Archive for March, 2009

Corrections

An article in last Thursdays edition about Reverend Jasper E. Van Flick contains the following error. The phrase “degenerate mule fucker” should read “tireless worker at a local homeless shelter. 
In last Sundays magazine section an article entitled Restaurant Radicals: The New Kitchen Socialism contained the following error. Chef WK LeSour’s dish, Beef Rangoon was described as “vomit inducing pool of undercooked bile.” This is a misstatement, it should read “delightful mélange of taste, aroma, and appearance”. Also in last Sundays magazine section the article entitled Neckbeards: Lincolns True Legacy had the following mistakes. The five quotes attributed to Mister Arthur Nudge are actually from a flock of Canadian Geese. The eleven references to the Empire State Building are actually references to Boars Head Olive Loaf

Desserts Named After famous People

These have been around for a long time, with the most famous being the Napoleon. History shows that the trend started in biblical times. The Old Testament describes “Moses Delight” an after dinner treat consisting of mashed foreskins blended with hair clippings served in a bowl of dust. The “Charlemagne’s Sweet” made up of quail eggs soaked in lavender served on the head of a peasant was famous in Europe around 800 AD. The post industrial revolution gave us many more desserts named after the famous and infamous. The “Kaiser YumYum” was enjoyed by Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm. It was a boiled dove stuffed with mashed bananas and tamarind, during WW2 the name was changed to “Bananas Hitler”. The Clark Bar named after screen icon Clark Gable originally consisted of chocolate, semi-precious gems and cocaine, this recipe was too costly and was changed to the candy bar we know today. Finally, during the Viet Nam war a celebrity dessert was used as a protest with Chef Pepin LaMerde’s infamous “Nixon’s Regret” which was twelve figs in a napalm flambé served on a pigs bladder filled with childrens tears.

Notes from Das Boot 8

6/22/08 On the Bus Somewhere in Germany
Christ, this is the worst fucking bus we’ve ever had and we’ve been on some rattraps. The air conditioning is fucked and the ventilation is weak, so it’s hot and thick the whole time. I don’t sleep so much as pass out for a couple of hours. The downstairs smells like fermented piss or as Dave said “It smells like what a disease would taste like.” It’s pretty bad, LeRoi our bus driver has cleaned the bathroom with industrial strength cleaners but the stench remains.
3/28/99 Virginia (Monster Magnet opening for Manson tour)
The lights are being cut for the fourth time this tour. The tour isn’t making it’s nut, it wasn’t doing well when Hole was on it but now it’s worse. The smart money says big changes around the New York shows. Either the tour will end or we’ll be replaced by a cheaper middle band like Nashville Pussy who are the openers now. I hope we’re off it, this shit blows.

kidnapped

I think this happened in ’93, Monster Magnet was playing in Seattle at the Rock Candy. It was about two hours before showtime and Jon Kleiman and I were hanging outside. Ben Shepherd the bassist from Soundgarden pulled up in an old ford and Jon and I went over to talk to him. Jon knew him from a tour they did a couple of years before, I met him a few times and he was cool. He said we should get in the car because he wanted to show us something. Being idiots, we did and he drove off really fast. I’m fucking kidnapping you guys and taking you back to Bainbridge Island, it’ll be cool Dave (Wyndorf) will shit himself.” I had a horrible vision of Jon and I missing the show and me being fired, Jon thought the same and we were both a little nervous. Yeah Ben, it’s sounds funny and all but uh…we’re gonna get in a lot of trouble if we miss the show.” He’s now about ten blocks from the club and I see my future as a lighting guy vanishing by the second. “No, it’ll be fuckin’ funny, really.” “Look man, I’m gonna get fuckin’ fired, Dave ain’t gonna think this is funny.” He stopped short in the middle of the road turned to us and hissed “Get the fuck outta my car you pussies.” We walked the twelve or so blocks back to the club and I haven’t seen Ben since.

