“Polka Proud”

c. 2009 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-09)





It was a busy weekend afternoon in the Icehouse Home Office.

I was still recuperating from knee surgery, at the end of June. So half-finished projects were everywhere. A three-part series on the evolution of Burton Village waited for analysis by Ezekiel Byler-Gregg. An editorial by Carrie Hamglaze on Geauga County development lingered until my own finishing touches could be applied.

Meanwhile, I had just begun to compose a feature about Cleveland music icon Dennis Chandler, when an e-mail message arrived, via a popular social networking website.
It was from The Chardon Polka Band, a local group that had once included my musically gifted nephew, Juztyn.

With curiosity, I read the note. It offered details about their upcoming show in the county’s capital city:

“What's shaking MySpace, Internet buddies? It wouldn't be summertime without energetic polkas filling the air in Chardon, Ohio. This Wednesday, the world-renowned Chardon Polka Band will be playing a lunchtime show on the Chardon Square (11:45-1:00 p.m.). This years polka roster includes 20-somethings Jake Kouwe and Paul Coates along with Alex Previty, Josh Burke, and 63 year-old Paul ‘Pops’ Magooch. It's guaranteed that this is the only polka band around with mohawks and long hair! The band, now in it's sixth year of existence, is just as energetic and entertaining as ever (well, maybe we had a bit more energy during our high school days)! With fun originals, classic polkas, and rowdy sing-a-longs, you won't want to miss this event!”

Immediately, I called my wife to discuss the event. Liz agreed that it would be a perfect summer activity for the family. So with folding chairs, beverages, snacks, and my digital camera stashed in our family sedan, we departed for the show.

While traveling, I began to sing:

“Roll out the barrel, we'll have a barrel of fun
Roll out the barrel, we've got the blues on the run
Zing boom tararrel, sing out a song of good cheer
Now's the time to roll the barrel, cause the gang's all here!”

Mother Nature seemed uncertain about this concert. The skies overhead were cloudy, yet dry. Still, no one seemed concerned about the weather. A lunchtime crowd had gathered to hear and be glad!

As ever, we were fashionably late. The band was already in a polka-delic groove as we stationed our equipment directly in front of the city gazebo:

“Strike up the music the band has begun
The Pennsylvania Polka
Pick out your partner and join in the fun
The Pennsylvania Polka
It started in Scranton. It's now number one
It's bound to entertain ya
Everybody has a mania
To do the polka from Pennsylvania!”

Kouwe teased the audience while introducing his bandmates. “We have Paul on bass, and Paul on drums. So it’s ‘Paul squared’ today!”

Giggles echoed around the lawn.

“Actually, we usually have someone on saxophone,” he continued. “But I’ve grown my beard very long, to help take up some of the extra ‘white space.’ So keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times… and here we go!”

The trio offered another popular number that produced smiles from everyone:

“Here's a silly ditty,
You can sing it right away
Now, here is what you say
So sing it while you may
Here's a silly jingle,
You can sing it night or noon
Here's the words, that's all you need
'Cause I just sang the tune
Oh, I don't want her, you can have her
She's too fat for me…”

Our daughters were spellbound by the upbeat rhythms and Old World melodies. Leigh, the teenager, rocked in her wheelchair with festive enthusiasm. But Soccer Fairy tilted her head while thinking. A mood of ‘tween’ curiosity was obvious.

“Where is Juztyn?” she wondered aloud.

Liz fretted over snack mix and cans of soda. “Who?”

“Juztyn!” she repeated. “Where’s my cousin? The other accordion player!”

“He is away at college,” I laughed quietly. “Don’t you remember?”

The Fairy was wide-eyed and skeptical. “But last time, we saw him playing with the band… I remember!”

“You’re right,” I nodded. “But that performance was over two years ago.”

She concentrated with all the energy her eleven year-old brain could muster.

“Ohhhhh,” she agreed at last. “So, will he play with them again?”

Liz patted her head. “I’m sure they’d like that! Maybe before summer is over…”

“I hope so!” she exclaimed.

As we listened, the group changed their tempo with a familiar European ballad:

“Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Every morning you greet me
Small and white, clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever.”

Liz and the girls were in a cheerful mood. But my mind had begun to wander.

“Wouldn’t it be great to start a ‘Pops’ Magooch fan club on the Internet?” I mused.

My wife was startled. “What??”

Leigh and Soccer Fairy were speechless.

“No, seriously,” I said. “The guy is unique. An oldster playing with energetic, new wave troubadours. Isn’t that tantalizingly ironic? And cutting edge??”

There was no response.

“It could start with a fan club on Facebook,” I continued. “Then the idea could develop into full-fledged fandom!”

The silence persisted.

“C’mon!” I pleaded at last. “Tell me you’ve ever seen anything like that before. Say it with a straight face. ‘Pops’ is completely original. A sixty-three year old living icon. Sort of a trans-generational link between the music of Frankie Yankovic and modern artists like The Polkaholics…”

My spouse affected a maternal grin. “Yes, Rodney. Whatever you say.”

