Loving Lowell: Pixies Countdown Commences.

The Pixies land at the Tsongas Arena in Lowell tomorrow night, and I'm so excited I could just... buy some crack. What the hell else are you supposed to do in Lowell? At least they have the Lock Monsters, because there damn sure won't be any Bruins games this year. My friend Chris is a goal judge for the Monsters, so maybe I can get a good seat behind the penalty box at one of the upcoming games. And some crack.



But back to Los Pixies. This should be a very different experience from when I saw them on their warm up tour back in April. They've been on the road for nearly 9 months straight now, and have managed not to kill one another, so I imagine it'll be a tight, memorable set in front of their hometown crowd. I'll give you all a full, geeky report on Thursday - but stay tuned for some Thanksgiving photos and stories tonight. Pixies dork, out.

Friday/Sunday's Quizzlet: Better Late If Ever.

Appetizer: How much money do you plan to spend this holiday season?
I have gifts for a few of my little cousins that I forgot to take with me to Toronto last year. I'm hoping they'll still be into them, and I can pass them off without having to buy new ones. Although when I was a runt, my parents were lucky if toys held my attention for more than a few days. SeaMonkeys and Star Wars being the obvious exceptions. Some things keep you unhealthily fascinated longer than others. Now won't you please excuse me for a moment while I go feed 'Jaws' and ' Orca' - and then dust my Yoda puppet.

Soup: What was the last television show you watched, and was it good?
There's an English show I love called Little Britain. It just finished its second season on BBC, and I've downloaded and watched all the episodes from a great site called UKNova. It's a sketch comedy show featuring many recurring characters and is absolutely beyond funny. I've also become hooked on the Most Haunted, which I made the mistake of watching alone this morning at 3 a.m. - if you don't count the Thai prostitute. But she was only still here because she was dead.

Salad: If you had to paint your living room, what color would you choose?
Someone dumped a glass of red wine all down the wall of my apartment's spiral stairwell while I was away in Concord. So this whimsical question is a reality at the moment. Unlike the Thai hooker. She was Malaysian.

Main Course: Name something clever you have thought of inventing.
The lukewarm reception of my last invention has discouraged me for the time being. Apparently gloryholes are frowned upon in government buildings. Who knew?

Dessert: List 3 things you would like to receive as gifts this holiday season.
You're very thoughtful, quizzlet. I didn't realize we'd been familiar long enough to actually exchange gifts. You need only look at my Amazon wish list. Or certain boutiques in Chinatown.

Gobble Gobble: Turkey Day In Concord, MA.

No word of a lie, this may be my favorite day of the entire year - The night before Thanksgiving. "T'was the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, especially not the headless turkey thawing on the counter." I typically travel out to Concord to hang out with my high school buddies. Tonight is always a ridiculously fun marriage of old friends, nostalgia and alcohol abuse on a level that might make W.C. Fields wince and check into a clinic.

And it doesn't stop there - Thursday morning is the football game: My alma mater, Concord-Carlisle High School, against the evil and incestuous Bedford. Fans supporting both schools cheer from the sidelines and the gridiron is ablaze with questionable sportsmanship while the vast majority of the Concord kids who swore the night before that they'd "go to the game this year" sleep it off somewhere else.



As for the horn of plenty/cornucopia stuff, I always eat at my buddy Jim's house. This year we're attempting to deep-fry the turkey, which is apparently all the rage. Speaking of raging, I'll be standing about 20 feet behind Jim with a fire extinguisher in one hand, and a Bud Lite in the other. I was told by another friend last night to use peanut oil and to make sure the bird is thawed before firing it into the fryer. I should probably call Jim and make sure he knows all of this so I don't show up at his house tonight to find Joan of Arc waiting for me.

Friday is always one of the classes' 10-yr reunions. Mine was back in 2001 and this year it's my sister's. Most of the C-town contingent heads into Boston regardless of whether they've got a reunion or not. I crashed the class of 1992's event with about 10 guys in tow and we had a great time. But we're a little long in the tooth to do that anymore. The class of 1994's event is being held at Monster and Bobby's favorite bar, Vinalia. The bar will be firmly closed to them, as they're not alumni. So if I do end up attending, it will be because I was summoned there by a hostage negotiator.

Have a great holiday, everyone. I'll be back on Friday or Saturday with some silly stories or maybe a Boston Police report scan to share. Until then, gobble gobble.

30 Tall Tales #5: Eye Bet You Won't Eat That.

Money is a wonderful motivatior. An evil, corrupting, soul-stealing motivator. We all got up at the crack of dawn this morning and spent the entire day in the same 2 square foot area, didn't we? And the older you get, the more prone you become to the horrific influence of filthy lucre. I learned this in practice when I was around eleven years old - as I went from staunch refusal, to willing participation, in a little under a year. Hold on and let me explain... this doesn't involve digital rape of any kind. Just Greek food. And yes, I know the two are usually synonymous.

