Absence of Sound

Things Said in Media that Warrant a Gong

2011-12-08T11:43:00.001-05:00

        Remember The Gong Show? For the young or short of memory, a quick synopsis. The Gong Show was game show (of sorts... it was kind of Kaufmanesque* in that it was all sort of a joke) in which people would exhibit their talents to a panel of "celebrities"  When the performer was particularly bad, the celebs would bang a gong to get them off the stage. Since the days of seeing this show, which I loved, I have often wished for a gong. I would wheel it around, and every time someone annoyed me with a idiotic corporate speak catchphrase (outside the box), or an abbreviated word for the purpose of cutseyness (delish), I'd bang the gong. "Hey Brooks, we were supposed to meet downtown at 8, but I have a bit of a sitch..." GONG GONG GONG!

    I am going to co-opt the idea to expose hackneyed attempts at writing that have been done a million times before (see below). I'm banging the gong, dude.

    Today's example... in any suspenseful situation in film or television, when the protagonist says "how do I know I can trust you?", the antagonist is going to say "you don't". GONG! It just happened on Ringer (heh... GONG! Ringer.), and I have JUST decided to never watch this show again. The Buffy statute of limitations just ran out. This show sucks.

*It occurs ro me that if you don't know The Gong Show, that you probably won't get Kaufmanesque, either. Andy Kaufman. Look him up. Yeah... Jim Carrey played him in a movie once. That one Carrey movie you hated.

Hey There, Crashy... wherein I make a purposeful attempt to break the hold of writer's block

2011-12-08T11:09:00.001-05:00

    Okay, it's been a while, but I've been busy. Now, busy is relative. The last time I stopped writing, I wasn't doing ANYTHING. Literally. I wasn't working, I wasn't writing. I wasn't listening to music. I wasn't doing anything. In fact, if you want a fairly accurate picture of my life 2008 - 2010, just imagine a guy running in place. Without all that running. I gained about 100 pounds, drank up most of Roanoke's alcohol, and found a way to piss off most everyone who ever spoke to me. I ROCK! Curtain falls, time passes... I found true love, got married, found a decent job, and essentially tried to stabilize my life. I also lost most of that 100 pounds. Stress and kitchen work, best diet plan ever.

    So, mostly that plan is working... I love my wife, I like my job, and life is improving by leaps and bounds. Now I need to remember how to be creative. I want to write again, and sing again. And I will... and you, my one reader (assuming I still have one) will be the first to witness my attempts.

    I've started and restarted this blog more times than I can count. I make no promises this time. I will make every effort to write SOMETHING everyday. It may be funny, poignant, or utterly stupid. Maybe sometimes all three. If it sucks, turn the channel... the internet is a big place. Mostly, it sucks time away from worthwhile things.   I'm gonna try to make something worthwhile.

Inconsistency and other inconsistencies...

2011-01-25T12:08:00.003-05:00

Since I am ungainfully unemployed yet again, it seems as good a time as any to type out what is wandering around in my cranium. I have had difficulty maintaining any consistent writing these past few years. Where once I would write at least a bit daily, lately I can't seem to make that happen. It isn't as though I have nothing to say, I just don't put anything down on paper, or into the computer bloggy thingy. Part of that, these days, is due to the fact that I have found a partner that I enjoy talking to. This is a fairly amazing event for me. Oh, I have had plenty of partners, but talking to them wasn't necessarily part of the job description. So I tend to blather on these days and I have someone around that enjoys (or pretends to enjoy... heh... ) listening.

That said, I am going to make an effort to put some things into print. And you, my dear reader (all one of you) will have something new to pay attention to. Perhaps. Promises, promises...

Sleep Escapes Me Still

2009-08-25T04:19:00.006-04:00

Oh why can't I sleep?

Insomnia would be a boon if I could be creative during its frequent visits to my home.

Nope.

You see, for me, insomnia causes my brain to relax just enough that thinking is almost impossible. During these periods the information in my waking brain approximates this:

buzzzzzzzzzzzboredbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzbills bills billsbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
wonder whats on TVbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzhungrybuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzI like piebuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzLou Reed's best solo record is definitely The
Blue Maskbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzor maybe New Sensationsbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz(nods off momentarily)JERKS AWAKE WITH A STARTbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzthat Russell is definitely the worst thing about BB11buzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Like that.

So writing is nearly impossible. Just thought I'd share.

Guiltless Pleasures

2009-08-24T17:58:00.010-04:00

A guilty pleasure is a thing that brings joy; but one would, I assume, want to keep secret. I don't have a single guilty pleasure. Oh, I like things that people make fun of me for; but they aren't secret and I feel no guilt regarding them.

I love Duran Duran. For a Rolling Stones fan, that might seem to be a guilty pleasure. However, Duran Duran introduced me to import music and the world of independent record stores. I would never have shopped outside the mall for music nor read great publications like The NME or Crawdaddy had it not been for my search for the acoustic version of "The Chauffeur" which was the b-side of an obscure pressing of the "Rio" 7" single. Were it not for my desire as a kid to hear the remix of "Tiger Tiger" available only on a 12" remixes compilation which was exclusively available in Japan, I never would have discovered Husker Du, The Replacements, or Dead Kennedys. Simon LeBon's off-key crooning of "Save A Prayer" was the least of my concerns as I hunted that 12" single, for there was a remix of "Hold Back the Rain" secreted on it's flip side and that was my absolute bestest most favorite Duran song of all time. While I was there, I also picked up a used copy of Nashville Skyline, my introduction to one Robert Zimmerman.

Wearing my love for these New Romantics on my sleeve opened the door for lots of other little pleasures for which I hold no regret: TV's Big Brother, the campy 1966 version of Batman, Def Leppard, Dolemite, McDonald's, and that greatest of all pleasures, Miller High Life.

