Good morning, America--how are you?

I was listening to Arlo Guthrie's "City of New Orleans" the other day, and I thought that'd be an approriate blog entry title for this rare early-day entry...

THE JOYS OF HOME OWNERSHIP
As per usual when it comes to home improvement projects at my humble abode, I ran into a snag while attempting to redo my bathroom.  After removing the sheet rock along the exterior wall, I was pleased the find there was indeed insulation behind it, unlike my bedroom that I just finished doing.  However, after removing the insulation, I was quite displeased by the slap-dash job done by whoever it was that remodeled my house way back when long before I owned the place.  Those two horizontal gaps you see between the wood in this pic expose the aluminum siding on the outside of the house, subsequently allowing rainwater to get into the wood, causing that black shit you see, which is mold—it's a wonder I haven't gotten sick on this crap!  Some of that exposed wood is nothing more than a sponge now, too.  The good news here is it's a relatively inexpensive fix, similar to what my friend Phil and I did to the back door area of my house last year, albeit rather time-consuming.

A BIG PET PEEVE OF MINE...
...is people who abuse handicapped parking spaces, and I'm now on a bit of a crusade at my workplace.  There's this insipid woman who works for another company in our little office complex who thinks nothing of parking her car all day long in one of our handicapped spots.  While it's true the woman has an official handicapped tag hanging from her mirror, there ain't a damn thing wrong with her, unless having a fat ass is now considered a handicap (in which case, ALL parking spaces might as well have wheelchairs painted in them).  This woman certainly has no problem negotiating the two flights of stairs to enter her building, so yesterday I took it upon myself to type up this little note and affix it to her windshield:

"Wow, for someone who's handicapped, you sure get around pretty good!  Just so you'll know, at 10:15 this morning, ALL of the handicapped spots in both parking lots here were full, so the next person who came along who truly needed one was pretty much screwed, huh?...Hope you can live with yourself—just because you have a handicapped tag doesn't mean you have to use it!"

What's all the more appalling is this be-yatch works in the medical field, so she should know better!  While I'm on the subject, another pet peeve of mine are these lazy-ass people who press the handicapped-assist button to open the doors in office buildings, like they're just too weak to open the door on their own power...

YOU FELL FOR THAT (LITERALLY)?
Some yokel in Knoxville, TN claims he was so consumed by the spirit of God that he fell and hit his head while worshiping, so in typical red-blooded American conservative Christian style, the guy is suing the Lakewind Church for, oh, about 2.5 million semolians for his medical bills and "suffering".  Lawyers for the church claim that his fellow worshipers saw the man on the floor laughing after he fell.  In a way, I kinda hope the fucker wins—hell, I'd gladly go fall on my ass in a church for that kind of money in a heartbeat!  Praise the Lord and pass the loot...

SPEAKING OF RELIGIOUS PHONIES...
Not that I needed any further proof of what a cheese-dick he is, there was our favorite race-baiter, the Rev. Jesse Jackson this week saying that he wanted to "cut his nuts off", in reference to Barack Obama and the way he supposedly "talks down to black people."  Funny, but I thought "men of the cloth" weren't supposed to talk like that...

DUMB QUESTION, BUT...
...what the hell was the film School of Rock doing on Cartoon Network the other night?  Don't get me wrong, it's a funny flick, but what's it got to do with cartoons?!?  I find it rather pathetic how the cable networks can't seem to remain true to themselves by airing stuff that's out of their milieu.  TV Land is now obsessed with reality crap like "She's Got The Look" and "High School Reunion", The Learning Channel doesn't have a damn thing to do with learning ("World's Wildest Police Chases"?!?), BET airs a bunch of greedy white TV evangelists all the time, History Channel airs that ponderous "Ice Road Truckers" crap, ESPN is almost nothing but poker now and I don't think MTV has shown a music video since "The Macarena" came out.  Can we get back to the days when cable channels lived up to their names?

SPEAKING OF CARTOONS...
I made this little observation while watching "Family Guy" the other day—why is it humanoid cartoon characters always have three fingers and a thumb instead of four fingers and a thumb?  Why the digit deficit in animated humans?

STEVE MINGORI, 1944-2008
I read in the paper yesterday that former Royals pitcher Steve Mingori passed away on Thursday at age 64.  I remember how his was one of the first baseball cards I ever got out of a pack when I was about seven.  He pitched for Cleveland at the time, but he was a K.C. native, starring at Rockhurst High, and was traded to his hometown team just in time to be a part of the Royals' glory years in the '70s.  Rest in piece, Mingo...

CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #88
"Tomorrow And Tonight"—KISS (1977)  "Take it in the cellar, let me see your fella--I'm gonna teach ya somethin' new..."  This never was one of my favorite Kiss songs, but I always thought the line went "Let me be your fella."  Let me see your fella?!?  Fella?!?  What the hell kind of Rock lyric is that?  Then again, Paul Stanley has often been accused of pitching for both teams...

YUMPIN' YIMINY!
Former tennis player-turned-nun Andrea Jaeger recently admitted to "throwing" a championship match at Wimbeldon to Martina Navratilova back in the '80s.  Seems that Sister Jaeger felt that she may have disrupted Martina's preparation for the match the night before, and couldn't have lived with herself if she'd won, so she aided and abetted Navratilova's win.  Rather honorable of her, I suppose, and hearing her name reminded me of something I read in a magazine when Jaeger was popular when someone asked what her training regimen entailed.  According to the magazine, "Andrea yogs and yumps rope a lot..."

What would Brian Boitano do?

Damned if I know, but Brian Holland's gonna blog some more...

ABBA DABBA-DON'T!
Supergroup ABBA was on hand last week at the Swedish premiere of the film version of the colossally-successful musical Mamma Mia! starring Meryl Streep.  Much to my surprise, the ever-reclusive Agnetha Faltskog—who for many years "vunted to be alone"—was a part of the festivities, which predictably fueled rumors of a potential ABBA reunion tour.  Björn Ulvæus and Benny Andersson were quick to quash those rumors, with Björn saying, "Money is not a factor, and we would like people to remember us as we were. Young, exuberant, full of energy and ambition."  I applaud Brother Björn's stance here—if there was to be an ABBA reunion, it should've happened about 10-15 years ago, and now I think it would border on embarrassing.  And they surely don't need the money—all four of them practically own half of Scandinavia anyway.  And they're the only group I know of with its own museum (slated to open next year).  There isn't even a Beatles museum, is there?  Thankfully, ABBA has decided to take The Beatles' advice and just "Let It Be".

For those of you keeping score, that's Benny in the red jacket at the far left in the pic.  Agnetha is in the white top above the first "A" in "Mamma", between Meryl Streep on her right and Anni-Frid (Frida) Lyngstad on her left, and that's Björn in the white jacket second from the right.

IT MIGHT BE...IT COULD BE...IT IS!! A GOAL?!?
It appears the NHL is going to stage this season's outdoor hockey game at venerable Wrigley Field between the Chicago Blackhawks and Detroit Red Wings.  I'm a tad surprised at this, since they could easily pack in another 30,000 tuque wearers at the much larger Soldier Field II, but since the game is scheduled for New Year's Day, I guess it would be a logistical problem if the Bears make the playoffs.  I still say they'd have no problem scheduling one of these special games here at Arrowhead Stadium—it's not like the Chiefs ever need the place in January...

CAN YOU SAY "HYPOCHONDRIAC"?
Every so often, we get these over-officious patients at my workplace who go to the trouble of typing out a dossier of their various ailments and complaints.  I thought I'd share a little example (exactly as the woman typed it):

—SYMPTONS
—HAVING TROUBLE WALKING STRAIGHT
—SHUFFLE FEET
—GANT IS NOT THE SAME (Former Atlanta Brave Ron Gant?!?)
—CAN'T WALK WITH ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF OTHER (Alcoholism?)
—POUNDING IN MY HEAD-NO PAIN OR HEADACHES
—THOUGHTS KEEP RUSHING THROUGH MY MIND AND WON'T STOP
—HAD CATARAC SURGERY ON BOTH EYES, LAST FALL
—TROUBLE CONCENTRATION AND REMEMBERING
—MY WRITING IS GETTING WORSE (No shit!)

