Thursday, June 20, 2019

I Know It's Only Rock n' Roll, But I Like It


I love the Rolling Stones. Even more, I love seeing the Rolling Stones in concert.
Here’s an overlong, some might say obsessive account of thirty years of Stones watching. Re-reading it, it’s a lot less about the actual concerts and more about moments in time and celebrations of life and friendship; memories of friends I still cherish and some I lost along the way. In the end, I came to realize that I look at these concerts as touchstones in my life. Music is the soundtrack of our lives, as they say. And my soundtrack was definitely curated by Martin Scorsese.
September 16, 1989, Jeff, Kevin and I ventured to Carter-Finley Stadium in Raleigh to see the Rolling Stones for the first time, on the Steel Wheels Tour. Living Colour opened for them! I bought a t-shirt. The Stones were younger then than I am now, which is weird. Anyway, it was a great show and the guys came back to Chapel Hill to spend the night before going home. We’d camped out for tickets in the old Kroger parking lot in Hickory. My brother joined us. He actually won tickets, so I think he and his friend Tim were at the show as well. I remember standing on top of my station wagon singing “Sympathy for the Devil.” I remember a fight broke out and I led the crowd in singing, “Give Peace a Chance.” It was an epic night, and the concert was even better.
November 26, 1989, the Sunday after Thanksgiving, Jeff, Kevin and I ventured south to Clemson, South Carolina, to Death Valley Stadium to see the Stones again. Great show again. I remember leading our section in a cheer, “Gimme a K! Gimme an E! Gimme another E! Gimme an F! Whaddaya got? KEEF!!!!” We drove back to Icard that night, and I had to drive to Chapel Hill in the morning for class. Totally worth it.
September 11, 1994, I’d just barely been in Chicago for a year when the Stones announced their Voodoo Lounge Tour was coming to Soldier Field. My best friend Carol and I went, and it was a fantastic show. I bought a t-shirt. And a poster.  Afterwards, we walked all the way back to Old Town singing, dancing, holding hands, and then I drove her home. It’s still probably one of the best nights of my life. We were like brother and sister. In fact, everywhere we went, people thought we were brother and sister. I remember one time carrying her on my back all the way from Eugenie to Zanie's on Wells, just because she thought it'd be funny. I miss her so much. She passed away way too young, in 2003.
September 23, 1997, and the Stones opened their Bridges to Babylon Tour at Soldier Field. As Mick said, “Da Bulls. Da Bears. Da Stones!” Greg, Susan, Frank and I went. I bought a t-shirt. I bought three t-shirts for friends.  It was so much fun.. Well, Greg and Susan and I enjoyed it. Frank went missing after about the first song. He said he had a great time afterwards, though. Frank, again, was like a brother to me, and probably the best friend I ever had. Took me in twice when I had nowhere to live, once in Chicago and once in L.A. He too was taken from us too soon in 2012. I’m just about the age now Frank was when he passed away, which is also weird to realize. The next night I tried sushi for the first time, and the day after squirmed all the way through a National Geographic article on parasites. Great times.
February 19, 1999, Jim and I drove up to Milwaukee to catch the Stones on their No Security Tour at the Bradley Center. The Goo Goo Dolls opened up for them. We had a great drive up, parked on the street, ate at a small Mexican place close to the stadium, and managed not to get arrested in the police department parking lot. I lost touch with Jim sometime back in 2004. Not quite sure why. I hope he’s well.
March 26, 1999, a Friday night, and the No Security Tour came to Chicago. I took the night off from seeing the show I was directing, “The Philadelphia Story” with the Elk Grove Center for Performing Arts, to see the Stones at the United Center. I wound up going solo, which was cool. I parked on the street, and the Goo Goo Dolls opened for them again. My seat was a folding chair at the back of the very top row all the way across from the stage. Now, I don’t know if it was the music, or the flu I was unbeknownst to me coming down with, or something magical (and kinda skunky) in the air, but I remember that was a great light show. I started shivering on the way home, and by the time I got home I was freezing. I woke up in the middle of the night with the full-on flu. Good times. I was pretty sick for about a week afterwards, but as always, totally worth it.
