one of the techs gently set a small cedar box on the counter.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wheaton,” she said.
I tried to speak, but all I could do was nod my head as I picked it up. When I got into my car, it all came back to me: the years of giving him fluids and medicine, the ups and downs as his kidney disease progressed and he fought back, the last few weeks of watching him slowly waste away, hoping against hope for a miracle we knew wouldn’t come…and his last night with us, which he spent mostly on Ryan’s bed with his little head tucked into his right arm.
“I miss you so much, Felix,” I said. My eyes filled with tears as I set the box on the passenger seat. I put on my seat belt and started my car. I pulled out of the driveway as Jeff Tweedy sang,
Far, far away
From those city lights
That might be shining on you tonight
Far, far away from you
On the dark side of the moon
I long to hold you in my arms and sway
Kiss and ride on the CTA
I need to see you tonight
And those bright lights
Oh, I know it’s right
Deep in my heart
I’ll know it’s right
I made it about two blocks before I pulled over, put my head in my hands, and completely fell apart.
I still miss Felix. He was a stumpy little guy.
green grass and high tides forever (and ever and
This was written after The Happiest Days of Our Lives was published, but it fits so perfectly with the rest of the book, I included it in this edition.
I spent a lot of Ryan’s first summer home from college bugging him to play the Endless Setlist with me on Rock Band. The Endless Setlist is usually the last thing you unlock in career mode: a concert featuring all 58 songs that come with the game. It takes about six hours to play straight through.
Naturally, being Rock Gods, Ryan and I tackled it on expert. He played guitar and I played bass. We were awesome. We maxed out at five stars on pretty much every one of the first 20 or so songs, including three extra-difficult gold stars. I got the authentic strummer achievement for only using upstrums, and 99% on about half of them. (Those of you who haven’t played Rock Band and don’t know what the hell I’m talking about can rest assured that we kicked 16 different kinds of ass.)
We were seriously having a good time, striking the rock pose, putting our backs together while we jammed through epic songs, and generally bonding through the power of rock.
And then, with five songs left to go, we got to “Green Grass and High Tides.” It’s a fantastic rock song by the Outlaws. It’s also one of the hardest songs in the game and the longest, lasting around 10 minutes. You don’t so much play this song as survive it. If a song could kick you in the junk, this would be it.
So, after having already played for five hours (and not exactly conserving our energy), we started to play this rock epic, knowing it would be the greatest challenge we’d faced yet.
Our first time through, we failed at 84%. It was entirely my fault: I held my guitar too high and deployed our emergency overdrive when we didn’t need it.
“Sorry about that,” I said as we lost 360,000 fans. “I blame my guitar.” Ryan looked at me.
“Okay, I blame myself.”
Ryan laughed and said it was no big deal. He was confident we’d get it on the next try, and when we started the song, I could see why. He was in the zone, nailing 97% of the first solo. I wanted to holler about how awesome he was, but I felt like it would have been the same as talking to a pitcher in the middle of a no-hitter, so I stayed quiet and did my best not to screw things up.
Alas, I screwed things up. We failed the song at 96%. We lost another 360,000 fans, almost wiping out the million we picked up during the Southern Rock Marathon the week before. Compared to the five hours we’d spent playing, that 18 minutes wasn’t that long, but it sure felt demoralizing—especially because it was entirely my fault we’d failed twice . There’s this bass
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wheaton,” she said.
I tried to speak, but all I could do was nod my head as I picked it up. When I got into my car, it all came back to me: the years of giving him fluids and medicine, the ups and downs as his kidney disease progressed and he fought back, the last few weeks of watching him slowly waste away, hoping against hope for a miracle we knew wouldn’t come…and his last night with us, which he spent mostly on Ryan’s bed with his little head tucked into his right arm.
“I miss you so much, Felix,” I said. My eyes filled with tears as I set the box on the passenger seat. I put on my seat belt and started my car. I pulled out of the driveway as Jeff Tweedy sang,
Far, far away
From those city lights
That might be shining on you tonight
Far, far away from you
On the dark side of the moon
I long to hold you in my arms and sway
Kiss and ride on the CTA
I need to see you tonight
And those bright lights
Oh, I know it’s right
Deep in my heart
I’ll know it’s right
I made it about two blocks before I pulled over, put my head in my hands, and completely fell apart.
I still miss Felix. He was a stumpy little guy.
green grass and high tides forever (and ever and
This was written after The Happiest Days of Our Lives was published, but it fits so perfectly with the rest of the book, I included it in this edition.
I spent a lot of Ryan’s first summer home from college bugging him to play the Endless Setlist with me on Rock Band. The Endless Setlist is usually the last thing you unlock in career mode: a concert featuring all 58 songs that come with the game. It takes about six hours to play straight through.
Naturally, being Rock Gods, Ryan and I tackled it on expert. He played guitar and I played bass. We were awesome. We maxed out at five stars on pretty much every one of the first 20 or so songs, including three extra-difficult gold stars. I got the authentic strummer achievement for only using upstrums, and 99% on about half of them. (Those of you who haven’t played Rock Band and don’t know what the hell I’m talking about can rest assured that we kicked 16 different kinds of ass.)
We were seriously having a good time, striking the rock pose, putting our backs together while we jammed through epic songs, and generally bonding through the power of rock.
And then, with five songs left to go, we got to “Green Grass and High Tides.” It’s a fantastic rock song by the Outlaws. It’s also one of the hardest songs in the game and the longest, lasting around 10 minutes. You don’t so much play this song as survive it. If a song could kick you in the junk, this would be it.
So, after having already played for five hours (and not exactly conserving our energy), we started to play this rock epic, knowing it would be the greatest challenge we’d faced yet.
Our first time through, we failed at 84%. It was entirely my fault: I held my guitar too high and deployed our emergency overdrive when we didn’t need it.
“Sorry about that,” I said as we lost 360,000 fans. “I blame my guitar.” Ryan looked at me.
“Okay, I blame myself.”
Ryan laughed and said it was no big deal. He was confident we’d get it on the next try, and when we started the song, I could see why. He was in the zone, nailing 97% of the first solo. I wanted to holler about how awesome he was, but I felt like it would have been the same as talking to a pitcher in the middle of a no-hitter, so I stayed quiet and did my best not to screw things up.
Alas, I screwed things up. We failed the song at 96%. We lost another 360,000 fans, almost wiping out the million we picked up during the Southern Rock Marathon the week before. Compared to the five hours we’d spent playing, that 18 minutes wasn’t that long, but it sure felt demoralizing—especially because it was entirely my fault we’d failed twice . There’s this bass
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