February 15th, 2007 by Eric
You've heard me say before: snow is not unusual for the folks in the Western New York area. We get plenty every year (though not as much as out-of-towners think), and at the time of this post there is about two feet of snow on the ground, and more of the fluffy swirling around outside my window. We're usually well-prepared come winter, and the snow is being removed before it even hits the ground. But October? Mid October? That's a little odd even for the Queen City, and it caused a great deal of devastation.
The “Friday the 13th– October storm was an unprecedented event. For days after, the entire region was a disaster area. Coming so early in the season the trees, usually barren by the first snowfall, were still thick with leaves, allowing the snow to pile up and destroying an astonishing number of them. Conservative estimates by several different groups put the total number of trees lost somewhere between 12,000 and 20,000. While most of them were salvagable it took and will continue to take a Noah-like effort to do so, and those that can't be saved will need replacing. How will this be done?
There have been several ideas put forth by area citizens, from commemorative posters to the auctioning of wood sculptures carved from tree stumps created by the storm, which started this January. Local businesses have donated parts of their proceeds and Re-Tree WNY, a group dedicated to this cause has big plans for arbor day this April. On top of all this, the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) has announced that:
$200,000 is being made available to local governments so they can implement long-term tree-cover restoration efforts in areas that suffered significant tree damage from the freak October snowstorm in Western New York.
There are also great tips on how to save trees that have been damaged in storms at the DEC website.
It is truly inspiring to see what a huge effect small actions by individuals and organizations can have on our environment and out communities. So give a hand to this effort by planting a tree. Or you can donate to Re-Tree WNY. Either way, please help us make progress.
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February 15th, 2007 by Matt
In 1984, just as Reagan started forgetting about the arms he was selling to Iran, I started learning how to beat the tar out of the drums.
Mr. Albright was my first conductor, and I remember having to choose between playing the trumpet or the drums — Mr. A needed kids to fill out his brass section, but for reasons I can’t explain, I desperately wanted to play the skins. In fifth grade, I played drum-set on our very fifth grade version of Phil Collins’ very forgettable song, “Sussudio” (this, of course, implies that there’s a memorable Phil Collins tune). A decade of lessons followed, and when I turned 23 these skills were finally put to a good use: rock and freaking roll, baby.
Right now, I’m essentially between bands, pining for another chance to teach my drums a lesson. To me, there has always been something spiritual about knocking something inanimate senseless and having other people call it music. As is the case with most of my fellow percussionists, Buddy Rich wasn’t so much a god to me as much as he was Moses, leading me through the desert of orchestral numbers with better triangle parts than snare. He gave me hope. He gave me rage made magnificently incarnate.
So, now that I’ve got a forum, and now that I’ve got your attention, please, for your sake more than mine, check this sucker out:
This is what I think of when I watch Rich: I’m watching the best there simply ever was and, most likely, ever will be. The greatest. And the thing is, you can tell, if you watch enough of him play, that he never even reached his zenith — if it weren’t for that blasted thing called time, he could have shattered any expectations, blown away any imagination. As it is, much of what he does seems physically impossible.
Ed Shaughnessy, another drummer, is absolutely, mind-bogglingly great. But in this video, Rich kind of puts him to shame (Ed can’t keep up by the end):
All this, plus Rich was a black belt! And he went 250 grand in the red (in 1946!) to keep his band up and running! And he had multiple heart attacks and was told to stop playing and refused to! And he played on the Muppet Show! And then, my friends, there’s this next clip. I don’t just love it because I watched it 1,000 times when I was a kid, or because sweat pours from Rich’s face, or because he’s wearing a damned suit, or because his playing gives me chills. No, I love it because John Williams (the John Williams) looks over at him, utterly awed. Enjoy:
More of our thoughts about music can be found in this Wednesday’s topic:
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February 15th, 2007 by Matt
When I was a kid, we had a calico cat named Mr. Munchkin. I’m serious. My sister and I named him despite protests from our parents, such as: “This cat is a girl kitty” and “No, really. This is a girl cat.” Even at the time (I was 11, my sister 8), we apparently felt that many traditional gender roles and terminology needed to go the way of the Model T. To appease them, we called her Munch.
Munch was an indoor cat, but on occasion we’d let her outside in the summer, leaving the back storm door open a crack so she could scuttle back inside on a whim. So, one Sunday, my mother, father, sister, grandmother, and I sat on the back porch, chowing down on burgers and coleslaw, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed Munch slowly stalking toward a row of arborvitaes. She often did this, hiding as low as she could in the grass, her brown, tan, black, and white coat poorly diguised against the green; since cats ain’t colorblind, she might have been just plain dumb or overwhelmed by instinct. The creeping continued for a couple of minutes as she made her way.
As those conifers exploded with a small flock of blackbirds, she did her best feline interpretation of Florence Griffith-Joyner sprinting back toward the house. The look on her face said: “What the &%$! were those? Why, big thing who fills my food dish, didn’t you tell me about those?” And who could blame her: the closest she’d come to a bird was the catnipped toys she got stoned on. Of course, instead of running through the opening in the doorway, she ran right into the door. I’m not sure I ever loved her more.
20 years later, I still adore cats, though I’m not one of those cat people. So I’m intensely interested in organizations and projects that protect and assist our feline friends. Sure the ASPCA rocks. While a bit gungho and too angry for our liking, PETA’s at least got good and helpful intentions. But I’m quite concerned about cat overpopulation (hey, Bob Barker’s got the right idea), and the organization Operation Catnip is right up the progressive alley.
This outfit performs “trap-neuter-return” with feral cats. By doing this, they reduce cat overpopulation, which is bad for the animals and the environment, since these cats lack natural preditors, and helps the overall heath of cat communities (called colonies). An additional benefit is that university vet clinics are used for the neutering and administration of vaccinations, thus giving vet students an opportunity to work with living animals (as opposed to, you know, just dead ones) that don’t belong to anyone. If you’d like, you can make a small donations here, and help cats, cities, and students. If you can’t afford to, we understand. Just knowing more about organizations like this one is part of progressivism.
To learn more about Progressive Wednesday, just click here, here, or here.
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