And then she used the mighty F-word:
—I HAVE FIBROMYLGIA...

If there's ever a word that's guaranteed to cause rolling eyes in our office it's Fibromyalgia!  The scary part about all this is this woman actually drove herself to and from her appointment with us!

"WE ALL KNOW THAT CRAP IS KING..."—PART 1
Heaven's to Betsy—A-Rod is divorcing his wife!  And he's been romantically-linked to Madonna!  A-Rod stands to lose millions of dollars—cry me a fuckin' river, will ya?  Oh, and Christie Brinkley's divorcing the dickhead she married after dumping Billy Joel!  Whatever will we do?!?  And of course, "Entertainment Tonight" will be sure to keep us informed of every up-to-the-minute detail—they said so right on their show last night.  I feel sooo reassured now...

"WE ALL KNOW THAT CRAP IS KING..."—PART 2
ESPN's obsession with Brett Favre apparently knows no bounds, as they continually keep pushing all these Favre-coming-out-of-retirement-again rumors, in spite of the fact that the man himself has consistently denied them.  I find it sad that ESPN feels the need to manufacture sports news instead of merely reporting it...

PARTS IS PARTS!
The signboard at our local Colonel Sanders chicken emporium this week was hyping something about a "10-PIECE MALE".  Uhhh, I think I have more pieces than that—some longer than others!

YET ANOTHER SELLOUT...
Was very disappointed to hear Blue Öyster Cult's "Godzilla" on a TV commercial tonight.  Couldn't they have at least found a better product to use such a cool song on than CarTrader.com?!?

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!
The local yokel small-time daytime-only AM station that carries ESPN's "Mike & Mike In The Morning" fills in their unused advertising time by running numerous public service announcements, including an extremely implausible one featuring Paris Hilton (yes, THE Paris Hilton) encouraging all her fellow females to "Rock The Vote" simply because "Chicks rock!"  I bet the little skank isn't even a registered voter...

EMBRACING FAMILY VALUES
As is my habit, I have recently "discovered" a funny TV series that has been on for damn near a decade, FOX's "Family Guy".  Okay, I may be a little slow, but I've found that my strategy of avoiding a show for about ten years or more tends to pay off in the long-run.  For instance, I never watched a full episode of "Frasier" until after it went off the air in 2004, even though I liked the Frasier Crane character on "Cheers".  When "Frasier" debuted in the mid-'90s, I was already into "Friends" and a few other shows and didn't want to get attached to any more sitcoms at the time, so I "saved it for a rainy day", so to speak, since there isn't squat to watch on TV in our current decade.  Subsequently, I watched all the "Frasier" reruns on DVD and fell in love with the show (as well as Daphne and Roz) and now it's one of my all-time favorites.

As for "Family Guy" itself, I'd seen it a time or two over the years and liked it, but for some reason, I resisted its charms until just recently when it kept popping up on TBS and Cartoon Network, et al.  The episode that finally hooked me was the one where Peter and Lois attend a Kiss concert (in full make-up) and meet up later with the band at a Denny's.  My man Stewie is a total crack-up, and I love the way they skewer old TV shows like "Eight Is Enough", "One Day At A Time" and "Joanie Loves Chachi" on here.  It's like "The Simpsons" on steroids, and me and the dog have two things in common:  the same cool first name and a penchant for drinking...

Is it any wonder?

Just for shits and hoots, here's a little salute to a few one-hit wonder/lost classic favorites of mine from throughout the years...

"Get It On"—Chase (1971)  One of the funniest albums reviews of all-time came from Rolling Stone regarding the band Chase.  It read simply, "Flee!"  Funny as it was, I totally disagree with it, because this was a cool song in my book!  And it didn't take long for this one to catch on with college marching bands in the early '70s, as I often heard "Get It On" being played during football game halftimes—back in the day when they actually showed the halftime shows on TV.  Even though it wasn't on our playlist at KKJO in St. Joseph, I used to sneak "Get It On" in now and then during my graveyard shift gig on the radio, and those horns surely woke up a few St. Joseph-ians.  If I'd cranked my studio speakers up all the way, I might've shattered every window in the station, too!  Sadly, trumpeter Bill Chase and his entire touring band were killed en route to a concert at the Jackson County Fair in Minnesota in 1974 when their plane crashed just short of the runway.  Here's a video (if you want to call it that) of the song to give you a little taste of it. You can also find it on Rhino's Have A Nice Day-Super Hits of The '70s, Volume 5.

"Sausolito Summernight"—DIESEL (1981)  Diesel was a band out of the Netherlands, and this one got a lot of airplay on old KY-102 during the autumn of my senior year in high school.  It's sort of a sequel to Lobo's "Me And You And A Dog Named Boo" (ten years later) all about trekking around in a piece-of-shit car.  Here's a video that has nothing to do with the song, other than the driving in a car part.

"Hallelujah"—SWEATHOG (1971)  Back to that magical year 1971 for this one, and a bnad which had nothing to do with Horshack and Barbarino.  I really like this song, in spite of its pseudo-religious overtones.  It was your basic early '70s garage-band Rock, and had a nice attitude anyway.  I couldn't find a video for this one so you're on your own unless you can snag it on Have A Nice Day-Super Hits of The '70s, Volume 7.

"Also Spratch Zarathustra"—DEODATO (1973)  Is this not the coolest version of the 2001-A Space Odyssey theme, or what?  It begins and ends very morbidly, sounding as if recorded in a graveyard, then sounding a bit like the "Barney Miller" theme in places, this little jazz-fusion thang grooves throughout.  I loved how Deodato managed to make his guitar sound like yowling cats, too.  Here's yet another video that has nothing to do with the song in question, and you can find this one on Have A Nice Day-Super Hits of The '70s, Volume 10.

"Last Song"—EDWARD BEAR (1972)  Not to be confused with the Elton John song of the same name, this mopey little ditty was high on the charts in late '72/early '73 when I was in third grade.  Edward Bear wasn't a man, but rather the name of a group from Canada, and they never sniffed the Top 40 again after this one.  Here's a video that's kinda-sorta about the song.  Also available on Have A Nice Day-Super Hits of The '70s, Volume 10.

"Timothy"—THE BUOYS (1971)  Oh boy—the ramifications of this one!  Not since Cannibal & The Headhunters in 1965 had cannibalism been involved in a Top 40 record.  Written by Rupert Holmes (of "Pina Colada Song" and "Him" fame), I was blissfully unaware that the title character was eaten by the other two guys when I listened to this song at age 7 on WHB here in K.C.  I merely thought that Tim got lost and was never found.  Could this be where the band Fine Young Cannibals derived their name?  Available on Have A Nice Day-Super Hits of The '70s, Volume 6, "Timothy" is dissected furthermore in this little video presentation.

"Hocus Pocus"—FOCUS (1973)  The summer of '73 produced two really cool Hard Rock instrumentals, Edgar Winter's "Frankenstein" and this one from Holland's Focus.  If you can get past the Benny Hill-esque yodeling from their manic organ player, these guys sounded very Deep Purple-ish at times.  Here's a little taste of the song played live (although played way too fast).

"Painted Ladies"—IAN THOMAS (1973)  You'd be hard-pressed to find a better dead ringer for Neil Young than this dude.  Turns out that Ian Thomas is the brother of SCTV's Dave Thomas ("Good day, eh?").  Released at the tail-end of '73, this was a minor hit (#34 in Billboard), but a pretty cool song, all the same.  Available on Have A Nice Day-Super Hits of The '70s, Volume 17, here's a rather un-scintillating video of the actual record spinning 'round and 'round...

