From the monthly archives:

March 2006

Appetizer: Name 3 things that you think are strange.
Celebutants: That strange mixture of privilige, wealth, fame – and no good reason for any scrap of it. Dog people: Why do cat people always like dogs too, but self-professed dog people always hate cats and wear it pompously like some sort of badge? How the hell can you vehemently hate a cat? And why do you like to tell me this over and over when you know that I have one? This has happened to me like 14 separate times recently. You’re all fucking retarded. Pearl Jam: How has this boring, mediocre band acheived Christ-like reverance all over the world? You might as well be listening to Genesis.

Soup: What was the last ceremony you attended?
Heather and Chris’ Wedding in Newport. At least I’m told I was there. It was an interesting foray. Have a look at the gallery for the details.

Salad: What is one lesson you have learned in the past year?
As much as I despise them, telephones always trump email when doing business. I am trying to get in touch with my inner Rockefeller.

Main Course: Tell us about one of your childhood memories.
There was a burned out farmhouse foundation in the middle of a field behind my house that all the kids named “Blueberry Hill”. As we were all obsessed by Mad Max, we formed several gangs (I was the leader of the Eagles) and jockeyed for position at different strategic points around the neighborhood. We used to make weapons out of things we’d find in our father’s garages and go have little turf battles. Anyway, once, after leading a particularly violent attack on Blueberry hill, I had half the parents in the neighborhood out trying to lynch me. Adorable.

Dessert: If you could extend a season which would you pick?
Fall. Boston is too hot or too cold for 95% of the year. Once an annum, for about 2 weeks, it’s just right. This city is like living on Mars.


A Nice Little Saturday.

by Dave on March 29, 2006


“Maybe Bed Bath and Beyond. I don’t know. I don’t know if we’ll have enough time.” I’m mystified as to how that line has become one of the most quoted from the ripe stock of Old School, but it has and it’s hilarious. It’s also all I could think about when I sat down today to write about my weekend, because Saturday was a heck of a jam-packed 24 hours. I’m not sure how I pulled it off, exactly. A wine and cheese kitty play date, a Bruins game, a birthday party – they all factored in, and many funny photos were taken along the way.

I figure the best thing to do is create a gallery, also including the many snaps that were taken back on St. Patrick’s Day weekend – which also happened to include much revelry, a Bruins game, a Pogues concert and a birthday party. March came in like a liquored lion, and went out like a liquored lamb, I guess. Enjoy the lovely tableau, and I’ll get back to my own charming and verbose self tomorrow. And check out GoonBlog‘s awesome new logo while you’re at it!


Monday’s Quotelet: Angry, Angry Hippos.

by Dave on March 27, 2006


Officials at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, Nebraska were thrilled enough at the birth of their baby hippo. The fact that it had traveled here from an other dimension to eradicate the human race was just icing on the cake.


Roach Jewelry Realities.

by Dave on March 24, 2006


No time at the moment for a proper Quizzlet. Jammed up with conference calls all day. But here’s a funny story to make you smile in the meantime. About a year ago, I made myself giggle when I thought of a particularly catchy domain name while having a conversation with Smash – so I registered it. 6 months after that, I finally got around to doing something with it, and in the meantime it’s been spidered by all the major search engines and does very well for a selection of specific (and completely unsearched for) terms.

That is until Tuesday’s edition of America’s Next Top Model, when apparently someone wore live cockroach jewelry during the episode. My ridiculous site got over 2,000 hits yesterday and still climbing. Talk about right place, right time. And absolutely no hope of a revenue stream, ever. Still, it’s a heck of a thing.


The Tumbleweeds Of Creative Suffocation.

by Dave on March 23, 2006


The last few weeks on the blog have been fairly frantic, with at least 7 decent posts a week keeping’ ‘er going. But during the play performance-related hiatus, and my sickness yesterday, my daily traffic has dropped over 25%. Talk about fairweather fans. Where is everybody going? Rest assured – I’ll return shortly to wax ridiculous about pop culture, hippies and hookers. I’ll be back in the saddle of silliness quicker than crap through a goose. For pete’s sake, have a little faith in me, folks.

The return to work this morning was tantamount to arriving for tsunami beach-clean-up detail, so I must keep this short and get back to the mines. But I’ll be making use of my new found freedom and writing fast and furious again real soon. Thanks for your patience, support and allowing me to imagine any patience or support.

