Drunk Nights and Whiskey Kisses

Long Division

Fragments of a figment, pigmented in a department for all to see

• The most recent Wilco album, "A Ghost Is Born" will crawl into your head and not leave if you give it a chance..same goes for the new one from Spoon, "Gimme Fiction." Pure genius.
• I'm starting to doubt the worth of SmartWater (plain old vapor distilled water with electrolytes). It just makes me feel more bloated than regular water. Tastes better than Gatorade, though.
• The value of the ellipsis has gone down with me, too...it works well to begin or end a block of text...and it works well within a sentence, but I don't know about using it to separate thoughts...it just doesn't feel right anymore...like it's too messy...but I do appreciate the pregnant pause it can create...
• My friend Alissa has become a blogger! This highly itelligent and attractive human being's thoughts and opinions can be read here.
• Okay, seriously, "A Ghost Is Born" is some heavy shit. "Spiders (kidsmoke)" alone will not leave your head until you get "I Turn My Camera On" from Spoon up in there, and then its all over. Note that Jeff Tweedy came out of rehab for alcohol and wrote "A Ghost Is Born." I think he's a fucking genius. So is Britt Daniel from Spoon, but he's more of an overlooked genius. Probably underpaid, too. That's the way it usually goes.
• I think sobriety is seriously, seriously over-rated.
• I think more people need to eat more Boursin cheese, particularly the variety with roast garlic added. Okay, the truth is, I think more people need to eat more cheese, period. Everyone would be so much happier. I don't want to hear any of you lactose intolerant people out there whining, either, because I'm lactose intolerant, but it doesn't stop me! I had Boursin, Fontina, and Pecorino Romano last night.
• What the fuck is a 'fruit buzz'? I have never, ever heard of anyone getting any kind of rush or buzz or anything from eating fruit, walnuts, and yogurt, unless we're talking about sugar shock, then its a different story altogether. I would assume that it's not a desirable situation to get yourself into, though. Its times like this when I wish McDonald's wasn't the biggest advertiser in the country.
• I found a fatal flaw in the logic of love. Or something like that, I can't help but quote songs right now.
• "Handshake Drugs," from Wilco's "Ghost..."
• I could go on and on about my personal shit, but you know what? I don't think that's any of your damned business. Bet you never thought you'd hear me say that. My normally open book is temporarily closed right now.
• The Great Lakes Myth Society. It has been way, way too long since I have seen an excitingly good newer local band. At first, it may not mean anything to you, but I think the first explanation that comes to mind is American Gothic. Not the painting, but a feeling, maybe? I don't know. I really good way of explaining it comes from Stephen Thomas Erlewine's review of their album on All Music. He refers to their sound as "folk instrumentation played with rock vigor." He totally nailed it. It's like nothing from the past and almost nothing else going on right now. I have to say almost because their sound is just slightly similar to The Arcade Fire. Its folk, and pop, and a little bit prog at times. I haven't heard the album, but live there are two brothers, James Christopher and Timothy Monger. James Christoper plays the acoustic guitar all throughout. Timothy plays the accordion (and it doesn't sound cheesy, either), and at other times the electric guitar. Then there's the third songwriter, Gregory Dean Macintosh, who also plays the electric guitar, and the rhythm is held down by J. Scott McClintock on bass and Fido Kennington on drums. At some point, I noticed McClintock toss aside his pick and start plucking the bass strings. He seemed to play it both ways rather effortlessly. This is rare. In fact, you don't see such a high level of musicianship very often in 'indie' bands. I was quickly reminded of The Greenhornes and their fastidious attention to detail when on stage. The GLMS also all wore dark suits which definitely contributed to the folk gothic sound in a way. Oh, also, a lot of their songs actually are about Great Lakes myths. The best that I heard was called "No. VI," which is about the Michigan town of Novi, which was "number six on the line." This is definitely a band worth checking out.

Remember the Weight of the World

I am sofa king jittery right now. Today's a no food, lots of coffee, lots of cigarettes, avoid doing real work kinda day. It will be a long time before I feel truly motivated to post anything entertaining on this site. I have a lot going on upstairs.

I Summon You*

Not much to report. I've been distracted in a variety of ways lately. I could give you a review of a record, I suppose.

Easy Action - "The Friends of Rock & Roll"
This band has instant hardcore roots thanks to the singer John Brannon's first band Negative Approach. NA was one of the original hardcore bands who ranked up there with Minor Threat, except Ian McKaye was never as hardcore as Brannon. But, make no mistake, this is a rock & roll band. Their first record a few years back was good, but it was dense. Probably because they had two guitarists, but Brannon put down the guitar for this one. He plays on one song, "Kool Aide," but otherwise his hands are freed up so that he can be as emphatic as he wants to be onstage. There have been some lineup changes since the last album, too. Brad Hales played bass on "The Friends..." but he's no longer in the band. Tony Romeo formerly of the Trash Brats now plays bass. The former drummer (sorry I can't remember your name) is now in local blues band The Doctor's Prescription, and he's been replaced in Easy Action by Matt Becker. Harold is still playing guitar and Brannon is still singing.
The album starts off right away with a hardcore influenced track called "I'm Waiting," but then they slow it down a bit with "Worse For You." What follows is the title track, which is introduced by Harold's mother and her Korean accent. She called in this one on a cell phone. The song has already started, and then you hear her saying "introducing...the friends of rock & roll!" I just found out that this is how she refers to the rest of the guys in the band. Because they're Harold's friends, and he's in a rock & roll band, she calls them "the friends of rock & roll." The song itself makes me think of the New Bomb Turks, but not in a derivative way. The choruses and the 'yeahs' are sung by the Friends of Rock & Roll Choir. They got forty or so of their friends to come in and sing backup on this one. Mix that with lyrics like "we'd rather slit your throat than write a brand new song" and you've got an instant Easy Action classic. A couple songs later is "Dead of Night," a slow-burning swamp rock track that makes me think of the Cramps just a little bit until the chorus kicks in with all the reverb on the guitar and Brannon's whaling. "Get It" is another hardcore influenced track, but then "There Was A Time" slows it down just a little bit again. I love what comes next, "Get The Fuck Out of My Way." I thought I was imagining things at first, but it starts out EXACTLY like "Street Fighting Man" from the Rolling Stones. The guitar, bass, drums, and even maracas. But, they change it up enough to make it unique and exciting all at the same time. The last song, "What's Going Down" is a little over seven minutes long, and slow! Yes, it's a slow song. But it's so good. All throughout it, there's an organ provided by Bobby Emmett of the Sights. And its church organ, so it sounds like a white boy British blues song like early John Mayall or early Fleetwood Mac or something. This is crazy good. I didn't know they had it in them. I could almost say its the best track on the album. The power of Easy Action is indeed the initial draw, but its Brannon's voice that anchors this band, and his voice is showcased in "What's Going Down." Overall, its a good deal. If you've ever liked anything else John Brannon has done, pick this up.

*listen to Spoon

Honey Don't

As previously stated, the devil speaks to me. He's talking to me right now. He's waiting. He's a friend of rock & roll. Think about it...have you ever listened to Nick Cave or Tom Waits or Foetus (aka Jim G. Thirlwell) or Easy Action or Bantam Rooster and heard the demon himself? He's there.

I've always thought that Satan was just a myth. A beast created to further the belief in good and evil. But then, when I was a teenager, I first heard Nick Cave. His slower stuff is one thing, its usually kind of poppy, but then you hear songs like The Mercy Seat, and you know what you're really hearing. Cave is just a mouthpiece. A puppet of the Dark Lord.

Later, I heard Tom Waits and I just thought he was a storyteller, like a film noir Bob Dylan. But he got darker, too. When the songs slow down, the voice becomes more familiar. I could feel the power. That sick feeling in your stomach every time that gruff voice growls.

