Meaty, Beaty, Big & Bloggy

IT’S HER PITY-PARTY, AND SHE’LL WHINE IF SHE WANTS TO…
In one of her more underrated songs, Pat Benatar once sang “You’ve got a burning desire to be the victim…” and that pretty much sums up Sarah Palin these days, because she’s milking her woe-is-me card for all it’s worth as she makes the rounds on the talk-show circuit plugging her new book. In it, Miss Winky-Dink predictably pisses and moans that Katie Couric was a big meanie to her in that infamous interview last fall, and that the so-called “liberal media” in general is out to get her. And now she’s bitching that the cover featuring her on the current issue of Newsweek is “sexist”—as if someone forced her at gunpoint to pose in those running shorts smiling from ear-to-ear. Sweetheart, if you really wanna be President, you need to knock off the drama queen histrionics and develop a thicker skin than this. She’s a politician, and by definition, a politician has critics, enemies and others looking to tear him/her down—it comes with the territory. What kind of a leader can she be when all she’s worried about is how the media treats her? In the eloquent words of Stewie Griffin, “Go suck on a railroad spike!”

DROWNING IN THE PREJEAN POOL
Anyone else out there as tired as I am already of this prissy Carrie Prejean Miss California prima donna? She got all huffy at Larry King last week as he hurled his usual softball questions at her, which she deemed “inappropriate” and walked off the set in mid-show. Meanwhile, it seems that not one, but eight some-odd videos have surfaced from her past of Prejean masturbating on camera, which naturally prompts little ol’ me to ask who the hell is Miss Homophobe to judge anyone’s else’s sexuality? And like Sarah Palin, she just loves to play the victim card too, saying the media has screwed her over. Uhhh, sounds to me more like she pretty much screwed herself, just like in her videos! Don’t go away mad, Carrie, just go away…

CIVILITY, THE LOST ART
I wish I’d written the following letter I read in the Op-Ed page of the K.C. Star this week authored by one Phil Kline of Gladstone, MO about the decline of constructive debate in our society:

“I decided to try an experiment. My idea was to watch CNN, MSNBC, and Fox between the hours of 5PM and 8PM. I would change channels when any of our highly revered public servants or the analysts who try to help us make sense of governance, got to shouting in brazen interruption of each other. Result: The battery for my remote is now dead, the logo is rubbed off the channel button, and I’ve made an appointment for my carpel tunnel surgery…Honestly, my pit bull displays more civility and social grace than do our leaders. Once Americans could listen, consider and converse. It appears now that we have descended into the pit of automatic contentiousness and programmed vilification.”

Nicely put, Mr. Kline. Unfortunately, all the rancor, shouting and bitch-slapping on political talk shows makes for great theater (albeit of the absurd), thus translating into high Nielsen ratings, hence why the networks encourage it and why it ain’t going away any time soon.

MR. POT, MEET MR. KETTLE (AGAIN!)
The ever-Flatulent One, K.C. Star sports columnist Jason Whitlock, has struck once again. In today’s column, he claims the reason why the Kansas University football team is having a bad season (they’ve dropped five straight games after starting 5-0) is because their head coach, Mark Mangino, is too fat. This coming from a guy who would need to remove all the padding to (barely) fit into the McDonald’s Grimace costume! While it’s true that Mangino is a massive myocardial infarction just waiting to happen—he easily weighs 400 pounds—and I do agree that he needs to take a little better care of himself (like I’m one to talk), this may well be Whitlock’s most bizarre claim in his 15 years at the paper.

According to Whitlock, “The weight and the stress (of coaching) form a perfect recipe for depression. They can put your mind in a very negative place. They can make you moody and volatile…Mangino coaches from an angry place.” Hmmm, that didn’t seem to be a problem for anyone a couple years back when KU won the Orange Bowl over Virginia Tech, or when they hammered Nebraska for the first time since I was a small child. Whitlock went on to add, “If he spent two years away from football addressing his weight problem, applied for a job at 270 pounds, he would be a can’t miss BCS candidate. Heck, he would be a terrific choice to coach in the NFL. Every problem he experienced at Kansas could be blamed on his weight.” So, based on Jason’s twisted logic, if he himself would drop about 125 pounds, then his daily columns might be infinitely more insightful and thought-provoking than this heaping pile of yak droppings.

DUMB QUESTION, BUT…
… why does the media constantly report what Oprah Tweets, and why does Oprah even need to be on Twitter in the first place? She’s already the most powerful woman in America with a media empire that includes the most-watched daily talk show in the free world and a magazine named after herself—it ain’t as if she doesn’t already have a big enough forum/platform/outlet to make herself be heard…

KEN OBER, 1957-2009
Ken Ober, the host of MTV’s game show parody “Remote Control”, was an unexpected casualty this week from undisclosed causes. RC was one of the first non-music video programs that MTV ran in the late ‘80s, and it was pretty funny for the first year or so, but as usual with MTV from the late ‘80s onward, everything they touched turned to shit, and “Remote” was eventually neutered and rendered unwatchable by the end of its run. Rest in peace, Ken.

MOVIE REVIEW: MY SISTER’S KEEPER
I watched this one last night and found it mildly interesting. It’s the story of a young girl whom her parents gave birth to in order to have potential bone marrow donor for her older sister who was stricken with leukemia. When the younger girl gets old enough to realize she’s being used as a human pin cushion to save her sister, she rebels and attempts to emancipate herself from further invasive procedures on her own body by taking legal action against her parents, in particular, her obsessive be-yotch mother, played by the grossly-overrated Cameron Diaz. A rather convoluted, but apparently true, story—the movie had some good plot twists here and there, but the negative undertone throughout really bogged it down for me, as did how the film kept skipping back-and-forth in time with too many confusing flashbacks.

