Worst Of Me

As I pulled on the sweater Ava bought for me I doubled over in pain. She stepped toward me, putting her right hand on neck, massaging my shoulder.

"Caleb, sit down and take these."

Ava leaned me against the parking ballard and put two pills in my right hand.

"I think I've had enough today. I can barely see straight."

Ava smiled and put her hands on my face, gently.

"They're for nausea. You have sedatives and anxiety medication in your system. You are also suffering from metallic poisoning. Those pills will keep you from throwing up or feeling vertigo."

The way she looked at me alternated from opportunity to passion. Until we got to New York I was going to have to humor her. I took the medicine.

We didn't speak to each other as we hurried through ticket check, security and found our terminal. With ten minutes before the flight boarded, we sat by ourselves in the corner. Ava picked up her small, black handbag and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

"I've become a coffee addict over the past few years. Did you ever develop a taste for it?"

Sourfaced, I shook my head no.

"Caleb, I sedated you so I could put the counter on your side. The only other way to see how much metal you had coursing through your body was exploratory surgery. We didn't have time for that. I'm trying to help you but this attitude is getting us nowhere. In less than 24 hours, you will either feel a lot better, and have a lead on getting a new heart from Dr, Cluber, or you'll know how long you have to live. I swear to you I will do everything I can to see that either of those options happen. Plus we get to spend time together. Admit it, it's not so bad."

I'd heard that a medical degree gives the person license to be an arrogant jerk.

"Av, I have a wife I am in love with, three daughters who need me, and at least 5 other people in as bad of shape as I am. None of those people are being serviced right now. I'd rather get on a plane with an terrorist cell member than you. I'll take a diet Dr. Pepper."

Ava's dark blue eyes grew black as she furrowed her brows and leaned into my face, just a couple of inches away. I thought she was going to spit in my face.

"I've had it with your snobbiness. I am your only hope. It's time for you to get that! Any other doctor would deny that you had robotic parts inside your body and that you're dying. You're dying Caleb! Stop moping around like a little girl. That's I couldn't stand about you when we dated. You always held me to some impossible standard, then got snotty and mean when I disappointed you. Dr. Cluber and Dr. Bulas gave you life. Now, I'm going to save it. So stop being an ungrateful! I'm getting you a water. Having soda on your stomach with all the meds in you will made you sick."

I slept through the plane flight. I needed some communication distance from Ava. I woke up once and saw her typing on her Iphone. I briefly wondered if the person on the other end of the message was Anson Cluber, Oliver Wicks, Breann, or my wife.

Ava and I were inside the terminal before we spoke.

"Av, I need to hit the restroom, then call home."

She had relaxed and smiled.

"Yeah, me too. I like it when you call me Av. It reminds me of things."

I ignored her and dialed Shane. She didn't answer so I called my oldest daughter.

"Hey are you okay? Mom's freaking out. How sick are you?"

At 15, Juliet was smarter than I was at that age. I didn't even bother to tell her something sugar coated.

"It's my heart sweetie. There's a doctor in New York who can help me. We're on our way to see him. Tell your mom I'll call her in a couple of hours. I love you."

Ava walked over.

"Caleb, Dr. Oliver Wicks is waiting for us at Lenox Hill Hospital. I assume you've checked in with Breann. He has everything set. Hopefully in about an hour or so you and her will be better."

She tried to make small talk during the cab ride. I listened as she whined about her husband. He was in beverage sales to hotels and bars. My cynicism suspected infidelity. I'm the only fool who wouldn't cheat on Ava.

I saw Breann waiting by the Emergency Room entrance as our cab arrived. A pale and shaken Breann spoke first.

"Hey, you made it. You look like hell."

I laughed.

"Yeah, so do you. Hey, so, Breann, this is Dr. Ava Pennington. We used to know each other. Now she just sedates me, kidnaps me, and takes me on adventures."

Breann squeezed her face tightly and reluctantly extended her hand. I chuckled to myself, thinking this was one blonde she wasn't going to be into in any way.

"Hello, Breann. I'm guessing you've had a chance to experience Caleb's sarcastic personality in short time. It's nice to meet you. Hopefully I can help you feel better soon."

We walked into the hospital and Breann leaned into me.

"Wow. I hate her a lot. It's going to take a lot of work for me to keep your wife from having you sleep in the backyard."

I smiled, felt loved by Breann's cattiness, and leaned toward her.

"Ava's a necessary evil. She's the hip bone connected to the Anson Cluber thighbone."

Breann rolled her eyes as Ava opened the door to an large exam room on the basement floor. A small man wearing round glasses and white surgical gloves was laying medical instruments on a stainless steel table.

"Hi Oliver, we're ready."

Breann and I looked at each other then at the the doctors suspiciously.

This is another episode of a story I am writing. The other entries are here:

1) Synchronicity
2) Personality Crisis
3) Serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) The House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience
14) Sympathy for the Devil
15) Tomorrow, The Green Grass
16) Possession
17) Numb
18)
http://lance-myblogcanbeatupyourblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/cage.html

Thanks for keeping up with the story.


Today's song is something that has played in my head on and off while writing this story. It was mentioned by a couple of readers as well. Here's Foo Fighter's Best of You...

The Magna Carta of Music Snobbery

Take a look around this site. You see a lot of youtube music videos, talk about music, and pop culture references involving music. After my family and maybe my writing, music is what matters to me the most.

Along with my weirdness and robot-human hybrid inanity, I make everything harder than it should be. I can't just like music. I have to love it, own it, worship it, and organize it. As a kid, I would categorize my 45s (I'm old), albums and cassettes by genre, style, or mood. I haven't changed much. When I went to college I discovered punk music. It metamorphized me into what you peasants call a music snob.

I was lied to as a kid. By the time I was 16, I was to believe that Van Halen was the greastest rock and roll band of all time. I was misguided. I found The Clash, The Ramones, The Damned, The Sex Pistols, The New York Dolls and suddenly I realized I had to be better at choosing my music.

A few years ago, when I started becoming involved with Al Gore's internet, I had a music blog on myspace. Before that social media became the crack den of viral communication, I wrote music reviews, concert reviews, and conencted with other music fans/journalists. The tie that binded most of us was our snobbery.

I get asked quite often, "what do you think of this band or artist?" and "why do you hate this band and like this other band". The truth is I listen to the same stuff everyone listens too, I'm just weird about what I like and what I despise. What follows, are a set of rules or laws. I call it the Magna Carta of Music Snobbery.

