No: CRAYFISH!

According to our monthly local Gazette, a bear was recently sighted in my town. This bear happened to be seen almost directly on my usual running route and right down the road from my house. As I typically run between 5:30 and 6:30 AM during the summer, this has thrown a considerable wrench in my workout. As in, nearly brought it to dead halt. I feel like a sitting duck out there that time of day and I am scared of That Bear.

Everyone I've told about That Bear says "Don't worry, that bear is not interested in you." But how do I know that I'm not a bear magnet?

Because I am undoubtedly a crayfish magnet. This is fact. In 2003, I was running when I saw something in the middle of the road. I get closer and see it's a lobster. No, that's not right, I think, how could a lobster get out here? The ocean is an hour away. I circle the thing and whooo, he's serious! He is actually coming towards me, he is, claws up, wavin'.

"You wanna go, I'll go!" he's saying.

Eventually I determine this is not a lobster, but a crayfish. On the road. No water around to speak of. What the fuck? I ran away from him, that bastard.

A day later, I'm doing some Googling and learn in a town about a half hour away, some freakish tornado-ey weather condition dropped a whole bunch of crayfish down out of the sky! Still, explain to me how'd this little bastard get out to my town -- all by hisself, hmmm? I'll tell you how. Because, one, he was a bastard and, two, he wanted to kill me and three, I am obviously a crayfish magnet! So don't you be telling me no bear isn't out to eat me. Not until you've ran a mile in my sneakers with a crayfish clickin' at your ankles.

This experience inspired me to create a series of poorly drawn cartoons.  Here's one:

Fast forward to 2006, new house, new town: I am out in the backyard with my 7-year old son and dog, Carter. The night before, we'd had some strange weather with lots of heavy rain, thunderstorms and even a few tornado sightings. Carter was enjoying being outside after the bad weather, rolling around in the wet grass and such. 

Our backyard just under an acre. Crayfish (while lethal!) move slowly on land when traversing through longish grass. Despite the largeness of the backyard, despite the longish grass, despite the minimal movement, suddenly I spy trickery approximately ten feet from where Carter and I are playing.

At first sighting, it appeared as if a large slug, a substantial insect or a very thin mole was on the make. A person without my traumatic history would likely have thought "What is that?"
I, however, had no such thought.
I knew instantly what wickedness this way came.
All that weird weather we'd had.
With no surprise whatsoever I whispered: "Crayfish."

Then: "Bastard."
The very last thing I wanted was for Carter to catch sight of this bastard. Absolutely nothing good would have come of that, I promise you.  While my son brought him inside, I kept my eyes on You Know Who.

After getting Carter to safety, my son and I pondered what to do next.

"CAMERA!" I shrieked. "No one is going to believe this!"

I began snapping pictures. At first, I was frightened and kept my distance, using only the zoom feature for close ups. Emboldened by his lack of attack, I drew nearer:





"I don't like him!" said my son. "Call animal control!"

But I know I am on my own here. Help will not be on the way. This shit has been predestined in the stars.
This is between me and him.

"Watch him!" I said to my son "I gotta call Helen."

Helen is a friend who knows all about my previous crayfish experience. She is one of the friends who received the above cartoons. She also knows all about creepy individuals with obsessive and potentially violent tendencies.

"He found you?" says Helen. "You better get a restraining order."

She was right, of course. But no piece of paper would scare this bastard off. This guy had a bone to pick with me and he was going to pick it.

Thing is, so did I have a bone to pick! Finding me 3 years later, clear in the next town! By this time, approximately ten minutes had passed and the bastard had yet to make his move. Rather than stand and fight, he continued merely globbering his way over the grass, perhaps pretending he hadn't noticed me.

For a moment, I doubted myself.
Where was the "Up in my shit" fighting stance?
The claws in the air, like he just didn't care?
Where was the preening, angry little bastard of yore?
I could stand the doubt and tension no longer.

I picked up a stick.

I apologize for the shaky footage you are about to see. The whole thing was very Blair Witch terrifying and I was unable to keep the camera focused on that bastard the whole time:



("All up in mah ... craw?" Who knows? With my son around, I guess was making an attempt to keep the expletives to a minimum, grabbing at noun-straws in my terror. You'll note, I failed to keep my language PG once he gets going.)

Though frightened, I stood my ground.
For about 20 minutes, the bastard and I sized each other up.
Things clicked and snapped.

Eventually, weary to the bone, I holstered my camera, got my dog and my son and retreated to the safety of the house. Last time I saw that bastard, he was moseyin' toward the marsh.

He could be anywhere right now.
Anywhere at all.

You didn't think I'd let ya'll off without a message from Bastante Kim of Assisi did you? True, the crayfish creeped me out, especially when he got in his fighting stance. A crayfish is not that far removed in appearance from a large, hard spider with claws and I am most definitely afraid of any spider larger than a nickel. It's true also, I don't kill anything except parasites and the occasional spider if I can't lure it outside.

