My Eyes Aflame All For Cheap Internet Love.

This is REALLY weird. I was bored (uh-oh, troubles a-brewin') so I filled out every one of those Internet singles sites I could find for kicks. It's a strange little world, isn't it? wow. It's a crazy cat 'n' mouse game of try to cheat the man. There are seemingly endless scams for cheating the site out of there 10 bucks or whatever. Your allowed to chat but not e-mail (that's extra), you can 'send a smile', but not talk (that's extra) your not allowed writing your email address or use the @ symbol anywhere. It's kinda creepy, people you don't know looking over your mental valuables (ie Profile) evaluating wheather it worth saying hello to. weird. I'm just waiting to walk down the street and see some one who I recognize from the site:


Pif: DUDE!

strange girl: I'm sorry... do I know you?

Pif: No, but I know your a Libra! and your 27 and like to jog and watch reality TV shows!

strange girl: No really. Who ARE you? is this a joke?

Pif: Nope... your favorite colour is red and you speak fluent Russian!

strange girl: fucking stalker! (Takes out pepper spray) PSSSSST!

Pif: (cluching eyes, screaming in utter agony) aaaaAAAA! Lavalife you DEVIL!! I never should have accepted your vile temptation! Look what you have done to me! Oh God the shame! You have laid me SO low, oh Jesus the pain! I am a hundred pound villian, a knave, a one trunk inheiriting slave!

strange girl with pepper spray: Oh yeah! Wait, I remember you now. I *thought* you looked familiar. Your handle is P-Dawg on Lavalife right! Your hair is a lot longer now. Hey, so, how are you doing?

Pif: Terrible.

strange girl with pepper spray: oh sorry about that, yeah I was little quick on the draw.

pif: nice to meet you but the sanity-melting agony is overwhelmming, so if you'll excuse me I have to slip into a coma... oh but e-mail me ok? (loses consciousness)

strange girl with pepper spray: I need your address! Oh shit, I don't have a pen! wait here! pdawg? (poke, poke)

Pif: zzzzzzzzzz

strange girl with pepper spray: pdawg? (poke) damn. I don't want to PAY for it. Well... so much for that.

(a match made on the internet.)


Today's Song of the Day is "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise)" by The Beatles off their 1967 Album 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

Crazy Fact: Although it was mostly recorded in a single day, the album "Please Please Me" topped the British charts for a totally retarded 30 weeks (almost 8 months! Yikes!), establishing the group as the most popular rock & roll act ever seen in the U.K.

njoy

Where is my mind? Oh, I left it in my other pants.

It's mister super-distinctive-voiced weird guy. You suckers thought you left him behind, well losers, look who I've raised from the dead. I'm excited to reveal to y'all I've decided to make it Fine Young Cannibal week! Yeah, I'm totally joking. But what I always thought was the weirdest thing about this dude was that I always thought he (Roland Gift) looked like Nat "King" Cole and the juxtaposition of musical styles was always too much for my mind to bear. It makes my brain twitch and phase into Quantum Space...just a little. So now I try not to look at either of them as there identities are battling for supremacy in my head:

Ole Nat King Cole: You think *I* look like *Him*! He looks like me, I sure as FUCK don't look like *Him*!

Roland: "Joh-nayyy, I'mm sorr-ray."

Ole Nat King Cole: Hey now, listen up. I came first, I'm a WAAAAAY more influential musician, dammit!

Roland: "caaall your Maaa-maaa aaah-ahh ah"

Ole Nat King Cole: I didn't fucking smoke three packs of cigarettes a day, to be beaten out by that freakshow!

Roland: "come onn ho-ohm, wea woo-ray"

Nat: AAAAAAAAAAAA! Fucking shut your noise-hole! AAAAAAAA!


Today's Song of the Day is "Johnny Come Home (Extended Mix)" by The Fine Young Cannibals off their 1986 Debut "Fine Young Cannibals."

Crazy Fact: Andy Cox and Dave Steele formally of the English Beat( <- the crazy part..) hooked up Roland Gift and formed the Fine Young Cannibals.

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Cranky It Up.

Ever hear the phrase good news waits till noon. Wait, no you haven't 'cause it's bad news waits till noon. Shit, now I'm confused. I have no idea. Well. Either way I think mornings suck. I'm so cranky in the morning it's stoopid. Just ask anyone who sees me in the morning. C r A n K Y. But my mood magically lightens at 4:04 PM no matter what. Why is it that specific? I don't know but I'm always like "hey shit ain't that bad... What time is it? 4:04. Weird." or I smile for no reason "...4:04, weird." I'm not sure what it means. I think I was born at 4:04 that's gotta be the reason. Or maybe that was the reason I was born at 4:04.

Baby Pif Dec 5 1972 07:00 AM:
SHAADAP! I'm trying tuh sleep in here.

Baby Pif Dec 5 1972 11:00 AM:
Hey fucko stop poking me or when I get out I'm pissing right in your face.

Baby Pif Dec 5 1972 03:49 PM:
Jeesus Fuck! Would you- It's warm and I'm staying, so shut it.

Baby Pif Dec 5 1972 04:04 PM:
Lookit all the people. Cool. Time to get social. YEEHAW!


Today's Song of the Day is "Sun Comes Up, It's Tuesday Morning" by Cowboy Junkies off their 1990 Album "The Caution Horses."

Crazy Fact: In 1985 the Timmin's brothers recruited their sister Margo as a vocalist, at the time she was a social worker who'd never sung publicly before.

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I've Earned My Water Wings.

Dude. I had the fear. That's the important thing. Water can be scarey stuff. I'll tell ya I was bitch slapped and stumbling by the time I dragged my sorry defeated ass out of those waves, and it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

One of the many lessons taught to me by the ocean that fateful day was "smokers really can't hold there breath, no REALLY, they can't." that of course worked in tandem with another lesson "Lung infections make it hard to breath," and most importantly the golden rule from which all of these other rules stem 'Breathing is very important.'

I'm not sure there's much difference at the between near-drowning and almost near-drowning, in both cases your are confronted with your own mortality and how possible, and more importantly, how likely at this point that you may not ever surface. Your done, you were having so much fun in the wet suit, in the waves, on the boogie board, but not anymore cause you went out too deep and now your dead. I had the fear, and I know others I was with had the fear.

I was tumbling ass-over tit, with a pounding ice-cream headache (water was 9 degrees), under WAAAY longer than I wanted to be and I had no idea which way was up. All you could hope do is hope, hope to re-surface. I was probably only under for like 10 seconds or 15 tops but those last 5 seconds of primal fear, when your survival instinct is screaming at your brain, felt like an eternity.


Nelson: Wow. Did you you see Pif just get wiped by that monster wave?

(10 second pause)

Jamie: (pause) Do we have to go save Pif?

Nelson: (pause) Dunno.

Jamie: (pause) Hmmmm... (pause)

Pif: gasp! gasp! gasp! gasp! (another wave hits)

Nelson: Nah, he's fine. I just saw him for a second.

(10 second pause)

Pif: gasp! gasp! gasp! gasp! (another wave hits)

(you get the point)


Today's Song of the Day is "Every Breath You Take" by the Police off their 1983 Album "Synchronicity."

Crazy Fact: This song was their biggest hit, topping the charts for 8 weeks in 1983. Eight Freakin' Weeks!

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Big Feet at The Bare-Assed Social.

Does any male actually measure their penis? I mean does anyone get a stiffy and then get out the ruler and measure it? I usually have other plans under those circumstances. I couldn't imagine, well, I guess I could IMAGINE doing it, but, but, but to actually do it, isn't that like marking your own term paper? Look at that, a perfect specimin! A+! Perfect, not too big, not too small, perfect for any occasion, all weather, low maintenance, dependable, always hanging around but never too much to handle. It my most favoritest penis.

Talking about measuring penises reminds me of one of my least favorite places in the world, actually, scratch that, not one of, but my very least favorite place to go in the world... that I've been to, I think jail or a battlefield would be worse, but I'm a pampered, law abiding (generally) first worlder. So for me, it's my hell. It's the male locker room.

Man I hate that place. I am pretty modest guy so this of course would be a little more of a sore point for me. From my research the average female's desire to get into a men's locker room is equal and opposite to the average man's desire to get into a woman's locker room and I believe this is justified. I've been in there ladies, it's not pretty. All shapes and sizes, ladies, picture it, and for a moment here I'm not talking about penises. Why the HELL do these guys stand around naked and brush their teeth or gel their hair or (and this happens) pose in front of the mirror. These guys are FREAKS, they talk to you all naked like they are standing around the water cooler. Look buddy I don't want to talk I'm naked. ok. ALL I want to do is escape this creepy limbo between the pool and the street. I can't deal, I feel like at any moment someone's going to start talking about penises in the same way they talk about cars, everyone is on the verge, it's on the brink of going from generally uncomfortable to utterly unbearabley creepy:


Strange Naked Man: Hey you got a lot of milage out of that thing!

Pif: AAAAAAAA! (somebody steal me and hold me for ransom.)

Bare-Assed Socialite: When's the last time you took it for a spin?

Pif: Oh God PLEASE make it stop.

Some Guy Who Won't Get Dressed: Looks like THAT sad little puppy needs a check-up.

Pif: I think I'm going to be sick. (bleaaaack)

Naked Guy: (in a loud, matter of fact, hand-on-the-hip-finger-pointing-tone) Say there stranger, how big is your penis when it's fully erect?

Pif: I don't know. Please go away and read my rant on the subject at http://songotd.blogspot.com/


Today's Song of the Day is 'Your Feets Too Big' by Thomas 'Fats' Waller off his 1929 Album 'The Joint is Jumpin'

Crazy Fact: Fats Waller pioneered the use of the pipe organ and Hammond organ in jazz -- he called the pipe organ the "God box."

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The Drive (Part Three)

"Let's not talk about it until we leave." He looked pale.

"ok." I figure he is bearly holding on. If it were me. I'd be useless. You'd have to take me in and out of there on a stretcher with marionette strings on my wrists and mouth so I could conclude the transaction. I'd at least have to wear a diaper.

Caleb was doing much better than that. He was intense. keeping busy. looking around. We puttered around the showcases pointing and muttering while waiting for that alchemist-looking-guy on the other side of this short sort of wall to finish doing WHATEVER he was doing.

On the other side of that counter-thing was, all sorts of machinery, lights, magifying glasses, scales, a kilne, it was messy but organized i'm sure. and a really really big safe. He wore a thick leather apron, gray hair in that brill-creme sort of way, he definitely likes his elvis. Very welcoming in manner, Obviously very happy with his place in life. I'm sure he likes making jewelry and more than that he deals with people at their happiest and most excited all-day, every-day, all year-round.

Finally he came over and showed us the ring. White gold and ten perfect little diamonds. It was something else. Then it dawned on me. "Girl, your going to be a woman soon." I pictured in on her finger and all the sudden, though she's ten years my junior, she was about to be much older than me. Married... with a ring and everything. Here's the ring there's no denying it. nuts. I've noticed every experience worth a damn is always two-part it gives something and it also takes something away. Wow. Am I ever far from getting married. There's a little piece of emptiness for ya.

But how classy is this. He gets a ring MADE... ok ok ok let's do this from the beginning. He makes his mind he wants to do this. Jeesus I can't even say it! For those of us that have never done this, that's an inconceivable step. Am I Right? Then he looks at jewelry on the side without her knowing and HAS ONE MADE! with diamonds and gold from a pro. I was there, this is no bull-shit story. It takes a month to make a freaking ring... a MONTH! I can't keep my mouth shut for 3 hours let alone 30 days! Man! of course this is why he didn't tell me which he was all apologetic about when we were out for a drink after, but come on. DON"T TELL ME. I would probably yell at him "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TELLING ME. I'm going to hemerage. I'll have a fucking STROKE trying to keep this in."

For a moment I felt like I was in the men's club, that mysterious place I keep hearing so much about, not the boys club of dirty jokes, cigars and poker games but the men's club, it was as he told us all the wisdom of the moment:

"Here let me wipe the finger prints off it. She won't like to see any finger prints." He eyed the ring greedily. Caleb handed him the ring. It was then realized how precious this ring was.

As he worked over the ring with a cloth he said, "She should be the first one to touch it, you guys, that's ok, But she should be the first woman to touch it."

He rinsed it off and continued to work it over. "I don't understand these guys who come in with there friends and they're girls. A woman's first instinct is to put it on."

He eyes the ring still holding it in the cloth then fits it back into the box. "No. Your girl should be the first one to put it on, if she knew, another woman had it on first. She would be savage."

I pick up the box and give it one, last, good look.

He watched us look at it. He smiled proudly. "Look at it under that light." he said pointing to a light over the show case. "It should really dance under that light."

It did. Sort of awed by it, I thought to myself "I'm a long way from buying one of these." There was a time when I was much closer to buying one of these. That seems like forever ago now.

Caleb trades a big stack of hundreds and fifties for this little black box with another littler black box in it that has a little piece a metal with little stones stuck in it. BIG little little little.

"I bet you didn't know he was carrying all that money with him when he walked in here."

"Hell, If I knew, he wouldn't have walked in here."

