If it requires Dancers, it ain't Music

I'm sick. Again. Lemme tell you bout it.

I was minding my own business when I breathed in and heard all sorts of other noises that should not accompany breathing. I felt like the Addams Family; Morticia's sister Ophelia could sing 3 part harmony at once. Well, this was the closest I was going to get to it anyway. It was like a cough combined with a wheeze combined with a tin whistle, all at once. This should have alerted me something was up, but I try not to pay close attention to stuff my body's trying to tell me. It's never good news, ya know?

Within a day or 3, I started hacking up a lung, along with the accompanying noise, which was enough to scare politicians off legislation for their own pay raises. At about this point, I noticed that even my hair hurt. Arm hair, head hear, whatever hair - it hurt. So it would start out with front of body hair, ouch, then reacting by backing up hair. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, and errrrrr.

They tell you to look at the stuff you bring up and if it's colorful, that's a problem. This stuff was colorful, to the tune of some sort of disgusting dark green, with a touch of Jackson Pollack. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack.

The Mystery Illness also played havoc with my sleep because I couldn't get a clear nostril for breathing. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, Snore. I knew if I didn't get it fixed, I'd be sleeping in the basement, but politely.

So I was a zombie, terribly tired, and would fall halfway asleep anywhere that wasn't my bed. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, Snore. After I few days I became tired of this and asked if we shouldn't pay a visit to the hospital. This was my error, either that or the triage result for not breathing came somewhat lower than sneezing. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, masked hack. I was beginning to warn Wife that if I passed out, she should go get someone to look at me, as it had been four hours. We got one of those nice rooms, right outside the hallway from other rooms. I told them they couldn't charge me for a room if I didn't sit in one. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, mask Splotch, beeping.

After some testing and constant ringing of room bells, they decided it was viral, hence would have to work its own way though. You know, I had been treating the symptoms for a week, so I didn't find too much value in a professional opinion. Since the illness had made me feel like I had been dead for a week, I was looking for more of a solution that involved prescription medicines, or at least involving a lot of Yoo Hoo. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, mask Splotch, beeping. Snore.

Because of the viral mess, I have temporarily lost my sense of taste. I hate my body, as do many others. When I can't taste, I start eating stuff I don't like, out of spite. Lots of stinky cheese!

=====================

So I was left to treat the symptoms. I'd get up in the morning, treat the symptoms, then get up the next morning, and treat the symptoms. It was kind of a Symptomatic Treatment with no Point. At least I assumed my new identity as Mucus Man. It's a shame mucus can't fuel a car - I'd be rich.

After a week of treating symptoms, I became tired and weary and called my doctor. He described precisely the conditions of the Emergency Room and did his own exam. We decided on some prescription medicines, which always makes people feel better. NOTE: do not take antibiotics just for fun; only for the correct infection. Antibiotics are losing efficacy because they're randomly overprescribed.

So I continued to treat the symptoms (these symptoms gotta go, perhaps buried in some landfill in New Jersey). I got an inhaler, for the first time in my life. I'd start telling people I had some sort of horrible lung disease, but I rarely leave the house and people don't terrify as easily as they used to. On the positive side, the inhaler is famous; I can tell because it has plenty of commercials, all day long, with people singing and dancing and being stupid on purpose.

Aside from the Mucus Minders, I find it odd that the only medicine that has any definite effect is ibuprofen (generic Advil). It gets rid of headaches, fevers, and threatens mucus, like the guys who operate New Jersey landfills. I think the conspiracy here is that Big Pharma<tm> has nothing to compete with ibuprofen, so it's the only thing that works. This does not stop them from coming out with more and more expensive Pills That Don't Work.

One of the weirdest side effects of the sickness is on sleep. If I go to bed early, I wake up refreshed, only to find that I've just slept a total of 2 hours and can't get back to sleep. Going to bed early seems to cause less sleep - it makes perfect sense. And I cough a lot. Nothing much comes of it, but I can clear a waiting room faster than one of my own jokes. But I know it's serious when I have no desire to eat. On my deathbed, I'll be demanding ice cream, so not wanting any is worrisome. 

