And You Will Know Us By the Blood That Drips From Our Fingers

I got nothin'. Sorry. There are probably shows going on tonight at places. I don't know where or what or who's playin'. You could just go and check the Metro Times website, the Lager House, or the Majestic/Magic Stick/Garden Bowl. Otherwise, I really don't know what's going on in town tonight. I think Junior Brown's playing the Stick tonight, but I'm not real sure who he is. Country, maybe? I don't know. I know where I'll be: the Garden Bowl playing music.

Panic? No, just boredom in Detroit.

Lollipops

I have to admit, I've been a hardcore regular at the Majestic in Detroit for a little over six years now. I started working there in the Fall of '97, and I haven't stopped. I did it all, bartending, barbacking, working the bowling alley, DJing, I was a line cook for a while, I even worked on the automatic pinsetting machines. When you work at a popular bar, you don't always like to hang out there, you like to get out once in awhile and see the competition, or at least see something different. I've seen a lot, hole-in-the-wall bars, old man bars (lots, and lots of those), cop bars, blues bars, gay bars, ghetto trannie bars, martini bars, you name it. I tend to avoid the meat markets, though, because, really, what's the point? So, in my time, I've seen the Majestic change over the years. Every year, millions of kids decide that they want to start going to a club, they want to be seen, they want to be trendy and hip or whatever, maybe even get laid. So, that brings us to the current state of affairs. Thursday nights at the Magic Stick. What the fuck is this? I walk in, and I feel like I'm at the Windsor Music Cafe, or Campbell Street Station (in Sarnia). Total meat market, booty music, hipster kids, high heels, fuck-me boots, and mini-skirts. There are always lots of fights, too. Honestly, I find the whole scene really strange. It's a bunch of punk rock kids who were all emo last year, and now they go and hang out and dance to Britney Spears while making sure the 00-gauge plugs don't fall out of their ears while they're dancing in just that right way to make sure all the 19-year old guys can see the Celtic/tribal tattoo they have in the small of their backs. It's fucking creepy, I mean really, what is going on? I remember back when I was 21, and I had to go back to my old high school to get a copy of my transcript for something for college, and all the kids had their hair dyed different colors, and they were wearing Doc Martins, and I was so freaked out by it. When I was in high school, I was made fun of for being like that. Now, it's mainstream, it's just trendy fashion. If Nirvana never would've happened, these same girls would be going to the Post and hitting on date-rapists. I just don't get it. Maybe I'm too old for this shit, maybe I should just stay away from club nights. I guess that's obvious, but it just happens, it becomes voyeuristic.

electric youth

Accident Waiting to Happen

Things bothering me today (like you really care): The $7,000,000,000,000 national debt. George W. Bush and the fact that he will probably be elected again because too many stupid Americans like him for invading Iraq, even if it was under false pretenses. Ralph Nader - his presence in the election is gonna fuck everything up. Winter, its so cold, I just wish it was warm already! I've been waking up at 8am lately without fail, yet I still walk into work (late) a few minutes after 11am every day. Why do we have to rely on cars so much? Where is Detroit's mass transit system? Why can't I take a train up Woodward to 8 Mile, and then a train down 8 Mile to Lahser? It'd be nice. Cheaper, safer, better for the environment and all that. I hope Mexico City enjoys the trolleys we sold them when the Big 3 made mass transit nearly pointless in Detroit. Speaking of the Big 3, GM has announced that they will try to tackle the Asian market. They're running scared. Toyota's creepin' up on them. The Big 3 no longer includes GM, Ford, and Chrysler, Toyota has surpassed Ford and Chrysler. I'd be scared if I was GM, too. Up until recently, GM was the world's biggest company, employing the most people. They still employ the most people, but Wal-Mart is the world's biggest revenue-maker. Sam Walton sold his soul to the devil so that he could one day put all the mom-and-pop stores of the world out of business. Wal-Mart: destroyer of America's idyllic main street and the small town 'downtown' area! Funny, considering that Sam Walton started out with a small-time five-and-dime store in a small town. Thanks to him, those stores barely exist in America. A small part of me misses those small town mainstreets. I grew up in a small town that didn't have an actual main street area. Its actually kinda weird, but the next town over is about four times as big, and they have a main street. A few years ago, the city went and renovated that area to make it look like it once did with cobblestones and all that. A bigger part of me needs urban life. I wish Detroit was more urban. Why can't I get Indian food at 4am in downtown Detroit? Where is our Flash Taco or Underdog or Little Nicky's? One day, when the fabulous ruins of Detroit are gone, I will miss them, but I'll welcome the day when downtown Detroit's ruins will be a memory of urban-spelunking past. That reminds me of something else bothering me, I need to find more. There has to be more beyond the office job, bars on the weekends, and the need to type this shit just to keep myself sane.

the milkman of human kindness

Cracking Up

Why must life be so difficult? Why do people have to be so stubborn? Why can't I openly discuss what I want to type here right now? It's too personal, that's why, but it's getting to me. I shouldn't let it bother me, it seems like I can't affect the inevitable outcome, but I keep trying because I keep melting. I have all the patience in the world if I think I can affect an outcome, however, if I can't do anything about it, I get pissed. I'm on the verge of getting pissed. That's pissed, with a 't', pist, and pist will equal failure. Rejection. Letdown. I hate this shit. I've been patient for a long time, but I'm starting to crack. I'm cracking up.

It seems so simple, like 1 + 1 = 2, but it's more like 1 + 1 = insane drama. I got 2+2 on my mind.

I wish more people would just say fuck caution, and do what feels right. I'm rational and practical as hell, but right now, I'm ready to do anything to solve this. Fuck it, I'm gonna go watch Lost in Translation again.

on my knees...

1000 Homo DJs

Between college radio, clubs, and the occasional wedding or party, I've been DJing for 10 years. I've learned a few things along the way, especially while at WSGR-FM. My college radio instructor, Mr. John Hill (no relation to the Jon Hill of Detroit), always told us that if people call in to make a request, you never make promises. You tell them you'll see what you can do, then try to go ahead and play the song, make it work. Whether it was intentional or not, it ties in with the classic tenet of customer service: under-promise, and over-deliver. I also learned that you need to have an ebb and flow of music. You can't play sad bastard music for two hours straight, people will change the channel. You also can't play hawdcoor punk for two hours because it's just too much. Of course, I learned all of the little things, like how to cross-fade and not have it sound like crap. I learned how to wire up a mixing console and how to record with a reel-to-reel recorder. I learned how to connect ten different XLR cables so that I could have someone talking on a microphone outside on campus, while I was in the control room having a conversation with the 'reporter'. I had a 4-hour show every Thursday night from 4pm to 8pm for seven of the eight semesters (including spring/summer semesters) I was there. I learned that one can fit a lot of BS into four hours when you don't have the listeners in your face. Then I moved to Detroit. Within six months, I was DJing at the Garden Bowl on Woodward in midtown Detroit. I've been doing it for a little over six and a half years now, and I've learned a few more things. For one, people can be selfish assholes when it comes to music. I'm going to step on the throat of the next person who asks me to "play something good." For one thing, you're telling me that what I'm currently playing isn't 'good' and you're not really telling me anything at all if I don't know you. DJing in a venue with a very mixed crowd has turned into a truly interesting cultural experience for me. In defending my ethics towards diversity in music, I've had people (attempt to) spit on me, I've had drinks thrown at me, and I've had many, many customers tossed out of the bar for their asshole-ness. This brings me to another interesting phenomenon I've witnessed while DJing in a bar: "black music." Now, don't get me wrong, I know what people are saying when they ask me to play "black music," but I absolutely refuse to buy into the stereotype and racism that comes with that statement. I've also learned that most people who choose to use that term usually aren't prepared for my semantic argument regarding their own racism. Some get mad because they think I'm talking down to them (which I probably am), but most just walk away. You have to learn that if you want something in this world, being nice CAN get you far, not always, but most of the time it will with me. Don't get me wrong, there can be people who are nice but annoyed at me, too. These are usually the people who seem to think they're at a high school dance or a wedding reception. NOT EVERY DJ OWNS OR WILL PLAY "BROWN-EYED GIRL." This is a fact of life that you must learn to live with. Also, many DJs like myself, are not simply robots who are there at the club to play all of your favorite Top 40 hits. I haven't listened to Top 40 radio in years, and I'm not about to start. Some DJs actually DJ because they enjoy providing a distinctive atmosphere, believe it or not. If you want Top 40, go back to the suburbs. If you want watered-down boring hip hop or club hits, go to the clubs downtown. The compliments I've received from regulars, out of town/state/country bands and musicians passing through, the owners of the venue, my friends and others far outweigh the complaints. I'm no idiot. Typical human behavior shows that if one is satisfied or happy with a situation, they won't say anything, but if they're unhappy or unsatisfied, they'll speak up. I know this, so if yr at the bar some night, and I've been playing hip-hop for a half hour, and yr unhappy with it, say something, please, but be intelligent with your suggestions. Don't expect me to know what kind of music you like, and don't insult me. That will only make me want to make fun of you on this site. Thank you to the Zainea family and Ginger for keeping me DJing for the past six years.

