2020: The Year of the Plate

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Our family was having dinner recently and we somehow got into a discussion about being a picky eater. It delved, as it always seems to, about who among our family most or least embodies a given characteristic. At some point our daughter Sasha declared that I was one of the least picky eaters she knows. And I agree. I’m not crazy about lentils, capers or eel. If I’m going to eat anything with cream or mayonnaise, it has to be a barely-there amount. Otherwise, I’m pretty much game for anything.

It was interesting we were having this discussion because, although I’ve been an open-minded eater for as long as I can remember, it’s only recently that I’ve realized it’s a pretty good life skill to possess. When you’re traveling, in different circumstances or surroundings; when you’re a guest in someone’s home – it truly helps to be able to eat everything on your plate.

And speaking of plates, I never much cared for the expression “make a plate.” For some reason my my mind goes to this dated place where a fictional wife, usually a nice old lady or a young woman in a beehive hairdo, puts a plate of food together for her balding, overweight husband while he sits on his ass. But on a work trip recently I stopped by myself for dinner at a local Whole Foods where I ate from the hot and cold bar. I grabbed an empty plate and then proceeded to fill it up. And for some reason the term “make a plate” finally seemed OK.

Which is largely why I intend to make 2020 “The year of the plate.” A couple of years back I defined 2018 as “The year of the sandwich,” embracing the late Warren Zevon’s adage to “enjoy every sandwich.” 2018, as I recall, went pretty well.

My hope is that I take the same mindset I had back in Whole Foods and apply it to my year. Seek nutritional value and variety, both in taste and texture. Recognize that although I might come across something better I will need to make choices – figuratively eat what’s on my plate, and accept the consequences. And of course be mindful of portion control.

Beyond making my own plate, I also want to take my culinary “game for anything” mindset and apply it to the year ahead. I want to be flexible, to eat what I’m served when I’m served it. To say please and thank you and only ask for seconds if everyone else has had their turn.

I appreciate you reading and wish you a safe, happy and healthy New Year. Cheers!

Image credit: thinkeatbehealthy.com

 

 

Lemmy’s Lessons

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

It’s the Holiday season and by my standards I’m indulging a bit. Eating more desserts and sweets than usual, not always having my typical sensible lunch and drinking beer with dinner most evenings. But my most indulgent lifestyle choices would probably be viewed as a cleansing ritual by the Motörhead founder Lemmy Kilmister passed away on Dec. 28, 2015 and today would have celebrated his 77th birthday had he lived.

Most people, myself included, were surprised Lemmy had made it to 70. Lemmy’s unrepentant rock n’ roll lifestyle, you see, was as notable as his music. While Keith Richard’s whiskey mumble and pirate accoutrements have morphed into schtick and self-parody, Lemmy was the real deal.

Regardless of whether you’re fan of Motörhead or similar music, I highly encourage you to watch the 2010 documentary on Kilmister, simply titled Lemmy. It profiles a quirky, very intelligent and ultimately solitary man comfortable, almost resigned, with his life choices. Lemmy chose to live life close to the proverbial edge.  He was a man seemingly comfortable in his own skin and devoid of regret.  “I don’t do regrets,” he once said in an article. “Regrets are pointless. It’s too late for regrets. You’ve already done it, haven’t you? You’ve lived your life. No point wishing you could change it.”

Lemmy’s point about regrets struck a chord with me as I, like I imagine most of you, want to do what I can to avoid them. I want, where possible, to live in the moment, to enjoy the little things, to indulge when it suits me.  But I also try to practice moderation, so I have more to enjoy the next day.  And more days to enjoy.

Several years back my wife Wendy and I went on a two-week liver cleanse along with another couple. We didn’t have any particular objective in mind, outside of the experience. I was having lunch with a client after the cleanse ended and he asked me why we did it. My answer but have not been that convincing because my client turned to me and said “Just remember, Andy. We only get one shot at this thing.”  And by this “thing,” he meant life. He had a point.

Lemmy understood he only had one shot and didn’t hesitate to take it. By my hopes and standards he might not have lived long. But he lived fully and seemingly without regrets. And that’s worth honoring and remembering.

