Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Sexiest Human Alive


My entry level digital camera has made me its bitch for the last three days, ever since some over-important stage hand at the Sisters of Mercy show made me turn off my flash.

As a result, I couldn't get the flash to work again. So when I got to see the B-52's play before a bunch of lawyers --- a setting for some priceless photos if there ever was one --- I left my camera at home in defeat because of the locked up flash.

I read the manual again tonight for the third time and finally figured it out. And this is the test shot I took. God, you can practically smell me in this one.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Choked Up



There are hazards to putting your Ipod on shuffle and listening at work. Some unexpected rocking favorite might come on and you'll get caught pumping your fist, making coworkers wonder if you've gone insane. But worse, "Miriam" off The Honeydogs album "Everything I Bet You" might come on.

Miriam is the only song I know that makes me cry every time I hear it. In fact it just came on and tears are currently welling up in my eyes.

Adam Levy wrote the song about his grandmother. It was 1993 and Miriam's husband had died a year earlier. She was about to follow him. Her house had been sold off and her family, which she was once the leader of, is now scattered out across the country.

Adam is sitting at Miriam's bedside remembering the dress clothes she bought him and encouraged him to wear. She thought those clothes would lead him to success and presumably away from his rock and roll life style.

Miriam's clothing advice never stuck, but the lessons she taught Adam did. Adam's family is Jewish. And she told him the story about how in 1923 a cross was burned in the front yard of a black barber who lived down the street from her. Her father told her "That cross was burned for you and me" too.

Miriam looks up at Adam. She can't speak because she's pumped full of morphine. But in her final days, she says something while in a dream that's a lie. Adam doesn't say what it is. But he tells her goodbye.

I met Adam Levy at a Honeydogs show several years ago. I told him that hearing Miriam sent me over the bend every time. He thanked me for the sentiment.

I couldn't bear to ask what the lie was that Miriam told Adam. I figure that's just between Adam and Miriam and nobody else.

Goth God


The American president is screwing up. Legions of kids clad in black are angry about it. And they gather to watch as a British messiah emerges from a cloud of smoke to preach to them about all that's wrong with the world.

It could just as well been 1986 as the man from Leeds, England who launched the Goth movement took the stage as a drum machine pumped out a repetitive beat. But Andrew Eldritch and his revolving apostles who make up The Sisters of Mercy were playing at the Gypsy Tea Room in 2006 for their first appearance in the homeland of the Bush family for the first time in forever. And for the dorks who've dressed in black since high school to show their sorrow for the world, this was the equivalent to the sermon on the mount.

Time has been very kind to Eldritch who's as skinny and angry as ever. Sporting a clean shaven head, face hugging sunglasses and a swagger that would have knocked that Irish humanitarian from U2 off the stage, Eldritch grabbed his microphone and started off by belting out "Dominion/Mother Russia" through his crooked teeth. By the time he got to "Lucretia My Reflection," his black clad fans who normally can't be bothered were jumping up and down. And the undead had really come to life when he got to "Vision Thing" a 1990 song that takes a jab at the first Bush administration, which might as well be the the second one too, with lines like "Take back what I paid. For another motherfucker in a motorcade."

Then Eldritch left the stage and a whole lot of people had to go home and wash off their pasty white makeup.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Mr. Social


"Hi. I like to talk non-stop in a loud voice to my female friend during a musical performance. It doesn't matter to me that you just paid 15 bucks to see one of your favorite bands --- can't you see I'm involved in a conversation?"

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Fine Art


I've been on two cruises and both of them have featured "fine art" auctions. In both of them, some truly original works are set up in a common area on the boat and then a guy who's obviously in training to get a gig on the Home Shopping Network proceeds tells the audience through a microphone about how exclusive each of the paintings (lithographs, Kinko's copies?) are.

This one is my favorite. It's entitled "Patriotic Angel With An American Flag Draped Behind Her Getting Blown By Some Dude."

Stuff We Need


While packing for the trip, we decided to take the table lamp in the left hand corner of the trunk with us --- you know, in case the cruise ship didn't have light.

Good Advice


Nothing makes a vacation more enjoyable than a pair of spic and span hands.

Hell on the Seas


There are two things I enjoy about a high seas cruise. 1. Watching the blue water go by and 2. Watching my fellow American do, say and wear embarrassing things.

While waiting in line for an excursion, Karen and I observed a guy regale another mutual fan of Harley Davidson outer wear about his children. He pointed to his four-year-old son, whose blonde hair was sticking out from under a Gilligan hat. And Dad then issued this exact quote:

"This one here's hell on wheels. He got in our Tahoe a few weeks ago, put it in gear, ran into a utility pole and did $9,000 worth of damage."

Harley Dad had a look in his eye that revealed a bit of admiration for his son's deed, maybe even some pride.

"Yeah," Harley Dad says. "This one's hell on wheels."

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Thanks for the Help

In need of some boat trip reading material, I went to a huge Half Price Books today to take care of that need. I wanted any of the books by Dan Savage because who wouldn't want to read non fiction written by a gay sex advice columnist who specializes in giving advice to people who have abnormal love-making habits? Anyone who's read his column, Savage Love, will agree that the man can write, is funny and irreverent.

