I've had some great Friday nights. June 29, 2001, rings a bell. I handed the ticket-taker at Deer Creek Music Center (I will always call it that because Verizon Wireless Music Center just sounds ignorant) an empty fifth of Jack Daniels on my way into a Ted Nugent, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Deep Purple show. The man who tore my stub was Ken Lewis, a fellow Conseco employee at the time, working the summer concerts for extra cash.
In I went, shouting booze-ridden epithets at the police like, "What's up, Nazi cop pigs!" and "It's 7 o'clock! Do you know where your mom is? I do!" I staggered to the lawn where I made fast friends with the ugliest of fans and ushered in the insanity of my particular brand of raw, slobbering sunshine. That was pretty typical for a Friday night in those days.
Currently, I haven't the urge to lash out with the fury I once did. My 20s can only be described as John Wayne portraying a drunken, armed Herman Munster in a Stanley Kubrick film that, if real, would be aptly titled "Full Metal Munster."
Nowadays, I experience sedate Friday nights from time to time. Last Friday was like that because I needed to reserve my strength for a gig on Saturday at Ro's Bar and Grill in Greenfield. I wouldn't be able to muster the energy for four sets of simultaneous drumming and singing after a night of craziness. Now that I'm old, hangovers reduce me from unimpressive to downright worthless. That's why I stayed in. Besides, the Moonshine Riders Motorcycle Club members are Deep Fried Johnny fans and they demand a good show or else we'd have to play behind chicken wire like the Blues Brothers at Bob's Country Bunker.
Comcast's monopolized cable service offers a few perks in place of a choice in service providers. One of them is free movies and other free programs. As I hung out doing nothing, looking for something that wouldn't turn my brain into a substance like that nasty jelly in a can of Spam, I found a documentary on Chuck Jones (1912-2002), co-creator of Warner Brothers' "Looney Toons" characters such as Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Yosemite Sam, etc. Those cartoons were the main staple of my entertainment as a kid, and the insights he gives during the interview are amazing.
I was 8 years old all over again, watching the way he drew the characters, explaining the parts of him that are in each one and talking about his motivations for becoming an illustrator. One would wonder what part of such a warm, compassionate, gracious fellow could possibly be in Daffy Duck. He explained that when he was 4 years old, he was just learning about birthdays, and when his came along, he was presented with a cake. His mother went to hand him a knife and he looked at her with a furrowed brow, somewhat insulted that he would be expected to cut the cake and share it. That's a Daffy Duck move if ever there was one.
Jones quoted Groucho Marx, saying, "Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." That leads me to another Friday night activity I've indulged in of late. Reading! I'll be the first to admit, for an aspiring writer, I don't read enough, so I try to remedy that. I was a voracious reader as a kid, but during the last several years, I've put it away.
People say reading will help a person sound smarter. That wouldn't work for someone who never speaks.
The truth is, it actually makes a person smarter. Endeavoring to be well-read is just as important to self-interest as quitting smoking or losing weight. It improves quality of life.
Any number of activities can be a better way to spend Friday night than getting hammered into alcohol-induced unconsciousness. Some of you younger folks would do well to get used to that idea sooner than later. It's not a practical philosophy in college, so write it down and try to remember where you put the note after you graduate. That's what I plan to do. I know I won't lose the note. It's in my liquor cabinet between the Jack Daniels and the absinthe.
Write to John at jrfrees@bsu.edu
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