When I was in college, I got into industrial music and all the fringe weirdness that came with it. An accoutrement of the devil's musical accompaniment is drums. Big drums. Stark, warm yet dry, tribal drums. Industrial is by nature percussive music. Cave and Waits happen to have significant percussion in their music. Its usually fairly simple, but its there, and it carries the demonic vocals. I found the devil in much of the industrial music that I was into at this point, but the man himself was manifested in the voice of Jim G. Thirlwell, an Australian storyteller who ranks right up there with Waits and Cave. After emigrating to NYC's lower east side, Thirlwell growled his way around the streets of the underground. I can picture his music being used in a film like Sin City. His rasp would also fit in well in a film adaptation of any William Burroughs book.

In more recent times, the devil has manifested himself in more obvious ways outside of music. Tom DeLay and Dick Cheney, for an example. But if you look hard enough and beyond public poiltical figures (the obvious Luciferian mouthpieces), you'll still find that snake slithering around Detroit. There was a time when Satan spoke to Detroiters through two men: Tom Potter and John Brannon.

Tom Potter was the singer/guitarist in the devil-rock two-piece Bantam Rooster. When he started playing that guitar, and his mouth opened, it was like staring Satan in the face. Pure, concentrated evil. He became transformed. A completely different person. The devil had hold of him. But Potter found soul, and the devil retreated back to Tom's psyche.

Brannon was the singer for Detroit's original hardcore band Negative Approach. We're talking about the mid-80s here. Same time period as Minor Threat, but much, much different. Even then as a teenager, Brannon had the voice. HE was there. The beast. I never got to see a show, I was too young, but I've seen pictures, and I've heard the live music. Later, years after NA broke up, Brannon came back with the Laughing Hyenas. It was like some sort of twisted soul hard rock hybrid with that demonic growl at the center of it all. The devil was all over that band. Personal problems, white drug problems...it couldn't last forever. After two albums and a couple of EPs and singles, the band imploded. Brannon came back a few years later (early 2000s) with Easy Action. He found the true voice. Perhaps more than Cave, Waits, and Thirlwell, Brannon's elastic growl is THE voice of Satan. I've seen it.

Odd sidenote: All of these men have soul, whether its under the surface in their music, or in their record players at home, or on the stage, they have it. In the beginning, the Christian faithful said that soul was the devil's music. Coincidence? Nope, not at all.

Happy Town

THE GOOD

• Four months ago today I turned 29 years old. To most this would be a bad thing, but my life has improved with age. Its a good thing.
• My two-week-long Wilco/Uncle Tupelo/Replacements/Paul Westerberg binge.
• The NOFX sub-binge that started last week. Hey, we're the Brews!
• Drunk nights and whiskey kisses, and bruises on my neck. Its all good.
• The back seat.
  
• The new Easy Action album "Friends of Rock & Roll." Swampy, dirty, demonic rock that rolls. They slow it down here and there, open up, and get loose.
• "Ceux Qui Intentent N'ont Jamais Vecu" and "N'Ecoutez Pas" from Le Fly Pan Am. I don't know how to explain it, but I like it a lot. After I listen to it a bit more, I'll let you know. Kind of like other bands on Constellation Records (the most visible being Godspeed! You Black Emperor). By the way, thanks, Andy.
• The Isis album "Oceanic" and the two CDs of "Oceanic" remixes. Interesting. I guess this could easily be described as being very similar to Godflesh. The idea of remixing grindcore also fits in nicely with what Justin Broadrick, the brains behind Godflesh has mostly done in the time post-Godflesh (since their breakup in 2002): remixes. It fits in so nicely that he actually does a remix of an Isis track.
• Of Montreal. Remember bands like Neutral Milk Hotel, Apples in Stereo, and Olivia Tremor Control? They were all part of a loose collective of like-minded bands from the Athens, GA area that shared some members. The collective was called Elephant 6. Of Montreal are part of a second wave of E6 bands. Their new album "The Sunlandic Twins" has electro beats that melt into shiny happy people pop harmonies. A big debt is owed to the Beach Boys as with most E6 bands. Its not anything especially groundbreaking, but the music is dense and accessible all at once. Total ear candy with earnest lyrics.

THE BAD

• Clients. I can't complain enough about those fuckers. No specific examples today, just the usual BS.
• Getting drunk in the evening, then getting sober then getting drunk again. Usual result: a headache. The only way to get rid of said headache is to get drunker. I hate that.
• 1080i versus 720p. I know, that probably means nothing to you. It means nothing to me, either, and I think its stupid. (1080i means 1080 interlaced lines and 720p means 720 progressive scan lines - this is all relevant to high definition video and broadcasting)
• The hunger. I've got it. I should eat something.

THE UGLY

• The devil speaks to me through Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Jim G. Thirlwell, Tom Potter, and John Brannon.
  
• I'm not crazy, you're the one who's crazy!
  

Local History Lesson

First, I have to say that to understand why and how this occurred to me, you have to understand that my mind wanders to the strangest places very quickly. I was reading the forums on the Detroityes site today. There was a thread about a low-income apartment building in Southfield and how there's frequent problems there with police, violence, murder, theft, etc. In the thread, someone compared the building to "Cabrini Green." For some reason, this sounded familiar to me. So, I go on Google, look it up, and it was a notorious housing project in Chicago. Notorious for violent crime, shootings, drugs, and it happened to be sandwiched between two affluent areas of Chicago: the Gold Coast and Lincoln Park. This location made the poverty and destitution of the projects more visible than normal. The Cabrini Green projects were also the setting for the film "Candyman" and the sitcom "Good Times." Cabrini Green was demolished in 1992, and many of the residents were re-located to mixed-income housing projects. I have no idea why the name sounded so familiar to me, but I had to look it up. One of the hits that I got on Google was on Wikipedia, a unique online encyclopedia that can be edited by anyone. Being a fan of the site, that was the first place I looked. Then, out of boredom, I went to the main page of the site. A featured article was about Louis Riel, a Canadian politican. Reading the article, I was suddenly reminded of something...

From the Fall of 1994 to the Winter of 1997, I attended St. Clair County Community College (SC4) in Port Huron, MI. Right across the St. Clair River from Port Huron is Sarnia, Ontario. There were a lot of Canadians who went to SC4. Why, I have no idea, they probably had better schools, but that's not important. I was in the broadcasting program at SC4, and there was a handful of Canadians in the program with me, as well as on the radio station (WSGR-FM). One in particular was a little older and very animated. Also a Star Wars freak who owned a life-size cutout of Boba Fett that he was particularly proud of. His name was J.J.

(Most of the following information is located on this Amnesty International website.)

Just north of Sarnia, along Lake Huron, there's a Provincial park called The Pinery, and just north of that was a military installation at Ipperwash. Both are located on a large piece of land that was designated as indigenous peoples reservation land by a Treaty signed in 1827 between the Native Chippewas and the British Crown. In 1927, part of the reservation was sold to the government of Ontario for the Provincial Park. The park contained an Indigenous burial ground which was desecrated when the park was built.

The remainder of the reserve was appropriated by the Department of National Defence to create a military base during World War II: the Camp Ipperwash military base. The Chippewas living there were involuntarily resettled to a nearby reservation pursuant to the War Measures Act, on the understanding that their land would be returned to them at the end of World War II hostilities. Despite this undertaking, embodied in a Cabinet Order, the land was never returned to them.Approximately 50 years later, finding that all efforts to regain their reserve land had been in vain, on 27 May 1993 Indigenous people from Stoney Point occupied part of the military base that had been built on land appropriated from them in World War II. On 29 July 1995, they took over the rest of the base. The Canadian military withdrew from the base without confrontation. Technicians from the nearby military base reportedly introduced some of the protesters to the daily operations of the base so that equipment would not be damaged. Some of the protesters were awarded contracts with the federal Government to cut the grass and undertake maintenance activities.

