it's amazing, how much crap I let go of every time I move. It's like shedding a small mountain of books and CDs. and I still have so many fucking books. Of course I'm sitting down and flipping through most of these as I put them in the chuck pile and finding pretty much every single slip of paper I've lost in the past 2 years. I'm up to my ass in boxes and I've got more work to do.
I can't even think straight because of these attempted attacks in London and Glasgow. What the fuck is going on? But at the same time, I guess we should just be happy that they were stopped.
But still, it's definitely given things even more of an edge.

"Redux" - John Rifle

download some John Rifle here.

the new most disgusting sounding drink ever? Gator Milk.

The Daily Show had a little thing last night where they went through the various operation names we've had in the Iraq war. In case you missed it, read through them here. The fact that we've had an "Operation: Beastmaster" alone should be a pretty clear indication as to how ridiculous this whole thing has gotten.

2X2L Calling....

I saw this walking into work yesterday morning and for some reason it really got to me. I was thinking for awhile that some poor senile person had mistaken the dollar store for an airport terminal, which meant that at that moment they were probably trying to recline a stack of frozen peas inside or something. There was no phone number on the luggage tag, so I just went on with my day and it was gone by the time I left that night. No word on whether a bomb squad took it away.

Was woken up (as I have every day in recent memory) by the hated neighbor, who was constructing some sort of worthless sign or some bullshit. I am not a handy person, per se. But I know the right order in which to do basic construction/carpentry jobs, and I can promise you that that bastard was doing it wrong just so he could make more noise at 7:15 AM. The motherfucker is toying with me, and seeing how I only have three weeks now to toy back, it looks like I should step up my efforts. Time to assert myself. Oh, and this goes for the abortion protesters up the street, as well.

"Why Did I Drink So Much Last Night?" - Fourth of July

"Wildflower" (live) - Sonic Youth

buy shit here.

just a total aside, can we fucking stop sending weapons into already fucking scary situations, please? I mean, how many time has arming someone for fight our enemy come back to bite us in the ass? I can think of five without even stopping as I type this.

Let's think about this. Group A is bombing American troops. Then, two months later, they decide al-Qaeda is a bigger threat to their beliefs, so we give them massive weapons shipments to fight al-Qaeda. How does this possibly work? And let's just say that through the miracle of Allah of whatever these people do what we -the eminent military industrial complex of the world- cant and defeat the international terror ring from withing one country. Who do you think they'd turn their guns on? Drug Dealers? Michael Moore? Hippies? For fuck's sake, to think that some asshole was paid more money than I'll see in the next 5 years to come up with this short-term gagortion of a plan is just fucking ridiculous. We should also start sending them missiles that can almost reach the US. that way we're totally safe. Good going, assholes. Way to outsource.

"Spiel" - Joe Strummer

I know this isn't really a song or anything, but I came across this last night and was just beside myself with the feeling in Joe's voice here -of frustration and exhaustion but also an underlying current of hope. I was talking with a good friend last night (actually, a bunch. Cotton has 4 weeknight beers and the dialing begins) and he asked how I keep a positive outlook on things when things -from my perspective, at least- can appear so bleak. I didn't have an answer then, but I guess it would've been very similar to this clip here. I have hope because I know change is possible.

on an entirely unrelated note, I got a job in CA and am now gonna be moving even earlier, so my posting is probably going to become pretty erratic (as if it weren't already). But I promise I'm going to try to update frequently and I'll totally document the drive out there, which should be fun. Just a heads up.

