Welcome To My Nightmare

So I had contemplated posting another college diary entry I had written years ago about my Halloween night from October 1987, but I just changed my mind at the last minute. For one, it's extra long, and extra emo, considering how long ago I wrote it. Sadly it's still a lot funnier and more creative than anything else I've written in the last five years. Be that as it may, be grateful that I spared you. Happy Halloween!

I grew up on a cul-de-sac where all of my closest and bestest friends lived within the circle, so a lot went on in that little turn around in the center of the street, with children and so much easy access to each other. Sheryl, the pretty one, was always something cute like a princess or a kitty cat. Jeanne, the funny one, was always something inventive like Igor with a back brace. I was... eh, I guess whatever I came up with that year, usually duking it out between my mother, who wanted me to be pretty, and my father, who like Jeanne, was the funny one in the family and was always trying to stick me into something goofy. I think the scariest costume I ever created was a paper mache mask I made in my 5th grade class at Cape Henry that went from complete random whatever into what I called a witch doctor head, and I painted it up pretty freaky and my mother made me a long black poncho that dragged the ground so it appeared that I was floating. I'm sure the Cape Henry A/V archives still could have the video footage of the 5th grade parade where I walked past the cameras and I actually made the camera man jump back in alarm. Well, maybe not that footage anymore. My crowning lifetime achievement, lost to the ages.

As a teenager Jeanne and her brother Lee and I used to do our own annual set-up in the Jeanne's front yard, beneath her willow tree which glowed extra spooky at night under the bright moonlight. Her mother worked at a funeral home and she used to bring home all these various styrofoam heads as well as other life-like appearing ones that the people used to work on to perfect the make-up on corpses. We'd stuff some old clothes with newspaper and slather make-up all over the head to make it as realistic as possible. Attach to the body and dangle from the tree, and fuck if that didn't make the lit'lins piss their Underoos. With a little dried ice effect we'd fill a cauldron with those black plastic spider rings and cobwebbing, and Lee in his perfect Dracula costume would ladle out "spider soup" to the trick-or-treaters while Jeanne in her Igor costume (sans back brace) would leap out from the willow tree branches and chase the truly frightened children down the end of the cul-de-sac.

Now I suppose the scariest thing I'll experience this evening is sitting at the desk my company seems okay with me still having despite my demotion (since I empty the "cancer pan" every other day that keeps it clean and tidy) while covering my ears trying not to hear Rihanna sing "Disturbia" for the umpteenth time in one night. I suppose we all our demons that truly terrify.

Have a harrowin' Samhain.

Schedule

Fri 31: 5-cl
Mon 3: 5-cl
Tue 4: 4-cl
Sat 8: 9-5

You'll Be Glad You Did

Spankin' new Episode Ocho of Audio Junk is up for da DL. And be on the lookout for a podcast, coming tambien! And remember to catch Audio Junk every Tuesday night from 8pm to 11pm EST at Random Radio. Then all of youse get down with your muy malo selves.

For shizzy.

Now That It's Getting Cold

Video footage of Joe truck-boarding in the snow down by the beach. See, we get snow here from time to time. We get snow!



Sitting here watching An American Werewolf in London on AMC. How did I never once notice that Rik Mayall was one of the guys sitting in the Slaughtered Lamb pub at the beginning of the movie? What kind of Young Ones fanatic can I dare call myself?

I remember a friend of mine telling me about a movie theater in New York City that sold beer at the concession stand, and every Saturday night they'd show horror movies, and beer was free up to the point where the first person dies in the film. He said when they showed An American Werewolf In London there was a mad rush of people trying to get to the concession stand to get as many free beers as they could carry, since Griffin Dunne's character dies within the first ten minutes of the movie.

He said I should have been there the night they were showing The Shining. Now THAT was a sloppy drunken shindig.

Is There A Pimp In Your Closet?

Now that Joe has taken to uploading some of the video footage from our own personal library onto youtube, I feel as if I can finally, finally share with the world the most amazing PSA from the 1980's of all time. Yes, of all time.

