Good ladies, evening and gentlemen ..... We'd like to welcome you to the coolest, hippest, smartest page on MySpace, but we don't know where it is, so we can't. In the meantime, please attempt to enjoy this stuff.
It's all starting to come back to me now........
Warning, Warning, the following is going to appear at first glance to be a case of severe whining, a huge pity party, or the mindless rambling of an insane braggart. That's only because it is.
I am not handsome, well-educated, talented, rich,or suave, but I'm also not stupid, vapid, smug.... I may well be the anti-Brad Pitt...... and essentially, there are only two interesting things about me.
Number one. - The stuff I have survived
Number two - Everything else (to my mom, anyway)
Number one - I have survived (in order and not including car wrecks, or marriage to Nadine (YIKES!) the following:
1. A Ruptured Appendix. Not appendicitis, but an actual ruptured appendix. That's much worse, in case you're wondering.
2. Severe Coronary Artery Disease. I've had 3 angioplasties and I have three coronary artery stents. If you don't know what they are, that's good. I hope you never find out.
3. Pluresy - AKA The Grip, or the Devils Grip. Man, that stuff hurts. It's like sandpaper on your lungs. Don't get it if you don't absolutely have to.
4. Pneumonia. Several times.... BFD.
And now it starts getting really interesting.
5. Esophageal Cancer. Now THAT's some serious stuff. Radiation treatments and chemo therapy and surgery, Oh, my!.... whew. Then they take your esophagus out in a 10 hour thoracic surgery. I had mine done in beautiful St Louis, MO at the simply fabulous, Barnes Jewish Hospital. I highly recommend it if you're dead set on getting an esophagectomy. I called their very highly rated Thoracic Surgery Dept, "Thoracic Park". I just passed the "five years since diagnosis" mark. That puts me in the 2% crowd. Not milk, survival. I asked if I could get my esophagus made into a tie. They said "no". Hmmmph. Due to the high quality of care and the expertise of the Surgical staff, my esophagectomy was a piece of cake. Not a cake that you'd serve to friends, but all in all, not too bad.
6. Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome - AKA ARDS. Never heard of it? Neither had I. It was probably brought on by my esophagectomy (I now have no esophagus and my stomach is up behind my lungs) ARDS came closer to killing me than anything ever has except Nadine(YIKES!) It left me with 38% lung function and permanently tethered to an oxygen machine or oxygen tanks. When ARDS hit a few days after my surgery I was given an immediate tracheotomy, Put on a respirator, and put into a chemically induced coma (something I had been independently researching for years) where I stayed for 5 1/2 weeks, pumped full of steroids, and I came out of it not remembering I had ever even had cancer. I couldn't write, due to muscle atrophy and nerve damage, or talk, due to the trach, and I didn't know why I was in the hospital. Every time I would awaken I would mouth the words "What happened?" I thought maybe I had been in a car accident or Nadine (YIKES!) had found me. My wonderful parents and sisters (more about them later) would explain it to me as best they could and yet I would completely forget it all every time I fell asleep again. My muscles had atrophied and I couldn't even sit up without falling over. (this had never occurred before, outside of a bar) I had to learn to walk all over again (ditto) and had developed "Drop Foot" so when I did walk (I was actually sorta carried/dragged by two people for a few feet at a time) it was on my tip toes. The tip toe thing lasted almost a year. I was on a feeding tube and didn't eat, drink, or talk for 5 months. I lost 65 lbs. I had the most wonderful, vivid, bizarre, coma dreams you can imagine. I can remember them quite well, but I don't remember much else about from period of time. I'm sure that's merciful. If it weren't for the ARDS, I wouldn't even be disabled.
7. Cardiac Arrests. Yep, two of 'em. Brought on by the strain of the ARDS probably. They had to use the jumper cable paddles on me, and I was actually dead for 4 min. the first time. I don't know how long the second time. The paddles killed my watch my first time. And both arrests together killed about a googly-bazillion brain cells. But not me! So anyway, now I have a pacemaker, Jerry. Oh yeah, and we aren't even close to done.
8. Pulmonary Embolism. I was so out of it, that I don't even remember it. They are quite deadly. But for some reason, not to me. The doctors were now calling me "The Miracle Man", nurses wanted to nurse me, other patients wanted my autograph. I was a star.
9. Numerous mystery infections that seem to inhabit all hospitals. I would develop fevers and my family would soak multiple washcloths in ice water and cover my body with them.
After 5 months in Saint Louis, Louis, they shipped me to a Charlottesville,VA hospital by Lear jet (paid for by the wonderful people at Liberty Baptist Church who raised over $4,000.00 in 3 days) and moved to Sheltering Arms Hospital in Richmond, Va for a few more months. Those 5 months spent in the ICU (peek-a-boo) weren't cheap and after about 1 year spent in hospitals and over 1 million dollars in total medical bills, I was released into the bosom of my big bosomed family. Those of you who know my sisters will understandably enjoy that line.