Too much concern is given to what others think of us. Me, I'm too busy drinkin' and listening to "Girls on Film" to care.

When My Mom Comes Marching In.

2009-05-10T15:36:00.003-04:00

"My Mother was a saint."

I have heard this spoken by many a person in as many circumstances over the years. Those of us lucky enough to have good moms tend to aggrandize them. We place them on pedestals. We cultivate our lives around our mothers' mythical beauty and love. We choose mates that reflect the positive qualities of our mothers. Then, after we begin the journey that is parenthood, we try to instill those qualities that set our mothers apart into our children. My Mother is no saint. She's something far beyond sainthood.

My earliest memories of my childhood involve my Mother singing to me. She was always singing. I think that is what has always given me the belief that, in the beginning, she was happy. I know she loved me, and I know that she loved being my Mommy. Then something got broken. My memories are vague, and I find it impossible to maintain chronological order of the events, but my Mom went from being a happy married mother of me to being caught in a downward spiral not of her own making. Without delineating all of the details, my mom got very ill and she left my father. All at the same time. I hope someday that she chooses to either tell the story, or to tell me so that I can write it, because it is the amazing tale of a woman who became very lost and then clawed her way up from the very depths of hell to live a good life and continue being a great Mother. However, this is not my story to tell, it is hers. Suffice it to say that I spent years bouncing between my Mother and my Father and living a constant life of worry that my Mom would never be my Mom again. In the end through the help of one great doctor and the support of My Pa-Pa and Ma-Ma and all of Mom's family, I got my Mom back. She was not unscathed, but she was my Mom, and from that point on she re assumed the responsibility of saving my life over and over again.

My Mother has always felt guilt about that part of her life. I think that she feels that she let me down. Today of all days, it is important for me, as my Mother's only son, to correct that notion. I know that she wanted to be there all of those times that she couldn't be. I also know that for every minute she spent away from me there have been countless times since that she has been exactly where she needed to be. My Mom would do anything in her power to make my life even one iota better than it is. That, however isn't her greatest gift. The greatest gift that my Mother has ever given me is the knowledge that, as a parent, one doesn't have to be perfect. As a parent, one simply needs to be present. As parents, if we just give our kids the knowledge that we are there for them one hundred percent, then they will know that they are never truly alone. As my mother gave that gift to me, I give it to my children in the hopes that they will, in turn, give it to theirs. And that is my little part of making the world a better place.

My Mother didn't need to be a saint because she's my Mom. That is ever so much more important.

My freakin back aches...

2009-04-08T02:19:00.004-04:00

Spent the day pulling all of the records off of the shelves (the musical part of which I will write about over on Perfect Pop Sense), and I think it may have killed me. I got new shelves, which are only marginally what I actually need for the job. However, cash flow being what it is, I'll suck it up and use them and like it. The record collection is bizarre. It seems so huge when they are all over the house, and much smaller when all in place. Not that they are all in place, yet. That, my friends is a job for tomorrow, which is why I have taken a Naproxen and a Flexiril in hopes that the twinges subside enough to get the job done.

Anyway... at least I've got something to do, yeah? Write, you say? Yes, I suppose I could do that. Tomorrow.

A shift in priorities.

2009-04-07T02:45:00.003-04:00

My brother and I have started a blog dedicated to music, so it seems kind of silly to continue this one in the same direction. I have used this as a sounding board for my little High Fidelity ripoff, and I've written some personal stuff, too. Maybe a couple of music things as well. Anyway, I'm going to keep this one personal, and I hope that it doesn't offend. I truly need to start writing more and with Perfect Pop Sense being the "music" blog going forward, I shall use this one as the extraneous stuff blog.

I hope to keep it interesting.

(Fiction pt 5) Taking Issue with Reissue part deux (finally)

2006-04-29T06:45:00.001-04:00

(Note from Brooks - this was originally begun on 29APR2005. Man, a lot has changed since then... back to the story... for those visiting for the first time, older writing is at the bottom, I have edited the titles of the fiction pieces, so you can quickly see which go together. There are some lists here, some music writing, and some emo-bullshit personal stuff... no sense in deleting it now... enjoy)

"Ry, chill out, pal, it's just a record, right?"

"See, you can't even be my friend spouting shit like that. 'Just a record'. Man, you know that isn't how I view things."

"Right, I do know, but compared to world hunger, global warming, international terrorism, and the proliferation of reality television, your musical proclivities don't really stack up."

"God you're ignorant. OF COURSE my obsessive behavior doesn't 'stack up' to real political issues, but I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT THEM. I'm no politician, I don't know DICK about the environment, but what I DO know is that I already own "The Hanging Garden" in four seperate forms NOT including singles, and that I am going to be forced to REPURCHASE the damn Pornography album again because of ONE goddamn track that I don't already own."

"Um. Wouldn't the term 'album' be inappropriate, considering that we are discussing compact discs?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

"Look, Ry, I'm nearly as bad as you are about this stuff, but I don't get VIOLENT about it. Take a breath, man, get a beer, this'll keep. Hell, I'll tell you what, I'll buy the damn things and burn 'em for you, so that you can have the tracks you want without having to lay out the cash."

"Oh, so YOU can own 'em and LORD it over me for the rest of my life? I don't THINK so, bro. Nice try."

Sometimes, as alike as we are, I question our bloodline. Ryan is the single most obsessive and paranoid person that I have ever known. You should have seen him when he did drugs. Stunning.

"Whatever, Ry, just trying to alleviate the mood, here."

Ryan's rant went on for what seemed like hours. He mentioned every single band that had released a reissue in the last two years, and that is no small list. There seemed to be one band, however, that really stuck in his craw.

"... and FUCKING Camper Van Beethoven, WHAT THE FUCK!"

