Not Feelin' Too Good Myself

The Geezer Rock Blog must come back to life. The recent hiatus in posts is the result of depression (mine) over the band's enforced vacation.
The good news: Nick is recovering from his triple bypass. I've had colds that kept me in bed longer. I saw Nick a week after the surgery. He was walking around the block. Briskly. He claims he's starting to feel better than he did before the surgery. I belive it. He was running on three cylinders.
The depature of Player X, however, has left a gaping wound that refuses to heal. Player X worked hard while he was in the band. But he came in with the understanding that we'd be playing two gigs a month. Nick's surgery, plus the city code problems at the Hilltop Tavern, prevented this. So he quit. I wrote him an e-mail asking for more details on his thinking. I really wanted to know. He never replied. Leaving the band is like abandoning your wife and children. If you're going to do it, make a clean break. Don't send birthday cards or phone. It only inflames the wounds. Change your identity. Fake your own death if you have to.
Last Monday, another Geezer Bass Player was scheduled to show up for a little jam with Kenton and I. He canceled at the last minute. "He had a physical therapy appointment he forgot about," Kenton told me. "His neck's all jacked up because he was in a car accident." I'm thinking forcing prospective band members to undergo a physical before joining the band. If they dont' pass, they can't join. I wonder what it would cost to purchase a health benefits plan for KDOG?
At the Sacramento Ad Club Awards last Wednesday, I ran into Steve, the original bass player. I am playing lead guitar today because of Steve. He begged Kenton to get me to swtich so he could join the band as bassist and lead vocalist. I was happy playing bass. I fought this. But I gave in to Kenton's wheedling, as all eventually must. Three months later, Steve quit to join another band. I cursed him and he developed a horrible disease: shingles of the brain. It could have killed him. I guess he wished he was dead at times. The virus subjected him to horrible weeklong migraines.
He looked good when I saw him - a little thinner. He told me his doctors had found a treatment that helped. It inovlved "brain injections" that fooled his brain into thinking he was cured, although he really isn't. Steve told me he had to avoid stress and get plenty of rest, but that he was able to play.
"I never had a problem playing with you," he told me. "But I had an opporunity to join this seven-piece band with a horn section, and I just couldn't pass it up."
I said I understood. The horns. It's always the horns. I hate horns. They play out of tune and leave the stage slick with saliva. They're the fake silocone tits of rock and roll. Guys are always leaving you for horns.
I realize that I have a reputation as a smartass, but what I told Steve next I really meant. This is not irony or even me saying something "nice" through clenched teeth. He has paid his bill. I think receiving injections directly into your brain is punishment enough.
"I owe you a debt of gratitude," I told Steve, with relaxed, non-clenched teeth. "If you hadn't forced the issue, I'd never be playing lead guitar or singing. None of the adventures we had would have occurred. I've actually grown musically because of all this. So...thanks."
We parted with a man hug and that was that.
I have many wonderful Geezer Rock treats in store - including the mind-bending interviews with Nick "Sewer Boy" Ciani and the original Bittermen, whose story makes Spinal Tap look like what it is: a fake Hollywood movie! I also have graphic photos of Nick's sugery "zipper" and shocking accounts of his pubic region being shaved by Fillipino nurses! You may actcually soil yourself repeatedly as this story unfolds, much as Nick's hospital roommate did!
©2007 Edward Dean Chance. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Comments

[Uncle David]

Glad to have you back.....