Wednesday Wadio: Life Don't Mix With The Railroad.

A Canadian friend sent me this clip a few months ago (right-click the link to download the MP3 as I couldn't get this file to work properly with the Radio Pye software). I can't find a single mention of it on the interwebnets, and I'm not sure if it's been in wide distribution or what. But it cracks me up beyond belief and I wanted to spread it around. In short, it's a recording of a railroad employee named Doug Seibert who is being telephoned and asked to come into work. Apparently he knew he was on call but decided to roll the dice and get extremely intoxicated anyway. If I had a nickel.

Warning: Doug, whoever he is, swears like a pirate. Put your headphones on or wait to listen to this until you get home from work tonight. That having been said, here's what I'm able to explicate from repeated listens:

- Doug works for the Canadian Pacific Railroad.
- Doug's friends dropped in and they decided to go ski-dooing.
- Doug and friends drank 5 million thousand gallons of whiskey whilst ski-dooing.
- Doug and friends are 'gooned'.
- Doug's supervisor is going to have to mark him down as being 'sick on call'.
- Doug's probably not going to have a job in the morning. But that's OK - because life don't mix with the railroad.

I dare you not to listen to this 3 times and laugh your skidooing ass off. Jesus, do I ever want to get gooned with Doug.

Window Pane And Suffering.

Saturday, Nick and I were sitting in the living room eating jalapeno poppers and watching Waiting for Guffman. It was, quite simply, heaven on Earth. The girls who live above me had been moving out all morning, and when we heard a loud 'bang' as a piece of their furniture hit the pavement outside like a jumper, I thought nothing of it.

Nick got up and went outside to smoke a post-popper lung rocket, but quickly poked his back inside the door. "Dave, you'd better get out here". I've been hucking furniture, showing apartments, typing up leases, making keys, painting, visiting the bank, waiting for repairmen - all as part of my new building manager duties. I knew August would be a rough month when I took the job, but I really thought I was over the hump. In short, the words "What the fuck is it now!?" quickly flashed through my brain like a Times Square marquee.

In their haste and deplorable moving wisdom, my lovely ex-tenants decided to lower a large boxspring off of their fire escape. And by 'lower', I of course mean 'drop'. Said heavy object then bounced backwards towards the building and shattered both panes of my bedroom window. The window frame itself is bent beyond repair - to the point where I couldn't even remove all of the broken glass. I took a deep breath, nodded profusely and affirmatively when they offered to pay for the damages, and covered the mess with cardboard and duct tape.

What would Schneider do? I mean, besides try to sleep with both of them?

Plethora Of Portland Pics.

Another whack of photos from my folks' place in Ontario. Highlights include eerie campfire pics, killer ponies, newfies, funny hats, jetskis and my insane father's many costumes. Have a wee peeksie and stay tuned for an imminent batch from Triconi's wedding.

I think we're taking one last trip up there this weekend, and then I can lay down in a bus station somewhere and expire. I feel like a nomad, a gypsy, a transient or maybe even Roger Miller's trans-continental-backseat-bus-trip-conceived lovechild. I'm tired, see? And I don't wanna go nowheres for awhile.

Monday's Quotelet: Deifying The Mundane.

"A lot of people said that it couldn't be done. But not only did we blatantly rip off 'WonderWall' note for note without raising an eyebrow - we even won a friggin' VMA for our efforts. Thanks, MTV!"

Free Stuff: Leather Couch and 2 Tables.

Do any of my Boston peeps need, or know someone who needs, a decent blue/grey 2-piece leather couch? I also have a coffee table and a kitchen table available - more info here. The former tenant left in a hurry, and the new tenant has her own furniture.

I am giving this stuff away for free. I just need it out of there. Let me know. Nice couchy.

Better Late Than Never.

Still loved as much as he was on the day he died, Chris Farley has been given a star on the hollywood walk of fame. I wrote about Farley 4 years ago - and the bit still holds water - so I won't retread too much of it here. Regardless of his excesses, Farley was, during his time on Earth, the funniest man on it. I've never been more saddened by a celebrity death. He is sorely missed.

Lights, Camera, Liquor.

Coach: Can he still play? Trainer: He's in a coma! Coach: Answer the question!

I ran into Ed Lauter last night in front of the Park Plaza hotel. You'll recognize his face - he's a popular character actor who has been in tons of well known flicks, including: Cujo, The Longest Yard (both versions), French Connection 2, King Kong, Death Hunt, Real Genius, Youngblood, True Romance - and the list goes on.