There are longer versions of this elsewhere on youtube, but I personally find the truncated, more badly sung, more Governatored version here considerably more satisfying. See? These are the things I will likely subject you to whenever you come over to my house.

O, Death

First 20 tracks on my iTunes this evening wishing I didn't have to work this Halloween.

1. "If You Don't Know Me By Now" - Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes

2. "Cause I Can Do It Right" - Big Daddy Kane

3. "Living - Dedicated To Julian Beck" - Cecil Taylor

4. "Grass" - XTC

5. "Gary & Melissa" - King Missile

6. "Back To School" - Gregory's Funhouse

7. "Old Man" - Love

8. "Do Lord Remember Me" - Little Richard

9. "There's A Ghost In My House" - R. Dean Taylor

10. "Chinese New Year" - The Clipse feat. Pharrell Williams

11. "You Know" - Stone Coal White

12. "Leavin' Here" - Eddie Holland

13. "Skinz (feat. Grand Puba)" - Pete Rock & CL Smooth

14. "Rhinocratic Oaths" - Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band

15. "Love At First Sight" - Kylie Minogue

16. "Orange Claw Hammer" - Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band

17. "Corn-Shucking Time" - Jimmy Strother

18. "Jambalaya" - Hank Williams

19. "Nem Um Talvez (Take 19)" - Miles Davis

20. "Lotta Love" - Neil Young

Wrapped Up Like A Douche

I'm feeling marvelously better today. Well, aside from little sniffles exacerbated with rampaging menstrual crampage, at least I don't feel the onset of Death Coughage betwix my lungage... and does the overuse, or any use, of "age" at the end of every other action noun place me in the realm of utter douchebagage? Who gives a fig! I'm sitting here laughing my ass off at Hot Chicks With Douchebags and for once I feel thoroughly connected with my Inner Douche.

OM.

Schedule

Mon 27: 9-5
Tue 28: 4-cl
Wed 29: 5-cl
Thur 30: 10-6
Fri 31: 5-cl

Do I Have To Separate You Two?

Best "frenemies" Joe and Mike swat at each other during brunch at Abbey Road.

Episode seven of Audio Junk is ready for download, with great tracks from the likes of Duke Ellington to old comedy bits by Steve Martin. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go hide two Nyquil capsules in my baked potato for lunch.

Set And Setting

I finally gave in and ordered Guy Delisle's Pyongyang: A Journey In North Korea after coming to the conclusion that I wasn't about to run into it anywhere locally, or even when I was in New York -- although I did settle for Delisle's The Burma Chronicles instead (not that it was settling by any means, as it was wonderful). But my long-standing fascination with the mysterious North Korea prodded me to order it online, and much of my spare time over the last week or so has consisted of reading and re-reading the French Canadian cartoonist's experiences during the months he spent in the capital city of Pyongyang working in an animation studio while trying to adapt to a culture and country that very few foreigners, and even fewer Americans, have ever seen.

Delisle recounts his thoughts and observations with a tremendous amount of humor, even when his stark pencil drawings depict the grey world in which he probably feels he must laugh at in order to not go insane. In a totalitarian country with one of the most disparate distributions of wealth on the planet, many of the citizens are drawn in silhouette when inside buildings or walking the streets at night, as North Korea is shrouded in darkness in over 99% of the land. There is an unspeakable eeriness invoked in scenes such as Delisle, hunched over his desk in his room at the Yanggakdo Hotel, squinting as he attempts to draw under a single dim light bulb while outside his hotel room window at night there is only the lone, frightening spectre of the Juche Tower rising out of the oppressive blackness.

Most frightening of all, it would appear, is the constant, unrelenting propaganda machine that is the daily regime under Kim Jong-il, whose visage is plastered everywhere you turn. Visiting foreigners are required first thing, when entering the city, to pay homage to the towering statute of Jong-il's late father, North Korean founder Kim Il-sung, where your appointed guide provides you with flowers to lay at his feet. Delisle, like all visitors, is assigned a local guide, ostensibly to show him around the city but probably more likely to keep him from wandering anywhere he shouldn't -- or more to the point, seeing anything he shouldn't. Photography is tolerated to a minimum in North Korea, and your film could be confiscated on a whim. Your guide, on the other hand, may suffer more serious consequences for allowing it to happen in the first place.

