Pumpkins? What Pumpkins?

Out of the three hundred and seventy-two bagillion CDs in my music store I'm beginning to think that this is my favorite one out of the big bad bunch. La Historia by Tejano superstar Emilio Navaira. I haven't had the chance to hear the album so other than it being Tejano music I have no idea what it sounds like, but this one guy I work with says that every time he sees this album cover he immediately thinks, "DO THE HUSTLE! doo-doo-doo dee-doo-dee-doo-doot-doot..." and he will often chase me around the Musica Latina section waving the CD in the air while yelling singing that song to me, and of course I'd put in the de rigueur screaming involved when running away in terror. Man, I wish I could find a bigger pic of this. Something about it just... pleases me, somehow.

Anyway, Happy Halloween gentle readers. No parties for me tonight, although I'm going to try and stop by S.'s work place and see what she's doing later in the evening. We rarely ever went out on Halloween night anyway, since Halloween was the one night a year when you were least likely to get away with anything since people were expecting it the most. We preferred to pull our night-pranks on the most innocuous of holidays. Like, for instance, Arbor Day. Boxing Day. Sometimes even Guy Fawks Day. Never Halloween, although a lot of shenanigans went on in the weeks leading up to that day. One year we took pumpkins from people's doorsteps, carved them into Jack-O-Lanterns, put candles in them, and put them back on the stoop so the next morning people would step outside and go, "Uh, Martha? Who the blazes carved the pumpkin?" Smashing was just too gauche for the likes of us. And that one year S. and I tried to talk Pete Shelley and Steve Diggle from The Buzzcocks to come out pumpkin-snatching with us. S. kept telling them that it was "perfectly legal here in America." and although they were definitely curious about this (as Pete put it) "bizarre American ritual" we just couldn't talk them into the car with us. But I gotta say I still get misty-eyed every time I pass a pumpkin patch this time of year. Ah, to be 21 and snot-nosed punk. Again.

Picture Book

First photo I ever took with my new digital camera: A corner of my living room.

Second photo I took: The creek behind my apartment building. This is actually the view from the window in the living room, closed with blinds in the first photo.

I always figured I'd take more pictures once I got this camera, I guess to no real surprise... I haven't. I've never been that snappy-happy. People are always surprised that I don't have more photos lying around in albums or shoe boxes or what have you. Then again I guess the new digital age has put an end to all that.

I'm feeling weirdly cynical today. Probably brought on by guilt. Guilty for taking this week off from work knowing how bad off the store will be with me and two others on vacation at the same time. I need to learn to stop feeling guilty for enjoying good things. I've always been that way, for some reason. I can't figure out why, though. I'm basically a good person, I like to think. Why don't I deserve something good every now and then? Is it because I've had too much good to feel like I deserve any more? Despite being dirt poor I think I have a pretty swell life in general -- so do I feel guilty for that sometimes? A silly thing to feel guilty about, but there it is. Does anybody else out there ever feel that way from time to time?

Sorry, this is a rather lame blog entry. I promise to perk it up next time. I gotta get back to my Chisholm '72: Unbought & Unbossed DVD.

By the way, it's amazing what one can find when they finally get around to cleaning out from under their living room sofa. Just putting it out there.

Say Anything

Many thanks to my semi-secret partner in crime Wemblee , the eternal Sacco to my Vanzetti, for putting my name down in question #4. I'm off all next week, babycakes. I wanna hear how you're doing and if you've progressed any further with the... dun-dun-duuuh!... screen play. I know school must be kicking your ass right now but feel free to drop me a line sometime when you, ah er, have no class? (didn't Rodney Dangerfield say that in Back To School?)

Luuuuv, Melp


When an eel in the sea
bites-a you on the knee
that's a moray!

Pills And Soap

I was informed by the lovely and talented Mrs. Jeannine Stehlin last night that the equally lovely and talented Jack Stehlin will be making an appearance on the CBS series NCIS on Tuesday, November 1st, 8PM Eastern/Pacific. Like Without A Trace I have never seen this show before but it does come on right before The Amazing Race which... okay, I admit I watch. Religiously. So at least I won't forget to tape it. Not like I ever forget when I know Jack is going to be on something. I'm still hopping up and down waiting for more info on Iphigenia at Aulis coming up at the end of the year. Like I can afford to go back to L.A. right now.

I think today is the first day in over a week and a half where I haven't felt like utter hell. I must have had more than just your average cold -- probably some form of walking influenza, and damn if I didn't eat everything in the house while I was doing it. I wasn't ever hungry all week, but I ate nothing but things that I shouldn't be eating like ice cream or other cold smoothly substances that didn't totally shred my throat. Not to mention nary a lick o' exercise all week. I'm almost terrified to get back up on my fitball again, especially now since I've learned the handy art of balancing on my belly without having to do it in the hallway so that I can use the walls for support. And I gotta get back to running again. Well, that's what all of next week is for while I take my last vacation of the year before the holidays and whatnot. Finally get some time to get things done around here. Visit folks, like maybe Leslie up in Richmond. And I still need something for S.'s birthday next week. Crap, and I have a dental appointment next week to get my bridge molded. Crap, and I have the boobie doctor the week after. Crappity-crap-crap. How did I ever let the time get away from me like this?

Livin' La Chica Loca

A woman approached me over in the Pop/Rock section of my record store.

"Excuse me, " she says, "I am looking for the new Ricky Martin CD and I can't find it anywhere over here."

"Oh, we keep him under Musica Latina." I say.

She looks at me strangely. "Musi-wha?"

"Our Latin music section. If you'll follow me I'll take you over there."

As we walked together to that side of the store, the woman continued to process this bizarre bit of information. "Now why on earth would you keep Ricky Martin over there?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's because he sings partially in Spanish."

"But why?" she cried out suddenly, "Why does he have to go and sing in Spanish? That doesn't make any sense!"

"He's from Puerto Rico." I add, not sure how else to respond. "It's his native language."

"Well," she snaps, "He better sing in English on this new album, or I will be very upset!"

We come to the Ricky Matin shelf and I picked up a copy of his Life CD.

"Looks to be all English titles. Oop... wait. The last two songs do appear to be in Spanish."

"Arrggh!" The woman roars. "Why does he DO that? That makes me so maaaad! Fine. Let me hear a little of it and decide whether or not I can tolerate the rest."

