Uptight, Outta Sight

PUSHERMAN- C. MAYFIELD

I'm your mama
I'm your daddy
I'm that nigger in the alley
I'm your doctor
When in need
Want some coke
Have some weed
You know me
I'm your friend
Your main boy
Thick and thin

I'm your pusherman
I'm your pusherman

Ain't I clean
Bad machine
Super cool
Super mean
Dealin' good
For The Man
Superfly
Here I stand
Secret stash
. Heavy bread
. Baddest bitches in the bed

Here's a song that was on the radio quite a bit when I was a kid- but I can't play it today.
It's a classic song, great groove with an honest but negative message about the dealing life- when I was a kid, we were afraid of heroin because of Superfly - a fear that may have saved my life years later...but I can't play it because it contains
the words 'nigger' and 'bitches'.
I used to hear this song on the radio when I was a little kid- and I am pretty sure that my audience is largely 40-somethings who would get a kick outta hearing this cool old blast from the past- but it ain't gonna happen. I , by habit, do not use the ' n-word' but I'm not squeamish about it's use in an artistic or narrative sense- to make a point, create an image as in the song above.

I guess I could claim he says 'nigga', as if that's any different. Honestly, I doubt if playing this song in the PM would cause a problem, but why take chances?

---------------

We got hit with a huge and unforeseen mess at work, tomorrow looks to be a twelve hour shift; Friday the radio station is having our Second Anniversary Party, so I'll be busy there- if you live in the Richmond area, check it out -
four bands, food, drink , DJ's, dancing- last year we had nearly a thousand guests, this year should be bigger!
I also have two radio shows to prepare for this weekend- Songs From The Big Hair (the 1980's show) on Sat at 3 pm EST and my weekly show , The New Breakfast Snob on Sun , 7 am, so I may not blog much for awhile. Or I might.
Tune in and find out!
Or not.

Bastards! (At least it's not disco)

This is a scan of an album cover from my record collection. The album is King Crimson's USA , a live album that sounded a lot better when I first heard it on 8-track cassette- King Crimson is a great band but this just isn't a very good recording, even by 1975's standards. It sounds like it was recorded in a giant aquarium with the microphones placed underwater, singer/bassist John Wetton has a wonderful voice -but not on this album. He sounds like me at a 1985 keg party on this record-but it was 1975 , so it could have been worse.

It could have been disco.

1975 sure did have different standards- note that this is a DJ copy- it's hard to see on the pic but the two "suggested cuts for air play" chosen by Atlantic Records : 21st Century Schizoid Man and Easy Money , clock in at 7:32 and 6:32 respectively.




Man, I'm a DJ in real life and I get a chuckle out of that- a record label suggesting that we play a seven-minute song!- and what's funnier is that the second song contains the word "bastard" and has a three-minute avant-garde experimental instrumental improv jam toward the end.

Cool. Hard to listen to for some folks but at least it's not disco...

One of my shows is early Sunday mornings and I'm not sure if I'm even allowed to broadcast the word "bastard" in the morning .
Ever since Janet Jackson "shocked the world" by flashing a tittie on TV, it's been downhill at the FCC- that 'incident' , in my opinion, should have warranted maybe thirty seconds of airtime, maybe part of a 'bloopers' segment on the Leno show or something- certainly not a weeks-long media circus and a complete overhaul of inherently useless FCC regulations.

We, as an audience, have some fucked-up priorities.

It was just a flippin' tit and I never would have even known it happened if the media hadn't acted like a bunch of 7th graders about it. Football fans don't watch the half-time Superbowl show and they don't give a damn about the commercials. It wasn't until the next day that I even knew about the wardrobe malfunction - my response: " So what? And who is Justin Timberlake?"

In 1975 the Record Companies encouraged DJ's to play a song with "bastard" in it, in 2007 the FCC is vague but threatening when it comes to profanity- what's OK at night in some areas is not OK during the days in others...it's very arbitrary and ill-defined and by the time you find out what's unacceptable it's too late.

The obvious things like 'fuck' are no-no's but others are trickier- for instance , I am allowed to bitch about FCC regs in the evening hours but if I call my boss a bitch on the air, the FCC can slam my ass...I mean my butt. Unless it's after six ( five on the west coast) , in which case it's ass...I think.
It's nebulous, intimidating and confusing and you don't get a second chance.

You are presumed guilty and it's up to you to prove you aren't. This sort of brouhaha is great publicity for millionaire DJs like Howard Stern but it's a real pain-in-the-ass for us real-life radio DJ's.

(Can I say pain-in-the -ass?
I don't know- what time is it? If South Park is on , you can say 'pain-in-the -ass'...)


When in doubt, it's safest to play something else.

The word 'bastard' might inflict irreversible injury upon the innocent ears and souls of the Kleenex generation- so I won't play 'Easy Money', despite Atlantic Record's recommendation- from listening to the production on this album, I suspect that King Crimson and Atlantic were at contractual odds- artists have been known to sabotage their own works just to lash out at their corporate masters- ask Lou Reed or Captain Beefheart.

So much for playing 'Easy Money'.

Besides, it's six-and-a half minutes long...

I will play something with more appropriate content and length, such as 'Land' by Patti Smith.

Zombies

"Hi. Remember me?"

I look up from my book and stare into Death's empty eye sockets...no, that's not correct- after a double-take I realize that I'm talking to a zombie- Death is a character in the book I am reading; this zombie is real, I think, although it's rather thin, even by undead standards.

The zombie is waiting for my reply.
Do I remember the zombie?

I've been waiting for this question for many years and I'm suddenly in no hurry to answer it.

"No."

"No?"

Unbelievably, there's what look like tears forming in the zombie's crater eyes. Zombies don't cry, they rot, so I tell myself that it must be pus, not tears, that I see running down it's cheek.

The zombie stammers out the name of a place that I used to go with someone else, someone who didn't leave a trail of maggots behind them as they shambled.

I can lie but my face can't.
I'm betrayed by recognition.
I give up a name.

"You do remember" , says the creature.

There's a lot of hesitation in this statement - there bloody well should be. Years of anger and resentment roll up from some hidden place, feelings I thought were long gone become enormous emotional waves that threaten to dash me against my protective wall of feigned indifference.

"Yes."

I remember. I remember the first morning spent with this creature when it was still alive and I recall thinking how beautiful it was, yet somehow knowing that it was already over.
I remember seeing the flesh vanish, the missing drugs, the missing human...I remember exploring it's body with my tongue and finding the wrong kind of bruises in the wrong places...I remember finding the syringes, stolen from the zombie's diabetic mother.

I remember waiting for my HIV test results from the free clinic- "call next Monday"- and how that was the longest week of my life, which I was certain was going to be much shorter than even I had anticipated.

Yes, I remember the zombie.

" I am sick", the zombie tells me, as if I were blind.

"I am not", I reply , and suddenly the anger is gone and there's nothing left but two zombies.

Zombies don't cry, but this one does.

I Dream of Jinx

Yesterday I got a series of phone calls from London and that was cool. An old friend was listening to me play records that I used to play when we were housemates long ago.
Nice cycle, that.

Then I got a phone call from southern France, which was odd- who do I know in France?

Well, I'll be damned.
I thought you wuz in Australia!
Haven't seen you in ages- you found me on the internet?
Hahah! I guess it helps that my phone number hasn't changed in ten years.
I thought you were dead- you've been reading my blog and you haven't said anything till now ? You ass!
Last time we spoke, I was still drinking...oh.
That's why you stopped calling.
...I said that?
Sorry, mate, I really am.
The booze...
Yep, 17 months sober! You have been reading...how've you been?
Oh man.
That's bloody awful.
No?
You mean it's all sorted in your favor? Kids too?
Well bloody good job! Ha hah, I'm already talking like you!

