When I grow up, I'm going to go to Bovine University.

It's been relatively quiet here for the brave bald wonder in this New Year. Truth be told I'm feeling a bit lethargic and add to that terribly horribly bored. It has very little to do with MS, though. I wish I could blame the brunt of my current malaise on the disease. A little, maybe, but I would be a liar if I used it as any sort of crutch. I suppose you could accuse the bitter bitter temperatures here in the great American North East, but that wouldn’t be fair either, although I do hate the cold. I would love to blame it on the resemblance between our current fiscal solvency and a first class ticket on the Titanic.

“Ahh, she’s a fine ship sir, unsinkable. No need for these life boats, and please pay no attention to that iceberg”.

As disheartening as it all is, it just wouldn’t be true.

Sadly no incurable disease, impermanence of weather, or easily avoidable iceberged economy has created my miasma of conscious. If we are being honest (which I hope we are, I mean we’re all friends here, right?) it is my place of employment that is bringing this generally upbeat bald guy down to his reasonably hairy knees.

The winter time is traditionally very slow for my line of work. Apparently high paid rock stars and comics don't like going outside when it's cold and snowy, leaving the touring to the warmer months (perhaps it has something to do with Buddy Holly's fateful February, or the fact that their non-foreclosed on mansions are kinda cozy this time of year. Whichever.) Leaving my summer jammed packed with every two bit act that you can imagine clawing their way to my stages. That, however, does very little for me now. (It does very little for me then as well. Most of the acts I have to deal with, while international celebrities and the like, give me a very clear picture of why our country and globe are in the situation that we are in. This is who the masses have chosen to look up to? But that is for a different discussion at a different time.) The reality that I am currently facing is down right bleak, at least in my office. Getting up in the morning has started to feel more like the Bataan Death March then the better part of my childhood dreams and wishes. Sitting here in this cubical, staring at this computer helping further the goals of the uber-rich has surprisingly grown very hollow.

I know, I know I shouldn't be complaining with the way things are in the streets right now. People are loosing their jobs left and right, financial institutions are busting at every turn of the newspaper page, kids are being gunned down on train platforms by cops, cats and dogs have begun to move in together, and NPR is still bugging me for a dollar every chance they get. You would think if anybody would understand it would be NPR, but I guess in all that proselytizing they forgot to actually read their own copy. Well, as my grandmother use to say, "Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free?" She had an odd way of talking about the radio.

It’s just that in my current situation, time has become a precious commodity.
Eight hours at my desk reading about the finer points of who did what and what did why on the internet, and the at least three hours commuting back and forth pushing my Ipod in a Mr. Scott/Star Trek reminiscence, “I’m given her all she’s got cap’tn” hardly seems worth it. I see my boys for about 40 minutes in the morning, and if I’m lucky, 30 minutes before they go to bed, which leaves me with no energy to actually give to my wife. Most evenings end up with me mindlessly staring at the television leveling inappropriate jokes at “The Biggest Loser” (Well sometimes they are inappropriate. Most of the time they are dead on.). This is no way to live.

I was never some sort of slave to my profession before MS. Before MS I was out working in photography and film, following my heart. It was only after I was diagnosed that this slave mentality began to win out. That heart on my sleeve began to beat a little slower and began to resemble an old greasy hamburger. In my own defense I was left with little choice, you see, this world showed up with benefits, and I’m not talking about lots of perks of the personal type that come with being employed at a hip swank place. No, I mean the benefit of some sort of medical coverage that my employer will supply me with in return for a pound of my flesh.

Everyday I force myself into this cubicalled slaughter house to appease an anarchistic immune system. Somehow I have become a hostage in my own body. I’m all for anarchy and all, but let’s take a step back here. By any means necessary? Hell, I’m not even sure what we’re fighting for anymore. The white flag is waving here buddy and I’m ready to talk treaty. I would think that we would be better allies then enemies. Let’s think about the pros and cons here. If the Israelis and the Palestinians have been able to read from the same torah, why can’t we?

But there are silver linings, the clouds do part from time to time, and I realize that you must revel in the joys that present themselves no matter how little. You know, making lemonade from lemon shaped rocks or scaring a cow so badly that it gives you chocolate milk instead of white. Come on Bald Ben that’s not nice, what has a cow ever done to you? Funny you should ask because it isn’t really what a cow has done to me, but in all honesty what I have done to a cow. Hey, hey, hey get your mind out of the gutter. It’s nothing like that. No, it’s actually far worse. It’s not that I have anything against a cow, I never really had a feeling about them one way or the other, but one night in boredom I found myself in well over my then hairy head.

To understand you have to get a better picture of where I come from. I have lived in Philadelphia for the past ten years, but I grew up about an hour from here in a town called Reading, PA. If you have played Monopoly you are well aware of us. Our illustrious past has been forever immortalized in the iconographic game as one of the four coveted railroad spaces.
Just for safety’s sake and your own personal knowledge it is pronounced "reding" as in “I read that book” not “Now you want me to read this book? No, I’m just gonna use it to level the table.”(which is what you hear most often in my hometown). I know, it’s spelled the same way but it has two totally different tenses, weird.

Anyway, Reading (see above pronunciation chart) is a moderate size city but on the edge of the “sticks”. A lot of farm land bounds in what was once was called “the outlet shopping capital of the world”. (I’m serious, I don’t think I ever owned a pair of jeans that didn’t have some odd stitching, a poorly tailored hem, or a third leg where the seat was suppose to be. It wasn’t embarrassing though, everybody shopped at the same places.) My first job was on a farm. Giving this now citified bald guy an over inflated sense of the country. A false notion that mending a fence, bailing hay, or breeding horses is some how part of my blood (but who am I kidding I can’t even breed sea monkeys.). That information is inconsequential, but the reason I tell you this is because if you ever find yourself in the situation where a bunch of your idiot friends think it would be funny to go out to one of these farms and “tip a cow” under no circumstances go with them. Turns out it is not near as “funny” as it would seem.

A quick biology lesson: Cow’s sleep standing up (this is one of the things I learned on the farm) and if you get a few able bodied young people you can push one of these slovenly slumbering bovine to the ground. Somewhere on some timeline, kids who have nothing better to do, figured out that this might be a rip snorter. I wouldn’t have necessarily thought it to be as such, as a matter of fact I had never really thought of it all, I just had nothing better to do that night. I suppose this is what my mother might call “running with the wrong crowd”. (I always assumed it had to do with smoking drugs or premarital sex. She never said anything about cows.)
So it was in the middle of a moon lit field, up to my ankles in mud, in the middle of the night when it dawned on me that I had made a big big mistake, however being the sort to make apples out of lemonade or whatever I figured I may as well finish what I started.