Changes in latitudes, changes in longitudes

CALIFORNY IS THE PLACE I OUGHTTA BE…
After months and months of plotting and planning for my big trip to New York City in August, I’ve decided to re-route my trip just a skosh, and now I’ll be heading to the Golden State, California, instead.  As badly as I want to see Yankee Stadium and Shea Stadium before they are reduced to rubble, it dawned on me last week that it would probably be a tad foolhardy on my part to try and take on Gotham City alone without a co-pilot and/or a police escort.  As I got closer to August, visions of Midnight Cowboy danced in my head (great movie, btw), and I realized that visiting New York would be much more enjoyable (and infinitely safer) in the company of others, especially someone who knows their way around up there, so I’ve decided to shelve that trip indefinitely rather than chance being literally splattered all over Manhattan.  I prefer to be in control of how I get around during a trip (i.e., rental car), and unfortunately, one is at the mercy of the subways and the buses to get around in the New Yawk, and I’m just not ready to deal with all that hassle, even though it’s actually cheaper than renting a car.

I’ve never been to California, and it’s been a longtime dream of mine anyway, plus I think I’m getting more bang for my buck than I would’ve in New York anyhow.  This is basically an extended version of the Bay Area trip I had planned to take last September that fell through, and it will now also include L.A., San Diego and most points in between.  And I won’t even have to go to L.A. via Omaha like Charlie Daniels—I managed to swing non-stop flights to and from LAX for under $300 round-trip via Southwest Airlines.  The baseball schedule shakes out nicely to include games at all five California Major League ballparks—Petco Park, Dodger Stadium, AT&T Park in Frisco, Oakland Mausoleum and Anaheim Stadium.  I’m also going to endeavor to check out some of the interesting eateries profiled on Food Network’s "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives".  As it turns out I’ll even be driving early Sunday morning, through Bakersfield, so I’ll be sure to do like Mick Jagger and be "listenin’ to gospel music on that colored radio station."  Maybe I’ll find that girl with the "Far Away Eyes" too.  The journey begins August 14th and ends on the 22nd and I’m really pumped to find my place in the sun, so to speak…

A little tip for those of you planning vacations that involve flying:  Avoid renting cars at the airport if you possibly can.  Take a cab to a nearby local rental car office and you’ll save a shitload of money.  I have a week and one day lined up for this trip, and if I’d rented from Enterprise at the airport, it would’ve cost me $531.  But I did a little checking, and Enterprise has an office three miles from LAX in Culver City that’ll give me the same deal for $193—well worth the $15-20 cab ride!  Hell, I’d even walk the three miles toting my bags to save 300 some-odd bucks…

YOU DON’T SAY!—PART 1
NFL commissioner Roger Goodell stated this week what has been obvious for ages—rookie salaries are "ridiculous", and is now lobbying for some sort of cap on first-year player salaries.  True, all NFL players are overpaid, but I’ve been screaming about this for years—I’ve never understood how someone who’s never played a down in the league can rate these eleventy-millon dollar contracts right out of college when some 10-year veterans barely make the league minimum.  Don’t you have to start at the bottom of the pay scale and earn your way up?  That’s how it works at my job…

YOU DON’T SAY!—PART 2
I heard on the radio yesterday about a survey that was taken about which industry has the lowest rate of customer satisfaction and poorest customer service reputation, and cable television was ranked at rock bottom.  Imagine that!  An industry that offers an inferior product at over-inflated prices?  Nawww, couldn’t be…

Hell, I’ve had to have Compost—er uh—Comcast come out to my house twice in the last four months because the same half-a-dozen channels on my digital tier either pixellate or don’t come in at all, and naturally they’re the stations I watch the most (Fox Sports Channel, TNT, both ESPN’s, etc.), and it’s still not working properly.  I woke up about 5:00 in the morning yesterday and couldn’t sleep, so I turned on the tube trying to find something to watch, and seven or eight of my channels were completely dark, and another half-dozen were stuck in freeze-frame!  I’m paying $75 a month for this?!?  Monkey muffins!

DOES IT EVER STOP?
Naturally, one of the few channels that was still viewable yesterday morning when I couldn’t sleep was the venerable BET, and there was the late Rev. Jerry Falwell still begging viewers for money for God with the MasterCard and Visa logos superimposed on the screen.  Is it just me, or does it seem to be a tad tacky to have a deceased person asking live persons to send money to them?  I believe it was Bono of U2 who said, "The god I worship isn’t short of cash, Mister!"

LET’S PLAY THE BLAME GAME
Speaking of fat cats who don’t need money, I heard on the radio this morning that some executive from Chevron appeared on "Larry King Live" last night and basically blamed American consumers for gas prices being so high.  Well, excuse me for needing to get to work and back every day—what an ass I am!

By the way, I think it’s high-time CNN renamed "Larry King Live" "Celebrity Pity Party".  Every other night there’s somebody who’s fallen from grace pleading their case to Larry and the public, like Ed McMahon or the Osmonds or Dr. Phil or Tammy Faye.  Oh wait, that last one’s dead—I forgot!

I’M SOOOO RELIEVED…
…to hear that Angelina Jolie is "doing fine" in the hospital, thanks to our daily news media updates on her pregnancy.  My gosh, I just couldn’t carry on if something happened to her!  Seriously, why does this semi-attractive and overrated actress rate such over-the-top media coverage over every little thing she does?  That goes for her equally-overrated boyfriend Brad Pitt, too.  Come on, America—get a life, already!

JUST WAIT UNTIL CAPTAIN TENNEAL HEARS ABOUT THIS!
Have y’all seen this new ABC show "Wipeout"?  It’s an out-and-out ripoff of Spike TV’s "MXC", and it ain’t nearly as funny.  Can’t these TV executive schmucks come up with ANYTHING original anymore?!?  I bet Guy LaDouche could!  It's like the networks are totally out of fresh ideas for TV series.  I can just hear hear it now:  "Next week on a very special 'Celebrity Body Cavity Search'..."

A LONG, SAD GOODBYE
I guess it was inevitable, but workers have begun demolishing Tiger Stadium in Detroit this week.  The place has been closed since 1999, and there have been numerous efforts to preserve the park (or at least a portion of it) or convert it for some other use, including one led by former Tigers play-by-play announcer Ernie Harwell that is still on-going.  I’m all for saving old stadiums, but I think it’s better if they tear TS down at this point, rather than just letting it sit and rot like it has—it’s like watching a sick old relative dying a slow painful death.  I visited Tiger Stadium on a frigid Michigan May evening in 1991 for a Tigers game and was impressed with what immaculate condition the place was in for its age at the time.  If the powers-that-be had acted sooner, they might’ve been able to renovate the place instead of building the new Comerica Park a mile up the road.  I attended a game at Comerica in 2006, and while it’s a nice ballpark with all the bells and whistles, it’s about as soulless as a Zamfir record.  I’ll take the old parks with all the quirks and ambience and soul (and even the foul smells!) over most of these slick new places.  Time marches on, I guess…

What Not To Wear--Sports Edition

A little countdown of the ugliest uniforms in the world of sports...

10) Cleveland Cavaliers (NBA)
I never could figure out what the Cavs were trying to accomplish with these black, teal, orange (and whatever other colors they threw in) numbers with streaks and stripes in them after abandoning their cool orange and gold uniforms of the '70s and '80s.  Thankfully, the LeBron James era ushered in some much nicer burgundy, blue and gold threads...










9) Seattle Seahawks (NFL)
Is that actually a color?!?  'Hawks fans have complained vehemently for the last six years about these nasty-looking threads, and I don't blame them.  I always thought their original royal blue and green uniforms with the silver helmets were much cooler...












8) Pittsburgh Pirates (MLB)
I loved the late Willie Stargell to death, but was totally embarrassed for him when he had to wear these canary-yellow convict get-ups complete with the pill-box hats.  Sometimes nostalgia can go too far...













7) Philadelphia Eagles throwbacks (NFL)
The sad irony here is Donovan McNabb and the Iggles had their best game of the 2007 season when they wore these travesties...






6) Washington Capitals (NHL)
After the Charlotte Hornets of the NBA came along, teal was all the rage and every other sports team adopted the color for their uniforms, including the once red-white-and-blue Caps of the NHL.  I didn't mind the color so much as the gaudy over-sized numerals on the backs of the Caps' uni's.  Thankfully, Washington came to their senses and re-embraced the red-white-and-blue color scheme last season.


5) Memphis Tams (ABA)
Oakland A's owner Charlie Finley also owned the ABA's Memphis Tams franchise, and insisted on outfitting them in the same green and yellow colors as the A's.  Unfortunately, they also were outfitted with matching Sears Toughskins pants!