We all laughed and the tension finally started to fade. Caleb was all smiles and now looked more like he was kicked in the head rather than in the guts. Dizzy rather than winded.

He crammed the box in his pocket. It was huge and square. We walked away from that little shop as if we got away with a crime, smiling and excited, like thieves or vandals, unsure of what to do next. So much attention was focused on and in that moment, that a void followed it. We were a little lost. The change in pressure, the relief, it stunned us. So, of course, we went for scotch.

Today's Song of the Day is 'Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes' by Paul Simon off his 1986 album 'Graceland.'

Crazy Fact: Graceland became his biggest-selling solo album and won him another Album of the Year Grammy. CRAZY!

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The Drive (Part Two)

"How's school?"

"I'm so sick of Puritains... and witchcraft. I want my brain back. I have to write 4 papers, and it's killing me. I have a week left." For a moment, he is distracted from whatever holds his mind so tightly. Whatever it is that has him, most of him, locked away. You can see it in his whole shape and form, he relaxes. His arms when relaxed seem to be like a kindly rope bridge pinned up by the shoulders and wrists. Slowly as this heavy thought again takes the spot light of his attention, as if he is slowly slipping in to a cold tank of water the fluidity of his form starts to become rigid. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter, his arms straighten and push his sholders back into the seat, his spine straightens, he sits higher in his seat and the emotion washes from his face and his eyes settle on the road. frozen in thought. Yikes! This is gonna be serious, when the HELL is going to tell me whatever the...

"Where the HELL are we going?"

"Downtown."

"We are going for a DRIVE downtown?" His tension is becoming contagious.

"I have to get a book, first. On witchcraft. It's for my paper."

"oh... ok."

We park the car. I obviously have a little time before the hammer falls, nice. I relax and yammer on and on about whatever comes to mind. One of those skipping sort of conversations, though it's a little one-sided I don't mind. We get to the corner of Queen and Spring Garden and Caleb get's dizzy and says he's having a bit of a panic-attack. He crouches down on the side walk and takes a breather. I tell him my "groundless fear" panic attack theories and as we continue walking I tell him all he has to do is remember that he is not in danger,

"There is nothing at risk right now, you are not doing anything life-threatening at this moment nothing..." We turn abruptly.

"Where the HELL are you going now?" (when the HELL is he going to tell me this big fucking thing!) he goes down some stairs and into a funny tiny little store.

"Hi, Caleb." I see a kind face smiling from behind a long counter. glasses, 50ish.

I look around. I've never been here before. There are glass cases filled with delicate little rings and bracelets and necklaces. Little black plastic numbers with big white prices sit next to each of them. 9450, 4320, 1090. How can something so small be worth so much? Good Lord. I had no idea things this expensive were sold in this city. What the HELL are we doing in here? Why does that guy know Caleb? Why is caleb buying jewelry? What would he be...?

". . . h o l y s h i t . . . " I looked up from the case.

He shrugged, tipped his head to one side and looked at me with a crooked smile of a man about to jump.


(to be continued...)


Today's Song of the Day is "Do" by The White Stripes off their 1999 self-titled album "The White Stripes"

Crazy Fact: Jack White, guitar and vocals, Meg White, drums -- formed in 1997 on Bastille Day. weird 'n' crazy.

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The Drive (Part One)

Caleb calls me at about noon, "We have to go for a drive, I'm working now but around 5."
"Wicked!'
"We will talk then."
"Aight m'man. see you then." (click) "Holy shit! Caleb is pregnant or dying or getting married."
I anxiously watch the clock
1:41
2:17
2:46
3:23
4:20
4:44
4:51
4:56
5:01
5:11...(buzzzzzz!)
I jump, it always scares the shit out of me, this time I jump a little higher. I buzz him in... ohshit it could be that fucking census guy. shit shit. that fucker always shows up about this time and I am NOT letting that fucker steal my identity. ...fuck, I don't see Caleb's car. Damn! That bastards' passed my first level of defence. I can't just not answer the door, fuck cornered like a rat! I must prepare myself for conflict. where did I put...(knock knock knock) shit... shit...

"CALEB! Awesome! I was worried you were the census guy, he's been hounding me for days."

"I'm not letting them steal my identity." he says distractedly.

"SEE! I'm not the only one. Celery is calling me a kook."

"I pitched it after the first question.", looking at the floor.

"Problem is this census guy is really nice and I don't have the heart to tell him to stuff the census test up his ass. So I'm avoiding the conflict."

I make ready, we leave.

"Why did you park way the hell down the street? You scared the hell out of me."

"Every time I come up here there is never a spot in front of your place. I have to drive around the block." He is obviously on auto-pilot, his brain is seized upon a singular thought or action. So I make small talk.


(to be continued...)


Today's Song of the Day is "All the Madmen" by David Bowie off his 1972 Album "The Man Who Sold the World."

Crazy Fact: In 1973 Bowie was a busy man: he recorded Aladdin Sane, produced Lou Reed's Transformer, produced the Stooges' Raw Power, and produced Mott the Hoople's comeback All the Young Dudes, for which he also wrote the title track. Crazy!

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I Can't Handel Banks.

Reason number 50 that banks suck. It is now my understanding that the date you write on your check serves no purpose what-so-ever. So When I give my landlord 12 cheques and sign a lease he can walk in the next day and bounce everyone of them. That is totally stupid. The whole post-dated cheque thing is a scam. It means nothing. Grrr... When will the people rise up and destroy their oppressors? I don't particular want to be part of a revolution, I'm pretty comfy really. As I'm sure the rest of your are as well but C'MON. Won't somebody sacrifice themselves for the good of society. C'mon you goody-goodies get to work this whole system seems to suck and I'm too... Well... happy and well-fed and well-entertained to do anything about it. Ok I'll moan and piss like an impotent loser. Well maybe that enuf for today, I need a beer.

Today's Song of the Day is "Concerto Grosso in D Minor, Op. 6 No. 10: 5. Allegro" composed by George "Little Sneak" Frideric Handel in 1739, performed here by Capella Istropolitana, conducted by Josef Kopelman and recorded in 1988.

Crazy Fact: His father noted but did not nurture his musical talent, so trixie little Handel had to sneak a small keyboard instrument into his attic to practice.

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The Internet is Encouraging the Weird in Me and in Others.

OK ok I'm a wierd guy but the internet certainly isn't helping. For SOME reason I got out of bed walked to the computer and googled 'president garfield' and found out many geeky/interesting things for example:

- Handwriting back in the day was awful.
- Doctors back in the day were awful.
- Assassinations back in the day were lame.

Let's see if this linking thingy werks. And the Johnny Cash song 'Mister Garfield' would be a great SOTD for today, but honestly, I think it kind of sucks.


Today's Song of the Day is "Custom Concern" by Modest Mouse off their 1996 Album "This Is A Long Drive For Someone With Nothing To Think About."

Crazy Fact: not much crazy here... Their album "The Lonesome Crowded West", was the band's breakthrough, and in the wake of a major-label bidding war they signed to Sony.

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I'm starter than you Microsoft!

These Microsoft folks are out to make us stupid. I'm tellin' ya. I can't live without my spell checker. Not only that but there's all kinds a words that will auto-fix (Up yours Chewbacca!) as you go and unless your looking at the screen you'll never know you messed it up. I used another e-mail thing, some old-clunker low-fi deal and I felt retarded. I couldn't spell AT ALL. And I had to really figure out how to spell stuff not just "Ah...that's close. The spell checker'll be able to take it from there" It was TOUGH! No crazy red squiggly red underliney hints either.

It's a mental addiction. It's devious. It is weakening a part of my brain. It's making me stupid. I should turn that shit off. Bring some humanity back. Don't let "the Machine" force me to follow "the rules" man...groovey. This Evil Giant Eye that I stare into all day, is actually a huge toliet bowl I'm pissing my brain, nay... my individuality into everyday, and the flush is when I reach for that spell check. I lose a bit of the PIF everyday. That's IT! I'm turning off spell-check it's a tool of the beast...purvect! ceck I tout! Ma frre man! if thrown off th cshacels of Opperition! I'ev Nveer feet so ALIFE!


Today's Song of the Day is "Baby, It's Cold Outside" composed by Frank Loesser, performed by Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Jordan off her 1957 compilation "Ella and Her Fellas."

Crazy Fact: Frank Loesser won an Academy Award in 1949 for this song, the movie was called Neptune's Daughter.

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One Phone to Rule them All, And in the Darkness Bind Them.

I fear change.

SPEAKING of CHANGE. Holy shit, is there a single working pay phone in the ENTIRE city? I've lost my precious twice now (within a week, scarey scarey stuff lemmie say) and I've been forced to revert back to that tin-can and string land line crap. Oh I'm such a snob now and I've only had a cell-phone since May, but DUDE am I a convert. Anyway. I wasted 5 quarters (they all got stuck) and 30 minutes trying every pay phone I could find or get directed to by helpful passersby and nothin', no love from the tin-can. And I'm just trying to get a cab to get to work. It wasn't fun. Hungry, bleary eyed, deep in cell-phone deprivation induced panic, cursing, looking wildly in all directions like a lunatic, scanning the horizon through fingerprinty glasses for a cab or phone (hey there SS you totally saw me building up to that state.) It was an extremely frustrating way to start your day lemmie tell you.

But what's up with losing my cell-phone twice in two weeks. And Screw you Freud! I'm not buying your crap mental produce, It stinks and it's full of holes. Don't even start with me. Not until my precious is returned.

Today's Song of the Day is "The Seed (2.0)" by the Roots off their 2002 Album "Phrenology."

Crazy Fact: The only reason the Roots recorded their first album "Organix" was to sell when the group was invited to represent stateside hip-hop at a concert in Germany in 1993.

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I am a Rock (I am an Island of Social Retardation)

Ramones. Dig it. Some of them are dead. They are awesome. I am busy. Here's the moral of the story: If you do heroin, it costs a lot, so you'll need money, so you'll pawn off all your stuff that's worth a damn ("how much are you going to give me for my complete collection of Garfield books? There in really good shape..." yeah, that's not gonna work) and you'll lose all your cool stuff. so don't do it. Now you don't have to listen to the song.

I have to go. I'm too busy to think.

(ps. get well soon JB I'm comin' over to see you now, smooch.)


Today's Song of the Day is "Chinese Rock" by the Ramones off their 1980 Album "End of the Century."

Crazy Fact: The Original Ramones Line up: Joey Ramone (vocals; born Jeffrey Hyman, May 19, 1951), Johnny Ramone (guitar; born John Cummings, Oct. 8, 1951), and Dee Dee Ramone (bass; born Douglas Colvin, Sept. 18, 1952), with Tommy Ramone (drums; born Tom Erdelyi, Jan. 29, 1952)

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Who Needs Prozac?

This is so laid back. You gotta love it for a change of pace. Chill. Skip your prozac, pick-up this album instead, put it on repeat and sit in a dark place.

Ok, so this planet is spinning wildly out of control through the universe supposed held in place by this "sun's gravity" business. And *supposedly* I have a "heart" and it "pumps blood" around my body and that's a GOOD thing or so I'm told. I'm sure most of you have been fed the same crap, so you know what I'm talking about. I've never seen ANY of this stuff. There is a million things that some of the biggest idiots I've ever met in my life have spoon fed me and I gobbled it up. Hell! If they were right I'd "never amount to anything." There's nothing worse than a bad teacher. Anyway these same fools took it on faith from some other blockhead, etc... So I may have seen these lies on "Reality TV" but c'mon, there's a bunch a bogus nefarious business happening on that tube. That's hardly a reliable source. I think I'm joining the Flat Earth Society. I'll put my faith in them. They are about as responsible a source as anything else. I'm not buying what there selling me anymore. Papers, politicians, scientists, "experts" (says who) I'm going to listen my mom. That's it. She seems to have had my best interests at heart most of the time. Hmmm... Nah. Well, if you can't trust your mom who can you trust? C'mon. Rip out my "heart" and show it to me while it's still "pumping blood" and I'll change my mind. But get this! People have told *me* that if I do that, I'll die, a convenient cover story. "Death" another tall-tale/ bonehead theory. It's never happened to me. Has it happened to you? I think not. So what makes you think it will? It's just a scare tactic. Pffft. Horse-feathers.


Today's Song of the Day is "Talisman" by Air off their 1998 debut Album "Moon Safari."

Crazy Fact: They are totally old school on Moon Safari. The soundscapes were composed on Moog and Rhodes synthesizers, not Roland and Yamaha.

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Your Mama's So Old Her Birth Certificate Expired.

The crazy fact is particularily crazy IMHO.

Hey! My Birthdays coming. I'm saying good bye to my thirties! oh wait...no... I got eight more years until I am blessed with the almighty 40. In which, as I am led to believe by the dark one (what a weird guy, sheesh) I will actually look my age. I can't freakin' wait. 8 more years of this HELL and not only that but according to this contract ummm, lets see... mrm... mzza... mzz amuz.. mrmrm ...AND A Eternity of suffering in the inner most furnances of hell, after my slow and painful death! This Deal SUCKS! I must've been drunk when I signed it. That old devil, he is a crafty one. Shit.