On 4 September, approximately 24 reportedly unarmed Native men, women and children entered the park and occupied a small portion along the beach and parking lot. Their occupation posed no apparent danger to the public - and appeared to be symbolic - since the park had just closed at the end of the tourist season. Reports suggest that the protest began peacefully. The protesters were joined by sympathisers for a picnic, which included children. The police had been alerted as early as May 1995 that an occupation of the park might happen.(11)The Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) had prepared a strategy code-named ‘Project Maple’ for use in the event that the park was occupied. Its aim, as stated in the police's document, was "to contain and negotiate a peaceful resolution". Thirteen negotiators would be available. Ambulances and caged buses would be on alert. In addition, any arrests were to be videotaped so that the OPP could counter any unjust accusations of brutality. The plan of OPP Acting Superintendent John Carson was to tell the Natives that the park was closed, that they were trespassing and that they should leave. If they refused to leave the park, a court injunction ordering them to leave would be sought.

On 4 September, approximately 24 reportedly unarmed Native men, women and children entered the park and occupied a small portion along the beach and parking lot. Their occupation posed no apparent danger to the public - and appeared to be symbolic - since the park had just closed at the end of the tourist season.

Reports suggest that the protest began peacefully. The protesters were joined by sympathisers for a picnic, which included children. The police had been alerted as early as May 1995 that an occupation of the park might happen.(11)

The Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) had prepared a strategy code-named ‘Project Maple’ for use in the event that the park was occupied. Its aim, as stated in the police's document, was "to contain and negotiate a peaceful resolution". Thirteen negotiators would be available. Ambulances and caged buses would be on alert. In addition, any arrests were to be videotaped so that the OPP could counter any unjust accusations of brutality. The plan of OPP Acting Superintendent John Carson was to tell the Natives that the park was closed, that they were trespassing and that they should leave. If they refused to leave the park, a court injunction ordering them to leave would be sought.

Amnesty International was not present at the confrontation between the protesters and the police force. However, the organization has followed closely issues surrounding the investigation into Dudley George’s death and related matters since September 1995 and has engaged in correspondence with the authorities to express its concerns and gain information.

The following description has been compiled from court actions, eye-witness statements, media reports and police accounts of events.

Despite the initially peaceful nature of the protests, the OPP sealed off the roads leading to the park.

The use of more aggressive policing methods appeared to increase tension and was followed by acts of violence. Officers arrived on the outskirts of the park. Some of the protesters dented three police vehicles and broke their windows with a hockey stick and rocks in the reported belief that the police cruisers were about to ram them. One protester also threw a flare in the direction of the police.

The situation still appeared relatively under control on 5 September. An official police log stated at 8:27am: "We are trying to contain it, objective to contain and resolve it peacefully. No one in the community is in any danger, as we have adequate [police] services present". However, the OPP presence increased. Officers were seen observing the park from a boat on Lake Huron and using a helicopter to videotape the activities of the protesters. According to one police estimate, only nine protesters remained at that point, many protesters having temporarily left the park.

There were no credible reports of the protesters being armed. Minutes of a Government meeting on 7 September 1995 indicate: "Armed? - No knowledge but no indication". Acting Superintendent John Carson later told the Special Investigations Unit (SIU): "At that point in time, were we expecting to come under fire? The answer would be no".

Despite the apparent lack of a clear armed threat, the OPP deployed armoured vehicles and military equipment. Police notes on 5th September, timed at 4:45pm state: "Insp. Carson reports that the military will be releasing a couple of vehicles to us....The military is prepared to train two teams". The assistance of the military was code-named ‘Panda’. An undated Department of National Defence document, stamped ‘SECRET’ states:

On order, LFCA [the Canadian military's Land Forces Central Area in North York] will sp [support] law enforcement operations in the IPPERWASHarea....EXECUTION....Concept of Ops [operations].

(1) It is the aim of DND [Department of National Defence] (...) to avoid direct involvement by providing resources and advice to the OPP which will enable them to successfully accomplish their mission.

The OPP also sought the use of armoured vehicles and other support from the Canadian military. The vehicles and support were never used in the Ipperwash confrontation.

6th September: the confrontation begins

At approximately 8pm on 6 September, all the lights in the park were turned off. By that time over 200 armed officers were positioned in the vicinity of the park. A riot squad in heavy armour was deployed. It marched on the protesters in rows of 25 to 30 and massively outnumbered the 15 to 20 remaining protesters. The riot police beat their steel batons against their shields as they advanced. Officers armed with laser-sighted sub-machine guns were also present.

The protesters reacted by directing powerful portable spotlights to the officers in an attempt to dazzle them. Taunts and insults were exchanged. The police forces marched in formation towards the park boundary until they were very close to the protesters.

Bernard George, an elected councillor with the nearby Kettle Point Band, was not part of the protest but had witnessed the build-up of armed police around the park. Fearing for the safety of the protesters, he advised the Natives to evacuate the women and children and walked towards the police, shouting: "You don't need guns. Leave the people alone in the park".

Allegations of beating by police officers

The police advanced towards the protesters with their batons raised. Bernard George attempted, again to no avail, to convince the police to retreat. The police were allegedly ordered to "Go! Go! Go!" and charged a second time, striking the protesters. Bernard George fell to the ground. Eight to ten police officers allegedly circled him, kicked him and beat him with their batons while he shouted "I give up". He lost consciousness and was then allegedly dragged along the ground by his hair.

When questioned after the events by officers investigating the incident, no police officers could recall beating Bernard George or seeing other officers hit him.

Bernard George's injuries required several operations in the months that followed. He suffered at least 25 bruises consistent with severe blows from batons or boots on his back, groin and head. He also had bruises on his arms and legs and suffered serious lacerations to the head. Remarkably, Bernard George was charged with assault and mischief but was acquitted at trial in July 1996.

As Bernard George was allegedly being beaten, some of the demonstrators left the park to rescue him but they too were allegedly beaten with batons. Teenage protester Nicholas Cottrelle started a school bus and drove towards the police to interpose himself between the police and the protesters. Another teenage protester, Warren George, followed him in a car. As Nicholas Cottrelle drove towards the police some officers leaped into a ditch. Police officers opened fire on the bus and the car.

The only injury to police officers was one strained knee ligament and one twisted ankle.

The fatal shooting of Dudley George

OPP marksman Acting Sergeant Kenneth Deane was one of eight Tactical Response Unit (TRU) or sniper team members stationed as protective back-up for the 32 members of the Crowd Management Unit. At about 11:45pm, Dudley George was on the roadway, some distance from the bus and the group of protesters, about 15 feet from the park. Deane fired three shots at him. The first appears to have missed George. The second grazed his leg as he started fleeing towards the park. The third shot hit George in the chest and he fell to his knees. He curled up in a foetal position and said "they got me", according to the testimony of a Native witness.

Fellow protesters dragged Dudley George inside the park, after which two of his siblings, Pierre and Carolyn, drove him to Strathroy-Middlesex Hospital in a private vehicle with one flat tire. They alleged that their efforts en route to summon an ambulance were in vain. On arrival, at the hospital, both were arrested and advised that they might be charged with attempted murder, despite their repeated protests that their brother who was in the back of the car, required immediate assistance. They were not able to ensure that their brother received medical attention. Instead, they were taken away and held for 12 hours before being released.

Dudley George was pronounced dead at 12:45am on 7 September 1995. He was killed by a hollow-tipped ‘mushroom’ bullet designed to expand upon contact with the flesh thereby causing maximum injury. The post mortem examination, carried out by pathologist Dr. Shkrum, concluded that George had died from blood loss.