Leigh rolled her eyes with indifference.

Finally, Soccer Fairy hugged me with a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. I’ll join your club!”

Kouwe leaned into the microphone, as their performance neared its conclusion.

“We’re at the end of our show today,” he said. “Which means there is one more song to play… our new closing anthem!”

The group burst into a spirited rendition of ‘Old Style Polka.’ This boisterous tune brought everyone to their feet:

“Time to take a break
From all this money making
We work hard
To bring home the bacon
When the day does end
I want to be with friends
We’re living Old Style, Old Style Beer
We’re living Old Style, Old Style is here
My friends are Old Style, Old Style Beer
So have another Old Style
All our friends are here
We’re living Old Style, Old Style Beer!”

I tapped my cane in time to the music.

“This makes me think of visiting your family in Wisconsin,” I cheered.

Liz nodded. “All we need are Green Bay Packers jerseys.”

“And some hunks of cheese??” The Fairy echoed.

“Sounds great,” I agreed. “Now, where do I find Old Style Beer in Ohio?”

“I don’t know from beer,” my wife confessed. “You’re alone on that mission.”

My excitement was momentarily stilled. “Okay, how about… brats on the grill?”

“That’ll do,” she agreed.

“Polka and bratwurst, in the shadow of ‘Pops’ Magooch!” I shouted, as the band finished their concert.

“Life is good!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

POLKA BAND PROMO

I enjoy putting together ads and promotional material... call it a hobby of sorts. Thinking of my recent encounter with The Chardon Polka Band, here's an image made from a photo of the Geauga County Courthouse taken during their on-the-square performance:



The World's Most Dangerous Polka Band - listen if you dare!

CHARDON POLKA BAND

What could be better than seeing The Chardon Polka Band in concert? Why, seeing them on the Chardon City Square, in the beautiful gazebo, of course!

A recent bulletin on MySpace teased us with the possibility of seeing Jake Kouwe and his bandmates in concert. So the entire Ice Household visited for this lunchtime performance. As always, it was a polka-riffic journey through a repertoire of European standards, and new-age innovations...


Jake Kouwe, on accordion




The world's most dangerous polka band? You be the judge...







Paul 'Pops' Magooch, on drums



From left: Paul 'Odd Jobs' Coates; Paul 'Pops' Magooch; Jake Kouwe











The band with Thoughts At Large hero 'Soccer Fairy'



The band's most recent CD release






Since forming at Chardon High School, the band has become something of a Geauga County legend. They have appeared on WJW Fox-8 television, and had their music featured on the 'Doctor Demento' radio program.

Kouwe promises that a new studio recording is in the works, to satisfy their eager fans. Meanwhile, the prolific group continues to play many shows around northeastern Ohio.

See them - if you dare!

“Cars On The Cheap”

c. 2009 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-09)



“Hello, my name is Rod, and I’m a pedestrian…”

When I first came to Chardon in 1983, it was as a homeless passenger.

With two electric guitars, an armload of vinyl albums, and a stash of motorcycle magazines, my life did not include much beyond basic needs. It would be three months before I could afford wheeled transportation – a $750 coupe from Lawson Ford.

That sort of minimalism has seemed curiously far away for many years… until two weeks ago. Suddenly, it was the 1980s all over again!

Owing to circumstances in the household, I ended up without a car for the first time in twenty-six years. To compound my situation, our family budget offered little hope of affording anything beyond a well-used rustbucket. I had been on medical leave from work for several weeks. Spare change wasn’t plentiful.

Liz, my wife, was happy to share the use of her blue sedan. Yet my carless state brought psychological despair. I could focus on nothing but the lack of motorized mobility.

Soon, I had begun to write a song about my plight:

NO CAR BLUES

(1)
I’d run from the man
But I won’t get far
‘Cause I ain’t got a car

I’d go to the movies
Drink Kool-Aid from a jar
But I ain’t got a car

Circumstances
Ain’t too nice
Now I’m runnin’ on shoeleather
Rough by the roadside

I’d slide out of trouble
Ride a shooting star
But I ain’t got a car

(2)
I can’t go crusin’
To Eat ‘n’ Park
‘Cause I ain’t got a car

I ‘d run for the border
But I won’t get far
‘Cause I ain’t got a car

Lookin’ at
Wandering taillights
Reading ads
From morning to midnight

I’d burn rubber
Till the tires came apart
But I ain’t got a car

Eventually, I began to browse at low-buck car lots in the area. Then, this search broadened to include private sellers with a vehicle in their front yard. I scoured newspaper ads and Internet posts on eBay and Craigslist. And I asked friends and acquaintances about automobiles that they might have seen. Before long, I had compiled a short list of possible purchases:

1989 LINCOLN TOWN CAR - $899
134,415 miles / 5.0 liter V-8
Grade: A

This was Ford Motor Company’s final ‘square’ interpretation of the venerable Town Car. A rolling brick sculpture, oozing the grandeur of a lost era. Other than a bit of rust on the lower door panels, it seemed to have survived the past twenty years with confidence. I’d once owned an ’87 Crown Victoria with the same fuel-injected motor. So the vehicle tempted me with its durability and roominess.

