Random Notes From The Sidelines

As I enter the 11th day of life in my 40's, I have these observations to share:

• With "conventional wisdom" putting Hillary Clinton at the top of the Democratic ticket, and our appointed president quoted today as saying his brother Jeb would make a "great president", I am struck by the fact that we had a revolution way back in the 1700's to avoid this kind of familial dynastic leadership. I am backing Russ Feingold for president. If Jesse Ventura runs, he gets my vote instead.
• I hate Spring. I have seasonal allergies and a pathological fear of all things bug. If the Arctic Circle wasn't quickly becoming a freshwater ocean due to global warming, I'd gladly move there. As it stands, I am now in a holding pattern until next Autumn.
• "American Idol" is nothing but Karaoke with vocal acrobatics. The best singers ever? In my opinion, Tony Bennett, Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Cass Elliot, Karen Carpenter, Tim Buckley, Van Morrison, Sandy Denny, Spanky Macfarlane and Janis Joplin, and not one of them had to hit 20 different notes on one word. They were passionate and honest, the two elements that are lacking from every contestant on "American Idol". I only watch "American Idol" at the beginning of each season, when they jettison the awful singers to the netherworld of obscurity. This is a public service. The rest of the show and its contestants are completely disposable.
• Keith Olbermann is the closest thing we have to a real journalist on television these days, proving my belief that all sportswriters should change places with all news writers immediately. I've never known a sportswriter who's been afraid to call someone on their bullshit. One can only hope that more sportswriters follow the lead of Olbermann and cross over to hard news.
• Howard Stern has never sounded better than he does now on Sirius Satellite Radio, far away from the Puritanical witch hunters of the FCC, Clear Channel and CBS radio. We all scrathed our heads at this weird thing called Home Box Office way back in the late 1970's. Sirius is at the same point right now that HBO was back then. In 25 years, we'll have a good laugh at what is left on terrestrial radio, and I'll still be happy to pay the subscription fee.
• My wife and I are now exactly two months away from the due date for our son. We finished the childbirth classes this past Monday (at last; no more talk about the cervix) and the baby's room and furniture are set up. Now, we need a baby, reliable day care and a car seat and we'll be set.
• I suddenly find myself rooting for the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim, now up 3 games to 0 on the Colorado Avalanche in the Western Conference Semifinals in the NHL. This team is more balanced than I suspected, and they boast the best defenseman left in the playoffs in Scott Niedermayer. Besides all that, their coach, Randy Carlyle, played in the NHL without a helmet. I love those tough old guys.
• A lot has been made about MySpace being Ground Zero for sexual predators. What the hell is the matter with parents today? Know your kid's passwords, know his/her online friends, watch over their shoulders and learn how to use a search engine to see what personal info is out there on your kids. The world is full of people who think nothing of perversion. The parents can spot these people a mile away. They should learn how to do it online as well. Still, I find it funny that Rupert Murdoch now owns MySpace. Mr. Fox News now runs a pedophile shopping mall. How ironic.
• I have a show tonight in Milwaukee. I'll be sharing the stage with Craig Stoneman, one of my compatriots in the Milwaukee Area Songwriters Alliance. We'll hit the stage at The Art Bar - Riverwest at 9 PM. It should be a fun evening. Come on out if you can.

I have no other relevant observations to share at this point in time. I'm too busy trying to get my voice in shape for tonight. Let's see what happens tomorrow in this weird and wonderful world of ours.

The Birthing Class Conundrum

I need to start by making this point. I am elated by the fact that my wife and I are going to have a baby (due date July 10th). Having built the last of the furniture for the baby's room this weekend (displaying what I hope to be the last outward expression of rage at an inanimate object for quite some time), I am looking forward to the day when we welcome our son to the world.
Which brings me to child birth education classes. I am in favor of this type of education, but what I thought would be an informative way to bring both partners into the birthing process is quickly becoming the Death March of the Cervix.
For six consecutive Mondays, Leslie and I are going to classes that last about 2 1/4 hours each. Tonight is week four. While I can't fault the information that is shared at these sessions, the length of time devoted to the discussion of the process of delivering a baby is roughly half a day I'll never have back.
I have a little bit of an advantage in that I used to do anesthesia billing and have a unique knowledge of pain control techniques. In addition, I have two children by my first marriage, so I've been through this before. I look forward to being there for my wife. I shall be as perfect a partner as I can possibly be, and I am of the realization that the information provided in these classes will be valuable to her. Having said that, I'm slowly getting bored.
I don't think it's the instructor's fault. She has tons of resources at her disposal, and she's presenting them as well as can be expected, but does all of this really have to last for over 13 hours of total time? The class is slowly reaching the point where it's ceasing to be informative and is slowly morphing into a review session. Three weeks of review sessions!
For Leslie's sake, I'll persevere. As for me, after the completion of this, I don't want to see another poster of an effacing cervix for as long as I live.

Member # 3

It's official. There's no stopping this thing now.

I'd like to urge the internet community at large to please welcome Shaman Sam Morningstar. Sam is a philosophical hellion. Were it not for his quiet demeanor and lack of need for a spotlight, he would crush lesser minds in his path like a beer can under my size 12's. The Shaman now brings his considerable gifts for analysis to The Spencer File. Greet him warmly, but please, don't squeeze the Shaman.

Let The Games Begin

I make no secret that I'm a hockey fan. Living in Wisconsin, which is, was and always will be Packer country, being a hockey fan is something of an anomaly. Granted, we have the University of Wisconsin, which pulled off an unprecedented two-fer this year by winning both the men's and women's NCAA hockey titles, but college hockey just isn't the same as the good old NHL.

I grew up in Philadelphia, which is Flyers country. I stopped rooting for the Flyers a few years ago when I finally realized that their GM, Bob Clarke ("Bobby", in his past life as a dirty hockey player) was ethically challenged on many fronts, and unapologetic about it. The Flyers haven't won a Stanley Cup since 1975, when Clarke was their captain, and they never will as long as Clarke and Ed Snider, their president-by-proxy courtesy of the Comcast Corporation, are pulling the strings.

It's been a relief being a fan of ice hockey in general, instead of being a fan of the Flyers and believing anything their marketing people spit out at their fan base. Thanks to the NHL Center Ice package, I hear a variety of announcers and see many more players play in the span of a year than the good ol' days of just watching Flyers broadcasts.

Which brings me to today, the eve of the most wonderful time of the year for a hockey fan. The NHL playoffs start tomorrow.

Due to a lockout by the NHL owners last year, I haven't seen an NHL playoff game in 22 months, when the Tampa Bay Lightning walked off the ice with the last Stanley Cup championship. The NHL is a different animal now. Once bogged down by defense-first trapping hockey that made the typical game look as slow and as painfully uninteresting as a soccer match in American Samoa, there are now two-line passes, limited handling of the puck by goalies, and a premium on skating, passing and scoring, which is what hockey ought to be in the first place.

While Tampa Bay is in the playoffs again this year, they are not a favorite to repeat. Their goaltending has changed, and they made it into the playoffs after the 81st game in an 82-game schedule. My favorite to win it all has to be the Detroit Red Wings. With new coach Mike Babcock, the Red Wings crushed just about everyone on their way to the best regular season record in the league, and they shows no signs of letting their foot off the gas. I personally will be routing for any team from Canada, a country I hope to live in one day after America gets through destroying itself under the policies of George Bush.