September 10, 2005, after so long without seeing the Stones, they finally came back to Soldier Field for the Bigger Bang Tour. I arranged to meet my friend Theresa (who I haven’t seen in person in way too long) at the venue, and decided to walk down from Old Town in the 90+ degree heat. I’d done that walk before, what could be so bad? I brought along some refreshments in the form of two bottles of Coke pre-mixed with some Jack Daniel’s, and set off. I got to the show, met Theresa, and got some beers to cool off and re-hydrate. Los Lonely Boys and The Blues Brothers (well, Danny and Jim) opened up for them! I bought a t-shirt and a poster. My new boss at the time, Steve, even pushed past us to get to his seats. After the show, I walked to the Red Line and stopped off at the Old Town Ale House to end the night. The next day I had my first musical rehearsal for “Cubicle: An Office Space Musical,” and so that was the day I first really got to know two more of my best friends in the world, Meagan and Guy. That, too, was a blast, and looking back, because of those two, one of the most monumental days of my life. It's like a meet-cute. Monday morning came and I felt pretty good. Of course, about 10:30 AM I came to realize that I was passing blood. I went to Urgent Care and was diagnosed with severe dehydration. I figured it was from the concert. What had happened, the doctor asked, when I’d gone to the bathroom on Sunday? “Huh,” I replied, “I don’t think I did.” I don’t recommend seeing the look on a doctor’s face that I saw at that moment. But it was all good. It was the Stones, I told him.
October 11, 2006, someone in the Stones organization thought October in Chicago was a great time for an outdoor concert on the lakefront, and so the Bigger Bang Tour wound its way back to Soldier Field that cold, rainy and windy day. My friend and co-worker Kristine had just left the company, so I asked her to go to the show with me as a going away present. Elvis Costello opened up for them! Unfortunately, the wind really did a number on the acoustics and it was hard to make out what ol’ Declan was laying down. There was a lot of booing from the end zone upper deck, which was really unfortunate. I made out “Allison” and “Watching the Detectives,” and he played that other Elvis’ “Suspicious Minds.” I did have one beer, but soon switched to hot cocoa and bought a long sleeve t-shirt and a Stones blanket for warmth. Kristine and I made our way out of the end zone to a covered area along the side to watch most of the show. Mick and Keith and the guys gave it everything they had, while wearing their long coats and scarves and fingerless gloves. After the concert, it was pretty cold. Kristine was a runner, so she asked if I minded if she just ran home, and so I just biked. We had fun, though. I haven’t seen Kristine in years. I hope she’s well. We sat next to each other for two years and we listened to the same radio station, and always turned it up when Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” or Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian” came on. Good times. Motorin’!
May 28, 2013, was that the Forty Licks Tour? Kind of a greatest hits thing. Anyway, the Stones came back to the United Center and I had some pretty good tickets. We figured this could be the last time, maybe the last time, I don't know,  so we paid up for the tickets. Paul and Steve from work came, and I think Steve’s friend Brian came with us. Paul brought his program from when he’d seen the Stones at the Aerie Crowne Theater back in ’64 or ’65. I bought a t-shirt and biked home. Great show.
Which brings us to the present day. Last summer, I won a bonus from work. Value was $1,000, but you couldn’t take cash and you couldn’t buy a physical object. The theory beong that experiences are more valuable than physical objects, which I can dig. It reminds me of the story from when Bill Gaines used to take the MAD Magazine staff (the Usual Gang of Idiots) on a big trip every year (I’ve long wanted to read or write a book about this called MAD Trips). I think Al Jaffee asked Bill once why he didn’t just give them cash, and Bill said that left to their own devices they’d just buy washing machines.  Anyway, I couldn’t think of anything, and I’d been cast in “Requiem for a Heavyweight” at Artistic Home, so I knew I wasn’t going to be able to take any kind of real trip until late Spring. About that time, the Rolling Stones announced the dates for their No Filter Tour, with a stop at Soldier Field (later, in fact, two stops). I called the “experience concierge” and told them just to get me the two best Stones tickets they could for the amount of the award. In April, during his pre-tour insurance physical, doctors discovered an issue with Mick Jagger’s heart that needed immediate surgery. The tour was postponed for Mick’s recovery. Ol’ Mick’s too tough for that, though, and before long the Chicago dates went from being postponed to going forward as planned and once again serving as the kick-off stop for a tour. And so…
Tomorrow night, June 21, 2019, Mark and I are headed to Soldier Field, where I’ll see the Stones for the tenth time (and the fifth time AT Soldier Field). It’s gonna be epic.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Suspicious Mind

8:30 a.m., April 5, 1992

      It was going to be a big day. Jesse knew. Dead celebrities didn't come back from the grave for visits on the eve of just any day.  They only came back before something really big was going to happen.

