Blood Clots & Swollen Feet.

Updates come as updates go. As far as this update I can’t tell yet if it will be short and sweet or long and compelling. Perhaps we’ll both find what we’re searching for at the end as my fingers figure it out. While I write this, not but five minutes ago, I had just finished my self injection for the night. 80 milligrams of drug that thins blood and leaves tanned bruises on my love handles. The embarrassment of the injection is far greater than the sting of the needle. You may wonder, “But Brady, why are you embarrassed?”. Perhaps the embarrassment comes from old photographs or seeing old friends. A time before blood clots, radiation treatments, blood work and hushed waiting rooms. I remember a time when I used to party all night. I’d stay up to greet the sun with a wicked grin and an embossed stench of male camaraderie. I’d toast to youth or hug my bed like a teddy bear. But now my feet swell, my joints ache, my stomach is bruised from chemicals and if I really stop to think my face burns. It doesn't burn like it used to though. Instead of becoming ill tempered over silly girls leaving goodbye notes, an over-drafted bank account that cancelled 75 cent taco night or a prose fight with a close friend, it burns because I miss how tragically wonderful those moments were.

On November the 2nd I came home from northern California in an odd misery that I've never felt before. A pain in my chest knitted my lungs closed with needles. It spread from my lungs to my joints as if someone had ripped thousands of industrial stickers off my bones. That night I looked in the mirror and asked God for one night of rest. He granted me just that. I slept for about five hours. When I woke the pain returned and in a greater magnitude. I stumbled into the bathroom, closed my eyes and began to heave and spit. As I opened my eyes I saw blood on the toilet seat and bobbing in the water in minefield of mucus. My parents had just come home so I walked down stairs, and confessed that I wasn't feeling well. Ever feel guilty for being sick? Well I do and I have hard time shaking that attitude. I told my parents that I honestly thought about driving my self to the hospital the prior night because I didn't want to be burden. But I have to let people take care of me... one of the hardest lessons I'm learning. 
Moments later we called my doctor.

“Describe to me what’s going on Mr. Effler?” he said with a bald tongue. I explained to him what I had just experienced. With each detail he’d clear his throat and make a noise to let me know he was nodding his head. “Sounds to me like you have blood clots in your lungs, but I’m not certain… Can you get to an Emergency Room right now?”

“Um… yeah.”

“Okay, well go to the Emergency Room right now.”

“Yes sir.”

I spent six days at Memorial Hospital. Every day I had to ring the bell for the nurse to take me to the bathroom. I couldn't even shower without help. Every day I received injections to keep my pain level from a “seven or eight out of ten” to a “two or three out of ten”. Every night I slept in a fox hole. And every few hours my eyes opened with my chest rattling. Blurred by tears my hand would grip the call button. 
They’d always come. 
The nurses, they’d always come... eventually. 


On the third night it really sunk in that four hours of sleep was a major victory. After multiple tests it was confirmed, two major blood clots had traveled from my legs to my lungs. Each day I got better, stronger and was able to breath easier. But like all rehabilitation, I started crawling and now today I can stand on my own once again. 

After I was released from Memorial I isolated myself to my room and made good friends with the wall. To those of you that tried to connect with me, I’m sorry about the the lack of communication but it wasn't personal. I just needed time. I don’t know if this or was my darkest moment, but I’m having a hard time finding the light switch every once in a while. Not only do I have multiple tumors from a rare cancer but now I’m at risk consistently for blood clots. These blood clots just teased me though. “We’re so glad they stopped at your lungs Mr. Effler… For if they found their way to your heart…” Doctors find ways of turning good news into moments of me counting my lucky stripes. If it is luck, I hope it doesn't run out anytime soon. 

Today is a new day and tomorrow will happen no matter what, and I want all of tomorrow. I’m starting chemotherapy again. Four more cycles of blood, shots and pills. The doctors want my body, or more so my lungs, to be healed before the stem cell therapy. So for valentines day I might have a cute date with transplanted cells in Nashville. I’m not facing it alone, and honestly sometimes I need to be reminded of that. Sometimes I need someone else to find that light switch for me. And sometimes I need someone to sit with me in the dark. I have love for all of you that have supported me thus far. I may not seem like the most thankful turd at times, but I really am. I’m not gracious when it comes to receiving gifts or acts of kindness but none of it goes unnoticed. So thank you, all of you. So, updates come as updates go. Turns out it was longer than I expected or even intended to be, but I can’t help it. But, one day I shall toast to the rising sun again. With a wicked grin and glazed eyes I’ll pour a two drinks. One for me and one for the Myeloma. I’ll finish mine but the cancer, well… it won’t be around to drink its portion.

10 Cover Songs that are in My Library (5-1)

Covering your tracks... 10 songs at a time.

#5. Somewhere Over The Rainbow // Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (Judy Garland) 

When it came to The Wizard of Oz I usually had two different discussions, the first of the conversations (being from the older generations perspective) would be about how magical Judy Garland was, what a tragic story and how it should have ended better for her. The second conversation was (my sad generation) "Hey man! did you see that video clip online of the midget hanging himself in the woods!?". (ok bad start... *beeeeeeep* start over). But thank the Lord for Israel Kamakawiwo'ole for giving us conversation number 3. Man, what a voice on this guy. Upon my first listen, I had was astonished by the softness of this mans voice. It was like i was being swaddled in washcloths made of bacon in the middle of a Hawaiian hot spring. Yes, yes I did feel that, then I saw a picture of him and it made complete sense why I sensed bacon, but then I became less of an ass and realized how beautiful this cover is. There is something captivating about this song that I can't quite put my finger on. Israel delivers this sweet song to your ears, as if its the last song you hear at a funeral or the first song at a wedding. What ever it is, its great for mix cds, compilations and just a fine sunday morning with orange juice and toast.

