old punks web zine

Blog Article Archives 4/05 - 4/06

Old Punk Moment 472:

At my gym, L.A. Crapness, they’ve been pretty good lately at putting on the station that plays a little of everything instead of all ©rap or the equally mind-numbing slow jams. It seems like years of complaints from the morning regulars (average age: 50!) finally worked. At least until they hire another 20-something O.C. cretin to open the place.

Anyhoo, every so often they play something by Basement Jaxx called “Where’s Your Head At”, based on a sample of the 3-note synth riff from Gary Numan’s 1979 album track “M.E.”

So, every time it comes on I sing “And me I eat dust” after the 3 notes play, which must come across as weird to those around me. Then the music nerd in me wants to say the song playing is based on another song, like I'm proud of some kind of personal accomplishment.

All things considered, I’m glad when the song comes on and even happier when it ends.

On a related note, when you shut down a computer with a newer Microsoft Windows OS, it plays the 4 signature notes from Gary Numan's "Cars".

Old Punk Moment 387

In the 1970s there were dance clubs where white people awkwardly moved to Led Zepplin and and Queen. I think they were generically called Rock Clubs. Then in 1977 Saturday Night Fever appeared and disco fever swept the land, turning every other loser into Disco Stu, Disco Sally, disco ducks and overall hairstyle and fashion victims.

Sure, other people might have existed, but if you were a teenager you had to choose between rock and disco. It was war.

In 1979 the Chicago White Sox sponsored the infamous "Disco Demolition Night", where disco records burned in the outfield of Comisky Park as a riot broke out. The fumes were toxic, exacting an ironic revenge on the rockers.

After many years and battles we finally got the morning music changed at my gym, L.A. Crapness. Instead of all (c)rap or slow jam they play a station with a variety of middle option tunes, so I often hear "Rock Lobster", "The Devil Went Down To Georgia", "Blister In The Sun" and helpings of disco cheese from back in the day. It's still cheesy and laughable, but, to be honest, compared to what's out there now, what I once thought was a sign of End Times is now quaint and goofy.

I didn't admit liking The Spinners' "Rubberband Man" because it was a hit at the disco. Hearing it now I realize it's a Motown classic and not disco at all. So I am, was, and forever shall be, Hard To The Core!

(Here's how to say "Hard To the Core" correctly. Start in a neutral stance with your hands to your side. Say in a normal, slow voice "I'm Hard", pause, then pump your fists in front of your chest, your tense forearms crossing into the Straight Edge "X" while saying in a louder, faster tone "To-The-Core!", dragging out "core" for appropriate effect. Now you try it!)

Old Punk Memories 1 & 2

These are my first two punk memories. I forget which came first:

1) The first Ramones album came out in May, 1976. I was 15. My best friend brought out this album from his sister's room. I didn't like it at all, especially the lyrics of "Beat on the Brat" because it was about beating a child with a baseball bat. The whole album seemed sing-songy. I'm a Ramones nut now but I still don't like "Beat On The Brat", and when I see the album I vividly remember being an unworldly, gawky kid thinking "what the hell is this?!"

2) My school's gym bleachers were the accordian kind with no safety features, so if you took a wrong step you fell through and probably broke something groin related. I was sitting on it pondering the danger of the situation when this long haired guy sat down next to me and started talking to a friend of mine. He wore a button that read "Blondie Is A Group". This made no sense because Blondie is a comic strip character. He talked about CBGBs in Manhattan, and I thought he was the coolest because he took the train into the city to hang out in a bar. He might as well have been traveling to Dimension X to fight Venusians.

Old Punk Moment 127

I buy car stuff at Pep Boys because Manny Moe and Jack were east coast Jews, like me!, and on the Jew-To-Do-List, next to the Blood Libel, is to buy from fellow tribe members. You know, spend locally and control globally. Gabba Gabba Oy!

As you all (should) know, The Dickies recorded "Manny Moe and Jack" in 1979 (like George Carlin said, a golden oldie from before you were born, remember kids?) Sing!

"When you're on the road/and your car wont pull that load/ and your wheels aren't feeling fine/ Well I know of this joint/ where they'll check your plugs and points/ I know these guys they're three good friends of mine/ Manny Moe and Jack/ They know what I'm after/ Manny Moe and Jack/ They Know what I'm after/ They're Manny Moe and Jack/ Once your inside/ they wont take you for a ride/ they got a good deal for you and your automobile/ for the right price/ they will sell you fuzzy dice/ and leather hand grips for your steering whee-al/ [Chorus]/ If its tires you want/ they got a lot for you/Dunlop, Firestone, Pirelli too[x8] /Many Moe and Jack!/They know what I'm after..."

Every so often I forget to keep my mouth shut and I ask the guy behind the register if he's ever heard the song. All I ever get is a blank look. Then I hear crickets and tumbleweed roll by. Isn't and shouldn't this be the official company song? Shouldn't everyone who works there know it just as an interesting piece of work-related trivia? What's wrong with these people? Why must I be treated like a raving lunatic when I start screaming the chorus? it's not me this time, it's them. Stop looking at me.

Old Punk Memory 37H

Rock The Cashbar!

I saw The Clash on their 82-83 Combat Rock Tour. I saw so many camouflage pants (like in the video!) I knew one of my favorite bands had jumped the shark, crested the wave and abandoned all hope. Cut The Crap came out three years later and it once again proved the maxim that you shouldn't title your work with a word like crap if it's literally crap.

'Cause I know people I went backstage after the show and Saint Joseph Strummer, (oops, wrong pic. Try this) was hypnotizing a room of teenagers with earnest talk while dub reggae played on a boom box. Since then I noticed Joe probably couldn't even order a pizza without being passionately sincere.

He seemed nice enough and utterly harmless. Hey, if you google "Joe Strummer" and "bad teeth" you get 102 returns.

Old Punk Memory 392 - Club Kid Edition

Yesterday I reviewed !!! and quoted a goofy review. The whole thing is here. This made me laugh hardest: "On the back of all this arrive !!! (pronounced chk chk chk), a band who's very name looks like an act of defiance." Nothing stands strong against oppression like naming your band after a punctuation mark. If that's so then Prince is John Connor.

A decade ago I dated a woman who years before regularly drove from Cleveland to NYC to go to clubs run and populated by the insane clownish posse featured in Party Monster. She was fabulous. We were watching a daytime talk show and the topic was Club Kids. The first to come out was a lumpy dumpy teenage girl who struck a pose and warbled "Don't hate me because I'm an Icon!" I fell off the couch in hysterics. The next putz was a dumpy lumpy fat boy wearing coke-bottle glasses who said he doesn't like his mother because she disrespects him. I was still on the floor and at this point I started flopping like a fish.

My girlfriend started crying because she was a Club Kid and knew all their trials and tribulations, their hopes and dreams, their gender confusion and love of clothing with a built-in expiration date of one wearing. She demanded I have compassion when all I had to offer was a spit-take and some floor-stompin'.

Needless to say, it was all my fault (as usual).

New Wave Memory 41

In my junior year of college I transferred to the University Of Maryland and joined a fraternity because I was #1499 on the waiting list for dorm housing. A frat brother was the college rep for CBS records, so he set up store displays, distributed promotional records and even drove artists around to radio stations.

