As Joe Chierchie rocks out to the Spice Girls' latest single, Tom demands the photographer to "take the picture! Take the picture , NOW!"

Yeesh. Look how serious I am! Relax, Tom. You're supposed to be having fun.

As a little historical footnote, I believe the above is the first historical evidence of me doing the now patented, "finger to the camera lens" (FCL) pose. But sadly, it wouldn't be the last.

My buddy, Chris, in his neighboring blog, began a series a while back dedicated to his friends. A sort of "spotlight of the week" tip of the cap to each of his buddies. In deference to his coming up with the idea first, I doff my own proverbial chappeau to him, as I start my own series: "Tributes to Bygone Friends."

The source of this innocuous idea had less positive intentions, as I originally wanted to make a tongue-in-cheek dedication to a guy I always include in my group e-mails and never get a response from. (I get a bit surly sometimes) But since I re-booted this blog a while back, I made a solemn pledge to keep it light and happy-go-lucky, so I won't make this person the source of my online ire. But, if I happen to get drunk next New Year's...

...you may never know...

Anyway, the first individual to receive the esteemed honor of dedication is my former-buddy, Mr. Joseph Chierchie. And please let the record show that his memorial is not for those I parted ways with acrimoniously, but rather those that went their own separate ways in their own proper ways and time. These aren't break-ups. These are people I'd be glad to see on the street and have nothing but warm, fuzzy memories about. So let's get on with it:

Joe Chierchie: the Man, the Myth, the Legend

It was Halloween night '97, in Bellmore, Long Island. My buddy Chris and I had gone over to Sharon's house to hang out and whatnot. These outtings for me, at least, were always a novelty... being as I had gone to an all-boys high school and had prior been nigh terrified of the opposite sex. So hanging out with a couple of gals in a basement, watching TV, was essentially the most exciting thing I've ever done. Maybe we'd even order a pizza... but I didn't want to get my hopes up. Chris was far more urbane and sophisticated (he went to a dorm school) so it wasn't such a big deal to him...

A Strange Time in My Life

But as for me, as I happened to be experiencing a bit of a crush for Sharon (a torch I'd carry more or less until I went to Ireland, the following winter) I was positively giddy. She'd recently broken up with her longtime boyfriend... so, who knew what the night could hold in store? Of course, I was also considering at the time to make vows of celibacy and dedicate my life to Jesus... which, of course, made all these feelings a bit... conflicted. But then again, I was 18.

Chris and I had joined the Great 1997 Long Island Bandwagon of Ska. And, of course, the high priests of ska, (at least, according to MTV) were the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. So, Chris and I, afficionados of the happy horns and infectious riffs of that funky ska sound, decided to wear suits to the Halloween get-together in lieu of costumes, as that was what the Bosstones wore.

The Coming of Ska Joe

When he and I entered Sharon's kitchen, who should we come face-to-face with? but Joe Chierchie, himself. "Who are you guys supposed to be?" I think, was his first actual words to us that night. "Mighty Mighty Bosstones" we replied in nerdy unison. "Psssht. Please."

Turns out, ironically enough, Joe happened to be a long-time, hard-core fan of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Like, for several weeks before I'd ever heard of them. So, fittingly, one random Halloween night he should meet the two of us, neophyte fans, wearing suits in honor of the Bosstones, coming to hang out with his ex-girlfriend, Sharon. I admit, I wasn't the suave guy back then that I am now. I must have looked a bit ridiculous with an ill-fitting light blue suit, sunglasses on in pitch black, hair all spiked up, and my younger brother's old dented trumpet.

The Era of Chierchie Dawns

Despite the awkward greeting, the three of us hit it off that night really well. It's amazing the bonding that can occur when everyone loves Jim Carrey movies! and Star Wars! Chris and I took to Joe as a sort of elder-statesman (he was, after all, a whole year older than us) and he seemed to have great charisma with the ladies and an overall chill, relaxed personality. So charismatic, in fact, that he and Sharon renewed their ultimately on again-off again relationship that very night. I was conflicted (again with that word c-word!) but I more-or-less thought Joe was a great guy.