Long story short, we creep up to the unsuspecting napping animal, although creep is a relative term. Have you ever tried to “creep” with your Converse threatening to permanently disappear deep into the brackish earth that is sucking to your ankles like a Hoover on overdrive? In our best attempt, we quietly make it to the catatonic cow and with our skinny sixteen year old hands push with all our might this poor sedentary creature to the ground.

This is where things get interesting. You see in our adolescent minds the cow would wake up, right itself, moo in an annoyed cow fashion, (Which of course was some sort of cow swear word) shoot us a dirty look, and moove on (sorry). This would send us into hysterics as we jumped back into the car, put on our sunglasses, slap five, turn “Bad to the Bone” up to eleven and make off to our next great adventure. (George Thurogood was big in Reading.) The truth, sadly, was hardly that and was anything but laughable. When we finally made it back to the car there was no “next great adventure”. Most of us were changed in a way that we had never anticipated, and all of us smelled worse than any swamp rat that crawled from the primordial ooze.

You see when we knocked the cow over, which fell with surprisingly little force, it hit the ground, oh and it mooed. It seemed in that first second everything was panning out exactly as we had thought, but what we had never anticipated was at impact the cow also broke most of her ribs on the left side of her body. The physical truth suddenly came screaming into our pounding little hearts. That son of a bitch Newton was right: To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction and that reaction resulted in the cow evacuating her bowels all over the dumb bastard who was standing at the wrong end of a bad day. I have never truly bared witness to the actual personification of a phrase before, but this was literally “getting the shit scared out of you”.

We stood there stunned for a second. Which in my analysis was a reasonable thing to do, our world was just turned upside down. A defenseless animal lay writhing on the ground, the guy who had driven us there was unexpectedly doused in a dark viscous stew that hadn’t been pasteurized, and getting my GED in juvie seemed like a real possibility. Chaos ruled the moment. The next few moments are hazy to say the least, but as we turned to run physics kept getting in the way. The molasses of the wet pasture at our feet had regained the upper hand and deftly illustrated the properties of suction. One of us fell face first into the mud, I’m not gonna say who, others never saw their shoes again, and the muddy naked footprints back on the road lead me to believe that there are a few tube socks permanently interred in that field of horror.

Needless to say “Cow Tipping” is not a victimless crime. The poor animal probably had to be put down after our exploits and that car never smelled the same. So I moved to Philadelphia and put all that behind (err?...) me. At the very least I am glad I have that off my chest. There are very few pastures I pass by that I don’t think of the horrible night and the terrible thing that I had taken part in. I suppose it would serve me right if reincarnation is the way of the universe. If Karma exists I would come back as a cow, an American cow, not an Indian cow. Those animals are revered as Gods there; here I would just end up as food. Although, come to think of it, I do have MS. Karma? Son of a….

Anyway, the point I’m trying to get at here is my job, while totally cow free, (although there are a few people here I would like to “tip”) is bringing me down like a milk cow on a Saturday night in Amish country. I suppose I will abide, I always do. There isn’t much else I can do at this point. And to abide I must notice those perfect moments when the fates smile upon me. When the powers that be, allow this brow beaten bald man to actually remember that life is a pretty wonderful thing, even if those reasons I find aren’t exactly the way God had intended. Even say in the men’s bathroom.

It was an average day. One where I had already accomplished the twenty minutes of actual work I needed to do, and noticed my inbox was overstuffed with viral videos. I was in for a long afternoon, but nature called. First up, a trip to the men’s room. It was a quick one, just had to visit a urinal, and as I have explained before the bathrooms here are huge. I took a spot near the middle of the long row of porcelain containers and set to my work. Behind me stretched an equal number of stalls, as per usual many of them were occupied.

While I was finishing my “business” one of these stalls lit up with a cacophony worthy of my first car stereo i.e. tinny, overdriven, and a slight odor that I couldn’t quiet place. I quickly realized this 20 seconds of repeating, bland, muffled rap music was originating from someone’s cell phone who was utilizing a toilet behind me.

Now, contrary to what it seems, the bathroom stall is not a phone booth. I realize that any small enclosed box that often gets used as a bathroom may resemble what many of us remember as a phone booth. Just because most of these “booths” have gone the way of a dinosaur carrying a pager does not mean that all improvisations are welcome. I’m not sure what Emily Post has to say on the subject of cell phone etiquette, however, I have a feeling fielding a call while taking a squat just isn’t kosher. (Although, I have heard that LBJ had a phone installed in the White House bathroom for some “state business”.) Past the obvious sanitary concerns that might emanate from such an action, one is already in a vulnerable state. Why complicate the situation by putting a piece of electrical equipment to your face? Although, on this day I give this “gentleman” a pass, his actions no matter how uncouth have given this bald guy a smile.

The phone was quickly answered, and by the lack of the common courtesy of a “Hello” or a “What’s up” it was apparent that the caller ID had already informed the recipient of the person’s identity. As the phone clicked to life and the electrical pulses whirled above my hairless head, transporting a living voice into the walled fortress of flush I heard the six words that made me thank God for being alive at such an amazing time.

He answered the phone while perched on a porcelain throne doing what I would say is safe for us all to just assume, and like he couldn’t expel the words fast enough from his mouth he said, “Dude, you ain’t gonna believe this shit.”

…….

Dude, you ain’t gonna believe this shit, indeed.

Truth in Television Advertising

I was watching a rerun of the "Family Guy" last night and they had this hilarious scene.

First let me apologize for poor video quality. Although I don't know why I am apologizing, I didn’t make it. All I did was plug a few key words into youtube and came up with this gem. I suppose, like me, someone else has found the humor in this clip and feeling the urge to share it, say more than what the nationally televised program already had at its disposal, they pulled out their video camera sans tripod or any other method of stabilization and treated us all to these few minutes of cartoon hilarity. That's dedication, people, and the process actually adds a new dimension to the clip.

It's like some sort of Post Modern found art piece. I went to college with people who might find some sort of artistic merit in this presentation. The giggle of the auteur at the end really sends it home. They didn't just present the clip, but also supplied their critique as well. The laugh signals approval, there by giving what the filmmaker was presenting credibility and credence.

Yes, it is true I went to school for art (photography and film to be exact) and I can polish a turd with the best of ‘em. But let’s get serious here, afterall it is a serious subject we are dealing with. I’ll cut out this high minded hyperbole and boil it down to its nuts....

M.S. = Monkey Scrotum.

