Dada Day in Denver

It appears that, after two and a half decades into the 21st century, Father's Day is making a comeback, a reboot, as the kids say these days. This lower-case holiday has been kicked about and shoved to the side in recent times, probably due to the revolving door of gender roles and, more likely, the sad fact that in order to build something up, we have to tear something down. Papa's Day will never reach the exalted status that Mothers have, so it currently sits further down the popularity chart placed above Arbor Day, but trailing Earth Day thanks to an aggressive marketing campaign by the Green Party.

This info about the much maligned Dia del Padre isn't new by any means. Certainly Chris Rock moaned and groaned about it about 25 years ago one of his iconic stand-up specials.  Another quarter century before that, Chuck Jones turned out a brilliant Warner Brothers cartoon on the subject entitled A Bear for Punishment. Sure, it celebrated Father, but at a price, a harbinger of things to come perhaps? 

Technically, I'm not a father. I've never sired any children...to my knowledge, if I wanted to drop the spurious playa card in order to impress nobody. I do hold the position of stepfather, though I've never been called upon to wield any parental duties per se especially since my wife's children were full grown and didn't have to put up with any clumsy platitudes from this guy right here. I love these guys to Jupiter and back and they have always accepted me as more that guy their mom hangs with. But the father part of the step process sometimes felt like a participation trophy, which has everything to do with me and not them.

But thanks to this trio of amazing human beings and great timing on my part, I reached the next level, earning me the privilege to be the Mack Daddy of them all-Grandpa, damn it. While I've always had age issues due to my latent immaturity/insecurity, I've never had any qualms being a grandparent and I cherish this honor with my very being. In fact, it has brought me closer to my stepson and daughters in the process and finally allowed me to be not only feel, but to actually become a part of this swell bunch of people that I call my family and not the outsider I used to consider myself to be. So when Father's Day rolls around and I get accolades from the fam over the years, this truly closes that gap for me.

This year, we happen to be to find ourselves in Denver once again visiting Colorado contingent of the clan. My youngest granddaughter is inexplicably turning 5 years old while, as a bonus feature, Father's Day is occurring as I write. The fact that I am spending part of this day away from them and scribbling says a lot, doesn't it? My wife, the matriarch of this bunch and I are always treated like royalty when we visit and this time is certainly no exception-eating, drinking and celebrating like the bleeding Windsors. It's not so much that they spoil us rotten but overcome us with the love that accompanies it all. I, as Granddad/Grandpa/Grandfather/Zeydah/Ol' Man River have finally accepted that this day is not for pater familias only. My hard candy shell finally cracked and the milk chocolate of my heart continues to melt for those who have embraced me into their bosom (Did I just hear an ew?) This year, along with various greetings far and wide, I was fortunate enough to actually celebrate the day along with my SIL (son-in-law for the acronym challenged) and this rare occasion instantly became a deposit into the savings account of my memory bank with a high interest rate. I can return to this day in times of woe to help dig me out of whatever mess I've got myself into, mental or otherwise so I can see the light of day that this family, this cavalcade of characters of the past, present and future have shown me time and time again and I can honestly say:

Thank you

I love you

and Happy Father's Day to me.

Mile High Holiday-A Denver Cherney Journey

I just flew in from Denver and boy, are my arms tired. Well, from carrying luggage. What did you think I meant? What? That's stupid.

It's been far too long between Cherney Journeys and at long last, off I twent into the wild gray yonder, it being December in Oregon and murky is the name of that tune. But up, up and away I flew from the Northwest of the Pacific and returned to Denver, Colorado, home of Broncos, Rockies and Omelettes, in order to visit members of my fam. I flew solo this time around, my wife unable to make the trip, which put me in a self-inflicted precarious state of mind due to too much anxiety and lotsa Jewish guilt by proxy. You see, mi familia that I refer to is the one I so happily married into almost a quarter of a century ago, therefore, my wife's side and her blood. Those remaining in mine are few and far between, making it rather sparse on that side of the church none of us would have attended. This Denver contingent consists of the cast of my book PLEASE HOLD THUMBS which involved the wedding of my stepdaughter Lindsay to my eventual son-in-law Chris in South Africa, a union that has given us two off-spring, granddaughters extraordinaire, Aefa and Athena.

