RIP Prince & and which rock superstar will deserve resurrection

(804 words)

I’m convinced we’re nearing a day when our collective grieving over dead rockers will be so majestic God will respond by restoring in whole to us the deceased superstar.

I’m thinking it’ll maybe happen with Jimmy Buffett.

Or not.

I was surprised by the death of Prince.

I can’t say I was sad. It’s not like he died owing me money.

Die owing me $20 or more is a way to ensure I’ll show up at your funeral wailing over the loss, stopping only long enough to pester your widow/widower to square things.

With Prince, I was what I categorize as “an admirer, not a patron.” I’d never bought a single record, nor paid to see any Prince shows or movies.

But his greatness was apparent, never more so than when I saw in 2004 the Rock ’n’ Roll HOF clip of him soloing on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” It was during a George Harrison tribute with a band that featured Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, Stevie Winwood and Harrison’s lithe son Dani, an exact ringer for his old man (my favorite Beatle, but only my fourth favorite Wilbury).

It’s incredible. Prince is joyfully showing off like he’s auditioning to be Petty’s lead guitarist.

My favorite part is watching Dani’s reaction. He’s playing rhythm guitar with an attitude I’d call workmanlike: no facial expressions. Then Prince comes on and Dani lights up.

This son of rock royalty is acts like he’s never seen anyone play guitar like that before. There’s a reason for that.

He hasn’t.

No one has.

So Prince was a genius.

But was he popular?

You’d certainly think so from the weekend’s media reaction.

He did a great job at the 2007 Super Bowl, but in spite of all the grieving how many people saw a Prince show?

Mass popularity isn’t the surest indicator of true greatness — and to that this unheralded blogger says, “Whew!” — but it’s the only indicator we have of cultural relevance.

The answer is not many.

In the four decades of performing, he’s never once been one of the Top 20 grossing acts.

These lists include some unlikely candidates like Taylor Swift, New Kids on the Block, Britney Spears, Justin Bieber and, ah, Cher.

My point again isn’t to assess artistic excellence.

I’m merely wondering, gee, if this is how we’re going to grieve for Prince what will the reaction be like when Mick Jagger, Petty, Paul McCartney, Elton John, Roger Waters or, yes, even Jimmy Buffett succumbs to the inevitable.

Because all the great and beloved rockers — by every measure superstars — are in or near their 70s and will one day die.

It’s bound to happen to everyone.

Well, everyone but Keith Richards.

It’s going to happen to Ringo.

I wish no ill on anyone, but I admit to praying for the sake of our collective cool that Ringo doesn’t one day become the last surviving Beatle.

It’ll be big news, too, when Stones drummer Charlie Watts dies. Many fans will be bereft, memorials will be erected, tributes aired and many tears shed.

And he’s just the drummer!

Mick’s death will be monumental, as will McCartney’s.

Remember, in just the past four months besides Prince we’ve collectively mourned Glenn Frey and David Bowie.

In fact, it’s fair to look at all these deaths as warm-up acts.

When the classic rock superstars begin to fall, our grief escalation is going to soar up the charts.

That’s why I believe God will one day see our suffering is so great He’ll take action.

He’ll see humanity so absorbed in mourning His heart will be moved.

The clouds will part, a D-major chord will be struck and on the third day rock will be restored.

Who’ll it be?

I say it’ll be Bruce Springsteen.

Really, if this many people are this beside themselves over the death of Prince, what’s it going to be like when Springsteen dies?

I know.

We will be unable to function. We will wallow in grief. The world will cease to spin.

God will be moved to act.

He’ll resurrect Springsteen.

The only ones happier than his fans will be the greedy bastards who set golden circle prices at TicketMaster.

It’ll be neat, too, because he can call his first post-Lazarus album “The Rising (and this time it’s literal!).”

Springsteen will be most worthy of resurrection because he’s exceptional even among the greatest.  He cares about his fans, area foodbanks, up-and-coming artists and even who gets to use the public restrooms in North Carolina.

So get ready for the day when our mourning will really mean something.

I’m convinced we can together grieve so hysterically the Almighty will resurrect The Boss.

And he can bring Clarence back with him!

Baby, they’ll be born to re-run.

Related …

The Boss for God: an ’09 concert review

Reacting to our celebrity death epidemic

John Lennon & songs for dead celebs

9th graders learn who’s better: Stones or Beatles?