Ed was juiced, and as he walked up to me he could tell I recognized him. He yelled something as he passed by, presumably on his way to Whiskey Park, and I smiled. I'm not going to pretend I'm too cool to be phased when I run into celebrities. I think it's pretty neat. To have the coach from Not Another Teen Movie brush past me shithoused with a 24 year old broad on his arm is enough to make anyone giggle.

Friday's Quizzlet: Did You Get My Voice Mail, Pilgrim?

Appetizer: Which season do you most look forward to?
The fall - no question about it. I hate the humidity of summer, and NorthEast winters can be nothing short of brutal. The fall is a reasonable mix of the two extremes - like metrosexualism. Boston is similar to Toronto in that there are usually about 3 weeks out of the year where you're actually comfortable - the rest of the time you're either too hot or too cold. In addition to leaf peeping, fall offers us football, Halloween and hockey. Usually, hockey. Don't get me started.

Soup: What day of the week is usually your busiest?
It depends on which squeaky wheel needs the grease, and how many vats. I enjoy my new position, but the daily tasks are intangible in many ways. Who is pissed off, who is confused, who is in danger of becoming pissed off or confused? It reminds me of the pursuit angles they teach you in football - anticipate where the relationship is going. I head more angry clients off at the pissed-off-pass than John Wayne did cattle rustlers.

Salad: Would you consider yourself to be strict when it comes to grammar?
Very. I have an English degree, afterall. It becomes a pain, however, as I'm now in charge of proofreading every proposal, press release - actually any piece of sales or marketing material that leaves this office. But I've decided how to get this off my plate, quickly. Slip in the odd Polish joke.

Main Course: Who has a birthday soon, and what will you give them as a gift?
Mike's b-day was this week and we had a BBQ for him at my sister's place last night. He actually gave me a present - he ripped and burned his father's Dean Martin celebrity roast DVD for me. These were the precursor and inspiration for the roasts you see nowadays on Comedy Central. Politically uncorrect, stuffed will all my favorite rat-packers and 70's celebrities and drop stone cold dead funny from beginning to end. So thanks, Mike, for helping me celebrate your birthday with Dino.

Dessert: If you could have any new piece of clothing free, what would you pick?
Another suit. I think I'm addicted now. Something in a pinstripe or maybe even a SeerSucker, perhaps? I could then get a job which requires me to wear a Seersucker everyday - CSI: Martha's Vineyard. Seamus could be my wacky partner who never gets to drive.

The Rolling Stone. And The Moss.

This will be the first weekend in what seems like an eternity that I will a) be in Boston, and b) not have anything remotely resembling 'plans'. I've been looking forward to it - as my apartment could use a once-over before the next imminent changing of the guard, and I have several building manager-related Schneiderish tasks that need my attention. I only wish I had a Miss Romano to compliment the handlebar 'stache.

As the weekend creeps closer, however, I'm starting to wish I had something tangible to do. I'm not saying I feel like traveling somewhere again - not at all. But a tabula rasa of a weekend, even in the midst of the most hectic summer in history, still seems a bit depressing. So here's what I'm going to do - I'm going to make it the most productive fucking weekend of my relatively young life so far.

I'm going to get up early on Saturday and head straight to the Beanstock Company for legal drug-induced energy. I'm going to sweep, mop, spackle, paint and re-arrange. I'm going to throw away a ton of crap I've been hanging on to like a sad, sentimental packrat. I'm going to spend a couple hours on the roof and keep this tan going. I'm going to go for a run. At night - I'm going to put my figurative nerd cap on (which I imagine would have a Deep Space Nine logo on it somewhere) and work on some of my websites - Goonblog in particular is doing really well traffic-wise and has already been linked to from 4 prominent hockey sites that have noticed it. Then Sunday I'm going to wake up and do it all over again.

So there's my weekend laid out like marzipan. The somber, sober, salacious Schneider.

Thirty One Flavors. And They All Taste Like Bourbon.

Jeepers, I almost forgot - a special little someone has a special little birthday today. It's been a fun beer, humor and indie rock fueled 17 year ride, Mike - and I'm glad the Swedes haven't lynched you yet (although they've certainly come close a time or two).



An eerie picture of the both of us up at the lake this past Friday night may set the stage for the next couple of decades: Out-of-doors, mind a million miles from work, cold and double-fisting. Have a good one, pal-o-mine.

Wednesday Wadio: Tragically Hip's 'Bobcaygeon'.

