Fake Band Name and Album Title of the week, 1/31

This week’s band name is from Cory, album title from me:

Fake band name:  Screaming Mimi

Screaming Mimi album title:  Move Over, Everything

If You Keep Playing the Same Sad Song Someday Bright Shining Light Will Suddenly Leap from Your Violin

Not too many years ago my mother moved into a rather small apartment in a rather small town that I had not previously had much experience in.  It was not far from where I lived (although I would have difficulty telling you where I lived at the time) and I took to spending a large chunk of my time at that apartment.  It seems to me I lived there for a time, although I’m not quite sure if I did, or if I simply slept there a lot.

My mother lived there with her new husband, who is a fine man who thankfully did not raise a fuss over my presence in the somewhat cramped apartment.  One of the defining features of this man is a penchant for collecting or simply buying bizarre or useless things that can make life seem a bit more interesting, or at the very least, less mundane.  Like big purple hats, rubber chickens or refrigerator magnets that make inane noises when you pass in front of them.  Also singing Christmas trees and lamps that go boing when you turn them on.

So, here I was, staying in this apartment, and friends would occasionally want to see me, or they’d have to come pick me up because I was too drunk to go to them.  Except I didn’t know this small town very well and would have trouble giving directions to the apartment.  So I would give them good enough directions to get them in my vicinity and then I’d go stand in the swath of grass beside the road in front of the apartment complex so they would see me as they drove past.

One night in the beautiful heat of autumn a friend wanted to do something with me.  I can’t remember what.  This friend had yet to come to this particular apartment, so I gave them the usual directions, with the instruction to watch for me by the side of the road.

I was rather in the cups by this point–it was already nighttime, perhaps past 10 o’clock–and I knew it would take this friend at least 20 minutes to arrive.  But the night was so beautiful, I wanted to go and stand by the road right away.  Even as a drunkard, I loved being outdoors in the summer.  So, I poured my gin and coke into a McDonalds cup and prepared to go outside and wait–when inspiration struck me.  My mother’s new husband happened to have a huge Halloween mask of some ghastly creature.  The mask was sitting atop one of the bookcases and I had occasionally taken it down and worn it to make my mother laugh.  This was one of those huge plastic masks that is not cheap by any standards–it would look right at home in some gothic Mardi Gras parade–and it was unwieldy to wear.  It was not easy to see out of or to breathe inside of, but it was a terribly effective mask.

I was going to wait by the roadside wearing the mask, in order to get a chuckle out of my friend when they drove past.

I settled in for a wait by the side of the road.  Every minute or so, I’d raise the mask in order to take a drink of my gin and coke, and every 5 minutes or so, I’d take the mask off and smoke a cigarette.  Sometimes when a car drove by I’d flail my arms and run in circles, hoping to either freak out my friend or give lonesome strangers an interesting story to tell once they got to their destination.

The mask became suffocating, and to this day I can remember the exact smell of the fumes.  My breath inside the mask became like gasoline, the piny gin-smell and the tarry cigarette smoke made me nauseous, but in a way that I was almost proud of.  That I could make my own body so disgusting was–not just then but for years–a source of pride, as though I had triumphed over God and nature and created something new. I was my own Frankenstein’s Monster.

Twenty minutes became half an hour, and eventually that became an hour.  I had no watch, but I was vaguely aware that I had been by the road a long time.  Eventually I forgot why I had come out there at all.  Sitting in the grass, with the mask beside me, it seemed to me I had simply gotten antsy and had wanted to drink outside, on the grass, by the road.  I was, I imagine, unaware of the mask sitting beside me, after a time.  It was probably around midnight that I curled up and slept in the grass.

I awoke in the wee morning hours and went back inside, not anymore confused than I normally was in such situations.  My mother had left a note for me. The friend had called.  I immediately called him to see why he hadn’t shown up.  He said he had drove and drove down the appointed road but had never seen me.  I asked if he had seen a person wearing a mask.  He had.  He had assumed it was some kid out playing.  He called the apartment from his cell phone, but I had never told my mother where I was going or what I was doing.  She had no idea that I was right outside the apartment.