1) Liking Van Halen is still ok. Liking anything Van Halen after Diamond David Lee Roth is not ok. Dave is Halen. This isn't arguable. Sammy Hagar is a nice man who writes decent songs of his own and makes a fine tequila. I don't acknowledge his time with the Vna Halen brothers.

2) Aerosmith ended after they kicked heroin. It's ok to dig Joe Perry solo. That band is a fraud after 1986.

3) Journey, Bon Jovi, The Eagles, Nickelback are the four horsemen of the musical apocalypse. They represent formulaic rock music made for crass comemrcial reasons with vaccous lyrics and no heart. We can argue other bad bands, but those four are the worst. Period.

4) The Red Hot Chili Peppers are overrated. Under the Bridge is not a great song, it's sap.

5) R.E.M. is really good but they're not great. At one point they were underrated - mid 80s/I.R.S. records era, then overrated - Monster album, then rated about right - where they are now. Husker Du, Let's Active, The Replacements, and The Alarm were all better symbols of the 1980s college music era.

6) Punk music is great because of it's point and approach. Stripping away the pretensions of rock and roll is a good thing. Outcasts starting punk bands in their garage is the spirit of music. This is why music snobs dig punk.

7) Nirvana is more important than good. I like their music more than the average music snob. I think Kurt Cobain was ahead of his time and possibly John Lennon-esque. Nirvana breaking the seal on grunge, the Northwest music scene, and helping hammer the death nail of hair metal are the reasons they should be celebrated. We can argue their artistic contributions.

8) Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville is NOT a song by song answer to the Rolling Stones Exile on Main Street. It is, however, the best low fi rock record of the 1990s. Liz shatters the myth that women can't write good anthems. Go listen to Never Said. Thank me later.

9) The Rolling Stones should be judged for their whole career, not just the late 60s and early 70s when they were the most awesome and dangerous band on the planet. Mick and Keith were great songwriters. They're not anymore.

10) Led Zepplin belongs in anyone's top five greatest band list. I don't care if they're 5 or 1 or in between those numbers, they belong. They created the Hard Rock/Metal genre along with Black Sabbath. They mastered the art of the concept album. They also changed the rules of the game as far as how rock bands are compensated for their live shows and thus how music is recorded.

11) Paul Westerberg is a genius. So is Elvis Costello. I don't have to explain either man to anyone. Just listen to their records.

12) Bob Dylan's voice is immaterial to his greatness. He made popular music literate, political, well meaning, and artful. He wins. Also, his version of All Along The Watchtower is better than Jimi Hendrix. It's Bob's song. Get over it.

13) After the Black album, Metallica doesn't exist. Some snobs will tell you this is the case after Master of Puppets, but I dig And Justice for All and some Black album songs.

14) Digital downloading is not only ok, it's in the spirit of how most reasonable artists view their creations. Artists make very little on teh sale of their Cds. They make the majority of their money on merchandise, licensing, live show take, and endorsements. There is no such thing as stealing their music. It's sampling their songs, then forming a fan relationship with said artist.

15) Reality shows featuring music are garbage. American idol goes against everything art is supposed to be. You can't "create" stars. Stars create themselves.

16) Pop music doesn't suck. Just most of it.

17) It's ok to sing anything you want at a kareoke bar. Unless you are accompanied by a live band, then, you better sing something awesome and music snob approved or you will burn in hell with Vanilla Ice and The Bay City Rollers.

18) If you are in Memphis, Savannah, downtown New York City, a coffee house in Seattle or anywhere with music in the streets and you don't stop and listen to musicians pouring their hearts out for spare change, you have no soul. Bar bands and itinerant musicans are the liveblood or good music. Listen to them and Tip them.

19) Motown music is awesome. But it belongs in the 1960s and 1970s. Current artists remaking those songs are lazy and second rate.

20) Thriller is very overrated. So is most of Michael Jackson's catalog. Off The Wall is a good record, after that, his stuff is mostly average. He was a better performer than songwriter and producer.

21) If you can't quote all of the dialogue from High Fidelity (the music snob's Citizen Kane), then you aren't a true music fan.

22) John Lennon is the only Beatle who made decent solo records. Away from The Beatles, most of Paul, george, and Ringo's stuff is lousy. Yoko Ono did not break up The Beatles. The Beatles broke up the Beatles because they all knew Paul was going to write Silly Little Love Songs.

23) Arguing about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is only permitted if an artist is not in. That institution is a Jann Wenner butt kissing fest and largely unimportant.

24) KISS belongs in the rock and roll Hall of Fame.

25) Country music before the year 1980 is probably ok. After that, you need help. Don't do it.

26) Your record collection is only as good as the new CD that no one else has heard yet.

These laws are fluid. I have a good music journalist friend, Chuck who doesn't like The Beatles. People's tastes are all over the place.I get asked about pop music a lot. I like Christina Aquilera, Rihanna, Matchbox Twenty, Counting Crows, Rob Thomas (solo), Katy Perry's Waking up in Vegas, Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl, and certain 70s, 80s, and 90s pop songs like Duncan Sheik's Barely Breathing.

The two music sites I visit A LOT are

http://www.deadjournalist.com - I occasionally write there. Let me know and I'll direct you to my posts. The site owner, Chuck aka @_deadjournalist on teh twitterz is a good dude.

http://www.musicsnobbery.com - He does a great job. Dude sees a lot of shows, and keeps new music as the focus.


Bottom line is a love music and listen to a lot of it. Whether it's the new CDs by The Strokes, Foo Fighters, Smith Westerns, Yuck, MAKEOUT! or older stuff. I am listening to it all the time.

Today's song is from an album, Let It Be, and a band, The Replacements, that any music lover and/or snob should own and listen. Here's I Will Dare. Play it loud.

Cage

My loopy state, lack of luggage, and blood stained shirt made me suspicious. I stayed outside in the parking deck while Ava went inside the airport and bought clothes and sundry items. I took the last 3 pain relievers, then texted Breann updates.

I took off my shirt and she bathed the wound from the geiger-muller counter with iodine solution while I cringed.

"Sorry about that. So we're in this thing together the right way, Caleb?"

I rolled my eyes and looked at a police car a hundred feet away.

"Ava, there's no right way to do this."

Another story episode featuring the one word prompt BATHED from http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ 's 100 word challenge. Please visit velvet's site.She hosts some talented people. The other story episodes are here:

1) Synchronicity
2) Personality Crisis
3) Serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) The House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience
14) Sympathy for the Devil
15) Tomorrow, The Green Grass
16) Possession
17) Numb

Thanks for keeping up with the story.

