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A Hunka Hunka Big Haunt Photos.


in Heartwarming

Much needed and much better additions have been made to the Big Haunt 2 gallery. About 40 of them to be exact. You can actually see what some of the costumes looked like in the early evening before they were abandoned and beer-soaked. So be sure to click through and have a gander. Janet’s also added a gallery of pictures in her own section from a Halloween party she attended Monday night. Because she needed to go to another Halloween party. All I have to say is – “…and she wonders why her cat is fat“.

While I’m in the process of self-promotion, we’ve been doing a lot of work over at GoonBlog (hockey goon, enforcer and fight site) and DogGoneKnit (free dog sweater knitting patterns and a related community). If you haven’t visited in a while, please stop by and re-aquaint yourselves. And if you’re not into hockey pugilism or dog sweaters, I sincerely applaud your possession of priorities.

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Absolutely Riveted To The English Auction Shows.


in

See if you can follow me. I am watching a show in which professional antiquers cruise through a family’s home and look for items of value. The families in question always have a need or a goal for the money raised. This week, a husband and wife wish to buy a rather expensive goat. After the walkthrough, the pros compile a list of everything they feel is of value to antique hunters. Then they take those items to an auction, while the original owners stand on the sidelines and knaw at their knuckles to see if the estimates will be reached, exceeded or shitcanned.

I don’t believe this – After selling furniture, 2 paintings, a set of 3 barometers, a 200 year old grandfather clock, mugs and some dishes – these folks still need 190 pounds to get their goat. Now… How much would I need to pawn to get a goddamn life? I’m watching an antique reality show, afterall.

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Wednesday Wadio: A Roller Skating Jam Named Saturdays


in Wednesday Wadio

Janet told me yesterday that I should remake “Trunk of Funk” in its entirety, and post the whole thing here on Radio Pye. TOF was a cassette tape mix that I made a year or so after high school. It consisted of probably 20 early 90’s rap songs (the golden age as far as I am concerned) and was copied and handed around many times. I’m not gonna do the whole thing, but I’ll do one. I’ll do one.

An oddly named single from De La Soul’s second album, De La Soul Is Dead (“…One of the most progressive, complex and boldly experimental albums hip hop has ever seen.”), A Roller Skating Jam Named Saturdays “seamlessly incorporates Chicago, Chic and Franki Valli samples into a taut, scratch-heavy disco jam“. The video features Pos, Trugoy and Maceo and guest rapper Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest surrounded by roller skaters on a sunny day in Central Park.

This song would easily make my top 10 list of favorite rap songs of all time. It is so happy, infectious and funky it’s almost hard to resist strapping on skates and looking aimlessly for some long since torn down rink. Whenever I hear this song, I am instantly brought back in time – driving around in my ’79 Chevy Malibu, listening to TOF on the yellow Sony Sport boom box that’s plugged into my rusty cigarette lighter. And I desperately want to get back to 2005. Not really. Pass the peas like they used to say…

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The Big Haunt 2: Paranormal With The Pictures.


in Heartwarming

Janet and I got out to Concord Friday night with stereos, decorations, costumes and about $200 worth of change I wanted to get rid of in tow. They don’t have many of those supermarket sorters in the big city, and I had 6 years worth shrapnel I wanted to move/pay for a keg or two with. I almost exchanged my Chewbacca costume for that of “Hernia-Patient.” The old red house was partially decorated when we got there, and Jim, Stacey, Amy, James and Ryan were hard at work pimping out the remainder. Chris was hard at work sitting on a barstool and making gay jokes. Several folks dropped by to pitch in over the course of the evening, and “B.H. Eve” was a good time all by its lonesome.

Saturday we all got up at the ungodly hour of 10am to start prepping for the second annual Big Haunt. The delegation began weeks ago. Jim was on food. Dave was on music. Phil and Jason were on decorations. James and Ryan would fill in the cracks where needed. Jim’s sushi went to shit. Ryan forgot to get pumpkins. Jim and I sped off to deal with the 3 kegs we’d ordered, and the rest of the crew split up accordingly.

