Shark Fin Hat

See you around, Vic

2010-01-03T09:28:00.001-05:00

Just a heads-up: After reading this a few times, it sounds a little lofty at the start. Bear with me, it calms down a bit.

I think there’s an inherent sadness that comes with being a southerner, a burden unique to the American south. It can be one of the most beautiful places in the world, though it must carry with it a past of unforgivable crimes. All too often, those sins and attitudes are still present here today. For all that, you will find some of the kindest people in the world here and a history that contains much to be proud of as well.

This place creates an atmosphere that gives rise to artists that channel this spirit, this dichotomy of beauty and terror, of pride and shame. Twain and Faulkner loom above them all, but the hits keep on coming: Flannery O’Connor, Larry Brown, Eudora Welty, Truman Capote, John Seawright…and those are just a few of the writers. The music is another beast entirely.

Athens, Georgia is a special place, one that perfectly captures the duality of the southern thing.* A place with a vibrant, thriving arts scene, a place also overrun with the mentality that college football rules all. For some of us, there is room for both points of view. Athens is where I started the road to becoming who I am now: a somewhat mumbly fellow who’s handy to have around on trivia night.

The music in Athens affected me as no other art has. R.E.M. was a force in my life before I even moved there, but once I was in my new town, the floodgates opened. There was music being made all around me, not to mention acts from all over the world playing every night of the week. Of the local artists, one name was mentioned with special reverence: Vic Chesnutt.

I knew the name before I moved there, having seen the documentary Speed Racer: The Lives of Vic Chesnutt on PBS. But once in Athens, I finally had access to the music being made. (Kids, the Internet was still a new beast in those days and you couldn’t just hear about an album and own it 30 seconds later.) I bought my first Vic Chesnutt album from Big Shot Records (now School Kids Records). I always gravitated to Big Shot. I didn’t feel cool enough to shop at Wuxtry. Still don’t, really.

Is the Actor Happy? exploded across my brain, in a way that only an album of mid-tempo folk-country-rock songs can. I’d never heard anything quite like Vic’s voice—the voice of a child who had already developed a taste for liquor. Someone smarter than me once wrote hat the cadence of his speech made him sound like someone who learned English after growing up speaking Gaelic. That’s about right.

I’d never heard songs like Vic’s before—he captured the south that I knew. He had the gift for sense of place that Springsteen has, but applied toward the places I had been around all my life. Country music as I knew it then never did that—this was the time when country pop was all the rage, and I hadn’t yet explored beyond what I could hear on the radio. Vic’s songs told the story of the sadness and greatness of my world. He mentioned people by name that I had never met, but had known all my life.

Those first five albums changed my life. I inhaled them, and they helped start me down the road to who I was going to be. I can hazily remember being drunk on rum, with “Where Were You” on repeat after getting dumped by my girlfriend. My roommate wisely stayed in his room that night. That opening to “Isadora Duncan”—who the hell had ever heard a sound that mournful before, not to mention the knockout “I can’t believe you own this attitude” refrain? Smiling on the bus to class as “Latent/Blatant” played. Then his debut on Capitol—just insane that he was on a major label. You could tell even he thought it was nuts when he titled the album About to Choke. Listen to “Disintegrate” and tell me how much you think he choked.

After I left Athens, I kept buying Vic’s new albums, but they never hit me as hard as the first ones did. I was already on my road and didn’t need the map like I used to. Still, there was always at least one song that reminded me of why I’d fallen under the spell of his music in the first place. He’d capture some piece of human experience I had never considered,** and I was 19 again for a while. His albums were always a place I could turn and learn something.

Vic tried to kill himself on Christmas Eve and died Christmas Day. He’d tried it several times before, but there was no coming back this time. As an outsider, I have to assume that a lifetime spent in a broken body and battling the bottle finally caught up with him, and he had to have a way out. You have to wonder what he would have given us if he’d been whole, if he had the same abilities that so many of us never give a second thought. You can play the “What if?” game all day long and never score.

I’m writing this while sitting in Manuel’s Tavern, a landmark that carries its own place in southern history. You can kind of feel the years wash over you while you’re in here (It should be noted that most of the time when I’m in here I’m not thinking about its cultural significance. I’m drinking beer*** and thinking of dumb ways to make my friends laugh.) I think about the stories that Vic might have told about the people sitting around me right now. I think about how terrifying and heartbreaking that Christmas Day between when he took the pills and when he died must have been for his family. I think about where I was 15 years ago when I first his music and where I am now.

Thanks, Vic. Somewhere, rabbits are cooking breakfast. You’re probably with them, getting ready to tell another story, while we all go about our lives writing our own.

*Phrase stolen with great affection from the Drive-By Truckers.

**I rewrote that sentence several times and it never came out any less pretentious. The same goes for the first couple of paragraphs. My apologies.

***Though I’m drinking coffee while I write this. I think even Bukowski said he couldn’t write when he was drinking.

Hey, kids! Plays!

2009-07-06T22:43:00.002-04:00

Look! My friend Matt's directing a play! It's going to be at Dad's Garage and you should all go and see it.

Bread and couches

2009-06-28T22:53:00.001-04:00

Here’s one thing that’s great about shopping for a couch as a single male: salespeople assume you’re waiting for your wife, so they leave you alone. Nice. First off, great big giant Rooms To Go outlet. Look around for a bit, then spot something I like. Big, comfy looking couch. I’m looking for maximum nap support. I sit in it, stretch out a bit. This is definitely in the lead. There’s also a bed shaped like a pirate ship that I swear to God I would have bought five years ago. Stupid maturity.

BUT—only a fool buys the first thing he sees. So, I’m off to the next place in the Jimmy Carter Blvd corridor of cheap-ass furniture. The store: Underpriced Furniture. I can’t fault the name. They’re also giving away hot dogs and cokes. Mmmm. After wandering around a bit, I find myself in the kids’ section, where there is a GIANT GODDAMN DINOSAUR. It’s also 3000 bucks, so there it stays. I look around, but nothing compares to my first love back at Rooms To Go.

Nothing until I go back to the warehouse, that is, where I find a skee-ball machine. So very tempting. I will find a way to make that work someday. On the way out, I see a guy wearing a somewhat familiar-looking t-shirt. In the early 90’s, Taco Bell had a promotion where if you ate enough tacos you could trade in your punchcard for a Bullwinkle t-shirt. I got one, of course, because I was a fatass and I liked Bullwinkle.

The guy in the parking lot was wearing that shirt. I couldn’t believe it. It was in pretty good shape, too, for being at least 15 years old. My hat’s off to you, sir.

I think I’m on my back to the Sharkfinhatcave, but then I pass an art store. My favorite painting is Edward Hopper’s The Nighthawks, and I’ve been meaning to get a framed print of it for a while. I pull into the art store and the first thing I notice is a painting of Heath Ledger’s Joker. Okay. I go inside, and there’s no one there. No customers, no one working, nothing. I walk around the showroom for a minute, than back into the warehouse. Quiet as a tomb. I’m in there for nearly 10 minutes and I never see a soul. At this point, I figure I’ve stumbled across a crime scene and I hightail it out of there.

Back down 85 to my part of town. I’m stopped at a red light when I see the filthiest bumper stick of my life on the car next to me. “Fee Fie Fo Fum, I eat pussy with my magic tongue!” First off, anybody who’s willing to put that on their car gets my respect. Second of all, if you’re going to advertise, I hope you’re really, really good at it.

Back home to regroup and snooze for a it. After a call to the mighty Justin, he tells me where and he and Mrs. Justin got their couch, so I head over to American Signature.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present The Hawkeye.

I believe we have a winner, but I still don’t want to jump too soon. I head back home after a quick detour through the World Market. Another phone call to Justin, and I’m meeting him and his sister Lindsay down at IKEA. I look at the couches there, but nothing compares to the Hawkeye. Justin locates the shelves he needs, and we’re on our way after an aborted attempt to eat in the IKEA cafeteria.

To be continued…

Requiem

2009-06-21T21:11:00.002-04:00

The Georgia Theater burned this past Friday. Chances are that if you read this site, you already know the place. If not, it was one of the biggest music venues in Athens. The 40 Watt gets the glory, but the Georgia Theater was a fantastic venue and it makes me incredibly sad to think what's happened to it.

I spent a lot of time in that room during my four years in Athens and did my fair share of legal and illegal drinking there, almost always Purple Haze. The shows I went to see and the time I spent with friends helped turn me into the music nerd I am. The bands go by in a flash--countless Dayroom shows, Dick Dale (once when I was a freshman, once when I was a senior--cyclical!), Mishap, Squat, Ben Folds Five, Fuzzy Sprouts, Jump Little Children, Deadeye Dick (fuck you, it was the 90's), Mel & the Party Hats, Strutter the KISS tribute band...it goes on.

They would show movies on nights they didn't have bands. That was where I first saw The Big Lebowski. I saw Chasing Amy, Swingers, and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas there again and again. I didn't know it then, but a lot of my outlook was being shaped in those moments. On game days, you could go there and watch if you didn't have tickets. Seeing the theater in the light of day was always a little unsettling. But then that 2nd beer took care of any reservations you had.

The girls always wanted to go to the late night dance parties there, so you would, because you did what the girls wanted. Doing my little shuffle dance, trying not to make too much of an ass out of myself. Looking across the room and realizing I'd gone to summer camp with the girl I'd just locked eyes with. Laughing my ass off with my friends. Attempting to say something clever to the fire-juggling merch girl for Jump. Stopping a friend from going through what would have been the biggest hook-up mistake of all time. New Years Eve and a friend deciding she wanted a piggy-back ride without telling me first. I've still got a scar on my lip from that.

I keep up with who's playing in Athens every week. I often think about getting over there for a show. Then I get a big deadline at work and I go to bed around 11, because I know I need to be on top of it the next day.

RIP. Rise again.

In your wildest dreams...

2009-06-08T22:50:00.001-04:00

...you will never be this cool.

Another comic book joke...

2009-06-03T21:39:00.003-04:00

Okay, I got a HUGE spike in pageviews from posting the Swamp Thing jokes. So, unsurprisingly, my main audience is comic book fans. Never let it be said I don't give the people what they want. Here, my right hand to god, is a conversation I had a couple of weeks ago:

Friend: "I don't know, man. I think that girl is more trouble than she's worth."
Me: "Oh, yeah?"
Friend: "Yeah. She's kind of a tornado."
Me: "So, when it's that time of the month, she's a Red Tornado?"*
Friend: "GOOD LORD."

It's not like I like me, either.

Actually, here's a question for you. I haven't really read a comic book in years. I pick up whatever Evan Dorkin puts out and I buy Peanuts and Popeye reprints, but that's about it. Any recommendations?

*Please see this link for an explanation if you, unlike me, had a life in high school.

Blast from the past

2009-05-31T22:25:00.002-04:00

Nearly three years ago, my friend Justin and I wrote this batch of Swamp Thing jokes. Join me on this trip down memory lane, won't you?

1. Why does Swamp Thing never have any free time? Because he's always swamped.

2. Swamp Thing was sick recently. But he's vine now. He looked a little green earlier.

3. I used to not like Swamp Thing, but he grew on me.

4. There's a miniseries coming out about Swamp Thing's ancestors: Roots.

5. Man, Swamp Thing was so unpopular in high school. He was a real square root.

6. Swamp Thing wasn't terribly athletic, but he still made the baseball team. His position: pitcher's mound.

7. Swamp Thing's favorite sexual act? Tossing the salad.

8. Swamp Thing hates going shopping during the holidays. He can never find a place to bark.

9. Swamp Thing was held back a year in grade school. He was only at a second grade weeding level.

10. Swamp Thing is very accomplished in his career. He's a captain of industree all right.

11. Swamp Thing had kind of an embarassing incident as a teenager. His parents caught him weedwacking.

12. Swamp Thing's tough to be in a relationship for sure. His last girlfriend capped off their final argument with this kiss-off line: "Yeah, just go ahead and do what you do best. Leave."

13. Swamp Thing wanted to watch the whole movie, but he really had to pea.

14. Swamp Thing's teenage years were awkward for him. He'd go through these massive growth spurts. Dogs kept shitting in him.

15. Swamp Thing is a loyal friend. He always sticks by your side.

16. Swamp Thing had to go to the doctor the other day. He had a growth on his venus.

17. Swamp Thing is busy this weekend. His plant and uncle are in town.

Three documentaries

2009-05-25T22:16:00.002-04:00

Three documentaries that are well worth your time:

1. Anvil! The Story of Anvil: A metal band that never hit the big time but never knew when to quit. Heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. They played a short set afterward and put foot to ass.

2. Tyson: If you're around my age, Tyson was kind of an ultraviolent Mickey Mouse during your childhood. Then his whole life went to shit. This movie is an hour and a half tour through his sometimes frightening mind, and I highly recommend it if you came of age during that time or if you're a fight fan. Luckily, I'm both.

3. The Rough South of Larry Brown: Larry Brown is my favorite writer, and this is a look into the life of a talent taken from us all too soon and the woman who stood beside him, no matter how far inside his own world he went. Watching this gave me a serious kick in the ass.

Speaking of gone too soon, godspeed, Jay.

Sorry about that.

2009-05-17T21:46:00.002-04:00

Hey, a little radio silence never hurt anyone. Life's been busy/weird/good the last few weeks. So, here's an R.E.M. song that I think has never gotten its due. Listen to this. Then go listen to the new Wilco and Son Volt records. Then go outside for a bit. It's good for you.

