Concert #111

The Rainmakers (Saturday, March 10, 2012—Farris Theater, Richmond, MO) Ticket price: $10.00

Kansas City’s Rainmakers have now landed in my personal Pantheon of bands that I’ve seen five or more times in concert, along with the likes of Kiss (17 times), Ted Nugent (9 times), Z.Z. Top and Van Halen (7 times each) and The Who (5 times).  As per their usual, they did not disappoint on Saturday night, despite playing for what was easily the strangest audience for a Rock show I’ve ever been a member of and in what I’m pretty sure is the oldest venue at which I’ve ever attended a concert.

Richmond, MO is a town of about 6,000 folks located 30 miles east of K.C. in Ray County.  Perhaps its most famous citizen is the late John Testrake, the airline pilot who was involved in and helped to thwart the June, 1985 hijacking of a TWA jet in the Middle East.  Richmond is also home to the Farris Theater, a turn-of-the-century opera and movie house that has undergone extensive renovations in recent years and is in immaculate condition today.  Just a few miles to the east of Richmond lies the town of Norborne, where Rainmakers lead singer Bob Walkenhorst hails from, hence why the band chose to play a gig in his old stomping grounds, so to speak.  Gotta give it up to these guys—they’ll play anywhere.  Throughout their history, The Rainmakers have played in everything form classy theaters like the Farris, Liberty Hall in Lawrence, KS (where I first saw them in 1997) and the Uptown Theater in K.C. (where they filmed their "Downstream" video) to dives like Knuckleheads and the Beaumont Club (soooo-weee!) and even Kemper Arena, where they opened for Rush in April, 1988 on their Hold Your Fire tour.  And who knows what kind of oddball venues they play whenever they visit Norway, where they have a rabid following, the reasons for which I have yet to figure out.  I wonder if I could get them to play in my living room sometime…

Thank goodness I didn’t plan on imbibing before or during this show, because they don’t serve drinks of a liquor-ous nature at the Farris.  It’s not a dry town, mind you—we passed at least three bars on the way in—but the theater doesn’t sell adult beverages.  I was driving anyway, so it’s just as well, but I’m pretty sure this is the first Rock show I’ve even attended that was both alcohol-free and smoke-free, which made it seem rather surreal.  There was no opening act for this show, thus we got a bit longer set from the headliners, who even took an intermission break in the middle.  In recent years, The Rainmakers have taken a page out of the Paul Revere & The Raiders playbook by wearing matching outfits on-stage.  At last year’s Knuckleheads gig, they each sported all-white t-shirts and jeans, and this time they went with all-green t-shirts (although St. Pat’s ain’t till next weekend).  Next time, try the Raiders’ tri-cornered hats, fellas!  Anyway, the band opened with “Snakedance” (which we didn’t hear last time) and the sound was pretty iffy and not nearly loud enough for my liking.  I think this had more to do with the venue’s sound system limitations than the band, and it actually did improve a bit as the show wore on.

This gig was sponsored in part by a local rehabilitation and retirement home as part of a 4-show concert series at the Farris featuring local music acts.  Many people bought the ticket package for all four of them, which would account for the shockingly large number of elderly people and folks in wheelchairs in attendance.  To wit, I’d say at least half the audience (or more) attended merely because they’d already bought the ticket anyway, even though they were totally unfamiliar with the band’s music.  This made for awkward moments like when it was just me and about half a dozen other people in the crowd shouting out “Hoo-Dee-Hoo!” on cue during the song of the same name.  I don’t know about the folks upstairs in the balcony, but hardly anyone in the orchestra section where we sat was rocking or even bobbing their heads to the music at all—they just all sat on their hands as if they were watching a movie, and I felt like I was at a Sunday church revival meeting instead of a Rock concert.  The third song in the set list was “Long Gone Long”, which includes the lyric “Goodbye to the Rinky-Dinks…”  I think maybe the Rinky-Dinks might have gone over better with this crowd than The Rainmakers did!  Thankfully, the band’s repertoire doesn’t include Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “You Got That Right” and the line, “You won’t find me in an old folks’ home…”

Last year at Knuckeheads, the band treated us to their entire self-titled debut album in sequence to celebrate the 25th anniversary of it.  This time, we still got a heapin’ helpin’ from it (only “The One That Got Away”, “Doomsville” and “Drinkin’ On The Job” were omitted) and the lead track “Rockin’ At The T-Dance” was a highlight of the set. They also played a couple other songs from their latest album 25 On that we didn’t hear last time as well, including my favorite track, “Kansas City Times”, which featured drummer Pat Tomek (rhymes with ‘comic’) pounding out the rhythm on his new revolutionary piece of percussion equipment, the almighty cardboard box!  Apparently PT used this innovation (not pictured here) when they recorded the song in the studio too, and it sounded great.  Take that, Tama, Slingerland, Ludwig, Pearl, Sonor, et al—all you drum makers will be dinosaurs soon, and any day now, I expect Neil Peart of Rush to employ one of these during his 10-minute in-concert drum solos!  “KCT” is a fond remembrance of Walkenhorst’s morning paper route in rural north central Missouri in his younger days, and it’s the only Rock song I know of that mentions baseball’s Campy Campaneris (let alone singer Marilyn Maye) in its lyrics.  Bob also sprinkled in a few humorous stories from that period of his life in his neck of the woods between songs, which the audience who didn't know the band's music seemed to enjoy more than songs themselves.

The band also threw in a couple songs I heretofore hadn’t heard them play live, including “The Other Side Of The World” from the second album Tornado and “Johnny Reb” from their third LP The Good News And The Bad News.  This kinda almost made up for the omission of my two faves, “Reckoning Day” and “Tornado Of Love”.  However, they did perform another favorite of mine, a very funky version of “The Wages Of Sin”, which I was really surprised to hear that night in front of this predominately conservative (and probably) Christian audience.  Walkenhorst did alter a few lyrics to the song (half-jokingly), changing “hell” to “heck” and “son-of-a-bitch” to “son-of-a gun” (shades of Charlie Daniels vis-à-vis “The Devil Went Down To Georgia”) to suit the crowd, but I have no doubt they just loved the line regarding Mary Magdalene: “Your boyfriend’s dead…the word is you’re a whore,” assuming they could make out what he was singing anyway.  Then again, the atheist in me is quite partial to the lyric “If heaven is guilt, no sex and no show, then I’m not sure I that really wanna go…”

By the way, a note to all those people on the ‘Net and especially Facebook who keep hatin’ on new guitarist Jeff Porter—you’re all full of shit!  Yes, I miss Steve Phillips and his distinctive slide work too, but JP doesn’t suck, and Phillips is off doing other things now.  For some reason, these people think Steve is a sacred cow and Porter has to be another Stevie Ray Vaughan in replacing him.  Porter’s style isn’t any better or worse than Phillips’—it’s just different, that’s all.  Get over it.