4) Cleveland Force (MISL)
Who was the inspiration behind these uniforms—Big Bird?!?  You almost needed sunglasses to watch these guys play!
















3) Houston Rockets (NBA)
Pinstripes gone bad!  The "Round Mound Of Rebound" Charles Barkley looked especially silly in these hideous uniforms that the Rockets sported in the late '90s.  I never understood why they replaced their very cool red and gold uni's, but at least they came to their senses and at least went back to red to usher in the Yao Ming era.







2) Oregon Ducks football (NCAA)
Talk about fugly!  Yellow should never be the primary color in any team's uniforms.  Then they added the gaudy numbers and silly looking trim around the shoulders and knees to make things worse.












1) Orlando Thunder (WLAF)
Neon green is far and away the ugliest color in the world to me.  It is to me what Kryptonite was to Superman—I can't bear to look at it!  The Chicago White Sox had a "Neon Green Cap" night against the Royals on the TV, and I had to turn it off after seeing all those goomers seated behind home plate wearing these gnarly-looking things!

My deepest condolences...

...go out to fellow traveller/blogger and frequent commentator to this blog, Dr. Sardonicus, whose wife Peggy passed away today at age 48--done way too soon. Please join me, my good friends and readers, in sending out heartfelt sympathies to the good Doctor and his family. It's been a sad week around these parts...

Give Peas A Chance

MORE CARLIN-ISMS
It occurred to me yesterday that hardly a day goes by where I’m not reminded of one of George Carlin’s witticisms during everyday activities.  Like anytime someone says “Have a nice day!”, my brain automatically clicks on “Yeah, yeah—will you gimme my fucking change, please?” or whenever I leave my car radio cranked up when I turn off the motor at night, then start it up the next day and “the goddamned radio is THIS LOUD!!!” or when someone says they’re going to take a piss or shit—“you don’t take ‘em, you leave ‘em!”  Every time I read about anti-abortion zealots, I’m reminded of “You ever notice how most of the people who are against abortion are people you wouldn’t wanna fuck in the first place?...There’s such balance in nature…”  And every time I see a lacrosse match on TV, I chuckle when I think of George’s declaration that lacrosse is “a faggot college activity”.  The man was more prevalent than I ever gave him credit for.  So long, George, and thanks for the laughs, my man…

IT’S HARD TO BE HUMBLE…
…and for Gene Simmons, it’s damn near impossible.  As if his “Family Jewels” show doesn’t inflate his insatiable ego enough, A&E viewers were subjected to the “Gene Simmons Roast” last night.  In best Dean Martin style, his royal Gene-ness held court sitting on his throne (wearing his gargoyle Kiss platforms, no less) and was fêted by such luminaries as Carrot Top, Danny Bonaduce and Andrew “Dice” Clay—is that a nightmare panel, or what?  Tell me again—how is it I once came to idolize this man…

Speaking of the Dean Martin roasts, have you seen the infomercials for the DVDs of those old crapfests featuring Tim Conway?  I remember watching them when I was a kid, and they seemed kinda cool at the time, but watching them now makes me cringe when I see the forced laughter from people like Jimmie Walker and Phyllis Diller and hear the hackneyed jokes these people told, all of which was obviously fueled by copious amounts of alky-hol.  As for Conway’s infomercials, I’ll say it again:  if you need 30 minutes to convince me to buy something, I probably don’t want it…

FROM THE DEPT. OF REDUNDANCY DEPT.
You’ve no doubt seen these ads on TV featuring some elderly woman sitting by a swimming pool informing us that as of February, 2009, TVs that aren’t digital won’t be able to receive broadcast signals of over-the-air TV stations.  “TVs that are hooked up to cable will be just fine…” she says.  Dumb question, but why are these commercials running on cable networks?!?  People who already have cable need not be concerned with this—it’s those folks who haven’t joined the 21st century and gotten cable or satellite (like my old man, for instance) who they should be talking to here.

PERRRRY INTERESTING!
I coulda swore that cloning was still illegal, but I was reading in the paper today about the just-announced Journey concert here in K.C. in September, and it appears Neal Schon and the boys have unearthed yet another Steve Perry clone, one Arnel Pineda, to replace their first SP clone, Steve Augeri.  I have yet to hear Pineda, but they say he sounds just like Perry.  Augeri sounded uncomfortably close to Perry too, and even looked a lot like him—“Steve Perry with a perm”, as someone deemed him.

As for the real Steve Perry, every time I see that awful “Oh, Sherrie” video, I cringe a little.  That was his actual girlfriend Sherrie in the video, and I’ve often wondered if that video led to their break-up.  Or maybe she decided not to marry him to spare herself from being known as Sherrie Perry…

WORLD’S DUMBEST TV COMMERCIAL(S)
Or at least one of them. For no particular reason, I was reminded the other day of these really lame Levi’s Dockers commercials from the early ‘90s that featured a bunch of yuppie cocksuckers (all from the waist down) carrying on some inane group conversation about nothing and ending with the catchphrase, “Relax, you’re among friends…”  What the filth-flarn-filth does this have to do with cheap-ass un-durable friggin’ casual dress pants?  I wore those things to work and they lasted about as long as Chevy Chase’s talk show before the crotches wore out.

THANKS, BUT I WANTED A BUD LIGHT…
Not an InBev Light!  I don’t get this whole hostile takeover stuff, like where this Belgian brewer InBev that wants to buy Anheuser-Busch out from under itself.  Does Busch want to be bought?  Doesn’t sound like it to me.  Take your waffles and go back to Belgium, you yutzes!

CLASSIC OLD-SCHOOL STORE CHAIN #3
Remember these guys?  U-Totem was more or less the poor man’s 7-Eleven or QuikTrip back in the ‘70s.  We had just a handful of them around here, but I liked them more because they sold Topps hockey cards and 7-Eleven didn’t!






ANOTHER 10-IN-A-ROW MUSIC SWEEP…
…on KOMT, Holland’s Comet Radio—All B-Stuff All The Time!  Here’s a sample hour from my iPod’s playlist yesterday:

—“One World (Not Three)”—THE POLICE (1981)
—“My Gang”—CHEAP TRICK (1994)
—“Cool Dry Place”—TRAVELING WILBURYS (1991)
—“I’m The One”—VAN HALEN (1978)
—“Space Truckin’”—DEEP PURPLE (1972)
—“Boys In The Band”—THE RAIDERS (1970)
—“Parasite”—KISS (1974)
—“Hooked On A Feeling”—BLUE SWEDE (1974)
—“Here Comes The Feeling”—ASIA (1982)
—“Avenging Annie”—ROGER DALTREY (1977)

“B-Stuff” doesn’t refer to the quality of the music—most of these are A’s in my book—but rather it refers to songs I love but rarely (if ever) hear anywhere unless I play them myself.  Best of all, it’s all commercial-free and no deejays, either.  Just as well, most of today’s radio jocks can’t count to ten anyway.  I have over 700 songs loaded and my iPod is almost packed to the gills now.  Go figure:  six months ago, I didn’t even want an iPod, and now I want a bigger one!

LOST CLASSIC #3
“One Fine Morning”—LIGHTHOUSE (1971)  Oldies stations and classic Rock stations stopped playing this record song decades ago, and that’s a shame—it’s a cool song!  Some people even confused Canada's Lighthouse for Chicago, with its ever-present horn section, while other people confused them with Edison Lighthouse of “Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)” fame.  I always thought late lead singer Bob McBride sounded a lot like fellow Canuck Burton Cummings of the Guess Who.  You can find “One Fine Morning” on Rhino’s ‘Have a Nice Day’, Vol. 6 compilation.

