And I guess that's where I paddle ashore. For reasons known only to him and his hatter, Mike (or Big Daddy… in water cooler jargon-ese) is fond of plunkin' me on board every guldarn artistic endeavor that floats out from under his brim. Believe me, I'm not nutty enough to think this is really anything more than a half-rational quirk on a scale similar to Wade Boggs chowing through chicken before every baseball tilt or John Waters' penchant for endlessly merit-badging Mink Stole for previous fecal/semen courtesies. Naw, some guys just get all mulish and finicky when it comes to having their bunny foot on board. Think I'm fibbing? Ok, convene with me to the overhead projector, websters…

Slide 1: MM starts hometown muck-reeker rag, The Flint Voice. That's him in the hippie mane and me in the acid-washed elephant flares. Outside of fashion atrocities, we have precious little in common. Despite this, MM asks me to clack for his paper and eventually puts my face on several covers. These issues help drive sales into the dozens.

Slide 2: MM departs Flint to assume editor role at Mother Jones. That's us waving goodbye to each other in the parking lot of Farty Arty's Party Store. I continue my own pursuits back on the home front… namely drinking and, well, drinking. MM calls from San Francisco and insists I write an article for the magazine. I do as I'm told. The first issue of the mag comes out with a picture of me kneeling atop a semi-hauler on the cover. MM is dismissed shortly thereafter. This would eventually become known as "the bestest day ever."

Slide 3: MM starts wandering around Flint with a camera crew in tow. Look, there I am shooting hoop at a mental health clinic! Why the hell is MM filming this? The poor schmoe has obviously gone bats himself. A year later I'm standing in the lobby of the Lincoln Center in New York waiting for MM to finish signing autographs after the premiere of Roger & Me. A woman who has just seen the film puts her arm around me. "It's going to be ok," she tells me. I take her word for it.

Slide 4: MM again hits town with a camera crew. I'm told to meet up with him at the Genesee Health Club. That's me playing tennis in a leather jacket with a can of Budweiser in my hand. Ah, Agasi never had it so good! MM asks me to hold up the cover of a book to the camera lens. It's something called Rivethead. What a stupid title for a book. A couple months later, I'm watching all of this unfold on a TV set in my basement. It's entitled Pets Or Meat. What a stupid title for a movie.

Slide 5: MM calls from New York. He tells me NBC has just given him the go-ahead for a television program called TV Nation. Hey, finally something with a decent ring to it. MM goes on to add that I'm expected to perform on this show of his. I do as I'm told, though I don't do it very well. Look: that's me falling out of a bar three hours before a shoot. The critics all dig the show but the censors all dig in the heels. So long, Peacock.

Slide 6: MM calls again from New York. He's moved TV Nation over to Fox and invites me back on board. Look: that's my jaw shattering the kitchen linoleum. I again do as I'm told, the end result of which is almost hilarious in its ineptitude. Almost. The show wins an Emmy while I'm gettin' bounced from a bar in downtown Flint for ridiculing a bartender's mullet. MM presents me with a framed Emmy certificate for my contribution to the show. What a goofball.

Slide 7: MM calls from Toronto. He's making a feature film called Canadian Bacon and he wants me to act in it. I drive every day to the set with Kevin Pollack who seems to not only realize I'm not a credible actor, I'm more like a large piece of shit. However, I get along great with Rip Torn… a little too great. Look: that's MM reaming me out for purchasing several shots of Wild Turkey for his co-star on a meal break. Later, my role in the film is sliced to one line after MM decides he doesn't want to be seen in his own film so much. The drag being I'm in every scene that he is in. Showbiz.

Slide 8: This time, MM doesn't call. If you look carefully, that's him pretending to drop my phone number behind a file cabinet. The Big One docu-whatever goes on to do brisk business here and overseas. Naturally, I begin sulking. Some interviewer asks me what kind of car MM drives and I maintain I don't know. "He's always in a goddamn limo," I smirk. Apparently, telling fibs to the press is not the proper way to handle perceived rejection and MM is less than thrilled. I apologize and go back to squatting by the phone.

Slide 9: MM calls from New York. He wants to know if I'd be willing to play his sidekick on a British television show called Michael Moore Live. I do as I'm told which, in this case, is a job almost perfectly suited for me. For forty-five minutes every Tuesday night, I'm required to do nothing more than deck out in garish Hawaiian shirts while sitting on a small sofa next to MM drinking beer, chain-smoking, cracking wise and ogling our rather busty spokesmodel. Look: that's me wandering into frame to pluck another beer outta MM's porta-fridge. Jobs like this can't last forever and, before I know it, I'm back in Eddie's Bar in sleepy Suttons Bay… ogling the pretzel rack.

Slide 10: MM once again calls from New York. By this point, I've adopted the habit of answering the telephone, "Yea, yea… where and when?" I'm told that I'm to fly to New York for a month to function as one of the four correspondents on The Awful Truth. I ask what network we're on this time around. "Bravo!" Mike responds. "Well, yes, I too am happy… but could you just answer the question?" Eventually, I'm filled in and flown out. Hey, look: that's me at LaGuardia International Airport jumping in a car service Lincoln and trying to look cool… assuming looking like a young Ernest Borgnine decked out for a Puerto Rican wake is somehow semi-chic and mack-daddy bonzai. But, what the hell. I get allergic smellin' hay so maybe New York is where I'd rather stay… though I kinda doubt it.

Ok, so ends our little travelogue… someone flick on the lights. So, what have we learned here? Well, besides the fact that I obviously made the right move by gettin' on Mike's good side back in the days when the only townies who'd give him the time of day were lesbian bowling champs and the Wendy's drive-thru clerk over on Court Street. Yea, you in the back with your hand up.

"Are you somehow implying Michael's career success is the result of having you for a friend?"

"I'm not implying that at all. I'm just saying… well, yea… that's a very fair assumption."

"Isn't it true that you once tried to put the make on the Rabbit Lady at a benefit screening of Roger & Me?"

"Where in the hell did you hear such a… well, yea… if second base is your idea of 'making it'."

"This whole side jag sucks. Could you please just pick it up after your arrival at LaGuardia?"

"Sure, Mike. Didn't see ya slip in."