Hi. So, I know it's been a long time since my last blog, sorry about that. Everything's good. I'm still writing. I revamped the website, it looks real swank now. Check it out.  I'm learning Spanish on the Nintendo DS. I'm not eating any carbs this year. Stacey's still trying to find a job in Arizona so we can move far away from this cold, cruel town and bake in the desert sun. So, you know, everything's groovy. I hope things are swell with you, too.

The reason that I'm blogging tonight is because I've been doing a podcast called My Kick Ass Life: The Sleazegrinder Podcast for the last year (here's the RSS feed, please subscribe!), and my 13th episode has been doomed and cursed. I recorded it twice, and both times the recording was bedeviled. The first time only the first 6 seconds of the 90 minute podcast was actually recorded. The second time, it came out covered in weird clicks every 30-45 seconds. However, I did not want to just let it die, so this morning I had the crazy idea to just transcribe the tapes (actually MP3's, but tapes makes for a better visual) and present them here as the lost, unlucky 13th episode. I did this one with fellow Sleazegrinder.com scribe and long-time crony Paul Gaita. We talked about movies, mostly. Movies and bullshit. I hope you like it.

Sleaze: hey everybody, welcome to my kick ass life, the podcast that's all about me. And my kick ass life. With me today is…I was thinking about this, if Sleazegrinder.com was a band, this guy would be the lead guitarist. It's Hollywood Paul Gaita. Hey, Paul.
Paul: Hey, Sleazegrinder.
S: So, this is the thirteenth episode, but it's really Episode 13 take two, isn't it?
P: Yeah, you want to tell them what happened?
S: We recorded this podcast two days ago, and it all went to hell.
P: Maybe because it was the 13th episode.
S: Maybe. Maybe it's cursed. (Note: It was, obviously.) All I can say is that the program I used to record the first one, Pretty May…that program can go to hell. (So can Hot Recorder, the one I used the second, ill-fated time)
P: With 20/20 hindset, we can safely say that it wasn't our best work.
S: Twice, two times, I've used that program, and both of them were the best podcasts I've ever done, and they were both lost.
P: This might actually be our 15th podcast, if you count the lost episodes.
S: Yeah, if you think about it. Anyway, a lot of stuff has happened, just in the past couple of days.
P: Really? In the past couple days?
S: Sure. Wait, nothing's happened to you in two days?
P: Nothing besides I'm slowly dying from this disease that's slowly wiping out Los Angeles.
S: Is there panic in the street yet?
P: It's on the verge. You can see it, like, you know those scenes in news broadcasts with people just running amok? That hasn't happened yet, but I predict it soon.
S: Do they have daily news reports about the declining health of people in Los Angeles?
P: They kinda do, but I don't watch the news out here.
S: You don't watch the news?
P: No, because it's really bad. Generally, the news out here is all car chases and underwear stores opening up. And volcanoes.
S: Wow. That sounds like fun news to me!
P: It is, to a certain extent, until you realize you can't get any real information on the world around you. Then it's just sorta frustrating.
S: Well, that brings us to our first subject of the podcast, the Kick Ass News!
(insert Kick Ass News theme, which I have yet to write) So, do you have any follow-up news on your last news story, the one about the moose?
P: I don't. It's still an ongoing investigation. Just to reiterate, in case you don't know what I'm talking about, there's a particular highway in Alaska that's dominated by cliffs, and apparently over the ast few years moose keep falling off this particular cliff and plummeting onto the road below, which makes for an extremely dangerous situation, and they have no idea why this is happening. But in terms of developments, as they say, there are no further developments.
S: Alright well, listen, brace yourself for the news about vaporizing trash in Florida.
P: I'm ready. S: So in Fort Pierce, wherever that is, they have this big dump, and they're planning on vaporizing all their garbage using temperatures hotter than the sun.
They're gonna vaporize the trash in the same way they used to vaporize things in like, Empire pictures in the 80's.
P: With lightning bolts.
S: Like in Zone Troopers, or something.
P: That's scary, but the really scary part of that story is that it's happening in Florida. Have you ever been to Florida?
S: yeah, twice.
P: That's right, you sorta liked it, right?
S: At first, because you can go to the beach at Christmas time. That's pretty seductive. But then on further inspection, you realize the whole state is full of old people and maniacs.
P: That's the real drawback to me. When I went there, it was apparently "Fire season" , and I remember getting off the plane and it smelled like the entire state was on fire. So that was a warning sign for me. And now they've got a death ray? That can only be bad.
S: They have a fire season? Jesus. Does it overlap with the hurricane season?
P: I don't know, man. All I know is that it smelled like fire, and then we drove through the swamp, and then I was at Universal Studios. If that's not a hell-trip, I don't know what is.
S: Right. The problem with vaporizing trash is, it starts with trash, but what do you start vaporizing next?
P: Pets.
S: Yep. People are gonna start vaporizing each other for kicks. Especially out there. They'll put the vaporizing ray on top of their pick-up truck.
P: Or on their swamp boats. Yeah, it's bad.
S: Just watch out for shit like that, is all I'm saying. Just the fact that there's something that can get hotter than the sun and it shoots stuff… I mean, that's cause for concern, I think. Ok, as you know, I did some product testing this week.
P: That's right.
S: I tested Tava Water, which is a new zero calorie sparkling water fruit flavored drink from Pepsi. It tasted like cancer. So let's move on.
P: Duly noted. Tava Water tastes like cancer. I'm sure that's going to be their upcoming slogan.
S: The vegetable orchestra in Vienna, did we talk about that? Instead of guitars and drums, the orchestra plays the cuke-o-phones, the carrot-flutes, the pumpkin basses, the leek violins, and other freshly made instruments.
P: This is further proof that the Germans are only slightly less crazy than the Japanese, and only slightly more crazy than people from Florida.
S: It is pretty crazy, and we've got a little Vegetable Orchestra to play for you. So listen to this, and we'll come right back with our opinions. (pretend you're hearing squishy vegetables)
S: So what did you think of that, Paul?
P: It sounded delicious. I can't believe those sounds were coming from vegetables.
S: Parsley and turnips. And eggplant cymbals. Vegetableorchestra.org if you want more information, but honestly, what we gave you there, that seems like plenty. But just in case. Also, we've got mini-nuclear reactors now. They build them under your house and they can power one city block. They say they probably won't melt down. Says here it's unlikely.
P: I like that they've got the odds of probability mapped out.
S: The odds are, they won't melt down, but if you get one of these mini-reactors put in under your house, you probably shouldn't bury your pets under the floorboards because the radiation will get to them, and then they'll come back. You've seen Pet Semetery, you know what happens next.
P: Or, to tie it into what we were talking about earlier, we've watched enough Empire and New World pictures to know that radiation and corpses means the living dead and mutations, and the only thing that's going to stop that is…a death ray.
S: Exactly. In France, they're building UFOS with stun guns on them for crowd control purposes.
P: I love the fact that the next logical step for crowd control is not more effective police training, but flying saucers.
S: It's like dinosaurs with missile launchers. Same kind of concept.
P: Exactly. Why go with anything realistic?
S: What else? Oh, there's a red Hulk.

P: At first I thought you meant for real.
S: No. In the comics. If you're the nerdy type, you probably want to check that out. The green one was plenty for me, frankly. Anyway, that's if for kick ass news. We're going to come back with some movie news and some more junk, but first, here's Ballinjack.

Listen: Ballinjack - Trouble

S: Ok, excellent, we're back, and I've got some movie news. I think you're going to breathe easier when I tell you this, Paul. Corey Haim is back in Lost Boys 2.

P: You know, what's funny is that I was just watching the first Lost Boys on TV the other day. It was on cable.
S: Oh yeah, Stacey was watching it as well. I was in here working, and what I thought was, it's a very loud movie.
P: It's very loud, and it's very gay. Like, there's that scene where Corey Haim is taking a bubblebath. Have you ever taken a bubblebath in your life?
S: As a child, sure. But not as an adult.
P: Right. So what's going on there? And there's just a lot of stuff in there. Corey Haim wears pajamas that look suspiciously like girls pajamas. Joel Shumacher, the director, is a very openly gay individual.
S: Wow, is that right?
P: Very gay. Now, in no way am I saying that's a bad thing, I'm just pointing it out. He's the guy that courted controversy when he made that Batman movie with George Clooney, and Batman's suit had nipples.
S: Now that I think about it, I was always sorta uncomfortable with the scene where they have the band playing, And the big muscle guy was playing the sax with his shirt off.

P: That guy used to play in Tina Turner's band. I think he's married to her now.
S: Really? Wow. I just remember thinking something was off with that scene. Made me feel uneasy.
P: There's a lot to be uneasy about with that movie.
S: But of course, the long-awaited Lost Boys 2, which is some bullshit about surfing vampires, there's been a lot of talk about it, because it was going to reunite the two Coreys. They're shooting it in Vancouver, I think, and Corey Haim was  suddenly out because of some hassle about his passport. He couldn't get into Canada to film, which is weird, because isn't he Canadian?
P: Wait, there making a surfing move in Vancouver? You can surf there?
S: Where else would you shoot a surf movie in Canada? You can't do it on the east coast, it's freezing.
P: I didn't even know Vancouver was near water.
S: Jesus, what are we talking about?
P: Anyway, isn't it cold on the west coast of Canada, too? It's near Portland, right? Portland is cold.
S: It's gotta  be warm sometimes.
P: We know Canadians, we should ask them.
S: The important thing in all of this is not geography, Paul, its Corey Haim's career.
P: Clearly, that's the bottom line here.
S: Did you watch the Two Coreys show?
P: I did not, but I did see the scene where Corey Feldman tells a teary Corey Haim that they're not going to be in Lost Boys 2.
S: Yeah? Well he is, so fuck you, Corey Feldman.
P: I heard that show was faked.
S: It had to be, because Corey Feldman's house was too nice to actually be his.
P: Yeah, it was probably a rental.
S: I did enjoy Corey Haim's spunk throughout the process.
P: Did you really just say that phrase?
S: Oh, right. Yeah, so I was bummed out when I heard he wasn't gonna do it because his heart was obviously broken over this thing. So there' s gonna be a Lost Boys 2, and he's gonna be in it, and it's gonna be great.
P: Is that an early prediction?
S: Yeah. It's gonna be fantastic and Corey Haim is gonna shoot right back to the top.
P: Cool. That's where he belongs.
S: Now, Ellen Page and Diablo Cody are teaming up again to make a horror film about an killer emo band.
P: From the heights of excitement over Lost Boys 2 to the depths of depression over this.
S: You saw Juno, right?
P: Yeah. I know we had some problems with Hard Candy, but I think Ellen Page is a good actress. She's good in Juno too, people just keeping making her say stuff that's a lot smarter than what her characters are supposed to be. But anyway, I'm just not interested in a movie about a killer emo band. That's not the way to go. That's like Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park.
S: exactly, it's like the heavy metal horror cycle of the 80's. Black Roses and Rock N Roll Nightmare, and whatnot.
P: They've already started it with these Punk Rock Holocaust movies, which are just terrible.

S: Right. Oh hey, Melissa George is working on a new movie. It's called Triangle. Here's the plot: "The story revolves around the passengers of a yachting trip in the Atlantic ocean, who, when struck with mysterious weather conditions…" What does that mean? Mysterious weather conditions?
P: It's snowing when the sun is out?
S: Who knows. "So they jump to another ship…" There's another ship they can jump to? What is going on in this story?
P: What kind of ship? A rowboat?
S: "They encounter even greater havoc on the high seas. Melissa George plays a woman with a mental disorder who recounts the harrowing experience through her three personalities."  Shooting begins later this year in Australia, which at least is good for her, since that's where she's from.
P: She can probably go home after work. The only thing that has to considered is, will she wear a better bathing suit than the one she wore in Turistas?

S: I guess we'll find out. 30 Days of Night, the Amityville Horror remake, Turistas, what else have you seen her in?
P: I saw her in that cheerleader movie, Sugar and Spice, where she did a very passable American accent. And she was in that movie Dark City, which came out ages ago. She's naked in that one.
S: Man, I love cheerleader movies. They're the best, aren't they?
P: There are very few things in life better.
S: Whether mainstream or X-rated, doesn't matter. They're all sorta x-rated, even the PG-rated ones.
P: I think that's our most declarative statement of the day. You know, I think Melissa George was in the Australian Playboy.
S: I think you're right. That reminds me. The other day I was on Ebay, and there's this dude on there selling a Pam Grier poster for $1000. It's 16x30, which is quite small. It obviously came from the centerfold of a magazine. It's wrinkled and water-stained, and he's selling it for a thousand dollars. It's obviously not worth it, but it is an awesome poster.