Spent plenty of time visiting in cemeteries over the weekend. I'm not complaining, it was nice. But while in a Catholic cemetery* I noticed the grave in the picture above. I wish I'd had an actual camera on me instead of my shitty phone, because had I stood back about 75 yards you'd see this giant lot crammed with graves and then in the background this giant empty lot with a solitary grave. I'd always heard this, but still wasn't sure until I was told that it was the grave of someone who had committed suicide. Doesn't that just suck? If I believed in an afterlife, I'd be pissed. I mean, isn't one of the big problems with depression, that people feel helplessly alone? I mean, why not bury a pedophile at Disney World? I've seen the graves of murderers, child molesters, and rapists, and they were all buried with more dignity than this.
Sorry, this just pisses me off. At the same time, though, why bury them there at all? I think I'd rather be thrown on a compost pile than blatantly ostracized like that. Mental note: is that legal?
On a more positive note, there will now be an apt. waiting in Cali, and if I'm lucky a job. Had an interview that went surprisingly well, if for a startlingly similar job to the one I have now. So yeah, that's now very interesting. I'm working on something that might be, though. Stay tuned.

I literally fell into a Zen Guerrilla show one night when the upstairs bathroom at the Khyber was destroyed and I had to use the downstairs one. I was at that perfect window between three beers and forty, and I distinctly remember thinking that the band sounded better than whatever review I had read.They were pretty high-intensity, and the singer was like a towering man-beast, howling like his hair was on fire. In all though, I really enjoyed myself and bought the album the next morning when I'd sobered up. For me, that's a ringing endorsement. I'd say one of my favorite Delaware bands ever.
"Barbed Wire" - Zen Guerrilla
"Staring into Midnite" - Zen Guerrilla
"where's My Halo?" - Zen Guerrilla

Buy Shadows on the Sun here.

Also, the Go! Team signed to Sub Pop! Huzzah! If the album is half as good as the last one, I'm gonna be a happy guy.

"Grip Like a Vice" - The Go! Team

on a side note, to the executives that decided to air Big fish on Father's day: fuck off. I love that movie, and it pulls at my heart strings at ways that I have never felt before. It's a beautiful sentiment and I appreciate your showing it on Father's Day. But keep your shitty promos off the screen and stop marketing in my tender moments. Thankfully, I got to turn it off and wait until I got home to pop in the DVD.

*Also, do we really need to be buried separately? Would you want to spend the afterlife in a church setting?

I'm still alive and well, but trying to wrap up a LOT of loose ends and generally just trying not to lose my shit in the calm before the move to California.

Anyways, my attitude towards They Might Be Giants varies from super annoying to well-respected songsmiths. This is a song they did for Sarah Vowell that's been turning into my mantra as well as hers. It's catchy and short. I had 4 other songs to post to day to make up for my absence, but in a typical fashion, my ipod just exploded an hour before I drive to Pittsburgh with no CDs in the car. boo. So hopefully I'll have something Sunday.

"It Could be Worse" - They Might Be Giants

Walking to the post office. About as boring as it looks.

Bzzzt. smack. drinkcrysleep.

I’ve been stuck living the same day pretty much all week, from waking up at 4:56 to the sound of a bird orgy outside my window to passing the same lady walking her same twins on the same corner on the way home from work to still now being asleep at 2:30 as I lie in bed listening to Jimmie Reed.

It’s fucking mind-boggling, and driving me insane faster than slow. I’ve got a questionable weekend ahead of me. Actually, pretty much every weekend between now and the move is questionable, which is pretty depressing when you think about it.

Anyways, I could kiss John Conyers on the mouth right now for calling Tim Griffin (and by extension Rove) on his bullshit caging tactics.

I was looking for a link to the Inky article about the Upper Darby police selling seized weapons back to the shady dealers, and in the meanwhile I came across yesterday’s police blotter. It’s filled with some pretty atrocious stuff, among among which the details of a murder that eerily shadows that of a friend of mine a few years ago. And then at the end a story about a trapped dolphin being freed in the Delaware. So that’s the tally. 1 adult and 2 children dead, one dog dead, and one dolphin rescued. That little motherfucker better live a long and fruitful life. I want that Dolphin to live to be 127 and sire thousands of baby dolphins. Which could start by it getting the fuck out of the Delaware river.

