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. I 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 (on Gene, I mean), 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.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
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 FACEBOOKAfter 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...
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 FACEBOOKAfter 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...
Thursday, October 29, 2009
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 while to decipher all the 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 lived.
"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...
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 while to decipher all the 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 lived."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...
Monday, October 19, 2009
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...
Saturday, October 17, 2009
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 (even though the subject of the tune was murder, but we won't talk about that...)
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!” As soon as we got back to town, I bought Destroyer 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!
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 (even though the subject of the tune was murder, but we won't talk about that...)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!” As soon as we got back to town, I bought Destroyer 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!
Friday, October 16, 2009
'Cuz you look just like a blogger...
...and you might just be a member, baby—Get out of Denver, baby!
THE BUZZARD HAS LANDED
I gotta call "Bullshit" on yesterday’s Colorado kid-in-the-balloon story. I thought it looked fishy from the get-go when I first heard about it, therefore I wasn't "captivated" by it at all like my morning paper claimed the whole nation was. And after watching the kid’s father and family making the rounds on all the network morning shows, I have no doubt this whole thing was a hoax. For someone who should be fairly shaken by an incident like this, this Richard Heene character sure don’t seem at all camera-shy. It’s no small coincidence that this clown is an unabashed self-promoter who’s already appeared on that “Wife Swap” excrement on ABC. And it sure looks like his kid has ADHD, based on the way he squirms around on camera during these interviews, and I love how he spilt the beans by saying he thought they were doing all this for a show—pretty obvious the Heenes are taking a page out of the Jon & Kate playbook by whore-ing out their own children for some more notoriety and/or a potential big payday.
From what I can tell, the tens and fives are missing out of this Heene guy’s card deck—his kid’s name is Falcon, for crimeny’s sake! What are his other kids called, Vulture and Fishhawk? The Big Dick also flies planes into hurricanes to take magnetic field measurements and rides motorcycles into mesocyclones for whatever thrill that gives him, and according to the paper, he says he’d like to meet “real aliens from outer space and conduct a full interview with them.” Sorry, Bud, but Oprah’s already got dibs on that. Meantime, congratulations, America—you’ve been punked!
ONE NATION, UNDER RUSH?
Get a load of the pity party Rush Limbaugh’s been throwing for himself this week since he was dropped from the ownership group that wants to buy the NFL’s St. Louis Rams. According to the Big Fat Idiot: “This is not about the NFL. It’s not about the St. Louis Rams. It’s not about me. This is about the ongoing effort by the left in this country, wherever you find them, in the media, the Democrat Party, or wherever, to destroy conservatism, to prevent the mainstreaming of anyone who is prominent as a conservative. Therefore, this is about the future of the United States of America and what kind of country we’re going to have.”
And His truth goes marching on…
Do we even have enough airspace in this country to contain this Nandofuck’s colossal ego? The BFI also went on to blame Barack Obama, NFL union leader DeMaurice Smith and the Revs. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson for the NFL owners blackballing him from their little fraternity. It was probably Al Franken’s fault, too. Cry me a fuckin’ river—it ain’t like Mr. $38 million-a-year can’t afford to start his own football league. He claims he was “hurt” when the St. Louis football Cardinals bolted for Arizona in 1988 and so wanted St. Louis to get an NFL team back. So, where was Rushbo during their 1993 failed expansion bid? And I have news for you, Rush baby, you and your tag-team partners Hannity, Beck and O’Reilly over at Faux Noise Channel, as well as Michelle “Squawkin’” Malkin and (D)Ann Coulter, et al, are doing a bang-up job of giving conservatism a bad name all on your own.
I almost kinda wish Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson and Neil Peart of Rush would consider changing their band's name, so it won't remind me of this pompous fool.
LIAR, LIAR—PANTS ON FIRE
Doesn’t it just grind your gears when politicians or celebrities deny they said something in the past, even when there is overwhelming evidence to the contrary? The Big Fat Idiot is claiming he never made the statement in 2007, “The NFL all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons. There, I said it,” even though transcripts from Limbaugh’s own website prove otherwise. Likewise, Bill O’Reilly claims he never referred to murdered abortion doc. George Tiller as a “baby killer” on “O’Reilly Factor”, even though it’s right there in the videos for all to see. And I suppose that was just some ‘droid made up to look and sound just like you and say all that stuff, eh Bill? Now tell me the one again about the Holocaust not really happening…
AL MARTINO, 1924-2009
Crooner Al Martino passed away the other day. He is forever-known as the Frank Sinatra-esque heartthrob character Johnny Fontane in the Godfather films, but Al also had a few hits of his own over the years. So long, Al/Johnny—good thing you acted like a man. Say hello to Vito for us!
CAPTAIN LOU ALBANO, 1933-2009
Remember this Neanderthal from the Cyndi Lauper video? He also died this week at age 76. I’m loathe to admit that I actually watched the WWF thing back in the ‘80s during the Gorilla Monsoon/Jesse “The Body” Ventura/Hulk Hogan/Andre The Giant/Lou Albano era, but at least back then it was halfway entertaining before pro wrestling became the White Trash national pastime it is today. Albano was a strange duck all the way around, but he was a perfect fit for the madness that befitted the WWF’s explosion in popularity in the mid-‘80s. He will be missed—I guess…
PRYOR CONVICTIONS/CURRENT IRRITATIONS
Just as I have been the last two years during the baseball playoffs on TV enduring TBS’ incessant promos for comedian Frank Caliendo’s “Frank TV” crapfest, I’m already more-than-annoyed with their ads for this new George Lopez show they’re hyping the hell out of. George seems like a nice enough guy, but he has yet to ever make me laugh out loud even once, even though he claims to have been heavily influenced by the late Richard Pryor. Really, George? It sure doesn’t show in your work. That’s just like all these current lame-o “Rock” bands who claim Kiss as a huge influence in their music. Riiight.
Speaking of Daddy Rich, I recently read his autobiography, Pryor Convictions, and found it very enlightening as to why he was so self-destructive, even though he seemingly had it all in terms of fame and fortune. Considering the unsavory environment he was raised in (a brothel in the 'hood), it’s a wonder he was as well-adjusted as he was. It always amazes me how many truly great comics, actors, musicians, etc., come from really fucked-up families, but as the late George Carlin once said, Richard’s comedy often was born out of pain. And like Pryor’s favorite original character Mudbone remarked about him, “He could make a motherfucker laugh at a funeral on Sunday, Christmas Day!” And as with Carlin, even though I’ve heard Richard’s routines a zillion times and can recite many of them verbatim, they still make me laugh out loud when I hear them today. Rest in peace, Richard and George—youse two were the baddest of them all…
ALBUM REVIEW #1: ACE FREHLEY—ANOMALY
It’s been 20 years since we last heard from the planet Jendell’s favorite son on a non-Kiss recording, and I was very much looking forward to hear what Space Ace had to say these days. I was also hoping since the release of his new CD coincided with that of Kiss’ new one, that Ace could send a big middle finger up Gene Simmons’ ass for all the bashing he’s incurred from the Demon over the years, but sad to say, I’m a bit disappointed with Anomaly overall. It doesn’t suck, mind you, but at the same time, it’s nothing earth-shattering either.
Unlike on his ‘80s releases, Ace does all the singing on Anomaly, and although his vocals have improved somewhat over the years, still he’s hardly Robert Plant, Ian Gillan or even Paul Stanley. Therefore, I think he might’ve benefitted greatly from bringing back former sidekick Tod Howarth from the Frehley’s Comet days to handle some of the lead vocals in much the same role Derek St. Holmes played with Ted Nugent in the ‘70s. I did spot a couple other familiar names in the credits, though, including Meat Loaf’s daughter Pearl Aday (“Mini-Loaf?”) on backing vocals and drummer Anton Fig from Dave Letterman’s “Worlds Most Dangerous Band”, who played on Ace’s first solo album in ’78 as well as on Kiss’ Dynasty and Unmasked. On bass is one Anthony Esposito—I had no idea that the legendary Hall of Fame Chicago Blackhawks goalie was a musician! But I digress…
The best cuts on Anomaly are “Outer Space” and “Pain In The Neck”, and the rest are fairly predictable, including “A Little Below The Angels”, Ace’s confessional about his well-documented battles with alcohol. Remembering the fine job Ace did in covering E.L.O.’s “Do Ya” in ’89, I was also really looking forward to his re-make of one of my faves from the ‘70s, “Fox On The Run” (“it’s just an old Sweet song,” as Ray Charles once sang), but even it comes off really flat and restrained, and Ace almost sounds bored while singing it. The Sweet original clearly rips it to shreds, and Girlschool did a much better job remaking “Fox” in the late ‘80s. Even Ace’s latest addition to his customary “Fractured” closing track series, “Fractured Quantum” doesn’t really go anywhere. One other element sorely lacking on Anomaly—Frehley’s light-hearted sense of humor—is nowhere to found. Ace usually includes one or two humorous songs on his albums or at least his trademark cackle on a track or two, but everything here is so uncharacteristically dead-dog serious, you'd think Dio wrote the songs instead of Ace.
Perhaps my expectations were a bit too high going in, but you’d think after two decades, Brother Frehley would have amassed a better stockpile of new tunes than what we have here. Overall, I give Anomaly a C+. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait another 20 years for Ace’s next album. He’ll be 78 by then, if he makes it that long…
ALBUM REVIEW #2: KISS—SONIC BOOM
When Kiss last gave us a brand new album with all-new material in 1998—the half-baked Psycho Circus—we were led to believe it was a “group” effort by the original Fearsome Foursome, however, it was anything but that as Ace Frehley and Peter Criss contributed precious little to it. Ace played and sang on his “Into The Void” and Peter warbled on Paul Stanley’s “I’ve Finally Found My Way”, and both sang on the track “You Wanted The Best” where each member had a couple of lines, but that was the extent of their involvement. The album featured numerous session players—even Gene Simmons didn’t play on every track and his songs in particular all kinda seemed half-finished, especially the closing track, “Journey of 1,000 Years” which sounded like it was really building up to something grand as it intoned “Can you feel it coming?”, only to peter out (sorry, Mr. Criscoula!) about halfway through and dissolve into oblivion. Apart from “Into The Void”, only Paul Stanley’s songs truly stood out on Psycho Circus, especially the title track and “Raise Your Glasses”.
