The Cars

In other "looking backward, not forward" news, I stumbled across this concert video of "The Cars" circa 1979 last evening. 

The Boston-based Cars were, I suppose, my gateway drug into what became known as New Wave - national bands like Blondie, Talking Heads, Pretenders, Cheap Trick, The Police, Elvis Costello, B-52s, and yes, The Knack - bleeding over into punk, to brit-rock, to ska. I blame Jim Reedy who was (and still is, no doubt) far more musically progressive than myself. I'm not sure if we ever saw them live in small clubs in Boston (it's possible that we did, Jim was adventurous and a positive influence that way) - I know I saw them in '79 at the Yale Bowl* for SunFest79 (Beach Boys, Eddie Money, Flo & Eddie, Henry Paul Band, The Cars) and again during college (Boston Garden, it's possible the Clash or one of their off-shoots opened, the internets are not cooperating this morning in terms of documenting the show)

I'm struck by how "small club rock & roll" they seem here, rough around the edges and unpolished compared to modern standards. Remembering the individual members (one of the few groups I came to learn all the band-member's names), remember playing "Good Times Roll" in Jim's basement. Did not realize bassist Ben Orr passed away so long ago (2000) and so young (53, pancreatic cancer) - he kind of has a bit of a "Sting" vibe here.

Nice to take a look back. The Cars made the jump to MTV, but broke up in 1988. I picked up a Best of Anthology on CD along the way but I never replaced my vinyl copies of The Cars or Candy-O. I remained a big enough fan to pick up Panorama, Shake It Up, and Heartbeat City on vinyl back in the day (all long gone), but I dropped out by the time they released "Door to Door" which I do not remember at all.

* I also went to the 1980 edition - The Eagles, Heart, and Little River Band - and I wore an Eagles baseball concert shirt often enough for my artistic college roomie to make it my signature garb when caricaturing me. This second concert is a blur - I had worked the overnight shift at McD's. And somebody (Robin V?) had pot which I rarely smoked but did that day, all I remember is being about as far back as possible in the Yale Bowl and my fatigued, sun-baked, and stoned brain thought I was watching the concert on TV.

Monty Python's Flying Circus on Netflix

Netflix has dumped a ton of Monty Python related material recently - best of shows, clip reels, live performances, remembrances, biographies.

I've decided to go back to the source material: 4 series, 45 episodes, aired in Britain from 1969-1974. Python has been kind of ubiquitous in my life (although the Marx Brothers were much earlier and more formative), but I'm not sure I've ever done a canonical viewing of the show. The ensemble became known for stand-alone sketch / bit comedy that fans have come to know by heart, but many of the belly laughs of viewing the original shows come from the way sketches bleed over into each other, or show up again later in the show.

My most recent watch (Series 2, Episode 1) features the "New Cooker" sketch, and the long line of service techs patiently waiting to enter the sketch pop up several times later in the show; the classic "Ministry of Silly Walks" (Cleese silly walks through the following sketch at least once), and "Ethel the Frog / Piranha Brothers" which I remembered mostly from a record album compilation, so there is a soundless bit in the middle I did not recall, as well as an addendum tacked on for the recording "...sorry squire, I've scratched the record....sorry squire, I've scratched the record....sorry squire, I've scratched the record....". And Spiny Norman's animated appearance during the credits is sort of the icing on the cake. "Dinsdale...."

My earliest Python memories were of my dad watching and laughing in our family room in PA, over the air via the local public station, quite possibly in black & white. I think we were both a little embarrassed about the occasional nudity (most often in Terry Gilliam's animated pastiches). I was a little too young for it to be appropriate (but was curious) and he seemed a little embarrassed for enjoying it as much as he did. I think he was looking for someone to share it with and I was not quite there yet.

Later on in high school, where the sketches bounced around pretty wildly in lunchroom banter and classroom cut-ups. I probably picked up a lot of it second hand, or through records - in those pre-internet, pre-DVD, pre-VCR, even pre-cable days (we were late acquirers) it was catch as catch can in terms of actually seeing the shows. And when I was able to watch a show, it was difficult to put some of the humor in context the way a serial viewing of the series provides, both in terms of repetitive themes as well as the evolution of the humor and the acting / comedy skills.

