Celebrate

I'm not as Green as I look. I'm using the air-conditioning in my apartment for the first time in years. I feel just terrible about my carbon footprint, but I was having a hard time breathing the incredibly hot and humid outdoor air and I'm kinda selfish when it comes to oxygen- I want it now- future generations can deal with my reckless ecology after I'm gone.

*************************************************************

Last night the radio station received an award from the city on account of us being such good citizens:


The station sure has come a long way.

*****************************************
Me, I'm going back to where I was in 1999, sans hangover and impending Federal trial:

I got a call from the Bureau yesterday. I am to return to work on August 10, this time I'll be working in Field Operations. My 'new' boss is my old boss from 1999...I called him Monday morning and asked about work...he said : Well, I dunno...you know how it is here...can't promise anything, it's all up in the air right now, blah blah... etc etc.

A few hours later, my phone rang with the news that I begin training on Aug. 10. It'll be weird to be on the receiving end of training...I already know the job (I did it in 1999 and trained hundreds of people), and it's probably the hardest part of the whole operation...part of it includes visiting the city's ever-growing number of un-official homeless 'settlements' in order to count the people living in said camps.

Most urban dwellers probably are not aware of this, but almost any city with undeveloped, forested or otherwise inaccessible land almost certainly has it's share of semi-nomadic , neo-tribal homeless 'camps' ...in 1999, it was my part of my job to find these camps, which is a lot easier than you might think- all I did was ask myself this question:

"Where would I sleep if had no money, no friends and no resources?"

Answer: On an island in the middle of the river...in the woods bordering trainyards, interstates and shopping malls... in a particular row of abandoned warehouses...pretty much anywhere and everywhere. And that was during a time of national prosperity.

Luckily, it's a hypothetical question in my case. Sadly, I bet we find more camps than we did ten years ago.

Party Like It's 1995

Do you remember 1995? I do and I'm grateful to my friend 'B' for reminding me. She sent me this wonderful guidebook to mutant culture circa 1995 and it really stirs the memory...my memories of 1995 are blurry but upbeat, I was only 29 and life was good. Leafing through this book reminds me that if life was good, then it can be good again.

Don't these look like sidebar labels? Back in 1995 we called them "stickers".




The book contains a how-to for email ID theft circa 1995 and an article that warns that the growth of cyberspace was bringing a "vast array of jerks, idiots and nincompoops" and advises the reader to be wary of "drooling perverts who try to virtually molest Net-surfing teenagers".

Who knew?


Well, I need to sort out my old Magic: the Gathering cards. Seriously. I'd forgotten that I have a small fortune in them. Another friend (name also starts with B) reminded me- he sold his for $500. I used to deal Magic- I should be able to clear my rent, easy. Why didn't I think of that before? And my comic collection...holy shit.
That will be my project for early 2008, circumstance permitting: Sort the comics.


My project for 2007 is to get postmarks on some books. See ya at the Post Office!

My Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains

A double-shot of programs this weekend.
First, Songs From The Big Hair, our weekly 1980's show. This week I was training JY, a new volunteer. She has previous DJ experience and picked up our system easily; it was nice having another person in the booth.
DJing is sort of a lonely job, y'know? Like being a lighthouse keeper or something.



SONGS FROM THE BIG HAIR

Replacements- Go
12" vinyl on 45rpm. Hi-Fidelity! Go! Go! Oh, wait...later for them.

Danielle Dax- Big Hollow Man
I call my program 'The New Breakfast Snob' in honor of Michael Hawkesworth, the original Breakfast Snob. Mike had an all-nighter show on Park City, Utah's NPR station. He let me hang out while he played weird art rock and experimental punk. Among other things, he turned me onto Danielle Dax . Mike and I once played live on his station, doing a Residents-style Casio, feedback and poetry jam...Mike, this one's for you.

God will provide the way You read about it every day -I'm tellin' ya All you gotta do is pray And furnish His house with silver

X- Poor Girl
So, like, if you call me with a serious problem and you ask me to help you, I will.
And I won't take it lightly. But don't talk to me when you are drunk, because being drunk is your problem.
You should know better.

Lou Reed- Don't Talk to me About Work
This is another sore subject.

George Clinton- Tweakin'
Chuck D joins George C for some serious slammin'.
Hookin' into the extra input...

Oingo Boingo- No Spill Blood
Who makes the rules? Someone else!
This is Danny Elfman's old band. Great arrangements and lyrics...now go watch The Forbidden Zone.

The Kinks - Add it Up
So I have done the math, see? And it doesn't add up.
It never does.
I can triple-check it, but it won't help. The error is caused by a constant variable and it all adds up to nothing.

The Stranglers- Ice Queen
I was never sure of the accurate score...and so it goes.

The Damned - Grimly Fiendish
Yep.

The Soft Boys- I Got the Hots for You

Well, yeah, whatever. *yawn* So what else is new?

Meat Puppets- Meat Puppets
It's amazing that the Meat Puppets were allowed to record a second album. Their first one is almost unlistenable.
Their second LP is a modern Lo-Fi classic.
This is from the first album.

Snakefinger- The Model
Former Residents guitarist Snakefinger does a great cover of a Kraftwerk orange.


Lizzy Mercier Descloux - Wawa
Antena - Easy Street
Pet Shop Boys - West End Girls
New Order - Thieves Like Us

I let JY fly solo for a couple cycles while I listened in another room, filling out her evaluation. Before she went on she asked :"Is 'West End Girls' too Top 40?"
I didn't want to admit that I had no idea what a 'Pet Shop Boy' sounds like, so I said, sure, play it.
Now I remember...aaargh...yeah, it is too Top 40.
Nevertheless, I gave her high marks in every category because she earned them- welcome to the station, JY!

