Friday, March 31, 2006

Lord, She's Memphis Bound...

When the genre known as Southern Rock is done right, with the right amount of backwater blues, boogie-woogie country, and sleazy rock-n-roll swagger, there t'ain't nuthin' out there the likes of it (yesss, I said "taint" -- ya'll may all point and laff at me now. Settle down, Beavis).

I guess growing up in a small southern town, going to a school where every kid's 4X4 was blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd, where the school's marching band would play "Flirting With Disaster" during halftimes, some of it can't help but assimilate. Luckily for me I like to think that I took away only the best aspects of the genre and learned to seek it out and appreciate that which I find from the bands that put it out there -- especially when the track really knows how to bring da boogie. In other words, I love Molly Hatchet's "Flirting With Disaster", but I don't much care for the Allman Brothers' "Sweet Melissa". In fact I only allow one man in this world call me that, and he knows exactly who he is.

Native American southern/hard rockers Blackfoot really do take me back, especially when "Train Train" hit the airwaves back around 1980 or so when I was an impressionable pre-teen just scratching the surface of the post-disco pop music universe. So imagine my disappointment when Joe booked them to play in town and I couldn't make it that night, though Yod only remembers why these days, and wouldn't you know it -- they were positively blistering live. Unless of course that was just Joe being nasty and rubbing it in. No no, I could totally picture "Train Train" being every inch the barn burner that it is on wax, though I don't think bandleader Rickey Medlocke's grandfather, bluegrass recording artist Shorty Medlocke, was there to play the harmonica like he does on the actual studio track. Joe did tell me that the band tried to steal the club's liquor that night. There was a small unmanned bar area behind the stage and apparently the boys just helped themselves. I guess Joe was left to put a stop to it. Rock 'n roll.

So anyway as you can see we still got Rickey Medlocke to sign our copy of Strikes (click to make BIG) which has "Train Train" on it, and here's an M4a of it that will be up for 7 days. So kick up your heels, cousins. And no lighters, please. Or calling out for "Freebird" or "Whipping Post", either. You all should know this by now. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TA TELL YA'LL!!

Train Train - Blackfoot
(M4a - available for 7 days)

Crimes And Misdemeanors

Looks intriguing (but beware, every time I try to navigate away from the first link it freezes my PC):

A new podcast coming in May.
Schedule and episode titles listed here.

For over 30 years, The Residents have been musical innovators, visually aware and tech-savvy. In conjunction with Cordless Recordings, they will release the River of Crime series, starting May 30th, 2006. This upcoming project is another example of how The Residents push the creative envelope, reaching further into previously uncharted waters to break new ground.

River of Crime is a horrifying, twisted, often hysterical account of a Residents’ friend who has somehow become convinced that crime, like a hacking cough or a ravenous tick, has somehow attached itself to him and now it's closing in for the kill. He says that, in the same way that some people are accident prone or lucky, he has become a crime magnet.

The Residents have no idea if this is true or not, but they do know the guy needs help, if only to get his story out. By recording him and making it public, they thought it might be good for their friend - maybe even therapeutic.

River Of Crime series starts with five episodes, with more in development and is told in the spirit of the “True Crime” radio broadcasts of days gone by, but with a whole new twist and macabre tone that only The Residents can create. Consumers can purchase each episode (14-18 minutes each) from popular online retailers (iTunes, Rhapsody, Napster, etc…), or by purchasing a special physical CD package to be sold through music retail stores, at*

*from the official Residents Bog

Thursday, March 30, 2006


Thur 30: 10-5:30
Sat 1: 2-9:30

Anybody out there watch last night's Lost? I want to know the name of that snappy jazz tune that was playing during the scene where Locke was working out on the stationary bike. It was on vinyl record so it must have been recorded no earlier than 15-20 years ago.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

In Heaven Everything Is Fine

The bookshelf that Joe and I put together to hold records collapsed with a mighty ruckus, more than likely because we were actually using it to hold records, which if any of you old skool DJs may recall are astonishingly heavy when grouped together in clusters made of, oh, 6 or more. Fools, we are. And who knows how much vinyl was smashed in the process. I'm sitting on the guest room bed just sadly staring down at all the scattered remains of the blowout, LPs thrown asunder, and I'm bloody terrified to look into each and every one of them to see if any are broken. I bravely peeped into my copy of Terminal Tower by Pere Ubu, which bore the brunt of the collapse to the point where it nearly bent the entire disk backwards, and it appears to have come out of that ordeal intact. Gives me a delicate little flutter of hope in my chest for the rest.