1987 CHEVROLET CAPRICE - $1,000
136,000 miles / 4.3 liter V-6
Grade: C

Another relic from the traditional era. This was the budget version of GM’s full-size sedan. Big, thirsty and slow, but dependable. The car needed bodywork, paint, and a ticket to the 21st Century.

1992 CHRYSLER IMPERIAL - $1,000
100,000 + miles / 3.2 liter V-6
Grade: F

One of the ‘downsized’ luxury automobiles created as Detroit switched to front-wheel-drive platforms. Admittedly, I didn’t have a good ‘feel’ for this car. The owner boldly admitted to having replaced its transmission at 30,000 miles. Then, wiring problems developed that made him park the beast out of frustration. Quietly, I wondered why it hadn’t already been towed to the junkyard. Still, it wore a newer set of Michelin tires. That might have been the most dependable part of this vehicle.

1997 BUICK LE SABRE - $599
170,000 miles / 3.8 liter V-6
Grade: D

I’ve read that the Buick marque is very popular in China. This highway veteran made me ponder that truism carefully. While solid enough, it had a cracked windshield and various mechanical issues. I decided to leave it for someone in Shanghai.

1995 VW GOLF - $998
172,335 miles / 2.0 liter I-4
Grade: C

Solid, if a bit ratty. My father owned two of these during the 1980’s. His diesel Golf would return 50 m.p.g. on the highway. This example was bound to miss that benchmark, yet still provide good fuel economy. But it was small, and generic. My head said ‘yes’ but my heart said ‘no.’

1994 FORD CROWN VICTORIA - $499
134,069 miles / 4.6 liter V-8
Grade: B

In days of yore, most American cars followed this design: Body-on-frame, front engine, rear-wheel drive. This workhorse looked a bit ragged around the edges. Its blue paint had faded into spots of off-white and gray. Rust had consumed a chunk of the driver’s-side front fender. But the aging mule still seemed confident, and ready for road duty.

1995 NISSAN KING CAB PICKUP - $995
106,418 miles / 3.0 liter V-6
Grade: C

I just couldn’t get excited about this vehicle. It was bland, but useful. A donkey for everyday chores. A bit chewed-up around the perimeter, yet basically intact. Four wheels, and a radio. Nothing more, nothing less.

1989 CADILLAC SEVILLE - $895
200,000 miles / 4.5 liter V-8
Grade: B

A high-mileage cruiser. One of the new-age, ‘downsized’ vehicles from GM. Luxurious, yet strangely Chrysleresque – a ‘vibe’ that made me uneasy. This was in their transition period between the glory of yesteryear and the taut ‘hipness’ of today. I reckoned that nothing could soothe my carless soul like a bit of Cadillac magic…

1988 SATURN SL - $688
205,314 miles / 1.9 liter I-4
Grade: F

These cars helped revive GM’s brand image in the 1980s. They were sturdy, useful, and sold with a sense of ‘membership’ in the Saturn family. Unfortunately, a closer look at this vehicle yielded a caveat that made me turn away: MECHANIC’S SPECIAL.

1985 CHEVROLET CELEBRITY - $995
55,513 miles / 2.8 liter V-6
Grade: B

Somehow, I couldn’t quite believe the claimed mileage for this Reagan-Era relic. 155,513 seemed to be a more likely figure. Still, the car looked clean, if well worn. A daily driver blessed with the no-frills design of yonder days.

BONUS PICK: 1973 CADILLAC SEDAN DE VILLE- $3900
93,368 miles / 7.7 liter V-8
Grade: A+

Out of my price range, but a huge slab of eye-candy that couldn’t be ignored. It was at the same dealership that had the 1989 Town Car for sale. A clean, and period-perfect chariot. In bygone days, these were known as ‘land yachts.’ Probably an insane choice for someone facing the prospect of rising gasoline prices. But one I’d gladly make…

With my roster of alternatives completed, I reviewed each choice carefully.

Meanwhile, there was no consensus in our family about this decision. My father, now eighty years old, seemed to favor the Town Car. My brother thought that the Crown Victoria was a proper choice. My niece thought that a fuel-efficient vehicle like the Volkswagen would be sensible.

Liz simply suggested that we share her sedan until our finances improved.

Finally, I relented.

My wallet was empty. So waiting wasn’t difficult.

“I’m a man with a plan. But a pedestrian, I am!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

DAVIE ALLAN - 'Chopper Daze' LP

And another fictional DA album from the Icehouse:

DAVIE ALLAN - CHOPPING BLOCK LP

Here's another fictional Davie Allan & The Arrows LP...



King Fuzz has completed a new CD, I've been told. He is scheduled to have the disc on or around July 30th. All the 'Arrowheads' are excited... there's nothing like a new release from the Fuzzmaster General!

