The Shirttail Press

Benefits

2012-01-03T13:21:00.004-05:00

East-side kids went to Pine Street School. West-side kids went to Cedar Street School. Some Catholic kids went to St. Michael's and others went to The Christian Schools. I don't remember exactly what year Daisy Brook came into the picture but for those of us who managed to pass through the 5th grade, Daisy Brook is where we all landed for 6th grade. It served as a pre-cursor to junior high school. We had a homeroom that we started out and ended the day in. In between, we were instructed to shuffle to another classroom with a different teacher every hour or so in order to help us adjust to the trauma of switching classes. Which also introduced us to the mood changes in hungover teachers who, come Monday morning, didn't always have the patience for my smart-aleck sense of humor.

By the time we reached 7th grade pretty much all of us were funneled into junior high. Except for the christian school kids, who were not allowed to set foot on public floors until they had built up a tougher immune system.

I forgot where I was going with this...OH! In the 3 years of junior high you start the process of fraternizing with kids that you may have had maybe one or two things in common. But found myself hanging with Gary and Ken once in a while. Ken I knew from before because I bought my mini-bike from him. That led me to Gary and his fraternal twin Terry. Gary's folks owned what seems like 2 or 3 of the towns restaurants, Jane's and I think J&J, I think. One of the biggest benefits and cool factors to knowing Gary was that, after school, if you played your cards right and were hanging out at just the right time (timing was everything), he would stop by Jane's to get an ice cold coke free because of course his folks owned the place. And by having that slight association, I would get one too. And if you were really really lucky, a cheese burger might be in the picture.

It's sad that when some of us turned 18 during our senior year, which at that time was the legal drinking age, I hadn't become friends with anybody who's folks owned Chuck & Ralph's.

Santa Face

2011-12-18T13:09:00.002-05:00

It's droll, pointless reading for the most part. I'm talking about some hapless fek's account of his holiday preperations and the goings-on that surround it. Most everybody shares in the experience in some form or another to some extent anyway so why waste important minutes of your life reading about somebody else?
And really it's only comforting if you can relate to it. Some anecdote about the conversations you overhear in line at the post office. A minor squabble with a significant other about their choice of Christmas cards. Or if the cards will even reach their destination in the five mail days left or what message does it send about the sender for waiting so long.
Or how many trips back to the big box store to once again exchange outdoor lights after climbing on the roof and connecting all 8 strands before checking them on the ground only to find out one and a half strands actually work. Or how easy it is to walk into a bookstore with a long list only to walk out with purchases for yourself.
Or how time and money run out and you haven't found time to get that thoroughly thoughtful and close to perfect gift for your brother and how quickly it turns into a Lowe's gift card because you're at least certain there is a Lowe's in Boston.
I still love Christmas though.
Merry Christmas!

Hunky-Dory II (in case there is another)

2011-12-07T11:25:00.005-05:00

If you look up the definition of hunky-dory, that is, if you ever find you need to, it says,
"fine, all right, satisfactory."
So if you're kind of a low-key person that description might indicate a strain of giddyness or something more akin to maybe a wow.
The night before Thanksgiving last at the Eastern Avenue Hall, I had what I thought was a hunky-dory night behind the kit (drummer speak for, well, drums). And if history serves me, and it doesn't always, I'd be willing to bet at least the bass player, Mitchell Wood, and maybe even Jacques, the guitar player/singer with a hat, were feeling the same.
As a potentially muscular, rhythmic nucleus who've played together on and off for over 20 years, hunky-dory we should be at the very least. Then you throw Dennie and Pete in the mix that night and you get what ever the word is that is a step or two above hunky-dory. Let's chew on that for a moment shall we?
More importantly I want to thank everybody who came out and stayed at least till I started playing bass. Seriously, it was a very genuine and appreciative crowd. I know it takes dynamite sometimes to get my wife and I out of the house for something more closely related to drudgery than anything special.
I think special is like, maybe, two notches above hunky-dory actually. And yes, Honey, I'm cleaning my office as I write this.

First Cold

2011-11-15T15:24:00.003-05:00

I don't want to come off all pessimistic but, we have about 4 more months of this. So we better somehow learn to make the most of it. Isn't it reassuring that I'm here to, not only describe the obvious, but to help guide us, the peoples, through these dank, dark months to come with witty banter, crazy made-up stories, divorced mother of 5 boys style cussing and sometimes stark photo-realism. Stay tuned for more uplifting-ness.

Tenderness

2011-09-22T10:12:00.006-04:00

I've probably logged in about 45 years of "bud time" with thizguy. On the one hand it's monumental. On the other hand, it's just a long dang time. I've climbed great trees that aren't this old.
I don't often over-think this, this kind of unnatural...thing until a picture like this comes along. And only then do I start to toss around how we have managed to stay afloat where other, more Olympic style attempts have not. If I dumb it down, I'd guess proximity, forgiveness and Stephen Stills have all played some role in this.

I'm not going to scratch out a long list of things we've done for each other over the years because that's too labor intensive. And friends should not be about labor intensive-ness. It is important however to expose some things from time to time like when he nonchalantly said yes when I needed a place to stash my collection of Playboy, Penthouse and Oui magazines from the 80s when I married for the second time. Or when we were in high school, he offered his parents home as a safe house when some of us where on the lamb from the police for streaking down Main Street. Or this tender moment when we were setting up at a bar and Jack had a power source question or some shit and he asked me for the name of the manager and I gave him the first name that cropped up and he called out, "Pete, Pete," to nobody as the rest of us sat back, doubled up in pain from laughing so hard. Cheers, old timer.

This picture is taken at Tapper's Cabin probably around '74 or '75.
Sent to me from Anne Vanderlawn Williams via Mark Vanderlawn.

Nehmen Sie Das Van

2011-09-02T12:26:00.006-04:00

Rendezvoused with Greg, Mitch and Jack at the lake last Saturday. Stowed the guitars and a few amps and finally us into the van and headed south toward the Indiana border.
Sir Gerg and I sat side by side in back knockin' knee caps while semi-sandwiched between the gear.

Early afternoon and it was sweaty hot with the only air conditioning (er breeze) coming from the open driver and passenger side windows which did the trick actually until Jack lit that turd of a cigar.

It's been about 15 years or so that this particular configuration assembled together in one vehicle. And while maybe just a touch awkward for me at first only because the options for conversation were so numerous that it was difficult to know where to start. So I did what anyone might do and started leafing through the New York Times.

We unloaded and carried everything up a short flight of stairs to the side of the stage, giddy to lookout among the crowd, while another band was wrapping up their set.
Standing to the side we ogled and attempted to size up the folks to try an determine if our brand of guitar shtick would make a dent.
You can look all you want but you never really get a good impression until you get out there and rock 'em for all it's worth.

We did this two weeks ago to a very receptive crowd which was cool but the stage mix was, well, not so great. We feared if it sounded like this on stage what does sound like out front. But you don't know if you're not carrying a trusting soul to man the board during your set so you just forge ahead and hope for the best. This gig was the opposite. Kind of a luke warm reception with a few random, sweaty dancers doing their best to kick their shorts up in the heat while the sound on stage was mucho gusto! Adapt and Conquer I always sometimes say.

Sweaty, hot mid-afternoons on stage take their toll so we didn't waste much time packing up and listening to a few from the evening's headliner, ? And The Mysterians minus the ?.
We jumped in the van and prepared to do what any four guys with 2 and 1/2 hours to ride would do, settle in, crank open the windows and listen to the Lions kick some Patriot butt.

Photo: clydekeller.com

The First Annual Newaygo Kayak, Sub And Snorkel Fest

2011-08-14T12:17:00.004-04:00

Brad, Vicky, Jim, Melissa, Le Nadeaus, Brother Bill, Mark, Kathe, Marj, Cindy, Terry, Vonnie, Kevvy, Ann and Janna. And those are just the names of the people I could see. This may not be wise, I know, cause sure-as-shootin' I'll forget but hopefully not alienate somebody. but it's important for me to try and thank everybody who were kind enough to make the effort to come out last night with the sketchy weather and all. This was a fun platform to jump off of...if yer a gittin' my vague, biz-speak.
I just hope at the very least, the beer was decent.

Wayne Cochran and Elvis

WOOT (?)

2011-07-27T10:17:00.007-04:00

Last Saturday, what? What's that? Right, well over a week ago on a Saturday's eve, a stupendous evening was had by I think a few at the I.O.O.M. or is it F.O.O.M. where Tim Bengsston filled the guitar boots, Mitch and Jack did other things. And I did what I could to stay dry so as not to offend. Special thanks go to, Dan, his wife, Jan&Jim, Brad&Vicki, Warren and that Thompson lady, Jim&Melinda, Jorje, Kevin, Ann, Bobby Z, Kurt, Faith, Kristi, Holly, Mike&Kyle, Danni, Terry, Margie, the Dunn posse and I apologize profusely if I've omitted anyone oh, and the bartenders and wait staff. Great job. We dig your place.

Beer Poster, Bieres De La Fauvette by Leonetto Cappiello

Leonetto Cappiello

2011-07-20T09:27:00.005-04:00

Cappiello's Maurin Quina
c1906

Leonetto Cappiello (1875-1942) was a leader in the French poster as advertisement movement in the early 1900s.

A POSTCARD FROM HOWARD CITY

2011-07-18T20:28:00.004-04:00

Okay, this is not Howard City. This is 88th Street South of Fremont looking west at about noon last Saturday. I have a thing for airplanes. My wife does too. I still run outside and search the sky for aircraft when I hear engines that don't sound familiar.
I also fear I've written this before. If I have, so what.
Maybe this where people will say "I think the backslide began about the time he repeated himself with that story about the crop duster." This may go down as the beginning, the beginning of his... Memoir Of Sillyness!

Sugar Pie DeSanto - Soulful Dress

2011-07-06T09:45:00.002-04:00

A Country Mile

2011-06-22T19:48:00.004-04:00

I really like this photo. Don't know who it is or when or where exactly. But it speaks volumes.

Floyd And Betty Lou

2011-06-18T10:14:00.005-04:00

I don't think I actually ever set my sights on being an early riser. I always just was, to the annoyance of several. If there was ever an early morning rustling of anything of any type...probably me. But after years of trying so hard to tip-toe around, eventually, it's like to hell with it, get up already.

The act of sleeping in always seemed to be attached to other families and not mine. There was a kind of foreign sort of element to it, maybe a little bohemian or a little whiff of affluence maybe, like I knew what that was. My family seemed to be the family who invented daylight.
On Saturday mornings as a kid, I would saunter or ride my Typhoon down the sidewalks of my neighborhood long before the first lawn mower cranked up. I would ring the doorbell and eventually Floyd or Betty Lou would open their door while the rest of the family was still asleep. And with as much kindness as they could muster at that hour, request that I return at a more reasonable time.
A more dejected kid may not have returned. But I didn't know any better.
I turned away and walked down the street, along their 7 foot high fence that we weren't supposed to climb and through Meyers backyard into McGhee's Woods for awhile until I did hear the lawn mowers. And then head back up to Floyd and Betty Lou's to see if Susie was awake.

