Christmas Eve At Cusa's

There was a period of my life where I recall a consistent series of very special Christmas Eves. It started in the mid eighties and continued all the way to about 2001. These nights are like a series of living snapshots, frozen in time, etched forever in my heart and mind.

Between the ages of about twenty and fifty-three, a group of us celebrated Christmas Eve At Cusa's. Cusa is my oldest and dearest friend. We met in high school, and have had a platonic bromance ever since. We get each other. Even when we don't. We've had our ups and downs, our periods of distance, our spells of not even talking. But we find our way back to each other. Because he is simply too important not to be in my life.

On Christmas Eve, a gaggle of us would gather at Cusa's house and celebrate the night before Christmas with not-so-reckless abandon. We would be up until three or four in the morning. We would exchange gifts, celebrate our relationships, drink and eat until we were full, and share our love for each other. The night was all at once too quick and seemed to last forever. 

I would usually get there early, living a scant fifteen minutes from my friend, and help with the prep. Cusa's mom, affectionately known as "The Fairy Food Mother", would make enough grub to feed a small army. Cusa's pad was the bottom floor of a two-family house in Boston. Upstairs would be a gathering of Cusa's family. Downstairs, his friends. The two crowds would eventually mix. Our crowd would roll in anywhere between 8PM and 2AM. It was a festival of love, every bit, if not more, as joyous and special as Christmas Eve as a kid. 

Come to think of it, it was way more enjoyable than my Christmas Eve's as a kid. As a youth, we spent Christmas Eve at My aunty Philly's house in East Boston. As great as it was to see all my cousins, aunts, and uncles, there were serious drawbacks. First of all was a severe lack of space. The apartment was filled far beyond capacity, and smelled like fish (the traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner). It was butts to nuts all night, and, until I was old enough to leave the place on my own with my other cousins and go for walks around the neighborhood, (at about fourteen), the place was positively claustrophobic. 

Space was at such a premium that the only bedroom in the house (with the only room with a bed you could lye on when you got tired, which happened at about 10:06 when you were eleven and younger) was used for all the coats. So if your were tired, there was literally no place to stretch out, with coats piled high and deep. There was no room at all to play, or move for that matter, which is crucial to those in the single digit age bracket. I can say, and I speak for most of my cousins of approximately the same age, that Christmas Eve was, at best, a mixed blessing.

Once Cusa invited me and my twin over his place and we could actually leave my aunt's on own volition, however, Christmas Eve became a very special and wonderful event. One of those rare nights you look forward to all year.

Between the mid-eighties and early 2000's, it was my favorite night of the year. Most of my close friends and eventually my siblings and nephews were there, and the atmosphere was light, loving, and joyous. Exchanging gifts under Cusa's tree at about midnight was the highlight of the evening. Watching those you love open gifts you picked out, just for them, was magic. I run with a very creative, imaginative, artsy tribe. One year, our friend Ron surprised us all with full color, poster size drawings (from his own talented hand) as all of us dressed as the superheroes we created - based on own personalities - that Halloween. Another year, Cusa gave all the guys fully functioning Blow Guns, complete with graphite projectiles. 

At about that same time, our Christmas Mall Mayhem Day was at it's peak. Ten or more of us would spend the first Friday of December at a mall of our choosing, spending the whole day there, sipping Sambucca out of a  water bottle ("I Thirst!" Was the cry if you wanted a blast) and buying gifts (mostly, for ourselves). I built my vast library of Christmas CD's at that time as well. And Christmas Classics like "A Year Without A Santa Claus" (Heat Miser, Snow Miser), "It's A Wonderful Life", and "A Christmas Story" played on a loop in the background on Christmas Eve At Cusa's.

There was something Magic about that time of year. There is still something Magic about that time of year. There always will be. Give me loved ones. Give me a space to Celebrate ourselves; give me a space to celebrate our love for each other; give me you open heart, your open mind, your truest self. And I'm one happy camper. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Tucking You In At Night

Some of my fondest memories of my father are when he would tuck my twin brother Mike and I into bed every night. There was a silly ritual to it that still makes me smile. I've repeated this ritual with my nephews and nieces, as well as some of my friend's kids. It's a crowd pleaser.

In some ways, mom and dad switched stereotypical emotional roles in my family. Dad was emotional, affectionate, demonstrative, sensitive, and outwardly very loving. Mom was more stoic, somewhat detached, and distant. She showed her love by cooking great meals and other subtle ways. As a kid, I couldn't articulate that dynamic, but I was sure as shit aware of it. 