P: It's a pretty amazing photo.
S: So I was trying to figure out what magazine it came from, so I could just find it buy a copy for myself. So I posited the question to the folks at DVD Maniacs, which is a forum I frequent, and they suggested it was from a magazine called Players, from the 70's. So I'm gonna look that up, see if I can rustle up a copy. You ever read this Players magazine? It sounds like my kinda magazine.
P: I am not familiar with it. I have a goodly collection of 70's adult mags, but I have seen that one. I think it was for the urban market, of which I am not a member.
S: In fact, in the 70's, you lived in the suburbs, right?
P: That's true.
S: So you were totally out of the market then.
P: I was in the suburban market, which sounds inferior.
S: Right, but now you're in the urban market, aren't you?
P: Well, I'm in Hollywood, which is an urban market. It's super urban.
S: Well, now you can read Players with authority.
P: If I see a copy of Players, I'm grabbing it, because I'm part of that demographic now.
S: Alright, we're going to take a little break, and in appreciation of Melissa George and her yacht movie, we're gonna play some yacht rock. And then we'll be back with more stuff.
(I played Dr Hook here. Play whatever you think is appropriate.)
S: Ok Paul, we're back. Do you feel more mellow now?
P: I've got a peaceful easy feeling.
S: Ok, I've got some other stuff to tell you. Oh, hey, I fired up the Blu-ray.
P: Oh yeah. You mentioned some frustrations getting that.
S: It is very frustrating buying a Blu-ray player, but I don't even wanna get into that. I did procure one, finally, and we bought a copy of Live Free or Die Hard to test it out. I can tell you that the resolution was beautiful and the sound was terrifying. It was rattling the house. But the extras were all in standard def, which look like a grainy VHS tape in comparison, and it takes like 3 minutes to load a Blu-ray disc on there. Also, if you look at the release schedule for Bluray, it's pathetic. So, ultimately, it's really nice resolution but there's so few Bluray discs for you watch, that it's really senseless to buy one at this point. I mean, if you're just going to throw $400 out the window, then buy it. But if you can buy something cooler, like a Deep Throat pinball machine or something…

P: This is a very good lesson in economics that I hope our younger listeners are paying attention to.
S: In fact, if there's somebody out there with a Deep Throat pinball machine, drop me a line and we'll trade.
P: I love it, I just don't know where you'd put that thing, you're place is pretty small.
S: I'd get rid of stuff to fit it. You know there are two movies that feature the Deep Throat pinball machine? They were both low-budget horror movies from the 80's.
P: Really? Cool.
S: One of 'em involved a dog. I don't think it was Devil Dog the Hound from Hell, though. But it was similar.
P: Was it Zoltan, the Hound from Hell?
S: Was there one called Mongrel?
P: Yeah. The Pack, too.
S: Just watch all four of those movies. The Deep Throat pinball machine is in one of them. You'll see it. It'll blow your fuckin' mind. (note: it's Mongrel and Future Kill)
P: Ok.
S: Before I get to my movie review, I wanted to mention the two shorts we saw. Well, you saw one of 'em.
P: I saw Spider on your recommendation. I didn't see the other one.
S: Spider and I Love Sarah Jane are both short films that were shown at last year's Sundance Film festival. Apparently they have a shorts series, and these two were in the "On the Edge" category. One of them, Spider, is available on Netflix. If you have Netflix, you can watch stuff instantly. Not too many people seem to use this feature, but it's really cool, you can watch all this stuff on your computer for free. I think they give you 17 hours worth for free every month.
P: I think the reason nobody's using it is because most of the films are lousy.
S: It's getting better. They've got more stuff on their all the time. Anyway, Spider you can watch on there. I Love Sarah Jane is only available on I Tunes. It costs $1.99, but it's totally worth it. I mean, what else are you going to spend your next $1.99 on?
P: There's nothing you can buy for $1.99 that's gonna match the enjoyment you get out of that film.
S: Right. So Spider takes place in Australia. It's got this guy fighting with his girlfriend in the car. He's kind of a douchebag, and he makes a fatal flaw in his attempt at an apology. Spider has one of the most amazing shock scenes I've ever seen.
P: My jaw literally hit the floor.
S: Now, I Love Sarah Jane is a post-apocalyptic short film that takes place in some rundown Australian suburb. The parents are all dead, the kids are running the neighborhood hunting zombies. This kid has a crush on Sarah Jane because she's the most kick-ass chick in town.
P: Awesome.
S: Great stuff, and it turns out, everybody's related. Nash Edgerton, the guy who made Spider, was the stunt coordinator on I Love Sarah Jane. He's done a bunch of shorts and apparently he's a stuntman. So he falls down stairs in Australian movies to pay for his shorts. He's also the douchebag in the Spider. And Spencer Susser, who directed I Love Sarah Jane, was a cameraman on Spider. So, you know, it's one big happy family. Susser's mostly made music videos. He did one for that gross porn dude, the one who wears the fishnet shirts.
P: Matt Zane. I saw his band at an "adult industry" party once.
S: Really? What was the occasion?
P: I think it was his birthday, actually. Anyway, what I remember from that was, I was introduced to somebody like this – she was an up and coming starlet, and the dude introduced us, he was a director, says "Hey, this is Nancy so-and-so, she just shot her first scene. She likes to eat her own puke."
S: Wow.
P: So I said, "Oh. Well, how nice for you." She had an appropriately queasy look on her face. What do you say to that? What's the appropriate response?
S: There's nothing appropriate about any of that.
P: Other than to run away screaming.
S: So yeah, the girl that played Sarah Jane, Mia…Jesus…Wasikowska…was also in that Australian alligator movie, Rogue.
P: I didn't see that one. I didn't know they made an Australian alligator movie. Wouldn't it be a crocodile movie? I think they have crocodiles there.
S: I don't really know the difference.
P: One of them has a longer snout.
S: Ok, fair enough. So also, she did a movie in 2006 called Suburban Mayhem about a homicidal teenage chick, and it looks awesome. I'm gonna check it out.
P: Right on.

S: So, the thing is, Spider ended with this song by Ben Lee, although he did not sing it, Ione Skye did. And you didn't like the way that turned out.
P: No. I mean, here was this exciting, violent movie, and it ends with this dull, folk-rock bullshit. It just took me out of the picture.
S: Well, I found out that Ione Skye is actually engaged to Ben Lee.
P: Really? I think he's like ten years younger than her.
S: Who cares? She's Ione Skye, damn it.
P: You've got a point.
S: I saw Say Anything not too long ago, and I gotta say, when she breaks up with Lloyd Dobler, it kinda broke me up a little.
P: Got to you, huh?
S: Yeah. She was perfect for that role because she's exactly the kind of girl a younger guy could get really obsessed with.

P: I think a lot of people have. Clearly Ben Lee, a younger guy, did.
S: You know, when she was younger, she dated the Red Hot Chili Peppers dude.
P: That's right.
S: This Anthony Keidis character. I haven't read his book, but apparently there's a topless picture of her in there. Topless and 16.
P: That's reason enough to run out to your local library. I believe she's topless in this English movie called the Rachel Papers, too.
S: Everybody loves Ione Skye. In fact, there's this band from Baltimore called Hollywood, and they have a song about Ione Skye. You wanna hear it?
P: Let's do it.
Go here to hear it!
S: What'd you think of that?
P: That was moving.
S: I think there's another Ione Skye song by some French band, too. She serves as a muse to many people. You know there's a Kelli Maroney song, too?
P: Really?
S: There's two versions. One by some German punk band, and then a country version.
P: Are you pulling my leg?
S: No. The song actually got her out of retirement. She gave up acting until dudes started writing songs about her.
P: That's incredible.
S: It's a whole subgenre, bands that write songs about cult actresses.
P: It bears further investigation on a future podcast.
S: So listen to this. Jim Ether, who's a frequent guest on our podcast, started his own podcast. I listened to the first two episodes.
P: You gave me a very interesting preview of that.
S: In the first one, he got drunk and told you all about his life.
P: Which included some very disturbing information.
S: Yeah, at one point, he was working at a record store in Braintree or someplace. So he was like 18, and he had this male stalker that would come by, this older fella, who would proposition him. One day he came buy and asked him to come back to his hotel room and wear tight clothes and take photographs.
P: That's the kind of information other podcasters are afraid to give out.
S: Right. And he gives it away freely. In the second episode, he was actually over here. He tried to interview me.
P: How did it go?
S: I don't know. It didn't go good. You can hear it as his website. Pretty good stuff so far. Anyway, so, the movie I saw. Diary of the Dead.
P: It's been getting a lot of press. There's a big story on George Romero in the New York Times. Apparently he moved from Pittsburgh to Toronto.
S: I'll be damned.
P: This is his fifth dead film.
S: We went to see this last weekend, and I gotta say, I did not like this Diary of the Dead. (see my review)
P: Well, listen, I'll watch a bad George Romero movie over 99% of the shit out there.
S: Oh yeah? Ever seen Bruiser?
P: Oof. Well…
S: So I dunno, I wanted to have fun, but I mean, it even had a boozy professor. Boozy professors went out in 1955. I feel bad about it, I just didn't like it.
P: It's a free country. And anyway, it's gotten some pretty good reviews, definitely better reviews than Land of the Dead, a movie I really wanted to like, but didn't. That's the thing with these 60's and 70's horror guys, like Tobe Hooper and Wes Craven, they never jumped into the mainstream like David Cronenberg, so they just have to try and repeat past successes. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.... 
*NOTE* My hands are getting tired now, so I'm just gonna tell you what else we covered here:
Spiral, the movie. Paul liked it, I thought it was sorta ponderous, and the double-twist is overkill.

Elisha Cuthbert. I found her colostomy bag scene in "He Was a Quiet Man" quite disturbing. Paul didn't see it. Apparently she's been canoodling with Paris Hilton. We decide one of them must be a the 'real' lesbian, but don't care enough to figure out which one.
Blog Talk Radio. It's this insane site I found where they give you your own call-in radio show, with a phone number and everything, for free. You can guess the chaos that ensues. I talked about the various UFO loonies and sexual deviants shows I sampled. It was pretty funny. But just go there and discover the madness yourself.
Headcase and Free Radio. Two TV shows we like. But what are we, the TV guide?
Ugly Things magazine.  There's a new issue. Its over 200 pages long. There's an awesome Rob Tyner interview from 1988 inside. Read Ugly Things if you dig boss sounds.
Ballinjack. Late 60's Seattle band. I was planning on doing a story on them for Classic Rock, but it looks pretty dire because most of them are dead, the guitar player is in a coma, and the singer is on the run from nefarious forces all the time. It'd probably be the greatest story ever told, but might be, you know, untellable.
Sorcery. I wanna do a Sorcery story. Stunt Rock and the whole bit. But the drummer, who I was talking to, went MIA. Hopefully not another coma situation. Wizard rock!

Disco compilations from the 70's. I like the covers. They always had hot black chicks in weird circumstances, like in hot pants on a fire engine, or like with a trident under water. Paul pointed out that they ran out of the obvious poses, in the actual disco, with the first wave of comps, and had to get inventive from there.
Rude Ray Moore's jokes.  Their premises never make any sense. Like this one:
"Two babies, a boy and a girl, are in the nursery together. Suddenly, the girl baby starts yelling for the nurse. 'Nurse! Nurse! I am being raped by this baby boy!' The baby boy says 'Bitch, you just rolled over on yo' pacifier."
Bloodsucking Babes from Burbank.

New movie from my friend Kirk Bowman. I mentioned how it made me realize how much I like watching girls run around in their underwear. Paul said "Yeah. You and every other dude alive." He's got a point. The movie is bitching.
The all bubblegum podcast. We're going to do one soon. And we're going to get all hopped up on Cap'n Crunch first. We might even get the dude who wrote the Bubblegum Music is the Naked Truth book on it. Paul sorta knows him. And he's not in a coma or anything.
Sleazegrinder's VHS Theater. It's an upcoming new feature on Sleazegrinder.com that's already spiraling out of control. "We should always aspire to spiraling out of control" says Paul. Exactly.

And that's it. Finished. It took 7 hours to get this all down, and I'm not sure it was worth it. Maybe you got a few laughs. Anyway, I'm going back to an audio podcast next week, for sure. I'll go buy a four track recorder and hire an engineer if I have to, because this was nuts. By the way, looks like I may be hosting the Classic Rock Magazine podcast soon. That'll be intense.

Anyway, I hope this was a good blog entry. Now that I've returned, maybe I'll be semi-regular about it. Come visit Sleazegrinder.com and please read Classic Rock magazine because it's awesome and also Metal Hammer and Total Film because they are awesome in different, but equally compelling ways. And drop me a line sometime. I miss you sometimes.

Later, gator.
Ken

So, I just got back from seeing this new movie, Right At Your Door. I'm back-tracking, it's been a while since I've blogged. Anyway, it stars Rory Cochrane (stoner dude from Dazed and Confused) and Mary McCormack (Howard Stern's wife in Private Parts). I should note that I went to see this movie at 10pm on a Tuesday night, which, it turns out, is a pretty sweet time to go to the movies. I mean, you've got the place to yourself. I have actually been meaning to catch a matinee, but I never get up on time. Which is embarrassing, seeing as matinees are at, what, noon? But anyway, he's a stay-at-home musician, and she has some fancy job in downtown Los Angeles. Exchange "musician" for "writer" and LA for Boston, and you've got me and Stacey's set-up exactly. So, she splits for work, he's sitting around in his pajamas brushing his teeth at 11am, when all of  a sudden, dude on the radio says that a bunch of dirty bombs have gone off in downtown LA. Yikes! He can't get her on the phone, of course, so he hops in his car and tries to…I dunno what, drive to the fuckin' bomb site and look for her. The cops send him home, he's listening to the radio, which now tells him there's deadly ash heading his way, and he needs to cover his house in plastic and duct tape. Remember when they actually told us that bullshit? So, he does it. A day later, his wife comes home, covered in ash and hacking up her lungs. She's infected. He doesn't want to let her in. What the hell do they do now?

So that's the premise. And if you think the premise is a bummer, you won't fuckin' believe the ending. This is some serious slash-your-wrist cinema. Stacey would have killed me if I dragged her to it. Still, the acting was tremendous, the intensity was paint-peeling, and it was all so horribly plausible that it really shakes you to the core.

Is that a recommendation? Hard to say. I really just went because I like looking at Mary McCormack, I didn't know I was gonna get mind-raped.

C'mon, Mary. Clean up a little.

So that was tonight.