I Like records 8

snowSnowbuddies
A woman came in looking for a fairly recent Disney movie, Snowbuddies. I went to the Disney section where her son was pawing thru the DVD’s. This kid was a giant with definite emotional problems and he was completely in the way and wrecking the joint. “Phillip! Get out of the man’s way …Phillip!” she physically dragged him away which was no mean feat. This kid was hulking and had what is unfortunately known as “retard strength”, superhuman strength unencumbered by rational thought. “He’s just really excited.” She offered as an explanation. Phillip kept pushing his mom and me out of the way to get to the movies, “Snowbuddies! Snowbuddies!” “Phillip! The man is looking, Get…Out…Of…The way!” “Snowbuddies!” I found the movie Snowdogs and just said the word “Snow” before Phillip grabbed it out of my hand, “Snowbuddies! Snowbuddies!” “No Phillip! No!…The man was wrong, the man was wrong, Phillip are you sure that’s the title?” Phillips level of franticness went off the charts and he was knocking DVD’s all over the place, it was a mess. His mom had pretty much given up trying to restrain him, she was used to this drill and was way passed embarrassed. She was resigned to it and just kept saying “phillipstop…phillipstop…phillipstop.” Eureka, I found Snowbuddies, “Here you go, Snowbuddies” I handed the DVD to Phillip and he pushed it back, “NO!…NO!” “Phillip honey, it’s Snowbuddies…Snowbudies, what you were looking for.” “NO!…NOOOO!” As Phillip was pushing it to me, I was instinctively pushing it back to him, “Look man, It’s Snowbuddies, Snowbuddies, the movie you wanted.” “NOOOO!!” He grabbed my hand with the DVD in it and pulled it  across his face, more specifically his nose. I felt moisture on my arm and realized he’d just wiped his nose on it. Aauurghh! I yanked my arm away handed the DVD to his mom, went to the back to disinfect and hide until they left.

I Hate Me, Part 231,091

dwarves

a dwarve, Mr. Cannotbenamed

The Dwarves record “Toolin’ For a Warm Teabag” (1988?) was kind of a big deal for me and some of my friends. It was noisy, fucked up, and mean spirited. Looking back, I’m sure Dwarves were playing it for a laugh but that was pre-internet and there was no info about them, just vague rumors of debauchery and great live shows. So I was pretty psyched when I found out they were playing CBGB’s. A few of us went up to see the show and we were anticipating an insane, no-holds barred punk rock spectacle. About ten minutes before they were supposed to play I went to the bathroom. I didn’t go to the one in CB’s which besides being legendarily disgusting was usually under half an inch of fetid water. I went next door to the CBGB Gallery which was a lot cleaner, took a piss and went back. I couldn’t have been more than five minutes. When I got back my friend Jim gave me a Whatthefuck?! look and told me I missed the greatest show he’d ever seen. Seconds after I walked out the front door the Dwarves got on stage and started playing. Halfway through the first song, Blag Dahlia the singer launched himself into the drum kit completely decimating it. The pissed off drummer started throwing his drums at Blag, the drums missed him but wound up in the crowd. There was some punches thrown, a bunch of shoving and everyone left the stage. Total show time, three minutes. I thought Jim was fucking with me until I saw various Dwarves picking up drum parts from where the audience was. That show took on somewhat mythical proportions, and I was reminded of it often, “Well you missed that fucking Dwarves show. That was the best show ever, by anybody. I can’t believe you fucking missed it to take a piss, you asshole.” I saw the Dwarves a few years later and they played about 20-25 minutes, which was way to long. Maybe three minutes was the right set length for them.

Notes From Das Boot 7

5/6/01 Nashville
Day off, went to see Cheap Trick and The Cult at some Nashville rock fest. I’ve never seen Cheap Trick and since we’re gonna be touring with The Cult, might as well see what we’re getting into. Only caught two songs from Cheap Trick (Dream Police, Goodnight) and it was real good. After the show, this (Merle) haggard old woman with hair like hay and teeth like tiny dice was harassing Cheap Tricks crew for guitar picks, “C’mon you faggots, I know what you wanna see!” With that she popped out two large and battered tits. The crew guys froze in mute horror, one of them threw her a pick. With that she turned to me and Dan and cackled “That always works…look, Dickey Betts signed my tit.” Either southern rock legend Dickey Betts signed her tit or she had an advanced case of melanoma.
The Cult came out and pretty much stunk up the joint. I can’t believe we’re gonna tour for two months with them. Ian Astbury (or “Eating Assberry”, or “Ian Outtagasbury”) came out wearing some weird black bandanna looking like he should be on T.V. telling fortunes with Miss Cleo instead of trying to rock. He taunted those who left early with such bon mots as “There goes some people who shop at IKEA.” This elicited neither cheers nor boos only the sound of 100’s scratching their heads wondering what the hell he meant.

