Thursday, September 22, 2011

Roger And Me

(Note:  Taking a break today from the  normal -- or abnormal, as the case may be -- comedy/humorous stuff...  Today's post was inspired by seeing one of my pop music idols in concert  two weeks ago in Syracuse, NY.)

To start off with (and to dispel any rumors), yes, I grew up in the 60's  and yes, I DO remember them!

And I feel sorry for anyone who didn't and who doesn't.  It was probably the most remarkable decade of the last century. The 60's changed so many attitudes  that we had about our lives and the world around us.  It raised our consciousness level,  expanded our culture, made us more socially aware,  brought many of us to hate war and its consequences, and  taught us that our planet does not have an inexhaustible supply of energy, food, and clean air and water.

But most of all, it changed our  music. We went from listening to Frankie Avalon, Bobby Rydell and Lesley Gore to something that many people feared marked the end of civilization as we knew it.    In America, that change came about on February 9, 1964, with the Beatles' appearance on the Ed Sullivan show, and while I hadn't yet learned to pick up a guitar and determine which end you strum and which end you press down on, it wasn't long before  millions of guys (mostly) were trying to figure out how to get their fingers unstuck from between the strings on  their cheap Silvertone, Kay or Teisco guitars, growing their hair long, (much to the chagrin of their parents -- and sending their barbers to the poorhouse) and trying their best to mimic the Merseybeat sound.

The Beatles dominated the music scene  through 1964 and well in to 1965 -- and then one day in midsummer of  '65,  I turned on the radio and heard a sound that I'd never heard before, either from a guitar, or a rock group.  Some guys calling themselves the Byrds were doing  a song by Bob Dylan called "Mr. Tambourine Man", and  their leader, a fellow named Roger McGuinn (then known as Jim) was playing a 12-string electric guitar, with the most unique, almost bell-chimey sound in the world -- and a new pop music genre had instantly been created: Folk-Rock. By mid-July,  the song was No. 1 on the record charts.

On my 14th birthday I went out and bought the Byrds' first album.  It was amazing; these guys either  wrote their own songs or covered Dylan works that were totally different from anything that was coming out of the rest of the pop music scene in those days, be it the Beatles, Beach Boys or any group that was part of the British invasion. Want to hear a song about lost love? The Byrds had it ("I'll  Feel A Whole Lot Better").  Or offering some encouragement to a friend who was down ("Don't Doubt Yourself, Babe") -- or even a folk tune about a Welsh mining disaster ("The Bells of Rhymney").  And the music was all brought together by this chimey, jingle jangle sound of Roger McGuinn's 12-string Rickenbacker.  The liner notes quoted one of their fans in describing the band's unique sound and eccentricity (including McGuinn's wearing those strange little granny glasses) as being "orange and green and yellow and blue and near."  If  you lived during the 60's, you'll understand what she meant.

Roger wasn't the first to use a Rickenbacker 12-string  electric guitar.  Both George Harrison and John  Lennon owned Rickenbacker 12-strings, and you can hear George's prominently on such early hits as "A Hard Day's Night" "Can't Buy Me Love," and  "Eight Days A Week", and in fact Roger, who had been working on giving a Beatles-style treatment  to a lot of the traditional folk music he played,  bought his 12-string electric after seeing the movie "A Hard Day's Night" with band members Gene Clark,  David Crosby, Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke.

Roger's advantage was that he was one of the  great folk music pickers alive on both guitar and banjo, and had backed up such folk groups as the Limeliters and the Chad Mitchell trio ever since he graduated from high school -- and while I'm sure the people at Rickenbacker are forever thankful that George and John put their guitar brand on the map, it was Roger who showed the world what could be done with  it.  In fact as a kid in Buffalo, I remember hearing  Top 40 deejay Joey Reynolds playing "Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Ticket to Ride", with their similar opening 12-string riffs back to back and pronouncing the Byrds effort to be the better of the two.

The songs themselves became, if not pop music standards (with one exception),  at least memorable hits,  enough so that someone can hear one on an oldies station and say to him or herself "Yeah, that's the Byrds!" [Matter of fact, I was in a guitar store one time playing a Rick 12-string before I decided to buy it, and was playing a few notes from "Mr. Tambourine Man" when another customer came over to me and said "That's great!  Takes me right back to high school!"] Besides "Mr. Tambourine Man", they had such hits as  "All I Really Want To Do," "It Won't Be Wrong," "Eight Miles High",  "5D"  "My Back Pages"  and "So You Want To Be A Rock and Roll Star" which Roger reportedly co-wrote with Chris Hillman after watching an episode of THE MONKEES.