On "Bobcaygeon," the highlight of this album and possibly the Hip's best song ever, Downie's enigmatic lyrics paint a picture that accumulates detail with every listen. - Amazon

You can never predict what will inspire my choice for the Wadio from one week to the next - this time around, it was as simple as a fireside conversation with an old friend about his dock sales route. "Last week I went up through Napanee, stopped in Belleville, made a run down towards Trenton and then right back up to Bobcaygeon". I smiled and looked over at Moynihan, as I knew exactly what he was thinking - That's the town they mention in that Hip song!

The Tragically Hip's lineup has remained absolutely unchanged since 1983 when they started slugging away on the Ontario club circuit - and they've grown over the past 22 years to become the undisputed and revered godfathers of Canadian rock. My history with the Hip has been love/hate (read about it here). I have seen them live four times and their lead singer, Gord Downie, solo twice. I have grown slowly to love this band over two decades, and like Marmite - most people either love them or hate them.

Bobcaygeon is one of their more readily digestible dittys, and was once described by Downie as a "cop love song". The song weaves the tale of a man who hates his job and spends every waking hour longing to return to the arms of his significant other, and opens with two of my favorite lines ever: I left your house this morning about a quarter after nine / coulda been the Willie Nelson, coulda been the wine. Ah yes, Lovemaking - country-style. I wonder which one of them was holding the fly-swatter.

In the video, Gord is a Toronto horseback cop (not to be confused with RCMP), and his girlfriend is Native American. But the actual lyrics never get this specific, which is why I hate literal interpretations and music vids in general: Drove back to town this morning with working on my mind / I thought of maybe quitting / thought of leaving it behind / went back to bed this morning / and as I'm pulling down the blind / the sky was dull and hypothetical / and falling one cloud at a time.

Sounds like someone needs to pay a hasty visit to Monster.com. As the song progresses, the protagonist is involved in breaking up what sounds like a white power rally (which is probably why the woman is portrayed as ethnic in the video): In the middle of that riot / couldn't get you off my mind. He then returns home to the rural paradise that is Bobcaygeon, Ontario and resumes brooding/liquoring.

I love this song. The lyrics are simple - yet deep and engaging. The acoustic guitar is rustic and scratchy and the bassline dances around like a crazy person. As it slowly builds momentum towards the creshendo of the incident in Toronto, you learn volumes about this man and the remorse he has for his lot in life. Afterall, behind every suicidal cop, there's an indigenous woman.

The Legend of Don Dicisco.

Favorite Concord son, Goody, is spearheading an environmentally-friendly festival next month aimed at raising a little awareness - and a lot more money - so I wanted to give him a shout out. He's been pouring his heart and soul into this for months now and, if I'm not getting my next wedding dates mixed up, I will be headed up with some other C-town legends to show some support - Wells, Maclean and Bryant are also involved. I'll be twirling around with devil sticks whilst snacking on free-range chicken and organic goat cheese. I'll be slathering my filthy, unkempt armpits with patchouli and clearing chambers on a 10 foot binger. I'll be... passing the mic to Mike now:



The Legend of Don Dicisco is a one day art/music/ecology/energy/food festival that aims to illustrate the importance of contiguous habitat and contiguous thought. The event will raise money for a farm conservation project of the Vermont Land Trust and Audubon Vermont’s Environmental Education Program. The Legend includes a dozen artists exhibiting their work, six bands, a team of ecologists delivering talks/walks/demonstrations, working alternative energy displays and a celebratory feast comprised of foods from local farms. The Legend will take place Saturday September 17th at the Green Mountain Audubon Center in Huntington. Notable participants include Bernd Heinrich, Susan Morse, Robert Spear, VINS, NECI, Sunweaver, Chelsie Bush, Michael Rothschild, Abigail Pratt, Seth Jarvis, Gordon Stone, Paul Asbell, Jon Fishman.

Tickets are available through the Flynn Regional Box Office and may be purchased at http://www.flynntix.org or by calling 1-802-86-FLYNN.

For a full description of the event please visit: http://www.legend2005.org or contact Legend director Michael Goodwin at michael@legend2005.org or (802)234-9415.

We're Really Rockin' On The Rideau.

Saturday night, while up in Canada, our crew drove to Smiths Falls to an old family friend's house. Wentworth has lived in the same digs on the Poonamalie Lockstation for as long as I have been alive. We used to keep our boat, the PyeSeas docked nearby, and I spent a good portion of my childhood annoying people in the general vicinity. I'll mention this evening in greater detail when I get around to processing all the accompanying photos. For now - let's just say you haven't lived until you've heard 3 hours of Newfie jokes told by the drunken Newfies themselves.

"Did you hear about the Newfie 2-seater airplane that crashed near a cemetery? They've recovered 136 bodies and they're still counting."