Here, since you are paying for the call , let me spend 20 minutes telling you about how much better my life is right now - of course, I'm bloody sober, let me finish- a lot of good things have happened, even the bad stuff is damned funny in hindsight...

la la lala la la la la life is good and I go to bed feeling like Monday might not suck.

I step into the shower and notice the shampoo runs right through my fingers.
Shampoo?
I shave my head almost every day. I don't own shampoo.
I look down and my hands are skeletal, the shampoo runs across my bony knuckles and drips onto a mass of wet brown hair at my feet...holy crap, that's my hair!
Now there's blood.
What's going on?

When I wake up I'm covered in sweat even though the covers are on the floor.
Someone has placed one of those Roadrunner cartoon Acme anvils ("16 tons") on my chest and it's making it hard to breathe.
Just because I can't see this anvil doesn't mean it isn't there. The sun is rising and slowly the weight lightens enough for me to make it downstairs and gobble a couple of panic pills. I haven't needed them for a couple weeks, but I am glad I have them.

I need to piss , shave , shower and get ready for work but that dream was too vivid- I'm not ready to enter my bathroom yet.
That bathroom is where I started dying and sometimes I think I should move just to get away from it.

I sit downstairs in silence and pretend to read an old Superman comic; eventually my breath returns to normal and I call into work. My boss knows that I have days like this and agrees that it's better that I not come in after taking my emergency meds.

By noon the drugs are working and I'm fine, just tired ... I see that I have received an email from a beloved High School friend- I want to tell her about all the great new things that I'm feeling, because overall things really are good, but I'm afraid I'll jinx myself if I share too much good news.

Pretty strange sentiment coming from someone who disdains superstition.

Save the butterfly

The Silent Treatment...

...would be a weird name for a radio show. 7 am-9 am EST.

Carbon Leaf- Let your troubles roll away
Pentangle - Storyteller
Great Big Sea- End of the world
Damien Dempsey- Celtic Tiger
Cat Stevens-Bitterblue
Bob Marley- Go tell it on the mountain
Nouvelle Vogue- In a manner of speaking
Gong- Heaven's Gate
Crack the Sky- Maybe I can fool everybody tonight
801- TNK
Clannad - Love and Affection
Loreena McKennitt- Caravenserai
Cocteau Twins- Evangeline
Blonde Redhead- Misery is a Butterfly
Sweetwater- Motherless Child
Bob Dylan- Idiot Wind
Patti Smith- Space Monkey
Clash- Police and Thieves
Joe Strummer- Get Down Moses
Neil Young- Let's Impeach The President
Pretty Things- She's a Lover
Kinks- Artificial Man
Elvis Costello - Man out of time

--------------------

During this morning's show I got twenty-five phone calls from London.
They were all from the same person, but it was still cool.

WWHD?

After hearing Bush telling 70% of America to: 'fuck off, I'm the decidinator and I'm gonna invade Iran too!' it's become clear that BushCo never intended their conquest to end at Iraq, that indeed it was just the first step in a regional campaign encompassing the greater Middle East; and that the entire PNAC plot collapsed when Iraq didn't turn out to be the 'cakewalk' that the neo-cons claimed it would.
Well, duh, we all know this now...so:

Let's go back a bit to Sept 1, 1939. That's the day Germany invaded Poland, which caused much of the world to declare war on Germany.

They declared war on Germany because it is wrong for one nation to invade and occupy another nation merely because it wants to do so.

That's the reason we, as an international community, went to war with Iraq in the first Gulf War- they invaded Kuwait.

Anyway, back to 1939- by the time the nascent Allies got it together, it was too late for Poland, which, ironically, would have to wait a long, long time to be 'liberated' , as it went directly from Nazi to Soviet domination.

But imagine if the USSR hadn't attacked Poland from the east and that Germany was unable to
roll over the Poles and instead of easily taking control of Poland and going on to wage WW2 for the next 5 1/2 years, the bulk of the German Army had become bogged down in Warsaw, waging an endless defensive war against a fractious civilian resistance .

Let's say that after about four years of escalating German casualties and no tangible results in the Poland war, the German people start to wonder if their leader knows what the hell he is doing. Perhaps the German public becomes informed that one of the major reasons for the invasion was actually staged by the Government in order to justify the war they wanted so badly? Perhaps they would start removing the 'H' bumperstickers from their Volkswagens and start declaring their dissatisfaction by taking to the streets in angry demonstrations of what is now the majority opinion?

How would the German leader react?

First, he'd remind the civilians that he was The Boss.

Then his minions would insinuate that pointing out the Emperor's Clothes was tantamount to treason .

Then he'd declare war on Russia.

Get Bored, Lose Weight

THRILLSVILLE OFFICE VIEW



I doubt that there's anything on the Intertube that's more interesting than an in-depth examination of my diet. By "interesting", I mean boring, because what I eat is pretty fucking dull.

I used to cook for a living and can make most anything I want but lately I'm too bored to bother- I have filled my cupboard with items that don't require much effort...dry beans, rice, pasta...stuff that keeps.

There's a reason for this. When I got out of hospital after a nearly fatal gastric rupture there wasn't much I could eat- years of drinking and crap diet had driven my HDL/LDL , triglycerides and blood pressure to very unsafe places, I was obese and no-one was willing to bet that my liver would recover ...my doc was reluctant to give me medication, so he suggested that I change my diet and I did.

It worked a miracle. 17 months later I've shed 50 pounds and all my numbers are right where they should be. The trick is not so much what you eat as what you don't eat. Basically, you should avoid processed food- and soda pop in particular- as much as possible and stick with raw, fresh ingredients.

I never cease to wonder at some of the foods I see on the grocery shelves... pre-packaged shrink-wrapped hot dogs that are ready for the microwave?
C'mon. This 56 gram hot dog contains 22 grams of fat- are you gonna eat that?
It's gristle on styrofoam, is what.

We, as consumers, are so helpless and feeble that we are willing to pay someone to put weiners in our buns?

Yes, we are, and in every way imaginable.

Little 6 oz. plastic cups of microwavable chicken soup? For the price of three of those cups you could make an entire pot of fresh chicken soup. What good is 6 oz. of soup? Feed that plastic crap to the Gerber baby and pass the iron cauldron please...

There are tubes in the snack food aisle that look like they fell off the Roswell UFO- they have markings on the outside but nothing that's recognizable to me until I find the fine print. Read the fine print and the first ingredient listed is "Partially hydrogenated cottonseed oil" followed by "dehydrated potatoes" and a half-dozen sodium compounds. This is a popular product- is it on your shelf?

99% of what's on the shelves is alien to me. It's brightly colored, so there's a good chance it may be poisonous- you have a much higher chance of being poisoned at home than you'd face in a less nutritionally-hostile natural environment such as the Amazonian River Basin or SE Asian jungle. The main difference is the jungle toxins kill you dead on the spot and the supermarket venom gives you arrythmia, hypertension and type 2 diabetes and might take as long as thirty years to prove fatal.

But, but , but...it's so convenient to just pop a frozen Foodbrick into your tabletop reactor and press a button.
True.
But why do we need such convenience? It's a drive-thruable , pre-packaged, downloadable, ultra-portable world of convenience we live in- we should have plenty of time to prepare decent meals.

You can put 10,000 songs on an Ipod but can't manage four plates on a table?

Here's a simple day:

- Breakfast of moth-free oatmeal with honey, bananas, cinnamon and dried cranberries; a glass of 100% juice and a lightly buttered toasted english muffin. You can fix eggs if you want- I used to cook brunch for a living so I'm pretty much sick of eggs, but I'll fix you an omelet if you want. It's OK to indulge every once in a while, just not every day.


- A cup of coffee every 15 minutes until noon, then every 30 minutes until 5pm. Maybe one on the way home...in the future, science will discover that coffee, in large quantities, cures everything, so you might as well have another cup.