Delisle, however, does have the luxury to laugh at this backwards world, where even the people walk backwards ("reverse walking" as they call it) and the children dump buckets of water on the public lawns "for fun". In a universe where every pop song on the radio is about Kim Jong-il, where the gardens bloom with "kimjongilias", where even the so-called birth home of Kim Jong-il sits in proud display in the city, despite the universally known fact that Jong-il was actually born in the Soviet Union, one can't help wonder how much a North Korean's opinions are brainwashed due to their absolute isolation, or rooted in fear for their lives if they even dare to think differently. When Delisle asks his guide why he never sees either old or disabled people in North Korea, the guide states without the slightest hint of irony or doubt, that all Koreans are born healthy, intelligent, and strong. And nothing more was said. Because as far as he was concerned, that answered that troubling quandary to his satisfaction. Not, however, to Delisle's. Or to ours.

I cannot recommend this book enough. For the humor. For the narrative. For the travelogue. And most importantly, for the piece of mind one gets to close the pages and breathe a sigh of relief, that we live in a country, unlike that of North Korea, where we all can enjoy a story such as this.

Schedule

Wed 22: 5-cl
Thur 23: 10-6
Fri 24: 5-cl
Mon 27: 9-5
Tue 28: 10-6
Wed 29: 5-cl
Fri 31: 5-cl

Rudy Ray Moore 1937-2008

Such vivid memories of lounging around at Randy's place watching Dolemite until the wee hours. First time I had heard from Randy in years, he left a message on my Myspace page that said "Baby I wanna get into your pants, because I just shit mine." Good times.

R.I.P.

She's Come Undone (What, Again?)

I haven't been feeling all that hot lately, I suppose in and around my gut when it comes to anything relating to digestion of any kind. The past week it seems, I haven't been able to eat anything without feeling like I'm rolling a rotting antelope corpse around in my belly. I haven't eaten very much in the last two or three days, and I honestly haven't had much of an appetite anyway. Yesterday after work I had a sandwich down at my local sports pub and spent the rest of the evening fetally curled up in the bed until Joe got home from work. Still have zero appetite but I did manage to meet with the brunch group down at Mary's and had a decent breakfast without threat of mishap -- the first time since before I even went to New York the other week. I didn't get sick in New York either, but I was wary of eating even then. Luckily not a twinge of bellyachin' the entire trip, but a part of me still feels as if I might have gotten off lucky.

Now last night and today I've been suffering a pretty intense sore throat, which I've managed to keep at bay with pain meds and a lot of Chloraseptic. As usual, it's the fear of getting a cold immediately after these things occur, and immediately after the cold... The Death Cough. I've actually had a minor bought of it over the last few weeks that sugar free Halls drops keep maintained to a low roar. But at the rate things have been I'm terrified to wake up tomorrow with a stuffed up face and know what just might follow a week later. I've managed to get through almost a full year without the Hack, especially considering last summer's unbearable strain. I know I'm jumping the gun here, but I know my own track record. Twenty-five years of this I should definitely know. Christ. See why I had to take the part time position at work? The still offered part-time health benefits. I can't afford the Tussionex on my weekly paycheck alone.

By the way, the company screwed over another guy from my store with the same "I'm sorry, you're laid off... oh OH, but luckily a new position just opened up! Your OLD one! And you can work it part time with half the pay!" that they royally reamed me with, and it seems he took the position as well. Fuck. No wonder I feel so damn stomach-achy all the time. I've gained so much weight, stressing, wanting to sleep all the time, with great big acidic balls of poisonous bellyjuice punching holes through my fucking expanding gut. Am I going to have to sustain myself on Pepto-Bismol power bars until the worst is over? When the worst is over?