The Rideau Canal System, was built by the British from 1824 - 1832: Back then, the Rideau was a wilderness of lakes, rivers and swamps. In the middle of this wilderness, with many men dying from malaria, an engineering marvel was created. Over 1,000 workers, the vast majority of whom were Irish or French-Canadian, died during construction. Considering the era and technology available, building the canal makes the Big Dig look like a half-assed sandcastle.

There are 23 locks on the system, and I've been through every last one of them. I carry many great summer memories of the community that surrounds boating up and down the waterway. As a child I was often bored - it can take hours to get through one station - but overall they were great times. I have to get crackin' on the long day ahead, but if you're interested read some more of the truly amazing history here.

Monday's Quotelet: Tastes Like Chicken.

Their international market share threatened by Japanese Bukkake, Indonesian niche pornography began pushing the envelope.

No Rest For The Wicked.

Janet and I are headed up to Portland again tonight to see the parents - this time with Mike and Joanna in tow. JJV may even make an appearance. If someone asked me if I was sick of all the traveling I have had to do this summer, I wouldn't give them some predictable, sarcastic answer. Not at all. Rather, I'd simply snatch up a blunt soup spoon and detatch one of their ears for them. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you some outdoorsy topics as I'm looking forward to the woods:

1. Have you ever been camping? If yes, do you go often? If not, why not?

2. Are you an outdoorsy person, or would you rather stay inside the comfort of your house? Why?

3. Which do you prefer, hot weather or cold weather? Why/why not? How do you cope with each?

Tight Hockey Fight Site.

The 3rd redesign just got sent back to us - and I love it. Ladies and Hooligans, Chris and I are proud to present - GoonBlog. Be sure to refresh the page a few times to see how the design cycles slightly, and we welcome your comments. There are still some layout/content shifts to work out (Hockey news RSS feed, calendar, etc.) but this is 95% of the finished product. Thanks to Mike from EWebscapes for putting up with our pickiness. Tell a friend.

Wednesday Wadio: Nouvelle Vague's "Friday Night..."

"But two o'clock has come again, It's time to leave this paradise. Hope the chip shop isn't closed, Cos' their pies are really nice. I'll eat in the taxi queue, Standing in someone else's spew. Wish I had lipstick on my shirt, Instead of piss stains on my shoes." - FNSM, The Specials.

Friday Night, Saturday Morning was a hit for The Specials way, way back in 1981 - And it's a ska-based, horn-heavy, seizure inducing masterpiece. It was one of the B-Sides to their hit "Ghost Town" (heard most recently in the movie "Snatch"), but it took on a life of it's own and eventually grew almost as popular as the song it was supplementing. It's a great snapshot of the life of a young English pisshead, and I'd bet several pints on it being a favorite of Mike Skinner's.

The irony in this song is that while the lyricist lives a highly social weekend, he spends quite a bit of time on the edge of the dance floor and still feels lonely when the night is over.

My sister played Nouvelle Vague's version of the song the last time we drove up to Canada and I fell in love immediately. NV is a French band who's claim to fame is not their own material - but rather covers of famous alt/indie rock favorites from the 80s. You can listen to more examples of their interpretations of hits by The Cure, The Clash and Joy Division here.

Their idea was to forget the initial punk or new wave background of each song, keep simple fundamental chords, work with young singers who never heard the orginal versions and make the quality of original songwriting happen in a completely different way. (bossa nova, jazz style and sixties pop).

I wouldn't count on this band being around 2 years from now, but it's a very cool idea and the project was well-executed. I love this record, and it's a definite must for any eightiesaphile. Providing you then make a point of tracking down all the originals, Duckie.

Pre-Nuptual Newport Naughtiness.

I'll get to posting photos and deep thoughts on Triconi's wedding eventually - on that note, please send me photos of the actual Saturday service if you were there as my camera malfunctioned for exactly 24 hours for some very strange reason and I missed out. To keep your gallery appetite whetted in the meantime, I proudly present a selection of ridiculous pics from Chris' bachelor party in Newport three weekends ago.



Eighteen holes of golf, a fifteen man party-bus, a thousand dollar-a-night Mohegan Sun suite. Well done to brother Matt, the organizer, and here's hoping everyone forgets my Ketel One induced towel-clad antics by the time the wedding rolls around next month. Enjoy.

Missing Connections Like My Name Was Craig.

We were cruising at about 35,000 feet last night when I started to notice that the Russian guy sitting two rows in front of me was just a little 'off'. It wasn't a gut feeling, or an inkling or a hunch. Rather - it was the fact that he got up, walked into the stewardess's galley and came out with two meals which he then proceeded to wolf down while the takeoff seatbelt sign was still on.