For a month after my surgery I was limited to none, then one cup per day- first I had to give up booze, then coffee and (temporarily) sugar- when one quits drinking, one gets a savage sweet tooth- son-of-a bitch, I wanted candy...damn,damn, damn...time passes like a kidney stone when you have the sugar jones.

- Lunch? Who has time for lunch? I'm at work- how am I gonna eat and still find time to blog, read the news and answer my radio , blogger and other personal emails?
First, I have pretty much eschewed the idea of working while I'm on the clock- if I put two hours out of eight into my actual job, I'd probably be so numb that I'd have to call in sick the next day. The only thing duller than my diet is my job.
Besides, I've had 16 cups of coffee. I'm not hungry.

If you insist on lunch, bring a green salad, a fresh fruit, bread, cheese and perhaps some homemade tuna salad. You need a recipe? sheesh...it's tuna salad...try grapes, celery, onions , tarragon, maybe dill or mustard, some peppers- pretty much anything works except the traditional base of industrial grade mayonnaise. A dash of vinegar , a little pepper relish, you'll be OK.

-Dinner is vegetarian most nights; rice , beans and whatever's good in the produce aisle, maybe a stir -fry... if I'm lazy I'll just eat a couple sandwiches -cheese, tomato, hot mustard- a couple bananas and a cup or two of yogurt.
If it's on sale, I'll get turkey breast from the deli, sometimes I get fresh shrimp . I'm not a vegetarian, I'm just cheap.
Red meat tends to make my stomach hurt, so I don't eat very much; it's not a moral issue.

That's about it.
Not very exciting, but it's pretty healthy and it's really frugal, except for the splurges.

If you eat well and cheaply most days, you can afford the occasional giant-ass Ice Cream or chicken-fried steak...what's amazing to me is finding that the less I eat bad food, the less I want it- I can't eat drive-thru without feeling very ill- I used to be able to eat Wendy's at 1 am- now I'm too healthy to eat fast food, my body isn't used to it and it reacts badly. We aren't designed to digest Big Macs, fast-food requires a certain acclimation and once you lose it, you don't want it back.


(Disclaimer: Medical advice found on-line might not be good for you- for novelty use only)

Can I Go Home Early Now?

"Dude. What are you doing?"

"This belt is too big for me- I'm punching a new hole in it."

"With scissors?"

"Well, yeah, there's nothing else...YEAAARGGGHHHH!"

"Dude. Maybe you should have taken the belt off first."

Crabs From Utah

*AHEM*
Let's be clear.

Utah has no crabs. If you have 'crabs' in Utah, what you really have are lice, which are like tiny little Mormons -they get in your hair and cause constant irritation. When I lived in Utah I had crabs and Mormons- the lice I killed with shampoo, mums the word on the Mormons.

The State Astrological Symbol of Utah is the Beehive Cluster, which is found in the constellation of Cancer, Cancer is symbolized by a crab and Mormons are a form of religous cancer...intriguing, but I don't see how it connects to bisque.


If a Virginian tries to sell you crabs from Utah, you should be suspicious of their motives and wary of their product.

Fallentown Phone Conversation # 899

I gather my wits, re-fill my coffee, take a deep breath and finally make the call I've been wanting to make for a couple days.

"Hello."

"Oh. Hello...I didn't recognize the number...the name looks like a legal firm."

"Yeah, I'm at work- it's a law office."

" Lawyers? Doesn't seem like you...I didn't get that project finished yet, but I will..."

" Oh, don't worry about that, I was calling to ask you-"

"Hey, I ran into so-and -so the other day and you were playing his band and..."

A twenty -minute ramble ensues, my opinion is solicited.

"Well, if he says it's true , then it is. I've known him for a long time and he's totally reliable...I think I've known him 20 years, about as long as I've known you."

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen?"

"We've known each other since 1988. Nineteen years."

"Really?"

"Well, I'd seen you at (this place, that place etc) in 1986 and 1987, but I didn't meet you until 1988."

"No shit. You remember all that?"

This is great to hear! She's been checking me out since 1986? Awesome. My timing is perfect today, I can feel it.

"Yep. 1988 was the year I broke up with..."

OK, I get the break-up story, followed by a lament about having no social life and no friends anymore since everyone got married and had kids, and yeah I totally relate to that...

"Well, it's funny you say that- I was calling to see if you wanted to go out Saturday. I don't feel like going to D.C. and I thought maybe we could have dinner instead- cook in or eat out, your choice."

"......."

"Huh?"

"IsthislikeadateorisitbusinessrelatedorbothbecauseIthinkImightbegivingyouthewrongimpressionImean IlikeyoubutjustnotlikethatbutIwishIcouldmeetsomeonewhoislikeyoubutisn'tyou"

"Could you repeat that? A little slower?"

"No."

Dental Damn

Ha ha ha... a special thanks to my long-time friend in SC who left a comment and link on my last post- I took care not to mention the Dentist by name, not wanting to besubject to libel or whatnot, but it seems like I don't have to worry- the exploits of "Dr." Michael McQuack , D.D.S. have -just this morning in fact- been made public. What a coincidence!

This article barely scratches the surface of what a horrible human- much less a dentist- McQuack is:

He was suspended in August 1999, with the board charging multiple
infractions dating back to 1995. The charges say that McQuade:

■ Used the same gloves on multiple patients.
■ Drank alcohol during
office hours.
■ Used “abusive, vulgar and degrading language to and in front
of patients.”
■ Took naps during the day and had employees wake him for
appointments.
■ Treated patients while wearing socks, no shoes.
■ Allowed
dogs to urinate and defecate in the patient care area.

Also, in 1999, McQuade told an investigator with the Department of Health
Professions that he used nitrous oxide recreationally, twice a week, and that he
occasionally smoked marijuana.

By "occasionally smokes" he meant 24/7.


Hahahahahaha!

I'd laugh louder, but he's still practicing dentistry. Amazing.

Correction: The characters in this blog are entirely fictional and none of this stuff ever happened. If there's a dentist of the same or similar name, it's coincidence.

The Bubba Closet

The skin on Peter's face is so red that his blond beard seems albino by comparison, he speaks and his words clungle in a sticky fog of peppermint schnapps...Peter has a 'trick' -he uses schnapps to mask the dozen or so beers he drinks during his day shift as short-order lunch cook at the corner bar where we both work.

"Better than a breath mint", he says.

"Goddmanit Peter, get your drunk ass outta my way...fuck, did you thaw the shrimp like I asked you...what did you do? This fucking prep list isn't finished..."

I'm sick of Peter's crap- he's been working here for twenty years and pretty much has tenure, but he's pissed because he found out the night cooks make a lot more money than he does- he's old, like forty maybe, and he resents having to answer to a punk-ass kid (me). I wouldn't get on his case if he didn't suck at his job...his idea of soup is to drop some grated cheese into warm tomato juice and call it "Cheddar Tomato", something I refuse to serve. I usually throw it away while he watches, hoping he'll get pissed enough to take a swing and get fired. The kitchen would run a lot smoother without him.

Peter addresses me by my last name, continues,"...things haven't always been great between us
but I jush wanta letcha know that I resphect you a lot and I mean that like a Man."

"Whatever dude. What the fuck is this deep fryer? The goddamn La Brea Tar Pit? I can't fry fish in 30 weight motor oil!"

" I was waiting for it to cool down."

I look at the fryer. The oil is black and congealed, doesn't look like it's been used all day. I drop a single frozen french frie into it. It lays inert on the surface, not heavy enough to sink into the solidified grease.

"But seriously", he stumbles up to me, "I've noticed that you've grown over the last couple years, your shoulders are broader. I really respect you as a Man", he repeats, looking me up and down...I am being scoped.
Unpleasant.