This happened in modern times! It was only ten years ago. This doesn't make any sense. I remembered all of this because my friend J.J. had been at The Pinery with friends when the protesters first occupied the park. Some of the protesters told he and his friends that they should probably leave, because they expected trouble. On his way over the Bluewater Bridge the next morning, he listened to the radio the whole way and heard about the violence that erupted in the park he was at just the previous night. He told me and some of the other people at the radio station about it, but it never really hit me. I never really knew what the whole thing was about until just now. Not until I decided to look it up today. Dudley George was the first person killed over indigenous land rights on this continent in the 21st century. The officer who shot Dudley George was eventually given a non-custodial (no time served) sentence for criminal negligence because as the judge said, he was not the one who made the decision to serve that mission that day. The question of who made that decision still lingers ten years later. Many people believe that the Canadian Prime Minister at the time, Mike Harris, and senior cabinet members were responsible for making the obviously bad judgement call.

Ennio Morricone vs Clint Eastwood

THE GOOD

• The pizza and the patio at Como's in Ferndale on a sunny afternoon. The quality of the service will be addressed below.
• No hangover after Thursday night Weezer. Is it possible that shots of Crown Royal that come out of a 'gun' at a bar can be less debilitating than straight from a bottle? By the way, thanks to DP for the tickets at will call and the drink tickets. You made our night.
• The Belmont in Hamtramck on Fridays. No idea who was playing, but those dollar cans of PBR along with good friends are a serious combination at the end of the night.
• Every album from Uncle Tupelo, Wilco, Paul Westerberg solo, the Replacements, and Golden Smog. I've been on a bender lately.
• Sarah comin' back to the D for the weekend.
• Shannon, my little 'sister' comin' back to the D for the weekend.
• Tootispea. No I'm not explaining, because even I don't know what it means, but I do know who it means.

THE BAD

• The service at Como's in Ferndale. If she had told us it was her first day, we probably would not have gotten all worked up about it taking twenty minutes to get our second round and another twenty minutes to order food AND the food being wrong when we got it. None of the servers looked happy there. I can see why, it looks like the place was understaffed. Either way, our pepperoni and garlic deep dish was free because of it, so it all works out.
• Weezer live at the State Theater in Detroit this past Thursday. What the fuck? First of all, they really weren't all that into it. I believe the term is 'phoning it in'. Lame. They opened with "Tired of Sex" from Pinkerton, this was a good start. But then they proceeded to play mostly just the big hits. I don't think I heard anything from Maladroit, just "Tired of Sex", "The Good Life" (my favorite Pinkerton song), and "Getchoo" (the weakest Pinkerton song) from Pinkerton, "Hash Pipe" from the 'green' album, the four most mediocre songs from the newest album (?), and almost the entire 'blue' album. The stuff from the blue album was appreciated, but they have so much more. None of the rarities or b-sides, or anything really different. Lame.
• Feeling lost at a cemetery because you really can't find who you're looking for.

THE UGLY

• Confronting a bad waitress. I hate it, but its a necessary evil sometimes. I just hope she didn't have to pay for that pizza.
• Figuring out where to walk when wandering around in a cemetery because you're not sure what you're looking for and the only way to get around means walking 'over' people. Very discomforting.
• The aforementioned cans of dollar PBR combining with a shot of Crown, a shot of Seagram's 7, a shot of Jameson, a Thai dinner that I can't remember or pronounce the name of, Tsing Tao, Saturday morning sun filling my bedroom, and that damned woodpecker outside my window all forming a conspiracy to give me a raging headache on Saturday morning and make me goofy for hours. I couldn't even talk in complete sentences.
• Jim Anders, the bassist from Detroit's Novadriver and Grinder passed away this weekend. He will be missed.

Grandpaboy

So I step outside, and everything's green. This is good. I get in the car, open the moonroof and all the windows. Put in the Replacements CD "Let It Be," turn it up loud. As I drive towards Telegraph to get lunch, I pass the Plum Hollow Country Club and I can smell the fresh cut grass. Damn, I hate mowing the lawn, but it smelled so good today.

But then someone had to go and fuck it all up. I was at Telegraph and 9 Mile getting Subway for lunch. Walking across the parking lot, I was approached by a somewhat well-dressed woman. She said something that totally blindsided me. "Excuse me, sir...could you help me buy something to eat for my little girl?" Okay, this is the thing, I was in Southfield. Fucking Southfield. For those of you who aren't aware, Southfield is a suburb of Detroit. There's a lot of big business with offices in Southfield. Many local, national, and international advertising agencies are located in Southfield. Most of the Detroit area TV and radio stations are there or at least have offices there. When you go to a place like Subway in Southfield at noon on a Thursday afternoon, you stand in line with a bunch of (mostly white) people dressed in business casual. So, as I was saying, the last thing I expected was a panhandler. Now, I know you're probably thinking, "but Jeff, how do you know she was just asking for money?" I'll tell you. After I quickly got over the shock of what she was doing, I told her I could get an extra sandwich from Subway. She said no, that's okay, just give me the money and I'll get it for her myself. Riiiiight. I expect this sort of thing when I'm downtown in Detroit, but not in an affluent suburb. Am I being politically incorrect to say that this shouldn't be going on in a place like Southfield? Probably, but I really don't care. That line makes me uncomfortable anyway. At least she didn't actually have a kid with her as an accomplice. Those ones never want the food either, just the money. Five dollars gets you a rock, and the welfare check that came four days ago is already spent. Am I an asshole?

So after she says she just wants the money, I say "sorry, no" and keep moving, I get my sandwich, and head back to work with the windows down and the music loud, blissfully forgetting about the woman who tried to pull a fast one on me.

LATABOM*

I sit, and I sit, and I sit at this grey desk surrounded by grey fabric covered grey cubicle walls with the sunlight blocked by grey plastic vertical blinds next to my grey HP2100 laserjet printer staring at this monitor housed in a grey shell sitting on top of a CPU in a grey case next to my grey cell phone. The memos tacked to the grey fabric covered cubicle walls are all stark white with black print. My phone is black with grey and white buttons, my rolodex is black and white, the Swingline stapler that doesn't bind up like the Boston staplers is black and silver. The tiny speakers on either side of my grey CPU that are blaring Paul Westerberg are black. Grey digibeta and Beta SP tape cases are stacked down at one end of the grey desk. My mouse pad and wrist wrest are grey. This over-complicated and seriously adjustable office chair that I sit in is black, and the carpet underneath is grey. Trashcan to the left is black. I wear a grey melange t-shirt, and my shoes are black. I don't live in stereo, I work in monochromatic desolation. Then I step outside, and color returns to my life.

*LATABOM = "Lions, and Tigers, and Bears, oh my!"

We Are All On Drugs

Weezer is a band that means a lot to a lot of people. Obviously, for some of us music is very important. Songs and sounds touch us in a way that we can't experience anywhere else. Weezer is one of those bands with a lot of songs that touch us for personal reasons.

