the intern at the office where i now live (i know, right?) is just over from finland, but is actually from south dakota.

billy blue: what were you doing in finland?
jason (the intern): i have a finnish wife.
me: huh! i also have a finnish wife– everytime i get started, she’s already finnish.

points removed for not having said “husband”, as jumping the gun (as it were) is more commonly associated with the less-fair sex. so much so that in this form this joke actually doesn’t make sense. well, we do, doodley do, doodley do, doodley do, what we must, muddily must, muddily must, muddily must; muddily do, muddily do, muddily do, muddily do, until we bust, bodily bust, bodily bust, bodily bust.

today’s post on the HBML blog has turned into a reader-submitted list of candy crust bands, i only point this out because it’s super funny and you RSSivoir dogs might not get the comments.

been eating a lot of purple and blue foods (got blueberries to eat with my asparagus, plus cabbage rice and ginger tofu as a standard lunch until i eat all the cabbage / the cabbage goes bad). i keep thinking of what CK1 said to her little sis, taking home ec at the time, who told her that rice left out more than 20 minutes enters “the danger zone”: “melissa, everything i eat is from the danger zone”. also while i’m quoting our lady of stackitude, homegirl called to wish happy solstice and we discussed being recent aunts/uncles: “when i’m holding this baby, it’s the only time my brain isn’t singing la bamba”. GOD BLESS

• what demon possessed me while i behaved so well?

• the vital heat is not to be confounded
• rich as a savage
• DO NOT EXCHANGE YOUR WIGWAM

also, dmo points to this recent ripley’s. this is printed in newspapers, which luckily, children do not read.

“first, you look at it, then you smell it, then you touch it, then you taste it, then you eat it” is a scientific method that dan wars observed from a kitten. when i told ben hersey at the actual poetry school party, he was holding a small plate of barbeque sauce and looking bummed. a smile wetted his face and he said so quietly “that’s it!”. then louder, and both of us: “first you look at it” (look at the barbeque sauce), “then you smell it” (smell it), “then you touch it” (touch the barbeque sauce), “then you taste it” (dot our tonguetips), “then you eat it!” (duh). “what are you guys doing?” “FIRST YOU LOOK AT IT! THEN YOU SMELL IT, THEN YOU TOUCH IT, THEN YOU TASTE IT, THEN YOU EAT IT!”. and then over and over and over and over and over. when we got to the party it was an acoustic open mic and we were getting shushed for giggling if you can believe it. pretty soon it was everyone screaming in unison and eating tiny tiny bits of barbeque sauce. ben hersey for emotional president! SHUT DOWN 2008

this was the last weekend of our play, and it went great. except for the time i ate the cigarette and all the oreos and the tiny whiskey bottle and the multiple party pizzas and getting the same hand slammed in the car door twice, i did exceptionally well for my health– lots of stretching, lots of fresh fruit and nuts, and i chugged a quart of water every two hours like clockwork. plus lots of people enjoyed the play, and of course we continued to enjoy ourselves immensely. back in crowtown now and a particular sense of… normalcy? which is to say, working and not working on a million different things already/again/still.

oh yeah, dan, one of the stars of the play (a poet, naturally) is a secret hair punk that used to date one of the pinkerton thugs! small world, huh?

saturday i had lunch with my sister and her family, which now includes a baby, as previously noted. unlike the last time i saw her (her the baby), she can focus her eyes, so she was heavy eyeing just about everything. i was clowning a little, then i realized that a baby doesn’t have encoded the “set of agreed reality” that makes things that are commonly funny commonly funny. they were in town for stephanie’s wedding. congratulations steph! stephanie can be heard here and there on the “interview with a frankenstein audio issue” from some years back, which i should put on online already.

ran to the store two hours late where i found mike benedetti waiting to tell me that tom lewis passed away. tom was a great guy and a friend to mike and the snow ghost, and a teacher to ML, jambuck and d-bird. unfortunately i never got to really span time with him, we just hung out at pizza hut once, and he came to the HBML volunteer meeting. nonetheless he was an inspiration– scott wrote a really good testimonial on the pie and coffee page.