But it was the monumental "Turn! Turn! Turn!", a song written by Pete Seeger and based on verses from the bible that people remember most often.  The opening notes and the instrumental solo  are characteristic of Roger's (and The Byrds') signature sound.


Roger McGuinn did things with a 12-string guitar that just didn't seem possible. Listen to the riffs in "Eight Miles High" which he claimed to have based on a sax improv by John Coltrane, and it seems to a man of lesser talent that it's impossible to perform with only the 10 fingers that God gave you. These days, if you listen to him do an acoustic version of it in concert and close your eyes,  you'll swear you're hearing three separate guitarists playing together.

Roger's influence on music and the growth of folk-rock spread quickly in the 60's. We heard such groups as The Turtles,  The Searchers, We Five and Sonny and Cher include the unique 12-string Rick sound in their singles. Even Bob Dylan  took up electrifying his music -- and the die hard folkies hated him for doing so.  Later on, in the '70's such acts as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and Chrissie Hind and the Pretenders also made use of the sounds and chord changes Roger had given us with his music; and even in the 90's, the Rembrandts  borrowed that sound for their theme song for the show FRIENDS -- you can  hear 12-string Ricks all over the place.

As I got older and headed on to college and later  full-time work, I didn't pay as much attention to the Byrds as I had during the first couple of years. They had some good hits with "The Ballad Of Easy Rider", and "Chestnut Mare",   but the original band broke up, and with the new members (most notably Clarence White),  the band and Roger headed in a more country rock direction.  A reunion album that came out in 1973 with the original band members on it is well worth listening to though, as it  shows how the individual members had evolved in their tastes, and in the late 70's another album that reunited Roger, Gene Clark and Chris Hillman was released.

Roger's been kind enough to correspond with me via email now and then over the last few years (hence the title of this post), and my respect for him, his music and his legacy has grown immeasurably as time passes. These days,  although now a member of the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame as one of The Byrds, Roger is content to tour and perform as a solo.  His website has his self-produced Cd's for sale and a separate section called "Songs From The Folk Den",  a collection of tunes which you can listen to or download for free.  It's part of his effort to keep the folk music tradition alive in our country today.

But if you have the chance, go see him in person.  It'll bring back memories that you probably haven't experienced in many years --  and yes, he's still playing his 12-string Rickenbacker! If you're new to his music, the time spent will be well worth it, since you'll be enjoying the talent of one of the great musical artists of our era. From a personal standpoint, now that I'm performing for a lot of senior groups, I can report that they all remember the Byrds and their music and love to hear me play their tunes.

And while Wikipedia would list him as being 80 as of tomorrow, he plays and sings like he's 25. Seeing him perform these days has the same effect on his fans and admirers. To paraphrase the words of the song he likes to open his show with:  We were all so much older then... We're younger than that now.

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Roger McGuinn (with the Byrds) then:



And now:


Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The NFL in London?!!!