But you know, aside from such things as this, I am wildly, blissfully, dee-leeEEeer-iously content with where I am living now. I love the space. To be able to extend my arms and not touch wall or furniture or wallop somebody in the head. To live on the first floor so that I don't have to trudge down three flights of steps in the cold to warm up my car or carry trash to the dumpster (and no more dumpsters!). To have my own washer and dryer and not have to feed it quarters or wait for my neighbor-lady to take her husband's dainties out of the machine before I can use it. To be in walking distance from the grocery store as opposed to the porn store (I can't believe I just said that). To be just a ten minute drive to work. To have a private yard. To not have the rental office maintenance crew walk in when I'm stark naked whenever they feel like it to do whatever they please to the place. And most of all how utterly, beautifully.... silent... everything is. I can hear the ceiling fan hum above my head. Heck, I can even hear the blood swishing between my ears. And the voices inside my head are much clearer and more easily defined now, thank you for asking. Er, you were asking, weren't you?

Also, I want to make note of this word here. A word that might be of significant importance to the future of my well being if things progress like I think they have:


I'm taking it for my cough now, and it actually seems to be, uh, working. And I took it back in January when I had it again and I think it may have knocked it out then as well. Holy cats. This could be very, very, potentially, um umm ummmmm big.

Monday, March 27, 2006

It's Been Swell...

R.I.P. Nikki Sudden.

"Midget Submarines" is still one of my all-time favorite singles.

Monday Morning

First 20 tracks on my iPod shuffle early this morning sitting out in my new backyard:

1. "Blackbelt Jones" - Dennis Condrey

2. "Tweedle Dee" - Wanda Jackson

3. "Brain Damage" - Austin Lounge Lizards

4. "Aufim Tanzboden bei den Wirtin 'Zum Stern'" - Basi Erhardt & Toni Sulzbock

5. "Don't Ask Me Questions" - Graham Parker & The Rumour

6. "D.M.S.R." - Prince

7. "Alternative Ulster" - Stiff Little Fingers

8. "Crossover" - EPMD

9. "God's Particle" - Shelley/Devoto"

10. "Malaguena Salerosa" - Chingon

11. "Rimmers" - Terry Southern

12. "Ain't Love Grand" - The Famous Pies

13. "Now Give Three Cheers (H.M.S. Pinafore)" - D'oyly Carte Opera Company

14. "Archie Moore" - Miles Davis

15. "I Shot My Manager" - Gruppo Sportivo

16. "Rough Sex" - Lords Of Acid

17. "Blue Funk" - The Effigies

18. "I Want You Back (Alive)" - Graham Parker & The Rumour

19. "Penguins" - Lyle Lovett

20. "Tick Tock" - Paul Robertson

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Hamburger Fields Forever

Bless his heart. The love of my life just gave me what little scratch he has left to send me to the doctor this morning for cough syrup, since what little he has left is more than what I can say I have at the moment. We ended up selling off a load of CDs, DVDs, and X-Box games that we don't use anymore at my store last night, most of which we needed to pay off some debts but damn crack addicts that we are of course we couldn't leave the store without utilizing a bit of store credit on top of my employee discount. Thus... the DVD special addition of The Celluloid Closet:

I originally saw this in the theater when it first came out (then later read the book of the same name by Vito Russo) and I've owned the VHS for several years, but now this special addition DVD contains commentary with filmmakers Robert Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman, Lily Tomlin, producer Howard Rosenmann, and editor Arnold Glassman, plus additional commentary with Vito Russo as well as an interview and some deleted outtakes. For those who haven't seen it, it is a documentary on the history of homosexuality in Hollywood pictures, how they have been portrayed quite often as tragic, monstrous, homicidal, or even as comic foils and limp-wristed stereotypes. Also touching on subtext, how gays and lesbians were often inserted almost subliminally, leaving certain longing looks and opaque phrases open for the viewer's interpretation (although isn't it more than obvious to anyone that Plato was madly in love with Jim Stark in Rebel Without A Cause?). Featuring commentary with several Hollywood actors like Tom Hanks and Whoopi Goldberg as well as openly gay writers Susie Bright and Gore Vidal offering many of their own perceptions from what they see in many of these films. Anyway, now that we have the DVD Joe can put our VHS copy into his video store to rent, though whether or not it will rent in that ultra-conservative uppity yatch club neighborhood where he works remains to be seen.

So anyway, back to that proverbial foot pressing down on my chest. The Doc-In-The-Box gave me some new kind of cough syrup that I've never tried before, and as usual I am taking it during the day when I have to operate heavy machinery to carry my happy ass to work today. At this point I've developed an immunity to codeine to the point where I can sell you anything with a straight face even though inside I may be drunk as a skunk. Although I'm sure now that you locals as aware of my state you'll be pouring in this afternoon ready to make me run obstacle courses through the CD bins for your amusement (sure, like anybody reads this thing anymore).


Whoooo, doggie! This tussin's the shizzit.... pink fuckin' elephants on parade, mutherfuckas!

Let The Sad Times Roll On

Buck Owens

Probably the first artist to actually introduce me to country, even if you yourself refused to accept that was what you played. From watching you on Hee-Haw as an impressionable wee sprat to further exploring your honkytonkin' Bakersfield sound as an angry, jaded old biddy bored to tears with punk. Perhaps you had been right all along.

Act naturally.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Ventilator Blues

Went out to dinner with my family for my mother's birthday. Just got back and took a Benadryl, so I'm bound to be out like a light before Real Time with Bill Maher comes on. If I can... just... hold on... 'til......... then..............

Razzafrakkin Dallas Hack. May as well start bloody smoking.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Papa Can You Hear Me

Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Herr Holmes. Prost!

Oh, and I hope you have a great day today.

Who knows. Maybe you'll get lucky.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Songs About Fucking

Before you ask... nope, there were no Wonka tickets in my copy of Prince's 3121.

You've all heard the deal, right? The customer who finds the golden ticket inside his latest CD wins a personal live performance in Prince's own home, which I initially misread the first time to be a performance in our home (to which I thought, great, Prince can help unpack boxes). As if His Royal Badass would deign to let us unwashed serfs sully his magnificent purple fortress 'o solitude. Although therein lies the Wonka analogy, I reckon. I think Joe once did get accosted by one of his Oompah Loompahs at the gate of his Minneapolis mansion about 18 years ago.

At Joe's behest as well as financial backing I bought 3121 home from the store today, but sadly for maybe the first time ever neither of us seem to be as excited about it as most folks would normally expect from us. Although Musicology had its occasional mildly diverting moments, I've really grown increasingly less anticipatory of each new Prince release over the last few years. I've heard four tracks off this new release and nothing has come close to wowing me so far, with the drearily dull "Te Amo Corazon" and "Black Sweat", which I refer to as "Kiss pt. 2" with its identically minimalistic staccato funk riff and nearly copycat accompanying video, all of which smacks of "Lookit me, kids! Remember when I used to make hits that sounded just like this? Um... 20 years ago?" And here is where I'm thinking a large part of where Prince's problems lie these days.

