better be named sooner rather than later.

Perez entered for the Indians in the top of the 9th, with the Tribe trailing 2-0. He hit the first batter in the head (had to be removed from the game). Then he hit the second batter in the head. Then he walked the bases loaded. They left him in for some inexplicable reason. He got a couple of outs, but along the way coughed up three. Then wild-pitched in the fourth. As he left with two outs and the Tribe down 6-0, he was lustily booed off the field. Then of course Cleveland plated 3 in the bottom of the ninth, which would have been enough to win the game (pre-Perez). Oh well. We had fun--we certainly didn't care! We did notice the ridiculousness of that crazy mascot Cleveland has.

Then on to the main event Tuesday--a short walk in the other direction was the RRHF. It's a really cool building designed by architect I.M. Pei. The streets have giant Fender Stratocaster sculptures to lead the way and whet the appetite. A modest Michael Jackson figure was in front of the hall, where people had laid little mementos, but there was no real MJ memorial set up yet (I'm sure it will come).

We entered and Pete and Nathaniel posed for the obligatory entry photo (forgot to check it out at the end--just now remembered--I was going to spring for the photo this time). You can't take photos inside the hall (bummer!), but it was the right tone from the beginning. Before you enter the exhibitions and get your wristband, there is a neat display of guitars, with about six Jerry Garcia guitars (these boys are real Dead-Heads, so that got them going), a Kurt Cobain guitar, and a Jimi Hendrix guitar, among others. (I don't think they were as impressed as I was with the Johnny Cash and Chet Atkins guitars there, but oh well.)

Then we parted ways and I let the boys ramble and explore. We'd bump into each other periodically and exchange the "did you see" this or that conversations, and then go to respectively check out what the other party recommended. I think they particularly enjoyed seeing the original lyric sheet for Hendrix's Purple Haze, Jeff Beck's well-worn Telecaster:

and the signature display (instead of plaques, like the baseball Hall of Fame, the inductees have their signature on a wall in the induction hall; the signatures are white against a black background and the lighting is quite cool). Pete and Nathaniel violated the no picture rule once, telling me they couldn't resist getting their picture beside the display of the little statuette the inductees receive when they get in. That was neat.

But the "injustice" they marveled at (2 really) was that neither Nirvana nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers had been inducted. There was a big Springsteen thing going on ("two whole floors to Bruce Springsteen?!?!" they said, "but no Nirvana??? Metallica is in but not the Peppers??"). The rules of induction are that you are not eligible until 25 years after your first record release. My dispassionate pleas to them that, they probably are right on the cusp of those numbers, don't worry, they'll get in, was not enough for these boys. Then we hit the gift shop. They were very reserved shoppers, opting mainly for some cool posters (the Who and the Grateful Dead for Nathaniel).

A late afternoon swim, then dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, which itself had some pretty darn cool memorabilia. We googled Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers and found the dates of their first releases, and when we found they were almost, but not quite, at 25 years, I think they felt more reassured. That, and getting their picture taken next to Jimi Hendrix's purple pants, which were on display at the restaurant.

A lazy day on Wednesday, sleeping in, trotting briefly down to the Science Center, then on the plane back, and voila, what a trip. Thanks to the Holohan family for taking us to the airport and then feeding us pizza on our return. Really one of the best parts of the trip was the "debriefing"--the boys are great, well-suited for each other, but VERY quiet (they retired to their room (we had a pretty large suite that worked out nicely, I slept on the fold out couch in the main room), and I looked in to see what they were doing and they were reading books!!). But it was so great to hear them just buzzing about the whole trip to Faith and Michael, Pete's mom and dad.

Bad dad--I also suggested a return trip (senior trip, anyone?) to the induction ceremonies in a few years. The clips they had of those ceremonies looked pretty darn cool! (Prince jamming on While My Guitar Gently Weeps with Tom Petty? C'mon!)

On the Edge of Being on the Edge

What does it mean to live life "on the edge"? Sometimes, when feeling particularly smug, I think that I do. But I know deep down I don't, really, compared to many.

But I had a self-congratulatory moment like that while on vacation in Turkey. (Hey, isn't being on vacation in Turkey in itself on the edge? I guess not for the 75 million Turks of the world.)

On the second night of our recent sojourn, I found myself with a small opportunity. I knew we'd be doing things "as a group" for most of the trip (not on the edge!). Which was going to be fine. But if I was going to do anything on my own, off the beaten track, I could sense, "this was it." So I asked our guide, Ozlam, about the jazz club in Istanbul that had been recommended to me by a friend of an acquaintance. She said she'd help me get there.

Maybe it's the way I look. (Someone once remarked, hearing me play in a club, "Hey, you sound great--but you look like a lawyer playing the trumpet.") Ozlam looked up the address on the map. She went over it with me carefully. She wrote down her cellphone number and made me tuck it in my wallet ("Please, please, call me if anything happens!"). Oh, and about that wallet--take out all your credit cards, she advised. Not getting the warm and fuzzies.

So about 10:00 p.m. (after the evening group meal) she loaded me into a cab and gave the cab driver the proper coordinates (in Turkish, naturally). And off I went, into the night in Istanbul with no hope of communicating with my driver.

