tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1974644859068349292024-03-17T20:02:34.897-07:00So How Do You Really Feel?Who is it, that is saying 'I'?Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-80461284390864383962023-07-21T16:28:00.003-07:002023-07-21T16:28:58.770-07:00<p> Regarding the passing of Tony Bennett</p><p> <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px;"> When I first moved to New York City my survival gig when I wasn’t in the theater or doing a concert, I worked with this organization called New York City swing. They were a high-end wedding/bar mitzvah/celebration band. One of those jobs was Sumner Redstone’s wedding, the President of Viacom. His bride was 40 years his junior and a school teacher, but that’s not the point. His guests included Barbara Walters, Sylvester Stallone and a number of other celebrities including Tony Bennett. </span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> That evenings festivities was to include a performance by Diana Krall in-between our third and fourth set. The time came for that performance and she was stellar, and as a bonus I got to meet Elvis Costello whom she had just started dating. For the last two songs she invited Tony Bennett up to sing. Thrilling. We got up to do our thing again in the fourth set and I sang the best is yet to come by Frank Sinatra and did my best Louis Armstrong impression on the song called “What A Wonderful World”. After those two performances I knew I was done for the evening and went to the back bar to grab a Chardonnay. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> To my surprise, Tony Bennett catches my eye and gets up and starts to walk over to me. I panic. What could I possibly say to one of my idols? He extends his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Tony”. In my best, stressed out broken, middle school voice I strained out “I know who you are!” (As an attempt at a joke) He chuckled and said “I just wanted to come over here and tell you what an exceptional singer you are. And that Louis Armstrong impression was spot on”. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"> I was floored and at a loss for words. I blurted out “thank you Mr. Bennett” as he was starting to walk away he turned back and said, “call me Tony, kid!” </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And I thought to myself, I can die now. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.1px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was a testament to his legendary kindness throughout his life. He didn’t have to do that, and yet he did. What an exceptional singer. And what an exceptional human being. RIP, Tony…</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13.1px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Michael Lanning, July 21, 2023</p>Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-49416442898267935472016-11-18T19:26:00.003-08:002017-02-08T21:17:50.284-08:00The 2016 Election (I voted, so I get to say something about it!)<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%;">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I
live in one of the most culturally diverse cities in the world, New
York.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
my building alone, there are Romanians, Ukrainians, Latinos, and
Muslims from several different Islamic countries. I love the fact
that I can walk down the street and within 5-10 minutes, hear 4 or 5
different languages being spoken. There's a Muslim couple with a
beautiful new baby girl I fawn over every time I see them in the
elevator. They are a sweet couple and keep to themselves. I can only
imagine what fears must be going through their minds after this
election.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> This
election was the most surprising in my lifetime. Clinton was NOT my
first choice. I was a Bernie Sanders supporter. Bernie was a “Tell
it like it is” kind of guy, except he backed his talk up with
actual facts.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> We
now live in a virtual “fact free” society today. I've been guilty
of spreading false memes on Facebook without checking if they were
really true or not. Not anymore. I try to fact check everything I post
nowadays, just so my own conscience is clear and clarity is served.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Clinton
lost (just in case you live in a cave) and we must accept the
results, even though it looks as though she won the popular vote by
about 2 million or more votes. Something is VERY wrong with our
electoral system.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Let
me be extremely clear, Drumpf has cozied up to Vlad “The Impaler”
Putin, a throwback to the KGB and actually dictator of Russia (82% of
the vote?? Gee, wonder how he got that much support?). He's already
trying to appoint his son-in-law in a position of power in his admin
(If that's not a conflict of interest, then I don't know what is!). He has as one of his closest advisors, one of the most
divisive and ugly minded humans in our country, Steve Bannon
("Darkness is good"? Are you fucking kidding me!?) Or Rudy Giuliani, that
screaming horse's ass in his admin? Drumpf said NOTHING about the
endorsement he received from the KKK, which disqualifies him in my
eyes, not that it matters and seems to be appointing a
racist, Jeff Sessions (uses the “N” word and thinks the KKK is
”OK”, in 1986, he lost a voting fraud case he brought against 2
civil rights activists and told a black man “Be careful what you
say to white folks”. SERIOUSLY!?). Several other appointees are
questionable at best. He will be more of a divider, driving a wedge
between Dems and whatever Repugs have become. They dropped their
“#NeverTrump” signs and are following along like the dimwitted
little ducklings they are. AND, he's selling out the very voters that
voted against their own interests! Lobbyists are lining up to get
their “goodies”! </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;">(seriously,
you fact free fools have to get it together...Drumpf NEVER CARED
ABOUT YOU! He was only saying what you wanted to hear in order to
win! Oh, never mind! You'll realize you're fucked soon enough!)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Over
90 million of eligible voters didn't bother to vote, which gave
Repugs a definite advantage in the states that mattered in the
electoral college. Voter suppression went a long way in securing the
vote for Repugs (I call them Repugs because their views are repugnant
to me). If voter suppression continues, expect more of the same from
these “Let's stop all this voter fraud” bullshit! </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;">VOTER FRAUD
DOES NOT EXIST!!!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> My
beliefs are in line with what Ellen DeGeneres said and I quote, </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms bold";">"</span></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "comic sans ms bold";"><span style="font-size: large;">I
stand for honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people
they way you want to be treated and helping those in need.” </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some
other quotes I love:</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Government
is the Entertainment Division of the military-industrial
complex."~Frank Zappa</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Socialism
never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an</span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> exploited
proletariat, but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires.”---</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> John
Steinbeck</span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Are
you capable of empathy and compassion? Do you consider that a
“weakness”? I don't think Drumpf ever worried a day in his life
about where his next meal was going to come from, let alone worry
about where he was going to live. I don't think he's capable of
empathy or compassion. I think he's interested in only one
thing...winning. I don't even think he's much interested in
governing. This dude comes from a world of privilege as do his
children, which he didn't really raise.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> This
election was one of the meanest, ugliest, most racist elections I
have ever witnessed in my lifetime. (I first time I voted, I voted
for and worked on McGovern's campaign in '72, when he was crushed by
Nixon, and we all know how well that worked out for “Tricky Dick”.
(For those of you completely ignorant of American history, he
resigned in disgrace after being impeached. LOOK IT THE FUCK UP! I AM
TIRED OF DOING OTHER PEOPLE'S HOMEWORK FOR THEM!)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another
quote I am very fond of is Fran Lebowitz's “Think before you speak.
Read before you think.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> We
face some very serious issues both at home and abroad. Join the ACLU,
donate your time/money to worthy causes (Covenant House, Doctors
Without Borders, Amnesty International, The American Civil Liberties
Union are some of the causes I support with both my money and my
time). Smile at strangers and be kind to them. Smile at Muslims and
people who aren't your color. Give a homeless person the change in
your pocket. I made a joke in a very tense elevator going several
floors down, saying about the droning elevator music, “Hey! I think
I played on that session!” People in the elevator started laughing!
I want to see more of that happening in the world we live in, not
less.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> And
remember this: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Work
hard to make the world a better place. Lord knows we need it now
more than ever...and for God's sake, don't be willfully ignorant!
REGISTER TO FUCKING VOTE AND THEN DO. JUST. THAT!!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Be
the change that you wish to see in the world”---Mohandas K. Gandh</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">i</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: medium;">I
fear the day when the technology overlaps with our humanity. The
world will only have become a generation of idiots.”---Albert
Einstein</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">'Nuff
said... M. Lanning 11/18/16</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "abadi mt condensed light";"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-47327219218771679272014-11-05T03:13:00.001-08:002016-11-18T19:28:35.812-08:00My Voice vs. “The Voice” (or the Non-dition)<br />
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"Lanning has an impressive Mack truck of a voice.He's an experienced rock and studio singer-imagine an uncanny grafting of Springsteen and Joe Cocker." -- Orange County Register</div>
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"Michael has the voice I wish I had". -- Composer Frank Wildhorn</div>
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"Michael Lanning is simply one of the best singers on the planet...period." -- Dave Clemmons, of WeepingElvis.com and NYC casting director</div>
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“The most soulful white man on the planet!” </div>
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My Trans-Siberian Orchestra Introduction for 6 years on tour with them (we helped build that railroad, the original West coasties and I, but that's another whole blog!)</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>These are just some of the many accolades I’ve received over the years as a vocalist.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’m gonna tell a story that’s even hard for me to believe, but, here goes.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After the closing of my second show on Broadway “Bonnie And Clyde” in late December, 2011, I was very upset and depressed, needless to say. It was also the very first time I ever had vocal problems in performances. I was normally known as “The Chords of Steel” throughout my career and it turns out I had a virus on my vocal chords for almost two weeks and had to call out of the show 6 times. This had never happened to me before, not to mention during the show’s opening night I was at about 30%. The Stage Manager finally convinced me to take some time off of the show. By the time I was 100%, we found out we were closing in 2 weeks! BITCHEN!!</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> I heard about a new show being cast called “The Voice” where, apparently, it didn’t matter how old you were (unlike “American Idol”, for they like control over their talent and so they pick them young). I really thought nothing of it except that 3 different times, 3 different people implored me to audition for this new show. Sometimes I accept messages from “The Universe” that come in 3s (I know, what’s a guy living in the 3 dimensional construct we all assume is reality supposed to assume?) Anyway, I took their advice and filled out the necessary forms online to audition for the show.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Several weeks later I got an email saying that my form had been accepted. It turns out that a friend from Connecticut, Kevin Knight, was going to the audition as well and he asked that if he drove down to go, could he crash at my place? I said sure, and he came in the night before the audition. He was also kind enough to go with me to my audition to keep me company, since his wasn’t until the next day.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The Voice” audition was being held at The Javitz Center here in NYC, almost right across from the first Apt. I lived in Midtown. We took the subway into Midtown from my place in Astoria and as we walked up around 10 am there was already a line around the block that we could see no end of, so walked to the back of the line. It literally went around a long block and back around to the front of The Javitz Center! Foolishly we couldn’t see the end of the line from where we walked up from and walked the long way around. The line crawled along for SEVEN HOURS in 39 degree weather. (it was February). When we finally checked into the center, Kevin waited in the lobby for me and we were all herded into a very large room with 600 people sitting in 6 different 100 chair areas. We waited for another hour or so while one by one, each of those 100 people got up and went to a bunch of rooms that held 10 auditioners each. When it finally came for my group’s turn we walked into one of the many rooms and one by one, a cappella, (without accompaniment) we sang for some 24 year old intern lookin’ dude, who would barely look up from his laptop. I was number 7 out of the ten and roared a rendition of “Try A Little Tenderness” by Otis Redding. Sang the absolute shit out of the song. The intern lookin’ dude NEVER looked up from his laptop and when the rest of the last 3 did their tunes, he calmly said, “You’re all free to go. We won’t be needing any of you today.” If there was one time I wish I could’ve killed someone and either gotten away with it, or at least went to jail with a smile on my face, that intern lookin’ motherfucker would be dead. I was flummoxed and in shock! It didn’t hit me until we were on the subway home that I might have wasted several hours, let alone a whole day with that bullshit!!</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I have NO IDEA what The Universe was trying to tell me. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe Jackshit! I still don’t know to this day. I feel as though I’ve been on a losing streak ever since. Will that stop me?? FUCK NO!</div>
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Damn the torpedos! On with the show! (just not THAT one)</div>