Holy Grail (1975) and Life of Brian (1979) neatly bookended my high school career - I'm sure I saw both in the theaters. But again, a different experience when one needs to pay and screen multiple times, rather than watching the film over and over the way a VCR, DVD or stream permits.

So...a nice little break from reality that I am savoring (rather than binge watching) and a chance to revisit a more innocent era, personally and culturally.

Burger Prank Foiled

 The preliminary version (pretty much as told, with some things I forgot) at last night's edition of "The Mouth" at the Mark Twain House.  Thanks to Chion Wolf and Jacques Lamarre for hosting. The theme of last night's story-telling was "I Fought the Law: Encounters with law Enforcement".

An ironic twist - as I sat down, the story-teller sitting next to me, leaned over and whispered "That would not happen to be Marian High School, would it?" - turns out he grew up in Framingham and graduated from North High School in 1978. Small world!

In February of 1979, the band A Taste of Honey won the Best New artist Grammy Award on the strength of their hit “Boogie Oogie Oogie”.

In March of that year, the Three Mile Island nuclear plant melted down. In April, my father passed away after many years of struggling with cardio-vascular disease.

In June, I graduated from high school, and in August of that year – I was arrested.

But it all started with the Grammy Awards. “A Taste of Honey” had won the Best New Artist award that year, grabbing it away from our beloved favorites “The Cars”.   My friend Jim, the bass player of our high school basement rock band, with aspirations of making radical art, concocted a bit of social and cultural protest for this offense. We’d spray paint a Rolling Stones tongue, along with the tag “CARS REVENGE” on the billboard of radio station KISS 108, the local disco station whose advertising featured a pair of lips. The billboard he had identified was up three stories, on a factory alongside, and clearly visible from, the Massachusetts Turnpike.

So one night, a hand-picked group of friends drove in to Boston. We were able to get into the factory parking lot easily enough, and the building was designed in such a way that the three stories could be climbed one floor at a time. We each had been assigned our jobs – Jim did the painting, football lineman Kevin hoisted Jim on his shoulders, Mike (with his 70’s era Dodge Charger that you could sit five across) drove, one of the local track stars climbed the building and threw down a rope for the others. I think my job was to be nervous about it all and keep an eye out for the cops.

A lot could have gone wrong (not the least of which was Jim or Kevin falling off the sign) but nothing did – and we succeeded that night in our mission. No cops.

That evening gave birth to “The Maneuvers” – our code word for going out at night with an eye to making some sort of mild vandalism or mischief. I don’t remember all of the things we did that year – some were I am sure directed at or designed to impress classmates or fast food coworkers - although I do remember breaking into the Framingham State College gymnasium, and stealing a large plywood hand painted sign that said “The Pit” - the nickname for their student section – in order to place it atop the covered patio of the smoking area of my catholic high school, known somewhat less officially as “The Pit”. 

Now, that summer, we had graduated from high school and were heading out for college, and decided to enjoy one more evening of mischief. The goal that night was street signs – so we set out in Jim’s family ranch wagon, a cooler full of beer in the “hole” in the way back. We grabbed a lot of signs that night – we got our names, the names of friends. We had it down to a science – a rubber mallet, one of us climbed up on another’s back and gave the sign a couple of whacks – and it was off. We stowed the signs in the “way back” hole, and continued on.

Jim had a bigger catch in mind that night – we were going to grab a “Now Entering Framingham” sign. And we did indeed – this time with the aid of a ratchet set (there were a lot of mounting bolts) and a bit more time. We put that in the back of the wagon and set off back for Jim’s house. En route, we passed an “A frame” sign outside of a local burger joint, and one of us (possibly me, although it might have been any of us) suggested we swipe that sign and put it in front of the local McDonald’s, where a couple of us worked that year.

So after dropping the big sign off (but still with the street signs and beer in the hole), we headed back for the burger sign. Should be a piece of cake, park, swipe, drive away.

