Adam Knapp's Top 10 musical influences, Pt. 2

Editor's note: Here is the second guest blog Adam Knapp has written for me -- part of a four-part series counting down the people in his life who have inspired the music he listens to. Some of the music he mentions here is not to my liking -- Not so with KISS -- we both love old KISS - 1970s Gene, Paul, Ace & Peter. Well I'll just step back and let him tell it all. I give you -- Adam Knapp.
--J. Guy

                                               Nicki Minaj -- "Starships"

7. The Kid

About a half hour ago, I asked my teenage daughter what her favorite song was.

“You wouldn’t know it,” she replied.

Maroon 5

“Well what is it?” I asked.

“I’m not telling you,” she said.

But a seconds later she played it for me and … well, I’ve already forgotten what it was. But it’s always funny to see her get excited over music. “Just wait ‘til the beat drops!”

You wouldn’t think someone who isn’t even old enough to get her driver’s license would have much a musical influence on me. But she’s pretty much taken charge of my vehicle’s radio, and I’m astounded by how many of “her” songs I’ve downloaded for myself.

Maroon Five, Nicki Minaj, Izzy Azalea, 21 Pilots – would I even know who these groups were if it weren’t for Stellar Knapp? No, I’d probably just listen to some podcast when I’m at the gym – and trust me, that won’t give you the same energy as a song like “Starships.”

She’s even gotten me to listen to some of the “new” country. The ones she likes aren’t bad.

Stellar often surprises me by knowing and appreciating older music, too. Her favorite song last week was that pina colada song by Rupert Holmes. Snort.

                                        Candlebox -- "Cover Me"​

6. The Crush

Angi Clinton. Oh, Angi Clinton … why did you break my heart?

I was living in Missouri, fresh out of college. Angi worked in a pharmacy at Cub Foods. Single mom, a couple years older than me and … wow. I fell for Angi before I even talked to her.

Once I got to know Angi, she was even cooler than I thought. We were definitely into a lot of the same kind of music – Offspring, Bush, a lot of grunge. She didn’t just pretend to like that stuff; she knew it cold. I remember coming home with the new Alice in Chains “Tripod” CD (actually unnamed, but that’s what I call it) and playing it for her – loud – over the phone. Smooth move, no?

Scruffy & the Janitors

Angi’s favorite group was Candlebox. I didn’t know a lot about Candlebox, but you’d better believe I started listening to them after she told me that. I think she actually invited me to a Candlebox concert in Kansas City. Or maybe she just told she was going. Probably the latter, now that I think about. She was flirty, but she always held me at arm’s length.

So … fast forward a decade or two. Angi not only searched and found me on Facebook, she went on and one about how she never forgot about me.  She even still had a Christmas card I sent her. She really made me feel good.

I called her, and we never lost a beat. She lives in K.C. and really hasn’t changed. She’s constantly going out to check out new bands and hear live music, which is more than I can say. Then I started to follow her on Spotify, and was blown away by how much great new stuff she likes - stuff you would never hear on the radio. (At least in Wichita.)

Some of the band names will make you laugh. (“Scruffy and the Janitors” come to mind.) But trust me: If you want to stay young, pay attention to what Angi Clinton listens to.

A few months ago, Angi called me all excited. I knew she going to see Candlebox (yes, they’re still around.) Well, after the concert, she went to a bar and hung out with Candlebox.

I told you Angi was cool.

KISS

​

5. The cousin

When you have an older cousin who got to go to a KISS concert … well, if you were a child in the 1970s, one doesn’t carry much more weight than that.

That cousin was Billy Warstler, and he made sure I knew most of KISS’s entire catalog, much to my mother’s disapproval. But we loved them. Oh, did we love them. We bought KISS trading cards and KISS comic books. I don’t know how many hours we spent in my bedroom lip-synching KISS songs, but I do remember the band members we claimed. He was Paul Stanley and I was Gene Simmons. Then we’d switch; he’d be Peter Criss and I’d be Ace Frehley.

(I actually still own the ill-fated solo albums of my “guys” Gene and Ace. 

Incidentally, how egotistical were the members of KISS to each come out with solo albums on the same day? Not even the Beatles had the balls to try that.)