Chameleons - Up the Down Escalator
The Go Go's - We Got The Beat
Psychedelic Furs -Sleep Comes Down
Cowboy Junkies - Sweet Jane

JY's second set- The Furs reminds me of...well, nevermind. It's a fond memory.
Whim enjoyed the Chameleons, which I second...thanks for tuning in!

Crack the Sky-All the Things We Do
Am I the only living Crack the Sky fan? These guys were great- they used to play around Baltimore when I was a teen. Terrific band, but I think there were problems-nevertheless , John Palumbo rocks! Meat guitar played with a scalpel, not a cleaver.

Pere Ubu- Bus Called Happiness
It passes without stopping, splashing mud on my trousers as it roars past.
I hear the laughter of aquatic mammals. They are laughing at me.

XTC- Poor Skeleton Steps Out
Joey D. Viver!

Nena- 99 Red Balloons
This song is about nuclear annihilation. Let's take it one step further- how about we divide the world's nukes into two equal piles and place one pile at the North Pole and one at the South Pole?
Bam! The polar icecaps become a gigantic cloud of cleansing radioactive steam! All of humanity's problems are solved in an instant.

Elvis Costello- Poisoned Rose
Dude.

Cocteau Twins- Violane
Years ago , one of my female friends asked me why I liked this CD, they told me that straight punk dudes weren't supposed to like the CT's.
But this CD sounds so good it's impossible for me to dislike. Production...how did you get that sound? I bought my first set of condenser microphones after hearing this record.
That's why I like it.

Talking Heads- Once in A Lifetime
Same as it ever was...


( For deep delving into the video vaults of the 1980's go directly here: the Eighties)
-------------------------------------------

The following morning found me back on-the-air, this time it's my weekly show:
THE NEW BREAKFAST SNOB

Steeleye Span- Blackleg Miner
Feeling like some Celtic beats this morning, this is a recent acquisition and it sets me up nicely.

Fairport Convention- The Way I Feel
This version of the Gordon Lightfoot song is wonderful. The way I feel is not.

Maire Brennan- Beating Heart
Does she mean 'beating heart' as in 'beating a baby seal to death with a baseball bat?'
I don't think so, but that's what I hear anyway.

Claanad- The Other Side
Maire Brennan is the lead singer for this group, which has several members with the surname Brennan. Like a family or something...more great production.

Pentangle - The Hunting Song
"Whoever said, 'the heart is a lonely hunter' should have their head stuffed and mounted above my mantelpiece."
-AB

Velvet Underground- Sunday Morning
Yes it is. This song, like the one before it, features bells. Bells trail off, bells lead in; it's an epic cross-fade.
A beautiful moment of transcendental DJ bliss. I wish someone else had heard it.

Damien Dempsey- The Jar Song
Damien Dempsey sings about getting drunk with the likes of Shane MacGowan...have one for me , boys!

The Kinks - Mr. Pleasant
Last week's listener request, filled too late- which sort of fits with the theme of the song...

Sweetwater- Crystal Spider
Look. I like trippy 60's bands with chick singers. I just do. OK? Sheesh...

The Pretty Things - October 26
If I wanted to/could I depend on you/...my friend?
And the guitar sadly shakes it's head and walks away.

Loreena McKennitt- Caravanserai
I want to be a Druid. Really, that's how good this is.

Tom Waits- Shake
If you bastards don't behave, Tom is gonna show up at your door with a gun totin' preacher, a pair of knife-wielding hookers and a wagon-full of hot tubes. Enough!

Eleanor McCovey- Whisper and Prayer
Haven't I heard this somewhere before? It all sounds familiar.

The Wipers- No One Wants an Alien
Yeah. I know that. I really do.

Jade Warrior- Three Horned Dragon King
This record has an op-art pinwheel on the label instead of a song list. When it spins, you get dizzy if you look at it. Groovy.

The Alan Parsons Project- The Raven
I feel a strong affinity with E. Allan Poe and I love Alan Parsons' production.
I should do an 'all-Allan' show one day...oh, nevermind. I did that last year.

The Stranglers- The Raven
I LOVE the Stranglers. A lot. Angry keypunk! And that bass has serious growls, like a hungry Tyrannosaurus, y'hear that?

King Crimson- Model Man
Look for the signs/ look for the symptoms...
Not a model man/not a saviour or a saint/imperfect in a word/make no mistake
but I/give you everything I have/ take me as I am ...

Dude.That and two bucks will get you a cup of coffee.

The Who - Faith in Something Bigger
Inside ourselves.

Motorhead- I Don't Believe a Word
Neither do I. I want to believe, but I don't. Sorry.

Robyn Hitchcock- Midnight Fish
This album is on opaque white vinyl. That makes it very difficult to see the groovy decay between the songs...it's a good thing that I'm an expert, otherwise playing this could be dangerous.

Television- Prove It
Or not. I already knew that.

Cop Shoot Cop - Two at a Time
Using up your lucky days two at a time...

Neil Young- Welfare Mothers
I really wanted to play this on Mother's Day- my mom had a wicked sense of humour and would have approved- she gave me this album!- but I decided to wait until today.
Neil shoulda got an award for bein' so gentle and extra-sensitive...dee- vorrrr-ceeee...

Be Bop Deluxe- Panic in the World
The more things change, the more they don't.

Capt. Beefheart- Crazy Little Thing
How'd ya get a name like Crazy Little Thing? Maybe it was the name that drove you crazy all along

Pere Ubu- Nobody Knows
Sure they do. They just don't care.

