Vance Gilbert And The Boston Music Awards.

A funny thing happened last night at the Boston Music Awards. My friend Rachel hooked my sister and I up with tickets, VIP passes and the whole 9 yards. I saw many local Boston music celebrities there - Rick Okasek, Frank Black, Steven Tyler, New Kids On The Block and Kim Deal... were absolutely nowhere to be seen (I had you going for a minute there).

However I did see Tom Hamilton, The DropKick Murphys and Vance Gilbert (please hold your applause until all the nominees' names have been read). I recognized Vance's name when I read the BMA website last week and quickly remembered how I knew him.

About 7 years ago, I was working as a student manager at The Brass Taps in Guelph, Ontario Canada. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights it was a student-bar-madhouse, but on weeknights we'd have a variety of bands and solo performers playing live. One Monday night I came in as a civilian to check out the scene with some friends, and our attention was immediately drawn to the performer onstage. He was a great singer, gifted guitarist and, above all, he was incredibly funny. We were literally rolling on the floor as this guy sang songs about coffee, crime scenes and even a did country western rap. I talked to him after the show, told him I'd spent many years living in Boston and bought 3 of his CDs which I still have to this day. We talked about Boston for about half an hour, had a drink or two then I wished him a happy stay in Guelph and was on my way home.

The next night I was on duty. I arrived at 6 p.m. swapped floats out of the safe for the new shift of bartenders and waitresses that were coming in, went down the checklist of managerial things one has to do and then saddled up to the bar for a coffee. I asked the 'tender who was playing that night, to which he replied "Some guy named Vance Gilbert". I smiled and told him I'd seen him the night before and we were all in for a treat.

And indeed we were. Vance played with the same energy level as the night before, had an entirely different set-list and every moment I wasn't putting out a fire somewhere I was watching the show. He had all the kids laughing, clapping and eating out of his hand. The show ended and he was surrounded by another group of new fans and well-wishers and I went into the office to begin the long tedious process of cashing out for the night.

All of a sudden, one of the bouncers came into the office and said "That dude with the dreadlocks wants his money and he's being a bit of a dick". I asked him who he was talking about, 'cause as far as I knew my credit was still good with the Guelph Jamaican cocaine syndicate. "No", he continued. "The singer guy". "Oh you mean Vance. He's a good guy. From Boston. Send him in".

All of a sudden, "crazy-business-Vance" entered the office and started flailing his arms around, maniacally yapping about how much I owed him, etc. Based on the nice conversation we'd had the night before, I thought he was messing with me. I laughed at him and said hello. He turned things up notch, got right in my face - so much so that one of the bouncers came into the office and went to grab him. I waved off the meathead, stood up and said to Vance "Hey. What the hell is wrong with you? I'm the guy from Boston. Don't you remember talking to me last night?" He told me he didn't remember, and he didn't care. I dropped my pleasant demeanor and told him that his contract (which I had read out of curiosity about an hour before) clearly stated that he got paid at the end of his three night stint, and not a moment before. I was a little pissed off at this point and sat back down, turned around and went back to my work. Vance continued to hoot and holler for a minute or two before giving up and going back to the main bar.

Regardless of that strange altercation so many years ago, it was great to see him sing again last night, and I highly recommend getting out to one of his upcoming shows.

Vance, I thought we were boys.

John Kerry Now Vying For The Oompa Loompa Vote

Desperation Is A Stinky Cologne. But by all means, sing along.



Oompa Loompa doompadee doo,
I've got another puzzle for you.
Oompa Loompa doompadah dee.
Stop staring at his daughters and listen to me.

Four purple hearts is a bit of a stretch,
"Reporting for Duty" has made us all retch.
What now - will you just run for office in France?
Or is Teresa still wearing the pants?

You'll get no - You'll get no,
You'll get no - You'll get no,
You'll get no Air Force One!

Oompa Loompa Doompadee Dack,
Maybe you can have your old sennett job back.
And please bring Ben Affleck to France with you too,
Like the Oompa Loompas doompadee do!

30 Tall Tales #4: A Funny Little Drinking Problem.

This is a fairly short story, and the humor will probably be lost on people who don't know us and weren't there to see it. But the folks involved still tell this story all the time - and it never ceases to send us careening into fits of laughter. I will try very hard to do it justice here, and make it palatable to the masses. That having been typed and just re-read, this is never going to work. Sigh.

It was a Saturday in 2001. Chris Cornett, John Henry, Dave Kingman and I had been drinking. Heavily. All day. They drove in to North Station in Boston and met me at a bar called The Fours which is right across from the Fleet Center. We convened around 4 p.m., ate, drank and were merry. If, by merry, you mean falling down obnoxiously, sickeningly and most dangerously drunk. Around 9 p.m. we left the safety of Canal Street and wandered back towards downtown.

Over the next five hours we hit a veritable bevvy of bars during our travels, and inexplicably wound up a mile away at the Black Rose. Everything was beginning to shut down, the band started packing up their stuff and it became obvious this would be our last stop of the evening. John ventured out and returned with 4 pints of God-knows-what and we settled in, if only for a few fleeting moments.



Chris, who made the rest of us look stone-cold-priest-sober, turned to me with a bent, unlit cigarette in his mouth and inquired "Hey hasshhh you gotsa light budday?" I shook my head and Chris swung around and headed towards two women who were standing nearby. His motor skills were fading fast, and I'd like to describe his gait as "shakey", but I'll settle for "picture what Quasimodo would look like if he was drunk and had just crapped himself." I looked over at John and Dave who were staring right at him with unmistakable "this is going to be good" smirks on their faces.

Chris addressed his quarry: "Hello ladiesshhh!" They looked a little taken aback, but saw the rest of us standing nearby and relaxed when they realized there were liquor-wranglers ready to step in. Chris motioned to the unlit cigarrette hanging from his mouth. One of the women asked if he needed a light, to which Chris replied with a violent nod of his head. The cigarette sufficiently fired up, he took a haul, blew it out right in their faces and proceeded to speak.

"I've got... problemssshhh." he began.

"Alcohol problems?" the woman replied, a sincere look of concern washing over her face.

"That's one of them!"

Not Envying Mark David Chapman.

"I really didn't want his signature, I wanted his life. And I ended up taking both."

