Also Here

Hello, here too.

Odds and Ends

Thanks again to those that came out on Friday night to see Wilford Brimley and British Tits: we raised $122 for this guy, which is awesome.

Now for some clips and shits: the mighty, mighty Raspberries...Chris Hansen as a diligent businessman ("those are great looking shoes, by the way")...the Holy Fastball...Schilling, about halfway down, on who throws the best what... "Amidst an eerie green glow under the ring resides Hornswoggle, a little man who looks like a mini version of the fighting Irishman"...playing video games with Flip...one of my favorite melodies of ever...Manson vs. The Judge...i dig these guys, very very nice fellows.

Nyquil

In one of those happy cold medicine wakefulness moments, I caught the tail end of Lucinda Williams' new single on Letterman last night.

Check it out. She's a master.

Maine

Up here in rural Maine. Maine's a great name for a CD. Not for a song, and probably not for a band. And now that I think of it, not for "a CD" either, but rather a good, full-length, feedback-through-a-harmony-strainer album. So don't no one steal it; I'll write an album called Maine someday. Not the next one, though...I think that ought to be Shoot for Empire. So don't no one steal that one either.

Hit our myspace for some new show info as well as how the hell you can get our new CD (April 1 release).

Link here. Some mornings you just wish you could break through the fucking screen and put your arms around someone and keep them safe forever.

It's Not Like I Wrote to the Pussycat Dolls or Some Shit

File under: Online Stalking.

Well, it's Tuesday night after all and I just watched my buddy Chris Hansen over at Dateline NBC take down some predators...

So I'm at war with this band I went to see last week. We're at two 'read', i.e. unreplied myspace messages asking them the name of the song that opened their set. You know why I asked them? Because I loved it; I thought it was great; I was singing it to myself all night and I wanted to know if I could buy it or listen to it anywhere. In fact, I told them that. "You guys fucking rocked," I believe I wrote. Why yes, that's exactly what I wrote.

No response. And...again. And...no response. I guess I just don't get that. Would have taken ten seconds to say thanks and tell me the name of the song. Yeah, I know, I don't know their insides. But it still sucks. I wish them mediocrity from here on out.

Signed,
Rupert Pupkin, The King of Comedy

Him Meaning Jamison?

No way...him meaning my best friend.
Happy birthday to you, buddy, with all the love in the world.

Slatterday in the Park

Alright...Chicago's "25 or 6 to 4" comes on the radio. Do you change the channel? Why? Why not?

Fatnom Gourmet Presents a Gr8 8

Was reading this one by Jim Harrison last night (pretty good, not great) and thinking about how I've always wanted to read that one, which of course, or not so of course I guess, got me to thinking about books I haven't read, movies I haven't seen, things I haven't heard. Maybe you'll be pleased to give me advance warning on these before I get around to them:

1. Finnegan's Wake. Loved Dubliners, on or about the thirty-five yard line with Ulysses (scarred by Jesus manque 9th grade English teacher's fanaticism). I think maybe we were supposed to read Finnegan's for a Modern British & Irish fiction class I took in college, but I sure didn't.

2. McCabe and Mrs. Miller. The little description is enough: 'haunting, wintry Western.' Altman at the peak of his powers, I am told.

3. Duke Ellington. I mean, heard everything here and there, by osmosis I suppose. But haven't yet given him a concerted essay. Reading this biography now which, despite Nat Hentoff's nice jacket quote, actually kind of sucks so far--feels like piffle.

4. Arcade Fire. I like Canadians, I love Montreal, I think it's neat when couples form bands, a couple of friends have told me I'd really love them. I guess we'll see.

5. Ulysses S. Grant's Ripper of a Yarn. Interesting: Mark Twain published this bad boy.

6. Candy. They're sort of the great white whale of power pop for me. I don't know why I haven't just bought this. Maybe today I will.

7. Monte Walsh. The book not the movie, though I have an inexplicable fondness for Tom Sellect that has nothing to do with his moustache, and certainly not his love of the firearm.

8. East Boston Pizza. Pizza, pizza. Now I'm really hungry. Is it okay to serve pizza at a wedding? Probably not. Also, that was just a joke.

Saturday's New Tradition

Every Saturday, an assignment.

This week's: use our comment section below to talk to us about Simon & Garfunkel. Love them? Talk about it.

Let's go.

(Next week: Donna Martin: boobulous or breasticle?)

Better L8 than Never

Alright alright alright:

1. Happy Birthday to Ian: A quick little happy early birthday to my nephew-to-be, Ian: at age 3, already a threat to cats, bowls of oatmeal, and naptimes the world around.

2. the 80-page an evening regimen: Why not give yourself a little homework assigment? Got me through this baby in short order. Bully. (The careful clicker will note this one on the sidebar. 'Amorous assignations,' indeed.

3. William Sonoma Mayo Clinic Mellstrom Stuffed Green Peppers: my delicious dinner last evening and this evening. Ground turkey and wheat bulghur. Oh HELL yeah.

4. Oden vs. Durant: I could get into this one, via Bill Simmons' blog. I'd be like 75% fine with him if he'd just stick to basketball, the only sport he knows well--very well, at that. Or does he just sound like he's got his shit together to me b/c my basketball acumen is, how you say, a very loose stool?

5. Harpoon Winter Warmer. Come on, it tastes like pumpkins, plus it's pretty filling. A great sipping beer.

6. The Serious American Thespian Liev Schreiber. Hooked into a few recent episodes of CSI. This guy does more with a little eyebrow twitch than the entire NBC network does with a mouthful of scenery. Plus he looks like a dog.