                                "S.O.S." -- Resurrection Band

Anyway … when Cousin Bill entered his teens, he became a born-again Christian. And what do you know – even with that 180, he was still a huge influence on me. Mailing me tapes from his home in Phoenix, Bill turned me on to groups like Petra and Stryper. “S.O.S.” by the Rez Band remains one of my favorite songs ever. (Listen to this dude’s voice and tell me it doesn’t move you a little bit.)

On one of the last tapes he made me, Bill gave me some news that still makes me laugh.

“There’s this new Christian band out there that’s really going to change things,” cousin Bill told me sometime in the early ‘80s. “They’re called U2.”

Next: 4-3

Adam Knapp's top 10 musical influences

                                              "My Way" - The Sex Pistols

Editor's note: A few weeks ago, I asked my good friend Adam Knapp if he would like to write a guest blog on my account. I didn't know if he would actually go for it, but he took the idea much more seriously than I thought he would. He didn't just write one blog. He wrote four and over the week, I'm going to run them all. 

I've always seen Adam's writing as an extension of his easy going, good-humored personality. Twenty years ago I could read a sports feature he wrote for the Wichita Eagle and say, "Yup, that's Adam." Reading his contribution to my blog is like hearing him talk. 

He made his name in journalism, covering sports, for which he won several awards. But music, film, pop culture - those are also passions of his and he has strong, definite opinions about what he likes and dislikes in the arts as well as the sports world. There's a lot more I could say about Adam, but I should get the hell out of the way and let him take center stage. Here, Adam talks about the people who influenced his ever-expanding musical tastes. In the four essays that will run over the next few days, Adam counts down his personal top 10 influences. It's a cool read, well worth your time, and Adam's unique voice all the way. 

-- J. Guy

Before I get into starting a list of the top 10 musical influences in my life, let me first answer a question that will surely pop up – how can I not include my best friend Russ Thomas?

The answer is simple. Russ’ musical tastes haven’t left an impression on me. I mean, we listened to a lot of the same stuff, and I love the guy, but he’s pretty predictable. Seriously, his best argument for being on this list would be lending me his Billy Squier cassette when we were teenagers. (When I returned it to him at our 20-year high school reunion, and he disgustedly threw it back at me.)

In fact, Russ’ older sister Shanna has a better claim to being on this list than him. The albums she owned were epic – Kansas, Meatloaf, Queen, et al. That girl had good taste.

Her brother? When we were briefly roommates, Russ also introduced me to the Tracy Chapman hit “Fast Car.” That’s a good song. But that’s about it in 35 years of friendship. Billy Squier and Fast Car. And I’m not even that crazy about Billy Squier.

Robert Johnson

So what are the criteria for being on my musical influences list?

First of all – and this should be obvious – it has to be someone I know personally. No DJs, no music critics, nobody I know only through social media. Lester Bangs doesn’t count.

Secondly, it has to be someone who is responsible for what you decided you loved – directly or indirectly. If you happened to be with your aunt the first time you heard “Stairway to Heaven” on the radio, that’s not her influencing you, necessarily. That’s just her being in the same room.

However … if that same aunt was playing the same song on her record player, that’s a different story. She has now influenced you, even if neither of you realized it at the time.

Sometimes the influencer knows exactly what they’re doing, and can predict what you would like better than you could.

Or maybe, just maybe, you like the person so much that you want to like their music.

OK, I think you get the idea. Here are my top 10. To enhance the meaning of each honoree, I suggest you listen to the song I selected as you're reading about them.

10. The instigator.

Am I sneaking Jeff Guy onto this list simply because it’s his blog you are reading right now? Possibly, but hear me out. The man knows what he likes, and he likes a lot of music that you’ve never heard of.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, I’ll bet Jeff has exposed you to a hidden gem you had no idea even existed.  Some of them are from artists everyone knows (Sinatra, The Beatles). But many, many others are not. How he’s aware this stuff, I have no idea. But he’s done a good thing by giving them a new life on his blog and exposing them to me, and hopefully a lot of others.

