Gonna let you all in on a little secret. Well, not really a secret so much as a thing that crept up on me while I was having fun. Today is the first anniversary of the day I met my girlfriend. Yes, one whole year. Yes, I have a girlfriend. Yes, I like women. I can drive a standard shift. Yellow is the funnest color. Brazil nuts are oily but clean tasting. It's a good day.

Other news: I'm getting ready to go into the studio and do some recording. Just me and my guitar in a studio. There seem to be some songs I've never recorded. I'm also going to record some old songs that I play differently. Why? I'll tell ya why. I need to hear what I sound like without the gimmickery of the four track or the bombast of the noise. I loved it when I did those things and there are a few songs I will never record non-four track versions of. I could never re-record the noise album (Still don't know if I can release it.). Some of those four track versions could never be done better. But I also need to put out something that was recorded all at the same time. Past releases, except the noise, have always been cobbled together from all kinds of time frames. I need a glimpse of one specific chunk of sing-song-y expression. Kind of like when my band, Stringbean recorded, except that I hope not to lay down a bunch of listless vocal tracks like I did then. And even those lame vocals are a good look at what we did in the studio. A peak at the pecks and a snub of the quads. This time 'round I'm a bit more seasoned. Yet I'm scared as hell. I've recorded backing vocals for a couple different bands now and gotten excellent feedback(toot-toot). And I'm still frightened to do it for myself in the studio.

That is the biggest reason I decided to do it. It scared me. I was listening to Night Control's "Death Control" CD on the way to visit my girlfriend and the idea to record in a studio washed over me like that blue transmission fluid bursting on the shelf of my UPS truck in August. Immediately I started finding reasons to not do it. And immediately I wanted to tell my girlfriend that I was going to do it because I knew she'd support me in that decision. She did. She does. It's booked. I'm scared.

This is akin to that first time I played a solo show. And funny, I can't remember what that show was. My first Ham Steak show actually had Mark from Stringbean on second guitar. But completely solo, I couldn't tell you. I might even have attempted to play along to my Casio keyboard. (I did that for one show and it sucked ass. Those fucking drum machines are soooooo unforgiving.) So(lo), it's just me in a real studio. Wish me luck. I'll be thinking of you. And me. And my girlfriend. OOPAH!

Next show is Saturday, August 8th at Elevens in Northampton, MA. It's a benefit for Valley Free Radio.

After that:  Saturday, August 15th, Lion and the Lamb bookstore in Brooklyn, CT
                 Sunday, August 16th, Goofy Bob's Barrel of Shit in Hampton, CT
                 Wednesday, August 19th Shards and Chard Community Garden and Glass Studio, Rehoboth, MA
                 Friday, August 21st, All Things Gr8 'n Bivalve, Old Saybrook, CT
                 Saturday, August 22nd, Loose's Pizza and Cabinet, Purvy, RI
                 Saturday, August 29th, Marmalade's Marmalade, Junction, ME
                 Every Friday in September, Tango's Big Jugs Night at Fulvey's G.C., Tugasette, RI

Okay, so I played that show last week. It was pretty damn fun doing a whole set again for a crowd that wasn't in my front yard. Well, crowd is probably the exact wrong word but so what. I love putting together my set when I show up and tweaking it just before I play. It's fun and I'd forgotten that aspect of playing. It's fun.

I also forgot what it's like to be completely entertained by a band I'd never seen. That would be Birth of Flower. They rocked! I knew what they did and we'd messaged up here a little. But live, they tear it up. In ten years I'll be saying, "Yeah, I was on a bill with those dudes and we played for only 15 people and they knew how to bring it then. Of course back then they still called themselves Birth of Flower and none of them had masters' degrees." If you get a chance go see them. I hesitate to say that they remind me of Gang of Four meets the Minutemen because that could pigeonhole them. But they take those influnces and roll with them. And, they're really nice guys.

Another welcome surprise this past week was a world music show I stumbled on from WECS in Willimantic, CT. While it came in I got to hear about 45 minutes of good music. The show is hosted by a guy named Jeffrey. He put together a fresh sounding show in a genre that can be mired in stale, insipid, rehashed sounds. His show was all funked out and perfect for driving through Northeastern CT at sundown after almost four hours on the road.

I've added Birth of Flower and Jeffrey to my "Top Friends" so you can link over to them. Enjoy.