But, had I been a person of the "It's ugly and scary, quick, kill it!" variety who also possessed a strong stomach for stomping things, Crayfish would have been stomped to death within five minutes.

Instead, I watched him and eventually pondered ways to get him to water. We did try coaxing him into a small fish tank. He wasn't having any of that. The first few times we placed the fish tank in his path, he got into that fighting stance. When I tried coming at him from above, however, the poor thing shrank all up in fear. He retracted his claws and tried to make himself as small as possible, indeed appearing to be trying to burrow hind-end first into the ground.

In this moment, he went from little but still pretty fucking scary to Oh Poor Baby.

Poor thing.
Trying to defend himself from me, a creature ever so much bigger and stronger, the only way he knew how.
With his little posture and tiny claws.

We left him alone, saying a little prayer that he find his way to water, safety and other crayfish. Much as I'd have liked to, I just could NOT bring myself to pick him up in order to carry him to a water source myself.

HELL, Yes! Kissunderstood (or misinterpreting lyrics as a kid)

Rise and shine!

At 4:30 this morning, I woke with "Rock and Roll Party in the Streets" by Axe in my head:

Let's have a knock down, drag out rock 'n' roll party in the streets

Get all the boys together have them tell everybody that they meet
Friday night at midnight we're all gonna get what we need
Let's have a knock down, drag out rock 'n' roll party in the streets

Up until this morning, whenever I thought of "Rock and Roll Party in the Streets," which wasn't very often, I thought the lyrics in the chorus were "Get all the boys together, have 'em tell everybody their baby." Which, in 1982 when the album was released and I was 14, didn't seem so odd. I thought all the boys were going to get together and confide in each other:

Boy 1: C'mon, tell us who you like! Who's your baby?
Boy 2: Ok, ok, but promise not to tell!
All the Boys: We promise!
Boy 2: Well ... I think Jackie is really pretty!
All the Boys: Yay!
Boy 2: Ok, now your turn!

Today, I Googled the lyrics and learned my error. I like my interpretation better.

"Go for Soda" by some guy named Kim Mitchell was another song that enjoyed a brief blip on the airwaves when I was in high school:

Might as well go for a soda
Nobody hurts and nobody cries
Might as well go for a soda
Nobody drowns and nobody dies.

Up until this morning, whenever I thought of "Go for Soda," I thought the song was about alcohol abstinence. Today I Googled the lyrics and learned it appears the song is about choosing soda over love.

Guy: Hey, baby, let's make love!

Girl: (Hands guy a soda) Now, nobody drowns and nobody dies.

That's stupid.

Then there's Kiss. At age 11, I played "Rock and Roll Over" and "Love Gun" endlessly.

From "Mr. Speed:"
You try pleasin', but gettin' on your knees don't make it. 

From "Doctor Love:"
And even though I'm full of sin,
In the end you'll let me in ...
So if you please get on your knees
There are no bills, there are no fees.

From "Plaster Caster:"
Plaster caster, grab a hold of me faster
And if you wanna see my love, just ask her
And my love is the plaster
And yeah, she's the collector
She wants me all the time to inject her.

Apparently, there was a lot of begging going on, all that "getting on the knees" business and what not. Understand, I sung these lyrics over and over, loudly, while wearing headphones. Anyone passing by would hear my acapella, 11-year old voice singing about Gene's "love." Which I thought was love in the literal sense. I though the woman he was singing about wanted to be "injected" with his love; like murmuring sweet nothings or something. I certainly didn't think he was singing about his nasty old Gene peen. 

My girlfriends and I all had our favorite Kiss members. Mine was Peter Criss, with his sweet kitty makeup. Ace was too elusive, Paul too hairy, Gene too scary. Peter was safely sexy back there behind his drum kit, minding his own business, coming out only to croon to his beloved Beth. Peter never sang about his "love," either. He sung about Baby Drivers and Hard Luck Women.

I tell you what, though: even back then, I thought his solo album sucked.

Prince, now. Prince was a saucy little sex machine of a completely different color. Even though I was older and wiser at 16 when I discovered him, the lyrics to "When You Were Mine" went sailing right over my head.

"You didn't have the decency to change the sheets" sung Prince. 

Kim's Mom, overhearing: "Change the what?"
Kim: (eyeroll, exasperated sigh) "KEY. Duh!"

I though Prince's girlfriend kicked him out and she couldn't even be bothered to change the key.
Which granted, makes no fucking sense.

I almost never got the dirty references in songs. I surely didn't know "She-Bop" and "Miss Me Blind" were about masturbation. Nor did I grasp really what AC/DC meant when they sung about being shook all night long. While I did get their "Let's Get It Up" reference, "Loose lips, sink ships," meant merely not telling secrets to me. And I know for a fact all those kids in their "Frankie say RELAX" t-shirts had no clue they were walking billboards for prolonged (gay!) sex. I sure didn't. 