I love talking music with Jeff, because we disagree on just enough to keep it interesting.  Jeff’s like me in that our musical tastes run deep and wide, but we both have a soft spot for anarchy.

Also, Jeff gets bonus points for chiding Russ for his musical selection over the years. (Michael Jackson may have been a hugely popular musical genius, but no red-blooded male in the Midwest should ever be caught listening to  “PYT.”)

9. The Ex Wife

Those of you who know me might be surprised to see the mother of my children on this list, but I’m just giving credit where credit’s due. All of these things actually happened before we were married, from 1988 to ’96, and they help remind me that we really were good friends.

Tom Petty

She gave me Tom Petty’s “Into the Great Wide Open” for one birthday, Van Halen’s “For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge” for another, and I devoured both those suckers from start to finish. It was with her that summer I fell in love with the Guns-N-Roses classic Appetite for Destruction (which I will always associate with the Motley Crue poster hanging on her bedroom wall, which is unfortunate).

She was old school with the Byrds. She was grunge with Hole. I don’t know how I managed to live 22 years without hearing Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man,” but I’m thankful she popped that one night during one of our little drives to nowhere.

Bonus points for the way her hair flipped around in a circle when we were rocking out to White Zombie. That might be what made me marry her.

​

                                            "Simple Man" -- Lynyrd Skynyrd

                                              

8. The Human Beat Box

The first time I heard Run DMC’s Raising Hell album, it was in Shannon Haralson’s living room, on the same day he announced he’d bought it. A few weeks later, we did the same with the Beastie Boys’ License to Ill.

Run DMC

This inspired Shannon and me to write and perform our own rap songs, armed with only a keyboard and a tape recorder. If the idea of two teenage boys in the middle of Kansas making raps makes you laugh … well, you should have been there for the writing sessions. Most of our lyrics were centered around what we knew in our little world: Girls, high school and good-natured barbs at our friend Frank, who was usually around to hear their debut. Shannon is a talented drummer and often kept the beat by using his mouth as a human beat box.

But his influence didn’t stop there. Shannon was the first one I remember to have a CD player in his car – his car! – and it was there that I got my first prolonged exposure to Aerosmith, who had a huge comeback in the late ‘80s, thanks mainly to their collaboration of a remake performed by …. wait for it … Run DMC.

In the years that followed, in was in Shannon’s apartment where I learned about groups like Siouxsie and the Banshees.  Just listen to this song and tell me you’re not mesmerized.

                                           "Peek-a-Boo" -- Siouxie and the Banshees

Next: 7-5

Made for these times

Casual Friday at the office. The day drunk, man-hungry Meredith, from sales, sports a short dress revealing a panties-free lifestyle. 

For me, yesterday was ideal for wearing my Shox T-shirt. “Play angry.” Hoops. WuShock.  Miss the days when his wheatshock hair looked like children of the corn, but hey, the good ol’ days are here & now.

Jace, my favorite co-worker, is also wearing a black and gold Shocker  T-shirt.  We pose for a picture, post it to Facebook & Twitter. I knew she would be whooping it up later, unable to keep emotions in check, while watching the game on her personal laptop.

Actually, she graduated from Friends University, a small liberal arts college founded by Quakers. It’s up the road from the Catholic school, Newman University.

I graduated from WSU, located around Fairmount Drive and busy Hillside Street.  Sure, my alma mater has had that “Hillside High” image since the ‘70s. Yes, I majored in communications – you know, the major where you can get fucked up every weekend and still make good grades.

There were times some 30 years ago when my dad took me, my brother and sister to a few Shocker games. Good times, but in the past.

My supervisor, Matt approaches. He’s grown a reddish brown beard that makes him look like a mess of Dwight Schrute- hip and leprechaun.

"How's my favorite Shocker doing?" Matt says to me, while in a rare affable mood. Sometimes I like him better pissed off, but hey, name me another time when I might get the infrequent compliment and a fist bump.

Wife & kids

That afternoon while Jace watched the Shocker-Hoosier game in the office, I was at one of my unofficial offices in town – Poetic Justice coffee shop. Kind of a bohemian place. Last month, this gay poet who knew Allen Ginsberg took to the mike.