"They are a good band, man... I bought those."

"Right,Bender, you bought them because all you had were the mixes I gave you because you never shop anywhere but Best Buy. I, on the other hand own these records in three different formats."

"But Ryan, who made you go out and buy the CVB boxed set? I mean, you are such a completist."

"Right, I am, but that set contained an otherwise unFUCKINGavailable GODDAMN live record in it."

"Okay, so you suck it up and buy the set Ry... it isn't somehow Dave Lowery's fault that you have this completism sickness."

"no, no it isn't, but let me tell you what IS Lowery's fault..."

I interrupt this tale of rabid anger complete with flecks of foam on Ryan's Jager burnt lips to interject that David Lowery is the frontman for both CVB and Cracker. Furthermore, he is a resident of this lovely southern town that we live in, Richmond, VA. While this isn't necessary knowledge, it is key given the events of the next ten minutes. Foreshadowing, a literary device... we now return you to our regularly scheduled rant.

"... what IS Lowery's fault is that as his most recent project Cracker fades into relative obscurity, he has reconvened his superior earlier band CVB."

"Dude, I love that last CVB record, and I quite like Johnny Hickman, too."

"Right... let me finish, willya B?"

"Carry on, Ranty."

"Okay... so Lowery reconvenes CVB because Hickman is SO clearly the talent in Cracker, that he needs to relive the glory years."

"Harsh."

"But true... so he puts the old gang together for a series of shows..."

"Which we ALL attended, incidentally..."

"OF COURSE we did. We are freaks of nature. You, yourself hadn't been out of the house away from your DVR for 8 months, but I got you to come out for that show, though I am fairly certain that it never would have happened if you couldn't have WALKED there from your apartment. Joe is even more scarce, but was so befuddled by your once-a-year emergence that he felt compelled to come along. These other two share one brain which is inexplicably controlled by you, so they do whatever you do. Christine comes along to laugh at us."

"True, carry on..."

"Anyway, the relative success of these shows gives Lowery the notion that recording would be good... and, agreed, the result was worthwhile. That is not the point though. I have no problem with the reunion. Reunion albums are usually horrible, for example that awful Temptations reunion record. Other times, it works like the Television reunion in the 90's. Nonetheless, getting the band back together is an understandable notion"

"Your problem is with the reissues."

"Exactly, Slo. In order to skim a little more cash out of the diehard fan, Lowery and his cronies re release all of the albums in the Cigarettes and Carrot Juice collection, and they add a live album which is not available separately."

"Again, Ry... you can't fault the guy for trying to make some cash off of obsessive compulsive collectors like you."

"AND I DON'T! How many of things have I gone and bought without bitching?"

"Not a single one."

"Fuck you, Jay... this is different."

"Different how?"

"Well, Mikey... different because as he was dangling the 'Carrot Juice' on the line in front of my nose he was witholding one vital piece of information."

"What's that, Ry?"

"Here we go..."

"He neglected to let anyone know that withing SIX fucking MONTHS that he would be re-releasing EVERY SINGLE RECORD with remastered sound AND FUCKING BONUS TRACKS"

Ryan was now screaming to the point that our waitress was afraid to attend to our drinking needs.

"He neglected to KISS me before he FUCKED me in the ASS! Fucking Lowery, man... never in history has mediocrity demanded such a HIGH PRICE. And it PISSES me OFF"

"Why don't you tell him?"

"WHAT? WHAT JAY? YOU THINKING I SHOULD WRITE HIM A LITTLE NOTE?"

"No, I mean he just walked in, why don't you tell him?"

I should mention that the next 3 minutes moved in John Woo-like slow motion. A bad moon was on the rise...

"WHERE?"

"Ryan sit down."

"FUCK THAT! WHERE?"

Ryan got up and carried his 6'2" 270 pound frame over to a table where Dave was sitting with another guy. Dave looked somewhat concerned. We were too, I've never witnessed an actual assassination.

"Hey. You Dave Lowery?"

"Um, yeah, man... you a fan?"

"Oh I'm a fan all right... could you sign something for me?"

"Sure buddy, what do you have?"

"SIGN THIS!"

Ryan sent a left cross directly to Lowery's left eye dropping him like a sack of potatoes. He continued beating him naming Lowery's transgressions as he punched.

"... that's for that STUPID fucking Status Quo song... " POW "... that's for not putting Vampire Can Mating Oven in sequential order on the rarities disc... " THWACK.

We finally pulled him off but before we got him away, Ryan got off one last blow. As he kicked Lowery in the side Ryan said...

"... and THAT... THAT is for the SHITTY cover of a GREAT Flamin' Groovies song on the FUCKING Clueless soundtrack."

The Ridiculousness of Rock and Roll Recognition

2006-03-14T08:09:00.000-05:00

Fucking Christ.

Can the music industry please stop with the inane nonsense that it puts itself and us through every year as it trots out a line of has beens to induct them into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time. At the beginning, in the idea stages, the idealists thought, "Think of it: The Rolling Stones, Beatles, and Herman's Hermits all in one place so that generations can appreciate where the music they listen to came from!" I'm fairly certain they weren't banking on the kids listening to Marilyn Manson and 50 Cent back then.

The first clue that things had gone awry showed itself in the location picked for this venerable institution. Cleveland. As in, "HELLO CLEVELAND", the mistake by the lake. It is humorous to see these music people decend upon Cleveland every year. They wouldn't dream of being there otherwise. The problem came when all of the initial nominees were inducted. The Stones, Beatles, Prince, and even the Clash are gone so now they actually have to think about it.

This years inductees included Blondie, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Sex Pistols, Miles Davis(!), Black Sabbath, and the A and M of A&M Records, Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss.