Mark Chapman shot and killed John Lennon outside the Dakota apartment building in NYC on December 9th, 1980. Chapman had been lurking most of the evening and had gotten Lennon to sign a copy of Double Fantasy while he was leaving. Several hours later, John and Yoko returned and Chapman, who had been waiting patient/insanely shot him five times with a .38 revolver. Chapman calmly waited to be arrested, Lennon died on the way to the hospital to be admitted instead to the morgue, and New York City rallied in stunned silence around the crime scene.



Chapman has now been in jail for 25 years - as long as he was old when the murder took place - and has a parole hearing on October 4th. Glad to see he put the time to good use in the weight room. Officials are worried that if parole is granted, Chapman will face the wrath of Lennon fans still angry and unwilling to give peace a chance after a quarter of a century.

Why do they fear for Chapman's safety? Let's start with the fact that there are a myriad of international websites calling for his immediate execution. People all over the world are waiting with itchy trigger fingers, and cyanide-soaked copies of Catcher in the Rye, for Mark David Cartman.. er... Chapman - to be released into their clutches.

You know what they call that? Instant Karma.

Migrating From Blogger To WordPress.

Big changes are imminent at davepye.com if you remotely care. I've been turned on to a new publishing program called WordPress, and am subsequently sold on the idea of jumping the Blogger ship. It's more complicated, clunkier and difficult in terms of graphic design - but so much more versatile. If I roll up my sleeves, learn some code and make it happen, it'll make this site a lot more fun and dynamic for everyone who surfs it daily.

So if my blog entries become less frequent, you know why. Bear with me.

The Best Funny Corny Cheesy Pick-Up Lines

This my 80th post. Wow. To all the non-believers out there, I guess I'm officially blogtastic. Or bloginine. Or a blogiot. Or whatever. Anyways, in keeping with this article's questionable beginning so far, I found an enormous archive of cheesy, corny and funny pick-up lines. I have painstakingly read through them all (There's about 500) and selected the best of the worst. And hey - it's Saturday. So get out your notebooks boys and try spitting some of these tonight.

>> Are you a parking ticket? (What?) You got fine written all over you.
>> Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?
>> My name is ____. Remember it, bcause you'll be screaming it later.
>> Did you hear the latest health report? You need to up your daily intake of vitamin 'me'.
>> Don't walk into that building -- the sprinklers might go off!
>> Giant polar bear (What?) It broke the ice.
>> You've been a bad girl/boy. Go to my room.

Alright, so maybe they're not all that and a bag of chips. I used to teach pick-up lines (particularly #3) to an 8-year-old I knew when I was a bartender at The Hind's Head of Bray in England. Then I'd set him loose on the female populous of the pub. It was really funny. Until one afternoon he started trying them out on his mother, who was also my boss.

I got the Sunday morning shift that week.

Professional Wrestlers Sure Like To... Die.

Between the ages of 10-13, whenever my mother would leave the house I'd dash upstairs and squirt a bunch of ketchup onto a coffee saucer. Then I'd bring it back down to the finished basement which was basically the "Dave Zone". I was strictly forbidden to have "blood matches" with my rubber WWF wrestling figures, so this practice always had to be performed on the down-low.

I'd pit two dolls against eachother within my plastic WWF ring, and invariably one of the wrestlers would introduce a foreign object (usually Andre The Giant) and the ketchup would start flying. Pomegranate seeds also worked well for this purpose, but were only in season once a year and similarly banned from the basement.

Upon hearing my mother's car return to the driveway I'd rush back upstairs, rinse the evidence off the toys and my forearms, and go back to my Commodore 64 which was usually downloading a primitive wrestling game on my 500 baud Pocket Modem. Dave, what's changed you ask?

Well, I don't follow wrestling anymore (as far as you know) but I did discover a disturbing list that I want to share with you. It seems that Ray Traylor, a.k.a. The Big Boss Man, died earlier this week. And of course I knew Andre and Owen Heart had met with untimely deaths. But what I did not know, is that people in this pugilistic profession have been dropping like flies. And not just from steroids and their repercussions - from all kinds of nasty accidents.

For example, did anyone else know that Rick Rude, Davey Boy Smith and The Junkyard Dog are all currently pushing up turnbuckles? I didn't. Memories of my childhood just dropped a flying elbow on me. Have a look for yourself here.

Friday's Quizzlet: 12 Angry Flytraps

Appetizer: On a scale of 1 to 10, how attractive do you think you are?
It's totally relative. Which is a good thing, because I'd feel a little embarassed if I had to come right out and say '12'.

Soup: What local restaurant would you recommend to a visitor to your city?
I would recommend they get back on the plane from whence they came and hit Arthur Bryant's in Kansas City, baby.

Salad: What's a lesson you had to learn the hard way?
That one about penises and venus flytraps.



Main Course: Name something in your life that you can depend on 100%.
I'd say death and taxes, but that would be a bit of a cop-out. So I'll just say that "your penis will hurt if you put it in a venus flytrap".

Dessert: If you could see the front page of a newspaper from September 24, 2104, what would you imagine the headline might be?
"18,615th Consecutive Day of Mourning Delcared - Dave Pye is Still Dead."

Bye Bye Brando: Marlon's Ashes Scattered.

"One of the reasons Brando was a great star was that he never followed the form book, but lived his life spontaneously, personally and sincerely." - Roger Ebert

When Marlon Brando died July 1st 2004 at 80 years of age, I had not yet crossed over into bloggerdom. His ashes were scattered today - half in Death Valley California and the other half on the Tahitian island he bought in 1962 (insert blizzard joke here). So I wanted to take this opportunity to mark the occasion.

Here's what must be amazing about being an enormous (no pun intended - Marlon was still fairly fit in the 60s) celebrity. You can do the most outrageous, impulsive things. Marlon filmed Mutiny on the Bounty on the island, called Tetiaroa, in 1962. After principal photography wrapped, he married one of his co-stars (Tarita Teriipaia) - and then bought the island.



"Me filmy. Me likey. Me stayey. I'll take the tanned broad, too."

I'll miss Marlon. He is first on a very short list of actors who defined the artform. Up until his death, he was giving in-house (and I mean his house - which he never left, ever) acting lessons to established A-listers like Sean Penn and Nick Nolte. The list of restaurants that would permit Marlon to partake of their all-you-can-eat-buffet is probably... also... very... short. Sigh.

