Archive for the 'rocknroll' Category

Toes Across the Floor

If you like nasty rock and roll, watch this.

Coming to Stoneyville, September ’08




My music scene is picking up big time, after about 3/4 year off. First Willz last week, just bot Arctic Monkeys at Palladium, and going to White Stripes in September.

Reminds me of last year, when I saw Willz, TOOL, YeahYeahs and Strokes in a month.

Talk about SPENT!

Venice Beach: The Freakshow

As i have visited californ-i-a twice now and long to join me fellow scallywags in their pirate adventures in la la land, i feel a tribute to their base is in order.  well, i have been to many parts of the city including the four parts jp has seen in his two years there. 

dodger stadium is sweet, but roasts in the desert mountains.  roughty, make sure you bring your spf 75 and slob it on with every pitching change, which will most likely be every inning as both clubs will sorely mistaken their inadequate rotations and bullpens with fatigue, weather, or some other ludicrous excuse. 


East L.A. and the DR:

Sweet as well.  I feel suit will find a home in the drawing room and the relative diversity in relation to the rest of la in the former paradise that stoney called home.  you must absolutely show the former kingdom in all its glory and cold showers.  this was the first place i found in my visits to la with true, unsuperficial culture.  remember my 4:00 am walkabout in search of a sip of any liquid in my half drunken, half hungover stupor as stoney had neither drink nor refrigeration.  i walked at least 7 blocks to be dissapointed by powered down vending machines that i had to beg the grocery store owner to turn on to get an orange soda that t and i shared (what up, t) .  on my ramble i encountered at least two hookers with one clearly disguising a dick.  my day consisted of walking around east la and eating gut bombs for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  i was happy to escape my previous experiences of yuppiness disguised in kewlness. 


weird and extemely superficial with a bunch of douches disguised as hipsters and guns and roses impersonators. 


i was accurately described by lady t the wonderous freak show that is venice beach.  of course we were all fucked up and noided out, so we sat at the public bathroom and gazed out upon the circus.  there was definitely a small degree of reality here in their rejection of superficiality, but their conscious objection seemed superficial in itself.  of course i am superficial as hell, especially then and enjoyed pretending to be normal for a minute, despite my schizoid drug induced psychotic personality disorder’s ‘outside looking in’ perspective.  there is culture there that is not completely obsessed with the image driven falsity of the rest of la. 

the rest of la:

gay and expensive, but worth seeing for the experience

stoney’s debaucherous court of self-destruction:

 one of a kind as always and enjoyable beyond any measure.   

a lonely wish:


where’s waldo? hint, short bags that were still a deal

Konichwa, bitches

Puts everyone to shame.

 p.s. stoney’s a bitch

heading west…

…is a frightening prospect.  pretty worried over here.  what if the moviestars like the oompa loompa are too sophisticated for me?  shit, what am i saying?  more sophisticated than ME?!  ME?!!  i know.  you’re all saying to yourselves, “suit, why are you worried?  you are the classiest mutherfucker since don johnson.”  well, i know.  i know.  i mean, it is my divine providence after all.  i’m like lewis and clark.  except more like clark, cuz i’m not going to shoot myself after i get back home. 

all the same, i’m a little worried.  they might be on a different level of consciousness, and maybe i won’t even be able to communicate with them.  worse yet, i might wreck the rental car or get my wallet jacked at lax.  shit, they might blow up my damn plane  — atlanta to lax.  sounds like a lot of fuel in that boeing. 

no good stressing out, though.  that’s why, with this post, i’ll chronicle some of the main reasons why i’m looking forward to l.a.

1.  crossing the mighty mississippi — never done it yet and am looking forward to it, big time.  a big milestone for a waterman like me.

2.  going to another mlb ballpark — dodgers stadium should be fun.  as long as they sell beer and caps, i’ll be all good.  a mets’ loss (or, better yet, a terrible injury to beltran) would just be icing on the cake.

3.  seeing my ole pal roughtonious — live 2 hours down the road from him and have to go to l.a. just to touch bases with a guy i used to see 5 times every day.  p.s. roughty, i apologize for stealing all those subway station sandwiches from you.  i always blamed in on stoney, but it was really me sometimes.  also, while i’m apologizing, sorry for laughing at you for the sj punch to the grill.  you did have it coming, though…  pffft.