Image credit: Vulture.com

I know this is technically cheating but to me it began on Dec. 28, 2015 when we lost Lemmy Kilmister

2020 Seeds

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m fortunate enough to be on PTO this week – taking an annual Holiday “staycation.” It’s concurrently different and similar as the kids get older and truthfully, each year is my favorite. As you can probably tell if you’ve read my posts I’m something of a planner and inaction drives me batty. Yet this is one of the few times of the year where our family doesn’t really plan any activities. We just kind of let them happen and tend to be pleased with the results.

I also get into a relaxed, head space, which is what I’m supposed to do and, forgive the cliché, I start reflecting. Now, I don’t do resolutions. But included below are seeds that have been germinating in my relaxed, I’d like to believe, fertile brain, the last few days. I’m documenting them mostly for myself but also for you – if you’re in a similar head space or even if you’re not.

The British Are Coming
I’ve been on a British kick, from an entertainment sense, for quite some time. This past year, over the course of several months, I read an entire collection of J.G. Ballard stories and this Holiday break am reading Earthly Powers, a 1980 tome by Anthony Burgess, that will take me well into 2020 to complete. I’m also reading the second book of Michael Moorcock’s 1977 The Cornelius Quartet and have the third book on deck. And earlier this week my wife Wendy and I finished the excellent third season of the Netflix series The Crown. I believe there’s something special about the British sensibility that I hope to explore further in the year ahead.

Punk Rock Boy
Despite considering myself a music geek, I know next to nothing about the Punk genre. Sure, I have a sense of the basics but, beyond listening to an occasional song here or there, have never really bothered to dig in and sample the music. My assumption, likely wrong, is that the music is derivative and doesn’t showcase any songwriting ability or music chops. But my sense too is that I’m missing the point of the genre.

I’ve found that when it comes to expanding my boundaries, rabbit holes offer the best path and I see one opening before me. I recently listened to podcast interviews featuring Henry Rollins and former Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo. Both men spoke highly of the band The Misfits. I respect and appreciate Glenn Danzig as an artist so gave The Misfits a try. Having liked what I heard,I’m ready to keep traveling down this rabbit hole.

Being Deliberately Sketchy
I’m not blessed with any visual artistic ability and recall getting quickly bored and frustrated in Art class back in Elementary school. Perhaps as a result, I was never much into sketching or doodling and wouldn’t describe myself as a visual learner. But during the past year or so I’ve felt a desire to pick up whatever writing instrument or material is right in front of me and draw whatever is on my mind. When I’ve done just that the results never look good but they always feel good. And that means it’s probably something worth continuing.

If you believe in New Year’s resolutions, I wish you all the luck. But if not then perhaps you have some seeds of your own that are germinating. I hope they flourish.

Image credit: gardentech.com

 

 

 

 

My Christmas Conjuring

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Yesterday morning our family was having a discussion about Christmas and what it means to celebrate the Holiday. We were eating French Toast, which we do every Christmas. And we all pretty much agreed that we were in fact celebrating it. Christmas might not have a religious or spiritual meaning to us. But my wife Wendy and I had the day off. We had certain traditions, starting with breakfast, that we intended to follow. We had our own way of honoring the Holiday.

Except, not exactly. As far back as I could remember I’ve seen in movie in a theater on Christmas Day. Now, when I was a kid growing up in Connecticut, this was an entirely different experience. The theater would be quiet, barely half-full, with other Jews from neighboring towns. In hindsight it had something of an outsider feel. Not in a bad way but more this sense of gathering with a few individuals like yourselves on a day that seemed to belong to everyone else.

But, as they say, times have changed and for at least the last 20 years I’m usually sitting in a packed theater in an equally crowded multiplex. Movies open on Christmas Day. And I believe we’re at a point in our culture where we can only stand so much downtime. We need to get out and do something, regardless of what it is.

But yesterday we couldn’t agree on a movie to see. So in the early afternoon, Wendy and our daughter Sasha went downstairs to watch WALL-E and our son Ethan and I stayed upstairs. The two of us were in the mood for a horror movie and randomly selected The Conjuring, from 2013, which was available for streaming on Netflix.

