Schlubba Ho-Tep

I know how easy it is to write off the fat Elvis. I mean, the whole era remains a caricature of a caricature that leaves a taste in your mouth not unlike fair food. Funnel Cake and buttered popcorn. Hot sausage. and sure, the whole production comes across about as greasy as the aforementioned heart-destroyers. It's hard not to picture Elvis, half-exhausted on the edge of the stage, a chicken leg in one hand and his flying eagle jumpsuit unbuttoned far below even the decency laws of Vegas should be allowing. The one time sex symbol and idol to millions reduced to crooning Neil diamond songs. and of course the Memphis Mafia. Redneck enforcers of the King's will, or at least his reputation. Slamming methamphetamines into their bodies and laying meaty paws all over the already-pawed ladies of Vegas*
Well, first of all fuck you, I happen to enjoy some of Mr. Diamond's repertoire. Second, don't be so quick to dismiss the fat bastard. It's not like this happened overnight. People seem quicker to dismiss late-era Elvis than the movie star Elvis, which is fucking preposterous. Elvis starred in 31 motion pictures, and with a few exceptions, they're not even fit for Mystery Science Theatre standards (though that would be entertaining). Jesus, have you ever seen Double Trouble? or Kissin' Cousins? blech. The movies are what ruined Elvis. And though the '68 comeback special is what is generally seen as his glorious return to the stage, and that's true. He was terrified and convinced that his audience had given up seeing Elvis apply himself to anything ever again.
But it was here, in Vegas, that he really had to prove himself. It's easy to suck in your gut and put on a show for 90 minutes. But twice a night? for several years? Karate kickin'? Bloated, drug-addled, schlubby. These all apply. But to say he wasn't working hard, or to say that his band wasn't among the greatest working at the time is just stupid.
James Burton. D.J. Fontana. shit, even Scotty Moore pops up on disc 4. Anyways, yeah, it's cheesy and over-the-top. Yes, it's ridiculous and spangled and decadent and the precursor to pretty much everything there is to hate about Las Vegas. But that doesn't mean it's not a great show. So make yourself a corn dog. Dip it in powdered sugar, and enjoy the spectacle for what it's worth.

Download 4 discs of it here.

yeah, you just wasted this time reading what is essentially a link to someone else's website and upload. You see what I did there? But it is worth listening to I promise. I suggest downloading Discs 1 and 3 in the very least.

*with apologies to guys like Red West, who I still think were true friends to Elvis and standup guys in spite of it all.

In a van...

I’ve been listening to this song on repeat since I woke up this morning, and it’s one of those songs that I grew up loving, put on the first 20 mixes that I ever made, got burnt out on, and then sort of forced myself to forget about for the better part of a decade. I was brushing my teeth at 1 this morning and this came on my headphones and though I was exhausted, I had to stay up and listen to this at a skull-crushing volume. And I pretty much have been since.

It’s so easy to forget how versatile Neil can be, even over the course of the same song. Up until I was 13 or so I though Neil Young only played predominantly acoustic folk rock. Then I stumbled across the second side of Live Rust (recorded 3 months after I was born) and had my mind just blown out of my asshole. Because I’m not sure I’d ever heard a guitar like that, except for maybe my brother’s punk records.

I think I learned then and there that there’s a difference between playing a guitar loud or fast and playing a guitar hard. And this was definitely the latter. It sounded like he was playing it with a fist, fer chrissakes. I don’t know how he wasn’t stopping to change strings every 15 seconds because it sounds sometimes like he is raining blows down on that thing.

And “Down By the River” was always my favorite example of that. It’s not often that Neil is credited with being a great guitarist, and that’s understandable, considering his playing style is hardly flashy or nimble. But then neither is most of Pete Townsend’s, and he seems to do alright. But that isn’t to take away from what he can do with it.

Lots of hack music rags love to describe how people like Clapton or Hendrix “wield” their guitars. They fuckin’ love it. And I never understood that. Because it just didn’t seem right to me. Those guys massaged and coaxed their instruments. It’s people like Phelps Collins or even Greg Ginn that wield their guitars, that use them like a tool and not a precision instrument. Neil Young fucking wields his guitar. Over the course of this song he uses it to the same effect that one would use a rusted putty knife, a rubber mallet, and a chainsaw. And unlike many others that have tried, it works in a way that that sounds completely natural. Those solos don’t require the most talent, but that never meant they were easy to play. If played loud enough, they can be even exhausting to listen to. And just picturing Neil stamping his foot on that weird way that he does makes it even more tiring. Goddamn, it’s great. That’s all I really got today, but I just felt like sharing since I’ll never be able to find a place for something like this on a mix again. It just doesn’t fit with anyone else’s music.

“Down By the River” – Neil Young

Live in Massachusetts, 1986

and since I've been listening to the new Steve Earle a bit lately (which has a verson of Tom Waits' "Way Down in the Hole" which will serve as the theme song for season 5 of The Wire), here's my favorite song off that.

"Steve's Hammer" (for Pete)
buy Washington Square Serenade here.

You're number 37, have a look

It's a turdish fall day here. It's actually the closest I think I'll get to having a fall out here, since the skies are gray, it's a little chilly, and the sycamore outside my office window is one of the only trees in the area that I've seen changing colors. I'm trying to make the most of it (hellooo Arab Strap, Microphones) and keep a gloomy demeanor. So yeah, there's that.

It's strange, thinking about it, but I only have one friend within 900 miles of here. Who I happened to live with, work in the same building as, and am married to. It serves as sort of an insulation from everything else around here, and I'm wondering if after awhile this hinders both of us from making new friends or even being able to tolerate a lot of people we normally would. Have I always been this picky about the people I hung around with? Probably not, judging by some of the acquaintances I've made in my lifetime. Is Southern California (or at least this town) actually that loathsome that likeable, interesting people are that hard to come by? Doubtful.

I don't remember knowing so many overly dramatic people than I've met here, though. This probably isn't true. Most of the discussions I encounter outside our home seem to be about failed relationships (both platonic and romantic), inter-office politics, smug dissections of other lifestyles/beliefs, and in-depth talks about botanic nomenclature.