That's what you refer to as a "low-hanging fruit" joke. But Brando was into humor at its most very basic - flatulence - so he'd probably let me get away with it. Have a safe trip on that last Streetcar, Stanley. You're the best that ever was.

The Tragically Hip In Boston: 9/21/2004 At Avalon.

That's a bit of a clunky article title I'll admit. But it's definitely search engine friendly, so cut me some slack. Tonight Janet, Bryan, Jennifer, Betsy, Bo, Mark and I went to see the Hip play in Boston. And it was amazing.





I've seen Downie solo twice, and this was the fourth time I've seen the Hip - honestly don't think the man has ever put on a better show. With me present. 3 encores, energy like nutty bananas. Great time. These Canadian cats have a lot of life left in them.

Not No Respect: Rodney Dangerfield Is In A Coma

The man is 82, afterall, but I'm not ready to see him shuffle off this mortal coil just yet. Nor am I lobbying for a Meet Wally Sparks or Ladybugs sequel. But Rodney Dangerfield has been one of my very favorite comedians since I first saw Easy Money on network TV way back in 1983. It's one of the funniest comedies ever conceived and I'm frequently shocked at how few people have seen it.



At first it looked like his heart surgery had been a roaring success. And I also heard Adam Sandler and a bunch of other actors and comedians had been to the hospital to visit him - but apparently he's not actually doing so hot. So pull together folks, and send Rodney some good vibes today.

Monty : [about his Mother-In-Law] She says I drink too much, I smoke too much, I gamble. I mean she's right, but what can I do? I got no... what's the word...
Nicky : Class.

The Fenway Park Webcam.

My friend and associate, Atlanta's Boston Blogger (that's a bit of an oxymoron, isn't it?) just sent me a link to Fenway Park's Webcam. You have to refresh it manually, but it works. Very cool stuff.



I'll admit it - I am a peripheral, fairweather baseball fan. But if the Sox are doing well, I start watching. Last night's game against the Yankees was amazing. Here we go - I hope they don't break our hearts again. Who am I kidding?

Boss Keeps Puking In Betsy's Shoes.

I met my new roomates, Mardi and Betsy, for drinks at Tiernans last night. Where they then proceeded to tell me an interesting story about my cat, Boss.

Choosing new roomates is a very stressful process, to say the least. Luckily, apartments in the North End of Boston are in high demand - so there's never any shortage of willing candidates. But once they're in you want to be as hospitable as possible, for a while anyway, as they settle in and get used to everything. This is made infinitely more difficult, however, if your pet frequently vomits in their room.



I'm going to keep this piece about my cat short, as I would actually like to sleep with a woman again some day. But I'll say this. Boss has puked in Betsy's shoes. Twice. Maybe this is a sign of affection in the cat kingdom. But I feed him, and he's never done it to me. He's actually in her room right now, perhaps waiting for her to come home and take of her shoes.

When I visited South Africa in 97, we were encouraged by our host to always check our shoes for scorpions before we slid our feet into them. But this... this is on a whole 'nother level.

Friday's Quizzlet: Phil Hartman And Hermione.

Appetizer: How are you today?
Fine, thanks. Fair to middlin'. Not too shabby. Hanging in there. Can't complain. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Dreaming up new ways to torture prostitutes before I kill them.

Soup: Name 3 television shows you watch on a regular basis.
Trailer Park Boys (shocking), Blackadder and Saturday Night Live. TPB I have discussed to death on here, so I'll spare you - just this one time. Blackadder is a brilliant Britcom from the eighties which launched the career of Rowan Atkinson - more commonly known as Mr. Bean. Bean is predominantly physical comedy, a'la Chaplain or Keaton, wheras Blackadder is sharp, biting, dry, verbal humor all the way. I admire the way in which Atkinson was able to create such a polar opposite character in Mr. Bean - and have great success Stateside, but I wish more Americans knew about Blackadder. BBC America airs it regularly and I always TiVo it.

SNL has never had a bad season as far as I'm concerned. If I hear one more person say "It's not funny anymore" I may go postal. Granted the early eighties were touch-and-go at times. They said the show was dead circa 1990 when Lovitz and Carvey left... enter Mike Meyers, Spade, Rock, etc. They said it was dead circa 95 when Farley and Sandler left... enter Will Farrell, Norm Macdonald and Colin Quinn. Just have a little faith and the show always bounces back.

The biggest rebuilding year for SNL was 1985. The ratings had gotten so bad that Lorne Michaels swapped out the entire cast cast when NBC insisted on pulling the plug for good otherwise. Goodbye Anthony Michael Hall and Terry Sweeney - hello Mr. Hartman. The rest is history. Thanks, Phil.



Salad: What's the scariest weather situation you've experienced?
A blizzard in 1990. Driving back from a ski trip in Killington with Jason and Aaron Thelen. Jason took over driving from his father who was having a hard time seeing through the snow. We would have pulled over, but we were on 128 with no exits in sight. Jason is behind the wheel about 2 minutes before he loses control of the Dodge Caravan which does a 360 over 2 lanes of traffic. Looking out the window of a spinning car, that you happen to be in, is really fecked up. Try and imagine it for a second. The car stopped rotating in the exact direction it had been in when it started - and we just kept movin on down the road like the friggin' idiots that we were.

Main Course: If you could wake up tomorrow in another country, where would you want to be?
Too many variables here. I could wake up in a dumpster in Fiji, or a luxury hotel suite in Russia. Do I have a way home? Am I hallucinating? Was I partying on the Rolling Stones' private jet the night before, or was teleportation part of my Hogwarts 5th year final exam? Is Hermione in the dumpster with me? Please say yes.

Dessert: What do you usually wear to sleep?
Seamus Britt.

The Curse Of The Ramones.

What the hell is going on here? Forget about the Poltergeist curse - three of the founding members of the Ramones have all died untimely deaths in the last three years. First Joey (49), then Dee Dee (49) and today Johnny (55)!

The lights have come up on the Blitzkrieg Bop. Rock n' Roll Radio is off the air. It's low tide on Rockaway Beach. Tragic. I'm done.