Well, after 11 years and almost as many Kiss compilations and greatest hits packages, and the acrimonious departures of Criss and Frehley, Messrs. Simmons and Stanley finally decided to get off their duffs and do like I’ve long advocated and put out some new music under the Kiss banner with hired hands Eric Singer and Tommy Thayer replacing the dearly departed. In light of all the invective Gene and Paul have hurled at Peter and Ace (especially Ace) during this decade, I have to admit I really wanted to hate this new album, in much the same way my kindred musical spirit Randy Raley wanted to hate the Eagles' Long Road Out of Eden a couple years back. But, like Randy, I feel like Michael Corleone, 'cause just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in! I have to say that I’m pleasantly surprised with Sonic Boom—it’s certainly a major upgrade over Psycho Circus and easily their best studio release since 1992's Revenge. The only things I truly dislike about Sonic Boom are the title itself and the cover art—not terribly original on either count, guys!
The first thing I noted while perusing the song credits was that Simmons and Stanley are actually collaborating on some songs, just like in the old days (either with each other or with Thayer), and I find that refreshing. And democracy makes another rare appearance in Kiss, as all four current members get at least one lead vocal on Sonic Boom, a feat that’s only occurred three other times in Kisstory (Love Gun, Dynasty and Psycho Circus being the others). Young master Singer actually lives up to his surname and acquits himself quite well on “All For The Glory” with raspy vocals reminiscent of his Kiss drummer predecessors, Mr. Criss and the late Eric Carr, rest his soul. Lead guitarist Tommy Thayer certainly doesn’t embarrass himself either on his first recorded lead vocal on “When Lightning Strikes”. I’m not all that enamored with the opening cut, “Modern Day Delilah”, which they’ve been plugging heavily and appears to be the only new song on Kiss’ set list on their new tour. Might I suggest clipping “Delilah” (clipping—get it?) in favor of “All For The Glory” and/or other standout tracks like “Stand”, “Never Enough” or “Hot And Cold”? Stanley’s “Danger Us” ain’t bad, either, and it borrows a little chunk from 1977’s “Got Love For Sale” during the intro.
Sonic Boom sounds very tight, musically, and the harmonies are surprisingly sharp for a Kiss album. About the only thing missing here is a really good climactic closing track in the vein of “I Just Wanna”, “UH! All Night” or even “Do You Love Me?” or “Black Diamond”, as Paul’s “Say Yeah” doesn’t really provide much of an exclamation point to an otherwise pretty decent album. Let's hope we don't have wait 11 more years for another one from these guys. I give the Sonic Boom CD itself a B, and an A- for the entire package, which includes (at no extra charge) a bonus CD, Kiss Klassics featuring 15 old favorites re-worked by the current Kiss lineup, as well as a six-song concert DVD from a performance earlier this year in Buenos Aires. Normally, I take a dim view when bands and singers go back and re-do their old stuff in the studio—especially when there’s nothing wrong with it to begin with—but since it didn’t cost any extra, what the hell, and it’s actually kinda fun to compare Singer/Thayer to Criss/Frehley and Carr/Vincent or Carr/Kulick, although I’m still pretty partial to the original tracks. All in all, not a bad deal for 14 bucks, even if I did have to set foot in Walmart to get it! And darn it, Ace, I’m afraid to say that Gene and Paul out-Aced you this time after all…
Lester Bangs, eat your heart out—I can review albums every bit as well as you ever did!
(Yes, Doc. S., I know he’s dead, but I’m just sayin’…)
THE BUZZARD HAS LANDED
I gotta call "Bullshit" on yesterday’s Colorado kid-in-the-balloon story. I thought it looked fishy from the get-go when I first heard about it, therefore I wasn't "captivated" by it at all like my morning paper claimed the whole nation was. And after watching the kid’s father and family making the rounds on all the network morning shows, I have no doubt this whole thing was a hoax. For someone who should be fairly shaken by an incident like this, this Richard Heene character sure don’t seem at all camera-shy. It’s no small coincidence that this clown is an unabashed self-promoter who’s already appeared on that “Wife Swap” excrement on ABC. And it sure looks like his kid has ADHD, based on the way he squirms around on camera during these interviews, and I love how he spilt the beans by saying he thought they were doing all this for a show—pretty obvious the Heenes are taking a page out of the Jon & Kate playbook by whore-ing out their own children for some more notoriety and/or a potential big payday.
From what I can tell, the tens and fives are missing out of this Heene guy’s card deck—his kid’s name is Falcon, for crimeny’s sake! What are his other kids called, Vulture and Fishhawk? The Big Dick also flies planes into hurricanes to take magnetic field measurements and rides motorcycles into mesocyclones for whatever thrill that gives him, and according to the paper, he says he’d like to meet “real aliens from outer space and conduct a full interview with them.” Sorry, Bud, but Oprah’s already got dibs on that. Meantime, congratulations, America—you’ve been punked!
ONE NATION, UNDER RUSH?
Get a load of the pity party Rush Limbaugh’s been throwing for himself this week since he was dropped from the ownership group that wants to buy the NFL’s St. Louis Rams. According to the Big Fat Idiot: “This is not about the NFL. It’s not about the St. Louis Rams. It’s not about me. This is about the ongoing effort by the left in this country, wherever you find them, in the media, the Democrat Party, or wherever, to destroy conservatism, to prevent the mainstreaming of anyone who is prominent as a conservative. Therefore, this is about the future of the United States of America and what kind of country we’re going to have.”
And His truth goes marching on…
Do we even have enough airspace in this country to contain this Nandofuck’s colossal ego? The BFI also went on to blame Barack Obama, NFL union leader DeMaurice Smith and the Revs. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson for the NFL owners blackballing him from their little fraternity. It was probably Al Franken’s fault, too. Cry me a fuckin’ river—it ain’t like Mr. $38 million-a-year can’t afford to start his own football league. He claims he was “hurt” when the St. Louis football Cardinals bolted for Arizona in 1988 and so wanted St. Louis to get an NFL team back. So, where was Rushbo during their 1993 failed expansion bid? And I have news for you, Rush baby, you and your tag-team partners Hannity, Beck and O’Reilly over at Faux Noise Channel, as well as Michelle “Squawkin’” Malkin and (D)Ann Coulter, et al, are doing a bang-up job of giving conservatism a bad name all on your own.
I almost kinda wish Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson and Neil Peart of Rush would consider changing their band's name, so it won't remind me of this pompous fool.
LIAR, LIAR—PANTS ON FIRE
Doesn’t it just grind your gears when politicians or celebrities deny they said something in the past, even when there is overwhelming evidence to the contrary? The Big Fat Idiot is claiming he never made the statement in 2007, “The NFL all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons. There, I said it,” even though transcripts from Limbaugh’s own website prove otherwise. Likewise, Bill O’Reilly claims he never referred to murdered abortion doc. George Tiller as a “baby killer” on “O’Reilly Factor”, even though it’s right there in the videos for all to see. And I suppose that was just some ‘droid made up to look and sound just like you and say all that stuff, eh Bill? Now tell me the one again about the Holocaust not really happening…
AL MARTINO, 1924-2009
Crooner Al Martino passed away the other day. He is forever-known as the Frank Sinatra-esque heartthrob character Johnny Fontane in the Godfather films, but Al also had a few hits of his own over the years. So long, Al/Johnny—good thing you acted like a man. Say hello to Vito for us!
CAPTAIN LOU ALBANO, 1933-2009
Remember this Neanderthal from the Cyndi Lauper video? He also died this week at age 76. I’m loathe to admit that I actually watched the WWF thing back in the ‘80s during the Gorilla Monsoon/Jesse “The Body” Ventura/Hulk Hogan/Andre The Giant/Lou Albano era, but at least back then it was halfway entertaining before pro wrestling became the White Trash national pastime it is today. Albano was a strange duck all the way around, but he was a perfect fit for the madness that befitted the WWF’s explosion in popularity in the mid-‘80s. He will be missed—I guess…
PRYOR CONVICTIONS/CURRENT IRRITATIONS
Just as I have been the last two years during the baseball playoffs on TV enduring TBS’ incessant promos for comedian Frank Caliendo’s “Frank TV” crapfest, I’m already more-than-annoyed with their ads for this new George Lopez show they’re hyping the hell out of. George seems like a nice enough guy, but he has yet to ever make me laugh out loud even once, even though he claims to have been heavily influenced by the late Richard Pryor. Really, George? It sure doesn’t show in your work. That’s just like all these current lame-o “Rock” bands who claim Kiss as a huge influence in their music. Riiight.
