My Inflamed Brain

My inflamed brain woke me this morning at 4:44. It likes repeating numbers. The Chinese people apparently do not like the number 4, as the word for 4 in Chinese sounds like the word for death.

My inflamed brain woke me this morning at Death: Death Death. Please do not mistake my inflamed brain’s sense of humour for morbidity. Death does not necessarily relate to my personal demise. My demise is something for which I have little control. It will happen, one day, hopefully many years from now. On a positive level, I take this as a sign that some parts of my life may be changing.

My inflamed brain will be turning 65 in 13 days. Thirteen is 3 and 1, which is 4. Here we go again. I am weaning myself from the double space at the end of a sentence. It is not habit yet. I have have to go back and backspace to bring the sentences closer. But self-improvement comes in many forms.

My inflamed brain has an addiction. It is powered by an addictive personality. I have made it almost 65 years without any of those sorry addictions that have derailed many of my friends. I have had my share of short lived pleasure. Pleasure drives me. Hopefully, pleasures is better than pain, as some people seem to have an addiction to pain. Maybe just a collection of habits. We don’t need to analyze this in Marxist theory; we just need to be aware.

My inflamed brain is addicted to emotional eating. Over the holidays, I collectively, my inflamed brain and it’s brother, my inflamed body, indulged in consuming more energy, i.e. food, then my body really needs. As such, I am carrying 5-7 lbs extra. Which is why my inflamed brain woke my body at 4:44. We need to exercise. The whole deal. So I did. We did. Three days running now. Step by step. No race is won instantly, it takes effort and willpower. My inflamed brain has little willpower.

As many of you readers know I have a few musical projects. My inflamed brain got it into his little ego to have all my bands play over a three day festival near my birthday. That is now happening. January 19 features my alter ego, Les Goodman, of Jazzmanian Devil infamy, who is presenting Bacharachanalia- a tribute to the genius of Burt Bacharach, featuring The After Dark Band and a multitude of locals stars of the stage. My dear younger sister is having a milestone birthday on the same night. Bacharachanalia is an idea that she, along with my friend and guitar player, Scott Fletcher and his extremely talented wife Shelley Preston, have talked about for years. As it turns out, the songs of Burt Bacharach are not easy, but also not impossible, given the talents of the After Dark Band ( Scott Fletcher, Shelley Preston, Gord Rempel, Bob Petterson, and Taylor Little). Bacharachanalia will truly be A Night To Remember.

The following night features The Judys, my inflamed brain’s high volume, high energy in overdrive band. We play what we call Savage Dad Rock, presumably because we are all Dads. Well, Shelley isn’t a Dad, but she sure is a Judy. Joining us will be The Lumber Barons, featuring Ross and Chris and Finn from The Jazzmanian Devils in their original Booker T inspired format. Lumber Barons played at my 62nd birthday. Rounding out the bill is Torpedo Lover, featuring Jazzy Zircon from the Sex Bombs in her solo band. Jazzy’s inflamed brain speaks often with my inflamed brain. My brain fire is fueled by god knows what, and her inflamed brain is living with a major concussion, which is a daily challenge. But Jazzy is up for it. She was telling me how folks her daughter’s age do not understand that survival is not always about who is the fittest, but who has the life experiences to inform their ongoing drive. Jazzy says she is not above sleeping in her car, like in the old days. Jazzy is an inspiration.

The final night is the Return of The Jazzmanian Devils, a band I founded 40 years ago. My inflamed brain calls them a private drinking society, but they are also brothers from another mother. And the Mother was Jazz. We often joke that we have jazz in the name so we wouldn’t have to put it in the music, but the music is jazz inspired, but from another time. One time, we opened up for Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley, from James Brown and Funkadelic fame. We played a set opening for them and came off the stage to find them watching the proceedings. Maceo said,” That’s some old shit you guys are playing.” Fred said, “Like my Daddy’s shit! But it’s cool.” We were in heaven with that comment.

Opening up for The Jazzmanian Devils is my other band The Nightflower Orchestra, featuring my best buddy Mark Douglas, Tony Lee and Ron Kenji. We play songs that I wrote while walking my dogs, now singular, but plural at the time of the songs’ conception. One of our songs is Icewall, which is love song from the inflamed brain of a conspiracy theorist. My inflamed brain was inspired by my daughter, who first told me of the Icewall, which is a giant wall of ice that encircles the flat earth, holding in all the water from draining off the edge. My inflamed brain considers this song one of my finest.

Joining us is the super talented Sinead X. Sanders with her full band. "Sinéad Sanders is like a ghost from a simpler time on her nine-song debut, which, given the wretched state of the world today, is seriously high praise.“ “She is an old soul in a young person's body and her music is of that timeless nature.” Her band is Dave "Double D" Dykhuizen, Sandy "Bone", and Bob Petterson.

My inflamed brain is whispering to me, do not forget to mention that all of those wonderful posters were the product of the creative mind of Normail, also known as my beautiful wife, Michelle. She is my drug of choice for over 40 years. In another two years, we will have known each other for 50 years, first meeting at an acting class when I was still in high school. She is my soul mate, and I hardly deserve her, but she loves me for some strange reason. My inflamed brain has so much on its plate for the next two weeks. But when I turn 65, I can retire and rest.

As if!

No rest for the wicked. Freedom 85 is my future. Enjoy this life that you have, as the alternative is unthinkable, even for an inflamed brain. Much love.