Some decent news, so I think that I'll jinks it by typing it into my blog:

Yesterday, my pal Michael, with whom I work, pitched an idea for a documentary series to HBO. I'll hold off on stating the subject matter just yet, but it looks like it's a go! Now, to be honest, in Los Angeles, "it's a go!" means, "they didn't say no...yet - but at least no one spat in our faces!", but he felt really positive about it and got me shnockered on marked up drinks at some skeezy, poseur hotel bar in Westwood. So I've go tthis hangover going for me...which is nice.

Das year: 1981. I attended Westchester Middle School, it's first year in existence, on the far side of town, bussed in at 7 AM. Can you believe how early you used to get up for school? Shit, no wonder I can't remember a damned thing I was taught until at least 3rd period.

Let me quickly paint a portrait of Westchester, Illinois for you: Population 17,000 and four, FOUR HUGEgraveyards in town. There are more people beneath the ground than above: Not alot going on. Even though it's only 20 miles from Chicago, I think you'd be safe to bet that 1/2 of the residents never venture into the city with any regularity, and a slightly smaller percentage don't at all. When I close my eyes and picture my home town, the predominate colour I see is grey and the scent is that of the large garbage dump located adjacent to the Eisenhower Expressway.Me? Escape? You betya, at the first chance that I got. But, as I am wont to do, I digress...

My favorite classes were art and English, science was all right, and I despised with a passion my math class. Gym too. Oh God - this was my first year having to shower with other guys. As if you had nothing else to be freaked out about when you're 11, now you get to chalk up getting naked with your friends. I'll never forget the first time in that cold, sterile locker room that we all dropped trow while Mr. Lucas handed us green, faded towels. It was humiliating for each one of us...save for Paul Castlebuono, who I do hope pursued a career in porno, because even at 11 years old he outdid most grown men.

I had a crush on a Greek girl named Maria, so doing what all logical, preteens do, I pretended that I hated her and wound up "dating" Colleen, a redheaded, fair-skinned psychopath whom 2 days after our first dance, I "broke up with" (it is quite necessary when delivering sarcasm on the internets to use " " ).

This marked also the first year of school plays. I didn't audition, but they put up Westside Story, and the music teacher Mrs. Guitierrez asked me to tape record it. I was in love, not only with the idea of doing a musical, but also with Mrs. Guittierrez, a lithe, glasses-wearing, ivory-skinned psychopath (please note my obsession with nutters starting....now).

Have your parachute pants in hand? Lines of coke diced up on your coffee table, a reverent portrait of Ronald Reagan snuggled up beside it? Then you must be living in:

1980

It was my first double-digit year, which my mom might have actually repeated to me over 6,050 times. I'm happy to think I won't live to see 100 as to not hear the constant tally of the number of digits in my age. This would be my last year attending Kennedy School as the town was shutting down 2 of the 4 public schools and combining us all into a single melee of education. If I'm not mistaken, this was the beginning of the end of the marriage for Ruth and Bob McGarry, the one I still am puzzled by how it started.

I failed to mention earlier, but I was enslaved in the ranks of the Cub Scouts for a few years, and this was my "Weblos" year, the last Cub Scout year before Boy Scouts begins, and let me tell ya...it wasn't my "thing". Any of it. The most time I'd spent outside was shoveling the drive in the winter, and now I was being stuffed into moldy canvas tents in southern Wisconsin, forced to carry buckets of rotten pump water, participate in sewing, chopping, whittling, and open-fire, baked beans-making contests. I remember thinking that all of the adults involved were utter nerds. I mean, a grown man wearing a Cub Scout cap and neckerchief doesn't command very much respect.

One particular memory is a father/son campng trip where we all slept in one large cabin. After lights out, my Dad and Eddie Schreier's dad snuck out, found a local bar, and got shitfaced, which I found to be the most ultimately cool thing that the Scouts could teach me. The following morning, they were so hungover that they slept in and missed the 5 mile hike in the snow that left us all frostbitten. GENIUS!

Also, by now, I'd not only gotten involved in band but was beginning to develop an interest in chorus.

Wait - I'm not gay?

Below are posts that I'd handwritten while on the road in Texas, North Carolina, and Oklahoma shooting a bullriding special for CMT and drowning my sorrows in whatever moonshine someone would hand to me...