She snatches the CD and starts to scan the bar code under the LVS. "You know," she says, "That damn Josh Groban does the same thing on his albums. I bought his last opera CD and he sang almost the entire thing... in Italian!" She glared at me with a look that could peel paint. "It ruined everything."

I backed away from that stare. It was a look that would not be contradicted. Of course I would have been the first to agree with her that Josh Groban in and of himself pretty much ruins everything he touches, but she truly put an indelible period at the end of that sentence with just that baleful glare alone and I wasn't about to add anything to it where the end result could very well be a Ricky Martin CD chucked at my face like a deadly shuriken and wind up poking out of my forehead as a bloody spoke. I excused myself politely and left her to her listening station, shaking her head and tut-tutting bitterly to herself over whatever it was she couldn't understand Ricky singing about to her in her ear.

Thank God I have all of next week off.

Lawrence Of Euphoria

Finally think I'm shaking this. Yesterday was the first day that I managed to get through a day at work without having to leave the floor to blow my nose every ten minutes. Now it's only 30 minutes, which is about average with me working a normal day under healthier circumstances. I'm pretty much allergic to work anyway. Wait, not allergic to WORK work. Well, okay I'm that too. I mean I'm allergic to where I work. Longtime readers of the old blog may remember how I've detailed the unsanitary conditions of my work place over the years. Our building is very old and the plumbing still runs on an antiquated septic tank system -- the tank itself located in the floor of the break room in the back of the store. Several times that tank has, well, for lack of a better word, exploded and overflowed like a tidal wave out of the break room and out onto the main store floor. Again, I say that this has happened several times.

And for all the instances in which this has happened, how many times do any of you think that we have either cleaned or changed the carpets? Go on and try to guess. Just tke a wild stab at it...

Bingo. Nada.

I've never been allergic to mold, but I am certain that what keeps most of that work in that store as sick as we always are is attributed to the unholy... funk that must be growing beneath our feet. I don't even try to look down at the carpet and all it's brown, swirly stains because just thinking about it makes me throw up in my mouth just a little bit... ick, like right now. Sorry, chums. I'll back off this topic as gracefully as I entered it. And of course I'm with all the delicate grace of a rollerskating giraffe.

I put Cannonball Adderley's Mercy Mercy Mercy up on my employee pick this week. By the way, Nat and Cannonball's cousin comes into our store about once a week. He's retired navy and pretty much just built his home out here. All the mornings when I would greet him with a cheery "How are you doing today, Mr. Adderley?" I never would have even thought about that until Tracy told me that he told him. Of course last names don't mean anything. I once told somebody I worked with that my cousin was V.C. Andrews and he went around for almost a year thinking that my last name was assumably Andrews (which it isn't).

I'm feeling very well today. Very not contagious. Who wants to make out with me?

Er, anyone? Anyone?

:::crickets:::

Ah, The Frontier Wit...

I spent the entire day bed, sleeping it away while the storm raged outside. Woke up occasionally, ate a little something, banged out some reviews, took some more Nyquil, and went back to the sack. My day in a nutshell.

And for some reason I kept having dreams about the movie McCabe & Mrs. Miller. I'm not sure why, or if they were all separate dreams or if they were part of one long continuous dream. At one point I dreamed that I was Mrs. Miller. Another point I dreamed that I was me again and I receiving a shipment of McCabe & Mrs. Miller soundtrack CDs, but the soundtrack had all the songs performed by Van Morrison. And I remember arguing with the distributor "But it's supposed to be Leonard Cohen! It's Leonard Cohen's music, not Van Morrison's!" and then I noticed on the liner notes that Warren Beatty was also singing on the album with Van Morrison and that just made everything a whole lot worse.

Holy crap. We must be getting the outer edges of Wilma tonight. It feels as if my roof is going to blow straight off.

Whata strange, surreal, drug-addled day this has been. I wish I had more like them.

My Dinner With Irony

For some reason Joe and I were suddenly debating whether or not the guy sitting at the table with Wallace Shawn in Melinda And Melinda was actually Andre Gregory, seeing as how neither of us has pretty much seen him since (still haven't seen Vanya On 42nd Street) but it turns out it wasn't. Just some other dude that sorta looked like him. Woulda been kinda funny if it was.

Also funny? How the world tends to look from a over-the-counter drug-induced haze. Wallace And Gromit in the Curse Of the Were-Rabbit was delightful fun but viewing the pic through Nyquil-goggles put more bunny rabbits hippity-hopping through the lobby after the movie let out and I wandered a bit trying to find the ladies' room. Not to mention right after when we walked over to my record store at got to see how utterly surreal a Saturday afternoon looked from the POV of a paying customer. And paying I was, as I plucked the two remaining used CDs from my hold bin. One being Twin Cinema by The New Pornographers...


This is their brand spankin' new disk but as usual I've been waiting for everything new that I want to come in used. Same ol' money issues and all that, y'know. Still, very happy to have.

And for the heck of it, Lard's Pure Chewing Satisfaction...


Not quite sure why. I suppose I've been feeling a tad nostalgic for that late 80's/early 90's music epoch when "The Power Of Lard" was practically the theme song for me 'n my posse, and how The Last Temptation Of Reid got a tremendous amount of airplay in our cars driving around town all night and goofing off like the derelicts we liked to think we were. Guess we'll see how this compares.

Anyway, just happy I got to carry my sick ass out of the house for a few hours this afternoon. Something about laying about in bed in my jammies just reminds me of how miserable I feel, so getting out and about a bit took my mind of my schnoze quite gratefully. Not to mention the extra-spicy vegetable chow fun at PF Chang's is a sure fire remedy for opening up those stubborn sinuses.

Euripides Trousers

News from the good people at Circus Theatricals. Looks as if a production of Euripides' Greek tragedy Iphigenia at Aulis will begin previews in December. No word on the website as to the cast just yet. This is the first time that I have seen or heard anything about it so I suppose the details are still being hammered out.

Another trip to L.A. again? Maybe in January? Argh. January is the worst month for me to travel. I'm always broke right after the holidays and January is all about me trying to make it back to stable living conditions. But I reckon we'll see how long it runs.

And of course if Jack will be in it.

