Category Archives: the police

I Steal and Feel No Remorse

What happens to someone when all of their ideas become stale or regurgitated?

What if they are so unindustrious  that everyone else alive today can seemingly take a common theme and work it so masterfully that it resounds with others but even with a shiny spin and some skillful smoke and mirrors moves you STILL can’t get it to develop properly?

Notice that initially the mystery person in question here could have been anyone and now suddenly it’s mutated into me?

Yeah, I’m out of steam. So what?

It happens every single year at the same time just like clockwork. There’s the inevitable whining about how busy my life is and how difficult it’s become to type out a couple hundred measly words that don’t even have to conform to any sort of well written standard.

Or maybe I give you the sob story of a difficult year, with difficult kids.

Then I get a huge God complex where I INSIST that the rules of grammar and nature don’t even apply to me because I’m trying to bear my soul to you goddamnit and you will NOT entwine me in your meaningless minutiae!

Whah whah.


Last month my buddy at 20 Prospect crafted a post about the Invisible Sun, (which gives its heat to everyone, RIGHT STING?) and I found myself scratching my matted head, dumbfounded because I too had a post titled “Invisible Sun” in my draft section.

What are the odds?

 Realistically, the odds for me are slightly higher due to the deeply felt love and adoration I harbor for the three divinely talented and  impossibly adorable members of the STILL defunct POLICE.


But I digress.


So here is the original post that I kinda stole from Gordon Sumner and sorta pilfered from Tom and I don’t really fucking care because there are people starving somewhere. Or so my mom says.

Did you ever happen upon one of those people who has heat radiating out from every pore, warming everyone they come in contact with during the day? Like a compact version of your own personal invisible sun? You can almost see the little joy explosions erupting from their surface and the little baby magma splatters hit your arm and become instantly infectious rendering you powerless to stop their migration straight to your cold, hard, jaded innards.

There is nothing not to love about these guys. In a world overrun with life vampires who try to suck the wind out of your sails and the happy from your soul these sparkling gems of humanity are a rare and delightful find. Like the caramel milk chocolate prize in the fruity gel filled crapfest that is the Whitman Sampler.

When I find one of these people, I just marvel at their goodness and then I latch on to them and try to ride the well-tailored hem of their coattails for as long as humanly possible in the hopes that some of it rubs off on me.

Who wouldn’t want to be attached to someone who will fill your world with YES and can simultaneously override the inborn Moro reflex that tries to prevent you from taking the inevitable fall you will have when you let go of this fast-moving dynamo?

There are days I feel that only a truly industrial sized steel wool pad could scour the rot from my soul but then the invisible sun comes along and scorches it to ash with the blinding heat of positive thinking and the intensity of twin stars going super nova.

You gotta love a bitch who burns with such brutal ferocity and the conviction of righteousness! I should knit her a cape.



Filed under 20 prospect, analogies gone wrong, andy summers, appreciation, are there any new ideas, aspirations, back to regularly scheduled programming, Do sociopaths feel remorse, I'm shallow, people who radiate goodness, stealing isn't as bad as it sounds, the police

For Those Who Helped Us Rock, We Salute You

We're with the band. Or at least we like to pretend we are.

It’s been over twenty years since I last ran screaming down an alley after a hastily retreating tour bus hollering for its occupants to validate my existence with a wave or a smile. So tonight in order to honor the girl I was and the bands that played on the soundtrack of my youth, I plan to eat a generous helping of humble pie. I’ve spent so much time demanding my pound of flesh from defunct 80’s supergroups that I forgot to take a moment to say thank you. That’s right, I stand before Stewart, Sting, & Andy and give thanks for all the albums, the rigorous touring schedule and  the peroxide. You were the cherry on the cake of an almost perfect decade. While I wish I hadn’t been outfitted in wool jumpers, knee socks and pig tails so that I could have whored around backstage with the rest of the  groupie skanks that  hung barnacle like in the  concrete hallways leading to the dressing rooms, I still had a great time stalking them under the watchful eye of my befuddled parents. This also gives me the added advantage of NOT being riddled with numerous STD’s , so for that I’m also grateful. The Cure, R.E.M., the Go Go’s, The Smith’s, Squeeze, the B-52’s etc. thank you for all the fun. 

After careful consideration I also realized I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to the brothers Copeland, hell the ENTIRE Copeland family for having a hand in crafting the careers of over half of the bands I listened to as a kid. 

Warning: Uncalled for off topic rant coming….. 