I got the blues.

2009-05-03T21:30:00.003-04:00

Not really. Feel fine, actually. But I went to Amazon's $5 sale dealie and bought this album by Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears, and I highly recommend you do the same.

And just to clear up a question that's popped up a few times since last week: I'm not the guy who was the asshole to poor Candy*. I don't even know where that picture was taken. I just stumbled across it in my internerd journey. I hope she's enjoying a big dish of beef chow mein, wherever she is.

*In fact, I have a story of my total heroism towards a damsel in distress from a couple of weeks ago that I'll tell here when I have embellished the tale to my satisfaction.

Thwarted

2009-04-27T12:33:00.002-04:00

She put $900
On the fifth horse
In the sixth race
I think his name was Chips Ahoy

---The Hold Steady, "Chips Ahoy"

I love that song. So, in anticipation of being at Churchill Downs last weekend, my big plan was to put money on the fifth horse in the sixth race. We're sitting there, drinking mint juleps and living momentarily like rich people, when the line-up for the sixth race comes up.

Yeah, the fifth horse scratched.

So, that didn't happen. However, we did see Wee Man from Jackass that weekend and later I banged my head in a cave. Ow.

So very mature.

2009-04-21T22:33:00.004-04:00

I laughed for about 10 minutes at this. Then I laughed about it again a couple of days later thinking about it. It's just so unspeakably rude.

On film

2009-04-19T23:20:00.002-04:00

Crank, Crank 2, Beerfest, and Road House are the only good movies ever made.

That is all.

Record Store Day!

2009-04-17T18:41:00.001-04:00

Hey, tomorrow, April 18th, is Record Store Day. Go down to your local indie store and show some support. I lost my beloved Ella Guru earlier this year, and I don't want to lose another brick and mortar. Check out the link below to find a happening near you.

www.recordstoreday.com

A little less conversation

2009-04-15T21:57:00.002-04:00

It's a nice afternoon, and I'm out for a five-mile run. Life is good. I've got the headphones on and I'm moving at a pretty good clip. Well, a pretty good clip for a 6-foot, 190 pound guy. So, kind of slow. I pass a homeless guy.

Homeless guy: "Hey!" as I run by.

Me: (kind of turn my head, give a wave)

Homeless guy: "You asshole! Fuck you!"

Me, internally: "That escalated quickly."

Pretty much every conversation I have eventually ends in that, but I usually feel like I've earned it, you know?

Oh, well. How are you?

All quiet...ish

2009-04-12T22:29:00.002-04:00

Haven't posted much here lately--been busy on several fronts, not the least of which is getting off my ass and getting several things written that I've gotten desperately behind on. Here's a quick blitz of shit:

1. Hey, Brett picked the Penthouse Pet on Rock of Love! Shocking! See you here for Season 4!
2. I can personally attest to Neil Young's new record being great road trip music.
3. David Foster Wallace was a ridiculously intelligent, funny guy.
4. Watch this, then buy.

I'll be back with more soon.

The punchline

2009-04-06T21:06:00.001-04:00

I have a punchline. I can't get to the set-up. Mayhap you can help. Here's the punchline:

Billy Jor-El.

I'm trying to figure out a way to work "Brainiac-ack-ack-ack-ack" into it.

Vote!

2009-03-30T22:28:00.003-04:00

Hey, two posts tonight! Screw you, it's Monday night. I have to stay in sometimes. Anyway, this is important.

My friend the mighty Chiken Green made a potential commercial for Comcast. Now it's up for a vote against nine other entrants. We need your help! Please go here:

Atlanta Challenge--I Hear You

If you like what you see, please vote 5 stars. I think you have to register to watch the video and vote, but there's cash and film equipment for the winner. Also, if you look up and to the right, you'll see some guy doing the world's worst cabbage patch. Some handsome, talented, guy.

Hey, that Bob Dylan's talented.

2009-03-30T20:06:00.006-04:00

If you go to Bob Dylan's site, you can download the song "Beyond Here Lies Nothin" for free until tomorrow at midnight. It's from his forthcoming record "Together Through Life." The song's pretty damned good, a pretty natural extension of the last two records.

That song is not the point of this post.

The cover looks like this:

The cover art for Big Bad Love, by the late, great author Larry Brown, looks like this:

Bless you, Bob. Good to know he's a fan. Please read Larry Brown. Please listen to Bob Dylan. Please hope for Brett to pick Jamie on Rock of Love.

I am a failure.

2009-03-27T22:38:00.002-04:00

I tried.

I really did.

I did everything I could.

I talked, but the person I needed to hear me wouldn't listen.

Now there is a void. Emptiness. All we can yearn for is what was there before.

I couldn't stop my best friend from watching 2 Girls 1 Cup. WITH HIS WIFE.

Dumbass. I warned him.

My heart hurts.

2009-03-22T21:58:00.004-04:00

This is very tough for me to write. I try to keep my personal life separated from this blog. But sometimes, I have to express how I feel.

Bret just sent Beverly home from the Rock of Love Bus Tour. How could he do this???????

I...I'm going to go curl up with a glass of Night Train and try to muddle through, somehow.

Here. This will make us all feel better.

R.I.P. Popcorn

2009-03-18T21:24:00.003-04:00

I don't think I posted this video originally other than sending it to some friends, but Johnny Knoxville did a great interview a few months back with legendary moonshiner Popcorn Sutton. Popcorn was the living embodiment of what you think a moonshiner is, and. he was looking at two years in prison, two years that I'm sure he wouldn't have survived. Popcorn took his life this week to avoid his prison sentence. We won't be seeing his like again.

I'm from the south and have heard moonshine stories all my life and have had a handful of nights with the stuff myself. Here's to you, Popcorn. I hope you're taking a slug from the jar wherever you are.

For Knoxville's story about Popcorn's death and the original story, click here. Just a heads up, the interview is pretty, um, frank. Really, really frank. But chances are if you've survived reading my words to this point, you'll make it through this.

Stanislavsky all up in this piece.

2009-03-16T21:59:00.003-04:00

I spent most of yesterday afternoon with my head painted green, watching a non-existent television and giving my pretend buddy hell about a fake phone call he got during a football game that wasn't actually happening.

Despite not being an actor*, I get called on to act every now and then. And so, I found myself being directed by my friend Chiken as he called the shots on a commercial he was shooting for an upcoming contest. I'm a writer and always will be, but it's cool to sit in and watch the process of a film happening. For 30 seconds of total footage, we overtook a house, had four cast members and twice as many crew, with everyone working for around five hours, not to mention all the advance work that Chiken had done. The sense of collaboration was palpable, even when things got bogged down. I work best in that kind of atmosphere or bouncing ideas off someone else. If it's just me and a blank screen, eventually I'm just going to go read Li'l Abner comics on the internerd somewhere.

I also may have made some inroads for more screenwriting down the line, so it was a successful afternoon all around. If you've been keeping up with things around here, the horse movie is still happening, but we've hit a few delays. It should be shooting in the May/June timeframe. On the plus side, I've finished the sequel and outlined part Three. And Four. I can be ambitious when need be.

*By any, any, any stretch of the imagination. Kirk Douglas. THAT'S an actor.

Also, this is either the best or worst cat ever.

Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear...

2009-03-08T12:33:00.003-04:00

And now, a story from the SharkFinHat vaults. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

It was September, 1996. A young Jenny McCarthy was planning to leave Singled Out and conquer Hollywood. Joan Osborne was postulating what the situation would be if God was one of us. Mentos commercials were entering our collective consciousness.*

I was living in Athens and getting ready to attend the 21st birthday party for a good friend of mine. And attend we all did, ensuring that our friend got absolutely schnockered. Unfortunately, my idiot roommate decided he should get just as schnockered, which ended up with me sitting across from him at a table as he collapsed face down in his seat. I figured the night was pretty much at an end at this point, so I grabbed him by his arm and walked him a couple of blocks over to The Grill. I plopped him down on a bench and went to the payphone** to call a cab. I come back over, and he's completely passed out in some pine straw.

I sit him up and plead with him to get it together, as we were both 19 and therefore breaking several drinking laws. I finally get him to sit up. We're sitting there waiting when this guy comes and sits down beside us. Looks to be about our age, black guy, dressed more like a townie than a student. He introduces himself as Tony, as which point my roommate, let's call him Clark, shouts "Give me five, man!" Tony gives him five.

Then, Clark tells him "All I know is that black motherfuckers are cooler than white motherfuckers."

At this point, I run through all the things in my life I'll never get to do. I regret not asking out that cute redhead from English class.*** I'll never get to write the great American novel.

To his credit, Tony recognizes what a drunk dillhole Clark is being and says "Naw man, we're all the same." About this time, the cab pulls up and I throw Clark inside, say goodnight to Tony****, and we're on our way. Clark keeps trying to get the cab driver to give him five, at which point I slam my arm across Clark to keep him in the backseat. We finally get back to the apartment, where Clark stumbles into the bathroom. He falls out of the bathroom and across the hall a few minutes later, managing to break the door that covers our washer and dryer off its hinges. He had to fix it the next day, when he woke up and had no idea what happened.

What's the point of all this, you ask? Remember Clark's theory above, that black motherfuckers was cooler than white motherfuckers? Well, it turns out he was right. Please see below for proof.

*Years later, the parent company of my employer would own Mentos. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?

**Kids, ask your parents what a payphone was.

***I eventually did ask her out and we dated for a bit. Everything ended wretchedly.

****Many weeks later, we went to Krystal's at around 2 in the morning. Tony was working the register. I could tell he was trying not to laugh as soon as he saw us. I never said anything. I knew Clark didn't remember any of it.

Hurm.

2009-03-05T19:37:00.002-05:00

So, Watchmen opens today. I saw it earlier this week, thanks to certain connections. The movie's really good and a knockout bit of filmmaking, but I'll be interested to hear what people who haven't read the book think. It's a very dense 2.5 hours, but as long as Paul Blart didn't challenge your way of thinking, you should be okay.

If you are a fan of the book, you'll find this pretty damned funny.

15 albums that changed my life

2009-03-01T21:28:00.002-05:00

Cross-post from my Facebook page, because I am a junior high girl.

Cooped up inside all day, so Facebook meme ahoy. In 10 minutes, come up with 15 albums that changed your life. I went back and added some commentary to each when I was done.

1. R.E.M., Document. In 6^th grade, I had a dub of this on a tape with U2’s The Joshua Tree on the other side. I wore out the R.E.M. side, played the Joshua Tree maybe twice. I think it all goes back to this album for me. Still my favorite band. It was tough to say that for a few years.

2. Warren Zevon, Mutineer. Not the strongest album in his catalogue, but the first record of his I owned that wasn’t a greatest hits collection. I’d eventually get everything the man did. Still one of the best lyricists rock and roll has ever known.

3. The Dead Milkmen, Beelzebubba. A breath of fresh, profane air. The band that proved you could be funny, juvenile and smart all at once. I try to live by that code.

4. Guided by Voices mix—not an album, but a mix made for me by my friend Cary. I’d heard of them, but this was the first time I’d ever actually listened to them. After you hear Teenage FBI, there’s no going back.

5. Jack Logan, Bulk---“What do you mean, this guy just records on his boombox? His first record is a double album? Is it any good?” Uh, yeah, it was. Still is.

6. Drive-By Truckers, Gangstabilly—Saw these guys for the first time at a Merle Haggard tribute show at the 40 Watt. I picked up their first album not long after, and that was where it all started. I’ve seen them play dozens of times in the last 12(!) years, and they helped influence the way I think about being from the south and all that brings with it.

7. The Smithereens, Blown to Smithereens. Including a greatest hits record is kind of a cheat, but this is the album that got me into power pop. From there, I went to Cheap Trick. Cheap Trick to Big Star. Big Star to Marshall Crenshaw. Crenshaw to Sugar…

8. Body Count, self-titled—This album really wasn’t all that good. But it was the one that got secretly passed around once “Cop Killer” was banned, so that got to be my little teenage rebellion. This was also the bridge that led me to listen to more rap and hip-hop, so it’s got that going for it, too.

9. Wilco, Being There—I heard about a band called Uncle Tupelo when I was in high school. Never listened to them. Didn’t pick up Wilco’s first record, either. Finally got hit over the head with a bunch of reviews for Being There. Bought it on a lark and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Smart, literate rock and roll that didn’t sound like anything else I knew then. Immense.

10. Bob Dylan, Time Out of Mind—A latter day Dylan record, but it hit at just the right time for me. He was back in full force just as I was developing my musical sensibilities. I got to see him play not long after that, a show that holds a lot of meaning for me. The lyrics from this one hit me harder and harder as I get older.

11. Nirvana, Nevermind—I was actually a little late to the party on this one. It passed me by in high school because I felt like I was getting the band crammed down my throat. Once I finally just listened to the damn thing, I realized it deserved every bit of the praise it got. Plus, it gave us Dave Groh’s career.

12. Tom Waits, Rain Dogs—The first Tom Waits record I ever bought. That summer, I was working as a dispatcher for the college police in my hometown and I had to work some insane shifts. When I was working nights and sleeping during the day, I would put this album on to listen to as I drifted off. I dreamt a lot about pirates that summer.

13. Alejandro Escovedo, More Miles than Money—The album that got me into alt-country, a genre that I ended up spending several thousands of dollars on.