If you can find a bar that carries the NHL, this is the time of year where you see the best the NHL has to offer. If you can't, drop by my place and explore the magic world of commercials for Tim Horton's and Canadian Tire without ever leaving Milwaukee. If we're lucky, we'll get a quadruple-overtime game that ends at 2:30 in the morning as I'm finishing my 7th dark beer of the evening (one for each period).

The Vulture On The Cliff

Eighteen days from today, I shall turn 40. Whenever a milestone like this is reached, it quite obviously begs for reflection, but in my current mental state of utter peace and prosperity, I don't want so much as to reflect, but to look at the many doors I've passed through in my life, close the ones I no longer have any use for and leave open the ones I hold most dear. The remainder of life's hallway contains doors not yet opened, the first of which has behind it my son, who's debut date is currently penciled in as July 10th. This may end up being a rather long post, and the reader will find out things about me that may be all at once surprising, disgusting and hilarious. Yet I feel the need to do this in order to go forward with a clear conscience. So here we go! I'll start with all the women I've known. Initials are used to protect the innocent:

To AB - My first love of my teenage years. I beg forgiveness for being an immature teenage boy and having no working knowledge of anatomy useful to a long-lasting relationship. You're a good person, I hope you're happy and I got better.

To AS - I dated you out of desperation, and I now laugh at our relationship. You were a hypochondriac and (if YOU are to be believed) a telekinetic. In short, you're nuts! I have written songs about how nuts you were. I heard from a mutual acquaintance that you now sell real estate in California. I think that's punishment enough. Thanks for something I can always bring up and laugh at when having conversations in a bar. I am truly stunned that I crashed two cars for you. What the hell was I on?

To SB - Sorry I couldn't converse very well with you mother. I've gotten better at that too. I hope you're happy since I last saw you in 1992. I got a song out of you too, but I never play it anymore.

To EB - What the hell was THAT all about that night after the movies? Thankfully, I hope we both got over that silliness.

To SA - Timing and my own rampant immaturity were our enemies. I apologize in the strongest possible terms for being such an insufferable prick during our relationship. Forget me! Please move on to someone who deserves you brains, your sense of humor and that heart on your sleeve.

To CS - I was nowhere near ready to settle down, and you're a great person. I think about you every February 29th (the day we first met). I miss the cats and your smile.

To SB (the other one) - The one that got away, but I realize now that that's all your fault. You enjoy the music, and I'll enjoy the memories.

To RW - Best of luck with that God thing. I've since moved on to other intellectual pursuits, but thanks for letting me see the bitter and judgmental side of Catholicism up close, so I never have to go anywhere near it again for as long as I live.

To X (the first wife) - I never really loved you. You happened to be there in a vulnerable time in my life after my grandmother died, and stupid me, I thought I saw some of her traits in you. I was WAY off!! You're an inveterate slob and carry upon you a sense of entitlement that you have not earned. That letter I left you about how I needed to leave you because I feared for everyone's safety if I stayed was true, for I have never met another person more worthy of a bludgeoning in all my life than you. I left our marriage for peace of mind, I found it, your opinion matters only to you, and God help the next sucker who finds his sorry ass in the orbit of you and your insane immediate family. OH, and uh, revenge is best served cold, and here it is, for all the world to see. In spite of you, I hope the kids are well.

To Leslie - Every day I have spent with you is better than the last. I find nothing but love, humor and peace by your side. I am honored to be your husband, and I shall be more honored to be the father of our son. Beauty is both spiritual AND physical, and my world turns all around you. My search is over. You inspire me every day to attain better heights for the two (soon to be three) of us, and I'll never get tired of doing just that. I love you.

Now, we move on to friends, past and present:

To CY - How's Florida? I hope you and your family are doing well. At least one beer I'll have over my birthday weekend will be to you, oh drinking buddy of my ever-distant past. I miss the hockey games, the Michael's Deli hoagies and Jane's Addiction through the Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania. Stay well, and stop playing golf. It makes you look Republican.

To CD - The best musician I know. I hope your family (ALL of them) is doing fantastic. I miss your input when I write something ludicrous.

To TW - If JetBlue recovers, get yourself out to Milwaukee. I'll try to make it back to Pennsylvania one day in the future without throwing up. Thanks for being there in the best and worst of times. And, in memoriam, thanks to your parents and their house, the scene of more than one "February of Death". I'll talk to you soon, my friend!

To SW - Dude, pick one e-mail and stay with it! I know you're in greater Atlanta, other than that, I can't find your nomadic ass (or my waitress) with a geiger counter. Leave a comment, shoot up a flare, some goddamned thing!

To SG - Stay safe in greater Atlanta. I know you have friends over in Iraq and that you're really into GW's interpretation of America. I'm not, but I don't hold it against you. We've been through one Bowl & Driver League too many to quit now. Hope all the girls (including WG) are doing great. RAAAMMMOOONNNEE!

To PK - I never get replies from your e-mail address anymore, but thanks for opening my eyes to the secrets of true music and spirituality. You're a man of few words, but all of them carry wisdom and gravitas. Your contributions to me as a human being, as far as I am concerned, are of paramount importance, and I thank you.

To DH - I hope Vienna finds you well. It's been far too long since I signed on at the same time as you, but you're not forgotten. I hope A is doing well too.

To TH65 - Hey man! I haven't really spoken to you since we saw Robyn Hitchcock that night in Milwaukee. I hope Michigan is treating you well. I'll catch up with you soon.

To ?? - Thanks for joining the blog. The first post was just great. As soon as I turn a profit from this, I'll send you a check. Now that you have your first posting out of the way, when can I expect a gig in your town?

To MASA and all the erstwhile denizens of Club LeGrow - You people are just spectacular. You have made my stay in Milwaukee a great one so far, and with your blessings, I'll stay here for the rest of my life. I always anticipate the next get-together with great expectations, and I'm never let down.

I have no positive comments reserved for my immediate family, with the exception of my two sons. You are all a bunch of traitors and I hope you and X are happy, for you deserve each other. I live peacefully without you, and just so you know, I'm not reserving time in my afterlife for you either. I had enough of you while I've been alive, the only relatives I treasure are all dead and those of you who are still alive truly need to take a good strong healthy dose of Shut The Fuck Up, because I'm not listening anymore and no one really gives a damned about your hurtful and judgmental opinions. And you have the nerve to call yourselves "Good people"? Where the hell do you get off? The presence of you in my life literally made me physicially ill, and there's no rule book anywhere that says I have to just sit here and suffer at your hands. Please stay right where you are, which is Far Away.

To A & N - Your dad can't be there for this special time in your life. I have no clue what anyone has told you about me, but I'm not away trying to "figure things out", and I can't attempt to reenter your lives as long as your mother stands between us. Know that I am sending money to your mother every month to attend to your needs as you grow older. While I am not allowed to share all of the new and exciting things you are discovering in your life, it is hoped that you have inherited my curiosity and thirst for knowledge. It is best that you look beyond the comments about me that are thrown around by assorted members of the family and try as best as you can to see me as a human like any other; flawed, but basically decent. I never killed anyone or stole anything in my life (except for the occasional chord progression on guitar). Sometimes, people make mistakes. You can't help who your parents are, and this situation can't be easy for you, but your father knows he loves you, and at the end of the day, that is all that should matter. I'll reserve time in the afterlife to see you if the current barriers stay in place for the rest of this life.

