The Greatest Hits of All Time

When I was very young, I loved Oldies radio. Specifically, I loved WTRG, Oldies 100.7. I remember sitting in the back of our Ford Taurus station wagon, facing backwards, singing along to The McCoys or The Turtles, Manfred Mann or The Hollies, The Mamas and the Papas or The Chiffons. Those were good times.

Looking back, I loved Oldies radio like I loved my parents. I wasn’t too cool for Petula Clark, and I didn’t mind grocery shopping with my mom. I didn’t mind singing ‘Surfer Girl’ with my dad on the way to see his parents in Farmville.

Then, something happened. I guess it was around the time I turned 13. I had my own Sony boombox, and I stayed up late listening to G105, hoping to hear Jamie Walters ask ‘How Do You Talk To An Angel’ or something from Robin S.

At the same time, Mom and Dad weren’t cool anymore. In fact, I’d started to resent them. They hadn’t changed; I had. The radio station in the car stayed tuned to WTRG, but I tuned out, preferring my Walkman and the mix tapes I’d recorded off of other stations. At home, while my younger brother would be downstairs baking cookies with Mom, I’d be shut away in my room, composing my latest manifesto.

It’s a natural part of growing up, this inevitable distance we put between ourselves and our parents during adolescence. We reject them and everything we associate with them. Those songs we used to tap our feet to? Our parents’ songs. We try to find our own way, determined to be anything but our parents.

In time, we need our parents. A year or two into college, and we realize how much it is that we need them, both emotionally and financially. We start going through some very adult experiences, and the best adults we know are at home.

At some point, we mature enough to give those old songs a listen again. And like our parents, they’ve been there for us all along.

Oldies radio grew in popularity in the late 1970s when people realized disco sucked. Prior to that, it was rare for a radio station to play anything more than three or four years old. So, disco comes along and sucks, and people want to go back to the music that they loved. And it was great music.

But everyone has to go through an evolution, much like radio did back then. For a while, we distract ourselves with our Ace of Base or Soundgarden, our Stone Temple Pilots or Alice in Chains. Some of that music is great. Some of it is not. And I don’t believe everything recorded prior to 1970 is fantastic, either. But there is a reason that the great music endures.

One time, my dad and I walked up to the counter at Camelot Music in Berkeley Mall in Goldsboro. A Ray Charles song was playing over the store’s PA. Dad asked the young woman at the counter, “Why don’t they make music like this anymore?” She suggested he might like D’Angelo. He didn’t.
Over the years, my dad has been an early adopter of technology. I was in third grade when he bought the family’s first CD player. He let Jason and I each pick out a CD at Camelot, and I went with New Kids On The Block’s Hangin’ Tough. Jason chose the soundtrack to The Wizard of Oz. Guess which one is on my iPod? A few years after that, Dad bought one of the first CD car adapters, and we hooked it up in Aunt Babe’s old Thunderbird on the way to a Boy Scout camping trip. When we figured it out, Dad was thrilled to have Patsy Cline come through his car stereo. I wasn’t ‘Crazy’ about Patsy then, but it was a neat moment when the first strains of that song began.

In my middle years of high school, I began to listen to punk rock. Not scream-your-lungs-out punk rock, but something that was teetering on the early edge of the emo explosion. Blink-182, MxPx . . . that stuff. Fine, and still fun to go back and listen to on occasion. Then I went through a classic rock stage, something I’m still thankful for. Incidentally, as we get decades away from the 1970s, classic rock and Oldies have started to bleed together on the airwaves. That’s probably, OK, but despite what Wikipedia says, they are not the same thing, and the people of my parents’ generation will tell you that.

But the Oldies were always there, always in the background. I couldn’t get away from the Four Tops, and I soon found myself not wanting to.

Just after college, I began to work as a bank teller at the front of a grocery store. The music they played over the PA grated on my nerves. It wasn’t Oldies, and it wasn’t Classic Rock; it was Soft Rock. It was stuff like Kenny G and Whitney Houston and REO Speedwagon and early Mariah Carey. In other words, it was mostly crap.

Looking back, I’m sure the music played at that grocery store was specifically chosen so that people would buy more produce or something. But for someone ostensibly trying to sell checking accounts, it was debilitating. So much so that on one particularly nauseating morning, I wrote down every single song and artist that I heard. Forty-three of them. That wasn’t a good use of my time, my manager informed me.