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M. Lanning 11/05/14</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2Z5yFGJiUgNTWIuhFWGpWUTOHmrFs8de5PFv9nuTAwMC3lbYhqRxNRgj_xo-V6HlBm7Ja-CLBE6l7vYm7oIwGblPdAHsMi_DEBNvQQlooIdNyrlc3_adlw6w3yisBDRzDD6zV_WnwChn/s1600/Dave+Grohl+%22American+Idol%22+meme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2Z5yFGJiUgNTWIuhFWGpWUTOHmrFs8de5PFv9nuTAwMC3lbYhqRxNRgj_xo-V6HlBm7Ja-CLBE6l7vYm7oIwGblPdAHsMi_DEBNvQQlooIdNyrlc3_adlw6w3yisBDRzDD6zV_WnwChn/s1600/Dave+Grohl+%22American+Idol%22+meme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Just click here.....<a href="https://soundcloud.com/michaellanning-1/try-a-little-tenderness">And I did the song JUST. LIKE. THIS!</a> </div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-8774017121153275642014-09-18T18:08:00.000-07:002017-01-17T17:48:32.435-08:00School Daze or “Papa don’t take no mess!”<br />
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Let me first start by saying that most of my time in school, both my brother and I got no end of bullying all throughout school. Never one to back down from a fight (except for a few years after I smashed my nose and face into reconstructive surgery falling off a homemade skateboard when I was 9 and could not bring myself to hit someone else in the face...that’s a whole other blog and I got over that by the end of Jr. High)</div>
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I hate bullies with a passion. So much so that even now, I will get in the middle of something that is not really my business, if it’s 2 or 3 against one.</div>
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That being said.....</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My oldest son Ian had spent his first year in middle school (A. E. Wright) in the same district as Josh and Lauren. since Ian had changed schools several times since kindergarten, I thought it important he stay in the same district with his brother and sister, not to mention the friends he'd made, for the sake of stability. My 2nd wife had other ideas. There was a school near our house within walking distance called Hale Middle School (we later named it "Hell" Jr High because of its reputation). My wife and I fought all summer long about Ian going to that school. She wanted to use Ian as kind of a "guinea pig" for Josh and Lauren. Never mind he'd changed school districts more than the other two combined, which was not at all! By the time Ian was in 2nd grade, he'd changed schools AND districts 4 times! Sure enough, my wife won the "war of attrition" (she was an expert at it!) and Ian ended up in "Hell". About 3-4 weeks in, he was getting bullied by 3 kids on a daily basis and would not talk about it, except to Josh, who was horrible at keeping secrets and told me. On one particular day, they bloodied his nose (almost breaking it) by smashing it on his desk as he was leaving. I took up the argument yet again with my wife and she had this "wait and see" BS attitude. Meanwhile, my poor little guy was going to school afraid every day.</div>
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A week or so later, Ian was not where he was normally supposed to be for me to pick him up. I drove down Platt Ave. to see if he'd started walking home and there he was, walking as fast as he could, the "three little shits" 10-20 yards behind him. I pulled the van over with Josh in tow and told him to wait in the car. Ian took one look at me and tried to say something. I just told him to get in the van while I waited for these little fuckers to walk up to me. I got directly in their faces and said, "Are you the little snots that bloodied Ian's nose and won't leave him alone?". I could see the fear in their eyes as they admitted doing so. I told them, "I know who your parents are, I know where you live (I didn't really know either of those things, but I was beyond pissed and on a roll!) and I swear to God, if you even LOOK at Ian funny and I find out about it, I will come to your houses, grab your fathers and kill them in front of you in your own kitchen! ARE WE CLEAR?" (one was nearly in tears and I didn't give one fuck, for I was furious and PAPA DON'T TAKE NO MESS!) The kids, fearing for their lives, nodded yes and promised me they wouldn't bother him again. I waited for my significant other to get home, loaded for bear (usually when i'm loaded for bear, I end up shooting squirrels!), told her what had happened and then TOLD her that Ian would be back at A. E. Wright, end of fucking story! Within 2 weeks he was back at his old school as happy as could be! Those little shits could've been dead that very day had I not shown real restraint!<br />
PS: Just a short disclaimer...I DO NOT condone this behavior for parents in the least, it's just that I was so incredibly frustrated at the time and I love my children passionately!</div>
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M. Lanning 9/18/14</div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-35293265730437856512013-03-08T16:17:00.000-08:002013-03-08T16:19:15.409-08:00Ian’s First Trip to Dizzyland (0r how to terrorize a 3 year old) <br />
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<b> When My first wife, Adrian, was 7 1/2 months pregnant with our daughter Lauren, we decided it was time for our son Ian’s first trip to Disneyland. It was a perfect So. California day and we entered the Magic Kingdom all aglow and excited for our 3 year old “little man”, our nickname for him.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The very first ride we went on was “The Peter Pan” ride. No sooner then we get in the little ship and Peter says “And away we go!” the whole ride comes to a screeching halt, the lights go up. Mechanical failure. The entire illusion ruined. Ian was really confused and A and I were looking at each other like “Is this the way it’s gonna go today?” We told Ian that something had to be fixed and soon we were on our way. Then it was time for “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” which Ian enjoyed very much.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The next ride we went on was “Autopia”, the little gas powered, pollution emitting cars you drive through this winding course. Ian insisted on at least wanting to steer and since he couldn’t reach the pedals, I reached them myself and we were on our way. (At this point, Adrian was on the sidelnes a lot because of her pregnancy). Well Ian kept driving us into the sides of the little “autopia” road, this way, then that, all while the car behind us kept smashing into ours,which only served to upset Ian more and more. I could barely contain my amusement from his frustration! He kept getting more and more upset until he was almost in tears, poor little guy! </b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We then headed over to “The Mad Hatter’s Tea Cup” ride. Adrian stayed on the sidelines, but close enough to watch. Ian and I got on and it started to go around and I was making the tea cup twirl, which I had to stop because Ian complained of geting dizzy.</b></div>
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<b> As we were going ‘round and ‘round, Ian kept screaming at his mom and I could not make out what he was saying. As it turns out, Adrian was laughing harder and harder and I didn’t understand why. Apparently, Ian was yelling things like, “I wanna get off thi....”, “I don’t like this at al...” and “Make this sto...” and every phrase would trail off, leaving Adrian in stitches! We got off the ride and A was laughning so hard she had to sit down! I seriously thought she was going into hysterical apoplexy or early labor! She finally told me what was so funny through her laughter (Ian not thinking it was funny at all only made it funnier!) and we laughed about it for years to come. </b></div>
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<b> The rest of the day we avoided any ride that might cause our little man stress (The Matterhorn and such) and stuck to “The Lincoln Exhibit” “It’s a Small World” and the “Sky Ride”, which Ian was a little afraid of at first, but ended up really enjoying (I guess it’s how you present it to a child by pointing out the wonder). He enjoyed all the other rides that weren’t “E Ticket” rides (some of you will know what I mean, please explain it to those that don’t!) the Penny Arcade, the food and he met Mickey, Minnie , Goofy and Cinderella and the rest of the day had a great time. He even wanted to come back soon! </b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> To this day, I can’t think of that “Tea Cup” experience without literally laughing out loud! Poor little man!</b></div>
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<b>God, how I miss my boy.</b></div>
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<b>M. Lanning 3/8/2013</b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-26791403705539117092013-02-18T01:36:00.004-08:002013-02-22T21:11:49.490-08:00“Hey Mark!” (Or baseball and my sorely exposed lack of talent for sports) <br />
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<b> Some of my fondest, earliest sports memories growing up was watching the displaced Brooklyn Dodgers become the Los Amgeles Dodgers and play on our black and white television at the LA Coliseum and later at Dodger Stadium.</b></div>
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<b>I wanted so badly to be a slugger, like Duke Snyder, or even better, a “southpaw” pitcher like the great Sandy Koufax. I had absolutely NO TALENT for any sports whatsoever, no matter how I tried. It was heartbreaking but true and I idolized kids that did. I even idolized my younger brother Billy, (younger by only 13 months) who seemed to have plenty of talent for whatever game he played.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was 10 years old and my bother was 9 when we both tried out for Little League baseball. Back then you had to earn your way onto a team or get sent down to a “farm team” (that’s right, our Little League had farm teams where you could hone your skills, if you had any to begin with). Not everyone got a trophy for just showing up. My brother made it and i didn’t. I didn’t even make a farm team. I was devastated and there was no end to the teasing and got into plenty of fights over not even being picked as even a farm team player! (I had already done my 2nd show at San Bernardino Civic Light Opera, “The Music Man” and heard a lot of “Hey Lanning! Where’s your tutu?”) After several black eyes and scrapes I resigned myself to watching my brother play every week. I still had so much passion for the game and was proud my brother did so well so young. (he was put in center field and I remember him making a catch over the fence that was pretty much uncatchable!)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There was this kid on an opposite team by the name of Mark Paulis who was “THAT” kid. He was the kid that got the good grades, was great at any sport and all the girls liked him. THAT KID. Everyone wanted to be friends with Mark and he was a decent type and fairly gracious, given his stature, not to mention a couple years older than me. When you’re that young, a even two years seems like a lifetime.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One night my brother Billy’s team was playing Mark’s team and while I was getting a snow cone, Mark was up to bat. The concession stand was fairly close to Mark’s team’s dugout and I had just bought the snow cone and turned around when Mark hit a home run way over the fence! As he was rounding the bases and touching home plate I was standing right next to the entrance of his dugout! He was headed straight for me! I sooo wanted to say something cool to Mark. And what did I yell out??? “HEY MARK! NICE TRY!” (WTF!!??) He looked at me as though I had 3 heads and I wanted to melt like the snow cone I just bought!! IDIOT! Stupid! stupid! I walked away in abject horror and shame, knowing that Mark and I would NEVER be friends.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Well, things change and when my High School/College band, Tolbekin, was the big fish in the local Inland Empire pond (the pretentious name for the Riverside/San Bernardino general area). We played all the big gigs around the area (proms, dances, store openings with bubble gum contests, you know, the big time!) Mark loved our band, we became friends, despite my 10 year old blunderbuss of stupid and occasionally he’d show up at one of our gigs. We’d be taking a 15 minute break and he’d saunter over to the stage and say, “Hey Lanning! Nice try!” </b></div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-35258579626491655712012-10-27T03:36:00.000-07:002012-10-27T03:58:12.018-07:00How Does One Face Rejection? (this may be my shortest blog ever)<br />
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<b> Any way you can. </b></div>
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<b>It’s nearly always humiliating, but you just do.</b><br />
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<b><b>M. Lanning 10/26/12</b></b></div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-87451110861335727272012-07-18T01:53:00.000-07:002012-07-18T01:54:03.496-07:00TSA and “The Mandolin Strings Incident”<br />
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<b> It ws 2004 and my first flight out of La Guardia airport to do the show, “Almost Heaven, The Songs And Stories of John Denver” in Denver, Colorado and as usual, had my mandolin in tow. It’s small enough to bring on board and previous to this “incident” I had flown with it over 15 times since 2001 (9/11) all across the country to various shows. Being my first flight out of that airport I didn’t anticipate any problem taking my instrument with me. I had always flown out of JFK on most all of my previous flights (Newark on occasion) and I expected this flight to be no different than all the others, going through security and such.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I put my computer/personal items bag through the detector first (at that point you didn’t have to take your computer out as you do now) and then my mandolin....the worker at the monitor stops it and says “What’s in the mandolin case?” I told her there was a crystal, a tuning fork and a mandolin capo and 3 sets of fresh strings, worth about $60. Then this TSA worker opens up my soft case and says that i can’t take the 3 sets of strings on board. I tell her i’ve never had a problem before and asked to see the supervisor. She calls one of the heads of security. </b></div>
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<b> One of the supervisors comes over, opens my soft case and sees the 3 sets of strings and says, “You can’t take these on board with you” to which I say, “I’ve never had a problem before and these are always in there in case I break a string or have to replace them all”. She still insists that I can’t bring them on, that I should “mail them to myself”, directing me to the Post Office downstairs. I remind them that it’s Sunday and the Post Office, including their branch, was not open on Sunday. (I noticed that the steel gate was pulled down over the office when I walked by on my way to security). She persisted and, having no other options, I literally shoved the 3 sets of strings into her hands and said snidely “Here. Learn to play the mandolin”.....God! I was pissed! $60 down the drain! A first. I’ve had my run ins with airlines and occasionally airport security (like the time after the last show of a certain Orchestra I was singing with, the whole band had partied all night and everyone had made it through airport security, exhausted and still a little drunk, until it was my turn to go through security with my mandolin.....wait.....that’s another whole blog!)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Anyway,</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As I am walking down the ramp to the plane, a little more than pissed off about losing the strings it occurred to me...</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Apparently, I needed “fresh” strings to strangle somebody!</b></div>