that night, a show at the wheelchair. the show was good, lots of good bands, the best of which was no fucker, an awesome d-beat band from utica with two (!) wah wah pedals (bass wah and the other kind) on the guitar. the craziest “brain drill” sound yet. d-beat is a genre that descended (with minimal change) from the band discharge, who had a distinct visual style, a trademark off-kilter drum beat, and the constant lyrical theme of nuclear armageddon. matt smith was at the show and intimated that they were pretty much third wave d-beat, via disclose. it’s interesting to see the attention to detail, and to see what is now a fairly large scene based off a fairly small sample set. all d-beat bands use one of two discharge fonts, one of which is based on a single instance of magic marker scrawl of the word “discharge” used on one of their logos, which someone later extrapolated an entire alphabet out of. no fucker used the magic marker font, which i’m sure to anyone else looked like just a hastily scrawled note. so it’s interesting, but i have to mention, i’m watching a bunch of kids singing along to outrage about nuclear holocaust, currently in fashion, but tom lewis was 68 years old, and stayed poor, and refused job offers so that he’d have the freedom to go to jail for his outrage about nuclear holocaust. i don’t know everyone’s politics at the show, i’m not saying that people don’t believe in these songs, and i couldn’t tell anyone what is and is not appropriate response to a lifetime of possible obliteration. i just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

the other interesting thing at the show was the there was a fight and purtle got a little manhandled (but not roughed up). exactly what was at the center of thingss, no one can be 100% sure of. but i’m pretty sure it was a case of a few wasted older dudes straight up olderwastedduding it, and trying to prove themselves to themselves (one was celebrating a 35th birthday). anyway they singled out jen millis as keeper of a score that needed settling, so they barked back and forth while the dudes waited for someone to jump to her rescue, and this person, they would fight. well purtle knew some of the guys from years back so he stepped in to say “this is nothing, don’t worry about it”, which had success with the main lout but his buddy said naw, and grabbed purtle by the neck, as if to choke him. i saw this from the door and had two thoughts in quick succession– the first was pretty obvious and immediate: if purtle gets beat up, i get beat up. or to put it another way, i will not allow him to get beat up alone. the second thought was that this first thought was pretty much universal, and sure enough, even the manhandler’s pals jumped up to say “whoa! what are you doing? we love this guy!”. almost immediately it all simmers back down to merely “a tense situation”, as everyone there that didn’t see it happen (seriously, everyone) asks “was someone fucking with mike leslie? because we’ll kill them!”. we both left while things were still tense, but i spent some time talking to a friend of the choker’s, trying to keep him occupied and convince him, uh, that everything was nothing. on this conversation i have a further three points:

• the guys were mostly skins, and as such, clung to the curious victimhood of “people always think we’re neonazis, but really that’s got nothing to do with it”. this statement is mostly true– traditional skinhead culture is old ska and other reggae-variant music, and general football hooliganism. then the look (the dress and sound) was co-opted by fascist groups and as such made an impression in the popular imagination. but any whining doesn’t hold much to me– i mean, even charlie chaplin shaved his mustache after “the great dictator”.

• the guy gave two explanations for the tension: “that girl put a cigarette out on that guy’s face” and “that girl called my friend a jock”. the first is pretty extraordinary, but given the girl in question, i’d have to say, if it happened, it happened for a reason. the second one seems pretty likely, but that the two are offered as reasons for the same action gives both the same weight, which is pretty crazy, especially when you are talking to a weightlifter (technically a jock, although that’s a still a loaded term).
• the guy described himself and his friends as “old school punk rock dudes”, and did so as if to justify their actions, and as if to say “you guys aren’t real or you’d recognize this”. but historically, loutish bald brawlers are not the oldest school in punk rock– the oldest school consists of skinny arty kids of indeterminate orientation and weird shopkeepers that sell bondage gear to teenagers! i realized this on the bike ride home and got pretty psyched.

so i think pretty much nothing happened afterwards, or i would’ve caught wind of it. all in all it’s like dr king said 40 years ago this week, on the eve of his assassination: “It is no longer a choice between violence and nonviolence in this world; it’s nonviolence or nonexistence.”. well, that’s how it is for an all-ages punk venue anyway.

ssunday me and ML drove out to easthampton for the first big practice for this play we’re in at the end of the month (”go to the chateau”). it went really good, and we both had a great time, and i feel like we did a lot better than everyone else in the play (actors all) thought we would.

friday i had so much fun that all-day saturday i had a fun hangover. and no drinking (except a few sips of champagne), just lots of fun, which caused me, the next day, to be a little bit slow and a teeny bit bummed and just generally “the next day”.

the day (friday) started off pretty bogue, messing up a silkscreen over and over, as noted earlier. then i met up with my western mass connection and drove to the store, went to donkey dog nuts and got coffee, and from there everything pretty much took off. josh’s show was (and is) really great, and he made a gorgeous zine / catalog, with lots of drawings from the show and lots of other stuff too. really really awesome. at one point we got really hungry and wanted quan yin, so we just called up and ordered “three good meals”, which worked out pretty good, despite QY being closed, and our call getting rerouted to the buddha hut (which as mentioned is inferior for all applications that don’t involve sketched-out parents). good turnout at the show, and mariah pariah brought a silver tray of cookies, regular and girl scout (thanks mariah!). after closing, my northampton pals drove home to see black pus, grey skull, and fat worm of error (which was in josh’s house). i wanted to go but i would have had no ride home, so i opted out. donny said the show went good and the boredoms were in the crowd, which is pretty epic, and i feel a mild pang for having missed it, the boredoms being my favorite band for a period of three years (and grey skull being awesome). nonetheless i feel i made the right move, going instead to the punk show– apeshit, CFL, dungeoneers and more at the wheelchair.