Schedule

Sun 23: 3-cl
Tue 25: 10-6
Wed 26: 3-cl
Thur 27: 10-6
Sat 29: 10-5

Puppy Love

Over at one of my favorite morning webpages, The Comics Curmudgeon, I am feeling the love.

Why does this drawing make me miss my late golden retriever so much right now.

In The Pines

Pretty much as I suspected. It's not my tooth that hurts so much as it is my gums from where it's been difficult trying to keep it clean with that big broken chunk trapping everything that passes through my lips and me beating them to death with my toothbrush and floss and whatever's handy or made do in a pinch. The teeth themselves are fine, but my dentist wants to go ahead with putting the crown on the broken root canal tooth and build that bridge across the gap next to that tooth where I had it pulled a few years ago. He thinks that will not only fix the broken dead tooth but naturally protect my gums from further irritation. Meanwhile flushing my mouth regularly with peroxide/water solution helps with the pain and keeps things clean but damn if it doesn't taste like the devil doing it. And my estimation for the crown/bridge is.. whoosh. Even deducting what my insurance will cover it's still going to be a lotta loot that I do not immediately have on my person. Times like this I wish I was taking a trip to Bulgaria in the coming weeks. A few years ago my father had to have a new bridge built for his upper teeth (which were all knocked out way back when he played varsity football in high school) because they were beginning to chip and erode. They wanted, from what I remember, up to $20,000 for the job! Or something around that figure. Shortly after receiving that estimate he had to go on business in Sofia, Bulgaria and the people that he was staying with over there said that they had a cousin who is a dentist and he could look at my dad's bridge. The dentist-cousin says that he would make the bridge for my father for just $500. Naturally my father had his bridge made there in Bulgaria and it looks great and is both comfortable and incredibly durable. Now, uh, my estimate isn't anywhere close to $20,000. But it's not exactly $500 either, although I could put that amount down first before they finish with the work. Well either way I must make a decision soon because I need to use up my insurance for this year before January rolls around and starts a new year of benefits. I suppose no amount of cash is too much if it means I don't have to eat on one side of my face any longer.

So yep, other than that still sick with the Death Cold, praying on bended knee that it doesn't evolve into the annual dreaded Death Cough (actually haven't had that in a few years knockonfauxcomputerdeskwood). But other than being fairly heavily medicated I'm feeling pretty fine. Better than last night, at least. Throat is hurting less, and I had a nice scalding hot shower to clear the sinuses (being doped to the gills helps as well). I also received a very nice (read: sexy) email from Papa this morning, and in two more days I will have another actual Saturday off -- this time with Joe! Wow, we can like actually hang out and do stuff like other couples who date do for a change. Talks are already in the works to go see the new Wallace & Gromit movie and than go eat someplace ridiculously decadent. Maybe we can go see the rare new school of Fountainebleau painting that the Chrysler just acquired recently. Either way it's just a day off but it's with my significant other and those are always precious as they are extraordinarily hard to come by.

Oh, did I neglect to mention what happened at work with my goofy new employee pick? The day after I put up that Makigami Koichi CD in frustration I came in the next day and it was GONE! At first I was doubled over laughing, thinking that somebody might have actually bought it, but when I checked the inventory on it I discovered that it still says the CD is in stock so it wasn't actually sold... but damn if I know where it could be. I keep thinking that somebody took it to one of the LVS units to listen to it and then chucked it somewhere. Oh God, I will absolutely die if somebody actually stole it. That would just be the most. THE MOST.

So what did I put up now, you may ask? No, I know you are not really asking (nor really caring, probably) but I put Satan Is Real by The Louvin Brothers. Why? Because one, it is an awesome gospel album from one of country's greatest harmonizers. And two, it's got an album cover alone that should rightly be able to sell itself:


Too bad it's not any bigger. At this size it's harder to truly appreciate the beautiful cross-eyed hilarity of Cardboard Stand-Up Satan in the background. Plus have you ever seen two guys in white suits who couldn't be happier to be in Hell?

Minutiae

It's my day off. I managed to get out and visit with my mother for a few hours (my father is in Louisville, KY on business this week) but once I got back all I wanted to do... heck, all I could do was crawl into bed and stay there. Not only do I appear to be catching the cold that everybody at work has passed back and forth between each other, but my tooth is absolutely killing me. Not too long ago I lost a little chunk off my first premolar on the lower right hand side, but it hasn't really bothered me because that was the tooth where I had my root canal a few years ago so it's basically just a dead, nerveless hunk 'o bone. But the shape of the hole is such where it's a bear to keep clean and no amount of brushing and religious hourly flossing can keep my surrounding gums from getting inflamed and infected. Or at least I think that's where the pain is coming from. I made an appointment for Wednesday morning but in the meantime I have a few of Joe's prescription-strength Ibuprofin from when he had his tooth pulled last year to keep the ache at a minimum. But this aggravating combination of "icky" and "ouchy" has made not feel much like eating or exercising or doing anything that requires me not to be in a reclining position cocooned under the comforter. At least I'm catching up on my backlogged reading material. And my sleep.

I really hate complaining about my aches and pains, and I'm sorry you guys. I'm the kind of person who when she gets sick she tends to creep away into a secluded little area to lick her wounds in private because she hates being a burden on anyone. But I guess the blog is as good a place as any to release another monster on a rope where (hopefully this time) I won't do anybody any harm nor foul.

It was really gorgeous today, though. Real sunshine for a change. It was autumn-cool outside but the sun was very warming. I still wore my shorts and T-shirt during the moments when I was out in it, and I loved the feel of the crisp air on my bare legs and lifting my hair to caress that sensitive neck of mine. Almost... almost didn't mind the jet noise for a change.

Weekend Update

Snipped from an article in Variety:

Actor Charles Rocket committed suicide Oct. 7 in Connecticut. He was 56.

Rocket was the Weekend Update anchor on "Saturday Night Live" in 1980 and 1981, and was fired from the show after saying "fuck" on the air. He went on to make numerous appearances on TV shows and in features.

Born Charles Claverie in Bangor, Maine, he attended the Rhode Island School of Design. He was active in the burgeoning RISD arts scene, where he formed the band the Fabulous Motels and then became a newscaster under the name Charles Kennedy. He worked on newscasts in Colorado Springs and Nashville before landing much more irreverent SNL gig, where he also performed his own "Rocket Reports" skits.

