a pErSoNaL mEsSaGe to MY DeAr FRIENDS

“That man is Happiest
Who lives from day to day and asks no more,
Garnering the simple goodness of a life.”
-- Euripides, “Hecuba,” 425 B.C.

Dear readers:

Some blog facts.

That's my mom in the photo, c. 1953.

Given my lack of cyber savvy, I thought it might be helpful to point out that a CLICK on any of the EMBEDDED IMAGES will ENHANCE them. For example, the photo of my dad and crew in front of their B-24 fills the entire page when clicked upon.

If you read from present to past, I get sicker and sicker.

Some of you have asked about my health. Since I haven’t written on medical matters for a while, here’s some stuff.

On May 19th I had a CT scan that showed no cancer present. Yesterday I had a follow up visit with my Doc. She said my blood work, liver function, etc., were fine. FYI, in terms of liver function (not that I would know anyone who’s been hard on their liver), the biliruben numbers are a critical indicator of how well your gizzard is working. My next visit is in late August.

After spending much time at the UMCC (University of Michigan Cancer Center) in the Fall, this was my first time back in a while. Among the many sights and sounds of the clinic, one that always gives me pause is the arrival of sick prisoners. Yesterday, two armed guards wheeled in a Stryker frame with an inmate so sick that I had to help move him from the prison gurney to a hospital transport. Why do I mention this? In a country where the poor can’t get adequate health care, our prisoners, and, as Michael Moore points out in “Sicko,” those alleged terrorists incarcerated at Guantanamo Bay, receive the best treatment in the world. What this says is this: if you’re poor, commit a crime and go to prison, then you’ll have access to adequate medical care. What’s the message? It’s time for universal health coverage.

Whether it helps or not is anyone’s guess, but my strategy in holding the malignancies at bay is to exercise (daily swimming, weightlifting, and yoga) and limit myself to beer, tequila, and herbal remedies (Tee-Hee). Remember those Suboxone posts? Well, it’s been 114 days since I’ve taken any meds, and that includes anything. No more pills and powders. I’ve put enough chemicals in my body for two lifetimes. My voice and playing are better than ever. I have a passion for everything I do, a passion that’s been missing for years. In this regard, I think of the cancer as an epiphanous experience, a blessing.

Two of my friends died of late, Bill Behnke and Jim Degroot. Bill lived down here, and had suffered mightily for a long time. A couple of years ago FUBAR, George Bedard, and the Macpodz, did a benefit for his family, now he’s gone. Too many cigarettes. His wife Martha has to be out of their long-time family home by July 9. A Texas holding company foreclosed on the property. Just a bit of closure, we’re doing a final benefit for Martha on June 6th, 5:30-8:30 at the Heidelberg in Ann Arbor. One note of interest in all this is the cool LP I found in a dusty stack of albums in their barn. The FUGS, 1966, Ed Sanders, Tuli Kupferberg, and Ken Weaver. Liner notes by Allen Ginsberg, cool.

Greg Mingay shot me an e-mail yesterday, informing me that Jim passed on in Marquette on Monday. Too bad. I remember when he and Jackie lived on the dump road in Big Bay. Jim loved music and was always smiling. Rest in peace, dude. Here’s a shout out to his longtime confederate, Vinnie St. John. Be well, Vinnie.

What else have I got? Oh yeah, here’s another tale from Labby’s garage. You may recall my story about getting out of the draft by telling 'em I was gay. One of my dear friends in the late 60’s who wanted to join up was Al Robertson. Well, Al enlisted and quickly decided the military wasn’t for him. So, he deserted. Knowing we couldn’t stay in Marquette, we headed for Lansing and got jobs on the line at Fisher Body Plant. I hope you never owned one of the Oldsmobile Cutlasses I helped assemble. I think we used glue and baling wire on those sad jalopies. I guess we performed a social service by throwing the business to Japan, and, in turn, forcing the US to get their act together. Anyway, after 3 months, we realized the line wasn’t for us, so back to Marquette we went. We decided to start a group, make it big, and go on to bigger and better things. So, Rob is on the drums, and we’re practicing in his garage. Here come the cops. I think it was Wild Bill Lasich and Levandowski (a real Pig). They pull up, jump out of the cruiser, and say they’re looking for Al Robertson. Knowing they’re going to ID us, I tell 'em I’m Al. With no further ado, they throw me in the car and we head for the cop shop. You can imagine how pissed they were to find out they had the wrong guy. After a lot of bluster and threat, they let me go. Al finally turned himself in. They busted me 2 years later.

Yesterday, on my dog walk behind Pioneer High School, I found a small strip of paper a student had obviously used as a prep sheet for an exam:

“1095-1099 First Crusade

The First Crusade was an attempt to re-capture Jerusalem. After the capture of Jerusalem by the Muslims in 1076, any Christian who wanted to pay a pilgrimage to the city faced a very hard time. Muslim soldiers made life very difficult for the Christians and trying to get to Jerusalem was filled with danger for a Christian. This greatly angered all Christians.”

And so it goes.