Thing is, I probably looked like the kind of girl who not only got all those references but maybe even performed them. Black eyeliner, tight designer jeans, leather jacket, sucking on my Newports, I looked like a "tough girl." I supposed I wanted everyone to think I was Pat Benatar, but really I was more Amy Grant when it came to the sexy stuff.

Party hardy, rock and roll!
Drink a 5th, smoke a bowl!
Sex is great, we get our kicks!
We're the class of '86!

I have no idea who composed that bit o' poetry, but once I heard it I commenced writing that crap on desktops and in yearbooks all over the damn place. A lot of us did. However, I was getting very little "kicks." I found out quickly that my hypersensitivity couldn't handle any "bowls" and while I have may have drank a wine cooler or two in the woods, I couldn't have begun to tell you if "sex was great" or not. 

Maybe it was that I disliked overt sexuality. Still do. As such, maybe my hearing was selective - which is why subtle little Peter Criss did it for me and not Gene the Peen. 

Or maybe not.
Could be I was just a dumb ass who didn't get anything.

In any case, next time you're thinking about having a knock down drag out rock and party in streets but you can't decide what to wear, I suggest you play Marvin's "Let's Get It On." That will not only help you decide what to put on, but it might also bring your love down. You don't want him/her to stay upstairs all night, do you?

Yes: These Uncool Songs, Also

Kenny Loggins and Steve Perry: ready or not, here they come.

Fun fact: I wrote about half of these entries after drinking two beers. I never write while drinking, but as I've been enjoying a very long writer's block, I thought I’d give it a try. It didn't work: the words plopped on the screen like petulant turds and went nowhere. My mind was unable to travel down its usual paths of weird non-sequiturs and I felt literally brain damaged.  Later, I wrote the rest of the entries sober and the two-beer entries were heavily edited.  Without beer, the words came much easier.  Writing while drinking = failed experiment. Screw you, Bukowski.

I am still a music snob.  Every single song on my IPod is super cool. Except these:

Bee Gees, "You Win Again."  This song received radio play for a couple of weeks and then was maybe never heard again. I think The Monkees’ “Heart and Soul” was released around this same time which thrilled all the Mickey Dolenz fans. It was kind of thrilling, that Monkees’ song, as the 45 was issued on pink vinyl. Also around this same time, The Grateful Dead’s “Touch of Grey” came out on grey vinyl. "Grey" wasn’t a new song at all as any Deadhead could tell you but I don’t suppose the Mickey Dolenz fans cared about that. 

Benny Mardones, “Into the Night.” This is not a bad song, musically and I like Mardones' passionate screaming at the end.  But no one can really feel good about a song that opens with “She’s just 16-years old, leave her alone, they say.” In fact, that lyric puts a major damper on those passionate screams. Songs penned by older men about teenage girls are creepy. Kiss has two, “Going Blind” and “Christine Sixteen.” The Undertones wrote about “teenage kicks” and The Knack got all kinds of creepy in “Good Girls Don’t." But those songs could be about teenagers being teenagers and not about old creeps like Mardones who was 33 when the song became popular.

Here's something you want to do: watch the video.  Tell me if the first 15 seconds don't creep you out. By 3:20, you'll be vomiting.  

It'a a good damn thing he can't fly. That alone probably kept him off the Sex Offender Registry.  


Britney Spears, “Baby One More Time.” You know what I hate about this song? That by the time you read this, 40 more precious hipsters will have covered this song in their precious, hipster way, bringing the grand total of precious hipster covers of “Baby One More Time” to way too many. 

Christina Perri, “Jar of Hearts.” It’s a nice little emotional song but the lyrics are pretty bad, notably:“You’re gonna catch a cold, from the ice inside your soul.” Folks, you don’t catch a cold from being cold, you catch them from viruses. Plus, why should Christina even care if the person catches a cold? The whole song is about not taking someone back after they messed you over. If I were Christina, I would have wrote "I hope you catch a cold, from a really bad virus, because you're a big asshole." 

EMF, “Unbelievable.” Every time I think about this song, I think about the piles of EMF CDs that wound up in the used CD bin in the record store I worked at in Illinois. There were also piles of the Soul Asylum CD that had “Runaway Train” on it and piles and piles of that 4-Non Blondes album.  That was before iTunes when you could buy “What’s Up” and only “What’s Up” for $1.29.

Human Drama, various songs. Human Drama is a goth-like band according to Wikipedia. I wouldn’t say they’re necessarily “uncool," but I’m a little embarrassed to admit I have a bunch of their songs on my iPod because they are a lot of drama. 

Human Drama writes songs about dying in a moment of splendor, having non-penetrable skin and metaphorically bleeding for someone you love. Songs about walking sadly around Times Square and tears that cannot be dried, ever.

