Independence

In honor of our independence, I beat up a British man today. Well, I didn't beat him up so much as punch him in the face. He looked shifty. Something in his eye told me he still believed that the colonies belonged under the rule of the British Empire. I couldn't afford to take chances. I clocked him in the jaw, and two of his oddly proportioned British teeth went flying. Liberty or death, my friends. Liberty or death.

Paul Sills Remembered

I don't remember Paul Sills, because I never knew him. It's interesting how someone you've never met can influence your life so profoundly. Today, a memorial service was held for Mr. Sills at The Second City in Chicago, Illinois. I never knew Paul, but I knew of him. I've had Sheldon Patinkin as a teacher, and if you ever get to pick his brain, take advantage of the opportunity. Sheldon has the ability to bring the past to life, and he constantly regaled my class with tales of The Second City in its infancy. Those present at the memorial spoke of Paul as a friend and an individual who valued art over the artist. Being in the room with those who knew him, I was imbued with the sense that this man lived his life as life was meant to be lived. Paul shared himself. His work was paid forward, and because of that, this son of a goat farmer is in the Windy City throwing his coin in the wishing well.

If all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, Paul Sills found a way to beat the system. He made play his work.

Synchronized Scuba Driving

A social smoker with a sore throat the morning after,
A not-so-instant replay rolls beneath the skull.
Would you like some bread to soak up that multi-grained morning breath?

No resolutions this day.
You've seen through the facade of making promises to yourself.
What good is a promise without a soul to disappoint?
What good is a razor that never draws blood?

One million infant moths swarm to the television set.
They never talk during the movie, so they're cool by me.

The film was teriffic. The plot involved a man killing himself because he had an itch in a hard to reach place. The itch would not go away. He tried everything from asking someone else to scratch it to rubbing up on a tree. Still, relief eluded him. Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, he took a drive to visit the Grand Canyon and jumped over the side. Funny thing, about halfway down the itch stopped bothering him.

The moths were not impressed.

Camouflage green makes one Hell of a scene.
Killing machine or human latrine? You make the call!

Crissy and I are going down to the Regal Beagle.
You're welcome to come along if you'd like.

P.S. I know who you did last summer!

Ode to the Anticipation for the Trailer for "Babe: Pig in the City"

Oowee!

Suey!

Can it be true that there's a "Babe" part 2?
You bet your sweet ass! And you know what, Pig - that'll do!
Could it be coming to a theatre near you?
It it's so then, my friends, I'll be coming too!
Not like that,you effing sicko, to a theatre near you.

Oh Babe, you're a country pig,
And you've lived a country life.
What adventures await you in the big city?
What kind of mischief will you get into?

Oh Babe!
Sweet Babe!
Succulent Babe!
Bahhh Rammm You!!!

You can talk to the sheep but, Babe,
can you talk to the hookers in Times Square?

Will you ride on the subway?
Will you take a taxi cab?
Oh, that's silly. A pig in a taxi cab -
I'm not sure that America is ready.

Will you end up strung out on drugs?
Will you join a gang?
Will you get a job at the 7-11?
Will you join the Ku Klux Klan?
They say pork IS the other white meat!

Babe, I want to taste you but I don't want you to die.
It's not sexual. You're just so damned cute.
I'd like to invite you to be my roommate, but I don't have your contact info.

"That pig's majestic!"
Fuck you Charlotte! Fuck your web!
Babe, you've been in Wilbur's shadow for too damned long.
But he never got a sequel.
He wasn't pig enough for the city!

Now, Babe
It's your time to shine!
I think I smell an Oscar!

So fly pig!
You're so much more to me than bacon!
Fly pig -
Fly on!

Snowshoes

Mornings suck. That's a given. If you are a morning person then, like the morning itself, you suck too! If you own your own vehicle - well, you don't suck. You rule. Way to be a grown-up and have a car! Good for you! I hate you.

I don't have a vehicle. I ride the train from the 'burbs to Chicago. As a recent Oklahoma transplant, this is my first taste of an Illinois Winter. Snow crunches underneath my feet on the way to meet the Metra. The wind balls up it's fist and punches any part of my face that my scarf fails to cover. This particular morning was extra-cold. Yay. On the way to the train, the snow greeted me affectionately by sneaking it's way into my boots, rubbing it's sub-zero temperature against my foot like a cat in heat. It was nice enough to wait until I boarded the train to melt, making my feet not only cold, but wet as well.