I can't tell you how sick I am of all of these things. And it's not that I feel like I have anything much more interesting to talk about, but there's gotta be more than that. No wonder a guy can get to feeling dejected.

Anyways I shouldn't complain here, it's not your fault. It's not theirs, or ours. It's not mine. Blame the patch of Autumn I just stumbled across this morning.

Mata Hari was executed 90 years ago today. Huh.

Racism in Switzerland?

Things I currently want to disappear, at least for a little while:
Steampunk
Ambient music
Democratic Party Leadership
LARPers
Bullshit non-binding resolutions
Dane Cook
Baseball in general

Now Listening:

Rebetika is essentially the outsider music from the early 1920s to the late 1950s in Greece. It's the music of drug addicts and prisoners and lovers. Not surprisingly, then, it gets a lot of comparisons to American blues. It was actually banished by the far-right and censorship-happy Metaxas regime. However, also much like American blues, the genre was cleaned up sold to the upper class and eventually nationalized.
I can't speak a word of Greek. I can barely spell most of the Greek foods I like. But this music is really interesting and in some cases heartbreaking. I'm sure I'll sneak some on the next mix I throw together, whenever that might be.


I'm also reading some stuff on the breaking of tradition in the practices of Zoroastrianism. It's... a lot more interesting than it sounds.

Also, Trader Joe's sells scotch here. Someone help me wrap my head around this.

Flexo

"Nah, I'm just messin' with ya; you're all right"

Dynastification

your daily magazine theft:

This is an extraordinary situation, for all sorts of reasons. The race ought to be wide open: it is the first time that neither party has an incumbent, in the form of a vice-president, since 1928. The rise of the netroots has transferred political power from the Washington establishment to smaller donors. And America is in an anti-establishment mood: the Democratic Congress has even lower approval ratings, at about 27%, than George Bush. Yet Mrs Clinton has all the advantages of an incumbent, from a brand name to an established political machine, without many of the disadvantages.
Americans are remarkably insouciant about this development. They should not be. It suggests that American political life is in the hands of a small group of insiders who are organised around semi-royal families. And it divides America into “players”, who control political life, and “observers”, who simply comment on it. The dynastification of American politics is happening at a time when economic inequalities are growing, and the “haves” are proving increasingly successful at transmitting their privileges to their children.

evacuation

I've been looking through these pictures of suddenly abandoned homes I came across on English Russia. They're amazing. It's too easy to imagine a context in which someone would rush out the door of their apartment, leaving for good with their highly personal belongings strewn out across their floor. I imagine fear of toxic gas, of nuclear holocaust. Fear of mob reprisal and torch-wielding mobs. Fear of secret police and instant death. I imagine crying children leaving behind filthy, beloved stuffed animals and prized television sets left in haste.
But the sad reality of it is that these places were probably left in fine order with everything where it was supposed to be. The apparent havoc left by scavengers and drug addicts, looking for expired medicine and Nazi gold.
When I was a sophomore in high school there was an abandoned house that some friends of mine had found. There were newspapers dating back to 1986 stacked up just inside the front door. The closets still had sweaters, the pantry still had dry goods.
There was also a fully stocked bar in the basement. I remember we found some sort of board game that basically consisted of a vinyl football field and a stack of cards that we somehow had turned into a drinking game. We would line up four shots of whatever we'd come across (this was the first and only time that I ever would drink banana schnapps) and somehow counted them as downs and field progression.
I went outside to smoke a cigarette (I still am filled with a small pride that I respected the abandoned home enough not to fill it with smoke) and walked smack into a police officer. I was 16 and pretty drunk. It was the second time I was ever arrested.
This is how I live now. It's 11:30 on a Saturday night and I'm looking at crap on the internet and telling high school stories to nobody in particular. We went to a nearby shopping center today and came very close to dying in a car crash on the way home. Fucking California drivers.

Watching: The Science of Sleep. It's so filled with whimsy that I just want to blink myself out of existence.

Reading: The Nightly News by Jonathan Hickman. I'm pain in-the-ass late on this, but it's the most impressive graphic novel I've read in a very long time. It's put together from a graphic design standpoint and can at times be an utterly exhaustive read. In a good way. I can't recommend this enough.
I got Warren Ellis' book in the mail on friday, and expect to read it in one giant sitting. Perhaps I'll write something on it late.r

"they are going to have to pry this vibrator from my cold, dead hand. I refuse to give up,"

urp

So, it only took about 2 months, but this morning I received my first email at this new job that assumed I was a woman because of my name. I'm actually pretty surprised it took this long. California, I guess.


"Milton Road" - Mice Parade - (My Skull With Flowers Remix By Kim Hiorthoy)

The Revolution Is Over

A Swedish diplomat who visited Burma during the protests said last night that in her opinion the revolution has failed.

Liselotte Agerlid, who is now in Thailand, said that the Burmese people now face possibly decades of repression. "The Burma revolt is over," she added.

"The military regime won and a new generation has been violently repressed and violently denied democracy. The people in the street were young people, monks and civilians who were not participating during the 1988 revolt.

"Now the military has cracked down the revolt, and the result may very well be that the regime will enjoy another 20 years of silence, ruling by fear."

yes, the picture above is a dead monk.

I hate all Iranians, US aide tells MPs

Are you fucking kidding me? Is this really the sort of person that is representing all of us to our allies? Anybody who is stupid enough to say things like this should be cleaning up after farm animals. Seriously, what is wrong with these people?

In related news, Sy Hersh pointed out just how bad of an idea it is to bomb Iran right now, though it seems increasingly unavoidable with the swheer amount of fatheaded sabre-rattling that is happening right now. Prepare to be fighting 3 wars. Prepare for more death. Prepare for an entire region of the world to pray for our own deaths because we were prodded as a country into fear and hysteria by a group of insanely rich white men who want to make even more money and perpetuate this completely backwards and aggressive state of being. How many times can we learn the same lesson before we actually remember it?