Prince may be close to one of those very, very few artists that I might actually consider a "genius" with a straight face, and I don't often bandy that word about with any serious attachment to anything unless I really mean it. A teenage musical prodigy who borrowed equally from the likes of Little Richard and Sly Stone as well as Jimi Hendrix and Joni Mitchell (but then again who hasn't) and knew how to manipulate and combine these pre-existing elements to make himself into something so original, so idiosyncratic, with creativity so distinctly his own that even when he wrote music for other artists from Chaka Khan to The Bangles, we still knew somehow -- lyrically, structurally -- that it was penned by Prince. He puts his own ornate, curly-q'ed signature on everything he touches with a style that's unmistakably his alone.

In other words Prince used to be an innovator. And now, um, not so much. I sense him retreading over what's already come and gone in the mainstream, and... arrgghh... that's not what Prince does. Green Day can keep on sounding just like The Clash without ever expanding on that, and nobody expects them to. But Prince, he doesn't... I mean, he used to not do that. And that's what I'm finding a little bit frustrating.

During the 1980's, Prince's innovative ideas with sound and instruments, keyboard and guitar fusions, helped define the sound of that decade and make him one of the leading flagships of pop music. I remember when I first heard "When Doves Cry", or heck, even when I first heard "Kiss" on the radio. There wasn't anything, anything like that being played on pop radio at the time. When was the last time you heard a Prince song on the radio that made you think like that, if it ever did at all?

And I think that is what's come to be expected of Prince over the years. Expecting innovation every time. Knowing what he's capable of, and not seeing it being applied to his work.

Prince can be a purist sometimes about the music he respects and how he goes about his own music-making process. Joe offered the concept of Prince "Going back to his roots, to his own detriment." Perhaps having the likes of Larry Graham and Maceo Parker in his rotating bands, working so closely with his beloved mentors, touting the "old school" ways in the manner that he did on Musicology, that he's gone too far back to his origins that he's uninterested in trying to move forward in his career right now.

Or maybe, like most artists that have reached his level of longevity and success, he's lost that edge to his life that keeps the creative juices in circulation. At this stage in his life he appears to be a happily married Jehovah's Witness with more money than he'll ever need in his lifetime. He's no longer pining away for one of those elusive beauties in his most sensuous pieces. He's no longer searching for spirituality like he does in some of his most lyrically moving work. He's no longer starving. No longer struggling. Perhaps these elements also drove his inspiration in the past. But what inspires him now? That's just it. In his new work, his passions no longer seem so well defined.

Or maybe, like all geniuses, even the most creative human mind runs out of ideas sooner or later. Like Dylan. Like Springsteen. Maybe it was Prince's turn to sit at his desk, stare at the blank page in front of him and say, "Eh... I got nuthin'." I think it happens to all of us at some point or another.

Anyway, I'll check it out and see how it sounds. I always give Prince a chance. And besides, nobody who sounds that abso-fucking-lutely phenomenal live on the stage, even when I last saw him at the Staples Center in L.A. two years ago, can be that completely out of new ideas.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006


Wed 22: 11-4:30
Thur 23: 10-5:30
Sat 25: 3-10
Sun 26: 2-cl
Mon 27: 11-4:30
Wed 29: 2-6:30
Thur 30: 10-5:30
Sat 1: 2-9:30

Monday, March 20, 2006

Vision Quest

If flying out to L.A. this year to see Jack in Complexity doesn't pan out, and it's highly unlikely it will, I certainly wouldn't protest checking out the Vision Festival in NYC this June considering that both Sam Rivers and David S. Ware are going to be there. Even though I own only one album by each of these guys just hearing these pieces makes me itch like mad to know how they pull these amazing sounds off live.

I'm especially interested in hearing Rivers' Big Band (June 14th 7:00) if only to experience a simulation of the madness that goes on in the fiery and free Crystals album which runs straight at you like a

warrior horde and swings you along on some of the most excitingly vertiginous hills and valleys that I've heard on a free jazz album in quite awhile at the time, I guess about 2 years ago when I first took it home from work. And swing it does, and throws down a touch 'o funk while they're at it, which as most cats know seduces me faster than an easy lay. I just found my copy after the move but alarmingly it has appeared to have lost it's CD jacket and it's got some dings on it that I fear may never be repaired. One of my projects for this week I suppose. Damn, I can't afford one of those bloody SkipDoctors right now. Do those things actually work, by the way?

