Every now and then we all need a little help. Sometimes we might be lucky enough to see the issue coming, other times it hits us all at once and the next thing you know, you’re stuck with $150,000 in medical bills.
Earlier this year Ed Blake, a Houston based stand-up comic and a friend to many had suffered a broken foot in a car accident. And that was just the beginning of the bad news.
It was a Saturday Night in Oklahoma City and while telling jokes Ed almost passed out on stage. He was able make it to the end of the first show before things got even more serious. Thankfully the club owner had the club staff at the Loony Bin drove Ed to the emergency room.
While in the hospital, doctors told Ed that he had an infection in his foot and that infection had spread throughout his body.
During the battery of tests doctors discovered that one of Ed’s main arteries was 90% blocked. Within days he was operated on and a stent was inserted. The stent relieved the blockage and saved his life.
Talk to certain types of girls today and you’ll find a common complaint they have about the men they meet is that a lot of us our going through Peter Pan Syndrome. 30 year-olds who still go see live bands, drink at the bars on a Tuesday, work jobs to support their own creative endeavors, and generally – main ambition is having a good time.
And what’s wrong with that? Is that really an insult?
I’m of the last generation that still has an inner Bully screaming inside its conscience. A harsh voice that creeps up anytime I think a thought that doesn’t agree with the mentality of the late 80’s, early 90’s era.
It happens when I put on a scarf: The word “faggot” pops into my head, as if keeping my neck fashionably warm were a crime against my sexuality. I’ll tell a girl I don’t possess the ability to drive stick, and hear “pussy” slowly chant its way to the forefront of my psyche.
‘NERD!’ is being yelled at me right now as I finish this very sentence. It’s pathetic, dumb, and a ghost of a time when that mentality flourished.
Often I have fantasized about what it would be like for that blonde douche from those 80’s movies, if he were somehow teleported to today’s Portland. Bewildered on a busy street, giggling at lesbians holding hands, black skateboarding Trekkies, and purse wearing men.
He laughs a solid hour, but eventually crumbles in sadness when society mocks his outdated mentality and women shun him for geek sheik folk artists. (NO ONE TELL HIM THERE’S A BLACK PRESIDENT).
What we haven’t realized yet (and what Billy Zabka already knew) is that being a Nerd doesn’t mean you’re automatically a good person. If you ever watched the ‘Revenge of the Nerds’ movies, you assume the underdog Tri Lambdas are the good guys. (While completely ignoring the fact that one dons a mask and rapes a girl who’s too drunk to tell he’s not her boyfriend)
Of the hundreds of adorable people I met and performed for in North Carolina this past weekend I received one complaint, apparently there was a patron who thought I played the “race card” in my performance far too often. Help me out here.
What exactly is that? Why are black people so susceptible to it’s definition?