So, I ask a guy at the Half Price info table where I'd find a Dan Savage book. Half Price employees are usually hippies who like to read, and if they haven't read a book, they know where to find it. So the guy says, "Oh, that will be in the political commentary section." Really? Savage can get political --- like many outspoken homosexuals, he's no fan of the current president. But that's not exactly Dan's bag. Then again, I haven't read his books so what do I know? So helpful book store employee leads me to the Political Commentary and points me to the book. Except it's "Savage Nation" by Dan Savage's polar opposite, Michael Savage. Michael Savage is an extreme right wing a-hole radio talk show host (how original) who's made a name for himself by screaming the loudest, throwing out the most hate and wishing AIDS on people. So I thanked the employee for his help, but told him I'd probably not be buying this particular book. I didn't even want to touch it.

They didn't have any Dan Savage anyway. But they had plenty by another hilarious gay author, David Sedaris. I got two of his books and left gay, uh, happy.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Boat Trip


I've got a full bottle of vacation shampoo that I can't wait to use and wash the Dallas out of my hair. I like my home town, but it's been many long months since I've left it. My December Colorado ski trip was called for weather. So Karen and I booked a cheap five night cruise to Mexico as I was still complaining loudly about my aborted ski trip.

Unfortunately we have canine concerns that have caused Karen to rethink the whole trip. She was on the phone yesterday attempting to get our cruise date moved. I think the dog will be fine with a dog sitter, but I'm not Karen. So I had to contemplate having vacation number two getting shot to hell. Royal Carribean told Karen if we don't go, we lose the ticket. Karen found some comfort about the dog. So everything holds together, we'll be getting on a big white boat on Monday.

Example of the vacation mode I'm in: my head is currently playing a reggae music marathon. Steel Pulse is singing somethingorother about spliff. Whatever that word means, it makes my friends in Steel Pulse very happy.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Giggle Brain


Sometimes, just before I drift off to sleep at night as my brain starts to disengage from daily activity, I'll lock on some random stupid memory that makes me giggle. Last night, I lay awake, giggling and then laughing uncontrollably about a video tape that I watched at Rob's house while I was in college. The tape was of Van Halen's 1987 "5150" tour. Rob put the tape in and immediately fast forwarded it halfway through the concert right to the most misguided scene of any 1980's arena rock show --- the bass guitar solo. The bass guitar was never meant to be a featured instrument, it's supposed to be part of the rhythm section and nothing more. And Van Halen bassist Michael Anthony --- arguably the least attractive and most happenstance member of Van Halen --- was never meant to be pushed to the front of the stage. Michael looks a guy who was turned away from a job cutting wood at Home Depot, not a member of America's most famous rock band. Anyway, Michael's bit was he came to the center of the stage with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey in hand and poured it haphazardly down his throat. Then he started in on his solo, played on a bass guitar that was fashioned to look like the very alcoholic beverage he was consuming. Then Michael would run from stage left to stage right with his guitar extended, so the audience would be guaranteed to see his crazy instrument. While all of this contrived mayhem was unfolding on screen, Rob starts yelling: "Wild Man! Wild Man! Michael Anthony is a Wild Man!" I think, between my fits of laughter, I responded: "Yes, you are correct sir. Michael Anthony is indeed wild." So at age 95, if I'm giggling on my death bed about something that doesn't make any sense, it would a safe guess that it has something to do with a stupid bass guitar solo.

Monday, February 06, 2006

I've got meat balls


Every Sunday, I play a dangerous game of recipe roulette. I log on to Epicurious.com, scan through the recipes, pick one out and make it. There are only a couple of rules in this game.1. It can't be a food item that I've prepared before. And 2., the recipe must be devoid of ridiculous ingredients like saffron which will assuredly be missing from the shelves of my mediocre local grocery store.

This week it was meatballs in tomato and serrano chile sauce on a bed of long grain white rice. I rocked this recipe. The meatballs had the unusual and interesting seasoning combination of fresh garlic and mint, which works better than it sounds. But the sauce was what really made this recipe work. The serrano chiles gave the dish a nice slow burn that hit the pallette about the time I took a second bite.

I can't believe I've been reduced to writing about recipes.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Scene Spotter


I looked forward to seeing "The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada" for a couple of reasons.I like dark revenge movies. But I love movies that are shot in Texas. Because I've been all over this huge state, there's a better than good chance that I can indentify where exactly a particular scene was shot. It's like a sport for me. This Tommy Lee Jones yarn is centered in West Texas, which is what most people who haven't ever been here think all of Texas looks like. It's dry, rocky, desert land with mesas and a few 6,000 foot high mountains --- perfect for shooting a cowboy flick or in this case, a cowboy/border relations/revenge movie.

I'd guess I was the only person in the audience that recognized that one scene was shot in Shafter, Texas, population nobody. I knew the place as soon as I saw the scene This is an old silver mining town just north of the border town of Presidio. I walked around here, poking around the two buildings in the town that are still habitable, about a year and a half ago. It's likely that a few months later, T.L. Jones came here to and made his movie magic. I bet Tommy stayed in Marfa in the evenings, and stared up at the crazy night lights in the sky while hammered on Shiner. Or maybe that's just me.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Valiant Effort

I tried to watch the president's state of the union address last night. I really did. But after hearing more black and white pronouncements and evil-doer talk delivered by a famously bad public speaker, I punched out. I looked down at my watch and found that I'd lasted an entire 2 minutes and 15 seconds before having to eject. I landed on IFC and found that watching 1993's Ruby in Paradise starring the incredibly lovely Ashley Judd was a better use of my time.

It's not a good sign when the president can't hold the attention of someone like me who has no particular political allegiances. But could he at least throw a bone to the disillusioned people like me who've grown exhausted by the blue and red divisions in this nation where the priority, above all else, is merely staying on message?