Wife was amazing through all of this. She, ever hypervigilant, would watch me in bed, to see if I stopped breathing. I never understood if not breathing was a good thing or not, so I didn't ask. I could run an Abrams tank through the room and over the bed without waking her. But if I coughed once, she wanted to know if I was ok and could she get me anything. Fight with your spouse all you want, but this is where the rubber meets the sidewalk.

So after 3 weeks of this crap, I'm still coughing, still have minor fevers, still Mr. Mucus, and still don't sleep right. I consider this all a success. A grave success. 

And after asking around, I start to wonder about this. Many seem to have this ailment, whatever it is. Some were diagnosed with the Flying AIDS, some not (me). But the symptoms and length seem to go on forever, with no meds actually helping. Makes one wonder....

Stay well.

Predicting the Future via Butt Pimples

Your love is like   Dayquil and Nyquil as meal replacements

Sad Realities 2022: Google rolling out Air Raid Alerts app for Ukraine

Today I identify as  sweaty sheets

HER: I feel bad for asking, but would you help me put this necklace on?

HIM: Don't feel bad, it makes me feel like I'm strangling you. I like it.

I just saw a picture of Robert Plant, with what can only be described as a sort of impotent man bun.

It really has me questioning many things about my life, loves, and goals.

Forward, Back, or left? 

We're very pleased around here that Mrs. lefty remembered the time change. My mom used to call and remind us, but that ain't happening again. Is this a female thing, cuz I certainly didn't know it. She went around the house, changing the clocks. Then she realized she changed them in the wrong direction, so she went around the house, changing the clocks again. The positive parts of this is that all the clocks that didn't get changed last time are now correct, like the car. Oh no, wait, I just fixed the car, so I'll have to re-fix it again.

Starve a cold? Feed a fever? Shovel the food in regardless? 

I felt weird(er) last night, and gave it some Serious Thought<tm>. Then I gave it some Serious Digital Thermometer. My temperature was either 94, 99.8, or 105 depending on where I took it.  I'm thinking this isn't acceptable, because Medicine tends to operate a bit more accurately. I have electronic test equipment like this; where one component will have three values, depending on which meter I use. I don't think it's helpful in either case. The following morning, it was several different readings also, so I called in the Big Guns: WIFE. Mothers and Wifes have a magic ability to get past several different readings and cut to the chase: "You've got a fever, oh yes, I'll get some aspirin." It makes me feel sorry for bachelors... they have to visit their mom or another woman to figure out if they have a temperature.

My medical knowledge can fit in the (non-existent) ashtray of a new car, but my understanding is that the body raises its temperature in order to kill the infection. If this is true, why do we take fever reducers?  I have a vague memory of not feeling well, going to the hospital, having my temp taken, and the nurse saying, "104, time to panic." Fortunately I was seeing things and in my own little universe, so I didn't truly grok the reality of rectally-installed aspirin. I'm just not that kinda guy.

Being some sort of sick ironically provides some relief, in chores and Stuff needed to be done round the house. I have an excuse for not doing things, as opposed to Fat and Lazy, which is my go-to. Obviously I have a job too. In another weird irony, I don't like to miss work, and will generally work until my head crashes down on the keyboard (from passing out or sheer boredom). If you remember, I have to be forced to take vacation days, or I lose them. I'm at my desk like Bernie Sanders is thinking of more 'free' things to 'give' people. If I take off, my boss gets worried, because he knows it must be serious. He figures I'll be there long after I retire and possibly after I die. So with 9,457 accumulated sick days, it's pretty much up to me. 

As best I can tell, I got sick out of spite, or to break up the boredom.

Next day: I heard my alarm go off, so it was Decision Time. Mrs. lefty said STAY HOME. I didn't want to go 'in' because I might get my team sick (we all work from home).

I have no idea what's happening, but I seem to be cycling between 'I'm feeling eh' and 'OMFG, every hair on my body hurts,'  We've all had days when it's been difficult getting up, but this puts an interesting twist on it.

ME: Ok, I need to get it together to call out sick.

Also ME: Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

HER: What did you do?

ME: Tried to open my eyes.

HER: It sounds awful.

ME: You probably want to leave - I have to try to get out of bed.

