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Archives for December 2004

Revel In My PS Prowess: The Lawn Boy.


in

Busy day at work today, but I want to put something up for my loyal minions. I have a collection of silly Photoshops that I’ve done over the last year and a half, and I thought I’d share a few. Most of them make fun of Monster and/or Bobby – so this should be good for a cruel laugh.

About a year ago, Bobby shared a story with us about how he woke up on his front lawn with his pants off. But who hasn’t? I quickly whipped this up and sent it to 100 of our closest friends. The picture of Bobby was taken from a photo of him spinning some woman on a dance floor. I simply took the cha-cha and fashioned it into an incapacitating outdoor hangover.

Then I got a little more creative…

And then it just got downright disturbing…

I have many more silly creations and will do this again the next time I’m strapped for material. Off to the Pixies tonight, then I’m going into hiding to recover from this zany week. Stay real.

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Best Birthday Present EVAH.


in Heartwarming

I’d like to say it was the presence of my close friends at Joe V’s in the South End. Or the fact that Bobby didn’t show up. But in actuality, it was the SCTV box set. Thanks due to Janet and Adam. Count Floyd be praised.

And another fervent thanks to Katie, who constructed the cake. It had mapley icing, half eaten donuts and Bob & Doug McKenzie on the top. Perfection. Also, Kate and Emily came strapped with a hilarious ‘camel-toe’ themed card and a book I’ve been wanting to read. Nice one.

Have a peek above – Emily looks on in sheer horror as Peter busts out his Hellboy. His horns were courtesy of the parmesan cheese and hot pepper dishes. I sincerely hope they washed those. Sincerely.

When I got home, I found my bedroom adorned with balloons and streamers, courtesy of Betsy and Mardi. So thanks again, one and all, for my SCTV themed birthday. I had an amazing time and was only 3 hours late for work today.

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Happy Birthday To Me. Again.


in Reminiscent

December 7th was once described by President Franklin D. Roosevelt as “A day that will live in infamy”. A great line – and I wish I could take credit for inspiring it. But he was, of course, referring to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. I have to thank those dastardly Kamikazes for taking just a smidgen of the focus off of me today. And for accepting me as one of their own and raising me in the jungle on a small island off of Guadalcanal. Now you know.

My thoughtful sister is taking me out to dinner in the South End with a few folks, but then we’ll be heading to Pho afterwards. If you feel inclined to drop by and help me mourn, you now know where to find the procession. Remember, we don’t have to stop for traffic lights and will likely have a police escort.

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The Pixies At Tsongas Arena In Lowell, December 2004.


in Musical

The fucking Pixies had been removing and cleaning out the heads of everyone you knew that year and now they were coming to your school. Doolittle was your Sgt. Pepper’s, the album after which nothing would be the same, the album that would spawn a thousand imitators, most of them very poor.” – Dave Eggers, SPIN Magazine.

There have been some recent miserable moments when I’ve felt like my youth is truly over. People have slowly gotten married, moved away or otherwise disappeared – and it seems sometimes like our dog-tired glory days have finally crawled to a close. But I looked up at one point this past Wednesday night… and I was with a group of close friends who hadn’t been assembled in the same place for many years… and the goddamn Pixies were playing on stage in front of us! I very much felt like Juan Ponce De Leon had just handed me a can of his magical water and forced me to do a shotgun at swordpoint. The years melted away and I was suddenly back in the front seat of my ’79 Chevy Malibu station wagon – blaring Surfer Rosa after the football game, on the road to some keg party in Concord. And it was glorious. And I shouldn’t have been driving.

I grew up with the guys and gals who surrounded me at Tsongas, and the soundtrack of our young lives was that very same incomprable quartet from Boston. In the car, at the party, on the beach, in the woods – The Pixies were there with us every step of the way. And like old friends who’d vanished without a trace, we never thought we’d see their like again. All of a sudden there we were, and there they were, and it’s hard to describe – but we all looked at one another, high-fived, hugged, smiled and realized the gravity of what was taking place. As overdramatic as that must sound to the uninitiated, the concerts in Lowell last week were a special and memorable time for all of us, and we’ll be talking about them for years to come.

If you’re looking for a setlist or painstaking recount of either concert, Have a look here. There are uber fans on FrankBlack.net that make me look like I slept through both shows – across the street in the back of a car. I went both nights, with a group of about 15 high school friends on Wednesday and my buddy Adam (or the violent gay biker from Halloween as you may remember him) on Thursday. We all met at the Lowell Brewing Company Wednesday night and on the top left you can see Jim, me, Nate, Joanna and Mike gearing up with anticipation and liquor. We headed over to the Tsongas arena around 9:30 to catch the last few songs of the Mission of Burma set. On the upper right you can see PJ in his Nanook of the North jacket, and Ryan plotting the best way to sneak a bottle of SoCo into the venue. Some things haven’t changed. And never will.