Speaking of Daddy Rich, I recently read his autobiography, Pryor Convictions, and found it very enlightening as to why he was so self-destructive, even though he seemingly had it all in terms of fame and fortune. Considering the unsavory environment he was raised in (a brothel in the 'hood), it’s a wonder he was as well-adjusted as he was. It always amazes me how many truly great comics, actors, musicians, etc., come from really fucked-up families, but as the late George Carlin once said, Richard’s comedy often was born out of pain. And like Pryor’s favorite original character Mudbone remarked about him, “He could make a motherfucker laugh at a funeral on Sunday, Christmas Day!” And as with Carlin, even though I’ve heard Richard’s routines a zillion times and can recite many of them verbatim, they still make me laugh out loud when I hear them today. Rest in peace, Richard and George—youse two were the baddest of them all…
ALBUM REVIEW #1: ACE FREHLEY—ANOMALY
It’s been 20 years since we last heard from the planet Jendell’s favorite son on a non-Kiss recording, and I was very much looking forward to hear what Space Ace had to say these days. I was also hoping since the release of his new CD coincided with that of Kiss’ new one, that Ace could send a big middle finger up Gene Simmons’ ass for all the bashing he’s incurred from the Demon over the years, but sad to say, I’m a bit disappointed with Anomaly overall. It doesn’t suck, mind you, but at the same time, it’s nothing earth-shattering either.
Unlike on his ‘80s releases, Ace does all the singing on Anomaly, and although his vocals have improved somewhat over the years, still he’s hardly Robert Plant, Ian Gillan or even Paul Stanley. Therefore, I think he might’ve benefitted greatly from bringing back former sidekick Tod Howarth from the Frehley’s Comet days to handle some of the lead vocals in much the same role Derek St. Holmes played with Ted Nugent in the ‘70s. I did spot a couple other familiar names in the credits, though, including Meat Loaf’s daughter Pearl Aday (“Mini-Loaf?”) on backing vocals and drummer Anton Fig from Dave Letterman’s “Worlds Most Dangerous Band”, who played on Ace’s first solo album in ’78 as well as on Kiss’ Dynasty and Unmasked. On bass is one Anthony Esposito—I had no idea that the legendary Hall of Fame Chicago Blackhawks goalie was a musician! But I digress…
The best cuts on Anomaly are “Outer Space” and “Pain In The Neck”, and the rest are fairly predictable, including “A Little Below The Angels”, Ace’s confessional about his well-documented battles with alcohol. Remembering the fine job Ace did in covering E.L.O.’s “Do Ya” in ’89, I was also really looking forward to his re-make of one of my faves from the ‘70s, “Fox On The Run” (“it’s just an old Sweet song,” as Ray Charles once sang), but even it comes off really flat and restrained, and Ace almost sounds bored while singing it. The Sweet original clearly rips it to shreds, and Girlschool did a much better job remaking “Fox” in the late ‘80s. Even Ace’s latest addition to his customary “Fractured” closing track series, “Fractured Quantum” doesn’t really go anywhere. One other element sorely lacking on Anomaly—Frehley’s light-hearted sense of humor—is nowhere to found. Ace usually includes one or two humorous songs on his albums or at least his trademark cackle on a track or two, but everything here is so uncharacteristically dead-dog serious, you'd think Dio wrote the songs instead of Ace.
Perhaps my expectations were a bit too high going in, but you’d think after two decades, Brother Frehley would have amassed a better stockpile of new tunes than what we have here. Overall, I give Anomaly a C+. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait another 20 years for Ace’s next album. He’ll be 78 by then, if he makes it that long…
ALBUM REVIEW #2: KISS—SONIC BOOM
When Kiss last gave us a brand new album with all-new material in 1998—the half-baked Psycho Circus—we were led to believe it was a “group” effort by the original Fearsome Foursome, however, it was anything but that as Ace Frehley and Peter Criss contributed precious little to it. Ace played and sang on his “Into The Void” and Peter warbled on Paul Stanley’s “I’ve Finally Found My Way”, and both sang on the track “You Wanted The Best” where each member had a couple of lines, but that was the extent of their involvement. The album featured numerous session players—even Gene Simmons didn’t play on every track and his songs in particular all kinda seemed half-finished, especially the closing track, “Journey of 1,000 Years” which sounded like it was really building up to something grand as it intoned “Can you feel it coming?”, only to peter out (sorry, Mr. Criscoula!) about halfway through and dissolve into oblivion. Apart from “Into The Void”, only Paul Stanley’s songs truly stood out on Psycho Circus, especially the title track and “Raise Your Glasses”.
Well, after 11 years and almost as many Kiss compilations and greatest hits packages, and the acrimonious departures of Criss and Frehley, Messrs. Simmons and Stanley finally decided to get off their duffs and do like I’ve long advocated and put out some new music under the Kiss banner with hired hands Eric Singer and Tommy Thayer replacing the dearly departed. In light of all the invective Gene and Paul have hurled at Peter and Ace (especially Ace) during this decade, I have to admit I really wanted to hate this new album, in much the same way my kindred musical spirit Randy Raley wanted to hate the Eagles' Long Road Out of Eden a couple years back. But, like Randy, I feel like Michael Corleone, 'cause just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in! I have to say that I’m pleasantly surprised with Sonic Boom—it’s certainly a major upgrade over Psycho Circus and easily their best studio release since 1992's Revenge. The only things I truly dislike about Sonic Boom are the title itself and the cover art—not terribly original on either count, guys!
The first thing I noted while perusing the song credits was that Simmons and Stanley are actually collaborating on some songs, just like in the old days (either with each other or with Thayer), and I find that refreshing. And democracy makes another rare appearance in Kiss, as all four current members get at least one lead vocal on Sonic Boom, a feat that’s only occurred three other times in Kisstory (Love Gun, Dynasty and Psycho Circus being the others). Young master Singer actually lives up to his surname and acquits himself quite well on “All For The Glory” with raspy vocals reminiscent of his Kiss drummer predecessors, Mr. Criss and the late Eric Carr, rest his soul. Lead guitarist Tommy Thayer certainly doesn’t embarrass himself either on his first recorded lead vocal on “When Lightning Strikes”. I’m not all that enamored with the opening cut, “Modern Day Delilah”, which they’ve been plugging heavily and appears to be the only new song on Kiss’ set list on their new tour. Might I suggest clipping “Delilah” (clipping—get it?) in favor of “All For The Glory” and/or other standout tracks like “Stand”, “Never Enough” or “Hot And Cold”? Stanley’s “Danger Us” ain’t bad, either, and it borrows a little chunk from 1977’s “Got Love For Sale” during the intro.
Sonic Boom sounds very tight, musically, and the harmonies are surprisingly sharp for a Kiss album. About the only thing missing here is a really good climactic closing track in the vein of “I Just Wanna”, “UH! All Night” or even “Do You Love Me?” or “Black Diamond”, as Paul’s “Say Yeah” doesn’t really provide much of an exclamation point to an otherwise pretty decent album. Let's hope we don't have wait 11 more years for another one from these guys. I give the Sonic Boom CD itself a B, and an A- for the entire package, which includes (at no extra charge) a bonus CD, Kiss Klassics featuring 15 old favorites re-worked by the current Kiss lineup, as well as a six-song concert DVD from a performance earlier this year in Buenos Aires. Normally, I take a dim view when bands and singers go back and re-do their old stuff in the studio—especially when there’s nothing wrong with it to begin with—but since it didn’t cost any extra, what the hell, and it’s actually kinda fun to compare Singer/Thayer to Criss/Frehley and Carr/Vincent or Carr/Kulick, although I’m still pretty partial to the original tracks. All in all, not a bad deal for 14 bucks, even if I did have to set foot in Walmart to get it! And darn it, Ace, I’m afraid to say that Gene and Paul out-Aced you this time after all…
Lester Bangs, eat your heart out—I can review albums every bit as well as you ever did!
(Yes, Doc. S., I know he’s dead, but I’m just sayin’…)
Saturday, October 10, 2009
My heater's broke, and I'm sooo tired...
Actually, it works just fine since I installed my new programmable thermostat this morning, but I am indeed tired after doing some major housekeeping chores around the old abode…
PEACE SELLS, BUT WHO’S BUYING?
My conservative friends will be proud to hear me say this—Obama deserves a Nobel Peace Prize about as much as Louie DePalma deserved the Mr. Congeniality Award. What peace are you referring to, noble Nobel folks? Afghanistan is getting more and more unstable by the minute, Iraq is still a quagmire, Iran is still acting a fool, and North Korea is a perennial question mark. Even I have to side with the Fox Noise Channel lynch mob (yes, I said lynch mob on purpose) on this one, unless Da Prez got the award for simply NOT invading a foreign land under false pretenses during his first seven months in office.
NOT PRETTY IN PINK
I know I’ll probably sound like a total douche here, but I could have done without the NFL players and coaches wearing the pink stuff last weekend in support of breast cancer awareness. Yes, it’s a noble gesture and a good cause, but those pink cleats LaDainian Tomlinson wore the other night made him look like a ballet dancer. The pink wristbands/armbands also clashed big-time with the kelly green of the New York Jets uni’s—pink and green are two colors that don't go together under ANY circumstances! And as my cynical side has stated before, I fail to see how putting pink ribbons on everything is going to make breast cancer go away.
“IS THAT EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT I READ?”—P. TOWNSHEND
Memo to Major League Baseball: You might want to alter your American League Division Series (ALDS) logo just a skosh. Even on my 27” TV screen, it looks like it says “AIDS”…
While I'm at it, don't it seem a bit disingenuous that these ballgames are sponsored by competing insurance companies (i.e., Geico and Progressive)?
DON’T NEED A WEATHERMAN TO KNOW WHICH WAY THE WIND BLOWS…
Is anyone as sick as I am of the Weather Channel’s over-hyped “Wake Up With Al” promos? Al Roker has to be the whitest black man in America and quite possibly the blandest one, too. He adds nothing to the “Today Show”, so I can’t imagine what impact he has on TWC in the mornings. What the hell do we need a national weatherman in the mornings for anyway? The local stations hit us over the head with weather coverage every five minutes, and I really don’t need to know about the fog over Walla Walla, the humidity in Perth Amboy, or the microburst over Fond Du Loc. As for Roker’s meteorological prowess, he has all the accuracy of Shaquille O‘Neal at the free-throw line, and is about as useful as a snow blower in Panama.
