I don’t care who you vote for. Really. I could care less. And you shouldn’t care less who I vote for. You can vote for McCain. You can for Obama. You can vote for a purple M&M or Miss February, really, I could care less. What I don’t get is these pinheads that dot their yard with political signs.
Call me old fashioned, but I really don’t think stuff like this should be very public. For me, neither guy blows me away. The very limited research I’ve done on both show me that neither share my political beliefs very much.
Sure enough as I walk Bauer, I see these signs up on people’s yards, and I just don’t get it. I just don’t care who you vote for. I am happy you feel so inclined as to broadcast it to the rest of the neighborhood, but really, what do those signs do? Some of ‘em are even specific. “Women for McCain”. “Drunken Irish for O’Bama” Stupid Mc’s.
Some people get into voting for the state representatives, congress, house, etc. Cripes, I am not that up on local politics to even know who to vote for. I shouldn’t be knocking these folks for being politically aware, I’m just saying no one else really cares, or should care.
It’s funny how most of the varied signs in a yard are pretty much all for one party. I think that’s being kind of blind. Just because this guy happens to be in your party of choice doesn’t automatically make him/her the best choice for the job. You don’t see very many Obama signs in the same yard as Republican signs.
I often think of creating my own bullshit signs to put up in my yard. Stuff like
I don’t freaking care who you vote for
If I vote for this guy, will you, too? Can we start a club?
I’m voting for ___________
Obama? Mc Cain? I’m voting for both
As we get closer to November, we’ll see more and more of these signs. They serve no real purpose; they shouldn’t sway anyone to vote for one over the other. Personally, if I see a bunch of signs spring up for one guy on the block, I am automatically gonna vote for the other guy. My neighbors are idiots. Those signs can work against the candidate if you think about it. If you see the town idiot has his yard covered in so and so’s signs, can you really vote for him? “Well, look, hon, Crazy Old Earl is voting McCain. Guess we’ll vote for Obama now.”
It’s an interesting campaign for sure. Either way history will be made; either a black guy is president of a woman will be VP. (I would be lax to not point out that 24 had both a black president and woman president.) Personally, I think McCain has it in the bag. I think Obama is the flashy choice, and I’m sure he has some good ideas. He seems to appeal to the younger voters. But I really think middle America will have trouble voting for a black guy. They might say they will, but once that curtain is closed, they’re voting McCain. I think the biggest knock against Obama is his damn name. Barack Obama. What the fuck is that. I mean, you have all the ideals that the voting public would want, and look like Whitey McWhitey, but when you have a name like Barack, it’s a bit hard to swallow. Although check me on this, but I believe in Hebrew Barack might mean William? I am not sure about that. I think if his name was like Joe Smith, or Tom Miller, people would have a much easier time voting for him. Having a last name that rhymes with Osama clearly doesn’t help either.
And what kind of writer would I be if I didn’t offer an idea? Here’s a better idea for your signs. Instead of just blindly plunking down a McCain sign, how about explaining why you are voting for so and so.
I’m voting Mc Cain because ____________
Obama’s my man because _____________
Now that’s far better PR for your guy than just his name, right?
If either of these pinheads wanted to sway me in the sign department, they would print up signs like “McCain is a douchebag”. Now something like that would turn heads. “Obama is a Muslim and all Muslims hate America”. Gimme something that edgy.
I think there is a large contingent of Americans who just aren’t happy with either choice. I mean, both take in millions and millions of dollars from international corporations and special interest groups. The rich don’t want to see anything change. The middle class is absolutely desperate these days, and neither will properly serve us. It’s all about big money. So here’s another one of my patented Brilliant Ideas. I am going to create sign for those of us disenfranchised with both guys. Signs like:
Seriously, is this the best we could do?
Do over
None of the above.
I don’t like either
I know anybody but Bush, but c’mon here…..
Speaking of ‘none of the above’ I did hear a theory one time. When you go to vote, there should be a ‘none of the above’ switch. You still vote, but you don’t vote for either guy. I think that’s brilliant. Although, this would have to be an option right after the primaries. Could you imagine the chaos if on election night, the winner was ‘none of the above’ by a landslide? It would be anarchy. Dogs and cats living together. True chaos.
With the debates starting tonight, this will only get worse. While I have watched them in the past, it really gets to be 4th grade recess. “Well, my opponent says this, but I…..” “Tommy thinks the sky is green, but I think its fuchsia.” OK, maybe that’s not a great analogy, but I was just looking for a way to squeeze “fuchsia” into a political post. Done and done.
The ironic part is I am pretty much doing the same thing. Instead of my dog poop infested front yard, I am hanging my “sign” up in my cyberyard for all the world to see. The difference is there are no names on my sign. And I am no different than any of my neighbors. And just what the fuck do I know anyway? I’m just some unemployed yahoo in sweatpants and a 15 year old Bon Jovi shirt spouting off.
DVD Bonus Material
Alternate Opening
So they say the 2 things you shouldn’t talk about are sex and politics. Maybe religion is thrown in there, too. I find some inspiration in talking about ‘taboo’ topics. Other bloggers can drone on and on about Lindsay Lohan and whatnot, but occasionally I do like (to try) to write ‘think’ pieces. I do have certain experience about the whole ‘not talking about sex & politics’ thing, though. Many, many years ago, I was on a first date with a girl; some NFL cheerleader or such (hey, it’s my story). Despite my best efforts to the contrary, the conversation went to politics. Now, I know as much as politics as the lamp over there, but I’m half as bright. She says, “I’m a Republican. I mean, I’ve blown a few Democrats and all. But I mostly fuck Republican. I’ve never had an Independent yet, though. I wonder what I would do… Probably something I’ve never done before.” That was the year I voted for Perot and got 5th base.
Deleted Scenes
This is the time of year when I get political emails. I get them from guys who usually send me porn; evil, dirty, nasty porn. I’m inclined to open their stuff first. Instead of seeing some girl getting a Dirty Sanchez, it’s a political clip or link to something on YouTube. What a fricking disappointment. That’s deceptive, and it pisses me off every time when I expect to get something good and get some hype or commercial. So, dudes, my message to you: send me porn, but keep your fucking politics to yourself.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Wisdom
Originally written on 3/22/7, my birthday
The closer you live to a train crossing, the more likely you are to hit a train every fucking time by
Dogs can pretty much eat anything. Sure they might puke it back out in a few hours, or poop strange colors for days, but, still, technically, they can chow anything
While some grey has crept into my scruff over the years, I have found exactly one grey hair in my head, which I promptly pulled the sumbitch right out
All those kids I mock at the mall for dressing different and wearing the t-shirt of the band of the week were me 19 years ago
The older you get, the harder it is to have true enthusiasm
The older you get, the easier you become jaded
The Olympics are a waste of time and money. (Quick, name me 5 famous American Olympians. And saying the 1980 hockey team doesn’t count) Congrats, you trained all your life to win a gold medal in the three man luge. Now go back to greeting the white trash at the Walmart in Bumhicksville. The Special Olympics mean far more to those athletes
If Christina Applegate ever met me, she would totally fall for me. In a minute
It’s my experience that 95% of people don’t realize all they have and are ever truly grateful for it. Seriously, take a day, walk around your place, and be thankful for all in your life. Somewhere out there is a homeless vet who did more for this country than I ever did, and has less
I fucking had this look long before Nickelback, damn it
One of the things wrong with this country is that it’s gone the way of the few. If 4 jackoffs have a problem with something, well, then we have to change everything around
Whenever you can, support the little guy
After 21, there pretty much aren’t any big birthdays left
Rarely does the beer taste as sweet as the cheap beer you used to get wasted on when you were 15
If you really want to think “green” and save the planet, the solution is simple. Don’t have kids. All these fucktards that drive their 4 kids to lacrosse practice in a big ass SUV with Planet Earth bumper stickers on it are hypocrites
The coolest car in the history of TV is KITT from Knight Rider. One day I hope to be rich enough to buy it. Second place; Speed Buggy
Summer is the best season off all. And if you disagree, you’re a motard. Buffalo knows what I’m talking about
NASCAR hasn’t been the same without Dale Earnhardt
The best think to drink before going to bed after a night of drinking is Gatorade
The best thing to eat before going to bed is some cottage cheese and then peanut butter. You will have vivid dreams the first few weeks
No matter how bummed out I get, I just need a few hours looking at the bay or ocean to be a new man. For a few hours anyway
People who park in handicapped spots, even just to “run in”, are true scum of the earth
If there is a God, and he’s Buddha, we’re all pretty screwed
You shouldn’t live to work, you should work to live. When I hurt my knee a while back, I noticed I became more grumpy when all the things I liked to do were taken away from me.
I don’t write near enough
The decision makers at the top of big companies are rarely in touch enough with the real world to see the true impact
If you ever had anyone write a song about you, well, that is awesome
I try not to have regrets, but I do regret not going away to college, and I do regret never learning to play an instrument
You don’t spend enough time with your dog. Ever
Life should be the relentless pursuit of a good time. That’s my motto, and I try to stick to it
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, try to have a good time. It might not make sense in certain situations, but at least give it a try
Getting older means peeing in the middle of the night. Sometimes more than once
Added Commentary
This was written on my birthday last year. I can see I was in a reflective mood. I can see how some of these one liners have pretty much been themes in later klogs. I can vouch that a lot of the "getting older" ones are still too Goddamned true. I still eat cottage cheese and peanut butter before bed most nights, but the dreams have long since stopped. How ironic that line about the decisions made by the head honchos of all these corporations are rarely in tough with the real world. That's even more true today. Call me Kreskin. I am also guessing that this was a clearinghouse post. I had all these ideas floating around my head, but they weren't fully developed enough to merit their own post. Lately, it's been hard for me to hold to that relentless pursuit motto. I have learned now that it takes money. And I have failed miserably at that 'whatever you're doing have a good time' thing. And I know I am still so right about Christina falling for me....
The closer you live to a train crossing, the more likely you are to hit a train every fucking time by
Dogs can pretty much eat anything. Sure they might puke it back out in a few hours, or poop strange colors for days, but, still, technically, they can chow anything
While some grey has crept into my scruff over the years, I have found exactly one grey hair in my head, which I promptly pulled the sumbitch right out
All those kids I mock at the mall for dressing different and wearing the t-shirt of the band of the week were me 19 years ago
The older you get, the harder it is to have true enthusiasm
The older you get, the easier you become jaded
The Olympics are a waste of time and money. (Quick, name me 5 famous American Olympians. And saying the 1980 hockey team doesn’t count) Congrats, you trained all your life to win a gold medal in the three man luge. Now go back to greeting the white trash at the Walmart in Bumhicksville. The Special Olympics mean far more to those athletes
If Christina Applegate ever met me, she would totally fall for me. In a minute
It’s my experience that 95% of people don’t realize all they have and are ever truly grateful for it. Seriously, take a day, walk around your place, and be thankful for all in your life. Somewhere out there is a homeless vet who did more for this country than I ever did, and has less
I fucking had this look long before Nickelback, damn it
One of the things wrong with this country is that it’s gone the way of the few. If 4 jackoffs have a problem with something, well, then we have to change everything around
Whenever you can, support the little guy
After 21, there pretty much aren’t any big birthdays left
Rarely does the beer taste as sweet as the cheap beer you used to get wasted on when you were 15
If you really want to think “green” and save the planet, the solution is simple. Don’t have kids. All these fucktards that drive their 4 kids to lacrosse practice in a big ass SUV with Planet Earth bumper stickers on it are hypocrites
The coolest car in the history of TV is KITT from Knight Rider. One day I hope to be rich enough to buy it. Second place; Speed Buggy
Summer is the best season off all. And if you disagree, you’re a motard. Buffalo knows what I’m talking about
NASCAR hasn’t been the same without Dale Earnhardt
The best think to drink before going to bed after a night of drinking is Gatorade
The best thing to eat before going to bed is some cottage cheese and then peanut butter. You will have vivid dreams the first few weeks
No matter how bummed out I get, I just need a few hours looking at the bay or ocean to be a new man. For a few hours anyway
People who park in handicapped spots, even just to “run in”, are true scum of the earth
If there is a God, and he’s Buddha, we’re all pretty screwed
You shouldn’t live to work, you should work to live. When I hurt my knee a while back, I noticed I became more grumpy when all the things I liked to do were taken away from me.