      The night before, the ghost of Marty Feldman had come to Jesse in the middle of a Rose's department store to tell him, one comedian to another, the secret of comedy.  People were milling around, paying no great attention to the late comic genius, so Jesse had asked, "Can only I see you or can everybody see you?"  The bulbous-eyed comic winked, "With eyes like this, of course they can see me."  Jesse laughed, then thought, "But that doesn't make sense."  "And that's why it's funny," Feldman said, and vanished in a puff of smoke.

      What did it mean? Jesse thought.  It reminded him of his dream from several nights ago, in which Jane Fonda had come up to him in B.Dalton's and told him how big a fan she was.  But she wasn't dead.  She was just married to Ted Turner.

      He couldn't make sense of it all.  Perhaps he would finally be discovered as the comedy god he was.  He didn't know.  He just knew that whatever happened, it was going to be big.

9:43 a.m.

      Jesse knew he would have to hurry if he wanted to make it to church on time.  He threw on his pink shirt like the one worn by Hal Linden on Barney Miller, pulled on a pair of Duckheads, slipped on a pair of Special Limited Edition Donnie Osmond Purple Socks, put on his Nikes, and flew out the door.

      He hopped in the old burgundy Cadillac Seville, started it up, and drove toward the church.  He noticed the digital clock on the radio was wrong.  The battery had died last week and he hadn't thought to reset it yet.  The clock was alternating "5:15", like the old Who song, and "1 8", January 8.  Elvis' birthday.

      Elvis's birthday!  That was it!  The sign!  He hadn't even thought of the clock until he saw it read that specific date.  Logically, he thought, the day before it would have read his birthday, the day before that Nicholas Cage's. 

     Tomorrow, it would read Richard Nixon's, and the next day it would read Rod Stewart's.  But he hadn't noticed the two before, he had only noticed it today, when it read "1 8."

      It had to do with fate and fate had to do with Elvis Presley.

      Or David Bowie, they do have the same birthday. But would fate really have anything to do with David Bowie?

      He turned the car around and headed for home.  He'd have to think about this, about what it all meant, before he could go out.  Today was too important, too big, to accidentally waste.  He'd have to plan his ascent to greatness just as carefully in one day as most stars plan it for years.

10:58 a.m.

      Sitting in the big recliner like the one Art Linkletter sold on TV, in his living room, Jesse thought about it all.  He had been thinking about it all morning, and, gradually, his mind wandered away from today's events to relatedmatters, like the day Elvis died.

      He had only been a child then, but he could remember it as clear as day.  August 16, 1977.  He could still trace the tears streaming down his mother's cheek as she watched the news footage of the ambulance pulling into that Memphis hospital.  The same hospital Martin Luther King, Jr., might have been rushed to just twenty-four years and one day ago.  Not the one that John Lennon, born John Winston Lennon and died John Ono Lennon, was taken to because he died in front of the Dakota in New York City on December 8, 1980.  He had read the actual AP wire report in a frame in the Hard Rock Cafe in Washington, DC, located right next to Ford's Theater, where President Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States, was shot in the back of the head, supposedly by John Wilkes Boothe, on April 14, 1865.  Of course, he had lived on until the next day, unlike President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who died in transit to Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas, Texas, where Jesse's cousin Tom worked, on November 22, 1963, just minutes after several assassins, he was sure, had shot both him and Governor John Connally.  To think that Oswald acted alone in the book depository was ridiculous.