#4. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun // Greg Laswell (Cindi Lauper)

Discovering new character/personality traits about people you've known for a long time can both be an amazing and/or horrifying discovery. For instance, I was at a house party some odd years ago. The yard was filled with friends and strangers, new and old, close and distant, it was the perfect cabbage patch of personalities, but at this party was a really close friend of mine, and she beyond intoxicated. Kate rushed up to me like a little girl, spilling her beverage like rose pedals down an isle and greeted me with her gaped tooth smile, "Eyy! Brady-dude, I need you...". As soon as she said I need you, her face swelled like a balloon and she dropped her equally colored cup full of beer on the side walk and hugged me. To make a long story short, that night she wanted to leave because the boy who had sexually abused her back in High School was there, she had never told me in the several years that I've known her. Kate collapsed in my car as I buckled her in, brushed her hair out her mouth, turned on some Otis Redding and I drove her home probably when I shouldn't have (sorry Mom&Dad). Greg Laswell's cover of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun is like this story for me. It's a classic that has been completely redone and I can never listen to it again the same. The lyrics cut deeper and something dark and honest reflects out of the tune.

#3. Bitches Ain't Shit // Ben Folds (Dr. Dre) 

If you've never listened to Dr. Dre before and you aren't a fan of "language" then you might want to scroll on down to #2. Just some friendly information.

When it comes to "old school" rap my two favorite albums are: Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) by The Wu-Tang Clan and The Chronic by Dr. Dre. "Bitches Ain't Shit" is the last track on the Dre's magnum opus and has been covered many, many times. But in 2005 Ben Folds released his cover of this priceless gem and it went to #71 on the billboard charts. Needless to say, it blew up and he was started to be commonly refereed to as "the bitch guy" because audiences loved his entirely different take on "g-funk, west-coast rap, gangsta-rap, etc...". When I first heard this I was so excited because I knew this would be the "sleeper-cell" on any mix CD I made for people. But then after it got way over popularized, I stopped using it. Sad day. BUT! Bitches Ain't Shit is my #3 because it's probably one of the most creatively original covers I have ever heard. I hope you think so too.

#2. Wonderwall // Ryan Adams (Oasis)



There are many reasons to love this song, First, in my personal opinion I'm just gonna come out and say it, the cover is better than the original by Oasis. I know that I may have just upset many people by saying that but hear me out. Much like the Greg Laswell cover, the song feels completely different after hearing Ryan Adams croon. The lyrics of the song contrast the rock vibe that Oasis "chugga chugga'd" out. I do understand that they have been an influential band of the 90's but still, a recovering alcoholic, nine years later just changed the ENTIRE feeling of that song. The second reason why I love this cover, which might completely invalidate everything I just said, is The OC. Again, many people might have just deleted me from their history, but you can't tell me that The OC did not have some awesome music on that show. (you can watch a clip from The OC Here) This song is featured on his album Love & Hate and it fits in so perfectly. I could write an entire paper on this song, but i'll just let the song speak for its self.

#1 Hurt // Johnny Cash (Nine Inch Nails)

I saved the best for last, my hero, Johnny Cash. I will always respect the Man in Black, and for many reasons too, but one of them being is that he never stopped writing and preforming. And his music was personal  to his life and friends and family. He didn't become a washed up country artist hoping to make the pop charts. When Johnny Cash covered Hurt I was blown away for two reasons. The first being that Trent Reznor wrote the song. I had never been a huge Nine Inch Nails fan, but this song made me fan of his writing. Secondly, the music video just kills me. It has to be one of the most beautifully sad music videos I have ever seen. Almost brings me to tears every time.  Johnny Cash will always be around and as it should it be, and this song should prove to those who never got him that it is possible to have all the fame and fortune and still be empty.

The music video was nominated for an MTV music video award but lost to Justin Timberlakes "Cry Me A River" video. Probably the day I stopped putting the "M" in front of MTV, its now "Bravo #2" to me.

So there it is!
My top 10 cover songs that should be in your music library.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Don't forget to e-mail me your favorites questions and or comments to: bradyeffler@gmail.com.


My name is Brady Effler and I am currently unemployed. That is the truth, but it is also not because I don't want to work, I do. I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the end of July 2013, and now I'm fighting the good fight. I am currently going through chemo treatments. From the advisement and orders of my doctor, I am not supposed to be working. Currently I am in the waiting process to receive social security, but that is taking it's time. If you liked what you read, please feel free to donate. I am currently trying to pay off my student loans and other bills (pills, hospital visits, etc...). I'm not going to lie to you, some the donation money will go towards gasoline, or perhaps even a cup of coffee. Anything you give is awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email too if you'd like. I can also make you a gnarly playlist.
Thanks again for reading. I'm not begging, or trying to pull the wool over anyone, just being honest.
- Brady

A Tribute.

And I will take you and leave you alone
Watching spirals of white softly flow
Over your eyelids and all you did
Will wait until the point when you let go

Circling All Around The Sun.

