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Wednesday Wadio: The Smiths’ Bigmouth Strikes Again.


in Wednesday Wadio

“Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking when I said, I’d like to mash every tooth In your head.” – The Smiths – Bigmouth Strikes Again

Where to begin. As far as I’m concerned, 1986’s The Queen Is Dead was the pinnacle of The Smiths‘ short lifespan. And I’m not alone: It regularly tops various ‘all time best’ charts with the likes of the Beatles, Elvis Presley or David Bowie. Everything the band is known and loved for – angst, humour, politics, wit – is best represented on this album. The first Smiths tape I ever heard in its entirety was Meat is Murder, which was given to me by Nick Allard in the parking lot of LPSS in 1987 (This was also the very first CD I ever bought) – but quickly transfixed by this strange Manchester outfit, I soon had all 4 of the proper albums and ‘The Queen’ strode to the front of the pack as my fast favorite.

Bigmouth Strikes Again is the first song on this album that will really grab you by the throat, but eventually I ended up preferring the title track. Still, Bigmouth is a great introduction to the band, and I don’t want Radio Pye to get too obscure. Truth be told, if I had to pick my favorite Smiths song, it would be a toss-up between The Headmaster Ritual and You Just Haven’t Earned It Yet, Baby. Truth be told, Morrissey would also probably prefer to grab you by the cock.

A was going to write a quick explication of the song, but surprisingly found a great one it’d be hard to top: A bombastic single with a powerful performance from Marr and a biting vocal. A speeded-up Morrissey occasionally accompanies the vocal proper, giving an eerie effect (this is credited to Ann Coates in the “The Queen Is Dead” sleeve, a pun on an area of Manchester). I’ve found that most people new to The Smiths initially pick this track as favourite, whereas later it tends to grate a little bit. Morrissey marries the old with the new in these lyrics, mentioning Joan of Arc’s Walkman, seeming to imply that the situation under discussion (i.e. the protagonist saying very much the wrong thing, like his thoughts of angered violence) has been going on forever and will go on forever. Of course, he is pointing out a similarity between him and Joan of Arc rather melodramatically, lending a quite comical tone to what could have been an empty vessel. Painting Joan of Arc’s talk of God’s communications as something that “just slipped out” is in stark contrast to his harsh sentence upon himself “I’ve got no right to take my place with the Human race”. The sleeve lyrics to this song provide one example of Morrissey’s Wildean propensity to capitalise nouns such as Human and Love.

If that wordy and pretentious take made any sense to you whatsoever, you desperately need to spend some time with the Smiths. If not – I think Motley Crue is coming back to the Worcester Centrum in November.

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Bob Denver – The Reluctant Icon.


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Bob Denver died today, and to say his time was up would be somewhat of an understatement. Earlier this year Bob underwent quadruple heart bypass surgery – and he has been battling cancer for ages. He eventually warmed up to the fact he’d be eternally Gilligan, and was harder to kill than an African cockroach. I’m glad he stuck around as long as he did – as he always made me smile.

“It was the mid-’70s when I realized it wasn’t going off the air,” Denver told The Associated Press in 2001, noting then that he enjoyed checking eBay each day to keep up on the prices “Gilligan’s Island” memorabilia were fetching.

Bon voyage, little buddy. And I’m sure it’s no shock that I’d easily pay upwards of $100 for a coconut radio. And by coconut radio, I of course mean Tina Louise’s bamboo gusset.

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Schnauser-Sitting In The Sun.


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Royce and Bentley are a little hairy handful. Janet, Josh and I are over at our neighbor’s house today babysitting puppies. But they have jetskis (the neighbors – not the puppies). So the pooches are being sat upon in shifts, while the relief sitters rip around the Rideau on Sea-Doo GTIs. It’s a swell trade off. Swell.

This is our last trip up to Portland this summer, and although I frequently write about how exchausting it has all been, I will miss it. The rental units move back down to Florida for the winter in October, and I’ll be Canadaless until Christmas. No more poutine, no more creullers, no more campfires.

Luckily, I have enough Horton’s in my Boston kitchen cabinet to choke a moose.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: The Big Greasy.


in Monday's Quotelet

Here is the message I found when I went to grab the Quizzlet questions this morning from my usual source: Please take the time you usually spend on your Feast to reflect upon your blessings and pray for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.


Is it wrong that I’m aroused by that scenario?

It’s hard to wax humorous in the midst of an anarchic natural disaster like Katrina. Here are some of my favorite headlines from the last several days. I have been watching the events unfold with an unhealthy persistence:

– How the hell do you lose Fats Domino?
– 2 women were given C-sections by doctors who had no water to wash their hands before or after the surgeries. I’m pretty sure neither of the babies will be named Katrina. Shaniqua, maybe.
– Normally, this is called Mardi Gras I thought.
– Patients are dying in droves because all of the hospital’s life support machines are off (there’s no power) but luckily there’s a sniper across the street to help speed up the process. Headshots are cheaper than healthcare.
– Fats! We were worried sick. Aaron Neville’s mole was also airlifted to safety.