Rocket appeared in feature films including "Earth Girls are Easy," "Dances with Wolves," "It's Pat" and "Dumb and Dumber." His last film role was in the 2003 Sylvester StalloneSylvester Stallone film "Shade." On TV, he appeared on shows including "Law & Order: Criminal Intent," "Cybill," "Touched by an Angel" and "thirtysomething."

Rocket played accordion in many bands, performing (with Debbie Harry and Chris Stein of Blondie) on a tribute album to Fellini composer Nino Rota.

He is survived by his wife, Beth and a son.

****

To quote the man himself, "Fuck!"

Cris Avert?

Like Scotty on Star Trek, the intrepid crew at Norton came through on the dilithium crystals and got the warp drive back online even sooner than they extrapolated. Scotty once said that you always tell the captain that it will take an hour when it will really less than that, because that way it makes you look like a miracle worker, and seems to be exactly what they did. So less than 24 hours later the Trojan virus appears to be purged from my system and everything for the most part seems to be running like a dream. Thank you, Norton! I'd bake you guys cookies if I knew where you lived.

Tech Diff

So, er uh... anybody out there ever heard of the Trojan Virus? Because, ah, I do believe I have it. Or wait... I mean my PC has it. And I don't quite know what that means, exactly. I called the Norton customer service line and they are swamped with callers all apparently inquiring about the same thing on their systems, and I guess I was wondering if anybody else out there was having a similar problem this morning. They say that they are working on something to get it up and fixed in the next 42 hours so I guess I won't know until Monday or so if my computer is kaput. I mean I suppose it isn't if I can still log on, but I did go a bit nutty this afternoon saving EVERYTHING from my harddrive onto disks -- letters, documents, jpegs, and as slow as the system is moving due to the virus everything is taking hours upon hours. I have so many articles and other crap that I have been working on that I suddenly just realized that it's not always a good idea to just leave everything sitting on the desktop unpreserved like that. Twas my downfall last year right around this time when my old PC died and I lost so much. Heck, I don't even know if this post will save, but you never know by not tryin', I always say.

I'm still trying to decide if I shouldn't even bother saving what I have of my follow-up article that I wrote on slash that made it into the last ish of The High Hat, because despite all the learned people that I spoke with on the topic and the essays that I've been reading, I still haven't drawn any conclusion or reached any further enlightenment -- and you know, maybe there doesn't really need to be a conclusion or explanation to it all. I just feel like perhaps everyone has their own reasons for writing what they write, and the more I think about my own particular interests and proclivities I realize that maybe they don't need to be analyzed and rationalized and have people placed into certain psychological categories that define them. People enjoy what they enjoy, and why should anyone, especially me, pick it apart and make sense out if it all like the pedantic amateur armchair intellectual-type that I normally abhor?

And speaking of being the very thing that I hate, sca-rewww everyone who's not taking home my Raymond Scott CD pick from work, you Philistines. I am soooo in the mood to fuck with people. Last night I put Kuchinoha by Makigami Koichi up on my employee pick spot and stuck a fucking tag on it with the words THIS ALBUM WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!! just as I have been threatening to do and let's see if that bitch goes out the door this week. I will be off the ground with laughter if I show up for work tomorrow and see that somebody's bought it. That will so totally make my stinkin' rotten virus weekend well worth it.

Schedule

Sun 16: 11-7
Tue 18: 11-7
Wed 19: 2-8
Thur 20: 3-cl
Fri 21: 11-7

Dopamine Fix

Just a reminder that Jack Stehlin will be on the program Without A Trace (episode "From The Ashes") tonight at 10:00 pm EST on CBS.

BTW, did anyone catch the P-Funk doc on PBS Tuesday night? Phuuuunk-tastic!

Wrong'em Boyo

The Raveonettes have just had their van and a significant amount of their equipment stolen in NYC this past week, including Sune Rose Wagner's cherished Jazzmaster (pictured right). This was taken from the band's online journal from their website:

***

GEAR STOLEN!!
Date: October 10, 2005

We are completely devastated. Oct. 7 in Brooklyn, NYC. So much has been lost, but these 4 listed underneath are truly the things that matter to us... like Wagner's Jazzmaster from 1961 that he has lived & traveled with, played & written on for the past 12 years. And Sharin's beloved Gretsch from 1965.

If you see or hear anything about these 2 guitars and 2 basses please email us immediately on info@theraveonettes.com and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.

Yours,
Sharin & Sune


Gretsch Chet Atkins 6120 1965 Guitar Orange V89V391

Fender Jazzmaster Guitar, Sunburst 55820

Fender Precission 1974 Bassguitar L. Tan 317392

Rickenbacker 4001 1974 Bassguitar OK 7546

***

Please help the band out if you can. I especially know how much that Jazzmaster means to Sune so I know this is killing him inside. What a sucky thing to have to happen to anybody, let alone my Fave Raves.

Anyway, in other potentially less-sucky news, I'm going out with Tom today to look at more properties. Wish me lots of storage space and no water damage.

Suicide Is Painless

I am Harold, from "Harold and Maude." I'm
a sensitive, but...weird...soul.

Which Random Cult Movie Character are you?

The Girl At The Typewriter

The album that I'm pushing this week at work is Raymond Scott's Reckless Nights & Turkish Twilights. And as per usual no one will ever even consider buying this. Or, hey... CPG, does it count if I inadvertently sold one to you because you read about me talking about it in my former blog? I reckon that's as good a pitch as any!



Of course Raymond Scott (born Harry Warnow) is the little-touted composer, bandleader, and eccentric inventor as well as musical innovator whose amalgam of swing jazz, classical, and exotica (before even the likes of Martin Denny and Les Baxter trumpeted the wave) has seeped subliminally into American culture with barely an acknowledgement to the man who put it there. His music is instantly recognizable to many, partially due to composer Carl Stalling collecting the rights to Scott's music to which he recreated for the Looney Tunes cartoon shorts, where such pieces such as "Powerhouse", "The Toy Trumpet" and "Dinner Music for a Pack of Hungry Cannibals" became so much a part of our pop culture that it is hard to associate these tunes with anything else (Ren & Stimpy would later use many of the same Raymond Scott pieces as well).