Back in March  I was asked by my good friend Dave to write a piece on how I found/discovered/first heard of Neutral Milk Hotel for a blog he was starting up. Dave asked me though to tell me the story of when Jeff Mangum, the lead singer/lyricist first "spoke to me". This may sound like a supremely gross hipster thing to say, because it is, but I got excited because I had the story!  Obviously I didn't dare hesitate and began to write as soon as we parted ways in the coffee shop, literally, I sat down 15 feet away from him and began to type. If you aren't familiar with the band, they started out around 1989 and broke up after 1999. I'd risk sounding like a retarded audiophile if I tried to describe how they sounded or even tried to explain their lyrics. But they are magical.

"And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see ..."

As the months have pasted I have become keenly aware of what has been important to my history. I've exhumed, from both paper and digital earth, journals and diary's from high school, Tumblr blogs from sophomore year of college, photos, letters and even the dreaded Myspace notes. These literary quarry's have inspired and become series such as the Keeping Track of History, You Already Know How I Feel: 5 Songs We Use Not To Talk. But tonight something incredibly important is happening, I am going to see Neutral Milk Hotel, live with my older sister and I can already feel the tears welling up in me. 

So pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty
Please, please don't leave me here

Since the diagnosis, it's been hard for me to mentally maintain my natural relationships. I often feel like a touchable leper, or an exhausted tree house that the kids used to rough house in. Why? I can't explain it, but when you get cancer you might be able to relate. I love my family with my whole heart, and they know that but it's also been hard with them as well, but the one person that I have missed the most during this process as been my older sister Emily. Without Emily, none of my musical life would have happened. And I'm more thankful now for her husband because his love for music is toxic. So what you'll find below is some music by Neutral Milk Hotel and the story how Jeff first spoke to me.

So with out further hesitation here is my Jeff Mangum story.

 

I have no fairy tale or a series of isotopic events that magically linked me to Jeff. Nor was there a chemical fire or an act of truancy, evading some mystical life lesson, Jeff simply just happened. You could have said that years back, because of sibling love and relation, I met Jeff at a party with my older sister.

Emily was my beacon of insight, the poster of nonconformity, she was the prima donna during the most important years of my life, the years when one actually begins to think about what is being poured into his soul via rhythm and tone. But what did I listen to? 

Tragedy.

Pure, unadulterated tragedy. I had recently purchased Britney Spears second studio album, Oops!... I Did It Again and also in my collection, sitting upon my night stand like a turd left by an oversized rodent, was Creed’s “Human Clay” on tape. Granted I did have some Metallica albums and also Live's Throwing Copper, but quiet simply, I was tunneling my way pucca shell necklaces and dock shoes. As a great teacher told me once, “What ever is worth doing is worth doing… poorly” and inspiration certainly did start out poorly.

It was a breezy Tennessee night and two California kids where locked inside their parents keep. Emily was in her overly sized bedroom, painting on her largest wall, meticulously completing her mural one oddity at a time. If the Berlin Wall was a symbol of art and freedom, it would have looked like Emily’s wall. It was littered with quotes, ranging from Green Day to Lisa Lobe. There were large portraits of the Cookie Monster and Big Bird from Sesame Street followed by elegant drawings of peacocks and traced hands. Emily was the artist and the move from California to Tennessee had been the hardest for her, so my parents aloud her to express that, I was to much of a little turd at the time to have any sort of "artistic medium". 

I was in my 4x4 cellar complete with an overly sized TV and the latest video game system. My walls were bland, maybe a Star Wars poster that could have come from a cereal box and models up on dusty shelves. There was sticky shit on the tape player and collared shirts scattered the floor like a river flowing from the closet. The collared shirts... signs of a dress coded school. 

That school was hell on earth. 

But that's besides the point.

It was past ten at night, the quiet hour were the wardens slept soundly but gingerly. Then I heard it, footsteps from downstairs slowly and delicately climbing the stairwell, then I saw the shadow past by underneath my door heading for my sisters room. I had deduced that from the sounds of the worn squishy converse and that who else would be going to Emily's room that night, it was John-Michael, the boyfriend was here.

If my parents had been right angles, JM was certainly the bevel. His contoured mental state came at a wide birth, where as my parents… an acute opening. There was never a dull moment when he was here, so I quickly followed. As I opened the door I could tell that Emily was mildly discomforted that I had appeared. She didn’t want father to know he was here and I was a liability. 

Emily beckoned me to leave at once but in my younger years was I was very firm, I would not leave or else I would tell daddy. 

I was a little shit.

JM eventually told her that it was ok for me to be here, but I could still see Emily’s discomfort, like a cat her hair was still raised. JM, hoping to diffuse the situation pulled out a cd from one of Emily’s large jewel case stacks, placed the disc into the boom-box and clicked the play button. It was her favorite cd, but I had never heard her say that before. How had I not known what her favorite was? I was agitated… I was supposed to know. 

The speakers popped, cracked, came to life and then it happened; strummed fuzz, organic hums and a manilla nasal voice crooned. 

What was this shit?

Emily and JM just began to talk, talk over the music and talk over my face exploding from the inside out. I had once thought that every song was about sex. “Danger Zone” by Kenny Logins is about fornication, right?! “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac is completely about sad coitus, duh. The Mortal Kombat theme song is about nerdy relations, I mean come on?! Every Beetles song is about the birds and bees just like every rap and/or pop and song in a Memorex commercial was about copulation. It was all about SEX!… But for the first time, my roasting puberty and 14 year old intellect couldn’t imagine a girl naked.

My sister was telling JM some story where she was at a party with Davy Havok (the lead singer of AFI) and how he made out with her friend. (I still don't know if that's true to this day...but) I couldn’t follow a thing they were saying. For the first time in my life I felt like a fraud. I didn’t know anything about music. And that’s where I met Jeff. 

