June 24, 2005
VACATION
...point pleasant, here I come...
Sporadic posts between now and the July 4 holiday....
until then, beware the salmon mousse!!!
...
June 23, 2005
A RUSH AND A PUSH AND THE LAND IS OURS
...I am the master of my own domain...
sorry about this morning. if you clicked over to check out the site, you probably saw something other than the usual because the domain registration had expired. and since I didn't submit the initial registration (thudstaff authored this clean well-lighted space), I didn't get the renewal notice. obviously, the domain people got my money and we're back in business...
So we move on.
What is it about girls named Kim who insist on "Kimberly?" Too much discipline? Not enough? Formalists? Completists? Overly fond of spankings? Whatever the reason, cut it out. It's annoying.
I've been reading again about gitmo interrogation music. Christina Aguilera? Sure, she's unpleasantly one-dimensional, but compared to having one's town get the shit bombed out of it by the US Air Force, I wouldn't think of girlie pop music as being tantamount to torture. Now, Lou Reed's "Metal Machine Music" might do the trick, but I doubt there's a copy there in the bins of the goodmorningvietnam radio station....
I've also been reading about how Laura Bush smokes cigarettes and used to sell marijuana out of her college dorm room. Cool.
and to plagiarize a little bit from Bill Maher....
New Rule: Sportswriters don't get to write "serious books." It just shouldn't happen. This is why Bryant Gumbel is so freaking annoying. When his crony Bernard Goldberg publishes a screed on the "100 people who are screwing up America," it is time for all of us to take a moment and just politely suggest that Bernie should stick to bats and mallets. Even the great one, Howard Cosell, stuck mainly to the play-by-play. Anything else was autobiography ("I never played the game" was a cool read)...but I digress. Roger Kahn ("Boys of Summer") was great because he wrote about what he knew--sports. If I want to know the history of the curveball, I'll check in with old Rog'...if I want to pinpoint a tipping point in the culture, John Madden is not the one I'm going to turn to. A no-fly zone and a zone defense are not the same thing. So, with all due respect, Mr. Goldberg, STFU.....
They just sentenced an 80-year old KKK guy to 60 years in prison for manslaughter for those Mississippi civil rights workers' murders. Obviously, he won't live that long. Here's a thought--instead of having to stick it out with no possible chance of parole before dying, why not just agree to 10 years or so of daily beatings?
Just kidding. That's mean. No, do the 60. every single day of it. then sprinkle his ashes in a black neighborhood...
and apparently the Iraq War is about to come to an end. Great news. Glad to hear it Mr. Vice President. Just have Halliburton send us the bill. Oh, they already have? Wait, it's not a bill, per se? I see. You just gave them the PIN number to the Federal Reserve? Right. Easier that way, I guess. Thanks for clearing that up. Can't wait to see the big story in Forbes...
in other Republican news--in the face of plummeting poll numbers, Karl Rove emerged from his hole to blast liberals over their response to 9/11! Wow. So timely. Nice to know that even now, after his party came to NYC for its convention last year and mayor mike encouraged the caucasian horde to use our metropolis like a tingly asshole cleanser, they still care enough about us to keep the issue alive in the press. So please don't consider me ungrateful when I point out that we have a Republican mayor, Republican governor, Republican president, Republican House & Senate, and there is still a huge ugly gaping hole in the earth's crust around ground zero. why oh why haven't we seen a single Halliburton truck asking for directions by the Lincoln Tunnel? Hey, our money's green too!
...and speaking of GOP poop, meet my new favorite Republican: Carol Schwartz....(excerpted from Washington Post article):
In D.C., a Round of Satire By Eric M. Weiss
With a wink and a smirk, D.C. Council member Carol Schwartz (R-At Large) introduced legislation yesterday to ban alcohol in the District.
Schwartz, the leading opponent of a proposed smoking ban in District bars and restaurants, applied the same arguments made by anti-smoking activists to defend an alcohol ban.
Imitation may be considered flattery, but Schwartz's tongue-in-cheek comments showed it can also be used as a political skewer.
"People are still free to drink at home -- for now," she said as she introduced her bill, the Worker Occupational Safety and Health Amendment Act of 2005, Part II. "I'm just legislating that liquor cannot be served in bars, restaurants and nightclubs because I don't want it to be served. I will allow teas, sodas and milk -- for now. And if the drinkers insist on drinking alcohol -- and they will -- they can just step outside on sidewalks with their flasks and drink."
Like smoking opponents, she characterized her booze ban as protecting the health of workers and citizens. She read off a litany of drunken driving and domestic abuse statistics that showed drinking is bad for one's health.
"We all know that bartenders and waitstaff are constantly harassed by drinking customers. Bouncers are even beaten up by drunks. I care about these workers and their safety," Schwartz said, while her colleagues chuckled and hid their faces in their hands.
