What’s in a memoir? I’d define a memoir as an inside look of steps taken and lessons learned from a long life lived, or an epiphany gleaned from one poignant moment — a recounting of love, loss and achievement — a life of memories condensed within the confines of two hard covers and placed on a shelf with other well-worn titles. It’s something the reader initially selected in order to learn something about someone he admires — a writer, artist, political leader or athlete.

Is a teenager capable of writing a memoir? Would I buy it? Could I conceivably learn something from a prepubescent account of life?

It’s becoming commonplace for young stars to release memoirs. They are infants in life, yet they have experienced more “worthy” moments than the average 80-year-old as they race into the media-driven limelight of today’s culture. They have been “discovered,” become household names before the drama of a first romance or menstrual cycle.

I have been out of the loop in the pop culture arena, but I was just made aware of Justin Bieber’s memoir. Don’t ask me how this came up.

The Canadian pop singing sensation who is driving recent tween mania has released “First Step 2 Forever,” documenting his rise to stardom. He was born in 1994. At 16 he began compiling all the memories of his life for publication — 16. Humans don’t even have the ability to remember things prior to age 3 as far as I know. I am lucky to remember what I ate yesterday for breakfast. Perhaps Bieber’s mind is a documented scientific marvel. Is he a savant able to share perspective from days spent in the crib and how those moments forged a foundation for stepping onto the stage?

I’m interested, but not enough to fork out the dough for my own copy. If your interest has been piqued more than my own, I ask that you fill me in on all the hype.

Happy new year, friends and foes. Which are you? Your conscience knows. Of friends, I’m blessed with many. Of foes, I’m blessed with few. Good times are never one-sided; We’ve all shared a slew.

A jack of all trades, master of none, I have never claimed to be a poet. Today however, I was randomly inspired to write this catchy little rhyme. You can thank me for not setting it to music and singing it to you via a poor-quality video on Youtube. Enjoy. Or not. I only ask you to keep negative comments to yourself. I am trying to be positive here.

With this new year, let’s look ahead. Think not of the past, good times or bad. I wipe the slate clean, invite a new start. Those in column B, you’re still in my heart.

Come for a visit, just knock on the door. Mi casa es su casa, a toast I will pour. A song, I will sing. A jig, I will dance — like the late great James Brown, with ants in my pants.

I have good feelings, 2012. The dregs of last year, I joyously shelve. Look out, new year, you’re mine for the taking. 2012′s a year in the making.

I am back from a four-day jaunt to Philly. I haven’t been there in at least 10 years and much has changed. Perhaps it’s my perspective on things that made this trip a wholly different experience than the last. Jim had a training conference and I tagged along to see the sights.

I will post more about the experience later after shaking off the weariness from being on the road. I last visited Philadelphia in the summer months and this time the holiday season enveloped me. Below is one of my favorite picts from the trip. I took it outside our hotel looking up at a small tree decorated for the season. More to come.

I can only aspire to be this hip at 91 (if I make it that far). I offer this with the aim of taking your mind off whatever ails you.

Here I attempt to cover one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs. Mind you, I made up the chords and know they aren’t the right ones and I don’t care. I admit it is very premature for me to take video of myself playing guitar, and insane to share it with the masses, but for someone who is just learning to play, I am excited to get through a whole song without stopping or dropping the instrument. Also, to make it even better, it was shot with a camera balanced on a sofa with poor lighting and dinky speaker.

For Dylan fans, I know this doesn’t do the song justice, so don’t hate me. I am a beginner. The song is also only 2 minutes long — great for those with short attention spans — bad for those expecting me to whip out a harmonica and add a solo. One thing at a time. I just learned to stand up and play at the same time, folks. Baby steps. Remember, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Please. Ever.

I haven’t taken the time to address the blog in a few weeks. I have been busy securing the homestead for another winter — this said facetiously since we only rent a modest, three-bedroom ranch with no acreage, outbuildings or anything to secure. I did, however, finally take out the air conditioners, vacuum out the heater vents, put the garden to bed and feed the birds.

The real reason I chose to post is to share some photos I took earlier this month at a car show in Ballston Spa. The beautiful weather over Columbus Day weekend afforded me several opportunities to get outside and lollygag. I dragged Jim to the car show, which ended up being a much bigger affair than I initially thought. Here I offer a series of reflections — mostly self-portraits — in the chrome of a variety of restored classic cars. See how many of me you can find. Oh, so fun!