Last Saturday, we went to see Stereo Total, our favorite French/German pop band. You know, they do that song "Holiday Inn", i.e. "Let's go to the Holiday Inn, and I will show you something." The band that opened up was called Les Sans Cullottes, and they were awesome. They had this hip dude in shades and a smoking jacket up front at two chicks in fishnets on either side of him. They said they were from Paris and played a buncha garage-y glam-boogie songs like "Allo Allo" in French. Well, it turns out they are actually from New York and only pretend to be French, which is very fuckin' weird, but I still had a great time, so I don't really care.

Les Sans Cullottes.

Then, this band from Austin called the Octopus Project played. It was three dudes in white shirts and ties and this skinny girl with a 1920's flip 'do, a cocktail dress, and the most heartbreaking smile you ever saw. They played an instrumental goulash with xylophone and Moog and Theremin. I got kinda bored by it after a while,  but they seemed so genuinely nice I wanted to buy them all a spaghetti dinner.

Octopus Project.

Right, and then Stereo Total played. They're a duo – the dude is named Brezel, and the girl is Françoise Cactus. Now, if you listen to them, Fran has this unbearably cute voice. She sounds like one of those high-glamour Ye Ye girls from the 60's. But she's actually hilariously frumpy. A total thrift store disaster. This does nothing to detract from how cool this band is, however. They played all their hits, like "I Hate the Discoteque", and I Love You, Oh No!" and their cover of Salt N' Pepa's "Push It" and they even brought a bunch of people on stage to dance with them a couple times. It was a lot of fun. If they blow through your town, don't miss 'em.

Stereo Total! Photo by Cabine.

The night before that, we saw The King of Kong, this new documentaty about warring Donkey Kong champs. It was amazing. I mean, you sorta kept pulling back and going, "I  can't believe people are wasting their lives with this nonsense", but at the same time, it was totally compelling. You really want the challanger, Steve, to win this dumb thing because the current champ, Billy, is such a douchebag. I am willing to go so far as to say that you will laugh AND cry while watching this film. It's pretty goddamn fantastic.

Donkey Kong champ Billy Mitchell. Kind of a jerk. Can you tell?

Oh, did I mention the car? Since we last spoke, the Mazda 3 started having some problem, where it was popping when I put it into gear. Me, I think it's the tires, so I take it to a tire place. They say "Of course, it's the tires!" and we buy $300 worth of new tires. But it is NOT the fucking tires at all, so we take it to the dealer, who tells us some bullshit about the transmission. So they give us a rental car so they can fix it. Stay with me, because the next part is going to break your heart. So we take home the rental, and the first night, some fucker rams into it while it's parked out front, scratching it up. They leave a note saying they're sorrry, but the number they leave is, of course, fake. We end up having to pay $250 to fix it. We get our own car back, and a week later, somebody dents our fuckin' bumper, again, while it's parked out front. Even with our insurance, it's gonna cost us $500. And then, a week or so later, someone else does it to us AGAIN, smashing two doors. NOBODY owns up to hitting our car, three times. Now it's gonna cost $1000, plus the $250 from the rental. And there's NOTHING we can do about it. How sick is this? This is the result of 7 years of the Bush administration, I swear to god it is. With a goverrnment as lawless are ours, society is merely following suit. People just do whatever they want. It's really crazy.Guys are stealing my name and using it for whatever they want ( I don't wanna get into it)… I even have dudes writing me threatening emails because they don't like what I wrote about their band. (see the Sleazegrinder message board) Like it's ok to threaten people. I'm telling you, we gotta turn this all around, or life is gonna get real ugly.

Speaking of which, last Monday, I went to the Ozzfest to interview Lamb of God, and I am being very charitable by saying they were not the friendliest band ever. Now, I have interviewed dudes that have been full-on rock stars for 30 years, and they are gracious enough to answer simple questions withot sneering or rolling their eyes. Questions that they've been answering over and over for all these years. I'm not saying Lamb of God need to be as nice as, say, Alice Cooper or Dee Snider, but there's a reason those guys are still around after all these years. So that totally left a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, the results will be the cover story for an upcoming issue of Metal Hammer.  I think. So look out for that. Maybe.

Lamb of God. Not my best friends.

Ah, but right after that debacle I got into my bashed-up car and sped outta Ozzfest like a bat out of hell, because we had tickets to see Meatloaf! The Loaf was huge back in the 70's – literally and figuratively – and I clearly remember seeing him on televeusion back them, dressed in ruffled shirts and suit jackets, covered in sweat and bellowing like a werewolf opera singer. Back then he'd rock so hard that he'd pass out right on stage and they'd have to revive him with oxygen. Awesome. So, we heard he was rolling through town. Stacey and I have never seen him live, and I just didn't want to miss the opportunity to see him do "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" in the flesh.

The crowd was alot older than us, unless we are older than we think. Most of 'em looked middle-aged, but they were still total pains in the asses, because whole rows of the fuckers would stand up during songs they liked, making it impossible for the people behind them to see Mr. Loaf in action. What's that all about? I paid $60 for a seat. I wanna get $60 worth of sitting out of it. Anyway, besides that, the show was great. He did a little too much obscure material (i.e., anything not on Bat Out of Hell), but whatever. He had two hot chicks on stage, one blonde, one brunette, and he played Paradise By the Dashboard Light for like, an hour. Stupendous. Dude, I heart Meatloaf, big time. By the way, so, two tix at $60 a pop, two t-shirts at $35 a pop, and $17 to park. I don't even want to know what all that adds up to. That motherfucker better work himself into an asthma attack if I'm shelling out all that dough.

Mr. Loaf and the hot brunette.

So, the week before, or after, I forget, we went to Atlantic City to see Don Rickles. Don is a legend, of course. Used to seem him all the time on talk shows in the 70's, bustin' on folks. Recently I bought a bunch of his old albums, and found them to be laugh-out-loud funny, even the ones from the 60's when I had no idea who he was talking about. So I decided it was imperative that we see him, especially since he's 81 now. That's…that's up there, you know? So we drove down there. W got a room at the Tropicana, which is a gigantic hotel. I mean, the lobby looks like downtown Calcutta, there's so many people going in and out. Before the show, we met with some of Stacey's old college friends, who live in Philly, which is apparently close to New Jersey. We went to the buffet at Bally's hotel, which was ok. I got prime rib, because, well, it's a buffet, and halfway through, starting choking on a big chunk of it. I signalled to Stacey that I was choking, and it turns out, she does not know the Heimlich. So she starts freaking and I don't think her friends get that I'm actually choking, and nobody in the restaurant seems to give a fuck, because NO ONE is helping me. This is the same attitude that allows people to smash into your car and split. Now, I could still breathe through my nose, so I probably was not going to die, but it was still pretty fuckin' scary. Eventually, the errant prime rib dislodged itself from my throat, and I sheepishly had some dessert. A week or so later I was having lunch with a couple writer friends of mine from the Boston Pheonix, and they were ruminating on how cool it woulda been if that's the way I really did go: "Rock journalist Sleazegrinder dies choking to death on Prime Rib in Atlantic City." Hell, I'd like to write that obit myself, it IS pretty classy.

Anyway, after that scary dinner we saw Don. Well, first some dude came out and did 40 minutes of Frank Sinatra songs, which nearly put me to sleep, but then Don came on, and it was fantastic. He actually passed right by us, because he was doing this bit where he gets lost on his way to the stage. He looked pretty frail going up there, but once he got the mic in his hand, he was on fire. He basically just picked on everybody for an hour. We were in the 4^th row, so I knew I'd catch some shrapnel at some point, and I did. He looked at me and said, "Jews, look out for that guy in the beard. He looks like a German U-Boat commander." I don't know what that means, but it was funny.

Mr. Warmth, you are the balls.

We stayed for a night after the show, and spent the entire day at the beach. The hotel was right there on the boardwalk. The beach was the best I've ever been to, with surprisingly warm water and seriously aggressive waves. I loved it. I am totally looking forward to going back to AC next year. No prime rib next time, though.

Right, so sometime before that, I went to Portland, Maine, to do a story on a band called Between the Buried and Me. I have not much to say about that trip except that I had the worst Chinese food of my life in Portland, and that, since there was a ton of awful metalcore bands opening up for BTBAM, I sat in the car and watched a bootleg of "I Know Who Killed Me" on my I-Pod until they went on. Have you seen this movie? It may, seriously, be one of the worst movies ever made. It was unbelievable. I don't have the time or space here to dissect it, but honestly, avoid this thing at all costs. By the way, this was the least of this movie's problems, but Lyndsey Lohan was a stripper in it, but she did not take off any clothes. This is an alarming new trend in movies – roles that require nudity being portrayed by actresses that don't do nudity. Same thing in Knocked Up – Katherine Weigl has two sex scenes, wherein she wears a bra. In one of them, she's actually complaining about her pregnant tits swinging around too much, and she's got them trapped in a bra. That's bogus, yo. Women don't like wearing bras, they can't wait to take them off. They certainly don't wanna wear them during sex. Go on, ask one.And yeah, I know, you're saying that I just want to see them naked.  But it's more than cheap thrills at stake here. It's the integrtiy of cinema, goddamnit.

Whoa. Ok, so that's pretty hot anyway, but it's still a cop-out.

So anyway. Before that, I went to Chicago to hang out with Amon Amarth for another Metal Hammer story. Chicago is really big, did you know that? Huge. And the side of town the show was at – I forget what it was called now – was amazingly seedy. You cannot find a neighboorhood this threatening anywhere in Boston. So that was cool. Amon were awesome to hang out with, a bunch of giant, friendly, drunken Swedes. I hung out with them for a whole day and was actually sorta bummed when I had to split. Well, not too bummed, who wants to sleep on a bus and wake up in Minneapolis? Not me. Anyway, cool guys.

Amon Amarth. More fun than they look.

Oh Christ, before that, I went to Oklahoma for Classic Rock magazine. Why? Rocklahoma, that's why. I already wrote 6,000 words about it for the mag, so I don't wanna get into it too much here, but here's the basic set-up. It's me and a photographer in an RV backstage in who-the-fuck-knows-where, Oklahoma, covering a 3 day outdoor glam metal festival that featured Poison, Twisted Sister, Ratt, Quiet Riot, Dokken, Vince Neil, Skid Row, Winger, White Lion, Enuff Z'Nuff, Faster Pussycat, LA Guns, Britny Fox, Firehouse, Warrant, Jackyl, Great White, Slaughter, Queensryche, and so on. And it was like 90 degrees everyday. I mean, YOU imagine what that's like. I dunno, the first night I was up for 40 hours straight, sitting on Bobby Dall's tour bus while he's getting his hair done, discussing where the Bullet Boys went wrong. Next afternoon I'm on stage while Skid Row play for 20,000 people and Rachel Bolan begs somebody to bring him oxygen before he dies standing. It was one of the more memorable weekends of my life, I'll tell you that much.

I hung out with these dudes.

Hmm. Before that, I went to Memphis to hang out with Darkest Hour. That was cool. I did a podcast about that trip, check it out, if you wanna.

Anyway, that's how my Summer went. In between all that stuff, we went to the beach a lot, and we went to a ton of movies, including:

1408…hmm. Let's say a B. Not so scary, but fun.

Sicko  - Pretty amazing. Made me cry a few times.Some of it might be bullshit, though.

Crazy Love – jaw-dropping doc about this dude who threw acid in this chick's face back in the 50's, blinding her…and after he got out of prison for it, she married him.

Live Free or Die Hard – Awesome. That's all.

Sunshine – brooding sci-fi stuff. Implausible, but compelling.

Talk to Me – The second half drags a little, but very close to best film of the year.

Simpons Movie – Was pretty funny.

Hot Rod – Was sorta funny. Here and there.

Rocket Science – Funny, albeit a little emo for my tastes. Stacey absolutely loved it. It did have one hilarious line: "There's a cello in your house now." If you saw it, believe me, you'd be cracking up now.

Death at the Funeral – British black comedy. By jove, it was uproarious! Also, it had Daisy Donovan in it. I LOVE Daisy Donovan.

Superbad – instant teen comedy classic.

 I love you Daisy. Not as much as Stacey of course, but, you know, in the same ballpark.

I'm sure there's other stuff I forgot to mention, but that seems like plenty. Basically, I quit the counseling gig and started writing full-time. Relying on my wits to survive. So far, so good. I have finally gotten the hang of being home by myself all day, too. I have combated this problem by writing until 6 in the morning and then sleeping most of the day away. By the time I finish eating breakfast at like 3pm, it's nearly time to pick up Stacey from work. So I hardly have time to be lonely.

And yes, I realize how lucky I am. Believe me, I paid the dues. Oh, the fuckin' dues I've paid.

So that's it. Stay beautiful. And please, don't smash into my car.

Ken

Hi. I only slept a couple hours last night and now it's midnight already, but what happened was, I have this inhaler I'm supposed to take a couple puffs from before I go running at the gym. I never do. But every once in awhile I see it poking out of the gym bag, and suddenly it seems like a good idea. Tonight I noticed it while Stacey and I were freaking out to this loony Japanese movie called Meatball Machine. I took a couple hits because it's seriously humid out. I forgot that said inhaler makes me totally panicky for like 10 hours straight, which is why I never use it. So now I won't be able to sleep until dawn, at least, so why not fritter away the hours blogging? Why not, indeed, sir.

So what's been happening the last couple months? Life, baby. Life's been happening. I had this crazy idea that I actually wanted to start working full time again..I have been working part time as a mental health counselor, and I suddenly got it in my head that I wanted to run a halfway house again. I actually had a meeting with my old program director about it and everything. He, of course, told me it would be foolish to take the position since I'd have to work 70 hours a week for a $25,000 annual salary, and I already told him that on a good day I can make $1,000 in like, two hours free-lancing.

I am glad he has more sense than I do. However, it is good to know that if the whole sleazy rock journalism thing goes to hell, I have an over-worked, under-paid position waiting for me.

