JohnJayJay · Guilty Pleasure

So this is what I've been doing for about the last week or so. Basically this is an amalgamation of every musical "guilty pleasure" I've ever had. Euro disco/Giorgio Moroder, Duran Duran, moog synths, and layers and layers of shoegaze guitar (I maxed out my Mac making this...almost crashed it). I played my StingRay bass on this...I haven't played it in over 25 years. I forgot what a nice growl it has! (but it's a bit of a beast compared to my Fender P;)

A couple of initial observations about Colorado:
1) Everybody tailgates. Bigly. It's seriously not cool. 83 mph and attached to my rear bumper? Apparently that's called a "Colorado hello!"
2) People here love to haul crap around. Bikes. Camping equipment. Bikes. Fishing gear. Furniture. Hardware. Did I mention bikes? What they DON'T like to do is properly secure their load. "Three mountain bikes, a tent, fishing gear, and a 8 cu. ft. cooler attached to the roof/trunk of my car? Doable. Just need to attach it with some twine I got at the UPS store, some leftover Xmas ribbon, and this old leather belt. Looks secure to me!" Well, it's not. In fact, following you on a mountain road without the ability to get around you is mildly terrifying (pic above for comedic effect).
3) Tattoos. Apparently, when you establish residency and get your Colorado driver's license, you're required to get a minimum of three. In fact, I'll bet there's a little tattoo parlor next to the DMV photo booth.
4) Trucker hats. See above.
5) People are friendly. This is a plus. Everybody likes to chat and say hello and/or wave. Perhaps it's the midwestern influence.
6) My yard is choked with deer. It's like having giant, mutant gophers.
7) The weather is schizophrenic. Coming from California, this is a little jarring. I thought it was a joke about keeping a jacket/rain jacket in your car 24-7, because you never know. News Flash: it's not a joke.
8) It's beautiful here. Kinda awesome in that regard.

Firing Up the Blog

Greetings internet. So, I haven't blogged anything in like three years. Why am I blogging something right now, you may ask? No good reason, really. It could be the garlic hummus I had earlier seems to have had a secret ingredient of sulfuric acid I wasn't aware of (at least according to my current heartburn that's not allowing me to sleep). Or, it could be because I'm moving to Colorado in five days, and have about a million things going on in my head. Possibly. Or, maybe it's just because I used to do it for no other reason than to have a writing outlet, and writing is something I feel I do with a bit of panache...and it's something I've been ignoring for far too long. Who knows. What I do know is the air here in the Central Valley is God awful. After living on the coast for three years, and then moving back here for a few months while my home in Colorado is completed, all I can say is I forgot just how wonderful asthma can be when it's really heinous and agitated, and let me tell you, since I've been back I've kind of had this General Grievous thing going on (the cough and rasp...not the robotic arms...although that would be kinda cool. What's that? Yes. General Grievous. Revenge of the Sith. Episode III. You know...STAR WARS? Oh...you don't? Oh. Well, you see, General Grievous was this...oh, never mind non-nerd. Be gone with you and go back to your den of aloof coolness and vape something ((is vaping still a thing? I have no idea because I'm pretty out of touch with pop culture these days...)). Now, where the hell was I? Oh yeah...blogging. Anyways, this will probably be the last blog I have for several months because of my upcoming move and need to set up a new house and life in Colorado, but I intend to come back and share life's little oddities and wry observations like I used to. Oh, and if I ever get around to writing and recording music again, I'll put that here too (see previous post three years ago for last song...). Anyways, let's get on with a few thoughts:


-saw a guy driving around with both an American flag, and a Confederate battle flag (you know, the red flag with a blue "X" with stars on it all redneck jackasses like to put in the rear window of their truck) flying from his humongous SUV. I found this confusing, because I'm not sure what the message this half-wit was trying to convey. "I'm an American and proud Southern Separatist?" Well, if that's the case you're confused, because you can't be both. Pick one and live with it dipshit. "I'm a proud Trump supporter delighting in owning the libs?" Well, based on your visual cues indicating your stupidity, I'd say that is obvious, but the only owning going on is the self-own established above. "I'm a racist troglodyte?" Ding, ding, ding. I think we know the answer to my initial confusion. However, there was kind of a poetic beauty to this inbreeds visual display, and that is this...ha. Kidding. Of course there wasn't. The guy's a moron and a bigot who couldn't spell poetic if it was tattooed on his girlfriends moon-pie ass (and it would probably be spelled "poletic" because her tattoo artist thought she was talking about her profession). Hmmm...bigot AND moron. What's that make him? A migot? A boron? All of the above? Discuss amongst yourselves.


-ran errands today ten minutes after taking a shower. After being outside for a whopping eleven seconds, I had already begun to sweat through my t-shirt. That’s what I love about Fresno summer: if you leave the house, you’re never more than 15 minutes away from total sweat funk. It’s magical.


-Pet peeves. Let’s talk about them. Here’s one of mine: somebody texts you, and within three seconds of receiving the text, you call them back because the answer is too nuanced, lengthy, or complicated for a text response. They don’t answer. And, they don’t text back either...even though they just text you five seconds ago. It’s like it never happened. It’s almost as if they text you from a deck of a cargo ship, and then immediately threw their phone into the ocean right after they hit “send”, and then began a years long adventure as a merchant marine sans mobile device. I imagine them steaming away from the Golden Gate Bridge, through the fog, and headed for the open sea...squinting towards the horizon and pulling their wool watch cap closer over their ears as their iPhone sinks ever deeper into the icy abyss, and thinking to themselves: “I now belong to the sea...as she is my mistress and master.” Oh, and somewhere in there they’re drinking a steaming cup of strong coffee...its vapor tendrils mixing with the mist around them. Anyways, don’t text unless you’re ready to engage is my point.


