Sam Barry's Blog, page 7

The Harmonica Chronicles, Continued

Today marks the continuation of The Harmonica Chronicles, an intermittent, halting series in which I intend to explain why the harmonica—more than any other instrument in the civilized world or the United States—is the answer. But before I begin the groundwork must be laid, because you don't want to proceed before you lay your groundwork.

At our most recent monthly All-Star Jam with Los Train Wreck (go ahead, FaceBook people—click on the link and friend us! We need friends. We are musicians.) I announced that the great Ben Fong Torres and Lynn the Bartender are running for mayor of San Francisco (separately, that is). I admit that I made these announcements without checking with the principles, but hey, it's not the first time someone was nominated for high office without being asked. Look at George W. Bush. However, unlike Bush, neither Mr. Fong-Torres nor Ms. Bartender took up the baton and ran with it. Therefore, I hereby and henceforth announce that I, Samuel M. Barry, being of sound mind and body, am running for mayor of the great city of San Francisco. I am not as elegant, tall, or young as the departing mayor Gavin Newsome, but these shortcomings may be advantageous. For instance, I am less likely to have an affair with one of my aids, because she would likely say "no." Also, when it comes to harmonica I can play rings around Newsome.

I haven't settled on a campaign theme yet. I have two ideas:

• Positive: Together, we can get do it!

• Negative: Who are all these morons?

While I see the inherent value of going with the positive campaign, I think the negative better fits the tenor of the times. I had one other idea—"Quietly doing the right thing"—but this seems a surefire way to be ignored.

As mayor I intend to take San Francisco in a New Direction. Currently we are heading north, while the East Bay is heading south, as the two tectonic plates that met out here at a rave back in the day continue their grand (and rather dirty) dance. I think it is time we went forward to the past, to steal an idea from a great movie—and basically we see movies as reality here in California—and crown myself emperor. There is a precedent for this: on September 17, 1859, Joshua Norton of San Francisco declared himself "Norton I, Emperor of the United States." As emperor, Norton I abolished both the Democratic and Republican parties—a policy which would undoubtedly be very popular today.

Emperor Norton also issued and spent his own currency, much as the United States still does, but for some reason Emperor Norton was viewed as deranged. I will also issue my own currency, as the old-fashioned way of working for it is both tiresome and time consuming.

Emperor Norton is a beloved figure in San Francisco, of course—for instance, one of our many fine, independent bookstores, Bird and Beckett, recently honored his legacy—but he is remembered fondly around the world in Somerville, Massachusetts, the home of the Emperor Norton's Stationary Marching Band. These followers of Emperor Norton believe he revealed himself to be "no ordinary mortal man, but instead a manifestation of the absurd and unusual forces of the universe" on a "crusade to unsettle and disturb that which had become bland and banal. . . . ENSMB is the progeny of this bizarre cavalcade. They dance at the edge of reason, sing the song of society's fringe and drum out whatever din you are called to march to. Emperor Norton is not dead; he is waiting to be awakened in each of us."

Whatever the members of ENSMB are smoking, I'm in. After all, several world religions have begun on less concrete, coherent grounds. I wonder if they need a harmonica player?

Whether you play an instrument or not, I invite you to join with me in a stationary celebration of the life of Emperor Norton. And don't forget to vote for Sam Barry for mayor of San Francisco if you live here in San Francisco, or even if you don't. I'm not sure when the election is being held, but I am sure someone will let me know.

New Year's Resolutions

One day many years ago, when I was graduating from college, my mother handed me a piece of paper with a list of resolutions carefully printed in what I immediately recognized as my own early adolescent handwriting. My mother had found this hallowed document in my room years before and had kept it safely in a drawer. She was sharing it with me then because she deemed my thirteen-year-old self to be safely in the past. When she found the document in my room the resolution that caught her eye was my vow to stop smoking marijuana and hashish. Since she had no idea that I was using drugs this had been a bit of a shock to her.

There were other resolutions. Some addressed moral issues such as lying. Others were about my schoolwork and attendance, which was showing some signs of decline. Others were more relational—being a good son, friend, or standing up for myself.

What struck me about the document was the earnest sense of repentance: the care with which I had made the list and carefully hidden it away demonstrated my conviction that I should be a better person, as well as my fervent hope that I could be. Did I keep my resolutions? It depends on how you measure. If you are a hard-nosed type for whom there is only one measure—you fail or you succeed; you produce or you are a loser—then I feel sorry for you, and no, I did not succeed. If, on the other hand, there are other ways of understanding the life of a person in all its irrational, chaotic, creative glory, then perhaps my list wasn't such a bust, after all.