And to the new reader who found us earlier today by typing “piss-stained underpants” into Google – welcome aboard. It only gets worse.


I Shall Return.

by Dave on March 21, 2006


The play has me run ragged. I feel like I haven’t slept in days, and I’m currently thanking Christ that tonight is the last show. If you’re coming, I’ll see you there. Get to the Asylum by 6:30.


Monday’s Quotelet: Getting Quite An Earful.

by Dave on March 20, 2006


Flappy’s final moments were spent secure in the knowledge he had won the bet, and actually shat in a polar bear’s ear. To this day, the other magpies tweet his praises.

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Appetizer: What job would you definitely not want to have?
Take it easy, James Lipton. I wouldn’t want to be anything I’ve already been, because it would feel like somewhat of a step backwards. However, considering you can count window-washer, landscaper, waiter, bouncer, constuction laborer and liquor store clerk on that list – That’s a bit of a no-brainer. As an aside, there are many days I wish I was a homicide detective.

Soup: Oprah wants you on her show. What would it be about?
My whirlwind, tri-country, peanut-oil-soaked, illegal, sweaty love affair with Rachel Weisz, of course. I’d jump up and down on the couch and everything.

Salad: Name 3 vegetables that you eat on a regular basis.
Terri Schiavo, Helen Keller and Frida Kahlo. It’s not assault if they blink twice for ‘yes’.

Main Course: You can be in any bar anywhere today – which would you pick?
Smuggler’s Inn! No question. JP and I used to frequent this wonderful dive when our parents lived in Hong Kong, and I hope I get to darken its door again some day. We made many great friends there, and I am pretty sure my signed Canadian $5 bill is still stapled to the ceiling. Favorite memories include silly string fights with the natives, real fights with American sailors, my temporary Chinese girlfriend who threw up all over the 3 square foot bathroom, midnight van rides through the mountains with Malkie and of course the legendary Mr. Andy Kirk.

Dessert: If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would they do?
I’d have them follow me around, taking tons of photos. I’d push them away and shield my face as if I were a hot shit celebrity. When women invariably asked me where they knew me from, I’d simply answer: Real World 18 – West Newton. And then I’d mention that my room number was also 18, and then ask them if they were.


Pogue Mahone Ye Feckin’ Eeedjits.

by Dave on March 17, 2006


Last St. Patrick’s Day I wrote up a little criticism of Boston SPD revelers which I still think is pretty funny. So have a look before you read on today. I don’t think I’ll top it in my current work-stressed state of mind. To quote one of my own thoughts from last year: “As it grows closer to quitting time, I’d just like to voice my appreciation for holidays which revolve entirely around alcohol. My 2nd favorite being, of course, Arbor Day.” Rather than try to be cute today I’m going to provide a few plageurized facts…

– St. Patrick’s Day marks the Roman Catholic feast day for Ireland’s patron saint, who died in the 5th century. St. Patrick (Patricius in Latin) was not born in Ireland, but in Britain.

– At a meeting of the American Heart Association in Orlando, Florida, three years ago, researchers reported that Guinness may be as effective as daily aspirin in reducing the blood clots that cause heart attacks.

– Irish brigands kidnapped St. Patrick at 16 and brought him to Ireland. He was sold as a slave in the county of Antrim and served in bondage for six years until he escaped to Gaul, in present-day France. He later returned to his parents’ home in Britain, where he had a vision that he would preach to the Irish. After 14 years of study, Patrick returned to Ireland, where he built churches and spread the Christian faith for some 30 years.

– Many myths surround St. Patrick. One of the best known—and most inaccurate—is that Patrick drove all the snakes from Ireland into the Irish Sea, where the serpents drowned. (Some still say that is why the sea is so rough.) But snakes have never been native to the Emerald Isle. The serpents were likely a metaphor for druidic religions, which steadily disappeared from Ireland in the centuries after St. Patrick planted the seeds of Christianity on the island.

– In the United States, it’s customary to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day. But in Ireland the color was long considered to be unlucky. Irish folklore holds that green is the favorite color of the Good People (the proper name for faeries). They are likely to steal people, especially children, who wear too much of the color.

– Today New York’s St. Patrick’s Day parade is the longest running civilian parade in the world. This year nearly three million spectators are expected to watch the spectacle and some 150,000 participants plan to march.

