The MRI, Dream Cruise, and Bikini Car Wash

 "May you live in interesting times."- Ancient Chinese Curse

From the Local Affairs Desk-

   Hey all, Metro here. Well, one can't argue that these are indeed interesting times, even cursed times. If that is so, then why has it become so difficult to churn out anything of substance or interest? I have covered this dilemma in my last few posts and find no reason to revisit my opinions on the media, sports, politics, etc. I'll leave that to the big boys and even then everything is on repeat. I can't even watch TV anymore because of the commercials and promo's for the latest series executive produced by XXXXXXX. I'm just not that kind of guy; not that kind of guy! Since I feel that I'm winding down here on the blog (and elsewhere), and that soon I will be a man (or "person", if that makes you feel better about yourself) on an island (no, I don't know what I mean either), so Metro snuck out of the lockbox and all future/remaining posts will be from him (or Born Evil).

   I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle. But to who? The cliche answer would be "myself". Ugh, but how lame, boring, and unoriginal would that be? Jesus, that's two questions in the first two paragraphs. Not like me. I usually have all the answers. Then again, up until last month, I was interesting, unpredictable, and original (I understand some would disagree), so maybe, this time, the cliche fits. I can't take all of the credit, so let's say a 50/50 split with the doctors playing pinball with my body, the invoices out of nowhere on buried issues, the friends I never see anymore, and a bunch of other Blue Ribbons. The funny thing is I can deal with losing (in my own, obsolete, way). Its the road to that defeat that is the pain, mile markers replaced by signs, all of them saying "No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future, No Future," no sign of my exit ramp. 08/03/20

   Moving on that road, what are the latest going-on's around town? I try to be a fly on the wall now and then, but even social media has dried up, unless you find reading the same links/memes over and over. Either that, or everybody has just blocked each other. I did see that Woodman and Doofy Deficate did a pop-up show near Third Man Records for the Iggy Goose Lake thing. I saw a pic of their gear in shopping carts and almost jokingly commented for them to put them on the curb and I will have "the roadies" pick them up, ho ho ho. But I didn't. Most of the summer fests are cancelled (DIY, Labor Day, most of Arts, Beats, Eats). Everything is now livestreamed which just feels empty and not a lot of fun. Then there's this thing called "Benihana" or something, the "only nightly call-in show in Hamtramck". I was stunned at the amount of "likes" and comments but then realized that its just the same 7-10 people, all in on some inside joke I have zero interest in. I have yet to watch an episode because my dvd of "This Is 40" has been on repeat. In conclusion, the concepts of fun and adventure are in a vacuum in 2020; quite the cursed time to be in. Transition...

The MRI Diary-

   I found out about the need for a MRI when the Doc's ran a bunch of tests on pretty much everything (I had already quit drinking at this point, which is mildly frustrating). They concluded: MRI-Liver-45 Minutes. I had never had one and had no idea if I was claustrophobic. Keep in mind I was raised on empty local crowds. They basically said I would be placed in a tube where Death would be pumped directly into me; I mean pictures would be taken. I was told it would be noisy. I joked in an earlier post that I should take my last hit of acid beforehand. I decided not to, which is good because the banging and beeping of the construction site noise triggered an acid flashback to when I first took it and drove my friends to the casino, won $15, and then locked myself in the bathroom for an hour. After getting back to a house (a small miracle), I stayed up all night listening to amplified jackhammers outside my window along with the sounds of my friends vomiting outside. The toughest part of the MRI was holding my breath and releasing, but after 25 times I started to get lightheaded and praised Jesus I didn't have lethal amounts of narcotics up my ass, or nose, or lungs. That did not stop me from pausing the test to slip the nurse a note/contract I drew up the night before on Ativan. It read: "If anything happens to me during the test and I don't make it I would like my final wish to be entombed and buried in the MRI machine in lieu of a malpractice lawsuit. Cazart! B.M.". The results came back in a day and were... well that's for another post. This Tuesday (today? yesterday?) a "Tumor Board" is meeting to discuss my options. Thankfully, they'll let me know by phone. Tumor Board...what the hell is that anyway? Sounds like something out of a Tom Wolfe novel. Man, I could really use a drink right now. Oh, and I stole my hospital scrubs.