That's pretty much as gothy as one can get.  Unless you want to eat a boatload of salt so you can bloat up like nobody's business while wearing crooked lipstick.  

Justin Roberts, “Willy Was a Whale.”  I heard this song on a lot on  Nick Jr when my son was young. “Willy” is about a whale who walks on the water and walks around in Reno, Nevada. Some lyrics are purposefully mispronounced such as “wuff” instead of “rough." and "Weno" instead of "Reno." Lyrics for kid songs are nearly always light-hearted and silly, even when teaching serious lessons.  They’re kids songs – nobody’s singing about tears that cannot be dried, ever. It has a catchy melody and as catchy melodies are my thing, I downloaded it.

I don’t play this song every day or anything. 

Eric Carmen, “Make Me Lose Control.” Eric was cool when he was in The Raspberries, maybe, but then he had a song on the “Dirty Dancing” soundtrack which sort of makes him a loser.  I never did understand the euphoria over that movie.  I never gave a shit about Baby and her sheltered life and her big moment of sexual awakening. Kate Chopin wrote a much better story of a woman with a sheltered life and a big sexual awakening, called, in fact, “The Awakening.” In Chopin’s version, the woman drowns herself in the ocean. Baby should have drowned herself in the ocean and taken the soundtrack with her. 

Tatu, “All the Things She Said."  This song is about a girl falling in love with a girl. Tatu consisted of two young Russian girls who were presented as lesbian -- maybe! The girls did things like hold hands and kiss on stage which was just great, as the girls were hott and wore sexy outfits and performed on Saturday Night Live. Thing is, these girls were straight.  Why are all the popular songs about girls falling in love with girls sung by straight girls like Tatu and Katy Perry? There’s a really good song about a lesbian falling in love with a guy, of all things, called “I Spent My Last Ten Dollars (on Birth Control and Beer)” by a real, honest to goodness lesbian group called 2 Nice Girls.  The woman in this song only falls in love with the guy for about 30 seconds due to a recent breakup, booze and a moment of bad judgement. Still, I like “All the Things She Said” because it’s catchy and Tatu performed in Poland a few times.

The Proclaimers, “Cap in Hand.” The Proclaimers released an album called “Sunshine on Leith” in 1988. Someone gave me a promo edition of the cassette and I remember only liking two songs on it: “Cap” and that other one. Some years later, that other one got leaked to the masses and they ruined in the way the masses have of ruining songs that are kind of good.  

Like “Mony Mony.” That song is so ruined.  Even when I was a stupid 21-year old and “Mony” played in the clubs and everyone started yelling you know what, I hated it. Today, I try to leave the room if “Mony” is ever played in public because I hate it. I just don't like to see drunk, grinning buffoons yell about “getting this” and “getting that."  The Proclaimer’s other song isn’t ruined the way “Mony” is ruined, but I’ve also watched drunk, grinning buffoons yell “DA DA DA DA!” too many times and I just don’t like it at all.   

Kenny Loggins and Steve Perry, "Don't Fight It." This song is another 80’s “hit” or more aptly, a "non-hit", that momentarily “graced” the airwaves. Here’s something many folks don’t know: quotation marks are actually not to be used for emphasis or to denote sarcasm but only for actual direct quotes and titles. As such, in order to write my first sentence correctly I would need to write exactly what I mean and not rely on incorrectly used quotation marks. Something like, "Don't Fight It" is another 80’s song that never really became popular, wasn’t very good, and only received radio play for a short time.

But Kenny Loggins and Steve Perry didn’t seem to much care for writing or singing exactly what they meant: 

Live long enough, you're bound to find
Moonshine'll make a man go blind
Never can tell what the brew will do
But there's times to wind up feelin' so fine

Some women seem to have a knack
They'll turn you on and leave you flat
Never can tell who's playin' for keeps
So tell me what's holding you back
I know your heart can take it

What do those two paragraphs have to do with each other? The song begins with moonshine – which, does anyone, especially one pretty famous artist and one quasi-famous artist – drink moonshine? Apparently it can make you go blind but the buzz is worth it. Then it's on to women who tease, I guess, and experiencing uncertainty about their intentions.  Sounds like a warning to avoid these women but instead, Loggins and Perry tell you to not hold back because hearts are strong. 

Loggins doesn't annunciate that last line very well, either. Until I Googled the lyrics this morning, I always thought “I know your heart can take it” was “I know you’re hot potato.”  

Here's something you probably don't know about Loggins: Eddie Money hates him. My second Google search turned up these quotes from Money: "I don't really like the guy … I'm not a big Kenny Loggins fan and I never have been because you know what? We were label mates on Columbia Records and the guy never even gave me credit for doing the middle part of ['I’m Alright']. That's what I call a scumbag."