LOST CLASSIC #4
“That Hypnotizin’ Boogie”—DAVID WILCOX (1985)  This one’s a little more obscure.  Also from the Great White North, Mr. Wilcox is not to be confused with an American folk singer of the same name.  I first heard "Boogie" on the radio during my visit to Toronto in 1994 and instantly fell in love with the song.  I can best describe it as Warren Zevon meets George Thorogood with a little bit of Stevie Ray Vaughan thrown in.  Wilcox sounds very Zevon-ish vocally, and very much like Lonesome George and S.R.V. on the raw and wonderfully sloppy slide guitar, and has some of Rick Nielsen's mannerisms on-stage.  This live performance is pretty good, but the original studio recording is even better.  As the song itself says, “everybody got to have a hypnotizin’ boogie kind of sound…”  Wish I could tell you where to get it, but I'm not sure now.  I pirated it—er uh, borrowed it off the 'Net before the Great MP3 Embargo five years ago.  Good stuff, Maynard...

THAT’S JUST DANDY!
Best band name I’ve heard of in a while: The Dandy Warhols.

Black Monday

GEORGE CARLIN, 1937-2008
Like many of you, my day got off to a bad start with the news of the passing of comedian George Carlin last night of heart failure in Santa Monica, CA.  We’ve lost a true icon, and his imprint is readily apparent all over this blog, as he heavily influenced both the way I write and even the way I talk sometimes.  Although I’m trying to avoid becoming the curmudgeon that he was in his later years, I’ve adopted a lot of Carlin’s attitudes (especially about religious phoniness) over time, and his impact on me is immeasurable.  I think what sets GC apart from most comedians is in addition to being funny, the man made you think.  It’s eerily ironic that George passed away near the "scene of the crime", so to speak, where he recorded his most famous routine, "The Seven Dirty Words…" at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium in 1972.  Truth be known, he didn’t have to rely on the use of profanity—he was plenty funny without it as evidenced on his rather obscure Take-offs & Put-ons album (recorded during the Johnson administration).  About the dirtiest word Carlin used there was "broad", and it’s a damn funny record.  And yes, George is the man I learned profanity from in the first place, for better or worse, and he used it to great effect in punctuating his routines without overdoing it—i.e., every other word wasn’t "fuck" or "motherfucker" like with Eddie Murphy or Chris Rock.

The first thing I thought of when I heard George "passed on" (as he preferred saying instead of "died") was a bit he did on death and dying from about 30 years ago.  I wondered if George got his Two-Minute Warning ("Two minutes—get your shit together…") and I wondered if he made arrangements to forego the whole funeral/cremation thing and be "blown up", per his wishes.  George once even poked fun at the very condition that caused his death in a bit he called the "Comedians' Health Sweepstakes":  "Currently, I lead Richard Pryor in heart attacks, two-to-one.  But Richard leads me one-to-nothing in burning yourself up!"  At least Carlin's passing was swift and we're spared of seeing him waste away before our eyes as in Pryor's case.

Carlin (along with the late John Entwistle) is one of my few idols whom I actually got to meet in the flesh, and he was very gracious in autographing my concert program that night.  George also indirectly saved the day for me one snowed-in New Year’s Eve back in the mid ‘80s.  I was really bummed because I wanted to go out and party, but the weather outside was frightful, so I wound up staying in, and thankfully, HBO ran several of Carlin’s hour-long specials in succession that night, and he nearly had me on the floor at times.  Even though I’ve heard his routines from his old albums a thousand times and know most of them verbatim, some of them still make me laugh out loud to this day.  Stuff like when he lamented having "no ass at all" as a teen and having a black dude come up to him and say, "Say, baby, where your ass at?  My man ain’t got no ass!  How do you hold them pants up, man?"  Or how about a new cartoon character:  "Who are you?  I am Fuck!  Fuck of the Mountain!  Tune in again next week to ‘Fuck of the Mountain’!"  Or sports teams:  "I’m tired of Panthers and Tigers and Wildcats…I’d like to root for the Cincinnati Mice!...Any animal that’s alive ought to be eligible to be (named) for a team—the Seattle Sperm…Texas Tumors…how about the Kansas City Crabs? ‘Well, the Crabs are all over the Cowboys today…"  His dog bits were especially funny, too.  "Anybody got one of those little dogs?  One of those over-bred dogs?  The kind that just shakes and pisses all the time..."

The DJ who delivered the bad news today suggested something cool, too—next time you open a fresh loaf of bread and start digging through it to get to the "good bread", think of George.  By extension, next time you’re on an escalator and notice the hand rail moving just a little faster than the thing you’re standing on or find that "one weird piece of bacon" underneath all those neat horizontal strips, or maybe pass by the St. Louis Home For The Totally Fucked, think of George.  Another favorite routine was "Ed Sullivan, Self-Taught" from the FM & AM album where George lamented that there was no official finale to the "Ed Sullivan Show" because it was cancelled while in reruns and no one got a chance to say, "Thanks, Ed!  No kidding, man, thanks for all those crazy acts and all those years…" and sadly we didn’t get a chance to collectively thank George Carlin, although it was just announced that he was to receive an award named after Mark Twain for his lifetime achievements in humor.  All I can think to do is paraphrase Carlin himself from that routine and say, "(It’s) A little maudlin, gang, but thanks, George!"

Here’s my original official tribute to George from last year on his 70th birthday.

WITH A NOD TOWARD TO THE DEARLY-DEPARTED…
…I made this Carlin-esque observation over the weekend while watching TV news coverage of the flooding on the Mississippi:  Why is it that rivers on road maps are shown in blue?  Rivers are brown!  Okay, lakes and oceans are blue (or green), but I’ve never seen a blue river, not even the one I cross every day on the way to work and back that's called the Blue River!  Which of course, reminds me of Carlin’s burning question:  "Why is there no blue food?  Blueberries are purple…there’s no blue food, man!"

THEY CALL ME MISTER JONES!
Evidently, chronic NFL miscreant Adam "Pacman" Jones is insisting that the media refer to him as just plain Adam Jones, as only his mother and his teammates are allowed to call him by his video game moniker.  This fucker has a rap sheet on him that stretches from Maine to Maui, and all he’s worried about is what people in the media call him?  They can call him "Donkey Kong" Jones for all I care—it’s not going to change the fact that he’s first-class moron…

SPEAKING OF FIRST-CLASS MORONS...
The great Don Imus is in hot water again over racially-charged remarks he made on his new radio show today about Pacman Jones.  Apparently, during a discussion on his show about Jones' numerous arrests, Imus had to ask, "What color is he?"  When told that Jones is "African-American", Dickhead Don responded, "There you go. Now we know."  And now of course, Al Sharpton is already into full-goose-bozo race-baiter mode, but we won't get into that now...

My issue here is about how pathetically uninformed Imus is.  You don't even have to be much of a sports fan to know what color Pacman Jones is, and unless you've been living in a cave like Osama bin Laden for the past couple years, surely you'd have seen him in the headlines a few times.  One would expect a nationally-syndicated radio host like Imus be a tad more well-rounded than this, but then again, this is the same man who had to ask a couple years ago if Johnny Unitas was still alive.  I bet even bin Laden knows what color Pacman Jones is...

COULD YOU BE JUST A BIT MORE SUBTLE?
I damn near ran my car off the road the other morning when I heard race driver Danica Patrick on a radio commercial say, "A lot of people ask me what it takes to get under my hood…"  Whoa, Nellie!  This reminds of the old E-Z Off TV ad that comedian Gallagher once mentioned about the gal laying in bed proudly proclaiming "I’m cleaning my oven!"  He said, "Her hands are under the covers—you figure it out…"

THE TIMES, THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'
In a sure sign of the apocalypse, I was stunned the other day to discover that my little podunk conservative-Christian-dominated suburb of Raytown, MO now has a fetish-wear store!  This is no mean feat considering how the Baptists own half the friggin' city, and once blocked the opening of a bar because it was located too close to one of their churches.  Never mind that half the congregation would have patronized it...