The stewardesses, hostesses, whatever you're supposed to call them nowadays - were towards the front of the cabin, but soon enough one of them walked back and caught Vladimir chowing down. And on a special, pre-ordered kosher meal no less. She looked at me incredulously and asked hypothetically "What the hell does he think he's doing?" To which an older man seated directly across the aisle from me answered "You need to get security watching that guy". Jason then threw in his $0.02 - very loud and in no uncertain terms, "I wanna knock that friggin' idiot out". I liked his idea better. It's a scary world, and when you're airborne airborne head-shaking and tut-tuting at the idiosynchracies of others should always be foregone in favor of one .45 caliber round behind the ear from an Air Marshall's glock.

I was supposed to get to my Boston office around 9 a.m. this morning. We had an overnight, red-eye flight from Vancouver to Toronto, and then an immediate connecting flight through to Boston. It was too perfect. In reality, we never stood a ghost of a chance of making the connection, and as 10 other Beantown hopefuls chirped at a gallery of Air Canada employees Jason and I choked back the bitter and got boarding passes for Pittsburgh.

From Pittsburgh we managed to eventually get to Boston a good 7 hours later. Due to a storm Saturday night, air traffic was backed up and we waited an hour on the tarmac and then another hour in a holding pattern before we finally got home. 20 hours, four airports, a rental car and a taxi later - I was unlocking my apartment door and being scolded by a cat. And it was heavenly. I do not want to see the inside of an airplane again for a very, very long time. Unless, of course, it's one of these.

Monday's Quotelet: Does Whatever A Spider Can.

After another home loss to the Sox, a suicidal Yankees fan momentarily forgets that Peter Parker has season tickets.

Where Does He Get Those Wonderful Toys?

We're four hours into the flight to Vancouver, and Tim Burton's Batman is better than I remember it. The first movie shown was Kicking and Screaming, but now Air Canada has gotten all retro on us. Jason and I enjoyed a lovely airline pancake breakfast and now he's reading The Perfect Storm while I struggle to keep from going truly batty in my cramped little aisle.

As we were waiting to board the plane at 7am, we ran into Jeff B. who's also going to the wedding and is sitting two rows behind us as I type. When we land, we're going to sync up somewhere in Vancouver proper and I imagine they'll end up in one of the city's new Amsterdammy cafes while I skulk around for a suit. Then - it's on to Whistler. We have to be at the hotel for a champagne reception by 8.

I think that somewhere in the middle of this very hectic, very short and phenomenally expensive (tack the new suit onto the already hefty tab) weekend - a really great time might emerge. So I press on in hope.

You Know How To Whistler, Don't You?

Jason and I are packing up and getting ready to ship out to Dougie's wedding at 5am tomorrow morning. I stopped by the dry cleaner's on the way home to get my suit - only to find out that this afternoon's North End explosions had rendered it evacuated. So either I'll be buying a suit out in Whistler, or attending the nuptuals in my Big Country T-shirt. And you all know how much I'd like that.



I will likely check in and do some Kerouac-esque road-blogging from British Colombia, but until then I'll leave you with a fun meme. Don't hurt yourselves:

Name three people (famous or personal friends) and the custom ringtones you’ve either set for them on your phone, or would if you could.

Grading The Goons.

You've all heard me mention GoonBlog several times over the last three months. It's actually been live for a few weeks now, and Chris and I have been hard at work in our rare spare time finding our voice and putting some content together while the graphic design takes place in the background. I have a lot of faith in this project for a variety of reasons, so I decided to pony up some duckets for a professional design.

We didn't want to 'roll it out' until it was 100% done - but I've just gotten the first mockup back from the graphic designer and I want some feedback before I give him another round of changes to make. Click here to go to the designer's site, and then select GoonBlog from the dropdown menu on the right.

I almost really like it. The gloves as a background image in each post, the Stanley Cups beside the titles, the center ice design at the top - but I'm not 'wowed yet' and I desperately want to be. The designer is obviously talented, and followed my exploratory round of suggestions to the letter, but it needs a 'little something'. Here are a few of my ideas, and I look forward to hearing some of yours, dear reader.

- Cartoon players are duking it out rather than checking.
- Post cell is shaded with a light grey instead of surrounded by a thin border.
- Less real estate used at the top of the screen for the graphics.
- "GoonBlog" is more condensed and both words are on the same line. Saves space and will allow us to repurpose it as a logo.
- Yank the crossed hockey sticks.