My heart was floating in glass.

He lingered in my mind from that day on, slowly becoming a parable of youth. Like the song “Two-Headed Boy” I felt as if Jeff was listening to where I was. As if to touch a moment of present purity and offer solitude. A patience to a confused youth, a yielding and cuddling truth, whispering that all-time is truly a moment to be free. Temperance for tranquility, something much deeper than any intimacy I had experienced. When ever the trumpets sing, like that hollow breeze, I am transported back to a time where I knew nothing… and what a comforting feeling that still is.

The End.

My name is Brady Effler and I am currently unemployed. That is the truth, but it is also not because I don't want to work, I do. I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the end of July 2013, and now I'm fighting the good fight. I am currently going through chemo treatments. From the advisement and orders of my doctor, I am not supposed to be working. Currently I am in the waiting process to receive social security, but that is taking it's time. If you liked what you read, please feel free to donate. I am currently trying to pay off my student loans and other bills (pills, hospital visits, etc...). I'm not going to lie to you, some the donation money will go towards gasoline, or perhaps even a cup of coffee. Anything you give is awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email too if you'd like. I can also make you a gnarly playlist.
Thanks again for reading. I'm not begging, or trying to pull the wool over anyone, just being honest.
- Brady 

You Already Know How I Feel: 5 Songs We Use Not To Talk Pt. 3

#3 The Karaoke.

(The 1st half of Keep Track of History: The Legend of the Iron Curtain.)_

I had been preparing for this all week. I had been a grunt in the pop-punk trenches, suffering the sweet symphonies of Fallout Boy and Hellogoodbye. I constructed foxholes out of teenage angst and quotes on hot topic shirts; it's hard to find a hater of gooey pop magic in a foxhole (well, actually not really...). Back at the barracks I had begun to elegantly dishevel my hair like a good garage band king, brushed my teeth at least three times a day -- with whitener and Jack Daniels. I made sure that I had even washed my favorite Bon Iver t-shirt in that good smelling detergent. After the washing I would rub some dusty man musk on it, a.k.a. loading to the seams with Burberry Cologne. Why was I doing this, for a hot Russian girl of course? 


Gitte Kendel was going to be at least, based upon her lean, five inches away from me for the next who-ever-knows-how-long, or maybe only one and a half inches if I take that left turn extra sharp. Did I pay attention in physic, yes I did. Gitte was one of the most attractive visual pieces of art that God had made in my lifetime and by god, this diva (meaning MUh!) was going to make a run for it. She had tickets to a concert and I was the headliner.

I was practicing an adsorbent amount of self-tidiness but I was also working on that vocal-reflect-pop voice, it was my dream to start a pop group called, "Real Foxes". Some days I toyed with the idea of calling "Real Fauxs". My car had been the karaoke booth for months and every stoplight got a show until I choked and changed the tunes back to either Otis Redding or Bane. Realistically all I wanted to do was dance around with a corded microphone while doing torso twerks and make sassy hand motions. If this doesn't send up any red flags, then I'll fill in the blanks. I have had a rough time relationally in Cambridge and by the time I had gotten back, I had replaced loneliness with a flaming hot ego.

When you leave the country for a while, your mind goes a little hey-wire and my dream was to be famously sexy. I wanted groupies that just cried out in blood lust after my single sparkly glove; I would toss this glove after every show, or perhaps tear my shirt just so they could get a glimpse of these rockin pecks. I really only had written one song, it was about a dream I had with a hot nurse who enjoyed sunbathing and Campbell's soup. Needless to say the only line I had penned so far was "Hellllloooo Nurse!" followed by a minor chord; chicks love minor chords. Original, I know. 
I had been listening to Bastille, a band from the UK for the past two weeks and felt like that was the direction I wanted to go in. Imagine if Instagram filters had the audio quality of sprinkles and sexy bass licks, that was Bastille but with a British touch. 

I could not hamper my excitement. Gitte said yes to a lunch date and it was time for me to make my pop debut. The location of the concert was my trash littered, white and ugly, softball dented, Toyota Solar that I'm pretty sure was manufactured for retired, single soccer moms. 
Enter the Karaoke!

The Karaoke is a delicate art. Not only are you using someone else's poetry to convey how you are feeling, but you are becoming that artist and that song. It is the very less creepy and graphic version of Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Instead of swinging a chainsaw around, embodying the personality of the person’s face you are currently wearing, you are sonically absorbing and simultaneously discharging that very same power through your vocal chords; hopefully slaying the crowd with your hot torso twerks and corded microphone tricks.

Earlier that day, during Spanish class I had asked Gitte if she had wanted to grab lunch at the local this pastry place. After the words as escaped my lips like a virgins first words, she smiled, nodded and with one sultry accent said, "Why, yes."

YAHTZEE!

After class we walked back to my car, the white lightning stead was parked a good distance away, so it gave me plenty of time to focus on three things: How much I had to pee because I was so nervous, her obsidian hair reflecting it the summer breeze and hopefully this leads to a couple beers. By the time I got done sweating out the 1st and 3rd item on my mind I had popped the door open for her and walked around to my side of the car. I had listened that Ataris song, Your Boyfriend Sucks* a lot as a kid, and she didn't open my door... should have been a red flag. Oh well.


We pulled out into the summer wind; I readied my iPod like a gun and tighten my vocal chords like a helmet. 