The Blue Ribbon Shit Factory-

   Believe it or not, I have never been to a Woodward Dream Cruise. Cars aren't my thing. I was more fascinated by the Cruisers and Gear Heads versus local businesses; every year, back and forth. This year the official Cruise was cancelled but didn't stop the car junkies from doing it anyway. Of course, being 2020, it had to be politicized. Now it was Trump versus Protesters. Black Lives Matter duking it out with Pro-Lifer's. I could probably zap out a 5,000 word article on the irony of the car contingent being mostly pro-Trump set against the backdrop of the auto bailout. So if anyone has 1K laying around for an advance, contact me.

I got there late and I guess most of the drama happened in the early afternoon. My writing schedule usually ends around 6am/sunrise, so I missed it. Thus, the whole experience was a letdown. There was okay people watching, some okay cars, and lots of lawn chairs. It basically looked like this...

No blood, no shouting, no grenados. Yeah, late to the party. I decided to ditch the Silver Hornet and spend some time on foot hoping for the big scoop. I covered Woodward from 14 Mile to 8 Mile and it was all the same aside from the occasional millennial protesters like these guys.

I didn't even bother to ask them to elaborate on their platform other than the all too easy materialism, exhaust fumes, and BLM. I'd probably make some crude joke about not being able to breathe with all this traffic to help them along. But I didn't. I saw a news van so I kept moving. I did notice that the Pro-Cruise (Trump) crews had control of the road.

I made it to the Fox News van which ended up being empty (there is irony somewhere here), so I made it my base of operations, the interim Local Affairs Desk, and tried to find something combustible (not on four wheels). My Sharpie was starting to die so the sign is tough to read up there. It said "Cobbs Modified GMC 3-71 Blower on Navarro Manifolds Matter!". My main observation of the whole thing is that the people that were still there were creatures of routine, disciples of the wheel, who just wanted to sit, talk, and get away, have fun, cool drink, back pats, coolers filled with sunglasses and no fear. I don't see myself as a psycho "Mask Mandator", but I see their benefits and participate, but in the end, do what you want. Given the scope of the Cruise, I did feel a little unsafe seeing the lack of masks, but that just altered my distancing. I'm a journalist, not a preacher. Do as you wish and if I end up sick its my fault for getting antsy about writing. From my makeshift Local Affairs Desk at the Fox News van I really saw nothing of note; very disappointing.

I decided to grab some 5pm breakfast but they were closed. I was unable to find out if it was due to the pandemic or Cruise traffic (there is some irony here). Thankfully there was an IHOP nearby so it was back to stompin' the terra. But before I did, I couldn't resist, for old times sake...

I shortly ran into the first group of Trump supporters. They were jovial (a little too much), but there was no incident. I noticed what could have been a few counter-protesters coming, so I used my secret weapon, the American Flag, which meant they had no option other than halting and kneeling, stopping them in their tracks as to not to offend the large church with the larger BLM banner (and the NBA). Close call.

I found it notable that most of the car gang were casual, just having a good time while the protesters were dour, angry, sad, a little bitter; miserable. Being miserable while reading every news link is not the way to get through life. A couple blocks over I ran into this lady who was protesting in a peaceful way. I broke out my "Unemployed Musician" sign to hop on the demographic, but it just made me sad. The woman was very nice and said, "Someone has to do it." Since I've never taken a stand, I wished her long days and pleasant nights and moved on.

I passed a Chicano millennial whose form of protest was flipping off cars. Boring; kept walking. God I could use a drink right now. I tried to have Fun With Signs, but like everything else, it just seemed forced and hollow. Maybe I need my own nightly call in show.

Heading back to the Local Affairs Desk I switched into the hazmat suit which actually triggered somebody to yell, "I can't breathe," which I found to be timely and tasteless, the theme of the year. It was time to leave. This isn't fun anymore.

The last thing I saw was a mailbox. For a second I thought I Todashed to Greenfield Village. All I wanted to do is hug and protect it. Or maybe I watch too much 4am news. Overall, I was underwhelmed and depressed with the day along with my coverage so I split. Thankfully, waiting at home was a flyer for my next weekend project... and a steak.

The Anti-ICE Bikini Car Wash Company-

   The flyer I stumbled on was for an anti-ICE bikini car wash the next day. It was set up by a few people who I've had run-in's with in the past, mostly during the El Club debacle a few years ago. I think that's water under the bridge though because none of them tried to sue me, and even a few show signs of having logical brain cells. Disclaimer- In regards to Pro/Anti Immigration and ICE, I am indifferent, neither here nor there. Both sides have their psycho divisions. As a journalist, I try to populate my cruel satire with indecision. That way I do not have any bias. I am not advocating this group. I am not blasting this group. Here is the flyer so you can do your own research and donate if you please, or antagonize if you disagree. I'm no preacherman.