HER: What is that noise? It sounds like the radio. Do you have the radio on?

ME: You can hear that? That's each individual body hair, reporting in, in pain.

You know I have my phone set so nobody calls. It's a gift.

So naturally this morning, I became very popular. The Tree Guy wanted to come out to cut off some dead tree. I asked him to check on the dead area over my neck, but he said that would be another estimate. I told him to come on by, then spent then next 45 minutes trying to figure out how to get out of bed and leave his payment on the door. Fortunately Mrs. lefty was up and said she'd take care of it. Well, if she'd take care of it, why was *I* getting the calls? Come to think of it, she seems very excited when he comes out. I was too sick to care.

I think this guy uses lasers or something - the last time he took down two trees and I never heard him.

So it was back to bed.

RADIO: Arm hair #22476, pain

Back hair #43720, pain

Nose hair #77345, pain

ALL HAIL- we have a 90 degree turn to portward, sometime in the next 90 minutes.

This went on for half an hour.

I was up at the decent hour of 3pm, regardless of spring ahead, fall backward, or 'change the fscking clock.' I can tell the time is correct when 2 clocks match. This after all the hairs checked in again; I was on the Pain part of the cycle, but at least it only took an hour to get out of bed. The dog is sympathetic, or at least I think so. She's heavy-lidded, napping on her mommy's new pillow. It's not like I didn't take her to the vet when we suspected cancer.

I'm hungry. I can tell by my stomach, which gave up growling when I ignored it, and is now singing loudly. I think it's Joe Cocker. The problem here is that we're completely out of candy bars. We have lots of soup, but it has to be heated. This is not do-able, as it hurts to think of it. The dog is still refusing to heat anything for me. I'd go back to sleep, but the singing would keep me awake.

It's 4am, I'm sweaty, and I don't want to remain sleeping. I think I need a Coke (my needs are few and simple, not counting the guitars that cost more than my house). After only 45 minutes, I manage to haul myself out of bed, not even using the winch, or any of the other high-powered equipment in the bedroom, but now's not the time to go into that. My body hair is at only 50% hurting; I think this is a good omen. In the living room, all is normal at 5am: the dog is comfy and asleep on the couch, and the wife is 'cleaning'' like mad. When I say 'cleaning,' I mean something like a modified pinball game. You pull the lever, which launches the ball, which bangs around and goes DING a lot, all over the place. So if you took the balls and made them explode, leaving a lot of debris all over the place, you'd have her 'cleaning.'  Bathroom: DING, explosion, debris. Kitchen: DING, explosion, debris. Normal people would look at the procedure and say 'that's not cleaning - it's creating more dirt.' This is why they're normal people and don't live at lefty Manor. The dog can't take any more following her mommy all over the place, so she remains asleep. 

I got my Coke, and sat up for a bit. The tv was on, as it always is, and I was astounded at the lineup of alleged shows. It was so bad, my brain protected me by making me forget it. Mrs lefty continued her cleaning, this time leaving debris in the basement. I had noticed her eventually sitting on the couch, quickly followed by her falling forward and snoring on the couch. You can't fool me, so I suggested maybe she go to bed. She completely ignored me, so I knew everything was normal. This continued for an hour or so, then I went to bed. The doctors told me arguing will only raise my blood pressure, as Mrs. lefty does not observe many of the laws of physics. My favorite is when she goes to sleep with her head 4" above the pillow.

When my alarm went off, I was assured I still had a fever, but only 25% of my body hair hurt. I took this as a good sign, calling out of work another day. By 4pm, the next time I got up, my body hair didn't hurt at all. It only took me 30 minutes to plan and execute getting out of bed. I kept pulling at my body hair, trying to make it hurt, just in case, but it wouldn't. As my wife had finally made it to bed, after only 3 days of not sleeping, she snored. And when I say snored, I mean it sounded like there was heavy construction and tearing up the street in front of the house. She stopped, asked if I felt ok, and I asked to check my temperature. I'm not going to say she was tired, but she said ok, then fell asleep with her arm halfway to my forehead.