Now I’m gonna take a trip to the hood. Antique hood ornaments make me giddy.

That’s all, folks. If I am really motivated later, I’ll share some shots from the Columbus Day hike up Snowy Mountain.

I want to express my thanks and send out a plug for Upstate Ink & Art Gallery in Ballston Spa for giving me a wall to showcase some of my art. The gallery and tattoo shop is located on Front Street. Please stop in if you are out and about in the area. There are many local artists displaying works at the shop. Here is a quick look at “my wall.”

It is still raining. The old man’s snoring with no end in sight. I don’t know if you’ve checked the radar in NY, but we should be molding. If the cost of wood weren’t so high, I might consider a new trade, ark building. I took my daily trip to the library and checked out some CDs befitting this crappy weather. I came back with the original Library of Congress sessions of Son House from Field Records. Note the song titles of this exceptional collection: Levee Camp Blues, Government Fleet Blues, Walking Blues, Shetland Pony Blues, Delta Blues, Special Rider Blues, Low Down Dirty Dog Blues (a personal favorite), Depot Blues, American Defense, Am I Right or Wrong, Walking Blues (again, a variation), County Farm Blues, The Pony Blues, The Jinx Blues and the Jinx Blues again. Perfect for the rainiest week in recent memory.

Blind Lemon Jefferson. This portrait was probably taken around 1926, according to the experts who base that date on the tinge of gray hair present and his rumored birth year of 1880. They also say the tie was "painted into the picture," but claim he always "wore pretty nice clothes" during all occasions.

I also grabbed “The Best of Blind Lemon Jefferson,” all recordings from the ’20s, which are remarkable considering they were made acoustically with no amplification. I am very impressed with the quality of this restored compilation, taken off poorly-pressed 78s. I like the noise of the original recordings — which they tried to clean up — but lucky for me, it proved a nearly impossible task. For those of you unfamiliar with Blind Lemon Jefferson, get out there and hear what you are missing. At the top of the list of the forefathers of the blues, Jefferson influenced nearly everyone that followed him in early blues, especially vocally.

Titles on this album — continuing my theme for today — include Match Box Blues, That Crawlin’ Baby Blues, Hot Dogs, Corinna Blues, Rambler Blues, Rabbit Foot Blues, ‘Lectric Chair Blues, One Dime Blues (love this title), Got the Blues, See That My Grave’s Kept Clean (another personal favorite), He Arose From the Dead, Black Horse Blues, Prison Cell Blues, Booster Blues, Bed Spring Blues, Jack O’Diamond Blues, Beggin’ Back, Wartime Blues, Easy Rider Blues, How Long How Long, Long Lonesome Blues and I Want to Be Like Jesus in My Heart.

I hope you are finding ways to entertain yourself today. I’ll be inside absorbing these blues while ringing out my socks.

Today was perhaps the laziest Thursday I have experienced. I even took a nap. I felt like this puppy.

That was a long 33 hours. Today the lights finally came back on at Chéz Coppola, around 6 p.m.

We procrastinated pre-Irene. We blew it off. We failed to heed the warnings — saw the forecast as an over-hyped ploy to strike fear in the hearts of, well … people who rely on said media. I played with the band in Lake George on a beautiful Friday night, with a warm wind coming off the lake and stars in the sky. I came home, slept through the early onset of Irene’s wrath and woke up listening to the deluge of live storm coverage on AM talk radio — which I still thought was blown out of proportion. I was supposed to go play funk with a band in Albany. Instead, as I was getting ready to make breakfast, out went the lights. Then the trees started snapping as they swayed in the hurricane-force gusts of wind I swore would never reach Middle Grove.

Darn. Why hadn’t I stored some water? Why had I failed to stock up on, let’s see, everything. I had a fridge full of condiments and beverages and a stick of butter. Now that’s what I call stupid on my part. Lucky for us, Jim has a small generator to run the fridge, which we promptly went to the Stewart’s Shop on the corner to stock. Thanks again Stewart’s. You’re always there when we need you — rain, shine, major federal holiday or hurricane. They should get more props than the post office.

I had no idea how much I actually rely on electricity. It never feels like I’m roughing it when it’s self-imposed, on say a camping trip. Either way, we survived. I read a few novels, doodled in the sketch book, played guitar. Life goes on. Thanks, Marion for the use of your shower. Thanks also for the water. I am so glad I won’t have to manually flush toilets anymore.

Here is a video of some more Irene stupidity …