Our only saving grace was a small portable radio another employee brought in. And the only station we could get clearly was WTRG. It was a throwback to my younger days, and I realized there’s a reason those songs have endured. They’ve always been there for me.

Ron McKay had an afternoon show, ‘Live from the Big Chill Bar and Grill,’ and he’d play requests. Each time he’d come back from a song, the people in the restaurant would hoot, holler and applaud. Every once in a while, I’d call in and request ‘Going to a Go-Go’ by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and he’d oblige. I found out that catalogs at Oldies stations are not deep, and a song like ‘Going to a Go-Go’ would only be played upon request. You’d think you were hearing ‘Going to a Go-Go,’ but it would actually be ‘I’ll Be Doggone,’ which, while a fine song by Marvin Gaye (incidentally co-written by Smokey Robinson with backing vocals by The Miracles), is no ‘Going to a Go-Go.’

By playing the Oldies against the crap pumped out over the supermarket aisles, I fell back in love with the songs that taught me what music was in the first place. It was about that time I swallowed my pride, admitted I hated the bank and moved back in with my parents, who welcomed me with open arms.

I didn’t know it then, but WTRG was dying. That fall, it became ‘The New River’ WRVA, and started playing the exact same songs I’d hated in the grocery store. Two years later, my Classic Rock station, WRDU, would become ‘Rooster Country.’ The only place we could hear any good music anymore was in our own collections. And the only place we could find the people who loved us unconditionally was in our childhood homes. Our own ‘Greatest Hits,’ so to speak.

There never was a ‘Big Chill Bar and Grill,’ where people clapped and applauded and sang along to ‘California Dreamin.’ I took for granted that such a place existed, and I would find it. As far as I knew, this bar and grill was somewhere in Raleigh, playing the greatest songs ever recorded. Was I naive? Sure. But was it too much to ask that there was such a place, and not just a lonely man in a radio booth, spinning CDs and pushing the ‘applause’ button?

There never was a ‘Big Chill Bar and Grill,’ but there should have been. Until there is one, we’ll enjoy our own CDs or mp3s, playing back the Oldies. And when we do, we’ll think of the people who first played those songs for us. Sometimes, it's OK to look back. Especially in that rear-facing back seat of a white Ford Taurus station wagon.

Top Ten Things for July 16th

I was just reading a random, subjective Top Ten List on the Internet, and I decided to come up with one of my own. So, in a belated celebration of Bastille Day, here's a list of my Top Ten Things for July 16th, 2009.

10. Coke Zero
It's got real Coke taste, with none of the calories! The perfect morning pick-me-up for me. I used to stop almost every weekday to pick one up on my 75-minute commute. Now, I don't have that commute, but I still appreciate the occasional shot of caffeine.

9. Househunting
It can be a drag at times, but it can be fun to imagine yourselves in a particular house. Also, you get to learn about people's lives from the stuff on their shelves. We play detective! Plus, I think you're allowed to take one item valued at $100 or less from each house. But just one.

8. John Candy in 'Home Alone'
Remember when he's talking to Catherine O'Hara and the Kenosha Kickers, and he's trying to explain to her about all their polka hits?  And then she says, "I'm sorry, did you say you could help me?" Meanwhile, he's singing, "Polka, polka, polka." That's a great scene. Later in the truck, he's going around and talking about how the band members don't see their families very often, and she says she's a horrible mother. Lots of people remember all of Kevin McAllister's pranks. But do they remember this dramatic subplot?

7. Tortellini
It's pasta with stuff inside! Be it cheese, spinach or meat! Can't be beat! Try topping it with Parmesan!

6. Procrastination
AKA the reason for this list.

5. Our dog goes to his crate when asked
That's right. We just say, "Quincy, go to your crate," and he ambles on over. Slowly but surely. Maybe even reluctantly. But he does it, and then there are treats involved.

4. Football
It's coming! The first college football weekend is September 5. Football is coming at you! The great American game. As John Facenda, the voice of NFL films, said, "Professional football in America is a special game, a unique game. Played nowhere else on Earth, it is a rare game. The men who play it make it so." And football is coming back. Get ready.