There is a lot of truth there.....

P.S. I am also sorry if anyone found this clip offensive, “Family Guy” likes to push the envelope, and I am one to laugh at just such envelope pushing. If you are looking for political correctness I would point you in the direction of something bland and unopininated like melba toast.

Bone Marrow?

A very quick word. My Dad called me this morning and told me they have cured MS. Yep, cured it. We are all in the clear, I'll see you at the wrap party......Ahh, Dad I love ya, and I know that you just want the best for me, but this planet you're living on just may not be inhabitable by humans.

I don't mean to be taking the mickey here with my Father. He has my utmost respect. He is, in my opinion, a great man. He has provided for his family working tirelessly in a business that he has built himself, helped raise three kids (of which I am the middle), and carved out a reasonably peaceful existence. He lives his life quite pragmatically, but the core of the man is one driven by dreams. And I don't mean work oriented goals or high ambitions to achieve greatness. I'm talking about the kind of dreams that lead one to spin tales of vampire hunting in the woods behind your house, telling my then elementary school aged sister that NASA was going to send children into space, (of which she then related to her teacher) or that my saintly grandmother was actually a raging alcoholic that liked to bounce beer cans off his head. None of this was true, of course (although, I have never been able to firmly discount the vampire stories) my father just enjoys the absurdity of life and sometimes he lets his brain out for a walk. If something strikes him funny he likes to relate it. (Incidentally this is a trait that has been passed on to yours truly, much to the dismay of my wife.)

My Dad loves his children almost to a fault. (Although I am finding out, you can never love them too much.) However it sometimes leads my Dad to, "fill in the myelin where there just ain’t none to be found". He wants his three kids to do well, be happy, and healthy. Even if some of this has to come at the expense of delusion. As has been previously discussed I'm not really living up to expectations on the healthy part, and this really hurts him.

He wants so desperately for me to be well. I am sure much of his paranoia comes from the fact that his Aunt went through MS in the dark ages of treatment and needless to say she didn’t fare so well. It took me a long time to convince him that my road was to be very different. Once that hope had been instilled, my father began his own “research” on MS. This isn't the first time Dad has called me with great news about the future of MS treatment, and this morning wasn’t much different.

As always I listened to his “great” news, tried to be cheery as possibly, but in the back of my mind translated it as Dad saying,” just want to let you know, we’re all pulling for you.” All of this is greatly appreciated but you know as well as I that any news about cures, treatments, etc. need to be taken with a grain of salt. Otherwise we would all be walking around like that Blue guy who was on Oprah and CNN.



Nevertheless, when I got to work this morning I plugged a few key words into Google and viola a little info that I never really expected. Not sure if anyone has seen this yet or if anyone has had any experience there in. However this one seems like there might be some promise. Let’s keep our fingers crossed becasue God knows it’s better than keeping our nerve endings crossed.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090130/sc_nm/us_ms_stemcells_2

Thanks, Dad. I'm real glad you're looking out.

P.S. did I say quick? Sorry I really gotta work on that brevity thing.

The body from Spirit does slowly unwind until we are pure spirit at the end

A quick note here on this day of history. I have a much longer post on other topics that I’ve been thinking about, but it isn’t quite done yet. I’ll be posting it later this week, I hope. Furthermore, I feel today is far too significant to let go without mention.

We are all aware we get a new president today. I am hopeful that he might be able to turn something’s around for us, but only time will tell. Truth be told I did not vote for him, nor did I vote for the other guy. I am a bit (by bit read totally and hopelessly) a cynic when it comes to politics. I don’t speak much about it here, I don’t feel the need.

As a young man I fell head over heels in love with the “process” that we as Americans get to participate in, but the idealism that I held onto as a boy was shattered somewhere along the way by the blind faith and pedagogy that I saw as a regular practice in partisan politics. I do not affiliate with either party and feel that most politicians while presenting themselves as bastions of hope are some of the most amoral despots breathing today. Honestly I would imagine that my politics are more aligned with William Ayres then Barack Obama.

However the significance of today is not lost on me.

I am very happy that my now 15 month old boys will never know a world where the color of your skin will stop you from becoming president. Not that I think that we have somehow solved the issue of race in America, but it is a hell of a step forward. I am also very pleased with the general mood of the country as we inaugurate our 44^th commander-in-chief. While conditions are less then favorable for the new head cheese he has still managed to somehow mobilize many people. I can only think that this is a good thing. However, he has a long and rough road ahead of him, and this pedantic bald guy is not going to give him a pass. After all he is a politician, not to be trusted in my opinion.

Although it is my true hope that in 4 years I am running to the polls with the biggest Obama sign imaginable. That I am screaming from the roof tops of his astounding and deft ability as a statesman. That he has declared peace in every country, housed the homeless, fed the hungry, balanced the budget, solved every problem that we are all currently facing. Somehow, I hope, he has restored my faith in the American political system. It is a lonely place when you look at your government as an enemy. Still he has my support. Just don’t blow, man.

I think that much of my cynicism originated from my television. 24 hour news stations, political pundits and comedians as journalists, news stations with an obvious political agenda it’s all a bit much to stomach. Yet nothing has solidified my distaste for the media and for our political system more than the television show called the “West Wing”.

“Wait” you say “that show was amazing.” And you would be right. I loved every second of that show. That is the problem. West Wing began its run in an age where the “reality show” was just beginning to rear its ugly head. Bachelors, unfit parents, interventions, weight loss challenges, began to saturate the air waves while West Wing unfolded its deftly written hour long drama. The show was nothing short of inspiring. Martin Sheen, Stockard Channing, Rob Lowe and a host of other A list actors took us through the trials and tribulations of holding the highest office in the land. It gave us a look at the inside of the White House and how appointees and elected officials guided our fragile country in the way they best thought. Although it was all made up, sure, based on actual events, but not a stitch of it actually happened. Still I found myself with a sense of pride that this man. Jed Bartlet, was my president. He made me proud to be an American. This is the problem. He is not real.

A fictional character was more inspiring than the real thing. I began to think about all the reality shows that proliferated the channels and it dawned on me that the only reality show that we really needed was the only one we weren’t getting. I didn’t care who was getting a rose, I cared who was getting a pardon. I didn’t care who let their kids watch too much TV, I cared about who was allowing kids to get a proper education. West Wing, while an amazing show, shouldn’t have been needed. Our own leader should have been the inspiration we sought. The White House should have the same transparency of the house from “Big Brother”. Yet we are all anesthetized by what we are spoon fed by our cable box. I hope we can all wake up and begin to make some real change. God knows we all need it.