With the new NFL season now only a little more than 24 hours away and with the game's popularity seemingly increasing logarithmically on a year to year basis, I started thinking about some remarks that NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell made a year or so ago concerning the league expanding beyond the boundaries of the North American continent, and he mentioned London specifically as one place they would be considering.
Oh sure, they had a team there when NFL Europe was in operation, but that was pretty much a developmental league, like Major League Baseball's Triple A minor league affiliation. This team would be playing with the big boys, meaning Londoners would be treated to seeing such stars ast Tom Brady, Peyton Manning, Adrian Peterson, Brian Urlacher, Donovan McNabb and others playing in their house, on their turf, on a regular basis.
But the more I thought about it, I wondered if bringing an NFL team to London might just be a little too much for the old established culture and tradition of that country to deal with, and started to think about some possible changes we may see in any American football game that's played on the hallowed pitch at Wembley.   For instance:
(1) The halftime show would always be a marathon rock concert for the benefit of The Prince's Charitable Trust Foundation, meaning not only will halftimes last longer than the snooze fests at the Super Bowl, but fans will have to put up with seeing Charles and Camilla   gazing snootily down at them from the Royal Box at every home game (almost as bad as seeing Jerry Jones or Al Davis doing the same thing).
(2) Before the game, everyone stands to sing "God Save The Queen". However, if the London team is playing Cincinnati or Oakland that week, after the game, a lot of players on those rosters may actually be in need of receiving pardons BY The Queen.
(3) Infractions and penalties will be dealt with within the time-honored framework of the British judicial system, meaning the punishment for an Unsportsmanlike Conduct penalty "is hereby changed to 15 yards and a fortnight in The Tower."
(4) In a related modification, the rule regarding coaches' challenges will continue as before. However,  before the result of a play can be overruled, it must be put to a vote in the House of Commons (as if those damn instant replay delays aren't already long enough!).
(5) Protective mouthpieces will be optional.
(6) After a win, they always play a video of Churchill proclaiming "This was their finest hour!" – After a loss, they always play a video of Chamberlain turning Czechoslovakia over to the Nazis.
(7) On the plus side as far as the NFL Players Association is concerned, an expansion team in London means additional opportunities for marginal and older players, so we can expect to hear a lot of “Your attention please! -- Now playing quarterback: Number Four, Brett Favre!"
(8) The new team in London is surprisingly successful against the Redskins, Chiefs and Buccaneers – but call it karma if you wish, they just don't seem to be able to beat the Vikings or the Patriots.
(9) Finally, Britain's nobility will be given special privileges and opportunities to become involved with the new team, meaning fortunately, we should be getting a lot of chances to see how Pippa Middleton's butt looks in a cheerleader uniform -- which will also make for some great highlight segments on ESPN Sportscenter...
So.... Are you ready for some football, bangers and mash?
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  "Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."
  -- Thomas Pynchon

Sunday, August 28, 2011

FRASIER Lives! -- Pass It On...

Thought I'd take a break this week from coming up with something new and fresh (if not necessarily entertaining) and  give you a sample of what I spent almost 10 years in Los Angeles trying to accomplish.

Now, understand that the level of talent and competition in the TV industry is far higher than most people realize despite the trash that a lot of times currently passes for network primetime television these days -- believe me, I know some topflight writers and performers who have written for, produced and starred in major hit sitcoms. And ultimately, it wasn't surprising that the opportunities that come along for anyone aspiring to write for TV are few and far between, and in my case didn't quite pan out as I had hoped they would.

But I  still wanted to post this  not only as an example of where one of my major interests continues to lie, but also as an example of what anyone who reads it and is also a writer can use as a fun exercise.

The following is a teaser from a spec FRASIER script I wrote back sometime in the early to mid-90's; and as teasers go I think it does what it's supposed to do: get the show off to a lighthearted start, grab the viewer's interest, and provide a few good jokes within its short timeframe.  (Oh, and for those of you who aren't sure what a teaser is, it's the beginning scene of a show that the opening credits are run over).

******************************************************

FADE IN:

INT. RADIO BOOTH - DAY

FRASIER IS AT HIS DESK. ROZ IS IN THE CONTROL BOOTH.

                                FRASIER
               
                 (INTO MIKE) ...And remember, for the
 
                 finest in car care, it's Dr. Tire,
   
                 Seattle's  four-star, full-service

                 independent auto center.

HE SWITCHES OFF HIS MIKE.

                               FRASIER  (CONT'D)

                 Not to mention one of the biggest liars

                 and schlock artists by whom I've ever

                 had the pleasure  of being gouged out

                 of twenty-five hundred dollars.

ROZ SHOOTS HIM A LOOK THROUGH THE GLASS.  FRASIER TURNS
HIS MIKE BACK ON.

                              FRASIER  (CONT'D)

                 (INTO MIKE) So if your car's condition

                 is critical, see Dr. Tire -- stat! 

                 (REACTING TO THE INANE COPY) Who's

                 next, Roz?

                              ROZ

                 Next we have Jerry from Bremerton,

                 who is having difficulty being honest

                 with people.

                              FRASIER

                 How timely.  And appropriate.  Go ahead,

                 Jerry.  I'm listening.

                              CALLER  (JERRY, OVER PHONE)

                 Dr. Crane, I don't really know 
 
                 how to say it.  I just can't come

                 clean with some people.

                              FRASIER

                 Tell me, Jerry, would you happen to

                 be in, say, the auto repair busness?

                              CALLER

                 Excuse me?

                              FRASIER

                 I'm sorry.  The very fact that you're

                 admitting you have a problem is a first

                 step towards dealing with it.  A very

                 big step. Now, what exactly aren't

                 you coming clean with?