After an aggressive pat-down and camera confiscation threat, we got inside and heard the first strains of Burma’s classic ‘That’s How I Escaped My Certain Fate’. Burma rocked like 19 years hadn’t passed since the last time they toured, and the crowd graciously pretended to know who they were. Let me make a quick comment regarding the abundance of the audience – they were awful. We gathered in a section of the seats because the floor/rink was tightly packed by this time, and were shocked to see the vast majority of people remain seated as the Pixies took the stage and broke into ‘Heaven – The Lady In The Radiator Song’. Seated. A few songs and several whiney ‘please sit down and don’t hurt me’ requests into the concert, the 5 rows behind our group were empty as the Johnny-come-lately 20-something hipster ‘fans’ realized we’d be standing and getting rowdy for the duration. Shame on you people – bring some opera glasses next time to complete your fucking experience.

Jim and Janet pose proudly for a picture above – we all had the biggest shit-eating perma-grins on our faces from the first moment we entered the arena. But some of our grins were enhanced by hydroponics as our crew smoked several different types of plant life throughout the concert. We also screamed, danced, drank and simply horrified most of the people sitting in our midst. A sort of ‘real fan vs. poseur’ mentality developed which worsened our behavior. I did, however, catch a few people smiling in our direction and spoke to some younger guys nearby who were enjoying our energy. I don’t know, however, if they enjoyed my screamed rendition of ‘Caribou’ visible for posterity on the upper right.

Among the highlights were a slowed down and dirty ‘Crackity Jones’, an extended version of my very favorite ‘Number 13 Baby’ and a smoking fast and thunderous ‘Something Against You’ (which you can see PJ air-guitaring above) that still has my head banging 3 days later. They encored with a superb ‘Where Is My Mind’, the lights came up and we went back to the brewery a happy band of Pixies punters. The photo on the right was taken shortly afterwards, and you know it’s been a memorable night when the designated driver (me) is making a face like an elderly vagrant pressed up between the bars of a protective custody cell. But rest assured, it’s Diet Coke induced. I got the also pictured Peter and Adam home in one piece. Well, two pieces actually. They were separated thanks to an innovative medical procedure last year.

Thursday night I went with Adam, who was mistaken 17 times for the former bassist from Queens of the Stone Age – but I think that suited him just fine. We rolled in and got great seats to the left of the stage but again – everyone was sitting down! Who the fuck are you people? We wandered out on to the rink, barrelled our way through the throngs and got pretty close to the stage. We stayed there bobbing and weaving for the rest of the set, and the two concerts ended up very different experiences as a result.

I still have this Thursday’s Boston proper date at Avalon to cover, so I’ll wrap this up for now. It’s my birthday this week, and I’ll have ended up seeing the Pixies 3 times in 8 days. That fact is making the dawn of my 31st year just a little more palatable. Unlike Tsongas Arena fried dough. Who am I kidding? I love that shit.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Jeffrey Dahmer’s Kitten.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Tell about a toy you remember from your childhood.

In 1978 I was given a remote controlled R2-D2 for Christmas. And get this – it went forwards and backwards. So I could pretend I was a Jawa and chase R2, or I could pretend I was some sort of droid-a-phobe and run away from him. I could also aim him directly at my father’s shin, hide behind the couch and then let him rip. Yep… pretty much limited to chasing, running from or inflicting bodily harm on parental units. Now I realize why I got nuthin’ but Nerf the following year.

Soup: If you could make one thing free for everyone, what would it be?

Healthcare. And Airborne Effervescent Health Formula. It saved my life this week. On a side note, I’m going to be Osama Pye Laden this weekend, so don’t bother looking for me. I’ve had a nagging sickyness for days and days. I just want to relax on the couch, play video games and snort vitamin C. Oh, and then there’s the hour tomorrow when I’ll be online frantically trying to get tickets for the December 9th show. And those should be free, too.

Salad: How many times per day do you think about your significant other?

Whenever I file my nails, trim my cuticles, read my own palm, use hand cream or practice new shadow puppets. If you didn’t like that joke, try this one: I hadn’t thought about her in a couple of hours but then I accidentally unplugged my freezer and she began to stink. Damn it, Mai Lin – why couldn’t you have just shut your fat Malaysian mouth?

Main Course: Name something you believe in 100%.

