Pye in the Face

A Canadian friend sent me this clip a few months ago (right-click the link to download the MP3 as I couldn’t get this file to work properly with the Radio Pye software). I can’t find a single mention of it on the interwebnets, and I’m not sure if it’s been in wide distribution or what. But it cracks me up beyond belief and I wanted to spread it around. In short, it’s a recording of a railroad employee named Doug Seibert who is being telephoned and asked to come into work. Apparently he knew he was on call but decided to roll the dice and get extremely intoxicated anyway. If I had a nickel.

Warning: Doug, whoever he is, swears like a pirate. Put your headphones on or wait to listen to this until you get home from work tonight. That having been said, here’s what I’m able to explicate from repeated listens:

- Doug works for the Canadian Pacific Railroad.
- Doug’s friends dropped in and they decided to go ski-dooing.
- Doug and friends drank 5 million thousand gallons of whiskey whilst ski-dooing.
- Doug and friends are ‘gooned’.
- Doug’s supervisor is going to have to mark him down as being ’sick on call’.
- Doug’s probably not going to have a job in the morning. But that’s OK - because life don’t mix with the railroad.

I dare you not to listen to this 3 times and laugh your skidooing ass off. Jesus, do I ever want to get gooned with Doug.

Saturday, Nick and I were sitting in the living room eating jalapeno poppers and watching Waiting for Guffman. It was, quite simply, heaven on Earth. The girls who live above me had been moving out all morning, and when we heard a loud ‘bang’ as a piece of their furniture hit the pavement outside like a jumper, I thought nothing of it.

Nick got up and went outside to smoke a post-popper lung rocket, but quickly poked his back inside the door. “Dave, you’d better get out here”. I’ve been hucking furniture, showing apartments, typing up leases, making keys, painting, visiting the bank, waiting for repairmen - all as part of my new building manager duties. I knew August would be a rough month when I took the job, but I really thought I was over the hump. In short, the words “What the fuck is it now!?” quickly flashed through my brain like a Times Square marquee.

In their haste and deplorable moving wisdom, my lovely ex-tenants decided to lower a large boxspring off of their fire escape. And by ‘lower’, I of course mean ‘drop’. Said heavy object then bounced backwards towards the building and shattered both panes of my bedroom window. The window frame itself is bent beyond repair - to the point where I couldn’t even remove all of the broken glass. I took a deep breath, nodded profusely and affirmatively when they offered to pay for the damages, and covered the mess with cardboard and duct tape.

What would Schneider do? I mean, besides try to sleep with both of them?

Another whack of photos from my folks’ place in Ontario. Highlights include eerie campfire pics, killer ponies, newfies, funny hats, jetskis and my insane father’s many costumes. Have a wee peeksie and stay tuned for an imminent batch from Triconi’s wedding.

I think we’re taking one last trip up there this weekend, and then I can lay down in a bus station somewhere and expire. I feel like a nomad, a gypsy, a transient or maybe even Roger Miller’s trans-continental-backseat-bus-trip-conceived lovechild. I’m tired, see? And I don’t wanna go nowheres for awhile.

Do any of my Boston peeps need, or know someone who needs, a decent blue/grey 2-piece leather couch? I also have a coffee table and a kitchen table available - more info here. The former tenant left in a hurry, and the new tenant has her own furniture.

I am giving this stuff away for free. I just need it out of there. Let me know. Nice couchy.

Still loved as much as he was on the day he died, Chris Farley has been given a star on the hollywood walk of fame. I wrote about Farley 4 years ago - and the bit still holds water - so I won’t retread too much of it here. Regardless of his excesses, Farley was, during his time on Earth, the funniest man on it. I’ve never been more saddened by a celebrity death. He is sorely missed.

Coach: Can he still play? Trainer: He’s in a coma! Coach: Answer the question!

I ran into Ed Lauter last night in front of the Park Plaza hotel. You’ll recognize his face - he’s a popular character actor who has been in tons of well known flicks, including: Cujo, The Longest Yard (both versions), French Connection 2, King Kong, Death Hunt, Real Genius, Youngblood, True Romance - and the list goes on.

Ed was juiced, and as he walked up to me he could tell I recognized him. He yelled something as he passed by, presumably on his way to Whiskey Park, and I smiled. I’m not going to pretend I’m too cool to be phased when I run into celebrities. I think it’s pretty neat. To have the coach from Not Another Teen Movie brush past me shithoused with a 24 year old broad on his arm is enough to make anyone giggle.

Appetizer: Which season do you most look forward to?
The fall - no question about it. I hate the humidity of summer, and NorthEast winters can be nothing short of brutal. The fall is a reasonable mix of the two extremes - like metrosexualism. Boston is similar to Toronto in that there are usually about 3 weeks out of the year where you’re actually comfortable - the rest of the time you’re either too hot or too cold. In addition to leaf peeping, fall offers us football, Halloween and hockey. Usually, hockey. Don’t get me started.