A Mountain Lion Named Steve French

What do Samsquantches, Viagara burgers, potato guns and mountain lions have in common? And who the hell is Steve French?



In episode 6 of Trailer Park Boys season 4, man and nature collide in a sensitive vignette entitled "If You Love Something Set It Free". And it's one of the all-time funniest - I'd put it in my top 5. You may wonder why this warrants a blog entry. Well, considering that, in the last 3 months, I've written about garlic festivals, Tinkerbell Hilton and Ashton Kutcher - dope addicted mountain lions shouldn't seem like that much of a stretch.

I linked to an episode recap above, so I'll spare you another here. But quickly - Something has been eating the boys' dope field (Bubbles thinks it's a 'Samsquantch') but upon further investigation it turns out to be a mountain lion. Bubbles, who is absolutely infatuated with all-things-kitty, slaps a choker chain on it and becomes determined to "wean it off the dope". He names the lion "Steve French" because he thinks its whiskers make it look like a French Canadian. That line alone is worth the price of admission.

I love this episode because in addition to being ridiculously funny (Trevor gets raped by Steve French after he eats some Viagara burgers Randy is preparing for Mr. Lahey, among many other things) it's a perfect example of the sort of 'heart' that makes this show so enduring and special. Look for the scene at the end when Ricky and Julian start to cry when Bubbles has to let Steve French go back into the wild in particular. It joins the ranks of the most touching scenes in the show's history - right up there with Jim Lahey's slurred speech after the trailer park supervisior election, Ricky choosing to buy Trina her encyclopedias and kiss Lahey's bare ass rather than use the money to buy his own trailer and Bubbles' soliloquy after the boys accidentally burn down his shed.

To the uninitiated: if the above paragraph sounds too ridiculous to be believed, it's because it is. Thurday nights on BBC America. I can't stress that enough.

Welcome to www.davepye.com!

I've always hated my crummy domain name. It's actually a subdomain, hence the annoying dot between David and Pye that's been confusing and throwing people off for 5 years. The clunky and hard-to-remember david.pye.com has gone the way of the dodo, and you're now loving life at:

www.davepye.com!

I have redirects in place at the old site that should automatically send you here, but that site will close down in a few months - so update your bookmarks!

I'll also archive the old, grey site somewhere in the background too. But from now on, the blog will only be updated here at the new site. Why the change? I accidentally let davepye.com expire last month, and it was quickly snapped up by a woman in Florida whose husband shares my name. I emailed her in a panic and pleaded with her to give it back to me. I fully expected her to ask me for an extortionate, cyber-squatter sort of amount for it's return, but she took pity on me and sold it back for the $20 she'd spent to register it. Thank you, Kimberly Pye. You're a doll.

Anyhew, I took it as a sign, bit the bullet and moved everything over to the new domain last night. I hope you enjoy it, and I know it'll be easier to remember. My email will be changing accordingly too, from david@pye.com to dave@davepye.com - so please update that info as well.

I hate moving day. Welcome to the new digs.

Say It Loud, Boston: The Masshole T-Shirt

One of my current pissah-projects is the redesign of a humor site based around the term Masshole, kid. For those of you who don't know, simply put - a Masshole is a resident of Massachusetts. But it's deeper than that, you cawk. You can't just move here from Poughkeepsie and start referring to yourself that way. Massholes aren't created on the fly, kid - they're either born or Boston bred over many beer-and-sox-soaked years, dude.

We've come up with a lot of funny stuff for this site so far, and I can't wait to roll it out to everyone in a few months. In the meantime, dig this:



I found a local T-Shirt company who are quietly making nifty Masshole T-Shirts some of you might want to know about. If you're a certified Masshole, love the feeling of 100% cotton t-shirts against your body and have been looking for something in a Fenway/Highway 93 green, check them out, kid.

Scottish Wizard Movie Quotes: Napoleon Dynamite

Kid on Bus: What are you gonna do today, Napoleon? Napoleon Dynamite : Whatever I feel like I wanna do, gosh!

I didn't like this movie until I actually saw it. Several friends asked me to go see it with them, but I declined. I thought I had it all figured out based solely on trailers I'd seen - nerdy guy in midwestern town gets picked on by jocks until somehow managing to overcome his nerdy hardships and win over the girl in the end. Unfortunately, that's pretty much what happens, so I was right to an extent.



But what surprised me about the film was that at first glance the Napoleon character is totally unlikeable. He's abrasive, grumpy, rude and living in a fantasy world to boot. A fantasy world chock full of Scottish wizards, bow staff battles and sweet jumps. He's mean to his grandmother, his brother, his teachers, the school nurse and even a Llama named Tina. But when new student Pedro arrives at the school, Napolean befriends him immediately and he lightens up a bit.

Napoleon Dynamite : Who are you gonna ask to the dance? Pedro : That girl right there. Napoleon Dynamite : Summer Wheatly? How the heck are you gonna do that? Pedro : Build her a cake or something.

"Build" a cake they do, and things start looking up for Napoleon on the social front - but every movie needs conflict, and when a girl enters the picture there are falling outs left right and center. Napoleon, through the discovery of an ancient dance lesson video, bails his friends out of a few tough situations and ultimately wins the day. And by the end of the movie you just love the kid.

Totally unformulaic, original, funny and with more heart than Ann and Nancy Wilson - I highly recommend this movie. It's bizarre cult following has led the movie studio to reintroduce it around the country in wide-release. Go see it, GOSH!

Deb : What are you drawing? Napoleon Dynamite : A liger. Deb : What's a liger? Napoleon Dynamite : It's pretty much my favorite animal. It's like a lion and a tiger mixed... bred for its skills in magic.

Graceland North Is Well Under Way.

Construction of my parent's new house in Portland, Ontario Canada is now off to the races. To have the keys to an actual physical house that belongs to my family after 5 years of parental trailer transient behavior is going to be absolutely wonderful.



This is actually the back of the house, which faces the Big Rideau. Those tall windows above the back door will look out onto the lake, but there are enough trees on the property that there's still an element of privacy. We can see the lake, but the lake can't really see us. And that's good -because I've been rather worried about pirates.

