Hub City Survivor

You raised me
Praised me
Would lift me up
And make me listen to Buddy’s Rave
Then you beat me
Broke me
Tried to smoke me
An’ turn me into a slave
But I fought back
With original thought
Just like I always do
Spent ten years making a hand-made present
That I could give to you
But you didn’t want me
Didn’t love me
‘Cause I was young and brash
Spent ten years choppin’ legs from under me
Try to make me bend and kiss your ass

A man came home
‘Bout in ‘86
‘Cause he needed to lick his wounds
Deep, deep down
In the back of his mind
He knew he was headed for his tomb
You asked him sweetly
To do you a favor
‘Cause you thought it might be fun
And he went and built something bigger
Than we’d dreamt of ‘fore he was done
When the day came that he met his Maker
You all turned the other way
You didn’t want
The word to spread
That you had known that he was gay
Joy and light and brightness
Were the things he reveled in
When he passed away
You cast away
Him for his flagrant sin

Two beautiful girls lay in your hard ground
And you never even cared
The most talented son you ever had
Is also lying there
On the other side of the stock yard
Where you will never see
Lies the remnants
Of the carnage
You’ve inflicted on my family
Don’t tell me ‘bout Bobby Knight
Prairie dogs and The Strip
Don’t offer me
Restitution
For the things from me you ripped

I know the truth
Behind the lies
That you don’t want the world to see
High horse morals
And empty minds
Make up your community
You praise a man who makes his “art”
Like the guy on PBS
Radio personalities
Stage shows that are a mess
Proud of your churches
Big parking lots
But what you don’t want the world to know
The number of people
Up and down Indiana
That don’t even bother to go
You’re a haven for the shallow
Cowardly and proud
They can’t do what they want
They kiss your ass
Then they’re allowed

-- Rich Warren, 10/06

Product Placement

Those of you who have been (un)fortunate enough to spend time with me early in the morning know full well how poorly my fuzzy little brain functions in the pre-coffee moments of the day. The synapses are not quite firing on all cylinders. I’m sure that most folks are like this (at least, that’s what I tell myself) but I am probably a touch unique in that my mind takes its own scenic route to get to the point where I am capable of civilized behavior. Observations come streaming out of my mouth in the wee hours (remember, I live alone, so who the hell am I talking to?) and frequently take the shape of song. For example, just the other morning I sat on the couch putting on my socks while singing a rousing (i.e.: loud!) chorus of the old vaudeville standard “Absolutely Mr. Left Foot, Positively Mr. Right” … accompanied by a little footie-dance.

I have never really spent any of my morning hours writing (which may explain why I am such an unoriginal playwright) but have often thought that I really need something to chronicle my morning ridiculousness. Not that I think anybody would be in the slightest amused by it, but because it is a prime example of me entertaining myself (stop it … we’ll talk about that kind of “entertaining” in another blog entry one of these days) and would probably be a great lesson to would-be actors and/or schizophrenics.

In the midst of all this childlike drowsy behavior, I also find myself observing the most random things. This morning my observation was simply that I am a prime example of somebody with product loyalty. Back in the early ‘90s, when I worked in television, an advertising exec (who had been in the ad game for decades) told me that the most important thing in advertising was to create product loyalty – not to get customers to try a new product, but to strengthen the loyalty of folks who already used it. The theory was that one person with strong product loyalty would influence friends and loved ones to a degree that they would purchase, try and also become loyal to that product. Pretty forward thinking for an ad man, huh?

For example, he pointed out, a person who has driven a Chevy for the past eight years is 75% more likely to purchase a new Chevy instead of another make of car. Automobiles elicit the strongest product loyalty in the market place. He also pointed out that loyalty to a particular product can also create a genuine resentment towards that brand’s competitors … an obvious example being the Coke vs. Pepsi war. Have you ever seen somebody in a restaurant order a Coke only to greet the waitress’s response of, “Pepsi okay?” with scorn and a scowl? Of course you have … especially if you’ve gone out to eat with me.

This ad exec friend of mine also told me that you could learn a lot about a person by finding out what products he is loyal to … he never clarified exactly what it was you could learn, but he made it clear that you could learn something. So, here’s your chance to learn something about me – here are the brands and products that I discovered I am loyal to during this morning’s hazy hours:

Old Spice

I use it all … the aftershave, the shaving cream, the deodorant, the body wash … and frequently even the razor itself. Many people (especially women) have told me that Old Spice reminds them of their fathers … ah, that explains something dysfunctional about my relationships, huh? – and in fact, my father was also a user of the classic aftershave. Why do I use it? I like it. Its classic and its male. Too many aftershaves and deodorants out there smell too “perfume-y” for my taste … or too “rubbing alcohol with a hint of spice.” I’m not a big fan of fashionable or expensive colognes – I’m a simple guy who uses simple personal hygiene products.

Stubb’s

I spent many a youthful hour at Stubb’s Bar-B-Q in Lubbock, TX and when they started to release Mr. Stubblefield’s sauces, rubs, marinades and side dishes in my friendly neighborhood grocery … it was a happy, happy day. I cannot tell you how many fond memories I have to sitting at Stubb’s, listening to live blues music, wiping the bar-b-q sauce from my mouth and then diving into that fantastic cobbler with a scoop of ice cream. Now the restaurant in Lubbock is closed (the one in Austin is still going strong, I hear) and I live thousands of miles away … but I can still count on Stubb’s for my bar-b-q needs. Now I just need to find a place with a yard so I can grill!