Soup: What day of the week is usually your busiest?
It depends on which squeaky wheel needs the grease, and how many vats. I enjoy my new position, but the daily tasks are intangible in many ways. Who is pissed off, who is confused, who is in danger of becoming pissed off or confused? It reminds me of the pursuit angles they teach you in football - anticipate where the relationship is going. I head more angry clients off at the pissed-off-pass than John Wayne did cattle rustlers.

Salad: Would you consider yourself to be strict when it comes to grammar?
Very. I have an English degree, afterall. It becomes a pain, however, as I’m now in charge of proofreading every proposal, press release - actually any piece of sales or marketing material that leaves this office. But I’ve decided how to get this off my plate, quickly. Slip in the odd Polish joke.

Main Course: Who has a birthday soon, and what will you give them as a gift?
Mike’s b-day was this week and we had a BBQ for him at my sister’s place last night. He actually gave me a present - he ripped and burned his father’s Dean Martin celebrity roast DVD for me. These were the precursor and inspiration for the roasts you see nowadays on Comedy Central. Politically uncorrect, stuffed will all my favorite rat-packers and 70’s celebrities and drop stone cold dead funny from beginning to end. So thanks, Mike, for helping me celebrate your birthday with Dino.

Dessert: If you could have any new piece of clothing free, what would you pick?
Another suit. I think I’m addicted now. Something in a pinstripe or maybe even a SeerSucker, perhaps? I could then get a job which requires me to wear a Seersucker everyday - CSI: Martha’s Vineyard. Seamus could be my wacky partner who never gets to drive.

This will be the first weekend in what seems like an eternity that I will a) be in Boston, and b) not have anything remotely resembling ‘plans’. I’ve been looking forward to it - as my apartment could use a once-over before the next imminent changing of the guard, and I have several building manager-related Schneiderish tasks that need my attention. I only wish I had a Miss Romano to compliment the handlebar ’stache.

As the weekend creeps closer, however, I’m starting to wish I had something tangible to do. I’m not saying I feel like traveling somewhere again - not at all. But a tabula rasa of a weekend, even in the midst of the most hectic summer in history, still seems a bit depressing. So here’s what I’m going to do - I’m going to make it the most productive fucking weekend of my relatively young life so far.

I’m going to get up early on Saturday and head straight to the Beanstock Company for legal drug-induced energy. I’m going to sweep, mop, spackle, paint and re-arrange. I’m going to throw away a ton of crap I’ve been hanging on to like a sad, sentimental packrat. I’m going to spend a couple hours on the roof and keep this tan going. I’m going to go for a run. At night - I’m going to put my figurative nerd cap on (which I imagine would have a Deep Space Nine logo on it somewhere) and work on some of my websites - Goonblog in particular is doing really well traffic-wise and has already been linked to from 4 prominent hockey sites that have noticed it. Then Sunday I’m going to wake up and do it all over again.

So there’s my weekend laid out like marzipan. The somber, sober, salacious Schneider.

Jeepers, I almost forgot - a special little someone has a special little birthday today. It’s been a fun beer, humor and indie rock fueled 17 year ride, Mike - and I’m glad the Swedes haven’t lynched you yet (although they’ve certainly come close a time or two).

An eerie picture of the both of us up at the lake this past Friday night may set the stage for the next couple of decades: Out-of-doors, mind a million miles from work, cold and double-fisting. Have a good one, pal-o-mine.

On “Bobcaygeon,” the highlight of this album and possibly the Hip’s best song ever, Downie’s enigmatic lyrics paint a picture that accumulates detail with every listen. - Amazon

You can never predict what will inspire my choice for the Wadio from one week to the next - this time around, it was as simple as a fireside conversation with an old friend about his dock sales route. “Last week I went up through Napanee, stopped in Belleville, made a run down towards Trenton and then right back up to Bobcaygeon“. I smiled and looked over at Moynihan, as I knew exactly what he was thinking - That’s the town they mention in that Hip song!

The Tragically Hip’s lineup has remained absolutely unchanged since 1983 when they started slugging away on the Ontario club circuit - and they’ve grown over the past 22 years to become the undisputed and revered godfathers of Canadian rock. My history with the Hip has been love/hate (read about it here). I have seen them live four times and their lead singer, Gord Downie, solo twice. I have grown slowly to love this band over two decades, and like Marmite - most people either love them or hate them.