Red Snappers are a type of fish found in various areas all over the world. They're a very popular food source due to their unique texture and ample size, (God if I had a nickel...) and are treated as endangered in countries that care. They're huge - the largest ever caught was over 50 pounds and they're the ugliest form of aquatic life this side of the giant squid. Or Michael Moore in a Speedo.



The kid holding the red snapper isn't me, so I attached a sweet shot from Sears Portrait Studio in the hopes you'll be able to picture what I looked like circa the tale I'm about to tell. Alternately, you can imagine the kid holding the red snapper at about 15 pounds heavier and wearing nothing but Star Wars Underoos, and you've pretty much got it nailed. My Mom, Dad, Sister and our old family friend Terry Jackson were supping at the best Greek restaurant in Montreal - Molivos. I always loved it when we'd go out for Greek, because my seafood aversion was in full swing by 1985 and there were always plenty of other things on the menu. My parents would be happy because of the plethora of seafood available, and I'd be in fried cheese/hummous heaven.

About 3 bottles of Kourtaki into the meal, my Dad and Terry began to pick on me. A ginormous red snapper had just arrived at the table, and they started berating me for not wanting to try any. As I stared into the cloudy, dead eyes of the steaming snapper Terry must have noticed a visible shudder of revulsion. "You're such a little wimp. Try one bite." To which my father added "Don't waste your breath on the little chicken. More for us." Terry wouldn't give up, and pretty soon he had a forkful stabbing towards my face. "You couldn't PAY me to eat that ugly thing!" I whelped. Terry looked at my father and a most treacherous smile began to creep across both of their faces. Terry produced $20 and my father quickly matched it. $40 is a fortune to an eleven-year-old kid, a huge score, and suddenly the small nibble of white meat didn't look all that terrible. "OK!" I recanted and reached for the fork.

"Oh no, kiddo. It ain't gonna be that easy if this much money is involved." They both simultaneously surveyed the aquatic corpse. "You're going to have to eat... the eyes!" My mother and sister gasped in horror as my dreams of a lifetime supply of Popeye Candy Cigarettes and Fun Dip came to an abrupt halt. The red snapper's dead eyes resembled poached eggs, and I felt saganaki start sloshing around in my stomach as I tried to imagine eating them. I curtly told my antagonizers to forget it, and decided I'd rather put up with their taunts for the rest of the evening.

But a child's motivations invariably change as they get older. When I next saw Terry about 9 months later, he was visiting us at our home on Springhill Drive in Lorne Park, Mississauga - and I had a new friend. The just introduced Nintendo Entertainment System. The retsina was again flowing, and I could see a red snapper smoking on the BBQ. I waited until after dinner (until they were good and drunk) and then casually mentioned the Montreal incident. "I've really regretted not taking you guys up on that bet. But I could have never eaten those gross eyes." Terry fell right into my trap. "David, let's make it $50. Gordo - cough it up". Next thing I knew, there were five $20 bills fanned out on the dining room table in front of me. I looked up, smiled, and I'm pretty sure my father flashed a "we've just been hustled" look momentarily over his face. I grabbed a butter knife and began scooping the gelatinous white blobs out of their sockets.

Laid out side-by-side on a coffee saucer, they didn't look quite as threatening. I was followed over to the kitchen sink by Terry, my father and about 4 other dinner guests. I filled the biggest glass we had with water and grabbed the first eye. It came apart in my hand, and I saw to my dismay that while the exterior was eggish, the core was a rock hard little marble. I slapped a greasy hand over my mouth, swallowed, gagged and then chugged the water. The second eye went down in much the same fashion. I turned around triumphantly to a series of pale faces - but mine was covered in an enormous smile. Mike Tyson's Punch-Out was coming out the next week.

New Years Eve: Oh, It's On Now!

I haven't worked out the details yet, but there will be a New Years Eve party at the Sidebar. I'm going to keep the cover as cheap as possible. None of this $80 a head bullshit. There will be a DJ, champagne and attire will be casual. If you're looking for a ridiculously fun and low maintenance NYE solution - save the date. I'll put an Evite together when I've settled on the particulars.

Friday's Quizzlet: Blues Brotherly Love

Appetizer: What do you think is the perfect age to get married? To have a child?
No one has any business getting married until they're at least 27 or so. See the world, meet some people and as cliched as this sounds - 'find yourself'. I've had a pretty wild life so far, and have been lucky in terms of travels, relationships, friends and adventure. I am faithful that the rest will fall into place by itself. When it does, I'll be comfortable and ready - with no room for regrets in my head full of fevered, debaucherous memories. In reality, I'm probably going to die alone at age 52 beside a trunk full of pornography.

Soup: If you could change occupations, what would you want to do for a living?
I probably should have been a police detective. I have this ingrained sense of right and wrong and although it veers disturbingly in certain areas, it has served me well thus far. I don't shirk when I see a dead body, I look good in bad suits, I already consume unhealthy amounts of coffee and donuts and can readily repeat the statistic "more (police) cars were destroyed in the making of the Blues Brothers than any film in history". Wouldn't you feel safer at night?