I will say, although, that my fondest memory of Raymond Scott will always be the the night I drove to Richmond to see Fishbone perform at the Floodzone, and since I managed to get into the club early before the doors opened I spent the time standing up in the balcony looking down over the huge, empty dancefloor as Fishbone lead singer and all-around whack-a-doo dude Angelo Moore put on a Raymond Scott tape in the DJ booth and danced with his then-wife to "Powerhouse" in the most far-out, extroverted way that only Angelo Moore is known to do. It was a delight to be a spectator to something so spontaneous and silly and fun. I can never hear "Powerhouse" again without he mental image of Angelo cake-walking across the open dancefloor, his lady on one arm and twirling his trademark cane with the other.

Anyway, don't forget that tonight is the Parliament-Funkadelic documentary at 10pm EST on PBS. Or rather, *I* better not forget. This time.

In The Valley Of The Shadow

I have just learned of the passing of Jeanita Danzik, who died in a car accident in Washington D.C. in June.

Jeanita's name alone takes me back to the mid 1990's, right just over the pinnacle of my hardcore Star Trek phase, and reading a lot of fanfiction from some amazingly talented writers from that time. Q being my favorite Trek character (and a fiery obsession of mine throughout much of the time Star Trek: The Next Generation was on) I focused on much of the Q-centric fiction over at the now spam-clogged alt.fan.q usenet, and Jeanita was one whose storytelling skills had the potential to possibly make a name for herself in the "legitimate" world of literature. I still have most of her stories printed out and locked into 3-ring binders on my bookshelves.

One of my favorites of her work, "The Q Who Fell To Earth", was a spinoff of Alara Rogers' amazing "Only Human" (a spin-off the episode "Deja Q"), a piece of work so influential that it has spawned a dozen or so spinoffs all over the fandom and the novel isn't even completed. Her original character of Riller Harris, an Orionian lawyer, is best explained by Alara's own words on the subject:

"Riller Harris and her problems with Starfleet and Federation society because her mother is an Orion slave was the first treatment I encountered in Trek fanfiction of the issues of minorities and racism, and the first encounter I'd *ever* had with the notion that racism doesn't have to be hatred, it can be amazed pleasure that one of "those people" is actually doing so well. Patronizing, well-meaning, liberal... the kind of attitudes people like me adopt reflexively because we think it's good to support minorities' achievements and don't realize how irritated we would be if people looked at *our* achievements as if we were dancing bears or something. It opened my eyes, seriously. It's also a realistic treatment of the issue for the Star Trek universe, where the more pernicious, obvious forms of racism have been mostly eliminated in the Federation."

For anyone who may be interested in reading any of Jeanita's Star Trek fiction, Alara has several in her archive.

R.I.P. Jeanita.

What A Drag It Is Getting Old

Last night a woman followed me around at work for a few minutes, shooting me strange looks. Finally she rounded a corner and stood right in front of my path, smiling slyly.

"I know you." She says. "You used to hang out at Crossroads, didn't you?"

Funny how I was just talking about Crossroads almost a week ago, the rank little all-ages punk dive where Joe used to DJ and book bands back in the early 90's. I nodded and told her, "Er, yes... yes I did."

Looking pleased, she continued. "Yeahh, I recognized you! Didn't you used to date DJ Joe?"

"Ah, yes," I replied, "In fact I still do."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as many react when the reality sets in as to how long that we've actually been together (I still react in much the same manner). "Boy, you used to hang out at that place every single night! You were there for every show, I remember. Man, I was just 16 years old then. And I'm almost 30 now."

I suddenly felt dizzy. I actually lurched forward and had to grab onto the nearest object I could find, which luckily was the CD rack or else I would have seized hold of the woman in front of me and knocked her straight to the floor. This woman -- the once-girl who probably blended into the Crossroads crowd of green mohawks and a Doc Martins was now a stylish woman in a sensible haircut, recounting her childhood memories of me. Childhood memories of me as an adult. If I wasn't already sickly last night I would have caught the vapors right there and fainted dead away.

"Well, nice seein' ya again." she says after destroying my life irreparably and sauntering off.

Fourteen years. For the first time it truly hit me. Crossroads was frikkin' fourteen years ago.

I suppose I should be flattered that I still look recognizable enough to be remembered by a woman who used to see me around when she was a teenager. Or maybe that's just a subtle hit on the head that I need to update my hairstyle.

Fucking hell, that still doesn't make me feel any better.

Sigh. I'm going back to bed. Wake me in another fourteen years.

Returning To Claim The Pyramids

Got my DVD copy of L'Virgen De La Lujuria today. Holla.

And check it. Tuesday night on PBS (1opm EST, I think, but check your listings) they're running what sounds like da BOMB documentary on Parliament-Funkadelic, one of my favorite and most personally influential bands of all time. To know me is to know tha FUNK. Er, I suppose that statement could be taken in a number of different ways. Most of which undoubtedly apply. But anyway, PBS has been doing some killer music docs lately (their Muddy Waters one was smashing) and I have reason to believe that this one will be no different. I'll be burning it directly to DVD-R, because that's just the way I roll yo.

Best of all I've saved for last: I heard from my friend David in New Orleans since the hurricane, and he and his family are all right. Minus a few property losses. But still, you don't know the relief I feel right now having heard back from him and knowing that he's okay.

This is going to be damn good week.

Static In My Attic

I was up 'til about 3 am last night, actually unable to look away from the TV for a change, watching the documentary Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession. Sure I could have merely turned the DVD off and watched it another time, preferably one where I didn't have to get up 3 hours later at 6am. But hot damn, whatta flick. And what a channel. I just had to seek this one out to the end.

About the picture: A picture about... pictures. How best to describe the Z Channel for us Gen X-Y-Zers east coaster types who were never there? I took this tellingly descriptive excerpt from a review on the IMDb who knows how to speak my language:


"For those of you reading this who are not from Los Angeles or are not yet 30, you do not know what you missed. Imagine a late 60's, early 70's FM eclectic station that mixed Marvin Gaye, Frank Zappa, Charlie Parker, Parisian Ballads, The Rolling Stones and Parliament Funkadelic into their play list. Now, imagine the same kind of eclectic mix applied to movies. Oh yeah, add to that some late night Euro soft-core sex movies and a monthly magazine that provided the kind of insight you now find on IMDb with full cast lists and turkey alerts, 20 years before the internet."