Today's song seemed to fit the post lyrically and sonically. Soundgarden's Rusty Cage is about being in a doomed relationship. It also rocks hard. I'm in a mood. Get your flannel out and start banging your head. Here's Rusty Cage....

Malcolm, Marvin & Girls In Pretty Dresses

My life revolves around girls in pretty dresses. Either my wife and daughters are attired for some event or their friends. Tonight I sat in a high school theatre watching Tay receive an award for her stellar work on the school yearbook. A few minutes later something caught my attention so profound, I was actually able to pay attention to someone and something other than my beautiful daughter's achievement.

My favorite book may surprise you. As much as I admire Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, Jonathan Franzen, and F. Scott Fitzgerald an book written by a great man about himself in the turbulent 1960s is the only book to change the way I think.

Tay's high school was honoring their academic stars tonight. The class salutorian was a cute girl in a dark dress who was headed to the University of Pennsylvania after graduation next month. When her turn came to receive her salutorian honor, the principal listed her accomplishments. As a senior she has built a heck of a resume. I'm sure my daughter will match or surpass her in 3 years but tonight I was taken back by this young lady's high school career. Her favorite book is The Autobiography of Malcom X. Just when you think this world is doomed, you hear something like this and suddenly, you realize, there are young people out there who get it.

I first read Brother Malcolm tale told to Alex Haley when I was 19, and a sophomore in college. An English class I was taking required me to read something nonfiction that was American History related. I was knee deep in being contrarian and thought rocking something controversial like Malcolm X would be so punk rock to my professor, I would either get an easy A, or kicked out of class. This girl was reading this in high school, for fun, and calling it her favorite. I was impressed.

"I'm sure most everyone has either read this book or seen Spike Lee's excellent biopic, so we need not rehash the story too thoroughly.  Anyway, what matters are the essentials.  Malcolm Little was a street punk when he was exposed to the Nation of Islam in prison.  This exposure, and the racial pride and anger that went with it, lead him to educate himself and get involved with the Nation, where he became one of the most effective spokesmen and organizers.  A confrontational proponent of racial separatism and black self-reliance, during the Civil Rights struggle, he was yin to Martin Luther King's yang (or as I read somewhere, he was the Old Testament figure, King was a figure from the New)--the constant reminder to whites that if King's nonviolent methods failed to produce results, millions of righteously resentful young black men were waiting in the wings.  But, when Malcolm X made a hadj to Mecca, he discovered that there were Moslems of all races, worshipping together peacefully, and that racism played no part in traditional Islam.  And so, in the closing days of his life, he split from the Nation of Islam, adopting true Islamic beliefs and practices and earning the enmity of Nation leaders who had him assassinated.  The arc of this story, from the gutter, to a redemptive anger, to a cleansing understanding, to violent death, is like something from Greek myth or Shakespeare, but it is a uniquely American tragedy."

 The book changed my mind about prejudice (what a waste of time) and how I related to people who were not like me. If a man like Malcolm X could give his life for becoming enlightened, I could be open minded.

I hope Tay's high school salutorian (her name rhymes with Mistina) has great success with the next phase of her life. Most of all, I am proud that some kids, my daughter included, are ahead of the curve in their cultural education.

Tonight's ceremony made me more proud of my daughter. It also made me more comfortable with her future. We may be okay after all.

Today's song is a message filled one from the late great Marvin Gaye. The words mean as much today as they did when Marvin first sang this over 40 years ago. Here's What's Going On....

Numb

My eyes were bleary but I could make out the time on the round wooden clock over Ava's left shoulder. My kids would be home from school in less than thirty minutes. There was no i.v. in either of my arms and the oxygen tank wasn't being used. I felt dizzy, possibly drugged. Ava put my keys and cell phone in her jacket pocket and picked up her stethoscope.

"Caleb, rest would do wonders for you right now. They'll call soon. Then I'll take great care of you."

She seemed strange but comforting. I must have been drugged. I didn't feel like leaving the room even with her presence.

"My kids will be home soon, Ava. I'm off from work, so they're expecting me."

Ava patted the left pocket of her teal blazer, grimaced, then relaxed her broad shoulders and put her right hand on my chest.

"I took care of that for you. I texted your teenage daughter. I told her you were working. She texted back that she'd tell your wife. I even called her sweetheart. I guessed right on that one. You still call every woman you know sweetheart. I got a smiley face for that."

I was too dizzy and tired to be creeped out. Ava hadn't changed much; always in control. The song Bleed It Out by Linkin Park started playing. It stopped when Ava answered her cell phone. She walked toward the door and talked softy. I couldn't hear her conversation. Then I noticed a small, plastic contraption attached to my ribs. Pain shot through my waist and chest when I tried to get off the table. Ava saw me and walked toward me, then stiff armed me back where I was laying. She put up her left index finger and and scowled at me. I tried to remove the tiny machine attached to my side as the pain was unbearable. My skin began to rip and I screamed,

"Ava, what the hell is this thing?"

When I awoke, I was in Ava's car. I opened my eyes and saw the grey roof of a BMW. The seat belt was cutting into the side of my ribcage where the machine was and blood was staining my shirt. Ava reached over with her right hand and rubbed my chest.

"Please be okay, Caleb. I'm taking us to the airport. I can explain more once we get on the plane."

I was fuming with anger and reeling from the pain on my side, head, and chest.

"You'll explain everything now or I'll put this car in a ditch and we'll both need a doctor!"

Ava breathed in deeply and pulled over to a shoulder in the road. I had found the seat adustment and was sitting straight. From what I could recognize, we were in downtown Atlanta, maybe 10 miles from the airport.

"Caleb, that's a geiger-muller counter on your abdomen. It's measuring metalllics and other foreign objects in your body and thus diagnosing how much poison or radiation you have inside of you due to the side effects of the heart you have implanted. There's damage to your nervous system too. I don't know how much. We have to get to New York tonight. There's a doctor there, Oliver Wicks, that can buy you some time until we can get through to Dr. Cluber. We'll buy you a new shirt and overnight stuff when we get to the airport"

Stunned and still dizzy, I just want to get my bearings and try to figure out how to make the most of this situation. I look at the console and see it's 3:15pm. My kids are home.

"I checked plane flights to New York earlier today. I know there's a 4:35pm. I assume that's the one we're taking. We need to get there, start driving.

We're silent for a few minutes and I feel my cell phone in her jacket pocket. I put my hand in and take it out. She doesn't stop me.