Bobcaygeon is one of their more readily digestible dittys, and was once described by Downie as a “cop love song”. The song weaves the tale of a man who hates his job and spends every waking hour longing to return to the arms of his significant other, and opens with two of my favorite lines ever: I left your house this morning about a quarter after nine / coulda been the Willie Nelson, coulda been the wine. Ah yes, Lovemaking - country-style. I wonder which one of them was holding the fly-swatter.

In the video, Gord is a Toronto horseback cop (not to be confused with RCMP), and his girlfriend is Native American. But the actual lyrics never get this specific, which is why I hate literal interpretations and music vids in general: Drove back to town this morning with working on my mind / I thought of maybe quitting / thought of leaving it behind / went back to bed this morning / and as I’m pulling down the blind / the sky was dull and hypothetical / and falling one cloud at a time.

Sounds like someone needs to pay a hasty visit to Monster.com. As the song progresses, the protagonist is involved in breaking up what sounds like a white power rally (which is probably why the woman is portrayed as ethnic in the video): In the middle of that riot / couldn’t get you off my mind. He then returns home to the rural paradise that is Bobcaygeon, Ontario and resumes brooding/liquoring.

I love this song. The lyrics are simple - yet deep and engaging. The acoustic guitar is rustic and scratchy and the bassline dances around like a crazy person. As it slowly builds momentum towards the creshendo of the incident in Toronto, you learn volumes about this man and the remorse he has for his lot in life. Afterall, behind every suicidal cop, there’s an indigenous woman.

Favorite Concord son, Goody, is spearheading an environmentally-friendly festival next month aimed at raising a little awareness - and a lot more money - so I wanted to give him a shout out. He’s been pouring his heart and soul into this for months now and, if I’m not getting my next wedding dates mixed up, I will be headed up with some other C-town legends to show some support - Wells, Maclean and Bryant are also involved. I’ll be twirling around with devil sticks whilst snacking on free-range chicken and organic goat cheese. I’ll be slathering my filthy, unkempt armpits with patchouli and clearing chambers on a 10 foot binger. I’ll be… passing the mic to Mike now:

The Legend of Don Dicisco is a one day art/music/ecology/energy/food festival that aims to illustrate the importance of contiguous habitat and contiguous thought. The event will raise money for a farm conservation project of the Vermont Land Trust and Audubon Vermont’s Environmental Education Program. The Legend includes a dozen artists exhibiting their work, six bands, a team of ecologists delivering talks/walks/demonstrations, working alternative energy displays and a celebratory feast comprised of foods from local farms. The Legend will take place Saturday September 17th at the Green Mountain Audubon Center in Huntington. Notable participants include Bernd Heinrich, Susan Morse, Robert Spear, VINS, NECI, Sunweaver, Chelsie Bush, Michael Rothschild, Abigail Pratt, Seth Jarvis, Gordon Stone, Paul Asbell, Jon Fishman.

Tickets are available through the Flynn Regional Box Office and may be purchased at http://www.flynntix.org or by calling 1-802-86-FLYNN.

For a full description of the event please visit: http://www.legend2005.org or contact Legend director Michael Goodwin at michael@legend2005.org or (802)234-9415.

Saturday night, while up in Canada, our crew drove to Smiths Falls to an old family friend’s house. Wentworth has lived in the same digs on the Poonamalie Lockstation for as long as I have been alive. We used to keep our boat, the PyeSeas docked nearby, and I spent a good portion of my childhood annoying people in the general vicinity. I’ll mention this evening in greater detail when I get around to processing all the accompanying photos. For now - let’s just say you haven’t lived until you’ve heard 3 hours of Newfie jokes told by the drunken Newfies themselves.

“Did you hear about the Newfie 2-seater airplane that crashed near a cemetery? They’ve recovered 136 bodies and they’re still counting.”

The Rideau Canal System, was built by the British from 1824 - 1832: Back then, the Rideau was a wilderness of lakes, rivers and swamps. In the middle of this wilderness, with many men dying from malaria, an engineering marvel was created. Over 1,000 workers, the vast majority of whom were Irish or French-Canadian, died during construction. Considering the era and technology available, building the canal makes the Big Dig look like a half-assed sandcastle.

There are 23 locks on the system, and I’ve been through every last one of them. I carry many great summer memories of the community that surrounds boating up and down the waterway. As a child I was often bored - it can take hours to get through one station - but overall they were great times. I have to get crackin’ on the long day ahead, but if you’re interested read some more of the truly amazing history here.