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<b>BECAUSE I HAD STRINGS ON MY MANDOLIN!!!</b></div>
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<b>Ok, it might look a little odd for me to be de-tuning a string on an instrument in the middle of a flight and I totally get the “security” thing, but come on.....REALLY!?</b></div>
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<b> (Not to mention I always carry one extra set in my computer bag! Wait a minute...those might have been spare used strings! :o)</b></div>
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<b>M. Lanning 7/18/12</b></div>
<br />Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-4622415539289979712012-06-03T02:35:00.001-07:002014-05-12T20:34:23.795-07:00Dear MTV, fuck you...OR “I’ve got no time for you, right now, don’t bother me”, from the song, “Don’t Bother Me” by George Harrison<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Perfectly written line by someone who did not suffer fools gladly. I know, I’ve seen it firsthand. But that’s a tale for another time. I will say that George did some of my favorite videos. Self effacing, funny as shit, some of them cutting edge and some just plain silly.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Videos have almost ruined music for me. And I say that as “old school” as possible. And if you have a problem with me not falling dead-over-heels with Madonna or her latest incarnation, Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj a trois entourage or ten thousand tons of bling, and five thousand silly-ass ways of messin’ with your hair, take a flyin’ fuck at a rolled up lyric! IT AIN’T ABOUT THAT!! At least not where I’m comin’ from...</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It's about the music, stupid! It’s about saying’ someting within the song, within the lyrics. I happen to believe that one of the most challenging things you can do is try to tell a whole story or convey true emotion or an idea in 3-5 minutes. And not by shoving it in your face, either! I mean, if it’s in your face, fine, but the “don’t hit me over the head with it” type approach.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I find it ironic that the film “Alice’s Restaurant” is playin’ on the TV box as I write this rant. I am a “tyrant” of my age. I cannot be cured. I believe in peace, love and the 3 minute single as art form. Even if it wasn’t a hit, so long as it was interesting and told some kind of story, or informed or moved me or grooved me in some way, I’m a fan. My generation may or may not have blown it, but it was one hell of a ride! Besides, Gov. Rockefeller almost called in 50,000 troops to break up Woodstock (good thinkin’ Einstein!) and they seeded the clouds to make it rain and it was the largest gathering of people in one peace, all groovin’ in completley different spaces in the same place.....oh, shit, never mind!</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> And MTV....you suck. You’ve sucked for a long, long time. Now you suck even harder, given that it’s not even “Music Television” anymore. It’s consummerism at it’s highest crasseristic. (I just made that word up...sue me!) You started this shit and you couldn’t even find a way to finish it!</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Don’t get me wrong. There are some videos that knock me out! “Video Killed The Radio Star” by The Buggles immediately comes to mind. After all, it was the very first vid played on “MTV”. There were a lot of others as well, too numerous to count. A lot of The Foo Fighters vids come to mind right away. Clever, innovative, funny, and actually took you on a short journey that you weren’t expecting sometimes.</span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> But.....(and I’m certain this is a real “GET THE FUCK OFF MY LAWN!” moment for some of you) you’ve taken away something invaluable. The ability of the individual to take his own ride within the music. Not that you even fuck that up anymore. You’re too busy tryin’ on the teenage pregnancy thing as hit show shit, or climbin’ into a hot tub with a bunch of yahoos (oh, Southerners, I have such respect for you now....you can be from Jersey and be a yahoo too!) and all these folks on all these shows are tryin’ to keep their dreams of huge piles of money stuck in their ears alive somehow while reciting “the Bronx cheer” (</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal 'Comic Sans MS';"><b>a Bronx cheer is to make a noise signifying derision, real or feigned. It is made by placing the tongue between the lips and blowing to produce a sound similar to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1647a7;">flatulence.</span></b></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 13px/normal 'Comic Sans MS';"><b> Thanks Wikipedia! I’m a supporter...and I mean monetarily</b></span><b>).....’cause ain’t that the be all and end all of life, as Eddie Izzard so blithely put it? Isn’t that the ultimate goal of the American dream? Having a shit pile of money? Or, as Peggy Lee put it in song (a beatiful single, I might add) “Is that all there is?” (one of our Mom’s favorite songs on the radio in the ‘60s) Can’t we “get ourselves back to the Garden?”. For a good dose of songwriting tale well told, listen to “Wooden Ships” by Crosby. Stills and Nash. Such a crushingly sad, wonderously beautiful tale told by a bunch of magnificent singer/songwriters. It makes me want to say,”Can i just leave now?” I’ve tried my best to fight this beast some call “progress” (beauty is in the eye of the beholder). A lot of us got lost in the Kent State-Jackson State massacres and Altamont tragedy (thanks, you Rollers of Stones! Way to fuck that one up! Not that I don’t adore your music but, REALLY!!??)</b></span></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What the dying dream did was left us wanting....and wanting....and wanting some more. Good little consumers again! Woo hoo! Let the selling to America begin! (What was George Bush's advice after 911? "Go shopping"!!??) With the advent of the ‘80s and John Lennon’s assasination (don’t get me started on that one) we were left with....you guessed it.....MTV! The ultimate tool of Yuppiedom! As soon as those assholes discovered the big pile of money under the MTV Rock (pun intended), we were left with “The Reagan years” (the “Great Communicator” my ass! Someone with the onslaught of Alzheimers sneaking up behind him and falling asleep in front of the Pope and testifiying before congress during the Iran/Contra scandal by saying “I don’t remember” or “I don’t recall’ several times.....oh, please! Read “Sleepwalking Through History” by Haynes Johnson for more information) Someone who said (when he was Governor of California) “We could bomb the hell out of Vietnam, turn it into a parking lot and be home before Christmas” What a lovely sentiment! Well, we lost that war and I had several friends in my neightborhood come home in boxes or worse before that debacle was over.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I did get a little off subject here, but I’m pretty sure what my point was is that music is an amazing part of our culture, our lives and to have that trivialized by someone slamming images into your head about what they think you should think the song is trying to tell you, instead of letting you make your own mind up is typical in this day and age of “Insant gratifacation takes too long” (Carrie Fisher’s line, to give credit where credit is surely due!) I’m getting crotchety as I get older and I am impatient for people to wake the fuck up! I always try to break off these rants with a tidbit or a quote.....I will quote Crosby, Stills and Nash’s brilliant song “Woodn Ships” once again....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Silver people on the shoreline, let us be, we are leaving,,,,you don’t need us”!.....Who’s with me?</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">PS: Name some great singles, if only for yourself sometime, go back and really listen to them and see if I’m not right.....they are a unique art form in and of themselves.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">M. Lanning 06/03/12</span></b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-60986843025766063992012-05-02T01:14:00.000-07:002014-05-09T13:31:13.330-07:00Musical Civil War Battles Won and Lost and Meeting My Favorite Basketball Player of All Time<br />
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<b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"> It was 1999 and battle weary men from both sides, North and South, from the Frank Wildhorn/Jack Murphy/Greg Boyd musical, “The Civil War” were slated to sing The National Anthem and a halftime show for a playoff game between the Atlanta Hawks and the New York Knicks. We had worked out a stellar arrangement of the anthem under the very capable direction of Dave Clemmons, at the time one of the featured soldiers in the broadway show and doing double duty as a casting director. Clem (as he is affectionately called by those that know him) is now one of the most well respected casting directors in New York and teaches college level classes all across the country in all facets of theatre. He is also an expert musicologist in nearly every genre, not to mention a music trivia nut (oops! i mean “expert!) and one of the best judges of the voice I’ve ever known. (I can see his head swelling as he reads this!) </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The Knicks had their game faces on and egos well polished and there was no getting near them before the game. We were put in an unused locker room at Madisan Square Garden to warm up and at the last minute were told to put on Hawks and Knicks jerseys to represent North and South (oh, this is goin’ to go over REAL WELL!) It was bad enough that Geno and I (Confederate and Union Captains, respectively) had to wear our swords for the halftime show. But I am getting ahead of myself. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Thankfully, we didn’t have to don the shitty idea jerseys for the singing of the National Anthem. Now, these guys, as well as the rest of our magnificent cast are still collectively known to this day as one of the best singing casts to ever grace the broadway stage. Period. Most of us had been singing together on and off for various readings and the out of town try outs (what they call the pre-broadway run) since ‘97. We were some sangin’ fools to put it mildly.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sadly, and much to our chagrin, just the Northern and Southern soldier cast were picked to do the anthem and then the halftime show. As we were waiting to go onto the court to do the anthem, I was standing right next to Magic Johnson, my favorite basketball player of all time. So close, I could have stepped on his huge ass foot! So desperate I was to say something to him I naturally think of nothing and I led the guys out onto the court to sing. We.Were.Spectacular! The crowd went apeshit! Our arrangement had the perfect blend of flowing in and out of unison and harmony! We didn’t even rehearse that much as I recall, we had just sung together for some time already, it was just kind of natural. It was glorious and we walked off the court to tumultuous applause and screams!! Even the ushers were saying it was one of the best versions they’d ever heard. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And There was Magic Johnson, reaching out to shake my hand since i was elected to lead the guys on and off the court, effusive with praise, saying how amazing it was and vowing to come and see our show (don’t think he ever did). He shook every one of our guys hands just as generously as all the stories we’d heard about him.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Well, then comes time for the halftime show and we don “The Jerseys”, Hawks representing the South and Knicks representing the North. Right out of the “Really Bad Idea” playbook. Gene Miller The Southern Captain and me the Northern Captain, strap our swords on, all of us feeling like dorks and thinking we looked ridiculous, march out to sing “the halftime show”.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The presentation started with a song I opened the show with, “Brother My Brother”....and the only monitor system or any way we had to hear what we were doing was the Garden P.A. system. Talk about an impossible task! It was fine for the National Anthem because we sang that without accompaniment, but for the presentation we were singing to a track that was coming out of the P.A. system. I could barely find “one” (the beginning of the track!) Somehow, I got into the start of the tune and we had arranged it straight into another song from the show “By The Sword/Sons Of Dixie” only to start hearing boos from the crowd! That’s right, the same lame ass New Yorkers who loved our version of the </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">National Anthem were now full of overpriced beer and wanted to see tits and ass, not some dorkos in jerseys, marching around the court singin’ some broadway tune! Maybe they were pissed off because the I think the Knicks were gettin’ beat or some shit, but it was nontheless humiliating as hell! We went from being the coolest to the lamest in only two quarters! And the cherry on top was that we weren’t even bein’ paid for our humiliation. We were doing it to promote the show. Oh yeah, they gave us some tickets way up in the nosebleed section. WOO FUCKIN’ HOO! By the end of the 3rd quarter the Knicks were gettin’ their asses handed to them in a diaper and a lot of us just split, but again, I’m getting ahead of myself.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After being somewhat destroyed by the drunks in the cheap seats and being escorted off of the court, there was Magic Johnson again, shakin’ everyone of our guys’ hands and sayin’ things like “don’t worry about those fools, I used to get booed by them all the time”. It was about the only redeeming thing the experience held for us except for knockin’ ‘em dead before the game with the National Anthem.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The real thrill of it for me was meeting one of my sports idols and having him say how great we were. I think I remember saying something stupid about how I was from LA and used to take my boys to see the Lakers play a lot, and I’m your biggest fan (‘cause he probably ever heard that before) but Magic, if somehow you are reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart for redeeming one of the more embarrassing moments of my musical life. You are truly a sweet soul.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Oh yeah, AND THE ORIGINAL CAST OF “THE CIVIL WAR” ROCKS!!! It’s just a real shame we didn’t get an original cast album out of it.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">M. Lanning 5/02/12</span></b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-53109915131941328002012-03-27T01:18:00.006-07:002013-08-20T14:47:39.411-07:00The hand of the devil...(or, most people would give their right arm to be ambidextrous!)