"Text them, Caleb. If you call them, they'll know you're sedated and they'll worry. Tell them you're working or tell them something else. Breann Lucos called and texted. I answered her and she's meeting us at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York at 7:00pm tonight. I'll make sure she's taken care of too. You have my word. But we need to start getting smart about things. This is Anson Cluber and if he is still around, Connor Bulas' game. We have to play by their rules or I'll lose you and you'll lose Breann and others. Everything's riding on this trip to see Wicks. Watching your kids grow up, holidays with the family, seeing the Braves win a World Series; none of it is possible if you don't go along with me right now. I'll take care of you, okay, Caleb?"

She stares at me with her dark blue eyes. I know she's keeping something from me. She always was.

I sent a text to my wife that also went to Breann, accidently.

"I'm really sick. I'll explain more later. Trust me, I love you."

I dropped the phone in my lap in exhaustion. I looked at Ava and she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. At the same time, we seemed numb.

This is post 200 for My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. It's another story episode. The other entries are here:

1) Synchronicity
2) Personality Crisis
3) Serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) The House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience
14) Sympathy for the Devil
15) Tomorrow, The Green Grass
16) Possession

I hope you are digging the story. For those of you who have been around for most if not all of the 200 posts, thank you. This post is also associated with the good people at http://www.studiothirtyplus.com/ / @studio30plus  from a prompt of HOLIDAYS WITH THE FAMILY.

Today's song is a guilty pleasure of mine. Most music snobs like me make fun of Linkin Park but I own Minutes To Midnight and Metora. The latter contains the song Numb. I was listening to it while I wrote this and it seemed to agree with Caleb's state of mind during this episode.Here's L Park's Numb;

I Am The Egg Man

Easter is my second favorite Holiday. It's grossly underrated. Thanksgiving, Halloween (what a joke), and July 4th (I love my country but, come on) and get a lot of publicity but for my cash, Easter is a good runner up to Christmas.

Let's break down the attributes of Easter. The religious significance is pretty awesome, if you're Christian, as I am. Jesus was crucified late in the week, dies on Friday. Then three days later, on Easter Sunday, he rises, does his business and becomes deified. Not bad.

Now, the rest of the holiday measures like this. The candy intake and distribution is equal too if not greater than Halloween. Families gather for lunch or dinner, just like Thanksgiving. The myth master is a large Bunny, that leaves Easter basket for kids containing everything from eggs to ipods gift cards. When you throw in egg hunts and professional sports games like the NBA playoffs, the Stanley Cup hockey games and major league baseball. You have a holiday that only bows only to the King of them all, Christmas.

My family tradition is really interesting. My dad's parents have hosted an easter egg hunt since the sixties. It really took off after their kids - my dad, his brother and sister, started having kids in the seventies. There is a huge lunch, likely featuring the finest strawberry cake you've ever tasted, then the Egg Hunt which is hotly contested, and then some family fellowship.

Tomorrow, Bobina, Tay, Goose, and I (Bug is with her other family this year), will attend church services in the morning, then head over to my grandparents. Later in the afternoon, my mother in law, sister in law and niece will come over to our house for a small egg hunt, and some steaks on the grill.

My family really seems to come together at Christmas and Easter. The religious connotations may have something to do with it, but I have always appreciated those two holidays because it brings my big family, new and old, together.

My next post will be number 200. This blog will have it's 1 year birthday in about two and  a half weeks. Had someone told me I would make 200 posts in a year I would have given them some of my anxiety meds. Post 200 will be another story episode, somewhere in the neighborhood of 700 words. Ava is about to rock Caleb's world, and not in the good way.

Until then, enjoy your family and eat your self silly. I will attempt to devour my weight in Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and boiled eggs. Happy Easter.

Today's song was a battle of my own wits. I wanted to use Lose Yourself by Eminem. It features his character from 8 Mile, Rabbit, and it's about determination. Then I realized I had been into the Beatles again and they were ina  tie with Radiohead and Led Zepplin for my second favorite band of all time. With Easter being my second favorite holiday, the Beatles should get a crack at the theme song. Here's John, Paul, George, and Ringo singing about something other than Easter but doing it in a way that little kids would think differently. I am the egg man, coo coo ca choo....I AM THE WALRUS

Possession

Weaving through traffic, I almost hit a dumptruck. I was sweating profusely. My image in my mirror was sickly. The distance from the courthouse to the hospital was 2 miles. I was halfway there. I texted her.

"Meet me in the emergency room, I need you".

I parked, jumped from my SUV, and tried to run to the entrance.

The next thing I saw was Ava standing over me. She had control of the room.

"Everyone thinks you're fluish and panic attacked, but I'm monitoring your heart. I'm waiting on a call from Dr. Cluber's office to proceed. You're mine for now."


The is another episode of a story I'm writing using Velvet Verbosity 's 100 word challenge . My other stories entries are here:

1) Synchronicity
2) Personality Crisis
3) Serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) The House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience
14) Sympathy for the Devil
15) Tomorrow, The Green Grass

I've been on a mid 90s alternative chick rocker kick lately. Today's song is Sarah Maclachlan's Posession. It's what was playing in my head and on my computer last night when I imagined this 100 words. It seems to fit Ava's character. This should please my Canadian readers, eh?

Tomorrow, The Green Grass

Freshly cut grass jumped on my sneakers as I entered the City Courthouse grounds. A commercial landscaping crew was finishing work. The yellow caution tape would keep most people away, but I had privilege. I tried to get the attention of the grass cutter by waving my hand if front of him. He turned off the mower.


"Hey Van. Where's dad?"


Van Munroe, my dad's business partner for 27 years, had known me all my life.


"Hayyeb Caleb! Get a rake and do some real work like you used to. I'll buy ya a co cola when we're done."


I declined.


"I'm good, Van Man. You don't have any left handed rakes. I looked. I really need to talk to your lazy partner. I know he's around, I saw his truck next door."


Van took off his University of Georgia Southern baseball cap, wiped his sweat glazed bald head and sighed.


"He's around the side of the courthouse talking to that lawyer friend of his. He seems preoccupied today. Something's up. I just don't wanna know, you know?"


My dad usually wasn't about secrets. With the revelations about my birth and medical conditions combined with his peculiarity today, I felt scared.


I walked a few hundred feet through the newly layed rock and sand lining the manicured estate. A pebble got caught in my shoe near the cuff of my jeans. I stopped to remove it, when my dad spoke.


"Hey son! How was New York? Did you come to help? Van and I are finishing the Courthouse area ourselves, then heading over to the Courthouse cafeteria."


The dumb grin gave him away. He was expecting me.


