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The Martyrdom of Dishka: An Afghan Dog Story
My predecessor Ann rescued Dishka from a group of Afghan boys that were kicking the then barely-weaned puppy around like a soccer ball near some unnamed village in eastern Afghanistan. Ann blasted...
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Don’t Believe a Word: Loving the Skinny Lesbian
When I picked the 8-track cartridge out of the thrift store bin circa 1980, I honestly thought the name of the band was a sly reference to a lean lesbian. It made buying the album feel like a...
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Poisoning a Brain-Washed Mind: My Introduction to Heavy Music
In hindsight I was almost certainly receiving stolen property, but on that day in 1976 the idea that Gary’s uncle had simply given him the two LPs that he was subsequently gifting to me seemed...
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The Denial of Peter (Criss): My KISS Betrayal
With the album Destroyer still fresh in the racks, I fell big for KISS in 1976 at the age of 12. I certainly wasn’t alone among my friends, although my immediate head-long dive into the deep end of...
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(Don’t Fear) The Birthdays: Enjoying a Heep ö’ Cult
I am not bothered at all by old rockers continuing to tour. In fact, I take great solace in having folk from the generation prior to mine still up there getting paid for performing their songs and...
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She Smiled Because I Did Not Understand
I’m sure there is science to explain how and why some songs manage to insert themselves so deeply into my being that I can hardly remember a time when they were not part of my life. I imagine the...
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A Little Black Spot on the Sun Today
A few weeks back, a piece by a music blogger I follow about the album Synchronicity by The Police started me down an unexpected path of nostalgia, sadness, and finally, hope. I haven’t owned the album...
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Am I Who I Was or Am I Who I Am
As I thumbed through an old missionary journal from my late teens while posting here yesterday, I came across a brief entry that I found quite comforting. It seemed to cast a line across time to...
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Traffic in My Mind
I don’t do change well. I spend months, and sometimes years, pining for it and trying to passively will it into being, only to tense up and pretend that casting it from my thoughts can somehow hold it...
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Good Times! The Porpoise Is (Still) Laughing
Granted, the period between the ages of five and seven weren’t my most informed years, but I certainly believed at the time that I was watching a TV show made for me and my fellow youngsters. I mean,...
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