"Yes, I come to you a changed woman," Schwartz said, her voice oozing sarcasm. "It had just never occurred to me that I could simply choose to ban a legal choice for consenting adults in a private place where the public does not have to go and where workers do not have to work.
"I'm also now looking at some other legal choices to ban -- like driving or sex -- for they, too, can be dangerous to your health and the health of others."
Schwartz later withdrew the bill, saying she had made her point.
...
June 22, 2005
I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS
...out of soap?...
Here’s a first—falling out of love with a TV show. From my very first exposure to the Fisher clan, I was sucked right into their stories as if they were distant cousins living right next door. The oldest son wanting to get as far away from home as possible (been there), his zipless fuck girlfriend (wished I’d been there), the always-correct second son doing the right thing for career and family while coping with inner demons (again, familiar territory), the younger artist sibling (ditto), the eager young Rico, their overachieving Tom Hayden/consigliere….but Dad is dead, Mom isn’t dealing, and ambulances continually arrive with corpses to be stored in the basement. Pathos! Life! Love! Death! Brilliant!
Except for one thing: now it sucks.
You know, even "King Lear" had a few laughs. Not so here. The humor is gone. The faint but ever-present light before the darkest dark has gone out. The writing has lost its subtlety. And perhaps the most unsung quality that has made this show tick has been the consistently high caliber of talent that has been cast to provide all the side characters—the long lost sisters, the corpse/victims, the grieving families, the lovers of Ruth and Claire…last week we were treated to a pair of “artists” that were straight out of a Janet Jackson video—all dreads and piercings and afro-hippy chic. Real artists don’t look like this—why? Because they don’t spend that much time shopping. As I alluded, my brother’s a painter—these folks’ happiness is being coated in tinctures and pigments and chemicals, messy and immersed in the hues and timbres of life emulation…I have yet to see any of these folks clobbered in Dior, because they don’t blow their grant money on trips to Asia—believe it or not, they actually try to use it to produce new work…so, it’s a clumsy and inaccurate stereotype, the likes of which are seen, ad nauseum, on other tv shows--this sort of phoning-it-in stereotype characterization has been largely avoided thus far.
I’ve gamely stuck it out now for three episodes of the "final season", but I think I’m taking an early check-out on “Six Feet Under”…where’s my favorite character-the ghost of Dad? He is needed now, more than ever. If they do decide to bring him back and redeem these terrible, predictable, “Guiding Light”–caliber plot twists, perhaps I’ll get to see it on the inevitable A&E reruns...for that matter, what has happened to Ruth? Her maternal well has suddenly run dry…thus her character is inconsistent, as are most of the other characters. They’re like different people now. And some things just don't seem to even try for resemblance to human experience--last week there was a meeting with a bereaved widow who barely shed a tear. I suppose they don’t want to overdo it. After all, it’s just a funeral home.
And one more thing--in this age of on-demand/Tivo/DVR technology, let me, just this once, hold aloft one last torch for programming—I HATE that they’ve put this show on Monday nights. There was something psychologically cogent about relaxing on a Sunday night, the whole week ahead of you, that nice relaxed end-of-weekend vibe when it was perfectly OK to take on the baggage of the Fishers and all their dark, dark comedy. But now it’s part of an obvious and crass move by HBO to plant a flag on the beach of Monday nights just as they’ve done on Sundays. Do I really have to wait three freaking years to see another season of The Sopranos just to have it slotted into the worst TV night of the week? Am I the only one who considers “Entourage” to be the new “Arliss?”
Lame. So, goodnight sweet Nate, and Claire, David, Keith, Brenda, Ruth, George, Rico, Maya, Billy, and all you delightful little characters who helped make my blood run just a teensy bit icy all those Sunday evenings. And George, I hope they figure out the root cause of your dementia. If it takes more than a few episodes, that’s probably just because the whole childhood trauma thing has only been the featured plot device of about, oh, a million gazillion other movies and shows (ya think maybe Alan Ball saw “The Hours”? outside chance?). Ditto Billy and his meds (“one flew over the…every single nuthouse flick…ever”).
And since I seem to be starved for quality character development, perhaps I should just shut up and go read a book. Perhaps we all should. But somebody please ring me if the Fisher paterfamilias emerges from behind the coffin display to lift this turkey out of the dumper…
AND IN OTHER NEWS:
Summer Solstice!!!
...while waiting for the train after the Keeper of the Kohn screening, we watched the first 8 runs of a 13-run 8th inning...a primo ass-kicking...keep it going lads....
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June 21, 2005
ENDLESS SUMMER
'KEEPER OF THE KOHN' NEW YORK CITY PREMIERE TONIGHT!!!