"We need to talk pop, alone. New York was crazy, I have a feeling you know why. Tell me about September 9th, 1970. Try to be thorough this time."


Whenever my dad was stressed or uncomfortable he stammered, rubbed his temples, and started talking baseball.


"The Yankees were out of town while you were there, huh? Guess you watched the Braves on the hotel tv. Derek Lowe pitched good. Brian McCann had 3 doubles day before yesterday."


Fed up and exhausted, I just decided to kick the respect I had for my father aside and get to the point. I was dying to know, literally.


"Tell me about the day I was born, dad. It's important! Tell me about Anson Cluber and Connor Bulas!"


My anger was building, my fever was spiking while my dad was sweating. It was a hot day.


"Caleb, it's all really complicated. Your mom said she got a phone call from her doctor. I know you have been asking questions. Let's go to the courthouse cafeteria. I'm starving. You look weak."


We walked inside, got some sandwiches and sat down at the brown metal tables. I looked at a man I admired every day of my life. He worked so hard to help me get into college. He raised me and my two sisters lovingly. Now, I saw someone with a weight on him. He deserved a velvet glove, not the iron fist I had inside me.


"Dad, do you know Spencer Johnson?"


He looked me blankly then tried to make a joke.


"Who did he play for?"

I was becoming irritated again.


"He's not a ball player, he's an author. He wrote self help books. I don't read them because self help books are crap, but you know the book Gramma has on her bathroom shelf, Who Moved My Cheese?"


My dad laughed.


"Yeah. I know that one. I laugh at that every time I'm over there."


I smirked and thought briefly about my daughters asking my Grandmother why she had a book about Mickey Mouse in her potty.


"Yeah me too. Look, Spencer Johnson has this quote. 'Integrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people' . Right now, I need for you tell me what happened when mom had me. I found out some things in New York that don't match the story you guys told me growing up. I'm not judging you. I'm trying to save my life and the lives of others."


The shock on my dad's face was impressive. He seemed to be floored by my words. He rubbed his forehead and tried to find the words.


"Your life, son? What's wrong? It's your heart isn't it?"


I nodded in agreement.


"It was a confusing experience, Caleb. Your mom got sick in the hospital. Her blood pressure shot up, your heart stopped beating. Then they delivered you."


He began to tear up. I did to. I put my right hand on his left hand and squeezed tightly.


"This one doctor, Bulas, the hippie one. He said they could save you, but you'd need surgery. We signed whatever paper work they put in front of us and the other doctor, Cluber. He was a slick guy, very smooth and professional. He kind of took over. Dr. Cluber took you into an operating room. A couple of hours later they brought you to us room. They said you'd need doctors appointments two or three times a year til you were a teenager or more."


My dad was crying. Few things made me weep more than seeing my dad in emotional tumult.


"I love you dad. This isn't about me being mad at you. But the heart that Cluber and Bulas put in me is dying. There are at least five other people that were given operations. One of them is a girl, born a couple of days later. Her name is Breann Lucos. She's like a female version of me. I wouldn't surprised if we had the same parts, like robots, but even weirder. We may even share DNA or something. I need all the information on Bulas and Cluber and anyone else that talked with you and mom."


My dad wiped his eyes and grabbed my right arm tightly.


"How long does your heart have, Caleb. How much time?"


I pushed my tray with my turkey sandwich and chips over to him and rose to my feet.


"Give my food to Van. I don't know how much time, dad. But I need you to help me as soon as you get home today. I may be leaving for New York soon. It would be nice to have all the facts."


My dad hugged me.


"I'm sorry son. We we were so..."


I didn't let him finish. He didn't have to to. I knew why he did it, and I was alright, for now.

This is episodes of a story I'm writing. This entry is based on a writing prompt from @Studio30plus aka http://www.studiothirtyplus.com/ 'Integrity is telling myself the truth. And honesty is telling the truth to other people'  The other episodes are here:

1) synchronicity
2) personality crisis
3) serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience
14) Sympathy for the Devil

Today's song is from one of my favorite records of the 1990s, Tomorrow, The Green GrassI listened to the song Blue and this line - Thought I was Someone, Turned Out I Was Wrong - stood out as I was writing this. Here's Blue by The Jayhawks.

Sweet Child O' Mine

"You two look too young to have a daughter out on a first date."

The waitress at the Mall of Georgia Longhorn got a good tip. I was stressed, nursing a beer. My wife was too happy for the occasion and it was starting to annoy me. When Bobina told our server that we needed the check because we had to go pick up our teenage daughter and her friend who is a boy at Macaroni Grill next door; the compliment soothed the savage beast inside me.

Friday, I lost the battle but won the war. My 15 year old daughter, Tay, went on her first d d d d d ugh, DATE. I grew up as a parent.

Her dress was blue and gray. Her hair shimmered in the sundown. There was makeup applied, but it wasn't too much. The number on the calendar marked one year from the day she started being friends with her friend who is a boy. Bobina started priming me a month earlier for Tay's request, a date, a real one, where they were alone in a restaurant and a movie theater with her mom and I close by; with weapons.

My blog is a record so for prosterity, I think Tay is too young to date. I was 16 when I went on my first one and I was ridiculously unprepared. I was a year removed from getting giddy over superhero comic books and saying the word boobie without doubling over in laughter. Some would say I am not removed from either of those. There are 5 people in my house. The dog thinks he's human. My vote doesn't count for much. I know living with 4 women, I have to pick my battles. Tay is an amazing girl. She makes good grades, she busts her tail being a cheerleader, she helps around the house, and when we need her, she's good to her sisters. Her friend who is a boy kinda sorta almost reminds me of me. He seems ok. If there is a 15 year old girl who "deserves" to be trusted on a date, it's Tay.

Becoming a parent of a 12 year old wasn't that big of a deal three years ago. I talked about it here: http://lance-myblogcanbeatupyourblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/currency.html . Being a parent of a 15 year old is a huge deal.

I'm uncool, not talked to often, and required to have the car ready at her word with checkbook in hand. Bobina tells me to adjust, get over it, and get ready for the other two kids to be teenagers in a few years. Friday night, I took a major step toward being over my issues and getting ready.

Bobina and I had dinner, got our egos stroked by the waitress, took Tay and her friend who is a boy to the movies, then walked around Target for a while. Getting a Superman t-shirt and toilet paper didn't make me less nervous about Tay being alone with her friend. The end of the night was anti-climatic. A thunderstorm ripped through the area bringing lightning and sheets of rain. Tay's smile and Bobina's attitude were the only thing better than the waitress' suck up.