The snow doesn't usually get into my boots. On this particular morning I was running late and had to jog through a softball field-turned winter wonderland in order to make it to my destination by the train's 9:03 departure time. I was about a half-block away from the train station when I heard a familiar dinging and noticed the railroad crossing sign lighting up. The barrier arm began it's descent. I wasn't about to miss this train. It would be two hours before another one came my way. I clenched my jaw, cursed my existence, leaned my head forward, and sprinted illegally across the tracks. Onlookers shook their heads in disapproval. What can I say ladies? The rules don't apply to me. If I was a cannon, I'd be loose.

Once safely across, I bent over and attempted to catch the breath that beat me across the tracks. I felt like Pavarotti after doing his Carl Lewis impression. When I was a child, I thought I might have asthma. I wen t to see a doctor. He ran some tests and there was no asthma. Instead I was diagnosed with a condition called being fat. As I sat, post-sprint, catching my breath, I noticed that the train I had nearly killed my fat ass to catch was actually a freight train and not the passenger train I was running for. I looked at my cell phone to check the time. I was five minutes early. I could have waddled comfortably across the tracks with time to spare.

About that time, sweat began to pour forth from my body. On the outside it was cold enough to freeze water, but below my many layers of heat-trapping winter apparel was a fountain of sweat that began to soak my undershirt and sweater.

Eventually, my breathing returned to normal and I saw a sight that brightened my spirits - a snowball fight! I watched as children packed the snow into their gloves and threw spheres of compacted, powdered ice towards each other. I remembered the snowball fights of my youth and felt nostalgic - until one of these snowballs accidentally hit me in the face! Suddenly the faces of these innocent twelve-year olds transformed into the live-action mugshots of a band of hardened criminals - criminals with the braces! The worst kind!

In that moment, I became my own parents as I shouted at the female of the group. She seemed the least threatening but, in reality, was probably the most ruthless of all. She was probably their leader. The other two were mere puppets, succumbing to her evil snowball-induced whims. My face stung from the cold, hard ball of ice. I scolded them with phrases such as,

"Not cool!,"

"DO NOT do that again!"

And the obvious:

"You just hit me in the face - WITH SNOW!!!"

The color drained from her face. The gang leader apologized. I refused to reply. I gazed at her sternly. That's right. I'm a grown-up. And I'm in charge. She fearfully moved about ten feet away from me. I had made my point. Who's the boss? I am.

Then she resumed the snowball battle with the same haphazard abandon as before. It was as though our encounter never occured. As the train pulled up, I saw that another girl had joined their bunch. She presented the leader with a fresh ball of snow. The little demon spawn didn't throw it though. She held onto it and boarded the train in posession of the frozen weapon. The war was now mobile.

I moved a couple cars down to avoid killing a small child. Prison is not in my immediate plans. If I'm going to sleep with a man, it's going to be in a warm bed, not a cold cell or a damp shower. And he's going to have kind eyes, not the steely gaze of a hardened criminal - the same steely gaze that I saw in the eyes of The Snowball Queen.

I hate mornings. The only good thing they're good for is waffles, and on that morning there were no waffles in sight.

"I Am Growing and Developing"

In my grandparents' home, above the arch that separates the living room from the kitchen, resides a homemade sign. On two pieces of posterboard in big block letters, outlined with marker and filled in with colored pencil, reads the phrase "I am Growing and Developing." This inspirational piece of signage was created by my uncle, Jerry Jon Campbell, to aid him in the war he waged in the early 1980's against a formidable opponent known as brain cancer.

He lost the war, as so many do. Jerry lived long enough to experience the prom, but not quite long enough to graduate from high school. I don't remember much about him. I recall that he blew my two-year-old mind when he took me to a feeding trough at my grandparents' ranch and ate a mouthful of oats that were meant for the horses. What a wild and crazy guy - eating animal food! To my infantile mind the act seemed about as nuts as the idea of a black female president.

I also remember that Jerry owned a mini bike, which is a junior version of a motorcycle. It was a shiny, green step up from a mo-ped. He would take me for rides on this magical machine, and I felt as close to a Hell's Angel as one can feel at two years of age. Hanging out, taking mini-bike rides with a guy who munched on horse food, was like starring in the Disney version of "Easy Rider." The main character even died too early.

A couple of years ago, my Aunt Cindy compiled a video of old family movies. On the video are two musical performances. One includes me, at the age of two, singing a number that I composed myself entitled "The Jamie Lee Campbell Song." It consisted of me pounding on as many piano keys as my small hands could hit at once and wailing my full name at the top of my lungs. The crowd was captivated and, to this day, I believe that video captured my finest live performance. Basically, the entirety of my career thus far has been a weak attempt to recreate the magic that I made at that young age. I hit my peak at two.

