Stuff I Love

Not everything sucks. Here are some things that I love:

This is probably the coolest dressing room that I have ever been in. The club is in an old (circa 1900) Fire House- you can see the antique fire engine on the right. There's also a semi-naked musician in the background if you care for that sort of thing...



This is a closer look at the engine. Years ago, the building was a Fireman's Museum and I somehow wound up with the keys...we'd get loaded, sneak in after closing, climb on the engines and ring as many bells as we could. Unspeakable acts were committed on this priceless antique...oh, the shame of it all.
I think I could make a pretty cool bong out of that water tank...

Below we have what is known as a "technical difficulty". For some reason, the speaker pictured just didn't sound as good as it should have. No idea why.

This is the club's PA system. It's a strange hybrid of computers, semi-obsolete electronics, gears, winches and pulleys. It took a little getting used to , but by the end of the night I was rather fond of it. I like funky, rigged-up stuff that shouldn't work, but does. Empathy, ya know?

My finger is poised above the "SUCK" button. Beware!

This (below) is Deke Dickerson's guitar rig. With the exception of the digital tuner and a switchbox or two, almost everything pictured is at least as old as I am.
Sweet!


Deke had an awesome, authentic tone that today's digitally "enhanced" amplifiers can only dream about- seriously, they make oodles of fancy digital amplifiers that advertise themselves as having "legendary tube sound"...why not just use an old tube amp? Sheesh...

Deke and his band, The Ecco-Fonics, were excellent musicians and consumate showmen- I have heard his recordings but they don't even come close to doing justice to the high-spirited, fun-loving rock and roll energy that he puts off on stage. If you get a chance, go see him, even if you don't like rockabilly, you'll like Deke and the Ecco-Fonics. Go.

At one point, the drummer, Mr. Sugarballs, sat up front and played a guitar duet with Deke, using a beautiful double-necked guitar that Deke referred to as a "musical anvil" due to it's weight...they played a wonderful, note-for-note tandem guitar solo. I was impressed and I'm very hard to impress, me being all jaded and whatnot.

So enough rock and roll- let's go back in time a week or so...here's (below) something else I love: Strife.

Strife? WTF, dude?
Hold on..."Strife" is merely the name that Whim gave to this simple repast of Palestinian-style hummus served on Jewish donuts (or 'bagels' as they are sometimes called.) Palestinian (or East Bank Style) hummus usually calls for fermented goat's milk and olive oil in lieu of the more commonly used tahini...I was a little low on fermented goat milk so I used plain yogurt instead- the only thing missing was the traditional Middle Eastern garnish of concertina wire and landmines, but I think Whim's tie-dyed tablecloth was more pleasing to the eye...

Of course I can't write of eye-pleasing stuff that I love without mentioning Whim. The picture below doesn't do justice to this wonderful woman- she has the most exquistely beautiful smile that I have ever seen...sigh.

I miss her already.

Back Home 2

I returned from my five-day vacation at the wonderful and exclusive resort getaway, WhimWorld. No work, no hassles, just food, movies, relaxation and , of course, Whim.

I left feeling healthy, refreshed and happy, making up silly songs in my head all the way home, a feeling that lasted until I arrived here... now it's back to the headaches of technical difficulties and laborious physical paperwork- and an ongoing ozone alert that makes it kinda hard to breath.

There's much more, but I will have to catch up on my responsibilities here before I can fully return to the blogosphere...until then, here's a flower from just outside of WW.

I Have A Date With A Model

And she is super. See y'all soon!

Too Much Fun (Extended Dance Mix)

Have I mentioned how much I love live radio? Being a DJ/Engineer/Producer is a dream come true- I enjoy it so much that I'd do it for free...oh, right. I do do it for free.


Saturday I had two shows as DJ and a third as Engineer/Producer- my stalwart DJs Phil and CC had an amazing musical guest, Gull (aka Nate), a one-man band unlike anything I'd ever run sound for... dude played guitar with his left hand, drums with his right hand and feet and 'sang' muffled and ominous-sounding verbalisms into a microphone that he had placed into the piehole of a handmade serial-killeresque mask...he totally rocked the house, playing funky, pounding beats while riffing bass lines and melodies with an awe-inspiring one-handed guitar technique that reminded me of Robert Fripp playing Van Halen...or maybe the other way around. In any case, I enjoyed the heck out of it - and Nate had a great time too! Our music studio is a homey, funky place to play and Gull was right at home ( pics by Phil and/or Wendy).