The top floor has 2 bedrooms and a bathroom, and I think there will be another bedroom somewhere on the first floor. My father is skeptical, but I see a lot of potential for the basement. We could easily turn it into a bar and maybe even fit a pool table or at least a dartboard down there. There's also a garage separate from the house that has a loft which I want to see turned into a bunkhouse of sorts. The best part of having a place like this is being able to entertain - and entertain we shall. But never pirates.

Blogment Of Silence.

Let's Analyze My Room At University

Here's another one of the photos Nick sent me. It's Ray-Ray in my room at 113 Janefield in Guelph, Ontario - circa 1996. 3 years after this photo was taken, I would return to this house to visit, and find the room painted blue with mirrors all along one of the longer walls. To my dismay, I learned that Venditti had rented the house to a "boy band" and my room had become the rehearsal space. Fer f*ck's sake.

But at this point in time, it was very much my own. And I thought I'd dissect some of the overabundant decor (keep in mind this is just one wall out of four).



Left to right. Well, there's Ray-Ray. That's a Shining poster above his head along the wall with the window. It's my favorite scene in the movie, when Nicholson is drinking at the bar with the ghostly tender. "I'm the sorta guy who likes to know who's buying his drinks." As we move right, you'll notice 4 Star Wars cups that I got at Taco Bell. Those were always really big with chicks I brought home. The R2D2 to the right of the cups is remote control operated, and I think I got it for Christmas in 1977.

The flags along the top of the room are Players Light promos that I stole from The Brass Taps. Then there's the enormous Smiths poster behing the entertainment center. Speaking of the Smiths, further to the right are every one of their CD box covers pasted on a bristol board. I was a little obsessed for several years. Then you have the enormous Queen is Dead poster that I always loved.

Above the CD covers is a picture of JFK lodged between 2 more Lush CD boxes. God, they were a great band. I got to see them live once when they opened for Jane's Addiction in 1991 at the Wallace Civic Center in Fitchburg, MA. Picture of Elvis and a Jerky Boys bumper sticker above that. If you've never played Jerky Battleship - do yourself a favor. Suede postcard.

The bookcase - stuffed kangaroo I got in Australia, Gorilla mug I got in Malaysia and stacks of CDs on the top. Books. Huge pile of Cliffs Notes top shelf to the right. And people wonder how I got through University. Bottom shelf, Movie Quotes board game. I think the box of trivial pursuit-esque cards is probably still in the office of the Brass Taps. Further right - metal Walker Muffler sign with John Madden on it. Illegible Sean Connery Goldfinger poster, and a Jamiroquai one below it.

What an interesting little time-capsule. If you're still awake, frig off.

I'm Like The Horse Whisperer. But With Cats.

There was a cat in a cage on the Subway this morning. He wasn't by himself - his people were with him. Woulda sucked if he was alone, cause again he was in a cage and he'd be pretty much f*cked. He was orange and white and mewing incessantly.

I have always had this gift with cats. I can pick up even the wildest of felines, and I have this secret hold that I do where they'll always just go limp and relax. Might also have something to do with the finger in the butt.



Anyway, I made eye contact with the cat. It stared at me for a bit, cried out again briefly and then shut up. I didn't hear him mew again for the rest of the ride. Maybe my steely gaze intimidated it. Maybe word has gotten around the water dish that I violate the odd cat with my pinky.

My own cat, Boss - I'll admit that I have one as I'm comfortable with my sexuality - is remarkably obedient. He comes when I call him, does tricks, yaps incessantly and loves people. He's like a dog. Or Bryan Whitely.

But I'm good with the cats.

Friday's Quizzlet: Froglets In The Treehouse.

Appetizer: What movie soundtracks do you own?
Lost Boys. Guys and Dolls. Rushmore. Big Lebowski. But the best movie soundtrack of all time is The Blues Brothers.

Soup: How much cash do you usually carry with you?
Next question.



Salad: Are you more comfortable around men or women? Why?
Both. Because I'm well adjusted.

Main Course: What is the most mischievous thing you did as a child?
I had this awesome treehouse. My Dad built it out of two mainframe computer crates. Then he put siding on it and built a deck on the top. It was phat, even in '81. There were many games of doctor up there with Kathy H. Otherwise, I was a pretty good kid. Oh, and I killed a lot of frogs there, too.

Dessert: Who is the funniest member of your family?
Me. The quizzlet sucks this week.

Discrediting Bush: Boston Globe Gets A For Effort.

As my friend Mike would put it, my favorite 'fish-wrapper', The Boston Globe, decided to run like the wind with a story which apparently proved that some of Bush's military files were concocted recently - and then made to appear as if they were written in the 1970's.

The jist is this: Accusations of forgery can be proven because certain documents were printed with "proportionally spaced fonts" that did not come into use "for office memos until the introduction of laser printers, word processing software, and personal computers. They were not widespread until the mid to late 90’s." Clutch the pearls!

What a scandal. This changes everything. In fact, Katharine Q. Seelye from Free Republic goes a step further: "I am saying these documents are forgeries, run through a copier for 15 generations to make them look old. This should be pursued aggressively." That's quite an accusation, Ms. Seelye, but it sounds like you've done your homework and unearthed a real administration-killer here.

That is if IBM hadn't actually introduced the proportionally spaced typewriter in 1941.

Keep digging, kids. You've got, oh, 54 days left until November 2nd.

The Oakville Chainsaw Massacre. Almost.

During University of Guelph summer holidays, Gazza, JV and I used to wash windows in Oakville, Ontario. We'd get up at 5:30 and usually work through until 7 or 8 at night. Long hours, but $600+ a week was a fortune to a student, and we'd usually get to take the entire month of August off. Those two summers were hectic - there were good experiences and bad experiences on the job. We once washed a house made entirely out of glass which was pretty cool. But then there was the time we were scrubbing siding with TSP and paint chips began to flake off like confetti. They clogged a storm drain and then flooded a very nice lady's finished basement. That went over like a belch in church.

My point being, summer jobs in O-Town can be stressful - but never once did I consider mutilating a co-worker (alright, so maybe there was that one time Gary yelled at me after I shattered a toilet tank by dropping a window pane on it). Apparently times have changed. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the Jesus Chainsaw Massacre DVD has now outsold Return of the King. Even the church is getting into torture and dismemberment. Gratuitous violence seems to be the order of the day, and in Oakville - it was yesterday.