(I DJ every Saturday night at the Garden Bowl on Woodward in Detroit. Come see my cynical ass play music.)

ACHTUNG!

Pay attention, kiddies, the world turns every day, more innocent people are killed over commodities, the forests that give us oxygen are cut down to make room for more McDonald's McCows, people's sexual identities are threatened for being un-Christian, and politicians do whatever they gotta do to stay in power over your life. Go over to the list of links on the right, and check out the first 14 or so. Find out what's going on in your world! The national debt has just topped $7,000,000,000,000 for the first time ever. Thanks, Dubya, what else are you going to do to make my life more difficult in this country? Howard Dean is no longer running for president. John Kerry, who probably will be our next president will be the third richest US president ever. Really, let's face it, if you have to pick a lesser of two evils, it's gonna be Democrat, and if you have to pick between John Edwards and John Kerry, you'd probably pick John Edwards, but he's too nice. He's also not rich enough. This wouldn't be America if we didn't have a rich white guy for a president, right? Speaking of rich white guys who could launch us into nuclear war, and still make money off of it, vice president Dick Cheney's starting to stumble. He actually took a presidential jet out to go duck hunting with Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia just three weeks after the high court agreed to hear a White House appeal in a case involving private meetings of the vice president's energy task force. Scalia is claiming there's no conflict of interest. Right. This is the world we live in. Checks and balances, my ass. Ahhh, it must be great to know you can be president or vice-president and know you can do anything you want. Speaking of puppets and their masters, Disney just bought the Muppets! But, wait, it gets better, Comcast (the evil cable/internet provider) is trying to buy Disney in a hostile takeover bid! Yes, your shitty cable provider could own Kermit and Fozzie, but Bert and Ernie's 'relationship' is safe, all Sesame Street characters are not part of the deal. And, on a lighter (but still serious) note, Johnny Cash's song "Ring of Fire" will not be used in a hemorrhoid cream commercial. Thank God, or whatever deity you wish to deal with. That brings me to the last important story of the day: according to E! Online, the WB is cancelling it's 'vampire-with-a-soul-I'm-so-sad-all-the-time-because-I-want-Buffy-but-so-does-big-bad-Spike' series, "Angel." Now we can all rest better knowing that Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy and Angel) will be without a series on the air for the first time in seven years. It will be okay, stop crying, Angel. Buffy died, and everyone dealt with that, too.

City Girl

Thank you, Sofia Coppola (writer/director of Lost in Translation). Now I have My Bloody Valentine and old Jesus and Mary Chain semi-permanently stuck in all the CD players of my life. Music can be given so much new life when its used in a film. I own everything from My Bloody Valentine, and most JAMC, but I haven't listened to that stuff in a long time. I avoided it for awhile because it took me back to a time in my life that I don't want to think about. Now, I associate some of these songs with a good film (see review below). Its been maybe 10 years since I listened to this stuff regularly. Thank you, Mrs. Coppola.

CORRECTION: Sofia Coppola is no longer married to Spike Jonze, so that should read "Thank you, Ms. Coppola." I should note that this makes me happy because while I do like his films (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, Jackass) and his videos (Beastie Boys, Weezer, a shit-ton more), I can't stand him.

Sometimes When You Sleep I'm Touched

(review of Lost in Translation, the film and soundtrack)

For months, people have been telling me to go and see "Lost in Translation." I kept meaning to do it, but I didn't. Now, it's out on DVD, so I just went and bought it. Just watched it. Bill Murray's character is the culmination of every role he's ever played. He has NEVER been so dry and witty as he is in this film. Scarlett Johansson is no longer the cute restless girl she played in "Ghost World," she's very good at playing a troubled young woman. She's become a seriously talented actress.

In our modern times of fast-paced action and distraction, many people have tired of films that are heavy on dialogue. Fuck them. A film shouldn't need to rely on computer animations and martial arts to be entertaining and worthwhile. "Lost in Translation" brings to mind Richard Linklater's film "Before Sunrise." A man and a woman are caught in a situation where they don't know anyone, they keep finding themselves in the company of each other, and through much dialogue, they grow on each other.

Like any other film heavy on dialogue, this film also features many scenes of quiet contemplation and scenery. This is where the soundtrack comes in. First of all, I'd like to say it's about time a film-maker decided to use music from Kevin Shields and My Bloody Valentine so prominently in a soundtrack. It couldn't be any more appropriate. The rest of the soundtrack features AIR, Squarepusher, and Roxy Music, and oddly most of this music reminds one of My Bloody Valentine. I think a soundtrack is just as important to a film as everything else involved. You could have the best script and actors ever, but it wouldn't matter if the music was wrong. Example: "Trainspotting" would not be "Trainspotting" without the techno. "High Fidelity" would not be "High Fidelity" without the obscure pop, rock, and garage. "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and "The Pink Panther" would not be what they are without Henry Mancini (and "Moon River").

In conclusion, go to Netflix, put "Lost in Translation" at the top of your queue. Stop by Media Play on the way home from work, steal it from Blockbuster, I don't care what you have to do, see this film.

You're Dead

This Friday at Small's in Hamtramck, Bang Bang, MAN Inc, and Disengage will be playing. I highly suggest you go to Bang Bang and MAN Inc's sites to check 'em out. If you like anthemic punk rock in the vein of Hot Water Music (No Division or Fuel for the Hate Game era), you'll want to see Bang Bang. Plus, they're local, which makes it even more important that you go out and support them. I can't describe MAN Inc very well (see earlier posts). He's the one man band, a drum set, bass guitar, and amp. He's angry, he's cynical, he's MAN. Go to the link above and check out the video for "You're Fired," then, go to the show, and buy 'im a drink. He'll need it.

(if anyone knows more about Disengage, let me know, and I'll post that info, too)

Power to the People!