I do especially give kudos to young actress Sofia Vassilieva (from NBC's “Medium”) for daring to have her head (and eyebrows) shaved for the role of the cancer girl. Dakota Fanning was originally slated for the part, but bailed when they wouldn’t let her fake it with a bald-cap. Just as well—Fanning can’t act her way out of a paper bag anyway, as her only discernable talent is screaming hysterically, but I digress. Miss Sofia, who resembles a young Molly Ringwald with no hair in the movie, stepped up to the plate and made a brave sacrifice—pretty gutsy for a teenage girl. On the other hand, Diaz—a highly-paid grown woman—apparently didn’t have the balls to do the same, so she took the wussy way out by wearing a bald-cap when her character shaved her own head out of sympathy for her daughter. Unlike Sofia, Diaz’s “baldness” looked so phony—the bald cap made her head look twice as big, sorta like the humanoids on that “Alien Nation” show, minus the leopard spots. And even then, Diaz only appears “bald” in one brief scene as apparently her hair miraculously grew back overnight—so much for continuity—while young Sofia bares her head throughout practically the entire film. You go, girl!

As for the film itself, I give it about a 5.

GLAD I DIDN’T BET THE FARM…
…that they’d give the AL Cy Young Award to C.C. Sabathia, like I thought they would instead of the Royals’ Zack Greinke. It’s refreshing to see the East Coast Bias take a holiday for a change…

ANY PORT IN THE STORM?
It didn’t take long for former Chef Larry Johnson to get snapped up this week by the Cincinnati Bungholes, aka Rap Sheets ‘R Us, a team LJ should fit right in with. Since his last name is Johnson, #27 will no doubt go the Chad Ocho-Stinko route and legally change his name to Dos-Siete.

WORLD’S DUMBEST SONG LYRICS
“I Knew You Were Waiting For Me”—ARETHA FRANKLIN/GEORGE MICHAEL (1987) Haven’t done one of these in a while, but I heard this one again the other day: “Like a warrior that fights…” As opposed to a warrior that doesn’t fight? I believe that’s what they call a pacifist…

Welcome back, my friends, to the blog that never ends...

…come inside, come inside!

SLEEPING AT THE WHEEL?
Let me get this straight: the FBI and CIA have been watching this Fort Hood shooter tick-turd for quite some time now, and were well aware he’d been reaching out to Al-Queda? Then what the fuck was he still doing in the U.S. Army?!? Come on, folks, we need to mind our store a little better than this…

DING DONG—THE ASSHOLE’S GONE!—PART 1
It took them long enough, but the Chefs finally released impudent running back Larry Johnson on Monday. And predictably, Larry proceeded to blame the mean ol’ K.C. media for all his transgressions and fuck-ups. Sadly, L.J. will go down as a classic case of "what might have been"—he had all the talent in the world on the field, but pissed most of it away, alienated Kansas City fans and ultimately wore out his welcome here. Guess he’ll be throwing his drinks at his "bitches" in another NFL city real soon. This move also preserves the team’s all-time rushing record held by a much better citizen, "The Beast That Is The" Priest Holmes. It’s also given numerous K.C. retailers cause to offer Larry Johnson jerseys at 50% off. I have a better suggestion—I say we take those jerseys and convert them into diapers and donate them to a good charity in Dick Vermeil’s name. Good riddance to a bonehead…

DING DONG—THE ASSHOLE’S GONE!—PART 2
Nice to see them finally execute that D.C. sniper douche-bag last night. Don’t rest in peace, butt-munch--hope you were gravely disappointed when you realized there ain't no Allah after all. Good riddance to a mega-asshole…

REBEL WITHOUT A CLUE?
There was much hoop-de-doo in the media this week about tennis player Andre Agassi’s forthcoming autobiography where he says he actually hated tennis, but was forced to play against his will by his allegedly domineering father while growing up. And this is the guy that Canon cameras positioned as a "Rebel" in their TV ads back in the day? Doesn’t strike me as being terribly rebellious if he couldn’t even stand up to his old man. And cry me a freakin’ river for all those millions you made playing that game you so hated, Andre…

"MAKE SURE THEY GET YOUR GOOD SIDE, GOOD SIDE"—A. ANT
To all the conservatives who pissed and moaned last fall when Newsweek had the unmitigated temerity to put Sarah Palin’s un-retouched extreme close-up that revealed all her supposed "flaws" on their cover, I direct your attention to the latest issue of Time. There you’ll find more wrinkles on Hillary Clinton’s face than in an un-made bed—and this ain’t even a close-up! Miss Winky-Dink should be deliriously grateful to look as good as she does at her age anyway ($150,000 clothing and make-up budget notwithstanding), because the years haven’t been kind to our current Secretary of State, it appears…

‘TIS THE SEASON? I THINK NOT…
I think I already mentioned on here that Lowe’s hardware store had their outdoor Xmas decorations for sale back on September 18th. This past weekend, the bloody Salivatin’ Army bell ringers—a major bane of my existence—were already out in force at the new Walmart in Raytown, and when the clock struck midnight on Halloween, one of our local FM stations started playing wall-to-wall holiday music. At the risk of sounding like E. Scrooge, I think Ozzy Osbourne nailed it when he said, "I hate fucking Christmas!" Every year, this yuletide thing seems to start earlier and earlier, and it sucks the life right out of me. Whatever happened to waiting until Thanksgiving to start the holiday season? Before long, the damn stores will be putting out the inflatable snowmen and Santas on the 4th of July! I miss the days when Christmas was something fun to look forward to, rather than the obligation that it’s morphed into in recent years. It also doesn’t help that I’m not religious, so that aspect of the Christmas season doesn’t register with me, either. Cancel Christmas? Sounds ducky to me…

JANE! STOP THIS CRAZY THING!!!
Speaking of our new Walmart—which is a mere half-mile from Holland’s Comet headquarters—in its first three weeks of operation, I’ve witnessed no less than three individual acts of vehicular stupidity in and around our great new shopping Mecca. First, there was the Walmart shopper who thought the red light leading out of their parking lot was merely a "suggestion" and he proceeded to pull right out and cut me off as I barreled towards him on the highway at 45 mph. This new store actually straddles our widely-divided 350 highway in Raytown, and a few days later, I witnessed another Wallyworld shopper turn right into the eastbound lanes of 350—going westbound! And just this past Saturday, some Amazon woman managed to ram her vehicle into one of those yellow posts in the parking lot in a single-car incident. To make matters worse, the new Walmart’s location only serves to exacerbate what is already a fairly major clusterfuck during evening rush hour, so I’m kinda hoping they hurry up and invent that flying vehicle that George Jetson folds up into a briefcase to get home in.

CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #121
"Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy"—BAD COMPANY (1979) "Reachin’ for the sky, and tearin’ up the ground…" Don’t it sound kinda like Paul Rodgers sings "Chairman of the ground" there?

TENTH AVENUE THIEF-OUT?!?
I was listening to the latest Springsteen CD the other day, Working On A Dream, and found the melody on the Dylan-esque opening track, "Outlaw Pete" to be awfully familiar. It took a few minutes to register with me that it sounded mighty close to the "doo-doo-doo-do-doo-doo-doo" intro to "I Was Made For Lovin’ You" by Kiss! Better watch out, Brucie—Gene and Paul might sue yer ass…

GUARANTEED TO BLOW YOUR HEAD APART?!? MEH...
I borrowed some Emerson Lake & Palmer CDs from the library recently (hence the above title references) and have really tried to warm up to the body of their work, but I’m finding it most difficult. My older sister used to think these guys were the cat’s ass back in the ‘70s, and there’s no question that Keith Emerson, Greg Lake and Carl Palmer are all top-flight musicians, but I find most of their music to be cold as a dead fish. ‘70s Prog Rock is like that to me in general, anyway, so I guess I’m a bit biased. While I do like some of the big radio hits like "Lucky Man", "Karn Evil 9" and "Fanfare For The Common Man", and even how ELP would occasionally loosen up and do something off-the-wall like "Hoedown" or B. Bumble & the Stingers’ "Nutrocker", the majority of their stuff comes across to me as pompous, overblown and boring with very little warmth in their music at all. I think they might’ve benefitted greatly from adding some guitar to their stuff, too—organ, bass and drums makes for a weird combo in Rock. Like the April Wine song "Wanna Rock" states, "If it don’t Rock me, then it ain’t gonna please me…"

FEELING THE NOIZE
Another band I’ve been checking out via the library is Slade, who were sort of the British version of Cheap Trick. Lead singer Noddy Holder sounded a bit like CT’s Robin Zander at times, and they were kinda goofy-looking for a Rock band, not unlike the Tricksters. I’m discovering there was a lot more to this band than just the songs Quiet Riot covered in the ‘80s, "Cum On Feel The Noize" and "Mama, Weer All Crazee Now". Slade could alternately rock out with songs like "We’ll Bring The House Down" or bring a crowd together with a touching sing-along like "My Oh My", and Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley both cite Slade as an early influence for the Kiss sound and live act. Slade was huge over across the big pond back in the ‘70s, but for reasons unknown, they just never really caught on over here, even though their sound surely appeals to American Rock audiences. When I first got my MTV in 1984, I remember "Run Runaway" getting pretty heavy rotation and between that and the QR covers, Slade enjoyed a nice resurgence in popularity during that time. Pity it didn’t last—they’re a very underappreciated band.

"LET’S GIVE IT TO ‘EM RIGHT NOW!"
Here’s my all-time best version of "Louie, Louie" countdown:

5) Paul Revere & The Raiders (original studio version-1963)
4) The Kingsmen (1963)
3) John Belushi/Cast of Animal House (1978)
2) Motorhead (1980)
1) Paul Revere & The Raiders (live version on Here They Come! album-1965)

Ironically, the only version on which you can clearly understand the lyrics is Motorhead’s, believe it or not! And a little trivia for you—both the Kingsmen and Raiders versions were recorded in the same studio in the Great Northwest. Much to Da Raidas’ chagrin at the time, the Kingsmen aced them out with it on the charts, but PR&TR went on to have the far more successful career, thankfully.

"MEMORIES, LIGHT THE CORNERS OF MY MIND…"
While watching my favorite new TV show, "Squidbillies" last night, my man Early Cuyler (pictured here) reminded me of a blast from the past. When was the last time you were concerned with a piece of car audio equipment that featured "auto-reverse" and/or a "detachable face"? For me, it’s easily a decade, at least…

A NEW PLAYPEN
Last Saturday, I paid a visit to the new Independence Events Center, home of our new minor-league hockey team, the Missouri Mavericks, during its open house. Nice little building that holds about 5,000 puckheads, and considering how low-slung as the place is, it appears that the seats higher-up actually provide the better views. I thought the video boards and scoreboards seemed rather cheesy for this modern era, but overall, for a small suburban sports venue, it should serve us well. The IEC’s shakedown cruise is Friday night when the Mavs take on the Wichita Blunder, er uh, Thunder.

My Life In The Kiss Cult - Part B

PART B: DROWNING IN THE GENE POOL

Continuing on in my occasional series about my favorite Rock ‘N’ Roll band of all-time, this chapter deals with Gene Simmons’ 2001 autobiography, Kiss And Make-Up, which I recently read. I swore up and down that I would not spend one thin dime on this book, and I’ve lived up to my word. Never said I wouldn’t borrow it from the library and read it, though, did I? Anyway, can you say “hatchet job”? While I do believe most of the stuff Simmons wrote about his mom and his upbringing in Israel, as well as his family life with Shannon, Nick and Sophie, I had a lot of trouble buying the crap he wrote about Ace Frehley and Peter Criss throughout the book. I have no doubt If you asked each member of Kiss to tell the story of the band, you’d get four different versions of what truly happened anyway, but Ace and Peter don’t deserve the hammering they received here. Neither of them are saints, by any means, but I thought Gene’s poison-pen skewering of them was uncalled-for.

