Rambling 101: Respectful, But Practical or Making Your Own Music, or Etc. Etc..

I've always had a respect for religion - out of the fear that I may one day end up in the "Hell" that I was brought up to believe in. Pitchforks and fire, little demons chasing you, all of your worst nightmares multiplied by 1000. So, I rarely laughed at jokes that I thought were blasphemous, and even stopped a band mate from tearing the last page out of The Bible to use it as rolling papers for his pot. "It's natural, man! Practical! It's made of rice paper. That's why they made it out of rice paper. What Would Jesus Do? You think Jesus didn't smoke it?!!?" I told him if Jesus did smoke he wouldn't rip a page from the Bible. And if, by chance, he did smoke and did rip a page from the Bible to do so, then he would have gone to his own room to do it.

I respect spirituality more than religion. Spirituality means much more to me. It's much more powerful because it's self-empowerment. When someone says that they diet "religiously" or watch hockey "religiously" - what does that mean? Obsessive, I think. Self absorbed, in a less empowered way. Now if someone were to say that they dieted spiritually, then it means an entirely different thing. (Of course, if someone said they watched hockey spiritually, I would smile politely and walk away slowly, mindful of any sudden movements.)

Today's "conventional" church is one giant fraternity or sorority. You move into a town, and you want to join a club where everyone else is kind of like you. You have instant friends! Instant support! Instant advice on who to stay away from, and who to befriend. Who's cheating on who. Who makes the most money, etc. etc.

Joining a church seems lazy to me. It sounds like the freshman in college who doesn't want to have to go out and find his own friends so he joins a fraternity. He lets the fraternity that is steeped in history and money funded by alumni, do all of the choosing for him.

Musicians are the same way. We go along with the traditions. We look for the big label deals and play the places we are "supposed" to play. Those places have a tradition to them. So what if the sound sucks and the toilet is broken in half? So what if the it's smoky, and everyone is too cool to show any enthusiasm for your efforts? You get to play the "in" place! Word will get out, and you'll soon be packing them in.

Bullshit. You are just like every other band out there, trying to make it the easy way. I say easy way, because those before you have paid their dues for you.
Just like Jesus. Jesus paid his dues. He already rocked that club, and moved on up the local ladder to the national ladder. He's rocking with Jimi and Janice now! They are all gathered 'round the heavenly keg, sipping beer from a plastic cup!

I believe everyone can make your own "music" whatever their "music" happens to be. And they should approach it not religiously, but spiritually.

It seems more and more that secular artists have turned to spirituality lately. Or have they always been spiritual? Who knows? No one but them. As it should be. Spirituality isn't yelled from a corner in Times Square. It isn't preached as an alternative to hellfire.

The alternative band The Violent Femmes were a huge college/fraternity favorite. They found success there. I've covered their music in bands over the years as well. Brian Tairaku Ritchie, the bass player of the Violent Femmes, is a practicing Buddhist, who uses music as a form of meditation. He played those nasty clubs, moved up and got out to the bigger venues, and ended up finding himself. Imagine! Writing and performing music as a form of relaxation! If more musicians followed that lead, perhaps the world would not only be more musical and spiritual, but a little more...relaxed. (You can check him out here.)

I'm not sure that I've ever heard a "conventional" Christian say the word "relax". It's always, "Be hot or cold!" That would be exhausting.

Natural or not, I think that I could ever smoke a page from The Bible. It think it's doubtful that Jesus would have. And most likely, had he smoked, he wouldn't have "bogarted" as much as my band mate did.

I'm Sure That Jesus Knew At Least One Knock-Knock Joke

I was commuting from Grand Rapids to Detroit yesterday, listening to AM radio. During the drive, I realized that I was once again drawn to conservative talk shows. Maybe "drawn to" isn't the right phrase. "Geographically forced to listen to" is more like it.

Glenn Beck gets my attention because he is funny. I don't agree with him nearly 90% of the time (91% is my cut-off and I'm forced to turn the radio off.) But most times he's very funny, unless he's sounding the alarm that it's the end of the free world as we know it, and we need to stockpile on guns and ammo while we still can. But even THAT's a little funny. Bill O'Reilly is not funny. Most talk radio personalities can be a little funny. Rush, Dr. Laura, Michael Savage all have a moment or two, but not Bill. I've never heard him say anything remotely funny. (I take that back about Dr. Laura. She's not intentionally funny. I find it funny when she yells at her callers, which happens to ....every caller.