It's 1989. I'm thirteen years old. For some reason, I've grown tired of my Beatles, Beach Boys, and Monkees tapes. I'm disgusted by my mom's Dolly Parton, Neil Diamond, and Carpenters tapes (but they would later grow on me). Sitting in my room, listening to the radio, ready to strangle someone if I hear "Toy Soldiers" from Martika one more time. I don't care if the New Kids on the Block are "Hangin' Tough," they can suck it for all I care. I'm turnin' the dial desperately trying to find something different. All the same crap on all the stations, unless you want to hear sports or news. I had yet to discover and appreciate hip-hop. Something different was needed - more aggression, angst, more emotion. Finally, just to the left of the dial, I find something...a voice yelling about the "united snakes in captivity!" I stopped, and listened to the whole rant. It was beautiful. It was Jello Biafra's "Pledge of Allegiance." Little did I know, but this was my introduction to college radio, and the punk ethos, all at the same time. After Jello's rant, they played "I.C. Water," (a tribute to dead Joy Division singer Ian Curtis) from Psychic TV. Ironically, soon afterward, I would devour all that I could from Joy Division (they're still my favorite band). Every day, when I had the time, I would turn to the college radio station thirsty for more. Years later, I went to the Community College in Port Huron, and got a slot as a DJ on their radio station. That was obvious. Within a year, I was the Music Director. I logged over a thousand hours of airtime while working at WSGR-FM. But, I would never want to work in corporate radio. There was a time when alternative music was referred to as 'college rock' because that was the only place you could hear it: college radio. The history of free-style formats on college radio is long, it goes back as far as the early '60s. Unfortunately, we're living in a time when big money controls all radio. Clear Channel alone owns over 60% of rock n roll radio in this country. So, this means that colleges are feeling the need to push the ideals of corporate radio onto their radio students. College radio is dying, folks. There are few stations left anymore that stick to the traditions of free-form radio. In the Metro Detroit area, there's still WHFR-FM from Henry Ford Community College, WXOU-FM from Oakland University, and CJAM-FM from the University of Windsor. There's also WDET-FM, one of the biggest non-profit radio stations in the country (affiliated with Wayne State Univ, but not actually connected). Elsewhere, another big player is WFMU-FM out of Jersey City, NJ. I know, they're not in the Detroit area, but believe me, this is one hell of a worthwhile non-profit radio station. Go to their site, you can listen to it online. The Canadian station, CJAM-FM, and the Jersey City station, WFMU-FM are your best ticket to hear good college radio. You need to be online (or somewhere in New Jersey/NYC) to listen to WFMU, but if yr readin' this, yr online. Unfortunately, CJAM's listening area isn't very big, but check it out anyway. Support free-form college and non-profit radio! Please keep it alive.

Pump up the volume!

Gweep On!

Once upon a time in Detroit, there was a man. This man, and his brother were inseparable. The men I speak of are most well known as Jon Hill and PT. These days, PT prefers Patrick. I think it may be his way of distancing himself from his past. Jon, on the other hand, has moved on and out of Detroit. I could write a book on these two. There's so much, unfortunately I was just as drunk as them half the time, and can't remember everthing. To protect the innocent (and not so innocent), I'll be brief. Both are union carpenters by trade. Two of the best. They have a long history in Detroit's punk scene of the 1990s. In their early days, Patrick was the drummer for local hardcore band Cold As Life. Both Jon and Patrick played in the local oi/ska band Pist N Broke, bass and drums, respectively. With Pist N Broke, they toured the country playing with many modern oi and punk legends. Flash forward to 1997, this is when I first knowingly encountered the pair. I had seen Pist N Broke play at the legendary Falcon Club in Hamtramck in 1994, but I didn't know them then. I still didn't live in Detroit at that time. In 1997, I started working at a local (Detroit) bar where the two of them hung out all the time. Eventually, I started working Saturday afternoons bartending. I'd get in at 10am, and one of them would be behind the bar, pulling Budweisers out of the cooler for the two of them, but they always insisted that I make their mixed drinks. Yes, for a few years, every Saturday morning, they would start their day with a Budweiser, a rum drink or a shot of Jim Beam with three ice cubes, and a slice of foccacia from the Avalon Bakery. On the surface, both just seemed like a couple of drunks, but there was much more. Jon always liked to make it clear that he was book-smart, and read the paper. He always read the New York Times. Patrick's intelligence always extendend (and still does) more into moral issues. Patrick prefers to keep his soberly intelligent personality at a low profile, it's just the way he is. Here's an example of Jon Hill's antics: A few years ago, there was a conference across the Detroit River in Windsor. I think it was called the Meeting of the Americas, basically a big meeting to discuss globalization. Of course, there were protests in Windsor, but there were a couple downtown in Detroit, too. So, the first morning of the conference, Jon happens to know that a group of protesters were planning on walking downtown en masse (he was dating a lawyer at the time, who was one of the organizers of the protest). It was summer, so there was a picnic table out in front of the bar. It's about 11:30am, and Jon's just sitting out in front waiting to watch the activists walk by. The group passes, and then another man follows about two blocks behind them, he's wearing sunglasses and a hat, and doesn't look all that suspicious. But...Jon knew better. He knew it was an undercover cop following the group. He yelled out at the cop, "Snake bitch!" Less than a minute later, a burgundy unmarked police car pulls up, and two plainclothes cops get out and start yelling. They had Jon up against the wall, and were demanding his identification. Of course, Jon told them he didn't have any, and didn't know he was required to have it. I vouched for him, and said he worked there at the bar (even though, technically, at that point in time, he wasn't an employee. The cops left eventually, but it was funny. Another time, they got this idea in their heads that they were going to borrow an inflatable raft from Honest John's, fill it up with cans of beer, and just drift down the Detroit River - in the middle of the night with no goals beyond just seeing how far they could get. The Coast Guard picked them up somewhere just south of the Ambassador Bridge, and brought them back to the marina by the Roostertail. They also liked to dive off the Belle Isle bridge, which I wouldn't advise to anyone, that current could drag anyone to their death. Like I said above, there's so much, and I wish I could remember all of it right now. The reason I bring up all of this is because I want you to check out Jon Hill's website, Snakehead. Jon is now living in New York City. He was living in Harlem until recently, but now he's moved to downtown Manhattan. Go look at the site, most of it is articles written by others, but it's still fantastically paranoid, nonetheless.

Gweep on, snake bitch!

Le Whiskey Vous rend Fort

Other than the Suicide Girls thing last night, Friday was pretty good in Midtown Detroit. Lots of friends, lots of weirdos, lots of dead cells in my lungs (and brain, too, probably). Anyhow, Friday was good, the Majestic was packed. It was an odd crowd, too, although it's been an odd crowd in there every Friday and Saturday for about two years now. A lot of old regulars came out of the woodwork for the burlesque show. I was really surprised at all the people who showed up for that. I'm not surprised that the show sold out, I knew that was going to happen, sex sells, I was surprised at who did show up, and how many who were pissed that they couldn't get in. I was also surprised at how many people didn't succeed but tried to sneak into the show after it sold out. Sorry Brianna, I tried. Sorry I ashed in your beer by accident, too. I know I replaced it, but I'll get you another one, too. I was just being drunk and stupid (as usual). Everyone should come see me celebrate Valentine's Day tonight where I'll (most likely be getting drunk and stupid) and playing music at the Garden Bowl (9pm-2am). I command it!

FOOTNOTE (the day after): I never did get drunk that night...stupid, maybe, I've been known to do stupid and foolish things, but drunk, no.

"I've had the blues, The reds and the pinks, One thing for sure, Love stinks, Love stinks yeah yeah"

Counterpoint: Ladies, Ladies, Ladies!

So, I was at the Suicide Girls show as well last night, and I do feel a bit slighted. Perhaps its because I felt like I shouldn't have to wade through the creepy burnout types and the skinheads to get up close to actually see something. Maybe its because it wasn't what I thought it was going to be. Maybe I don't know what I thought it was going to be. To be fair, it was a real burlesque show, Suicide Girls style. I am short, 5'6", and that doesn't help. If any of you have ever been to a strip-club, you may have noticed that the rooms are usually set up so that everyone can see what's going on onstage. I expected the Magic Stick or the stage to be utilized in some way where everyone could get a taste of what's going on. Alas, it wasn't. And, the stage is only about 18 inches off the floor, which works fine when you have a band onstage, because with a band, it's not just about the visual aspect, its aural as well. As Dick just commented to me, this show was all about the boobs. I guess. I don't know, I couldn't really see anything. Dick mentioned that maybe he enjoyed it so much because he hasn't gotten any "action" in so long. I think that was the case with many of us, we wanted masturbation fodder for weeks to come. Earlier in the evening, a few of the girls (I have no idea which ones are which) were bowling in the bowling alley downstairs. I happened to be standing at the bowling counter waiting for my friends. One of the girls put on such a "don't you know who I am" vibe to the bowling guy, then got pissed when he made a joke about her shoe size. I think her attitude then was more of a turn on than the whole show upstairs.