Later that night, I'm relating this bizarre encounter to Billy, one of the older cooks that I get along with...Billy explains that in the South there are a lot of rednecks who really are gay, but repress it from themselves...it comes out in weird ways, awkward "fag" jokes and homophobic insults are pretty common, and yeah, they like to get a buzz on and talk about Men being Men, just ignore them and whatever you do, never, ever give them cocaine.
Good advice.

A couple years later, a friend was visiting and he brought his Boss, who was a Closet Bubba- he couldn't watch ten minutes of football without talking about men's asses...I expect this sort of comment from my queer friends, but this guy is "straight" and worse , he's a dentist. A drunk redneck closeted homophobe dentist...I am charging him extra for his weed.

"I don't like having faggots as patients", he informs us between bong hits, "I don't like putting my hands into a mouth that's sucked a cock."

"So I guess you don't like women as patients either", I say.

"Or your mother", adds my friend,getting into the spirit.

Bubba hands me my bong and it stinks. Not in a normal, rank-ass nasty bongwater way, but in a saturated cheap cologne way.
Bubba the Closet Redneck Dentist is wearing so much cologne that it has rubbed off on my bong- the mingled smell of bongwater and cologne is hideous, I gag and set it aside.

I'm getting ready to throw this guy out of my apartment but first I'm taking his money. I think I'll just hit him with a baseball bat, take his wallet, drag him into the alley and leave him for the trannie hookers.

"Dude. You have ruined my bong. Ounces are two twenty. "

A month later he came back- I refused to let him in. A year or two after that he got busted for a dozen felonies, mostly prescription drug stuff, but there was a mail-order bride and a pregnant teen-age patient in the mix...he was gone for a long time but I recently saw his name on a case at the Firm.

Medical Malpractice, of course.

Camouflage

It doesn't look like things went very well during my two-month absence from work. I started last Weds and was told that HR Guy was coming down from HQ on Friday to give us a training session on "Professionalism in the Workplace". New Guy, who was the main beneficiary of this inane exercise, didn't even show up to work that Friday, which sort of explains why we were having the meeting in the first place.

The boss and I were given new handbooks explaining the new uniforms we are required to wear.

Uniforms? What the fuck? I read a bit of the booklet.

"We are Records Management. Document Services wears uniforms. We don't."

"Right. Well, here are some guidelines about dressing on the job."

I skim the documents...the word "camouflage" catches my eye- there's nearly an entire page under this heading.
How strange. I would think that wearing camouflage clothing to work would simply be prohibited, it's a Law Firm, not a Sporting Goods shop... but there's quite a bit of detail here...hmmmm:

-Loose, puffy sleeves can have a 'slimming' effect , as can certain darker colors...avoid bold patterns and tight or clingy garments...

Huh? This is a "how-to guide" for women to "camouflage" a few extra pounds! I wonder how women who receive this booklet feel- they should be insulted; regardless of weight, the whole idea of instructing ladies to "camo" their bodies seems extremely sexist to me- who are they supposed to be hiding the flab from anyway? For whose benefit?

Then we watch a grainy 1990's VHS tape about how to shake hands firmly and make eye contact when speaking to others.

Remember: You only get one chance to make a first impression!
(I have hated that platitude since the very first time I heard it)

Did you know that mumbling, twisting your hair and staring at the floor can lead people to have an unfavorable opinion of your professional competence?
That's what the video tells us.
It's important to look attentive even when you don't give a shit.

After the vid, HR Guy asks us to discuss the video. There are three of us in the room. At 40, I'm the youngest by several years.
I push the various papers aside.

"Look, we are a bunch of old men. We already know how to dress for work. Even when I was a kid I knew how to dress for work. If you give me a wimpy handshake I will immediately dislike you and if you twirl your hair into your mouth I'll think you're stupid and I don't need to watch a video to reinforce those prejudices. All I need is a wimpy handshake or some hair twirling."

HR Guy is smiling. He's visibly relieved to hear my speech. Our lesson is concluded.

We spend an hour talking about football and women and what to do with kids these days, tsk, and then it's time for lunch and hell, might as well knock off early, it being Friday and all.

Post Haste

Yesterday the police went and found my father at the rented hovel he drinks in. It's supposed to be a store and it's not zoned for residential use but they don't seem to care- the small-town cops know all about my dad... they confirmed he was still alive, still drunk and still an asshole. He asked to be left alone and I shall respect his wish.

He told his mother he wants to die.

I don't want to die and it kills me when I talk to him, so I'll not speak to or of him again, save to say thanks to all my bloggy pals who have sent wishes, hopes and prayers my way.
Thank you .

I told my Grandmother that I can do no more and she accepts that, so now I can move on.

----------------------------------------

This weekend was good- fun times on the radio and really good NFL games, not to mention some intriguing flirtation- man, instead of whining about being single, I should be thanking my lucky stars for the carte blanche provided by my total lack of commitment...must be pheromones or something...more on this once the dust settles.

Busy, busy, busy.

Bears.

Table Of Elements

Today's show was comprised mainly of songs about earth, wind, fire and water but with no
Earth Wind & Fire:


Aretha Franklin- Bridge Over Troubled Water
Lou Reed - The Ocean
Maire Brennan- Against The Wind
Sweetwater-In a Rainbow
Jethro Tull- Rainbow Blues
Bob Dylan- Buckets of Rain
Kinks- Waterloo Sunset
Pretty Things- Play With Fire
Brian Eno- Baby's on Fire
Great Big Sea - Sea of No Cares
The Who- The Rock
Anuna -Winter Fire and Snow
Can- She Brings the Rain
Pentangle-Mirage
Loreena McKinnet-Beneath a Phrygian Sky
Tangerine Dream- 3 Bikes in the Sky
Jean Michel Jarre-Oxygene
Patti Smith-Land
Northern Exposure Theme Song
Gaelic Storm- McCloud's Reel
Nina Hagen- Rammstein (Seeman)
Flower Kings-Flora Majora
Stranglers- Always the Sun

Plans

Tomorrow morning I'll do my radio show and then I'm calling the police.

My father , who is over sixty years old , has disappeared on another drunken bender.
Last November I went to the weird little cottage that he calls an antiques shop, my grandmother was worried because she hadn't heard from him for weeks; when he drinks he lives at the shop despite it having no shower, kitchen or bed.

He was a filthy , drunken mess but I got him to his mother's house and he stayed sober until a couple weeks ago, but he's gone again and his mother is worried. Really worried.

She should be. I think my dad is dead. Forty years of hard drinking has to catch up, he looked like hell even when he wasn't drinking, like he was 80 and could barely walk.

This is what he does: He sits in a tiny building with the doors shut and "closed" sign up, and he drinks himself into oblivion for weeks until finally someone from church, the police or the family goes and pulls him out of his ruin.

This might last a month, then he goes away again.

I can't do it again. I told my grandmother I can't do it again. I cannot. If he's dead and I find the body, I will break.
I feel strong and ready for the inevitable, but not enough to discover his body.

I have been through that before and I'm not ready to do it again. I'm not even ready to think about the last time. Sometimes we forget things because we have to and I'm not sure digging out all the details is always a good idea.

It's a surprise to me that my grannie hasn't called the police herself, but she never wants to...we used to have a family friend on the force who would check on Dad, but he got sick of dragging Dad's drunk sorry ass home, and I think he'll stop being nice and just take him to jail next time.

Which is exactly what I want. He needs to be forced into a de-tox center and being AWOL for nearly three weeks is cause for a missing persons report. When they find him , he'll either be dead or so completely fucked-up they'll put him in de-tox and Psych Ward , or at least I hope they will.

I can't take it anymore. I've tried and there's nothing I can do. This is my last effort and I'm doing it by telephone, going to call my police friend and ask him to take a rescue squad to Dad's hovel and drag him out- I hope they will- I have learned of a recent injury Dad incurred while drunk, so I hope I have enough info to convince them to check on him one last time.