I don’t write near enough
The decision makers at the top of big companies are rarely in touch enough with the real world to see the true impact
If you ever had anyone write a song about you, well, that is awesome
I try not to have regrets, but I do regret not going away to college, and I do regret never learning to play an instrument
You don’t spend enough time with your dog. Ever
Life should be the relentless pursuit of a good time. That’s my motto, and I try to stick to it
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, try to have a good time. It might not make sense in certain situations, but at least give it a try
Getting older means peeing in the middle of the night. Sometimes more than once
Added Commentary
This was written on my birthday last year. I can see I was in a reflective mood. I can see how some of these one liners have pretty much been themes in later klogs. I can vouch that a lot of the "getting older" ones are still too Goddamned true. I still eat cottage cheese and peanut butter before bed most nights, but the dreams have long since stopped. How ironic that line about the decisions made by the head honchos of all these corporations are rarely in tough with the real world. That's even more true today. Call me Kreskin. I am also guessing that this was a clearinghouse post. I had all these ideas floating around my head, but they weren't fully developed enough to merit their own post. Lately, it's been hard for me to hold to that relentless pursuit motto. I have learned now that it takes money. And I have failed miserably at that 'whatever you're doing have a good time' thing. And I know I am still so right about Christina falling for me....
Klog
Originally written 3/2/2007
OK, I admit; as I type this, it’s “filler”. You know, like most cuts on, say, a Sony or EMI cd. But it has potential to be deserving of being called a good post. As I type, I have one general idea/theme to get across, and that’s it. One hook with a few elaborations. And it might turn into a bit of a declaration. So let’s see where I ramble on-
Longtime readers –and by that, I mean people who have been reading the Miss for months or years, as opposed to those dimwits who might take 4 hours to read a 10 minute newsletter-will know my disdain for the word “blog”. Blog is just a nasty sound word. It sounds like a synonym for phlem. “Man, I don’t know what my problem is, I’ve been hacking up blogs all damn day” Blog sounds like it’s a yellow/green viscous mix mucus that has stink lines emanating from it. Blogosphere, blogging-all that stuff just sounds ugly & nasty. I would much rather ‘write ‘ about something than ‘blog’ about it. First of all, there’s like a million fucking ‘bloggers’ out there. Lord knows if anyone reads what the hell they’re ‘blogging’ about. Bloggers sound like bitter techno nerds who sit in the basement and deconstruct Stargate episodes or Futurama DVDs. But not me. I’d rather ‘write’, even if I do fall into the very same category of “who the hell reads me”. That’s OK, I know a few folks who I have some things in common with drop in from time to time. I guess after all, it’s just about getting a thought out, and not about how many people may have read it. Though I do admit I do get stoked when people read the message board (notice I didn’t say “blog’). I get jazzed when I see the occasional reply as well.
I have now found a way to get around this ‘blog’ situation. I have to give credit to someone who does kinda the same thing, and his first initial is P, so he christened in the “plog”. Using that formula, I now christen this the Klog. It works on 2 levels. 1) it puts my name into the title, and this is all about me and 2) klog is just a misspelling of clog, which is funny because I can say I am klogging your head with my shit. Get it?
With putting a title to this, I see it’s time to give it some definition. Trying to come up with a way to nicely file it in a box is difficult. I will try to say what I do, by telling you what I won’t do.
I won’t prattle on and on about my kids. I won’t blather on and on about how my little junior is the most precious thing in the world, and is so advanced for his age, and so smart, he changed the oil in the car. I say this with a some point of reference. Years ago I worked with someone who I personally deemed a bit of a character. Her work ethic seemed fairly solid, but there was always a better-than-you attitude that went along with it. She was very judgmental yet trendy. If you didn’t agree with her thoughts than you were obviously a retard, and not deserving of the air she could fart out. She was quick to cut you down based on what you wore, yet she looked like a salvage store gone wrong. I remember she would always bust on my shoes. Ok, that’s fair game. I cop to having zero fashion sense. And I cop to having big feet-and you know what they say about guys with big feet. Anywhoo, I do have big boats, so trying to find something fashionable in a size 12 or 13 is pretty fricking impossible. You might as well just give me two shoeboxes and laces, and tell me to lace the boxes up. True I can get dressed in the dark, because most of my stuff is black, including sneakers. I think they make my feet look less boatish. And for some reason, large size flip flops are far easier to find, so there is an actual reason to wearing flips. But she would mock me, while wearing these hideous boots that Broom Hilda wouldn’t wear. But that’s OK. I saw that she built her esteem up by knocking others. I can take it. There sure must have been no mirrors in her house though.
She goes off on her own way. And she gets pregnant. She starts a not “metal” at all site, blogging about her first devil spawn. Posts follow about how this baby can shit gold, solve pi, and name all the presidents of Uruguay on site alone. How fast was that descent from smarter than thou to mushy mom? Face it toots, no one wants to hear it. Even more so with your second kid.
Concurrent with the above-and yes, I am getting to the point here-I know someone else who started a website named after his kid, and it’s more picture and video of said rugrat. While I am certain having kids is a joyous occasion, that ain’t gonna be me, and I see no need to play the “I’m a great parent” card, or bore you with another freeloader that you don’t give a rat’s ass about. I mean, really, if I wanted to do that, I would have started BauerTheMissilePup.com, and told you all about his every yelp. But I didn’t. So the point here is that I won’t prattle on about issues of that sort. Got it? But the other day, Bauer did the cutest thing….
The aim of the klog will be to have some discussion outside our music biz. I use this to talk about other things that just don’t fit the print newsletter. It will be full of relevant, cultural references. And you should feel free to comment. Consider this the first in a very occasional series of posts about what the klog isn’t. And if I can do that by cutting down people, hey, that sure makes me feel better. So look for more posts on this topic as I can this of the angle. Thanks for reading, consider yourself Klogged.
Added commentary
Just for shits & giggles, I checked out the 'blog' I referenced above that isn't so 'metal'. God, what a bunch of puke. She apparently writes every day about boring shit. She got her haircut. it rained over the weekend. It's not even fucking entertaining. It's bullshit like that that makes me want to write more compelling, edgy shit. Not everyday fucking tripe with no point. I would love to see what she looks like these days. I can't tell, since the site is nothing but 500 pictures of her offspring.
I, on the other hand, am kinda proud that I've written on different topics, with the point mostly being trying to make you laugh. I ain't here to waste your time.
Since I klogged this, it seems every motard has a blog. Overall, I think it's a good thing. I think writing can be a release, an outlet. I am still flattered whenever anyone says they read my stuff. They might say it sucked, but I am still flattered none the less. From my own POV, it's been a release valve for sure this last year plus. You know how challenging it is to make depression and rampant alcoholism funny? Excuse me as I end this commentary because I need a fresh drink....
OK, I admit; as I type this, it’s “filler”. You know, like most cuts on, say, a Sony or EMI cd. But it has potential to be deserving of being called a good post. As I type, I have one general idea/theme to get across, and that’s it. One hook with a few elaborations. And it might turn into a bit of a declaration. So let’s see where I ramble on-
Longtime readers –and by that, I mean people who have been reading the Miss for months or years, as opposed to those dimwits who might take 4 hours to read a 10 minute newsletter-will know my disdain for the word “blog”. Blog is just a nasty sound word. It sounds like a synonym for phlem. “Man, I don’t know what my problem is, I’ve been hacking up blogs all damn day” Blog sounds like it’s a yellow/green viscous mix mucus that has stink lines emanating from it. Blogosphere, blogging-all that stuff just sounds ugly & nasty. I would much rather ‘write ‘ about something than ‘blog’ about it. First of all, there’s like a million fucking ‘bloggers’ out there. Lord knows if anyone reads what the hell they’re ‘blogging’ about. Bloggers sound like bitter techno nerds who sit in the basement and deconstruct Stargate episodes or Futurama DVDs. But not me. I’d rather ‘write’, even if I do fall into the very same category of “who the hell reads me”. That’s OK, I know a few folks who I have some things in common with drop in from time to time. I guess after all, it’s just about getting a thought out, and not about how many people may have read it. Though I do admit I do get stoked when people read the message board (notice I didn’t say “blog’). I get jazzed when I see the occasional reply as well.
I have now found a way to get around this ‘blog’ situation. I have to give credit to someone who does kinda the same thing, and his first initial is P, so he christened in the “plog”. Using that formula, I now christen this the Klog. It works on 2 levels. 1) it puts my name into the title, and this is all about me and 2) klog is just a misspelling of clog, which is funny because I can say I am klogging your head with my shit. Get it?
With putting a title to this, I see it’s time to give it some definition. Trying to come up with a way to nicely file it in a box is difficult. I will try to say what I do, by telling you what I won’t do.
I won’t prattle on and on about my kids. I won’t blather on and on about how my little junior is the most precious thing in the world, and is so advanced for his age, and so smart, he changed the oil in the car. I say this with a some point of reference. Years ago I worked with someone who I personally deemed a bit of a character. Her work ethic seemed fairly solid, but there was always a better-than-you attitude that went along with it. She was very judgmental yet trendy. If you didn’t agree with her thoughts than you were obviously a retard, and not deserving of the air she could fart out. She was quick to cut you down based on what you wore, yet she looked like a salvage store gone wrong. I remember she would always bust on my shoes. Ok, that’s fair game. I cop to having zero fashion sense. And I cop to having big feet-and you know what they say about guys with big feet. Anywhoo, I do have big boats, so trying to find something fashionable in a size 12 or 13 is pretty fricking impossible. You might as well just give me two shoeboxes and laces, and tell me to lace the boxes up. True I can get dressed in the dark, because most of my stuff is black, including sneakers. I think they make my feet look less boatish. And for some reason, large size flip flops are far easier to find, so there is an actual reason to wearing flips. But she would mock me, while wearing these hideous boots that Broom Hilda wouldn’t wear. But that’s OK. I saw that she built her esteem up by knocking others. I can take it. There sure must have been no mirrors in her house though.
She goes off on her own way. And she gets pregnant. She starts a not “metal” at all site, blogging about her first devil spawn. Posts follow about how this baby can shit gold, solve pi, and name all the presidents of Uruguay on site alone. How fast was that descent from smarter than thou to mushy mom? Face it toots, no one wants to hear it. Even more so with your second kid.
Concurrent with the above-and yes, I am getting to the point here-I know someone else who started a website named after his kid, and it’s more picture and video of said rugrat. While I am certain having kids is a joyous occasion, that ain’t gonna be me, and I see no need to play the “I’m a great parent” card, or bore you with another freeloader that you don’t give a rat’s ass about. I mean, really, if I wanted to do that, I would have started BauerTheMissilePup.com, and told you all about his every yelp. But I didn’t. So the point here is that I won’t prattle on about issues of that sort. Got it? But the other day, Bauer did the cutest thing….
The aim of the klog will be to have some discussion outside our music biz. I use this to talk about other things that just don’t fit the print newsletter. It will be full of relevant, cultural references. And you should feel free to comment. Consider this the first in a very occasional series of posts about what the klog isn’t. And if I can do that by cutting down people, hey, that sure makes me feel better. So look for more posts on this topic as I can this of the angle. Thanks for reading, consider yourself Klogged.
Added commentary
Just for shits & giggles, I checked out the 'blog' I referenced above that isn't so 'metal'. God, what a bunch of puke. She apparently writes every day about boring shit. She got her haircut. it rained over the weekend. It's not even fucking entertaining. It's bullshit like that that makes me want to write more compelling, edgy shit. Not everyday fucking tripe with no point. I would love to see what she looks like these days. I can't tell, since the site is nothing but 500 pictures of her offspring.
I, on the other hand, am kinda proud that I've written on different topics, with the point mostly being trying to make you laugh. I ain't here to waste your time.
Since I klogged this, it seems every motard has a blog. Overall, I think it's a good thing. I think writing can be a release, an outlet. I am still flattered whenever anyone says they read my stuff. They might say it sucked, but I am still flattered none the less. From my own POV, it's been a release valve for sure this last year plus. You know how challenging it is to make depression and rampant alcoholism funny? Excuse me as I end this commentary because I need a fresh drink....