I AM pretty good at that job, though. And that feels good. Too bad nobody gives a fuck about the mentally ill and they pay mental health workers slave wages. I mean, is rock journalism more important than teaching Schizophrenics how to ride the number 1 bus without totally freaking out?

Apparently so. So I'm just gonna go with the flow.

So, did you see this month's issue of Classic Rock? The one with GN'R on the cover? Dude/Lady, you should totally pick it up. This month's free CD is my latest comp, Sons of Guns II! Awesome. Who's on it? Chinatown. Strip Club Devils. The Genders. Electric Mary. Hell N' Diesel. Nikki Core. And, you know, many more. Hey, here's a teaser to whet your appetite for destruction. I interviewed a few of the bands, and there's a four page spread on the CD in the front of the magazine. Now, I initially had Nikki's story up here, but really, I should know better by now, right? I mean, why do I do this to myself? I know, that sounds cryptic, but it was trouble, believe me.  Instead, here's our fave Israeli-sleaze kings, the Genders. Dig.

Oh, also in that issue, there's my REO story, and my (quite lengthy) Sisters of Mercy story. So read 'em and weep. With tears of rock n' roll joy.

Upcoming features from yours cruelly include Foghat, Steppenwolf, the Electric Prunes, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Rare Earth, The Godz, Blackfoot, who knows what else. I'm also doing a piece on Dee Snider for Metal Hammer.

On the film journalism side, I did an story on Kelli "Night of the Comet" Maroney for Sirens of Cinema, and I'm doing a story on horror podcasts for Rue Morgue. My relationship with them started out sorta weirdly adverserial, but I dunno, seems smoother now. Oh, I did a piece on Wildman Fischer for Screem magazine, and I'm doin' one on the Roky Erickson movie for the next issue. I have also been chasing Lousia Moritz for an interview. Who's Louisa Moritz, you ask? Just the most awesome Cuban blonde bombshell of 70's cinema. Although she never actually starred in anything, she shined in every cameo role she did, from Death Race 2000 to Up in Smoke to Last American Virgin, Lunch Wagon, Hot Chili, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Chained Heat, Jungle Warriors, etc. Next to Cheri Caffaro and Betsy Russell, she is my dream interview. I've talked to her on the phone twice, and both times she's brushed me off. Will the interview ever happen? Yes. Yes it will.

Here's a screen cap of Louisa from Deathrace 2000, so you know who I'm talking about. I had to black out her nipples for decency's sake.

Right. So what else? Oh, a lot of people asked  me about the Zodiac Mindwarp tattoo I wrote about a couple issues ago in Classic Rock. The thumbnail version of the story is that I got the Z logo from the Backseat Education single on my bicep, not realizing that Z lifted it from the fuckin' Nazis. So Jim Ether came over again and did it over, making it look less militaristic. But it still made me nervous, so a couple weeks later, he came over again and actually wrote Zodiac Mindwarp over the top. And now I like it. I sorta have to. I really do, though. Here's an actual picture of it.

Fuck it, I owe Z alot. I took this, quite obviously, with this new webcam I picked up. I like it. Here, here's a pic of my whole arm. You can sorta make out my new tattoo, the Death Proof skull. Sure, sort of a dissappointing movie, but it's an EXCELLENT skull. Oh and PS yes, I am wearing a Village People t-shirt.

I take self-portraits constantly now. I realize that I am not a pretty man, but the webcam at least gives me hope that I will someday take a good fuckin' picture. The law of averages is on my side.

This is clearly not it, but this is my favorite wristband. It says "I hate this town." Try living in Boston for 38 fuckin' years, you'll agree.

So, I started a podcast a few weeks ago. The official title is My Kick Ass Life: The Sleazegrinder Podcast. It's still in development, really. I'm figuring it out as I go along. But the basic premise is, well, it's a kick ass life. Let's share it. Right? I've done 3 episodes so far, to varying degrees of success. The official RSS Feed is http://sleazegrinder.podbus.com/. You can use that to subscribe in I-Tunes or Podcatcher or whatever. Or, if you want some direct links to the MP3's:

Episode One has me and Stacey discussing various grindhouse flicks that we love and loathe. Here's the Link.

Episode Two recounts the fateful trip Greg D and I took to a strip club in New Hampshire to see Doro Pesch. Here's the Link.

Episode Three has me trying, in vain, to help Jim Ether promote the crazy puppet movie he's making. I'm playing his manager in it, by the way. Anyway, it's pretty funny, even if it's quite useless as a promotional tool. Here's the Link.

I am assuming that as time goes on, it will get better technically. And there is no end to the material we will be offering. I have an endless supply of rockers, freaks, degenerates, villains and loose women at my disposal. And they will all show up eventually. So subscribe and see what happens.

Episode 4 is gonna go up later this weekend. It's another one with me and Stacey talking about the latest spate of kick-assness, so I don't wanna go into too much detail, but I will say that we saw 69 Eyes th'other day, and they were fuckin' awesome, even if they are getting too old to rock the vampire look. I think they're touring the USA for the next month, so when they roll through your town, check 'em out.

We also saw good ol' Patton Oswalt last week. Patton's getting really fat. Still funny, though. Jeneane Garafalo (SP?) was also on the bill. I dunno, I fuzzed out a few times during her set, but I did think she was kinda hot for a brainy-jerky lesbian-looking chick with attention deficit problems.

So we'll be talking about that stuff. And other stuff. Which reminds me, you and I should hang out more, so here's some places Stacey and I  will definitely be this summer:

The Erotics - Abbey Lounge, Somerville, 6/28

Polyphonic Spree - Avalon, Boston, 7/02

The Genders - Abbey Lounge, Somerville 7/17

Don Rickles - Atlantic City 8/12

Meatloaf - Bank of America Pavilion, Boston 8/20

Stereo Total, Middle East Cambridge 8/25

Right. So if you see us, say hello, but don't buy us drinks. Neither of us drink. Except for like, bubbly water.

I feel like that should cover it. Oh, rock n' roll? Well, I've been spending a lot my ear time on 60's bubblegum and French Ye Ye music and Lucio Fulci soundtracks, but I can tell you that the Dirty Pearls are totally hot. So are EndEverAfter.

One of the more interesting bands I've come across lately is Whitestarr. Musically, I think they're amazing. But they also happen to be rich and famous already. I mean, even before their record comes out, which bugs me. It bugs everybody really, but I think we're all gonna have to get over it. Especially since they're gonna have their own TV show on VH1 in August. I just interviewed their singer, Cisco Adler, for Classic Rock. I said, "Hey, I got some friends out there in LA who think you're a total douche." Which is true. He rolled with it. He rolled with it because he bangs movie stars and has a big house in Malibu. Can you really argue with that? I dunno. At any rate, let the music do the talkin' and get back to me.

For further new music ideas, I've been running a monthly CD review column on my website. Check it out.

Alright, that's enough already. My heart has finally stopped racing. I'm gonna go sleep until noon and then check out that new John Cusack flick. Summertime, and the livin' is easy.

Stay beautiful.

Ken

Hi. Well, it's been three months since my last blog, which implies that I've been too busy to write about my kick-ass life, which is not really true. Really, I was just waiting around for some cool pictures.  Every good blog needs good pictures. Ones with tits and blood. I am not sure at this point whether I have said visuals, but I will start this engine anyway.

Last time we spoke, I had gotten fired and decided to eschew the dayjob bullshit and just freelance for a living, which, let's face it, we all want to do. Three months later, and I have mostly achieved this goal, although I am working a few days a week as a mental health counselor. This is for two reasons. One, because I imagine there will be times when I have no features coming out, and will need some extra dough. But more importantly, because freelancing is a lonely job. Seriously, it's no wonder so many full-time free-lance journos are hardcore alcoholics, because there's nobody to talk to during the day around here except for the ghosts. So I visit various halfway houses around town and counsel the mentally infirm every couple days.

That in no way implies that I want to hear your fuckin' problems, buddy. Unless you're willing to pay my exorbitant fee (currently $9.75 per hour). But I do happen to be pretty good at the job, and you can't beat the dialogue:

Schizophrenic dude who I have not seen since I last worked at his house 8 years ago: "Hey, did you just come back from space?"

I dunno, maybe.

All day long I hear about flying saucers, microchips in people's brains, sinister TV's, brokerage firms run by Satan (that one is probably true), and some guy named jack who sneaks in at night and steals people's shoes. There is, of course, a darkside to the job, as many of these people are suffering quite severely from their mental illnesses, but I can only hope I ease their burden a bit while I'm there.

REO: sleazier than you think.

So there's that. Otherwise, I've been pretty busy writing. I did a wild n' wooly story on REO Speedwagon last week which sounds simple enough, but was actually a major undertaking, as REO frontman Kevin Cronin cancelled our interviews four times before we actually got to talk. Christ, I was pissed, but I gotta hand it to the guy, he's so silver-tongued I forgave him right away, especially since he told me a few really cool and surprisingly sleazy stories. On the other hand, dealing with the president of the REO Speedwagon fanclub was another matter altogether. What a witch this woman was. I mean, you'd figure that the president of the fucking REO Speedwagon fanclub would...well, I guess you would not expect her to be normal by any stretch, but I did not expect her to be outright hostile either. I mean, this woman is mean. I know several of you have seen this, but I figure it's good for kicks, so I am re-posting our email exchanges. I changed her name because...well, because I've frankly had enough of her already. Dig this:

1. Hi Cindy, I'm wondering if you can help me out. I'm a writer for Classic Rock magazine, and I am working on a feature on REO for the April issue. I've spoken to Bruce and Kevin, and I would love to speak to Gary for to get his side of the REO story. Do you know how I can reach him? Any info would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Ken McIntyre

2. Hi Ken: Sorry, but Gary is a gentleman, and prefers not to respond to Cronin's slamfests. Glad to see they're using you to hype the new album. It's going to need a lot of help, since their last live album, "Arch Allies", sold less than 50,000 copies - with the help of Styx.

-Cindy

3. Jesus, Cindy. They are not "using me" for anything. It's an objective story on the history of what, I thought, was your favorite band. Thanks for the jaundiced comments. Wish Gary had the chance to speak for himself.

4. Hi Ken: How many times do you think he's been asked these questions over the last 18 years?  How many times does he have to get slammed by Kevin before he's had enough? Jesus is right, I'm tired of it myself. You're telling me in this interview that KC has nothing but glowing reports and how the offer is still open to rejoin the band? When the day after the VH1 interivew he threatened to sue them and demanded a re-edit? And told fans the next day that Dace Amato was in the band "forever"? Forward it to me, and I'll run it by him. Until then, good luck! LOL LOL!

-Cindy

5. Hey, Cindy -  you obviously have some sort of bizarre agenda. And you can keep it.

-Ken

6.And you obviously don't know much about the history of the band. Good luck promoting the UK tour.

-Cindy 

7. Can I ask you, out of curiousity, why you would be so rude to a complete stranger asking for simple information? It seems odd to me.

-Ken

8. Sorry, but I answered your questions honestly and forthrightly. If want to be pissed off about not scoring an interview AND throw a tantrum by trying to insult me, that seems counter-productive to me.

-Cindy

9. What? I am not pissed off at all, nor am I throwing a tantrum. I am just trying to figure out why you are being so hostile. I have no agenda one way or the other. How would I know whether Gary has been answering the same questions for 18 years? I am not a member of the REO fanclub. It doesn't matter to me whether I "score an interview" with him or not. I certainly get paid the same whether I talk to Gary or I don't. I was simply trying to get both sides of the story. What is odd is that you are treating me like I am from some enemy camp. And that is not answering my questions "honestly and forthrightly". Honestly and forthrightly would have been, "Sorry, I choose not to help you with this matter". That would have been fine. Instead, you chose to be needlessly aggressive. I would love to know why. What have I done, except ask you a question?

-Ken

10. You claim you're not pissed off, throwing a tantrum, or a member of the fan club. Our records show you signed up tonight. You're batting 0-3....

-Cindy

11. Aye yi yi, I signed up for the Yahoo group for research, since you can't access it without signing up. I meant 'fan club' in the metaphorical sense, which I'm sure you knew. That hardly counts as '0-3'. Prior to receiving my assignment from Classic Rock, I had not listened to, or thought about, REO Speedwagon for 20 years. I had no idea Gary left the band or who he even was a week ago. I am from Boston, which is not exactly REO territory. Whether you believe that or not is your business, but it's the truth. I had to soak up as much info on the band as I can, and the Yahoo group was one tool for that. What I don't get is why you wouldn't want to cast a better light on "REO fans". Are they all like you? I would certainly not feel welcome at an REO show if they were. Cindy, I just wish you would act like a real person, instead of whatever  mawkish persona ithis is. If you are just trying to ward me off the Richrath trail, conratulations, you have done so. But I would still like to get to the root of your rudeness to me. Do you honestly think I have bad intentions?

-Ken

12. Gosh, Kevin forgot to tell you about Gary? Sounds like a riverting interview! - Cindy

13. Incredible. What a remarkable horror you are!

Hi. So, I had a few dark nights of the soul back there. I totally panicked when I realized I was out of work, for real, and started applying for all these horrible jobs and secretly hoping I didn't get them. I interviewed for one that sounded, literally, like indentured slavery. The more these two maniacs talked about the job, the more I wanted to run. It was for an electrical supply company down the street from my house. The position was "inventory control specialist" which is bullshit-speak for "Warehouse goon". So I'm sitting there across from these two townie mooks. One of 'em was the owner of the company, and he still couldn't pronounce his r's when he talked. Both of them appeared to go to the same hairdressers – they had the 1987 featherback look down. So they're saying, like,

"Well, you'll be responsible for cycle counts several times a day…"

"Most people might only count things once or twice, but we like to count everything 8 times, at least…"

"We haven't actually finished moving everything into the new warehouse yet, so you'll be helping out with that, quite a bit…"

"We're a small company, so everybody helps out, if they need help on the floor, you'll be expected to help them out…"

"The hours are 6am to 4pm Monday through Friday, and then every fifth Saturday, as well…"

"Of course, you will be asked to work late sometimes…"

"We do appreciate it if you come in early every day, say 5:30 am, just to get situated…"

By the time these fuckers are through, I am sweating right through the cheap gray sweater I bought to make me look normal. I walked away stunned, hoping I would never hear from them again. Tragically, I actually was quite qualified for the job. Woe unto me.

