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War. It’s a Guy Thing.


The rehab hospital near where I live has a long-term, head trauma unit. Basically, it’s an assisted living facility for people who have brain injuries. They live there until they become too dependent on staff and then are transferred to a nursing home.

Living on the brain injury unit are two guys that are confined to motorized wheelchairs. These men hate each other. They can barely talk and can’t even scratch their asses, and yet they hate each other. I have no idea why, but it’s probably something like one guy coughed while the other was praying (that’s how most wars start).

About once a week or so these two guys will cross paths in the main lobby. Their eyes meet. Like a Spaghetti Western, everything goes quiet. Tension fills the room. A tumbleweed blows through. Someone closes a shutter. The nurses and aides all know what is happening but no one can react quick enough to stop it. What awaits is the duel …

One man feints a ramming move with his wheelchair; the other parries. A quick circle. Dust is blown up. A wheel screeches from the friction of the tight turn. They stop to face each other, ten paces apart.

And on silent cue, like a maiden’s hanky hitting the dust, these two got-enough-going-against ‘em, brain injured, wheelchair sportin’ hipsters get their chairs up to top speed and ram into each other with all their battery-powered might. Intent, I’m sure, one to kill the other.

Eventually their handlers (for lack of a better word) are able to intervene and break up the fight. The war of the wheelchairs is over. Until next week.

Down the road from the rehab hospital is an Alzheimer’s assisted living. Again, it’s kind of a nursing home holding area. It’s for people who aren’t so incapacitated that they need a nursing home yet but not able to safely live alone or with family anymore.

Two guys (of course). Each in his 80′s. Each needing canes or walkers to get around. Most of their memories have been robbed by Alzheimer’s Disease. Especially their short-term memories. They don’t remember your name, but they remember who played shortstop for the Yankees in ’32.

Everyday, maybe a couple of times per day … maybe a dozen, Guy #1 goes into Guy #2′s room. Rifles through his stuff. Lays on his bed. Eats his hard candies. Uses his toilet.

But he doesn’t know any better. He has Alzheimer’s; he thinks this is his room.

This angers Guy #2. And, everyday, this battle ensues:

“Get out of my room!”

“This is my room.”

“It is not! Get out of my room, asshole.”

“Asshole? I’ll hit you with my cane.”

Push. Shove. Grab. Hit.


As long as there are guys there will be war.

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Music Without Words


On the way home this morning, I had Stevie Ray Vaughan’s posthumously published “The Sky Is Crying” CD playing. The fourth track is a cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “Little Wing.” Vaughan’s version is strictly instrumental — and he tells a wonderful story with his guitar.

Vaughan’s “Little Wing” is among my favorite songs. I’m always moved by it.

Perhaps it’s because the song is part of my personal soundtrack. I will never forget trying to get my infant daughter to sleep by holding her tight and strutting and gently twirling to “The Sky Is Crying.” By the middle of “Little Wing”, she had finished crying. This memory will always be with me.

I started thinking about my favorite songs. It turns out that almost half my Top 10 are instrumentals:

  1. Rush’s La Villa Strangiato
  2. SRV’s Little Wing
  3. Jethro Tull’s Bourre (written by JS Bach)
  4. Craig Safan’s Confrontation (credited to Tangerine Dream)

Here is SRV’s Little Wing. If you can’t appreciated it, perhaps we should reconsider the nature of our relationship:

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He Fucking Won?



Fuck It! I’ll Do It Live!


Before O’Reilly realized that he had opinions, he was a talking head for Inside Edition. In this clip he takes a shit-fit because his boss wanted him to read, “… to play us out” and he has no idea what it means.

Could you ever act like this at work? When the boss tells you to do something that you didn’t understand, how do you react?

Just read the freaking teleprompter, Bill.
Just do your job, you hump.

All that said, I find this very entertaining. It’s a shame that they didn’t just play these outtakes at the end of the show instead of the Sting video.

I know all you hep-cats probably saw it already. It’s news to me.

Yes, I called Bill O’Reilly a hump. And I kinda like the guy.

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For Unky Rich …


Funny Kid · Somewhere Between Dane Cook & Chuck Seiglar
You Don’t Know Chuck Seigler

… hat tip: The BWG