Those are some of my first impressions. Detroit and I look forward to some of yours. We didn't want to 'drop the curtain' before we officially 'dropped the gloves', but we have - so rip into it and slug us with some feedback. And be sure to have a look at the current version of the site so you can get the big picture/bored to frozen tears.

Wednesday Wadio: "Hearing Voices".

'Hearing Voices' ties with 'Another Day' for 1st place as my favorite Galaxie 500 songs of all time. Growing up just outside of Boston while this band was in its heyday in the late eighties, many of my close friends were into them and it was only a matter of time before I too blasted off. Like most Galaxie songs, a three year old with a head wound could learn how to play it in less time than it would take to a gnat to belch - but the melodic bass line and plodding guitar grab you in the first seconds and don't let go. This is definitely the sort of hypnotic tune you could swerve off the highway at night to. But that doesn't appear anywhere in the liner notes.

"I hear a jukebox, French fries and beer, And people are talkin somewhere..." Either the protagonist of this song lives above a bar, or he's off his meds - take your pick. And he's got superhero hearing if he's picking up the french fries and the beer. If this song contains any hidden meaning, then my powers of explication honed during 4 years of an English B.A. are completely baffled. But I love it and it's a good introduction to an extremely influential trio - see what you think by clicking on the radio to your left.

Jeff M. Writes: (He's not versed in the comments yet, apparently...)

Hey Dave,

I saw your Galaxie 500 post and I thought I would brag and tell you that I have Naomi's Bass amp that she used on all their records and tours. It has Galaxie 500 painted all over the road case and even has a handwrittten letter to her from the guy at Trace Elliot Amps with instructions on how to convert the voltage to 220 for their upcoming UK tour. I saw them open for Big Dipper at TT's in 1988 and recorded the BD set, but not the G-500 set. Oh well...

Bastard. Please will that signed Pixies poster to Mike, who will subsequently will it to me, at which point I will subsequently have you both snuffed.

A Deadly Anniversary.

I was driving in the “War Pig” (our '88 Ford half ton truck) when upon the radio, which only got Oldies 103.3, I could faintly hear “Alabama Getaway” by the Grateful Dead. I thought it strange that the station know for 50’s and 60’s hits would be playing the Dead, but I dismissed it, and turned it up. After the tune was over the DJ says, “sad news from California, Dead frontman Jerry Garcia was found dead this morning.” I was in Carlisle on a windy road, and when I got the news I damn near drove off the road. Jerry is dead. The Long Strange Trip is over. Wow. Heavy words to be sure. I picked up the radio and buzzed JD. He hadn’t heard the news, and was just as stunned.

Upon my return home, I came in the house, and grabbed the mail. In the box was an envelope with the unmistakable Steal Your Face symbol. My Fall tickets for several shows at the Garden, and RFK had arrived. Thanks for kicking me while I am down. My phone rang constanly for the next couple of hours. “Did you Hear”, and “Jerry’s dead” was the common theme. Stories of shows past, and theories on what the rest of the band was going to do were the most common topics. We thought of driving North, as Bob Weir was playing the Hampton Beach Casino Ballroom that evening, but instead, we went to the Razzi to comeserate over a couple of pints.

Henry was pissed. “Well, there goes the fucking fall tour” I think was his exact quote. We drank at the Razzi, and listened to the Dead. People that asked to have the music changed were met with a tirade of swears, and generally dirty looks from JD and I. Luckily we spent enough time and money in the joint we pretty much had the run of the place. When we had our fill, we walked home to sleep it off. It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 years since Jerry died. As the song says, the Music Never Stopped. RIP Jerry.

Submitted by Chris (aka Detroit Velvet Smooth).

The Pixies Are My Girlfriend.

Today started out pretty flipping rotten. The usual Sunday bout of insomnia stretched on until 4 a.m. - and a beeping hallway fire alarm battery compounded the problem. I awoke at 9 with little sleep and a lot less patience. When I got to work and discovered that our Exchange server was down, and we had no access to the internet or email, I looked a certain coworker up and down and wondered if his head would fit in the mail tube. Luckily it didn't.

Then, in the midst of trying to ram a business card holder up my own nostril, I got an email from a friend confirming a rumor I'd heard a week ago and then completely forgotten about - The Pixies were playing a 'secret' gig at the tiny Paradise, and 300 tickets had already gone on sale that morning which subsequently sold out in seconds. It seems the band needed some extra footage for a live DVD which is in the works, and the show had been kept under wraps because space was even more limited than usual due to all the video equipment required. I briefly cruised Craig's List looking for tickets/love and gave up when I saw absolutely zippy del nada. And anyway, I've seen the band 5 times in the last year and a half and figured I could sit this one out.