Anyhow, I was drinking a latte’, kind of working on my laptop and kind of watching the game on the huge screen over the wall. My tight game face of work gave way to a smile as I heard the announcer say the name, Shaq Morris.

Back at the office, Jace and I would rave about how WSU and KU would play each other Sunday for a shot at the Sweet 16. The schools haven’t played each other since 1993 when KU whipped the hell out of Wichita State. But there’s a rivalry going back more than a hundred years to the days when Phog Allen coached KU and WSU was little old Fairmount College, a small Hillside area school surrounded by farmland.

The last time the Shockers beat the Jayhawks was in 1981. I was in grade school, and Jace wasn’t born yet.  In a dramatic moment, likely never to be repeated , Shocker guard Mike Jones made a 25-footer , securing a 66-65 victory in the final four seconds of the game.

I’m happy two Kansas teams made it to the dance, but I’m strictly for the Shockers. I want to be with my wife and kids, watching Wichita State go to victory.

 Yeah I’ve been uptight this weekend, but really, this is a time for happiness. Gregg Marshall is the King of Wichita, man. I mean, that’s why I haven’t written about stuff like dysfunctional sex, coming down from drugs and suicide this weekend. It'll all be back soon, don't worry.

But such things were not made for this time.

                                                  "Battle of New Orleans" 1981

Are you complete?

Been more than two weeks after he left us i bet his last words were beam me up scotty and people still have Mr. Spock's face on their Facebook profile pictures. Hands making the Vulcan sign. You know that sign is derived from Judaism?

"I hope he was a completed Jew," Jacque wrote on her Facebook wall.

In other words, a Messianic Jew. Someone who’s Jewish, but has accepted our Jesus Christ as his personal Savior. Let's hope Leonard Nimoy was that kind of Jew. If he wasn't, of course, he'll burn in hell forever, but we'll hope for the best. Hopefully, God did not have to cast him into the eternal lake of fire, but youuuu gotttta have Jeeeesus.

In no way, should my comments be construed as antisemitic. I love the Jews. They're God's chosen people. Heck, everyone knows Moses was the first American and our Constitution was based on the Ten Commandments. It says so in the high school history textbooks inside the big, beatin' heart of Texas.

Hey my grandpa helped liberate a Nazi concentration camp at the end of World War II. I'm all for shooting Japs and Germans. It's not for us mortal humans to inflict such cruelty on mankind. Only God can do that. Listen, I support Israel. You wanna know who I think are real shits? The Palestinians. Muslims are from Satan. Plus they'll turn you gay. Thanks Obama. We all know you have family members in ISIS. Oh, so he's ordering bombs and airstrikes? Hey liberal, I hope you choke on your Kool-aid.

Ol' JC was a Jew. You can be a Jew too - a Jew for Jesus. We can even wear yarmulkes, observe Shabbat, Seeder, hold Bar Mitzvahs. Well gosh all mighty, we can mix Hanukkah and Christmas. They're pretty much the same. And that's how we bring Jews to Jesus. It's Judaism with a Christian spin, much like when we go ghetto at our suburban mega-church with Beastie Boys-Red Hot Chili Peppers oriented Christo beats and entertain the kids with a Jesus rap while we wear our blings and go gangsta for Jesus.

My friend Jacque is all for Jews. A fine Christian woman, Jacque. She and her husband, Harlan, have 16 kids. The oldest are girls and they help with cooking, sewing and spanking the younger children 'cuz if you don't beat them, they'll go to hell. Just a quiverfull of love at their old farmhouse. We're gonna outbreed the Muslims.

Harlan takes the girls to purity balls where they pledge to their fathers that they will remain virgins until taking wedding vows.

Don't believe those nasty rumors about how oldest daughter Betsy already got her hymen busted and Daddy did it. Liberal lies. 

Anyway, we're all for Jews (hey, they discovered America) and we hope they have Jesus.

Now that liberal, plum-puking Christian-Islam hybrid, Chrislam - we don't go for that. Islam is bad. Muslims hate America, they're such terrorists. They’ll try to keep Obama in for a third term.

Plus, they'll cause your sons to masturbate. 

