Pye in the Face

PITF favorite Mean Art Green’s severely cool friend Cindy visited from Vancouver for work a couple of weeks ago, and he asked me to show her around. I’d never met Cindy, but we were fast friends and collectively had a very silly week together - the crescendo of which was a Bruins game with Detroit Velvet Smooth and Clarkey in tow. Long story short, we took some neat photos with her wide-angle lens, and I’ve added them to the gallery here.

While we’re on the subject of hockey, I am trying to organize a crew to go and see the LockMonsters take on the Providence Bruins this Saturday evening in Lowell. Any takers can feel free to comment or email me. Revelry will ensue during and afterwards. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Lowell’s nightlife. Or crack. Is there really a need for a differentiation there?

“In my view, XTC is the greatest rock band of the 1980s… they’ve never really lost their edge: they’ve consistently delivered quality recordings that show increasing sophistication and maturity instead of burnout and boredom.” - warr.org

“Dear God” is the closest XTC ever came to a major Stateside hit, but they have have an enormous back catalog which includes 14 full studio albums, the first of which was released in 1978. I have been a fan for almost 20 years myself, and my favorite XTC tune is by far the fully infectious “Generals and Majors” off 1980’s Black Sea album.

The lyrics aren’t all that sophisticated and seem to poke fun at warmongers, for lack of a better analogy. So the tune should be soundtracking another questionable video from MoveOn.org within the week. To call the baseline simply catchy, would be a disservice to catchy baselines everywhere. If you can listen to this song without tapping your foot, either have your pulse checked or report to a Dave Matthews concert immediately.

Here is a great collection of videos I found on the expansive and interesting tribute site, Chalkhills - and you can also visit the official site for the latest news, audio clips, lyrics and a full discography. Revisit the XTC, kids. I can’t stress that enough.

Romance dies after only the first year, according to Italian scientists who probably hope they’re next in line to woo your girlfriend as a result of you buying into their findings. So enjoy the honeymoon as long as you can, folks. Because after a time you’re apparently no more in love with your spouse than you are with one of your best friends:

“Research has suggested that romantic love fades after a few years and becomes companionate love and it seems certain biological factors play a role. But while we are a pair-bonding species, there is some doubt over whether this is within monogamous relationships or not.”

That sorta puts a wee damper on things, huh? Here I am thinking some spectacular female is due to come down the pike into my life at any minute, when really I might as well be buggering a buddy. I don’t buy it. There’s no way my mother would have ever put up with my father for all these years if there wasn’t something deeper at play. No way in hell.

Eh, I’m thinking too hard. Que sera sera. And buggery.

Appetizer: What did you look like when you were a teenager?
I actually looked a lot like James Coburn during my teens. Smoking a pipe and wearing white tuxedos almost exclusively. What kind of a silly question is that? I had less wrinkles, more hair and was a liberal. I pine only for the first two.

Salad: Whose advice do you listen to?
I like to listen to my own advice, primarily. But there a few folks I turn to from time to time when I need some guidance. You know who you are. And you wish I’d stop calling.

Soup: Name a book you would like to memorize.
The combined works of William Shakespeare. To be able to shout out powerful passages in modern, everyday situations would be… annoying.

“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.” “I still don’t understand, sir. does that mean you want the fries or the coleslaw?”

Main Course: How often are you sick?
About once a year during the winter. I take very few sick days, as I need them for traveling to Canada, etc. If we’re talking about sexual deviance, however - is it noon yet?

Dessert: Do you like or dislike change?
I like it. I have moved around a lot in my life. I went to three different high schools and have been lucky enough to travel all over the world. Bring on the change, I say. Providing, of course, that I don’t have to leave the North End.

Live from Concord - just got back from the football game where the Pats were receiving a sound thrashing from Bedford. I hope it worked out as we had to leave early. I saw absolutely no one I knew, save for Gilbert Simmons, and felt about 400 years old. Still, it’s great to be out here as always. Deep-fried turkey, old friends and beer. Have a great holiday everyone.

