I was unshowered, unshaved and generally unkempt looking as I hurried into the restaurant to pick up some take-out on Saturday. Looking the way I was, I certainly wasn't expecting a compliment.
"Dude, love the shirt."
I had to look down to remember what I was wearing. I don't suppose I should have had to even look, since this was the shirt I put on Friday morning, wore to bed that night, and kept on, all day Saturday.
And really, there is but one shirt in my collection that elicits such a regular response, particularly from guys who'll call you "Dude."
For our first Christmas together, she made me a little book. It was the 2nd one she'd done. Some very simple pictures, depicting various milestone scenes of our first (less than) year together.
Here's the picture she drew, to represent moving to the Island.
It's reasonably accurate (though I must admit, the cat was actually deeply unhappy about the move).
The one kind of funny detail is my shirt. It says "Some Punk Rock Band."
We had a good laugh about this. She admitted that when she was drawing the picture, she couldn't remember the actual names she'd seen on any of the handful of band shirts I owned.
People loved it. For many, coming to get an ice cream was a highlight of the day. Coming to OUR ice cream stand, was a part of their summer experience. To this day, I'm sure that people who lived or summered in the Newburyport area have warm memories of Haley's Ice Cream.
Compliments at Haley's were easy to come by. You weren't selling life insurance or bath fixtures. When you gave them what they had ordered, there was a light in their eyes, and a grateful thank you on their lips. They might even tell you that they love the ice cream you make.
But that was nothing.
It's been a pretty amazing two months, and so much of it has gone by so fast that it was hard to take in, process and respond to, as it was happening.
Now, I didn't have a lot of doubt that we could raise that much money. I knew people loved our station and were willing to donate $25 or $100 or more, to keep it alive.
But I just can't get over the number of messages that we got from people who didn't just say, "I love your station," or "I want to support you," but went on to tell very personal stories about how much a part of their lives the station had become.
People wrote us about collectively listening to "Alice's Restaurant" as a family, singing while all on the phone together because the family was apart of Thanksgiving.
More than a few folks told us of hitting mental health low points, but being able to turn to the station, hearing a song that lifted them up, or even picking up the phone and having a DJ who wanted to talk to them.
We heard from an ICU nurse who would bring a radio to a patient if the unit was having a particularly loud or chaotic night. The music was a distraction and a comfort.
And I got a very personal letter from a woman who had discovered the station via her husband and listening became something they shared. Even years after his death, she would hear a song on MVY and think "That's a tune he would have loved." She needed the station, because the music was her way of staying connected to her love. "Don't die," she wrote.
We got donations from 3800 listeners.
And among those, we got donations from many musicians. Not necessarily big names. But folks we have supported. Local and regional.
We got donations from Record Label people, Radio promotions people, and even DJs from other stations. They recognize that MVY is unique, valuable and worth saving.
And, special in our hearts, were the donations we got from our own families. The Moms and Dads and Brothers and Sisters of the station staff pitched in too, and it was great to see a familiar last name (Dacey, Redington, Phaneuf, Hammond and many more) land in the donation box.
Saturday was the mvyradio Big Chili Contest, and that's where the hugging began. People we've known from around, or people we've never met before in our lives, gave us hugs, told us that they love us and congratulated us.
It was much more love than I ever got serving ice cream.
The song in my head (and there's always a song in my head) was this Big Star tune. I'll put the lyrics below, because it really speaks to our story and success. I love that he sings about things being "so probable."
Thank you, Friends. Personally, and professionally.
Thank you, friends Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you I'm so grateful for all the things you helped me do All the ladies and gentlemen Who made this all so probable Thank you, friends I rejoice to the skies Dear ones like you do the best I do As far as can see my eyes Without my friends I got chaos I'm off in a bead of light Without my friends I'd be swept up high by the wind All the ladies and gentlemen (I said all) Who made this all so probable Thank you friends (thank you, again) Dear, dear friends (thank you, again) And again, and again Never too late to start
Let me start with Homer Simpson's famous quote about alcohol:
"The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems."
With the success of the Save mvyradio campaign, and the Big Chili Contest madness (on a full moon night, no less), uh, yeah, we're dealing with more of the former than the latter.
We'd be litigious, in the Finn household, if it didn't make our heads pound to just try and spell the word "litigious."
I'm actually writing this post before the mvyradio Big Chili Contest, and setting it to automatically post on Sunday morning.
Because Lord knows, I will not be up and moving after a night on the town.
My Mother-in-law had the kids, and my wife and I attempted to relive our youth.
