randomness personified

blues before and after

Every Thursday there's a concert in the little park across the street from the haus of randomness. They're usually pretty lame acts. I often joke that I wouldn't walk across the street to see "blank." Last year's highlight, for instance, was the G.E. Smith Band.

Tonight, though, I decided that I would indeed walk across the street to see the Smithereens. While I wouldn't call myself a big Smithereens fan, I believe this was the fifth time that I've seen them. In their day the 'Reens were what they were, a pretty good power pop band that often stumbled on a great hook. Yes, I am painfully aware of the fact said hook was then used in every single they released.

Unfortunately their heyday was probably about fifteen years ago. They're now a really sloppy band. I mean really sloppy. Maybe it was an off-night, but they clearly were just going through the motions. Oh, and lead singer Pat DiNizio? Reallllllly fat.

That said, though, it was fun to hear "Blues Before and After," "Blood & Roses," "Behind the Wall of Sleep" and "Only a Memory" in my front yard.

funniest... thing... ever...

Please. You owe it to yourself to take a few minutes to watch this new short starring Will Ferrell as W.

I'll use this weapon on this devil horse if I have to

but it's getting there

From time-to-time I've reported on these fine pages that I've been a bit blue. In a bit of a funk. A bit out of sorts. Well, I'm here to tell you that those reports were misleading. This, my dear readers, is what a funk feels like.

I'm not sure if it's the effects of three different antibiotics, knowing that I face another surgical procedure next Tuesday, sleepless nights punctuated by terrible dreams, work related stresses or simply the relentless rain of the last week. Perhaps it's a combination therein. Whatever it is, it grabbed ahold of me today and just won't let go.

So here I sit. Listening to The Art of Noise in a feeble attempt to Peter Gunn myself out of whatever shadow lurks over me. It's just not working. I think it's time for Spinal Tap. They never fail me.

hey, illinois

I have at least four regular readers from the Land of Lincoln, right? At any rate, don't get too used to having Obama around your fair state. Seriously. That guy is a brilliant light and will absolutely be tapped for bigger things before you know it.

we want... a shrubbery

Here's some folks with a really legitimate axe to grind.

like a fine wine

Sounding more frail than we've ever heard him yet speaking more direct than he's ever done in his 80 years, James Earl Carter just delivered the speech of a lifetime. No exaggeration. I was floored. Jimmy had hinted at his disgust in his Nobel Prize speech but really pulled the hard punches. Not tonight. Tonight he spoke like a man frustrated with the world around him. A frustrated man who has earned the respect of the world rather than thumbed his nose at virtually every nation.

An amazing speech from an amazing man. Thank you, Mr. President.

a note to america

"Effort" is not a verb. It's a noun. It can never, ever be a verb. I know you'd like it to be. I know you think it's somehow hip or trendy to say that you are "efforting" something. But, alas, it's just wrong and it makes you look like a retard. Look, I'm just trying to help.

addendum: On the way home I heard a talking head on the radio say "Yeah, we've gotten a lot of 'react' on that story." I give up.

it's like the world series of public speaking

Am I the only one who turned on C-SPAN the minute he walked in the door in order to watch the DNC Convention? Am I the only one planning on doing such all week? Yeah, that's kinda what I figgered. I'm retarded that way, though.

is it woooorth it?

I nicked (with permission) one of my favorite ideas from one of my favorite bloggers. Jesse had this great idea to make a "mix tape" page every now-and-then. He'd make a swanky page and upload a playlist along with some fresh MP3s for your listening pleasure.

I have a set list ready to go but making the page (with my copious hipster notes) and uploading the tracks is going to prove to be a lot of work. If I do this will you actually download and listen? No. Really. Would you? I need to hear from everybody! I could do it once a month or so but if people wouldn't be interested then it's simply not worth the work.

I'm not trying to be lazy. Really!!

there's still a ray of hope

Somehow I missed that one of my favorite authors exchanged vows back in the end of April. The mind-numbingly erudite Salman Rushdie wed Padma Lakshmi in a ceremony in a photo studio in the city overlooking the Hudson. Lou Reed and Steve Martin were among the attendees honoring the couple.

