PROJECTIONS

Girl. 1936. Just born. Emerges with a gasp. When she first saw light did she know she would someday be stricken with multiple sclerosis? That 40 years would come and go, normal as a bird in flight and then VOILA---it's downhill Mary from here.

It's 1967. Sitting in his front den with a Reader's Digest and a cold soda on the dark mahogany table. Fan ripples the air. Sweat on his forehead. No cares in the world. His son sleeps gently in a room only a few feet away, yet he's so calm he forgets.

1979. Listening to my friend's portable cassette recorder. Made by Sony. Wish I could buy one but don't have the money so I've got a cheap Panasonic. He's even got real headphones. I have one of those eggshell white plastic ear inserts. Sounds like an AM radio. Spilt varnish on the plastic cover. Still plays but with a random "wow" from damage to the heads.

Sit in the basement with my guitar, a lyric sheet and a small microphone wrapped around my neck. I'm playing and singing. Someday I'll listen to those basement tapes and think how shitty I sounded, but right now I'm in heaven. Fingertips are in pain from the strings cutting deeply into them. Doesn't matter. This is my escape. And it's a good one at that.

1994. Went to my high school reunion. In a disconnected event I arranged a date with a girl I went to school with. It was a wonderful night. Drank wine, had a long, meaningful conversation. Felt robbed in a way. "Why don't I have this kind of relationship back home?" Stayed the night with her. Made up my mind that morning that I would return to my home (long away from the reunion) and end things with my girlfriend. And I did. And it was difficult. We had loved each other for years but sometimes things just die. How can you go on living when there's no life in something?

1904. Grandpa P was born. Stuttgart, Germany. Did he dream what adventurous things his grandson would do 100 years later?

1955. They met at a Grange dance. Middle of nowhere. Instant connection. Knowledge of future held tightly in their hearts and hands. Gripping each other firmly they move across the dance floor with their saddle shoes yielding softly to the slippery wood. Elvis cranks through the old speakers. Some farm boys from Albion trip in, drunk. They think they are invincible. If only they knew I would be writing about them 50 years later. They are now cinders in the atmosphere. Souls wandering for eternity. Still drunk from their life on earth.

Who says I always have to be funny?

MY FAVORITE BAND

Some people are HIP. Others are cool. Even others have good taste. I won't claim any of the above. For when I was a wee 14 years old I was introduced to the music of RUSH and have remained a fan ever since.

Yeah, you might call that "dorky." I don't give a damn. What are YOU listening to right now? Lindsay Lohan? Marilyn Manson? Bush? Go F' yourself. None of those artists have the talent, intelligence and long-standing careers that have made RUSH a cult band.

Catch this: RUSH released their first album in 1974 and recently went on their 30th anniversary tour (the original members still work together and remain close friends---can you say that about Van Halen or Wham?). They sold out 15K+ venues around the world. Do you see STYX and REO Speedwagon doing that? I didn't think so.

The truth is, cult bands have staying power. And they sell records. And they outlast their mainstream counterparts time and time again.

The difference between a cult band and a mainstream band is one simple thing: sex (or lack thereof). If you have ever been to a RUSH concert you will quickly realize that you won't be getting laid. Girls just don't identify with the band, probably because Geddy Lee sings like a woman (or at least he used to) and Alex Lifeson no longer wears pants tight enough to transform his package into male cameltoe. Yes, I know that saddens your heart. You don't believe me? Check out this pic from 2112.

I could go on and on about RUSH and about how they've influenced me; how their music transformed my life; how the philosophies of Neil Peart (drummer/lyricist) had a huge impact on my own thinking and writing...but I won't. Instead, I'm going to curl up with my copy of 2112 and fantasize about Alex's mangina.

Sweet dreams!

WATER COOLER

We started our latest season of Water Cooler shows out at the Ontario Improv. Very fun. Nice crowds, good contestants and honing the rhythm between myself and Gary, the host. We've been doing the show over a year now. Sometimes it amazes me how quickly time passes. Seemed like just yesterday we were sitting on the patio kicking around the concept (which magically materialized in one sitting).

I wish all show ideas were so easy to come by. The gods know they are not. Why? Because the gods are the ones who decide whether or not they will give us the idea in the first place! Bastards. Hiding away from us in their invisible Heavenwood. The producers almighty—debating on who should have the next Seinfeld (clearly a favor from Jehovah)—or the next Bachelor.

My muse has been good to me lately. Lots of pitch meetings, new ideas swirling in the brain, an influx of outside projects to contemplate for development. Yeah, this is a good time bewteen myself and the gods (please continue, my friends!). I sense it will only get better. And I hope by making these words public (which you know I normally don't speak about my business) the gods see how committed (or deluded) I am.

Well, I'm tired. Time for a shower, a little Tivo and then bed.

Life's good.