The Conjuring, which is based on real-life events, profiles a family who moves into a Rhode Island farmhouse in 1971. Strange, supernatural occurrences begin and the family turns to paranormal investigators for help. Chaos ensues. The movie’s pretty solid, if you like that kind of thing, and Ethan and I were having a blast running commentary to each other, warning the doomed family dog and shouting instructions “Really???? You can’t see that???” to the human members of the family.

About three-quarters of the way through the movie our dog Astro started going nuts and of course, despite my age and maturity level, I un-ironically turned to Ethan with a fearful look. We paused the movie to see what was up. Astro was pawing at the front door, where the doorbell just rang.

I opened it to find friends of ours, an entire family, decked out in Holiday attire, on our front stoop. They sang the “We wish you a Merry Christmas” greeting which ended in “And a happy new beer!” at which time they produced two beers and two root beers. We invited them inside but they politely begged off, saying they had other houses to visit.

I truly was touched by the visit. It was the first time I’d ever experienced carolers outside of a fictional setting and rather enjoyed it. And just think – we would have missed them if we went to see a movie.

I cracked open the beer and watched the rest of the horror movie, grateful for the Christmas I had. Mindful that Holidays, if we’re fortunate enough, are largely what we make them.

Actress Lily Taylor in The Conjuring: Image credit: geeksofdoom.com

 

 

2019, What Can I Do?

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

“Me and the boys are playing
And we just can’t find the sound”|
“Beth” – KISS

It’s the Holiday season. I know that because I see Christmas lights and manger scenes as I walk our dog. Our family has received Holiday cards from various friends. At work we have a table laden with homemade goodies from colleagues and treats from vendors.

But to me it doesn’t feel like the Holiday season. I should note that I don’t technically celebrate Christmas but I’ve always enjoyed getting into the Holiday spirit. When things slow down, albeit briefly. When people tend to be a bit nicer, albeit briefly. Yet this year, for some reason or another, I’m not feeling it. It’s like I keep waiting for some sign that the Holidays are here, that the year is ending. That never seems to happen.

I myself have been focused on 2020, both personally and professionally, for the past several weeks. Planning. Working on projects. Being mindful of deadlines.

Yet there’s this part of me that keeps waiting for this sense of finality. To borrow an admittedly overused analogy this time of year, I want to wrap up 2019 and tie a bow around it. Then I want to gift it to someone and be done with it. But I know I won’t have any takers.

I mean, I wouldn’t really want anyone else’s year and I bet you wouldn’t, either.

Given this mindset, for some reason I keep going back to the 1976 song “Beth” by KISS, which many believe was the first-ever power ballad.  That hokey-yet-amazingly-enduring lyric, “Me and the boys have been playing. And we just can’t find the sound,” resonates with me. Because I can’t find the sound that will end this year; that note of finality.

So I’ll stop listening and get back to thinking and doing. Starting things and finishing them. Just like I always have done and will do. Regardless of what day it is. And not let seasonal expectations dictate my mindset.

 

USA Calling

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I vaguely remember when Joe Strummer, leader of The Clash, died unexpectedly 20 years ago today on December 22, 2002  of an undiagnosed congenital heart defect, at 50. Back then I didn’t have a smart phone so probably wouldn’t have bothered to Google him. I believe I recalled him as a skinny British guy with bad teeth (it turned out I was thinking of his band mate Mick Jones).

Back in 1982, during their Combat Rock heyday, I got The Clash, but only on a surface level. I made a pathetic attempt at playing “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” on my acoustic guitar and watched the video for “Rock the Casbah” on pirated videotapes of MTV as our rural Connecticut cable provider didn’t yet offer the channel. But I truthfully couldn’t really distinguish them from Loverboy, Pat Benatar, Adam Ant, Joe Jackson or any of the other musicians or groups I listened to during this time frame.

Then, about four or five years ago, I rediscovered the highly underrated band Big Audio Dynamite, founded by Mick Jones. This led me back to The Clash and with Spotfiy, I was able to access their entire, albeit way-too-brief catalog. I became increasingly impressed and realized why Bruce Springsteen refers to The Clash as “the best rock n’ roll band.”

The Clash took risks, lyrically and musically. The band was unabashedly left-wing during the age of Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan; they even named their brilliant but quirky 1980 triple album Sandinista! after the Nicaraguan rebels and insisted it be sold at a single-album price.  Their risks extended to the music, with a single album reflecting punk, ska, reggae, rockabilly and what would now be considered Hip Hop.