“Interview”

c. 2009 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-09)



It was a beautiful summer morning in New York City.

My view of the day came through the 81st-floor windows of a corporate skyscraper. I had been waiting in the high-rise suite of offices for nearly forty-five minutes. My intention was simple – to interview for a full-time position with one of the nation’s best known media companies.

Yet restlessness swelled in my veins.

I was beginning to long for the pastoral beauty of Geauga. My taste of the ‘Big Apple’ had turned sour as impatience took hold.

More than anything, I just wanted to go home.

Suddenly a door opened from across the waiting room. A well-groomed junior executive appeared in the doorway. He wore a khaki suit and powder-blue shirt. “Mr. Ice?”

“Yes,” I said, clutching back issues of The Maple Leaf.

“Please, come in!” he said with a sense of professional detachment. “I am Giles Mead, Director of Human Resources.”

I followed his direction, and took a seat in front of an oversized desk. It was made of bamboo poles, lashed together. “It is a pleasure to be called here. Thank you.”

He smiled politely. “Of course.”

I looked around the office while he shuffled through a personnel folder. The prevailing décor was reminiscent of a jungle outpost.

“You’ve got quite a workspace here,” I observed.

He took a deep breath. “Yes, thank you. My intent was to step away stylistically from the drudgery of everyday life.”

I pondered a carved gourd on his bookshelf. “Well, you’ve accomplished that goal, I think.”

He raised an eyebrow. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed while I squirmed in my seat. Then, he began my interview.

“So… what do you know about The New York Times?” he asked.

I struggled for a proper reply. “Well, what I know is that your paper is one recognized by readers across the globe.”

Mead brightened. “Yes. Very true! We have an international presence. But with the industry in transition, our ownership has decided that it is time to broaden the company portfolio.”

I was puzzled. “Broaden… your portfolio?”

“Indeed!” he cheered. “We want to reach a more diverse group of readers. Therefore, our intention is to launch another publication. The ‘Great Lakes Gazetteer!”

I gulped. “A geographical newspaper?”

“No, no. We intended it to be a clever anachronism,” he explained. “A reference to past traditions. Have you studied the ‘York Gazetteer’ from eighteenth-century England?”

My face burned with embarrassment. “Umm, no. I haven’t.”

Mead rubbed his eyes. “A pity. But, no matter. We feel that this new journal will speak to citizens in the heartland. A… different demographic from ‘The Times.’ That’s why you’ve been asked to interview with us.”

I bowed my head. “Again, thank you!”

The Human Resources chieftain pulled out a printed copy of my resume. “So, Mr. Ice. Tell me about your background. How did you become a professional writer?”

“Well,” I mumbled. “As you can see, my career began in 1982…”

“No!” he scolded. “I know your work history from reading this resume. What is your life story… reading between the lines?”

The question made me nervous. “Well, I grew up in a family inclined toward creative writing, music, and art.”

He was pleased. “Very good. Go on!”

“My first office was in the basement of our house, at the age of ten,” I continued. “An extra trash barrel topped with a plywood square was my first desk. And I had a functional, plastic typewriter.”

He was growing excited. “Ah yes… a ‘Baby Boom’ beginning. So… this led you to become a progressive journalist?”

“Progressive?” I said with confusion.

“An advocate for social responsibility,” he explained. “A voice in the darkness.”

“Actually, my intention was to write honestly,” I answered. “Without preconceived notions. Isn’t that the job of a reporter?”

Mead frowned. “You’ve lost me, Mr. Ice.”

I was rattled. “Umm… sorry!”

“Don’t you feel a ‘calling’ to do good through your career?” he yelped.

“Well, sure,” I acquiesced. “I think honest analysis and reporting is… good.”

He sighed loudly, and scribbled notes on a yellow pad of paper.

“As a columnist, my own perspective is useful,” I said. “But as a journalist, I prefer to let the subject take center stage. Think of the root word in newspaper. We are in the business of… news.”

The Human Resource master shook his head. “You’ve lost me again. What was your point, Mr. Ice?”

My hands began to tremble. “I want to report news events. Nothing more.”

He looked dumbfounded. Sweat had begun to form over his brows. “Everyone in our business shares that goal,” he snapped.

My uneasiness grew. “With respect, I’d have to disagree.”

Mead huffed with discontent. “Disagree? What are you trying to say?”

“Only that not everyone has the same philosophy about writing for a newspaper,” I observed. “Some approach this craft with… well… a personal agenda.”

He loosened the collar of his pastel shirt. “This is becoming tiresome. I am lost, lost lost. Can you explain yourself?”

My voice went hoarse. “I believe in our duty to be a dependable source of truth. Anything else belongs on the editorial page.”

His mood went still. “Okay! Let’s change the subject.”

I nodded in agreement.

“What about fairness?” he stammered. “Do you support fairness in the media?”

“Of course,” I said. “One could hardly oppose fairness as a goal.”

“But how would you define that term?” he thundered.

“Well, to be ‘fair’ is to… analyze all sides of an argument,” I proposed.