There are some things I can do and there are some things I can't. And I can't deal with this situation. I don't have the training or skills or knowledge to manage someone who is this far gone; I'm only 16 months into being sober myself and I'm in no position to intervene-again.

I have talked this over with the Twin and we agreed that I might as well wait until tomorrow so I could do my show and maybe we could watch the Bears game before we got the call back from the town police.
If that sounds cold, you don't understand how many desperate emergencies that turned out to be just another drunken binge- how many people from the church and family have wasted words on him...I'm done and so are all our family friends. Only my grandmother still cares, so I will do this for her.

I'm doing my show, then my laundry and I'll wait till halftime of the Bears game.
I'll call the police during halftime, that way I won't interrupt their viewing either.

I hope they put my father in rehab and make him stay. He won't go on his own- the church will pay but he won't go. We'll see.


At least it'll be a great game tomorrow- I'm a Bears fan, but I'd have a hard time being sore if New Orleans won. If anyone deserves a morale boost, it's New Orleans.
It's a win/win game.

Today's Music

Today I'll be interviewing award -winning singer-songwriter Brice Woodall
on River City Limits at 5 pm EST. Brice is a former Richmonder who now hails from Chicago and his touring band lives here in Richmond.
His songs remind me of being in a kitchen, the organic ingredients are carefully assembled and diced by hand, some machines are used but they blend in just fine...pretty tasty stuff.

Last Night's Missiles

The first thing I notice is the feel of a rubber band around my right ankle. It's on there to keep the baggy leg of my Army surplus trousers from getting caught in the chain of my Huffy 10-speed bike...
My vision clears just in time to swerve madly, barely missing a car that's parked in the middle of the road - it's facing the wrong direction, am I in England?



I stop, dismount, lean the bike against a tree that wasn't there ten seconds ago and walk over to the car.
It's a familiar model, something I've seen a million of but I can't quite place the name now.
It's got Maryland tags.
So I'm in Maryland, a glance inside the empty vehicle shows a Baltimore Sun newspaper folded neatly on the front seat. The large banner headline catches my eye and I reach in to grab the paper- holy shit!
The headline ,dated Sept 15, 1984, reads:

Missiles Launch at Midnight



Suddenly I remember that I'm in a real hurry to get home. Goddamnit, I sure wish they'd left the keys in the ignition.
I toss the paper back into the car, hop on the bike and zoom downhill. I've had this dream before and I know that my dreamyard has a really good view of the Apocalypse .
I don't want to miss the show.

Back up, hold on, wait a sec...OK, I'm back at the car and this time the keys are in it - as I said, I've had this dream before and I've learned to control parts of it.
Like the keys- I just wished for them and there they were...but I know somehow that driving isn't going to be so easy.
It's not- there's a mob of pedestrians and parked cars nearly blocking both lanes, HONK HONK HONK , no one budges or even looks, everyone is staring up at the sky between the trees, waiting for the missiles.

" Run them over"

What?

My Granpa is sitting next to me- how strange to see him in the passengers seat, Granpa was always driving. Granpa was not the sort of man to advise his grandson to run over pedestrians, this is a new twist. I'm losing my tenuous control over the dream.

"RUN THEM OVER!"

Granpa is mad. He was almost never mad. This scares me.

"But..." , I can't speak. I can't run over these people- look, some are just kids, some are old...
How can I do that?

"DO IT!"

I try to press the accelerator but my foot won't move.

"GO!"

The car rockets into motion and plows into the crowd, touching no one. The people are like water, displaced for a moment as we speed through, gradually filling in the space left in our wake, none the worse for our passage.

Hot Damn! Granpa will be so proud- he never did get to see me drive. I turn , beaming , to look at him but he's gone and I'm back on the bike, riding it up the dirt road to the little white farmhouse where I live during Missile Dreams.

There's a small crowd in the backyard, mostly gathered around the old brick BBQ grill- out of habit I guess, since there's no coals, no food, just some old leaves in the bottom that would make decent tinder if needed...I wonder where they came from- there are no trees nearby. That's why the view is so good from here.

Sara starts talking to me. I know a few Saras, but this woman is a stranger, I just know that she is a Sara, no H. It looks like she's been crying and I want to hold her but it's not my place to do that...so I try to listen to her instead.
Sara No H is worried about her boyfriend- he isn't answering his cell phone and it's almost midnight, where is he? As she tells me this, the people surrounding us start vanishing, but there's nothing to be done about that right now.

"Look", I explain, "it's 1985 and he doesn't have a cell phone-no one does- what are you talking into anyway?"

She pushes her long brunette hair back from where her ear used to be- Sara No H holds out her bloody hand, palm up.

There's something red and lumpy cupped in it.

"My knife", she says.

The sky goes bright yellow. It's missile time.

Above us there are twelve parallel columns of smoke rising into the sky, a tiny glowing dot at the head of each one.
They are already miles above us by the time the sound reaches us...the sound. Sound reaches our ears...all three of them. Oh God.

Sara! What have you done to yourself?

But she's not Sara anymore and it's OK for me to hold her now.

I whisper "I love you" into her ear and she is whole, there's no blood except what's in our hearts.

Together we watch the sky burn.

Making The World Safer

The herdsmen had gathered with their animals around large fires at night to ward off mosquitoes. But lit up by the flames, they became latest victims of America's war on terror.

It was their tragedy to be misidentified in a secret operation by special forces attempting to kill three top al-Qa'ida leaders in south-ern Somalia.

Oxfam yesterday confirmed at least 70 nomads in the Afmadow district near the border with Kenya had been killed. The nomads were bombed at night and during the day while searching for water sources. Meanwhile, the US ambassador to Kenya has acknowledged that the onslaught on Islamist fighters failed to kill any of the three prime targets wanted for their alleged role in the 1998 US embassy bombings in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam.

Get Paid To Blog - Updated

My newer blogpals probably do not realize that I spent a lot of time (but no money) during 2005-2006 exploring various internet scams I investigated everything from Google Ads to Porno Sites and nothing really panned out- I once got paid twelve bucks by this outfit for a story about Whalanol...that article has since been used (as actual news) without attribution, permission or basic fact-checking.

I did figure out how to get as much Free Web Porn (any kind) as I wanted, but it turned out I didn't really want as much Free Porn as I thought- it was a Pyhrric victory at best.
Email me and I'll tell you how I did it-for free.
Trust me, you'll be dissappointed that you did.

Anyway, the only reliable source of blogger income I've ever found is to land a slack job where you can get away with blogging on the clock. Not hard, in my experience. In fact, I started this very blog from a boring temp job nearly three years ago.

This was a fairly typical exchange at my last job:

Boss: " What are you doing?"

Me: "Blogging."

"About what?"

"How much I hate my job."

Now, one might think that such behavior and remarks would be cause for dismissal, but in my case I quit first. I thought I had a better job, but it didn't work out and after a couple of fruitless months of job searching I wound up going back to the old Law Firm where I made those snippy comments.
Same job.
Same desk.
Same table.
Slight raise.

It took me a couple hours to catch up on the work from the last two months, and guess what I found when I finally cleared the new mess-yep- underneath the piles were my unfinished projects from November!- it was literally like I never left.

I was wrong about the other job and it cost me a lot of money but I feel a lot better about life after having a couple months off to sort some personal things out; I've also taken on a lot of new responsibilities at the radio station- which is not a complaint.

I love the station- it's really nice to be an integral part of something that is good.

When the drudgery of my day job becomes too much, I can always remind myself that the weekend brings radio- I get plenty of personal gratification and happiness from my volunteer work, so I should be able to get through my nine-to-five without needing any validation other than a paycheck and insurance.

At least that is my goal, to maintain the attitude of "I don't need happiness from work", just cash.
The pay isn't great but it's OK for a bachelor, got bennies, in a 40 hour week I probably only do real "work" 20 or less hours...it's not demanding , the boss is funny and well-read, free coffee and nice bathrooms, it's not so bad.