It's A Bikini World

2011-06-07T11:07:00.008-04:00

This '67 comedy, starring a post Disney, Tommy Kirk, (Absent Minded Professor, Old Yeller, Swiss Family Robinson and Shaggy Dog) doesn't have much to do with British motorcycles or my favorite musicians or where you can find a fine pair of Brothel Creepers or even people or places from my hometown. But, it does have bikinis. And a pretty happenin little soundtrack with: We Got To Get Out Of This Place by The Animals, Walk On (Right Out Of My Life) by Pat Vegas, Liar Liar by The Castaways, Attack by The Toys and Spread It On Thick by The Gentrys (pictured).
In the same vein as a Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello flick and probably equally as compelling because it had Hondas and, well, bikinis.
No, I haven't seen It's A Bikini World yet, but, I have read about it and, well, it does have bikinis.

IMDB

Dune Buggy

2011-05-27T14:28:00.004-04:00

Certain signposts in life should read "not as smart as" maybe, rather than the somewhat less sunnier, "stupid," "idiotic" or "potentially fatal" even.
Such as the time when on one morning, way too many of us jumped into Jeff's open, roll-bar only Jeep with a freshly plucked, Waldo's keg that we huddled around as we sped up the highway for a day of fun and frolic on the dunes of
Silver Lake.

One of the many other joys of the area, I'm guessing, was the Silver Lake Sun Club. The local nudist camp that, no matter how many backroads we went down, seemed to elude us.
I remember when I was just a bit younger and seeing nudist magazines with pictures of nudist volleyball and how I thought that looked pretty interesting. And that if we were diligent enough at seeking this camp out that we could actually run across such an event.

Another similar fascination within rural Oceana County took place a few years later when the annual Women's National Music Festival set up camp Northwest of Hesperia. You always knew when the festival's road crew came through in advance of the show by all the Subaru wagons with Vermont plates.

Photo: Diane Arbus' Retired Nudists

Lordy Lordy Look Who's...Sixty?

2011-05-23T21:31:00.004-04:00

Nice to see Gary, Paula and Tom and even some Craig. Some of the Maple Street / East Avenue, extending out to 48th, street team. Of course there was never enough time to catch up with them or a bevy of other folks either. Good to see everybody.

I thought I'd read that Robin Williams grew up around Grosse Pte.. But I wonder if he may have had family on this side of the state?

Farr View Dairy

2011-05-23T20:44:00.003-04:00

Actually, I do remember having a milkman. White uniform, white truck, thick whole milk with paper caps. Rarely did I ever see chocolate. Maybe our dairy didn't swing that way, maybe my folks didn't, maybe it was too fancy-pants. I really don't know the answer to that. Now eggnog at Christmas, that was another story altogether. My brother Tim wouldn't have had it any other way. And cultured buttermilk, my god who drinks that stuff. My dad did.

Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend

2011-05-11T20:26:00.000-04:00

A kiss on the hand may be quite continental
But diamonds are a girl's best friend
A kiss may be grand
But it won't pay the rental on your humble flat
Or help you at the automat
Men grow cold as girls grow old
And we shall lose our charms in the end
But square cut or pear shape
These rocks don't lose their shape
Diamonds are a girl's best friend
Diamonds are a girl's best friend

Let's Rock

There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer
Diamonds are a girl's best friend

There may be when a hard boiled employer
Thinks you're awful nice
But get that ice or else no dice
He's your guy when stocks are high
But beware when they start to descend
It's then that these louses go back to their spouses
Diamonds are a girl's best friend
Diamonds are a girl's best friend

Let's rock again

Lyrics from T-Bone Burnett's Diamonds Are Girl's Best Friend

Photo from the movie RPM - Revolutions Per Minute(from imdb.com) - About a radical, west coast college professor who takes over during a campus revolt but can't decide between restoring order or anarchy.

Bobby D On A 500 Brit

2011-05-09T19:55:00.003-04:00

Some say he crashed his Triumph Tiger up around Woodstock, New York. Some say he didn't. And some just don't say.

Photo: Getty Image

A Tale Of Urban Terror And Savagery: The Moped Choppers

2011-05-09T09:14:00.006-04:00

Ace Motorcycle And Scooter Company's Rocker's Reunion, vintage bike and scooter rally. Saturday May, 7th. Chicago, Illinois.

I had just finished going back and forth like twenty times till I fit into the parking space the size of a shoe. I was walking briskly toward the intersection when I first felt the vibrations beneath my feet. After staring at my shoe tips, I looked up, and there they were, revving their engines, waiting for the green light. And the thunder was deafening...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Photos: si!

CC And Company

2011-05-06T14:26:00.009-04:00

A) 1970's Broadway Joe Namath as CC Ryder, motorcycle mechanic.
B) Ann-Margret as Ann McCalley, fashion journalist.
C) CC Ryder joins band of desert biker hooligans.
D) Hooligans pick-up writer Ann who is stranded by side of road.
E) New recruit Ryder is smitten with kitten.
F) William Smith as Moon, the leader of these savages known as The Heads, isn't exactly giddy about the sparks that are flying and decides to pour cold water on their fire.
G) Ann and Joe Willey don't like being cold or wet so she climbs on back of his AMF era Harley and they head out of Dodge.
H) Wayne Cochran and The CC Ryders do their Mitch Ryder best.

imdb.com

Kitten Rides A Tiger

2011-05-02T21:35:00.007-04:00

Thrill seeker, motorcycle enthusiast and all around double barreled bundle of joy, Ann Margaret, starring in this 1966 film, The Swinger, on a Triumph Tiger 500. Margaret, as writer Kelly Olsson, swings hard to prove to girly-mag editor, Tony Franciosa's Ric Colby, that she's capable of the steamy romps she writes about. And that her stories are everything his sexy-time magazine requires.
Whew! Its getting a little warm in here for 1966. The wattage from Ann Margaret alone could provide power for most mid-size towns.

Photo: dailymail.co.uk and imdb.com

Easty On A Bonney

2011-04-30T21:01:00.011-04:00

Clint Eastwood with Tish Sterling resting from a chase scene on a 650 TR6 in 1968's Coogan's Bluff. The tale of an Arizona cop sent to NYC to bring back a bad dude played by Don Stroud (who also gets some reel time astride a 500cc, T100R, Triumph Daytona). This film was also the inspiration for 1970's McCloud with Dennis Weaver which I absolutely dug the absolute crap out of right up there with Rock Hudson, Susan Saint James and Nancy Walker in
McMillan and Wife.

Coogan's Bluff is in New York City and is the name of a cliff off a hillside somewhere around 155th street.

Photo: dailymail.co.uk and imdb.com

Driven Too Far By His Own Hot Blood

2011-04-27T19:10:00.010-04:00

Marlon Brando leaning on what might be a Triumph 650 Thunderbird in 1954s The Wild One. Sporting the Schott Perfecto One Star as t-shirt. With his policeman-like hat cocked to one side, someone might've suggested something to Marlon about rolling the pant legs down a bit but that might have been risking a swift, square toed engineer's boot to the arse or a shiv through the ribs.
This kicks off a brief, shirttail, motorscooter retrospective.

Photo: Everywhere

JC's Got That Swing

2011-04-27T10:20:00.004-04:00

The other JC as he holds court from his throne during this pre Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson's, Johnny Carson Show.

Photo: Life

The Real Old Fashion Days

2011-04-25T12:56:00.005-04:00

A fetching photo (minus the scrawled city pendant) of what looks like Main street looking east in bustling, downtown Fremont. Anybody out there have a guess what year this is and how you might tell? I'm good for maybe 20 years either way but I'm going with 1900.

Forgive Me Father For I Have Eaten...A Lot

2011-04-18T11:38:00.008-04:00

I could have this all wrong.
Not necessarily a great way to start out I know. But this way I kinda cover my ass. Does the name Spatafore ring a bell? They were Roy's mother and father in-law. You remember Roy, the 8th grade biology teacher? A one time Motor City weightlifter crowned, Mr. Detroit.
Well the Spatafores owned the local sugar based gold mine downtown known as Caruso's. The town was already blessed with a Tastee Freez, a Frosty Freeze, an IGA, a Kroger's, a Hometown Super Market, a Mini-Mart and Bultman's Thriftway. Not to mention a Ben Franklin that already had a pretty killer candy section in it's own right. But this Caruso's, this, was the real deal.

Serious home made chocolate peanut clusters and sea foam, red and black licorice and other stuff that I probably didn't like so it probably won't get mentioned. And one of those light green, porcelain milk shake blenders that fit at least 2 or 3 stainless steel, milk shake containers. And when they poured the shake out into a tall, v-shaped glass, there was always some left that didn't quite make it into your glass and you wondered just who the hell that was going to end up with that.

This couple, the Spatafore's, didn't seem to be made up of any of the elements that make up sunshine, or anything even remotely warm...or fuzzy. Mr S. was a big guy. Six-two or better and, well, just big. And the only thing worse than a grumpy guy is a big grumpy guy. And Mrs.S., she wasn't exactly winning any PTA awards either. As a matter of fact, I cannot remember either one of them uttering a word. They seemed to communicate with their eyebrows which, in themselves, were quite significant and nimble.

About the time incense and rolling papers started making their way into our very humble, non yet side burned, very Christian Reformed little hamlet, Caruso's was also on a path toward change. A path that lead straight through our hearts like a blackened arrow. This path toward this thing that will change the way we eat for the rest of our lives. This thing...this thing called...pizza-by-the-slice.

And A Fine Night It Was

2011-04-10T17:33:00.009-04:00

Saturday night, steak fry night is enough to get even the most surly of Moose members off their patooties and in to town. And I'd like to personally thank Doug Nadeau, whom I'd never met before, but I'm pretty sure his name is Doug, for all his kind words. Roxanne and Bob, great to see you both. Dody Rottman-Miller, havent seen you at a gig since like, Sneakers. Rodney, husband to Roxanne, thank you for bringing me up to speed on life since I saw you at the EZ Mart about 2 weeks ago. Kenney, havent seen you since ZZ Top. Thank you, your woman and whats his name Smith for making the trip and hanging all night. Kathe and Marge, thanks for staying. Kyle, Dannie, Mike and Darlene thank you. Brad, Vicky, your daughter, Warren and your wife who is Sherry Thompson's sister, Jim and Melissa Graham, Ted and Sue Splitstone, Jan and Katy, Dennis-Mitch's cousin and your wife, Jerry Westbrook and Lisa, Dave Salada, andTrish and Cliff. And a special thank you goes out to Kathy With A K, bless her heart for babysitting 2 out of 3 grandkids that night, whoa! I apologize if I've misspelled, omitted or just plain go it wrong. It was nice to see you all
Oh, and by the way, thank you Gerg, Mitch and Jack for remembering any of the chops we may have had, wished we had or lied about and said we had.

Photos of Mitch taken without written consent.
(it might bode well for the photographer to hit the sauce a bit just before he wields the camera to steady those shaky hands)(could it be the other way around)?