Concert Review: Quiet Riot
Originally written 4/23/ 2007
I need to state up top, I had absolutely no desire for this to happen. I am not proud, nor happy about this. But there is more to the story.
It was time to head back on the road to frigid Wilkes Barre, PA. We had booked Taking Back Sunday to do a signing, so I came in for the first of my 2 nights stay to the infamous Woodlands. The people at the front desk know me by now from previous visits (or just recognized my AmEx card). The girl at the counter says “O, are you here for the Quiet Riot concert tomorrow?” “Uh, no, I am here to cover the TBS signing, they’re a much hipper band these days.” I had known that QR was playing the hotel going up.
A radio station up there booked a ballroom in the hotel for their ‘birthday party’. Now, I don’t know much about this ‘classic rock’ station, but I’m willing to say that they don’t play QR songs more than 10 times a year. The station gave out free tickets to the show. It was quite a big to-do at the hotel. When I came back at about 6, they were already cordoning off the parking lot. They expected so many people to come to this shindig, they had off site parking at the racetrack down the street, and shuttles between.
Yes, for a Quiet freaking Riot show.
I had made plans with a former Gallery employee Kevin to do something that night. I was hoping that Kev would take me to the Slovak club, where the beers are like 75 cents. Now that’s my idea of a good time. I’m in my room for a bit, my cell goes off, and it’s Kevin saying,”Hey, you at the Woods?” “Duh, yea. Where we going tonight?” “Well, we’re coming to you. Me and a friend are coming to the show. We’re gonna hang out till it’s a bitch to get a beer.” “Um, OK, I’ll meet ya there.”
The die was cast. I was going to see Quiet Riot. But only to see a friend.
We meet up in the ballroom. We were strategically positioned by the door so we could get a load of the people that a free QR show would draw. And we weren’t disappointed. Plenty of NASCAR stuff (and for the record, I have to state that I coincidentally had an Earnhardt shirt on). We saw lots of mullet-type do’s, though not one strict mullet per say. We saw a few guys with the cap or do rag covering a bit of the party-in –the-rear-hair. I saw one dude in a denim jacket, long ponytail, carrying a QR LP wrapped in plastic.
Now, let’s take a look at that guy. Probably square dude, just got off working Radio Shack. But, let’s zero in on the vinyl LP. This begs some questions. 1) How long has he had said vinyl? 2) is he a true QR fan, or someone who just happened to have a QR LP hanging around and decided to try to get it signed? I would be curious to know.
It seemed to me that a lot of people were a bit nervous about being there. A lot of people seemed to be looking around, hoping not to see someone they know at the big Quiet Riot shew. I didn’t have to worry about that, since the only 2 people I knew in Wilkes Barre were already with me. Other people clearly embraced it. I saw one young kid-had to be like 22-23. He had on a 1984 QR jersey with the black sleeves cut off. He had on the Mike Reno/Loverboy red headband, too. I mean, c’mon, that was a joke right? There were a train of girls all done up in 80’s garb. Sadly, no frilly boots, though. And surprisingly, not enough animal print. I only saw one zebra print. I saw a few girls who dragged out all their 80’s garb they had in the closet for the last 25 years. Between you and me, most of that should have stayed in the closet. To quote the Rock, it was 10 pounds of monkey crap in a 5 pound bag.
There was a lot of people watching going on. Hell, there was a lot to see. But I really got the idea, it was people looking around, hoping not to be noticed at the big Quiet Riot show. They had 2 stages going on in the ballroom, so there was always music blaring. To be honest, some of the cover bands were actually pretty good. It’s getting past 11, time for the Riot to take the stage. They come out teasing Mama Weer All Crazey Now. And immediately go into a song I never heard of. Followed by another one. And another one. And another one. Lead singer Kevin Dubrow now sports a mid 80’s Rod Stewart do, complete with the hair in the back sticking up. It’s him, the original drummer, and 2 ‘other guys’ who I am sure don’t get paid squat.
They band was on the stage furthest away from us. And it’s funny how pretty much all the people between us and the stage could have cared less. I guess there were Wilkes Barre High reunions going on all over the place. It was just a mass of people hanging out; they weren’t even paying the band that much attention. I guess there were diehards at the front of the stage; I don’t know, I couldn’t see. It was becoming clear that the band was losing the crowd. Kevin and I said how they better slip in Weer All Crazy right about here to get the crowd back. Sure enough, that’s what they did. Then it was right back to the litany of songs no one ever heard. Dubrow made numerous mentions of their new CD Rehab, and played a lot of songs from it.
So it’s going on an hour now, and still no signs of Metal Health or Cum On Feel the Noize. Poor Kevin and his friend Jimmy had had enough, and decided to pack it in. They left. And I realized that I am now at a Quiet Riot show.
In the year 2007.
And I am by myself.
At this point, a decision had to be made. Clearly, I wasn’t going to see anyone I knew there. And we had been there for hours. I was thisclose to getting the 2 songs everyone came for. So do I now pack it in, or stay for the finale? I decided that I might as well stay for the money songs. Now you would think that irony would have the band play the 2 songs right after Kev and Jimmy left. But guess what? Not! They still had more songs to play. This was getting ridiculous. Finally, they get to Metal Health. Then Cum On. During Cum On, they went into a medley of another song I never heard. That was it. That was my cue to end the evening.
Ya kinda gotta feel for bands like QR. Clearly, there time has passed, and I think they know they aren’t musically relevant, and are never going to get another top 10 album. And here’s a band that has 3 popular songs (OK, 4 if you want to count Slick Back Cadillac) and 2 of those songs are covers. By the same damn band (Slade). In a way, I do admire them for playing on. What else are they supposed to do? It beats digging graves or washing houses. They still get to see the world, and live a bit of that old life now and then. Sure, it’s not as glamorous as it used to be. For this show, they had to take a red eye from CA to Jersey, and then get driven to the hotel. It seems like they are still making a living playing music.
But I really feel for them. Probably they close the show every night with those same 2 songs, which aren’t even theirs. I am sure the radio station doesn’t even play those songs too much. And then they play these new tunes that probably 95% of the crowd could care less for. I told Kevin I would admire them if they just got up, played those 3 songs and said good night.
The next morning, I was checking out, and the girl behind the counter kinda whispers to me “Did you go to the show?” Reluctantly, I nodded yes, and said it was just to people watch.
Added Commentary
How ironic this was my last visit to Wilkes Barre and my beloved Woodlands hotel. I had many, many drunken nights there. I still miss WB. All the people I met up there were cool, and it’s a pretty cool town. I think about those Gallery of Sound stores often. Truly one of the coolest indie stores left.
DuBrow died a few months after this show. The Riot has been Quieted. I still trade emails with Kevin from time to time. He’s moved on from Gallery to FEMA. He should be used to working in shitty conditions after working record retail so long.
I need to state up top, I had absolutely no desire for this to happen. I am not proud, nor happy about this. But there is more to the story.
It was time to head back on the road to frigid Wilkes Barre, PA. We had booked Taking Back Sunday to do a signing, so I came in for the first of my 2 nights stay to the infamous Woodlands. The people at the front desk know me by now from previous visits (or just recognized my AmEx card). The girl at the counter says “O, are you here for the Quiet Riot concert tomorrow?” “Uh, no, I am here to cover the TBS signing, they’re a much hipper band these days.” I had known that QR was playing the hotel going up.
A radio station up there booked a ballroom in the hotel for their ‘birthday party’. Now, I don’t know much about this ‘classic rock’ station, but I’m willing to say that they don’t play QR songs more than 10 times a year. The station gave out free tickets to the show. It was quite a big to-do at the hotel. When I came back at about 6, they were already cordoning off the parking lot. They expected so many people to come to this shindig, they had off site parking at the racetrack down the street, and shuttles between.
Yes, for a Quiet freaking Riot show.
I had made plans with a former Gallery employee Kevin to do something that night. I was hoping that Kev would take me to the Slovak club, where the beers are like 75 cents. Now that’s my idea of a good time. I’m in my room for a bit, my cell goes off, and it’s Kevin saying,”Hey, you at the Woods?” “Duh, yea. Where we going tonight?” “Well, we’re coming to you. Me and a friend are coming to the show. We’re gonna hang out till it’s a bitch to get a beer.” “Um, OK, I’ll meet ya there.”
The die was cast. I was going to see Quiet Riot. But only to see a friend.
We meet up in the ballroom. We were strategically positioned by the door so we could get a load of the people that a free QR show would draw. And we weren’t disappointed. Plenty of NASCAR stuff (and for the record, I have to state that I coincidentally had an Earnhardt shirt on). We saw lots of mullet-type do’s, though not one strict mullet per say. We saw a few guys with the cap or do rag covering a bit of the party-in –the-rear-hair. I saw one dude in a denim jacket, long ponytail, carrying a QR LP wrapped in plastic.
Now, let’s take a look at that guy. Probably square dude, just got off working Radio Shack. But, let’s zero in on the vinyl LP. This begs some questions. 1) How long has he had said vinyl? 2) is he a true QR fan, or someone who just happened to have a QR LP hanging around and decided to try to get it signed? I would be curious to know.
It seemed to me that a lot of people were a bit nervous about being there. A lot of people seemed to be looking around, hoping not to see someone they know at the big Quiet Riot shew. I didn’t have to worry about that, since the only 2 people I knew in Wilkes Barre were already with me. Other people clearly embraced it. I saw one young kid-had to be like 22-23. He had on a 1984 QR jersey with the black sleeves cut off. He had on the Mike Reno/Loverboy red headband, too. I mean, c’mon, that was a joke right? There were a train of girls all done up in 80’s garb. Sadly, no frilly boots, though. And surprisingly, not enough animal print. I only saw one zebra print. I saw a few girls who dragged out all their 80’s garb they had in the closet for the last 25 years. Between you and me, most of that should have stayed in the closet. To quote the Rock, it was 10 pounds of monkey crap in a 5 pound bag.
There was a lot of people watching going on. Hell, there was a lot to see. But I really got the idea, it was people looking around, hoping not to be noticed at the big Quiet Riot show. They had 2 stages going on in the ballroom, so there was always music blaring. To be honest, some of the cover bands were actually pretty good. It’s getting past 11, time for the Riot to take the stage. They come out teasing Mama Weer All Crazey Now. And immediately go into a song I never heard of. Followed by another one. And another one. And another one. Lead singer Kevin Dubrow now sports a mid 80’s Rod Stewart do, complete with the hair in the back sticking up. It’s him, the original drummer, and 2 ‘other guys’ who I am sure don’t get paid squat.
They band was on the stage furthest away from us. And it’s funny how pretty much all the people between us and the stage could have cared less. I guess there were Wilkes Barre High reunions going on all over the place. It was just a mass of people hanging out; they weren’t even paying the band that much attention. I guess there were diehards at the front of the stage; I don’t know, I couldn’t see. It was becoming clear that the band was losing the crowd. Kevin and I said how they better slip in Weer All Crazy right about here to get the crowd back. Sure enough, that’s what they did. Then it was right back to the litany of songs no one ever heard. Dubrow made numerous mentions of their new CD Rehab, and played a lot of songs from it.
So it’s going on an hour now, and still no signs of Metal Health or Cum On Feel the Noize. Poor Kevin and his friend Jimmy had had enough, and decided to pack it in. They left. And I realized that I am now at a Quiet Riot show.
In the year 2007.
And I am by myself.
At this point, a decision had to be made. Clearly, I wasn’t going to see anyone I knew there. And we had been there for hours. I was thisclose to getting the 2 songs everyone came for. So do I now pack it in, or stay for the finale? I decided that I might as well stay for the money songs. Now you would think that irony would have the band play the 2 songs right after Kev and Jimmy left. But guess what? Not! They still had more songs to play. This was getting ridiculous. Finally, they get to Metal Health. Then Cum On. During Cum On, they went into a medley of another song I never heard. That was it. That was my cue to end the evening.