While immersing myself in The Clash I read a 2008 book by Chris Salewicz titled Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer. I would put it in the good-not-great category but it offered unique insight into Strummer as a man and artist. Like artists ranging from Bob Dylan, Prince and Springsteen himself, Joe Strummer was full of contradictions.

The son of a Brisith foreign service diplomat, John Mellor grew up in comfort and throughout his brief life and career seemed to ping-pong back and forth between his bourgeois/Marxist revolutionary/entitled rock star personas. Joe Strummer had an undoubtedly charismatic stage presence but was no great shakes as a singer or guitar player. Mick Jones by all accounts was the true musical talent and voice of The Clash and when Strummer fired Jones in 1983 for no apparent reason the band fell apart. In the years leading up to his untimely death Strummer dabbled in acting and soundtrack work and in the late 1990’s formed the solid band The Mescaleros. But I believe Strumer’s creative output following The Clash is marked more for what could have been, instead of what was.

The irony, of course is that The Clash has had tremendous staying power. A friend of mine recalled picking up their signature 1979 album London Calling at a record store in a Twin Cities suburb; how he could tell, even though he’d never heard the band before, they offered something different than Styx, REO Speedwagon, Toto and Boston. I can’t tell you how many times I’m out and about and see teenage kids wearing The Clash t-shirts. I’m not even sure they know how the band is; they just know there’s something unique about them.

And our current political climate puts Joe Strummer in particular on my brain. Whether it was what he was feeling in his often-turbulent personal life or what he observed in the world around him, Joe Strummer had a unique way of looking at collective angst and disillusionment and turning it into something empowering. I wish he was here creating music now. We all know he would have plenty to to work with.

Image credit: Getty images

Not Judging by its Strypes

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger. 

When I thought about Christian music throughout the years, which wasn’t often, my mind went to two places – Amy Grant and Stryper. Amy Grant I knew was a singer with a girl-next-door charm who married Country star Vince Gill. And Stryper had the distinction of being the one Christian Metal band – a novelty act, somewhat of a joke.

As I got older I did realize that Christian music was a huge, profitable genre. But I never really took the time to learn much beyond that. I’m not Christian, after all. So why bother. And the reality, is that, beyond some of the basics, I don’t really know a ton about Christianity even though I’ve been surrounded by Christian people my entire life. If I’ve had occasional questions over the years, I’ve asked people I’m close to. But that’s about it.

Several months back, a friend of mine, a fellow Gen X’er with great taste in music, took his teenage son to see Stryper and relayed the experience to me. He said the band still looked and sounded just as it did during their 1980’s heyday. The black-and-yellow instruments and costumes. Handing out Bibles to the crowd. My friend and his son had a blast and the more he described the concert the more I could see the appeal. He recommended I check out Stryper.

This particular friend, I should note, at least by my vantage point, is the most devout Christian in my circle. Now, I of course have no way of knowing about others’ religious dedication if they don’t share it with me. All I know is that Christianity is a guiding force in my friend’s life. And, from what I observe, it’s a very positive force.

Throughout the years, my friend told me about speaking each Sunday at church, in front of his congregation, and how it helps him with work presentations. How their family does mission work throughout the United States. I even recall one time when one of my friend’s kids had a big decision coming up and he noted how they prayed for guidance. The more I’ve gotten to know my friend, the more I’ve admired his faith, these principles that guide his family. At times I’ve perhaps even felt a bit jealous.

But, despite all that, except for listening to a song or two, I couldn’t really bring myself to dig into Stryper. There’s friendship after all. And then there’s rock n’ roll.

Late last year, while listening to the Talk Is Jericho podcast hosted by professional wrestler and musician Chris Jericho, I came upon an episode where he interviews Michael Sweet, one of Stryper’s original members. Between a series of dog walks I listened to the 90-minute interview and found Sweet quite an interesting and endearing interview subject. And I learned quite a bit about Stryper, especially their 1986 To Hell With The Devil.

I thought of the conversation I’d had with my friend figured perhaps it was some type of sign. So I listened to To Hell With The Devil. Multiple times, along with sampling some of the band’s other catalog and Michael Sweet’s solo work.