After visiting Alexa’s awesome new store in Concord Center, we then headed to her dad’s to do a little business. While the half barrels were being wheeled out to the truck, I spoke with Mr. B. about his website and some of the ways I thought he could improve it. He reciprocated by hooking us up to an extent which still boggles my mind. And it wasn’t with hugs. Thanks Mr. B! I will return the favor.

After getting the beverages back to the house, we headed up to New Hampshire to pick up the heaters and chafing dishes we’d ordered. As we were driving back after an additional and most productive trip to Costco, a piece of one of the heaters ripped off its bolts and flew into heavy traffic on 95. After hitting a couple of vehicles, the piece of metal disappeared and Jim, James and I pulled over sheepishly to see if anyone had any choice words for us. To my extreme amazement, nobody stopped and we continued on our way. Then the snow started.

While the weather definitely hurt attendence, we dealt with it. After getting back to Concord, Eric dropped by and removed all the snow and leaves off the back lawn with a high powered blower – and I’m not talking about his girlfriend (rim shot). We decorated and wired the attic. Jim got to cooking. I set up the stereos and organized the playlists. Amy arranged the bar and Ryan tapped the kegs. The old Concord contingent works extremely well together, and I reckon it’s because we’ve been on so many of the same landscaping crews over the years. We were ready.

I could go into a lot more detail, but if you were there you know how it played out. And if you weren’t, you were probably invited but blew it off due to a couple of fruity flakes – so just make sure you show up next year and frig off for the time being. There were a lot of cameras there that night, and frankly my pictures aren’t all that exceptional. So email me your best and I’ll add them here. Don’t anyone take this the wrong way, but I think I had more fun planning and setting up for that party than I did in the 6 hours or so that the house was packed. But whatever works – dysfunctional fun none the less.

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Twice The Funk Of James Brown’s Socks.


in

Wow – quiet week on the blog so far. How about that Bruschi? I’m in a bit of a funk as of late. But I rarely leave you hanging, so I’ll press on and keep ‘er going. It may not be pretty. It may involve latex.

I have little patience for moody people. But more and more I realize I’m a card-carrying member of the club. The best I can do is to keep from using it as an excuse to be a jacktard, or take any sort of snivelly whininess out on other people. What it is doing, however, is frigging me up at work occasionally – and I can’t have that.

So tonight I’m going to go home, dust off my Depeche Mode records, have a little pity-party for myself and pull my head out of my puckered nostril. And I’m going to do it all without the help of Ridalin. Shame I never discovered ManRay before it closed.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fruitier.


in Monday's Quotelet

The woman who writes the quizzlet questions is on vacation, apparently. Which is fine – because I’d usually rather rub a salted piece of pork in my eye than answer some of the gems she comes up with. So what’s a guy to do? I’m brain-dead today after a rowdy Bruins game last night with the GoonSquad, so I’ll just rattle off a few fun facts regarding this weekend’s festivities.

If you’re coming to the Big Haunt 2, and I know a lot of you are, please carpool. For flip’s sake designate a driver. Concord is a haul, and the Po-Po will be out in full force. We’ll have plenty of food and non-alcoholic options on hand. And respect the neighbors. There aren’t many of them, but stay off their lawns and don’t scream your heads off coming or leaving. And certainly don’t drive your shitty SUV into their living rooms.

But to keep things Quizzletty, I will pose a question to all of you: What, in your fevered recollection, is the absolute worst Halloween costume you ever rocked?

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I’ll Get Married, Eh Joker? Obviously.


in

About 4 years ago, Jason did something that made Amy mad. Nothing major he assured me vaguely, but a gesture would definitely be called for and so he turned to his old pally Dave for a quick sentiment-turnaround. As we drove through Guelph, we passed by the restaurant where Jason and Amy had had their very first date. He got out of my car, grabbed a vine covered post in front of the establishment, looked longingly at the front door – and asked me to snap a photograph. It was funny and cheesy in a sincerely homoerotic sort of way, and I had a feeling it would get him out of whatever hole he’d dug for himself.

Now, I thought my involvement in the backpedaling would end there, but shortly after my return to Boston a few days later I got an email from him asking for the photo – with a few requested alterations. “Take any photo of Amy you have, and then have me like… thinking of her in a thought bubble in that picture you took in front of the restaurant.” My response was likely something along the lines of “Jesus, what the hell did you actually do, anyway?” Regardless, I got straight to work and came up with exactly what he’d described. I don’t have a copy of it anymore – I am hoping he does and will send it along.