                              CALLER

                 You name it.  Job, finances, marriage.

                 Where do you want me to start?

                              FRASIER

                 Well, where do you want to start?

                              CALLER

                 Well, how about the fact that Jerry 

                 isn't my real name? It's Ralph.

                              FRASIER

                 There, that wasn't so hard, was it?

                              CALLER

                 Actually, it isn't Ralph.  It's Henry.

                              FRASIER

                 Well, all right, you just may be a

                 little  --

                              CALLER

                 Actually, it's not Henry, it's William. 

                 And I'm from  Renton, not Bremerton.

A SHORT PAUSE, THEN:

                              FRASIER

                  Roz, could we get some referrals for

                  Jerry?  Or whoever he thinks he is.

                  Perhaps an appointment with Dr. Tire?

AND WE:

                                                  DISSOLVE TO:

*****************************************************

Hope you enjoyed it.  Just for a fun creative writing exercise, try taking your favorite TV show (preferably a sitcom, but drama shows work too) and write a teaser for it.  See how close you can come to the tone and  the personalities of the characters -- and see how quickly you can get a joke in and get to the point of the scene (this one ran 2 1/2 typewritten pages in standard sitcom format, by the way).

In the future I'll try to post a few more  examples of this kind of stuff.

*********************************************************************************


"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."


-- Thomas Pynchon

Sunday, August 21, 2011

What Never To Sing At A Nursing Home

Since my hip surgery, I guess I’ve become more sympathetic to and have developed an increased awareness towards those who are not as well off as me, health wise -- the elderly, the infirm, those recovering from an illness or injury, etc. -- in other words, those who for one reason or another are currently confined to a nursing home or senior living residence.  And one of my goals has been to try and offer some sort of diversion and entertainment for those folks, by bringing whatever singing and guitar-playing talents (skills? abilities? self-delusions of competence?) I may possess to that group, who from all reports really appreciate that someone will take the time to give them a break from their worries and tedium. Now I am by no means any type of virtuoso or musical prodigy -- I’ll never be mistaken for Clapton, Eddie Van Halen, or Roger McGuinn. But I can get by fairly well and I have a friend who does play such facilities, and though it doesn’t command much money, it seems to be a very fulfilling and worthwhile endeavor.

Unfortunately, while planning all this, I realized early on that if you don’t perform the right stuff, all your good intentions may completely go for naught, when in the course of believing that you’re entertaining them, you’re actually instilling fear and anxiety in those poor souls regarding their own suffering and mortality -- plus I hear metal walkers and half-gallon jugs full of prune juice can really hurt when rhey hit you after being thrown in anger at high velocity.  And so, after exhaustive and intensive research (meaning I talked to all three of my family members over 80 years old) I came up with a list of the top 10 songs that (should you ever be in a position to do so) you must NEVER sing at nursing homes or senior living facilities -- or if you do, make sure a defibrillator and a riot shield are part of the gear you bring with you:

Top Ten Worst Songs To Sing at a Nursing or Retirement Home:

(10)  STAYIN' ALIVE -- The Bee Gees

(9) THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE -- The Moody Blues

(8) NEEDLES AND PINS -- The Searchers

(7) SPIRIT IN THE SKY -- Norman Greenbaum

(6) HELP! (subtitled "I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up") -- The Beatles

(5) EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE -- The Police

(4) AND WHEN I DIE -- Blood Sweat & Tears

(3)  DON'T FEAR THE REAPER -- Blue Oyster Cult

(2) HIGHWAY TO HELL -- AC/DC

And the Number One Worst Song to Sing at a Nursing or Retirement Home.....

KNOCKIN' ON HEAVEN'S DOOR -- Bob Dylan

Wish me luck -- I’d hate to be the victim of reverse elder abuse.

*********************************************************************************

"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."

-- Thomas Pynchon

Sunday, August 7, 2011

My Ready-made Pro Football Hall Of Fame Induction Speech



I watched some of the induction ceremony last night from the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, which led me to realize that if worn and weary cliche-ridden acceptance speeches are suddenly upon us, could football be far behind?