TV OBSERVATION #1
On the "Mary Tyler Moore Show", what exactly did Mr. Grant need with that moon phase chart on the wall behind his desk? Lou never struck me as an Astronomy buff...
TV OBSERVATION #2:
Why on earth would anyone want to doink this Kate Gosselin person even once, let alone seven additional times? She ain't all that hot to begin with, and her personality renders her nothing more than a human canker sore...
YOU CALL THIS “SALUTING THE TROOPS”?
Über-conservative Ted Nugent is always harping on his reverence for the military and supporting our U.S. fighting men and women overseas (not that one shouldn’t), but I was listening to some Terrible Ted on my iPod the other day, and noted a curious line in the song “Good And Ready” from 1982: “We ain’t afraid of the National Guard—‘cause me and my boys, we can fight just as hard…” Perhaps I’m nit-picking here, but Ted was essentially calling our National Guard troops a bunch of wusses, if I’m interpreting that verse correctly. And if you’re so gung-ho about defending our country and all, dear Theodore, then where were you during the Vietnam war when you were about 19 or 20? Oh, that’s right, touring with the Amboy Dukes. I’m just sayin’…
IN GENE WE TRUST?
Knowing Gene, he probably drew that one himself. I can understand blowing off a single and defacing it, but I couldn't bring myself to waste a perfectly good twenty… Here’s the link to some more humorous defacery of American currency. Meanwhile, I got the word today that Kiss is coming to Sprint Center on December 10th. While I have been critical of the band continuing on without Ace Frehley and Peter Criss, it’s probably just as well neither of them are with the group at this point, given all the invective Simmons and Stanley keep hurling at them. From what I’ve heard, Kiss is much tighter in concert now with Tommy Thayer and Eric Singer replacing them, therefore, I’ve decided to end my Kiss concert moratorium and attend my 16th Kiss concert, and it’s only fitting that Kiss be my first Sprint Center show. I just can’t quit ‘em, as the saying goes, and I also have to give them credit for at least keeping their ticket prices reasonable. Tix start at $18.50, and I'm going to assume those $18.50 seats aren't under the stage or in the parking lot...
I also picked up the new Kiss CD Sonic Boom at Walmart last night—geez, that place gives me the willies! Thankfully, my trusty iPod acts as a force-field to ward off the cretins and lowlifes therein, but I sometimes wonder if these little contraptions have minds of their own—I kid you not, the second I reached over to grab my copy of the new Kiss release, a Kiss song kicked in on the iPod! Anyway, I also picked up Ace Frehley’s new Anomaly CD yesterday, and reviews of both it and Sonic Boom are forthcoming as soon as I get a chance to give them a good listen…
LATEST SURE SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE...
D’oh, indeed!
PEACE SELLS, BUT WHO’S BUYING?
My conservative friends will be proud to hear me say this—Obama deserves a Nobel Peace Prize about as much as Louie DePalma deserved the Mr. Congeniality Award. What peace are you referring to, noble Nobel folks? Afghanistan is getting more and more unstable by the minute, Iraq is still a quagmire, Iran is still acting a fool, and North Korea is a perennial question mark. Even I have to side with the Fox Noise Channel lynch mob (yes, I said lynch mob on purpose) on this one, unless Da Prez got the award for simply NOT invading a foreign land under false pretenses during his first seven months in office.
NOT PRETTY IN PINK
I know I’ll probably sound like a total douche here, but I could have done without the NFL players and coaches wearing the pink stuff last weekend in support of breast cancer awareness. Yes, it’s a noble gesture and a good cause, but those pink cleats LaDainian Tomlinson wore the other night made him look like a ballet dancer. The pink wristbands/armbands also clashed big-time with the kelly green of the New York Jets uni’s—pink and green are two colors that don't go together under ANY circumstances! And as my cynical side has stated before, I fail to see how putting pink ribbons on everything is going to make breast cancer go away.
“IS THAT EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT I READ?”—P. TOWNSHEND
Memo to Major League Baseball: You might want to alter your American League Division Series (ALDS) logo just a skosh. Even on my 27” TV screen, it looks like it says “AIDS”…
While I'm at it, don't it seem a bit disingenuous that these ballgames are sponsored by competing insurance companies (i.e., Geico and Progressive)?
DON’T NEED A WEATHERMAN TO KNOW WHICH WAY THE WIND BLOWS…
Is anyone as sick as I am of the Weather Channel’s over-hyped “Wake Up With Al” promos? Al Roker has to be the whitest black man in America and quite possibly the blandest one, too. He adds nothing to the “Today Show”, so I can’t imagine what impact he has on TWC in the mornings. What the hell do we need a national weatherman in the mornings for anyway? The local stations hit us over the head with weather coverage every five minutes, and I really don’t need to know about the fog over Walla Walla, the humidity in Perth Amboy, or the microburst over Fond Du Loc. As for Roker’s meteorological prowess, he has all the accuracy of Shaquille O‘Neal at the free-throw line, and is about as useful as a snow blower in Panama.
TV OBSERVATION #1
On the "Mary Tyler Moore Show", what exactly did Mr. Grant need with that moon phase chart on the wall behind his desk? Lou never struck me as an Astronomy buff...
TV OBSERVATION #2:
Why on earth would anyone want to doink this Kate Gosselin person even once, let alone seven additional times? She ain't all that hot to begin with, and her personality renders her nothing more than a human canker sore...
YOU CALL THIS “SALUTING THE TROOPS”?
Über-conservative Ted Nugent is always harping on his reverence for the military and supporting our U.S. fighting men and women overseas (not that one shouldn’t), but I was listening to some Terrible Ted on my iPod the other day, and noted a curious line in the song “Good And Ready” from 1982: “We ain’t afraid of the National Guard—‘cause me and my boys, we can fight just as hard…” Perhaps I’m nit-picking here, but Ted was essentially calling our National Guard troops a bunch of wusses, if I’m interpreting that verse correctly. And if you’re so gung-ho about defending our country and all, dear Theodore, then where were you during the Vietnam war when you were about 19 or 20? Oh, that’s right, touring with the Amboy Dukes. I’m just sayin’…
IN GENE WE TRUST?
Knowing Gene, he probably drew that one himself. I can understand blowing off a single and defacing it, but I couldn't bring myself to waste a perfectly good twenty… Here’s the link to some more humorous defacery of American currency. Meanwhile, I got the word today that Kiss is coming to Sprint Center on December 10th. While I have been critical of the band continuing on without Ace Frehley and Peter Criss, it’s probably just as well neither of them are with the group at this point, given all the invective Simmons and Stanley keep hurling at them. From what I’ve heard, Kiss is much tighter in concert now with Tommy Thayer and Eric Singer replacing them, therefore, I’ve decided to end my Kiss concert moratorium and attend my 16th Kiss concert, and it’s only fitting that Kiss be my first Sprint Center show. I just can’t quit ‘em, as the saying goes, and I also have to give them credit for at least keeping their ticket prices reasonable. Tix start at $18.50, and I'm going to assume those $18.50 seats aren't under the stage or in the parking lot...I also picked up the new Kiss CD Sonic Boom at Walmart last night—geez, that place gives me the willies! Thankfully, my trusty iPod acts as a force-field to ward off the cretins and lowlifes therein, but I sometimes wonder if these little contraptions have minds of their own—I kid you not, the second I reached over to grab my copy of the new Kiss release, a Kiss song kicked in on the iPod! Anyway, I also picked up Ace Frehley’s new Anomaly CD yesterday, and reviews of both it and Sonic Boom are forthcoming as soon as I get a chance to give them a good listen…
LATEST SURE SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE...
D’oh, indeed!
Monday, October 5, 2009
I'd rather laugh with the bloggers than cry with the saints...
The bloggers are much more fun(nier)…
EIGHT IS MORE THAN ENOUGH
I’m normally not a violent person, but I’ve just about reached the end of my tether with these impudent Jon & Kate people, to the point where I’m this close to hiring a hitman to off both of them! I’m so sick of the way these two overexposed inconsequential nobodies continue to monopolize the headlines and for what—just because they fucked like rabbits and had eight kids? Every time I walk by the waiting room in my workplace or when I flip on “Larry King Live”, there’s one of them on the TV pissing and moaning about the other one, and whenever I click on MSNBC’s webpage to get the latest news, there are no less than three headlines about these two nandofucks. What makes them so special anyway? It ain’t as if they’re the only couple who has a big family in this country and to me they’re the biggest something-made-out-of-nothing this side of the Blue Man Group. What kills me now is how Jon has suddenly gotten religion, so to speak, and says that this whole thing has had an adverse effect on their children. No shit, Sherlock! Do us, yourselves, and your kids all a big favor, Jon & Kate—stop exploiting your children for money and TV ratings and fucking disappear already!
HE WHO LIVETH BY THE SWORD SHALL BE STUCKETH
Kinda hard to feel sorry for David Letterman these days, ain’t it? Most everything I’ve ever heard about his off-camera personality is pretty unsavory anyway, so none of this current sex-with-“Late Show”-staffers hoop-de-doo comes as any great shock to me. Between this and the Sarah Palin daughter joke flap a couple months back, it would appear Dave keeps stepping on his winkie while wearing spiked golf shoes. What’s funny is about half of his repertoire—jokes aimed at fellow sex fiends like John Edwards, Hugh Grant, Elliot Spitzer and Gov. Sanford—now rings pretty hollow. It’ll be interesting to see if and how he compensates for it in his future monologues.