Ya kinda gotta feel for bands like QR. Clearly, there time has passed, and I think they know they aren’t musically relevant, and are never going to get another top 10 album. And here’s a band that has 3 popular songs (OK, 4 if you want to count Slick Back Cadillac) and 2 of those songs are covers. By the same damn band (Slade). In a way, I do admire them for playing on. What else are they supposed to do? It beats digging graves or washing houses. They still get to see the world, and live a bit of that old life now and then. Sure, it’s not as glamorous as it used to be. For this show, they had to take a red eye from CA to Jersey, and then get driven to the hotel. It seems like they are still making a living playing music.
But I really feel for them. Probably they close the show every night with those same 2 songs, which aren’t even theirs. I am sure the radio station doesn’t even play those songs too much. And then they play these new tunes that probably 95% of the crowd could care less for. I told Kevin I would admire them if they just got up, played those 3 songs and said good night.
The next morning, I was checking out, and the girl behind the counter kinda whispers to me “Did you go to the show?” Reluctantly, I nodded yes, and said it was just to people watch.
Added Commentary
How ironic this was my last visit to Wilkes Barre and my beloved Woodlands hotel. I had many, many drunken nights there. I still miss WB. All the people I met up there were cool, and it’s a pretty cool town. I think about those Gallery of Sound stores often. Truly one of the coolest indie stores left.
DuBrow died a few months after this show. The Riot has been Quieted. I still trade emails with Kevin from time to time. He’s moved on from Gallery to FEMA. He should be used to working in shitty conditions after working record retail so long.
Snow Day
Originally written circa 2005
Well, well, well, after a very nice January, February comes in like the proverbial lion. And by proverbial lion, I mean a cold son ufa bitch. And with that brings our first real snow of the season. And that means, hold on, out first inch and a half of snow, let’s call everything off. Somewhere along the way, snow days got easier to score the day off of work/school. Now, please indulge me in a brief game of “Back when I was a kid…”
Back when I was a kid, it could snow all night. It would be freezing, with white out conditions. It was always the same drill. Get up, look out the window, and guess how much snow had fallen by seeing how high it was against a car. I would be satisfied that it had snowed enough that we would have off of school. Bound out of my room, and head right to the transistor radio, to hear if they said our school was closed. It was the equivalent of watching the Lotto drawing for kids. You sit there, thinking “Please call my number. It’s coming up! I feel good about it. Here we go.” And more times than not, they would skip by my school. It felt as thought every school in the county had off except mine. Mumble “Goddamn” under my breath, as my mom put plastic bags on my feet before putting them in my boots.
OK, so that’s my recollection. I am sure it’s a bit embellished. But what I know I am not embellishing is how snow days are handled nowadays. Kids have got it easy. I remember last year, they cancelled school the night before a predicted snow storm. Yea, that’s right, on a guess that there might be some snow tomorrow, they cancelled school. Low and behold, everyone wakes up and it’s sunny and 40. Just the mere prediction of snow sends hordes of motards scrambling to the supermarkets & convenience stores. It’s like a 2 inch snow will somehow trap a family in the house for days on end. Milk will run dry. Bread will be scarce and traded like cigs in the neighborhood. What the fuck is wrong with these people? The snow is not going to be so bad that you are going to be snowed in for a week.
I think this fear of snow in the Philadelphia started with a sudden & vicious ice storm in 93, I believe it was. It wasn’t really expected. Black ice was the buzz word created at this storm. The news was full of images of accidents on the roads. Cars were swerving into each other, off the road, over the dividers, bouncing off of parked cars, etc. Even at my young age, I realized that the weather wasn’t so much to blames, as it was motarded drivers. I believe this was the storm that the term motard was created. Often, it’s not the weather to blame, it’s the fucking idiots that don’t know how to drive that’s the problem.
So what was my point? Now the mention of bad weather is enough to send everyone into a tizzy. They start closing stuff down the night before. Maybe I am just jealous that it could snow 12 feet when I was a kid, and I still had to truck to school; where now, just an eighth inch of ice is enough to paralyze a city. Ever wonder how they close schools? Well, since Mrs. Missile is a teacher, lemme tell you. There is some sort of secret society that meets in some clandestine location in the middle of a snowy night. They decide to close schools because, what the hell, you already have the whole summer off, so what’s a day or 2 to go skiing? This triggers a phone chain, anywhere between 4-5 am. So the phone will ring at 5 am. I know what that means; she has the day off. And I will have to work. And since the call came so early, and I will let it burn me up that she has off, I won’t be able to fall back asleep. I am now even more grumpy in the morning, if you can imagine. Right about now, the astute among you point out that I can work at home. And yes, that is true. But there is no snow or ice between the bedroom and Missile Command to stop me from working.
In that respect, I am just like you. I made my way to work. I don’t get that day off. There are tons of things to do anyway, so it’s a great time to catch up on those tasks I never do. So please shed no tears for me. We’re both working. You’re working with that special breed of customer who suddenly had that urge to buy a copy of Mariah Carey’s Butterfly or Ultimate Barry Manilow. I worked about 9 years in record retail, I clearly recall working my share of snow days. The store would never be closed in the morning. No, you always had to scrape off your beater and careen into work. Unlike the secret society referenced above, there wasn’t/isn’t such a thing in retail. No, you always went in to open. That society never hid. That decision was made by some jackoff who sat in an office somewhere where the weather wasn’t a factor.
There you are, most likely by yourself. Staring out the window, slowly watching your car disappear under a drift of puffy, white snow. There were like 7 cars in the parking lot, because there were that many poor souls who had to open up the Sam Goody, the pizza place, Toys R Us, etc. I would call other stores saying “Can you believe they had us open today?” Sure, there was stuff to get done, but when you know everyone else has a snow day, the inspiration was hard to come by. At least you could play whatever the hell you’d want to, how ever many times you wanted to. Then, like a lighthouse tower in the fog, lights would suddenly emerge in the parking lot. Shit! There really are some idiots who want to buy CDs today! These shoppers were always ‘special’. I mean, why do you risk your neck for a piece of music if it’s isn’t urgent? So they would have us stay open till like noon (or the next forecasted blast of snow), and tell us we could go home. In the end, we spent more money on opening the store (light, power, heat, etc) that the 81.32 we brought in could cover. I feel your pain. You’re stuck with the public, I’m stuck with my wife. I call that a draw.
I do get some perverse joy in watching the news. Here I sit in my warm & toasty house, watching some poor reporter on the side of the road, telling me how shitty it is outside. And every report is the same. The reporters are by a major road, supermarket, Home Depot, etc. We see interviews of people scurrying into the Gulp-N-Blow to get that last gallon of milk. Or they’re scurrying into the hardware store to pick up shovels & salt. And just a word if you are going to buy salt. Please make sure it’s the pet friendly kind. And the reporters usually manage to stumble across some yahoo who is running or skiing in the snow. Said winter athlete goes on about how this is the best weather, and they wish there were more days like this. These people deserve to be run over by a plow. Get the fuck back inside the house Frosty, you’re not wanted here.
Snow days are great to crack into that bottle of booze that’s just been sitting there for years (which, for the record, I would like to state I have not done today, since I don’t have off. I do have morals.), put in those DVDs that you have been meaning to watch a while now. Get into a book, or take the pooch for a walk in the snow. I guess there’s certain songs that work for you as well. My 2 favorite “snow songs” are Snow Day by Donald Fagen and Sojourn’s Snow. Go check them out, as they seem to always to the trick for me.
I am sure you have your own Snow Day rituals or traditions. You could be like just about everyone else, and not share with the group. Or you can feel free to post your favorite things to do below. Either way. I’m off to shovel before it freezes our cars to the ground. That’s why I love the summer; you can’t shovel heat.
Well, well, well, after a very nice January, February comes in like the proverbial lion. And by proverbial lion, I mean a cold son ufa bitch. And with that brings our first real snow of the season. And that means, hold on, out first inch and a half of snow, let’s call everything off. Somewhere along the way, snow days got easier to score the day off of work/school. Now, please indulge me in a brief game of “Back when I was a kid…”
Back when I was a kid, it could snow all night. It would be freezing, with white out conditions. It was always the same drill. Get up, look out the window, and guess how much snow had fallen by seeing how high it was against a car. I would be satisfied that it had snowed enough that we would have off of school. Bound out of my room, and head right to the transistor radio, to hear if they said our school was closed. It was the equivalent of watching the Lotto drawing for kids. You sit there, thinking “Please call my number. It’s coming up! I feel good about it. Here we go.” And more times than not, they would skip by my school. It felt as thought every school in the county had off except mine. Mumble “Goddamn” under my breath, as my mom put plastic bags on my feet before putting them in my boots.
OK, so that’s my recollection. I am sure it’s a bit embellished. But what I know I am not embellishing is how snow days are handled nowadays. Kids have got it easy. I remember last year, they cancelled school the night before a predicted snow storm. Yea, that’s right, on a guess that there might be some snow tomorrow, they cancelled school. Low and behold, everyone wakes up and it’s sunny and 40. Just the mere prediction of snow sends hordes of motards scrambling to the supermarkets & convenience stores. It’s like a 2 inch snow will somehow trap a family in the house for days on end. Milk will run dry. Bread will be scarce and traded like cigs in the neighborhood. What the fuck is wrong with these people? The snow is not going to be so bad that you are going to be snowed in for a week.
I think this fear of snow in the Philadelphia started with a sudden & vicious ice storm in 93, I believe it was. It wasn’t really expected. Black ice was the buzz word created at this storm. The news was full of images of accidents on the roads. Cars were swerving into each other, off the road, over the dividers, bouncing off of parked cars, etc. Even at my young age, I realized that the weather wasn’t so much to blames, as it was motarded drivers. I believe this was the storm that the term motard was created. Often, it’s not the weather to blame, it’s the fucking idiots that don’t know how to drive that’s the problem.
So what was my point? Now the mention of bad weather is enough to send everyone into a tizzy. They start closing stuff down the night before. Maybe I am just jealous that it could snow 12 feet when I was a kid, and I still had to truck to school; where now, just an eighth inch of ice is enough to paralyze a city. Ever wonder how they close schools? Well, since Mrs. Missile is a teacher, lemme tell you. There is some sort of secret society that meets in some clandestine location in the middle of a snowy night. They decide to close schools because, what the hell, you already have the whole summer off, so what’s a day or 2 to go skiing? This triggers a phone chain, anywhere between 4-5 am. So the phone will ring at 5 am. I know what that means; she has the day off. And I will have to work. And since the call came so early, and I will let it burn me up that she has off, I won’t be able to fall back asleep. I am now even more grumpy in the morning, if you can imagine. Right about now, the astute among you point out that I can work at home. And yes, that is true. But there is no snow or ice between the bedroom and Missile Command to stop me from working.
In that respect, I am just like you. I made my way to work. I don’t get that day off. There are tons of things to do anyway, so it’s a great time to catch up on those tasks I never do. So please shed no tears for me. We’re both working. You’re working with that special breed of customer who suddenly had that urge to buy a copy of Mariah Carey’s Butterfly or Ultimate Barry Manilow. I worked about 9 years in record retail, I clearly recall working my share of snow days. The store would never be closed in the morning. No, you always had to scrape off your beater and careen into work. Unlike the secret society referenced above, there wasn’t/isn’t such a thing in retail. No, you always went in to open. That society never hid. That decision was made by some jackoff who sat in an office somewhere where the weather wasn’t a factor.
There you are, most likely by yourself. Staring out the window, slowly watching your car disappear under a drift of puffy, white snow. There were like 7 cars in the parking lot, because there were that many poor souls who had to open up the Sam Goody, the pizza place, Toys R Us, etc. I would call other stores saying “Can you believe they had us open today?” Sure, there was stuff to get done, but when you know everyone else has a snow day, the inspiration was hard to come by. At least you could play whatever the hell you’d want to, how ever many times you wanted to. Then, like a lighthouse tower in the fog, lights would suddenly emerge in the parking lot. Shit! There really are some idiots who want to buy CDs today! These shoppers were always ‘special’. I mean, why do you risk your neck for a piece of music if it’s isn’t urgent? So they would have us stay open till like noon (or the next forecasted blast of snow), and tell us we could go home. In the end, we spent more money on opening the store (light, power, heat, etc) that the 81.32 we brought in could cover. I feel your pain. You’re stuck with the public, I’m stuck with my wife. I call that a draw.