According to the wacky thermometer, my temperature was either 32, 98.5, or 98.6. I found out if you add them and take the square root, you have way too much time on your hands. As two of the results were pretty close, I was fever-less! So at 4pm, I finally had my morning coffee. The dog loves coffee, but smartly stayed in bed, where she is somehow able to ignore her mommy's use of heavy equipment.

To top it off, Mother Nature decided to get even with me by making the last two days absolutely beautiful. Walk around without a coat beautiful. To show you how glad I am to be getting over being sick, I almost look forward to taking out the trash. Slow down, lefty. As a warmup, I might put my shoes on and get the mail.

It should be interesting when Wife gets up, which could be any time within the next few days. It looks like while cleaning the fridge, the BANG happened, and the debris was a shelf, which spilled its contents onto the floor. Have you ever had a shelf expel its cold contents onto the floor, possibly throwing them at you? Half the powdered creamer is now on the floor, spelling out HELP ME. We now have purple silverware. And someone finally found my toothbrush. It tends to stray, but this time it got moved during cleaning and no one knew where. At least they took the cereal out of the fridge. When Wife finally wakes up, she's going to ask what happened and who made the mess. I think I need motion-sensitive cameras in the house.

I tried to keep my activity to a minimum, like I do every day, but this time I have a reason; not getting re-sick. So I only took the trash out and carried stuff all over the house. This might not have been a smart idea, like running a marathon without a leg. Here's another phrase you don't hear often: I can't wait to go to work tomorrow.

Typhoid lefty and the Amazing Weather Event

The new job is going well. No, really, it's going decently. I have very few complaints, with the exception of the heat.  It's traditionally women who complain about the temperature being too cold, so I thought they were responsible for the eighty-degree temps in our humongous office.  Where I work is a bit of a cliche, so I asked if we had to fill out a form 8753 in order to get the temperature down below roasting. Even the women were complaining.

Speaking of women, I work near three women or so, who have apparently been sick off and on for months.  I told them if I got typhoid, it would be their fault. Little did I realize that they had been playing Pass the Germs for way longer than I have been there.

Sure enough, my throat began to feel icky. This was followed, in short order, by my head ringing and being in a vise.  It is difficult to concentrate on your job when you're desperately attempting to fail at falling off your chair.  This all happened in one day.  So I chose to stay at work and irradiate the rest of my coworkers who had not yet become sick.  I'm a giver.

You'll be surprised to learn that I don't get sick like normal people. Being a man, I had to ask my wife if I had a temperature, which she verified. The joke is somewhat on me because whenever I ask if I have a temp, my wife tells me yes. Why we do Fever Theater<tm>, I'm not sure. One day when I'm well, I am going to ask her to feel my forehead, just for fun. And then maybe I'll tell her that's not where my forehead is.  I figured the smart thing to do, aside from consuming copious amounts of ibuprofen, would be to take some Nyquil equivalent to help me sleep. It kept waking me up at hourly intervals, like a seriously snoring spouse with a chainsaw.

By the next morning, I was on our Natural Cocktail: zinc, echinacea and vitamin C. You start taking this the moment you feel sick and it will either help you to ward it off or shorten its duration.  If you don't have trouble swallowing pills, you will when you see echinacea.  It looks kinda like a clear capsule of oregano, only it's the size of a small football (deflated, of course).  And it's a good thing I dumped all this crap down my throat because the relatively simple act of sitting on the couch made my skin hurt. When the phone rang, my head exploded.  When my wife spoke, the hair follicles on my arm contracted and sent pain shooting to my brain (what was left of it).  Even innocent email checking rendered my eyebrows non-functional. My nose does not run but my stomach does: right to the fridge. When I get sick, my appetite goes through the roof. Keep your hands and feet away from my mouth.

SNOW

We're about to get a noreaster, whatever that means. It means PANIC. It means clean out the stores of milk and bread in mass PANIC. Depending on who you listen to, we're getting two or three snow storms. This includes between one and twelve inches of snow, depending on which attractive weather woman you prefer to watch. At least this time they came right out and admitted that there was no way to accurately predict the amount of snowfall, instead offering four different scenarios. This happened on three different networks, as if they were colluding.