-So, I’m staying with my mom for a few weeks. One of my favorite cocktails for hot weather (i.e. typical Fresno summer) is a gin and tonic. Crisp and refreshing. So, I say, “Mom, would you like a G&T?” She replies she really isn’t familiar with the drink, as she’s not a big gin drinker. I whip one up and her reply? “Hey. That’s damn good.” So, I give you the mom approved G&T recipe for the these hot summer months. Have one of these, and I guarantee you’ll feel like a Raj (side note, I also made chicken tikka masala that night, so I think I was rocking a whole subcontinental theme there). In a highball glass:

-3 oz Beefeater gin
-juice of one lime
-fill glass with good ice
-top off with Schweppes tonic (Schweppes is key)
-lime twist
Sip, and think of Queen Victoria’s empire.






-I’m not a huge fan of flying. Why? Because flying, and airports in general, basically suck. Unless of course you enjoy being treated like cattle and then being sealed into a plague ship with recirculating air. However, there is fun in the anticipation of whatever new, fresh Hell an airport can throw your way. Today’s new escapade? The person in front of me wearing 92 million dollars worth of jewelry attempting to get through security. This held me up and left my phone and wallet unattended in the security tray...ripe for the picking and kicking off my OCD and thoughts of being forever trapped at DIA with no money, ID, or means of communication. Didn’t happen of course, but I tried to recreate the expression on my face in this pic as I stared at the walking Tiffany display jamming up the works at security. Makes me actually appreciate the ease of travel in and out of Fresno. I love you FAT. Never change.




-Friends only exist if there's ease of access. Friendship is all about access and availability. I've firmly come to believe this. Lovers too. Humans are funny this way. No matter how close you are to people...try moving away for some years and then coming back. You'll find it's never really the same again, if you can even restore any kind of connection at all (I've moved around a bit so I'm familiar with the phenomena). That's why family is the constant. Family never goes away. They're up your ass 24-7, and, voila, your family will be your constant companions until one of you dies. I don't mean this negatively, as there is comfort in this. My point here is, you'd better be on your families good side, they're all you've got in the end. Everybody else is transitory (sad? Kinda. Heavy? A little. But completely true. So, now, all of you, go call your mom...she's dying to tell you about her latest doctors appointment and how her next door neighbors daughter is going back into rehab).


OK, that will have to do for now. Not my greatest work, but it's a start. However, the Benadryl is kicking in (yes, allergies...and hey, who doesn't like riding the diphenhydramine dragon? Now somebody cue up "Fly Like an Eagle". Time keeps on slippin, slippin...) and I'm going to call it a night and have some seriously funky dreams (an interesting effect of Benadryl on me...just thought I'd share).

New song...I know, been away for a year...

So, been away for a year...but I'm still around.  Moved to the coast (was time to get out of the valley heat).  Anywhoo...the title of the song, "Nine Sisters", is reference to where I now live...and the pic above are some of those Nine Sisters (if you look it up, you can learn about it...volcanic morro's...yadda yadda yadda).  Bass was a little muddy at intro, but I cleaned it up as best I could.  The second part/end of song was inspired by Echo and the Bunnymen by the way...and yes, another instrumental!

Jurassic Park and OSHA

You know, after seeing a few Jurassic Park movies, and then the trailer for the latest, I've got to say I'm surprised OSHA* hasn't shut the park down. I mean, their safety record is, at best, "spotty."

I have this image of the Federal Inspector touring the park's raptor pit with a park representative. I would imagine the conversation would go something like this:

"OK, look. That's like the third....(flips through papers on a clipboard)...no, fourth employee that was eaten this year. I mean...come on. Were they wearing their orange safety vests? Gloves? Hard hat? Did they watch the initial 2-hour "Raptors and You" safety video? You guys are getting pretty lax here..."

(park rep) "Dude. They're carnivorous pack hunters. What are 'ya gonna do? You want to make a raptor, you're going to have to crack a few egg...heads. Haha? Get it? Egg HEADS? 'Cuz it's a play on words on a colloquialism and I worked in how paleontologists are known as egg heads? Funny! Amiright?????"

(OSHA guy...unamused) "Uh-huh. Look at those raptor barriers. Clearly a trip and fall hazard. And all this loose wiring (gestures wildly with his ball point pen) is an electrocution waiting to happen. I'm telling you...one more T-Rex rampage and you guys are DONE." (rips off warning citation and hands it to park rep)

(park rep) "Yeah, yeah. We'll take care of it." (mutters under breath "effing bureaucrats")

(OSHA guy) "ONE. MORE. T-REX. RAMPAGE. Just try me..."

Etc.

*OSHA=Occupational Safety and Health Administration 

Star Wars, hipsters, and their unholy union...