14. The Ramones, self-titled—Their first album was the shotgun blast of a revolution. It still sounds fresh and new, and they rightfully influenced countless bands that I love. I can listen to the Ramones every day of my life and never get bored with them.

15. Johnny Cash, Unchained—The second of his American comeback records and the first one I bought. It’s the sound of a man reclaiming his crown and it opened my eyes not only to his back albums, but Willie, Merle, Waylon, etc.

Sigh.

2009-02-25T21:15:00.002-05:00

Randy Bewley, guitarist for Pylon, died this afternoon. Pylon was a fantastic band, and without them and their influence, the Athens music scene would have been much less rich. If Athens hadn't become Athens, chances are my experiences from ages 18-22 would have been every different, and I probably wouldn't have become the guy I am now. Raise a toast to Randy and blast "Crazy" fuckin' loud.

Hey, Atlanta music nerds

2009-02-23T20:30:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, February 24th, you have two really excellent shows to choose from, because whoever's in charge of the universe always likes to put me in Sophie's Choice position when it comes to shows I want to see:

1. ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead at The Earl. You know these guys, you love them. But did you know that Aaron Ford, my good friend from high school, is now their drummer? No, didn't think you did. Aaron was sitting next to me in our group photo senior year. When they printed it in the yearbook, they had to block Aaron out because he was flipping the bird. Dude's a great drummer and an even better human, great to see him getting some recognition. They're doing an in-store at Criminal at 7 pm, too.

2. Marah is playing at Smiths. I've been a fan of these guys for years, but this is the first chance I've had to see them play live. Folky, punky rock and roll, done the way it should be. Really psyched about this.

I've given you the tools. Go forth and do what you will.

Ode to My Headache

2009-02-18T21:09:00.004-05:00

Oh, headache
You arrive every afternoon, usually around three
My temples ache, my eyes go blurry
I looketh out the window, needing a respite from the computer
Lo! I see the Arbys

I went to the doctor
Expecting to be told there was a tumor in the brain
"Stress and dehydration" she said
Later she felt my beanbag
Awkward, for she is cute

Back to you, headache
Advil, I gobble by the handful
Like they were those popcorn flavored jelly beans
Which are awesome
Headache, I shall see you on the morrow
Dammit, I miss Chappelle

My current favorite joke

2009-02-15T20:10:00.002-05:00

A juggler is on his way to a gig, speeding because he's running late. As luck would have it, he gets pulled over. The cop sees the juggler's gear in the back of the car, consisting of torches and lighter fluid. The cop starts to get mighty suspicious. The juggler explains what he does for a living and where he's going.

"Oh, yeah?" says the cop. "Prove it!"

So, the juggler gets his gear out, lights the torches and starts juggling them. Right about this time, a couple drives by.

"Goddamn!" the man says to his wife. "The drunk driving test is getting hard!"

Children's book idea

2009-02-11T21:51:00.001-05:00

Riki-Tiki Fuck You.

I'll be honest, I got nothing for this. The title just popped into my head and made me laugh. So, how are you? Good?

Mary, mother of God!

2009-02-07T20:01:00.001-05:00

Listen to this!

Turn it up! Turn it way, way the fuck up!

The day the music died indeed

2009-02-02T21:59:00.005-05:00

50 years ago, a plane went down. There's nothing I can say about it that hasn't been said by a lot of people more educated than me, but I will add that I'm really glad Waylon didn't get on that plane.

That's not what this is about. My favorite record store on the planet, Ella Guru, is closing its doors at the end of the month. I've been shopping at Don's store for almost 10 years, at three different locations. The place was always packed with great music, and I usually left with whatever I came in for and a couple of things I didn't know existed until I went in.

What did this place mean to me? I'll put it this way: on 9/11, when my office closed down early, I didn't feel like going home to an empty apartment, so I went record shopping. I stopped by Ella Guru and picked up Bob Dylan's "Love and Theft" and John Hiatt's "The Tiki Bar is Open." I hung out for a bit, then went on my way and tried to make some sense of the day, while hearing "Mississippi" for the very first time. It gave me something real to hold on to for a while.

A friend of mine stopped by my place the other day, took a look around and told me "they have music online now, you know" after seeing the stacks and stacks and stacks of albums around here. I know, I know. But it's hard for me to let go of the experience of opening that record you've been waiting so long for. I can still clearly remember hauling ass across town that day in high school to go pick up R.E.M.'s "Monster." (Yeah, I know. Not their best album, but a huge event for my friends and me at the time.) I remember the smell of that cardboard sleeve when I got the case open. I miss that feeling.

If you're local, please stop by Ella Guru while you still can. I'm going to put on the Eccentric Soul compilation I picked up there a few weeks ago and take a look back. Tomorrow, we all look forward. Thanks, Don. I'll see you the next time Alejandro's in town.

Charles Bronson

2009-02-01T16:07:00.002-05:00

Because sometimes, only Charles Bronson will do.

CHARLES BRONSON.

Interior dialogue

2009-01-28T22:08:00.002-05:00

"Man, this new X-Men cartoon isn't very good."

"Hey, genius. You're 31. The target demographic for this show is probably 10. 10! And you weren't even a big X-Men fan when you were a kid."

"I...that's a good point actually. Okay. I guess that's it for superhero cartoons for me."

"FINALLY."

"All right. Hey, I can still watch Spongebob, right?"

"Of course. Patrick's funny as hell."

"Introspection leading to a little bit of growth high five!"

*slap*

How the other half lives

2009-01-25T11:03:00.002-05:00

*ring, ring*

"Hello?

"Will, it's Beth."

"Beth from the KISS song?!"

"You're an idiot."

"Yes.

"I scored free tickets to the opening night gala for an antiques show."

"..."

"Free booze. Free snacks. It's normally 125 bones to get into this thing."

"Pick me up at 7."

And so, Beth (former co-worker, friend who gives me the occasional kick in the ass when necessary) and I went to this big honkin' cathedral where they were having the antiques show. As well pull up into the parking lot, we see people dressed up like they were going to the prom. Beth had her bohemian look going that she wears so well, and I looked like a homeless person, as is standard. As we get into the lobby, we see whole bunch of hair plugs and Botox around. Awesome.

Wine!

After a few minutes, the doors open and we head into a room full of stuff that I can barely identify. We find our friend Christopher who has a booth for the show, and he advises us to quickly make our way to the food before the crowd descends upon it like vultures. Beth and I haul ass to the food. And yea verily, the food was good. I inhaled a couple of pounds of pork tenderloin and salmon, while Beth partook of the lamb.

Wine!

We wander around the show for a bit. The best dealer name we saw was The Big Chandelier, which sold, yes, big chandeliers. At the booth next door, I found a vanity that was selling for $11,000. I started to point this out to Beth, but she had found a table selling for $45,000. I decided to get out of that booth before I tripped over my lummox-ass feet and broke something. On the way back downstairs, we saw a big brass horse head selling for 3 large.

Wine!

We went back to Christopher's booth, where he showed us a few of the pieces he had for sale. This included a vase made in 1640 selling for $14,000. Now, here's the bit where I actually learned something. Christopher was telling us about the history of the piece, how its creation was influenced by what was going on in the world at the time and the painstaking process used to create its artwork. Antiques still aren't my thing (except old LPs, I guess), but I started to understand it, the same way someone might start to get it if they got me started talking about Larry Brown books or something.

Then Christopher made me hold a plate that was selling for $1,000. If you'll see above, I'd had three glasses of wine at this point and was very, very glad when he took the plate back.

Beth and I checked out the cathedral's sanctuary and were both pleasantly surprised when it didn't burst into flames after we walked in. After desserts and not having our names drawn for door prizes, we called an end to the evening. Beth had the premiere of Lost to watch and I probably needed to get home and argue about Kirk vs. Picard* on the internet or something.

So, we spent an evening in the upper crust (actually, I kind of got the feeling a lot of the attendees were middle crust desperately trying to be upper crust, but that's another essay). Not my world, but a fun place to visit for a night. If anybody needs me, I'll be down here among the proletariat.

*Kirk, goddammit!

Memory lapse

2009-01-19T22:23:00.001-05:00

I'm a little concerned. Apparently, I made a King Kong movie and have no memory of it.

Hear a great song and help some animals

2009-01-17T12:26:00.004-05:00

Hey folks,

The incredible Neko Case has a new album coming out, and you can download the new song "People Got a Lotta Nerve" here:

http://www.anti.com/media/download/708

For every blog that re-posts the song, she and Anti- are donating $5 to a the Best Friends animal rescue group. If you do the iLike thing, they'll donate $1 for everyone who iLikes it. If you're the blogging type, please re-post. More info on the group is below, and you can read more about the whole effort here.

See? I'm not always a ranting prick.

Two facts

2009-01-13T18:35:00.002-05:00

1. If you're looking forward to a show by The Dead, you deserve pretty much whatever happens to you.

2. This is awesome. If you're at work, you'll probably want to throw some headphones on.

Making it happen, then watching it happen

2009-01-11T15:06:00.007-05:00

A word of warning: this entry is very me-centric and skirts around the edges of egomania. Let me assure you that I'm still as self-loathing as ever. Death, taxes, and me hating myself: depend on it!

About a year ago, I wrote a short story to submit to a horror anthology. Said horror anthology rejected the story, in part because I accidentally wrote a comedy, but I had fun writing it and showed it to some friends. Swarney, filmmaker extraordinaire, told me to turn it into a script. So, I turned it into a script. Swarney says "I'm doing this next." He gets his two leads, one of whom is a good friend and a beloved Atlanta actor. I don't know the other lead, but if Swarney wants him, then I'm sold.

This morning, we had our first script readthrough with Matt and Jeremiah. The four of us were all kind of worn out from our respective Saturdays, but watching those two guys take control of the characters and get them figured out was incredible. We read through it once, with Swarney leading things and me filling in one for one of the supporting roles. Everybody stops once the food arrives (as an aside, the weekend brunch menu at Manuel's Tavern is greasy and awesome), then we run through it again, switching the leads. Those two guys owned it by the second time through, and I found myself laughing at lines I had written because they sold it so well.

I was also laughing because what I had written was genius, but that's a given.

It's just kind of weird that this riduculous story that I wrote one afternoon last year while stuck at home, bored and depressed during a snowstorm has now lead to actors learning lines, locations being scouted, and people commiting a lot of time and effort. It's gratifying and humbling and I'm looking forward to being a part of it as it develops. More on this as it happens.

R.I.P. Ron

2009-01-07T21:50:00.003-05:00

Ron Asheton died, as you most likely know by now. If you don't know him, I feel sorry for you. The music that he made with the Stooges helped to wake me up to the world. That grinding, metallic, beautiful noise made me realize that there was more to music than what I was hearing on the radio. Once I heard the Stooges and the MC5, the old me was done, and so much for the better. I hope he and Johnny Thunders are jamming together right now. Here's a little something that pays tribute to the man's work. For Christ's sake, go seek out the originals.

Car trouble

2009-01-04T22:30:00.002-05:00

I'm driving down a mountain road and hit an icy patch. The car skids out of control, and I'm headed for certain doom. I know I am going to die. With my final fate racing towards me, I scream out "Help me, Jesus!" like any good atheist would do. The car suddenly rights itself. I'm going to live. I breath out a sigh of relief. I look over to the passenger side, and there's Jesus, sitting shotgun.

Oh, crap.

I know he’s going to want something in return, like for me to go help the blind in Calcutta. I give him $5 and let him out at the next gas station. I don’t have time for a holy crusade. I have too much to do. Rock of Love 3 ain't going to watch itself.

Happy new year

2009-01-01T20:54:00.002-05:00

The calendar has rolled around another 365 days and we're here again, a chance for redemption and renewal. To acknowledge the mistakes of the past and move forward with fresh...

The hell with it. Some good things will happen to you in the next year and so will some bad things. Try to act surprised. Let's all meet back here in a year's time and compare notes.

To commemorate the new year, here's my favorite joke of all time, told to me by Cary Christopher many years ago:

A guy is suffering from impotence and goes to the doctor. The doctor tells him that he's in luck, a new procedure has been developed to take care of the condition. A muscle from the trunk of a baby elephant is implanted into the man's groinal regional, with no harm to the elephant in the process.

"Let's do this thing," the man says.

He has the procedure done and it's a success. After his recuperative period, he goes out on a date. He and his ladyfriend are enjoying a lovely dinner when his dick comes up from under the table, grabs a biscuit, and goes back underneath the table.

There is an understandably awkward pause.

Finally, the woman asks "Can you do that again?"

"Yeah, but I don't think my ass can hold another biscuit."

Attention, whoever runs the music at my office building

2008-12-29T21:54:00.006-05:00

You can lay off the Christmas music now. And if you're not going to lay off of it, how about at least not piping it into the bathroom? Do you have any idea how hard it is to go when the velvety smooth voice of Lou Rawls is singing O Come All Ye Faithful? I can't figure out if I should take a piss or go go splash on some High Karate and pour myself an Old Fashioned before going out to find some foxy chicks who want to swing.

Lay off the Christmas music. Please.

My back pages

2008-12-28T20:38:00.004-05:00

I had plans for some actual content here today, but I've apparently contracted every disease in the world simultaneously. So, when not praying for my own death and nearly passing out in the drug store (fun day around the Shark Fin Hat world headquarters), I did some web surfing. Remember this? Well, lookie here.