I just erased a multi-page rant about how sick of this shit i'm getting, but honestly, there's no need to go through that again. I just don't know how anyone can actually be ready for more war at this point. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Useless Mountain Rant

So, as I've stated before, the move from Pennsylvania with a moderate amount of friends to California with no friends but many healthy acquaintances, I find myself being slightly more assertive with my time, which includes going hiking and eating risotto-and-kale dinners. and I find myself in at 11 PM on a saturday night, which I cound not have been convinced as recently as one year ago that I would ever stand for.
If I had a brain I'd be going to bed (my lovely wife is snoring next to me as I type this) or at least try to get another few scenes written for this Big Worthless Project. but instead I know I'll stay up and read the rest of these comics and have a Fat Tire or two. I rented the DVD copy of Rude Boy, and I'm wondering if the extras will be as great as I'm hoping (a recent interview with Johnny Green!). As a completely random aside, I want to know who the production designer for Stranger Than Fiction was and how I can con them into designing living space for me. This week I need to think about picking up tickets to go home for the holidays and what the hell I'm going to do with myself when I'm there. I'm just realizing that I don't even know where I'll stay. not even what state. bah.

I just watched SNL and for the umpteenth consecutive time I've felt completely ripped off and pissed that I actually wasted my time on this fucking show. I really like Lebron AND Kanye West, and this was still massively disappointed (other than the awesome skit about Kanye's Awards Show behavior and the Lebron guidance counselor bit, both buried in the last half hour). And I get the feeling that in the very least that I'll at least tape the Seth Rogen/Spoon show next week. What a sucker.


My TiVo is convinced that I'm an elderly black man. I shit you not, I've got more Matlock and Sherman Helmsley than one would ever want lined up on this bitch. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

"If I hear this "If You Want it )Here it is" Saturn ad one more time I'm going to burn down Paul McCartney's America-loving ass.

Is it a coincidence that with Fred Thmompson's political flameout that the Fox Movie Channel has been airing Die Hard 2 lately? Just a thought. Go patriotism.

Tuun-La: Not of This Earth

The same. sort of.

i was at the mall when it happened

So after working on it for about 6 of my last 8 waking hours, I've managed to put together one mix. I have the other one three-quarters done, but don't hold your breath for it because this one was goddamned infuriating to make. I like it a lot, though, and haven't gotten tired of listening to any of these songs despite having to re-load and re-sequence them more times than I care to think back on. The forthcoming mix will have some older stuff on there and hopefully not as many creepy samples, but I'm not going to make any promises on that latter point. I know this posting has been erratic lately, and the link fever of yesterday was probably annoying if not frustrating with the same-colored font. Pretty much everything with a chip in it lately has been acting up on my in the last week or two, including my brain and robotic arm. Also, it looks like I won't get to go to the demolition derby tonight because I gotta do something for work, so boo on that. Anyway, I'm hoping this thing will load okay for you, and the artwork seems to have messed me up some, but the biggest problem is that the sound quality is sort of screwy. I didn't mix this all together because I know some people won't like some of these songs here, but as a result things can go from very loud to very quiet and I just wanna give you the heads up.
Anyways, enjoy. It's slit up into 2 parts again because Mediafire doesn't like me. Those bastards. The title is from a Doug Coupland end-of-the-world story.

i was at the mall when it happened

-
On That New Thing - Madlib
We're a Winner - Curtis Mayfield & The Impressions
Lamb of the Lam (In the City) - Band of Horses
No Time to Chill (f. Little Brother) - 9th Wonder
Tea Leaf Dancers -Flying Lotus
Heavyweight Champion of the World - Reverend & the Makers
Could Be Worse - Eef Barzelay
-
What'd I Say - Elvis Presley
Aretha, sing One for Me - George Jackson
The Sweeping Wind (Kwa Ti Feng) - Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers
Mercy, Mercy - Don Covay
The Hand that Leads You - Percee P
-
Accordian for Raj - Madlib
Heartbreak - Celebration
Backed Out in the... - Kevin Drew
Window - Double Deuce
-
I'm Sorry for Saying I'm Sorry - The Arrivals
Wrigley Scott - Future of the Left
Setting Vs. Rising - Sunset Rubdown
-
Children of War - Buffalo Killers
I Wish I Knew (How It Would Feel To Be Free)
-

total run time: 1:01:23

Part 1
Part 2

The Dog Shouterer

Want a lick? PSYCH!

Last night we were at the bar talking with a guy and his dog, which was adorably reminiscent of a bear cub. Anyway, as we're hanging out and having a beer or two, this guy stumbles out of the bar (I'm pretty certain that 2 of his friends were just thrown out of the bar) and kneels down in front of the dog and looks up at us, slurring "Watch this! Watch this! My cousin is Cesar Romero!"
All 3 of us: "who?"
Guy: "Cesar Romero"
Me: "The guy who played the Joker?"
Guy: "No, the dog whisperer, man!"
Dog Owner: "I think his name is Cesar Millan"
Guy: "I think I know what my cousins name is"
Then he proceeds to shout in this little dogs face and struggle to maintain upright for a few minutes. At one point he loses his balance and smacks his head on the side of the building. His friends are yelling back at him telling him to hurry up.
Guy (to his friends): "Goddamnit in a minute!I'm doing my dog trick" (and then back to us) "watch this" This went on for a few more minutes. Then the drunk guys ran their friend into a plate glass window (it didn't break) and got in a truck and drove off. Terror on the road in Claremont last night.

Rented the Tarentino half of Grindhouse last night, hoping to see the fake trailer that Edgar Wright made for the release, but was soundly disappointed that none of the fake trailers made it to the DVDs. Then I got treated to 2 hours of Tarentino's foot fetish. This is getting out of control. Make a goddamned real movie already. Quit delaying the inevitable.


So, remember when I said I was gonna make a mix in a week...urm, 2 weeks ago? Well, last night I sat down to actually get things all set up and decided I have about 2 mixes worth of stuff at least. This is largely because I got about 250 of the weirdest and therefore most usable audio clips I've heard in awhile and god knows I love filler. Anywhy, this morning I wiped my ipod after copying all of this, so this so-called mix project is still coming, it just might be a few days. For real this time. I have sequencing worked out and everything.