First, let me address Miles. I love Miles Davis, anyone who knows me knows this. It is clear that the RARHOF is stymied, though. They have no direction. When was Miles on the Billboard Rock and Roll charts? Sure he did a record with Prince, but it was never released. Is he getting the award for his fusion records? Outside of Bitches Brew they weren't all that great. Is he getting inducted as an influence? Then let someone like Prince induct him. As it was, he was inducted by Herbie Hancock, best known for "Rockit" which every 1984-85 High School dance team used for its routine. Understand, this is the least of my quibbles. A case can be made for Miles, but if he was to be inducted as a rock influence, it should have been years ago.

Ah, Blondie. I love Blondie. Who doesn't, right? Half of the original band, that's who. An onstage fight ensued when Debbie Harry, bloated cow that she is, refused to let Nigel Harrison, Frank Infante, and Gary Valentine (who wrote "X-Offender", and "I'm Always Touched By Your Presence, Dear" by the way) play with the Blondie cover band that backs up her, Jimmy Destry and Chris Stein these days. I mean, come on, Debbie... who the fuck cares? You're just gonna warble your way through "Heart of Glass", "Rapture", and "Call Me" anyway... why not throw the guys a bone? Nah... more important to stand by your principles... like not putting out shit product 20 years after you mattered, right?

Skynyrd belongs here, and if you don't agree, YOU'RE the racist. That said, the band should never be allowed to play again particularly if Kid Rock is involved. I have written volumes on the fairground band circuit elsewhere, so I'll leave it at that.

Sabbath also belongs here, but thanks for letting Lars Ulrich induct them. First off, the guy said "fuck" approximately seven thousand times in his speech. We know you're hardcore, Lars, money hasn't changed you... ask Napster. Now get some Kleenex and cry for me some more. Fuck Lars Ulrich. And fuck the Hall for making me look at him again. Ozzy came out and said some unintelligible stuff and Bill Ward (the DRUMMER, who lets the DRUMMER talk?) made a precient comment about metal being guaranteed a place in history. Uh huh, Bill... if Ozzfest doesn't kill it.

Sting inducted Alpert and Moss, which is pertinent because both Sting and Alpert made lots of records I never listen to.

Finally the Sex Pistols. Their grand statement, if you haven't heard, was to not appear and send a statement comparing the Hall to "urine in wine". Look, fellas, if rock is wine, it is largely Cisco, or Mad Dog, and cheap convenience store wine goes with urine like peanut butter goes with jelly. I guess the Pistols, too, have principles, but not principles so great that they won't reunite to play shows for cash every ten years or so. The best part is that the statement was read by Jann Wenner, who, I guess, had to find a way to get his ass up on stage somehow. Remember Jann, "Three stars means never having to say you're sorry."

Apparently the Stone no longer rolls, nor does it rock.

On the ending of an era in Salem, VA.

2006-02-16T08:46:00.000-05:00

The Record Exchange in Salem closed its doors forever this week.

First, let's toss out the empirical facts and disclaimers. A number of people lost their jobs due to the consolidation of staffs. I was one of them. Frankly, I barely worked there, so it is no real loss to me... I can get my discount, and my friendships are intact. However, some people who depended upon the ludicrous pittance that Don Rosenberg pays them in order to eat also lost their jobs. That is a bad hit. So yes, there is some bitterness involved, and some of the tone of this blog will extend from that, but let us not pretend for one minute that I am totally biased. I know what happened and soon... so will you.

This is no vast conspiracy to rob the Roanoke area of independent music outlets. YOU are the reason for the failure of the Record Exchange. If YOU would pay two bucks more for your Nickelback CD instead of shopping at Best Buy and WalMart, this place and others like it would thrive. Everyone runs around throwing their hands up... WHAT WILL WE DO? IT IS JUST LIKE SAFE AS MILK. Yes. It is. You didn't shop there either. If you had, it would still be there. There has been a lot written, some by me, about bad business models and poor decision making. This is all true. More will be written about internet downloading and major label CD pricing. Also true. Nonetheless... at the end of the day, the Salem Record Exchange failed because it didn't have the numbers.

Now, a person with no real knowledge of business will say... "the prices were too high, and if they were lower, we'd shop there." Ever buy anything at FYE? EVER? Then shut the fuck up. Record Exchange's prices remain between mall prices and big box prices. New releases are priced significantly lower the first week of release. "But they never have what I want." Neither does Best Buy, unless you listen to the radio incessantly. You just meander around the stacks until you find SOMETHING to buy... of course they have more in store stock... LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THE PLACE. Barring exclusives... there is nothing that Best Buy can get that Record Exchange can't get. If you are into more esoteric music, Record Exchange can get it faster and cheaper than Best Buy. Now, there are things Record Ex CAN'T get... this is what the internet and mail order is for.

Bottom line is this folks... if you don't shop, don't bitch when your only option becomes the mall or Best Buy. That day is coming soon. Very soon.

Sad Cobras, Secret Squirrel, and Sean Poff - Mojo Cafe 12Feb2006

2006-02-13T05:18:00.000-05:00

First off, the Mojo Cafe is small. Really small. Entranceway to Willy Wonka's factory small. This is probably optimum for intimate coffee talk and quiet reflective time, but for a show featuring a local band that has become quite popular, it is simply claustrophobic. Still, the same could be said of the Green Dolphin at times, and here at the Mojo Cafe, there was no smoke or drunken patrons tripping over my feet. So space is what you make of it, I suppose. That said, this was one of the finest musical events that I have had the pleasure of seeing in recent memory.

As a review, this is going to be a bit of a trial. I am unfamiliar with most song titles, and so if you are looking for completism, I am afraid that I may come up short. First up was Sean Poff abetted by a young cellist, which augmented his acoustic story singing nicely. Poff plays a Will Oldhamesque brand of music which while well written and played sounds a bit too samey for me; and as I am sure that I would be told that I just don't understand, I will just state that it was pleasant, but for myself, unhummable and therefore unmemorable.