THROW THE BABY OUT WITH THE BATH WATER—PLEASE!
I’ve grown weary of yet another advertising icon (for lack of a better word), the creepy E-Trader.com talking baby.  These ads weren’t all that funny to begin with, and now they’re running them into the ground not unlike the Geico gecko ads.  At least Budweiser knows "when to say when", so to speak, and not wear their ad campaigns out, like the Spuds McKenzie thing, the lizards/ferret series and their "skunky beer" ads, et al.  If they remain true-to-form, those lame "Dude!" ads should disappear soon…

THEY DIDN'T BOBBLE THE BOBBLEHEADS THIS TIME...
It was Alex Gordon bobblehead night at the Royals game at Kauffman Stadium the other night.  Fortunately, Big Al's surname was correctly spelled on the ones the Royals gave away, unlike these little numbers in the photo given away a couple years back by their AAA affiliate in Omaha.  Not only did they misspell the man's last name, but he has yet to play an inning of baseball in Omaha!  It might have been appropriate for them to have Gordn Lightfoot sing the national anthem and NASCAR's Jeff Gordn to throw out the first pitch...

I'LL TAKE DOLLY PARTON SONGS FOR $100, ALEX...
The answer is:  A tune all about sloppy seconds. What is "Here You Come Again"?

D'OH! I GOT SAND IN MY TOES!
I don't know how these guys do this, but I'm most impressed...

Concert Trek - Episode 16

76) Jethro Tull/Emerson, Lake & Palmer (Saturday, September 14, 1996—Sandstone Amphitheater) Ticket price: $17.50

My older sister Renee’s favorite band of all is Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and she had seen them a few times back in the ‘70s when she was living in Virginia, and just raved about their concerts.  At best, I was a casual ELP fan, but I agreed to tag along with her and her two sons to this show, since I liked Jethro Tull a little more than ELP.  The crowd at this concert was a strange mix of old hippies and young Lollapaloozers, and being 33 at the time, I fit in there about like Chris Rock at a PTL Club prayer meeting.

Emerson, Lake & Palmer came on stage right around 8:00 and played.  That’s really about all they did—play.  They opened with “Hoedown” and followed with the 1986 Emerson, Lake & Powell hit, “Touch And Go”, which I was quite surprised to hear.  There was no spark to their performance at all, and it was as if they were going through the motions.  Even Keith Emerson doing his trademark rocking of his keyboard stack seemed forced.  Renee was quite disappointed in their set and remarked, “technically they’re great musicians, but there’s no passion here.”  Hell, they didn’t even play “Karn Evil 9” (AKA “Welcome Back My Friends To The Show That Never Ends…), and “Lucky Man” sounded very flat.  I’ll just have to go by my sister’s word that ELP was once a great concert attraction back in the day, because they sucked a big one on this night.

Ian Anderson and Jethro Tull hit the stage 30 minutes later and opened with “Aqualung”, with Anderson literally “sitting on a park bench”.  He waved his trademark flute around like a magic wand when he wasn’t playing it, and was surprisingly affable as the show’s emcee.  Remarks like “Between us and ELP, our collective ages now exceed 300 years,” helped Anderson quickly establish a nice rapport with the audience, and he also made sure to acknowledge his longtime guitarist, Martin Barre.  Unfortunately, about midway through the set, he quit talking to the crowd altogether and the band morphed from Jethro Tull into Jethro Dull, as they played a bunch of songs I’d never even heard of.  They finished with “Locomotive Breath”, followed by “Cross-Eyed Mary”, neither of which sounded very good, and I was very disappointed with the set list as a whole.  There was no “Living In The Past”, no “Teacher” (my favorite Tull song), no “Bungle In The Jungle”, not even “Heavy Horses” or anything from that 1988 Grammy Award-winning heavy metal album Crest Of A Knave (which I rather liked).  To be fair, having just recently attended two excellent Kiss concerts (including one just four days earlier), most anything would have been a comedown after that, but this was one of the rare times I almost couldn’t wait for a concert to end.

77) Kiss/*Outhouse (Wednesday, April 16, 1997—Kansas Expocentre, Topeka) Ticket price: $33.50
(*=Did not see this act perform)

Since I was denied the opportunity to see Kiss during the height of their popularity in 1977 by my father, I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see them 20 years later as often as I could, and I was delighted to hear that the Hottest Band In The World would be dropping by the capital city in the Land of Oz.  They added another leg to their massively-successful Reunion Tour called the “Lost Cities” tour, wherein they hit some of the smaller markets in the States.  Gotta give it up to these guys—no town is too small for them to play in, whereas most big-name bands would blow off playing gigs in places like Duluth, Fargo and Topeka.  Ain’t that right, Sting?

Topeka was a mere hour’s drive after I got off work that day, and I very much enjoyed one feature of the Kansas Expocentre—the free parking!  Wichita’s Kansas Coliseum also doesn’t charge you to park, and that is so refreshing in this day and age.  This was my second Kiss concert at the Expocentre (AKA Alf Landon Arena), which seats about 8,000, and just like Wichita in September, there were a surprising amount of empty seats in the place.  Good thing too, because my assigned seat sucked anyway, so I found a nice spot upstairs on Ace Frehley’s end of the stage.  The view I had was excellent, but for some reason, from where I sat, it wasn’t very loud.  There was also a squirmy little kid in the row in front of me who kept standing in the aisle and blocking my view.  I found this spooky, by the way—18 years before, I had to have my parents drop me off and pick me up at my first Kiss concert, yet at this show, you had parents bringing their kids with them!  Anyway, after about eight songs of the kid annoying me, I relocated to a cozy little two-seat row in the back of the hall against the wall.  Was pleased to discover that the back wall was made out of that acoustic material with the holes in it like they use in phone booths, and it felt like the sound was being pulled toward me and bouncing off the walls—i.e. much louder and more enjoyable!

Also like Wichita, Kiss started off sluggishly, but built momentum as they went along.  They shuffled the set list around a bit since last time, moving “Let Me Go, Rock ‘N’ Roll” up to the third slot and “Firehouse” to fifth.  There were a couple new (and welcome) additions, namely “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” and an old favorite, “C’mon And Love Me”, which both sounded great.  Kiss also added a new wrinkle to the show since Wichita, in the form of a small stage at the opposite end of the arena floor that Paul Stanley was transported to via a cable rig during “Love Gun”.  Stanley’s voice was in top form, although his humor fell a little flat.  Following Ace’s guitar solo, PS tried to make light of the recent “Heaven’s Gate” suicide tragedy by saying, “You know, about a month ago, 39 people took a trip to see a spaceship.  You people have just met a spaceman!”  Let’s hear it for “Funny Man Paul”, ladies and gentlemen!  Gene Simmons must’ve had a heavy dinner, since he heaved up a heapin’ helpin’ of blood before “God Of Thunder”.  Peter Criss was solid on the skins, as usual, although his body language indicated he seemed a little bored at times.  Apart from a faulty panel on the video screen, this was yet another well-executed and outstanding show from my favorite band in the woyld.

On the way home, it occurred to me that I’d been to three Kiss concerts with the original lineup in less than 10 months, so I decided that this officially made up for all those times I missed out on seeing them when I was 12, and I even managed to let go of a lot of that anger over that.  It also dawned on me that Arena Rock was once again alive and well, so they could take all those lame-o wanna-bes from the ‘90s like Soundgarden, Dishwalla, Spin Doctors, Stone Temple Pilots, Korn, Limp Bizkit, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Silverchair, Marilyn Manson, The Wallflowers, Hootie & The Blowfish, et al, and flush them down my toilet!  This was real Rock ‘N’ Roll that I enjoyed that night, the way it should be done!

SET LIST:  Deuce/King Of The Nighttime World/Let Me Go, Rock 'N' Roll/Do You Love Me?/Firehouse/Watchin' You/Shock Me/Calling Dr. Love/Shout It Out Loud/Cold Gin/Love Gun/C'Mon And Love Me/I Was Made For Lovin' You/God Of Thunder/New York Groove/ 100,000 Years/Black Diamond  ENCORES:  Detroit Rock City/Beth/Rock And Roll All Nite

78) Rush (Saturday, June 7, 1997—Sandstone Amphitheater) Ticket price: $19.50

In addition to Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Rush is another favorite of my sister Renee's, and she more or less turned me on to the band around 1979, so I decided to once again tag along with her and her sons to see our friends from the Great White North again.  My first Rush concert in 1981 was not a particularly good one (see Concert Trek – Episode 2), so this was their opportunity to redeem themselves, and darned if they didn’t—they most definitely weren't hosers this time…

With no opening act, Rush began promptly at sunset, opening with “Dreamline” from 1993's Roll The Bones.  This show was much better (and far louder) than the one I saw at Kemper Arena in ’81.  Geddy Lee was also much chattier between songs than he was that time and actually spoke to the crowd beyond just his usual “Thank you, very much” and “Goodnight!”  Utilizing a huge video screen similar to the Kiss Jumbotron, the show was done in two halves, with a 15-minute intermission in between.  The first half was comprised of old favorites like “Limelight”, “The Trees” and “Red Barchetta”, as well as some newer stuff from Counterparts and Test For Echo, and to my surprise, every last minute of their 1976 album-side-long epic “2112”.

