Where No Man Has Gone Before (My Physical)

The late Lewis Grizzard used to differentiate between being naked and being nekkid. Naked, he said, meant you had no clothes on. Being nekkid meant you had no clothes on and were up to something.

It made for a cute saying, but it ain’t true. You can be naked anywhere, but if you live in the South, and you are not wearing clothes, you’re nekkid. It’s just the way most of us say that word.

So here I am. Nekkid. And for some reason, my doctor has chosen this moment to expound on his son’s college education. Being naked in a doctor’s office means one thing: my annual physical.

So here is a soft-in-the-middle, slowly-balding, pasty white guy just standing there with no clothes on, trying to pretend I’m not uncomfortable while he talks about the cost of education, housing, etc.

I can’t get dressed. There are a couple of things left for him to do that require my nakedness. I once suggested that he let my wife administer the testicular cancer exam. He didn’t go for that.

Frankly, my wife didn’t care for that idea, either.

My physical is otherwise going well. I’m a healthy dude. Sort of. When something goes wrong, I tend to go big: colon cancer, heart disease. Otherwise, my numbers are typically quite good: cholesterol, sugars, heart rate, blood pressure. This visit is no exception.

The doctor is pleased, though he casts a skeptical eye my way as he tells me my liver numbers are perfect. It’s almost as though he suspects I slipped somebody else’s blood in for the screening. Score one for drinking the good stuff, I say.

I am starting to get a little anxious. There’s only one procedure left, and it’s the part I dread the most. In fact, I went so far as to tell my doctor that insurance no longer covers it.

He is unfazed. “Then this will be pro bono,” he says as he puts on the rubber gloves.

I used to complain about this part of the exam when I got home. Apparently, women have their own challenges when it comes to being examined. “Cry me a river,” she said. Believe me, if I thought it would get me out of this, I would.

There’s a lot of science I don’t understand. By pushing a button on my phone, I can ask my cell phone the time, date, stock prices, kickoff time for my favorite team, and what started World War II. Why can’t it tell me how my prostate is?

I ask my doctor that. He agrees it would be helpful but suggests that’s probably not a place I want my cell phone to be.

That’s a really good point.

Facing The Music

There’s something about musicians. We treat them differently. The sins of musicians seem exempt from the scorn and contempt that is heaped upon every day folk, and especially, politicians.

Consider the case of Jared Fogle, the seemingly wholesome (former) Subway pitchman. Jared and his boyish face became an advertising fixture with his claim that he lost gobs of weight eating Subway sandwiches. One day, we wake up to hear that ol’ Jared has some issues.

Subway has fired him, and some rather serious federal charges are still pending.

Those charges – including - possession of inappropriate material involving children – seem to merit his dismissal, but I can’t help thinking, would it be different if he was a musician?

There seems to be compelling evidence that Michael Jackson had at least one inappropriate relationship with a child. Yet, we still play his songs on the radio. Marching bands perform grand choreography while playing his songs at halftime. Indeed, there is still demand for his tunes in advertisements. Michael Jackson is revered as one of the greatest of a generation. Why do we choose not to hold his past against him?

Gary Glitter, same thing. Gary Glitter’s song, “Rock and Roll Part 2” is alive and well at sporting arenas across the U.S. and Canada. You may know it as the song where you shout “Hey!” every so often. Bands love to play it, and loudspeakers blare it to keep the crowds amped up.

Gary Glitter has been convicted and served time for sex crimes. And there are additional similar charges against him even now. Yet, even my beloved University of Georgia still pumps out that song he co-wrote back in the 70s. Billboard magazine estimates that the song still earns around $250,000 a year in royalties, almost all of it from sports venues.

Every problem involving a musician is not pedophilia, of course. And granted, all crimes are not equal. Paul McCartney was arrested in 1980 for bringing weed into Japan. He spent eight nights in jail for that. These days, most of us don’t think marijuana possession should be a crime, so that seems pretty easy to blow off.

George Michael. Arrested for both drugs and “engaging in a lewd act” (albeit with an adult). The drug was pot, and he claims the other charge was the result of being lured in by an undercover police sting. Do we care? Nah. He may not really be our “Father Figure”, but we know all the words to the song.

