UUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH. On Wednesday I have to get my wisdom teeth pulled and I am NOT excited about it. I've never had a tooth pulled before. I hate going to the dentist. I'm terrified.
Thankfully I have a very radical husband who'll help take care of me by making sure the house is stocked with frozen yogurt and pain meds, and I suppose I could look at the bright side and be stoked about the fact that I can catch up on my Netflix queue (it's excusable, ney, preferable to watch shit like Bridalplasty when high on percocet, right?), but until it's time for naps and drugs, I'm filled with anxiety. What if my teeth don't come out? What if ALL my teeth come out?* What if my whole jaw comes off? What if I wake up during the surgery? WHAT IF I DON'T WAKE UP AT ALL!?
Along with the crippling anxiety, I have also had this song stuck in my head for the past week:
Are there any other wisdom tooth tips and/or songs I should know about? I'll make a playlist to listen to when I get tired of watching crappy TV!
*Seriously. I've had nightmares about this.
But they mean LITERALLY. Ha-ha! Not hip with the kids, I hadn't heard of this magic machine that makes seemingly anything a keyboard until I was researching farm science on a public radio website. And what was recommended to me? This article, with this video:
I can't tell if this is (a) the most Brooklyn thing ever, i.e., a man with a very deliberate hair situation in a ratty old sweater covering a '90s song on a DIY musical instrument on the hardwood floor of his apartment; (b) pretty adorable—I mean, those GRAPES!—or (c) just the best pun-bait ever. "You give a whole new meaning to the word 'producer,'" reads a top comment. ZING!
However you feel, I personally have a much-preferred musical banana joke...
I am finally done with this disgusting cough, with leaving snotty tissues all over my house. But since most of my friends are still hacking away, I felt inspired to make a sick mix. It turns out grunge has a lot of references to cough syrup and being sick without making the whole song about it, but the Ramones win the prize for most lovable straight-up illness songs. Being sick is really punk!
Here's what I came up with:
"You Sound Like You're Sick" - The Ramones
"Touch Me I'm Sick" - Mudhoney
"Hospital" - The Lemonheads
"Amoeba" - The Adolescents
"Fever to Tell" - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
"Cough/Cool" - The Misfits
"Nausea" - X
"Fever" - The Cramps
"I Wanna Be Well" - The Ramones
I made the artistic decision to leave out "Down With The Sickeness," by the Disturbed. Any More?
The gothic stage embellishments and visual effects are gloriously early-'80s, and the A/V quality is ingloriously early-'80s. Unlike the Speak of the Devil record, in which Ozzy recorded an evening of Black Sabbath covers not long after Rhoads's death, here we get fresh Ozzy solo material (e.g. "Mr. Crowley," "Crazytrain," "Flying High Again," etc.), as well as some Sabbath staples. Overall, it's a medium-interesting snapshot of the band rallying from what could have been an insurmountable tragedy. Recommended equipment: Loud-ass entertainment system and a fully loaded bong.
When I smash everything in the kitchen with a bat, that’s when I really like you, not like when I get in a children’s bunk bed surrounded by crushed gummy worms with you and realize you’re bald. I most often feel something for you that I know could be expressed with a mixture of these actions, but there is no imaginable way to express what I felt when I realized such a mixture is impossible.
It's been taunting me for weeks now. Hawthorne Stereo, the audiophile's wet dream/nightmare,* on Roosevelt has got this sale going in which you get 10 percent off the first thing you buy in the used room, then 20 percent of the second, and—you guessed it!—30 percent off the third. If I didn't already have two perfectly good stereo systems (one of which I'm considering setting up in the basement with my drum kit because no one will join my new band called Buckaroo Highrise) I probably would have already have fallen victim to this because there is so much great stuff in there that it makes my nerd-brain want to explode into a million bits of data. I finally went in there yesterday for a bit of masochistic self-deprivation—sort of like watching a snowboard video in the middle of summer. TORTURE. The sale ends Labor Day, which everyone knows signals the slow march into the throes of Old Man Winter's seasonal-affective disorder marathon, for which you know you want a great stereo. Consider it an birthday present for someone else that you just took home and plugged in!
Secondly, I was pleased to confirm that Hawthorne carries needles/styluses and they will check yours out for you. This is great news for me, because the current turntable I'm using I found on the side of 10th Ave while jogging about six years ago. There was a note on it that said "Works—just needs new stylus!" But then the guy at J&S told me the stylus was fine.