2/16

Dara told me last night after I arrived in Houston that Duncan will probably need to have his leg amputated, more than likely while I'm still out of town.

I had a dream last night that aliens were going to destroy Earth but would take with them and spare anyone who believed that thye were going to do it. A handful of people and I went, but Dara didn't believe and stayed behind.

I went to the planet completely torn apart, but one of the aliens told me that I had until Friday to convince her (it was Wednesday). I went back to Earth and was able to coerce Dara, however, we didn't know if the cats would survive but said fuck it and took them anyway.

This is a thoroughly depressing beat in the story of our lives. We are both so crazy about the little fat guy: I will not let him succumb to the cancer without a fight.

2/20

A dream last night, less vivid than the above, but equally as symbolic: Dara was distraught, although not over Duncan, but our marriage. I hadn't been enough to her, wasn't as available as she needed, and in many ways, fell short as a life partner. She wanted a divorce and I was utterly out of control of the situation; I had no say.

I awoke and coasted back to sleep eventually. The specifics of those dreams upon returning to sleep evade me, but I remember that they rectified the previous horrific dream, and all was okay once again.

Duncan's impending operation has me on edge. In stillness, it steals into my mind, only to torment me. It's such a disruption to our normal pattern of life, which, BTW, IS life, but boy-o-boy, doesn't it suck.

2/22

Dreams have been so vivid as of late - last night, (pal of the past 2 years) David Leamy and I were to attend high school together. As we registerd for classes at Proviso West, he discovered that he was to attend St. Joseph's High down the road and play on their basketball team (note: Leamy loves basketball). We were disappointed but thrilled that we got to meet earlier in our lives and become friends.

Also: A dream about a lovely young lady whom I have worked with - AND who shall remain nameless - really really really wanted to kiss, but knew that we shouldn't. I awoke and sexual frustration ensued.

I'm on an American flight home at the moment. Apparently the storms in LA have the place paralyzed, so I assume our landing will be eventful.The clouds out my window and below us are thick and grey, looming and threatening, which for bad-flyer-boy here is gut-wrenching. Huzzah for vodka tonics!!

Maybe tonight we pick up Duncan. I'm so anxious/terrified to see him. 3 legs? But if the cancer never returns and we get a couple of extra years with him (fingers crossed), I'll take a tri-poded little fat fella any day.

I miss all 3 of my loved ones. Sometimes I get misty at the mere thought of them while I'm away. I know, I know. PUSSY.

I hardly know where to begin, so I'll begin with that sentence and move on from there. It's been a rough past few days with Duncan. Actually, Duncan's been fine, it's us that are the mess. Dara set up a catscan for him on Monday, so he'll probably get operated on in the next few weeks, which, incidentally, I'll be out of town for, shooting a CMT show with my pal Michael. Marathon training in Oklahoma ought to be interesting...or horrific. We shall see, kids.

All righty, it looks as though we're on to:

1979

This was the year Mr. Geraldi and Mr. Lemm introduced me to the wonders of the sax-a-ma-phone. Yes, this was the year I was inducted into the band geek-army. Originally, I was leaning towards trumpet, but for some uknown reason, I jumped all over that sexy sax and it's sweet, sweet...uh...I need another "s" word............

.....sound!

I loved practicing, which more than likely, drove my Mom and Dad insane. Let's just say I was no Charlie Parker right outta the gates. Nothing else of particular note jumps out at me from this year, save for playing baseball (I think it was my first year) and let's just say, I was no Dave Kingman right outta the gates.

A quick update and request: If you read this blog (God forbid that you've allowed yourself the confusion), pleasepleaseplease put some good vibes out there for our little 13 year old kitty Duncan. We found out that he has a very aggressive cancer and he's undergone 1 biopsy which will now be followed by a catscan (no, the irony of that name did not escape me) and another operation to remove the tumor.

He's in good spirits, even though he has a monstrous shaved spot on his left shoulder and 2 stitched areas, but send him all the good mojo you've got.

We've been incredibly sad the past few days, although his obliviousness and seemingly normal state of being has eased it, at least a little. To see the little freak, go to the link pasted below:

http://www.ladylamplounge.com/pages/JustUs2.html

Thanks for your mojo, yo.