What the hell? Who's coming with me to Asia so we can eat food endorsed by Robocop? I wonder if ED-209 is the pitchman for any rival noodles.

I swear to God that I won't do any more Robocop posts until '09.

And here it is, Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T08:00:00.006-05:00

So, here's a couple of things on Christmas. First, Ron.

Ron had a happy little Christmas
Ate a waffle and he put away the dishes
Ron read the paper and he went for a run
No one can say that he doesn't know fun

Ron called his mom and his sister
Called his Aunt Jane but he missed her
Ron doesn't go to church these days
Now that he's older and set in his ways

Ron chopped wood and he stacked it up
Poured a little whiskey in his favorite cup
Ron built a fire as the sun went down
King of his world with a royal crown

It's ain't exactly "Yes, Virginia," but it's what I got.

And the Muppets + the Hold Steady = a reason to smile

Have a good day, whoever you are and whatever you're into. Cheers.

Philo Farnsworth and me

2008-12-22T22:31:00.004-05:00

I don't watch a lot of TV. I'm not making any kind of big stand here, there are a few shows I try to catch, but I just don't make the time commitment for most television. As a result, I become a bit of a social pariah whenever any of the following come up:

Lost
Heroes
24
ER (This is still on, yes?)
Desperate Housewives
Grey's Anatomy
House (Actually, just saw my first episode of this. They showed a little kid bleeding rectally in the first five minutes. Pass.)
Battlestar Galactica
Law & Order in any iteration
CSI
How I Met Your Mother
American Idol
Dancing with the Stars

And so on. But, I've spent this evening catching up on Elvis Costello's Spectacle on the Sundance Channel. Holy lord, this is a fine example of the medium. Each episode is Elvis sitting down with a guest to discuss their mutual love and experiences with music, with performances scattered throughout. So far I've seen the Elton John and Lou Reed episodes, and both were electric. It's easy to forget just what a great musician Elton John is with all of the grand showman aura about him. His episode dispels a lot of that, and Reed's episode breaks through the coldness that has been attributed to him over the years, rightfully or not. This is informative, enjoyable and warm television, something all too rare.

If you're not a music nerd and are starting to doze off after my little spiel above*, you should still give the show a chance. The performances alone are worth the price of admission, as seen below. The ones I've included here are Elvis performing covers of his guests' songs, but there are some incredible duets featured, too.

*Yeah, I realize that could have less to do with whether or you're not a music nerd and more to do with me being a shitty writer, wiseass.

Addendum

2008-12-18T11:49:00.002-05:00

The package has been located. It's in the front office of my apartment complex. I am an idiot. That is all.

My Christmas wish...

2008-12-17T23:05:00.002-05:00

If I had but one wish this holiday season, it would be for the jackoff that stole the Amazon package left at my door to get cayenne pepper in his eye. And then his brakes fail. And he hits a wall. And his car explodes. All while I'm banging his wife.

Hey, asshole. Are you enjoying the Red Steagall and Supersuckers CDs and the book of short stories by Larry Brown? Isn't that exactly what you were hoping to find when you opened that box? I'm sure that's right up your alley. Dickhole.

Okay. Rant ranted. I refuse to let this make me any more of a misanthrope than I already am. I am going to accept the fact that the world is a horror (see two posts back), and in the context of that, I am going to find something that make me happy. I was going to find some kind of Christmassy song/video to post here, but everything just seemed so cliche, so instead I'm just going to put one that makes me smile. Here. Happy holidays, folks. It's all good in the hood.

Fried chicken

2008-12-15T22:13:00.001-05:00

As a life-long resident of the south, I kind of figured we had the market cornered on the world's best fried chicken. However, the fried chicken in Korea appears to be fuckin' amazing...

This holiday season...

2008-12-14T21:12:00.003-05:00

Over the last two days, I went to five different stores looking for the right Barbie for my niece. Spending two days and a whole bunch of fossil fuel looking for a hunk of plastic that will most likely be forgotten within a couple of years kind of encapsulates why I'm pretty sure I'll never have kids, but I did it for two reasons:

1. I'm going to tell a 5-year old that she didn't get what she wanted because her uncle didn't feel like driving around and wanted to teach her a lesson about materialism? How much of a dick do you think I am?

2. She wanted Zoo Doctor Barbie. ZOO DOCTOR BARBIE. I have a niece that's expressing an interest in science, however tangential. I'm going to cultivate the living shit out of that.

More about the holiday season. About a year ago was a grim, grim time, even for me. A number of things personally and professionally had gone wrong, leaving me feeling like I couldn't trust anyone, most of all myself. I pulled through thanks to some heretofore untapped internal reserves and the support of a small group of friends and family. Another thing that helped get me through that time was a rant by Little Steven on his Underground Garage show. I posted this on my old blog, and I reproduce it here now:

“Okay, who wants to commit suicide? Raise your hand. One, two…quite a few this year. All right, let’s try and figure this out, shall we? Three reasons, I’m thinking:

Number One: Society says you should be happy and thankful this time of year, and you’re not either one.

Number Two: You are lonely. It’s the time when people celebrate family and friends, and you either don’t like a lot of your family, or you don’t have much of a family, and you really don’t have that many close friends, either.

Number Three, and this is good any time of the year: You’re broke. Busted. Tapped out. Bills are piling up, and now you’re supposed to buy people presents?

That pretty much covers it, right? Well guess what? Everybody’s depressed. Everybody with a brain, anyway. That is reality for most people. Some people are better actors, and some people can live in denial more successfully than others. But the reality is, life sucks. It’s a horror.

Yes, there a few people who have wonderful families and friends and money. A very few. Everybody else going around looking and acting happy is a moron. They’re idiots. Don’t they read the papers? New Orleans, the Asian tsunami, AIDS in Africa. Need something closer? Go out your door, make a right, how far do you get before tripping over a homeless person?

Life sucks, trust me. Most people’s families are dysfunctional, most people’s friends are backstabbing hypocrites, and our economy is permanently screwed. It will be bad for the rest of everybody’s lifetime because of the debt. Not just the deficit, the debt. So it ain’t just you.

So what do you want to do? Sit around and whine about it? Commit suicide? Check out and let the bad guys win? Because they want sensitive, intelligent troublemakers like you out of the way.

No. We are not going to whine and complain. We are not going to very cowardly check out. We are going to acknowledge that the world is a horror show, and in the context of that reality, and in spite of that reality, we are going to find some things to celebrate.

Like what? Like the Beatles. Like Little Richard. Like the Ramones. Like Jon Stewart. Like the Simpsons. Like Bill Maher. Like dogs and elephants and sex and love and the one family member maybe you do like, or the one friend maybe you do trust. Or the little kid down the street that smiles at you when you’re in a bad mood. Like truth. Like books. Like movies, flowers, go-go girls, and Christmas.

Christmas is cool. That’s why everybody celebrates it, regardless of their religions. It doesn’t matter if Jesus was really the son of God or not. Like all religious writings, it is symbolic. Christmas symbolizes rebirth, renewal, a second chance, an opportunity to start over. We’re not on this planet very long to begin with, so while we’re here, let’s try and have a little fun.”

Be good to each other out there, folks.

"Tom Waits and Peter Murphy" duet on a Christmas song. There are no visuals. Wash the dishes or something while you listen.

Shuffle poem

2008-12-11T19:02:00.002-05:00

The game: put your ipod or what-have-you on shuffle. The first line of the first 20 songs is your poem, the first line of the 21st is the title.

Everything's So Easy for Pauline

Sun Green started making waves on the day Grandpa died
I know you think we're pretty thick
Smack crack bushwacked
Can you hear the little girls asking "Daddy where have all the little boys gone?"
A man can't do no more than a woman will let him

She was a girl from Birmingham
Should we give it up?
I walk the thinnest line
Take her to heart
They'll talk about it after dinner over after dinner drinks

I crept from a soft dimension
She's nine years old and sweet as she could be
I could live inside a teepee
This forest is growing faster than I could tell
You said that I would be sorry if you went away

My my, hey hey
When you lie don't you cry because it's over
We used to kiss
You got a dangerous background
Oh, life is bigger

Hmmm. It actually kind of hangs together for a bit before it totally breaks down into randomness.

Swifty meals.

2008-12-08T22:44:00.003-05:00

A few thoughts on fast food...

1. I'd like to have a word with the people at McDonald's who let the word "nuggnut" enter the lexicon. First of all, for this to have happened, somebody had to brainstorm it from their advertising team. Then they had to present it to McDonald's executives as a good idea to build a campaign around. Then it was tested through multiple focus groups and passed with flying colors. Then commercials were written and filmed, Web sites conceptualized, written and constructed. AROUND A WORD AS GODDAMN GROSS SOUNDING AS NUGGNUT. Christ.

2. Attention, Arby's. My office window overlooks one of you, so we have an uneasy truce of a co-existence. I have accepted this. What I cannot accept is your commercial where the guy has his wife dress up as an Arby's worker and carry in a tray of roast fucking beef as a way to sexify the ol' lovelife. I might have left this well enough alone, but then you have your logo sproing to life above his head in the most blatant bit of phallic symbolism I've seen on television since the last time I watched one of those Sunday morning fishing shows on ESPN. The hell?

3. You guys had one of the chicken biscuits from Wendy's? Chicken the size of your head. It's horrendously awful for you, but it soaks up a hangover quite well.

Best shows, plus bonus

2008-12-06T14:13:00.002-05:00

Best shows I saw in 2008:

1. The Dirtbombs at the Earl, April 2nd— The best show I saw this year, hands down. Two hours of insane Detroit garage soul rock. They loved the crowd, the crowd loved them and nobody stopped moving the whole night. Their We Have You Surrounded album is essential. See them whenever, wherever.

2. R.E.M. at Lakewood Amphitheater, June 21st – The third time I’ve seen them, and the best. Touring behind their best album in 10 years, they sounded like a band re-energized. The mighty Justin Waddell and I went to this show together and I think both of us nearly cried when they fired up “Harborcoat.” Well, Justin cried. I stood there being all stoic and awesome.

3. Tom Waits at the Fox Theater, July 5th—I never thought I’d get the chance to see Waits play. But he came here a couple of years ago, the show was great, and I figured that was it. Then he comes back two years later with the Glitter and Doom tour and completely blows the previous show out of the water. “Innocent When You Dream” with the audience singing along—chills.

4. The Drive-By Truckers/The Hold Steady/Bobby Bare Jr. at the Ryman Auditorium, October 31st—Every bit as good as I hoped it would be. I’ve become a big fan of the Hold Steady over the last couple of years, and their live show lived up to their reputation. I can’t remember that last time I saw a band that so completely captured the emotion of what rock and roll can come to mean. The Truckers were on fire, and the whole night was pure joy. Couple that with the surprise of finding out that a good friend of mine from high school was Bobby Bare Jr.’s drummer and you’ve got a perfect show.

Now if somebody could hook a brother up with AC/DC tickets…

And now...

Mork calling Orson. NaNo, NaNo

2008-12-01T21:08:00.005-05:00

First things first, new comic strip here.

Second things second, I finished my novel for NaNoWriMo 2008, On the Beach. Whether it’s any good remains to be seen, as the editing and rewriting process lies ahead now. But I do think the germ of a good story is there, and I accomplished at least some of what I wanted to do. If nothing else, it stands as the longest piece of fiction I’ve ever written and proves (to me) that I can take a disciplined approach to my more creative endeavors, which is what had been missing for quite some time.

Anyway, I don’t know if spending a month straight writing about an alcoholic, suicidal asshole was therapeutic or dangerous, but it’s done. Here’s the honor roll for this endeavor:

Neil Young’s On the Beach album—“Ambulance Blues” is the best song ever. I realize I say that about a lot of songs. The mood of this record was a huge influence on the book.
SIP
That girl with pink hair who works there
Manuel’s Tavern
The Independent
George Dickel
Peets Coffee
The World's Greatest Sinner
The I Don’t Care trivia team, whose creativity inspires my own
The Mighty Mighty Matt Myers and Cary Christopher for the same reasons

Thanksgiving Weekend Dance Party

2008-11-29T17:08:00.003-05:00

Oldies edition:

1. Gordon Lightfoot, "Sundown." Been on a Gordon Lightfoot kick lately for some reason*:

2. The Hollies, "Bus Stop." Best song ever? Maybe.

3. Sigh. The fact that I can kind of count this as an oldie makes me sadder than you can imagine, but it's 15 years old, so...Also, this may well be my favorite song of all time.

Soul Asylum, "Without a Trace."

By the by, I had completely forgotten that Clare Danes was in the video for "Just Like Anyone." You can watch it over at Youtube, but I can't embed it here because SonyBMG are a bunch of Nazis.

Actual content on the way soon.

*The reason is most likely that I am 65 years old on the inside.

Old dirty bastards

2008-11-24T22:10:00.008-05:00

I'm going to be a complete junior high girl for a minute (get back here, this isn't about Twilight) and wish a happy birthday to a couple of my friends who are aging this week. These two guys are were part of a small group of people who closed ranks around me a little while back and helped me get through an extraordinarily difficult time, quite literally helping to save my life.

Guys, your friendship means the world to me and is one of the things that keeps me in balance. This song is for you.

SSDD.

