Hey!! It's that guy!

So I work in a hotel right? Just agree.

There is a play touring college campuses (campii?) depicting the Scopes Monkey Trial. The script, as it were, is the actual court transcript. So the actors are staying in my hotel for the next few days. Guess who I've met.

The mom from the Wonder Years!! The tour manager claims she has a name, but I'm fairly certain if I were to check her ID it would, in fact, read "Mom from Wonder Years."

Guess who else is in the play. Morgan Shepperd, who, of course, appeared in an episode of the wonderfully fantastic and short-lived television drama "American Gothic", produced by Sam Raimi and starring Gary "Lumbergh" Cole. Did you know he was up for Miami Vice and lost the part to Don Johnson? Anyway....

The other person I recognized was a man named Kevin Kilner. I know what you're thinking, but follow me here. Figuratively I mean....cause I have mace.....not really but don't fuckin' follow me.

Did you see American Pie 2? You know the part when Stifler, Shitbreak and Piefucker are in the house and the supposed lesbians are broadcasting on the radio? Well there is a dad making some BBQ who has to take his son's walkie talkie away because of the dirty talk. That dad is Kevin Kilner.

So I'm going the play on Tuesday. Might review it at this site...might not. You'll have to check back.

R.I.P. Rosa Parks

So I was going to write something totally banal and probably on some level quite tacky, but I think I'll let that wait until at least tomorrow. I just heard Rosa Parks died today, and I can't possibly let this pass without comment.

I think it's sad because Ms. Parks has by and large become just a name in the history books, or even worse just that lady who sued Outkast over the use of her name, or let's go even worse and say the lady who had her name bandied about in a marginal at best film by one Cedric the "Entertainer."

It is not possible to overstate her importance in American history, nor is it possible to overstate the horrifying nature of the American society she grew up in. While many people I know would like to believe racism is no longer an institutional part of the American society, which incidentally it very much is, nothing today compares to life in America in the first two thirds of this century. Unless of course you want to count the hundreds of years of oppression which existed before that, which was pretty bad too. Wow, we white folk really suck. And no I do not mean that sarcastically. While I feel no personal responsibility for my country's history, nor should 99.9 % of white America, I do recognize its profound effect on America today and realize programs like Affirmative Action are not only just but wholly necessary to begin some measure of balancing out a half millennia of inequity.

So yes, Rosa Parks....what did she do, or more appropriately not do? She finally refused to accept her comfort was somehow less important than that of another based solely on the color of her skin. It must seem like so small a thing now. Refusing to give up one's seat on a bus, and yet just 50 years ago this act helped to spark a revolution in America that goes on even today. But that isn't even what makes her heroic (And yes she is most definitely a hero). She couldn't possibly have known what her act of defiance would mean, despite some suggestion of her calculations in the move. Her heroism simply comes from saying enough is enough, it is time for basic fairness, on this bus, in this city and in this country.

I think everyone wishes to some degree he or she grew up in a different age. While my ideal age would be a fictional one in which slavery had never existed, Jim Crow had never existed, Rosa Parks existed but lived a non-descript life and the Civil Rights Movement need never have happened, that is pure fantasy. I really wish I had grown up in this age of the late 50's to mid 70's. In today's America it seems so hard to enact real change. I canvass for political candidates, I sign petitions, I get people to sign petitions, I vote and yet nothing good really happens. It's had to believe there was a time when progressives were about something more than just good ideas. There was a time when activism worked on national and even global scales. There was a time when Rosa Parks could become a hero.

I hope that time hasn't passed with Ms. Parks. There is still so much inequity, so much unfairness in the America. We are so pre-occupied with what is happening in nations we can't spell and can barely pronounce that we ignore problems at home. Why are race riots taking place in Ohio? Why are poor minorities abandoned in the city of New Orleans? Are taking steps backward at a time when American unity is more important than ever? When no one else in the world likes us, it is pretty damned important we like each other. Yet divisions are growing wider and wider, with the means of bridging these gaps become less and less visible. I don't think this is the America Rosa Parks would have liked to see. I can only hope there are more people like her ready to fight for what is right again.