Now that I’m officially going to hell, please donate $20. They make it really easy. I am seriously wearing the T-shirt I bought at Pat O’Brien’s today as an additional sign of inappropriate solidarity. Katrina is a filthy whoore. Hang in there people. Help is on the way.

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The Creativity Vampires Lurk.


in

I don’t think I’ve ever had a day more devoid of creative thought than I did on this Thursday the first of September, in the year of our lord 2005. So I’ll do what I’ve set out never to do – and write about not being able to think of anything good to write about. I’ve thought plenty today about my job, my coworkers, my clients, my new roomate – but not once about this website or it’s beloved readership. Not once about dead hookers or the many associated jokes. And for that, I apologize. But I’m glad to see I still have some sense of priority in my life. And a job.

A gift has been bestowed upon me, methinks. And that gift is the ability to keep ‘er going, copy-wise. I can write about anything and make it somewhat funny and interesting. But today I feel like I’m on some sort of brainwave blocking medication. I got a ton done at work – one of the most productive days in a while. But I feel like I’ve been lobotomized. Instead of wasting time running around like a smacked arse, I got a little work done today. So please forgive me – this doesn’t happen often.

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Wednesday Wadio: Life Don’t Mix With The Railroad.


in Wednesday Wadio

A Canadian friend sent me this clip a few months ago (right-click the link to download the MP3 as I couldn’t get this file to work properly with the Radio Pye software). I can’t find a single mention of it on the interwebnets, and I’m not sure if it’s been in wide distribution or what. But it cracks me up beyond belief and I wanted to spread it around. In short, it’s a recording of a railroad employee named Doug Seibert who is being telephoned and asked to come into work. Apparently he knew he was on call but decided to roll the dice and get extremely intoxicated anyway. If I had a nickel.

Warning: Doug, whoever he is, swears like a pirate. Put your headphones on or wait to listen to this until you get home from work tonight. That having been said, here’s what I’m able to explicate from repeated listens:

– Doug works for the Canadian Pacific Railroad.
– Doug’s friends dropped in and they decided to go ski-dooing.
– Doug and friends drank 5 million thousand gallons of whiskey whilst ski-dooing.
– Doug and friends are ‘gooned’.
– Doug’s supervisor is going to have to mark him down as being ‘sick on call’.
– Doug’s probably not going to have a job in the morning. But that’s OK – because life don’t mix with the railroad.

I dare you not to listen to this 3 times and laugh your skidooing ass off. Jesus, do I ever want to get gooned with Doug.

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Window Pane And Suffering.


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Saturday, Nick and I were sitting in the living room eating jalapeno poppers and watching Waiting for Guffman. It was, quite simply, heaven on Earth. The girls who live above me had been moving out all morning, and when we heard a loud ‘bang’ as a piece of their furniture hit the pavement outside like a jumper, I thought nothing of it.

Nick got up and went outside to smoke a post-popper lung rocket, but quickly poked his back inside the door. “Dave, you’d better get out here”. I’ve been hucking furniture, showing apartments, typing up leases, making keys, painting, visiting the bank, waiting for repairmen – all as part of my new building manager duties. I knew August would be a rough month when I took the job, but I really thought I was over the hump. In short, the words “What the fuck is it now!?” quickly flashed through my brain like a Times Square marquee.

In their haste and deplorable moving wisdom, my lovely ex-tenants decided to lower a large boxspring off of their fire escape. And by ‘lower’, I of course mean ‘drop’. Said heavy object then bounced backwards towards the building and shattered both panes of my bedroom window. The window frame itself is bent beyond repair – to the point where I couldn’t even remove all of the broken glass. I took a deep breath, nodded profusely and affirmatively when they offered to pay for the damages, and covered the mess with cardboard and duct tape.

What would Schneider do? I mean, besides try to sleep with both of them?

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Plethora Of Portland Pics.


in Pye in the Face

Another whack of photos from my folks’ place in Ontario. Highlights include eerie campfire pics, killer ponies, newfies, funny hats, jetskis and my insane father’s many costumes. Have a wee peeksie and stay tuned for an imminent batch from Triconi’s wedding.

I think we’re taking one last trip up there this weekend, and then I can lay down in a bus station somewhere and expire. I feel like a nomad, a gypsy, a transient or maybe even Roger Miller‘s trans-continental-backseat-bus-trip-conceived lovechild. I’m tired, see? And I don’t wanna go nowheres for awhile.

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Free Stuff: Leather Couch and 2 Tables.


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Do any of my Boston peeps need, or know someone who needs, a decent blue/grey 2-piece leather couch? I also have a coffee table and a kitchen table available – more info here. The former tenant left in a hurry, and the new tenant has her own furniture.