Unbeknownst to us, the Framingham Police were staking out the bank nearby. And, as one of the cops later reported, they noticed us and said “what the BLEEP are those kids up to?” Within seconds, we were busted.

Now, we were all “good kids” from the local catholic high school, and we were scared to death – we answered the cops questions, we were polite and suitably cowed. Well, except for Jim, who started to get mouthy with the cops. When the cops asked for help pulling the sign out of the car, Jim resisted “get it out yourself”, but I hissed “get over there” thinking about the storage hole full of purloined street signs, and the cooler full of beer, that I did *not* want the cops finding. As I remember it, the cooler was an inch taller than the storage home, and the door did not close fully. Even though I was not driving and it was not my car, I was also the only 18 year old (the legal drinking age back then) in a car full of 17 year olds, and all I could think of was 5 counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor charge.

But, the cops never checked the car, we put the sign back, and they let us park Jim’s car in the restaurant lot while they took us to the station.

Here’s what I remember from the arrest:

1.  I was wearing a red I SURVIVED THREE MILE ISLAND tee shirt. The nuclear accident had happened that March; my father had died that April. So when my family went down to Lancaster PA to bury Dad, I somehow managed to pick up a tee shirt. Somewhere in the bowels of the Framingham PD is a booking photo of me with this dumb shirt.
2. The cop taking my fingerprints was making small talk, and when he found out I was going to Worcester Polytechnic Institute that fall, was all excited because his brother went there, and I really ought to look him up if I need anything. Um, how about if you just let me go right now?
3. Jim seemed to enjoy the experience, swinging on the bars in his cell, and castigating the cops for taking his shoelaces and belt “I’m gonna hang myself over a sign? Come on!?”

Amazingly, we did not have to call out parents - we called a friend who had gotten paid that day and had enough cash to bail us out; we had to go to court the next day. I remember standing at my mom’s bedside that next morning “Mom….I need to talk to you about something”. Here she is, a widow less than four months, and already her kids are starting the long slide towards juvenile delinquency, starting with her oldest.

And to our great fortune, one of our party that night (who I’ll call J. Worthington Smythe III, not his real name which was a hell of a lot more ostentatious) was destined for Holy Cross, ROTC, law school, the bar and with any luck a career in politics, and had a father who had taken the same route. An arrest record on J. Worthington’s permanent file would NOT do – so J. Worthington II got the charges dropped to a misdemeanor, gtot the case nolo’d and had the records sealed – we had to pay a fine but no conviction record. Although to be honest, I’ve told some version of the story in job interviews. It’s the sort of “show me you have character” story that works in the engineering field.

  

And that weekend, in small, page 16 news tidbit about 2 column inches long, we made the paper: BURGER PRANK FOILED, with all of our names (and our college destinations!)  Jim cut it out, and taped it up in his bedroom. I would not be surprised if he still has it…

High School Dream

One of my recurring dreams has been of high school. Invariably, I am walking the halls, struggling with my locker (unable to find it, forgetting the combination), struggling to remember the schedule (one of those "different class times every weekday kind of things"). A recurring element is that I have been skipping religion class (Catholic school) all year.

Last night's version was different. I seemed to be heading into Junior year, and I had transitioned over the summer. Found my locker, I had a green lock on it (a bleed over from my waking life) and I was putting a sticker on the front with my present name. I considered putting the trans symbol on the sticker, but thought better of it. The locker was unusual, larger size and configuration, and I had a pile of yoga blocks stashed in the bottom. The previous owner had been well organized and left me a small organized case with pens, binder clips, paper clips, etc.

Other parts of the dream included walking the halls, a little bit of flying (or rather, the ability to move by taking long, floating leaps that took me to the ceiling of the gym and auditorium). I recall meeting a few individuals, not sure if from high school or not, we were older and they had some struggles. And I remember it was the start of the year and I vowed to never miss a religion class.

Not sure what it all means, but it felt positive, as if I were making some changes, getting a chance to do things over again, correcting some past mistakes.

