Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread

Senseless street brawl

When is it time to rush in and do something and when should one hold back? That is often the question when a dangerous event is taking place. We've all heard the expression 'only fools rush in..' or maybe I'm dating myself and that expression has gone the way of the Dodo bird. I suppose in that moment we all have to do what we think is right and society (and God) will be the judge.

The other night my wife and I and a couple of friends went out to hear some live music. The band was great, we had a few laughs and enjoyed a quiet cocktail or two. That same night while we were rocking, a few bars in the area were showing a UFC mixed martial arts fight on pay per view. In fact, the bar we were at showed the fight without sound during the band's breaks.

As it turned out the bar we were at let out at the same time as the bars hosting the fights. The streets were packed with everyone from early 20's to my age and a tad older. (Perhaps). We, along with many others called Uber and waited for our ride. Suddenly a commotion erupted across the street from us. Girls were screaming, guys were shouting and a crowd was moving in that unsettled way that a herd does when stampeded.

MMA fight

In a moment's time our eyes locked on the fracas. A group of young 20-something males were moving through a throng of people and kicking the crap out of them. When young folk have bellies full of booze and have watched a fighting event stupidity has a chance to thrive. It was brutal. It was panic. As the brawlers continued it became a like a tidal swell of tumbling bodies. Some call what we saw swarming. People, mostly young guys were dropping like flies. I've been in a few dust-ups, I've bounced (and been bounced) in bars and I've put on the sparring gear more than a time or two. And even for me this was difficult to watch. It just kept growing and growing.

Several people had their phones out filming. At one point we spied the main aggressor. He was 6'2" and about 215-220 lbs. And like many morons he had his shirt off. The M.O. of this guy and his crew was that 'shirtless' would knock someone out and then the cronies would boot and stomp the victim. The injustice got my blood going as I'm sure it did most witnesses.

At one point we saw victim number three, a fairly big guy get knocked out. The 'knockout king' raised his arms in the air like Rocky Balboa at the top of the steps in Philly. (I think I literally growled quietly in my throat). This time the cowardly crew were relentless with their kicks and stomps. Many people have died this way throughout history. When they were done they left the victim in a heap in the middle of the street and moved on. The guy laid out for at least a minute. Nobody went to his aid. Cars drove up to and then around this fallen dude.

The swarmers carried on. My first thought was to meet 'shirtless' in the middle of the street and take him out. I studied his moves. He was repetitive. He danced like Mohammed Ali, or so he thought, he'd toss a couple of jabs and then he'd deliver a devastating right hand. Cut off the head of a snake...and the body dies with it right? But I'm not that guy. I don't start fights. I don't rush in like a fool. Too many things could have gone wrong. Still, I wasn't going to sit there and let that fallen guy bleed out or who knows.

"I'll be right back honey, I'm going to help that guy," I said to my wife.

"Sweetie, don't get involved," she said, and she was right, but...

"Don't worry about me. Our Uber will be here in 6 minutes, I'll be back before that. Call the cops."

And with that I jogged into the mayhem. I jogged passed the bulk of the swarm. The sights and sounds were awful. Fists on skulls, noses breaking, heads meeting concrete all look and sound far more devastating in reality than in movies and television. I could see up close innocent guys attempting to protect themselves getting knocked out by this one guy's hammer blows. My god I wanted to drop that fool! I knew just how I'd do it too!...But I jogged passed. They checked me out as I did so. I pretended not to notice all the while watching them like a hawk…a pissed off hawk. They moved on.

I knelt beside the big guy and began talking to him while checking his pulse. His face was a bloody mess. Blood in and around the mouth and nose--one eye closed. I constantly checked the perimeter in case those cowards came back. If they did I'd have to give them everything I had. I wasn't looking forward to that because as guys once we get in that mode we are no smarter than rabid dogs. And if they came at me I'd have to sink to that rabid dog level.

They did not return. A guy knelt beside me and said, "I'm a paramedic."

"Thank god because I'm a little rusty on my St. John's--what do you need me to do?"

I looked around again and saw the phones of about 6 bystanders. "Would one of you assholes please call the fucking cops and an ambulance?" I asked.

"I already did," said a red haired 22 year old girl while still filming us.

Get that video

The paramedic told me what to do with the guy who was still unconscious. Eventually people came over to help us. What I thought was a crowd of kids wanting to grab that 'viral video' was actually fear. This scene was foreign to them. They were terrified.