Hipsters.  They have an amazing ability to co-opt things they didn't invent and make them popular.  Too popular.  Annoyingly popular.  Stupid popular.  This irritates me.  I have touched on this before.  Things I have enjoyed for decades in relative anonymity have now been thrust into the corporate spotlight (due to corporations slavish devotion to try to sell ANYTHING to that all important 18-25 demographic*) as well as all over mass media.  This has had the unfortunate effect of driving up the prices on things I love, as well as making them nauseatingly trendy.  The list (although not all-inclusive) of these items include: bourbon (I've been drinking it forever, and it's been the adult beverage of choice in my family for generations.  Previous 20-something's view of bourbon, and really, whiskey, in general: "Ewwwww!  Tastes like gasoline!  Where's the Smirnoff Ice????" Now?  "It's soooo good!  You can really taste the " as they try and not gag and secretly wish there was a melon flavored something they could enjoy without shame); maple syrup (fake pancake syrup is gross.  I have held this standard as far back as I can remember.  Generally, if it's not available, I will change my breakfast order to a dish that doesn't require syrup.  It just tastes BETTER.  By far.  Now?  Somebody has decided that real maple syrup has some kind of anti-oxidant benefit and is an acceptable "natural" sweetener for a New Agey diet.  It's been lumped into Agave syrup and other exotics.  Whatever.  Thanks for doubling its price you twats**); butter (been the family standard cooking fat of choice since I was born, as well as the obvious choice for toast, etc.  I used to go to friends homes as a kid and they'd offer me margarine and it was all I could do not to wretch as I tried to choke it down.  I discovered grass fed butter when I went to England in 1995.  I loved it.  Kerry Gold was the closest to it you could get here, and I used to buy it as a treat...was awesome on sourdough with blackberry jam.  Now?  It's the uber cool thing to mix into your coffee.  Um...ok.  So now, every Silicon Valley master of the universe is mixing it into their fair trade, organic, lizard dung beans every morning for it's transformative health benefits.  Again, giant "what-evs" from me...other than, again, thanks for driving the price through the roof); bacon (used to be bacon was Satan's candybar.  The nitrates!  Meat is murder!  Cancer!  Etc. Etc.  And it was cheap...generally, the cheapest cut of meat at the grocery store.  Now?  Every dingleberry with a beard and waxed mustache has webpages devoted to the worship of it, and restaurateurs and food trucks have entire lines of cuisine devoted to it.  Again, the end result?  Bacon is like the price of steak now, and suddenly a delicacy that can be found coated in chocolate, on donuts, and mixed into ice-cream); slim-cut jeans (when I was in high-school, you could not find a slim-cut jean.  Most folks had to either fold over the pant leg and cuff it up, or, if you were a bit more punkish, some folks would safety pin them up along the seam.  Me?  I got tired of messing with it and would rip the seam out and have my mom...who could blissfully sew...re-stitch them up to my satisfaction.  It wasn't perfect, but it would do.  Now?  The glockenspiel and flannel shirt crowd wears jeans so tight they must cut off circulation to their ankles.  Fine.  Whatever.  But when I wear a pair of jeans with a slender cut, the same way I have since about '84-'85, I feel like I'm being shamelessly trendy, as opposed to wearing the same jeans I have for the last 30 years, and will continue to wear when they are no longer in style, and the "kids" go back to wearing jeans that fit like a circus tent); desert boots (I've been wearing them since 1988, and I have the pics to prove it.  For reasons I do not understand, they became "the shit".  Again, prices exploded.  Blissfully waiting for the day they become passe, and I can wear my Clarks in peace again); tacos (how much do I love tacos?  I found one of my mom's old diaries where an entry talks about when I was 3 yrs. old and recovering from pneumonia, my mom knew I was on the mend because I ate TWO tacos.  It used to be you had to go to the latin part of town to find a good taco, because the only other choice was Taco Bell...which is fine if you're drunk, or starving and in a hurry, or both, but it's hardly the epitome of the taco.  Now?  Food trucks roam the streets featuring things like Korean rib and kimchi tacos.  For some reason, it has been decided the fried corn tortilla has been declared the hipster food delivery starch of choice.  I'm waiting for the maple infused bacon taco with a bourbon reduction to emerge from the pierced eyebrow crowd), etc.  You get the picture here.  There's more, like the sudden re-emergence of shoegaze music, but I'll save that rant for another time.  So, my latest annoyance?  The worship of STAR WARS.

I have a strong emotional attachment to Star Wars.  I saw the original release when it debuted in 1977, and remember being a wee tyke standing in line for HOURS outside the theater in a line that wrapped around the building multiple times.  I remember thinking "this is stupid....why are we waiting so long?  I want to go home...you're screwing up my Saturday and cartoon watching time".  Then, I finally got into the theater, and my mind was absolutely blown for the next two hours.  It was a game changer.  Nothing, and I mean NOTHING had ever been made like that before.  I was instantaneously hooked.  I bought the soundtrack records (yes, records.  33 1/3 baby...) and listened to them obsessively.  I saw it in the theaters on its original run like 4-5 times (a big deal back then), watched the Christmas specials, The Muppet Show specials, had every toy released, etc.  In 1983 for Return of the Jedi, as a brand new teen, I honestly developed my "Slave Leia" obsession (this obsession was only nearly equalled by that other transformative female lead in a Sci-Fi moment I had experienced years earlier: Jenny Agutter in Logan's Run...ah, memories) by actually seeing Carrie Fisher in the movie in an unexpected way, as opposed to it being some sort of now cool nerd fetish.  When Empire was released, I found a pair of ski goggles and would wrap a sock (I didn't own a scarf) around my mouth while wearing a winter jacket (this is in the middle of a Fresno summer, btw) so I could look like the Rebel troops fighting the Imperial Army on Hoth.  My parents thought I was more than a little odd.  Years later, when the prequels were released, despite how I may have felt about them, I watched and enjoyed them for what they were.  I didn't go on tirades about how George Lucas had screwed up the franchise, etc. (here's a concept: it was HIS franchise.  He could "do" with it as he pleased).  I was especially galled when 20-somethings, too young to have seen the originals when they came out, or even most theatrical re-releases, wrote long and lengthy pieces about how they felt their childhood was now tarnished by these new abominations.  Really?  What childhood memories?  What Kairotic moment?  Sitting at home on the sofa and watching them on VHS/DVD while you simultaneously played your Nintendo DS?  That's not an investment.  That's not a transitive moment.  They simply cannot know what it was like to stand in the heat for 4-5 hours to see something wholly new.  So new, Lucas had to invent new cameras and XF techniques just to make the movies.  These Gen-Y, Gen-Next nattering nabobs of narcissism grew up with the XF blockbuster.  The movie world was transformed long before they started watching movies.

Anyways, something happened in the last few years to where Star Wars became a "thing".  Girls are now sporting hoochie R2-D2 dresses and Slave Leia costumes at conventions, guys are getting Sith Lord tattoos, blah blah blah.  Whenever I see a 23 year old exclaim, "I'm such a Star Wars nerd!", I want to ask, "Why?"  Did they stand in line as a child for hours on end to see the films because there was no cable or at home video?  Did the movies open up a new world of fantasy that had never been seen before?  Just why, exactly, do you have a Wookie tattooed to your ass?  I'm curious...please enlighten me.  I don't think they really know, other than some Borg-like, nerd hive-mind somewhere decided "Thou shalt like Star Wars!  Oh, and bacon and whiskey too...", and like the empty headed lemmings they are, they all swan-dove off of the bearded, craft brewed, locally sourced cliff.
So, here we are, another thing sullied by the hipster d-bag crowd.  Is it too much to expect these folks to come up with something on their own?  Or are they too creatively bankrupt?  Maybe their electronic interconnectedness has prevented anyone from breaking out from the crowd and come up with their own thing?  Their generation blockbuster movies are all based on comic books going back decades.  Where's their George Lucas?  Actually, that's not entirely fair.  They have been great at technical innovation.  I give them credit for taking the internet revolution and running with it.  But they seem so tech heavy/savvy, so obsessed with the technical, the digital, the STERILE, they seem to lack the ability to indulge in the ephemeral, or even the corporeal.  They're so bored and over stimulated, they've never experienced a true visceral moment.  Seems kind of sad...***

Anyways, here's a few other things I massively enjoyed in my younger days.  Let's see how long before they become bastardized by the hipster crowd: original, un-pc Warner Bros. cartoons, especially any featuring Daffy Duck in a satirical role (Duck Dodgers, The Scarlet Pumperkickel, Duck Twacy, etc.); ska logo t-shirts (Specials/The Beat, etc); the Ibanez MC 800/900 bass guitar; pot roast/beef stew; the Tom Collins; and bikini underwear on women (as opposed to the "thong"...bleh).
Let's see what happens...