Petty wants me to buy vinyl & who’s better: him or Springsteen?

Listening to classic rock with senile Mom

Rev. Rodell today addressing teacher retirees

(676 words)

I’ll be speaking in about four hours to 50 members of the retired Westmoreland County teachers association happy the whole time they aren’t the retired Allegheny County teachers association.

I’d hate the thought of Mr. Hardoby or one of my other old grade school teachers interrupting my presentation to heckle.

It’d be ruinous to be segueing into a poignant story about my grandfather and having old man Hardoby mock, “The farmer’s in the booger barn! The farmer’s in the booger barn!”

It’s what he’d yell whenever he’d bust me or one of the second grade boys picking our noses.

I had mostly good relations with my teachers. I think it’s cause I played a lot of hookie.

Teachers expressed their gratitude by passing me when even when I didn’t deserve it. They moved me around just to get me out of their hair.

As a student, I was never gifted.

More like re-gifted.

This is the third time in 10 months the meeting organizer’s hired me to uplift and entertain one of her groups.

If this dear woman worked for, say, Coca-Cola I’d be one of the busiest and best compensated speakers in America.

Oh, well. Gotta start somewhere. Today that means Ferrante’s Lakeview Banquet Facility near Greensburg. 

So right now I’m trying to fulfill my senseless need to blog and weigh which lines are too ribald for a group of retiree teachers.

Should I tell off-color jokes? Swear? Titillate?

Oh, hell, yes!

They’ll get the full funny. That means I’ll start off by insinuating I’m a dickhead.

That’s the unspoken punchline about one of the opening remarks that declares “Use All The Crayons!” asks all the important questions.

Why are we here? Where do we go when we die? What is the meaning of life?

That puts everyone practically to sleep, which is just where I want them to be when I blast them with an electrifying jolt of off-color humor.

“And it also asks questions more important to me like, “If fans of the Grateful Dead are called Deadheads, what does that make those of us who revere the novel ‘Moby-Dick?’”

I didn’t tell that one last time I was at Lakeview for reasons that will be immediately apparent.

A local church was having an anniversary gala and asked me to come enjoy service with them followed by lunch and a series of devotional speakers capped by me. All told, my involvement lasted 6 hours.

It was the most time I’d spent with my head bowed since that day at the intramural softball fields at Ohio University when my contact lenses popped out.

The people there — about 125 — were all so nice, so good, so reverent. Of course, I felt out of place.

Plus, Val was there right beside me on the dais and that always makes me incredibly nervous. She’s never done it and likely never will, but I have tremendous fear she’ll begin to refute with family facts all the times I say, gee, being broke for long years at a stretch ain’t so bad.

So I had that going on to my right.

On my left were church hierarchy that included the pastor and the all-high bishop for the entire district.

So when I jokingly told the story about how I make my life more colorful by pretending to be a Reverend to get the clergy discount, I smiled over at him seeking jocular reassurance.

There was none.

In fact, the guy was glowering, like he was going to take a holy phone and text Lucifer a four-word directive: “Prepare for Chris Rodell.”

He looked truly pissed.

I don’t know what the big deal was.

I wouldn’t care if a bishop wanted to pretend he was a blogger.

So I’m looking forward to being back at Lakeview and am confident it’ll go well.

How could it go otherwise?

At the very least a lot of retired educators will say they’d been entertained by maybe the world’s No. 1 fan of the book “Moby-Dick.”

Related . . .

Fraudulent address labels paying off for Rev. Rodell

The Rabbi is in (my fourth post ever ’08!)

I cure hangovers

My compliments: My day with the PR&LA

On the road again: My day-long tour of western Pa. Rotarian groups

Puzzles I love & the day I met the puzzling Courtney Love in rehab

(1,081 words)

I still think of Courtney Love any time I’m doing a puzzle. I was doing one when we met.

It was July 1996 and I tell the story now because I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations for my crimes that day have expired. 

It was in the rec room at the what was then known as the Chit Chat Treatment Center in Wernersville, Pennsylvania. The puzzle was a big, red covered bridge. I remember I’d made communal contributions by assembling an important chunk of the rippling blue stream running beneath the structure.