We gently moved the guy to the curb; put his feet up and put him on his side as he was in danger of choking on his blood. Some girls that knew him balled their eyes out. More screaming erupted and sounded closer to us. Were the swarmers coming back? Fuck.

As we worked and spoke to the unconscious I scanned the crowd. Just then I heard a loud 'thwack'. Apparently a splinter group made their way near to us. They knocked out a slender latino kid of about 20. I stood up and got ready. The kid dropped like a cinder block and hit his head on the pavement. Two of his girlfriends screamed. He was half on the sidewalk half in the street. Three guys moved in to lay boots to him. I'd had enough and said so.

"Enough!" I shouted and held out my hand like a traffic cop. They inched closer. They were dying to put boots to this guy.

"He's done!" I said pointing at the guy that knocked him out. "And so are you assholes. Now Fuck Off!"

They stared at me with hands up and fists ready. I kept pointing while keeping my other hand at my side. All phones were on us--great. They looked at one another quickly without sound. Deciding. Wondering if--. Surely they could take this platinum haired brother..but they knew I wouldn't make it easy for them. Finally they slowly moved on. None of us taking our eyes off each other. Either my psychotic look from my bouncer days returned to my eye or they decided to leave the old gray haired dude alone. Either way I was ecstatic because as Danny Glover said as Det. Murtaugh in Lethal Weapon, "I'm too old for this shit."

We got back to the fallen latino. I put a hand on his chest and told him to 'come on back' and to 'wake up pal,' and other b.s. like that. His girlfriends continued to cry and scream. Finally his eye lids fluttered and then he came to. Next the big guy came out of it as well. The paramedic and I started laughing and high five-ing. The small crowd breathed sighs of relief and joined in the celebration. The majority of us actually cared and wanted no part of what the minority, the swarmers were doling out that night.

The paramedic said, "I'm Dave do you know these guys?"

"No I came out of that bar and saw what happened and came to help."

"You came to help," he looked stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah, because as you know when somebody gets knocked out, then their head hits the pavement and then they get stomped, people die."

"You're telling me. I can't fathom doing something like that, you should see the shit I see all of the time."

"That's why you're the man and I'm oughta here," I said getting up.

"No dude, you're the man. You're a good dude, dude. People don't run into shit like this."

We shook hands ending the bromance. I checked my phone and saw that my Uber arrived. Suddenly cops were everywhere. A cop came up to me and asked that I stand on the sidewalk with everyone else.

"Actually I'm not with the kids. I came out of that bar and helped because guys were getting stomped."

"Sir I need you to-"

"Do you want to know what happened? I'll be one of the best witnesses you have out here."

"Yes ok, what the hell is going on here?"

I filled him in on what I saw and what we did. He thanked me and let me go.

Back in my day we used to go to the bars and watch boxing matches; Mike Tyson, Sugar Ray Leonard or whoever. Afterward we'd enjoy more beers, talk about the fight and then move on. Today's youth watches their gladiator sport equivalent, gets drunk and takes it to the street. I've been told that the neighboring beach community's bars have stopped showing the fights because of the ensuing street brawls.

Sugar Ray Leonard

We could separate what was on the screen (and in the ring) from reality. Sure there was the odd brawl but it was rare and it was never swarming. Where is this current anger coming from? What are kids today trying to tell us? Who are they pissed at? Their parents? Society?

The generation before mine used to say 'never kick a man when he's down.' My generation did it's best to uphold the idiom...with a few exceptions of course but now if a cat goes down it's open season on the fallen. And there is a big difference between a swift kick in the ribs and a downward heel stomp to the head. You boot stompers have literally got to give your own heads a shake. People die that way you mindless idiots!

Moral decency starts at home!

If one were to ask me I say it starts in the home and needs to be nourished  24 hours of every god damn day so that when Junior is in the streets he knows how to conduct himself…regardless of the fights he watches, the Call of Duty game he plays, the comic book movie he watches or the peer pressure he's under.

Good character starts at home!

Ask yourselves this parents: how would you feel if your son was stomped to death? Now ask yourself how would you feel if your son stomped someone to death? Neither scenario makes for a feel good moment. So, if you're going to raise 'em, raise 'em constantly and RAISE 'EM RIGHT!

Phones Fabulous Phones!

Dean Liptak:
I'm just trying to teach brother!