One thing we can all agree on is girls in bikinis equal a good time. I have been to a few bikini car washes so I knew I would have to tread lightly, and be aware of my surroundings. I could be entering a Den of Mousetraps here. But before the car wash I stopped at the Hamtramck/Third Man Stadium to honor the 100 year anniversary of the Negro League. There was nobody else there which was cool; no publicity stunts or hanger-on's, not even a pop-up show. I had never been there before and I found it to be very nice (how's that for a descriptive adjective Milo?).

One can feel the history amongst the dirty paper plates, cups, and half empty water bottles. Fucking savages. I had the brilliant idea earlier that day to pick up a carton of eggs to dirty up the Silver Hornet. Why go to a bikini car wash with potential Doff's and just have them spray the car with a hose? I had to muck the bastard up and let the sun work its magic. The first egg was "Mr. Mail-In Egg". Since that mailbox from the Dream Cruise segment is probably gone by now, hidden in one of these abandoned houses, I had to take drastic measures about sending my opinion on everyone in this year's election so Egg+I Voted sticker+Postage Stamp and we're good to go. Now do I vote for Trump/Pence (deviled/hard boiled) or for Biden/Harris (scrambled/ over easy)?

As always, I was indifferent so I just decided to smash a bunch of these fuckers onto the car. The poor schlomo working in his yard had no idea what to make of the cracking of the bat/eggs and the wild histrionics and whooping coming out of my mouth.

It was time for a costume change before the cops came which ruled out my officer's uniform so I chose my "You look like I could use a drink" shirt, but decided I didn't want to call too much attention to myself. The hazmat suit was at the cleaners.

I finally went with my Fat Albert jersey which would be fine at an immigration event, but not a Negro League field. Upon arriving at the wash I noticed about 90% of the signs, banners, and merch said, "Fuck ICE". Since I wanted to fit in I started my own but my spare Sharpie also ran out and I ended up walking around with a "Fuck" sign. I couldn't even include a question mark.

I did think about photoshopping "Fuck Cobbs Modified GMC 3-71 Blower on Navarro Manifolds" when I got back to the JCMsTown Compound. But I didn't. The first order of business was to get the slop washed off the car. The poor girl assigned to the hood jumped at the sight of the eggs. "Somebody egged your car. Who would do that?" she asked, and I replied, "It was me," and after that there was no more talk. I secretly wanted her to look in the backseat and see the egg carton sitting there and coming to the realization that I was telling the truth, playing with fire. The rest of the wash was uneventful aside from the passenger side mirror falling off, no fault of theirs. It had been hanging by a thread for weeks. Once the wash was over I stashed the Silver Hornet where it wouldn't be broken into because I wanted to check out the setup. Man, the walk from Bloomfield Hills was brutal ho ho ho. The setup was modest, but nice, with a merch table selling stickers, face masks, shirts, and posters, a grill with veggie hot dogs (ugh), and a DJ who was set up far away from everyone which I found odd since the chances for noise complaints were zilch. Here are a few shots of the fun. The second one even features a Doff in the background (back to the shoe cam).

After enough wandering around I visited the merch table. I passed on everything, but the George Floyd poster was a tough call. I do admire the elbow grease put into the items for sale. I just couldn't live with my neighbors, friends, or pastor seeing me with a shirt with "Fuck" on it. I could just imagine what my fellow parishioners would say. "Did you see what that guy who is always dressed like a police officer or scientist was wearing at mass last week?"

What I saw was a bunch of people that were casual, with friends, just having a good time. I didn't see any protesters, but if I missed any, I bet they would have been dour, angry, sad, a little bitter; miserable. Wait, that sounds if not familiar then at least profound. I could go on but I just got my first stink eye of the day (guy in black).

So I just turned the other way and wandered some more, eventually getting back to that road.

Afterword-

Whew, that was a lot of pages and a lot of photos. I found the finished post a bit dull by my standards but it picked up by the end. It felt good to get out, be with the people, and write again even if it costs me my life. If not, even better. I always have the Tumor Board on Line 1. I hope those who actually read the whole thing caught how different the two events were, but how alike they were in a sense. That duality is what drew me to the pen and notebook, not fancy cars or bikinis (well a little for the bikinis). The one thing that I'm proud of, aside from still having a good baseball swing, is that there were three situations where I could have rationalized having a drink or five, but I didn't. Once again, I'm no preacher. Drink all you want. Have fun. You may even run into me one day and buy me one too. I just wanted to see if I could do it. And yo Adrian, I did it. See you down the path.