Ladies, Ladies, Ladies!

(Another contribution from our guest writer Dick Ivy. This is a review of last night's Suicide Girls Burlesque Show at the Magic Stick in Detroit)

the suicide girls...

13-feb-2004: the suicide girls burlesque show - the magic stick

well, well. many of those who attended the suicide girls burlesque show last night seem to feel slighted somehow. i, however must disagree. i can't remember the last time i actually paid for a show, let alone enjoyed it so much. granted, the opening bands sucked ass, but that's not what i paid for. noone except those in front got to see what they really came for apparently, but i was lucky enough to have my brother joe there to put me up on his shoulders for about 15 minutes. i got to see what everyone else wished they could've seen with a bird's eye view. the small-chested electrical tape goodness that is the majority of the suicide girls experience. i happen to be an advocate for the small breasted woman, the opposite of most every other male that i know. i very much prefer it, as a matter of fact. i had an absolutely fabulous time. who would dare fuck with myself or joe lampinen in the magic stick, you ask? a couple of fat skinheads who obviously didn't know that they were throwing shit at my head in my own bar, that's who. maybe you should move your cow of a girlfriend out of your line of sight before getting pissed at me. i did what i could to try and get them to fight, but they were obviously giant pussies. intimidated by the short skinny guy that would have beaten the ben shermans right off of their hairy backs. i was in the mood to fight, too. what a shame. i'm a bit disappointed that i wasn't able to meet elara or tekky, my favorite suicide girls, but elara always seemed to be busy, according to brandy, and i didn't see tekky at all. brandy, by the way is very sweet, and has a sweetass tattoo of some huge butterfly wings on her back. i really don't understand what there was to complain about, possibly the boobs weren't big enough for some, or maybe they just couldn't see. i guess since i really haven't gotten any "action" in about a year, i may have enjoyed it more than most, but that is just sad, and we should leave that subject alone. i am not one who is much for the objectification of women, but this was an event that everyone enjoyed, male and female. we all enjoyed being objectified. i would have actually liked to have been more objectified, but alas... i should stop using that word because it is starting to sound stupid. i also got to see some people last night that i haven't seen in quite a while, and who i miss terribly, which was also a plus. this was a great time, and anyone who would contest that fact surely gets laid too much. good for you. and fuck you, as well.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia: Fear of Friday the 13th

Courtesy of Working For Change, here are some events from today in history that you probably didn't learn in school:

1635: First public school in the U.S. (the Boston Latin School) is founded.

1837: Flour riot in New York City, early U.S. riot of the poor against property. Six thousand New Yorkers assault local flour merchants who, they claim, are hoarding flour in order to drive up the price.

1874: U.S. troops land in Honolulu, in the independent country of Hawai'i.

1907: English suffragettes storm British Parliament; sixty women are arrested.

1917: Strikes and meetings held in Petrograd factories: beginning of the Russian Revolution.

1945: Over 135,000 killed, mostly civilians, in Allied firebombing of Dresden, Germany. In a three-day period, 3,400 tons of explosives and incendiaries were dropped, reducing six square miles of the city to rubble. Many Allied officials were outraged--Germany was clearly on the verge of collapse, and Dresden was not a German war production city. Dresden had been famous for its artwork and historic buildings until it became the victim of the single most destructive air raid of World War II.

1946: Isaac Woodard blinded by Atlanta police while being abused in custody, less than three hours after the African-American soldier had received his honorable discharge from the armed forces. Immortalized in a Woody Guthrie song, "The Blinding of Isaac Woodard."

1949: Ecuadorian mob burns down radio station following broadcast of "War of the Worlds."

1960: France becomes the fourth nuclear power, conducting first nuclear test in Algaria's Sahara Desert.

1967: U.S.S.R. and China exchange gunfire on Manchurian border.

1970: Women take over underground rock station WBCN in Boston.

1974: Author Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn expelled from the Soviet Union.

1981: Longest sentence ever published by the New York Times: 1,286 words.

1982: Fifteen thousand blacks amd whites attend the funeral of South African trade union organizer Neill Aggett to protest and commemorate his death.

1989: Salvadoran army attacks Encuentros hospital, rapes, kills patients.

1991: During the Gulf War, approximately 400 Iraqi civilians, mostly women and children, are killed during a U.S. laser-guided missile attack on the Amirayah (al-Firdos) fortified bunker on the west side of Baghdad, the capital of Iraq.

1995: Chase Manhattan Bank distances itself from a newsletter produced by its Emerging Markets Group calling on Mexico to "eliminate the Zapatista" rebels in Mexico, according to the New York Times. Authored by Riordan Roett, director of Latin American Studies at the John Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies, analysts pointed to the uprising in Chiapas as a major element in the flight of foreign investors that weakened the Mexican peso. Mexican security forces began a large-scale takeover of former rebel areas on February 9, less than a month after the memo was published. Mexican security forces engaged in widespread violation of the human rights of citizens in the region (which still continues to this day.) Roett also suggested the Mexican government might not find it convenient to honor the results of upcoming elections.

(I suggest you check out Howard Zinn's work if yr interested in more 'little-known' history.)

Something to Play With, Something to Hold

There's a band I have to tell you about. Supposing you like Ween, Gwar, and lo-fi dance music, you'll probably like Fudgie and Fufu. They're from Cincinnati. I can't even begin to explain their sound without the benefit of whatever drugs they're on. Comments in the room today when listening to their song Hack You Up was "that's irritating." Exactly. This band is so fucking irritating, yet I can't stop listening to it.

Pagans, Pagans, Pagans

(Guest post from Dick Ivy. It's a review of the film "The Wicker Man" from 1973)

11-feb-2004: the wicker man (1973)

here's another film that is almost ruined just by being made in the early 70s. don't get me wrong, the film is great, but the music that is used is such hippie shit that it detracts completely from what is going on in the story, which is actually interesting. a scottish police officer investigating the disappearance of a small girl on a remote island discovers that there is more going on there than the inhabitants are willing to tell. pagans, pagans, pagans! the way that the islanders go about their daily lives just as we all do, but with weird creepy twists on everything, could probably be a bit upsetting to some, unless you know any of my friends. the depiction of the pagans is a bit more on the new-age 14 year old girl with a book on "wicca" side than it is on the side of actual ancient celtics, but it is still fairly creepy when it needs to be. the shitty 70s film stock and some of the masks used add an eerie element to the overall effect, as i am assuming that this was meant to be some kind of horror film, even though it doesn't quite seem to fit into that genre. the film does get its point across quite poignantly in terms of making you feel for the pagans as religious outcasts and separatists, and apparently this film was made to somewhat tear at the moral fiber of what most british/scottish believed at the time. for my own personal enjoyment, i think i may spend some time making an edit of this film with some less gay music, because i really do like it otherwise. the ending is great- you really don't expect what happens, and it makes you feel warm all over. stars christopher lee as... well... christopher lee.