Now no one is going to confuse Stryper with Slayer or Megadeth. But you know something – they play really solid, catchy melodic hard rock. Picture Styx meets Dokken. In fact, my wife Wendy was in the other room while I had Stryper on and asked me if I was playing “Lorelei.”

As I listened to Stryper I wondered why the band was so maligned throughout the years, why they were the butt of so many jokes. Probably because they dared to be different; to be unabashed about their faith and religious influences. And the irony is that they were overshadowed by a ton of bands, who, musicality aside, all bought into a spandex-clad-seedy-Hollywood-Sunset Strip-Whisky-A-Go-Go shtick. Stryper might have been the only truly authentic band of the bunch.

The experience of listening to Stryper reminded me that I can’t just take the notion of “acceptance” at face value. That, at least for me it means challenging some long-held assumptions and, as much as I don’t want to admit it, prejudices. So I took the first step earlier this morning as I listened to Stryper’s new album, Even the Devil Believes. 

Image credit: Loudwire

Bright Horses Couldn’t Drag Me Away

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

“Wow,” I thought to myself. “Tom Waits sounds amazing.” I was in my car the other day, listening to 89.3 The Current, which is associated with Minnesota Public radio, when I heard this deep, haunting voice set to a melodic song. I soon realized I had heard the song, “Bright Horses,” before and it wasn’t Tom Waits but Nick Cave, off his new album Ghosteen. And I wondered if I’d found my Nick Cave “gateway” song – an offering from an artist’s catalog that hooks you right off the bat and inspires you to dig in.

As I recounted in a blog from a couple of months back, I’ve had a somewhat tortuous relationship with Nick Cave. People in my sphere with excellent taste, including my own brother, think Cave is great. But to paraphrase an expression I love that, if you believe urban myth, the President of Warner Records told Leonard Cohen after he’d listening to his new album, I just wasn’t sure if Nick Cave was any good.

Listening to “Bright Horses” got me thinking about other “gateway” songs I’ve experienced. There are a ton of them but here are ones that immediately came to mind, with the album where they’re featured.

Grateful Dead – “Box of Rain” Off American Beauty (1970)
I am far from a Deadhead and I have to admit that most of their music hasn’t grown with me over the years. But listening to this song made me realize that when you took away everything else, the Grateful Dead was about songs and it doesn’t get any better than this one.

Boston – “Peace of Mind” Off Boston (1976)
As I got older I learned that Boston was derided by critics as “corporate rock” – that there was something constructed and inauthentic about the band. Fair enough. But, for argument’s sake, if you were going to construct a perfect melodic, roll-down-the-windows, hook-laden rock song, it might sound like “Peace of Mind.

Steely Dan – “Peg” Off Aja (1977)
Out of all the songs on the list this might be my favorite as it encapsulates all that is awesome about Steely Dan – the dateless production values, quirky, ironic lyrics and hooky melodies. I learned several years back that it’s Michael McDonald doing the background vocals and now when I listen to the song it’s the only thing I hear.

The Kinks – “Destroyer” Off Give the People What They Want (1981)
I started listening to the Talk Is Jericho podcast featuring wrestler and singer Chris Jericho. It turns out he’s not much of a singer and led a recent episode of him belting out an awful rendition of “Father Christmas” by The Kinks. But buried in there I could still hear Ray Davies’ inimitable phrasing. I believe Ray Davies to be the most underrated songwriter and The Kinks the most underrated band to come out of the British Invasion. And my longtime fandom started back when I heard “Destroyer” in middle school.

I hope this post got you thinking about a few “gateway” songs of your own. Happy listening.

Image credit: Sallie Goetsch

I Can’t Get No Release

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve written about a range of topics in this blog during the past seven-plus years: kids and family, popular culture, politics and especially during the last few years, music. But there’s one topic that I haven’t covered much – writing.

If you know me well, you’ll know that my earliest ambition was to be a writer. I would visit the Acton Public Library in Old Saybrook, Connecticut and look at the dust jackets of novels by Kurt Vonnegut and John Updike. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about their work. But I knew they looked like writers – tweed-based wardrobe, craggy face and ever-present cigarette. I decided I wanted to be a writer, too.

