One Last Gift From Mama

When I was in North Carolina I found a box on Mama’s kitchen table in among some mail. It had a bracelet inside. Upon the bracelet was engraved the initials “WRL”. I thought about who that might be. Mama was always buying little things for people. But I couldn’t think of anyone with those initials. I thought briefly that she might have meant it for me, but my initials are “KRWL”. Honestly, given everything else I was dealing with at the time, I didn’t give it much thought. And when I packed up her apartment, that bracelet was put into a box along with a lot of other things. I think I mentioned the bracelet to Victoria, but I really didn’t think about it after that.

When I returned for Florida and started going through Mama’s belongings, I came across that bracelet again. I took it out to look it over, and brought it into my studio thinking I’d write and ask if anyone in the family knew who “WRL” might be. Then I noticed something I’d missed before. On the back of the bracelet was an inscription that I hadn’t seen. It read, simply;

“My Son, My Pride, My Joy”

I wept when I realized that this bracelet was for me. One last, precious gift from Mama. She’d told me before Christmas that one of my gifts hadn’t come in, and I had forgotten about it. To say this bracelet means a lot to me is an understatement. As I’m writing this, tears are streaming down my face. Every time I read the inscription on the back, tears stream down my face.

I know this bracelet was not meant as a final gift or a final message. But if there was ever anything I needed to hear from my mother after she had passed, it was that simple phrase. “My Son, My Pride, My Joy.”

I will treasure this bracelet. Always. Not just because of the sentiment behind it. That need not be said. I knew how much Mama loved me, and how proud she was of me. The initials are endearing, because whether she meant it that way or not Mama was telling me that she loved me as Kevin, but she accepted me as Wicasta. My name is Kevin Robert Wicasta Lovelace. But Mama, with this final gift, put the name Wicasta first. Maybe in some small way she finally embraced my need to become someone other than the Kevin I was as a child. I don’t know. I may never know. But it’s just like Mama to put such a simple, touching kindness into a gift.

Whatever questions might remain about the arrangement of my initials, it’s the inscription on that back that makes this bracelet a treasure to me. It’s one last, unexpected message from my dear Mama that I will keep close to my heart for the rest of my life.

Thank you so much, Mama, for loving me. I was never the son you deserved, but that’s because no one could have been. You were the best mother in the world. And your sweet, kind spirit proved to be a soul that few of us could ever hope to measure up to. You were the best of us, and set an example we might all aspire to. I am, and always will be, proud to be your son. I just wish I’d had the time to return your loving gesture with a bracelet of my own that read, “My Mother, My Pride, My Joy”.

I love you, Mama. I’ll see you again soon enough.

Love, Kevin.

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So. What Do You Do At Rhino On Air?

I was sent an e-mail from a friend today who wrote and asked me, “What is it that you do at Rhino On Air?”

There’s no short answer to that one, really, so in true Wic fashion I put together a wordy response. Mostly because this question has actually been asked of me by some of the people who are running Rhino On Air, too (which I’ve found disconcerting). When I was done I had given myself a giggle, because of the absurdity of my closing statement. Yes, I amuse myself. But somebody has to!

Anyway, here’s what I said about what I do at Rhino On Air. If you knew my friend, you’d know these overly detailed explanations are par for the course (and they go both ways). And if you’ve ever wondered yourself, here’s your chance to find out.

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Happy Turkey Holocaust Day

I have a love/hate relationship with Thanksgiving. I never know how to approach it. Mostly because I try to remain thankful for my many gifts the entire year ’round. Each day when I spend a few moments in the backyard with an affectionate squirrel, I am thankful. Each day when I have a chance to hug Victoria I am thankful. Whenever I talk to my mother I am thankful, and all-too-aware that I have been blessed with the kind of sweet, caring mother that most people can only experience through television shows and Hallmark movies.

Today isn’t a day of giving thanks to me, because I give thanks every day. So for me, Thanksgiving is about good food and fellowship. It’s about family. It’s a good excuse to get together even with the people who annoy you the rest of the year and enjoy a graceful moment together, when all animosities and angst can be set aside. But even when you deal with the relatives who make you crazy, you should be thankful for them, because they make your life more interesting.

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Considering A Thing Called Rhino On Air

My last blog entry was about one month ago, on October 12th. That now seems like a really long time ago. In the interim there has been a whole lot of hard work, many sleepless nights and more angst and frustration than one could politely put into words. But now, looking back, I am smiling, and know full well that, however things may progress from here, I can look back on the last 30-45 days with justifiable pride for the rest of my life. We did good. I did good.

First off, I should probably explain that I’m talking about a new entity called Rhino On Air. It’s an Internet radio station. I signed on in early October to do a radio show and somehow wound up as the Indie Music Director of Programming. Before the station was scheduled to go live, I had already put in a couple of weeks of hard work reaching out to area musicians to find us some music to play. I was told my target goal was 5 hours worth of music from Independent music that we could play in rotation and use for shows (all of which we would require waivers for). I also put up a web site for the radio station. When the initial October 17th air date rolled around, I had the music ready and we had a web site to send people to. And that was a good thing, because on the morning of the 17th we fired up the proverbial nuclear reactor and nothing happened. We resorted to playing the music as a backup. And after a few days of hair-pulling, we were finally able to get on the air. It’s been a wild ride ever since.

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So What Does “Animal Cruelty” Mean In Pinellas County, Florida Exactly?