From the Iceman Commeth,

Bryan Metro

A Eulogy, Opening Day, and Rank Needs Money

From the Sports Desk- Some true, some fiction, all commentay/satire

"Baby, baby, baby you're out of time.
I said baby, baby, baby you're out of time
You are all left out
Out of there without a doubt.
Cause baby, baby, baby you're out of time"- The Rolling Stones (1966)

Boy, those lyrics sure sound definite. I gave my opinion on the concept of "definite" a few posts back. That is, I think its bullshit. The only things that are "definite" are death and boycotting a restaurant after a bad meal (Roast, I'm looking at you). Anyway, I just started and am already on a tangent. Where did that come from? This post was outlined as a eulogy for pop culture and sports, along with my Tigers Opening Day fun, capped off with a medical update. So lets kick out the jams.

The death of pop culture/entertainment/sports started long before Covid-19. From 2017 through 2019 I found myself going to the theater less and less. The quality of movies, especially movies that interested me was at a nadir. I didn't even bother with music, and all books had to focus on an agenda and not the important things like character and story. Sports became a turn-off because of the absurd contracts, high ticket prices, owner corruption, "superteams", and player scandals. It just wasn't fun anymore. There was little entertainment aside from that you made yourself; backyard shows for birds, highly intoxicated (the band, not the birds, I think), going to the grocery store mildly intoxicated, and watching old JCM shows at 3am, out of beer, with an M-80 in my mouth, its wick covered in water, just to see if it would light. Then Covid-19 hit harder than bad Chinese takeout on one's stomach.

Now, pop culture, film, and music depend completely on streaming services. There are too many to keep track of, and a new one every week. To be fair, music has depended on this for over a decade now no matter how many Record Store Days there are. The, already declining, theater experience is currently non-existent, which Asian Bass Player Vinnie predicted a year ago (One more dollar in the bet pool; you are up $4), although drive-in's are making a comeback, which is cool. The tentpole movies keep getting pushed back, hoping for re-openings. Who knows, we may never see Tenet, Wonder Woman 2, or Halloween Kills (awful title) on the big screen at all. Yowie Wowie!

Sports are even worse. Baseball and basketball are back with shortened seasons and no fans/tailgating allowed, although bars and restaurants will be open in some cities, Detroit being one. College seasons are kaput. Football is the only one that will have fans starting in September, which means we'll all be dead by January. In addition, every pro athlete seems to have turned into a bandwagon-jumping, insufferable, preacherman. The pitchers mounds and basketball courts have "black lives matter" printed on them, which is cool even if they're decades tardy. The first game of the year saw both the Yankees and Nationals take a knee in a sign of unity, which is cool, but about as dated as a 1980's Rolling Stones song. They should switch it up and let each team have 45 seconds to loot the opposing team's equipment room; practicing social distancing of course. I also have to wonder if the mass kneeling would have happened if there were fans in the stands. How would the broadcasters handle the possible boos? I also wonder where all the people who would have been at the game watched it. Ratings were up so "at home" would be a good guess, but as I referenced earlier, you have to wonder how many went to the bar for opening weekend. We'll all be dead before football even starts. One neat thing is that the NBA is letting players customize their jerseys with names of the deceased, slogans such as "No justice, no peace" and "4X the safe level of Fentanyl". You can even customize your own through their shop site, although they rejected my "Free Hong Kong" and "Tunde Ate My Nachos" requests. And through all of this, still nobody is talking about hockey...

All of this can be applied on a local level as well. The local film industry dried up years ago due to the infamous "We can do it ourselves!" Detroit Inferiority Complex. As for sports, the Tigers and Lions can be lumped up above and the Pistons season is over, ho ho ho. I did see that die hard Tigers nut Woodman made the drive to Cincy for the first Tigers game, presumably watching through the gates or at a pub. I didn't see any masks though. Still, I would trust a drunk caveman over a media whore like Fauci who looks like he should be running Heaven's Gate 2.0 (and who knows, maybe he is muahahahaha).

As for the local music scene, that's been dead for years anyway. In the present day there are no shows to say you will be going to that you will no show. You know who you are. Everybody reading ha ha. Right now its all basement live streams, the latest shitty new song, and podcasts. Which reminds me, what happened with that one podcast that had a GoFundMe set up for thousands of dollars? Due to XXXXX [Redacted] reasons, I can't name names, but if the coney dog is to Detroit then the Coronavirus is to....well, you get it. More importantly, Where Did All The Money Go?

