A little “Seattle” for a Sunday night

Oh yep, 1987.

A strange musical year for me…a transitional period which saw me coming down from the thrashing mid-80s metal high, and begin to branch out into industrial and Brit dark alternative music. These were my prime concert-going days…literally going to concerts weekly. I still pay the price today, having to cock my head in order to make sure I’m hearing correctly when soft-spoken people speak and I find myself asking “huh?” way much more than I’d like. Next step is a big shiny hearing aid protruding out my hairy ear canal. Jesus.

That’s what happens when you spend too much time in 100+ decibel environments. 1987, 1988, it was all crazy shit those years. Watching Motorhead on Saturday at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium and maybe the following Friday, The Jesus And Mary Chain at the Hollywood Paladium. Good times.

1987 saw John Lydon resurface yet again with an album, “Happy” from his Sex Pistols reincarnation-al project, Public Image Limited.

I loved the Seattle track immediately, and I still do. Have the mp3 tucked away on my hard drive and it means so much more now that it did then.

Back then it was just a morass of disconnected words…it was music and nothing else. We all take away a little of our soul from the music we choose to listen to. Basically soulless at the time, subsisting for a boozy good time, I took nothing. Listening to the song now, I love its damnation of the corporate rat race. Well, that’s how I see it. Apparently, and unfortunately, when PIL wrote it they were actually (so the story goes) trashing the city which was but one more dead-end, boring, tour stop.

Really, nothing to do with the corporate rat race at all.

That’s fine. As I said, it’s what we take away from music that matters. It’s like literature…a novel can symbolize something entirely different to another person…something which may seem laughable and completely nonsensical to your discerning mind. We are so presumptuous as an intelligent race as to believe our interpretation of anything is gospel.

And listening to this song on a Sunday night before heading back to the rat race tomorrow seems so deliciously rebellious.

Shoeboxed around the rifle range
Have all your functions rearranged
Your mind and body gagged and bound
On a new familiar playing ground
The ordinary will ignore
Whatever they canot explain
As if–nothing ever happened
And everything remained the same again

What in the world

-Written by Dias, Edmonds,
Lydon, McGeoch, Smith
Prod. by Gary Langan & PIL

Human suggestibility and my victory over whoredom

Your typical store-bought sweetened and fruit-flavored yogurt is like a junkie prostitute who has taken a shower and put on make-up and heels (and a tight long-sleeved shirt) for you. The illusion is fine and even a tad pleasing, but beneath the surface appeal, you do realize that what you’re really getting is a disconcertingly diseased rendition of one of Mother Nature’s gifts.

And as far as the yogurt is concerned, despite all the evidence and warnings I care to read that yogurt is most beneficial when unsweetened and unflavored (in its pure form when it actually is allowed to perform fully, and unencumbered by chemicals, its pleasant duties upon your digestive tract), I nevertheless find myself answering the whore call of Ms. Dannon or Ms. Yoplait over and over.

My aversion to plain yogurt has been nothing short of legendary. I simply couldn’t do it. The notion of fermented milk struck me as an intolerable consumption of sour goo, something like what kids used to vomit in the 1st and 3rd grade classroom. No way Jose, no go. No can do.

Well, I’m pleased to announce, I’ve surmounted (and dismounted) my reliance upon the yogurt whore.

I literally shifted my thinking, I’ve circumvented my gag reflex, I’ve redefined plain yogurt, and now it’s fine. It’s not plain yogurt anymore.

It’s sour cream.

Wow. I just had a bowl of the stuff with some Triscuits. Delicious, this sour cream.

East L.A. Makeover: Bathroom and Kitchen updates

Now that they are running “concurrently,” I can group these suckers together. A very time-saving measure!

Anyways, a quick rundown, courtesy of a day off from work (this was Monday):

Slowly but surely. I’ve put my containers to use. I’ve cleaned out and wiped the cupboard shelves which were looking a little gnarly during my intro. As you can see in these photos, I’ve separated out most of the crap that had been sitting in the dust or on the counter top. I’ve also put the drawer organizer thing to use as well and shifted some stuff around. What a difference. I’ve also cleared out the cupboards on the other side of the sink to house 6 rolls of toilet paper at a time (you never know, some big shitters might come over) as well as tall bottles which didn’t fit so well in the containers in the opposing cupboards.

I predict this will be complete by the end of next weekend:

-The medicine cabinet is almost there, but I need to clean the glass shelves and dust it out a little. Maneuver some stuff around in a final coup d’grace.
-I’m a little daunted by the mess under the sink. Blah, don’t wanna go there.

-I noticed today while mopping that the walls are a little nasty. Lots of weird discolored stains. Don’t ask. They need to be scrubbed.
-Final purchase will be a new shower hose.

And that should mark the end of stage 2. Woo hoo. It doesn’t get more exciting than this!


When have I officially started work on a room?
The first time I mention it, right around the time of the video intro? The first time I wipe dust? Who knows…as far as I’m concerned, the first time I buy anything for the room constitutes a “beginning.” And today I did that:

I am learning one thing…I’m fond of plastic containers. Step 3 is begun!

My first sojourn into the badlands of the kitchen, the “west” cupboards:

Amazing what a difference throwing unneeded crap in the trash can do.

The Bailout Culture

It seems that in the past couple of years the word “bailout” has become the catch-phrase for all good, cheesy politicians and politics (which is about 98% of them).

The original incarnation of this bailout phenomena was the revolting rescue of financial institutions done in the name of saving the American economy from sliding into the abyss. Then came bailouts of the car companies…but once again, ostensibly to rescue the displaced and unemployed American blue collar worker.

Now bailouts seem to be filtering to the common man. Bailouts for homeowners, for pet owners, who knows what else they’ll dig up. The reason I thought of this was an ad I saw on the Facebook sidebar this morning:

So in order to legitimize yet another bailout program, let’s call it “bailout for dads” because once again, it’s for a good cause: children. After all, everything for the children, correct?

I can never know why people have credit card debt over $9200. I’m sure in some cases it was the only means for survival for certain families.

And I’m sure in many other cases it was a case of overindulgence and blind, keep-up-with-the-Jones’s consumerism. Does everyone deserve a bailout?

Actually, I don’t give a damn who the government wants to bailout…more power to all the poor money managers. If a multi-billion dollar corporation can get government handouts, why not some poor Joe Blow struggling to make ends meet because he never learned the value of a dollar. Fair is fair, after all…

All I want to know is when will the government reward people like me who have no debt, depend on it for very little, generally are self-sufficient and do not seek governmental or quasi-governmental assistance. All I’m asking for is a little positive reinforcement for living a simple and unobtrusive life. That’s all. The government is there to help and to bolster (supposedly) but I question its role as a financial co-dependent.

Xboxicide: Project Gotham Racing 4 (New York City)

Let me take you for a ride.
A wild ride.
I will be your driver for this excursion and I can guarantee that you will be vomiting by the end of the trip.

Apparently no match for my son’s Call of Duty prowess, I thought I would challenge him to a racing duel on Project Gotham Racing 4. Racing games have been my forte in the past…and as proven in this video, it shall remain in the past. Any chance I had to reclaim my dignity in this video game battle of the generations went right into the Jiffy Lube oil dumpster after this pathetic display.

In case you’re curious, I was listening to the Radio Valium of internet radio, Drone Zone on Soma FM, at the beginning. Realizing this heavy dose of chill was not conducive to racking up crazy lap times, I muted it during the initial sign-in. Uhm, yeah, didn’t help one bit.