Good for him, right. Err. This is their little wedding shot:

More pictures of the new Ms. Rushdie here and here. I won't bother to link to any photos of Salman because he, like me, looks like a plain ol' schlub. By all accounts, though, he's also very funny, smart and witty.

Uh, hello? H-E-L-L-O. Over here!!!

Sigh. It must be the fatwa. Chicks dig the fatwa. It's so edgy!

a note from management

After reviewing the last three posts made by mrw under the influence of something he "calls" Percocet, we've decided to take his writing privileges away until Monday lest he says something else nonsensical and causes himself further embarrassment. We're sure you understand. Thanks for your support.

what's it like to be loopy on percocet all day, mike?

you raise up your head
and you ask, "is this where it is?"
and somebody points to you and says
"it's his"
and you say, "what's mine?"
and somebody else says, "where what is?"
and you say, "oh my god
am i here all alone?"

because something is happening here
but you don't know what it is
do you, mister jones?

you hand in your ticket
and you go watch the geek
who immediately walks up to you
when he hears you speak
and says, "how does it feel
to be such a freak?"
and you say, "impossible"
as he hands you a bone

because something is happening here
but you don't know what it is
do you, mister jones?

now you see this one-eyed midget
shouting the word "NOW"
and you say, "for what reason?"
and he says, "how?"
and you say, "what does this mean?"
and he screams back, "you're a cow
give me some milk or else go home"

-b. dylan - from "ballad of a thin man" (1965)

That's pretty much as much sense as the entire world makes to me right about now.

right on target

Look. I'm not going to kid you. I love Target. There's something convienent yet not unchic about their wares and many of their stores. I'm not about to go this crazy, though, about the first store to open within the boroughs. I will, however, be pretty darn happy when the first branch in Fairfield County opens less than two blocks from the haus of randomness.

In true randomness fashion, though, I have to admit that I was a little dismayed to see that the Target Dog actually has the symbol on his face (tattooed?) and that it wasn't digitally added as I had assumed.

porn equity

Things I think about when I'm looped up on Percocet...

If you're a mainstream actress and you've appeared in one film (let's even assume that it's was a really bad film) in a bit part what are you called? A struggling actress, perhaps? Maybe given the benefit of the doubt and called an "up-and-coming" actor?

The world of adult films, though, seems much more forgiving. Why, no matter how bad the film, how tiny the role, you're automatically allowed to call yourself a porn star.

Shouldn't the rest of the world be like that? Mike Wolf, consultant star.

random bitching

"It's so small that you can wear it on your hip"
"It shouldn't inhibit you in any way"
"No one will even know that you have it"

These are just three of the many lies I was told prior to meeting my new friend, the portable IV med pump. Discreet is about the last word I'd use to describe it. I've taken some pictures but keep forgetting to bring my USB card reader to work and am dead tired by the time I get home.

I pictured a insulin-type pump. A little box that I could wear on my hip. Instead I get this...

a bulky piece of crap that, when combined with a small IV bag, is housed in a pouch roughly the size to two first generation Walkmen stacked end-to-end. True, I can put the whole thing in my Timbuk2 bag but it's hardly non-evident. There's also the six inches of flesh-colored bandage on my right arm with a blue tube protruding from it that might just give away the fact that something's just not right with that boy.

I'd also like to take a moment to thank modern science for coming up with a drug that perfectly recreates my complexion circa 1987. That's a nice bonus.

At any rate, I shouldn't be bitching. All could be worse and I do feel much better. Surgery on Friday should improve things even more. I just like to bitch, 'tis all.

why does it always rain on me?

randomness had an absolutely fantastic week off. Following the well-documented BABB, Lady Crumpet and I took in one of the last performances of Tom Stoppard's "Jumpers." The acting was pristine, the story witty and challenging. So challenging, in fact, that I later picked up a copy of the stage play. I really enjoyed it, but wish that I had it before viewing the production. Being Stoppard, it's a bit heady.