Next up was Secret Squirrel which is a band made up of Jaime Booker, and for this evening my pal Jay Wilson, who I believe currently plays in every band in Roanoke excepting maybe the Pop Rivets. I have been listening to Jamie's record incessantly lately, and her voice is not really something that is easily compared. I suppose it is informed, to my old ears, by equal parts Joni Mitchell and Polly Harvey. On one song she sounded a lot like Mary Margaret O'Hara, and this ia a good thing. Jay, is, well, Jay and sounds a lot like Jay. Sometimes he does Jay with a accent. We were treated to covers of Billy Bragg and Spiritualized and nicely appointed versions of Jay and Jamie's greatest hits. While the songs didn't go off without a hitch, due to lack of rehearsal time, the glitches actually added to the show as opposed to being distracting. Honestly, Jay and Jamie seemed to be having a great time, which is what it is all about, this rock and roll.

After the Secret Squirrel set screeched to a halt after giving us a scare, but not quite careening off the tracks, the Sad Cobras took the stage aiding in the final Secret Squirrel song before starting their own set. I adore these kids, I really do. The Cobras (along with Poff's Young Sinclairs, Wilson's Violent Spectator, and others) are part of a burgeoning Roanoke scene that is playing truly original music again, and it is a pleasure to watch. Daniel, Jonathan, and Paige control the Sad Cobra's set with mad scientist like precision, and their unstereotypable dance rock is mesmerizing. Some dope somewhere is going to make a B-52's comparison someday and he should be killed in the street for it. Wait... does that make me that guy? Let me redeem myself... when I say dance rock, I don't mean pop. I mean FUCKING Dance Rock. Think Pylon. Right. It is impossible to take your eyes off of the dancing Paige as she shivers and shakes her way through her vocals. The crowd is whipped into a frenzy as they are ordered as vertebrates to "shake their vertebrae". The Cobras then give the kids what they want with a stunning version of "1, 2, 3, heart, 4" which is clearly as big a hit as they intend it to be.

This is rock and roll too big for a Sunday night.

Way too big.

Okay...

2005-09-03T11:59:00.000-04:00

Many things have happened and are still happening, so I have been negligent in writing on this here thing. My apologies to the two of you who read this. I actually have the next couple of installments written, and after I proof them, I will put them up. Now is a good time to reiterate my disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: Though the main characters in this piece are named after actual people in my life, they are more accurately composites of many people. None of these characters are intended to specifically represent the people for whom they are named. Moreover, while some of the events portrayed here are based on actual happenings, this is a WORK OF FICTION, and no intent is made to accurately depict events as they actually happened. Still other events are entirely fictional, and I would expect you intelligent folk to know the difference.

(Fiction pt 4) Taking issue with reissue... part one.

2005-04-22T09:52:00.001-04:00

"Come on, Brooksie, get in the spirit of the occasion."

"Sit the fuck down, this is a bar, not the Met; and you need to check your habit of putting 'ie' at the end of everyone's name. Unlike Chris, I'll spare you the lecture and just deck you."

"Man, what's up YOUR ass... oh... man, I'm sorry, I know it must be tough to deal with Chris hanging out with one of your friends."

"Look, Jason... if I didn't want you guys fucking, I could stop you guys from fucking. I just don't understand your utter lack of class in constantly going on about it."

"Well, to be fair Brooks, she is miles apart from the tranny prostitutes he usually bangs."

"Although not quite as feminine."

"Man, fuck you guys."

Situation averted. It was as if the whole fracas had never happened. Jay was easy, you could distract him as easily as a jackdaw with a shiny object. The rest of the guys could take some cajoling, but they generally followed along. Joe and Ryan were known to belabor a point or two, but they seemed to sense that tonight wasn't the night.

"So Bender, where's your hot li'l net whore from?"

Then, sometimes Jay could be surprisingly tenacious.

"Dude, let it go."

"No, she's the new love of your life, and we... we are your friends. Come, regale us with the tale of your first meeting, the first time your eyes met hers, your first kiss... oh, wait... none of that happened, because SHE'S A MAN, BABY."

Yes, he did that in his bad Austin Powers accent. The classics never die, they just become part of Jay's vernacular.

"God, tell him so we can move on."

"Yea, Mikey, we don't even CARE anymore, she's from, like California or something, right? Hell man people meet on the net all the time... distance means nothing."

"No, she's from here, actually."

"Very cool, when can we meet her?"

"You can't"

"Oh, come on Mikey, we can play nice if need be, bring her out sometime, hell, it's early, call her now."

"No, you can't because... well, she's incarcerated."

The pause was thick with tobacco smoke and alcohol fumes, and it seemed to last a lifetime. Then... it came...

"Oh. That is too much. You found yourself a JAILBIRD? Sorry, man, I don't mean to laugh, but... YES I DO. She's in JAIL? Oh this is GREAT."

"Jay, cut it out."

"Oh, GOD. PRISON! Is she an embezzler, Mikey? Didja give her all of your credit card numbers, too? Hell, the first part of my theory fits, too... she's STILL a man, in prison, for embezzlement, and YOU LOVE HIM."

"JAY!"

"Okay Sloey, sorry man... it's just..."

"She's on house arrest. She's at home, she just can't leave. Something about a illegal stock transfer. It sounds, to me, like she took a fall for a bigwig. We talk on the computer, but we also have webcams. I've seen her, and in a month or two, we are going to actually date. She's very cool, or so it seems. Is that enough for you Jay? Or do you need for me to procure documented identification?"

"So she's a girl, then."

