mr writer returns

it's been busy up on this loop. I've finished off the final edits of my novita (dead parade of lovers), and I've been immersing myself in a music project.

after some time away, I thought I'd return with a lovely little tune that has "writer" in the title. how tops am I? best of bothies with the music and the writing and, well: clowns.

this is from stereophonics, a fantastic british band that just never quite caught on in america. true sad trend.

enjoy!

Fiona Glenanne Day.

how about a little Fiona Glenanne today? my O my why can't everyday be Fiona Glenanne day, savvy?

A Yard Ain't No Hard

how I miss you, Wildcats.

one of my favorite memories from college is rambling over to the Frog & Firkin once my afternoon classes ended: a short jaunt from campus onto University Blvd.

me, some other blokes, a jukebox, a sunny patio, and beer served in a Yard-long Test Tube-Type of Deliciousness.

it was also the first place I tried a Witbier, which was a beauteous gateway into splashes of Spatens & other crisp liquid Euro-fare.

this toast is for you, Frog!

I no-heart NYC

the greatest city in the world?

I've been to NYC in a limited capacity: once to Manhattan, once to Brooklyn. both were very short trips, and both taught me well enough of the charms of the City That Never Sleeps: it never did a thing for me.

please do indulge me with this list of twenty places I've been to and preferred more spiritually/intrinsically/romantically. These are places I'd rather be in than that bustling Metropolis if given the choice. In no particular order:

1. Tucson, AZ
2. San Francisco, CA
3. San Antonio, TX
4. Boston, MA
5. Baltimore, MD
6. Las Vegas, NV
7. Pittsburgh, PA
8. Portland, ME
9. Orlando, FL
10. San Diego, CA
11. Santa Fe, NM
12. Washington, DC
13. Austin, TX
14. Memphis, TN
15. San Juan, PR
16. Flagstaff, AZ
17. Gettysburg, PA
18. New Orleans, LA
19. New Haven, CT
20. Richmond, VA

Realize: I don't necessarily loathe the big city. I wanna dig it. I do. I wanna close my eyes while Alicia Keys sings it to me & feel feel feel that brilliance.

But I haven't yet.

Thank you. That is all.

moving. just keep moving.

so, for those in the know: I'm moving. to Baltimore (The Wire jokes have all been said).

My apologies for not posting in a bit. as you can imagine, it's been a pretty hectic time with the move, the job search, the just-right sweater vest. so until I return like the Nerds when they went to Paradise, please enjoy the best Moving of all:



by the by: this record ("Supergrass") is a top five of mine ever.

I Seriously Wanna Punch Youse in the Face: a Pacifist's Journey.

I'm as easy going as the next guy: I love puppies, dandelions, and Gandhi. But I'll tell you what, man. my resolve can sure get tested:

1. screech diamond: you were never an interesting character, and you're an even worse human being. plus, that beard makes you look like a high-level NAMBLA member. good job.

2. propaganda: being a student of logic, you folks push the buttons like a mormon drinking a coke: you just ain't fooling anyone.

3. frat-maicans: seriously. either get the keg out of the hallway, or take Bob off your door. because the plight & poetry of the Jamaican will never make sense to you no matter how intoxicated you get.

4. reality-celeb: since you're such an asshole, I can't even root for Glinda the Good Witch to fix your legs.

5. the proud american: my suggestion for these fellas: take off the shirt and show your appreciation by volunteering at the V.A.

6. baby queens: can't you just go get a happy meal like the rest of your pre-school class?

7. craig sager: c'mon, my man. when there is a google search called "craig sager suits" something needs to be done.

8. pocketless jean chicks: I've seen maybe 1 out of a thousand that actually looks good in these. I'm a fan of the bum as much as the next guy. but dude: it ain't working.

Ronnie James: allowing brothers to like each other.

so it's 1984, and a precocious ten-year old is eating chicken mcnuggets in front of the MTV after school. and wouldnt you know it: in comes the older brother. this dude is the classic 80s stoner-teen. long hair, ripped jeans, Priest Jersey-T, smelling of the green stuff.

being seven years apart in age, we never really had those genius bonding moments siblings closer to age may have had. but we always had music. and on one day we had a video premier:

the last in line.

of course, there was that lovely opening scene of a kid on a bike getting into an elevator to hell, you know: off to the witch, man.

there were the post-apocalyptic torture scenes.

there was vivian fucking campbell shredding pre-leppard (another blog for another time).

there was ronnie james dio playing dungeons & dragons with a damn lightsaber.

and of course, there was brother and brother, quiet in the shared radness that is DIO.