The Bowerbirds are a trio from Raleigh who I just found out was playing here last sat. night, which I’m kinda pissed I missed. They play a sort of folk-romp thing, a description I’m sure doesn’t do them justice (which is surely given them in John Darnielle of Mountain Goats’ recent blog entry). Anyways, I highly recommend the album, which will be available on July 10.

“In Our Talons” – The Bowerbirds

“My Oldest Memory” – The Bowerbirds

Pre-Order Hymns for a Dark Horse here.

and what the hell, here’s Yves Montand singing about fucking! in English! The latter is pretty rare. The former is not at all.

“Let’s Make Love” – Yves Montand

Check out Doomdrips, which I'm loving right now.

In the name of glory, filth, and fame

My god, it took exactly 4.5 hours after returning from my 3 day weekend to be bouncing my head off the top of my desk in frustration. So yeah, I'm not gonna get into that. Needless to say, it was pretty cool to find out that we're all in much deeper debt than I thought.
I've always had some issues with Will Oldham. Much like the (admittedly much later) works of Jason Molina and Sam Beam, they all put out like four albums every season and I get pretty bored with most of their work. But then, as I'm nodding off on one of their works I'll get totally blasted awake by a song that utterly amazes me. Here's a couple that do that. "Work Hard/Play Hard" was pretty much the perfect song of my weekend, and "New Partner" made me love again a phrase that Willie Nelson ruined for me almost twenty years ago. Well done, sir.

"More Brother Rides" - Palace Music
"Work Hard/Play Hard" - Palace Music
"New Partner" - Palace Music

Buy Viva Last Blues here

Sorry I haven't got much more to say this evening, but it's been that crappy a day. But go vote for the new 7 Wonders of the World. Sure, they don't really compete with the Ancient ones, but you can at least help make sure none of the stupid ones get picked.

holy shit.

I'll post something later, assuming I'm not up until 3:45 reading again. Oh god, I really hope I am not. really.

How many times do I have to read an article like this?

Greg Palast has filed hundreds of articles just like this, explicitly describing these types of crimes (and providing PROOF of them) that are virtually ignored in the American Press, despite sterling fact-checking and reporting. What the hell is that all about? While it's hardly the best source of news, I trust the BBC a hundred times more than any of the news services in this country. If they can accept this and print it without fear if reprisal, it's good enough for me to accept.

Lost tonight

3 attempts at suicide (1 successful), 14(?) murders, finding out that they get off the island (eventually), and that Jack truly comes to regret it in the end.

and I'm supposed to go through 3 more seasons of this? For fuck's sake.

Pepper

I've been laughing pretty consistenly at this picture for the past like 3 weeks. and I don't even like cats. This shit cracks me up though. I was going to say something about how batshit some people are for starting websites from the narrative of their pets, but then here I am writing about it, so who am I to point a meat-themed digit?

From the desk of...

I know I don't really like to post stuff I'm working on, partly because it's usually still being written, and largely because I never fucking finish everything. I've had these 2 things sitting on my desktop for about a month now, though and I realize I have no intention of finishing them at all.
the first is just a scene I thought was really funny, and the second is a fictional history of the bend the Polyphonic Spree, who I have a combined loathing and admiration for. It's probably the meanest thing I've ever committed to paper, and I've omitted 6 or 7 "band members" because I found they were really that bad for print, but maybe I'll post them on here later if I don't get sued.

Man checking a pet carrier at the airline terminal:

Agent: Sir, your small daughter is in this cage!

Man: No, no, the cat’s in there, too.

Agent: But, you’re child is in there with it.

Man: Well, waddya want? The cat won’t get in the cage without the kid, and the kid won’t fly without the cat.

Agent: Sir, the flight is six hours long, that can’t be good for-

Man: no, I put a pillow and some juice boxes in there, she’ll be fine.

Agent: but she could be crushed!

Man: Trust me, if anyone’s in danger of being crushed, it’s the cat.