"Yes, Jay. Christ. I'm not an idiot, I just play one on this bad TV show we seem to be cast in."

"Well, very cool, Bender. What's her name."

Bender sighed.

"Michael. Shut up, Jay."

Jay almost completely stifled his explosive gaffaw. I was somewhat impressed.

"So she can leave the house, when?"

"Technically two months, but she may get done earlier. I know it's weird, and I almost blew the whole thing off when I found out her story. She's really smart, though, and she's a music geek. Not to mention she likes football."

"Who's she root for?"

"Cleveland."

"That'll work nicely, you being a Steelers fan and all."

"I know, we've already joked about that. Honestly, she's the best thing that's happened to me in years, barring the jail thing."

"Well, good, Mikey... and I mean that."

"Thanks, Jay."

"So, Ry, you hear about the Cure reissues?"

"Uh oh."

Ryan's big pet peeve in life is the constant reissuing of catalog product by his favorite bands. He has purchased the Elvis Costello oevure in toto 4 times. The problem with being a completist, you see is that you have to have EVERYTHING by that band, no expense spared. It is more than an addiction, it is a cancer.

"WHAT?"

"Yeah man, Rhino's releasing all of the Cure records remastered with a second bonus disc, just like the Costello reissues."

"Goddamnit. What's on 'em?"

"You know, live, demos, unreleased stuff... pretty cool sounding."

"does it overlap the box?"

"Huh?"

"The FUCKING boxed set, does it overlap? Are the bonus tracks on the b sides box?"

"Oh, no, totally different tracks."

"FUCKING Rhino. 'We collect records so you don't have to.' I own all that stuff already. Fuck it, I'm not buying in."

"I don't know Ryan, those initial CD's sounded pretty rough."

"Yeah, and you still can't buy a copy of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me that has that song... what is it? Something about Christmas."

"'Hey You'."

"Yeah, who needs it, right Ryan? I mean that song sucked anyway, right?"

"I love that song."

"I'm sure you have it on some other digital format don't you?"

"I downloaded it..."

"Right, so you don't need to rebuy that one ANYWAY, because it's not like the ARTWORK matters or anything."

"Guys, please stop, he's going to..."

"No, B, it's fine. These guys think that it's funny. they don't understand, you see? They don't GET that I have BOUGHT those FUCKING records three times already."

"Four if you count the import copies you bought last year."

"RIGHT. Four times... and it's a JOKE, isn't it? A BIG COSMIC joke. All of these bastards can't put anything out worthwhile anymore. They have lost their GODDAMN muse, so instead, they REISSUE... REMASTER... REPACKAGE... so fucking ASSPLUGS like me will rebuy and rebuy..."

(Fiction pt 3) Aftermath...

2005-04-16T11:34:00.001-04:00

I suppose that it was good that Christine left when she did, because it spared her from witnessing the last few hours of the evening. As drinks were poured and stories were told, an almost palpable cloud of (what? doom? anger? sadness? distance?) uncertainty fell over the favored table near the rear of the bar.

"Well... I guess she told you."

"Bender, let's not, okay?"

"Fuck you, Mikey. What would you understand about human emotions and turmoil? You never experience them. You sit in front of a goddamn laptop all day chatting with 60 year old men purporting themselves to be eligible young women."

"Listen Jay, I sit in front of a laptop because it is my job to do so. If I choose to meet..."

"Shut up, Mikey, I've had my fuckin' lecture for the evening. I don't feel the need to listen to another one from you."

"Fine, Jay, but you got that lecture for being an ass. Your continuing to be an ass after said lecture makes you not only an ass, but an unrepentant one."

"And..."

"... and you need to take two seconds to think about other people's feelings for a change. Geez Jay, when is the last time you actually said something nice to someone."

"Wait, I think i have it written down here... yeah, here it is, 1994."

"It's no joke, Ry. The guy acts like a dick from sun up until sunset, and no one ever calls him on it. We just laugh and say, 'Aw, that's just Jay,' and I think that's bullshit."

"Okay, so tell us Dr. Phil, what do you suggest we do about it?"

"I don't know, THIS. Occasionally look at the fucktard and say, 'Hey, that's enough."

"Okay, Jay, that's enough."

"Thanks for jumping right on that."

"Look guys, I have to tell you that Jay isn't going to change because of an evening of drunken amateur analysis. Jay, I don't know what your damage is, pal, but what you said to Chris was out of line."

"I know Joe, but..."

"Shut up and listen for a second. We've listened to your anger-driven rants all night, so just listen to me. We tolerate the constant jousting back and forth, because we all do it. Even Christine gets involved, hell she's better at it than us, usually..."

"Exactly..."

"SHUT IT, JAY. I'm not defending your actions, here. I'm saying that if a girl like Chris, who has a skin thicker than steel was upset by your commentary, then you were way over the top. Further, if you were over the top with THIS crowd, then you were skirting the incredible with the rest of the world. My point is this, you need to learn to interact with human beings, Jay. People aren't put on this earth specifically for you to take shots at them. They aren't material for whatever warped comedy show plays in your head everyday. They are PEOPLE, Jason, and they deserve the same respect that you feel that you deserve."

After a moment of silence, Ryan and Bender rose and gave Joe a standing ovation. Within moment, Jay grinned and did the same. I stayed seated, I recognize second rate material when I see it.

(Fiction pt 2) Hell hath no fury...

2005-04-15T08:16:00.001-04:00

"So you aren't going to the show then."

"Wow. Mikey, do I need to send you a certified letter? No, I'm not going to the fucking show. I have Grace and Kieran that weekend anyway."

"Aw, how are the chirrens, B?"

"Good, good. I don't see 'em enough, but they seem to be well. Dee's been a lot cooler about everything, I'm guessing because I'm not such an ass these days."

"To her, you mean."