2008-11-23T12:12:00.004-05:00

Here's something that happened to me yesterday:

Me, sitting in traffic, happily humming along to Waylon Jennings' "Outlaw Shit." The lady in the car next to me starts waving, trying to get my attention. I roll down the window.

"Can you tell me how to get to Monroe?"

"Keep going straight, then make a left when you get to Smiths Olde Bar."

"And will that take me to 10th, where the movie theater is?"

I pause for a second, replaying the route in my head. "Oh, yeah, it's down that way."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Are you positive?"

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE TIME!

If Will gets so fucking annoyed at being questioned twice about the directions he just gave that he pulls a bazooka out of the back seat and shoots the stupid lady in the face, turn to page 36.

If Will gets so fucking annoyed at being questioned twice about the directions he just gave that he somehow manages to turn into the Hulk and throw the stupid lady's car to the moon, turn to page 52.

The World's Greatest Sinner

2008-11-18T22:23:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago on TCM’s Underground, maybe the best block of programming on television, they showed a classic so fucked up, so out there, that it has now taken the crown as THE WEIRDEST GODDAMN MOVIE I’VE EVER SEEN.

Please keep in mind this is coming from a guy who owns the three-disk deluxe edition DVD of Caligula and saw Pink Flamingos in the theater.

The World’s Greatest Sinner, from 1962, is a project from Timothy Carey, a character actor who had roles in Kubrick and Cassavettes films. He wrote, directed, produced, distributed and stars in the film, which is about…

Hoo boy.

You know you’re in for something when the screen immediately slams you in the face with a blast of red. Carey plays Clarence “God” Hilliard, an ordinary guy who walks out on his insurance job and starts his own religion based on man being his own god. Also, he spreads the word through rockabilly music, while sporting a glue-on soul patch. Oh, and then he runs for president. And he and his family live in the suburbs but have a pony. And Frank Zappa did the score, some of his earliest professional work. And fucking Paul Frees is the voice of the Devil. It all leads to conclusion built of Hilliard’s own hubris that…look, you have to see this for yourself.

I’m pretty sure Carey made this movie for two primary reasons:

So he could make the movie he wanted to make, with the political and religious themes he wanted, Hollywood system be damned.
So he could make out with women ranging from age 14 to around 80 throughout the movie.

I respect that. It gives me hope for getting my script for Sharkfinhat Gives It to that Girl From Transformers made.

The World’s Greatest Sinner is filled with bizarre jump cuts, weird imagery, Dadaist influences, and Carey generally looking like he’s ganked out of his mind most of the time. All of this insanity wraps up in under 80 minutes. Over at Absolute Films, run by Carey’s son, you can find out more about whatever the hell this is and get a copy of the film.

I’m leaning towards The World’s Greatest Sinner being genius. It’s been a month since I watched this thing and I can’t get it out of my head. Isn’t that one of the requirements of great art? My hat’s off to you, Mr. Carey.

If you are well and truly bored...

2008-11-16T22:11:00.002-05:00

You can track the progress of my NaNoWriMo book here. I hit 30,000 words and I still don't totally hate the story, so I'm taking that as a good sign. I wrote a sex scene today, which was kind of fun because I had to find the balance between sounding passionate and sounding like a Penthouse letter.

Dance Party U.S.A.

2008-11-13T23:16:00.002-05:00

It's Friday. I have no content for you, but here are some cool songs.

1. Holy shit!

2. Centro-Matic is one of the best bands in the world that you're probably not listening to.

3. Speaking of great bands that you're probably not listening to, here's Pugwash.

With apologies to Tom Waits

2008-11-11T22:46:00.001-05:00

Jerry the security guard worked hard. Well, Jerry the security guard worked, at least. Cornerback for the high school football team, blew his knee out his first year at junior college before he had a chance to transfer to the university. The job paid decent enough and mostly all he had to do was stand around in the lobby a couple of hours in the morning and then make his rounds.

Jerry waved to all the office rats as they came in every day before they shuffled off to the elevators to go upstairs and do God knows what. Jerry ate his lunch back by the loading docks with the cleaning guys before going back to do his afternoon rounds. Jerry would go home to his wife that had been a cheerleader at the junior college and now worked down at the nail salon and watched Dancing with the Stars every week. Jerry sipped at a glass of George Dickel before he went to sleep every night.

Last night, Jerry waited until that one prick from the accounting firm on 12 was in the revolving door and then jammed his baton in the groove so the little bastard was stuck. Jerry made sure the guy could see when he walked up to his car and pissed on it. Jerry gave him a wave, then took off in his own car, headed south and moving fast.

Jerry hated Dancing with the Stars.

Days of Wine and Sharks, Vol. IV

2008-11-09T20:01:00.003-05:00

Part the Final

(Note: Cary did another write up of what it feels like to be in that shark cage. I highly suggest you click here and read it.

I wake up after possibly the most sound night's sleep ever. Takes me a minute to adjust to where I am or even who I am. Then it hits me that I slept in a bed that folds out of from the wall, the kind that Jack Tripper would have gotten a full half hour out of. I shower and everybody else starts to get up. We have breakfast at the condo and get ready to go.

We’re taking a tour of wine country today, having a limo cart us around. I’ve only been in a limo once before, for a strange, brief ride across my hometown last Christmas. We all pile in and start the drive. The driver, Robert, is a cool guy who knows a lot about the area and the wines made here. I keep an eye on the countryside since I’ve never been in this part of California, but it’s all a bit of a blur.

Here’s the thing about me and wine: I know dick-all about it. I know I like red ones, but not the white ones so much. We hit six or seven wineries over the course of the day. I tried several I liked, but there’s no way I could distinguish them from each other if you put them in front of me. This is the third time I’ve spent a day touring wineries, and I’m none the smarter for it. The fact that I’m usually pretty buzzed at the end of these tours negates any educational benefit that I may get from them. C’est la vie.

The day is a lot of fun though, and it’s cool to check out the architecture of the wineries. The first one we visit is meant to simulate the inside of a wine bottle in form and structure. Fortunately, everybody else in the group knows a little about wine and is able to ask some intelligent questions while I stumble around behind them like Otis, the town drunk from the Andy Griffith Show. I think even Cary’s five-year old daughter was able to ask about ripening schedules by the end of the day while I was grunting about “pour more of that last one. No, not that piece of shit, the other one.”

It’s a pretty great, low-key way to spend the last full day here. We spend several hours touring the wineries, getting back to the condo mid-afternoon. We all crash for a little while, then take a side-trip to the casino just down the road. I hit the penny slots and actually manage to come out slightly ahead by the time we leave. It makes me want to go back to Vegas soon. Honestly, who doesn’t have a bunch of extra money lying around these days to chuck out the window?

Back to the house afterwards, where we stay in and cook for the last night. It’s the perfect way to wind things down. We have a long drive in the morning to get me to the airport before Cary and crew make their long drive home, so we all call it a night fairly early.

Up before dawn the next morning. We’re on our way pretty quickly, since it’s going to be about three hours to the airport. As we pass through San Francisco, I ride over the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time, though it is shrouded in a thick fog. The time goes pretty quickly, and before I know it, we’re at the airport. It sucks to have to say goodbye to everybody when it feels like we just started this vacation. The airport is eerily deserted, t the point that I wonder if there’s been some kind of national disaster that I missed. It turns out just be a sleepy Saturday the San Francisco airport. I breeze through security and grab breakfast, getting a bloody Mary to ease into the day.

My flight to Salt Lake City is over in a blink, mostly because I’m out cold for most of it. We land and I’ve got a three hour layover. I end up hanging out at the Wasatch brewpub that Cary told me about, where I discover the wonders of their Polygamy Porter. I talk to an Army drill sergeant for most of the time, and I’m please to find out that management bureaucracy is just as thick and screwed up in the military as it is in the private sector. A sandwich and a couple more beers later and I’m on my way.

On my flights back, I read Sputnik Sweetheart, by Haruki Murakami, one of my favorite writers. It’s the story of a woman who vanishes, and the man who had an unrequited love for her who joins the search. Towards the end of the book, when she still hasn’t turned up, I read a passage that hits me so hard I literally have to get up and go splash water on my face in the bathroom. Here it is:

“I loved Sumire more than anyone else and wanted her more than anything in the world. And I couldn’t just shelve those feelings, for there was nothing to take their place.”

Goddammit.

I think Murakami knew he was onto something here, because he set those two sentences apart as their own paragraph. I finish the book and sit there thinking for the rest of the flight. Where I’ve been. What I’ve done. What I haven’t done. I’m back in Atlanta before I know it, and safely back home. I let a couple of people know that I had not become shark bait, and the adventure is over. I turn out the light and go to sleep.

Requiescat in pace.

Miss Manners never covered this

2008-11-08T16:57:00.002-05:00

This just happened:

I'm walking through a liquor store parking lot to my car. Some guy, a little rough around the edges, walks up and asks if I can give him and his girlfriend a ride. I tell him sorry, but no. He asks if I have a $1.75 for bus fare. Sorry, no.* Then in a Hail Mary play for the ages, he tells me he'll let me fuck his girlfriend.

I don't exactly know what the polite way to decline such an offer is. I just told him "that's okay" and went on my way. Quickly.

Maybe I should have gotten a look at her.

No, no, that's not right.

*I don't think I'm being a dick in this situation, but I'm not 100 percent.

Hey Now Wonder

2008-11-06T00:21:00.002-05:00

I fumbled around with a tune for this on the guitar earlier, but my guitar playing is, how do you say, really fucking awful. So, rather than subject you any MP3 horrors, I'll just post the lyrics*.

Hey now, walk around your room again
Hey now, wonder what's your darkest sin
Hey now, send another drink down
Hey now, wonder why you wear a frown

Hey now, this could be your greatest day

Hey now, wonder if it goes astray

Hey now, see if you can get it back

Hey now, wonder what it is you lack

Hey now, your favorite card’s already played

Hey now, wonder why you’re so afraid

Hey now, scrub it from your mind so clean

Hey now, wonder why you feel so mean

Hey now, write another life away

Hey now, wonder if you’ll be okay

Hey now, break it down a little more

Hey now, wonder what was there before

*These are lyrics, goddammit, not a poem. Lyrics!

Here's hoping.

2008-11-03T23:26:00.002-05:00

Days of Wine and Sharks, Vol. III

2008-11-02T21:17:00.006-05:00

Part the Third

(Pre-story note: Cary already did a great write up of the shark day here. Consider mine supplemental.)

I wake up about 10 minutes ahead of the alarm, about 4:15. Jump in the shower to get myself moving, hitting myself with a blast of cold water at the end to make sure I’m awake. I get my bags and meet Cary and Kelly in the hotel lobby. We check out and head to the marina, which only about 10 minutes from the hotel. In the car I reflect on that last words that most of my friends said to me before I left, most of which were variations on “you are so going to die.” I also think about my sister, who I’ve listed as my emergency contact. My parents have no idea about this trip, and if things go badly, it’s up to her to tell them how I went out.

There are a group of guys standing down by the docks who point us towards our boat, the Superfish. I’m mildly disappointed that the boat doesn’t have a big cape, but I get over it pretty quickly. The cage that will act as our observatory/watery tomb is hooked to the back of the boat. James, the lead guide for the day, is already on board and tells us to come on up. We’re the first to arrive, the first to line up to be a hot lunch as Hooper put it. The other divers and observers arrive, and we get under way just after six. It’s an interesting mix of people, some in their 20’s, some in their 30’s, and a few really old, decrepit people, like Cary. Along with Captain Mick and Sean the Deckhand, we’ve got a pretty full boat.

It’s a three-hour ride out to the Farallones and we head out as the sun is starting to come up. It’s a pretty great way to take in a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. This will easily be the longest amount of time I’ve spent on a boat in one day. I’ve never been prone to motion sickness, so I’m hopeful that holds true today.

The three hours flies by. I spend a good amount of time just holding onto a rail and taking in the sight of the endless ocean. Along the way, nature puts on a little show for us as porpoises and whales burst forth from the waves. The only time I got a little freaked out about the trip was about a week earlier. I was drifting off to sleep at home when it occurred to me that the creatures we’d be seeing were out there RIGHT NOW. Whatever I would see underwater was already out there, living its life simultaneously to mine.

It was just a weird feeling. These weren’t creatures contained in aquariums. They had total freedom to go anywhere, and on that day, nothing but random chance would bring them into contact with me. I’d be throwing myself into an environment totally alien not just to me, but to my entire damned species. I had strange dreams that night.

Everybody aboard is cool, so we have a good ride out to the islands. Before I know it, Cary tells me they’re starting to come into view. The Devil’s Teeth, as they’re known, are becoming clear in the distance. No more than nine members of the forestry service ever live here at a time, and it’s been declared a wildlife sanctuary for the sea lions and birds that call it home. For three months every year, great whites congregate here. Then people like us pay to get in the middle of all that. I tell myself it’s cheaper than a cocaine habit.

We arrive a little after nine, and the first group suits up to go in the cage. Because the sharks that make this their home base are mature sharks, there’s no point in chumming. They’re attracted to mammal blood. Instead, the team uses sea lion decoys. I think about asking if they ever consider stopping by a butcher shop and getting cow blood. Then I can’t decide if this is a stupid question or not, so I just keep my mouth shut.

The first group goes into the water. After they’re in, the crew asks who wants to go next. We step up, and go get our wetsuits on. This takes something like 50 hours. I finally get set in my wetsuit, and the first group comes back up. We get fitted with our ankle weights, then the chest weights just before we slide into the cage from the back of the boat. Cary goes first, then I’m up, with Kelly to follow.