I simply must commend former pro wrestler turned science teacher Dean Liptak who used a cell phone jammer in his classroom in an attempt to keep the students attention. Or to put it shortly, Liptak was attempting to teach…which is his job. Sadly, the practice of jamming cell phone signals to spoiled little brats who posses zero cooth, class or consideration is illegal. Thus, Liptak was suspended for a week without pay.

Oh the humanity! The poor sap was merely trying to do his job. A job that if done correctly and without distraction will arguably benefit the kids. But the law is the law also, some parents were outraged. Outraged? Who are these outraged parents and what messages do they impart on little Junior?

My guess is it goes like this:

"Son, this is America and as such when in class you have the god given right to text your friends or call your father at the office or text me…but not during my hair appointment."

I don't know, what did you get?

"Really? Thanks mommy dearest!"

Perhaps I exaggerate. But this is ridiculous. The 'no jamming the phone of little upstarts' is a law based on safety. It is believed that in the event of an emergency students cannot make 911 calls nor could first-responders alert the kids of an emergency if the cell phone jammer does what it's supposed to do. The law has merit, I admit but it's pretty damn thin especially when students learned in class rooms the world over for several decades prior to the nifty cell phone's invention.

But if the law is to remain then here is what I would make into law were I the Mayor of Everywhere.(and fear not for that day is coming!)

To wit: if your precious child is caught texting, chatting, looking up answers on the Google machine etc. on their phone while in class he and or she will be sent to the office. Once there the Principal will assign the student 1 hour of manual labor…without out phone or earbuds or any of that jazz. These duties might include garbage duty, graffiti removal, ditch digging (you can never have too many ditches), toilet cleaning, gum removal and so on.

And on this there will be zero tolerance, no exceptions. And to all helicopter parents that feel the need to bail your kid out with pleading phone calls, emails or marching down to the school with lame excuses like Little Timmy is allergic to peanuts, he's lactose intolerant and has extreme refuse phobia." Tough sh** oops I mean tough beans. Your little rescue attempt just bought Timmy another hour with the waste bucket.

With my solution kids can keep their phones (in their back packs) in case of emergency and will be granted plenty of time to use it before school, recess, lunch break and after school. I guarantee that in- class cell phone use will drop like a rock. Can you imagine today's teen performing menial manual labor without any form of electronic device?

Oh yay! my parents are going to
 home school me

Oh, before I forget, parents will have signed a document prior to the child's enrollment agreeing to these terms. For those not wanting to sign the document…it is your god given right…to home school.

Hey...3nder Me Baby!

Ok so by now everybody knows about the Tinder App yes? No? Well, it has been referred to as the 'hook up' App. Picture if you will Match.com all sexed up. Turn on the App, search for the hot girl in a zip code near you and swipe. Minutes later if she's swiped you back y'all can 'get it on' as we once said back in the way back...of the day.

Perhaps that's a bit crass. You don't have to hook up but as I said it's been called the 'hook up' App; their words not mine. Today Tinder has augmented itself. There is now 3inder the dating App for threesomes. Did I hear you exclaim, "oh dear!" Heavy sigh.

Allow this semi-humble blogger to use the commencement of this paragraph to say, 'Come On!' current generation do you guys work for anything? Anything at all? For the love of St. Peter do you Cats ever have it easy. Turn on phone, slide App voila: two bodacious babes are ringing your doorbell 12 minutes later.

It's 3nder time!

Ah, but it seems like only yesterday when I felt a rumbling in the loins for the gentle attention of the opposite sex but I had nothing. I had no game whatsoever. So I picked up some drum sticks because at the time girls (which we called chicks) were into rockstars. Become a rockstar-get the chicks-easy calculus. Being that I wasn't a natural I had to take lessons. Lesson after lesson in a time where a guy had to play the snare drum alone for 6 months before being permitted to play the whole drum set.

Then came the bands and countless rehearsals and band squabbles. Of course there were battle of the bands contests where ya won some and ya lost some. But we had a mission dammit- chicks! And do you think the ladies came flooding in like a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue tide of babes? No-siree-Bub! Who knew that a scant 3 decades (or so) later a lad could turn of his phone, press play and 14 minutes later find himself knee deep in an innocent pillow fight with two slammin' chicks…that would ultimately digress into reckless debauch'?