One day he asked if I wanted to drive around with him and this new artist. I would have gone but I was on my way to the gym. I did see the concert that night at the 9:30 Club and when I came back I told everyone this singer was going to be HUGE. I was less than believed because I was into all kinds of strange music, which made me a strange person who didn't know nothin' about nothin'.

The singer was Cyndi Lauper and she was touring her debut LP, Girls Just Want To Have Fun. It just came out or was about to. I could have spent the afternoon with her, which would have been great because she's a sweet and entertaining person. She grew up in Brooklyn, I was born there -- I could have joined her entourage or received a thank-you on her next record or something. I'm sure of it. I did have a good lift that day, so I at least have that.

Old Punk Memory 5

I could never figure out the appeal of Barry Manilow. My father tormented me with Manilow 8-Tracks on long trips, and the only good to come from it was to make the Neil Diamond that followed tolerable. Barry was so Liberace he turned Neil into Lemmy. His fans created and use the word "Manilove", for Jiminy's sake! On his 1977 live album he sang a medley of commercials he wrote for Dr. Pepper, Kentucky Fried Chicken, State Farm, McDonald's and others. The memories flood back and they hurt.

On a TV show around 1980 Barry did the following: he said "This is my impression of New Wave", then he waved a limp wrist and made a childish face of insult. Cut to commercial.

What...A...Dick

The BBC, Orwell's inspiration for 1984's Ministry Of Information, ran a puff-piece on Barry that featured the following trail of poop. I keep on forgetting I'm out of style:

Punk, New Wave, Grunge, House, all may have come and gone, but Manilow ploughs on regardless, like an acrylic-clad ocean liner.

Old Punk Memory 87 1/2

Frankie Says Relax (your sphincter)

This is as much my brother's memory from 1984 because he worked in NYC and saw a number of people afflicted with Frankie Goes To Hollywood disease. He thought it was hysterical.

I rarely saw the infamous Relax shirt on Long Island (pronounced Lawn-Guylind) but Frankie was one of the last nails in the coffin of New Wave as a genre one could take seriously. Duran Duran started digging the grave and Culture Club bought the wood and nails. They all have a special place in my version of hell.

In 1978 the Village People came out with "YMCA", my first experience with an obviously gay song embraced by straight people and even (I imagine) homophobes who never bothered with lyrics. What made the Relax shirt different was that you had to buy and wear it. It took conscious effort and money to get one.

What made my brother laugh was seeing obviously heteronormative and macho homophobe types wearing it in full-blown obliviousness of what Frankie was saying you should relax.

Every time I think of Frankie Says Relax I remember the imitation my brother did of your typical NYC numbnut saying it like it was the cool thing to say.

Old Punk Memory 61

From 1980 to 1983 I worked concert security at various Washington DC concert halls, from the Capital Center to the University of Maryland. Being a music nut it was a great opportunity to meet bands and be at great shows, sometimes the whole time looking away from the stage.

The worst was a go-go concert at the Cap Center where street gangs were breaking in by tossing cinder blocks through glass doors. At the time, Go-Go was the local DC name for hip-hop. The next to worst were any shows involving Grateful Dead members. Hippies feel entitled to everything and get angry when told no. The punk shows were ok and new wave shows the easiest.

One night before a new wave show I was walking down the line telling people what they couldn't bring into the venue. When I listed spikes a woman looked at me sideways and said "I can't wear my shoes?"

Ba dum bump! Enjoy the show folks. Order the veal!!

Old Punk Memory 4

Today brought to you by The Uranus Corporation, who remind you that Good things come from Uranus!

Reader New Evolutionist casually mocked my punk personlyhood by tossing the so-called word "Mancunian" to describe things relating to Manchester (UK). I thought they were an alien race on Star Trek, but no, Google has 98,400 hits on a word that shouldn't exist -- but does! So people from Tampa are called, what, Tampons?

My unrelated point is that I have very fond memories of a time, roughly from 1978 to 1984, when I was of age, new wave and punk were my scene, it was cool to be into it, there were places to dance, bands to see and the future was so bright I had to squint a lot. That time is long gone and I hope all kids have their own golden years to look back on.

It started strong and I thought it might last forever, especially in 1979 when Elvis Costello, Graham Parker, the B52s, Iggy Pop, The Clash, XTC and others were all putting out great records. I slowly, painfully watched that scene die a death of a thousand cuts as disco faded and New Romance and disco-lite filled the void. Culture Club, Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet - these were not the things dreams are made of. I went to clubs until they stopped playing enough songs I liked to make it worthwhile. I listened to radio stations until they ran out of good music or dropped the format completely.

I didn't leave popular culture, popular culture left me. That's what all us geezers say. I can't swear the old days were better than today because I know nostalgia is a lie. It's a pretty lie, and I hope it stays with me until Alzheimers, major head trauma or death washes it all away.

Old Punk Moment 319

It was one thing to buy a Big Black bumber sticker and a whole 'nuther one to actually put it on your car.

Old Punk Moment 98

Yesterday at a Las Vegas buffet a pudgy, dumb looking mom and her pudgy, dumb and angry looking 12 year old son sat down in the next booth. He's wearing black jeans and a new Aus Rotten t-shirt. It was black since the tie-dye ones were sold out. It might have been this one. I try not to look at these people directly.... because they threaten the status quo and challenge my beliefs.

What can I say about 5th generation Crass bands whose visual motif comes from Maximum Rock N Roll and Pusmort. It appeals to belligerent kids and nihilistic adults who hang around belligerent kids. It's a patch and a handful of slogans, where at concerts you hear "This is a song about pathetic humanity. It's called 'Pathetic Humanity'!" Then they throw their instruments down the stairs and whatever sounds come up is the song.

I spent a few minutes coming up with different things I'd say as I walked by. To him I could say "Smash the State, Timmy, as only a doughy pimple farmer like you can", or to mom I could just whisper "You failed" or tell her not to worry since it's a phase most children grow out of. You know, give her hope when all she can see is despair.

Thankfully this suburban chud nonsense didn't exist when I was 12. In 1973 everybody had long hair, from hippies to stoners to the junior Bowie kid I was becoming. The worst I could have been was this, which was actually pretty scary.

Old Punk Moment 39

Buster Poindexter is Hot Hot Hot!

David Johansen of New York Dolls fame, desperate for some of that sweet Kid Creole And The Coconuts money, reinvented himself in the late 1980s as novelty lounge singer Buster Poindexter.

The nation danced to such standards as "Inez (Is Just A Big Rage Queen)", "Who Drank My Beer (While I was In The Rear)" and everyone's favorite, "Hot Hot Hot", with the hernia rendering lyric "People in the party hot hot hot People in the party hot hot hot They come to the party knowin what they got They come to the party knowin what they got I’m hot, you’re hot, he’s hot, she’s hotI’m hot, you’re hot, he’s hot, she’s hot!"

Oh do I wince when this song comes on, a perennial money-machine for David, which sure beats working, but when it's "Hot Hot Hot", how far behind can be "The Macarena"?!