Suicide Girls

This one's been a long time coming. Ever since I was 19, sitting in the Deja Vu in Port Huron, and I heard a familiar song come on. It was "The Crablouse" from Lords of Acid. I look up, and I see a pale brunette onstage, and I realize that I know her. I was going to the community college in Port Huron at that point in time. I had a creative writing class where each desk in the class holds two people. Guess who I shared a desk with? Yes, that was uncomfortable. I insisted on leaving. My friend, Buddy, didn't get it. We just got there, and he didn't want to leave. I was so afraid that she was going to see me. I didn't know what to do. Finally, I talked him into leaving. I really didn't want to deal with going to class and sitting next to her next week. Plus, at the time I was hanging out a lot with this girl's ex-girlfriend, and my best friend (female) had a crush on the girl onstage. I barely knew this girl, and I had three odd connections to her. The last thing I needed was to see her dancing naked for money. It was just too weird. But, time moved on, and I went to more strip clubs, mostly in Sarnia (Canada). I was 19, I lived at home, I was very single, made decent money, I could afford it, and I thought, hey, why not? I always went with the same friend, Buddy. Every time we went out, he would meet a dancer and then insist he was in love with her. It was so fucking cliched. He just didn't get it. I actually talked to a lot of the girls, and most of them were from Montreal, Vancouver, or Toronto. College students. It would be really easy to say it's just like the French prostitutes in Montmartre in the summer-time. They're just paying for their education. Through most of my adult life, I've had close friends who were feminists. Progressive feminists, thankfully, so they weren't all man-haters. I usually agree with their opinions and ideals. Yet, I had no problem going to the strip clubs. I guess my issue was that yes, it is objectification, and by being there, I'm supporting it, but I'm not objectifying. I probably was, and I don't go to strip clubs anymore, it just seems boring. It was a teenaged phase for me. So, this brings me to the current issue at hand: the popularity of the website Suicide Girls.

If you're not already familiar, Suicide Girls has become a huge online community. It started as somewhat of a softcore porn site featuring women who prefer body modification and the punk rock lifestyle. Now, you can subscribe to access pictures, journals, and all kinds of other crap. They also have a forum, personals, and classifieds. The success of the site seems obvious. It would be so easy to say it's successful because there are a million middle-aged men out there who love looking at pierced, tattooed, naked women because they're supposedly 'bad-girls'. Right. The site is successful because of the million 16-30-something men and women who are tired of the boring airbrushed pictures you see in Playboy. They want to see real people - people like them. I was talking to a female friend today, and she was saying that she thinks when women obectify themselves, it's appropriation. I think I have to agree with her. Then, my roommate said today that "women need to be objectified because women are things of beauty, and things of beauty are objectified by nature." Some women may say the same of men, and that could be true, but men are coarse, and women are soft. Softness is usually more attractive than being coarse (well, it is to men like me, anyway, and that's the only perspective I've got, deal with it). End-point is that some women may have a problem with sites like the Suicide Girls, but they're doing it for themselves. How is that objectifying? Go see the Suicide Girls at the Magic Stick this Friday (Feb 13th).

We Don't Talk About Love, We Only Want to Get Drunk*

As I type this, a million men around the country are freaking out. Yes, folks, we're three days away from Valentine's Day, aka Singles Awareness Day. Who needs a drink? Christmas is different, but Valentine's Day is a holiday you do not fuck around with if you are in a relationship. Luckily, I'm not, so instead, I'll be following the mantra up there in the headline above: I'll be at the bar. I will be working, and on Saturdays, I work at a bar, so I can't get away from that, but I can guarantee you that I will in fact be drunk by 2am. I'm in my late twenties, and I suppose for some generations, that means I should be married with kids already. My mom was my age when I was in first grade. That messes me up. While I am a bit upset about not being in a relationship, I do not feel that I need to be like her at this age. She has known nothing of Valentine's Day in 25 years. I'm already at 28 years of it meaning nothing. So, here in 2004, I will officially dub February 14th "Singles Awareness Day." Enjoy!

*(the headline comes from the song "A Design For Life" from the album "Everything Must Go" by the Manic Street Preachers. This is the album mentioned in an earlier post that was released after the guitarist/lyricist killed himself)

"Everyone I have ever loved, I will love till I die."

All Is Definitely Right With the World (Almost)

First of all, go check out this site for Horizontal Action magazine. It's all about electric sex rock n' roll. Their next issue is going to feature an article about Human Eye (see post wayyyy below), and they're going to use a picture (not the one right below - I didn't take that!, the pic in the Human Eye post in the archives) that I took for the article.




Second, do yourself a favor, and go out and buy the Kids In the Hall first season DVD set. Yeah, it's $60, but wouldn't you rather go sober for a coupla nights so that you can enjoy these discs forever? Makes sense to me.

Third, we have our internet connection at home once again. I still think Comcast is the devil, but they're not as bad as they once were. You just have to know which buttons to push to get what you want.

Fourth, all is not right with the world because I'm still thinking about Snow White, but I must resist her. I'm glad she's far away in LA, so I can't just drive to her house.

And, last, the temperature didn't go down to freezing all day long today! It's like we're living in Florida or something. Maybe it's true, maybe the hole in the ozone layer really is shrinking, and the gas is being kept in and it's keeping us warm. Right. Next winter will be the first in a 2000 year ice age.

UPDATE: The article for which Horizontal Action will be using my photo is being written by our very own contributing writer Dick Ivy. That's right, kiddies, Dick Ivy's review of the debut Human Eye show will be appearing in Horizontal Action along with a photo that I took. Detroit represents in Chi-town!


Put on a hat it's cold outside!

RE: Deep Conditioning

Yes, Janna, I am accepting citizenship. As I said below, we can build a neue stadt, we can build the Hacienda (Raoul Vaneigem "Revolution of Everyday Life"). And 'play' will no longer be quarantined by the puritans of government or religion. Everyone go read "Revolution of Everyday Life," it's a post-Dada masterpiece. Well, I guess that makes it a Situationist masterpiece if you want to get technical. It will make you want to tell your boss to fuck off, quit your job, and campaign the world for a better way of life. I think about it every day.

So, I hung with the ladies last night. Most interesting discussion/argument of the night: post-1980 Rolling Stones albums versus post-1980 Aerosmith power ballads. For the record, I agree with Laura, Stones albums after "Emotional Rescue" pretty much suck. However, I feel the same way about Aerosmith. Once they got off the drugs, their albums started to seriously blow. Actually, "Rocks" which came out when I was four months old in May of 1976 was probably their last good album.

Beware the Ashtray Girl

In my lifetime of mindless adoration of depressing, glam, whiny brit-pop such as the Smiths, Suede, Ride, My Bloody Valentine, and the Manic Street Preachers, I got bored with it. Bernard Butler left Suede, and they became sort of a caricature of themselves. The Smiths broke up, Morrissey went on to release solo work almost as good as the Smiths, and Johnny Marr shrunk into the shadows of studio work with Billy Bragg and Electronic. Ride got lame and turned into a Creation-worship band (not that there's anything wrong with Creation), then broke up, singer-guitarist Andy Bell moved on with Hurricane #1, which mostly sucked, and now he's playing with Oasis, endgame. My Bloody Valentine hasn't put out a proper record in 200 years, although guitar alchemist Kevin Shields has done several remixes, but nothing especially noteworthy. Lastly, Manic Street Preachers, the band who said that all bands should break up after releasing one album. In 1995, the Manics' lyricist/guitarist Richey James disappeared from his hotel room, his car was found abandoned on a bridge known for suicides. The next year, the band released their biggest album yet "Everything Must Go" without James. Now, don't get me wrong, it was a great album, but not their best, and everything since Richey disappeared has been real lame. They should've taken their own advice. Around the same time, there was a similar band just starting out: Placebo. I remember them being played on college radio in the late '90s, but I didn't pay much attetion. I was DJing a few weeks ago, and someone asked me if I had anything from them, and I said no. So, of course, the next chance I had, I went and downloaded some. Holy crap. Whatever was left behind by Marc Bolan, David Bowie, the Smiths, Suede, and the Manics is what Placebo scraped off the bathroom floor. They give true evil glamour and sex appeal (thanks, Nikki). If you've ever seen the film Velvet Goldmine, you've seen this band, they're the ones doing the cover of T Rex's "20th Century Boy." And, they do it well, so well that I think it's almost better than the original. And, I know you've probably heard their single "Pure Morning," I think it was a minor radio hit: "A friend in need's a friend indeed, a friend with weed is better, a friend with breasts and all the rest, a friend who's dressed in leather." Yeah, a million twenty-something fag-hags got wet when they heard that androgynous voice. David Bowie was so jealous of the band that he asked them to play his 50th birthday party at Madison Square Garden a few years ago. I don't know how I could've missed this band. If you like any of the bands mentioned above, go check out Placebo.

