Thursday, March 17, 2005

Irish Eyes Are Smilin'...

Being of Irish persuasion, I feel its okay to poke fun at my tribe. (But if any of y'all try it, then its racism, and you're lookin' for a fight!)

Just as soon as I finish this drink, and possibly the next one after that...and so on.

Happy St. Pat's Day!

McQuillan walked into a bar and ordered martini after martini, each time removing the olives and placing them in a jar. When the jar was filled with olives and all the drinks consumed, theIrishman started to leave.
"S'cuse me", said a customer, who was puzzled over what McQuillan had done, "what was that all about?"
"Nothin', said the Irishman, "my wife just sent me out for a jar of olives!"

"I've Lost Me Luggage"
An Irishman arrived at J.F.K. Airport and wandered around the terminal with tears streaming down his cheeks. An airline employee asked him if he was already homesick.
"No," replied the Irishman "I've lost all me luggage!"
"How'd that happen?"
"The cork fell out!" said the Irishman.

"Water to Wine"
An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut. The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest's breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car. He says, "Sir, have you been drinking?"
"Just water," says the priest.
The trooper says, "Then why do I smell wine?"
The priest looks at the bottle and says, "Good Lord! He's done it again!"

"Irish Cemetery"
Three Irishmen, Paddy, Sean and Seamus, were stumbling home from the pub late one night and found themselves on the road which led past the old graveyard..
"Come have a look over here," says Paddy, "It's Michael O'Grady's grave, God bless his soul. He lived to the ripe old age of 87."
"That's nothing," says Sean, "here's one named Patrick O'Toole, it says here that he was 95 when he died."!
Just then, Seamus yells out, "Good God, here's a fella that got to be 145!"
"What was his name?" asks Paddy.
Seamus stumbles around a bit, awkwardly lights a match to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims, "Miles, from Dublin."

"Irish Predicament"
Drunk Ole Mulvihill (From the Northern Irish Clan) staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional box, sits down but says nothing.
The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but the Ole just sits there.
Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.
The drunk mumbles, "ain't no use knockin, there's no paper on this side either."

"Irish Last Request"
Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady's after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears. He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?"
She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night."
The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, did he have any last requests?"
She says, "That he did, Father..."
The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"
She says, "He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun!'

And finally...

What's the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake?

One less Drunk at the wake...bu-dum-bum.

Thank you, thankyouverymuch, I'll be here all week! Pass me the pretzels and crack me another Guinness...

Special thanks to my good friend Rhett in S. Carolina for the jokes.

Friday, March 04, 2005


Yup, spring has officially sprung 'round these parts.

Actually, it feels as if it has been here for awhile due to the previous weeks (3!!) of unseasonably warm, dry weather. But, just recently I have really begun to feel those positive vibrations brought on by the increasing warmth of our planet slowly tilting toward the sun.

The daily ritual walk across town. Kids in tow. Our own little parade down Main St. then Water St. to the elementary school to drop off "the banana", and then out the back door and on to the "B" family residence for lunch and naps and mellow three year old kid time has become quite pleasant. An oddly rythmic, comfortable routine. (this isn't to imply that these walks go smoothly everytime from start to finish...that hardly ever happens...someone is bound to be grumpy, or cry, or fall down or get whiney about walking...but for the most part, it's nice to be out strolling through town on a sunny day.)

This is one laid back little village I have mired myself in. Sure there's alot going on around here, but quietly, at an even keel, and behind the scenes. On our walks, we generally don't see anyone in any real hurry to get anywhere. I like it. This pace suits me, and I feel it is good for my soul. I'd like to tap into the small town vibe more fully somehow, someday, in a professional/business way. I've got my eyes, ears and mind open to the possibilities. Scanning the horizon for workable schemes. Ideas filling my head. What if and how about...

"Ahh Dreamer, you know you are a dreamer
oh, can you put you hands in your head? Oh no!"