While I congratulate the new inductees (and believe me, some of my idols over the years have deservedly been so honored), after a while I realized that most of these speeches all pretty much have the same structure, and that you can break them down into several main themes -- and the particular details can just be plugged in in the appropriate spots. So with that in mind, and for the benefit of any future Hall Of Fame inductees (you can send the check directly to me), I now offer a ready made Pro Football Hall Of Fame induction speech:

“Fans, friends, family, fellow inductees, and members of the Hall: Thank you for this warm reception. To say that I am [a. honored / b. humbled / c. honored AND humbled / d. humbled and honored / e. still recovering from the hangover after our all-night drinking bash following the banquet] would be an understatement. I stand here before you, having a difficult time expressing my feelings and emotions [a. over this honor / b. over this ceremony / c. over the fact that right now, I can't even remember why the hell I'm standing here in the first place].

“My journey to Canton has not been an easy one for someone who started out as a poor [a. white man / b. black man / c. biracial man / d. biracial man who was born in either Hawaii or Kenya, I'm not sure which]. There were many times during the early years of my career as I was shuttled from one city to another such as [a. Detroit / b. Buffalo / c. Cincinnati / d. several arena football teams and a women's Roller Derby league] that I wasn't sure I'd made the right decision, and there were many times that I thought I might be running out of [a. options / b.  cities / c. performance-enhancing steroids]. But in the end it was all worth it, as the honor you have bestowed on me tonight has taught me that even a man of my modest [a. talents / b. perseverance / c. immunity to pain -- one side effect of the steroids] can reach the pinnacle of his profession.

“One person I need to single out is my dear mother. Going all the way back to my high school days, she was always there to [a. encourage me that I'd definitely succeed / b. encourage me that I might succeed / c. suggest that maybe I'd succeed / d. wish she'd paid for violin lessons instead]. But through it all, I know that despite wherever my love of football might take me, she'd always be there to [a. offer her love / b. offer her advice / c. criticize my wardrobe / d. expect to have the check from me to cover the mortgage payment on her condo within two days after each game].

“Nowadays, as I look back on my career from the position of being the [a. CEO of my own company / b. hedge fund manager of the financial institution that's currently foreclosing on your house / c. night attendant at a convenience store / d. greeter at my local Walmart] I realize that football has taught me lessons that I can put to good use for life in general. Oh sure, there were some bumpy spots in the road along the way, such as [a. the DUI arrests / b. being caught in a motel room in Terre Haute, Indiana with two underage females / c. the suspensions for testing positive for banned substances / d. the concealed weapons charge / e. my part in the Bountygate scandal -- hey, my name on the check doesn't prove a thing; just ask my agent, my lawyer, and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader whose account I laundered it through], but in the end, I know that all my experiences have made me [a. a better person / b. an older but wiser person / c. a very bitter, disgruntled, short-fused person – don't EVER try to cut in line in front of me at the checkout at Kroger's!].

"And of course, there was always the fans. What can I say about our fans? It seems they were always there, regardless of how good or bad I played. I know that in several cities I played in, I could freely walk down the street the day after a game, and literally dozens of people would come up to me and [a. ask me for an autograph / b. ask me for money / c. beat the crap out of me after I dropped the pass against the Giants which would have won the game and put us into the Super Bowl]. Thank you, fans! I'll never forget you and [a. the love you showed me / b. the loyalty you showed me / c. the scars on my back after one of you drove over me in your Hummer following the aforementioned dropped pass].

"And I certainly can't forget my coaches and teammates.  If I wanted to hand-pick a group of guys to to play with, I couldn't have chosen a better bunch. We went through so much together. Such a close-knit, happy group! It still seems like just yesterday that some of you were [a. hoisting me on your shoulders / b. pantsing me as we ran out onto the field that day against the Falcons / c. running me over me in a Lincoln Navigator after the game against the Giants].

“Finally, last, but certainly not least I have to thank [a. my wife / b. my second wife / c. my third wife / d. my fourth wife / e. all four of my wives / f. my divorce attorney / g. my girlfriend]. I couldn't have made this journey over my fifteen-year career with out the support of [a. her / b. them / c. my marriage counselor / d. the law firm of Finkelfuss, Snootch & Kapoo]. I just hope that someday,  I can somehow pay back that love and support by [a. buying us a home in Tahoe / b. spending a week at Disney World / c. not having to move in with my mother].

“In closing, I would just like to paraphrase the words of the immortal Vince Lombardi, who said 'Winning isn't everything, it's the ONLY thing.' Considering how many times during my career my nose had to be moved back to the center of my face, I can honestly say: Winning isn't everything, it's the UGLY thing.