Feh. Ignore this post, gentle reader(s). I'm cranky and have a sore throat. I was just reading a comic compilation from Dori Seda, who died in 1988 after a bought of the flu exacerbated the silicosis she had growing in her lungs for years, causing her to cough chronically throughout most of her young adult life. Oh, Jesus.

No... ignore that! IGNORE THAT!

Worms Play Pinochle In My Snout

First 20 tracks on my iTunes feeling like the biggest living dork in the world right now.

1. "Cat Scratch Fever" - Ted Nugent
2. "The Rain" - Oran "Juice" Jones
3. "Human Rights" - HR
4. "Frozen Laughter" - Rising Storm
5. "The Lizard" - Robyn Hitchcock
6. "Fledermaus Can't Get Enough" - Von Südenfed
7. "I'm A Man" - Bo Diddley
8. "Brakes On" - Air
9. "I Would Die 4 U" - Girlsmen
10. "If You And I Could Be Sweethearts" - The Varieteers
11. "Too Much Junk" - Alleycats
12. "I Dreamt I Was An Architect" - The Decemberists
13. "Logical Volume" - Marnie Stern
14. "Sleep Around" - Prince
15. "Rollin' Stone" - The Marigolds
16. "Passover" - Joy Division
17. "Do The Monkey" - Peace Love & Pitbulls
18. "Schwyzer" - Franzl Lang
19. "Your Mother's Got A Penis" - Goldie Lookin' Chain
20. "Starry Eyed Surprise" - Paul Oakenfold

Schedule

Sat 18: 9-5
Mon 20: 4-cl
Tue 21: 5-cl
Wed 22: 5-cl
Thur 23: 10-6
Fri 24: 5-cl
Sun 26: 1-cl
Tue 28: 10-6

Fixing A Hole

Audio Junk episode six is up and ready to blow your, uh... mind, baby. Thanks to everyone who keeps tuning in. Hopefully we'll be having a podcast in the very near future for you to download each week. Meanwhile keep that dial turned to Random Radio every Tuesday night at 8pm EST and get that junk in your trunk. It's good for you!

Air Bladder

Lately I've been fascinated by the idea of culture, pop or otherwise, and its relation to our ages and our perspective during that time. Today I was reading an old Peter Bagge comic from 1983 and thinking that when this came out I was a young teenager probably walking down the street in my neighborhood with my best friends carrying my boom box chanting along to George Clinton's "Atomic Dog" on the radio. And I was thinking, I was probably a little kid spending my first family vacation in Hilton Head Island when the Sex Pistols were touring the U.S. And I was probably singing "Kumbaya" in my Presbyterian kindergarten class while Salò and Sweet Movie were being shown in (obviously selected) theaters. I guess the 1970's has that same kind of mysterious allure that the 80's have for twentysomethings, who always seemed so bowled over that I was a teenager during those times, that I was aware of what was going on while they were still piddling their Pampers. It's deeply narcissistic I'm sure, but I think of my childish mindset standing in my first grade class chanting the day, month, and year along with the other students every day before lessons, while elsewhere adults were sitting in dark theaters watching Taxi Driver. Or my father jokingly confusing my three-year old mind by calling the moon an "apple" while somewhere Les Rallizes Denudes were blowing some avant-garde young hipster's mind. And how my perspective changes over time, seeing the things that everyone else saw at the same time, and taking it in with that dull analytical adult mind. How talk of a "boy in a bubble" in my first grade playground during recess conjured images in my mind that bore no resemblance at all to the sterile room that little David Vetter was forced to dwell when I researched him later in life. How much the photographs of the famed Zuiyo-maru monster in the worldwide newspapers back in 1977 made me believe in something extraordinarily magical when I was a little girl, only to discover thirty years later that it was nothing at all but a decomposed basking shark. And most of all, accepting that conclusion, because for me to believe it to be anything else would be... well, downright magical. And you don't believe in magic when you are an adult. You just don't, n'est-ce pas?

Maybe it was being blown away by all the young people at the Residents concert last week that got me to thinkin'. Or wondering? Or maybe just -- dreaming.