Nevertheless, good luck Mr. President. I wish you well and I hope that in four years we do not regret our decision.

(an aside here: It has not escaped me that the President on “The West Wing” battled MS from the 2^nd season on. For most of the run I had yet to be diagnosed, but found his battle an amazing dramatic devise. If only I knew how dramatic it was going to be. I have since re-watched a bunch of the episodes and his struggle with MS always hit way too close to the mark and often leaves me a bit weepy. Take a look at a few of the clips below. If you aren’t familiar with the show, it is well worth checking out.)

May all your Christmas' be bright...

So it is that time of year, get out your wool slippers, throw another log on the fire and hunker down for a long winters nap. Yeah it's really cold up here in the great north east, and I'm trying to figure out why I subject myself to this. I hate the cold weather. Hate it! However with this MS thing hanging around the heat has become a bit of a kick in the pants as well. Figures.

Anyway, I hope that everyone is staying warm and enjoying the holiday season. We here at "Did You Montel Willams has that?" ("We here..." I like to to make it seem like my blog is actually a fortune 500 company, and I have a team of advisors and assitants that attend to the blog and it's needs. People running around like crazy yelling things like "Save, save, make sure you save that post!" or "Mr. Faranda this is just came to my attention...."at which point I push everything off my desk in disgust. Nothing like this ever happens but, perception is everything.) would like to wish you a very Merry of whatever it is your celebrating, and if you aren't celebrating then disregard completly. I had hoped to get this out before the holiday but it was a crazy time hardly appropriate for this bald guy to disregard his real family for his new cyber one.

But allow me to take the time now to say that these few months since I have been writing have been great. Thanks to everyone who reads and to those of you leaving comments. It means a lot to me to hear your thoughts. Also, and probably more importantly, to those of you who are witting your own blogs keep writing. There are some amazing things out here and
I have been real lucky to find some of them. It's nice to know that I'm not so alone in this thing. Your words are really important to me as well to many others.

Anyway, Christmas to me is about wishes and dreams, and while it is true that everybody knows that your first wish should be for more wishes, and that trying to explain your dreams in real time generally just makes you sound foolish if not insane, in the Christmas spirit I would like to try to put one of my wishes forth into the world of the waking.

Of course we should be wishing for world peace, the end to hunger, the overthrow of the American political system, but lets be honest these things aren't good for business. I don't think there is a genie, let alone a Santa Clause, we could find to make these things come true. So that then leads me to the obvious: that this damn MS thing didn't exist. That is my one true wish for me and for all of us, but then this of course is not good for business either (theirs not ours). So I move on to my next wish that I think I can get an angle on since it is self made and not really much of a wish at all. That this wasn't some nambie pambie diseased blog it's the place you come for all you musical needs.

A hip cutting edge sorta place where you come to see, listen and discuss the latest in music, but not the kinda stuff you would find on some billboard listing or on the cover of the Rolling Stone. A blog for only serious music aficionados and those looking for a new spin on your record player. You see that is really what I wish.

So here is a blog about music in our new mythical world........(look for normal posts about MS and all that stuff in the new year. Till then Happy Holidays)

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Happy Holidays from all of us here at "Did you know Montel Williams doesn't listen to that..." Things have finally settled down over here at world headquarters as all of my advisers and assistants all have taken some well deserved vacation time. I will be outta here as soon as I get this last post of 2008 up and to you the loyal reader.


So here is the big pay off of the year, what you have all been waiting for: 2008's top 10 albums of the year as per Bald Ben. It was an odd year. A quiet year for the most part, I mean to say that the records that were released seemed to be on the quieter side. Which makes me wonder if the artists were feeling quieter or if those of us listening have just tuned into this quiet sound? I mean its been a tough year all around and who knows what's coming up in 2009? (besides the new Andrew Bird album, Neko Case, Great Lake Swimmers, Animal Collective, M. Ward, Grizzly Bear just to name a few). Furthermore it seems that all the "top ten lists" this year have had a lot in common, but not many that have agreed on rankings. You will notice that my number ten has topped many lists this year, while my number two really hasn't shown up anywhere. One man's trash....

So here is the criteria: the record has to have been released in 2008 (although as you will find I don't exactly follow this). Second and most importantly it has to move me enough to want to give the record the highest of compliments: to purchase it on vinyl. Yes that old school antiquated means of relaying sounds to eager listeners. A large 12" disc generally made of black plastic with circular grooves that somehow hold music. Truth be told I only own one of these on vinyl right now, but the economy is weak, I got kids, and I'm a bit too lazy to get out to a record store to find them. I mean it's the holidays, aren't people supposed to surprise me with presents and what not? I guess I should have put the list out before Christmas. Anyway, feel free to comment and tell me how much of a genius I am, or how terribly predictable.

10. TV on the Radio – Dear Science [4AD/Interscope]
This record has topped tons of lists this year. Not mine. I think this is a great album, but it’s not quiet what I was looking for at least as a topper. There was tons of hype before its release and there was even more after we all got our grubby little indie-rock fingers on it. I resisted, maybe I was just trying to be too cool for school or whatever, but I just didn’t listen to it. No matter who told me I needed to hear it I passed it by. It was in November that I actually broke down and took a listen.

The sonic guitar opening of “Halfway Home” quickly drops the Ramone’s style BaBaBa’s before the smooth vocals of Tunde Adebimpe seep into your veins and helps you realize that you’re not on “Cookie Mountain” anymore. This record is deep with layers and deserves a little more of my attention, perhaps had I taken the time it would have placed a bit higher on my list.

9. MGMT – Ocular Spectacular [Sony/Columbia]
You will find that my list has a bit of a leaning. These days find me listening to much more organic acoustic based music. Luckily for me it was a year that also leaned that way. That being said MGMT’s ablum “Ocular Spectacular” is not any of those things. This is a record drenched in drum machines, delay pedals, and studio trickery to polish these gems of indie-electro pop. The album may run the gamut of styles but at its heart it is just an ironic mess of catchy pop songs.

One of the biggest problems with this record, though, is that the opening track “Time to Pretend” is so good that it sets the stage for an album that would be almost impossible to deliver. Try they might they never quite reach that mark, but they have still put together one of the most solid debut albums to date.

8. Grouper - Dragging a Dead Deer up a Hill [Tape]

This is what ghost sound like….