      Jesse realized he had become unfocused.  He had to get back to Elvis.  August 16, 1977.  Elvis's bungalow or something was located at 2001 Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles, or at least at 2001 Something-Or-Other, in California. His offices in Memphis had been at 2001 Elvis Presley Boulevard.  Elvis, late in his career, adopted Richard Strauss's "Also Sprach Zarathustra" as his theme song.  It played before every concert, right before he sang "See See Rider."  The song, "Also Sprach Zarathustra," not "See See Rider," had been used in the Stanley Kubrick film, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

      If you add 8 for August, to 16, to 1977, the date he died, it comes to 2001.

      If you add 4 for April, to 5, to 1992, today, it comes to 2001.

      12 for December, to 8, to 1980, 2000.

      Hmmm.

      On that night, a lone gunman, Mark David Chapman, shot and killed former Beatle John Lennon.

      One gunman.  One.  1 plus 12 plus 8 plus 1980, 2001.

      11 for November, plus 22, plus 1963, 1996. 2001 minus 1996, 5.  So.  There were five gunmen.  Conclusive proof.  That's why they closed the files.  There were five gunmen.  He bet Lee Harvey Oswald wasn't even one of them.  He'd have to call Oliver Stone with the news.

      4 for April, plus 14, plus 1865.  So, the congress had been in on the conspiracy to kill Lincoln.  118 congressmen.  John Wilkes Boothe was innocently framed and killed, and Doctor Samuel Mudd was sent to Alcatraz to cover it all up.

      It all made sense now.

      Jesse was going to die.  His fate had added up perfectly, like Elvis's, so he would die just as Elvis had. No assassins.  There wasn't going to be any conspiracy.  At his own hand or by accident, he would die.  Simply.



12:37 p.m.

      No.

      He just couldn't give up like that.  He couldn't just sit there and wait to die.  He had too much to live for.  He had just come up with a great idea for a new sitcom that the networks would absolutely love.

      It was based on the life of Saint Thomas A`Beckett, the Archbishop of Canterbury, except it was modernized:  A wacky, party guy is somehow appointed as the archbishop of a large metropolitan diocese.  He tries to conform to the church's rules, but, and here's the hook, his drinking-buddy, college roommate comes to live with him.  An ecumenical Odd Couple, they'd call it.  He'd be famous as a great comedy writer.

      And, when they realize that the perfect star for the show is Sir Richard Burton, and he's dead, they'll turn to Jesse as the next best, and then he'll be a star.

      If he could just make it through the rest of the day.  Then he would be safe.  He calculated and found that there would only be eight days this year which add up to 2001.  He'd already lived through three of them.  After today, he would be safe until May 4, and if he could just make it through August, he wouldn't have to worry again until next year.

      The past three dates, January 8, February 7, and March 6, they were the key.  If only he could remember what he had done on those days.

      January 8.  The day after his birthday.  He had gone out and gotten pretty wasted the night before, and he hadn't felt like doing much after he got off work at the movie theater.  He couldn't remember doing anything after work.  He must have just come home, watched TV, and gone to bed.

      February 7.  He had had a date with Ginger.  They had gone to a party.  She had gotten really drunk and passed out before midnight.  He took her home and put her to bed, staying up the rest of the night by himself, watching old "Rocky and Bullwinkle" videos.

      March 6, he couldn't remember.  It was a Friday night, and he had...What?  What had he done?

RRRING!!!

      The phone was ringing.  Jesse reached for it hesitantly.  It was Ginger wanting to know if he wanted to do something tonight.  Ginger.  Ginger Alden.  Elvis's last girlfriend had been an actress named Ginger Alden.  Now he was talking to his girlfriend Ginger.

      Wait!  He thought.  January 8.  That had been one of the dates.  It was Elvis's birthday and it was also at present flashing on his car clock calendar.

      He had been with Ginger on February 7.

      Ginger and January 8 were joining forces against him and soon something from March 6 would be coming for him.  What did he do on that day?

      "Jesse, are you even listening to me?" Ginger asked.

      "Jesse. Oh my God, my name is Jesse," he shrieked.

      "What are you talking about?"

      Jesse.  Elvis's twin brother.  Possibly strangled by Elvis's umbilical cord, he died shortly after birth.  But not before Vernon could name him Jesse.

      "Elvis's brother died and was named Jesse.  I was born several years later, the day before their birthday..."

      Silence on the other end of the phone.

      "Don't you see?" he pleaded, "I am the reincarnation of Elvis Presley's brother and I'm going to die!"