CLICK FOR DETAILS:
KEEPER OF THE KOHN
Two Boots Pioneer Theater
155 East 3rd Street, New York, NY - (212) 591-0434
7:00
CLICK FOR DETAILS:
TWO BOOTS PIONEER THEATER
additional screenings:
Thursday, June 23 - 7pm
Friday, June 24 - 7pm
Synopsis:
Many challenges are ahead for Peter Kohn, a beloved collegiate lacrosse field manager who is believed to be autistic. As the team seeks a national championship, Peter must choose between his allegiance to the student athletes and his devotion to a cancer-stricken friend, all while reacting emotionally to his upcoming retirement. Can anyone, let alone Peter, negotiate such dramatic changes?
...and music by: me. Finally, it's showtime. See you on the red carpet...
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June 20, 2005
DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL
...rest in peace karl...
[note on Father's Day: if--getting to sleep as late as you want, being greeted by a big delicious breakfast, and bestowed with the latest fingerpainting masterpiece by the sweetest little girl in the world--does not move you to a place of humililty and vibrant joy, then you just ain't human, sonny jim...yesterday transpired in a state of grace.]
The Trio got together again. Some inspirational touchstones thus far:
...no cheating...keeping it in Eb...
...miles, sensei...
my astute music-appreciating neighbor commented that I was holding back. I was. working on arrangements and common reference points for now...so we can eventually let it all go and just sing those little songs in our heads...with our fingers...
confidential to scenario A: great to hear from you...
...
THIS JUST IN:
very saddened to learn of the passing of a great musician and the heart & soul of a once-great band...my condolensces to his family...great memories of several amazing Soul Asylum shows, back in the good ol' (pre-'runaway train') days....
from twincities.com:
Posted on Fri, Jun. 17, 2005
Soul Asylum bassist Karl Mueller dies
BY ROSS RAIHALA
Pioneer Press
Karl Mueller, bass player and founding member of the band Soul Asylum, died Friday morning in his Minneapolis home due to complications from esophageal cancer. He was 41.
Soul Asylum rose to local prominence in the '80s alongside Twin Cities bands the Replacements and Husker Du. In 1989, the band signed its first of two major-label deals. Three years later, Soul Asylum's disc "Grave Dancers Union" became a breakthrough, double-platinum hit and the band performed at Bill Clinton's inaugural ball.
In May 2004, doctors discovered a tumor growing between Mueller's trachea and esophagus, just below his vocal chords. He underwent chemotherapy and was in remission during an October benefit concert that saw performances from Soul Asylum, the Replacements' Paul Westerberg and a reunion of Husker Du's Bob Mould and Grant Hart.
...
June 17, 2005
PAPA DON'T PREACH
...holy box office!...
Batman Begins: I'm a huge fan of the character--the comics, the tv show(s), and the first movie with Michael Keaton. The rest of those movies pretty much blow (Val Kilmer as the Dark Knight? No thanks.) Sounds like they got it right this time. Perhaps it's even babysitter-worthy…
Approval rating for Bush “tumbles.” Could it be that America is finally beginning to smell the rat behind the phrase “you’re either with us or against us?” "Swinging" Dick Cheney: your thoughts?
Yanks win three in a row, sweep Pirates. Jim Kaat nods with approval. Rumors of George Steinbrenner’s closeted homosexuality disputed by lantern-jawed sword-swallower Michael Kay. Fashion pundits (and Merv Griffin—“oooh.”) still raising eyebrows over the omnipresent white turtleneck look.
Queens 2012! Why not? After the shot putt finals, we can go over to Woodside and watch the drunken Irish arm-wrestling preliminaries, or shoot over to Wegman’s and watch the cop-wife/baby-stroller double coupons relay sprint! Two-for-one in aisle four! Go! And the drag races on Northern Boulevard (not to be confused with the grannies-with-shopping-carts obstacle course run) will finally receive the formal officiating it’s deserved for so long…How many 40 oz. bottles of St. Ides can be consumed while running the decathlon in Flushing-Meadows Park? We’ll soon have the global resources to find out! Mayor Bloomberg, man of the people, should be lauded for this grand initiative.
POP QUIZ: What do Katie Holmes, Kelly Preston, Phyllis Gates, Liza Minelli, Dina McGreevey, Carey Lowell, Cindy Crawford and Fidel Castro have in common? (hint: Fidel merely grows a famous beard)
No smoking in DC! You heard me! Christopher Hitchens, former Troskyite turned Iraq/Iran-o-phile (he knows Khomeini’s grandson! Merv Griffin: “oooh”) and present day Vanity Fair contributor (his "smoking around NYC" piece last year was priceless) with a penchant for distilled spirits and Rothman cigarettes, is PISSED. “You’re treating us like children,” he told the city council. That’s right, Hitch, they are. And worse—they using NYC as an example of why it’s OK. I feel your pain. Truly I do. Funny story-- I eventually quit smoking and drinking and moved to Jersey, where it’s still OK to smoke in the bars. Weird how life turns out, huh?