The news is calling this the storm of the century. This indicates that total snowfall will be somewhere in the area of an inch to an inch and a half.  Mind you, the news also features shots at grocery stores, where the shelves are literally picked clean. You'd think they weren't going to get out to the store for three weeks. They're now calling it Snowmageddon.  This is why I get my news online.

The real mess is going to happen tomorrow, so naturally my wife asked me to stop at the store and pick a few things up. She is the one who goes shopping, so it's a crapshoot when I have to enter that dark place.  Let's start with walking in: most people have no trouble - not me.  I walk up to the door and it won't open. I strongly suspect it is refusing on purpose, perhaps on principle.  I'd have the store manager come out and explain it to me but as it is, he's busy plowing the lot (or one of his cashiers).

In front of me at the deli counter is an old lady who is apparently feeding a small battleship's complement.  She requires a pound and a half of swiss but it has to be in three packages for some unknown reason. Then some turkey.  No, that's not thick enough. Then a half a pound of ham. That's too thick. I held on well, managing not to strangle her with her own turkey pastrami and half an hour later, it was my turn. Mind you, they didn't have what my wife sent me to purchase. It's friggin' cheese - what's so difficult?

Just to make things more interesting, the Deli Lady wound up in front of me at the cashier. It turned out she had a husband, who kinda popped up when the bags were in the cart. I have no idea where he was the whole time; perhaps he was off trying to convince them to sell him three gallons of milk, but in seven plastic containers.

Once outside of the store, I tried carrying the packages to the car. Fortunately for me, it remained in the place where I parked it.  My wife's creamer took a leap right out of the bag, while I had four plastic bags on me. When I got home, the creamer, which obviously had something against me, had once again removed itself from its confines. This was made more amusing by the fact that I keep confusing the trunk release with the gas release. This won't be a serious problem until I start filling up the trunk with gasoline.

The cherry on top of the ice cream sundae has to be the mayor of Philthydelphia's press conference. It's fun to watch because we like to laugh (we're outside of Philly). He emphasized that they're serious about snow removal.  If so, this would be the first time.  There will be 375 people and 800 pieces of equipment deployed.  Two days later, people will be wondering why there's snow all over the place, as if they had no idea it was going to snow.  Furthermore, do not throw snow back in the street - it's disrespectful. Disrespectful is promising to clear the streets and failing completely.  It would be a fair bet that it's been snowing here for longer than there has been a city of Philadelphia, yet they have consistenly failed to do an even passable job of cleaning up. There are actually cities all over the country that manage to clean up way more snow way more frequently.  Driving in Philly is a nightmare with no snow.

I have to go now. The dog is doing us a favor, protecting us from the last bag of Cheese Jax (by eating them).  After it gets done snowing, the Abominable Snow Span will grace the freshly-washed blanket on the couch, which was washed yesterday because he was out in the rain and mud.

Of Colds and Classic Rock

Argh..... 

Sorry, had to be said.

I just spent a week with a particularly nasty bit of a bug.  The blasted optimists would say I should be thankful that I didn't go down for two weeks, like my wife.  This little bugger just sat there and refused to leave, kinda like Congress.

While this thing inhabited my body, I was kind of useless.  If you ask certain people, that was not much of a change.  Suffice it to say that I kinda sat there with a fever and a fuzzy brain.

After a while, the game became finding something to do whilst sitting there.  Not wanting to waste a sick day on actually being sick, I went to work for most of the week. After four days I still had a fever.  I decided that would not do.  The typical remedy was failing me (vitamin C, echinacea, zinc) so I alternated between Daytime Cold Stuff and Nighttime Cold Stuff.

Taking my temperature is something that has never gone well at my house.  This tends to be largely a problem of not being able to locate the thermometer.  Yes, living with a multiple has many joys.  And I will continue to pin this on my wife for as long as I can because it's partially my fault: if I were that interested in taking my temperature, I'd have purchased a second thermometer (or third or fourth) and hid it where I could be the one who didn't know where it was.

So I used the shortcut used by men around the globe: "I feel like a have a temperature."  This brings out the Inner Nurse (who also doesn't know where the thermometer is), who holds her arm up to my forehead and announces "You're hot."

I thank her for the compliment.