Hollywood Gomorrah

Sunday night's Oscar show was an affront to everything pure, right-side-of-the-fence, non-fornicating Christian American colonialists hold dear.

Obviously the show was man-hating. So appalling, that gender hating speech by Patricia Arquette.

‘It’s our time to have wage equality once and for all and equal rights for women in the United States of America!’

I'm not a misogynist, but I'm tired of women bitching about how they don't get paid enough and how they want the freedom to breast feed and it's so hard to manage a career and be a mother and the meals and household. Yeah, you're a real empowered woman, you crybaby. You go girlfriend in your $10,000 Rosetta Getty asymmetrical bodice and lecture me about how you're being kept down. You got Meryl Streep all wet.

Just like all the black people shuckin' and jivin' 'cuz of slavery. I'm not racist, but get over it. LBJ gave you your Civil Rights Act so stop bitching. We gave you reparations, awarding the Oscar to 12 Years a Slave last year. Then you demand another hand-out for Selma. Why did the camera keep showing black people and that POS Oprah? Fucking racist.

And those race-baiting speeches by John Legend and Common. Complaining that voting rights are being "compromised right now." Uh - John, the Supreme Court ruled we don't need the Voting Rights Act anymore because it infringes on states' rights and we've become a post-racial society. If I see a dude struttin' at the mall, dressed all pimp, I don't see his color. I just see an American, but you keep making race an issue.

Complaining about all the incarcerated black males. Yeah, like they didn't do anything to land in prison. Ever heard of black-on-black crime? But you don't go marching about that, do you? Just throw a baby fit when some law breaking thug happens to get killed by a white cop. Helloooo! Just do what the officer says and you won't have to worry about getting murdered.

 Eddie Redmayne won Best Actor. Yeah, give it to the guy who played an atheist.

Ida for best foreign film. Naturally, give it to the anti-Semitic film. You don't stand with Israel. You love Muslims.

Why did a Mexican win for Best Director - Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu? Talking about dignity for the illegals who "built this immigrant nation." Don't you mean "illegal alien nation”? They're already taking our jobs and making us have to press 1 for English thanks to Barrack Hussein Obama.

Bagdad Penn actually had a funny line: "Who gave this sonovabitch his green card?" I guess it's okay for that anti-American, terrorist lover Sean Penn to say it. But if a conservative makes a racist joke, it's a bad thing. Hollywood double-standard.

Why give the Best Adapted Screenplay award to Graham Moore? Because he made a film about a gay guy? Then he talks about suicide. Oh I get the message. It's because LGB youth are four times more likely to commit suicide than their straight peers. So you think that entitles you to special rights? Lots of kids get bullied.

Hollywood loves gays. Having Neil Patrick Harris host. How come we don't have real Americans like Bob Hope and John Wayne hosting the Oscars anymore? Of course Neil would prance in his underwear and show off his hard, firm abs and muscular biceps, the bulge in his tighty whites.

Wait, somebody just told me Neil was parodying a scene from Birdman. Oh I'm sorry, I was focusing on homoeroticism.

Questioning the hive mind

Editor's note: My good friend, Fiona, is an intelligent woman so when she recently asked me to write a blog about a certain experience she had, I suggested, "You feel so passionate about it. Why don't you write it?" So here it is - the first guest blog Ive ever posted. For years I've known Fiona to be industrious, creative and and a savvy business woman. She's aways been independent-minded as her column shows. It also reveals her to be a good writer.

It was nearly a decade ago.  I remember being so excited to hear that a new bible study was going to take place at the country church we’d been attending for almost a year.  I’d wanted to get involved with the women’s ministries, and for an introvert like me this seemed the perfect opportunity to get to know some of the other ladies.  I anxiously dropped my signup sheet in the offering plate when it came around.  This was my chance!

The study was one from a nationally-known Christian leader named Beth Moore based out of Houston, TX.  I’d heard great things about her bible study groups.  She takes a book of the bible and expounds upon verses you might not even take a second glance at.  This particular study was one about the book of Daniel called Daniel: Lives of Integrity, Words of Prophecy.  It sounded somewhat mysterious—prophecy?  I was a young Christian mom, hungry to learn and grow with my fellow females.

