NOT EVERYONE KNOWS YOUR NAME

This is what the internet has wrought. It hasn’t made everybody a star, hasn’t lifted the obscure to ubiquity, but it has muddied the water with so much information that it’s nearly impossible to break through. You may be on television, you may be on the cover of a magazine, and still most people are clueless as to your identity.

THEY’RE GONNA KNOW YOUR NAME BEFORE YOUR WORK

It takes too long to check things out. We learn about you from seeing your name everywhere. To investigate, to dig deeper, that’s a spontaneous reaction caused by a confluence of factors that cannot be codified. It’s the sheer number of name encounters, it’s the field you work in, it’s the trusted filters saying you’re worth it. That’s another change in the last three years, we don’t even have time to check out what our trusted filters recommend, at most we click through our Spotify Discover Weekly playlist, because we know it was made just for us. We’re looking for more that is made just for us.

THE VICTORY LAP COMES FAR IN THE DISTANCE

Lin-Manuel Miranda won Tonys in 2008 for “In The Heights.” “Hamilton” got raves at the Public Theater. “Hamilton” opened on Broadway and got the best reviews of any musical in years. The soundtrack album was released…crickets. Then the cast appeared on the Grammys, finally there was some awareness outside the bubble, and that’s what NYC is, a place for the wealthy and hip. D.C. is for the government. SF is for the techies. And L.A. is where those without a CV go to become famous, a land of wispy trends that rarely gain traction. So, you live in one of these enclaves and you think what you’re involved in is happening, but that’s rarely the case. “Hamilton” was the talk of the town but it wasn’t until Lin-Manuel Miranda stepped up as its star, in the very recent past, that the show started to move across this great country of ours. We need a focus, now more than ever, we can believe in individuals more than projects, because we are individuals. The fact that someone who is flesh and blood created such greatness…we’re wowed. And when he makes up a ditty for a podcast, raps on “Last Week Tonight”…he starts to become part of the public discussion. Modern stardom is about becoming part of the public discussion, for what you’ve done in the past and what you are doing now. Miranda is on his way to becoming not only the biggest star in America, but the most anointed, someone who truly everybody will know and adore. And he’s 36. So, if you think flash in the pan is everything, if you think you’re too old to make it, if you think sans charisma you’re toast, you’re wrong. Now, more than ever, we’re looking for substance. And when we find it the drums start to pound, people start to talk, that’s when you’re truly on the stardom gravy train. And the funny thing is youngsters hit a wall, oldsters and press with gravitas doesn’t care. But the three-dimensional…this is their time, if they’re willing to hang in there, wait and create.

HE NOT BUSY BEING BORN IS BUSY DYING

You’ve got to create constantly. Making an album and milking it only works for the biggest of superstars, like Taylor Swift and Adele. And Swiftie understands the new paradigm, it’s only recently she stopped promoting, stopped creating circumstances that got news. She invited the hoi polloi to hear her record in her house, she delivered Christmas gifts, she had guests at her show… Give Swift credit, she’s young and understands the game. Meanwhile, oldsters keep wishing it would return to what once was. As for Adele… She’s neither here nor there, she had thunderous publicity around her album release and now there’s silence while she plays her dates, getting local publicity at best. Might work for Adele, she’s the biggest of the big, but not for everybody else. You don’t want to be out of the public eye. And the best way to stay in it is to create something new. And it’s not about flogging it as much as making sure it exists. An artist today is…an artist today. Not a pretty face, not a public figure, but someone who is known for what he or she does. Kanye gets it too. Sure, he’s boasting and bloviating, but he’s also making videos, creating clothing, giving us something to react to and talk about. As for Beyonce… She knows that advance work is worthless, especially because it’s not monetized. You sell as soon as you are ready. But beware of blowing your complete load at once, it’s very easy for the public to move on, what’s big news in the morning can be forgotten in the afternoon, which is why you must keep creating.

EDGES HOOK

The blander you are, the less chance you’ll stick. What rises to the top is what’s different, what makes us question our preconceptions and ourselves. Trainwreck can get looky-loos, but if there’s a backstory there’s a greater chance of longevity.

