Thursday, February 26, 2009

Goddamn Bob Dylan...

I hate it when he's right, but the times, they's a changing.

First, Stephen Page leaves the Barenaked Ladies. Okay, BNL will never be accepting an award from the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame, but they've also been severely underrated. Funnest band I've ever seen in concert, and over the last nine years, the only band I've seen everytime they've come through Denver - usually between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I get it...he effed up. Bad. As a group they'd sold out, made some deal with the devil, er Disney. Released a Christmas album and a children's record with big things on the horizon - possibly millions of dollars lost for the group. And as a band, you can't forgive somebody for that. But god, it sucks. I saw BNL at Fiddlers Green, when it was still Fiddlers Green, with my wife seven months pregnant with our son. I saw them in the theater district when my wife was eight months pregnant with my daughter. And it will never be the same. Change really blows sometimes.

Speaking of change, tomorrow is the final edition of the Rocky Mountain News, a Colorado mainstay for 150 years. It was my parent's paper of choice when papers mattered. It was my wife's paper when I met her. It's a stupid thing to think of, but it's played a part in my life since I've been born.

But, more serious than the loss of BNL, the crisis in America's newspapers is a serious issue. Since Reagan killed the Fairness Doctrine and the constriction of media ownership over the last twenty-five years, a vital part of our country has been dying a slow, apparently unnoticed death. An uneducated electorate is a dangerous electorate. I have no doubt Bush won his second term because of the lack of media presence calling him out on the bullshit of the previous four years.

Media today is a joke. It's TMZ. It's Murdoch. It's Disney. If Nixon pulled the shit he did today, he'd get away with it, but we'd sure as shit know which days Brittney decided to leave her undergarments at home.

Undoubtedly, part of the problem is the interwebs. Free information means no advertising dollars for newspapers. The other major issue is the consolidation of media ownership. But the biggest problem is the media consumer - you and me. Mostly you. Just saying

Where's the fucking outrage? Goddamnit people! Our country was started by some pissed off dudes who took on the most powerful empire in the world. Now we're so fat and satisfied, we don't care that our country has been in two wars in a row that were not declared by legal means. No, the president can't declare war - only congress has that power, and even though congress gave Dickhead authority to use military force in Iraq, no declaration of war ever was passed. Shouldn't this bother us somewhat? But so long as we get our Cinemax and American Idol and our iPhones work and the microwave doesn't burn our popcorn, we don't care.

And as long as the media can feed us pablum, we'll eat it up. We'll decide elections on three-word slogans, whomever has the most money to repeat those slogans always winning. We'll ignore important issues, possibly boring issues, to read about Octo-mom. Well, that's not true. Most of us won't read anything.

Change has been a theme this country's heard a lot about the last 18-24 months. Some of it sux.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Double Root Canal

Pretty much enough said. Except, damn, that's a violent procedure.

C'mon Vicodin.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Somebody shoot me

Pain is a constant companion of mine. I have some herniated discs in my neck that can range from a minor annoyance to excruciating. I played sports in school and landscaped for most of my twenties, and the forty-something me isn't too overjoyed with the twenty-something me's complete disregard for my body. Of course, my twenty-something me would call the forty-something me a pussy - and wouldn't be completely inaccurate, either.

But over the last few months I've discovered a new type of physical pain that deserves a special classification. An agony so perverse and detestable that I think I've come as close to understanding childbirth as I ever could. Except with childbirth, you know it's going to end, and you can get an epidural. And before you ladies jump on my case, I'm not saying this hurts as bad as childbirth, I'm saying it's as close as I can get to understanding it.

I've had a toothache for six months now. I've had a cap put in and a cavity filled. I've been to the dentist more in the last three months than I'd been in the last twenty years. And if I had a gun in my house right now, I'd shoot myself. The pain is constant and over the last five days has grown to such proportions that I can't sleep for longer than twenty-minute spans. I pop Vicodin like candy, and it's powerless against it. I can't lie down because it triggers a pain attack - and I don't know if that's a medical term, but I'm coining it as one right now.

I have an appointment with an endodontics specialist tomorrow to see if they can ascertain the origin of this. If he can't, I'm going to tell him to take all of them out. I'm not kidding.

It starts on my right side. I've determined it's usually the "six" tooth on their charts - the one that kind of resembles a fang. The throbbing begins, and pressure builds, before shooting up to my temple. Within minutes the entire right side of my face is being pelted with tiny fireballs - my gums, my ear (fuck it hurts my ear), the sinuses in my cheek, and in the really bad attacks, down my throat and into my nose.

I can't sleep. I can't concentrate. I can't write. I'm not a father or a husband. I'm a blubbering fool, calling for his mommy and reaching for the Orajel and another Vicodin.

I don't really have a point for this post, but I thought it'd make me feel better. It hasn't.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

An Open Letter to the NBA

A little background: I used to have Nuggets season tickets - when they were horrible. They should give me tickets just for going to those games. That said, I'd rather the Nuggets win a championship than any other team I root for. Hell, I'd rather the Nuggets win a championship than I breathe every hour. But, as you will see, I'm soooooooooooo pissed.

To Whom it May Concern:

I just returned home from the Nuggets/Spurs game, and I want to know who in the NBA to complain to about the Spurs sitting out all their talent.

I saved for weeks to buy this game. My son is nine-years old, and this is the first year he's shown any interest in sports. I explained to him all day who Duncan, Ginobli, Parker and Bowen are, and I show up and only Bowen plays and only a half game. I understand if somebody is hurt, but they rested them? These people make seven-figure (some eight-figure) salaries, to work three hours a night, eighty two nights a year. And they're tired?

If this was a music festival of eight bands, basically, the top three bands didn't play, and the fifth played a half a set. I paid to see these people, and as such, I should expect them to play. This is not acceptable. I paid $73 per seat to watch a JV team.

I understand it's not the Nuggets fault, but it's very hard for me to ever consider attending an NBA game again knowing that it's a crap shoot to see who plays. Somebody's injured? Fine. Somebody's tired...screw you. That is an insult in every way. And it's not the first time. Shaq did it earlier this year. If you're so old you can't play every night, retire. Don't ask me to support you. It's like watching the E-Street Band, but Bruce Springsteen is backstage icing his package after sliding into the camera.

I'm tired every day I go to work. Shut your stupid, whiney butts up and give me my money back.

Sam W. Anderson