The second half song selection was a bit weaker with stuff like “Natural Science” from Permanent Waves and the instrumental “Leave That Thing Alone” from Counterparts, but “Red Sector A” and “Force Ten” were highlights, as well as Neil Peart’s highly-entertaining drum solo.  The man never ceases to amaze me with the toys he finds to bang on and make noises with, not to mention his stamina in playing such a lengthy show at such a high level.  Rush wrapped up the show with “Spirit Of Radio” and “Tom Sawyer”, followed by a quick run-through of 1981's “YYZ” instrumental for an encore.  I was a tad disappointed they didn’t play anything from Signals or Power Windows—my two favorite Rush LPs—but even in a three-hour show, they can’t play everything!  Rush has enough good material in their catalog that they could play several three-hour shows in succession without repeating any songs.  Jolly good show, gentlemen—goodnight, eh?

SET LIST:  Dreamline/Limelight/Stick It Out/Driven/Half The World/Red Barchetta/ Animate/Limbo/The Trees/Virtuality/Nobody's Hero/Closer To The Heart/2112 -Intermission- Test For Echo/Free Will/Red Sector A/Roll The Bones/Resist/Leave That Thing Alone/Neil Peart drum solo/Natural Science/Force Ten/Spirit Of Radio/Tom Sawyer  ENCORE:  YYZ

79) Styx/Pat Benatar (Saturday, June 14, 1997—Sandstone Amphitheater) Ticket price: $18.00

The summer of ’97 turned out to be an abnormally busy one, concert-wise, and I found myself back at Sandstone for the second straight Saturday for another concert featuring some ‘80s favorites, this time with my friends Tom and Sean.

I mistakenly thought the show started at 8:00 instead of 7:30, so when we arrived, Pat Benatar was already on-stage.  She opened with “Shadows On The Night” followed by the Blondie-esque “We Live For Love”, which ended just as we staked our claim on our plot of land in the lawn section.  To my utter disappointment, Pat looked like shit, frankly—nothing like in this photo.  She was dressed in slacker garb, which included these hideous gaudy green pants.  She had put on a couple pounds since the '80s, but geez, she didn’t need to hide it that badly!  Pat didn’t prowl the stage like she used to, either, choosing to just stand in one place all night and sing.  Her voice sounded like shit too, and she didn’t even try to hit that night note during “Promises In The Dark”.  Apart from her husband, Neil Giraldo, Pat had an entirely new band this time too, which included a chick keyboardist who doubled on the violin, and she was dressed even gaudier than Benatar, wearing an ugly green shirt and some pants that reminded me of my old Sears Toughskins that I wore in 2nd grade!  Who was the wardrobe manager for this tour, Urkel?!?

It almost looked at times like Benatar and the band were still rehearsing, and this was a very disappointing set all the way around, beset with technical problems with Giraldo’s amp throughout, too.  They also did a crappy rendition of “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”, during which Pat invited several air-headed girls from the audience up on stage to sing the chorus.  Thankfully, at least Pat didn’t try to re-create the choreography from the “Love Is A Battlefield” video!  I knew going in that we wouldn’t see the sexy Spandex-clad wet dream-inducing Pat Benatar of yore, but I was still hoping we’d see a polished and vibrant Pat Benatar of 1997.  Instead, we got the over-the-hill version.  How the mighty had fallen…

SET LIST:  Shadows Of The Night/We Live For Love/Only You/True Love/Strawberry Wine/Hit Me With Your Best Shot/Love Is A Battlefield/Hell Is For Children/River Of Love/Heartbreaker  ENCORE:  Promises In The Dark

A brief set change ensued and Styx saved the day by playing a solid set of hits.  This show wasn’t quite the spectacular they used to put on back in the ‘80s, but more of a stripped-down version of the Paradise Theater tour, which was still quite entertaining, and it almost seemed like Tommy Shaw had never left the band for Damn Yankees.  Dennis DeYoung’s between-song banter was rather humorous at times with his recollections of the old days when they opened for David Bowie at their first Kansas City area gig in 1972 at Memorial Hall.  He also joked about the time when Shaw joined the band, “Tommy was about nine, then, I think…”  Shaw worked well in tandem with stalwart guitarist James “J.Y.” Young, as they traded solos throughout the night.  Sadly, bassist Chuck Panozzo seemed a little out of sorts without his recently-deceased twin brother John behind the drums.  New drummer Todd Sucherman proved to be a very capable replacement, though, and the band paid tribute to their fallen comrade with a new song called “Dear John”.

The set list included many of their biggies like “Too Much Time On My Hands”, “Lady” and “Miss America”, plus the long-overdue return of one of my favorite Styx songs, “Lorelei”.  About midway through, the band settled down to do a rather weak “unplugged” set, which was all the rage at the time, and they did the first verse of “Crystal Ball”, then the first verse of “Man In The Wilderness”, etc.  Plug it back in, already!  [Yes, I realize the whole “Unplugged” trend is what led to the Kiss reunion and all, but I hated that crap!  To me, acoustic guitar is the equivalent of black-and-white TV and should be used only in small doses.]  The show also included some cool lazers which were a nice touch, and it wrapped up with the usual closer, “Come Sail Away”, and I was quite pleased with their performance—this was a major upgrade over the last time we saw them on the dreaded Kilroy Was Here tour debacle.  Hmmm, I wonder why they didn't do any songs from that album...

Adding to the night’s fun were members of the audience which the three of us got a kick out of, especially this drunken bozo in front of us with his right leg in a cast hopping around on his good leg and waving his crutches around in the air.  We kept hoping that either lightning would strike his crutches or that he’d fuck up his bad leg (“I’ve never seen a compound fracture in person before…” I quipped), and the drunker this fool got, the funnier it was.  Hell, half the fun of going to concerts at that stage of my life was watching the people in the crowds acting a fool…

SET LIST:  The Grand Illusion/Too Much Time On My Hands/Lady/On My Way/Queen Of Spades/Snowblind/The Best Of Times/Crystal Ball/Man In The Wilderness/Show Me The Way/Dear John/Lorelei/Blue Collar Man/Paradise/Fooling Yourself/Babe/Miss America/ Rockin' The Paradise  ENCORES:  Kansas City/Come Sail Away/The Grand Illusion (reprise)

80) The Who/Ryan Downe (Saturday, July 19, 1997—Riverport Amphitheater, St. Louis) Ticket price: $45.00

Just when I thought we’d never see The Who play live again, they managed to resurrect themselves and do a tour.  With no Kansas City date on their Quadrophenia Tour, our next best bet was the Gateway City, so my sister and her two sons met up with me and my friend Tom.  This was my first and (so far) only visit to the House That Axl (Rose) Trashed, and I was rather underwhelmed by it.  Our seats were near the back of the seat section, and weren’t even under the friggin’ roof thereof, which sucked because it rained off and on throughout the night.  There was also a huge 15-yard chasm between the seats and the lawn area, and it looked to me as if the sightlines from the lawn were dreadful.  Some slacker named Ryan Downe was the opening act, and he was predictably unimpressive.

The ‘orrible ‘Oo hit the stage around 9:10, and did indeed play Quadrophenia in its entirety, as expected.  The show was aided and abetted by a video presentation that played periodically between songs featuring our friend Jimmy, the story’s protagonist, and his dialogue helped explain the plotline to the uninitiated.  Roger Daltrey was in fine voice and Pete Townshend seemed to actually enjoy playing this time, and he even split time between acoustic and electric guitar, in spite of his legendary hearing problems.  Pete even did windmills, which I thought might have ended in ’89 when he skewered his right hand on his whammy bar in Tacoma.  And then there was my man John Entwistle, who was his usual rock steady self, and The Ox’s bass solo during “5:15” nearly caused more damage to the house than Axl did.

