The Big Green House

Regis Philbin?

Hello, and welcome to the end of 2004. And not a minute too soon, either. Speaking personally the year was a good one, over all, but in a more general sense it stank on ice. So, out with the old, etc., etc.

Expect a few minor changes in The Big Green House in the coming year. Nothing huge. You’ll be seeing more record reviews, I think. I might do a little housekeeping and may even change the template, although that idea fills me with fear. I do not have very good luck with such things.

At any rate, y’all have a Happy New Year, and be careful if you’re gonna be on the road tonight. As for me, I’m heading home as soon as possible – I have a warm fiancée and some cold Champagne (alas, I can only afford the cuvee) waiting for me there.

Chin-chin!

Hey you! Yeah, YOU!

I’m breaking radio silence for a very good reason: Science Girl found a site listing contact information for charities providing disaster relief to areas affected by the tsunami this weekend. As bad as things are now, they’re only going to get worse in the coming days and weeks. If we all pitch in a little, we can help lessen the suffering of countless millions of people. This is the place: Network for Good. More contact info is available here.

Hello, I must be going

Hey kids! Howzit goin'? I hope Santa was as good to you as he was to me. I'm thinking that it's gonna be kinda quiet around here until after the first of the year, as I've got a couple of other projects going on. Nothing big, but they do need to be dealt with. Y'all play nice until then, OK?

Happy cats and baby whales

Okay. It’s Xmas Eve, I’m here at work with Lucy on my lap. We’re looking at the news on line, and it’s all pretty shitty. (With the possible exception that we may finally have a new governor, maybe, after the next round of appeals. *sigh*)

So, in the spirit of peace on earth and good will toward everyone, I give you Happy Animal Stories. Relax, I’m not gonna make a habit of it.

First up: A bus full of homeless cats up for adoption. I saw a bus out in front of the petstore mentioned in the story the other day. Now I'm sorry I didn't stop to check it out. Good luck to all homeless kitties seeking adoption. To keep them company, here’s a picture of Martin in his Fortress of Solitude.

Also: Newborn orcas in Puget Sound. No pix for that one, sorry.

So there. Happy Holidays, y’all.

They've got cars big as bars

Happy Christmas to everyone from the UK looking for "the boys from the NYPD choir' or "Kirsty McCall". There's really not much on the web about her, is there? I'll see if I can do some research and remedy that. In the meantime, thanks for stopping by.

We all need someone we can bleed on

I’ve always been reluctant to write about work or things that happen there. It’s just generally not very smart. However, I just had a conversation that was simultaneously charming and odd, and frankly I’m compelled to write it out, if for no other reason than to record it. To cover my own ass, I’m going to be vague about a few details. Forgive me.

Here’s the scene: I’m at my desk; since nothing is going on tonight, I’m reading the copy of Please Kill Me that Science Girl gave me yesterday. One of the people I come into contact with on virtually a daily basis walks by the desk, and stops to chat with me. She is a very neatly dressed woman in perhaps her late sixties – early seventies. She is originally from France, so her very carefully enunciated English is still fairly heavily accented. Very much the proper grand-mère. For our purposes here, I’ll call her Bernadette, just because I like that name.

Bernadette: May I ask what it is you are reading?

Me: (shows cover of book) It’s a history of punk rock.

B: Ah. Would that cover the Rolling Stones? (pronounced  ze Wolleeng Stoughns)

Me: Um, no. This took place a little later.

B: You know, I just bought their album Forty Licks. I like it very much.

Me: (intrigued) Oh?

B: Yes. Do you like the Rolling Stones?

Me: I do, yes, although I prefer their earlier work.

B: Earlier?

Me: Well, my favorite is Let It Bleed. And Exile on Main Street is quite good, as well. They’re both from the early 70s.*

B: These are… they are albums?

Me: Yes.

B: Are they available on CD?

Me: Yes, they are.

B: Would you write down those titles for me please?