7. Blitzen Trapper – Furr [Sub Pop]
I have also come to this album late. While it was only released in September I didn’t get around to hearing till after it hit a few “best of” lists that I have some respect for. This is a band that has gotten better and better each time they release an album. The obvious Dylan, Neil Young influences are still very present here, but there is a much deeper understanding of what these folk rock troubadours were/are after. Deeper still are influences of Big Star or a late 60’s early 70’s sensibility to music that I happen to really love. If for the title track alone go find this album and listen to it over a lazy afternoon with your favorite girl/guy near by. Furr is easily my song on the year.

6. Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson – S/T [Say Hey Records]
This record hasn’t made too many lists. Perhaps it is Robinson’s unabashed take on his own struggles with drugs, depression, and his sometimes homelessness. The lyrics are dark and heavy. The music, while based in folk rock, has a frenetic edge to it that gives the listener a taste of the chaos that he sometimes must live in. Although for all the darkness, there are some hopeful moments as well. Even if it is only the fact that he has unabashedly expressed himself to us the listener. A guy has to think that that has to be good for something, right?

5. Dr. Dog – Fate [Park the Van]
I may be biased here. You see I know these guys. I have known them for a long time. I knew them before they were Dr. Dog, and I continue to be very very proud of them as they release great album after great album. I wish I could take an ounce of credit for the great albums, but I can’t. As a matter of fact I have nothing to do with their music. I do however have a lot to do with listening to their music and being in awe of a bunch of great dudes that can write great songs like I have never heard before.

Well I suppose that isn’t totally accurate. They write songs like I have heard before. Songs from the cabinets of my father’s record collection, from dusty vinyl hidden in the back of some long lost forgotten set, songs from an era that we could only hope to have been a part of. Yet in wearing there influences on their sleeve they are able to surpass and even improve upon what it is they are emulating.

Their new album “Fate” is making lots of peoples lists this year and the Dr. Dog name and their albums have been touted by the likes of Beck and Lou Reed. It seems like just a few years ago when there were only a handful of us going to shows, and now they play to thousands who have the same if not a greater sense of devotion, and it is well deserved. To the Beatlesque vocal lines of “My Friend” or the Waitsian delivery of “The Beach” these boys have tapped into something that we all have responded to since the early earliest days of recorded music, good songs.

4. Fleet Foxes – S/T [Sub Pop]
I grabbed this one very close to release date and loved it from the moment I heard it. Although truth be told lead singer Robin Pecknold vocals remind me a lot of Jim James of My Morning Jacket. There is a soaring quality, an echo that doesn’t need studio mastery to embolden it. It carries you through the top of the grain silo and out over the fields into the mountains that they are so desperately trying to let us know about. This is a credit to the record but for me was also a detriment. The similarities of voice lead me to turn off of the record for a while. Luckily the Ipod shuffle function brought me back to the record and the more I listen to it the more I tell myself to shut the hell up and listen to one of the best records you’ve heard in a long time.

3. Vampire Weekend – S/T [XL]
Easily one of the best records this year and one of the worst. Their hype burned bright even before the album was released which, as with all great flames, begins to consume itself. Yet, the album and the 13 songs you find there can hardly be contained. A bunch of white, over-privileged kids from New York producing some of the best Afro-tinged pop heard this side of “Graceland”. All the haters be damned, these are just good, catchy songs. There maybe a second album, there maybe a career in the future, but for now just enjoy these 13 perfect punchy numbers.

2. Death Vessel – Nothing is Precious Enough For Us [Sub Pop]
I am sitting here listening to this right now trying to figure out how this album makes it to #2 on my list. This record barely made a blip on anybodies radar, but I can’t stop listening to it. Essentially Death Vessel is nothing like what you would think they are. The name quickly denotes some sort of visceral grind core sound, but in all reality it is the exact opposite. A clean record of what is called neo-traditional folk music (what the hell that means is your best guess). Death Vessel is really only comprised of one member: Joel Thibodeau. Joel then adds a cast of revolving musicians to fill out the production.

Here is the rub: Please note I said Joel Thibodeau. Joel as in a boy’s name. I make mention of this so you do not have to go through the same crisis of conscious that I went through. See Joel sings in a very high falsetto voice: a very feminine sound. To further compound the mental image while he sings in this high register, his voice also has an almost pre-pubescent timbre to it.

Now I went into listening to this record (as well as their first record) not knowing this. I assumed it was a woman singing. Imagine my surprise just a few weeks ago when I found out about Mr Thibodeau. That she was in fact a he, and I’m not talking I picked up some girl in a bar only to find out she’s got an….adam’s apple. No, this is just a guy who sings real high. No illusions of femininity. This revelation led me to some serious introspection.
The preciousness of my then favorite record was suddenly lost. My mental picture had been blow to hell. There was no closing my eyes listening to this one anymore. Yet here it is at #2 on my list of 2008. Why, you ask? Well, you get over it and quickly. The songs are so so so good, The musicianship is amazing, and the voice even though it comes from a grown man, is still just as precious as it was the first time I heard her---I mean him, despite all my inner tumult.

1. Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever ago [jagjaguwar]
There has been a lot of talk about this record. Sadly lots of the talk these days is about the validity of the release date. Yes, it is true that this record was released late in 2007 independently. However it was given a much wider distribution in January of 2008 when good sir Justin Vernon signed with jagjaguwar. This is insignificant to me. While I heard some rumblings about this record when it was released in 2007 I didn’t get my hands on it till probably around February, but let me tell you that I had wished I had it before that.

I wished that I had it the day it came out, I wish that I was there when he recorded it, hell I even wish I was sitting on his molars while he was singing it. This is just a perfect little record. Very plain, very heartfelt, hits me in all the right places.

The record itself was made in only the way great or mythic records seem to come about. Ala “Exile on Main St”, Mr. Veron, exiled himself to a cabin in the mountains of Wisconsin (Wisconsin has mountains? Who knew?) a few months later a bearded Justin emerged from said wilderness with a record that will endure in my memory for a very long time. Makes a bald guy wishes he had lots of hair and a big beard and was able to go hid in the woods to find some songs. Dig this record out of whatever shop, mp3 site, or however you procure music, particularly for those of you enduring the snow filled months that are upon us, it will keep you warm in only the way heartbreak can.

Happy Holidays eveyone...thanks for indulging me this year. See you in 2009.....

Throw my ticket out the window....

I’m not one to be over sentimental or make this blog some sort of monument to the things that simply mark my life. I have no intention to make this my diary or journal, it is just a place for a few musing or thoughts about the things that pass between my ears and stick. Things that I feel are worth mentioning. I need some sort of outlet, right? If I don’t, I get myself into trouble. Currently, I just keep reciting the Presidents of the United States from beginning to end.

Why you ask?