We believe in second chances in the United States. I wanted one back as the 1960s ended, and we want one now, as the oughts end and the teens begin. Now, my list today might look like this:

1. Don't eat all of the holiday caramel and chocolate in one night.

2. Learn Spanish.

3. Practice music every day.

4. Exercise daily and eat right.

5. Land a new book deal.

6. Don't waste time wishing I was someone else—instead, be the best possible me.

7. Don't hate people when they piss me off.

8. Contribute my time and resources to a good cause.

9. Be a responsible, caring member of my family, community, and the world.

10. Run for mayor of San Francisco.

I may not accomplish these goals. Learning Spanish, in particular, seems to go from lista to lista without being achieved. And some of my resolutions may not be as worthy as others. My friends and loved ones might prefer that I take a stab at changing areas of my life I haven't even mentioned—the embezzling and caramel abuse come to mind—but of course that isn't how these resolutions are made. Over the years I have made amazing strides. So have you. But I am also still that thirteen-year old boy. We win some and we lose some, and if the fates allow, we learn that it's about more than winning and losing—it is about loving and creating.

Hope

The meaning of Christmas grows hazier with each passing year. When I was young it was clear enough—we were celebrating the birth of Jesus, the Messiah, the Christ child, the Son of Man. I was taught that Jesus was God on earth and the son of God. I didn't dispute this claim—it came from my parents and other adults I trusted, and it was presented beautifully. The lights, the music, the midnight service, the glorious passages from Luke and Matthew, the gifts—it had always been this way; it would always be this way.

The years passed and I learned that there was some history—a lot of history. There were contradictions, disputes, other perspectives. The world shifted under my feet, and I shifted with it, sometimes out of necessity, sometimes because it was convenient, other times because I had no choice.

As a young man I went to work for Johnny DiGiacinto at Armonk Wine and Liquor—a very nice store—and learned that the month and a few weeks that encompassed the holidays could make or break a year in retail. More years passed and I lost family, friends, and community to carelessness, tectonic plate movement, and parallel universes. Careers unfolded or disappeared. The world changed in unimaginable ways—unimaginable before the fact, that is—now it just was. A generation left us and another was born. I woke up one day and I was a starving musician. I woke up another day and I was living in Omaha, the pastor of a small church. I woke up another day and my children were traveling the world, going to college, and talking about marriage.

Every year there was Christmas, now sagging under the weight of my memories and knowledge. Traditions became ghosts that haunted me, cobwebs to be cleared away. The story about Jesus and its meaning had been challenged on so many fronts that the whole theology seemed untenable. The carols, while still beautiful, were now the stuff of fairytales, and so many of those beautiful words in Luke and Matthew were exposed as contradictory expressions of an archaic worldview.

But one message, one word, remains clear. Not king, or prince, or joy, or virgin, or magi, or messiah, or lord; but hope. That was the word running through lives and lifetimes like a thread, leading us onward, guiding us, and giving sustenance to weary people. Hope. That was the word. That was what the story was about. Hope that we can restore justice and create peace in a broken world.

Hope. That was why it was good news.

THE DAILY SAM IN THE NEWS: MORE SHOCKING REVELATIONS FROM WIKILEAKS

SHOCKING REVELATIONS ABOUT PRESIDENT BARACK "HUSSEIN" OBAMA FROM WIKILEAKS A secret White House memo reveals that President Barack Obama was born overseas and is not eligible to be the president of the United States. The memo also reveals that Obama is a crypto-Muslim. In a gesture to the House Republican majority, Obama accepted Secretary of State Hilary Clinton's resignation and ...

read more

IN THE NEWS: MORE SHOCKING REVELATIONS FROM WIKILEAKS

WIKILEAKS: SHOCKING REVELATIONS ABOUT PRESIDENT BARACK "HUSSEIN" OBAMA

A secret White House memo reveals that President Barack Obama was born overseas and is not eligible to be the president of the United States. The memo also reveals that Obama is a crypto-Muslim. In a gesture to the House Republican majority, Obama accepted Secretary of State Hilary Clinton's resignation and nominated Glenn Beck as her replacement.

WEATHER

San Francisco was stunned this morning by temperatures in the 30s. These extreme weather conditions, combined with the news that the right-wing fringe has been correct about Barack Obama all along, convinced many San Franciscans that the Apocalypse was imminent, leading to mass conversions to the Republican Party and heterosexuality in front of City Hall.