MUCH A-POOH ABOUT NOTHING
Seems there’s a minor stink brewing about a new sequel to A.A. Milne’s classic Winnie-The-Pooh series called Return To The Hundred Acre Wood written by one David Benedictus. Some people are reacting like Piglet (“Oh, d-d-d-d-dear-dear!”) because DB apparently had the audacity to introduce a new character, an otter named Lottie, into Pooh-dom. And this is a problem, why? No one seemed to give a rip when Disney Channel bastardized the Pooh franchise a few years back with an animated version that replaced Christopher Robin with a girl (who dressed an awful lot like him) and her little dog, neither of whom were original Milne characters, so why the fuss about now? As Pooh himself was often known to say, “Oh bother…” Or as Col. Potter on “M*A*S*H” once said to Maj. Winchester, “Oh, Pooh-Pooh-Pa-Doo…”
AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT…
Don’t mean to strip your gears, transitioning from childhood fantasy world to grown-up real-life nightmare theater, but I wanted to make mention of the passing of Manson family member Susan Atkins. Yes, the infamous Sharon Tate stabber finally kicked the bucket in prison last week, dying of cancer after her recent final parole request failed. She was too sick and bedridden anyway—what the hell was she gonna do if they let her out early, party like it’s 1969? If the cancer didn’t kill her first, someone probably would’ve whacked her anyhow. Every time I hear the name Susan Atkins, I think of a routine that comedian Gallagher did back in the ‘80s where he talked about some prison documentary that “followed her through her day…seems she’s studying secretarial skills now—as if somebody’s gonna GIVE HER A JOB! ‘Hey, Susan, open the mail!’…‘You’re a male…’” All I gotta say, Susan, is burn in hell, bitch! Good riddance to human feces...
DON’T BAG THE BAGGIE JUST YET
Seems oddly ironic that the most reviled stadium in baseball history, the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, got a stay of execution (as the Twins home venue, anyway), thanks to the flat-footed tie between the Twins and Detroit Tigers. They’ll stage a one-game playoff tomorrow to decide who wins the division, thus the Kansas City Royals didn’t get to close out the Dome after all yesterday, as they did at the old Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington in 1981. Even weirder, the old Met is now the site of the Mall of America, which now has lent its corporate moniker to the Metrodome for Vikings games—Mall of America Field at H.H.H. Metrodome, or some such crappola. Confused yet? You won’t be when the Twins move to Target Field on the other side of downtown Minneapolis, which is almost finished already—the field is actually playable now, in fact—and based on the photos I’ve seen so far, TF is shaping up to be a dandy little ballpark that should serve the good people of Minnesota well for years to come. Looking forward to a road trip there next summer…
SPEAKING OF THE METRODOME...
As I type, one can tune in the Vikings-Packers game/Brett Favre Lovefest currently taking place there on "Monday Night Football" and play my newly-patented "Brett Favre Drinking Game". Similar to my recently-retired "John Madden Drinking Game", the Favre game is so simple a Geico advertising executive could do it. Whenever the announcers profusely praise Favre's career achievements, take one drink. Whenever ESPN cuts away to a reaction shot from Favre's wife in her private suite, take two drinks. Whenever the announcers talk about how Brett wants to exact revenge on the Packers, take three drinks. If done properly, you'll be royally-ripped by halftime! You won't even be able to drive a golf ball, let alone a motor vehicle...
“THEY DIED OLD”, VOL. VIII—COBO ARENA
In a scene in the classic film The Big Chill, as C.C.R.’s classic “Bad Moon Rising” cranks out on the jeep radio, Kevin Kline turns to Tom Berenger and says, “Listen to those guys—God damn! You remember the night we saw ‘em at Cobo?” I thought about that line when I heard they were closing down Detroit’s Cobo Arena, and wondered how many other Detroiters (Detroit-ites? Detroit-ians?) have uttered similar sentiments about the many concerts that were staged at that legendary venue—everyone from Ted Nugent to The Who to Grand Funk Railroad and then some.
A pretty fair amount of Rock history took place at Cobo—Ann Arbor, MI native Bob Seger’s Live Bullet was recorded there in ‘75, as was most of Kiss’ breakthrough album Alive! the same year, and Cobo was immortalized on the back cover of the album in this pre-concert photo. Kiss returned to the scene of the crime to tape their 1984 Animalize Live Uncensored concert video at Cobo Arena, which is often mistakenly referred to as Cobo Hall, the name of the adjacent convention center building. And since Kiss and Cobo history were forever linked, it seemed only fitting that the Hottest Band In World played two sold-out shows last week to close the joint down before its inevitable date with the wrecking ball. The plan, according to Gene Simmons, was to play the tracks from Alive! in sequence and make a DVD out of it, but based on the reviews I’ve seen so far, evidently they mixed the Alive! stuff with songs from their new album which is due out tomorrow, and closed (naturally) with “Detroit Rock City”. I never got to see a concert at Cobo, but I did attend an indoor soccer game there in 1991 between the Detroit Rockers and Buffalo Blizzard. With a capacity of around 12,000, it was surprisingly intimate and, by all appearances, Cobo must’ve been an awesome concert venue with its open-ended stage set-up and seating alignment.
Named after former Detroit mayor Albert E. Cobo, the Cobo Center complex opened in 1960 on Detroit’s riverfront, and in addition to concerts and indoor soccer, the arena portion of it served as the home of the vagabond Detroit Pistons of the NBA during the ‘60s and early ‘70s in between their tenures at Olympia Stadium and the Pontiac Silverdome, and it also housed those dreaded Michigan Stags of the old World Hockey Association for one season in 1974-75. Unfortunately, Cobo was the scene of the infamous Nancy Kerrigan clubbing incident at the hands of Tonya Harding’s Neolithic dipshit hired thugs prior to the 1994 Winter Olympics when Cobo served as a practice figure skating rink. Let’s hope that isn’t what Cobo Arena is best remembered for after it’s demolished to make room for expansion of the convention hall.
EIGHT IS MORE THAN ENOUGH
I’m normally not a violent person, but I’ve just about reached the end of my tether with these impudent Jon & Kate people, to the point where I’m this close to hiring a hitman to off both of them! I’m so sick of the way these two overexposed inconsequential nobodies continue to monopolize the headlines and for what—just because they fucked like rabbits and had eight kids? Every time I walk by the waiting room in my workplace or when I flip on “Larry King Live”, there’s one of them on the TV pissing and moaning about the other one, and whenever I click on MSNBC’s webpage to get the latest news, there are no less than three headlines about these two nandofucks. What makes them so special anyway? It ain’t as if they’re the only couple who has a big family in this country and to me they’re the biggest something-made-out-of-nothing this side of the Blue Man Group. What kills me now is how Jon has suddenly gotten religion, so to speak, and says that this whole thing has had an adverse effect on their children. No shit, Sherlock! Do us, yourselves, and your kids all a big favor, Jon & Kate—stop exploiting your children for money and TV ratings and fucking disappear already!
HE WHO LIVETH BY THE SWORD SHALL BE STUCKETH
Kinda hard to feel sorry for David Letterman these days, ain’t it? Most everything I’ve ever heard about his off-camera personality is pretty unsavory anyway, so none of this current sex-with-“Late Show”-staffers hoop-de-doo comes as any great shock to me. Between this and the Sarah Palin daughter joke flap a couple months back, it would appear Dave keeps stepping on his winkie while wearing spiked golf shoes. What’s funny is about half of his repertoire—jokes aimed at fellow sex fiends like John Edwards, Hugh Grant, Elliot Spitzer and Gov. Sanford—now rings pretty hollow. It’ll be interesting to see if and how he compensates for it in his future monologues.
MUCH A-POOH ABOUT NOTHING
Seems there’s a minor stink brewing about a new sequel to A.A. Milne’s classic Winnie-The-Pooh series called Return To The Hundred Acre Wood written by one David Benedictus. Some people are reacting like Piglet (“Oh, d-d-d-d-dear-dear!”) because DB apparently had the audacity to introduce a new character, an otter named Lottie, into Pooh-dom. And this is a problem, why? No one seemed to give a rip when Disney Channel bastardized the Pooh franchise a few years back with an animated version that replaced Christopher Robin with a girl (who dressed an awful lot like him) and her little dog, neither of whom were original Milne characters, so why the fuss about now? As Pooh himself was often known to say, “Oh bother…” Or as Col. Potter on “M*A*S*H” once said to Maj. Winchester, “Oh, Pooh-Pooh-Pa-Doo…”
AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT…
Don’t mean to strip your gears, transitioning from childhood fantasy world to grown-up real-life nightmare theater, but I wanted to make mention of the passing of Manson family member Susan Atkins. Yes, the infamous Sharon Tate stabber finally kicked the bucket in prison last week, dying of cancer after her recent final parole request failed. She was too sick and bedridden anyway—what the hell was she gonna do if they let her out early, party like it’s 1969? If the cancer didn’t kill her first, someone probably would’ve whacked her anyhow. Every time I hear the name Susan Atkins, I think of a routine that comedian Gallagher did back in the ‘80s where he talked about some prison documentary that “followed her through her day…seems she’s studying secretarial skills now—as if somebody’s gonna GIVE HER A JOB! ‘Hey, Susan, open the mail!’…‘You’re a male…’” All I gotta say, Susan, is burn in hell, bitch! Good riddance to human feces...
DON’T BAG THE BAGGIE JUST YET
Seems oddly ironic that the most reviled stadium in baseball history, the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, got a stay of execution (as the Twins home venue, anyway), thanks to the flat-footed tie between the Twins and Detroit Tigers. They’ll stage a one-game playoff tomorrow to decide who wins the division, thus the Kansas City Royals didn’t get to close out the Dome after all yesterday, as they did at the old Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington in 1981. Even weirder, the old Met is now the site of the Mall of America, which now has lent its corporate moniker to the Metrodome for Vikings games—Mall of America Field at H.H.H. Metrodome, or some such crappola. Confused yet? You won’t be when the Twins move to Target Field on the other side of downtown Minneapolis, which is almost finished already—the field is actually playable now, in fact—and based on the photos I’ve seen so far, TF is shaping up to be a dandy little ballpark that should serve the good people of Minnesota well for years to come. Looking forward to a road trip there next summer…
SPEAKING OF THE METRODOME...