And as the Joker said, "Heeeeere ... we ... Go!". 

"Here's a song I want you to listen to, I think you'll really like the band. They are Bastille", I said.

And with a smile she replied, "Oh I love new music! Play it!"  

"I hope you're ready for some pop-punk gooey goodness!", I mashed the play button and the Karaoke had begun.

The trickle of the keys and the fuzz of the mono bass crept their was through my speakers like friends in the doorway caught in mid laugh, I was ready. I started to belt the song as the chorus perfumed out of my stereo speakers, and it was magical.
"You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve”

Gitte was beaming. She placed her hands over her mouth to hide the dimples of her smile and snickered. Whenever we made eye contact it was like the super laser on the Deathstar striking Alderaan, but instead of a thousand voices crying out in pain, it was just my voice booming and crooning. I don't know how I didn't wreck my car because I worse than a drunk driver. I was either looking at the ceiling trying to hit the high notes, steering wheel drumming or focused like a puma on her sunlit smile. By the third chorus she had begun to sing along, it was like two distant star-ships docking after a long flight; two anointing airlocks saying welcome home, be at peace.

Gitte and I played that song over, and over again. We sang to each other for what seemed like hours. It felt safe, it felt right and most of all it bonded us together much better than a beer and cold hook up. The Karaoke is powerful song because it brings us out of our box and transports us into a reality that is not ours, but it still tends to the needs of the present reality around us. The Karaoke is much like cosplaying, or trick-or-treating. It gives us that much needed excuse to be someone else, but yet find it completely excusable to act on our hearts deepest desires. At that time, my desire was to be with her, thus there I was doing the Karaoke.

Even after that famous car ride we listened to that song whenever we were together. For the time that we spent together it became our song and its a fantastic one to have. The song has a beautiful message to it, stating that we are all human, we all have done wrong, but it out those flaws we would not be as beautiful as we are today. Do I ever regret having that Karaoke moment with Gitte? No, not ever. But I now know how power and intense it is to "not speak to someone that way."

Do you have a Karaoke Story? If so email me at Bradyeffler@gmail.com

But there is more to this story. Gitte is the Legend of the Iron Curtain and last chapter of Keeping Track of History. So to get ready for the the next piece here is a song that will lead you in the right "emotive" direction of what is about to happen. Wolves // Phosphorescent.

My name is Brady Effler and I am currently unemployed. That is the truth, but it is also not because I don't want to work, I do. I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the end of July 2013, and now I'm fighting the good fight. I am currently going through chemo treatments. From the advisement and orders of my doctor, I am not supposed to be working. Currently I am in the waiting process to receive social security, but that is taking it's time. If you liked what you read, please feel free to donate. I am currently trying to pay off my student loans and other bills (pills, hospital visits, etc...). I'm not going to lie to you, some the donation money will go towards gasoline, or perhaps even a cup of coffee. Anything you give is awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email too if you'd like. I can also make you a gnarly playlist.
Thanks again for reading. I'm not begging, or trying to pull the wool over anyone, just being honest.
- Brady

*The quote from the Ataris song, Your Boyfriend Sucks

"Alright, listen to me. You pull up right where she is, right. You go get out of the car and you lock both doors. You walk over to her, bring her over to the car, take out the keys, put it in the lock, open the door for her, and you let her get in and you close the door. And you walk around to the back of the car and you look through the rear window. If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so you can get in, dump her!" "Just like that!?" "Listen to me Jim(?). If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so you can get in, that means she's a selfish board and only seeing is the tip of the iceberg. You dump her and you dump her fast!"

"Prolegomenon" As the Boss would say...

 "Prolegomenon" As the Boss would say...

 “Come up for the rising.

Come on up for the rising, lay your hands in mine”.

Like all good Americana music, as to when Bruce Springsteen croons, a spirit is summoned. This spirit is better known as “memory”.The spirit of memory has a very tricky handshake as well. It's no Loki, but it might as well be just as blind as Lady Justice. I do not believe that I've ever listened to a song by Bruce or anything from the Americana genre and not have been immediately taken back to a distance place, firm and/or loose handshake. For me, personally, that’s also how I’ve felt about my writing. I can’t talk to you guys about baseball, GTA 5 (hookers) or how Mother’s should raise sons, but I can write about music, how it takes me back and hopefully you as well.


Even though the chorus section of the song "The Rising"  is the most “blast” worthy, as in “crank it to eleven Bruce!”, it’s not the part that hits home for me. Home is where the heart is, I am homeward bound and the Boss knows that I have kept track of everywhere I have been. At the very beginning he sings,

“Lost track of how far I've gone

How far I've gone, how high I've climbed…”

I remember when I was in Scotland and I hiked to the top of Arthur's Seat, the highest point in the city of Edinburgh. Like a retard, I didn’t dress the part for hiking… I had converse, some tight/skinny jeans and I even went shopping at the record store before hand. So like some portly kid, toting a shopping bag that invited himself on the adventure at the last second, I scrambled up the mountain. I took several photographic opportunities, or as the angel on my shoulder might say “a very sinful, angry but yet protectively mumbled rant”. When I got to the top, the wind touched my face with a cool smile and the city below was quietly humbled. I had totally forgotten about the struggle I had just experienced. I just stood there holding my bag of records taking in the beauty of nature. Life is like that sometimes. Everything from here has been a journey. From discussions of how Mum could be the “made for adult ears” version of Death Cab For Cutie or to how the song Night Moves still may be the most perfect jam to belt at the top your lungs while facing an uncertain dusk, top down and cold soda in hand; I’ve come a long way, and hopefully you have too. So here is your informal invite to start the ending of two series that are close to my heart, Keeping Track of History and You Already Know How I Feel: The 5 Songs We Use Not to Talk. The double feature is coming and I hope you're ready.