Dearest pal Dennis then came into town for a week of concert shenanigans. Three Costello shows at Lincoln Center that were respectively uneven, good and better. They were all a bit odd due to the venue and the serial collaborator that Costello has become. Full reviews perhaps coming soon. Visiting with yet another pal in Deano and his lovely wife was certainly a highlight of the shows, as well. A Prince show at MSG was thrown in for good measure and it was pretty damn good. Surprisingly so, in fact. Friday was our lone concert-free day and we used it to trek north to the Dia: Beacon.

I have, however, been felled by yet another round of stupid health issues. Two of them, in fact. Dennis gets huge brownie points for putting up with my sorry ass going to the ER for much of Friday night. I'll spare you the needless details, but one is incredibly painful (upside - fun with Percocet!) and the other will require six weeks of intravenous antibiotics (upside - I won't be able to go to the gym!). I'll certainly bounce back fine but I may be a bit more scarce around these pages for a bit. Keep checking, though. You know I can't deny my public...

no time for the small things

Seems I was too busy working my way around the room to take too many pictures at this BABB. A shame really, as there were some splendid people who I wish I had snapped. Here's a few, though...

Okay, so the last one wasn't from the BABB. It's a really bad picture I took of Chevy Chase a couple of weeks ago at the Avon Theater (located across from the haus of randomness). But lemme tell ya, the party couldn't have been any more fun if ol' Chev was in attendance.

bring me the head of the beast

My oldest, dearest friend will be voting for Mr. Nader this November. Patti Smith adores him, calling him "the only true patriot." I, however, am not too keen on him when I read this...

But, days later, the Kerry-Edwards ticket leads the Bush-Cheney ticket by a statistically insignificant margin-47 percent to 44 percent-among registered voters nationwide. Independent candidate Ralph Nader draws just 3 percent of the country's support while 6 percent remain undecided. But when Nader is removed from the race, the poll finds that the Kerry-Edwards expanding to a statistically significant six points-51 percent to 45 percent. This suggests that Nader could affect the outcome of election if he is on the ballot in all 50 states.

In all honesty, I like where Nader stands on pretty much every issue (warning - PDF). It's just that he's simply not a viable candidate. I don't live in a swing state. Connecticut's pretty much a cinch for the Dems. If I were to make a decision on principle and vote for Nader it literally would make zero difference. However, if he steals even a small slice of votes in some of those contested states it could become disturbingly close. That's something we can't afford to have happen yet again.

His campaign theme, "Vote for what you believe in - not what you fear" is a very nice sentiment. However, four more years of the status quo is one of the most frightening things I can imagine.

this is mike... he is nuts

I promised someone that I'd post a little recap tonight of the splendid Blogger Bash that I had the honor of co-hosting. Oh, kids. I have stories and photos and sordid details.

However, I'm a little cranky, a little tired and a little overwhelmed by the task at-hand. I'll get to sometime soon, though. In the meantime go check her photos out. They're disturbingly funny and I seem to pop up in more than half of them. Ignore that one that seems to be a close-up of my bald spot. Oy.

This week promises to be absurdly fun. randomness is off work, hanging out with a great friend and attending all three Elvis Costello shows at Lincoln Center and a little Prince at MSG thrown in for good measure. We will certainly draw the line, though, at partying like it's 1999. That's so last decade. It pains me to no end that half of my crazy concert week involves one symphony or another. Not that I'll dislike it. Not at all. It just makes me feel, well, old. I'm taking off a week of work to attend the symphony. Pass the Geritol, Gerta.

Now go to bed, you!

dead horse, flogged

only in america

P. Diddy held his annual White Party last weekend at the absurdly titled Playstation 2 Estate. It was a normal Puffy event. Paris Hilton, Aretha, LL Cool J, Rev. Al and a bunch of scantily clad young ladies.

Oh, there was one unusual thing. P. Diddy was carrying around an original copy of the Declaration of Independence. No. I'm not kidding. Really. It's not a joke.