Then, around 3pm, I spoke to Moynihan who told me his brother Jeff was going down and I got the sultry damp Pixies itch (or Pixitch,) all over again. It was a special, mini-show with a small amount of civilians and the rest of the crowd made up of industry people and Pixies' family members. I'd heard enough - and immediately my fanatical dormant fanboy alter-ego took the controls and I posted feverishly on CL proclaiming my willingness to pay a silly amount of cash for a ticket. I was on the phone with a fairweather fan named Matt less than an hour later. Money talks, and hipsters who wait in line overnight can walk/fuck right off.

I was only able to get one ticket, and as I sat in T's pub by myself killing time before the show I felt very odd. But - it was what it was - and I knew I was lucky to be there at all. About 10 minutes after I sat down at the bar, David Lovering came in with a friend and stood right beside me. I met David on the street before I saw The Pixies at The Paradise in 1988 and it was as if things had suddenly come full circle. I approached him very calmly, shook his hand and wished him a great show. He was extremely nice and after speaking with him I walked over to the Paradise and headed inside. Albeit with the skippy fricking gait of a 12-year-old girl who'd just met Aaron Carter.

It was an incredibly cool scene inside - more like a TV show taping than a concert. I walked in and immediately located Jeff and his girlfriend. 10 minutes after I got there, the show started up and raged on unabated for almost 2 hours. I'll go into more detail when I get the photos developed (I bought a disposable for the occasion). We were literally 7 feet from the stage with cameras on mechanical arms flying all around us and the house lights up full-tilt. I hadn't been at such an intimate Pixies concert since 16 years prior when I stood in the exact same spot in the exact same building having the exact same hissy.

So I like the Pixies a whole hell of a lot, but it could be worse. Some folks substitute drugs, porn, prostitutes or a delightful mixture of all three in the absence of a signifigant other. If The Pixies are my substitute, that really ain't so bad. The little tart has been putting out a lot lately.

See an ongoing discussion of the show here.

Monday's Quotelet: Don't Make Me Cut You, Chucha!

Competitions during the Honduras Women's Prison Beauty Pageant included talent, swimsuit and vaginal smuggling.

Another Canuck Bites The Dust.

Perhaps the most effectively secretly Canadian celebrity of all time died tonight at age 67. First Scotty, and now Peter. It's been a rough month. Shatner - look both ways before crossing the street for the next little while, OK buddy?

Deaf Karaoke Jam.

I'd been at a pub with a friend for an hour or so last night, when the bartender told us that a Karaoke DJ was setting up. We rolled our eyes and started talking about our next move (the frick out of there) when a large group of 20-somethings invaded the place. As they ordered beer and talked amongst themselves, it quickly became apparent that they were all hearing impaired - hands were flying wildly in conversation and folks were writing messages for the bartender to read. We decided to order one last round and sit tight, as it was deaf-initely about to get very interesting. See what I did there?

After a regular got up and did the worst version of "With or Without You" I've ever heard, the deaf kids started getting into the action. They read the words off the monitor and tried to keep time with the music. Maybe they could feel the vibrations of the music - I have no idea - but they all get an 'A' for effort in my book. At the conclusion of every song, the crowd went wild and the smiles those people had on their faces when stepping of the stage were a sight to behold. Good for them.

Friday's Quizzlet: Crowded House Of Pain.

Appetizer: Briefly describe your living room.
You can have a look for yourself right here. Note the mugshot of a young Sinatra (it's the same photo you can see on the wall of Tony Soprano's office) then there's the singing Dean Martin doll, the Tragically Hip tour pster over the fireplace, way too many DVDs, The Bullitt poster to the left of the fridge, a James Dean, a DeNiro and finally Tony from Big Country strumming away on the television. The middle of the big white couch is where I write the majority of my entries here - so welcome to my world. And if you want to see what the place looks like when the Concord or Welland boys come to visit, we can do that too.

Soup: List 3 things you'd like to accomplish before the end of 2005.
I'd like to complete all of the half-finished websites I have 'in development'. A friend recently called me a 'fanatical collector of domain names' and she's right - but there's a few good ideas lurking amongst all the false starts, and I need to focus them into some revenue streams. But likely I'll just start building filthy clown porn sites because according to my server logs, that's an unexploited niche. Picture a red rubber nose that can also be repurposed as a ball gag, and you'll see where I'm going with this/throw up.

Salad: When you're online, what do you spend the most time doing?
Managing PPC accounts, checking on client rankings, hunting for custom made jewelry and looking for that perfect Boston Interior Designer. Nate sent me this site today where people combine band names. I submitted my own this morning and we'll see if it gets published. "Pack it up, pack it in, let me rock it like the Finns..."