SPORTS

Most sports analysts agree that teams need to win games. In baseball this requires strong pitching and fielding, as well as good hitting. In football, basketball, and hockey, offense was deemed to be important, but the analysts observed that "defense wins championships." There was widespread agreement that the best defense is a good offense, and that teams must, at the end of the game, have a higher score than their opponents if they want to win. And in a gesture to less developed nations, the Olympic Committee chose Detroit, Michigan as the site for the 2026 Olympic Games.

BUSINESS

Every reputable business and finance reporter in the nation reported that the people running our largest financial institutions are selfish, greedy, short-sighted, and irresponsible, and that the rest of us are pretty much getting screwed. But that's not really news.

ASTROLOGY

Your spiritual force, especially involving other people, may be overflowing within you today. Creative thoughts might be coming thick and fast, dear [Your Sign Here]. You may want to call some new or old friends or lovers (or business colleagues) and discuss your thoughts with them.

The Looming Holidays

 It's Christmastime, with all that means in America. If you're rich you feel selfish, unless you're so clueless and self-absorbed that you have no idea how many people are suffering; if you're a member of the so-called middle class, you are desperate; and if you're poor, you're miserable. People are cutting in front of you in the stores, on the roads, and even in the bathrooms. ...

read more

The Looming Holidays

It's Christmastime, with all that means in America. If you're rich you feel selfish, unless you're so clueless and self-absorbed that you have no idea how many people are suffering; if you're a member of the so-called middle class, you are desperate; and if you're poor, you're miserable. People are cutting in front of you in the stores, on the roads, and even in the bathrooms. The use of mood-altering substances will reach an all-time high, especially in Santa's workshop, which was recently moved offshore.

I was raised a true believer in Christmas, which in my family meant a trip to Manhattan to see the glittering windows at Macy's, Santa, and the tree at Rockefeller Center, the Elsons' holiday party, and the midnight Christmas Eve service at St. Stephen's Episcopal Church in Armonk, New York. I remember one Christmas Eve when that midnight service was like a scene out of Norman Rockwell. A steady snow was falling, and we youngsters were called upon to shovel the snow off the steps and sidewalk. Inside I could hear the congregation singing "The First Noel." At home, our Christmas tree had a special allure for me—I would stare at the glowing lights nestled among the branches and highlighting the ornaments and imagine a magical city. On Christmas Eve my dad watched A Christmas Carol on our little coal-powered black and white television as he assembled the non-digital toys and drank the milk and ate the cookies we had put out for Santa.

All this, of course, is now the property of the ghost of Christmas past. As Christmas present approaches I find myself cowering in the bathroom in my underwear, not to put too fine a point on it. When I am forced out of the house, wearing clothing, of course, the holidays creep up behind and hit me with a sledgehammer, leaving me dazed and confused, while tiny little reindeer, led by Rudolph, circle my head.

This sense of the holidays thrashing me can be particularly true in large malls. Christmas appears to make sense to some mall dwellers. I, on the other hand, feel like someone who has been released from a locked ward after fifty years in solitary confinement, or perhaps a long stint as a lighthouse keeper, and am left with many questions. Like, what the hell is going on? What is all this stuff? Where did all these stores come from? Why do those attractive Israeli immigrants keep offering me free samples of unidentifiable substances in tiny quantities? Where can I sit down?

Of course I could retreat to the quiet of my home computer and shop there. Nothing says Yuletide like ordering gifts online, then settling back for a few homespun hours of deleting spam from the online retailers.

The great mercantile machine has turned Christmas into the ultimate Official Special Occasion and drive train of the economy, and instead of the joy of giving I feel like I am taking the final exam of gift giving. Give, or fail. It brings out my rebellious side, as well as a bit of the misanthrope.

The funny thing is I am still a true believer. I'd rather buy some gifts for some kids who really need some good cheer. Then we can have a potluck and sing some songs with a group of people we love, go to midnight mass and do some more singing, and then wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. It could all happen in a few lovely days.