Agent: sir, I will personally pay for your daughter’s plane ticket if you let her have a seat.

Man: Are you listening? She won’t fly without the cat! Can the cat also have a seat? While we’re on it, can I fly first class? I might be in danger of getting crushed, too!

Agent: Sir, there’s no need for being sarcastic, I’m just concerned for your daughter’s safety

Man: well, then you probably shouldn’t let her on the goddamned plane to begin with

A FICTIONAL History of the Polyphonic Spree

The Polyphonic Spree was formed by Tim DeLaughter when his previous band –Dallas psychedelic-popsters Tripping Daisy- were killed off by a batch of tainted heroin. DeLaughter, who happened to be too drunk to inject the heroin that night, was initially crushed with grief, but eventually recovered, developing a god-like complex in the wake of his being spared.

As his recognizable talent and ego grew, DeLaughter began recruiting members of his new band, tentatively called “The Beach Boys”, but later changed to “The Polyphonic Spree” when it was realized there was an existing group bearing that name. “The Spree” as they were called by insiders, quickly swelled in numbers as DeLaughter drafted friends, local children, and former prostitutes into the ranks. Once established, robes were given out to the band members, each color coded depending on their sexual proximity to DeLaughter. After a heady night of watching the film “Jesus Christ Superstar”, shiny metal helmets were also given out, though quickly abandoned because of their lack of hiding places for contraband. The film remained on DeLaughter’s mind, though, as he decided to theme the band’s debut album on the messages of peace and love spread by Deep Purple’s Ian Gillan throughout the album. Despite initial trouble finding a recording studio, the band finally decided to create their own studio, using pieces of Howard Hughes “Spruce Goose” and various whale tanks stolen from Sea World locations.

The album was released as a critical smash, drawing interest in several film and advertising tie-ins. Despite the great revenue enjoyed by DeLaughter, however, band members were still forced to earn their paychecks by performing petty tasks for DeLaughter as well as performing side gigs under the misleading name [sic] “The Polyphonic Spreé”

After a much-praised world tour, DeLaughter isolated himself from his bandmates, securing his position as a local deity even further and making a name for himself as a talented scrivener. After a drug-induced viewing of the film version of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” movie, he reinvented himself as a tyrannical dictator, writing new songs bent on world domination and the gradual abolishment of broccoli farming.

Roused to record a new album, DeLaughter called together his band and promptly fired most of them before recruiting a new band “from here and there” and issuing them black uniforms reminiscent of popular hate groups. The band recorded The Fragile Army and is currently touring in support of it. The current lineup includes:

Piano, Vocals, guitar: Tim DeLaughter

Handclaps: Sen. Maria Cantwell, who woke up once on a tour bus belonging to the band and has yet to resume her senatorial duties in California.

Floor Tom: Sparky, a dog found wandering the streets of Dallas with a dead crow in his mouth, which was perceived as “a sign”

Bass guitar: Dan “Sober Dan” Erikson, former touring guitarist for Jimmy Buffett, who was paralyzed from the waist down when a giant stage prop Margarita tipped on him and crushed his legs. When Buffett, who is notorious for his impatience with the handicapped, kicked him out of his band, he was welcomed with opened arms into “the Spree”, who had already installed ramps on their touring vehicles for the lazier group members who employ Rascals.

Theremin: Anthony “Spanish Tony” Mbtumbe, Former drug dealer to Tripping Daisy and the most frequently mentioned suspect of the “hot shot incident”. It is unknown whether DeLaughter knew of his Theremin ambitions before inviting him into the band.

Lead Guitar: Joseph “King” Thompson, who is called “King” on account of his attempt to murder the king of Norway, and not for his legendary collection of Elvis Presley memorabilia. He has been implicated in over eleven cases of regicide.

Rhythm guitar: Dana “Barros” McKinley, a former girlfriend of DeLaughter’s, known for her once having vomited up a live salamander.