Janet and I are headed up to Portland again tonight to see the parents - this time with Mike and Joanna in tow. JJV may even make an appearance. If someone asked me if I was sick of all the traveling I have had to do this summer, I wouldn’t give them some predictable, sarcastic answer. Not at all. Rather, I’d simply snatch up a blunt soup spoon and detatch one of their ears for them. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you some outdoorsy topics as I’m looking forward to the woods:

1. Have you ever been camping? If yes, do you go often? If not, why not?

2. Are you an outdoorsy person, or would you rather stay inside the comfort of your house? Why?

3. Which do you prefer, hot weather or cold weather? Why/why not? How do you cope with each?

The 3rd redesign just got sent back to us - and I love it. Ladies and Hooligans, Chris and I are proud to present - GoonBlog. Be sure to refresh the page a few times to see how the design cycles slightly, and we welcome your comments. There are still some layout/content shifts to work out (Hockey news RSS feed, calendar, etc.) but this is 95% of the finished product. Thanks to Mike from EWebscapes for putting up with our pickiness. Tell a friend.

“But two o’clock has come again, It’s time to leave this paradise. Hope the chip shop isn’t closed, Cos’ their pies are really nice. I’ll eat in the taxi queue, Standing in someone else’s spew. Wish I had lipstick on my shirt, Instead of piss stains on my shoes.” - FNSM, The Specials.

Friday Night, Saturday Morning was a hit for The Specials way, way back in 1981 - And it’s a ska-based, horn-heavy, seizure inducing masterpiece. It was one of the B-Sides to their hit “Ghost Town” (heard most recently in the movie “Snatch”), but it took on a life of it’s own and eventually grew almost as popular as the song it was supplementing. It’s a great snapshot of the life of a young English pisshead, and I’d bet several pints on it being a favorite of Mike Skinner’s.

The irony in this song is that while the lyricist lives a highly social weekend, he spends quite a bit of time on the edge of the dance floor and still feels lonely when the night is over.

My sister played Nouvelle Vague’s version of the song the last time we drove up to Canada and I fell in love immediately. NV is a French band who’s claim to fame is not their own material - but rather covers of famous alt/indie rock favorites from the 80s. You can listen to more examples of their interpretations of hits by The Cure, The Clash and Joy Division here.

Their idea was to forget the initial punk or new wave background of each song, keep simple fundamental chords, work with young singers who never heard the orginal versions and make the quality of original songwriting happen in a completely different way. (bossa nova, jazz style and sixties pop).

I wouldn’t count on this band being around 2 years from now, but it’s a very cool idea and the project was well-executed. I love this record, and it’s a definite must for any eightiesaphile. Providing you then make a point of tracking down all the originals, Duckie.

I’ll get to posting photos and deep thoughts on Triconi’s wedding eventually - on that note, please send me photos of the actual Saturday service if you were there as my camera malfunctioned for exactly 24 hours for some very strange reason and I missed out. To keep your gallery appetite whetted in the meantime, I proudly present a selection of ridiculous pics from Chris’ bachelor party in Newport three weekends ago.

Eighteen holes of golf, a fifteen man party-bus, a thousand dollar-a-night Mohegan Sun suite. Well done to brother Matt, the organizer, and here’s hoping everyone forgets my Ketel One induced towel-clad antics by the time the wedding rolls around next month. Enjoy.

We were cruising at about 35,000 feet last night when I started to notice that the Russian guy sitting two rows in front of me was just a little ‘off’. It wasn’t a gut feeling, or an inkling or a hunch. Rather - it was the fact that he got up, walked into the stewardess’s galley and came out with two meals which he then proceeded to wolf down while the takeoff seatbelt sign was still on.

The stewardesses, hostesses, whatever you’re supposed to call them nowadays - were towards the front of the cabin, but soon enough one of them walked back and caught Vladimir chowing down. And on a special, pre-ordered kosher meal no less. She looked at me incredulously and asked hypothetically “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” To which an older man seated directly across the aisle from me answered “You need to get security watching that guy”. Jason then threw in his $0.02 - very loud and in no uncertain terms, “I wanna knock that friggin’ idiot out”. I liked his idea better. It’s a scary world, and when you’re airborne airborne head-shaking and tut-tuting at the idiosynchracies of others should always be foregone in favor of one .45 caliber round behind the ear from an Air Marshall’s glock.

I was supposed to get to my Boston office around 9 a.m. this morning. We had an overnight, red-eye flight from Vancouver to Toronto, and then an immediate connecting flight through to Boston. It was too perfect. In reality, we never stood a ghost of a chance of making the connection, and as 10 other Beantown hopefuls chirped at a gallery of Air Canada employees Jason and I choked back the bitter and got boarding passes for Pittsburgh.

From Pittsburgh we managed to eventually get to Boston a good 7 hours later. Due to a storm Saturday night, air traffic was backed up and we waited an hour on the tarmac and then another hour in a holding pattern before we finally got home. 20 hours, four airports, a rental car and a taxi later - I was unlocking my apartment door and being scolded by a cat. And it was heavenly. I do not want to see the inside of an airplane again for a very, very long time. Unless, of course, it’s one of these.