The Trio is reconvening tomorrow for a 3-hour run-through…then, Father’s Day. I think it’s a fairly stupid holiday, but since I’m a Dad, hey I’ll take it! Lord of the Manor, and all that. So Happy Father’s Day to all you suckers!!
...ooooh.....
...
June 16, 2005
YEAR OF THE CAT
...round ball, round bat, hard to hit it square...
OK, here's my theory: the Yanks just got back from a miserable road trip during which they lost nearly every game. Bad pitching, bad hitting, bad defense. Torre, pissed off. GM Brian Cashman, all furrowed brows and armpit sweat. Steinbrenner bellowing from his cauldron. The team performing as if someone put valium in the gatorade.
Now they're back home and they've won two in a row.
...did I just do that?...
Giambi won last night's game with a walk-off home run. That's right--Giambi. A home run. Amazing. Improbable. It makes one downright nostalgic. But why the sudden success? Why the sudden ability to play at the level we have been expecting all along?
Answer: Jim Kaat.
Veteran Yankee analyst Jim Kaat was nowhere to be found on this latest road trip. Instead, the droll mellotone of Kenny Singleton and grammatical hijinks of perky little Bobby Murcer were in the booth with Uber-Drip Michael Kay, providing rationalizations, benedictions and eulogies to illustrate the seeming death throes of this would-be championship-caliber team.
Jim Kaat (or "Kitty" as he is nicknamed) was conspicuously absent, his charming midwestern aphorisms ("why that's just good old country hardball!") and veteran (25 seasons!) baseball wisdom (enabling him to provide the sort of insight and commentary that the more knowledgeable fan can appreciate), were nowhere to be found.
The Kitty Curse. Beware, Mr. Steinbrenner. No more golf sojourns allowed for the Chatty Kaaty...it's clear that we need him at the stadium now more than ever. Michael Kay, well I think it's clear to everyone that he's much better suited for radio...
...I'm a total douche...
...
June 15, 2005
AN AMERICAN IN PARIS
...if you've got to go, go now...
I was stunned to see the headline indicating that Paris Hilton is going to retire.
retire? retire from what?
I'll admit, I'm not much of a celebrity obsessive, but I have been somewhat dismayed by the fact that in this new media age, one can be a celebrity without having actually done anything. Here's the basic rundown, as far as I know, of Paris Hilton's lifetime achievements:
adopted a pet.
lost her blackberry.
made a porno.
went shopping.
if going to nightclubs were a job, then she'd be a captain of industry, but anyone who's ever bellied up to a velvet rope knows that the only thing that makes one a "VIP" in a nightclub is the ability to afford (and the questionable intelligence of one who agrees to pay the price of) their top-shelf champagne.
there's very little in the pantheon of humans that is more annoying than someone who plays the part of a pampered, spoiled, and utterly vapid little rich girl, parading around with daddy's money. my guess is that ms. hilton doesn't know the first thing about running a hotel, nor is interested.
so there's not much to retire from, is there?
but there it is in the headline...paris hilton retires. she's finally realized that nightclubs are vapid, boring and stupid. and for someone who is herself vapid, boring and stupid, perhaps it's a sign that there is hope after all for our adorable little billionaire fellatrix. perhaps she's ready to launch a magazine...
THIS JUST IN: remember the "Frist Diagnosis"? When the Senate Majority Leader, based on a video he watched in his office, announced that Terry Schiavo certainly seemed to "respond to visual stimuli"....? I do. Well then, Mr. Bill, check this out: autopsy conducted today; Ms. Schiavo was blind. Her brain's vision center was totally atrophied, kaput. Visual stimuli? Thanks. Next time we'll be sure to check in with a real doctor, not someone who plays one on TV...
...
June 14, 2005
THE BITCH IS BACK
...may you love as long as you live, and live as long as you love...
Take the high road? Sure thing. No need to wallow in the mud unprovoked, but I have a few recent, admittedly minor, observations to share – the sort of thing that builds and builds until it aggregates into a shoe pebble-like sensation in the mind, and you find yourself becoming way too distracted by the every little minor nuisance that comes along. Therefore, allow me to divest myself of this niggling happenstance, and perhaps we can all collectively enjoy a derisive sneer and swimmingly resume our normal broadcast day.
Email: what gives? There used to exist this notion of “netiquette” which presupposed certain online behaviors that one should avoid engaging in, such as refraining from asking the same obvious questions in a chat room until one had reviewed the FAQ document (RTFM=read the fucking manual!) , or, refraining from forwarding those idiotic chain emails, etc. etc., ad nauseum ad infinitum. So, there are rules, unratified by Congress perhaps, but guidelines for acceptable practices nonetheless. Two recent examples which, to my mind, fall outside those demarcations—
Scenario A: one receives an email from a friend—friend reports…I’m this; I’m that, haven’t heard from you, drop me a line, etc. … to which you respond with your own this and that, taking the time and thoughtfulness to write and send it, then…..nothing. no acknowledgment whatsoever. None. Days go by. Weeks. Still nothing. This isn’t netiquette, O my droogies, this is basic etiquette. Manners. Not an unreasonable expectation. Should not be mutually exclusive with the state of being “busy.” Hell, even prison inmates are kept busy nowadays, and my guess is that they too possess the ability to respond to emails in a timely manner...