Joe became quite a fixture for our social world for the rest of the school year and summer. A summer filled with near-daily trips to bowling alleys, pool halls, and the ol' Long Island standby: diners. I'm still digesting some of those chicken fingers. Though my cholesterol level was horrible, my social condition was much better, and I found myself in an exciting co-ed circle of friends. Joe educated the willing in all things ska, even taking Chris out to the near-mythic Moon Ska Records store in Manhattan. Birthday parties, softball games, hanging out at the mall, ska shows, going to the City, even staking a claim at our very own dive bar (Jones Beach Inn, baby!). All these did Joe take part in. Most importantly, Joe somehow got me a gray Yankees jersey from his job at the Mall. I don't know how he got it... and I didn't ask. But I was grateful, and that is what matters, right? In thanks, I picked him up a little buddha when I was in Amsterdam. He really liked that little statue.

Joe Chierchie, Gone Greek, then Just Plain Gone

But as some friends come and go for seasons in your life, the "Chierchie Era" came to an end due to the most universal of friendship killers, "The Greek Organization." Those gatherings which seem to inerringly alter personalities and essentially take over all facets of people's lives. When Joe went to Hofstra, he decided to join a frat. That was essentially the end. But I celebrate Joe Chierchie's memory, and all the fun we had. He represents an innocent and fun time in my youth. I wish him the best.

All the Rest

As for various issues that have been fermenting into a fine and heady brew, I need to address several other issues...

Finest Amongst Feedbackers

I'd like to take a quick moment to thank the various individuals who've been so dedicated in responding to my various "feedback questions of the days." Not only do your creative and honest answers are always fun to read, but you also communicate that you like the stuff I'm writing. And thus, I appreciate your proverbial "pats on the back," as they were. We don't get to hang out or even speak that much, so it's nice that we stay a little bit connected during our long periods between get-togethers. Thus, I'd like to make special notice of two individuals whose recidivism is impressive if even a bit scary, they've each contributed to the Feedback Column 3 times each since the new blog is up, and I'd like to give them all a little recognition. Big Puppy Guy and the Anskatian, I salute you!

Big Puppy Guy, my favorite quote of your's was an answer to my question about which moment did you realize you weren't getting any younger? "I can feel the rain coming in my left hip, I swear." I could just picture you playing checkers on a rainbarrel somewhere in hillbilly country, a piece of straw sticking out of the corner of your mouth, sitting in a rocking chair, going... "It'll rain tonight A'hm sure, hip's a achin' somethin' fierce." Something about imagining an Asian hillbilly just makes me laugh.

Anskatian, my favorite quote of your's was an answer to my question about which recurring nightmares have you had? "Sonny Bono and I go skiing and he makes it back while I'M the one who hits the tree!" Not that I find your getting killed while skiing funny, but this is probably one of the more esoteric responses I thought I'd ever receive. "Esoteric"?! (Insert your Family Guy joke, here)

The Inevitable Aftermath of the Mock Trial

Curtis and Heather lost. Probably because of me. As you may recall from my last entry, I was to appear as a witness for Curtis's mock trial at St. John's Law School. I also had to somehow drop off my car at the garage to be fixed and pick it up so I can be home by 4PM to be picked up by Chris for the Yankees-Red Sox game.

Well, as Meatloaf has famously said, "Two out of three ain't bad."

I made it to the Law School, and I was able to be picked up at 4 by Chris and Maggie. But the car? Oh, that car. Saturn took over 6 hours to do the "diagnostic," which, roughly translated, means "look at it and decide how much to charge me." By the time they were ready to work on it, it was around 2:30 PM. They said it would take another 2 hours to actually do the work, which, would be unworkable, since that would take me to 4:30PM, and it'd be pretty much impossible to pick up my car at 4:30 if I had already been picked up and taken to the Bronx at 4. And of course, since it was Memorial Day weekend, the garage and dealership would be closed until the following Tuesday. Great. My parents ultimately picked up my car that evening, and I must give them mighty props for doing so. Parentals, you guys are awesome. Since I worked the following 5 days straight, the car came in mighty handy, let me tell you. While at work, I was complaining to my buddy Randy that I should probably get rid of my car, what with all the expensive repairs, gas prices, insurance, etc) and just ride a bike. After all, I reasoned, "I'd have more money in the bank, and be in much better shape!"

"... and single." Randy added. He's such a smart guy.

Yeah, I figure it'd be pretty difficult to carry on a relationship with a girlfriend without a car. "Comon' baby, I got my Huffy parked right outside. I just got some new pegs!" Yeah, that wouldn't fly.