So, the blue album was pure, perfect pop. Slightly edgy, yet vague lyrics. It sold millions and millions of copies. Its probably still selling millions of copies. Then came Pinkerton. Total bomb when it first came out. They said it was too personal, the music was too raw. That wasn't what the kids wanted. They wanted more of that perfect surf pop. Too fucking bad! The record was totally raw and personal, and was probably one of the biggest influences on poppy punk emo type stuff. Pinkerton was the Donnie Darko of records - it sold for shit when it came out, but sold huge in the years afterward. After that, Weezer went into seclusion for a couple of years. Rivers became a severe recluse, Matt Sharp started up the Rentals along with Petra Haden from that Dog. and the rest of the guys just kind of hung out and waited. Then, the big comeback, the green album. Self-titled just like the blue album. Much like the blue album, the green album was full of shimmery pop with vaguely emotional lyrics. It couldn't touch Pinkerton, and with the blue album already existing, there was no need for the green album. Its good, I'll give them that, but we didn't need another one. We needed more Pinkerton, more honest emotion and huge drums and under-produced guitars and dirty bass. In response, they put out Maladroit almost a year later. I think it was meant to be a foil to the green album, because in contrast Maladroit is like Weezer's metal album. They rock the fuck out on some tracks. But, it still ain't no Pinkerton.

At this point, I think most Weezer fans are ready to accept that the band will never go back to the raw sound of the second album, their triumph and peak. That being said, this latest album "Make Believe" isn't too bad. Not bad at all. Unlike the green and blue albums, it isn't over-produced perfect pop. The metal from Maladroit is missing. Production values are good, but not too glossy. Lyrics are a little half-assed at times, but I can forgive them that. I think I'm ready to really give them a chance again, knowing they'll never match Pinkerton. Here's the song by song breakadown.

1. Beverly Hills: First single. A lot of people think this sounds like Cake, and I guess I can see why, but I don't agree. I like it, its something a little different for them.
2. Perfect Situation: This one reminds me of a song off the green album, but I can't remember which one. Its just the intro that does that for me, but maybe its Rivers' guitar tone is just the same.
3. This Is Such a Pity: At first I was referring to this as their 'Spandau Ballet' song. Not quite right, its just that it sounds like a random one-hit wonder '80s pop band with the keyboards and the rhythm. Maybe its more like Flock of Seagulls, I don't know. Odd, but they somehow pull it off. Doubters need not worry, I don't think this is a trend, its the only song like it on the album.
4. Hold Me: A ballad that covers no new ground. Kind of disappointing, but what can you do? They're gettin' old.
5. Peace: Not bad, but again, really just more retread filler.
6. We Are All On Drugs: I don't know if this is a reaction or what. I've heard rumors that Rivers is a huge cokehead, and maybe this is his fuck you. Or maybe its a comment on the music scene these days, I don't know. Its hard to tell, but I'm sure this is meant as sarcasm in some way. This is a standout, like track 3, except without the keyboards and bad haircuts.
7. Damage In Your Heart: Another good one. Kind of slower. I guess most of these songs are nothing groundbreaking and they do rip off some of the band's older ideas, but I guess if it works, why fuck with it? Good chorus.
8. Pardon Me: This one definitely stands out. Mid-tempo, this one brings the album together a bit as far as solidifying the groove established in "Beverly Hills" (no, that doesn't mean the whole album sounds like Cake). Great chorus in this one, too. I could listen to this over and over again, and that's what makes a Weezer song worthwhile.
9. My Best Friend: There's no doubt in my mind that this track reminds me of Sloan. Not only in the track title, but also in the big grandiose guitars. Fuckin' hell, that chorus is good when it's loud and you're driving fast, though!
10. Other Way: Another mid-tempo track. This one is hooky, too. Good harmonies and handclaps. You can't go wrong with handclaps.
11. Freak Me Out: Good ballad, something a little different. Simple, not too much going on, I like it.
12. Haunt You Everyday: This one seems personal. In fact, this, and "Freak Me Out" both sound like Rivers' songs. Just like "Butterfly" on Pinkerton was so obviously written only by Rivers.

Over all, tracks two, four, and five are spotty at best. Too much recycling going on with those. That's not bad, the album is 75% good and interesting and hooky. Check it out for yourself when they play the State Theater in Detroit tomorrow night.

High Hopes

Last night, I saw "Amityville Horror." I've never seen the original, I've never read the book, but I've been getting a little into horror films lately, so I thought hey why not? First off, I can tell that I would like the book if I were to read it. There were some interesting things in the plot that were never fully developed. It could've been much more cerebral if they had gone further with these little things. Obviously, that's not what you want with a horror film, unless you're making the Blair Witch Project and you're trying to do something different. No one was trying to do anything groundbreaking with this one. There were lots of jump-cuts, vague fuzzy distorted voices in the background, shadows where there shouldn't be any people...typical tricks. The why and the how as to the house possessing the man of the house was never explored, and I think that could've pulled me in more. I guess the point was just to make a flashy horror flick that would make your girl grab you out of fear. Even that didn't happen, so maybe they didn't succeed. I've seen better, and I think now I want to see the original, and maybe read the book. By the way, I'm getting a little sick of this trend with pale, big-eyed, creepy little undead girls in horror films lately. Its getting old real quick.

Fear & (Self) Loathing

Just like a lot of kids, I loved going to McDonald's when I was younger. It was part of my childhood. Being a single mom working and going to college and raising two kids, the McDeath was a lot easier for my mom than cooking. A lot of times she would take my sister and I there in the afternoon, and I'd ask if it was lunch or dinner, and she'd say it was "lun-dinner." Looking back on it, I would've thought it was funnier if she had said it was "dunch," but eh, what can I do about it now?

I always wanted a cheeseburger, but my mom would only get me a hamburger. Back then, I thought it was about her saving those extra twenty cents, but later I realized it was because even though she was feeding us the McDeath, she was in fact, a health nut. I always complained because I wanted that slice of oily cheese food so badly. Later, I started working and having LOTS of disposable income. So, of course, I started eating all the fast food I wanted because it was my money, and I was gonna spend it the way I wanted.

As you can probably guess, this was the second phase of me being brainwashed into believing that fast food was too easy. Too fast, too simple. Why bother actually cooking at home? I didn't want to be there anyway, it was too boring (this was in the early days of the world wide web, and we had a connection slower than paint drying). So, fuck it. I'd go to McDonald's and get two Big Macs because I could. I'd go to the Burger King by the record store I worked at and get a Whaler (pre-Big Fish) and a cheeseburger, because I could. No one was stopping me.

It wasn't until I moved to Detroit that I started eating a bigger variety of food. Being a line cook at the Majestic Cafe certainly helped that. The diversity in food opened up for me, and I didn't feel like I had to lower myself to the McDeath.

Some of the first that I had was actually from Der Weinerschnitzel, a hot dog chain that seemed to be only on the west coast. I've never seen one anywhere but around LA. I was five years old at that time. Then there was also Carl's Jr, which is owned by the same company that owns Hardee's. Carl's Jr is also mostly a west coast thing, too. Then there's the Frisco Burger at Hardee's...greasy cheese and deadcow and bacon and sourdough. For a while, Rally's had this double cheeseburger with bacon and onion rings and barbecue sauce. Remember the McRib at McDonald's? A long patty of pork(?) formed into a patty that looks like a small slab of ribs then soaked in barbecue sauce. That reminds me of the Beef N' Cheddar at Arby's, and the double cheeseburger at Wendy's with so much grease that the bun turns mushy. I was once a fast food slut, I admit it.

But things are different now. Its happened so slowly over the past few years. The summer before I turned 28, I started freaking out about my health. I tried to quit smoking altogether, slow down on the drinking, and cut out the McDeath. I'm still working on the smoking thing, I've definitely cut down on drinking, and I'm slowly getting away from the fast food. There's so much self-loathing after I eat fast food now. Most of it is eaten out of pure convenience after leaving the bar and I think I need to eat something, but I really don't, I just need a Gatorade, or a big glass of water. That is the worst self-loathing, because you pull up to that drive through and sit there at the speaker staring at this huge menu with a million greasy things that sound so good, and you get three different sandwiches because you want it all, but you get home, and you can't even finish one.