Here I would like to go off on a massive tangent related to the above mentioned family. The Copeland family connection is clearly the vital missing link in the history books between overwhelming  band success or failure. Clearly, being a Copeland carries with it the implication that it is genetically impossible to fail. I think they even tried it once or twice, but it didn’t work. Failure = sticky eggs. Copeland’s= teflon pan. It just falls off of them and onto the floor. Sunday brunch with this clan must be hell. Can you imagine how fraught with boasting and one-upmanship this meal is? Hey, I single-handedly changed the entire middle east! I just wrote two well received books-WHILE I WAS SITTING HERE! Oh yeah, I composed two operas, founded a band that took over the world, wrote a book , produced seven kids, and wrote and directed a movie! I just quietly prevented Armageddon using only the power of my mind (that last one was   Miles, he scares me). 

I hate to think what would have become of me had I not had all this great music to distract me from my school work and what could have been a higher calling. I suspect that I could have amounted to something fairly important (doctor, lawyer, missionary?) or I could have just flailed around blindly and become a classic rock fan with bad hair and too much Covergirl charcoal black eyeliner.  But, it is as it was meant to be. New Wave and I found each other and the rest is history.


Filed under 1, andy summers, appreciation, brain waves, crazy ramblings, fun, groupies, music, new wave music, powerful families, saying thank you, stewart copeland, sting, the police

What’s Up Buttercup?

40: Oh hi 12-year-old self it’s me twenty-eight years in the future, how are you?

12: Holy crap ,are you kidding me?!

40: No, no not kidding .I’m here to let you know that in the future you will type on a computer and be able to communicate with people from all over the world not just play pong on your Atari gaming system or asteroids on the Intellivision system that your mom, whoops I mean Santa, is going to bring you next Christmas!

12: What? Wait, there’s no santa? FUCK, I knew it! But Intellivision, that’s awesome, Cathy Fermaint will shit her pants when she finds out! She thinks she’s so hot with all her Atari games – well screw her and her mastery of space invaders. NO ONE will be going over THERE after school anymore. Has been.

40: Also 12-year-old self ,I have some news about The Police.

12:You mean the biggest band in the universe? You should see the new poster I just got at Sam Goody….so dreamy…..

40: Yes. After the Synchronicity tour they just vanish in a puff of smoke with no real explanation. They go their separate ways and it takes them over twenty years to tour again. And….I have more bad news…

12 : Oh god what? Does one of them die?

40: No, no. But.. you miss the tour.

12:WHAT?! What kind of stupid moron misses something like that? It’s bad enough that you look like this at 40, I mean, don’t they have super ray guns in the future to blast off those wrinkles and destroy that grey? God, what type of horrible fate is this? Can I prevent this from happening?

40: You are getting off track 12-year-old self. Ignore what I look like, it’s been a rough day in 2009 and I had like NO personal time today, otherwise I would have at least colored my hair. I’ve got, well I guess we’ve got, three demanding kids, two dogs and a husband.

12: OH.MY.GOD. Please tell me it’s not Dominik Leonetti!!!

40: Oh lord no. And for what it’s worth I was glad to see you cold cock him after that incident with Jennifer White and the kickball team. No you , well we, marry a wonderful guy. He’s a musician!

12: Oh shit is it Stewart Copeland!?? Please tell me we get married!!!!

40: No 12-year-old self it isn’t Stewart, he’s happily married with like four hundred kids.

12: Four hundred!?

40: Well more like seven, but still as anyone with kids knows that can feel like four hundred. But listen 12-year-old self we digress, I need you to do something for me.

12: What is it?

40: All those albums, cassette tapes, photo books everything you’ve got- keep them.


40: And another thing, make sure you pester your parents to take you to see The Police live instead of that dreadful Duran Duran concert you will be seeing with your friends. Heed my words for this will be your biggest regret.

12:Fine, but can I ask you a question?

40: Sure.

12: What has happened to my ass?

40: Well 12-year-old self, it has fallen. That shit happens after three kids and no amount of propping it up or stair climbing will help. So enjoy that body for all it’s worth for about eighteen more years.

12: Wow, that freaking sucks. Okay then, it’s been great talking to you but Vicky and Julie are waiting for me so we can walk to Stout Steve’s and buy Creem magazine and maybe even Tiger Beat.

40: You know it wasn’t exactly easy getting here to tell you this, maybe we could just sit and chat for a bit. There is so much going on in the future, it’s spectacular.

12: So , they can’t figure out a way to get rid of fat, wrinkles or grey hair?

40: No.

12: Did anyone find a cure for cancer?

40: Well no, but there’s….

12: Ah, ah, ah. I think I’ve heard enough about this “future” you speak of. Be gone scary lady with your bad hair and ill-fitting clothes. I want no more bad news.

40: Okay then. Good luck you plucky little metal mouthed girl. Enjoy the ride!

12: I will!


Filed under 1, 40 year old self talking to 12 year old self, 70's and 80's, appreciation, being prepared, crazy ramblings, music, stewart copeland, sting, Stony Point, the police, time travel

The Boy With The Thorn in His Side

Today as I typed the rear left leg of my old wooden dining room chair fell right off. Usually this would give me great pause and get me thinking about a new diet regime but I fiercely pushed through and kept all my weight balanced on the remaining three legs just to finish this post. It’s that important to me.