You can now get fined for puking in bars in PA. Blammo!

Asterisk!

Japanese peeping toms!

Ninjas. The threat is fucking real already! If I find out that this is someone I know from college +10 points.

oh dear god!

you know what gets me homesick? Ridley trash fires!

You know who I don't want asleep? The people guarding NUCLEAR REACTORS. The dudes in Art museums are like spry cougars, but put someone in charge of something that can melt my family and it's bedtime for bonzo.

Torrey Pines State Reserve

the rarest Pine in the US. Yes, this is what my life has become.

"a sweet boyfriend who will bring her presents."

Why does it seem like every single man in a position of power in this country seems to be actively involved in trying to HAVE SEX WITH OUR CHILDREN? Bloody hell, this is ridiculous. a 5 year-old girl? What's worse is when he will invariably try to pin this on drugs/alcohol/hippies and then find jeebus in an effort to soften his punishment. No dice, Chachi. Hope prison is impossibly cruel to you.

"Don't diss my homies"

While Greenspan did just admit that the war is, after all this, about oil. But Ray McGovern (a former CIA analyst who has gotten arrested countless times in the last few years for trying to call these guys out on their bullshit) has a great article here delving deeper into this and proving for real that as high and mighty it is to tell the world, to tell our soldiers, that we're fighting for an ideal that we can't even maintain on our own shores, they're in it to make a lot of money for some already superfluously wealthy fat white men. shocking, I know.

"Wait until they've heard what I can make up this time. Obama bin Laden!"

As excited as I am for TV to start back up, between OJ 2 (threat-filled boogaloo) and Alan Keyes announcing that he's gonna run for president again, the next few months just got hilarious. Cue the goddamn carnival music.

blech. fun fact! There are both male and female pine cones. and Giant Sequoia cones are no bigger than eggs! fascinating!


Funner fact! Donald the Duck's middle name is "Fauntleroy", which has cracked me up consistently for the past few days.

I'm still making that mix. I keep getting new music though so I want to sort through this becore I make a final list. Keep an eye out.

300 (not the homoerotic comic book adaptation)

2/3 of the world's Polar Bears will be gone by 2050. You think that's depressing? Also, every single dog you've ever met on this earth will be dead. Terrible, I know.

Another to be filed under perpetual doom and hysteria:

Notice: Continuation of the National Emergency with Respect to Certain Terrorist Attacks

Consistent with section 202(d) of the National Emergencies Act (50 U.S.C. 1622(d)), I am continuing for 1 year the national emergency I declared on September 14, 2001, in Proclamation 7463, with respect to the terrorist attacks at the World Trade Center, New York, New York, the Pentagon, and aboard United Airlines flight 93, and the continuing and immediate threat of further attacks on the United States.

Because the terrorist threat continues, the national emergency declared on September 14, 2001, last extended on September 5, 2006, and the powers and authorities adopted to deal with that emergency, must continue in effect beyond September 14, 2007. Therefore, I am continuing in effect for an additional year the national emergency I declared on September 14, 2001, with respect to the terrorist threat.

This notice shall be published in the Federal Register and transmitted to the Congress.

GEORGE W. BUSH

300 posts. sweet jesus that seems like I've wasted a lot of time. I was going to post another mix up this week, since both of you that downloaded it seem to have enjoyed it so far. This will be an older son-oriented, single track mix, but that'll have to wait a bit, because my desk at work is weeping from the amount of shit I've placed on top of it.

Anyway, Nelson sent me this link of abandoned plane wrecks of the North, which is probably the most entertaining site I've been to in weeks.

and keeping in line with my Soviet Russia fascination, here's a fucking awesome site devoted to the posters of that era.

other than that I got nothing but to get back to work. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia premieres tonight, and for the love of fun please watch it, because I want to be able to enjoy it in the future and it needs you to do that. Anywho, it's supposed to shoot back above 100 this weekend here, so who knows, maybe I'll be pushed into making that mix sooner than later. ta.

I'm frantic like a bastard today, and just had the following conversation:
I'm in one room trying to quietly grab my lunch from out the fridge when I overhear 2 of the people I'm on a holiday party planning committee (that I clearly did not volunteer for) with. I overhear them talking about the party:

co-worker 1: We should call Cotton in here so he can get caught up
so of course I pick up me pace and start ti tiptoe out of the kitchenette with my salad.
co-worker 2: Cotton, can you come here a second?
my brain: goddamnit!
me: um, okay. I'm just getting ready to eat my lunch though.
co-worker 1: okay, we'll be quick then. We were going over the budget, and-
my brain: awwwwwww. there's no fucking way this will be quick. just run out of the room. quick! ABORT! ABORT!
co-worker 2: Since we're paying so much for a band we were thinking you could break the contract with them that we all agreed to
me: I'm not sure if we should do that, for the obvious reasons.
my brain: this will so result in my getting drunk tonight.

(sigh).

anyway, Lucy: Daughter of the Devil premieres all over this weekend on Adult Swim. This is written and directed by Loren Bouchard, who was about half of the creative force behind what might be my all-time favorite TV show, Home Movies. He's the half that didn't go on to do Metaloclypse, which is also awesome. Anyway, Lucy is a lot more like HM from what I've seen of it, and has already resulted my totally having a crush on a second cartoon character.

Go watch the pilot here. It's funny, I swear. or clips here.
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia starts up again nect week, too. So I'm gonna be writing a lot of TV stuff. and laughing. and probably feeling a little homesick.

on a good note, it's cooled down here considerably. Now all I gotta do is wait and laugh at you jerks during the Winter.

Lonesome George: Bangin!

and just so you don't start hating him just because he's too busy sexing it up outside of his species and not even bothering to wipe the food off his face, he's also got a little buddy:

My Melting Life

It was 109 degrees here yesterday. It's been over 100 for the past 4 days. I am not made for this. All I can do is sweat, and move as little as possible. Lizard mentality is what I've been reduced to. shit is just melting everywhere around me. I tried to write on this project I've been working on, but pretty much sat there hallucinating for an hour. I got less than 3 hours of sleep last night because even with the crappy A/C window unit on, it was too hot to sleep. I know that I won't mind this when it's December and I can wear shorts, but right now I just want to blow up the sun. so miserable.