*when KFC and Budweiser are making commercials featuring the mustachioed crowd, the supposed lovers of irony (as evidenced by their beloved t-shirts) are failing to grasp that they, themselves, have become ironic  
**my chosen name for hipsters, and often used together.  See "hipster twats" in previous posts.
***Sad or not, you've stained Star Wars...and for that, there is no sympathy or forgiveness      

So, I recorded this song a little while ago with the idea for a story, and the song became a sort of soundtrack in my head as I put it together. Well, just for kicks I put some imagery to it...which necessitated changing the story a bit. The story now: A "fixer" gets hired to eliminate a target...a young woman. He's not told why, just that it needs to be done, and he needs to leave town as soon as the job is completed. He's given his up-front money, a stolen pistol, a fake passport, and the address and a picture of his target. He travels to San Francisco and follows her throughout the city and back to her apartment, where he plans to finish the job. However, this is no ordinary young woman, and she's waiting in ambush for him (she was obviously tipped off to his presence). A bloody exchange happens, and the fixer heads for the north coast to escape and heal his wounds. The woman's fate is unknown. Revenge on his mind, the fixer heads back to the city, and finds the man (a Russian mob boss) who hired him at his downtown club. The mobster practically ignores him stating "I was hoping the both of you would take each other out...but I see you're still with us. Congratulations. Now get out ...before I finish my oysters." The mobster arrogantly goes back to his dinner and figures the man he hired will be on the run and fearing for his life...and won't dare to retaliate (such is the mobster's reputation). The fixer stares at the mobster a moment longer, and then quietly walks out of the club and waits in the shadows across the street for the mobster to finish his dinner and get into his car. The fixer sees his revenge complete, leaves town, and puts that fake passport and money to use. Anyways, I only spent a few hours looking for public domain photos to use, so I didn't really geek out on this, it was merely a pleasant diversion. But, I still think it came out fairly well considering the self imposed limitations (like having to use one photo of a toy pistol, for instance;)

California and other musings...

-I live in California. This is not really an amazing fact, but merely a fact in and of itself. California is a place, and it's where I happen to live. Having said that, I don't think about it much. And why would I? We all have lives and other more important matters to fret about, and where we happen to geographically be located normally falls pretty low on the daily thought scale (unless you happen to live in Somalia or Fallujah, for instance. I'm sure folks who live there think about what that means quite a bit). Anyways, where I live is a decent sized city of 500,000 people. However, it is surrounded by farmland and hills/mountains, so it's a surprisingly rural place given its size. Anyways, I sometimes forget that a mere 15 minute drive from my home is geography like this:

It's easy to forget something as beautiful as this is right outside your door. Literally. I had forgotten my hometown had this kind of geography...and it is easy to do. Sometimes we need to just walk outside our door, and put life on hold...if even for only a few hours. If we don't, views like this might as well be a 1,000,000 miles away. This brings me to another point: our drought. If you look at these pictures, you can see where the normal waterline is, and where we are currently at...and it's the end of the rainy season. Not good...at all. Still, it's not like the state sits next to trillions of gallons of water or anything. I mean, how handy would it be to border an ocean, right? If only somebody would invent some sort of handy-dandy process to extract the salt from seawater, perhaps our water issues could be solved. Clearly, that is but a fantasy scenario*

(* This is, of course, hyperbole. California needs to get real and line the coast with desalination plants. If the Middle East can put water slides and ski slopes in their malls located in the middle of the Sahara...courtesy of desalination plants... I would think the world's 7th biggest economy** could do the same and spare us from having to refrain from flushing our toilets or taking a "not more than" five minute shower. Just build a solar farm next to them to supply the power, and presto...it's even green and self sustaining. Naaaah...makes too much sense, and, until a corporation figures out how to charge us for sunlight and seawater, they won't be interested...which is why California needs to make this THE public works project of the 21st century. A water independent California would be an economic juggernaut unlike the world has ever seen. Unfortunately, such ambitions requires foresight and long term thinking/planning, something westerners, and specifically Americans, are typically quite poor at....)

(** California is the world's 7th largest economy. Suck it Texas and New York...outside your own mind, you're just not that important)

Other thoughts:

-why can't I get breakfast past 11am in most restaurants?  What's the issue, man?  For whatever reason, the restaurateurs of America have decided "Thou shalt NOT eat a pancake, bacon, and scrambled eggs after 11am!....no exceptions!!!"  Why?  Is there a time lock vault that locks up the eggs and bacon after 11am?  Is there a rotation of staff that occurs at 11am ON THE DOT that, while perfectly comfortable grilling up a hamburger and fries, have no concept of how to scramble a fucking egg?  "Scramble an egg?  What am I?  Houdini???"  Or, in most restaurants, is the staff with knowledge of all things breakfast summarily executed every morning at 11...which explains the high employee turnover at most restaurants.  Seriously.  What the hell?  On a weekend when I sleep in...or while on vacation....I don't want to be in a panic to get up early to make the "breakfast hour".  I want to enjoy myself at a leisurely pace, and, what I don't want, is a shrimp cocktail or lasagna with my morning cup of coffee.  I want biscuits and gravy.  French toast.  'Ya know?  A fucking FRITTATA. Not a roast chicken.  Who's with me on this?  "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not gonna take this anymore!!!"  "Attica!  Attica!" etc.  Anyways, as you can see, this really irritates me.

