Spidey Senses TINGLE LIKE A MOFO!!

From Personal Email Conversations v6.327

"superglue that poopytube!"

Fauxm.

New computers in the lab

+discarded packing material

-------------------------------

New artwork in progress

What's he building in there?

What the hell is he building in there?

He has subscriptions to those magazines

He never waves when he goes by

He's hiding something from the rest of us

He's all to himself,

I think I know why

He took down the tire-swing from the pepper tree

He has no children of his own, you see

He has no dog, he has no friends

And his lawn is dying

And what about those packages he sends?

What's he building in there?

With that hook light on the stairs

What's he building in there?

I'll tell you one thing,

he's not building a playhouse for the children

What's he building in there?

Now what's that sound from underneath the door?

He's pounding nails into a hardwood floor

And I swear to God I heard someone moaning low

And I keep seeing the blue light of a TV show

He has a router and a table saw

And you won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw

There's poison underneath the sink of course

There's also enough formaldehyde to choke a horse

What's he building in there?

What the hell is he building in there?

I heard he has an ex-wife in some place called Mayors Income, Tennessee

And he used to have a consulting business in Indonesia

But what's he building in there?

He has no friends but he gets a lot of mail

I bet he spent a little time in jail

I heard he was up on the roof last night, signaling with a flashlight

And what's that tune he's always whistling?

What's he building in there?

What's he building in there?

We have a right to know

Written by: Tom Waits

Published by: Jalma Music (ASCAP), © 1999

Official release: Mule Variations, Anti Inc., 1999

(Support a real artist and buy a copy of Mule Variations by Tom Waits. It's good for the soul and it isn't made from styrofoam.)

Technology Gives Me a Woody

http://tinyurl.com/yjw2a8

should I stay or should I go?

This photo has not been doctored up in any way.

I promise.

icky thump.

So on Friday, Brain and I were standing in Barnes & Noble in the always scenic Evansville, Indiana (and yes, it's lovely this time of year). He was showing me the magazine with the Teague Sparrow action figure played by Keith Richards. About the time I asked if the figure included Keith's trademark skull ring, we heard a loud thud immediately followed by the sound of glass being shattered (sha-doobie). There seemed to be a collective WTF? moment for one and all.

Being the curious types, we went to take a look-see. What we saw was a mini van crashed through the wall and window of the store. I was already thinking that I had my snazzy ass phone with me so photos would be in order. I passed a man and woman who could very well be man and wife. She was telling him that he didn't need to take a picture, but I mentioned that I had no shame and took one on the inside of the store.

















By this point, the B&N employees were starting to encourage folks to stand back, so this is as close as it got. I am guessing the dude was too busy planning his summer party to really give a shit and the white-shirted chick looks damn near irate about it all.


After the proverbial smoke cleared (and no, there was none), we went upstairs to try and get a shot from that vantage point, but there was already a congregation up there and the angle sucked ass anyway. By the time we finished and got outside, the police, fire trucks, ambulance and TV crews had arrived.


Having no shame whatsoever, I snapped this shot from the edge of the orange cone, do not cross zone. An older lady said something to the effect of "It's a good thing that we weren't standing at the gift wrap counter..."

"No, ma'am. We're greedy sonsabitches and do not believe in gifts. Thank you."

I will add that I was a tad disappointed that the news media didn't feel the need to interview the two suave gents that kept the crowd from entering a state of widespread panic in the face of danger. It's their loss, because we could have given them one hell of an eyewitness report.

Bone: I was standing there scratching myself...
Brain: ...and he was.
Bone: It itched. So I'm standing there scratching myself and minding my own damn business when all hell broke loose...
Brain: It was fucking nuts.
Bone: It sure as shit was.

(immediate test pattern to avoid the wrath of the FCC)

After that experience, we were motivating in another area of town to see the entire western flow of expressway traffic being blocked by cops. Was it a family dispute? Arby's on fire? Angry Shriners making a political statement? Terrorists? No, apparently someone hit a bicyclist and the last I heard, it was pretty serious. I will shut up now, so as not to accidentally get snotty about it.

The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon! The vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true!

we've got to get on with the film show.