Whew. This is it. James tells me to take a few breaths to get used to breathing through the regulator, since I’ve never been diving before. I slide to the cage, turn around, and begin to slide down. There’s an initial moment of panic when I think I can’t breathe. I realize I can, and calm down. It’s incredibly disorienting to be underwater at first, but I make my way to my side of the cage. I stand there for a minute, and Cary gets my attention and motions for me to crouch the way he is.

I finally start to orient myself to the cage. The sensation of the tide is amazing. Even with the cage just hanging from the back of the boat, if you lean forward it feels like you’re flying. Kelly makes her way into the cage, and the three of us start to look around. We spot a giant jellyfish, an incredible thing to see at first. By the end of the day, we’ve seen 60 of the bastards and they’re old hat. Visibility changes by the moment, sometimes as much as 30 feet, other times it’s nearly impossible to see your hand in front of your face. You’re also taking in plankton by the faceful, which is unsettling.

Did I mention the water was goddamned freezing? Well, it was. The dive company recommended a 7m suit for all divers. Mine was 3, but I also had a vest with my hood attached, so my core was protected with 6mm. That would usually take care of the temperature problem, but normally you’d be swimming and generating heat. We were locked into the cage and not moving much, so I spent much of the day freezing my ass off.

We ended up going into the cage three times total over the course of the day. Seasickness kept knocking out different divers, so there was more opportunity for us to spend a lot of time in the cage. I flew across the country for this, I wasn’t going to miss out on anything. The Superfish was equipped with a hot tub filled with seawater, so between dives you’d jump in there and reheat your body. Reheating your soul is up to you.

It’s weird what goes through your mind in such a foreign situation. Here I am, as far away from my everyday life as possible, literally thousands of miles away from almost everyone I know and submerged in the ocean. Speech communication with any other human being is impossible, so it’s pretty much just you and your thoughts. My thoughts and I aren’t always on speaking terms, so it can be kind of tough to be stuck with no one but your inner monologue to talk to. My mind drifts around from a laser focus for sharks to wondering what I could have/should have done differently in life and back about a thousand times every time I’m in the cage. It was kind of therapeutic and certainly more helpful than going to an actual therapist was. I may still be a disaster as a human being, but at least now I have an insane story to tell.

Cary and I made our final trip into the cage. We’ve been down about 10 minutes when he taps me on the shoulder, pointing below. About 15 feet down, the definite outline of a shark swimming past. It looks to be maybe 12 to 15 feet. We lose site of it, then it circles back around to my side of the cage and continues back under the boat. Cary surfaced to tell the crew we’d seen a shark (the first of the day). We catch one more glimpse of her, but that’s it. Even with our brief encounter, you get a sense of the sheer power of these things.

I came back up for the last time and jumped back into the hot tub. Cary, who shall be known as Namor from here on out, stayed in the water for nearly half the time we were out there as more and more divers were felled by the water temperature and seasickness. The ride back into San Francisco gave us another show from the whales and plentiful beer for us to tell our stories over. Cary and I already started making plans for either another shark trip or something a little more…crypto zoological.

We got back to the docks and said our goodbyes. I called my sister and told her I had indeed survived. We stopped at an In-N-Out Burger, where all three of us inhaled burgers and shakes. I was out like a light as soon as I climbed back in the car, and Cary drove us to the condo his hid parents had rented so we could meet back up with his family. We still had another full day ahead of us, though.

New comics

2008-10-29T20:12:00.002-04:00

Here's a new one from me.

Here's one from my friend Cary over at Omoo-Omoo.

If you're reading this, you're probably already familiar with Matt and his Hayder.

Not a comic, but seriously fucked up and entertaining:

Jokes

2008-10-28T20:08:00.002-04:00

Instant Messenger is a tool that has helped the world communicate instantaneously. It is also the dumbass development that leads to stuff like this, the result of the mighty Justin Waddell and me abusing our free time. The dental jokes are his, the orthodontia jokes are mine.

From "Will and Justin on the Road: The Dental Joke Tour: 2009: Across the Nation, This Ain't No Vacation Tour: The Gum Health and Gum Chew Express: Cavity Cavalcade: Once in a Lifetime (the channel) Tour*”

*Brought to you by Simonize Car Wax.

“My dentist is excellent. Just the best. Treats me like royalty. Yeah...he keeps giving me crowns.”

”My orthodontist said he was going to do an impression of my teeth. I told him to get a white jacket and 31 friends.”

“Sigh, my teeth are so messed up. Every time I go for a check up, my dentist says..."You know the drill.”

“I thought my orthodontist wanted to join my fantasy football league. He said he was going to give me some new brackets.”

“My dentist gave me this sound warning: You need to brush more. So now I brush once every other Saturday.”

“My orthodontist is a big basketball fan. His favorite team is the Indiana Spacers.”

Days of Wine and Sharks, Vol. II

2008-10-26T12:13:00.007-04:00

Part the Second.

I’m still on Eastern time internally, so I wake up fairly early. First things first: coffee. There’s no coffee maker in the room, so I throw on some clothes and walk down the block to Café Trieste. The coffee’s not bad, but not necessarily great either. It’ll do.

I decide to do some more walking around before the city fully gets going. Again, I’m struck by the fact that although there are people headed to work and going about their business, the city doesn’t seem rushed. It has room to breathe. I like it.

I walk over to Chinatown, which is eerie when it’s deserted. I walk past an alley that looks exactly like the one in Big Trouble in Little China, then realize that it might well be. The grocery stands are setting out their fruits and vegetables for the day and the junk stores are setting out their cheap souvenirs. I don’t need any of it, but I take in the cheeseball atmosphere and kind of enjoy it.

I walk around taking a few pictures, something I didn’t do yesterday so as not to be too touristy in the middle of the afternoon. I get some pics of Kerouac Alley, which is a really nice little space between Vesuvio and City Lights with poetry quotes on the ground and some incredible murals on the walls. I do some more walking around, getting a couple of pictures of the cityscape. Heading down by Washington Square Park, I see a lot of older Asian women doing tai chi. It’s pretty fascinating to watch. I briefly consider standing with them and doing the robot. Then I think about how many other wiseasses have already pulled this joke, and I decide to skip it.

Running has been a big part of my life for the last few years, and I’m quietly thankful for Atlanta’s relative flatness while I’m walking around. If I’d taken up the hobby (can’t make myself call it a sport) in the middle of these hills, I don’t know if I would have stuck with it. Looking at the cars parked on the streets, I realize that these surroundings are exactly why emergency brakes were invented.

The original plan was for me to take the train over to Berkley mid-day to meet up with Cary and his family. He calls me and tells me they’re going to head straight into San Francisco, which will make things that much easier. I grab breakfast at a little café next to Hotel Boheme and then go back to the hotel to get ready for the day and check out. The hotel would be a little expensive to stay at for more than a couple of days, but I’m glad I had a night here, and I know that I’ll be back.

Cary and Karen pick me up, and we head down to meet their daughter, his parents, and his sister at Fisherman’s Wharf. I only get to hang out with Cary and Karen a couple of times a year at most, but given that he and I email throughout most workdays, it usually feels like no time has passed, and today is no different. I went through some pretty grim times over the last year and Cary was one of the people I leaned (still lean) on pretty heavily.

Fisherman’s Wharf is giant tourist spot. I have mixed feelings on this kind of place. Totally artificial vacation spots (Disney, I’m looking at you.) make me feel pretty disconnected from the people around me and from myself, and I wonder where mankind went so very wrong. It just seems so completely separated from any kind of real, natural experience.

I’m well aware that overthinking stuff like this is why people usually end up rolling their eyes at some point when they talk to me, by the way.

But Fisherman’s Wharf has one foot in reality, with the gathering of sea lions and WWII ship and submarine docked there, so I’m able to stop with the pretentious thinking and enjoy myself. We grab lunch at a restaurant overlooking the sea lions sunning themselves, and I annihilate clam chowder in a sourdough bowl. Our waitress is totally cute and has a Russian accent. Cary is able to convince me that it might be a little early to propose to her.

We walk around for a bit, stopping long enough for me to grab some sunblock. When I go out in the sun, Geiger counters start to tick and explode if I don’t cover myself, and a sunburned scalp is the ongoing nightmare of the bald man. Once I’ve procured what I need from Panama Jack, I grab a couple of souvenirs for my niece and nephew.

Our group splits eventually, with Cary’s parents and his sister going on a bay cruise while Cary, Karen, Lily and I go for a tour of the Jeremiah O’Brien, a Liberty ship permanently docked at Pier 39. I get my biggest laugh of the trip when Cary explains to his daughter that he lived on a similar ship when he was in the Navy, and then has to clarify that no, it wasn’t exactly like being a slave.

Touring the ship is pretty interesting, and I try to imagine how shit-scared I would have been leaving on a ship like this in WWII. In the days immediately following 9/11, I more or less assumed that things might get bad enough that the draft would go back into effect, mostly because I was as panicked and confused as anyone. I wondered how I would handle military life. I might be able to get used to it, I guess. It would be just like McHale’s Navy, right?

After the ship, we head over to what turns out to be my favorite part of the afternoon. There’s an old penny arcade, with all these great wooden automations from the early part of the 20th century. Several of them have little scenes that animate when you put a quarter in, like The Opium Den that has skeletons jump out from the sides into a den scene, or old movieola machines marked “Adults Only” that show women from the ‘20s in their bloomers. I love this kind of stuff. There’s also another machine that terrifies me to my very core. Please see picture for explanation.

From there, we head out to Berkley. Cary, his sister Kelly and I will be staying here before our dive tomorrow, while the rest of his family heads on back to the condo they’re staying in. As we get to Berkley, I’m very happy that I chose to stay in San Francisco the night before. Berkley seems nice enough, but there’s not much happening in the area where we’re staying. It doesn’t really matter, since we’ll pretty much just be sleeping here and then leaving very early in the morning.

We all get checked in, and Cary and I head back over to San Francisco to meet up with a friend of his that he worked with at DIMP. Mike turns out to be a great guy who schedules his own 24-hour horror movie festival every year. The three of us have a few drinks back at Vesuvio, get an insanely good Italian meal across the street (calamari pasta for me) and grab one more beer at a dive bar before calling it a night.

Back at the hotel, I go through my equipment for tomorrow. I haven’t worn a diving mask since I was a kid, so I sit around wearing it for a while getting used to breathing through my mouth.

Yeah, it looked as ridiculous as you’re thinking.

I check my email, get everything set for the morning, and hit the light. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.

Placeholder

2008-10-22T22:25:00.002-04:00

I'm working on the next part of the travelogue, which I'm sure will make literally twos of people happy. Also, more comic strips. In the meantime, enjoy this. Stick with it even if you've already seen the initial clip.

The Days of Wine and Sharks, Vol. 1

2008-10-19T22:29:00.016-04:00

Part the First

The day starts blearily enough as I stumble out of bed when the alarm rings at five. Shower. Shave. Throw the last few things in the bag. I’ve already decided on the music for the car on the way to the airport—Warren Zevon’s Life’ll Kill Ya. The music you listen to at the start of the trip is essential—choose poorly, and you could find yourself surrounded by wild pygmy natives, ready to take your head. LKY’s title track, with its “requiescat in pace, that’s all she wrote” refrain, seems appropriate.

Airport. Zip right through security, head to find myself some breakfast. Omelets make me believe that there may indeed be a higher power behind this planet. Strong coffee. Good. The day is starting out well.

Flight is for the most part uneventful. I have my requisite aisle seat, with one guy sitting to my right. He needs to get up at one point and I move to get out of the way, but he says “I can step over.” Before I can protest, this guy is stepping over me and essentially giving me a three-second lapdance.

Horrific.

I read Susan Casey’s The Devil’s Teeth on the plane. It’s all about the place I’m headed,the Farallon Islands and their annual shark congregation. The place has a fascinating history that includes egg mafias, mysterious skeletons and ghostly apparitions, along with thousands upon thousands of great white sharks, sea lions and birds. Great book, but by the end of it, you’re pretty sure that Casey would be an endlessly annoying person to be around. She becomes hopelessly involved with her story, to the detriment of everyone involved.

I eventually play the in-flight trivia game. I don’t do so well the first round, but my second round, not only do I win, I get the highest score of anyone on the plane of any round. Advantage: me.

Plane lands in San Francisco and I find my luggage before heading for BART. I take the train to the closest stop to my hotel and promptly walk four blocks in the wrong direction. I catch my mistake and turn around. The upside of this detour is that I’m 99 percent sure I walked by Mike Nesmith. There’s a lot of construction as I make my way along Columbus, meaning there’s a lot of crossing back and forth along the street. I’m trying not to stop and stare too much along the way, but I’m taken with the city pretty quickly.

It’s a big city that doesn’t feel clogged, something that’s become all too apparent about Atlanta lately. It feels like there’s room to breathe here. Even walking around the financial district in the middle of a weekday, the vibe doesn’t feel crunched or dirty. It feels livable.

I find where I’m staying, Hotel Boheme, without much trouble. My room’s not ready yet, but I leave my bag and ask Charles, the front desk guy, where I can find some lunch. The area where I’m staying straddles the line between Little Italy and Chinatown. He recommends a place called House, an Asian fusion restaurant. Charles is right on the money, as I have some wasabi noodles with roast pork that are just what I need. I walk around the neighborhood a bit. Lots of Chinese restaurants and strip clubs. I’m home?