I do get some perverse joy in watching the news. Here I sit in my warm & toasty house, watching some poor reporter on the side of the road, telling me how shitty it is outside. And every report is the same. The reporters are by a major road, supermarket, Home Depot, etc. We see interviews of people scurrying into the Gulp-N-Blow to get that last gallon of milk. Or they’re scurrying into the hardware store to pick up shovels & salt. And just a word if you are going to buy salt. Please make sure it’s the pet friendly kind. And the reporters usually manage to stumble across some yahoo who is running or skiing in the snow. Said winter athlete goes on about how this is the best weather, and they wish there were more days like this. These people deserve to be run over by a plow. Get the fuck back inside the house Frosty, you’re not wanted here.
Snow days are great to crack into that bottle of booze that’s just been sitting there for years (which, for the record, I would like to state I have not done today, since I don’t have off. I do have morals.), put in those DVDs that you have been meaning to watch a while now. Get into a book, or take the pooch for a walk in the snow. I guess there’s certain songs that work for you as well. My 2 favorite “snow songs” are Snow Day by Donald Fagen and Sojourn’s Snow. Go check them out, as they seem to always to the trick for me.
I am sure you have your own Snow Day rituals or traditions. You could be like just about everyone else, and not share with the group. Or you can feel free to post your favorite things to do below. Either way. I’m off to shovel before it freezes our cars to the ground. That’s why I love the summer; you can’t shovel heat.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Loser Fair
It’s a jungle out here. And by ‘out here’, I mean in Unemployment Land. It sucks and it’s miserable and can really play with your head after an extended stay. All these huge companies are laying off massive amounts of people. GMAC just laid off like 5000. Just this week, 2 Wall Street firms laid off like 10,000 people. And I am willing to bet most of the people who got the ax were the ham and eggers. No, not the execs who made the decisions and the moves to necessitate the layoffs. They’re still working. But all the normal, 9-5 heart and soul types got the ax. I blame Bush. Both the President and the band. Bunch of fuckers. One can be driven to do all sorts of nutty things. Like going to Loser Fair…uh, Career Fairs. Like I just did today.
I got wind of a career fair on Monday afternoon (as I write it’s Wednesday afternoon) so there wasn’t a lot of time to prepare. That can be good and bad. Plus, I’ve never been to a career/job fair before. I know how it works. You research the companies that most appeal to you. Be prepared for those. Then, branch out. Maybe get some “practice” in with some other companies. That was my plan going in.
Of course, there is more preparation than that. Especially for yours truly. First, it involves begging my wife to iron a shirt for me. As has been documented here before, I can’t iron to save my life. I can’t give up any edge here. My dashing good looks can only carry me so far.
The rest of the night is spent running “sphiels” through my head. Trying to envision how these things might go, what kind of questions they might ask, how I can sell myself in a brief exchange. It actually doesn’t keep me up all night, and the hamster took the night off, so it was going good so far. The morning’s kinda rough. There’s the usual running around. Then the dreaded “Getting ready” time. I shave-again YYEEOOWWW. How can guys do this every day? The sink looks like a bloody Saw-like mess. Shower, then the old tying back of the hair. Slap on a suit, and head out.
As I do, I see the vision of all my neighbors running out their doors, in blue vests, and laughing at me like Nelson. HA HA! This just isn’t me. I hate looking this way; I don’t feel comfortable, I don’t feel confident, I don’t feel me. When I am in a suit, 2 things happen. 1) I sweat. Like a pig. My achy body is used to wearing shorts & flips, so when I wrap it up in fancy pants, shirt (with buttons no less), shoes and a jacket, I feel claustrophobic. And the second thing is it makes me pee. Every damn time. As soon as I put a suit on, then head out to wedding, funeral, or interview, my bladder suddenly fills.
This Career Fair is at Lincoln Financial Field-where the Eagles play. So right there, the stench of loser-ing will be prevalent. On the way down, I almost get t-boned, then swiped on 95. I get stuck in a little bit of 95 traffic. This sucks, how can people do this every day? Now I can understand why when I look around, everyone seems so miserable.
I try to get my head on straight. I try to come into this with no preconceived notion.
OK, actually, that is a blatant lie. I had a lot of preconceived notions.
I saw this as reeking of desperation. I saw this as reeking of losers. I saw very little upside. I knew someone who went to this last year, and said it was one big clusterfuck. I had 2 scenarios of how it would go. One saw me as the town drunk in those old wild west bars. You know, the one that when all the cowboys came in, paid him a nickel, then made him dance by shooting at his feet. The other scenario was that we (all the unemployed) were puppies in the pound. We wanted to find a home, so every time a potential owner came by, we put on our best puppy dog eyes, and did all kinds of tricks to gain favor.
I imagined the exchange going something like this. They would tell me how wonderful their company is. How they are the “leader in the field”, how they are “cutting edge”, how it’s a great atmosphere to work in, blah blah blah. I would have a few scant seconds to tell them how I’m a “great worker, can multi-task, display intelligence, blah blah blah.” One big fucking circle jerk. I likened it to eating crabs; it’s a lot of work (breaking the shell, sucking out the meat, etc) for sometimes minimal reward. (Hmmmm….crabs….)
They hype in the paper was something like “Employers, you have the jobs, and they (the unemployed losers) have the dreams.” Oh vey. I don’t know anyone whose dream it is to work as a telemarketer. Last year, they were trumpeting that they had over 70 exhibitors and over 5000 attendees. The pessimist in me sees that as 500 people per 7 exhibitors. In case you can understand that, I will break it down even more. So that’s…500 divided…by 7 equals…umm..equals…Indiana! Shit, I was never any good at math. But I think you see my point.
I am a bit wary. Wary because I have never been in this situation. I feel I am at my best when I have one interview to concentrate on. I can focus better. So the prospect of something unfamiliar throws me off a bit, I lose focus. I am not comfortable with this “gang-bang” style of interviewing. I picture long lines of desperate scuzzdogs. You maybe get a 5 minute shot to shine. But it’s something new, and I certainly have nothing to lose. Something about this reeks of desperation to me though. I hate that it’s been this long.
How do those preconceptions actually measure up?
I roll into the Linc, early. Already, there is a fucking line out the wazoo. It goes from the gates all the way past the entrance to the parking lot. This can be no good. But it’s OK, it’s to be expected. I hop in line, as the line grows behind me. I hear one guy behind me, calling someone and telling them “the line is husky, man, husky.” I take time to look at my competition. I see lots of guys in dark suits. Always the safe way to go, nice and conservative. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I was kinda surprised about the vastly different types of guys who were there. Guys who looked like they were well beyond retirement age. Guys who still looked like they were in high school.
And I see guys who just have no freaking clue. Guys who automatically bump me up the ‘professional looking’ scale. I wonder just what the fuck they were thinking. I saw guys in jeans. I saw guys in kick flip flops and socks. What the fuck are you thinking? At least pretend to give it a shot here. I saw guys in ties but with short sleeves-kind of a fashion no-no from what I understand. I saw guys in polo shirts. This isn’t casual Friday. Even from a fashion nudnik, I know enough to dress in a suit and tie, even if it makes you sweaty and have to pee.
Girls kinda get a pass here. They can wear something totally casual, and it counts as work. They don’t have to wear ties or suitcoats. Just like the guys, there are some who are clueless. And some girls are dressed..well…not professionally. They are dressed like…well, for lack of a better word, sluts. Wearing all tight clothes, low cut tops, etc. You know, the girls who got al the good jobs today? And I saw a bunch of foreign women wearing those full body burkas. You know, those dark brown ones, that cover everything but their eyes? I’m sorry, but if you’re wearing something that I can only see your eyes, you’re not hired. Maybe that Star Wars looking shit works in Tatooine or whatever, but not here. You’re in America now, dress like it. Don’t you see all the slutty girls are getting the jobs?
I’d say there’s a couple hundred people in line, with 15 minutes to go. The line just keeps growing, they have to move it to allow other out of work naredewells get in the parking lot. There’s a wind blowing, and I kinda freak out that I will get flyaways in my hair. I will go from respectable looking hippie to dirty looking hippie just that quick. The guy in front of me is trying to put his jacket on, but can’t with the wind blowing. I can feel the wind stinging my freshly shaven face. I do him a solid, and help him put it on. But I don’t tell him his collar is up. Hey, it’s still war here, pal. Finally, the gates to gainful employment are thrown open, and there is a mad dash in, and up the stadium steps. All you heard were shoes and heels climbing up the steps, like a mad pack of loser horses.
I dodge into the first men’s room I find. I am shocked to find that it doesn’t reek of overpriced Budweiser and vomit. I piss like a (loser) horse, and check myself in the mirror. Cripes, I ain’t getting any prettier, but look good. Yea, good enough. You have to give a resume, just to get in. Again, I am shocked that I see a dude in a neon green polo shirt, jean shorts, and some ratty ass hat. Can’t somebody just kick his ass out? “Yes, sir, we’re sorry, but no one is going to hire you wearing a Miller Lite hat.”
In return, you get a handy dandy ‘program’ with a brief bio of the companies. I find this helpful. I zero in on the companies that I focused on. I’m at the first one, when I realize they don’t have any jobs in my chosen field. D’oh! Who doesn’t want a “witty Klogger”? OK, foul tip there. I now realize that in each bio, they list the jobs available. This is good because it jibes with some of the companies I focused on. It also lead me to some companies that I otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with.
I am surprised that it isn’t quite what I envisioned. While the room was certainly filling up with more couch surfers, it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. There were a few lines that were super long. I checked, and they were all primarily banking/finance. See above about Wall Street layoffs. Getting there early was a benefit, because I was able to hit the ones I wanted to, then branch out. Ever envision me working for Philly Gas Works? Neither did I, but they got a resume and some facetime.
Still I see some folks wandering around that I really wonder about. I saw some guy, in polo shirt, jeans and fucking wireless headset like he was all that. He looked totally stoned. Please, if he ever got a gig out of this, don’t let me know. I see guys in shorts. I see more ball caps than should be allowed at a Loser Fai….uh Career Fair. I wanted to wear my mirrorball shirt to stick out.
I felt bad for the recruiters there. They gotta sift through this riff raff for 6 hours. I actually thanked one for spending so much time with me. And another one gave me a great tip: today is all about follow up, so all the ones I liked are getting an email, but certainly not a link to this Klog.
It didn’t quite reek of desperation like I thought it would. I thought I would feel so dirty that I would need to take a shower after I came back. It wasn’t quite the clusterfuck I thought it would be. I don’t have any high expectations from this, but I did learn something. And I do feel better that I tried something new today, and feel better for the next Loser Fa…Job Fair.
My eyes were really open to just the vast amount of startlingly different people don’t have jobs these days. All of ‘em got a story. Some of them are better off than me, others are far worse. Regardless, it all sucks. When I got home, I consoled myself by eating 2 junky breakfast sandwiches and a small bag of M&Ms. I proudly resisted the urge to dayload like the rest of those out of work losers. Small steps, small steps…
I got wind of a career fair on Monday afternoon (as I write it’s Wednesday afternoon) so there wasn’t a lot of time to prepare. That can be good and bad. Plus, I’ve never been to a career/job fair before. I know how it works. You research the companies that most appeal to you. Be prepared for those. Then, branch out. Maybe get some “practice” in with some other companies. That was my plan going in.
Of course, there is more preparation than that. Especially for yours truly. First, it involves begging my wife to iron a shirt for me. As has been documented here before, I can’t iron to save my life. I can’t give up any edge here. My dashing good looks can only carry me so far.
The rest of the night is spent running “sphiels” through my head. Trying to envision how these things might go, what kind of questions they might ask, how I can sell myself in a brief exchange. It actually doesn’t keep me up all night, and the hamster took the night off, so it was going good so far. The morning’s kinda rough. There’s the usual running around. Then the dreaded “Getting ready” time. I shave-again YYEEOOWWW. How can guys do this every day? The sink looks like a bloody Saw-like mess. Shower, then the old tying back of the hair. Slap on a suit, and head out.