LEVERAGE

That’s right, stars today leverage their stardom, to make political statements, to move the ball. I’m not sure whether the Boss’s boycott of North Carolina will change conditions in the state, but it certainly boosted his image and his career. As for those who don’t care…there are always those who don’t care, you’re doing a disservice to your career by playing to them. And the funny thing is, so many detractors ultimately come on board, they’re sick of being left out, they sample your wares and get addicted to your talent, this is the story of Howard Stern. Stern also focuses on truth. In the social media world, where everything is exposed, cultivating image is a mistake. You reveal your true identity and dig deep, knowing everybody makes mistakes and you will too. Mistakes are plowed under by the endless news cycle, don’t worry about getting it perfect.

EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG

The newspaper is not where you build your career, publicity there is nearly worthless, unless you’re a niche artist building your career on cred. And late night TV just gives these same wankers something to talk about, active buyers, certainly millennials, believe television is something you watch on demand, they might view comedy clips culled from late night shows online, but to sit there and watch an entire program…that would be torture. Kind of like 24 hour cable news, which gets anemic ratings and is mostly just people shouting at each other, or purveying biased opinions. News is an on demand item online. And people are going to Facebook to get it, not the homepage of the vaunted periodical. Carefully plotted media campaigns can be executed, but they rarely achieve their goals. Today you walk into the morass and just start spewing. If you do something newsworthy it will spread online, amongst users first and the news media last. Look inward, not outward. If it feels good to you, do it. If it seems phony or just done for eyeballs, don’t.

BE HAPPY WHERE YOU ARE

One Direction’s music was unknown by so many, but the act sold out stadiums. World domination is a thing of the past. We lived in a monoculture where MTV minted stars overnight, today we live in a Balkanized world where nobody knows the truth and despite all our online connections we feel socially isolated, that’s why everybody’s posting their activities online, they want to be known, accepted, move up the food chain. We look to art to explain all this, the human condition. We bond with art. TV is in its heyday. Movies have gone off the deep end, in pursuit of worldwide profits to the point where the title of the movie about comic book characters is the entire plot. Music is the x-factor. Music is personal. It evidences the thoughts, feelings and identity of the creator. People look to music to not only soothe and inspire them, but to educate them. Technology is the story of the last fifteen years, the story of the next fifteen is the art. We’ve got all the tools. Have you got something to say?

I NEVER WANTED TO BE YOUR WEEKEND LOVER

But he was.

I was stunned what big news this was. In an era where info comes and goes, where nobody dominates the news cycle and reaches everybody, Prince’s death not only eclipsed the demise of all of this year’s luminaries, it echoed the deaths of Elvis Presley and John Lennon. It stopped us in our tracks. I’m not sure he realized how deeply beloved he was.

After being hounded with election stories for nearly a year, after hearing how big Taylor Swift and Beyonce are despite them having a fraction of the penetration of the acts of yore, it was stunning to see Prince wipe the slate clean, be the talk of the town, be respected by news organizations like “The New Yorker,” which turned its cover purple, and sports teams and cities… It reminds us of the power of music. Especially when made by someone who seemed beholden to the sound as opposed to the adulation, to the music as opposed to the money, to the song as opposed to the stardom.

Let this be a beacon for the younger generation, who believe selling out is the goal and cash the reward. Are you a musician or an attraction? When your motive is pure you gain the best results.

MUSIC IN SCHOOL COUNTS

Prince played trumpet in the junior high school band:

My Classmate Prince, the Rock Star

Something has been lost in the dash for cash, the anointment and adulation of the billionaires. Our society has become coarse and it’s every person for themselves. Too many say taxes have to be cut and services have to be eviscerated because the government wastes money. But one thing the government provides is education. And music and art used to be part of the curriculum. And the outpouring of grief, the hubbub, is testimony to the fact that art triumphs over money every day of the week. Sure, Prince was rich. Sure, he was a star. But the discussion centered around the man’s music, his identity, as opposed to the trappings.