Losing My Religion

Somewhere between savasana and home, I had the realization that I have been having a recurring dream. I dream of being in high school, in the middle of the term or semester. And I have been completely blowing off my religion classes (I went to a catholic high school, we had religion classes) - never showing up, not even on my schedule.

Of course, I have been without a formal religious belief for many years. In fact, if anything, I have developed a strong anti-religion bias what with the antics of the christian right and radical islam. It's gotten to the point where I avoid even ecumenical or vaguely religious intersections with other causes and orgs.

I spend a lot of time plugging away at spirituality - yoga, meditation, enlightenment intensives, retreats. I have a strong belief in something larger - the divine, a cosmic consciousness, a soul in the machine. But religion - no thanks.

Pondering what that dream might mean.....

Reunion

Last evening was an overdue (31) reunion of the Marian High School class of 1979.

We've been reuniting sporadically over the years. 5 and 10, surely. Not sure if we had a 15 - if so I did not make it. We did a big deal at 20 (I was in attendance, probably right on the cusp of my big life change). And now here we are at 31. Can it have been that long?

A reasonable turn-out, 45 or so pre-registered out of a class of 160 and a few dropped in, but that (I think) includes a handful of spouses and SOs. Kudos to the folks who planned this (Dawne, Eileen, Jacqui....you rock!). It was nice to see old friends and schoolmates.

Always a little disappointing regarding who did not show - a lot of what might have passed for my posse (or at least the clump of kids I knew best, by dint of taking similar classes) were absent. Going through the yearbook now - Nancy, Keats, Mary, Jeff, Winifred, Claudette, Joyce, Rich, Kevin, Mike, Andrea, Cheryl, BJ, Maura, Jim, John. All you guys were missed, by me at least.

A few random observations. A couple of my classmates could have walked out of their yearbook photos and into the reunion - Dan, Kevin, Lisa, Marcia - you guys are timeless. Pushing 50 and you look like kids! Others seem to have grown a few inches - almost as if high school was diminishing and somewhere along the line they figured life out and grew into themselves - people you want for friends. Others have aged a bit but still bringing their spirit and energy forward from high school to now. And a handful changed quite a bit - often for the better. The women especially changed hairstyles and fashion, or grew into themselves.

All in all, the class seems to have done very well - lots of kids, interesting careers and lifestyles, lot of great energy. One might suspect a bit of selective filtering (the folks who made a point of coming were happy to be seen) but on the other hand, perhaps those missing have amazing lives that they were not willing to step away from for the reunion. So let's just call us a typical cross-section and say "bravo!"

Although "Most Changed" was not one of the class superlatives to be elected (thanks for trying, organizers!), I nevertheless accrued a significant write-in vote. Kind of hard to top my journey in terms of changes. Tee hee.

A lovely time. Thanks for your kind words everyone. I'll try not to be a stranger going forward.....

Dad

Mom sent an email last night. "APRIL 19 IS DAD'S ANNIVERSARY. PLEASE SAY A PRAYER! LOVE, MOM" - I so often forget, although I often hit a bit of a sad spot this time of year.

April 19, 1979, my father, William Joseph Russell, passed away. He was at (then named) Framingham Union Hospital, in the midst of an angioplasty attempting to repair a heart damaged by a series of heart attacks. He was not yet 45; missing his birthday by a few days - I'm older now than he ever was; if one were to believe in a corporal afterlife where one retained ones age at death, my dad would be my junior when next we met....

It is perhaps indicative of where we were at the time that none of us were at the hospital - Dad had been in and out of the hospital repeatedly over the past year or so; my sister and I had grown used to stopping by to see him after high school (right now the block from the hospital) and later finding him puttering around the house as he recovered. On some level, his infirmity had become an annoyance; we wanted to ignore it and hope it would clear up, and let us get back to our lives. So on some level, this procedure and his passing were just one more thing in a slow but seemingly inevitable slide that we had grown accustomed to.

I remember driving the family in his 1973 AMC Hornet to the hospital to see him - as the eldest child who had just turned 18 myself, I suddenly assumed a heavy mantle of family responsibility; Mom seemed in no condition to drive. At the hospital, I went in to see him; not sure if they kept him alive via machines until we got there or not, but it was clear that he was gone. I had learned well his lessons regarding torquing down on my emotions, and I did not cry even as I stood over my father's lifeless body.