You maybe wondering why I am ending KToH, well that's just a surprise for you later down the road, but you can expect them to make a comeback with some different "clothes" next year. As for The 5 Songs... that one is kind of obvious, but hey, you still have two left after this one is done spinning.

As I was writing the other day (which was a Sunday in case you were curious) I couldn’t help but feel as though these two stories belonged together. Over my many years of "womanizing", (if you dare to even call it that -- I'm such a sweetheart) I don't think I've ever experienced more infatuation and stress in such a short amount of time than during the summer of 2012. There are a couple of things that you should know about the "2012 Effler" though. I had just returned from my study abroad in England and my beard was getting larger than my ego; all the beard wanted to do was make-out and write “glitorious” pop-music. I wouldn’t say that I deserved the lovey-dovey heart palpitations or that post-crack-fix stress twitch that this girl caused, but I could be guilted into thinking I needed both. I don't think this is the appropriate use of the term "hot flashes" but it might as well be the male equivalent. Our "hot flashes" could be defined as the relentless weakness to both strangle and in the same beat daintily adorn with silk-baby-bottom-soft rose petals our current beloved. These hot flashes are also how I feel about Robin, the boy wonder. I never understood how Batman dealt with "them", but for me “they” always caused both intense frustration and merriment.

Either way, there are only two types of girls that could cause such a brouhaha for me: Any girl cos-playing* as Princess Leia and this swank sexy Russian by the name of Gitte Kendel. Now to avoid connections, such as an angry phone call and/or letter-bomb, I changed the names for the consideration of others, well… just Gitte's. But you guys seem like a smart enough crowd to know that Gitte is Bavarian name, which suits her because her hair swung like a heavy obsidian axe while her matching eyes would have brought any retired jewel thief back to their shadowy feet. Gittie was a babe, she knew it, she owned it, I was snared and now she is part five of KToH: The Legend of Iron Curtain. Gitte is also how I stumbled upon number three for the The 5 Songs… series: the Karaoke. The Karaoke happens in the middle of the story, and I'm most positive that everyone can yoke my experience to when we've felt young and foolish. So from hot flashes, hopeful glitter ambitions, robin the boy wonder and one sexy Russian, this is really a summer's tale with a more awkward John Travolta. It's basic, guy stares at girl, girl ignores guy and by some freak accident, sparks fly. But this summer loving has a totally different sing along, it's all about flaws.

So later this week expect a rather large update. Your homework assignment is to re-read posts, tell me what you liked, what you didn't like and also send me some of your moments. I'm also playing with the idea of how I'm going to write this piece, so don't be bashful. I'm about to start responding to fan-mail/"dude this is my jam letters", so get involved.

*Cosplaying: short for "costume play", is an activity in which participants wear costumes and accessories to represent a specific character or idea from a work of fiction.

Personal: CT & IVs

Not dying, far from it.

Yesterday I went to memorial, pensively and very worried I drank the hospital kool-aid while waiting for my CT scan. Luckily I had my friend Jill with me. She asked at the last minute if I wanted company, and secretly I wanted to scream “Yes, yes, yes!” but I have really a hard time displaying my excitement, especially when it comes to the hospitals. I didn’t want to feel like she was taking a grumpy puppy to the vet. I asked her several times if that’s what she really wanted to do on a monday morning. I mean, there are so many other cool things to do on a monday...Right?


“It’s going to be boring…and there are sick people... you’ll just sit there... I’ll be cranky... needles make me cranky… it’s a hospital not a jump house… I’ll tell horrible jokes… like real cranky… really?” She smiled and said something along the lines of “Yes Brady, I’m sure I want to go with you.” I beamed, but not bright enough to see hopefully. After multitudes of treatment visits its going to feel nice being one of those people with someone in the waiting room. I debated on taking a picture, but I don’t know if that would have been real appropriate or even genuinely decent thing to do. Hospital selfies? I mean I do have cancer, so who could get mad? I could see the tagline on the photo, “So this is Jill and I in the Cancer ward. Ignore the mummy in the wheelchair. All smiles!”


Since July my mind has been overloaded with statements concerning mortality rates, life altering side-effects and self deprecating thoughts. I've seen a slew of medical staff that range from the gentleness of a warm cloth upon my forehead to those with the subtly of smashing a cinder block through a car-window. After I finished my chemical beverage I walked to the CT room and lied down on a matted table awaiting robotic directions. The nurse took ten minutes to find a vein in my right arm -- nothing. She then searched the left. Nothing. She looked confused and perplexed. Scratching her brow she pressed a buzzer,


"Stacy, could you come in here for a moment."


Stacy, an older women with a buttered brunet bob of a hair cut waddled in.
"Can't find a vein can we?" She chuckled, "We'll it's a good thing I know a thing or two about sticken'!"
I didn't really know what to do, so I chuckled with her. "Yeah, it was always hard for me back in the college days too... Ha ha..." My joke trailed like a kid who hadn’t been invited to the party. She then began to slap the top of my wrist. She was probably killing two birds with one stone: If that joke is true Brady you deserve more than just a slap on the wrist and where is that vein?!
"Oh boy, well this will have to do."
"Are you ready?"
"This will hurt."