I got a phone call from my blogpal Jackie Sue ( who is feeling much better) and when I got home I had a wonderful email from Whim, whose capricious signal had allowed her to hear most of my shows, including the songs that I played for her...sigh.

What a great day it was.

The New Breakfast Snob, July 12 2008 1-3 pm


Flogging Molly- Devil's Dance Floor

Richard Thompson- Walking Through a Wasted Land

Bob Dylan- Maggie's Farm

Captain Beefheart- Same Old Blues

Atomic Rooster- All Across The Country

Taj Mahal- Leaving Trunk
Taj played in Fallentown Sunday night. I had the trots and missed it.

Garbage- Push It
Whim has implied that I have the hots for Shirley Manson...she, as usual, is correct.

The Sort- Mean Nouns
Local band- grammatically correct pop-metal. I like!

Sleater-Kinney- God is a Number
The Twin gave me this CD. Girls rock!

Curtis Mayfield- Get Down

Funkadelic- Good to Your Earhole

The Band- Don't Do It

Rare Earth- What'd I Say?

Led Zeppelin- I Can't Quit You Babe
Did I call you "babe" on the air? I did? Oh, well...I'm blushing here...

Michelle Malone- Grace

The Beatles- Yer Blues

Jefferson Airplane- Martha

Kanter/Slick/Frieberg- Sketches of China

Leo Kottke- Pepe Hush

Cursive- Into the Fold

Everclear- Father of Mine

The Frames- Revelate(live)

Elvis Costello & Imposters- Stella Hurt

Damien Dempsey -Your Pretty Smile
For Whim.

801 Live- You Really Got Me
Which is why I can't quit you. Babe.

Crack the Sky- Suspicion
C the S should have been huge... I loved them in Baltimore...sigh.


SONGS FROM THE BIG HAIR, JULY 12, 2008 3-5 PM


Alice Cooper- (We are all) Clones

Replacements- Go

The Damned- Street of Dreams

Robyn Hitchcock- How Do You Work This Thing?

Adam Ant- Goody Two Shoes
Good answer!

Pretty Things- Bitter End

Klark Kent -Don't Care

Meat Puppets- Up on the Sun

Red Hot Chili Peppers- Behind the Sun

Dream Syndicate- That's What You Always Say

Joe Jackson- Survival

Pere Ubu- Fire

10,000 Maniacs- Scorpio Rising

Eurythmics- Missionary Man

Sugarcubes- I'm Hungry

Missing Persons- Mental Hopscotch

David Lindley & El Rayo X- Poppa was Rolling Stone

Suzanne Vega- Left of Center

Kate Bush- Experiment IV

Stranglers- Let Me Down Easy

Magazine - This Poison

Cocteau Twins- Pitch the Baby

Elvis Costello- The Greatest Thing
There is a little book with this title...

Jim Carroll Band- The People Who Died

Minutemen- Jesus and Tequila

Devo - Workin' in Coal Mine

Oingo Boingo- Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me
Not exactly true.... Sunday and Monday were a little rough. I'll spare the details.

Squeeze- Slap and Tickle
Sparing the details...

King Crimson- Elephant Talk
I like making elephant noises. Eeeeraaooowwww!

English Beat- Mirror in the Bathroom


Well, I'm back at work and demands are being made (and ignored). I'd better get on it. Yeah...it sure is fun being a famous file clerk.

Back Home

My eyes teared up as I pulled out of Whim's driveway yesterday afternoon and now, barely 24 hours later, I already miss her terribly. Our all-too-short time together was wonderful, it was one of those incredibly rare moments when the reality lives up to the fantasy and I never wanted it to end, but alas, it had to...for now, anyway.