-why is the world generally set up on a 8am-6pm schedule?  To take advantage of sunlight?  Is that the reason?  We're no longer an agrarian society.  I don't get up at dawn to milk cows in an unlit barn.  We live in a world of electric light.  We can have light whenever we want it.  It's glorious.  There's no need to chase the sun like an 18th century farmer anymore.  Let it go.  Nobody, and I mean, NOBODY, is at their best at 8am.  It takes a gallon of coffee and the stress of a commute to wake us up.  Study after study has indicated the early morning hours are not the time for peak human efficiency.  Furthermore, these same studies have shown that this is just about the WORST time to try and educate a child...so naturally our schools are set up on this inefficient and archaic time system.  Along with extending breakfast hours, we need to push back the work day to something like 10am to 8pm...seriously.  There needs to be a grassroots movement on this.  I'd do it, but I'm too exhausted from getting up so goddamn early (ha! A joke!).

-ok.  Not my best efforts here, but I rushed through it just to put something up.  I've been meaning to do it for a few weeks, but never seemed to get around to it.  So...ta da and all that.  Now, I'd write more, but I need to shower as I just finished a run a little while ago.  No, I don't enjoy running.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say it sucks.  What I enjoy even less, however, is the couple of extra pounds from the holidays that have stubbornly set up camp in my midsection.  Amazing how such a fleeting amount of pleasure can result in such a protracted amount of misery (if that's not a constant analogy for pretty much all of life's experiences, I don't know what is).        

New Song (edited)

OK.  Here's the edited version of last song I recorded minus the sound effects (i.e. record needle scratch, siren, desert wind, etc).  This is just basically the straight forward song itself.  It's an odd amalgamation of influences of mine: The Charlatans and The Church (and maybe a little Radiohead with the some of the background guitar atmospherics).  Specifically, the Hammond organ is all Charlatans circa their Some Friendly album, and the guitar is a lot of The Church circa their Starfish album (again, with a light dusting of Radiohead).  Recorded with nothing but an old Mac, and a Fender Strat and P-Bass.  Mixed pretty well, so use headphones!  As always, an instrumental, as I cannot sing...at..all.

New Song

So, I like to fiddle around with music. Might as well put the old guitars to some sort of use. What I don't do is write lyrics. Not my thing. It doesn't come natural to me, and it's just not a strong suit of mine. So, I say that to explain this: since my music is all instrumentals, I tend to have a lot of visual imagery floating around in my head as I compose something. This one is no different. But I'm getting ahead of myself. As far as the song itself, it's a mishmash of a lot of bands/styles/genres I love. Specifically (in this instance): Ennio Morricone/The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly; The Charlatans from their Some Friendly period; The Church from their Starfish album; U2's Unforgettable Fire; Catherine Wheel's Ferment album; and even a little Depeche Mode and Beastie Boys Paul's Boutique in the intro and outro. So, back to the song: I thought of it as a soundtrack to a highly stylized movie from the late 60s, early 70s (not the music itself, just the movies imagery...although the hammond organ in the song is very retro sounding and that was intentional). The kind of movie Lee Marvin would have made or maybe George Clooney when he wants to be grittier. Here's the plot in a nutshell and how the song corresponds with the story (at least, in my head):

-The Lee Marvin/George Clooney character is a "fixer" for LA mobsters. He's very good at what he does, and supremely confident in his abilities. But, he's also grown tired, weary, bitter, and cynical...and is thinking of getting out and "retiring". As he sits alone in a dark downtown bar, he gets a phone call for a job. As he prepares for the job, and goes about doing what he does to complete it (let your mind wander as to what it might be), that's the first part of the song. It's the intro (prepping and driving to the scene), and the verse (doing the job, and doing it well). However, it dawns on the fixer something isn't right, and his "bosses" have set him up to take a hard fall. That's the short bridge after the verse...when it occurs to him he's in deep trouble and been deceived and double-crossed. The second part (or chorus, although it only occurs once), is his flight out of the city with danger close on his heels. He's heading to the desert where an old flame of his lives. She's the only person he can trust, and she's somebody he's never told anybody about in order to keep her out of harms way from his seedy life. He's had years of regret for walking away from the relationship years prior, as she was easily the best thing he had in his life. But, being who he was, he felt she was better off without him...but he's never gotten over the regret. The repeat of the bridge is their meeting in the desert, and her hiding him out until he can figure out an angle to clear his name from the incident. She agrees to go back to help him if he promises to leave the city and be with her (she still holds a candle for him too). He agrees. The repeat of the verse is them both going back to LA, and the fixer getting his revenge and the bosses getting their just desserts. The ending bridge is the fixer and the woman driving back out to the desert and never looking back.

Now, a movie like this needs a highly stylized poster, which i would imagine would look something like these:

Anyways, that's my musical process and some insight into my brain. I know...nerd alert. Oh, and the sound of the record skipping at the intro and outro was just an homage to the Beastie Boys Pauls Boutique album. I had fun making the recording sound like it was a record where the needle would get stuck and you had to bump it to get it going again, and then hastily dragged the needle over the groove at the end putting it away. The siren/car chase at the beginning was my idea of the "listener" of the record listening to another track on the record (say, the "chase scene of the fixer getting out of LA"), and the needle got stuck, so they drug the needle over to the next track, this song. Then song ends as it's the last track, so the listener drags the needle a bit as they put the spindle back in its cradle. No real purpose other than my own entertainment.

PS:
This song was a pain in the ass to mix and master. Different sets of headphones/earbuds would produce wildly different results, so I kind of had to make a compromise where it didn't sound perfect on any of them, but decent on all of them.