When the drums failed to bear the fruit of gentle caresses of the prettier sex I put on the football helmet and strapped on the pads. Why not? Chicks like athletes right? I ground it out practice after practice, game upon game in Vancouver's hard driving rain. I hit and was hit countless times. And who could truly count the number of times when one is perpetually semi-concussed? We played on any given Sunday where we won some and lost many but it was ok because we had a goal.

Later you'd slide up next to a pretty lass and find a cleverly auspicious way to work the gridiron sport into your dialogue. She'd perk up at first only to burst your bubble moments later when she'd say, "Football is ok but I prefer soccer players!"
"Nooooooooo!"

Don't judge us

Why couldn't there have been an App in those days were a young lad could punch a button (or turn the rotary phone dial ) and 17 minutes later embark in an innocent jello fight with the Mayor's twin 20-something daughters? Who knew that in 2015…

We didn't have 'hook up' Apps in my day. We spent hard earned blue collar bucks in bars spitting worn-out dialog on disinterested babes.

But to be honest this rock n roll blogger wouldn't have had it any other way. I wouldn't trade my past for this generation's present. The pursuit of dames, broads and chicks led me to drums, football, soccer, jumping of high rocks into shallow bodies of water, horrible dialog, pathetic karaoke, track and field, muscle cars, hours of weight lifting (upper body only), heavy beer drinking (at times), light (albeit primarily involuntary) drug use,  barrels of laughter and so much more.

You guys got the App?

Hear me now and spread the word youngsters: it ain't about the immediate gratification-the threesome that awaits mere minutes away. It's about the journey. It's about the chase and the planning. It's all about the pursuit of happiness for nothing worth anything is worth a damn without hard work! Remember that the next time you find yourselves thrashing in the throes of your 3nder throng.

I still play drums and love it, I still exercise and love it. I gained experience which helped form a little thing called character. When the chicks reject you or take little interest in your gig it's not the end of the world. Picking oneself up and dusting oneself off makes a grown-up out of you. BUT, the biggest payoff from the journey is where I am now…with a ridiculously beautiful wife, both inside and out. (And do you know what? I only need one!)

It's A Dog's Life

Now that we're top of the food chain, what's next?

The top of the food chain ain't what she used to be ladies and gentlemen. The other day my wife and I went to a restaurant. Being a SoCal sunny day we opted for the patio as opposed to indoors. The patio housed a dozen tables, six of which were occupied with owners and their dogs. My wife and I found an empty table and bee lined toward it. The establishment packed the tables in tight as is their right to maximize real-estate vs. $$$. As we approached the table a couple with a boxer dog was attempting to leave their table. Our table slightly pinned their table. Being decent folk my wife and I gave sufficient berth.

However, trouble erupted when the boxer attempted passage by table #3 which had a feisty chihuahua staking its territory. Feisty chihuahua wasn't about to let the uppity boxer (in his eyes) safe travel. He growled and barked and pulled at his tiny restraints. The boxer backed off…which disappointed me, I must admit. At this point the 'pinned down' couple asked to pass around my side of the table which would mean I'd have to back out to the entrance. No problem for me but the wife of the boxer owning couple was what some would call plus size. She'd not make it through the tables. The husband seeing this tells me 'never mind', with a huff and tug of his dog's leash.

Meanwhile couple number two see the boxer coming and manage to scoop up the deadly chihuahua  and place it on 'mommy's lap'. Crisis avoided, yes? That was until the boxer got to the last table where a beagle in a service vest barked, 'hell no' at the boxer. The boxer went into a cowardly panic and tugged every which way upsetting two other tables. The boxer owning dad asked (not politely) for the vested beagle to be handled. The beagle looked on in shock as he had a service vest where the boxer was practically naked-a mere citizen! The owner of the beagle glared at boxer dad, who returned his glare. Onlookers looked on as onlookers will. At this time with an ironic grin I put volume to my voice I piped up.

"Say honey," to my wife, "remember the days when restaurants were for people?"

Believe me when I tell you blogasphere I had NO supporters in that SoCal dog friendly crowd. I was given the stink-eye by 92% of the patrons on that patio. Luckily, being that I'm a card carrying member of the 'old school' I welcomed their scorn the way a party-animal embraces a bar's Happy Hour. Finally, dog owners negotiated the boxer's exit and my wife and I were permitted to sit.