As the Demon himself once said, it’s okay if long-time fans don’t always agree with the things he and Paul Stanley say and do--at least it shows that we care. If fans like me didn’t care, we’d not say anything at all. Therefore, I have a few nits to pick with the Artist Formerly Known as Chaim Witz, which I’ve itemized below…

In regard to the Kiss solo albums released in 1978, Gene writes:
“After twenty plus years of sales figures, I’m at the top, slightly ahead of Ace, who is slightly ahead of Paul. Peter’s sold the least well of the four. None of the albums really yielded hits. The song that got the farthest was Ace’s ’New York Groove’, which went to number 14. Peter didn’t chart. 'Radioactive', my single, stopped in the twenties, and Paul’s 'Hold Me, Touch Me' was a little lower that.”

Uhhh, at the top of what, Gene? In the twenties of where? That ain’t the way I remember it—Ace’s album (which was generally considered the best of the four) sold the most, followed closely by Paul’s (which sounded the closest to a regular Kiss album). Gene’s album (which was downright weird) and Peter’s album (which was like a poor man's Eddie Money record) both lagged way behind. Neither Gene (#47) nor Paul (#46) even sniffed the top 40 with those songs Gene mentions, so I don’t know what chart(s) he’s referring to.

Regarding the possibility of reuniting with Ace and Peter at the time of the Kiss Conventions in 1993-94:
“Ace and Peter had become so crippled by their emotional problems and by various substances—they had become so diminished as human beings and as musicians—that they would have been an embarrassment.”

Sorry, Gene, I ain’t buying this bullshit, either. I don’t know about Peter so much during that time, but I saw Ace play live here in K.C. in ‘94, and he put on a damn good show that night. The Spaceman sure didn’t resemble no cripple, that’s for sure.

On the 2000 “Farewell” tour:
“People were crying in the audience, but maybe it wasn’t because they were never going to see us again—maybe it was because Ace and Peter were playing so badly. As the tour went on, it became clear to me that the decision to make this tour the last one was not only smart but maybe inevitable. Musically, it was the worst we had ever been.”

Okay, this stuff pisses me off the most, I think, coming from Mr. “Buffalo-fart” bass solo man and from the man who screamed “Let me hear ya, Kansas City!”—in St. Louis! First off, I caught no less than four shows on the “Farewell” Tour, and they were all first-rate. I’ve also watched videos from that tour numerous times since then and at no point do I consider Frehley’s and Criss’ musicianship to be subpar, and if I did find their performances to be as poor as Gene claims, I would say so. I will say this, though—it’s no secret that neither Ace’s nor Peter’s heart was in the Kiss thing by that time (can you blame them?), but they still played like professionals to the end. And if Peter was such a terrible drummer, then why, Gene, did you bring him back for the Alive IV Kiss Symphony thing in 2003? Makes no sense…

Gene talked about Ace and Peter during the band’s early days:
“Ace did nothing.”

Gene used this same line numerous times talking about how Frehley allegedly didn’t help load equipment, didn’t write songs, didn’t participate in band meetings, didn’t play in any reindeer games, whatever, when the band first started to tour. If he was such a lazy-ass, then why didn’t you find a suitable replacement? After all, you almost went with Bob Kulick before Ace aced him out at your auditions.

“Ace had a fascination with Nazi memorabilia, and in his drunken stupors he and his best friend would make videotapes of themselves dressed up as Nazis…Ace showed me a piece of tape where he and his best friend were making verbal threats against ‘the Jew in New York‘ (Mayor Ed Koch), saying ‘We’ll cook him up.’ Of course, he was drunk out of his mind. Paul (Stanley) and I weren’t thrilled about that. But Ace laughed at how funny he was when he saw the tape.”

I find this one hard to believe. If I were Jewish and my mother had survived the concentration camp horror like Gene’s mom did and some palooka came along and pulled that kind of crap in front of me, I woulda decked his sorry ass and he’d no longer be my friend and bandmate. Ace Frehley doesn’t strike me as being a malicious dude—he’s no angel, and he is indeed of German descent—but I just can’t fathom that he’d be that cruel and insensitive, especially to his closest cohorts, regardless of how drunk he got.

“We were in the back of a station wagon, four of us…Peter and Ace would strip off their pants and stick their dicks against the window of the station wagon we were touring in.”

And during Gene’s and Paul’s first encounter with their future drummer:
“Peter walked up and said, ‘Hi, I’m Peter Criscoula and I’ve got a nine-inch dick.’”

Not buying either one of these stories, either. Again, Peter and Ace are hardly model citizens, but I’m having trouble envisioning these incidents being true. Even if they are true, why bring them up now? What good comes from it other than soothing your own vindictive ego, Gene? And if Ace and Peter so loathsome, then why didn’t you kick them out of the band when you had the chance before you hit the big-time? Why did you put up with them so long, if they were such douche-bags?

Regarding original Kiss manager Bill Aucoin:
“I didn’t realize it immediately, but Bill was gay.”

I do hope, for Mr. Aucoin’s sake, that his homosexuality wasn’t a well-kept secret before Gene’s book came out. If Aucoin is indeed gay and proud of it, then no harm/no foul, I guess, but I thought it was totally unnecessary for Simmons to out him when Bill’s sexual preference really had nothing at all to do with Gene’s personal life, much less the history of the band.

Regarding the 1974 remake of Bobby Rydell’s 1959 hit “Kissin’ Time”:
“We also extracted a promise from (Casablanca Records boss man) Neil (Bogart) that the cover version of the song would never appear on any actual Kiss albums, that it would be a one-shot deal to promote the (kissing) contest. Of course, it didn’t work out that way—the song later found its way onto some albums and re-releases.”

Huh? SOME albums? Uhhh, “Kissin’ Time” appears on every copy I’ve ever had of the first Kiss album--Side 2, Track 1—and I have yet to ever see it on any re-releases. It is true, however, the song didn’t appear on initial pressings of the first album when it was released, and if you happen to possess a vinyl copy of Kiss that doesn’t contain “Kissin’ Time”, it’s probably worth a goodly sum of money. I know I’m being anal here, but I don’t get that “some albums” bit.