4.  feeling comfortable in another city — when you’re a homeboy like me, you really get confident when you go someplace else and can function like a reasonable human.  not sure if this will happen, but i’m thinking positive.

5.  not leaving my wallet in the bar — stoney will remind me this time after the “off the wagon” incident in greenwich vill.  if not, he’ll have a new permanent roommate.

6.  going to the actual locations where some of my favorite movies were shot — training day, friday, don’t be a menace to south central while drinking your juice in the hood.

7.  going to all my favorite places from 90210 — the beach where brenda met dylan, west beverly high, the radio station where david silver learned about speeeeed.

8.  meeting lady t. — after all the hype, i’m ready to meet the genuine article.  if she can make our boy take nudie pics off the blog, she must be a wonderful person.  —editorial sidebar — yes, i’m kissing ass, boys.  this is what you do before you go and share a teeny living space with somebody you never met before.—

9.  the pacific ocean — another one of those things i never saw before.  should be suhweet, gnarly, bodacious and that hang ten sign you do by sticking out your thumb and pinky finger and jiggling your hand around.  maybe i’ll finally get to see the monster swells like on point break.  i’m paddling out, bra!

10.  smoking west coast rocks — i heard they’ll make you grit your teeth until they fall out.  i already packed up my tire pressure guages and steel wool.  yall know how we do.

most of all, though, there’s number 11. scratching the shit out of my pal stoney’s cd collection — i’m sitting here listening to let it be, and wouldn’t you know it, the shit is scratched right to hell — right in the middle of the long and winding road, no less.  why don’t i take it out and put in something else like the love below?  oh.  that is scratched to shit as well.  oh.  what about all your sublime cds?  you guessed it.  looks like someone ran them over.  bob dylan discs?  fuuuucked up.  broke a cd player with one of them just last week – seriously.  why are all my cds scratched?  i’ll tell you.  it’s this blog’s fearless leader — mr stoney.  it’s almost as though he destructulated my shit on purpose.  oh well, iain’tmadatcha.  all i’m saying is you better hide your shit, holmes.  for real.  i’m bringing some rusty nails and broken glass for the whole collection.

all jokes aside, i can’t wait to see my friends again.  the only thing that would make it better is if dankkkkk could come.  what am i saying?  i know he could come if he really wanted to.  (peer-pressure’s a bitch, muthafuckah.) 

So, you didn’t like…

… built to spill? 

that’s aight. 

you’ll grow some hair on them balls eventually and then you’ll start listening to music whose words your parents can actually understand.  until then, enjoy your dj jazzy jeff and the fresh prince. 


or was the video too savage for you pansies?  either way, let me know when you’re ready for some real culture.  until then, say hi to n k o t b for me.

 alright, enough rubbing salt into your wounds.

i want to publicly thank sir roughtonious for posting those pictures.  when i saw those pics, i didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or shit my pants.  stoney was a fucking wreck even back then, ladies.  don’t believe the stories of rock stardom and chizzzzzzled abs.

next, the braves blew hard last night.  but that was only the second worst blow-out i’ve seen in the past 24 hours.  my cousin’s team won their championship softball game by a score of…


yup.  that says 37 – 1.  i’m not making this shit up.  i honestly felt bad for the other team.  then, my father says, “they need to learn how to lose just like everybody else.”  this sounds awfully cynical.  is it right for some little 12-year-old girls to have to suffer such a crushing defeat?  what about the “kill” or “skunk” rule?  well, this was the championship, and the skunk rule didn’t apply.  i am not sure.  it seems like 10-1 or even 20-1 would have taught them “how to lose” pretty well.  37 – 1 is just an embarrassment.  i wouldn’t be surprised if those little girls went home and did themselves in.

rather, my cousin said that most of them just wanted to get ice cream after the game.  they don’t care whether they win or lose.  wait a minute…  37 – 1, and they want some ice cream?!  hell no.  you’ll get nothing and like it you non-softball-playing wastes of space.  what does this look like?  price is right? 


you don’t get no lovely parting gifts.  if you lose, you lose. 

that’s one of the biggest problems with our society — getting rewarded for doing nothing.

1.  Perfect Attendance Award — give me a fucking break.  you couldn’t con your mom into thinking you had the runny shits, so you actually had to do what you’re supposed to do.  no perfect attendance award.  you might as well give the kid a fucking trophy for finishing his milk at lunch.  trivial bullshit — all for the sake of the little son of a bitch’s self-esteem.