Today, on our way out the door, I jokingly said to the gang..."okay kids, let's hit the low road!" ( this is the type of thing I do to the wee ones all the time...mess with common phrases, use the wrong word for something, pretend not to know what they are talking about. Keeps 'em on their toes. Plus, it's fun to see how and if they react to it.) My daughter, without missing a beat replied..."No Dad, we're taking the middle road. That leads to Salem. The Low road takes us to Texas, and the high road goes to the winery" (where Mom works). Ooookaaay...can't argue with that kind of kid logic. She's right after all, on a map, the low roads (heading south I guess ) do go to Texas.


Who is this Johnny Dowd character, and which rock did he crawl from under? Why am I only now learning of his psychotic suburban swamp blues madness? On first listen I wonder how he managed to cross the country and electric blues with Ween-like wierdness and overtones of Don Van Vliet, but in the end it doesn't matter much because it all works. What I have heard so far is quirky lyrical prose with a touch of doom and self pity. Crazy rythms, dark electronic flourishes and guitar solos with the effects peddles set on stun. Odd for sure, but compelling. Try a taste of this guy if you fondly recall Col. Bruce Hampton. Fun stuff.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

At Home He's A Tourist...

Had to break out Gang of Four's excellent debut album Entertainment! this morning as I was psyched to learn that the original band is back together and touring this spring. Yes! They will be coming through Oregon with a stop @ the Crystal Ballroom in PDX (Thurs. May 5th). I am definately going to do everything I can do to get my ass to that show. Those guys have always been one of my very favorite second wave English punk/new wave/post-punk/punkfunk (whateveryouwanttolabelthemas) bands from back in the day. I had some previous chances to see the later day version of the band (with Sara Lee on bass) but never did it for some reason or another. (some stupid job that wouldn't give me the day off, most likely) But now, I can finally see Messers Gill, King, Burnham and Allen pound out the agit-funk angularity that they are the true pioneers of. Coolio.

I remember buying the original vinyl of Entertainment! (along with a slew of other cool albums of that era) while on a quick trip to NYC one winter and the boys loose in the big city, feelin' as cool as one could feel sans parents, and with money in our pockets. As per my usual back then, I dropped a wad of cash at a bunch of different record shops. Good times.
I'd say more about that album,but I think Greil Marcus did an awsome job in his essay I linked to above. I will say this...if you are a fan of Franz Ferdinand (and I am) and you don't own GoF's Entertainment! then you owe it to yourself to go out and get a copy of it NOW, just to see how much the Four influenced those Scottish lads. And to put the icing on the cake, it has been announced that the re-formed GoF's upcoming release will have an extra disc of re-mixes of re-recorded older tunes (stay with me here), and guess who is doing one of those re-mixes? That's right folks, FRANZ F'N FERDINAND. So there.

Really, no matter what, get yourself a copy of Entertainment! It Rocks in a very smart way. You won't be disappointed (unless you're a complete wanker).

On a different musical note, I have been invited by my friend, David the Painter, to see "The Bob" (as in Mr. Dylan) in a couple of weeks (on my brother's birthday...Happy Birthday Doc!). This should prove to be a good time, especially since Merle Haggard is on the tour too. I hate to say it, but having seen "The Bob" a bunch of times in the past, and having sworn off him after seeing the god awful G. E. "I owe my career to Saturday Night Live- showboatin' mother scratcher" Smith play in his band at the end of the eighties, I'm actually more excited to see ol' Merle. If Bob decides to put on a good show, all the better (I hear he is in fine form once again, tho' I'll believe it when I see it). And if that damn G.E. Smith shows up, I think I'll scream and run from the building. As my old pal Tony Marroni used to say everytime G.E would mug for the camera between skits and commercials on SNL, "That asshole thinks he's in a REAL band." (and no, I don't think Hall and Oates qualify!)

I'll let you know what I think of the whole affair. If nothing else, it will be a night out on the town with some good chow, some fermented beverages, some high falutin' conversation, and good music to boot. Can't beat that with a dead peacock. (?)

Dept. of Aha! I Knew it: Pitchfork Media just announced that they fake hip-hop and rap disc reviews...pimple faced emo geeks don't know shit about breakbeats and street poetry apparently...go figure!