And Gladys Giggled, "Let Me Glow!"

Is it heartbreakingly sad that I used to have that Jaws box costume as a kid back when the movie came out?

Is it even sadder that I want to wear the Easy Reader costume as an adult this year?

Schedule

Mon 13: 4-cl
Wed 15: 5-cl
Sat 18: 9-5
Mon 20: 4-cl
Tue 21: 5-cl
Wed 22: 5-cl
Thur 23: 10-6
Fri 24: 5-cl

Links... And Why Not!

The fifth episode of Audio Junk is up for downloadin'. Tune in this Tuesday night at 8pm EST over at randomradio.com and get your junk owwwwn.

Straight, No Chaser

Something I forgot to mention the other day -- I actually won the raffle from last week's Monsterfest! I zipped down to the library this morning to pick it up and finally dig around through the fake cobweb netting that was holding everything in, and preventing snoopy types like Hunter and me poking at it curiously during the film festival. Over $400 of Halloween goodness donated by Nightmare Mansion down at the beach. Arm and a leg (pictured above) indeed.

Included in the basket are $40 worth of grub at Giovanni's Pizza, which is cool because I have actually never eaten there.

A DVD copy of The Amityville Horror, which is also cool because I don't own one.

And of course assorted gift certificates to Nightmare Mansion as well as the annual Haunted Hayride, wacky toys, plastic bugs that made rooting through the basket scarier than any severed limbs or vampire fangs (fat free, it says on the front!), and more gory candy than I can possibly know what to do with. There's no way I can eat this much candy or even want to, so unless Joe wants some of it or to bring some with him to work, I may give a bunch of this stuff out to the trick-or-treaters at Halloween. I guess I do feel compelled to top ourselves after Joe gave out random cans of soda last year. If kids thought that was a hit, wait 'til they get themselves a drip bag of cherry-flavored blood in their sacks. It's never too soon to teach our children about the inherent joys of yummy, fun, fruity human flesh.

I'm keepin' the bag 'o zombies. That should just go without sayin'.

What Was Up With All The Monkees?

I apologise if some of the following photos from my New York trip look distinctly yuckified. A lot of this was taken at night, and the Blender didn't allow flash photography during the Residents show. So I lightened a few dark shots with irfanview, which makes them look grainy and washed out. Also my monitor is darker than most, so some of these might have looked better on your computer than mine anyway, and chances are I probably should have just let them be. Eh, whattayagonnado. See, barely home in less than two hours and I'm still talking like a New Yawker.

After checking in at our hostel, Paul and I headed down to Manitoba's, the pub owned by Handsome Dick Manitoba from The Dictators. Paul frequents the joint whenever he's in town and says sometimes Dick is there behind the bar, and often poses for pictures. Sadly it was Dick's night off, but Paul and I spent some time with a couple of PBR's reminiscing about old shows that we've seen and some of the funniest moments involved with them. Paul's very much a kindred spirit. Similar in age and life experience, I felt like I could understand his language, in a way that I can with few others, even fellow music geeks. It was tremendous, I gotta say.

Dick's place is wonderfully seedy, with lots of fantastic memorabilia all over the walls from back in the old punk days and beyond. Hey, I have that old Manitoba's Wild Kingdom album up there on the left!

I took pictures of these wrestling walls more for Joe than myself, seeing if he's recognize who they were. I thought at first that was "Red" up there in the left hand corner ("Nooooo, that's not Lawrence Tierney!" says Paul) but now that I reflect on it longer I think it may well be "Classy" Freddie Blassie. Man, I'll feel stupid as hell if I get that one wrong again.

On to The Residents concert, performing at The Blender @ Gramercy just a block away from our hostel. This was really quite an awesome little venue. Paul and I estimated capacity at about maybe 900-1,000, with folding chairs on the floor (where we sat) and theater seats up in the back. Small and intimate, and Paul said they made the drinks there super strong, and considering that they were almost $10 I should hope they were. No flash photography, so some of the following photos made be too hard to see.

