From the National Affair's Desk-
The Present
Hey all, Metro here, and boy has it been two weird weeks. I was gearing up, all goosed up, ramped up to do my traditional local music fest preview, and even was contemplating reviewing it in person as I have usually done, but then Boom. Two days before kickoff of Fake Blowout, I started experiencing chest pains and massive shortness of breath. Now, I have walked from Raiders Stadium in Vegas all the way to the Start at the top of the strip. I walked from Queens to Johnny Thunders' grave which was miles away. I have even walked many a Blowout. I have scaled half of Hawaii's famed Mauna Kea, the second highest peak of an island on Earth. I rose above the clouds as the sun was setting but the sun was setting below the clouds creating an Interstellar-esque mirror image view. This was the only time I have seen God.
Yet now, I could not even walk from the car to the compound without doubling over. I had Sebastian Owl take me to a large medical facility where they immediately admitted me and began testing. First was an EKG on my heart. It came back fine. Now you would think this would be a good thing. It was not because now we had a whole landscape to explore as to explain the chest pains/shortness of breath.
The first thing was to take blood, copious amounts of blood. While waiting for the results I resumed scanning the lineup for the Fake Blowout to see if there were any connections between a specific act and my symptoms. Let's see.... Cult of Spaceskull (heart rate going up, and not in a good way), Womb Worm (difficulty breathing/choking on laughter), Dude (systems remain stagnant, nothing happens, and nothing happened in the ICU either), Dear Dykeness (heart monitor briefly becomes disconnected alarming the entire floor), Oscillating Fan Club (heart rate down to zero), Mazinga, oh no, not those washed up unironic leftie commies who don't realize the hypocrisy of everything they do and say!!!
I immediately start pounding the nurse's call button. Finally the doctor arrived.
"Doctor, I believe I have cracked the code," I yell, while waving the Fake Blowout lineup in his face.
"We have more important things to worry about," he says, semi-ignoring me.
"Well, duhhhhhhhhh, have you seen this pathetic excuse for a lineup?"
"Metro, the average adult male hemoglobin level should be between 7 and 14," the doctor explains.
"Ohhhhhhh that is the perfect act for the next band managed by.....managed by....," the drugs have started to kick in.
"Yours are at 3. You should be dead right now."
"Well, duhhhhhhhhhh."
"We're admitting you to the ICU where we will conduct more bloodwork, x-rays, a blood transfusion, CAT Scans, and a scope of your esophagus, upper stomach, and colon. We will discuss scheduling tomorrow."
And that was that. I asked the doctor to burn the fake Blowout schedule along with the hazardous materials like smocks from the dead and AIDS related stuff, and then I went to bed.
Title Card: Wednesday-
I was in my own room hooked up to five IV's, only one of which did I know (saline zzzz). Might as well toss on an Audra Kubat cassette if you really wanted me to feel bloated. Whatever the other four were didn't even give me a decent drug haze. If I had to go #2, I would have to buzz in an assistant because my legs had already begun to atrophy. If I just have to piss, there was a plastic urinal next to the bed. Most of the times I just peed on the bed. The hospital smocks and socks were sticky like Velcro so what was the point pulling a hip? No fault of mine.
The doc came in (they were all different) and took me for my chest x-rays, stomach x-ray, and lower abdomen CAT Scan (I never got the results).
"Now they are ready for the blood transfusion," she said.
"Whoa whoa whoa, can't a guy take a little break?"
"It's simple. You just sit there."
And that is what I did. I just sat there for an excruciating two hours. It was almost like chemo. Finally the blood bag was spent. And then I hear, "We need another one, and order more." So after a total of four bags of blood, four transfusions (well you could count it all as one, but four sounds sexier), I was on my way back to my room daydreaming about what I would do with the GoFundMe money that Amy Rebecca Gore set up for me like she did for Marcie The Bug. I've always been nice, even saying she has the sexiest local nose in town. After getting back to the room they drew what seemed to be all the blood they had just given me, so I watched Sportscenter and fell asleep.
Title Card: Thursday-
This was a rough one. After more blood letting (starting at 1am!), they introduced platelets to my IV group, bringing it up to 6. Simply put, platelets are there to react from blood vessel injuries by initiating blood clots. Uh Oh. I tried to explain that I wasn't an 18 year old soccer player in perfect health and no history of blood clots, but to no avail. Adding the platelets a full day after the blood is the equivalent of ordering a whiskey and coke and having to come back the next day the absolute worst, bottom-shelf shit they have on hand. I felt awful the rest of the afternoon. Then the evening came.