Hipsters, whiskey, desert boots, Keira Knightley, Snoop Dogg, yachts, Cristal, Kardashians, Black Friday and lumbersexuals

OK hipsters. I've tolerated your idiotic love of ridiculous beards and "ironic" mustaches, and bands that feature Appalachian musical instruments as a lead melodic device. Fine. Have at it you pathetic numbskulls. I've even forced myself to be OK with your currently having ruined the most amazing piece of footwear ever invented, the Clarks desert boot (I've been wearing them since I was a teenager. I wear them now. In fact, I will probably be buried in a pair. I've been wearing them for over 25 years.  I'm in it for the long haul. I didn't wear them all those years ago because others thought they were cool, I wore them because I THOUGHT they were cool. You didn't see flannel clad d-bags in KFC commercials wearing them. Know how I discovered them? I saw a guy wearing them on an old Yardbirds album cover from the 60's and decided I liked them. It then took forever to find a pair in Fresno because corporate America wasn't forcing them down our throats because they were trying to appeal to that 18-25 demo. Now? Every 22 year old in skinny jeans and a waxed handlebar mustache is wearing a pair. But that's fine. Soon, they will fall out of fashion, and you guys will be on to something else....maybe elf shoes with the little jingle bell on the curled toe? Anyways...I'll have my desert boots back is all that matters). But what I cannot abide is you twats having driven the price of whiskey, specifically bourbon, through the stratosphere. IT'S RIDICULOUS. I'm sure you fixie riding, ironic dive bar attending idiots think it's beyond cool you're enjoying a beverage your granddaddy drank. Thing is, I don't think you even like it. I can see your little pinched faces as you drink it knowing deep down inside you'd rather be drinking a Smirnoff Ice or something. Anyways, your strict adherence to drinking something "retro" and "ironic" has driven the price of your basic, everyday working man whiskies to $25-30 a bottle. A bottle of Makers Mark used to run $19.99. Wild Turkey 101 could be had for less than that. Now? Forget it. And, a higher end item like a Van Winkle, while not cheap, could at least be found on the shelf at your local specialty liquor store. Now? They're sold out pre-release. WTF?????? Stop ruining everything good in life with your slavish devotion to trend. It's sickening, and destroying it for those of us who appreciate things for their intrinsic pleasures, not because all your friends say it's cool. I come from a long line of brown liquor drinkers (some, a little TOO fond of the stuff) with southern/Scots-Irish DNA, which is to say I come by my enjoyment of a bottle of Elmer T. Lee honestly. Could you dweebs do me a favor and latch on to something else? Gin? Ooooh....how about rum??? There's an unexplored beverage that is just now starting to sprout artisanal distillers, plus pirates LOVED IT. And how cool are pirates, am I right??? They even liked beards too! Just like you!!!! Oh...eye patches! You could bring back eye patches too!!! The possibilities are endless! So, let's get on it hipsters! Let's start the rum revolution and leave that bourbon behind!!!!!!! (and Scotch and Irish too...). Do it for the children....ha. Kidding. Do it for me you bastards.
*
Headline: "Keira Knightley poses topless to make statement about body image and retouched photos."

Saw the photos, and here's what that unspoken photographic statement of Keira's essentially said (I'm translating for you folks who don't speak the celebrese language long ago created by ancient tribes of Hollywood publicists): "Hey everybody! Look at me! I'm young, rich, white, pretty and skinny! Woo hoo! Suck it, losers!!! Ha ha ha ha ha! Worship me you pathetic fucks!!!!!!!! Gwab morg goff blergh fwomp!!!! (sound of Keira morphing into a demon with camera flash-bulbs for eyes)

That Keira Knightley is one daring woman. To have her professionally made-up, lighted, costumed, and posed visage selectively edited for the best shots out of dozens (if not hundreds) of photos thrown out there into the public domain is an act of heroism, nay, BRAVERY, that really makes Joan of Arc look like a self aggrandizing attention whore by comparison. What we really need to ask ourselves is this...Keira Knightley: great woman? Or greatest woman? I know...I'm torn too...btw, kinda flat chested.  Just sayin'...Zing! See what I did there? Ha ha ha...it's like I don't get it! Right??? (seriously though, smallish boobs is the point I'm trying to get across here)
*
Oh, and apparently THIS happened in the UK.  So, a maniac in Wales murders a woman, then eats her face, and then dies after being Tasered by police (for those of you keeping score at home, this is also known as the methamphetamine trifecta). I had no idea the Welsh were such a rowdy lot.
*
Just got an email inquiring if I'd like to rent a private jet. Evidently, a marketing firm has identified me as a player (pronounced "play-ah"). I figure it's only a matter of time before subscription opportunities to the Cristal bottle of the month club come rolling in, and, mixed in my mailbox with the Bed, Bath and Beyond flyers, I start getting service coupons offering to get the oil changed on my Bentley for 15% off.

This was followed by another email, that, no joke,  was an offer for me to rent a yacht. I figure the offers to set me up with a Kardashian must be just right around the corner. The yacht email:

Note: offer states yachts are "friendly, accommodating, and well run." Needless to say, these proclamations are a sure sign of quality, as most of us are just plain sick and tired of the unfriendly, un-accomodating, and highly disorganized floating luxury deathtraps we've become accustomed to. Thank god. Then again, the fact my last yacht crew was a bunch of Somali's should have been the first clue I had erred in judgment with my choice in yacht rentals.

#‎baller‬

*

Here's an article about "Lumbersexuals".  The article refers to them as "rugged hipsters."
http://www.cbc.ca/newsblogs/yourcommunity/2014/11/lumbersexual-trend-thrusts-rugged-hipsters-into-mens-fashion-spotlight.html