Jethro Tull- Teacher
Ah, there's slight problem with your term paper. You see, I Googled your subject- Franco's rebellion- and it appears that you just printed an entire article from Wikipedia.
Leaving the URL at the bottom of the printed page was a dead giveaway.
Still, I'm giving you a C-minus just so I don't have to look at your stupid face next year.

Reunion at Vampire Beach

So I'm sitting on a bale of hay near the summit of a tall grassy hill. It's warm and bright and the day will be good because what else can it be? I've been here before- once every six months or so, according to a recently unearthed mental note- and this is a good place, despite it's somewhat eccentric population.

In front of me, the hillside descends steeply, abruptly cliff-like for fifty yards or more, before gradually becoming a wide, sandy beach covered with a shifting mass of blurry people . At the bottom there's an large open stage, (although it's tiny from this vantage) backed what I used to think was the Pacific Ocean. This visit, I somehow know it's really just a hundred miles of unbroken water and then lots of nothing. Maybe a waterfall, but who cares?

It's a Flat Earth, I know that much, but I'm not overly concerned about falling off of it.

There's going to be a good show today; I've seen it before- on this very same day but in a different dream- but I can never remember who's playing.

Overhead floats a block-long dirigible in the shape of a cartoon pig. I wonder if this is a Pink Floyd concert from the Animals tour. I hope so. That was a damn good show, or so I was told.

Whoever is playing, I must be Hot Shit to get seats this good.

"You must be Hot Shit", says a familiar blond vampire using a fake British accent, "to get seats this good."

Damn. It's Spike from the old Buffy the Vampire Slayer series. He's reclining on a chaise lounge and drinking out of a brown bag. What's he doing here? I think I remember what happens next, but I'm distracted as a group of happy but featureless people walk by. One of them is calling my name but I don't know the voice and in a moment it is gone.
Maybe next time, I think.
I will be coming back, after all. I know that.

There's lot of people down there, but there's plenty of room up here.
I hear a cough beside me. Right.

"Well," I finally reply, turning to Spike,"It is my subconscious. I don't remember inviting you 'round".

Oh shit. I'm speaking in a cheesy Brit accent too. I hope I stop.

He doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Fancy a snort, mate?", asks Spike.

"No, thanks. Trying t' quit."

"Suit yerself", he says, swilling away, "y'wanna know something? Just between us?"

"What's that?"

He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his trench coat, muffling his reply.

"Beg pardon?"

"It's all bullshit", he repeats, clearly this time.

"Bullshit?"

"Yeah. This bloody vampire crap and all the muddleheaded idiots who get all gooey reading Anne Rice and sleeping in coffins and the like. You won't see me sleeping in a coffin, nooo...not enough wiggle room ,ya know", he finishes by nudging me and winking.

"Spike", I ask, pointing upward at the blazing sun, "shouldn't you be on fire or something? You know, the sun, you being a vampire and all that."

"I told you it was all crap. Here hold this a sec' if y' would," he says, removing his coat and handing it to me.

"I'll show you."

With one hand, he grabs his forehead, his other hand clamps on his chin. He removes his face. It's just a mask.
Underneath, he's the guy who played Jesus in Mel Gibson's S&M torture movie.
He's wearing what looks like a diaper. It's not especially clean.

The bottle is gone.

Too bad for that, I think, suddenly ready to start drinking again.

"Excuse me", asks the imitation Christ,"but which way to the stage? I seem to be having a spot of trouble seeing."

He's got blood in his eyes from the crown of thorns he's wearing. Given the sunny weather, a ball cap would be more practical and a lot less painful.

I notice that the trench coat I'm holding for Jesus/Spike has changed into a clump of tissue paper.
There's a sticky wet spot on it. I don't think it's snot.
Gross.
I get ready to throw away the sticky mess when I remember the bloody-faced Jesus.
I'm not a believer, but I'm not a monster.
I'm not gonna let this poor dude wander around a dangerous cliffside half-blind ; son of God or not, he might fall and get seriously hurt.

I find a dry section of the kleenex ball and wipe his eyes clear.

"Thanks, man", says Jesus as he heads downhill toward the crowd and the stage.

"No prob."

I'm left holding a nasty kleenex that's soggy with the blood and jizz of Christ.

I am going to make a fucking fortune on eBay, I think to myself.

A few minutes go by and Jesus returns, this time heading uphill.
"Forgot something", he mutters.

A moment later he passes again, downhill, only this time he's got a wooden cross on his back. It looks as if he's fake-staggering under it's weight, like it's a Styrofoam prop.

At least no one's whipping him, although he's gathering a crowd as he heads downhill. Someone presses something to his mouth, but from here I can't tell what it is.
It might be a sponge, or maybe a pretzel. The soft kind that's good with mustard.

A woman's voice calls my name. I turn.
It's Willow, also from the Buffy show.



"Hey. I've been saving a seat for you" she tells me , patting the empty side of her hay bale.

"That's hay alright", I quip stupidly, sitting down.

"Every one's here", Willow informs me, gesturing with her arm. Sure enough, the whole Buffy cast is scattered throughout the crowd, along with every character on every TV show I've ever watched, including Ultraman-the real Ultraman- and Joe, the fugitive German Shepherd from the short-lived Run, Joe, Run Saturday morning TV show.

Willow passes me a perfect joint. Oh, yeah-that's the Pacific down there alright, I think as I briefly vanish into a sweetly skunky haze. As my headrush subsides, I wonder who's playing on the stage below us.

I ask Willow.

"I dunno. I was hoping you were."

"Really? I was hoping you were- that musical episode was funny as hell."

"Ooo...look!" She grabs my arm. I feel an intense tingle of pleasure from this contact. I like Willow and I'm glad she likes me.