And so ends my first half of life screed. As I pass the midway marker in the cycle of life expectancy, I wonder about the journey ahead. I think about the welfare of Leslie and my son, now 2/3 prepared to enter the physical world. I hope for the best for my two sons of the past. Most importantly, in these challenging times, I hope we all find a way back to sanity and true freedom, instead of this paranoid dictatorship in which we now find oursevles buried.

Doors have been closed, and important doors are left open. Time has marched at that one steady pace from my own debut during the Johnson Administration. I was born into a country fighting a war, in the words of Phil Ochs, "...lost before the war began". As I turn 40, what has changed? From the murders of MLK and RFK, to Kent State, to Nixon resigning, to the Energy and Iran hostage crises, to the murder of John Lennon, to ketchup as a vegetable, from the popguns of Grenada and Kuwait, to the monumental waste of Iraq, it doesn't seem like anything has truly changed since my birth. I hope the people of this land that I live in wake up soon to the horrors of our current leadership, and decide to fight back, and not just with words, but with action.

As for me, now it's time to see what else is in my hallway......

Calling All Hookers!

Good evening! My, what a lovely audience we have here tonight. Let's give a big round of applause to our Master of Ceremonies, J.P.! Thanks for the fabulous introduction.

Now... for my first trick... er... blog, I will give insight to the inner workings of an Internet Whore Troller. In this scene I will be the Yahoo Messenger ID virgo_queengoddess and the Internet Whore Troller is lived by scotia_nova2000. Stop me if you've heard this one before:


scotia_nova2000: Hi, I am mark male 35 in canada, down on business for 4 days - april 18, . I was hoping to try somethign new, like meet a safe clean and hassle free female for intimate evening or maybe something a little hotter. I am clean safe respectful and very easy to be around. I am a professional and clean cut . but have a very naughty side mentally , if your interested. if you are will send your thoughtsHi, I am mark male 35 in canada, down on business for 4 days - april 18, . I was hoping to try somethign new, like meet a safe clean and hassle free female for intimate evening or maybe something a little hotter. I am clean safe respectful and very easy to be around. I am a professional and clean cut . but have a very naughty side mentally , if your interested. if you are will send your thou

Now generally I would just ignore such silliness, but today I felt compelled to answer:

virgo_queengoddess: what you seem to be looking for is a hooker. You should go that route. Less hassle.

Little did I know... this copy/paste master was paying attention:

scotia_nova2000: id rather the hassle - its safe clean and more interesting , it snot just the sex
scotia_nova2000: and i never evenr paye dof rit
scotia_nova2000: never paid for it
scotia_nova2000: and wont
scotia_nova2000: id rather have a nice diner and chat
scotia_nova2000: i cum off strong but really a nice converstion would be as fulfilling

Let me paraphrase... he's not just interested in sex. A lovely dinner companion would be equally invigorating. But I'm confused by something:

virgo_queengoddess: did you really just type "cum" instead of "come" and still expect me to believe that you'd be up for just a nice dinner?

I bet he has a good answer for that one:

scotia_nova2000: i have a naughty mind
scotia_nova2000: but i realy never get to explore it
scotia_nova2000: i am a curious soul

Ahhhh I see. His wife doesn't put out. Let's inquire about that:

virgo_queengoddess: your wife isn't into it, eh?
(Please note the "eh". He is Canadian afterall.)

scotia_nova2000: i am not married
scotia_nova2000: any more

SHOCKING! Wonder if that had anything to do with him trolling for internet whores?

I then ignored him. But he would not be so easily dissuaded:

scotia_nova2000: Hello , My name is George , I am 37 canadian and in Minneapolis april 18 -21
scotia_nova2000: how are you miss queen-goddess

Well! Lookee that! He has a new name and has matured by two years!

virgo_queengoddess: wow... and you're a split personality too? what a treasure!

scotia_nova2000: Your incredibly insiteful
scotia_nova2000: nice , woudl be refreshing having you accross a table enjoying a meal and conversation with

Damn! I'm so "insiteful"... I should, like, be a detective or something.

Let's wrap things up:

virgo_queengoddess: never gonna happen

scotia_nova2000: I am an aquarian
scotia_nova2000: does that explain it
scotia_nova2000: for u
scotia_nova2000: sorry i came across very rough
scotia_nova2000: i am actually clean cut safe and more reserved in person
scotia_nova2000: would you tellme about u

virgo_queengoddess: no

scotia_nova2000: my soul , no second chances
scotia_nova2000: hard on a man

virgo_queengoddess: listen, Mark/George... you're being utterly ridiculous, but if you do find a woman that will meet you then you will have indeed met the stupidest woman alive

scotia_nova2000: arnt vergos and aquarians a good match
scotia_nova2000: wow theres a brain in there
scotia_nova2000: it is george
scotia_nova2000: nice
scotia_nova2000: lets forget the sex crap
scotia_nova2000: i like the smart one called queen goddess
scotia_nova2000: ok you win
scotia_nova2000: no more pick ups
scotia_nova2000: but, your to appealing mentally to not continue
scotia_nova2000: may i say i am sorry
scotia_nova2000: an dbe so fortunate to start again on a more civil and appropriate path
scotia_nova2000: towards knowing you and an aquintence
scotia_nova2000: ?
scotia_nova2000: working hard here , some mercy is appreciated , my queen

virgo_queengoddess: you are relentless

scotia_nova2000:now that i sence you have a brain and a personality , its more appealing and i miss a conversation
scotia_nova2000: Yes i am when i feel somethign is worth persueing
scotia_nova2000: do u have a soft side some mercy for effort and persistance
scotia_nova2000: ?
scotia_nova2000: pls

virgo_queengoddess: not really... once a pig always a pig
virgo_queengoddess: often that works for me, but not in this case

scotia_nova2000: a queen with out mercy
scotia_nova2000: i am not a pig
scotia_nova2000: i just have a bad way at times when online
scotia_nova2000: its been a long time
scotia_nova2000: and separating gives some fredoms and and y way no excuse I am sorry , i am genuinely not a pig I do like sex alot but its been a while , I am sorry for me rudeness . will you forgive me
scotia_nova2000: ?
scotia_nova2000: Hell o

virgo_queengoddess: not enough begging in the world

scotia_nova2000: virgo are you home or work?
scotia_nova2000: what must i do for us to strat again

virgo_queengoddess: you should spend your energy elsewhere

scotia_nova2000: nope
scotia_nova2000: may i se eto hope i am being so persistant

truncated for repetitive begging and other bullshit... you get the idea

Damn... I let another one get away, didn't I?

Introducing.....

In an attempt to bring forth a new and fresh perspective to The Spencer File, I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome our first team member, "lucidoll".
Because her posts will cast a net over a wide variety of topics, and due to the fact that some of her future posts will deal with contentious familial issues, lucidoll prefers to remain anonymous. Having been a fan of her sometimes erstwhile work, I am confident that the readers of The Spencer File will enjoy her observations and her humor as much as I have. Please join me in welcoming lucidoll to the team.


J. P.

Why Congress Needs Cynthia McKinney

In the past two weeks, the blogs, mostly the racist, right-wing blogs, have been all afire about the detention of Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney of Georgia by Capitol Hill police.