I'm also a little concerned but not quite at freakout level yet that I haven't found my copy of David S. Ware's Freedom Suite, who will also be appearing at the Vision on June 18th 9:00 with the same

quartet from this album, especially with Matthew Shipp whose piano really seems to anchor this work to the earth and keep it from completely taking off into space. But this to me is a good thing, as I've always believed that the best of free jazz keeps things one half up in the air flailing like a kite in a thunderstorm while someone stays back on the ground controlling the strings. This is, by the way, Ware's interpretation of Sonny Rollins' 1958 "Freedom Suite" and what I enjoy the most about it is what feels oddly like that quiet, unexplainable "invisible data" in between the synapses, if that makes any sense. It reminds me in a way of that episode of The Simpsons when a man in a coffee shop is complaining about a woman's violin playing and Lisa explains "You have to listen to the notes she's not playing." and although I get the joke of the scenario, I could almost place the same analogy on the opposite end of the spectrum to this record, although Ware and Co. are hardly amateurs at anything they do. There's something vaguely subliminal locked into this piece, and I think that in part is what makes me keep coming back to it over and over, perhaps hoping to see that elusive white vase in between the black silhouette of two people facing each other.

Anyway, two very worthwhile CDs to explore. And all the more incentive to drag my happy ass up to NY again and get a taste of something bigger than myself for a change. And I'm not talking about the bagels at Ess-a-Bagel this time.

Saturday, March 18, 2006


Mon 20: 12-7:30
Tue 21: 4-cl
Wed 22: 11-4:30
Thur 23: 10-5:30
Sat 25: 3-10

Alrighty, so here are two blog posts from a few years back that I found printed out from the previous blogsite and reprinted here for your... well, whatever you wanna do with 'em. I put them together because the general theme of these two posts appears to be how your hapless hero always somehow winds up being a magnet for the particularly screwy record store patrons over the years. This first one was when I was working at Wherehouse Music:

Monday, August 26, 2002
Now Playing: "Old Hat" by Nels Cline

Working in a record store nowadays, I realize that things haven't changed much since I worked in a record store over 10 years ago. Every day you deal with so many different types and personalities, and you are helping them pick out music, and your interactions with them are usually quite passionate, one way or another. In the past, I've had people threaten to kill me if I might have implied that one Van Morrison album was better than another. I have had dozens of guys ask me out on dates just because they think that I really like their favorite band, when all I am trying to do is help them pick out something that they might like. And I have had women declare their undying friendship to me just because we might agree on one or two similar bands or singers.

The latter happened to me yesterday at work. This woman came into the store with her husband and her two boys. I was helping the oldest boy try and find a certain Mighty Mighty Bosstones CD so I took him over to the used CD section and told him and his mom that these CD's could be listened to if they wanted to check for a certain song. The woman was... um... way, waaay too excited over the concept of "used" CDs, and and she started gushing to me over how both her boys were into the music that she and her husband like, like Black Sabbath and Bad Religion. She started asking me what I liked, and I gave her my standard line, "Oh, a wide variety of stuff." which could really mean anything, of course. But since we had been talking about the Bosstones I told her briefly about the time I saw them back in 1992 and the crowd in the pit threw me into the lead singer Dickey Barrett, knocking him and the microphone down onto the stage with me completely sprawled on top of him, and she laughed REAL LOUD and ran up and hugged me and told me how I had just made her shopping experience so incredible and she wanted to come see me again the next time I worked. She was acting like I was one of her oldest, most confided-in friends in the whole world.

Before she left, though, she did tell me a rather humorous story about when she worked at a local hotel down at the oceanfront and she was called upon to wake a guest for some reason or another who was in town touring and had to get back on schedule. It was Biggie Smalls. He had a show in town that night, had drank a dozen bottles of champagne which were scattered all over the room, and he was so sound asleep it took her and three other people to roll this enormous man back and forth until he finally woke up.