As for the rest of the Kiss and Make-Up, I could’ve done without Gene’s incessant Alpha-male boasting about fucking all those groupies over the years. There’s a big difference between quantity and quality, and sticking your dick in every female you stumble across that has a pulse don’t really impress me much. I also grew quite weary of constantly being reminded of how Gene had never been drunk. Fine, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou, me and Ace and Peter aren’t worthy of your blessing, evidently, but I still want to know what the fuck you were doing on that Miller Lite beer TV ad about five years ago.

Ace Frehley had a pretty good comeback on Gene in 2002: “Gene Simmons is a good musician and a good songwriter, but in the year 2002 Gene uses the bass as a vehicle to be a businessman, promote Kiss merchandise, get laid, and do a hundred other things.”

There were a couple things in Gene’s book that did actually jibe with me, however...

On the laid-back southern California lifestyle he encountered while dating Cher in the late ‘70s:
“California was also awash in est, and in meditation, and in Eastern mysticism. I didn’t have much use for any of them. Even when the Beatles were going through their Maharishi phase, I felt betrayed. You idiots, I thought. While India may be a spiritually brilliant country, spirituality meant nothing to me. Children are dying there every day of starvation. I’d rather be unspiritual and fed than spiritual and starving. Sorry. This was always my philosophy—pragmatism.”

As crude as Gene sounds, he does bring up a legitimate point here—if India is such an enlightened country, then why is there so much poverty there? I’ve tried reading books about the whole meditation thing and “living in the moment” and just accepting things as they happen in life, and it’s all a load of bullshit to me. My brain just ain’t wired that way, sorry kids.

On hob-nobbing with celebrities while dating Cher:
“To me it was chit-chat. I’ve always been about the facts—give me the information. And then it’s off to the pleasure zones.”

Maybe there’s a little Gene Simmons in me after all, because I totally agree with him here. I’m a horrible schmoozer at parties or in other social situations in large part because idle chit-chat bores the shit out of me. Like Gene, I’m more of a cut-to-the-chase kind of person. Don’t get me wrong—get me on a topic of discussion I’m interested in, and I’ll talk your ears off, but just chewing the fat about mundane banalities is incredibly dull to me.

Gene also wrote that he once worked for something called the Puerto Rican Interagency Council in New York. With an acronym like that—P.R.I.C.—it seems like a perfect fit for Gene!

Meanwhile, Paul Stanley had some more disparaging comments about Ace and Peter in the paper recently…

Regarding the reunion years:
“I think we had people who were delusional about their songwriting abilities and musical abilities. There was an unfortunate carryover of bad habits that people had sworn they would never do again. It’s strange when people come back to a band nothing but grateful, with promises they’ve learned from their mistakes, and as soon as they have money in their pocket, quickly develop amnesia.”

“Are you still glad you did the reunion?”
“Totally. Totally. It was magical at the beginning. But ultimately, the only magic I wanted was to make certain people disappear. And that was a shame. It had the potential to be much more than just a reunion tour. But it quickly became clear that it couldn’t progress. It was an opportunity for people to hone their skills and take the band to another level. But I guess that was left for Tommy, Eric, Gene and me.”

It kills me how Paul always sounds like he’s reading off a script when he talks about the past in his undying effort to stay “on message”. Love him to death, but I long ago grew weary of him chanting the “there are four stars” mantra when it comes to Kiss. It’s always been him and Gene and whoever wants to kiss their butts the most in this band. The only time you can associate the term “four stars” with Kiss is the hotels they stay in.

I still remember it was autumn and the blog was shinin'...

...'cuz you look just like a Commie and you might just be a member, baby!

IT’S A BIRD! IT’S A PLANE! IT’S…OH, SHIT—WE’VE BEEN PUNKED!
I know this is a bit belated, but I can’t help but congratulate myself for seeing right through the whole "Balloon Boy" thing right from the start two weeks ago. How hard up for attention do ya gotta be to throw your own six-year-old son under the bus to land a potential reality show and/or big payday? Me, personally, I think these Heene idiots should have those kids taken away from them immediately, or if nothing else, the kids should be kept away from this douche-bag father of theirs. Among other things, this goomer claims to believe the world will end in 2012 just like in that new movie coming out. Well, if that’s the case, then why bring three kids into the world just so they can die young? There are some strange rangers out there, that’s for sure…

JUST GIVE US DIRTY LAUNDRY…
Since they already play the "Breaking News" card far too often, CNN now has a new moniker to keep viewers on the edges of their seats: "URGENT Breaking News"! What’s next—"Double-Secret Breaking News"? Whoever runs the on-screen graphics at CNN needs to lay off the caffeine, too. I was watching Larry King interview Michael Moore the other night, and was subjected to this constant stream of factoids every ten seconds below Moore’s name like "Opposes more troops in Afghanistan", "Plans new documentary", "Thinks Bush was an idiot", etc. Talk about information overload/overkill…

Oh, and I saw that noted transsexual (D)Ann Coulter making the rounds on the Faux Noise Channel squawk show circuit last week. Must have another book coming out…

DON'T GO AWAY MAD, LARRY, JUST GO AWAY...
Chefs running back Larry Johnson’s latest FUBAR might hopefully be his last as a Chef. They should’ve chucked his (in his own words) "faggot ass" a long time ago—he’s been worthless on the field this season and a locker room cancer off of it, and this latest dust-up involving his use of gay slurs and pissing/moaning about head coach "Big Head" Todd Haley is just another example of his incurable immaturity. And no one—least of all yours truly—is buying Johnson’s predictable media apology, which had all the sincerity of Jerry Springer’s post-show commentaries. And at age 30, LJ’s warranty has just about expired anyway. Cut your losses and move on, Chefs…

DEATH WARMED OVER?
Am I the only one who finds it totally crass that DirecTV is using the late Chris Farley’s Tommy Boy bit in their current TV ads? I’m already on record here as not being a big CF fan—I think he was overrated as all get-out—but this seems just a skosh disrespectful to his memory, especially considering how his "friend" David Spade also appears in these lame commercials. Just keep those checks rollin’ in, huh Dave? In a related deal, the remaining Billy Mays spots need to be 86’ed as well—something about a dead person hawking products just creeps me out, big-time.

