From the category archives:


I’ve been bestowed with the silver bracelets of law enforcement a few times (mostly) during my youth. I’ve lived a fairly respectable life. Never been nicked for anything particularly seedy or concerning. There was that one time in Charlestown, MA however, where a classic case of mistaken identity truly scared the pants off me and provided a glimpse of how the “other half” lives like I’ve never had before or since. This isn’t a cautionary tale quite simply because it could have happened to absolutely anybody currently reading this. Before time completely erases the details from my memory I think it bears repeating and I’ve been waiting for a long time to do so. We laugh about it now, but in short – for an hour and a half in 2010 I may have been Boston’s most wanted. The resulting tale I’m now able to tell is worth its weight in police-issued titanium. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin.

My sister and her husband have a nice little house on Green Street in the very heart of The Town. While rented now, I’d often come to visit while they lived there and even had my own little basement bedroom which according to neighbors was a speakeasy of some sort once upon a time. While a terrific and trendy place to live in modern times, Charlestown definitely has a colorful past to say the least, kid. During one such visit she and I had dinner with friends in Cambridge, came back to find a sweet parking spot right in front of her pad and then decided we wanted just one more glass of weeknight wine. Within seconds of walking out her front door to patronize a liquor store on Bunker Hill Street, things took a strange turn for the surreal which I will never forget.


After closing the front door behind me, I glanced down to where Green and Bunker Hill intersect and saw a Park Ranger car quickly slow down as the driver quite obviously began giving me the deep “once over”. Before you wonder what the heck a Park Ranger was doing in Charlestown, let me explain. The U.S.S. Constitution, one of the most treasured historical… treasures… in the country is docked in the Navy Yard less than a mile away. For context, on September 11th, 2001 I worked nearby and they evacuated the entire neighborhood fearing one of the Navy’s six original frigates may be the next target. The Rangers are “Old Ironsides“‘ personal police force, and their presence is nothing out of the ordinary.

Ranger Rick continued on his way as the obligatory “that’s odd” flashed through my mind and within half a minute I’d reached my destination just around the corner. I begrudgingly bought a bottle of oakey Chardonnay, as the sis hates Pinot Grigio, and stood waiting in line to cash out. The Ranger drove past again, in the opposite direction, and glared at me through the front window so there was now no mistake he’d turned around to have another gander at… me? Nah, can’t be. When he appeared a third time, after making another u-turn and then pulling over in front of the store, however, my paranoia was replaced by genuine curiosity. I’ve never held up an armored car, and fifteen minutes ago I was snarfing down tacos near Inman Square. The lady in line in front of me noticed him too and said something to the effect of “Dear Lord, what do they want to question me about now?“. I replied, “No, Ma’am. I think he’s here for me.” And as strange as it felt at the time – I meant it.

Park-RangerThe six-foot bespectacled Ranger walked into the store, never breaking eye contact with me, and requested I come speak to him outside. Being the slightly right-leaning and largely law-abiding citizen that I am, I quickly finished my transaction and obliged. Once out on the street he instructed me to stand against a wall underneath a streetlight and to put down the brown paper bag containing that bottle of wine I really didn’t want to drink in the first place. I was still more curious than frightened so assumed the position without having even asked him to explain his interest in little ol’ me. “Look straight ahead and don’t move.” were his next instructions and as I stiffened up to attention I noticed a proper Boston Police cruiser begin slowly passing in front of us. Slowly and deliberately. “Am I in some kind of… lineup?” I wondered. This may have been the exact moment I started to worry. Just a wee bit.

The cruiser passed us, pulled over to the side, and the front window rolled down. “This will be the end of it.” I assured myself. The cop leaned out, looked at the Ranger, and… nodded. Not in a “hey, how ya doin'” sort of way. In a “this is the dirtbag we’re looking for” sort of way. As you can imagine, I could no longer contain my curiosity/terror and spoke up. “Put your hands behind your back, Sir.” was the reply. “I’ll explain everything in the car.”