Anyway, I'm sick of handing over the stupid ID and hearing "Oh your appreciate this when your older" well that was F U C K I N G ten years ago and I AM older and trust me I STILL don't appreciate it. This, of course, amuses my crew to no end. The Authoritian ID checker asks for my ID, my people look on with greedy eyes waiting for the reaction of the poor bouncer, gas station attendant, cop or lottery ticket vendor (Yes, they ID too... I'm not joking) nearing salivating in anticipation, then our much decieved ID checker with Raised eyebrows and stammering embarrassment, croaks out some cliché about how happy I should be. It's crap. I'm not happy about it, I'm ripped off. No adulthood for you little bitch! Well fuck you God! I signed this deal with my friend Satan, maybe you heard of him you old COOT and he's settin' me up just fine.

My favorite reactions are the ones from the monsterous, stone-faced bouncers that totally lose their cool, smack themselves in the forehead, and scream "Holy Shit!" Out of pure shock. Then I feel the power of merely existing. I am the monster. And one look at the truth of my being is enough to send their small minds spiraling, dismayed into the chaotic nether-regions of doubt and eerie self-examination... "Am I THAT old?!" I snatch back my ID and pass through... Victorious!


Today's Song of the Day is "Misguided Angel" by The Cowboy Junkies off there 1989 Album "The Trinity Sessions."

Crazy Fact: Who says you can't make a great record in one day -- or night, as the case may be? The Trinity Session was recorded in one night using one microphone, a DAT recorder, and the wonderful acoustics of the Holy Trinity in Toronto. CRAZY CRAY-ZEE! That's double-nuts crazy!

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Killer Robots = Fun. Real Robots = No Fun.

Rest-o-rant?

You think that's like "c'mon in sit down rest or rant, it's up to you." ? That sounds more like a bar then a restaurant. I'll look it up...

[French, restorative soup, restaurant, from present participle of restaurer, to restore, from Old French restorer. See restore.]

Nope. Wrong again. That bites. Etymology is always getting in the way of my schemes. Always. 90% of the time we are living in a fantasy world, why do the facts always have to get in the way. "I think she really likes me!" or "You know what I *DO* have great taste in clothes" or "Can you REALLY have too much ketchup in your fries" or "ah fuck it...(whatever follows that statement is a BAD idea)" Wouldn't that suck if there was a professor robot following you around correcting every stupid decision you almost made.


Me: ...Yeah, sure lets do it.

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: Excuse me Pif, that will only leave 12 dollars and 56 cents in your bank account.

Me: Yeah, but I got that jar of quarters 'n' shit beside my bed. There's gotta be a least 150 bucks in there. Don't worry about it there, robo-guts, I know what I'm doing."

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: Correction. You have 56.23 in your apartment.

Me: You are so fucking uptight!

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: That is my function.

Me: Bite me.

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: After the last time you instructed me to do that you told me, quote, do that again and all shred your retarded metal body with a carbide grinder, end quote. You were very upset.

Me: Look... Who invited you?

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: Your mother.

Me: WHAT!?!

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: Your mother.

Me: Yes yes I *HEARD* you, you accurséd contraption, bane of all fun-ness.

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: Correction. Fun-ness is not a word I suggest Jocularity or perhaps High Jinx.

Me: This sucks. Whatever she's paying you I'll double it.

Annoying Metallic Robotic Voice: Correction. You only have 68.79 to your name.

Me: I hate you.


Today's Song of the Day is "9th & Hennepin" by Tom Waits off his 1985 Album "Rain Dogs."

Crazy Fact: On "Blind Love" also off this album Tom Waits teams up with the Rolling Stones' gitaurist Keith Richards and ex- Richard Hell & the Voidoids guitarist Robert Quine. Who Knew?

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Just like Rolling Stone.

It time for the stream off consciousness sort of I have no idea what I'm going to rant about today routine. Well nuthin's really bugging me except Rolling Stone magazine. I was reading about Devo today and rolling stone can be pretty freakin stunned. They hated Led Zeppelin, constantly slammed Queen and thought Devo frickin DEVO were fascists. What kind of boneheads think Devo are Fascists? Yeah that's all I got. Something else that I found crazy was that the dudes in Devo were going to Kent State when the army came in and fired on the students. They were just a buncha music geek and probably general geeks (hey if there was a geek army who would be General Geek? Lord of the geeks, the one to bring them together under one flag and fight against the ridicule and oppression of the Geek way of life. Poor bastards have it, bad. What am I saying? Why am I speaking in third person as if I was somehow separate from my Geek brothers? I'm goin' to burnin' hell for that. I better confess. My name is Pif Edwards and I am a Geek. All better! That was easy. This Catholicism thing has something to it. Anyway. The sworn enemy of the geek is...well there's so many. The wise-crackin' insecure loudmouth (sound like a species of bird ("oh my god pa, lookit!") wow I'm tying off this inter-rant tangent it's gotta stop. where the hell did this parentheses start? Oh right) who were into this crazy book called "The Beginning Was The End: Knowledge Can Be Eaten" and then the army moved in on their campus and they decided things went to far so they started a band...wait-a-minute... "They started a BAND?!?"


Kid: Pa! Tornados a-comin'

Pa: Alright boys, you know what to do.

Kid: Hide in the Cellar?

Pa: Nope. Git your banjo, boa. We gotta start us a band.

Kid: Yee-Haw!

Pa: Maybe through our severely stylized alienating music, obscure alienating lyrics and bizarre alienating antics we can raise awareness to the danger our people face and if ONLY the People KNEW!

Kid: Yee-Haw!

Pa: If we play it, they will come.

kid: Yee-Haw!


I'm done.


Today's Song of the Day is "Whip it" by Devo off their 1980 Album "Freedom of Choice."

Crazy Fact: Mark Mothersbaugh (a guy in DEVO) wrote the theme music for Pee-Wee's Playhouse

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Too many books'll make you lonley.

There's nothing quite like those guys who work in used book and record stores. The record guys are a little more hip (or more importantly were hip at one time, maybe ex-rockabilly, maybe ex-punk, but ex-something) but aside from that they're essentially the same. They never planned on getting rich nor do they seem to ever really plan to make a sale but if they do they sort of take it as it comes. They are honestly happy to have a conversation at anytime about just about anything, esspecially books or records but esspecially book or records (eh there A to the M). There's something of the luddite in them but not totally, they have accepted "the strange new ways" of computers and CDs but just barely. You ever wonder what happened to Tandy computers or those ugly green and black monitors? Bingo.

They seem to be serenely happy to see anyone. They sort of look-up from there book smile with half-closed eyes and look back at their book and say "If there's anything I can help you with just let me know..." and when (or should I say "if" cause I go into stores to buy stuff except for used book/record stores, I usually just look around and for some reason mostly look at stuff I already have, don't know why. Hmmm...) I actually buy something they always say: "Oh! you'll like that. It a wonderful book blah blah blah" or record store guy: "...cool..."(with simultaneous head-nod of approval.)

The CRAZY thing to me that every one of these guys know there entire stock off the top of there head. There are towering piles nay dangerously lilting piles of books/records, totally out of control everywhere, crazy everywhere, but nonetheless:

Pif: Excuse me.

Old Crazy Book Dude: Yee-ah

Pif: Do you have a book called "Parsival"

Old Crazy Book Lover Dude: Yee-ah, Hmm.. (scratches chin)

Pif: It's by Wolfram von Eschenbach

Old Chin Scratching Book Dude: Yee-ah, it's Knights of the Round table stuff. 12th century romance, in the old sense of the term of course...

Pif: Yeah, I've been looking for it forever.

Old Talkative Book Dude: Yee-ah, Holy grail stuff. Last I saw it it was in paperback. It's hard to find a decent translation.

Pif: Should I look under "E" or "W"?

Old dude: Yee-ah, don't have it.

Pif: ...!

Old Dude Dying To Relate To Any Animate Object: Yee-ah, I'm not sure where you'd get it. Ever hear of this brand new gizmo the "Interweb"?

Pif: (I give up) No. Tell me about it.


Today's Song of the Day is "Ukelele Lady" by Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band off his 1968 Album "Greatest Hits!"

Crazy Fact: Jim Kweskin travelled throughout the United States collecting songs between 1961-2, and put together the first incarnation of his group when he returned to Boston in 1963.

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Papa's Got a Really Old Bag.

Ever notice that when you got a rock in your shoe it feels like a boulder, or a splinter in your foot if feel like you have a spike driven into your heel. The worst thing about this, besides the obvious discomfort, is the let down when you actually find the offending article. Especially for fools like me who externalize every fool thought that comes into their head.


ME: GODDAMN! What the fuck it THAT? AAAAA! There's fucking broken glass in my shoe! Christ almighty! I can hardly fucking walk!

(I stumble to the ground, dramatically grimace and carefully remove my shoe. I shake my shoe wildly and a bearly visible pebble bounces to the ground.)

THEM: you pansy.

ME: That's all? There's gotta be more. (shake, shake, shake!)

THEM: nope.

ME: This is so unfair.


The imagination is a terrible thing. I'm one of those poor bastards with an over-active one. It's like an extremist. I don't like extremists. They keep blowing shit way out of proportion and then blowing shit up. Maybe my imagination is secretly plotting against me. I'm sure of it! Bastard! It's the cause of all my grief. That's it. It's gotta go. Death to the tyrant
imagination! Fuckers! Keeping us down, freaking us out. It's a goddamn fear-monger. It's like I got George Bush living in my head. Taking all the good thoughts for himself and dishing me the crappy fearful left-overs. It's not fair, I tell you, not fair at all!

That clinches it. Time to get a labotomy. It's simply the last straw. It's the only way to be... Or maybe that's just what George wants me to think? Hmm...he's tricky isn't he... Bastards! You never know with those rogue imaginations they could be up to just about anything. Obviously, This requires more thought.

Today's Song of the Day is "Prelude No. 2 in C Minor" from "The Well-Tempered Clavier Book 1" Composed by Johann Sebastian Bach in 1722, performed here by Glenn Gould, Recorded January 10 to June 7, 1962 in New York City.

Crazy Fact: Johann Sebastian Bach married his cousin, Maria Barbara Bach in the fall of 1707.

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Oprah with an Axe. Truly Terrifying.

I've been totally addicted to yet another stupid video game called Railroad Tycoon II. You build train empires in various historical periods and geographical locations. Wow. How fucking succinct is THAT?

Anyway...

It's all historically accurate and geeky, like if you ever played monopoly you build the B&O railroad with the same CEOs and Rail Managers...

Anyways... (now I'm such a geek I'm annoying mySELF)

These fuckers built these big-assed railroads that spread people and cargo of all kinds all over the continent. They pretty much laid the ground work for the modern life style. But is this a good thing? Probably. I think it also laid the ground work for the disintegration of the community and the creation of the fix-it-now mental state of us first worlders. We can just try something new or go somewhere else. Whether we actually do isn't really the point. Back in the day you were keenly aware that you you were stuck with the fools around you and anyone else was a "stranger from out of town and not to be trusted 'n' such". Like I said, I'm kinda glad for the modern-life style of "I don't like you so I'm going to find someone else to talk to" instead of "There's only four of us in this rotten logged cabin and I guess we are just going to have to talk it out or give in and fight to the death like animals."

In all my past lives I lost every single fight to the death so I'm just glad that whole fad is over. I take it all back. Fix it now Oprah, and when you tell me what to do, make sure it rhymes, I like that. You may be an annoying loud-mouth with waay too much power over the minds of the bored, but, it would just be embarrassing losing a fight to the death against you.

Today's Song of the Day is "Biko" by Peter Gabriel off his 1980 album "Peter Gabriel."

Crazy Fact: Peter Gabriel has three albums between 1977 and 1980 all called 'Peter Gabriel'. Cray-zee.

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I let the 'dawgs' out.

This song kicks ass, turn off the lights, stare at the rainy dark city and smoke'em if ya got em.

I've decided to stop shaving. I'm just gonna see what happens. I'm thirty I've never done this on purpose before. I'm NOT saying I'm growing a beard, 'cause it looks...kinda...sparse still. I'm not sure I can actually grow a beard but I can grow hair on my face, thank you puberty (I'm not sure I've ever thanked you before you BASTARD, but, I'll take this opportunity to thank you...oh my god that's an entire rant on it's own so I'll stop, consider this foreshadowing, anyway...) It's itchy like hell and I keep looking in the mirror and yup, there is hair on my face. It's not right. But I have to giv'er and see what goes.

A some point you have to see what life would be like with your face (at least) in it's natural state. Like what I would look like as a pioneer...actually I'd probably look much like a skeleton, 'cause I'm a wuss and I'd be dead for years by now. Anyway I'm sure I'll just look in the mirror in like 2 week and say "Yup, that's me with hair on my face alright. Take a picture and pass the razor 'cause I'm done wit dis fozzy bear shiznit."


Today's Song of the Day is "Blue in Green" by Miles Davis off his 1959 Album "Kind of Blue."