James Brown. Arrested several times: theft, drugs, assaulting a cop, resisting arrest. Spent time in jail at least twice. We have no problem playing his classic songs. His arrests are viewed now as just part of his persona.

‘Musicians that have been arrested’ is an interesting Google search to kill some time. Justin Bieber, Merle Haggard, Rick James, Ozzy Osborne, David Crosby, Lil’ Kim, Peter Yarrow, Bobby Brown, Kid Rock, Rick James, Phil Spector… the charges run from peeing in public to murder.

Jim Morrison, front man for The Doors, was arrested five times. At least one of the charges was for dropping the F-bomb on stage. That right there is public obscenity, my friends. Or at least that was the charge. I’m trying to imagine a rock concert now without the F-bomb.

Dying appears to help your cause. James Brown, yeah, he had some issues but, man, could he sing. And bust a move! Jim Morrison was a drunk. In death, he is a rock god.

How about Rick James? Forget the draft dodging, kidnapping, and crack-piping. He’s the king of punk funk, dude. Somebody put on “Super Freak” and let’s turn this place out!

So poor ol’ Jared will live in our memories as a guy who rose to stardom for eating fresh and losing weight, then crashing and burning in the shame of the charges he now faces. Can’t help but wonder if it would be different if he had a few hits songs under his belt.

My Press Conference (I Did Not Inhale!)

Thanks for coming to this debriefing on my west coast trip. Some of you are not real journalists, so I’ll start by calling only on credible reporters. Brian?

Brian Williams: Is this your first west coast trip?

Me: No.

Brian Williams: What was different this time?

Me: Weed is legal up and down the west coast. That’s two questions from you. Next?

Dan Rather: Cannabis is only legal in California for medicinal purposes, you know.

Me: True. But from what I observed, 98% of the state’s population suffers from glaucoma.

Maury Povich: Do you have any past relationship with cannabis?

Me: To quote a great American, Lamar Odum, “there’s a lot I don’t remember.” You with the double-wide, you have a question?

Kim Kardashian: Why are the Doobie Brothers called the Doobie Brothers? They aren’t brothers and none of them are named Doobie.

Me: Umm, are there no other ‘real’ journalists here? Go ahead, mustache…

Geraldo Rivera: Since recreational pot is legal in Washington and Oregon, did you buy any?

Me: To paraphrase a great American, Bill Clinton, I went into the store, but I did not buy.

Hillary Clinton: My husband is a liar!

Me: That’s not a question. You, with the cool hair…

Snoop Dogg: I once whizzled on a tizzle in a drizzle.

Me: Fo’ rizzle?

Snoop: Fo’ shizzle, my pizzle.

Me: Next? You back there playing with your tongue…

Miley Cyrus: Back, like, when I was, like, a little girl, my daddy, Billy Ray – did you know my daddy was Billy Ray? Anyway, like, Billy Ray would sing this song to me called, like, Puff The Magic Dragon, and like, it was all cute and whatever. But I got to thinking about it a few years ago, and like, I’m wondering if I should tell him it’s not really, like, a kid’s song or whatever.

Me: I wouldn’t. It would break his achy hea…

Miley: Stop! Like, don’t even! Like, I hate that ******* song!

Me: I miss Hannah Montana. She didn’t have a potty mouth.

Miley: Hey, I offered to keep doing the show, like, if they would let me, like, evolve as a character. Like, changing my name to Hannah Colorado or whatever. That way, I could, like, do grown-up stuff and whatever.

Me: And move in with John Denver.

Miley: Who’s that?

Me: You know, Rocky Mountain High?

Miley: Exactly! Duh!

Kim Kardashian: Can I ask another question? My mom used to listen to this Paul Simon song about when he stepped outside and smoked himself a ‘j’. Does that mean he smoked with Jay Leno? Because Ray J wasn’t alive then, I don’t think.

Me: Anyone else?  You, homeless guy in the back…

Willie Nelson: My tour bus is outside. What say we get outta here and go for a ride.

Me: Got Doritos?

Willie: Bags.

Kim Kardashian: Hey, wait! Before you go, let ask you something. When Kanye says he’s going to roll a fatty, where’s he rolling me to?

Me: Thanks for coming, everybody!