South Of Bakersfield And North Of Heartache: The Palomino Club

2011-04-04T14:16:00.016-04:00

On a street in the San Fernando Valley, east of the 405 and west of Burbank sat a 1400 square foot dance floor attached to a bar, a grill and a stage called The Palomino Club.
This rough and tumble country and western music joint opened in the early 50s and saw all your top dollar acts like; Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee sashay through it's saloon doors.
The Flying Burrito Brothers, Elvis Costello and the Plimsouls all made live recordings there as well as the bar serving as a back drop for a few films with Clint Eastwood and Burt Reynolds.

The club opened at 6am to allow the Valley's 3rd shifters their happy hour and stayed open through afternoon sound checks so regulars and fans could not only watch rehearsals for free but to also take part in impromptu meet and greets.

Through the 80s until closing in '95, you could watch Merle Haggard bump into Lone Justice who'd trip over Dwight Yoakam who was joking around with Neil Young while Neil was showing off the finer points of his tour bus to the Meat Puppets.

Photo of a scene from Every Which Way But Loose.Borrowed from dearoldhollywood.blogspot
Content from thecountryclassics.com

Of Elephants And Camels

2011-04-01T08:10:00.005-04:00

I may have posted this undated photo before, or at least one that is similar. Looks like turn of the century, Main Street Fremont when Main Street was a dirt road. If this was, at the time, the town's annual summer parade celebration, I don't think they were calling it Old Fashion Days. But I like that this was once what my hometown looked like.

We Witnessed (And Joined In) A Brutal Skanking

2011-03-31T10:10:00.005-04:00

Last night The Intersection was inhabited by what appeared to be evacuees from a bomb scare at the neighborhood AARP travelogue.
And being the consummate entertainment complex that it is, staff responded in kind by offering a rollicking dancehall style party for the victims.

Rhythm was provided by the English Beat who, from the moment they strapped on, busted out irresistible, soul kissed ska like; Hands Off...She's Mine, Tears Of A Clown, Twist & Crawl, Mirror In The Bathroom, Sooner Or Later and the Staple Singer's, I'll Take You There.

We almost didn't put forth the effort to go to this show, but we're grateful we pushed our little envelope, for I believe we were skanking, my wife and I.

We, including my stepson and his wife pretty soon, would plunk down serious cash (under $100) to do this again. Go See Them Now!

The Mighty Pines Of Montague

2011-03-30T10:13:00.007-04:00

At least 6, maybe 7 badly written pages ago I started writing about what criteria i might ponder when considering the notion of starting an upbeat, pop combo. And just after that wadded up 7th page I decided that the criteria were too numerous and too ludicrous to mention.
So I whittled down what I thought were at least a few of the corest of the core considerations. And that these of course can be used in tandem with a multitude of other subjective and perhaps less useful guidelines that you yourself might come up with, or, you could simply just chuck this to the wayside and go back to typing meaningless drivel.

First) Look for skills that knock you back a bit (you'll know what I mean when you hear it).

Second) And that these skills will compliment your own (and others if there are more than you).

Third) With any luck you will see yourself having nice, cordial conversations with this person (possibly on more than one occasion).

Fourth) Prepare to keep looking.

There now, feel free to print this out or forward on to others as a friendly, helpful hint.

Photo: The Shaggs from 1968's Philosophy Of The World
(from isyes.blogspot.com)

Gertie Turns Thirty

2011-03-12T13:42:00.003-05:00

My oldest daughter just celebrated her thirtieth birthday. A landmark birthday. And a solemn birthday.
I know it to be a landmark birthday because Walgreen's has a card slot for a 30 year old.
I think she's a little miffed about the whole thing. Not so much about Walgreen's but I wonder if it's because I neglected to place a 4th grade picture of her in the Times-Indicator with the message, Looky Looky Who's Thirty!

I wish I could find words for her that would help slow things down for a while. Kind of like stopping the clock but we would still be moving. The only thing I can say with absolute conviction is that I love her, and that it's a process, my dear. We should be thankful we are able to be a part of it.

Hey Sunshine, you're on deck!

V-ROOM V-ROOM

2011-03-11T10:03:00.016-05:00

James, who lived down the street, and myself, turned out to be pretty good at mimicking the sound of the shovelhead slap by using a couple of stiff playing cards held by a clothes pin, flapping through the spokes of a '66, Huffy Davison.
It also must be told that we were equally adept at spotting discarded, still smoke-able cigarette butts along the side of the road. Cigarette butts that were screaming at us for one more chance at life. We would play God, Jim and I.

Then one Saturday morning, Mike, Pete's cousin, showed up in our neighborhood with a Mattel V-RRoom Motor on his bike. A small crowd gathered.
I remember feeling humbled. I had only seen these on the Saturday morning toy commercials that came on between the cartoons.
This. This sound. This fake motorcycle sound. It comes from money. Only money can make this sound, Jim said.
And besides, everybody knows you don't start a motorcycle with a key in a switch on the handle bars. You kick start the son-of-a-guns, right Jimmy?

Cheeze And Rice

2011-03-01T17:26:00.009-05:00

Jesus Christ! I mean no blasphemy here, it's more about the exclamation point. And no, I really don't want to tick the big guy off, he or someone similar in their organization have done great things for me, but Jesus Christ!
Look at this beautifully ornate, art deco style theatre, The New Fremont, which later, as many of us know, became the OZ - now a hair salon for Christ's sake.
At what time exactly did the character of this town decide to take a hike and never return.
Maybe, in my state of giddiness to dig up what was, I should also be tempering my archeology with the possibility of discovering disappointment. This shift in expectation would allow me to diffuse any awkward, public or private displays of bummed-outed-ness well in advance, and allow me to continue this journey with renewed vigor.

Hang Down

2011-02-25T16:07:00.003-05:00

Franklin Delano had the fag hang down. What a cool smoker, Frank. Here, he's tellin somebody, "Don't do as I say, do as I do or I'll kick yer ass sure as you're sittin next to me and I'll look good doin' it."

whoa whoa whoa

2011-02-23T08:57:00.002-05:00

The good news is the nicotine patches seem to be working. The bad news is the FDA is taking their sweet time approving the anti-cheeseburger and onion ring patch to be worn in conjunction.

FatBooth app.

G'(Hack)Morning...spit

2011-02-07T11:35:00.007-05:00

Hi. I'm Todd Truman. And I smoke fags. Maybe if I write about it I'll be less apt to go back to it. That's horseshit really I know. But nothing wrong with adding a new defense angle to the strategy. Like zone, man to man, half court, full court press and scribbling about quiting. It's all about what you've got in the playbook man. And doesn't it always comes down to the sports analogies?
I'm not fairing to badly though. 6 weeks yesterday with one misstep. And that sure was one tasty misstep I'll tell you what.
I think about it a lot. Even dream and fantasize about it. The art of the long pull. I used to rehearse that huff back in the gullies behind junior high. When you're in ninth grade and you want people to see that you smoke (otherwise why would you), you want to look damn convincing, like you knew how to strike a match with your thumb tip on your way out of the womb.
Ironically, I still kind of dig the naughtiness of it. It's still sexy in a really stupid, dinosaur kind of way. That's why I seek out photos of people smoking. The yin and the yang. The romantic and the downright idiotic.
I mean why die in a house fire from smoke inhalation for Christ's sake when you can ultimately achieve the same effect by smoking for 40 years. (That's a keeper, I'll have to write that one down).

With Bonnie And Clyde Like Fervor / Drift Buckin'

2011-01-28T13:10:00.008-05:00

Boy, they just don't make snowmobiles like they used to. As you can see, it doesn't appear that the County snow plow drivers are even out of bed yet. I wonder, after confronting the driver of the vehicle coming straight for you, how pleasant the tone of conversation was while deciding who was going to be the one to back up.
O' course if this couple happened to be Bonnie and Clyde, there probably was no conversation.

Drift Bucker is a term Rob Ter Veer or Jim Bolens used to describe a $200 rust bucket that you'd buy in November so you could put your stellar, $1000 dollar, I get more chicks in this thing, Plymouth Fury up for the winter.

Oui Oui !

2011-01-22T11:00:00.004-05:00

I love this photo and wanted to share it. I bummed it off Schott Bros. Facebook page. This is model, Crystal Renn in Schott's lambskin, women's Perfecto in a photo shoot from Paper Planes Magazine.

ronniehanna 1962-2011

2011-01-21T12:54:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I heard Ronnie, never just Hanna, but always ronniehanna. Just 4 easy syllables. Sure, What-A-Guy, his company's namesake and really, with no irony, the most accurate description anyone could ever bestow upon someone, would inherently follow.
I hadn't known Ronnie all that long. Sometimes, as a sales rep, you refer to particular time frames by the line you carried at the time. I met Ronnie during his days with Stussy at an Embassy Suite's show in Southfield. The show was so dead, there was nothing to do but dangle over the hallway wall in the atrium and talk shit to other reps.

He had just come off a long stint with Michael Brandon and was starting over with Stussy. He was full of himself and had lots of stories about the crap sides of this business I had never known. And I thought I'd already lived enough crap stories. Christ, there's more?
So I kind of held Ronnie at a yeah, right, whatever sort of distance. I don't know that I admitted it to him, almost sure I didn't, but I was envious of him. How much longer than me he'd been in the business, the people he knew, the places he'd gone and the money he'd made...and lost.
Yet he was starting all over again, like many in this business do. So our kinship, if I may call it that, started then.

And since then, I would go out of my way to spend even a few minutes at one show or another to catch up. Bands and music were another thing we jawed over. He used to tell me that while he lived in Milwaukee, he was often mistaken for Sammy I think his name is, the shorter guy in the Bodeans. Once, while in New York for the Men's Collective, it was my 5oth, and he took me out to dinner because I was away from home on my birthday. When I lost my gig as a rep after being in a motorcycle accident, he called me right away and asked me if I needed cash. He told me about the summer he moved to Milwaukee and how it ceremoniously coincided with the police rummaging through the condiments in Jeffery Dahmer's icebox. And finally, last summer, he made a point to stop by my hotel after the show and we had a smoke and a cocktail while admiring a cat sized rat walk the fence line on the patio.

Not many people in this world leave you wanting more. And now of course when I can't, I wish I would have nudged our friendship further.
I will let that be a lesson.

Cheers, Ron.

The Seaway

2011-01-18T18:05:00.003-05:00

When ever I'm in the vicinity of Seaway Drive and I just feel like taking a little time out, say, for like a night or two, I like to kick back at the Seaway with a really big bottle of something nasty. You know the size bottle I'm talking about? There about the size of an old file cabinet. You practically have to tip em over onto a pallet and haul it away with a fork lift. That size.
(I'm just jokin, Honey. I've never had to use a forklift).

Mr And Mrs.

2011-01-15T15:30:00.005-05:00

This couple could have been my parents. But, I suspect, as much trouble As I got their son into, they quite likely would have declined the offer.
This photo is important to me for a number of reasons. One; I totally forgot about The Green Bean.
While it may stand out as one of the more inglorious vehicles ever made, it represents a time when we were finishing high school, and we had the whole world in front of us, and the most important thing we were concerned about at the moment was who had papers.