Tourette’s

tennis

tennis court bubble

In the early 90’s I lost my regular job because I was touring, so I ended up working for a day labor place.
I was part of a crew that had to take down an outdoor tennis court bubble. It wasn’t the usual crew I worked with, these guys looked like they were gathered up in some kind of bum sweep. They were mostly in their mid to late forties and most of them seemed like they had fallen on hard times. The boss of the job lined us up and started to explain the job. It was simple but back breaking work, mainly a lot of scrubbing to clean the bubble before putting it back in storage. As he was explaining a guy in the back started yelling curses, “I’ll split you guys into three teams of” “FUCK! FUCKFUCK!” “three teams of eight and then you’ll” “SHITFUCKCUNTSHIT!” “Alright, what the hell is goin’ on!” The cursing guy looked like a hobo version of Yosemite Sam from Bugs Bunny, only without the hat and guns. A guy who was next to the curser ran up to the boss and started to plead his case, “Look man, that’s my brother, he’s got tourette’s, he didn’t mean nothin’.” Of course the boss was dubious, who wouldn’t be. This guy knew it was shitty, low paying work and he didn’t exactly have the best and the brightest on the job. It was kind of like the Tourette’s guy was speaking for all of us, this job deserved a steady stream of expletives. We finally got to work and Tourette’s guy was still cursing but mostly at a low level, “(mumbling)..motherfuckerfuckassshitshitcuntfuckercockfuckshitshitassfuck…” The work was just as wretched as described and the other workers were piss poor. It was like getting mental patients to weave baskets only more strenuous, actually most of the others did seem medicated so maybe I wasn’t so far off base with the mental patient thing. It got really hot in the afternoon and a few of the guys took off their shirts including Tourette’s guy and, Holy Shit! It looked like his ass went halfway up his back. He had a horrible deep scar that ran in a direct line from the top of his ass to the middle of his back. When I was a kid, one of our stupid homemade insults was to say that somebody was such a big asshole that he had to take off his shirt to shit. Here I was actually witnessing what looked like a giant ass. If my ass went halfway up my back I’d be cursing to. I didn’t have to go back the next day and I found out that everyone else was from a halfway house making considerably less than my princely $5.50 an hour.

Notes From Das Boot 6

12/8/08 Nuremburg

One of our guitar techs named Stady was a in a few punk rock bands in Germany when he was younger and he told me this story. Stady’s band played a real rundown squat in Dresden in the winter. It was pretty damn miserable, no heat, broken windows and they were staying there after the show, it was real punk rock shit.  In the morning when Stady woke up he went into an adjoining room and he saw a few shopping bags from a local supermarket. He was pretty psyched, he thought that the people from the squat bought them some breakfast. He opened up a bag only to find that it was filled with frozen shit, the bathrooms didn’t work so they shit in shopping bags. He was more than disappointed.

6/9/02 North of Nashville 

 In the band/crew hotel room, a drunk Jon pulls out his dick and starts to fuck the hotel bible.  Jon being a devout atheist is having a laugh, however Joe B (aka: the Bee Keeper) our tour manager and Tom our guitar tech seem somewhat horrified.  Jimmy Bags is less than thrilled when Jon tries (unsuccessfully) to wipe the dick page on him. Thank god this is almost over.

I Hate Me, Part 301,891

I was driving around by the ocean with Carrie and we had just hit Dunkin’ Donuts. Some slow moving asspearl was in front of us doing zero miles an hour, forcing me to pass them. I was holding my coffee and I went to put it in the drink holder between the seats and POW! Carries cup is in the holder I use. I slammed my cup down hard enough that I drove my thumb through the side of the foam cup. Not only spilling coffee from the hole in the cup but spraying it around the car as my thumb was still stuck in it. So I’m passing this jerk with my thumb stuck in a leaking cup of coffee. It was a goddamn mess, coffee everywhere. I was pretty pissed off and knowing that I couldn’t blame anyone but myself, I tried anyway. “You know it’s …protocol that the driver …has the front coffee holder…It’s established…common knowledge…ask anyone…they’ll tell you.” Carrie wasn’t buying my bullshit but was as cool as someone covered in coffee could be, which made me feel like a bigger douche. Which is the way these stories usually end.