I did a third Google search on the song and read that Loggins described the song as “An experiment in pushing my limits to include rock.” That makes me feel kind of bad about ripping apart his lyrics. Poor Kenny, he tried. I shouldn’t feel bad though because (fourth Google search) in 1983, the song was actually nominated for a Grammy in the “Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal.” It didn’t win – “Eye of the Tiger” did.

I hate “Eye of the Tiger.” It’s not on my iPod.

Yes: These Uncool Songs

Art by Matt Dixon. 

I am a music snob.  Every single song on my iPod is super cool.

Except these:

Ronny James Dio's "Rainbow in the Dark." I used to laugh at this song because the lyrics are sort of stupid. These days, however, I think this should be the anthem for anyone who's ever felt overlooked or under appreciated. Who hasn't felt like a rainbow in the dark at some point?  Also, you know what's free? Lightening.  You know what isn't free? You.

Meatloaf, various songs. I don't care what you say.  There is at least one Meatloaf song you like. But it shouldn't be "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" because that song sucks. Yet it seems a lot of people like that song.  What a waste.  Because even if you say you don't like Meatloaf, you have to admit you like Queen.  Queen is big and theatrical and sometimes even epic and guess what? So is Meatloaf.  But liking "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" is akin to liking the peel of a banana.  The peel is the part you're supposed to throw away and  so is "Paradise."  Better you should like "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad," "For Crying Out Loud," or even "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That.)"  I'm betting you probably do.

Hanson, "MMMBop." This is probably the happiest song in the world. If you read the lyrics, you'll see the song is actually about a pretty serious subject. There's also a lot of lyrics all packed into single sentences in this song.  I don't know how those kids packed so many words into single sentences but they did.  You can't really understand most of the lyrics, except "It's a secret know one knows." Which is telling, isn't it? Michael Stipe murmured his way though a whole album and even though he did other enigmatic things like keeping his sexuality a mystery pretty much right up until today, he's not a secret to me. This is because I like R.E.M. so I've read a great deal about them.  But I don't know anything about the Hanson brothers at all and I've never heard any of their songs but this one.  It's probably safe to say that if I really gave a tin shit about Hanson other than "MMMBop" I could find a whole bunch of information on them also. Who knows? Maybe no one.

One Direction, "What Makes You Beautiful." I learned to play this on guitar a few years back. I thought, how whimsical and funny would this be to pull out of my repertoire someday, somewhere?  I even thought I might try this at Karaoke and that would be funny too. But what's not funny is you get to breath exactly twice during the chorus:

 "Baby you light up my world like nobody else they way that you flip your hair gets my overwhelmed but when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell you don't know-oh-oh BREATHE you don't you're beautiful. 
If only you'd see what I can see you'd understand why I want you desperately right now you're looking at me like you can't believe you don't know-oh-oh BREATHE you don't know you're beautiful."

But if you're looking for a good way to impress your friends and maybe die trying, this is the song for you.

Matchbox 20, "How Far We've Come." I think, among music snobs, Matchbox 20 is like Nickelback in that you're supposed to hate them?  I don't really know. I like this song because I like to think about how far I've come.  I should probably write more here but I got nothing.  Which probably shows how crappy Matchbox 20 is.  Or maybe I have a long way to go?

Shaun Cassidy, "That's Rock and Roll."  The opening lyrics to this song are "When I was 16, and sick of school ..." When I was 16 and sick of school, I got plopped into a different high school.  I got sick of that school pretty quick too.  When I was 18 and sick of school, I didn't go back after summer vacation because I had rocked and rolled my way into a whole lot of F's and would have been 19 when I graduated. Instead, I got a GED and Bachelor's Degree.  That's not really rock and roll but it's okay. Shaun was really never rock and roll either.

10cc, "The Things We Do for Love."  In fourth grade, an older friend told me what "making out" was.  I don't think she got too specific as being only a year older than me, she didn't really know much. But tongue kissing was mentioned.  Which: shocking.  The first time I heard this song and the lyrics "You think she's gonna break up, when she says she want to make up," I though they said "make out." Which: shocking.  But then I heard it again and realized my error. That's a good enough reason to like this song.

Something Happens, "Parachute." Have you ever heard this song?

I have no idea if it's considered "bad" or not. It probably should be because it's kind of stupid.  I like it though, I especially like it when I'm running and I can pretend I'm flying.  Pretending to fly is AWESOME and if you've never tried it, you certainly should.

Shakira, "Empire."  Mostly, I hate this song.  There has never been a worse lyric, ever, than "And the stars make love to the universe." I do like, however, when Shakira sings "And I'm like, and I'm like, AND I'M LIKE!" I'm not really sure why. Maybe you do?

REO Speedwagon, various songs.  REO Speedwagon got real popular in the 80's.  I had a baseball t-shirt with their crazy winged logo on it and I wore it to the rollerskating rink. One time, this blond guy asked me to "couple skate." Toward the end of the song, we skated over to a dark corner by a bunch of mirrors and he kissed me. I had gum in my mouth at the time and do you know what? I saved that gum in plastic baggie.  But then I turned 19 and I threw that and a lot of other stupid shit out.