Since “Drinkin’ On The Job” missed the set list this time, we didn’t get the usual Golden Oldies that The Rainmakers usually throw in with it medley-style (like Chuck Berry’s “Memphis”, Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away”, etc.), although BW had a little fun between songs showing off some old-school dance moves like The Swim while “channeling his inner-Davy Jones” in an ersatz tribute to the recently departed.  The show wrapped up with a rather flat rendition of the band’s most famous song, “Let My People Go-Go”—for some reason, Porter and bassist Rich Ruth sang the backing vocals in a way-lower key than they should have—but they made up for that by closing out the night in the encore with their classic “Big Fat Blonde”.  I can only imagine how the lyrics to that one gave the old duffers in the crowd a few skidmarks in their drawers…

Rumor has it the band is doing yet another KC area gig in another couple months. I’m all in.

SET LIST:  Snakedance/Downstream/Long Gone Long/Given Time/My Own Bed/The Wages Of Sin/Missouri Girl/Information/Kansas City Times/Small Circles/Lakeview Man/Shiny Shiny [intermission] One More Summer/These Hills/The Other Side Of The World/Nobody Knows/Government Cheese/Spend It On Love/Rockin’ At The T-Dance/Width Of A Line/Hoo-Dee-Hoo/Let My People Go-Go  ENCORES:  Johnny Reb/Turpentine/Big Fat Blonde

Ignorance Is Bliss

Hello, dear friends.  Didn't mean to abandon y'all, and I apologize for not updating the blog for over two months, but honestly, I haven't really had anything new to say or felt compelled enough to do any creative writing recently.  I've been keeping myself busy with other projects at home and have also been making a concerted effort to spend a little less time in front of the computer and get my ass out of said house a little more often and rejoin the human race a bit, thus the dearth of activity here.  I was actually even debating whether or not to do this post, but I'm kinda tired of looking at Barney and the gang from the Ol' 1-2 at the top of the blog, so here we are...

I received an anonymous comment the other day regarding the blog entry I posted back in October on actor Demond Wilson's tell-all book about his "Sanford & Son" years in which I took him to task not so much for what he wrote, but the way in which he wrote it (i.e. dreadful grammar and spelling, etc.).  The person who wrote the comment didn't bother to sign his/her/its name to it, and I generally make it my policy to NOT publish negative comments on my blog unless there's a name attached to them, and I debated whether or not to glorify this one with an answer, but I just can't let this go.  First off, here is the entire comment, completely unaltered by me:

"You went on and on here complaining about how bad Wilsons book is in grammer and style. However, you should know that how well a book is written,edited or presented in binder, look and feel, has a great deal to do with the education level of the one reading it. There are people whos educational level would find mistakes in some of the finest literature ever created. You noticed many of Demonds mistakes in his book, yet there are plenty of mistakes that you have made in this article or blog that you have done in critique of the book. Perfect grammer and language isn't as important as the message that one is trying to get out. Demond still gave us the info, regardless of how poorly it is writen, just as you have given us the book review, regardless to how imperfect your review is. I still learned about the content of Demonds book from your article although there are those who could point out plenty of mistakes in your writting. Lesson? Let's pay attention to the gift that someone gives the world and not so much as the crummy package that they wrapped it in. I do not want to say It's the thought that counts because it is so cliche, but take it for what it's worth. I find info on the internet all the time that I really need and it always has grammer mistakes, but I still get the info I need and move on. The days of speaking the perfect sentence verbally and in print are over with. It's a new world! I will not speel check what I just wrote to you. Why? Because I just wanted to tell you this, I care not if it reads like a perfect novel."

Wow.  So bascially, what you're saying is it's perfectly okey-dokey to accept mediocrity and not strive to do better in life, right?  That's a pretty ignorant attitude—is this what they taught you in the ghetto school you attended?  Or are you a graudate of the University of Hee-Haw?  Nobody's perfect, and any book is bound to have some errors in it (grammatical, factual, whatever), but you seem to think it's okay to just publish any old piece of shit and not make the effort to put out the best possible product.  It's this kind of attitude that creates blunders like the faulty brakes in Toyotas.  Bad analogy, maybe, but you get my point?  Nah, didn't think so...

Okay, maybe I nit-picked a bit much on Wilson in my blog entry, but since I paid good money for his book, I felt that he was fair game for criticism.  And he's a grown man—I think he can take it.  If I were publishing a book for the masses to read and it had my name on the cover, I'd want to put out something I could be proud of, not something half-assed and sloppy like he did.  By the way, are you aware that on the cover of another of Demond Wilson's publshed books, his name is listed as "Desmond Wilson"?  Don't tell me you wouldn't be pissed if your name was misspelled on something you worked hard to create.  If so, you're a fucking idiot.

And oh what a coward you are to take pot shots at my blog and not have the balls to sign your fucking name to your comments.  You're like all these other dickheads out there on the Internet who hide behind their computers and the anonymity thereof who don't take responsibility for their words.  As I've stated many times here, I WELCOME any dissenting opinions or REASONABLE challenges to what I write, but the least you can do is identify yourself if you're going to post negative comments on my blog.  At least in my critique of Wilson, I back up my words with my name.  Did you even bother to notice that I made some positive comments about Demond's book at all?  Of course not, you're too busy being all pious and pompous with your bullshit platitudes about just being thankful for the information.

Your grammar is even more atrocious than Wilson's was.  If you don't like what (or how) I write, then don't read my blog—it's obviously way too advanced for a simple-minded moron like yourself anyway.  By the way, I am my own worst critic when it comes to what I write on my blog.  I spend way more time than I should going back over and correcting typos and grammatical errors, but you know why?  Because I actually GIVE A DAMN what the my blog looks like and how it reads.  Would you care to share with me some of these alleged mistakes you've found in my writing?  I'd love to hear them.  Come on, Big Man...