But seriously, she's my wife and has to say that stuff now and again.   After she gets done explaining that, she tells me I'm really hot.  I decline to repeat the joke, no matter how much it hurts.

So by this point I'm reasonably certain I have a fever.

The thing is.... whenever my wife feels my forehead, she tells me I have a temperature.  Sometimes I just ask her for the fun of it, even when I feel ok.  Who says science is dead?


So I took a sick day in spite of myself, hoping I could use the three day weekend to heal and be back to work.

Three days later, I was a little worried, as I still had a fever.  Fortunately it left toward the end.

Somewhere earlier I was talking about finding something to do while I was pretty much no good for anything.  When all else fails, there's the computer.  And when the laptop is on the lap, there's internet activity.

VIDEOS!

As I've mentioned, I'm a little slow on the uptake.  I don't do a ton of streaming video or audio.  Somehow I located Justin TV.  This is a site where people create channels and broadcast things that (hopefully) others will view.  There is no shortage of entertainment and content there.  The thing that really confused me was the video games.  People play video games and broadcast them for others to watch (and sometimes comment on).  Since I'm obviously not of that demographic, I have to wonder if this is really popular or goes on elsewhere.  I could find out this information with a search but I'd rather just comment on it and scratch my head.

In any case, there is a ton of content to be found at Justin.  If you can possibly tear yourself away from watching someone else play video games, you can see movies, tv shows, cartoons, ancient programming, and puppy webcams.  While I am a sucker for puppies, I haven't spent much time there.

The first thing I discovered were the `conspiracy' channels.  And my oh my are there a bunch of them.  I seriously recommend viewing some of the content, remembering to question everything and use your BS Filter at all times.  A person could really learn something there.

Then I stumbled upon some of the rock video channels.  There's one fairly constantly broadcasting channel that has a comprehensive collection of videos and concerts (you can look this up on the site's directory).  There's another guy who runs concerts on Friday nights.  He's the epitome of internet amateur broadcasting: great content, amusing comments, equipment breakdowns during the show, and you get to watch him drink soda while he comments (Yay!).  He's the genuine article.

So without further interruption (or temperature checking), I got to see a lot of video while the germs steadfastly refused to leave my system.  Here are some random thoughts....

WHITESNAKE

The Concert Dude<tm> ran a Whitesnake show from 2004 in England.  Like them or not, you have to admit that these guys are tight and put on a show.  Coverdale et al are something of a guilty pleasure (because my guitar playing friends laugh at me when I say Whitesnake) but there are some seriously good tunes there, combined with some seriously good playing.

The first highlight came when a young lady presented David Coverdale (or Coverversion, as Robert Plant refers to him) with some flowers and a note thanking him for his music and his voice.  He seemed genuinely touched but quickly recovered and thanked the lady for her f-ing t*ts, allowing as to how they were inspirational too.

I would have spit out my tea, spraying it all over my monitor, if this happened twenty years ago.  In spite of the fact I always laugh at fart jokes, it just seemed like David might have been a tiny bit long in the tooth to make these jokes.  Or perhaps he could have done it a hair more creatively.

Speaking of old fellows, one also has to give it to Mr. Coverdale for his voice.  The man can hit all of the notes, which is quite a feat for most people north of fifty.  I remember reading that he trained with a cantor after a vocal injury.  Regardless, the man sounds fantastic for any age.

The band was very well-rehearsed and tight (although way too old for Jerry Sandusky).  Tommy Aldridge played drums and has been with this incarnation of the group the longest.  He was a favorite of mine way back when he played for Pat Travers.  That was a killer rhythm section.  This man is a maniac on drums and makes the whole band sound better and tighter.   The bassist was Marco somethingorother.  They even had a keyboardist but he was way down in the mix.

Naturally the fun for me was in the guitar.  Reb Beach played largely second guitar, with his Ibanez custom Strat-style (with EMG pickups).  When he played lead, he proved himself more than capable.  He was more modern-sounding, for better or worse.  Doug Aldrich did most of the leads, using Les Pauls and Marshalls.  He used to play for Dio and had his stage act together.  This guy was something to see, with his fingers moving a mile a minute, perfectly executing the leads of the guys who recorded before him.  A lot of his trilling seemed to be executed with his first and second fingers, which is not common.  His tone was good but a little over the top with distortion for my taste.