She plunged the inch and half long needle into my wrist. I twinged and grunted.
"I know... I know it hurts but it's only for a second."
She dug licking her lips. Such a concentrated face for one who is currently inflicting pain.
Then, with a smile, "Ah! There we are."
She plugged a tube into my wrist and connected it to bag full of liquid pus.
"Now lie still and just follow the instructions... You may feel warm and queasy but it dissipates quickly."
I nodded my head and rested it upon the paper towel covered pillow.
The machine buzzed and lit up like an engine on an age spaceship.
*beep, wirrrrrrr, beep*


"Please, take a deep breath."


A voice from deep space began to vocalize its authority like an old speak n' spell.


"Please, hold your breath."


*clank*


"Your cooperation is necessary."


*clank*


"Thank you for your cooperation. You may breathe normally."


I slide beneath a radiated hula hoop like a pizza.


"Please, stay still. Thank you."


*wirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*


"Please, hold your breath. Thank you for your cooperation."


"Thank you. Your scan is now complete."


I got off the table feeling warm and fuzzy. The nurses assured me that the feeling would go away shortly. And I hoped it did because the warm feelings downstairs made it feel like I had simultaneously pissed and shit my self. If I was drunk I might have asked for a reward, but no, sober as a bell and double checking every inch of pants for a sign of wetness. None, okay we’re good
I walked back to the waiting room to find Jill waiting for me. If comfort had a face, she created it. I was one of those people again, not alone.
"You ready?"
"Yeah... Let's go home."
The rest of the day I couldn't think about anything else than that the robot. It had all the answers. In its data banks it contained the prevalence of how my body was handling the tumor. It was a long day.

So, this morning I woke up knowing that at some point I'd have to see my oncologist. It was like knowing that an ex girlfriend was waiting for me at school, probably by my locker with a slew of ugly information. My gut told me pack an extra pair of pants in the car. I sat in the waiting room; I was not one of those people today, I was alone. I was called by the sweet ladies over the intercom to the lab so they could draw my blood. No sign of him. They stabbed me, drew my bloody and gave me a unisex band aid.


Lame.


I went back to the waiting room and sat there twiddling my thumbs. Wheelchairs zoomed in and out with crippled bodies hacking up god knows what. The overheard conversations were just like the ones I myself had my first day; people holding back their bruised faces and old ladies drawing bible study quotes from their slacked jaws. Overwhelming. Still no sign of him.


The intercom buzzed.


"Brady Effler to the nurse's assistant area please."


This is it.


I walked back to their desk and there he was standing in large white cloak holding his clip board.


"Brady, good to see you. The nurses are going to take care of you, but we need to talk. I'll find you soon, okay." Every thing was said with a smile. But they always smile. “We need to talk?” People still say that these days?! No one should ever say that. He wandered off down the hallway, cloak billowing flashing his striped socks every other step. Was this how Harry potter felt when Dumbledore said some cryptic shit -- frustratedly "special"?


The nurses came up to me and I did what they asked of me. I felt like a bear in the circus. Hop up on this, get down from there, stick this in your mouth, clip this on your finger, wave to the crowd, don’t scowell, etc...


After about 15 minutes of performing in the center ring, they moved me from the crowd and into a holding pen, aka just another waiting room, but smaller and built for face to face conversations.


As I was waiting I heard my oncologist outside talking to another voice, and everything was muffled.

"... tell him ..I'll be...


shortly ... discuss ...


...don't.... results... take


treatments are... preliminaries..."

The door opened and a blonde lady stepped through the door with fuchsia Nikes' indiscreetly grabbing my attention. Just her shoes. That's all I know.


"Hi! I'm Amy. Dr. Daniels assistant. How are you today."
With really no time to process what I didn't hear, I had no other option besides.
"Peachy, yeah. I'm just ... Peachy."


She asked me the typical questions:


How's your pain? - fine


Pelvis bothering you? - not as much


On a scale of one to ten? - one


Are sleeping alright? - sort of


Pooping well? - yes


Sexual activity? - no


Any rashes? - no


Numbness in your hands? - no


Numbness in your feet? - no


Taking all your pills? - yes


Any loss or change in sexual drive? - no


Nausea? - yes


Any case of vomiting? - no


Any blood in your urine or fecal matter? - no


Sunlight bothering you? - no


In general is everything okay? Sure







There was a knock on the door.
Finally.
Thank God.
Dr. Daniels peaked his head through the door and smiled.
"You all set?"
I wanted to scream, "just fucking tell me!" but I just nodded and said, “Yep…”
Amy nodded her head and gave him a binder. He waved it away, instead he walked up to me and reached out his hand. "We'll congratulations Mr. Effler. You tumor is dying."


If he had gripped my hand any harder or smiled any wider I would have lost it. My eyes were like cages, trying to keep a flood of mice like tears from running down my face. This was the first set of good news since... Well ever since they told me I was lucky that I even found out about the cancer. I felt lucky and I felt I undefeated.


Amy was smiling too, but her shoes combined with the higher archaical placement of sexual and bathroom questions made me want to give the least amount of attention. Ever.
"Your tumor is no longer looks like a sphere. Rather is collapsing in on itself and becoming more of a cone shape. So all in all. It's dying and this is exactly what we wanted."
He was like the hot girl where you felt like superman after 5 second conversation, “Yeah, it’s 10:15”... . I just wanted him to keep talking. Come on baby don’t stop. Keep talking. Any time he seemed to veer off track I made it point to come right back. I'm not letting this one get away.
“Your blood levels look excellent, your kidneys and liver are functioning extraordinarily well and you look very healthy.”