Though I worked outside of the home at the time, I had flexible enough hours to allow me to attend the Tuesday morning sessions.  I eagerly traveled the sixteen miles to the church, happily imagining the conversations that might occur.  Don’t judge; many introverts do this to psyche themselves up for upcoming social interactions.  Or it might be some form of a neurotic hang up, hell I don’t know.

I pulled into the parking lot, nervous but confident. After locating the meeting room just off the sanctuary I found a seat and settled in.  I really didn’t know anyone there outside of a quick handshake and hello on Sunday morning, but I reasoned they were probably excited to have a fresh, new face.  We went around and did the standard introductions of ourselves and then dove right in.  The study would consist of your own workbook (fee partially paid for you by the church) and a weekly video lesson led by Beth Moore herself.  The excitement crackled in the air.  Beth Moore!  I wasn’t sure why the other women were so jubilant at the thought of learning under her, but I was ready to find out.

Our lesson that first week was just an introduction to the study.  Beth Moore had filmed a “personal” greeting to our group, thanking us for our interest in studying the book of Daniel along with her.  It was almost a commercial for the study. She informed us about what was in store for us, a “ride of our lives.”  She told us we were surrounded by “a Babylon” society. The video showed Beth walking in front of jewelry stores, highbrow clothing boutiques, a Tiffany & Co. store. I found it quite interesting that the Beth Moore they showed teaching on stage looked like she probably shopped at all those stores.  Hair perfectly coiffed, tons of volume on top Texas style. Beautiful, flashy clothing.  Perfectly manicured nails.  She even said she worked on writing this study while sitting in the hairdresser’s chair getting her hair cut and colored. She really didn’t look or sound like someone who would be preaching on the evils of a Babylonian society, but I kept my mouth shut and my mind open.

The following two or three weeks she lectured her live audience, and the one at home, upon the evils of what our society has become.  “When my grandmother went to the country store and she stood at the checkout, not once did she glance upon the front of the magazines and think, ‘I think I’m supposed to look like her.’” Cue audience laughter and applause.  “But Beth,” I thought, “You DO look like those women on the magazine covers.”  She’s slim, and blonde, and dressed to the nines.  I didn’t understand how she could preach upon the ridiculousness of looking like a magazine model when she was obviously trying hard to look like one. I decided to bring it up at the end of study when we were asked to share thoughts.  I was legitimately surprised to find my questions met with near-hostile attitudes from the other women. 

“Don’t you think she just wants to look her best for television?”

“Doesn’t she have a right to shop where she wants?”

“Wouldn’t you want YOUR nails manicured if you were going to be on a DVD in front of thousands of people?”            

 “I think you’re missing the point of the study.”

I felt attacked, and frankly stupid for daring to question this woman.  It seemed to me she was saying one thing, but doing another.  I’m not sure if no one else agreed with me, or if they were too afraid to throw in with me, but I sat alone.  They moved on to a closing prayer and I left while the other women stayed for visiting afterwards.

I went back one more time, but I just couldn’t get over not being allowed to question the study leader.  I’m inquisitive by nature, and I suppose I do tend to question leadership when there seems to be no one else questioning. Blindly following is an impossibility to me, and I came to realize the hive-mind mentality in small church groups is the status quo.

You see, small to medium size churches are a lot like high school.  There are cliques within the upper echelons of church society and it’s the unstated purpose of other church-goers to aspire to be accepted into their circle. I tried for many years to become one of them, first at our country church, and later at a larger suburban church we attended.  I went to women’s ministry events whenever possible, invited church leaders over for dinner, and went to every get together I was invited to attend. I really tried to fit in.

Then one day, I mentioned to the pastor’s wife that I was not a fan of Joel Osteen.  She was baffled.  How could I not be?  He’s saved thousands of souls, he’s a champion for God!  I explained my reasons, reasons I’m sure she’s heard before, but she was having none of it.  After that, things changed.  Once again, I went against the hive mind.  While my fellow congregants were busy reposting Joel Osteen motivational quotes on Facebook, here I was being disgusted by what I saw as his twisting of scriptures.  Didn’t they want to question and investigate before they followed him? It seemed not, because whenever I questioned, I was immediately shut down.  I once mentioned how his wife had been thrown off a flight when she threw a fit in first class. They even had an answer for that, though I confess I don’t remember what it was.