Scenario B: After years have passed, an old flame starts up a platonic email correspondence that lasts for several years. One day, she gets a weird feeling about it, asks to cease the correspondence. You are reminded that it was precisely this unpredictable she-loon quality that ended the romance in the first place, so you comply, even though the correspondence had morphed into something rather pleasant and civil, and even fun (after all, how many people does anyone have whom they’ve known for that long?). So, you stop writing, and pick up your normal routine, minus one infrequent email correspondence, and essentially forget the drift of the entire conversation. Funny thing, though—every six months or so, you still receive an email, sharing some piece of personal information which is apparently important enough to supercede the prior arrangement. You begin to get annoyed. You begin to ponder the question—what part of “fuck off” was misunderstood? So then, it’s Christmas and that makes it different? I mean, that’s an even better reason not to write!
Long story short--last week I received wedding pictures. The bride, the groom, the ballroom, the outdoor shots, the flower girl, the whole bit…Am I jealous or bothered? Not in the slightest. Way to go. Welcome to the club. Once more into the breach, and all that. Believe me, you do not need my contribution to the cavalcade of clichés already compiled into clean white envelopes by your gathering of dressed-up well-wishers.
So then, let’s throw this solution into the centrifuge and observe the crystal formations. In summary:
1. Congratulations.
2. Be Happy.
3. Goodbye.
And as I’ve now enumerated, step #3 was already stated loudly and clearly, so just in case there remains any ambiguity about #’s 1&2, let me now state for the record, and any future correspondence that is to be authored:
congratulations on the birth of your [first, second, …ninth] child! … Get well soon/Glad to hear you're feeling better! … You’re right—taxes suck! … Yes, I do remember, and you’re so right, it was [great, good, OK, less than hoped, bad, terrible] … No reason to apologize, I’ve been very busy too! … really? [two/three/four/five] bedrooms? … I am indeed sorry I couldn’t make it to the “poetry slam,” but I’m sure your recent work went over at the book barn to great acclaim …I haven’t seen that one, but you should check out [insert movie title] … So sorry to hear about your recent [loss, divorce, firing, foreclosure, diagnosis, etc.] and please know that you are in my thoughts…
Sidebar: yesterday, here in New York City, the needle hit about 100 degrees. Memo to the young ladies of our fair burg: this is not scarf weather. You may think it looks way fab standing in front of the bedroom mirror at 7am, but unless you are Grace Kelly, racing down the Pacific Coast Highway in a red 1950s convertible, scarf flying like a flag of unbridled sex, you have made an incorrect fashion accessory choice. It’s OK. These things happen. We all make hasty judgments, particularly in this climate. I’m just here to help. But please, stop it before it spreads. Bare shoulders and neck whenever possible, and you can use this guiding principle at least through Labor Day. I’d say something about those flip-flops, but one can only expect one victory per battle…
Well then. I’d say that squarely secures Monday into the history books, and we can all move on. Have a pleasant and satisfactory day.
…
June 13, 2005
SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY
...this is where the magic happens...
so did we have a nice weekend? yeah? huh? where was I, you ask? well the lazy hazy days don't come much nicer than Saturday... a dip in a brand-new swimming pool, splashing around with my daughter, who faced up to two primal fears--that of water (over my head!) and that of large toothy beasts (big dog!)--and did so with a big smile and a delightfully playful sociability...family, food, and an opportunity to work on some unused muscle groups, playing those diving games with my nephew...
Sunday I went here: A BLOODY GOOD RECORD
that's the main space pictured above...
My friend and former bandmate (and songwriting polymath), Jeff Coyle, is recording his (I'm guessing) first solo album with another friend and former bandmate, engineer/producer/studio entrepreneur Mark Law, and I was asked to come and spray some guitar parts hither and yon. they were mainly focusing on recording the drum kit, but I hung out just the same and played along, through one of these:
Fender Blues Jr.
this is a truly fine-sounding amplifier, with EL84 power tubes, so you get that lovely snarky tone that is the result of a fender single-coil slab interacting with what has become known as a "british" power stage (due to the EL84s popularity with Marshall and Vox amps from the 60s). Plenty of low end for its size, too. Loud enough to gig with. good-sounding spring reverb. 12ax7 preamp you can push hard. at about $400, great bang for the buck. Anyway, I enjoyed playing through it, and I think I acquitted myself satisfactorily. The whole session took less than five hours. Digital is a beautiful thing...