When are we going to realize we’re all in the same family? When are we going to lift each other up? When are we going to realize culture is more important than GDP?

MINNESOTA

Everybody else moves to L.A. or New York. Maybe when their fame fades they retire to Montana or Virginia, even go back home. But as big a star as Prince was, who he was was more important, and he was a Midwestern boy with Midwestern values and felt most comfortable away from the flash, where everybody knew his name but respected his privacy. He spoke via his music, as opposed to the nightclub encounters, the tinseltown shenanigans that keep the gossip columns alive.

NORMALCY

He rode a bike. Do today’s social media stars even know how?

Life is about more than being seen. You need to live it to have something to say. Experience is everything. Prince played basketball, he was a man of the people, but he was not. He was amongst us, but above us. Not because he kept his distance, but because he was so damn talented.

10,000 HOURS

Used to be you could labor in obscurity. It was nearly impossible to get noticed. You honed your chops in the hope you could get a record deal, for without it you were destined to be playing local bars.

Turns out there’s a limited pool of great talent in America. The internet did not surface a ton of overlooked musicians screwed by the system. But tireless self-promoters willing to do anything to get noticed did pop up. And with so many vying for attention it’s become harder than ever to break through. Does this herald a day when stardom will come later, after people pay their dues and work out the kinks? Probably. We’ve got a two-tiered stardom. The tools of the system, the youngsters willing to to be molded, written for, primped and promoted… And those taking an alternative path, finding out who they are and what they want to be and emerging fully-formed at a relatively later age. This is the story of the Beatles, this is the story of Prince. Neither needed artist development in the classic record company sense. They both were ready when the spotlight shone. It is not the label’s duty to sign and nurture you, it’s now your own responsibility, the same way you provide your own
tech help. You have all the tools at your fingertips, recording and promotion are cheap and easy. However the waters are full, which means you must be that much better to survive. Prince was.

SCARCITY

Died with the internet and only Prince adjusted, maybe Garth Brooks too, although Garth was so busy being aw-shucks about it his endless tour resembled a carney attraction. Prince played. So much you could get a ticket. Which was cheap if there were a lot of people there and expensive if there were few. He was hiding in plain sight. He was a working musician. Garth keeps saying he’s doing it for the fans, it was clear Prince was doing it for himself. Sure, he liked the exuberance of the fans, but the shows seemed scheduled to burn off energy, you went to see him burn bright. And he may not have played what you wanted to hear, but you had no doubt he was giving it his all.

So all this hogwash about ticket scalping…

Maybe you just need to play more. Even if it’s a month in one city.

As for bitching that you have to go on the road…

True musicians love to work.

BLACK OR WHITE

Michael Jackson was seen as an oddball. He anointed himself the King Of Pop but we revered the records more than the man. He was a star to all, but a weirdo. Turns out Prince was the guy both black and white embraced. The music was the linchpin, but the identity, the gender-bending, the fashion, liberated all, gay and straight, those of all ethnicities. He had to die for us to realize what a deep impact he had.

ALONE

Married twice, Prince went home alone the night before he died. You think fame solves all your issues, anxiety and loneliness, but it doesn’t.

THE VAULT

He never stopped working. You never heard Prince bitch that people weren’t listening. He recorded because he needed to.

THE INTERNET

He tried to figure it out, he thought going direct to the people was the answer. But the truth is making and promoting are two different things and you’re best off keeping the latter to professionals.

As for keeping his music off YouTube, Spotify, et al…

It will be on now. For all to hear for all time.

I tried to pull up his tracks, and when I came up empty I remembered…you had to pay.

So I combed through thousands of discs, turned on my CD player for the first time in eons.

And listened.

More money would have been made if streaming was available, because there was limited inventory in the retail stores, except for iTunes, where they could make copies ad infinitum.

That’s the modern era, it’s there if you want it.

We wanted Prince.

And, like Elvis, it appears we’re gonna want him for a very long time.

CAUSE OF DEATH

Dead is dead, doesn’t matter how it happens. And it wasn’t until yesterday or today that it sunk in that Prince was gone. Prince never fell off our radar, we expected him to pop up on a regular basis, with recordings, shows and pronouncements. And unlike seemingly everybody else, he did not lose a step, he could still wail and wanted to.