      Ginger didn't see.  At all.  But she said she'd be right over.  She wasn't too worried.  He'd been like this before.  Last year, when he thought he was Satan because he kept hearing "Sympathy for the Devil" on the radio.  There was a part of her that had always wanted to work on a psycho ward, but she had never gotten up the nerve to do it.  Perhaps, she thought, Jesse's usually harmless neuroses and obsessions appealed to this other side of her personality, and that's why she went
out with him.

      That, or she was crazy herself.

      She'd just go over, give him a sedative or something, and let him sleep it off.  He would be fine, she told herself.  But still, there had been a new urgency in his voice this time.  Had he finally lost it?

2:03 p.m.

      Jesse tried to collect himself.  Could it all be a coincidence?  Could there be no direct correlation between Elvis and himself.  The car battery went dead a week ago.  Certainly that didn't correspond to anything he could think of, and that's what had started the whole thing in the first place.

      Yeah, he thought.  It was just a coincidence.  Maybe.  He couldn't be too careful, but he couldn't let himself get carried away like that again.

      It was ridiculous.  He didn't even really believe in reincarnation.  And Ginger!  She had nothing to do with Ginger Alden.  He knew full well she had been named after Ginger Grant on Gilligan's Island.

      Tina Louise.  Now there was a babe.

      He decided he would go back to his bedroom and read.  That would help calm him down.  He walked back to the bedroom, grabbed a paperback from the shelf at random, lay back on the bed, and began to read...

      The Omen. The omen? The sign!  He recalled a picture he had seen in the Elvis Presley Museum in Pigeon Forge, of Elvis at an airport, holding a worn paperback edition of The Omen, giving the Heavy Metal devil sign.

      And today was April 5, he thought.  Gregory Peck's birthday.

      He flung the book across the room.  It slammed into his Ziggy Stardust poster and fell to the floor.

      Now he was trapped.  If he had questioned it before, now he had no doubt.  He was Elvis Presley's dead brother come back, he was going to die, and the Anti-Christ would be the one to kill him.

      Well, he'd just see about that.  Ginger was coming over and they'd stay in and do everything just as they had on January 8 and February 7 and...

      March 6.  His old college roommate's birthday.  It was a Friday.  Of course!  That was the day he had gone to see his grandparents in Tupelo.

      So, he and Ginger would go see his grandparents, come back, she would pass out, and he would watch "Moose and Squirrel."

      He dialed the phone to tell his grandparents to expect them later.

      "Hello," a strange voice said.  It wasn't his grandfather, that he knew.

      It was his cousin Tom from Parkland. 

      Cousin Tom from Parkland. 

      He rolled the words around in his head.  Cousin-Tom-Parkland.  Cousin Tom Parkland.  Colonel Tom Parker.

      It was almost uncanny.

      He hung up the phone without saying a word.  He couldn't go down there.  That's just what they were expecting him to do.  They had sent the signs so he would figure it all out, get scared, and play it safe.

      Well, he thought, he would just see about that.  He'd out-thunk them this time.  They thought they were so clever.  As soon as Ginger got there, they'd go out and do something they'd never done before.  Maybe they'd go to a ballgame.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

      There was a knock at the door.  It had to be Ginger.  Or did it?  What if it were space aliens working for Satan, disguised as Jehovah's Witnesses, armed with exploding Watchtower's, and just waiting to use his blood for scientific experiments that would allow them to clone Wayne Newton and...

      "Jesse, open the damned door!"

      Or maybe it was Ginger.

      He ran to the door, peeked through the peephole, saw it was Ginger, and opened the door.  After she stepped in, he stuck his head out to see if anyone had followed her.

      "Were you followed?" he asked.

      "No," she replied gingerly, giving him a peck on the cheek. "You feeling all right?  Have you got a temperature?"

      "No, I don't think so.  How was work yesterday?"

      "All right, I guess," she said, putting a hand to his forehead.  "You're a little warm, but nothing serious."

      If she only knew, he thought.

      "You might think this is interesting," she continued.  "Yesterday, when I went in at five, "Piano Man," by Billy Joel, was on the Muzak."

      "So?"