As I do, I see the vision of all my neighbors running out their doors, in blue vests, and laughing at me like Nelson. HA HA! This just isn’t me. I hate looking this way; I don’t feel comfortable, I don’t feel confident, I don’t feel me. When I am in a suit, 2 things happen. 1) I sweat. Like a pig. My achy body is used to wearing shorts & flips, so when I wrap it up in fancy pants, shirt (with buttons no less), shoes and a jacket, I feel claustrophobic. And the second thing is it makes me pee. Every damn time. As soon as I put a suit on, then head out to wedding, funeral, or interview, my bladder suddenly fills.
This Career Fair is at Lincoln Financial Field-where the Eagles play. So right there, the stench of loser-ing will be prevalent. On the way down, I almost get t-boned, then swiped on 95. I get stuck in a little bit of 95 traffic. This sucks, how can people do this every day? Now I can understand why when I look around, everyone seems so miserable.
I try to get my head on straight. I try to come into this with no preconceived notion.
OK, actually, that is a blatant lie. I had a lot of preconceived notions.
I saw this as reeking of desperation. I saw this as reeking of losers. I saw very little upside. I knew someone who went to this last year, and said it was one big clusterfuck. I had 2 scenarios of how it would go. One saw me as the town drunk in those old wild west bars. You know, the one that when all the cowboys came in, paid him a nickel, then made him dance by shooting at his feet. The other scenario was that we (all the unemployed) were puppies in the pound. We wanted to find a home, so every time a potential owner came by, we put on our best puppy dog eyes, and did all kinds of tricks to gain favor.
I imagined the exchange going something like this. They would tell me how wonderful their company is. How they are the “leader in the field”, how they are “cutting edge”, how it’s a great atmosphere to work in, blah blah blah. I would have a few scant seconds to tell them how I’m a “great worker, can multi-task, display intelligence, blah blah blah.” One big fucking circle jerk. I likened it to eating crabs; it’s a lot of work (breaking the shell, sucking out the meat, etc) for sometimes minimal reward. (Hmmmm….crabs….)
They hype in the paper was something like “Employers, you have the jobs, and they (the unemployed losers) have the dreams.” Oh vey. I don’t know anyone whose dream it is to work as a telemarketer. Last year, they were trumpeting that they had over 70 exhibitors and over 5000 attendees. The pessimist in me sees that as 500 people per 7 exhibitors. In case you can understand that, I will break it down even more. So that’s…500 divided…by 7 equals…umm..equals…Indiana! Shit, I was never any good at math. But I think you see my point.
I am a bit wary. Wary because I have never been in this situation. I feel I am at my best when I have one interview to concentrate on. I can focus better. So the prospect of something unfamiliar throws me off a bit, I lose focus. I am not comfortable with this “gang-bang” style of interviewing. I picture long lines of desperate scuzzdogs. You maybe get a 5 minute shot to shine. But it’s something new, and I certainly have nothing to lose. Something about this reeks of desperation to me though. I hate that it’s been this long.
How do those preconceptions actually measure up?
I roll into the Linc, early. Already, there is a fucking line out the wazoo. It goes from the gates all the way past the entrance to the parking lot. This can be no good. But it’s OK, it’s to be expected. I hop in line, as the line grows behind me. I hear one guy behind me, calling someone and telling them “the line is husky, man, husky.” I take time to look at my competition. I see lots of guys in dark suits. Always the safe way to go, nice and conservative. I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I was kinda surprised about the vastly different types of guys who were there. Guys who looked like they were well beyond retirement age. Guys who still looked like they were in high school.
And I see guys who just have no freaking clue. Guys who automatically bump me up the ‘professional looking’ scale. I wonder just what the fuck they were thinking. I saw guys in jeans. I saw guys in kick flip flops and socks. What the fuck are you thinking? At least pretend to give it a shot here. I saw guys in ties but with short sleeves-kind of a fashion no-no from what I understand. I saw guys in polo shirts. This isn’t casual Friday. Even from a fashion nudnik, I know enough to dress in a suit and tie, even if it makes you sweaty and have to pee.
Girls kinda get a pass here. They can wear something totally casual, and it counts as work. They don’t have to wear ties or suitcoats. Just like the guys, there are some who are clueless. And some girls are dressed..well…not professionally. They are dressed like…well, for lack of a better word, sluts. Wearing all tight clothes, low cut tops, etc. You know, the girls who got al the good jobs today? And I saw a bunch of foreign women wearing those full body burkas. You know, those dark brown ones, that cover everything but their eyes? I’m sorry, but if you’re wearing something that I can only see your eyes, you’re not hired. Maybe that Star Wars looking shit works in Tatooine or whatever, but not here. You’re in America now, dress like it. Don’t you see all the slutty girls are getting the jobs?
I’d say there’s a couple hundred people in line, with 15 minutes to go. The line just keeps growing, they have to move it to allow other out of work naredewells get in the parking lot. There’s a wind blowing, and I kinda freak out that I will get flyaways in my hair. I will go from respectable looking hippie to dirty looking hippie just that quick. The guy in front of me is trying to put his jacket on, but can’t with the wind blowing. I can feel the wind stinging my freshly shaven face. I do him a solid, and help him put it on. But I don’t tell him his collar is up. Hey, it’s still war here, pal. Finally, the gates to gainful employment are thrown open, and there is a mad dash in, and up the stadium steps. All you heard were shoes and heels climbing up the steps, like a mad pack of loser horses.
I dodge into the first men’s room I find. I am shocked to find that it doesn’t reek of overpriced Budweiser and vomit. I piss like a (loser) horse, and check myself in the mirror. Cripes, I ain’t getting any prettier, but look good. Yea, good enough. You have to give a resume, just to get in. Again, I am shocked that I see a dude in a neon green polo shirt, jean shorts, and some ratty ass hat. Can’t somebody just kick his ass out? “Yes, sir, we’re sorry, but no one is going to hire you wearing a Miller Lite hat.”
In return, you get a handy dandy ‘program’ with a brief bio of the companies. I find this helpful. I zero in on the companies that I focused on. I’m at the first one, when I realize they don’t have any jobs in my chosen field. D’oh! Who doesn’t want a “witty Klogger”? OK, foul tip there. I now realize that in each bio, they list the jobs available. This is good because it jibes with some of the companies I focused on. It also lead me to some companies that I otherwise wouldn’t have bothered with.
I am surprised that it isn’t quite what I envisioned. While the room was certainly filling up with more couch surfers, it wasn’t as bad as I envisioned. There were a few lines that were super long. I checked, and they were all primarily banking/finance. See above about Wall Street layoffs. Getting there early was a benefit, because I was able to hit the ones I wanted to, then branch out. Ever envision me working for Philly Gas Works? Neither did I, but they got a resume and some facetime.
Still I see some folks wandering around that I really wonder about. I saw some guy, in polo shirt, jeans and fucking wireless headset like he was all that. He looked totally stoned. Please, if he ever got a gig out of this, don’t let me know. I see guys in shorts. I see more ball caps than should be allowed at a Loser Fai….uh Career Fair. I wanted to wear my mirrorball shirt to stick out.
I felt bad for the recruiters there. They gotta sift through this riff raff for 6 hours. I actually thanked one for spending so much time with me. And another one gave me a great tip: today is all about follow up, so all the ones I liked are getting an email, but certainly not a link to this Klog.
It didn’t quite reek of desperation like I thought it would. I thought I would feel so dirty that I would need to take a shower after I came back. It wasn’t quite the clusterfuck I thought it would be. I don’t have any high expectations from this, but I did learn something. And I do feel better that I tried something new today, and feel better for the next Loser Fa…Job Fair.
My eyes were really open to just the vast amount of startlingly different people don’t have jobs these days. All of ‘em got a story. Some of them are better off than me, others are far worse. Regardless, it all sucks. When I got home, I consoled myself by eating 2 junky breakfast sandwiches and a small bag of M&Ms. I proudly resisted the urge to dayload like the rest of those out of work losers. Small steps, small steps…
Saturday, September 13, 2008
So I Guess I'm Famous
Sometimes inspiration just comes right out. And this is one of those times.
So I’m at a party last night (where a lot of great stories can start. “So I was at a party last night, and you wouldn’t believe happened. There were these 2 chicks…). One of my friends comes up to me and says, “Hey, I saw you in the paper this week.” Now I know there are no new mugshots, so I don’t know what’s he’s talking about. “Huh?” “Yea, for the Jenkintown Brewfest. There was a little section about it in the paper. There’s a picture of the crowd, and you’re there waving. We saw you right away. We could tell it was you by the flip flops.” Ah, yes, to be known by wearing flip flops. “Really, I don’t remember anything like that. "
So I’m at a party last night (where a lot of great stories can start. “So I was at a party last night, and you wouldn’t believe happened. There were these 2 chicks…). One of my friends comes up to me and says, “Hey, I saw you in the paper this week.” Now I know there are no new mugshots, so I don’t know what’s he’s talking about. “Huh?” “Yea, for the Jenkintown Brewfest. There was a little section about it in the paper. There’s a picture of the crowd, and you’re there waving. We saw you right away. We could tell it was you by the flip flops.” Ah, yes, to be known by wearing flip flops. “Really, I don’t remember anything like that. "
The picture he was referring to was from last year’s brewfest, and this year’s brewfest is tomorrow, so the local paper had a little pull out (huh, huh, I said “pull out”) section for it. He said it was a crowd shot, and I was waving to the camera. I don’t remember it because I was bat-shit drunk or anything, I just simply don’t remember this moment. “Wow, cool, I will have to check it out.”
Today I run to the corner to buy the paper from the box. I put my 50 cents in-such a small price for infamy if you think about it-and pull the door open. Except it doesn’t open. WTF! I can’t tell you the last time I bought a paper, and now that I have need to, I find the one motherfucking box that doesn’t work. Damn it. I had to return a movie, so I hit the drugstore to get my copy. I open it up, and sure enough, there is the picture. All me in my glory.
And I look like a total boob. I haven’t been in the paper since 1985 when I was paperboy of the week, so I was looking forward to being a bit more….respectable looking. You know ‘respectable looking’ is rarely a term to describe my appearance.
Yes, yes, I can’t imagine many of you are surprised by this. There’s a lot going on here, so let’s break it down. Most importantly, this picture made me really laugh. I mean, if this was some other dude doing this, I would smile, but there I was, sitting in the car, laughing at me. I like it when I make me laugh. I knew right away I would have to make a pre-emptive strike here. I had to get this to my friends before they could bust me on it. It’s always good to get in the first shot, even if it is at yourself.
OK, so at first glance, there is only one person-ahem, me-who is aware there is a picture being taken. So I guess my beer influenced response is to wave like a first class goober. I mean, seriously, look at that. Everyone is standing around drinking, and I am apparently there to be That Guy. Nice.
I showed this picture to a friend, and she immediately made a great observation. There is no one near me. No one is facing me, in fact, everyone has their back to me. Mr. Popularity I am not. So it looks like I am a solo loser, which, some days isn’t too far off the mark. Not even J of A&J fame, who is one of my closest friends in the world is paying attention to me. He is the shaved head and shades in the bottom middle of the picture. Prick.
Now look across to the homer wearing the 54 Beagles jersey. He looks visibly pissed at me. He looks like he wants to kick my goober ass. I don’t know why, I don’t recall I did anything to him. He has that look like “What is that douchebag’s problem?” And there I am, proudly waving to the wall.
Go further back in the picture he’s right above Mr. 54. He has the bright green t shirt and blue cap. He is totally disgusted by me. Look at his scrunched up face. Look at his arms folded in disgrace. Hell, even his girl has a bug up her ass.
Seriously, this photographer had to have dozens of these crowd shots to use. Why, then did he-assuming it’s a he, trying to be PC here-pick this one? Is he laughing with me or at me? Did he purposely pick this one to as if to subconsciously say “Pinheads invited, too’? And who the hell approved this? I mean, c’mon, if you’re trying to hype your brewfest, is this the picture you use? Do you really want this to represent the brewfest? Even if it wasn’t me being That Guy, I would question its use.