Aefa, the eldest of the two, has grown into an amazingly gorgeous young woman in the decade she has graced us here on earth. The greeting she gave me and the love she showed me totally decimated the barnacles of my cynical heart. Her little sister, three year old Athena, was the question mark. A spitting image of her mother at that age, she is a force of Mother Nature incarnate in a half-pint size body. Advance word was that she would be standoffish and totally shy around this curmudgeon in training, but they underestimated the Power of the Grandpa. I worked my way into that hard candy shell within the first twenty minutes of my arrival until me totally under her own super powers, wrapping me around her itty bitty fingers.

The main event of said sojourn was to witness the budding actress Aefa in a performance of BEAUTY AND THE BEAST JR., a concept of which I was initally baffled. What could be missing in the junior version of a Disney property? Some randy doings between B and B? Is Chip the illegitimate cup of Mrs. Potts? Does "Be Our Guest" have a double meaning? I guess I should have been grateful it was ANGELS IN AMERICA JR. When I discovered this was merely scaled down and truncated from the original, boy was my face red. (Not really, but I'll cop to the ignorance) But I would have gone to see Aefa in anything (and have and will again). To be front and center for this particular production honored me to no end. She hads evolved into a real theater kid, even to the point of rattling off her numerous credits like the seasoned ten year old veteran that she now is.

So I headed back into familiar territory, that of Children's Theater, able to sit right up front next to Chris' lovely mother Elke, visiting from South Africa, two grandparents, side by side, weeping openly under our masks at the sight of our Aefa on opening night. She charmed us by her mere presence alone, but when she displayed the passionate enthusiasm she threw into her performance, I was knocked for a positive loop. I lived vicariously threw her joy of performing before a live audience and the fact that she is so emotionally involved at this early stage of her young life speaks volumes and fortunately, I'm not the only one to hear her. With support, she will continue on and who knows where she's headed, though if it were up to me, all the way. 

As for Denver itself, I didn't see much this time around but it wasn't that kind of a trip, so gratefully immersed in the bosom of my family that I was. What I did experience was a lovely taste of holiday cheer as the brood decorated their Christmas tree. This ornaments are all personalized, one or more from each year that Chris and Lindsay have been married and with a meaning attached to every one of them. Some were from South Africa, others designated special events like the birth of their daughters, their moves to Brooklyn and Denver and my favorite, a solid white globe with the picture of a dung beetle, representing a tough year that they managed to get through and move on. This family ritual of theirs gave him something I haven't had in many a year, more than just a modicum of holiday spirit. It was actually the star atop my own personal tree and has remained shining since my return.

This was a true Cherney Journey, one that afforded me the luxury of getting out of my own head, live entirely in the moment and reflect upon the past, present and future with open eyes and mind. I headed back to Portland to my wife and life with newfound vigor, insight and recharged batteries to face whatever lies ahead. 

Christmas spirit? Dude, I'm soaking in it. 

Nice change of pace.

Cherney Journey 2013: Denver Omelette

Blogger's note: The following events occurred two weeks prior to the Colorado flooding. My heart goes out to you guys.


A whirlwind of activity carried us through the rest of Cherney Journey 2013.It was a twister, Auntie Em!

Week numbero dos of the Colorado Adventure began with a road trip to the Rocky Mountain National Forest in a RAV-4 with four adults, one toddler and a neurotic New York transplanted pooch named Millie. Absolutely breathtaking. Absolutely excruciating by journey's end, six hours later . I felt like one big cramp. The journey up was fascinating since we were able to get a taste of Colorado proper, traveling through Boulder and smaller towns along the way, Estes Park, home of the Chicken Fried Latte, being a highlight.

