"You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on".
Dean Martin
Thursday, June 27, 2019
A Very Specific Memory
John Waters was a guest on Bill Maher's show a few weeks ago.
A very outrageous man and fiercely himself at all times in all situations. Seeing him, listening to him, laughing with him brought me back over forty years ago to a very specific time and place.
On that night my friend, Rob McMenimen, enticed me to go see the movie "Pink Flamingos". He was a John Waters fan; I had never heard of the man.
We were in Cambridge, Massachusetts. That alone defines the funk. I don't know if present day Cambridge captures the same spirit, but back then it was delightfully eclectic. You could just feel creativity and individuality seeping into your bones as you walked around. No better place in the world to experience "Pink Flamingos" on the big screen for the first time.
As a teenager I used to take the train in to Cambridge and walk around visiting bookstores and music stores. Made me feel human. Alive. Unique. Then I died and became an accountant, but that is a long, boring story better told at another time and place.
We stopped in to a restaurant, a funky joint, ate some damn good steak and drank a lot of wine. Talked a lot, laughed a lot. He fit the mold of all of my good friends - free spirit, unique thinker, into different stuff than your normal social prisoner.
He then steered me to a very funky movie theatre, also in Cambridge, where "Pink Flamingos" was playing.
Movie blew me away; it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Of course that is the experience I seek every day of my life. At this stage, "nothing I had ever seen before" happens maybe once a decade. Probably less. Not a lot left for me to look forward to, eh?
We had a great night. A great, great night.
Memories like that are almost edible. They mean something. They give you something to fall back on when boredom and despair beat back your defenses.
Now the bad shit.
Rob was married to Becky. Another memory just leaked out of my brain as I prepared to deliver all the news to you. Rob and Becky used to host legendary Super Bowl parties. I'm talking legendary. Becky was a magical cook. Amazing in the kitchen. We were not eating nachos and hot dogs at these parties. We were eating top of the line food. In an abundance that almost prevented us from getting drunk. Big parties, lots of people, lots of fun.
Becky died on February 11, 2007 from some type of brain trauma, like an embolism. Came out of nowhere. They were married for 27 years. She was 51. Fucking 51.
Rob died on December 17, 2015 after a "lingering illness". I don't remember what the illness was but I remember being told at the time that Becky's death broke his heart and he was never the same after that. He was 66. Fucking 66.
That's the way life works, baby. It is a real motherfucker.
But, thankfully, I have the memories of those Super Bowl parties, that night in Cambridge and many other fun things we did together.
I go through my life carrying the burden of innumerable regrets. But I am beginning to realize there have been many great moments too. A lot of fun. A lot of laughs. I am beginning to realize that those memories mean a lot. Up until recently I downplayed that stuff, choosing to focus on the dwindling time left to me, the diminishing (one might say minuscule) chances remaining to make something large out of my life.
But Christ, man - if seeing John Waters on Bill Maher can flood my emotions with warm, happy, positive memories - this memories phenomenon must be pretty powerful stuff.
With memories like that, who needs whiskey?
I do, for Christ sake. Come on, sentimental only goes so far.
A very outrageous man and fiercely himself at all times in all situations. Seeing him, listening to him, laughing with him brought me back over forty years ago to a very specific time and place.
On that night my friend, Rob McMenimen, enticed me to go see the movie "Pink Flamingos". He was a John Waters fan; I had never heard of the man.
We were in Cambridge, Massachusetts. That alone defines the funk. I don't know if present day Cambridge captures the same spirit, but back then it was delightfully eclectic. You could just feel creativity and individuality seeping into your bones as you walked around. No better place in the world to experience "Pink Flamingos" on the big screen for the first time.
As a teenager I used to take the train in to Cambridge and walk around visiting bookstores and music stores. Made me feel human. Alive. Unique. Then I died and became an accountant, but that is a long, boring story better told at another time and place.