Did I just say my job was not so bad?

Stay tuned.

Get Paid To Blog

Get paid to blog!

I just did.

Filler

Child safety seats sure have come a long way since 1967...not that it really mattered when you were in the back of a VW Bug - the 1960's was an era of Big American Cars and a VW was unlikely to survive even a minor collision with one of the popular behemoths of the period...

I am not sure which Volkswagen this is- I remember one that had a large hole completely rusted through the rear floor and every once in a while we would lose a favorite toy on the highway.
Don't get attached to material goods was the lesson...

The space in the back of the car is where the beer cooler was kept. By the time I was six I could use a can opener ( you needed one back then) to punch two holes in a Schlitz can and hand it forward to the adult at the wheel.

After the adult had a few Schlitzes and the VW began weaving between lanes, my brother and I would watch the painted highway stripes appear and disappear through the gap in the car's floor. It was less frightening than looking out of the windows.

If we saw gravel or grass through the floor it was time to brace for impact.

In hindsight , it wasn't the safest childhood but at least we could go to school without getting shot (unless you went to Kent State) and almost nobody had to worry about getting gunned down in a shopping mall, as there were almost no shopping malls to be gunned down at.

Of course, if you were a young adult male , you stood the risk of being conscripted by the military and sent to Southeast Asia to stop the Communists from playing theoretical dominoes...eventually the Communists won- Communist Vietnam now makes cheap consumer goods that are exported to stores in American malls- malls which were just coming into fashion towards the end of the 'Nam war.

Ironic, isn't it?

Bad PR

Here is another reason NOT to listen to corporate radio.

A 28-year-old suburban Sacramento woman died of apparent “water intoxication” after participating in a contest — “Hold Your Wee for a Wii” — sponsored by local radio station 107.9 KDND. The rules were simple: Participants simply competed to see how much water they could drink without going to the bathroom. The winner would receive a shiny new Wii video game console, the highly coveted, $250 must-have from Nintendo.

The station in the quote above thinks so little of it's listeners that it was willing to degrade and even kill them for a Nintendo publicity stunt; Nintendo, as far as I can tell already has plenty of publicity and probably doesn't want this sort anyway...


The non-profit station I volunteer at is not like this. For our 2nd birthday party we are having live music and free food for our listeners.

Don't listen to corporate radio- it can kill you.

Listen to indie radio- it will feed you.

Craters: Favorite and Otherwise

This is one of my favorite Martian craters. It's known as the Happy Face Crater.
Every planet should have one.

Here's a sequence showing a small new crater- the image on the left was taken by the Viking spacecraft in 1976 and there is no crater evident:

In 1999, there is a crater. It's a punk-ass crater as far as planetary impacts go...it's unlikely the tiny meteorite responsible would have even made it though Earth's atmoshpere.

By 2006, it's faded a bit. It seems that Mars has enough atmosphere to cause erosion, but not nearly enough to stop meteors.

We are kinda spoiled on Earth, having an atmosphere and all...not only does ours allow us to breathe, but it also shields us from all but the largest of meteors.

If it were not for meteors, we wouldn't have dinosaurs in Chicago:


I didn't know it when I took this pic, but I think I may have photographed a meteorite in this snapshot- above and to the right of the brontosaur skull:

One day in the distant past, a dinosaur much like the one fossilized above may have looked into the afternoon sky and seen a bright streak much like the one in this photo- only the light in the sky kept getting bigger and bigger...

The rest is pre-history.

Playlist

TRANQUILITY BASS- WE ALL WANT TO BE FREE FUNKADELIC- GOOD TO YOUR EARHOLE JOE STRUMMER- GET DOWN MOSES CLANNAD- HUNTER POINT -#4 PENTANGLE- SALLY GO ROUND THE ROSES CAT STEVENS- BITTERBLUE ELEANOR MCCOVY-WHISPER AND PRAYER MARK KNOPFLER /CHIEFTAINS- LILY OF THE WEST SINEAD O'CONNER WAS PLAYED IN ERROR BLONDE REDHEAD-MISERY IS A BUTTERFLY ALAN PARSONS- WOULDN'T WANT TO BE LIKE YOU GONG- HEAVEN'S GATE ELENI MANDELL- ALIEN EYE BOB BYLAN - MOZAMBIQUE LOREENA MCKENNIT- THE GATES OF ISTANBUL GOLDEN PALOMINOS- PURE GREAT BIG SEA- END OF THE WORLD DRIVE BY TRUCKERS- BIRMINGHAM NINA HAGEN/OOMPH- FIEBER COCTEAU TWINS-HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS POTU DOUDONGO- BOLINGO KING SUNNY ADE -PENTELE PATTI SMITH- DANCING BAREFOOT PRETTY THINGS- ALL LIGHT UP QUICKSILVER MESSENGER SERVICE- FRESH AIR SIOUXIE AND THE BANSHEES- SPELLBOUND

Girl-on-Girl Trouble

So I get my car outta the garage- there's a moment of dread while the shop's owner fetches my key and the paperwork- the same feeling one gets whilst waiting for the results of medical tests...tell me Doc, be straight:
How bad is it?
Will it be quick?
Will it hurt?
How much will it cost?

"We ran it for a long time and couldn't find anything wrong. Mightta been gunk in the fuel injection or sumethin...older car and all...wouln' worry 'bout it 'less it runs funny" , my mechanic shrugs.

"How much?"

"Nuthin' " , another shrug.

"Nothing?"

"We didn't do nuthin' but run it and watch for smoke, didn' see nun."

"Well, thank you very much, that's very kind of you."

"Ur elcome."

(I have spent thousands there on other cars, perhaps they are cutting me a break in memory of my departed Honda.)

I drive home. I have my old job waiting for me and my car is fine. For free.
This must be my lucky day.

You gotta strike while the iron's hot, so I decide to push my luck by making a phone call.

This is the call that initiates a plan I've been plotting for several weeks- I've given it a lot of thought and all I need is the willing participation of two particular women.

So I call one of them and tell her of my plan:

"....so, wotta ya think?"

"Sounds great, thanks for calling- this could be a lot of fun."

We talk about it for a long time and in minute detail. Interesting.

The other woman requires a more direct approach, so I go and see her in person. Again, I lay out my plan:

"....so, sound good?"

"Yeah, it does...but there are certain steps that I require be taken first."

And she details her needs. They are not unreasonable given the nature of my request.

I call the first woman to inform her of the second's response:

"Steps?"

I try to explain that I think it's just a CYA thing, not a personal issue, but in the course of our discussion it comes up that these two women not only already know each other, but that there is also considerable enmity between them.

Oh fudge.

That pretty much shoots my grand plan all to shit...there is no way I could endure an evening alone in a room with two women who hate each other.



------------------
Eh bien, continuous...

Smell My Browser

Here's my latest million-dollar scheme: Digital 'Interscents' - a programmable aerosol device attached to one's PC that emits specific fragrances upon receiving commands, i.e., you could send a squishy-lovey email that would smell like roses when opened...how charming!

Of course, like most of my good ideas it'd probably cause more trouble than it's worth.

Imagine comments and emails imploring you to "come over and take a whiff of this post" -and when you finally give in and check out the post, you are greeted with something like this:

CHECK OUT MY NEW WEBCAM!!

*click*... suddenly your cubicle smells like the interior of someone else's ass.

You know it would happen.

I think the Japanese are working on this technology right now, but I might be wrong. I'm too lazy to fact-check, but it sounds like something the Japanese would develop.

What's that smell?