In my emotionally-constipated state, I'm finding it incredibly difficult to give a shit. The sound of your voice is echoing through the room like cannon-fire in a tightly-enclosed concrete area. You're operating under the assumption that everyone wants to hear about your tales of international hijinx at decibel levels that can peel paint. Is it any wonder that I walked through the front door without so much as a "Hello", "Kiss my ass" or "Shut the fuck up"? No, probably not. I had the insane idea that it might be more peaceful within my sacred walls. Obviously, I was mistaken. Add the one whose footsteps sound like a Clydesdale wearing tap shoes and the gay ass banter of Little Lord Fontleroy and his need to seemingly photocopy the entire Encyclopedia Britannica in triplicate outside my office and the peace, love, and mellow shit dries up faster than a desert rain puddle at high noon. Oh what a shame that it's a mere 5.5 hours until we can pull the plug on this Happyfest and go our separate ways until next week calls us back to talk about the same shit that no one gave a flying fuck about in the first place.




Not Now John (Roger Waters)

Fuck all that we've got to get on with these
got to compete with the wily Japanese
there's too many home fires burning and not enough trees s
o fuck all that we've got to get on with these

Can't stop lose job mind gone silicone
watch bomb get away pay day make hay
break down need fix big six
clickity click hold on oh no brrrrrrrrrrrring bingo

make 'em laugh make 'em cry make 'em dance in the aisles
make 'em pay make 'em stay make 'em feel OK

not now John we've got to get on with the film show
Hollywood waits at the end of the rainbow
who cares what it's about as long as the kids go
not now John got to get on with the show
hang on John we've got to get on with this
I don't know what it is
but it fits on her like...

come at the end of the shift we'll go and get pissed
but not now John I've got to get on with this
hold on John I think there's something good on
I used to read books but...
it could be the news
or some other abuse
or it could be reusable shows

fuck all that we've got to get on with these
got to compete with the wily Japanese
no need to worry about the Vietnamese
got to bring the Russian bear to his knees
well, maybe not the Russian bear
maybe the Swedes
we showed Argentina
now let's go and show these
make us feel tough and wouldn't Maggie be pleased
nah nah nah nah nah nah!

s'cusi dove il bar
se para collo pou eine toe bar
s'il vous plait ou est le bar
oi' where's the fucking bar John!

The Mask -and- Liquacrap

Retro Post X 2

Morphed With an Unintentional Flip

It ain't sposeta be upside down.

shit adds up at the bottom

TOOL

Roberts Stadium

Evansville, Indiana

June 17, 2007

(Due to operator error, you won't get shots of the suave ass lasers and fancy ass visuals. Instead you get the "Hold your lighters in the air and wave 'em like you're sporting underwear" shot.)

jambi

ions (briefly)

stinkfist (extended)

46 & 2

schism (extended)

lost keys

rosetta stoned

flood

wings pt 1

10,000 days

lateralus (ext. drum solo ft. melt banana drummer and guitarist)

vicarious

Canadian Bear Takes a Ride

Sister Bloggerific In Haiti Action

Insanity in the Key of Milk

Anyone out there have a problem with thinking the date is a week or so ahead of what it really is? If so, check your milk.

For some time now I've been running on "milk time". Personally, I fucking hate milk, but I have to stock it for my boy and the occasional bowl of cereal. A couple of months ago I kept thinking the date was a certain date only to check the computer to find out that date was like a week away. I was like wtf is on such-and-such date that's so damn important?! I never remembered what I was supposed to do on that day until I checked the date on the milk that night for the boy's dinner.

I was like, "no way, THAT couldn't be THE date I've been thinking about all this time!" I let it pass.

All day yesterday, I thought it was the 19th. I'm like wtf?! I go home last night and looked at the milk. Yep, sure enough, it expires on the fucking 19th. So I go about my business, go to another damn baseball game, come home and go to bed. Get up this morning, get ready, come to work and I'm like, "What's today? Oh yeah, I think it's the 19th." A few seconds go by and I'm like...


MILK!!!!!!!!! GRRRRRR!!!! I FUCKING HATE MILK!!!!!!

O'

I know, we're still warring and shit like that, but have we not progressed enough as a society where we can lose the "o' " in "o'clock"? I hardly think it's just a local Kentucky thang. Don't we all say, "I"ll see you at 8 o'clock" for the most part? Oh sure sometimes it's, "I'll see you at 8pm" or "8 sharp" but come on you can admit it, sometimes you say "o'clock" and well don't you feel quaint and old fashioned doing so?

I say enough is enough. I think we need to ban the "o'clock" bullshit and update that muhfugga.