The story goes something like this. Black Congresswoman in a hurry and without ID indicating she is indeed a Congresswoman, runs past a checkpoint on Capitol Hill. After being told three times to stop, the security officer grabs her by the arm. McKinney responds by identifying herself as a Congresswoman, but only after popping the guy one in the chest. Currently, the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia is deciding whether or not to press charges against McKinney for assaulting a police officer.

The Republican Party, eager to redirect attention from their gross abuses of power, have jumped all over this story. Knowing that black support of the Republican party hovers around single digits (and falling), they have nothing to lose by scapegoating a black woman by introducing a measure on the House floor indicating support for the Capitol Hill Police.

McKinney is no friend of Republicans in the House. She was voted out of her seat in 2002 after spending the previous year stating for the record on the floor of the House that the Bush administration had prior knowledge of the 9/11 attacks. Two years and a gerrymandered black Georgia congressional district later, she's back, and she's out to kick some flatfoot ass. The Republicans and - by their absense at her news conference a few days ago - some Democrats would like nothing better than to see McKinney go back to Georgia permanently.

I, personally, want her to stay in Congress until her death, and here's why.

Every kingdom needs a court jester. Ever since Jim Traficant was convicted of racketeering and bribery and thrown out of the House of Representatives, there hasn't been someone you could laugh at in the halls of Congress. Oh sure, the Republican attempts to restrict lobbying are funny based on their sheer artifice at wanting to fix a problem that they happily created, but I'm talking about theatrical funny, like a Harpo Marx or a Ringling Brothers clown funny. I miss Traficant's shouts of "Beam Me Up!" whenever he took to the podium of the House regarding a topic he cared about. What he DID care about I never did get, but ah, those were the days.

Cynthia McKinney, with her wild hair, orange outfits and unchecked paranoia, fills the void I've felt since Jim Traficant and his toupee went to minimum security. Sure, she punches cops and spins wild tales, but isn't that what makes for great theatre? People need a reason to watch C-Span, because it's certainly not that entertaining or engrossing. On most days, it's the equivalent of a box of Somonex. With McKinney's penchant for uncontrolled outbursts of delusional thought, at least to this writer, Congress is interesting again.

Subpoenas, Lies & Videotape

After all of the posturing and invective, it all came down to a videotape.

Former House Majority Leader Tom Delay announced via videotape this morning that he will be vacating his suburban Houston House seat and will not seek re-election in the fall. This is an election for which he has already won the Republican primary.

Was this because he is going into the private sector? No, because people under indictment usually aren't at the top of the list for private sector jobs. Did he want to spend more time with his family? No, as he will more than likely see the inside of a courtroom more often than the Delay clan in the coming months.

The reason he quit was political cowardice. Instead of suffering the indignity of losing an election based on TX-22's view of his shady dealings with Jack Abramoff and Co., he decided to take his political marbles and go home. He chose the "honorable" path of political suicide rather than see his seat, with him sitting in it, be turned over to a Democrat by the voters of the 22nd District. To demonstrate the point, he quit via videotape, thereby insuring that he never had to face the media and answer a question honestly.

For someone as haughty and arrogant as DeLay, it is indeed ironic that he chose, in the political equivalent of the 11th hour, to take the coward's way out. Apparently, the smile on his mugshot was not enough to convince the voters of his district that he has no character flaws.

I would be completely naive if I believed that Tom DeLay's PAC largesse towards the Republican Party is suddenly going to stop given this announcement. His videotaped message came very close to stating that it would be business as usual with regard to GOP fundraising, and that's a business that currently finds him squarely in Ronnie Earle's crosshairs.

In Need Of A Nice Cop In Milwaukee

I personally don't have a beef with cops in general. Despite the fact that I believe that this particular profession tends to attract the power-hungry and, sometimes, the sociopathic, in general I thank the police in my city for keeping things moving at a pretty good clip.

My comments are directed to the obese moron in brown who was directing traffic this morning out on I-94.

Due to an accident, all traffic on 94 West was exiting onto Hawley Avenue (I know that to most of you who are not in Milwaukee, this probably means nothing; for that I apologize). I am of the realization that trying to block off three lanes of traffic and attempting to get different types of drivers to all suddenly take one exit is a daunting task, but would it hurt you to be nice?

I was trying to merge from the far left-hand lane over to the exit ramp. I was being cautious, as it was quite the mess. Out of nowhere, the cop directing traffic yells at me and tells me that I shouldn't be in the left lane and to, in his well-schooled vocabulary, "C'MON!!".

It is hard enough trying NOT to collide with other drivers, who were being courteous, but I have to listen to this glorified desk jockey throw a hissy fit because I'm not merging fast enough for his satisfaction.

When a cop needs to direct traffic, I look for one thing, and that would be a hand waving me towards my destination. I don't know who you are, oh Lord of the Interstate, but the next time you want to pull the Traffic Gestapo routine to feed your thirst for authority, pull it on your wife, if you're not already beating her or cheating on her with a prostitute who wants to "expunge" her recent arrest record. Absent that, pull it on someone who wants to put up with your attitude. In short, next time, wave your hand and keep your fucking mouth shut!

Boycott South Dakota!!

Now that the "enlightened" citizens of South Dakota have decided to put doctors in jail for practicing medicine, I have a few suggestions to make this transition painful for the government and brainless citizens of a state known for presidents in rocks and Native American concentration camps, or "reservations", if you prefer.

First, don't go to Mount Rushmore. You can see pictures of it in virtually any respectable travel guide, and honestly, what the hell is exciting about four dead white guys on the side of a hill? If you want to see that, join the Army and go to Afghanistan. Odds are, if you play your cards right, you could be one of those dead white guys.

Second, lobby your state governments to pass legislation which states that your state will no longer do business with any company in South Dakota until this vile law is repealed. Republicans don't understand much, but they understand the dollar. If you take it away from them, they cry and whine and tell you how great things were in the 1950's, when America lynched black people for a bit of fun and women knew that their proper place was either in the home or in the alley with a coat hanger.

Next, I speak to the members of the medical profession not currently residing in South Dakota. It is imperative that you tell your colleagues in South Dakota that there are states in the union that will allow them to practice medicine freely and without threat of prison. Encourage doctors in South Dakota to leave the state. The state goverment in power in Pierre was sent there by a near-sighted electorate. It is my belief that their collective eyesight will change when they need a non-existent doctor for urgent medical care. Diabetes? Tough cookies! Your doctor left to treat people in a place where he/she is appreciated. Does Aunt Erma need a heart bypass operation? Well, too bad! I suggest your get ol' Erma a bottle of schnapps and a penknife and let her perform the operation on herself. Your daughter in Rapid City is having trouble delivering the demon spawn of the man who raped her? Bummer! Maybe if you treated OB/GYN's like dedicated health professionals instead of criminals, maybe one would be around to help her out with the delivery.

To all high school students looking for a university, look to a higher education system located in states other than South Dakota. Leave that state to the barbarians who run it and leave them out in the cold. Remember, a portion of your tuition dollar will end up in state coffers to house the incarcerated doctors South Dakota no longer respects.