Long story short (I have real work to do) crew of landscapers are working at a job site at Lakeshore and Navy Street near Sharkey's. Female landscaper makes comment to male landscaper who also happens to be doing treework with a loud, smoking Husqvarna. Male landscaper loses his sheehiznit and buries chainsaw in female landscaper's back. Read it for yourself here.

I also find it odd that Gazza submitted this story, and was recently photographed with the chainsaw man himself, Leatherface. And by odd I mean really disturbing.

Pixies Day Gets Even Better. How? Brukkake.

Just when I thought this magical day could fare me no better, an excuse to use this ridiculous photo finally reared it's ugly head. A little birdie named Mark Brunelli just told me that a very special boy named Mark Brunelli has a birthday today. Yesh he did! Yesh he did!



Enjoy the last year of your 20's, buddy. It's painfully short. And no comments from the peanut gallery wondering why Mark was walking around like that while Hines and I were at his house. Cause I'll never tell. Or sit down again, probably.

Happiness Is A Pixies Ticket!

Victory is mine. The pre-sell worked, and I'm now the proud owner of several Pixies tickets for December 1st at the Tsongas Arena in Lowell. And what a nice self-birthday present that will be. In celebration, I am declaring September 8th "Pixies Day" - and changing my pants. Not in that order. I'm traveling to "Isla De Change-My-Pantsa". Me voy, me voy, me voy.

The Pixes Come Home. Sorta.

Months of ferverish Bostonite speculation ("I heard 3 shows at The Orpheum", "Will they play New Years Eve?", "Who's hand is on my leg?") led up to the creshendo of Saturday's announcement: The Pixies' "Boston" date will be December 1st at the Tsongas Arena in Lowell. I flew to Vancover to see the Pixies in Vancouver back in April, but I haven't seen them play in their home town of Boston since 1991. I was looking forward to it. Lowell will have to do.



Without a doubt, they could have sold the Fleet out at least 3 nights in a row. I'm all for seeing The Pixies in a smaller venue and everything, but the law of supply and demand is going to be so utterly disfigured between now and then that I'd say about 1% of the people who'd like to be at that concert will actually get tickets. But I guess that more Boston dates in December haven't been ruled out either. New Years Eve at the Orpheum would indeed be glorious. I did hear they were arguing with Clear Channel over Boston venues. And they won't let the Pixies sell their LiveDisc recordings in Clear Channel venues, either.

So I wait here anxiously at my desk for the online Pixies ticket pre-sell to begin at noon, and pray to Euriah, Bailey, Ol' Neptuna and the lady in the radiator that I'll get through before they're all gone. Wish me luck. Or a life.

"Empire: What's the perfect soundtrack to a 15th birthday?"
D.R.: "The Strokes would definitely be on it. I'd love to hear The Libertines do Happy Birthday. That'd be awesome 'cos they're quite a hard punk, rock and roll band. They're really good. Jet definitely. Rollover DJ. The Pixies definitely." (Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe interviewed for Empire magazine, 2004)

Celebrity Republicans: Hiding In Plain Sight.

Being a Republican in Hollywood can be tantamount to career suicide. It used to be the other way around. 1947 saw the HUAC hearings that would eventually lead to the creation of the Hollywood Blacklist. But nowadays, most of the powerful studio heads, agents and opinion-makers seem to be... wait for it... leaning to the left. And you thought I was going to say "Jewish". Shame on you.

It comes as no surprise then, that conservative stars tend to keep quiet - while liberal icons never seem to shut the f*ck up. Leonardo DiCaprio went on tour with Michael Moore to promote Farenheit 9-11. Danny Glover was arrested last week at a protest outside the Sudan embassy in Washington. Martin Sheen continues to make a nuisance of himself whenever out-of-doors and I won't even bring up Sarandon and Robbins out of fear that I may spontaneously combust.

It's for that reason that I can't help but salute the Republican superstars that risk all and rear their ugly heads from time-to-time. But are the vocal ones really helping the cause? Ted Nugent is free to advise me on the correct way to skin a boar if he'd like. And if Brooks and Dunn want to give me a hands on "Boot Scootin' Boogie" lesson I'm game. But on matters of politics I'll look elsewhere for advice - and to more credible celeb-citizens to stand up for the party.

I recently found a great list of self-professed Republican celebrities and wanted to share it with you. There are some surprises and then there are some... "duh!"s.

Given: Hank Williams Jr., Clint Eastwood, Oak Ridge Boys, Pat Boone, Tom Clancy, George Steinbrenner, ZZ Top, Mel Gibson, Don King, Robert Davi, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Crystal Gayle, Charlie Daniels, John Tesh, James Caviezel.

Shocker: James Caan, Adam Sandler, Norm MacDonald, Paul McCartney, John Travolta, Charles Barkley, Sean Astin, Sharon Osbourne, LL Cool J, Dennis Hopper, Danny Aiello, Vince Vaughn, Marilyn Manson, Mike Piazza.

Regardless of their stature, I wish more of them would speak up and drown out some of the silly twats that are currently influencing the way America's youth is going to vote in November. MTV's Rock The Vote (for Kerry) and Choose (Kerry) or Lose campaigns have swamped media outlets that cater to the 18-25 demographic with partisan advertising that is currently scaring the hell out of me. But regardless, thank God Lil Kim registered this year.

Oh, Those Wacky Australian Spider Milkers.

Prisoners get creative. There was The Great Escape Tunnel, The Shawshank Redemption chess set and the paper mache dummies from Escape from Alcatraz. And I remember many episodes of Oz where the prisoners would drink some concoction called Pruno that they distilled in a remote janitorial closet. In between ass-rapings in same said remote janitorial closet.

But if there were an Oscar for creative brig intoxication, it would have to go to a group of cons in Grafton prison in New South Wales - where a group of inmates have been milking spiders for their venom, diluting it with water and then injecting it into their veins. And we're not talking about a few daddy-long-legs here. These lads kept four deadly Aussie Redback Spiders as milkable pets. Think a cow with eight legs. Or a spider with a little mini-udder. Actually completely forget that I just went off on that tangent, please.

Alright, "deadly" doesn't really begin to cover it. These little bastards are a close relative of the black widow, and are even responsible for the odd down-under death. "The venom acts directly on the nerves, resulting in release and subsequent depletion of neurotransmitters."



