Late Boomer's Den

Polka is cool (Part 2)

February 7th, 2023

That last blog post about Polish music made me feel good. I love when people keep the old music and dances alive. You’d think I wouldn’t relate, being a mostly mainstream American. I used to think old music is for old people.

But looking back, I could sing along to “In Heaven There Is No Beer” and just like everyone else in my hometown. Parents at the football game acted like it was the National Anthem. And it was fun as hell.

It seemed crazy to me when we first moved from the Texas Hill Country to the coastal bend (close enough to catch a hurricane, too far to go to the beach).

Most folks listened to rock and country, just like everywhere, but German, Polish and Czech settlers had left their mark.

Area dance halls were hopping on the weekends. They played country or Tejano, but polka was still alive. You could hear it on the radio.

I never went to dance halls, but I got second-hand reports from friends. It sounded like a ton of fun. My religion (Baptist) thought dance halls were for sinner on their way to hell, like Catholics and Lutherans.

Along with the dancing — and Catholics and Lutherans — came alcohol. Lots of it. And it wasn’t a big deal to these folks. If they said they didn’t drink and you saw them with a beer, they’d go, “What? This is beer.” It didn’t even count.

I once saw a couple put beer in their baby’s bottle at a festival. My little Baptist heart was shocked, but it was a custom, probably going back to Germany or Poland. Baby goes to sleep. Parents dance all night.

It was a culture shock at first. We’d never been in a place where Baptists were outnumbered by Catholics. In more “Southern” parts of the state, alcohol was a sin. You had to be sneaky.

(Rule of thumb: Always take at least two Baptists fishing. If you just take one he’ll drink all your beer.)

It wasn’t a sin to these families. They could drink at dinner or at parties and the kids could run around and play, maybe take a sip of daddy’s beer. Totally wholesome. After a while you got used to it (did I ever).

I had to sneak around so some church lady wouldn’t rat on me, but I definitely got a taste for beer (I was a Budweiser guy. Shiner was nearby, but Shiner beer wasn’t hip back then. It was for old people.) Being a Baptist didn’t stop me at all. Though I was right there in church looking innocent on Sundays.

Never did learn to dance. (Why don’t Baptists have sex standing up? So people won’t think they’re dancing.) I used being a Baptist as an excuse, but I was really just shy and had no game. Baptists don’t care about dancing any more.

I still don’t dance. I’d just as soon not. But I enjoy watching others do it. It’s a great reminder that we’re human beings and not just consumers.

#Polka, #Folk, #Culture, #Heritage, #Music, #Beer, #Baptists
Surprise discovery: Polka is cool (part 1)

February 6th, 2023

This is some weird weed. I think I just got polka.

I was just watching a Youtube video of this Polish folk group playing traditional music and the tune was really nice (I think it’s a waltz, but it’s in the ballpark). So the world folk music bug bit me as it often does.

Per Google Translate from Polish: “Piotr BIŃKOWSKI’s band entertains festival GUESTS!“

I’ve been into world music since the ’90s. I know some people hate the term “world music,” but I have to file it somewhere in my brain.

I looked through Zbigniew Mądry’s YouTube channel, which according to Google Translate says “On the trail of the disappearing traditional culture of the village.” Right up my alley.

https://www.youtube.com/@zbigniewmadry7153/about

The first set of videos was kind of a mindfuck, because I realized I’d been wrong about polka music for years. I used to think it was corny, something for old people. They used to play it on the radio in my hometown and all I wanted was some decent rock ‘n’ roll.

But now I know why polka is cool — because the fans know the words. There’s something exciting about singing along with all your friends and knowing the songs. It’s primal. It connects you to humanity. Those are the best parts of any concert. It’s why Queen at Wimbley Stadium was so good.

Here are a couple of cool ones from Zbigniew Mądry’s channel:

I’d say more about them if I knew Polish, but I love the way people know the songs. Culture you can’t buy or sell.

#Polka, #Music, #Polish, #Folk Music, #Culture, #World Folk, #Tradition, #Heritage, #Queen
Youngster trapped in an old man’s body? Not so much these days

January 24th, 2023

It’s a weird feeling getting old. Sometimes I forget. Then I look in the mirror.

It still surprises me sometimes, all those wrinkles, all that gray. Or I get that twinge in my back if I stand or sit too long. I tell people I feel like a very poorly maintained 30 year old.

Because it’s kind of true. I know I’ve changed, but I feel like the same old me. I see 30-somethings and think of them as peers. We’re both “middle aged.”

But honestly I’m more than middle age. Way past the halfway mark. To a 30-year old, 58 is hella old.

It still surprises me sometimes, all those wrinkles, all that gray. Or I get that twinge in my back if I stand or sit too long. I tell people I feel like a very poorly maintained 30 year old.