The picture worked, obviously. They’ve been together a long time now and this morning I got the phone call that I’d long hoped would come – they’re tying the knot almost exactly a year from this very evening. So congratulations, you two. It’s going to go well, and I’m honestly very happy for you both. You can show me your undying appreciation for my lifesaving graphic talents by seating me, and not Mitch, next to the hottest single bridesmaid.

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Wednesday Wadio: Sloan’s ‘I Can Feel It’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“Sure, these songs might sound like a lot of shit you’ve heard before… but as you listen, Sloan’s affectations and flourishes materialize and you hear the band for what they really are– not a cloying, uninspired rip-off, but an intelligent band with a sense of humor and a great ear for pop hooks.” – Pitchfork

Listening to Sloan‘s first album, Smeared, reminds me of peeling potatoes. When I first arrived at Guelph University in 1992, I got a job in the kitchen of the biggest on-campus pub. While I would eventually go on to run that joint and several others by the end of my 6 year professional scholastic stint – I spent a good 3 semesters covered in grease, throwing poutine across the slick counter to drunken frigtards. Or, my peers, if you want to split hairs.

There was a Crisco-encrusted boom box in the back with several gummy mixtapes that we used to listen to during those long nights in the galley as I grew to call it. One of which had Sloan’s remarkable first single, Underwhelmed as the first song on side 2. The mix belonged to a coworker who’d jammed it with all kinds of mediocre Canadian bands of the era – Watchmen, Tea Party, Grapes of Wrath, 54-40, Wide Mouth Mason – and the anticipation of the Sloan tune, which stood out from the rest of the flotsam like a ray of light, kept me going. But it was ultimately another song from their soon to be released second effort, recently voted the #1 Canadian album of all time, Twice Removed that would endure until today as my favorite by these special sons of Halifax.

“Sloan’s Twice Removed album was nearly rejected by its label and caused the band to lose their record deal. It also caused certain members of the band under serious duress and nearly broke them up. So how does that become the most beloved Canadian album of all time?” – Chart Attack

I Can Feel It is jammed in at the very end of the record, and I admittedly overlooked it for a few years as a result. But it’s stood the test of time and I wanted to ‘big it up’ right here on Radio Pye. It starts with a cheery guitar riff that sways along so, so very catchily. The bass doesn’t conform to standards and plays its own little melody at points. The lyrics are simple, but I’ve surmised after many listens that the protagonist is a jilted lover who can take a little solace in the fact that “at least I’m still cool to one girl” – his little sister.

Whether the duet is supposed to be between him and the girl he “can feel” actually really digs him (but just doesn’t know it yet) – or his sister – remains a bit of a creepy mystery to me. Jennifer Pierce from Halifax band “Jade” sings along starting at the first chorus and then comes and goes intermittently for the rest of the tune. It’s an unusual structure for a song which also ends quite abruptly. But I will always love it and I hope y’all get a little something out of my own personal obsession.

And I was happy to see Sloan only recently played Peter Clark Hall at Guelph. Because I used to run that too.

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Things I Have To Stop Doing Immediately:


in

– Peeping Growing Up Gotti. I swear I only watch it for Luigi, and that I’m not gay.

– Not bringing my camera to comedy shows. Last week I met Chris Elliott, and Friday night I got to hang out with Colin Quinn. I just know that we’d have been all sorts of photogenic with eachother.

– Buying things. I got a small raise and I’ve been spending like I’m George freakin’ Hamilton for the past 2 months. Although the poster & ticket I had framed from this show look great over the fireplace. Which is great, because it’s definitely time to start using the fireplace.

– Not eating vegetables. We’re a captive audience here in the North End – unless it’s a Haymarket day – and I’ve been surviving on tots, Puttanesca and Regina‘s. If that sounds tasty, let me assure you – it is.

– Pretending my cat doesn’t produce more doodies than a rabbit… farm. I have this space age litter box you just roll over on its side, pull out a drawer and flush. I do it every couple of days, and it’s invariably like emptying out your barbeque at the end of August.