Mountain Dew

This also goes back to my days in television. One of our producers guzzled Mountain Dew like it was water. At the time it had probably been ten years since I had even thought of drinking a Mountain Dew … at least back to the “it tickles your innards” advertising … but he swore by it and it’s caffeine levels. Caffeine! I love caffeine! And drinking coffee in the middle of the afternoon during a West Texas summer just didn’t make sense. So I began to grab a Mountain Dew in the afternoon. Then they started to come out with the spin-off products and I bought and tried them all: Code Red (not great), Pitch Black (okay), Livewire (the best orange soda in the history of man!) and even the Baja Blast that’s only available at Taco Bell (eh … I could take it or leave it). Now that’s a brand-name loyalty that’s been instilled into me … they come out with a new flavor and I try it … that’s good marketing. They’re even coming out with an energy drink … and you can bet I’ll wind up buying it at some point.

So what do these three products have to say about me? Let’s investigate, shall we? Mountain Dew is marketed to the ADHD set, the X-Games fan and the folks who like to jump snowboards off of cliffs. It’s high in caffeine and can make you jittery if you drink too much. My deduction is: overactive. Stubb’s is bar-b-q and if there is one truth about bar-b-q it is that you can’t enjoy it and be a dainty eater. It’s messy. You’re going to get sauce on your shirt and jeans. My deduction is: slovenly. Old Spice was always marketed to manly men who performed manly activities. There’s a tough, rugged fisherman on all the classic advertising and even the classic logo. My deduction is: heterosexual. Therefore, my products indicate that I am an overactive slovenly heterosexual. Hmmm.

Post-Op Pandemonium

This past Friday I underwent surgery, and although I won’t bore you with the details because I never want this blog to become a “oh poor me, my life is miserable” kind of thing, let’s just say I was sent home bloodied, bandaged and bruised. So naturally I just have to write about it and how I am probably one of the worst post-operative patients ever.

I *Heart* Anesthesia

So this was the first time that I had ever been knocked completely out for a medical procedure. Granted, I have had a few things done medically-speaking, but they were always handled with local anesthesia and something to knock out any pain or discomfort I may feel. But this time it was time to visit drug-induced Sleepsville.

I was perfectly awake when they wheeled me into the operating room and feeling uncomfortable about the IV in my left hand and the fact that I was wearing nothing more than a hospital gown that covered … well, it didn’t really cover much of anything. I slid from the gurney to the operating table under my own power and lay there as the various doctors and nurses all went through their last minute preparations. The anesthesiologist flirted with me for a minute or two when suddenly the site of my IV began to hurt like nobody’s business. Not just the burn you feel as they pump medication into you, but sharp pain.

The look on my face must have told the story as the anesthesiologist leaned over me and asked, “Is your IV uncomfortable?” “Yeah,” I replied, “it has really started to hurt.” She turned to the side for a second, then returned to my glance and said, “Don’t worry. It should stop hurting in about … three …two … wuh …” Out like a light.

Is that a knife in my back?

They told me before they wheeled me into the operating room that I probably wouldn’t remember anything about the procedure. Well, I have news for you … I remember and I remember it pretty well. What I remember the most was waking up in the middle of the operation.

Visualize this for a moment if you will. You wake up after a deep sleep feeling fairly well refreshed. You’re lying on your side as you become aware that whatever it is you’ve been sleeping on is solid and not comfortable at all. You lazily open your eyes to a room that is much brighter than you imagined it would be. Then, suddenly … you realize that your back is in excruciating pain! Why is that? Why does it feel like somebody is stabbing me?

Oh … maybe it has something to do with the woman who is stabbing me!

I hear voices: “He’s waking up.” “Not for long.” “You’re okay, buddy.” Then, quite abruptly … zzzzzzzzzzz!

Bleeding? Invite Company Over

I’ve been told a time or two in my life that my mind just doesn’t quite work like it’s supposed to. This past weekend might be a case-in-point. Literally hours after coming home from the hospital, what do I do? Have a dinner party!

Having just moved into the new place, I had been feeling that I needed to have something of a housewarming party and rather than keep putting it off, I just invited a few of my favorite people over for gumbo and booze. Granted, that meant that a large portion of the afternoon had to be spent shopping and deboning birds (I used chicken, turkey and duck in my gumbo) and although I was disappointed that the grocery in my area didn’t have any andouille sausage, I made do. Rebecca made a pecan pie (how can you go wrong with pecan pie?), I received no less than two fifths of Jack Daniels as housewarming gifts (how well they know me) and a much needed bathmat and a wonderful time was spent catching up with dear friends while sitting on the floor in my kitchen.

A Mosquito’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

The first few nights I spent in the new apartment, I was eaten alive by mosquitoes. It was annoying as can be. But after a couple of nights, the little critters appeared to have moved on to bigger and better meals. At the time I had just written it off to the fact that it had recently rained, there was some standing water in the neighborhood and I had left my windows open. That is until the last couple of nights.

Lying in bed with blood-filled gauze bandages this weekend, my little blood-sucking friends returned. Why they bothered to bite me, I don’t really know. After all, I’ve had more than my fair share of leakage (sorry to be so blatantly gross) and a little mosquito could have just landed on me and seeped up the nice oozing bloody mess. But no! They bite … it’s just what they do. And last night I was their all-you-can-eat buffet.