Text the word KISW to 77999 to sign up for the Rockaholic Text Club concert, event and info alerts click here. You'll rec up to 3 msg a week.Msg & Data Rates MayApply, Text STOP KISW to cancel, terms & conditions apply.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today for some Group Therapy. Do you, Rock-A-Holics, take responsibility for helping your fellow Rock-A-Holics?
Ben and his fiance are getting married, and she's insisting that they both get in shape before the big day. They're both carrying a few extra pounds, but Ben feels like his bride-to-be is taking things to extremes. He doesn't care what they look like; he's happy with who they are, and would gladly marry this woman without any kind of forced change. She's controlling every aspect of his food intake, counting calories, and aggressively forcing him to comply without any flexibility.
Recently, Ben gave in to a craving, and got some fast food. When his fiance found evidence – in the form of wrappers in his car – she went completely ballistic, and accused Ben of not taking her demands seriously…and in ultra-dramatic female fashion, she said she felt betrayed.
Ben is really struggling with this situation, and he needs some advice. Personally, I think this is all incredibly stupid. It sounds like Ben's bride is wrapped up in her own self-image issues, and she's forcing her soon-to-be-husband to adjust himself accordingly, if only to make herself feel better.
I am profoundly irritated by this, so I'm throwing this one out to you, gang. Help Ben with your words of wisdom…and if you can slip the poor guy a sandwich, I'm sure he'd appreciate it…
Group Therapy is all about Rock-A-Holics helping Rock-A-Holics, so let’s see if we can lend some assistance to one of our own! After all, you know what they say about a friend in need…
Penelope (love that name!) needs some advice about a situation with Lisa, her best friend of 7 years. The two young ladies recently moved in together, and it’s been pretty great so far, with the exception of a recent incident with the guy that Lisa’s been dating for a little while. Lisa is head-over-heels in love with her boyfriend, but that’s not the problem…
The girls held a little get-together at their place, and Lisa didn’t have the stamina to continue drinking, so Penelope and Lisa’s boyfriend put her to bed. Then, the two of them continued the festivities on their own.
(Gosh, what could go wrong?)
“The next thing I knew,” Penelope says, “we were hooking up.” When she realized what was happening, she put an immediate stop to the situation. The boyfriend gave her no resistance, but he did beg her not to tell Lisa about the indiscretion.
IN MY OPINION – he says, emphatically - the phrasing of Penelope’s account was quoted above for a very specific reason: her version of the story opens the possibility that this might have been happening against her will; simply put, it comes across like a description of date rape. That’s not an insignificant matter, and should never be taken lightly. I should note that no one else in the studio came away with this impression; they all understood it to mean that she stopped herself immediately, rather than being a victim who slowly realized what was happening TO her.
Whatever the case may be, this definitely raises the question of responsibility for one’s actions while under the influence. Penelope is being eaten alive by guilt, and wonders if she should come clean with Lisa, but she’s scared of the repercussions.
What do you think about this, good people? Let’s give Penelope some advice…
Today's blog comes from one of my mentors, Dan Sanders:
I’m possessed! I have tried ceremonies of self-exorcism, but nothing has worked. I considered blowing up my TV—I had a drummer friend who actually did that with a squirt seltzer bottle. It’s the John Prine solution, where he contended that the pyrotechnical disembowelment of one’s television, using your newspaper as kindling, then starting a farm with a stripper and living happily ever after is the only way to go. I have never abandoned that plan.
So what is it I’ve done to disgrace myself so badly? Did I go to a strip show, watch pornography, do drugs, or go to a rock-and-roll party? No, none of these (or if I did, that’s not the issue). And no, I did not watch Fox News with the sound up. What I did was start paying attention to politicians again, in spite of weeks of verbal purging and swearing that I was laying off Sarah Palin (take that as you may), and ignoring Ted Cruz and Rand Paul and other jugglers and clowns in the big-top circus that is Washington, D.C.
As hard as I try, I can’t help but be concerned about those frayed around the mental edges and running loose in D.C., which if you haven’t heard, has now legalized marijuana for recreational use. The “Columbia” of District of Columbia might be changed soon to “Columbian” or “Panama Red,” and the 1973 song “Panama Red” by New Riders of the Purple Sage might become the alternate national anthem. I think marijuana should be legal everywhere, and even John Boehner might agree, just as long as they don’t shut down the martini fountain.
Imagine this. Sarah Palin and Teddy “ The Cruzer” Cruz kicking back in the oval office toking on a number, doing the usual, (there are a lot of usuals to do in the oval office, as Bubba Clinton might attest), and Sarah gets a wicked case of munchies, picks up the RED phone, and orders a steak bomb.
One more thing has me sleepless in Seattle and everywhere else. They have developed driverless cars. Why? Isn’t the point of a car to drive someone someplace? Now we can drive air to nowhere. There’s also a plan to build a 12,400-mile highway from Britain to America that would cross Russia with the American end in Alaska. I wonder if Sarah Palin is planning on going “Cruzing” from her house? After all, she can already see Russia from there.
There are more thoughts on politicians, some music news, and other things on the shores of Rambling Harbor. Sit back and hit the Play button, but don’t touch the RED phone.