      "Well, the Muzak's on a four-hour cycle, so at that moment I knew that when Billy Joel said, 'it's nine o'clock on a Saturday,' it would be."

      "Was it?"

      "It should have been, but I forgot about it and didn't notice.  Here take a couple of these."  She reached into her bag and produced a bottle of pills.  "They'll help you relax."

      He took the proffered pills.  "Thanks."

      "I'll get you a glass of water," she said, waltzing into his kitchen toward the sink.  "So, what's up?  With Elvis and everything?"

      He told her the whole story.  How he had been going to church, had seen the "1 8," the whole spiel.  Explaining it to her again helped him see just how silly it all was.  He had just over-reacted.  Pretty soon, he would probably just sit back and laugh about it all.

      "How many should I take?" he interrupted his own story as she came back with the water.

      "Well, it says two," she answered, "but go ahead and take four."

      What was she saying? Did she want him to O.D, or something?  "What?"

      "Just take four, I don't think it'll hurt you."

      "Won't hurt me? Well, thanks, Doctor Nick, but no thanks."

      "Look, Jess, I just thought..."

      "Oh yeah, you just thought.  Like Doctor Nick thought Elvis, like somebody thought Marilyn Monroe.  'Go ahead, take all you want, we'll make more,' like some pharmaceutical Jay Leno."

      "Hey, I'm just trying to..."

      "Kill me!  That's what you're trying to do."

      "Is that what you think?  Do you want me to just go?"

      A nod of approval.

      "Well, that's just hunky dory."

      And with that, she was gone.

      Watching her go, Jesse realized how he must have sounded to her.  She must have thought he was crazy, really crazy, this time.  He'd probably lost her.  He started after her, but the Pinto was already charging up the road and out of his life.

      Damn, he thought.  The best thing he'd ever had just walked out that door, probably never to return.  He thought about how they got together in the first place.  She was the most beautiful waitress in town.  He had tried to ask her out for months, but every time he almost got the courage, he would hear either "You Can't Always Get What You Want," by the Rolling Stones, or "Dream On," by Aerosmith, and chicken out.

      Finally, one day, he said screw it, and asked her out.  She accepted.  Only by working against his neuroses had he won her, and now, by falling prey to them again, he had lost her.

      He realized things were out of his hands now.  He'd have to put her out of his mind, or he might do something crazy.  That's how Freddie Prinze went out.  And he wasn't going out over a girl.

      He was going out to the ballgame.

7:28 p.m.

      Jesse sat alone in the stands.  He tried to think about something other than the events that had ruled the day up until that point.  He tried to think about baseball.  After all, what better place to think about baseball than a   baseball park?  He thought about his father and how, when they never had anything in common, come October, they could still sit and watch the World Series together like best friends.

      He also thought about perfect games and no-hitters.  Was it possible to lose a game in which you pitched a no-hitter?  It would have to be done on errors, he thought.  It was possible, but would any team really commit that many errors?  He didn't think so.  Baseball wasn't really his favorite subject.  It reminded him of his dad.

      Suddenly, the loud speakers crackled into life.  It wasn't the announcer welcoming people to the park.  It wasn't the local PTA head asking for Campbell's Soup label donations.  It was blaring out a stirring rendition of "Also Sprach Zarathustra."  He couldn't get away from it.

      He had to get out of there.  But where could he go?  Nowhere.  This was the safest place for him to be.  In a crowd.

      And so he sat and watched the game, having only the occasional hysterical fit when a ball was hit in his general direction.

      Finally, the home team lost.  The pitcher had thrown a no-hitter, but they had lost it on errors.

11:57 p.m.

      Three more minutes and he would be safe.  Could he make it? The drive home had been horrifying.  Halfway home he had realized he was driving the same type car, a burgundy Cadillac Seville, that Elvis had bought just before he died.  He almost ran off the road.

      A lot could happen in three minutes.  Just in the United States alone, nine people would be shot and killed with a handgun that someone else could have purchased on impulse, at most having to wait two days, and that in only twenty
-two states, Tennessee being one in which there was no waiting period.  Elvis had a gun.  He shot his TV out with it.

      The TV!  That was it.  He'd turn on the TV.  It would help him pass the time, and, perhaps, enable him to distract any major threats that might come his way.