Electronics: Thomas “Dutch Oven” Stotch, a former paramilitary leader who has since applied his fervent hatred of the homeless electronics and synthesizers.

French Horn: Al Kooper

Accordian: Dennis “The Real King of the Hoboes” Quercetti, a Vietnam veteran and rail-rider who, despite repeated beatings from Thomas Stotch, remains a popular father figure and storyteller to the band.

The remaining 24 members of the band are comprised of DeLaughter’s five families, who were kept hidden from each other until the release of the the second album, whereupon they were brought forth from their respective bungalow’s in the San Fernando Valley and quickly put to work engineering the album and filling out empty slots on the roster.

so, aside from that, the Gizmos are a proto-punk/garage band from Bloomington, IN in the mid-to-late 70s. I think they sound exactly like a combination of Menster Phip and the Dictators*, which is to say, loud, sloppy, and immature. and mention Lou Reed a lot. I've got a thing for self-referential songs, especially when they describe the formation of a band. these songs have misspellings, false starts, sarcastic warnings, and endless references to teenage sex. so yeah, they're pretty great.

"Balled of the Gizmos" - The Gizmos

"Gizmos World Tour" - The Gizmos

"Pumpin' to Playboy" - The Gizmos

this might be out of print, because I can't find it anywhere, but if can find a copy I'd recommend buying it. or emailing me for the rest of the album.

*I know how pretentious it is to namecheck a somewhat-known Ramones precursor and another band that sold eleven copies in their existence -three to me- but if I said they sound like the Stooges, I'd have people pissed off at me, and I've got enough to worry with a 27 member band on my ass.

and lastly, China IS THE FUCKING SCARIEST PLACE ON EARTH. STOP BLAMING THE DALAI LAMA FOR YOUR SHIT. STOP GIVING US AN EXCUSE TO MAKE SHIT WORSE IN AFRICA, and most importantly, STOP HARVESTING ORGANS FROM YOUR POLITICAL PRISONERS YOU FUCKING PSYCHOS

Lil Bitey

Likes to bite. Good Bitey.

I feel like kind of an ass because since I started this thing as an outlet to force me to write more and listen to new music, and I can never seem to get both of them done. Instead I whine about politics and opine on whatever bizarre crap I happen to be looking at at the time. And for that I apologize. I keep getting told by 2 people that they can never find this page, because of the name and address, so I'm thinking about moving it somewhere that's a bit more conspicuous, which I can't believe I even just typed. But yeah we'll see. which means "absolutely nothing will be done about this."

Anyway, for the third and fourth songs I''m posting this month (as soon as this season of TV's GOLDEN AGE* is finished, I'm gonna have a lot more time to catch up music and this page in particular, I promise to you), are from a Dischord band, just like the last song I posted. Which makes me pretty fucking lazy** Anyways, the band Antelope sounds like a lot of other Dischord bands, which you can take as wither a good or a bad thing. what's with that, anyway? Does Ian Mackaye just have like a macro or something he uses in the studio? Anyway, I've listened to this album for the past 2 days and am loving it.

"Reflector" - Antelope
"Wandering Ghost" - Antelope
Buy Reflector here for a paltry $10

and because of Key's bad self,
"P.S.Y." - the Butthole Surfers
buy Pioughd here, also for cheap (WHO FINDS YOU BARGAINS!!!???)

* I can't find the article I found that basically stated that consensus is fucked and that we are truly going through televisions real golden age is happening now -which I totally agree with. Ask me to expound on that later.
**actually, according to the lady customer in the BBQ place next door to my work, buying a quart of potato salad makes me "pretty goddamned lazy", but seriously, they make it really, really well. I can' help it.

quickies:

John Warner saying "I'm on it like a June bug" is just plain fucking great.

Some good dirt from the Justice Department

Jenna Fischer broke her back. Because I am totally in love with her, and because she seems like a pretty great all-around gal, I wish her a quick and full recovery.