Multi-Tasking

Now what?
I'm driving on the highway and my car radio goes dead. It still lights up and all, it just produces no sound.
I am radio people. I need my radio.
Not having a radio bugs me, but not as much as the clouds of smoke my car has started belching recently.
Yesterday I was able to find a loose wire inside the passenger side door- the speaker's circuit was broken is all, sure wish I'd checked that before I took my dashboard apart to get to the radio's wiring...
Today I took the car to the garage. Stereos and wires I can figure out, audio is one of my specialties- engine repair is not. Anything more complex than changing sparkplugs is beyond me.
Better get it looked at now before something happens...shit. More money I don't have.

I'm almost out of medicine and my insurance is gone. I wonder how much it costs without insurance?

Guess I'll find out. After I find out what's wrong with my car.

I use the long walk home from the garage constructively.

I brood before breakfast.

I get a lot of quality brooding done during my stroll.
My heart's in a bad place today, a fortified bunker, attacked from all sides with little hope of victory , fighting simply to endure, a veritable Khe Sanh of the soul, living on whatever can be emotionally airlifted into the perimeter, not sure if that's a mortar shell or a Red Cross package...

I lost a tug-of-war with alcohol recently. I didn't drink but someone I care about did- another broken promise...funny word "promise"..."promise" was something I saw...the potential for something great.
Done. Over. Oh well.

Speaking of alcohol, my father has gone AWOL again. I don't have the fortitude to track him down and do another intervention, but my grandmother has asked me to do it.
I am utterly , totally overwhelmed by this sudden responsibility for my 60-something father's welfare.
I don't care what he does, he's an adult and he's had all the chances to change and then some, but his behavior is killing his mother. It's shameful in the truest sense.

So I have a good brood-on going when I get home *ring!*...a call?

It's my old boss from the Law Firm. He wants to know if I'm interested in coming back...fuck, I hated that job, but it's slack and comes with insurance, 401 k and all- and my savings are gone...might have to suck it up and go back. It's nice to know I have a sure thing, though ,as I am getting a bit weary of serial disappointment.
I tell him I'll let him know soon.

I have another call to make first. Perhaps a job, perhaps not...but I'll never know if I don't call.

Here We Go Again

Bush is to speak in forty minutes.
More meat for his grinder- gotta save face even if means Private Smith loses his legs...who cares if Corporal Jones has two kids?
Hello America, your sons and daughters are cannon fodder, grist for the war profiteer's mill.
It's all been said before.


I may be incapacitated by rage for the next several days.

To Bo or Not Hobo

The post that was here sucked . So does this one, but it's shorter and has a pic of a neat car. I'm not sure what make this is but it resembles an Italian or French military reconnaissance vehicle circa 1930's. Who knows?

Spent the entire day emailing and faxing resumes- 12 in all. I also signed up with two more temp agencies.
It's a new year, holidays are over and the wolves are at the door, huffin and puffin'...I expect I'll wind up taking on some really crappy jobs until I find something decent...

Saw something alarming this morning- one ad for an office manager said: "individuals with more than two j0bs in the last five years need not apply"- it's the first time I've see this on a job for which I was otherwise qualified- it stopped me from applying. If such notices become common I'll never find work again, since I've had about ten jobs in last five years...sheesh...maybe I'll become a hobo, beat the coming rush.

Hmmm...no, being a hobo might suck, come to think of it.

TV That I Don't Hate

News and sports notwithstanding, I can barely remember most of the television that I have seen as an adult.
This is not the fault of my memory, it's TV's fault for being unmemorable.
But there are certain shows...

Buffy the Vampire Slayer- I saw this in re-runs in 2002. I was virtually shut-in at the time, a truly awful surgery had left me without the use of my left arm for several agonizing months- all I could do was wash Oxycontin down with beer and moan...Buffy was on four -four!-times a day on the FX channel...my waking life soon revolved around doctor visits and Buffy re-runs, I even had my physical therapy schedule set so I could be home in time for the 11 o'clock (?) episodes.
It was much funnier than I expected, clever and occasionally brilliant, full of witty references, pop and otherwise and just had a general sense of fun to it . With sexy lesbian witches.

It's weird...how come I didn't get addicted to Oxycontin? I took it for months...grew to hate it amost as much as pain. Anyway...

Northern Exposure- This was TV that didn't insult your intelligence; a literate , well written and produced show about a displaced New Yorker in Alaska. I dunno what genre it would be in...I have been told that it's considered "chick TV" but I liked it a lot because it's the only show I've ever seen that assumed the viewer had at least a passing knowledge of Joseph Campbell,
Fellini and Leon Trotsky. There were entire episodes that required this sort of background, not a typical TV show at all...
I used to watch this show with my only 'sane' adult girlfriend, Kathy II, who looked quite a bit like the Maggie character.
Ah.
I was more like the Feral Child that the Ed character played in one episode.
Before he washed up.

It was in late night re-runs on a local station and I'd go over to her house and we'd get stoned and watch NE...good times. I swear I've seen every episode twice and I'd watch 'em again if they were on, except for the last season or two, which sucked.

It had some surreal moments for sure but not nearly as many as:

Twin Peaks- Unlike Northern Exposure, this show made almost no linear sense to me at all. I thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless...it was TV you could watch when you were high - an it wasn't cartoons! Dark, bizarre stuff, David Lynch trying really hard- maybe too much- to do ...??? who knows?
I barely remember the show, really- I do fondly recall the weekly Twin Peaks parties we had though.
Years later at Kathy's house, I saw the Northern Exposure episode that parodies Twin Peaks-I laughed so hard... one of my happiest TV memories, right up there with the Moon Landing. Kathy had never seenTwin Peaks, but she totally turned me onto NE and I get a warm fuzzy just thinking about it...
Ah....

Must stop these nice thoughts...let's talk some scary-ass TV:

Does anyone recall a TV show called Millennium? It was an X-Files sort of project, only much darker- I remember what I thought was the final episode- a horrible flesh-eating virus was destroying the planet and the main character had tried to isolate and protect his family, but it was too late...there was a terrifying apocalyptic collage of global devastation and personal loss at the end- it's etched into my mind by the accompanying soundtrack from Patti Smith's Horses, someone actually mentions this in Wikipedia!

Says on the web there was a third season and the world didn't really end, it was a hallucination...
but that one collage- that was fucking brilliant, even if I really don't want to see it again. Ever.

That's enough about TV.

Big Hair Playlist

From my world-famous media empire HQ:

Trouble Funk- All over the world
Grace Jones- Cry Now
Robert Fripp - I am...
Tuxedomoon- No Tears
Robert Fripp/David Byrne-under heavy manners
King Crimson- Thela Hun Ginjeet
English Beat-Spar Wid Me
Tupelo Chain Sex- The revolution will be televised
Kate Bush - Running up that hill
Bill Nelson- Revolt into style
Oingo Boingo - why should i care?
Gary Numan - Praying to the aliens
Minutemen- Jesus and Tequila
Dream Syndicate- Tell me when it's over
Opal- She's a diamond
Mr. Partridge- Commerciality
XTC- runaways
Cocteau Twins- Heaven or Las Vegas
NY Gong - Jungle Windo
Crack The Sky- Lost in America
George Clinton- Kredit Kard
x-Universal Corner
Meat Puppets- Whistle song
Mission to Burma-that's when I reach for my revolver
Stranglers- ...In praise of the European female
Wire- Eardrum Buzz

Tomorrow: Something completely different.

Shows

It's just a microphone, don't be shy...

Two radio shows this weekend :

Sat 3-5 PM EST , Songs From the Big Hair -the 80's show:
All I have to do is play two hours of Eighties music. How hard can that be?
Too difficult for me, apparently...tomorrow's 80's show has a 1979 theme- a lot of great records came out that year - ones that influenced the "new wave" "no wave" and second generation punk to follow.
Bill Nelson, XTC, NY Gong, Wire,Gary Numan & Tubeway Army, the Clash...these guys were doing 80'S music in1979- my kinda 80's music anyway, which involves loud guitars and angry, socio-political lyrics... well, sometimes anyway- my tastes are wide and fickle...I'll be playing real- life vinyl LP 'record albums'-the younger reader probably has no idea
what a 'record album' even is... think of them it as a read-only Zip disc the size of a small frozen pizza; like a pizza it is packaged in a decorative cardboard sleeve; like a Zip you just don't see them that much anymore...I'm tempted to microwave an album right now, just to see what happens.