Ray Parker Jr., "I Still Can't Get Over Loving You." It's gonna get weird now.  I really, really, really like this song.  I like that guitar at  2:11, right after "'Cause every girl I date resembles you." The song gets super creepy at the end. Up until then, it's been all love and "it's not your fault" and what not. But then Ray whams you over the head with "Don't you ever try to leave, it'll be the last thing you ever do."  Still, this song gets me emotional when I play it on my guitar. You should come over my house someday and I'll play it for you.  It'll be great.

Lou Gramm,"Midnight Blue." Lou Gram is? Was? Is? Is Foreigner even still together? I don't know, but Lou was Foreigner's lead singer during their glory days -- which appear to be over. Good. Because "Waiting for a Girl Like You" is a horrible song. Foreigner had other songs that weren't bad, "Cold as Ice" notably, but just as "MMMBop"is the happiest song in the world, "Waiting for a Girl Like You" is the worst song in the world.

In the 80's, Lou released a solo record and even though it was on the list of albums we had to play when I worked at a record store, I can't remember fuck-all of the rest of the album.  I like this song though.  That guitar riff is super fun. I didn't and still don't get all the "cherry red" references but that's okay. I ain't got no regrets.

Blues Traveler, "Hook" and Hootie and the Blowfish, "Hold My Hand."  I joke about Blues Traveler a lot.  There's a lot to joke about with these guys.  I don't joke so much about Hootie because it seems after "Hand" there wasn't really a song that sounded like really, anything, so I have don't have any joke fodder. Blues Traveler, though, they're funny.  I have to lump Blues Traveler and Hootie together because they belong in the trio of bands that all go together for some reason.  The member of the trio that I left out is Dave Matthews Band because I hate them.

I remember the first time I realized "Hook" was actually the Pachelbel Canon.  I heard the melody clear as day while running. Afterwards, I went inside and Googled and sure enough, the song is basically the Canon.  I was prrrr-eeety proud of myself for picking that up.  "Hold My Hand" is not the Canon but I remember playing it in Record Revolution in DeKalb, Illinois after we closed. By myself.  Because we Rev employees joked about the Hootie-buying loser frat boys and I was a slick-as-shit recordstorepunkrocksomethingorother so I had to play it on the down low.

Barry Manilow, "Mandy." Is Barry cool these days? Like Neil Diamond cool? I don't know.  I like this song because it reminds me of my dead cat.  That's about enough of that one.

Billy Ocean, "Loverboy."  I love this song for no reason I can ascertain. Albeit, there's a key change at the end and I am a sucker for a key change. (Which is why I will sing Tommy Roe's "Dizzy" until I can't even see and momentarily lost every piece of my mind the first time I heard The Lyres' "She Pays The Rent.")  But the key change isn't that exciting, really, and so it doesn't explain why I love "Loverboy." The guitar in the beginning is pretty catchy but I've heard better. The lyrics in the chorus are abysmal and in fact, back in the day, if any guy told me he wanted to be my "loverboy" I would have laughed in his face. Ask anyone.  I don't like Billy Ocean either.  I don't like "Caribbean Queen." And while "Get Outta My Dreams Get Into My Car" is funny because a bad very way to win your the girl of your dreams is to yell "Get into my car!" at her, I don't like that song either.  I think these are probably the only three songs Billy Ocean ever sang in his life.  It's lucky that I really like one of them!

Yes: Turning Medical Frowns Upside Down, Part One

One thing I like to do is take a medical experience and find the humor in it.  I've done this a lot. In 2012, I had some wacky spinal adventures and wrote about it.  Briefest of brief background: I had intermittent pain in my side for a decade, went on a bunch of CT scan and MRI rides that discovered hidden treasures. I next had a particulary unfun diagnosistic test called a myelogram which could be an essay it itself.  At present, doc says things are stable and may stay that way forever.  Forever, as Prince says, is a mighty long time and that's what I'm going with.

On that myelogram: I probably never will write an essay about that as involved a "lumber puncture," which is basically a spinal tap, It was as fuck-awful as you've heard. So you should probably not get meningitis as this could merit one of those and trust me, you'd just rather not.

Anyway, I wrote the below directly after my first visit with my own brand new personal neurosurgeon.  (Is it a little fucked up that I'm kind of proud that I can say "MY neurosurgeon?" Probably.) At this point, (MY) neurosurgeon had pretty much diagnosed me but there were still a lot of unknowns.

Anyway, have at it:

***

Click this: meningocele  Ain't that a ration of shit?

Here's a funny thing: no one, especially an adult, is supposed to have a secret meningocele. From what I've gleaned, if you were a meningocele, you would pretty much make your presence known as quickly as possible, as in the case of spina bifida.  

When I grow a deformity, I don't mess around. Bet you didn't know that about me. 