This song also begs the question: is it worse than David Lee Roth's "Just A Gigolo". Whoever wins, we all lose.

As revenge for this transgression nature is aging David into a deadly cocktail of Mick Jagger and Curious George.

Old Punk Moment 574

At the community college swap meet, amongst blankets piled with used tools and booths selling cds from singers who resemble The Frito Bandito , I came across a sectioned wood cassette case filled with weathered old tapes. I took a look, and if I had Sandy Duncan's Eye (obscure punk band reference!) it would have flown out and migrated home to Daddy.

Here were home tapes of The Cramps, The Dickies, The Pandoras and various surf mixes, all lovingly compiled with the maker's bestest handwriting on the covers and spine, all fifty cents each. Do you kids realize how much time it took to fill up a 90 minute cassette tape from albums and singles? It's my generation's walking to school ten miles each day, in the snow, uphill both ways, wearing old newspapers for shoes. Kids today know nothin' of hardship.

A quick glance at the AARP member in charge told me these weren't hers. I innocently asked where she found them. Her smile faded and her thirty word English vocabulary shrunk to four.

I looked down at these labors of love with both pity and nostalgia. Ah, but for the grace of god goes my cassette collection. I couldn't take them all home, but I did buy 2 surf tapes, a 1985 Dickies bootleg and the original Dickies ROIR concert. I paid my two dollars and didn't look back at those I had left behind. I can only do so much.

Old Punk Memory 49

Yesterday & Today Records was located on Rockville Pike in Rockville, and many a weekend found me either there, at Phantasmagoria Records in Wheaton, MD, or Joe's Record Paradise, where the singer of No Trend worked and surprisingly kept very quiet.

Y&T took up 2 small storefronts in a nondescript row of stores anchored by a bakery outlet. You couldn't see it from the street. Most of the stores faced the building next door. The second store, which was rarely open, was stocked to the rafters with 7" records, and if they say they have over a million in stock I wouldn't doubt it. The prices weren't cheap but it sure wasn't like that highway robber scumfugg Bleeker Bob.

Y&T's higher claim to fame was its place in the burgeoning DC punk scene. When Ian sings "Skip, we love you" at the end of "Stepping Stone" he's referring to Y&T owner Skip Groff, who also produced a number of bands and ran the Limp label (read this interview). Many musicians at one time worked there, including Ian Mackaye, Neck Rollins and Tesco Vee. I thought the employees in general had a bad attitude, but Ian was nice to deal with. Skip showed a wary temperament but you couldn't really blame him. The clientele tended towards the personality disordered.

I didn't know Y&T closed almost 3 years ago today. I now live 2,718.5 or so miles away. I can't blame Skip for giving up retail. Imagine all the headaches and dime store con artists he had to deal with.

End Of The Line (Blog Edition)

Exactly one year ago today I started this blog as a continuation of a web zine I wrote for five years (oldpunks.com). It's run its course so I'm stopping. I think I'll let the old site die too so I won't have to renew the domain name.

Whatever motivated me to write and review five-ish times a week has subsided. Whatever points I wanted to make have been made, and reviewing cds takes the fun out of listening to music. I'm not a political person and I have no agenda to push. I don't have the answers and I don't pretend to. My goal in life has long been to avoid what I see as negative people and situations. I wish more people were smarter, nicer and more considerate so the world wouldn't be as screwed as it is.

My politics vary depending on the issue, but I can say with certainty that the most evil figure in world history has to be Karl Marx, whose theories have led to more misery and wholesale slaughter than anyone could have imagined. It's a mental illness where Utopia is achieved through genocide, revenge, resentment and perpetual misery. Its followers know this, but it's their way of exacting revenge on a reality they hate.

Thanks for visiting and please hit the links to visit other sites I hope will still be around for a good long time.

Bob Mould - Occupation: Gay Man

Husker Du and Sugar guitarist/singer Bob Mould writes a blog called Boblog where he details everything he does, says, listens to, eats and reads. He records and DJs club nights called Blowoff. Bob now lives in beautiful Washington DC.

I love Husker Du, really like Sugar and own two solo albums I've listened to once. I was front and center when Husker Du played the 9:30 club to support New Day Rising and they put on a great show. I couldn't stop staring at Bob's calves - they were the skinniest I've ever seen on an adult. Bob's a serious lifter now, as his blog links to every gym he walks by, and hopefully he's built them up to Tom Platz size. Or at least half-Platz.

Read Boblog and you'll soon realize Bob's now first and foremost a gay man living within the confines of the gay world. Everything else is secondary to his sexual identity. Bob's not a musician, he's a gay musician. According to OUT magazine he's the "Hottest Returning Gay Rock Icon". He talks about the Gayborhood he lives in and maybe he'll move to Long beach if he can get an apartment at The Gaytonia. It's in a nice gayborhood too, close to gay dining, gay bars and gay dry cleaning.

Hooray for Bob and I'm happy Bob's happy. I do find it odd to define yourself so fully in what should be a person's secondary characteristic. I like to think we all should be judged by our actions and content of character, not just gender, skin color, religion, political beliefs or sexuality. That might be heteronormative of me but I look forward to the day Gay Bob will be so comfortable with himself he can just be plain old Bob again.

 

Two Types Of Punk Buts

1) A fellow at my gym looked punkish so one day whilst standing next to him I struck up a conversation. He answered to the punk question in the affirmative. A few bands were discussed and then he brought up Skrewdriver, the Minor Threat of white power hate music. I said "Well... I'm Jewish", which made him thunk a second and then he replied "But, they write great songs". I blinked a few times and exited stage left.

2) I knew a homosexual gentleman in Washington DC who was a tenant in a fancy apartment building I helped manage. He said he could help me get a civil service job, which didn't offer a great starting pay but it was secure work, and if you stuck around long enough you could do ok. One day I visited him and he was drunk. As I was leaving he asked if I wanted to watch a video. In response to my query he said it was in fact a gay sex video. I reminded him, for the 10th time, that I wasn't gay. He thunk a second and then said "But, it's so hot!" I exited door right.

Punk Was Rubbish

I found this article by accident but it addresses what's been going on in my mind as I read Dance of Days. I'm up to where Rites Of Spring, Embrace, Beefeater and others are creating a renaissance in the DC scene, the endlessly referenced Revolution Summer (aka Revolution Summer Camp). I can't stop laughing.

The scene is nth power earnest and really, really super important. It's desperately working to keep things peaceful, exciting, meaningful and real. Still, it can't keep itself from exploding, imploding and losing members to adulthood. It's the word "yearn" as a course, guttural sound, like a hissing whine or when last night's Mexican buffet insists on leaving the next morning.

"Jon Kirschten - Chris Bald's younger brother, who had started coming to shows in the last year - confronted some slamming skinheads in exasperation. 'I was nearly in tears', he remembered. 'I just took a lyric sheet and pushed it at the guys, saying 'Here, please read this.' Instead one of them gave Kirschten a hard shove, the usual prelude to a fight."