I don't remember a whole lot about the next few days. I remember a little black humor with my family at the funeral home regarding caskets (Dad wouldn't want something too ostentatious, dad won't care, that sort of thing); I remember tucking a guitar pick into Dad's suit pocket; thanking him for my music. I remember a reception following the funeral at the house; not quite an irish wake but with some lightness and spirit. At my graduation a month or so later, mom presented me with a typewriter that she and dad had picked out together.

Not too long afterwards, I left for college, beginning the slow pulling away from family. My brother took over my bedroom soon thereafter and I slept on the couch or an empty bunk bed when I came home for vacations and summer. I kind of missed the mourning and getting used to a house with one less person in it. My family got a dog soon thereafter - Kyla was a mix of Coyote, Labrador, and Samoyed, she was a companion, protector, and friend - and came to live with me in CT in her dotage. I was with her when she died....

Dad has been in my mind to a greater and lesser extent over the years. I think we miss him most at those times of ceremony and ritual - holidays, graduations, weddings, births. Mom has watched over us kids in the years since - at this point she has lived as a single mother and widow much longer than she lived with her husband.

I certainly I have danced with his ghost in my therapy, on the mat, at various retreats, workshops, and ceremonies. I have moved from numbness to anger to grief; from resentment to pity. For many years I assumed I might follow his lead and expected an early death; my various transformations and personal growth has effaced that surety; I feel like I have a lot of life ahead of me. Death has not touched me much in the years since; having taken Dad, the reaper has been mostly silent these many years save for grandparents and an aunt.

Rest in peace, Dad. Miss you and love you. Not sure I have a prayer today, but you remain in memory; tears have been shed.

Make Mine Music

I've been a closet music geek for most of my life.

In grade school, a local high school band stopped by one day for a performance, and a little presentation about music. I wandered home with information about music lessons. My parents, wisely looking ahead to the day my mouth would be full of metal, steered me away from the brasses and the woodwinds. How about a guitar?

So they bought me an inexpensive guitar, and I started guitar lessons with an old guy, Joe Diorio, who appears to have played at some point with Guy Lombardo's band. He was a funny old guy - with a studio in his basement. I rarely if ever practiced, but went to his house once a week and plugged my way through the Mel Bay series under his tutelage. He knew I was not really practicing, but we both kept at it.

I never did catch fire under Mr. Diorio's tutelage - instead my musical metanoia occurred in the back of a 1969 Ford Ranch Wagon, on a family vacation through the Wisconsin Dells. Somewhere on that trip, my fingers figured out how to find the chords without my brain intervening, and my right hand started strumming rhythmically through the chord changes. Against all odds, I became a guitarist.

At some point along the line, I started playing guitar at church - in those post-Vatican II days, guitars at Catholic mass were an "in" thing. And so we'd have this wall of (probably probably poorly tuned, in those pre-electronic tuner days) guitars churning out "I Am the Resurrection" and "Here We Are". I continued to play at Mass (in various forms) for the next few decades. High school - where Janet Cavatorta held sway and infused the services with Peter, Paul and Mary, Joan Baez, CSNY, and Bob Dylan. I was too nerdy to realize how cool that was. College (a year or so with the WPI Newman society, until I lost interest). Young adulthood, where I was plucked out of the congregation (visibly singing) by the music leader who was to become my spouse. And for a few years at the local Dignity chapter.

Along the way, I started to pick my way into more secular music. I remember in grade school, one of the kids having a Beatle's songbook he wanted me to play from. I had no idea who they were - having no older siblings to initiate me into popular music. My pop music sensibilities started at the Partridge Family and did not get far past Tommy Roe (it's taken me years to not think of Proud Mary as a Tommy Roe song....)