Head back to the hotel to check in. Charles tells me the room I’m in was where Allen Ginsberg used to like to stay. I spend about 10 minutes trying to think of a “starving, hysterical, naked” joke, and decide the hell with it. Hotel Boheme is a really cool, old school hotel with only 15 rooms. I’m given a key to my room and to the front door of the hotel, actual metal keys, which is nicely reassuring in an age of plastic keycards. Every evening from 6-10 they set out sherry in the lobby for an evening cordial. It’s a pretty wonderful place to stay, and I’m glad I shelled out the extra 50 bucks for the night.

At the same time, there’s a little bit of a creepiness behind it. The history here is palpable, almost so much that it feels trapped in time a bit. I fully expect to see a ghost floating down the hall at some point. I read an interview with Billy Bob Thornton once where he described having a phobia about antique furniture. I’m starting to understand what he meant, I think. But the idea that we’re all so used to bland experiences that we’re petrified of something real is horrifying, so I put the weight of the hotel out of my head and appreciate it for what it is.

I get into my room and doze for a bit. I’ve got Doug Sahm’s (look him up) San Francisco songs playing in my head as I drift off. After my nap, I change clothes and head out for a bit. I’m staying just down the street from the City Lights bookstore, where the Beat movement had its genesis. Incredibly cool to wander around inside and soak up some of the history. I pick up a couple of books, The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolanto which is a staff pick and fits in nicely with my efforts to read more authors who aren’t American or British, and The Yage Letters Redux, by Burroughs and Ginsberg.

I step next door to Vesuvio. About three seconds after I walk in, I know that this would be my regular bar if I lived in San Francisco. Long bar, cool art up on the walls, absinthe(!) behind the bar, and friendly people. Also, they open at 6 am. I grab a seat at the bar and watch baseball for a while, talking with a couple of the regulars. The bartender gives me a couple of dinner suggestions, and tells me I really can’t go wrong in the neighborhood.

I don’t know what it is about certain bars. I’m never as comfortable as I am sitting on a barstool in a dark room. The “third place” (look it up) is where I’ve always gravitated, where I’m in my element. When you're in the right bar, you pick up slices of everyone’s life, you’re a part of a communion or a nameless sacrament. Traveling alone carries with it a pretty natural feeling of alienation (or maybe I just carry that natural feeling of alienation), but it’s something that melts away however briefly between those walls. I fall in love with waitresses and bartendresses pretty easily, and I think it's part of the sense of belonging I feel when I walk into a bar (with a priest and a rabbi), even one I’ve never been to before.

The bartender’s right about the neighborhood, as it turns out. I end up sticking my head into a no-name Italian place and grab a slice of pizza, which tastes like a little bit of heaven. I wander for a bit into a couple of seedy blocks, realize I probably have “tourist” written across my face and head towards The Beat Museum. I’m a little unsold at first, as the first room you enter is the gift shop. But it’s only $5 to go into the museum proper, so I take my shot. I’m glad I did. It’s a thorough re-telling of the movement, with some way cool artifacts, including Neal Cassady’s shirt and Ginsberg’s old pipe organ (slang). There’s even an exhibit that addresses the lack of women in the movement, something that some females I know have quite understandably said kept them at arm’s length from the Beats. I settle into the movie room at the end of the tour for a bit, then grab a copy of Howl and head out on my way.

I’ve been back and forth on the Beats as an influence on my own writing. I took to Kerouac and Bukowski pretty easily, but Burroughs and Ginsberg took me longer to wrap my head around. Ginsberg was pretty easily explainable, since I’ve always had a little bit of a block when it comes to poetry. For Burroughs, it took a while to get myself into the fractured mindset that his stuff requires. Maybe I wasn’t broken enough to appreciate it before, but it feels like I am now. One thing I’ve discovered is that their works tend to be malleable enough to still feel fresh and current, rather than purely being reflections of the time. There’s a trick to being of your time and place while also being of any time and place. I need to figure out what that is.

I stop by my hotel, intending to drop off a couple of books and go back out, maybe to the Condor, the city’s oldest strip club, purely for historical purposes of course. But I lie down for a minute and everything gets dark for the night.

Still feel gone

2008-10-17T08:00:00.000-04:00

I'm still not here. In the meantime, watch this, turn the volume way, way up, and throw furniture around the room as one of the all-time great songs plays for you.

A quick one while I'm away

2008-10-15T08:00:00.003-04:00

Bonus points if you get the Who reference. I'm on vacation, but set up a couple of posts to go up while I'm gone. If anything went wrong with my flight, this post is coming to you FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.

Anyway, here's another dumb comic strip from me.

http://www.stripcreator.com/comics/wmason/444298

Public Service Announcement

2008-10-12T20:33:00.004-04:00

Until October 31, you can get Todd Snider's new EP, Peace Queer, as free download through his site. Just go to the store and you'll see the download there. I'm listening now, and it sounds so, so good. Todd's been one of my favorite songwriters since I heard his first record, Songs for the Daily Planet, waaaaay back in '94. I'd go as far as calling East Nashville Skyline and The Devil You Know essential for your record collection. I'm not going to go into a big dissection of the man's music here. Dig around the intertubes for a while, see if you like it. And if you don't...there's no accounting for taste.

Three things.

2008-10-08T21:57:00.003-04:00

1. More adventures of Tim.

2. Checked my referrals, and somebody visited this site looking for instructions on how to make a shark fin hat. My apologies for not having that information.

3. Take On Me, the literal version. Stick with it.

My first attempt at this...

2008-10-06T21:22:00.001-04:00

Me at StripCreator.

A play I just wrote

2008-10-05T10:42:00.003-04:00

Whiny Blog: A short play by Will Mason, Esq.

(The day is Saturday. Our Hero, a bald, pale man, is feeling more bummed out than usual. It's been an excruciating year for him. He's sad, and he's mad at himself for being sad when the rational part of himself is screaming at him to knock it off.)

Our Hero: Sigh.

(Our Hero spends some time with his family, including his niece and nephew. This cheers him up, but then he realizes someday that they're going to go through some kind of emotional pain and they're going to realize life isn't all goofing around and fun.Then he gets sad again. He goes home, eats a couple of cookies his mom made for him, and calls it a day.)

(Our Hero rises on Sunday, ready to see if he can't be a little more cheerful today. He decides to go run 5 miles, as he'd done several times earlier this week to see if he can't get back in shape for a half-marathon on Thanksgiving. 1.5 miles into his run, Our Hero trips and fully kisses the pavement, collapsing in a rising cloud of skin that used to be attached to him and dust.)

Our Hero: Fuck!

(Several people are standing on different parts of the same intersection. Several of them look at Our Hero, who is now covered in grime and blood. Then they all go about their business, none asking if he's okay. Our Hero takes stock: left elbow: destroyed. Left Hip: ripped to shit. Right knee: beyond the valley of the superfucked. He's also pretty sure he bruised a rib or two.)

(Our Hero shuffles the 1.5 miles home, after using his shirt to stop the geyser of blood coming out of his knee. He notes that when you're in kind of a nice neighborhood, people tend to walk a little faster to avoid the bleeding man. He finally makes it home and clean his wounds the best he can. He is currently terrified at the thought of getting in the shower, because he knows that's going to hurt like a bastard.)

(Our Hero had originally planned to go volunteer at a voter registration drive today. Now, he's thinking that he's going to sit on the couch for a bit and wait for the bars to open. At least Our Hero doesn't have any vacation plans coming up in the next week and a half where an open wound might be a liability---OH WAIT.

What do you think, folks? Am I the knew Tom Stoppard or what?

Quiz Time!

2008-09-30T21:32:00.003-04:00

When someone, says "Groovy, baby, yeah!" in their best Austin Powers voice, unironically, in goddamn 2008, which of the following is the most appropriate reaction:

1. Punch him endlessly.
2. Release an anguished howl and hurl yourself out the window to your doom, just to prove a point.
3. Sleep with his wife, just to prove a point.

Think carefully. Your response could make all the difference. Did I miss any options?

On an unrelated note, to the asshole who almost mowed me down because you decided to run a light that had clearly turned red, I saw the traffic camera flash as you did it. Enjoy your ticket, dick.

Placeholder

2008-09-28T22:08:00.005-04:00

I had an essay about my creative process here, but...

...wait for it...

I'm having trouble with it.

I'm going to try to get it done this week. Until then, please enjoy this cute/terrifying picture of Timer.

Interim post

2008-09-28T00:23:00.002-04:00

I'll have something more substantive here soon, tomorrow maybe. But right now it's late and my favorite football team got their asses handed to them. So, while you wait, here's a bunch of half-naked women dancing around to a Johnny Cash song.

Seat girls - RJ41 Productions from rj41 on Vimeo.

Times like these call for immature actions.

2008-09-24T23:01:00.002-04:00

Found via a link on Rodney Anonymous' blog forum (look at the links over there to your right) to the http://malnurturedsnay.net/ site:

A brilliant idea! I just did this for $5.00. Please consider joining in with a donation to a worthy cause, and PLEASE pass on! :) Rita (If you don’t want to get these from me please say so, I don’t want to offend anyone)

Instead of us all sending around more emails about how horrible she is, let’s all make a donation to Planned Parenthood in Sarah Palin’s name.

And here’s the good part: when you make a donation in in her name, they’ll send her a card telling her that the donation has been made in her honor. Here’s the link to the Planned Parenthood website:

https://secure.ga0.org/02/pp10000_inhonor
(this is where http://www.plannedparenthood.org/ takes you)

You’ll need to fill in the address to let them know where to send the ‘in Sarah Palin’s honor’ card. I suggest you use the address for the McCain campaign headquarters, which is:

John McCain 2008
P.O. Box 16118
Arlington, VA 22215

Have fun! And a worthy cause too. Spread the word!

Jukebox

2008-09-23T22:24:00.003-04:00

So, what's on the music menu tonight...

I play this song a lot.

Everybody should own a copy of Love's "Forever Changes." Here's Calexico covering Alone Again Or.

Listening to Sugar's "Copper Blue" in the car leads to genuinely unsafe speeds of driving while simultaneously making one unspeakably sad.

The Andy Williams Depression Special

2008-09-21T13:03:00.004-04:00

“Hi, everyone. Welcome to another Andy Williams Depression Special. I’m so glad all of you could join us again this year. Well, those of you who didn’t kill yourselves since last year’s special. Those of you know who were friends with someone that did are probably even more depressed, and that’s what the spirit of Depression is all about isn’t it? Making ourselves miserable all year round, never allowing the light in.

“We’ve got a humdinger of a special for you this year. We’re gathered around a fire that will hopefully suffocate us all thanks to poor ventilation, and we have some great guests coming by. The Vienna Boys Choir will be singing some of those Depression carols we all love so much, Mary Anne Mobley will be stopping by to make some gingerdead men, and Kerri Strug, everybody’s angel from the 1996 Olympics, will be doing a gymnastics demonstration for some reason.

“Why don’t we get started by going to visit Mary Anne Mobley over in our special Depression kitchen? It features a gas stove and grey walls with peeling wallpaper. I can smell the ginger goodness from all the way over here. Mary Anne, as you may know, is a former Miss America and took over Dixie Carter’s role on the final season of Diff’rent Strokes when the show moved to ABC*.”

(Andy strolls into the kitchen.)

“Hello there, Mary Anne! It smells wonderful in---oh, my.”

(Mary Anne’s body swings gently to and fro from the overhead light fixture from which she’s hung herself.)

“Goddammit. We lost Shelley Long the same way last year. Okay! Let’s move on to check in with Kerri Strug, who’s going to jump around the room like a spastic monkey. We’ll just go over to the good ol’ Depression mat…Hi there, Kerri! How’ve you been? How’s life treated you since ’96? Ready to show us some of your famous moves?”

(Kerri is dressed in her same leotard from the Olympics, only it doesn’t fit so well now and has coffee stains on it. She looks sullenly at the camera for a moment. She looks at Andy. Then back at the camera. A tear rolls down her face. She does a series of backflips to the window and leaps to her doom.)

“We’re thirty fucking stories up---Jesus! Every year! Fine. Just cut to the damned Boys Choir.”

(Here we see a bunch of kids in choir robes, all with emo haircuts. They’re about as happy as you used to be when you had to wear choir robes. They begin to sing to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”)

Shoot myself

In the fucking face

I just wanna shoot myself

And stop this endless pain.

(The kids all smoke. You can hear one in the background say he hates his father.)

“You know what? Fuck this. This is Andy Williams, and I just can’t take it anymore.”

(Andy douses himself in gasoline as we cut to closing credits.)

*Author’s note: Look how fucked up the opening credits were during the show’s final season. I have no memory of that, although the “Sam gets kidnapped” multi-parter is seared into my brain.

The Takei Wedding

2008-09-16T22:11:00.003-04:00

As you may have read, George "Mr. Sulu" Takei got married recently, thanks to California's recent legal approval of gay marriage. I'm not going to get political here*, but my good friend Justin and I were fortunate enough to overhear a few things said at the wedding. Also, it gave us this, quite possibly the funniest wedding photo of all time:

Anyway, here are a few things said at the wedding:

1. "He's no longer flying sulu."