Down by the stage, a group of people are dancing around a large bonfire. As we watch them dance, a wall of fog begins rolling in. The dancer's shadows get larger and more distinct against the mist as the fogbank thickens; in moments we are encircled by swaying, weightless giants.

I have never felt more safe in my life.

We are protected by beauty and power.

Willow says, "wow".

I agree.

Weekend Report

Saturday morning I was listening to the radio and I heard my DJ pals play a couple cuts from this album-Harper and Jugula- a 1985 collaboration between Roy Harper and Jimmy Page.

It made my bulb glow.

Seriously, as soon as I heard that, I had this brilliant flash- bright, but not blinding, if you know what I mean. I must have that album.

I called the station and spoke with my DJ pal Gene.

"Gene", I asked, " do you have that album?"

He said it came in with a batch of old records he was sorting through at work.

Gene has the second-worst job on the planet. The poor guy runs a business that sells records on-line. I think he has six million albums. Anyway, about the only thing worse than selling records is playing them; and Gene, on top of all that , is also a DJ- which is the worst job on the planet. The poor man just can't seem to catch a break.

It about broke my heart listening to all the great music he was forced to handle, so I thought maybe I'd see if I couldn't ease his burden a bit.

"Why don't you give me that record?", I offered. "That way you wouldn't have to own it anymore."

"Well...uh, er..." Oh. I see. Gene is one of those businessmen who thinks his company should actually make money. Capitalist!

"OK. How much are you asking for it?"

"...I bought it for myself. I'm not selling it. I've never seen it before either."

"Gene, stop toying with me. How much?"

"Not for sale."

Begging isn't pretty but it works.

I have the LP for one week. I played it this morning, in fact.

Here's the rest of what I played this morning:

Joe Jackson- Sunday Papers
I used to listen to this on a shoebox-sized cassette Walkman while I delivered the Sunday papers in Columbia , Md. Now I'm playing it on-air. Yeah!

P.J. Harvey- Send His Love to Me
The sound of a woman yearning turns me on. This is some seriously yearning music.

Steve Hillage- Palm Trees (Love Guitar)
He's a dippy hippie but he's no fool when it come to guitar FX- that's analog delay, not digital. Analog sounds better and Steve knows it.

Roy Harper & Jimmy Page- Elizabeth
When this winter is over Elizabeth
I will come for you
Bearing songs on the wings
Of great happiness
-Roy Harper


Loreena McKennitt- Mystic's Dream
The first time I heard McKennitt sing I was done for. This is beautiful, eyes-closed listening music.

Golden Palominos- Pure
This would be a great song to make out to. At least I think it would.

The Beatles- Don't Let Me Down
Beatles.OK? OK?

Claanad- The Hunter
I play this band a lot. It's because I like them.

Quiet Sun- Mummy was an Asteroid, Daddy was a small non-stick kitchen utensil
I've already blogged about this record, but ya gotta love the title to this instrumental.

Led Zeppelin- Down by the Seaside
I could do a whole show just playing all four sides of Physical Graffiti and talking about how great it sounds. I'm not kidding.



Be-Bop Deluxe- Ships in the Night
Would someone please give Bill Nelson some props? The dude helped invent New Wave. It didn't suck when he played it either.

The Stranglers- Ships That Pass in the Night
Gutter-punk with naked mohawk chicks or elegant New Wave ballads with classical finesse? Depends on which album you're listening to.

Pretty Things- Come See Me
"Baby, I'm your man...I'm your man-n-n-n-"

Nina Hagen- Wir Leben Immer Noch (Lucky Number)
I really like Nina Hagen. You either do or you don't and I do.

Pere Ubu- Worlds In Collision
One of my favorite bands. I met Dave Thomas when he visited the station. I said "hello". He said "what's up?"

Brice Woodall- Control Freak
Richmonder who moved to Chicago. I love the way this disc sounds. Dude has a voice and an ear and both are awesome.

Damien Dempsey- Celtic Tiger
Another random internet love-at-first-listen; now a regular on the show. Great songwriter, fookin' brilliant, really.

Mike Watt- Against The 70's
Ex-Minutemen bassist sings a song warning kids not to buy into baby-boomer sentimentality for the 1970'S

Jethro Tull- We Used To Know
Jefferson Starship - Devil's Den
Lou Reed- Vicious
Three baby-boomer songs from the 1970's, played for sentimental reasons.

Paw- Seasoned Glove
This song is sung from the POV of a little boy whose drunken father never comes home at night. I know, kiddo, I know...

Crack The Sky- Lighten Up McGraw
If this guitar riff doesn't kick your ass you don't deserve ears.

The Kinks- Top of the Pops
The music industry has always been full of shit but the Kinks were the first band to do entire albums about it . I love the Kinks.

Robert Anbian and the UFQ- Haikus for the White House
Example:
Haiku Condi
No one so smart
She can't be stupid
Black or white

This disc is brand-new on Edgetone Records. Go buy it.



.....


In this photo (by DJ Charles Williams) the text reads: "Independent Radio Just Got Stronger", but it sort of looks like it says "stranger", not "stronger".

I'm cool with that.

********

Here's the station blog from my turn at the weekly1980's show:

Back in the early 1980's one of my high school teachers brought up the idea that an infinite number of chimpanzees equipped with an infinite number of typewriters would eventually re-create an existing literary classic, such as Shakespeare's Hamlet.

I didn't know what sort of point he was trying to make- it seemed obvious to me that the result would be an infinite number of broken typewriters and the decimation of the rainforests from the production of all those infinite reams of typing paper.

Perhaps, I added without being asked, the Reagan Administration feels that if it provides an infinite number of weapons to an infinite number of chimps, then eventually one of them would write the Peace part of Tolstoy's War and Peace.