There's a Flaming Lips tune called "The SpiderBite song" which I always thought was a euphamism for heroin induced needle tracks. So I found this spider milk article strangely ironic. But after a quick bit of research, I found out that Wayne Coyne actually based the song around the time he provided a hungry arachnid with a snack while cleaning his garage and had to go to the hospital. So that angle went out the window like a Great Depression stockbroker.

One politician, from the current NSW government's opposition, remarked "NSW prisons are more like a holiday farm than a prison system." I'll take Cabo and a cold sixy of Corona over spider spit anyday thanks, mate. But maybe the politicians should be worried that the practice of spider juicing could spread beyond Australia's prison system. Or already has - that theory would explain Savage Garden, at least.

Moynihan And The Sweedish Think Tank Timbro.

Looking eerily like K.D. Lang, Pye in the Face reader and friend Michael Moynihan held court recently at a Think Tank Timbro forum on the sad state of Swedish journalism. Mike is a Libertarian living in Sweden and began publishing his own conservative newspaper, The Spectator, back in April. The aim of which is to provide an alternative to the country's current flagrant liberal media spin - and the paper has recently exposed examples of plagarism amongst some of Sweden's more prominent political columnists.



To say that Mike's paper has been getting a lot of attention in Swedish journalism and political circles would be putting it mildly. “The paper comes out April 1st and my apartment should be on fire April 2nd.” The perception of a Libertarian in Sweden can be compared to a fully-regailed Klansman at a Jay-Z concert, so I applaud him for sticking up for his beliefs and for putting a remarkable dent in Sweden's former anti -U.S. comfort zone. Shake 'em up, Mike.

Calling My Caricature Into Question.

I can remember being called a joker, a clown and a buffoon at various times in my life. But never a cartoon. That is.... UNTIL NOW:



We had these done for our website at work, and before seeing it this morning I was very skeptical as to the outcome. I had one done at The Perth Garlic Festival a month ago where I looked like one of the Gallagher brothers from Oasis and it was scary. The cartoonist asked my sister what I like - you know, so she could incorporate it into the drawing. Janet replied "beer and cheap women". Now, while I'm not exactly protesting that description, the caricature came out like ka-ka and I was left wondering "Do I really resemble the same person who wrote Wonderwall?" It was a shock, as I usually get Ron Livingston or Brendan Fraser which I can deal with.

And about three years ago I went to this strange party in the North End. This independantly wealthy, and very strange, socialite was having a party in her apartment which was a converted warehouse across from Joe Tecce's. She'd paid a cartoonist to come in and draw all of her guests. Now, I don't know if said artist was stoned out of his gourd, or if I actually resembled a handicapped Aztec that night - but the drawing was another disaster.

I quite like this one. I'm going to use it as my blogger profile image, methinks. If anyone needs similar Boston area caricature work done for whatever strange reason, email this guy. He's good.

30 Tall Tales #3: The Great Colonel Sanders Heist

There have been many memorable thefts, robberies and heists throughout human history. The 1963 Great Train Robbery in England. The Boston Brinks Job which occurred around the corner from my North End apartment in 1950. And the lesser known 1996 pilfering of the cardboard likeness of one certain southern gentleman and fried chicken magnate - Colonel Harland Sanders - from the Kentucky Fried Chicken on Stone Road in Guelph, Ontario.

We were young, and we were tacky. Our house was plastered with beer paraphenalia and movie posters. Many of us were also usually plastered. Our kitchen boasted two huge wall hangings - Bob Marley and De Niro in Taxi Driver. We had a portrait of all the house's inhabitants hanging prominently in the front hall. The addition of Harlan didn't seem like such an aesthetic stretch when JJV called a house meeting and hatched his evil plan on that cold day in March. A plan to snatch the Colonel right out of his own sanctuary - KFC.



Jason had been in the KFC earlier that same day, and had immediately become smitten with the life size cardboard cut out of Colonel Sanders which greeted customers just inside the front door. The plan was simple. A textbook snatch-n-grab. Nick, Richie, J and I would pull up behind a fence which bordered the back KFC parking lot. We'd wait in my van, with the engine running, while J ran inside and liberated the Colonel's effigy.



We thought the plan would go off without a hitch... so it was a good thing that it did. J ran into the restaurant wearing a black wool toque and his best Canadian Tuxedo (full denim ensemble). There was a young girl working behind the counter, and several people waiting off to the side for their orders. Jason simply said "Hello" before grabbing the Colonel, folding him in half and darting back out the front door.



We waited back in the car and snapped some photos of his escape. I peeled out of there like Jim Rockford himself was in hot pursuit, and we took the long way back to 113 Janefield to make sure we weren't followed. Why we thought that the police, Kentucky Fried Mercenaries or anyone else would be interested in chasing 4 shitheads for a piece of cardboard is beyond me all these years later. But it sure was fun.

Sears Portrait Studio Will Never Be The Same.

... and then there was the time we decided it would be a good idea to head on down to Sears Portrait Studio to have a house photo done. So we did. They didn't all make the final cut, though. Here are two of the deleted scenes.

In this first one, JJV, Nick, Ray-Ray, Richie and I decided on a prop theme. As the photographer, used to snapping babies and families, watched in horror - we looted through her prop chest and came up with some doozies. I think Ray-Ray still has the camisole.



This next one affectionately became known as "The one where Ray looks like he has down syndrome". If it were not for that fact, I think this would have been the one we selected for the framed portrait.



And finally, here is the one we chose to have blown up and framed. It hung in our front hall and greeted our guests for 3 years. Guests who usually then shook their heads and said things like "You guys are sooooooo retarded". This became known as the Goodfellas pose, although I look more frightened than mean. Venditti looks like, well, Venditti. Nick pulls off the "mean Greek" look fairly well, and Ray-Ray and Richie also look convincingly menacing.



Those were good days, boys. Thanks for the memories.

Separated At Birth? Robert Downey Jr. and Nick.

My friend and former Guelph roomate, one Nick the Handsome Greek, has scanned and emailed me a bunch of photos from those crazy years, many of which I'll be sharing here on the site. Now, you probably remember when Robert Downey Jr. was arrested for the first time back in 1996. Due to the frenzied media coverage, the inhabitants of 113 Janefield Ave couldn't help but notice Nick's startling resemblance to the fallen star. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Robert Downey Greek Jr.