Two more reasons you should patronize Hawthorne Stereo: 1) Their slogan is "A pretty nice place" and 2) They've been in business since 1946.
See some of the deals that made me want to cry and then work in a more lucrative field after the jump:
I decided to take a Zumba class the other day, with no prior knowledge of what it was exactly. I discovered that it was mom friendly aerobic-dance fusion, and in the hour-long class of pumped-up music played, I only recognized one song: Beyonce's "Countdown" because one of my roommates has been playing it incessantly. The only line I ever catch in the lyrics is "Me and my boof, and my boof boot riding." Boof Boof? I asked my Beyonce-loving roomate what that meant, and she texted me "a Boof Boof is your Boof." Feeling dissatisfied with that answer and instead of actually listening to the song more, I conducted an informal text poll to determine what some of my friends and acquaintances thought it was:
"It's her pet chihuahua."
"Boof Boof is a modernized Foot Foot from the Shaggs!"
"I think it's a small gay lapdog."
"I have no clue."
"I think it's a boyfriend."
"A shelf butt. A Bouffant?"
"A dance involving the butt."
"A 100% natural loofah from PCC."
What the fuck is a Boof Boof? Someone please tell me.
I didn't know this BBC documentary existed about HK. And it's posted, in it's entirety, on the YT. Rain, be damned.
"It was like Star Trek... with drugs. And long hair." —Lemmy Kilmister
It’s a good thing the education system failed you, or you would have a profession that requires you to wear a tweed coat with leather elbow patches, rather than a shoebox of leather elbow patches under your sink. The accoutrements of even the best jobs lose their novelty before one can appreciate them enough to rub them all over one’s body while reading The Economist.
The Independent writes:
It is a record collection that any vinyl enthusiast would covet. From obscure German techno to Appalachian folk music, to the latest sounds in the rock and pop world; the thousands of carefully catalogued albums owned by the late DJ John Peel literally have something for everyone.
From this week, music fans will get the opportunity to sift through the diverse collection, as a new online museum devoted to his revered collection is made available.
The project, co-funded by the Arts Council and the BBC, will see information on some of the 26,000 vinyl albums Peel amassed over his career put on a web-site. Each week, over the next 26 weeks, details of 100 albums will be released, alphabetically. Due to the sheer size of Peel's collection, it was decided to release 100 per week.
Sheila Ravenscroft, John Peel's widow, said: 'There'll be information about the record sleeve, front and back, all the information about the record itself, as well as whether John rated the album or not'. She added: 'Then out of those first 100, we've chosen one artist that we're honing in on, that we're going to do a special thing on each week'.
The John Peel Centre for Creative Arts and Eye Film and Television produced the site after being given access by John Peel's family to the collection, which includes 40,000 singles and — as yet uncounted — many thousands of CDs, as well as the LPs.
John Peel died of a heart attack aged 65 while on a working holiday with his wife in Peru, in 2004. He was the longest serving of the original BBC Radio 1 DJs, having broadcast regularly from 1967 right up until his death.
So I'm out here in Minneapolis, and as the rain dumps and the lightning strikes outside like it never seems to in Seattle, I'm thinking of one of my favorite MLPS rap songs ever. Ali's description of a block with a funeral home on one side and a library on the other exactly reminds me of my old block, Rainier and Alaska, the beginning of Columbia City. One side of Alaska is the library where I checked out tapes (Pixies, Digable Planets, Blackhappy), stupid books (Dean R. Koontz thrillers, Klingon language books), and good books for school reports [Fetal Alcohol Syndrome! Sammy Davis Jr!]. On the other side is the Columbia Funeral Home, whose glowing sign I could see from the third-floor apartment I lived in with my mother. She always said good things about the guy who ran it, as he was a nice and conscientious neighbor. He certainly was a good dude to me when my mother's body made its penultimate stop there some 14 years ago. The last stop, of course, was Venice Beach, my childhood favorite, in whose waters I now feel her presence when I return each summer for my birthday. All this, I think of, just thinking about being here in Minneapolis for the first time.