AND WHILE I’M AT IT…
Another ad campaign that should’ve been deep-sixed long ago is the contrived Coors Light bits with football coaches Mike Ditka, Brian Billick, Romeo Crennel and Herm Edwards. First off, the ads are so contrived and simple-minded, and secondly, none of these guys are even currently coaching in the NFL! Then again, I have to say that Coors is, if nothing else, consistent—their TV ads are just as crappy as their beer is…

NOW THAT'S FUNNY!
I saw by the paper the other day that "comedian" Bob Saget is scheduled to appear at K.C.'s Midland Theater next month. Tickets run from 30-50 bucks. The Midland holds about 3,000 people, but given those monetary parameters, methinks BS and his appropriate initials will have great difficulty filling that venue. Perhaps something a skosh smaller might work out better for him, like my living room! On second thought, never mind--I don't want that no-talent hack in my house...

MY NEW FAVORITE SONG
I mentioned this in my last post about my Chicago trip, but it’s so rare that I get to praise recent (or fairly recent) music, so I wanted to laud the Fratellis again for their 2006 hit "Chelsea Dagger", which is also the Chicago Blackhawks goal celebration tune. I first noticed this goofy little song being played last spring during the Stanley Cup playoffs, and thought it was a hoot how the entire crowd chanted in unison along with the "dut-duh-duh-dut" parts, and discovered firsthand last week that it’s even funnier in person. Initially, I figured the song was something done exclusively for the ‘Hawks, but a Blackhawks fan I spoke with clued me in on the Fratellis, a Scottish trio who in best Ramones-style all claim Fratelli as their surnames, even though they aren’t at all related. I borrowed their CD with "Chelsea" on it from my local library and now the song resides in my iPod, and there were a couple other tracks I liked as well. Maybe there’s some hope for this generation’s music after all…

TEACHER NEEDS TO SEE ME AFTER SCHOOL...
A little useless trivia for you that I learned yesterday. You know who the "Phys. Ed." teacher in the famed Van Halen "Hot For Teacher" video is? That would be none other than Janet Jones, better known as Mrs. Wayne Gretzky. Sit down, Waldo!



FEELING FACELESS ON FACEBOOK
After about four months or so, I’m still not completely sold on the phenomenon known as Facebook. Between regular e-mails, this blog and FB, I’m probably as well-connected with my good friends (both old and new) as I’ve ever been, yet I still feel very isolated and alone. Facebook tends to encourage pithy little hit-and-run posts with precious little substance to them, and since the advent of Facebook, I’ve noticed a huge drop in personal e-mails to me from a couple of friends. It’s almost as if keeping in touch with little dribs and drabs on FB is an excuse to avoid getting too in-depth and personal with your close friends in other venues. The indifference I experience from longtime friends to the stuff I post on there bothers me too. I don’t expect everyone to react or respond to every little thing I post, but they could at least give me the time of day now and then.

My feelings of isolation extend beyond the cyber-world too. Virtually all of my close friends are married, which seriously precludes socializing, going out drinking, doing concerts or ballgames together and or just hanging out, thus leaving me basically with table scraps when it comes to hooking up with friends—i.e., I have to take whatever I can get these days. It also finally occurred to me here lately that most of my longtime friends are more politically conservative than I ever realized, and being’s that I ain’t conservative, this is beginning to cause some friction in many cases. It also doesn't help that I'm a non-church-going heretic in many of their eyes. Not saying we have to agree on everything, but I can’t help but feel like an outsider in my own circle of friends nowadays. Well kids, I yam what I yam, and I make no apologies for that...

Travelblog--Chicago

Sorry for the delay in getting back on the blog here, but my trip to Chicago was a bit of a letdown, thanks to several things beyond my control--not the least of which was the weather, which was vile during most of my stay. I got really lucky with the rental car and lodging, but poor timing, a ton of rain, frustrating traffic and under-budgeting all led me to actually cut the trip a day short and bag Milwaukee altogether--much to the chagrin of the Fonz and Mr. & Mrs. C. Therefore, I haven't been all that motivated to write, plus I've had some other issues to deal with on homefront here. It wasn't all that bad a trip, really, but a big disappointment after months of plotting and planning and high expectations on my part. Anyway, as promised, here's my pictorial tour...

CHARLIE PARKER LIVES?
Five hours out of K.C., my first stop was this oddball little quonset hut known as Charlie Parker's Diner in Springfield, IL, home of their trademark "Horseshoe" meals. CP's has been featured on Food Network's "Drive-Ins, Diners and Dives" and I'm quickly discovering that even when the featured food looks really good on TV, it doesn't always live up to expectations in person. I had the ham-and-egg horseshoe, which is a piece of toast with the ham and eggs on top of it, smothered by a plateful of hash browns topped off by gooey cheese sauce. Dandy tasting, up to a point, but the cheese kinda overwhelms the whole thing after eating about half of it, and I found it slightly underwhelming overall. Still, it's not bad at all for the price ($5.95), and I give the place extra points for the numerous '50s/'60s/'70s record albums (and jackets) that adorn the walls therein, especially the Dave Edmunds albums. Kinda hard to find the place, but it's worth a stop if you're ever in the Springfield area.

LIVIN' IN THE LAP OF LUXURY
Or at least the belly-button of it, anyway. Check out the room I stayed in, complete with wall-mounted flat screen Philips TV, spacious bathroom and two double-beds. Think I stayed at a semi-upscale hotel chain? Guess again--it was a Motel 6, of all things! I stayed at this same location in Arlington Heights near O'Hare Airport about seven years ago, and it was pretty nice then, but they've since remodeled and it's now easily the nicest Motel 6 I've ever lodged at. Even better, my room normally rents for 90 bucks a night, but I got it for the low, low price of $32.95 a night, thanks to my Internet rate and the hotel industry's current desperation to fill rooms.