The Residents! Finally, after all these years. The band enters and performing to the far left of the stage, replacing their trademark giant eyeballs for bunny masks. This is, after all, The Bunny Boy tour. Catch some video footage of the show we saw here, taken about six says before the NYC performance (and the band plays to the right in this one).

The old man from the Bunny Boy episodes narrates over and between the music sets, leaping and lunging about the stage during the first set draped in a red blanket. The story seems to revolve about a rabbit-obsessed man who is preoccupied with finding his lost brother Harvey, who was last seen cave-exploring with his family in Greece. Or something like that. The Residents, meanwhile, plink merrily along.

After intermission the right side of the stage reveals the old man's hovel, decorated in stuffed bunnies and bunny mobiles. The rabbits seem to comfort the man, yet they also represent something sinister, something hidden. Yes, yes, like all rabbits do.

The old man discards his blanket for an ill-fitted white bunny suit. Leaping about onstage, barking out lyrics along with long stretches of ruminations, I'm beginning to sense something increasingly familiar about this guy.

"Bunny Boy" takes a little nap with his friends while the video monitor overhead plays a snip from one of the episodes. It's at this point that I am beginning to speculate that the old man might actually be the long-time founder and lead singer of the Residents (Homer Flynn?) due to his very distinctive voice as well as strong southern accident. I could be, and quite very likely be, completely wrong about that, but even Paul seemed to notice the similarity. However, there were still four Residents performing onstage along with the Bunny Boy. A stand-in, perhaps? Either way, it was in no way Les Claypool, which back in 1991 I was convinced it was. What a dope I am (alright stop laughing).

Beautiful prism-like finale as revelations come to light. Although the series is obviously still being filmed, Paul came to the conclusion that the old man didn't kill Harvey like he himself thought -- but that he thinks he's his brother, that perhaps something happened to the old man down in that cave in Greece that made him think that he was his own brother -- or something like that. Either way... whooooooooooo...... pretty.

Bunny Boy and Los Res take a bow during the standing ovation while a classic old version of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" plays throughout the auditorium. A gotta say, not what I expected. The show was a lot more understandable than I worried that it might not be, as little to understand as there is. And heck, the band was downright melodic compared to anything I've heard from them since their Cube-E days. Worth the trip. And if I had been on acid, really worth the trip.

A dark, murky photo of me tucked away in the corner of Mars Bar, listening to "Gary Gilmore's Eyes" and sipping quite possibly the strongest vodka cranberry I have ever had in my life. A nice night. No, a glorious night. Really, I could never have dreamed up better weather to spend an evening dive-hopping in the city. And the lame, drunken fist-fight out in the intersection really brought back old memories.

The next day was spent killing time with each other until my flight leaves, so we had breakfast, saw Quarantine at the Regal in Times Square, and hit up Kim's Mondo Video in St. Marks, which sadly looks to have seen better days. Either moving or outright shutting down, it was hard to tell, but they were having a 30% off DVD sale and I finally managed to pick up the Criterion release of Salò, which has been out of print for ages and often going for up to $1,000 used on eBay until its very current re-release within the last few months. $31.99 isn't too bad for a Criterion, especially one that comes with three documentaries on the film as well as a book. Never seen it. Not even sure if I want to see it. But I'm damn happy to have it finally in my possession. Good ole Kim's Video. If you leave, there are no words to describe how fierce I will miss you.

And we trotted across the street to St. Marks Comics, where I went looking for Guy Delisle's Pyongyang, but not having it in stock, I was persuaded to pick up his most recent release, Burma Chronicles which, like Pyongyang, focuses on one of Delisle's many trips to poor, despotic countries and, from what I read on the flight back home, doesn't skimp on the little details. And I love that. And most of all, I loved the sunset from the plane as we were landing back in Norfolk once again.

Great trip. Marvelous company in Paul. Residents rulz okai. I'm off to bed.