Well, I got kicked outta class and spent the afternoon in the woods listening to The Clash's Sandinista! on my boom-box and wondering what the future would be like.
I had no idea how much it would resemble the past.
I'm even listening to the same music.

Oingo Boingo -Wake Up !(It's 1984)
XTC- Wake Up!
Stranglers- Let Me Introduce You to the Family
Listen to that guitar...that's insane...truly whacked.

Keith Levene- Cops Too
The Proclaimers- 500 miles ?
Bernie Krause- Jungle Shoes
The Clash- Police on my Back
This song takes me back...some good, some bad.

Dave Stewart/Barbara Gaskin- Henry and James
Troublefunk- All Over the World
Snakefinger- The Golden King
Snakefinger is one of my all-time guitar heroes. After his only Richmond show, I got high and hung out with him and his band for hours...they were genuinely nice people who couldn't believe that this skinny little kid knew all their songs- I got them to autograph my albums and gave Snake a giant bud for the road. A month later Snakefinger died. I haven't gotten over it yet.

Ozzy- Mister Crowley
Kate Bush-Running up that Hill ( A Deal With God)
Devo- Jerkin' Back and Forth

The only thing that's more fun than playing Ozzy back-to-back with Kate Bush is using Devo to illustrate the irony. Honestly, life really doesn't get much better than this.


Neil Young- No More
It's Neil Young. It's about addiction and the guitar sounds amazing. Mmmmm...

Husker Du- Never Talking to You Again
Dream Syndicate- Until Lately
Grace Jones- Everybody Hold Still
The Damned- Grimly Fiendish
Dukes of Stratosphere- Have You Seen Jackie?
Lou Reed- The Blue Mask
This song is twisted, like totally fucking bent. But it doesn't have any cuss words, so I can play it. Twin feedback guitars, panned hard left and right. It's why Godzilla gave stereo two channels.

Peter Tosh- Bumbo Klaat
You can't even say "Bumbo Klaat" in Jamaica without getting murdered and/or arrested. Seriously. Peter Tosh was a bad-ass motherfucking guitarist, but he wasn't bullet-proof.

The English Beat- Spar Wid Me
King Sunny Ade- Synchro Reprise
Magazine- About the Weather
Played from a 12" 45 rpm record. What an artifact! Nothing sounds better than 12" 45's. Seriously. (78's don't count)

Elvis Costello- Less Than Zero
X- White Girl
Tupelo Chain Sex- The Revolution Will Be Televised
Yello- Desire
My Bloody Valentine- Take My Breath Away
And how.

A Bad Way to Start the Day

Yesterday was a really enjoyable day. After work I ran into an old friend at the market and it was a genuinely good moment- like a mutual :" wow! not only can I not believe that you are still alive, but you actually look healthy!"

It was reassuring to see someone else who lived through the 'party years 'and came out more or less intact- it really was. I went home feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, which is a fairly new and unfamiliar mindset for me, but one that I enjoy a lot and could really get used to.

I wrote to friend about how happy I was - and I wasn't even high.

I must be pretty well-adjusted, I congratulated myself.

That was a jinx.

This morning I couldn't find my wallet or my work IDs. They are always in the same place, so I never look for them until it's time for the bus.

They were not there.
I missed the bus.
I looked everywhere- nowhere to be found.
I missed the next bus.

Owww...my stomach starts hurting. No fair!
My guts are on fire. I feel sick.

I know it's just stress, but knowing that doesn't untie the knots in my bowels, it just makes me angry at myself for letting the stress bother me so much, which makes the knots constrict, which makes me angrier at myself...so I distract myself with nightmare scenarios about what is happening with my wallet and ID , which I was certain had fallen into the wrong hands.

Called my bank. No activity on my account. Good.

But one of my passkeys is for the Federal Reserve Building. What if some psycho uses it to get inside and does some crazy shit that I get blamed for? I know it's pretty damned unlikely that such a thing would occur , just like I knew that my heart probably wasn't going to stop beating in the next ten seconds- but it didn't stop me from feeling these fears.

I was going into panic mode without knowing it- and I really should know better.

Then the phone rang.

I should have known better to answer it, but I thought it was work and I needed to call in anyway.

It was a collection agency. From a medical visit in November that should have been workman's comp. It was all straightened out by my former employer- they asked me for the bills and told me they'd cover it, since it was on-the-job. I had all the paperwork saved- I had mailed it months ago, but kept copies just in case.
I told the agency that I'd fax that stuff directly to them and they said fine, no problem.

Well, damn. I can't find that paperwork anywhere. It must be with my wallet, which I can't find either.
I'm shaking and sweating. The panic is here.
I've let it get to me.
All the crap I've been through and a little thing like a lost wallet is going to break me?
That sucks.

I take a pill and walk around the block. I feel the chemical comfort , just as warm as the sunshine on my face. I smile at a jogger and he smiles back.

I pet someone else's cat.

I look at a bucket of spilled paint on an otherwise pristine and newly renovated porch. There are sneaker prints, yellow on gray, in a sort of tip-toe circle around the spill. What a mess.
Bummer for them, but it cheers me up for some reason.

When I return home, I feel almost human. I call my old employer- they say :"don't worry, just have them send us the bills, we'll get it fixed- it's only $65, we'll cover, no sweat".

Hey! That's pretty cool! I still can't find my wallet though.

And it's too late for me to go to work. I'm out a day's wages and I'm too tranquilized to be very productive.

The phone rings again. I answer without thinking, that's how mellow I am.

It's a Focus Group company that I have done a number of Focus Groups for. At a FG, a group of demographically correct persons are presented with products and asked to evaluate them.