2.  Most Improved Player — whuuh?  let’s rename this one the “you’re not as shitty as you used to be award.”  come on.  this is ridiculous.  if i batted .000 and then batted .100 the next year, i might be most improved, but i am still terrible.  i don’t need a trophy.  i need a career change.

3.  Parole — “yo, dog, i’m back.  they lemme out on good buhhaviuh.”  yeah, good behavior.  if you had good behavior, they wouldn’t have locked you up in the first place, you damn crack selling car thief.  why don’t you run along and rob a liquor store now.  what ever happened to “you do the crime, you do the time!”?

the society is swarming with this bullshit.  the way i figure it, those little girls should have just stayed at the park after their 37 – 1 loss and started running laps.  after three hours or so, i’d have given out a trophy

to their coach

for coach of the year. 

in other news, i’m going to the land of fruits

and nuts

that’s right — l.a., california.  in about a month, i’ll be there.  i’m a busy guy, so i need to start packing.  i figure i’ll need some rubbers, a bullet-proof vest and some thick thick glasses to convince the local pork that i have horrible glaucoma.  after the trip, i may not be coming back, so if i never post on the blog after july, just assume that either

1.  i’ve become a famous movie star like george clooney or peewee herman, or

2.  i’ve defected to mexico, or

3.  i’m hooked on crys.meth. and am never coming home.

(crossing my fingers for number 3).     out.

American Rock = The Blood of the Universe

Before I start, I want to mention that I did not include Pink Floyd in the Brit bands. Pink Floyd is classic, but never one of my loves. Pink Floyd, I forgot about you, but I don’t really care that much. Sorry.

The broad scope of American rock makes it hard for me to pinpoint any one thing, or to focus too long on anything. This is going to be a whambamthankyoumam kind of thing.

First, Elvis. Elvis is the fucking King of Rock and Roll. There is no other king. Chuck Berry is there too, but Chuck Berry is not the King of Rock and Roll. Elvis is the King. Without Elvis, I don’t know what would have happened. We would probably have an Elvis with a different name. Elvis, as a red-blooded American rock student, I salute you.

The 27 Club. The 27 Club is an exclusive club, reserved only for rockers who achieve amazing, superstar status through the exceptional qualities of their polyphonic debris. 27 Club members all died when they were 27, at the height of their fame. Most of the deaths can be linked directly to over-consumption of drugs, or a very closely related factor.

These people did not get rich and internationally famous because of their connections, their pretty face, their money, or any other thing than how badass they were at rocking the fuck out.

There are 5 member of the 27 club. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Kurt Kobain. How many Brits are in this infamous list, the sealed stamp of approval of rockstar god status? 1. Uno. Un. One. The ratio of Brits to Americans in this most critical list is 1:4, and that ratio plays itself out all over the place.

Is it wrong to base my decision on a list of musicians that glorifies a fiery death through rock and roll? No. Rock and Roll is a force of nature, a force unto itself, a mythical beast which exerts an enormous influence on the way people perceive and act upon the world. The thing about rock and roll is, it’s not even subliminal. These people are singing songs to us, lyricizing our deepest fears and desires, using everything that they have experienced to create a new experience for us. And we willingly buy (or steal online) these people’s souls, the product of an extraordinary effort of introspection, and then projection. It is a transcendent experience to listen to a live performance of rock; “a more perfect union” can be achieved, which is not all that different from doing the nasty.

Rock and Roll is a form of art, but it is also a form of religion. I, for one, deeply believe in the power of rock and roll, and the feelings and sentiments the music can inspire. Rock and Roll has changed my real-world actions before, it has pushed itself into my life and into the lives of the people around me. I am better for it, too.

When John Lennon said, “The Beatles are bigger than Jesus,” he was fucking right. There were, and still are, more people creating a more personal, intimate, transcendent relationship with their chosen rocker, than there are people creating those same types of relationships with Jesus. If you go to church and daze off, or do whatever, that doesn’t count, and I know it, and Jesus knows it. When you go to a real rock show, and something hits you in the stomach, you choke up, you tear up…you are having a fucking experience that can never be achieved again, ever, by anyone. It was your show, the band is on for you, and if you do it right, you can come away with something that is more than just a light show or magic show. It is a religious experience.