<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b> When I was 6 years old, I spent the first 2 weeks in 1st grade in Southern California (Ah, progressive Southern California!!), where I was being allowed to use my left hand to write with and I remember being excited about learning to write, finally! My mom had taken me through my 1st grade reader that previous summer and words held a special fascination for me that I’ve had to this day. For 2 weeks it was, a, b, c...the whole alphabet! Then my dad got some job that landed us in Indiana and we moved to some small town aboout 20 miles west of Indianapolis called Danville. CULTURE SHOCK!! For someone so little, I remember being frightened of moving away from my little friends in the neighborhood, from everything I knew to be normal in my life. What I was not prepared for at all was how threateningly different it was to be. </b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My first week of school was weird enough, but during one of our recesses that week I remember getting on the merry-go-round and saying to all the other kids, “Alright everybody! Let’s pretend this is a spaceship!” and some really fat kid on the ride said (and i will never forget this) “Shut up kid! That’s stupid! This is just a merry-go-round.” My little self felt it had died and gone to hell. I remember thinking, ‘”This kid doesn’t know how to play at all” and then I said, “Alright, then let’s pretend it’s a tank!” and he said something like “Your the new kid, aren’t you? Just shut up or I’ll beat you up!” Now, I was never afraid of a fight, (that came later when I broke the shit out of my nose, but that’s a whole other blog!) but that kid was a big ass fatso! I was devastated. I ate my lunch alone all that week not knowing anyone, not that any kid extended themselves to me. I went home sad and hating my new school.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sometime later in the next few weeks we had our first writing lesson. I naturally put the pencil in my left hand thinking nothing of it and the old biddy, ex-nun of a 1st grade teacher came over, slapped my hand with her ruler and said “Put that pencil in your right hand! Only the devil uses his left hand to write” or something to that effect. Again, I was completely confused and totally devastated, </b><b>not to mention being terrified! (I grew up Irish Cathoic)</b><b> Besides that, the only kid that was nice to me was the “mentally challenged” boy that was sitting next to me (we used to call them “retarded” back in the day, but that’s not PC) and he was using his right hand. I thought, “If he can do it, so can I”. It was much harder than I thought. It didn’t feel natural in the least. I was really struggling and started to cry and I remember this bitch of a school marm yelling at me! Did I mention I thought I’d died and gone to hell? It affected everything I tried to do growing up! Playing sports was particularly difficult. I always wanted to be Sandy Koufax, my favorite baseball player, the legendary left handed pitcher for my favorite boyhood team, the Dodgers.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Well, the next few weeks I was still struggling over that horrible experience, not wanting to go to school anymore, feeling ashamed. I finally decided to tell my mother about what had happened (it seemed my father was always away on business). When I got home that particular day, I found my mother sitting on the stairs that led up to our bedrooms, crying.</b></div>
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<b> I was so upset to see her that way (I was six, remember). I remember her sitting me down and telling me our father had left us! I vaguely remember her giving me some kind of “you have to help me now and be the man of the family” speech through her tears. (I was the oldest of the 4 of us kids, but still only 6!) I completely buried what I was going to tell her of what had happened to me that day, trying my best to comfort her. </b></div>
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<b> Somehow, mom got us back to California and held onto the house they owned jointly. She went back to school, all while raising 4 kids and got her Master’s in Education and went on to be an amazing teacher, always wanting to give back. (those of you fortunate enough to have known my mother know what a brilliant, amazing soul she was....I feel bad for anyone that didn’t get to meet her)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This full memory came spilling out during therapy when I was a single parent of my own two children many years later. I could never understand why my handwriting was so shitty and took typing in high school (not that I was any good at that either!) At least I could read my own handwriting and thank God for the tape recorders that came out later after high school! And I have gotten a little better as a typist over these many years. It took a spcecial therapist to coax the memory out of me somehow who is a friend to this day (God bless you Carol! You helped me more than you’ll ever know!). Here was the awesome assignment she gave me.....Carol told me to go home that day after our session and write something using only my left hand! Brilliant! What I wrote was an Irish limerick. I memorized it and have it still, written down somewhere in one of my many journals (I’m sure it’s probably in my FSS...fucking storage space as I like to call it in Solana Beach, Ca.)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I find it ironic that I became a writer, especially of lyrics, poetry and now this blog. I’m also working on my life story, my memoirs, I guess you’d call them, of which these are a part.....one of the reasons I started a blog in the first place. You know, to practice writing. And, I can eat with either hand, throw a baseball with my left hand, shoot a basketball left handed and bat left or right (not that I can hit worth a shit! :o)</b></div>
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<b>Oh! I almost forgot! The limerick I wrote?</b></div>
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<b>Here it is.....</b></div>
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<b>“Everthing’s this way, not that</b></div>
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<b> Every which way and not pat</b></div>
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<b> I will take no stand, nor make any demands</b></div>
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<b> I am what I am and that’s that!”</b></div>
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<b>.....and thank God for the typewriter and now the computer!...I’m still not very good at it, but at least I can go back and correct it without wearing an eraser down to the nubbins!</b></div>
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<b>So, if you think I’m a little weird, I’m fine with that. My brain is still tryin’ to figure all this stuff out.</b></div>
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<b>M. Lanning 3/27/12</b></div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-15341533351771895632012-02-22T00:01:00.006-08:002017-06-09T04:45:07.589-07:00Meeting my favorite actor and one of my favorite singer/songwriters....2 completely separate stories I’m gonna tie together.....<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b>Here goes nothin’....</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It’s the mid ‘70s and my band Jiva (Geevah) is flyin’ high. Our eponymously titled LP was “in the can” (done) and some test pressings were made. Our Label owner and executive producer, George Harrison had invited Ringo into the studio several times to hang out with us during the sessions and we got friendly with him. He’s was riotous fun and a great hang! Ringo ended up inviting us to his house in the hills above Sunset Blvd. for a big party he was hosting. Of course we accepted, not really knowing what to expect.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We arrived fashionably late (but not too late) and the shindig is in full swing. First thing I notice is David Crosby crossing the front door in search of a joint or some such substance and the next thing I see is Plant and Page (yes THAT Plant and Page) sitting on a “conversation pit” couch with about 5-6 women (big surprise!) in a sunken living room. The first thing I think is “I need a drink, quick! Hell, 3 drinks!” After about 3 or so cognacs (nobody counted back then and I was pretentiously “cognac cool”), I found myself by the pool sharing a joint with and picking Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones’ brain about recording technique and other recording geek topics, having a great conversation when I really had to go to the bathroom. I excused myself telling him of my need to pee and wanted to continue our conversation when I got back. I walked through the front rooms and around the corner down the long hall that led to the bathroom and there, standing all alone, was my favorite actor of all time, Peter Sellers! As I’m walking down the hall, I am desperate to make some kind of conversation, feelling very shy and overwhelmed. He looks as though he’s studying a painting on the wall across from the bathroom door, hands behind his back, waiting to use the bathroom. Now, if you’ve never seen his film “The Party” it’s high time you did! </b></div>
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<b>Suffice it to say he plays a bumbling Indian actor, accidentally invited to a big film producer’s dinner party and pure insanity ensues. Needless to say, it’s one of my favorite Sellers films and funny as shit! So I get this idea and say in a Hindi dialect, “That is a very nice painting you are looking at. I was admiring that painting not 45 minutes ago!”</b></div>
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<b>He didn’t miss a beat and answered right back in the same dialect, “Yes! It is very nice, but I have been waiting for bathroom LONG TIME!” as he literally screamed it through the bathroom door! Three guys come out, (obviously just finishing up some lines of cocaine, yes my children, COCAINE!) and offer up apologies to “Mr. Sellers” (so sorry...blah, blah, blah....) and “Mr. Sellers” goes into the bathroom. A few minutes later there are three other people waiting in line behind me and he comes out, gives me a smile and walks down the hall to rejoin Ringo’s party. I go in and pee and coming back out. As I am walking back into the fray, there he is at the end of the hall wearing that famous “Peter Sellers cat-that-ate-the-canary grin”. I think it a little strange until he says to me, “You do that dialect very well, young man. Are you an actor?” I told him I had been on and off since age 9, but I’m also a musician/singer/songwriter and my group, Jiva, had just finished up our first album. He says, and I quote “You mean you're George’s band? He gave me your music and I’ve been listening to it all this week! Are the rest of the boys here? I’d love to meet them!”. My. Jaw. Drops. To the floor. I answer back “Why yes! Yes they are! Stay right here and I’ll round them up!” I frantically run around the party gathering up “the boys” and one of our managers Jack Reed practically screaming at them “Peter Sellers wants to meet you guys” And it was like WTF!!?? They follow me over to where Peter is (at this point I’m thinkin’ it’s “hey Pete, hey Mike!”) and he proceeds to tell us how much he enjoys our music and asking us how we enjoyed the process of recording, who were the writers of the songs (back then, we had decided to share the credit, ala Lennon/McCartney, so it was Lanning/Hilton/Strauss as writers with our drummer sharing in the publishing....and Reedo, if you are reading this, you were the glue and set the groove, my brother, and deserve more credit then you ever got at the time)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So, Here we are sharing with my favorite actor of all time stories, like the time George kicked Sly (of Sly And The Family Stone fame) out of the studio after surprising us with inviting Sly into a session, knowing we were big fans. Super disappointment Sly was, with an entourage of 6-8 people, all coked out of their nuts and then Sly sits at the console and starts trying to direct the session, all while lining up coke for his minions! After quietly pulling Sly aside and asking him and his people to leave, George shyly apologizes to us for inviting him “I didn’t know he was a traveling circus” if I remember correctly, was what George said....(Side note: in all of my years in the business of show, I’ve never met a more beautiful soul than George Harrison....but he did NOT suffer fools gladly! And he was one hell of a funny human being!!!) </b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But yet again, I digress. We are hanging out with Peter for what seems like over an hour when Miami Steve Van Zandt, Max Weinberg and Roy Bittan, all from Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band (Bruce wasn’t there...at least not to my knowledge), pull me aside and ask, “Can you introduce us to Peter Sellers?” (I have since reminded both Max and Steven at different times several years later that I had introduced them to Sellers at Ringo’s house and of course they remembered meeting him but didn’t remember me introducing them, of course!....ahh, the glamorous life!) I remember thinking “is this really happening??” Here I am introducing my new best friend Peter Sellers to one of my favorite bands (courtesy of George, we had seen them recently at The Roxy on Sunset during the “Born To Run” tour...they were spectacular!! A true force to be reckoned with in rock and roll...) </b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We party on into the night and around 3-4 am Peter can’t find his limo driver so we end up giving him a ride home in our Van!!</b></div>
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<b>I remember thinking “I can die now”....I’ve worked with a Beatle and met my favorite actor and HE likes OUR music!!! Wow...just....wow!!! (a semi-fictional account ended up in a novel of a dear friend of ours, writer Chris Corbett called “Coast Highway” a good read you can find online at Amazon and Barnes And Noble) </b></div>
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<b>So, I told you that story to tell you this one.....</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Years later, one of my best friends (since high school I had known and loved all the Hiltons like a second family...we grew up, all of us, playing music together) and old band mate from Jiva, Thomas Hilton, and I had loosely reformed into “Cosmic lightning Bolts Of Reality, Manifesting On This Plane For Your Enjoyment” (yes, that was our name....we tried to pick as unpretentious name as we could :o) with another friend of ours, drummer Steve “Coyote” Tomaino. We played this place called “The Sagebrush Cantina” on a regular basis for several years, from the mid 80s to the late 90s.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One Saturday afternoon we are setting up for a 4-8 pm slot when I notice someone watching us set up. It’s Bruce Springsteen!!</b></div>
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<b>He’s casually leaning on the side of the entrance, and I walk over to him, introduce myself and say, “You know Bruce, I introduced Peter Sellers to some of your E Street mates at Ringo’s house back in the 70s”. He says “No shit!” and asks me which ones and asks me my name and the name of the band. He gets a huge kick out of our name laughs and I say, “We also have something else in common you don’t know about. We’ve both written songs for Dave Edmunds”. Again, he says “No shit!” (Bruce had written “From Small things Mama, Big Things One Day Come” for Dave, also one of my faves from Dave!) and I said “Yup! But I’ve written 2 songs for him and you only wrote one!” He burst out laughing at that and decided to stay and listen to our entire first set, telling us we sounded great and wishing us the best before takin’ off. (Dave ended up recording a third song of mine called “Beach Boy Blood (In My Veins)” a year or so later, but that’s a whole other story!) Yup! I have had some life, don’t ya’ know!</b><br />