“Thank you and God Bless.”


*****************************************************************************************

"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."
                                                   
                                                    -- Thomas Pynchon




Tuesday, July 26, 2011

My Search For The Most Uninteresting Man In The World

OK, by now I’m starting to get a little aggravated, if not actually creeped out by those Dos Equis commercials featuring an actor named Jonathan Goldsmith as “The Most Interesting Man In The World.” I guess he won the part by default since neither Fernando Lamas or Ricardo Montalban were available, both of them being long dead….

Since what’s being advertised is nothing more than a common beer, the ad guys obviously thought it best to play up their product by having it be endorsed by “the most interesting man in the world,” a man who (according to the commercials) can affect the fabric of our existence in some of the following ways:

When in Rome, they do as he does…

His words carry weight that would break a less interesting man’s jaw…

He’s won trophies for his game face alone…

If he were to pat you on the back you would list it on your resume…
[hey, Jenny McCarthy actually did that to me! Check my resume, line 28]

Both sides of his pillow are cool…

He has dissected frogs that are alive and happy to this day…
[he obviously never attended a 10th grade biology class]

Well, considering that I will probably never cross paths with this most interesting and unique of men (in fact I doubt if any of us ever will, unless you’re his agent, his girlfriend or the concierge at the hotel in Vegas where he likes to drop half a mil or so three or four times a year), I thought it might be fun to start a search for someone who’d be much easier to locate -- hence, I’m initiating my pursuit of “The Most UNinteresting Man In The World" (and all you smartasses who know me, I don't want to hear any "Hey Tom, why don't you just look in the mirror?" crap!)...

First off, I have to determine what characteristics would define such a man -- and I came up with a few parameters with which to begin:

His modest studio apartment located in the geographical center of Nebraska is decorated in a tasteful grey on grey theme…

At the age of 50, he still wears Banlon polo shirts that his mother gave him for his 21st birthday…

He likes to while away his spare hours playing checkers with himself, just so he can see how high he can make the red stacks versus the black stacks and vice versa…

He once had his jaw broken by a 2 1/2 foot tall circus clown…


His idea of a gourmet sandwich is peanut butter and jelly with a slice of American cheese on white bread...

He thinks that WHEEL OF FORTUNE is the most intellectually stimulating show on TV…

As soon as his black Chevy Impala reaches exactly the 45,000 mile mark on exactly its third anniversary, he trades it in on another black Chevy Impala…

The next time his rotary phone malfunctions, he’s committed himself to thinking about stepping up to one of those new pushbutton types…

When he sleeps, he doesn’t use a pillow, preferring instead a fluffed up Hefty kitchen trashbag full of material that's oozed out of the cushions of his sofa…

He’s convinced that Mrs. Garrett from THE FACTS OF LIFE is the sexiest woman on the face of the Earth…

His idea of social networking is calling his neighbors and asking if they remember that he lives next door to them…

He doesn’t own a computer, preferring to get all his news and information from reading the headlines on the newspaper in the window of the vending machine down the street…

The first time he ever tried to use an ATM, he caught his hand in a slot and nearly deposited himself to death…

He thinks that guy on TV doing the “Dos Equis” commercials is actually endorsing something called “Those Ickys”…

Well, that’s a start… Any further suggestions? Worse yet, any of these hit eerily close to home? (you might want to think about getting a life, then)…


Stay thirsty, my friends... And stay away from the geographical center of Nebraska...


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"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."    

                                                  -- Thomas Pynchon


Wednesday, June 29, 2011

What Is Hip

Sorry it's taken me so long to post this.   The reason is, I'm contemplating running for Congress and I've been busy tweeting lewd photos of myself to underage females.

Actually, what's taken me so long is my hip – I had hip replacement surgery in March to replace what one of my surgeon's assistants said was “The worst looking I've ever seen.” Well, at least I'm unique. But for the last eight months or so you could have mistaken me for Hugh Laurie with the cane – but without his paycheck.

So early this year I decided to take the plunge and scheduled the surgery for March. They took me in the same morning I was admitted (just like my barbershop, eight operating tables, no waiting). And two and a half hours later – voila! I couldn't walk. Well, besides loading me with  stuff  that numbed me from the nipples down, thereby rendering me paralyzed, I probably couldn't crawl either.