3. The iPhone
Don't hate because you don't have one. If you do have one, you know what I'm talking about.

2. America's Got Talent
You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll get sucked in by NBC summer programming.

1. The weather lately
Hasn't it been nice? Low humidity, mostly in the 70s. Pleasant!

And that's the list!

We're moving!!! and other news

Hey folks
I don't know if I've updated you in this particular area, but Corrie and I will be moving. We're leaving our apartment in Durham, packing up and taking this show on the road to . . . probably somewhere else in Durham.

The big news is that I have been brought on full-time with Tobacco Road Media, which publishes Tar Heel Monthly magazine, Tar Heels Today Online, and is responsible for much of the feature content on TarHeelBlue.Com. It's very exciting. For several years since I graduated from Carolina, I'd been working other jobs so that I could indulge my passions in my spare time (working at a bank so that I could write music, working at a newspaper so that I could save some money, teaching PE classes so that I could pay for graduate school, working on a research study so that I could free-lance for Tobacco Road), and finally I will be getting up for a job that I love. I know it takes years and years and still some people don't love their job, but I will be one of those doing what he loves. So anyway, Corrie and Quincy and I are looking for a more permanent home. It's an exciting, if daunting, time.

In other news, I am working on two other projects, one a memoir of childhood and early adulthood and all the characters I've come across (and the character that some say I am), and the other an adventure novel set in the 1800s. So there's that.

Anyway, thanks for checking up on us by visiting the site. And by the way, I'm bringing the beard back. My face isn't all that interesting without it. We'll see what happens.

The Playoff Beard is dead; Long live the post-Playoff mustache!

Well, the Canes bowed out of the Stanley Cup Playoffs after an admirable run, and the Playoff Beard that was with me since Easter Sunday has come to an end. Here are the stages of this morning's shave.

The Playoff Beard Lives again!

We're on four weeks, five days, folks. Yes, I did trim it up a bit yesterday after a haircut. Maybe that's what it took for the Canes to push on through to the Eastern Conference Finals. Bring on the Pens!

The Playoff Beard Lives!

I have to be honest - for a while Tuesday night, I was worried I'd lose the playoff beard I'd been working on for more than two weeks. The Canes were down one with less than 90 seconds to play. They'd played hard against the Devils, but hadn't really gotten the bounces they'd needed. It had been a good season, and they'd been a fun team to watch.

But wait! Joni Pitkanen finds old friend Jussi Jokinen with a laser pass, and Jussi pokes it past Martin Brodeur! Overtime! But wait! Eric Staal takes a pass from Chad LaRose and beats Brodeur himself with 32 seconds to play! Canes win! Canes win! Canes win!

I have no idea what will happen against the Bruins - they're going to be tough - but it's been a lot of fun. And the Playoff Beard is, err, growing on me.

Victory in Detroit

Check out the team over Corrie's head.

Well, by now you know what happened in Detroit. The Tar Heels won their fifth NCAA Championship and sixth national title by defeating Michigan State, 89-72. We got to see our favorite team in our favorite sport win the highest title they can win. It was fantastic.

The day started off with a snowstorm outside our window. It was in the 20s and of course we had no car (as you've read), so we had to walk to the gym and to lunch. As we came back from lunch at Potbelly's, I turned to Corrie and said, "We better win this damn game."

Watching the local news was kind of funny. The anchors were talking about where to get your Michigan State gear "after the Spartans won." The 'man on the street' was this old dude named Al Allen. "I feel bad for these North Carolina fans," he said. "They came all this way from 70-degree weather, and it's snowing, and they're going to see their team lose."

On the hour-or-so ride into Detroit, we didn't speak much. I was a bundle of nerves, and you know I don't use metaphors like that. We were supposed to win, but what if we didn't? It was intense, and there was nothing we could do about what happened on the court.

We had dinner with our friends Adam and Stephanie at a restaurant called 'Detroit Fish Market.' Our driver said he knew where that was, so he promptly took us to the Detroit farmer's market. Then he decided to use his GPS.

After dinner, we stopped by the team hotel to see the crowd, but didn't stay to see the team off. Instead, we went to Detroit Beer Co., which was the official Carolina fan gathering place. There, we ran into friends Drew and Jimmy and Taylor Zarzour, who was broadcasting for WPTF 680 live from the bar.