Tonight will be my last hurrah before a grueling 3-day performance schedule. I will be at Tiernans ‘larging it’ by 9pm if anyone’s looking for something to do. I had better plans, but they fell through – however I’m keeping a stiff upper liver. It’s nice to have a local, a home base, a rock – full of people you know no matter what night of the week you drop in. This is one of the things I miss about England, but over the years T’s has become an extension of my living room. So, when all is said and done, I suppose my St. Patrick’s Day is going to be spent exactly as it was meant to be, and has been for the last 7 years now. Slainte!


Don’t Be Afraid Of The Dark. Seriously.

by Dave on March 16, 2006


My first, and let’s face it – probably last – acting foray begins this Sunday evening. Don’t be Afraid of the Dark hits the stage at the Improv Asylum this week to I’m assuming awesomely rave reviews and soggy-eyed packed houses. This will be my final pre-play shuck and jive, and I encourage you all to come check out one of the performances. I have almost 20 friends confirmed to come to the Tuesday 7pm show – as that is the last performance and I intend to have a celebratory cockytail or two afterwards in a licensed North End purveyor of adult libations. If you want to come, make it Tuesday night and let me know so I can reserve you a ticket. While you’re making up your mind, have a gander at our first cast photo:

Let’s see… you’ve got the vamp, evil monster, ingenue, shrew, maid, butler, nerd, nurse, male nurse, lawyer and cop (me). And let me save you the trouble – I’m obviously also a huge nerd, just not dressed as one in this particular example. Listen – I know it’s a school night, and some of you will have to drive a fair spell to get here, but I want everyone to be aware and have the details should you want to come and marvel at my almost unspeakable narcissism.


He Wears Short Shorts. And Is A Twat.

by Dave on March 16, 2006


There’s a new fad sweeping the city of Boston and I’m going to need a little help from my readers in order to ever fully hope to fathom it. I’m talking about college age men, or slightly thereafter, walking around outside in 40 degree weather with shorts on. Cargo shorts usually, which end just above the knee and contain lots of interesting, and I’m sure integral, pockets. Without meaning to sound harsh, please kill yourselves.

Let’s say we’ve been in the middle of a cold snap, and then suddenly the temperature rises five points one sunny afternoon. These little bastards run home to change and come out in full force – inappropriate shorts just a’ blazing. I’m taking the time to write about this not because it offends me or because I’m concerned for their immune system or anything. It’s simply one of the most retarded things I’ve ever seen. It has to be the most uncomfortable and useless fad since the fucking corset.

Enthralled, annoyed and disturbed at the same time, this journalist looked for more re-re instances of this silliness online. Here’s what I found:

– A related discussion featuring some Canadian twat who says he wears the shorts just to see people’s shocked expressions. Wow – that is so punk rock.

– The Senior VP of HR at Microsoft wears shorts in winter. And eats concentrated orange juice cans full of bacon fat by the vanload, apparently.

– Someone visiting Brussels was so alarmed by the sight of shorts wearers that they snapped a picture and blogged it. Personally, I would have been more concerned with the man standing off to the right with his hands down the front of his pants – who also seems to be ‘enjoying’ the exposed flesh.

– A local Boston blogger originally from California also shares my bewilderment: There’s always the crazy guy who wears shorts all winter (I’m sure just to stand out–people call him the “shorts guy”). First of all, I’m glad you get to help pick the nicknames, cause that one is world class. Secondly, of course he does it to stand out. He was probably raised in a closet by an uncle, and digitally bum raped multiple times on poker night.

This article is taking a sharp turn for the worst. Just stop wearing the shorts in winter people. Fauxhawks and bad lower-back tattoos serve the same purpose, and don’t lead to pnemonia.


Good Luck With The Crashing Night Guilt.

by Dave on March 15, 2006


Did anyone else think that Crash was an exceptionally mediocre film? I just finished watching it and I may never bother to sit through the Oscars again. I am fairly good at explication, but just what is the goddamned theme supposed to be anyway? All races are capable of racism? I already knew that. Predjeduces may be innacurate? Prejeduces may be extremely fucking accurate? Terence Howard looks like he uses a crimping iron? The movie should have been called “Guilt”.