She’d been ordered to seek help there by producers of  “The People vs. Larry Flynt.” She was addicted to heroin and her drug-addled antics were disrupting the film for which she eventually earned many accolades.

I’d been ordered there because I was at the time freelancing for National Enquirer and I was the nearest reliable nut-job who had a chance of getting the story.

I remember the call: “We have a source who has a son in treatment and he says Courtney Love is there. We need you to get right out there and verify she’s being treated.”

So, I asked, you want me to check into rehab?

“Oh, no,” he said. “That is illegal. We’d never ask you to do anything illegal. And if we were ever called into a court of law and charged with asking you to do so, we would deny it.”

What he was saying was, “This is your mission. If you are caught or killed during its execution we will deny any and all knowledge of your existence.”

So with a big fat Enquirer expense account I went up there and checked into a little motel. I walked to a nearby dive bar and proceeded to splurge it all getting all gooned up with the friendly locals.

I wanted to look like I really needed rehab.

I think what cinched it was the next day and my belief I really needed to look downtrodden. I needed to step up my game to step down my appearance.

And here’s one of the reasons I cite when people ask what made me excel as an Enquirer reporter:

I decided to drive on this scorching July day with the windows up and the heater on full blast.

Looking hangover wasn’t enough. I needed to look both hangover and glazed.

It did the trick.

I parked my old Saturn Coupe very conspicuously. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted someone to come and say, ah, here’s some human wreckage we can save.

But nothing happened. I may have appeared beyond saving.

Remember, my assignment was just to confirm she was there. I found a porch where about 30 patients were milling about. I didn’t see her there.

One by one, counselors came and called each of those patients in for treatment and  eventually I was all alone again. What to do? I went inside and found my way to the community rec room.

Understand, I was very nervous. I could have been arrested for trespassing and who knows what else. My idea was to just bide my time and prove to my editors I did the best I could.

I sat down at the big table and began working on the puzzle. It felt therapeutic even for me.

Then into the room walks this impossibly thin woman with a ribbon of four-leaf clovers surrounding her ankle.

It was Courtney Love.

And, yikes, she was with a counselor who was saying, “You have to be alert to any strangers. We know reporters are trying to get in here and talk to you. If you see anyone you don’t know come and get one of us right away.”

I’d wanted to appear glazed. Now it seemed I was invisible.

It was an eerie experience to be so close to being busted and realizing it wasn’t going to happen.

I pushed away from the puzzle and followed the pair onto the porch. 

The counselor split. Off, I guess, to chase more ghosts. Courtney sat in an adirondack chair.

I turned to face her — she has beautiful blue eyes — and asked, “Do they help people here?”

And off she went. She must have talked for 15 minutes. She told me she was worried about orphaning her daughter so she wanted to get clean. She told me about her struggles and her dreams.

In fact, she wouldn’t shut the hell up. I think my five-word question was the extent of my conversational contribution.

I don’t know whether she was becoming suspicious or if she really wanted to help me, but she said, “Wait right here!” And she took off.

So did I.

I got the hell out of there hoping I wouldn’t be followed.

From a safe distance, I called my editor and told him I’d scored an in-rehab interview with Courtney Love. He said, “That’s great! What do the pictures look like?"

Gotta love The Enquirer. Always raising the bar.

It’s funny, but I’m starting to think more about Jim Mellett than Courtney Love when I’m doing a puzzle, which is often.

Jim’s a popular Pittsburgh illustrator who for 20 years has done artwork for White Mountain Puzzles. He’s done more than 40 distinctive puzzles and each is something to cherish.

He told me he is assigned the topic, does the research, a sketch and then redraws the whole image on an illustration board before the final painting is done.

He loves what he does.

“The best part is getting comments from friends and especially customers who track me down and send me emails,” he said. “ Many times they are asking about someone or something they don't recognize, but many times they are just contacting me to tell me how much they enjoyed the puzzle.”

His joyful avocation makes me wish I was still doing stories about everyday people doing interesting jobs.

He sent us two of them — “Broadway Musicals” and “Television Families” each are 1,000-piece jumbos. Very intricate.

The “Broadway” one is now consuming our dining room table.

There’s something irresistible about building a puzzle. The nice part, too, is it’s cutting back on the TV time.

For me, doing puzzles is a reminder of how to solve any difficult problem: remove emotion and just apply logic.