Salad: What does the color green make you think of?
Menthol. A couple of years ago I had a strange phase. I was given a can of menthol shaving cream and things just snowballed from there. I started buying skin lotion with menthol. Then I got some face cream with menthol. Then I bought a bottle of mentholated schnapps and woke up suddenly in an ATM vestibule. I knew it had gotten out of control when I bought a carton of Newports and then smoked the whole thing at the Dudley T stop in Roxbury.

Main Course: Has something happened over the last year that you didn't expect?
My expectations have been exceedingly low in recent years, so this could be any number of things. Vanilla Coke was an emotional moment for me, for example. I'm certainly glad that the Eastern Seabord hasn't been reduced to rubble by now as I'd predicted. I feel obliged to ask Mr. Al Zarqawi - 'Can't we all just just get along?' Barring his answer being anything other than 'Hammala! Hammala!Hammala!' Or 'Allah akbar', I say we make Fallujah the new 'Silicon Valley' - or 'smoking crater of hot sand', to be more specific.

Dessert: How old were you when you had your first kiss?
Maybe I should switch to a quiz that isn't written by a woman? Nah, I'll be a good sport. Her name was Suzanne, and it was 1986 - so I would have been 13. This was my first real kiss. The earth moved. I'm talking boobie-grabbing, tongue and all while I had her propped up on a dryer in my friend Chris's basement during a birthday party. This girl moved fast - she was 15 and already in high school. I won't go into any more detail because my mother reads this, but let's just say it was a very interesting 3 months. God bless ya, ya feckin' cradle-robber, ya - wherever you are.

Moonbat? Thy Name Is Carolyn Parrish.

The Moonbat ain't so virtual anymore. I wrote about this horrible and embarassing Canadian Liberal MP cunt's antics back in August. Now Paul Martin has sacked Carolyn Parrish from the caucus for stomping on a George W. Bush action figure on national television. This got into the Drudge Report down here in the states, and has been an enormous ostrich egg in the face for the Prime Minister - and ME. Yet another nationally publicized anti-American instance I'll have to begrudgingly explain to my Yankee friends.

What Matt Drudge won't tell you is that the TV show in question, This Hour Has 22 Minutes, pre-dates the identical Daily Show and is actually really, really funny. It's a timely satirical comedy show that's been shown on CBC since 1990. Parrish overstepped her bounds as an elected official in doing what she did, but Drudge should have mentioned the context. It was a 'bit'. A foolish and feciscious 'bit' which has had significant concequences - but a 'bit' none the less. One more time for the cheap seats: 'bit'.

So, basically this is me demonstrating my oft-mentioned attempts at objectivity when taking in the news on a daily basis. But that handicapped-whore still needs a spork vivisection. Maybe she can get a job on Mike Moore's next picture.

Meet The Autorantic Virtual Moonbat.

I am posting this wonderful little piece of technology because it's extremely well done and funny. It also reminds me of talking to some of my more 'educated' friends. Whenever I miss my frostback bretheren, or feel a need to have a conversation with an absent Monster, I can now turn to the Moonbat and it's like they are right there in the room with me.

Here's how he works. Pretend you're having a conversation with your favorite Moore-educated, politically open-minded Kerry mourner, and ask him a question. Imagine that you're in Starbucks chatting over a chai lattes about who you both voted for. Here's an example you can use: You're not going to like this, but I voted for Bush because I believe the security of our citizens comes first - regardless of popular international opinion. Feel free to copy and paste.



If you're a hyper-sensitive intellectual who's about to leave me a comment regarding how easy it would be to create a conservative/republican version of the Moonbat - or the 'Virtual Voice Of Reason' as I'd probably call it - save your breath. Because you're correct. Now stop whining and design one of your own if you can stop watching The Daily Show long enough. Is anyone listening to me? Shit - what a waste of my time. They've all moved to Canada already.

New Year's Eve Nonsense - Who Wants Some?

Everybody's good at something. I've always had a knack for throwing good parties. Whereas New Year's Eve has always excelled at sucking. I'm tired of stuffy black-tie events that usually involve more effort than a wedding and are always a lot less fun. I'm tired of slapdash, mediocre house-parties that are thrown together at the last minute because nobody has anything remotely better to do. I'm tired of never having anything good to look forward to when the ball drops - save for yet another ferocious and expensive hangover. So I'm about ready to throw my hat into the ring and organize an NYE party at The SideBar. I also just used the word 'slapdash'.

But I'm not going to stick my neck out if nobody cares. I want to get a feel for public opinion on this proposed bender before I spend a month and a half working on it. So here's the deal - I promise it will be fun, and I promise the price will be right. There will be a DJ, food, champagne and I'll do my damndest to fill the place with lots of people you know. You'll be able to invite your friends, and we'll keep the party going until 2 a.m. It's a convenient downtown location, and it's right near the 'T'. And no, I'm not making any money off of this. Chime in below.