A Salute To The Ol' One-Two

I recently completed my viewing trek through all eight seasons of “Barney Miller” on DVD.  I got tired of waiting around for TV Land and/or Nick At Nite to 86 their incessant “Roseanne” and “Andy Griffith Show” reruns in favor of New York’s finest, so I went ahead and bought the whole damn series on DVD for a C-note, and it was well worth it.  Although critically acclaimed, BM still remains one of the more underrated sitcoms of all-time, I think because too many viewers either don’t get (or aren’t patient enough to appreciate) the show’s subtle humor.  There’s no way in hell this show would ever last if it aired today—it’s too sophisticated for our current short-attention-span generation in dumbed-down America.

“Barney” debuted on ABC in early 1975 as a midseason replacement and ran until the spring of ’82, when the producers wisely decided to end the show before it had a chance to jump the proverbial shark, thus it remained consistent throughout its run.  Actor Hal Linden brilliantly played the title character, the level-headed yet beleaguered Captain Miller, the kind of guy I think we’d all like to work for, if given the chance.  Miller ran New York’s fictional 12th Precinct in Lower Manhattan, and his subordinates had almost as many quirks and personal issues as the zany perps they arrested on a daily basis, but they somehow persevered and worked as a team as they battled crime, police department bureaucracy and the decaying building they worked in.

While the show was a bit predictable and even repetitive at times, what really made it work were the characters.  Unlike other sitcoms of its era, “Barney Miller” never relied on silly catchphrases and gags like other sitcoms (“Dy-no-mite!”, “Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?” and Jack Tripper-type pratfalls, et al), and it functioned just fine with its outstanding ensemble cast.  In addition to Linden, actors Ron Glass and Max Gail made the entire trip through eight seasons as Detectives Ron Harris and Stan “Wojo” Wojciehowicz, respectively.  For the first two seasons, Gregory Sierra played Chano Armenguale (following his recurring stint as Julio on “Sanford & Son”), but he never seemed to like to stay in one place very long.  Sierra later played a (serious) cop again in the first season of “Miami Vice” in 1985, but left after just a few episodes.  Abe Vigoda, previously known as caporegime Salvatore Tessio in The Godfather, was the inimitable Philip K. Fish for seasons One through Three before “retiring” to his own spinoff, the short-lived “Fish” in 1977-78 (see below).  Veteran actor Jack Soo played the slightly smart-assed Nick Yemana, who was more preoccupied with perusing his racing forms than doing his job.  Soo passed away midway through the fifth season in January, 1979 after a bout with cancer.  Vigoda and Soo were replaced in later seasons, for all intents and purposes, by the humorously-annoying (if there is such a thing) Sgt. Arthur Dietrich, played by Steve Landesberg (who passed away last year), and ever-anal and insecure Officer Carl “Little” Levitt, played by Ron Carey (who passed away in 2007).

As good as “Barney Miller” was, I do have a few criticisms of it, the chief one being the overuse of the same stable of actors to portray multiple roles throughout the show’s run.  I’m not talking about recurring characters like liquor store owner Mr. Kotterman or Marty Morrison and Darryl Driscoll (the humorous gay couple), but rather actors like Phil Leeds, Howard Platt (best known as Hoppy on “Sanford & Son”) and Florence Halop appearing on BM as many as six or seven times, each time playing a different perp or victim, thus diminishing the show’s credibility a bit.  Even Landesberg and Carey appeared on the show as crooks in early episodes before eventually joining the cast as Dietrch and Levitt.  Oh, and another thing—couldn’t they find more than the same ten damn laugh tracks to use on this show?!?  Oy!  Another thing I found quirky was the episode in which Dietrich dressed in drag while pulling “mugging detail” (as all the other detectives had done in the past) and Barney decreed that Arthur wasn’t convincing enough as a woman—as if Fish, Wojo and Chano were?!?  Only Harris managed to halfway pull it off in drag (after reluctantly shaving off his mustache).

To their credit, the producers dropped characters that weren’t working out, like future “Alice” star Linda Lavin’s annoying loud-mouthed over-the-top Lt. Wentworth and frizzy-haired trouble maker Lt. Eric Dorsey.  It’s a shame they didn’t do the same with the ever-irritating Inspector Luger.  I’m sure the late James Gregory was a good guy, but heavens to Betsy, didn’t you just want to hit Luger over the head with a rubber hose?  He almost made characters like Urkel from “Family Matters” and Screech from “Saved By The Bell” seem halfway tolerable.  One recurring character I could’ve also done without was Lt. Scanlon, the Internal Affairs officer who was always out to bring down Barney and his squad over the tiniest of transgressions.  To me, Scanlon was little more than the “Barney Miller” equivalent to “M*A*S*H”’s Col. Flagg—the inept, over-zealous bully—and after about three episodes, both became inane caricatures that I couldn’t take seriously.  The first season of “Barney Miller” and part of the second also dealt somewhat with Barney’s family life with his naggy, overly-paranoid sourpuss wife (played by Barbara Barrie) and their two children, but that proved to be superfluous and weak, so Barrie only made intermittent appearances as Elizabeth Miller after that when the show’s focus shifted exclusively to the “Ol’ One-Two”.  In fact, apart from very rare occasions after that second season, “Barney Miller” was shot almost exclusively in the Squad Room set or in Barney’s office, and only once did we even get to see the interior of the 12th’s infamous Men’s Room (aka Fish’s branch office).

Admittedly, the show exercised a bit of artistic license and was pretty unrealistic and even a bit contrived at times.  First off, detectives investigate crimes, they don’t run out and nab the petty thieves, weirdos and scalawags (much less pull mugging detail) like the guys at the 12th did—that’s the domain of the uniformed patrolmen.  And police work sure ain’t no 9-to-5 gig like it was portrayed on “Barney Miller”—and how come no one ever came in to relieve Barney, Wojo and Harris when their shift was over?  They might have gotten away with that schedule in Mayberry, but not in lower Manhattan!  And a jail cell right there in the office area?  Not likely.  One facet I always liked, though, was the 12th’s use of those old Royal manual typewriters—just like the ones my old man and I used back in the ‘70s.  I still have them, too…

“Barney Miller” also managed to tackle some serious subject matter from time to time without becoming too heavy-handed or preachy.  Wojo, a former U.S. Marine who served in Vietnam, became an activist when he learned about veterans like himself being affected by Agent Orange.  Racial profiling was dealt with when Harris was shot at by fellow officers who thought he was the miscreant simply because he was black.  The show presaged the “Don’t ask/Don’t tell” era by about 20 years with the story arc involving a closeted gay cop who was outed (Sgt. Zitelli) and Dietrich became a bit of a prophet when he asked a perp who aspired to ride on the Space Shuttle, “Aren’t you worried about the tiles?”—a good five years before the Challenger disaster.