Oh yeah baby. I'm playing out. I have a show. I'm on a roll. That's good, because my real gig is shrivelling up my balls like two plum pits in a vacant lot.

You remember those kids in high school who were super fucking assholes and still weren't popular? A lot of them go into food chain retail where they can finally look at their own pus ridden souls and say, "Fuck it! I have a key to the front door!".

Many sayings come to mind like: "Shit rolls downhill" or "A fish stinks from the head down" or "You're a myopic sack of shit" or "Somebody pisses on your head long enough and you'll begin to smell like them" or "I own this place so fuck you"  Most of those came from my same old boss who once said to a prospective new-hire, "I'd rather nail my nuts to a stump and jump off backwards than hire you!"

I loathed him at times but I always knew where I stood and could always go right to the top. Plus he was fun to drink with. And he gave me a key to the front door.

Yep. Or nope. I'm moving in a few days. I've put in my time at the farm. Got a lot of stuff going on and I just have to move. The economy left me without house mates and the landlord's portfolio took a dive so he couldn't hook me up. And I'm gone. I'm in love and I'm all making music again and shit. So fuck it. More to follow. Meanwhile, I'm doing a thing called Pigbarn with a friend from days passed. We have a show tentatively scheduled for July. Details to be determined. I may have some solo shows coming up. I'll keep you posted. And I'm available to play now. Y'know, just in case you need somebody like me to round out a bill and you were afraid to ask. And now off to slumber so I can be well rested to crush dry ice with my face at 6:00am. Oopah!

At work yesterday I he-manned a pallet a few feet through the air to land atop about a six foot stack of pallets. It was one of those "this is a good angle and I know I can land this fucker from here" judgments that made me feel both rugged and precise. This kid standing nearby said, " Yeah, I'm gonna start bulking up. I wanna get so huge that I can't even wipe my ass." I responded, "Why bulk up? Just quit wiping your ass." 

I've just emailed all my contacts a copy of my song "Ode to the Vernal Equinox". I've done that every year for the past eight or so years. I do this as a sort of celebration, pagan as it may be. At least it's not Wiccan.

This is the time of year when I feel most optimistic and thankful. I'm usually all done with my winter depression. The grass has a tinge of green to it suggesting that any day I'll arrive home from work and the yard and pastures will all be lush, verdant and welcoming. On my drive into work the sky has a pre-dawn glow that promises actual daylight for that same drive in just a matter of weeks. And that's it, the promise.

I suppose it's not really a promise so much as a guarantee. The same basic thing happens every year. I've just been making note of it more in the last decade. Perhaps assigning it a larger meaning with each passing year.

But how can I not? Right now there are crocuses popping up in my neighbor's yard. I know the wild chives are not far off. Soon I'll be happening upon people picking fiddlehead ferns by the river. And the sheep will all be wandering down in the back pastures with no need of the hay I currently offer. It's a spectacle I get to watch.

With that I will say that I'm a happy man. I've posted "Ode to the Vernal Equinox" up here for everybody to listen to. Oopah!

 Jack it up, flatten it out, digitize it, it doesn't matter. About ten years ago a group of artists collaborated with a physicist and developed a way to make and play vinyl video discs. And that was that. They even said that they didn't know what to do with it. They had no content, just a new means of delivery. Good effort.

February 17th or 18th, maybe it was the 19th, has come and gone without the mandated switch to digital TV broadcasting. I'm glad for that. I still use rabbit ears. Hell, I still watch a 13 inch black and white that I've had for over twenty-five years. Antiques Roadshow, Jacques Pepin, Smackdown, Judge Judy, and Hell's Kitchen couldn't be any better all digital and vibrant. They just have to be there. A friend of mine once came over and saw me watching some snowy broadcast of a repeat of Soap. His exact words were, "I guess any flickering image will do." He wasn't way off.

What I don't understand is the inclusion of giant fucking TVs in diners and restaurants. They always seem to have CNN or Fox News blasting at me like it's some sort of an added bonus to my dining experience. I want a pepper and egg grinder, not the latest dish on Bobby and Whitney running over each other before the Grammy awards. One diner even has two TVs that play different things, ten feet apart from each other. Streets of San Francisco and Money Watch blasting along while some Bosnian trucker bellows Gaelic into his walkie-talkie cell phone is not what I seek  to accompany my Greek salad and iced tea.