Printed lyrics soothe the savage beast! Maybe that's what Grizzly Man needed. Damn, I lived there the whole time and somehow missed out on this endless parade of teenage numbnuttery. The harDCore scene was a kidz only clubhouse but some great records came out of it and I gave them credit for being organized. Who knew they were also so goofy and hopeless.

One more thought. The book refers to an incident where Lefty, (get this) the black, female and psychotic leader of a gang of teenage racist skinheads, almost starts a rumble with bikers when her crew knocks over a row of motorcycles because they aren't American made. Riders of Japanese motorcycles are not "bikers". Bikers ride Harleys, and the day DC punks knock over a row of Mongol's bikes is the day their remains are found spread out over twelve counties.

Tesco Vee, Where Are Thee?

What ever happened to Tesco Vee of The Meatmen? This site contains everything you need to know about one of punk's great personalities. It's written from a very pro-cock rock perspective, a side of Tesco's career I shy away from. I prefer their kinder, gentler Mentors material. Tesco's real name is revealed, something I thought was a trade secret like the true identity of The Residents.

Someone e-mailed yesterday about finding a copy of Tesco's 1988 MTV show "Way U.S.A.", where Tesco soaks up local oddball color as your sleazy, wheezy master of ceremonies. The only place to find any and all weirdness is Los Angeles' Mondo Video-A-Go-Go, where there's probably a section labeled "Midget Nazi Vampires".

I met Tesco in the 90s at a show in Baltimore. He was showing off weird German porn mags to friends by his van. I went to his annual Halloween blowout and he showed me some of his prized toy collection. He was most proud of the vintage mint Beverly Hillbillies truck that set him back a few hundred dollars. He later opened a used toy and whatever else he could find store.

I thought Tesco was a great guy and nobody had a better act. On Gonzo Hate Vibe there's a song about Jeffrey Dahmer called "Jeff Boy R Dee", sung to "Yummy Yummy Yummy". It starts "Jiffy Jeffy Dahmer's an apartment embalmer/If he feels like offing you/Slips you Mickey Finn/And then he's slippin' it in/With his fridge and belly full of fools". At shows he sold Jeffrey Dahmer cooking aprons. If you tell me it gets better than that you're a frickin' liar.

Patti Smith Named Queen Of France

Earlier today Patti Smith was presented the insignia of Commander of the Order of the Arts and Letters by French Culture Minister Renaud Donnedieu de Vabres in Paris. Good for her.

The AP Article noted "The ministry, in a statement, noted Smith's appreciation for 19th century French poet Arthur Rimbaud..." That's when my eyes rolled like a broken slot machine. Arthur Rimbaud: history's prime example of the artist as consummate asshole. I think people worship him because he was an asshole just as more people prefer Charles Bukowski as a degenerate drunk.

Rimbaud was a sadistic bully. He stabbed someone at a poetry reading and, as gloriously recounted by Smith herself, urinated on a poet because he didn't like the work. Later on he skipped town after committing murder and then ran guns and traded slaves. A real lovely person whose poetry absolves him in the eyes of his fans. The art world allows itself a great number of get out of jail free cards.

In 2003 Paris made Mumia Al-Jamal an honorary citizen. When that happened my eyes didn't roll but I did urinate on a french roll. At least Patti didn't stand over a policeman and shoot him dead, so I'm glad the French have upped their standards. If you think the French didn't think Mumia killed the cop, think again. He was given the honor because they thought he did. You do things like that when your role in the world is duplicitous coward.

Like Punk Never Happened

I heard a Boy George (not your father's Elton John) song this morning and remembered there was a book about him called Like Punk Never Happened: Culture Club and The New Pop. I thought he wrote it but it seems it was from one Dave Rimmer, who writes travel guides. Every time I read that title I groan the groan of the consummately annoyed. Culture Club and Duran Duran were in a hot race to see who could destroy new wave as a viable music form. Culture Club was to punk what fish are to bicycles. When you put punk and Culture Club in the same sentence the universe should collapse into an infinite mass. Or something. Like punk never happened....oy....

Thankfully Publishers Weekly hated the book. There's hope for the universe yet:

 

Rimmer intends here to compare English New Pop bands of the '80s with their predecessors, the punk rockers. Although he documents the lessons New Pop musicians learned from the punk bands (more artistic control, better business acumen), he rarely quotes from the punk movement about the new bands. Likewise Rimmer is strangely silent about Culture Club, with whom he traveled during a tour of Japan. Apparently he conducted no extensive interview with Boy George and did not get cooperation from other members of the band. In the end his comments are limited to his own observations and a few other similarly limited ones from others. A typical statement comes from promoter Miles Copeland, who defines New Pop by saying, "We're not in the music business. We're in the commodity business."

Mosh Like The Pros Do

Worth 3 credits at any community college, here's The Beginner's Guide To The Mosh Pit

 

Q: Can I mosh to my favourite pop music?

A: A resounding no. The joys of moshing are reserved only for the followers of metal, rock and punk. I recommend you get piecings and give up listening to that mind numbing trash.

Off The Punk Wagon And Lovin' It

I visit Interpunk on a regular basis just to see what's new and popular. I don't read zines anymore and a number of punk sites appear to be nothing more than corporate dumpsters for band announcements. Here's one. There's another.

I have no idea who these new bands are, and a while back I lost interest. I've poured a lot of time and money into keeping up with the (Steve) Joneses since 1976. I officially gave up buying music on a weekly basis maybe four years ago and I'm so happy to be out of the loop. And richer too (richer being a very relative statement).

I've always wondered how much it costs on a yearly basis to be current with "the scene". I have no idea what I've spent, but if I had invested everything I ever spent on pinball, comic books and records into early Microsoft stock I'd now own pinball machines, a gazillion comic books and every record I've ever heard of.

Ah, but that's what time travel is for.

The Homeless Steal Oxygen

This AP article takes me back to when I lived in Northern Virginia, where libraries act as day-care centers for the homeless. They hang out quietly because if they get kicked out they lose the benefits of nice chairs, clean bathrooms and stuff to read. They didn't smell as much as it was impossible to breathe near them. It was like being underwater.

Re: the homeless, many need and can use help. Others are crazy and should be institutionalized. There's also those who choose homelessness. I'm serious. It's a life of scrounging and danger but some prefer it over work and related responsibilities.

I see a number of them scavenging for recyclable cans and bottles. If other trash had a cash value the homeless could make more money and the streets would look nicer. Let's start with cigarette butts and fast food containers.

The relationship between the homefull (groupers) and the homeless (gobies) can be symbiotic, hopefully of Mutualism (scroll down!) and not Commensalism or Parasitism. That would be bad.

Second Wave Straight Edge Follies

Leafing through my singles I ran across this and started laughing at the shaved head, X, raised fist, gaping maw and splotchy, eyeless zombie. All that's missing is a hooded sweatshirt. I'm so glad that error/era ended.

Youth Of Today took Minor Threat & 7 Seconds and amped it up to 11, leaving behind the intelligence and inclusiveness. Kevin Seconds produced and released this 7" in 1985, helping invalidate his own credo of "it's not just boy's fun".

Counteracting unintentional parody with hysterical satire I pulled out Crucial Youth, who got it right while Grudge didn't because they were trying to be Doggy Style and Gang Green.