The pieces are all there. They fit and when you’re done — voila! — it all makes perfect sense.

It’s just a matter of puzzling it all out.

I wonder if Courtney’s ever thought of trying it that way.

Related . . .

Stolen Valor and my pretend life

Long live National Enquirer

My Enquirer ethics

What happened when I spent 72 hours handcuffed to Val

My night with Julia Roberts

How to review "Last Baby Boomer" on amazon (& 14 by those who've praised it)

(606 words)

First of all, you need to buy and read the book.

That’s an obvious prerequisite.

Or is it?

I could give or barter you a copy. Amazon distinguishes those who’ve bought it from them with a “Verified Purchase” notation.

It offers no further designations. It doesn’t say, for instance, “Chris traded a copy of his book for two free puzzles.” Which, in fact, I did. I’m old buddies with beloved Pittsburgh illustrator Jim Mellett of White Mountain Puzzles.

He was kind enough to inquire about obtaining the book and we wound up agreeing on a friendly exchange. 

And, man, I shrewdly got the better end of that deal. The whole family is enjoying assembling a Mellett Broadway tribute puzzle on the dining room table — and it’s ours forever. The IRS can’t touch it.

I’m gleeful anytime I can swap a book for something that’s completely off the books.

I intend to write about the joy of puzzles tomorrow. 

Or you could shoplift. Amazon won’t know.

I once had a bold woman, a fellow author, shoplift a copy from me when we were both doing a book signing at an Akron Barnes & Noble. She was taken with my “Use All The Crayons!” and proposed a trade, my self-improvement book for hers.

Hers didn’t appeal to me, but the situation spared me from the need to be rude.

“Afraid we can’t do that,” I said. “These aren’t our copies. These are store stock.”

Yet, she was undeterred. As she prepared to leave she stopped by my table for parting salutations. We shared friendly sentiments and then, just like that, she picked up a copy of my book and scooted out the door.

I so admired her audacity, I didn’t think to yank the fire alarm or heave a day-old biscotti at her head.

In the end, I did nothing.

The crayons book, in fact, has many elements about righteous living so maybe she changed her larcenous ways. But who knows? Maybe she ignored those parts and embraced only the items that talk about how much fun it is to get drunk with friends.

We’ll never know.

Any fair review does requires you at least read the book.

I’m joking!

I’m one of those authors with zero interest in “fair” reviews, preferring just favorable reviews.

So if you’re adept at immoral misbehavior, you’re among my ideal readers. It’d help if you’re good at computer hacking.

I’d love someone to sign onto amazon and say they’re Oprah Winfrey and they “Love! Love! Love! ‘The Last Baby Boomer!’”

I’d have to think that’d spike sales.

My book’s earned 10 actual reviews in the past month. I think that’s pretty good for a self-published book that started off with no word of mouth and even less marketing.

They say reviews help sales.

Whether or not they do, I know for sure they at least help me.

I cherish each one. It helps that they all gush (10 of the 14 are five stars; the remainder 4).

I ask everyone who reads it to please post a review. And you can be honest.

It can be as simple as: “I liked this book!”

Or you can elaborate in quirky ways: “I liked this book. It smells nice!”

I think some people feel pressure to be clever and that they’ll be judged badly if they write something stupid.

I know the feeling. Why do you think it took me 15 years to publish the stupid thing?

I guess what I’m trying to say is if you like the book, shout it to the whole world.

And if you don’t, please just keep it to yourself.

Here are the blurb summaries of “Last Baby Boomer” amazon reviews . . .

• Hilarious satire, absurd humor that pokes fun at everything. Clever plot, and Rodell keeps it going at a very fast pace with one hilarious observation after another. The book had me laughing out loud the whole way through, yet there were a number of very profound messages. McCrae is so likable and we can all find ourselves identifying in at least one minute of his very long life. I saw myself in the book many times, either as the wise and wiseass McCrae, or as one of the targets of his and Rodell's wickedly funny humor. I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves satire. (Hollywood please note: It would make a great movie starring Bill Murray as McCrae.) 5-stars

• Rodell is a Vonnegut for 2016. I really can't say enough good things about this book. Rodell is capable of switching from ribald joke telling to pithy pathos often from paragraph to paragraph. I literally laughed out loud and discovered tears welling up in my eyes at various points. It's really an incredible work of artistic humor writing. Can't recommend it enough. 5-stars