"Right, to her. You still earn my wrath every day you breathe, Bender. You will continue to do so until you stop babbling about Lord of the Rings, and stop wearing that 10-years-too-late-wannabe-George Michael-Caesar hairdo."

"How long does it take you to make your hair do that, Bender?"

"And how much product? Hey, Jay, reach over and see how close you can put your lighter before it ignites."

"And ruin a perfectly good lighter? Thank you, no. Bender, I'm going to that show, Saturday."

"You want to get a couple of beers before?"

"FUCK no, I want to coordinate a plan to ensure that I never cross paths with yer too-old-to-be-an-indie-kid ass. You taking this mystery date to the show?"

"She's not from here, Jay. Tell him where she's from Mikey."

"No."

"Come on, Bender, tell me... where is the light of your life residing?"

"Fuck you, Jay. I find something that makes me happy and you guys shit all over it."

"He's right fellas, let him be, I chat with people on the net all the time."

"That's because no one in Richmond will talk to you prior to last call, Chrissie."

"FUCK THAT CHRISSIE SHIT, Jay. I told you about that. Keep it up, and I won't be talking to you AFTER last call."

"I don't invite you up to talk, baby."

"Um. Guys? Ex-husband over here. Please stop. Ew."

"Can't stand the thought of your girl taking it up the ass from the J-Hammer?

"The J-HAMMER? Jay, you are SO not getting laid tonight."

"Oh, she'll forgive me, won't you babycakes?."

"Look here, Jason. We aren't dating, and we aren't married. I fuck you because I like to fuck, and you are easily accessed. The reason I chose you and not one of these other, more intelligent gentlemen is because, frankly, "J-Hammer", it caused less waves. Brooks was my husband, and it would be unsettling to revisit that scenario. Ryan is his brother, so obviously, that one is out. Bender is, well, Bender, and it would be like taking advantage of a child. You see, much like myself, these guys don't like you that much. You are here for entertainment purposes only. I let you entertain me in other ways as well. Nonetheless, never, NEVER, interpret that to be any more than it is: cheap and simple gratification."

"Er. What about Sloey?

"I don't fuck Joe because he is Brooks' best friend outside of Ryan. Beyond that, he is my best friend as well. Does that answer your questions completely, you shit?"

"I... guess..."

"Good, because, I was a bad enough wife without Brooks being made to believe that something happened that didn't"

"OK."

"So, do you understand?"

"Yes, Chris."

"Do you ALL understand?"

All the guys at the table, even Sloey said in unison, "Yes, Chris."

All except me.

"How about you, baby? Do you believe that?"

"Yeah, Christine. I do. Always did."

"Good. Then I bid you all good night. Jay, if you come banging on my door tonight, I promise you that not only will you not be getting any, but you will likely lose that which allows you to get any. Do you comprehend my perfect English?"

"Yeah..."

"Good. You are an asshole, these guys all know it, but you will not treat me like your bitch. I am no man's bitch, Jason."

Then she was gone. Every one of us watched her all the way out the door. An angry blur of red hair and uneven temperament. God how I love her. Of course all of the other guys feel the exact same way. I was the lucky one, she still loved me back.

Pleasures and wayward distraction...

2005-04-11T18:55:00.000-04:00

So, I have been writing, but not posting it here. This defeats the purpose. Going forward, I shall write, and post in pieces... there is no guarantee that I will use all of this stuff in the finished product, nor should this be construed as the running order of the novel.

Think of it like a film... I'm writing in disjointed pieces, and that is what you are reading.

Thanks for stopping by, I hope it is an enjoyable visit...

(Fiction pt 1) Mikey Wonkapoo and the Indie Rock Factory...

2005-04-01T23:12:00.001-05:00

A note: a wonkapoo is a slang term for a white belt and makeup wearing, girl pantsed indie kid. This term was coined by Jay Wilson's pal Lee... I have respectfully ganked it.

____________________________________________

So last night me and the boys went down to the Border to have a drink. Explaining the Border always pisses me off, so I'll make this quick. The Border Cafe was once a very cool bar out toward the University. It was bizarre, because it had an odd mix of dishes from Wisconsin (lotsa cheese) and from Texas (lotsa spice). Anyway, I ate many meals and drank many beers there with my brother and our friends. Some bozo came along in the late 90's/early ought's and decided that it needed to be a martini bar instead.

After the miserable failure of that plan, the bar sort of reverted to an upscale bastardized version of what it once was, and while it is merely a shadow of it's former self, it is the best we have, and therefore we still drink there. Of course, the first hour of every visit is split between regaling each other with fond rememberances of the place we once loved and bitching bitterly about what it has become.

"God DAMN this place sucks"

"Drink your beer, Ry... you want a shot?"

"Will it somehow transport me back to 1994?"

"If I throw a Pavement record on, it will."

"Right, cause these tools are going to let you put in your choice of music. This ain't the Border, man, it's the BAWDAH"

"Do you want the fucking shot?"

"Sure, make it a Jager. A double."

"You paying?"

"HELL no."

"Right then, well whiskey"

Of course, I bought him the Jager. I always do, as he never fails to buy for me. So it was me, Ryan, Bender, Jay, Joe, and Christine. Ah, the perfect recipe for trouble. The breakdown is like this... Ryan is my brother, we are exactly alike. We speak twinspeak. Nobody gets us, but DAMN, we're funny. Bender is a goofy guy from the next town over that we keep around largely for comedy relief. Joe is an oddball, kind of an elder statesman punk rock version of Merle Haggard. Largely quiet, when he says something, it is usually either the most comedic or most poignant thing that you have ever heard. Jay is miserable bastard with an ill temper and a quick wit that we keep around because he hates Bender. It creates fun. Finally, Christine. Christine is my ex-wife. Sometime I'll tell that story, but not today.