But in high school, I started to play an electric guitar - playing in the pit band for the high school production of Godspell; and then in a late's 70s basement band. We did Cars, Stones, Knack, Zep, Hendrix (I was strictly rhythm, but wunderkind Pete Toupy was pretty amazing on lead). We dubbed ourselves Broken Bones (figuring being close to the Beatles in the record racks was a good thing, and rhythmically similar to Rolling Stones). If I recall, I think the logo had a KISS feel in terms of font) so you get where the influences were.

And although my interests were somewhat divided at the time - math & science geekery, part time work at McDonald's, creative writing - well, music always seemed to be core. When my father died the spring of my senior year in high school, I tucked a guitar pick into his suit pocket in the casket. He was not a musician himself, but he always seemed to take some pleasure in my music and if he was not a band parent, he was always encouraging and generous in terms of lessons, instruments, transportation, etc.

As college rolled around, I fell in with another musical clique, 1/2 of the band Equinox of Westboro MA. Don Montgomery (drummer), and Stan Matthews (guitar and vocals) and I (picking up a bass for the first time). Would get together and jam at a WPI student apartment (Fuller 22, if memory serves) and later on the 3rd floor of the Westboro Package Store building where Stan assembled a small studio with a 4 track reel-to-reel recorder. We had a couple of gigs - a talent show at the WPI Goat's Head Pub (a black and white photo exists which will be graciously not scanned in), a full gig at the Westboro K of C hall (I have the entire thing recorded on cassette!). A graduation party on a flat-bed truck (all I remember is leading us through Jonathon Richman's Roadrunner to a field full of screaming drunk recent grads)

My musical roots grew deeper - Don was a huge Stones fan, Stan adored the Beatles, the Doors and Joy Division. We played all over the classic rock spectrum - the Animals, U2, Clash, Jam, Beatles, Stones, CCR, Neil Young. It was a fun time.

After college, I drifted away from my own music. My spouse was a musician and I kind of dropped out in the way that married couples sometimes distribute interests and responsibilities. But after a brief marriage and separation, I began to pack my old Ibanez acoustic into the car and hit the local open mike circuit. Starting at the Common Ground in Bristol, and ranging all over (Susan's in Granby, Roaring Brook in Canton, Buttonwood Tree in Middletown, Equinox World Cafe in Manchester) I played mostly covers with a few originals. My singing was never particularly noteworthy, and my playing was never more than workmanlike, but I was out there.

And then, 15 years ago or thereabouts, I started to mess with gender. And as my affect began to soften and blur, and the difficulty of moving across the gender divide whilst playing gruff and growly folk music set in, I slowly set down my guitar. I continued to truck it along with me to the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival (I've been volunteering and attending for 18 years or thereabouts), but after a while it never came out of the case, and then for a few years, I stopped bringing it. For many years, I did not even pick up my guitars.

A few years back, having discovered yoga, I went to an evening of chanting called Kirtan. I loved the music, I loved the energy, and when the evening was over I shyly approached the leader, Shankara. "I know you have a guitar player, but if he ever needs a backup or a rest, I play too....." Little did I know that Jeff the guitarist was stepping back from the group, and Shankara was actively looking for a guitarist. And suddenly, I had a gig. Music was back.....

I've played with the kirtan group (not so far removed from my folk mass roots, really) for a few years now - my rather intuitive playing and many years in the folk mass trenches giving me the right skills to sit and play for 2-3 hours straight, to think on my feet, to play with abandon without a particular set list or structured songs. Along the way I've picked up a new guitar (a smaller Ibanez with internal electronics), an instrument amplifier, and an acoustic bass. We're still at it....next Kirtan is Feb 11th....come on down!

And for the past few weeks, I've been rehearsing with a lovely musical duo - Sandy (Vocals) and Dan (guitar) making up the Guinea Pigs (a rather interesting name, dubbed the night they went first at an open mike). They play an eclectic mix of great stuff - Nick Lowe, Simon & Garfunkel, John Prine, Todd Rundgren - along with a good dose of originals. They sound wonderful together, and I'm totally excited to be adding my bass playing to the mix. It's been really fun learning their songs and rehearsing with them - and rediscovering my bass playing chops. (We're looking for a drummer, in case readers play or know someone who does)

They play around a bit - open mics, farmer's markets, clubs, other opportunities. We're doing an open mic slot on Monday up at Union Street Tavern in Windsor. It will be my first time performing publicly like this in many years. I'm excited. Playing music! Hope it sounds as good as it feels!