So, listening to Glenn Beck, I realized that if someone with a completely different view point then myself punctuates their agenda with a funny remark, or delivers a message with a dollop of humor, I'll keep listening. Realizing this, I wondered who may have influenced me over the years, personally, politically and religiously. Clearly, I'm drawn to humor, so most likely I would have been influenced by those who are funny.

I grew up with the likes of Steve Martin, M*A*S*H*, and Cheech and Chong. "The Jerk" and M*A*S*H* still crack me up, but I'll be damned, Cheech and Chong are no longer funny to me. Rodney Dangerfield was really funny to me, Robin Williams was not. SNL in the 70's was funny. I'm sure that it had some influence on me. I can't think of one funny thing about the 80's, except Chicago Bears quarterback Jim McMahon and those ridiculous headbands, which wasn't funny then, but is really kind of a pathetic funny now.

In the 90's, Howard Stern was very funny. He may have influenced me. Though, now that he's on satellite radio, he's surprisingly unfunny, or just so much more sophomoric. Had he been on the air when I was a sophomore, he would have been my king of comedy. Joan Rivers was funny before her third face lift. Though I find it very funny that she looks almost exactly like the dummy named "Madame", from the ventriloquist comedy team, Waylon and Madame.

Ironically enough, I never found many comedians that were funny, and I still don't. Up on the stage with their "jokey" jokes... yet, If I see them live, I'll laugh for fear of getting singled out and picked on.

Bullies weren't funny, as I remember them. Although they WERE funny to their cronies. The kids that they picked on were funny; most of us being forced into a Woody Allen impression.

Most handsome men are not funny. I can't really think of any. I suppose that Jerry Seinfeld became more handsome as he progressed into the 90's. So, clearly, if someone is not good looking in the traditional way, but is funny, they may do better with women.

Me thinking about handsome men or how handsome a man is, is not that funny.

Historically speaking, many leaders were not funny. Socrates was not really funny, but Buddha had a moment. Julius Caesar was not funny, though the movie "Caligula" was hilarious! Jesus was not funny as far as the records show. I'm sure that even HE had the ability to share a knock knock joke, but apparently kept it to himself. Just imagine how much more influence he would have had on the world, had he been a little more self-deprecating. But that would have been blasphemous.

God was really funny in "Oh, God" but not so funny in "Oh, God Book II". He lost his edge in that one, and some movie goers as well.

George Washington was not funny, in fact, he was downright unfunny. Abe Lincoln was a real cut-up. I always feel like Kennedy was in on a joke that Nixon never really got. George Bush Sr.? Kind of funny. Jr? No.

Al Capone was funny, at least in "The Untouchables". "Bugsy" Malone, not so much. Bonnie and Clyde were pretty funny, records show. Shields and Yarnell, never funny.

One of my best friends, Lee George, is probably the funniest guy I know, though he rarely even has to say anything remotely funny anymore. We just crack up to tears almost anytime we get together, for no apparent reason, other than the long history we have together as friends.

My Dad is VERY funny, but sometimes at the expense of others. Well, it used to be that way. Over the years, he's mellowed out, and has been much more self-deprecating, making himself the butt of the jokes. My Mom's not really that funny, and has a hard time telling jokes properly, but she has a GREAT, gutteral laugh when she finds something funny that she probably shouldn't.

My wife is very funny, but fails to see any humor in the neurotic ramblings of Larry David, Albert Brooks, and me.

After all of that, it's hard to say who has truly influenced me over the years. I would say the combination of all of the funny people I've listed above, and maybe those were profoundly unfunny, have swayed me in the directions I have gone in life. And it continues with every new episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm or Jim Gaffigan monologue.

I'll continue to live my life channel surfing, inevitably swapping a few unfunny friends for some funny ones, and going to movies, trying to find some humor where ever I can. And in the end, on my deathbed, I'll lie there, secretly hoping that God has a better sense of humor then he did in "Oh God, You Devil".

Introduction

I killed a puppy when I was four years old.

Most analysts will tell you that killing an animal is a sign of a mental health disorder, but I dismiss that. I didn't kill the puppy acting on an impulse to get back at my parents, or to play God, or just to to see what it felt like. I suppose in a metaphoric way, I killed the puppy the way that I killed most relationships, years later, with lovers, friends, and business partners. I killed the puppy trying to give it pleasure that it did not ask for or need.