An Open Letter To The Toronto Star's Thomas Walkom.

I Hope You Die In A Hotel Fire.

And to think I used to deliver this rag as a child. My paper route of shame.

The Big Haunt: Enough Already.

I've gotten more photos, and more requests for me to post said photos and finally another mild case of writer's block. So let's just marry all these unfortunate circumstances into today's article. Please bear in mind (and I hate to make excuses) that were this a political or sports related blog, I'd have no end of material you can find absolutely everywhere else. No, kids - I try and actually come up with the sort of stuff I myself would like to read everyday. Always funny, rarely narcissistic, never poignant.



Back when I focused all my efforts on my galleries, it was a lot easier to keep everybody happy - I could stuff sixty or more photos onto one page. But those old things took hours to prepare and write. I'd rather do something daily as opposed to once every four or five months. So here's another staggered batch of Halloween party photos. First off - I had to eventually include one of myself as Julian from Trailer Park Boys. And here's another photo of Annaleise which, in spite of Venditti, should score high in the ratings.


A picture is worth a thousand words, two failed hand-job attempts and seventeen dutch-ovens.



Although the whole evening is a little foggy, everyone I spoke with told me that the party was more fun than a bag of wild squirrels. So what's up with the party animal there on the upper-left? I also have it on good faith that this photo was actually taken before the bash even started. Obviously, that girl never got tea-bagged in college. Then on the right we have the illustrious Gooch - who apparently attended the party as an ex-Mills man who now works for Sleeman. Uncanny, my good sir.



If you'll allow me to get all Ansel Adams for a moment, here are two entries from our black and white contingency. First, Bryan and Betsy experiment with a position from Michael Hutchence's Joy Of Sex. While Wicked Mardi and her biatches are just a little too cool for costumes on the right. But then who wasn't at that tender age? I just wish she'd stop calling me "Uncle Dave", is all.

New Features On Pye In The Face.

Since I was apparently channeling the creative talents of Jayson Blair earlier tonight, I thought that any further time spent working on the blog should be devoted to some structural improvements. I found two useful Blogger 'Hacks' and have added them to the template. If you care, keep reading. If not, keep reading anyway. If you've made it this far you obviously have nothing better to do.

Archive Dropdown Menu:
If you look to the lower left, you'll see that the archives can now be reached via a handy-dandy dropdown menu. This works double duty - by both saving space, and reinforcing my female readers' resolve to never date me.

Recent Comments:
Where the aforementioned improvement saves more space space, this next one is simply a colossal waste of it. But we'll leave it up for a while and see if people actually begin to use it. It's a list of the most recent user comments since your last visit to Pye In The Face. I hope this will increase the likelihood of people registering with Blogger in order to not have to leave anonymous comments (which drives me bananas with its sheer laziness). But I also think that's as likely as me seeing a one-legged cat bury a turd on a frozen pond over the coming winter months.

I've Got Nothing.

Can you actually write about writer's block? I'm going to try and find out. Thankfully this doesn't happen to me very often, as I'm a vertible fricking font of useless information and startling nerdiness. But the last three days have been Sahara-dry in terms of material. For example, here's a fascinating tidbit to keep you rapt: I'm going upstairs to make tea.

OK - I'm back. Here's another thing I need to get off my chest: My cat likes to jump onto my desk and stare mournfully at me while I'm typing. Like he maybe thinks I'm writing to the South End animal shelter and pleading with them to come and take his annoying orange ass away. Speaking of the South End, did you notice that I just a) mentioned that I have a cat and b) am drinking tea? I imagine there's probably a line of sailors forming outside my apartment right now just waiting to slap their cocks off my forehead.

I'm going to fold laundry now. Oh - and there goes the doorbell. I hate being right all the time.

How Much Do I Like The New U2 Record?

A lot.

Friday's Quizzlet: Fancy Lads Love Saganaki.

The girl who writes the quizzlets' father had a stroke last week - hence the lapse.

I want to thank you all for the very kind comments and prayers that were offered for my father. He came home from the hospital on Wednesday, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness and patience!

But she's back now, so let's resume...

Appetizer: Name 3 cosmetics/toiletries that you use on a daily basis.
Soap, shampoo and shaving cream. I'm not a fancy lad, by any means.

Soup: Approximately how much exercise do you get per week? What type of exercise is it?
I have a gym in my office building that I get to use for free. So I do. I like to use the elliptical trainer for 30 minutes then hit the weights. The problem is, there's only one of them in the gym and it's quite popular. So I figured out, through trial and error, that there's never anyone in the gym at 3. I ran into this guy I talk to there sometimes in the elevator last week. He says "You're never in the gym anymore". I reply, "Yes I am, I just go at 3 now so I can use the machine I like". So I go in Monday at 3 - and isn't that cunt in there using my machine.

Salad: Write a sentence including your favorite color and your favorite food.
I get a little blue in the face looking for good Saganaki in Boston. Best. Food. Ever.