Unreal! Saint Petersburg, Florida, police seized this animal from its owner, our neighbor, and opened an animal cruelty investigation because of the condition the dog was found in. This beautiful animal was left outside on the neighbor’s front porch in a crate without food and water for God knows how long, and was covered in its own urine and feces when seized. Our neighbors are rarely ever there. We’ve listened to this dog bark and whine incessantly for days on end for lack of human contact and neglect. Finally another neighbor took it upon her self to go over and check on the dog, and follow up by calling the police when realizing that the animal was in distress.

Two days later Pinellas County Animal Services released it back to its owner. WTF?

I can’t comprehend how that worthless piece of thug wannabe trash could be allowed to reclaim this animal after having the animal seized during an open animal cruelty investigation. What was the point in seizing the dog in the first place? Is that nothing more than something Pinellas County Animal Services does to placate the neighbors? Does it mean nothing?

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Why “My Cousin Vinny” Annoys Me

For some reason, every time I prepare instant grits I think about the line in My Cousin Vinny where a character says, in a fairly terrible fake Southern accent, “No self respectin’ Southerner uses instant grits.” Apparently no one checked with Southerners about this, because I’ve yet to meet a Southerner who doesn’t, or hasn’t, eaten instant grits. And the irony that the line was delivered by a Northern actor is lost on most people.

Anyway, something has always bugged me about My Cousin Vinny. Most folks I know think it’s a funny movie, and I like it, too, but to me it’s always had a vaguely offensive thread running throughout it. I have to overlook that to enjoy the movie, and I do. I like My Cousin Vinny. There’s nothing to get seriously worked up about. I genuinely like the movie. But here’s the thing…

If you really stop and think about it, there are only two Southern characters in the movie who aren’t total morons. The sheriff and the prosecutor. Oddly enough, both of those characters were the only principle characters that were played by Southern actors (Bruce McGill, the sheriff, is from San Antonio, Texas, and Lane Smith, the prosecutor, is from Memphis, Tennessee). All of the other principle Southern characters are played by Northern actors, with consistently terrible accents, and those characters are all played as stereotypically dim-witted Southerners.

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Settling Into October

It’s a good day today. October 1st. That never meant anything to me before. Just the first day of another month. But Victoria has a tradition that 1st of October is the day that the Halloween decorations go up. And we’ll be watching John Carpenter’s Halloween tonight. I’ve found myself looking forward to that every year. The beginning of our favorite seasons, as it were.

There have been setbacks. There always are. My PayPal card got hijacked last night and some charges were run up. Victoria called in and got hold of a misinformed drone who led her to cancel both of our PayPal cards before finding out that it was only mine that was affected. So… now neither of us have a PayPal card until the new one arrives. Thanks, asshole (and by that I’m referring to both the person at PayPal and the person who cracked the card).

We suspect it was someone at Applebee’s who swiped the card number. The first fake charges showed up about three hours after we got carry-out at Applebee’s last night. I talked Victoria into calling the manager, just to let him know that he might have a problem employee on his hands, but she said he didn’t sound like he gave a damn. Oh, well. No credit card for Applebee’s anymore (if they get our business at all).

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We’re Moving! Possible Site Downtime

We’re moving to a new server as part of the Windhaven Network migration. While we don’t expect any major interruptions, there are always unforeseen problems when you’re dealing with new servers. If you do notice any downtime at all, please keep in mind that it will only be temporary. We’re expecting a few hiccups, but nothing major. Expect the best but plan for the worst and all that.

We hope you’ll like the changes we’re making. The new server is going to be much faster than the old one, and it’ll open up a lot of possibilities that we could never even imagine before. So here’s to hope and a brighter tomorrow. Or, as we’re fond of saying around here, “Ever upward!”

We’ll see you soon. And thanks ahead of time for your patience during our move.

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Gibson Guitars vs Barack Obama

If you’re a musician, you most likely know that Gibson Guitars was recently raided by the Department of Justice on suspicions of illegally importing wood from endangered trees. My initial reaction to this was outrage. Seriously? Gibson Guitars, of all companies, would import wood illegally? It was the most ridiculous accusation I could imagine, not to mention that according to the broad definitions used by the Dept. of Justice, I could get into trouble if I tried to leave the country with my 1984 Alembic Spoiler bass, because I don’t have documentation to prove where the Ebony wood fingerboard on the bass came from. Like most musicians, my initial response was to rise to the defense of Gibson Guitars and shake my fist at the DoJ and the government bureaucracies that allow such foolishness as a raid on Gibson Guitars to happen.

Then a curious thing happened…

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Ayn Rand – The New Christian Prophet

The Crucifixion of Ayn Rand - Click for large imageIt’s been a source of both amusement and bewilderment that serial narcissist Ayn Rand is being elevated among Christians as someone to be admired and celebrated. I have a hard time with that. Here you have a woman who was a declared atheist, whose philosophical musings contradicted most of the teachings of Jesus Christ, and yet she’s a hero to the Religious Right in America? Isn’t that sort of like Jews celebrating and elevating the views of Yasser Arafat?

It’s easy to see how so many people could be confused by this. For the most part, rank and file Christians are taught that they should not question their leaders, and their leaders are telling them that Ayn Rand’s particular brand of unfettered capitalism is the only thing that can save this country. I’ve said for a long time that the primary problem in America where the Religious Right is concerned is that too many people are getting their politics and their religion confused. In fact, many people are acting as if they’re one and the same. The Republicans are the party of God and the Democrats are in league with the Dark Lord or something. So, basically, most people don’t put much thought into it, and just parrot what they’re being told.

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