Has anyone out there already done this to a record?

I nuked a light bulb once. Highly not recommended.

...I don't think many of the bands I'll be playing have video- I didn't even own a TV between 1985 and 1990 so I never saw many vids...I miss not having a TV.

If they do have videos, I imagine they'll eventually show up here on this great new 1980's video source- I'm not sure exactly who runs this site...I suspect it's what the guys who really sang on the Milli Vanilli record are doing today, not being able to have a proper 'reunion' and all...but I might be wrong. Anyway, that record sold a zillion copies so whoever they are, they know what they are doing.

Sun Jan 7 , 7 am- The New Breakfast Snob-
This is my regular weekly show and I play a truly eclectic mix from my own collection, usually loosely based on whatever my prevailing mood is...and I'm always happy when I'm on air- I've even had my heart shattered while I was on air and lived to laugh about it- I have a feeling Ima gonna feel like rockin' tomorrow morning- I usually play more gentle material but I feel like tearing shit up - overall it's actually been a good week and that makes me crave guitars. Loud-ass guitars.

Mostly Good , Trying Harder

Last night I had the chance to talk with an old friend I hadn't seen since before I got sick and quit drinking. My friend , of course , was drunk, so my words were most likely wasted, but I can't shake them off...

Many years ago, my friend drank a hole in himself in much the same manner that I did- he too almost died, yet once he'd recovered from his surgery he started drinking again and really hasn't stopped since. He has had life threatening surgeries and seizures. He tells me he's had another alcohol-induced grand mal seizure just last year- but he just doesn't have the willpower to quit... I have a hard time listening to this.

Look, I say, we have both had surgeries and seizures and done our hospital time- for me it was the most traumatic time of my life- I am haunted every single day by my memories of that time- you--you know what it's like to go through that and you KNOW that it's going to happen again and you still keep drinking...
I stop my tirade because I'm trying talk to a drunk about drinking and I know it's useless to do that.

He knows it's killing him and he keeps drinking despite that certain knowledge.

That takes a lot of willpower. I know because I've been there- "drink 'till it hurts" was not a Spring Break slogan , it was a lifestyle choice...oh, don't mind the blood, that's normal right? Everyone pukes a little blood now and then, don't they?

I actually convinced myself that a little blood in my vomit was normal- I never allowed myself to think that about why I was sick all the time in the first place- must be the flu, food poisoning, an allergy- anything but the truth.

Believing my own lies almost killed me.

My friend isn't even lying to himself - he admits what's happening but doesn't seem to care enough to stop. I wanted to shake him, yell at him, beat him...stop, stop, stop STOP...
I didn't do that. Maybe I should have.

It was an otherwise perfect night of good friends and much joy, so I didn't do that. Instead, I had great time bar-hopping and staying up into the early hours- all without drinking. I didn't even smoke any dope- I didn't want to.
I was enjoying myself too much to want to get high, which is something I never thought I would hear myself say.

We have, as a group, pledged to arrive en masse in London in 2008, where we have a number of gracious hosts who know exactly what they are in for but have invited us anyway. I am told, not for the first time, that I'd be much happier in the U.K.- plans for seeking political asylum need looking into*...

When we left the bar, my English passenger walked 'round to the driver's side of my Volvo and stood there expectantly while I unlocked and opened the passenger side door for her.
I waited a moment, holding the door open...my passenger looks at me like I'm nuts...

Oh, right.

"Hey, in America the driver sits on the left side."

Haha...we switch places and are on our way.

Two good nights in a row, this is a habit I could live with.

Me One , Pat Robertson Zero -or- I told You So # 896

Just Monday I predicted this and here it is.

I almost never say : " I hate to say this, but I told ya so", mostly because I rarely hate to say that. Saying that would take the fun out of gloating.

But sometimes gloating sucks, sometimes there's no room for good natured ribbing -saying "I told ya to shoot for the corner pocket, not the side" is unlikely to cause much heartache to anyone, but saying : "I told you that BushCo would ruin America. I told you that before you elected him ", well, that breaks my heart.

I'm wrong a lot- I was hoping that I'd be wrong about the Iraq war- does anyone remember when saying "this war is wrong" was enough to get your ass fired, shunned and/or beaten?
It was.

In Novemeber, 2001- before the war, but during the post 9/11 chaos- one of my staff asked me why I didn't have any Flag Decals on my car.

I don't need one, I said, I already know I love my country.

Wasn't I afraid that someone would slash my tires?

Slash my tires because I don't have a Flag Decal? I need to be afraid of that?

Yes, she said, people are doing it. Spray painting cars too...they sprayed my neighbor's car. Then she pointed out the banner-sized flag hanging from the rear of her SUV .

Well, I said, then the terrorists have already won because they are us.

I wish I was wrong about that too.

Last night: Reunion of friends old and new.
5 Americans, an expat residing in London and a Nottingham lass, also currently from London, who I found to be very well-spoken and quite charming.

Combined, I have known these 6 people for a total of 120 years and one day. I love them all.
Some of the best times I have ever had were shared with the people in this picture and that includes last night.
We started at Richmond' best pizzeria. This is my second Pizza Event in the last few days- a big thanks to all my friends for the great pies . Susanne sent me pie on New Years- now today- ! I think pizza pie is my new favorite food, as it will henceforth always remind me of good people.



Some long-simmering issues from the Colonial period were finally laid to rest to the satisfaction of all parties, but I will use this blog to get the last word on one thing:
-American football is much better than soccer. Soccer is like ice hockey played on grass, without fights involving sticks, which is the best part of hockey.
I'm not sure if anyone plays hockey anymore- there are rumours of 'professional' leagues, nothing confirmed.

Of our group I am the only non-drinker and the only non-smoker. Nottingham Liz had gone 18 months without "sucking a fag" but decided to have a cigarette after meeting us.
Richmond has that effect on people- or maybe it was the company.

By last orders, she'd smoked an entire carton of Benson & Hedges as well as two packs of Marlboros- she truly understands the spirit of American indulgence.
I had twenty-five cups of coffee and a gallon of water. I may never sleep again but I sure as hell am gonna pee ten times in the next hour.

As we were settling up to leave the pizza joint, one very young waitress who had overheard our huggy, laughy crew re-living old times looked at us and said: " twenty years from now I will having reunions with my friends".
I think this was a beautiful thing for her to say. If you can have happy reunions with friends you've known for twenty years, well then, you've had a lucky life.

On a famous staircase at the ultra-posh and historical Hotel Jefferson, where our Limey friends were staying. Ever seen Gone With the Wind? Then you have seen this very staircase.
We went back to their hotel for continued drinking- by this time I had switched to the hard stuff-soda. The sugar and caffeine rocks my world.

I forgot the flash on this. I think my friend in the foreground looks pretty in this pic , but I always think she looks pretty.

My friend with the shorts on was in great peril of exposing his 'bits' to a camera-wielding blogger, which is never a good idea. (Trust me, it's not)
This is the Men's room adjoining the hotel bar. The urinals have motion detector devices that emit a burst of rosy air freshener when you approach them so you don't have to smell your own urine while you void. I have never before seen such a thing, but I assume the stall-toilets have the same feature- something I wouldn't mind having at home. For the cats too.


Wed. night was also a good night. A young child picked my name out of a jar containing those of all in attendance at a new friend's home - I was pick #1 and was given my choice of any cookie or brownie I wanted from a heavily laden tray of chewy fudgy goodness.

Having a sweet kid tell you you can have any cookie you want is a good feeling- and yummy too.