I know this isn't the last I'll hear of Tay wanting to be more independent. She starts driving this month. Getting Friday night out of the way meant a lot to me and her mom. For me to be better about Tay being on the road by herself with a friend who may or may not be a boy, I'll need more than a flattering waitress, one beer, and an emotionally centered wife.

I feel like rocking, maybe even doing a snake dance. So, today's song is from Guns N Roses. Slash's opening riff and Axl's vocal used to mean something else to me. Now, I think about my Tay and her eyes of the bluest skies. She gets them from Bobina. They're both showing me how to be the man I want to be.

Where do we go now? Where do we go now?....here's Guns...

Sympathy For The Devil

The only way around the awkwardness was to treat Ava like a business partner. I saw the way she looked at me, but the lines around our 40 year old eyes meant something. That something wasn't reanimating a 15 year old relationship.

"What do you know about Anson Cluber?" I asked.

A streak of grey invaded her blonde hair when she ran her pale, manicured left hand over her bangs and sighed uncomfortably.

"I only know him by reputation. He's a rock star in the cardiac medicine field. Anson Cluber pretty much invented heart nanosurgery, you know, robotics. Supposedly he created robotic heart surgery techniques with this weird Doctor named Connor Bulas. The rumor is Bulas makes bio-engineered food crops in Montana or South Dakota or somewhere else. Dr. Cluber has had an amazing career as a surgeon. When I was in medical school I was selected watch him perform surgery at Georgetown Medical Center, near Washington D.C. It was incredible. Remember when we saw The Rolling Stones in '94? I saw a cool concert by a cool band. You were in church, having a religious experience. It was like that with Dr. Cluber that day. He made a double bypass look like Keith Richards playing Sympathy For The Devil."

I had to give Ava credit, her analogy was perfect. Hearing her compliment Cluber made Sympathy For The Devil play in my head.

"How do you have his office number, Ava?"

She fidgeted in her round swivel chair, almost breaking the black seat as she reached for her chart and tried to think of an answer.

"Well, I know a doctor that interns at Cedars Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles. He idolizes Dr. Cluber. I guess you could say we both idolize him. When my friend got a job at that hospital I made him give me the number in case something ever came up there. Then I got married a few years ago and some opportunities became unattainable.

From the disappointment in her voice, I realized Ava was still the same person she was when we dated. She was always looking for an advantage with people and situations. I decided to go ahead and let her into my problem.

"Help me, Ava. Be my doctor. We can figure out a way to get Cluber to fix my heart. Ava, I need for you to meet my, friend. I think she may be my sister. Her name is Breann Lucos. She has the same condition I do. In fact, Cluber or Bulas or both, delivered us as babies, two days apart. I think they gave us these robot parts. If I get her to come down from New York, will you treat her too?"

Ava clenched her face. Lines of stress filled her jaws and I could see her move her shoulders away from me for the first time since I had been in her office. She was as insufferably selfish as she was in her mid twenties.

"Caleb, we need to focus on you. We can get a consult for your friend. The more eyes on this the better, right? New York? Good God, Caleb, there are amazing doctors there."

The irony of Ava helping people by being a physician wasn't lost on me. She was all about Ava all the time.

"No, I think we have to keep this a tight circle. We don't know if Cluber and Bulas are keen on helping us. They could have done these opreations without my parents' consent. I mean, I had a heart attack eleven years ago, struggled with social anxiety disorder, and blinding headaches, yet, until 4 days ago, I had never heard their names. Now, I'm told I'm dying? I think you should engage Cluber but not use my name. Let him figure out who I am, and see what he does."

Ava, dropped her defensive stance and looked into my eyes.

"Caleb, of course I'll help you. There's a lot of water under our bridge. I know that sounds cliche. Finding out you almost died while hanging with former friends of ours at a Braves basbeall game hurt. We're exes, not enemies. I missed you. I worried about you. I'll meet your New York girl. But, if I'm going to be your doctor and your friend, I have to do it my way. You owe me that for how things ended with us."

I owed her nothing. The last thing I remember about our relationship her drunkenly kissing some medical school wannabe in her class at a bar in front of all of our friends and throwing a beer mug at me when I broke up with her.

As I buttoned my shirt, Ava put her left hand on my right arm. I looked down at my wedding ring, swallowed hard and said,

"I'll put Breann Lucos in touch with you today. Please help her. I have to make some phone calls. I'll get back with you in a day or two. Let me know what Cluber's office has to say."

She smiled broadly at me as I walked out of the room, I returned it with a smirk. I felt pain shoot through my chest. I knew getting involed with Ava and possibly Anson Cluber, was wrong. I had to dance with the devil if I was going to live.

This is another offering of the story I am writing. The other episodes are here:

1) synchronicity
2) personality crisis
3) serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience

Today's song is pretty obvious. Mick and Keef got a lot right over their 40 plus years together. Sympathy For The Devil is one of their best.

The Big Empty

My friend Thomas called me earlier. He is driving from Knoxville, Tennessee to Atlanta, georgia this weekend. As we negotiated time and opportunity to meet, his cell phone lost signal. It's likely you know the words that he spoke next, "Can You Hear Me Now".

In late 2001, a 31 year old actor from New Haven Connecticut name Paul Marcarelli tried out for a commercial. The company was up and coming Verizon. They were looking for an everyman to front clever ads promoting their call phone services. Marcarelli was looking for a decent paying acting gig and thought Veirzon would be a one shot commercial job, then he'd find film work. A few months later he stood in front of a football stadium with 85, 000 people, more famous than the President of the United States.

When the pop culture history on the first ten years of the 21st century are told, the most remembered face may be a bespectaled, average man who carried the main communication device of the time. Cell phones have connected the world in ways we could never imagine. You may not remember the company Paul Marcarelli worked for. You certainly won't remember his name. But that face, those horn rimmed glasses, that goofy grin, that phone in his ear, and that phrase, "can you hear me now", will be a signpost for the Naughts. Or is it the Oughts? Or is it the 00s?

Paul Marcarelli made a lot of money, but he paid a price for his well paying opportunity:

Can You Hear Me Now

A few days ago, Paul Marcarelli checked his email and received word from Verizon that they were releasing him from their ad campaign. Unless his film career is successful, this will be the last we hear and see of him. One of my friends, John, aka @CounselorGa suggested At&T hire Paul and title the ads "How ya Like Me Now?"

I just think people will be hearing Paul Marcarelli saying "Can You Hire Me Now?", a lot.