This was not my first experience with handcuffs (feel free to spike that volleyball in the comments if you must,) but it was my first time being linked up in the back of a Crown Vic which had the single, bench-like front seat pushed back so far I had to turn my head to the side to keep from breaking my nose. The Ranger got into the car, further jamming the vinyl into my orifices, and did me the favor of finally explaining the situation. “You’ve been identified as someone who tried to snatch a purse in the Navy Yard earlier tonight.” Despite the situation, never in my life have I fought so hard to hide a smile. I calmly explained that I’d been in the neighborhood for less than 10 minutes and for the first time since 8am that morning. I told him my sister lived 200 feet away where I was staying and could corroborate my account. I told him that I had the keys in my pocket to the black Charger almost within view around the corner which would have a hood warm to the touch. To my relief these reasonable and potentially time-saving facts seemed to give him pause for thought and he exited the car to go speak with the policeman who was still parked with my accusers nearby. “Now, this will be the end of it.” I assured myself again.

The Ranger rolled the back window down and instructed me to stare straight ahead. “Do not move!” he ordered, no doubt to ensure the identity of the plaintiffs – whom I would later learn were three twenty-something women stumbling home after a night of adult beverages at the almighty Warren Tavern. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked in a severely muffled tone resulting in him finally shifting the seat forward. I did as I was told, and my peripheral vision was then filled with the cruiser making another painfully slow pass in the interest of “getting their man”. Another long couple of minutes ticked by, the Ranger re-entered his vehicle (driver’s seat this time), and to my now heightened concern informed me I was indeed public enemy #1. After reiterating my innocence, and the multitude of ways in which he could easily confirm it himself in under three minutes, he informed me they were now certain of probable cause and that we’d be heading to the station. I decided the best thing I could say at this point would be absolutely nothing and shortly thereafter found myself handcuffed to a chair in a brightly lit room inside their station in the Navy Yard.

The Ranger I’d been dealing with walked into another room, closing the door behind him, and I was left with a new, much younger version to keep an eye on me. I jokingly described what had happened, how I even felt bad for wasting their time while the real culprit was probably out liberating someone else’s Prada, cracked wise a few more times and to my relief he actually smiled. “Look, we don’t actually like you for this.” His use of Columbo-esque TV-cop-procedural lingo put me at ease, slightly, and I realized they were taking their cues from the Boston cop who hadn’t even spoken to or looked at me. Ranger Rick walked back into the room, now holding a piece of paper, and turned on a video camera I hadn’t noticed sitting on a table nearby. He wheeled it over, pointed it directly at my face, and issued his next order: “Read this.”

He held the paper in front of me and I quickly committed the contents to memory for all time: “Hey. Give me your purse. Forget it. Nevermind.” These were the words the true snatcher had apparently strung together during his failed snatchery. I realized then that the pissed-up former Warren patrons must be in the next room, presumably watching a close-up of my face on the well-lit video feed. “Now, THIS will be the end of it!” I thought as I dug deep for my strongest Canadian accent and recited the potentially prosecuting prose. “Again.” Rick requested. Done – the only way it could have sounded more Canadian is if I’d added “Buddy” at the end. “Once more,” he added for what would hopefully be the third time charm. It was.

The Boston cop opened the door, shook his head, then stepped back and closed it again as if the Rangers and I were door-to-door vacuum salesmen on a Sunday. In an instant my Thursday night adventure was over, and I’ve never felt a remotely comprable sense of relief. As I stood up and rubbed my exonerated wrists I could tell from the looks on their faces the Rangers genuinely felt terrible. I’m sure law enforcement of any kind is trained never to apologize for obvious reasons, but Rick did turn to his Padawn and say, “I think offering Mr. Pye a ride home is the least we can do.” The least indeed, Sir. The least indeed.

What then did I learn from this experience? It isn’t that I hate police (or Park Rangers). They were doing their job, they went by the book and let’s not forget that I was positively identified by three separate people – twice. My biggest takeaway is how easily anyone can be pulled off the street, cuffed and stuffed, and then dropped into the system on the word of… anyone. There are at least five documentaries on Netflix right now about people being imprisoned for decades due to mistaken identity. Another five about the pro-bono lawyer groups who donate their time to overturning those life-destroying cockups. There are fifteen times as many articles online about how eyewitness accounts are the last thing anyone should ever be convicted as a result of. It’s an everyday occurrence – and a terrifying one. Lots is already being done to improve said system, and my joining their ranks won’t change anything, so my advice then to everyone is, simply: watch your ass. And Columbo – it’s brilliant and also on Netflix.