Now that I have established that rock and roll is a religion, I move on. Every religion needs a sacrificial lamb. The Gods of Rock are not a mellow breed. They do not take kindly to negligence. They need blood, and that’s what American rockers are here to provide. American rockers are the soul of Rock and Roll. Rock and Roll was invented here, Rock and Roll grew up here, and Rock and Roll will die here. The blues are from the deep South, via Africa, and I’m not really sure where country western is from. Mix those fuckers up, and you get some rock and roll.

I could go on. I could list band after band of American rockers, and compare them with British rockers, and see who borrowed what from who, and blabla. I’m not going to, though, because it all comes down to the fact that Rock and Roll is an American past-time, and it always will be. The altar of Rock is built on American soil, and stained with American blood.

I think that the icing on the cake is a club I kinda made up…the 28 Club. Right now, Bradley Nowell (sublime) and Shannon Hoon (blind melon) are the only two I have in there. I’m saving a spot open for Pete Doherty this year; he’ll be 29 next March.

For a sum-up, I chose Blind Melon’s song, “Galaxie.” Shannon Hoon died of a cocaine overdose, a roadie found his body in the bus, right before the band’s soundcheck.

Rock and Roll = Savage

For anyone who has shit to say about glorifying the wrong things about rock and roll, or blabla, I say, “Fuck off.” If it wasn’t about dying in the name of rock, then why aren’t there a bunch of badass rockers, making real rock and roll? They are out there, but they are few and far between. I am not lamenting the end of rock, because I believe in it too much to doubt. White Stripes, Strokes, Pete Doherty, here and there we see glimpses of eternal greatness.

There will be more.

Rubber Matches, Growing Up, Other Reflections and another Roll Call

the first category tag i clicked was worthless friday, cuz that’s what i’m in.  it’s fantastic.  finally some time to interact with the tech-junkies, alcoholics and weed-fiends who read this link-laden, anti-american, diaperlicious bloghole. 

has anybody noticed that politics are continuing to play a large role in our blog?!  i can’t believe that shit.  if you knew, (and most of you do), the authors, you’d be as surprised as me.  four years in the burg, and we never talked about it.  now it’s all over everything.  i think that comes along with growing older.  things we never cared about before are starting to look more and more important.  we’re all realizing our global citizenship, and i think it’s pretty encouraging.  now all we have to do is change the minds of all the fuckos in general society *(see stoney’s note about the a&f models on the airplane… these are the dipshits to whom i’m referring.) 

on another very different topic, there’s this issue going on in the baseball world.  my boy john smoltz won his 200th career decision last night.  i don’t need to remind any of you who the braves defeated.  i don’t need to tell you that they beat the metropolitans.  further, i don’t need to explain to any of you that this win brough the braves record against the mets to 6 wins and 3 losses on the season.  no, i don’t need to mention any of these things.  why am i talking about it then?  to hurt your sensitive yankee feelings?  no.  to rub salt into your still-smarting wounds from last october?  of course not.  well, i’ll tell you why.  the braves are currently recruiting new fans, and if you all have been converted over the past few days, just let me know, and i’ll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation.  no guarantees, but it’s at least a 50-50 they’ll accept you.  last night’s prodigious victory over the hated mets was a rubber match.  “what is a rubber match?” all of you except the sport-savvy roughty might be asking yourselves.  again, i’ll explain it for you.  in a 3-game series, if each team wins one of the first two games, game three is the rubber match.  in a 7-game series that’s tied at three games each, game seven is the rubber match.  check out this helpful wiki article on the topic.

what’s the point of this discussion? it’s not just to make fun of the sucky mets.  in fact, i want to bring it back to politics.  since i’ve been old enough to think about politics, there have been two presidents.  (during bush the elder’s administration, i didn’t understand anything at all about it.)  these presidents have been billy clinton and george dubya bush — a democrat and a republican.  in 2008, we’ll have the rubber match between these two political powerhouses.  as in sports, this rubber match will play a big role on the way our generation will be viewed.  will our generation be defined by the shitty republicans or the shitty democrats?  lord only knows.  i got a guess, but it’s just that — a guess.  so i won’t even mention it here.  in a baseball rubber match, all we can do is drink beer and root for our own version of the good guys.  last night, my team won, and i was happy.  roughty’s team lost, and i’m sure he drowned on his tears.  in politics, however, we can play the game and get involved.  we can be the shortstop who turns the double play, or we can be the asshole who lets the ball roll right between his legs.  (by the by, what team was he on again?  hahaha.)  either way, in politics, we don’t have to sit on the sidelines.  we can cast our votes and join in the action, right?  here’s the other big difference.  if i make a throwing error, and the winning run scores for the other team, the game is over and i immediately know who won.  if i hit the walk-off homer, it’s conclusive.  i’m the big winner.  with politics, it’s not so cut and dry.  i might cast my vote and be all happy for a couple years after my selected puppet wins.  then, out of nowhere, he blows some country off the map, and my walk-off homer turns into a “you-blew-it” game ending error. that’s why, when this year’s political rubber match comes along, i’ll be drinking beer and watching from the sidelines.  the punchline of this discourse — do yourself a favor and don’t vote.  vote for your favorite amer. idol.  vote for which of the stars dances best.  vote for the best apple pie you ate at the county fair.  don’t vote for the president.  you’ll invariably be sorry!