As I stated earlier perching atop the food chain mountain aint what she used to be. And now thanks to Governor Jerry Brown of the great state of California, dog owners are dancing on rooftops. Brown has signed a bill into law allowing dogs to dine on restaurant patios. According to the San Jose Mercury News "…law provides some relief to dog owners statewide…"

Oh que relief in deed, for what were dog owners to do prior to this law; leave the dog at home while dining out? Oh the humanity! Que injustice! Now before y'all toss your doggie poop bags at me know this: I like dogs. I've owned two in my lifetime. I think they rock. But did I suffer separation anxiety while I dined at a restaurant and Poopsy was at home? Hell to the No! Grow up people, you don't have to take your dog with you everywhere.

And don't get me started on service dogs. Ok, since we're onto service dogs…When I was coming up back in the day a typical service dog was a seeing-eye dog and usually a german shepherd breed. Now there are more breeds and I'm cool with that. But, today we have a new category in this great state and that is the 'emotional support dog'. This is a dog that is deemed to give it's owner emotional support often used when flying. Isn't it fair to say that if you love, or even like your dog that she gives you emotional support by definition? Well, it is fair to say that and it's that darn easy to get the papers and the vest for your k-9.

Need support? I got your back!

For a mere $49-$125 and a doctor's note claiming that one has a fear of flying just about anybody can acquire a 'support dog' certificate…and nifty vest to match. Just take a gander around you the next time you fly, it's becoming ridiculous. Under the ADA ( American Disability Act) sexy Stews (sorry I mean flight attendants) cannot question the validity of the dog's 'status'. This is cool as far as the disabled but as far as the 'emotional support dog' group…come on man. Not long ago I did a little survey while waiting in the baggage check line at LAX. Of the 11 people around my wife and I, 8 had dogs and 7 of those were blond women under age 35. This can only mean that although blonds have more fun they truly do…need support. The ADA further states that as long as the dog behaves any and all breeds are welcome. And the patron with the emotional support dog cannot be asked to leave if someone has an allergy to or fear of dogs. In other words, if little Timmy Timmington is scared of dogs not only out of a past traumatic dog bite but because he may go into a pet dander induced coma due to a severe dog allergy…oh well, sorry Timmy you'll have to catch another flight because hot Bianca the next up-and-coming twiggy Super-Model from Raykjavik needs her dog Sheena the Shih-Tzu on her lap at all times!

Sheena the Shih-Tzu

Once again I'm a dog guy. I'm just not a 'people-who-feel-their-doggie-needs-trump-everybody-else's kinda guy. I have a probable solution/ possible declaration. And that is: the day I fly and dogs on the plane equal the number of people I'm going to exercise my right to my emotional support. I'm going to head down to the animal shelter and rescue a three year old 130 lbs. male rottweiler. Then I'm going to book a round trip flight goin' anywhere but here (with frequent stops). Then I'm going to knit the dog an 'emotional support vest' (as I will have taken knitting in night school). I'll board my flight with my Rottweiler, Terminator with a thin fraying leash. Last, I'll work a slightly terrified look on my face. If anybody gives me doubting or nervous looks I'll simply state, "hey, this is a rescue thus making me hero. And he is my rock, my absolute emotional four legged support puppy. Come along Terminator try not to eat the other service dogs this time!"

I'm just playing folks, I wouldn't play my hand like that. But we are in a time where some people are taking their entitlement too far as they bask in their self-absorbed baths of narcissism. If you can't be away from your dog for more than 3 minutes it's not doggie support that you need, it's therapy. Why can't you be away from the little guy for that amount of time and why is it cool to disregard others that may have allergies, fears or just plain want to hang with other bipeds? And as far as my food chain; I need to accept that well…I'm no longer sipping mai tais at the top of it. That era has passed. There's just dogs on planes, restaurants, stores and every-damn-where else. It's going to be 2015 any minute now and as such, if the wife and I want to go for a burger and a beer we're going to have avoid stepping on doggie tails; accept battles for supremacy between competing dog breeds and work a pleasant smile onto our mugs when useless (not all) dog owners are uncertain as to how to exit a SoCal restaurant patio when Billy the boxer becomes afraid at the site of a single marauding attack-chihuahua. Be that as it may, I caution you K9 owners not to abuse this new found privilege in these new found ridiculous times. For, if you do, me, the wife and Terminator the Rottweiler (a.k.a. Termy the Rotty) might be visiting a patio or airplane near you!

I'm an emotional support dog, is there a problem here?