Finally, it was time to go to the game. You know what happened, so I don't need to rehash. However, I will share my story here. Posted this on a message board, but it's too good not to share with my friends here.

I wish my entire section had been standing. If anyone who sat ten or so rows behind me reads this, they may be unhappy with me, but here goes:

Monday night, the game tips off, and everyone is on their feet. We're in the Carolina section. The first two possessions or so, everyone is standing. About the third possession, people around me start to sit down. "Why are we sitting? It's the National Championship game?"
A friendly guy behind me says, "I don't know. Stand up!" Still, people are sitting, except for basically me and my wife and this guy in the row behind us. Things are fine for a while, until MSU goes to the free throw line.

"Blue hat! Sit down!" I hear from several rows behind me (I'm wearing my blue Carolina baseball cap). I just ignore it. "BLUE HAT! SIT DOWN!"

I ignore it a second time.

Then the guy directly behind me says, "Dude, we're not sitting down. It's the national championship game. If you sit down before I do, you owe me $50. Even during timeouts."

"Sounds good," I say. I continue to hear this man yelling at me in the distance, but I basically ignore it, and concentrate on THE NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME. My wife eventually obliges and sits down except for exciting times. During a timeout, this other guy comes down a few rows and taps me on the shoulder.

"Dude, I just want to let you know, they're talking about you back there."
I gesture to the court, "I'm just watching a basketball game."
"I know, man, I know. It's the national championship game, and I'm standing, too. I just wanted to let you know they're talking sh** about you. F*** 'em."
"OK, thanks," I say. "I'll sit down tomorrow. Tonight is the national championship game." And I continue to stand.

Rude amateur photographer turns to my wife and says, "You better tell your husband to sit down. They're going to come make him in a minute."

A few minutes later (this is about 5 minutes to go in the half), a security person in a red shirt and an officer in a black shirt come down the aisle.

"SIT DOWN!" He screams at me.
"What?" I throw my hands in the air.
"Sit down!"
"Are you serious?"
"Do you want to get thrown out of here?" he asks.
Well, no, not really. I didn't come all this way to get ejected, so I sit down. I knew he had no right to make me, but whatever, I didn't want to start anything. At this point, I'm dejected (if not ejected). I'm reading the back of my ticket just to make sure. Meanwhile, the security guy is still in the aisle.

Carolina gets a big rebound, or a steal, and EVERYONE in the section is on their feet. Except for me. "Tell me the rule," I yell at the security guy. "What is the rule?"
The woman behind me: "There is no rule. Don't worry about it. They can't make you sit down."
Carolina father and Michigan State son: "They're being ridiculous. We stand in East Lansing all game, every game."
"Are y'all standing?" I ask them.
"Yes," the father says. "We have to, to see over you," he says, laughing.

For the remainder of the half, I stand only when everyone in the section stands.
During the second half, I'm getting excited. After all, my team is about to clinch the NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP.
Security guy comes down the aisle again. "Sit down!" he says. EVERYONE in our immediate area turns to him with palms raised, like "What?"
Security guy: "OK, let's do it this way. How many of you are happy?" he says to the three or four rows around me. EVERYONE raises their hand. It was like elementary school. Realizing we weren't bothering anyone, he leaves us all alone.

After the final buzzer sounds, everyone is on their feet. "Stand up!" I say to no one in particular.

I thought the whole thing was over until about 6:30 the next morning at the airport. We get to our gate, and see my friend Drew and some other friends in line to board their plane. We high-five and hug to celebrate the national championship.

Another woman in line pipes up. "That was crazy, that riot y'all caused."
I don't exactly realize what she's talking about. "You mean, Carolina fans taking over Detroit?"
"No. YOU TWO," she says, pointing at me and my wife. "Standing up. That one man was about to have a heart attack. We thought it was hilarious."
"Was it a Michigan State fan?" I ask her.
"Yes, the one who was turning red was a Michigan State fan. I mean, there were some Carolina fans that were mad, too, but mostly it was one Michigan State fan."

So anyway, I'd love to know the story from some people behind us. If you're mad at me for standing, if I ruined your national championship game experience, well you've got bigger problems than me standing. If you came all the way to Detroit for the game, it's not too much to put your hands on your knees and push.

So that's my story. Thanks for reading. And Roy would want me to stand.