My favorite “Barney Miller” character was erstwhile author Det. Sgt. Ronald Nathan Harris, played splendidly by Ron Glass.  He always had the best lines and comebacks throughout the show’s run.  When a vacationing purse-snatching victim lamented buying into a TV ad featuring Broadway dancers extolling the virtues of visiting Gotham City without mentioning all the crime and thuggery therein, Harris responded, “Well, they only have a minute!”  Following one of Dietrich’s typical lengthy Cliff Claven-esque historical spiels, one of the perps agreed with him, to which Harris irritably replied, “Oh, don’t encourage him!”  In an early episode during a moment of personal frustration, Harris uttered, “I just wanna BE somebody!”, a line which also gave Blackie Lawless of W.A.S.P. the inspiration to write their classic song “I Wanna Be Somebody”.  I think my favorite Harris exchange was the following:

BARNEY (to Wojo): “Harris is captain of Security at the Henmon Arms.”
WOJO: “Well, whoopity-doopity-doo!”
HARRIS: “You know, I expected you to say something like that, however the number of syllables DID surprise me.”

I often find myself using “whoopity-doopity-doo” nowadays in mock response to things, thanks to Wojo, who eventually overcame his vocal doofy-ness and gained Harris’ approval in the final scene in the final episode when Wojo gave a fairly eloquent “farewell” speech, after which Harris said, “God, he is SO much improved!”

The DVD set also contains some nice Bonus Features, including recent recollections from the cast members, including Abe Vigoda, who at age 90 is still as spry and lucid as ever.  Oddly enough, Max Gail, at age 68, looks almost as old now as Fish did back in the day, but Hal Linden seemingly hasn’t aged much at all in the last 30 years—I hope I look half as good when I’m 80 as he does.  Also included is the original pilot episode for the show, called “The Life And Times Of Captain Barney Miller”, which aired in the summer of ’74 on ABC, and was a bit different in format, although the squad room was virtually identical.  Abby Dalton played Barney’s wife, and Vigoda was the only other cast member retained for the series when it was re-titled just plain “Barney Miller”.  The pilot was later recycled as the episode “Ramon” in Season 1 and shot with Sierra, Gail and Glass replacing the actors from the original. And as if eight seasons and 23 discs weren’t enough content, they even threw in two discs’ worth of the “Fish” spinoff, where our favorite curmudgeon cop spends his retirement running a rooming house for wayward kids with his Edith Bunker clone wife, Berniece.  Riiiiiight.  As funny as BM was, “Fish” was as dull as a dead mackerel—dumb premise, lame writing and downright boring show.  The Fish character was a lot like Grady on “Sanford & Son”—best taken in small doses and not spun off into his own series.  The only thing truly noteworthy about “Fish” was that it featured a pre-Willis Jackson Todd Bridges.

And in a classy final touch, “Barney Miller” signed off in 1982 with the graphic, “Goodbye and thank you from all of us at the Ol’ One-Two” before fading to black.  Unlike “M*A*S*H” and “Seinfeld”, they got this finale right…

Regrets, He's Had A Few...

Not surprisingly, it didn’t take me long to read Ace Frehley’s new memoir, No Regrets.  As expected, it was an entertaining read, given that Planet Jendell’s most famous citizen is my favorite member of Kiss.  Gene Simmons used to be my favorite, but his continued douche-y-ness over the years has given me cause to drop him in the rankings, just ahead of Vinnie Vincent.  And as much as I enjoyed Ace’s book, I do have to question his credibility at times here—if you have to enlist the help of other people to recall parts of your own life because you were too fucked up to remember it yourself, then how accurate can your stories be?  The book’s title annoys me slightly, too—it drives me nuts whenever someone claims they have no regrets or that they wouldn’t change anything that happened in their life, if given the chance.  Bullshit!  We all have things in our pasts that we’d give anything to revise or just plain eliminate.  I know I do, anyway.

Spoiler alert:  I’ll be quoting several passages in the book verbatim here, so if you plan to read it yourself, you might want to consider whether to pass or play.  And now my thoughts, in no particular order…

--Ace played in numerous local NY bands in the late ‘60s and early ’70s before joining Kiss, and he mentioned that some of them covered songs by Cream, Jimi Hendrix, The Who and even my boys Paul Revere & The Raiders.  Man, I’d love to have heard Ace ripping up on the likes of “The Great Airplane Strike”, “Hungry” and “Steppin’ Out.”

--I was unaware that Mr. Frehley was friends with the late John Belushi in the early ‘80s.  Not shockingly, they were excitable boys who partied hardy, according to Ace.

--It’s real easy to forget that Ace’s given name is Paul.  He got his legendary nickname during his teen years because of his natural ability to score with the ladies, thus making him an “ace”.  He still went by Paul even by the time he auditioned for Kiss, but since “Paul” was already spoken-for by Mr. Stanley, Frehley made Ace his professional name.  His close friends, family and significant others all call him Paul, though, even today.  That would be weird to me to be known by two different names, but I could live with it, I suppose.

--I was a bit surprised at some of the stuff Ace didn’t talk about in the book.  He kept all his discussions about his relationship with drummer Peter Criss to a minimum throughout, even though Pete was more or less his drinking buddy/confidant within the band.  Maybe he decided to let the Catman tell his own story in that regard if and when he comes forth with his own Kiss memoir (and I hope he does).  Ace barely mentioned the late Eric Carr, either.  Then again, they didn’t work together all that long (two years and change, basically), but I seem to remember that Ace always looked upon Little Caeser fondly.  I was somewhat disappointed that Frehley didn’t at least refer to Eric’s untimely passing (20 years ago next week).  Nor did Ace discuss working with Eric Singer after Criss left Kiss in 2001.  He also didn’t spend much time talking about his solo career during the Frehley’s Comet era in the ‘80s or discussing his working partnership with Tod Howarth, who served a similar capacity to that which Derek St. Holmes did for Ted Nugent in the ‘70s, i.e., the good-looking singer/rhythm guitarist opposite the guitar god, so to speak.