"Brooks, are you going to the Animoanian show next week?"

"Bender, is that you? You don't even LISTEN to music."

"Dude, when did you become a Wonkapoo"

"Where's yer white belt?

"Kind of fat for girly pants, you want I should order you a Mick Ultra?"

"Shut the fuck up... my girlfriend burned me a comp."

"Your girlfriend. You mean that girl you met on MySpace? You ever actually TALK to her?

"Dude you just started IM'ing her, like last week. Now she's yer GIRLFRIEND?"

"Maaaaaaaaan. Could you guys stop with the cyber jargon... it's like I stepped into an episode of Geek Trek."

Joe, you see, is firmly entrenched in the 20th century. Not exactly computer illiterate, he still sees them as foreign objects with potential for causing grave harm to either himself , mankind, or both. He has learned to use the net to pick up all of the pertinent sports radio shows broadcast across America, however.

"Joe, the guy is dating a series of 0's and 1's."

"Beats the hell out of most of the bar tramps YOU chase around."

"HEY!"

"Hell, Chris, he divorced you 10 years ago, you're old news on the bar tramp circuit."

"HEY!"

"I'm beginning to see why, too... terrible vocabulary."

"This from the guy who's last date was around the time of Brooks' divorce."

"Shh... he's sitting right there."

There's this running joke that Joe caused mine and Christine's divorce. Utterly untrue (I think) but nonetheless disturbing, which is why Jay never fails to mention it. Jay is currently banging Christine, he thinks the Joe joke somehow distracts me from this fact. In all actuality, I've known since before it happened, Christine tells me everything. Sometimes I wish she wouldn't.

"So, Brooks, you cuckolded bastard... the show, you going?

"Which show was that?"

"Anamoananon"

"What?"

"Anomanoan, you deaf fuck."

"I'm not deaf, I just like to hear you struggle with the name. It's Anomoanon, Bender. I don't pay to see bands A) whose names I have to practice regularly or B) who require me to wear a uniform for entrance to the show."

"Elitist."

"Faux-wonkapoo."

"Somebody's boring me. I think it's me. "

2005-03-10T18:03:00.000-05:00

It isn't writer's block if you aren't even trying.

My early zeal for the writing has all but faded into a mist of apathy and antipathy. Much has happened over the last week or so. Largely, the events are a menagerie of misunderstandings and misinterpretations of peoples comments. This means,of course, that I had little to do with it. Now,don't get me wrong, I am capable of causing such shifts in the tenuous faultline that is my life. I am constantly saying the wrong thing, drinking in the wrong place, and that sort of thing. Still... this time was different.

This time, it is though the events gained corpreal selves, breathed air, and conspired to plot against me. There was no battle, there was no war, only a sudden awareness that I had lost.

"A Word to the Wise is Infuriating"

2005-02-22T03:57:00.000-05:00

Hunter Thompson is dead.

The effect that the good Doctor had on my life is immeasurable. It is likely that without Hunter, I would be a college graduate, in a good position with a good company, have a happy marriage, and essentially be an entirely different person.

I would also undoubtedly be a more boring, less creative person.

I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in my sophomore year in college. I was never the same. Many people point to On the Road as their "crossroads" book. I liked Kerouac as much as the next guy, but Thompson was REAL. Terrifyingly so.

If I am sorry for anything, it is that Hunter Thompson is going to be remembered in the way that he was portrayed by Johnny Depp in the Terry Gilliam film version of F & L. Now Depp did a fine job, and I'm a fan of the film. Nonetheless, it leaves the impression that Thompson was some sort of cartoon. Hunter Thompson was a character, but he was no caricature.

The world stopped spinning yesterday for a brief moment, and someone got off. We are all a bit diminished for his leaving.

Goodbye, Doc. See you in hell.

Hooray..

2005-02-20T21:57:00.000-05:00

I have a premise for the novel... I will share at some point, but I am just pleased to have an idea. To be fair, it is essentially the premise for the screenplay that I wrote a while back, but I have a nice twist in mind. Furthermore, why should all of the good dialogue be in films?

God damn it... time to storm the prose world and conquer it.

... mmmm false confidence...

On the blog name...

2005-02-18T13:09:00.000-05:00

I was stuck. What was I to do? I had to name the damn thing and nothing was coming to me.

For me, these days, the internet is largely a silent experience. On my old desktop, I had a ton of mp3's and a winamp player that never stopped. Now, with my laptop, I can do other things while I type. I have the winamp and a few mp3s, but nothing near the old days. Moreover, I can now sit in the same room as my stereo, but oddly, I rarely turn it on while tickety tackety-ing on this thing.

This is an odd dichotomy for person for whom music is (generally) inseparable from life. I normally have to have something playing all of the time. This is possibly a reaction to the bombardment I take from various media everyday. Given my job(s) I have to have some sort of blather going on in the background at all times. It becomes tiresome. I suspect that I will come back around to the old days of posting and listening, but for now, I enjoy the solitude and silence.

early morning sounds

2005-02-18T05:05:00.000-05:00

I both love and despise the early morning hours between, say, 1 and 4 am. It is a time of calm, if one is not winding up a last call and seeking post last call company. I love that part of it, but the silence breeds discontent. Should I play a record? Should I sleep? Should I drink? Do I want to mindlessly chat on the internet with friends. Should I write?

Should I write?

Well, of course, that is the answer. I certainly should. I don't, though. Not normally. I waste my time with the myriad toys in my apartment fiddling with this, watching that, listening to this, type-type-typing that.

Now, I think that I will sleep.

Damn habits...

The beginning of the end...

2005-02-17T21:31:00.000-05:00

Needing an outlet to write, and tiring of the high-schoolishness of LJ (I AM an old guy, after all), I shall try this format...