In better news, I put together a mix. I was going to actually mix it and have it all on one track, but my patience was thin enough last night that I was just happy to have finished it. So there's that. It's mostly spaz-rock songs with a lot of clips. Hope you like it.


My Melting Life
Intro
"Grape Nuts and Chalk Sauce" - Blockhead
"No Need to Be Rude" - Black Hollies
"You've No Clue, Do You?" - King Creosote
"Serious" - Richard Hawley
"Easy Street" - Cheeseburger
"Hangers On" - Dan Sartain
"Wall of Death" - Dax Riggs
"No Regrets" - King Khan & the Shrines
"This Mic" - Special Ed
"LCD Soundsystem Vs. Franz Ferdinand
"You Made Me Like It" - 1990
"What Comes After the Blues" - Magnolia Electric Co.
"Rolling One Sun Blues" - Wooden Wand and the Sky High Band
"My Shadow" - Jay Reatard
"Maria Bartiromo" - Joey Ramone
"Ride On Josephine" - Bo Diddley
"Humble Me" - Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings
"Bellies Are Full" - Portugal the Man
"Simmerin'" - Weston Prim and Backlash
"Miles From Nowhere" - Cat Stevens
Part 1
Part 2

Lonesome George

The next time you're feeling a little depressed or lonely or like there isn't anyone in the world who you can talk to, just imagine what it must be like for this poor bastard. Can we at least clone something for him? COME ON, SCIENCE.

Dear Alberto Gonzales,

I can't say I'm not glad to see you go. I can't really even say that I wouldn't enjoy hearing that you'd been devoured by a mythical whale, or chupacabra. What I believe, though, what I truly believe, is that you’ve used the U.S. Constitution as your assrag for the past few years, and that we won’t even be learning about the really horrific stuff for a few more years to come. I’m willing to bet you even snuck in some parting shot on your way out. We’re going to find out in October that W is legally our Emperor. I don’t care about that shit, though. I don’t even care that Michael Chertoff is being considered as your replacement. At this point they could nominate Chester Cheetah as your replacement and I wouldn’t even blink. I’d just start stockpiling whatever cheese I could scrounge up.

No, I’m pissed that you have to keep inciting the hardships of your father and grandparents when you make any sort of public appearance. You’ve gone to great pains to do this, and with GW sitting beside you nodding, as if he has a fucking clue of what you’re talking about.

Now, I am not one do dispute your family’s hardships. I’m sure that it was no pleasure to deal with the hostility and racism that accompanied being an illegal immigrant in their time. What bothers me is that you have gone out of your fucking way to incite more hostility and racism for immigrants of today. Guest worker programs* aside, you have helped whip up a furor over the exact same conditions that have led to your being born here. On top of that, you are resigning amidst allegations of because of your program to strike LEGAL immigrants off of the voter rolls to give advantage to your administration’s party. How can you justify that? How do you sleep knowing what you’re doing is curtailing the rights of these people, who came here legally and envisioning the “American Dream” you refer to so lovingly? Is the American Dream pissing all over the citizenry? Bullying the underdog? Probably. It certainly seems to be a running motif.

And what bothers me the most about all of this is that in addition to perpetuating the litigious shanghai of our fundamental rights, you’re also opening the doors for all sorts of fuckwitted programs. Now they can make up all sorts of crazy shit and cite you as precedence. So thanks for that. Your legacy will live on in the slow decline of this country. Your administration might well be looked back upon in the future as the nail in the coffin of the era of the United States of America as the cultural and moral leader of the free world. So please stop hamming it up for the cameras. Don’t keep mentioning the plight of your ancestry. Just shut up and go off to your lecture tour and let some other idiot come in and finish what you’ve started.

With fiery mind bullets of outrage,

Your pal Cotton

*honestly, I can see how you'd think these would work, but there's still no way this isn't just further exploitation of a migrant labor force. and until you can guarantee that these people will be granted the same rights as other workers in this country, you've pretty much just legalized slavery. Thanks for that one as well.

"Radio Nowhere" - Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band

THE RED PLANET

I had a dream last night that the United States had somehow terraformed Mars, or at least parts of it. There were 500,000 people living there in 2 settlements (named "Indiana" and "Pittsburgh") that were primarily a workforce for huge mines and greenhouse agriculture fields. Oh, and of course the bulk of the workforce consisted of immigrants, some of whom were allowed to bring their families. There were Burger Kings and the place looked a lot like rural Utah, though I bet if I could take another look around, rural Iraq would probably be more like it. Especially with the Burger Kings.

It was like a high-tech version of the mining/logging/railroad camps of the early 19th century. By and large, the settlements were lawless and many carried weapons. Also, there were 2 large conspicuous fake mountains next to the settlement I dreamt I was in ("Indiana"), which were clearly silos for nuclear weapons which were aimed at the earth. It was also a widespread assumption that somewhere on the other side of the planet there was a massive compound where the earth's "elite" would be in case the missiles were ever fired.

The reason I was even on Mars, though, was because a good friend of mine had settled there, and in true pioneer fashion, had set up an adult theater for the workers. It was wildly popular, and not the sort of porno theater I was expecting, since the only movie I remember seeing was a crudely animated burlesque feature. There were prostitutes (with cybernetic enchancements) working outside of the theater, but my friend had nothing to do with them, since he seemed to be making a killing with this theater. So much so that he needed serious help running it, which his why he had snuck me out on a mining freighter (the only way to sneak onto the planet without a worker pass from the industrial businesses set up there) to be his partner in the Martian pornography business. Though, in my dream, they referred to themselves as "Areans". Creepy, I know.