Me: Certainly. (does so)

B: Now, the bands in the book you are reading – who are they?

Me: Um, The Ramones, The New York Dolls, The Velvet Underground, Patti Smith…

B: These are all Americans?

Me: Yes. The book deals with punk rock in New York. There was also punk which came from England: The Sex Pistols…

B: Ah, yes!

Me: …The Buzzcocks, The Clash…

B: Yes, yes. Tell me, do you know of a current band similar to the Rolling Stones?

Me: (freezes up, due to the unexpectedness of this entire conversation) Locally?

B: No, not locally.

Me: (thinking frantically) Um, well… I think Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds would be somewhat comparable.

B: They are American?

Me: No, he’s Australian…

B: Ah. Would you also write down that name?

Me: Yes, of course. (does so)

B: Thank you very much. I will look into these.

Me: You’re very welcome. (As she turns to leave) Please tell me what you think of them when you do.

B: I will. Thank you again.

And with that, she turned and left me to pick my jaw up off the floor. If she’d asked me where she could buy mescaline, I don’t think I would have been much more surprised. I do hope she keeps me posted.

*OK, so Let It Bleed actually came out in 1969. Sue me.

If he came from Venus, would he feed us with a spoon?

Say hey, kids, I’m back in the saddle. Many thanks for the kind birthday wishes. You’ve made a happy man very old, if I may steal a line from Morrisey.

Among the many ways Science Girl made my birthday a special one was by giving me a CD of The Replacements’ Pleased To Meet Me. It’s no Let It Be – it’s far too polished for that, and besides, Bob Stinson (rest his soul) wasn’t on board – but it’s pretty damn good all the same. The anarchy ain’t really there anymore, so it’s just some solid rock & roll (and a little lounge music on “Nightclub Jitters”). You could do worse. I’ve had “Alex Chilton” (the song, not the musician) stuck in my head since yesterday morning, alternating with “I.O.U” and “Valentine” and “Can’t Hardly Wait” (although I mentally strip the horns offa that one).

It’s the last halfway decent ‘Mats album before the descent into the slush of Don’t Tell A Soul and the death throes of All Shook Down, AKA Paul Westerberg’s first solo project even though it was billed as a Replacements album, AKA the album no one ever really wants to talk about. But that was still a few years down the road when Pleased To Meet Me came out. Let’s remember the happy times, shall we?

I wasn't born so much as I fell out

Well well well. As of about 2 AM tomorrow, I will be all of forty-four years old. How the hell that happened, I have no idea. Yet here I am, living proof that middle age is a sneaky, treacherous bastard that will leap upon you when you least expect it and age you like a cheap-ass bottle of Night Train. Spend enough time fucking around doing nothing and eventually it’ll happen to you, too.

How old is 44? Let me put it this way: Eisenhower was president when I was born. I don’t remember him, though. I do remember seeing the train carrying JFK’s body back east on the TV. Television back then was all black and white, by the way. I recall the little bumpers the networks would put in front of shows when they made the big change; “Up next on ABC – Bewitched. IN COLOR!”

By now I figured we’d have flying cars and vacation time-shares on the moon. I am somewhat disappointed that these things have not come to pass. Ditto the videophone. On the other hand, the PC I’m typing on is pretty groovy; back then, a computer with this much memory would have been the size of a two bedroom house.

And so it goes. I’ll be taking tomorrow off of work, so I most likely won’t be posting. Have fun.

You gotta do it 'til you're through it so you better get to it

Work is seriously kicking my ass tonight, up one side and down the other. It ain’t pretty. No post tonight, although I might throw something together later on, once I’m unwinding with cat on lap and beverage in glass.

Why do they hate America?

Poll: Nearly half of all Americans support restricting rights of Muslim Americans

Judge blocks count of newly discovered ballots in governor's race

Report: Yanks acquire Big Unit in three-team trade

Please. STOP... HURTING... AMERICA.