Last night I finally got to sit down with Talking Heads: Chronology, a succinct collection of live songs performed by the band, ranging from "With Our Love," "I'm Not in Love," and "Psycho Killer" at the CBGB in 1975 to "Life During Wartime" at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony in 2002. It's fun to see the group progress from those early days in little clubs with Chris Frantz's rudimentary drum beats, Tina Weymouth's quarter-note bass lines, and a less-than-confident David Byrne at the helm (and holy shit do they all look young).
Fast forward to NYC's storied venue The Kitchen a year later and the group is markedly polished in comparison. But it's with "Don't Worry About the Government" on the Old Grey Whistle Test in 1978 and "Thank You for Sending Me an Angel" the same year at Entermedia Theatre that they feel fully formed. These are the first songs on the collection with former Modern Lovers keyboardist/guitarist Jerry Harrison in the mix, and they represent the beginning of the band's apex. Put it on your TV for parties and get 'em jerky on the dancefloor.
Meet Bon Joviver, by Miracles of Modern Science:
This calls for a poll:
Take a minute to unload whatever’s been bringing you down. Big or small, doesn’t matter. Sometimes it just helps to get it out there and know someone heard it.
Take a minute to read about someone else’s issues. Then choose a song to help get them through the pain. We'll send it along to them.
Here is the FAQ for the site. The creator, a freelance web developer named Robyn, calls it an art project.
I dunno. I kind of feel like when the "what music should I listen to for my x and y type of emotional pain" feeling hits, you just ask your friends. That's what they're for! And also the Top 25 song list is not very encouraging. But on the other hand, hot damn. This could get seriously addictive, right? Trying to perfectly assuage a complete stranger's pain with music? Has anyone tried it?
Thanks, Hot Tipper Kitri (and The Hairpin)!
Right now I'm jamming some Dismemberment Plan (Emergency & I) because it reminds me of going to New York this time last year to see their reunion show at Webster Hall despite the East Coast snowstorm. Snow was everywhere. Several feet of it lined the sidewalks, pushed from the streets with plows. Central Park was 98% white—only a few paths were beaten down by snow boots and sleds and tourists kept falling down on the icy bridges. New Yorkers were getting really sick of the weather, complaining about the snow and the cold as they got their coffee. But I loved it and, despite only having tennis shoes, I still walked everywhere I went instead of taking the subways only because I didn't want to miss a second of the prettiness.
What are you listening to while the snow falls outside?
There are loud semi-trucks
I am not drunk but wide awake
No pizza in house
UPDATE: I concede! Our esteemed Christopher Frizzelle has proven me wrong. I'm firing myself as poetry editor.
I somehow stumbled on this creepy horror film on UHF TV when I was 12 or so, I think in the middle of the night after an evening of skateboarding and huffing glue in suburban Ohio. I watched the entire thing in the kitchen of a house we'd recently moved into, I remember because everything about that night turned super creepy. The Changeling (1980) remains my favorite horror movie today, though it didn't age very well. Somebody made another Changeling in 2008, but I've never seen it. Apparently all of the titles for movies have been used, or something.
The setting for most of the film is supposed to be in Seattle, but just a few shots of ol' Drizzleville were used. Though you can spot SeaTac airport, University of Washington's Red Square, the Rainier Tower, and the Lacey V. Murrow Memorial Bridge. A majority of the film was shot in Canada, mainly in Victoria and Vancouver, and passed off as Seattle.
George C. Scott (one year after he appeared in gnarly classic Hardcore) stars as Dr. John Russell, a musician who moves from NYC after his family is killed in an auto accident. He's trying to get over the horrible death, so he moves into a gigantic underpriced mansion, which is obviously totally haunted. The creeps start creeping right away and one would assume that it's Russell's family doing the ghosting, but it turns out to be a boy who was the rightful heir to a political family who was murdered in the gigantic underpriced mansion because he was born crippled. Oh, I just told you the entire plot.
But really, if you haven't seen this movie, now's a good time to do it. Make some popcorn with olive or sunflower oil. I like to add pepper and nutritional yeast along with paprika, lemon salt and soy sauce out of a spray bottle. Get yourself a blanket! Cuddle up with a loved one! It's getting cold out there!
As Drizzleville once again turns back into Drizzleville, I've been going through boxes that I've just moved across town. A lot of the boxes I've kept since I was 12, mostly mail and receipts and paper scraps that I've put in my pockets. Here are scans of some of those things.