We might never know what really happened. Go online and you can read theories spinning drugs, disease and religion. Funny how in the information age we can know so little.

But Prince only wanted us to know so much. He put the music first, and let it speak for him. Funny how at the end of the day our stars are two-dimensional. You think you know them, but you really don’t.

It’s a sign ‘o’ the times.

First came Bowie, then came Frey, and then the Grim Reaper moved on to Dan Hicks, and Paul Kantner and Signe Anderson died on the same damn day! Rock’s killing itself.

And that’s what Prince was billed as. A black guy on a white label who was gonna revolutionize music just like previous one man bands like Paul McC and Todd the Wizard and True Star before him.

Only he didn’t.

You could get attention in the late seventies. We all read “Rolling Stone,” there were just a few music magazines, and we had to endure the story of this gremlin from Minnesota of all places with a wispy moustache who lied about his age and was gonna blow our minds.

He didn’t. The album didn’t live up to the hype, we thought he was done, like Jobriath and the rest of the two-dimensional acts with faces but little more.

And then came “I Wanna Be Your Lover.” An infectious one listen smash that sounds as fresh today as it did back in ’79, only this time the white people were not paying attention, Prince targeted the R&B market and hit one over the fence and most people didn’t know. Sure, “I Wanna Be Your Lover” ultimately made it to number 11 on the Hot 100, but this was when Top Forty was at its nadir, and every market played different records. So instead of being ubiquitous “I Wanna Be Your Lover” was something you heard in a stolen moment and asked…WHAT IS THAT?

Still, Prince was easy to dismiss, the track might have been a revelation, but it was not a revolution, it was steeped in the format and anybody can hit once.

Then there were the reviews for “Dirty Mind.”

This was when the only way to hear a record was to buy it. And I didn’t know another soul who bought the LP, and that’s what it was, this was still before CDs. I went to the store and came home, broke the shrinkwrap and dropped the needle and said… HUH?

This was a DISCO record! Hadn’t Steve Dahl just blown up the format in Chicago?

But the dirty little secret of disco haters is they love the beat, otherwise how could KISS have had success with one of their best tracks, “I Was Made For Lovin’ You”? And I loved “Dirty Mind,” I couldn’t help myself, you just had to hear it, although few did. It was an astounding production, youngsters should check it out, this is a one listen LP.

And the opener was the title track, but after that came what is still my favorite Prince cut, “When You Were Mine.”

I know (I know)
That you’re going with another guy
I don’t care (don’t care)
‘Cause I love you, baby, that’s no lie
I love you more than I did when you were mine

I was in my twenties, I’d had and lost love and these lyrics resonated. I’d stumbled in on my girlfriend and another guy, even though I was the one who pulled the ripcord, it HURTS!

The track is almost cheesy, kind of tongue-in-cheek, featuring a thin, high-pitched vocal. But all I could think was…HOW COME THIS ISN’T A HIT TRACK?

Because FM was still playing corporate rock and MTV was two years off and racism still ruled, Buddy Miles and Billy Preston seemed to be the only African-Americans tolerated in the rock world.

But the best track on “Dirty Mind” is probably “Uptown,” the second side opener. You drop the needle and can barely keep up, you’re following this ball of energy as he sings a tale about the hippest neighborhood in Minneapolis, before the internet made us aware of what was happening everywhere. That’s right, Prince never lost his roots, remember that scene in “Lake Minnetonka”?

And if you know your history, John Hinckley shot President Reagan and the Oscars were postponed a night and on the ultimate evening I went to Flipper’s Roller Disco to see Prince live.

That was my life, if I loved a record I had to see the act.

Only in this case, despite being in the heart of West Hollywood, there was hardly anybody there. Just me and about seventy five other people. And Prince came out and did his full act, jumped on the bed, mesmerized and overwhelmed us, good times were certainly rollin’! I was maybe seven feet away, feet planted, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, it was one of the three best shows I ever saw.