Binary Hell

The fax machine is stalking me. Somewhere in New York City, a fax machine is dialing my line at work. It thinks I'm another fax machine. Communication is impossible, I don't comprehend the beeps. They mean nothing to me. I keep picking up the phone, and all I hear is beeping. It's turning into a Twilight Zone episode. I'll leave work, and my cell phone will ring, and it will be the phantom fax stalker. Beeeeep. Beep. (silence). Beeeeeeeeep. Beep. I can't get away from it. My computer's trying to talk to me now, too, but that's a grating, scratching noise, like a 14.4 baud modem in 1990 trying to dial-up to Compuserve. The machines are trying to tell me something. I should learn binary code and how to decode the signals sent through fiber optics. Then, I could listen to the machines, and know what they want from me. I could skip a step in the communication model - I could be the receiver and the decoder. Computers and modems would become obsolete if we could use our brains to decode the signals sent through fiber cables. My 'Survey of Mass Communication' professor would be so proud. Then again, he might just think I've been reading too much Philip K. Dick, and that I'm a paranoid-delusional schizophrenic. I'll opt for the latter, it sounds like more fun.

...And You Will Know Us By the Bridges We Leave In Flames

Nah, I don't burn bridges. I'm too young to hold a grudge for more than a few minutes. I bet Snow White's on her way to a hotel in New Orleans right now. She's probably listening to Pinback, thinking about her job. It's been three days since we stopped talking, and I already miss her wit.

Guest Rant #3

(posted by Marla in response to "I Am A Robot")

To answer your "I pleaserobot:"
Without putting everything that was in my head as a teen-ager on paper, I would not have survived. I have journals that begin at 12 and to read them serves as a reminder of how fragile an existence can be and how much personal growth is possible. By the way Jeff, in We The Living, she doesn't choose love, she chooses
her particular brand of being happy and taken care of. A better characterization of what choices need to be made in Communist Russia is in Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler. But women characters, and her struggles with them, is why Rand's fullest character is the architect in The Fountainhead. This is an unfortunate situation that permeates modern literature. Name a great woman author - I dare you. And the best woman characters were written by men, including Fitzgerald. His Daisy and the cast of other women who inhabit his many short stories are the best depictions of women of that time, at least the ones who would be known by a member of the upper class, educated and therefore more open minded about our capabilities. Even in The Awakening - not a Fitzgerald - the main character simply is happy to die because
the man she was forced to spend the rest of her life with didn't measure up. Real women characters, who live full and contented lives of their own, have yet to appear in respected literature. Try reading New York to Miami by Martha Gellhorn, it is the only real sense of feminity I have been able to gather in the past 100 years of short stories. Flannery O'Conner and Tennessee Williams had a grasp, but it was upon those of us who revel in being part of the "weaker sex." I have the same problem with my own fiction - 100 stories and counting and despite all that I've lived I can't create a character that is believable, with depth, who would garner the respect of the world.

Take care,
Marla
"Be practical-demand the impossible."

Guest Rant #2

(posted by Marla)

It was just a boob. And the puritanical among us would have preferred one of the white tits donned byBritney or Madonna. If the Super Bowl half-time show was supposed to be family-oriented, it would have included a mix of -damn I'm lucky enough to not know their names off-hand. But it wouldn't have been produced by MTV to include Ms. Jackson, JT and a rapper who can't keep his hand off his crotch.

Psychotic Reaction

I'm certifiable right now. Commit me, I can't take it anymore. The Bobs called me at home. I think I'm allergic to drop ceilings. And recessed fluorescent lighting. And CRT computer monitors, and grey/black flecked office carpeting, and desk caddies filled with pens. My black Swingline old-school stapler is mocking me. Large inkjet printers make me ill. Fax machines and copiers are making me nauseous. Saw Johnny Thunders hittin' a spike out in shipping - was I hallucinating that? I almost crushed my mouse in my hand today. Too weak. The institutional grey walls are sucking the strength from me. Why does it have to be so bright in here? Why do we have to use white paper with black ink? It's hurting my eyes. The multi-colored vinyl-coated paper clips that talk to me when they're lonely just aren't enough excitement for me. When I stare at my computer screen, I can see the blood moving through the capillaries in my eyeballs like little insects scurrying around when the light is turned on. My fingers are permanently curled to fit the 'home row' on my keyboard. The index fingers float around the keys trying to find the little ridges on the F and J keys, but the ridges are worn down. I've only had this keyboard for less than a year. The gel-filled wrist-rest can't save me now. I just stared at a work order for five minutes. Not too sure whether or not I blinked or read it, I can't remember. Damn these flies! I need therapy! I need therapy now! I get pissed when my note-cube runs out. I get pissed at how many office-related words are hyphenated. Life would be hell if my mouse pad and wrist-rest weren't attached. If I couldn't listen to music while sitting here, I would've hanged myself in shipping with a LAN cable a long time ago.

NOTE: After basting my ulcer with a cup of coffee, the blue paperclips stopped talking to me, but Johnny's still slumped in the bathroom, an' I don't know what to do with 'im.

I Command It!

Tomorrow is Saturday night. This is what's happening: The Sights and the Hentchmen are playing at the Lager House. If you're familiar with the Lager House, you know how uncomfortable that show will be. Make sure you pre-party! The Detroit City Council are playing the Magic Stick. Seriously, they're starting to sound like early Funkadelic, before every song sounded the same. That show won't be as crowded, but it will still be a good time - without a doubt. The big event of the night will be this: The Rock n Roll art show at C-Pop. These are the artists represented at this show: Iggy Pop, Ron and Scott Asheton (3/4 of the Stooges), Lou Reed, Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon (half of Sonic Youth), Mark Arminski (if you've ever seen a reallllly cool tall narrow artistic poster for a rock show around town, it's probably from him), Joey and Dee Dee Ramone, and Mark Mothersbaugh (Devo singer), Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top), Kembra Pfahler (Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black), King Buzzo (Melvins), and photos from Bob Gruen and Leni Sinclair (most of her stuff features the MC5). Iggy and the Stooges are the only confirmed artists who will be on hand, but you never know who else will show up. The show has been written up in Real Detroit, Metro Times, MOJO (UK), Penthouse, SPIN, and Juxtapoz. It will be big. The show is open to the public at 8pm Saturday. You should go there. Oh, by the way, C-Pop's located in the same block as the Majestic Cafe. You really should go there Saturday, because not only is the Detroit City Council playing, and the rock n roll art show opening, but I'm also DJing in the Garden Bowl all night!