REALLY GETTING MY GOAT
As planned, I paid a visit to the infamous Billy Goat tavern in the heart of Chicago's downtown underworld on lower Wacker drive, just a few blocks from the John Hancock building and Marina City. The Goat is the original home of the late John Belushi's legendary "Cheezeborger! Cheezeborger! Cheezeborger!" skits on "Saturday Night Live", and while the layout was a bit different than the one on SNL, the feeling was pretty much the same. That's my double cheezeborger and cheeps, and unlike on SNL, you can get a Diet Coke instead of Pepsi, if you dare. The cheezeborger was nothing terribly spectacular, but it hit the spot and I can now say I've been to Da Goat. The walls of the place are also adorned with numerous old newspaper articles about the guy who owned it and put the "Curse of The Goat" on the beloved Cubbies.

"OUT OF MY BRAIN ON THE TRAIN..."
I've been to Chicago at least four other times in the last 25 years, but this trip was my first experience with riding the El trains, and I was greatly impressed with how easy it is to get from one side of town to the other and back. I've ridden St. Louis' MetroLink trains many times and enjoyed them, but the El is a totally different animal. The ride into town from the O'Hare area was especially fun, and I was amazed at the way the train went screaming past numerous two-story houses and coming literally within five feet of people's bedrooms, which we can only hope are occupied by the deaf. I wasn't even sure where I was when I got off the train underground inside The Loop, so my attitude was like "surprise me", and when I reached daylight again, I was right smack dab in front of the famed Chicago Theater, not far from Marina City and the Chicago Riverwalk. It took me a little while to decipher the grid and the different color-coded train lines, but once I did, I had no trouble getting from downtown to Comiskey Park then back to downtown and up to Wrigley Field and ultimately over to United Center for the Blackhawks game. The train rides were also a fun and unique opportunity to do a little people-watching during evening rush hour. There was even a guitar player in the bowels of the subway (Johnny, I presume) "down in the tunnel tryin' to make it pay", as the Dire Straits song goes. I found the entire El system to be totally fascinating in its scope, and I marvel at how efficiently it gets all those millions of people from place to place--Chicago would be a total clusterfuck without it.

VERTIGO IN REVERSE?
It's been a while since I've been around buildings this tall in person, and I was taken aback when I looked up at this over-sized Thermos bottle.















These two rascals are pretty imposing from ground level, too...



DISCO DEMOLITION, ANYBODY?

And here's the site of the infamous "Disco Sucks" riot thirty years ago this summer, better known as old Comiskey Park on the South Side. The White Sox paved paradise and put up this parking lot, but at least had the good sense to mark where home plate was (relatively speaking anyway--home plate at Comiskey got moved around a lot over the years from season to season). I still, for the life of me, can't understand why they didn't point the new stadium (U.S. Cellblock Field nextdoor) toward downtown instead of toward the projects where J.J., Thelma and the Militant Midget live.

"WELL, THERE WAS ONE THING I WAS SURE PROUD TO SEE..."
...there wasn't a soul up in Section La-Dee-Dah--the skyboxes at the United Center--during the Blackhawks game I attended. One fan I spoke to told me that's not uncommon during both 'Hawks and Bulls games at the UC, which otherwise is usually packed to the gills every night. As for United Center overall, it's big, it's pretty, it's functional--and about as soulless as a Pat Boone record when compared with its predecessor, the mighty Chicago Stadium, which used to sit right across Madison Street. Even with 21,000 people screaming as loud as they can during the singing of the "Star-Spangled Banner", "The Roar" wasn't nearly as ear-splitting as it once was across the street. Still fun, though, and a great way to get pumped-up for a game. Another new wrinkle at Blackhawks game that I love is the celebratory tune played after each 'Hawks goal, "Chesea Dagger" by a group called the Fratellis, which has become an instant favorite of mine. Goofy little song, but it sounds great with an arena full of people chanting the "Dut-duh-duh-dut" parts. Another thing I was pleased to see was how well they've cleaned up the area surrounding the venue, which was once a major ghetto and shooting gallery, and I felt perfectly safe walking to and from the El three blocks away. Meantime, the 'Hawks were leading those evil Vancouver Canucks 2-1 when I left about midway through the third period, but Vancouver scored two late goals and won 3-2. I knew I shouldn't have left them alone...

HI, BOB!
And this would be Bob and Emily Hartley's deee-luxe apartment building in the sky. Doesn't look like it's changed much in 35 some-odd years. If you're looking for it yourself while visiting Chi-Town, it's located at 5901 N. Sheridan Road, which morphs into Lake Shore Drive not far from Wrigley Field.

NOT PICTURED, BUT WORTH MENTIONING...
--I was quite pleased with my rented Ford Focus from Enterprise, which not only got damn good gas mileage (32 mpg on the highway), but was fully-loaded with a six-disc CD changer and Sirius XM satellite radio. This was my first extended taste of non-terrestrial radio, and I got spoiled with it real quick. I loved the '60s, '70s and '80s channels, as well as the numerous different Rock genre channels. But I have to draw the line at the Springsteen Channel--you can track through his entire catalog in less than 24 hours, I would think. And the Grateful Dead Channel? Obee-kaybee. There's even a Martha Stewart Channel. Oy!

--Another pleasant surprise was the eye-candy I encountered on the streets of downtown Chicago--attractive women in skirts! Working in the medical field, all I see anymore are chicks in scrubs, so I felt like I was on parole when I saw numerous fashionably-dressed cuties of various ages roaming the streets of the Windy City, many of them in boots, to boot. Haven't seen that many girls in boots in the same place since Nancy Sinatra's video! Naturally, when I got back to town here, I decided to pay a visit to our downtown in hopes of seeing more of the same, but evidently the Great Skirt Embargo is still in force here, as all I saw were gals in pants, even during the heart of the lunch hour. We are so lame here. D'oh!