Bruce Springsteen is not the only act who made it via live performance, Prince was so stellar in concert that the pump was primed for his follow-up, “Controversy,” he even opened for the Stones…AND IT WAS A DISASTER!

Kind of like when I saw Van Halen open for Nils Lofgren at the Santa Monica Civic, before their album came out, I laughed, I thought they were a joke, David Lee Roth was Jim Dandy reincarnated. People booed Prince. I was there at the L.A. Coliseum, people couldn’t have cared less.

And then came “1999.”

The title track became the theme song of the millennium, for years before and right through New Year’s Eve.

But what put the LP over the top was “Little Red Corvette.”

Sure, Michael Jackson is credited with breaking the MTV color line, but Prince owned the format first. And his success was not based on production, but sheer charisma, it oozed out of the diminutive one’s soul. Certain tracks are so infectious, evidence such presence and personality that you just want to get closer, you need to get closer, human beings can really be this cool?

And then came “Purple Rain.”

Hey, look me over
Tell me do you like what you see
Hey, I ain’t got no money
But honey I’m rich on personality!

Not for long, when it comes to cash, that is. Prince was soon rich. Because “Purple Rain” was the phenomenon of 1984, a movie that played all summer when flicks didn’t only last a weekend. The album sold double digit millions. Because the audience finally caught up with Prince, he’d been waiting, time came.

This was not supposed to happen. It was miraculous that the man had survived the initial hype. Rock movies were flawed enterprises that tarred their participants, just ask Peter Frampton. But the flick had heart. And it had Prince. AND THAT WAS ENOUGH!

And then the legend was cemented.

And what exactly is that legend?

Well, Prince could certainly play. As could Frank Zappa. Two people famous for something else who had the chops.

But unlike Frank, Prince could sing, he had a great voice. And he could write hit tunes.

And they both had their finger on the pulse.

And it wasn’t only for himself. The Bangles cut “Manic Monday.” Sinead O’Connor covered and built a whole career upon “Nothing Compares 2 U.” And Tom Jones was brought back from the dead and given a victory lap based on “Kiss.”

And Prince didn’t come from nowhere, he had roots, he tried to help Bonnie Raitt when she was in between labels, before her renaissance, and he loved Joni Mitchell, even covering “A Case Of You,” before everybody else. And even though “Under The Cherry Moon” flopped, Prince seemed to be able to throw off infectious tracks on a whim. Like “Cream.” And “Pink Cashmere.”

And then it all crashed.

The problem?

PRINCE WANTED TO PUT OUT MORE MATERIAL!

He was ahead of the game, he understood the internet era, he knew artistry was not about marketing, that if you could not free your soul and create you were dead inside. And even Warner Brothers, his label, the best in the business, couldn’t understand, it was inured to the system. But the acts always know best.

And despite ultimately making more records none of them gained traction. One could say Prince was too old, had lost the plot, but we all had, there was too much music at our fingertips and little stuck except for the catchiest of inane ditties.

And then came the Super Bowl.

Now if you think about the game’s highlights you cannot forget Namath and the ’69 Jets. But right behind that I’d put Prince’s performance. He owned not only the stadium, but the WORLD! That’s the power of music, the power of talent. Prince always had something to prove AND HE DID THAT NIGHT!

No one will ever equal it, they should retire the trophy, without overwhelming production but sheer will Prince grabbed us by the collar and made us pay attention, and wowed us in the process. That’s a performance, that’s a STAR!

And then came the shenanigans. The takedown notices, the pronouncements that the internet was over, Prince was wrong on nearly every account. But he was right about one thing, that the future was all about PERFORMANCE! The EXPERIENCE! And there was nobody plying the boards who was better than Prince. It was positively old school, it was about the music, not the trappings.

And now he’s gone.

He was still at the top of his game, albeit with a different focus. Records don’t mean as much these days, it’s all about the show, he was the king of the show, someone who always got our attention without begging for it, someone we could never count out.

Until now.