How I grew this thing is still all very mysterious. I could give you some of the doc's hypothesis but that sort of theoretical mumbo jumbo doesn't interest me.  For now, let's just say, I was born this way.

Here's another funny thing: when you say "meningocele," no one knows what the hell you're talking about.  In fact, when I say "meningocele," I can't.  Phonetically it's pronounced "men-nin-go-seal." I've said "menin-joe-sell" and "menin-go-selly" and "parasitic twin."

I find it's easier to stick with that last one.  One, it's much easier to say.  Two, everyone knows about parasitic twins. True, they're gross and freaky but hey: built-in friend!  But the best reason why I like to call my meningocele a parasitic twin is because it shares a similar trait: it's eating me.

Here's what MeningoTwin looks like:

Now would be a good time for me to pull out my CT Scan and MRI reports and type exactly the crazy-med speak transcribed there but I'd rather do it this way:

You know how the spine is labeled by cervical, thoracic and lumbar parts and with all those numbers, C1, T4, L3  and so on?  It's like a crazy anatomical Bingo game, isn't it?  When they called "Protruding sac at T11 and  T12," I yelled "BINGO!" I was pretty excited too -- first the nutty MeningoTwin and now this!

Then I had a visit with my neurosurgeon, who I shall call Dr. S. He told me to settle down.

"It ain't all good," said Dr. S.  "There's spinal fluid in MeningoTwin."

Dr. S began waxing analogous: "Think how river water flows over a rock. As years go by, that water will erode the rock.  And that, my friend, is what's happened to your vertebrae at  T11 and T12. The bone has eroded."

I couldn't fully process that at first.

When I was young, my father had a piece of petrified wood in his top dresser drawer.  The wood had turned to rock.  Even though Dr. S. was talking about eroded rock, for some reason I kept picturing that piece of petrified wood in my mind.  Which, you know, would have been okay: if my spine was turning from wood to rock, I'd be kind of like Pinocchio, wouldn't I? A real boy!

But also, I was a little starstruck. For the first time in my life, I was in the presence of a bonafide neurosurgeon: the only person I've ever knowingly met in my life who could answer "Um, yeah it is!" when told "Hurry up, it's not brain surgery."

Eventually my Disneyland fangirl cloud passed and I asked him what that meant.

"It means that your spine could collapse," he said.

"What does that mean," I asked.

"It means you'd be paralyzed," he replied.

Well, that just about took the cake.  I've been many parathings in my time: a paralegal, a paraprofessional, a Paregoric swallower, and most recently, right, the a parasitic twin. But never paralyzed.  Unless you count right then, when I was "paralyzed" by fear to ask anymore questions, ho ho!

***

This is where I ended writing about this particular medical experience, as shortly after came the aforementioned myelogram and a whole lotta grim.  I think I shall write about that after all because ya'll need to be in the know about some crazy things.  For starters, do you know what fixes a leaky hole in the spinal cord after a stupid needle goes barreling where it shouldn't be barreling? I bet you don't. The answer? Your own blood!  Too, do you know what can happen if you leak all kinds of spinal fluid for over a week?  What can happen is, your brain can start falling out of your head!

But more on that later. perchance.  Recall, I am just FINE so no need to worry about me. I have a built-in friend, recall.  Still, in case anyone is left feeling funny about this post, here's a nice picture of Florpy the Corn Gurner:

Yes: Oswald's World

One place I would really to live would be in Oswald's world.

Look at that picture above. There is not one bad thing happening there.  It looks like the snowman is about to plop himself into that trash can, but that's just the trippy 2D imaging.  He's not going into that trash. Because that would be sort of bad and nothing truly bad ever happens in Oswald's world.

Oswald was a show on Nick Jr that aired from 2001 to 2004 and starred a big blue octopus named Oswald.  During this time, my son was young and as such, I was exposed to a whole bunch of kid's shows.

There sure are a lot of shows out there now for kids. When I was young, it was Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood and The Electric Company.  I sat through the latter two but really only liked Sesame Street.  No kid actually likes Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood -- that show is more of an hipster adult jam, really. The Electric Company sucked.  At least that's how I remember it. Probably because I often watched these shows back-to-back when I was sick. By the time The Electric Company came on, late afternoon and when fevers tend to peak, I was delirious and miserable.  Plus, I think it was packed with bad 70's stuff like trippy fonts and crappy clothing. I don't like that stuff at all.

Oswald, by contrast, is blissfully narcotic.  His albeit crazy-ass world somehow manages to feel very uncrazy (and crazy can be bad, recall) but instead, soothing.  Next time you have a bout of insomnia or are feeling stressed, cue up an episode or two of Oswald on YouTube.  Could be you just saved yourself a month of co-pays for therapy and a Xanax prescription.