This next one about a month earlier when I worked at Fantasy:

Saturday, June 29, 2002

Shawn and I were standing around the cash register today when this young blonde girl burst in, ran up to us, and loudly announced "I NEED KNIVES!", then proceeded to walk away just as Shawn was getting ready to say, "Well, we have some lovely knives right here... (gesturing towards knives in glass counter)". Instead the girl races toward the back of the store where the sword room is. Shawn and I gave each other odd looks, and then followed her into the sword room. She immediately points to several pocket knives with Confederate flags and pictures of Robert E. Lee and Richard R. Reed (founder of the Klu Klux Klan). "I'm buying these for my boyfriend to hang on his wall!" she bellows. How charming. Then she yells "Wanna hold my snake?!!" It is then that I realize that she has a baby ball python wrapped around her wrist. She thrusts it into my hand. She asks if it is okay to have pets in the store. I say its fine so long as they don't bite or poop on the floor, as I hold this creature and hope that it does neither to me. I give her back her "precious" and get her knives to bring up to the register for Shawn to ring up for her. She thrusts the snake at Shawn and screams, "Isn't it adorable? She fills my soul with just so much PEACE!!" Then she turns to me and says, "What is the name of the snake in The Jungle Book?!" I tell her "Kaa". "THAT'S IT!! she roars, "That's her name now!!" and she grabs her snake and her knives and runs out the door like her pants were on fire. We watch her go, and then Shawn looks right at me and in a perfect impression of Michael Palin from Monty Python' The Holy Grail exclaims, "What a strange person!" I thought I was going to wet myself laughing.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Contents Under Pressure

My chances of seeing Complexity this spring are looking pretty grim, considering everything going on and the fact that I'll have even less money than I used to since becoming a homeowner and all that jazz. But day-umm it sure is mighty temptin'. Or maybe it's just leering looking at Jack up there in that poster that lights the fire 'o temptation under mah seat. Blast yew, Jack Stehlin, with yer dashing good looks and yer pro... uh... prodigious actin' chops making lovesick overgrown teenyboppers like myself take big expensive flyin' machines out to the west coast just for the opportunity to lick your footlights. Oh, and really nice job with the poster design, Jeannine. You know how much I like your layouts. Really aces!

Well I go away from the internet for two weeks and somebody has already hacked into my eBay account. Doesn't look like anything was bought or sold with my name, but I had what now appears to be a hacker email sent to me the other day in an attempt to access my page and now I can't get into it to make any changes in passwords at the moment. Shazbot. This is why I stay away, people! Times like these make me think of the Le Tigre song that says "Get off the internet!/I'll meet you in the streets."

Thursday, March 16, 2006

America's Most Whacked In-Store Surveillance Camera Videos

I have never been drunk on alcohol. But Tussionex™ baby... that shit's da chronic. Those who bore witness to my personal spiritual vision quest last night at the record store after donning a Napoleon Dynamite trucker cap (bill turned rakishly sideways) and $3 Bono-style wrap-around shades and proceeded to leap upon the help desk table and lead a minor chorus of "Whoop That Trick" from Hustle & Flow over the store bullhorn probably put down their peace-pipes and peyote buttons and paid quiet, reverent props to my obvious mad enlightenment. But who gives a tutti-frutti... I'm mooooved, you sucka MC's! Two endless weeks of hair-graying stress over, and when one is stressed for that long a period of time how does one even remember how to relax and unwind again? By taking mind-bending soporifics that make you believe that you can put your hand right through your ghostly intangible co-workers, that's how. Although said co-workers appeared to grow irritated of my persistent hand-passing experiments after the first two or three tries.