7. Alien Man vs. Bird Flu: from the website (ital. mine): "Author Steve Quayle addressed various topics including the recent spate of bird deaths in the US and Australia and the strange smell in New York. He also touched on end times, fallen angels & giants...(he) cited an email he received from a person in a Chicago suburb who described witnessing a white flash over a power line and then suddenly saw around 500 birds drop dead."

8. Decency. Sometimes it's okay to not have a fully-formed witticism (yawn) at the ready within 2 or 3 minutes of someone dying. I know she was dumb, blonde, had fake cans, and got way more ink than any of us: mortal sins in today's vortex, all of them. I know this is a little schoolmarmy, but fuck it, I have the floor...sometimes it's okay to just say, wow, that's fucked up, and leave it at that.

Ladies and Gentlemen Your Attention Please

Very pleased to announce our plans for the East Coast release of Disciple & Punish/Muff (Heavy Fuzz Records) on April 1. 26 hot tracks of heavy fuzz music. To the left.

We'll be playing Boston and NYC record release gigs at the end of March with special touring member The Milkman. Dates and venues TBA.

Look for a West Coast tour and CD release in July. In the meantime you're welcome to content yourselves over here. Don't sleep on The Bunco Men, neither. Gigs to the right.

Ate is Enough

8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 things I'm done with:

1. "The terrorists have won" Not funny, stopped being funny like 4 years ago, not even funny if it's a funny at some unfunny's expense.

2. mea culpa in re: justina. "Unless, of course, it’s with the ladies. Sexy ladies. Sexy ladies he can talk to at the clubs. Sexy ladies he’d prefer not to talk to at all. The new Justin’s got needs, ya’ll." Wow. Really, really retarded. Hey lady, it's okay to like things that suck. We all do. But quit it with the apologies that aren't apologies but are kind of apologies for being so very touched by it all.

3. dry, cracking feet. My feet are a frigging disaster area, though less so now than a couple of days ago.

4. Seinfeld reruns. I think I'm close to saturation point here. I know there are episodes I haven't seen: why won't they ever air those?

5. February. What a nothing-happening, shiftless month this is. Except for my man the King's birthday later on.

6. Those Mac commercials. Can we nuclear bomb absolutely everyone involved in the conception, production, and celebration of this ad campaign? Seriously? It's not a fucking lifestyle choice, it's just a fucking computer. If I am missing something, I guess I just don't want to know.

7. Restless sleep. I would very much like to fall into a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep at some point soon. Just one night would be fine.

8. Me. I'd rather think of eight things I like. Next time I will.

Saturday Potpourri

Some hotlinks for you on this grey, fuzzed-out Saturday morning: from the I Fucking Love Bob Seger department, go beat the System...Power Pop doesn't get much more perfect than this Badfinger classic...in a clash of the titans, JBL takes on Godzilla...a very, very plaintive entreaty...and the old, classic Creature Double Feature promo...The Chairman and The King...the Benny Hinn Show...this song sounds great on your headphones in Washington Square Park, anytime it's snowtime...global Hollywood squares, supergroup-style...

Back to the virtual waiting room for Red Sox tickets.

Eightball By Request

My man the King* handed down the word, so here we go:

1. Crossfit. I've linked this before, I'll do it again. I love these workouts, even if I have to drop poundages by forty, fifty, sometimes sixty percent. Jon and I did the filthy fifty the other day; I was really proud of us for finishing without puking. Check out the overhead squat competition from Thursday's workout. Sick.

2. McMahon vs. Trump. 'the mind...the mind...is weak'

3. Great football. It's been forever since I watched a football game that good, even longer since that stomach-tightening kickoff feeling lasted all 60 minutes. I find it hard nowadays to work myself up to that feeling in front of a national telecast--all that fantasy football verbiage; lines and spreads; fat assholes saying nothing. But this game was worth the wait in every possible way.

4. The Greatest Radio Station of All-Time (except for piece of shit Saint Cal). Thanks to my fiance for the greatest Christmas present ever besides her agreeing to marry me. I mean, look at this. Wow.

5. Saturday mornings. The new best hours. Walks to Whole Foods, Brookline mornings.

6. Cheapo Classics from Borders. I enjoy the Rumsfeld quote in re: The Iliad in the linkes article. Got a combo Odyssey/Iliad the other week; the whole thing was almost too pretty to open.

7. High K, no BB. Nasty. Ben Sheets is fucking awesome. If he pitched in a major market, or if it were 1982 and he had Charlie Moore, Robin Yount, and Gorman Thomas up the middle, he'd be famouser than Amos, though maybe not as famous as Amos Otis.

8. Will the Wolf Survive? Michael Cole should be afraid. Very, very afraid.

B-Sides and Bee Sides

Why don't you come on over to the Abbey Lounge on Tuesday nite and hear some b-sides and the assorted cover or two with the Bunco Men and Chewbacca.

Kind of a Piece of Crap

I have about 7 or 8 rules of engagement with popular culture, among which "change channel whenever Will Smith/Jennifer Aniston/Whoopi Goldberg/Sgt. Pepper appears onscreen" and "anything Vince McMahon produces is worth a second look" number prominently.

After last night's Criminal Intent, I am only too happy to report, at long last, that Rule #4, "root against Richard Kind in all his endeavors," found wonderful fruition in the form of Detective Bobby Goren PWNING this assclown.

I mean, seriously, look at him.

TOTAL EFFING SCUM.

The One

You know, you grow up and you learn to play your instrument and you move beyond cheap explications of gumby family dramas, and maybe you even learn to sing a little bit somewhere along the way and I guess you get to forgetting that the one it all started with was Psychocandy.

Thank you for basically everything, Jim and Billy. And feedback and melody. The one before the other, like the chicken made the egg.

I fucking love the Jesus and Mary Chain. I guess smashing that mystery here feels like those endless wonderings on barre chords, open strings, mikes facing amps, goddamn how did they fucking get that sound???