--There is a Denny's eatery within walking distance of the hotel I stayed at, so I hoofed it over there for dinner one evening around 7:45, and I shit you not--I was the only customer in the whole place! If it were 4:00 in the blessed A.M., this might not shock me, but it seemed pretty odd just after the dinner rush.

--On the way out of town, I endeavored to find Michael Jackson's boyhood home in Gary, Indiana, but was unable to (based on the incorrect info I had) even after Mapquesting the place. Meantime, I got a firsthand visual on why Gary has such a poor reputation--what a depressing shithole of a city! Slummy houses, crappy streets, dead animals everywhere--no wonder Joe Jackson whored out his talented kids to escape the clutches of such a moribund town. Downright fugly...

Alright, hold tight--I'm a highway star...

Time to put the ol' blog in suspended animation for a while as I hit the road for a few days. I'm hitting the highway first thing in the morning in my rented Ford Focus en route to that Toddlin' Town, Chicago, where I plan to hang with Joliet Jake and Elwood and maybe visit the Bundys. Among other activities, I'll be watching the Blackhawks beat those evil Vancouver Canucks on Wednesday night, and dining at the famed Billy Goat ("Cheeseborger! Cheeseborger! Cheeseborger!") downtown. If the money holds out nicely, I might just drop by the Cunninghams in Milwaukee and have a few beers, too. See y'all next week...

My Life in the Kiss Cult--Part A

Since we've had the Great Beatles Revival with the release (re-release, that is) of their CDs recently, the time seems ripe for a Great Kiss Revival with the release of Sonic Boom and their Alive 35 concert tour. Thus, I've decided to do a little series about my favorite band of all-time (not the greatest band of all-time--that's The Who, in my book) and why I love them so much, warts and all...

PART A: WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
It might surprise you that I didn’t like Kiss at first. In fact, I was rather repulsed by them when I first saw the Alive! album on the record shelves at the store, thus I was guilty of judging books by covers. I also have vague memories of hearing “Rock And Roll All Nite” on the radio and not being terribly impressed by it. For better or worse, you can thank a schoolmate of mine named Steve Highley for truly getting me into the Hottest Band in The World. When I was in 6th grade at Blue Ridge Elementary School in Raytown, we had a semi-weekly music class taught by a real sweet lady with the rather unfortunate name of Miss Rash, and often we students would bring in records from home for her to play on that government-issue single-speaker school record player. A girl brought in Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” one day, and Miss Rash was so impressed with the harmonies and different musical changes in the song that she later had the lyrics printed off and divided the class up into groups to sing the various parts of the song, and it was great fun.

I also remember bringing in my Elton John albums quite a bit during that time, and on a bright spring day in April or May of ’76, Steve Highley brought in his copy of Kiss' Alive! The jaundiced look on Miss Rash’s face when she saw the album cover was priceless, but bless her heart, she reluctantly played a few tracks from the record, one of which was “Cold Gin”, complete with Paul Stanley’s between-song patter about “…there’s a lot of you people out there that like to drink vodka and orange juice!” which even Miss Rash got a kick out of. I remember really liking the song a lot, and started re-thinking my original stance on this band. Before I forget, if you’re out there, Miss Rash—thank you for indulging us in class; and Mr. Highley, thanks for bringing Alive! in—you have no idea what you two unwittinlgy spawned!

A few weeks later in early June, I nabbed my own copy of Alive! and played the living shit out of it from the get-go on my cheapo General Electric record player. In spite of its crappy needle that skipped like a stone across a pond, “Deuce”, “Firehouse”, “Parasite”, “Let Me Go, Rock ‘N’ Roll” and “Black Diamond” quickly became favorites of mine—well, really almost every song did—and Peter Criss’ drum solo during “100,000 Years” was the bitchinest one I’d ever heard up to that point. I also grabbed up the first three Kiss studio albums—Kiss, Hotter Than Hell and Dressed To Kill—but was rather disappointed with how flat they sounded compared with the live monster they had out, which might explain why I was reluctant to pick up the latest Kiss album, Destroyer, right away, in spite of its awesome cover painting by artist Ken Kelly. A little trivia for you—Ken Kelly—who also did the Love Gun cover—is a cousin of Frank Frazetta, who drew those cool early Molly Hatchet album covers.

Anyway, sometime in early July of ’76, my family took a road trip to northern Mississippi to visit relatives, and one of my female cousins (who, sadly, is no longer with us--rest in peace, Denise) played this Ronco or K-Tel 8-track tape of current hits (Rock Explosion or some such title) with “Shout It Out Loud” on it. Upon hearing it, I said, “Who’s that singing? That’s pretty good.” I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me it was Kiss—I was stunned at how slick they sounded compared with those first three studio albums—and I was like “Wow!” I bought Destroyer as soon as we got back to town and instantly fell in love with “Detroit Rock City” in addition to “Shout”, both of which would easily make my Top 100 Songs of All-Time list, if I ever get around to compiling one. Kiss was pretty much all I listened to that Bicentennial summer, and it killed me that I couldn’t attend the Kiss concert at Municipal Auditorium that month, but I was only 12 and had no one who would take me anyway. I would have to wait three long years before my first Kiss concert…

Meantime, I took to Kiss like an arsonist to a burning building. Before long, I was snapping up every magazine I could find at 7-Eleven that had articles about the band. I remember one of my first misconceptions about Kiss was they wore the make-up all the time—not just on-stage! I even bought Kiss sheet music books—never mind that I can’t read sheet music to save my soul! I started junior high that fall, and was ever so proud of my first Kiss t-shirt—back in the days when you had to buy the shirt and the iron-on separately! Between that and my Kiss belt buckle, I took a lot of shit from people at school who chanted the “Kiss sucks!” mantra at me constantly. To all those douche-bags I now say (in the words of the late Redd Foxx), “I hope your dog dies!”

Much more to come about Kiss in the coming days/weeks--whether you like it or not!