Before we get to today's song, a couple of things I want to address...

Warner Brothers is remaking The Crow, the iconic comic book movie from 1994, that starred the late Brandon Lee. Bradley Cooper is rumored to be taking the main role of Eric Draven/The Crow. This is a bad idea to redo the film and a bad casting decision.

The Crow is one of the finest movies of the last twenty years. The imagery, the mood, the set pieces, and Brandon Lee's performance are so vivid that anything else would be unsatisfactory. Brandon Lee died on the set as a result of a misfired handgun prop. This is just dancing on his grave to me. Cooper plays heroic douchey rogues with fake tans, six pack abs, and fashionable clothes. Eric Draven aka The Crow is the opposite of all of that. Also, nerds, on and offline will reject this casting. You don't mess with us, I mean them.

Please read over the story episodes I have been dropping on you all. We are 13 entries deep. I will write another 700 words or so this weekend; likely Saturday, in between yard work and the Georgia Force Arena League football game. Bobina and I have free tickets.

here are the episodes:

1) synchronicity
2) personality crisis
3) serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever
13) The Girlfriend Experience


The song for today comes from Stone Temple Pilots. It appeared on The Crow soundtrack and became a huge modern rock hit. It probably reveals Paul Marcarelli's mood and the feelings of die hard Crow fans. Here's The Big Empty. Go ahead, play your air guitar. I can see you now.

The Girlfriend Experience

I drove downtown to a small private hospital to meet the only doctor I knew. The receptionist led me to an exam room.

The tall, blonde pony-tailed physician walked in and said,

"Caleb Runson, you devilish little imp. Had I known you'd walk back into my life, I wouldn't have gotten married."

My new doctor, Ava Pennington was also my girlfriend of 3 years when I was in college.

After x-rays, a physical, blood work, and awkward flirtatious catch-up conversation; she confirmed everything.

Struggling to speak, Ava whispered,

"Dr. Anson Cluber is a reknown heart surgeon, I called his office."

This is another story episode featuring my installment of  @velvetverbosity 's 100 word challenge at http://www.blogger.com/goog_10246083 My last 100 word effort, Toyed was chosen as the winner of last week's challenge. This week's one word prompt is IMP.

The other story episodes are here:
1) synchronicity
2) personality crisis
3) serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11)  Toyed
12) Fever

There were a lot of ways to go with today's song but I chose one of my favorite Girlfriend songs by the awesome Matthew Sweet. This was one of my favorite early 90s tunes, here's Girlfriend, play it loud.

Baseball In Bloom

I've taken a lover. She's actually an old lover but we've been apart for a while. We've known each other a long time. I met her when I was very young. We were passionate til my early twenties, then separated with tremendous acrimony. Recently, for reasons I can only associate with nostalgia; a condition I find ridiculous and unneccesary, I have decided to let her back into my life. Baseball and I are together.

Baseball and I have matured. I am not curled up in bed with boxscores and statistics like before. I am anxious to see what happened in the games of the previous night. I find myself caring about what the pitching rotation is for my favorite team, the hometown Atlanta Braves. Losses don't depress me and wins don't exhilarate but I am enthralled with watching the game again.

I credit Kurt Cobain with getting us back together. The baseball strike of August 1994 followed Kurt's suicide in April. In my weirdly wired brain of music and sports, I saw the two connected. Figuring out what Kurt's death and what it meant to me, here: The Lesson Of Kurt Cobain , also opened my mind as to why I left baseball.

When control freaks lose control, they lash out. When I lost my rock star and my game in a span of four months, I got angry. If I could resolve why idolizing a musician was so important then but not so now and how I made sense of it, then how could I not get over millionaire ballplayers and billionaire owners shutting baseball down? I won't touch steroids and their impact on keeping baseball at arms reach for so many seasons. That's like me being mad at Kurt for doing a lot of smack.

Yesterday I went to Coolray Stadium, the home of the Gwinnett Braves, the Triple A minor league affiliate of the Atlanta Braves. The park is a few minutes from my house.

My wife works for an animal clinic nearby and the promotion of the day for the G-Braves was Bring Your Dog To The Park. We left Buddy the golden retriever at home because my 15 year old daughter wanted to take her friend who is a boy and thus, a 175 lb kid took up the space for a 95 lb dog. Bobina's animal clinic had free tickets and a booth set up for people to show off their dogs for a tricks contest with prizes. I'm glad Buddy didn't go because his "hey I'm lazy, watch me lay here and be cute business" wouldn't have won first prize. Buddy would've been devastated by the loss.

Walking the stadium with the girls and sitting in the seats watching a few innings, I became reformed. The feeling of comfort and goodness was back. I had been to dozens of baseball games since 1994, all at major league parks, but for whatever reason, I always felt awkward and nonplussed. Yesterday, I felt home. Maybe it was the hot dog, which was impressive.

Baseball is just a game. It's beautiful in it's simplicity and artistic in it's pace. Being outside in great weather, smelling dogs, both hot and furry, along with the sound of the wooden bat cracking against the hardball felt natural. It's ok to use that word, natural, because minor league players are tested regularly. It may have been minor league, but my kids thought Joe Mather looked like Chipper Jones. I need to head back downtown to the big league park and get back into it all. I won't be debating All Star game snubs or breaking down the bullpens of the National League East like I did twenty years ago, but I will enjoy baseball. It's made me happy for the last couple of weeks. The big league Braves are 4-6 after dropping two of three to the hated Phillies over the weekend. I'm booing our centerfielder, the hapless Nate McLouth, and admiring our left fielder, the mercurial Martin Prado. It's all good again.

If I could just talk one of the Atlanta Braves players into having a Nirvana song as their walk up, then everything will be perfect.

Today's song, is one that I'd nominate for Martin Prado or any other player who'd volunteer. Nature and apparently me, are indeed a whore. Here's Nirvana's In Bloom. Play ball.

Fever

When you feel like your life is a lie, you embrace brutal honesty. That's the philosophy I adopted walking the 6 steps into my house. I hugged three girls. The teenager, Juliet, even gave me decent squeeze. The kiss I placed on Shane's lips let her know a lot. It shaved an hour off our discussion later. I gave my daughters their cliche New York gifts, t-shirt's with I Heart NY and miniature Statue Of Liberty figurines, then walked my wife into the bedroom and locked the door.

"We're moving to New York, aren't we?" Shane asked, completely misreading the situation.