One time I tasted unmarked sodas and told them I disliked them all, which was true. I got $50 and a box lunch for those opinions.

Another group was comprised entirely of male whiskey drinkers.

( note: if a FG company calls you, tell them that you use whatever product/service they are asking about, even if you don't. If you are not a potential customer , they won't select you)

We were presented with a great number of experimental bottle and label designs and asked to rate them on a scale of 1 to ten and give a short explanation as to why we did or did not like them.
Our group were all expecting to be sampling the products , not looking at labels, but we set about doing as we were asked. They were paying $100, after all.

One of the bottles - I forget the brand, Old Overcoat, I think it was- was a 'novelty' design, shaped just like an American football with a spout at one tip and a small square base at the other. It was full of brown liquid and really did look like a football standing upright on a kicking tee.
About five seconds after the instructor left the room, one of my groupmates started making little feint passes with the football bottle- we knew we were being observed, but I am sure we'd have started tossing that thing around if we weren't under adult supervision...anyway, when the instructor came back and asked for our ratings, we all started laughing.

One gentleman raised his hand.

"Y'all need to make that football bottle outta plastic. That glass is gonna bust upside somebody's head."

"Upside some...?", asked the instructor.

"Yeah. Like when you're playin' catch.", I chimed in.

A younger kid bipped himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand to illustrate what we meant.

"So...you feel safety may be an issue."

"Liability too, " said the man who wanted the plastic bottle.


Anyway, I just found out that next week I will get paid $75 to spend an additional $75 on stuff I get to keep at a well-known Big Box store with a local HQ. This company recently laid off most of it's best salespeople and replaced them with scrubs. It was in the news.

As a result, service sucks and sales are down. Who could have guessed?

My mission is to "mystery shop" and report back on my experience for a total of $150 in cash and prizes- so I'll make up the money I missed at work today- and I never would have gotten the call if I'd gone to work. So at least that worked out. Whew!

Fuck. I might as well get my birth certificate and SS papers and head down to DMV and get a new driver's license- then I can go to the bank and cancel my debit card and withdraw a few bucks until I get a new card.

So I walk out to my car- which I see I have left unlocked- and there they are.

My wallet and IDs, on the passenger seat where I left them last night.

It Could Always Be Worse

Have you ever been to Star Trek Convention? How about a Comic Book Show or Sci-Fi Con?
Wizard Con? Dragon Con? I used to get paid to go to them- which, IMO, is the only way to travel when it comes to Cons.

I ran a comic-book shop back in the VCR days, and in the summer my boss would have me work at the bigger shows when he couldn't go himself or he just needed an extra hand- San Diego , Chicago, Javit's, Atlanta- all fun places...I did it part-time for a few years even after the store closed.
We sold bootlegs of old Japanese and Chinese cartoons and Kung-Fu flicks- we never sold Hollywood stuff and we never had any FBI trouble. Back then there was no 100+ station cable TV and all the Interweb had to offer was 28.8k dial-up, so it was pretty hard to get copies of old TV shows like Space Giants and Astroboy- which people wanted, god knows why.

One summer- 1994, I think it was- my boss sent me to Baltimore to work a Trekkie Con. It was in a nice hotel right on the Harbor- I drove up there with my old Honda loaded with Trek 'Bloopers' tapes, X-Files 'collector' bootlegs and grainy-ass Dr. Who serials - of course I was late and barely got set up in time for the opening of the show- in hindsight, I sure wished I'd scoped the room out before I unloaded my car.

I sat behind my booth and waited for the money to roll in- as I said, I have no idea why adults would spend $25 on what is obviously a home-made VHS copy of a Japanese children's cartoon but they did- and I waited.

When I was done with waiting, I waited some more.

Nobody was buying anything.

A pimply Klingon approached the table, looking for something:

"Hey, how ya doin'? Anything I can help you with? Be glad to play anything you wanna see...$25 bucks each, or 3 for $50...", I began my well-oiled spiel.

"Hmmm...grunt... tapes... umm...where?"

"Well, the Sci-Fi is over here- with the blue labels...anything in particular?"

"No.Yorg. Other tapes. Grunk.Where?"

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Klingon- you'll have to use complete sentences. What other tapes?"

The Klingon from Starship Oxy-10 gestured around the room. "Tapes. Like them."

I had no idea what the hell the kid was talking about- I hadn't had a chance to check out the competition yet. Since I wasn't selling a damned thing, I figured I'd better see what people were buying, so I tossed a tablecloth and a "Back in Ten" sign over my merchandise and made the rounds.

I wished I'd stayed home.

It was a Star Trek Sex Con. No kidding.

Two booths down from me a handsome older woman was drawing freehand fantasy sketches for $35 a pop. She was good- and quick- but was being asked to draw some stuff that was clearly making her a bit uncomfortable...I was walking by and I heard a girl wearing a Next Generation uniform asking if the artist could " please make Kirk's cock bigger"- just the sort of question that makes one stop and wonder- and look.

Sure enough, the poor artist was drawing Kirk and Spock in a lover's embrace- holding each other's peckers, to be specific- but the client wanted Kirk to be 'bigger'...the poor woman who was drawing this had a look of dumbstruck incredulity on her face; she didn't seem to know what this particular Con was about and the prospect of spending ten hours drawing homoerotic pictures of William Shatner looked like it was causing her to have some serious thoughts about a career change.