Something Sweet, Something Tender

This is pretty much me at work these days. Roaming the aisles with that disgruntled look on my face, grumbling "radda radda radda" under my breath while greeting my boss' cheerful salutations with austere, thin-lipped, baleful glares lined with dark, puffy circles. But somehow I get my job done and go home without clocking anybody, which I guess should make me a smidge happier somehow (although the clocking of people would probably make me a lot happier). Morale is crushingly low all over the store, however, so I really have no room to talk. Even if everyone else is getting paid a dozen times more than me and still has their full time jobs... radda radda...

Maybe even the customers are picking up the bad vibes. Yesterday we had to pull two shoppers off of each other due to getting into a scrap over a difference of opinion concerning the elections. Apparently one woman was loudly braying about how she was going to vote for McCain, and some guy shouted back at her "If you vote fer McCain, yer STOOOOOPID!" to which she replied "Well at least I'm not voting for a terrorist!" and it basically escalated from there. But really, I think this is less indicative of the situation at the store and more an example of how politically divided our state has become since practically 1964, which I think is the last time our little red state turned blue (correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Virginia also vote for Bob Dole in 1996? I can't remember). It's going to be an interesting election, to be certain. Last night chatting on the phone with wemblee she said she wanted to change the topic from the election to bad Highlander fanfiction, and I told her that as far as I'm concerned, this election is playing out just like bad Highlander fanfiction. THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE.

Anyway, I'm sucking it up. I'm getting through this until my last vacation day this week, where I go to New York City tomorrow and rest up for another day. Then I'm hoping, things may change. For the better, this time. Gadzooks, it's about time, I should say.

We Can Work It Out

First 20 tracks on my iTunes sitting here really wanting breakfast at Abbey Road Pub before work this morning.

1. "Muhammed Ali" - Faithless

2. "What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted" - The Backbeats

3. "I Ain't Gonna Give Nobody None O' This Jelly Roll" - Mamie Smith

4. "Playhouses" - TV On The Radio

5. "If I Were John Carpenter" - Big Audio Dynamite

6. "Stool Pigeon" - Kid Creole & The Coconuts

7. "Blood And Thunder" - Mastodon

8. "Semolina" - The Residents

9. "Let's Rave On" - The Raveonettes

10. "Survivalism" - Nine Inch Nails

11. "The River's Edge-Magic Hours Mood" - Jurgen Knieper

12. "American Neutron" - Citizen 23

13. "Think That Thought" - Planningtorock

14. "Pay To Cum" - Bad Brains

15. "Redskins" - Gruppo Sportivo

16. "Tika Lofundu" - Kalima Pierre

17. "Cold Wars" - The Rezillos

18. "Flesh" - Ken Nordine

19. "Alcohol" - The Kinks

20. "The Sex of It" - Kid Creole

Schedule

Tue 7: 10-6
Wed 8: 10-5
Thur-Sat: OFF (NYC!)
Sun 12: 1-cl
Mon 13: 4-cl
Wed 15: 5-cl
Sat 18: 9-5

Don't Be A Lemming Polka

This past Tuesday's episode of Audio Junk is up for the download (evra'buddy git up!)

Also, Audio Junk is moving to Random Radio starting this week, so tune in Tuesday at 8:00pm EST for more of the auditory equivalent of Night Flight. Or so I prefer to think of it.

I Got A New Camera!

And I'm running on very little sleep! But that hardly matters, since everyone at Monsterfest '08 was probably jacked on something to keep the give 'n take of good vibes-a-flowin'. This was my first year at the event, taking place at the Chesapeake Public Library for what I believe is either the third or fourth year in a row and organized by Rob Floyd, who did a great job at creating a nice, small, yet thoroughly active free event for the community. Lots of vendors

and things to see, people to meet, seminars, and an all-night film festival after the con hours that last until dawn. I had just missed Mike C. and Donna as they were leaving at 2pm, but I was obligated to work until 1pm so I could only get there as fast as I could. But there were still plenty of ol' local geeksters from in and around the scene that, well, made the scene at Monsterfest this year, including

old friend Rose Rodak (above) catching up with Joe in front of her poster and movie stills table. Rose used to manage the Naro Video store and currently sells quality original movie posters and prints, and some great hard-to-find items as well. I'm just relieved that she managed to move her business out of Bill's Flea Market three months before the thing went up in flames. That woman has always had the most uncanny premonitions.