“And to spotlight the good, while shunning the bad?” he concluded.

“Umm… determining ‘good’ and ‘bad’ isn’t always easy,” I said. “That is best left to ordinary folk.”

Mead scratched furiously at his notepad. “Do you really think so?”

My face went red. “I do. We are in the business of ‘news’ as I said before…”

“Yes, yes, yes!” he snorted. “Hoorah for the news!”

Silence filled the room. He reveled in the wordless pause. Then, my interview resumed once more.

“Mr. Ice,” he said. “Do you think it is the responsibility of a newspaper to educate its readers?”

“Yes, undoubtedly so, I said.

“And to uplift the unsophisticated masses?” he prodded.

My pulse quickened. “I am uncomfortable with your premise.”

Mead growled with irritation. “Aren’t you more intelligent than the average schlub?”

I chuckled at his terminology. “That supposition makes me uneasy. It borders on arrogance.”

“Mr. Ice! Please!” he begged. “We are a different breed. Put here to help those who aren’t so gifted to get along…”

Tension made it difficult to speak. But finally, I was able to wheeze out a response.

“My method is to respect readers, instead of viewing them in a condescending manner,” I proclaimed.

The Human Resource potentate chewed his tongue. “Well then! Thank you Mr. Ice. Good day to you!”

I was stunned. “Huh??”

“Thanks for coming,” he intoned. “If necessary, we will notify you as the hiring process continues.”

The office door swung open, forcefully.

“Good day!” he shouted.

I was breathless. What had just happened?

“Good day, sir!” he said again.

My big-city interview had ended!

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

JUNKYARD EXPLORER: Abandoned Rock Creek Sunoco

This station has been closed for a long, long time. Actually, I'm not sure if I ever saw it open for business. Possibly back in the 1980's? Can't remember. But as a real depot for service and fuel, it couldn't possibly have had this much mojo.

The abandoned Rock Creek Sunoco is an eerie place. The grounds are filled with old, broken-down vehicles. There are weeds growing everywhere. Yet it matches the personality of this quiet village. Time truly seems to stand still here:






Does anyone still use the facility? It seems useful as an icon, if nothing else. As a makeshift automobile graveyard. Or a monument to the throwaway nature of American culture. Not open for business? No matter. A mess so photogenic deserves to be remembered.

CAR SPOTTER: 1973 CADILLAC

America in the 70's... ah yes, I remember it well!

This decade began as a encore to the sixties. All of the contrasts were in place: War vs. Peace; The Establishment vs. Young America; Rock 'n' Roll vs. Lawrence Welk; The Old Order vs. New-Age thinking.

General Motors and the rest in Detroit were still locked into the glorious paradigm of 'bigger is better.' Throughout the post-war boom, this view had served them well.
But then came the Oil Embargo of 1973.

Life in America was never the same, again.

Seeing this spiffy example of Cadillac grandeur brought back those memories, and more. During '73, I remember an older friend saying that he'd literally been offered the keys to a Cadillac, AND TURNED THEM DOWN. No one wanted such a fuel-swilling during that uneasy period in history.

But today, I'd GLADLY accept those keys. Even with the fear that gasoline may soar past four dollars per gallon once again.

As Springsteen sang, "We don't have to drive it. Honey we can park it out in back..."






http://www.midwaypontiac.gmpsdealer.com/

SOCCER CAM: THE LOOSE CHANGE BAND

On a recent evening in Madison, we enjoyed a free concert by The Loose Change Band of Pennsylvania. Their selection of Rock and Country oldies was entertaining. Everyone seemed to enjoy the mix of classic tunes.

Since I was sidelined by a recent knee surgery, junior photographer Soccer Fairy stepped in to handle camera duty during the concert:








Postscript - The Loose Change Band can by found on MySpace at:
www.myspace.com/officialloosechangeband

SOCCER CAM: Mid-70s Dodge Royal Monaco

We spotted this 70s cruiser on the village square in Madison. It immediately had me thinking of the 'Blues Brothers' movie. What a glorious relic from Chrysler Corporation's past!

I wanted to photograph the car, but could barely walk. My recovery from knee surgery was still a work in progress. So Soccer Fairy, our junior ace, stepped in to complete the task:







Postscript: According to 'Blues Brothers Central' the Bluesmobile was a 1974 Dodge Monaco. An entry on Wikipedia says that 13 different vehicles were actually used to depict this car during the film's production.

SOCCER CAM: 1972 VW TRIKE

We visited the heart of Madison Village on Thursday evening for a free concert by 'The Loose Change Band' from Pennsylvania. While enjoying their selection of Rock and Country oldies, I noticed a purple Volkswagen trike rolling around the town square. Because I was recovering from knee surgery, getting photos of the vehicle seemed impossible. But junior ace Soccer Fairy took over, with amazing results:




The pilot of this chopperistic creation said that it was based around a 1972 VW motor. The three-wheeler also sported a custom paint job - with translucent green skulls!

It was a sight worth remembering. And thanks to Soccer Fairy, we've got the photos to prove it!