      He switched it on and heard Sally Struthers, Archie Bunker's little goil, the voice of Baby Pebbles Flintstone, tell the story of poor Five Year Old Melanie, who lived in a grass hut in India, and had been five years old for at least the last six.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

      There was a knock at the door.  He froze.  This could be it.  Whoever was on the other side of that door was going to be the one to kill him.

      The knocking continued into David Bowie's video, "Fame," the 1990 re-mix from the hit movie Pretty Woman, which you could have gotten the cassette single for free with the purchase of Reeboks, for a limited time only.  The song featured John Lennon on guitar.  So.  It was coming back to Elvis and Lennon again.

      Or it might be David Bowie.

      The book had landed against his Ziggy Stardust poster.  Ginger had used the words "hunky dory," an odd thing for a twenty-five year old woman to say if she weren't referring to the David Bowie album of the same name.

      January 8.  It was David Bowie's birthday, too, not just Elvis's.  Of course.

      He ran to the door, flung it open, and there was Ginger.

      "I've finally figured it all out," he said, "the world doesn't revolve around Elvis. It doesn't revolve around John Lennon, and it doesn't revolve around me."

      "Oh Jesse," she flung her arms around him, "I'm so glad you've come to your senses.  You were really scaring me there for awhile."

      "It revolves around David Bowie."

      "Oh no. No. Say it's not true. You can't believe..."

      Denial, he thought.  He had felt the same way at first.  It was better to let her just come to accept it, not force her.  He had almost gone crazy fighting it, so he just said, "Of course, I'm kidding."

      They laughed, went in, sat on the couch.  As the night ran on and they got closer and closer, Jesse couldn't help but think how unfair it all was.

      David Bowie, the center of the universe, had to change his name from David Jones to David Bowie because some silly bubble-gum band called the Monkees already had a lead singer and tambourine player named Davy Jones.


      Ah Bowie!  Ah Humanity!

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Plan 8 From Outer Space

(to the tune of Rodgers & Hammerstein's "My Favorite Things")

Spaceships in orbit and saucers a flyin’
Soon Solarnite will your planet be fryin’
Fantastic inventions beyond mortal ken
Little green women and little green men

Jeff acted crazy and Kelton was quirky
How ‘bout we ball it up in Albuquerque?
Criswell’s narration and Harper’s big gun
If we don’t stop you you’ll explode the sun

Angora sweaters and black and white movies
Low cut black dresses and Vampira’s boobies
Bela Lugosi and Tor’s big bald head
Electrode ray guns to bring back the dead

All except Eros: When this plan fails
Eros: If this plan fails!
All: We’ll just move ahead
We’ll shoot our electrode rays into your brains
And then we will raise the dead

All: If this plan fails
When this plan fails!
We’ll just move ahead
We’ll shoot our electrode rays into your brains
And then we will raise the dead!

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

A Simple Sample Suicide Note (for the poetically uninspired)*

Hang it all!
                  No!
Fuck it all!
Fuckin'
            Fuckin'
                         Fuckin'
                                     Fuckin'
Fuck it all!



*With special thanks to Robert Frost and Edward Arlington Robinson

Monday, July 30, 2012

LINES of little import composed on a typewriter


To fly
            free of all, like a bird
                                                I'd love
I love to fly
                       
I saw a girl, I heard a song and I saw
another girl where she had been
Was it the song or the girl or me that changed?

I heard a new song and saw a new girl
the old girl unchanged, but yet
Was it the song or the girl or me that unchanged?

She is what she was and I am
The same is gone and yet stays
Was it the song or the girl or me that sang?
                       
I write a new song I joy to hear
I'm still uncertain
Was it the song or the girl or me that's changed? 

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

TOP BANE QUOTES FROM THE NEW POLITICALLY MOTIVATED BATMAN MOVIE


“Gotham is mine! I will cleanse her streets, plunder her resources, and ship her jobs overseas!”

“I am Gotham’s reckoning, come to lower her top income tax brackets and eradicate her social programs.”

“I will break you, Batman! Just as I have broken your city! I will snap your spine and use your spinal fluid to slick back my preternaturally coiffed hair!”

“I think there are very real questions about whether Batman was born in Gotham City.”