 The next day, we followed this up with a morning drive-only 10 minutes away-to the   Rocky Mountain Arsenal Wildlife Refuge, the former site of a World War II chemical weapons facility. In the 1980s,  the government finally decided to hold the mustard gas and clean this area up. Soon bald eagles began to roost there, giving Fish and Wildlife the go-ahead to begin monitoring wildlife in the area. The environmental scrubbing of the grounds lasted until 2010 and plans were made to safely open this to the public. Deer, coyote, eagles, owls and prairie dogs currently occupy the site. On our visit, we were greeted by a herd of bison crossing the road before us. As we drove about the refuge with my son-in-law at the wheel in search of wild critters, I couldn't help but recall pleasant memories of our safari back in South Africa's Kruger Park. It certainly helped that the bloody South African my daughter married made such an excellent guide.

Laurie and I took a chance on my navigational skills to venture forth all by our lonesomes for the Garden of the Gods park in Colorado Springs. This place was phenomenal, some of the most incredible rock formations imaginable in one area. These almost other-wordly landscapes took my bleedin' breath away, they did. Remarkably, the Garden of the Gods and the Arsenal Refuge were free to the public. That's pretty damn impressive in this post-sequester era in which we live.

The Denver proper experience involved some human-made beauty by way of the Denver Art Museum (aka the DAM), a brilliant downtown facility. We were fortunate enough to catch the Nick Cave show entitled Sojourn, mainly because he is one of my favorite musicians and I wanted to see what sort of work he also created. Silly me. This was Nick Cave the artist-a different bloke altogether, from Chicago and not Australia, but also African-American. Color me ignorant. However, what a brilliant show, filled with these bizarre, intricately designed and sewn "soundsuits" as he calls them and many a found object incorporated in his sculptures. Cave's show coincided with DAM's main attraction called Spun: Adventures in Textiles.

But of all the Denver/Colorado sites, one particularly moved me for totally personal reasons. My step-daughter Lindsay gave us a personal tour her law offices on Sunday. Naturally, the place was vacant, so we had access to move around pretty freely on the 20-something floors of this downtown office building. The view out her own office window of Denver and the surrounding area was a panoramic wonder. The whole time, the theme from DYNASTY ran through my head because I am that kind of twit. However,  I suddenly became overwhelmed by it all. My throat closed and I immediately choked up. I found myself awash with such pride for my daughter and everything she's been able to accomplish in her life. Lindsay has grown into this remarkable woman and such an incredible human being of the highest order. She's a knockout in more ways than way.

The rest of the week involved a stop here, a stop there but nothing of much note except for all the weed shops hither and yon with names like Green Health, Herbal Daze and Garden of the Gods. Not the same one I visited. I went to see rocks, not buds. Coming from the restrictive state of Oregon, I was taken aback by the abundance of  liquor stores as well, my favorites being Bubbles Liquor Barn and the store that advertised that "We don't sell to teens!"

All the activity in this second week made me appreciate Stapleton more, probably because now we were able to move about freely and safely return to home base. We continued to eat, drink and be merry amidst the odd weather conditions in this part of the country. Something called a microburst blew through the neighborhood one early evening. From what I can gather, a microburst is a downdraft in a thunderstorm that can bring winds up to 150 miles per hour. I was standing in the backyard blowing bubbles with Aefa when the wind suddenly took care of the job for me, so we wisely went inside, much to Aefa's chagrin since this ruined bubble time. A big gust swooshed through even harder after that in one blast, then headed down the road to cause some real damage. The next night, a lightning storm over Boulder held my attention for at least 45 minutes, being the best fireworks show I ever experienced.

Soon it time to depart the Mile High City and our little family. Leaving the kids was one thing, but trying to extract ourselves away from our granddaughter was downright painful. The time we spent with her was absolute golden. Each day since we left we find that we can recap almost every single moment of it and make it seem like the very first time, comforting us as we wait until the next time.

Memories made. Memories cherished.

Cherney Journey 2013: Rocky Mountain, Hi!