2nd wave SXE was a mix of heavy metal mosh and thrash, with a moral and punishment code straight out of Judge Dredd comics. Not only did Youth Of Today sound like Italy's Raw Power, Ray Cappo made English sound Italian. Cappo famously became a Hare Krishna, which today may be quaint but back then they were a swarming annoyance competing with the Moonies for who could be more of a public nuisance.

Annie's Anorexic

After 10 years The Huntingtons are calling it quits. The solid middle of their career saw them channeling early & snotty Queers (themselves copying The Angry Samoans), Screeching Weasel and the Ramones. Their must-have albums are High School Rock, Get Lost and Plastic Surgery. There's a greatest hits coming out but that can't be since it's missing "Annie's Anorexic". I found the lyrics on a site about eating disorders, but more on that later:

 

she makes all the guys at school// turn their heads and start to drool// and i would marry her if i could// the star of every young boy's dream// i surely would not have guessed// she starved herself to fit that dress/ well now the truth is out at last// that she's been on a two year fast// oh annie annie annie annie// oh annie's anorexic annie's anorexic oh my annie

her mom went nuts when she heard the news// the girl scout with too much to lose// she never skipped class in her life// but she skipped dinner every time// i surely would not have guessed she starved herself to fit that dress// she looked so fine how could i tell// that deep inside whe wasn't well

hangin' with her friends you know she looked so very (?)// she laughed at all my jokes and she didn't find me funny// when it comes down to (???) she'll pass by everybody

Since it's "Be Happy With Who You Are No Matter Who You Are Day" at oldpunks, there's a number of pro-anorexia resources on the www. Go there now. Wikipedia offers this pearl about the movement: "Anorexics are believed to be able to spot other anorexics at first glance." Well, how hard can THAT be! It's not ha-ha funny, it's the world's gone mad funny. It's Leaving Las Vegas but with starvation. It's as nuts as drinking household cleaners because you think you yourself are a germ.

This site sells pride and solidarity bracelets for anorexics. Isn't there a pit we can throw these parasites and their wares into? I'm so sorry anorexia exists and I feel only compassion for anorexics and their loved ones.

 Music Is Better Off Seen As A Commodity

'Doc, my brother's crazy, he thinks he's a chicken,' and the doctor says, 'well why don't you turn him in?' And the guy says, 'I would, but I need the eggs.'
I'm 1/4 through Dance Of Days, an engrossing history of the DC Punk scene. I'll probably stop once it gets to years/bands I don't care about. Where I'm up to, Ian Mackaye is feeling really hurt again because someone said bad things about him, HR of Bad Brains is a Rasta prophet who gives a note to Biscuit of The Big Boys that reads "Burn in hell, bloodclot faggot", hate-machine Henry Rollins leaves the DC scene after a member of his SXE gang takes a baseball bat to the head in Philly, women are treated like non-entities, outsiders are shunned, heroin is a major reason why things don't happen... I could go on for a while.

Ian and Henry formed a crew to beat people up for fun after seeing firsthand an episode of the O.C. Reich destroying the L.A. punk scene. Let me type that again - the jock, suburban fuggknuckles who destroyed the original L.A scene inspired the prep school SXE gods to create a violent mob.

Dance of Days, while a decent book, is another collection of stupidity, rationalizations and royal fugg-ups. So-called creative people as a group are damaged goods, and maybe instead of idolizing them we should just humor them as long as they provide us entertainment. Maybe art is an insanity/genius thing, a savant thing or a cry for help thing more than about natural talent. Singers, writers, painters and poets are not better than those of us whose only skill might be to show up to work every day.

I, by buying a book, record or DVD, or by seeing a concert, am as important in the process of culture as the people who create the works. I help make it happen with my cash, and I validate them by paying attention to what they're doing. I pay their salaries, so give me my packaged goods and spare me your many personal failures.

I read books on music history so I can write about them. On one hand they give me information, but on the other they lead me to believe I'm better off not knowing how the sausages of music are made. It's really ugly.

To Serve Man, by Pat Buchanan

Before "Soylent Green Is People" there was "To Serve Man - It's A Cookbook!", the best Twilight Zone punchline ever. The Addam's Family's Lurch played the aliens. Every time neo-neo-nazi Pat Buchanan opens his yap I wonder why everyone doesn't know he's a Hitler fanatic and that everything he writes is a cookbook of nazi recipes.

Drudge links today to this article, "Was World War II Worth It?" and this Newsday editorial. Pat hasn't met a pro-nazi issue he didn't champion, from Holocaust denial to defending nazi prison guard John Demjanjuk. Here's a great article from FrontPage.

What a scumbag. Why doesn't he just come out and sieg heil already. Stop dancing around it, Pat, come out of the nazi closet for real. You're not fooling anybody.

The dirty punk anarchy machine

This is pretty decent. At the Dirty Punk Anarchy Machine you can create your own pun crock masterpieces. Once I master this I'm going to open for Anarchy Stu and The State Smashers down at the West Podunk skate park.

Forgotten New Wave History

There once was a man from Nantuck... no, wait, there once was a band from Washington, DC called R.E.M. By the time of their 1982 12" they changed their name to Egoslavia because, you guessed it, Athens, GA's R.E.M. pressed the issue. Egoslavia's Greg(g) Strzempka recently googled himself and found my review of the 12". He e-mailed that my history was a little off and I begged him not to shatter the happy memories I had of that time and place when music I liked was popular and all around me. The delusion of nostalgia is all that keeps me going.

He did share this:

I somehow run into the "other" (y'know) REM guys at various airports- and we recount a backroom deal at the 9:30 where it 's agreed that; whomever gets a
record out first keeps the name...well... "radio free europe" and it was all over ....but heck they still know my name!

I Get A Lot Of E-Mails Like This

Since I started writing oldpunks.com in 1997 I've received a goodly number of e-mails like this one. I'm never sure if it's written to me or for me to post as a letter to the editor. The content differs but the tone is always the same. Usually they're well written and display smarts and healthy introspection. Here's the good word from Ygfs81james3gvfP, or as him mom calls him, Ygfs81:

 

You're right when you say punk is only a word. I listen to punk. I was born in 91. Yeah, it sucks to listen to bands that died years before I was born. I know there's a stereotype about the one's who call themselves punk around my age, so I'll just name some favorite bands.

Bad Religion (mostly the older stuff), Dead Kennedys (Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables is O.K.) oh, and to alot of people who talk about how they dress, I want to quote Jello in saying "spiky hair don't make you hardcore!" and to racist skins "nazi punks f--k off!, Misfits (but I never wanna meet Glenn . . .evvvvvverrrr . . .crazy motherf--ker/baby killer), Black Flack (pre-Rollins and post-Rollins, I love the first four years and Damaged),Bad Brains (i against i is O.K.), Minor Threat (hardcore at best), Ramones (appeals to that poppier side), Descendents (Milo Goes To College got [is getting] me through those awkward years), Crass (punk's dead), Exploited (punk's not dead), Germs (shhh, what we do is secret), Sex Pistols (SQUID VICIOUS, haha that's funny!), (Charged) G.B.H. (no, I'm not a crusty), Fear (f--k you, I don't care about you! and f--k christmas too!), Operation Ivy (no, I'm not a rudi, but "Knowledge" and "Bombshell" are O.K.) here's a few of 'em

I'm 13. Don't have a mohawk or liberty spikes, don't see a point in plaid and safety pins, and can get dressed in under a minute. With knowing that, there are a lot of people who would say I'm not punk. It doesn't bother me. I don't think punk in general will ever be dead as long as there is one crazy 13yr old kid with a guitar and a DK album. And if it is, then I'm just a zombie with hardcore in my heart.