If you’re still reading this opus of a post you’re a trooper. Hopefully you can forgive the length and chalk it up to me having not written regularly for half a decade. There’s a denouement, however, which I’d still like to add. When the Rangers pulled up in front of my sister’s house, there she was on the front stoop speaking frantically into her phone. In addition to the liquor store and a bodega which sells the largest selection of religious candles you’ve ever seen, there’s also a rather notorious housing project at Bunker Hill and Green. Undoubtedly she feared the worse – she’s my sister. I stepped out of the back seat and wondered why Ranger Rick was also exiting the vehicle. Surely he didn’t feel the need to explain the situation to my sis, or privately apologize to me? What he did, in fact, was a far greater gesture. He opened his trunk, passed me the paper bag containing my oakey Chardonnay and said with a smile, “Have a great rest of your evening“.

All was forgiven.

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James Bulger Likes This

by Dave on May 12, 2010

in Boston

Look at the “captcha” message that popped up (as usual) when I tried to paste a web address into a Facebook chat window this morning:


Are Zuckerman and Facebook trying to help the FBI find Whitey? The answer is: “of course not, stupid.” The FBI, however, is definitely still looking for him. I decided to update myself on the hunt for the rapidly-aging fugitive with a few web searches. So, Wikipedia, basically.

  • James J. Bulger is currently on the FBI Ten Most Wanted list. A reward of US $2 million is being offered for information leading to his capture.
  • Bulger has been featured on the television show America’s Most Wanted 14 times, first in 1995 and last on July 26, 2008.
  • The last confirmed sighting of Bulger was in London in 2002. Since then, however, there have been unconfirmed sightings elsewhere.
  • FBI agents were sent to Uruguay to investigate a lead. FBI agents were also sent to stake out the 60th memorial of the Battle of Normandy celebrations, as Bulger is an enthusiastic fan of military history.

whitey-bulger If James J. is not apprehended before his demise I doubt the body would ever be identified unless Catherine Grieg turns it in. And a clever move like that would see her in Interpol’s custody about five minutes later. They’re obviously well-hidden overseas (or South America in true Boys from Brazil style) using aliases. He may just drift away into the ether and maintain his odd, Robin Hood-esque place in Southie lore forever. The Bureau obviously has a lot of pride riding on this case, due to the whole Connolly angle, so they’d better get their best bloodhounds out before Whitey crosses the finish line and ends up departed, permanently.


subway-fart Although I no longer have to ride the “T” (Boston’s subway system) back and forth to work everyday, many mental – and nasal – scars remain. Five years and one month since today’s Throwback was written, on January 20th, 2005, I’m older, wiser and with car. My six plus years of blog posts are strewn with T experiences, but I came across this one today, it made me laugh and I want to share. For those of you still sentenced to the insane daily events on our fair city’s rapid transit system – I apologize if this sounds at all snooty. I did my time, however, and feel like I’ve earned the right to cast scorn down upon those who do unto others with their inconsiderate morning egg farts. You bastards.

Once upon a T, on a particular January morning, there was a “perfect storm” of sorts during my commute. My disgust with fellow riders who felt it perfectly acceptable to bust off in a crowded subway car reached an all time high and I simultaneously witnessed what I thought for a moment might be an escaped Ted Kaczynski. I’ll leave it there and you can have a gander if you so desire. Or maybe just a silly goose.

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And the Boston Accent Award Goes to…

by Dave on February 2, 2010

in Boston,Movies

One of the reasons I thoroughly enjoyed watching Mel Gibson’s new flick, Edge of Darkness, last night was that his Boston accent is frickin’ impeccable, dood. I mean it – you’d think he grew up on East Broadway as opposed to Sydney, Australia. I for one am glad the Gibber is back after a 7.5 year acting respite which was undoubtedly due to his drink-driving and comments about the chosen people. Talk about a bad night out. Badmouthing Jews in Hollywood will end your acting career quicker than stink-palming one of the Weinsteins.

martin-sheen-accent-departed The fact that Boston has been a hot movie location for the last few years can not be debated. There are many more Beantown-based flicks in the pipeline, too. That’s probably a separate post but I think we can breakdown the whole accent topic a bit further this evening. There have been some good Boston accents lately – Mel Gibson, Ed Harris (Gone Baby Gone), Alec Baldwin (The Departed). There have been some abysmal Boston accents lately – Tim Robbins (Mystic River), Cameron Diaz (Knight and Day… I’ve seen the trailer. Brutal), and the golden statue for worst Boston Accent evah in a feckin’ film goes to… Martin Sheen (The Departed). By a country mile, bruthah!

Affleck and Dicky school some high falootin’ Hollywood prick.