Oh wait, there actually was a local show this past weekend, the first since the shutdown. It was called the Detroit Music Weekend 2020. There was not a lot of hype about it, but this is Detroit after all. Here is/was the link:
Detroit Music Weekend 2020
Of course all of the artists are painfully dull no-names who represent nothing of what Detroit music means to me (What a dickish statement). Here is their flyer:

Hey wait! They totally ripped off the Detroit Music Award logo from the year JCM won. I have mine framed.

To their credit, they did take great effort in social distancing, which is cool. Did this event actually happen? I decided to get in on the fun (and fun coupons) by bringing out the tried and true "Down on His Luck Troubadour" gimmick. I was dropped off close to the venue, but not too close so that I didn't scare anyone away from the event due to my hazmat suit. My driver, Fuzz, dropped me off and went to play the "dollar bill trick" with the neighboring lots. It took me a while to find a stranger to use my phone to do me up. My go-to line was "I don't have That Bug, but if its a Bug you want there's a really nice alley right over there."

I ended up making $11.13. They should just re-open local shows, a surefire way to keep people at home; bring back Blowout. Okay, jump, flash, cut to my Tigers Home Opener, two days later.

I passed on the bar for multiple reasons (27 days!), and decided to have it at the Compound. I had the meat and extras ready to roll way before first pitch.

For those curious, the blue/black plate is my special marinade, a tab of acid. Who gets it, steak or burger, steak or burger? Next up was to fire up the grill. Fire it up. Fire it up.

My editor advised me to put the explosive on the ground as the grill was unstable (not the only one) and I could set the Compound, or at least a car, on fire.

At last, it was time to eat and the game hadn't even started. Afterwards, I felt like a good ole' Dixie Pig, but at least I didn't catch The Bug (unless you count salmonella).

To wrap things up, a brief medical update. The future two weeks promise more bloodwork, a visit with the Gastro-Doc, two visits with rehab (even though I will be drink free for over a month by that time), and a MRI. Something wicked is on my liver. It has been called a cyst, tumor, a spot, a dark spot (dark spots matter), and, most recently, a lesion. I find "lesion" the scariest. I've never had an MRI before, but 45 minutes in a tube, surrounded by noise seems like the perfect time to take my last hit of acid.
   So that's it for now. I wrote way more than I wanted to, but what else am I gonna do? Start a podcast? Gimmie my money. Cash Me now! Because baby, baby, baby you're (almost) out of time.

As I Remain,
Jefferson Rank (is Bryan Metro)

Sick Boy, Complainers, A Priest, and Restaurant Week

More boredom from outside the Compound. Having just put down a book, still sitting in a chair in the yard, feet propped up to ease the pain, feeling the need to actually DO something.

It is Day 21 of no drinking and I have to admit, there is little redeeming about it aside from the fact that I have accomplished it with little effort which is the way to go (this applies to everything in life really). I'd like to say that I'm bouncing around, full of energy, with a new outlook on life, but that's really just in the movies. My days are spent reading, watching the news, spending hours coordinating doctors appointments then complaining about all the time I lost doing so, cooking (one positive is that I am eating more), and lottery scratch off tickets. While doing one the other day I thought what I would do if I won $5000 a week for life. That depressed me even more. Its not like I can go anywhere and even if there were options like something exotic I would pass. I get bored with exotic, sitting waterfront, under a palm tree. That does not interest me. I'm interested in the human condition and that would be ripe right now with all the protests along with the upcoming election (and more protests) with every waterhead in the country losing their minds. Once again, thanks to the virus, all goosed up with nothing to do; probably punishment for all the years complaining about the same bands playing every week/Fest. Hell I would take a George Morris Gypsy Chorus show right now. Couldn't be as bad as drowning in your own lung mucus right? Don't answer that. Now don't be misunderstood, none of the above is meant to complain, just to give insight to the walls closing in and the newness of sobriety (dull, overrated, easier than expected). If you want to see real complaining just go to Facebook. Good lord. I don't really go to others' pages anymore but members of the Honor Roll still send me screenshots to try and get that Bryan Metro lockbox open. Every post I see is somebody complaining; very depressing. Its not just complaining actually, but parlayed with looking for handouts. Take these gems from Deastro from earlier this month. Now would be a good time to repost the Blog policy that if anybody finds anything offensive or not accurate please message and request that they be taken down and I will gladly comply. On to the whining:

Posts like these make me stay as far away from the internet as possible. You can see it on the local and national level. FYI, I have Medicaid and have seen over ten doctors this past year, none of whom were in Taylor, not that there is anything wrong with Taylor, as implied in Robo-Twerp's post. If not being able to buy weed is a major issue earmarked for the entire internet to know then your life is actually pretty good. I can't vouch for the pain part but I assume there is a squatter in a loft a few blocks over who would wave cash fees for....lets forget about that. In all seriousness there are websites where one can look up/recommend medical facilities that accept your insurance. I realize that we probably have different Medicaid providers with me winning the DMA over Deastro, but that's what I did The internet research not the DMA; WAIT, both). Blow up the internet (tee hee, how quaint) that way. Jeeeeeze.