May I cry now? No, still more questions. I gotta keep this babe talking before she goes off and finds the quarterback, aka that one patient with the glittery crown that makes all the nurses laugh. What a show off. I have cancer too you know… I’m just not old and cute. The rest of the conversation was about my meds, my pelvis and how stem cell surgery will be the catalyst.


“Well that’s all I have to say Mr. Effler.” He shook my hand and smiled. “I hope you have a good day.”


As I left the hospital, I may have skipped, or at least to best of my ability. You know, fractured pelvis. I knew I had to tell everyone… It’s now a reality to me. I can fight this. I have a future. Somewhere out there is the one, somewhere out there is the house, somewhere out there is the job, somewhere out there is life.


And if I stay focused, I’ll make everyone remember me, forever.

10 Cover Songs that are in My Library. (10 - 6)

Covering your tracks... 10 songs at a time.

I am a cover person and I'm not talking blankets (Well I do really like jersey sheets, but that's beyond the point). Discovering a well done cover song is like finding a needle in a needle stack from a parallel universe that is currently occupied by robots going through puberty, a.k.a. that slut called Youtube. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh, but when anybody can prop open their macbooks and record themselves it get's a little old and arduous finding "gems" like this...



I will apologize for three things: 1) I'm sorry that if you sat through the whole thing for wasting three minutes and twenty seconds of your life. 2) That it was a Barenaked Ladies. 3) For the one hardcore Barenaked Ladies fan-dude out there reading this, I'm not maliciously attacking the group, I'm just saying... they doesn't age well bro.
Finding good covers are hard to come by but there are couple good friends that can help us weed out the bad ones, such as the A.V. Club and the website Covermesongs.com. In your free time I'd suggest that you give them a gander. But let's start with my personal top 10, and in no particular order.

#10 I'll Be There // Sun Kil Moon (The Jackson 5)

I've never been a huge Jackson 5 fan. That whole "ABC" song drives me crazy. But besides that song, I respect them for what they have done for music and that generation in particular. But this cover goes straight for the heart.
If you've listened to Sun Kil Moon this cover might not be news to you but if you haven't, he's like the Americana heart break of folk music, or an Iron & Wine that is less annoying. His cover is soft and majestic, it practically melts your heart on the spot. I know I sat sniffling thinking two things: "I wa-wa-want to da-da-dance to this at my weddings" *sobs* and the other "Why did I ever show that bitch this song?!"
You can download the song Here.

#9 Mr. Brightside // Playradioplay! (The Killers)

I have several friends that love to dance. As for me, I'll only dance if I can just stand there, holding my drink while some girl does here butt-rumble thing or I think it's called twerking now? But even that weirds me out. My buddies will usually pull the speakers out on the back porch and blast Justice, M83 and/or Girl Talk and by the time I'm tossed the porch is a break-beat giggle fest. So when I happened upon the cover of I had an immediate smile because for one, I could be like "Hey! I'll stand there and watch a girl dance to this!" and secondly there SO MANY covers of this song and this is the only good one. Let the memories flow my friends.
You can download the song Here.

#8 Sweet Dreams // Marilyn Manson (The Eurthymics)

Synth can be creepy, even back in the 80’s and back in 1984 the Eurthymics had it down. The original song delivers sinister tones tailgated with glass bottles clanks and major piano chords that vibrate the static drums. Was this song made in a factory that manufactures road-kill teddy bears, we'll never know. Needless to say its no surprise that Marilyn Manson decided to crank the creepiness up to 11. He slows it down and scraps the piano for a distorted guitar that crawls up your spine. The amount of fuzz and buzz fronted by his hair-raising whispering screams really perpetuates the atmosphere of the song to a whole new level of oddity. Oh, and I also really like the song. It's good for Halloween, so be sure to hang on to it. 
Couldn't find a "proper" download but here's a link the Song. 

#7 Jolene // The White Stripes ( Dolly Parton)

My original #7 was going to be "Landslide", covered by the Smashing Pumpkins, but honestly it just got annoying after the 70th time I heard it, but this gem -- shivers up my spine. Jack White, with his tenacious attitude, cranks this country classic. The White Stripes tapped into the rawest emotion this song could contain and just plainly, but not simply, rocked it. I'm pretty positive it has the power to melt faces. It's truly a work of rock art. Sadly there are few ways to hear this song. It was captured live for one of their tour DVDs, so if you can find it, hats off. But thank God for Youtube right?!
Here is the link the best sounding video I could find.

#6 Idioteque // Amanda Palmer (Radiohead)
Idioteque has always been one of my favorite Radiohead songs and when I found out that Amanda Palmer covered it, (and on the ukulele none the less!) it's safe to say that I flipped out. I mean it's that crazy lady from the Dresden Dolls and that song "Coin-Operated Boy" about killed me in high school. So at first I was scared, I mean it was like handling my favorite Tamagachi pet, I didn't want her to kill it... I'd have to start all over. But my fear quickly dissipated upon listening to the cover. She really captures the overarching idea of the song, a dissonance that is created through panic. At some points it sounds like she is hammering on the top of the fret board, trying to communicate this idea of stress and anxiety. The drums that waltz into the song shape the song into one of the best covers I’ve heard in a long time. The art form here is awe-inspiring. So thanks Amanda, you're cool now. 
You can download the song Here.

Stay tuned for 1 - 5!
(also feel free to email me your favorite covers at bradyeffler@gmail.com)