Living with that uncommon parental paradigm molded me in many ways. Having a father like mine, I learned that it was okay for a man to wear his heart on his sleeve. It resonated with me quite powerfully, because I was a very sensitive kid. Being a lot like my father already, especially emotionally, the qualities we both shared became more developed in me. I idolized my father growing up. He was loved by so many. He was successful, articulate, intelligent, and in some ways larger than life. My dad was unique, a one of a kind individual. He was a witches brew of old world values and non-conformity. Simply put, My Dad was a true Fuckin' Character. Guess my apple don't fall far from that tree.

Our nightly ritual offered a rare stability: My brother and I would kiss mom good night and then see dad, who was usually in the family room watching some television; or in his study working, or just listening to music.

After saying good night to dad, Mike and I would scurry up the stairs, and get into our matching pajamas (we're twins, and suffered from the common malady of our parents buying us matching clothing until we were....like, thirteen?). Then we would hop into bed and cover ourselves; sometimes with our head exposed, sometimes completely covered. And then we waited.....until we heard our dad coming up the steps. Sometimes he would start saying something, sometimes not. Dear Old Dad was very unpredictable, in a lot of ways. 

My bed was closest to the door, but that didn't mean he always came to me first. Like a master showman, he surprised his audience by switching up his act often.

Whichever one of us he approached, the routine was always similar. First, dad would lean over us, with his head so close you could hear and feel his breathing, and just stare. If my head was uncovered, I would try and open my eyes, just a little, to see his voluminous face, with a prominent nose, just inches from my face. This was not a good strategy for defending his assault. The sight of my loving father's face so close to me is such a sight that it is still etched so deep into my mind that, even if I have my eyes wide open, I can still picture it right in front of me as if it were happening now. 

Then dad would start talking, saying ridiculous things calculated to make us laugh. I would hold out as long as I could, and then, inevitably, break into laughter and be on the receiving end of tickling, silly verbiage, and a whole lotta love. The other one of us who heard this did all he could not to laugh, but such attempts at restraint were doomed. 

I miss those moments so much these days. That exchange goes a long way in explaining why I love to share the bed with someone I love. The moments before sleep, next to another sacred soul, are precious to me. I want to go to bed with someone feeling loved, feeling connected, feeling safe, feeling all we have to do is be with each other. And I want her to feel the same thing. 

Lover's everywhere: be it moms, dads, siblings, aunts, uncles, lovers, even one night stands: give the one laying next to you a sacred container for beautiful, loving, sleep. Let them know you love them, however that manifests itself in the relationship. Hold them, kiss them, play games with them, make love to them, whatever it takes. Going to bed in the arms of another, be it virtual arms or physical arms, demonstrates a level of love and connection that can not be replicated in any other circumstance. I don't care how long you've been together, how long you've known each other, or what the relationship is. Make it happen.

Falling asleep with someone you love is like falling in love, every night. Don't squander this precious opportunity to Make A Moment. 

© 2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Chemistry (The Art of Kissing part 2)

When I was a teenager, sex scared the crap out of me. Kissing, however, did not scare me at all. It seemed completely natural. No clothes had to be taken off. No blood had to be pumped anywhere special. You just had to move in close enough, and then take that risk. 

The chemistry of kissing another person is like the chemistry of well, chemistry. It works, or it doesn't. When there is romantic, sexual chemistry between you and your lover, there is a magic, a je ne sais quoi; an undefinable, beautiful, almost mystical element. 

Chemistry between two people can be cultivated, but it can't be created out of thin air. There's a reason it's called "Chemistry". 

In the kind of chemistry we learned in high school, at least two elements come together, meeting in a beaker, or a test tube, or some other medium. Some of those elements interact with each other, creating colorful, beautiful, dynamic reactions. Other chemicals don't react with each other at all. They flatline. And there's nothing you do can about that. It’s just the way it is. Or isn’t.

Someday, I’m going to do a video series on kissing, Of course, I’ll need a female partner who’s up for that, and it probably won’t happen until I’m with the woman I marry. But I would really like to do it because, well, it would be really fun. More importantly, I believe I can help people kiss better. Just like I believe I can help people have better sex lives. There are things I have learned, things I know, that may be of servitude to others. 

"Passing It On" feels like a duty of our life wisdom. Our Life Wisdom is an amalgamated gift we learn through powerful experiences, our desire for knowledge and enlightenment, an unquenchable curiosity, and the school of hard knocks. My belief is that we all have some responsibility to pass that on, in the hopes that somebody else may benefit from it. It’s the same way I felt when I lived in The Purple House: “What good is paradise, what good is love, what good is anything, if you don’t share it?”. 

When I kiss a woman, I bring all of Me. Just like I do when I play drums. Just like I do when I’m doing my best at life. When you kiss your lover, bring all of You to it. Don’t take it for granted. You have a special "thang" that no-one else has. So does your lover. If you both Bring It, if you both Bring Your Thang, you get to discover if you have that precious quality of chemistry. 