Crazy Fact: This is an exceptional band — Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Bill Evans, Cannonball Adderly, Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb — one of the greatest in history, playing at the peak of its power. As Evans said in the original liner notes for the record, the band did not play through any of these pieces prior to recording. Davis laid out the themes before the tape rolled, and then the band improvised. That's too much Crazy!

(and some thing else why do all Jazz Musicans have a Noun in their name: Miles, CoalTrain, Bill, Cannonball, Chambers, Cobb... What UP!)

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Why don't you call your Ma-mee!?

What's up with stoopid, stoopid sleep. I don't know about you, but it never freakin' co-operates for me. NEVER. Last night I went to bed at 8:00 PM by accident. Woke up at 4:36. In that way, that "your just not gonna fall asleep again" kinda way. Brains goin'. Hampsters started on their wheels.

Me: Ignoring the hampsters. Keep eyes closed. No you really are asleep. Trying. Trying. Breathe slower. Don't move at all. Trying. Oh I'm closer, I just know it...

Yeah right.

What the hell is "trying to sleep"? Dude. Your lying still and your brain is just going to shut off or it isn't. Period. What's the "trying" part for. You trying to do nothing. Just do nothing and have faith that you will lose consciousness. I can't help but feel that this is terribly terribly naïve. I'm just going to lie hear and hope that what I want to happen will happen. Actually that's kind of a comforting thought. Every man, woman and child on this planet "try to sleep" Every Evil man put's his head down and tries to sleep, with the same innocence of a child. That's kinda nice. Like it. No matter how bad shit or good shit is going, you gotta lie totally still, and try to sleep. Oddly, that gives me a great deal of compassion for people whom I usually hold nothing but derision, like George Bush. That little puppet puts his cute little head down and goes to sleep.

Probably drools. (Well not THAT much compassion. Jeeze.)


(I don't know if I'm the only loser who remembers this song but right now it feels like it. It only made it to Number 21 on the charts, but I frickin' loved this tune.)

Today's Song of the Day is "Deeper Shade of Soul" by Urban Dance Squad off their 1990 album "Mental Floss for the Globe."

Crazy Fact: Urban Dance Squad is based out of Amsterdam... Well *I* think that's crazy.

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You're In, You're Out, Either Way, it's Two for One.

Ok unless you have heard and love Operation: Mindcrime this intro will be no big deal to you. For those of us who listened heavily to this album it is part of your consciousness "...all I remember is doing what they told me... told me... told me..."

Ok for all of you with brothers or sisters with different musical tastes than you this one goes out to you. I used to HATE Queensrÿche. Hate hate hate. But my frickin' brother played this album so DAMN much that next thing I knew I was singing along and hating myself for it. But you have to give up that fight eventually. If your singing along you can't really hate it. At
best you can be embarrassed. But you should really give up that fight and give in to the idea that "Yes. I like Queensrÿche," or "Yes. I like Samantha Fox," or "Yes. I like Alan Jackson," or whatever crap your siblings forced into your mind. Familiarity is a terrible thing. I went to Queensrÿche's concert and everything. I'm the accidental fan.

I think "Outro (mandatory)" kicks some ass though, whatever happened to this dude he is pretty messed up about it. The sincerity in his voice is intense... s'killer.


Today's Song of the Day is "I Remember Now" by Queensrÿche which is the intro to their 1988 CD "Operation: Mindcrime."

Today's Song of the Day is "Outro (mandatory)" by UNKLE which is the Outro of their 1998 CD "Psyence Fiction"

Crazy Fact: Queensrÿche opened on one of 2001 hottest metal concert tickets -- Iron Maiden's Brave New World reunion tour, which also included former Judas Priest frontman Rob Halford. Upon the tour's completion, Geoff Tate (Queensrÿche), Rob Halford (Judas Priest), and Iron Maiden's Bruce Dickinson formed a metal supergroup, dubbed Trinity. SUPER!

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Black Sabbath

Do people mistake thought provoking for depressing? I'm starting to think they do. I keep hearing people call stuff I like, depressing. Granted Apocolypse Now doesn't exactly have a happy ending but, there's so much more to that movie then just the ending. People get all freaking caught up on the end of... well anything. But let's stick with movies for a second, people seem to think a movie was good if it had a good ending. I think that's weird. I don't think it's like that for comedies now that I think about it. When dude gets his naughty bits all tangled in his zipper in "Something About Mary" it's really funny and then the end is an end, he get the girls, blah blah blah. But if it was exactly the same and in the end he gets mowed down by a car. The end. roll credits... Wow what an awesome ending. I'd laugh my ass off. He leaves all crying walks out in the road and WHAM-O! Anyway, there is now way it would be as popular, I just know it. Why does that last 10 seconds matter so much?

Raise your fists in Revolution my friends! Let's take 'em out. Whoever they are. If we can't take out those responsible we'll just take out anyone we can, c'mon, mob rule, there's no happy-ending there. The medium is the message. You can DOOOO eet!

Today's Song of the Day "Istamble not Constantinople" by They Mighty Be Giants off their 1990 album "Flood."

Crazy Fact: They Mighty Be Giants took their name from a George C. Scott film.

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Thema! Baby! You got it goin' on!

I was watching Scooby-doo recently with my nephew Sam. And he is crazy for Scooby-doo, loves it. But, why 25 years after I was watching it is it still stoopid popular with the wee ones? I pondered this whilst the kids "meddled" and Sam used every crook of my body for a chair. As Sam and I sat (or squirmed) there engrossed in Shaggy's food obsession and Scooby's half-crazed fearful mumbling, it hit me. The entire show's purpose is to prove that monsters aren't real. No matter how inexplicable it's some failed vengeful greedy crazed janitor who's at the controls of every one of these monsterous criminal mysteries. So it helps the kids with all that boogie man action. And it doesn't matter how smart you are you will never beat those meddling kids, and don't fuck around, they're pretty smart.

And Thema was looking pretty hot. Obviously, I've always been a Daphne kinda guy, as we've all been socialized to appreciate. But *damn* that girl is looking fine. Think about it, she's REALLY smart, knows how to laugh at herself, is completely unpretentious, has some pretty cool friends, a decent job, loves to travel, a retro sense of style, a life full of excitement...she's pretty freaking self-actualized. My kinda girl! I guess I'm not falling for the looks crap anymore. I've been to the circus been on *those* rides, they always leaving me puking and embarrassed in some sticky, smelly ally, with a Carney handing me a greasy rag to clean the vomit off my pants with. No, no, I've had enough of that part of the funhouse.

Today's Song of the Day is "Last Night" by the Strokes off their 2001 Album "Is this it?"

Crazy Fact: Singer/songwriter Julian Casablancas is the son of Elite modeling agency kingpin John Casablancas.

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I've done it now.

I'm in trouble, this is a totally mistake. I KNOW it. trouble trouble trouble. a motor mouth like me should steer clear of machines like this. fence me in baby FENCE ME IN!

Screaming at Space Mountain.

It's 50s alright. It's called 'Tomorrowland' for christ-sake. I was half expecting to see Rocket Robinhood. Which actually would have been really cool. I'd get my picture taken with him in a heartbeat. Minnie and Goofy can stick it. But I reserve my real ire for 'Beast' and 'the Genie' and 'Simba' they bite. But that's a different story.

Sonia: We going on Space Mountain and so are you.
Me: No way, I get car sick.
Sonia: C'mon...
Me: Look at that thing!
Sonia: You cannot go to Disney and not go on the rides.
Me: Do you want me to puke on the back of your head?
Sonia: Ok pif, you wait here.
Me: Excellent.

As I walk away I look up at the sign that says it's a 65 minute wait for this ride. Yikes.

Well, I wander over to the video arcade. Of course it's the biggest arcade I've ever seen in my life. They have it all, Street Fighter II, Dungeons and Dragons, X-men, I'm pretty happy about it. More importantly, a whole WALL of pinball. fucking SWEET. Pinball is hard to find these days. Most importantly they have Creepshow, I got down on Creepshow. 15 bucks later I go back to meet them.

Wesam looks like he stood to close to jet engine. His hair is all crazy and swooped over to the side and you couldn't kick the smile off his face. They were happy and laughing and even said the 65 minute wait was worth it. Even still, I'm glad it wasn't me.

Sonia: What did you do?
Me: I played 15 bucks worth of early nineties vids and pinball.
Sonia: You come to Disney World and you play Pinball?
Me: Hey Pinball is hard to find these days!
Sonia: Pinball!? What year is it?
Me: Well here in "Tomorrowland" it's hard to tell. It could easily be 1956.
Sonia: You are getting on a ride. You hear me?! Splash Mountain. You're on it.
Me: Never.

At Splash Mountain's crescendo, I have never, up to that point in my life, been so afraid.

When your coming on to the 'ride' you see one of those 'logs' with four rows of people on it emerging from a cave and dropped off a precipice, down a 70 degree waterfall. They emerge screaming and the intensity of their screaming increases as they slip off the edge and speed toward their watery graves at uncomfortable and unnatural speeds. Their faces possessed by an apparent mind-melting fear. Their mouths are open to a bizarre and inhuman degree. Young and old, male and female, of all colours and religions faced with the void react the same, as humans, with their mouths open so wide that it hurts, screaming uncontrollably. Fear once again brings all peoples of the earth together. Unity in fear. Disney, once again, is a metaphor for all agencies of power Government, Religion, Mothers Against Drunk Driving you name it.

It seems though the wait is a mere 55 minutes for the other suckers, we have 'fast passes', which is a license to feel like fat cats and cut to the front of a line that is literally 1500 feet long.

Ok, I'm running out of excuses here; 'motion sickness' isn't working, 'the lines too long' has just been cut short, and they're totally ignoring the coward angle. Their defenses are too strong, and my Jedi powers of charm are givin' me nuthin.'

Just before I get to the front of the line I eye the "last chance to escape" sign. No. I can't. I'll never, ever live that down. Ok. I'm doing it.

Them: Line up here sir.

For all I know this goes to a meat packing plant. Maybe this is how cows feel before the slaughter. Ooo fun, a conveyer belt.

Our 'log' arrives.

Me: Oh look, this casket seats 8 to 12.
Sonia: (shoots me a smile and a 'don't you dare run for it' look) Get in you pansy!

I get in the back. DON'T GET IN THE BACK. I'm telling you this now, I wish some one had told me.

(to be continued...)

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Today's Song of the Day is "Don't Go" by Yaz off their 1982 album "Upstairs at Eric's"

Crazy Fact: Vince Clarke had penned almost all of Depeche Mode's debut album, Speak & Spell, including their early dancefloor hit "I Just Can't Get Enough".
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So we float down The River Styx on our long, deep voyage into the accurséd bowels of 'Splash Mountain' (what a deceptive name 'Mountain of Inhuman Terror' is more like it.) It's dark, but they lull you into a feeling of safety with Bier Rabbit and Bier Wolf and the gang playing their banjos, chewing their hick grass with creepy animatronic repetition.

We burst into bright sunlight and drop off the edge of a cliff. I scream spontaneously. The fear grips me and squeezes out a scream. Nothing you can do about it. We hit the bottom with a splash and a jet of water.

Fuck. What a bunch of pansies. That was nothing. Fuck! They looked scared as hell. It looked so much bigger from the other side. I relax and lean back. That was a short ride. I feel a little ripped off, but in the end I'm pleased that I didn't puke, die or embarrass myself.

I float by the Disney characters getting their animantronic selves into all kinds of wacky situations. We leisurely float into another dark tunnel that goes black as pitch and drops into oblivion. The fear takes hold again and my mind melts into a blind panic. There is no thought. Only a sustained, high-pitched scream. We splash to a halt in the darkness.

My higher functions are returned to me as Primal Fear Pif recedes back into his pre-cambrian cave. The first thought that comes to me is 'Well that was a little embarrassing' and then comes the spontaneous laughter. We are all laughing and I think to myself. "Shit, this ride isn't over yet."

Yet more happy-but-tortured Disney animals on this journey though the abyss. Look at them, ghosts of a story some poor farmer or slave told another 100s of years ago, while struggling in toil through hot southern summers, twisted by Disney into a dollar bill. It's really bizarre. This is a haunted house.

The only words I remember from the whole 'ride', which now I'm sure is short for 'hell-ride' is 'Let's see if we can find your laughing place.' This is spoken by two vultures with black top-hats perched in front of a gravestone. They said it in that 'squeal like a pig, boy' sort of voice, while being lit from below. It was ominous and frightening. It foreboded a great calamity as we and our little floating death log was carried up and up and up a giant conveyor belt. Evil voices Laughing, surrounding us from all sides. Flashing demonic eyes appearing in the darkness. Suddenly a burst of light and we are high above the park. I can see clear to the ocean. The view is breathtaking.

Then we drop.