To all Indian tribes currently running casinos in South Dakota, I suggest that you use the revenue to buy land in adjoining states and begin to make plans to leave. It's not bad enough that Jack Abramoff stole all your money for Tom DeLay's overseas golf outings, but now the state has okayed the rape of your daughters. Your people have been raped enough by the white man. Give 'em some of that back!

If you run into a seller on EBay from South Dakota, try to find a similar or identical piece of whatever it is you're looking for from a seller in a different state. This can be applied to any web business based in South Dakota. If the citizens of South Dakota felt so strongly about this law, then they shouldn't be surprised if I feel strongly about taking my business elsewhere.

It only takes small steps like these to starve these people out and make them see the error of their collective ways. There's only about 400,000 people in the whole state. Hell, more than twice that have died in Darfur alone and America hasn't even noticed. Since nothing of consequence ever happens in South Dakota anyway, it won't be as if camera crews will rush to take films of skeletons with skin in the Black Hills collectively starving from economic abandonment. With a little concerted energy, the new state motto of South Dakota will be "The Ignorance Of South Dakota Stays In South Dakota".

The Ten Dumbest Songs I've Ever Found Part II

In part one of this post, I concentrated on deep album cuts that I had come across that I felt were so stupid that I couldn't believe anyone would spend the valuable studio time investment to save these songs for all eternity.

In part 2, I am going to be much more subjective. We have all come across songs on the radio that are musically disposable, for whatever reason. Yet in order to make my list, I wanted to focus on songs that not only are borderline terrible in the musical composition department, but contain lyrics that actually make the track worse.

Realizing that all music is subjective, there may appear on this list a song that you actually like. I wish I could say I'm sorry, but if I did I wouldn't mean it. In my humble opinion and with my well-traveled ears, these songs are dumb, and no amount of rerecording or tutoring will ever save them from the depths of stupidity in which they now languish for all measured time. So, with that in mind, let's start with an oldie, but a goodie:

"Dancing In The Street" - Various Artists - I have had discussions with people who truly like this song as a happy, celebratory song that makes them feel good. This song has been recorded by a number of artists, including Martha Reeves & The Vandellas, The Mamas & Papas (there they are again; what was John Phillips thinking?) and a particularly abysmal version by Mick Jagger & David Bowie from 1985.

I hate to break it to you, but this song is the epitome of stupid escapism and should never again be heard by human ears. The only type of event that would cause this kind of mass, communal dancing through the streets of all of the cities mentioned in the lyrics would be an oncoming nuclear bomb or chemical attack. Only we wouldn't call it "dancing". It's called a riot, and it's a BAD THING!

One last footnote: one of the cities mentioned is "Philadelphia, PA", a town where I once lived. How ridiculous is the assertion that Philadelphia would suddenly break into dancing? Well, dancing is prohibited by the Philadelphia Parking Authority in all parking lots prior to sports contests at the stadiums and arenas there. In reality, if a group of people start dancing in the streets of Philadelphia, the first reaction is to call 9-1-1 to get these idiots off the streets, or, failing that, a few sharp billy clubs to the back of the head. Philadelphia, PA indeed! This song needed a fact checker.

"Young Turks" - Rod Stewart - Ah, what would an article of musical criticism from me be without yet another pot shot at that legendary Acid-Throated Bard of All Things Mediocre?

Since 1974, we have had a LOT of musical crap from this one source. I am hoping that one day the powers that be give him a Lifetime Achievement Grammy inscribed with the words: "To Rod Stewart; ENOUGH ALREADY!". Until that day comes, his picture is on my mental dartboard.

There are a lot of truly stupid songs in the Rod Stewart "Canon", but "Young Turks" was dated, dumb and worthless a mere one day after first appearing on the radio in the early '80's. The main instrument in this song is one of those cheesy, Casio keyboards that were all the rage with New Wave bands of the time period. The story line of this song is a teenage couple who, acting on empty-headed impulse, run away from home. The song ends with the female half of the couple giving birth to a 10-pound baby boy. Way to encourage responsible behavior, Rod. Should we expect any less from someone who trades in the latest model he's nailing the moment she turns 30? If that wasn't bad enough, there's the chorus:

"Young hearts be free tonight

Time is on your side

Don't let 'em put you down

Don't let 'em push you around

Don't ever let them change your point of view"

Show me a teenager who is absolutely correct and set in his world view, and I'll show you a teenager with some form of mental disability. "Don't ever let them change your point of view"? Teenagers NEED a change in point of view. It's called pot, and they'll discover it in college. The National Institutes of Health has drawn a direct correlation between this song and a spike in teen pregnancies during the time period (well, not really, but I'd like to think so).

"Plush" - Stone Temple Pilots - My wife and I argue constantly about the merits of this band. To me, this song tells you all you need to know about how bad the results can be when a different record label is anxious to find an up-and-coming band with a similar sound to a band that has already hit it big. In this case, Pearl Jam had already made it, and Stone Temple Pilots were quickly pushed out into the world to be sound-alike pretenders to greatness.

Musically, there is just a bit too much of a similarity in sound between "Plush" and Pearl Jam's "Even Flow", from their multi-million selling debut "Ten". This song would be a bad idea if we stopped there, but then, Weiland (their lead singer; yea, like with his lack of talent and penchant for heroin, he earned the right to go by one name) put lyrics to this copycat song that may very well be the most incoherent and intelligence-insulting pile of fecal matter I have ever heard sung out of a human mouth:

"And I feel, I feel

When the dogs begin to smell her

Will she smell alone?"

Sorry to be profane, but what in the fuck does THAT mean? Stone Temple Pilots think so much of their lyrical abilities that they actually have the lyrics to this "song" currently posted on their website (Go ahead; they're there, I already checked). If I EVER write lyrics like this and show them to you, you have my permission to either bash my face in with a Louisville Slugger, send me to Bellevue or into rehab, whichever is most applicable at the time. The worst part of this song? It was a single TWICE, once electric and once acoustic, where you can actually understand the lyrics being sung. Why would a band do that with lyrics like these?

"All You Zombies" - The Hooters - Sweet Jesus, where do I begin?

I lived in Philly when The Hooters broke into the Great Beyond of airplay in the early '80's. I had to hear different incarnations of this song on local radio a full THREE YEARS before the rest of the country. Pity me. I'm still in recovery. I can barely get through "Night Of The Living Dead" without an indirect zombie flashback to this song.

After all this time, I am wondering what was so compelling about the Book of Exodus that it needed to be turned into an ersatz reggae power ballad. Worse yet, what the hell does Moses delivering his people from Egypt have to do with zombies? Note to Rob Hyman, Hooters lyricist: When attempting to write a political statement in song, draw a clear parallel between the point you're trying to make and the story you're telling. I don't get it. NO ONE gets it. Never sing about zombies again!

Footnote: My wife and I are viewers of VH1 Classic. Lately they have had a very nice program called "Pay To Play", where you can pay for a certain number of videos based on the size of your donation, with all of the proceeds going to Hurricane Katrina relief. We were watching it recently and at the top of the hour, the VJ is announcing who sent money in to see their favorite videos that were about to be played. The final name she said was "...and Eric Bazilian of Bryn Mawr, PA". I immediately recognized this name as being the guitarist for The Hooters, which was funny, because the VJ didn't seem to know who he was.What happened at the bottom of the hour? Three Hooters videos played back-to-back, beginning with "All You Zombies". It has truly come to this; The Hooters' music is so poorly regarded 20 years later that the only way you can hear it is for the members of the band to PAY to have it played. Unfortunately, Eric was a co-writer of the next song on the list, so the royalties he has earned may buy a lot of crappy music on your airwaves. Hopefully, VH1 Classic's program has been a success and can be ended as soon as possible to avoid this kind of whoring by washed-up musicians from my hometown.