Lately, I’ve sounded like a  broken record with the needle stuck in the same endless groove over and over with regards to the all too briefly re formed 80’s band The Police and my being so entirely gutted about missing this delightful surprise reunion.  I know that  I promised to shut up and get on with it but  after they disappeared I suffered through the rest of the 80’s enduring the stylings of hair metal bands with their  power ballads along with a brief but tempestuous fling with Duran Duran. It just didn’t measure up. It was like having dated the most promising, intelligent, gorgeous guy on campus and after he evaporated into thin air with no explanation or note , taking up with his vapid dim-witted ugly little brother. The Police took their greatness and ran really fast in the opposite direction into the darkness.

Good bye Kelly! You'll never see us again- CHA!

Now I’m seeing Sting everywhere with the release of his new album. You’ve got to give the guy props for the media blitz he’s on to promote this thing, but when I stumble upon him it makes me a little sad. It’s like he’s missing two very necessary appendages. I know Sting is fussy, cranky and all too consumed with his success apart from the band, but how can you not realize that your best work came about as a result of the beautiful tension you had with your former mates?
Yes, it’s great to realize your singular vision in a room full of musicians who are there  to follow your lead and  flesh out your songs with no arguments,wrestling matches or fistfights. But where is the conflict and agitation? That’s half the fun.
Magical combinations, good timing and fantastic contacts are hard to come by in today’s music business. Imagine how many bands were propelled into greatness by the fairy dust spewing Copeland brothers (Miles and Ian) along with the Police in a trajectory that landed them all in the front trenches?
Paying homage to  humble beginnings and to the giants on whose shoulders he stood to get to the lofty heights he now finds himself at would be a good start for Sting. I, for one, would like to see him be able to speak of his old band without looking like someone just shoved a teaspoon of Cod Liver Oil in his maw. His very succesful solo career was afforded him by the rolling wave of world domination he rode from  the late 70’s into the early 80’s.
That is not to take anything away from his solo work which I do enjoy (okay the lute album wasn’t my favorite). He takes risks, some work out better than others but it’s clear he has devoted himself to pushing the envelope and doing exactly the opposite of what people would expect of him.  I like Sting, he’s easy on the eyes , he has that dark brooding quality I seem to find attractive and don’t even get me started about the beard. There is nothing better than a face full of dangerous looking mountain man growth paired with a rugged wool sweater.

I told you. Nothing better than the beard/wool sweater combo.

Foolishly rhapsodizing about a time frame when I sported a full mouth of metal and Sasson jeans was fun for a while , but I mostly mourn for the music that could have been. I think The Police had a least a few more good albums in them and could have reunited after they had cooled their jets for a few years in the solo world. Alas, it didn’t materialize. Sting, Stewart and Andy’s cold indifference to my needs hurt but I realized I was going to stay on tenterhooks for the rest of my life if I sat around hoping they would work it out. I just want Sting to get that warm familiar feeling that I always have when I hear a track from one of their albums or a mention of  one of their names in the headlines. Perhaps they didn’t exactly part in the rosy glow of eternal friendship but how long can they remain a thorn in the side of Gordon Sumner?

So, to sum up. I miss the fearsome threesome. I actually have a thing for Stewart but I do hold Sting in high regard. I spent ten minutes asking someone if I had used tenderhooks incorrectly all these years when in fact the correct phrase is tenterhooks. I should have just said waiting anxiously. I just want Sting to be happy, is that so bad?


Filed under 1, andy summers, shutting up, solo careers, stewart copeland, sting, surly mr. sumner, the police



Good times.

Clearly I’m having some sort of strange 80’s rewind that is affecting my life in several unforseen ways. My husband is quietly but inquisitively watching me from behind slightly arched eyebrows as I collect memorabilia from yesteryear, dust off my old LP’s and generally become way too enthused about defunct bands washed up actors and bad movies. I’d say the worst was the day I ran so fast to meet the UPS man delivering my autobiographies that I nearly concussed myself tripping over fourteen sets of discarded kid shoes. Now I’m wondering if there is something from this era I left unfinished (like my maturity?) so therefore deep down I have this unsatisfied need to return over and over to the same point in time to relive this era and fix whatever mistakes I made. Or perhaps it’s nothing more than the childish wish to go back  to a time where music, movies and life in general packed so much punch?


I had this exact model.