No, I'm not going to make any suggestions on replacements, I'm simply pointing it out that maybe something should be done.

Write a senator, or somebody, today!! Heck, at least mention it to the cleaning staff!! Cab driver? Big Ass Pretzel vendor? Man on the street? Heck, stare deeply into your plumber's crack and inquire within!! SOMEthing!!

This in from Family Members...

My brother and my oldest sister haven't been speaking for several years (you know, to each other, they talk to everybody else) and so it's fitting they make the same post together. Don'tcha think?

From the brother:
"You won't believe this, but postal regulations do not require the
carrier to pickup your mail!! I'm serious. If the carrier does not
have anything for you, they are not required to stop and pickup your
mail!! Unbelievable. I'd like to have a job that does not require
me to work."


From the sister:
"Just wanted to tell everyone that I made it to Haiti safely!!!!!! Actually we had to help the small plane pilot wind the rubber-band propeller first, but it spun long enough to fly across the island. We even had to climb above the clouds because of a storm brewing. It was such a small plane that the temperature dropped in the cabin when we went through the clouds!


After unpacking, meeting the kids, having supper we spent the evening on the front porch rocking babies with the most beautiful mountain view. It's like a little preschool here. Babies age 4 months to children about 8 years old. We'll start our VBS tomorrow. "

both sides of the line.

(keep in mind that the gent behind the drums is the one the whole hootenanny was for)

Ideas Once Called "Genius. Pure fucking, unbridled genius."

1. A door matt that flashes like a camera when you step on it and
has a robotic voice that says, "Thank you. To save Upskirt Photo right-
step twice. To email photo, hop on one foot."

2. A skit series called "Slow Day at the Morgue" where a small,
randomly rotating, cast of employees acts out scenes from their past
with nude cadavers as characters they know. It'll be billed as "a dark
strip into the past".

When Bloggerifics Attack: The Canadian Front

Taken with Bone Machine in mind: This is an ACDC concert right in the middle of a LEGO museum.
The first night of the trip: Bloggy Jr and "Baby Fluff Fluff"
From the Guinness World Records museum: Gnomeage.
From the Guinness World Records museum: After too much "trip food".
From our hotel in Niagara: There was an echo in the bafroom.
On the Maid of the Mist: Bloggerific Sr
On the Maid of the Mist: Bloggerific Jr

In memorium.

It's difficult enough to trudge through your morning routine in order to get yourself beautified and ready to be chewed up by your daily routine without having a curve ball thrown at your head right out of the morning gate. But it happens...it happens a lot and it happens often.

I went through my usual procedure of making myself semi-presentable to the gaping mouth of the outside world, threw out some milk bones for the dog (Bob) that lives across the street and staggered to my awaiting chariot to whisk me to the occupational hazards that were waiting like a stalking butler. I hopped in my car, flipped through the daily stack of CDs, chose a Devo disc from the stack, and away I went, but only if my car had cooperated with me. The key said yes, but the battery said no. I was on the side of the key and the battery stabbed us both in the back repeatedly.

I directly called the towing service that I've dealt with in the past and was told that if I was a AAA member (and I am) that I should call them, so I did. In a moment of reflection, I can see that the third A in AAA makes all the difference in the world. Otherwise, a bunch of recovering alcoholics would show up insisting on introducing themselves. Hopefully, successfully starting the car would be one of the twelve steps in question. But I digress. It's what I do.

I called AAA and it was odd to hear a voice that is so rhythmic and what not that it makes me question if it's real or Memorex. Well, it was real and it freaked me out a bit. As the situation played itself out, I waited for the truck with the jump start capabilities to arrive while being counseled by Bob Dog on the way of the world. He seems to have his paw on the pulse of the world and unfortunately, I cannot divulge the secrets that he told me. It was probably just the heat getting to me.

Mr. Tow Truck arrived, jump started the car instantly, and no sooner than we both prepared to go our respective ways, the battery decided to flip me the bird once again. Apparently the hood ornament/logo decided it was time to bail on this sinking ship and it was about to come unglued (sort of like the owner). Another jump start, let the car run 20 minutes to charge it a tad, then make a beeline to the dealer and hopefully it wouldn't die in traffic, because that would suck. It would make me say words that I've only heard in rated R movies and would never ever say in daily life. Convincing? No? I didn't think so.