Blogger's note: The following events occurred two weeks prior to the flooding in Colorado. My heart goes out you guys.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation
by Little Scotty Cherney

Age: Nunya

This year of our Lord, 2013, we-being the wife and me-ventured forth for another faboo vacay made possible, yet again, by a generous grant from the L & C Foundation. Our destination? Deutchendorf, Colorado. My apologies. I forgot it was changed to Denver. My stepdaughter Lindsay and son-in-law Chris (famed for their debut roles in my book PLEASE HOLD THUMBS: A NOT SO ROUND TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA) moved to Colo's state capitol from New York City last year, quite a change of pace and scenery, eh, wot? So this sojourn became a family vacation in every sense of the word since we were spending mucho quality time with our beauteous granddaughter Aefa.

After a blissfully trouble-free and uneventful air travel experience-with the exception of the hot mess in first class who began bawling because she had to use the bathroom in coach and a pilot who seemed to riding the clutch the entire way from LAX- we landed at the Cirque de Soleil-like structure known as Denver International Airport.

It took us awhile to get a feel for the Southwestern nature of this area since the first week we spent in glorious grandparenthood at the kids' home in Stapleton, a neighborhood built over the previous airport grounds. We cared, fed, played and generally just fell in love with the latest member of the clan, an incredibly bright and verbose two year old whose every whim I didn't hesitate to cater to because I am a mushpot of the highest order. This meant seemingly endless tunes from the Raffi catalog and multiple viewings of an Animal Planet video on demand of potty training sloths.

"I want sloffs!" Aefa would demand and of course, her wish was my command. I'm a sucker for a pretty face.

However, we did begin to get a bit stir crazy in Stapleton since we were MOV (mit out vehicle). Stapleton is pleasant and clean and all that, but other than a couple of parks, the only nearby attraction of note was the 7/11 (shades of New York corner bodegas!) It's not like we were sequestered in a safe house out in Snotrag County. Our accommodations were more than ducky in our own virtual wing, not to mention eating and drinking like royalty. It's just that we wanted to see the sights and something more than vague silhouettes of mountains in the distance. I know I was getting a little stir-crazy in suburbia.

Of course, a lot of this psychosomatic feeling of claustrophobia stemmed from the deep-rooted prejudices I hoard in the filthy attic of my soul, . Stapleton is indeed a yuppie heaven, therefore Hell on earth to someone like me. Knowing from the outset that Colorado is reported to be the fittest state in the union set my heart aflutter as well amidst all the zero body fat individuals we seemed to encounter everywhere we turned. Everyone was fit and into being fit that I started to have a fit myself. Even the flies were fit, tauting me as I attempted to swat them.

"C'mon, ya Oregonian doughboy! Whatsa matter? Too much craft beer and bacon?"

When Lindsay and Chris generously offered us the use of their RAV-4 in exchange for some rides to work, we snatched it up like a loaf of bread with a file inside because this meant FREEDOM!

With Aefa in tow-scratch that-with Aefa towing us, our reprieve from Stapleton initially translated into kid-related activities such as The Children's Museum, two trips to the Denver Zoo which we found to be sloth-less but still managed to score a lot of quality animal for young and old alike and a grand tour of Tiny Town. No, not the Tiny Town from the first all midget western THE TERROR OF TINY TOWN. This Tiny Town a miniature village that a father built for his daughter back in 1915 then opened to the public a few years later adding a mini-railroad along the way. It was pretty damn precious especially when we rode the train with Aefa. Yes, I said precious. I told you I was a mushpot.

For the most part, Aefa sat in quiet contemplation, two fingers in her mouth, taking it all in wherever we went. At times, we thought she might be bored of it all since she didn't make a peep even afterward as we tried to get her to recap her experiences. Nope. She saved that commentary for her folks. The fingers popped forth and her enthusiasm flowed like champagne as she extolled the glories of the adventures she live through to Mommy and Papa.

"I saw a monkey climbing to the sky! The kitty was sleeping! I waved at the 'ductor!"