Main Course: What would the title of your autobiography be?
"Pull the Trigger". I need to stop spinning my wheels about so many things in my life. I am getting better. I've pulled the trigger a few times recently. And if you're giggling about the potential for euphamisms here, Punch the Clown instead.

Dessert: What time do you usually go to bed?
Far too late. If I don't get 7 hours, I'm luggage. And I'll never learn. But I have a sleeping disorder and many episodes of the brilliant Rescue Me to catch up on. If anyone has a bottle of sleeping pills they're not using, properly and responsibly dispose of them by sending them directly to me.

The English Mental Patient.

You all remember Taz, don't you? Here's a lovely little joke I found from him in my inbox this morning. I'm a bit strapped for time today, so please have a giggle and talk amongst yourselves. I will get to the Quizzlet eventually.

A bloke is in a queue at the Supermarket when he notices that the rather dishy blonde behind him has just raised her hand and smiled hello to him.

He is rather taken aback that such a looker would be waving to him, and although familiar he can't place where he might know her from, so he says, "Sorry... do you know me?" She replies "I may be mistaken, but I thought you might be the father of one of my children!"

His mind shoots back to the one and only time he has been unfaithful. "Christ!" He says, "Are you that stripogram from my stag night that I shagged on the snooker table in front of all my mates whilst your mate whipped me with some wet celery and stuck a cucumber up my arse!?"

"No." she replies coldly,"I'm your son's English Teacher."

Twinkle, Twinkle Littlest Bar.

Downtown Crossing's infamous Littlest Bar is closing its grimy doors after 60 years of service to Boston's booze-bags. To make way for, you guessed it, detestable yuppie condos. Gentrification usually isn't a bad thing, as far as I'm concerned. I'd rather live in close proximity to Biff and Buffy than crackheads and hookers any day of the week. Especially after my well publicized incident with a crackhead hooker. And by 'any day' I'm referring to Saturdays - because that's when their rates go up.



But now we're talking about the demolition of a stagger-inducing institution. A lowly liquored landmark loved by lots of lushes. I've written about this wonderful and historic establishment before, and there's also a gallery of photos from Jim's b-day that were taken onsite. My first date with a former girlfriend took place at the Littlest. I took Triconi there the night before his engagement party. I'm seriously bummed. If you have any memories of the Littlest that don't include Monster necking with a sea donkey, please share them in the comments below. Good night, sweet pub.

Wednesday Wadio: "Mississauga Goddamn".

Even though these guys are from my old stomping groud of Mississauga, I had started listening to them long before I knew that. I think that's important to note, as I've been accused of glorifying the Canadian mundane before. "Gordon Lightfoot could belch into a pinhole camera and you'd call it Sgt. Pepper, Pye." Be that as it may, the two albums I've recently discovered by The Hidden Cameras have brightened up my week and I wanted to share.

It was hard to pick just one song to throw onto Radio Pye (which you'll see in the left-hand column) but I finally settled on "Mississauga Goddamn" off their most recent album of the same name. The track has been described as "An elegiac moonlit stroll through Gibb's old stomping grounds, accompanied by a sparkling Velvety strum and twinkling xylophones, it's the bittersweet sound of a young man who can't help but feel a soft spot in his heart for a place that did its best to harden it." I can think of a few things that hardened me while I lived in them there parts - mainly my first girlfriend Suzanne, and usually behind the strip mall with the Beer Store on Lorne Park Road. But I digress. Enjoy the tune.

The Way We Were.

"Mem’ries, Like the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories, Of the way we were." - An Awful Harpy.

10 years ago, I was on a 24K dial-up connection at University which was constantly being interrupted by lovesick housemates. I used something called PINE to read my email, and my address was dpye@uoguelph.ca. I frequented mIRC instead of instant messagers, used Altavista.com as my search engine of choice and would happily wait over 5 minutes for CNN.com to load. And by CNN.com I of course mean Danni's Hard Drive.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of the gold rush, have a look at this collection of screenshots to see how some of your favorite sites looked as recently as 5 years ago. It's hard to believe, and it's only going to get crazier. By the time I'm forty, I fully expect to be surfing the net on the inside of a pair of sunglasses whilst video IM'ing with people on my wristwatch. As well as hopelessly addicted to Nuke.

Monday's Quotelet: I Wannabe A Dog.

The Spice Girls' reunion tour was canceled suddenly after Posh licked herself in front of an audience of 2nd graders.