As luck would have it, I made it to the Chrysler dealer and no sooner than I managed to get the windows up, the bitch died again. I couldn't very well leave them down or some rat bastard might steal my Motorhead air freshener. By this time, it was after 10:00 and I should have just stayed home and let Mr. Tow Truck fix everything and I could have attempted to sleep. It never works out quite like that and this is no different. I stepped out into the parking lot to arrange for a ride to pick me up and no sooner than black shoe touched the concrete, a salesman swooped in and asked me if I was being helped. Yes and I figure you're going to try and "help" me some more. He spied my Misfits phone case (that is actually an MP3 player case, but don't tell anyone) and asked if I was a Misfits fan. Uh, yeah. He then proceeded to literally burst into a song from the Famous Monsters album. Odd, but thankfully the song in question happens to be my favorite from that album.

He then started asking me about old school punk bands and it was a jolly old time, except for the fact that I had already had a less than stellar morning, was standing in a parking lot being serenaded by a car salesman about cutting off arms and legs, and I was still delusional enough to think getting to the workplace would be simply grand. The parking lot American Idol contestant realized that I wouldn't be buying a new car and left me alone to wander the mean streets of downtown Owensboro to visit an ATM, score a bottle of diet root beer and brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts while waiting for the ride. While en route to get the beverage and pastries, a co-worker drove by honked and said "Have fun!" It was unfortunate that my reaction time was slowed to the point of not being able to raise a middle finger in his general direction. It may have a delayed effect as he will arrive at 3:00 today and to quote a video game at YPS!! Central, "It would be a pity if something happened to your car."

I eventually made it to work, I'm awaiting the call from the automotive healer, and mourning the loss of my battery. Not to mention that it didn't keel over while on the road to or from Nashville on Saturday. That would have been more gay than hearing show tunes performed by Toby Keith with the Village People at a Gay Pride Parade on Judy Garland's birthday.

Not that there's anything wrong with that...except for Toby Keith.

Still Standing.

Prior to 1998, I was vaguely familiar with a band called Jason & The Scorchers. The extent of my knowledge was that I'd heard the name in the 80's, maybe seen a video, and that two of my cousins were into them. Aside from that extensive knowledge, I knew absolutely nothing.

At some point in mid to late 1997, one of the aforementioned cousins slipped me a mix tape of various Scorcher tunes. At first, I will admit that I wasn't completely sold on the deal. I liked some of the rock songs (Self Sabotage), but the country side didn't do much for me at the time. As time went on, I found myself liking a little more than the previous listen. I kept hearing that they were good on album, but to really experience the band, you have to see them live. Quite frankly, I've heard that a lot and sometimes, the live experience isn't anything to write home about. With that in mind, I was willing to give the Scorchers a shot when their live disc set, Midnight Roads And Stages Seen, was released. With those CDs, I inched closer to fandom.

"White Lies" from Late Night with Conan O'Brien, 1998-ish.

A month later, I went to my first Nashville River Stages festival. I was a big fan of the band Cracker and enjoyed various Widespread Panic songs, so I opted to go to day one only with the lady that I was involved with at the time. A few weeks prior to the festival, downtown Nashville was hit by a tornado and some serious flooding in the afterglow. The festival went on at a slightly different location. We enjoyed Cracker and as Widespread Panic's set drew closer the collegiate neo-hippie types began to move in like a horde of locusts. Between the crowded conditions, the patchouli and incense (which gives me diabolical headaches) in the air, songs that went on for days, and some jackass who was gesturing very close to my girlfriend's cheek with a lit cigarette while telling a story to his hippie brethren, it was clear that we would not be staying past the fifteen minute mark of the WP set. After the fact, I found out that Jason & The Scorchers played the second night...a near miss and a big ass mistake on my part.

As (good) luck would have it, another opportunity to see them arrived in August of 1998. Alina's birthday was a few days after the Scorchers show and it seemed like an excellent reason to make a trip to Nashville. Back in those days, Nashville used to have free weekly shows at Riverfront Park and this show was to feature the Scorchers, Todd Snider, and Tommy Womack. Frequent readers of YPS!! will hopefully recognize Tommy's name, but in those days, I was only moderately familiar with the man's work and mainly through his album with the Bis-quits. Unfortunately, we managed to miss both opening acts and by the time we got there, the Scorchers had already taken the stage.