"I know where I'll be tonight, alright. Outta Mind Outta Site"

Recently I was fortunate enough to attend a concert provided by, currently, America's greatest rock band...the incomparable Wilco. I promised all of you a review of said show. (And by all of you I mean one of you, who may or may not even read this.) So a review you shall receive.

I reside in the bustling city/town/hamlet of Columbia, MO. Our local concert venue is a nice little club called the Blue Note, which incidentally has been sued in the past by Blue Note Records over use of the domain thebluenote.com. The owner of said club has, for the last few years, sponsored a series of outdoor summer shows. A block of downtown is closed to traffic. Stages are erected. Cheap beer is sold at exorbitant prices. It's just like being inside to see a concert only without that silly air-conditioning making everything "comfortable."

Now normally these shows will feature a series of local acts and some nominally famous headlining acts. Earlier this summer I was treated to a very fine show by the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. However, any "big" name generally plays inside the club.

So imagine my surprise to see the final 9th Street Summerfest (official name) of the summer was to feature the great Wilco. Jeff Tweedy has a long relationship with both Columbia and the Blue Note, going back to his Uncle Tupelo days (Please remove hat and observe a short moment of silence at the mention of UT.) so I guess this shouldn't have come as a total shock. Unlike the other summer street shows, this one was not free, but unlike the other summer street shows, this one featured the, currently, greatest American band.

It was hotter than two rats fucking in a sock the night of the show, but I cared not, for I am an American Aquarium Drinker, a Heavy Metal Drummer, a Casino Queen...I'm a Wilco fan okay.

Technically, I was pleasantly surprised by the setup. You'd have to see the area a full appreciation for what was going on. The block used is lined by 3-4 story buildings on either side, so the sound was funneled through the crowd quite well. I was fortunately close enough to have a good view, but even those in the back weren't exactly sitting in the lawn. You could also see dozens on the rooftops or in the windows of the surrounding buildings. It was a decent little setup.

Jeff Tweedy was in a jovial mood, instructing the crowd on the proper techniques of call and response as well as singalong. He urged us to cheer him up following his disappointing loss in Rock Star: INXS and mixed in a couple of jokes about his parents.

The setlist was to be as expected for the most part. Principle focus was given to the most recent Wilco release A Ghost is Born, however the band played cuts from every Wilco except, unfortunately their fabulous debut AM. This may, or may not, have to do with the fact that only Tweedy remains from the lineup that recorded that debut 10 years ago. The band did however play Airline to Heaven, a Woody Guthrie tune the band originally recorded for the second Mermaid Avenue album with singer/songwriter Billy Bragg. Fans were also treated to the Uncle Tupelo tune New Madrid which has become a staple of Wilco shows. Tweedy and company also debuted the tune Walken, which Jeff claims is only the second song he's ever written his father actually likes, thereby reducing pressure on the band to play the other song at ever single show. I was particularly pleased to see so much attention give to the band's second release Being There, an album that marked the full departure from the country/rock sound of both Uncle Tupelo and AM and provided the foundation for reputation Tweedy and Wilco currently enjoy.

The real spark of the evening came with the conclusion of the main set and the back to back playing of the riproaring I'm the Man Who Loves You and Spiders (Kidsmoke), two songs that would play as well in arenas as they do in clubs.

The final treat of the evening came with the last song of the evening as Tweedy thanked the crowd with the "lullaby" I Shall Be Released. I was so cooled out by the end, I didn't even mind all the people around that had absolutely no fucking idea it was a Bob Dylan song. Actually, I did mind, I just didn't let it bother me. It was too perfect a night.