2. "Will you takei this man's hand in marriage?"

3. "I now pronounce you man and worf."

4. "I think the gift for the one-year anniversary is dilithium crystal."

5. "Right now, they're in their honeymoon phaser."

6. "I liked when they fed each other wedding kirk."

7. "I hope they didn't get too caught up in the wedding planning details. Sometimes you can't see Deforest for the trees."

8. "I think the wedding starts at noonian."

9. "Takei looks nice. I think the vanity koenig was a bit much, though."

10. "I doohan."

*Jesus Christ, are people really opposed to gay marriage? Don't gay people have the right to be just as miserable as the rest of us? Let 'em get married. Do you have any idea how much fun gay wedding receptions are going to be? Great food, danceable music. If the idea of gay people getting married sticks in your craw, you really don't have enough going on in your life. Also, you're probably secretly gay.

2008-09-14T18:46:00.000-04:00

I did an interesting (to me, at least) writing exercise this afternoon. It was a conversation between me and depression. In my head, depression’s voice sounded a lot like Orson Welles. I liked the way it turned out, and it helped me work on my dialogue skills a little bit. I’m not putting the whole thing here, because…well, most of it is really personal and a little emo-y. I did like this little exchange though:

“How do you pop up so easily? Last weekend, I had a great time, spent the afternoon having fun with my friends, then almost jerked the car into the median on purpose on the way home. What was that about?”

“I’m sneaky. And I’m always there.”

”Like the Venom symbiote.”

“Jokes like that aren’t helping the situation.”

So, the writer nerd part of my life is progressing nicely. As for the music nerd stuff, please note that Ella Guru, the best record store in the world, has moved into the 280 Elizabeth St. complex, where Dad’s Garage is. So, go buy some records and see some fun theater. I bought the I Believe to My Soul compilation from Don this weekend and it sounds so, so fine.

Word Explosion

2008-09-10T22:02:00.004-04:00

I wanted to update the blog, but I didn’t have anything in particular to add right now, so I’m trying a little experiment. Sitting down at the computer and just typing my stream of consciousness until I hit 500 words. I figure this will be good training for NaNoWriMo when that hits. Can’t run before you walk. Or walk before you run. Gotta walk before they make me run.

I decided to day that “Tumblin’ Dice” is my favorite Stones song. Pretty much everything on Exile on Main St. is gold. Will: bringing you the latest in music news. If it weren’t for the Underground Garage archives and my headphones, I’d be a much less happy person.

Sitcom idea: Convent Convict. Woman gets out of prison for robbing a bank, gets assigned to serve the rest of her sentence by doing community service with a group of nuns. Every week we all learn a little something about ourselves, and about life. Dick van Patten is the sweeps week guest.

What the hell am I doing? I guess this is the equivalent of doodling if I was an artist. I wish I could draw. I check out the monster sketches over at Evan Dorkin’s page and I get jealous. But words are what I was given, and words are what I’ll use.

I really wanted to punch the weenie guy with the stupid haircut and the tie that I saw play last night. Best that I didn’t. I may want to go back to that venue and I don’t think my friends would have enjoyed the inevitable arrest that followed. To say nothing of how much I wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

San Francisco, one night on my own before everyone else gets there. Golden Gate Bridge? Presidio? O’Ferrell Theater? City Lights? Need to get this figured out. Need to get a damn room booked.

Someday, I’m going to sit down and write a thorough explication Paul Simon’s “Call Me Al.” On that day, I will truly be a pretentious jerk-off.

It was almost a year ago that I got mono, which lead to a whole heap of trouble and... That’s all I’m going to say about that. Wait one more thing: fuck you, mono.

When I got stuck in that elevator last week and I started looking around at my surroundings, I noticed there was a video camera in the corner. Two things:
1. Always keep your pants on in the work elevator.

2. There should be a talk show hosted out of an elevator. Desk is situated in the opposite corner, maybe it’s one of those desks you sat in back in elementary school. The band is one guy in the next corner over. There’s an audience of one in the other corner. I need to talk to Matt and Sweeney about this. There’s a short film to be made here.

"That’s not writing, that’s typing.” Someone said that about On the Road once when they found out Kerouac hammered it out over two weeks. There’s writing to be found in typing, though. When I comb back through this mess, I’m guessing I find one or two things I like. Kerouac managed to get more than one or two good things in his typing explosion…

Okay—maybe that’s enough. Even I think this is getting self-indulgent, and this blog exists to showcase my…whatever.

It was nice of you to sit through this, if you made it this far. Actually, you probably were just desperate for something to pull you away from your workday. Still, you’ve earned some kind of reward. Let me go find a cool Youtube video for you.

Got it! I loved this song when I was kid. In retrospect, it suffers from the tiniest, tiniest bit of a case of 80’s production.

Hmmm. Some kind of issue with that video. Just click here.

Nice Try, Lao Che

2008-09-08T21:35:00.003-04:00

Being a pilot for Lao Che airlines had to be a weird gig. At some point in your training, you are told that if your boss ever salutes you from the tarmac while laughing maniacally, you are to jump out of the plane mid-flight and leave your passengers to their deaths.

This begs a lot of questions.

1. When does this come up during the training? Do they make it clear during the first few minutes that murder and great personal risk come with the job? Is it before or after the first 15-minute “bio-break?” Do the new hires talk about it in the bathroom?

2. What kind of benefits does Lao Che offer? My company has a pretty decent 401(k) and medical/dental plane, but there’s not much they offer that would make me jump out of a plane over New Delhi. Maybe if they got that box back at Phillips. I got to see KISS that way a few years back.

3. Is your year-end bonus dependent on how many jumps/murders you have? “Don’t drink that coffee. That coffee’s for jumper-killers.”

4. Does your business card say “Pilot-Jumper-Killer?” Did they pick up girls in bars by telling them that they were "Lao Che PJKs?"

I could go on. I asked this same question over at CHUD and got some good responses.

Anyway, I just caught the end of that Terminator TV show and in the final scene a urinal turned into a Terminator in the form of Shirley Manson. I had a massive crush on Ms. Manson from during my college years, and I'm pretty sure that sequence is going to cause me to have dreams that would make Freud call me "really fucked up."

Attention, fellow southern drunks

2008-09-07T23:20:00.001-04:00

Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka

You're welcome.

This ad caught my eye

2008-09-05T00:17:00.004-04:00

It was some kind of debt relief ad. The picture of the guy in need of debt relief made me look twice. If you've met me, I think you'll see why.

Well, if anything happens to me (and let's face it, it will), it's good to know there's a spare.

Hit Zombie Songs

2008-09-02T21:21:00.001-04:00

1. Constant Craving (For Human Flesh)
2. Brain in Vain
3. Everybody's Trying to Eat My Baby
4. Stop Dragging My Heart Around
5. She's Not There

Three Quick Things

2008-08-30T20:01:00.003-04:00

1. There should be an emo Muppet show called Fragile Rock.

2. The bathroom at my office pipes in jazz over the speakers, even Miles Davis stuff. It's just a little odd. The soundtrack in there makes me feel like I should be tracking down a missing heiress in 1940's Los Angeles, when all I'm doing is going wee-wee and making sure I don't get any on myself.

3. I don't care how old this is, it will never stop being funny.

Hope in the darkness

2008-08-28T23:06:00.005-04:00

These are certainly troubled times. An economy failing. A U.S. that finds itself with few allies. Turbulent world relations. It's times like that make us look both within ourselves and to our surroundings for hope. For direction. For a sense that maybe we're going to be okay.

The leader we need is here.

AC/DC has returned, just when we needed so very badly. Go here and you can hear their new single, "Rock N' Roll Train." The new album, "Black Ice," is due in October and features four different songs with "rock n' roll" in the title. Goddamn, we need these guys like we never needed them before. Welcome back, my Australian brethren.

I'm not a particularly religious person, but when I hear a really, really wonderful rock song, I feel a little more connected to the universe. There's a feeling in a song like the Stones' "Moonlight Mile," Prince's "The Pope," or Black Flag's "Rise Above" that lets you know that you're a part of something bigger. For those three minutes, you believe in something more than yourself. Like maybe, hippie-ish as it may sound, that maybe there is something in common between all of us. Maybe St. Joe Strummer was onto something.

There's something so incredibly reassuring about AC/DC's return, offering a song we've never heard before even as we've heard it a thousand times before. I can't stop playing it.

Let there be rock.

This is pretty great

2008-08-25T23:30:00.004-04:00

Very cool video that ties in thematically with what I've been working on all evening. Never would have even seen this, but I just wanted to hear "The Passenger."

Not even noon and something horrific has happened to me.

2008-08-24T10:28:00.004-04:00

Things started off so pleasantly. Wake up, read a little bit of The Road, then decide to go down to the weight room. Open the door, walk in. There, on the floor, next to the bike:

Two soiled latex gloves.

For one thing, I don't even want to think why those gloves were needed. For another, there's a damned trashcan less than 10 feet from where they were, right next to the water cooler I refuse to drink out of for very similar reasons. I used the treadmill, but couldn't bring myself to get on the bike with those gloves so close by. They might have the clap all over them, and that shit may have mutated to become airborne.

Hell, let's take a poll. What's the appropriate internal reaction to finding latex gloves on the floor of a public area where people are sweaty most of the time:

1. Oh, Jesus God, no.
2. Ewwwwwww.
3. Somebody go get an adult.
4. You never jerk it on the treadmill? What are you, a quaker?

Get yer ha-ha's out

2008-08-22T00:04:00.002-04:00

1. Everybody saw Norm MacDonald's insane set from the Bob Saget roast, right? I've been laughing about it all week. God bless Norm.

2. The image over to the left there makes me happy and sad. Looks like there's one last album of Mitch stand-up coming out September 8th. I'm going to go be somber now.

Die Hard in a Bar

2008-08-19T22:07:00.005-04:00

I assume that eventually I'll star in an action movie, despite not being an actor and not being overly attractive. I mean, I'm kind of attractive. I'm more handsome than you, you homely motherfucker.

What was I talking about?

Oh, right. Me in an action movie. I'm guessing said movie will be set in a bar. Let's say Smith's Olde Bar, just for the sake of argument. I'll be avoiding the bad guys and getting my plan worked out, just like in the original Die Hard. Maybe I'll be lurking around the stage upstairs. Anyway, at some point, there will be a big chase scene where either I'm going after the bad guys, or they're coming after me. I haven't worked that bit out yet.

Anyway, there' s a chase scene. Then, it comes down to the final fight with me and the bad guy. It goes back and forth for a bit, then it appears he has the upper hand. Just when all appears lost, there's a reappearance by an ally that we thought had perished earlier in the movie. We'll say it's Andrew Sweeney, since he and I had lunch together today. He helps me out, we defeat the bad guy, I make out with that girl that played Topanga on Boy Meets World, and we're all set up for a sequel. The sequel will either be set in a coffee shop or at a rodeo. Fuck it, we'll go with the rodeo, so we can get Whiplash in it.

The point of the above drivel, is that during the chase and final fight, I want the following cover of "Rock the Casbah" by Rachid Taha playing. I've been spinning it non-stop in the car the last few days, thanks to the soundtrack of The Future is Unwritten.

Literary pursuits

2008-08-17T21:36:00.005-04:00

Okay, the story about abject failure in selling short stories may have to wait a bit, as I've found another avenue where I may try to sell what I consider to be the finest American short story since Hemingway thought up the name Nick Adams. Come to think of it, fuck Hemingway. Did his story have a horse that was six stories tall?

I think you understand now why I'm having a bit of trouble unloading this bad boy.

In the meantime, here's a list of what's been on the nightstand lately:

1. KISS: Behind the Mask. I found on this discount table and picked it up. It's good, but after Motley Crue's The Dirt, I've found that most rock and roll biographies tend to pale in comparison. Still, it's kind of interesting the read about the single-minded focus on success that Paul and Gene shared since day one. This is also the reason that I'm currently on my third episode of Gene Simmons' Family Jewels right now.

2. Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz. A really interesting travelogue written by a guy who grew up fascinated with the Civil War, grew up and expatriated while covering wars overseas, then moved back to the southern U.S. He criss-crosses the south, uncovering the continuing legacy of the Civil War on southern people. A lot of it gave me pause and made me reconsider some of my own attitudes about the past and the present. A lot of it made me LOf'ingL, too.

3. Popeye, Vol. 2 by E.C. Segar. I've got a weakness for old comics strips, and these books are beautifully put together. Segar uses Popeye as a vehicle to tell some incredibly wide-ranging stories, from old west adventures to commentary on the issues of the day, like Popeye opening a Depression-era bank that only gives money out , never taking any in. Granted, Popeye was no Funky Winkerbean, but it's pretty good.

Next up, Cormac McCarthy's The Road and Haruki Murakami's After Dark. Well, to be perfectly honest, the roast of Bob Saget is up next. Then something highbrow.

Ch-ch-change.

2008-08-16T16:18:00.004-04:00

Memo to the dude who lived in my apartment before me:

Attention, Michael H:

I found $2.00 in change jammed inside the washer. Four quarters, nine damned dimes, a nickel, and five pennies. Homeslice, how did you not notice this? Did you not hear the incessant jingle every time you took a load out?* Anyway, thanks for the free two bucks. Also, you really need to update the gas company as to your present whereabouts.

Coming soon: utter failures in short story publishing.

*This sounds like filthy slang for something.