My heart, my mind, my soul and my body have been restored in ways that I wasn't aware were possible and I will cherish the memories of my time with her as long as I live...Whim has posted a brief summary of my visit on her blog ( I am warm and fuzzy when I think of all the heartfelt good wishes left by her readers and friends, just as I am when I read the ones left here) so I will recount a strange and marvelously surprising moment I had shortly after returning to my empty, Whim-less apartment .

The drive home was harrowing, at times downright terrifying...I hit one of the heaviest thunderstorms I have ever seen and that storm seemed to follow my car for over a hundred miles- I desperately wanted to find an exit and sit it out, but I couldn't even see the highway signs, it was all I could do to follow the taillights ahead of me and hope that they could see the road...eventually, I did pull over and wait a while, but as soon as I got back on the road I ran into the storm again...I will get through this, I thought. I did.

When I finally arrived at home I was greeted by the smell of unhappy cats...I was too tired and happy to get mad or disgusted though...after calling my sweetie to let her know I was OK, I set about cleaning and catching up on my messages and emails...I had no pressing emails, just a few phone messages, one of which threatened to disrupt my exhausted euphoric state- it was from my father.

On one hand, I was glad to hear his voice- he never did return the call I made on Father's Day and I -as is so often the case- was not sure if he was still alive. On the other hand, I expected him to have drunken, hateful words.
His quaky message said he tried to listen to my radio show but the DJ filling in for me announced that I was out of town...something in my dad's drunken, recorded voice seemed annoyed that I would leave town, which is typical of him...rarely has he ever shown support or approval for anything I do, in fact, he has a way of tearing down everything I do; no matter how old I get, my father will always know exactly how to wound me with words, spoken and otherwise, so it was with mixed feelings that I returned his call. Perhaps he won't answer, I thought, that would make this easier.

He answered on the second ring, his voice registering his besotted condition. Oh fuck, here we go...

He told me that he had talked to the Twin and been filled in on my short vacation plans. How did it go, he asked.

"It was great", I said. "I wish I was still there". Truer words have never passed my lips.

"So she wasn't a psycho, she didn't try to tie you up and keep you hostage or anything", asked Dad in his typically boorish, drunken manner. I bit my tongue and tried to be polite.

"Uh, no. I already knew her very well and I wasn't worried about that", I replied. My dad doesn't really know about my blog-life (or my real one, for that matter) and he has a somewhat dated view on how 'virtual' friendships work. ( I wish he'd stop drinking and start blogging, but later for that).
I braced myself for the inevitable hostile sarcasm and insults.

"So tell me about her."

And I did. I was surprised as I heard myself speak, I had an endless supply of good things to say and I seldom have anything good to say when I'm talking to my father. When I was done, I paused and waited for him to rip my giddy, exhausted babblings to shreds. He didn't.

My father is a drunk and a mean one to boot. He knows no joy and at times he seems to take pleasure in the failings and sufferings of others, his children being no exception...but this was different. He listened as I rambled on about the limitless virtues and wonders of my friend and lover, about my happiness and how good my time with her was...when he did speak, it was to ask questions- nice questions- about her. I found that I really wanted to talk to my father about her, I wanted him to know how I felt. Our tiny, decimated family has been without any sort of happiness for years and that needs to change. I want the sorrow to end.

"You sound happy", observed my father.

"I am. I'm so tired that I can barely think or talk, but I'm very happy." I was sure he was getting ready to tell me why I shouldn't be happy but he didn't do that.

"I'm really glad it worked out," he said, catching me off-guard, " I'm happy just listening to you talk." Was he crying? He was.

I have told Whim that there is something powerful and magical about her and that is certainly true- my words of her were enough to make my father happy for me.
I can't remember the last time- there may not be one- that my father was happy for me. After I hung up the phone I cried sweet tears and it felt good. I know that I have the capacity to love and be loved, to feel joy in the happiness of those I care about, but I thought my father lacked (or had lost) that basic human ability. He hasn't, not entirely. When he said he was happy for me I could tell he meant it.
He even asked me about my plans for the future. It's far too soon to go there, but he offered to help me if I needed it and his offer made me feel good about him, which is something I didn't know I could feel.

