Stupid random facts, in no particular order…
When I was an infant, my sister thought I was ugly and constantly made excuses to not show me to her friends. This lasted until high school.
I was a frequent guest in my sisters’ room as a small child. They’d play “Magical Mystery Tour” by The Beatles and burn incense. I thought I was cool, and believed that breathing all that incense at an early age gave me some sort or superpower, though I can’t pinpoint what that power is exactly. It may be graphic design. It may be illustrative prowess. Or it just may have imparted some other more useful power—like X-ray vision.
I don’t own a TV but I have twelve guitars. I’d rather have 30 more before I would ever think about buying a television. This isn’t much fun for weekend guests who can’t play guitar. I make up for it by having a heavily-stocked liquor cabinet, however. Still, I can’t figure out why no one in my family comes to visit from NYC.
I enjoy off-road biking. I broke my ribs twice and my foot once while biking. I guess I suck.
I don’t do anything religiously, not even religion.
Since I was little, I had a habit of forgetting to zip up my fly. Strangers still point out when my fly is down, which happens often. It must mean I’m an open person with nothing to hide.
I always have a change of clothes and two extra pairs of shoes in my car, including one pair of “Beatle boots”. I don’t carry jumper cables. At least I’ll look cool by the side of the road. I think.
One of my favorite movies is “A Hard Day’s Night”. The Beatles were such wise-asses. Oh, and they wrote some great music too.
I hate corporate lingo and buzzwords. At one of those UIOA meetings (see my blog for the reference), someone once asked me what my “value-added proposition” was. I wanted to go “Foghorn Leghorn” on them, which of course means putting a metal bucket over their head and hitting it with a stick.
I play guitar in a few bands. I get stuck doing all our promo material. I play modern rock, but my real love is 60s-early 70s garage rock and early punk. This MOD thing will ultimately give birth to a band in this vein. It’ll be the best band that no one will come to see.
Brian Jones is my favorite Rolling Stone; John Lennon my favorite Beatle; Peter Tork is my favorite Monkee. If you don’t know who Brian Jones is, you’re not a Rolling Stones fan. If you don’t know who John Lennon is, don’t ever talk to me again. If you don’t know who Peter Tork is, that’s a good indication you don’t wash your hands after using the restroom.
“The one that got away” for me is a guitar: A 1970 Dan Armstrong Ampeg plexiglass guitar which I stupidly sold. I don’t sell guitars any more and if I find myself in a dire finanicial situation, you’ll see me shuffling along behind a shopping cart full of really nice Gibson Les Pauls’. I’m currently accepting cash gifts in return for graphic favors.
I have a cat and she’s done some modeling. She’s a good girl, but she’s shedding that image; all over my furniture.
I befriended an elderly man who used to wait for the bus on Park Avenue across from our building by offering him a ride on a rainy day. He used to offer me bus-stop wisdom and bits of “advice.” One tip which stood out is: “Watch out for slow horses and fast women.” This was allegedly how he squandered his fortune.
I can’t kill anything to the point where it’s ridiculous, and I have plastic cups in the pantry for scooping up insects and dumping them outside. I once “rescued” a moth which was fluttering around aimlessly in an office where I worked. I let it outside in a bid for freedom, but it only got about ten feet from the door before being nabbed in midair by a sparrow. I’m uncharacteristically ruthless to flies and mosquitos though—little bastards.
I can’t swim, but I once competed in a NYS swimming competition; an embarrassing story involving a faded purple Speedo. Ask me sometime after a few Manhattans—you’re buying.
One of my best friends is a close relative of a famous Nazi.
I lived in Los Angeles for a while but never saw anyone famous…oh, wait…I did see “Scotty” from the original Star Trek at Ralph’s in the toilet paper aisle, but that was it. Apparently, the Enterprise was running low and he was the choice to get it since he was in charge of propulsion systems and, um, emissions.
Also, while living in Los Angeles, I realized this: Although your job situation may be miserable, it doesn’t matter as long as there are palm trees and perfect weather.
The ultimate Batman is Adam West from the original ’60s TV series. The ultimate Catwoman? Julie Newmar from the same series, like I even have to say that.
I still think “The Fonze” is cool.
One of my favorite stories is how my father, as a soldier in liberated France during the Second World War, gave a rarely-seen orange to a young boy who had never tasted one.
Another of my other favorite stories is how my father, as a soldier in liberated France during the Second World War (I think I told you that already), got drunk riding shotgun with his company’s Jeep driver and forgot where to pick up his commanding officer in Paris. Three hours late, he slurred at him to “hop in the back.” The rest of the conversation is unprintable.
My father hated my hair long. When he was 90, it still bothered him apparently. He remarked to a woman at his table at the nursing home while pointing my way with his thumb: “He’s gotta look like that, he’s in a band.”
I miss my father.
I’m not very observant at times and failed to notice my neighbor was pregnant until she was leaving to go to the hospital.
I attended Catholic school. In third grade I had my hair repeatedly and vigorously yanked by an ill-tempered nun who tried to convert me into a right-hander. I still remember her name but shouldn’t repeat it. Ok, it was Sr. Vincentia of the Sisters of St. Agnes. She was distressingly pear shaped, and though very stable on a blustery day, she would waddle toward you while wagging her finger in a menacing way, just before she was about to unleash some old-fashioned, nun-type corporal punishment on you. She wielded a metal-edged ruler like an expert swordsman. By the way, I’m still a lefty.
But I throw righty.
My family lived five blocks from that jackass David Berkowitz who called himself “The Son of Sam” and as kids, we rode our bikes along a trail which passed through an area where he and his friends hung out and allegedly sacrificed animals. Serial killers and no bike helmets. We survived somehow.
When I came to Rochester from Yonkers to attend Nazareth, I was unnerved by strangers on the campus saying “hi” to me so I wouldn’t answer. Back home, it wasn’t normal to talk to someone you didn’t know. I realized my mistake when a girl from The Bronx asked me where I was from and I shot back, “Yonkers, why!?” She laughed at me and told me I could lighten up in Rochester. After that, I became exceedingly friendly to make up for it. It’s been hard to shut me up ever since.
Freshman year of college, I went to a friend’s house in Webster, and the lack of sidewalks and street lights made me feel creeped out—like I was perched on the outer reaches of civilization (or Nebraska), which Webster kind of was at the time.
When people in Rochester say “the city,” I still think they mean New York, not Rochester. Saying “New York City” still sounds weird to me.
I was a caddy at a Westchester country club throughout high school, and regularly screwed up golfers’ games by suggesting the wrong club or misjudging the distance to the green. I was sensitive to how some of the members treated caddies and to this day won’t been seen on a golf course (unless I’m in a car), in a country club (unless someone else is paying for drinks), or in plaid trousers (unless they’re ripped and skin tight). If you want to hear some real caddy stories, we’ll have to have a few drinks.
I love studying foreign languages and have no problem making a complete ass of myself in another language. My pretend French accent was so convincing that a French person started a conversation with me at a shop in Paris. The one thing I couldn’t remember how to say: “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French.”
I invented perspective, but don’t charge artists royalties for using it. This makes me one of the most generous people in history.
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John Cammarosano
Mod Communications
Graphic Design • Illustration • Brand Strategy • Copywriting
“The disgusting stink of a too-loud electric guitar. Now THAT’s my idea of a good time.” –Frank Zappa