But what really finally puts my wee bean at peace is the absolute, utter silence of the place. No jet noise. No screaming neighbors through the tissue-thin walls. No car alarm chorus in the parking lot every morning at 6am. No jets flying so low and close that it actually sets off the car alarm chorus every morning. Again, I want to emphasize, NO JET NOISE. Friends of mine who live or lived near the beach, you know what I am talking about. My God, to wake every morning at actually hear birds singing. To sit here right now in nothing but my fuzzy socks and pajama bottoms and have little else but the hypnotic hum of the ceiling fan overhead in my ears... oh, OH! And to no longer live so near the oceanfront right before tourist season kicks in this summer with all the traffic and noise and... and the noise, and... Oh sweet Jesus, was that a twinkle of my long-lost sanity I just experienced? After having taken leave of my senses for nearly 9 years in jet-fuel saturated obstreperous limbo, I'm feeling normalcy slowly, cautiously seep back in again and for once I think I might actually embrace it completely for a change.

So anyway, yes, I love my new place. Still loads of unpacking to do, and lotsa trips to goodwill with old clothes and books and whatnot. But it's coming together, er, sort of. That is when I'm in the mindset to unpack. I just got a brand new king-sized bed and all I ever feel like doing right now is just sprawling out across it. But I did manage to weigh down a wobbly bookshelf by using all of the 2-ton 3-ring binders full of Joe's sports card collection as bottom-shelf ballast all before 9am this morning, so I consider that counting for doing something productive today.

So anyway I do hope to be getting back to music/movie talk within the week now that I'm mostly done with the everyday-life bitchery that understandably glazes over your eyes, but there is one thing I wanted to mention, something that I found while cleaning out my old apartment.

A stack of old papers that appear to be a hundred or so pages of my old blog printed out about a year or so before I deleted it back in May of last year. From about 2002 through 2004.

Now I realize that a find like this has little importance to anyone besides myself, but for me it really was like finding weird little artifacts from my past even though it was all mostly goofy-ass music trivia and minutiea from my years working at Ticketmaster and Fantasy and Wherehouse. But at least I had music to talk about back then, or at least I did in between all the whinging about work and buddy-list stalking Vance DeGeneres in every other post. I also noticed how much funnier I was back then. I'll be the first to tell you that I'm more than certain I lost a lot of my funny along the way, and maybe more than 60% from early last year alone. Man, last year was a rough ride, blog-wise that is.

In other words when things get dry around here, which is pretty much par for the course, I may attempt to entertain by re-posting some of those past entries here for my own your amusement, to laugh at my abysmal prose, to remember what a brainless nitwit I'm sometimes capable of being, and more than likely just to not have to come up with anything new or interesting on the spot because I'm a lazy sod. Plus I need all the time and energy I can get to tidy up this guest room so that Leslie can come visit. Or if we ever get back into booking bands again maybe get Pansy Division to squeeze onto the single mattress together in one big happy boy-bundle like they did last time. Aw, that was adorable.

I suppose it's time to put on a damn bra and get my knuckles crackin'. Uhh, right after another sprawl over the damn fine new king-sized bed again...

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


Fri 17: 2-7:30
Sat 18: 2-9:30

I am moved.

As of two days ago, I have cable TV.

As of ten minutes ago, I have two working telephone jacks (Ugh, I'll get into that later).

As of two minutes ago, I have internet access.

Bloody hell. Two of the most stressful weeks I've had in a hen's age. I feel like I just gave birth or something.

I'm off tomorrow, so I'll write more then. Right now I'm taking a double shot of Tussinex and and shutting down for an hour or two until I have to work tonight.

Thanks for bearing with me and being so patient, you guys. Yep, I'm back. And I'll get to everyone's messages as soon as scrape the crust out of my eyes.

{{officially grosses everyone away again}}

Saturday, March 11, 2006

And Again...

Still moving. Or really now it's less like moving and more like several intermittent rescue missions. And I'm sick with that cold after all, although it's not too bad. The warm weather is already clearing it right up.