Memo to NYC musicos: if you're looking to get some high-quality recordings done at a very reasonable cost, I highly recommend the studio listed above: A BLOODY GOOD RECORD. Contact info is listed on the site. I wish it was around when I was slogging it out with band demos, and skipping rent payments to subsidize them...so forget demos, you can do your whole record there. and it's brand new...it even has some nice furniture and wireless internet xion...act now, and be among the first to graffiti the bathroom with your band logo!
back to reality now. to-do lists and phony conversations and in-depth discussions about the status of our air conditioning system. hitting 100 degrees today, so they say...
[happy 140th birthday to William Butler Yeats...."I hear it in the deep heart's core"...]
...
June 10, 2005
BOOGIE WONDERLAND
...turn off the EQ, dial the presence down to zero, crank the midrange, throw away the lead channel switch, you're good...
as we return now to the world of geekery, I'll relate the recent chapter of my love/hate relationship with the mesa/boogie .50 caliber+ amplifier. bought it in the early 90s, used, so that I could compete with a bandmate (a guitar player) who made it a weekly ritual of drowning me out. I mean, this guy would plug into two or even three amplifiers, loads of effects, and just blare... I had a 40-watt solid state combo. no contest. so, soon after I showed up with this amp and a 4x12 cabinet, he left the band. not suggesting causality there, but I think he knew the writing was on the wall. he's now doing gigs in paris nightclubs with a chick singer and a laptop. we move on...
this amp has had its issues. for one thing, it has this ridiculous 1980s 'loverboy' distortion channel which has made it probably the least desirable of older, discontinued boogie models (so resale is less of a pecuniary option than might have been hoped). what it does have is a wonderful, full, dynamic, 'normal' channel, which sounds like a fender deluxe on steroids--that is, when it's not giving me all kinds of drop-outs, volume jumps, and noise. frustration was ratcheted up even more after installing a set of shiny NOS tubes, with no audible difference in performance. what to do? well then, before lugging it off to an amp tech, I thought I'd at least give each knob a vigorous dozen or so turns to kick out the crud, but not expecting much. but whaddya know? it worked! it was just some crud in the pots! the crap-outs seem to have ceased and desisted! O joy! O rapture! kerrangggggg!!!!!
and while I was twirling and tweaking, I changed some settings, leaving a few unnecessary variables out of the mix...for one thing, the "presence" knob is a stupid invention, and it only has one function--to make the tone brighter when the preamp is set very low and power amp set very high. it would be terrifically handy if I played surf rock, but I don't (PSA: friends don't let friends play surf rock). But sure, I've tried that setting, and it just sounds better with a little bit of dirt (what doesn't?), so I use the 12ax7 stage liberally and let the preamp do its thing. I found that I really don't need the patented 5-band EQ that boogie puts on all its amps. it works OK, but for me it's mainly window dressing. less twee, more girth without it...and as an unintentional test, after I did all this, I forgot to turn the amp off, so the tubes were certainly nice and warmed up by the time I plugged in again the next day. played for an hour or two and nothing audibly untoward.
I've found that this amp is a particularly good match with one of these:
so, a happy outcome (so far) on a piece of gear that was veering dangerously close to appearing in craig's list...it might even regain its former position as number one son...
but don't just take my word for it. just ask legendary star of stage and screen, mr. paul williams:
...dude, your tone kicks ass...
celebrating one year of sobriety today!!
have a good weekend y'all...
...
June 09, 2005
JET SONG
...when you're a jet you're a jet
all the way from your first cigarette
to your last dying day...
let us now commence gloating. let us enjoy this moment of opportunity to mock our boorish ivory tower mayor, the effete lilliputian snake oil bureaucrat who just assumed, (along with the equally vile investment bank spit-swapper daniel doctoroff) that everybody loves the olympics, that everyone in the city would just bow down to the self-evident wisdom of two rich CEO-types, both used to having their word taken as law, who decreed that this would be done, and that they could bypass all outside authority (not to mention the will of their constituents) and steamroll this gargantuan largesse of taxpayer money through...all at a time when the city needs to create real jobs, needs to address its ever-diseased public school system, needs to reform its corrupt transit system, not to mention another little construction job called Ground Zero.
I've never understood the job creation argument behind stadiums. What, we put up a few billion, and a couple hundred people get to sell some hot dogs? naturally, the construction unions would get a nice bag of jingle out of this, and you know how efficient they are with their money...
and incidentally, I am a Jets fan, not a sports hater (though I continue to maintain that the Olympics are a ridiculous event). there is a right way and a wrong way to get something like this accomplished. this was the wrong way. just look at the abject ugliness of the structure pictured above. it would rival the most recent ugliness that I witnessed in my old neighborhood-when giuliani let them tear down my beautiful palladium (and julian's billiards) to erect an empty brown box--architecture doesn't get much more unsightly (or pointless) than that, but Bloomberg came close.
so sweet. at a time when mayor mike from massachuetts is already running tv ads [I swear, I used to like and respect ed koch, but his love of giuliani and bloomberg, his shilling for the RNC, is now beyond annoying--the man is hollow] to support his re-election, it's just wonderful to observe his greatest crusade go down in flames. and I can't wait for him to begin pointing fingers, talking about lost jobs. let's be sure to remind him of his first campaign, when he said that his administration should be judged on how well he does reforming the schools. he said that if he didn't get the job done, then he shouldn't deserve re-election. Mayor Mike, you didn't get the job done. Now get over here and bus my table...my ashtray is full...