Am I wrong? What good or pathetic Boston accent attempts can you remember? And if anyone mentions Ben, Matt or anyone with the last name Wahlberg I’m gonna have your head examined for being a frickin’ retaaard.


Pye House Proud

by Dave on August 27, 2009

in Boston

Janet closed on her first house today. This is an enormous moment in a young woman’s life. Janet must be thrilled as well.

It is located in Charlestown, Massachusetts and was recently vacated by three of the Seven Dwarves. In all seriousness, I’ve seen pictures of the inside and it’s a great find. I get to stay in it, solo, during my trip to Boston next month – as Janet and Damo aren’t moving in until November. If the Battle of Bunker Hill ghosts let me get any sleep (It was built in 1860 so my joke is only off by 85 years) I’ll probably provide further details and photos at that time. Call me Dr. Peter Venkman. Very proud of you, J-Diddy!


What I’m glad to be rid of for a few months are the rude, aggressive drunks that plague this city every summer.

On December 14th, 2004, I wrote a heartfelt post about Boston’s homeless. “Heartfelt” is a bit of a stretch, actually. “Evil” would be a far more appropriate word. It seems a tad insensitive in hindsight, but that’s easy to say when you’re as far removed from life in the Hub as I now find myself. When you live downtown your suburban, ‘We are the World’ sensibilities are quickly worn away by endless begging, an omnipotent urine stench and constant verbal abuse from disappointed drunkards. I had a hard time scolding myself when reading this back today and will have to stand by my opinions at the time. Besides, it’s still pretty frickin’ funny.

“I sure am gonna miss you, Marmaduke, but it’s not every day you find half a bottle of A1 and a rusty hibachi in the same dumpster.”

Was that too much? Perhaps. There’s no denying the fact that Boston has a serious problem for such a small, tourist-friendly city. I’d rather all these folks were fed, warm and employed somewhere, obviously. Until that day I’ll have to continue to never give them money… and eventually die of a head wound from an airborne shopping cart.


Sunday night Janet and I went to see this year’s NEMPAC play at the Improv Asylum in Boston’s North End. T’was directed, as always, by the amazing and talented Lauren Nelson. Operation: Redneck was full of laughs and in addition to raising money for charity the actors were obviously having a very good time with the down home material. Some of the characters in “Redneck” make Larry the Cable Guy look like Grace Kelly.

You may remember I was a cast member in the troupe’s production of Don’t be Afraid of the Dark in 2006, and I sure could have sunk my teeth into the “JJ” role. I cannot, however, fault the performance of John Chenier who was pitch-perfect as the beer-swilling pea brain. Dan, Laurie and the rest of the cast also did a fine job. The final show is tonight at 7pm, tickets are available at the door starting at 5pm and will only run you $15. And yes – you can drink beer while you’re watching the play. Hooo-weeee!


When I last wrote a Quizzlet 2 weeks ago, I mentioned that the site,, from which I used to mine the questions, hadn’t been updated in 4 months. I emailed the woman who owns the site and offered to take it over myself. I received no reply, and when I checked a few minutes ago found that it’s been taken down completely.

I sorta feel like the ‘movie bad guy’ whose object of affection jumps off a cliff rather than become his girlfriend. I can’t think of any specific cinematic examples, but I know they exist. A little help, people? Regardless, looks like I’ll have to write them again myself this week. As always, please feel free to contribute your own answers in the comments!

Appetizer: What is your favorite John Belushi SNL skit?
I know a lot about the history of SNL, and I enjoy talking about it so perhaps I’ll make this a regular Quizzlet question. I knew the answer to this before I wrote the question so I was relieved to actually find this clip online – although I’m not able to embed it. Click the image to watch it.

“Little Chocolate Donuts have been on my training table since I was a kid.”

My favorite element is definitely the lit cigarette. And the facial expressions are unmistakably Belushi. All told, fitness was a very different pursuit in the late 1970s. My friend Doug Triconi first turned me on to this skit by talking about and reinacting it a million times before I ever actually managed to catch it on a re-run. I was happy to discover recently that it’s featured on the SNL Best of John BelushiDVD.