As I type, one can tune in the Vikings-Packers game/Brett Favre Lovefest currently taking place there on "Monday Night Football" and play my newly-patented "Brett Favre Drinking Game". Similar to my recently-retired "John Madden Drinking Game", the Favre game is so simple a Geico advertising executive could do it. Whenever the announcers profusely praise Favre's career achievements, take one drink. Whenever ESPN cuts away to a reaction shot from Favre's wife in her private suite, take two drinks. Whenever the announcers talk about how Brett wants to exact revenge on the Packers, take three drinks. If done properly, you'll be royally-ripped by halftime! You won't even be able to drive a golf ball, let alone a motor vehicle...
“THEY DIED OLD”, VOL. VIII—COBO ARENA
In a scene in the classic film The Big Chill, as C.C.R.’s classic “Bad Moon Rising” cranks out on the jeep radio, Kevin Kline turns to Tom Berenger and says, “Listen to those guys—God damn! You remember the night we saw ‘em at Cobo?” I thought about that line when I heard they were closing down Detroit’s Cobo Arena, and wondered how many other Detroiters (Detroit-ites? Detroit-ians?) have uttered similar sentiments about the many concerts that were staged at that legendary venue—everyone from Ted Nugent to The Who to Grand Funk Railroad and then some.
A pretty fair amount of Rock history took place at Cobo—Ann Arbor, MI native Bob Seger’s Live Bullet was recorded there in ‘75, as was most of Kiss’ breakthrough album Alive! the same year, and Cobo was immortalized on the back cover of the album in this pre-concert photo. Kiss returned to the scene of the crime to tape their 1984 Animalize Live Uncensored concert video at Cobo Arena, which is often mistakenly referred to as Cobo Hall, the name of the adjacent convention center building. And since Kiss and Cobo history were forever linked, it seemed only fitting that the Hottest Band In World played two sold-out shows last week to close the joint down before its inevitable date with the wrecking ball. The plan, according to Gene Simmons, was to play the tracks from Alive! in sequence and make a DVD out of it, but based on the reviews I’ve seen so far, evidently they mixed the Alive! stuff with songs from their new album which is due out tomorrow, and closed (naturally) with “Detroit Rock City”. I never got to see a concert at Cobo, but I did attend an indoor soccer game there in 1991 between the Detroit Rockers and Buffalo Blizzard. With a capacity of around 12,000, it was surprisingly intimate and, by all appearances, Cobo must’ve been an awesome concert venue with its open-ended stage set-up and seating alignment.
Named after former Detroit mayor Albert E. Cobo, the Cobo Center complex opened in 1960 on Detroit’s riverfront, and in addition to concerts and indoor soccer, the arena portion of it served as the home of the vagabond Detroit Pistons of the NBA during the ‘60s and early ‘70s in between their tenures at Olympia Stadium and the Pontiac Silverdome, and it also housed those dreaded Michigan Stags of the old World Hockey Association for one season in 1974-75. Unfortunately, Cobo was the scene of the infamous Nancy Kerrigan clubbing incident at the hands of Tonya Harding’s Neolithic dipshit hired thugs prior to the 1994 Winter Olympics when Cobo served as a practice figure skating rink. Let’s hope that isn’t what Cobo Arena is best remembered for after it’s demolished to make room for expansion of the convention hall.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Jump, Blog & Wail
KISS MY (HOF) CLASS!
Get your affairs in order, ladies and gentlemen—it’s time to face your final destiny because the Apocalypse is surely nigh. Kiss has finally been nominated for induction into the (C)Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame! And so has ABBA! First-timers Genesis and the Hollies even made the preliminary list. I’m stunned that the Hall of Fame membership panelists and/or aging Rolling Stone hippies who think Leonard Cohen is a Rock star finally woke up and smelled the crappucino. I’m still not holding my breath for The Hottest Band In The World to actually get voted in this year—these HOF buffoons will no doubt find a way to mangle things up, because their other nominees for the 2010 Class include LL Cool J, Donna Summer, Jimmy Cliff, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Chantels, Laura Nyro, Darlene Love and the Stooges.
Here’s my annual breakdown of the HOF candidates: Y’all already know my feelings on Kiss and ABBA—they’re both no-brainers here. Genesis and the Hollies are also on Top 25 list of acts who deserve to be in the Hall, so I hope they get voted this time, even if they do get in ahead of the Moody Blues, Deep Purple, Rush, Paul Revere & The Raiders, etc. And if Kiss gets in, I think that will pave the way for many of those acts anyway. As with R.E.M. a couple years ago, I think the Chili Peppers are a borderline choice, at best—they may well be Hall-worthy someday, just not quite yet, in my book. But since we have to have five inductees, then I guess RHCP will have to do this time.
I’ve never gotten the whole Iggy Pop/Stooges thing—in fact, the whole Punk thing in general was all just mindless noise that never truly registered with me—but I’m not a bit surprised Iggy and the boys have been nominated. Sorry, Iggy, but slicing up your chest with razor blades on-stage doesn’t impress me much, and frankly, I think Curly, Moe & Larry (and even Shemp) are more HOF worthy than your Stooges! The Chantels were a black girl group that hit the Top 15 with 1958’s “Maybe” and had a couple other minor hits—nice try, but they were hardly the Supremes or even the Ronettes. They weren’t even on a par with the Crystals, whom Darlene Love was the lead singer for on “He’s A Rebel”, and who was part of the trio Bob B. Soxx & The Blue Jeans—again nice, but nothing earth-shattering. Laura Nyro was a fine songwriter who had a nice run in the late ‘60s composing hits like “Eli’s Coming” for Three Dog Night, “And When I Die” for Blood Sweat & Tears and “Stoney End” for Babs Streisand, as well as “Stoned Soul Picnic” and “Wedding Bell Blues” for the Fifth Dimension. Nyro had a moderately successful solo singing career as well, so maybe—maybe—you could make a case for her being in the Hall, but if she gets in, then how is it an equally prolific songwriter and infinitely more successful performer like Neil Diamond still gets snubbed? Come to think of it, if they think the Chantels are Hall-worthy, then why hasn’t the Fifth Dimension been nominated? Fifth D certainly had a lot more impact on popular music than the Chantels ever could’ve dreamed of. As for LL Cool J, Donna Summer and Jimmy Cliff—a Rapper, a Disco diva and a Reggae artist?—you gotta be kidding me! Save them for the Rap, Disco and Reggae Halls of Fame, if they ever exist.
So, here’s who I think should get in this year: Kiss, ABBA, Genesis, the Hollies, and Red Hot Chili Peppers.
And here’s who I think will actually get voted in this year: The Stooges, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Genesis, Jimmy Cliff and Laura Nyro.
THE VOICE OF REASON—AGAIN!
My man, Leonard Pitts, Jr., once again gave voice to my feelings about all this criticism aimed at President Obama: “The same folks who were complacent as President Bush spent surplus into deficit, wasted $600 billion and 4,000 American lives on the wrong war and watched an American city drown are morally outraged because the new guy wants to reform health care?” This is what I’ve been trying to say all along—Obama may not have all the right answers, but geez Louise, let’s at least give him a little time to undo all this damage from the last eight years and beyond before declaring him the worst President ever. He has a tough act to follow anyway…
SLEIGH BELLS RING—ARE YOU LISTENING?
During a visit to Lowe’s hardware emporium on Saturday, I was amazed (but not amused) that they already had their Christmas decorations up for sale. On September 18th?!? Shit, we might as well just make Xmas a year-round holiday anymore. As Charlie Brown was known to utter: “*SIGH*”.
MOM, WHAT’S THAT BLONDE LADY DOING?
While channel surfing on Saturday afternoon between college football games around 4:00, I stumbled across When Harry Met Sally—right smack dab in the middle of Meg Ryan’s infamous simulated orgasm scene—on ABC Family Channel. I repeat, friggin’ ABC Family Channel! No biggie, tho—I don’t guess there would be any impressionable young children tuned in at that hour, would there? Nah, probably not…
HALEY COMMENT
After witnessing the sideline demeanor of Chefs head coach Todd Haley while ripping his players right and left for two games, I’ve noticed an uncanny resemblance between him and actor Ben Stiller when he guested on “Friends” as Rachel’s temperamental date who went Postal over little stuff. I’m going to give Haley the same treatment I’m giving President Obama, since TH is still new on the job, but his ballistic sideline histrionics are already giving me cause for concern, not to mention the piss-poor play calling and even worse clock management that snatched victory away from the jaws of defeat against the train wreck that is Da Raidas on Sunday. It may be a while before K.C. wins another football game now, in light of the murderer’s row coming up on their schedule—the Eagles, Giants, Cowboys, et al.