Uber Tales

I picked up two riders about two months ago not far from the USC campus. I'd put them both early 20's let's say 21. The caucasian guy was 5'9'' and thickly built with a buzz cut. His buddy was a black guy with a slender build that topped out at 6'1'' and had light brown dreadlocks to the shoulder.

The exact moment they slid into my car I was engulfed in a fog of heavy marijuana fumes. My mind turned to the nostalgic as I remembered my days when I occasionally bumped up against those who partook in…ahem, weed…ahem.

"What's up fellas?" I ask.

"Not much how are you sir?" Dreadlocks asks.

"I'm good. Where're you guys headed?'

Buzz Cut pipes in, "We're only going like three fuckin' blocks." This was followed by his stoner's laugh.

"That's not true dude," Drealock adds. "It's more like three miles so there's like no way we could walk that shit," he giggles.

"Cool," I say and ease into traffic. They'd entered their destination through the Uber app and as it turned out they were going closer to three miles than three blocks. The lads exchanged low voiced anecdotes about 'this chick and that one' and 'this weed and that bud'. Giggling was in abundance as was plenty of back and forth insults which they found hilarious.

I joined in after one of Dreadlock's ridiculous ribs to his buddy. This caused them to relax and engage me in their conversation. Obviously my laughter appeased any thoughts they may have had about me being a narc or worse…a square.

We're only going like 3 blocks...

"…see dude even the fuckin' Uber dude thinks its funny."

At that point the three of us were close to belly laughing. I don't know if I was basking in memories of old or I was stoned due to proximity…a contact high if you will. Gradually the conversation moved from chicks and weed to booze. Things really got rolling when Buzz Cut offered Dreadlocks and I a powerful and heartfelt political theorem.

"Dude, straight up, if I was in Washington at the White House or whatever--"

"What do you mean 'or whatever' you're either in the White House or your not dumbass. How did you get into college anyway?" (more laughter)

"Shut up dude, let me finish. Ok so if I was in power I'd change the drinking age to like fuckin' 18."

"Why?" Dreadlocks asks.

I continuously checked Buzz Cut in my rearview mirror as it was hilarious to watch his face contort in an effort to focus on defending his thesis.

"Why? Because the drinking age of 21 is unsafe."

"Unsafe?" Dreadlocks and I say in unison…which brought more laughs.

"Yeah its totally unsafe. Look imagine like you're a kid and you're like 18 so ya pretty much have to get drunk because you're a kid who's 18, right?"

"Right," we agree in laughter.

"Right so you're 18 and drunk in public because ya can't stay home all the time--so you're drunk and funkin' 18--"

"We know dumbass-get to the unsafe part," Dreadlock pleads.

"I'm trying but you fuckin' guys keep interrupting me!"

I hadn't realized that I was a 'fuckin guy' that interrupts. By this time I had tears running down my cheeks; and I was happy that traffic was at a near standstill because I didn't want this 'high' to end. Plus I had to know about California's unsafe drinking age of 21 and over.

"Ok," he continues. "So, you're drunk and 18 and then a cop shows up and this kid is drunk so the cop is like 'dude, I'm not trying to be a dick but I've totally go to fuckin' arrest you…cause you're like 18 and fuckin' drunk and shit."

I'm not tyring to be a dick..

Dreadlocks and I lose it. Buzz Cut joins in the laughter but every now and again asks us 'what's so fuckin' funny?' until finally he says, "fuck you guys."

After the laughter subsides Dreadlocks asks, "Seriously dude, that is why the drinking age is unsafe? You're hilarious dude!"

"What? Driver, sorry, Mr. Driver you agree with me right? right?"

(**Mr. Driver)

"Yes, I agree, " I said. "The drinking age should be 18 otherwise a cop's totally going to fuckin' arrest you." I wasn't able to say the whole sentence without laughing. Nevertheless Buzz Cut jumped up and down in his seat shouting, "See! See!" Thesis defended!

Two minutes later I pulled to the curb. The two buddies remained in their seats. Finally, I let them know that we'd arrived at their destination.

"Oh, shit I forgot we were even going anywhere," says Buzz Cut. "I thought we were just fuckin' driving around with you--fuck."

With another huge round of laughs the two lads tumbled out of my car. I was still laughing as I eased back into traffic. For the previous 15 minutes I felt as though I was 21 years old and stoned with my two best friends. In that time I went from Uber Dude, to Fuckin' Guy, to finally, Mr. Driver. I slid into a Chevron station bought a bag of chips, leaned against my car and tore the bag open. I chcuckled from time to time at the memory of the ride. Half way through the chip bag I laughed a little heartier thinking that maybe I did have a contact high; for what does one do when one is stoned and gets the munchies?…he buys himself a bag of chips!