But, like I have mentioned before, I dropped out of college and spent so much time drinking under the bleachers and going to rehab that I never developed any marketable skills. So this is the kind of gross gruntwork I've been doing for the past ten years.

So I come home shell-shocked and despondent. I tell Stacey about it, and she says, "Don't take that job!" I tell my editor over at Classic Rock about it, and HE tells me not to take the job, either. Then he gives me a raise. And some more assignments. In fact, everybody over there started given me work to keep me productive. So that was awesome.

Then I got the bright idea to call my old boss Will. About…let's say ten years ago, I used to have an actual career, as a mental health counselor. I barely remember going to school for it, but I did. I was actually really good at the job and was promoted pretty quickly from a part-time counselor to the assistant manager of three mental health halfway houses, where I tended to the everyday needs of 12 severely mentally ill adults. That's actually not as intense as it sounds. The problem was, I was also tending to a wildly escalating drinking problem at the time, and promptly ended my career when I tumbled drunkenly down the stone stairs at work and split my dumb fuckin' skull open.

But I dunno, I still figured Will would want me back.  I mean, the whole point of the job is rehabilitation, right? And baby, I am totally rehabilitated. I even drink decaf. Decaf TEA. So I call up Will and ask if I can come back, on a 'relief' basis. Meaning I will fill in when somebody is out, or on vacation, or they just need an extra hand for something. And Will says "Yeah, absolutely, come in and fill out your paperwork." Just like that.

So I have to go take a bunch of certification tests – first aid, CPR, whatever it is you call it when you have to administer medications -  but in the new year, I'm gonna start doing that again. I figure if I'm not really that involved, the stress level will be much lower. And crazy people are actually pretty nice, once you get to know them.

Anyway, so that happens, and then I get an offer to do some writing for Revolver magazine. My first assignment is due in January. And it looks like the door is open to do some writing for Metal Hammer again, as well. So I'm sorta counting it all up and realizing, fuck, I've made enough money writing about rock n' roll that the bills are paid through the end of January. And then I realize that I don't HAVE to work in fuckin' warehouses anymore, because finally, after all these wasted years, I am a full time rock journalist. With a side-dish of mental health counseling. And that feels pretty boss.

I am STILL pissed at that creep that fired me from my last job though, even if I am one billion times better off now. I am planning on holding this grudge until we are both dead. And he knows it, too.

But anyway, here I am. It does take a little getting used to. I have been working all night and sleeping all day, like a vampire, so I'd like to change that up soon, because it's fucking weird. Also I don't see anybody all day, and Stacey' s up for like an hour before she passes out after work, so I am starting to feel like the Omega Man. Basically I need to get up every morning, work some office hours, and then go find somebody to have lunch with. Or like, go to a matinee with. That's my most pressing issue at the moment – finding somebody to goof off with in the afternoon.

That SO beats cycle counts several times a day.

Umm, so that's we're I'm at. What else has happened? Well, it's almost Xmas, so, really, nothing much happens around Xmas. We bought new furniture for the condo at a place called Jordan's which is the most insane furniture store in the world. When you walk in they have people on trapezes over your head like the Circus Circus in Las Vegas. They have ice cream stands and an IMax movie theater and a jellybean store that's actually made out of jellybeans. What does any of this have to do with furniture? Nothing. But I will tell you this: as a man, I can safely say that there is NOTHING more boring than furniture shopping, so thank you Jordan's for all the loony distractions. And for the quite attractive new furniture that we just paid god knows what for.

Oh yeah, they have dancing colored fountains, too.

Everything else is a blur of porn and rollerderby bouts. Oh, I did get a bitchin' new tattoo from Scott. It's based on a design by EEE from Rock City Crimewave. I am frankly stunned at what an excellent job he did. Anyway, here's what it looks like.

Well, you can sorta see it here. I am attempting a self-portrait because Stacey was already asleep.

Here's a close-up, but it was taken right after it was done, so it's covered in Vaseline. But you get the idea. You'll see it when you come by for the holidays, it's bitchin', believe me.

I now have seven tattoos. But if I am going to be writing for metal magazines regularly, let's face it, I need them.

Oh hey, I know what I'm getting for Xmas. I am getting this:

It's a turntable with a CD burner.  How AWESOME is that? I can listen to my vinyl and make a CD copy at the same time with the press of a few buttons. Yes, I realize you can do that with your computer, but c'mon, I gotta do everything with the goddamn computer? This is retro-technology at it's finest! Now, if they just come up with an 8-track player with a CD burner, I'll really be in business.

So, there's this chick that works at the gym who looks sorta hip, which is weird, because hipsters never WORK at the gym. Most of 'em don't even work out. There's like me and this one rockabilly girl, and that's the most I've ever seen in two years. But ok, so some cool girl works at the gym.

And then V from the Karinations sends me some pix of his new singer in a Sleazegrinder shirt. Nikki Core left the band, which you are well aware of, if you have been following the Karinations saga. Which you should, because it's the most entertaining saga in rock n' roll. By the way, did you know that the Nikki Core band will debut on Sons of Guns II in April? True. Spread the word around.

Anyway, I sent V a babydoll Sleaze tee like 2 years ago because he said he knew a lot of black hookers and could get one of 'em in a Sleaze-tee, and I thought that was about the coolest fuckin' idea I ever heard. Of course, he never ponied up the pics, but that is expected when dealing with Mr. V. So out of the blue he sends me a gallery of pix with the new singer, Roxy Heart, and you guessed it, she's the girl from the gym. And here she is.

If you want to read/see more about the Karinations, please visit their Myspace page.  I honestly think V is a musical genius. Seriously I do. Fucking insane, but brilliant.

By the way, that shirt, which she is ostensibly promoting, isn't even available anymore. I sold out of the second design too, and am thinking of a new one for '07. But you know, it's the thought that counts.

What else? Who knows. At any rate, I ask that you keep reading my daily MP3 blog, Hard Rock Gets You Laid, because it's a bitch to write. I also encourage to read Sleazegrinder because...well, because it's my website. Please be on the lookout for features on Downer Rock, The Almighty, Foghat, and Sisters of Mercy in the next two issues of Classic Rock magazine. Cool new bands to look out for include The Chelsea Smiles and Horroble, plus several others which escape me at the moment. I've watched a ton of 80's slasher flicks and jiggle comedies lately, but that's all research. Me and Paul are writing a book, man. Really, we are.

I guess that's enough for now. Maybe I should post more pictures but all the ones I really want to show you are topless. Eh, just email me.

Oh, and Happy holidays. I'm going back to my kick ass life.

It can always get better,

Ken

Hi. Last time I blogged, we had just got back from Las Vegas. I was kinda waiting for something equally jubilant to happen before I wrote again, but things sorta went the other way this week, and tragedy is just as compelling as comedy, so what the hell.

I have always had a day job. I know, it bums me out too, but sleazy rock journalism is not all that lucrative a career. Actually, if I wanted to eat Ramen noodles and wear used flannel, than I probably could live off it, but that is not the sorta lifestyle Stacey signed on for. The problem is, sleazy rock journalism is the only thing I do WELL, so the kinda blue-collar bullshit I do during the day is too fuckin' dire and uneventful and soul sucking to even mention in any detail. Suffice to say, I'd pretty much had it with my current position anyway, and my "supervisor" pushed me too far on Tuesday, and it escalated wildly in the space of a few seconds. So I'm yelling "You're a fucking jerk!" And he's saying "What? Say that again!" and I am not figuring out that I'm getting framed. And he says "Go home, get out of here, you're fired!" and I say, "Oh no, you better go get somebody bigger than YOU to fire me." And then he did. And I got escorted out the door.

I really did hate that job anyway, but I really did not plan on leaving it so abruptly. Mostly because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do next. I mean, if I had another decent writing gig to supplement what I got now, I'd be all set, but I don't, so who the fuck knows. I would like to think there's some moral in this, but there is not. All I have learned is that I can only take so much, and then watch out. Had we not been at work, that fight would have been something serious. I mean, I been lifting weights, dig? Heh. Fuck that guy.

So then it's the very next day and I'm at the Sleazegrinder PO Box picking up the mail and what do I find amidst the pile of stoner rock cds and black metal t-shirts and anal porn but yet another rejection letter. Me and Paul have been hocking a book idea called Bad Fun for the past...hell, year I think, and we've been summarily rejected by every major publishing house out there. So, that was fun to see. At least this one was nice.

Janet is our literary agent. I suppose it's nice to have one.

So I dunno, that's the way the week has been going, an endless series of rejection and forceful ejection. How's YOUR week been?

Oh, there has been some fun since we last spoke. Scott came over and gave me a new tattoo. It's a band of snakes and stars on my bicep. The original design can be found on the back of any early Zodiac Mindwarp record. This is only one side of my arm, obviously, but it's the same thing on the other side. This was a very, very difficult tattoo to get because the green ink kept bleeding out of my arm and Scott kept going over it again...and again...for literally five hours. It still has not fully healed and it's three weeks old. Also, if you are getting tattooed in your own living room, do not play the latest season of Wonder Showzen on the TV, because it will freak your tattoo guy right out. TRUST me on this one.

What else? Oh, we went to Rollerderby a couple weeks ago for the first time. Boston just started it's league last year, the Boston Derby Dames, and although it is not nearly as glossy as the Texas Rollergirls or as vicious and bloodthirsty as the Windy City Rollers, the Boston derby is a hell of a lot of fun. There's three teams in town, the Wicked Pissahs, The Cosmonaughties, and the Nutcrackers. When travelling, they all go as The Boston Massacre. The night we went it was the Crackers and the Naughties battling out. This was at the Shriner's auditorium in Wilmington, Ma, which sounds really far away but was actually only about 20 minutes out of Boston, on a lonely ol' stretch of road. I cannot imagine what these Shriners do with the place when the rollerderby is not on, but it looks sorta low-rent circus-y inside. It's set up like an arena with rows of descending seats. The seats are really small and really hard plastic, and they start to hurt as soon as you sit down on them. When we got there, there was a robot on rollerskates chasing this little kid in a ballerina outfit around. The mascots, you know. They had a really, really awful DJ there called Boo Boo who played, I swear, Michael Jackson and Pantera back to back. There were two announcers. One was this sorta burly guy who read live ads for local sponsors and then said stuff like "I don't know who'd go all the way out there to eat, but whatever". I think he was a local. Like a Wilmington local. The other announcer was a lesbian chick who laced her commentary with girl-on-girl innuendo. "Mmm, I love 34-B's! Sorry folks, I can't help it, that's her number!"

The Boston Derby Dames assembled.

As for the actual derby, well, it's a confusing game, but makes more sense when it's right in front of you. Basically it's a dozen tattooed punk chicks on skates beating on each other for an hour. I swear, rollerderby is the ONLY sport for rock n' roll burnouts. It's awesome. Stacey and I had a really excellent time. I really liked the whole 70's throwback vibe...even the audience was a throwback. There was a smattering of hipster types there, but there was also a ton of townies with mustaches and big hair and oldsters with canes and lots of short haired lesbians. A pretty crazy mix of people and it was a pretty packed crowd too.

So yeah, Rollerderby. Rollerderby is the new porn. Look for extensive coverage in Sleazegrinder in 2007. And probably a couple of the Sleazegrinder writers will be dating derby girls. Not me, though. Stacey won't put the skates on, no matter how much I beg. She does put on the tube socks sometimes, tho.

BTW, next Boston match is December 9th. Be there!

What else? Well, let's see...working on a Sisters of Mercy story for Classic Rock. This is more difficult than it sounds because Mr. Blackswell himself, Sisters of Mercy frontman Andrew Eldritch does not do interviews, will not lower himself to do press. I mean, check out this bit from his Q&A section on the Sisters website:

Dear Doktor,

I am unattractiv, sexually immachure, lazy, stupid and meen. What career would sute me best? Journalism. If you fail there, try music journalism.

Yikes. So I gotta work around that and talk to people that USED to be in the band. Monday morning I am talking to Tony James, who played on the Vision Thing album and is, of course, a founding member of Sigue Sigue Sputnik and Generation X. Tony is just as haughty as Eldritch but is a legendary self-promoter, so at least he will talk.  At any rate, I adore the Sisters and think that Vision Thing is one of the greatest rock n' roll albums ever made, so I am gonna write the hell out of this story, Eldritch or no Eldritch.

Oh yeah, if anybody knows where I can find Patricia Morrison, lemme know.

Getting fired, rejected, and denied interviews is busy work, so I haven't had much time for anyhing else...saw Borat, of course, and thought it was hilarious. Watched one million movies since we last spoke but one stand-out we caught just tonight was called Freeway (1996), which featured Reese Witherspoon as a teenage runaway prostitute-arsonist and Keifer Sutherland as a child molester-serial killer. It was fucking amazing, completely over the top, with stunningly profane dialogue and lots of senseless violence. The guy who made it, Matthew Bright, also made the bizarre B&W cult flick Forbidden Zone, which explains alot. Anyway, it'll blow yr mind, so look out for it. Oh, and Reese was totally hot as the foul-mouthed teen runaway.