We stopped in to a restaurant, a funky joint, ate some damn good steak and drank a lot of wine. Talked a lot, laughed a lot. He fit the mold of all of my good friends - free spirit, unique thinker, into different stuff than your normal social prisoner.
He then steered me to a very funky movie theatre, also in Cambridge, where "Pink Flamingos" was playing.
Movie blew me away; it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Of course that is the experience I seek every day of my life. At this stage, "nothing I had ever seen before" happens maybe once a decade. Probably less. Not a lot left for me to look forward to, eh?
We had a great night. A great, great night.
Memories like that are almost edible. They mean something. They give you something to fall back on when boredom and despair beat back your defenses.
Now the bad shit.
Rob was married to Becky. Another memory just leaked out of my brain as I prepared to deliver all the news to you. Rob and Becky used to host legendary Super Bowl parties. I'm talking legendary. Becky was a magical cook. Amazing in the kitchen. We were not eating nachos and hot dogs at these parties. We were eating top of the line food. In an abundance that almost prevented us from getting drunk. Big parties, lots of people, lots of fun.
Becky died on February 11, 2007 from some type of brain trauma, like an embolism. Came out of nowhere. They were married for 27 years. She was 51. Fucking 51.
Rob died on December 17, 2015 after a "lingering illness". I don't remember what the illness was but I remember being told at the time that Becky's death broke his heart and he was never the same after that. He was 66. Fucking 66.
That's the way life works, baby. It is a real motherfucker.
But, thankfully, I have the memories of those Super Bowl parties, that night in Cambridge and many other fun things we did together.
I go through my life carrying the burden of innumerable regrets. But I am beginning to realize there have been many great moments too. A lot of fun. A lot of laughs. I am beginning to realize that those memories mean a lot. Up until recently I downplayed that stuff, choosing to focus on the dwindling time left to me, the diminishing (one might say minuscule) chances remaining to make something large out of my life.
But Christ, man - if seeing John Waters on Bill Maher can flood my emotions with warm, happy, positive memories - this memories phenomenon must be pretty powerful stuff.
With memories like that, who needs whiskey?
I do, for Christ sake. Come on, sentimental only goes so far.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Glorious Sunshine
"The sun, with all those planets revolving around it and dependent upon it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as if it had nothing else in the universe to do."
Galileo Galilei
Galileo Galilei
Take That, You Wily Motherfucker
Sometimes you just gotta let it all out.
I'm talking expressing yourself as violently as you can, releasing the frustrations, disappointments and broken dreams of your life at someone else's expense.
That is what other human beings are for. To wail on in moments of crisis. They are pissing their own lives away anyway so a beating is not out of line.
Gotta choose carefully, though. If the plan disintegrates into you receiving a beating because you chose poorly, that kinda defeats the purpose.
I'm going out right now to the Henniker Home for the Aged, Decrepit, and Terminally Despaired. If I can avoid being admitted on the spot as a new patient, I'm gonna find me a 98 year old woman and put my knuckles to her face. Stomp her good.
That should improve my mood significantly.
Wish me luck.
I'm talking expressing yourself as violently as you can, releasing the frustrations, disappointments and broken dreams of your life at someone else's expense.
That is what other human beings are for. To wail on in moments of crisis. They are pissing their own lives away anyway so a beating is not out of line.
Gotta choose carefully, though. If the plan disintegrates into you receiving a beating because you chose poorly, that kinda defeats the purpose.
I'm going out right now to the Henniker Home for the Aged, Decrepit, and Terminally Despaired. If I can avoid being admitted on the spot as a new patient, I'm gonna find me a 98 year old woman and put my knuckles to her face. Stomp her good.
That should improve my mood significantly.
Wish me luck.
Saturday, June 22, 2019
Would You Take Advice From This Man?
