Wednesday, June 30, 2004  

Unifying The Threads of My Life

Since the major things in my world these days are music, the Red Sox, and my lovely goth wife, I'll take this opportunity to lift the following from the Sons of Sam Horn website and unify all three:

(To be sung to the tune of the Smiths' "Panic")

Panic on the streets of Boston
Panic on the streets of Framingham
I wonder to myself
Could this season be saved again?
The Charles-side streets that you slip down
I wonder to myself
Hopes may rise on the Monster
You'll get run out
Of this tough baseball town
But there's Panic on the streets of Brookline
Lowell, Lawrence, Summer Heights
I wonder to myself

Burn down the clubhouse
Hang the wretched Tito
Because the bad games they constantly play
IT TAKES TWO OR THREE YEARS OFF OF MY LIFE
Hang the wretched Tito
Because the lineups he constantly plays

On the Charles-side streets that you slip down
Start another summer countdown
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito, Hang the Tito
Hang the Tito

Life Is Good

Two great shows at the Comedy Lounge in Hyannis this weekend. It's a new club, but it's a gorgeous room, and Mike Dorval did a fantastic job opening up. He moved to LA and wrote his ass off, apparently...his act was terrific before, but it's on a whole 'nother level now. I hope the club takes off. Everything's just as it ought to be, include the sextacular room I got on Friday. Huge bed, mirrored walls, fridge, the whole nine. Too bad I was there by myself. I sadly spent eleven bucks on some of the worst hotel porn ever, some gonzo stuff where husbands ostensibly watched their wives get it from porn stars. That's not a kink I claim, but the chick in the preview was hot. She was, also frustratingly absent from the film itself, replaced by two average women and one woman with the WORST tit job I've ever seen. The scars were so fresh that I thought her implants might actually squirt out like water weenies.

I just got back from Tower Records, to which I had been given a very generous gift certificate. This is great, right? What with my new mission to revitalize my music collection. Only now I have so many friends offering suggestions that I found myself with this crushing responsibility to NOT FUCK UP MY CHOICE. I had thirty bucks to spend, which is about two CDs (gee, why do people download stuff for free, I wonder), and I agonized over which two to get. I finally decided that no matter how highly recommended, it would be retarded to BUY CD's for bands I'd never actually heard, which eliminated most of Steve Luc's suggestions. Then I decided to skip anything my wife might get herself. Our two sets of tastes overlap very little, but they do. Mostly at Nick Cave.

So I came home with CKY "Infiltrate*Destroy*Rebuild" and Incubus "Make Yourself." I'm grooving on both now. I'm not sure I like the CKY as much as their first record, but I like it a lot, and the Incubus is just tasty.

Cape Comedy

I'm off to try to beat the traffic to Cape Cod, where I'll be performing at the Hyannis Radisson at 8:00 tonight and tomorrow. God help me.

Improv Hangover and CD Intrigue

Thanks to TC Cheever and Matt McLaughlin of "The Pitch," the show they were generous enough to let me guest on last night at ImprovBoston. I had a really good time and might even agitate to try it again. The differences between the improv and standup worlds were terribly obvious, as backstage at this theatre are scrawled all sorts of beautiful sayings like, "When something is funny, it is also true" and "Comedy is the soul of truth." At the Comedy Studio, the closest we have is a saying written in the men's room: "Mike is a FAG!"

Extra mega super props to Mr. Ken Reid, who not only came out to see the improv show, but who was then stuck watching the second half as well, which is way more improv than he thought he was in for, and quite probably well over the recommended daily allowance of zaniness. He was also kind enough to bring a metric assload of CD's for me to listen to in my quest to reinvigorate my music collection. So far, I must say that I do, in fact, dig Killing Joke a whole hell of a lot, and tonight, I believe I'll tuck into some Afghan Whigs.

Of course, this morning, my lovely bride informed me that the problem is that I "don't really like music like other people." I pointed out that I used to listen to music all the time, before we moved in together and her music collection made mine feel puny and sad. I stand by the "I grew up in Colorado Springs" defense in all cases musical.

Limited Time Offer

Since Mitt "Grown In A Vat In Provo" Romney is still trying to find a way to get rid of gay marriage, I thought I'd get this out there while there's still time.