(Translation for those who don't speak Toddler: The monkey was part of the zoo menagerie with the kitty in question being a jaguar. As for the 'ductor, the Tiny Town train conductor.)

And as much as it meant to Aefa, it meant even more to us. To see the world once again through a new set of eyes makes it all worthwhile. She and her parents were the real reasons we came to Denver. Everything else takes a back seat.

Thanks to Aefa, all was good in the grandparenthood.

 Next Up: Some Scenery At Last!

Moonrise to Dark Knight

With the end of Labor Day, another summer bites the dust, the Big One and, for all intents and purposes, even a dusty Big One. (ptui!) Yeah, Summer 2012 has no right being mentioned in the same breath (let alone the same same sentence) as last year, but nothing could have competed with the grand and glorious New York Cherney Journey. That was one for the Book of memories while this year barely fits this here blog.

However, no sour grapes say I since it became almost a necessity to low-ball this past season  both economically and spiritually. At least I mustered up enough effort to book-end the summer with two very distinct trips to the cinema viewing two very distinct films, though they did have one thing in common: my state of mind.

After a horrific spring that culminated with my psyche taking a throttling of absurd frequency, I needed a break more than anyone really knew and took refuge in the wonderful world of Wes Anderson, namely MOONRISE KINGDOM. His wistful tale of young love propelled me back into a time when summer actually meant something in my life instead of another reason to hate hot weather. I'll totally cop to the desire to flee the present into that warm glow of nostalgia because it was a safe haven I really desire to escape into  for at least a couple of pleasant hours. MOONRISE KINGDOM called up sweet memories I never had, desires never satisfied and adventures never lived, but recalling even the longing of these gave me the solace I truly needed. So sitting in a packed matinee audience in June, usually another circle of my own personal Hell, turned out to be a tranquil afternoon that provided just the right of therapy to survive the suck and get me through to the next crisis. It also reaffirmed my love for the film-loving people of Portland who are the best audiences I've ever encountered. If I could get over some of my anti-social ways and discomfort with the general public, I'd join them more often. It's funny that I can sit side-by-side with an audience during a live performance, but I'm hesitant to do so at the movies. Then again, I never attend the thea-tah alone. Say it loud, I'm neurotic and proud.

It wasn't until August that I ventured out again to catch one more flick before Labor Day. I was all ready to step into a second run theater for a last gasp showing of PROMETHEUS, but stopped dead in my tracks when I spied a mother with five pre-teens at the box office AND two other mamas in the lobby cradling their babies. Uh-uh. No way was I going to subject myself to that torture dungeon. It didn't matter that the admission was only a dollar. I beat feet away from that place as though it was a nest of Herpes-laden hornets.

The next day, I took the plunge into the dreaded multi-plex for another anticipated film, THE DARK KNIGHT RISES. Though I had been looking forward to it for months on end, I found myself reluctant to see the grand finale of Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy due to the morbid shadow of the Aurora, Colorado massacre the month before. How could I even begin to watch this movie without the mental images of that tragedy play through my head? I actually had an interior debate, even accusing myself of insensitivity. I decided to take my chances and deal with the guilt if and whenever it came. It didn't. Instead, I realized that here I am, a lone patron in a cinema and suddenly, I am suspect or at least, I very well could be. Attending movies solo has been my modus operandi for, well, ever. My wife abandoned the idea of accompanying me long, long ago and in almost 15 years, has gone with me exactly twice. It became one of those activities we don't do together and if I can't sit next to her, call me Greta Garbo, but I want to be alone.  I am also one of those odd ducks that never buys anything at the concession stand, preferring to bring in snacks from the outside. This usually occurs during the winter months when I can cram a lot into a large jacket. I've brought in sandwiches, hamburgers, burritos and assorted beverages (non-alcoholic). One fine day, I brought in sushi from Trader Joe's and watched the great kung fu epic HERO. This time, I didn't bring anything more than a protein bar (it's a 2 3/4 hour movie for Chrissakes). With the temperature in the 90s, a big jacket concealing various food items would raise more than just one red flag, so I lowballed it. Parking myself in the back of the auditorium, I sat in silence in awkward anticipation of suspicious glances or nervous whispers about my lonesome self crouching in the corner, a potential Madman du Jour. But these notions of mine soon evaporated into the paranoid ether once the film began and I opted to engage myself into Christopher Nolan's bold and brash cinematic symphony, just like everyone else in the theater who didn't give me a second glance if any at all. In the end, what happened in Aurora had nothing to do with the movie at all and everything to do with a crazy motherfucker with a gun. And the rest was all in my head. Maybe that's where it belongs.