Two; This particular angle of the house depicts the door to the sun room where we watched Bewitched at noon. It wasn't just the Snow Capped Franks we were avoiding, it was the importance of autonomy, being able to walk away from it all, for like, 25 minutes. We returned reinvigorated, maybe even a little bit arrogant.

The roof to the sun room also served as an important cog in one of the greatest sneak outs from a sleep-over ever to be busted by a mom for.
It seemed flawless on paper:
A) Climb out second floor bathroom window to roof of first floor sun room. B) Jump off sun room roof to ground below.
"Tuck and roll" I whispered. "Remember to tuck and roll."

While returning from whatever pointless adventure we earlier set out for, we realized we left out one small but very key element to the success of this euphoric, no walls can hold us, flight to freedom. Just how exactly, were we gonna get back up to the bathroom window.
This minor set back to our plans quickly took a back seat as we tip-toed through the woods toward the house when we stopped, dumbfounded. We stood silent, trying to make sense of it. There-are-now-many-more-lights-on- in-the-house-than-when-we-left.
Shit! Norma was awake!

Three; You are missed Mrs. Leaver

The Pendletones

2011-01-13T11:38:00.002-05:00

The dawn of hipster surf...

Hot Car Girl

2011-01-13T11:21:00.001-05:00

I'm often asked how I met my wife.

The New Bohemians

2010-12-30T13:26:00.003-05:00

If I had to apologize to a building for the insistence of a face lift, I think this is as good a candidate as any.
After it was a hotel and before it's current state as a law office, this building was the Fremont Public Library...of the microfiche era. Its first surgery I believe, and correct me if I'm wrong, was in the late 60s, which is about the time it began this not so quiet, fancy pants aesthetic.
Put it this way, if you were new to Fremont and had a homework assignment that required some research, chances are you were not going to mistake the only white, stucco-ish, faux facade in a town built almost entirely of brown brick, for the dry cleaners.

Mrs. Hunt, the librarian if I recall, made many a trip upstairs to shush me and my friends as we plowed through stacks of National Geographic with utmost maturity, four of us, crammed into one side of a study carrel. The upstairs also served as a meeting place and semi hangout when parents poo-pooed the almost junior high aged, pre make out, never without another friend in tow, mating ritual.

More importantly, the upstairs was also the home at one time to Addie's Book Nook. Almost as close as Fremont was ever going to come to welcoming the sinister hippies (except for Ted's older sister's paper and bong emporium of course, which lasted about a minute). Addie, was married to one of the town's veterinarians, and rumor had it that their parties were, well, different. I always thought her husband was just a little too grumpy and unhippy-like when ever we brought our hysteric, Irish Setters in for shots.
She, Addie, of the hairy eyeball, kept close tabs on us when ever she felt like we were spending a little too much time rummaging through the Raquel Welch posters.

Back Seat Systems Analyst

2010-12-27T13:12:00.007-05:00

If you guessed this vehicle is a 1996, Honda Odyssey, you guessed right. This highly sought after vintage treat has at least two obvious identifiers in this photo, as you collectors well know.
The first of course being the missing, or shall we say modified, rear interior, hatchback door panel. It doesn't necessarily boost the aerodynamics per se, it just makes life easier when you have to continually lube up the latch mechanism on a daily basis.
And of course the other is the pre-Garmin, onboard navigator, which, if not factory installed, can now be found as an after market item.
This particular unit is called a DD, or Duke Of Dickaround as it states in the manual. What separates this from the modern day GPS is the alarm. If you as much as slightly go off course on your way into town for the daily pee-walk or make a quick, off-the-cuff decision to avoid that pesky school bus, instead of the flashing lights with abrasive buzzers or horns, you get a mild, somewhat anxious, repetitive whimpering sound as if to say, "Why the hell are we not taking the exact route we always take?"

Haircut by Joan And Company
Hat, the models own.

Good *&%$#@ Morning

2010-12-22T14:17:00.004-05:00

Day before yesterday I drove most of the way toward Milwaukee with a soda straw between my fingers. Occasionally drawing an imaginary pull from the non-filtered end. Stopped to get gas at the oasis where I pumped $15 dollars in with $5 conveniently left over from a twenty dollar bill and bought a pack. It sits in a cup holder and remains unopened.

I figure why hide from the bastards. If I really want one I'm gonna have one whether they're right there or I bum one off somebody.
It's probably similar to other addictions, however serious, where all the triggers check in to say hello. Followed by many different styles of excuse and justification or hell, what if it's JUST TIME TO HAVE A SMOKE!

Party Spoilers

2010-12-22T12:49:00.010-05:00

In Sunday School, I had met my match as class cut-up/loudmouth/all around shit. He was stealing my thunder. I believe this may have been the first time I instilled in myself the adage: keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

So I befriended him by pointing out our obvious similarities, or rather our celebrity status as nitwits of the congregation. I quietly kept score by trying to gauge the direction of the Sunday School teacher's harsh. And I'll admit, I pushed to become friends for another reason. Some may call me a social climber for this but, his folks had a color TV. His dad was a doctor so they happen to be one of the few in town that had a color set.

So one Sunday afternoon, after a highly successful bout of post church, verbal napalm, I wrangled my way over to his house. I was given the obligatory tour of his room and his brother's, probably for comparison's sake. That or he wanted to prove that he too was capable of having friends. I tra-la-la'd down the hall toward the kitchen with one eye open for the living room or den. I could tell boredom was setting in and quite possibly the realization that, beyond being attention mongers, we didn't really have much else in common. I had no choice, time was running out, I pulled out all the stops and just went for it,"Hey, wanna watch TV?

And there, in full on technicolor, was Marlin Perkins' Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. When it was over I called my ma, she picked me up and got the hell out of there.

Pretenders ('78-'82)

2010-12-18T10:44:00.007-05:00

By the time I was discovering the Pretenders, two core members, James Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon, were already dead and gone. And of course this late seventies-early eighties
line-up turned out to be my favorite, all cliches aside. Why? Probably the swashbuckle Farndon added aesthetically, along with the kindred bashing and navigation through mix and match time signatures with rhythm partner, the speartip- mutton-chopped Martin Chambers. Dang, they had the whole package.
And then there is Chrissie Hynde who I adopted an immediate, delusional bond with after I learned that, not only was she the only yankee in a band of Brits, but a yankee from Akron, Ohio. A measally 300 plus miles away. Thats like next door.

Pretenders live from rottentomatoes.com

Friedman's

2010-12-15T11:36:00.005-05:00

What a great sign, I hear tell it's one of the best in town.

Friedman's Army-Navy Outdoors
2101 21st Avenue S. Nashville, TN

Charles Oland Gerber

2010-12-11T22:42:00.005-05:00

To me, he was Uncle Charles. His wife, Louise, was my mom's best friend. They lived about half a block down the street. I used to go there with my mom after school and they would send me to the living room to watch the 3 Stooges while they gossiped about such and such. Sometimes, Kay White or Phyllis Yakee, a couple of the neighbor ladies would stop by. It was only like 4 in the afternoon when all this took place, but it must have been happy hour somewhere.
Sometimes I would sneak down into their basement where they had, what I now know as, the most righteous tiki-bar. It had slat floors and fake palm trees and also served as a screening room when they had movie night.
But what I hold dear in my heart was the guest bathroom. Far enough away from everyone else that I could seclude myself for....well, a while. But when it became just a little too quiet in the living room, and they'd start calling for me, I guess that means it's time to flush the toilet and quietly emerge from the back of the house and just what the hell is a bidet anyway? But it was there, in that bathroom, that Uncle Charles kept his Playboy Magazines. And for a 3rd or 4th grader, or whatever I was... I hit the proverbial jackpot.
And for the longest time, I mean we're talking years, I thought every women had tan lines.

More later on McGees Woods.

2010-12-10T15:07:00.002-05:00

I can tell a call has reached its 10 or 15 minute mark by the pull to take this conversation outdoors, so I can puff a smoke. But then the "nurse" from the Quit-The-Nic program, who happens to be who I'm speaking with, might find some irony in the answers I'm giving her as to just how I handle certain moments when the urge hits to fire one up. So then I dismiss it.
That is until another 10 minutes or so ticks by and I'm talking myself into thinking she won't figure it out. I'll cough when I light it. I'll hold the phone away when I exhale.
My favorite part in Old School is when Juliet Lewis' character is talking with Luke Wilson's character after he comes home and busts her for entertaining some people she just met in a chat room. And you can almost hear it when her lips pop off the butt of the cigarette while doing the tight, pursed lip exhale and still apologizing all very seamlessly.

Gotta Move While It's Still Fun

2010-12-08T19:28:00.005-05:00

Drove by here the other day but didn't see it quite quick enough to frame it well. Just before showtime one night Mitch, Jack and I and maybe Greg or Kevin...anyway, we walked, or actually surfs upped through about 2 inches of urine. And that was in the lobby, on our way to see the Spensive Winos where we witnessed Waddy, Steve Jordan and Charlie Drayton, among a couple others, bring down the house.
Happy times.

Aragon Ballroom, Chicago

Big Al's Boot City

2010-12-07T09:38:00.003-05:00

I seem to exhibit a marked propensity for footwear, boots specifically. A boot whoor of you will. The bad boy pictured is Eastland Shoe's Hemlock. Eastland ran toe to toe with LL Bean in the 70s with their camp moccasin. Either you were an Eastland or you were an LL Bean.
Either way you swing, this is one handsome boot.

From eastlandshoe.com $90

'74 Lamborghini Espada

2010-12-06T10:31:00.003-05:00

I saw one of these in yesterday's Sunday New York Times, only it was pink. I'm not crazy about pink really but I can't remember the last time I've seen one of these. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen one of these, but it sure is pretty. Long as a football field with a 350 horse, v-12 5 speed. A 4-seater with a trunk the size of a small pantry. Nice ride Ms. Stern. Car Pool anyone?

Charlie-Guns-A-Blazin'

2010-12-02T14:25:00.005-05:00

Driving home in the snow from Chicago, everybody on the interstate hunkers down to a 45 mph trudge. Its the first snow that sticks so its best to give the road the benefit of the doubt. Of course every now and then some nut job in a big ol fatcat of a pickup truck blows by as if its sunny and seventy. I've got one hand on the wheel, peering over the dash while I'm reaching on the floor, searching for some take me home tunes and out comes Kindred Spirits.
My knowledge of Charlie Robison has been limited up to this point but his take on
Don't Take Your Guns To Town just wales. The way that dirty Fender kerrangs on the intro and that crying pedal steel with that great little story on top of it. Nice work, Charlie.
Dwight's horn driven opener, Understand Your Man is a great rave-up with a warm an punchy bass and kick drum pounding on your chest.
Speaking of rhythm sections, Jesse Boyce on bass and John Ferraro on drums cook nicely with Little Richard on Johnny's Get Rhythm. It's not difficult to single these two out on this cut, they're the ones responsible for your thrusting pelvis.

