Imaginary Guns and Real Bullets

I’m pressed up against a wall, waiting.  Hunting.  The gun I’m holding is inches from my nose, my two hands folded as if I’m praying.  My enemy, James Lyons, is around the corner, and I’m about to spring as soon as he comes into view.  I’m secret agent John Lennon, and besides making the greatest music ever, I also work for the government, saving the world.  Yesterday, I was Captain Kirk.  I’m 12 years old at 6th grade recess, the gun is imaginary, but I did actually save the world.  (Things are still going on, right?  You’re welcome.)  Let me tell you a little something not about myself:  I am not a gun advocate, a gun owner or (liberal alert) a gun tolerator.  I am a Tarantino film-lover, but that’s about the extent of it.  I m also not the rhythm guitarist/vocalist/composer for the greatest band ever.  I was never a starship captain,… Read More…

5 Beatles Covers That Are Better Than the Original

This post is gonna offend people.  But it shouldn’t.  People are really sensitive about their media. People are especially sensitive about remakes, covers, books that are made into movies and special editions. For a lot of us, the first version of a song or a story we hear is THE version of that song or story, and anyone who tried to do it again, well, it’s just not as good. The word remake, especially in the cinematic universe, is often a four letter word. Especially these days, when we’ve got remakes of “Poltergeist” coming out. Why do we need to remake movies that are already so good? I mean, I’m with you people on that. We don’t need a remake of “All the President’s Men” or “Dog Day Afternoon”. That’s why Hollywood has come up with the term “reboot”. Reboots are suppose to be film franchises that restart in a… Read More…

Paper Route Days & The Creepy Underwear-Man Under the Stairs

Kids with paper routes didn’t make it past the eighties.  And probably odd guys like The Grouch didn’t help matters… *** I don’t have high hopes for my first encounter at the Pearly Gates… “Let’s see…Walsh…Walsh…” as  St. Pete examines his pearl-handled clipboard.  ”You’re not Kevin Walsh, are you?” “Yeah.” “Not the one from Clawson?” “Um…yeah.” He shakes his head and grabs the lever.  ”You had to go there, didn’t you?” Knowing exactly what he’s referring to, I feel the floor suddenly give way. *** This evening, at the age of 48, I was a little nervous looking down these stairs, through the apartment lobby window, snapping a quick photo with my phone. That’s where The Grouch lay in wait every morning for four years of my life, just under the stairs on the left, like a troll–365 days a year. ** On warm muggy nights like this evening, I… Read More…