RUSH…Yesterday and Today

"Rush is Canada's greatest rock band ever!" I remember believing that to be the gospel truth when I was in high school. Today is Frontman and bassist Geddy Lee's birthday. He's 61 years young. The power trio were forged from the slate of progressive rock in 1968. The beginning was a struggle for these guys. In fact they nearly hung up their prog-rock axes and sticks in 1974 until thunderous drummer and amazing lyricist Neil Peart replaced drummer John Rutsey. The band have never looked back…almost. More on the 'almost' shortly but first…

I was in the 10th grade in 1982 and September of that year was the first time that I had the awesome privilege of seeing Rush live. I can't exactly remember how I was able to go by myself but 'go it alone, I did'. More than likely I told my parents that a buddy's parents were taking us. We did what we had to do in those days to get our asses to concerts. There was not a huge Rush following in my circle of friends and certainly none of which were girls. I'd taken the bus to the Pacific Coliseum hundreds of times so transportation was locked. Next I needed the gear, I needed; the look. Rush was considered hard rock (and later progressive rock). This meant my look had to be tough. There were going to be a lot of tough guys at the show and most of them older than me. The right look was not only meant to help me blend in but was also meant to ward off bullies or 'pricks' if you will. It's simple anthropology people.

Where to start? Jeans and boots, preferably steel toed was a given. A jean jacket would be cool and totally acceptable but I wanted to add size to my grade 10 frame. Luckily I owned what we used to call a mack jacket; commonly known as the lumber jack jacket. At the time there were 3 distinct ways of donning the 'kick ass' apparel.

1. Wear jacket as is…with boots and well-weathered jeans

newer version of the 'mack', original had tough-guy buttons

2. Cut the sleeves of said jacket
3. Cut sleeves off jacket and wear over a denim jean jacket

I opted to go with the 'mack' as is and blended in just fine with the 12,000 other die hard Rush fans. Where I did not blend was ethnicity. In short I was the only black cat in a mack jacket in the joint. Alas, we were all fans of Canada's greatest band ever and it never became an issue. At one point as I was making my way to the stage (you never stayed in your assigned seat in those days unless you were a loser) I bumped into a girl about my age with a rockin' body that wouldn't quit. I can safely say that if I was the only 'brother' at that show, she was definitely the only girl at that show. We stopped and stared at each other briefly before smiling.

She gave me a hug and said, "what are you doing here?"

"I love Rush what are you doing here?" I laughed enjoying the hug and the smell of her hair.

"I love Rush too!" We both laughed and told each other to enjoy the show. She moved away from the stage and I toward. I heard the guy she was with ask who I was. She responded that I was a black guy into Rush and wasn't that the coolest. Although our time was brief I shall never forget my Rush girlfriend. We were kindred minorities who shared a tender moment as passing ships in a tempestuous yet magnificent sea of hard rock, pot and fleecy plaid.

Eventually I made it to the front row. As a group or perhaps gang it was somehow decided that we'd stand on the backs of the metal folding chairs. We were slightly in luck as the chairs were locked together at the legs so all we had to do was balance. We did this by linking arms standing shoulder to shoulder. But, like any dominoes wall when one portion of the human wall began to teeter so went the entire human chain. When this happened we usually fell backward into the row behind us. We'd scramble to get up and quickly rebuild the wall. Believe me when I tell you if you haven't been part of a human rock n' roll wall at a Rush concert…you have not yet lived. I'm happy to report that during the two hour plus, show our rock line tumbled a mere 49 times. It was outstanding and for the record there is

nary a deeper bond that strangers can share.

Returning to my 'Rush almost never looked back' comment from paragraph one. The band is still on fire to this day but where forced to take a couple-year hiatus when tragic news befell Neil Peart. In the course of a year Neil lost his college aged daughter to a car accident and later his wife who died of a broken heart at the loss. Understandably Neil called it quits and not just from the band but from drumming…music altogether. He locked up his home, hopped on his motorcycle and rode from Toronto to Alaska, down to Mexico and then some. Bandmates Geddy and Alex also devastated by the events were also done with Rush. They would not replace Neil. In fact, Alex barely touched his guitar for a year. Neil wrote an amazing book of his tragic journey/ road to recovery entitled: Ghost Rider...Travels On The Healing Road. I highly recommend it.