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<b>PS: Several years after that while living in NYC, around 2005, I am doing one of several benefits for "Rockers On Broadway", a charity event created by my friend, Donnie Kehr and Pete Townsend when they were working on "Tommy" on Broadway together and co-produced by another dear friend Cori Gardner. It was themed "A Celebration of The 60s" and it was to benefit "Broadway Cares, Equity Fights Aids" and "The Path Fund" which provides music education for under funded schools. Steve Van Zandt was one of our special guests along with The Rascals. We were doing some photo ops and I was standing next to Steve waiting to take a picture when I leaned over and whispered to him, "Remind me later to tell you about the time I introduced you and your band members to Peter Sellers at Ringo's house in '75" and started to walk away. He grabbed my arm and said, "What the fuck did you just say?" I repeated myself and he shook his head and said " Wow, Ok!". Later I turned in a version of Joe Cocker's "Space Captain" and as I walked off stage, one of the assistant stage managers came to me and said, "Mr. Van Zandt would like to see you at his table right now". Well, who could refuse an offer like that, especially since I set him up? I spent the next 15 or so minutes at his table explaining the whole story to him! He was very amused and pretty amazed after all that time! </b></div>
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<b>M. Lanning 02/22/12</b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-68181555746501701712011-10-09T23:06:00.004-07:002012-03-07T15:19:32.333-08:00“Right From God!”...(out of the mouths of babes)<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b> My daughter, along with my two boys are much more than the word "interesting" could ever describe. The word "remarkable" would be more appropriate. Or "characters" comes to mind. As an example, one of so many, I will take you back to when I was a single parent before I met my second son, Joshua, and my second wife, Tiffany.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was dirt poor, playing 6 nights a week in bars and my son Ian was 6 and my daughter Lauren was 3. We would walk Ian to 1st grade every morning, virtually around the corner from the shitty Apt. we inhabited on the second floor of a shitty building. It was shitty. The kids had a bunkbed set in the bedroom they shared and I had a mattress on the living room floor. </b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Monday through Friday we would drop Ian off at school and Lauren and I would make our way back to the Apt. where we would both watch Sesame Street together, take a nap (I was always exhausted!) and then if time permitted, read her a story before we went to pick Ian up from school and have lunch.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The kids always loved for me to read to them as much I loved my Mom reading to me. My Mother actually helped me through my first grade reader and inspired me to read Shakespeare at the age of 11 (of course she helped me through that as well). Both Ian and Lauren had their favorites as little kids, but the two they loved the most were Sesame Street’s “The Monster At The End Of This Book” (I do a perfect Grover impression and we wore out 3 copies!) and “The Velveteen Rabbit”, a classic. I would always give Lauren and Ian a choice as to what book they wanted me to read them out of the many children's books we owned. Lauren, more often than not, picked “The Veleteen Rabbit”.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This particular day after a long night for me (I didn’t get back home from where I was playing in Hermosa Beach to relieve the babysitter until 4:15 am....all for a measly $75....oh, how I don’t miss those days!) I was reading Lauren “The Velveteen Rabbit” for the umpteenth time, when, at the end of the book she looked up at me and said “You know daddy, every one of us has love in our hearts!”. It’s enough to bring me to tears even now. I said “That’s so true Lauren! Everyone of us DOES have love in our hearts!” Then she asked me something truly remarkable (she was a a few months older than 3 at the tme) she said (and I quote) “And daddy, do you know where that love comes from?” I said “Tell me where that love comes from, Lauren”. She took her index finger, put it to the middle of my forehead where the “proverbial third eye” resides and said, “Right from God!!” and pushed on my forehead as she was saying it!!! I was stunned...I had no words. None. I do remember feeling all the blood drain out of my face! What does one say to such a thing coming out of a 3 year old’s head?? Out of the mouth’s of babes, indeed!!</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lauren is now a grown woman and continues to stun me with her empathy, her voice and her natural songwriting and acting ability. She is a remarkable human being and I feel honored to be her father.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And speaking of “The Velveteen Rabbit”.....One day while talking with the Skin Horse, the Rabbit learns that a toy becomes real if its owner really and truly loves it. The Skin Horse makes the Velveteen Rabbit aware that “...once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." It’s so true, and you helped make it so, Laur-Laur. You are my “Magic Fairy”. We are all loved until real and I love you with all my furry heart!.....Dad</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>M. Lanning 10/9/11....Imagine.....thanks John.....</b><br />
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</b></div>Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-88793328206383492992011-09-27T01:30:00.000-07:002017-02-08T00:53:55.722-08:00You deserve a break today...(but only in NYC)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> I’m a little (ok, a lot) ashamed to admit I love McDonald’s. It’s not just someplace you “end up at” like Denny’s (well, maybe a time or 2). I grew up with it. We all did. But it was started in my hometown of San Bernardino, Ca. by Richard and Maurice McDonald in 1940, and they introdued the “Speedee Service System” with a mascot named Speedee, who was replaced by Ronald in ‘67, after Ray Kroc made a deal to franchise the brothers’ business. I had my first burger there when I was 3.</b></div>
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<b> Addicted. Guilty. I’ve tempered my addiction with resistance, restraint and have become a good cook over the years. My first actual job was as a short order cook at age 17, but that’s a whole other blog! Overall, I would say I eat healthy, nourishing food and a balanced diet (with ice cream being my saddest weakness) but, as Thoreau wrote, “moderation in all things”. And that’s how I justify my occasional Jones for some McDonalds!</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now I told you that story to tell you this one, because during this particular visit to Mickey Dee’s in my adopted hometown of NYC, I was not hungry. At all. I needed to pee. Real bad. Like the proverbial racehorse.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was a few years back, as I rushed out of the West 4th stop on 3rd, off of the A subway line on my way to the Village and dashed across the street to the McDonald’s. I stood in line for a quick sec (it seemed like an eternity!) and asked the clueless “sales associate” for the bathroom key. He politely told me the bathrooms were for “customers only”. I asked for the manager.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When the supervisor came over, I explained to him my situation and he repeated what Ronald Youngerson McNewbie had said. I told him, on no uncertain terms, that “McDonald’s was born in my hometown. I have been a consumer of Product McDonald for well over 50 years and my entire family has probably dropped $70,000 to $100,000 over those years into the corporate coffer. I had my first burger at 3. I think that qualifies me as a customer. Give me the bathroom key.” He handed the key over.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I went back and visited recently on my way to a Bitter End show, just to see if anything had changed. Before ordering a Big Mac (Yeah, that’s my Jones) I asked for the bathroom key. I was told I didn’t need one! Now, I don’t have Mac’s often but I do get a hankerin’ now and then, the stinkin’, corporate bastards! Yes, I like Mac ‘n Don’s Rainbow Room.....but don’t try to lay no boojee woojee on the King of Rock and Roll!!!</b></div>
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<b>M. Lanning 9/27/11</b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-30388233108920438752011-09-19T20:50:00.000-07:002014-06-21T18:55:48.495-07:00An Open Letter To Donald Trump...(the STFU blog)<div style="color: #2d2d2d; font: 18.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dear Donald, </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We all know you have been very fortunate and worked very hard in your life to get where you are, with a little luck thrown in for good measure...you have a soul, i know this because you are alive and breathing and somethimes point out things that actually make a lot of sense (like China cleaning our clock and “ripping us off”...good stuff!) But sir, you are letting your Ego use you completely and it’s embarrassing! An “embarras de choix” as it were (embarrassment of riches). As much as you think you are part of the solution, in the big picture, not so much! Your Ego is lying like some huge, fallen tree on the superhighway fastlane of your existence (yes, there is more than just this particular life to consider). Your Ego is obstructing your path, your view to a gentler course in time.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your endless need for attention may not be tiring to you, but we are fuckin’ exhausted! There is more to life than just being “The Donald”. You must know this! And the most ironic, hilarious thing about writing this is, the fact that i am writing about this!</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Let me get to the point. Stop the “birther” bullshit. It’s counterproductive. And stop pandering to the likes of Alaskan celebrity Sarah Palin and Cowboy Rick Perry. (yes, you are pandering or rather, you’re Ego is) Sad thing is, they are really pandering to you in the hopes (they are praying, maybe?) that you don’t even threaten an independent run for the Presidency. YOU’RE EGO LOVES THIS SHIT!! You can’t help it because as i said earlier, you are letting your Ego use you! Ask yourself the question, “Who is it, that is saying “I”? Access your true self and find what Lincoln called “the better angels of our nature”. Please. Find peace. For all of our sakes!</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Otherwise, shut...the...fuck...up.</span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b> P.S. Oh yeah. You said, and I quote, “Meatloaf, should I run for Preisdent?” Yup!! That got said...</b></span></div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-31765565533500644362011-08-16T16:39:00.000-07:002015-05-29T19:55:42.025-07:00Ian Paul, Baby Doll...<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b> The title is the beginning of a silly song I used to sing to my son all during the first year after his birth. Ian Paul Lanning was born August 6, 1978 at 7:01 am, after around 25 hours of false and real labor spread out over 2 days. He was our “little man” and a miracle in our lives. But no sooner than did my young wife Adrian do this amazing thing than we were informed she needed a “Rhogam shot”. She was RH negative and I was 0 positive in blood type, so after being up for 2 days I had to leave A and Ian at the birthing center and run over to Brotman Memorial Hospital with a sample of Adrian’s blood to get her the appropriate shot. We were told we might not be able to have any more children if she didn’t get it, and it was a bureaucratic nightmare when I finally got to “Rotman” (my own personal nickname for that hospital). 3 1/2 hours later i procured the shot Adrian needed and we finally made our way home with our bundle of wonderment. “It’s hard being a parent, because it’s not apparent what to do” is one of my favorite early Lanningisms and well earned by parents everywhere. </b></div>
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<b> Parents get it. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We got Ian to our little bungalow (a polite word for small shack) and started to notice something strange in a few hours. We called our Physician Dr. Wasson (if you’re out there Doc, you are a dear soul and i believe i still owe you money!) and he suggested shining a light source on him. The Doc said it was relatively common for babies with parents of RH blood type differences to have what is known as “Hyperbilirubinemia”, Bilirubin is a substance that is made when the body breaks down old red blood cells, a form of Jaundice and is flushed through the body’s waste system. The light source was the normal way to treat this condition but after after 2 days of the lights having no effect on him (he was getting more listless and yellow each couple of hours), Dr. Wasson wanted to see him immediately. It turned out he had to have an exchange transfusion through his bellybutton. As if that wasn’t scary enough, at that time (1978) the news reports were contradictory and confusing at best regarding tainted blood supplies. It was the beginning of the AIDS scare and very little was known about it. We were terrified our baby would not make it and for 5 days there was a real possibility of losing him. As it turned out, we had an amazing Dr. in Wasson and after 2 more days in the hospital, we got to take him home. I remember the intense conversations Adrian and I had about cherishing every moment after that nightmare. </b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>25 years later, Ian is in the hospital again but for testicular cancer, caught in the late stage. I will be honest for the first time in my life right here and now about this, but I didn’t have much hope. As much as I shamed myself into believing there was and feeling horribly guilty for even living in NY (he was in California) and not being there more for him, I had this awful feeling intuitively that there wasn’t much hope. It hurts even now to admit it and it could come from my feelings of inadequacy about being a good father over the years (what father doesn’t think that at some point?) He had visited me a few times in New York while working in film and television in the year and a half before he was hospitalized and I remember having a little argument with him about joining a union and getting health insurance. I also remember him having back problems around the kidney area, but thought he was just overworked. He didn’t want to join a union because he thought he’d get stuck in the same job and his goal was to be a producer and wanted to learn every aspect about the industry.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Since this blogspot is entitled “So How Do You Really Feel?” and I’m bearing my soul, I’m gonna go ahead and say that I suffered from “Shitty Father Syndrome”. I know it’s my ego doing it’s best to take me down the road of regret, but I also know there’s a case to be made for it.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ian was almost a terminated pregnancy for a hot, confusing second. (no one is EVER pro-abortion and we were terribly young, looking back) I had never entertained the notion of even being a father myself, though I loved kids and was a natural with them. I chalk it up to my own selfishness at the time, for I was gonna be a Rockstar and save the world! (how’s that workin’ for ya’, Lanning?)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We decided to have the baby. My band was negotiating a new record deal and things were looking my up for us and our music. We had a second major label chance. Which, I might add, is rare.