Main Course: What famous person/celebrity do you think you look like?
I get Ron Livingston and Brendan Fraser all the time. Which is a vast improvement over Eli from It's Your Move which I used to get as a kid.

Dessert: Name 2 simple things that never fail to make you happy.
Trailer Park Boys and The Pixies.

Why I Don't Drink Much Anymore.

Pyeman73: So I'm at the Tap.
Anonymous (my sister): right now?
Pyeman73: No. It's 11:30 in the morning. I was at the Tap.
Pyeman73: Bryan's bartender buddy was feeeding us beers.
Anonymous: yick
Pyeman73: Bryan gets up to go to the bathroom. I catch this guy's eye who was like 10 feet away.
Pyeman73: Scummy black guy. About 25.
Pyeman73: Comes over. 'What are you looking at me fo'?
Pyeman73: 'Is you gay?'
Pyeman73: And these two white chicks he's with are sneering at me like backup dancers.
Pyeman73: So I put down my beer and go: 'Buddy - are you looking for a fucking problem?'
Pyeman73: And the chicks go pale and drag him out of the bar.
Pyeman73: Do I look like a sissy or something?
Anonymous: you are 30 and hanging out at the tap
Anonymous: you deserved it.

Fair enough.

The Boston Common Pumpkin Festival.

The Life is Good Pumpkin Festival was held on October 23rd, 2004 on Boston Common. 50,000 people shuffled through on that cold, cloudy day to watch the organizers try and break the Guiness world record for the most lit Jack-O-Lanterns. They didn't actually break the record (somewhere over 16K) but they came within spitting distance. And to be fair the feat was quite amazing in spite of that - as there were somewhere in the neighborhood of 29,000 carved pumpkins (just not all lit) on the Common over the course of the day.



Where does one get or grow 29 thousand pumpkins, you ask? Dammned if I know. There were trailerloads of them dumped out around the carving stations which some guy on a microphone kept trying to get people to come over and participate in. Only problem was, you needed your own knife. I don't imagine I need to delve into the potential legal rammifications of handing out knives to strangers on Boston Common after dusk. But still, it's hard to carve pumpkins with car keys. Not impossible though, judging from some of the more crap carvings on display. I'll put it on record - little kids have no business whatsoever participating in Halloween related festivities.

Also featured on stage were Mayor "Mumbles" Menino - who i believe thanked Life is Good for organizing the event. But he could have been reciting the 4th act of The Merchant of Venice for all I could make out. And then there was a country-western band who got the crowd jumpin' with a backwoods version of 'Hold Me Now' by The Thompon Twins. I tried to think up some alternate titles for the song in this incarnation, and finally settled on 'Hold Me Now And Pass The Corn Liquor Before You Sodomize Me Uncle Cletus'. I kept that to myself.



My roomate Betsy and I brought Nakul, and his wife Deepika along for the pumpkin peeping. They're proud new parents but were grateful for the chance to get out and see more Boston/less bright yellow baby-shit. Among our favorites, the scary skeleton, the turtle from Finding Nemo and the 80% of the rest of the 29K that read simply "Go Red Sox". Actually, the Red Sox carvings got a little tiresome after awhile. But we were bearing down on the World Series at the time and I guess all those pumpkins did a lot to help clinch the victory. And very little to feed the city's homeless. Personally, I could see a pumpkin pie kitchen, as opposed to a soup kitchen, doing quite well in the old combat zone. If it were run by underage male prostitutes.



The adventure ended across the street at the Public Garden, where Nakul chased a Canada Goose and I had an unfortunate disagreement with a squirrel over (insert 'nuts' joke here - I like to make the blog interactive when I can). The Boston Pumpkin Festival was a great time, and a massive undertaking akin to the pyramids of Egypt. I have no idea how much money was raised or who sponsored it, but nice work kids. A produce-wasting effort of Gallagherian proportions.

Not All British People Despise Us. Or Are Sane.

This is a touching diatribe I found in my e-mail this morning from my British friend, Taz. He is a learned man, a scholar, who also resembles a maniacal scientist. When he's not re-animating dead human tissue, he's usually locked in a political debate with myself and a group of our other friends - liberals and conservatives alike. Yes - Taz's view of the world is similar to my own. But that's not why I'm posting this colorful snippet this morning. It's quite simply some funny shit, and I want to share.

"Universities are nothing but rabid festering hubs of Marxist subversion and bogus revolutionary propoganda... a fifth column, the enemy within, the source of poncy half-baked leftist theory, political correctness and pandering to Johnny Foreigner. They've made all the clever people soft as shite in the head, I tell you! I say burn them down along with their libraries full of odious liberal manifestos and filth! Smash up the data centers, throw the servers out of the window, kill C++, unix and Java, hang anyone wearing glasses and behead Michael Moore a with pair of rusty nailscissors on national TV... Year Zero... Zilch AD... back to the fields, people, back to the fields! Those green fragrant fields...As a Pink Floyd remarked so prophetically: we dan't need nah ejoocayshin...