I went to sleep alone but not alone. I have joy in my heart and that is a feeling that I never wish to lose. I need that.
I want life to be good and it is.

Thank you.

Lift the Veil

Not long ago I was feeling oddly sad for no apparent reason. No, not sad…I don’t have a word for how I felt…blank? Hollow? I was drained physically and my thoughts were jumbled and confused. A week before, I had been in an unusually happy mood and nothing had changed; I was at a loss to explain or understand this sudden shift.

I had planned on calling a friend of mine that evening, but I was having second thoughts. I don’t want to be a downer, I thought, I shouldn’t inflict this weird mood on her.
I almost didn’t call. My instinct when confronted with unfamiliar feelings is to retreat, withdraw, pull back…I held the phone in my hand for a long time, pondering this.

Finally, I made the call, dialing one of the four numbers on my speed dial. My friend answered. She listened as I mumbled and stumbled my way through an attempt to explain what I didn’t understand…I have blown it, I thought, I should have kept this feeling to myself.

I can be remarkably stupid.

Instead of rejection, my friend offered compassion, caring and wisdom. It’s important, she said, to talk about your feelings, good or bad. She wanted me to open up. By fighting my instinct and making that call, I had done the right thing without even knowing it. Tears filled my eyes as I listened to this very important lesson. Tears, but not of sorrow.

To most people, it might seem obvious that it is important to talk about our feelings with the people we care about- but I’m not most people. I’m a recovering alcoholic and I spent the last few years of my drinking career learning how to blot out everything in my world. I was on a quest for the perfect numbness and I found it in the emergency room of a local hospital, nearly three years past.
I had to make a choice: Live or die. I chose to live, and so I did.

But that was only the beginning. During my binge-drinking years, I lost something crucial- or maybe I never had it- in any case, I have been slowly, (sometimes joyfully, sometimes not), slowly adjusting to experiencing emotions and there seems to be no end to the scars, wounds and skeletons that are surfacing. It can be terribly overwhelming.

My friend understands this, perhaps better than anyone I have talked with. She is no stranger to surviving and the aftermath of survival, her strength has been an anchor for me during some very trying times, her perspective and insights have been invaluable in ways I admittedly do not fully comprehend. To me, there are elements in her that seem almost magical; elements that make me want to put aside my fears, to be a fully-realized human being.

In the year and a half since an extremely intrusive and wholly unwelcome fellow blogger inadvertently led us into becoming steady pen pals, we have been sharing more and more of ourselves with each other; during my grandmother’s long and excruciatingly painful death, my friend became an integral part of my support system and has been there ever since. It was a heavy load and she accepted it without complaint…in fact, it seemed so natural that only now, months later, do I realize what an important gift she was giving me, only now am I starting to understand that I, in turn, am learning how to return the simple, priceless human gift of love.

In the months following my grandmother’s death, the communication between my friend and me gradually went from containing the occasional flirty moment to becoming decidedly seductive. I’ll spare you the details…as my friend says on her blog, if I had witnessed two of my friends carrying on like my friend and I have been doing, I’d be embarrassed for them.

Well.

In a matter of hours I will be on the road and my friend’s home will be my destination. I long to hold her, to…

Well.

Beyond the immediate, neither one of us knows what will happen next… we have talked at length about what is important to us and we agree that our friendship must be preserved before all else, but we have allowed for the possibility that something greater may arise. I didn’t think I was capable of the necessary intimacy to discuss these things in a frank and forthright manner, but my friend has a way of bringing out the good in me without my immediate notice. Our relationship is natural, comfortable and reassuring- it has been effecting a slow, positive but gradual change in both of us, I think. I am not one to put much stock in fate or pre-destination, but in this case it seems as if we are being drawn together for our mutual benefit and well-being.

She wants me to come to her and so I shall, because I desperately want to be with her. As I write this, I am still in somewhat of a funk, but when I think of the friend that awaits me, I feel a spark of life, something stirs inside me and that something is good. It’s something I wanted but didn’t know how to look for and it turns out that I didn’t have to- it found me. It found us and we aren’t questioning it, we are accepting it and, in turn, accepting each other.

That is what friends are for.