Another popular gimmick is setting up a GoFundMe so one can quit their job because they hate their boss (Racism! Sexism!). You would be surprised at how many of these there are.

Looks like XXXXXX XXXXXXX [Redacted] was a true trailblazer. Other things I've noticed are people posting the same opinion/memes (meaning they reach the same 40 people, irony that is over their heads). They all have similar messages of stopping hate and coming together. I believe there's even a hot phrase checklist out there with items like " stopping systemic racism and "inclusivity", things anyone with a brain can get behind. Unfortunately, these posts devolve into going on a racist, hate-filled diatribe. I'd give you some examples, but, well, y'know. These people probably have no idea what "unity" even means, but I bet they have decent pot. Barring health issues, I'd still like to attend a protest or two. I don't care what issue its for, so basically I'll fit right in.

Speaking of health stuff (back to boredom), the fluid has returned to my stomach and surrounding areas making me look seven months pregnant, or Hip in Detroit during Restaurant Week; ALL of Restaurant Week, the whole fucking week. I never bothered with Restaurant Week (RIP) because half of the restaurants would be closed within the year anyway. I digress. So, I have three more obstacles before being cleared (if I avoid the virus at all these non-Taylor hospitals). This week is the big one. Liver specialist at Henry Ford Main, the place I was born, making this a return to the scene of the crime. I guess when I was in the ER they found a cyst on my liver (or an undigested Sweet-Tart or Gobstopper). I will put on my mean, yet apathetic, face and tell the Doc that the last person who crossed me caused me to kidnap a priest and drive to a graveyard and place made-up voodoo symbols on random graves using chicken bones I'd been saving for months.
   "What are those? he nervously asked. One of us had already pissed themselves.
   "Chicken bones, padre. Now bless them," followed by the infamous, "Are you prepared to go to court?" Out of the three remaining check boxes, the liver one seems most likely to croak me, so it comes first.

Next up is the Gastro-Doc to try to figure out what to do about the stomach, fluid, hernia, etc. That is, if I'm not locked up or catatonic. Finally, is the official rehab which shouldn't take too long, could be fun, and starts after the 28th day of not drinking, the unofficial mark of alcohol completely being out of one's system. Hopefully I'll be in the clear by Labor Day (RIP Labor Day Fest). Right now I can't even carry a gallon of milk. Once again, not complaining, just trying to look on the bright side. I don't have to carry the milk. My occupation on my tax forms is freelance writer (ie: a bum). Did I even do my taxes this year? What's next? Everybody stay safe and keep drinking. Drink a lot. Too much! Build a campfire in your neighbor's garage. Then drink more. I could use the company in the hospital. And if something goes terribly wrong, know I was ready for it, it never got weird, and don't forget the chicken bones. I should be fine though. God wouldn't want me sending angry missives from the relocated National Affairs Desk in purgatory. Talk to you soon. Keep the screenshots coming!

As I Remain,
Jefferson Rank (is Bryan Metro)

The Death of Fun and the Birth of Fear

*As always, 90% fact, 10% fiction
Well, it has come to this.....my first sober Lavender Blog post. Because of this fact I cannot with clear conscience sign off as Bryan Metro, thus betraying the persona I took so long to cultivate, so I have created the sober persona: Jefferson Rank. Make sense? Who cares?

Anyway, lets get to the meat. As -jr said in a previous post, I have been in and out of the doctors for the past few weeks.  Here is a brief health timeline: Metro, E First, and Vinnie filmed a JCM Concert For Covid at the Compound that has yet to be posted. I am a mess throughout the thing. You can see when the hernia actually takes place as I attempt to sit down and fail.  The clip should be below




That week I
went to see the doc and he sent me to another doc who sent me to another doc who said it was a hernia. They could do surgery except there was mystery fluid in my stomach and outer stomach so the risk of the surgery not "taking" was high. The pain was so bad I went to the ER on Tues. Day 1. At some point it was decided that I stop drinking and since I have final say, I agreed. A part of me was curious what 2020 would look like from the vantage of a square, boring, shmuck.