I spent 6 years being systematically brainwashed at these sinister institutions and emerged a big girls blouse pinko dilettante reading The Guardian newspaper fervently, supporting the miners strike, Greenpeace and Amnesty International, wearing black denim 501 and suede brogue Doc Martens and boring the tits off people about the repression of the working classes, the evils of colonialism and 'sticking it to The Man' etc...The worst part was dating a string of chicks who were more passionate about vegetarianism than they were about shagging..."put your unfeasibly large and impressive knob away, Taz, can't you see I'm cooking couscous with Soya bean mush, woodchippings and chick pea sludge tonight, yummy!"

The truth is I'm still not cured... I still read the bloody Guardian even though most of it is bollocks, still occasionally listen to my Style Council records, vote Labour and still partial to the odd falafal tucked into a pita. A sushi socialist my mates call me. How I wish sometimes I'd been born in Pigs-Rectum, Mississippi and got my simple innocent kicks by dining on grits with deep fried squirral, boning my 6-year-old handicapped sister, dressing up in mama's piss-stained bed sheets, wearing a pointy hat made out of soiled underpants and torching wooden crucifixes in the backyards of those..."

I'm gonna stop you right there Taz. Some of us have work to do today. But a welcome and entertaining Thursday rant, nonetheless. And please, do not use the brain in the jar marked "Abby Normal".

Moby Wants To Move To Canada. Canada: "No".

Electronica 'musician' Moby keeps blathering away in a journal on his website, and in typical Streisand style does little else but lament the election and bash George W. Bush. He'd like to secede to Canada, and bring most of the Northeastern USA with him. I think I'd like to address his wishes on Canada's behalf, if I may.

"Dear Canada,
Now, more than ever, your neighbor to the south (aka-the blue states) needs you. most of us living in the Northern and Western parts of the United States don't feel very connected to the rest of the U.S, so can we bring our states and become part of Canada?"

In a word, "no". I can't speak for every frostback on snowshoes, but your desire to flee to the Great White North reminds me of that little kid in my neighborhood who owned the baseball all us other runts used to play with. If you didn't get to play first base - which was each and every time you asked due to the fact that you were a spineless, scrawny weakling with the athletecism of a bowl of warm potato salad - you'd take the ball and go home. This would leave the rest of the kids stuck searching the field for a suitably sized rock to take the ball's place. Or to knock over a sports store with an Entertech.

"The benefits to you: ...in one fell swoop you can have Southern California and New York City! surfing in Canada! suddenly the U.N. is on Canadian soil! Broadway is suddenly in Canada! you could then say that Canada is the birthplace of jazz and hip-hop!"



Courtesy of The Spectator

I want Robert Redford, Moby and the thousands of other Americans who've thrown their hats into the ring for Canadian citizenship since the election to know that you'll be getting in the cue with everyone else. And you can't bring any of your states with you either - because real citizens have fought for hundreds of years to keep every last inch of them free. It's completely illegal and utterly impossible for Bush to run again. If you revile him so very much, buckle down and do something positive to get your party back in power. Stay where you are, in the amazing country in which you were lucky enough to be born, and stop acting like a 2-year-old with a heat-stick in his diaper. So you know - Canada is the most nationalistic country on the planet, and we're most certainly not accepting phony, fairweather pseudo-patriots at this point in time. I'm sure you'll be more than welcome in North Korea.

"Accepting this offer will give you more good karma than you'd know what to do with (because you would instantly make 120 million people VERY happy). So you get warm beaches, tons of cash, and good karma."

Please don't talk to me about karma, Moby. You're probably the only visiting performer in history to get your ass kicked in front of the Paradise. People CAME TO YOUR SHOW just to kick your ass. Now - if I needed advice on how to get my head to resemble that of a Gashlycrumb Tiny or how to score a commercial for Audi, Reebok, American Express, Motorola or the Gap - Moby would be near the top of my list of people to call. Keep rebelling against all things corporate, my bald anti-establishment brother.

"Please let us know if you accept the offer. Given our enthusiasm to join Canada it's safe to say that the details of the offer could probably be worked out in an afternoon."

Canada? Are you listening? Do you mind if I jump in real quick and handle this one? I'm already down in Boston, and I'm sure you've got better things to do than talk to this snivelly Powder lookalike. Great! Thanks.

Moby, I'll eternally savor being the one who gets to tell you to "fuck off". Eh?

Wookin' Pa Nub: Search Yourselves Silly.

Four months and 115 articles later, it's officially time to add search functionality to Pye in the Face. If you'd like to revisit something you read weeks ago, and don't know where to look, simply type an appropriate keyword into the search box on the left and see what happens. It's surprisingly accurate, powered by Google and just an absolute joy to have around.

If you want to "kick the tires" on this new feature, here are some recommended silly keywords you can type that will bring up some of my personal favorites.