Clear Channel put up another "alt.rock" station in Philly. fuck them and the horse they rode in on.

I am carless and wifeless at the moment, so tomorrow night I'm going to the bar alone to watch some playoff basketball. Does this have any appeal to anyone? Call me. Together, we can make this happen.

coming soon: the New Sincerity

The Hand of Glory

So, I'm sort of obsessed with relics right now, specifically Catholic ones. Now, I'm not Catholic, and my views on organized religion are tenuous at best, but still I just find myself fascinated with the traditions and customs of religions, and Catholicism totally has some of the coolest of them. I read in a Catholic wedding over this past weekend and at the last minute found out that I had some extra responsibility:

Church lady: "Since you'll be reading first, it'll be your job to carry in the gospel"
Me: "um....I got the spirit?" (this was not me being facetious)
Church lady: "Just remember to be serious. This is the word of our lord"
Me: "Wait, what am I doing?"
Church lady: "You'll be entering the church behind the bearer of the crucifix, and carrying the Word"
Me: "....the bible?
Church lady: (clearly giving up): "yes."
Me: "How high do I carry it? chest level?"
Church lady: "higher. Like above your head".
Me: "Really? ...for how long?"

I really wasn't comfortable with this. Not because of my own beliefs or anything like that, but because I really don't want to seem disrespectful to any religion that wasn't made up by a power-mad science fiction writer. So I was truly just trying to get it right.
But it got me thinking about relics and just the whole notion of a revered man's skull protecting a church, or a dead bishop's toenail acting as a talisman to ward off evil. I mean, that's pretty awesome.
and the devious history! Like any semi-legal and impossible-to-trace black market goods, the world of unofficial church memorabilia is awash with fakes, frauds, and impostors. There were up to 18 different specimens of Jesus' foreskin floating around, depending on who you ask. Joan of Arc's bones turned out to be a housecat. Go ahead and try ad counting the pieces of the true cross (I have 12).
But my favorite of the stories I've read in the past couple of days is the case of St. Nicholas' fingers, which were stolen to Italy in the night to protect them from an approaching Muslim army*. Yeah, so the next time you talk to your kids about Santy, remember to note that his fingers are hundreds of miles away from the rest of his also scattered remains. Oh and apparently his bones sweat Manna.
So, in a pretty creepy rash decision I've decided that as we make our way across the country this summer, I wanna go relic hunting. I can't even begin to describe how shocked I am to find out that I spent 5 years living down the street from the largest single collection of relics outside of the Vatican. Oh, but I shall see it. St. Mary's Academy's collection in Kansas? I SHALL SEE IT. St. John Neumann's preserved remains in...Northern Liberties? DONE. I even got a checklist. Weird and morbid and probably not even real. Life is beautiful.

The more I think about this though the more I'm coming to the conclusion that the idea of relics is still very much alive. We still have Lenin and Walt Disney and Mao. We have Madonna's fictional pap smear and I'll bet you there's some sick fuck out there trying to pawn off Curt Cobain's dried anus or some shit. No, they don't protect us from demons, or create sanctuary around a town. But they provide peace of mind for someone, and I guess that's all they ever really did to begin with. In a way, I would guess this makes Cynthia Plaster Caster a new apostle.

some music in an hour or so after I watch Lost.

*Which begs a much larger question; Namely, how did a Turkish priest become the patron saint for Russia and the poster boy for American cola/consumerism?

I don't even know where to start on the past couple of days. As it stands I'm pretty narcoleptic and spent. I'm trying type this out and catch the end of heroes and I'm falling asleep at both. Tomorrow I'm gonna make a post bout Santa Claus's fingers, the healing properties of cayenne honey, and the question of whether to see 28 Weeks later, but for now you can bask in the lovely vision of Jerry Falwell being drawn and quartered by teams of unbaptized babies in the afterlife.