I AM A ROBOT

I've gone through so many phases in my life where I write non-stop. That's why I started this site, I have so much I want to get out of my head. Sometimes my head hurts like my brain is screaming, trying to push its way out of my skull. When I was younger, and I was in school, I never had a problem with writing assignments. As long as footnotes, sources, or bibliographies weren't required, I could write about anything I was told to write about. I could easily write way more than the teachers wanted me to write. It just comes easy to me, I'm good at BSing for a few thousand words or so. It got me through several college courses, so hey, why not? I didn't start writing for myself until after a particularly bad break-up when I was 19. Directly after filling a notebook, I tossed it. Everyone says it's a bad habit, but I did what I set out to do, and felt there was no other worth to the written words. So, throughout the years, I've filled many notebooks of all different sizes, and tossed them. One was hardcover, and it was given to me. That one I filled, then gave it back to the person who gave it to me. It seemed like the right thing to do, and I know if I ever want to see it again, she still has it. A few years ago (3 maybe?), I bought a nice black plastic cover notebook with the intent of writing my first lengthy fiction story. I can't remember what I called the story, the character's name was Kira. Every fiction story since then has featured a variation on the same character, and I always use the same name. Kira is the name of the main character in Ayn Rand's "We the Living." She's a strong young woman forced to choose love or comfort in post-Bolshevik Russia (she choses love, of course, why else would I like this book?). I normally can't stand Rand's books, but I do like this one. The story that I wrote was about a woman who was seemingly suffering from multiple personality disorder, and didn't know it. She would wake up in strange places with bruises and cuts, but she would never question it much. The story was maybe five pages long, and more or less a drawn-out good idea that got boring. I thought I was writing what I knew, but I wasn't. I thought Kira was a composite of many women I knew, and maybe she was, but I didn't know how to bring it all together in an interesting way. So, I actually showed the story to a friend (something I'm generally not too big on), and she said it was good, but I could tell she was just being nice. Then again, when it comes to criticism of anything artistic from me, I just assume people are being nice. Too many biased opinions. So, yet again, I threw away something I wrote. Tore out the pages and tossed 'em. I started over when the inspiration struck. Kira was not the main character this time, but she was involved. The main character was Floyd Cobbler. Floyd Cobbler, Lloyd Cobbler, yeah, Jon Cusack's character from "Say Anything." It started out as a "Bladerunner" type of thing with Floyd being an android pretending to be human. But it quickly turned into Floyd being delusional about being an android because of how cold and seemingly unemotional he was. The whole story ended up being about fifteen written pages long. Most of it was character sketches of a couple trying to date, Kira and Floyd. Kira was a composite of maybe ten different women I know. Floyd was more or less me. The rest was their conversations, and it was written in a first-person perspective, Floyd's. A few of the conversations were almost word-for-word real. I kept it, because it seemed like the right thing to do, for once. I pulled out the notebook a few weeks ago. It had probably been almost two years since I looked at it. I re-read the whole story, made a couple of small changes, and then, of course, realized that I wrote it all about myself, whether I intended to or not. I am a robot. Well, I know I'm not, but I sure as hell feel like it sometimes. About a year ago, I started having dreams where I had to open a new window on the desktop, or click on a hyperlink to do anything. I was dreaming in Windows 95! Not all of my dreams are like this, but it's like I'll prioritize what's going on in the dream, and move things around on the taskbar, restoring and minimizing windows as needed. I can't give any specific details on the dreams, because all I remember is the format. It's even worse now that I know how to make a word into a hyperlink. In the dreams, I'm thinking about a certain person, finding a picture of them online, then linking to their picture when typing their name. Oh, yeah, I type in these dreams, but it's mostly the mouse that I use to navigate. I'm starting to feel like a fucking Philip K. Dick short-story come to life. I AM A ROBOT.

FOOTNOTE: The title of the story involving the android is "Les Yeux." Pretentious, I know, I was in a weird place at the time: college. And I had a French class.

CORRECTION: I was wrong, in "We the Living," Kira doesn't choose love, she chooses "her own particular brand of being happy and being taken care of." She's cold yet sincere in her own way. Thanks, Marla (more people gotta start callin' me out, because even I think I'm full of it sometimes).

I'm Never Talking To You Again

This morning, I woke up, and all I wanted to hear was Bob Mould's voice. I pulled out Sugar's first album, and Husker Du's "Zen Arcade" because they're all I've got. What I really want, now, is Bob Mould's solo stuff. Does anyone out there have any of Bob's solo albums that they wouldn't mind burning for me? I'd really appreciate it, and I'm sure I've got something that you'd want in return. Email me.

Into the Groove(y)

I'm excited. It's only been two weeks, but it feels like it's been two years. People pay me to play music. I love it. Can't get enough. If only I could get paid well to do it. If only I could make mix CDs, release them for sale, and not have to worry about licensing and all that. Either way, I've been playing music for money at the Garden Bowl (below the Magic Stick on Woodward in Detroit) almost every Saturday night for over six years. I need to do it. It's required. I feel empty when I don't do it, it's such a big part of me. I don't play exclusively dance music - it's not a dance club. I don't play just 'Detroit' or garage rock. I think it's safe for me to assume that I've played some music that has never been played in a bowling alley - ever. That doesn't really mean that I'm playing a lot of obscure music (although I kinda am), it just means that the Garden Bowl is a unique environment. I can just as easily play obscure electro-pop from Sweden, as I can play Ike and Tina Turner. The scene is diverse, the people are mostly open-minded, and everyone's just there to have a good time, so why not have a good and original soundtrack? That's what I'd really like. I'd like someone to pay me to provide the soundtrack for their life - 24/7. The point of all this is that I DJ at the Garden Bowl in Detroit every Saturday night from 9pm to 2am, and I think anyone who reads this who's in the Detroit area should be there. Incidentally, my DJ name is DJ Gutterball.

Guest Rant #1

(I've asked people to contribute guest rants, and this one will be posted anonymously by request)

I was arrested for drunk driving in November. Yes, I was wasted and had
no right to be behind the wheel of a car. Never forgive me, fellow driver, for putting your life in jeopardy. But forgive my reasons, maybe, for being so drunk. How would you fare 257
wintry miles away from everyone you love and care about?
I've lost count of the times in Detroit I was pulled over in the same
state but let go - and this includes incidents with two female state
troopers. Nevertheless, incapacitated beyond reasonable driving, the officers
always preferred to write a ticket than do the paperwork it takes to process a
drunk driver. For the record: Highland Park doesn't own a PBT machine. Neither does Detroit's precinct on Seven Mile. This doesn't lessen my offense. I was wrong each and every time. And if
you want to argue that point, ask Jeff, who was severely injured by a drunk
driver. Like so many of us, my number came up again and I blew on the road. But once
I'm at the jail I know the game - it's them against me. The cast of drunks trying to pass through this small town are the only way the deputies and each and every court employee is getting paid. I'm frightened. My
professional life is in jeopardy. I am unable to bail myself out of jail and thus, ask for help. When officer Smitty asked me to blow again in a tube I say: "Hell no. You're going to take me to a hospital where I know a third party will be counting." BIG MISTAKE. Smitty never explained the rules of applied consent. I didn't have a choice. You do not have a choice. Once you get behind the wheel of a car drunk, you
have no rights. And maybe, just maybe, this is rightfully so. But let's talk about the punishment.
I assumed I had rights. Smitty knew different. Today I sat in an office overlooking the bay and our lack of consensus didn't matter. He won. The arrest cost me $950, five weeks of blowing in a tube every morning,
a 30-day license suspension, five months of restriction to follow and permanent probation at work - they kept me for the mandatory DUI 30-day license suspension. Now, I lose my license for one year. And the whole experience has left me with this: 1) Do not drink and drive. 2) If you do, make damn sure you' re rich or famous because they'll have your ass ina sling that is just tight enough to ruin you life.
I'm a relatively intelligent person, but that didn't matter. The appeals "judge" laughed when I said I was going to represent myself because I couldn't afford the $500 retainer offered by the cast of attorney's I called. Could you,or anyone you know, afford $500? Could you or anyone you know keep their lves going without the ability to drive? I can appeal. But that costs $150 to file if I am to represent myself and $500 to retain an attorney. Should I throw more money I don't have at
an unbeatable system?

Anonymous

Don't Wake Me I Plan On Sleeping In

Sleep on pillows made in Singapore, wrapped in comforters, sweating through sheets. Drink your coffee in the morning, flown in on airplanes across vast seas. Your houses made of wood, central air, central heat, your furniture of particle board, your doors are locked for safety. You walk in leather shoes, pants of denim a black cotton sweatshirt. You do what you do 'cause doing can start to form a habit. You drink all night long, sleep through the morning if something doesn't break I'm just going to go fucking insane. You sweep and mop the floor when it's dirty, do the dishes when the sink's full and when the refrigerator's empty well it's time to go to the store. Put your books on a shelf, clothes arranged in the closet, you hang the things on the walls that you don't want to be so easily forgotten. I HATE THESE SONGS, I HATE THE WORDS THAT THE SINGER IS SINGING TO ME, I HATE THIS STUPID FUCKING DRUM BEAT. But I'm not going to tell anyone what I'm really thinking about, keep them from conversations on the surface just keep on smiling just keep on saying that everything's going to be alright.