Naturally, I imagine my enthusiasm will wane and I’ll find something more important to do with my time (my husband is hoping it’s laundry, cooking and cleaning) but what is it about these little raw moments from the past that give rise to such excitement? I’m a firm believer that there is something very revealing about what we connect to, either in the past or present, that shapes our lives in a strange way. Although seemingly frivolous one would do well to take a hard look at what made or makes us tick and why that spark of childlike excitement lights us up when we come in contact with these things marching down the path of life. Things that have passed us by sometimes still have the ability to get us going again. I may have ripped down the Police posters that adorned my bedroom walls and shelved the VHS tapes of blurry films but somewhere in a hollowed out pit in the back of my grey matter is that blindingly shiny slice of time where we jumped up and down at the park blasting a cassette tape of Regatta de Blanc out of the speakers of our massive gun-metal grey radio and tried to get our covergirl purple  eyeshadow just right. I have a vivid memory of a summer night when I had just acquired the legal ability to drive ,of pulling up in front of the New City, New York Bradlees to gather party materials for later in the evening with “It’s Alright for You” blasting from the speakers.

More purple!

Later on we would eat junk food, watch The Terminator and Sixteen Candles back to back and struggle valiantly with the Rubik’s Cube. God, those were the days.




Still confounds me


Filed under 1, bad 80's films, being lazy, music, New York, odd behavior, the police

It Starts and Ends With Sting and Has The Bit About the Squash in the Middle

What do Sting and this squash have in common, besides the fact that I want to hit them both with a mallet?

What do Sting and this squash have in common, besides the fact that I want to hit them both with a mallet?

At first it all seemed to be going smoothly. Then a long strange sequence of intertwined events played out and made the day really difficult to wrap my mind around.  At some point early in the morning yesterday, I finally finished Stewart  Copeland’s book and found myself really regretting missing the life altering 2007/2008 Police reunion tour. Plainly put, I missed the boat to see my all time favorite band because of scheduling conflicts (if I remember correctly I was riding assorted wild but mild attractions at Disneyworld). I am having a violent but delayed reaction to my stupidity and lack of forward thinking.  Ahhh, but I digress. The book was entertaining, engaging and eye opening. He was funny, fair and garnered my sympathy for having had to endure Sting’s withering criticism at every turn.  At first glance it seems like both musicians come down with a scorching case of douchebagitis every time they have to interact with each other where music is the focus. On a personal level they remind me of my youngest two boys wrestling each other for dominance on the basement floor, neither willing to say uncle for fear of having it lorded over them during the next Frasier vs. Ali bout. Nothing worse than your sibling having extra smack to work with. As I reached the last chapters though, I had the genuine urge to poke Sting with a sharp object to deflate that monstrous head of his. Since when did this pontificating blow hard call ALL the shots? Clearly, the Police reunion happened only because the sweet prince waved his scepter and claimed it was “the right time”. If ever afforded the chance I will not hesitate to bludgeon him with a lute. (Yes Sting, your lute album was not lost on me). Since there is not another chance in hell that my favorite band will get together and tour again, I will continue to use various means of self-flagellation as an proper tool to punish myself for missing it, but somewhere in the back of my mind I blame Sumner for making the threesome’s magic impossible to sustain (or perhaps endure) for any length of time. Andy and Stewart , you guys rock. No problems with you.

I need a good smack. Do you get the Christ vibe off me?

I need a good smack. Do you get the Christ vibe off me?

So back to the story.  After my internal Sting bashing tirade it was time to pick my daughter up from her best friends house. I pulled up and ran into her father who was packing the back of the truck with his cameras and equipment. Offhandedly I inquired about where he was off to. ” To New York to interview Trudie Styler and Sting” he replied. Well, what a coincidence. ITN camera men seemingly get a lot of this kind of stuff. Off to film Bono’s wedding. Just back from the G8 summit. On to Iraq to live in a tent for four weeks. I guess they have to go where the story is. I regale him with my newly minted opinion of the Chosen One and ask for a detailed update upon his return. “Give Sting my regards” I joke.  No longer stewing in my righteous anger, I collected my daughter and drove home.

The world shifted on its axis as I was brewing up several half-assed kiddie meals when I turned to find my daughter covered in blood, holding a carving knife and an odd looking squash. How are these things related, I asked myself? Only later would I find out that she had stolen this newly grown squash from the backyard garden of our neighbor. Technically (and according to squatters rights) this part of the plant had hopped over our fence to flourish in our endless daytime sunshine.  It seemed perfectly natural that someone would then mistake this vegetable for a pumpkin, pick it, quietly attempt to carve a scary Halloween face in it with a razor-sharp knife and then cut a fierce gash in their left pointer finger.  Nine stitches, two Novocaine shots and endless tears later we have a repaired daughter on our hands.  Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as we initially thought and she had a rocking war wound to show off at school.

I’m still a little bitter about that stupid squash beckoning from the backyard for little hands to come and pick it off the vine and find some cutlery to massacre it (or themselves) with. My anger with Sting however, is still burning bright even at this late hour. Get off that yoga mat and get down to the business at hand!


Filed under halloween mishaps, injuries, kids, misdirected anger, music, sting, the police