The pieces now firmly back together Rush is rocking harder than ever. As a kid Neil was one of my top 3 drumming influences and reading his book helps push me to keep pen to paper. The trio bring nothing but the pure rock; no auto tuning, no ghost studio players, no B.S. just the raw rock that has changed the lives of millions of people for over 45 years. I've seen them close to 20 times since that rip roarin'-bone crushing-body tumbling-minority bonding-coming of rock age-explosive concert in 1982. Thanks for the music and memories Rush--happy birthday Geddy Lee! You guys are still the best!

Man Scorned: Halle Berry Must Pay

I love Tasty Blogs!

Actress Halle Berry has been ordered by Superior Court Judge Scott Gordon to pay fashion model ex-husband Gabriel Aubry 16K a month in child support. Ah, to be a celebrity child. But wait a minute, I thought it took a village to raise a child. Who knew it actually takes a disgruntled, bitter ex-hubby to go after a financially loaded ex-wife.

Upon hearing of the payout my immediate question, which was no doubt similar to yours was this: what does this child do that warrants 16K every 30 days, give or take? I sincerely hope that the lawyer for the pose-y model didn't utter the words, "…the child must be allowed to maintain the lifestyle that she's accustomed." Dude, she's 6 years old! Are her Sippy cups made from platinum? Are her 'Hello Kitty' lunch bags hand made by Louis Vuitton? Are her jump ropes made from Italian cashmere and hand crafted by Donatella Versace?

To compare salaries between the divorcees; Halle Berry allegedly made 4.7 million dollars in 2013 while Fashion model or 'Print-Poser' Gabriel Aubry allegedly brought in 192K in the same year. Disparity? Sure, but this is not alimony this is child support. Halle must also pay Aubry 300K in legal fees and continue to pay the full amount of the child's private school tuition. Add to this Halle must pay 115K retroactively seeing as they battled it out for so long. (They were married in 2005 and called it quits in 2010). Last, I dare not forget that Halle must pay the 16K/ month until the child graduates from high school or reaches age 19 which ever comes first. (By the way the custody is 'joint custody')

Quick Math:

16K x 12 months= 192K (1 year)
192K x 13 years= 2,496,000 (13 years until the child hits 19)

You might be saying 'what's 2.5 million over 13 years when she made 4.7 million in one year?'. You might be saying that but I'm still asking what the kid needs the dough for especially when she'll be in mommy's care half the time.

The Back Story:

F.Y.I. there's always a back story. This legal battle is actually about a man-scorned. In 2012 Halle's current hubby actor Olivier Martinez mixed it up with model Gabriel Aubry. (Sounds like a bad movie doesn't it?) Anyway, the ex and the current engaged in a 'dust up' where Olivier beat the crap out of Aubry and sent him to the E.R.

Ya win some...

Olivier's father Robert Olivier Martinez was a professional boxer. Guess what pugilistic art dear old dad passed on to junior? Sorry Aubry but part of picking one's battles should always include knowing who one is about to do battle with. Ok, so Gabriel Aubry got his butt kicked. He should have gone home (after the hospital stay) and done one of two things: either rest up and challenge Martinez to a rematch or dusted himself off and moved on.  That's how a man would have done things in my day but a boy or perhaps Zoolander-esque male model would have felt wronged. He'd cry, 'no fair!' or 'the injustice!' and 'Oweeeee!' But Aubry sought out a lawyer and alas a third option materialized: go for the monetary jugular.

No doubt the hand wringing Hollywood lawyer was more than happy to take the battered print model's case. I'm sure as  the lawyer sat behind the big desk listening to the sweet sound of his money-counter he exclaimed, "...Never mind the assault charge Aubry we'll go for the high buck child support. You'll be sittin' pretty in no time. Stick with me kid and you'll never have to pout for those testy shutterbugs ever again!"

At the end of the day this could be referred to as a 'win-win'. Halle claims that she's fine with the result and just happy to move on and live her life with a tough guy. (I'm paraphrasing a tad on the last bit). And Aubry the 'I-shall-not-be-wronged modeling pretty-man' has a few extra ducats in his pocket…all of which will naturally go to the raising of his lovely daughter. So, no harm--other than the total beat down of ass kicking pugilistic shit kickery; no foul.

the money's in child support Bub