• Inka
• Littlest
• Oompa
• Tragically
• Puking
• Masshole
• Graceland
• Poutine
• Saget
• Puckey

You can also move the button to "web" and it will return a regular Google internet search for whatever you might be looking for. I hope you all find it useful. I have some catching up to this week, so stay tuned for lots of bloggy activity in the days to come.

Tough Crowd's Last Episode - Guess Who?

I wanted to go into excrutiating detail about our trip to NYC to see the last episode of Tough Crowd taping but had absolutely no time. What I'll do is rewrite the previous article when I can properly do it justice.



In the meantime, here's a screenshot from the final seconds of the show. When we arrived, they told us about a "bit" they were going to do at the very end. Colin Quinn read a snarky, petty, meanspirited and rambling goodbye, the regulars got up and walked out on him and then the audience followed. So basically, when Colin looks up from his notes - we were all gone and the studio was empty. It suited the celebratory yet sad mood of the evening, and you may even recognize two of the people walking down the stairs over Colin's shoulder.

I captured this somewhat blurry picture from TiVo, but I imagine there'll be a crystal clear "Best of Tough Crowd" DVD released - and this final scene is sure to be on it. And there you have Brunelli's and my contribution to television history. For now.

Watch the final clip HERE.

Tough Crowd's Last Episode Taping.

I've gotten 200 hits today from people looking for information on Tough Crowd With Colin Quinn's last episode, so I want to post something before I lose conciousness. We were in the car for a total of 10 hours today, and I'm shattered right now - but I'll get something up and add to it tomorrow.



It was pissing rain all the way from Boston to New York City. Our directions were terrible. We got so lost, that at one point we almost gave up. But we decided we'd come all this way and we were at least going to find Sony Studios and let them tell us to frig off. By some miracle of God we found our way to a parking garage in the neighborhood a good hour and a half after we were told to be at the taping. We fought our way through the drenched, Blade-Runner-esque umbrella congested streets until we found it - a small, plain looking building near 9th and West 53rd. As we jogged towards the building, we noticed a woman with a headset and called out to her as she was heading back inside.

"You're too late. We're already taping the first segment" she said. We calmly told her we'd driven all the way from Boston to see the show. She was impressed, and probably a little creeped out, but she made a call on her walkie and told us we'd be allowed in to sit on the steps between the rows of seats during the next break. We raced to the nearby bathroom and then got back to the stage door just in time to be let in.



I'll add to this article tomorrow. In the meantime - there's a picture of Los Angeles, 2019 taken quickly as we were hunting replicants. And a blurry photo of Colin I took without a flash before I was jumped on and beaten by a stage hand. Then, Brunelli, Keith Robinson and myself outside after the show. His handler didn't want him to stop for the photo (he had a train to catch), but he smiled when we told him we'd driven from Boston and posed with us while she hailed a cab. None of the other regulars came outside (Colin was in a BAD mood), so Keith's gesture was much appreciated. More detail tomorrow. What an exhausting day - but fully worth it.

Please Disperse: Tough Crowd's Last Stand-Up.

We're about to leave to drive to New York City for the travesty which is the final taping of Tough Crowd With Colin Quinn. We'll trek three hours to get there, wait in the freezing cold for another two outside Sony Studios before getting right back in the car to drive home to Boston. Miserable. But nothing can make me feel worse today than knowing I won't be able to watch this brilliant show ever again. So I just gots to be there.



I'll give you a full report on this sad day when I get home tonight. All the regulars and folks who made the show what it is will be guests tonight: Jim Norton, Patrice O'Neal, Nick DiPaolo, Greg Giraldo etc. And I sincerely hope that Tough Crowd goes out with a bang. Comedy Central got this one all wrong, and they've lost me as a viewer. Not out of spite, either. There's just nothing quite as funny on the network and I don't like consolation prizes. Here's hoping the show isn't soon forgotton and ends up on another network. Regardless, thanks for the laughs, Quinn. We don't all think you're an unfunny hack, stupid.

Fahrenheit Bowling For Ohio 911.

Running a little sluggish today. I was up until 3 am watching the election results come in, surfing between 5 or 6 of the main news channels and trying to get a reasonable semblance of what was happening. Dan Rather, fighting back tears, said that Kerry still had a fighting chance. Larry King and Wolf Blitzer were hanging on by a thread, interviewing Democratic Party lawyers who were already plotting their antipathy. Al Franken was drawing an illegible map of the USA on a whiteboard and calling Kerry way ahead, all the while referring to any state he colored red as "one of the dumb states". And all this was happening 3 hours after Fox had already given Ohio to Bush, pretty much sealing things up for another four.

Now, we all know that there isn't, and never has been, the slightest inkling of a liberal media bias. So why then did Fox and ABC jump to give Florida and Ohio to the GOP, and why has the Bush camp now all but declared victory? Why is it now being reported that Bush has surpassed Reagan and broken the all-time popular vote total?

You guessed it. Space aliens.