"Keep your sense of humor, no matter what"
"Create a purpose, a focus, and never take your eyes off it"
"Figure out what's important to you. What's really important"
"Be open. Try anything. You never know"
"Love. You need love. Tons of it. A shitload of love"
"Sometimes you need to be selfish"
"You need support. You're in this alone, but you can't fight it alone"
"The most precious thing you have is time. Don't waste it"
"You're only human"
"And, finally, once again - laugh"
These are Robert Schimmel's words towards the end of his book "Cancer On $5 A Day *chemo not included"
He was a comedian. A comedian's comedian. I liked him. His career was rough because he worked blue and would not compromise. In other words he was a vulgar motherfucker.
In 2000, at the age of 49, and after a long career of fighting to make it big, he was finally being rewarded. He had won the Stand Up of the Year award, had a special on HBO called Unprotected which was a big hit. AND the Fox network had just picked up his sitcom Schimmel, which was scheduled for a September start in the time slot following The Simpsons.
Then he was diagnosed with stage three non-Hodgkins lymphoma.
He and his agent had to inform Fox and of course they put the sitcom "on hold". Which means it never aired. His whole career came crashing to a halt as he began to battle cancer with an immediate and aggressive course of chemotherapy.
The book is a brutally honest telling of what he dealt with, what he was thinking as he went through it, how it affected his family, how it changed his opinion of himself and his life. And he does it with humor. Trust me, there are many things about the book that break your heart, but somehow he manages to make you laugh too.
Fucking amazing.
When he showed up for his first session of chemo they seated him next to one grumpy motherfucker. Schimmel tried to make conversation and all the guy could say was "leave me alone, I have cancer and don't feel like being sociable". The nurses apologized for seating him there and told him they would not do it again.
Schimmel said nope - I want to sit next to him at every session. He made it his mission to make the guy laugh.
And he did. The nurses could not believe the transformation Schmimmel sparked in the guy over time. He became social, told jokes, and generally lightened up.
How fucking unselfish is that? Schimmel was going through his own personal hell and yet he chose to make someone else's life better.
There are so many brutal moments in the book. One of the worst was when he was one session away from completing chemo. He had been through hell and battled every setback, every indignity, every excruciating pain and kept going. He psyched himself with the knowledge that he was almost done.
Then his body shuts down. His is home alone, his ex-wife is away on a family emergency for an hour or two, and he is suddenly freezing. As he puts it: "Vomit rises into my throat, wet, sour, violent. I squeeze my eyes shut to will it away. My head pounds with searing pain. It feels as if someone is crushing my skull between two concrete blocks. The bones in my back and neck burn. And yet I am so cold."
He decides to get up and get a blanket or a jacket. "I turn my head slowly and focus on the closet door a few steps away. I have to get there. I lift my right leg one inch. Pain shoots through me. Forget the closet. It might as well be in another state."
Miraculously his daughter's boyfriend shows up out of the blue and gets him to the hospital, where they save his life. His immune system had shutdown completely.
This episode broke him, and when his dad walked into the room Schimmel asked him to unhook him so he could die. He told his dad he could not take it any more and he wanted to die. His dad walked out of the room, came back with Schimmel's kids and said "Tell them".
Jesus Christ, that is so heavy - and so wise. Of course he could not do it.
He went on to beat cancer. He fucking beat it and got himself back up on stage where of course he did a whole routine on what it's like to fight for your life against cancer. And made people laugh - and cry.
Now pay attention.
In 1998 Robert Schimmel survived a heart attack. In 2000 he was diagnosed with cancer and beat that. On August 26, 2010 Schimmel was a passenger in his daughter's car in Scottsdale, Arizona. She veered off the road to avoid an oncoming car, and flipped her car onto its side. Schimmel was hospitalized in serious condition. On September 3, 2010 Schimmel died of his injuries. He was 60 years old.
I think his advice is gold.