This being a Marty Stuart project, he turns up through out and contributes this diesel train's
Hey Porter.
Springsteen gives a haunting Give My Love To Rose and Steve Earle's story teller, Hardin Wouldn't Run wrap up my favorites on this disc.
This record stands up well for being 8 years old.
Nice work Marty Stuart. And bless you Johnny Cash!

Keef 'Splodin Through The Phillips

2010-11-26T10:57:00.006-05:00

"'Flash!' Shit, what a record! All my stuff came together and all done on a cassette player. With "Jumpin Jack Flash" and "Street Fighting Man" I'd discovered a new sound I could get out of an acoustic guitar. That grinding, dirty sound came out of these crummy little motels where the only thing you had to record with was this new invention called the cassette recorder. And it didn't disturb anybody. Suddenly you had a very mini studio. Playing an acoustic, you'd overload the Phillips cassette player to the point of distortion so that when it played back it was effectively an electric guitar. You were using the cassette as a pick-up and an amplifier at the same time. You were forcing acoustic guitars through a cassette player, and what came out the other end was electric as hell. An electric will jump live in your hands. It's like holding on to an electric eel. An acoustic guitar is very dry and you have to play it a different way. But if you get that different sound electrified, you get this amazing tone and this amazing sound. I've always loved the acoustic guitar, loved playing it, and I thought, if I can just power this up a bit without going to electric, I'll have a unique sound. It's got a little tingle on the top. It's unexplainable, but it's something that fascinated me at the time.
In the studio, I plugged the cassette into a little extension speaker and put a mic in front of it so it had a little breadth and depth, and put that on tape. That was the basic track. There are no electric instuments on "Street Fighting Man" at all, apart from the bass, which I overdubbed later. All acoustic guitars. "Jumpin Jack Flash" the same.
Charlie Watt's drums on "Street Fighting Man" are from this little 1930s practice drummer's kit, in a little suitcase that you popped up, one tiny cymbal, a half size tambourine that served as a snare, and thats really what it was made on, made on rubbish, made in hotel rooms with our little toys."

From Life
Photo nicked from selvedgeyard.wordpress.com

Keef On John

2010-11-24T10:54:00.005-05:00

"I liked John a lot. He was a silly sod in many ways. I used to criticize him for wearing his guitar too high. They used to wear them up by their chests, which really constricts your movement. It's like being handcuffed. 'Got your fucking guitar under your fucking chin, for Christ's sake. It ain't a violin.' I think they thought it was a cool thing. Gerry & the Pacemakers, all of the Liverpool bands did it. We used to fuck around like that: 'Try a longer strap, John. The longer the strap, the better you play.' I remember him nodding and taking it in. Next time I saw them the guitar straps were a little lower. I'd say, no wonder you don't swing, you know? No wonder you can only rock, no wonder you can't roll."

From the Keith Richards book, Life
Photo nicked from beatles.ncf.ca

Keef Kwote #1

2010-11-16T11:40:00.008-05:00

"There was an unforgettable dressing-room scene during the tour. I like Tom Jones. I first met him on that tour with Little Richard. I'd been on the road with Little Richard for 3 or 4 weeks, and Richard was not hard to get along with and still isn't, and we'd have a laugh together. But in Cardiff, guys like Tom Jones and his band the Squires were still living 5 years behind. They all walk into Little Richard's dressing-room, and they've still got the leopard skin coats with the black velvet collars, and the drapes - a procession of teddy boys all bowing and scraping. And Tom Jones actually kneels in front of Little Richard as if he's the pope. And of course Richard rises right to the occasion: "My boys!" They don't realize Richard is a screaming fag. So they don't know how to take this. "Well baybee, you're a Georgia peach." This total culture clash, but they were so in awe of Richard that they would take anything he would say. And he's giving me a nod and a wink.
"I love my fans! I love my fans! Ohh baby!" The Reverand Richard Penniman. Never forget he comes from the gospel church, like most of them do. We all sang Hallelujah at one time or another. Al Green, Little Richard, Solomon Burke, they all got ordained. Preaching is tax free. Very little to do with God, a lot to do with money."

Quote from the book Life.
Photo from northforksound.blogspot.com

Hey, Watcha Doin Next Weekend?

2010-11-15T13:40:00.003-05:00

Looks like they could use a hand.

Undated photo from Fremont Chamber of Commerce.
Late 1800s maybe?

Battalion Of Saints

2010-11-11T13:07:00.006-05:00

In an important attempt to place a time on just what it was that pushed my friend Jack and I across the tracks to bad-assville, it could only have been the photographs. And I think a good guess would be photos we ogled in Spin magazine.
Why Spin? Well, for that answer, I've got to back track a little.

Rolling Stone was my mainline through- out much if not all of the 70s. Creem was important too but in more of a comic book sort of way. And here it was a Detroit publication. You'd think, being from Michigan, I'd show a little solidarity. But in fact, in the late seventies, it was probably Creem that somehow led me to Trouser Press, which at the time, I thought was much darker in tone with all this hoopla over the "punk" movement in London and New York. Scary, disenchanting stuff for a young buck in his early 20s from a farm town of 3,000. But, like a car wreck, I still looked.

For me, in the early 80s, Rolling Stone had lost much of it's luster, but not enough to stop picking it up twice a month.
Then, in 1985, Spin magazine announced itself to the masses. I have to admit, I wasn't quite ready to have this shiney new rag from the son of the vice president of soft porn knock Jann Wenner off the porcelain lounger. But it was good, in many different ways it was good. And like the music scene at the time, it was transformative. Punk, new wave(punk light), country, hip hop, jazz and folk all mixed and siphoned through college radio. At that time, Spin was commercially expanding on reems and reems of what Rolling Stone wasn't. And the Photos....

My long winded point here are the photographs. The photos more than likely from Spin magazine are what drove Jack and I to buy our first Schott Perfecto, motorcycle leathers, long before we were aware of Schott's relevance in the leather jacket pantheon. This was in the mid 80s when we bought them from an unlikely men's store in a mall in Tragic City, Michigan.

So just what the hell was all this about? Well, after some 25 years, I now work for Schott.
Funny isn't it...kind of? No?

Ace Motorcycle And Scooter Company

2010-11-06T09:36:00.006-04:00

Ace is great little shop tucked back in off Jackson Blvd. in Chicago. The type of destination you pop into on a Saturday afternoon just to ogle all the scoots. My guess is you won't walk out without a tee-shirt. Or who knows, you might want to bring a trailer, or a helmet even, or two.
I didn't want to( actually couldn't) squeeze in to take a better pic of this Yama-bobber so your getting kind of an ass shot. It's a killer ride though.

Henry IV

2010-10-27T11:52:00.002-04:00

This is Henry (Hank), the lovliest, most beautiful, get-in-trouble-ist, semi naughtiest, ladykiller grandson in the world
Git 'em, Hank!

Purple Haze

2010-10-19T11:01:00.005-04:00

Hard to believe anyone would live above a bowling alley. Those must have been the "corporate" offices upstairs.
Fremont Bowling, Teen Town, which was more than likely the stepping stone to the Purple Haze.
Too young to enter but not too young to marvel at the 8x10 glossy photos posted outside of the current and upcoming bands coming through town. Seems like I remember Tommy James and the Shondells maybe, maybe not. I'm pretty sure there was some decent regional fare going through but I'd have to ask someone with better recall. I just remember standing there, straddling the center bar (guy bar) of my Schwinn, trying to catch a glimpse of the goings on through the open front door.
Those places where I wasn't allowed were exactly the places I wanted to be. Kind of like Chuck's Barber Shop (where my dad would call in before I got there with hair cut instructions). My family always went across town to the Buitendorp brother's barber shop. But Chuck's is where I wanted to go. He was old school Navy, tats galore. And he'd buzz your scalp with a lit Lucky hanging from the corner of his mouth.
But that wasn't the attraction, hell no, I wanted to grow my hair long. The trade off was Chuck's choice in reading material. I'd happily get a buzz cut with a little patch in front for a quick glimpse of a True Crime or better yet, a Playboy, carefully tucked inside a Field And Stream.
The not so secret secret was out amongst us 13 year olds, the place for pulp was Chuck's.

Nashvintage / Finale / Venus And Mars

2010-10-15T18:16:00.004-04:00

I know I inherited this thing for clothes from my dad. He wasn't outwardly fancy, just what I would call classic, impeccably classic actually.
I don't know what they called guys like that back then..., stylish maybe? I'm pretty sure nobody ever called him a clothes whore.
Nobody ever calls me a clothes whore either, to my face anyway. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I just like to think I am. That would be a little embarrassing, to call yourself a clothes whore when really nobody else ever thought that.
And here I am in the clothing business. I have to go into men's clothing stores all the time. It's like a nurse with more than just a passing fancy for morphine.

Venus And Mars was pretty incredible. The woman's end I thought much more so than the men's.
But that might have had more to do with my wife talking me out of everything I picked out for myself. So I ended up rifling through the women's racks right along with her as she was pulling out these stellar, 60s elephant bell, one piece pantsuits (is that redundant?) that were museum quality. They were crazy just to look at.

This has got to be a mecca for motion picture and theatre production, wardrobe and stylists.
And to top it off, Talvin Beville, the store manager working the till, was a gracious and genuine host.
I like it when people like their jobs.

Nashvintage, Tennessee / Part Dos / Katy K's

2010-10-12T16:08:00.004-04:00

It's really almost better to arrive at Katy K's alone. For me It's like the New Release section at the video store, I've got to see everything. And if it takes an hour, it takes an hour.
I hadn't been there for a few years and was giddy to start scouring only to discover after 20 minutes that my ride was pounding the horn in the parking lot, ready to shove off. They have no idea how badly I wanted that red t-shirt with the Shirelles on the front, maybe it was the Ronettes, but it was sure cool. Ain't nobody got one of those back home.

I don't want to sound like a comment on a yelp page, but when you're in Nashville, you absolutely must stop at Katy's. It's almost as much of an institution in Nashville as Nashville gets. I'll let her website do the talking.

katyk.com

Nashvintage, Tennessee / Part Uno

2010-10-06T17:21:00.004-04:00

Young buck Ian, greeted us, and gave us the nickel tour at Imogene+Willie, the Nashville gas station turned one part denim factory, one part retail store, and one part event space.

You can buy the I+W brand off the table or have them custom made to fit right there on site. Measured, patterns cut, then sewn and detailed... boom, out the door you go. I didn't say it was going to be cheap.
Refurbished boots galore line the shelves. Sprinkled with racks of Ralph Lauren's RRL, APC, bags, belts, blankets and the brands own namesake tees and thermals.

The only items that raised an eyebrow were the old and used, beater pairs of Red Wing boots with $255 price tags. I understand and appreciate the aesthetic, but I think I'll continue to buy mine new and beat 'em up myself because I might get just a few more miles out of them.

Beyond that, all in all, a great store I know I'll come back to.
As for Ian, oddly, we found out he grew up in a town just down the road from us.