I stayed awake well into the morning of the next day.  I was watching The Early Show with Bryant Gumbel when a plane mysteriously crashed into one of the World Trade Center Towers.  It was riveting television for someone who was so blindly drunk.

Some video finally posted from the Cribs show I went to

OK, the person who took this video is obviously a Johnny Marr freak (they even titled the video “Johnny Marr and the Cribs”), so you don’t see much other than Marr, but it still gives you a good feel for how awesome of an opener this song is.  Plus, you see Marr lose sound for a few seconds and then get the problem fixed.

Poor quality, but here’s at least one with a view of the whole band.  This one comes sooooo close to getting me in the shot; I was directly in front of Ross, the Crib singing the song.  Alas, the camera never pans to the audience.

Why it Doesn’t Matter to Me How Obama’s Doing

I like Obama, and I think I always will, no matter what he ends up doing in office.

Why?  Because, quite frankly, I’m not sure I’ll ever know what he does in office.  There’s a legitimate source nowadays that’ll reinforce whatever you already want to believe (with evidence!), so what’s the use in trying to look?

Want proof that Nixon knew about the Cambodian bombing?  We got that.  Want proof that Nixon didn’t know about it?  We got that, too.

Want proof that there are, in fact, death panels in Obama’s health care plan?  We got that.  Want proof that there aren’t?  We got that, too.

Want proof that Clinton increased the national debt?  Decreased it?  Preferred french fries?  Pizza?  Asian ladies and purple pumps?  We got that!

Obama gives a stirring, convincing State of the Union address that really, I should think, would rally a nation and cut across artificial dividing lines.  Everything seems to finally click into place.  Then, moments later, a governor from the other party gives a convincing speech that everything I was just convinced of was a lie.  And they’ve both got proof.

I grew up thinking that a good citizen thoroughly researches all the issues, then researches where candidates stand on issues, and then votes according to the findings of their research—and judges the performance of the politicians on said research.  Only, how much does the research matter when nothing and everything seems true and untrue all at the same time?  And when I could find the answer I’m looking for if I looked in the right place, or the opposite of what I’m looking for, if I looked somewhere else?  And when every side has their sources all footnoted and bookmarked?

I’m not going to research my politicians anymore.  I’m not going to judge how they do.  I’m going to vote based on party affiliation and personality, and I’ll judge how well they do by how likable they stay.

So far, Obama’s doing great!

Are you bored and wasting time online?  Well, since a fair amount of you actually clicked on the links in my 100 Bands blog, (someone’s clicked through to the Editors’ video so many times, I’m gonna ask the band for some royalties!)  I’ve linked some more bands to some of their best stuff, if you feel so inclined.  New links are in italics.

Does this piece of chicken look like a frog or not????

Advice

Be a fixed point at dawn:
feel the wide black night
release
like the first day
there was light.

Fake Band Name and Album Title 1/22

This week’s band name comes from me, album title from Cory:

Fake band name:  Hip This, Chic That

Hip This, Chic That album title:  Fuck Me Like I Owe You Money

My 100 Favorite Bands…IN ORDER

So, let me stop you before you post the comment…no, I do NOT have “too much time on my hands”!  This is just what I decided to do with the time on my hands!

OK, with that out of the way…yes, you are not reading that wrong.  I have in fact ranked my one hundred favorite bands in descending order.  You may ask…why, and how?

Well, I’ve just always been curious how my favorite bands would rank if I spent the time to do it.  I mean, I pretty much knew what 1,2 and 3 would be, but after that, it was a bit hazy.  So I figured I’d devise a way to rank the top 50.  I brainstormed my favorite bands randomly, and when I counted the brainstorm results, there were seventy-some, so I figured I’d shoot for the stars and go for the top hundred.

I also figured I needed a way to narrow down who I could use.  The only criteria was they had to be bands, not just musical artists.  No solo artists or R&B groups. This meant I could use Neil Young and Crazy Horse, but not Neil Young.