“Knee Go Boom: Part Three”

c. 2009 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-09)




Note to readers: What follows here is the latest installment of my journey into personal injury and rehabilitation.

ONE

When my scheduled day of surgery arrived, a bit of superstition took hold. I wore my ‘lucky’ black T-shirt from Las Vegas, and a pair of Ohio State athletic shorts.

Any form of positive karma seemed welcome. Especially because I had never been in the hospital, before.

Liz, my wife, was already dressed. Her pink jumpsuit made my vision blur. Carefully, she recited the pre-admission checklist that’d I’d been given.

“No coffee or breakfast this morning?” she said with authority.

“Just some fried pig’s feet and okra,” I replied. My belly felt uncomfortably empty.

“Honey!” she implored. “Be serious!!”

“Be serious,” I wondered aloud. “Is that on my list?”

She growled in hushed tones, like a simmering cat. “Stop it! This is important.”

My eyes were heavy. “Okay. Nothing to eat or drink.”

“Did you take your medicines?” she said like a schoolmaster.

“Yes,” I nodded. “Of course. I chewed them up, dry.”

“Rodney!!!” she screeched. “You were allowed a sip of water.”

“Was that on the list?” I asked.

She flipped her auburn hair, impatiently. “Read it for yourself!”

“But, aren’t you in charge of the list?” I snorted.

My spouse reddened with frustration. She threw down the instructions. “Would you rather do all of this yourself? Dr. Csonka can fix your knee without my help!”

“No,” I said, submissively. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Let’s start again.”

She bit her lip. “Okay. Well, we’d better get going. It takes awhile to get you prepared before they actually do anything…”

I limped to the car with my cane, and paperwork. As we drove to Geauga Hospital, Bobby Darin’s classic ‘Mack the Knife’ played on WMJI. It was a musical omen that made my insides tremble.

Liz offered encouragement from behind the wheel. “This will be over before you know it. Just relax!”

TWO

A friendly nurse offered direction through the inner maze of hospital cubicles. I took comfort in realizing that her name was ‘Liz’ - just like my significant other.
Her scrubs were adorned with festive images of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe.

In the staging area, I readied myself with a hospital gown, slipper socks, and what looked like a shower cap. Then, pre-op questioning began.

It took only a moment before my guide was dumbfounded.

“Ever had surgery before?” she asked, cheerfully.

“No,” I answered.

“Not even your tonsils out as a kid?” she said with disbelief.

“No,” I repeated.

“No broken bones?” she puzzled, peering at my chart through oversized glasses.
“No,” I re-repeated.

“Never had anesthesia?” she said curiously.

“No,” I echoed.

“Never had an I-V?” she wheezed.

“No,” I re-re-repeated.

“Never had serious medical care?” she squeaked.

“No,” I said with fatigue. “All the bad luck in our family went to my little brother. I’ve been very fortunate…”

“I’m sure he didn’t like that!” the nurse laughed.

“No, not at all,” I agreed. “Guess I won the birth lottery.”

“And… how old are you?” she asked with amazement.

“Forty-seven,” I boasted.

She scribbled on her clipboard. “Hmmm. Well Mr. Ice, we promise to take very good care of you.”

I forced out a smile. “Thanks!”

Dr. Csonka arrived as we finished the questionnaire. His upbeat mood stilled the shaking in my belly.

“Well, Rod, we’re almost ready for the kickoff,” he exclaimed. “How do you feel?”

Anxiety made me blurt out an honest reply. “I feel like putting this off for awhile.”

The doctor slapped my shoulder. “Nah, don’t say that! Your knee will be better than ever after this procedure. Then you can get back to jogging, playing Frisbee, and riding your motorcycle… all that good stuff!”

“Jogging?” I said with confusion. “Haven’t done any of that.”

He slapped my shoulder once more, for emphasis. “Give it a try! It will help with your weight, blood pressure, and sense of well being. Trust me!”

THREE

My ride to the Operating Room was like something from a documentary on the Discovery Channel. After passing through a gauntlet of medical machines, technicians and buzzing work stations, the air temperature dropped. I realized that we had now entered a special chamber. One purposefully arranged around a single, narrow bed in the middle.

I gulped hard, with recognition. This was where the doctor would work his magic.

Having already surrendered my glasses, I couldn’t actually focus on the nurse and anesthesiologist that attended to my needs. But their voices were soothing.

“Do you like cartoons?” the gas doctor muttered.

His question was completely off-topic. But it offered a welcome distraction.

“Umm… of course,” I agreed, while trying to center myself on the table. “Especially Bugs Bunny and any of the Warner Brothers stuff.”

“I was just talking to my nurse about The Simpsons,” he explained. “She isn’t old enough to have seen it, but there was a prime-time cartoon on television in the early 70’s. It was called ‘Wait Till Your Father Gets Home.’ Do you remember that show?”

My eyes went wide open. “Yeah! It came on the air while I lived in Virginia…”

“Tom Bosley did the father’s voice,” he reflected. “And Jack Burns was his neighbor.”

