Nov
09
Oct
19
There are no mountains.
That’s the first thing I notice around here at The Mountain Workshops, the absence of mountains.
Hills, sure. Ridges, you bet. One could even argue there are crags, escarpments or even bluffs. But mountain may be pushing it a bit. Not that I’m one to talk. Coming from the decidedly flat suburbs of Detroit, our biggest “mountains” are converted garbage dumps that developers covered with dirt and ski lifts then waited for snow.
But the term Mountain Workshops adds a sense of majesty, purple and above fruited plains. That sort of thing.
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Jun
07
In the dream, I was panicking. I had uprooted the whole family to move back to Midland so I could work at a small startup news organization with an uncertain future. Do you know those times, within dreams, where you start to realize you have no background information? It’s like you’ve parachuted into a plot of a long-running story and you’re supposed to pick up right where the action is.Read More
Jan
11
January is the wicked step-mother of months. Contradictory and contemptuous, January is sun, rain and snow, all in a half-hour’s time. It’s slushy toboggan runs and black ice on I-75. January is your passive aggressive co-worker who smiles in your face then shoves daggers of ice in your back. It’s not surprising, since the month is named after a two-faced Roman god.
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Dec
14
Scooping poop in the backyard I noticed, quite clearly, a bar code sticking out from one of Bernie’s turds. Being on doggie duty I couldn’t help but be amazed at how far-reaching the packaging phenomenon has spread. When crap comes out of your dog’s butt already assigned a specific code, we’ve either taken a great leap forward in biotechnology, or Bernie’s just gotten into something he shouldn’t have. Read More
When we finished talking the other day I couldn’t help but feel I left you hanging. You’ve been my friend for many, many years and even though I couldn’t completely explain what it all means, I felt as though I just gave you some pat, standard answers. I apologize for that.
But it’s a tough question, “what’s the meaning of life?” Read More
Rodney’s Book — A “cute” Leukemia — is available everywhere.
(This piss, er, piece premiered on Public Radio. Go to C-Living With Cancer — 8 minutes in.)
They monitor my urine here. The total cost of my stay to the insurance company will be probably well north of a quarter million dollars. But to the people that have to dump my collected urine, that cost is far too low. The nurses here at Karmanos Cancer Center need to know how much my output is keeping pace with my input, so no toilet for me; it’s a series of random jugs, some of them placed bedside in the middle of the night, some elsewhere. I’m the Easter Bunny of pee.Read More
Jul
26
On September 11th, after both twin towers were hit, I called my buddy Peter to find out what was happening. Peter lived in lower Manhattan at the time and my little paper in Midland was like every other news organization trying to make sense of the madness. Peter’s partner Masood got on the line and gave us some good, solid quotes about what he was witnessing.
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Jul
10
Friday afternoon was mellow. Doctor was pleased I was flatlined with all my blood numbers barely able to raise their hands for roll call. A hospital cheeseburger with fries was on the way.
And then suddenly I’m Nigel, an aging British rocker in rehab.
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Jul
05
They burst into my room on stars, trailing unseen comets, the three-person team from Eternity Network News. Moments earlier I was simply conversing with the great Unknown, explaining why I knew death wasn’t near. Our conversation had been delightful and I think I impressed the Unknown. But then these yahoos showed up.
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