I pretty much guarantee that if you are reading this on Sunday morning, I am, at this moment, on the hunt for an aspirin and I am feeling nowhere near as romantic as Johnny makes a hangover seem.
And the smell of someone frying chicken is likely to make me ill . . .
(I wrote Part 1 a year ago. Just getting around to the rest of the story now. And there was a Part 1a, too.)
"Clearly, something is happening here."
We had gone out to dinner at Offshore Ale following the Big Chili Contest. We'd just met, but the easy chemistry was evident.
We'd talked. Danced. Kissed. Said goodbye to our friends and headed off to dinner together to get to know each other.
I can't really remember what preceded me saying "Clearly, something is happening here" across the dinner table, but I wanted to acknowledge what we both knew---that this wasn't just drunk-boy meets drunk-girl and has silly night together. This was something bigger.
A week or so after the day we met, she sent me a few pictures of the night. One stood out in particular.
I don't have any recollection of who took the picture, or exactly when, or exactly what was happening in that moment.
But I will say that maybe more than any picture I've ever been in, it captured what the moment felt like.
After dinner, we'd gone to The Ritz Cafe to hear Johnny Hoy And The Bluefish, and to extend our night together. As usual, the band provided a fun frolicking time.
I think this photo was taken between sets, when we'd decided to leave. We're holding each other, looking at each other (looking a quite a bit drunk, no doubt), locked into each other.
Somehow the picture conveys both the new infatuation, and the instant, easy familiarity that usually only comes after two people really get to know each other.
8 years later, lots of things have changed. But as she was going out the door this morning, I reminded her that today was the 24th, held her like I did in the picture, and kissed her goodbye, all in that same easy way I did 8 years ago.
Today's the day, but Saturday we celebrate---at the mvyradio Big Chili Contest in the morning, and at The Ritz with Johnny Hoy at night.
Happy Anniversary!
(There wasn't really any Johnny Hoy on Youtube, so I made a video, using only the picture I'm writing about here.)
I was writing about The Cure earlier this week, and had this track on the brain at the Big Chili Contest yesterday . . .
Weekend posts are a chance to revisit songs that have happy memories, not of anything in particular, other than just hearing the tunes.
Many of these songs were tracks that I played during my 90s stint as an Alternative/Modern Rock radio show. They're tunes that I hardly hear these days, but are wonderful to revisit.
The last thing I said to my wife before leaving the house yesterday morning was, “If you have a chance, read my post blog today . . .”
The morning has been the usual level of brain-scrambling chaos, getting the kids dressed and fed and ready for the day, shoveling the heavy wet snow from the driveway, attempting to empty the dishwasher, wrangle the scattered dirty laundry, scoop up errant Legos, and get out of the house and off to work on time. Or at least, not late.
We’re a long way away from those carefree days when we first met, and first started dating. Life has moved fast in 7 years.
In 2004, we met.
In 2005, we got married.
In 2006, we bought a house.
In 2007, we had our first child.
And life has only accelerated from there.
So to honor our 7 years, and recall how it all started, I thought I’d write the story of how we met, leading up to our first kiss.
When I sat down to write, I titled the post “The Replacements ‘Kiss Me On The Bus.’”
I got about halfway through, and remembered, Hey, it wasn’t “Kiss Me On The Bus” that she sang to win my heart. It was “Waitress In The Sky.”
I guess, because I was thinking about our first kiss, and because time and chaos have fuzzed out some of the details, I’d gotten confused.
After the post was published, I wondered if she’d have the chance to read it. The day can be quite full with two little kids running around. Finding 10 minutes to read a blog post doesn’t always happen. In fact, I wondered if she even realized the date, and that it was the Anniversary of our meeting. We don’t usually celebrate it. We’re more likely to acknowledge our wedding Anniversary, which is in August.
I got home at 6:30, and everyone was on the verge.
The kids had had a fun, active day. An afternoon play-date turned into dinner at our house, as my wife prepared pasta for 5 kids ages 4 and under.
The guests had left, and our worn out, strung out kids were ready for a quick wind down, and bed. And my wife was ready to sit on the Lazyboy and watch American Idol.
Everyone was corralled into the kids’ room. Tabitha got the baby into pajamas, as I rolled a ball back and forth across the floor with my daughter.
Having a moment of toddler inspiration, she grabbed her Little People toy bus, and started knocking the ball to me, with it. I suggested that she put the ball in the bus, and roll the bus to me.
Tabitha started singing, “Kiss Me, On The Bus.”
“What made you sing that song?” I asked, a bemused smile on my face.