at past shows at the wheelchair, as perhaps astute readers may have gleaned, i felt like quite the sore thumb, being as a matter of course older (for the most part), soberer (with some exceptions), and not in the perceived uniform. ok, so this is pretty much all in my mind, but friday, while i sure didn’t blend or melt, i realized that sometimes a salad only has one or two croutons, and no part is not not-part-of-the-salad. RITE? so i got my head in the proper place, and as the night went on, i felt more and more in heaven, or rather, on the earth of shared creation: ML completely shredding the ramp with a wig on the whole night; me, dancing hard in a fred astaire vein hand in hand with a beautiful rogue ginger rogers, buffeted in waves of soggy t-shirts and greasy moptops. at one point the afore-mentioned champagne bottle rolled off a ramp and stood spinning on it’s side in a crowd that immediately formed a circle. the bottle slowly slowed and stopped, two sweaty lads embraced. i always cry at weddings.

ON DANCING:
i was at dinner with my mother not a month ago, talking about the sort of shows i go to and the show my aunt’s neighbor went to at the palladium where his jaw got broken. i made the case that violent dancing can be a display of aggression, and an extension of fighting, or it can be a display of affection, and an extension of hugging, and i only attend instances of the latter. this is a good way to frame it if the discussion ever comes up, but there are times (and they are the best times) when crazy dancing- fast, reckless, with equal parts abandon and trust- is neither display nor extension, but everything rolled up at once. we’re careening into flowing robes territory now, but you know: times when you realize you’re not just in the world, you are the world. on that mississippi john hurt album that pars likes (and that i like) there’s a great song about dancing crazy, and he sing/says: “i’ll be there and you’ll be there, and i’ll meet you in the soup, and we’ll get all mixed up”. that’s it!

ALSO:
apeshit played an impromptu set and even though we don’t really know each other so good it was great to see circle pat again. pat will mosh at a single dropped hat– when he sees a mike & ike on the ground, or when he finds out that a small pizza is $2 on tuesday, and it’s tuesday.

ALSO:
as i was leaving, getting my stuff, which i stashed behind a moldy loveseat, the meaty fellow displaced by actions said “get a load of this nerd”. well the girls he was trying to build himself up to were none other than those excellent warhol-looking teens and they sure tore in– “that’s jacob- he runs HBML and he rules etc.”. well, you could have knocked me over with a feather! i set out alone into the night, with big lazy snow sparsely falling, singing, almost keeping pace with a train gliding silently towards the yard.

weird snow bursts notwithstanding, it’s spring sure enough. oh, also the auction of the shop got delayed until may 1, so i figure we’re set for at least the summer through.

i’m mousing around waiting to get picked up to go drink robot hot chocolate at the bowling place. image of the day is this new ed ruscha painting, via dolores labs.

i’m listening to the leak of the new silver jews record “lookout mountain, lookout sea”. as pointed out to me, the record contains the line “romance is the douche of the bourgeoisie.”.

NB: i spelled “bourgeoisie” right on the first try.

by my records,

this is post # 2000. here’s a quick rundown of the next 2000 posts:

and remember:

Fujichia: success and viscosity!

tonight pars called me up and a group of us watched 1967’s “dr doolittle” and drank some RBFs (my man willy shakes knows what i’m talking about here). i hadn’t seen dr doolittle since i was but a lad, and only three days ago in the car i heard a radio program about what a flop this movie was, but when pars says movie, jacob berendes grabs a blanket. when pars says keno, jacob berendes sharpens a #2 pencil. when pars says human growth hormone, jacob berendes rolls up a sleeve. in any event, the movie was no swiss family robinson, but it was not without merit. my understanding is that rex harrison was drunk for the duration of the filming, which was probably a good move on his part. regarding the famous ape who costarred:

In retirement Cheeta lives at a primate sanctuary called Creative Habitats and Enrichment for Endangered and Threatened Apes (or CHEETA) in Palm Springs, California. He watches television and makes paintings which are sold to benefit primate-related charities. He often watches his old films with his grandson, Jeeter. He also likes to leaf through books and “play” the piano.

Cheeta became the longest-lived chimpanzee known when he reached 64 in 1996. He is cited by the Guinness Book of World Records as the world’s oldest non-human primate.

The October 4, 2006, edition of the Palm Springs newspaper, The Desert Sun, reported that Cheeta received his first-ever visit from famed primatologist Jane Goodall the previous day.