Fear takes hold and squeezes. As the Log of Safety lurches forward, fear grips harder. The point of balance shifts suddenly. Since all the weight is distributed to the front, I am launched forward out of the seat. Terror adds a another firm grip. Two hands of fear squeezing the rationality out me. One was really enough. My stomach tightens. My legs straighten, worsening my situation. As the full weight is pulled down the infinite drop ahead of me, my ass is up in the air desperate to be attached to the seat. I became aware of my screaming at this point, I think it's been going on for some time. I am sure of my death at this point. With all my fears and resulting supernatural strength I try to pull my ass down into my log coffin. The speed and acceleration are nearly unbearable. My mind is numb. My senses are on fire. My legs are strong with a primal survival instinct to run or jump. Jump is the really worry. My left hand is in total panic. I don't know what it's doing. Its reaching around for something to hold on to, waving around in the air, hitting me in the head... it's gone bye-bye. My right hand is so firmly gripped on to the plastic bar directly in front of me that it hurt for days.

The screaming was incredible. High-pitched, unnatural, definitely not masculine in the least. Not even feminine, past feminine, past little boy, past little girl, more like a bat, but louder, much, much louder. I think I dropped about 150 feet, though, I felt I was dropped from a plane, and though I aged a year, when we teetered, tipped and careened down down down it probably took only 3 or 4 seconds.

When we splashed to the bottom. I felt lucky to be alive. Laughing and exuberant. Like the kids in Star Wars when the trash-compactor stopped closing in on them.

When I climbed up Splash Mountain I was just a boy. When I got back down, I was a man.

There is something cleansing about that fear. For a moment there was nothing but fear, nothing, no school, no friends, no clothes, no fingers, no ideas, only fear. wow.

On our way off the ride another family walks up to us.

Family: Excuse me.
Sonia: Yes, can I help you?
Family: Our little boy is very sick and we have to go.
Sonia: Oh that's terrible, will he be alright?
Family: Oh yes But we have these fast passes and we can't use them.
Sonia: oh really...
Family: Would you like them?
Sonia: oh thank you, very much.
Family: We have four can you use them all?
Sonia: Yes we can.
Family: Have fun.
Sonia: Thanks, I hope he feels better.

Me: Wow, that was nice of them. What are they for?
Sonia looks at them smiles and looks at me with a hungry evil look.
Me: no way.
Sonia: Space Mountain!
Me: uh-uh
Sonia: Yes! It's fate!
Me: Look I'll puke, I will, that's no fun for anyone
Sonia: That's what you said last time.

I pause while I search for my next excuse

Wesam: C'mon, Pif.
Me: Ok.

How did he do that?! Wesam pushed some macho button or something. How did he do that? I'm not macho. Why am I doing this? I don't understand how he did that. It's an old Arabic mind-trick. I don't want to do this. 'C'mon, Pif' worked on me?! What?! This is impossible.

(to be continued...)

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Today's Song of the Day is "Free Fallin'" by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers off their 1989 album "Full Moon Fever."

Crazy Fact: MCA wanted to release the 1981 follow-up to record to Damn the Torpedoes, at the list price of $9.98, which was a high price at the time. Petty refused to comply to their wishes, threatening to withhold the album from the label and organizing a fan protest that forced the company to release the record at $8.98. nice.
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Confused, I walk across the enormous 'Magic Kingdom' to my ultimate fear. Space mountain.

We are on the other side of the park in 'Frontierland' and I can see it, emerging from behind Cinderella's castle. Look at that monstrosity it's at least 10 stories high. Whatever is enclosed in that massive outer shell is obviously going to kill me.

How the hell did Wesam say 'c'mon pif' and bang I'm on my way to the death chamber. Just like that. He could get me to play russian roulette. fucking hell. I'm walking spanish over here. I look up again Though we are still probably a Kilometer away from it's base, it's massive hulking mass is very intimidating. My brain is racing with excuses, I'm trying them out and none of them'll fit. Shit. I'm cornered like a rat.

We get to the base of Space Mountain. The line up is like nothing I've ever seen, we've walked by it now for about 2 and a half minutes. And we just got to the entrance of the building. We start our ascent up Mount Doom. There's three of us. I guess that makes me gollum, great. We know what happens to gollum. I wonder which of these two is Frodo, probably Wesam. Definitely Wesam he just got that huge engagement ring for Sonia, that's the ring of power alright, so that makes Kelly Sam Wise. Alright, so now I know before I jump I have to bite off Wesams finger and watch for Kelly, she'll try to stop me. Ok, got it.

There's ominous space music playing. 'Alien' Landscapes to our right through portholes. Photos of nebulas and asteriods. I guess this is a space station thing. The line of eternal boredom that started about 1200 feet ago continues to my left. So Many People. Like Lambs to the slaughter, I think to myself. Wait a Minute I'm a lamb! I'm the Fast Tracked Lamb. Early to rise early to Die. Early bird gets the Death. All these space images... Walt you wily old fucker you did it again, but I know what your up to. I'm on to you. We climb up this steep ramp forever, well at least ten minutes. I look at the indifferent faces of the damned as I pass them by. I feel screaming 'We're ALL GONNA DIE!!" but I'd probably get arrested for terrorism.

Me: I'm going to scream the whole way like a little girl. You know that.
Wesam: (laughing) Oh, you know it.

Ok, that didn't help.

We finally make it to the front of the line. Our three seater missile of idiocy arrives. We step in. It locks us down. We sit there for several months as my hands sweat, my mouth dries out and my bladder pulsates. Wow. I'm really locked in good. shit. They really didn't lock me in to the last one. I wonder if that's a legal thing, or there just doing it to scare me, cause I really don't need any help. I think I can feel my hair turning white.

Wesam turns around smiling and gives me the thumbs up. It might as well have been the Devil himself. The moment he turns back the happy Disney employee pulls a giant lever like the one in Eraserhead and we start to roll. My stomach starts to jump around threatening to empty it's contents at any moment. We turn the corner and drop. I yelp. My stomach is very very unhappy with me. We stop for seemingly no reason. Hey that wasn't too bad.

Wesam: Not so bad hey buddy? You just wait.

We go into a giant tube with lights shooting past and they are counting down and it's REALLY REALLY Lame. Oh my god. I was scared of this?! We accelerate at an even pace as we head off the 'Launch pad.' Lame lame lame. This is so late fifties I could puke. Jesus. Splash Mountain could take this loser ride APART. We 'speed' toward the end of the tunnel with the count down increasing in volume and the pulsating lights flashing till I'm nearly having a seizure. lame. truely lame.

When we turn the corner, I start to scream and I don't stop for five minutes. Not like before, worse. Louder. Uncontrollably. So hysterically. Now like a bat, but a panicked ancient bat, who knows only fear.

When we turned the corner, we fell into utter darkness. That's how it stayed. For about 5 minutes of sustained terror. My mind went into a test pattern. Green screen of death. A system freeze, the mac bomb, followed by a hard re-boot to my unicellular ancestors. It was a fear that transcended time, transcended my species, my genetic make up. It went back behind the world wars, behind the discovery of bronze, before horses, before meteors wiped out the dinosaurs, before I had a spine, or anyone else. It was as primal as any fight for survival, as the first fight for survival. I was in the original living nightmare.

And locked in to that seat. I had only one way to express myself, to scream and boy did I scream.

All the facilities I relied on for my survival were taken from me. It was pitch black I was blind as a bat (fitting) My legs were locked into Apollo 13 over here and my hands, this time, were both freaking out. They had nothing to hold on to, they were lost to me, they had become like my ancestral tentacles of my great grandfather jelly fish, the were on there own. It was every cell for itself at this point.

The screaming continued. I tried to stop it. I couldn't. It stopped for a moment as I took a deep breath, I tried to hold it back but it started up right away, there was nothing I could do, it was hysterical. So embarrassingly and utterly beyond my control.

My mouth was wider then ever, my eyes were the size of saucers. With every turn, shake and dip into the nothingness my stomach tensed tighter and then tighter. My testicles ran hid behind my kidneys. What a picture to send home. How was Disney World 'the happiest place on earth'? And there is the picture of me, arms flailing, mouth agape, eyes wide, nutless, looking deep into my own mortality, rationality lost to the world. A being of pure fear. Oh, it was great.

Wesam and Kelly were also hysterical, but with laughter. They we laughing so loud, hard and long that every time I took a breath I could hear them laughing as uncontrollably as my screaming, at my screaming.

I'm so glad I didn't sit in the front. Thank you god for small favours.

When I got off. I was smiling, laughing, purified, twice in one day, an experience beyond reckoning. Something bigger, more emotional then anything if experienced in this lifetime. My body so pleased to be alive, so sure that it was going to be torn to pieces by wolves, or sharks or a bigger meaner super amoeba. nothing doing. Here I stand renewed twice in one day, I'm sure 50 percent of my blood was adrenaline and my stomach will never fully recover, but whatever.

The happiest man alive is the one shot at and missed.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin from "BBC Sessions" recorded in 1969.

Crazy Fact: I screamed louder and longer than Robert Plant in this song. I was unbelievable.

njoy

The Drive.

Caleb calls me at about noon, "We have to go for a drive, I'm working now but around 5."
"Wicked!'
"We will talk then."
"Aight m'man. see you then." (click) "Holy shit! Caleb is pregnant or dying or getting married."
I anxiously watch the clock
1:41
2:17
2:46
3:23
4:20
4:44
4:51
4:56
5:01
5:11...(buzzzzzz!)
I jump, it always scares the shit out of me, this time I jump a little higher. I buzz him in... ohshit it could be that fucking census guy. shit shit. that fucker always shows up about this time and I am NOT letting that fucker steal my identity. ...fuck, I don't see Caleb's car. Damn! That bastards' passed my first level of defence. I can't just not answer the door, fuck cornered like a rat! I must prepare myself for conflict. where did I put...(knock knock knock) shit... shit...

"CALEB! Awesome! I was worried you were the census guy, he's been hounding me for days."

"I'm not letting them steal my identity." he says distractedly.

"SEE! I'm not the only one. Celery is calling me a kook."

"I pitched it after the first question.", looking at the floor.

"Problem is this census guy is really nice and I don't have the heart to tell him to stuff the census test up his ass. So I'm avoiding the conflict."

I make ready, we leave.

"Why did you park way the hell down the street? You scared the hell out of me."

"Every time I come up here there is never a spot in front of your place. I have to drive around the block." He is obviously on auto-pilot, his brain is seized upon a singular thought or action. So I make small talk.

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Today's Song of the Day is "All the Madmen" by David Bowie off his 1972 Album "The Man Who Sold the World."

Crazy Fact: In 1973 Bowie was a busy man: he recorded Aladdin Sane, produced Lou Reed's Transformer, produced the Stooges' Raw Power, and produced Mott the Hoople's comeback All the Young Dudes, for which he also wrote the title track. Crazy!
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"How's school?"

"I'm so sick of Puritains... and witchcraft. I want my brain back. I have to write 4 papers, and it's killing me. I have a week left." For a moment, he is distracted from whatever holds his mind so tightly. Whatever it is that has him, most of him, locked away. You can see it in his whole shape and form, he relaxes. His arms when relaxed seem to be like a kindly rope bridge pinned up by the shoulders and wrists. Slowly as this heavy thought again takes the spot light of his attention, as if he is slowly slipping in to a cold tank of water the fluidity of his form starts to become rigid. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter, his arms straighten and push his sholders back into the seat, his spine straightens, he sits higher in his seat and the emotion washes from his face and his eyes settle on the road. frozen in thought. Yikes! This is gonna be serious, when the HELL is going to tell me whatever the...

"Where the HELL are we going?"

"Downtown."

"We are going for a DRIVE downtown?" His tension is becoming contagious.

"I have to get a book, first. On witchcraft. It's for my paper."

"oh... ok."

We park the car. I obviously have a little time before the hammer falls, nice. I relax and yammer on and on about whatever comes to mind. One of those skipping sort of conversations, though it's a little one-sided I don't mind. We get to the corner of Queen and Spring Garden and Caleb get's dizzy and says he's having a bit of a panic-attack. He crouches down on the side walk and takes a breather. I tell him my "groundless fear" panic attack theories and as we continue walking I tell him all he has to do is remember that he is not in danger,

"There is nothing at risk right now, you are not doing anything life-threatening at this moment nothing..." We turn abruptly.

"Where the HELL are you going now?" (when the HELL is he going to tell me this big fucking thing!) he goes down some stairs and into a funny tiny little store.

"Hi, Caleb." I see a kind face smiling from behind a long counter. glasses, 50ish.

I look around. I've never been here before. There are glass cases filled with delicate little rings and bracelets and necklaces. Little black plastic numbers with big white prices sit next to each of them. 9450, 4320, 1090. How can something so small be worth so much? Good Lord. I had no idea things this expensive were sold in this city. What the HELL are we doing in here? Why does that guy know Caleb? Why is caleb buying jewelry? What would he be...?

". . . h o l y s h i t . . . " I looked up from the case.

He shrugged, tipped his head to one side and looked at me with a crooked smile of a man about to jump.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Do" by The White Stripes off their 1999 self-titled album "The White Stripes"

Crazy Fact: Jack White, guitar and vocals, Meg White, drums -- formed in 1997 on Bastille Day. weird 'n' crazy.
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Let's not talk about it until we leave." He looked pale.

"ok." I figure he is bearly holding on. If it were me. I'd be useless. You'd have to take me in and out of there on a stretcher with marionette strings on my wrists and mouth so I could conclude the transaction. I'd at least have to wear a diaper.