Next Up: Katy K's Ranch Dressing / Part Dos

Photo: Thomas Petillo

Bouffants, Beehives And The Five Finger Discount

2010-09-29T10:32:00.007-04:00

Just the other night, Dave, Arnie, Carlos and I were reminiscing over some of the stores in town that are no longer. And about the old-lady clerks who patrolled the aisles, who all coincidentally sported big bouffant or beehive (if there is a distinction, I don't know what it is) hair-dos ( actually, hornet's nest would be more accurate) and black cat's eye framed glasses.

I didn't frequent the Home Town Super Market much because the gas stations really had the corner on candy, though the lady who ran the cash register, she was tall anyway but she had this swirling, Marge Simpson like, vertical mound of red hair and black horned rim glasses. She really pulled off the tall, scary, Sunday school teacher look quite successfully. And I think Mr. Dykman, who ran the store, kinda dug it.

But now the Ben Franklin store was a treasure trove of both candy AND toys. Everything from the latest plastic army guys (Germans if you were lucky) to the latest Ed"Big Daddy" Roth series of Rat Fink models. But this store's particular ol' lady clerk, who had to be a direct relative of the scary Sunday school, grocery store lady next door only this lady's bee's nest was blond (sorry Mike Fre-holy, hope she isn't your mom) was ALWAYS on me like stink on poo.
I don't remember ever lifting anything from this store, how could you. Not with this Nazi storm-trooper on patrol. They also had this elevated office area at the back of the store where they could look out over the aisles like a machine gun post in a guard tower. You actually felt guilty without ever taking anything. But I loved that store too much to ever want to be banned from it.

Now, about that old lady at the Oz Theatre...

Summer Breeze (Not For The Squeamish)

2010-09-21T10:33:00.010-04:00

For all the proper direction from denim purveyors aimed at keeping rigid, anti-fit, feels and looks like aluminum siding, Levi's 501s in their original just-store-bought state, it might be wise to also impose a caveat as to the length of time the wearer takes before finally drowning them in soap and water.
Or in my case, before my wife liberally douses them in kerosene and strikes a match after practically being brought to tears by the fermented, smells like ass fumes burning through her nostrils from opening a drawer full of jeans that hadn't been opened after one of the warmest, muggiest summers on record. And all I could come back with was,"But Honey, They Said"...

Lesson learned: Think about wearing your crispy 501s through-out fall, winter and spring. And if you have a specific drawer you store your jeans in, make good friends with a box of those Fabreze, dryer cloths. That, or maybe its finally time to change the aluminum siding?

Photo: Nicked from levis501rigid.blogspot.com

Shut Thine Piehole

2010-09-16T12:37:00.005-04:00

Stone Temple Pilots, nope. Shirt Tail Press, not even. Scientifically Treated Petroleum, yes sir!
Back in '54, Charles Dwight (Doc) Liggett, Jim Hill and Robert DeHart from St. Joseph, Missouri, cooked up and packaged this automotive stew in a garage at night, then sold it out of their car trunks by day.
Studebaker-Packard , with Andy Granatelli at the helm, bought STP in '61 and soon signed a sponsorship deal with Mario Andretti's Indy-Car race team. Nine years later, STP jumped the fence to NASCAR, which began their long time association with stock car legend, Richard Petty.

History from: racelinecentral.com

Trans(parent)

2010-09-13T10:13:00.004-04:00

I honestly had no intention of recruiting my own kids into a life of crime, but since I was fired from the sales floor at Danny's. I fell into bankruptcy, moral bankruptcy.
It began innocently enough over a few laughs and beer at how I'd make ends meet. Then one afternoon, we were no longer laughing, we were planning.
And then we did it.
We started out small and unassuming by knocking off a pet grooming place a couple of towns over.
Then we laid low for a few weeks, after the shock of how easy it was. Then we hit a small insurance agency only to find out they don't carry any real cash. But we did take something away from that little hiccup...we developed a taste for "it."
The adrenaline rush I once felt playing Streets Of San Francisco as a kid, returned.

This is a 3-D photo is of us at a secluded boot camp. Probably very similar to what you go through in a covert-ops, security contractor's training exercise, like that one that's in the news all the time, Blackhole Sun, or whatever.
The reason I describe it as a 3-D photo is because of the way my gut just kind of comes right at you. You know how in those movies where you want to flinch or duck. Kind of like that.

That's one proud Poppa right there!

DECK HUNTERS

2010-09-07T13:44:00.003-04:00

For those times when you track that squirrel from woods to water and he's given you no choice but to take aim from the port bow of your 1930s, 22 foot, triple cockpit Chris-Craft. These Sperry Topsider, Cloud Logo, Authentic Original, 7-Eye boots are, in a word...sweet.

-Genuine Handsewn Tru-Moc Construction
-360 degree Lacing System with Rust Proof Eyelets
-Shock Absorbing EVA Heel Cup
-Non-Marking Rubber Outsole with Razor Cut Wave Siping for Ultimate Wet/Dry Traction

Color:Oxblood
Price:$140
@sperrytopsider.com

Photo:sperrytopsider.com

Ye Olde Community Building, Fremont, Michigan

2010-08-31T11:21:00.006-04:00

This undated top photo is remarkable in that I wasn't yet "of this earth" when it was taken. So, for me, it serves as a window into what was, before I was. 1940s maybe?
In the forefront right, is the romanesque Community Building, which held many a community activity such as
The Lions Club Pancake Supper, "Whatdya have son, patty or links?", The Rummage Sale ( a treasure trove before I knew what a treasure trove was).

The next photo, which resembles more of a rendering, is what they called the library or reading room within the community building. It was in this room where the serving tables were set up for the pancake supper, and if I remember correctly, where the cots were set up for the local blood drive. When the nurses were finished extracting and if you played your cards right, you'd sit up and act a little woozy ( I remember somebody actually instructed me to do that,"remember to act a little woozy") just so I could get my hands on a few of the donuts they had on hand for just such an emergency.

The last photo is taken from the southwest corner much later in the building's heyday. The single doorway marked the entrance to the local police department. The bad guys were always taken through the garage door down farther to the left, without much ceremony, because, you know, they were evil-doers. And you don't parade evil-doers through the front door,
And for this reason, the Community Building always lacked a Let Your Hair Down/Kick Your Boots Off kind of ambiance, with the potentially uptight, Johnny Law right downstairs.

Tastee Freez

2010-07-21T10:47:00.002-04:00

In the spirit of Old Fashion Days. No date attributed to this photo either, but I've got to think, judging by the cars, late 50s, early 60s. The Tastee Freez became the ice cream joint by default for me as the Waldo Family's Frosty Freeze, where this bad fella spent his pre-adolescent days hanging with my o-so-bad Mom and Pop. Because, you know, at eight years old, it was tuff to find a bro who had access to wheels.
The Waldo family was our town's version of an entertainment conglomerate. (If I'm lucky, somebody might read this who knows and will chime in) but, I think next to the Waldos Frosty Freeze were some small, individual size trampolines, possibly there to jump on as you were eating your cone (no real danger there). They were one of those familys who had their finger on the pulse of summertime.
I put some time in at the Tastee Freez, pictured above, in high school when the Dekleva family owned it. After they closed at night, I'd wait to clean the fryers till my buds dropped by and I'd fix 'em a choice burg and some soft serv for dessert. And then people would stop by, who I wouldn't exactly call friends, and I'd spit....just kidding.

YANK-N-BANK

2010-07-19T13:58:00.010-04:00

If we're lucky, once a year, one of us puts some time and effort into planning an adventure that neither one of us has experienced. That's the idea anyway. One year it was a hot-air baloon ride, which kind of tanked. Another year, the two of us took a bi-plane ride over Lake Michigan. Then a few years ago we went sky diving. And last year we bought kayaks.
This year, adventure-girl took me down to the air show in Dayton, Ohio. To do what? Well, she kept it to her self as I requested, till we parked. Then she pulled out a gleaming, laminated photo from a folder of a true, Viet Nam era, Bell UH-1 Iroquois, or, as it's more commonly known as, the Huey.
And we were going for a ride.

She kept asking if I was excited and I replied, "Of course, but you know, we got in late to the hotel last night and we got up at 5 to hit the road early, so, you know, I may not look excited, but I am." So we happened over to the gates and followed the signs. It was no small trek to the fenced off field where three US Army Hueys and a Huey Cobra were powering up.

We weren't first but we were close. First we had to sign a release, of course, with one eye on the first group boarding amid the thundering, ground shaking, classic Huey rotor's WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP, that can be heard for miles. Then we went through some seat belt instruction from a veteran of Viet Nam, Huey pilot who chorteled about the emergency landing they had to make a few years back and how if this were to happen again, everyone should stay inside the cockpit no questions asked, until the rotors come to a complete stop.
The funny thing is, there are no doors on these, just a big wide open space on both sides. Which is pretty cool, I think, sort of.
Okay, we're next. And I think I feel a pucker or two. But I don't show it, nosiree.
We duck under the whining, turbo powered rotors that instill a feeling of menace in their own right and they're barely engaged while we're being loaded. From walking across the street- to buckling in-to hovering maybe 80 feet up took about three minutes. They stay in a holding pattern immediatly after lifting off to get their ques from the tower. I of course opt for the seat closest to the big open space thinking this will be a pretty cool view.
Well, less than a minute or two out and it's HHHOOOLLLYYYSSSHHHIIITTTT, the pilot banks to the left and completes a wide circle that lasts like for frikkin ever, than levels off. My stomach is somewhere beside me then HHHOOOLLLYYYSSSHHHIIITTT, the pilot banks to the right this time, completing another wide circle. The crew chief, sitting across from us has a smile on her face. She's more concerned, as should be, with the elderly couple who cut in line in front of us while we waited to board and who now look like they would rather be just about anywhere but in this helicopter.
Remember, it's nothing but wide open space on either side of this warhorse with houses, swimming pools and interstate highway below us. We also declined the earplugs for maximum effect. So this is what Robert Duvall felt like leading the charge.
I casually look around, trying to figure out if we're headed back yet or not when HHHHOOOLLLLYYYYSSSSSHIIIITTTT, this time the pilot points the nose almost staight down and then slowly back up. When we level off again, the top half of me is stretched across my wife's lap. And after the third HOLY SHIT, the crew chief who is seated directly across from us, mouthed the words "Are you okay?" I yelled back, "I bet you hear HOLY SHIT a lot!"
Its weird though, I never felt like I was actually slipping toward the door at any one time. And weirder yet, there is absolutely nothing to hold onto, like bars or handles or anything, so I grab the front of the seat by my crotch with my right hand and just let my left hand hang there...searching.

