HOW I BROKE THIS | EP. 4 | Blow Phone & PARKRCOLD OPEN V.O.: “You are receiving an automated voice call from an inmate at Buzzards Roost White Collar Penal Colony & Pickleball Resort. Press (1) to accept.” SFX: BEEP. INTRODUCTION V.O.: Ineptitude . . . Failure . . . Inanity . . . Stupidity ….
Sometimes I must remind myself of the “why.” Delete that . . . not sometimes, many times. Still self-doubting after all these years. The writer’s plague. My own private dark ages. About the mood shifts . . . the fine line between heavenliness and hellishness . . . let’s not delve too deeply. This is…
For the first half of this month, I found myself immersed in all things Jimmy Buffett (JB). That tends to happen to fans when a favorite entertainer representing a big chunk of time in their lives passes away. Sigh. The amount of media reaction since JB’s death on Sept. 1 has been incredible. Countless major…
For 45 years, his tropically-themed music delivered to me a sunshine state of mind. My mental migration to Margaritaville is rooted to 1978 when a catchy new song, “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” crackled to life via our town’s AM radio station, WTCJ. The chorus was infectious. I like mine with lettuce and tomato, Heinz 57 and…
Evenings, my wife is entranced by true crime shows. The broader the blood splatter, the better. The serial killer ones are favorites, rivaled only by wives whacking husbands.
Let’s begin with the Foreigner fallout boys, those rock and roll purists who understandably disagreed with the positive things I wrote about my first Foreigner concert at Ruoff “I Still Call It Deer Creek” Music Center in Noblesville last month. I recounted how I bought two tickets at a three-figure price for an official Foreigner…
I just checked another box on my 1970s Super Group Concert List. This summer, I saw Foreigner. “Feels Like The First Time” was a cherished 8-track tape of mine in 1977. I bought it at a mall in Owensboro and then tortured my parents with it during the 45-minute return drive home. Foreigner was not…
Leveling at 30,000 feet after departing LaGuardia Airport, our jet was jostled. We represented nothing but a tubular chew toy in the jaws of a masticating, mythical sky beast. The plane’s drop was sudden, belly flop-like as if an empyrean trapdoor had been triggered. A woeful chorus of “whoa” filled the fuselage as we succumbed…
(for Dave Barry) “How’s your butthole today?” That’s how my proctologist greeted me upon entering the exam room just before my colonoscopy. Her tone was as chirpy as if she had actually ridden in on a golden ray of sunshine singing, “Good morning . . . good morning,” Judy Garland style. I blushed. I’m uncomfortable…
Which would you rather visit, the Bureau of Motor Vehicles (BMV) office to renew your driver’s license or a proctologist’s office to get an exam? A no-win answer either way, I know. Recently, I had to do both, and believe it or not, I have my proctologist to thank for my new driver’s license. Let…
