What I Liked About November

*The traditional waffle with ice cream and berries at the Eger Holiday Fair, Staten Island, NY
*The Bill Quinn 30th Birthday Extravaganza, Parts I and II
*Superdrag/Mic Harrison and the High Score, Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza, NYC
*Carolina Chocolate Drops, Symphony Space, NYC



*The Hudson Falcons' 1,000th show, Stone Pony, Asbury Park, NJ
*Seeing the Avett Brothers three times in four days
*Pumpkin bread pudding from the Reading Terminal Market, Philadelphia, PA
*Seeing two Islanders victories live and in person




*John Fogerty, Count Basie Theatre, Red Bank, NJ
*The WFMU Record Fair
*Bowling a 194
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

Catching bees with vinegar

The academic institution that was lucky enough to take copious amounts of money from me and my family for four years recently sent me a reminder that next year is my ten-year reunion. Once I stopped crying after I realized it's been almost ten years since I graduated college, I actually read the letter, which ended as follows:

"Before you start making excuses as to why this year just isn't a good time to attend Alumni Weekend consider this - nobody is getting any younger, your priorities and commitments only grow with age, and since it's only been ten years, there's a greater chance of you remembering a classmate and them remembering you! This is the year to make it happen, so we must all do whatever it takes to get back to [college redacted] for this very special weekend."

Really? Is the hard sell the best approach here? And, if so, why not just come right out and say what you mean? How about:

"Hey, loser. You're only getting older, fatter, more stressed out, and more senile with each passing day. Why not come back and relive the times when you weren't such a drag? And there's a decent chance that people you went to school with will even remember you. They probably won't pretty soon, so get on with it. Get off the couch, you dope."

Or at least that's what I hear.

And that last line just creeps me out. "We must all do whatever it takes." Good God. Do I have to kill someone in order to go to the reunion? Because if I do, count me out. Probably. Depends on who I'd have to kill.

Still thinking about going. And throwing my book in people's faces. Hey, did you know that book still makes a great holiday gift?

Tinsel and Rot is exhausted

Management apologizes for the lack of posts. The Tinsel and Rot staff has kept the following schedule the last 10 days:

THU 11/15--Mr. Tinsel and Rot celebrates his Billy Smith birthday with dinner at Maxwell's, followed by the Gourds/Shinyribs show. Pierogies are eaten. A douchebag who spends most of the show texting takes spot during bathroom break. Fun is still had.

FRI 11/16--After a day of work, it's off to the Prudential Center, where the New York Islanders play slightly less horribly than the Devils and win 1-0 on a Josef Vasicek goal in which he dekes about eight times. Someone behind us finds a wallet, asks if anybody lost a wallet. No response. An hour later, a member of the T&R entourage realizes he doesn't have his wallet. Panic ensues. Wallet is recovered, minus cash. Mocking of wallet loser commences. Hasn't ended yet.

SAT 11/17--Breakfast/brunch at the Brownstone Diner. Bowling in Staten Island (194 in the first game). Pizza at Denino's. Rocking to the Avett Brothers and Will Hoge at Webster Hall. Full day. Wondering if all this running around is such a great idea.

SUN 11/18--Up at 8 a.m. to get a bus to Binghamton. Arrive in Binghamton at 3. Trip to Wegman's at 3:30. Quick visit with friend's child. Off to Ithaca at 4:30. More rocking with Avett Brothers and Will Hoge, this time at State Theatre. Fuller day. Convinced of idiocy.

MON 11/19--Up at 7 a.m. to get ride to bus station for bus back home. Woman at Ithaca bus station really only has use of one hand. When phone rings while she's dealing with a customer, she screeches, "Shortline, please hold," throws the receiver hard on the desk, and lets the person wait for five minutes. This happens three times. Only one person hangs up. Could've watched that all day. Instead, go to the Ithaca Bakery after getting ticket and then buy some records at Autumn Leaves. Bus supposed to leave at 12:30; doesn't show up until after 1. Could've played more "Mr. Do" in the bus station. Sad. But, in happier news, the bus also stops in Newark, so that shaves off some time. Get home around 7 p.m., too late for TMZ.

TUE 11/20--Get up to watch "Price Is Right." Still not sold on Drew Carey. Then get sucked into another episode of "The Steve Wilkos Show" before departing for Wilmington, Delaware, for another Avett Brothers show (no Will Hoge). Do a mad dash through Philadelphia's Reading Terminal Market for food, mentally noting places to hit on the way back. Arrive in Wilmington at 5. More interaction with a friend's child. Watch him eat liquid ham. Eat food that looks and, one would assume, tastes better. Off to Avetts show at 8 p.m. A decidedly less-frenetic-than-usual Langhorne Slim opens. Much more enjoyable. Avetts kick ass, name-check Ithaca in "Travelin' Song." Probably yell too loud during song.

WED 11/21--Up and out of Wilmington by 11 a.m. This time, spend an hour in the Reading Terminal Market and make many exciting purchases, including pumpkin bread pudding from the Amish. Overjoyed. Get home in time to do a load of laundry and eat chicken pot pie, also bought from the Amish. Closest thing to a quiet day in a week.

THU 11/22--Thanksgiving on Staten Island. Turkey is consumed. Fun is had. Laughs are shared. Very tired. Not from turkey.

FRI 11/23--Sleep in past most of "Price Is Right." Catch the TMZ replay at 12:30. Wilkos still yelling. Attend decoy 30th birthday party for friend at Union Hall in Brooklyn. After waiting three hours to play bocce (and thus ending a twenty-year bocce-playing drought), hear the douchebag in a Knicks sweatshirt who we're playing say, "You're in the fuckin' hotseat now" right after his buddy says, "This'll take thirty seconds." Immediately flash back to every day of high school and then nearly as immediately make a note never to come to Union Hall to play bocce ever again. We lose 7-3.

SAT 11/24--Up and at 'em for the real deal surprise birthday party in Long Island, where the Islanders are victorious yet again, this time 2-1 over the Bruins. Party honoree genuinely surprised. Fun is had. Laughs are shared. Hockey fights staged on the front lawn. Darts are thrown. Sleep is achieved around 3 a.m.

SUN 11/25--Back at home by 2. Really tired. Not ready to go back to work tomorrow. Tired. So tired. So very tired.

Anyway, we'll try to be more active this week. We offer no promises, though.

Aint that a shame

Last Friday, Fats Domino was scheduled to sign copies of the new Fats tribute CD, Goin' Home at the Columbus Circle Borders at 7 p.m.. He was in town for a performance on "Late Show with David Letterman" (cancelled because of the strike), a "Today Show" appearance, and a benefit concert for the Tipitina's Foundation, where he received a key to the city from Mayor Bloomberg. Unfortunately, the signing was at the end of the trip for Fats, and by Friday night he was apparently worn out and not up to the signing. According to the highly entertaining blog of the trip kept by Times-Picayune writer Keith Spera, Fats was sleeping at the time of the signing and since his hand had swelled up and he seemed exhausted earlier in the day, all those involved decided it was best to let Fats get some rest. Fine with me. Completely understandable if a few hectic days got the better of him. And even without having read the blog, I figured Fats wouldn't just not show up for no good reason. I suspected he wasn't back at the hotel doing blow off a hooker's ass while playing "My Blue Heaven" in the hotel lounge.

Plus, the Fats camp did all they could to salvage the event, passing out CD booklets Fats had already signed and promising that those who bought multiple copies could leave their addresses and get a signed booklet and an extra bonus in the mail. Still, people were indignant when news started to filter through the line. Most seemed to settle down, including the guy behind me who spent most of our first 15 minutes in line droning on about how long the line was and how we'd be there until 9:30 at night. He was initially hurt ("I woulda never come if I knew this was gonna happen"), but then seemed to relax. And another guy eased the evening's pain by shoving about 10 WFUV lip balms in his pockets after the girl from FUV suggested he could have one.

But then as I left and gathered my stuff outside the store, some dude about my age came up to me.

"Hey, man, I just got here. What's the deal with Fats?"

"Yeah, they said he was sick and couldn't make it."

"Man, that's such bullshit."

"Yeah, well, the guy's 79 years old..."

"Yeah, I know, but I went to the show last night and he only played "Blueberry Hill" for 43 seconds--I timed it--and then he played piano for the guy, um, 'Lawdy Miss Clawdy'..."

"Lloyd Price."

"Yes, thank you. And then he just did that song and left the stage."

"Yeah, well..."

"And that's it. He's not coming back. This is the last time. Very disappointing, man."

It was at that point that I was almost glad Fats Domino was sick enough to miss meeting that creep. People worry me sometimes. Between this and recently seeing a woman reach through a crowd just to touch Roger Daltrey, I'm starting to wonder if I'm traveling in the wrong circles.

Hank Thompson RIP

Sadly, the Tinsel and Rot Death March continues. Today we salute the great Hank Thompson, who died Tuesday at the age of 82 from lung cancer. Despite his Hall of Fame stature, Thompson's a somewhat underrated guy in the annals of country music, probably best known for "The Wild Side of Life," which inspired Kitty Wells's answer song, "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels." I guess that's what USA Today was looking for when they titled his obit "Hank Thompson looked on the bright side of life." They probably should have saved that one for when Eric Idle passes on.

Thompson's records always had a clean, smooth sound to them, carried by Thompson's vocals, which were smoother than just about anybody in the country music pantheon (save maybe Ray Price). Hits such as "Humpty Dumpty Heart" and "A Six Pack To Go" still stand up pretty well today and aren't likely to lose any luster as time goes on. And Thompson's live record "At The Golden Nugget" (often credited as the first live record by a solo artist) is an easy All-Time Top Tenner and should find a place in the collection of any music lover. The record gives you the full casino experience, with the sounds of bells ringing and gamblers gambling captured right along with the crack band (which featured Merle Travis on lead guitar) supporting Thompson and shining on their own. If you don't have it, get it. It was recently released digitally (along with 17 other Thompson records from his Capitol years), so no excuses. Just do it.

I saw Thompson twice--once at Lincoln Center's Midsummer Night Swing series (where the photo of me looking young and happy below was taken) and the other at the American Music Theatre in Lancaster, PA (where I bought the belt buckle shown above). Glad to have done so, sad that I won't see him again.

Thanks, Hank. Rest in peace.

Fabulous Moolah RIP

(AP Photo/World Wrestling Entertainment)

Mary Lillian Ellison, better known as The Fabulous Moolah, died Friday at the age of 84. Best known for her in-ring battles with Wendi Richter and Cyndi Lauper in the mid-1980s, Moolah won her first wrestling championship in 1956 and was arguably the most recognizable female wrestler for the better part of three decades. In her book The Fabulous Moolah: First Goddess of the Squared Circle, Moolah told stories of hanging out with Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis and getting a marriage proposal from Hank Williams Sr.

Naturally, I have a signed copy of the book. Probably the only person you know that does. Kinda proud of that.

More info on Moolah's career here and here.

What I Liked About October

*Avett Brothers/Jimmy Sturr Weekend of Music and Good Times, Troy and Hunter, NY
*The completion of the Quest for the 2007 Holiday Greeting
*Nicole Atkins on "Late Show with David Letterman"
*Pumpkin pancakes at Sweet Sue's, Phoenicia, NY


*Amy LaVere, Living Room, NYC
*The apple cider donuts from the Lincoln Square Greenmarket
*Larry David's Bluetooth confrontation on "Curb Your Enthusiasm"
*Earl Scruggs and Family and Friends, BB King's Blues Club, NYC


*Deadstring Brothers, Mercury Lounge, NYC
*Islanders 2, Rangers 1
*The birth of Dean Richard Finch
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

They Want Candy

Halloween is a holiday for kids. That's all there is to it. If you are over the age of 12, Halloween is not for you. If you're 13, maybe I'll give you a pass. But that's it. If you're out of the eighth grade, your costume days are over. I don't care how clever you think you are when you dress up as Hunter S. Thompson or put on blackface to be Tubbs from "Miami Vice" (something I swear to you I saw on the PATH train last year). Resist the temptation to dazzle your friends with your creativity and just treat October 31 (and all days around it) like any other day. The day is no longer for you. Be content with your Guitar Hero mastery and just let the kids have this one, OK?

Of course, there is one important way you can celebrate if you live in a residential neighborhood. Or, in my case, are close enough to the residential neighborhood in which you grew up. Every year, I celebrate Halloween the only way I know how as an adult (let's pretend I'm one for the sake of this blog entry). I head back home to Staten Island the weekend before and stuff treat bags with a frequently obscene amount of candy.



This year's bag will include at least five of the following:

Caramels
Rolos
Milk Duds
Heath Bars
100 Grands
Junior Mints
Dots
Mini Tootsie Rolls
Mini Charleston Chews
Junior Caramels
Nerds
Laffy Taffy
Twizzlers
Skull and Bones SweeTarts
Take 5 Bars
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Hershey Bars
Almond Joys

I don't mess around, people. 118 bags are now sitting in my childhood living room, waiting to bring joy to the children of Staten Island on Halloween (assuming the family dog has not consumed them). I worked out a system of equal distribution of chocolates and nonchocolates (the system fell apart at the end; the latecomers will have to deal). I overcame a preponderance of Milk Duds in a variety pack. I didn't graze any of the candy. I did it for the kids, because it's their day. And I remember the joy of treat bags that always made up for the people who gave out my least favorite candy, Whoppers, or, worse yet, nickels. Truth be told, the thought that my mom might give out nickels to kids also motivates me to put the bags together.

So, celebrate Halloween by being good to your local trick-and-treaters. No nickels, please.

Porter Wagoner RIP

With all the bleak reports in the news the last month, I knew it was coming, but Porter Wagoner's death at the age of 80 this weekend still leaves me cold this Monday morning. But it's comforting to know he had a solid final act, releasing the acclaimed "Wagonmaster" CD and opening for the White Stripes at Madison Square Garden this year. I only wish he'd had more time to enjoy it.

Rest in peace, Porter.

Time's running out...

...for you to buy me a ticket to see Billy Ocean at BB King's Saturday night. Avoid the extra $4 charged for day of show sales and buy now! I'll write about it immediately afterward! Don't you feel guilty that T&R provides you with all this entertainment that you pay nothing for?

Yeah, I've been trying to justify spending $50 (plus the $10 table minimum) on a Billy Ocean show, but I'm not sure it can be done, although some people seem to be able to, seeing as the show wasn't knocked down to half-price as BB King's sometimes does when ticket sales are slow. I was banking on that. I could have justified $25.

Alas, I will have to continue enjoying Mr. Ocean on YouTube. And maybe position myself at BB King's for soundcheck Saturday afternoon.

His Name Is Earl

Tinsel and Rot continues its reputation as a sharp observer of musical trends among the youth of America by reporting on the shows T&R attended during this year's CMJ Music Marathon in NYC.

Make that show. And it wasn't even linked to CMJ. Screw the youth of America. And, believe me, if I can get rid of this gut, I might just try.

Hi-yo.

So, yeah, anyway, last week T&R went to the bastion of hip, cutting-edge music in New York City, BB King's Blues Club in Times Square, to see 83-year-old banjo legend Earl Scruggs. And, as an extra added bonus, I got a table of 40-year-old frat guys behind me talking almost nonstop for three hours. Awesome.

There was an official opening act, too, but I may have enjoyed the table of talkers more. Uncle Monk consists of Claudia Tienan on guitar and frequently inaudible vocals and Tommy Erdelyi--better known as Tommy Ramone--on mandolin and vocals. I am hesitant to say anything bad about a Ramone, but this was my second time seeing Uncle Monk and, with any luck, should be my last. God bless the Ramones, but Uncle Monk's just not for me.

Luckily, Earl Scruggs was a lot better and, even at such an advanced age, plays a damn good banjo. Sure, there are some missed notes every now and then and he's a little less nimble than he was in his prime, but I suspect I will be similarly less nimble in 53 years. Actually, I can't imagine being less nimble than I am right now. But check back in 53 years and we'll assess where I'm at.

Scruggs was also helped by his ace band, with sons Randy and Gary on guitar and bass, respectively; Jennifer Kennedy Merideth on Dobro; Hoot Hester on fiddle; John Gardner on drums; and Bryan Sutton and Jon Randall on guitars. Everyone was pretty much spot on, with highlights too numerous to really mention. Sutton and Kennedy Merideth were particularly impressive on numbers like "Streamlined Cannonball" and "Foggy Mountain Rock," and the group's cover of Dylan's "You Aint Goin' Nowhere" was pretty damn cool, too.

My favorite song of the night, however, was, oddly enough, when Earl switched off to the guitar and picked an initially tentative but ultimately tender version of the Carter Family's "You Are My Flower," which is up near the top of my all-time favorite songs. And that's why, when one of the yahoos from the table behind me started singing his own lyrics to the song, I came as close as I have ever come to turning around and making a scene. Particularly when he was replacing "You are my flower..." with "I am a redneck..." Let's call this one Rule 4a: when a performer announces that the band will be performing a Carter Family, you shut your stupid, Bud-swilling mouth and don't open it again until the song's over. I don't care if you see a fire. Fire'll wait three minutes. And if it winds up consuming you, at least you will have died hearing a Carter Family song.

Luckily (though I'm not sure for whom...I can't imagine a fight would've gone my way), I was able to zone out the babble and enjoy the song and the rest of the show. It was my third time seeing Earl Scruggs and each time I wonder if it will be my last. I hope Earl has a bunch more in him...and that I get to see a couple.

Long live Earl Scruggs.

Going Once...

As a guy who wastes too much money on autographs of people who haven't been famous for several decades, I'm not exactly in a good position to mock people who spend great sums of cash at big money auctions. But, lucky for you, I will press on. Blogs are empowering!!!

So, there were two articles about auctions in the newspaper today that got me to thinking. The first was about a globe that an American GI took from Adolf Hitler's residence after it was overtaken. An interesting item to be sure, and the story behind it caught my eye. But then I kept reading and saw that (a) it was estimated to fetch around $20,000 at the auction and (b) the auction also included a box of Hermann Goering's cigars.

Now maybe you're a historian and the World War II era is of particular interest to you. So you like collecting stuff from that time period. And you see that globe and the box of Goering's cigars (estimate $2,000 to $3,000), throw down your dough, and, boo yaa, the items are yours. Where do you go from there? Do you display them, bring out your loot for conversation starters at parties?

"Hey, George, what a neat looking globe! Looks real old."

"Yeah, Hank, give it a spin."

"OK, sure."

"Guess who used to own that?"

"Oh, wow, you mean this is part of your WWII collection. Neat. Um, let's see, Omar Bradley?"

"Nope."

"de Gaulle?"

"Try again."

"MacArthur?"

"Hitler."

"Excuse me?"

"Ya heard me. Hitler. Awesome, huh? Wanna see my Goering cigars?"

"I should be going now, George."

Of course, the World War II era isn't everybody's favorite collecting focus. Maybe you're more into items with tangential ties to a murder rampage. And you can find that in the other newspaper article I read. In 1977, Yankee manager Billy Martin gave a jersey to a gentleman whose girlfriend was killed by the Son of Sam (the gentleman was shot in the head during the attack). And now, with no one to pass the jersey on to, the gentleman has decided to let an auction house sell off the jersey. It is expected to get about $30,000 (bids are currently up to $11,000).

Again, an interesting story and all, but do you really want something like that around? Particularly at the price of $30,000.

"Hey, cool Billy Martin jersey. Is that game-worn?"

"Yeah. And he gave it to a guy who was shot in the head by the Son of Sam! And Son of Sam killed his girlfriend!"

I bet all three items go for above the estimate. People with money are scary. What a relief not to have that problem.

More Chiller Stuff

So, this guy took the photo of Gary Coleman and me (still under embargo). He's a puppeteer and spent some of the weekend with his puppet Maurice talking with celebrities. He seems like a good guy, and he and Maurice visit children in need of a few smiles and laughs. But, so help me, he gave me an unintentional laugh with his interview with Feedback. Particularly at the 45 second mark. The puppet's reaction to Feedback's revelation about his childhood has knocked Bonaduce out of the top spot for YouTube clip of the month. To be fair, I'm guessing the puppet hasn't quite learned the proper reaction for that:



I also enjoy Gary Coleman's inspirational words: "You don't get to choose being born":



You can see more at the guy's YouTube site.

What Might Be Right For You May Not Be Right For Some

Capping off another action-packed weekend that started with the Avett Brothers in Troy, NY, and continued with 16-time Grammy winner Jimmy Sturr and the Jimmy Sturr Orchestra in Hunter, NY, Tinsel and Rot headed to the Land of the Misfit Boys, aka the Chiller Theatre convention in Parsippany, NJ, on Sunday to load up on potential Holiday Greeting photos and spend too much money on autographs of people I admired when I was 12. Mission accomplished on both fronts. Who says I can't set a goal and reach it?

I have experienced many exciting surprises in my years on this earth, but perhaps none greater than the one that awaited me when I turned on my computer Saturday night and checked the Chiller website to confirm directions. I saw a note on the main page saying that three guests had been added to the Guest List on Thursday. I had assumed that the Guest List was all firmed up, so I hadn't really checked in last week. I had my possibilities lined up, the money all spent in my head, and then that Saturday Web surf happened. In a flash, everything changed. The world was turned upside down. A miracle happened.

Ernest Thomas, Danielle Spencer, and Haywood Nelson were added to the Guest List. And if you don't know that that's Raj, Dee, and Dwayne from "What's Happening!!" please leave now.

Only a "Police Academy" reunion could have filled my heart with more joy.



As I approached the gang's table on Sunday, I got a quick reminder of why these celebrities are completely justified in charging $20 for their signatures. There has to be a high sum of money involved if you are expected to endure three days of interactions like the one involving the man who was buying an autograph from Danielle Spencer right before me:

"So, that will be $20."

"Sure, no problem." (Guy pulls out a $100 bill, Danielle takes it)

[To Ernest] "OK, you owe this guy $80."

"Whoa! Raj is in charge of the money. What are you guys doin'?"

[Awkward laughter from Danielle and Ernest]

"Ah, c'mon, it's like a plot from da show! 'I used the money to go buy weed because I thought it was a good investment.' Ha!"

And they had to laugh at stuff like that for three days. Hoo boy. I think I'd lose my patience two hours into the weekend.

I kept my interaction to a minimum, though later on I regretted not bringing up the brilliance of "I be Raj. Which Doobie you be?" to Ernest. But perhaps it's for the best that I didn't. Can't imagine that conversation would have brought me a lot of pride. Still smarting from embarrassing myself in front of Randy "Cousin Eddie" Quaid by telling him that my family and I quote Cousin Eddie lines all the time. He seemed underwhelmed. Luckily, I stopped myself before yelling "Merry Christmas! Shitter was full!"

Anyway, I am quite proud to own the autographs of the surviving cast of "What's Happening!!" (or at least the main ones...I'm not counting that annoying white kid from the waning years...I assume he's alive, but I'm sure I don't care. Stick it, Little Earl.). Plus, I got the photo with the crew. Unfortunately for you, that photo is embargoed until the holidays. Be nice to me and I'll put you on the Holiday Greeting list, though I offer no guarantees that the "What's Happening!!" crew will make the cut. Been a good few months for the celebrity photos.



Another photo in the same situation is one of the legendary Gary Coleman and me, who, as you can see above, clearly had the best price list of the day. As any "Surreal Life" watcher will know, Mr. Coleman doesn't care much for the "Whatchutalkinbout Willis" phrase. But apparently, money (specifically $60) talks. Or at least writes. I wonder if anyone took the plunge. And, no, wiseguy, I didn't. But I do now have a "Diff'rent Strokes" DVD signed by Todd Bridges, Charlotte Rae, and Gary Coleman. What have you done with your life?



Once I spent the bulk of my budgeted money on the stars of the Channel 5 5 p.m. Power Hour of the Late 1980s, I had to be a little more selective. You won't find a much bigger fan of the first season of "Who Wants To Be a Superhero?" than me, but I'll be damned if I'll pay $15 to take a picture with first-season winner Feedback. Even if some of the money goes to Make-A-Wish. In fact, I want a monetary breakdown in situations like that. No more "a portion goes to." I'm gonna have to see who gets what. Just the way it is. No more hiding behind charities, particularly if you're the star of a reality show that most people don't even know exists.

Feedback was in a room that was largely empty on Sunday, a few feet away from former Intercontinental champion Tito Santana and a little ways down from Ray Parker Jr., who had an iPod hooked up to a speaker and playing--guess what?--the "Ghostbusters" theme throughout the day. That room also featured former "Baywatch" cast members (Anjelica Bridges, Traci Bingham, and Brande Roderick) and female wrestlers (Dawn Marie, Gail Kim, and Christy Hemme), most of whom were surprisingly not busy most of the day. Apparently, the male attendees of Chiller are not as horny as I expected them to be.

Actually, most of the guests (except the perpetually sunglassed Val Kilmer) were not exactly besieged with fans on Sunday, generally the slowest of the three days, which is the exact reason why I was there. I guess there's something to be said for the general chaos of Saturday, but, well, I'm not saying it. Unfortunately, it's harder to take surreptitious photos of guests on Sunday, so those are in short supply this time around. You'll have to make do with these shots of Martin "John Kreese" Kove and Butch "Eddie Munster" Patrick, the latter of which was taken as I was waiting for the shuttle to take me back to the train station. I just wanted you to see his hair.





Still, even if I have fewer photos, I ultimately prefer the relative peace and quiet of Sunday, where Edie McClurg and Marcia Wallace were just sitting around talking. I eventually decided that it was worth getting a photo with each of them--Edie McClurg because of that killer scene in "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" (and, of course, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off") and Marcia Wallace because she was on "Match Game" a lot. It doesn't take much to get $20 out of my wallet. I think these are longshots for the Holiday Greeting, so I'll share them with you. You're welcome





All in all, another fine day in New Jersey.

C'mon get happy

Danny Bonaduce reinserts himself in the race for Greatest Reality TV Participant Ever (Celebrity Division) with this totally awesome flip of the ridiculously annoying Johnny Fairplay (from "Survivor" and, most recently,"Ty Murray's Celebrity Bull Riding Challenge") at the Fox Reality Channel's "Reality Remix Really Awards" (to air 10/13 . . . set your TiVOs).



Mr. Fairplay says the face plant resulted in two-and-a-half hours of dental surgery and three root canals, and he has filed a police report about the incident.

Bonaduce . . . back with a vengeance.

What I Liked About September

*Maryland Renaissance Festival, Crownsville, MD
*Bowling at Bowl Rite Lanes, Union City, NJ
*Securing one of the 2007 Holiday Photos
*Richard Lange's Dead Boys


*Chuck Berry, Cranford, NJ
*The trial run of the Monster Slugger
*[This is where I would have written "The Mets making the playoffs"]
*The return of "Curb Your Enthusiasm"


*Farm Aid
*Newark Bears, Atlantic League Champions
*Shaking hands with Bill Clinton
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

Literary Passage of the Month. Maybe the Year.

From the short story "Long Lost" in Richard Lange's Dead Boys:

The other husband's wife joins us at the bar. She's wearing Frosty the Snowman earrings. "So you're Mr. Judy," she says. "You're in publishing, right?"

"Is that how Judy puts it? I'm a proofreader."

"Proofreader," her husband says. "What the hell's that?"

"A job. A bullshit job. Lots of people have them."

"I'll drink to that."

"So you'd rather be doing something else," the wife says to me.

"Not really."

She eyes me over the rim of her wineglass. I can tell she's not going to back down. It's these kinds of conversations that will kill me.

Bears Win!

The Newark Bears are your 2007 Atlantic League Champions, taking the championship series, 3 games to 1 after a come-from-behind 13-7 victory over the Somerset Patriots at Bears and Eagles Riverfront Stadium in Newark Monday night. Tinsel and Rot was there for all the excitement, and mighty pleased to be part of the championship celebration.

As usual, it wasn't exactly a full house in Newark (nor even a half-full house), but there was plenty of shouting from those who did come out to the ballpark. Unfortunately, the early evening found most of that noise coming from the contingent of fans who came to root Somerset on to a series-tying victory. Most seemed to be of the annoying Yankee-fan variety, chanting every player's name like the Bleacher Creatures do and just generally being loud and obnoxious from their section. Or at least that's what it sounded like from across the field. Plus, they made the embarrassing mistake of thinking that every name is chantable. Not so. You can't hold a syllable in a chant. For instance, "Jo-osh Pressley" and "Mi-ike Lockwood" are not acceptable chants. It's just the way it is. Chant only those names that are conducive to chanting, fans. The rules of fandom compel you.

Anyway, they had a lot to cheer about in the top of the first, as the Patriots put three on the board before the Bears even got up to bat. But thanks to two moonshots to left center by veteran Bear, #29, Jose "Mr. September" Herrera, the Bears evened things up after three innings. The tension grew in the next few innings, as did the stench emanating from Bears mascot Rip 'N Ruppert's costume. It was a great relief when he decided to patrol the top of the dugout for the rest of the game. And, for the record, no, Tinsel and Rot does not approve of the bizarre spelling of the mascot's name. I defy you to explain that spelling to me. I also defy you to explain why the annoying little brat and his friend behind home plate kept trying to get the attention of Bears in the on-deck circle, mocked a few for not responding, insulted one because he was playing minor-league baseball, and then cheered when the Bears scored. I know it's not right to hit 12-year-old kids, but it was a few innings away from being really right. I offered one of the Bears $20 to swing at him from the other side of the net. The woman in front of me matched the offer, and we were willing to go to $60 if he made contact. No deal.

As if the little brat weren't enough, any Bear in the on-deck circle had to listen to advice from a guy who kept "revealing" the first pitch he'd see in the upcoming at-bat. The same guy (and/or his buddy) also yelled "en fuego," I think, every 20 seconds, regardless of the situation. In fact, there was a lot of advice being dispensed in Spanish, interrupted only once by "fuckin' breakin' shit." Eventually, it became like a song. Not a very good one, but a song nonetheless.



Oh yeah, the game. Somerset jumped ahead with four runs in the top of the 6th, and when the Bears came out of the seventh inning stretch still down by four, it looked bad. But not for long. They plated two in the bottom of the 7th, endured some whining (and a disturbing lick of the hand from the Patriots' catcher directed toward the Bears' dugout) from the Patriots after a check swing call went against them, and then produced one of the single most exciting innings I've seen in person--an eight-run eighth inning capped by Mr. September's third homer of the game that wrapped up the scoring for the night and pushed the Bears to the championship.

And then the celebration began.





Look, I know the nonaffiliated Atlantic League isn't exactly the top tier of baseball, and I suppose it's easy to dismiss the Bears' championship victory. But the fact is that no matter the level of competition or skill, it takes something to win a championship. And the Bears had that something this year--and especially this series, in which they won Game 3 with a game-winning single in the ninth inning and Game 4 with that spectacular eighth inning. So, today, I am proud to be a Bears fan and proud of the fans who came out night after night to root on a team that Newark could call its own--a gritty, workmanlike squad that didn't feel much like giving up.

Viva los Bears!

C.R.E.A.M.

ITEM:Lee "God Bless The USA" Greenwood cancels a show in Denver after not receiving his full fee

There's a lot to sort out with this story. First, the concert organizers went on the offensive, explaining that Greenwood walked out on a show honoring veterans, police, and fire personnel after he didn't receive his full performance fee, which his contract stipulated must be paid in cash or cashier's check prior to the show. The organizers claimed they had given Greenwood's management the bulk of the fee as directed, save for a $2,000 check from the Knights of Columbus that would square things. Greenwood, who at least knows he's free, decides to take a pass on doing the show.

Then, after word gets out to the media about his cancellation, Greenwood counters that it was a simple matter of the terms of his contract not being met, and that people who were disappointed at not seeing him in concert should blame the organizers, not him.

Now, what's the shocking part here? That the organizers reneged on the terms of a contract and then tried to harm Greenwood's reputation? That Greenwood would cancel an appearance honoring the military, police, and firefighters over a measly $2,000? That people would actually be disappointed at not having seen Lee Greenwood in concert?

No. The shocking part is that Lee Greenwood commands $20,000 per show. On the strength of one horrible song. Or at least I thought that was the shocking part until I read this sentence in a Rocky Mountain News article:

"The God Bless the U.S.A. singer reduced his usual fee to $20,000 to help out the promoter, Webster said."

Reduced his usual fee? How much are promoters willing to pay to bring in Lee Greenwood? How many people are willing to go to a Lee Greenwood concert to justify this price tag?

There aint no doubt I love this land, but sometimes I wonder about the people in it.

ITEM: Idiot designer Marc Ecko spends $752,467 on Barry Bonds's 756th home run ball and sets up website to decide its fate

I never thought it would be possible, but I finally stand firmly behind a statement made by Barry Bonds. Marc Ecko is indeed an idiot. After spending three-quarters of a million dollars to buy the 756 ball at auction, the designer has set up a website where people can decide if the ball should be (a) sent to the Baseball Hall of Fame as is, (b) sent to the Baseball Hall of Fame with an asterisk branded on it, or (c) blasted into space.

To reiterate, Ecko paid $752,467 to do this (plus whatever it will cost to blast the ball into space if that option is chosen). Man, that's a lot of money. Good thing there are no people in need in the world. Because then Ecko would look like a giant ass.

Look, I'm not well versed in the charity endeavors of Marc Ecko. Maybe he's a great guy who keeps his charity giving under wraps. But a Web search shows that he's given time and money to saving rhinos (which seems more like a marketing tie-in than actual charity) and that Marc Ecko Enterprises "has been funding the Tikva Children's Home of Odessa, a Ukrainian orphanage founded in 1996." Interestingly, the Tikva profile on the Ecko website ends with the following:

"To raise funds for the orphanage, MEE hosts an annual golf tournament known as the Tikva Drive for Life. All proceeds go to the Tikva Children's Home of Odessa. Last year MEE raised over $600,000 for the children and hopes to raise over $1 million this year."

Those good with numbers may note that $752,467 is pretty close to $1 million. I wonder if that goal would have been reached easier with $752,467 that instead was spent for some sort of marketing project/moronic social experiment. Something to think about.

For the record, Tinsel and Rot endorses Option D: brand Ecko with an asterisk and send him to Cooperstown, where he will be blasted into space fom left center at Doubleday Field as I eat some donuts from Schneider's Bakery. And maybe he could be rammed by a rhino, too.

ITEM: A Christian theater group takes out a $90,440 ad in USA Today chastising comedian Kathy Griffin for her remarks in her Emmy acceptance speech

OK, here we go again.

So, Kathy Griffin, being a comedian, uses her acceptance speech at the Emmys to say something she thinks is funny:

"A lot of people come up here and thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus," an exultant Griffin said, holding up her statuette. "Suck it, Jesus. This award is my god now."

Decent joke. And I have to think that Jesus isn't losing much sleep over it. But a Christian theater group in Tennessee was outraged and/or, like Marc Ecko, wanted some publicity. So they took out a full-page ad in USA Today to express $90,440 worth of their dismay.

Again, I've gotta think that $90,440 can be used in some kind of better way than an ad denouncing a comedian, who, really, has made a career of saying crazy things. Surely, there are still some motherless children around who could use a few bucks for medical care. Unless that's been solved. I haven't seen anything in the news, but maybe O.J. knocked it off the front pages. I'll do a Google search later.

Oh wait, this just in: the group took out another full-page ad today. So I assume we're over $180,000 now.

I have no more words.

Hail! Hail! Rock 'n' Roll

Two concerts on Saturday proved--in different ways--that as Tinsel and Rot deity Huey Lewis sang, "The heart of rock and roll is still beating." Yes, we are proud to nonironically quote Mr. Lewis. We'll probably do it again.

The concert day began in Cranford, NJ, where I was hoping to finally erase the bad memories of Chuck Berry's set in Bridgewater, NJ, last year. I have never been so thoroughly depressed during a show as I was during Berry's time on stage, during which the band struggled to follow his very shaky lead and only hit upon something listenable at rare moments. There's probably no person in rock and roll that I'm more willing to cut some slack to than Chuck Berry, but even I had a hard time justifying that show. I don't even like thinking about it.

So I was a little nervous about seeing Berry again. But the concert was free, and early word had him being backed by the Smithereens, so I figured it was worth a shot. The Smithereens are a good band, so I figured they'd be able to keep pace with Chuck, or at least make a better go of it than the band in Bridgewater. And even if they couldn't, at least it wouldn't cost me any more than train fare.

Then, I checked the Chuck Berry website in the days before the show and saw that Berry was bringing his band from St. Louis for the show (or, really, for what I assume was the higher-paying gig the night before at BB King's), which was even better news. Surely, they would be well practiced in keeping pace with Berry. And then my sister expressed an interest in going, so the financial considerations of paying the train fare went away, too. So it was looking like giving Chuck Berry in concert another shot was a damn fine idea.

And, amazingly, it worked out just that way.


Yes, Chuck Berry totally kicked ass (at the age of 81) in Cranford. I was slightly nervous when he came out and announced that he would rock the crowd for 30 minutes. But a few minutes later, it changed to an hour, and it wound up being a thoroughly entertaining sixty minutes. The highlights included two versions of "Reelin' and Rockin'" that featured Chuck's daughter Ingrid on vocals and harmonica (his son played guitar in the band, too) and an early-in-the-set rendition of "Sweet Little Sixteen" that danced around between cool and just a little bit creepy (something about singing that song after you reach a certain age doesn't quite sit right). No "My Ding-A-Ling," but, hey, you can't have it all.

Throughout the set, I was amazed at just how much difference a good drummer makes. The drummer at the Bridegwater show seemed fairly frightened while trying to keep up with Berry, who essentially sings and plays at his own pace and stops songs whenever he feels that they're over. But the drummer in Cranford, Keith Robinson, had no trouble keeping things in order. And the rest of the band (Berry Jr., Bob Lohr on keyboards, and James Marsala on bass) was similarly on point. It was night and day between Bridgewater and Cranford (figuratively and literally), and I was happy to finally have that bad memory of Chuck erased. I can't tell you how relieved I am to say I have seen a good Chuck Berry show. Makes me feel a lot better about my life.

We stuck around for the Smithereens, and they were pretty damn good, too. So it was a pretty awesome afternoon, particularly when you consider the price of admission.

Then, things took an odd turn in Philadelphia, where we went to see the mighty Hudson Falcons as they embarked on another two-month-plus tour of the United States (and, alas, one that I will not be joining at any point this year). When Mark (Head Falcon in Charge) told me that the show at the Halfway House was in a basement, I guess I just assumed it was a club that was like a basement. And I was wrong. It was a basement. Of a house. Next to what looked to be an actual halfway house. Interesting set-up. I have no pictures. Aside from the fact that it was way dark, I was afraid that if I took out my camera, the punks would think I was a narc and whip me with their studded belts.

Anyway, after being prepped on what we were walking into, and once I was able to block out the mysterious puddles of mystery liquid and the leaking pipes in the basement (deftly balanced by the old-school, Glaser and Soul "Starsky and Hutch" poster upstairs) and embrace the fact that someone was going to slam into me at some point in the evening, I realized that the show was more rock and roll than Chuck Berry playing at a free festival on a Sunday afternoon. Sure, rock and roll is played in arenas and festivals to thousands of fans--and often quite well--but it's likely not played with as much heart and soul (another Huey reference!) as it is in a dank basement on a Saturday night/Sunday morning in Philadelphia with a bunch of people who need that musical release to make it through to the next day. They're not talking through the set, text-messaging on their Trios, or killing time until the afterparty. They're in the moment, screaming along, thrashing about, and just letting the music take over. It's rock and roll at its rawest (is rawest a word? I don't care), and if it aint that pretty at all, it's still pretty damn beautiful.

Hail, hail rock and roll
Deliver me from the days of old
Long live rock and roll
The beat of the drum is loud and bold
Rock, rock, rock and roll
The feelin' is there, body and soul.

Brett Somers RIP

I was going to post something about this weekend, but then came the news that another "Match Game" regular has left this world. Brett Somers, the female foil to the recently deceased Charles Nelson Reilly, died Saturday at the age of 83 from stomach and colon cancer.

Tinsel and Rot was lucky enough to be among the few heterosexual men to see Ms. Somers's one-woman show at Danny's Skylight Room a few years back, and it was pretty entertaining. She sang in between telling stories of "Match Game," her marriage to Jack Klugman, and various other topics. And she introduced me to a song that's actually now one of my favorites, Hoagy Carmichael's "I Get Along Without You Very Well." Plus, I got an autograph afterward. It was a good night.

Tinsel and Rot salutes the life and game show career of Brett Somers. Rest in peace.

Cream of the crop

I have now attended my first Farm Aid, and I have the pictures to prove it. Sure, a lot of them are of the giant screen next to the stage, but I can't help it if security wouldn't let me go up to take pictures of Jimmy Sturr when they took the stage around 1:30 in the afternoon (at which point there was almost nobody in the front section). Alas, this is the best I can do.



My seats were pretty good, though, and they oughta be considering what I paid for him. But half of what I paid went directly to Farm Aid, so I can at least feel good about my spending, as opposed to the time I went to Charlotte, North Carolina, for a wrestling convention. That one was hard to feel good about moneywise. But I did get better pictures there.

I did not, however, get the VIP treatment I got at Farm Aid, where I got to leisurely stroll backstage in the shade while bands I didn't care to hear played (there were a few). I wasn't mingling with any performers back there (though I did see the Ditty Bops and Mike Mattison from the Derek Trucks Band around), but I did get free, delicious, locally grown food. There was a bit of a logjam when dinner was finally served (forcing me to miss Warren Haynes's and Guster's sets...which I was absolutely fine with), but the wait was worth it. Food is good. Locally grown food is even better. And I'm guessing it was way better than Guster.



Unfortunately, my first few trips back to the VIP area resulted in me missing the starts of both Jimmy Sturr's and Billy Joe Shaver's sets, but I was able to race back and catch much of them. Unfortunately, there wasn't all that much to catch, as the bulk of the afternoon acts were limited to 15-minute sets. Of course, sometimes that was just fine. For instance, I was entertained by Montgomery Gentry for about 15 minutes, and particularly enjoyed the end-of-the-set breaking of the mic stand by Eddie Montgomery during "What Do You Think About That?" But then I was done. Luckily, so were they. But I could've stood to see some more from 40 Points (which featured two of Willie Nelson's sons), Matisyahu, and Billy Joe Shaver (below).



Of course, there wasn't just music at Farm Aid. There was a Homegrown Village where you could learn about biodiesel, composting, and eating locally, among other things. And if you got there early, you could also graze on the free food at various tables. I had some rice pancakes, salad, chai tea, chocolate milk, and yogurt as my sister and I made our way to the seating area. Plus, we got some other free stuff. Good move getting there early. Or should I say good mooooove? Maybe I shouldn't.



After an afternoon of listening, sweating, and taking full advantage of my VIP access, the evening provided an opportunity to finally relax on a full and contented stomach and watch the headliners. I managed to duck most of the Counting Crows' set. which, based on what I saw, was yet another solid decision, but I did take in the Allman Brothers' set, which was perfect for me because I got to see all the really good musicians play without having to sit through a 45-minute version of "One Way Out." In fact, it might have been the shortest version of that song since they recorded it. Fine with me. I can handle the Allmans in measured doses. And the acoustic version of "Midnight Rider" by Gregg Allman and Willie Nelson was cool to see. Here it is on the big screen.



And then after the Allmans it was time for Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds, or as I liked to call it, time for dessert and then walking far enough away that I didn't have to hear any of the music. And this was as far away as I could get.



John Mellencamp was next and was sounding really good until he decided to sing "My Country." Maybe it's a good song, but hearing it during every other commercial break throughout the fall of 2006 killed any hope of me ever enjoying it. It's as if he came out and started singing the Alka-Seltzer jingle. Which, now that I think about it, would have been pretty cool. But the rest of the Mellencamp set was solid. Susan Tedeschi came out to sing "Pink Houses," which was one of the better moments of the day. And then at the end of the set, Mellencamp levitated up to heaven.



OK, he didn't really. But it's an entertaining picture.



Considering I once briefly fell asleep at a Neil Young solo show, I was a little nervous about the prospects of seeing Neil Young ten hours into the day. But I had no need to be nervous. It was actually my favorite Neil concert experience (aside from the solo show, which was actually good after the initial nap, I saw Neil and Crazy Horse from a seat in Madison Square Garden that couldn't have been much further away from the stage), and the highlight was a chill-inducing "Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere." Neil was backed by his wife Pegi on guitar and Ben Keith on Dobro, and then Willie and Mickey Raphael joined him for "Homegrown." All right with me.



While a surprisingly cogent and coherent Neil was introducing "Homegrown," the young chap in front of me, who apparently only really knew one Neil Young song, was screaming out for "Rockin' in the Free World." That would've been odd with a Dobro and a harmonica.



By the time Willie Nelson took the stage for the closing set (around 11 p.m.) with both his family (sons Micah and Lucas and daughter Paula) and the Family, a lot of folks had cleared out. But they missed out on a good time, featuring a double flute solo from David Amram and a medley of "I Saw the Light" and "I'll Fly Away" that featured a stumpf fiddle player. That was something. I don't have a decent picture, so you'll just have to trust me.



After Willie and the family/Family called it a night with "On the Road Again," my sister and I headed back to the bus line and made the wise decision to forego the X80 going back to 125th St. (long lines) for the X81 to Woodside (no line at all). The bus ride was a little longer than the one to 125th would have been, but then we would have missed seeing the guy who stole a bale of hay to take back to his apartment in Queens.



Good times.

If you want to catch any of it for yourself, you can go to the Farm Aid site starting Thursday to see a webcast of the day's events. I think it's supposed to be up for free for a week, and then you have to join Farm Aid if you want to see it after that. That wouldn't be such a bad idea. Somewhere in between all the music and stuffing my face, I decided to make a greater effort to eat more organic food and food grown locally. Also not a bad idea. That's as much of a soapbox as I'll get on today.

Hail to the Chief (Or at Least Put On a Decent Pair of Pants)

Tinsel and Rot met its second President of the United States Tuesday night (if you consider a handshake and two sentences meeting someone) when Bill Clinton signed copies of his new book Giving at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. That same Barnes and Noble is where Tinsel and Rot met its first President, Jimmy Carter. Dropping some T&R trivia on yo' asses. More trivia: here's my entire interaction with President Clinton.

[President offers hand, Tinsel & Rot shakes it]

T&R: Hello, Mr. President. I was at your first inauguration and I always remember what a great day that was.
President Clinton: [signs book] Yes, it was, wasn't it?
T&R: Yep.

[President shifts focus to next person]

I actually wanted to strike up a conversation about our shared fondness for Kinky Friedman, but retired journalist Bryan Chambala beat me to it several years ago on Martha's Vineyard.

I don't have any exciting pictures for you, but, well, you know what Bill Clinton looks like and chances are you know what I look like. Add several hundred other people and a few security checks and you'll be able to complete the mental picture. Or make something in Photoshop.

A brief note: if you're ever going to meet a President of the United States, why not make a little bit of an effort to avoid looking like a dirtbag. Seriously. If you wake up knowing that you will be in close contact with someone who has held what is probably the most important political office in the world and decide that your best outfit features a pair of bright orange terrycloth shorts, maybe you should look for a second opinion. He's an important guy, and your attendance at his book signing indicates that you have some sort of respect for him, so, you know, why not throw on a pair of pants? I'm just saying some people maybe could have thought twice before leaving their abodes Tuesday afternoon.

And another, briefer note: Stop dressing babies in political-themed clothing. Look, I know people who do it, and I like those people, but it's time I take a stand here. A child wearing an "I'm For Hillary" shirt is not cute; that's annoying. It makes me want to punch the child's parents. Your child is not for Hillary. Your child is for sleeping two-thirds of the day, eating during the other third, and squeezing some waste expulsion along the way (coincidentally, so am I, but that's neither here nor there). Stop it.

Anyway, it was cool to meet a President.

What I Liked About August

*A Staten Island Yankees game, Denino's, and Ralph's, all in one night
*The Homestead Rebate check
*Roy Head, Damrosch Park, NYC
*Jimmy Sturr Orchestra, Hunter, NY




*Alejandro Escovedo Orchestra, Mercury Lounge, NYC
*Pot roast at the Broadway Diner, Red Bank, NJ
*Maybe Pete headlining at the Stone Pony, Asbury Park, NJ
*America's Polka King: The Real Story of Frankie Yankovic and His Music



*The Flatlanders, Castle Clinton, NYC
*Appearing in the liner notes thanks for "End of the Road"
*The McCollough Sons of Thunder, Damrosch Park, NYC
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places