Prince never repeated himself. He always took risks. He demonstrated his influences. He was about what felt right as opposed to what looked right. The business rejected him, but the fans embraced him. Because that’s what enthralls us, someone sui generis, who knows if they follow their own muse they resonate with us most. Prince never put his finger to the wind, never pored over the research, he believed in the power of his fingers and his mind, he just channeled God, to the point he approximated him.

Or her.

Give him credit for not only integrating rock, but taking it out of the locker room. Wendy and Lisa were part of the Revolution, and Sheena Easton and Sheila E.’s bona fides were established on his back.

But that’s no surprise. Because Prince oozed sex. He was more magnetic than the North Pole. He just drew you in. He drew the whole nation in. To the point where even the President had to testify to his greatness.

That’s what our best artists do, testify. Tell us the truth. With their words, their music, their personality.

Not only doves are crying tonight.

He’s causing us a ton of sorrow, we’re experiencing a ton of pain.

I’m sure he’d want to see us laughing.

It’s a shame our friendship had to end. But his music survives, as does his legend. Years from now his music and career will be studied, to see how someone listened to no one but himself but got it so right.

He lived for us.

And now he’s gone.

I’m at loose ends.

I just peed blood.

Just when you think you’re out of the woods, when you’re relaxing, feeling good, life throws you a curve ball. Assuming you’re interested in living for a long, healthy time.

At dinner Dave called his body an “adventure suit.” He’s 65, qualifies for Medicare, but won’t go to the doctor. He’s got some heart arrhythmia, a few other self-diagnosed symptoms, but he believes when it’s time to go it’s time to go, and his dad lived to 94, albeit with diabetes. Dave gave up the chocolate ice cream two years back, he was worried the Big D would bite him too, but not worried enough to go to the doctor. Too many males are not worried enough to go to the doctor. And then they die, like Warren Zevon. You think you can see inside your body, but you cannot. You feel fine and then you feel awful, like Garry Shandling. My hematologist had a heart attack whilst running a mini-race at the specialists’ annual convention. Life can bite you in the ass, you feel fine, and then you’re done.

Or at least messed up.

That’s what happened to me yesterday.

I’m staying at a friend’s house in Alta, Utah.

I know, I know, winter’s over, pack up the skis, go to Coachella. But the truth is skiing provides something elusive in this world, and that’s known as freedom. When I’m out in the fresh air, surrounded by mountains, I feel fully alive. And when I’m sliding down I can think of nothing else, I experience a sensation akin to orgasm, only it’s endlessly repeatable. If I ran the world everybody would ski, not because I want them to be like me, but because I want them to have the experience, I want them to smile, I want them to feel free.

But it’s been unseasonably cold here in Utah. In the twenties. Oh, it was near sixty the day before I came, but then the temperature dropped, eight inches of snow fell, and it was a winter wonderland, to the point that Jackson wanted to catch the early tram. That’s right, our benefactor has the privilege of getting in the box an hour early, and on a powder day…

That meant getting up at 6:15.

I’ve gone to bed many times at that hour, but have rarely arisen.

It was dark out. I ate some yogurt and lox. I stretched. Got suited up.

And then I started walking to the trail, to ski down to the lift.

I immediately found it slippery. I even called out to the guys behind. I was taking it ever so slowly.

And I ascended the brief hill, passed the main drag, I only had to walk down the road separating the condominiums, maybe two hundred feet, then I could put my boards on and go.

And then it happened. I slipped.

Happened that fast, but as I was falling I said…I’m gonna break my shoulder.

Really, I’m tipping over, I lose control of my skis, it’s rock hard ice, blue ice is what they call it, and I already know this is gonna be bad.

WHAM!

I could not have hit any harder. Like someone taking a sledgehammer to your shoulder.

But it gets worse…

I FELL AGAIN!

I know that sounds ridiculous, I know that sounds like I screwed up, but the truth is it was just that slippery, I was paying attention, taking baby steps…

This time I fell on my hip and my shoulder.

WHAM AGAIN!

And now I was in shock.

How could this happen? I hadn’t even hit the slopes yet. How could I go through a complete season accident free and then…

I’m too old to do the woulda, coulda, shoulda. But I’m also so old that I know that any injury takes forever to heal.