The last time it happened, I was sitting at the drive through a couple months ago at the Burger King on Woodward just north of New Center. It was almost 3am on a Sunday morning, and I thought I was hungry. I looked at the menu, and saw something about bacon, cheddar, ranch. I thought it was a burger, and it sounded good, because anything's good when ranch, cheese, and salty pig are involved, right? So I order it, and I get home, and it's freaking huge! I didn't realize until then that what I ordered was the thing that Hootie sings about in that weird cartoons-come-to-life-on-acid commercial. It was basically a bunch of really big chicken strips that were really just like big hunks of deep fried batter with a little bit of chicken as flavoring on the inside. Then there was I think a drop or two of ranch in there somewhere, maybe a strip of bacon, and the cheese was melted so much that it was really just unnaturally yellow plastic soaked into the bun. Nasty. I felt like such a sucker after eating two bites of it. They got me. I ain't touching that shit ever again. No more Burger King, that's one down. The creepy plasticine 'king' in the newer commercials isn't helping anything either. The last time I ate at Arby's I had bad heart burn, so I'm done with that one because I ALWAYS get bad heart burn when I eat Arby's. Taco Bell makes me feel like shit all day, like there's a rock sitting in my stomach. The one that sticks, though is McDonald's. Its there damned Filet-O-Fish. When it's good, it's sooo good. I only go at lunch time, and I order it special with extra cheese or something so that its fresh. I could never eat any fast food again, but I would still need to have a Filet-O-Fish from McDonald's once every couple of months.

One day I'll get over it. I love to cook, but I don't always have the time. Plus, I like to cook stuff that's best if its eaten right when its made, not stuff that you cook, then throw in a tupperware bowl and eat the next day for lunch. It just isn't the same that way.

The Soft Machine

A Day In the Life...

The Good

• The only girl alive. Enough said.
• A hot and fresh Filet-O-Fish from McDonald's. McDeath is evil, but their fish sandwich is a guilty pleasure, especially when they don't fuck it up.
• Fast food breakfasts in small towns. Its always little old ladies working in the morning, and they really care about what they do. Always so nice, too.
• Barbed Wire Love. Goddamn, Stiff Little Fingers can write a good punk song. Okay, they wrote a lot of good punk songs.
• New Grenada and Thunderbirds Are Now! at Small's in Hamtronik tonight.
• The Undertones (!) at the Magic Stick in beautiful midtown Detroit tonight.
• rocknrollscientist at the Painted Lady in Hamtronik tonight. No, that doesn't mean I'll be putting my liver on display, it means I'll be DJing.
• Peel Sessions. I guarantee you that every single recorded Peel session you can find is good or at the very least interesting and revealing in some way. In the UK, you can only broadcast a small amount of pre-recorded music on the radio, so they have bands play live in the studio often, and John Peel (who passed away last year) was legendary for his broad and good taste in new music. All Peel sessions are available somehow, whether they're actually released or bootlegged, or shared on a peer-to-peer site somewhere.
• The White Stripes cover of the MC5's "Looking At You." Available only on a Peel session recording (I think). Its out of key and I think he fucks up some of the words, but its my favorite MC5 song, and its good to hear a good local band paying some respect.

The Bad

• Crimson, the new Alkaline Trio album. Okay, it's not bad, its actually good, but I don't like that they included some older songs for their big 'breakthrough' album. I don't know if its laziness, and they needed filler, or if these songs were specifically chosen because they're particularly good, or what, but I don't like this practice. The Sights did it on their first (and new) major label album, but its only two songs, and one of them was previously only available on a 45, so it's not as bad.
• Work. I fucking hate work. Work distracts us from life. I don't want to be distracted from life.
• Splenda. Sugar substitute. I've never knowingly had it until today when I purchased an Arizona Diet Green Tea with Ginseng. I got the diet because the normal version is just too damned sweet sometimes. I wanted to believe that Splenda wouldn't be as bad as Nutrasweet, but it still has that cloying aftertaste. I grew up in a house where there was never any regular pop, only diet. I grew to prefer it because it wasn't as sweet, but there's still that taste in my mouth...
• Quizno's. Expensive and tasty. Pure chewing satisfaction. Completely evil.

The Ugly

• Starbuck's Double Shot. These 6.5 oz cans of Jesus juice sell for as much as $3 at finer gas stations and party stores. I could just drink a couple cups of coffee for free at work, but noooo, I have to go and buy these little cans of liquid analgesic/speed. I'd be better off drinking a cup of coffee and downing an extra-strength Excedrin. I think that Starbuck's is a front for the worldwide Illuminatus conspiracy that controls the world's power and wealth. I'm sure they were more than a little worried when Starbuck's was portrayed as the front for Dr. Evil's organization in the second Austin Powers movie.
• Tom DeLay. What a piece of shit. Ethics in politics? What's that? True, most politicians at the federal level (hell, at every level) are a bunch of assholes, but this one didn't get away with it. What a fucking idiot.
• The City of Detroit, and the innumerable fuckups on the part of the mayor, city council, and the general municipal administration. What a bunch of fucking idiots.

Maybe I'll Catch Fire

I removed the post that was here. I felt it was too self-indulgent and boring.

I Have 8 Bosses, Bob

The red paperclips started talking to me again this morning. At least that punk-ass stapler is keepin' it's big mouth shut.

A Couple of Kooks Hung Up on Romancing*

Someone new and close to me recently told me that the best things in life are good food and good drink and good music. She's jaded, and I understand, but there's more, I said. It's the little things. They build up into huge things.

When I was younger, maybe ten, I went to my first concert. I already fanatically listened to the pop music that my mom was always filling our home with. That meant The Carpenters, Neil Diamond, The Monkees, early Beach Boys, '80s Dolly Parton, and James Taylor. I never really liked James Taylor, though. There was a Tubby's Subs in Port Huron where we went for lunch one day, and they had a contest to win tickets to the Monkees reunion show at Pine Knob. My mom won the contest, and we went to see the Monkees. Weird Al opened. I used to like him, but not after seeing him live. Whatever. That was it. I blame the Monkees for my descent into musical fanaticism. Soon after, I got tired of listening to the radio because it was the same shit over and over and over again, and it was driving a spike into my brain. Maybe when I was twelve, I was trying to find something different on the radio, and I found the local college station, WSGR-FM. First I heard "I.C. Water" from Psychic TV, which was a tribute to Ian Curtis from Joy Division, then I heard Jello Biafra's "Pledge of Allegiance." Shit, that was it.

Music became such a big part of my life that I didn't care about anything else at all. I barely graduated high school with my low attention span and distaste for algebra. Yet, I somehow finished in the top 25% of my class. I was that guy who could handle the classes without a problem, I just didn't give a shit. Same thing with college, too, actually. In my 10th grade English class, we had to memorize a poem and then read it. I read a song from Lou Reed's album "Magic and Loss." I think it was "The Sword of Damocles." See, all that mattered to me was music. When you're a teenager, and kind of a loner, what else could there possibly be? I had some friends, but no one I could really talk to. No one who liked the things I liked.

After that came community college and college radio. Within a year I was the music director on WSGR-FM. Of course it was meant to be. I was also the copy editor on the campus paper, and that was where I met this guy Ben. He was living in a local halfway house after getting out of prison on parole for something stupid like possession. Part of his deal was that the state would pay for him to go to college while he was living in the transitional house. Ben was a punk. I found my crowd. People who knew what I was all about. I should also add that right after high school, I became close with this girl Lori who I had been in school with since kindergarten. I never really knew her until after school, though. She's the first person who showed me that you can add good friends to good music as the best things in life. Ben and his crowd weren't really close friends, just people who understood me. There were so many people in those first three years after high school (1994-97) who showed me the little things in life that make it all worthwhile.