**no more rants for a while...new projects in the studio coming up that I'm excited about... and I'd say it's time for a new guitar in the side panel...**
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June 08, 2005
THE LADY VANISHES
... this has got to stop ...
Recent reports of the missing Natalee Holloway are yet another indication of a widespread phenomenon in this country: pretty young white women are going missing everywhere.
And it's not going to stop until we do something about it, now, before another gorgeous young caucasian creature goes missing again.
Certainly, we had a clue that they went missing before, but now women like Natalee are proving that these unbelievably beautiful creatures have the ability to disappear overseas, not just at home.
Here's what I propose: a new foundation... "The Let's Keep An Eye On The Pretty Young White Girls Foundation." And we can get started right away. First thing we do is convene a series of focus groups and one-on-one interviews with individuals representing the various other groups of women who don't go missing. We'll interview black women, hispanic women, oriental women, married women, middle-aged women, mothers, grandmothers and senior citizens, women with jobs, unattractive women, women with diseases and disabilities, amputee women, women from Canada--any group we can identify who don't vanish into thin air on a regular basis. How do they do it?
We've got to do something, and now's the time to do it, before another debutante with flawless skin goes unaccounted for.
Just think--if we can solve this problem (and we can!), the cable news media will be able to focus on other stories, stories with global ramifications, instead of being forced to report on these terrible circumstances of innocent damsels unexpectedly menaced by forces from the dark and murky unknown...
Won't you help?
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June 07, 2005
FREEDOM
ITEM:
Court: Patients May Not Use Pot Legally
By GINA HOLLAND, Associated Press Writer
Mon Jun 6, 7:30 PM ET
WASHINGTON - People who smoke marijuana because their doctors recommend it to ease pain can be prosecuted for violating federal drug laws, the Supreme Court ruled Monday, overriding medical marijuana statutes in 10 states
EXERCISE:
Compare/contrast--here's some info on the recently passed Medicare Prescription Drug Plan:
WHO GETS WHAT?
Depending on your income, you could receive coverage that includes: a $50 deductible or none at all; a sliding-scale monthly premium that averages $18 per month or none at all; co-pays of $2 for generic drugs and $5 for other drugs.
So, basically, it’s the Publisher’s Clearing House Membership Club from Hell…except you can never quit, and you’re stuck with a “sliding-scale” monthly nut. Also, co-pays. So, in this context, smoking pot is not only a moral equivalent, it’s actually far, far better. It’s pay-as-you-go, which is as American/Apple Pie/Born in the USA as it gets…
WHAT ASSETS DON'T COUNT TOWARD INCOME?
Your primary residence; your vehicle(s); household goods and personal possessions; resources not easily converted to cash, such as farm machinery, jewelry and livestock; and federal income tax refunds.
You mean I can’t use my income tax refund? Shee-it, everybody knows there are scant few rites of spring that are more enjoyable than the day each year when you turn your refund check into a bag of spongy, skunky, hairy green buds.
HOW DO I APPLY?
Wait for an application letter from the Social Security Administration. The letters will be mailed over a 12-week period that began Friday. If you don't receive a letter, contact your local Social Security office or your local Medicaid office for an application. Beginning July 1, you also can apply online at www.socialsecurity.gov.
And the bureaucracy, naturally. They’re going to stall and delay and make it as difficult as possible for you to reap the benefits of the plan. And you can bank on the fact that the drug stores and pharmacists will have their own set of bureaucratic circus hoops for you to jump through once you actually show up to get your drugs.
Can we do better? Haven’t we always? Burroughs called it the “algebra of need” – the idea that no one needs to sell dope, that purveyors of these various substances are merely brokers, and that human beings will literally wade across a lake of sewage to get the drugs they need. He was talking about opiate addiction, but what’s the difference between someone addicted to heroin, and someone else who needs heart medicine? Withold either, and the result is a completely debilitated person. Either case could result in fatalilty. Either user would therefore do whatever it takes to get their drugs. Perhaps that is the problem with medicinal marijuana. It isn’t toxic or addictive enough. If it was, surely the drug companies would have synthesized pot into a chemical by now, one which doctors could prescribe in brightly-colored geltabs.