“Hear me Gotham! I am your new master. I will eradicate the scum from your streets and lower the tax rate on your job creators!”

“Underworld criminal organizations are people, my friend.”

“The Joker is a fine businessman. We don’t agree on every policy point, but I welcome his support.”

 “What we did with BaneCare is totally different than what we have now. Why should I pay for someone else’s Venom prescription?”

“Why should I release my tax returns? I’m trying to lay siege to a city, not run for president or anything.”

“Of course the media are going to be on Batman’s side. We realize that. But we’ve gotten some very good support from Fox News.”

“We’re accused of being the party of ruthless dictators, which is untrue. We’re the party of people who want to BE ruthless dictators”

“I wish Batman would learn to be an American.” - Bane surrogate Louie the Lilac to CNN’s Wolf Blitzer

“I like being able to kill henchmen who provide services to me.”

I believe in a Gotham where Gothamites believe in a Gotham that's the Gotham Gothamites believe in. That's the Gotham I love”

“Batman and I have very different philosophies. He believes in killing jobs. I prefer killing people. It’s that simple.” 

Monday, February 13, 2012

The Age of Disillusion: Chapter 1, In Which Han Shoots First


Feeling more than a little like Robert Langdon, I waited patiently for the library doors to open.

Inside lay the Holy Grail, I’d convinced myself. The definitive article. The original document. Biblical in scope, full of war, sacrifice and incestuous undertones.

Finally, the doors opened and the crowd filed in. I trudged up the stairs and found the object of my desire.

A book is a dangerous thing, someone once said. Once you pick it up, your life may be forever changed. This weighed on my mind as I searched the stacks. In moments I would know. I would know if my memory was correct, if what I believed was true all these many years would be proven true. At the same time, I knew that if my beliefs were proven correct, that would mean that the creator had gone mad, that he no longer spoke the truth. What horrors the world may hold when God lies.

I found the small, weathered tome, tucked in next to some giant Ludlums, and quickly scanned the pages, searching for the relevant passage.

Oh, what book, you ask? None other than…

STAR WARS: From the Adventures of Luke Skywalker by George Lucas, Ballantine Book Club Edition, December 1976.

This was it! This was like the Dead Sea Scrolls. A contemporary account of the beginning of a worldwide phenomenon, not just inspired by, but written by the creator himself. (Well, I’m pretty sure Alan Dean Foster actually wrote it, but it bears Lucas’ name, and, one would assume, his blessing).

The yellowing pages still felt crisp to the touch, and there she lay, the White Whale, on page 87 (reprinted below):

“Something that might have been a laugh came from the
creature’s translator. “They’d hardly notice. Get up, Solo. I’ve
been looking forward to this for a long time. You’ve embarrassed
me in front of Jabba with your pious excuses for the last time.”
“I think you’re right.”
Light and noise filled the little corner of the cantina, and
when it had faded, all that remained of the unctuous alien was a
smoking, slimy spot on the stone floor.
Solo brought his hand and the smoking weapon it held
out from beneath the table, drawing bemused stares from several
of the cantina’s patrons and clucking sounds from its more
knowledgeable ones. They had known the creature had committed
its fatal mistake in allowing Solo the chance to get his hands
under cover.”1

Han didn’t only shoot first. Han just plain shot.

I’d never understood why George never blamed the controversy on the editing. It would have been simple to claim that his intent was mangled in the editing room. His ex-wife edited the film, for Yoda’s sake! If you can’t blame something like that on your ex-wife, what can you do?

Of course, now I know the truth. It’s all been revisionist history. I’m sure it comes from a good place, the same place Steven Spielberg was operating from when he changed the guns to walkie-talkies and flashlights in E.T. And if he’d just admit that fact, things would be settled. But he won’t, and now we know.

If you haven’t read the book, or haven’t in awhile, I recommend it. Be ready for some stomach-churning glances between brother Luke and sister Leia, though.

Well, that’s it for this post. Now I’m on to my next adventure. Apparently, Mark Evanier has some startling claims about Stan Lee’s role in the early age of Marvel Comics.




1. George Lucas, STAR WARS: From the Adventures of Luke Skywalker (New York: Ballantine Books, 1976), 87.