Being spat-on and liking it.

I have the distinct pleasure of both being a fan of many bands, and being in a band with many fans. Fans are the best. We can obsess, stalk, taunt, heckle, criticize, swoon, fantasize - and we love it.
I once saw Godsmack open for Metallica (awesome show) and was appalled to see Sully Erna (lead singer) dash to the edge of the stage and send a massive wad of spittle soaring out over the crowd. But the shocker was this: a wave of people rushed not away from, but towards the flying phlegm. That happened a couple of times.
That got me pondering the fan/celebrity relationship a little. What power. What devotion. Celebrity is a weird thing (have I already blogged about Michael Jackson? Probably).
But I stand by this philosophy: Art transcends the artist.
I'm a fan of all sorts of art created by artists who are simply human. That's what I love about art. It's insight. Revelation. Creation.
So, fans, let's keep being awesome fans. Maybe someday we can take turns spitting on each other.

What is Hip? My take on Patriotism.

My little boy is three years old. He doesn't yet appreciate what it means to have three great-grandfathers still living, not to mention the one great-great grandfather we don't get up to visit near often enough.
He has even less appreciation (he's three, alright?) of the fact that all three of the living and one of the deceased great-grandfathers served in the military, all traveling the world, wielding weapons, and earning medals. Try explaining to a toddler why it's OK to fight sometimes and not other times. Seems simple, right? I tried it. It's not.
And just when I think my toddler is unappreciative, I realized how little I knew myself about my heroic grandfathers. One was in charge of firing those guns on huge boats that look like the four-barreled-blasters off the Millenium Falcon. Another was the tail-gunner in a B-17 bomber - shot down over Nazi Germany. One maintained the engines of giant Boeing Tankers - while they were flying - on trans-Atlantic flights. One sat in the back of Air-Force planes over England and threw metal ribbons out the back - old-school anti-radar measures.
How did I miss all this? I mean, the guy has a Purple Heart and I think he's an ornery cuss? This guy dodged grenades from low-flying Korean planes and I worry about him driving? I've never been so far off.
And yet they don't really talk about it. They come from a generation where patriotism and bravery were included stock in all models, right at the factory. Now these traits are options - features people don't seem to value as much anymore. Even the 9/11 goings-on seemed to have had more impact on the "shake-to-recharge" flashlight industry than the number of my friends signing up to defend our nation. (As a side note - if you hate the French that much, start a petition to return the Statue of Liberty to where it came from.)
But I digress. What I mean to say is THANK YOU, to all those who have lived for decades without anyone asking them about, or thanking them for, the service they gave. And when I say decades, I mean almost 30 years, and when I say "they", I mean my very own Grandpa's. It's because of them I'm enjoying every aspect of being American, right down to my freedom of speech.