This is the method I used for ranking them:  I thought about a desert island situation, and then I thought, If I could only take one album from these bands, which band do I choose? I didn’t spend any time pondering WHICH album it would be, just…which band would I want an album from?  Then after a band was chosen, I crossed them off and asked myself the desert island question again, but now had to choose from the remaining bands.  When thinking about Neil Young and Crazy Horse (or, say, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers) I only allowed myself to consider the work of the collaboration.  So, I could have Everyone Knows This is Nowhere, but not After the Gold Rush.

Now, I am open to the fact that I may have missed something and may have to revise this list, so please, leave a comment and let me know your thoughts, but remember, this is not a best list, but a favorite list, so you can’t really argue with the list, but I am actually afraid I forgot something, so please point out anything that seems amiss.  (But for the record, I did NOT forget:  Tool, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Led Zeppelin, or The White Stripes—I just don’t like them all that much.  And post-rock fans:  I didn’t forget A Silver Mt. Zion, Surface of Eceyon, or Mono.  Just not my favorites).

I hear you….why should you care?  Well, you shouldn’t care about mine, necessarily, but may I suggest you do something like this yourself?  It’s more interesting than you may think.  You can discern changes in yourself by analyzing your list.  For instance, 15 years ago, Dave Matthews Band would have been in my top 5.  Now, they’re 41.  What would they have been 8 years ago?  25?  So they’re on a slow slide.  Does this have something to say about changes in me beyond simple musical taste?  I’m not sure, but it’s fun to think about.  And some bands will pop into and out of my life quickly, as I’m constantly on the prowl for new music.  It’s intriguing to look at this list and wonder which bands will soon not make this list, and which bands that are currently in the 80s or 90s will be in the top 20 next year.  It’s certainly not a concrete list, I’m sure it is in constant flux.

Oh, and here’s a fun thing:  you’ll see it appears to be a list of 101 bands.  That’s because one of them is a fake band name, made up by me, right now.  If you are the first to identify which of them is the fake, I’ll send you a prize!!  And it will be a real prize, not some mix disc I made or something.  Good luck!

I’ve also linked to a few bands here or there, to some interesting or awesome song, video, or website, if you ever find yourself terribly bored with extra time on your hands.

Without further ado, the list:

101.  MGMT
100. I’m From Barcelona
99.   Oppenheimer
98.  Invert
97.  Constantines
96.  Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
95.  Mother Mother
94.  Hollerado
93.  We vs. Death
92.  Interpol
91.  I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness
90.  Thursday
89.  Stone Temple Pilots
88.  Mooney Suzuki
87.  Razorlight
86.  The Great Depression
85.  The Two Koreas
84.  The Mercury Project
83.  Tea Leaf Green
82.  This Will Destroy You
81.  Iron & Wine
80.  Band of Horses
79.  The Stills
78.  Jefferson Airplane
77.  Monsterpants
76.  The Walkmen
75.  Drive-By Truckers
74.  Black Mountain
73.  Pelican
72.  Animal Collective
71.  dd/mm/yyyy
70.  Cage the Elephant
69.  We are Scientists
68.  TV on the Radio
67.  Tegan and Sara
66.  Yeasayer
65.  Editors
64.  The National
63.  Islands
62.  Library Voices
61.  Caribou
60.  Stars
59.  Grizzly Bear
58.  The Presidents of the United States of America
57.  Fuel
56.  Low
55.  The Talking Heads
54.  The Hold Steady
53.  Kaiser Chiefs
52.  Mogwai
51.  Arctic Monkeys
50.  Bush
49.  Franz Ferdinand
48.  Do Make Say Think
47.  Jets Overhead
46.  The Ghost is Dancing
45.  Architecture in Helsinki
44.  Fire on Fire
43.  The Emily Wells Trio
42.  Creedence Clearwater Revival
41.  Dave Matthews Band
40.  The Shins
39.  Deerhunter
38.  Primitive Radio Gods
37.  Barenaked Ladies
36.  Nirvana
35.  Sven Gali
34.  The Trews
33.  The Cribs
32.  Doves
31.  The Cape May
30.  Man Man
29.  Indigo Girls
28.  Sigur Ros
27.  Neil Young and Crazy Horse
26.  The Violent Femmes
25.  Grinderman
24.  Rage Against the Machine
23.  The Postal Service
22.  Fleet Foxes
21.  Kings of Leon
20.  The Frames
19.  Cold War Kids
18.  Silversun Pickups
17.  The Airborne Toxic Event
16.  Modest Mouse
15.  Hey Rosetta!
14.  The Decemberists
13.  My Morning Jacket
12.  Phish
11.  Pink Floyd
10.  Godspeed You Black Emperor!
9.    Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
8.    Radiohead
7.    The Arcade Fire
6.    Explosions in the Sky
5.    LIVE
4.    Death Cab For Cutie
3.    The Beatles
2.    Seven Mary Three
1.    Pearl Jam