Opening with mysterious panning pulses and the whistling of wind, the song gradually swells into a climax of guitars, crashing drums and spookily layered vocals. As comebacks go, they don’t get much better than this. - Virgin

When I heard Kate Bush was making her unlikely comeback, I decided I should put her 1978 classic Wuthering Heights up on Radio Pye. WH is based on Emily Bronte’s book of the same name, and has long been an obsession of Bush’s. The tune took the scene by storm, and although it confused the heck out of a lot of people, it stayed at #1 in the UK for a month that year. Bush went on to record with Peter Gabriel, release a good album every few years until 1993 - and then go absolutely stark raving mad before disappearing into the desolate English countryside.

Earlier this year she spent 2.5 million pounds on an estate near the setting of the 158 year old novel, and registered herself to vote in the county under the name Catherine Earnshaw - which just happens to be the name of Wuthering Heights’ heroine. But she’s back, and I’m pumped and I want to share. And, no, her new album isn’t entitled “Mad as a Box of Frogs”.

The first thing about Kate Bush is her voice. If you hate her, that’s probably why. It’s childish and prickly, and she sweeps through her four-octave range with all the inhibition of someone taking a shower in an empty house, seemingly oblivious to the fingernails-on-chalkboard effect a voice like that can have. - Salon

See what you think of King of the Mountain. If you like it, try Wuthering Heights, Running Up That Hill and Babooshka. And maybe don’t try moving onto a remote moor and spending all your time reading the Bronte sisters and sculpting whilst wearing leotards. Or do - you know what? It’s almost Thanksgiving. Let’s all get a little nuts this weekend, hah?

We’ve been in the midst of a monsoon here in Boston for the past 24 hours or so, and it’s quite miserable to say the least. I’ve just heard from a building-mate that the roof in her bedroom is leaking like a seive - so we can add that to the list of decrepitude that has taken place since I took over managerial duties. Let’s recap, shall I? Fine then:

1. Two windows were broken by people moving out just prior to my tenure.
2. A sink fell off one of the walls.
3. Two medicine cabinets had to be replaced.
4. The front door lock was destroyed by a burgular/drunk.
5. The fire-escape broke and had to be painted.
6. The roofdeck had to be stained.
7. The washer and dryer broke down.
8. My inebriated, keyless roomate destroyed our front door.
9. The fire alarm malfunctioned.
10. The exterior light stopped working.
11. The roof is leaking.

Am I forgetting anything? Probably. It’s just dumb luck, as it’s a great little building. But I wonder why it has waited until my reign of terror to begin falling apart. Does it think I have more empathy than Seamus? No replicants have moved in to date, so I guess it can’t be all that run down just yet. All those… repairs will be made. Like tears in rain.

As I strolled through Government Center this morning, my head its usual jumble of stresses and tasks for the imminent workday, being shat upon by a seagull was the last thing in the mental pipeline. It wasn’t the first time this has happened - once as a child I was visiting an amusement park near Toronto when one of the winged bastards managed to get a cluster bomb right in my bag of cheesies. What are the chances?

What, indeed. When I got to work, looking like one of the paint covered crooks from Home Alone, I met with some reassuring words from one of my coworkers. “It’s good luck when a bird shits on you,” he said. “Think about the accuracy that takes. You couldn’t do that if you tried.” Well, the last time I tried I got arrested for a hate crime. So don’t hold your breath for that to happen again anytime soon. At least not while charges are still pending. But anyway, he’s right.

The angle, velocity, windspeed, etc. would all have to be perfect. A pidgeon dropping a white, watery grumpy on me from 10 feet in the air is akin to Luke getting two proton torpedos into the Death Star’s exhaust shaft. The assault didn’t worsen my mood though, it actually improved it. All my other worries melted away as I started to giggle at the silliness of it all. Luck, fortune and avian feces. Great shot, Polly - that was one in a million.