As we were receiving seat belt instruction on the ground before hand, the pilot also asked who would like to volunteer for the gunner seats. Those are the seats pointing outward at the back of the passenger area. I'm damn glad we didn't take those. Those folks were screaming there asses off, you bunch of Cedar Point wussies (just kidding). It was all pretty cool though, I discovered, after it ended, about an hour later.
And then I ate a hot dog.

credits: profile seat shot from Danie van den Berg, sa-transport.co.za
attack formation from museumofflight.org

The Gerber Guest House

2010-07-14T10:08:00.006-04:00

The Gerber Guest House, the site of several torrid, murder mysteries (with dinner included of course), is actually two homes conjoined. The first home, or the west side, was built by Frank and Pauline Gerber during WW I. Then, son Dan and his wife Dorothy, built along side to the east in 1923.
It is said that in the kitchen, of which home I'm not sure, while Dorothy (I guess that might make it the home on the east side) was straining and canning fruits and vegetables for their children, that there may well be a need for such a product in finished form as a handy resource for mothers and their babies. And Gerber Baby Food was born.

I think the idea for murder mysteries, of the Orient Express type, should be resurrected, whether at the GGH or someplace else. Sure, it may not be a novel idea, and it's most likely occurring around here anyway and we just haven't been invited, but what a great way to spend an evening, sharing a wonderful meal, then trying to unravel some messy, cheesy love triangle gone horribly wrong...with your friends.
I mean, how heinous is that?

credits: gerberguesthouse.com

Ryan's Hotel

2010-07-09T13:51:00.008-04:00

This place looks like it's straight out of L.A. Confidential. A drug den, or hangout for hoodlums of petty crime. Smokers of crazy weed and such. Or worse yet, the recently divorced. Probably a lot of quick exits out the back window and into the woods.
Doesn't look like the house-keeping team would've been made up of many. This was actually located about where the Harrington Inn is now, or close. Must be something about this particular patch of land that holds something for travelers...gypsies...drifters or Dad, freshly booted out of the house.

credits: Photo From Fremont Historical Archives

Billy F. Gibbons

2010-07-07T10:00:00.006-04:00

Billy F. Gibbons is one bad motor-scooter. Dusty is slightly obscured by water cascading down over, oh wait, I guess that's somebody's hair.
Taken by an attendee who waited patiently for an opening, or...perhaps thought that over time, guilt would set in on my part, which it did cuz, you know, hell hath no fury.
I like how the speaker stacks are rigged to look like they are in mid-topple. Frank Beard's drum accoutrements were certainly aggressive against his laid back, shufflin' swing. That's the Top for you though, raw, simple and well dressed.

Thems Handsome Apples

2010-07-01T10:27:00.004-04:00

This could have turned into a Homer painting, or Rockwell maybe. This is Lewis from Fremont. That much we can tell. A handsome, hardworking man, sits proudly behind his apple display. What I don't know is if "Wolf" something er other is the brand of apple, or possibly the name of the farm. Wolf Rivers maybe, I don't know.
You Tell me.

Undated and semi-indentified

The Boogie Beatniks

2010-06-26T10:56:00.008-04:00

I'd put Billy F. Gibbons somewhere in the same graduating class as Keef. Of course these fellas don't graduate from anything besides birthdays, they both ooze a genuine bohemian snarl no institution would ever provide.
Being a card-carrying member of the microwave society, meaning, unless some action is practically at my doorstep, I'm probably not going to experience the experience. A 30 minute drive? I'm in.
Plus I was piqued by some news I dug up about the Toppers teaming up with Rick Rubin a couple of years ago to rejuvenate the Tres Hombres era ZZ. Have yet to hear a peep about that. Maybe something didn't gel. Maybe a beard thing.
(On a side note,I think Rick Rubin and T-Bone Burnett should get together and form a production alliance. They could tackle all the dudes who strayed for one reason or another, like Stephen Stills, who absolutely, could potentially howl on a blues-rock canvas. But no, sadly, he was Graham Nashed somewhere along the way).
To my delight, Billy, Dusty Hill and Frank Beard sauntered on stage and greeted us with the charming gut-bucket, Got Me Under Pressure and the Bus/Jesus medley.
It's a well-oiled show, as it should be, when Billy introduces the band, "For 40 years, the same three guys, for 40 years, the same three chords."
Their synchronized swim style dance steps and bro-code signage along with Gibbon's honkin and sqawkin, delta raunch via Marshall stack (reference mine) only reaffirms what we all would expect. That they are still the rightful heirs to the throne of the Boogie Nation.

credits: Photo of Rare Japanese Vinyl From raw-tcsd.com
Bottom Photo From klipsch.com

Happy Father's Day

2010-06-20T11:41:00.003-04:00

My daughters will be here soon in honor (honor sounds a bit much), lets just say to enjoy Father's Day. And since its that day, I feel compelled to not do much of anything but be with the kids. This photo has no Identification or date, but I really enjoy the simplicity and how stark it is. I was going to say how I enjoyed the starkness, but thought that sounded weird. The starkness of it. I guess that sounds alright
Could be a Father's Day from another time. Let's just say it is.

Wilson's Mobil

2010-06-16T13:46:00.005-04:00

That Forrest Wilson had some business savvy. His gas station was right across the street from the high school parking lot and a good 20 to 25 second, downhill glide on the Schwinn Typhoon from my house.
He had a tow-truck too and often hauled grizzly, car crash remnants to the back of his station. On Sundays, when no one was around, we'd sneak back there and look for blood on car seats.

"Forrey" had it all; 25 cent Coke machines; candy bars for a nickel; pop-sickles and ice cream sandwiches in that big, trunk like cooler with the glass door on top. And then, in a shrewd move to appeal to the students revolting against hot lunch, he brought in Stewart frozen sandwiches, with that little Stewart sandwich sized oven with a Stewart 5 minute timer. On the Stewart display board that sat above the oven were the choices, prices and suggested cook times for the food-like items.
My favorite was the Chuckwagon. It was the biggest and the baddest and therefore, required the full 5 minutes on the dial. And what did you do during that 5 minutes? Well, you bought other stuff to eat.

When I ran out of lawn mowing scratch and unable to locate my mom's coin purse, we (and I say we because I did not act alone and I WILL NOT rat-out my friends) turned to petty crime.
Just outside the restrooms and underneath a few tall pine trees at the filling station, was a small newspaper rack with a coin box. Whether there was 2 or 3 or 4 of us, we were always loitering around the place anyway, whether we were filling our bike tires or just stopping in for a pop. So it was no big deal to be hovering around the Coke machine outdoors. Only now we were also acting as lookouts for Johnny Law or Forrest himself while one of us turned the newspaper rack on end and shook the shit out of it till all the coins fell out.

I'd never seen so much loot. And where do you think we spent it? It's not like Forrey lost money. We just moved it around a little, like from one account to another. OK, so maybe the newspaper lost money, but we didn't know them.

That Forrey Wilson, he was a rough and ready old guy. His gas station was full service so he was always under the hood, at the till or on a wrecker call. They had those rubber ropes that rang a bell in the garage whenever somebody ran over one in front of the pumps. He'd quickly trot out while wiping the grime from his hands on the red rag he kept in the back pocket of his blue work pants. He had old sailor tats on his arms you only saw in the summer when he rolled up his sleeves. And he always sat straight up, stiff as a board when he'd ride that dirty, old Harley into work. There was a mechanic named Link there for a while. And one by the name of George. George was a high school drop-out, but the girls thought he was cute...and kind of dangerous.
And then there was Forrest Junior, who looked just like his dad, minus the glasses.
I don't think they liked us much, us neighborhood hooligans. But I think they must have liked our money.

Streets O' Fremont

2010-06-14T13:48:00.003-04:00

Streets O' Fremont, pretty arty hunh? I didn't take that summer school theatre class with Sue Brothers back in 1967 for nothin'.
I wrangeled a disc of random photos from the Fremont Chamber of Commerce. So I thought it would be cool (I know,I should'nt use the word cool)(replace cool with nifty) to post some from time to time. There are 1500.
If you know people I make fun off, please don't be offended. I will take back any comment that is apparently unfit, unkempt, or otherwise just really not that funny (to you).
The real downside is that most of these are not dated or identified, so if someone out there can lend a hand, please do so.
The photo above? I'm thinking there probably isn't anybody alive to help with this one.
Anyway, enjoy!

Meet Rudy, The Duke Of Dickaround

2010-06-04T11:19:00.004-04:00

A lovely fellow plucked from a lab rescue one year ago. Try as we might to emotionally prepare ourselves for any tell-tale signs of abuse or wayward learning curves, we love, accept and welcome him into our home.
Turns out, it's the normal, everyday Lab stuff that'll drive you nuts.
Rudy, like most males, is a sniffer. My God is he a sniffer. And very very picky about which corner or square foot shall be designated as a powder room (his attention to detail is unsurpassed).
One of the minor adjustments was being reminded that there is no dashing off at the last second to run an errand if he hasn't already "been out." One should never expect the Duke to perform his business on any other schedule than his own.
Unlike the Mrs., who's bladder requires relief in a nano-second, and who will dodge behind the nearest dumpster or wood pile, Rudy's search for epic real estate is deliberately slow and methodical. Every blade of grass examined. Every past doo-doo acknowledged and accounted for.
Finally, when his stride becomes a quick, stuttering shuffle, he stops to squat. Oops, nope, not there. Pacing ensues. He looks at me periodically,"I'm looking, I'm looking." Aaaaaahhhhh, here we go.
I notice his eyes rolling back a little. He blinks in slow motion. Then he peers up at me again as if to say, "Do you mind?"

The Bandt

2010-05-30T23:16:00.003-04:00

Really good to see the Dutches this weekend. Really, really difficult to sit and watch and not play and not smoke. Thank you kid bartender for keeping a keen eye on my diet coke levels. And for the straw, thank god for the straw. Idle hands are, as you know, the devil's playground.

credits:
vintagedrumforum.com
Dutch Henry

DENNIS HOPPER - 1936 - 2010

2010-05-29T21:46:00.003-04:00

Field And Stream

2010-05-18T21:38:00.005-04:00

I haven't seen an L.L. Bean catalog since they served as coasters on my folks coffee table. Apart from L.L. Bean by fit and some contemporary tweaks, L.L. Bean Signature is like your Dad's younger, hipper, divorced, vintage Triumph ridin, 2 beer drinkin, on the outskirts of town livin brother. The cool uncle.

He's the one who opts for the waxed canvas, Maine Hunting Shoe, not for their hipster status but because they preform well in most any circumstance.