Be Safe: An Evening with The Cribs

I arrived at the 9:30 Club in Washington DC exactly on time; doors for The Cribs show were to open at 7; I showed up at 6, to insure a front row spot.  I normally show up a tad earlier than one hour, but The Cribs haven’t really caught on in the states yet (they’re British, and seemingly, considerably more popular there).  I gambled correctly—as I walked up to the door, I was the 7th person in line (and when doors opened, there were no more than 20 of us in line).

I was standing in line for no longer than 5 minutes when Johnny Marr walked out the door and directly past me.  Chances are, you don’t know who Johnny Marr is, but in my insular little “Indie Rock” world, he’s our very own Eddie Van Halen.

Johnny Marr. I didn't take this pic, I stole it off the internet.

He was, most famously, a founding member of The Smiths.  After they disbanded, he dabbled all over the place for years, making special appearances here, in one-off bands there, producing albums over here.  Then, 2 years ago,  he quite unexpectedly joined indie favorites Modest Mouse—being granted full member status— rounding out their sound in a quite marvelous way.  Then, just last year, he joined The Cribs (which, you must realize, were a quite established band in Britain, and they were a band of three brothers—so Marr’s full membership is quite…strange).  Once again, Marr’s addition really amped up that band’s sound, giving it a much less bare-bones feel and adding an “atmospheric” quality.

So now, Marr is an ex-Smith and a current member of one of the most-beloved American indie bands and one of the most beloved British indie bands.  Wow.  And here’s what really makes him so loved:  he really is the epitome of cool.  I mean, he’s just really cool!  And to watch him play…most guitarists like to make what they’re doing look harder than it is, but Marr seems to try to make it look easier.  He really seems like he is making a grocery list in his head while he’s playing, without being disengaged.  AND—he’s short, probably no more than 4 inches taller than me.  Badass.

So anyway, I’m standing in line and Johnny Marr walks past me.  Without thinking I just yelled—yelled, and he was just a few feet away from me—“Johnny!”  Damn.  I sounded like some damn groupie!  I had just been shocked by the sight of his shock-black hair.  So he looks at me expectantly, as if I was going to say something of substance following my shout, like “Your mom’s on the phone!” or “There’s a piano falling toward you!”  but all I managed was “Hi!” and he gave me a perky British “Hi!” back, and was on his way.

Turns out, my HI with Johnny Marr probably wasn’t worth it.  Seems the woman in front of me in line had spoken to him earlier before I got there, and saw the fact that we both knew who he was as some sort of bond.  I didn’t mind talking to her at first—she was, after all, very nice.  But we had a crucial miscommunication that ruined everything.

The annoying woman

She quickly revealed to me that she knew nothing about Johnny Marr—she was there with her son, who knew who he was, she had  “never heard of him”, to quote her.  This was fine with me, of course, and then I said “He’s actually been in lots of bands”.  But she must have thought I said “I’ve actually seen lots of bands.”  Which would have been ridiculous of me to say at that point in the conversation, but she probably heard it because she was waiting to just pounce on someone and tell them her concert-going history, and this opened it up.