Soup: What does Thanksgiving mean to you?
Obviously it’s a time to reflect on your life and appreciate the people in it. I like to also physically enact this by getting myself to Concord, Massachusetts and hanging out with all my old high school friends once a year. I skipped it in ’07 and really, really missed being there – So much that I wrote about it and created a Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past photo gallery to share with everyone I wouldn’t be seeing. So, fully repentant, on Sunday I’m throwing wee Shep in the Charger and heading on down to MA for a week. Mon/Tues/Wed I’ll be in the office. Tuesday night Janet is hosting a birthday party for our dogs (also siblings) Rhubarb and Shepherd. It’s a family-friendly party that will allow me to spend some time with all my little North End buddies like Griffin, Maya, Bella and Lorenzo – and they’ll finally get to meet the pups they have heard so much about and been giving me drawings of for the past year. I have a bunch of them on the bulletin board over my desk right now.

Wednesday night Matt is having a bash at his house (which also happens to be right beside the high school) that we’ve used Facebook to invite 3 grades of early 90s CCHS students to. It’s going to be awesome. Thursday morning we’ll drive to Bedford for the big football game, our hands wrapped tightly around Dunkin’ Donuts cups spiked with Kahlua. Then I’ll eat with Jim and his family and likely end up back at Matt’s for more silliness in the evening. Maybe Papa Razzi on route 2. Maybe the Makaha – the suspense is killing me. Friday I have tickets to the noon Bruins game and will be hitting the Garden with Detroit Velvet Smooth, The Hammer, John David, J-Mac, Greg and a host of other old pals. Friday night DVS and his lovely (and likely hesitant) wife are hosting a gathering at their pad in West Acton. Saturday is earmarked for movies, New London Style grinders and recovery. Sunday I’ll be returning home after a week of professional productivity and sentimental sousey socializing. Jealous much? My liver isn’t.

Salad: Who is your favorite band of the moment?
We all have our all-time favorite bands well established, but my favorite group of the moment is definitely De La Soul. My previously-declared love for Q-Tip’s The Renaissance has encouraged me to have one of my own in regards to hip-hop. The two albums I’ve been spinning all week are De La Soul is Dead and Buhloone Mind State, the latter is gravely underappreciated and thoroughly excellent. Here is my favorite track off the 1994 album, Breakadawn.

“Yo, I don’t know who’s been on this mic but this thing smell awful here.” – ‘Stone Age’ from Buhloone Mind State

Main Course: Feel any better about Obama?
Not really. As I have stuck my neck out and said (it’s not a popular opinion within my social sphere) I am worried about national defense under Barry’s administration – but I plan to give him an ample chance to prove himself before I start whinging about it like every other unqualified hack in the blogosphere did about Bush for nearly a decade. I am showing remarked restraint thus far.

Dessert: What is your favorite vintage arcade game and why?
The first game I really obsessed about and would beg my father to drive me into Ottawa every weekend to play was the incredibly difficult (even today) Spy Hunter. Maybe it was my love of all things Bond in 1984 that caused me to dig it so much, but I did. In spite of the fact that once you switched into the high gear setting, your car flew up the road so quickly that – at 10 years of age – you had a better chance of remembering PI to the 300th decimal point.


Back to the Bean Once Again.

by Dave on September 16, 2008

in Boston,Travels

It’s been over 7 months since I last graced the streets of Boston. That’s very, very hard to believe. With the exception of my 1.75 years spent living in England that’s the longest I’ve been away from the cradle of the revolution in 21 years. I’ve been so bogged down with my month of 5 weddings, work and dealing with family issues that I haven’t really had time to be excited – or apprehensive. Shall I break it down for the blog? Yesh? Then let’s begin.

Looking forward to:

  • Seeing my friends. I have organized, via Facebook (evite who?), a night out at a downtown bar for the only weekend night that I am free (not at a wedding) while I am in Boston. If they come, they come. But really I’ll only need a few key players to show up for it to be what I “need” as a Kaczynski-esque forest dweller on shore leave.
  • Seeing my little North End posse. Comprised of my friends’ children – namely Griffin, Maya, Lorenzo and Bella – I’ve missed these little guys and our Thursday night pizza/PS2 outings.
  • The North End Coffee tour. Weekday mornings spent at Paradiso, Beanstock, Villagio and other neighborhood bean water vendors, usually with Matt, Louis and others.
  • Work stuff. There are lots of new members of my Boston web design company (a quick pause for the cause) whom I have yet to meet in person. I look forward to a full week of office time, collaboration and several visits I have scheduled with clients in the area. I hope to do a lot of good in a short period of time.
  • New England Fall. My favorite season, and my favorite place to spend it. I plan to come down for American Thanksgiving this year as well, so it’ll be a nice double-dose of awesome Autumness.