Well, because I can you see. That’s just how smart I am.

Honestly, it is really just a parlor trick. Anybody can memorize it, but for some reason I just keep getting the impulse to recite them. Maybe it has something to do with my hour car ride to work. A bald guy needs to fill his brain with something and I suppose it is better than spitting out the alphabet backwards, although I can do that now as well. Idle hands as they say. I figure if I could juggle while I drive then I might have an act. I could take it on the road….oh yeah, I’d already be on the road, but as per usual I am way off track here.

The reason I point out that my blog is not a place to be over sentimental or a monument is that I am about to do just that. Call me a fraud, call me a hypocrite, it’s fine I have been called it all before. I have also been called buttercup, but let’s not get into that.

The reason I write today is actually a serious matter. My Aunt passed away Monday morning due to complications of ALS, a very cruel and very swift disease that left her incapacitated for the last 6 years.

(Here’s a link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou_Gerhig%27s_disease if you want to know more.)

Aunt Faye garnered one other mention here on the blog back in September as I went through my IVIG treatments. One of the nurses that worked in the infusion center where I took my treatment had also taken care of my Aunt at an ALS ward of one of the hospitals that she sought treatment and had remembered her. My Aunt was only 58 years old and for the last six years she sat in a chair unable to move, her only means of communication was to blink her eyes. But far more than the end, it was the beginning and the years before the illness that made such a deep impression upon me.

My Aunt and Uncle lived about an hour and half from where I grew up. We honestly only saw them and my cousin a handful of times a year: Christmas Eve, Palm Sunday, a few other random trips to the area, and a family party that found us leaving the soot and grime of Reading PA to relax at the oasis that was my Aunt and Uncle’s in-ground pool. You see where I grew up people didn’t have in-ground pools, and only a few people had above ground pools. Most of those you didn’t want to get into. So you can understand my excitement at having free reign at what seemed to me to be a private resort.

This resort came with every amenity: more food then you could eat, more soda then I could drink, and I know this to be true because I gave it my best. Although truth be told my Aunt had a full supply of Shasta. I’m not sure who actually drinks this stuff, but for whatever reason she had a ton of it, and to top it all off a traditional water balloon fight between my Uncle and I. It generally ended with him pushing me into the pool. I was happy regardless.

Though the times may have been few they were always deeply anticipated. I looked forward to Christmas Eve like most kids not only because I knew there were a ton of presents coming my way, but upon waking I couldn’t wait to get to my Grandmother’s house because I knew that Uncle Paul and Aunt Faye would be there. My grandparents only lived two blocks away so as soon as I heard that they had arrived I cleared my throat and with my most annoying voice became the bane of my parent’s existence until they broke down and sent me up the street. Of course the lure of presents, my grandmother’s cooking, and the never ending supply of Coke a Cola never hurt, but it had generally been a few months since I had seen my Aunt and Uncle and I bet they had something to show us.

You see Aunt Faye always had a knack of finding all kinds of crazy puzzles and games to occupy us. I suppose it was her feeble attempt to keep us out of the living room shaking the colorfully wrapped boxes whining incessantly, “when are we gonna open presents? when are we gonna open presents?”.

It worked… sometimes.

I can remember her showing us those ridiculous magic eye puzzles, Games magazine, and any number of brain teaser that she could find. I was never real good at them then, but I can always remember sitting in the backroom of my grandparent’s house, with a cacophony of odor slipping from the kitchen, and my Aunt helping us solve some sort of grand riddle. Furthermore when we did rip into the presents, the multi-colored paper now laid wasted on the floor to reveal something so spectacular that even though you didn’t know it, it was exactly what you wanted, and precisely what my Mom would have never bought us because it was “too messy”.

When I was older and I began to get presents that were “age appropriate” I was a bit sad. While those sweaters were real nice, and I wore them all the time, they didn’t have the same punch as the Fisher Price Printing Press and the stained blue fingers that it produced.

When my boys were born I stopped into the hospital gift shop and found an issue of Games Magazine. It reminded me of those days, how they had passed, and it made me wish that my Aunt was able to come and visit us.

Aunt Faye was nothing but fun, and if she was there I wanted to be near by. I remember as a boy how my Dad’s cousin had asked me to be a ring bearer in her wedding. Now this was all fine and good, but I was six and being six you don’t really understand what is going on. Furthermore you don’t understand that the white tuxedo that you are dressed in is rented and needs to be taken care of.

This was a Catholic wedding and as is evident from the length of my posts Catholics are not known for their brevity. I had to sit up at the alter, in a chair that I am imagining was probably used in the Spanish inquisition due to its comfort. Never had I longed so deeply for the hard wood of the pew that my sister and cousin had the good fortune of sitting in. I suppose they expected me to behave, and I guess I did. My Uncle Sam only had to come up like three times.

Nevertheless, after we went outside and were all pelted with bird seed (Of which I ate a ton of. What? I was six and I was starving. Do you know how long that mass is?) the wedding party piled into a waiting limo that whisked them away to the reception, but I stayed behind opting instead to ride with my Aunt and Uncle in their car.

The reception was a drag to a six year old so Aunt Faye and I snuck outside and she let me tear through the grass like only a six year old can. Here’s where the problem comes in: there was a lot of “sliding into second base”. Allow me to remind you I was six, wearing a white tuxedo and I had no idea that grass could pose a problem to fabric. Again, I ask you who allows a six year old to take part in these things?

Needless to say both my dad’s cousin and my mother were pretty pissed when I came walking back into the hall drenched in sweat and a white tuxedo that looked like the swamp thing had just disrobed. I began to hear the things that a small boy hears when he has made a bad (albeit honest) mistake. Aunt Faye just smiled and whispered to me, “We’ll tell the rental company we had a problem with some guacamole.” Now, I had no idea what guacamole was at the time, but what I did know was that Aunt Faye had my back and guacamole or no guacamole it sounded like a solid excuse to me. Now, though, at 31 years old, looking back I’m not sure how the rental company would have cared whether it was guacamole or grass stains, their tux was ruined. I wonder whatever happened with that…..

When I was grown I moved to Philadelphia, much closer to my Aunt and Uncle. I began to see a bit more of them, and felt that my relationship was getting closer to the way I had always hoped it could be. However, it wasn’t long after my relocation that my Aunt started to have problems. It wasn’t my business and I would be told what I needed to when I needed to know it. I don’t remember when I found out that it was ALS, nor do I remember when I realized how serious it was, but quicker than I had ever imagines my Aunt was being taken away from me and the rest of the family.

