The Spiders are eating all their cereal today….

Tonight I was digitizing some old stacks of wax, platters that Mattered…. umm, yeah.  But anyway, pleasantly surprised by a couple of Couch Flambeau LPs.  yeah, we used to go see Couch Flambeau at the Gordon Park Pub, sit at teh bar like ten feet from Jay Tiller’s very noisy amps, and my girlfriend would go to sleep.  They were amused.

Years later, we bought a house a block from a corner store that owned by the parents of Couch Flambeau’s bass player.  They looked exactly alike.  Circles within circles.

Back in collidge, I had a class on model building, and one of our assignments was to build a model of a mobile home.  So I built a little model, but put it on base, and I did indeed build a ‘broken Big Wheel’ and put it in front of my mobile home.  I included the lyrics and a band shout out.  Got an A.

This weekend, Turner Hall is hosting a big old reunion of Milwaukee bands from teh 90s.  I know a bunch of ‘em, and got Wife Sublime to re-arrange our musical theater conflict so I can go hang out with noisy ne’er-do-well friends, whose careers have amusingly become more viable than mine.

Sigh.  Anyway, Jay Tiller is filling in on guitar for Die Kreuzen, who somehow I had never managed to see in town.  Although it is also amusing that Erik, the drummer, spent time during his band days as a painter, and painted a house I designed for some friends.  He is now running a restaurant in Amsterdam with his wife; another friend of mine, Scary Joe, is coming back from PA to hang out with all the bands, and, ummm… do PA.  Joe is one of the best mixers I have ever heard.  The Melvins once courted him (this will probably mean something to Substance).  At one point, Thurston Moore says “Man, there was a point there where Die Kreuzen was the best band in America.” and when I saw SY open for Neil Young, Thurston name checked DK before they played a note.

It’s a very circular kind of community.  I saw most of those bands in clubs, and one of my roommates was in St. Bernard, who had a regional hit with “My Baby Went To The Bahamas”.  A friend of mine was roommates with the drummer for Couch Flambeau.  Scary Joe did sound for EVERYBODY.  Circles.

There have been times when I have felt music renew my meager soul; when the noise and spit makes me stand back up and decide to keep beating on that fucking wall.  Listening to these local bands, bands who were inspiration to Nirvana, Soundgarden, Steve Albini, others… bands who launched themselves into the void, knowing that being from Milwaukee there was nothing but a hard landing… it may be premature, it may not work out that way, but it feels like by Saturday, the local noise is going to be filling a gap, refueling the tank.  One can hope, right?

It may interest exactly nobody to know that Couch Flambeau songs really sound best from vinyl, snaps, pops and skips and warts.  The  Zoo Is Cool.

Don’t Try This At Home

Donna Summer died; however, I admit to never being much for the pop or disco realms, while conceding her talent and impact on music and culture.  So I will just piggyback on  Jennifer (not that one)’s reminiscence post.
And post a couple of videos from a different musician who had plenty of problems in personal and professional life and died way too early (although not recently), Kirsty MacColl:

Who better than Billy Bragg to give a hearty Fuck You to North Carolina?

I have probably mentioned before, but while she  toured rarely, I saw her singing with Midge Ure when he was in town quite a few years ago.  I don’t recall for sure, but I suspect they did one or two of her songs.

Word of warning; if you are feeling a bit down, do not Google to find out how she died, and the aftermath.

how could I be so blind, mis-sighted, not to see there’s something wounded deep.

Mitt Romney is an amoral monster, and here’s why.

driftglass sometimes talks ruefully about Charlie Pierce walking the driftglass beat, covering the posts DG has covered in his blog; now I guess I kind of know how it feels, because while I was mulling the idea of this post, Tom Junod over at Salon just goes ahead and whacks that motherfucker nicely out here.  Oh well.

I will guess it comes as no surprise that I have never been part of the Kewl Kidz Klique.  Always been a bit outside the norm, a bit Out Of Round.  And middle/ high school especially, a difficult time for anybody.

Yep.  you can see where this is going.  I was bullied.  A little;  never had my hair violently cut off.

But bullying is, like most violent aggression, a tough thing to work through.  Especially for adolescents; a kid can try to work around the bullies in lots of different ways, some of which are also mistakes, and that’s where I went.  At least I tried.

You see, there was a kid in one of my classes who was even lower on the hierarchy than I was.   And in between classes one day, he was on the receiving end of some mild bullying from some people that were more or less friends of mine….

fuck, you see where this is going, don’t you?  I fucking decided that somehow I could improve my social standing by crapping on someone else.

The whole episode was ghastly and resulted in a mild fight; as the two of use were being cleaned up and waiting to talk to the Vice Principal, we talked it over, and I made the amends I could.  It’s kind of funny; while the whole episode is still distressingly clear in my mind, I can’t even remember whether it was reported to my parents.