The Rehab Diaries- The following may contain semi-graphic material but not really.
Tues. Day 1
i was mentally unprepared to completely stop drinking when I got to the ER. I immediately was zapped with an IV and five blood panels. I was moved to a private room (thank god), but that meant I had to be admitted something I had never done and something else I was not mentally equipped for.
   "I have a bad heart," I try to explain. I also explained my impressive drinking habit I had formed (every day for over a decade and a half).
   "Would you like some Ativan?" the nurse offers.
   "Well why didn't you say so?" I gush. Bing boom; another IV. Out. Shadowlands.

Wed. Day 2
I wake up to discover that I had pissed the bed. I didn't bother telling anyone; just put more sheets on it. The pj's had to go though and since I wasn't expecting to be admitted I had no change of clothes. I buzz the nurse in and tell her that I am starting to feel the Fear.
   "Perhaps some Ativan," a fine solution. My room was outside of the nurses' station so I grab some nurse's slacks. However, when getting into bed the pants split and I soil myself. Now we have a problem with the piss pj's in a corner. So I waddle back to grab a second pair of slacks. A nurse, a different one asks if I need anything.
   "Getting jittery," I improvise.
   "Ativan?" as expected.
   "Great idea! Let me clean up and meet me in five."
As I am scrubbing down a voice says, "Housekeeping".
   "Fuck off, I am not to be disturbed. Bad heart."
Soon I am being carted off for some silly tests and I am zonked out of my mind. When we get back the bed has been made (oh shit) but the pj's are still in the corner, a shameful secret between myself and housekeeping. I tell them I have no idea how I got here and it is starting to get to me. More drugs. Shadowlands.

Thurs. Day 3
The big day where the fluid in my sides is to be drained. I tell the nurse about my nerves going into this and she suggested Ativan. Since the IV was being used to administer a vitamin drip (ha ha), they gave me two high powered shots (I couldn't eat or drink a pill due to today's procedure, not that it would have mattered). We went down to surgery where I was stabbed in the side and a tube inserted. They turned me on my side and ended up with 2 and a half blender-sized jugs of brown fluid. Upon returning to my room I informed the nurse of my fear of infection. New IV, antibiotics. Ativan. The rest of the night I hallucinated that I was at a party at a house and I was the only person in the guest room. Everybody outside the room was too loud and I only got 15 minute intervals of sleep. More loud laughter. One of the party guests comes in my room to take my blood pressure and attach something to my IV. I begin to ask......Shadowlands.

Fri. Day 4
I wake up to two more blood tests. I tell them that I have had enough and I want out.
   "Would you like some Ativan?"
   "I want out. I can't take it anymore. Yes to the Ativan.".
It was at this point I convinced myself that they had no intention of letting me leave. They may have wanted a gland from my neck, a chunk of my frontal lobe, more mystery fluid. We know its not my liver at least. Fucking cults. As I get up to go to my private bathroom I fall straight to the ground. I had lost all control of my legs. At one point I could only walk backwards. Was I carrying Rosemary's Baby? The Doc feared that I may have had a stroke in my sleep during the party last night but that was discounted because both sides were affected. I had to have an escort for the rest of my stay (fucking cults). One instance, was when I had to go to the bathroom and they had to be in there with me. They held me up and I pissed all over the floor while mumbling "Got to get out". They take me back to my bed where I was anticipating stir ups, or at least straps. They said they were working on my papers and hooked me up to a new IV (I didn't even ask) and gave me Ativan in pill form (I could now eat/drink, not that it mattered), and got me a walker. Minutes later I was released, hobbling down the hall, feeling so much better mentally and physically than when I went in.

Epilogue
The ordeal is far from done. It was embarrassing using the walker at Kroger as the handicap generally scare me and I didn't want to see any children crying at the freak in a mohawk with a walker. I should have worn a garbage bag. The 4th of July was laid back with grilling. I spent $50 on fireworks and barely shot any off. The day after I was back in the ER, but for what I honestly can't remember. I remember them putting an IV into my left vein which promptly exploded due to wear and tear. More blood needed so they went to the right arm which also exploded, even worse, sending blood bruises all the way to the wrist. Wait, I just remembered what the visit was for: hand muscle paralysis.  They didn't admit me.
As for the rest of the health side, I still have to see a Gastro-Doc for the stomach fluid and a liver doc which is a lost cause because we all know that's fucked. Right now I'm doing stay at home detox and haven't had a drink in over two weeks. And man, it is boring. And I have hobbies: writing (more on that at the end), hundreds of books (most 1st ed./signed), puzzles, cats. Next up will be at least two weeks of rehab which should be a hoot. How many times will I hear a story of a spouse leaving because of drink? Do a shot everytime! When I tell them I'm a writer I bet they ask me to read some of my stuff. I'll bring the most vile, horrific posts I can find. When its completed I'll probably get a certificate.