10. Ongoing Cat scans and tests to watch for the return of the Big C, revealed a new, non related cancer. Yep, I got cancer twice. How lucky can you get? This time it's in a kidney. Well, I hardly ever used that one anyway and you really need only one, so they yanked out the bad one, threw it in the trash (2 points!) and released me into the care of the worst nursing staff I have ever seen. I would honestly rather die, than have my nursing care at Riverside Hospital in Newport News, VA again. I have done both, you know. Death isn't bad, but the nurses at Riverside are an awful, torturous lot. Completely incompetent (and believe me, I KNOW incompetence). They also appeared to be uneducated, unkind, unhappy, and, I'm sad to say, apparently just plain stupid. Everything you could not wish for during a hospital stay. Remember, this is coming from a man who has spent more than a year in multiple hospitals and has NOTHING bad to say about ANY other hospital. But I'd love to ask them, how can you do so much wrong, when you do so very little? Take THAT, biatches!
11. Recent tests have revealed that the kidney cancer has spread to my bladder. Now my doctor goes up my urethra, Franklin. (WHEE!!) Every three months he cuts out what he finds that's cancerous. If they end up taking the whole bladder, I guess I'll have to have a um, you know... pee pee bag. That's dangerous. Kinda like giving a retarded child a water balloon. Maybe I can blow up my piss bags with my oxygen tank and hire myself out for children's birthday parties? Chris the Piss Balloon Clown!
12. {This space available for rent}
That concludes the "What I have survived" portion of our show. Suffice to say that now I look like a baseball when I take off my shirt. My nieces and nephews sometimes ask to count my scars. How sweet. I think there are about 25 or 30. In public I tell the curious that I got my scars when I jumped on a grenade in 'Nam to protect my buddies. Then I was shot by snipers as I helped carry out the wounded. Then the ambulance truck I was in hit a mine, and a jet crashed into the wreckage. I was captured after that and I got some of them while helping others in a daring escape. Then I usually ask if anyone would like to donate to my chili-dog fund. I do like a good chili-dog.
Visit the concession stand, get some Milk Duds, some popcorn and pee-pee, or if that sounds too un-appetizing, get some popcorn drenched in imitation, butteryish, oil-like, butter substitute, and hurry back to your seats. I'll wait...... But hurry, I could go at any time.Now, back to our show. Please turn off your cell phones.
And now, the rest of the story....
First of all, I want to say that I think a circa 1958 Fender Stratocaster guitar in fiesta red is the most intrinsically beautiful commercially produced item ever. Closely followed by the Jaguar XKE in British Racing Green, The WW II era British Spitfire Fighter Plane, and the RCA model 77 Ribbon Microphones. I defy you to find better looking usable stuff. MAYBE some older Bang and Olufsen pieces, but mainly the old Strats. They captured my heart years ago, and never, ever, for one tiny second, let go. Thank you Leo Fender, you were an artist and a genius. If not for you, I would have had to play some kinda fancy-schmancy, crappy, set-neck, overpriced, humbucker laden, pretty-wood, girly guitar.
I believe I was truly a consistently adequate guitarist for many years. Fairly un-stumpable, and VERY consistent. Able to make a major or minor pentatonic scale fit into almost ANY progression. Able to improvise in context over almost any changes on the fly. That won't mean much to most, but I was very proud of that. It served me well in the studio and on stage. I never used a guitar pic, playing only with my fingers, ala Mark Knophler, so I had to modify anything I did copy from others, but that forced me to develop my own style. I was a barely adequate vocalist, and a fairly decent entertainer, if I was given free reign. But I always had EXCELLENT taste. And I still do. Oh, and I did not EVER drink cheap liquor.
I used to tell the audience before every gig..."I have suffered for my art, now it's your turn". And then I would try and see to it that they didn't actually suffer too very much. They might or might not, depending on their sense of adventure, and their sense of humor. If I had to, I would mention that the more they drank, the better we would sound. If the applause level at the end of a song wasn't high enough I would call their attention to the fact that ,to me, that indicated a poor performance. Therefore we would attempt to correct that by performing the same song again. And again and again if need be. Then we would launch into the same song again. We never had to play the same tune four times. After the third time (if there was one) the applause was always thunderous. Some people don't get it. Some will never get it. That's okay. I don't understand too many people either.