The other musical performance on the video was the headliner to my opening act. It was performed by the only person who could follow the my stellar showing. Uncle Jerry topped me by doing the single, greatest, most spot-on impersonation of Mick Jagger in the history of history. Normally, lip syncing would be considered a lame attempt at entertainment, but the art form was at it's height as Jerry Jon Campbell encapsulated Jagger's movements and facial quirks to the letter. I don't remember which one of the Rolling Stones' hits he performed to, but that detail is unimportant. He stole the show.

More than twenty years after his death, Jerry's sign still hangs above my grandparents' living room. They have turned his bedroom into an office. My grandfather's dry-cleaned Wrangler jeans and sport coats hang in the closet. There is a computer desk where his bed once was. Still, in the living room hangs the last vestige of a boy who went down, but not without a fight. Considering Jerry's legacy, it becomes apparent that the story of how we die, while often tragic, is far less interesting than the tale of how we live - how we grow and develop.

American Bandstand Noir

I was on a quest.
A journey.
A search for knowledge.

I wondered, wondered, wondered who -
Who wrote the book of love?

And where was this alleged book? Did it exist?

I had been commissioned by the child of a woman named Destiny to answer just such a question. She had sent me on a dangerous mission. I mean sure, she's a survivor, but would I be so lucky? Only time would tell.

I began my mission by boarding a ship of fools and speaking to the Sultans of Swing. Their lips were sealed, so I checked into a room at the Heartbreak Hotel. I asked the staff if they'd heard anything about the book I sought. Still, no dice. Apparently only the lonely stay at their establishment.

The next day, I paid a visit to Proud Mary, but she wasn't talking. All she wanted to do was dance. I'm not living la vida loca, so I got the hell out of there. Negative Nancy was no help either. I gave her some Prozac then headed under the boardwalk to pay a visit to Johnny On the Spot.

I was too late. Johnny was dead, lying in a pool of blood. The whole thing smelled like Teen Spirit. I hadn't smelled that deodorant in years, not since college. I had a roommate who wore it. His name was Leroy Brown. And he was bad. He wasn't just bad, he was double bad. He was bad times two. He was bad bad.

I hadn't thought about Leroy Brown in some time. We actually live in the same neighborhood, but haven't spoken a word to each other since we had a falling out over a girl who wore a raspberry beret - the kind you find in a second-hand store. I decided it was time to patch things up and pay him a visit. Sorry seems to be the hardest word, but I was ready to make amends.

I stopped by his place, and who do you think answered the door? It was none other than Runaround Sue. I warned Leroy to keep away from her, but apparently he didn't listen. She said that Leroy wasn't home, and then she invited me in to see their baby. Apparently those two went to the chapel and got married. Now they've got a kid. A beautiful baby boy named Sue. His childhood is gonna suck. And when I say that he was a beautiful baby, I mean beautiful in the way that Louie Anderson is anorexic. This kid was scary. He was u-g-l-y. He was also my prime suspect as he ain't got not alibi.

After I saw the kid, I held back my vomit and managed to get some information from Sue. She told me that she overheard a conversation down at the car wash that might interest me. Apparently Hatty Told Matty about a thing she saw. It had two big horns and a wolly jaw. Perhaps this was the creature that took the life of Johnny On the Spot.

The plot was getting thick. I was in too deep. There was no way out. Destiny's Child wasn't paying me enough to go after what was an obvious purple people-eater. Still, I was intrigued. Johnny had been a friend of mine. He made me believe I could fly. At a time when other people judged my sexual promiscuity, he told me he didn't see anything wrong with a little bump and grind. He told me I was beautiful, no matter what they say. I owed him one, and I was going to bring down his killer - and find the Book of Love to boot!

I returned to the scene of the crime and upon further examination I found a copy of the Watchtower. Johnny's blood was all along it. I knew where my next stop would be - the local Kindgom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses. It all made sense. Those folks are against holidays, and by destroying the book of love, they would be taking out Valentine's Day. I made my way to their birthday-free zone and headed to the roof. I could feel it comin' in the air tonight. I waited for what seemed like forever, but was in actuality about 45 seconds. Then, I saw him. The purple people eater. There he was, delivering the book of love. He had stolen it from Johnny. I overheard him replaying the grisly story of how he did Johnny in. He tried to simply take the book, but Johnny wouldn't relent. Johnny said that he wanted to know what love is, and he wanted the book to show him. He would never surrender. The purple eater then gave him what he called the "red light special," and Johnny was no more. He handed the book over to the Jehovah's Witnesses and then they swore him into their cult. He put his right hand on a copy of the Watchtower and vowed to forsake all holidays, sporting events, carnivals, and fun of any sort.