No big deal. The next day they had me up and walking – I figured that at this pace, what they were saying behind my back was “Let's get his ass outta here as soon as possible and then make him walk home.” To my great relief, I did go home in a car. They only made me walk the five flights down to the main floor and through the lobby – without telling me that I forgot to put on pants.

The only hiccup came on the morning I was supposed to leave. I passed out in the bathroom while I was getting cleaned up and ready to go home. When I came to, I was surrounded by six hotties wearing nurses uniforms with their hands all over me. I thought I had died and woken up in my favorite skin flick, DEBBIE DOES ORTHOPEDICS (in it, Debbie's not only double-jointed, she's artificially double-jointed -- ever see somone having sex while contorted like a pretzel and at the same time making noises like a squeaky door hinge? I have).  I assessed the situation and suggested to the ladies “What say we continue with this back at my place?”

Anyway, about the hip itself. During the surgery, when I would have been expected to be fully sedated and asleep, apparently whatever they gave me had all the power of a watered down gin and tonic, and it kept me just enough awake to hear and see what was going on during the surgery. The high point came when I heard the doctor fitting the new titanium hip into place – with a hammer. CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! – and it was in. I thought “My God, they've taken out my old hip and replaced it with a wheel cover from a 1993 Pontiac Grand Am – and he's securing it with a tire iron!” Fortunately, the X-rays proved otherwise.

One question that came up was: What do they do with the top of the thigh bone  that they have to remove?  Well, I couldn't tell you for sure myself,  but based on the fact that  the broth they gave me for lunch the next day had a really funny taste, I could venture a guess that might not prove to be too far wrong...

The recovery period lasted three months, and if you'd seen the list of stuff I was restricted from doing during those 90 days, you probably would have said to yourself "Why didn't they just euthanize the poor guy while he was there on the operating table?"   Among other things,  I couldn't bend my leg at the hip more than 90 degrees, couldn't cross my legs, couldn't drive, and had to use an elevated commode when I when to the bathroom --  and boy, what better way to lose all sense of respect and proper demeanor when you have to hobble into the bathroom, park your walker in front of you, lower yourself down, and pray that this time you don't squeeze something that forces all the internal sutures to explode; and not to to be any more crude about the whole ordeal than you can probably already guess it is, but do you know what it sounds like when one of those babies hits the water from over a foot above sea level? For three months, whenever I had a bowel movement I felt like the pilot of an F-16 dropping cluster bombs on Kabul, Afghanistan. The words “Holy Crap!” took on a whole new meaning for me.

But there are plenty of good things that have come out of it. I can finally walk again – without a cane – and unfortunately, without Hugh Laurie's paycheck, still. On the other hand, I started thinking that with a new hip,  a new beginning as it were, perhaps I could start raising my sense of self-esteem a measure or two by comparing myself to others who have had the same procedure done -- like Billy Joel for instance. And once I started to think about it, I realized how eerily similar his life and mine have been:

Billy Joel had a hip replacement; I had a hip replacement...

Billy Joel was once married to a top international supermodel; I had a hip replacement...

For nearly 35 years, Billy Joel has entertained people around the world and sold millions of records and CDs; I had a hip replacement...

Billy Joel lives in a large private estate on Long Island; ...yeah, you got it – hip replacement....

Billy Joel has won six Grammys; .... hip....

Billy Joel once had – you know, come to think of it,  Billy Joel had a double hip replacement. I only had one done... so maybe our lives aren't so similar after all...

Well, enough... The only thing I can add is that when you're cooped up recuperating from such an ordeal for as long as I was, your mind starts to come up with some strange things, a few of which I'd like to share with you:

Q: How many members of the Osmond Family does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None – they're so bright and perky that they can light up a room all by themselves!!!

Newt Gingrich's take on gay marriage: “I believe that marriage is an institution that should be between a man and a woman.... And a man and another woman... And a man and another woman....”

Q: What do you call a wild west lawman who belongs to a senior citizens' organization?
A: WYATT AARP

A philosophical musing:
“I think, therefore I am” – René Descartes
I drink, therefore I am” – David Hasselhoff
I stink, therefore I am” Pepé Le Pew

I really feel sorry for the Dodgers, one of the premier franchises in Major League Baseball.  Owner Frank McCourt has probably managed to  squeeze more money out of that team than Alyssa Milano....

Hey, I never said they were funny -- I just said they were strange...  Thank God I can finally get out of the house now....