The show was also augmented by two other singers, a Meat Loaf-ish guy named P.J. Proby who performed as “The Punk” and a Sting-ish guy named Brad Watkins who was the “Bell Boy”.  I could’ve done without them, and would’ve preferred to hear Roger and Pete do all the singing, but since Quad is a bit rigorous, I guess Daltrey needed the breather now and then.  Also in the band was Pete’s brother Simon Townshend on second guitar and backing vocals, and longtime Who sideman John “Rabbit” Bundrick on keyboards.  This was also my first live look at Ringo Starr’s little boy, Zac Starkey, on the drums and the kid was impressive—hell, da boy was better than his old man!  It took The Who nearly 20 years, but they finally found a suitable replacement for Keith Moon at long last.

The Quad portion of the show was outstanding, and I anticipated a whole lot more afterward, but the rest of the show turned out to be a big letdown.  Daltrey and Townshend returned to the stage and did a half-assed version of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” (no synthesizers, no drums, no bass and no climactic scream, either), with Entwistle and the rest of the group rejoining them for “Behind Blue Eyes”, “Substitute”, “I Can’t Explain” and “Who Are You”, with Pete playfully pretending to smash his guitar at the end.  And that was it.  No “My Generation”, no “Baba O’Riley”, and not even anything from Tommy.  They only played for a shade over two hours, and for my $45, I thought they could’ve played a bit longer, and I walked away from this one a tad disappointed.  The Quadrophenia section was superb, but the rest was sub-par from a band I expect a WHOle lot better from.

SET LIST:  The Real Me/Quadrophenia/Cut My Hair/The Punk And The Godfather /I'm One/The Dirty Jobs/Helpless Dancer/Is It In My Head?/I've Had Enough/5:15/Sea And Sand/Drowned/Bell Boy/Dr. Jimmy/The Rock/Love, Reign O'er Me  ENCORES:  Won't Get Fooled Again/Behind Blue Eyes/Substitute/I Can't Explain/Who Are You

Blog Factor, Mr. Sulu!

I GIVE UP, TIGER—YOU WIN!
After years and years of trying to find reasons to hate Tiger Woods, I have to give credit where credit is due—the S.O.B. is a legend.  There, I said it!  As you may or may not know, I hate golf—at least professional golf on TV anyway—and over the past ten years I've been mentally worn-out by all the coverage of Tiger Woods, especially on ESPN.  I've never disputed that the guy is good, but all the same, I've never been crazy about the guy because he's a tad arrogant and surly.  This is NOT a racial thing either—I think it's funny as hell that the best golfer in the world is a black man, and more power to him.

Anyway, my friend Tom and I were out having a few beers Saturday night, and the U.S. Open thing was on the tube at the bar, and we both got a kick out of Tiger holing out on a shot from the bunker, and I thought to myself, "this som-bitch is the luckiest motherfucker in the world..."  Flash ahead to Sunday evening, and for no particular reason, I found myself watching the end of the tournament and the duel between Tiger and Rocco "Need You Tonight" Mediate (oops, sorry for the Chris Berman-ism, there) and I was just blown away by Woods' steely-eyed determination to tie the thing up and send it to overtime with a clutch par putt on the 18th hole.  All I could say afterward about Tiger was "What a putts!"  Hell, even the 18-hole playoff on Monday went into overtime, before TW won his 14th major tournament in his career.

Anyway, I now officially recognize Tiger Woods as real man of genius and an outstanding competitor.  But let me say this:  I'd kick his ass on any mini-golf course in America (as well as several other free-world countries)!

A SAD ANNIVERSARY
I was reminded this morning that it was 21 years ago today that former Kansas City Royals manager Dick Howser lost his battle with brain cancer.  He seemed like such a good guy, and I admired how DH refused to take any crap off of George Steinbrenner when he managed the Yankees in the early '80s.  I never will forget that night after I heard that he died, as I was actually moved to tears for one of the rare times.  I remember laying out on my mom and dad's patio lounger with my Walkman on, playing my Rush Power Windows cassette when the song "Marathon" came on.  Near the end of the tune, a heavenly choir-like backing chorus floods the background of the song, and I remember staring up at the full moon and thinking what a gyp it was that Howser went from the ultimate high of his career—leading the Royals to the 1985 World Series title—to slipping away from us in just a little over a year and a half, and as the song ended, I just laid there in tears.  The man deserved a better fate—rest in peace, Dick.

CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #87
"Cat's In The Cradle"—HARRY CHAPIN (1974)  "Can you teach me to throw?/I said 'Not today--I got a lot to do'/He said, 'That's O.K.'/And he walked away but his smile never dimmed and he said, 'I'm gonna be like him, yeah...'"  This line mystified me for years until I looked it up on the 'net.  I always thought the kid said, "But he smiled at his friend and he said..."  Speaking of good guys who deserved a better fate, HC left us way too soon in 1981, as he was killed in a car accident en route to a charity concert event.  Apparently Harry was not an excellent driver, and he obviously wasn't flying in his "Taxi" at the time, either...

SIGN OF THE TIMES
The Kansas City Star announced today that it is letting go of 120 employees.  Too bad that hacks like entertainment columnist Hearne Christopher, Jr., ever-flatulent sportswriter Jason Whitlock and lifestyle columnist Jenee "You Go Girl" Osterheldt weren't among those let go.  By getting rid of the three of them alone, The Star could afford to keep the other 120 hard-working people they did let go...

TWO LITTLE SHITHEADS SITTIN' IN A TREE...
...or on a couch, anyway.  Talk about your strange bedfellows—these two palookas deserve each other.  Just think, you're looking at damn near 500 pounds of sanctimonious sacks of shit on one sofa, there...







SPEAKING OF FLATULENCE...
...I give you the Top 3 bass farts in Rock 'N' Roll history:
1) "Space Oddity"—DAVID BOWIE (1969)
2) "Oh My My"—RINGO STARR (1974)
3) "Burn Like A Candle"—PAUL REVERE & THE RAIDERS (1968)

I'LL TAKE POTPOURRI FOR $100, ALEX...
I was watching the infamous "Jeopardy!" episode of "Cheers" recently wherein Cliff Clavin breezed through the first two rounds with the help of his "dream boards" that included categories like Stamps, Mothers And Sons, Beers Of The World, et al, before faltering in Final Jeopardy by responding, "Who are three people who have never been in my kitchen?"

This got me to thinking, what would be my ultimate "dream board" on "Jeopardy!"?  I think it would go something like this:  State Capitals, Kiss Lyrics, Sanford & Son, '70s TV Game Shows, Tommy-The Movie and NFL Films Trivia.

My "nightmare board"?  That's easy:  The Bible, Shakespeare, Greek Mythology, The Sopranos, Fly-Fishing, and Zoology.

MAYBE IT IS EASY BEING GREEN...
I'm currently watching the Boston Celtics obliterate the L.A. Fakers in a Game 6 muckin' fugging in the NBA Finals.  There was a time when I absolutely despised, loathed, and just plain hated the Celtics (the Yankees of the NBA) during the days of Havlicek, Nelson, White, Bird, McHale, et al, and loved the Lakers back in the days of Chamberlain, West, Baylor, Hairston and Goodrich, et al, but now the roles are reversed—as Popeye might say, I can't stands L.A. no more!  That can be mostly attributed to Kobe Bryant, who I think is a total horse's ass, as well as Phil Jackson, whom I respect but still don't much care for.  I'm also happy for Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen and Sam Cassell for finally getting to the top after years of frustration, as well as Kansas grad Paul Pierce.  Hell, Bostonians were ready to string head coach Doc Rivers up by his nutsack last year, thus this victory is even more impressive considering that this was the same team that lost 21 games in a row last season, and they sucked like a Hoover Upright.  Can you say worst-to-first? Norm and Cliffy and the gang will no doubt be downing a few in celebration at Cheers tonight...