I put that video on my brother's facebook page not long ago, the sucker I am for remembrance. and why that day stands out in my brain, I'm not sure. of course, it's probably the lightsaber.

but it's there, friends. an indelible memory of me and my brother vibing together in the glory of metal.

thanks for that RJD: and rest in peace, sir.

hey, X? you should feel bad about your existence.

hey, buddy. in the english alphabet, you pretty much have no use:

box = bocks.
xenophobe = zenophobe

linguistically, you are just a replacement for what other letters can do. you are like a whore without the payment. because, c'mon. no one really thinks so highly of you or your ability to stand in for other sounds.

you arent even the most precious of scrabble points. dick.

just. just move on, sir.

rainy day music admiration redux rudux redux redux redux.

what happens when you pair a progressive music virtuoso and an israeli pop star? yep. you get blackfield. this is one of those songs I wish I wrote.

rainy day music admiration redux rudux redux redux.

such a melancholy to this performance. this song always reminds me of the James Joyce story "araby" particularly the a capella bridge.

rainy day music admiration redux rudux redux.

there's no voice out there like Grant Lee's. and that staggering lyric: "we water like a dead bouquet, it does no good, does it dear?"

rainy day music admiration redux rudux.

something very gorgeous about old Floyd. this song is endearingly delicate in its romanticism of the post-60s freakouts of the Syd days.

rainy day music admiration redux.

this will always be my favourite track from OK Computer: the intense build-up chills me skin, mates.

rainy day music admiration.

very impassioned performance of a truly heartbreaking work.

monkeys gone to heaven.

like most people on a sunny afternoon, I often think about historical figures:

on June 11, 1948, Albert, a rhesus monkey, became the first ever monkey astronaut whilst riding a V2 rocket. unfortunately, he died of suffocation during the flight.

he was followed by Albert II, who became the first monkey into space, by passing the kármán line! though he survived the flight, he died on impact.

next came Albert III, who died at 35,000 feet when his V2 exploded.

Albert IV, on the final monkey V2 flight (... yes ... wait for it ... ) also died, upon impact.

after the V2s, aerobee rockets were used: as were the Alberts.

Albert V died in a parachute malfunction.

Albert VI, along with 11 mice crewmates, became the first animals to survive rocket flight: yay! but, yes: 2 hours after landing, Albert VI died.

and what about monkeys not named Albert that met similar low fates?

1. Goliath: died in an explosion of his atlas rocket
2. Scatback: lost at sea after landing
3. Bonny: took on the first multi-day flight (june 29 - july 8, 1969), but died within a day of landing

moral of the story: it might be safer to be a bonafide cult hero.

scared skinny: putting fear in the fatties.

it's no secret that america is sinking. here's some quick population facts:

• 305,529,237: U.S. population estimate for Jan. 1, 2009
• 2,743,429: Population added since Jan. 1, 2008
• 8: Estimated number of seconds between births in January 2009
• 12: Estimated number of seconds between deaths in January 2009
• 1: Estimated number of immigrants added to the population every 36 seconds in January 2009

but beyond the myriad millions sauntering about, there is a certain heavy tread of foot with those unable to gallop or traipse: yes, we are truly heavy, america. and I ain't talking "the hollies" heavy.

really, though. who am I to judge? I'm a 35yr old former model who's BMI calculation (28.4 thank you) almost matches my ACT score.

so yeah, you got it: I'm the perfect person to judge. I've crossed the threshold. I've aged like DeNiro at the end of Raging Bull.

and I blame the media. I do. because nowhere anymore do we find commercials such as this. and I dont care that he's a fuck-up. the dude still creeps me out. enough to make me turn off the tele and not think about pizza. he reminds me of this fella. and all that does is make me want to sprint in various directions far from the tele, or kitchen, or anywhere of the sort. I'm gone, man. like a flock of seagulls.

c'mon, tv: bring some scary to the tele, and I promise we wont have ridiculous statistics like "the percentage of obese or overweight children is at or above 30 percent in 30 states."

o, revolver: a shooting star.

for me olde mate, the Libertine. lucky were we indeed.

fuck you, goo.

so I have just a little complaint about stupid band names: why do they exist?

exhibit 1: the goo goo dolls.

the trio picked the current name out of a True Detective ad for a toy called a Goo Goo Doll. "We were young and we were a garage band not trying to get a deal. We had a gig that night and needed a name. It's the best we came up with, and for some reason it stuck. If I had five more minutes, I definitely would have picked a better name" John stated.

well fuck you John. because patience is a virtue.

the pineapple express.