Ahem. "Rugged hipsters"? I don't know where to even begin...but fear not, for begin, I shall. Rugged is to hipster as dental hygiene is to meth addict. Sure, it's theoretically possible, but probably something that could only exist for a millionth of a second in a highly controlled environment at Lawrence Livermore Labs...like an isotope of element 115 (aka ununpentium...look it up...nerd humor). Anyways, can we just either a) make it stop with the bearded buffoon brigade (the bbb's) and their many lame ass (lame assed?) iterations (monocle man, handlebar mustache man, fixie man, craft beer man, insanely expensive limited release whiskey man, bacon man, etc) and just round them up and force them to live electrically fenced inside an elitist, green, micro-farming, pet friendly, GMO free, all natural deodorant, flannel lined gulag, and just call it New Portland? They'd be happy to live there, never notice they were imprisoned, and can all bore each other to death with hysterically un-funny, droll tales full of whimsy of their times in grad school when they grew their own hops for their home brew they later shared with their neighbors who didn't get the joke of the hand drawn label of a pirate they put on their bottle and called it PBR (pee bee arrrrrrrrrrrrr!), or, b) have them all shipped to Syria, and let Darwinism work its magic. I know. Option "b" sounds a little risky, because it could end up with wave after wave of jihadists coming back to our shores armed with skinny jean IED's, hemp grenades, IPA launchers, and ironic musical death beams blasting out Journey (even though these jihadists will secretly cringe a little with self doubt because they're not sure everybody GET'S IT, and they almost feel the need to start babbling on about their love of Leonard Cohen to reestablish their hipster, jihadist cred. This is when they will be most vulnerable, and when we rush in and cut up their Visa card that is paid off monthly by their parents who co-signed for them, thus rendering them defenseless and soon kicked out of their apartments in Brooklyn for overdue back-rent, and now at our mercy) from the speakers of the most ironic of hipster cars: the 1969 Citroen DS..............
I'm not going to lie, I seem to have gone off on a foaming at the mouth tangent, and I totally forgot what my point was...but I think it has something to do with my unresolved anger at 23 year olds who just 2 years ago were drinking Bud Light Lime-A-Rita's and are now pre-ordering by the case the 2014 release of 18 year old Sazerac Rye (for example) to the point where I cannot get my hands on a bottle even through special order. I also suspect they don't even like it, and take it home and mix it with Dr. Pepper. Hopefully, someday soon, they'll go back to secretly drinking their girlfriends Cosmo's and doing Jåger bombs, and come out of the closet for their love of all things Bon Jovi, and not Bon Iver.
*
By the way, When Snoop Dogg uses words like "shizzle", "nizzle", and "izzle kizzle", everybody thinks he's using slang, or some sort of self created street lingo. Personally, I just think he's quoting from the lesser known books of Dr. Seuss.
*
There's been a dangerous lack of celebrity opinions and comments about the recent events that have occurred this week, unbelievably, right before Thanksgiving. This is a time when Americans are supposed to be coming together, giving thanks and celebrating our shared values, and not fighting amongst ourselves.  I feel so lost. How am I supposed to know how to feel, and how to think, and what to think, if a celebrity won't tell me what's appropriate? Come you egomaniacal, narcissistic, vapid and vain visages of the screen big and small...to the Twitterverse and spill it! I cannot wait to hear how this has affected you, nay, haunted you, as you sip a $300 dollar Pinot in your Malibu fortress and contemplate what's right and just for the hoi polloi. Do it! Stop staring at the screen and just hit send! I breathlessly await, trembling with anticipation, all atingle, for you to free me from my mental vapor lock, not knowing how to process all this stimuli with my little, underdeveloped, non-red carpet brain. Your sage words learned from a rich and diverse, deeply salt of the earth life, full of meaningful experience gained through $2000 prostitutes and cocaine fueled parties, will fill my head with wonder and new understanding of my existence as it relates to my fellow man and woman, and I will finally, blissfully know, through your wisdom.......................whether these post-Thanksgiving Black Friday sales are worth the hassle or not.

Thoughts, musings, and the like...

I have just now decided as I sit here on my sofa watching the Giants lose on a Friday night that a better name for funnel cake would be "the stringy donut". Furthermore, in order to be licensed to make stringy donuts, one would have to show to a govt. certified pastry licensing board a complete and utter inability to competently make "an actual donut". Only after "successfully failing" in making "an actual donut" will you be officially licensed to make the dunce of the donut world: the stringy donut. Ideally, children will be spotted at an early age for their incompetence with yeast based pastries, and steered into this vocation at a young age to ensure that carnivals and fairs will have a steady and trained labor force for continual and uninterrupted stringy donut production. A crippling meth addiction is preferred, but not required, for those that assist in operating the deep fryer machinery.

                                         A stringy donut:

                                         An actual donut:

Assistant deep fryer operator:

Also, you know how Prince changed his name to a symbol? I wonder if you could change your name to a sound...like an explosion or something? Then if somebody asked your name, you would make a specific explosion sound (imagine mimicking an obnoxious explosion sound). If they demanded you write down your name for some legal purpose, you just drew the waveform for the sound...so your signature would look like this (see below). It's really too bad I don't have any newborns to try this social experiment out on, as I think I could be on to the next big thing here...

My fictional newborn's name and eventual signature:

As you can see here, my Friday nights are jampacked with social interaction and high intrigue. 

Caffeine Dealers

So I remember reading this a while back:

"Did you know that Starbucks coffee can have twice as much caffeine as other brands of "to go" coffee?"

Now picture the look on a dogs face when they hear a high pitched sound.  Something like this:

THAT was the look on my face when I read that...because I was perplexed as to what the point was to that question/declaration (btw, my autocorrect originally had the words "point was" as "pony waste" and I almost left it like that, because it struck me as funny). To me, that statement is akin to informing somebody that heroin has an intoxicating effect. Um...yeah. Exactly. It's kind of the reason I go there (for the coffee/caffeine, that is...not heroin. Although, based on their continual menu expansion, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before that's offered as well.  "I'll have a venti China white, please."
"Of course, sir! That will be $1,500 and your dignity. Would you like that with whipped cream? Or caramel? Or just the usual heated over a dirty spoon?")

Anyways, Starbucks knows what people like me need in the morning, and that is a hot cup of oooomph, preferably a venti, and not some black, benign liquid masquerading as the real deal.  If something is going to give me less than minty breath, and the need to urinate every three minutes, it had better put a bounce in my step, 'ya know?  So snap to it alternative coffee peddlers!  If you want to compete with The 'Bux, you'd better tweak (get it??????  A PUN!!!) that formula to a proper teeth grinder of a brew and then maybe, just maybe, some of those early morning, bleary eyed, disposable income zombies (like me) who have no desire to be up at that ungodly hour except to please The Man and Get Paid, might stumble into your roasted bean joint for a hot cup of giddy-up to get their day started.   

The Golden Years

Person: So, when you eventually retire, what are you going to do?
Me: Nothing.
Person: You don't mean that...who could do nothing for years on end?
Me: You don't know me very well, do you?