Alex Carlton, who also brought Rogues Gallery to the table, went back to L.L. Bean to serve as Captain of the HMS Signature. His native New England sensibilities and his history with Leon Leonwood Bean can be witnessed in the nautical stripe polos, the madras plaid-short sleeve shirts and Eastport Ranger Moc.
Me? I'm waiting for those very heritagy, buffalo plaid hunting pants to come down the pike this Fall. That's My Daddy's L.L. Bean.

credits:
L.L. Bean Signature
svpply.com

4 Prophet

2010-05-15T14:02:00.004-04:00

I might have met Chuck Prophet around 1985, if Green On Red were in fact touring in support of Gas Food Lodging. It would have been at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor I think. I couldn't even tell you for sure if he was even with them then, but I think I read he was.
I didn't really follow Green On Red much after that. But I do remember hearing the name Chuck Prophet tossed around now and then.
Wasn't there a synthy keyboard or something around that time called a Prophet? I think that's why I remembered it. Like he named himself after it.
Then a couple of years ago somehow, I'd heard Would You Love Me off Soap And Water and remember kind of getting lost in it. Really enjoying the melody and the lonely, thick timbered baritone that went with it. Kinda like Petty in a little lower register, and more marbles.
I bought the CD, Soap And Water with WYLM on it (which would fit nicely on an Alejandro record) but really only play that and The Freckle Song.
His guitar work ain't too shabby either. So nice job Chuck.

credits: puremusic.com

Hair Today, Gone Tamale

2010-05-11T19:44:00.007-04:00

It's a funny thing, hair. What do you do with it? What should you do with it? Like shoes, does hair reveal something about somebody? Can you hide yourself in it? If so, are you anti-social or dishonest? If your total scalp is exposed, does that mean you're an extrovert or wear your heart on your sleeve? If you have tufts or plumes, is it difficult for you to let go of things? Do you hoard?
Does short hair make you feel like a pixie, or feel more masculine?
Do I sound kinda like Shel Silverstein? No?

Maybe I don't care what I put on my feet. Maybe I don't care what my hair looks like. But I do. And I feel a little funny about that. More aha-ha funny though. Less peculiar funny.
I think hair is taken too seriously.
Stop taking hair so seriously.
It's just hair.
Have fun!

credits: No photos were borrowed, nicked or lifted from the internet for the purpose of exploitation or enhancement.

5 String Open G

2010-05-02T13:47:00.006-04:00

With little to no anticipation what so ever, this whole business of the Anniversary reissue of the Rolling Stones' Exile On Main Street, really, I can't be bothered.
3 different formats will be available. The Basic CD is the 18 re-mastered tracks. The Deluxe comes with 10 unreleased tracks from that period. And the Super Deluxe contains the original format of Exile on 2 vinyl discs, bonus tracks, DVD and picture book - who needs it?

You'll recall such stalwart Rolling Stones' greats as Bill Wyman, 2 year vet Mick Taylor, Nicky Hopkins, Bobby Keys and even some pedal steel from Al Perkins on Torn And Frayed. But as it turns out, nothing containing Gram Parsons - yawn, excuse me.

Alternate takes of Loving Cup and Soul Survivor. Tumbling Dice was originally titled
Good Time Women, using the 5 string, open G tuning Keith used on Honky Tonk Women and again on Happy and Rocks Off - big whoop.

I really only knew barely snippets of any of this except of course the bit about the open G tuning as I have long been utilyzing that approach on my drums for, well, quit some time - ?
The rest I culled from a great article in the most recent Guitar World mag, written by Alan Di Perna.
I rarely ever pick up a Guitar World - so what!
But...you know... Keith was on the cover - here, here's a quarter.

credits:
Guitar World
surrenderous.com
photo of Charlie and Keith by Dominique Tarle

Bring 'Er Back To Just Dog And Pony

2010-04-28T10:20:00.006-04:00

When I read that in 2008, Rick Rubin may be taking ZZ Top back into the studio to whip those boys back into Tres Hombres era gut-bucket, I was a little geeked. I have a soft spot for those guys, even though the soft spot appeared during Tres Hombres then disappeared shortly thereafter.
After reading that, I started fantasizing about how Rubin would talk them into going on the road and doing the Stones at El Macombo thing. Stripped down and bare-knuckled in 500 seat clubs, opening, guns-a-blazing, and all sexy like to the slow chug of Jesus Just Left Chicago. No hoopla. No Barnum and Bailey. Just Billy, Dusty and Frank reminding us how they never took their foot off the gas.

Now rumour has it they do have a new studio something coming out this year but whether Rick Rubin is attached to it remains to be seen.
Just might have to bite the bullet and hobble down to Muskegon this June to see 'em. Circus or no circus.

MRI: May Result in Insanity

2010-04-22T11:37:00.008-04:00

I bet this must be like some psychological testing they did on astronauts in the fifties, cause if NASA needed a weeding out process, this would have been a key component.

They begin by asking if you are at all claustrophobic. They then hand you a bulb to squeeze which alerts the technician if the experience becomes intolerable (like being slid into a tube not much wider than a toilet bowl could possibly be something akin to a picnic). "Oh" he says, "and take these ear plugs, its gonna get a little loud."

I'm slowly rolled in the chamber with little to no room for movement and my nose millimeters away from ceiling. There is what looks like a small speaker directly in front of my face and I'm thinking why do I need a bulb when I can simply scream for them to get me the hell out.
So I test it by asking how long the procedure lasts...no reply.

Its quiet until I hear little tapping noises. I imagine an elf like figure, walking around the machine, hammering away at last minute repairs and then EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Just loud as hell. Thanks for the earplugs buddy, I think I would have fared better with a full-face motorcycle helmet. And then it stopped.
More light tapping. Must have rattled as few bolts loose off that last run ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ EEEEEEEEEEEEERtttttttttttttttttttRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Okay, okay, this has gone on just a little too long and I'm starting to formulate an exit route just in case that bulb hasn't received any recent maintenance checks.

They really ought to think about taking a few of these babies down to Guantanamo.

credits:
Museum of History and Industry, Seattle Washington

Karla Bonoff

2010-04-21T18:45:00.004-04:00

After a few years of busking on Monday nights at LA's Troubadour and then witnessing her songs firing up accolades for Wendy Waldman and Linda Ronstadt, Karla Bonoff was signed as a solo artist to Columbia Records which launched her self titled debut in1977. Lending a hand were her friends, Kenny Edwards, Andrew Gold, J.D. Souther, Glenn Frey along with Waldman and Ronstadt.
I Can't Hold On became the hit but Someone To Lay Down Beside Me and Isn't It Always Love were also stellar standouts.

Belle Of The Ball

2010-04-20T14:29:00.005-04:00

If you blinked at all during 1975, which you must have done at least at some point, you might have missed Richard Torrance And Eureka's Belle Of The Ball. It was introduced to me by fellow compatriot and bass player, Rock Pyle, who wore the grooves down so deep to the instrumental first cut, The Jam, that we were given immediate CIA clearance to pursue and decode if possible, any Russian or Chinese intelligence.
Belle Of The Ball was recorded on the Leon Russell / Denny Cordell, Oklahoma based, Shelter Records, along with the help of musicians Carl Radle, Don Preston and Jesse Ed Davis. Also a one time home base for JJ Cale, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Phoebe Snow and the Dwight Twilly Band. Ol' Slow Hand did his own sniffin' around for band members and maybe inspiration around the Oklahoma area around this time as well.
If anyone knows where they can get their hands on a recording of The Jam off Belle of the Ball, please, do tell.

That's Enough About Me, Let's Talk About You, What Do You Think About Me?

2010-04-19T19:34:00.005-04:00

I've been lacking in posting etiquette. They've been scattershot in quality and quantity. March and April have just been sons 'o guns in terms of finding the right tool to pull my head out from that small, pretty dark puckery place.

Some of my time has been taken up participating in an experiment for Michigan based, online news source, MLive. I've contributed a few things toward that. So if you're ever so inclined, checkout
mlive.com .

I want to thank all of my Facebook friends for climbing aboard my shirttail fan page. I'll be back in full force before you know it. Probably when I find myself unemployed with not much else to do but rob banks and write about it.

The biggest bitch-kitty is to have to put the cork back in the bottle. Maybe for good. I didn't see that one coming. But I'd rather see my kids and grandkids while I can still see em. I want to yell at them and kick their behinds just like I did their folks...and they turned out allright, except for that nervous tick my youngest developed after we finally let her up stairs from the fruit cellar.

credits:
cargurus.com
should be a '54 Crestline Country Squire

Loud, Fast Rules

2010-04-10T11:32:00.003-04:00

Early 1940s era, P-51 Mustang.
-Hell of a gunfighter during WW II
-Somtimes packed 6, 50 caliber, M2 Browning machine guns
-Single prop, Rolls Royce made, Merlin engines
-Tuskegee Airmen flew Mustangs almost exclusively. Only American fighter group to never lose a bomber to enemy planes
-Top speed over 450 mph
-Ford Mustang was named after it
-Use of Wikipedia? A little bit

credit:
boeing.com

Snow Capped Franks

2010-04-08T10:27:00.006-04:00

In 5th grade, Jack and I would make the 3 block trek to his house for lunch and TV. I don't remember how long the lunch period ran but it allowed us enough time to make the hike, set ourselves up with TV trays and crank the channel to Bewitched.
Noon was kind of an odd time slot for the show if you think about it. But I'm almost positive we weren't thinking in terms of programming. We were just tickeled to sit in a comfy chair, chow down and lust over Samantha Stevens.
As ten year olds, we probably didn't even know we were lusting. But in retrospect, we had to be. Even Elizabeth Montgomery's nose was fetish worthy. Pure and impish. But brother, hell hath no fury.
Nostrils aside, I really had only two other favorites on the show; the bumbeling Aunt Clara and Paul Lynde as Uncle Arthur.

Lets just lay a weeny down and plop a scoop of mashed potatoes on top. That's added value AND nutrition

Peter Marshall: In "Alice in Wonderland," who kept crying "I'm late, I'm late?"
Paul Lynde: Alice, and her mother is just sick about it

credits:
classicsquares.com/lyndesquares
argosybookshop.com

It's A Ditry Word, Creative

2010-04-05T11:56:00.006-04:00

"He's creative," is a polite description friends and family members use when trying to round out a profile, when really: unorthodox, black sheep, eccentric or loon are equally interchangeable.

I can't remember the last time I've heard of someone being described as "offbeat," or "marches to a different drum." It's something one of my mom's bridge club members would have whispered, trying to downplay any neighborhood talk of weirdness.
"Out there," which I think is more dignified than say, "spacey," can still hold water. Often times after a question, asked repeatedly, and gone unanswered in a small room occupied by only two people.

But being tagged as creative is not so different as being labeled as having some psychological disorder. A stigma is still a stigma. You're always expected to show signs either positively or negatively, voluntarily or involuntarily, to assure others of their assessment. Sometimes medication is required to bring it out or to shove it back in. Sometimes it either begins with a form of madness or ends with it.

But if I had to choose between adding colors to the palette or taking colors away, there are worse things than being a loon.

The Torch In Torchered

2010-03-30T20:25:00.006-04:00

Springtime. I love springtime. Springtime brings warmth, fresh air, sunshine, rain, taxes and fear of unemployment.

While I was full of myself, pretending to be relevant in a wanna-be, country tinged outfit by way of Ziggy Stardust, preening to my people in a town of 3,000, Tammy Wynette was making some of the most painful, but-get-out-of-my-way music, Nashville has ever known.
Jimmy McDonough's Tragic Country Queen makes me wish I'd paid more attention. Makes me wish I could have been there to help her through.
Linda Ronstadt could've been my Tammy. But by the beginning of the 80s, I was headed for the exit ramp.
Almost ten years later, I saw Lucinda Williams bring the house down at the Metro in Chicago with her self-titled, Rough Trade debut.
She could have been my Tammy too. But then she had to go and get happy.

credits:
sfweekly.com