Breakfast Bunch gal pal Hunter was there, attending the lecture on European horror film directors so I sat in for a bit with her during the Dario Argento discussion, watching scenes like the the girl who is stabbed through the heart until she crashes through the glass ceiling in Suspiria to the peephole scene from Opera. There was a guy who sat behind us dressed as a werewolf that Hunter was convinced was drunk. He was there later that evening at the all-night film fest, and at that point I was convinced that he was just, er.... odd.

Former fellow music store associate Caitlin was there working the raffle ticket table at the front door. Yes, former music store associate. Lucky gal got out of there while she still could. Of course she's young and intelligent and has the whole world to explore. Damn you kids today with your youth and your... your refridgerators full of mayonaise (HAHAHA that was for you, Hunter!)

Caitlin's boyfriend Nick sportin' the ADU BLU HAWK. I licked his forehead once. He told me that was gross. Then we became friends. Guaranteed ice breaker every time. Although I managed not to get saliva anywhere near him this time, which is probably why he's smiling.

I also mananged not to spend a damn thing the entire day (well, okay, maybe the raffle tickets I got off Nick, who then took a picture of me with his zombie girls) but Joe did pick up a few relatively cheap comic books that I had never heard of before, and a DVD to a movie whose name I already forgot but I think it was filmed locally. Black and white and stylized to heck. It might suck. But at least it has a guy dressed as Santo in it. I mean, I guess that's a good thing.

Chris Johnson (left) and my dear old buddy Lee Hansen (right) head a panel on the history of the Friday The 13th films, and even after over an hour of discussion we still barely got past movie #5 and the TV series. Lee, however, being one of the funniest individuals I have ever known, kept things lively and interesting despite no clips to show and he and Chris together made me feel as if I were hanging out in Lee's living room hearing this discussion, one of many, Lee has with his extensive, almost savant-like knowledge of film detail at his disposal. Monsterfest co-creator Jim moderates in the middle -- or tries to anyway. I know I have never been able to get a word in edgewise between these two, so uh, good luck with all that.

After the con was over and the vendors cleared out, the big conference room was turned into the movie theater for the all-night horror fest lock-in. Folks start pouring in to find seats while a series of trailers for old Hammer Horror flicks roll on the big screen. Settling in behind Joe is Sam and his son Tom, who ended up asleep on the floor behind us around 12:30am. And I was about ready to join them. My venti sized Cafe Americana from Starbucks was already out of my system by ten o'clock.

Hunter and her boyfriend Dave scootched in next to us, although they only stayed for the first film. But we ate candy and laffed a lot. Especially during The Lost Skeleton Of Cadavra, which "mutant designer" and graphic artist Cortney Skinner was a gust speaker and brought the giant mutant monster head from the film for us all to touch. Hunter and I poked at it a lot.

Dear, dear Lee. Always so animated, always so incapable of not using his hands when he speaks. Lee, by the way, is one of the stars of the sci-fi series The House Between which is worth checking out, or so I think so, and not just cuz Lee is my friend. But after The Ghost Of Frankenstein and about part way through The Mummy (the Hammer version with Peter Cushing) Joe and I were ready to call it

quits and bail.We have breakfast in the morning, and we old folks don't stay up with the kids like we used to anymore. But it was a fun day, and stuff happened. Good job to all involved. And rock on, Nick. Rock on.

Ever Get The Feeling You've Been Cheated?

John Lydon does commercial for Country Life butter.

Speaking of consumerism, would somebody please go to Nordstrom and pick me up a pair of Mephisto boots in 10 1/2? And take my feet with you, just in case I'm not a 10 1/2 anymore? Because there's a distinct chance that my feet might have gotten... gulp... longer? God, I really, really hate to shop.