  • Leaving my babies at a kennel. The breeder (who is awesome) said she would have taken them for the 4 days before my Mother and Sister get back to town, but she is renovating her entire ground floor and is having trouble caring for her own dogs at the time being. I have them scheduled for a last-minute kennel-cough vaccination tomorrow morning, and will be taking them to a vet recommended mom and pop operated place tomorrow night.
  • The drive. I have made the Canada – Boston run so many times in my life that I could do it in my sleep. But at the end of the day it’s 8 hours alone in a car each way. To prepare I have downloaded some new albums and audio books onto my iPod. I am curious to see if the books will keep my attention and maybe, just maybe, make the trip go a bit faster. I have everything from the newest Harry Potter to 7 Habits of Highly Effective People ready to go.
  • Sacrificing tangible, billable work time for face time with clients and my own company. I’m going to make sure I have some things outsourced so I’m not miles behind when I get back home on the 29th. About 313 miles, to be exact.

All things considered, I’m quite excited to see my peoples and walk the streets of my old hood. If you’re in the right mood, well rested and in possession of some phat tunes a long drive can go by fairly quickly. The blog will have a strong Boston theme over the next 10 days, lots of pictures from my new camera included, so get your beanpots out, find someone named “Sully” to sit next to and stay tuned.


About 5 years ago, WFNX polled the city of Boston and asked them what their favorite home cooked Beantown rock song was. Now that is a tough question (italics used for dramatic effect), but the people rose to the occasion and voted “All Going Out Together” by Big Dipper as their undisputed #1. Think about that for a second, because Boston’s bred indy bands like the Pixies, Throwing Muses, Mission of Burma, etc. and being chosen as the top song EVAH is testament to the band’s legacy within the town of beans. My friends and I have been listening to the Dipper since high school, we know some of them personally and one of us is even acting as a roadie at their reunion show at the Middle East on April 26th. I’m playing with the idea of flying down for this as I’d most certainly be backstage and most certainly be the happiest kid on the planet and possibly even the Milky Way.


I’ve seen a lot of bands play at the Middle East over the years – Breeders, The The, Jonathan Richman, Grooveasaurus, Gord Downie, Luna – and it’s a wonderful location to see a show. It was an even better location when my friend Adam worked the bar there and used to slide me Harpoons and get me gooned just for showing up. My point is, what a great choice for the Big Dipper Reunion. I like the Paradise and everything, where it was first rumored to be happening, but my preference is that slice of Heaven in Central Square. And not (there’s that emphasis again) spending an hour on the Green Line to the wilderness of BU and Comm Ave.

There’s a band of questionable repute called Built to Spill who released a popular song called “Big Dipper” a few years back, and boy do I ever wish they’d chosen a different name for the tune. It’s all you ever see online when running searches for my beloved Boston band. I did manage to find one proper video, for “Faith Healer“, and two live clips from a show at the Ritz in New York City circa 1987 – “Younger Bums” and “Lunar Module” which are both off the same album as “All Going Out…” so we’ll go with those.

If you remotely enjoyed the video then check out the MP3 for the vastly superior ditty She’s Fetching (hosted by Merge Records and fully downloadable by right-clicking) which is definitely in my Dipper top 3. She’s also got the skankiest little guitar riff you’ve ever heard. “Fetching” is still part of my vocabulary today as a direct result of listening to this song on the Sony Sport boombox I had plugged into the cigarette lighter in my ’78 Chevy Malibu station wagon driving around Concord at 16 years of age. Blaupunkt eat your heart out.

Their catalog has been unreleased and heavily sought after for years, but Heavens, Boo Boo, Craps and are finally being re-released. They are also heavily promoting the 48 track greatest hits/anthology, Supercluster, via a MySpace profile and other online viral means. I was happy to see my very favorite Dipper song, Ron Klaus Wrecked his House, available to add to your profile and I have just done so. Click here to grab Supercluster: The Big Dipper Anthology from Amazon.

I have also uploaded the MP3 to my server as a special gift for you today – and I implore you to download it and see what you think. It’s a great song with gritty indy guitars, crashing drums, a complex baseline and a vocal harmony which is probably still hurts Gary Waleik’s throat 20 years on. If the style and theme of this song doesn’t remind you of college while also impressing you with its catchiness, then you probably never went to college. Or graduated high school, for that matter. For the love of God and all that is holy, listen to your old pal Dave, get your GED and do yourself a favor: Ron Klaus Wrecked his House. Glad to have you back, boys.