I think I will start a movie blog somewhere soon to catalog all the weird things Stacey and I watch. Some of this stuff is so insane I can't even tell whether I actually saw the movies, or if it was all just a fever dream. Writing it down might be good for my sanity.

In other bad obsessions news, I recently got back into reading comix. No, not comics, comics are for nerds. Comix. Underground stuff. I haven't followed the scene for the past ten years, so I still only know about, like, Peter Bagge (who has a new book called "Apocalypse Nerd" about the survivors of a nuke attack on Seattle), Doug Allen (who has a new book called Zero Zero), Joe Matt (has a new issue of Peepshow after four years; still writes about his gross masturbation habits), Dan Clowes (is still milking the Ghost World gravy train and dodging the Art School Confidential fallout), etc. So I am trying to catch up. One really creepy book I picked up recently that I totally recommend is called "My Friend Dahmer" by this dude Derf who actually went to high school with Jeffrey Dahmer. Even as a teenager, Dahmer was scary-weird, and the comic is really compelling and shivery. Here's a page from it:

So, that was freaky. You can see more pages and order his Derf's comix at his website, Derf City.

Another one that I've been reading lately is called  Angry Youth Comix by Johnny Ryan, which is just rollicking, bad-taste-at-any-cost gross-out stuff, sort of a cross between Mike Diana and JR Williams. (Was that last one too obscure?). Pretty punky, and funny, in a puke-inducing sorta way.

Check out more from Johnny Ryan at his website.

So all that's been pretty fun, and since I started readin' the books again, I figured I needed someplace cool to put them, so I bought a spinner rack. Those of you who have been to Sleazegrinder HQ know there is no room in my office for a fucking spinner rack, but goddamn it, I made some room. Here's what it looks like, at least the top half:

Sweet. It did not come with the skull on top. That I added myself.

Um, music, you ask? Sure, I've heard plenty lately, but this is already too long. I really like the new DT's record. Chelsea Smile is good. Lethal Fixx. Horroble. Check out my MP3 blog, Hard Rock Gets You Laid, for a daily dose of whatever I've been listening to.

Of course, please keep visiting Sleazegrinder.com for the latest and sleaziest in rock n' roll, dvds, porn, and whatever else we happen to dig lately.

Oh, and if you live in Boston and know of any jobs, something manly, lemme know. I need work, fool!

Humbly, Ken

Hi. Stacey and I  just got back from Las Vegas, where we celebrated our 5th anniversary. I suppose it goes without saying that we had fun, since that's the whole idea behind Las Vegas, so let's just call it a testimonial. Maybe you haven't been there yet. It's possible. Anyway, here's how it went.

Our hotel!

Nothing happened our first night, because we got to Vegas at like midnight, around there. We took a shuttle over, and there was this group of kids on there that got dropped off at the Dungeons and Dragons nerd hotel, Excalibur. One of 'em says "I wonder if we'll get good rooms?" and one of the girls says, "We're Canadian, so we'll probably get the shaft." I thought that was hilarious. Anyway, we stayed at this hotel called the Luxor. It's a pyramid. A 30 story pyramid with a blazing blue laser light on top, that astronauts can see in space. It's unbelievably ostentatious. Perfect for a class act like Stacey and I.

Sleaze in front of some fuckin' fountain.

The always crafty Paul Gaita told me that we ought to mention that it was our anniversary, because then they might kick us a little something-something at the front desk. We did, and it totally worked. They upgraded us to a two-room suite, which was enormous and covered in bizarre faux-Egyptian art. It had a bar and a dining room table with chandolier and a king size bed. Crazy. So anyway, we wandered around gawking at the hotel for awhile, ate some late-late dinner, and passed out, on the 29th floor of the pyramid. Sweet.

Stacey behind the bar in our suite.

There's big Coke bottle next to the MGM Grand theater, if you go there, they have half-priced tickets to various shows around the Strip. Not a bad deal, except, you know, you get half-priced seats for half-priced tickets. The next morning, after cruising the strip for a few hours, we bought a couple tix for the Howie Mandel show that night at...I forget, some hotel, and when we got there, found out we had a table in the very last row - and that we had to share the table with another couple. They were two amiable 40-something roly-polys from Kansas City, celebrating their 25th(!) anniversary with a night out at the cheap seats. That's one thing I noticed about this Las Vegas - you are constantly surrounded by twangy, doughy Middle Americans and rude European douchebags. No offence if you're Middle-American, of course (total offence if you're a pushy Euro-douche, tho), it's just not the type o' folks we usually meet. So they were nice. I'm not sure we were, but I tried.

I guess Howie Mandel is pretty square, but I always thought he was funny, and we had a good time at his show. His best joke: "For a man, being married is like playing Simon Says, only you never get to be Simon." That's funny, because it's true.

Howie Mandell. Actually funny. True!

I should mention here that it's difficult, if not impossible, to eat like a normal person in Las Vegas. At least if you're being super-tourists like Stacey and I were. We really had no idea where to find actual restaurants, so we ate inside various hotels. In said hotels, there are extravagant "fine dining" joints that I would not eat in even if we can afford them (I saw one place that featured a $60 hamburger!), which leaves you with the buffets. The buffets are fun, and relatively affordable ($12 for breakfast, $20 for dinner), but...I mean, what kind of human eats like this? To be handed a plate, and sent into a giant room literally covered and food, and to be told, "Go ahead, eat as much as you want!"...that is just bananas. So I ate like, whole plates full of cheese blintzes slathered in blueberry sauce, and like, pizza-fried clams-Chinese food combinations, and fuckin' taco salads (which contain very little salad), and all sorts of gluttonous nonsense. And this is from a guy who eats celery sticks and hummus every day in the real world. I am probably five pounds heavier, and we were only there four days. So, I dunno, watch out for that. Or don't watch out for that. Live a little.

Stacey on the Strip.

I tell you, there's such an insane over-indulgence of everything there that it's real easy to get swept up in it. Neither Stacey or I drink or smoke, but I tell ya, I really wish I did when I was there. You can just wander around freely with your booze in your hand, which is so bizarre to see. For an ex-boozehound like me, it really looked like the world had finally come around to my way of thinking. And the smoking...there were ashtrays in the bathroom stalls! Nobody smokes in Boston anymore, really, and it's banned from anyplace public, so when you go to a restaurant and they ask "Smoking or non-smoking?" it just seems like you're on another planet or something. A much cooler planet.

We didn't gamble, though. Gambling is for idiots. In my opinion, of course. No offence if you are a gambler. Or an idiot. It just looks miserable to me. It's more entertaining to watch other people lose their dough than to lose it myself.

So anyway, the second night we were there we went to see Penn and Teller. I have loved those guys forever - I even liked Penn' s old band, Bongos Bass and Bob- so I was pretty excited to see 'em in the flesh. We ponied up the dough for full-priced tickets for this one ( I think it was like $120 for the both of us), so we got good seats, and they did some amazing (albeit PG-rated) tricks. Teller turned a fishbowl full of coins into goldfish, which sounds stupid as I write it, but was quite astounding to see in the flesh. I was sorta hoping there'd be more blood and live rats, but they were going for a family vibe. After the show, they came out to greet the crowd and I took pics of Stacey with both of them.

Stacey meets Teller. He doesn't say much.

Oh yeah, I should mention that on the second day I broke down and bought a three-day pass for the hotel gym. The blintzes were getting to me. I had the gym all to myself. Nobody goes to Las Vegas to work out. Stacey had a massage and went to the pool. She knows how to vacation much better than I do. Another thing she is quite good at is smiling on cue. If there's a camera in the room, she's beaming. Me, I really don't know how to smile. I tried this trip because we were taking lots of pictures, but I mostly failed miserably, as the various shots here testify to. The one shot with the two of us (not pictured) that some older guy volunteered to take, has me visibly scowling. Which is weird, because I was happy. It was taken at that garden in the Bellagio, which is a pretty happy place.

Sleaze at the pool. Notice the arms.

That reminds me, nobody dresses in black in Las Vegas. Maybe the Johnny Cash wax figure, but that's pretty much it. I felt pretty over-dressed. Or under-dressed, whatever. Stacey pointed out that the reason was because it was the desert, and wearing black in the desert is dumb. Maybe she had a point. But I dressed in black anyway.

So, the third day. I forget what happened during the day, probably more cruising-of-the-strip, carefully avoiding the endless time-share salespeople on every corner promising you free shows if you just go to their bullshit seminar for five fucking hours, to say nothing of the lines of illegal immigrants on the sidewalk trying to hand you cards advertising $48 a night hookers. Can you imagine what you'd get for $48? It sure wouldn't be the girl on the card. Oh, and we bought souveneirs and postcards. Your postcard is on the way! I got an awesome Las Vegas sign that lights up. It's on top of the TV now. All lit up and shit.

Sleaze checks out "After Dark" magazine. It's a pretty good read.

So that was the day, and at night, for the second evening in a row, we went to the Rio. It's off the strip, but we liked it the best of all the hotels we went into. It had the most sexy people. There aren't nearly as many sexy people as you'd expect in Vegas, and most of 'em were at the Rio. The casino waitresses there had the best outfits, too. Skimpy backless mini-dress things. The waitresses at the Luxor had pretty hot mini-skirts, too, but surprisingly, most of 'em were Asian. This is surprising because it's an Egyptian themed hotel. I expected Egyptian girls. But I digress.

The Rio has a free show once an hour that involves dancers coming out of the floor on a riser while floats ride around on a track on the ceiling. If you look close, all the floats are all duct-taped together, particularly the swan, whose neck seems to have snapped off is a couple places. They hijack regular people to ride on the floats along with the dancers, which is hi-larious. Grandma and Grandpa from Iowa staring blankly at the crowd, waving like robots, while some chick in sequins shakes her moneymaker in front of them. The first time we saw the show it was pretty tame - a Sly and the Family Stone medley - but the show gets 'sexier' as the night rolls on, so that a few hours later, the girls were dressed in nothing but red latex bikinies, and they were getting dry-humped in cages by fools in Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo outfits.

We were at the Rio to see Erocktica, which is a topless rock n' roll revue. It was so fuckin' excellent. Unbelievably cheesy, but excellent. It starred this hip black guy and this Italian chick with the improbable name of Gabriella Versace (her giant blonde hair extensions were pretty improbable, as well) strutting around singing swill like "Pour Some Sugar On Me" and "Shout at the Devil" and that Meatloaf song about "I Can do anything for love" while half a dozen girls in fishnets and little else danced topless behind them. There was one dancer named Sasha, a really cute blonde that was a deadringer for Elizabeth Berkelye in Showgirls. You couldn't help but think of Showgirls when you saw her, because she got all the attention, and the other girls probably hate her. I bet the one named Cher will throw her down a flight of stairs soon. The thing about seeing a topless rock show is that it sets a very high bar. Now I don't even want to see a rock show unless it's topless. I may have to start some sort of Boston Topless Rock N' Roll Coalition. Let me know if you want in. Anyway, I totally recommend this loony show if you're in Vegas soon.

Gabriella Versace sings some Whitesnake (probably) in Erocktica

So all that happened. Saturday was our last day, we had to leave at ten PM, so no time for more shows, topless or not. We did go to Madame Tussaud's wax museum, mostly because we were lured in by an ad for the chamber of horrors, which promised to be the "Scariest show on the strip", but which was actually total bullshit. Dude in a Jason outfit and another dude in a Leatherface chasing you around for 30 seconds. And that was IT, the entirety of the experience. What a gyp. At least Stacey got her picture taken the the fake Captain Jack Sparrow. And I got one with the fake Jenna Jameson. And with the fake Ryan Seacrest, for some reason. As if there's a 'real' Ryan Seacrest out there.

Stacey with Capn' Jack.

Sleaze taking liberties with Jenna's knee.

Anyway, so we wandered around some more, went back to the hotel and  caught an IMax 3D flick, and headed off to the airport. We got back to town this morning, to find that it was fucking cold in Boston. Cold and gray. And there's no topless shows here, either. So that was sort of a letdown. But at least we have our memories. And we're already saving up for the next trip. You should totally come along next time. It'll be a blast.

Oh, one last thing....I got a new tattoo before I left. The original Sleazegrinder logo, as designed by Rock City Crimewave's frontman, EEE Adams. The actual tattoo was done by Scott, the Coke Dealer movie cameraman. Pretty boss, right?

That reminds me, the new Rock City Crimewave CD is now available on Sleazegrinder Records! It's monstrous. And it's perfect for Halloween, too!To hear an MP3 and, perhaps even more importantly to buy it, please go to  Sleazegrinder Records.

That's it for now. Talk soon. Sooner than you think, tough guy.

Ken

Hi. How's it going? It's been awhile since my last blog, which may lead you to believe that many strange and terrible things have occurred in the past month and a half, but that is sadly (or happily, if you're me, and not looking for any trouble, officer) not the case. Really, it's been monkey business as usual. But in the interest of blog etiquette, here is my top five most momentous moments of the past 45 days:

1.      I found out I have Asthma. I kinda figured I had something, seeing as I get winded riding my bike over the same hill everyday. But I am a hypochondriac ( I get this pleasant trait from my terminally morbid mother), so I assumed I had some awful, devastating, smoking-related lung disease. And who wants to know that, really? So I put off going to the doctor for like, 2 years. But I finally went, and after three visits and a buncha tests, I found out I have very mild asthma and a chronically stuffy nose. So they gave me a puffer to use before I go to the gym. And that's the extent of my illness. So, for the past two years, I have been under the assumption that I was DYING, when I really just have what amounts to cold symptoms. There is a lesson in there somewhere. If not for you, then definitely for me.