Los Angeles pay cable station Z Channel offered more on its daily programming than anything HBO, Showtime, Bravo or anything else that came after, even to this day. Chief program director Jerry Harvey became a sort of hero and legend among his fans and viewers and even the movie industry elite for what he was able to provide as a cinemaphile himself -- the most eclectic movie programming of any television channel ever offered in its time (the channel started in 1974 and lasted up until the late 80's, shortly after the startlingly tragic deaths of Jerry and his wife). Directed by Xan Cassavetes (yep, John's son) the film interviews actors and directors like Robert Altman, Quentin Tarantino, Theresa Russell, James Woods, Alexander Payne, and Jacqueline Bisset as they reminisce in wonder about the little channel that would show Star Wars one moment and then run L'Avventura then next. A monthly newsletter from the station outlined their programming schedule featuring film festivals of pictures that hardly anyone ever got to see even in theaters during its initial release. In one afternoon you could potentially see Heaven's Gate, Black Orpheus, Once Upon A Time In America, Berlin Alexanderplatz, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, la Notte, L'Important C'est D'aimer, Scarface, Turkish Delight, Fitzcarraldo, and Silver Streak, and then in the late evenings be treated to soft-core European sex romps -- all of which the documentary shows clips throughout the picture. Second only to the films themselves are accounts from Jerry's friends and former co-workers recalling the years of erratic behavior that eventually lead to his demise in 1988, followed shortly after by Z Channel itself, forced to incorporate awkwardly placed sports programming into its daily rotation in the years before folding.

A very fascinating look into an idea that came and went, and was still ahead of its time to this day.

Beautify Your Work Space

Many thanks to Connie for the spiffy new screen cap of Papa, taken from the behind the scenes portion of the "feature film" Heist #2. It cheers me up, this screen cap. One, because it's *~Papa~* and two... well, because Heist #2 is one of my favorite funny X-rated talkies, purely for Herr Holmes' zany scene alone. In fact, the following is taken from an email full of movie reviews that I sent him about a month or so ago concerning this particular movie:


Yeah, you're not in it except for one scene, really... but what a fucking memorable scene it was! And... well, yes, it was memorable for the fucking, too. I mean Hannah Harper (that was her name, right?)... whew! Whatta hottie-boombalottie... and you in your SWAT gear {{*holy shit*}} have wormed its way into my secret little rescue fantasy scenarios more than... oh, say, a bazillion times in just this week -- okay, this afternoon alone {{again, *holy shit*}}. But since humor for me is always the most potent of aphrodisiacs, this flick is therefore extraordinarily priceless. Gut-rupturingly hysterical in only the way the marvelous Jerome Tanner's pictures can be. I mean, really now. The utter genius of sending in a one man commando squad-- wait, not only that, but choosing what obviously has to be the horniest officer on the SWAT team to go in alone to disarm a total knockout blonde and force her to strip to get her ass searched for potential weapons (meanwhile her shoes alone look as if they could take down an African elephant in the wild) only to have her turn right around and start inhaling your face -- I swear each and every time I am off the ground with laughter! Yet then when you whip off that bulletproof vest and start burying your gorgeous puss between her shapely thighs I am brought back hard to earth again with the sheer mega-kiloton weight of my searing white-hot lust for you. And of course the punchline, you running out of the house naked with this oh-shit-oh-shit-I'm-in-trouble look on your face really hammers the funny home. Your one little scene was so memorable, especially in a movie full of memorable scenes, just for how perfectly you played the straight man up until you were quickly and, might I add, thoroughly seduced, to which then you proceeded to scorch up the screen with your singularly unparalleled sexuality. This is (somewhat jokingly) considered a "very special movie" in our household and all I have to do is hold up the box cover to get my boyfriend roaring with laughter. "This," he tells me, "Is precisely why Steve Holmes should never consider a career in law enforcement." Well understated.

So yeah, this cheers me up. Some. Because I was outbid on the house this morning. Which {{sigh}} I pretty much expected. But hey, I'm not as down as have been about this in the past, because since I got the bigger homeowner's loan I have a lot more options out there to chose from. What was once a week of only one or two places in my price range for sale I now see seven houses in one day in my new range, and that leaves me with immeasurable hope unlike anything that I had in the past. There's always next Wednesday. And thank you again for the link, Erin. I'll check out the homes they have listed in there as well.

So I'm puttering around with music memes to get my mind off of depressing things, like losing the townhouse, and my camera not working, and my Norton Virus Protector not working after re-subscribing, and eh who knows what else, and I was trying to do this thing where you go to Music Outfitters and enter the year you graduated into the search function to pull up all the Top 100 hit singles of that year. And I think I was supposed to, like, highlight the ones I like and bold the ones I hated and piss all over the ones I own or some such lameness but I can't remember nor can I find the original meme right now so flunkit... I'm makin' mah own and just bolding the ones that I remember actually liking back then, even though it may be a tad embarrassing to admit now. All I can say is when I look down this list is, boy, 1987 was a SUCKY year for music (like much of the 80's, if I remember correctly).

