Mar
29
NOTES FROM LONDON
King Falafel wanted his son to take over the family business, but Prince Falafel just wanted to dance.
Many years ago, during the first uprisings, King Falafel was deposed from his tiny sheikdom. After a tearful farewell, he moved his young family and old mother to London’s Camden Town to begin a new life.
He built a thriving sandwich business and dreamt of the day he would pass it down to his teenage son. But Prince Falafel only wanted to dance.
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Mar
07
Mighty Mouse dances with Krakatoa Katie.
(Go ahead, click on the link if you want to watch the six minute cartoon.)
Thank you internet.
As my buddy Mick Cochran famously noted several years ago, “Who needs a brain, when I have Google?”
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Feb
09
Do you remember a while back when an immense burst of radiation slammed into the Earth? I can’t forget about it. It’s astounding to think that a shockwave of pure energy — enough to power every electric toothbrush, every smart phone, every presidential campaign and every civilization for billions of years — exploded into the atmosphere just a few miles above us while we slept, blissfully unaware.
Apr
12
There seems to be some sort of internal threshold that I’ve crossed. 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
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
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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Jun
28