--On Kiss’ infamous 1979 appearance on Tom Snyder’s “Tomorrow” show Ace writes: "You’re supposed to be some sort of spaceman, right?" Tom asked me at one point, while gesturing to my costume.  "No, actually, I’m a plumber!"  Snyder laughed from the gut, and fired right back, "Oh, well I’ve got a piece of pipe backstage I’d like to have you work on."  A hanging curveball if I ever saw one!  Regardless, I completed the R-rated joke with the delivery of a major-league all-star.  "Tell me about it!’"

If you watch the video you can actually see me turning to Gene and putting my hands up at one point and quietly saying ‘What?’ like a child who’s misbehaving at a family function and wants his dad to loosen up and join in the fun.  Gene was sometimes incapable of that, even in a setting that clearly called for some spontaneity and horsing around. It was all so ridiculous.  How seriously can you take yourself when you’re sitting there in a superhero costume and full face makeup?  Gene missed the whole thing.  If he would have allowed himself to be just a little more lighthearted about everything and stopped fuckin’ thinking about money all the time, things might have turned out differently.  I love the guy, but he never, ever got it.

Tom picked up on Gene’s negativity, and you could tell he wasn’t digging it.  At one point Gene tried to make a joke about selling Tom some swampland in New Jersey, and Snyder completely ignored him and turned his attention back to me.  It was like Gene didn’t exist.

Simmons himself has even admitted that he should’ve taken Ace’s advice and loosened up some. Apart from his 1978 solo album, the Snyder show was Frehley’s finest hour as a member of Kiss.

--The one story in Frehley’s book that really stuck with me (and I totally believe it) involves Gene Simmons’ invitation to Ace to appear on his “Family Jewels” show for the infamous celebrity roast episode in 2007.  According to Space Ace:  I listened to the (voice mail) message a few times, and with each playback, I became more convinced that I could sense a slight tone of desperation in his voice. Most of the roasts I recalled consisted of people who were friends or co-workers of the person being ‘honored’.  That’s when it suddenly hit me:  Gene doesn’t have any friends!  Never did—as far back as I can remember.  And everyone who has ever worked with Gene in the past has either been fired or quit.  The only person who’s remained with him over the years is Paul Stanley.

And even the Starchild refused to participate in this debacle.  To his credit, Paul keeps to himself when he’s not doing the Kiss thing, and doesn’t feel the need to prostitute his private/personal life around for public consumption like Gene does—it amazes me how these two function together, given what polar opposites they are, personality-wise.  Anyway, Peter Criss was also invited to be a roaster, but the Catman was busy cleaning his litter box that weekend and politely declined, as did Ace.  This explains Gene’s flotilla of newfound “friends” on the dais—hacks like Carrot Top, Paul Rodriguez, Andrew Dice Clay, Eddie Griffin and Danny Bonaduce—getting paid to roast him.  After hearing how putridly the show turned out, Ace said:  For a moment, I almost felt bad for Gene. I mean, really. How embarrassing.  Btw, given the way Gene has repeatedly criticized Criss’ and Frehley’s well-documented substance abuse issues over the years, then why in blue blazes would he even consider being friends with a total fuck-up/fuckwad/desperate-to-remain-in-the-limelight whore like Bonaduce?  Ol’ Dante’s drug/alcohol problem seems far worse than any of Ace and Peter’s past transgressions.  But, I digress…

--Frehley’s stories about rooming with Gene Simmons during Kiss’s early touring days are pretty intriguing (assuming they’re true, that is)…

“I can’t say for sure because I don’t know a lot about his sexual history prior to KISS, but I do know that once we got out on the road, Gene reacted like a starving man at a smorgasbord.  I believe Gene is a sex addict, in much the same way that I’m an alcoholic.  We all have our issues and vices, and I saw Gene’s behavior affect him and the band in a negative way.  Maybe not to the extent that my drinking impacted the band, but certainly there were consequences…See, Gene in those days seemed to live in a state of perpetual infestation.  He would fuck almost anything (and I think he’s admitted as much).  Short, tall; plump, svelte; attractive…merely tolerable.  We all opened our beds to companionship on a regular basis, but somehow Gene was the one who would end up with bugs in his bush.

Gene has had a lot of unkind things to say about me over the years.  Some of the criticism is legitimate.  In sobriety you embrace accountability, and I can’t deny that my drinking and drug use eventually became highly disruptive and problematic.  But some of the personal jabs have been harder to take, partly because we were all friends at one time, and we did do something remarkable, but also because Gene wasn’t exactly the easiest guy to get along with, either.  Fastidious, if not downright anal in his professional life, Gene was an utter mess in his personal life.  I guess having a love for money doesn’t have anything to do with cleanliness.  I should know—for the first several tours Gene and I were roommates.  Strange, considering we had so little in common…As I quickly discovered, Gene was an epic slob.

What can I tell you? Gene is eccentric.  Always has been.  He had a lot of idiosyncrasies.  That’s okay.  To each his own. I just thought it was a little strange.

First off, I’m impressed in this passage how Ace owns up to being a fuck-up back in the day (as he does throughout the book), and secondly, I think I have a much clearer picture of what Gene Simmons is really like from Ace’s book than what I got from Simmons’ own autobiography/hatchet job, Kiss And Make-Up, and it’s not too hard to figure out why Mr. Demon alienates so many people.  Gene is such a control freak, it’s no wonder he pisses and moans about the things Ace and Peter did, simply because they didn’t do things HIS way.  He has a very off-putting demeanor (even Paul Stanley thought he was a total dick when they first met), thus Gene’s basically been a loner all his life and doesn’t seem to have anyone you could call a longtime close friend.  Kinda sad when you think about it—my old man was like that too.  I’m a loner too, but at least I do have a few close friends.