I am, in fact, duly authorized to perform weddings in the Commontwealth of Massachusetts, and I will waive my usual fee (a bottle of Makers Mark) and perform a lovely ceremony gratis for any guys named Adam and Steve who want to get hitched.

Published!

I just found out that my short story "Coyotes" is going to be published in the upcoming Charles River Review. What a week!

What's the Musical Version of Learning Disabled?

So after spending a week with the inimitable Sam Walters, I've decided that my CD collection needs a major, major overhaul. Sam's back seat is littered with CD's, all of which he knows and loves. I saw him find Motorhead's "Ace of Spades" by feel. He knows which CD's are cracked in which way. I, on the other hand, have a veritable shitload of CD's that I either bought for one song or have never actually listened to. Some I bought because every other hipster seemed to own them, some I bought because I liked the name or something. Either way, it's painfully clear that I am musically retarded. My wife, with whom I've conceived two children, to whom I've declared my eternal love and devotion, for whom I've bought a house, will not even let her CD's touch mine, as if letting a Dead Can Dance disc rub up against Blue Oyster Cult's greatest hits will sully it somehow.

I try. I really try. But I grew up in Colorado Springs, listening to KILO-94, and entire genres of music passed me right by. I used to tune in a college station from Denver after midnight, like a guy in East Berlin trying to get the Voice of America. I used to have tons of shitty Radio Shack cassettes loaded with crackly college rock. But it was a college station, and those assholes never COME ON THE GODDAMN AIR to tell you what you're listening to. Someone (to this day I don't know who) did a cover of Sympathy for the Devil that still stands out in my mind. The only band I ever did hear a name for was Sisters of Mercy; Temple of Love was the song. That did help me find the only goth club in Colorado Springs, which gave me an immediate and permanent love (and lust) for goth girls, which did lead me to my wife, so I guess in its way, the universe is unfolding as it should. My musical dipshittiness led me to true love.

In college, I met the St. Francis of record geeks, a Mr. Steve Luc, who made me some mix tapes that went a long way towards filling in the musical gaps Colorado Springs left behind. He claims he's making me a new mix CD. Thank you, Jeebus.

Still, I have to unload some CDs and get new ones. Suggestions are welcome; hell, they're necessary. More than one person has recommended Franz Ferdinand, and while listening on Amazon, I've been clicking the "also recommended" and "you might like" links, and I find myself in an emo minefield, completely out of my depth.

Help this poor musical simpleton. Please. And if you know who might have done that cover of Sympathy for the Devil, I'll give you a free CD. One of mine...not one of the used ones I'm dumping.

Exhausted

Good God almighty, my rock star week has come to an end. In the last seven days, I've filmed a scene for a movie (that'd be the secret project there), done four standup shows, two radio spots, and appeared on TV in Watertown, NY. While doing that, I smoked cigarettes (dammit!), drank way too much beer, and was turned on to the joy of Motorhead by Mr. Sam Walters, whose stereo definitely goes to 11. Too many late nights in a row spent in coversation with a couple of double-cool hipsters we met in Sackets Harbor followed by a mad dash home on Sunday so I could actually see my child on father's day combined with minor nicotine withdrawl added up to an all-over body exhaustion that I could feel down to my cells yesterday.

Today, I feel reborn. A cup of Earl Gray and some Apple Jacks seem to have gotten me back on track. Which is good. Tomorrow night, I'm doing a guest appearance at Improv Boston, and I want to be sharp.

Upstate NY

I've been crazy busy lately with a project that I still don't want to talk about here out of fear of jinxing it, but it's a much cooler thing than I generally write about, so maybe it'll be worth the wait.

Starting tonight and running through Saturday, Mr. Sammy Walters and myself will be at the Lake Ontario Playhouse in Sacketts Harbor, NY. Last time through was fun, fun, fun, and I expect this time to be even better.

Comedy Studio This Weekend

I will be performing at the Comedy Studio on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with the extra-fabulous Gary Gulman, who will be recording his first CD with the help of KFJ Records. There may or may not be tickets available. Check out the Comedy Studio site for info.

Update: looks like I won't be recording Gary for technical reasons. Either way, it will be one hell of a good show, and you should try to come if you can. Gary's one of the funniest cats out there...and a great person, to boot!