2.      I interviewed Dave Pirner from Soul Asylum. Did it for a little "Welcome Back" story in Classic Rock. I was really sweating this one, because I have been a huge fan of Soul Asylum since 1986, when I was in high school. In my darkest moments AND my happiest days, Dave Pirner's words always pop into my head. His music has literally saved my life more than once. So it woulda sucked if he was a douche, ya know? Luckily, he was not. He was actually a pretty humble guy. Which makes sense. Soul Asylum are a lot like the Cult, in that they were very unlikely rock stars. Rarely does a band with the intelligence and honesty of either of 'em break through to the mainstream. Pirner's very aware of this, and we talked a lot about fame and celebrity. Suffice to say, he hated that aspect of the job. Other topics included New Orleans (he lives there now), the tragic death of his bass player, Karl Mueller last year, and how they managed to finish the quite excellent new album Silver Lining without him. If you don't know the story yet, former Replacement Tommy Stintson stepped in for them. Hearing Dave talk about Tommy's heroic helping hand was pretty moving. You're really not supposed to cry during rock band interviews, but it was getting a little misty in there. I guess that story will be in next month's mag, and I'm doing a piece on the making of "Runaway Train" sometime this winter.

3.      I got a Switchblade Sisters tattoo. Scott, my cameraman on the Coke Dealer movie, did it for me. It's bad-ass. It's also hopelessly obscure, but I don't care. 70's drive-in trash is my aesthetic, baby, and Switchblade Sisters is pretty much the apex of the whole genre. There's a shoot-out in a roller rink in that movie! It's got a white all-girl gang who teams up with a black all-girl gang (with tanks!) to riot in the streets. It's got Robbie Lee clenching her teeth  through every line, and a girl with an eyepatch called…that's right, Patch. Switchblade Sisters is the motherfucking balls, Jack. The only problem with the tat is that Scott didn't go deep enough, and it started fading on me right away, so he's gotta go over it again as some point, because it sorta looks like one of those lick n' stick tattoos you used to get out of gumball machines in the…well, in the 70's…after about a week. Which is kinda cool too, but not really what you look for in a tattoo. Anyway,  here's what it looked like before it all started going to hell.

4. My bike got stolen. Again. If you are keeping score, that's the second one this year, not counting the time they left the bike but stole my seat. I leave my bike chained to a pole exactly in front of my house, and they snatched it while I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, two feet away from the front door. Snipped the cable right off and made off with it with ninja-like stealth. Now, I could understand this sort of behavior is said bike was some sort of sweet, tassled, cherry red Schwinn in the Pee Wee's Big Adventure vein, but it was not. Since all my bikes eventually get stolen, I buy bottom-shelf mountain bikes from Target for $80 a pop. They start falling apart almost immediately. And since I leave them outside, the elements have their filthy ways with them as well. So this thing was covered in rust, bashed and battered, the brakes were shot, it was an ugly, godawful mess. Only a fucking maniac would steal it. I can't imagine what this jerk is doing with it now. Perhaps he melted it down, and is using the molten metal to build a rocketship to fly to the moon with. So anyway, I had to buy a new one. A Mongoose Prowler. At least the name is cool. I also went to the hardware store and bought the biggest, heaviest chain and the most formidable looking lock they had. It weighs a ton, this chain, but there is a real sense of security in having three feet worth of linked metal with you all the time. The bike, that's not so good. The first day I rode it, the seat kept coming loose, and since I didn't have any tools with me, I had to keep adjusting it every block, and it took me an hour to get home. I bolted the seat on tighter, but the next morning, the chain kept falling off the gears. This happened three times, once while crossing the highway. I fixed the chain, but on the third day, the gears stopped working. The new bike totally, totally sucks. But since it'll probably get stolen in a month, who cares, really?

 The Prowler. If you see it, please don't steal it.

By the way, whenever friends come by Sleaze HQ for the first time, they always mention something about my neighborhood being seedy. And even though it's not, really, it's sorta hard to argue the point with all these scummy bike robbers around. Maybe I should start some kind of neighborhood watch patrol. I do have a really bitchin' chain. And a cool pocket knife.

 5. Classic Rock magazine is finally developing their website, so I volunteered to do an MP3 blog, which I've been wanting to do for a long time now. It's called Hard Rock Gets You Laid, and the first installment is up on the site now, with mp3s from Gunfire Dance, the Rotters, Black Debbath, Alleycat Scratch, and more. It will serve as a pretty cool supplement to my "Lost Souls" and "Sleaze" columns over there, as well as a good excuse to dig deep into the Sleazegrinder vaults and yank out some gems (and some un-gems). If you have any suggestions for stuff you'd like to here, or just want to throw in your two cents, you can add comments at the bottom of the blog. So check it out, I think you'll dig it.

Hard Rock Gets You Laid

So, that's what's happening. Well, mostly. I am also working on liner notes for a reissue of Zodiac Mindwarp's seminal Tattooed Beat Messiah album. Some dudes in England are putting it out. I'm hazy on the details, I just know my notes are due in a week. I'm also doing notes for a reissue of Genocide's "Submit to Genocide" album. Some Japanese label is putting that one out, as a picture disc. Again, I dunno what the details are, but just stay tuned, I'll let you know what's going on with that stuff when I do.

The Coke Dealer movie is not dead. We're just upgrading to high-definition, and we're waiting for the $$ for the new camera to come through. Scott's got some grant deal happening. The downtime is kind of a drag. Life is different when you're actively working on a film. Most of everything else just seems like bullshit, when you're making a movie. Oh, speaking of movies, I should mention some stuff we've seen lately. This blog is already too long to get into much detail, so this is just some thumbnails:

Snakes on a Plane – Well, there certainly was. They weren't lying about that. The fake ones looked REALLY fake, but this was mostly a lot of fun.

Crank – Pure speedfreak cinema. Total b-movie trash, but it worked. Like getting punched in the face for an hour and a half.

The Descent – Hot chicks. Awesome monsters. Blood everywhere. Definitely one of the best horror movies of the past few years.

Clerks II – Way, way funnier than the first one. I liked it.

District B-13 – Crazy French action flick starring those dudes that hop from one building to another. Pretty amazing acrobatics, and plenty of ultra-violence.

What the fuck is THAT?! Freaky shit in The Descent.

That's what I remember seeing at the theater lately. DVDs are too numerous to mention, although I will say that Dead Man's Shoes, a British revenge flick, is well worth seeking out. Although the accents are indecipherable (I thought they were all Scottish, they sounded so garbled), the performances were amazing, especially Paddy Considine as Richard, the ex-special forces nutter come home to wreak bloody vengeance on the petty drug runners that harmed his handicapped brother. Holy Christ, you have never seen a guy as pissed off as this Richard. His intensity almost bursts right through the TV screen. So look for that one. There's a pretty cool website for the movie here: Dead Man's Shoes

Don't piss the guy off. From Dead Man's Shoes.

I have not discovered any amazing new Sleaze or Superrock bands in the past 45 days, but then again, I am way, way behind in combing through the stacks of new stuff. I'll start listening for savage brilliance this week. Check the CR blog in the next week for some new-ish tuneage, if anything pans out. In the meantime, I thought I'd hip you to the deep dark sounds of Downer Rock.

A few weeks ago I tried to convince Scott Rowley, my editor at Classic Rock, of the cultural significance of "Downer Rock", a loosely strung movement of druggy, mean, depressed, and weird hard rock bands from the late 60's and early 70's. Using Blue Cheer's gutbucket freak rock as a starting point and belching their way straight through the post-Sabbath mid 70's dope metal haze, fuzz-faced outfits like the JPT Scare Band,  Iron Claw, Leafhound, and the jaw-dropping Chico Magnetic Band were the hidden sorcerers of heavy metal, crafting the original models of doom metal, stoner rock, and grunge. Most of these bands had no knowledge of each other, so it's only with hindsight that that an actual 'movement' can be detected, but once you start connecting the dots, it's a pretty fascinating journey into the underbelly of 70's rock. Scott thought I should veer into a slightly different direction with the story, so I might tell a few of the tawdry Downer Rock tales in the CR blog as it rolls along. For now, I thought I'd let you check out the home-made comp I made for Scott. As I am fond of naming things, I am calling this one ALL MY FREAKS COME DOWN: THE ULTIMATE DOWNER ROCK COMPILATION. Here, I even made a little cover.

You probably can't tell, but the picture is of a guy standing on top of a giant pile of bison skulls in 1870. We used to kill a lot of bison. I know, it's a real downer. Which is perfect, right?

Anyway, here's what's on it:

Bang – Lions, Christians

Antrobus – Straight Jacket

Necromandus – Night Jar

Jericho – Ethiopia

Iron Claw – Winter

Captain Beyond – Frozen Over

Leafhound – Freelance Fiend

Pentagram – When the Screams Come

JPT Scare Band – King Rat

Frijid Pink – Crying Shame

Bloodrock - DOA

Flower Travelin' Band – Satori Part 1

Chico Magnetic Band – Explosion

The Firebirds – Gypsy Fire

Blues Creation – Demons and 11 Children

Some things I should point out:

Bang are from Philadelphia. They were together from 1970 – 1973 (this song is from their 1972 "Bow to the King" album) and got back together in 2004. Dunno if they're still rocking now, but I encourage you to check 'em out at their website: www.bangmusic.com.

Antrobus may be Iron Claw under a different name, I haven't figured that one out yet.

Necromandus' album 'Orexis Of Death' (I'm still not sure if it ever came out officially, but it was recorded in 1972) was produced by Tony Iommi.

Jericho is fuckin' heavy.

Iron Claw were from Scotland. Rod Stewart had nothin' to do with it.

Captain Beyond invented stoner rock. They're STILL stoned.

Actually, maybe Leafhound did. They started out as Black Cat Bones in the late 60's, plying the same sorta greasy dope-rock. They're still together, by the way. Lead singer Peter French was also in Cactus AND Atomic Rooster, which obviously elevates him to some kind of stoner rock godhead. Somebody buy that man a joint.

Pentagram were one year too late to claim doom as their own, but they were actually heavier and meaner than Sabbath. And they still are.

JPT Scare Band was from Kansas City. They first got together in '73. They were just as snarly and acid-damaged as The Stooges and the MC5, just nobody noticed. And that's a shame.

Frijid Pink was from Detroit. Formed in '67. Fried minds way before it was cool.

Bloodrock – "DOA" was actually a hit song in the US in 1970, which shows you how fucked up the country was back then, because it's one of the most depressing songs you will ever here. Seriously, keep your razorblades out of reach.

The Flower Travelin' Band – 1970. Japan. Acid. Speed. Distortion. Heavy shit, dude.

Chico Magnetic Band – French dude doing Hendrix, circa 1971. Like, really, really working up the voodoo chile vibe, but doing it crazy. Really crazy.

The Firebirds – they were actually a fake studio band, like the Archies, except they were formed to cash in on the Blue Cheer sound!

Blues Creation – Another super heavy Japanese freakout, circa 1970.

So yeah, here it is. Rapidshare, no password. Tune in, turn on, drop dead.

Downer Rock comp

Oh yeah, one more thing I wanted to mention before I split. I'm gonna be doing a Three Dog Night story soon. Now, I know what you're thinking, and it's true, the Night were responsible for some of the cheesiest lite-rock swill ever spewed up in the 1970's, but they were fucking rock warriors, brother. Drugs, debauchery, arrests, gang bangs, 3DN were unrivaled  rock n' roll animals. Three Dog Night scoff at Guns N' Roses. Hell, singer Chuck Negron's penis exploded from fucking too much! So, that's gonna be some story. Stay tuned.

 One of these men is missing a chunk of his penis.

Endnotes:

As always, I encourage you to read my website, Sleazegrinder. It's got lots of bitchin' stuff on it.

The Vasher album is still for sale at the Sleazegrinder Records store. The new Rock City Crimewave CD will be 'dropping' within a month as well.

That's it for now. Stay heavy. And Free.

Ken

"Standing in the sun with a popsicle, anything is possible" - Soul Asylum

Hi. This is turning out to be the best summer ever. Granted, I have not lived the same life as you - I didn't backpack through Europe when I was 17, and I never toured Japan with my rock n' roll band. I pretty much went straight from the projects to rehab for the first 30 or so years of existence, so my expectations may be a bit lower than most people, but I've been having a great time this year. I like the sun, I like riding my bike everyday and swimming laps at the gym everyday, I like working on the Coke Dealer movie, I like the advance I got of the new Everclear CD, and I like doing like, half the work I usually do during the busy season at my dumb day job. It's all pretty fuckin' awesome. I am mentioning this because I live in Boston, and in 5 months it will be so awful and cold and dark and miserable here that I will want to die. So I'm trying to live in the moment.

Hey, my good friend (and yours too, probably, he gets around) Paul Gaita is/was in town this week and he came by for a visit. Here' s a pic of us on the corner of my street, reading some vintage porn.

We had a swell time. We went to the Texas Roadhouse for dinner, which I like for three reasons: they have excellent steak, the give you all the free peanuts you can eat, and all the waitresses are teenage girls in tight jeans. And that pretty much covers all my favorite things. So we did that, and then we went to the Video Oasis, which is across the street from my house. It's the most amazing video store you've ever seen in your life, and there's also a sleazy toy store inside of it with life-size Freddy Kreugers and giant Predator masks and stuff. The whole place is insane. I never go in there anymore because I get all obsessed and then I never get any work done. Imagine if you lived across the street from a video store that has all the Russ Meyer movies and all the Ilsa movies and every Something Weird video ever made and every porn movie that Debi Diamond ever made and Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers and New Wave Hookers and Truck Stop Women and etc. etc. It's making me crazy just thinking about it. But Paul said not to talk about it because I'll just ruin it, so I'm gonna shut up about it now. Although Paul and I might buy it someday. And live there.