I wanted to go back home. Not only to the house, but to Santa Monica. But that would require retracing my icy steps. That seemed dumb. I figured the sun would melt the road for the return trip.

Alas, that did not happen.  And I slipped again on the way back. Only this time I caught myself. All those years practicing in Vermont paid off. My skis clattered to the ground, took a few dings…

But now I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m a walking zombie. What else was there to do but ski?

And the snow… It was lighter than anything I’d experienced in Colorado all year. That’s what Utah is famous for, the Greatest Snow On Earth, the lake strips out the moisture and it’s like plowing through down.

And I’m in my own brain, because everybody knows there are no friends on a powder day.

We hook up with the aforementioned Dave, the Guru, who led us to some powder shots.

And then it was time for lunch.

I had a hard time making it back to the house. And I slipped.

And when I got inside…

The motion of my arm was greatly restricted.

This was bad…

I called Felice, I texted my physical therapist. I’m at a loss in these situations. It was illegal to go to the doctor growing up, my mother had a mother who was a hypochondriac, as a result we put some Robitussin on our injuries and soldiered on. Yes, that’s a Chris Rock reference, but like him we didn’t want to pay for the doctor.

And I’ve gotten into so much trouble for not going to the doctor. I lost a body part. Bernie Sanders has one thing right, we need universal coverage, a single payer system, health care should be a right, because bad things always happen while you’re broke.

Felice insisted I go to the clinic.

So I did.

They took x-rays, which were negative, no break in the shoulder. As for my hip, the physician said I wouldn’t have been able to ski if I’d broken it, there was zero chance of a problem, other then a bruise, but he’d x-ray it anyway if I wanted. I may have OCD, but I’m not dumb, I said no. And he gave me a sling and told me my vacation was finished but…

My physical therapist said the opposite. Said to forgo the sling, to move the arm, leaving it stationary was the exact wrong thing, and if I felt up to it, to ski.

So I followed her instructions and got a better night’s sleep than I expected, things always get worse at night, be on your guard, and I woke up to sunshine.

I didn’t want to go out, I was emotionally impaired, but I was here.

So I did.

I drove.

I’m never walking that path again, even if it’s completely clear.

And I skied the groomers. Had trouble extending my left arm for a pole plant but I was out there, I felt proud of myself.

Until an hour ago. When I was sitting on the throne and I suddenly experienced extreme pain, a short burst, I’d had it before, it’s when you’re peeing blood.

And there was plenty.

WTF???

I had no pain, what was going on? Was I internally bleeding, was I gonna die?

Or should I ignore the whole damn thing, because after that I had some regular urine.

So I did what everybody does in this modern age, I went online. And found…nothing. None of the causes of blood in the urine applied. So I Googled “peeing blood trauma.” And then some results said it could happen. But I’ve had enough kidney stones, it didn’t seem like I fell on my kidney, I know where it is, but maybe I blocked it or maybe the blood was coming from my shoulder and it’s ten o’clock at night and I’m in the middle of nowhere far from home, what the hell should I do? Jump in the car and drive to a hospital in Salt Lake? Ignore the whole damn thing?

So I texted the physical therapist. Her father’s a doctor. An OB/GYN, but she’s an expert on so many things.

She was concerned.

This didn’t feel good, I wanted her to blow it off.

So I had to bring out the big gun, I had to call my doctor. I felt so guilty, on a SATURDAY NIGHT?

But he picked up right away. And spoke with me at length. And said if it goes away, to continue my trip and see a urologist when I get back, and to get an MRI on my shoulder while I’m at it. But when am I gonna do this? I’m booked solid all next week, morning, noon and night. I told him this, he said nothing is as important as your health. And that’s right, but my barometer is out of whack. I’m either flipping or ignoring. I can run to the hospital if I cut an artery, shy of that I think I’m gonna be okay, and I feel guilty when I go to the doctor and they find nothing wrong.

I just peed again. A smidge of blood and then regular urine. That’s a good sign.

But I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.