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So much for chances. Suffice it to say after all the hard work on that album, we were essentially a tax write off (again!) and we had run out of gas after 5 years and 4 record releases. Now what? Pick up gigs, an Ice Cream store scooper for 7 months, a year long stint dressed up as a gorilla in my burnt orange Hornet Sportabout, driving down the freeway on my way to deliver a “Supergram”! It was a singing telegram outfit I worked for in ‘80-’81. Also the occasional Lime Green Suit with matching bellcap, Zorro, a Pirate with a hook and of course when the season demanded, Santa! Not humiliating at all. I also spent several months hanging drywall and fiberglass insulation for a studio my friend Brion was building. (try getting fiberglass out of your skin every night! two words: cold baths) It was all I could do to contribute while my wife, bless her heart, went through a series of shitty jobs. The only halfway decent job she had was an office manager for a wine company that somehow got the clearance to import the first wine from the Communist Eastern Bloc. They were the first importer to introduce Stoli Vodka from Russia into American culture, during Perestroika. (Oh, the Greyhound parties we had!)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now, I have always had a deep seated, general sense of desperation that has dogged me my entire life, and having a child to take care of during the Reagan era when a shitload of services were cut and wages were low, did not help that sense of desperation. Meditation and songwriting and the occasional gig was my solace. That and our “little man”, Ian and later Lauren Lanning! Lauren Lanning! Lauren Lanning! Our darling daughter! There is no love like the love of a child. None.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I loved my children with all my heart and felt guilty for not giving up my dream and going back to school full time to do something else. I was driven. And desperate. Always desperate. I did go back to school to brush up on music fundamentals and take some acting and philosophy classes. I also started concentrating on my songwriting skills.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Adrian’s and my marriage disintegrated and she went down the road to drug addiction (meth) and I had to let my sister Mary and her husband Jim (God bless them!) take my children for at least 6 months while i gathered up enough money to take them back with me. (there was an incident in getting them back from Adrian I won’t get into here....suffice it to say she was a mere 97 lbs and her meth boyfriend at the time hurt my boy...’nuff said)</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I struggled as a single parent for which seems like years (it was actually little short of a year, and I do not know what I would have done had it not been for Mary and Jim) when I met my headstrong, stubborn, smart and amazing future wife/2nd divorce Tiffany, who had an extremely intelligent and precocious boy named Joshua. We merged our two little families into kind of a scaled down, new age Brady Bunch. Miracle of miracles, the kids got along, especially the boys which we were both concerned about early on. But there were no real worries, save Lauren getting teased and picked on relentlessly (sorry Laur-Laur! What doesn’t kill you, almost does! I mean, makes you stronger!! :o) and the three of them over the years became uncommonly, tremendously close. They had each other’s back. Josh and Lauren to this day have each other’s back and are closer than ever.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I don’t remember if I really had a point to this blog, suffice it to say that I will always have regrets regarding my parenting choices, I don’t think there’s a parent alive that doesn’t. If they say they don’t they’re either outright lying or worse, lying to themselves. Life is messy at it’s very best, and it’s the caring and the love that always gets us through, mistakes be damned! I am extremely proud of Lauren and Joshua and the lives they lead now because they are Real People. They can’t do fake. Neither could Ian. And I’d like to think that both Tiff and I and the rest of our family had a little something to do with that.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One thing I do know is that my entire family misses Ian every minute of everyday. (as do all of you that knew him). It reminds me of the conversations my sister Mary and I had after Mom died (for perhaps years after) about how we would think of Mom and want to call her and tell her something or get her advice and then realize “she’s moved on”.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There were days when I refused to accept that my son had “moved on”. Hell, I couldn’t bring myself to take his number out of my cellphone for 5 years! Again and again, like someone slapping me in the face as hard as they can, it forces me to be in the moment and realize the gift that Ian keeps giving me is the moment. this. moment. now.</b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I would get stressed (which was a lot) Ian would always say “Dad, Dad, Dad.....you’re standing in a field of flowers!” It would irritate me or make me smile depending on my stupid mood, but to have such a brilliant mirror, my firstborn, my “practice child” and some of the deepest part of all the love in my life, was, even for what seemed such a short time.....a gift beyond compare. </b></div>
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<b>I miss you my “little man”.....dad.....</b></div>
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<b>M. Lanning 8/6-8/16/2011</b></div>
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Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-6832680072153389372011-07-22T17:26:00.000-07:002013-07-13T20:35:23.691-07:00How Now Brown Cow? (one of several poems I've written over the years)<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b>HOW NOW BROWN COW?</b></div>
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<b></b></div>
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<b>I can only listen as the world just passes me by</b></div>
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<b>I can only dry my eyes as the world continues to cry</b></div>
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<b>as I bear the unbearable, care for the uncareable</b></div>
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<b>watch as the seasons tick tock doom I scream in laughter</b></div>
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<b>delight in the chapter we are reading now</b></div>
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<b>How now, brown cow?</b></div>
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<b>I cannot predict the tempest’s tocata de futile</b></div>
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<b>I cannot sprinkle “the art of the deal” onto the masses</b></div>
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<b>without an apology to the scrape in the distance</b></div>
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<b>no apologies for the repulsive reminiscence</b></div>
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<b>despite divine insistence we remain at the plow</b></div>
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<b>How now, brown cow?</b></div>
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<b>when will you give up your notions of limit forever</b></div>
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<b>as you plow to endeavor the cure of what seems to be</b></div>
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<b>with a sick stab at a definition of reality as you see it, blind</b></div>
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<b>i return to a gentler course in time</b></div>
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<b>as much as my civilised nature will allow</b></div>
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<b>How now, brown cow?</b></div>
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<b>I cannot, yes I can, take you on a journey up the nihilistic impression</b></div>
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<b>that we are all equal (my hand is bigger than yours, I’m sorry, my obsession?)</b></div>
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<b>into the rest of the fever it goes, what goes?, what leaves?, and what else shows?</b></div>
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<b>I’m sure the hems of madness cover the bets and dab at the sweat upon our brow</b></div>
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<b>How now, brown cow?</b></div>
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<b>I can conjure up the blessing sevenfold in the seven sister’s love for the ancient then</b></div>
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<b>and you must follow your own regression back to the floressence of the holy modern</b></div>
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<b>now and zen, where the light itself is dim but harsh and you will not be able to stop</b></div>
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<b>dancing when you finally learn the truth about the Dance</b></div>
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<b>when we all took the Chance, and then we all forgot how</b></div>
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<b>How now, brown cow?</b></div>
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<b>the Reality will pierce you like a glance from the eye of Horus in the nightclub of your</b></div>
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<b>nightmare and softly, without a care, you will start to get the joke’s on you, your head</b></div>
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<b>filling with p-p-p-pooh while the person nearest you will look the other way as you </b></div>
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<b>projectile vomit all over everything you hold in holy, sacred, wow</b></div>
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<b>How now, brown cow?</b><br />
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<b>written in the weeks following 9/11</b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-72853446309020506792011-06-29T23:20:00.001-07:002014-05-09T13:30:03.811-07:00On Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happyness...<div style="color: #2d2d2d; font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Since we're coming up on Independence Day, I’m thinkin this week about what makes our country truly great. Worth fighting for. What we want to be about. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">For me, it boils down to a very simple quote: “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”.....easy to say, harder to do.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Golden Rule. I only repeat it now because it’s something I want to remember in my life. Something I consider an aspiration and it makes sense to me.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For all my talent and hard work over the many miles, I know what I am. Basically, I’m a worker bee. A member of the proletariat. And proud of it. I make a paycheck like most Americans (as I always say “good work when you can get it”). I say “proletariat” because in the Roman sense of the word, I have no real property. I have owned property in this life but the experience of ownership caused me to feel owned as well. Sold a house at a huge loss and looking back, I’m fine with that. Weight lifted off, so to speak. The most I would even consider owning nowadays (besides my instruments and recording toys) would be some type of motorhome thingy. That was eco friendly, hopefully.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’ve been contemplating a certain biblical phrase a lot lately.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Man cannot serve God and mammon” (money).....Matthew 6:24 Again, easy to say, harder to do. To serve God, I mean. I end up serving money a lot. I need money. We all want to live in this world with some semblance of dignity. But it begs the question, what is dignity? A lot of people in this world live with virtually nothing and still keep their dignity. We are assaulted day after day in modern society by corporations spending millions telling you how cool they are and that they’re doing the right thing. Telling you that you need what they got, whether you actually do or not. If they spent those millions actually doing the right thing, that would be dignified. But I really don’t want to rail on about corporations. I would prefer to keep it simple, like, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”. That's dignity.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I have always believed in “the better angels of our nature”. I am my mother’s son. She believed in the inherent goodness of the human spirit and lived accordingly. Mom was also a worker bee with a Master’s degree. I’m one of the few in my family that doesn’t have a degree in anything but a PhD in hard knocks, but I believe in egalitarian principles. In other words, everybody gets an opportunity to go for it and make their dreams come true! For some, it’s a dream of just making a little more money. For others, it’s making a lot of money. I also believe the basic guideline should be “do unto others as you would have them do unto.....you get the picture.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I remember when Sgt. Pepper’s first came out and that George Harrison lyric....”and the people...who gain the world and lose their soul” really smacked me hard one night. I was only 14 but I couldn’t get it out of my head. Now I think I know what it means, because all the money in the world cannot buy you one. more. breath. And breath is Precious. With a capital “P”. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Do I want to make money? Of course I do! I also want my priorities straight when I do. And I also want to “do unto others as”.....it’s about balance and it’s a choice, not a dilemma.....and I want to live with that kind of dignity.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">M. Lanning 6/30/11</span></b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-34502280910579564162011-06-03T02:25:00.000-07:002011-06-03T17:33:35.544-07:00Not feelin' so groovy on the 59th St. Bridge.....<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>Tonight I went to “Broadway Sessions”, a very popular Thurs night variety type show developed by a talented and funny broadway stalwart named Ben D. My friend Donnie Kehr was doing a short set (famous in NY for The Who’s Tommy, Aida, Billy Elliot among other shows...he and my friend Cori are the brains behind “Rockers On Broadway” a very successful benefit show, but i digress, and i can because it’s my blog!) I was there just to support. After the show I hit the subway which is just around the corner in Times Square. I run my card through for the $2+ ride only to find out they’re workin on the tracks and I can’t have the train I want </b><br />