--Just as an aside, why is it in every book I ever read that mentions Kiss, the band’s name is always KISS in all caps?  True, this is how the iconic Kiss logo (designed by Ace) appears, but you don’t see CREAM or LOVERBOY referred to in print this way, do ya?  In spite of what all the Holy Rollers will tell you that KISS is an acronym for Knights In Satanic Service, I personally think the name should be ‘capital K, little i, little s, little s’ in print.  Ace’s original logo, by the way, had a diamond above it to dot the ‘I’ and a set of lips below it, but he later refined it to what we know and love today.  The slashed s’s that are reminiscent of those made famous by Hitler in WWII and the fact that Ace is of German descent?  Just a coincidence—Ace Frehley is not a Nazi, folks.  Hell, two of his bandmates were Jewish…

--In one chapter Ace writes:  So you might wonder now, "How does Ace feel about Kiss today?"  I think they’re just a bunch of dirty rotten whores.  Yet in another he says:  Despite the many ups and downs I had with Kiss over the years, I couldn’t help but remember all the fun we shared in our formative years.  We achieved greatness in the music industry and had several groundbreaking achievements well into the new millennium.  To this day I still consider them my brothers in Rock ‘N’ Roll and love them.  Okay, so which is it, Ace?  In his appearance on the “Today Show” week before last, Ace talked about recently having lunch with Gene Simmons and how everything was cordial, blah blah blah.  I don’t see how this can possibly be true after all these years of verbal media pissing matches between them.  There’s certainly no way I’d be on friendly terms with Simmons if I were Ace—we’d have been at the “fuck you/I hope your dog dies” stage years ago.  Then again, I’m not a very forgiving person in those terms, so take that for what it’s worth.

All in all, No Regrets is a fun read, and the pre-Kiss photos Ace enclosed are fun to look at.  Not sure I believe everything he wrote, but I’m glad he finally got to fire back at Gene (and Paul, to a lesser extent), given the way they’ve talked out of their asses about Ace all these years.

Next book on the docket:  Iron Man: My Journey Through Heaven And Hell by Black Sabbath’s Tony Iommi.

Travelblog: The Great Nor'easter—Episode 8

BY THE TIME I GOT TO WOODSTOCK...
...I was 2/3 of the way through my trip.  I deftly avoided the brown acid and navigated my way through downstate New York to the hamlet known as Bethel, home of the iconic Woodstock Music & Arts Festival in August, 1969.  I was originally planning to visit Bethel before New York City, but road closures caused by the flooding in the area put the kibosh on that plan, so I swung up that way after hitting Gotham instead.  The concert took place in the field beyond the fence here, which was (and still is) a perfect natural bowl and the stage was situated near the dark strip in the grass in the upper part of this photo.  Also on the site is the Museum At Bethel Woods, which of course chronicles the entire event and includes an art gallery and a small outdoor concert pavilion (that you actually have to pay to get into, unlike the festival).  The museum is a pefect indocrination for those who are uninitiated on Woodstock lore, but for me it was pretty much all review, since I'm so knowledgeable about the subject.  After seeing the area firsthand, it's no wonder this thing morphed into the world's largest clusterfuck of people ever, given the lack of decent roads in and out of Bethel.

YO, ROCKO—DONE ANY MAINTENANCE, LATELY?
You are looking at 1818 Tusculum Street in north Philadelphia, fictional former home of fictional pugilist Rocky Balboa.  The row of apartments appeared way smaller to me in person than in the Rocky flicks until I realized that the two units at the far end of the block (below the el train tracks just to the left of the telephone pole) have since been torn down.  The front door still has the same hand-painted '1818' on display, and it appears Rocky has moved up in the world, judging by the satellite dish on the side there.

YO, MICK—HOW YOU DOIN'?
Just a few blocks down the way by the el train is Mighty Mick's gymnasium, which is hardly mighty anymore.  Pretty obvious by the dimensions here that there ain't no gym on the top floor.  The pet shop where Adrian worked right across the street really was a pet shop back in the day, but it's long-since closed too.  Not far from Rocky's apartment is Adrian and Paulie's house, but I didn't get a photo of it because I was a tad intimidated by the heathens roaming the streets in the neighborhood.  To wit, we ain't talkin' Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids!  Never once did I feel unsafe anywhere in New York City (even in Harlem), but I high-tailed my big honkin' Mercury Grand Marquis (with Missouri plates that screamed out, "TOURIST!") outta north Philadelphia before they could bring my hat to the hospital.  This area looked rough 35 years ago in the first Rocky film and it's infinitely worse now.  I'd rank north Philly right down there with East St. Louis and Gary, Indiana in the Shithole Sweepstakes.

THE EAGLES' NEST
This would be the Philadelphia Eagles locker room, which I got to visit during my tour of Lincoln Financial Field.  Damn thing is so gi-normous that my entire house could fit easily inside it, top-to-bottom and side-to-side.  I honestly think it covers multiple ZIP codes.  This isn't even the whole thing--there was more of it behind me when I took this photo too.  Their bloody mascot even has his own locker room!  The stadium itself is pretty nice, but like all the new NFL venues these days, it has too much of a Country Club aura about it. 

GOT ANY JOB APPLICATIONS?
Here's where I'd love to work someday—NFL Films headquarters in Mt. Laurel, New Jersey, across the river from Philly.  My "dream job" would be film librarian/ archivist—I could sit and watch those old highlight reels from the '60s and early '70s until the cows come home.  I'd even watch them with the bloody cows...

"IT'S OUTTA HERE..."
They just love their statues in and around the Philly ballparks.  They've immortalized Hall of Fame players like Mike Schmidt, Steve Carlton, Connie Mack and Richie Ashburn in bronze, as well as beloved play-by-play man Harry Kalas, who you'll find on the lower level of Citizens Bank Park in the left field corner plaza.  CBP is everything it's cracked up to be—excellent ballpark all the way around, relatively inexpensive beer (for a Major League stadium, anyway) and killer eats at Luzinski's BBQ in center field—best ribs I've ever had east of the Mississippi.  Between Philly and Pittsburgh, the state of Pennsylvania has two of the finest parks in beisbol.

 "WE'RE GOING TO THE END OF THE LINE..."
For all my K.C. friends out there, this is what the eastern terminus of I-70 looks like, on the west side of Baltimore.  Rather unique, too—I've never seen the end of an Interstate where you can simply make a U-turn and head back the other way!  There's also some sort of park-and-ride commuter lot in between the highway. 

PLAY BALL...AGAIN!
This is the site of Memorial Stadium on Baltimore's north side, former home of the Orioles and Colts where Unitas, Berry, Ameche, Weaver, Palmer and the Robinsons once roamed.  In the case of the Colts, the place was affectionately known as "the World's Largest Outdoor Insane Asylum".  I always thought Woodstock was the WLOIA, but I digress.  The footprint of the stadium has been preserved, and is now flanked by newly-built townhouses.  The famed old all-dirt playing surface has been replaced by fake flubber turf (which was being used by some goomer practicing that faggot college activity lacrosse while I was there), and those trees off in the distance are the same ones that were always visible beyond centerfield when the stadium stood.  I love it when they can pay tribute to old ballparks like this—nicely done, Balty-More! 