It made me need a drink, but it was 10 am and the bar didn't serve until 11, so I walked around some more...every booth had some sort of Sci-Fi erotica- some of it I was familar with: your typical Frazetta-clone titties and broadsword stuff; the Japanese SchoolGirl cartoons (Hentai, if you need to know) ; Catwoman clothing etc...but it went much deeper than that. People were selling "fan-fiction" and I was dumb and bored enough to try reading one of these Xeroxed masterpieces...it was a first-person account of Spock's internal dialogue: how could he reconcile his Human love for "JTK" with his own emotionless Vulcan personality?

I couldn't finish reading it, so I don't know how it ended. Probably in tears.

Ahhhhgghhh!! Thank Godzilla the bar was finally open.

"Gimmee a draft and a double shot of Wild Turkey."

This breakfast combo didn't even make the jaded hotel bartender blink. Surely he was used to early morning boozers- besides, he was busy gawking at the Animal Girls.

"Get a load of that", he said, looking behind me.

The Animal Girls are a non gender-specific type of FanPerson you can find at most Cons if you look hard enough- but this Con was for them, it seemed. The AG's like to dress as "sexy animals"- tight rabbit suits and fishnet cat cotumes being common examples for the females - Lions, Klingons and Bears for the guys...I'd seen it all before, but not quite so openly displayed.

" How is that cat-tail attached to that costume?" I wondered aloud, looking at a purple Catwoman with a long tail- her costume had no ass and her cheeks were hanging out, which was fine with me and my bartender buddy- but how about that tail? What held it in place?

"It's gotta be a plug," observed the barkeep, his eyes fixed on her ass.

"Nah. All day with that? No way", I remarked, showing just how naive I was at that time.

"Free drink if I'm wrong, five bucks if I'm not", offered up the bartender, who I was beginning to think was the only sane human being in the entire hotel.

"Deal." We shook hands and I ordered another round, which I dispatched in two gulps.

Fortified, I went back to the sales room. I had my "Vendor" badge and didn't have to wait in line, but I needed to get a closer look at the catwoman ass- I mean, a free drink was hanging in the balance ; a bet is a bet and I always honor my wagers.

So it was in the interest of sportsmanship and fairplay that I slipped into line behind the purple catwoman and started in with my very best pick-up line:

"Uh, are you from around here?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Wherabouts? I used to live here, but I haven't been up here for a long time..."

Catwoman looked at my 'civilian' attire and my Vendor tag and her face clouded with contempt.

"You. Are. A. Dealer."

"Well"...I stammered defensively, "I'm just working for someone else, but I don't think I'll make much money today. I brought the wrong stuff."

She looked me up and down and saw less than nothing.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure you did."

By this time, even my dumb, drunken self had figured out that I was never going to bed this particular Kitty, so I dropped my veneer of gentility. The 101 proof Bourbon coursing through my arteries helped considerably.

"Say, that's a neat outfit...did you make it yourself...?"

"Yes. And yes, it's up my ass."

"Oh."

So I took myself out of line and went back to the bar.

"Draft and a double Turkey?"

"You got it. And here's an extra five for you."

I Nearly Married a Machine

This is my Trashcan 38. It's a reel-to-reel multi-track recorder. For many years I recorded bands with it but eventually it became more expensive to maintain than it was worth.

So I pretty much gave up on recording music and decided to concentrate on drinking instead.

My tape deck languished in the basement for a few weeks or months while I pursued my new hobby.
It wasn't long before I started dating this girl named, er, um...Lily...she weighed about ninety pounds with a bellyful of margaritas but could match me drink for drink, all night long. We had drinking contests almost every night and she could hold her own.

Well, not always. Lily was a student and I had a straight job, so she usually had a few hours head start on me when it came to catching a buzz, so there were a few nights when I wound up carrying her skinny ass home from whatever bar or party we'd been mooching booze at.
I didn't really mind doing that- after all, I am a gentleman , if nothing else; but it did start to hurt my back after the third or fourth such incident.

So I had an idea.
Usually my problems begin when I start having ideas and this time was no exception.
See, I figured I'd put that tape deck to use- it had a helluva motor inside and was a lot smarter than some of the people I recorded with it, so I thought maybe I could build a giant robot out of it that could carry Lily home for me when she passed out. I was worried that the police might see me carrying an unconscious woman down the street and get the wrong idea- there was a lot of potential for misunderstanding and all- but if I had a Giant Robot it would be a lot easier to explain what what was going on... well, honestly, if you have a Giant Robot you really don't need to explain much of anything to anybody...


This worked great for a month or so until one fateful night at the corner pub. Lily had conked out an hour before last call and her snoring was starting to bug me while I was trying to hit on her best friend, so I got my G.R. to carry her home without me while I hung out looking to score with Lily's pal.

That was a mistake. Her friend shot me down so I walked home alone...maybe Lily could be stirred into action, I thought as I entered our dark apartment. I didn't see my robot- I guessed it had returned to the basement. It wasn't programmed to do that- it just liked it down there.

I didn't hear Lily snoring but I heard her special little sound- a sort of gasping meow- I wondered if she'd started the party without me...I tiptoed down the hall, maybe we could play 'Burglar'...I opened the bedroom door and saw the robot's metal ass...

Well, you can guess the rest.

Anyway, Lily and I broke up after that.

She offered me $500 for the Robot.

I wish I'd accepted it.

Marl Burrow

Do you remember when Marlboro cigarettes had a "Marlboro Miles" promotion, in which smokers would save tiny "miles" coupons from each pack and eventually save enough to trade in for a jacket, tent, cooler or other item ?

One day way back then, a co-worker was hitting up everyone at work for some " miles" .
She only needed 1500 to trade in for a Formula One racer or something .

"C'mon", she'd say, " I know you got some."

"I don't smoke."

"You could start."

She had all these little "miles" chits in a zip-lock baggie that she kept nervously playing with.