<b>(those MTA apps on all you guys’ iPhones make a little more sense to me now!).</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No refund (I’ll save you the time....go fuck yoursefl!) so I have to grab a cab back to Queens.....Astoria to be exact which involves The Queensboro or “59th St Bridge” like the song by Simon And Garfunkel. </b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Half way over the bridge traffic comes to a dead stop (WTF!?) and about 3 or 4 cars in each lane ahead of us in the road is this black towncar, completely crushed on the left side, left rear wheel, rubber gone and ground down to the metal hub and the front wheel flat and twisted kinda pretzel like. Totaled. And blocking both lanes. Sideways.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We're stuck and we can’t really see anything initially, it’s 12:15 am and after 5 minutes I’m thinkin’ “this is gonna cost me a forever dollar” so I tell the driver I’ll go have a looksee (always get the cab driver on your side by joking with him or being cheerful, even if you have to fake it). He says fine and I go see what’s up.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>There’s about 14 men and 3-4 languages and a fair amount of chaos goin on, some berating the driver, others asking how it happened, blah, blah blah....and I’m like “hey, let’s see if we can push it off to one side and open up a lane 'cause there's a lot of cars piling up behind us”.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So about 7-8 of us try to push the car more to the left, to try and get the right lane clear....it doesn’t budge. By this time more people are out of their cars (mostly men) and cars from the other side are pulling up (“we just called 911” I heard about 4 times) and folks are getting a little hot under the collar, more cars logjamming every second, more chaos and me and my cab driver (he had walked over by then) start trying to conivnce what by now is well over 20 men that “ we can do this, all of us” and “let’s focus”.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>About 20 or so of us positioned ourselves around the car so as to give the right lane an opening and it moves!! Now were all excited and yellin’ an’ pushing and it moves twice more, with enough room to get the right lane open and we celebrate our triumph by spouting out things like “gotta love NY”, “only here”. As I’m walking back to the taxi the cab driver said he had turned the meter off and I start tellin’ all the drivers I walk by “one at a time now” and so he starts saying the same thing on the other side of the lane.....good man......we get back into the cab and a very orderly line forms allowing traffic to move smoothly and we can hear the sirens coming but no one got hurt and everything’s cool.....and once again, only in NY......</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>M. Lanning 6/3/11</b></div>Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-30266949178036134922011-06-02T02:59:00.000-07:002015-03-09T15:45:56.252-07:00We are all made of light.....<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Wasn’t quite sure how to start telling something so personal and preposterous, but a lot of you have heard me tell this experience over the many miles, so.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I had just turned 4 years old and our family, my Dad, brother Billy, baby Alice and my Mom had gone to the beach for the first time that I can recall. We always teased our younger sister Mary by saying “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">W</span>ell, that happened before you were born, Mary”. I believe, if I’m not mistaken, my Mom was pregnant with Mary. We went with neighbors, my Mom’s best girlfriend at the time and her husband and their little girl I had a crush on...I vaguely remember my Mom was not pleased about being there in the first place. I really don’t remember too much about it except something that happened to me I rememeber to this day. Clearly. This little girl I had a crush on ran into the ocean to swim because she could and I ran in after her (most likely to show off). I had never been swimming before and as far as I can recall, maybe never even been in a pool or anything but a bathtub. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I drowned in the ocean. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I know I did because I went to a place of profound love and light and felt I was home. I remember this now like it was yesterday. My little life had just begun and yet I was home. Until I heard a voice telling me I couldn’t stay, that I had to go back. I remember saying “but it’s our home” and the voice replied something like “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I</span>t’s not time yet” and the next thing I remember is coughing up seawater, covered in seaweed and my Mom screaming.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>That’s about all I really wanna remember, but I also recall trying to tell my Mother what I had experienced one time in our kitchen a few years later and she brushed it off, like it was just my imagination or something. I was raised Catholic and I’m fairly certain that had something to do with my Mom’s reticence about the whole subject. I never forgot it.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Recovering from Catholicism probably takes a lifetime but I had help. It came in the form of a 15 year old from India. In 1973 the band I was in at the time called Titan, an 8 piece rock ‘n soul band, all took a trip to see this teenage Guru Maharaj Ji (Prem Rawat as he is now known) in Houston at the Astrodome at an event entitled “Millenium 73”. I had been a seeker since age 14, after the Pope came out in favor of the war in Vietnam. I remember going to my Mom and asking “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">H</span>ow can the Pope, who is the Vicar of Christ, who is the Prince Of Peace (oh how I used to love Christmas!) be in favor of ANY war let alone this one?”. She did not have a decent answer and for the first time the walls came crumbling down around my faith. It was the same year that The Beatles Sgt Pepper’s came out. I tried meditating for the first time ever to George Harrison’s “Within You Without You”, lights dimmed and me concentrating hard on the Sitar and the words. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A few years later a friend turned me onto a book that “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">B</span>lew my mind”, as we hippies used to say. It was “Be Here Now” by Baba Ram Dass. It had a profound influence on my life and I read it more than several times. I surrounded myself with fellow travelers on the road to realization. It was a very hopeful time. The “Age Of Aquarius” and all that. I wrote a song called “Take My Love” at the age of 17 that eventually found it’s way to an album released on George Harrison’s label, Dark Horse Records by the group I was in, Jiva.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Jiva means “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">T</span>hat which breathes” and is commonly used to signify the soul. But I am jumping all over the place. Point is, I had met my teacher, or “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">D</span>arkness to light bringer” as the Hindi word “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">G</span>uru” suggests. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The techniques of meditation or “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">K</span>nowledge” as it is known, are deceptively simple. One technique is called “The Word”. That which breathes. You can achieve a similar effect by breathing in “I” and breathing out “Am”. It’s a way of being in the moment like none other and is much more profound than just simply, “I Am”.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It was another technique called “The Light” that I was fascinated with. After all, it took me back to when I was 4.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now, we got no end of shit from family and some of our friends, saying “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">T</span>hey’re following some Guru” or “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">T</span>hey’ve gone off the deep end”. Then we signed our record deal with George Harrison and that criticism lightened up, as it were. A former Beatle was kind of giving us a little “legitimacy”. </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Plainly and simply, at least for me, the “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">P</span>roof is in the pudding”. As Jesus said, “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">B</span>eware of false prophets” (Matthew 7:15) “You shall know them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). The light technique blew my mind more than once but one experience with it in particular took me back to when I was 4.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Normally, when I do the technique I see an oval or round shaped light, kind of like a do<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ughnu</span>t. But there was at least one time I saw the middle of the do<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ughnu</span>t turn into a pinpoint of light and then I was moving and standing still in total love, light and peace. I literally felt myself and everything was merging and turning into light. I remember my mind or ego interrupting me by saying “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">W</span>here in the hell do you think your going?” I slammed back into my body and for almost 5 minutes I couldn’t open my eyes. The light of the sun peeking through the curtains wasn’t as bright as the light inside. It felt like the light was emanating through my eyes.There are no other words to describe such a profound, empirical experience. Words fail. And Fail Miserably.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What I will say is that it was probably the most incredible experience I have ever had. I have been trying to <span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">r</span>ecover from it ever since. I have practiced and not practiced this meditation since 1973 and it’s something I can ALWAYS rely on to be there. Every breath. From first to last.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">It is something that no one can take away from me. Ever. All evidence is subjective, I reckon, but there was no Catholic Mother there to tell me that it was “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">J</span>ust my imagination”.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I have read every scripture pretty much, from the Bible to the Vedas and all in between. Muslims say you cannot understand the Koran unless you understand Arabic. No matter. Whatever floats your boat, but it is experience that should always precede belief, in my humble opinion. And a lot of scriptures say at some point or another that “God is Light”.</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With all the advances made in quantum physics since the emergence of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, it seems as though science and spiritual realization are slowly “<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">M</span>eeting in the middle”, so to speak. There is soooo much more to say about this subject, maybe another time, but I will leave you with this.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Matthew 6:22 Jesus supposedly said, “The light (or lamp, depending on which translation) of the body is the eye. Therefore, if thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.” </span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I know that. I mean know it in the most personal, empirical way, I know it because “The kingdom of Heaven is within you” and we are all made of light.....</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">.....and thank you Prem Rawat.....Pranam</span></b></div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">M. Lanning 6/2/11</span></b></div>
Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-91877011452428769532011-05-04T20:02:00.000-07:002011-08-18T00:30:16.335-07:00The Crack Whore And The Drum.....<div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>It was during the Christmas season a few years back in New York and my 3rd future ex and I were at a party for her theatre company (a lovely group of very talented folks, I might add) overlooking the Hudson River in midtown. I had to leave for a recording session and would be back no later than soon.</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I take the subway downtown to do the session, a no-brainer, 30 second demo spot. On my way back it’s a fairly packed subway car, I’m standing next to one of the doors and a beat up woman with a beat up drum and a beat up marching drumstick staggers into the car, stands right next to me and a moment later is sitting on the ground. </b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b> Between the subway stop she got on and the next couple, she starts to beat on this drum with the stick (remarkably rhythm free) and is singing at the top of her lungs about how she’s homeless, her kids need food, won’t you please help us....etc....(let’s just say she was melodically challenged as well)</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>RIGHT NEXT TO ME! It was as loud as anything I’ve ever heard on any mode of transportation, including turning the car stereo all the way up and amps that go to 11. (I should point out at this juncture that my family has a propensity for attracting these types into our lives....let’s just say it’s not a wish I would use up on a Genie. We happen to be compassionate and caring types and I can’t even count how many crazies or good folks we’ve attracted into our lives, call it karma if you want, to me it’s just unbelievable! Oh, the stories we all have!)</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>So....this crazy, clearly high gal is beating and singing and annoying everyone in the subway car. I pull two dollars out of my pocket and say “I’ll give you $2 to stop that right now!” She stops, grabs the 2 bucks and starts yellin’ at me about how I was “lucky she didn’t have a gun” and smart ass me, a little pissed after giving this woman my last two dollars in cash (not to metion the aural aggravation we all endured) says, “you wouldn’t know how to point it, right now, would ya?” She got off at the next stop after vowing to do this and that to me.....i think deep iniside, she was probably embarrassed.....and oh yeah! No good deed goes unpunished.....poor gal</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px 'Comic Sans MS'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>PS: I did recieve a smattering of applause from those that were left in the subway car....i shoulda bowed.....</b></div>Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-60660315962568323232011-04-29T23:32:00.001-07:002012-03-04T18:50:09.870-08:00Just another day at the Post Office (But only in New York)<div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I enjoy my little walk to the P.O. when i need to pick up a package, buy or deliver something. it's an interesting neighborhood. I hear on the average of 6-9 languages spoken, which is kinda cool to me and it inspired my current walk/run challenge to myself.</div><div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"> So , I get there today to pick up something (yes, I have the proper slip) and the minute I walk in, I hear some lady at a window screamin' at the top of her lungs about God knows what ("that woman came out here and put her hands on me!" was about all i could make out) suddenly, she starts down the long line of people, 10-12 waitin in the regular line (there is a money order/pick up only line, thankfully) and starts sayin "fuck you" and "fuck you", pointing to these folks, who as far as I could tell, had nothin' to do with whatever predicament she happened to be in. Then she turns to me and says "and what the fuck you lookin' at?" fuck you too!" I rather innocently said, " didn't do nothin" to which she replied "well fuck you anyway!" </div><div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"> Now I'd already had kind of a frustrating day, it was about 4:40pm (which, I have found, is normally a good time to go to the Post Office near where I live, just apparently not today). Well, something snapped a little in my mind so I started grinning, kinda looked at her (she was big enough to cause some major damage, let alone eat a house) and sheepishly said "you're not my type"......a few people in line started giggling, she was beyond the humor of it and she started screaming and flailing her bag around like she was goin' after me (honestly, i was scared shitless! "Hell hath no fury" and all) and at that point two policemen walked in (Whew!) They could not get her to calm the fuck down and eventually handcuffed her and escorted her out, all while she's screamin' at all of us! I really don't want to know what went wrong before I walked in, but it was just another day at the Post Office.....i think .....</div><div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">M.Lanning 4/29/11</div><div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 19.0px;"><br />