I also watched Good Night and Good Luck last night. As much of a fan as I am of historical and biographical movies, I was tempted to paint one of my bedroom walls halfway through. So I could watch it dry instead. I need films that have a little something extra in order to be fully entertained. Like “Ernest Goes To…” tacked on to the beginning of the title.


Interviewer: What’s your poison these days?
Shane: I like wine, and I drink Peach Schnapps. It’s only 21 percent.
Interviewer: That sweet stuff’ll rot your teeth.
Shane: I haven’t got any teeth.Playboy

Sick Bed is my very favorite Pogues song, and I listen to it constantly. I had the distinct and unlikely pleasure of seeing them last night at the Orpheum here in Boston. I say unlikely, because anyone who knows anything about Shane McGowan is well aware of his severe drink problem, and the fact that he comes close to death as casually as you or I flick off a lightswitch. When I heard they were touring this year, I figured it was without Shane (as they did from 91-to 2001) so imagine my pleasant surprise. It was a truly great time.

In Irish mythology, Cuchulainnis taken ill when he is attacked in a dream by two women with horsewhips (he lay asleep in his sickbed for a year as a result)”. That’s kinda hot, especially if they feed you whiskey in your hospital of choice. Horsewhips aside, not only is this song catchy, rocking and pleasing to the ear – it tells a crazy story about a man who, among other things, pisses himself, gets thrown out of a bar, has his head kicked in and then vomits in a church. Shane is a little hard to understand at times, and you can read the full lyrics here:

When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne
And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone
Frank Ryan bought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid
And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was cursing all the Yids
At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer
And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair

Anti-semitism, venerial disease and whorehouses – now that sounds like a Saturday night. Here’s Shane himself talking about the ditty from his book “A Drink With Shane McGowan“: “It’s about how every old dosser you meet on the street has got a history. He’s got a history of probably fighting in a couple world wars, maybe the Spanish Civil War.” And how did the book come to be? Glad you asked: “It’s a bunch of interviews that she did while I was drunk. I said a lot of things about people that I wouldn’t have said if I hadn’t been drunk and talking to my wife. But what’s done is done, and I think it’s a good book.” While we’re at it, here’s a great collection of drinking references in Pogues songs.

You can listen to the song for yourself by clicking Radio Pye to your left. The pictures you see were taken by myself last night during and after the show, and I’ve also uploaded a few video clips of which the audio and picture isn’t too bad. If you’re a fan, check them out. First off is their rousing performance of Sick Bed, during which I swear I felt the Orpheum’s balcony shifting with the weight of drunken, dancing Irishmen. The twat you can hear singing along is none other than yours truly:

I also got clips of Lonely Pair of Brown Eyes, Fairytale of New York and you can even enjoy watching Shane shoot a hat that is thrown at him like it’s a clay pigeon. From the size of the whiskey bottle you can see him take a pull off of in the Fairytale clip, skeet was probably only one of many foreign objects he saw floating past him on stage last night. And as it happens, I’ll only stop listening to the Pogues when pink elephants fookin’ fly. I’m thrilled I can now cross “See the Pogues Live” off my list. And throwing up in a church.

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The Play And The Pogues.

by Dave on March 14, 2006

in Musical

In about 15 minutes I have to rush back to the North End for a 5pm play practice. Our first performance is Sunday at 2pm, and there’s precious little time left to work out the many kinks. It is very time consuming, and I’ll be glad when it’s all said and done a week from tonight, but it’s been a fun experience. Again, if you need tickets – email me. They are going fast and Sunday’s shows are nearly sold out. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday – done. Get on it.

I’m ducking out around 1/2 way through the second act to sneak back up to the Orpheum to see the mighty Pogues who are on tour with Shane McGowan for the first time in 15 years. Apparently someone in Ireland has finally figured out how to reanimate dead tissue. I am insanely excited, and will give you a full update and a related Wadio tomorrow.


Oh Long Johnson. Oh Don Piano.

by Dave on March 13, 2006


Sorry for the lack of any posts today. Blogger was down. I am chiming in now because I’ve been laughing about this video all day and I want to share. I think it’s from America’s Funniest Home Videos or something, and it shows a variety of talking cats. They don’t really talk, but they mimic human voices and it’s really freaky and hilarious. Make sure you watch it all the way through, as the black cat at the end is the best part. Oh I eyes ya.

UPDATE: Here’s another great cat-related video. The theme here seems to be attacking infants, which is always a treat.