I'm not sure what else I remember about the setup, but I have more scrawled next to my bed at home. There were paramilitary helicopters (how the hell would that work?) all of the cars there were pre-Catalytic converter, because for some reason they were easier to modify to run in the atmosphere. By the end of my dream, I had become ingrained in a class struggle and revolution of sorts. It was pretty drawn out. What was even stranger is that I had come to Mars from settlements on the Moon, which was completely settled at that point and wasn't strange at all to be living on. Huh.

This isn't the sort of dream I usually have. Normally, I dream about waterskiing on a cheeseburger and punching a dolphin in the nose or whatever, and then I wake up and it's gone. This was something that I remember during the dream thinking "write this down". It's clearly a culmination of things I've been reading/watching lately, namely the John Carter of Mars series, Deadwood, my mounting paranoia, Transmetropolitan, Robert Capa's photos of the Spanish Civil War, and God knows what else. But I'm wondering if I should try to write this out further. Historically, I can't write sci-fi for shit, but I'm sort of interested in this. I don't know, I'm just thinking with my fingers at this point.

So yeah, I woke up this morning thinking I was moving to Mars. Then I went to the bakery up the street (which is, in fact, the greatest bakery in the world) and was buying my almond croissant and coffee when I saw a couple of ladies gawking out the window at the news van parked across the street. The following exchange took place.

Lady #1: That's ! She's here because Money magazine just named us the 5th best place to live in the country!*

Lady #2: ooooh, neat!

Lady #1: Well, I think they mostly chose smaller towns for the survey, but it's pretty wonderful that-

Me (jumping in): That's true. I actually just moved here from the #9 town on that list, and-

Lady #2: Well, is it better here?

Me: Well, I don't think I'd use the same criteria as Money magazine, but-

Lady #1: yeah, but you notice the difference, right?

Me: Well, it's warmer...

Then they ran and grabbed the news lady, offered my unique perspective, and she interviewed me off-camera (the equipment wasn't set up yet) for a few minutes and I told her pretty much the exact same thing as above before I left on my way to work.

Then, ten minutes later, I was walking down the driveway to my workplace, through the construction area that's been there for some time and will continue to be for some greater time. I was walking in the dirt on the shoulder of the driveway when I heard a giant truck horn blare just feet behind me. I turned and saw a cement truck that was wider than the driveway itself.

"What are you, retarded? GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE ROAD" the driver yelled.

It's been a long morning. And it's shaping up to be an even longer day. Anyway, I'm sorry to describe yet another dream to you this morning, but this one was too weird not to.

*this is true, but it happened like 2 months ago. Go news.

Early in WWII, the powers on all sides were scrambling to master whatever domains they could that might give them an edge on the battlefield. These included burgeoning high-powered artillery, submarines, and atomic weaponry, and even the supernatural. But most important was aerial warfare, which was finally becoming safe enough to be a viable option. Technology and the manufacturing line produced thousands of planes, from the MiG 3 to the B-29 Superfortress to the rocket-powered Messerschmitt Me 163. Science was allowing great leaps and advancements in the field, and the collected war efforts could hardly keep up.

From early on in the war, though Hitler had championed another sort of flight, almost a reverse engineering of the advancements that were taking place: the glider. The glider was cheap to produce and only required enough fuel to launch them. They were silent, which was not a luxury that the science of the mid-20^th century could afford, and made them ideal reconnaissance planes and light troop transports, and even in some cases light assault planes. Thinking that this could prove a valuable weapon, Hitler scoured the countryside for glider pilots who could fly is silent air force.

His recruiters were met with great resistance and scorn. Why, the pilots would say, would we want to fly into hostile air space in a practically unarmored plane? The heavy steel of the Messerschmitt was far more appealing to anyone with a shred of sanity left in them. But the recruiters did keep hearing one name: Karl Müller.

Müller, you see, was a famous stunt pilot, and had been legendary among the flying show tour for his wide loops and crashing dives performed in his famous glider, the Whispering Banshee. It was named for the quiet whistle the glider –the only one of its kind- would let out as it flew. It was not loud, and hardly recognizable as a glider, but those who knew it could hear it well. Karl Müller, the pilots all said, that man is mad enough to fly into the mouth of hell. So they visited Herr Müller at his house and tried to persuade him to lend his services to the war effort. But he refused. He had a beautiful wife and small children and he did not want to leave them. He also did not support the Reich’s ideas and he would not lend his talents to their bloodshed. The recruiter insulted his sense of honor and his decency, but still Müller would not budge. Herr Müller, they cried, you do not need to drop bombs or fire weapons, only scout the enemy troops and tell us where they are. Think of the Many German lives you could save! He took his young wife’s hand in his and stated calmly that this was not his fight. The recruiters tried everything they could think of. They sent high-ranking officials, even Hermann Göring himself, to try to reason with Müller, but none had any luck.

It wasn’t until his wife’s brothers joined the army that he called the Luftwaffe back to his home. “I cannot bear” he said, “to know that my family could be harmed while I could be their eyes and ears”, so he offered his service to them on two conditions. 1) that he would be equipped with no weapons and 2) that he fly the Whispering Banshee. They thought him mad, that he would intentionally fly a plane that made noise when there were silent ones at his disposal. “Yes, it makes a noise”, he said to them, but a noise that no man that hasn’t already seen her would ever expect from a plane”. And so they reluctantly agreed.

Frau Müller was devastated. She had been so proud of her husband for refusing to fight, and now she felt that her own family was the cause of his undoing. She begged and pleaded with him not to go, but he only repeated himself, that he had to watch over his new kin. She wept as he was picked up and driven to the airfield, and put her crucifix around his for luck before kissing him and sending him off to the front. He looked her in the eyes and spoke quietly, but with purpose: “I promise to you, my love, that I will return”.

That night of his first mission was a dark night with heavy fighting. Karl Müller’s plane saved entire regiments with his reports, and his plane spooked the enemy soldiers more than any weapon could, as they were superstitious and feared that the forest they were camping in was haunted. The night was long and hard and when the sun rose the next morning the German line had held off the invaders, but Herr Müller’s plane had not yet returned. They waited hours and hours for hi, but there was no sign of him or the Whispering Banshee. The scoured the countryside for the wreckage of his plane, but nothing was found.