During the Scorchers' set, I probably stood there in open mouthed disbelief. They were playing with an energy and fire that seemed like a dying breed. It was almost like they were touched directly by the hand of God, which would explain the overwhelming positivity that I felt that night. It was the closest that I've come to having a religious experience in life. No exaggeration. After the show, we had the honor of meeting drummer Perry Baggs and Jason Ringenberg...the Jason of Jason & The Scorchers.

I had the pleasure of seeing the Scorchers several times over the years since they seemed to play their hometown of Nashville fairly often in the late 90's/early 00's. When a lot of the world was wrapped up in Y2K mania, I was on my way to ring in the year 2000 with Jason & The Scorchers at the Exit/In in Nashville, Tennessee. As it turned out, the world didn't end and technology didn't slide down the crapper.

As years passed, the Scorcher shows became more and more rare. The band seemed to be on an indefinite hiatus. Jason released a second solo album while guitar god Warner Hodges started a construction company. It seemed like a crime for one of the finest musicians to ever pick up the instrument to be working construction. In a perfect world, Warner's name would be spoken with the same respect and regard that folks give to Jimi Hendrix or Edward Van Halen and everyone whose music blends country and rock would bow down and kiss the boots of the Scorchers. But unfortunately, this is not the case.

As the hiatus grew longer and longer, it seemed like the chances of seeing the band again faded. It was bittersweet when the message from Jason hit the Scorchers e-list that the band would be reuniting on June 2 to play a benefit show for Perry Baggs, whose health wasn't the best due to diabetes and had racked up some major medical bills from being in and out of the hospital. The idea of seeing the band again was enough to send a jaded jackass like myself through the roof with joy, but the circumstances surrounding the show brought things quickly back to reality. As a diabetic myself, the whole thing just scared the hell out of me.

Unfortunately due to a suck ass work schedule, I missed a June 1 benefit for Perry featuring the Bottlerockets, Tommy Womack, Stacie Collins and Chelle Rose, as well as missing the opportunity to have soup and sandwiches at Jason's farm with other members of the Scorcher list. In exchange for all of that, I got to drive through hellacious rain and deal with miles of road construction between Owensboro and Nashville (check out the audio post) before finally making it to the swanky ass hotel room in Nashville. With just enough time to hit a used music shop, have a sandwich at Schlotsky's, snag a Devo CD at FYE before meeting up with some of the list members and standing in line at the Exit/In for the extravaganza.

After opener Stace England's set, I was expecting the Scorchers. A group of gentlemen took the stage with instruments in hand and I said to a friend "I know that it's been a while since I've seen them, but I don't remember the Scorchers looking like that." No sooner than I turned around then out comes Perry Baggs with guitar in hand to front his band, Shotgun Club. They performed a few songs, kicked ass, and as the others left the stage, he moved behind the drums and the Scorchers commenced the ass kicking.

There was a different vibe in the air. It was a mixture of extreme happiness, sadness, fear, and a lot of things rolled into one. Strictly from a performance standpoint, it was amazing. Knowing a bit about the story behind the scenes, my respect for these gentlemen went to another level altogether. I was simply standing there watching the goodness and by the end of the 3-ish hour set (with brief intermission), I was physically and emotionally spent. The venue was hot and I felt like a potato chip, but I can't imagine what it was like for the band members. Perry played drums for many songs and when he needed a break, he stood on stage and sang back-up, and in only a few instances did he leave the stage altogether. After the show and a well-deserved break, he signed items for the fans. Pretty damn amazing for a man who is on dialysis and facing the possibility of a kidney transplant.

Hopefully the outpouring of love and support will help him kick the ass of diabetes somehow. Aside from the show itself, it was great seeing that much kindness and respect going towards one gentleman. Hearing of folks that had benefit shows in their hometowns that collected $500 and $1200 respectively and how the Hatch Print Shop donated their services to make event posters for the cause makes the world seem a little less evil.

Someone posted some words about Perry on the Scorcher list that summed it up far better than I could ever do:

"When trouble comes for me, and it will, I hope to face it with half the courage and grace of Mister Perry Baggs. That lil' feller's got balls of Tennessee heartwood hickory, wrapped in wrought iron."

That Settles It

If the fortune cookie wants me to travel, then I'm travelin'!! The boy and I are going to Canada!!

Ya'll behave yourselves now!!

Oh, wait, "new" frontiers. Eh, it'll be new to the boy.

A Friday Funky Fact from YPS!!

Adolf Hitler was allegedly into golden showers.