Happy Friday to you, good people! I hope you’ve put aside some time for a Group Therapy session, because we have a Rock-A-Holic who needs some assistance…
Today’s topic was brought to us by Mary, who is bothered by a text that she recently on her boyfriend’s phone. Her guy advised one of his friends to join him at the gym to check out the hot chicks there. When she asked her boyfriend about the text, Mary found herself on the receiving end of some serious irritation. The boyfriend is upset that she was reading his texts, but insists that his interest in girl-watching doesn’t extend beyond observation. Mary feels like she’s being disrespected, but he says she doesn’t have a case.
This is one of those tales that has been passed down from the dawn of time: Man partners with Woman, and Woman soon decides that he is forbidden from even looking at another of her kind. If Man breaks that rule, he soon lives in the House of Dog.
Personally, I think that the male desire to look at women happens on a genetic level, or maybe even deeper. It’s an imperative to keep the species alive, and we are drawn to women because of that drive that has been part of our existence for centuries. It’s just what we do, and we’ll never be able to explain that to the opposite sex.
Mary, I’m turning this one over to your fellow Rock-A-Holics, simply in the interest of being fair and balanced…
Welcome back, Rock-A-Holics! I hope our little mini-vacation left you feeling refreshed and recharged! Let’s get right back into some proper Group Therapy, shall we?
We heard from Jason, who is deeply concerned about his mom’s new boyfriend…who happens to be Jason’s friend! This couple with a 20 year age gap met on Tinder, and they’ve been dating for a while now. Jason had heard his friend brag about a “hot cougar”, but hadn’t seen a picture until recently. He almost passed out when the woman was revealed, but it was surprising for the friend, too: he didn’t know he was dating Jason’s mom (who, incidentally, fibbed about her age a little).
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that Jason is freaking out about this. His friend thinks it’s funny, and has made it clear that he has no intention of breaking things off; he also isn’t going to tell her anything about this discovery, because she doesn’t know that Jason knows. Jason has broken off their friendship, but he wants to know if we think he’s wrong for reacting this way.
Jason, this is something that my generation would never tolerate. Moving beyond the Stone Age, I’m not sure how the social order works. Maybe it’s more common in the era of internet dating, but I still think you have every right to be skeeved out by the notion that one of your buddies is bedding your mom…
Today's blog comes from one of my mentors, Dan Sanders:
One definition of “pigeonhole” is a small compartment in a desk or wall for storing letters or papers. Another definition is a category assigned to someone that focuses on a particular characteristic, not the whole person, so it’s often unfair. I fear that second definition.
I have spent two weeks sounding like I might be morphing into a news commentator ranting about some government lunacy or other dog-and-pony show, all played out by that big-top circus called Washington, D.C. That’s a place where, when you use the term “seat of government,” it’s used in polite company and does not refer to the asses running our country.
I don’t want anyone to get the idea they would necessarily come to these shores and find Dan’s latest diatribe about this world issue or that one—yes, sometimes, but by no means all the time. Now that Rambling Harbor is gaining some foothold in the big, wide, scary world of blogging and podcasting. I want to say this about that. One week, I might focus on Kanye West and Kimmie K.’s ass or on Donald “The Duck” Trump. I might tell you a story from my life—a trip to Greenwich Village in the 1960’s or Harvard Square in the 1970’s or, having been a DJ, something on music and musicians. As I said last week, I’m not Rachel.
This week the biggest issue in my life was my closet. I’m convinced there are small people living there. I don’t see them, but they are there and always leave it a mess. My cat Chloe sees them at night. I have seen her dart from inside the darkest depths of her closet kingdom, where she has a warm safe bed, and run to the kitchen and back, and at times I swear I hear other tufted footfalls besides Chloe’s. It always sounds like fun, especially when they have fights with my socks! How else could such a mess happen?
My podcast sometimes has very little to do with my blog. After writing 500 words or so, why in heck would I want to talk about the same subject for 15 more minutes, and why would you listen to it? Remember, variety makes life spicy.
As I’m gaining new followers (thank you! thank you!), I thought it necessary to let you know that this is Rambling Harbor, emphasis on “rambling.” Just add variety, stir in a dash of lunacy, and a pinch of WTF, and there you go.
I’m not sure what you’ll find on the shores of Rambling Harbor this time, but join me there, won’t you?
We’d like to take a moment to say hello to any Rock-A-Holics who might be joining us in Group Therapy for the first time. I don’t know if you have any personal rules about things like this, but if you want to, uh, “hang out” when we’re done here, I’m not opposed…
26-year-old Fran recently had a date that she thought went pretty well: they had a good dinner, and talked for four hours, and then her date drove her home. They made out in the car for about ten minutes, and he said he wanted to see her again.
As you can probably guess, she’s writing us because she hasn’t heard from the guy since that night. She’s wondering if he might be judging her because she was willing to make out on the first date; in fact, she specifically asked if she was “trashy” for doing so.