...That's all

Post-Punk Defined, Finally

Slate started an ongoing exchange about a new book on Post-Punk, a term as vague as Punk. The first entry has some timeline things off in my book, but hey, we all can't have my massive, swelling, itching brain.

Sex Pistols Just Say No

You may not have read it here first, but if you're reading this than you're at least reading it here at this time.

"They're being the outrageous punksters that they are, and that's rock 'n' roll."

Vivienne Westwood, Still Sewing Truth To Power

Vivienne Westwood, the oldest looking UK '77 punk, went from designing clothes made from plastic garbage bags to tea cozy head burkas.

Westwood told reporters she wanted to raise attention to the case of Leonard Peltier, a American Indian activist convicted for the 1975 killings of two FBI agents. "Leonard Peltier is innocent. He's been in jail for 30 years now," Westwood said, pointing to the invitation letter for her show, featuring a blue penis with wings and the word "Innocent."

Blog By Dolby

Thomas Dolby has a blog. He's now as bald as the law allows.

Morrissey In The News

The guy's huge in Mexico and a threat to both the US and the UK.

What the hell does he mean about music being an "untouchable platform"?

Punk's In Again? Finally!

My new arch foe Ratface linked to this article, teased with "A spate of upcoming documentaries shows that a movement some had declared dead may be newly relevant for today's youth". And as we all know, documentaries are slaves to fact and objectivity.

It's full of the usual trend humping and wishful thinking - activist journalism applied to pop culture. I've been listening to this music since 1974. How it ranks in Faith Popcorn's trend reports has never concerned me. Some years are better than others but punk ain't going nowhere kids. It'll always be with us, like rap (unfortunately) and Abe Vigoda (more god than man).

As usual, the article pretends punk was and is always about "something". Having musicians explain themselves is as useful as a five year old waxing poetic on the meaning of life. If I've said this once, I've said it at least one time: anyone who tells you they know what punk is and what it stands for is lying to you. Here's a flying wet diaper right now:

 

Steven Blush, the author of "American Hardcore: A Tribal History," the book on which one of the documentaries is based, agrees that part of the attraction of punk was that it never allowed itself to be co-opted. "In a world where everything is a sellout, a TV commercial, a blur of Hollywood nonsense, it's the one thing that stands as pure."

Oh my god. They interviewed unreadable Marxist theorist Dick Hebdige, whose book on punk is the most impenetrable rape of paper and ink ever. Here's a typical line: "This is not to say that semiotics was easily assimilable within the Cultural Studies project. Though Barthes shared the literary preoccupations of Hoggart and Williams, his work introduced a new Marxist 'problematic' which was alien to the British tradition of concerned and largely untheorized 'social commentary'".

In the article Dick spouts:

 

"We're now in a hands-off culture of the World Wide Web," says Dick Hebdige, the cultural theorist and UC Santa Barbara film studies professor who wrote the punk anthropological bible, "Subculture: The Meaning of Style," in 1979. "There's [an underlying] desire to get down and dirty. Punk is about rolling in the dirt in the darkness to become strong."

"Punk is about rolling in the dirt in the darkness to become strong". Once again, oh my god. Can't you just smell the mental manure? He makes a very good living putting random words together. His book is here called a "punk anthropological bible". I'm staring at the screen now, unable to come up with words to accurately describe how horribly wrong that is on every level.

Sure I'll Open your Attachment, Guy Who Wrote To Say I Suck

If you write a web site you get hate mail. I received my fair share until I wrote rules for e-mailing on my main page which seemed to do the trick. In 1999 I wrote about Emil Matasareanu, whose family was suing Los Angeles for his (snicker) wrongful death.

The site I link to was written by a fan, and another cavity creep from Canada began sending me insane e-mails with virus attachments. He would sometimes send 15 viruses at a time as quickly as he could paste my e-mail address and hit send. He had a website where he claimed to have written 50 unpublished books and sang with bands. I can't find it now. I imagine the government paid him an allowance to buy food and pay rent because he was too sane for an institution and too crazy for a real job. I blocked his e-mail address and for all I know he still sends me virus attachments.

A serial killer groupie wrote a threatening e-mail a year ago asking where I lived. I responded that his message was evidence, the kind that probably violates whatever agreement he has with local authorities that allows him to leave his room.

I have a new virus pen pal from Austria. Herbert Newland. At 1st my crime was being a bad writer. Then yesterday he sent a virus with the message "See You". I googled his name and was able to send an e-mail to his internet provider, what might be his child's school, AND his local police. I figure they should know what kind of kook they're dealing with. Anti-social behaviors usually come in bunches. And I have proof to back it up. Moo ha ha.

The only attachments I ever open have to say Punk Kittens and mean it, man.

The Only Time I Will Ever Respond To An Insulting Comment

My sometimes friend/sometimes foe Anonymous left a comment in my post about Bob Mould's website. This will be the only time I respond to or let live an insulting comment. I will turn them into e-jacks-in-the-box and banish them to the cornfield. I don't look for compliments and, as the will of the people, will not allow criticism of the people's will. If you don't like it, don't read this blog. I don't do this for you, I don't do this for me. I just do it. I enable comments for yuks. This is not a dialogue, this is Old Punks fascism. Gabba Gabba Heil!

Here's Anon's comments and my answers to said comments. Like in sitcoms, nothing will be learned and nothing will change. I'm only doing this once kids, so pay attention:


ANON: Why be critical of a guys personal blog?
God (me): It's a commentary on it, not a criticism. I read his blog all the time. This is a punkish blog so I comment on punkish people, places and things.
ANON: So what if Bob Mould participates in many "Gay" activities and who are you to decide what he should take interest in?
God (me): Bob can be the gayest gay man if he wants to be. Who am I to decide? I'm not deciding anything. I made a comment on something I noticed.
ANON: Sure sexuality is something YOU can take for granted, but I'm sure it would mean a hell of alot to you if it was taken away.
God (me): I don't take my sexuality for granted, I live with it as it is. I have nothing against Bob being gay. It's a lot roomier outside the closet. I put being gay in the same category as being left-handed.
ANON: Also it seems that your blog has an unhealthy preoccupation with conservatism why do you see that as any less secondary than Moulds homosexuality?
God (me): I'm not conservative. I hate the far right as much as I do the far left. I find my personal neo-con beliefs to be non-hypocritical, activist, responsible liberalism. I'm like Wesley Snipes in Blade: I'm half belligerent prick/half secular moralist and my mission is to destroy pure-blood belligerent pricks. I assume I'd be healthy in your eyes if I didn't think Gnome Crapsky was the genocide excusing, dictator pandering political pedophile he is. If I called where I lived my Conservatown maybe you'd have a point.
Anon: ps- get a life :)
God (me): So if I had a life I wouldn't think like I do, eh?.... Ok Clem Kadiddlehopper

Skafish Friday

In celebration of the elevation of Joey Ratz to Benny The Pope I offer my Catholics readers fish on friday. I give you.... Jim Skafish!