It was July or August in the town of Plainwell, MI, and I was in the small, enclosed backyard, playing on the swing set that I shared with my three siblings. Since I was alone and there was no need to take turns, I slid down the slide many times, one trip after the other. As soon as I hit the bottom I would jump up, run around and climb the ladder for another turn. I'm sure that it was an exhausting way to enjoy it, but I may have wanted to get in as many as I could in the short period of time that I was left alone by my older brothers and younger sister. I'd also like to think that I was smart enough to know, even back then, that any time spent off the slide meant that the sun was going to beat down on the metal, rendering it too hot for use, thus cutting short my solitary day in my very own amusement park.

Our dog, I've forgotten her name, had had puppies a couple of weeks earlier, and was tucked in one half of a banana box with them, some nursing and some sleeping. The box was in the front corner of the garage, just barely in the shade. I went to it to check on my favorite, the blackest one, the one with the white nose, the one that I was convinced that mom would let me keep. It was asleep. It always seemed to be asleep. I picked him up anyway and tucked him under my chin to pet him. The puppy was squirming a bit, so I knew he was waking, and that's when I had the idea: I love the slide. The puppy will love the slide.

I took the puppy, still waking up, with me into the back yard. I started toward the slide at a careful pace, but I'm sure that I was so consumed with the idea of pleasing this little puppy, of being there when it discovered how FUN life is going to be for him to live in a world where things like slides existed.

When I reached the ladder, the puppy was wide awake. I held him with one little hand as the other grabbed for the rail, hoisting myself up step by step. No more than five steps high, I'm sure that it seemed like Everest, and took a lifetime to reach the top.

I remember setting the puppy on the platform at the top of the slide, then, realizing that he would probably not just walk off of the platform onto the slide by himself, I picked him up. I set him down on the hot metal. He squirmed a bit, out of nervousness, I imagined, but soon he would be convinced at how much fun it was going to be, having the breeze blow his little puppy ears back, and his tongue wagging in the open air. He would certainly want to do it again and again.

I'm not sure what actually killed the puppy. The hot metal that had beaten by the sun for the last 10 minutes, or the fact that he was sticking to the slide, and needed a few little nudges to get him on his way. I pushed him a few times, until he finally rolled over and over down the slide, and onto the sand pit below. I followed him down, and realized that the slide was hot, and thought to myself, that's what I get for not keeping up the pace! Not once did I consider the heat in the regards to the puppy.

What I did realize was that when I reached the bottom, that the puppy was not moving as he should be. He lay on his side, his neck craning like a baby bird. Then, nothing.

"Oh, man," I said to myself. It was a popular phrase in our house when something didn't go as planned. I picked up the puppy and ran him back to the garage, to his mama, and laid him down on the plaid blanket. I may have even tried to hide him under her just a bit. The mama didn't really acknowledge him, just lay there panting in the summer heat, while her babies squirmed and slept.

I don't remember if I thought that the mama was going to nurse her broken baby back to health, or if I was hiding the crime, but I do remember thinking that I had gotten away with something that I did that was terribly wrong. I ran back inside the house, to watch television. Television, then and years later, was the most common way for me to avoid reality.

It was a few hours later at dinner, that my own mother announced that another one of the puppies had died. Apparently, not all puppies were expected to live past a few days. I shrugged. We all shrugged.

"It was the black one," she added.

That's how I killed my first animal. Out of love for him, and a want to bring joy into his life. To entertain him, when he probably wanted to be left alone. It was the beginning of what would be a life of chasing that drug of being admired. The puppy, and anyone else in my vicinity was going to have a great time ALL of the time, and admire me for showing them how to enjoy life. No one was going to be disappointed, and I was going to be the center of attention, because I would ensure that everyone, including puppies, could put their trust in me that if they would hang out with me for awhile, I would make sure that they were going to have FUN.

In doing so, I killed an animal, and didn't feel remorse until years later. I killed an animal and I didn't become a knife wielding psychopath, or an arsonist, or a pedophile or any of the 'ists' or 'philes' associated with unstable mental health. I didn't become a murderer, a rapist, or a thief.

I did become , somewhere along the way, an ego maniac with an overwhelming sense of self-importance garnished with a dangerous need to control everyone and everything. I became a shadow to my inner child, and did whatever that child wanted to do or didn't want to do but was encouraged to do by those around them, all for the sake of entertainment.

I became a rock star.