There was just one problem; I had to actually write something. So from the time I was a teenager all the way through most of my thirties, I kept a journal (which I still do) and wrote some really bad poetry and short stories (which I don’t do much anymore). In hindsight, I had the desire to write; I just lacked the discipline and medium. Thankfully I found both when I started my blog in 2012 and I’ve kept at it ever since.

Most of my blogs are brief – in the 500-700 word range. And while my blog stemmed from a personal desire, it’s helped me immensely professionally as well. When I develop content on my own or counsel others on creating it, my words are coming from a real place. Yet even in my professional world most of my writing has been typically succinct.

Lately, however, I’ve been working on some long-form content and feel as though I’m in uncharted territory. You see; when I’m typically writing, personally or professionally, I get to experience that sense of release – typically, posting. When I’m doing my blog it can be done in minutes; for work it day be days and weeks, perhaps upwards of a month or two. But it’s there; this sense that the end is near. Except right now I’m not feeling it. And it feels strangely liberating.

I don’t want this to sound pretentious (too late, I know, if I’m offering this qualifier) but working on this piece of long-form content has reminded me of what I value about writing. It’s not about a tweed jacket (too itchy) or a cigarette (not socially acceptable and dangerous to boot). It’s really not about the release. It’s about the craft, the discipline, the struggle. To paraphrase one of my favorite children’s books – it’s about making something from nothing.

At this point I’ve completed a first draft of my long-form content. I’ve printed it up, marked it up, and repeated the process. I’ve patted myself on the back and second-guessed plenty. I’ll now be at the point where I’ll be letting others in on the process.

I’ve  learned from experience that this is where the gap can exist between what gets created and what gets finalized. Which is why I’m hitting pause now to acknowledge, to remind myself of what I truly value about writing. Because it’s so easy to lose sight of it when writing gets difficult. Which is pretty much always.

Image credit: writerscircleworkshops.com

 

Eddie, Are You OK?

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I noticed recently that people were chattering about Eddie Van Halen on Twitter and my mind went to a dark place. After all, I’d heard rumors about his poor health for years. Head and neck cancer. Parts of his tongue being removed. Kooky alternative treatments. The rumors had reached a bubbling point of late as a recent photo, included along with this post, showed the 64-year-old Eddie Van Halen appearing, according to online comments, pale, old and puffy

I should probably pause right here and overstate the obvious; I don’t know Eddie Van Halen; don’t know any members of his camp. So everything I just noted about his health is just that- rumors. But the communications professional in me always wished the Van Halen organization was more forthcoming about statements – even a boilerplate “he’s battling something; now leave us the heck alone,” to clog up the rumor mill a bit.

I’ve never seen Van Halen live. They came to the Hartford Civic Center in March of 1984 and my parents ruled that I was too young to attend with my friends. As a postscript, a middle school buddy of mine who I’m reconnected with via social media, attended this concert and I’ve been able to experience it vicariously through him. But Eddie Van Halen played an outside role in my formative years. I actually spent a brief period of time trying to be him.

This would have been back in 1983. I begged my parents for a guitar and lessons so they got me a big, clunky acoustic model. Except that wasn’t what I wanted. You see, I wanted to hold a customized “Frankenstrat” with a lit Marlboro in the fingerboard. I wanted to hold Valerie Bertinelli. But I learned pretty quickly that desire is one thing; ability and discipline is another.

Suffice it to say, my experience as a guitarist was short lived. I struggled through chord exercises. I pretended I could play “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” by The Clash. But I didn’t do what Eddie Van Halen and countless of his brethren did – dedicate my life to the instrument – not to a perceived notion of fame, but in actually mastering a craft. Because, you see; that’s the truth, reality. And truth and reality has a way of being really boring.

Which brings me back to the rumors of Eddie Van Halen’s poor health. What if he isn’t sick at all but just looks the way any 64-year-old looks, perhaps influenced by his past lifestyle choices. What if he’s just an affluent, Southern California guy, recently remarried, who feels like he doesn’t owe his fans anything, who just wants to live his life the way he wants. As much, of course, as Eddie Van Halen’s fans, including me, want him to be OK, that just sounds so lame, boring. Which also means there’s a pretty good chance it’s the truth.

Image credit: TMZ