I grinned with déjà vu. “Woww. I didn’t think anyone else watched it…”

While we bantered about fictional Harry Boyle and his family, the nurse busied herself positioning my arms over a pair of wings that extended from each side of the surgery table. She slipped loose, rubber guards up to my shoulders, making me feel like Batman before a crime-fighting adventure.

“In Virginia, a friend of mine was the son of an engineer for General Electric,” I continued. “He was ‘wound tight.’ A very serious fellow. But when Bugs Bunny came on the television, his mood would change, immediately. That was the only time we saw him smile…”

Suddenly, a different voice filled my ears.

“Mr. Ice?” a new nurse said, pleasantly. “Are you waking up?”

I opened my eyes, expecting to see the anesthesiologist and his assistant. But they were gone. The room felt warmer. And my bat-wings had disappeared.

“That was it?” I thought silently. “The surgery is already over??”

My consciousness seemed to bubble like coffee through an old fashioned percolator.

“Mr. Ice?” the nurse smiled. “Would you like some ginger ale?”

I must have nodded affirmation, because she bowed gracefully.

Everything in the room appeared different than before. My bed was one of several arranged around a desk full of monitors. The crew seemed busy. Yet there was little conversation.

I shook my head. “What happened to the cartoons…?”

When the nurse returned, she had a visitor.

“Your wife is here, Mr. Ice,” she cheered. “You did very well for a first-timer!”

Liz bubbled with enthusiasm. Her pink glow cut through my chemically induced stupor. “Hi honey! How do you feel?”

I took a deep breath. “Is this the recovery room?”

“Yes,” she answered while wrinkling her nose. “You’re all done. It’s time to go home!”

My head began to clear. “Wow… wait till I post this on Twitter!”

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com

LOOKING FOR WHEELS

No money? Need transportation? I can relate to that... here are a few local specials I've found whilst searching ads on the Internet:


1979 Chrysler 300




1968 VW Beetle




1979 Olds Cutlass




1995 Ford LTD Crown Victoria




1976 Ford F-100


Once upon a time, the booming American economy blessed our household with good fortune. But now it's back to the days of cheap cruisin' and pinching pennies. Ah yes, I remember it well...

REVIEWS, GUARANTEED!

ARE YOU IN A ROCK 'N' ROLL BAND?
DO YOU WANT YOUR RECORDINGS TO BE REVIEWED FOR THE MASSES?
ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ATTENTION FROM THE NATIONAL PRESS?
IT'S EASIER THAN YOU THINK.
SEND YOUR CD, FLASH DRIVE, 8-TRACK TAPE, CASSETTE, VINYL RECORD, OR 78 TO:

ROD ICE
P.O. BOX 365
CHARDON, OH 44024

ADD AUTOGRAPHED PHOTOGRAPHS, PROMOTIONAL MATERIALS, BOOKS, MAGAZINES, AND WHATEVER - AND YOU WILL RECEIVE INTERNATIONAL PUBLICITY!

DO IT TODAY!!

“SOUL IN A CAN – The True Story”

c. 2009 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-09)





Note to Readers: A writing exercise can be inspired by nearly anything. It is part of the magic associated with this craft. Even the most unimportant detail of an average day might eventually serve to cause a manuscript of consequence to be born. One needs only to maintain an open mind… and believe in the art of wordsmithing.

It was somewhere the middle of a long, summer night.

After planting flowers, building a campfire, roasting hot dogs, and feeding most of the kids in our neighborhood, my wife had finally succumbed to fatigue.

Liz lay sleeping amid piled blankets, pillows, and household pets.

The busy evening had sapped her energy. Yet it produced the opposite effect on me, as the dark hours progressed. I was wide awake, and restless.

An echo kept repeating from wordsmithing oblivion. Something from many months ago. An idea unsuccessful and forgotten, yet still so persistent…

It was my tongue-in-cheek attempt to vend the essence of a human spirit on eBay - a life force contained within the cylindrical confines of a Genesee Beer container.

After our household success in selling a ‘mouse shaped’ piece of Italian bread on the site, I had grown more bold. Temptation made me lust after this new source of income.

I originally listed the item as a "Human Soul In A Can" after seeing many similar entries online. It seemed like a way to earn extra cash while poking fun at the human ability to be duped by a good line of nonsense.

But the ‘World's Online Marketplace’ began to crack down on this sort of off-the-wall fare as I was submitting my item.

The Genesee can listing was canceled, pending a revision. My carefully crafted plan for an easy buck had backfired!

In the interest of preserving my good name as a seller on the network, I did a re-write that softened the tone and character of my listing. Instead of claiming that the can literally contained a human soul, I composed a description that was more politically correct and legally defensible.