1. Walk Like An Egyptian, Bangles (okay, yes it was the zeitgeist of its time and I was suckered in)
2. Alone, Heart
3. Shake You Down, Gregory Abbott
4. I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me), Whitney Houston
5. Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, Starship
6. C'est La Vie, Robbie Nevil
7. Here I Go Again, Whitesnake
8. The Way It Is, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
9. Shakedown, Bob Seger
10. Livin' On A Prayer, Bon Jovi
11. La Bamba, Los Lobos (always loves me some Los Lobos)
12. Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Chung (Why did I always think that this came out earlier?)
13. Don't Dream It's Over, Crowded House (still *adore* this song)
14. Always, Atlantic Starr (terrible song, but will always remember the fun we had making up our "interpretive dance" to these lyrics that year)
15. With Or Without You, U2
16. Looking For A New Love, Jody Watley (liked the similar production from Janet Jackson's Control sessions with Jam n Lewis)
17. Head To Toe, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam (boy this is a bad one, but makes me think of rollerskating at the rink with my friends that year)
18. I Think We're Alone Now, Tiffany
19. Mony Mony, Billy Idol (after having this chanted at ever beer kegger in college I'll never need to hear this one again for as long as I live)
20. At This Moment, Billy Vera and The Beaters
21. Lady In Red, Chris De Burgh
22. Didn't We Almost Have It All, Whitney Houston
23. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2 (not a huge fan of this new U2 direction, but it grew on me slightly, not unlike folliculitis)
24. I Want Your Sex, George Michael (only good version is the mash-up my friend made back then with Janet Jackson's "Let's Wait Awhile" -- talk about sublime juxtaposition!)
25. Notorious, Duran Duran
26. Only In My Dreams, Debbie Gibson
27. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life, Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes
28. The Next Time I Fall, Peter Cetera and Amy Grant
29. Lean On Me, Club Nouveau (can never hear this one again, like ever)
30. Open Your Heart, Madonna (Not her best, but I liked it enough at the time)
31. Lost In Emotion, Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
32. (I Just) Died In Your Arms, Cutting Crew
33. Heart And Soul, T'pau (maybe it was the Star Trek reference)
34. You Keep Me Hangin' On, Kim Wilde (don't ask me why)
35. Keep Your Hands To Yourself, Georgia Satellites
36. I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me), Aretha Franklin and George Michael
37. Control, Janet Jackson (Enjoyed much of this record when it first came out)
38. Somewhere Out There, Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram
39. U Got The Look, Prince (the 'Camille' voice always get me and my buds laffin' it up good)
40. Land Of Confusion, Genesis (SHUT UP, JOE!)
41. Jacob's Ladder, Huey Lewis and The News
42. Who's That Girl, Madonna (what can I say, I liked Madonna)
43. You Got It All, Jets
44. Touch Me (I Want Your Body), Samantha Fox (okay I didn't really like it but I learned to tolerate it because it was my best friend's favorite song at the time -- I really needed some cooler friends)
45. I Just Can't Stop Loving You, Michael Jackson and Siedah Garrett
46. Causing A Commotion, Madonna
47. In Too Deep, Genesis
48. Let's Wait Awhile, Janet Jackson (please see George Michael, above)
49. Hip To Be Square, Huey Lewis and the News
50. Will You Still Love Me?, Chicago
51. Little Lies, Fleetwood Mac
52. Luka, Suzanne Vega (SHUT UP, JOE!)
53. I Heard A Rumour, Bananarama
54. Don't Mean Nothing, Richard Marx
55. Songbird, Kenny G
56. Carrie, Europe
57. Don't Disturb This Groove, System
58. La Isla Bonita, Madonna (you know I'm still not convinced all these songs came out in 1987)
59. Bad, Michael Jackson
60. Sign 'O' The Times, Prince (an awesome song from one of Prince's best albums)
61. Change Of Heart, Cyndi Lauper (always took a shine to Lauper)
62. Come Go With Me, Expose
63. Can't We Try, Dan Hill
64. To Be A Lover, Billy Idol
65. Mandolin Rain, Bruce Hornsby and the Range
66. Breakout, Swing Out Sister (Reminds me of sleeping on the floor of my friend Brandi's house with the radio on and waking up every hour to hear this song as if it were being played in a continuous loopin my brain. Then I killed everyone in the house that night, followed by myself.)
67. Stand By Me, Ben E. King (now I KNOW this didn't originally come out in 1987)
68. Tonight, Tonight, Tonight, Genesis
69. Someday, Glass Tiger
70. When Smokey Sings, ABC (always had a soft spot for ABC)
71. Casanova, Levert (man o man this song grates now)
72. Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine
73. Rock Steady, Whispers (ditto this one -- that pre-New Jack sound, how did I ever tolerate?)
74. Wanted Dead Or Alive, Bon Jovi
75. Big Time, Peter Gabriel (Peter Gabriel is GOD)
76. The Finer Things, Steve Winwood
77. Let Me Be The One, Expose
78. Is This Love, Survivor
79. Diamonds, Herb Alpert (of course I thought this was a solo Janet song for awhile, until somebody schooled me properly)
80. Point Of No Return, Expose
81. Big Love, Fleetwood Mac
82. Midnight Blue, Lou Gramm (I got into a car accident "rockin' out" to this song on my tape deck)
83. Something So Strong, Crowded House
84. Heat Of The Night, Bryan Adams
85. Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You, Glenn Medeiros
86. Brilliant Disguise, Bruce Springsteen
87. Just To See Her, Smokey Robinson
88. Who Will You Run Too, Heart
89. Respect Yourself, Bruce Willis
90. Cross My Broken Heart, Jets
91. Victory, Kool and The Gang (they always looked like the happiest buncha guys in all their videos)
92. Don't Get Me Wrong, Pretenders (loved Chrissie as a kid)
93. Doing It All For My Baby, Huey Lewis and The News
94. Right On Track, Breakfast Club (I think I might still like this one if I heard it again)
95. Ballerina Girl, Lionel Richie
96. Meet Me Half Way, Kenny Loggins
97. I've Been In Love Before, Cutting Crew
98. (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right To Party, Beastie Boys (oh brother...)
99. Funkytown, Pseudo Echo
100. Love You Down, Ready For The World

Well! That was a purge to the ol' system. Time to go put on The Residents and feel... {{sniiiffff}} clean again.

Schedule

Fri 7: 9-4
Sat 8: 4-cl
Sun 9: 4-cl
Mon 10: 10-5
Tue 11: 11-7
Thur 13: 10-6
Fri 14: 3-cl


So, sooooooo happy to not be working inventory tonight.

Might hear back about whether or not we got the townhouse tonight. Tom says there are 2 other bidders, all bidding the same thing as we are. He'll either call us tonight or tomorrow morning for the news.

I'm gonna... gahh, go watch Survivor or something. Have to not be thinking about this right now. I'll pull what's left of my hairs out by evening's end.

God Save Donald Duck Vaudeville & Variety

Alright. Put a bid on a townhouse today in a little neighborhood known as Village Green. The fourth bid in... what, 4 years? How often can God keep smiting me on this issue? If He doesn't want me to move then He needs to just come out and say it. Trying not to get my hopes up, as usual. But! But-but-but-but-but!

Gahh, now I wait. And the waiting is the hardest part.

And I just quoted fucking Tom Petty.