“Don’t you realize? The next time you see sky, it’ll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it’ll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what’s right for them. Because it’s their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it’s our time. It’s our time down here. That’s all over the second we ride up Troy’s bucket.” - Mikey

The video for this song is emblazoned on my memory like a makeshift coathanger cattle brand. Cyndi Lauper and the child cast of 1985’s The Goonies run around various sets from the film whilst being pursued by professional wrestlers of the day. Steven Spielberg’s mullet makes an appearence. The octopus (which was cut from the final print of the film) dances along to the breathtakingly strange accompanying song. As I was very in to giant squids, Rowdy Roddy Piper and The Goonies that year, I sat glued to my favorite Canadian video show every night religiously after school hoping for a Goonie-glimpse.

On the eve of the film’s 20th anniversary, and a possible sequel in the works, I thought I’d add this strange-but-catchy little tune to Radio Pye. Forget Time After Time and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - this is Cyndi’s best work, and the only video she ever made in which that most creepy boyfriend of hers did not also appear. Whoops, I spoke too soon. Upon review it looks like he played the right honorable Captain Lou Albano’s flunkie. Maybe that trusty cattlebrand needs to be reheated.

“During the scene where the boys are sitting in the living room watching MTV, they were not actually watching the Cyndi Lauper “Good Enough” video, which was to be developed six months after filming wrapped up.” - IMDB

Peaking at #10 on the Billboard charts, Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough was shat out by popular culture almost as quickly as it appeared. The cult following of the film cannot be denied, and recently New Found Glory covered the tune on a compilation called “From Your Screen to Your Stereo”. Quintessential 80s synth handclaps, xylophones and Cyndi’s harpy-like voice combine and draw off elements of the film’s original score to create a passable musical tie-in. And when I say passable, I of course mean awesome.

It’s been about 6 months since I added the funny little testimonial section you’ll see over to the left there. Every time the page refreshes, a new quote is displayed from a list of about 15 which were submitted at the inception. They’re getting a bit old. A bit long in the tooth. A wee bit stale. If you’re looking for a little interactivity today, email me a testimonial or leave one in the comments for me to add to the fray. I’m not fussy, but the funnier the better. Thy will be done.

I maintain that cats are brighter than dogs - because coming on command does not a smart animal make. Those dense, hairy little canine buggers would jump off of a building if they were told to follow a tasty snausage over the side, wheras a cat would stop dead in its tracks and wonder what the heck you’d been smoking. I don’t think obedience equates to superior intelligence. I like the fact that my domesticated house pet of choice has his own agenda, and doesn’t jump on me, drooling like Sloth every time I walk in the door. I like the fact that I can leave him alone for a weekend and not come home to an apartment that looks like it was broken into by incontinent gorillas.

When I got home tonight, however, Boss put on a show that ranks him right up there with the deer tick in terms of intelligence. I bought a new winter coat on Saturday afternoon, and it’s a big ‘un. The white plastic bag that I brought it home in is ginormous as well and Boss was curled up inside of it just as comfy as can be. I sat down and started watching the news, and he poked his head up to look over at the TV. That was when I noticed he had one of the handles wrapped snug around his neck. I made a mental note that when he tried to get up I’d lean over and remove it - thereby escaping a tragic garroting at the hands of the spiral staircase.

When he finally got up, he got up fast - suddenly realizing he was supposed to be in my bedroom for some life and death situation as cats are known to do. The bag followed him whipping back and forth and making a heck of a racket. Before I could grab him he was off the couch with the enormous bag tagging along above and behind him like a raincloud with a vendetta. He became absolutely terrified, and ripped around the kitchen and living room at a speed I’ve never seen, desperately trying to escape his cheap plastic pursuer. I nearly doubled over laughing as words cannot really describe how ridiculous it looked, but then he headed for the stairs and I snapped back to attention as my spidey senses began to tingle.

By the time I got down to the lower level, he’d successfully gotten away from his nemesis and was looking up at me from the middle of my bedroom floor, chest pumping and eyes wide with kitty shock and awe. The bag lay a few feet away, hung up on the last step. He quickly turned his attention back to it - I assume anticipating yet another attack. That was 4 hours ago, and he’s still there staring at the bag as I type. It’s a Filene’s Basement Bag Standoff, and I truly hope it’s over by morning as I’d like to use it to take my gym clothes to work. Godspeed. You show that bastard bag who’s boss, Boss.