Not pictured, but well worth the visit if you're in Baltimore is the Sports Legends museum adjacent to Oriole Park @ Camden Yards.  Excellent displays on the Orioles and Colts (including the back of a Mayflower moving van in the case of the latter), as well as all the local colleges and even a tribute to indoor soccer's Baltimore Blast.  I didn't get a chance to visit the nearby Babe Ruth museum, but I've heard it's outstanding as well.

YOU CAN'T SEE THE STADIUM FOR THE TREES
This is the view from my $40 parking space at the Washington Redskins game I attended at FedUp Field in suburban Landover.  That's right, I said 40 bucks—one of my hotel rooms was actually cheaper than this!  You'd think 40 bucks would at least garner me an asphalt parking surface and a space within half a mile of the stadium, but noooooo!  Wait—this gets better...

OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS...
...to FedUp Field we go—literally!  The signage around the 40-dollar-a-pop gravel parking lot warned fans NOT to walk through the woods to get to FedUp Field.  The Redskins wanted everyone to walk an extra quarter mile around the woods, but some enterprising 'Skins fans have erected this rickety, yet effective, bridge to circumvent team management's edict.  In lieu of bread crums, one only needs to follow the trail of beer bottles/cans through the Hundred-Acre Wood during their journey to FedUp Field.  Fuck you, (Redskins owner) Daniel Snyder!

My Redskins experience was a major disappointment all the way around.  For such a storied franchise, I was unimpressed with the passive nature of their fans—FedUp Field holds way more people than Arrowhead Stadium does, but Washington fans can't touch us in terms of noise and ambience.  This was more wine-and-cheese party crowd than a rowdy football mob—polar opposite of the way it was over at R.F.K. Stadium back in the day, I'm sure.  FedUp Field also reeked of corporate weasely-ness, even moreso than most NFL stadiums do, and the Redskins gameday presentation was extremely dull.  On top of that, the nosebleed section I sat in was infested by a swarm of bees, and a gal two rows in front of me got stung on the neck.  About the only good thing I can say about my day with the 'Skins was their hot dogs were damn good for stadium wieners. 

Travelblog: The Great Nor'easter—Episode 7

WE ARE NOW ON FINAL APPROACH...
This was my first live view ever of anything connected to New York City as I drove in on the famed George Washington Bridge from the New Jersey side.  I pulled up to the toll booth and had my money all ready to give them, only there was one little problem—I was in one of those automated lanes that requires a pass.  For a while, I thought I'd gotten away with a freebie, but I got a letter from New Jersey when I returned home saying they wanted their $8 toll, or they were gonna fine me 50 bucks more!  For once, I was a fugitive from justice...

HARLEM DAZE
I wanted no part of driving in Manhattan, but I did inadvertently drive in Harlem for a short while, just after crossing the GW Bridge.  I was attempting to go by Yankee Stadium in da Bronx, but found myself on the wrong side of the Harlem River.  Truthfully, I didn't find Harlem to be all that inhospitable, really—it didn't seem any worse than Kansas City, Kansas to me, anyway.  Meantime, that deee-luxe apartment in the sky on the left in this photo sits right where the infield of the Polo Grounds once existed.

ANOTHER VIEW...
...from my hotel, with the Meadowlands sports complex lurking across the way.  This has to be the only Red Roof Inn in the world with its own boat dock and resident seagulls, therein.  They also had some comfy lounge chairs along the shore, which were great for relaxing after hoofing it all day in the city.  Not too bad for 105 bucks a night.

RUST NEVER SLEEPS
This is my favorite photo from the entire trip.  I snapped this while I was waiting for the subway train to Yankee Stadium.  Get a load of how thick the paint is on this pillar—it's at least a quarter of an inch, and I counted no less than nine different coats!  All in all, though, I'm fascinated at how that city manages to function on a daily basis.  It's a totally different world than what I'm used to here.  The subway rides were interesting adventures too, and you got to know your neighbors a little more than you'd like to, but I survived.  Honestly, New York City isn't nearly as horrific as it's made out to be.  The people I interacted with were generally amiable and pleasant, and there was none of that macho bravado that is supposedly stereotypical of New Yorkers.  At no time did I ever feel unsafe (even in Harlem) and I encountered more assholes later in Philadelphia than I did in Gotham City.  Other than driving in Manhattan, I no longer fear New York City like I once did, and I'm itching to visit again.

THE HOUSE THAT STEINBRENNER BUILT
Here be the new Yankee Stadium in da Bronx.  I wasn't able to get a real good look at it because there was a concert going on there with Metalheads queueing up to see Metallica, Megadeth, et al, so I had to view it from a distance.  In the foreground is where the original Yankee Stadium stood, now occupied by a cheesy little league ball diamond.  This is how they're going to honor Ruth, Gehrig and DiMaggio?  Oh well, at least they didn't make it a parking lot...

WHERE GOOD 401K'S GO TO DIE...
This of course, would be the New York Stock Exchange on Wall Street.  Not much of a street, really—it's more wall than street.  The beginnings of the current "Occupy" movement were taking shape while I was there.  I'm all for reforming our financial system, but I really don't see the point of the whole "Occupy" thing—what exactly is it accomplishing?

OUT OF THE ASHES...
I saved Ground Zero for last in my tour of Manhattan, and this is the new Freedom Tower under construction.  Behind the blue tarping on the fence is the new 9/11 Memorial, but I didn't have a ticket for it, so I didn't get to see it.  I still say the new tower should include a huge middle finger on top aimed at the Middle East...

THIS ONE SPEAKS FOR ITSELF...
Right next to the 9/11 Memorial.  Damn right, we won't forget...

Travelblog: The Great Nor'easter—Episode 6

We're still in Manhattan--only about halfway through my first day there...

SAY HELLO TO OUR GOOD FRIEND, DAVID LETTERMAN...

Here's the Ed Sullivan Theater, where they tape the Late Show With David Letterman.  I'm guessing there was no show that day because there's usually a line of people waiting for tickets in the afternoon.  Or so I thought, anyway...