In order to have the colonoscopy section to go off without a hitch, I was to drink an anti-freeze gallon of this stuff that is supposed to totally clean you out. I ordered everyone out of the room and began one of the worst evenings of my life. I figured that it wouldn't be too bad because I hadn't eaten or drank anything the past four days. By 11pm nothing had happened. And then everything happened.
My stomach started gurgling ferociously so I raced to the bathroom. The attendant called after me but he sounded like he was in another dimension. Either way, the first wave had begun and per usual, there was no one there to help me. I remember using various chairs and poles to drag my lifeless legs to the bathroom, clothes already ruined. I spent the next two hours cycling through waves two through thirteen. I was exhausted and just laid down and just felt bad for the poor guy cleaning up the bathroom. As I slept, wave fourteen snuck in.
Title Card: Friday-
Well, here was the big day, a double scope, one for each end. After helping the assistant clean up the bed, they brought me to the examination area which took way too long. Finally, I was moved to the operating area. At first they had an issue with the sedative, so I politely offered them a copy of the Jeff Milo Podcast while recommending earplugs for them. They played a sample of it (I think it was a retrospective of some nobody local act from 2010 that still hadn't made it. Couldn't it be all of them?). As I started to fade into dreamland I noticed that the head resident forgot to put his earplugs in and was starting to nod off as well, so the staff revived him and agreed to use the Milo podcast as an emergency. Thankfully, they were able to get the actual sedative to work, killed (and burned) the Milo podcast, and then I was out like a light. The rest of Friday never happened.
Title Card: Saturday-
The first half of Saturday was spent in a dreamlike haze. For the first two hours that I was conscious I was convinced I was back at home. That changed when I heard my first, "Mr. Metro, time for blood work." How many times had this already happened while I was out? The nurse had the audacity to ask if I were a "user" because of how carved up my arms and hands were.
"Are you kidding me? Those are all from you guys. You are in every four hours in a new location every time. Check your charts," I am raising my voice, "Okay ready, remember 3,2,1, poke. Thanks." Nothing much happens, so I just enjoy the haze remaining from the sedative, the only good drug I've had so far this entire time. My real mind started to return around midnight, and I realized just how scary it was down here. I was the only patient, along with the desk clerk, and only one orderly. I realized that all the critiques about hospital horror movies where people whined, "Where are all the patients and doctors?" are invalid. They're true. I almost broke out the notebook to outline a short story about a deserted hospital ICU (not involving ghosts; lame), but rather suspense. I still might. It would fit right in with my second book, "Make Up Something", which you can buy here:
And don't forget about the debut novel, "The Invisible People," which you can get here:
This is just in case some of you local cheapjack phonies want to contribute to the food/bills/fraud fund. Just kidding on that last one. That one comes later. No psychotic doctor came into the room with a belt made of scalpels so I went back to bed.
Title Card: Sunday-
I woke as I was being moved to a regular room outside the ICU. This was a good sign. After getting situated, one of the seven middle-men doctors came to see me. He explained the results of the two scopes and what they did to fix what they could. There were some fissured veins near my upper stomach that they either tied and/or fused to stop the bleeding into the stomach. My liver was still fucked of course, bit there were a few new masses. They did find a 3cm (!!) polyp on my colon that they biopsied and sent out for testing. I should be able to return home soon.
Title Card: Monday-
Of course, it wouldn't be that easy. I woke up with a horrific dry cough and a 102 degree fever. They couldn't release me. Call the blood crew. Call the vitals crew. Call the IV crew. We're starting over. At least I could eat and drink again. Yet, still, a very disappointing day.
Title Cards: Tuesday, Wednesday, & Thursday-
More of the same, this time trying to keep the fever down. Also, this was the period where the roaming anti-drinking groups made their rounds and found me. Now I had already made the personal decision that drinking was behind me. Yet that would not stop them. I'm sure their intentions are good, but boy did they pick the wrong time (anytime) to pester me.
"Excuse me, Mr. Metro, I am XXXXXXXXX and am here to see if you would be interested in joining one of our groups of sobriety. In all my years of doing this I've never seen anyone do this alone."
I began thinking, "Well, I live to prove people wrong. I have a small, insular, circle that have my back, and despite the damages already accumulated, I'll be fine until I say my body's done, not my body says it to me."