Now it wasn't the original housed in National Archives. It was merely a copy owned by one of America's true patriots, Norman Lear. That didn't matter to the usually level-headed Phylicia Rashad. "It's like being with the President," she exclaimed. Puffy, for his part, at least promised not to spill champagne on it. Sigh. At least his heart seems to be in the right place.

i think the answer's yes

when i get older
losing my hair
many years from now
will you still be sending me a Valentine
birthday greetings
bottle of wine?
-lennon/mccartney

Happy 64th, Ringo

dewey defeats truman

Oops! The Post once again proves that it's a fine, fine publication...

random independence

For what must be the third year in a row I made the mistake of not having any firm plans for the holiday. I always think that I hate the Fourth of July, but I'm beginning to think that's not true. Regardless of the occasion there's something alluring about a long weekend in the middle of the summer. In Atlanta that meant a really sweaty ordeal. In NYC (much like my halcyon days in Michigan) it makes for a much more enjoyable day. Today I made a feeble attempt at going to see Calexico and Lyle Lovett in Battery Park but was dissuaded by the absudly long lines to get through security. It seriously would have taken over an hour just to get into the general area. It also wouldn't have been much fun solo methinks.

Instead I went across the street to the Smithsonian's National Museum of the American Indian. The collection is pretty small and really mediocre (the "good" stuff is clearly being held for the new museum on the Washington Mall that opens later this year). The museum, though, is housed in one of the most beautiful buildings in Manhattan. The Alexander Hamilton U.S. Custom House was originally built in the 1880's and remains one of the most impressive examples of Beaux Arts architecture I've ever seen. In keeping with the Smithsonian's charter, admission to the museum is free. Highly recommended.

Also highly recommended...

Hurry and RSVP. You wouldn't want to get shutout!

I'm also putting together a Kerry fundraiser on July 31. Drop me a note if you'd like to attend.

With no segue whatsover, two musical questions that have troubled me for some time. First, what the hell is Springsteen doing on "Hungry Heart?" No. I mean it. What is he doing? It really bothers me on so many levels. It starts with the detached screaming at the very beginning and continues while he sings in that weird pseudo-falsetto that he's never even approached before or since. Really. It's so out there...

Finally, shouldn't we have figured out that Joan Jett was gay when she didn't change the gender of the pronouns in her frolicking and fun cover of "Crimsom & Clover?"

One more thing while I'm on this roll of sorts. My favorite Vic Chesnutt composition is a must-do post for today. It should probably come with a lengthy treatise on what this song means to me. I don't want to bore y'all, though. Perhaps some other time.

independence day

well, future stepped into by field and turned it into an empire
forefathers where are you now?
your dust is settling on my furniture.
independence day,
i never knew it would be so symbolic.
independence day

well, i stepped out of a cloud and the ditch is close,
i mean the ditch is closing in.
hemingway, you did yourself justice
so here's to you you articulate dead fisherman.
independence day,
i never knew it would be so symbolic.
independence day

what if I said I loved you
and needed your guidance to help me through the obstacles?
would you say I am too wordy and then, then, would you laugh?
what if I said I'm under the glass untouchable as the document itself?
would you say OK and that you never even considered me?
independence day,
i never knew it would be so symbolic.
independence day

-vic chesnutt from the Texas Hotel release "Little" (1990)

these are the ways on which i was raised

I'm not much of fan of music videos that try to capture the feel of a concert. They usually end up looking like Journey's "Faithfully" or something quite like it. Morrissey's new video for "First of the Gang to Die" seems to me to be a very noteable exception.

The crazy arena hysteria, Moz being Moz and some weird backstage bits. It's all there in spades. Check it out on VH1.com.

While you're there you really should watch "Last of the Famous International Playboys" to see his pompadour at its most absurd, uh, height. Check out "Interesting Drug" to see the origins of his microphone cord whip that he so loves these days. "November Spawns a Monster" is a must watch because it never fails to make me giggle like deranged schoolgirl. I mean, it's sooooo over-the-top. Finally, be sure to take in "Everyday Is Like Sunday." Its fairly tame PETA undertones were quite controversial 1988. I believe it was actually banned by both the BBC and MTV.

So go on! You've got work to do! They all full screen very nicely, by the way.