My rockin' weekend on blood thinners

I had a pretend rock and roll weekend, and my drug of choice, of course, was blood thinners.

Saturday night I went out for the first time since my stint in the hospital for blood clots on the lungs. That sort of sounds like a rock and roll disease, doesn’t it? It’s something potentially dangerous even if in my case the drama (luckily) was more Billy Joel than Bruce Springsteen.

Anyway, a pal invited me to a party in Batavia. It is thrown by the boss of one of his lady roomies every year, a rock star party, where the guests play dress-up.

Not a big dress up guy here, and all my leather is at the cleaners, so I went as opposite of outlandish as I could come up with – that’s to say, I was Darius Rucker from Hootie and the Blowfish, in flannel shirt with golf shirt under it, and carrying a golf club.

I wanted someone to say, Isn’t the guy from Hootie black? To which I would say, No way. I’ve heard his music.

It was probably a good thing I can’t have alcohol while on my meds as I would have probably would have said something stupid drinking gives you the cover to do.

See, there was a guy there who was pretending to be Neil Young, replete with his own case of harmonicas and guitar. He rode his bicycle to the party, which made him PeeWee Young.

There was a local politician who thought he looked like Joaquin Phoenix, which mean he: A) died his hair and B) fancied himself Johnny Cash.

There were quite a few women who shopped at Lover’s Lane or Frederick’s for their outfits, including one who gave a very groupie-like beaver shot, albeit one in pantyhose.

A group of five all made their faces pasty white - Zombies I guess, or just about any English New Wave act from 25 years ago.

One guy could have either been Joey Ramone or Cher. There were a couple Blues Brothers, a bouncer who looked like Ali G, a Rob Zombie, a Slash, a Rob Halford from Judas Priest, a Joe Perry from Aerosmith (or Captain from Captain and Tennille) a Billy Idol (I think) and even somebody who was passing himself off as that American Idol cheeseball Daughtry. Come on! If you are going to be a rock star, why lower your standards so?

The host confused me. In his leather pants and blouse, was he Robert Smith of the Cure, Jim Morrison, Yanni or Kenny G?

Winner of the best effort was certainly the fake Amy Winehouse, who even bothered to have fake tattoos applied with Sharpie by her roommate and based on the body art on Winehouse spotted on the Internet. A good effort, but for the fact this woman was not anorexic and way to clean and sober to be dear old Amy.

I adapted my outfit as the night went on, removing the cap, putting the club in the car, and buttoning just the top button of my flannel to become a member of the 90s rap outfit Cypress Hill. If I had been drinking and it was warmer, the shirts would have come off to a sleeveless T, I would have donned a do-rag and been Tupac. I was in a black and proud mood.

Come to think of it, I should have worn a pink Polo and a Rolex and been Kanye. Then I could have said stupid shit all night, but laid it down with cool beats and samples.

The following evening, I attended the official Chicago opening of Jersey Boys, a musical based on the life stories of the guys in the Four Seasons.

Now I’ve always found Frankie Valli’s voice kind of grating, that wannabe black falsetto unnerving. And I never considered them rock heroes or icons.

I will grant that I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You is a cool song, but they should never be forgiven for Oh What a Night, one of the cheesiest disco records ever made. And Valli sang the theme song for Grease, one of the scariest movies of all time, with 30 year olds still in high school.

Still, the musical was an entertaining evening, with all the necessary Jersey references in place – the bad clothing, the chops-busting humor, the f-bombs, the mobsters, the tarts, the gambling, the Italian arguments, the pre-Springsteen working class angst. Joe Pesci even plays a role in the story.

And the work inspired me to start a project for which I hope to find backers – Keep On Lovin’ You – the REO Speedwagon musical. I’ve seen the VH1 Behind the Music and the drama is there, man: how guitar hero Gary Richrath hated Kevin Cronin for turning the band from a rockin’ bar act into millionaire power ballad wussies; how good old Gary wound up on the hootch; and that the band eventually wound up working cruise ships, in true Spinal Tap fashion.

You could even throw in a rivalry with Steve Perry and Journey for good measure, but I think I want to save their story for Don’t Stop Believin’, which would end with no one singing along to that song at the Chicago White Sox World Series Victory Rally in 2005, much to the dismay of Perry.

Now I’ve done it – made my self nostalgic for a simpler time. No not the early 80s, but two years ago when the Sox paraded their trophy throughout the city.

Now the Colorado Rockies are poised to play for baseball’s championship, and they are baseball’s first openly faith-based team. Maybe it’s balance. If AJ Pierzynski can get a ring, it’s only fair that the other side gets a chance.