A WASHINGTON DIPLOMAT, HE AIN’T
One team the Chefs might have a chance against soon would be the Washington Redskins, who barely eked out a 9-7 win Sunday over the hapless St. Louis Rams, which gave ‘Skins fans rightful cause to lustily boo their own team. This incensed one of the Washington players, rookie linebacker Robert Benson, who whipped out his Tweeter and labeled the fans a bunch of “dim-wits” who “probably work 9 to 5 at McDonald’s.” Uhhh, Bobbo, the average McDonald’s employee can’t even afford a TV to watch the game on, let alone a ticket to one of your games, as the Redskins have one of the highest average ticket prices in the NFL. What's really funny is those “dim-wit” McD’s employees contributed every bit as much to Sunday’s effort by the ‘Skins as Benson did—this goomer hasn’t even suited up for a game yet this season! Best keep yer yap shut, buddy—a few more Tweets like that one, and you may well be churning out Big Macs and Egg McMuffins yourself real soon…
THE PUCK STOPPED HERE
Tuesday was Kansas City’s annual pre-season NHL game at Sprint Center, which attracted a somewhat disappointing crowd of 9,700 or so. The low attendance probably doesn’t help K.C.’s chances of landing an NHL franchise, but then again, L.A. Kings vs. New York Islanders isn’t exactly a sexy match-up, and you have to factor the economy into the equation, not to mention the over-inflated ticket prices. If the NHL ever actually does move a team here, I’d only be able to afford to attend one or two games a season, as would most other average hockey fans like me. Hell, I wanted to attend Tuesday night’s game, but all they had left on TicketBastard the other day were $75 tickets, and I’m sorry, gang, I ain’t paying that kind of money for a game that don’t count. I wouldn’t even pay that much for a game that does count, unless it was the Stanley Cup Finals. Oh well, I already have a ticket in hand for a regular season Blackhawks game in Chicago next month during my upcoming road trip, so I’ll get my NHL fix then. Meantime, I really wish the city would lower their expectations a skosh and try to land an American Hockey League franchise (think Triple-A level in baseball) for Sprint Center instead. It would be a much better fit for a city of this size, and a lot more affordable for us fans, who would pack that place on the weekends like we used to do when the Blades played at Kemper Arena in the ‘90s.
ME AND JASON DOWN BY THE SCHOOLYARD
It didn’t take K.C. Star sports columnist Jason Whitlock (aka “The Flatulent One”) very long to resort to his typical schoolyard taunting gambit of assigning one of his childish nicknames to new Chefs General Manager Scott Pioli, the man whom JW avidly campaigned for the Chefs to hire, and whom JW now exclusively refers to as Scott Ego-li. As I’ve stated before, it’s one thing to do a little name-calling on a blog like this—“Chefs”, “Flatulent One” or “Miss Winky-Dink” (Sarah Palin) for instance—that only a select few read. But, it’s a whole different ballgame when commanding a six-figure salary at a major-market newspaper and representing one’s city as Whitlock does—to wit, try showing a little class for once, Jason! In his most recent column, he wrote about Pioli’s ego: “I’ve covered professional sports for 16 years, wrestled with ‘King’ Carl Peterson, stood toe-to-toe with drunken, delusional hostile millionaire athletes, battled Mike Lupica and irritated billionaire owners. None of them can touch Scott Ego-li.” Hmmm, the ever-humble and reticent Jason Whitlock taking exception to someone’s ego—that’s rich. In the vernacular of the schoolyard, Jason, “It takes one to know one!” (And my dad can beat up your dad!)
“GET UP, AND GET JIMMY OUTTA HERE…”
Tell Gene Simmons never mind about getting Grandma outta here, because Jimmy’s workin’ TOO hard this year. Anheuser-Busch needs to 86 this “Jimmy Football” bozo on the new Bud Light TV ads PDQ. He’s nothing but a transparent rip-off of the late Billy Mays—the voice that launched a million mute buttons—and every bit as irritating, too. Jimmy makes me miss the lizards and the ferret even more. And in a bit of role reversal, this would be one of the rare times when Miller Beer actually trumps an A-B ad campaign—I love the current Miller High Life commercials with the black delivery dude and his accurate social commentary. The best one is where he spots the hoity-toity women trackside at the horse race and exclaims, “Floppy hats at 10:00...closest to the track but farthest from reality!” This is easily the best set of TV ads Miller has produced since the "Tastes Great/Less Filling" era.
ALL IN THE FAMILY?
Have you seen the appalling claims that actress/drug fiend MacKenzie Phillips is making about her late father, “Papa” John Phillips in her new book High On Arrival, about him having an incestuous relationship with her in the ‘70s? Ewww! Ewww! Ewww! She even claims they did the (really) dirty deed on the night before she got married in 1979. You gotta either be totally twisted or pretty damn desperate to sell books to publish crap like this. Up until MP’s most recent drug bust last year, I was fairly sympathetic to her plight with substance abuse, but it’s becoming pretty obvious that she’s just a colossal dumbass. While it’s well-documented that Papa John was no angel and had a monumental drug problem himself, I find this all to be pure science fiction, and even if it is true, why go public with it now? What good can come from this, other than a few paychecks from your publisher? It speaks volumes that John’s ex-wife Michelle Phillips (MacKenzie’s stepmother) has quickly come out to defend him in the media. Michelle wasn’t even on speaking terms with John for many many years before he died, yet she maintains that this is all a load of buffalo bagels, and that “MacKenzie has a lot of mental illness. She’s had a needle stuck up her arm for 35 years. She was arrested for heroin and coke just recently. She did ‘Celebrity Rehab’ and now she writes a book. The whole thing is timed.” Then again, sister Chynna Phillips believes MacKenzie is telling the truth, so who the hell knows? Would it at least be fair to say that the Phillips clan is every bit as fucked up as the Ryan O’Neal family?
A DECADE IN WHICH I’VE DECAYED?
It was exactly ten years ago last night that I was on board a plane bound for Las Vegas en route to a six-day rendezvous with a beautiful woman of the female sex—a week that was one of the major highlights of my 45 years so far on this planet, and far and away the high point of my love life/sex life. Wonderful memories, to be sure, which I’ve played over and over in my head a zillion times—thank you again, Stacy, for taking me places I’d never been before (or since). Without you, I’d probably be suicidal by now.
What haunts me, however, is the complete dearth of activity in my love life since late 1999—nary even a freakin’ date with a woman (other than lunch/dinner dates with female friends), let alone any glimmers of hope of finding a new significant other, and I now find myself rustier than the Titanic. I already covered this subject thoroughly earlier this year in my “The (Love) Life of Brian” series, so no need to re-hash here, but this current dry spell is the longest of all for me, and probably the most discouraging, because the older I get, the dimmer my prospects are for finding the woman of my dreams. I do realize the lack of relationships and prospects is mostly my fault—I don’t get out near as much as I should, my social life is stagnant-at-best, and I’ve let myself go quite a bit, physique-wise, but still, you’d think somewhere along the line in ten years, I’d have stumbled across someone in my travels (both Internet and terrestrial) whom I might hit it off with and want to “have relations” with, but there has been no one. Hell, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn now and then! What precious few women that have caught my eye over that time were either co-workers, already spoken-for, had kids or were way too young for me (or any combination thereof). What’s worse, women rarely seem to even notice me, and I almost find the indifference I usually encounter from women to be more hurtful than the sting of out-and-out rejection. Never say never, of course, but the future sure looks bleak to me these days…
Get your affairs in order, ladies and gentlemen—it’s time to face your final destiny because the Apocalypse is surely nigh. Kiss has finally been nominated for induction into the (C)Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame! And so has ABBA! First-timers Genesis and the Hollies even made the preliminary list. I’m stunned that the Hall of Fame membership panelists and/or aging Rolling Stone hippies who think Leonard Cohen is a Rock star finally woke up and smelled the crappucino. I’m still not holding my breath for The Hottest Band In The World to actually get voted in this year—these HOF buffoons will no doubt find a way to mangle things up, because their other nominees for the 2010 Class include LL Cool J, Donna Summer, Jimmy Cliff, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Chantels, Laura Nyro, Darlene Love and the Stooges.
Here’s my annual breakdown of the HOF candidates: Y’all already know my feelings on Kiss and ABBA—they’re both no-brainers here. Genesis and the Hollies are also on Top 25 list of acts who deserve to be in the Hall, so I hope they get voted this time, even if they do get in ahead of the Moody Blues, Deep Purple, Rush, Paul Revere & The Raiders, etc. And if Kiss gets in, I think that will pave the way for many of those acts anyway. As with R.E.M. a couple years ago, I think the Chili Peppers are a borderline choice, at best—they may well be Hall-worthy someday, just not quite yet, in my book. But since we have to have five inductees, then I guess RHCP will have to do this time.
I’ve never gotten the whole Iggy Pop/Stooges thing—in fact, the whole Punk thing in general was all just mindless noise that never truly registered with me—but I’m not a bit surprised Iggy and the boys have been nominated. Sorry, Iggy, but slicing up your chest with razor blades on-stage doesn’t impress me much, and frankly, I think Curly, Moe & Larry (and even Shemp) are more HOF worthy than your Stooges! The Chantels were a black girl group that hit the Top 15 with 1958’s “Maybe” and had a couple other minor hits—nice try, but they were hardly the Supremes or even the Ronettes. They weren’t even on a par with the Crystals, whom Darlene Love was the lead singer for on “He’s A Rebel”, and who was part of the trio Bob B. Soxx & The Blue Jeans—again nice, but nothing earth-shattering. Laura Nyro was a fine songwriter who had a nice run in the late ‘60s composing hits like “Eli’s Coming” for Three Dog Night, “And When I Die” for Blood Sweat & Tears and “Stoney End” for Babs Streisand, as well as “Stoned Soul Picnic” and “Wedding Bell Blues” for the Fifth Dimension. Nyro had a moderately successful solo singing career as well, so maybe—maybe—you could make a case for her being in the Hall, but if she gets in, then how is it an equally prolific songwriter and infinitely more successful performer like Neil Diamond still gets snubbed? Come to think of it, if they think the Chantels are Hall-worthy, then why hasn’t the Fifth Dimension been nominated? Fifth D certainly had a lot more impact on popular music than the Chantels ever could’ve dreamed of. As for LL Cool J, Donna Summer and Jimmy Cliff—a Rapper, a Disco diva and a Reggae artist?—you gotta be kidding me! Save them for the Rap, Disco and Reggae Halls of Fame, if they ever exist.