Once Aunt Faye was in her chair but still able to speak relatively well I sat with her for an afternoon. We didn’t talk much about the disease, just about what I was doing and what I was trying to accomplish. Actually most of the time was taken up with her typing rude things about my Uncle and dad into her new voice computer. When they came back from picking up lunch she unleashed a barrage of digital epithets that were less then flattering. She had a great sense of humor (you have to to survive in my family) even when she was incapacitated in her chair. My Uncle would show her a board with the alphabet written on it and she would blink as the letter she was looking for was spoken. You would write the letters down and read what it was that she wanted to say. This was a slow process and sometimes very frustrating, but there were many instances that she made a mistake that I believe was on purpose just to confound my Uncle.

The last time I saw her was at my cousin’s house. The summer party had been moved there despite the lack of in-ground pool (a bit of an oversight that I will forgive them). As my Uncle helped one of my Aunt’s nurses load her into the van at the end of the day I walked with them. My wife was very pregnant with our boys at the time and I said to my Aunt, “I’m gonna try to come out and see you before the boys come, because God knows what’s gonna happen once these two monsters are unleashed.” I could see her smile, if only in her eyes, but it was a smile. Sadly I didn’t get out to see her, and once the boys did come time was non-existent. I kept saying to my wife that we really need to take the boys out to see my Aunt, but it never happened. For that I am sorry.

I am so sad that she has passed, but what is far more devastating is the loss of time. Which I suppose is always the true shame of death. I wish I could have talked with her. She was unable to speak when I was diagnosed with MS in 2005, and she was one of the few people I thought might have an insight to the road that I was walking down. While ALS and MS are very different diseases there are many similarities in the pathology, but more important the psychology. The things I think and feel I would imagine she went through, on some level, as well. I like to think we could have helped each other in some way. At the very least I know she could have helped me.

Although perhaps she did help me in just being as she was. We look at the people as we loved them, we look at ourselves, we hold memories and images in our minds and hearts and despite the fact that they are unable to be themselves I always imagined she was who I knew her to be. She was just unable to express it in the way that I knew her to before. Locked in they call it, and I think that it actually applies to many of us. We were locked in to the image that we had already lost; an image that had made an indelible impression upon me and one that I didn’t want to lose. Yet now there was a new version of my Aunt and I’m not sure that I was ever able to adjust to the changes.

Yet, many of the same changes are affecting me now. Not in the same way and if it all goes well they won’t be as destructive, but I remember my Aunt’s cane and then her wheelchair and neither of us aware at the time that these events would be so relevant to me today. I look at so many situations now with a deeper scrutiny an intense yearning, and I wonder what she would have said to me. Would it even have been remotely relatable?

I do look, though, to what she did do. How she was able to stay here with us for as long as she did inside of her own body. The strength she proved to us with out lifting a finger, the grace that had shown so brightly though she couldn’t breath on her own, the truth that despite what problems beset us our spirit can always be stronger.

So, go to your dad’s record cabinet (or your own, that’s my plan) pull out Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline, (which you undoubtedly have) once Aunt Faye told me that this was her favorite record, put the needle down and raise your glasses high. Drinks are your choice…..I think I’ll have a Shasta.

Here is to my Aunt Faye

All my deepest love, respect and thanks

The force will be with you, always

Wandering through the hallowed halls of my place of employment yesterday I noticed the wonderful people who are kind enough to supply us with Health Insurance had set up tables. It was obvious by their supply of free pens that glow iridescent when you click them and neon green change purses that were admittedly empty but open for the filling, that their warehouses had filled to the point of bursting. And instead of paying an extra storage fee, which they would have undoubtedly been charged, they showed up here to share the wealth. Then I thought maybe I am just being cynical. Maybe they had come simply for a smile, a handshake, a chuck on the shoulder just to let us know we were appreciated. I’ll bet if I asked I could have gotten a back scratch.

While the back scratch had seemed enticing, I tipped my hat and moved on, there was no reason for me to stop, the support that I had received, while not the top coverage I have ever had, was working out okay. Obviously the representatives of one of the largest health care conglomerates were there to let the good people know that all was okay. I mean in these times of economic turmoil it could lead one to question the solvency of those stead fast institutions that help us rest easy at night. I put it from my mind and set to work.

I had a busy morning. First I completed payroll, then off to a production meeting where we discussed the shows coming up in the next week (nothing of note. It’s close to Christmas. Tours start to pack it up at this point. Even the famous like to eat a turkey or hope for Santa.). I then busied myself on the arduous task of music blog updates. I have a few sites that I dig into that keeps me hip to the scenes that I was once a big part of. It helps me forget that I am over thirty and not to be trusted. Which honestly I understand, I don’t even trust myself most days.

“Dude, did you see that old bald guy hanging around? He looks like a NARC.” At this point my wife, disgusted, sticks her head in and says, “Dude,” her sarcasm biting, “you’re talking to yourself in the mirror again.”

Then of course I wander onto many of the MS blogs that I dig on. Let me just say there has been some really amazing stuff filtering though cyber space as of late. I have added a new blog over there on the right. Living life with sarcasm, kids and MS is a pretty great read. Take a look, and for that matter the rest of the blogs that I have had the good taste to include are well worth your time. Turns out over at No Empire they celebrate my wife’s birthday as well. Who knew? Although truth be told it’s not necessarily for my wife as much as they happen to share a birthday. Nevertheless, happy birthday to one and all, mine is in May. See you then.

It was about here that I got down to my real work of the day: Star Wars clips on YouTube. This can get a guy pretty hype, I mean take a look….



Then of course is the classic…


Luke was so whiney…

Anyway, while digging deep into the ‘ol YouTube archives (And I mean digging, oddly enough, there are very few bounty hunter clips. The balls on these people not to upload copyrighted Boba Fett clips. Although, I had enough to chew on with the Star Wars Holiday Special, come on, cooking with a Wookie? It’s a classic.) A co-worker came up to the cube behind me and began to rant and rave about the health insurance changes and how we have to take a survey or our rates go up.

Wait, wait, wait….She’s not talking about my health insurance. She can’t be talking about those nice people out in the lounge area that brought us all those free pens and glossy folders with tons of useless information inside. She has to be talking about another health insurance, right? She’s talking about another company. Right? Would these people be so friendly with their pens and such while they are sticking it you? Well after a few exasperated moments, a couple of, “are you serious.” A few, “are you sure?” an emphatic, “who told you that?” and a handful of “that’s gotta be illegal.” I figured I had better go get the answer myself, straight from the mouth of the good people who had pens to give out.