Luckily, the bags under Nick's eyes stem from many all night study sessions and not the freebasing of crack cocaine in stranger's homes. Well, at least that's what Nick told us, anyway.

Frightening Personal Injury Attorney Facts

I'm currently building a website about Personal Injury Law and lawyers, and I've run across some insane settlements and lawsuits. Employers, drivers, babysitters beware. In fact, maybe don't go outside any more.

- $875,000 was awarded to a man who broke his leg in a car accident. I broke my leg once at a keg party at Tony MacPhee's house in 1992. Tony I know you read this site - I want some cash, please.

- $1,800,000 went to a construction worker who fell off a defective lift and hurt his back. I hurt my back playing football against Deerfield academy in 1992 (OK, so it was a rough year). Deerfield, cough it up. Lots of it.

- $200,000 was pissed away by a company for a woman who claimed she'd gotten arthritis from using a mouse every day for 5 years. Somewhere, there's a Personal Injury Attorney sipping a Pina on a beach who paid for the trip with that cash. Incredible. I'm on my computer so much, I should be entitled to twice that. And a girlfriend.

- $1,000,000 was forked over to a man who suffered a freakin' dog bite. That dog must have been loaded. Rolling in cash. And it's own feces. I was bitten by a nasty little dog named "Pawnee" when I was a kid in Prince Edward Island. I bent over to say hello and the little bastard jumped straight into the air and snapped my nose. The dog's owner apologized and gave me a lobster (I actually liked lobster back then) and that was good enough for me. I'm a personal injury attorney or lawyer's wet dream. In retrospect, apparently they should have given me a house.

Friday's Quizzlet: Nessie And Rebecca Romjin.

Appetizer: If someone gave you 3 new goldfish today, what would you name them?
Nemo, Orca and Nessie.



Soup: What's the worst movie you've seen this year so far?
Farenheit 9-11.

Salad: If given the chance and you could pick the person, would you want to switch lives with someone on earth for one whole day?
You could pick someone you really hate and then jump off a bridge. Or pick the spouse of someone you really want to bang. Otherwise - I don't see much point. I would have picked John Stamos up until a couple of months ago - for both reasons.

Main Course: What's your favorite season? Name 2 things you love about it.
It's always been Autumn. And I love "leaf peeping" and football.

Dessert: What is something you frequently buy that you don't really need?
I don't like this question. Nobody really needs anything. Except crack and insulin.

Kissing His Balls: Funny 2004 Olympic Quotes.

Folks, you should sit down for this. Apparently there exists someone with even more free time than myself. Below are some of my favorite blurts from a recently compiled list of the funniest commentator/athlete quotes from the 2004 Olympics. And with no further adue:

Tennis commentator: "One of the reasons Andy is playing so well is that, before the final round, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them . . . Oh my God, what have I just said?"

At the rowing medal ceremony: "Ah, isn't that nice, the wife of the IOC president is hugging the cox of the British crew."

Dressage commentator: "This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother."

Weightlifting commentator: "This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing."

There are few things on this earth more breathtaking than an amazing snatch. Read the full list here.

Zell Miller's Speech at the RNC

I have previously vowed to keep this site bi-partisan, as political commentary is being done to death on every other blog in the Universe - and being done better. But I must reneg for a moment (heck, I gave the DNC plenty of coverage in July) and talk about Zell Miller's speech last night in New York City at the Republican National Convention. He's a Democratic Senator from Georgia and I don't care who actually wrote this speech, but I'm linking to it because I'd like for y'all to read it. It echoes my own opinions on the state of the world right now, and why I firmly believe that regardless of your political leanings - change for change's sake is an incredibly foolhardy idea at this moment in human history. Dig it.

"But don't waste your breath telling that to the leaders of my party today. In their warped way of thinking America is the problem, not the solution.
They don't believe there is any real danger in the world except that which America brings upon itself through our clumsy and misguided foreign policy."

And I'm the King of France. And speaking of France, here's my favorite excerpt:

"Senator Kerry has made it clear that he would use military force only if approved by the United Nations.
Kerry would let Paris decide when America needs defending.
I want Bush to decide."

Read it for yourself.

Women's Olympic Beach Volleyball: Yes, Please.

It's commonly accepted that beach volleyball originated in Santa Monica when nets were put up on a beach near the playground in 1920. Since then, its popularity has grown in leaps and bounds - and on September 21st 1993, the International Olympic Committee granted Beach Volleyball Olympic medal status. Much to the chagrin of feminists and sandcastles everywhere.

Earlier this year Margareta Winberg, the former Swedish minister for equality, said of Women's Olympic Beach Volleyball "This is not sport. This is sex-fixated entertainment". Well, duh.



She's got a valid point. But the men play in Speedos, the male equivalent of a bikini, and I don't hear any women complaining about that. So I looked into some statistics: Men are allowed to play volleyball in shorts and speedos, while women are not allowed to wear bikini bottoms that have side seams that are broader than seven centimetres. So the rules for women don't set a limit on the skimpiness of a bikini, but rather the opposite - they are required to keep their attire sufficiently jiggly and revealing. Those vicious Olympic bastards.

I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. OK, I'm lying. I'm a big fan. Did anyone else see the issue of Playboy with the nude pics of Gabriella Reece in it? Women Volleyball players have exceptional bodies. Kerry Walsh (pictured above) has a six pack that would make Schwartzenegger jealous. Since Walsh is from California, maybe Arnold could invite her to the Governor's Mansion and get a few quick crunch tips. That is, of course, if she could stand all the Austrian grab-ass that would be sure to ensue.

Dead or Alive Xtreme Beach Volleyball had pre-pubescent boys drooling all over their X-Box's last year and became one of 2003's top selling titles, and their fathers and older brothers were undoubtedly in the next room watching the real thing intently on ESPN8. But let's not forget about Mom and Aunt Bunny upstairs in the den watching the men's competition and sucking on Rocket Pops.

This reeks of a reverse double standard. I say equal-opportunity salivating is completely acceptable. If the men's uniform was a three-piece woolen business suit, Mrs. Winberg - the Rocket Pops would be on me.