Enough to buy yourself, say, a tiny hat:

Here's more reasons why I would like to live in Oswald's world:

• Anthropomorphia.  Any time you can put a face and legs on something inanimate and make it talk, I say do it! In Oswald's world, there are talking flowers, talking trees, a pumpkin-headed guy who isn't scary at all and best, a set of identical twin eggs.  Twin eggs! 

• Soothing surrealism.  I like Salvador Dali as much as the next gal, but sometimes his images can be sort of jarring, can't they?  Oswald's world is packed with surreal images but all of the soothing variety.  In Oswald's world, a wiener dog can absolutely look like an actual hot dog. A baseball can be a house, a lemon can be a taxi and paper airplanes fly all day long. It's super great and never jarring.  And nobody cuts themselves all up and rolls around in the sand in an effort to impress their fiancee as Dali reportedly did.

• Ice cream.  Lots of it.  Everyone eats ice cream in this place. And there's no worrying about noxious farts from lactose intolerance or fat thighs packed into too-small jeans, ever.

• Coexisting.  In the episode "The Tomato Garden." snails eat Oswald's tomato plants. Do you think he sprays them dead with nasty chemicals?  Nope. He shares by giving the snails their very own plants while keeping some for himself.  He makes a tomato restaurant for the snails! You can "Coexist" with your bumper stickers of crosses, moons and stars all you like.  In Oswald's world, nobody needs that lofty shit.  

• Right: tiny hats. Bonus: jauntily placed!  

• The music:

That opening theme is like a narcotic drip all by itself.    

Too, you know when you watch Oswald that no one is gonna yell "HEY YOU GUYS!" at you just as your fever peaks and you lean over to puke into the Tupperware bowl that your mom placed next to you, just in case.

Yes: MRI Like it!

A happy time.

For a long time, I was afraid of the idea of getting an MRI. The thought of being crammed into a coffin-like tube appealed to me about as much as being crammed into a tube-like coffin. But then a wacky discovery in my spinal cord bought me a ticket for a whole bunch of these MRI rides.

The first of these took place in the winter months. Another thing I don't really like is winter. I'm always cold. But when I voiced my concerns about the upcoming MRI to my sister, she said "I bet it's warm in that tube. You are gonna love it!"

Encouraged, but still wary, I presented for my MRI.  Did you know if you have metal stuff inside your body like pacemakers, the MRI could kill you? Apparently, the magnetic pull of the MRI could rip that sucker right out of your chest cavity, like you were in Alien!  

Also, if you are a robot masquerading as a human, the MRI will find you out. Be warned.

As this MRI was for my spine, I didn't have to worry about the freaky head cage accessory you get to wear if you're having your head examined. (In later months, I did get to wear that and it was freaky alright.) I informed the technician that I was nervous and asked if she could slide me in and out of the tube before beginning the procedure. I knew I would be okay as long as I knew I could get out of that tube if I wanted.

After positioning myself on the MRI plank-like table, the tech slowly slid me in, stopping when all but my lower legs were inside. "This is where you'll be for the test," she told me.  I mentally tested: while tight in there, I deduced I could, in fact, shimmy myself out of there if I had to. I don't know why I would "have to," but I was comforted knowing I could escape.

"Oh, so I could get out if I wanted to," I spoke aloud.
"No!" said the tech. "Once we start, you can't move!"
"I know," I said. "I just mean, if I wanted to, I could get out."
"No, you can't move!" she said again.
"I know, it just makes me feel better knowing I could get out if I had to," I said.
"You can't move!"

I rolled my eyes at her in my tube. This action gave me my other piece of comfort: I saw when I crammed my eyes up in my skull, I could get of glimpse of the wall outside the tube. Barely, but yes, the wall outside the tube was visible. Another potential escape route. I decided not to share this info with the tech.

Test ride completed, the tech slid me out, fitted me with the IV that I would need later for an injection of dye for the last part of the test, gave me some earplugs and popped me back in. Earplugs because it's loud in there. Banging and beeping and clanging and chirping. Kind of like the sounds one used to hear when using AOL dial-up internet, but louder and more frenzied.

It wasn't all fun and games. Every now and then I would experience a brief but jarring feeling of "Help, I'm trapped in a tube!" I'm told many folks who fear MRIs keep their eyes closed the entire time. This doesn't work for me as being trapped in my head can be far scarier than being trapped in a tube. When those shocks of fear came over me, I'd center myself by counting the holes in the little speaker that was right over my face. If there had been something to read, that would have helped immensely. A little sticker or something placed where patients could read it without moving. Perhaps something like "If you think this is bad, be glad we didn't have to do an autopsy to get this information."  Anything with words would have helped.

In any case, I survived the procedure and came out none the worse for wear.  Also, I learned three things:

1. I don't have claustrophobia. What I had was a fear that I might have claustrophobia.  That's kind of funny.
2. You can request copies of those images to take to your doctor or for your own personal enjoyment.
3. I am filled with all kinds of fun things: