Sometimes it takes a little bit before a song gets to you, particularly when it's on an album with some tracks you focused on nonstop for a few months. Such is the case with November's Song o' the Month, Kathleen Edwards's "Scared At Night" (from the stupendous "Asking for Flowers," which you oughta own). I prefer the album track, with its keening steel guitar, but that aint on YouTube and this is:
And in case you miss the lyrics due to the recording quality, here you go:
As a child I would wake at night
I was scared, but I kept real quiet
Shadows on the walls moving in on me
Underneath my sheets I could barely breathe
Your room was only just across the hall
All it would have taken was a single call
Maybe sometimes you've got to trust yourself
Not to scream out loud and run like hell
Believe me
All the days you're unsure
Believe in me
I don't want to anymore
In the dark
Picture me in your mind
And I'll lay with you
You don't have to be scared at night
As a young man you were shooting rats
By accident you hit the farmyard cat
He ran for the fields and
came back the next day
You had blown out his eye
and you could see his brain
Your dad said "Boy, there are some things in life.
You don't want to do but you know is right.
So take him out back and finish him off."
You got your gun off the shelf
it only took one shot
Believe me
All the days you're unsure
Believe in me
I don't want to anymore
In the dark
Picture me in your mind
And I'll lay with you
So you don't have to be scared at night
I flew to Winnipeg on your final day
They said that you waited until I came
We sang your favorite hymns
and we held your hand
You took your final breath and that was that
But I'd never seen a person die before
I tried so hard not to cry, you know
Maybe sometimes we've got to trust ourselves
That when you die you go someplace else
Believe me
All the days you're unsure
Believe in me
I don't want to anymore
In the dark
Picture me in your mind
And I'll lay with you
So you don't have to be scared at night
You don't have to be scared at night
You don't have to be scared at night
11.28.2008
11.26.2008
Laughs For Which To Be Thankful
The lack of posting has been due to a lack of fun. But that's behind us now. So here's two YouTube clips that have provided laughs in a week that needed them.
I'm generally the last person to get wind of these things on the Internets, so I imagine the rest of the world knows all about the Tiddy Bear by now. But, just in case...
Tip o' the hat to the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar for that.
And one of my favorite stops on YouTube is the Stupid Famous People site, where you can see and hear annoying people with cameras hound famous people. And occasionally (nay, often), the famous people don't seem like the stupid ones. To wit, two annoying drunks with a camera bother James Franco, who has the audacity to not engage in a conversation with them at two in the morning.
I'm generally the last person to get wind of these things on the Internets, so I imagine the rest of the world knows all about the Tiddy Bear by now. But, just in case...
Tip o' the hat to the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar for that.
And one of my favorite stops on YouTube is the Stupid Famous People site, where you can see and hear annoying people with cameras hound famous people. And occasionally (nay, often), the famous people don't seem like the stupid ones. To wit, two annoying drunks with a camera bother James Franco, who has the audacity to not engage in a conversation with them at two in the morning.
11.17.2008
How I Celebrated My Birthday
First, I hauled ass from the train to the Port Authority, bought my ticket from a woman at the Trailways window who helpfully told me, "Oh, I don't think you'll make it," ran to the other side of the terminal, and then made the bus (beeyotch) with a solid 30 seconds to spare.
Then, after the bus pulled in at Kingston and I realized we had enough of a layover, I hightailed it to the pretzel-doorhandled Deising's Bakery, where I quickly purchased one of their unbeatable chocolate crullers and five of the finest pretzel sticks ever created by human hands (only available on Fridays and Saturdays).
Then, after arrival in Windham, I went with my mom and retired journalist Bryan Chambala to Hartmann's Kaffeehaus in Round Top, NY (on the awesomely named Heart's Content Road), for the best French Dip I've ever had and a dessert that was about 98% whipped cream and quite good. An elderly German couple also put me in charge, after a fun game of parking lot pantomime, of alerting "zee handicapped man vith zee chauffeur in zee vite car" that they were blocking said elderly couple from opening their driver's-side door.
Then Mr. Chambala and I were turned away at the bowling alley at the Winter Clove Inn ("the lanes are all broken") before finding success at the Bowlers Club in Saugerties, where the computers were likely among the first ever sold to bowling alleys, pins flew out of the rack twice during the first game, and a 14-year-old was working the bar. In other words, the perfect place for bowling on one's birthday, even in the midst of two larger, louder, and perhaps more age-appropriate birthday parties. The new shoes got their first two games in and produced a solid 167 and 174. And it only cost $4.50 for me to bowl two games.
With time slipping away, we made a dusk visit to Big Pink, which we found again after a few missteps.
Then I got all confused and sent us in the wrong direction twice as we headed to dinner at the Black Bear, where we met up with drummer extraordinaire Johnny Macko and my superstar blogger sister and her gentleman friend.
After shoving some food down (and while my sister and her gentleman friend continued eating and imbibing before making the same journey), Misters Macko and Chambala and I headed to Levon Helm's place on Plochmann Lane, which, it turns out, is harder to find when it's dark and it starts raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock. But we got there, and there was a shorter line than last time, so we were in good shape. We initially took spots in the third row, but after some scouting we settled on seats in the front row, but on the side, right near the piano and organ. Any seat there is fine, but these weren't bad at all, and we didn't stay in them much during the main set anyway.
A trio from Finland (whose names I've forgotten, but they played fiddle, guitar, and Dobro) opened things up and endeared themselves to me almost immediately by singing Richard Thompson's "Keep Your Distance." Then came Chris Thile and the Punch Brothers, who, based on the fact that their last album was broken down into movements, I thought I would find just OK. But they were way better than that and even did a Jimmy Martin song ("Ocean of Diamonds"), which almost certainly proves that they are avid Tinsel and Rot readers. I couldn't see her from my seat, but apparently a woman in the front row was nodding off hard during the Punch Brothers' set (and by both their playing and Thile's declarations about how happy and honored they were to be there, the band didn't see it either), and she and a man I'm assuming was her very embarrassed husband bailed after the set and gave their seats to a couple of guys behind us. If they are indeed married, I believe "forcing us to leave front-row seats at Levon's" is solid grounds for immediate divorce.
Then came the main event. I had the thought a few days prior that maybe going back to Levon's was a mistake. Maybe I should have just let the near-perfect first-time experience stand and leave it at that. Surely, it wouldn't be better the second time around, particularly because (a) Little Sammy Davis was still recovering from a stroke (get well, sir) and (b) Phil Lesh's phriggin' ridiculous New York City marathon run assured that Larry Campbell and, presumably, his wife would not be at Levon's this time around.
What a stupid thought that was.
Yes, it was a shorter set than last time, likely owing to the aforementioned absences, but it may have been an even better show. Why? Well, there was "Ophelia," "Slippin' and Slidin'," and "Crash on the Levee" in the 2,3, and 4 holes, respectively. There was Brian Mitchell doing his best Dr. John on "Such A Night." There was "Evangeline" in the acoustic set, followed by Amy Helm singing "All La Glory," nervous at the start then downright joyous when she nailed it.
And then there was that bushy-haired, crazy-bearded dude over in the corner. Amy Helm whispered something to bandleader Jimmy Vivino, and he responded, "Tell him we got gear...just come on and play." But it seemed he didn't want to just play, so gear was set up, and after a bit out walked the Santa-like Garth Hudson with his accordion strapped on and ready to go, as Vivino said, "And it's not even Christmas yet!" After shaking hands with the guys in the band and getting warmed up, Garth joined in on "All on a Mardi Gras Day" and stuck around for the closing trio of tunes, "Tears of Rage," "Shape I'm In," and the standard Ramble finale of "The Weight," with Punch Brother Gabe Witcher belting out the "Crazy Chester" verse and Cassandra Wilson joining in on the choruses.
[EDIT upon sister's request: Plus, Levon made out with my sister. OK, he just kissed her. But she may have been willing to go further. Probably less likely to pursue Garth.]
Seriously, you oughta go. I know money's tight these days, but you'll never be happier spending $125 or $150 than you will after you leave Levon's.
But back to me.
The birthday fun continued the next day at the incomparable Sweet Sue's in Phoenicia, NY, where pumpkin pancakes were devoured and I almost achieved my goal of finishing a "short stack" before my stomach informed me that four more bites would not be a good idea. So I admitted defeat, which never tasted so good.
It was a fine birthday.
(The fun concludes Wednesday night at Maxwell's, with Maybe Pete around 9:30 0r so [Chris Skel beforehand, Adam and Dave's Bloodline after]. Come on out for the fun.)
Then, after the bus pulled in at Kingston and I realized we had enough of a layover, I hightailed it to the pretzel-doorhandled Deising's Bakery, where I quickly purchased one of their unbeatable chocolate crullers and five of the finest pretzel sticks ever created by human hands (only available on Fridays and Saturdays).
Then, after arrival in Windham, I went with my mom and retired journalist Bryan Chambala to Hartmann's Kaffeehaus in Round Top, NY (on the awesomely named Heart's Content Road), for the best French Dip I've ever had and a dessert that was about 98% whipped cream and quite good. An elderly German couple also put me in charge, after a fun game of parking lot pantomime, of alerting "zee handicapped man vith zee chauffeur in zee vite car" that they were blocking said elderly couple from opening their driver's-side door.
Then Mr. Chambala and I were turned away at the bowling alley at the Winter Clove Inn ("the lanes are all broken") before finding success at the Bowlers Club in Saugerties, where the computers were likely among the first ever sold to bowling alleys, pins flew out of the rack twice during the first game, and a 14-year-old was working the bar. In other words, the perfect place for bowling on one's birthday, even in the midst of two larger, louder, and perhaps more age-appropriate birthday parties. The new shoes got their first two games in and produced a solid 167 and 174. And it only cost $4.50 for me to bowl two games.
With time slipping away, we made a dusk visit to Big Pink, which we found again after a few missteps.
Then I got all confused and sent us in the wrong direction twice as we headed to dinner at the Black Bear, where we met up with drummer extraordinaire Johnny Macko and my superstar blogger sister and her gentleman friend.
After shoving some food down (and while my sister and her gentleman friend continued eating and imbibing before making the same journey), Misters Macko and Chambala and I headed to Levon Helm's place on Plochmann Lane, which, it turns out, is harder to find when it's dark and it starts raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock. But we got there, and there was a shorter line than last time, so we were in good shape. We initially took spots in the third row, but after some scouting we settled on seats in the front row, but on the side, right near the piano and organ. Any seat there is fine, but these weren't bad at all, and we didn't stay in them much during the main set anyway.
A trio from Finland (whose names I've forgotten, but they played fiddle, guitar, and Dobro) opened things up and endeared themselves to me almost immediately by singing Richard Thompson's "Keep Your Distance." Then came Chris Thile and the Punch Brothers, who, based on the fact that their last album was broken down into movements, I thought I would find just OK. But they were way better than that and even did a Jimmy Martin song ("Ocean of Diamonds"), which almost certainly proves that they are avid Tinsel and Rot readers. I couldn't see her from my seat, but apparently a woman in the front row was nodding off hard during the Punch Brothers' set (and by both their playing and Thile's declarations about how happy and honored they were to be there, the band didn't see it either), and she and a man I'm assuming was her very embarrassed husband bailed after the set and gave their seats to a couple of guys behind us. If they are indeed married, I believe "forcing us to leave front-row seats at Levon's" is solid grounds for immediate divorce.
Then came the main event. I had the thought a few days prior that maybe going back to Levon's was a mistake. Maybe I should have just let the near-perfect first-time experience stand and leave it at that. Surely, it wouldn't be better the second time around, particularly because (a) Little Sammy Davis was still recovering from a stroke (get well, sir) and (b) Phil Lesh's phriggin' ridiculous New York City marathon run assured that Larry Campbell and, presumably, his wife would not be at Levon's this time around.
What a stupid thought that was.
Yes, it was a shorter set than last time, likely owing to the aforementioned absences, but it may have been an even better show. Why? Well, there was "Ophelia," "Slippin' and Slidin'," and "Crash on the Levee" in the 2,3, and 4 holes, respectively. There was Brian Mitchell doing his best Dr. John on "Such A Night." There was "Evangeline" in the acoustic set, followed by Amy Helm singing "All La Glory," nervous at the start then downright joyous when she nailed it.
And then there was that bushy-haired, crazy-bearded dude over in the corner. Amy Helm whispered something to bandleader Jimmy Vivino, and he responded, "Tell him we got gear...just come on and play." But it seemed he didn't want to just play, so gear was set up, and after a bit out walked the Santa-like Garth Hudson with his accordion strapped on and ready to go, as Vivino said, "And it's not even Christmas yet!" After shaking hands with the guys in the band and getting warmed up, Garth joined in on "All on a Mardi Gras Day" and stuck around for the closing trio of tunes, "Tears of Rage," "Shape I'm In," and the standard Ramble finale of "The Weight," with Punch Brother Gabe Witcher belting out the "Crazy Chester" verse and Cassandra Wilson joining in on the choruses.
[EDIT upon sister's request: Plus, Levon made out with my sister. OK, he just kissed her. But she may have been willing to go further. Probably less likely to pursue Garth.]
Seriously, you oughta go. I know money's tight these days, but you'll never be happier spending $125 or $150 than you will after you leave Levon's.
But back to me.
The birthday fun continued the next day at the incomparable Sweet Sue's in Phoenicia, NY, where pumpkin pancakes were devoured and I almost achieved my goal of finishing a "short stack" before my stomach informed me that four more bites would not be a good idea. So I admitted defeat, which never tasted so good.
It was a fine birthday.
(The fun concludes Wednesday night at Maxwell's, with Maybe Pete around 9:30 0r so [Chris Skel beforehand, Adam and Dave's Bloodline after]. Come on out for the fun.)
11.10.2008
Jimmy Martin: Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer
Here's another one that somehow slipped through the cracks. Surely, he should have been inducted a long time ago. But, unlike the Country Music Hall of Fame, I am willing to own up to my shortsightedness and correct it by welcoming Jimmy Martin into the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame.
By all accounts, Jimmy Martin was one of the true characters in country music. Evidence of this can readily be found by watching King of Bluegrass: The Life & Times of Jimmy Martin or reading Tom Piazza's undeniably awesome True Adventures with The King of Bluegrass, where I first became enthralled by the man shunned by both the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Grand Ole Opry despite clearly belonging in both. Martin got his first big break playing with Bill Monroe and quickly parlayed that into a solo career that stands among the best in bluegrass.
A lot of bluegrass doesn't quite have the same punch it did when it was originally recorded, but Martin's best ("Sunny Side of the Mountain," "Free Born Man," "Tennessee," "Hold Whatcha Got," "Sophronie," "(I've Got My) Future on Ice". . . I'll stop there, but I could easily go on) hold up well today. They didn't call him the king for nothing (though, knowing Martin, it seems likely he may have bestowed the title on himself). For a good sampling of Martin's genius, try The King of Bluegrass CD or Songs of a Free Born Man, which would be worth the money if all you got was the cover (shown above). It takes a bold man to prepare his own elaborate gravestone and then pose next to it. I've never gotten the whole visiting famous people's gravestones thing, but I'll admit that I wouldn't mind making a trip to see Mr. Martin's. I tried to see him in concert in 2004, but his declining health forced him to cancel his appearance at Ralph Stanley's bluegrass festival in Virginia and I never got the chance to see him again. He died in May 2005. So the gravestone's the best I can do now.
YouTube clips of Mr. Martin don't quite do him justice (though a few do a passable job and are included below), but Piazza's book, originally an article written for the Oxford American, gives you a pretty good idea of Martin's irascibility and its impact on his career. The highlight of the book is Martin and Piazza's backstage visit to the Grand Ole Opry, in which Martin (a) tells a member of Ricky Skaggs's band that his boss's music is "about the sorriest f*&$in' bluegrass you could ever hope to be on with"; (b) upon seeing Skaggs yells out, "Is that the BIGGEST A$$HOLE in Nashville; and (c) lunges at Opry veteran "Whisperin'" Bill Anderson after telling Piazza, "I'm going to knock his a$$ right off him." Even if he hadn't produced all those great songs, I'd think he was brilliant solely based on Piazza's reporting.
Some say his stubborn, frequently caustic ways kept him from greater acclaim, but they won't keep him from the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame, which recognizes Jimmy Martin's spirit, toughness, and musical genius and welcomes him into the Hall.
"Tennessee"
"Free Born Man"
11.05.2008
Hey, Douchebag (Special Political Edition)
I get it. It was a bad night for you. Your guy lost, and you're not thrilled with the guy the democracy has chosen. Fair enough. Everybody can't be happy all the time.
But, c'mon, you can't take a step back and appreciate the moment? You can't realize that President-elect Obama's election to the Oval Office is a beautiful moment in the history of a beautiful country? You can't look past your disdain for the man to see that the country has taken a brave step forward after taking far too many steps backward in its efforts to become a place where all are truly equal and can make a meaningful difference?
No, it seems you cannot. Look, I'm not 100% thrilled with Obama. He's got some flaws and a ton of question marks, but I like him enough to think he deserves a chance--a chance to lead the country, a chance to make America better, a chance to bring us closer together. You, on the other hand, can find nothing good about his election. You have to spend election night updating your Facebook status to indicate your sadness at what the American people have done and how you're "nauseous" and how people who don't think like you are "ignorant," while also tossing off vaguely racist crap that your pals applaud and LOL about it.
Listen up, douchebag. Your guy lost. The people have spoken. You might not like their reasons for voting the way they did and you might not like the guy they put into office, but that doesn't mean you have to be such a raging douche. Losing sucks, but, hey, my guys have lost a few times (and if we're to extend this to the sports spectrum, my guys have lost more than a few times), and I haven't spent the day after tossing off snotty comments like "remember down the road you asked for this" and just generally oozing creepitude.
So, hey, just do me this favor: dig down deep and find that open-hearted, open-minded part of you that you've buried under your cynicism, casual racism, and overall douchebaggery. I know it's there. It's gotta be. Douchebags are made, not born. And with the country in the shape it's in now, it's the perfect time to cut the crap and stop being such a narrow-minded tool. It won't be easy, but after soaking in the events of Tuesday night, I'm thinking you just might have a chance.
But, c'mon, you can't take a step back and appreciate the moment? You can't realize that President-elect Obama's election to the Oval Office is a beautiful moment in the history of a beautiful country? You can't look past your disdain for the man to see that the country has taken a brave step forward after taking far too many steps backward in its efforts to become a place where all are truly equal and can make a meaningful difference?
No, it seems you cannot. Look, I'm not 100% thrilled with Obama. He's got some flaws and a ton of question marks, but I like him enough to think he deserves a chance--a chance to lead the country, a chance to make America better, a chance to bring us closer together. You, on the other hand, can find nothing good about his election. You have to spend election night updating your Facebook status to indicate your sadness at what the American people have done and how you're "nauseous" and how people who don't think like you are "ignorant," while also tossing off vaguely racist crap that your pals applaud and LOL about it.
Listen up, douchebag. Your guy lost. The people have spoken. You might not like their reasons for voting the way they did and you might not like the guy they put into office, but that doesn't mean you have to be such a raging douche. Losing sucks, but, hey, my guys have lost a few times (and if we're to extend this to the sports spectrum, my guys have lost more than a few times), and I haven't spent the day after tossing off snotty comments like "remember down the road you asked for this" and just generally oozing creepitude.
So, hey, just do me this favor: dig down deep and find that open-hearted, open-minded part of you that you've buried under your cynicism, casual racism, and overall douchebaggery. I know it's there. It's gotta be. Douchebags are made, not born. And with the country in the shape it's in now, it's the perfect time to cut the crap and stop being such a narrow-minded tool. It won't be easy, but after soaking in the events of Tuesday night, I'm thinking you just might have a chance.
11.03.2008
Studs Terkel RIP
Back in the days when journalism seemed like a real possibility for the future, I wanted to be like Studs Terkel, and not just because he was in the greatest baseball movie of all time. I wanted to be the reporter who didn't make a living being flashy, but could still be the life of the party if needed. I wanted to be the guy who took an interest in probing the mind of the average person and getting at what was in there. I wanted to be the writer who let other people tell the story while I got out of the way.
I got a little lost along the way, became a little disillusioned with what journalism had become and the seeming impossibility that there would ever be another Studs Terkel. Or maybe I just got lazy. Whatever the case, I never stopped liking Studs Terkel. I was lucky enough to hear him speak a few times at lectures and readings and tell stories about his career in the business. For a guy best known for capturing the words of others, he was pretty deft at telling a story himself, and once he got going, it was hard to get him to stop.
It was nice to listen.
What I Liked About October
*Charlie Louvin, 92YTribeca/Banjo Jim's, NYC*Chiller Theatre Convention, Parsippany, NJ
*Billy Bragg, State Theatre, Ithaca, NY
*Rosanne Cash and Billy Bragg singing "I Still Miss Someone," Town Hall, NYC
*Meeting Aretha Franklin, NYC
*Friends of the Library Book Sale, Ithaca, NY
*Glenwood Pines, Ithaca, NY
*Gary Busey on Celebrity Rehab 2
*Maryland Renaissance Festival, Crownsville, MD
*Maureen McCormick book signing, Ridgewood, NJ
*Rick Bragg's The Prince of Frogtown
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places
10.31.2008
Treat!
Today, the first 120 or so young trick-or-treaters who venture to the twenty-seven-year home of Mr. Tinsel and Rot (landmark status pending) in Staten Island, NY, will be receiving at least five of the following (in snack size):
Kit Kats
Baby Ruths
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Butterfingers
Mini M&Ms
Nestle Crunches
Sour Patch Kids
Swedish Fish
AirHeads
AirHeads Lollipops
Chocolate Laffy Taffy
Chupa Chups
Milk Duds
Twizzlers
Hershey's Chocolate Lollipops
Jolly Rancher Bars/Twists/Some Bizarre Thing with Powder in the Middle
Snickers
Whoppers
You're welcome, children. You're welcome. Now, don't sh*t on my house.
(Compare with last year here.)
10.28.2008
New Roommate
When I moved into my apartment, which I lovingly dubbed Disgraceland, I was given a gold lamé-clad Elvis Presley cardboard standee that stood watch for several years before finally succumbing and going to that great recycling plant in the sky. Over the years, I have thought of replacing him with another standee, perhaps military Elvis or, I seriously considered once, a spangled hot pants-wearing Liberace (which I nearly bought before remembering that I am heterosexual and, theoretically, could have a female in my apartment one day). Ultimately, though, I never found the right replacement and accepted that the part of my life where it would be acceptable to have a cardboard standee in my apartment was about to end.
Then, at Chiller this weekend, I saw him. He was standing amid a booth full of toys and various other items adults shouldn't be purchasing. He had a Post-It that read $10 on him, and since I had done so well resisting the Call of the Autograph, I figured I was due for a reward. And so, I bought him.
It's Elvis hawking the limited edition Reese's Banana and Peanut Butter Cups (which aren't bad). It's not technically a standee, so it's now on my kitchen wall, which is a nice place for the King and his candy. And, ultimately, it's a nicer spot than his intended spot above the toilet, where he would have joined Crying Velvet Elvis by the sink.
Then, at Chiller this weekend, I saw him. He was standing amid a booth full of toys and various other items adults shouldn't be purchasing. He had a Post-It that read $10 on him, and since I had done so well resisting the Call of the Autograph, I figured I was due for a reward. And so, I bought him.
It's Elvis hawking the limited edition Reese's Banana and Peanut Butter Cups (which aren't bad). It's not technically a standee, so it's now on my kitchen wall, which is a nice place for the King and his candy. And, ultimately, it's a nicer spot than his intended spot above the toilet, where he would have joined Crying Velvet Elvis by the sink.
10.27.2008
Saturday with the Goons
"The goons, myself among them, with big photo albums, stained hands, and little scribbled cards. The nuts who stood happily rain-drenched at the premiere of Dames or Flirtation Walk, while the Depression went on and on even though Roosevelt said it couldn't last forever and Happy Days would come again.(from one-time autograph collector Ray Bradbury's A Graveyard for Lunatics)
The gorgons, the jackals, the demons, the fiends, the sad ones, the lost ones.
Once, I had been one of them.
Now, there they were. My family."
I am not sure if I should be happy that I had the foresight to show up before doors officially opened at last weekend's Chiller Theatre. On the one hand, by doing so, I assured that I did not wind up among the rained-upon masses lined up to get in midafternoon, who were halted from entering by order of the fire marshal. On the other hand, the fact that I knew I had to get there early and, indeed, actually wanted to be there on the always insanely crowded Saturday meant that I was now fully immersed in the world of Chiller and the aforementioned goons who attend it. This day was bound to come. I must accept it, along with the realization that I consider waiting in line for two hours to be a victory.
I can find some comfort in the knowledge that I was able to restrain myself from overspending and actually left the convention with no autographs and having paid only $20 to have my picture taken with two celebrities. (Again, I feel compelled to note that "celebrity" is a bit broad, for one person, whom I cannot reveal due to said person's pending appearance on this year's Holiday Greeting [yes, there will be one...happy?], is barely clinging to fame and the other, to be revealed later in this post, is almost certainly not a celebrity by any real definition.)
Of course, there were temptations. I was actually about to break down and get an autograph and picture with Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer Leslie Nielsen, but, lucky for my own eating plans for the week, Mr. Nielsen bowed out for a lunch break and I decided I didn't feel like waiting it out. I'd gotten his autograph before (free!), but I was almost persuaded by the fact that he had Enrico Pallazzo photos. Alas, it was not meant to be.
I intended to get an autograph (in my Islanders yearbook, from the year when he was their celebrity captain) from and/or a photo with Ralph Macchio, but I quickly abandoned that notion when I got a look at his price list: $30 for an autograph AND an additional $30 to have your picture taken with him. Seriously? The Ralph Macchio Experience costs $60? Suck it, Daniel-san.
I was so intently focused on staring at his price list and thinking that I must be reading it wrong that I momentarily blocked Linda Hamilton's photo lane, which she very kindly pointed out and then insisted I had no need to be sorry, because life is too short for that. By all accounts, she was the MVP of the weekend, staying, I heard from others, past closing time on Friday night to sign for everybody and owning what looked to be the longest line on Saturday, which moved slowly because she was taking time with every fan. I had no interest in meeting her, but it's always good to see someone going out of their way to be nice and genuinely happy at one of these things.
Also exceedingly nice was John Schneider, who brought along an entire store of "Dukes of Hazzard" merchandise, including four different kinds of t-shirts, hats, DVDs, photos, and license plates that read "Bo Duke." I was almost tempted by the 2 for $25 t-shirt deal, but I ultimately could not justify, even after seeing that he signs "Yee Haw!" on every autograph.
In the autograph tent out in the parking lot (no lines! no waiting!), I almost gave yet more money to Barry "Greg Brady" Williams when I saw that he was selling autographed tabu tikis (oooweeoooweeooo) for $30. But then I realized that I have already bought two different versions of his book and his not-so-good CD. I love "The Brady Bunch," but the line must be drawn somewhere. Sorry. I have paid my debt to Barry Williams. Adios, Johnny Bravo.
I was particularly bummed, however, that Barry Williams was going to sing at the big Saturday night party, because I couldn't stick around for that and thus missed what I have to assume will be my only opportunity to ever see Barry Williams and Kip Winger perform at the same show. Sigh.
Epstein, Horshack, and Washington were next to the Brady table. Sixty bucks for a photo with all three of them. I don't think so. Robert Hegyes looks like Superfly Snuka now. And by "Superfly Snuka now," I mean "Superfly Snuka now," not "Superfly Snuka back when he was popular."
Across from the Sweathogs, I was forbidden from taking a photo of Jamie Luner. I actually just wanted to take a photo of the sign above her that read
Jamie Luner
Profiler
Melrose Place
Just The Ten of Us,
because I thought it was funny. But as I prepared to do so, the woman taking the money at her table started waving her arms wildly and then yelled, "No pictures! You have to pay!" That was fun.
Luner was flanked on one side by Ron Lester, the previously egregiously obese actor from "Varsity Blues" and "Not Another Teen Movie" (and I was dismayed to realize on my way home, three episodes of "Freaks and Geeks..." yearbook signing opportunity missed), who not only has an entire line of products based upon his "Billy Bob" character in "Varsity Blues" but will also sign a pair of his old fat pants for $200 (Only 1 Pair!).
On the other side of Luner was Jeffrey Weissman, whom of course you remember as George McFly in the last two "Back to the Future" movies after Crispin Glover bailed. And in case you didn't remember, he brought props...props that had nothing to do with his character, but props nonetheless.
There were a few other temptations here and there, but I held fast to my goal of not buying autographs I didn't really want. And that was bad news for Zabka-esque villain extraordinaire Richard Tyson (from "Three O'Clock High" and "Kindergarten Cop"), whom I probably would have at least gotten a photo with in stronger economic times. Sorry, buddy.
George Kennedy was another tough one to pass up, particularly with Leslie Nielsen five tables away. I had considered buying a Naked Gun poster on eBay prior to the convention, but I'm a completist and since the chances of me getting (or wanting) OJ's autograph in the near future don't look good, I decided against it. Of course, it's horrible to reduce Kennedy's career to the Naked Gun series, but, in case you forgot, I'm a fairly horrible person a good deal of the time. In any case, here's a picture of him getting ready to sign a "Cool Hand Luke" poster.
I also could have easily spent some cash on a photo with Lita Ford, a pair of Kiss Me Deadly panties, or a tasteful poster for the apartment. Instead, I just took this photo.
So, you ask, who did you spend your hard-earned $10 on? Well, there were two gentlemen who looked awfully bored sitting behind a table in the tent. I didn't even know one of them, Randall Deal, was gonna be there, so I think he might've been a last-minute addition (and I assumed he was gonna be in the photo, too, but he just stood there, so it appears I assumed wrong...no big, ahem, deal, I suppose). And I saw a banjo on the table. And I thought, "C'mon, it's only $10. You gotta." And that's how I got my picture taken with Billy Redden, the man who played Lonnie, the (kind of) banjo-picking inbred in "Deliverance."
It took three tries (camera flash was acting up), but I'm quite happy with the finished product.
I'm also pleased that I was able to leave Chiller tired but satisfied, with mission accomplished and under $50 spent (one other purchase will be showcased in the next post). Victory is mine!
And, for the record, The Goons, Myself Among Them has replaced Good for You as the title of my next book (anticipated publication date: 2023)
Song o' the Month: October 2008
Charlie Louvin's "See The Big Man Cry" (written by Ed Bruce):
It would be horribly cliched to say they don't write songs like that anymore. It would also be true.
The song had already been in my head before seeing Mr. Louvin in concert twice last week, but now it is firmly lodged in my brain and will likely remain there for the rest of the month, maybe longer.
By the way, this is the best stage banter from Mr. Louvin from the two shows (this was from the Banjo Jim's show and is likely slightly paraphrased, but it captures the spirit of the thing):
[Spoken to an older woman with very blond hair] "Say, you remind me of my wife. What color are you on now? My wife asked me if I would love her when she went gray, and I told her, 'Well, I've loved you through about 40 other colors, so I reckon I'd be OK with that one.'"
Gotta love Charlie Louvin.
It would be horribly cliched to say they don't write songs like that anymore. It would also be true.
The song had already been in my head before seeing Mr. Louvin in concert twice last week, but now it is firmly lodged in my brain and will likely remain there for the rest of the month, maybe longer.
By the way, this is the best stage banter from Mr. Louvin from the two shows (this was from the Banjo Jim's show and is likely slightly paraphrased, but it captures the spirit of the thing):
[Spoken to an older woman with very blond hair] "Say, you remind me of my wife. What color are you on now? My wife asked me if I would love her when she went gray, and I told her, 'Well, I've loved you through about 40 other colors, so I reckon I'd be OK with that one.'"
Gotta love Charlie Louvin.
10.21.2008
Levi Stubbs RIP
It's hard to think of the Four Tops without thinking of my dad. He was a Temps and Tops kind of guy. I don't think he played favorites between the two, as I recall each getting equal play among the cassettes he carried with him for car rides upstate (it's hard to believe he didn't wear out the Temptations 'N' and Four Tops set he bought through the mail). But I do know that he bought a signed 8X10 of the Four Tops one of the times he saw them (was it at the Friar Tuck Inn upstate?), the only autograph I ever knew my dad to own.
So when I heard Levi Stubbs died, I thought of my dad. And car rides with those tapes (and, in the years before we made that great leap to a car that could play tapes, WCBS FM). And my dad singing in a voice that didn't quite match Mr. Stubbs'. And I was sad. And happy. Because it's like that sometimes.
Levi Stubbs knew that.
Rest in peace, Levi.
So when I heard Levi Stubbs died, I thought of my dad. And car rides with those tapes (and, in the years before we made that great leap to a car that could play tapes, WCBS FM). And my dad singing in a voice that didn't quite match Mr. Stubbs'. And I was sad. And happy. Because it's like that sometimes.
Levi Stubbs knew that.
Rest in peace, Levi.
10.19.2008
How You Don't Want to Start a Bus Trip
Me: Hey, how's it going?
Bus Driver: Good. Heading to Cortland?
Me: Yep.
Bus Driver: Hey, just out of curiosity, do you know where the new bus stop is there?
Me: Um, no.
Guy Behind Me In Line: Yeah, I forget what street it's on, but I can call and...
Bus Driver: It's Exit 11, I think, or something like that. I'm sure I'll be able to find it.
For the record, he wasn't. At least on the first try. But after heading a good ways into the boonies, he did have the wherewithal to think he might be headed the wrong way, which led to this:
Bus Driver: Hey, who's going to Cortland?
Me: Yeah, back here.
Bus Driver: So, this new stop, where is it again?
Me: Um, I think it's near the courthouse or something.
Bus Driver: OK, and where's that?
Me: I don't know.
Bus Driver: But back the other way, right?
Me: Um, I guess so?
Between this experience and having water spill on me for an hour on the Megabus from DC last weekend, I'm once again starting to think that bus travel may not be something I'm cut out for in my adulthood, assuming that is the stage of life I'm in now. Debatable.
Luckily the rest of the weekend--hanging with the family of Puck Daddy scourge Rev. Zamboni, going to the greatest book sale in the world, eating (and old-school arcade bowling) at the Glenwood Pines, seeing Billy Bragg in concert at one of my favorite theatres (with one of my favorite marquees), making another late-night visit to the alma mater, buying spiedie marinade at Wegmans--went a lot better.