• I was laughing so hard throughout this book and it has the perfect mixture of funny and serious to give a great story that has lots of humor added to it. Rodell's writing is so perfectly written because it mixes humor with a real story. I read the book in just a few days because I could not keep my hands off of it. I loved the book so much that everyone around me started buying it as well and I cannot wait to see what comes next from him. 5-stars

• If you’re familiar with Chris’s last book, or his blog, you’ll see his trademark humor throughout this book. In fact, Marty McCrae is the (really old) embodiment of the living-a-colorful-life/using-all-the-crayons principle. He’s lived a long, colorful life, seen the world change, and he has quite a bit to say about it. Lest I give you the idea this is a serious, philosophical book, I should mention that in this future world, women are stricken by the “Boobonic Plague” which gives women with enhanced breasts enhanced intelligence.  The bottom-line is that Chris is running with his idea a colorful life being the key to happiness, and he’s morphed that into this new satirical novel. This new book is humorous, but also insightful. 5-stars

• Fantastic premise! A satiric, Kurt Vonnegut-ish kind of novel had me laughing out loud. Rodell has a gift for the absurd as well as great turns of phrases. He also shows, through humor, some raw truths about us boomers 5-stars

• Baby Boomer is pure Rodell, but I found myself thinking of Dave Barry and Carl Hiaasen, the only two guys who look like they're having as much fun writing as Rodell. 4-stars

• The Last Baby Boomer is an uproarious meditation on life—and like life itself, there are bittersweet moments softened only by our ability to laugh at some random absurdity. And there is a central tragedy that is slowly revealed, which, like so much in life, leaves only questions. The Last Baby Boomer is a droll sketch of our media- and youth-obsessed culture, one that’ll have you laughing out loud between chuckles (and maybe the occasional pun-induced groan—though like Rodell I’ve never met a pun I wouldn’t take home to meet my folks). It wouldn’t surprise me if something like Marty’s ghoul pool does happen in a couple of decades—I just hope they give Rodell credit (and a big check). 5-stars

• The Last Baby Boomer is a humorous, yet insightful, look into the foibles of the baby boomer generation. Through all of Marty's travails a hopefulness and humanity emerges that will be familiar to anyone who has read Rodell. I would definitely recommend this book. 5-stars

• I really enjoyed the book. I liked the protagonist, Marty and the way he looked at life. The premise was very believable, based on current trends in the U.S.. There were some parts dragged a little, and the ending was slightly contrived, but neither point takes away from the overall enjoyment of the book. I would recommend this book to everyone. A fun ride. 4-stars

• Even if you didn’t know Chris Rodell once wrote for the National Enquirer, the premise of “The Last Baby Boomer: The Story of the Ultimate Ghoul Pool” might give you a clue. From the Boobonic Plague, described early on, to the pop-tab pill at the end, the book wittily describes the circus that surrounds 118-year-old Marty McCrae, the last surviving Baby Boomer. Suspend reality and enjoy laugh-out-loud moments with this book. 5-stars

• A word about typos. An eagle-eyed English teacher recently read Chris's book and counted 26. That's right, 26 from among 65,981 words. If Chris Rodell was a baseball player he'd be batting .9996, My kind of humor. There is no more Kurt Vonnegut or Joe Heller for me to read …But there is Rodell. Buy the book. Read. See for yourself. 5-stars

• I picked up this book because I enjoyed his blog "8 days to Amish" so much. And this definitely fell in line the same kind of humor and wit as he has always brought forth in the past. A really fun and intriguing read. 5-stars

• Bad news first: typos threw me a little. Good news: We read this book for our book club and it was well-received. The premise is funny and very believable. It's a quick read with surprising twists. Because it is light and easy to read, it makes a great vacation book or a good way to spend a rainy day. There's also depth in the story that makes it a rich experience. 4-stars

• We had the pleasure of discussing the book with the author at our book club! Wonderful experience. Great summer read for the beach! 5-stars

Related . . .

Someone stole my book! A “Use All The Crayons!” update

Typo total in my book is . . .

Someone stole Buck’s book from Tin Lizzy!

This book is NOT free! My new novel is for sale

Check out www.ChrisRodell.com!