The result was to promise a 'dream artifact' to potential bidders. Something guaranteed to entertain eBay participants with a bit of fanciful, otherworldly lore.
It made the text even more surreal than before:

EBAY ITEM - SOUL IN A CAN (# 140253745931)

**** ATTENTION – THIS IS A REVISED LISTING. MY APOLOGIES TO EBAY AND ANYONE WHO BID ON THIS ITEM BEFORE. THANK YOU! ***

HERE WE HAVE AN ITEM WITH AN UNUSUAL STORY - A 2008 GENESEE BEER CAN. I MAKE NO CLAIM ABOUT ITS VALUE. BUT READ ON IF YOU WILL.

THE TALE HERE IS INCREDIBLE, BUT TRUE - I PURCHASED A TWELVE-PACK OF THIS TASTY BEVERAGE IN RECENT MONTHS, AT A STORE NEAR LAKE ERIE.

AT FIRST, I WANTED TO SHARE THE CONTAINERS WITH OTHER COLLECTORS WHO, LIKE MYSELF, CHERISH SUCH THINGS.

BUT AFTER CONSUMING MULTIPLE CANS OF THE STUFF, I HAD A DREAM... OR PERHAPS A BREW-FUELED VISION... OF A VAGRANT FROM BYGONE DAYS.

TRUTH OR DRUNKENNESS? YOU DECIDE.

THIS SPIRIT CALLED HIMSELF "RIVERSIDE RED" AND CLAIMED TO HAVE BEEN FROM CENTRAL NEW YORK, WHERE HE LIVED THE LIFE OF A HOBO.

HE FATHERED SEVEN CHILDREN, BUT HAD LITTLE PRESENCE IN THEIR LIVES. AS A DRIFTER HE LABORED IN FACTORIES, LOADING DOCKS, AS A HANDYMAN, AND EVEN AS A TRAVELING SALESMAN.

"RED" HAD A ROWDY SENSE OF HUMOR, AND AN EVER-PRESENT TASTE FOR GENESEE BOCK BEER. HIS PASSION WAS SO STRONG THAT AS HE LAY DYING IN A RAILROAD YARD NEAR BUFFALO, HE OFFERED A FINAL WISH TO ETERNITY: "CARRY ME HOME WITH MY FAVORITE DRINK."

THUS, HIS SPIRIT ENTERED A CONTAINER OF GENNY BOCK THROUGH THE WARPED SPACE OF PSYCHIC REALITY.

EVEN THOUGH THE CAN HAS BEEN BOTTOM-OPENED, "RED" INDICATED THAT A HUMAN SPIRIT CAN ONLY EXIT SUCH AN ITEM THROUGH THE TOP SEAL. THEREFORE, I DREAMED THAT HIS SOUL-ESSENCE REMAINED INTACT.

IN MY VISION, "RED" REVEALED HIS DESIRE TO TRAVEL IN THE CAN I HAD PURCHASED. SO TO HONOR HIM, I DECIDED TO SELL THE CONTAINER HERE, IN HIS IMAGINARY MEMORY. BY BIDDING, YOU ARE PAYING HOMAGE TO A WILD, INDIVIDUALISTIC FELLOW WORTHY OF HONOR.

DID HE REALLY EXIST? OR DID I JUST OVER-IMBIBE? YOU DECIDE.

I WILL INCLUDE A CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICITY TO THE WINNING BIDDER THAT INDICATES MY DREAM OF "RED" BEING IN THIS COLLECTIBLE CAN.

NOTE: THIS ITEM IS SOLD HONESTLY AS A KEEPSAKE AND NOT FOR ANY OTHER PURPOSE.

**** FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY ****

TO AVOID ANY INSULT TO THE VISION OF "RIVERSIDE RED" THERE WILL BE NO REFUND. THANK YOU!

BID OFTEN TO AVOID MISSING OUT ON THIS ODD TREASURE!

I started the artifact at ninety-nine cents. Amazingly, not one offer surfaced from the vastness of eBay’s consumer network.

The entire exercise had been a failure.

Later, other ideas appeared to gain useful income from selling on eBay. I opened a cup of Italian Ice and discovered that the swirl inside looked amazingly like an ‘Obama’ campaign logo. This seemed certain to attract lots of bids on the site. It constituted another ‘miracle artifact’ to present for sale. But like my canned soul, the operation didn’t work out as planned.

Yet all of that was a long time ago…

As I sat before our household computer, echoes of these exercises continued to reverberate. I wondered if any of my eBay text had survived?

Being a writer, it was very likely that I had saved a copy of the listing for posterity. Yet a quick search through my files produced only a mood of frustration.

I rummaged around in our file cabinets. Nothing had been burned onto a disc, or printed out on paper. Even a check of the ‘Thoughts At Large’ cyberspace blog failed to produce any results.

Then, in desperation, I checked a social-networking site where I had once been active. Buried there was an entry from July 30th of last year. It finally yielded the text I was seeking.

A quiet cheer broke the silence. My wife mumbled in her sleep, but did not awaken.
I reveled in the solitary moment of triumph!

Once again, the truism was proved: that inspiration can come from anywhere.
Even the ‘World’s Online Marketplace.’

Comments about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
Visit us at: www.thoughtsatlarge.com