Site favorite Detroit Velvet Smooth works for the Lowell Lock Monsters as an off-ice official, and he’s invited me several times to accompany him to a game. I finally tagged along last night, and I have to say - AHL hockey is considerably more enjoyable than its older brother. I may be hooked.

I will be going to the Monsters’ game a week from today to continue my new obsession. It’s healthier than niche German pornography, anyway. Let me know if you’d like to accompany us.

That’s right. It’s guilty of being original. It’s guilty of being hilarious. It’s guilty of being a fucking milestone - and today - it’s also guilty of being cancelled.

Bateman will now be able to join the support group for “brilliant shows which were axed by stiff suits before their time”. Colin Quinn and Chris Elliott are bringing the donuts and coffee this week, while Peter Griffin moderates via satellite from the Drunken Clam.

Other tragedies include: The Tick, Freaks and Geeks, Sports Night, Firefly, NewsRadio and, of course, Mr. Show. Where is Susan Powter when you need her? Cancelled, I’d assume.

You may remember my half-hearted post from a few weeks back - when bored and starved for material I spent 15 minutes Photoshopping a “Frat Pack” image. This combined an original photograph of the Rat Pack performing at the Sands in the early 60’s with the heads of our beloved modern day dummies. I also mentioned a site which was thoroughly devoted to the Wilsons, Ferrell, Vaughn, Black and Stiller - and gave him a little kudos for his efforts.

Well apparently - it’s turned into a circle jerk. My silly little collage is now featured front and center on his very popular site. I first noticed this when I saw the abundance of traffic coming through from that domain. He even mentions Pye In The Face in his latest Podcast which, if you’re a fan of the boys, I highly reccomend. Thanks for the hat tip, Kevin - and keep up the good work.

City Kitty reels with befuddled disgust, shot through with a clammy sci-fi movie organ and the rattle of screwdrivers on fretboards — until the strings start soaring above a bridge which is one part Ennio Morricone, one part Glen Campbell. “Slinky and winky, stinky and drinky.” - TeenBeat

Hi everybody! This is Nate, guest-blogging because my esteemed roommate is off making a hamhock sandwich. He LOOOOVES his pork. But at the end of the day, who doesn’t want to tuck in to some salty hog? Here’s the deal: there are 3 kinds of people I hate:

1. People with oversized umbrellas that are the width of the sidewalk because they are so fat they need them to stay dry (it’s called a tarp - get one).
2. People who don’t look forward in an elevator because they are checking out my enormous cock.
3. People who don’t like Luna.

More specifically, their best song - City Kitty. A song of mystery and mystique. A song of black-eyed susans and chilled potatoes. A song of triumph and adversity. It’s a song I have been screaming for them to sing for the 13+ years I’ve been going to see them, to which they consistenly reply: “fuck off, Nate.” Real funny, jerk-offs. It’s a song I have only heard once in concert, and that’s because they were drunk one night and tried to appease me. But they gave up. Unlike this song, they were weak. They did not try to persevere.

The song is about positivity. About achieving one’s goals. About heading into the realm of the unknown. Okay, fine. It’s a song about drugs. And I’m drunker than a poet on payday. Enjoy, and stop checking out my package, perverts.

Once a winter I get sick. As far as I am concerned, the sooner the better - last Christmas I drove from Boston to Kingston and then Toronto whilst delerious. So I wasn’t totally disappointed this morning when I woke up feeling like a Tombstone lunger. So I’ll sit here in front of the TV, with a laptop in my… lap, just like the good old days when I worked from home everyday as an editor. Consciousness - coffee - Columbo. Day after day after day. Rise and shine, imbibe caffeine and then religiously watch a 30-year-old police show everyday before starting my first keystroke of work.

Do I miss that? Kinda. But I also had to eat dog food back then. So I’m just fine with the whole rat race thing.