I'm not asking for clever conversation. What I really want is to not be bombarded with somebody else's idea of entertainment or information. That's why I go to shows or clubs, not diners. I just want a little peace and quiet, maybe some fries.

And yes, I am a complete hypocrite. I love TV. That black and white set is one of three that I own. I use another TV as an alarm clock because it's the loudest thing I can find with a timer on it. We have a TV on the porch. Watching wrestling on Friday night with some beer and a cigar is  a real treat for me. So I will be purchasing at least one converter for the switch to digital in June. My television will be converted, not revolutionized.

I've reached my fill line on the whole ADD thing. Or maybe I reached it a long time ago. I dunno. It's hard to pay too much attention.

Basically what it's all come down to is people who act stupidly claiming that they have ADD. Fucking retards. "I can only focus on one thing at a time. I have ADD." "I need to be asked to do things because I won't think to do it myself because I have ADD." "I left my car running all night because I have ADD." "I can't satisfy my girlfriend in bed because she doesn't ask me to do things and I don't remember because I have ADD." "I was bungee jumping and I forgot to take the three pound weight off my scrotum so my balls got torn off and crushed through my jaw because I have ADD."

I know one person who was actually diagnosed with ADD. He's super sensitive, highly creative, very hard working, and never brings up his Attention Deficit Disorder. He was given a prescription but stopped taking it because it made him feel dull. And, when you call him on some lame brained move he just made he apologizes then never does it again. Another friend's wife told him that she believed he had ADD. His response was, "Yeah, so? What? Am I supposed to do something about it?"

Everybody else just sort of shrugs and declares that that's just the way they are so there's no use getting mad at them for not trying to modify their behavior. When a former house mate's girlfriend broke up with him she said that he "couldn't use his behavior to justify his behavior". I like that line.

Meanwhile, most of these shitheads who blunder around claiming not to know how to focus all seem to know the various torrent sites, free download sites, current movies, current TV shows, current gizmos, and current music fads. Some even religiously follow sports or fashion. But using a directional signal eludes them.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I work at a grocery store. I'm sort of management, sort of not. Kind of King Shit On Turd Island. That's another post for later, after I give my notice. Maybe in six years.

Anyway, what I'm all bent about is these self-absorbed, instant gratification motherfuckers who walk through the store eating stuff. I'm not talking samples of cheese spread and bullshit infused olive oils. I'm talking packages of cookies, fruit, salads, sandwiches, bottled water, cake, basically everything. And the parents who give their kids cookies and whatever to shut them up absolutely drive me up a wall. I've felt this way all my adult life, not just since starting my current job three and a half years ago, especially when I shopped at the hippy-dippy stores.

If you ever tried to eat something in the First National, A&P, Rhodes' Market or Michael's Market when I was a kid they'd try to have you arrested for shoplifting. You just didn't do it, anywhere. And my mom, forget it. She wouldn't even let me have a grape while we were shopping.  I started whining about wanting something then guess what. I got nothing, n-o-t-h-i-n-g. And I enjoyed it. Or at least I learned not to whine.

Funny how all my mother's rhetoric about my grandmother being strict and stoic seems, in retrospect, to be a sort of advice. Not that my mom is stoic, but she has lived in an unfinished house for twenty-five years. I may be stoic. I work in a freezer and I hate to open up to anybody until I've known them for six years. But I'm working on it.

So I see these fucking people stuffing their faces with all manner of treats and  prepared foo-foo foods and I want to ask them what their fucking problem is."Hey, Fucko Bazoo, you gonna pay for that?" "If they unplugged you right now you could live a year off that blubber." "Excuse me. This is a grocery store, not a brothel." NOW QUIT WALKING AROUND AS THOUGH YOU SOMEHOW DESERVE A BREAK TODAY! YOU DESERVE NOTHING, ASSHOLE! Well, maybe a punch in the mouth. The societal contract when you enter a food store is that you pay for something and then eat it.

If you've read this far you can probably guess that I judge every single person I see eating their way through a grocery store. I assume that they are selfish and have no self control. They feel unloved and need instant gratification to attain some sense of self worth. Either that or they're arrogant assholes with a bloated sense of self worth, which is basically the same as  a fragile ego. I could be wrong. Probably not.

Like Harry Dean Stanton's character in Repo Man said, "Ordinary fiuckin' people, I hate 'em."  *POOF*


 If you're one of those people who eats in the store I'm really not talking about you. You're awesome and I would never have a problem watching you graze at the granola bar.