With that said, I want to go on the record saying that I will never become one of "them". I could be a fun help because I am the "fun stranger" not the generic stranger telling the same story as the other guy. So you won't be seeing me wandering around preaching the dangers of drinking. As I said, they are probably good people. I will try the opposite and instead encourage you to do whatever you want as long as it makes you happy. If I notice things getting out of control (my specialty) or if somebody asks for help, then by all means I will be there. I keep the balance.
"Thank you for stopping by, been a bad week," I tell him, "Leave any literature you have on my desk. You know, I've always been tempted to attend one of these stranger meet-up's just to see if I can pepper them with all these crazy memories to the point where one of them snaps and goes straight to the bar afterwards."
"Why would you do that? That's almost murder."
"Nahhhhh, not really, just the flip side of things. Besides it would be a good litmus test of the effectiveness of your group. No charge. Thanks again for coming by. I have your papers."
After he left a smile crawled on my face, a smile that said, "You still got it." It was time to go.
Final Title Card: Friday-
Discharge day! I was around 90%. No way, never will be again. I had Owl pick me up and I spent my day relaxing along with walking off my weakened limbs. The only downside was that nagging cough which had dislodged my sports hernia. So, I guess I'll be back after all. Just not this week. Selection Sunday after all. And I did it all without a beer, though the results would have been the same.
*Note- To whoever out there who donated the four blood bags for my transfusion, Thank You. I'm sure if you knew who I was or even read this blog you may have passed. As for you local cheapjacks who only leave the house if they have a new record to shill or somebody booked you on the show, donating blood is a simple way to change a life. Hell, sometimes you even get paid, get free Wings tickets, or you can set up a small merch table to help fall asleep to make the process go quicker.
- That's it from me from the present. I'd like to think that I kept enough of my sarcastic venom to show that this scare did nothing to change me (maybe a little more depressed), or soften me. It was just meant to be something different. Now let's move on to Part Two, The Past, where I dump my outline for the Fake Hamtramck Blowout I wasn't able to post while in the hospital.
Part Two- The Past
Metro's Preview of 2024 Hamtramck Griftfest
From the National Affairs Desk-
Hey all, Metro here checking in with my first Fest preview. Now I have a high tolerance for pain (oh the irony), and I guess it's festival season again, and the vultures and pigs are out to roost. The month of March hosts two local festivals: the revamped Fake Hamtramck Blowout at the beginning of the month and the Corktown Music Fest at the end of the month. Don't forget about St. Paddy's Day in between! Typical, brilliant strategy that is synonymous with Detroit, but I do find it interesting that they are polar opposites. The Corktown Music Fest features acts I've never heard of AND actually comes out and says that it is benefitting a charity: mi-ucp which has assisted local disabled people within the community for decades. On the flip side, the Fake Blowout is being put together by the shadow people running the Hamtramck Labor Day Fest in order to benefit....wait for it....the Hamtramck Labor Day Fest. Last year's Labor Day Fest had a whopping 14 sponsor's, and now they need the proceeds from the Fake Blowout as well. One sec......
I couldn't resist. I'll do the Fake Griftout first. It was announced one month in advance, and the schedule wasn't posted until two weeks before. Which leads me to ask, Who is running this thing? Someone, anyone please step forward. I'll play nice. I just have a few questions to ask, stuff like, Where is the money going? I started cracking up when I saw that the Fake Blowout already has 8 sponsors, one of which is exclusive to a venue. Where's the money going? I know the majority of bands playing Fake Blowout are not getting paid so the obvious, canned, answer would be, "Oh y'know the venues, the sound guy. etc," the usual excuses. Everyone else are volunteers.
So flash forward to Labor Day Weekend when all the Fake Blowout money is gone, either to the venues, sound guy, or committee member back taxes (HAI HAMFEST!). They're probably still paying off the corpses of the Dead Milkmen from last year. I don't know why I bother. As long as the kids who are in a band who are playing to change the world are having fun, then what does it matter? I just want the shysters out there to know, sick or not, I'm still watching you. This is where I usually preview each band for Fake Blowout, but obviously that ain't happening. I do hope everyone had fun too. Well, except for Citizen Smile. I assume they are still humorless poofs. Hopefully I'll be back in time for Corktown Fest's preview. You never know who's down that deserted hallway.
From the Iceman Commeth
Dr. Bryan Metro
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