He was the Klaus Nomi of the massively shnozzed. He could stick a thumb up each nostril and ring them like bells. And with that Friar Tuck haircut he was the Hutch-Nose Of Notre Dame. I'd break his nose but I only have two hands! Yes, I'm here all the week.

His new site is astounding. Print it out and you'll have the definitive book on Skafish. You must read the FAQs:

Q: Are any audio or video works by Skafish available for sale at this time?
A: At this time, nothing by Skafish or anything Skafish was included in is currently in release anywhere in the world.

Q: Does Skafish have anything to do with "Ska" music?
A: No, the first syllable of his name is pronounced SKAY, not SKAH.

(I don't care what you say, Jim, you're SKA-FISH!)

I also recommend watching Jim evolve from a gawky Baby Huey into a distinguished middle-aged man in the pictures section. He looks good thin, like Jean Reno with a honker designed by Basil Wolverton.

The Other "N" Words

I never use the "N' word. It doesn't reside anywhere in my conscience where I'd use it for any purpose. My insults are cross-cultural with the word "asshole" the Rosetta Stone of my attack.

The "N" word is not my issue but I will say I think it's been deconstructed and demystified enough to be retired forever.

I do admit when I first heard the word "Wigger" I almost wet myself with glee. I'm surrounded by them in Orange County. I avoid them in droves at my gym, L.A. Crapness. A group of teen wiggers were lifting together and I said to a friend, "Don't you recognize them. That's the new boy band sensation Whiteys To Wiggers!" We shared eight good laughs between us.

Looking around I've noticed there's other pale, suburban fuggknuckles pretending they're gangbangers. Here there's the Higger (Hispanic) and Aigger (Asian, pronounced Aye-ga).

The "er" word ending is for formal writing only. The actual pronunciation is either "ah" or "uh". Linguistic Paleontologists are working day and night to create accurate usage maps for both derivations.

Try it yourself. "Wuzzup, Aigga?", "MY Higga!"

Remember, the "N" word is wrong in all cases but the other "N" words should be taught in public schools. Excel, I mean, Word!

Cliff Clavin Explains The Buffalo Theory

Cliff Clavin's Buffalo Theory

"The buffalo herd can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. Thus the general speed and health of the herd keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members."

In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells, and excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cell first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.

"That's why you're always smarter after a few beers."

Air America and Newspapers

Air America isn't doing well and the right is gloating (here and here) while the left proudly turns their frown upside down (here) and says who really wants to be on the dumb radio anyway.

George Will herniates a Cray Computer to come up with statistics on the decline of newspaper readership. It's his first article to not provide a topical anecdote from 50 - 12,000 years ago.

I was once an NPR fanatic but after 9-11 I demanded my news sources not call insane murderers "insurgents". I never liked Rush on the radio but can handle reading his site sometimes. I commute on a motorcycle and like my apartment quiet so I've never heard Air America. I guess they can't be any worse than Michael Savage, whom I'm amazed is popular since he sounds a bit like Jackie Mason as The Aardvark on The Pink Panther cartoons.

I liked Al Franken before he went nuts and settled on screaming the same small insults ad nauseum. Janeane Garofalo was great in Mystery Men and I liked how she used a cheat sheet (like I did) when she performed stand-up. Now she's the angriest dog in the world, taking smug superiority to new levels of hate and disgust.

I stopped reading newspapers altogether. I get all my information on the internet, which does often include articles from newspapers. I thought I'd miss it or miss out, but I don't.

Powerline interviewed the author of South Park Conservatives, and he provides this comment from Trey Parker that sums up my own feelings on Hollywood and the mainstream media.

“People in the entertainment industry are by and large whore-chasing drug-addict f--kups,” he said. “But they still believe they’re better than the guy in Wyoming who really loves his wife and takes care of his kids and is a good, outstanding, wholesome person. Hollywood views regular people as children, and they think they’re the smart ones who need to tell the idiots out there how to be.”

Re: Ward Churchill - Forrest Tucker Wasn't The Biggest Prick In The Imaginary West

If you get the joke in the title I owe you a beer.

This one's old but I'm new here. The last on Chief Whitey Fake-em-good (AKA Sitting Bull$hit) is that the University of Colorado issued a report and may be trying to whitewash (Ward's already white) the issue.

Ward's fake-yet-accurate tale of 'doh! is best detailed by VDH. When Colorado Indians repeatedly protested to the University that Ward wasn't real they were told ethnicity is solely determined by the person making the claim. In that case I'm a member of the So-Sue-Me Tribe and I want to build a casino in my living room.

Whitey also stole the combat stories of a real Native American and presents them as his own. Jewish (turned Italian) thespian Steven Segal did the same thing. Then there's Rigoberta Menchu, whose fake-yet-accurate life story was detailed by Frontpage. Her work is defended as "biomythography", a feminist literary genre that "explodes male-centered definitions of history, mythology, autobiography and fiction." Once again, fake-yet-accurate, but in Victim Culture you don't even have to be a real victim. And as Albert Einstein once said, isn't imagination more important than knowledge?

The First Amendment arguments will never be resolved, but it's laughable that a tenured professor is being defended like he's a Supreme Court justice. Churchill is just a state employee. He should be fired if he's lied, cheated and stolen.

The American Indian Movement also thinks Churchill's a prick. Check out the cartoon they themselves post. Here's a small pic of the Ward as hippie terrorist that made us all laugh so hard a while back. Also read the quote next to it. Here's the Cranky Neocon turning himself into Che Churchill.

She Ringtoned Me With SCIENCE!

Thomas Dolby pops up in articles because he writes and records cell phone ringtones for a living. I'm happy he makes good money creating musical haiku but I remember when he was a new wave wunderkind, writing "New Toy" for Lene Lovich and recording his one great album. Now he creates the annoying bleeps and bloops that precede dimwit A telling asswipe B all about the funny thing that just happened.

Thomas even teaches the SCIENCE! of ringtones:

 

~ So You Want to Create Ring Tones: Attend a Thomas Dolby Workshop ~

"Composing Polyphonic Ring Tones" workshops provide musicians and ring tone vendors with the opportunity to learn the ins and outs of composing polyphonic SP-MIDI ring tones for the latest Nokia phones, including the Nokia 3510, 7210, 3650, and 7650.

In the latest of these one-day workshops presented by Headspace, Thomas Dolby explains the SP-MIDI format and covers sound banks, polyphony, the MIP message, conversion tools, and techniques for using your favorite MIDI sequencer to make the best-sounding polyphonics. The workshops also address copyright law and business issues relating to ring tones.

Mother Sheehan

I resisted writing about Cindy Sheehan because the political wars of the left and right have no appeal to me. But hey, I need something to write about.