So, here’s who I think should get in this year: Kiss, ABBA, Genesis, the Hollies, and Red Hot Chili Peppers.
And here’s who I think will actually get voted in this year: The Stooges, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Genesis, Jimmy Cliff and Laura Nyro.
THE VOICE OF REASON—AGAIN!
My man, Leonard Pitts, Jr., once again gave voice to my feelings about all this criticism aimed at President Obama: “The same folks who were complacent as President Bush spent surplus into deficit, wasted $600 billion and 4,000 American lives on the wrong war and watched an American city drown are morally outraged because the new guy wants to reform health care?” This is what I’ve been trying to say all along—Obama may not have all the right answers, but geez Louise, let’s at least give him a little time to undo all this damage from the last eight years and beyond before declaring him the worst President ever. He has a tough act to follow anyway…
SLEIGH BELLS RING—ARE YOU LISTENING?
During a visit to Lowe’s hardware emporium on Saturday, I was amazed (but not amused) that they already had their Christmas decorations up for sale. On September 18th?!? Shit, we might as well just make Xmas a year-round holiday anymore. As Charlie Brown was known to utter: “*SIGH*”.
MOM, WHAT’S THAT BLONDE LADY DOING?
While channel surfing on Saturday afternoon between college football games around 4:00, I stumbled across When Harry Met Sally—right smack dab in the middle of Meg Ryan’s infamous simulated orgasm scene—on ABC Family Channel. I repeat, friggin’ ABC Family Channel! No biggie, tho—I don’t guess there would be any impressionable young children tuned in at that hour, would there? Nah, probably not…
HALEY COMMENT
After witnessing the sideline demeanor of Chefs head coach Todd Haley while ripping his players right and left for two games, I’ve noticed an uncanny resemblance between him and actor Ben Stiller when he guested on “Friends” as Rachel’s temperamental date who went Postal over little stuff. I’m going to give Haley the same treatment I’m giving President Obama, since TH is still new on the job, but his ballistic sideline histrionics are already giving me cause for concern, not to mention the piss-poor play calling and even worse clock management that snatched victory away from the jaws of defeat against the train wreck that is Da Raidas on Sunday. It may be a while before K.C. wins another football game now, in light of the murderer’s row coming up on their schedule—the Eagles, Giants, Cowboys, et al.A WASHINGTON DIPLOMAT, HE AIN’T
One team the Chefs might have a chance against soon would be the Washington Redskins, who barely eked out a 9-7 win Sunday over the hapless St. Louis Rams, which gave ‘Skins fans rightful cause to lustily boo their own team. This incensed one of the Washington players, rookie linebacker Robert Benson, who whipped out his Tweeter and labeled the fans a bunch of “dim-wits” who “probably work 9 to 5 at McDonald’s.” Uhhh, Bobbo, the average McDonald’s employee can’t even afford a TV to watch the game on, let alone a ticket to one of your games, as the Redskins have one of the highest average ticket prices in the NFL. What's really funny is those “dim-wit” McD’s employees contributed every bit as much to Sunday’s effort by the ‘Skins as Benson did—this goomer hasn’t even suited up for a game yet this season! Best keep yer yap shut, buddy—a few more Tweets like that one, and you may well be churning out Big Macs and Egg McMuffins yourself real soon…
THE PUCK STOPPED HERE
Tuesday was Kansas City’s annual pre-season NHL game at Sprint Center, which attracted a somewhat disappointing crowd of 9,700 or so. The low attendance probably doesn’t help K.C.’s chances of landing an NHL franchise, but then again, L.A. Kings vs. New York Islanders isn’t exactly a sexy match-up, and you have to factor the economy into the equation, not to mention the over-inflated ticket prices. If the NHL ever actually does move a team here, I’d only be able to afford to attend one or two games a season, as would most other average hockey fans like me. Hell, I wanted to attend Tuesday night’s game, but all they had left on TicketBastard the other day were $75 tickets, and I’m sorry, gang, I ain’t paying that kind of money for a game that don’t count. I wouldn’t even pay that much for a game that does count, unless it was the Stanley Cup Finals. Oh well, I already have a ticket in hand for a regular season Blackhawks game in Chicago next month during my upcoming road trip, so I’ll get my NHL fix then. Meantime, I really wish the city would lower their expectations a skosh and try to land an American Hockey League franchise (think Triple-A level in baseball) for Sprint Center instead. It would be a much better fit for a city of this size, and a lot more affordable for us fans, who would pack that place on the weekends like we used to do when the Blades played at Kemper Arena in the ‘90s.
ME AND JASON DOWN BY THE SCHOOLYARD
It didn’t take K.C. Star sports columnist Jason Whitlock (aka “The Flatulent One”) very long to resort to his typical schoolyard taunting gambit of assigning one of his childish nicknames to new Chefs General Manager Scott Pioli, the man whom JW avidly campaigned for the Chefs to hire, and whom JW now exclusively refers to as Scott Ego-li. As I’ve stated before, it’s one thing to do a little name-calling on a blog like this—“Chefs”, “Flatulent One” or “Miss Winky-Dink” (Sarah Palin) for instance—that only a select few read. But, it’s a whole different ballgame when commanding a six-figure salary at a major-market newspaper and representing one’s city as Whitlock does—to wit, try showing a little class for once, Jason! In his most recent column, he wrote about Pioli’s ego: “I’ve covered professional sports for 16 years, wrestled with ‘King’ Carl Peterson, stood toe-to-toe with drunken, delusional hostile millionaire athletes, battled Mike Lupica and irritated billionaire owners. None of them can touch Scott Ego-li.” Hmmm, the ever-humble and reticent Jason Whitlock taking exception to someone’s ego—that’s rich. In the vernacular of the schoolyard, Jason, “It takes one to know one!” (And my dad can beat up your dad!)
“GET UP, AND GET JIMMY OUTTA HERE…”
Tell Gene Simmons never mind about getting Grandma outta here, because Jimmy’s workin’ TOO hard this year. Anheuser-Busch needs to 86 this “Jimmy Football” bozo on the new Bud Light TV ads PDQ. He’s nothing but a transparent rip-off of the late Billy Mays—the voice that launched a million mute buttons—and every bit as irritating, too. Jimmy makes me miss the lizards and the ferret even more. And in a bit of role reversal, this would be one of the rare times when Miller Beer actually trumps an A-B ad campaign—I love the current Miller High Life commercials with the black delivery dude and his accurate social commentary. The best one is where he spots the hoity-toity women trackside at the horse race and exclaims, “Floppy hats at 10:00...closest to the track but farthest from reality!” This is easily the best set of TV ads Miller has produced since the "Tastes Great/Less Filling" era.
ALL IN THE FAMILY?
Have you seen the appalling claims that actress/drug fiend MacKenzie Phillips is making about her late father, “Papa” John Phillips in her new book High On Arrival, about him having an incestuous relationship with her in the ‘70s? Ewww! Ewww! Ewww! She even claims they did the (really) dirty deed on the night before she got married in 1979. You gotta either be totally twisted or pretty damn desperate to sell books to publish crap like this. Up until MP’s most recent drug bust last year, I was fairly sympathetic to her plight with substance abuse, but it’s becoming pretty obvious that she’s just a colossal dumbass. While it’s well-documented that Papa John was no angel and had a monumental drug problem himself, I find this all to be pure science fiction, and even if it is true, why go public with it now? What good can come from this, other than a few paychecks from your publisher? It speaks volumes that John’s ex-wife Michelle Phillips (MacKenzie’s stepmother) has quickly come out to defend him in the media. Michelle wasn’t even on speaking terms with John for many many years before he died, yet she maintains that this is all a load of buffalo bagels, and that “MacKenzie has a lot of mental illness. She’s had a needle stuck up her arm for 35 years. She was arrested for heroin and coke just recently. She did ‘Celebrity Rehab’ and now she writes a book. The whole thing is timed.” Then again, sister Chynna Phillips believes MacKenzie is telling the truth, so who the hell knows? Would it at least be fair to say that the Phillips clan is every bit as fucked up as the Ryan O’Neal family?
A DECADE IN WHICH I’VE DECAYED?
It was exactly ten years ago last night that I was on board a plane bound for Las Vegas en route to a six-day rendezvous with a beautiful woman of the female sex—a week that was one of the major highlights of my 45 years so far on this planet, and far and away the high point of my love life/sex life. Wonderful memories, to be sure, which I’ve played over and over in my head a zillion times—thank you again, Stacy, for taking me places I’d never been before (or since). Without you, I’d probably be suicidal by now.
What haunts me, however, is the complete dearth of activity in my love life since late 1999—nary even a freakin’ date with a woman (other than lunch/dinner dates with female friends), let alone any glimmers of hope of finding a new significant other, and I now find myself rustier than the Titanic. I already covered this subject thoroughly earlier this year in my “The (Love) Life of Brian” series, so no need to re-hash here, but this current dry spell is the longest of all for me, and probably the most discouraging, because the older I get, the dimmer my prospects are for finding the woman of my dreams. I do realize the lack of relationships and prospects is mostly my fault—I don’t get out near as much as I should, my social life is stagnant-at-best, and I’ve let myself go quite a bit, physique-wise, but still, you’d think somewhere along the line in ten years, I’d have stumbled across someone in my travels (both Internet and terrestrial) whom I might hit it off with and want to “have relations” with, but there has been no one. Hell, even a blind squirrel finds an acorn now and then! What precious few women that have caught my eye over that time were either co-workers, already spoken-for, had kids or were way too young for me (or any combination thereof). What’s worse, women rarely seem to even notice me, and I almost find the indifference I usually encounter from women to be more hurtful than the sting of out-and-out rejection. Never say never, of course, but the future sure looks bleak to me these days…
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