Glastonbury Kids

Popped over to Cinestudio this afternoon for the premiere of a local film, glastonburykids, by Justin Donais.

Was not really planning to go, but I heard a small piece on Colin McEnroe's show, and drove up that way to check my PO Box and get out of the house before the snow came. When all my likely places to hang out for a few hours came up empty, I remembered the film, and headed over to the Trinity campus.

Pretty interesting and resonant on a few counts.

First, I too was one of those kids who got into trouble young. Not quite so egregious or destructive, but my posse went out on what we called "maneuvers" which was typically some form of minor vandalism with a social, political, or arts purpose. So we (for example) drove in to Boston to spray paint rolling stones lips on a Kiss 108 billboard (the local disco station back in the late 70's) with the words CARS REVENGE, ostensibly a protest of Taste of Honey winning the Best new Artist Grammy over our beloved Cars. That the billboard was three stories up, clearly visible from the Mass Pike, and we needed to scale the building on the outside (through various sub roofs and levels) added to the charm / mystique. For the record, I think I got about two floors up my friend Jim and Kevin did the dirty work.

Another "maneuver" involved breaking in to the local state college gym, stealing the plywood sign that hung over the student section "The Pit" and placing it on the roof of the outside smoking area (also called The Pit) of our high school.

Our final maneuver came the summer following senior year. After a night of sign stealing (mostly road signs with our names) we took a "Now Entering Framingham" sign. En route back from that little escapade we noticed an A-frame sign outside a local (as opposed to national) fast food place; since several of us worked at McD's, we decided it would be funny to grab the sign and put it in front of our restaurant. Unfortunately the police were staking out an adjacent bank watched us (What the heck are those kids doing?) and we were busted.

We spent a night in jail, got booked (the booking officer was all excited I was going to WPI and told me to look up his brother if I needed help there), bailed ourselves out. One of our number that night had a lawyer dad who got the case Nolo'd and closed - we ended up with a few months probation and a fine. Somewhere in the bowels of Framingham Police files there is a mug shot of me with a red "I survived three mile island" tee-shirt. It was written up in the paper - "Burger Prank Foiled" was the headline - and we were damned lucky the cops did not search the car and find the beer or other signs we had pilfered that evening. Stupid kids.

I just remember standing beside my mom's bed that morning to let her know what happened as I headed off to court. My dad had passed away just a few months before and already her worst fears were coming true as her eldest (the smart one) was headed to court. Poor mom!

So, glastonburykids kind of resonated on that line. But in addition, I spent a long year ferrying my mentee back and forth to the same courthouse that the kids in the film went to - as she struggled with an arrest and probation related to a stupid answering machine threat (I believe the exact words were "I'll stab you with a fork in your throat, b*tch") she made to a drag queen from the Polo Club; the DQ's ex boyfriend (who lived in Glastonbury, coincidentally) was dating my mentee. This 19 year old called the cops on a 16 year old high school kid who lived 20 miles away and had no way to even get to Hartford, and the cops arrested her. What a joke.

So I trucked her back and forth to court - first for the initial charge, and later when they picked her up for violating parole (she assumed parole officers could be ignored the same way the school guidance counselors could - she assumed wrong). She spent a night in jail - and I went and bailed her out. So I get where these parents are coming from. I must have spent more than 20 hours in that courthouse over a year.

Back to glastonburykids - good documentary. Interesting to see how these kids of privilege (cell phones, cars, little supervision) were left to roam and get into trouble. Interesting to see how "jackass" style stunts went from stupid to dangerous to criminal. And the film-maker did a nice job of slowly revealing the scope (and criminal nature) of the kids stunts.

The film-maker and 4 of the subjects were there this afternoon. The kids (for the most part) seem like they've got their lives back on track, although interestingly one of the kids NOT busted at the time of the documentary sounded (from his statements after the film) to have gottne in trouble later. So perhaps it was just a matter of time for all of them.