My Retirement Plan

Celery Conspiracy

My problem with celery is thus: the way its portioned out at the grocery store. A recipe will call for a 1/4, or 1/2 cup, of diced celery. This is the equivalent of one stalk (or less). Ever try and buy just one stalk of celery? You CAN'T. Me at the grocery store:

John-"I'd like to buy a stalk of celery please."
Grocer-"I'm sorry sir, but we only sell it by the metric ton."


I am now going to furiously look for a recipe that calls for one metric ton of celery (hopefully the one missing stalk I already used doesn't detract from the flavor...otherwise I'll be forced to go buy another metric ton of celery. Anybody need a herd of rabbits fed? I can help you out....). When are we going to stop the evil cabal of international celery growers from dictating our lives? Wake up people! The revolution is nigh!

(The above image has nothing to do with this post other than its loose association with celery.  Having said that...you're welcome)*






*It's almost hypnotic, isn't it?  
 

There's easier ways to torment a child...

So, apparently, making the rounds on the internet is a story about a guy who, after being annoyed by a child behind him at a fast food restaurant, bought all of the pies the establishment had in order to teach the young lad a lesson (bottom of this post is the link to the story if you'd like to read it). You see, apparently the young child was throwing a fit about wanting a pie, and our hero of the story felt it was a rock star move of epic, almost Hellenistic proportions, to buy them all up prior to the child getting his tantrum indulged. Personally, I felt the gentleman who shared this story got it all wrong. A far more economical way to get a lesson across to the young child, i.e. the one I would have employed, would be this:

I would have calmly turned around, and explained to the child in terms he/she could understand, that all living things, including them, must and will die. It is the inevitable end result of our creation and the source of our ever present existential angst. And, lest he/she thinks they are guaranteed a long happy existence, further explained the mere act of crossing the street can result in your immediate and untimely demise, provided some unexpected horrible disease doesn't get you first. Oh, and then I'd throw in the fact that Santa Claus isn't real, and how their birth destroyed their mother's dreams and ambitions.

See? If one wants to be an epic asshole, and, in a twist of irony, be a far more petulant child than the one you're attempting to give the "what for", it doesn't have to cost you the out of pocket expense of a multitude of miniature pies. 

The article:

http://theconcourse.deadspin.com/dont-buy-all-the-pies-at-burger-king-to-spite-a-child-1617620956/+AlbertBurneko

Facebook wants to know "what's on your mind?"

I just noticed the little tag line on the (Facebook) status bar states "What's on your mind?" Really? Does Facebook really want to know? Is there enough space for me to share "what's on my mind?" Are you sure? I mean, where do I start?

"I need to get my daughter's car smogged...there's a patch of lawn to the side of my house that's not looking too good...I've been eating a bit too much junk food lately...the stock market has been awfully hot, you just know it's going to implode any day now...I'm not sleeping like I used too, what's that about...I need to make my annual eye exam appointment...I have an air filter for my car I bought two weeks ago, but I have yet to install it (need to take the five minutes and do it)...I'm on vacation right now but all I want to do is basically sleep, which seems a waste...there's a new show on H2 debuting on the 25th about aliens, and I'm inappropriately excited about it...I'd like to write another song, but at the moment I feel creatively bankrupt...I'm not reading like I should, and I love to read (what's up with that?)...etc."


That was about a 3 nanosecond glimpse into "what's on my mind." Somehow, I'm thinking Facebook had something else in mind, and really, who wants to read that claptrap? Perhaps they should rewrite it to say "Share something interesting...a witticism...an entertaining anecdote...a video of a cat playing a piano...but for the love of god, please, whatever you do, stay away from anything even remotely resembling the drudgery and reality of human existence. This is the internet. Keep it light or keep it to yourself. People are here to escape and snoop. Quit bumming them out. Now, where's those damn cat videos???" I think that would be more appropriate.

So, with that in mind, here 'ya go (Facebook approved as appropriate internet content):

Torangey

Kumquat: funniest fruit word everybody knows, and yet, is not quite sure what it looks, or tastes like.
(Side note: just looked it up. It's description does NOT live up to its name. It's basically a small, tangy orange. I think "torangey" is a better, more appropriate name that doesn't build up such lofty expectations. I hear "kumquat", and I'm expecting a life changing experience, 'ya know? Let's get on this. Somebody find me the address of the Kumquat Growers of America.  #torangey

The self-aggrandizing kumquat:

New Song: Red Sunset, Green Flash (updated May 18, 2014)

Tried to write a "happy song" (I used a major key and everything), but, like most of my stuff, it turned out to have a wistful quality. I guess a leopard cannot change his spots. This is an amalgamation of everything I like: jingle jangle, endless layers of guitars (I think I melted my CPU...), strings, and even a semi-groovy section (hey, bass is my primary thang). All my influences are here: The Church, U2, and even a little Andy Rourke bass...and some Lush too. This also has some soaring orchestral qualities, and I think the bridge is rather pretty. Mixed to be played loud, and please, use headphones!

(So, after repeated listenings I heard some things I wanted to change: decay rates of some guitars, try and fix a right side bias, added a small additional guitar track, changed eq parameters, etc. This is probably about as close to what I had imagined as I am going to get. If I keep fiddling with it, I'll screw it up. Anyways, like I said, my attempt at a "happy song" in a major key (G for those curious), with some strings, chiming guitars, and a fun little bass line in the chorus)

Furthermore, it's all about the mix, amiright???? Anyways, can't sing, so instrumental as always. But, loads o' guitars, synths, and looped percussion all created by my little hands and cranium. As usual, with as much emotion as I can infuse. Btw, look up a red sunset-green flash if you're not familiar...

Yep, I'm in my forties...

Another sign of getting older: a short article on the "MTV Movie Awards" with corresponding photos of the "stars" in attendance.  I recognize 2 of 20. Who are these people???  Then your teenaged daughter goes on to explain to you who the 18 are who you didn't recognize.  I have officially become my parents.  I figure it's only a matter of time before I start being confounded by current technology and confuse the TV remote for a mobile phone and attempt to place a call with it, and then curse the lousy reception and service coverage.