Cheeta is still alive at the age of 75 as of 2008. His 75th birthday was celebrated on 9 April 2007, at his “Casa de Cheeta” in Palm Springs at an event hosted by Dan Westfall and Diane Weissmuller, (Johnny Weissmuller, Jr.’s widow). The press and many Palm Spring celebrities attended.

He has taken on a literary agent ahead of the publication of his autobiography, Me Cheeta, expected in October 2008.
cheeta: retirement

yessssssssssssss.

work on the store is going good, thanks everyone for putting in t-shirt orders, keep them coming! more mail-order shit on the way. also in two weeks we’re doing a fashion shoot to draw attention to all the weird clothes we have, featuring a stylist available to help pick you pick out a bumpinin outfit, electric fan to blow your hair all up, lights, backdrops, and a REAL LIVE FASHION PHOTOGRAPHER (little andrew) telling you to work it and be poutier and to give it and so on. keep giving me your ideas for events…

I dedicate this post to the cheese-cube crushers. I dedicate this post to the makers of soap carving. I dediate it to the makers of “The Secret of Williams Well.” I dedicate it to the book demolishers. I dedicate it to the bloggers extaordinare. I dedicate it to Art Stars.

Art Stars, you have taught your students well. Before you I couldn’t draw for my life. Now… I still can’t draw for my life, but I know words like tetrahedron, and the firetruck red has blue in it.

from fort rochambeau (andrew oesch’s after school class’ blog)

friday i had a super-great time driving in cars, dining with pars, and opening jars. thanks universe!

bought some new records at armageddon shoppe. you were right about me not regretting buying the bo diddley record. i’ve always loved that other musicians have a song or a style or a sound that is theirs, while bo diddley is (to my knowledge) the only musician to have a rhythm. chuck, chuck, chuck, ka-chuck chuck. bo diddley is a gunslinger. the new daniel higgs record is good, but i heard the previous one on the drive to miami, that’s the one i need. the sword heaven record- good. the latest kites record- they didn’t have it, but they had it on cd, but i listen to records.

i’m listening to the daniel higgs record again, i’m going to sleep.

new organs if we but cultivate their need

[…] immortal fangs with which to butcher the carcass of time

this tuesday there’s a show at the fIREHOUSE with electroacoustic darling geoff mullen, improv percussionist eli kezsler, and plasma TVs (which is a new approach from me). also, there will be DIM SUM, which is to say, we are making a lot dumplings for the occasion. this is another early show, so doors at 6pm, music at 7. if you are inclined to bring a dish of some sort of fingerfood (vegan preferably), please do so and be greatly appreciated! deserts are applicable.

also on the chinese food tip, duck yao is back in a weekly formation, fridays and saturdays from 5 to 9. “Food is cheap: entrees under $7. There are taro tater tots and homemade wonton soup. There are fried balls for every gastro-desire.” yessssssssss!!!!!!!!! BE IT. write me for the address.

oh, and on the noise/improv w/non-musical eastern influence tip, western mass had a noise yoga show last week in a yoga studio with a for-real yoga instructor, a bunch of noise nerds, and a bunch of bands (incl. noise nomads and shirt quitters). IILWTMW!

this came up the other day, but today i finally looked up “138″ and what it means (in re: the misfits “we are 138“). i guess a casual glance at the lyrics makes it evident that it’s in reference to george lucas’ “THX 1138″, but the we are 138 wiki has a lot of way better ideas, including but not limited to:

• Some say that 138 is the Police code for “Drunk and Disorderly conduct”.

• 138 is the highest The Misfits had come on “the charts” at the time.
• It’s about sex (69 x 2 = 138).
• It’s police code for grave robbing.
• In the Jewish mystical tradition of Kabbalah, the number 138 is said to refer to any ghoulish display of horror.
• The song refers to the year 138 A.D., in which the Roman emperor Hadrian adopted Antoninus Pius on condition that Antoninus adopt Marcus Annius Aurelius Verus. The song is told from the perspective of Marcus Aurelius.
• The song refers to the asteroid 138 Tolosa, which was first observed by Henri Joseph Perrotin on June 23, 1875, exactly 85 years before Danzig’s birth.
• It means nothing.
• In Rocky III, there were 139 men auditioned for the role of “Thunderlips,” a role which eventually went to Hulk Hogan. The song is from the perspective of the men who didn’t get the role. This also explains the mention in the song of “Eye of the Tiger”.
• The “1″ represents a penis, the “3″ a scrotum, and the “8″ a pair of breasts, symbolizing that Danzig feels like an objectified, sexualized piece of meat.
• Killing without emotion.
• It was the number of Danzig’s father’s remarkably violent military unit in World War II.

i had heard the “killing without emotion” one, but i forget in what system 138 is code for just that. my favorite of course is the third from last, which reminds me of cool breeze’s “make 13 = pull someone’s pants and underpants down”. see also 138 openings to wisdom and just 138 words.