Over the bridge and water to the north part of Istanbul. Feeling a little nervous. Ozlam had told me it was at the base of a tower. Unfortunately, not knowing Turkish, I didn't realize she had only told the cabbie to take me to the base of that tower--no club name, no precise address, let alone even the right street. I couldn't communicate well enough to make him understand my precise destination. So I paid the fare and got out. I did not see the club, so I fished around in my wallet for the address--unfortunately, I had removed the small slip of paper with the address when I took out my credit cards. (At least I still had Ozlam's number--Whew!) Asked for directions. "Up there and to the left." Those directions were meaningless, as the street layout was Byzantine. Literally.

Edgier still. Should I just pack it in and go back to our hotel? I've made a good faith effort here--who would know? Giving up would make a funny little story in and of itself. But when am I going to be in Istanbul again? So I snaked down and about (after a couple of false starts, a couple more questions of patient waiters at a couple of restaurants) and eventually made it to the club. A guitar duo playing classic jazz. (And a cover charge that would have made the owners of the Blue Note in New York blush.)

"Do you have reservations?" they asked. "No," I replied. I looked around - the place was maybe a third full, on a weeknight. Reservations--are they crazy?!?!

So I settled into my seat, taking in the amazing little scene:

A perfect, small club, with brick walls, a small bar, small round tables and a little stage with a piano and drum set, unused that night (but well worn, otherwise). The smell of clove cigarettes in the air (John Garvey, anyone? "BE QUIET!" Garv would have implored). Wonderful musicians from Europe playing wonderful American art music at the crossroads of Asia, Europe and the Middle East. I emailed my friend Matt Farmer in Illinois (coverage in Turkey was amazing), who immediately replied I should request Steely Dan's "The Fez". And guess what--in the half hour since I arrived, the place had become cram-packed --a mostly young (but all vibrant, happy, and happening) group. Reservations indeed!

A couple of over-priced beers later, the place was buzzing with energy (but quiet--it's all about the music--but they're into it, man). The group swung into "Some Day My Prince Will Come," and I thought of my man, Miles. I looked up by the entrance to the door, and saw the sheet music for the tune that is the club's namesake: "Nardis" Then in little letters, its composer (well, at least by attribution): Miles Davis.

In Istanbul.

Listening to a tune Miles made famous.

At a club named after a Miles tune.

Miles, who plays the trumpet. And who grew up in Alton, Illinois, a stone's throw from where I live now.

On the edge. And right at home.

Back Again

I guess blogging is like exercising--you either get into the habit or out of it. Not having posted for two weeks in Turkey, I came back to having my Internet down at home. It took me a few days to realize it was going to take more than unplugging and replugging in my modem, and that combined with jet lag put me out of the humor to blog. Not to mention having to be glued to the election coverage.

Well, I will try to do some posting, and hopefully people will "check back in" to the blog. Talk to you soon!

Hello From Istanbul

Vacation in Turkey has started with a wet, cold, rainy day.  A fun ferry ride, nice lunch, visit to the spice market, and then to the one of the Ottoman palaces built in the late 19th century as the Ottoman empire was in decline (their response to the decline in power--start building palaces, the more ornate the better!).  At least I can prepared for the weather.  By that, I mean I brought clothes.  Oh well.  

Trying to figure out how to get to a recommended jazz club tonight or tomorrow night. 

Costa Rica

Nathaniel and I had a great time in Costa Rica. We went with Mountain Travel Sobek, an adventure travel group based in San Francisco with whom we went to the Galapagos Islands a year and a half ago. There were 16 travelers, six of whom were high school age or younger, so lots of opportunities for Nathaniel to hang with the younger crowd. Nice couples from Chicago (with two boys), Portland (with two girls), and Toronto (two very young girls who were not on the trip). A California dad (a California professor, complete with beard (he looked all "adventury", per Nathaniel) and his 14-year old daughter. There were two Davids travelling alone, one from Cleveland and one who was an employee of MTS. The latter, now living in SanFran, is a 24-year old originally from St. Louis and was a really wonderfully nice guy. Jorge was our guide, together with about 2 to 4 helpers at any one time, depending on what we were doing at the time.

We sea kayaked for the first three days on the Pacific side of Costa Rica (camping on the beach--talk about a lot of sand in your tent!), with snorkeling on the middle day. Then we river kayaked to a neat lodge on the north/Caribbean side in Tortuguero Park (a national park devoted in large part to preserving the breeding grounds for giant sea turtles that have laid eggs there for who knows how long). The final two days were white water river rafting on the Pacuare River. This was neat, there were some Class 3 rapids (maybe even one or two that were Class 4), but we made it through just fine. We also did a really neat zip line on the last day.

We (me in particular) came back with little sun-tan--I was so freaked out about the hot Costa Rican sun that neither of us saw much sun without 30 SPF sunscreen on. We saw some amazing wildlife, most notably some small caimans (a small relative of the crocodile), as well as an actual croc or two) and many different species of monkeys (not to mention countless birds--not my favorite, but fun nonetheless).

Yeah, Baby!

"Viva Las Vegas!" - Elvis Presley.

My sis has a much more literate post and relevant quote regarding her travel plans. See Notes From the W.G. (link in sidebar).

I plan to return a much poorer man.