Nowadays we attend a mega church ourselves, though the pastor here actually preaches Jesus. I like it because I don’t have to know who is part of the hive mind. There are few skeptic questioners in Protestant churches now, and I just don’t fit in.  I enjoy going to Saturday evening services and hearing good, old fashioned, soul stirring preaching.  And I enjoy no one belittling me if I disagree with something.  They don’t disagree because this is a mega church, and the people I sit next to tonight are just faces in the crowd.  We don’t talk.

And that’s sad.

The sweetness of this special day

Maria and I were hanging around the kitchen table one Saturday morning a few weeks ago, BSing.  I was drinking coffee. Somehow the conversation turned to Valentine's Day.

"Valentine's Day was devised by entrepreneurial artists and illustrators - and I guess you could add florists who wanted to shake the moneymaker," I told Maria.

"No, it was invented for St. Valentine," Maria said.

The Catholic legend is St. Valentine was a priest who secretly officiated weddings for soldiers forbidden to marry. So Roman Emperor Claudius threw him in prison. On the day he was to be executed St. Valentine restored the sight of the emperor's blind daughter and wrote her a farewell note: "From your Valentine." Shortly afterwards, the executioner chopped off his head.

Now the man has immortality through sweet, loving Valentine's Day cards because nothing says love like a beheading.

"Yeah but the businesses capitalized on it and made it grow big out of the Catholic Church," I said.

"It's funny," she said. "Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day are the only mainstream holidays named for saints. Wonder why that is."

"Think about it," I said. "One's about sex. The other's about booze. Everyone falls in love. Everyone likes to party. Of course they're gonna break through. People can make a lot of money off that shit."

Zig-zagging zebra stripes

This morning I was messing around, starting to write this damn thing and drinking coffee so I could wake up, slip out of the house and slip back in without Maria knowing. Instead she woke up, went to the bathroom, peed, came out and said, "Why don't you spend some time with me?"

"I have to leave for a few minutes," I said. "I'll be back."

"What'd'ya gotta do?" I knew she'd ask that.

"I'm gonna meet my uncle Ted for coffee," I said, making shit up.

"Where are you meeting?" She always has to go probing. Always suspicious.

I thought for a moment. "At the Bake Shop."

Somehow in the conversation we wound up lying on the bed, just talking crap.

Later in the morning, she handed me a card with zig-zagging zebra stripes and a red heart in the middle. She wrote something in it about how I'm her "partner in crime" and "best friend." Naturally, I returned her affections, showing gratitude in my own emotive way.

We threw Max's paper route for him since he and Gabby had spent the night at Grandma's house. Then we went to Dairy Queen, and shortly after we sat at the booth, she gave me some look as if she's my mother or something and silently mouthed "stop it" after I said the word, "scrotum." But, hell it was barely audible.

During the course of our meal, I said the cheese was good, but the burger was average. My friend Noah and I were texting back and forth.

"Who are you texting?" Maria asked.

"Just a woman I know real well from work. You don't know her. We're close friends."

"Cut the shit. You're probably texting Noah and bragging about how you boned me this morning."

I briefly cut to Facebook. Christina, an old friend from high school, posted this lovely card her husband had given her. "It's your inner beauty I love. All the rest is icing," he wrote. (The guy isn't on Facebook so he won't be embarrassed.)

Suddenly I felt ashamed.

"This morning I was trying to sneak out and buy you a card before you woke up," I said.

That would've been enough for Maria. Mostly, she's not into flowers. Although it happens on the rare occasion.

"There's a Dollar Tree near where you work. You could've got one there," she said. "I got yours in the dollar bin at Target."

"Really? Max and I were sifting through there just last weekend. I was looking for a notebook. Didn't see any cards."

"They were probably sold out. I got yours about three weeks ago."

She talked about Dollar Tree again, said it was just as well I didn't make it to Wal-Mart, Cooper's Drug or Kober Brothers Grocery this morning.

"I wouldn't want you to spend a lot of money on a card anyway."