That John Kerry is now working as a bartender at the Lowell Brewing Company. He and Teresa must be on the outs. If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself. Take in a Lockmonsters game, find some crack to buy and then head to the brewery to see John. He’s a little down in the dumps these days.

Dessert: List 3 things you did this year that you would consider a “good deed.”

How about 1, demanding quizzlet? I jumped on a grenade just the other night. My roomate had some of her friends in town, and as I was feeling sick I opted to go and spend the night at my sister’s – because I knew they’d keep me up and that I’d end up throwing something sharp at them while snot ran down my face. What I got in return was a red wine stain down the length of my stairwell wall, a nasty call from the building manager and a sound scratching from my sister’s new kitten who is possessed by the spirit of Jeffrey Dahmer. Fuck a deed.

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Holy Fuck I Love The Pixies.


in Musical

As you all know last night I went to Lowell to see The Pixies, and I’ll be doing a write up with some hilarious photos over the weekend. How much did I like it, you ask? I’m going again tonight. So please excuse the blog inactivity, I’ve been busy recapturing my youth, navigating that most treacherous of Lowells, and rocking the sweet bejaysus out of the Tsongas. Cut me some slack – I’ll be 31 in 5 more days. My window of opportunity for juvenile stupidity and debaucherous activity grows smaller by the hour. Or maybe it doesn’t. Look at Nick Nolte.

Nate: I almost died drag racing to this song through Concord about 15 years ago.

PJ: Dude, I almost died every time I was in a car listening to The Pixies.

And… scene. See you all tomorrow.

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We Don’t Have Your Back, But We’re Glad You Have Ours.


in

I didn’t write this letter in response to a recent article in the National Review blog, but I wish that I had. Because, like the author, I went to the same sort of painfully liberal Canadian University, and I too have endured the embarrassment of Canada’s Swissesque high-and-mighty judgmental lack of support for the United States throughout the last 4 years. Nope, I didn’t write it, but I should have. I can still share:

“I just read your Corner post regarding Canada’s inferiority complex when it comes to all things American. I am a Canadian myself, and I just want to say that I certainly don’t blame you for thinking this way – it’s all too true of most of my countrymen, and I imagine it will only get worse as Canada’s Europeanization continues apace, and the differences between our two nations becomes more stark.

However, not all of us are so blind. I belong to a small group of Canadians who believe that we are amazingly fortunate to be neighbors with a great nation like the US, and who understand the burden that the US has shouldered in fighting the war on terror. I know that you are fighting primarily to protect your own country – as you should – but the West will benefit from the inevitable victory to come, and there are some folks up here in the Great White North who understand this, and are deeply humbled by it. Your soldiers are dying on foreign soil, and we are all benefiting, and for that we are profoundly grateful. It pains me greatly that we have stood to the sidelines and done nothing but carp while this is going on. America deserves better neighbors and better allies than we have been to you over the past three years, and for that I am truly sorry.

I just though I’d let you know that we Canadians are not all bland collegiate drones in thrall to the gods of the Left. Actually, I went to a liberal arts university north of Toronto, and so I had no problem picturing the two losers whose company you suffered through on your train trip – I was surrounded by them for five years.

Hopefully, things will change. One thing that reading NRO (and Mark Steyn, and James Lileks, and Glenn Reynolds et al) has done for me, is open my eyes and energized me to promote change in the world around me. In the last two years, I’ve joined the Conservative Party, canvassed during the election, planted campaign signs, answered phones, and eschewed my normal Canadian restraint and started arguing with anyone who will listen (which means my boomer-in-laws, and my parents, who think I’m suffering through some sort of mental episode). I sat at my PC on US election night, and sweated bullets (while perusing NRO and waiting for the results), and was thrilled beyond words when President Bush was returned to office. I can’t help you fight the war, or vote for President Bush, but I can’t make a difference in my own country, and I intend to do just that.

And so, in closing, this Canadian would like to say: God Bless America, and thanks. And don’t count us Canadians out quite yet. There is a well of common sense, and a spirit of resilience up here that simply needs to be tapped.”

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the author was a classmate of mine at Guelph. It all rings just a little too familiar – daily protests outside my all-male penis-party dorm, vegetarian dishes taking up half of the cafeteria menu, my beloved Bullring being switched to a patchouli and clove cigarette doused coffee house – but at least this person is home, and attempting to help our collective conscience. I’m a million miles away, cringing everytime some ignorant Canadian politician or journalist opens their moonbat mouth. But I wouldn’t be living in Boston if I didn’t love and support the USA, so I suppose in the end that’s activism enough.

Still, like a proud parent whose child has just farted onstage during the last act of the school play, I love Canada unconditionally. But am still beyond embarrassed.

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