However as ill as I am and all the moving I still have to do I don't think I'm going to make it to the Waxing Poetics show tonight after all (Hey Sonny, I did get your message and I'm sorry I won't be there tonight because it would have been cool to meet you, but feel free to email me at to tell me how it all went). Man that sucks. I would have loved to have seen David. And all the locals and whatnot. I'm just a wreck right now. And yes, I still have no computer hook-up at this time. Nor phone. Nor cable. Groan.

Oh, and the fellow that was reading my blog at one time asking if I had any Ant Man Bee, I DID find an old cassette of their music while I was cleaning out the old place today. If it still works I'll dub it for ya. Email me if you are still interested (email above).

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Further Updates

Welp, still no cable service... or maybe I do but I'm just not doing it right for some reason. TV's hooked up right but nuthin's hap'nin. And I haven't even attempted to take the computer out of the boxes yet. I might be getting my mother's old (but still very nice) wood computer cabinet with work desk so I'm waiting until that arrives before I start assembling shit.

Moving was a disaster. They took about 80% of what needed to be moved, although a good chunk of it was all the big furniture and the heaviest boxes. Joe wasn't there and he seems under the impression that they were trying to take advantage of me being, y'know, a girl and all. They balked at moving the piano at first but I continued to remind them that we're paying an extra $200 to your company to have that done and it was pre-negotiated, so they managed to get that down three flights of stairs without it turning into a frikkin' Marx Brothers routine (almost) and into my new place without scratching my hardwood floors. And I had to grease some palms to get them to throw away my two broken chairs and my bed, because I am getting a new bed delivered this Saturday. I'm spending my first week at the new pad crashed out on the couch until then. Ah, roughing it.

The old apartment, needless to say, sort of looks a bit like those old pictures of London after the Blitz. I'll be making trips back and forth in between work cleaning and carrying more stuff over, but I may borrow my dad's van from work to carry over my stereo and a few other things they didn't take. Did I mention how much that sucks yet?

And speaking of suck, I'm getting sick, I think. My throat is doing that thing it always does right before I get a monster cold, and if I get a monster cold then the Dallas Hack is bound to come creeping back. Feh. Maybe all I need is a good long scalding hot shower right now. I finally got my water turned on yesterday so, erm, yay.

Sorry to be all grumbly. I guess I'm just tired and my nerves are frayed. I've always hated moving -- but man, my new place truly doth rock. I have so much space now it's outrageous.

Oh, and I gotta tell ya'll about my new neighbors -- it's a real hoot -- but I'll wait until next time. My Kinko's hours are about out. But I love you all and I promise to be back very soon!

Yeah, I'm sure you're all on the edge of your seats. ;-)

Friday, March 03, 2006

Departure Time

My cable was disconnected today, so if I don't post for awhile or get back to your emails it just means that my internet service is down for a few days (I'm at Kinko's right now).

The moving company comes Monday, and my cable is due to be connected on the same day. Or as long as everything follows through according to plan. My phone line should be operational at the new place by now although I haven't checked it yet.

Don't worry, I will return soon! Ready and eager to further bore you all to tears with my usual mindless blather. Err... on second thought, maybe you all could do with a lengthy sabbatical from me for a change. Go outside and play, kiddies! The weather's groooovy.

Anyway, kiss kiss.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

She's About A Mover

House. Got one.

And so the moving process begins.

And all I have to say right now is damn we gotta lot 'o rekkids. Something about lugging around dozens of back-breaking milk crates packed with vinyl reminds me of those not-so-long-ago DJing years, going from gig to gig with the trunks of our cars scraping the pavement from being loaded down with records. Milk crates and vinyl -- anyone reading along at home old enough to remember those years? Or at least admit to it?

Lawd hep meh... I got myself a mortgage.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

So You See, They're On A Plane...

It's closing day on the house this morning, so while the BF and I will be out taking care of grown-up stuff please enjoy a mild diversion until my hopefully triumphant return -- a little something that I've been somewhat secretly obsessing over for the past few months. A potential epic for our times in the making, and I was alive to say that I was there when it happened.

So without further ado, screen caps from the upcoming Samuel L. Jackson Shakespearean drama...