There’s one of these in every concert line, isn’t there?  Why do they do this?  I do not give a shit about what shows you’ve seen!!!!  If it can come up in normal conversation, then fine, but the whole “Jaws scar” scene with concerts is just…gross.  It grosses me out, personality-wise.  And she would.  not.  stop.  She talked straight to me for the whole hour in line, and even intimated I should stand with her and her son once we got in there.  Unfortunately, when we got in there, they chose Johnny Marr’s side of the stage, so I had to settle for Gary Jarman’s side (not a bad compromise, really).  Oh, and right before doors opened, she went over to the box office and bought 2 tickets for the Editors show in February, which I may be attending if work schedule permits.  I’ll have to take someone with me in case I get stuck in line next to her again!

(some of you may ask what the difference is between these obnoxious concert-line braggers and me writing long blogs about each of my concert experiences.  And you have a mild point, the difference is negligible, but here it is:  you can’t click out of or minimize these line gabbers.)

The opening band (there were supposed to be 2 openers…not sure what happened) was so-so, I’m not going to waste and time talking about them.

So, after a long wait inside the club (I assume most of you have been to 9:30 at some point, but if not, it’s comparable to Electric Factory or Chameleon Club) The Cribs finally emerged.  I found myself a bit more excited than I had expected.  They did not enter to the prolonged classical music they have been using as entrance music for the European tour this year.  It was sort of like a southern gothic funk….very dark and brooding and quite awesome.  It only played for about one minute before they came out, and when Johnny Marr started playing the “We Were Aborted” riff, I absolutely lost my mind, even though I knew this would be their opener, and I’ve watched about 12 different live versions of this show opener on YouTube, but really, truly, I think “We Were Aborted” may be the BEST concert opener I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen Pearl Jam open with “Wash”!).  The music, the way Marr plays so casually, the way Ryan Jarman jumps facing the drum kit, the way Ross Jarman nearly comes off his stool while hitting the drums…just really, really, really good rock and roll.  And then they immediately follow this with “Hey Scenesters!”, a rollicking indie anthem from an earlier album, and one of my absolute favorites.  I was quite pleased with our crowd’s singalong to “Hey Scenesters!”  (I’d estimate the 9:30 Club was at about half capacity for the show, but we were a lively bunch).  There’s no YouTube from the show I was at, but here’s a video of a “We Were Aborted”—->”Hey Scenesters!” opener from a few months ago in Europe.  It fairly accurately depicts the opening from last night:

Here’s the full setlist:

We Were Aborted
Hey Scenesters!
We Share the Same Skies
Hari Kari
Last Year’s Snow
What About Me
Cheat on Me
I’ve Tried Everything
Save Your Secrets
Mirror Kissers
Another Number
Our Bovine Public
Ignore the Ignorant
Be Safe
I’m a Realist
Girls Like Mystery
Men’s Needs
City of Bugs

–No encore

–“Hari Kari”—the end repetition part was ridiculously intense

–“Save Your Secrets” proves in a live setting that it is, unexpectedly, a moving cynical ballad

–I must have really, REALLY wanted to see “Mirror Kissers”, because I nearly jumped over the barrier when they started it.  It had a prolonged, feedback-heavy intro.  I sweated profusely.

–On a bad note (pun intended), “Our Bovine Public”—which I love–was almost unrecognizable.  It was way too heavy and loud.  I didn’t even know what song it was until the SECOND chorus.  Not sure if this is a result of Marr’s added guitar (this is a song from before Marr joined the band, hence there’s one more guitar part in it when they play it).  Even after I realized what it was, I couldn’t enjoy it.

–When either Gary or Ryan Jarman addressed the crowd (about 5 times total) it was damn near impossible to understand them.  VERY thick accents.  Makes you wonder why it’s so easy to understand them when they’re singing?