"God" - Joan Osbourne - As if the madness of The Hooters in the '80's hadn't left a bad enough taste in all of our collective mouths, good ol' Rob and Eric kept writing songs together, resulting in this all-encompassing bowl of dried rhino snot disguised as a musical statement. Lyrics?

"Yea yea, God is great

yea, yea, God is good

yea, yea, yea, yea, yea

What if God was one of us?"

If you change the vocal inflections while singing these lyrics, it could very well sound like a 14-year-old boy beating off to the Bible. Was there really a need for this kind of statement?
I have never met a single person in my ever-expanding circle of acquaintances who actually likes this song, which, based on the model of the previous song on the list, leads me to believe that Rob and Eric had to have paid someone to break this compost pile of a composition to a wider audience. I truly think that this is a case where a video with a chick with a nose ring had more to do with the popularity of the song rather than any compelling merits of the song itself. I have to hand it to Rob and Eric. If you're going to write a dumb and pointless song that may not go anywhere, have a circus midget, a bearded lady or (if available) a chick with frizzy hair and a nose ring to record it. What's the old axiom? People are so scared of the Yankees because they're dazzled by the pinstripes. This song may be the most successful example of "bait and switch" ever inflicted on an unsuspecting and drooling public at large. Nice going, boys!

And thus ends my list. Add or subtract where you like, but these are the dumbest songs I've ever found. I am not so jaded as to think that dumber songs will not be created in the future. Rest assured that if it enters my ears, you and the composers will both hear about it in the strongest language possible.

The 10 Dumbest Songs I've Ever Found

Before I begin to catalog songs under this posting's heading, I feel that I need to come clean; I am quickly becoming an anachronism.

I do not yet own an IPod, and I have no plans to do so. I am a firm believer in the power of the album. I believe that ANYONE can catch lightning in a bottle once in their life, and that everyone probably has one good song in them. Having said that, the elevation to musical deity only happens when someone fills an album with more than one song you want to hear over and over.

Which brings us to this list I've compiled, Because I spend a lot of time listening to full CD's (dare I ask...remember those?) by artists I have come across, I have discovered songs that are fantastic that most people have never heard. On the other hand, I have discovered a lot of what is called "Filler", as in "We only have eight songs; can you come up with two more to flesh out the whole record?"

Most filler is harmless; average musical compositions that have mass, take up space and are easily bypassed by hitting the skip button on your CD player. Beyond that first line of filler are usually tracks that are of the Ed Wood variety. These songs are so dumb that you can't believe that ANY recording studio actually was reimbursed time to commit such a laughable atrocity to all posterity.

Because of my listening habits, virtually all of these tracks will be unfamiliar to you, which - trust me on this one - is a good thing. I consider this article as part of my community service sentence; I listened to them, so you don't have to.

"Spontaneous Apple Creation" - The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown - Arthur Brown was known for another song that appeared on his first album, the psychedelic nugget "Fire" ("I am the God of Hellfire, and I bring you.....Fire"). I put this song first because as much as I revel in the music of the psychedelic era, I am of the realization that there was a lot of very silly music on a lot of full-length albums of this time period. "Spontaneous Apple Creation" is one of the more egregious examples of this. The music track features a picked upright bass intro, what sounds like a xylophone, a Hammond organ and some kind of watery flying sound in the middle of it. The lyrics? Judge for yourself:

"...what could save mankind from man
when the blind, the blind overran
down from all this confused devastation
Came the great Spontaneous Apple Creation"

OK, I've smoked grass, and I don't even get that one. The funniest part of this is that Arthur Brown's first album was co-produced by Pete Townshend and Kit Lambert, the brains behind no less a masterpiece than "Tommy". How do things like this happen?

"Love and a Muscle" - The Northern Pikes - In 1988, I was listening to WIOQ in Philadelphia, a few months before it became a white rap station and I abandoned it forever. WIOQ was what we would call an Adult Alternative station today. Back then, they hadn't even thought of a label for what they played. On their playlist at the time was a song called "Things I Do For Money" by a band from Canada, The Northern Pikes. One afternoon, they were giving the band's album, "Big Blue Sky", away to the seventh caller, and I won. Upon receiving the CD in the mail and listening to it, I soon regretted that phone call. While "Things..." was an ok track, the rest of this album was so chock full of garbage as to go down in my personal history as one of the top three worst albums I ever heard beginning to end.

You would think that with so many awful tracks on one album that picking one that was worse than all others would have been a difficult task. Unfortunately, one listen to the song "Love And A Muscle" ended all debate.

I have absolutely no idea what this song is about as far as a story line, but the unforgettable first verse is its reason for inclusion on this list:

"She has a muscle
She has a muscle
She has a muscle
Flex it, Flex it, Flex that muscle"

When I'm out of fart jokes, I quote this verse at parties in my best poetry-reading voice. Notice that it stands below fart jokes in my sliding scale of Amusing. I think that tells you all that you need to know. If it was only a matter of the lyrics being dumb, I probably wouldn't have remembered this track, but the lyrics are paired with one of the worst trainwrecks of musical song structure ever committed to CD. Thankfully, this band never recorded a follow-up. Unfortunately, I'm left with the memories.

"Twist And Shout" - The Mamas And The Papas - Part of the charm of The Mamas & The Papas was the fact that they reinterpreted songs from the early '60's in the folk rock vein. This works marvelously when they covered "Dedicated To The One I Love", and I prefer their version to the original. When they covered "Twist And Shout", the revered Isley Brothers/Beatles classic, it was an absolute failure and a stupid idea. Denny Doherty sings lead on a song that requires a quick tempo, but was recorded as a slow dirge by one of my favorite vocal bands. No amount of perfect harmonies could save a song that is a straight rock and roll song recorded as a ballad. As the Beatles and the Isleys do it, I really like this song. This stands as John Phillips' worst production idea.

"Mona Bone Jakon" - Cat Stevens - I'll freely admit that Mr Stevens (Mr. Islam?) had a number of great songs, and the album of the same title that this song comes from contains some of his best work, such as "The Wind", "Trouble" and "Katmandu". And yet, in the middle of this admittedly great album is a major hiccup. I put this song on the list remembering that Elvis Costello was once quoted as saying that he didn't like to name his albums after a song on the album because he felt it put too much pressure on that song to be the best song on the album. "Mona Bone Jakon" may be the worst song that is also the title of the album that holds it. This one is a real headscratcher, because Stevens was in his songwriting prime at this moment in time. In the midst of songs that became legendary came this lyrical mess of ersatz acoustic folk blues. The opening lines?

"I've got a Mona Bone Jakon
But it won't be lonely for long"

Not only does he set a scene of us not knowing what the hell he has, but then he turns around and tells us that whatever it is he has is lonely. Sure, it's easy to think that he's singing about his schwantz whenever someone sings about anything containing the word "bone", but I find it hard to believe that any man, even in his most drunk and primitive state, would name his penis "Mona". Just ask that dear old friend between my legs, Cousin It.