It was a reprehensible failure on so many levels, and since then, I have been trying to live down that episode; trying and not always succeeding.  I may never be able to forget it; every time I read or hear about a bullying episode, I remember what it felt like to be bullied, and more horrifying, I remember what it feels like to be the bully. Ah, fuck me, but these days I remember that so much more vividly than I remember the episodes where I was  bullied.

So here’s the reason this whole thing brings Mitt Romney into stark, repellent relief:

His Laubner episode was way more violent; it didn’t just veer into assault, it jumped full speed into assault with a deadly weapon.  Mitt Romeny was the leader of a mob that did this; the recollections of others indicates it wasn’t a single aberrant episode, but part of what seems was a pattern of psychopathic behavior.  AND ROMNEY CLAIMS TO NOT REMEMBER IT.

I see three alternatives here:

1. He actually doesn’t remember it.  It was nothing that mattered, it was to someone who didn’t matter, and it was so typical that it didn’t rise to the level to make an impact on the young Mitt.
2. He’s lying.  He knows it was something that was beyond the pale, and doesn’t quite understand why, so he issues the standard nonpology: ‘I am sorry if people don’t get the joke’. He’ll say anything to be President.
   
3. He remembers it and doesn’t give a shit, because the victim was gay.

All of those alternatives are appalling.  They are all different facets of an inhuman monster.

And they all remind me of how much work I have to do to stay ahead of the same attitude.  Oh, fuck; the work is never done.  Never.

I am not sure I can say that I never reprised my role as a bully.   It left me with scars, and I can only hope that the scars of my victim have healed better.

Calling All Demons

Gotta get all my work done before Tuesday….

 

 

 

 

Title Lonk

 

 

All Over Your Face

 

I’m so tired

I’m exhausted and I don’t give a shit anymore.  Everyone go away.

 

 

UPDATE.  It has been yet again, a rough couple of weeks; burning the midnight oil trying to correct some drawings in order to obtain permits.  I had an associate helping me with production, and late last week discovered that where I had thought parts of the drawings were completed, had been left kind of undone and with errors; and then last week discovered that the engineer and surveyor  involved had ALSO made several mistakes on their work.  Totally my fault for missing them, I know; but now I’ve been trying to correct things and satisfy the plan examiners in time to meet the financing obligations, and working late. Also makes me look like a fucking moron to the clients and the plan examiners.

It reminds me of that time a couple of years ago when I subcontracted existing conditions drawings to another firm, and wound up having  to start from scratch with what they did.  As they said in Animal House, ‘I fucked up.  I trusted them.’

Today was the first time in a while I woke up feeling OK, and it was because I wasn’t getting anything done, so gave up and went to bed early last night.  It’s easy to forget how important sleep is.

The Stage Names

OK, let’s dial down the rage, recriminations, squirrels, and anger; let’s just remove the trousers and listen to a song that got served up, and is a fine piece of rock-and-roll inside jokery:

 

 

No one wants to hear about your 97th tear
So dry your eyes or let it go uncried, my dear
I am all out of love to mouth into your ear
And not above letting a love song disappear before it’s written

And no one wants a tune about the 100th luftballoon that was seen shooting from the window of your room
To be a spot against the sky’s colossal gloom
And land deflated in some neighbor’s state that’s strewn with 99 others

8 chinese brothers
Well, there’s a reason why the last is smiling wide and sitting higher than the others
Swinging his arms

You would probably die before you shot up 9 miles high
Your eyes dilated as light played upon the sight
Of TVC16 as it sings you goodnight
Relaxed as hell and locked up in cell 45
I hope you’re feeling better

51st way to leave your lover
Admittedly, it doesn’t seem to be as gentle or as clean as all the others
Even a scars all in the after hours of some Greenpoint bar

I told you, I can’t listen, baby, ’bout the 4th time you were a lady and how your forthrightness betrayed a secret shyness
Stripped away by days of being hailed as “your highness”
And what’s new pussycat, as you were once a lionness
They cut your claws out

Kitten, not everyone’s keen on lighting candle 17, the party’s done, the cake’s all gone, the plates are clean
The chauffeur’s near and from the cheerless mezzanine
And in just one year, this straight world could pay to see what they have been missing

You were caught kissing 8 chinese brothers
Well, there’s a reason why the last is smiling wide and sitting higher than the others
Staking with charm

And he says, “Lets get lost, let them send out alarms
He says, “Let’s get crossed out and come to harm”
“Lets make the world’s stupidest stand and truly mean it
Lets hit the limit of loss over lover’s arms
No, lets exceed it”