The biggest wrinkle caused by my car being held hostage by the dastardly denizens of Saturn was my temporary loss of my coleman grill, so named in honor of the Diff'rent Strokes star. I had earlier packed it away in my car's trunk. The same car that was with Saturn. And the same coleman grill I promised Chris I'd bring to the game. Crud. Chris and Maggie were very gracious and we all went to the deli and picked up some sandwiches instead.

The Yankees Game was great. They won. Which always adds a lot. Red Sox fans are probably the most obnoxious people I've ever met. You don't see Yankees fans going to a game at Fenway just to cause problems. But again, I reiterate, the Yanks beat the Sox, so all was well. There was this one jerky, fat Sox fan in front of us in the bleachers. He was screaming and carrying on and basically being a typical Red Sox fan. This Yankee fan about 6 people to the left of him starting making fun of him... he called him "Pizza the Hut." Every time the Sox would do something good, or the Yanks something bad, he'd go, "Oh boy, Pizza's happy! Yeah, Pizza the Hut!" It cracked me up. Even though it was a bit mean spirited. It shut the guy up, though. So it had it's plus side. I just don't like it when people come to rain on someone else's parade.

As for the Mock Trial, I naturally made an entrance. When have I ever not? Whatever you may have pictured about a mock trial, this was not it. Instead of a big, open room, where the door is always behind everyone, this was a classroom, where the door was right in front. Now, I was instructed to come a little bit after it started, because I was only needed for the prosecution. When I got there, the defense was still doing her opening arguments, or introductions, or whatever it's called. I peeked in (the door was chocked open by a metal garbage can) I could see Curtis and Heather, and they made eye contact with me and motioned me inside to sit in one of the open chairs (the room was friggin' crowded.) The only open chair was right behind the standing defense attorney making her speech. In my inimitable, highly agile way, I tried to slip through the door, weave around the garbage can, and plop myself right on the open chair. This went fairly well, in that split second, but in my haste, I forgot to ease the door closed again, and so, it made a fairly loud "BONG!!!!" when it landed back on the metal garbage can. I was embarrassed. I understood this was a graded exercise, and that there were invited people there, and that the law students had all worked very hard on it, and plus, it was 9:30 in the morning and was already sort of out of it. I muttered a lame, "sorry," and looked sheepish. The defense person, being about 18 inches in front of me, turned around to glare at me for interrupting her. Well, she didn't exactly "turn" around... basically, her head just swivelled around like it was on a turntable, her shoulder moved not an inch. She held her hateful gaze to me for a couple of beats longer than she had to... darts flying from her pupils. I had the fortune not to be eventually cross-examined by Ms. Frigid Esquire. I received that from her more humane, pulse-having partner.

I really have to hand it to trial attorneys and judges. It's a lot of work. Every word, every question, every inflection must be gauged and weighed. If a question is worded wrong, if a series of questions are advanced incorrectly, it all must be listened carefully for. It must be mentally exhausting. Plus, the lawyers need to be so well-prepared that they would be able to anticipate answers to their questions and to get their point across. It was fun for me, but it was a very serious for those lawyers. Judges also have a pretty friggin' hard job, because they have to weigh issues and decide if some lines of questioning or evidence is proper. They don't just get to bang a wooden hammer or be sassy on daytime TV. I was impressed.

The interesting thing is, the legal world is very nebulous. The whole issue that was decided was that Curtis and Heather's side was suing some policemen for breaking into her apartment, roughly handling her, and bringing her to a hospital against her will, while the defense's side was that the police responded to a possible suicide tip and had to restrain a hysterical woman and bring her to the hospital for treatment. I wanted to ask, well, what is the truth? But that never seems to be the issue. The goal in trials is not to reveal the truth, but to win the case. Details are either highlighted or downplayed, depending on what the goal is in the case. And the victor is determined by a group of everyday citizens, not experts. To be a lawyer must be an ethical tightrope. Not for me, that's for sure. But, be that as it may, I give them a lot of credit for the amount of work they must do... and since I'm entering the medical profession, I need to make as many friends in the legal community as I can!

Feedback Question of the Day:
"In my opinion, one of the best roadtrip driving songs is 'Panama,'by Van Halen. What, in your opinion, are some of your favorite roadtrip driving songs?"