I guess I can’t say for sure, but I find this line of questioning a little odd. Personally, I don’t think ten minutes of making out is a big deal at all, especially in this day and age. The very idea that it might be considered “trashy” makes me wonder if Fran might be a little old-fashioned to start with. Again, we don’t have that information, so let’s just focus on the basic facts…
Do you think it’s okay for a woman (or a man, for that matter) to make out on the first date?
It’s Group Therapy time! Rock-A-Holics helping Rock-A-Holics, baby! Isn’t it nice to help people? Who doesn’t like that?
Well, Caitlin is concerned about a “helpful” situation that involves her husband. It seems that a recently-divorced woman has transferred to his office, and she constantly asks for his assistance with things around her residence. Caitlin says that she trusts her husband, but he’s nice to the point of being naïve, and she’s a little worried that he’s being taken advantage of...and that this woman-in-need may have more “needs” than she’s letting on. Caitlin’s husband is good-looking and makes good money, so it’s not a stretch – in Caitlin’s mind – for him to be a prime target.
The woman recently called Caitlin’s husband at home on a weekend, looking for help with an electrical problem. Finally reaching the end of her patience with the situation, Caitlin told her husband to suggest that the woman find assistance elsewhere, because her married handyman is no longer available. Mr. Nice Guy thinks that Caitlin is being cruel to this poor woman, and defends her need for help while she’s trying to rebuild her life after her divorce.
Unless this guy is a home repair maniac, I guess I can understand where Caitlin is coming from; who wants to spend their off-hours doing MORE work? I’m not saying that she should assume anything about his faithfulness, but I do have to wonder why he’s so patient with this other woman. I’m a man (last time I checked, anyway) and I can honestly say that I can’t see most men being THAT nice without some kind of reward.
What do you say, gang? Am I assuming too much, or is there a different kind of work going on here?
Hello again, Rock-A-Holics! We always appreciate you showing up to lend some advice to the fine people who sign up for Group Therapy, and your help is definitely needed today…
We have an interesting little drama today: Mike knows that his best friend’s wife is cheating on him, but he’s not sure what to do about that…because the cheating woman in question is Mike’s boss!
Yes, you read that correctly:
MIKE’S BEST FRIEND’S CHEATING WIFE IS ALSO MIKE’S BOSS.
Seriously, can we just forward this one to Jerry Springer? The drama quotient is through the roof here. We don’t have much information on the specific mechanics of this situation, but Mike says that he can’t tell his friend, because Wife-Boss would know that he spilled the beans, and his job would be history. So, what does that mean? Did he catch her in the act? If she would know that he told, then she must know that he knows…right? I can’t even keep track of this.
Regardless of the hard details, Mike certainly needs some outside advice. We’d love to hear your thoughts on this complicated situation, folks…
Today's blog comes from one of my mentors, Dan Sanders:
I called this blog “I’m not Rachel,” as in Rachel Maddow, but also thought about ”I’m not Jon,” as in Jon Stewart, and the one I liked best, “Thank God I’m Not Rush Limbaugh,” the ever-obtuse blunderbuss. By now, of course, you’re asking, Dan, what is the meaning of this? Are you knee-deep in an identity crisis?
The answer is no. My identity is, as it has always been, curious but intact, which is also one of the things my cat Chloe loves about me, curiosity. But in the last few weeks, I’ve been getting too serious about the news. Now don’t misunderstand “too serious.” We earthlings have many very serious issues to deal with and many very serious news types, a kaleidoscope of news types.
Lately I have ranted about Rand Paul and his anti-vaccine idiocy. That was two weeks ago. Last week I vented on the expense of a needless hunk of steel called the F-35 fighter jet, which has not left the ground since the project began in 2006, at least not successfully, and now has suffered another setback—until the year 2018, sometime? I went into great detail about the cost and what $1.5 trillion could be better spent on. However, you have options to get that news from a world far greater than my little cabin in a mystical place called Rambling Harbor. You can listen to Rachel Maddow, who is a newsy type I very much like, and the lord of repetitive verbiage knows that from 4 pm to 8 pm in any city in America you have ample opportunity to get depressed over the world’s dilemmas on your own.
Broadcasters come in many types—blondes, brunettes, and redheads—or is that just on “Foxy” News? IQ doesn’t count, honey, you must have hair, and they proceed to tell us all about the news and then tell us some more. (Have you noticed you never see any balding female news people? I tend to trust the balding ones.) As I said on Facebook the other day, I like Fox News (gasp from my friends) because of the bodacious babes, which I can watch with the sound off while listening to Robert Plant’s “Ship of Fools.” Try it. It’s a trip. It’s like dessert after “NBC Nightly News.” Speaking of nightly news, have you heard? Brian Williams said he was in the plane that Harrison Ford crash-landed in the golf course. Well, that is the last Brian Williams joke I intend to tell (and yes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions). I actually wish him well. For whatever reason, in a cutthroat world of dirty laundry, he felt compelled to stretch the truth and is in enough personal hell without help from me.
So I’m not Rachel or Jon or Rush. I’m just a guy with opinions in a place called Rambling Harbor, and I will ease up on the ram-it-down-your-throat approach. Besides, my doctor says I need to lower my blood pressure. Now, where is that recording of “Green Eggs and Ham” by Ted Cruz? Oops! Wrong choice!