I traveled extensively in the music business. To keep from becoming too bored, I bought a CB radio looong after they had gone out of style. By then pretty much only truckers had them. My CB handle used to be "Half man, half biscuit, half tick" and it used to bother the hell out of the truckers. They couldn't figure out if I was kidding or crazy. They were right, I'm afraid. I only used a CB radio to try and drive them insane. That's mean, I guess. But man it was fun. I also used to get on the radio and try to find someone interested in buying half of a Hardee's hamburger. "Breaker, breaker, good buddies! Anybody out there got a hankerin' for half a good ole' Hardee's hamurger? I couldn't finish it, and I'll sell it for 15 cents. I didn't lip it neither!" Or I'd key the mic in the middle of the night and say "Hey! I got a good idea! Let's tell GHOST STORIES! Yes, the infamous "Half-man, half-biscuit, half tick" was hated throughout the mid Atlantic states. And if a driver cut me off or made me angry, I'd get on the radio, pretend to be a real trucker, piss some people off (pretty easy), describe my truck (actually his truck) and DARE the angry mob to mess with me. I almost feel bad about that.
I fear no man, but I do fear my ex, Nadine(YIKES!) She's still pretty mad at me. And once you've been married to me, the thought of spending the rest of your life with a short little, sloppy playing, cheesy, copy-cat seventies hold-out guitarist who sings even worse than I do, must be difficult. Sour grapes? I know that sounds pretty harsh. Too bad. So does he. All I know is that when she and I were married and she attempted to be evil to others, I stopped her. Oh, well... they say living well is the best revenge... wait... do they mean living well as in not sick?
"My own stools, madam, are tremendous, they are huge and firm, with no more aroma than a hot biscuit" I told my nurse that as I was coming out of a coma and she reported me for inappropriate behavior. I guess she couldn't have been expected to know that I was being completely serious.
I am a treat and I have always been a treat, to be cherished and relished like a fine hotdog. Although lately I've been feeling a bit less treaty than usual.
I am the kind of person who takes his entire MySpace site down for extended periods of time and then wishes he hadn't. I only recently found that out.
It's true I have not always been a very good person, in fact, I have been down right mean at times. I truly regret that, and I promise to try and behave better now. Though sometimes it's a hard promise to keep because I am a such a human jerk.
I have had an amazing, wonderful,action packed life, sort of like a cartoon character might have, and I seem to just keep going and going kinda like the EverReady Bunny, but without the drum or all the fur or the battery (except the one in my pacemaker). I hope my life continues for a good while and a good purpose.
I would LOVE to live long enough to see everyone get just what they deserve, but I probably don't deserve to.
I have the most wonderful friends and family I can imagine. They have all taken very good care of me in my hours (and years) of need. I hope I can BEGIN to repay them for all the wonderful things they have done and all the sacrifices they have made and continue to make for me. If not... oh well, that's the breaks. That's what families are for. Abuse in big steaming helpings..... I'm just kidding.... wait, .... no I'm not.
I have never really, truly, known what I was doing. And neither has anyone else... known what I was doing, I mean. At least I hope not. Especially when I was doing that thing with the imitation butter substitute.
I have never REALLY hated anyone, though I have come close.
I really have really, really tried, but was not always sure how, to be fair.
I have been completely lost at times.
I have been completely wrong at times, although the older I get, the less I'm able to see when this has happened, and sometimes it takes a police officer to explain it to me.
At times I was very, very harshly corrected when I WAS wrong, but I usually got away clean (I think).
I have gotten into big trouble for lying, and bigger trouble for telling the truth.
I have been married two times, once to an angel, and once to a woman (YIKES!) that could frighten Satan. That's where the real scars came from. Of course, she still has time to change her ways and just leave me alone. Please.
I have had more money than I could spend but I spent all or gave it to Nadine (YIKES!) I should mention here that I was sometimes a LOUSY, ROTTEN, SCOUNDREL of a husband, but who isn't?
I have had more fun than I should have, but I couldn't help it.
I have had experiences that must have been too wonderful to remember.
I have done almost everything I ever wanted to do, though not always at the right time with the right person.
I drank JUST enough Crown Royal.
I have spoiled myself rotten. I knew no one else would do it for me.
I once sat on a toilet in a restroom at a club where I was playing and threw up into the crotch of my tuxedo pants. I only tell you this, lest you find me too perfect. It's a common mistake.
That's all I can think of right now. So, who WOULDN'T want to be my friend?......
I hope I didn't bore you, but this is, after all, MySpace.com.
Man, it was good to get allthat out of my system!
And now, ladies and gentlemen, in keeping with the fine MySpace tradition of presenting worthlesscrap about boring people.......here is some.....ME!
..... And if that wasn't enough (who could ever get enough of me?).... some MORE ME!.....
MyMotto: Who cares if you don't know how? Just do it!
And now ladies and gentlemen, in keeping with the fine tradition of bringing you only the best in ideas stolen from elsewhere on the net, as promised, here she is, the one, the only,....(Drum roll please)--- BUBBLE GIRL!!
Just click her and move her with your cursor when she gets stuck!