thus ends the politics of this post.

i’m still going to school.  it still sucks.  i also work at a school.  that, too, is no good.  i am trying to learn about the material required for my degree, but all i keep learning about is that everybody only cares about money.  the only question my peers and superiors ask themselves is, “how can i make the most money off this situation?”  it’s sad to think that this is the world we’re trying to earn membership into.  maybe the solution is to drop out and move to an island and try to grow coconuts for food and decorative brassieres.  my ridiculous boss’s boss’s boss’s boss volunteered me today to take part in some terrible task around the office.  my autonomy is non-existant.  i don’t decide what i do at all.  they tell me what to do, and i do it.  it’s bad for one’s psychology.  you’ve all been there.  i guess the right thing to do is just grin and bear it until retirement… in like 60 years.  one more thing about work, i had to make a presentation yesterday to a room full of suits.  i wore a rainbow colored (ambiguously androgenous) plaid shirt untucked and my oldest, rattiest pants.  i gave a great presentation.  (probably because dank wasn’t there flicking his damned zippo to distract me.)  after this, i got an email from my boss’s boss who told me that i should have dressed nicer.  this is a big old problem in our society.  why in the world do people still judge you based on the clothes you wear?  i’ll tell you.  it’s because they’re terrible idiots who don’t know any better.  and these are the people who i’m scrambling to compete with as a peer…  sad.

well, mr dank nuggets is in, so let the fun begin.  in honor of him, i’m taking this opportunity to post yet another savage roll call.  feast your eyes on the following collection:

most savage cartoon character:  Monterey Jack — he’ll whip your ass and then console you in a lovely aussie accent.

honorable mention:  Nermal — fresh off the boat from abu dhabi

least savage cartoon character:  Rita and Runt — an ill-fated space-filler in an otherwise exceptional show

most savage world leader:  Queen of Jordan — rules with an iron fist and a lovely pair of jumblies

honorable mention:  Stalin — (translation of caption:  respect the moustache.  fear the moustache.  obey the moustache.)

least savage world leader:  Jacques Chirac (someone either just snuck up him, or he was presented with a lovely quiche.)

most savage cereal mascot:  Sonny (cocoa puffs) — this guy has “junkie” written all over his face

honorable mention:  Andy Milonakis (fruity pebbles)

least savage ceareal mascot:  Tony (frosted flakes) — why don’t you find a gayer bandana.  we’re not all convinced you’re a homo yet.

most savage car model of all times:  AMC Eagle (no competition)

honorable mention:  El Camino (the original cross-over vehicle)

least savage car model of all times:  ford tempo (my first car)

most savage blogger:  suityourself (no photo available)

least savage blogger:  you (look in the mirror and recognize your inferiority.)

finally, most savage drugs:  steriods

least savage drugs:  whipits (you’ll freeze your lungs)

They are the Diamonds, they’re here to play football.

This is a video from 1986, who would have ever guessed?  The Diamonds cash in then surpass the Bears’ wildly successful, “Super Bowl Shuffle”.  We always know where we stand with these men.  They tell us how it is; they are the Diamonds, they’re from Glasgow, and they’re here to play football.  Football is their game.  How simpler can it be?

Apparently, all football players from Glasgow are required to sport sinister moustaches, and must live by all 1980’s American fads.  I would also like to note that the Diamonds’ running back has achieved the ability to execute the perfect spin move, leaving all defenders dazzled yet embarassed.  This guy is giving my Madden 07 character a real battle for spin move supremacy.