I was recently asked to discuss the underrated nature of the pineapple as a fruit. Upon my quite diligent research, I did learn some lovely things exclusive to the pineapple:

1. it can be either eaten or applied topically as an anti-inflammatory and as a proteolytic agent
2. some claim that it helps to induce childbirth when a baby is overdue
3. the natural (or most common) pollinator of the pineapple is the hummingbird: and if you know me, you know I love me a hummingbird.

but c'mon: can you really put on an apple or orange helmet to scare the fuck out of your friends and family? I hear a resounding no. No you cannot.

so thank you pineapple.

name that punk rocker.

not sure why it took me 35 years to notice that Iggy Pop and Patti Smith are otherworldly twins.

cover bands & the genius of replication.

yeah, this is more or less posted to help me feel better about my former life in a cover band.

I'll Get Offa Yer Cloud: five reasons not to fear the Zabka.

yeah, so we all know by now the prolific badassness of one William Zabka in the 80s:

1. Johnny Lawrence (above) in the Karate Kid
2. Greg Tolan in Just One of the Guys
3. Chaz in Back To School

Billy-Boy was the effortless go-to bully for some of my favorite teen-comedy classics. there's even a song about his most notorious role. but I'll tell you what - here's five fellas from the 80s that are way more badass:

1. col. james braddock: because the chief export of chuck norris is Pain.
2. brian shute: yep. he trains with a motherfucking log. up steps.
3. jack burton: because it's all in the reflexes.
4. ronnie james dio: the saber-lighted savior of a futuristic humanity.
5. leroy green: because he got that glow: sho'nuff!

another reason to love canada.

dekey! and so magical.

rolling stone: america's favorite new softcore gay-porn mag for Tweens.

it was maybe early last autumn. the night was crisp, not yet dark. and there was a rapping on my door:

sir, good evening. I'm trying to amass points by selling magazine subscriptions... etc... etc... blah.

in truth, he spoke rather verbosely which contrasted to my very short attention span. so I'm not really sure who he represented directly. but you know what? I like to help. because I am quite the altruist.

so I decided to get a year's subscription to the Rolling Stone Magazine. I mean, I love music. and since I only listen to my silver iPod Nano these days, far from the stale airwaves of modern music, I figured it would be a phenom way to stay informed.

this was my first delivery.

Ok. hot new heartthrob, though not sure when tweens became the target audience. but what the heck.

this soon followed. and this. and this.

and yesterday I got this.

and a pattern emerged, friends. a very homo-erotic pattern with lots of sculpted skin.

so I went back to some of last year's covers, for prosperity's sake, and thus found this gem: who may or may not be a dude. regardless, (s)he is very popular in the gay community.

then I remembered exactly why I went into my underground iPod shelter in the first place: MTV's abuse on modern music. or, moreover: their lack of commitment to nurture music over the numbing wasteland that has become modern television aimed toward the vulturous teendom generation.

not that I so much mind men on the cover of a magazine, know you. rock & roll has always been about sex. and rock & roll has historically been male-dominated. but the evolution of the targeted audience does befuddle me: jesus christ: this is Rolling fucking Stone!

alas, pop culture has become a microcosm of the humdrum. but maybe next month's cover can be a true and darling compromise.

cheers.

hey, dalton: that thing you do.

here's the thing. Road House is one of those entrancing movies. I cant stare away. and it doesn't even slightly embarrass me to confess this.

nor am I alone.

so: I'm not gonna lie. I love this damn movie. any time I see it on the tele, I turn to it (kudos AMC). And yes, I watch it. I watch Swayze punch people to the ground. I watch Swayze get cut then fall in love with Kelly Lynch. I watch Swayze mourn the death of Sam Elliott. I watch every damn time like it never happened.

the chicks, they dig Dirty Dancing. well, this motherfucker here loves Road House. he loves the explosions, the fights, the Jeff Healey Band, the punch that rips out the throat. He loves it and there are no regrets.

Road House might be my generation's Citizen Kane. it's that good. well, no. it isnt that good. but it's good enough to make me watch it every damn time it's on.

and here I am. embracing it. like I should. like we all should.

God Bless you Dalton. God bless you for cleaning up the dirtiness of bartime-lousiness in your mulleted glory. God bless you for making me fall in love with you again. and again. and again.

welcome to the machine.

"the pendulum it swings, a strange loop

we move from birth to death to birth and so forth so we can come to understand why we move at all: the crush & merge into the rubedo.

we become the completeness, each a petal to open and reach toward the sun: each a petal to

devour the atoms of the earth and absorb the absolute into our own."