(I didn't write that, but I wish I did. I think I've listened to this song at least once a day for a month. It's called "Turn Those Clapping Hands Into Angry Balled Fists" and it's from Against Me!)

Wir Werrichten Eine Neue Stadt Für Uns

you're not reading this, because there's really nothing there, because I'm not really talking about what I'm not supposed to talk about. have a nice day, and go listen to this song from Swarm of Angels

Churros!

I need more churros, dammit! Tasty, sugary, cinnamony deep-fried Mexican donuts. I command it! More churros! Now!

St. Valentine: Sinner or Saint?

I'm not going to pretend to know anything about the origins or the history of Valentine's Day or St. Valentine, because as most of you know, I'm usually fulla shit. Or at least I sound like it. Anyway, a few years ago, a friend of mine gave me a card for Valentine's Day. It was on really nice paper that was textured and colored red on one side, and white on the other. She had folded it into a card, and on the exposed side, she wrote "Happy Singles Awareness Day!" She knew that I understood, and she was suddenly single and unhappy about it. Now, I honestly believe that Sweetest Day is a Hallmark holiday, but you can't hide from Valentine's Day. It's everywhere, florist advertisements, special vacation deals, red fucking lights and decorations everywhere. For most of us, Valentine's Day is really all about "Singles Awareness Day." This is the day that you're reminded of how single you really are. For some, it's no big deal, they are almost always in a relationship, and if they aren't on February 14th, they probably will be soon enough. But what about the rest of us: the freaks, nerds, and romantics who seem to always lose? I'm not asking for pity here, but really, it seems like a trend. Some people just have a hard time with relationships, or getting into them. It's like you can see the future, but you can't do a damned thing to make it happen any sooner than it's 'supposed' to happen. Then again, maybe that's bullshit, and we all just want we can't have when we want it (you just have to wait). That's probably closer to the truth.

Anyone Seen Darling Nikki...

...I could use someone like that right about now.

One MAN's Voice of Dissent

There is a MAN in Detroit named Matt. This MAN plays the drum (yes, drum), and the bass guitar. He is the one and only one-MAN band, MAN. MAN is cynical, pissed, and his songs sound like someone who's just run out of booze. Go here to watch the Quicktime video for "You're Fired."

I'll Be the Platform Shoes, Undo What Heredity's Done to You...*

Sometimes I really feel like I'm in a dream where I'm falling harder and harder. I just wonder when I'm gonna fall on my face.

*from "Brand New Colony" by Postal Service.

Infoshops in Lansing and Detroit Looking for Your Support

(posted from Michigan IndyMedia)


The Brighter Days Infoshop in Lansing and Idle Kids Books & Records, an infoshop in Detroit, are both distributing calls for support as they build their respective projects of developing radical culture and community through DIY (do-it-yourself) event and retail spaces. An infoshop has been defined by Slingshot magazine as "a cross between a radical bookstore and a movement archive."
Brighter Days describes itself as "a radical counter-institution, as part of a revolutionary strategy ... attempting to set an example of a different type of society: one explicitly opposed to all forms of exploitation and oppression." Idle Kids describes itself as working "to [create] a positive space to promote learning and the motivation of human spirit. We are striving for unity within our community, geographical as well as our shared music and art community."

Find out more on how you can support Brighter Days here. Learn more about volunteering with Idle Kids here.

[read more about infoshops: Infoshop.org's guide to infoshops]

There Is Still Love in the Midwest

Early Monday morning thoughts: I received a phone call at 2:39am this morning. Luckily I was deep in badly needed sleep, and wasn't awakened by it. The voicemail was only a song that I couldn't understand because it was over the phone and of course it was overmodulated and distorted. Gee, I wonder who in the Traverse City area would be calling me after the bar closes to leave a voicemail that's only a song? Thanks. So what was the song, anyway?

Someone's knitting a scarf for me. I love it, it matches my eyes, and it comes from the heart.

Last night, I had absolutely no intention of going out. All I wanted to do was sleep. I was feeling like I was on drugs yet I didn't consume any. It was like being on weak acid without the visuals. And without feeling like I was gonna be awake for three days (because I already had been awake for two days). So, I'm sitting here at home, watching LOTR The Two Towers, and I get a phone call. Last Wednesday, I was talked into buying a $5 square in a Superbowl betting thing. Turns out I won the second quarter. Knowing that I'm broke until this Friday, I decided to go claim my prize: $100. Then, I was told that I still had a chance to win again if no one scored in the third quarter. But, I was also told that it was pretty likely that they would score. I decided to wait around, because hey, if I won again, I wanted that money, too. I won again. Funny, considering how much I hate football.

While waiting to see if I won again, I bowled. I used to work in a bowling alley, and unlike most people I know who worked in a bowling alley in the past, or work in one now, I don't bowl. I'm just not interested. But, I bowled last night, and does my ass hurt. My favorite particle physicist, Sarah, kicked it hard in the first and third games. It has to be because she's a physicist. She calculating what's going to happen each time she throws. No, she's just a good bowler -even when tired. I got her in the second game, but only by two pins. Maybe I'll start bowling again, I could use the exercise...

City Slang

For those of you new to this site, there are plenty of archived posts at the January 2004 link. Feel free to check that out (sometimes January's posts show up here on this page, and sometimes you have to go to the archive - I don't know what's up with that). Last week, and this weekend were especially busy for me, so there's lots to read. Also, if anyone's interested in posting guest rants, let me know (see top of links list for email address). Thanks.

Show World's Favorite Honorary Unsuscribe

Do me a favor, and check out this link. It's a site all about the late comedian Bill Hicks. If you like asshole-type comedians like Denis Leary, you'll love this stuff. He was also very literate and political. Go check it out. Oh, when he was still alive, he used to say that Denis Leary stole his act. He's right.

Le Vin Rouge Vous Rend Fort

I wish you coulda been a fly on the wall when I was 10 years old. Crying over my homework. I woulda slit my wrists if it wasn't for rocknroll. I wish my first and fifth grade teachers were still alive. I wish I could find them , grab 'em by the shoulders and shake them because they told me I would never amount to anything. I was almost held back in fifth grade because I just didn't care. Didn't give a fuck about anything. My reading comprehension was a few grades ahead of my classmates, but you quickly learn that just because you're smarter than your classmates, you still have to pay attention in class and be there mentally. Telling a 10 year old that they're never going to amount to anything is just so wrong, I mean really, that's not only bad ethically as an educator, but also as a role model. Role model, my ass. That woman was out of her fucking mind. I don't need to have a great job, I don't need to make a lot of money, I don't need to be 'happily' married (yet hate my partner) with 2.5 rugrats and a dog, I don't need to have a false sense of emotional security, I don't need complete mediocrity, conformity, and alignment with the status quo or society to "amount to anything." I am who I am, and I'm pretty fucking happy about it. END SOBER RANT

BADGERS BADGERS BADGERS BADGERS BADGERS BADGERS MUSHROOM!

Oh, what a weekend. I've consumed enough red wine this weekend to keep France happy for a month. Friday was good, we went out for Amy's birthday (happy birthday Amy!). Saturday afternoon I recovered from Friday. Saturday night, I went out to a friend's house and drank more red wine, this morning I drove back feelin' loopy as all hell...anyway, go to this link, it will make you happy and you should view it on a computer with sounds:

BADGERS BADGERS BADGERS BADGERS MUSHROOM!

Imaginations Don't Tell You What To Do - Unless You're On PCP

I think I'm on PCP. Maybe not, I don't know. I just drove 55 miles on the highway, and I had to clench the steering wheel tightly with both hands, white knuckles the whole way. I had to drive aimlessly around Ann Arbor for 10 minutes before I could get the courage to get on the highway. An hour later, I still don't feel right. I didn't eat anything weird, but I did, however, drink a whole bottle of wine. Well, I had two halves of two bottles, so I guess that's the same thing, right? Maybe I'm diabetic. I don't know. I'm gonna go eat brunch now. That should help, shouldn't it?