Wilco
September 21, 2005
Columbia, MO
9th Street Summerfest
9th Street, between Broadway and Walnut

Set 1:
Kingpin
The Late Greats
Handshake Drugs
At Least That's What You Said
I Am Trying to Break Your Heart
Muzzle of Bees
Hummingbird
A Shot in the Arm
Via Chicago
War on War
Jesus, Etc.
Walken
I'm the Man Who Loves You
Spiders (Kidsmoke)

Encore 1:
Misunderstood
New Madrid
Airline to Heaven
I'm Always in Love
I'm a Wheel

Encore 2:
Monday
Outtasite (Outta Mind)
I Shall Be Released

setlist provided through the kindness of wilcobase.com, as I lack the memory to remember the songs in order and the non-coolness to bring pad and paper to the show to write them all down

Oh, and incidentally, I noted Wilco is currently the greatest American rock band. The all-time greatest American rock band is of course, the Velvet Underground, followed closely by the Band.

When masturbation's lost its fun....

So recently I had the opportunity to correspond with a pal of mine who has made the exodus from mid-Missouri to the bright lights of the big city, that being the N-Y-C. She is apparently having a splendid time working as in intern for Time magazine, but recently returned to her home and found herself victim to the type of crime we associate with big city living.

See someone had broken into her apartment. Such things are a dime a dozen in the megalopolis, however this break-in had nothing to do with the acquisition of material things. She discovered nothing had actually been stolen from the apartment, but rather something had been left behind. It was, in fact, a contraceptive. A contraceptive that had been....used, if you catch my drift.

Officer Krupke was dispatched to the scene and informed my friend she need not worry, for the "prank" as it were was less likely a threat and more likely just meant to be an insult.

Sure.

Now for my money, an insult is something really witty like..."you suck."

A veiled suggestion of non-consensual copulation...less insult, more sinister I should think.

And should it be meant as only an insult, what is the message being conveyed? "Uhh...yeah, you're so not cool that I'm gonna cum in this rubber and leave it on your breadmaker."

Oooh....snap dog!!! You got 'em good!

Which is not to say any one of you should avoid ever living in the Big Apple. Or any major metropolitan area, where I'm sure jizz moppers are cracking wise on every corner to a virtual horde of guffaws and bellylaughter.

What I am saying is before you move to the big city, you need to hone your sense of humor. Because by God, if this isn't a country where one can jerk off in the domicile of another and not get a chuckle, then what exactly did our forefathers fight and die for?

Words apparently unnecessary. Most people get them all wrong.

I recently submitted a post detailing just a few random things and people that cause me some level of...consternation. My therapist upon reading said diatribe (I was able to talk her down from manifesto.) suggested I might find higher level of inner peace (Can something be higher and inner you ask? Damn right, you've not seen some of my conquests if you don't believe it.) if I were to express my frustrations with the world around me in a more...shall we say genteel manner. (She talked me down from provincial.)

With that in mind, I've decided to use my talents as a wordsmith to express the disturbing trend in today's American lexicon. It would seem in today's day and age, many Americans, regardless of educational background, lack a firm grasp of syntax, or tagmemics as it were.

Let's begin with an easy one for all of us to comprehend. This has less to do with sentence structure and more to do with a matter of agreement. Imagine if you will:

You are sitting in a cafe, or bistro, perhaps even a luncheonette. Across the cloister you catch the gaze of a fellow solitary java dipsomaniac. Wayward glances are exchanged, making them no longer wayward, but rather resolute. You rise from you formica emblazoned place of respite and saunter across the way, with an almost furtive or clandestine look upon your visage. This however, is no walk of happenstance. You gait has purpose. You are a man/woman in search of conviviality.

The requisite small talk is engaged upon. You find him/her both winsome and mesmeric. Plans are made for a future, more formalized rendezvous. Now the only imperative is to collect a means of contacting your inamorata/inamorato to be. Ah, yes, now is the time for the exchange of telephone numbers.

Are you following me here boys and girls? You've met the future love your life, or love of your near future, and all that stands between you and she/he is recitation of just seven little numerals. I believe love is that answer. I believe love will find a way. (Please credit whichever tawdry act from the 1990's spewed that little piece of original mastery.)