But that’s OK, Supreme Court. This can’t last forever. There weren't a whole lot of marijuana cases floating around the courts during the time of the founding fathers, so this isn't an "originalist" constitutional precedent issue (though one can hardly think of a more pleasant way to embark on the pursuit of one's happiness). The SCOTUS works, but is also fallible (Dred Scott, Probition, etc.). Since the act being prohibited hurts no one (except corporations like Pfizer, Merck, Seagram's and Anheiser-Busch), one can hold out hope that this ruling will be overturned one day.
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June 06, 2005
THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER YOU
June 1944:
Omaha Beach
Utah Beach
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June 05, 2005
OUT ON THE WEEKEND
...your goodly hosts...
...yesterday at the birthday party...
...today...
...we be all chillin' and shit...
June 03, 2005
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
...too much cake...
Happy Birthday to Thudstaff, who turns 40 today. He is a man among men, even if he does happen to be very, very, old (welcome to the club)....
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June 02, 2005
CRUISIN'
...I'm in love, I tell you, with a WOMAN...I know it sounds insane, this attraction to shapely hips and breasts, but I CAN'T STOP DANCING I TELL YOU....Oprah, you should know--Steadman and I were JUST GOOD FRIENDS...and now I'm in love WITH A VIRGIN...GIRL...Oh the exquisite joy, the rapturous tingling emotions...I could never feel this way dressed up like a sailor in one of those bars...
I've got a bit of a 3-day weekend this week, so I might not be posting much until next Monday (then again, I may surprise you), so let me just sign off on our first June weekend with a note of extreme gratitude for the inner hilarity propagated by Mr. Tom Cruise...honestly, I wouldn't have even noticed--I work during the day so I can't possibly watch Oprah, but it's hard to miss this kind of thing when our national news media puts this type of story as item #2 behind the recent Deep Throat revelations (if only Linda Lovelace had lived to see the day) and ahead of the same-old same-old Iraq reportage...
so thank you, Tom Cruise, you totally funny non-homo, for showing the world exactly what straight men do NOT do when they fall in love with a chaste and lovely virgin--they do NOT go on Oprah and jump on the couch! That is SO Macaulay Culkin! Age 12! But gee we're happy for you and this Katie creature you claim to be so besmirched with! We wish you oodles of pre-selected photo ops, and maybe even a few more ADOPTED BABIES! Maybe for Christmas, she'll buy you a PUPPY and you can give it a cute focus-group-approved name like Miss Beazley or Liza! Kisses!
and hey, keep on spreading the good word about Scientology! the Christian Right ain't got nothing on L. Ron Hubbard!
"Because I know, when my head hits the pillow, I'm doing everything I can to make
the world a better place." --Tom Cruise
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June 01, 2005
SPOONFUL
...there is no spoon...
I’m always on the hunt for good, new music. At the same time, I’m always playing catch-up by trying to encounter the great canon of recordings created during the 20th century that have yet to hit my ears. Enter the internet with its myriad downloading possibilities, enter a little girl who requires her daddy’s attention, enter a big girl who has specific expectations of her tottering spouse, and, well, I’m pretty well backlogged on my listening to-do list…
So, when I do have occasion to sift through the mp3 files, I’m just hoping to find that one album that sticks with me and makes me want to stop my librarian-style filing and just sit down and enjoy it. And the infrequency of said enjoyment is such that these a-ha moments are particularly worthy of especial notice.
My latest: “Gimme Fiction” by Texan indie rockers Spoon. I love albums that take you on a little journey, from track one to the end. I even imagine which track will be track one/side two of the imaginary vinyl LP (hey, I’m a 70s kid). This is a good record, probably my fave rock band/pop music album album since I heard “Behind the Music” by The Soundtrack of Our Lives a few years back (in that case, their colossal live set drove the point home...) But dude! (you might say)…what about Franz Ferdinand/Death Cab for Cutie/The Shins/Interpol/Bright Eyes/Modest Mouse/The Decemberists? Why won’t you love Ryan Adams? Why can’t you throw away those razor blades and deodorant soap, cozy up with a chai latte, and swoon to Coldplay?
Yes, dear reader, I hear you, and there is a fine explanatory essay, yet to be written, regarding each of these members of the indie rock diaspora, and indeed some of the arguments thereof would address, with some degree of moth-eaten conviction, the absurd return to prominence of the unshorn Jethro Tull look—but I digress. If you’re digging the death cab, you go girl, and perhaps I’ve simply yet to reach my crucial 47th listen, whereby the crystalline truths of earnest youth will imbue my leathery cranium with all their incendiary joy and pathos, making me a finer human, as I chortle heartily in my journeyman flannels, thoughtfully scratching my new crop of whiskers, and hoist Tiny Tim aloft my shoulders as we make our way along the thoroughfares of Olde London Towne...
As if.
So, for now, leave me be, with my new discovery of a fine pop record. You might like it too. For me, it’s the best thing to come out of Texas since The Widow Anna Nicole Smith boarded a Greyhound for Vegas…
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