"Warrior" - Wishbone Ash - And while we're on the subject of bones, I present this relic of rock's Progressive Era. Wishbone Ash was one of those "music for your head" bands like Yes, ELP and early Genesis, only not nearly as good. When I heard this song for the first time, I figured that this had to be one of the main bands that inspired Spinal Tap. I once tried to drag my wife to see this band (yes, they still tour; scary audience) at Summerfest here in Milwaukee a few years ago. She dragged us away after five minutes to go see Ben Folds instead. She hasn't forgiven me for the lousy seats we had for Ben folds because we showed up late.

"Warrior" was part of a suite of 6-minute fantasy medieval story songs from one of Wishbone Ash's records. Progressive era bands were known for this kind of Dungeons & Dragons-type lyrical sillyness, but of all of the ridiculous songs from that era covering this subject matter, "Warrior" stands out as the most bloated and juvenile. Here's a lyrical sample, straight from what seems to be a 15-year-old males's first diary:

"I had to be a warrior
A slave I couldn't be
A soldier and a conqueror
Fighting to be free"

The music that accompanies this chorus fits these extremely silly fist-tightening lyrics to a tee, as the power chords accompany the whole band singing these words in mock-battle anger mode. "Sex Farm Woman" anyone?

This will be a blog post in two parts. Coming up in Part 2, some more visible entries from some surprising sources. Stay tuned.

The Way Of The Voice

I haven't been regular at this particular sight in quite awhile, so I thought I'd just add a quick note about the human voice.
I have had discussions with people in the past about what constitutes a good voice and what constitutes a bad voice. To me, a good singing voice is one that is honest. At first listen, we may not enjoy the voices of Bob Dylan, Mark E. Smith of The Fall or Robert Smith of The Cure, but upon repeated listening, we realize that this kind of singing, while not technically perfect, has at the very least captured the spirit of what makes for good vocals.
Conversely, we have the Mariah Carey problem. Mariah Carey is the Musical Riddle of the Sphinx; suppose you had the greatest voice in the world and didn't know how to sing? Verbal gymnastics get old fast, as they are usually masking lyrics that have no metaphysical or spiritual meaning.
So bring on the Captain Beefhearts of the world, bury the Whitney Houstons deep in the ground, and just give me something honest and compelling.

Laura Nyro; now THAT was an honest singer!

So Long Gene McCarthy

I like the role of iconoclast. I believe that the fundamental difference between an iconoclast and a nihilist is that an iconoclast will suggest a solution, whereas a nihilist is mostly just talk without action.
One of my favorite iconoclasts died this past week. Eugene McCarthy died at the age of 89 years old. He ran for president a total of 5 times, only two of which were serious, and one of those - 1968 - ended up toppling a president and self-immolating the Democratic Party in ways that it still struggles with today.
My role is not as a history teacher, so the story of Eugene McCarthy's ill-fated 1968 presidential campaign is better left to someone who can tell it thoroughly (if it's possible to tell the story of 1968 without a little part of the relator dying inside). In this time of supreme falsehood, where we have a president who feels it necessary to spy on his own citizens to "protect America", I am struck by how few true iconoclasts are left among us under the age of 80. In my lifetime thus far, we've lost Hyman Rickover, Buckminster Fuller, Abbie Hoffman, John Lennon, Frank Zappa and now Eugene McCarthy.
What made McCarthy unique was his penchant for taking on the system from within. As has been the case far too often in history, those that try to reform the system from within usually become political martyrs. Sadly, McCarthy was martyred to a senator from his own state. This may have been the unkindest cut of all in Eugene's political life.
They have already named buildings across the land for Hubert Humphrey. That's what happens to people who happily sacrifice their morality to the system with artifice and bombastic language that is saved in small shreds on a plaque. There will be no stadiums or government office buildings or rotundas for Gene McCarthy. The honest man who fights the good fight in the common tongue and fails never gets a monument. If they did, every bridge in America would be named for Woody Guthrie. What the honest man gets is a historical footnote. The contemporaries who outlive the iconoclast usually can be found shaking their heads in confusion, and yet finding nothing but good things to say about the iconoclast when he or she is brought up in polite conversation.
The path of the iconoclast is a brave one, and history has shown that it's usually the right one, but that is only discovered through the perfect window afforded by the passing of time. Eugene McCarthy died knowing that in the case of the Vietnam War, he had it right. Who among us knew from the very beginning that America's latest misbegotten episode in the Mesopotamian Desert was a mistake? If you know someone, like me, who had it right all along, encourage them and nurture that person. The world is coming apart at the seams. In the times we now live, consisting of such total ineptitude among those who lead, celebrate the iconoclast, for the need for such individuals grows more dire with each passing day.

SO........

Anyone else notice that I've been missing for roughly 7 months?

It's not that I've been missing so much as I've been busy settling into my new life at the new house in Milwaukee.

Currently, I'm looking for a new job, with 2 interviews this week. Wish me luck.

Also, I may be shutting this blog down and starting one on MySpace. It's easier to operate and MySpace doesn't ERASE A 10,000 -WORD POST YOU JUST TYPED DUE TO SERVERS NOT COOPERATING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT (HINT HINT).

Now you know the REAL reason I haven't been back here. I do have an urgent need to begin writing again, or shall I say creating in general. And it sounds like the trash truck is blocking me in from getting back to work right now (This is a lunch hour post). Must go spend my future children's inheritance on gas money now.

The time has come to tell you all of an ending and a beginning....

On March 7th, Leslie and I flew out to Las Vegas to make a good, solid week of it. I know there are people out there who like Las Vegas, but I find the whole city exhausting. The traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard ("The Strip") is horrible currently, especially in front of Steve Wynn's new 2.7 billion-dollar (yes, BILLION) hotel which isn't finished yet. The hotels are monuments to themselves, as vain and plastic as the many Californians who make a quick weekend of Las Vegas on a regular basis. Because Las Vegas is a boomtown, you can spit and hit a crane. Something is being built virtually every moment of every day. Going hand in hand with that, because this is the gambling capital of the United States, if you look hard enough, you can find something - or more to the point, someone - that is simultaneously being destroyed. It is a city of extremes like no other I've ever visited in this country.

Leslie and I journeyed there with happiness in mind. We caught a flight out of Milwaukee on Frontier Airlines, an overly cute carrier featuring adorable rabbits, bears and wild cats on their tail wings and pilots and flight attendants who go out of their way to crack jokes right before takeoff. I don't mind this approach. If an enormous jumbo jet is going to plummet into the side of any given Rocky Mountain causing widespread destruction and a fireball rivaled only by Nagasaki, go down laughing. This almost made up for the fact that the snacks they offered being subpar. I'll stop now before I pontificate on the subject of their pay TV service.

After catching a connecting flight in Denver, we landed in Las Vegas on Monday afternoon. We had decided to rent a car to get around town for the week. As my inaugural rental in the Hertz #1 Club, they "upgraded" me to a Ford Escape, a smallish SUV that boasted abysmal gas mileage and a rather irritating repeating reminder that my seat belt wasn't fastened. For the balance of the week, I fastened the seat belt to itself and twisted it behind my seat. I don't wear seat belts. When I was younger, I hit a stone wall, spun around, hit a utility pole and flew out the back windshield head first. Luckily, I was thrown from the car, because it was crushed. I haven't worn a seat belt since that night, and I won't. And THAT is how I stick it to the man!