It was funny to see most of the band shirtless.  I wonder, if I got to play all the time, would I be able to lose enough weight to look decent in only a vest.  Let's face it - I don't go shirtless because people have to eat - ya know?  Plus the hair spray would probably choke me first.

Recommended.

BLACKMORE ET AL

I got to see Ritchie Blackmore in Deep Purple and one of the Rainbow incarnations (with Dio).  Never got to see him live, so this was my first exposure.

I suspect Mr. Blackmore to have the best sense of humor in classic rock.  He never said a word but you could hear it in his playing and watch it in his antics.  At the end of both concerts, he annhilated his guitars.  Much as it hurt to see perfectly good guitars (John Hiatt) get smashed, it was also pretty amusing.  He thoroughly disembowled the Strats, yanking on the strings, breaking the headstock, using the edge of the stage to `play' the guitar, having a serious fit smashing the remains, and losing a few off the end of the stage.  He'd get another one from a roadie then proceed to atomize it, just like the previous one.  At one point he went through four guitars in minutes.  This was obviously before litigation became a hobby.

One thing I noticed in both bands was the tremendous control he had over the band. They watched him and he gave hand signals whenever he wanted something.  His equipment appeared to be stock CBS Strats into two Marshall stacks, using a reel to reel tape deck for delay and gain.

The playing was the real show, however.  From the bits I could see and hear, Ritchie seemed to almost be a bass player, as opposed to a guitarist.  He would play a single note then an octave up, just like the bass.  Not exactly a ton of power-chording.  Most interesting to observe.

Ronnie James Dio (RIP) fronted this version of Rainbow and was his usual animated (and short) self.  The man's voice defines rock vocals.  I also watched him with Heaven and Hell (pretty much Black Sabbath).  There shall never be another voice like his.

I tend to find power trios boring at times and this was the case with Heaven and Hell.  There's no denying Tony Iommi (another lefty) and his massive tone, but there's only so much one guitar can do, especially when he switches to lead.  Tony used his trademark custom-made lefty SG through Laney amps.  A good guess would be that he detunes his guitar south of normal E.


QUEEN

Speaking of power trios, I saw two Queen concerts.  One was at the Rainbow on the Sheer Heart Attack tour (Killer Queen was the big hit).  I'm at a loss for a date but I'll guess around 1972.  This was a concert filled with songs from earlier in their career. Unfortunately I'm not all that familiar with the earlier songs so it was a bit wasted on me.

Never wasted was the spectacle that is a Brian May solo.  He is a singular voice on guitar and manages to perform miracles in the power trio format.  His early work with delays was groundbreaking and still stands on its own.  There was a small mountain of his trademark Vox AC30 amps and his homemade guitar for the world to behold (along with all that talent).

The next concert was on the Night at the Opera tour (Bohemian Rhapsody was the hit).   There was a greater song selection because of two intervening albums, making for a more interesting concert (for me anyway).

Suffice it to say that you haven't lived until you have beheld Freddie Mercury in short shorts.

Well, maybe not.

In any case, Freddie (born Faroukh Bulsara) set the tone for rock frontmen.  He was bold, brash, incredibly gay, and had a voice that didn't have to be restricted to rock and roll.  [note to self: omit show tune jokes]

At the encore, they had confetti raining down on the occupants of the stadium, along with balloons tied to blow-up dolls.  Quintessential Queen.

Imagine a band with great writing, singing, playing, and a show.  You don't get that often.


ACDC

Amongst other stuff I saw a terribly early video of ACDC.  It was black and white and featured Angus before the dark schoolboy outfit.  They lacked nothing in attitude though.  It was odd to see Orange amps onstage but who's counting?

I even saw the tail end of a Blondie documentary.  To be honest I never liked the band but it was interesting to hear their story.  Can you say cocaine?  I knew you could.

---------------------------

So out of sickness came classic rock videos and concerts.  If you're a musician or rock fan, you need to check Justin out.  Even if you just like to watch videos.....


I'd stick around a bit longer but I have to wake my wife to see if my fever is still gone.