Summer ends. Fall begins. Life goes on.

Bad Timing

Timing is everything, even when it’s bad.                                        


Last week I ran another free promotional giveaway on Amazon for the Kindle version of my novel, RED ASPHALT. This was to be a virtual online onslaught of plugola in order to hopefully kick start some sales and interest into a piece of work that is essentially a piece of me. (If you were to read a few choice comments from a couple of Amazon customer reviews, it is also a piece of shit. I respectfully disagree. Strike that. I disrespectfully disagree.)

As usual, I digress.

All the pieces were put into place with announcements placed on various e-book sites, my blog and website. The first day seemed to go quite well, placing RED ASPHALT into the top 1000 freebies of the day.

Then midnight struck.

The shooting in Aurora, Colorado put the brakes on everything. I’m not about to bemoan the fact that a tragedy of this magnitude ruined my day in the sun. I am totally insignificant in this whole ordeal. There are people who lives were brutally and senselessly altered and dismantled forever by a raging psychopath. I can’t even begin to tell you my feelings or thoughts about this insanity other than my heart goes out to the victims, their families and friends. That this massacre occurred in a movie theater, my favorite place in the entire world and my own personal sanctuary, sickens me to no end. But I can’t realistically comment on the situation with any insight so I refuse to do so. Leave that to the 24 hour news cyclists because they have airtime to fill with enough speculation, disinformation and shit-spewing talking heads that will blather on about this until the cows come home and become tainted hamburger. I also won’t speculate about the effect this will have on THE DARK KNIGHT RISES because in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter at all, artistically, financially or philosophically. Others can, I won’t.


What this has to do with me at all concerns my book. I restrained myself from promoting RED ASPHALT any further than what was already out there, which was beyond my control, due to the nature of the book itself.


RED ASPHALT’s main character is an unhinged individual who takes his pathetic frustrations out on the world with the use of a gun and his car, just to add road rage into the mix. It is not a sympathetic portrait in the least. It doesn’t justify his actions though it does try to explain them. Conclusions can be made that Calvin, the main character, is just a whiny little twerp who decides that everyone is out to get him so he’s going to get them first. He’s blaming everyone else for his pathetic life and, oh boy, he’ll show them. Unfortunately, once he acquires a gun, he tries to "solve his problems" by using it on others instead of himself.

I wholeheartedly confess that Calvin is pretty much of a stand-in for me. Much of his back story comes from my own and his voice, for the most part, is mine. How he handles it all is pure fabrication. I wrote this to alleviate my own stress in life, to blow everything completely out of proportion in order to make what I considered to be a compelling story. I poured my heart and soul into it and attempted to exorcise as many demons as I possibly could in the process. That’s the difference. Calvin picked up a gun. I picked up a pen. There are more, but I must point out, that’s key.

But after early Friday morning, I left the promo for RED ASPHALT alone, not out of guilt or respect, just because I didn’t know what else to do. This doesn’t make me a good guy, an upright citizen or a moral midget. It just makes me conflicted and, just as I did in the creation of my novel; I’m trying to work it out by writing about it.


RED ASPHALT stands on it own two feet. Those are my words, good and bad and I’ll stand by them. But for the moment, maybe a little off to the side, at least for a time.

Judge for yourself.

RED ASPHALT on Kindle and paperback on Amazon

Not buying it is also a statement.