I am giving this stuff away for free. I just need it out of there. Let me know. Nice couchy.

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Better Late Than Never.


in


Still loved as much as he was on the day he died, Chris Farley has been given a star on the hollywood walk of fame. I wrote about Farley 4 years ago – and the bit still holds water – so I won’t retread too much of it here. Regardless of his excesses, Farley was, during his time on Earth, the funniest man on it. I’ve never been more saddened by a celebrity death. He is sorely missed.

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Lights, Camera, Liquor.


in Heartwarming

Coach: Can he still play? Trainer: He’s in a coma! Coach: Answer the question!

I ran into Ed Lauter last night in front of the Park Plaza hotel. You’ll recognize his face – he’s a popular character actor who has been in tons of well known flicks, including: Cujo, The Longest Yard (both versions), French Connection 2, King Kong, Death Hunt, Real Genius, Youngblood, True Romance – and the list goes on.

Ed was juiced, and as he walked up to me he could tell I recognized him. He yelled something as he passed by, presumably on his way to Whiskey Park, and I smiled. I’m not going to pretend I’m too cool to be phased when I run into celebrities. I think it’s pretty neat. To have the coach from Not Another Teen Movie brush past me shithoused with a 24 year old broad on his arm is enough to make anyone giggle.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Did You Get My Voice Mail, Pilgrim?


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Which season do you most look forward to?
The fall – no question about it. I hate the humidity of summer, and NorthEast winters can be nothing short of brutal. The fall is a reasonable mix of the two extremes – like metrosexualism. Boston is similar to Toronto in that there are usually about 3 weeks out of the year where you’re actually comfortable – the rest of the time you’re either too hot or too cold. In addition to leaf peeping, fall offers us football, Halloween and hockey. Usually, hockey. Don’t get me started.

Soup: What day of the week is usually your busiest?
It depends on which squeaky wheel needs the grease, and how many vats. I enjoy my new position, but the daily tasks are intangible in many ways. Who is pissed off, who is confused, who is in danger of becoming pissed off or confused? It reminds me of the pursuit angles they teach you in football – anticipate where the relationship is going. I head more angry clients off at the pissed-off-pass than John Wayne did cattle rustlers.

Salad: Would you consider yourself to be strict when it comes to grammar?
Very. I have an English degree, afterall. It becomes a pain, however, as I’m now in charge of proofreading every proposal, press release – actually any piece of sales or marketing material that leaves this office. But I’ve decided how to get this off my plate, quickly. Slip in the odd Polish joke.

Main Course: Who has a birthday soon, and what will you give them as a gift?
Mike’s b-day was this week and we had a BBQ for him at my sister’s place last night. He actually gave me a present – he ripped and burned his father’s Dean Martin celebrity roast DVD for me. These were the precursor and inspiration for the roasts you see nowadays on Comedy Central. Politically uncorrect, stuffed will all my favorite rat-packers and 70’s celebrities and drop stone cold dead funny from beginning to end. So thanks, Mike, for helping me celebrate your birthday with Dino.

Dessert: If you could have any new piece of clothing free, what would you pick?
Another suit. I think I’m addicted now. Something in a pinstripe or maybe even a SeerSucker, perhaps? I could then get a job which requires me to wear a Seersucker everyday – CSI: Martha’s Vineyard. Seamus could be my wacky partner who never gets to drive.

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The Rolling Stone. And The Moss.


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This will be the first weekend in what seems like an eternity that I will a) be in Boston, and b) not have anything remotely resembling ‘plans’. I’ve been looking forward to it – as my apartment could use a once-over before the next imminent changing of the guard, and I have several building manager-related Schneiderish tasks that need my attention. I only wish I had a Miss Romano to compliment the handlebar ‘stache.

As the weekend creeps closer, however, I’m starting to wish I had something tangible to do. I’m not saying I feel like traveling somewhere again – not at all. But a tabula rasa of a weekend, even in the midst of the most hectic summer in history, still seems a bit depressing. So here’s what I’m going to do – I’m going to make it the most productive fucking weekend of my relatively young life so far.

I’m going to get up early on Saturday and head straight to the Beanstock Company for legal drug-induced energy. I’m going to sweep, mop, spackle, paint and re-arrange. I’m going to throw away a ton of crap I’ve been hanging on to like a sad, sentimental packrat. I’m going to spend a couple hours on the roof and keep this tan going. I’m going to go for a run. At night – I’m going to put my figurative nerd cap on (which I imagine would have a Deep Space Nine logo on it somewhere) and work on some of my websites – Goonblog in particular is doing really well traffic-wise and has already been linked to from 4 prominent hockey sites that have noticed it. Then Sunday I’m going to wake up and do it all over again.

So there’s my weekend laid out like marzipan. The somber, sober, salacious Schneider.

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