But fear not - Objective crusader for truth, and definitely not an irresponsible partisan hack, Michael Moore sped to Ohio last night just as soon as he saw how smoothly tabulations were going where he was lying in wait for a scandal in Florida. Nope, the real mustard and material for his next Oscar-winning cinematic masterpiece would have to be manufactured elsewhere.

So as the whining begins in my home state of Massachusetts (I live about a 10 minute walk from John Kerry) I look forward to the giggles I'll get out of the conspiracy theories that will undoubtedly start pouring in. My friend is having a contest on the subject, and I've already spotted a side-splitter while reading the news this morning. Then, of course, there's always the possibility that Kerry will concede - that would be classy. Oh wait - he just did.

The Big Haunt: Fun Photos For Fruity Friends.

Festivity photos keep rolling in like severed heads. So take a break from CNN's election coverage - and wondering how you might look in a turban - to dig these latest shots from that oh so ridiculous evening.



First up we have beauty and the beast. Anneliese and Bryan square off for the best costume credential and both score big points for different reasons. Bryan looks exactly like the character he's portraying: Ricky from Trailer Park Boys. Huge credit goes to Betsy who dyed and styled his hair. Whereas Anneliese looks exactly like what every man in attendance wanted to take home and rub peanut oil all over. Like I said - both winners in their own way.



And here's another interesting paradox. People of Herb's distinguished ethnic background make unlikely Klansmen. And as for Adam - people who look so comfortable in hot gay biker attire are unlikely to finish the evening beating the living ladybugs out of some clown in my living room. Never judge a book by its leather chaps.

Nicole and Paris turned heads as their alter egos Brittany and Becky licked the frick out of anything with a pule. These two lovely lasses are big Boston bar fans, and it was good to have some regulars representin' at The Haunt. It was also good not having to worry about anyone blaming me for stealing wallets.

OK - back to all the fair and balanced election coverage. Be sure to look for more party photos as the week progresses. And a certain Fendi purse.

The SideBar Website Needs Your Help.

This blog may be a bit flooded with SideBar and Halloween tidbits for the rest of the week, so please bear with me. There are lots of photos from the Big Haunt coming in gradually - but I still need more! I especially need a photo of me, Seamus and Bryan (The Trailer Park Boys) together. So help a brother out.

Also, I'll be finishing up the SideBar's website this week! I've built a Boston Bulletin Board area that I hope will become popular... but I'd like to get a few preliminary comments in there before I release it to the general public. It's currently hidden behind the main site and you can only get to it by clicking one of the links below. So please - have a look at some of the categories and quickly add your two cents. You can talk about Boston sports teams, Boston clubs/bars, something specific to the SideBar or even add a new topic of your own.

So please - click one of the above links and drop in for a look. You don't need to register to post something. And It'll only take a minute of your time. Thanks very much!

The Big Haunt: I'm a Horrible Person And Am Going To Hell.

I work with a young Indian lad named Nakul. He's become a great friend and I like to get him and his wife out of the house whenever possible, as they're new to Boston. He took a bunch of photos at the Haunt Saturday, one of which I'm posting here. He just told me this was the first hard alcoholic beverage that he'd ever had in his life. I am now officially a corrupter.



When I worked with a large group of Indian programmers 4 years ago, we used to take them out all the time and had great fun together. And I know they were very thankful to have a local who tried to include them in his debauchery. But now I'm a little torn. I feel like I've just ridden into an Apache village circa 1682 with a pony keg of Schlitz before trading it for Manhattan.

Actually look at him. Hard hooch and big old fake angry titties. He looks as happy as a lark, and I guess I should lighten up. So welcome to the liquor, Nakul. It's a fickle friend.

The Big Haunt: Send Your Photos, Liver.

The Haunt went off without a hitch. Mostly. There was a loud late night ass kicking in the North End and many subsequently pissed off neighbors, but we squashed it sufficiently and everything's cool now. And I feel much better about it knowing that the guy fully deserved to get trounced like you read about. I'm not going to get into it here. Let's just say - don't hit on a gay biker's girlfriend.

Then there was Dave, the kissing bandit, mercilessly terrorizing the female population of the bar. Look, let me offer you all some advice: if you're going to have a party, and put lots of effort into organizing it, make sure you're actually going to be able to remember it the next day. I am forced to cut myself some slack, however, due to the fact we all started drinking beer right after the parade we missed because Venditti wanted immediate breakfast. Sox parade + Halloween Party + 8 visiting Canadian University buddies = FUCKING MAYHEM. That was, bar none, the worst hangover I have ever had, and a friendly reminder of why I stopped drinking.

So here's where you can help me out, dear readers and party attendees. Send me your photos. I want to get a big whack of them together and post the best ones here. I am getting rave reviews for the party so far so I'd really like to get a sense of what it was like to be there. Even though I was. I also want lots of photos for the SideBar website that I'm currently building. Send me any anecdotes you have too and I'll tie all of the material into a funny article you can enjoy with family and friends for generations to come.

Thank you all for coming, and I'm glad everyone had such a great time.