I don't really understand how one can go from being such a loner in school to knowing so many people that they can't keep them straight, but that's what happened. Then I moved to Detroit. That's where it really happened. There's something to be said for going out with good friends, having good brunch downtown, drinking ridiculously expensive Mimosas for hours, then just spending the rest of the day in someone's backyard barbecuing and drinking cheap beer and fiddling with the CD player, changing discs every three songs. Good food, good drink, and good music. But...this is where it becomes obvious. You have to add good people into it. And the little things. For some reason, on that sunny summer day last year, I was taking a lot of pictures with my digital camera. I must've taken 50 pics that day, and almost ALL of them were just people's feet. Or someone's head down in the corner with the wall in the house taking up the rest of the frame. Is that weird? Most of the photos came out really well. It's just something stupid and small, but again, it's the little things.

Now, I'm 29 years old. When I was a teenager, I never thought I'd make it to 30. Its not that I didn't want to or that I was afraid, its just that I really didn't think I'd make it. There's lots of good, and there's lots of bad. I have regrets. I've done some things that even I can't believe I've done. Breaking hearts, burning bridges that I'll work so hard to later rebuild, turning my back on my dad, living in ways that I can't afford to live, giving away my heart only to get it crushed like peanuts. But there are good things, too. Road trips for rock 'n' roll, unintentionally 'acting' in a documentary about a bar on the west side, getting drunk (and high) with rock stars, and ALL of the friends. These are just the things I can think of right now. In the past seven years here in Detroit, there have been so many good people in my life. I have at least three who I can easily call my chosen sisters. Thank you Amy and Angela and Shannon. I'd be nothing without you. Unfortunately, Tim, my chosen little brother is no longer with us. I miss him, but I will move on with him at my side in spirit.

I barely know where I was going with this anymore. I'm just rambling. Digression is the spice of life. The little things aren't so little, I guess. They're big things. Good food and good drink is fine. I like it. But there's more. I'm weak, my heart has been broken a few times, but I move on, and I don't blame anyone. I used to think you can't always get what you want, but maybe serendipity is on our side. Maybe it's karmic reaction, I don't know.

To the only girl alive, there's more to life than good food and good drink and good music, there's also good people. I want you to remember that, and if you can't, then I'll show you.

*listen to David Bowie.

Throwaway Style

Something just occurred to me. I had a good discussion last night about death and religion and all that, and then it was on my mind again just now. Personally, I believe in reincarnation. However, I don't believe in it for the same reasons as the religions who are all up in it. The Eastern religions like Buddhism, Hindu (and all its varieties), and Krsna all believe that you are reincarnated many, many times (thousands usually) in an effort to achieve supreme enlightenment. When you reach this final full realization of your relationship with your maker, you attain Nirvana, or Paradise, or Heaven, or whatever your particular brand of religion chooses to name it. So, anyway. I don't agree with that part. I don't think that our goal is to reach a final and complete understanding of our relationship with the supreme almighty whatshisname. I guess I see it on a more personal and selfish level.

Look at it this way, what if our maker is our Earth? I don't know shit about pagan or Wiccan religions, so don't go thinking that's where this is headed. Take it from an Evolutionist standpoint. If everything evolved in the way it did so that we can be here today, wouldn't that make nature our creator? So, if you're reincarnated over and over again, you become closer to earth. Maybe you become more acquainted with all of the mistakes we've made as industrialized and greedy humans. Think about it, 300 years ago in 1705, no one was thinking about taking care of the planet. They weren't evolved enough. Does evolution include reincarnation? Do we have to learn from our mistakes and keep coming back again and again to learn from them?

Also, I was thinking, if we keep coming back, do we keep coming back to certain people for certain reasons? Haven't I met you before somewhere? I know we've talked before. I swear.

(with apologies to The Only Girl Alive for that last line, even though I think it's funny, it just makes me a mean boy, right?)

I Know All There is To Know About Nothing At All

Good good things this week:

• Plain, black coffee. Not hazelnut-blueberry-vanilla-spice, just plain old, overpriced Sumatran coffee dark roasted with no creamer, no sugar.
• Free cigarettes. Who can resist? Even if they are menthol.
• New Sights album came out this week. You can get it here. Finally, their amazing cover of Mahalia Jackson's "I'm Going to Live the Life I Sing About In My Song" is available to all, and not just 45 collectors. I've been watchin' these kids since they were still in high school. You need to check this out. Also, the record release show will be this Thursday at the Magic Stick. Read about that here
• The Hard Lessons. A newer rockin' band from Detroit. Drums, guitar, and organ. Male and female vocals. Stax/Volt soul meets '60s rock. They're playing the Magic Stick with New Grenada, the Recital, and the Trembling for the "One Scene to Another" release show. Go here for more info on that. I caught them on Monday at the Belmont for an unadvertised show. It was hot.
• The little things. More on that later.
• New Thunderbirds Are Now! album. It's called "Justamustache." They've slowed down a bit since the last album. Focusing more on songwriting and a more mature sound. Most of the hyper spaz is gone, the singing is actually singing and not just shouting, and it's an all around good record. Reminds me a lot of their former labelmates Radio Berlin, who have a slightly more goth edge to their sound.
• New Human Eye record, which seems to be self-titled. They've moved past their earlier sound that easily recalled Chrome, and replaced it with a slightly improv sound. A couple songs have horns, one of them has trombones! Recommended if you like weirdo robot punk.
• Tonight! Gris Gris, Indian Jewelry (former NTX+Electric and Swarm of Angels people), and White Devil all at the Painted Lady in Hamtramck, MI. It's probably $5 at the door, I'm sure it's 18 and over only, and the first band will probably start between 10:30 and 11pm. Plus, I'm DJing. You just can't beat that. It's a chance for me to play more of the avant-robot-weirdo stuff that I like so much.
• Death From Above 1979 at the Lager House on Saturday. Trust me. Go here to read a little bit about them, listen to some songs. They're playing with Lee Marvin Computer Arm, who you also must see if you haven't. Imagine if At the Drive In actually had soul and knew what rock n roll was meant to be. That gives you an idea. Controller.Controller is also playing. There will be two shows, and early one for the kiddies, and a later one for us adults. Honestly, I don't know what time the earlier one is, because no one has posted it anywhere. If you don't already know, DFA1979 is insane. Two guys: blown-out bass, and drums. They take turns singing, and sometimes sing together. Their sound is like Black Sabbath with soul. That sounds cheesy, but really, it's not.
• McSweeney's Lists. Check them out here. Mandatory daily reading.
  

I'm Lovin' It

Okay, I have to post this. It's too good. It's from my friend Shannon, who lives in NYC. She posted it yesterday elsewhere online, but I wanted to make sure everyone else got a chance to see it. Check it out.

I'm Lovin' It
"I'm going to Mc Donalds and if you don't like it fuck off. i'm gonna eat a fuckin double-whopper-big-mac-crispy-fish-chicken-of-theday-piece of shit hangin out of my mouth-greasy fake cow guts chin and playdo fries . and nobody can stop me. HUSH! shhhhhhhh. dont say a word. i'm gonna get a rock hard apple pie and chase it with orange drink like we used to have at t ball games. i'm gonna pour the whole tank over my body of suffering arteries as the hopeless and sad unaccomplished 65 year old indian people behind the service counter send the little retarted boy to clean up the sticky swamp of orange glowing goober and crusty french fry mess of puke from the sorry corner table i will sit and swap war stories over coffeee with the man with the eye patch and smelly lady who takes no sugar but half milk. and then i'll fuckin smack one of those little thug kids who hangs out after school and cant ever seems to make it home because mommy and daddy forgot to use a condom when they unfortunately bred the little heathen into existence. i'll smack him with a french fry, or a dollar bill as he begs for it as i make a hasty and embarressed exit out the doorway to gluttonous america world and the 6 o clock sun shines on my pale white chicken skin."