                                                                          


WHERE'S THE VELVET ROPE?
The doorway to the left of the dude in the blue shirt was once the entrance to the infamous Studio 54.  The building still carries the name, but the club is long gone, of course.  I wouldn't be surprised if there's still some cocaine stashed away somewhere in there, tho...

"I'M YOUR FAIRY MANAGER--YOU SHALL PLAY AT CARNEGIE HALL..."
Seems like everything was being renovated in NYC during my visit, and Carnegie Hall was no exception.  I didn't even know what the place looked like on the outside before I got there—I was a tad disappointed.  I hope it's prettier on the inside, because the exterior ain't much to look at.

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE, AS THE NEW YORK SUNSET DISAPPEARED?"
I had to see this for myself, so I made it a point to walk by the Dakota at 72nd St. and Central Park West.  The entrance doesn't look like it's changed much since 12/8/80.  I was majorly disappointed with the Strawberry Fields thing in Central Park honoring Lennon just across the street, however.  I thought it was a bit more elaborate than just the mosaic in the sidewalk that reads "IMAGINE" with people sitting on it having their photos taken.  How 'bout a statue of John or something? 

HELL AIN'T A BAD PLACE TO BE
Or is it?  This is the Prudential Center (the "Prude"?) in downtown Newark, NJ, home of my beloved New Jersey Devils.  It's an oasis in an otherwise Hades-like town, as I was majorly unimpressed with what I saw in the area surrounding the arena, which stands out like a turd in a punchbowl in this dumpy downtown they call Newark.  I saw more low-lifes in the 20 minutes I spent in Newark than I did all day in Manhattan.  Go figure...

THAR SHE BLOWS!
Here was the view from the balcony of my hotel in the Meadowlands, some eight miles from Manhattan.  It amazed me how the Empire State Building just dominates the entire skyline of NY when viewed from any direction, even with all the other skyscrapers scattered about—it always seems to command your attention.  I stayed at the Red Roof Inn right across the river from the new Giants/Jets (Gi-ets?) Stadium, which was pretty handy for getting around the area.
 

EMPIRE STRIKES BACK
Again, another example of the seeming omni-presence of the ESB in a shot I snapped while waiting for the morning train in Jersey, not far from my hotel.  It also gives a pretty good idea of how hazy it was that week.  How about that form and composition and the way I centered the building in the window there?  Brilliant!

Travelblog: The Great Nor'easter—Episode 5

It's been exactly two months since I left town on my big road trip, and I'm only halfway through chronicling it on here.  Two subsequent weekend road trips and lack of time on my part are to blame for that.  Bear with me—I may finally get around to finishing this damn thing one of these days...

"AND WE SAW THEM STANDING THERE"

You are looking at where 2nd base once existed at Shea Stadium in Queens, NY.  It was on this spot that The Beatles played their famous concert at Shea in 1965, which was then one of the biggest Rock concerts ever.  This is also the spot where Pete Rose and Bud Harrelson of the Mets got into a tussle during the 1973 National League Championship Series (won by NY).  In the background is the Metropolitans' new home, Citi Field, which I wound up liking a lot more than I initially expected to.  It didn't look all that impressive to me on television, but in person, it was a really nice ballpark.  The Jackie Robinson Rotunda (modeled after the one at Ebbets Field) and adjacent Mets Hall of Fame are worth the visit alone, and it was at Citi where I enjoyed my first taste of Carvel ice cream.  It's even better than Dairy Queen, folks!

I FINALLY MADE IT TO THE GARDEN, AT LAST!

This was the first thing I saw above ground when I landed in downtown Manhattan, the world's most famous arena, Madison Square Garden, which is actually round and about 11 blocks north of the actual Madison Square, for which it is named.  I was not about to try to drive in Manhattan, so I rode the train in from Joysey and it dropped me off at that underground labyrinth/clusterfuck known as Pennsylvania Station, which also includes a shopping mall and restaurants throughout.  Between Penn. Station and the subways, I spent more time getting lost underground in Gotham City than I did above ground!  I would dearly loved to have toured MSG, but my timing was bad because the building is currently undergoing a massive renovation (hence the scaffolds), so no tours until next year.  Oh well, gives me a good reason to go back soon and do a Rangers game next spring.  It was here that my long day on foot began, as I covered the better part of 70 New York city blocks over a six mile area.  And let me tell you, my friends, my feets were killing me by day's end...

IT REALLY SUCKED!

This item caught my eye as I passed by a storefront in Manhattan.  Mom used to have a sweeper just like this one when I was a little kid.  Here's to good ol' Electro-Lux!









GOOD MORNING, MRS. KONG--IS KING HOME?

And here be the Empire State Building.  Word to the wise if you plan to visit:  Buy the VIP ticket so you can by-pass the long lines and ride to the top faster—it's well worth the extra moolah.  I've heard the place referred to recently as the "Empty-pire" State Building because of the high vacancy rates of the office spaces, especially those in the higher floors in the wake of 9/11.  Sad, but true, and perfectly understandible, I guess.  Not so sure I'd want to work that high up either, on a daily basis.







And here be the view from Mr. Kong's perch, looking up Broadway:

The scariest part about this photo to me is the thought that downtown Tokyo is EVEN BIGGER!  The building at the lower left with the red flag next to it is the famed Macy's store where they do the annual Thanksgiving parade at.  The long-distance shots I tried to take from the observation deck weren't terribly good because it was pretty hazy out that day, but that couldn't be helped.  I also coulda done without the pushy foreigners up there—they were far ruder than the locals, who, much to my surprise, were much friendlier than I expected.

FRESH AIR!  TIMES SQUARE!

And here would be the building where Dick Clark drops his ball on New Year's Eve every year.  Or something like that.  For all the whoop-de-doo that's made about Times Square, I was pretty underwhelmed by it all.  Nothing but crass corporate advertising everywhere you look.  I think I would've enjoyed TS more back when it was a little more sleazier with all the titty bars and dives during the Midnight Cowboy era.  And like Mick Jagger before me, I couldn't give it away on 7th Avenue either!  Times Square today?  Meh. 

Oh, by the way, I might be in a movie soon.  As I neared Radio City Music Hall, there was a film crew out doing crowd shots, and I wandered right in front of their big camera.  "They're gonna put me in the movies..."

"AT ST. PATRICK'S EVERY SUNDAY..."

"...Father Fletcher heard your sins."  This is the famed St. Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan.  I'm not much into churches and such, but it's an impressive structure all the same...