Cindy Sheehan proved to be a narcissist who's taken the unfortunate death of her son in Iraq as an excuse to go insane in public. She's wasted all her pity points on raw hatred. She realized the ultimate fantasy of a Munchausen By Proxy mother, focusing the world on herself and her lose, like she's the only one who's ever felt pain. Her son's death was the best thing that ever happened to this nobody hausfrau who embodies the great Vindictives tune "Future Homemakers Of America"

 

Stooping in the morning picking up the garbage, littering her green lawn, Susan does her busywork thinking that it's valuable, yacking at the phone. Flipping through the channels, screaming at the wallpaper, waiting for tomorrow, underneath the shady trees, flip-flopping with K-mart ease, clutching sugar that she borrowed. Good morning future homemakers of America, Oh Mrs. Dishrag won't you kiss me? Susan's going crazy now dreaming about movie stars featured in her magazines rearranging furniture wishing she was manager of her local Walgreens. Pondering the growth of mold sitting on her toilet bowl thinking about slitting her wrists, diving through the window and yelling at a paperboy who doesn't even know she exists. Oh Calgon take me away.

DailyKos decided she should always be referred to as Mother Sheehan, a pretension I never expected anyone would dare attempt. Would this wordplay equate Sheehan with Mother Teresa? More like Mother Courage.
I found myself turned off by her incessant cursing. I was appalled when I read she spoke at a rally in support of terrorist-abetting bag-lady lawyer Lynne Stewart. Then, when she blamed the war on THE JEWS I decided any sympathy I had for her was replaced by a desire for only the worst for her for the rest of her days. Her family is embarrassed and her husband filed for divorce. She's well on her way.

I'm sorry her son died. That's about it. Cindy Sheehan, the sock puppet of suffering, makes me laugh whenever I see her cry a river.

Mark Steyn sums it up best, as he often does. Cindy Sheehan, another weird chapter in a country that rewards public displays of idiocy.

8/24/2005: I like this poster a lot. "Pull Out Of Iraq...And Let The Bloddbath Begin". I'm sorry, but whenever I see Sock Puppet Sheehan's sobby face I just laugh.

8/25/2005: Here's an article from Powerline that puts all things Sheehan into the proper chronology.

I Found That Essence Scary

I found this page, visited the home page and then the links. I needed the links to figure out Break For News is a far left site, since this level of dementia cuts across both the far left and right.

There's something seductive about fully formed conspiracy theories. They add drama to ordinary lives and make people feel important. The ego component of paranoia has always interested me. It's funny and scary at the same time. Nobodies become somebodies because they know everything's a lie, and now they're targets! How exciting!!

The list of fake CIA internet sites carries this disclaimer: "Note: We do not contend that everyone associated with these websites are knowing intelligence operatives. Some have been professionally manipulated, others merely misled. In any event these are promoting the psyop agendas and disinformation themes of the covert controllers. This is also not meant to be a fully comprehensive listing of all the fake websites."

Then on the links page of fellow travelers they link to sites they claim are fake CIA fronts. WTF?

The Horrible Truth About CBGBs

Hey Kids! Did you catch the Mission Of Burma reference in the title?

NYMary has a powerpop blog and she posted a recent entry on the fate of CBGBs, which may have to move or close down. Someone called DeepToej left a comment that speaks to the truth of the matter that CBGBs has been legendary, as in the past tense, for a long time. Everybody knew it/knows it but unless you go there all the time it's hard to know for sure. DeepToej writes like he's been there and he's going back in two weeks.

 

In my opinion, CBGB has not been a viable music venue since the end of the 80's. As much as I really like the physical space of the club, and the quite good sound system, I am rarely provided with reason to go there. The main problem is their policy of putting on 7 or 8 bands every night of the week, usually without thought of compatability. So Band A shows up to play, and a few friends come out to see them, then the band and their friends leave, and Band B shows up with their friends. Maybe that's profitable, but what the hell, it's hardly going to motivate someone to check their ad in the Village Voice every week, which is what I did religiously years ago. Maybe it gives bands an opportunity to play, but there are many, many... many clubs in New York for bands to play.

Danceteria Lives On. 3 People Notice

There once was a club called Danceteria, from whose bathrooms you could get diphtheria, I went there once and I felt like a dunce, so I vowed never, never, never to go back there.

If you were in New York City a quarter century ago and wanted to be rub shoulders with fellow hipster doofuses, one of many places you could go was Danceteria. There's a web site reviving the memory of the club, and it's worth visiting to look at the flyers and such which were the best of a visual style very popular at a time when white Capezio shoes and those red framed owlish glasses whose name escapes me were popular.

At the time, in one of NY's five burros, there was a gas station called Gaseteria.

Why Work?

This is the Labor Day edition, a day late and a dollar short.

The Futureheads have an annoying song on their altogether great debut cd. Titled "First Day", it depicts the corporate workplace as a death mill for the body and spirit. I'm glad they're writing to a 20-something crowd instead of the homework crew but is this supposed to be clever and insightful? I've been self-employed and worked for companies large and tiny. What they all have in common is they're all royal pains in the arse. If it wasn't work it would be called play. People are no nicer at a food co-op than at General Motors. Hell is other people and they seem to be everywhere. Corporations don't suck - work sucks. How pretentious to pretend otherwise.

Then there's one of the great recruiting tools for anarchy - the Why Work argument. It litters zines and now there's even a web site that's another front in the left's attack on Capitalism. To lazy rich kids there must be an allure to the idea that under pure socialism they wouldn't have to work hard (if at all). Scratch and sniff an anarchist and you'll fall down unconscious, but I wager $100 e-dollars if you ask a few questions these zeds will admit they think they won't have to work after the people's revolution as payment for their efforts for the cause.

There's also CorporationsSuck.com, for people who think corporations and everything else sucks. I've always enjoyed FuggedCompany.com, which at least provides inside information on failing companies.

A billion years ago Crass asked "Do They Owe Us A Living?" If you're a lazy, dumb, useless sack of crap - NO! Why do THEY owe YOU anything besides opportunities to help yourselves? Society is a desert island. Either contribute and share the rewards or fugg off and die. Those in true need get help and the lazy and useless can eat poopies. The laziest Eskimo gets pushed off the ice flow. Ya know what I'm sayin'?

R.I.P. Big Boy Randy "Buscuit" Turner (alt. title: Leaving Austin)

Hat Tip to the excellent Something I Learned Today MP3 blog.

Buscuit, one of the big boys in Austin, TX's legendary Big Boys, died on the 19th. The most eclectic band of the early American Hardcore era, they made Austin, TX a mandatory stop for traveling bands. They created and owned their scene like 7 Seconds and Minor Threat did theirs. Hardcore's #1 party band, they alternated funk, thrash and post-punk without mixing genres. I never went for the funk but between the three sweet collections The Wreck Collection, The Skinny Elvis and The Fat Elvis I've compiled a 80 minute cd that would convince anyone the Big Boys are mandatory. My pet theory is that the funk will always hold them back.

Turner drank himself to death. I find that sad, unfortunate and also pathetic. I didn't know him but I can't believe he didn't know about his condition at some point. Unless you can convince me otherwise, he co