“Uh, because you were playing with the bus?” she responded, looking at me like I was weird for asking an obvious question. Clearly, she hadn't read the post yet, or realized the date.
We did our synchronized-swimming-parenting routine, trading the kids back and forth as teeth were brushed, bottles were warmed, pajamas buttoned up, toys cleared from the floor, books picked out, and babies tucked in.
It’s a beautiful thing, to parent together.
When they were finally asleep, we moved to the living room.
“Will you make me an egg and toast?” she asked.
There are many, many things that my wife does well. But she says I make a fried egg better than she does. It’s a small point of pride for me, and I love that I can serve her a perfect little breakfast for dinner on the Lazyboy.
“While I’m doing that, read my post.”
“Oh yeah! Okay.”
I made a perfect plate of food and brought it to the living room, just as she was finishing. I hoped that she was enjoying the read, and not feeling bad that she hadn’t remembered our Anniversary.
“That was awesome. It was beautiful. Thank you.”
We kissed.
“Is it really today?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“The 27th? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, isn’t it?”
“Well, our wedding Anniversary was on the 27th. August 27th. But we met on the 24th.”
“Uh, we did, didn’t we . . .”
Time and chaos have fuzzed out some of the details, I’d gotten confused.
That being said, be it the 24th or the 27th, "Kiss Me On The Bus" or "Waitress In The Sky," the heart was there.
"You definitely don't know that song. No way. You're B.S.ing me."
"I do. You want me to sing it?"
There was no way she knew that song. No way. Then again, it had been a pretty remarkable afternoon already.
Rewind 4 hours:
I was standing at the mvyradio T-shirt table. It was the safest place to be, as the crowd poured in to the mvyradio Big Chili Contest.
The station holds this event every year. Ostensibly, it is an event to taste different Chili recipes. But in reality, it's just a good excuse to get rip-roaring drunk on a Saturday morning/afternoon in the middle of winter.
People come from off-Island in droves, to blow off some steam, dance up a storm and maybe, if the mood strikes them, vote for their favorite chili.
I was standing at the mvyradio T-shirt table when the crowd parted and a small whirlwind of girls popped forth.
"I'm here to see my T-shirt."
As a side contest to the Best Chili categories, we also have a T-shirt design contest. Artists near and far would send us their interpretations of the event, and a few days beforehand, we'd get the winning design printed up on a handful of shirts.
Standing in front of me, wearing sunglasses in her hair (on a cold cloudy winter day), was this year's winning designer, a woman with the improbable name of Tabitha Agneta.
She and her friends chatted with me for a few minutes, and then disappeared into the crowd.
An hour or so later, I found myself on the far, far side of the venue, tasting some chili, when I bumped into her again.
We talked more, about family and hometowns and jobs. Nothing earth-shattering, but there was a spark. We parted again.
An hour or so later, there she was at the bar. This time we talked baseball. The Red Sox. Nomar (this was the winter before he was traded).
I disappeared one last time, to get on stage and to participate in the Chili Award ceremonies.
And that's really the last time I ever left her.
When I found her (after the Horses Ass-shaped Chili Trophies were handed out), we talked about music, and she mentioned Jeff Buckley, who's album "Grace" is practically like going to church for me.
She asked me about my favorite band, and I said that she'd probably never heard of them.
"I know The Replacements," she claimed. Which seemed like B.S.
The only people I knew who liked The Replacements were guys who'd grown from awkward teen boys, to now be awkward young men. Good looking girls never knew who The Replacements were.
"No you don't," I said. "Name one of their songs."
"'Waitress In The Sky.' Do you want me to sing it?"
Hell yeah I did.
She sang it. She knew it. And I know on paper that sounds like a pretty tenuous thread to hang a relationship on. But if you were there, you would have known, too.
We left the mvyradio Big Chili Contest together, and even though she physically left the Island at the end of the weekend, from that point on, we've always been together, forever---spiritually, emotionally, psychically.
I'm the Program and Music Director of mvyradio, a broadcast and internet station on the Island of Martha's Vineyard. You can hear it here.
I've been in radio since the early 90s, programming shows. As Music Director, I receive dozens of CDs and songs every week, from Record Labels, Promotion People and Independent Artists. I try to listen to everything anyone asks me to.
So the old iTunes list is pretty long.
The idea of this blog is to go to that list, grab one (usually at random, but not always) and write about it. Every song has a story. How it fits into the artists oeuvre. What it meant to me when I first heard it.
I'll try to post the song in full, whenever possible, and I invite you to listen and tell me what it makes you think of.
And for more great music, you can stream mvyradio from anywhere in the world, here.