We stayed at the Las Vegas Hilton, former home of Elvis and current home -much to our mutual horror - of Barry Manilow. The absolute worst part of our stay in the Hilton was their insistence on playing Barry Manilow's songs in every square inch of the hotel as often as humanly possible. After three days of being pummeled by Manilow's syrupy odes, I felt like a fat, gassy Yenta. Leslie and I are still recovering from the sonic onslaught. On our trips to the Hilton pool adjacent to the 3rd floor of the hotel, we sunbathed and swam in the shadow of a banner on the side of the hotel featuring an 80-foot visage of Barry Manilow, as if we could stand the 6-foot version. The hotel also featured a Barry Manilow store, where you could purchase handbags and t-shirts that proudly displayed the bearer's love of all things Barry. As I passed this store daily on the way to the parking garage, I longed for a flame thrower.

Our room was on the 26th floor, and looked out on the mountains surrounding the city. I was amazed at how these enormous land masses just disappeared every day after the sunset. It was refreshing to have something natural as a view from the window. The king size bed in the hotel room had upon it a mattress pad which did not quite fit the bed or the mattress and made a nightly sojourn up my butt crack as a result. ..

(to be continued 3/16/05 11:25 PM CST)

Usually, I like to reserve this space for short stories, opinion and some of my songs, but I was inspired to write about something very special that happened to me this evening. Think of this is need be as a "male mea culpa", as I really don't know what else to call it.
As an American heterosexual male, I've always been physically attracted to women. It's hard to talk about this in anything but sexual terms, because, as any woman knows, testosterone often intercedes on behalf of true emotional connection. Having said that, I've always made the typical male mistake of mistaking physical attraction with emotional attachment. This has led me down a lot of incorrect trails in my life.
I came home from work today and fell asleep at about 5 PM. I slept for about four hours. In the interim, Leslie came home and accomplished some tasks while I was sleeping. Because of the type of work she does, she often tires early in the day, and at 9:15 tonight, she came to bed. I snuggled with her for just short of an hour as she fell asleep. Usually, when we snuggle together, the blood rushes to my waist, with obvious physical consequences. Tonight, something happened to me that has never happened before. As I held Leslie, I felt what could only be described as the purest form of love I've ever felt for another human being. As I held her in my arms, I felt my arms, hands, legs and chest melting into this beautiful human being, and I could only feel happiness. The best thing about it all, and this is the strange part, is that Leslie fell asleep, and didn't even realize how I felt.
Two Sundays from now, Leslie and I are getting married. Our journey to this point hasn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination, and we both realize that many hurdles still present themselves to us. Holding Leslie tonight gave me such an intense feeling of piece of mind and heart that I know that I'm doing the right thing. It's always been tough for me to picture my life after 40. When I think of Leslie, or hold her, or see her smile, I know that this is the person I'll grow old with, and THAT is the basis of my life going forward. I hope everyone else in the world finds that kind of happiness.

CONCERT REVIEW
Paul Thorn
Jen Chapin
Shank Hall, Milwaukee, WI


Ah, another night at Shank Hall taking in the music and the Guinness with Lovely Lady Leslie.

Let me first start off by saying that it is indeed ironic that I am about to write a lengthy posting about seeing a musician that hails from the deepest of Red States whom I actually admire. Two postings ago, I ripped Red Staters a new one about the hypocrisy of their moral values argument, but I believe that the best kind of music, when used properly and with great care, should bring people together.

Which brings us to last night's Paul Thorn show at Shank Hall. Thorn, from Tupelo, Mississippi, brings the colorful journey that is his life in story and song. I first caught him with a full band at last year's edition of Summerfest here in Milwaukee, and he impressed me immediately. His between song banter, although I was hearing quite a bit of it last night for the second time, adds an engaging dimension to his songs (all of which are available on Back Porch Records). This former tent revival singer, boxer and chair factory worker brings honesty-something in short supply in the current climate of recorded music- to his audience with his songs that touch mostly on gospel and blues. Thorn was alone with his acoustic guitar last night, and his songs lost nothing without the presence of a full band. It is rare these days that I can say that. I hope that Paul Thorn comes back to Summerfest this year. He goes so well with beer. If he comes to your town, check him out. You won't be disappointed.

Opening the evening was Jen Chapin, a singer/songwriter from Long Island who blends a jazz feel with quasi-poetic lyrics under a fairly strong voice. Chapin was helped out by Stefan Crump on upright bass (I hope I spelled his name correctly) and Jamie Fox on lead guitar (no, the other one). I was impressed by the musicianship of Crump and Fox, with Fox sounding quite a bit like fellow New Yorker Bill Frisell. Some of Chapin's lyrics were somewhat painful to listen to, with many lyrics crowding out any melody that she tried to get going. Her lyrical ideas more often than not went too far afield and distracted from some fine melodies underneath. With less pretention and more focus, Chapin could be a force to be reckoned with given the lineup she's sporting. What a shame.

First Warren Zevon, now this...

Hunter Thompson committed suicide today. Unfortunately, I can't say that I ever met the man. I've read almost all of his books, and caught his recent articles on espn.com.

As I read his final article last week, a typical offering about calling Bill Murray in the middle of the night about designing a new game that combined shooting and golf, I thought to myself that in this most horrible of times, in this cesspool of a country, where the will of the masses is being trampled by Bible-waving, redneck sheepfuckers in Red states, at least I can count on something. At least Hunter's still got it.

Is this the end of all hope as we know it? Did Armageddon not mention four horsemen, but rather a chemical-tinged scribe biting the dust by his own hand, that ushers in the end of the world? As the lemmings in America bumrush to the edge of that cliff like a Depression-era bank run, the wreckage of 9/11 behind them and fading in the distance, the carrion-like smell of rotting soldier's corpses from a needless war lining their path, with a cocaine-addled fratboy leading them, rattling the Ten Commandments in one hand and a tattered flag in the other, it is the duty of those people still left in America with a conscience to celebrate the pioneering spirit of the American Outlaw that Thompson represented to the literary community. Instead, all we get is an acceptance of voter theft, surveillance of our every move on highways both of information and automobiles and a blank check for big business to poison us all slowly, like an IV drip of Jonestown Kool-Aid.

Thompson represented the last of the writers influenced by the Beats, celebrating a time on America when you could jump in a car and drive the long, dusty, undeveloped highways, the wind in your hair, a drink in your hand and only the faintest notion of a destination. It was a time when only J. Edgar Hoover's FBI had you under surveillance and only then if you were a rabble-rouser, rather than every paranoid Christian freak on the street. There were no cameras at intersections, there were no Wal-Marts polluting the landscape and the signs hanging over businesses in any town were either neon or hand-painted. Hunter Thompson putting a bullet in his head is the ultimate sign that America can never hope to recapture the freewheeling spirit that it still futilely markets to the rest of the world. America is officially lost in a morass of gun violence, depravity and false gods in cheap suits. There is nothing left to conquer in this country. There is no hope for a brighter tomorrow on the other side of the hill. Manifest Destiny is just a buzzword for that cliff that the lemmings climb a little more every day. Goodbye America. It was fun while it lasted.