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</div>Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-22634638647910908982011-04-26T19:29:00.000-07:002011-04-28T23:45:34.530-07:00A few words (or more) about Phoebe..... I had the extreme pleasure of meeting/hanging with Phoebe Snow twice. The first time my band, Jiva, was working with Donovan on his debut album for Atlantic Records with the famous Jerry Wexler producing and the now famous Barry Beckett, associate producing (both now deceased, bless their rockin' souls!). I was in the lunch room at Cherokee Studios in LA, having a snack and in walks Phoebe with her lunch and sits right down next to me! She was working on another record after her huge hit "Poetry Man" in '75 (I'm uncertain which record she was working on at the time....it was late '76) and wanted to know all about what I was doing there. What impressed me about her right away was that she wanted to know about what I was doing! I told her, with great excitement, that I was working on Don's new album for Atlantic with Jerry Wexler. One thing led to another and she came into the studio to say hey to everyone, including Donovan. The next time I saw her was many years later.<br />
It was late September, 2004. My oldest son, Ian, had just passed away from testicular cancer (that's a whole other blog, as soon as I can get up the courage to write about it) and I had just returned from his wake in Malibu, Ca. and jumped right into work (believe me, I needed the distraction) on an amazing rock opera written by my dear friends to this day, Justin Murphy and Roger Butterley entitled "Fallen Angel". We were slated to do a staged reading at The Bay Street Theatre in Sag Harbor and had about a week to put it all together. Now I knew that Roger had been working with Phoebe as her Guitarist/Music Director. What I didn't know was that Phoebe herself was going to be a special guest on the Fallen Angel project, singing a beautiful song to open the 2nd act at The Bay St. Theatre! I was thrilled since I had always loved Phoebe's unique, soulful sound.<br />
Phoebe could not make any of the rehearsals (If I'm not mistaken, she had just reconnected with her father who was dying....corrections are welcomed and appreciated) but was just gonna show up and sing the song at our presentation. The weekend comes for the reading and the whole cast was staying in this huge house with a hot tub. Angel soup, as it was dubbed by Wendi, Roger's wife. The day comes and I learn to my disappointment that Phoebe doesn't really want to "hang out" with the cast, assumably because of what she was going through. Now I had told Roger and Wendi of my previous run in with Phoebe so I was elected to lead her, in the dark, to the stage to sing her song. I went in early to talk her through where we were going and had worked it out that so I could find my way, in the dark, to lead her to the stage. I noticed that she had been crying and said to her, "I doubt you remember me, but I do know what your going through" and she said "how do you mean?" I told her all about how we had shared a lunch together years ago, then I shared the fact that my son had just passed away very recently and had in fact, just returned from California from his wake. "How can you even get through this? How are you even here?" she asked and broke down crying all over again, came over and hugged me hard (I am in tears as I write this) and said, and I quote, "if you can do this, I can". When it came time to lead her out, I helped her find the stage and she tore the house down with that song. I was crying my eyes out while she was singing, thinking at the time, "great! I have to follow that!", since my song was directly after hers, not to mention the moment we had just shared backstage. That's the memory I will forever have in my heart about Phoebe. God loves you, Phoebe. Of this I am certain. I will leave you all with this quote:<br />
"God doesn't give you great things.....He asks great things of you".....and I KNOW that he has asked of you great things, Phoebe. God rest your beautiful soul. M.Lanning 4/26/11Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-28833281342589471762011-04-25T00:43:00.000-07:002012-05-15T22:03:19.068-07:00How I met one of the the creators of Rolling Stone, my journalistic idol, and had one of the worst musical experiences of my career on the same night<div>
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<b>We've all been in fucked up situations where, for one reason or another, you can't say or do shit about it! You just have to live through it. Watch it unfold, so to speak. This is a fairly fresh memory of one of those situations that happened to me about 3-4 years ago. (believe me, if i could wipe my memory slate clean of this one, that woulda happened the moment i walked out that door....some shit is just unbearably unforgettable).</b></div>
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<b> I have been a loyal fan of my favorite magazine, Rolling Stone, since it's infancy and it's co-founder, Jann Wenner. We kinda grew up together. Imagined myself on the "cover" as all teeny bopper rock n' rollers used to and probably still do to this day. Them not me. Still have a subscription and have most of my teenage and adult life. I have watched them grow and change with the times. One of my big regrets is dumping a huge (I mean HUGE!) box full of old RS Mags in a fit of anger while my first marriage was dissolving. OK. Point taken. Huge fan of RS and it's co-founder/editor, Jann Wenner.</b></div>
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<b> So, I used to work for this very fine organization which provides high end musical talent for high end clients. Some of their clients have included major CEO's weddings, their daughter and son's weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, anniversaries and such. Anywhere from a 10 piece to an 18 piece band, nothing but some of the best players and singers in NYC. For over 8 years I was honored to be working with such an amazing group of talented folks, And the coin didn't suck. And when you're tryin' to make a living in NYC, I suppose it's a damn sight better to learn 10 songs-you'll-never-get-to-sing-but-you-have-to-learn-them-anyway-just-in-case-because-they're-on-the-list (ugh!) rather then, "would you like whip cream with that sir?" or playing for change in the subway. Which i did. Just once. Just to see what it was like, i swear!!</b></div>
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<b>Whatever. </b></div>
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<b> Anyway, the last couple of those years got a little rough with some of us having to make video audition tapes to get gigs, which, of course, led to the live audition. More and more. Yup!! Gather everyone available, learn a list of songs some spoiled brat wants to hear while dancing with his/her first divorce and if your lucky enough, you get the gig! For less money. Some of those gigs were the most nightmarish of all!! Big surprise. Imagine a wedding planner (THE most neurotic people i have ever had the displeasure of interacting with) or a random drunk coming up constantly, asking for the same goddamn song OVER AND OVER!! Or being told to turn down 100 times (I remember one particularly distasteful experience, playing Fred Weller's wedding, Peter Weller of Robocop fame's brother....the stepfather of the bride had the brilliant idea of stickin a bunch of old ladies in the front.....kept tellin us to "turn the fuck down!", as he put it.....at one point, after the 4th time, I'm literally at the mixing board trying, yet again, to "turn the fuck down" and he comes up and yells at me! "turn it down! I'm not fuckin' around here".....at that point the salad was already making more noise then we were! (to this day, if I see that guy on the street, he better pray he’s on the other side and has a running start!) BUT! I digress......and as i've said before....this. is. my. blog. </b></div>
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<b> How to describe a total, living nightmare? Well, to start, I was sent, via email, a list of songs to learn and was told we were auditioning for Jann Wenner and his family. I called the bandleader right away and asked "do you mean THE Jann Wenner? Of Rolling Stone fame?" he said yes and at the time i remember thinking "not the best of circumstances in which to meet an icon, but I'll take it". Besides, the list of songs was cool and eclectic. From Dylan to Black Sabbath back to Johnny Cash. Now again, this is an audition, so you don't get paid. But you still have to do the work to land the gig. </b></div>
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<b> OK, a week later at some soundstage on the Westside, I arrive early and low and behold most of the Wenner family is there as well, with Mr. Wenner walking in just a few minutes later. I actually got the courage to strike up a conversation with Jann Wenner. I told him how much I loved RS, how long I’ve been a fan and lately how much I’ve been enjoying Matt Taibbi’s hysterically insightful reporting. We were getting on rather well, if i do say so myself. This is while others in the band are showing up and I’m doin’ my best to introduce them while they’re on their way to the platform stage to set up and in walks Morrie, one of the co-owners of the company I’m there to represent (Morrie, will call him that.....some names will be changed to protect the guilty) So Morrie right away starts acting like, and honestly, this is the only way i can describe it, a Poodle who pees on the rug when company comes over. Some of you know that type of excitement. He starts barraging both Jann and his wife and the son about God knows what because i get called over to the bandstand by the band leader (a great freakin’ guitar player and still consider a friend to this day, let’s just say, he gets it!) Well, the bandleader says there has been a line up change and the girl who was gonna sing the Aretha stuff can’t make it. She’s got a real gig. I happened to really dig this gal, we really got on and she could wail, but then i got told who was replacing her at the last minute.....well....let’s just say i was less then ecstatic......</b></div>
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<b>To describe this woman brings the word “diva” to mind but I’d rather not besmirch the word “diva”. She came rollin on in, bigass sunglasses (it was night time) with a huge racooney lookin coat on and was as loud as any woman I have ever heard......ever.....</b></div>
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<b> Now, the one thing i do remember being told (ingrained into the head, rather) was what they DIDN’T want...no holla back (when i say boo, you say baa), no “playing to them” and if you are gonna do any Aretha Franklin, for God’s sake, just do it like Aretha....no breakdowns, nothin. It’s Jann Freakin Wenner, for Christ’s sake!! He knows the Queen of Soul personal like!!!</b></div>
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<b> So all my shit goes pretty much as planned (Dylan, Cash and Van Morrison), Then comes The Duchess Of Dope’s turn....and what does she do? (face in my hands, head turning slowly, no, my God no!) She proceeds to ignore the memo and stand on the woofer in front of the stage and starts engaging the whole family in a call and response “when I say ‘re’, you say ‘spect!” Jann Wenner walks right out of the room (uh.....nice meetin' ya’, Mr. Wenner?) It retrogressed wonderfully from there.</b></div>
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<b> We stumbled through whatever the rest of whatever The Carnival Queen was suppose to sing, butchered the Black Sabbath number (by that time everyone on “the audition” was so fuckin’ dumbfouned, we were lucky get through the rest of the set) The rest of the Wenner clan were very polite, apologized and explained that Jann “had a meeting to go to” hence rushing out the door the way he did.</b></div>
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<b>We didn’t get the gig.</b></div>
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<b>Sometimes i think (and here’s a Lanningism for ya’):</b></div>
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<b>"If the world is my oyster, why is it stuck in the shell?"</b></div>
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<b>( http://lanningisms.spreadshirt.com/ )</b></div>
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<b></b></div>
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<b>Things very rarely work out the way you think, “but if you try sometimes, you get what you need”.....(thanks Mick and Keith)</b></div>
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<b>“All You Need Is Love” (thanks Beatle guys) M. Lanning 4/24/11</b></div>
</div>Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197464485906834929.post-37241209146487944212011-04-24T16:29:00.000-07:002011-04-24T16:29:38.582-07:00Now I'm a little pissed.....and wondering, should i post this?Re: title of this blog....I've never been without the gift of poetry (or so an old friend, a world renown psychic, told me, rest his beautiful soul)......Anyhoo.....<br />
You'd think that some people had the courtesy, nay, the courage to pick up their phone and at the very least, text to you that they are not coming to a small gathering of friends, albeit planned on short notice. It's just a text. For Christ's sake, I find out from a mutual friend, in an offhanded sorta way! And this gathering was for someone we haven't seen in 3 years....i don't understand people sometimes, so my prayer to the Universe is this: please help me to understand people in a more constructive way and forgive them their small transgressions as i hope they will forgive mine. That's paraphrasing from The Lord's Prayer, by the way.....a powerful prayer if you say it right.....for instance, according to the original Aramaic (the language that Jesus spoke) it is "leave us not in temptation" not "lead us not into temptation"! Why would the Lord Thy God "lead you into temptation?" Unless you are assuming that the very nature of our reality, at least on this plane of existence, is dualistic by it's very nature? (check out the book by Dr. Rocco A. Errico, "Setting A Trap For God, The Aramaic Prayer Of Jesus" it translates the original prayer back into Aramaic for a unique understanding of the words)<br />
But I digress....and i can do just that because this is my blog!....but i'm not as pissed, now that i write about this incident. I guess i shouldn't be too surprised. After all, this was the same person who tried to break up with his girlfriend via text! i called this person the very next day while waiting for a plane to take me to SoCal and told this human they were kinda chickenshit crazy and just might be missing out on the love of their life! Of course, a few years later i tried to remind this same person about my phone call, they couldn't remember me making it!!! Lord make me an instrument of thy peace and help, at least my memory, not be so selective! Happy Easter!......Sun. April 24th 2011<br />
PS: Said couple is expecting they're first child and i could not be happier for them! So much for bein' pissed....it's always temporary anyway.....breathe, Lanning, breathe!Michael Lanninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16192535867343381804noreply@blogger.com0