The "Joy" of Flying

Like most people, when I fly I am crammed in the general seating area fighting for elbow space. I reach my seat by taking the walk of shame past all the people in First Class and Premium Class and Business Class to get to my seat in Lower Primate Class. I don't appreciate the baggage fees or the other grumpy passengers coughing and clipping their toenails on me. I'm not happy about the ...

read more

The "Joy" of Flying

Like most people, when I fly I am crammed in the general seating area fighting for elbow space. I reach my seat by taking the walk of shame past all the people in First Class and Premium Class and Business Class to get to my seat in Lower Primate Class. I don't appreciate the baggage fees or the other grumpy passengers coughing and clipping their toenails on me. I'm not happy about the federal security screening, especially as I am always carrying numerous harmonicas on my person and in my bags, which leads to some uncomfortable questions: "Do you sell harmonicas? Oh, you play them! Did you say you play in a band with Amy Tan, Ridley Pearson, and Scott Turow? (Laughter) Can you play us a little something?"

Yet for all the discomfort, indignities, and lousy service, I still like to fly. I enjoy hunkering down in airports waiting areas, catching up on email and watching the passing tide of humanity. I like settling into my seat on the plane, reading and dozing, with nothing more important to decide then whether or not to have the orange juice or water. I get more reading done in airports and planes than anywhere else. But it's not just the reading I enjoy—it's also the sense that I am in an in-between world, a place where time stands still.

Recently I travelled to attend two very different publishing-related events: the Society for Biblical Literature (SBL) in Atlanta and the Miami Book Fair International. I was managing a booth at SBL for HarperOne, where I work in marketing. (Marketing is a technical term that means "I will say or do anything to get you to buy this product, even if I don't know what it is.") I was at the Miami Book Fair to help promote the book my wife Kathi and I wrote about writing and getting published, Write That Book Already: The Tough Love You Need to Get Published Now, and to play with the Rock Bottom Remainders, a band of authors who play rock and roll to raise money for literacy, much like the Rolling Stones.

While I was at SBL I went to dinner with the Catholic publishing crowd, which includes such leading lights as Bob Byrns of Paulist Press and Bernadette Price of Orbis Books. The Catholic publishing folks are a pretty rough bunch—many of them are, in fact, of Irish descent—and several of us of decided to have beer flights, which is nothing like flying in an airplane. The waiter brought us each samples of five different beers, after which we were required to stand on one foot and count backward from 100.

The different beers led to a discussion of types of beer. As it turned out, one of our dinner partners makes a lot of beer at home. He told us that he recently made a "milk beer with a touch of clove, cinnamon, and garlic," which led me to wonder why he wasn't adding really useful ingredients. How about aspirin beer to prevent hangovers, or vitamin-enriched beer?

My trip to the Miami Book Fair International was a little rushed because I had to set up the SBL booth in Atlanta Friday and get down to Miami for a Rock Bottom Remainders rehearsal at Scotty's Landing in Coconut Grove that night. (By rehearsal I mean we checked to see whether we knew the same songs in the same keys, and if not, tried to decide what we should do about it.) Kathi and I did our panel at the fair and then played with the Remainders the next day, and Sunday morning I was up before dawn to catch a flight back to Atlanta and the SBL exhibit floor, where I found myself talking to people about biblical literature. I felt like I had lived five days in two.

All my flights were on Delta, and I immediately fell madly in love with the woman on the Delta in-flight safety video. She is a redhead with an engaging smile who has a remarkably sexy way of explaining slides, flotation devices, and wagging her finger while saying that smoking onboard any Delta flight is a "not allowed." I tend to fall in love with inaccessible woman, such as models on billboards, mannequins, and this Delta woman. I've also been known to fall in love with the flight attendant if she smiles at me as I step onboard the plane.

You can learn to enjoy flying as much as I do. Here are a few tips for a better experience. First, make sure you've removed all metal, fluids, plastics, nylon, cotton, beer, and harmonicas from your person. Once you are through security, purchase your pre-wrapped sandwich and nonchalantly hover near the gate, always at the ready to get on the plane ahead of your fellow passengers in Zone 3 in a dignified, polite way that doesn't involve running over little old ladies. Next, find a flight attendant, fellow passenger, or character in an educational video to fall madly in love for the duration of the flight. Turn off your cell phone, and read a book or watch the in-flight entertainment while the passenger seated next to you (who is apparently asleep because he is snoring and drooling on your shoulder) does all he can to elbow you out of your seat, or perhaps off the plane altogether. Then sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.

The Daily Sam: Flying the "Friendly Skies" of United

 Recently my 17-year-old daughter Laura was flying home from Atlanta, where she was attending People to People, Global Youth Forum. She was flying United Airlines, and the schedule had her landing in Denver for a connecting flight home to San Francisco. The United flight from Atlanta to Denver was late, and although it was 15 minutes before take-off when she arrived at the gate, she and a ...

read more