Caleb was doing much better than that. He was intense. keeping busy. looking around. We puttered around the showcases pointing and muttering while waiting for that alchemist-looking-guy on the other side of this short sort of wall to finish doing WHATEVER he was doing.

On the other side of that counter-thing was, all sorts of machinery, lights, magifying glasses, scales, a kilne, it was messy but organized i'm sure. and a really really big safe. He wore a thick leather apron, gray hair in that brill-creme sort of way, he definitely likes his elvis. Very welcoming in manner, Obviously very happy with his place in life. I'm sure he likes making jewelry and more than that he deals with people at their happiest and most excited all-day, every-day, all year-round.

Finally he came over and showed us the ring. White gold and ten perfect little diamonds. It was something else. Then it dawned on me. "Girl, your going to be a woman soon." I pictured in on her finger and all the sudden, though she's ten years my junior, she was about to be much older than me. Married... with a ring and everything. Here's the ring there's no denying it. nuts. I've noticed every experience worth a damn is always two-part it gives something and it also takes something away. Wow. Am I ever far from getting married. There's a little piece of emptiness for ya.

But how classy is this. He gets a ring MADE... ok ok ok let's do this from the beginning. He makes his mind he wants to do this. Jeesus I can't even say it! For those of us that have never done this, that's an inconceivable step. Am I Right? Then he looks at jewelry on the side without her knowing and HAS ONE MADE! with diamonds and gold from a pro. I was there, this is no bull-shit story. It takes a month to make a freaking ring... a MONTH! I can't keep my mouth shut for 3 hours let alone 30 days! Man! of course this is why he didn't tell me which he was all apologetic about when we were out for a drink after, but come on. DON"T TELL ME. I would probably yell at him "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TELLING ME. I'm going to hemerage. I'll have a fucking STROKE trying to keep this in."

For a moment I felt like I was in the men's club, that mysterious place I keep hearing so much about, not the boys club of dirty jokes, cigars and poker games but the men's club, it was as he told us all the wisdom of the moment:

"Here let me wipe the finger prints off it. She won't like to see any finger prints." He eyed the ring greedily. Caleb handed him the ring. It was then realized how precious this ring was.

As he worked over the ring with a cloth he said, "She should be the first one to touch it, you guys, that's ok, But she should be the first woman to touch it."

He rinsed it off and continued to work it over. "I don't understand these guys who come in with there friends and they're girls. A woman's first instinct is to put it on."

He eyes the ring still holding it in the cloth then fits it back into the box. "No. Your girl should be the first one to put it on, if she knew, another woman had it on first. She would be savage."

I pick up the box and give it one, last, good look.

He watched us look at it. He smiled proudly. "Look at it under that light." he said pointing to a light over the show case. "It should really dance under that light."

It did. Sort of awed by it, I thought to myself "I'm a long way from buying one of these." There was a time when I was much closer to buying one of these. That seems like forever ago now.

Caleb trades a big stack of hundreds and fifties for this little black box with another littler black box in it that has a little piece a metal with little stones stuck in it. BIG little little little.

"I bet you didn't know he was carrying all that money with him when he walked in here."

"Hell, If I knew, he wouldn't have walked in here."

We all laughed and the tension finally started to fade. Caleb was all smiles and now looked more like he was kicked in the head rather than in the guts. Dizzy rather than winded.

He crammed the box in his pocket. It was huge and square. We walked away from that little shop as if we got away with a crime, smiling and excited, like thieves or vandals, unsure of what to do next. So much attention was focused on and in that moment, that a void followed it. We were a little lost. The change in pressure, the relief, it stunned us. So, of course, we went for scotch.

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Today's Song of the Day is 'Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes' by Paul Simon off his 1986 album 'Graceland.'

Crazy Fact: Graceland became his biggest-selling solo album and won him another Album of the Year Grammy. CRAZY!
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The Ice Queen.

It was retardedly hot in the Seahorse, but the beer was cheap, real cheap. Bad combination. Soon I was out for a slice to cool down and sober up. I have a new theory, going downtown with girls you know scares the new girls away and new girls are WAAAY better than the girls you know, at least that's what the cheap beer was telling me.

The first band blew. The guy sounded nothing like Ozzy. James, Mike and I just waited for them to get off the stage. The next cover band started up, they kick ass as usual, lots of blood sprayed at the audience, axes chopping into cabbage patch kids, he fries himself in the electric chair, he hangs himself, runs around on top of the tables with a cordless mic, throws fake money and most importantly he sounds and looks exactly like Alice Cooper.

So I walk up to get a better view. Someone has brought a tall clear block of ice and has it on their table.

"Wow!"

I stare fixated for a moment at this monumental piece of coolness in this skanking hot bar. I look at it's custodian. She looks friendly.

"Can I touch it?"

"Sure."

"Coo-wool! It's awesome! I love it. Where did you get it?" I recognize this prop from the story our friend at Stage Nine, James, told us the night before, but, it seemed like the right thing to say.

"He just found in the street, and we brought it with us, it seemed like the right thing to do."

A cloud of fake American billion dollar bills erupt from the periphery and flutter through my field of vision. They must be playing 'billion dollar babies' cool prop, but I hardly notice, I'm enchanted by this clear cold monster on the table, this piece of heaven in the dank, dark, debaucherous hell, I've paid to climb down into. She begins to stick the money to the little piece of icy happiness. Automatically I follow her lead.

"Don't cover the top."

"Ok"

"Cool."

"Fun!"

Wow. She's fun too. We stare at our masterwork, periodically touching it, adjusting the fake money, whatever to keep touching the only thing in the world holding back the wet oppressive heat.

"It's our baby!" I scream.

She smiles and looks at me in a way I've seen many times before, but on different faces, always on different faces. Maybe everyone gets this look, or maybe just me, maybe you'll recognize it. It's a moment where the looker, loses self-consciousness, looks me in the eye and evaluates me, actually sees the individual me for the first time. Part of this moment is disbelief. I know! It is the moment where the normal societal doubt is defeated, where I'm accepted as naturally harmless or honestly friendly or something, It's the subtextual/ hidden agenda scan, I think it comes up negative. But always in the reaction hides a little difference from one face to the next. This time it's a bit of happiness and warmth in the corner of her eyes and in the ends of a subtle smile. wow she's cute.

Some guy swoops in, scoops up the block of ice and carries it through the crowd over his head. Hands reach out for a precious blessing of the almighty cold. It's now a sacred thing.

"My Baby! Someone stolen my baby!" I wave my arms exaggeratedly and laugh.

He carries it to our own Alice Cooper who without missing a beat or lyric, licks it, rubs it all over his body and finally humps it on the long oak table for a few minutes, to the jubilant cries of the crowd.

"Your a terrible mother! How can you let him do that to our baby!" I point and scream, and laugh and point.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osborne of his 1981 Album "Blizzard Of Ozz."

Crazy Fact: Guitarist Randy Rhoads was killed in a bizzarre plane accident in 1982, when his plane crashed into Ozzy's Tour bus
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She laughs, "Your a really good screamer."

"thanks."

After Alice was finished with his sacrilege, the idol of all that is cool was returned to us.

"Whoo HOO!" I cheer.

"ok," she extends her hand in the cramped quarters, "You can give me a fake one if you want, but what's your name?"

Bewildered, "Why would I give you a fake name? Anyways it's Pif though that SOUNDS fake."

"Biff?!?!"

"No. Pif. PIF!, with a pee, pif." I go through the 'draw a 'p' in the air with my finger' routine and stare at her intently waiting for a sign of recognition, while drawing my little pee in the air. I'm not sure I'm getting anywhere. The band is loud and I'm probably, definitely a little drunk. Maybe this strange hand motion is confusing her, nonetheless it's all I got, so I keep repeating myself and making my absurd little pee. staring, peeing and repeating.

James chimes in with a devious grin, "You wanna know his REAL name?"

"oh man." I roll my eyes. I hate this move. Why do all my friends have to play it. And they all do.

I turn and try to watch the band through the pointlessly crowded pillar in front of me leaning one way, then the other, dodging and looking, trying to see something, whatever people are cheering at. I can see the guitarist. What's up the soul patch, I'm sick to death of the soul patch, uck. He didn't have that last time I saw these guys.

I turn back, James has done his worst. I will come out unscathed. That is the pif way. The way of the pif. I am determined.

"My name is Pif I swear."

She gives me a look where she is trying to believe me, with a bit of the 'why is this so important to him' analysis.

I turn and look for back-up. I got peeps. I need an outside man.

"DOOD!" I put my arm around a peep a-passin by, "What's my name?"

Mike (aka Dick) looks at me questioning my sanity and then again analyzing my inebriation. I look at her, then back at Mike. He gets it, turns to her and says, "Pif!" triumphantly.

"Thank you my m'man." I release him. "See!" I screech victoriously.

"Your going to be totally hoarse tomorrow."

"No way, I scream all the time, I learned it from my friend Mairi." Meanwhile, I am stunned by my own coolness and popularity. I without a bat of the eyelash seemed to pull a random human out of the crowd and demand justice, Oh justice is what I received. I felt vigorous, bold... unstoppable!

"I'm Angela." She extends her hand again.

Alarm bells ring maddeningly in my head. Red flags fly-up flapping in the furious wind, slapping and blinding me on there way up the pole. Amidst the cacophony of alarm and alert, my own book of rules is thrust forefront in my mind, spread wide to the page banned anymore girls with names who begin and end with 'a' then the page is turned to the addendum where highlighted and underlined it further bans all girls whose name have the now dreaded 'an' sound.

shit. double shit.

I must have freaked her out by my limp handshake and thousand yard stare. If I my life was a movie, which I'm not entirely sure it's not, it would have been the moment, when Ray Stanz sees Slimer for the first time and the cigarette hangs from his bottom lip.

Suddenly, I'm splattered by fake blood, it's flying everywhere. It snaps me out of it, I look into the spray. Alice cooper is wildly chopping up a Minnie Mouse doll filled with blood and guts with a large axe.

"Awesome! WHOOOOO! HAHAHAHAH! WICKED! HAHAHAHA" I scream.

This is why I come here. Nowhere else do you get this kind of entertainment. Some crazed maniac in tight quarters hammering an monster axe into a blooded disney toy on an oak table, wailing retro metal lyrics. Minnie our sacrifice, the bar table our alter, Alice Cooper our priest. Metal his benediction. The axe his wrath. Beer his love. The Seahorse is our temple. And the crowd goes wild.

I wipe the red muck from my eye, look down at my thin white t-shirt splattered in blood. Wicked. You know I was close to the action.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails off their/his 1994 album "The Downward Spirial."

Crazy Fact: In 1987, Reznor appeared in the Michael J. Fox/Joan Jett film Light of Day, where he played keyboards with a trio dubbed the Problems during a bar scene.
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I think she picked up on my momentary weakness, my sudden start at the confrontation with my own ill-conceived and irrational dating rules. Without understanding it's strange origins she did the only thing anyone in that loud, hot, crazy, sweaty bar would have done. With Alice Cooper's wailing screeching maddenly in her ears, she jumped me, block of ice in hand, stuffs it under my shirt and holds it there.

I squeal and laugh and squirm and squeal and scream some more. There's a lot of things to enjoy in this situation, it gives one pause. Don't struggle too hard now, we have to think about a few things here... Hmm... cute sweaty girls jumping me, I think THIS might be ok.

My scan of her hardly hidden agenda and methods, proved... that I was surprisingly NOT creeped out, which was unlikely, I don't claim to fully understand myself, I'm not sure were my comfort levels lie, but I know when they've been crossed, that doesn't lie. A rational analysis of past experiences would have suggested that these boundries would have been overwhelmed at this point, but, a hasty retreat I did not beat, so therefore I must be ok with this. It's STILL really FUNI Eventually, my pansy-assed roots got the better of me and the cold became to much to bear. I put less of my energy into laughing and giggling and more into struggling and squirming. For my manliness's sake I'd like to say it paid off, but the reality is, she let me go.

The next hour is a blur of giggling hotness and squirming sweatiness while bits of ice and hands went under shirts and into pants. Attack, counter attack. Parry, riposte. A few chases around the bar, some screaming "How can you do that to our baby!", each time pushing the envelope a little further. Sweaty sexy funness had by all, all the while entertaining the crowd and bar staff whose attention was split between Alice Cooper's Festivus for the rest of us and this spontaneous giggling mating ritual.

The show was good, but the sexy ice fight was great. By now, the table and I were soaked and exhausted. She was bigger then me so I was the wetter of the two.

Then the lights came on.

Things started to get a little awkward. The spell was broken, the service is over and reality stands at the door calling you back for supper. We're not kids anymore, I know what supper means, after supper comes bed. I don't know if I want to go to bed. I don't even know if I want her phone number. Now my comfort level is getting overwhelmed. I can feel expectations starting to rise. The social pressure is starting to build. As my energy is re-routed to the fear centers in my brain I become noticeably less animated. Things start to cool off between us as fear makes his move. I become jittery, she plays it quiet.