"Just 1500, is all I need is 1500 miles..." she'd whine.
It got tiresome.

I grabbed some shredded paper from the Fellowes machine and scissored it into confetti squares.

"Here", I told her.
Dump a handful of this shit in your bag. It ought to weigh at least as much as 1500 miles."

"Why?"

"Because Phillip-Morris isn't going to have people hand-counting 5o,000 tiny paper scraps per envelope- their customers will all be dead before the counting is over. They'll just dump the crap on a scale and weigh it. If it doesn't go "clank!" when it hits the scale, you'll be fine."

"Really? No way."

"Really. Try it."

So she dumped the shreds into the bag and shook it, sealed it and sent it.

Later, she quit, or I moved, or something - but I never found out if my theory was correct. Did she ever get her yacht or her car or her thermos or whatever the hell it was that she coveted?

Today I was talking to a guy at work about how shitty temp jobs can be.

"Yeah", he agreed, "the first, worst temp job I had in Richmond was weighing those goddamn Marlboro Miles!"

Two shows down, one to go. It was great fun having the Cashmere Jungle Lords on- Dominic even played a song live at a caller's request- busy day!

Today's playlists:

SONGS FROM THE BIG HAIR

MY BLOODY VALENTINE- CUPID COME
ROBYN HITCHCOCK-ONE LONG PAIR OF EYES
PERE UBU - FIRE
COFFIN BREAK - DIANE
X- WHITE GIRL
RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS- JUNGLEMAN
TROUBLEFUNK- WOMAN OF PRINCIPAL
GRACE JONES- INSPIRATION
TALKING HEADS - THE GREAT CURVE
OINGO BOINGO- SWEAT
MINUTEMEN- JESUS AND TEQUILA
OPAL- MAGICK POWER
DREAM SYNDICATE- TELL ME WHEN IT'S OVER
NINA HAGEN- 99 RED BALLOONS
XTC- HERE COMES PRESIDENT KILL AGAIN
CRACK THE SKY- LOST IN AMERICA
KINKS- LITTLE BIT OF ABUSE
STRANGLERS- ICE QUEEN
LOU REED - MARTIAL LAW
MEAT PUPPETS - WHISTLE SONG
ADRIAN BELEW- SWINGLINE
TUPELO CHAIN SEX- THE REVOLUTION WILL BE TELEVISED
SONIC YOUTH- HOT WIRE MY HEART
SNAKEFINGER- BEATNIK PARTY (LIVE)
MISSION OF BURMA- THAT'S WHEN I REACH FOR MY REVOLVER
SOFT BOYS- I GOT THE HOTS FOR YOU
BAD BRAINS- RE-IGNITION


RIVER CITY LIMITS

MASS MOVEMENT OF THE MOTH/CATALYST- STUCK IN THE SEGUE FRAUD- DEMOCKERY PINK RAZORS- FINE FOOD CHEAP SEATS- V.A. HOSPITAL UGLY HEAD- DROWNED IN THE HYDRAULIC CASHMERE JUNGLE LORDS- NOT THE HURTIN' KIND MR. SENSITIVE- PUSH IT CJL- EYE OF THE NEEDLE CJL-WHATEVER LOLA WANTS RATTLEMOUTH-WINDSHIELD VIPER DOMINIC CARPIN- RADIO (LIVE ) CJL-EVERYTHING REVOLVES AROUND YOU MOOSA- A LITTLE BIT HIGHER CARBON LEAF- ORDINARY EYES MURPHY'S KIDS-MAN DATE MASON DIXON DISASTER- SINGLE BARREL CLAIRE QUILTY- BREATHE VCR- BRATCORE SILK ATTRACTION-WIDOW CONSHAFTER- AUTOPILOT PALOMINOS-SHE'S THE DEALER BURMA JAM- LAVAMAN POLITE SOCIETY-WILLIAM WHITELOWE SCOTT BROOKMAN- KAREN CAROL BUI- THIS IS HOW I RECOVER ATKINSONS-ALONE WITH YOU BILLY RAY HATLEY- VOICE OF REASON THE CAN UTILITY- FISH DON'T DRINK H2O

Stay Out

Three radio shows this weekend- details in the sidebar--->

Local legends The Cashmere Jungle Lords will be interviewed during the second show- back in the 1990's I used to play in a band called Mr. Sensitive with the Jungle Lord's drummer- it'll be nice seeing those guys again.
I found an old Mr. Sensitive cassette from 1997 a while back and just finished transferring the songs to my computer. I can barely remember playing or recording this stuff- that's how wasted I was- in one of the songs I sing:

I wish I could get up
off of the ground
and wipe the yellow foam
off of my mouth
how come nobody told me
this is all there was
I'm floating up
throwing up
toilets full of blood

I wrote that in the mid 1990's.
In September of 2005 it came true.

Not only was my toilet full of blood; my tub, sink and floors were all generously coated. I was projectile vomiting little bits of my esophagus and upper GI across my bathroom walls.
I had drank myself to shreds and was bleeding into myself.
Badly.
I drove myself to hospital and fainted in the ER.
They let me out a week later.

Hearing myself singing about my own future death really freaks me out. It's as if I knew what I was doing to myself and I knew exactly what the consequences were, yet I kept going.
And going.
And going.
Until I had nowhere left to go but death.

I had to decide if I wanted to live, which meant a lot of work- harder work than I'd ever done in my life- and I'm a freekin' ant when it comes to work...

OR

I could grab a 12-pack and a 1.75 of Vodka and be dead inside a week.


I haven't had a drink in eighteen months.

Listening to that old song reminds me what alcohol has to offer. That it's never going to fully go away.

It's not coming back into my life. I have too much to do.

Spamette

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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.

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.