10.14.2008
Lards of the Ring
I don't think it speaks well of me, but I am fascinated with wrestlers' attempts to keep it together after their time in the spotlight is over. As has been well documented, many succumb at a tragically young age after years of relentless traveling and often more than occasional drug use. But those who survive wind up touring the country doing independent shows in high school gyms and the occasional wrestling convention. I have been to a few of the former and a few too many of the latter, and at each I generally leave depressed at the state of the television heroes of my childhood. I would be lying, however, if I said I didn't find some glee in seeing an old wrestler who's gone to seed. I aint proud.
I do feel bad for the guys, but that doesn't prevent me from being highly entertained when they lose it and someone is there to document it. The best example would be Jake "The Snake" Roberts, whose WWE documentary (yes, I watched the whole thing) detailed a childhood that sounded so unbelievably miserable that I thought I could never again be entertained watching him in a drunken stupor (though I once was). Then, TMZ featured footage of him in an apparent stupor rambling like a lunatic, stumbling through a match, and then exposing himself (Jake maintains someone slipped him a mickey). And I was once again ashamed to be so entertained.
Then, this past Friday in New Jersey, another wrestler who has been alleged to have his fair share of demons, Scott Hall, disrupted a roast of the Iron Sheik because he took offense at an admittedly tasteless joke about the deceased Owen Hart. He threatened the offending comedian and generally rambled in what appeared to be a slightly inebriated state (part 1 here and subsequent parts on YouTube as well...all of which make me so sad that I wasn't there). Then for an encore on Saturday night, he allegedly behaved like a drunken ass at the hotel restaurant/bar. From a post on the convention board (you need to join to log in...I'd almost say it's worth it to read all the craziness that goes on there):
Without getting too graphic, he basically stated to my wife that I must have a lot of money because a “hot woman” like her would never marry an “ugly guy like him” and that she should come to his room later and that I would never know. Keep in mind as well this was in front of my 6 year old and 2 year old daughters and well before 6 pm. He then went on to state that he would like to perform oral sex (I’m apologize if I am being too graphic) on my wife “every day.”
There should be a channel devoted just to old wrestlers and their daily lives. I would want to be appalled by it...but then never leave my living room again.
I do feel bad for the guys, but that doesn't prevent me from being highly entertained when they lose it and someone is there to document it. The best example would be Jake "The Snake" Roberts, whose WWE documentary (yes, I watched the whole thing) detailed a childhood that sounded so unbelievably miserable that I thought I could never again be entertained watching him in a drunken stupor (though I once was). Then, TMZ featured footage of him in an apparent stupor rambling like a lunatic, stumbling through a match, and then exposing himself (Jake maintains someone slipped him a mickey). And I was once again ashamed to be so entertained.
Then, this past Friday in New Jersey, another wrestler who has been alleged to have his fair share of demons, Scott Hall, disrupted a roast of the Iron Sheik because he took offense at an admittedly tasteless joke about the deceased Owen Hart. He threatened the offending comedian and generally rambled in what appeared to be a slightly inebriated state (part 1 here and subsequent parts on YouTube as well...all of which make me so sad that I wasn't there). Then for an encore on Saturday night, he allegedly behaved like a drunken ass at the hotel restaurant/bar. From a post on the convention board (you need to join to log in...I'd almost say it's worth it to read all the craziness that goes on there):
Without getting too graphic, he basically stated to my wife that I must have a lot of money because a “hot woman” like her would never marry an “ugly guy like him” and that she should come to his room later and that I would never know. Keep in mind as well this was in front of my 6 year old and 2 year old daughters and well before 6 pm. He then went on to state that he would like to perform oral sex (I’m apologize if I am being too graphic) on my wife “every day.”
There should be a channel devoted just to old wrestlers and their daily lives. I would want to be appalled by it...but then never leave my living room again.
10.13.2008
Peace Queer
You like free music, right? Good. So why not go to Todd Snider's website before October 31 and download his new EP "Peace Queer." It's free. There aint no strings. You might like it. You might not. But when you're done listening, you'll be just as rich as you were when you started (depending, I suppose, on your stock portfolio, but Todd has no control over that).
If you're the type of person whose appetite needs to be whetted before consuming something that costs nothing, here's a video of the first song on the EP that combines two of my favorite things in the world: Todd Snider and Hatch Show Print.
If you're the type of person whose appetite needs to be whetted before consuming something that costs nothing, here's a video of the first song on the EP that combines two of my favorite things in the world: Todd Snider and Hatch Show Print.
10.08.2008
Dressing for success
Tinsel and Rot doesn't condone endangering the lives of innocent children, but if you're gonna have 15 beers and let a 10-year-old boy drive you, a couple of other kids, and your drug-collecting lady friend home, you should at least show the sense that Randy Lewis displayed in wearing a swell t-shirt for the inevitable mug shot.
You did it, Randy!
(photo from NET News Service)
You did it, Randy!
10.05.2008
The Tinsel and Rot Sirius Stiletto Top 20: DISCONTINUED
Because my Stiletto is continuing its slow descent into a worthless piece of crap and Sirius customer service has done its best not to help me, Tinsel and Rot must call an end to the Top 20. In its place, we present the Song o' the Month for September 2008, Luke Doucet's "Broken One."
10.01.2008
What I Liked About September
*The Wright/Killinger nuptials, Livermore Valley, CA
*Earl Anthony's Dublin Bowl, Dublin, CA
*Hangin' with the Finches, Oakland, CA
*Chocolate buttermilk doughnut, Donut-Wheel, Livermore, CA
*Maybe Pete CD Release Party, The Saint, Asbury Park, NJ
*Birthday fun, Tully, NY
*That 24-hour period where it looked like I might have Mets playoff tickets
*Pinetop Perkins, State Theatre, New Brunswick, NJ
*Tony Clifton, BB King Blues Club, NYC
*The Duhks/Luke Doucet, Maxwell's, Hoboken, NJ
*Time's Up
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places
9.30.2008
Billy Joe Shaver: Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer
Sometimes, the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame Board of Governors lets one slip through the cracks. Such is the case with the long-overdue induction of true country music outlaw Billy Joe Shaver.