Then we read porn on the corner. Then we watched In China They Eat Dogs, which is one of the most awesome movies ever made in Denmark.

If you haven't seen it, then ohmygod, you just gotta. Anyway, then I drove him to the train station. I have not heard from him since, but I believe he is at the pool.

Meanwhile, to backtrack a little, last weekend Harlem Greenwood and his beautiful bride Sue Jersey had a wedding BBQ party in some town called Norwell which is...I dunno where it is, it's out there somewhere. It was a lotta fun. Besides the family-types, Stacey and I knew just about everyone there, which means we share the same social circle as the Greenwoods. What I like about said social circle is that we are pretty much all in this perpetual state of adolesence. Sure, a few of us are married, but nobody has kids, and instead of talking about, like, whatever most people in their mid-to-late 30's talk about (from what I overhear at work or at the gym, kids, financial bullshit, Tom Cruise movies, sports), we talk about all the cool stuff we plan on doing. Like making movies and forming new bands and putting out records. Which is exactly what we were talking about when we were 17. I like that kinda consistency in people. And I like doing cool stuff way more than doing boring stuff. But that's sort of off the subject. The reason that I mentioned the BBQ is because it was at Harlem's grandmas house, and she has horses. And also, the Humanoids gave the Greenwoods a big fucking sword for their wedding present. So I wrote a new scene for the Coke Dealer movie involving Harlem on a horse with a sword. Plus Cheeky Simms and a naked girl. It's the greatest scene ever. The only problem is that nobody knows how to ride a horse, but I see this as more of a challenge than a problem. Also, please, nobody tell Harlem's grandma what we're doing in her backyard, ok? Anyway, I'll post the script soon and hopefully we'll shoot it in the next few weeks.

What else? I interviewed Cactus for Classic Rock! Cactus, the world's first stoner rock band! They were around from '69 to '74, formed by Carmine Appice and Tim Bogert from Vanilla Fudge. Their first lead singer, Rusty Day, got machine gunned to death! Carmine was the dude who got the chick to fuck the shark in that famous Led Zep groupie story! Tim was the guy that pioneered throwing tvs out of hotel room windows! So, it was a pretty groovy interview. By the way, did you know the first Cactus album was banned for awhile because of it's cover? They had to change it to this. Before, the cactus looked too much like a penis with balls. So they added more balls. Cactuses (Cacti?) are not penises.

Hey, if you wanna hear some Cactus, here's their 1971 album "One Way or the Other".

I also interviewed Billy Duffy from the Cult!

It was pretty wild talking to him. I mean, the Cult are HUGE influence in my life. It was a great talk. One thing I found out was that Billy was in a band with Morrissey in the late 70's called the Nosebleeds. It was their high school punk rock band! I found out other stuff too, but it'll have to wait until I write the article. It should make for good reading, but Classic Rock won't let me write the story until I get Ian Astbury on the phone too,  which is not gonna be easy, because he doesn't like talking to the press. But really, who else is gonna tell the true tale of the Cult, for real, except for me? Ian, if you're reading, give me a call, will you?

Other interviews I'm supposed to be working on for CR soon: Soul Asylum, Warrior Soul, Joan Jett, Everclear, and...Blackfoot!

Umm, I feel like I'm forgetting some stuff. Oh, one thing I wanted to mention: I decided to start getting up at 5am and go to the gym before work. I start work at 7. So, obviously, I have to take a shower at the gym now, and I discovered my gym has a steam room. It's next to the showers. Now, I don't exactly know what the curative powers, if any, a steam room has, but I do know that taking a steam every morning at 6am is fucking awesome. Stacey thinks it's just because I like saying "Taking a steam", which is probably a little bit true, but still, if you get the chance, you should do it. You'll feel so totally mellow all day long, it's sick.

We saw Johnny Depp's new movie, the pirate movie, last week. Pretty cool. The ending was a rip-off, but it doesn't really matter, you still get your money's worth of entertainment. Before the movie we went to this place called the Longhorn, and I had prime rib, which I've only had once or twice in my life, but goddamn, that was good. It came with "au jus" sauce, which I think is just hot salty blood, but I liked it so much I would like au jus with every meal from now. Eggs, salad, everything.

We are gonna see Clerks 2 tomorrow. And I am going to have prime rib again. Because that's how I roll during the best summer ever.

Oh, one more thing. I was supposed to get a new tattoo this weekend. Scott, my cameraman for the Coke Dealer movie, is doing it for me. But he flaked out for Sunday, so we're gonna have to do it next week sometime. So the next time I blog, I'll have some new ink. What will it be? Switchblade Sisters, that's what. Like this:

Not the whole thing, just the picture. Now don't steal the idea.

Ok, I think that covers it for now. But I think I should start including end notes for these blogs to cover the important stuff:

1. Buy the Vasher CD! It's on sale now at the Sleazegrinder Store!

2. If you have not watched it yet, watch the first scene from the Coke Dealer movie. And if you want to be the naked girl on the horse in the next scene, please let me know.

3. Chinatown is the most awesome band I've heard in the past few months. They're Canadians. They've got a Stones/Thin Lizzy vibe. They're gonna be big, big stars! Probably not, but they fuckin' rock. Check 'em out. Here's an MP3 of their superhit Revolution Love. And they're on Sonic Swirl records, if you want to buy their cd.

Alright, that is all. Commence to jigglin'.

Ken

Hi. How's it going? It's mid July which, most people would admit, is an awesome time of year. With that in mind, Stacey and I decided to go to the beach today. I should explain here that, since we live in Boston, there's a lot of beaches. It's the East coast, see. But we live in the city, and all the really nice beaches are many miles away, and since the tunnel that gets us from one side of the river to the other collapsed and killed somebody the other day (don't ask!), getting outta town has been a bitch lately. Traffic everywhere. So, it's inner city beaches or nothin'. But listen, if the beach can be reached by subway, who's gonna be at the beach? That's right, riff raff. And I don't like slumming it with the riff raff. Luckily, Stacey's dad has a friend who lives three houses away from the only private section of the very public Revere Beach, and he said we could come by, no prob, even borrow his beach chairs and eat stuff out of his fridge if we wanted to. How fucking wonderful is that? So we drove up there, and no shit, his house really was the third house away from the private beach. That's pretty groovy. The only bummer was that it was a little cloudy today. Not quite 90 degrees (farenheit, or however you spell it), more like 85. The water was freeeeeezing. But, you know, it was still the beach. The private part was very sparsely populated, so we had it mostly to ourselves. It was not, however, private enough to have sex on the beach. At least that's what Stacey said. I figured I'd ask, what's the harm? So we had lunch (several slices of turkey and ham for me and that's it. And some fizzy water.), and sun-bathed, and I dunked under the water a cuppla times, and I read the latest issue of Fangoria, because they had a cover story on Snakes on a Plane, although all they really did is talk about what kinda snakes they were. That magazine sorta sucks, to be honest. Anyway Samuel L. Jackson has the best job in the world. He actually gets to say "There's some motherfucking SNAKES on this plane!"

Here is a picture of me waving to you from the private beach. I am holding a clump of seaweed because I thought it looked like a severed head. Maybe if you squint. Also, I haven't bought new swimming trunks yet. These are from 50 pounds ago. I had a hard time keeping them up.

So what else is going on? Well, my record label just released a new CD a few days ago, and that's pretty exciting. We haven't put anything out in 2 years, since the Zodiac Mindwarp tribute CD. This one is the new Johnny Vasher CD, Superhawk. Some of you may know Vasher as Johnny Flash, lead singer of the Lanternjack, one of my all time favorite bands and one of the meanest, sexiest, most rockinest bands ever spewed up on the murderous streets of Detroit Rock City. Johnny's solo now, but his stuff is still just as amazing, as dark and slithery as ever, but with this propulsive stripper pole beat that just begs to be played when evil is going on. I honestly think this is one of the best cds of the year, and I am proud to be putting it out. Johnny and I have been friends for about 5 years now, and we're finally getting it together to start doing some rock n' roll business. Jeff is helping out on the label too, developing "Sleazegrinder North" in Canada. In just a few months, we're releasing the new Rock City Crimewave record as well, so it's all pretty exciting. Anyway, here's the cover of the Vasher CD:

You can hear a stream of it at my store, and if you do buy a copy, I will throw in an offiicial Vasher iron-on patch, which you can wear on your denim jacket or hat or wristband and look like the dude in the room who really knows what the fuck is going on. And it's always good to be that guy. So yeah, visit my store, have a listen, buy it if ya want. It's worth it. Just click below.

Sleazegrinder Store

What about the Coke Dealer movie, you ask? Well, it's going swell. We shot a new scene last week with our friends Holly and Ryan, who were in from Canada to see Madonna. Let me show you some screencaps from the shoot.

Here's Ryan and Holly in the motel room, doing their opening interview. If you read this blog an entry back, you can see the script there. They were under the assumption that they were doing a bad job, but they actually learned all their lines and did them really well. And they were very nice, too, as Canadians often are. Everybody really liked 'em. Too bad they live ten hours away. But anyway, that's them doing their lines in the motel. What was funny is that the weird lanky guy at the motel desk looked like something from a b-movie himself, and he did not flinch when I showed up followed a few minutes later by Scott with his camera and tripod. I figured he just assumed we were making a porn flick, and didn't really care. That motel clerk dude was awesome. I should put him in my next movie.

Here is a picture of Harlem kicking really high. He has a little drunk monkey dance he does along with it, pretty cool. He is trying to entertain the Canadians with his antics. In the script, I had them both being really bored with Harlem, but when we were filming, I started to feel bad for him. Which is weird, because he's not a real guy. But anyway, I had Ryan be sorta into the kicking, just to make Harlem feel better. If there was a Harlem. You know what I mean.

Here's Harlem convincing Cheeky to do 1,000 push-ups, to further impress the Canadians. What's funny about this is that in the script, Cheeky is too drunk to do the push-ups, and in real life, he showed up drunk. At noon on a Sunday. He showed up with these drinks I never saw before called Sparks, that are supposed to be half beer, half energy drink. They sound disgustin'. Here's what they look like:

I would say to avoid those. So anyway, he's drinking, and wearing his viking hat (which he retro-fitted with a chin strap) and Harlem is now shirtless and covered in gravel, and this cop shows up. I am sure she's here because we don't have a permit (even though we were just shooting in a grubby parking lot in lower Allston), but she really just wants to know where the tow truck company is. Holly has a picture of Harlem and Cheeky talking to the cop, I bet it's hilarious.

Here's a shot of me directing Harlem. I have no story for this picture, I just wanted to show off my bitchin' Possessed t-shirt. Second best 80's satanic speed metal band ever!

Here's Cheeky playing dead. He was fantastic at it. It was 90 degrees (again, Farenheit or whatever), so his face was practically melting off, but he lied there motionless for the whole time we needed him to. I think maybe he liked it. Anyway, Cheeky is the man. Total bad ass. He could yell "There's snakes on the mothefuckin' plane!" pretty good, I bet.

Finally, here is a little Harlem-Fu. We actually only needed a couple seconds worth, but we enjoyed his martial artistry so much, we shot him karate-chopping for what seemed like hours. I think we're gonna use it on the DVD menu or something.

So that was a little of what our third shoot looked like. When's the 4th? I dunno. I have come to realize that this movie has a life of it's own. My only job is to be there when it happens.

In other, much sadder news, I learned last week that Ant, lead singer of the legendary Gunfire Dance, died. He hung himself. He was 40. I know they're not very well known, but Gunfire Dance have had a BIG influence on Sleazegrinder and Sleazegrinder.com. Pepsi hipped me to 'em in 1991 or 1992, somewhere around there. They were from England, and they were fucking awesome, like the British Guns N' Roses with a Bo Diddley beat. They never got their due and broke up within a couple years. I have been in touch with their guitarist, Jeff Ward, for a few years now, and had planned on doing a Gunfire Dance retrospective CD, but, obviously, I haven't done it yet. Gunfire Dance even had some reunion gigs last year, so it's a big shock and it's just really weird and awful. Here's the brief obit I wrote for Classic Rock magazine, hopefully I can pen something a little more eloquent for him in my Lost Souls column in CR next month, but anyway...

"Ant, the wild, leggy lead screamer for Birmingham raunch rock legends Gunfire Dance, committed suicide by hanging on July 2^nd. Born Anthony Bullock on March 2^nd 1966 in Exeter Devon, Ant later moved to Birmingham, where he discovered a passion for loud rock n' roll. He formed the influential Gunfire Dance in the early 1990's. During their brief but memorable run, the band collaborated with Brian James and Rat Scabies of the Damned, toured with Tigertailz, released several singles and a brilliant self-titled EP, sold out the Marquee, took up a successful residence in the bowels of New York City's sleaze rock scene, and appeared on the cover of Kerrang! After Gunfire Dance dissolved, Ant formed the equally short-lived garage rock band Steppin' Razors, but spent the last decade struggling with addiction and depression. Sadly, Gunfire Dance played their first reunion gigs just last year."

Here's a picture of them, Ant up front.

And here's an MP3 I made you of one of their songs, "Blue".

Gunfire Dance - Blue

I hope you like it. I think you will.

Man, there's other stuff too, but this is getting pretty long, and Brijitte West is calling me tomorrow morning to start work on the liner notes for the NY Loose compilation. I guess I didn't mention that part yet. But it's like Frank Starr said man..."Does it ever end? No way."  Just remember to visit Sleazegrinder.com regularly to read all the new stuff and, you know, but a CD or a t-shirt or something. This train's gotta keep rolling.

Life's pretty good these days. So keep yourself alive, ok?

Ken