You may wonder why I am doing all of this. Well, because I promised some people. Plus, I'm doing it for me. Borrrrring. Let's rephrase that. I'm doing it to see if I can do it. I've said before that my book has been written and anything else is a bonus. I have no problem going to that loud party in the other room that I 'dreamt'. I'm sure I can complete this and when I do I promise not to be one of those sanctimonious poofs saying, "Don't do that. Do what I did. Life is so much clearer, better". God, those people bug me. I've never tried to lay my orders/beliefs on anybody and I wont start now.

As for the writing, well, there is none. I've already covered Covid-19 in a humorous and serious manner, the advertising juggernaut that is Black Lives Matter is something I should stay away from, I could cover the election, but so is everybody else, and the only unique slant would be from Bryan Metro who is currently in a lockbox. Finality is a concept I don't believe in unless it concerns death or bad restaurant food. One positive coming  from the Covid virus is that it accomplished what the JCM couldn't, that being breaking up the cliquey monotony that was the local music scene. I would gladly take depressing virus updates over the pathetic flyers of the same bands playing the same venues. Everyone has resorted to livestreaming from their basements to an audience of nobody. So basically the same as if they were playing live. Thank you my pretty flower bud parasites. (That was sarcasm. Everybody stay safe and if you know somebody with it, I offer my prayers). Even the always affable Woodman posted a depressing statement saying how sad he was that Jack White and Craig Brown didn't invite him to shoot off fireworks at Hamtramck Field. I also saw that this year's Dally in the Alley was cancelled. I'll call that Karma for the years JCM was passed over in favor of talentless, tick-riddled hippies living rent free in an abandoned loft sucking on Fentanyl freezie pops. I would, however, like to attend a protest though. That could be fun and I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunities ("Excuse me did you know they guy who drew a hand cannon on the police?" "He was always such a good boy"). On second thought, that could get boring.

Okay, that last bit contained a bit of vintage meanness, but not enough to justify a Bryan Metro byline. Hopefully Born Evil will be around to post mediocre song links and pop culture/political fire while I torture the poor souls assigned to my Group in rehab. Maybe there is still some fun out there. It may no longer drop on the National Affairs Desk, I may have to go out and find it. Stay safe out there. Until then,

As I Remain,
Jefferson Rank (is Bryan Metro)

Mandy

Drunk as a skunk, I was watching this late Saturday night. Movies like this I have to wait for the son and the wife to fall asleep. Honestly, for the first half I was bored out of my skull. Once they lit the bitch on fire in a bag and Nic Cage goes insane, that's when I really tuned in. Chainsaw fights, bikers filled with nails, a Manson-esque cult...all while using the same tropes as Spring Breakers (melding of scenes, call backs to previous parts with no reasoning, etc....). I wouldn't mind giving it another go sans the brown bottle (Jackson Rankus style). So yeah check out Mandy.


-jr

-jr's Spicy Picks

Click the picture above to take you to the top 50 I've been listening to lately. It will be updated weekly, probably on Mondays.

In other news, what is going on at the MOCAD? Seems like it's a fun place to work.

-jr

The Swirl of the Toilet Called Life Continues

Follow me down the drain.......

Metro is in and out of hospitals. Trying to get meds sorted. Trying to get back to 85%. Trying to get back.

The world is a crazy place right now isn't it kids? It's all of a sudden not fashionable to be a white male or a white anything. At least that is what the paid journalists would like you to think. The beat goes on.

Who would have thought Kanye West would be the lesser of three bad decisions?

Is Covid the plague that will end us? Is it all hype? Live in fear.

Friends of Dennis Wilson, local Detroit surf/psych rock n' rollers have finally uploaded the breadth of their catalogue to Spotify, ITunes, etc. and they just released a new EP called the "DreamDrive EP". FODW and Black Lodge are probably my two favorite Detroit bands other than all of my own.

That's all for now jagoffs. Extreme Rules Horror Show is the Sunday. Livetweet? Review on Monday? Neither due to laziness/drunkedness? Stay tuned....

-jr