THERE'S A DICK ON THE SCREEN GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!!!!*

*(This is something a friend of mine used to yell out whenever a Tom Petty video came on MTV back in the 80's. He'd run to the TV set screaming this and brushing his hand frantically over the monitor as if he were trying to wipe Tom Petty off the screen. I have no idea why but it makes me laugh every time.)

So anyway Tracy from work gave me a couple of promos that she didn't want:


Cream at the Royal Albert Hall: London 2-3-5-6 2005. Just came out yesterday. Ginger, Jack and Eric reunite for a 37th anniversary concert at the same venue where they did their farewell show. Does "farewell show" even mean anything anymore? Anyway, you can't beat the price.


Also Neil Young's Prairie Wind, the brand new release that came out a few weeks ago. Supposedly another one of his "harvest" style albums. I've heard one or two good things about it. And again, free.

I reckon now I'm just waiting on hearing back about the townhouse. It's remarkable, but the way things are going right at this moment -- static as it is right now until something moves -- I could be gaining a house and a higher position of employment all within the next few months, granted if things keep falling my way. My boss at work started making serious moves into giving me more responsibilities at the store, upgrading my access codes, putting me in charge of instore sales marketing, making me the liaison to our marketing administrator at the home office. I honestly could be staring at that coveted lead position in maybe 3 more months.

Amazing, how when good things come into my life, they come in clusters. I don't think I have a single thing to complain about right now (although you guys know I'll find something!)

Now if I can just get back on my diet again. :::weep:::

Ahh, now there's something!

Coffee Is For Closers

My success with talking customers into buying my employee pick of the week has taken a nose-dive since I put that rockabilly customer into Wanda Jackson CD about... gah, a whole month ago? Almost got one of our regular Dancetria-types to purchase Faithless, but no go. Haven't had a lick o' luck since then, even using guilt tactics when I had Mahalia Jackson and The Meters up there, two artists from New Orleans encouraging people (with signs, even!) to donate to the American Red Cross. And last week I had Frances The Mute by The Mars Volta up there (you old school readers may remember how I was soooo into that album earlier this spring), an album that I was been successful in pawning off in the past -- apparently except for the week that it was actually up as my pick, dag nabbit.

Confidence in my abilities has been thoroughly shot. Whatever happened to my seductive powers of persuasion? Well, in peddling what I know, that is. Dude, people suck. I KNOW WHAT THEY NEED! I ALONE! I-I-I-I-I!!! And I know that this week they will be needing...

Basehead Plays With Toys.

What, Melissa? You honestly expect to pitch an out of print 13-year-old acoustic hip-hop album from some unheard-of cat in Washington DC?

Well, miraculously, I've done it before. Once the album came in used about a year or so ago, and I put it up on the feature rack with a handwritten note saying:

Acoustic hip-hip

from Washington DC

native Mike Ivey

Excellent!!

And taped it to the cover. And believe it or not, that's all it took. I sold it that same hour.

So what do I do this time? Tack on the same note exactly the way it was originally worded. Then target all the potential Beck fans or indie hip-hops nerds. Hit the good folks who bitch about our lack of local talent in the store (D.C. isn't exactly local but I consider it close enough). And emphasize that this mother is completely out of print. In fact I am especially proud myself to own the original Emigre version that came out before the record was picked up by Imago. The Emigre version has, in my opinion, much funnier music clips for the track "Not Over You", about Mike's friend trying to find something snappy on the radio to cheer up the heartbroken Ivey. Song after song of of sad soul ballads on every station, and Mike is getting angrier and angrier with his friend ("Hey, it's not my fault you gotta get lovesick during the Quiet Storm!" his buddy protests).



Basehead's Plays With Toys was probably my favorite album of 1992. They (or rather he, being that Mike Ivey [above far right] is the sole creator of the group) were also probably the very first act that Joe ever booked on his own, since Mike had left his home phone number in the liner notes of the Emigre version of the album. Joe just rang him up and asked if he would play Crossroads (the little kinderpunk dive where he DJed at the time), and Mike was like "Of course!" And, to quote Vonnegut, so it goes. Mike played a few more gigs for us after that and we got to talk at length several times, with Ivey being extremely personable and down to earth (and very good looking... hubba hubba!). I even have two videos that he did that were actually shown on MTV's 120 Minutes years ago for the tracks "2000 BC" and "Not Over You". Nice to see he got a little push there, for what it was worth at the time.

So is it likely I'll be able to sell our last ever copy of Plays With Toys before it finally gets recalled into oblivion? I sorta feel like I owe it to Mike. Not sure why, exactly. But... there it is.

Please Don't Tell The Ledge...

That I'm going to burn his "I Hate CDs" single to CD-R... shhhhh!

Oh shit... Ledge, if yer readin' this, I'm just razzin' ya, boy-o. Don't go scratchin' out the lyrics to "I Hate That Melissa Bitch Fer Burnin' 'I Hate CDs' To CD-R And If The Haze Were Still Alive Today Id'a Have Him Take 'Er Out Like A Lightbulb In A Juke Joint Gettin' In My Eyes" (not that I wouldn't be honored by the gesture -- what gal hasn't always wanted to be immortalized in song).

Speaking of which, I got this Legendary Stardust Cowboy single (b/w "Linda") at the same time that Miriam from Norton Records sent me Hasil Adkins LP Out To Hunch about maybe a little over a decade ago, and now I can't help but book-end these two outsider artists together in my mind. Ledge's "Paralyzed"went on practically every mix tape I ever made for every pal 'o mine on my college campus back in the 80's. This single went missing for a good period of time and now that it's been re-found (hell-oooo... been in my singles box the whole time) I feel it's greatness should really be preserved in digital format, perhaps to appear here as a download-able file in future posts.

Ledge never had any beef with MP3s, did he?

I don't wanna be taking the feed outa Ledge's mouth by doing that. I support the little guys. But I do wanna toot his horn here and give him the exposure he deserves (not like my readership's in any likely heavy distribution) so if I put a link up it will be temporary, and accompanied by the Norton Records website as just a gentle nudge to prompt you all to GO OUT AND BUY EVERYTHING EVER MADE BY THE LEGENDARY STARDUST COWBOY, YOU MUGS! And tell him that bitch Melissa who burned his "I Hate CDs" to compact disk sent ya's.