"Create a purpose, a focus, and never take your eyes off it"
"Figure out what's important to you. What's really important"
"Be open. Try anything. You never know"
"Love. You need love. Tons of it. A shitload of love"
"Sometimes you need to be selfish"
"You need support. You're in this alone, but you can't fight it alone"
"The most precious thing you have is time. Don't waste it"
"You're only human"
"And, finally, once again - laugh"
These are Robert Schimmel's words towards the end of his book "Cancer On $5 A Day *chemo not included"
He was a comedian. A comedian's comedian. I liked him. His career was rough because he worked blue and would not compromise. In other words he was a vulgar motherfucker.
In 2000, at the age of 49, and after a long career of fighting to make it big, he was finally being rewarded. He had won the Stand Up of the Year award, had a special on HBO called Unprotected which was a big hit. AND the Fox network had just picked up his sitcom Schimmel, which was scheduled for a September start in the time slot following The Simpsons.
Then he was diagnosed with stage three non-Hodgkins lymphoma.
He and his agent had to inform Fox and of course they put the sitcom "on hold". Which means it never aired. His whole career came crashing to a halt as he began to battle cancer with an immediate and aggressive course of chemotherapy.
The book is a brutally honest telling of what he dealt with, what he was thinking as he went through it, how it affected his family, how it changed his opinion of himself and his life. And he does it with humor. Trust me, there are many things about the book that break your heart, but somehow he manages to make you laugh too.
Fucking amazing.
When he showed up for his first session of chemo they seated him next to one grumpy motherfucker. Schimmel tried to make conversation and all the guy could say was "leave me alone, I have cancer and don't feel like being sociable". The nurses apologized for seating him there and told him they would not do it again.
Schimmel said nope - I want to sit next to him at every session. He made it his mission to make the guy laugh.
And he did. The nurses could not believe the transformation Schmimmel sparked in the guy over time. He became social, told jokes, and generally lightened up.
How fucking unselfish is that? Schimmel was going through his own personal hell and yet he chose to make someone else's life better.
There are so many brutal moments in the book. One of the worst was when he was one session away from completing chemo. He had been through hell and battled every setback, every indignity, every excruciating pain and kept going. He psyched himself with the knowledge that he was almost done.
Then his body shuts down. His is home alone, his ex-wife is away on a family emergency for an hour or two, and he is suddenly freezing. As he puts it: "Vomit rises into my throat, wet, sour, violent. I squeeze my eyes shut to will it away. My head pounds with searing pain. It feels as if someone is crushing my skull between two concrete blocks. The bones in my back and neck burn. And yet I am so cold."
He decides to get up and get a blanket or a jacket. "I turn my head slowly and focus on the closet door a few steps away. I have to get there. I lift my right leg one inch. Pain shoots through me. Forget the closet. It might as well be in another state."
Miraculously his daughter's boyfriend shows up out of the blue and gets him to the hospital, where they save his life. His immune system had shutdown completely.
This episode broke him, and when his dad walked into the room Schimmel asked him to unhook him so he could die. He told his dad he could not take it any more and he wanted to die. His dad walked out of the room, came back with Schimmel's kids and said "Tell them".
Jesus Christ, that is so heavy - and so wise. Of course he could not do it.
He went on to beat cancer. He fucking beat it and got himself back up on stage where of course he did a whole routine on what it's like to fight for your life against cancer. And made people laugh - and cry.
Now pay attention.
In 1998 Robert Schimmel survived a heart attack. In 2000 he was diagnosed with cancer and beat that. On August 26, 2010 Schimmel was a passenger in his daughter's car in Scottsdale, Arizona. She veered off the road to avoid an oncoming car, and flipped her car onto its side. Schimmel was hospitalized in serious condition. On September 3, 2010 Schimmel died of his injuries. He was 60 years old.
I think his advice is gold.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself
"Life is a shit sandwich. Eat it or starve."
David Briggs (Neil Young's producer)
David Briggs (Neil Young's producer)
Saturday, June 1, 2019
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