–“Be Safe” is an incredible and very unique song in The Cribs canon.  I IMPLORE YOU TO CLICK THE FOLLOWING LINKS, YOU WILL LIKE THIS.  Read what the song is here.  Read the lyrics here.   Here is the best video I can find of a performance of the song similar to how I saw it, however, at my show, the screen was directly behind the band:

–The crowd seemed most amped for “I’m a Realist”—there were many calls for it throughout the show, and the biggest cheer was for the song’s start—which I found odd, as it’s not their most dynamic song.  It has somewhat silly, curse-infused lyrics at the beginning, though, which I suppose accounts for it’s popularity.

–“Girls Like Mystery” was a nice surprise, hadn’t seen it on any of the setlists I’d been following leading up to the show.

–I was at first disappointed when I realized “City of Bugs” would be the closer.  It’s my least favorite song on the new album.  But bada-bing!  In the live setting I was convinced.  I saw what they were going for.  It was engaging, energizing, and intense.  I could even finally forgive the lyric “I’m messed up, baby, like the Berlin Wall.”  The guys left their guitars on the stage in a feedback loop, so we couldn’t rightfully cheer until a roadie unplugged the guitars, a few minutes after the band left the stage, but I was looking around, and nobody left that venue until we could cheer, and when we did, we did as though The Cribs were still on stage to hear us.  Great band.  Consider me hooked.

The Cribs+Me=Melted Face

Full blog entry coming within 24 hours:

Only in Pennsylvania…

Mom posing with the Grand Campion chicken at the Pennsylvania Farm Show

Wrigley Field (fiction)

She wandered the aisles, aimlessly, but with an air of intent one would be forced to describe as wanton.  He had long ago learned how it worked.  She walked all the way down one aisle, looking at things haphazardly, glancingly even, then turned on her heel at the end of the aisle, going back the way she came, now closely inspecting the items she’d just moments ago seemed not to notice.  If nothing caught her fancy, they’d proceed to the next aisle, him trailing behind with the cart like some willess comet tail.  Now she’d put something in the cart, ask him what he thought of fuchsia, or if her feet were too big for her legs.

This was housewares.  In an outlet store, not one of those brightly-lit big box stores with the deep discounts, but some junky outlier time had almost forgot.  She was holding up an espresso maker in a tiny white box, with the photograph of the stainless steel appliance on the front, looking polished and perfect.

“Do you think we should have an espresso maker?” she said.

He looked at the ceiling, formed his mouth into a doubtful V.

“I mean, do you think you would like to have an espresso maker?” she rephrased.

“I barely drink coffee.  Tea. If there were a kind of tea espresso.”

“Well.  There isn’t.”

She looked at him for a few moments.  He reread the store’s name on the handle of the cart.  She put the box back on the shelf.

He had become aware over the years of the different sounds feet made on different kinds of floor tiles.  The more upscale the store, the more muffled the footfalls, all the way up to the posh, unaffordable stores with carpet.  The lower rent places, like this place, echoed, as if everyone, even the cowed house-husbands, were rushed business women wearing heels in an antiquated hallowed hall.  Never certain why this discrepancy should matter, he fixated on it anyway—fixated on it more with each passing shopping trip.  It seemed somehow more important to him than the merchandise they bought, or which store name was on the cart handle, or the questions she asked.  The echoes loomed large, like the shadows of ancient monoliths, or a fever the day after the start of a cough.

“Do you think the kids would use this?” She was holding up a red rectangular box that held coffee and tea service for six.

“This again?” he said.

“What do you mean, This again?”

He harrumphed.  Moved the cart a little side-to-side, as if it were a slalom skier, skiing in place.  “I mean, what kids?”

“Oh you,” she said, and put the coffee and tea service in the cart.

They walked single file to the end of the aisle, and then she turned on her heel and went back down the aisle again—a rare third trip down one aisle.

She stopped to pick up a large, orange, scented candle with three wicks.  Brought it to her nose.  Turned it around in her hand to get a feel for the heft.  She cleared her throat.  “What is it about you and the kids?”