I posted this earlier today and received such a high number of overwhelming responses to my rant, that i feel it is neccessary to brief you all, my friends, on the actual events which occured following my "Mickey D's" craving on Monday April the 11th 2005 at 5:38 pm. Here goes. stay with me people, its simply an addition to my ongoing analyzation of myself, the "odd" one who exists in this "normal" world. I think we may be onto something, and we can recognize the following as a major breakthrough in the successes of my newfound experimentation known as "life: i see you":::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Making my way toward 31st street in Astoria on that evening, i squinted at the beaming sun in the clear blue sky as my pace evolved into a strut of confidence to the tune of "more than this" by Roxy Music blaring into my small and fragile eardrums. I had just notified jeff that the mission was now underway, and i had begun my journey toward the golden arches. Anxieties began to arise in the back of my mind as i sent two final text messages, and i stood in front of the glass store front, underneath the pigeons pooing above my head from the elevated train platform i would stall beneath. One message: to jeff and johnny, "i'm goin in". And wouldn't you guess? they did not stop me. trustworthy friends whose opinions i cherish, they each sent me a silent text of luck in my endeavor, as i waltzed into the wood-grain paneled zoo of meat and cheese.

First sight: a line, of at least 15 people. Old people, young people, little rats carrying balloons from a birthday party being held on the lower level. the smell of sweat and blood and dirty homeless people scavenging for salty fry bits permeated the air. it was enough of a scene for any self respecting individual to pull out a previously concealed uzi and gun the sorry corner of society out of its hopeless misery. but not i. i apparently had not recently weighed my self respect, because i was going in for the kill. I joined the line.

I tried to ignore what was passing on around me. all of my predictions were true. Old indian lady behind register- check. 25 employees behind counter salting one bag of french fries and one open register (run by non english speaking old indian lady) check. hoodlums with basketballs scraping pockets for change to buy big macs- check. retarded man mopping floor with shit smelling mop near ketchup and napkin stand- check. man standing NEXT TO ME as if there are two lines when all 50 of us waiting for our slow grease bomb playdo burger deaths have already formed single file! Bastard. Business man in front of me. 5 employees stuggling to carry 2 plates each of kiddie birthday cake down the stairs to what must be an even smellier disgusting dungeon of playland (that some MORON booked a party for their poor later to be really really ignorant as an adult if they even make it there life child), when every nite i carry like 5 martini stems at once through a CROWDED SPORTS BAR. but they needed 15 hands i guess, so what the heck. - check.

And then it happened. i did it. the man tried to step up to the reg before me (mr. 2nd line formation, that is), and i blocked his shit. straight up. i defended my place in line. It was like it occured in slow motion, as the words escaped my lips, my mind pitied my sad moment of existence in which i was actually trying to get MY mcdonalds crap feed on before some other sad individual. But the deed was done, and i quickly cut the man off "there's only one line sir...." (slow motion, defending my team of followers filed behind me). And like any jerk, i had no idea what i even wanted when i got to the counter. after all, it all tastes like throw up, right?

So i chose the ..9 (filet of fish ( pretty safe actually in my opinion) and in a fit of filthy "there is no way this is going to feel okay once you engage in what you are about to do" (like everytime i have ever smoked pot in my life, when i know i shouldn't do it because it makes me CRAZY paranoid and sick and i NEVER have fun doin it, but always try it again once in a while to see if i still have a miserable reaction to it...), i order the dreaded cheeseburger, straight up. and as the cashier plops down my burger like a fat lady landing on the left end of a piano and my total pops up on the little black screen in front of me, i interrupt the cash transaction ( all one dollar bills of course) to order a glimmer of my childhood on plymouth road with my nana; hot fudge sundae.

So i scrape out the extra dollar and pay as i get my change back and drop the 32 cents or whatever into the ronald mcdonald house-shaped bucket to my left as the hefty man i cut off approaches the counter and orders something that resembles what lies before me on my ugly brown tray. i dont get napkins (thats what sleeves are for) but i pump my ketchup sludge into the crappy too tiny paper cup waste of tree so i can dip my french fries.

Then i have to find a seat. i'm at a mcdonalds in queens, people. its alot like an average mcdonalds. you have your regulars of course, the coffee slurping oldies of whom i spoke before, and the lunatic hooligans in really long tshirts that go beyond their knees and wrinkle beneath their nike shoe purchase "backpacks" that they carry their guns and drugs in. i don't want to sit next to them, but like a moron, i chose "to stay" rather than "to go". a bunch of old greek people hover in the corner. they look as though they are dressed from a funeral earlier that day. they probably are. "poor spiro's wife" i imagine them muttering over their empty table tops. don't want to go there either. a woman with her small children looks distressed as she searches for a spot as well, and i choose a dirty booth in front of the garbage can. its a better choice than the ugly sagging faced women sitting at my view to the left, or the old crusty man sitting in front of me with eighteen sugar packet coffee who cant help but stare at me. i watch 2 young couples around my age walk in the door and then retreat as they giggle about what they almost ate if they had made it twelve paces further. i feel sick. i havent even touched my food yet. i'm half plugging my nose from the stench of my fellow human beings as the man creepily stares and the two ugly women fail to communicate with one another over their dinner. clearly, all of these ghouls are "lovin' it", and i am about to as well as i bite into the filet of fish.

The first sandwich goes down nicely. it had been housed in a strangely retro looking blue box. i admire the design of the container. simple-looking. i swig my dr. pepper and munch on some fries as my dessert melts before me. "gotta eat fast before dessert melts" i chant in my mind. then i reach for the 100% beef cheeseburger before me. (thats what the paper wrapping says, although it does not describe what TYPE of beef, i suppose we are ignorant enough as humans to find some sort of solas in the fact that it is beef, and yes, 100%...eeewwwgh) Great, beef sounds good. I take a bite and i tastes like drunken homeless pee pant puke. i take another bite and scrape away some of the never meant to be melted cheese from the edge of the round breaded disc in my hand. i stare at it. the man stares at me. the scene is making me feel disgusting, the thug kids begin trashing their garbage in the can beind me as the back of my booth clangs and rumbles from their inability to make it in the container in first, second, fifth try. eventually they do. and then as they leave, a store employee begins changing the trash.

As i try to shove the poo like food into my mouth, i give up. i stall. i hang my head in sorrow. i will absolutely become ill if i take one more bite. i cant even afford to counteract the sandwich with a fry. i collect my belongings and drop at least 3/4ths of my would be "meal" into the garbage. i do take the sundae. this is how it always ends, i should have known better. as i turn to silently assess the carnage i had just experienced, a smelly homeless man enters the restaurant. i pat my self on the back for my good timing, and as i walk up the steps to the train platform, i have two scoops of dessert and toss the cup in the trash.

I sent jeff a mission accomplished notice, and he texts me back "do you feel bloated". yes jeff, i do. and it is 12 hours later and i still do. damn you ronald mcdonald. damn YOU! and of course, when the timing is right again someday- i will fulfill my craving once again. but for the moment- i will tell myself that i am never going near that shit hole again.

Understanding Shannon's perspective and reasons for this odyssey may be difficult for some of you. See, for us carnivores who are enlightened members of society, we have to deal with persecution by our vegetarian and vegan friends. I'm not saying that all 'veggies' are political about their choice of diet, but many are. We also understand and acknowledge that McDeath is bad for us and the world as a whole. But...sometimes you just gotta have that slimey, greasy crap. We always regret it later, but if it's actually hot and fresh, and if the experience of getting the grease bombs isn't too bad, it's worth it at the time. I can't explain it, it's just one of those weird things that people do.