I wonder is the town of Jenkintown has any say over its use. This is not a great representation of Jenkintown. But I guess someone must have liked the picture, because there is more to the story. (See, most good writers want to write at least one really good expose.) In the print as, they give out Jenkintown’s website. For shits an giggles, I go to the website. Wanna guess what’s on the front page?
Yup, it’s that very picture above. So apparently I have been the cover boy for the official website of Jtown for sometime now, and never knew about it. Again, I question why the Jtown-that’s what all the cool kids call Jenkintown-officials want that picture on their site. Unless their new motto is going to be “Jenkintown-we tolerate dorks”, I don’t see the point. It’s the night before the brewfest, so I don’t know how much longer the pic will be up, but you can check it out at Jenkintown.net.
Or maybe I am looking into this too much. Maybe the brewfest folks are saying “Hey, we’re laidback and we like to have fun. Just like this guy here.” It’s like they’re saying “Even this knuclehead can have a fun time by himself, so why don’t y’all come down?”
I sent the link out to a few friends, just to get their reaction. I got 2 replies so far; one saying it’s AWESOME (and yes, he put it all in caps, not me) and the other one said it’s hilarious. So I am glad I can make people laugh. There’s just something fittingly ironic about that picture. Maybe it’s because I am the only one to see the picture being taken. Or maybe because I look like a total tool. Go figure, I get my ugly mug in the paper and I look like a redneck. Tomorrow is the brewfest, and I really, really hope no one busts my chops there. “Hey, look, it’s the bunghole in the picture!” Visions of the infamous Nickleback autograph story come to mind.
At least there is one good thing to come out of this whole thing. I was going to wear that shirt again tomorrow. Whew, that would have been embarrassing!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Hamster
I have a hamster. Not a real pet one, though. No, this hamster is in my head. (No, he’s not in my butt, you pervs. I know someone would be thinking that.) He isn’t up all the time. I only hear him when he gets in his wheel. Now that I think about it, I don’t really know if he is a he or a she. I don’t even have a name for him (which for the sake of this post we will consider him a male.) He only gets in his wheel either late at night, or very early in the morning. He is powered by me. By my fears, doubts, insecurities, shortcomings, failings, etc. Lately the lil’ bugger sure has been busy.
He usually starts if I can’t fall to sleep at night. I will try to keep my mind totally blank. I know, I know, you are surprised to hear my mind isn’t totally blank all the time. I will try to focus on the crickets outside. I am used to the ones inside by now. I will try to think of the beach to soothe me. Soon enough, I start to hear the sound. He has emerged, and gets in his wheel for the night. Even though I have been incredibly tired most nights, and go to bed disgustingly early. (It’s only a matter of time till my parents call me about something, and T will have to say “No, he’s sleeping right now. Yes, yes I know it’s only 8:30”) Even though I crave sweet slumber, the wheel creaks to life. It’s like that noisy neighbor upstairs that keeps you up all night. If it was a giant hamster. In a big, squeaky wheel.
All the negative things surface, and the guy thinks he’s at fricking Daytona. You could call it like your mind is racing. Except, in my case, it’s a hamster in a metaphorical wheel. All the questions start to come up. All the doubts arise. I can hear him. I can hear what he’s saying.
Why can’t I fucking find a job? Is there something that wrong with me? Can I possibly keep doing the *** I have now much longer? Why does this *** kill me so much? Why can’t I find the motivation to go to the gym more than just the weekends anymore? Am I drinking too much? Why aren’t I eating better? Did I really need to have M&Ms for dinner? Not dessert, mind you, I mean actually dinner. Am I a good enough husband? Am I being a shitty pet owner?
Yea, this goddamned hamster knows all my weak spots. He especially comes out Sunday nights, when I have 5 days staring at me. The racket is horrible. But he doesn’t just care about the *** situation. No he loves to annoy about money as well. The 401k that is just sitting there. He bugs me about how the beach house looks further away than ever. I swear, sometimes it’s like he gets in my wallet, and eats all my money. Little fucker. Either that, or the weekly rum blackouts. One or the other.
The hamster will even go for my soft spots. He’ll make me second guess my fantasy football teams. Now, c’mon, that’s really a cheap shot. Yea, maybe Michael “The Burner” Turner and Ryan Grant are risks in the third round, but they were the best left on the board! At least he doesn’t give me shit for taking Owens in the second round.
And the hamster works for you, too. He will weasel (the best a hamster can weasel. Geez, there’s a line that I bet has never been written) into my head how I am not writing much (good) stuff. And surely there are 5-6 people on the whole internet who might look forward to my occasional bits of wisdom. He’s been pretty loud lately, so maybe by giving him some props now, he will leave me alone tonight.
He’ll spin his wheel about the seemingly littlest things. The things that probably are no big deal, but just might be. Stuff like should I get my finger checked out. Wander over to Kevolution Theory to get that reference. All these rusty nails that poke me, can I get sick from that? Should I worry about, O, I don’t know, maybe breathing in too much asbestos and how it could haunt me further down the road.
He doesn’t only work on my issues. He can spin his wheel all damn night about other stuff. Like, for example, how can the fucking ex-con across the street get out of jail (again) and have some sort of income where she can buy not one, but 2 new cars in a matter of months? Er, wait a minute, I think I might be ale to figure that one out. But it still pisses me off.
He’ll get going on bizarre things as well. Like he’ll make me worry that a pregnant spider just crawled in my ear. He’ll make me wonder why the diet iced tea I am drinking as I type this makes me pee every damn 15 minutes.
He’s pretty hip on pop culture as well. He keeps me up wondering if 24 will actually be any good this year. He wonders if Pam & Jim will ever get together from The Office (we’re both catching up with the reruns on TBS). He wonders whatever happened to the World Series of Pop Trivia on VH1. Why won’t they release Parker Lewis Can’t Lose on DVD already?
And the wheel goes round and round. Sometimes it’s stuff I thought I have already dealt with. Other times, it’s something entirely new. I wish I had his energy. Sometimes I lie awake, too early in the morning, my body just wanting nothing more to get a few more hours in. It can be quiet and serene. I don’t even hear the hamster get up. I hear the wheel, though. Always the same, starts a little slow. I guess he knows he should warm up a bit first. But then he takes off, and I know I have already lost the battle.
Ultimately, I know it’s me that somehow feeds him. And it seems like if I can just get this *** thing taken care of, the guy might give me a break. Maybe just writing about him will give me some rest. I don’t hear him now, but I know he’s always there…..
He usually starts if I can’t fall to sleep at night. I will try to keep my mind totally blank. I know, I know, you are surprised to hear my mind isn’t totally blank all the time. I will try to focus on the crickets outside. I am used to the ones inside by now. I will try to think of the beach to soothe me. Soon enough, I start to hear the sound. He has emerged, and gets in his wheel for the night. Even though I have been incredibly tired most nights, and go to bed disgustingly early. (It’s only a matter of time till my parents call me about something, and T will have to say “No, he’s sleeping right now. Yes, yes I know it’s only 8:30”) Even though I crave sweet slumber, the wheel creaks to life. It’s like that noisy neighbor upstairs that keeps you up all night. If it was a giant hamster. In a big, squeaky wheel.
All the negative things surface, and the guy thinks he’s at fricking Daytona. You could call it like your mind is racing. Except, in my case, it’s a hamster in a metaphorical wheel. All the questions start to come up. All the doubts arise. I can hear him. I can hear what he’s saying.
Why can’t I fucking find a job? Is there something that wrong with me? Can I possibly keep doing the *** I have now much longer? Why does this *** kill me so much? Why can’t I find the motivation to go to the gym more than just the weekends anymore? Am I drinking too much? Why aren’t I eating better? Did I really need to have M&Ms for dinner? Not dessert, mind you, I mean actually dinner. Am I a good enough husband? Am I being a shitty pet owner?
Yea, this goddamned hamster knows all my weak spots. He especially comes out Sunday nights, when I have 5 days staring at me. The racket is horrible. But he doesn’t just care about the *** situation. No he loves to annoy about money as well. The 401k that is just sitting there. He bugs me about how the beach house looks further away than ever. I swear, sometimes it’s like he gets in my wallet, and eats all my money. Little fucker. Either that, or the weekly rum blackouts. One or the other.
The hamster will even go for my soft spots. He’ll make me second guess my fantasy football teams. Now, c’mon, that’s really a cheap shot. Yea, maybe Michael “The Burner” Turner and Ryan Grant are risks in the third round, but they were the best left on the board! At least he doesn’t give me shit for taking Owens in the second round.
And the hamster works for you, too. He will weasel (the best a hamster can weasel. Geez, there’s a line that I bet has never been written) into my head how I am not writing much (good) stuff. And surely there are 5-6 people on the whole internet who might look forward to my occasional bits of wisdom. He’s been pretty loud lately, so maybe by giving him some props now, he will leave me alone tonight.
He’ll spin his wheel about the seemingly littlest things. The things that probably are no big deal, but just might be. Stuff like should I get my finger checked out. Wander over to Kevolution Theory to get that reference. All these rusty nails that poke me, can I get sick from that? Should I worry about, O, I don’t know, maybe breathing in too much asbestos and how it could haunt me further down the road.
He doesn’t only work on my issues. He can spin his wheel all damn night about other stuff. Like, for example, how can the fucking ex-con across the street get out of jail (again) and have some sort of income where she can buy not one, but 2 new cars in a matter of months? Er, wait a minute, I think I might be ale to figure that one out. But it still pisses me off.
He’ll get going on bizarre things as well. Like he’ll make me worry that a pregnant spider just crawled in my ear. He’ll make me wonder why the diet iced tea I am drinking as I type this makes me pee every damn 15 minutes.
He’s pretty hip on pop culture as well. He keeps me up wondering if 24 will actually be any good this year. He wonders if Pam & Jim will ever get together from The Office (we’re both catching up with the reruns on TBS). He wonders whatever happened to the World Series of Pop Trivia on VH1. Why won’t they release Parker Lewis Can’t Lose on DVD already?
And the wheel goes round and round. Sometimes it’s stuff I thought I have already dealt with. Other times, it’s something entirely new. I wish I had his energy. Sometimes I lie awake, too early in the morning, my body just wanting nothing more to get a few more hours in. It can be quiet and serene. I don’t even hear the hamster get up. I hear the wheel, though. Always the same, starts a little slow. I guess he knows he should warm up a bit first. But then he takes off, and I know I have already lost the battle.
Ultimately, I know it’s me that somehow feeds him. And it seems like if I can just get this *** thing taken care of, the guy might give me a break. Maybe just writing about him will give me some rest. I don’t hear him now, but I know he’s always there…..
Labor Day 2008
Ugh, the last weekend of Summer 08 is upon us. It’s a time to look back. The fall is looking us right in the fucking face. Can the summer really move that fast? Yes, upon reflection, it can. My God, can the summer really be over? Yes, yes it is, and fall is in the wings. But fuck fall, I still choose to cling to summer memories.
Labor Day is harsh. It’s like the last big Sunday of the summer. The summer hinges around 3 holidays; Memorial Day starts it all, 4th of July is the tent pole, and Labor Day closes it all out. But to go ahead requires us to go a step behind. Now this is starting to sound like a Hollywood BS movie. The kind of movie I ask my wife to explain everything that’s going on. But, dear reader, I hope you can tell the difference. So let’s take a step back.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. The signs have been there for some time. When there is a sudden chill to the night, where we don’t even need the fan anymore. I’ve seen the leaves committing Harry Carrey or some such name. I’ve seen waves of dead leaves blowing across the lawn. Somehow, the sun just doesn’t seem to burn as orange as it did in July.
Sometimes I see summer going by when things just don’t seem right. Take the hammock for example. While we usually keep it out through fall, it just doesn’t seem as ‘right’ when I’m resting my lazy ass in there during the summer. I pretty much stop listening to Margaritaville after Labor Day. I can’t tell you why, other than Jimmy Buffet just doesn’t seem as right in November as he does in May. Unless, of course you’re talking about the Desperation Samba. And I really can’t listen to my SummerSongs mix after today. It just doesn’t sound right. Lately, I’ve gone running at the park down the street. And I’ve had the SummerSongs on, just to fill up my memories of running in the summer. Sure, it’s nowhere near running by the ocean, but it is a little bit relaxing to me.