He pretended not to hear.

“I mean, you acting like they’re not real.” she said.

“I suppose there are worse problems than you having delusions, but I do wish you wouldn’t talk about them in stores.”  He slalomed the cart again.

“You’ve always been such a silly bird.”  She put the candle in the cart.

They came out of the aisle, turned left.  Now they were out of housewares and into clothes.  Their feet clacked on the tiles.  She fidgeted with her purse for a piece of gum.  “I think this is just the cutest little top.”

“Is that a camisole?” he asked.

“No, silly.  This isn’t anything like a camisole.”

“Oh.”

“Would you know a camisole if you saw one?”

“I suppose not.”

“I’m going to try this on.”

“Certainly.”

“You’ll be right here?”

“I’ll be right here.”

“Back in a jiffy.”

He wandered through the clothes racks, the cart ahead of him, click-clacks all around him.  He stopped to ponder a lime green scarf.  He thought it looked like artificial turf, which made him think of Wrigley Field.  Then he doubted himself, unsure if Wrigley was turf or natural grass.  And of all the places in the world, all the monuments, secret coves, legendary pubs and government offices and isolated spots of grass near Verdun or, say, Stratford-upon-Avon, where Wrigley Field would rank in some great unmade list of human places, taking all of individual existence into account.

He realized he had steered the cart to the front of the store, by the registers.  He looked around him.  He left the cart stand alone, walked around the registers, and out the whooshing sliding front doors into a light drizzling rain.  Halfway across the parking lot he realized the lime green scarf was in his hand.  He dropped it to the ground and fished in his pocket for the car keys.  The lock clicked open.  He turned the ignition, sat looking straight ahead, pondering where to go.  After a moment he put the car in gear and drove.

Fake Band Name and Album Title of the Week, 1/15

This week’s band name is from me, album title from Cory:

Fake band name:  Oranger

Oranger album title:  Glory Machine

I’ve got a limited number of copies of a new poetry collection, This is What is Invisible. It’s a small collection—not comprehensive like past ones, but it is a ‘selected’ collection.  Let me know who wants one.  First come, first served.  If I don’t see you often, get me your address.

(nuclear family is assumed to be getting one)

Bathtub Gin

imagine me sitting in a bathtub a bathtub with no water in it with all my clothes on staring up at you in the dark with the world’s saddest frown a moment before you hadn’t known where i’d disappeared to and you searched the whole apartment you skipped the bathroom the first time around because you saw the light was out so you were pretty sure i wasn’t in there but then after failing to find me anywhere else you went back to the bathroom and there i was in the tub with the shower curtain pulled just frowning at you what could you have thought I mean there are the obvious interpretations you know such as I must have found myself unclean and hence being in a state of such extreme intoxication my subconscious mind was in control and trying to cleanse me or maybe after getting up off the couch after having done that bonghit with you I thought you’d follow me into the bathroom and then the bathtub and we’d have insane glorious drunken sex in there and when you didn’t follow me I naturally got sad but the truth is who knows i mean it wasn’t the first time or the last time that someone found me in a bathtub like that and let me tell you sister it is right embarrassing the morning after when they tell you about it (He sat quietly in his dark apartment, pondering.  Was it still important if, all these years later, he still find the answer to why people always found him in bathtubs?  Perhaps it was no longer a key to unlocking his existence, if there are in fact such keys.  But what if it was?  When does one stop searching?  He thinks for a moment about the fact that both his parents were and still are bath-takers, not shower-takers.  And, in fact, as a child, so was he.  So are all children.  When does one make the decision to shower instead of bathe?  For him, it was early pubescence, shortly before the virginity-loss.  Was the drunken-bathtub-sitting a way of communing with his younger self, or even his parents?  Ah, but the things you think about when life is good!)