“Ehmmm…excuse me sir, one of my co-workers here….honestly I, ah…I think she’s a bit…well you know…soft, well she said, and please excuse me, I feel a bit funny for even asking you this, but the thing is, she said that there is some sort of survey we need to take in order for our rates to stay the same. I know it’s silly, sorry for…..”

“Yeah, but their’s no guarantee that the rates will stay the same. It’s a “risk assessment” test. It gives your employer an aggregate tally of all the employees here, and how much of a “risk” they are in. Here take this glossy folder there are bunch of changes that you should be aware of.”

I stumbled back. My world shook. Everywhere I looked it was as if people were laughing at me. Everything was spinning, the very foundation of that which I believed was crumbling around me, and I had no where to turn, just a glossy folder and an iridescent pen. In this new paradigm were cats and dogs still mortal enemies? Did Pepsi really win the Pepsi challenge? Where in fact was the beef?

Well, I suppose I am being dramatic and this isn’t entirely true. I did step back but only so I was far enough away from the dude so I didn’t jump over the table and make him wish he had different health insurance. Did the guy really just say, “how much of risk my employer's in?" Apparently he isn't aware that the multi-billion dollar company I work for doesn’t have MS. Yes, while their profits have been a bit necrotic as of late, I think they're gonna be just fine. My legs however, well the jury is still out on that one. Yeah I got your risk right here, buddy..

So it turns out if I don’t take this Risk Assessment test my rates jump $30.00 a pay period. What makes this even more insidious is that no one in the company has been made aware of this test unless you went up and asked specifically about it. Furthermore, they are pushing one of my hospitals out of their plan. Apparently it is no longer financial sound to use one of the premier hospitals in the region and the country. Allow me to quote from the literature…..

Our Insurance has an obligation to you to try and keep health care costs in check while providing you with access to high quality care. For more than 75 years, we have taken that obligation very seriously when negotiating with hospitals. We understand that we are negotiating on your behalf. After all, your premium dollars are used to pay for the services of said great hospital.

We also want you to know that for some time we have tried to negotiate reasonable rates with your hospital, but we were unsuccessful. After our termination letter was sent, the hospital responded by sending us a proposal with lower rates.

I don’t remember getting a call when they were negotiating. I would be the first to tell you that what ever premiums that might rise I would be more than happy to pay if I am able to see the doctors and go to the facilities of my choice as it was when I began the plan. Furthermore, the last sentence is infuriating. It turns out the insurance company is really just playing some sort of half assed game of chicken with the hospital. Well, I’m blinking, look at me I’m blinking, Uncle or whatever the hell you want me to say, let’s put on the breaks here before somebody gets hurt or losses an eye to optic neuritis.

Of course it really only gets worse from here: co-pays change, what facilities I can and can not get my MRIs in change, the formulary on the prescription plan is changing and my copaxone, while still covered, suddenly will cost me $100.00 more out of pocket for a total of $200.00

An aside here…..
I realize that I am bitching about something that many Americans do not have the liberty to bitch about. I am being a bit of a dilettante here. I was in fact one of those 47 million Americans without health care when I was diagnosed, and understand what a blessing it is to have some sort of coverage. However it is painfully apparent that something needs to done and done quickly in order to heal people that can be healed, and care for those that need the care. Everyday the country proves that as Bono wrote, “the rich stay healthy and the sick stay poor.” Health care is a business and we are just the cogs that feed the machine. Cures are bad for business.

Well for those of you who have been reading you know that I am very rarely at a loss for words, but this new info and the way it was so nonchalantly handed to me really took the wind out of my sails. I slunk back to my desk, feeling a bit sorry for myself. Yet the words of Yoda rang through my head, “do or do not. There is no try.” So, as if the force itself was lighting up my bald head I took a stroll back out to the tables. I formed a series of thoughtful questions and I wanted satisfaction, nay, I demanded satisfaction.

“excuse me sir, could you tell me….”

“it’s all right there in your packet.”

“Yes, but I was hoping for something a little more specific.”

“Oh right, well you can see here on the bottom of the first sheet the 800 number. They will have all the answers you need.”

“You can’t answer my question?”

“No sir. I’m sorry. We’re not qualified.”

Remember that speechless thing before….Color me dumbfounded.

Health Insurance is really the reason I work where I do, at least in the field that I do. I went to college and studied photography and film. I worked as a photographer and film maker for a few years out of college. I loved every second of it. Unfortunately being self employed does not come with health insurance. Yet I was relatively healthy, and starving for my “art” was perfectly acceptable. It actually helped. Pangs of hunger really help the creative process.

However I had to do some other work to supplement my income. I got involved with being a go-for in concert production (called a runner. Cause you’re running back and forth looking for the most inane things that nobody actually needs. That’s a different story.) and before you knew it I was offered a full time position. Now this is where many of you reading might start to say, “Bald Ben you’re a sell out”. Well, I’ll kindly tell you to shove it and shut the hell up.

I had been getting knocked on my ass by cluster headaches at that point for at least six years. (I haven’t talked much about the cluster headaches. There will be a post at some point. However I have been headache free for a year for the first time since I am 17. I am afraid of tempting the devil.) The only medication that worked cost $150.00 per shot (at the time). There were many days I was only making $150.00 for whatever work I was doing. There were more times then I care to count that I woke up had to take a shot and then go to work. Essentially to work for nothing, just the medicine I had put into my arm that morning. Sadly I knew that I would most likely need it again that day. Talk about deflating.

It was around the year 2002 that I had all but depleted my savings and knew that the headaches would soon return. So when someone offered me a steady paycheck and pretty sweet benefits I really had no choice. You see this goes back into an earlier post where I knew there was some sort of problem, bigger than the headaches, but everyone else just kept on telling me I was delusional and all I needed was to chill out. Guess I showed them. So I got involved in the world of concert production which I soon found out is a load of crap and for the most part completely against most of my moral code. Yet somehow I guess I’m half way decent at my job because I keep getting offers for other positions, but as they say beggars can’t be choosers.

Another aside:
Again I realize that I am bitching about things that many people don’t have the ability to bitch about. Everyday we hear of more and more lay offs, unemployment is insane. These are the people that should be bitching, and I bet a lot of them are, and rightfully so. So please do not think that I am not aware of just how fortunate I am. Truth be told most people would think that I have a pretty neat job, if they knew the truth they wouldn’t, but I digress. If I had my druthers I would be somewhere else, making movies, taking pictures, flexing a creative muscle from time to time, MS free. Like I said beggars can’t be choosers.

Long story short: They are changing my insurance on me. Remind me why I do this again?