Because it’s kind of true. I know I’ve changed, but I feel like the same old me. I see 30-somethings and think of them as peers. We’re both “middle aged.” But honestly I’m more than middle age. Way past the halfway mark. To a 30-year old, 58 is old.

Makes me laugh sometimes to think some of these “peers” may see the gray in my beard and think I’m some kind of elder statesman, and have some kind of wisdom. They look at me like the old oak tree and think, “You’ve seen so much history! How does it all work oh wise one?”

Actually, I’m sure they’re not thinking that. Which is good, because I have no idea! You’d think I would have by now. I have seen a lot of history.

But no. I haven’t figured out a damn thing. I thought I had the world figured out a few times and then, YANK! The the world pulled the rug out from under me. Everything I “know” about the world is provisional. If I know anything for sure these days it’s that the truth is slippery.

It’s like the feeling I had when I realized how my parents must have felt when I was a kid. Like holy crap! They were totally flying by the seat of their pants!

I remember when I turned 33, I wrote one of those reflection columns, about where I was in life now that I was middle aged. You know the age, where you figure out some of the things you might have done, you’re not going to live long enough to do? It’s a sobering thought when you first have it.

Then at least 15 years, living in denial, pretending you’re still young-ISH. You could still date those young honeys if you wanted to. But eventally you have to admit it. No, I’m old. Just let the hair go gray and fall out. Admit it.

Being old has its perks though. Knowing I won’t live long enough to do all those maybes, frees me up to work harder on the things I can still do. Plus it’s a relief not having to keep up with who’s famous any more, or listen to the pop of the day. I like some recent stuff, but I get to be choosy.

Of course I a scientist could turn me back into a 33-year old, I’d be ecstatic. I’d want to take my wife with me of course, but that would be awesome. Think of all the mistakes I wouldn’t have made if I knew what I know now…

But sometimes, when I jump out of bed like a 33 year old and my 58 year old feet hit the floor, I know being old can be a bitch. Hopefully I’ll still be around at 68, writing about how 58-year-old me had nothing to complain about.

#aging, #life, #mortality
Chewed up and spit out – but God was it ever fun

January 24th, 2023

Me, in the back of a friendly citizen’s pickup truck, about to cover a small town parade. I think growing a beard was a good move. Look at those chins…

I was so relieved to get out of print journalism, I burned my press card. The career of a lifetime, up in flames. (Actually just burned one corner. That shit stinks.)

All my friends had bailed. Corporate was making changes I just couldn’t stomach. I’d have less editorial control and I knew more layoffs were coming. I don’t know how I hung on so long.

But I do know why.

When it was good, it was so good — if you were cut out for it. We had a running joke in one place I worked, “I’m gonna move my car.” A cub reporter once went out to move her car on press day and never came back. Journalist isn’t just a job title. It’s an identity. One I tried hard to live up to for over 20 years.

Did I live up to it? Not always. But I tried.

I made a lot of friends and a lot of memories, but I also worked hard for not very much money, had to work weekends, nights and some holidays, had periods of great stress and loneliness. But I was hooked. You had to be.

At one newspaper we had a running joke. When things got rough in the newsroom somebody would say, “I’m gonna move my car!” A young reporter once went out to move her car and never came back. I admit I considered it a time or two.

Stressful as it was, there was nothing like the thrill of knowing you were the first to know. Even at a weekly or semi-weekly, you could scoop the dailies if you were good enough. At the very least you could have the best version.

Or the camaraderie you felt, all of us editorial folks working late so we could get a hot scoop into the next edition. We argued, told jokes in bad taste, had rubber band fights, threw paper wads at the ceiling fan. And we put out newspapers we were proud of. Then we’d race to the local bar and get trashed.

I wish I had appreciated it more. Eventually big box stores and the internet killed so many of our mom and pop advertisers, it was only a matter of time. I knew we were in trouble when the speaker at a convention tried to tell us our biggest competitor was the Yellow Pages.

They all found other jobs, one by one. Some saw the writing on the wall and found a job outside journalism. PR jobs, non-profits, state government. Others got laid off and their workloads fell on my shoulders. Press days got later and later. It sucked, but I kept convincing myself it would get better.

It was like trying to talk yourself out of a divorce you know is coming. I loved it once, maybe the magic would return. But deep down I knew better. I was getting too old for it and the outlook for journalism was grim.

I literally thought I was going to wind up homeless. I had a special backpack I planned to take on the road with me. Ultimately just would up using it as carry-on luggage.

I really miss the folks I worked with over the years. A bunch of crazy characters, yet creative and professional (most of ’em). None of the newspapers I worked for were big dailies, but I was proud of the issues we put out (most of ’em). Sometimes we even scooped the big city paper next door.