And speaking of summer songs, I can only think of a few that will forever remind me of Summer 2008. One is that I Kissed a Girl song by Katie Parry. That type of music isn’t usually my thing, but I have to ‘fess up to liking that song. Another one is 3 Doors Down Not My Time. Just a good piece of rock music that I heard a lot this summer. Roger Clyne’s Turbo Ocho disc was a huge soundtrack to this summer for me. I highly recommend it. The latest Los Lonely Boys is good summer music, too. But I am disappointed that there weren’t more songs to this summer.
So obviously, this “last weekend of Summer” has to be important. How did I spend it? Let’s start at Thursday night.
As fate would have it, the Pat McGee Trio was playing roughly a half hour away from us. These guys are retarded when it comes to picking out the right time to play around me. I won’t spooge here, but these guys inspire me every time I see them. PMB (Pat Mc Gee Band) was a major inspiration to make it through this week. I hinged my week around this event. And these guys did not disappoint. It was Pat on vocals and rhythm guitar, Chardy on percussion and Brian on lead guitar. Brian brought out the Resonator for this gig. The Resonator is Mark Knopfler’s (Dire Straits) stock in trade. Funny, as how I’ve always considered Dire Straits being a summer band. So to hear PMB songs with a Resonator effect was quite the thrill. Brian is truly one of the most talented musicians I have ever seen.
So we’re there at the Sellersville Theatre. It’s a great venue. It’s an intimate theatre setting. There are tables up front, and then rows of seats. I highly recommend this venue. Not a bad seat in the house. So PMB takes the stage. Some anonymous asshole yells bout “What are you doing in Sellersville?” Pat got right on and replied “what are you doing in Sellersville?”
I didn’t have to **** the next day, so I could afford to throw back a few brews. I got a fair buzz going on. At one point I had to pee and get another beer. Now this theater is pretty small, and noise carries. As I stumble back to my seat, I manage to kick all the empty plastic glasses out from underneath my seat. OK, that was a bit embarrassing. Halfway through the set, someone in the crowd alerts Pat that all the bars close at 11 in Sellersville. Believe me, there ain’t that much to do in Sellersville, so why close the bars at 11 is beyond me. We meet up with the guys afterwards, and after not much clear thought, we decide that the strip club next to their hotel surely must have boobs…er..booze. Did I mention that my wife is with us, and she’s the only girl in the group? She’s cool with it, though. So we traipse back to their hotel.
On the way, we do what most people do in these parts at midnight. We hit a Wawa. It is here that we get another piece of bad news; the strip club is BYOB. D’oh! So we just end up hanging with them a bit at the hotel and going home. It was kind of a good thing we didn’t have a late night with them. Friday I didn’t have to **** so it was nice having a 4 day weekend. Friday T hosed me into helping her set up her classroom. Kind of funny since I always hated school growing up, and here I am setting up the room for the kids. I could hear many tiny voices crying out in anguish that they are heading back to school. The rest of the weekend was nice and low key. We hung out, took Bauer out, made bottles of rum and pizzas disappear. But now, tomorrow is “back to”. Back to ****, kids get ready to go back to school.
I once wrote in a Klog many, many years ago, I hate how when summer’s over, it’s the whole “back to” mentality. There is just some sort of cool, laid back attitude people get during the summer. And now it’s like someone is saying “yo, funtime is over, get back to work.” That is of course if you actually have ‘work’ to go back to. I know some people really look forward to the fall, and enjoy the season. Not me, I fucking hate it. I know folks who really enjoy the color of the leaves. And that’s cool and all, but it’s for such a brief period of time. Then, the leaves die.
Fall to me has always been gloomy. It’s when everything dies. Leaves, flowers, grass, my fantasy football teams’ hopes, etc. It gets cold and nasty. Leaves blow everywhere. I’ve often said you can’t shovel heat. I hate raking, I hate shoveling. I try to fight the good fight though; keep summer here as long as I can. I wear flips and shorts for as long as I possibly can. I’ll try to grill as often as possible. But I know it’s all in vain. I know the days will grow shorter and colder.
There are good things in fall I look forward to. Football starts up, and hockey is just a few weeks away. Halloween is coming-on a Friday this year, no less. Of course, Hallowmas season follows, so make all your Hallowmas plans early this year. But that’s about it.
Musically, I find myself going to the more acoustic stuff during the fall. I get into Gothic stuff around Halloween. But all the songs seem to be dark and sour. There’s a great song called Summer’s Gone by Beth hart that I try to post for you guys, but I am never able to find it. I can listen to that song over and over like I’m a mental patient. Please go out of your way to find it and give it a listen.
It’s kinda ironic as I look back at this summer now. I have probably spent more time outside than I’ve had in years. I have the redneck to prove it, and it will probably stay with me clear through till November. Ironically enough, I find myself looking back to our OCNJ week a lot these days. Those walks on the beach, playing lacrosse on the beach, hanging on the deck just staring at the ocean. I really kinda dreaded that week, but looking back now, it was really good for me. Every night when the hamster goes off, I envision those walks on the beach to calm me down.
For now, that’s all over. Who knows when we will get to the beach again? Every fall, we always wanna take Bauer to the beach, but we never do. I hope we do this year. Who knows if we will get back to the beach next summer? Or do Sand Soccer?. I have T working on our own Endless Summer logo where it’s us in the picture. When she gets that done, I’ll put it up here.
Awright, my inspiration has run out, and this post is going to shit, so I will end it here, and maybe enjoy these last few hours of the summer outside.
Labor Day is harsh. It’s like the last big Sunday of the summer. The summer hinges around 3 holidays; Memorial Day starts it all, 4th of July is the tent pole, and Labor Day closes it all out. But to go ahead requires us to go a step behind. Now this is starting to sound like a Hollywood BS movie. The kind of movie I ask my wife to explain everything that’s going on. But, dear reader, I hope you can tell the difference. So let’s take a step back.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. The signs have been there for some time. When there is a sudden chill to the night, where we don’t even need the fan anymore. I’ve seen the leaves committing Harry Carrey or some such name. I’ve seen waves of dead leaves blowing across the lawn. Somehow, the sun just doesn’t seem to burn as orange as it did in July.
Sometimes I see summer going by when things just don’t seem right. Take the hammock for example. While we usually keep it out through fall, it just doesn’t seem as ‘right’ when I’m resting my lazy ass in there during the summer. I pretty much stop listening to Margaritaville after Labor Day. I can’t tell you why, other than Jimmy Buffet just doesn’t seem as right in November as he does in May. Unless, of course you’re talking about the Desperation Samba. And I really can’t listen to my SummerSongs mix after today. It just doesn’t sound right. Lately, I’ve gone running at the park down the street. And I’ve had the SummerSongs on, just to fill up my memories of running in the summer. Sure, it’s nowhere near running by the ocean, but it is a little bit relaxing to me.
And speaking of summer songs, I can only think of a few that will forever remind me of Summer 2008. One is that I Kissed a Girl song by Katie Parry. That type of music isn’t usually my thing, but I have to ‘fess up to liking that song. Another one is 3 Doors Down Not My Time. Just a good piece of rock music that I heard a lot this summer. Roger Clyne’s Turbo Ocho disc was a huge soundtrack to this summer for me. I highly recommend it. The latest Los Lonely Boys is good summer music, too. But I am disappointed that there weren’t more songs to this summer.
So obviously, this “last weekend of Summer” has to be important. How did I spend it? Let’s start at Thursday night.
As fate would have it, the Pat McGee Trio was playing roughly a half hour away from us. These guys are retarded when it comes to picking out the right time to play around me. I won’t spooge here, but these guys inspire me every time I see them. PMB (Pat Mc Gee Band) was a major inspiration to make it through this week. I hinged my week around this event. And these guys did not disappoint. It was Pat on vocals and rhythm guitar, Chardy on percussion and Brian on lead guitar. Brian brought out the Resonator for this gig. The Resonator is Mark Knopfler’s (Dire Straits) stock in trade. Funny, as how I’ve always considered Dire Straits being a summer band. So to hear PMB songs with a Resonator effect was quite the thrill. Brian is truly one of the most talented musicians I have ever seen.
So we’re there at the Sellersville Theatre. It’s a great venue. It’s an intimate theatre setting. There are tables up front, and then rows of seats. I highly recommend this venue. Not a bad seat in the house. So PMB takes the stage. Some anonymous asshole yells bout “What are you doing in Sellersville?” Pat got right on and replied “what are you doing in Sellersville?”
I didn’t have to **** the next day, so I could afford to throw back a few brews. I got a fair buzz going on. At one point I had to pee and get another beer. Now this theater is pretty small, and noise carries. As I stumble back to my seat, I manage to kick all the empty plastic glasses out from underneath my seat. OK, that was a bit embarrassing. Halfway through the set, someone in the crowd alerts Pat that all the bars close at 11 in Sellersville. Believe me, there ain’t that much to do in Sellersville, so why close the bars at 11 is beyond me. We meet up with the guys afterwards, and after not much clear thought, we decide that the strip club next to their hotel surely must have boobs…er..booze. Did I mention that my wife is with us, and she’s the only girl in the group? She’s cool with it, though. So we traipse back to their hotel.
On the way, we do what most people do in these parts at midnight. We hit a Wawa. It is here that we get another piece of bad news; the strip club is BYOB. D’oh! So we just end up hanging with them a bit at the hotel and going home. It was kind of a good thing we didn’t have a late night with them. Friday I didn’t have to **** so it was nice having a 4 day weekend. Friday T hosed me into helping her set up her classroom. Kind of funny since I always hated school growing up, and here I am setting up the room for the kids. I could hear many tiny voices crying out in anguish that they are heading back to school. The rest of the weekend was nice and low key. We hung out, took Bauer out, made bottles of rum and pizzas disappear. But now, tomorrow is “back to”. Back to ****, kids get ready to go back to school.
I once wrote in a Klog many, many years ago, I hate how when summer’s over, it’s the whole “back to” mentality. There is just some sort of cool, laid back attitude people get during the summer. And now it’s like someone is saying “yo, funtime is over, get back to work.” That is of course if you actually have ‘work’ to go back to. I know some people really look forward to the fall, and enjoy the season. Not me, I fucking hate it. I know folks who really enjoy the color of the leaves. And that’s cool and all, but it’s for such a brief period of time. Then, the leaves die.
Fall to me has always been gloomy. It’s when everything dies. Leaves, flowers, grass, my fantasy football teams’ hopes, etc. It gets cold and nasty. Leaves blow everywhere. I’ve often said you can’t shovel heat. I hate raking, I hate shoveling. I try to fight the good fight though; keep summer here as long as I can. I wear flips and shorts for as long as I possibly can. I’ll try to grill as often as possible. But I know it’s all in vain. I know the days will grow shorter and colder.
There are good things in fall I look forward to. Football starts up, and hockey is just a few weeks away. Halloween is coming-on a Friday this year, no less. Of course, Hallowmas season follows, so make all your Hallowmas plans early this year. But that’s about it.
Musically, I find myself going to the more acoustic stuff during the fall. I get into Gothic stuff around Halloween. But all the songs seem to be dark and sour. There’s a great song called Summer’s Gone by Beth hart that I try to post for you guys, but I am never able to find it. I can listen to that song over and over like I’m a mental patient. Please go out of your way to find it and give it a listen.
It’s kinda ironic as I look back at this summer now. I have probably spent more time outside than I’ve had in years. I have the redneck to prove it, and it will probably stay with me clear through till November. Ironically enough, I find myself looking back to our OCNJ week a lot these days. Those walks on the beach, playing lacrosse on the beach, hanging on the deck just staring at the ocean. I really kinda dreaded that week, but looking back now, it was really good for me. Every night when the hamster goes off, I envision those walks on the beach to calm me down.
For now, that’s all over. Who knows when we will get to the beach again? Every fall, we always wanna take Bauer to the beach, but we never do. I hope we do this year. Who knows if we will get back to the beach next summer? Or do Sand Soccer?. I have T working on our own Endless Summer logo where it’s us in the picture. When she gets that done, I’ll put it up here.
Awright, my inspiration has run out, and this post is going to shit, so I will end it here, and maybe enjoy these last few hours of the summer outside.
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