The encore is out for summer, the bar's been blown to pieces. All there remains is the residual bar chatter, the sounds of tables clunked black into position, chairs scraping against the floor and gear being packed up, while she and I stare forward with our fears centre stage in our minds.

James leans in, "Get her phone number."

I look at James and say nothing, hoping we are out of ear shot.

"Don't be a pansy and get her phone number. At least get her phone number, c'mon you HAVE to get her phone number after all that JUST get her phone number phone number phone number."

I look at her pig tails. I look at the lake of ice water on the floor, at James repeating 'phone number', at my soaked pants, the tattoos on her back, at my bloodstained shirt. I think to myself. I have to do something. Something, I can't just leave it at this.

"TIME TO GO FOLKS! FINISH UP AND MOVE OUT!" The general muttering is starting to clear out.

I hate social pressures. I feel like this is a gender specific sorta dichotomy, I'm the man I have to blah blah blah, though that's bullshit, lots of girls have made the first move, probably ALL of the ones I'VE ever got together with, and so I'm just spoiled and feel angered, so the emotionally convenient 'gender specific dichotomy' argument waging war in my head is just a distraction from my own cowardice. Look, my roommate is crazy crazy (a very long story punctuated by a recent psychotic freak-out leading to my moving out soon) and my phone is dead (my bill is too huge.) So, this poor, homeless, slob (did I mention what a wreck my apartment is?) doesn't really have anything to offer, but still, I have to do something. I can't just leave her sitting there, without closure, without anything.

"We're going to the Marquee now, see ya."

Oh man. did I blow that. We leave. I feel like an idiot.

On the way up the long smelly stairs to the cool night air I am comforted, in this small town, if you see them once you'll see them a dozen times.

I try to put it out of my mind. As James and I speed through the night to the Marquee for further debaucherous adventures, I say to myself the same thing I usually say to myself when I'm on my way to the Marquee, 'Maybe she'll be there.'

Anyway, cheap beer is a liar looking for trouble.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Hey" by The Pixies off their 1989 Album "Doolittle."

Crazy Fact: Look you and I both now that I'm totally OUT of crazy facts for Radiohead and the Pixies, I've sent 17 songs from these two bands, so I think I'm going to skip the crazy fact, and that's a fact. No, I know! the crazy fact is that this is the 10th Pixies tune I've sent out. CrAzY!
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DJ Eighties.

'DJ Qbert has won, like, all these awards everywhere, he's awesome.'

'Yeah, what awards?'
'Says Who?'
'Lemme guess, The Yarmouth DJ World Championships'
'Did he make them in his basement?'

'I'm serious in like 92 to 94 he won DJ of the year and shit.'

'So your paying 20 bucks to see some DJ from the eighties. Maybe he's a little past his prime. pass.'
'pass.'
'pass.'
'20 bucks. no way.'

It was a feeding frenzy. I didn't really know what I was talking about. All I did was read the poster. I didn't even read it well. I guess I should say I skimmed it. They could smell blood. They ate me alive. Mostly, my Hip-Hop-hipest friend Jamie told me it would be good and reminded me that he released a CD bundled with DJ Shadow's Preemptive Strike. Let me just say I would wet myself if I could see Shadow. During my utter defeat on the battlefield of musical credibility and subsequent razzing, I knew, now I HAD to go. No choice, it was a certainty. I only hope was that I'd be laughing last. Shit. Who is this joker anyway? I started to get nervous.

Not nervous enough not to lay out 40 bucks for a couple tickets the next day.

'Who'd you sucker into see DJ eighties? Ha Ha Ha.'
'Ulo... and hey, I didn't SUCKER him, he's into it.'

But I gotta say I was happy to have him on side. I didn't know a soul who was going. Except for Jamies' 'maybe... if I get off work in time,' which was a little unsettling. I haven't ever heard a damn thing he has done. And forking over 20 bucks to stand alone in a mostly empty bar, hollow with the sounds of 'DJ Eighties' echoing my defeat in my ears, inescapably. Well let's just say the idea of it was, well, disquieting. Hasty, ill-conceived, sucker-born every minute, load-mouth, idiot, acting the fool, looking the fool, feeling the fool, being the fool.

This may turn into a three-ring circus of failure, I really hope not. I really didn't really want to be a part of that, really. really. really. I feel so lame the only word I can say is 'really' about the whole thing. It was the answer to every question in my head for two days, it was the symbolic definition of my doubt, my fears.
he sucks. really?
he's good. really?
what if it sucks. I really hope it doesn't
what it's good. I really hope he is.
Is he good? I really think so.
Is he really crappie and eighties? I really don't think so, do you really think they'd say those things about him if he really didn't do them, really?

I hated the word, I was saying it obsessively it seemed to represent the very real possibility of failure. All I had was faith. I'm doomed.

I said it too much. The word lost all meaning. And what a Lame word, I mean really, does really, really mean anything really. Bland. Useless. To me, it utterly defined my weakness, my approaching failure, my foolish big mouthed boob-boobery.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt" by DJ Shadow off his 1996 debut album "Endtroducing ...."

Crazy Fact: In 1995 "What Does Your Soul Look Like," topped the British indie charts. The crazy thing is it's 40-minutes long.
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I think Ulo could sense my insecurity.

'Dude. let's check him out on the net.'
'His site will rock. He's a big name.'
'yeah YEAH. It'll rock, let's check it out.'
googled him. djqbert.com. that's a good sign he's got his own domain name. Excellent! This was an awesome idea!

As the sight loaded I waited for the crazy ultra hip uber-flashed animation to shoot out at me. nope. it just loaded and looked at me. I felt like I was waiting for a glimpse of the face of god and when the clouds parted all I saw was a neon sign repetitively flashing 'face of god' in my face. It took way too long for the excited wide eyed smile to fade from my face as I clicked on links in a futile search for coolness or hipness or some sort redemption.

'Is he Japanese?'
'Maybe, he's Asian for sure.' There was a pause while we stared at the screen.

'Pif, this site is lame.'

I hadn't given up yet. There was a long pause as Ulo watched my sad search through the adequate and very typical pages:
HOME NEWS CALENDAR STORE CONTACT.

'yeah, it is lame. jeeze.' Temporarily overwhelmed by the disappointment of the moment I let out a very revealing 'jeeze' I eyed Ulo quickly but cautiously for any recognition of this momentary weakness. If there was any recognition, he didn't let it show. I turned back to the screen, forlorn. That wasn't a 20 buck website, that's for sure. shit dawg, I'm going down. I gulged at my beer.

'Maybe we can get download some tunes off Limewire'

'Yeah!' I had a new purpose. opened the app. searched it. Lotsa hits. This is a very good sign. Went to get a couple new beer while it loaded.

As I walked by Jim's room I thought. I wonder if Jim is home. I wonder if he is pissed. Am I too loud? I wish he'd speak to me the fucker or at least look at me when I speak to him. I can't wait to get out of this shit hole. fuck it's frustrating. I got back to my room and closed and locked my door which is my habit these days, he makes me nervous. When I got back I eagerly looked over the list.

'COOL! He's scratching Video game samples, street fighter, mortal combat..'

'Mario Brothers! That's awesome.'

I cracked a beer and downloaded with a new found hope. I gleefully slurped at my beer and watched the little bars grow.

'...take me to the promised land!'

Did I say that out loud? I looked a Ulo in the blue light from the monitor, he looked at me and laughed. What the hell was he laughing at? Me? what I said? The situation? I decided it was best not to know and turned back to the screen, intensely waiting for redemption. Really patiently. NO not 'really' never REALLY again. I'm so so SO done with really, no more lame lame lame REALLY's. I'm not even sure of what I'm thinking about anymore, if that fucking file doesn't start playing soon I'm gonna really fucking LOSE IT, really really really I'll really fucking really super ready to really tear-

'you got good bandwidth.'
'yup.'
'you got four comin' in'
'yup'
what are you on?
'eastlink.'
'cool.'

We simultaneous slurped at our beers in silence peering at the tube. While the little gnomes worked away in my head, taking me apart thought by thought.

'Ok let's check this baby out...click.'

We listened. Maybe it was good, maybe it was bad. I had no idea, I was too wrapped up in myself to hear anything but echo's of my inevitable howls of defeat. It was the dippy little mario theme alright with a hip-hop beat and some scratching. Could Jim hear this was he pissed? It's only 9:52 PM! That's nothin'! Come on it can't be too loud. Anyway I'll tell ya it didn't sound worth 20 bucks. Lame. shit it was lame.

'it's ok'
'yeah it's alright.'

We listened to a few more, gulged a few more beers and headed to the show.

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Today's Song of the Day "Hold On Hope" by Guided By Voices off their 1999 album "Do The Collapse"

Crazy Fact: I missed these fuckers EVERYTIME they came to town and now they're breaking up. crap.
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Time for damage control.

"ok, if it sucks we have to say it was good no matter what. I took such a razzing.'
'ha ha ha yeah I know they were eating you alive, ha ha ha.'

When I go down, I'm going down alone it's clear to me now. Prepare thine self for death young Jedi.

'Man I hope it's not dead.'
'me too.'
'twenty-bucks will keep a lot of people away.'
'word.'
'and it's only Thursday.'
'people gotta work.'
'yup.'

'there's a bit of a line up.'
'that's a good sign.'
We get in line. I try to think of ways to 'turn lemons into lemonade'. All I can see is my 20 bucks going into a shedder. Not working. If it sucks I'll just get hammered and well... I'm sure embarrass myself in some way or another.

I'll just try not to think about anything. Talk to me buddha for once I'm listening.

I watch the faces of girls in front of me as the guy rips my ticket. As they turn the corner I'll know for sure if it's dead by their reaction.
Shit.
It's empty.

Make ready the shit eating grin, piffy my boy, soups on.

We turn the corner.

Hey... (bewildered)
No...(stunned)
It's OK...(confused but smiling)
Opening DJ is pumping out tunes, a decent share of folks spread out through the place. Things are ...well, there ok.

'Keep your eye out for Jamie.'
Jamie instantly emerges from the crowd. 'Hey Guys! whadap? Drinks are half-price.'
'So much for not getting sloshed.'
'This is going to be awesome! This guy is going to blow you away. He's crazy good. Fucking crazy good.'

Jamie's Enthusiasm was contagious. Shit is turning around here. Jamie's got a crew. Drinks are cheap, the place is filling up, it's not too hot in here. well Alright!

'Who is THIS guy?' Pointing at the DJ.
'Don't know, but he sucks, we don't like him.'
I turn to the dance floor. 'tell me I don't look like THAT guy when I dance.'
There laughing made me nervous.

But DJ Whoever sounds ok to me, but, hell Jamie's the hip-hop producer, what the Jesus do I know about it.

I saw an odd looking bunch making there move to the dance floor. It was like a cross between a special missions unit and a side show. Big black guy built like a lumber-jack with a Sixers jersey, a tall white guy dressed all in red head to toe, tuke (sp?), baggy T-shirt, baggy pants, red shoes, the works, a little maybe vietnamese guy about 5' 3" and about a hundred pounds of pure energy and two nondescript sideways hat wearing hip-hop soldiers of fortune. This Hip-Hop A-Team took turns attacking the music.

While they were strutting around, I started to wonder about the actual coolness of this. Is this cool? I'm mean look at these guys. These guys are as much geeks as some guy who plays Dungeons and Dragons and watches too much japanese animation, these guys just do it in public. They sit around in there basements and work out moves, other geeks sit in their basements and roll dice. They have there own language of 'busting moves, jiggy-wit-it' which is pretty easily matched with '13 hit-dice Elf. and the 10th-level Fireball' Geeks are just obsessed hobbyist. Most people are obsessed hobbyist in their own right, but they just won't admit it. TV is a hobby, lotsa TV junkies out there. When people start talking about survivor or Gary Beals with tenacity and emotion, I feel like there talking about there Dungeons and Dragons character and I'm from another planet.

They all think they are rock-stars. There bravado was a little stomach-turning. I don't have much patience for macho and this is so over the top.

Captain red clothes goes down on one knee and the little guy steps in his hand (or something the Sixers's lumberjack guy was kind in my way) and the little guy flies into the air in a psycho-hypnotic acrobatic hip-hop hop-hippery. He flew 14 feet through the air. It was amazing. His legs just crumple underneath him when he hits the concrete floor. He's grabbing he legs and rolling all over the floor I thought he broke them or they must of popped out of the socket. The rolls and spins continue. I can't really see what's going on but a back flip later he was on his feet wiping his forehead and walking back to the crew at the edge of the circle. High-fives all around.

'Holy fuck! That was fucking COOL!'
'Fucking right! Are these guys local?'
'I don't know I'll ask Jamie.'
'yup. there local.'
'shit man, they're awesome.'

Ok, if these guys are geeks, I want in. I'm totally eating my thoughts.

The pre-show continued. There were guys jumping, flying, contorting, spinning, bending, flipping, crazy mutant balances, handstands, by themselves, in unison, in teams of two, three four and a six. There were a couple girls jumping in to the mix doing there crazy trix. It was wholly a show of it's own.