– Staying sequestered in the city every weekend. All my readers know about the hectic summer I had, but my refractory period should be well past over by now. Luckily, I’m off to Concord this weekend for The Big Haunt 2. I’m in charge of music, pumpkin carving and the delegation of not being sober. Which should be quite easy with four half barrels and a bowl of Jim’s special punch.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: The C*nt Of Monte Cristo.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Do you button shirts top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top?
Top to bottom. Doesn’t everybody? You know how women’s buttons are on the left, and men’s buttons are on the right? Maybe it’s the other way around. I’m a little confused because I wore my yellow kimono today. I’ll get back to you/beaten up on my walk home through Downtown Crossing.

Soup: What is your favorite sandwich?
Those deep-fried Monte Cristos you get at Bennigans. Take a grilled cheese sandwich, and use mayonnaise to grill it instead of butter. Then dip it in batter and deep fry it. Then remove your heart from your chest, roll it in rough sawdust and place it back into your cavity like some sort of indecisive Mola Ram.

Salad: What was a family project you helped work on as a child?
My father built a sweet treehouse for me when I was a yute, and I suppose I must have helped a little bit. He took two computer crates, back when computers were the size of refrigerators, and stacked them on top of each other next to a 15 foot dead tree. He cut a door in the front, and then a ladder went up through both crates – so it was like a two-story apartment. Then he covered the crates in split logs so it looked like a cabin. The ladder continued up through the top of the upper crate and onto a big rickety deck he built on top of the stump. It was amazing and I will see if I can find and scan an old photo (update: found and scanned). There has never been a better treehouse in which to play doctor. Thanks, Kathy, wherever you are. Although I remember killing a lot of frogs in there, too. Jesus, that’s hot.

A note on the photo – that’s my Grandmother, Claire, in the aviators holding the Yorkie (Buffy) and her friend Pat standing behind me – we’re a good 3 stories off the ground. Pat was a nice lady, but looked an awful lot like Roger Ebert. The photo was taken in Manotick, Ontario circa 1981. The beginning of my obsession with Raiders of the Lost Ark was only weeks away.

Main Course: When have you acted phony?
I was privvy to a nasty secret once, between a group of very close friends, that I pretended to be completely ignorant of for several days. I eventually, and for very good reason that I can’t go into, spilled the beans and subsequently created a string of incidents that got very ugly indeed. I’m sure you’ve all been there. And probably with the same horrible, cum-dumpster of a girl. How is she, by the way? What’s the matter? She can’t call nobody?

Dessert: Do you write letters or postcards? If so, to whom?
Your Mom. I send checks to people who send me bills. So there’s a bit of give and take there. It’s sorta like a relationship with a pen pal, you could say. A dirty penpal, who always wants something from you. I am in an unhealthy, abusive pen pal relationship with NStar.

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Halloween Costume Request.


in

This venue worked well earlier this month for my DVD related request – so I’m going to give it another shot. Simply put – does anyone have a Drew Bledsoe jersey? Patriots, Cowboys, Bills – no matter. Just needs to say Bledsoe on the back. It’s Halloween costume related, so you’ll get it back in a couple of weeks. I’ve got a funny idea, and I’d rather not order something online that may not get here in time when this city used to be flooded with Drew-related schwag and there may be some remnants under somebody’s bed. I quiver with antici……… pation.

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Wednesday Wadio: Black Grape’s ‘Reverend Black Grape’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“We all hated each other, I just started speaking to me brother again. But the rest of the Mondays, they’re just a joke. One of the guitarists is selling encyclopedias door-to-door and another one’s a cook. They’re a bunch of d*cks. I tried me hardest to tell them not to split the band. It was just b*llocks. The rest of them thought they were rock Gods. They just wanted money. They didn’t care about music.” – Shaun Ryder on why he formed Black Grape

I love the Happy Mondays, and I get a lot of subsequent grief from friends and family surrounding that fact. But I simply can’t apologize – Some people like marmite. Some people like anchovies. I love the Mondays and Shaun Ryder. There’s no accounting for taste, as they say. Class, charm and the ability to pick up audible sounds, maybe – but never taste.