I have explained why Billy Joe Shaver is cooler than you'll ever be before (and pointed you to a good career summation here), so I'll keep this relatively brief.
The first time I saw Billy Joe Shaver was completely unexpected, as he was the unadvertised opening act at Elmira's Clemens Center, where my friend Bryan and I had headed on a schoolnight in college to slip in among the elderly of Elmira to see Willie Nelson from second-row seats. Since no one was expecting Mr. Shaver and most of the crowd had rigid bedtimes, he was fighting an uphill battle. But he handled it like a champ. When the inevitable "Where's Willie?" shout came from the crowd, Mr. Shaver answered with the completely illogical but perfectly right reply, "If he was up your ass, you'd know where he was." And thus, two new Billy Joe Shaver fans were created.
Shaver's set was short that night in Elmira, but I've been lucky enough to see him a few times since and have never left disappointed. Each show has had its fair share of chaos (such as the one where he gave his drummer a few bucks and told him to leave if he wanted to...he did) and an equal amount of brilliance. There are probably a handful of people whose shows leave me as happy as Mr. Shaver's do, and none of them feature a man in his late 60s shadow boxing and shaking with the fervor of a Pentecostal preacher.
Mr. Shaver was recently indicted on felony charges for allegedly shooting a guy at a bar in Lorena, Texas (Dale Watson wrote a song about it and what Mr. Shaver allegedly asked the man he shot). I aint saying he did it, and if he did, I aint saying it's right. What I am saying is that this incident and about a thousand others prove that Billy Joe Shaver is a bona fide badass.
And now he is a member of the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame.
Here are some YouTube clips of Billy Joe in action:
"Georgia on a Fast Train" (with his late son Eddy)
"Black Rose"
"Try and Try Again"
Billy Joe the storyteller
I have explained why Billy Joe Shaver is cooler than you'll ever be before (and pointed you to a good career summation here), so I'll keep this relatively brief.
The first time I saw Billy Joe Shaver was completely unexpected, as he was the unadvertised opening act at Elmira's Clemens Center, where my friend Bryan and I had headed on a schoolnight in college to slip in among the elderly of Elmira to see Willie Nelson from second-row seats. Since no one was expecting Mr. Shaver and most of the crowd had rigid bedtimes, he was fighting an uphill battle. But he handled it like a champ. When the inevitable "Where's Willie?" shout came from the crowd, Mr. Shaver answered with the completely illogical but perfectly right reply, "If he was up your ass, you'd know where he was." And thus, two new Billy Joe Shaver fans were created.
Shaver's set was short that night in Elmira, but I've been lucky enough to see him a few times since and have never left disappointed. Each show has had its fair share of chaos (such as the one where he gave his drummer a few bucks and told him to leave if he wanted to...he did) and an equal amount of brilliance. There are probably a handful of people whose shows leave me as happy as Mr. Shaver's do, and none of them feature a man in his late 60s shadow boxing and shaking with the fervor of a Pentecostal preacher.
Mr. Shaver was recently indicted on felony charges for allegedly shooting a guy at a bar in Lorena, Texas (Dale Watson wrote a song about it and what Mr. Shaver allegedly asked the man he shot). I aint saying he did it, and if he did, I aint saying it's right. What I am saying is that this incident and about a thousand others prove that Billy Joe Shaver is a bona fide badass.
And now he is a member of the Tinsel and Rot Hall of Fame.
Here are some YouTube clips of Billy Joe in action:
"Georgia on a Fast Train" (with his late son Eddy)
"Black Rose"
"Try and Try Again"
Billy Joe the storyteller
9.29.2008
Kids today
I like to check my college newspaper's website on a fairly regular basis to see what the college kids are up to these days. So, as my body recovered from the physical abuse inflicted upon it by a floor hockey game and was reminded that it is not in college-age shape anymore (though, to be fair, it probably wasn't in college-age shape in college either), I clicked on over and found this (and watched the accompanying video).
Oh brother. I'm not sure I've ever been more ashamed to be an alumnus. And that's saying a lot.
The two quotes that best capture my reasons for shame are:
“Most people I saw [during the game] thought it was awesome and wanted to join or hear more about it,” he said. “Some of them just thought it was silly, and I only saw one person who ever got angry.”
and
“I was very psyched about battling zombies,” he said. “It’s a good thing for people to come together on campus. You know, you see someone walking around campus with a Nerf gun and you just say hi or someone you don’t know starts chasing you across campus. It’s pretty fun.”
During my college days, I can assure you that if 160 people were running around campus with bandanas tied around their arms and hands and brandishing Nerf guns, most people I know wouldn't have thought, "Hey, that's awesome! Where can I join in on this crazy good time?" And if I had known that having someone you don't know chase you around campus was fun, I imagine my college dating experience would've gone a lot more smoothly.
Kids today.
Oh brother. I'm not sure I've ever been more ashamed to be an alumnus. And that's saying a lot.
The two quotes that best capture my reasons for shame are:
“Most people I saw [during the game] thought it was awesome and wanted to join or hear more about it,” he said. “Some of them just thought it was silly, and I only saw one person who ever got angry.”
and
“I was very psyched about battling zombies,” he said. “It’s a good thing for people to come together on campus. You know, you see someone walking around campus with a Nerf gun and you just say hi or someone you don’t know starts chasing you across campus. It’s pretty fun.”
During my college days, I can assure you that if 160 people were running around campus with bandanas tied around their arms and hands and brandishing Nerf guns, most people I know wouldn't have thought, "Hey, that's awesome! Where can I join in on this crazy good time?" And if I had known that having someone you don't know chase you around campus was fun, I imagine my college dating experience would've gone a lot more smoothly.
Kids today.
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