turf

It seems spring has arrived in New York City. There was so much sunlight today that it rattled my night owl sensibilities. Of course, I had to get my shut-in carcass outside and enjoy the weather. I walked, though for me that has different connotations. I walk to the subway, to work, to the store, to the pool hall. That's rudimentary walking. Then there are "Zen walks" - when I gather my thoughts and try to filter through the detritus clogged inside my head. Thoughts can range from the practical, like bills and taxes and work and what to have for dinner to the aesthetic such as ideas for my current writing, the submission of manuscripts, films I've watched, or anything else on the creative side. Songs might flutter through my mind from the sublime to the cheesy.

These walks can also encompass reminiscence as I recall the odd fond (or not-so-fond) memory. Like today, I remembered the outdoor concert at Darien Lake amusement park outside Buffalo on July 25, 1993. I had to laugh to myself as I recalled the "turf wars." No, not a turf war in the West Side Story sense, but literally turf ripped from the amphitheater's ground. Concert-goers dehydrated by the summer sun and inebriated with overpriced beers decided it would be a great idea to rip out chunks of sod and toss them like dirt Frisbees through the air. At one point the twilight sky was blotted out by the ground above us. During this fiasco, many of those with lawn spots charged and trampled the wire fence that separated them from the "privileged" front row seats. Soon, the seats were also tossed about in the air. In a sense, it was anarchy that evening at Darien Lake. Even as Stone Temple Pilot vocalist Scott Weiland tried to halfheartedly allay the rampage from the stage (their Bar-B-Q Mitzvah tour with the Butthole Surfers), the band continued to play. Yeah, it could be described as a "bad scene," but in fact, it was exhilarating. And no, I did not participate in the forcible removal of turf, but I flirted with the idea. I was covered with dirt, but managed to avoid being struck by a turf-chunk.

So that memory returned today as I walked around here in Astoria. Why that particular memory, I could not say. It just comes to me, and how it is triggered I will probably never know. Still, it is better to recall the good times rather than the negative. And that day at Darien Lake was a good time. I just wish I still had my ten dollar bootleg concert t-shirt.

Back home, the new roommate began the process of moving in and suddenly I was no longer alone. Not that I lived here by myself for that long - it was only around nine or ten days. And here it is a balmy spring evening, and for the moment, the spiraling lumps of sod and turf in my mind have settled.