After the band imploded in 1993, Ryder and Bez formed Black Grape and had three top ten hits off the first album, It’s Great When You’re Straight, Yeah! The best of which was Reverend Black Grape and you can listen to it now by clicking the Zap button on Radio Pye in the left hand column. Surprisingly to many who wrote Ryder off as a drug-addled maniac (if the shoe fits…), Grape took the charts by storm during 1995 and many reviewers actually preferred them to Ryder’s previous incarnation: “Heavily steeped in the funk, ex-Happy Mondays frontman Shaun Ryder comes off here like a Mancunian George Clinton as he babbles over top of a skilled, polyrhythmic unit that’s far tighter than the slapdash Mondays.” – Amazon

The hodgepodge tune includes a scitar, dancehall chirping courtesy of rapper Kermit, a rousing and uplifting chorus, old-school samples (listen carefully for the Hitler speech), bongos, some sort of snake-charmer flute thing and even a harmonica. The production values are riotus and there’s a damn good reason this record made multiple ‘album of the year’ lists in the UK. Above the din, Ryder’s trademark non-sensical lyrics still serve their purpose. It’s more style than substance – Shaun is truly hooked on his own phonics (no, that’s not a new type of meth-amphetamine), and it works:

“The title of the album partly expressed Ryder’s decision to turn away from hard drug abuse, and this was indeed a comparatively sober effort given the artist’s past reputation. However, his much-publicized “cut-up” lyrics were present, along with his trademark scat coupling of meaningless phrases…” – MusicStrands.com

Nope – Ryder, Bez and the rest of the two gangs aren’t for everybody. But as I saw for myself when I snuck into the Mondays show here in Boston in 1990 (I was 16 or 17 – in retrospect, maybe it was a wristbanded, all-ages event) it’s more about the party than getting the guitar tuned and hitting all the notes properly. Oh, and a fucking shitload of hard drugs, too.

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Defender Of The Crown.


in

Nearly 32 years have passed without my having endured any signifigant oral trauma. Unless of course you count that one time in University when I woke up after a tryst feeling like my ‘special purpose’ had been sharpened by a beaver and added to a dam. Otherwise – lovely girl.

I’m told that my good dental luck stems from the fact that there is so much flouride in the water in Canada. I registered at a new dentist Friday after many years of truancy, and I now have an inevitable laundry list of repairs that are going to have to be made. The hygenist that cleaned my teeth said she had no comments regarding my general care – she was impressed. But as she packed up and got ready for the doctor, she eluded to a few issues that went beyond simple maintenance. My luck had run out.

Genetic enamel deficiency is the long term problem. If you want to suck face after looking at that link, ladies – take a number. But mine isn’t too advanced and can be remedied with some artful bonding at the hands of my new yapper doctor, who seems like a great guy. I think I lucked out. But the immediate issue, which I was asked to rush back today to take care of, is my back right molar which has completely split vertically down the middle. I looked at it in the mirror and it was alarming – and a symptom of the overall enamel problem.

So I went in today for the first step in the crown procedure, which is to file down the tooth into a shadow of its formal self, and then take a mold for a porcelain replacement which will be constructed over the next couple of weeks. It did not go smoothly, and as I write I can feel the whackload of novocaine I was jagged with starting to wear off. I have a temporary cap over the little nub, but I predict problems before I get to wear the actual crown. Like King Richard.

The nerve that the doctor was trying to hit with the novocaine runs a different route in my face than is usual, apparently. The first shot gave me a little tingle, and the doctor started to file away. Whenever he’d hit the top of the tooth, where the crack is, this tremendous bolt of pain would rocket through my jaw. He gave me another and tried again. Same thing. Another. ZING. Another – the final count was 5 units. The amazed dental assistant showed me the empty glass vials incredulously while the doctor was seeing to someone else. She called me tough, and I replied “Lady, i don’t want to be tough today.” I began to pray feverishly for the drug tolerance of River Phoenix.

For the last shot, the doctor angled the needle away from where you’re normally supposed to strike, and went very, very deep. I felt the left half of my face shut down immediately, and he was able to finish the job at hand. He told me not to go back to work, as apparently he felt he’d used enough of the drug to drop Kong, and I took the T home. So my point is, nearly 32 years of having cooperative choppers has come to an end, and I’m now about to embark on all the cringe-worthy stuff most people have already experienced by my age. Maybe now I’ll be able to better appreciate Marathon Man.

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