We can learn something emotional and beautiful from the physics of elemental chemistry. In elemental chemistry, when two elements react, they don’t bring just a piece of themselves; they bring it all. And when they bring it all, and there's a reaction, something new gets created. When sodium reacts with chlorine, for example, it creates something else: salt. By themselves, sodium and chlorine are completely different. But when they react, they manifest a whole new entity.

People do the same thing when they love each other. They create a relationship; they create something new, something special, something that can not exist on its own. It takes a joining. A connection. It takes the union of two separate, unique, one of a kind, creations. 

Think of people like the naturally occurring elements on the periodic table. Except, instead of there being a limited number of unique, naturally occurring elements (92, from Hydrogen to Uranium), the number is unlimited. Because each person born is like a new, unique, element. Each person born adds something new and unique, to the chemistry of people. To the living of life. To this world. To finding others who you beautifully explode with.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLCm and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved. 

Hard Head Huge Heart

When I boxed in college, I never got knocked down. In one fight, my nose got broken so badly I looked like a cartoon character. I incurred black eyes, bloody lips, and gashes on my face. I could take a punch. Because, literally, I have a hard fuckin' head.

That's an asset in fighting. Not so much anywhere else. In the figurative sense, I'm capable of having a hard head when I do life. I can be one resistant, stubborn mofo. Not proud of that, but at last coming to terms with it. Particularly around my struggles with substances. 

At the same time, I have a huge heart. When I love you, I love you with all I have. When I love you, I'll take a bullet for you. 

Sometimes, my hard head and huge heart are at odds with one another. My stone headedness comes from a place of fear, whilst my big heart comes from a place of love. The two don't mix well. They don't play well together. 

I'm working on softening both. And strengthening both. At times, I don't have a clue how to do that. Really, my ultimate objective is to change the paradigm. To change the game. To raise my whole life to another level. To approach the whole challenge from someplace else. From a wiser, more enlightened place.

I know I have that in me. I proved it to myself in treatment. I'm proving it to myself every day.

I don't want it to feel like a war, anymore.

I'm doing that one day, one hour, sometimes, one moment, at a time.

 ©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red f Publishing. All rights reserved.

Drums & Girls

Drums are the inanimate musical objectified manifestation of Girls. Because, how I feel and think about Drums, is pretty much how I feel and think about Girls. 

 Even the word "Girls", which I consciously chose over the word "Women", is beautiful to me. It speaks to an innocence and a purity of beauty that the word "Women" does not have. It has nothing to do with age. It has to do with a very personal and intimate literary and emotional charge. 

Drums and Girls: I love them both. Unconditionally. They speak to my heart. They ignite a passion and a fire and a wanderlust. They are both so fuckin' beautiful; powerful, magnificent creations that capture my imagination. They are both wonderfully complicated, and at the same time, incredibly simple. All you have to do, really, is Love Them With All Your Heart; With All You Have. Simple, but not easy. Just like a lot of life.

Drums and Girls are at once primitive, and of this age. Sexy as fuck. I am at once their equal, their master, and their slave. I walk beside them. I walk in front of them. I walk behind them. What's the fuckin' difference? Because, no matter where I walk, I am devoted to them; to their energy, to what they bring to this world, to what they bring to my life.

At about the same time that Girls became really important to me (around twelve), so did Drums. Drums provided a "Motherly" energy; a feminine, unconditionally loving, nurturing, caring, responsive, powerful sense of belonging; something that I never felt before I started playing. Drums gave me an emotional anchor, an emotional outlet, that saved my ass. That saved my life. 

 I was a pretty awkward adolescent. So I didn't have much play with the opposite sex. But, when I played Drums, I got a response. When I spoke to them, they listened. And they spoke back. I gave to them, and they gave to me. That dialogue changed my life. 

But there was more. It went beyond me and drums. It extended to the world at large. Other people, who heard and who saw me play drums, who heard, who saw, who experienced, my energetic cries of passion and fire and love; those people spoke back to me too. With smiles. With dance. With love. With something I never got from anybody else when I put myself out there. And so, I fell in love with Drums. The same way I fell in love with Girls. How couldn't I?

If you have ever seen me play drums, you know what an emotive maniac I am. I don't so much play the drums as I do make love to them; as I do make love with them. Which goes a long way in explaining the look of joy and ecstasy plastered on my face whenever I play. Especially at a gig with a band. 

As much as I love playing drums for the sake of playing drums, when I do it with a band, with other people, it ramps the whole paradigm up to another quantum level. To a level I can't get to by myself. Ultimately, I connect. 

Drumming with a band is like making love to Girl I'm in love with. 

Yup. Just like it in fact.

 ©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.