I laughed awkwardly and just began talking. Everything, from meeting Breann, to the nurse, to my heart, to poisonous metals slowly killing me. Shane knew if she didn't stop crying, the kids would be upset. So we just hugged each other a lot until Juliet, Kat, and Esme went to bed. I showed Shane the texts and emails from Breann. The progress we had made in corresponding with the others seemed to comfort my wife.

My chest hurt a lot. The headache was painful, but I didn't want to complain in front of my wife at the risk of making her more upset.. As we got ready to sleep, Shane pushed herself close to me and whispered in my ear, "I'm not ready to lose you. I want you to spend every spare minute finding a way to get these doctors to fix you. Whatever it takes, do it. We aren't ready to lose you." We held each other for a while then Shane said "You feel really warm, feverish actually. You should work from home tomorrow, you need rest." We fell asleep uncertain.

A fierce coldness consumed my body. I opened my eyes and wondered had I walked in my sleep, outside. I had not. Under a sheet, a bedspread and an afghan I was freezing. Not wanting to wake the warm body next to me, I arose and made my way into the bathroom. I stared at the pale face in the mirror. Remembering the words "if you feel fever, it's a warning." I opened a drawer and found a pair of scissors. Not wanting to wake her I didn't turn the hot water on, I just made an incision in the left part of my chest. I cut at the flesh until I felt an obstruction. The blood was significant. I was risking bleeding out. It took two towels to clean away enough blood to see what I was supposed to see. It was metal. Then I saw a red light reflected off the metal carriage. Standing before the mirror naked, I saw what I was for the first time in my 40 years. Part something, part something else, but definitely not what I am supposed to be.

"Baby, you ok?" I felt warm arms and chest wrapped around my freezing back and shoulders. I was awake but back in bed. I threw the covers off and anxiously investigated my body. Shane stared incredulousy at me and asked "are you having a bad dream or are you losing your mind?"

Nothing is there. No blood, no metal carriage, no red light, just me, flesh and bone. It must have been a dream, or a warning. The fever remained.

*blogger's note* - This is another piece of episodic fiction from a story I am writing. The other ones are here:

1) synchronicity
2) personality crisis
3) serendipity 6
4) Hot Dog Harbinger
5) Goodbye Stranger
6) House of Irony
7) Connection
8) Dead Man's Party
9) Hope Springs A Turtle
10) Drown
11) Toyed

Hope you enjoy reading. Feel free to constructively criticize. This is associated with a writing prompt of RISK by @Studio30plus over at http://www.studiothirtyplus.com/ .

Today's song is a request from a reader, Lisa aka @RandomGirlBlog. She said this would make a good theme for the story. Here's Thirty Seconds To Mars' The Kill....get your Jordan Catalano/Jared Leto fix....

Bango Quango

There are three things I try to avoid while writing this blog; politics, religion, and pop music. Most writers don't like themselves so they could care less if you like them. Of course, I have to be different. I want you to like me. I hope you read something here, feel good about it, and tell a friend or 40.

Last night I saw something disturbing. It hurt me. I wanted to run to the blog and tell you what I thought, but I was exhausted from a 12 hour work day and trying to hang a TV. So I slept on it. This morning I feel even stronger so here I go.

On American Idol, a show that goes against both my religions: music and Christianity, featured a performance by the late great Iggy Pop. I feel the need to tell you who Iggy Pop is, because no one in my house or immediate friend group knew and that bothered me a lot.

Born James Osterberg and raised in a trailer park in Ypsilanti, Michigan, he became Iggy Pop after his first band, The Iguanas, broke up. He was a drummer then but later became the lead singer for The Stooges. The Stooges were legendary. The experimented with several types of music and influenced punk rock, metal, alternative and rock. Iggy Pop was as much more performance artist as lead singer. He rolled around in broken glass, sliced open his chest, rubbed peanut butter and other substances all over himself, and danced like a mad man always shirtless. Their albums, The Stooges, Funhouse, and Raw Power became favorites among musicians, and writers. Kurt Cobain listed Raw Power as his favorite record in his Journals released in 2002. The Stooges were finally elected to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last year.

Iggy Pop should be the last person ever to want to perform on American Idol; a mainstream, watered down, safe show. Yet there he was last night, singing Real Wild One. I cringed and died a little.

One of the people Iggy was gyrating in front of was the lead singer of Aerosmith, Steven Tyler. I don't need to tell you who he is, because Aerosmith has been a pop band for the last 24 years and Tyler is now "judging" American Idol contestants. If those kids knew Tyler's history enough, they'd realize how ridiculous his being there is, in the big picture of things.

This brings me to the controversial part of the post. I can solve funding for the arts AND the nation's drug problem. Yeah, I just wrote that. Are you ready? Here's the masterplan......

Legalize all drugs, but only allow rock stars to have them. Then, have the rock stars work for a Quango, which is a government agency that operates on it's own terms, where they teach artistic kids, young aspiring musicians, and up and coming writers how to be awesome. I know what you're thinking. Why would you want your little Billy or sweet Missy hanging out with drugged up crazy people? The main reason is, when Steven Tyler and Iggy Pop and Eddie Van Halen and Keith Richards and Slash et al were high, they made GREAT music. You could film it all for PBS, have chaperones there so they didn't try to hit on teenage girls, and you would have the next generation of amazing artists. Call the show Bango Quango and run disclaimers about the drug use.

Well Lance, would you let your 15 year old daughter participate in this? She wants to be a journalist. No, probably not. Because I worry too much. But you laid back hippie types would be fine. You could be there, or the chaperones could handle things. Look we could put the druggie rock stars and other whacked out artists behind glass. This can work. Right now we are in a creative malaise. Shows like American Idol are killing our culture. Don't you want to have the next Nevermind or Appetite for Destruction or Raw Power? This way, these selfish, insane artists can give back after taking all these years. You would have a thriving, ratings rich PBS combined with all the drugs off the streets and into the hands of the people who need them...ROCK STARS! Aerosmith might be good again, like they were in the 1970s. Wouldn't you rather hear Dream On instead of I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing?

This cures a lot of the nation's ills. As a die hard music fan who wants his and others' kids to know good art, this handles a lot of problems for me. Most of all, I never have to worry about 63 year old Steven Tyler judging kareoke competitions or seeing a shirtless 64 year old Iggy Pop performing inappropriately during the family hour.

go ahead, talk amongst yourselves and get back to me....this could work, you know it could. Or I could just be a sarcastic music snob. You decide.

Today's song is one that should be in your IPOD and consciousness. It's Search and Destroy by The Stooges from Kurt's Cobain's favorite record, Raw Power. Play it loud. Rub peanut butter on yourself. GO