Fake Band Name and Album Title of the Week, 1/8

This week’s band name is Cory’s, the album mine:

Fake band name:  Luck Dragons

Luck Dragons album title:   Sending Back the Mountain of Mail

THE LIST

1. Jergens

2. Tiny shoes

3. Simultaneous snooker

4. If I was a painter…but then again, no.

5. Golgi apparatus

6. Toodles the Timely Termite

7. Cheese Cars

8. Instinct Buttons

9.  Your face—->the ground

10. There is a huge bug on my shoulder and I don’t care

11. Fallout Fudge

12. The Poop Dance

13. Jambalaya!

14. Itchy Fence

15. Rubber chess

16. The Jousting Memoirs

17. 9×5=45

18. Uni-lash

19. Harmony Korine’s first paycheck

20. ink, banana, something else

First House

You can recreate the view from the balcony,
looking at the brown gray neighbor’s house
an arm’s length away.
You can recreate the slanting afternoon light
through the thin-paned windows
coated in dog-nose-snot.
You can recreate the padding dog feet
on hardwood floors,
the paisley relief-map kitchen wallpaper,
the cave-like musty humid basement,
that smell of oatmeal and warm sugar.
But you’ll never recreate (or even remember)
how you got from one room to the next,
or what order you kept things in
in that closet, or desk drawer,
or how many times you fell asleep
on the cold living room floor.
And no one will ever quite know
where that little figurine of the Asian-looking man
came from (the one next to the sink,
looking at the fridge.)

How I Became a Columbus Blue Jackets Fan

I decided, about 2 weeks ago, that I wanted to be a fan of a hockey team.  I was sick of all the hoopla about football (plus I don’t give too much of a crap about football—wake me up when the Eagles are in the Super Bowl).  The fact is, I’m just not a sports guy.  I have trouble working up the energy to follow a team consistently, to learn the player’s names, etc etc.  But I started getting jealous of this extra passion that people seem to have about a sports team.

But I do not want to passionately follow a football or baseball team—seems everyone does that, and I just do not give a single solitary shit about the NBA.  Truthfully, I’ve always had a little tiny soft spot for hockey.

By default, I’ve always followed Philadelphia teams, and I will always have affection for the Flyers, but I did not want to choose a Pennsylvania team to be “my team”.  It seems too easy to simply like a team from your state, though I did want to like a team that was geographically close to me.  And I wanted to choose an underdog, too.  So I started perusing the NHL box scores.  I also went to Forbes.com and looked up which franchises were having the most financial difficulty (I assume I’ll be giving this team some of my money, and there’s nothing fun for me about giving a team with a shitload of money even more money).  So I was able to find a few teams that were within driving distance, were having shitty seasons and were having money problems.  So what did it come down to?

Their name.

And frankly, the New York Islanders is just not a team that I can see getting behind.  The Islanders, really?  But, the Columbus Blue Jackets, a team named after soldiers in the Civil War, a team that has only existed a few years, is barely scraping by financially, and has the second-worst record in the NHL this season?  That I can get behind. Liking a team, I think, should be difficult.

Ever since I decided on them about a week ago, I’ve been following the scores every day and so far have managed to stay engaged with the experiment (and they are really, really bad).  I think it might be easier for me because they are NOT on TV very often, that way there is very little time commitment for me, just gotta check the scores when I get home every night.

I just thought I should clue you guys in to my new hockey team, as I may occasionally mention them (oh, and I’ll be taking a trip or two to games, tickets are really cheap!), and also there’s now lots of easy to buy gift ideas for me!  So far, I don’t have anything Blue Jackets related!

Check out their sweet logo!:

Fake Band and Album Name of the Week, 1/3

This week’s band name is mine, album name is Cory’s:

Band Name:  The Gaza Strippers

Gaza Strippers album title:  We Promise Not to Overdose Before We’re Washed Up

Last night at work, I was in the kitchen when my normally quiet, shy dishwasher walked in and informed me:

“Party of ten just got sat, two adults, eight kids.”

Me:  “Wow, how do you get a party of eight kids and two adults?!”

Dishwasher:  “Lots of pushin”