Notice in the paragraphs preceding I mentioned an exchange of either numbers or numerals, which are in fact the same thing. One of my former contact numbers went as follows: 808-6014. How might you go about verbalizing this particular sequence? I'll venture to postulate one of those ZEROES becomes pronounced as "oh." OH! Really! I'm sorry I realize some companies do express their contact numbers with words, but I firmly aver said notion comes from the realization most patrons of 1-800-ASK-4-ASS generate less brain activity than the local produce section. OH!

Even worse is when one will transpose an "oh" for a "zero" in one instance, but then neglect to do so in another. Imagine my surprise if you were to read my phone number to me as eight-zero-eight-six-OH-one-four. I desire to go apoplectic when such things occur. And by apoplectic I mean torpid. And by torpid I mean inert. And by inert I mean numb. And by numb I mean if you don't even know what numb means you can probably just imagine yourself as the ideal definition.

Now as an English major I would imagine many of you might be led to believe I have a problem with the whole who/whom thing. You would be right, I have a major problem with that, but your pea-sized intellects are incapable of ever grasping the concept, so let's move on to something I just may be able to ease on through the protruding forehead of your substantial skull.

Imagine if you will: You open your wallet. Your currency scabbard contains a ten dollar bill, a five dollar bill and two one dollar bills. This leaves you with a sum of 17 dollars in your wallet. Trust me. How might you express the amount of money contained in your wallet, in relation to the rather arbitrary figure of 15 dollars? Would you say you have "over" 15 dollars? Or would you in fact express yourself correctly?

One does not have "over" 15 dollars. One has "MORE THAN" 15 dollars. "More than" expresses a relative amount. "Over" expresses a relative locale. Now, if one were in an airplane and flying from New York to Los Angeles, then it would be appropriate to say, "more than" 15 dollars "over the United States." But really now, who would ever feel the foolish urge to say a thing such as that?

This rule applies to any situation in which one thing is being described in relation to another. One can be older than a given age. For instance, tavern patrons in these "United" States need by older than the age of 21 years. No one I have ever met in my entire life on this rock is "over" 21 years of age. One can be "more than" 21 years of age. I've no botheration with that at all.

Now as an English major there are some phenomenon within the American lexicon which give me a small measure of pleasure. You see as a student of literature, I appreciate, at times, the notion of artistic liberty. Take for example the novel Requiem for a Dream as penned by Hubert Selby, Jr. The novel contains little to no punctuation. There are no chapters, nor quotation marks. Sentences will seem to run and run nearly without end. The end result is an effect which further illustrates the frenetic lives his characters are leading on their roller coaster ride into hell.

I also enjoy the American mass media idea of creating new words. Who amongst us has never used the term "Bennifer?" Or better yet, "Afghanistanimation?"

So you see, dear readers, I am not one of those stodgy grammar practitioners, ever ready to swat a wrist with a ruler the first time "irony" is misused. For it really is like "ten thousand spoons, finding out she's twelve." Huh? Oh...never mind. Or would that be zero...never mind?

You know, that is interesting. For those among you who may find my zero/oh argument to be a little on the nitpicking side of things, I challenge to spell aloud words, only inserting "zero" for every other "oh." When you realize just how ridiculous you sound doing so, you'll understand where I'm coming from.

I mean, taken literally, if someone were to tell me there is an "oh" in there telephone number, I might naturally assume they mean it to be a 6. "Oh" is the same as 6 on a telephone.

In an unrelated subject. I have another problem. I really hate it when formerly great bands remain on tour with completely different lineups, but use their original band name as if it's the same act. Mike Love, why in the name of Jehovah do you feel it proper to tour under the name Beach Boys? And I'm sorry, but every damned one of the Temptations is dead. There are no more Temptations. And yet, every casino along the Mississippi River has at one time or another in the recent past advertised a concert from the Temptations.

Oh and by the way, one of my readers still has my copy of Requiem for a Dream. I'm speaking of the book here, rather than the film, which is also excellent.

I purchased a new t-shirt on the internet last week and its debut was made last night. It reads as follows: "Ever heard of a nice piece of Elephant? I think not. Vote Democrat!"

Until next time faithful readers, I leave you with these words of wisdom.

"License and registration....chicken fucker!"