The Diamonds is a tough name for your team.  I’m surprised there haven’t been any NFL owners who give their squad this name.  I am sure a lucrative deal with the DeBeers people is just waiting to be struck.  Kudos to the Diamonds for now topping my list of “Most Bling Team Names”.  A check is in the mail, direct to Glasgow for your efforts.

blog production…

so, with the exception of roughty’s insightful and always poignant posts, this blog is falling off big-time.  what the hell is going on, stoney?  i wanna know…

i’m ’bouts to chop yo ass.  after all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander…

hey, i heard some really funny jokes the other day… (racism, AHOY!)

1.  Did you know that there will only be 49 contestants in next year’s Miss Black America pageant?…  Did you know that?…  Did ya?…

Yeah, nobody wants to wear the banner that says “I-da-ho.”  (This one is perhaps much better when delivered orally, but hey, oral is always best…)

2.  (This one is really pretty bad, indeed.)  What do you call an African-American on water skis?

 Give up?

A top-water jig…  (EWWW!  No you didn’t…)

3.  I don’t remember the joke, but the punchline is very funny…  Here goes…

“The vet said not to worry unless he shits out 2 dimes and a nickel.”  (Maybe you had to be there.)

4.  This is a real joke. 

This rich guy had just retired and decided he would devote his twilight years to philanthropy.  So, in his quest for the perfect cause, he went to this modern new hospital, told the boss-doctor that he wanted to invest in the hospital’s future.  Before he did, though, he wanted a tour around the hospital to make sure everything was legit.

So the doctor said, “ok,” and they started walking around the hospital, looking at new equipment and checking in on patients.  They enter this one room, and there’s this guy in the hospital bed and a nurse sitting next to him whacking him off.  The rich old guy was taken aback and asked the doctor, “What the hell kind of hospital is this?”  The doctor said, “Oh, that gentleman has a condition that requires him to ejaculate every two hours.  The nurse was just helping him out a little bit.”  The old man was pretty much ok with that, so they continued the tour.  They walked into another room, and there was another man in a hospital bed.  Beside him, a nurse sat giving the patient felatio!!

The old investor said to the head-doctor, “This is just too much.”  The doctor replied, “You don’t understand!  This patient has the same condition as the last guy.  He’s just got better insurance.”

Long story short, the old man decided to invest in the hospital, but a few days later, he came down with a rare and debilitating disease (can you guess which one?) and lived happily ever after.

OK, that’s all for the jokes.  See, this is what you guys miss out on by not having any red-necks in your family. 

So, what’s going on with me, you ask?  Well, good question.  I’ll tell you.

i am almost done with the current semester, and i haven’t blown my brains out just yet.  this is a moral victory.

fishing season is going great.  i fish every day and have caught lots of fish so far this spring.  based on my fishing expeditions, i have started a fishing journal.  every time i fish, i write a couple pages about what happened, what i caught, what i saw, and that type of stuff.  this is big fun for me, and it’s good to keep practicing writing.  i was thinking about posting an entry on this blog but thought better of it.  if stoney’s knight’s tale didn’t get much play, i doubt the fishing log would either.

the braves are dominant.  they can hardly lose (except for last night) and will win their division, the pennant, and the world series this year.  i’ll bet 50 bucks on it with anybody who’s dumb enough to take that action.  the heat and the nuggets aren’t looking good, so my basketball season is pretty much over, barring some miracle.  i don’t watch hockey, cuz i can’t ever see the puck on my antique tv.  i don’t care at all about the NFL draft.

my garden is going off!!  i’ve only planted a couple early things so far — potatoes


and asparagus. 

they are all growing fast, and i think i’m going to pick the first potatoes in 2 weeks.  the nice weather and a little rain have made for a perfect spring.  gardening is a great hobby, and i highly recommend it to anyone who needs some relaxing pastime.

i’m going to cackalacky next weekend for a 12 day trout fishing expedition!!  aww yeah.  that means no blog production from me, but lots of fun and liquor drinking and swimming and catching fish until my arms hurt.  hooray!

Finally, my savage of the day…

you know him from The Byrds and CSNandY.  He’s a junkie and has appeared on such comedy shows as Family Guy and Futurama.  Stoney told me a story about this savage coming into the recording studio with a brown paper bag full of blow.  that’s what i call bad-ass.  just the same, here is our winner — David Crosby!  Congratulations, Mr. Crosby.  Keep tooting.