I got an e-mail from my friend, Keith Alberstadt, a couple days ago. Keith and I started out at Zanie's together in the mid 90's. He's a big time comedian now. (Check out his site www.keithcomedy.com) He checked in to comment on my blog and ask me a question. He wanted to know if I'd mind explaining the near-death experiences I mentioned in my last blog.

I thought about sending him an e-mail detailing the various encounters. Then, I figured other people might be curious, as well. So, here you have it. A brand, spankin', new blog. The stories of my flirtations with the Grim Reaper. As weird as some of it may sound, it's all true.

My 1st dance came at birth. I was in the oven way too long and the Umbilical cord wrapped around my throat. The doctors lost the heartbeat for quite some time. They told my dad I'd be dead. After 30- something hours of labor, I came out alive. With Spastic Cerebral Palsy, but, alive.

The second time was in 6th grade. The school bus dropped us off on our rural road in Lebanon. There was a substitute driver that day. In trying to get out of the L- shaped intersection, he ended up backing toward me. The rear bumper struck me squarely in the rump. I was knocked to the road and had to roll around in the gravel to avoid the wheels. Eventually, I rolled clear and into a ditch full of briars. I looked up and saw the back end of the bus above me. Luckily, the driver finally heard my sister screaming and stopped the bus. I emerged from under the bus bloody, but, none the worse for wear.

The third time happened on the 4th of July in '98. I was DJ'ing a pool party. It was ungodly hot and muggy. I had to lug all kinds of equipment out of my '72 Bug and set it up around the pool. I was hot and sweaty, but, everyone was having a good time, so, I blew it off. Then, a cloud out of a Ray Bradbury novel rolled in. It was dark and mean and bringin' friends. We packed all o' my stuff in the pump house and went to the covered picnic area to ride it out.

My mood went back in the toilet with a fast quickness. I sulked over to the side against a rock wall. My mind was racing with thoughts about how I'd done all this work for nothing and how these people were getting screwed out of their holiday. I stood from where I was leaning and turned to take a step. As I did that, a bolt of lightning struck. I was deaf for a few minutes because of how close it hit. We noticed mud and rock stuck to the ceiling, directly above where I had been leaning. Then, someone spotted the mud/rock mixture on my shoe. I looked up from my foot and saw a six inch wide hole in the ground on the other side of the rock wall. It was right where my head had been before I stood and turned.

The last time came at the turn of the century. I had just had a procedure done to implant an Intrathecal Baclofen Pump in my belly. The drug, Baclofen, is pumped directly into my spine to negate the spastic part of my Cerebral Palsy. I was recuperating from surgery in Rock Island, TN at my dad's place. I started feeling some of the most intense nerve pain I'd ever felt running through my back. My granny came down from Spencer to take me to Vanderbilt. I got there and I was admitted immediately. Dr. Konrad assured me he'd do everything to keep me out of pain. Despite a Demerol pump, Demerol and Tordol shots, Valium, Soma, and Elavil pills, I was still hurting. Badly.

One day, they took me to a lab in the bowels of the hospital. I was led to a hard, plastic exam table and told to lie on my back. The pain went from bad to beyond anything I'd ever known. I journeyed deep into my head. I had to find a place in there to escape the pain. While I was roaming through my brain, I noticed a light switch. Immediately, I knew what it was for. I could flick the switch and it would all be over. Zero chance of that happening. I love myself way too much to go out like that. I decided to crawl out of my head and confront the pain. At about that time, the 45 min. exam came to an end. The nurse blasted me with a syringe full of Morphine they'd had on stand-by. After that, I miraculously improved and was out of the hospital in a couple o' days.

And that's the story of me waltzing with the angels. Most people get little hints and messages from the Higher Power. Apparently, I'm hooked up to the red phone. Something's telling me there's a reason I'm still here. I'm just stumblin' around tryin' to figure it out. Like everybody else. My life just reads more like an episode of "All My Children" than most.


Thanks for reading,

Randy Alexander

Last Saturday night, Seth came in to the studio for his shift, took one look at me, and laughed. "Dude, a Spider-Man hoodie?!" He asked this while I was putting my Spider-Man lunchbox in my backpack. What's a guy my age doin' with a Spider-Man hoodie and lunchbox? I guess I should explain.

When I was 4, my mom issued an ultimatum. Either prove to her that I was actually reading the comic books she had bought or I wouldn't get another. I had just gotten an issue of Spider-Man. (Number 150, I believe.) I immediately took it to my room and read through it to make sure I had all the words down. I ran straight to my mom and blasted through every spoken bubble and thought balloon like my life depended on it.

I was knee deep in comic books the rest of my life.

In addition to all of my comics, I have two lawn and garden bags of Spider-Man stuff in my closet. I have a Spider-Man basketball and goal. I have 2 boxes of Spider-Man Band-Aids. I just finished a bottle of Spider-Man vitamins. (Adult dosage is two, by the way.) Even my 1st tattoo is of the web-head.

In every comic book, Spider-Man would face a newer, more dangerous enemy. He'd get his rear-end handed to him for a while and would, eventually, rise up and conquer his foe. He'd either out-think his opponent or just plain refuse to give in and fail the cause for good.

I owe him everything.

(Insert flash-back music here...)

Sometime in the last century, I almost wasn't born in Nashville. The DR's. told my dad that they had lost my heartbeat in the womb for way too long for me to still be alive. After 30+ hours of labor, I arrived. Purple, but, very much alive. Around the age of two, my parents found out that I have Spastic Cerebral Palsy. Turns out that an area of my brain got fried when the unbilical cord tried to choke me out.

Soon thereafter, I started going to Vanderbilt for physical therapy. It was my only chance of getting out of braces and off crutches. So, I went. And I hated it. God, I hated it. My mom would always answer my whining and crying with the same phrase, "You're lucky."

How was I lucky? I have the mildest form of Spastic C.P. The other kids at Vandy were in much worse shape. Most of 'em would never be able to walk or talk like I can. They'd never know the joy of running, swimming, or playing sports. I've been able to do all of those things despite what the doctors said. It was about that time in my life when I "really" started reading comic books.

I identified with Spidey. He found a way to best whoever and whatever came his way. And did it all while crackin' jokes in the face of certain doom. I decided that's the kind of person I wanted to become.

I figure that my great power is my ability to show the world that anything is possible. So, here goes. I've been an Easter Seals Poster Child and was once featured on an album cover. I stole a show at Municipal Auditorium when I was 5. Jewel has asked to touch my nose. I've discussed the Bible with Marilyn Manson. My right hand has held Gwen Stefani's posterior. Did I mention my gig at the Buzz?

I've also seen the other side. I've had several near-death experiences. Been through over 20 different surgeries. And... I grew up handicapped in the South. Life hasn't always been living the high life and partyin' with rock stars.

Then again, whose is? Heck, Peter Parker worried about getting a date for the prom, carrying a job while in school, and taking care of his elderly aunt. Plus, the obligatory, menacing, bad guy. What makes him heroic is, despite all of those things, he never quits trying to make the world a better place. That's a great power we all have.

Take a day. One day during the holiday season. Devote one day to making a difference. Pick up garbage. Donate your time or money to a charity. Even spend an hour listening to your best friend moan and groan. All of these acts are heroic. It's a chance to be like Spider-Man. Whether you choose to wear spandex or not is entirely up to you.


Thanks for reading,

Your friendly, neighborhood Randy-Man