Days turned into weeks turned into months. Nothing was found of the missing pilot. The tide of the war began to turn against the Germans, and the neighbors and residents in the Müller’s small town began to forget -as a small town during wartime is wont to do- of his heroic actions and began to whisper amongst themselves behind the widow Müller’s back. They called him a traitor. How could anyone refuse to serve in the Luftwaffe so many times and them say yes? How could we be losing this war so suddenly? Why has no wreckage been found? Frau Müller knew of these accusations and ignored them, knowing full well that her husband would never betray her or the family he loved so dearly. This never stopped the catcalls in the market though, nor the vandalism, nor the black eyes her children received in school Herr Müller was a spy, the whole town felt.

Years went by and the as the war ended, so did the memory of its exploits. Life resumed in their sleepy hamlet as everyone tried to forget what they later learned of their effort. The widow Müller, though, had never forgotten. She had gone mad with anguish and could be seen on the streets, weeping for her husband years after his disappearance. Her children grew and moved into the city, hoping to start new lives, but she remained in their little house, unwed and waiting for her husband to come home. She had become an old crone before she had turned Thirty-five, hardly recognizable from her days as a beautiful young lady. She would spend days in the fields, hoping to hear again the noise of the Whispering Banshee.

Then, as it happened, she was in the fields one day with her old dog, picking some downed branches from a terrible storm the night before and quietly singing when she heard it. She thought for a moment she had finally gone mad, that her mind had actually forced her to hear the sound of her long-gone husband’s legendary plane. She shook her head but it was still there. It wasn’t until her old hound perked his head up that she knew it was not her imagination. The Whistling Banshee had returned.

And sure enough, far into the blue she even saw it, soaring in wide arcs as it descended from the skies. She was beside herself with glee and wept with joy as she saw the plane approach and began to skip as a little girl would to the place she was sure it would land.

And land it did. She took a few minutes to catch up with it, but grew more ecstatic as she saw the familiar gold paint of the Banshee, and she pushed herself faster to reach her husband. She finally reached the glider where it rest on the field, and wiped her tears from her eyes, wanting her husband to see how she had waited for him, that she still wore his ring and magically, she began to resemble her former self. Her eyes were light and her smile betrayed the aging she had undergone. She brushed her mane with her fingers for a second before reaching for the lever to open the cockpit.

When she opened the hatch, though, she cried in disbelief. It was Karl Müller, to be sure. His flight suit and helmet were unmistakable, as she often patched it for him and knew it like she knew her own skin. And there also was the crucifix that she had given him on that last night, still around his neck. “I promise to you, my love, that I will return” he had said. And he had. A patchy, grinning skeleton looking up at her from the cockpit, keeping the promise that he had made so many years before.

What Frau Müller had not known, what nobody hadn’t known, that the night that the Whispering Banshee had last taken off, Karl had found himself lost and off course in the dark night, and his radio had broken. In the pitch he had managed to fly himself right into the forest where the enemy front lay and lodged himself between two trees. He feared for his life in that stranded plane, but knew that the enemy had no hope of catching him as long as he made no noise. And he didn’t.

The Banshee betrayed him, however, as soon as a strong wind blew through the forest. The wind in the wings had let out that that eerie whistle and a superstitious Russian solder fifteen feet below him had shot his weapon into the air several times, firing right through the wooden glider and killing Herr Müller. There he lay, lodged between those trees for twenty years until a strong night storm dislodged him and sent his glider on one last ride back to his loving wife.

I didn’t make this story up. It’s not true, either, though most of the setup is. I had a teacher who told me a very similar story (I added a lot of stuff, since I couldn’t remember anything but the general premise) on Halloween when I was in 6^th grade. He was probably the best storyteller I’ve ever known and was an amazing guy to listen to. and today I woke up and saw a news story that suddenly made me feel like I was twelve years old and fidgeting in a darkened theater, so I did what I could to remember this and type it up. If it’s written shoddily or seems hurried at the end, I apologize, but I only had a lunch break to write this out and it took slightly longer than I initially thought. In any case, think of what Leo Mustonen's family must be feeling right now. this sort of thing apparently happens quite a bit (I found at least 4 news stories taking place in the last 4 years like this) and I thought you might want some good Tuesday creepiness.

In other fun stuff, I was up late last night watching a car chase live on TV. I think this officially makes me a Californian for now.

P.S. I don't know why the font is so large, but I can't seem to fix it so you'll have to make due. my apologies.

R.I.P.

Max Roach just died.

I was actually in the midst of setting up (or at least starting to) a series of posts about my favorite drummers, and he was among the first names to pop into my head. His influence cannot be measured, and he (along with Kenny Clarke) took the entire format of drumming to new places and his social activism was well known. Tonight I'm going to pour myself a drink and give Money Jungle a listen. We'll miss you Max, but your legacy isn't going anywhere.

My laptop is broken right now (or at least the power cord is), so at least until the new one arrives, I'm stuck updating this thing from work, which is something I'm really not

Rebecca Clarren has an article out in Ms. magazine (?) on the sex and labor trafficking in this country, and holy shit. Anyone wanna buy me Ms. magazine for me so I can read this article? That looks fucking terrifying. I know what you're saying, "buy it yourself, cheapskate". Yeah, but the only thing that I find more embarrassing as a 30 year old man than buying Ms. magazine is, yep, buying High Times. I actually have a friend who used to buy porn all the time but would shoplift High Times because "that shit is embarrassing". Oh, and if that didn't have you weeping, how about the exploding sex trade in Iraq?

Oh, and Jose Padilla was just found guilty of all counts and will be sentenced in December.

After three-and-a-half years in military custody, Padilla was transferred to Miami to face charges in civilian court that did not include any allegations of a dirty-bomb plot or other U.S. attacks.

Pretty depressing post, right? I apologize for that. Go see Superbad this weekend, because I'm positive it will be funny. Last night I watched the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie. Don't make the same mistake.

Getty Museum

Karaoke news of the world

I wish I could've gotten like a panoramic shot of this, because right behind me when I took this is one of the biggest places to score meth on the west coast. California!