The circle was wide and about ten deep. People stood awkwardly trying to see something between the heads. The red guy stood on his hands and got the crowd clapping to the music with his feet. The little guy was like a fucking ninja, he was a blur of limbs and acrobatics, I'm not even sure he was human at this point. But the guy that blew me away, was the Sixers lumber-jack, I had just watched 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' again and the way he stood tall and thick, just watching, reminded me of 'chief.' Then he moved, like the moment when 'chief' steps in to help McMurphy, surprising though inevitable. He stepped into the circle, first a little of this and a little of that. Then bam he's on the floor kicking his legs rolling, spinning, doing all the crazy ninja moves. This guy was a monster of a human being and he was as quick as a cat. shit. With the little guy it was was to be expected but the strong man here... To me he changed the rules, it was fascinating. It's official, this is sir psycho-crazy's hip-hop circus. I hope the main attraction was worth the price of admission, even still this was something to write home to mom about. Mom are you reading this?


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Today's Song of the Day is "Rockit" by Herbie Hancock off his 1983 album "Future Shock."

Crazy Fact: Having taken up the piano at age seven, Hancock quickly became known as a prodigy, soloing in the first movement of a Mozart piano concerto with the Chicago Symphony at the age of 11.
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The video started up beside the turn tables, Showing DJ Qbert spinning and scratching to crowded stadiums, signing women's breasts, guy's heads, crazy dancers. ok ok this is good this is VERY promising. I can officially say he is NOT DJ Eighties. He has a custom made turn-table called the QFO. Alright this is cool. The video made him look like a Hip-hop uber-DJ, lord of the surrounding realms, commander of thousands in a hip-hop crusade to re-make the world in a hipper hopper image. I like that. And he seemed unassuming in demeanor, he's all skills, no macho. I like that too.

The crowd was getting pumped up
'Mix Master Mike is in the House! y'all!' The crowd freaks out, screaming and jumping up and down.

'really?'
'wow, that's cool.'
'totally!'

This made me happy, the good news was pouring in. Praise God I've heard the good news! Redemption is on it's way.

'Jamie?'
'yup?
'I have the feeling I'm going to meet someone tonight?'
'yeah?'
'yeah. I don't know why?
'here's hoping, cheers.'

I don't know why I thought that. But I did. every once in a while you get that feeling. It's always bang on. I'm sure there's a non-flakey assed reason for this, but I'm happy either way.

The place was packed. the crowded dance floor was screaming and pulsing, arms in the air, the lights were flashing and spinning and the music was pumping and rumbling.

'DEE JAY QUE BERRRRT!"

The crowd goes nuts, people are jumping and screaming, freaking out like Jesus just stepped out on stage in on a Pentacostal Sunday.

He goes straight to the turn-table and gets to it.

My prayers were answered. He was incredible. Most of the time you look around and people would just be shaking there heads in incredulity. I had never seen anything like it. There were three video camera's on him at all times and a bunch of guys taking pictures. They projected closed-circuit live video on the screen and at thirty frames a second his hands were a blur, his fingers hardly even registered. This went on for about an hour. The audience was agape, astounded, he was doing like 128th notes in the slow parts. It was nuts.

The whole thing was like a hip-hop circus no lie...'and now DJ Qbert will scratch, without... touching... the fader.'

The crowd awes and silences. I can almost hear the drum-roll in my head. The concentration in his eyes, the sweat dripping down his face, and he attacks. It sounds much like it did before, very cool, very fast. maybe it would have been cooler if I new what the fuck the fader was for. Nonetheless, I clapped, I jumped, I cheered and got carried away with the crowd. That's the point and the end of the day, it's a rock show. After about 20 minutes of that:

'now DEE JAY QUE BURRRRRRRY with battle DEEEE JAAY EYE DEE in a turn-table war... right... in front... of your eyes.'

So it is written, so it is done. They scrit-i-scra-scri-scra-scritity-tit-tit-titit-scratchity-cra-scra-scratched against each other for a bit, it was very cool. But by this point I got my money's worth and my body reminded me I had to pee, and my empty beer bottle reminded me I needed another, so I made the oft repeated bathroom sojourn. On my way I looked at the entrance.

'Kevin!'
Kevin spins quickly 'Hey Buddy! Is it worth all this cash?'
'It's really good you missed most of it though. Look, I gotta piss, I'll catch up with you in a bit.'

I headed to the can, got another beer and returned to the crew. After the encore, the Jamie turned to me,
'shit man, I gotta go, my drive is leaving'
'cool, gimme a call later.'
'sounds good later man.'
'cya'

I took his chair and sat staring at the emptying stage with a satisfied grin. Ulo turned to me,
'I gotta go too, tired.'
'cool man I'll just finish this then head home.'
'ok'
'later m'man
'it kicked ass'
'it sure did.'
'cya'

I hadn't taken more then one sip of my beer when Kevin appeared.
'Hey man your a hard guy to track down.'

In my victorious bliss I had complete misplaced my conversation at the door.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Doo Wop (That Thing) by Lauryn Hill off her 1998 album "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill."

Crazy Fact: At the February 1999 Grammy awards Lauryn Hill took home five trophies from her 11 nominations, including Album of the Year, Best New Artist, Best Female R&B Vocal Performance, Best R&B Song, and Best R&B Album; the most ever for a woman.
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'hey man! how doing!'
'good man. good.'

short pause.

'So... we need to get you a girlfriend.'

I didn't like that look in his eye, it was hungry with help. Like many things, it made me nervous. After pausing too long, unsure of what to say, I croaked, 'yeah, boy do we ever.'
'Ok lets go find you one.'
'Whoa here? now?'
'Yup.'
'look, I'm not so good at meeting girls.'
'oh come on, it's easy'
'I'm actually pretty shy, in my own way.'
'oh come on.'

He put another beer in my hand and grabs my arm. He peers over the crowd, picks his target and drags me over to the first, and most importantly, the closes female contestant.

I quickly put on my best forced and awkward smile.

'hey how you doing?'
'fine.'
'This is my friend and he is without a doubt the best guy in this bar.'
'really.'
I blush and turn from the unbearable embarrassment. This is too much, it's fun, I'm totally without responsibility, but still, I'm emotionally incapable of handling the situation. I take a few steps back lean against the wall, smile and squirm uncontrollably just out of ear shot, taking momentary glimpses at my representative and the contestant. After an obviously cheerful and witty banter between the two of them, he comes back to me looking for new faces,

'No good. Keep looking. How about her.'

He's got my arm and we're off again. I take a position just out of earshot. My advocate gestures and talks animatedly with contestant number two, obviously, he's got skills and no fear. She laughs. She giggles, she turns and looks at me. She gives a little wave. I wave back. She Asian and very very cute, wow, he can talk to anybody. I try desperately to finish one of the two beers in my hands so I'm not 'two-fistin' 'er' which I'm sure is very attractive to all the wrong people. I finally clean out one of them and Kevin's back.

'Nope, No Good, Let's keep going.'

Upstairs downstairs he tries. He puts me on the auction block and nobodies bidding. Fortunately, he is drowning me in beer otherwise I'd feel rejected by every girl in the bar, which by the time we finished, was essentially true. But with the all the beer in my brain, it just seemed kinda like a race, i'm not sure what for but the less I thought about it the better. I'll just live in the moment.

We sat down for a moment to take a break at my request. Kevin runs off to get more beer. I think I'm in trouble, he has a much higher tolerance then I do. There's a tap on my back. I turn and it's contestant number two.

'Why are you so shy?'
'umm... I guess it's my nature.' awkward
'oh.' she smiles
'umm... Where are you from?' awkwarder
'Korea.'
'Really! That's pretty cool. How long are you here?' feeling better.
'another week, I'm recruiting for ESL school in Korea.'
'oh that's pretty cool.' this is ok.
kevin comes back with a beer in one hand and double rum and coke in the other, he stops in his tracks and wears a stunned, but pleased expression.
she continues, 'Do you know what?'
'what?' felling pretty good.
'You look like Jesus.' she giggles
'wow. oh well, thanks. I'm.. umm.' awkwardest.
'Well it's good talking to you.'
'yeah yeah for sure.' fight urge to run.
'cya.'

Kevin sits down incredulous,
'dude, you should have closed that.'
'see I'm no good at this, she seems really nice and pretty but, I can't do this. It's weird, it's...'
'you could have totally closed that.'
'well, like I said, I'm shy it's hard. I...'
'she is sitting right over there, go talk to her...'
'no no no just forget about her, well will find someone else.'

I'm ready to run at this point, but fortunately, this seemed to satisfy him, thankfully and we moved on. I know his heart is in the right place, but, the closer to 'closing the deal' the more uncomfortable I become. It's forced and awkward and worst of all it's obvious. I can't stomach it.

We take another tour of duty and I'm exhausted, I can't deal any more, I'd just be happy to go home. We sit in the smoking room and Kevin makes the last trip to the bar as it's quarter after 3 in the am. I'm slouched over, drained, frustrated and spent. I look to my right and a girl comes up the stairs, looks at me, stops, smiles, looks at the floor, looks back at me and walks over, I've never seen her before, she's definitely not one of the nightly contestants so far interviewed.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Jenifa Taught Me (Derwin's Revenge)" by De La Soul off their 1989 debut album "3 Feet High and Rising."

Crazy Fact: The stage names of all of the members derived from in-jokes: Posdnuos (born Kelvin Mercer, August 17, 1969) was an inversion of Mercer's DJ name, Sound-Sop; Trugoy the Dove (born David Jude Jolicoeur, September 21, 1968) was an inversion of Jolicoeur's favorite food, yogurt. I don't know about Pasemaster Mase (born Vincent Mason, March 27, 1970.)
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'Hi. I'm Darren's roommate, you...and you know...that time...'
It's really loud and I can't really hear what she's saying, and I'm probably pathetically drunk.
'I'm sorry I don't remember...'
'You NEVER Remember me!'
I remember. 'Oh YEAH ERIN. You're Darren's roommate! Yeah I never remember you! I remember you now!'
'yeah.'
'hey... So... How are you doing?'
'good, good.'

She is REALLY cute.

Now I remember feeling like an idiot for not remembering her the first-time again.

Super-nice smile.

There's something else, i'm not sure... she has a relaxing effect on me and... and well... she's like butter. That's the best way to describe her. She is warm and comfy. perfectly salty, yum. With the nicest warm-yellow glow. sunny. Butter makes everything just a little better, and the fools mistake margarine for butter, the smart ones can tell the difference. Without it, so many of my meals are lacking, it's essential. To me there is no substitute, smooth and comforting.

Kevin, who's fighting for drinks with the crowd, looks back. He can tell the difference this time. He turns back with re-newed purpose and fights the good fight with the remaining, desperate alkies.

'So did you like the show?'
'yeah very much.'
'I stood up right and the front taking it all in.'
'yeah, it's was really really good'
'Today's my birthday!'
Kevin returns, plunks a beer in front of me and one in front of her, 'Your a Leo! That's good news,' Kevin gives me the thumbs up.
She looks at me and smiles and looks down.
'Wow. Happy birthday! How old!
'Today I turned 26.'
'cheers to you.'
A guy steps in to make a move on Erin, Kevin anticipates the move and steps in-between like a body guard taking a bullet it was awesome.
'Did you see that? Your friend totally cut that guy off it was awesome!'
'Hahaha. Yeah, he's pretty happy I'm talking to a girl.'
'really?' She says with a laugh. I think she says everything on the edge of a laugh.
'He has spent the whole night singing my praises to every girl in this bar.'
'Any luck?'
'Well one girl said I look like Jesus'
'I can see that.' she laughs.

TIME TO GO! EVERYBODY DOWN STAIRS. LET MOOOVE PEOPLE!

Instead of flashing back to a million panicked moments. I'm calm, I'm focused, I'm happy. I'm surprised. I wonder why? Well this time I don't run for it. Who knows why.

'my hand is bigger?'
'really?' she laughs
'l think I got an extra key on you.'
'Look at that.' eyes bright. 'I loved Chopin.'
'Me too.'
'the Nocturnes.'
'They're thoughtful.'
'yes they are.'

Wait. I think I know why. because it's not forced. It's not obvious. it's not anonymous. It's not pre-determined. I have no expectations. It's the things it is, as much as the things that it's not that make it...well properly undefined.

People leave and we make are way out in a subtly questioning, carefully interested, delicately available sort of way.

For all of Kevin's valiant efforts, this seemed to make itself, in just the way it needed to be made. This suited my taste perfectly. I liked that. To me, it means there's hope for the weird guy. The guy who, when it matters, gives all the wrong signals. It means there's still room for failure in this nearly 'perfect' world we've created. This cult of perfection: the hair, the clothes, the look; the wit, the social grace, the charisma have not eaten the humanity out of humanity. Not to mention it's still possible for a real connection to be made in any stinking gin palace.

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Today's Song of the Day is "Nocturne No. 2, Op. 9 in E-flat" performed by Artur Rubinstein, composed by Frederic Chopin in 1832.

Crazy Fact: In 1838 Freddy Chopin began an affair with French novelist George Sand. The affair ended in 1847 after, among other things, Sand had portrayed their relationship unflatteringly in her 1846 novel Lucrezia Floriani. Yikes!
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