Maybe it was the fact that I was so close to such a powerful book, but I felt crazy in love with Destiny's Child. I know she was a client, and it was unprofessional, but I didn't care. I pulled out my gun and shot them all in the heart. They were to blame. They gave love a bad name. I took the book, wiped my fingerprints from the place, disposed of my unregistered firearm and made my way to a payphone.

I delivered the book to my client and collected my commission. Another job well done. I took care of business. I worked overtime. As for Destiny's Child, she just wants to be friends.

Lady I Saw

Today I saw a woman on the street. She was alone and crying. I like to think that she just finished making a porno.

Save Us, Raymond

Everybody loves Raymond.

Everybody means EVERYBODY.

Barack Obama loves Raymond

Osama bin Laden loves Raymond.

Estelle Getty - Raymond lover.

Mitt Romney - him too!

Yassir Arafat - you get the picture.

Their love for Raymond is the only thing God and Satan can agree on.

Maybe Raymond should run for President. He would be the only person in history to receive 100% of the popular vote. He would put the "Popular" in popular vote, so loved is he. Then, we would finally have peace in the Middle East. How can you go to war with someone you love? You can't!

Ray Barone, champion of my heart! You are our only hope.

Two Thumbs Up A Creek

Aaaay!
Says the Fonzie.

Aaaaay!
Say his fans.

Meet me in your office Fonzie.
Won't you make me a man.

Everybody wants
Everybody wants
Everybody wants to cross the fence.
But when we get to the other side,
we find there's nowhere to pitch our tents.

And the grass, it isn't really greener.
It must've been the angle of the sun.
And your roommate doesn't pay for cable,
So you'll never see the house of Run.

Who's house?

Aaaaaay!
Says the man,
who's jokes you don't understand.
Aaaaaay!
They chant along with him.
Act like you know. Go up and shake his hand.

Destiny's grandchild, you're a survivor.
You have got the golden key.
Zippo's both a Marx brother and a lighter,
so light a fire under me.

For the sake of romance, I want to learn to dance,
but my hips they refuse to sway.
I took a class in the past to learn to shake some ass,
This epileptic donkey wants some hay.

Aaaaay!
Says the Fonzie.
Now I finally understand.

Aaaaay!
You wizened old Fonzie,
Thanks for making me a man.

Farmer's tan!

Seacrest out.

My Dixie Wrecked

Rednecks to my left
The smell of Busch beer lingering on their collective breath.
The back pockets of their too fucking tight jeans have a white circular imprint from years of use storing cans of Skoal.
Hey, it's always there in a pinch! It's cancer you can suck on!

One of them is wearing a cheap net cap that says "Keep on Truckin'."
Another good ole boy has on a sleeveless t-shirt with a confederate flag and the slogan "You wear your X and I'll wear mine."

This ain't quite my scene, but I'm not leavin' yet. I'm waitin' for the picture to be perfect, for the painting to be complete.

C'mon Billy Bob, say it! You've been watching the band all night, waiting for the right time to spit out the words. Seize the moment. The time is now, Billy Bob. Be a hero. Say it before someone beats you to it!

"Hey! Play some Skynyrd man!"

d. c.

i'm reachin' for your carribean
but you're too far away
i smell your sweet and sour minute,
and wish that you could stay,
but when it's cold the cab fare's double
and the bitch I'm with is dumb.
old and wise minus the wisdom
but i'll still pull out a plumb

darkness lit by technology
our paths chose us instead
that's my plea. it's misery.
the fleas have left my bed.
but scars and bites are memories,
of a home without a heart.
pillows without cases,
creaking boards that fell apart.

liberation, freedom,
and the occasional bad rash,
a year without a padlock,
and a yard full of dead grass
stress, debt, an empty fridge
and growing up today,
toeing the line, at least somewhat,
between Hell and Hell-to-pay.

At Least She Shaves Her Armpits

She waits outside;
But she's not waiting for me.
Music that I cannot stand makes her move
and a slight empty grin grows on
her face.

Why?

(Authors note: I wrote this gem in late 1988, just before my 9th birthday. I recently found it while digging through some old boxes at my mother's home. At the time, I was going under the moniker "J.L. Campbell." This was my clever attempt to avoid the teasing that occured when children knew that I had the feminine first name of Jamie.)

My oh my
Bird are flying in the sky.
If you look around you will see a housefly.

So tell me why
are there clouds in the sky?
Do not be shy.
Please do not cry just tell me
why did the man with cancer die?
Did he go to that nice place in the sky.

Just tell me why.