Link your face off

My brother, in a fit of kindness¹, recently bought two tickets to see the Beastie Boys play at the Greek Theatre. It really was a sweet gesture, and I’m starting to look forward to it to some great degree. I haven’t seen them since right after Hello Nasty was released –an album I didn’t particularly like- and I haven’t really looked back since then. But I probably saw them about ten times over the years, from tiny clubs to outdoor amphitheaters, and enough to blow off my senior week to see the first Tibetan Freedom Festival thingie. I don’t know if I felt like I grew out of their music or maybe I became a lot more interested in the influences that they wear so proudly on their sleeve², or even just found better rappers. But they’ve maintained a soft spot in my heart for making solid decisions and continuing to bring social injustice and overlooked pop oddities to the attention of a greater audience. So it should be a lot of fun.

So I’m gonna get to see them at the Greek, which I’ve always wanted to check out anyway. So yeah, some excitement is brewing. As if that wasn’t enough, I just got Go! Team tickets for Pomona, which will be interesting to say the least, considering when I picked up the tickets, the venue looked like it was in a DMZ.

In completely different news, here’s some links.

There’s both a meteor shower and a magical lunar eclipse coming up. I don’t usually go for the space nerd stuff, but these sound pretty cool and I usually get into crap like this right when I move to a new town. Go lie in a field at 3 AM on a Wednesday with a beer and a smile.

A giant Lego man washed up on the shores of the Dutch resort of Zandvoort. This is fucking awesome.

Apparently, the Army wrote a manual on how to do things correctly in Iraq 65 years ago. It’d be nice if we bothered consulting it before getting involved in this whole invasion thing.

Lastly, I wanted to post the last couple of days on how mad I am about this FISA thing getting pushed through. This is why I get angrier about the Dems than the GOP as of late. Because even when they win, they still manage to jam their thumbs so far up their asses that you can’t help but wonder why you listened to them to begin with. I can’t even put into words my frustration on this, and I think so far the Onion has summed it up best with

“You won't need to eavesdrop to hear this: I voted for you assholes because you said you were against shit like this.”

¹that’s not entirely true, he’s always kind. But this was especially kind and potentially motivated by the idea that life in California is not up to what we expected.

²off the top of my head, without the Beasties I would never have gotten into Schoolly D, Bad Brains, Vaughn Bode and Cheech Wizard, Biz Markie, demolition derbies, Wild Style, Buffalo Daughter, Beck, Money Mark, Puma Clydes, Buddhism, Tribe Called Quest, Company Flow, Minor Threat, Pirate Fuckin’ Radio, Jon Spencer, "Apache", Cibo Matto, Willie Bobo, Dolemite, Bob James, the Funky 4+1, Ricky Powell, Glen E. Friedman, the ABA, Lee Perry, Pato Banton, Lovebug Starski, Jimmy Smith, Coxsone Dodd, Mike Watt, Jabo Starks and Clyde Stubblefield, Spike Jonze, Charles Wright, Haze, the Moog, Booty Bass, Magilla Gorilla, Ladies And Gentlemen The Fabulous Stains, etc.. so their influence on me can't really be measured, especially when you count how many of the above items caused me to further seek new things. Seriously this list could probably go on for days. But I'm too tired of linking this shit to go on. Good to see that Wikipedia has an entry for Booty Bass, though.

Maybe some music later, but for now I need to get away from the computer. The above image is something that came up when I was google image searching the Fabulous Stains. Goddamnit I'd love to see that movie again.

So it's a pretty laid back day right now. My predecessor is leaving, and some time has been spent on a cart cruising around the garden. and now I'm updating this because it's almost happy hour and the only stuff I can do will take too damned long.
This morning, though, we were talking about the weather change out here and what I should expect when someone mentioned that in early November I should watch out on my walk into work because that's when the Tarantulas migrate. ha ha ha.
Turns out she was serious. There's a season where Tarantulas group up and migrate. I have to beware the giant, hairy, poisonous spiders on my walk to work. You have to be fucking kidding me.
i am freaking out.

You've Got a Friend in...

The other day at my new job, we had a tomato tasting. With 27 different kinds of tomatoes. My favorite? The Cherokee Purple. I'm hoping my new cell phone takes better pictures than my last one, but it's a piece of shit so we'll see.

I found a pretty neat site today that catalogues all of the license plates of the world and through history, which I find a lot more interesting than I probably should. On the drive out here I got to ruminate on the various license plates of our country, and I have to say they're all turning to complete shit. I thought it was bad enough when PA changed their simple, unassuming two-tone plates to a fucking promotion for the state's web site. Who has ever been sitting in traffic wondering "I sure love learning about the commonwealth of Pennsylvania and wish there was some sort of resource I could access from my home that could show me all sorts of interesting tax bylaws and municipal codes". I think if you've ever used the internet before in your life, you probably know how to find a state's site even without having to google it. I'd rather there was a state motto of "go fuck yourself" than a stupid web address. It's embarrassing. Look at this descent into suck:

But the thing is, it's happening all over the place. Does Nebraska really need a graphic on their place? Does anyone? This might be consistent with my fear of change and resentment of technology, but I really like the simplistic license plates that got us through the last century. Arizona doesn't actually need a picture of the Grand Canyon on it. That's what Uhaul trucks are for. If they're going to put any sort of picture on the Arizona license plate, it should be a rheumatic elderly man shaking his fist at flashing coeds at Lake Havasu. Or John McCain, which is slightly more hilarious. Remember the red and white one with the cactus? What the hell was wrong with that one? Anyways, it's interesting to see how impressive some states think they're being. I'm gonna try to apply for one of those old block text California plates, but something tells me that ain't gonna happen.
So here's some Cheeseburger, which gets a whole lot of Stooges comparisons, but I think they sound more the Dictators or something as fronted by Glenn Danzig. I'm actually surprised that I like them as much as I do, but I forgot about this album for awhile and completely loved listening to it on my way into work this morning. So here it is.

"Tiger" - Cheeseburger

"Melissa Brown" - Cheeseburger

Buy Cheeseburger here